satisfaction | jb standalone

Claudio thinks, after all has been said and done, that his mother might not be pleased with him.

His head stays bowed as he sits inside a small room in the Justice Building, mussed-up hair falling unevenly across his forehead in dark swirls. All the gel he’d used to style it that morning hadn’t held up against the Peacekeepers who had wrangled him down the aisle of waiting spectators and onto the stage. There had been a yell- his own, sisters', his mother’s?- in the ensuing chaos, but he’s having a hard time piecing together those few short moments as he tries to look back on them with clearer eyes.

It’s all a bit of a blur.

Wringing his hands together, Claudio stands from the couch and paces in measured steps, toe to heel to toe. With a sigh, he drops his hands to shake out his arms and tilts his head back, the column of his throat stretched until he feels as if he could separate his own head from his body with ease.

Mother surely could.

He stops his movement at the thought, a irritated rumble in his chest as he shuts his eyes tight enough to see stars. Without thinking, his hands curl into tight fists, skin taut across his shaking bones. Why did it matter so much, what mother could and couldn’t do, how she would or wouldn’t feel about what had happened? Opening his eyes, he twists quickly to strike at the wall beside him, pulling his punch just enough so that he doesn’t break his own damn knuckles. It's the last thing he needs before being thrust into the arena.

Ripred, he was about to-

The door opens with a click and shuts with a bang, and Claudio’s not sure if he can handle his mother’s scolding. He half-turns, catching only a glimpse of impossibly dark long hair, far darker than his mother’s, before he’s shoved headlong into the wall.

“What is wrong with you? Are you trying to make us all look like idiots?”

Helena is no better than his mother.

Her hands curl around the collar of his shirt and wrench him backwards. Rather than fight it, Claudio lets his sister rag-doll him around for a moment while she continues to berate him, voice high and tight as she gives him a shake so hard that he wonders when, not if, his shirt will rip. It's easier this way, and isn't that a sad thought? Claudio lets his sister yell at him and thanks whatever powers that may be that she doesn't cry and hold him tight, whispered pleas for his survival falling on fear-hollowed ears. Instead, she wipes the floor with him.

"You're lucky you're going into the Games right now, Dio, because if you weren't I would murder you myself after that fucking stunt you pulled. I can't believe you-"

The sound of stitches tearing in a neat line catches the air, and Claudio rolls his eyes as his sister keeps railing into him. He finally flaps a hand up to dislodge her, fingering the hole tucked under the collar of his shirt.

"Ah, Helena, seriously? This is one of my best shirts," he complains, tone carelessly light as he side-steps her to walk to a mirror mounted on the side wall. His own face stares back at him, eyes blinking lazily in the reflection, lips tugged into a light frown as he inspects the tear. The momentary calm feels strange against his skin, in his bones, and Claudio is surprised by how even his expression stays in the face of his world tilting on its axis. Behind him, the door opens slowly to reveal Garrison, pale as a sheet, just before Helena starts in on him again.

"Your shirt? You're worried about your shirt? I could throttle you. How could you-"

He can see Garrison's face catch, pitching into a tight frown, before the door slams closed with a resounding noise. Evidently, Helena hadn't even heard him come in in her unrivaled fury. She nearly jumps clear through the ceiling as their older brother storms forward to cut her off.

"And what good are you doing? Yelling at our brother before he's meant to be sent to his death?"

Ouch. Thanks for that.

With a huff, Claudio rolls his eyes and spins on his heel to face his brother with an unimpressed look. "Glad to know I have your vote of confidence in my survival."

In all his years, he's not sure he's ever seen his brother look so angry. Garrison is a force to be reckoned with when he's training, but his heart is never in it. It never has been. But now? His face blooms into a splotchy red, eyes wild and glassy as he steps forward to prod a finger at the center of Claudio's chest, just one finger, but enough force behind it to unbalance him a little.

"You're the one who fucking ran from the Peacekeepers!" Garrison shouts, giving him another shove until he's backed into the mirror with a jolt. He's not sure how many more times he can roll his eyes before they're going to fall out of his head. The tension under his skin is making him itch, and he can feel himself stretching thin under his siblings' attention, under their criticism. That, and he's getting a little tired of everyone man-handling him today.

Claudio lifts his hands to Garrison's chest and shoves, muscles straining at the sudden, forceful movement. It's satisfying to watch his brother stumble backwards at the unexpected move, flapping a hand out for support and finding it in Helena. For a moment, Claudio just wants for everyone to shut up, for everyone to leave him alone so he can figure out how to move forward, and he finds himself speaking words he knows will sting for years to come before he can shutter himself back behind a cool facade.

"Yeah, and you sure as hell didn't stop me, did you?" he growls, voice thick with thinly veiled meaning. His fists clench painfully at his sides, knuckles cracking at the strain, as he takes a striding step forward to leverage his height a little closer to Garrison. It's satisfying to see Garrison's face flicker in confusion before desperate, horrified loss floods the plain. If only in that moment, Claudio wants it to hurt.

The shout in the silence of the Reaping had maybe been his, or his sisters', or his mother's, but it certainly hadn't been Garrison's. If it had, Claudio wouldn't be waiting to get carted away.

"I had time," he hisses, voice going quiet as he takes another step forward to force his brother's retreat. He knows then, even as he relishes in making sure Garrison knows his role in everything that is to come, that he will regret this. It doesn't stop him all the same. "I had time, Garrison. I had time."

There is a quiet then that settles around the three of them. It's cold in a way Claudio has never known his family to be, but he cannot bring himself to apologize, nor forgive. In the end, neither can they.

Without a word, Garrison starts for the door. He hesitates once it is open, hand curled tight across the doorframe as he wavers on the threshold to look back over his shoulder. At the sight of his brother crying, Claudio can do nothing but look down to his feet, shoulders slumping a fraction as he hears feet shuffle away. A hand cards through his hair, and his sister's face dips into his line of sight for just a moment as she stretches up on her toes to kiss his forehead. After that, she doesn't pause, doesn't look back as Garrison had, but Helena does get in one last parting shot that makes Claudio want to curl in on himself and scream until his throat shreds open. It's cruel, but he supposes he deserves it.

"Mother isn't coming. Make us proud."

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