drifting ::: 78th games oneshot

when I turned to look
at where you should've been
i started drifting

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Next week, Ms. Corinne is getting married to Eddie.

Dumbass Eddie.

On his second trip out on Hubble’s fishing boat, he got himself clamped by a snapper green and lost two fingers. Dumbass. Corinne’s wild on him though, and Ada figures he can’t blame her based on how she gushes. All things considered, Dumbass Eddie cares for her. He and his parents took her in when her own father died in the tsunami years back, and she’d been like family ever since. And now, she’ll actually be family.

Neither family has ever had any real luck when it comes to money, and Ada’s ma has always had a soft spot for the girl since she was a little thing who brought pretty rocks to their sewing shop in hopes that they could be used somehow. Mrs. Conall has a whole jar in the back bedroom. So now, Ada’s sitting up through the night working to weave some lace for the veil of the dress that his ma insists on making for Corinne for free.

Ada loves his mom.

Ada does not love finicky lace.

The projector hums beside him as he works by its light, what little there is. It’s nighttime even there. He keeps his eyes down on his work instead of on the snowy scene painted across the wall in front of him, constantly switching between viewpoints overlaid with quiet analysis of the environmental conditions and how individual tributes are faring. He has the volume low enough that it barely registers over his work anymore. One of kids sits up all night, maintaining an ill-advised vigil in the cold. It’s a useless venture. Ada wonders when the girl will come to grips with that fact: before or after her frostbitten toes fall off. Either way, time wasted.

So much time wasted.

Ada’s fingers are cramping more and more the longer he sits, socked feet tapping soundlessly on the wood floor in a poor attempt to keep himself moving. He hasn’t danced in days, and everything is cramping. It’s put him on edge, being so still for days on end, but he’d been on edge for days before that. Reaping season no longer holds the fatal promise of a permanent relocation into an early grave, but it marks something all the same for Ada now. Before it had even started, Ada had thrown himself too hard in a fight and cracked a couple of ribs at the pit, sidelining him for a couple weeks. At least, he thinks they’re cracked. No one at the pit had stopped him to check when he’d left that night, and Ma doesn’t talk about his fighting anymore. Hasn’t since many years back when he’d stumbled home with two broken fingers, a missing nail, and a dislocated shoulder, after-

Well, after.

It’s hours later before Ada is finishing up a large section of the lace. He smooths it out in his lap as he leans back to stretch, eyes lifting to look at the wall. They’re taking a sweeping look over the High Peak just before dawn, the voices of the commentators growing more excited, but Ada can’t find it in himself to give meaning to their sounds. Instead, he stands and paces to the other side of the room to drape the lace for the veil over the top of the mannequin, tugging gently at an edge until it falls just right.

“Are you crying, Caesar?”

“You know, I think I am. And don’t deny the shimmer in your eyes either, Claudius.”

“I won’t. I think this sight is leaving very few dry eyes across the nation. What a sight to behold. So many familiar faces come back to say hello one more time.”

At those words, Ada feels like the snow has crossed from the arena and into his workspace, chilling him to the bone. The feeling clenches tight around his heart until he isn’t even cold anymore, just numb. He feels so numb when he turns around to look back at the projection.

Noah Ripley stares sightlessly back at him.

It’s been years. Stumbling forward, Ada rests trembling fingers against the warped wood of the wall where that familiar face is. Noah looks the same. He’s wearing that dumb uniform from his Games, the violently bright pink t-shirt and green shorts stained with blood and dirt. His mouth is set in an ugly frown, verging into sneering like it so often did. It’s his eyes that change the picture. They’re lifeless, cold as the ice he’s risen from, whereas Noah’s had been filled with a raging sea.

During all of their years together, Ada had never once seen Noah look lifeless. Not when Pen died, or Fitz, or Learna. He had never stopped fighting, never stopped throwing himself at the world with a reckless violence meant to bring peace to his anger. It never worked, and Ada had never seen him so devoid of life as he appeared to be on screen. No amount of hoping would ever bring Noah Ripley back to District Four; he was dead. Regardless, Ada can’t take his eyes off of him, filtering out the commentators words about Noah’s journey through the Games, his eventual death, and Pyrian Keeni’s quest to avenge him. None of it matters. For a moment, Ada could pretend Noah Ripley is right here.

Moments never last long.

The camera switches to fix on the headless body of another past tribute, purple and naked as the day he died, and Ada scratches at the wall desperately. Commentary floods past him, but all he can hear is crying. His fist make impact with the wall again and again until his knuckles are bloody, and his fingernails are jagged from scratching at the wood. Everything feels too heavy. The crying and screaming gets louder, but he doesn’t realize it’s his own voice begging the Capitol to bring Noah back until he sees his mother race into the room. She freezes in the doorway for only a moment before she makes her way to his collapsed body, drawing him into her arms as he continues to cry. After all this time, he still can’t help himself.

His best friend is gone, and Ada can’t do anything to bring Noah back home… but maybe he can make sure no one else feels the pain he does ever again.

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i had a dream
and when I woke up you were finally there
when I woke up you were finally there