The Letter T(ea) // [Mace & Opal]

It doesn't hurt me.
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?
You, it's you and me.

He'd been careful. Even with the intimacy of their letters, he'd not dared to hope. Hope that one of his best friends had walked into the fire and found a phoenix resided where her heart had been. Hope that, after dusting the ash from her wings, she might be willing to fly back into the heart of darkness. Back to the gaudy frozen hell of the Capitol, for...

Well, he couldn't ask her for the sake of friendship. He hadn't asked Katelyn, and he wouldn't ask Opal.

Some years, he didn't even ask Saffron. And she was everything.

Each season without Saffron in the Capitol felt like a long, cold winter night. He put on layers of plaid, wool, leather. He kissed his children and wished the District Ten tributes well. But it was hollow, like the prayers that passed Ansgar Todd's lips. He could never summon the raw, hot heat that burned in Saffron's eyes. He could never care for them so effortlessly, so deeply. And because of that, he understood why sometimes he stayed away.

He'd never figured out how to thank her for coming, all the years that she made the journey.

Somewhere along the way it had become less contenious. It had taken a long time - years - for him to realize. In fact, it was one of Opal's letter that had shed some light. At some point, both he and Saffron had become less invested in the Games and more invested in the vast majority of their lives. A revelation. Then, as much as ever, he had wanted to hug her.

And here he was, at last, pulled in close by his best friend.

The chuckle on his lips quieted to a wide smile as he melted into her arms.

"I’ve missed you, Mace. It’s been a hell of a long time, my friend.”

He wrapped his hand around her good one, squeezed, and then carefully led her to one of the high-backed chairs. He pulled it out for her, still holding onto her delicate palm, then manuevered himself across the table. They sat, tethered, menus and a caraffe of milk and sugar bowl between them.

"Ain't no trouble," he said, reflexibly, fanning out the napkin. Then, thinking better of the etiquette (which his sister, the Mayor, had drilled into him) he levelled Opal with his grey eyes. "You are worth the wait."

He squeezed her hand one more time and then withdrew his hand into his lap, organizing the lazy sheet. "You'll have to do the orderin' for us," he said almost absently. One corner of the embroided doily just would not smoothe. "I ain't never been to tea like this before. So long as there's food I'm right as rain, as you know."

He finally settled for forcing his palm over the corner, grinding it into the top of his thigh. He looked at Opal, maybe a little strained around the eyes. "I brought somethin' for ya."

With his free hand, and a glance at the corner (coast clear), he flourished the letters he'd squirreled away in his satchel. "Some highlights from our correspondence. You reckon we could have ever predicted it'd be ten years between meetin'? I sure as hell could not."

A pause, hearing the words piercing the quiet air of the establishment. He dropped his voice. "But you know I understand."

And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
If I only could, oh


running up that hill
-placebo-

[dars]

It doesn't hurt me.
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?
You, it's you and me.

Mace listened to her order, nodding approvingly. Unless Opal had somehow come into an inheritance of appetite, they both knew who would be consuming the majority of the meal. When the server looked to him for any substitutions or additions, Mace just shook his head with a soft smile. Lavender and lemon scones sounded particularly delicious.

With that, they turned to the letters arrayed between them. A decade of correspondence, their one line of communication. He found himself oddly proud of them, not just of the echoes that Opal held in her possession, but of these: Opal's letters to him, written carefully, maybe even secretively. They had, despite the distance and the Capitol's interference, remained real friends.

"nd which might be your favourite ones?”

She reminded him of the tent. He nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I remember the old cans of garbanzo beans you fished outta your cupboard. I'd had to ask Reggie - beg pardon, Mayor Regalia - what that meant, and she teased me for a week that I didn't know they were, in our district, chickpeas." As he spoke, he fished that particular letter out and presented it to her.

"Suppose I've got fond memories of writing to you about Quinn's birth. And my grandkids, 'course. I liked, uhm," he pawed through the pile. "Here, this one. Yer talkin' about Ky's education and how he's comin' along. It ain't much, but at the same time, it's... it's life."

His brow furrowed, something not said. He shook his head slowly. "So much of these letters was just us livin'. I liked that."

When he met her gaze again, his grey eyes were ablaze. "Sometimes it don't feel like we're livin' at all, not after... everything." He stilled his shuffling hands, folding them over each other on the table. The clink of china warned him the server was returning with some of the morsels Opal had ordered. Mace sucked in a breath, and said all at once: "I've been thinkin', more and more, it's our duty to other victors to remind 'em why we're all here. For each other."

And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
If I only could, oh


running up that hill
-placebo-

[dars]