tug of war | { mack/bella/dove } day six

  { we don't know how to pray
   we don't know what to say

"Let's not hate each other."

When she hugged him, he could have closed his eyes and sworn he was back on that fucking rooftop. He wished it was as simple as that: just closing his eyes and believing in something so much that when he opened them, his wish had come true.

But his eyes remained open, bloodshot, exhausted, terrified. Not of her. Mackenzie did not fear Bella and he did not have the will power in him to hate her. But he was terrified of what was to come. He was terrified of closing his eyes and opening them to see the world exactly as it was, crumbling and crashing and burning. All he could do was stare. There was an invisible question lingering in the air, hanging in the back of his throat and trying so desperately to escape through his clenched teeth, but he just stared.

Are we really going to do this?

There wasn't really any way out of it. If they tried to escape they'd end up stuck again, or there would be some sort of simulated accident designed to take them both out. Maybe that wouldn't have been as bad. Maybe if he could just outrun her for long enough, the arena could take her and his hands would be free of her blood. Maybe—

No wishful thinking,
he thought.

That was as good as a death certificate, wasn't it?

His gaze never faltered from Bella as she drew her weapon. He did the same, hesitation hanging on every kink of the veins in his hand. I shouldn't be doing this. It was an overwhelming, alarming thought, one that his morality would have typically forced him to listen to.

And then she struck, and he could tell she felt hollow. She was giving this arena everything plus her heart in the name of survival; he could only do the same.

"No heroes and villains, huh?"

He gritted his teeth, begging himself not to cry out in pain from the hole in his leg that Bella had caused. She would have hated herself too much for making him hurt; he didn't want that.

"Just the living and the dead."

His teeth felt like paper and his lips stuck together uncomfortably with every syllable. He hated the truth more than the lies he had told himself to get this far. But, Bella had the gumption to fight, and he had to match her bravery as best as he could no matter what the consequences were.

He would deal with those later, he decided, as he unsheathed a sword made of bone and aimed for the kill.

song: 'til the end

  { we don't know how to pray
   we don't know what to say

"The Capitol. Do you think they're having fun?"

Probably.

They were all sadistic and twisted like that. Gnarled roots winding themselves around the agony of others and leeching from them their very lives; proud trunks and vast, spreading limbs. Yeah, they were probably having a fucking blast and Mackenzie hated them for it. But he wouldn't show that; tears would just allow them to grow stronger.

"I think they are."

In one felled swoop, Bella mimicked his attack by nearly slicing his vest clean from his shoulders. Just an ounce harder, just an inch deeper, and it may have been his heart. Still the force of it was enough to leave what was left of his armor to dangle from his chest in ribbons, and it also knocked him forward and into her. He stumbled, catching himself on her hips before regaining his footing and returning to the battle stance the trainers in the Capitol had taught him.

He was a good warrior— good enough, at least. The dead he'd left in his wake could attest to that. But he was becoming so angry, blindingly so. He looked down at his hands and most of the time they were clenched into fists. He had to make it a point to stop clenching his jaw once he realized he was doing it, and he had probably already worn frown lines into his brow. He was a good warrior, but it was taking its toll on him.

"I don't care."

Let them cheer. Let them shout. Let them raise their hands in excitement and hide their eyes when it was too much. Let them laugh, or cry, groan in disappointment or sigh in mourning. He didn't fucking care.

He cared about his sister. He cared about his mother. He cared about Faline, and Wynter, and Ike, and even though Bella would've liked nothing more in that moment than to kill him, he cared about her too. But the Capitol? It didn't help him if he cared what they thought. Maybe before, when some matches or a piece of lunch meat could've meant the difference between life and death. But now? After all this time, and after everything they'd put him through? Caring what they thought would've meant he was broken and forever their puppet to control. They could condition the others however much they wanted; Mackenzie would never give them his soul.

"All I care about is seeing my family again."

That wasn't true; a bleeding heart could never limit itself to only a select few. But love was a crippling weakness and, though his heart yearned for him to tell the truth from where ever he had buried it within himself, he stood true to what he said. His eyes may have told on him, but he blinked away the truth just as quickly as it appeared, and then all he could see was Bella standing in front of him.

Did she care what they thought? Did she care what he thought? It was hard to remember that she was still a career, that she had been trained for situations exactly like these. Perhaps making Mackenzie feel safe that night on the roof had been the planted seed of the monstrous situation that was currently taking root around him. Maybe she had always planned to break him, from the moment he showed her where the chinks in his armor were located.

No.

He refused to accept that. She was just a girl. And she wanted to survive. They both did.

"Even if—" he cleared his throat; he hated this part.

"Even if it means you have to die."

song: 'til the end

  { we don't know how to pray
   we don't know what to say

His sword dug itself deep into her thigh and she hissed against the pain; he refused to let himself be sorry. He refused to resent himself for fighting against the forces trying to erase him from existence. I am still here, he thought, I still matter. Don't I?

Didn't he?

"I've nothing to live for but myself."

Her voice was haunting, either by aftermath of being stabbed or by admission of the truth. She had no one? She had nothing except herself? He found that too hard to imagine; her going home and moving in to her big house all alone. No one ever coming to visit, no one holding her hand when the nightmares came, or listening to her when she needed to release the thoughts trapped within her mind-- Bella was too good for that. She deserved so much better than that.

"Do you think, then, that I am a bad person?"

He hated how broken she sounded; had he caused her to be this way? Probably, in some fashion. Even if it was minuscule compared to things others had done to her, even if a lifetime of hardship and heartache had led to this moment, Mackenzie worried that he had contributed to the cracks in Belladonna Ruze's armor.

"No," he called in a moment of weakness. He was supposed to be breaking her. He was supposed to be finishing her. And his heart wasn't supposed to be miles within this cold, cold place. But he couldn't bring himself to let his friend die oblivious to how spectacular she was.

"It just makes you human, Bella. Fight or give up; live or die. You have a choice, and no one can take it away based on the reasoning behind it."

She struck; he should've seen it coming. It was his own fault for letting his guard down, and maybe Bella had been counting on it. Mackenzie half chuckled, half winced, watching as blood poured down his leg. He was giving his murderer a pep talk.

"You've made your choice. I've made mine."

Now, it came down to who wanted it more.

song: 'til the end