Nowhere To Run From Here {Jayne/Nico} {Train Thread}

I don't know about my dreaming anymore
All that I know is I'm falling,
falling, falling, falling.

There’s still something sharp rattling in his chest when he steps onto the train car.

He hadn’t ever thought about it, hadn’t thought about what exactly it would mean to leave behind the life that he had built for himself in District Twelve. For so long, it had been about survival, had been a matter of life or death each and every morning when he woke before dawn to turn his body into a weapon trained to kill. You’re finally going to avenge him, his mother whispered to him, reminding him of every night she would whisper tales of a murdered father being avenged by his son before she tucked him into bed.

He doesn’t remember when she started to fall apart, when a thirst for vengeance took over her soul and corrupted everything that was left behind; maybe it happened before he was even born; maybe it’s why he was born with it, this dark callousness that has served him so well in life. But then his mother had come to say goodbye, wrapped her slender arms around his waist and told him that this was the moment they had been waiting all his life for. The coolness of her hands pressed against his cheeks was still fresh on his skin when Reggie had walked through the door--this is the image that stays with him now, one of his past, of the people  he  is leaving  behind,  the  one  imagine  that rattles around in Nico’s head as he sits in the car on the way to the station, the one that makes him wonder if this was the right thing to do as he steps into the train car and sees the world that he has just been condemned to.

Nico had expected something that would disgust him.

But not even in his wildest dreams could he imagine this.

The sight of all that food just lying out made his stomach turn, made him remember every morning that he woke with pain so sharp he thought he might die, how he’d have to endure that feeling all through the day until he could get to the market and trade for something that might sate his hunger. The entire room is lit up, blinding and bright, and it makes him miss the candles that he had to live by.

Everything in this room makes Nico feel suffocated, makes him wish that he could be anywhere else in the world--preferably standing behind the shoulder of the man who killed his father, knife ready to slip between a pair of ribs. Instead he settles for staring at the trees, sinks into one of the many--too many--plush chairs at the edge of the room, as far from the food as he can get.

He has no intention of talking to his fellow tribute, not really. She seems soft, small.

A girl made of roses with none of the thorns.

Nico has no time for flowers.

When she breaks the silence, a part of Nico is glad that it’s with such foolishness. Nico will kill who he needs to, bleed dry anyone who stands between him and his vengeance, but he’ll enjoy none of it. “Am I--” he starts, and then scoffs, letting a wide grin settle across his cheeks. It’s ridiculous really, the kind of opening line that he wonders if she spent any time considering how she was going to talk to him before opening her mouth.

He thinks the answer must be no.

“Really? That’s what you want to open with?” He raises his eyebrows, looking at her skeptically before shaking his head and pushing out of the plush chair he’d sat down in earlier. The question makes him restless, reckless, wants to show her exactly who it is that she has been condemned to enter the arena with. He turns away from her, moving to survey the display of food. Carelessly, he plucks something fluffy and brown from one of the trays, with some kind of white stuff drizzled over top of it, and brings it to his nose. It’s so sickly sweet he almost vomits right there. “You hoping we’re going to be friends, then? Hold hands and have each others back until death do we part?”

song: the wilhelm scream
by james blake

I don't know about my dreaming anymore
All that I know is I'm falling,
falling, falling, falling.

He can't help but laugh.

For as long as Nico can remember, he has stared up at the stage where tributes are taken from his world and thrust into another, one not anymore cruel than the life that he had been forced to grow up in, but one far away, one so distant that he hadn't thought until recently he'd ever be a part of it. The one common thread through it all though, the string that tied all those memories together--he remembers the sight of the mayor standing up on that dais, preaching to his people about the ways the games bring us together, about the ways that there is honor in death and honor in life, and the games show us both.

It would seem that Jayne's parents taught her well.

The second that little excuse me slips past her little rosebud for a mouth, Nico knows exactly what he has gotten himself into, knows exactly how the coming days are going to make him want to rip her tongue out if not his own ear drums.

He knows about her, knows about the adopted little sister of the male tribute from last year.

Carter Laws.

Nico has little respect for those who get themselves killed.

The only death that has ever mattered in his life was the life that got taken before he was born, with a government-issued knife in his father's back and blood staining the cold dirt beneath him.

Nico realizes absently that he's still holding the golden brown thing in his head, the thing that smelled like too sweet cream and some kind of spice that he's never seen before. Sugary and brown swirled through it, the stuff on top leaving something sticky behind. You know, I was thinking I'd try to make friends with you at first. That line almost gets him, almost makes him stop pressing his lips together to hold back laughter. Having enemies isn't exactly the way to prevent yourself from being murdered in the arena. I suppose that doesn't really matter to you, though, she says, moving to stand before him finally, and the sight of it makes him smile, something reckless and restless stirring in his heart. The naivety on this girl, the fierce way she holds onto it and makes it her commandments, well--

Nico always did love a fight.

He chuckles, shakes his head and just lets her go on--
seems like she needs it more than he does anyways.

I don't want to hate anyone.

Nico finally stops biting his tongue.

"Oh really?" he replies, eyebrows raised in mock interest, his mouth a mocking smile. Without thinking about it too much, he lifts his hand with the baked good in it and tosses it across the room, lets it go sailing until it lands in the waste bin on the other side of the train car. A part of him feels sick with it, sick with all the waste. This train car was filled with more food than Nico thinks he's ever seen in a year, decorated lavishly in all dark velvet greens of some other world. "Daddy's little girl doesn't want to hate anyone?" He makes a mock pout at her before turning away again. She might be doing everything in her seemingly small power to get in his face, to challenge him with words she thinks will intimidate him, but Nico stopped being intimidated by privilege a decade ago. Now all he wants is to stomp it out. "I've got no intention of staying quiet, Jayne," he says, using her first name for the first time.

He takes a step away from her, then two, moving around to the other side of the table to look at all the other things that make his stomach turn.

"You're right that it's no secret people won't be afraid to kill strangers in the arena," he inhales deeply, bending down to look at the bottom tray of a tall pyramids silver platters, sandwiches decorating each and every layer. He thinks the bottom ones are different from the layer above, and same and so on as they go up. He wonders about the people that had to prepare all of this, would bet his life that their life isn't half so lush as they people they are forced to serve. "And I know exactly what that means for me."

He stands straight, finally looking her in the eyes, not smiling or laughing or mocking any more.

"You're mistake is thinking I have any interest
in you being something else."

song: the wilhelm scream
by james blake