Final Whispers [title subject to change]
Jan 24, 2010 21:45:55 GMT -5
Post by WT on Jan 24, 2010 21:45:55 GMT -5
I’ve wanted to write a Cinna/Portia fic for a while, and after reading Gorim’s Birds of a Feather ages ago I decided I just had to. I never got around to posting it, so I figured I'd go ahead and do so now. ^^ Expect it to be darker that Feather, though- I’m very bad at pure fluff. Also expect it to be set during Catching Fire, with some vague but important spoilers.
Have fun. Or, if you don’t have fun, at least enjoy it, please. And remember that reviews are love! <3
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“Cinna?”
There weren’t a lot of voices that could convince him to leave the beauty of unconsciousness and rejoin the world of pain, but that was one. Cinna’s eyes flickered open, and he forced himself to sit up. “Portia?”
The was the sound of a slamming cell door and footsteps that walked away, and then there was someone sitting next to him, gently turning his head so that they could look it over. “Who else?”
He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to try and formulate and answer for that, so he didn’t bother trying; luckily, she didn’t wait for an answer. She had always been a talker, ever since they were in school together years back, and that hadn’t changed. Her appearance had- her hair had been dyed, though it was natural again right now, and a rainbow of swirling tattoos traced from her forehead down her shoulders and arms to her hands- but she herself had remained true to her nature, thank whatever god there may be.
“When you didn’t come back, I got worried. Not just me, either- your prep team was already in hysterics over Katniss, and your disappearance made it even worse. So I reassured them and came looking for you, but I didn’t find you anywhere in the tower, so I decided you must have gone up to your room to watch the first part of the Games. But you didn’t answer when I knocked, so I tried the door and it was unlocked so I went in. There were Capitol people all over- well, obviously they were Capitol people but specifically they were Peacekeepers of some sort, and they dragged me here and shoved me in here with you, but you already knew that last bit, so-“
“Portia.” Cinna managed a smile, amused despite the seriousness of their situation. “You’re babbling.”
“Oh.”
There was a long silence, which he took advantage of to go over what she had said. People had noticed he was missing; that was unsurprising, but encouraging. They couldn’t just kill him off, could they? Or maybe they could- the Capitol was already upset by the Quell, and there probably wasn’t much that anyone could do to make it worse. In the meantime, his prep team...
Portia shifted, looking uncomfortable in the dim light, and Cinna reached out a hand to squeeze one of hers comfortingly. “I’m sorry you have to be here,” he told her quietly.
“No, I’m glad I found you.” Cinna didn’t know what to say to that, so he let it lie; he knew she would find something else to talk about soon enough.
She did, though he didn’t like her chosen topic. “Do you know what they’re going to do to us?”
“To me.” Cinna brushed her hair out from front of her eyes, as it was wont to go, so that he could look her in the eyes and she could see that he wasn’t giving any ground on this. “I never meant to hurt you- just the Capitol. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
Eye contact worked both ways, unfortunately; it didn’t look like Portia was any more keen on the idea of leaving him to his fate than he was on letting her share it, and it was hard to keep the pleading look in her eyes from affecting him. “I don’t care,” she said, leaning against him, and he had to close his eyes to keep from melting. “They’ll blame me, anyway. And even if they don’t... I’m not letting you go.” The dim, flickering light of the torches outside made her eyes dance, their deep brown standing out sharply against the bright red of the surrounding tattoos and reminding him vaguely of that first costume they had designed together. Katniss couldn’t hold a candle to her, though- not his Portia.
“You’re more important to the rebellion than I am.” He automatically lowered his voice; there was no one here to hear them, but it was habit to be quiet when he was talking about the rebellion, and if he ever got out of here it would be a bad habit to lose.
“You say that like I’m supposed to care.” Portia caught his hand with her own purple-patterned one and squeezed it, and he did his best not to protest in pain as she put pressure on fingers that he thought were sprained. “I don’t, Cinna. The rebellion can go throw itself off a cliff and so can the Capitol, as long as you’re alive. Or, at the very least, I go down with you.”
“Don’t say that,” he hissed sharply, half-touched and half-shocked. He had come to know her fairly well over the past years; the rebellion was more important to her than anything.
“I have to.” There were tears behind the voice now. “I have to say whatever I can. I- I love you.”
The Hunger Games had a way of drawing out that kind of confession. That was his first thought. He didn’t really have a second; his mind was too busy reeling to put one together. Portia didn’t seem to mind that he didn’t say anything in reply; she did loosen her grip on his hand, but he thought that was probably more because she had realized that she was crushing it than because she was offended.
She was sad, though. His bright, bubbly Portia was crying, and he wasn’t about to have that. “Yeah. It’s hard not to love me.”
She smiled, then frowned, looking unsure whether or not he had been kidding. He laughed, to take away the indifferent tone of the comment, and she gave a tiny laugh and began hiccupping through her tears; that made him laugh harder, even though it hurt his ribs, and before long they were both in hysterics, leaning against each other to keep from falling off the bench. It felt good to laugh; the mood had been far too dark for a long time, and he wanted these moments together to be happy, in case they were their last ones.
Slowly they settled down, and finally they were silent, her with her head on his shoulder and him staring into the darkness of their cell. “Portia,” he began quietly, “do you remember when we were twelve in middle school, and one of your friends tripped me?”
“And I laughed at you, because you looked hilarious with green jelly in your hair?” Portia smiled, her eyes distant, and nodded. “Yeah, I do. It was Solovet, wasn’t it? She was always doing stuff like that- real angry, she was. Didn’t like people at all. I think they pass it down through the family, same as that weird name.”
He waited until she finished rambling before he went on. “I was busy thinking that you were the biggest jerk on the planet, and that you didn’t deserve such a pretty laugh, when you came over and helped me up.” He paused, wanting to remain in the memory for as long as he could. “I had never cared about you one way or another, but think I fell a little bit in love with you then, and I don’t think I’ve ever stopped.”
She squeezed his hand warmly (and less crushingly), but her voice was sad. “That means you’re not going to let me take the credit for that dress, doesn’t it?”
“Are you kidding? Of course not! That dress was genius, Portia, I’m certainly not giving it to you!” Before she could take his words to heart, he relaxed his voice. “Even being serious, there’s no way. I- I don’t want to think about what they’d do to you.”
“But if they did it to me, then they wouldn’t-“
“No.” it wasn’t often that he interrupted her; her babbling was endearing, and he rarely actually wanted it to stop. But this was one of those times, and he put all the force that his battered lungs had into that one word. “No, Portia. You-”
What he wanted to tell her then (that she was beautiful and amazing and so worth dying for, so worth the whole world dying for), he never would. The door opened, sending a beam of bright light into the dim room; they both flinched away from it before adjusting enough to see the two Peacekeepers standing in the doorway.
Something flashed in Portia’s eyes and she stood, but Cinna yanked on her arm, forcing her to sit down. It drained what energy he had left, and he had to lean on her to stand up and face the Peacekeepers, but even that was good because she couldn’t stand with his weight on her shoulder. He stood carefully, doing his best to look calm and collected despite the pain lacing through his broken leg and battered body, and nodded. “Alright, then.”
One of the Peacekeepers came forward and grabbed him; the other roughly jerked her clinging fingers away from his arm. He winced as the brittle sound of snapping bones rang through the room, but she barely even seemed to notice as she struggled to get past the Peacekeeper toward him. She was pushed to the ground, and the two Capitol people started to cart him off as quickly as they could. “Portia, I-”
She started to cry again as she stood. “Me too, Cinna.”
The door slammed shut.
Have fun. Or, if you don’t have fun, at least enjoy it, please. And remember that reviews are love! <3
---------------
“Cinna?”
There weren’t a lot of voices that could convince him to leave the beauty of unconsciousness and rejoin the world of pain, but that was one. Cinna’s eyes flickered open, and he forced himself to sit up. “Portia?”
The was the sound of a slamming cell door and footsteps that walked away, and then there was someone sitting next to him, gently turning his head so that they could look it over. “Who else?”
He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to try and formulate and answer for that, so he didn’t bother trying; luckily, she didn’t wait for an answer. She had always been a talker, ever since they were in school together years back, and that hadn’t changed. Her appearance had- her hair had been dyed, though it was natural again right now, and a rainbow of swirling tattoos traced from her forehead down her shoulders and arms to her hands- but she herself had remained true to her nature, thank whatever god there may be.
“When you didn’t come back, I got worried. Not just me, either- your prep team was already in hysterics over Katniss, and your disappearance made it even worse. So I reassured them and came looking for you, but I didn’t find you anywhere in the tower, so I decided you must have gone up to your room to watch the first part of the Games. But you didn’t answer when I knocked, so I tried the door and it was unlocked so I went in. There were Capitol people all over- well, obviously they were Capitol people but specifically they were Peacekeepers of some sort, and they dragged me here and shoved me in here with you, but you already knew that last bit, so-“
“Portia.” Cinna managed a smile, amused despite the seriousness of their situation. “You’re babbling.”
“Oh.”
There was a long silence, which he took advantage of to go over what she had said. People had noticed he was missing; that was unsurprising, but encouraging. They couldn’t just kill him off, could they? Or maybe they could- the Capitol was already upset by the Quell, and there probably wasn’t much that anyone could do to make it worse. In the meantime, his prep team...
Portia shifted, looking uncomfortable in the dim light, and Cinna reached out a hand to squeeze one of hers comfortingly. “I’m sorry you have to be here,” he told her quietly.
“No, I’m glad I found you.” Cinna didn’t know what to say to that, so he let it lie; he knew she would find something else to talk about soon enough.
She did, though he didn’t like her chosen topic. “Do you know what they’re going to do to us?”
“To me.” Cinna brushed her hair out from front of her eyes, as it was wont to go, so that he could look her in the eyes and she could see that he wasn’t giving any ground on this. “I never meant to hurt you- just the Capitol. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
Eye contact worked both ways, unfortunately; it didn’t look like Portia was any more keen on the idea of leaving him to his fate than he was on letting her share it, and it was hard to keep the pleading look in her eyes from affecting him. “I don’t care,” she said, leaning against him, and he had to close his eyes to keep from melting. “They’ll blame me, anyway. And even if they don’t... I’m not letting you go.” The dim, flickering light of the torches outside made her eyes dance, their deep brown standing out sharply against the bright red of the surrounding tattoos and reminding him vaguely of that first costume they had designed together. Katniss couldn’t hold a candle to her, though- not his Portia.
“You’re more important to the rebellion than I am.” He automatically lowered his voice; there was no one here to hear them, but it was habit to be quiet when he was talking about the rebellion, and if he ever got out of here it would be a bad habit to lose.
“You say that like I’m supposed to care.” Portia caught his hand with her own purple-patterned one and squeezed it, and he did his best not to protest in pain as she put pressure on fingers that he thought were sprained. “I don’t, Cinna. The rebellion can go throw itself off a cliff and so can the Capitol, as long as you’re alive. Or, at the very least, I go down with you.”
“Don’t say that,” he hissed sharply, half-touched and half-shocked. He had come to know her fairly well over the past years; the rebellion was more important to her than anything.
“I have to.” There were tears behind the voice now. “I have to say whatever I can. I- I love you.”
The Hunger Games had a way of drawing out that kind of confession. That was his first thought. He didn’t really have a second; his mind was too busy reeling to put one together. Portia didn’t seem to mind that he didn’t say anything in reply; she did loosen her grip on his hand, but he thought that was probably more because she had realized that she was crushing it than because she was offended.
She was sad, though. His bright, bubbly Portia was crying, and he wasn’t about to have that. “Yeah. It’s hard not to love me.”
She smiled, then frowned, looking unsure whether or not he had been kidding. He laughed, to take away the indifferent tone of the comment, and she gave a tiny laugh and began hiccupping through her tears; that made him laugh harder, even though it hurt his ribs, and before long they were both in hysterics, leaning against each other to keep from falling off the bench. It felt good to laugh; the mood had been far too dark for a long time, and he wanted these moments together to be happy, in case they were their last ones.
Slowly they settled down, and finally they were silent, her with her head on his shoulder and him staring into the darkness of their cell. “Portia,” he began quietly, “do you remember when we were twelve in middle school, and one of your friends tripped me?”
“And I laughed at you, because you looked hilarious with green jelly in your hair?” Portia smiled, her eyes distant, and nodded. “Yeah, I do. It was Solovet, wasn’t it? She was always doing stuff like that- real angry, she was. Didn’t like people at all. I think they pass it down through the family, same as that weird name.”
He waited until she finished rambling before he went on. “I was busy thinking that you were the biggest jerk on the planet, and that you didn’t deserve such a pretty laugh, when you came over and helped me up.” He paused, wanting to remain in the memory for as long as he could. “I had never cared about you one way or another, but think I fell a little bit in love with you then, and I don’t think I’ve ever stopped.”
She squeezed his hand warmly (and less crushingly), but her voice was sad. “That means you’re not going to let me take the credit for that dress, doesn’t it?”
“Are you kidding? Of course not! That dress was genius, Portia, I’m certainly not giving it to you!” Before she could take his words to heart, he relaxed his voice. “Even being serious, there’s no way. I- I don’t want to think about what they’d do to you.”
“But if they did it to me, then they wouldn’t-“
“No.” it wasn’t often that he interrupted her; her babbling was endearing, and he rarely actually wanted it to stop. But this was one of those times, and he put all the force that his battered lungs had into that one word. “No, Portia. You-”
What he wanted to tell her then (that she was beautiful and amazing and so worth dying for, so worth the whole world dying for), he never would. The door opened, sending a beam of bright light into the dim room; they both flinched away from it before adjusting enough to see the two Peacekeepers standing in the doorway.
Something flashed in Portia’s eyes and she stood, but Cinna yanked on her arm, forcing her to sit down. It drained what energy he had left, and he had to lean on her to stand up and face the Peacekeepers, but even that was good because she couldn’t stand with his weight on her shoulder. He stood carefully, doing his best to look calm and collected despite the pain lacing through his broken leg and battered body, and nodded. “Alright, then.”
One of the Peacekeepers came forward and grabbed him; the other roughly jerked her clinging fingers away from his arm. He winced as the brittle sound of snapping bones rang through the room, but she barely even seemed to notice as she struggled to get past the Peacekeeper toward him. She was pushed to the ground, and the two Capitol people started to cart him off as quickly as they could. “Portia, I-”
She started to cry again as she stood. “Me too, Cinna.”
The door slammed shut.
