A child for champions [Kay]

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

Spending time at the gym in District Two had become a certain kind of torture. When Julian escorted Mace, things went smoothly. They stick to his routine, amping each other up, competing through their reps. But when he went alone, the bubble of protection disappeared and he was in a sweaty, grimy version of the arena. Despite having a decade on some of the Careers, he found that he could not keep up – and they didn’t let him forget it, either. They went out of the way to remind Mace that he was from the “horse shit District” and tallied how many tributes he had lost to Two’s formidable Careers.

He could handle bullies in Ten. Just give ‘em a taste of their own medicine. But at the gym, the first and only time he had decked a Career, she had turned, nose bloodied, to the Peacekeeper at the far end of the room. Mace had ended up on his ass in the sleet, sweat instantly freezing to his skin. The chattering of his teeth, the clack clack of enamel chipping, had been the only thing between him and spiraling back into the frozen wasteland of the 59th. He had made it home, mumbled something about slipping on the ice, and spent close to an hour in a scalding hot shower. He had shivered for days after.

So, he did not relish going to the gym without Julian. But in keeping with his promise, sometimes it was necessary. He needed to spend more time grinding it out, to keep off the incredible meals Pashmina presented him with. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but over the years she had warmed to him. And then came the food. Honey cured ham, whipped potatoes, pies the size of dinner plates, just for him. Mace expressed his gratitude by eating every last crumb. And then he’d go to the gym for the second or third time in a day, for his punishment.

He’d been on the treadmill for over an hour, his heart rate flaring on the screen, his face beet red. He knew he ought to run another half an hour at least, but something was nagging at him. A thought that hid, a haunting. He cursed and slapped the stop button. With his heartbeat in his neck, he jogged the short distance to the home Julian and he shared while in Two. It was eerily quiet, cold and organized in a way his victor’s mansion never was. He knew without asking that Julian wasn’t home. So naturally, he headed for the kitchen.

Halfway through a slurp of his protein, banana and spinach smoothie, the phone rang. Mace wasn’t in the habit of answering it; listening to Julian’s admirers drone on was only good when he wanted to fall instantly asleep. He could let it go, just one more praising voice mail for Julian to pick up later. And yet. Mace picked up the phone.

*****

He wiped his feet on the porch twice. “Thanks for calling,

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

Mace could quantify their relationship through the number of doors they had opened for each other. He always seemed to be the one knocking, but that suited him just fine. After all those years of being chased in Ten, it turned out that Mace needed a challenge. He needed to be the one chasing. And sometimes that meant standing outside of a locked door, trying the handle and leaning against it, hoping it would give. He couldn't exactly break down a door in the Bryze home, and so he had resorted to his least influential resource: his voice.

After 'love', his throat closed, overwhelmed with the news, the moment, the separation. He could feel his heart beating in his throat, a residual high from the gym, and the phone call, and the run over. But it would leave him soon, and then he would be still and cold, alone in the hallway with his heavy thoughts. He couldn't figure out why Clarity's death felt like a stone in his stomach. He hadn't known her all that well; most of the things he knew about her were second hand, from Julian's stories. And yet he felt like one of his own siblings had passed, like Regalia had decided to remove herself from the torture that was day-to-day life.

It was her face he held in his mind's eye as Julian finally turned the door knob and looked up to him. Mace opened his mouth, only to shut it again. He had no words either; when did he? So he waited, feeling big and awkward and useless. When Julian finally found the words to express for both of them, Mace hung his head, nodding a little into his own throat. "Neither did I," he mumbled, the words barely making it out. He realized he didn't have anything else, nothing that could comfort. There were plenty of platitudes others would express, but they were worthless in the mouth of a victor.

Instead, he reached out and folded Julian into his chest, holding his close, feeling the solid shape of him, the shape he had known for years. The shape he wanted to know forever. He shut his eyes tight, holding onto that thought. It was Claritywho had elected to leave them behind. Not Regalia. Not Julian. And there it was, the reason for the stone: if blood of his blood could take her own life, how dark could Julian's thoughts go? He shivered, even under the layers of clothes, even holding - clinging - to his lover. The fear twisted around his spine, turning his organs to ice. And instead of saying the right thing, instead of comforting Julian the way he deserved, Mace turned to the most basic needs instead.

"I should shower," he sniffed, looking down to Julian. "Would you like to join me? Might make you feel better." He brushed Julian's cheek, lightly, to make it clear that he had no ulterior motives. Well, he did have one. In all the years they had lived together, seen each other in nearly every possible state of being, Mace had rarely seen Julian cry. It seemed to cause him more pain to be seen crying, than to indulge in the act itself.

And where better to cry unseen than under the spray of a shower? Where better for Mace to hide the frigid haunting than in the hot steam? He knew immediately it was the right idea, and let his arms drop to take both of Julian's hands.

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

One minute he was there, holding his boyfriend, the only person he really knew how to love, and the next moment he was alone again, arms still hanging in the embrace, empty. He stood like that for just a second, but it was long and painful. When he dropped his arms, they felt like lead. Like frozen lead, weighing him down. He flinched at Julian's pitch, forced himself to hold his ground. Here, in Two, he couldn't rely on Regalia to chatter her way through their reconciliation, or Sew listening to Mace awkwardly work through what had gone wrong. He was totally on his own, left to interpret and apologize without the help he so desperately needed.

I want to hurt something!

Well, that one's easy, Mace thought, feeling each of Julian's words as an icicle against his raw skin. He rubbed his forearms, and then folded his arms against his chest, trying to trap some of the heat from his heart. He needed a shower, desperately. Mace rarely ever noticed odors, good or bad, even the delicious aroma of food. So, if he could smell himself, it was definitely past the point of polite. His level of discomfort was going up exponentially by the minute, and yet he couldn't just leave. No excuse right now would be good enough, because nothing was.

"No, nothing can," Mace said, feeling the gravity of the statement. No matter how many nights he had kept vigil, no matter how many dreams he had, there was no bringing Elon back. And there would be no reviving Clarity, either. Or Dysis. Or Zinnia or Alliance. Or Alexander. They were all gone. The difference between them and Clarity was that the others had been taken. Julian's cousin had chosen to leave. It made him sick, truly, to think of it. So many sacrifices were made every year in the Games, and outside of it, in fields and factories and mines. To choose to take your own life was not only cowardly, it was insulting.

He felt the rage stoke embers in his belly, enough to still the shivering. Mace lifted his head, unfurled his arms and extended his hand. "I'm not going anywhere without you. If you don't want to shower, that's fine. You know I don't care. If you want to stay here, that's okay too. If you want to go to the gym, or the train, or a bar, I'll go with you. Just please don't ask me to leave you alone. I can't. I can't do that." His throat swelled shut then, thick with tears that had long since dried.