Carry On Wayward Son // [Mace Oneshot]

He couldn't say he indulged in the luxury of his income very often. But he now found his journey out to the northern community home much improved. Before, it would take half a day of steady walking to make it from the home to the district center. If he had cattle to sell, it would take most of the day, which meant hiking back in the cold dark. To think, once he had welcomed the freezing nights. The days of trekking miles were behind him. Now, he hired a horse and buggy and watched the browned district flit past. The winter had been long, but not especially harsh. He wondered what that would mean for the spring growth. Farms and ranches passed by quietly. Mace huddled deeper and deeper into his leather jacket, hands tucked up into his armpits.

"Sir, would you like me to go around the ranch today?"

He thought about it. Seeing the cattle - and the new horses - brought him a tremendous amount of pride. But his fingers shook, and he had a feeling in his gut. This was a routine visit, but still. Something just felt wrong. "Straight to the house."

The rest of the bumps in the road felt like tremors, like warnings. By the time they rounded the last bend, Mace had almost disappeared into his jacket. It wasn't enough. Outside of the ranch house, almost a dozen children had gathered, awaiting his arrival. He scowled, sure one of his -Statt sisters had ratted him out. Cygnus didn't care enough and Icarus wasn't aware enough. He preferred to surprise his myriad adopted siblings. But there would be no surprising them today. By the time the coach stopped, more had poured out of the house. So many faces and names he did not know. He resigned himself to a smile, the one the Capitol had taught him, and stepped out to cheers and questions and hugs. “Can someone tell Ma I’m home?”

"Yes, sir."

A few peeled off to find Ma, but that left many small bodies to crowd him. Mace made his way forward slowly, carefully. He listened and nodded as they prattled about their lives at the farm. A little girl with a shock of white blonde hair lifted a children’s book about horses to him. “Sign please?” she asked politely. Mace took the blue crayon from her and scrawled his name. That was definitely something he’d have to tell Julian about later. Was it appropriate to sign autographs for people he considered his family? It felt wrong. He tried not to let it bother him, to separate the influence of the Capitol on his siblings from his desire to protect them from all things Capitol. He could no longer fix the smile to his face as he pushed forward, into the house.
“Ma!” He called, his heart beat in his throat. He hated being inside, in the foyer which led to the living room, where Elon had taught. He averted his gaze, ducking to his right into the kitchen. It had been remodeled last year, thanks to his patronage. Now, a new island opened up the middle of the room, and cabinets defined every wall. It was clean, if disorganized. Clearly some chores had been abandoned in favor of greeting him.

The porch door swung open. Cygnus had dirt (or worse) smeared across his forehead. He was rubbing the worst of it off his hands onto a rag. He looked older and younger at once, if that was possible. His face had filled out, finally, softening his hawkish features. But with his hair greased back for work, he looked as though he was losing the battle with his hairline. Mace wondered, for a second, if he looked as changed. Had fatherhood changed him? Could he see the sleepless nights etched beneath his eyes, the echoes of the smiles that Juliet drew out of him with ease?

“Been awhile,” Cygnus said, meeting his gaze for a moment before turning to the sink. “She’s out in the barn calving.”

“Thanks,” he said, to this man who was his brother, to this man who was a complete stranger. He knew it was the wrong thing to say, but the words came tumbling out just the same. “How’s Marcelline?”

Cygnus stopped, the water running, his hands still filthy. He shrugged, stiff and unhappy. “Still won’t have anything to do with me. Thank you for the reminder.” He scrubbed with the soap bar for a moment before throwing it into the sink and turning. “Maybe you’d also like to talk about Elon while you’re here?”

Mace ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that –”

“Yeah, well, fuck you. I don’t need your questions, and we don’t need your money. We’re fine here. Just go back to your lower district family.”

Mace glanced at the door full of children, quietly observing. “Watch your mouth, you prick.”

Cygnus took a step forward. He’d never been any match for Mace, even before all the training. Still, Mace had no desire to teach his little brother a lesson in front of all the watchful pairs of eyes. He folded his arms over his chest, burning and freezing at the same time.
“This isn’t your home any more, Mace. Go back to the city center. Live your life. Forget about us.”

“Awful lot of mouths around here to feed. Even for you.”

“That’s just a matter of finances and planning. I can handle that.”

Mace shook his head as Cygnus threw the dirty rag at him.

“Haven’t you done enough for this family already? Don’t you get it? Now that they’ve got their pretty little girl victor, they’re going to remember us.”

He felt it. The punch Cygnus did not throw. It landed in his gut, twisting his core. Mace closed his eyes, muttered something incoherent, and then stumbled onto the porch. He slammed the door, held himself together around the ribs. He was so cold, so cold. He would freeze if he stayed still. So he walked, one step at a time. The dead weeds crunched beneath his shiny boots, the ground partially frozen underneath. Just like walking on ice. Except the ice in his memory was more firm and held the faces of the dead. Her face, in particular, beneath his feet.

Mace stumbled into the barn, clutching the door to keep himself steady.

“Well don’t just stand there,” Ma yelled from one of the stalls. The musk of birth permeated the winter air. Mace flipped his collar over his face, breathing in the tanned leather. He passed empty stall after empty stall. It was cold, too cold, to have the cattle outside. But he wasn’t in charge of their welfare any more, and they had proven themselves to be harder beasts than he. A teal blanket had been discarded in a stall, next to where the mother cow was giving birth. She whuffed and shifted, blocking his view.

“Mace? That you?”

“Sure is,” he said, leaning over the railing. Two of the older girls were assisting Ma, and neither looked in his direction.

“I need just a few more minutes here, then we can go over the finances. Oomph. Stubborn little guy. Mace? Check on the babe, will you?”

Ma’s disembodied voice floated around the back of the cow. He looked into the heifer’s eyes, watery and dark. She seemed, other than the occasional flare of her nostrils, to be perfectly content to birth all day. Mace patted her cheek and then looked around. He hadn’t seen a basinet coming in, couldn’t hear the tell-tale screams of a child in need. One of the girls assisting Ma jerked her head towards the next stall and then rolled her eyes. Mace very nearly stuck his tongue out at her as he turned to the teal blanket. He was about to ask for further directions when something in the blanket kicked.

Mace bent over it, digging down until his fingers wrapped around a tiny, warm body. He lifted the swaddled baby into his arms. Tiny, tiny, in a way Juliet had never been, not since they had adopted her. And Kieran – well, he had missed this stage in his life entirely. Mace tucked the baby into the crook of his arm, amazed at how quiet the little thing was. He rocked gently back and forth, soothing the already sleeping child.

“He ain’t much,” Ma said as she dunked her blood soaked hands into a bucket. Mace looked up to find the girls drying off the bleating calf, while Ma cleaned herself up. “Since we got all fancy ‘round here, thanks to you, everyone thinks we’re the best place to leave their youngin’s. That one wasn’t even a few days along when he got dumped on the porch. Came along too early, I reckon.”

Mace held the little boy a little tighter. “He have a name?”

Ma picked up a bar of spa. She shrugged. “Didn’t seem to be much of a point. Happens, time to time. You remember.”

He did. Children that came in the night, wailed for a few days and then fell utterly silent. As quiet as the boy in his arms. Mace bounced, and to his surprise the boy’s eyes flew open. It was just a flash before his heavy eyelids drooped again, but Mace could have sworn he had grey eyes. At the very least, blue. “I’m sure you can do something. We can afford better medicine now.”

“Ain’t a matter of medicine with that one. Better if he had cholic. He just don’t seem to have the will to live. I’m sorry if I’ve upset ya. Give him back to me.”

He kept one hand along the boy’s back, ready to catch his sleepy head. And he almost did it. He almost reached forward and deposited the baby into Ma’s arms, ready to carry him to his death. But even though he was quiet and tiny, he was warm. So warm. “I won’t. He’s coming home with me.” Mace met Ma’s eyes.

She held his gaze for a second, and then shook her head. “That way lies heartache, child. And you’ve had enough already.”

Mace snorted. Any problems with his heart had been entirely self-inflicted. And while no one and nothing could ever make up for losing a brother, maybe by taking this abandoned child in, he’d find a way to forgive himself. He wrapped the boy in the teal blanket, tucked him in between his leather jacket and his sweater. He didn’t say goodbye to Ma, or Cygnus, or any of his other siblings.

In the coach on the way back to town, Mace stared at his smallest brother, his little son. He could not smile at him, the way he always smiled at Juliet. He could not coo and baby talk. He almost felt like joining him in sleep. It was only as they neared town that the full responsibility of adopting a child smacked him upside the head. He hadn’t asked Julian, hadn’t even considered adding another to their family. But he could not let this boy go. Julian had brought them Juliet, and she was sunshine. And now he’d bring them this little fellow, and he would be warmth. That was all Mace ever needed.

As they pulled up to the victor’s village, the coach lurched. The boy cried, just once, a pitiful sound. Mace chuckled. “You’re not all dead after all, my son.” He felt the words tumble out of his mouth. Sat back in awe. “Mason. That’s who you are. Welcome home, little guy. Welcome home.”