between ashes and roses | stella + ex

Another evening during the Games, another opportunity to get the scoop on which Capitolites wanted to sleep with the tributes. Other people referred to the evening galas as "fundraisers" and "sponsorship events", but Ex recognized them for exactly what they were: auction houses filled with the rich and lusty. As the Games dwindled, the liquor flowed and checkbooks opened ever deeper.

She loved to see it.

She'd lingered over the extravagant price-per-plate meal, touching a flute to her shimmery lips every few minutes but careful not to imbibe. As other flutes emptied, she didn't wait for the servers to tilt the champagne bottles. She simply grabbed them by the glass neck. When the wife of a obscenely wealthy news magnet protested, Ex pouted. "It isn't like they can just pop the cork back in, now can they?" She asked, her polished Capitol accent all innocence.

She hid the empty bottles underneath her chair as the woman sloppily bragged that they'd bet a good sum of money on the Hailsham boy, long before Crest had turned into a disappointment - long enough ago that the odds were still good. The rich got richer, and all Beck Hailsham would have to show for it was a care package, soaked by the rain.

Ex poured her another glass.

By nine o'clock the dinner was wrapping up, the live band blaring, people stumbling to the dance floor. She might have been able to squeeze another tidbit here or there, but it wasn't worth her time. She tucked her coded notes away, locked her phone, and slipped the server who had delivered bottle after bottle a hefty tip.

In the back of the limousine, the lights of the city playing over the dark windows, Ex sighed. She very conciously released Ex Oh Van Der Woodsen, reviled and exalted gossip wrangler, and breathed in Ex, beloved of Stella Blakesley, the single most extraordinary person she'd ever met - capable of surviving both the arena and life in the Capitol, and though both gave her pains, it seemed she resented neither. A wonder.

By the time Ex slipped her key into the door lock, she'd found her smile again. She shifted her clutch to her left hand, ready to grab Stella with her right. "Oh, honey!" She chimed, pushing the door aside. "I'm home!"

“Hi,” Stella breathed.

And she looked absolutely devastating.

Ex came to a halt, her black heels giving one solid click. An undyed brow beneath her mop of blonde hair arched skyward. She knew they did not have plans; their calendars had been in sync for years as they navigated the sticky red tape of a relationship between a Capitolite and a lower district Victor. And she never forgot plans, intentions, bits of conversations. It's why she was so very good at her job.

So this was something else.

A mystery.

Bubbles of nerves and hope raced up her spine. "You are gorgeous," she said, braving another step, and then paused. Gorgeous, but stiff. Her eyebrow came down slowly as Ex willed herself to patience. People wanted to tell their stories; one had only to afford them time.

And she wanted to know every story Stella would share with her. Every single one.

Stella smiled and Ex let her eyebrows drop a centimeter. “You’re not so looking bad yourself.” She mimed a kiss to her lover. There was something between them, beyond the hot coil that perpetually burned. A space held, mystery filling the emptiness until it became solid. She could almost reach out and touch the thing between them, if only she could name it.

But then Stella is kissing her and that mystery - the love, devotion, passion the District Twelve Victor has always reserved for her - is far more tantalizing. She lifts her hands to gentle edges of Stella Blakesley's face, fingers not quite cupping her jawline as Stella's hand lies on her chest. “I actually,” she begins, at the precipice of a waterfall.

The words fall in a rush, a deluge of feeling and history and intention. Ex is the rocks, worn smooth over the years, basking in the beauty and power of the water. There comes a point where their heartbeats twine, Ex's in her ribcage beneath Stella's palm, and Stella's in her neck beneath Ex's palm. She has let her hands relax a bit, bookending Stella's thin neck, as though to hold her up, hold her steady.

Then, suddenly, she is on one knee.

And there is no more mysterious space between them.

Ex Oh Van Der Woodsen knows.

She looks aside for a split second, just to identify the discarded clutch. It's on a sideboard, still in arm's reach.

Words cascade from Stella until they come to a sudden halt: “will you marry me?”

Ex Oh melts, every ligament relaxing, her knees and hips barely holding her upright. She wants to collapse into Stella's arms, into a weepy mess, but she knows such a serious question and such a great mystery deserves more. For a moment, relaxed, fingers combing back Stella's fluffy locks, she looks serene. Completely at ease, completely in the moment with the woman she loves.

"I promise I'm going to answer you," she says, very quietly, the promise filling up her whole mouth.

Then, Ex's infamous energy comes back with a vengeance.

She sighs, great and heaving, her legs starting to vibrate. "But Stella," she drawls, like the Victor had left a towel on the floor or a dirty dish in the sink. She reaches for the abandoned clutch with one delicate hand. The other she wraps around Stella's, effectively hiding the ring from view.

She can not do this with any further distractions.

So, as they have so often done for each other over the years, Ex switches roles. With Stella kneeled, blinking, Ex cedes the role of rock and becomes the waterfall. "There's so much more to be said. Not about me - although we can definitely keep talking about me later," she winks. "But about you, my brave, beautiful lover."

She fiddles, one-handed, with the clasp to her clutch. It is maddeningly unforgiving.

"You once claimed the darkness for your own," she went on, despite her struggle. Ex took great care to look deeply into Stella's eyes. "And I've borne witness to that burden, ever since the 78th. But Stella, you are so much more than that shadow. You are the light that defines the edges, the corona that crowns the black. You are more than all the stars in the sky."

For maybe in the first time in her life, her voice fails her. It is choked with the depth of her love, but also the truth of her words. There is no one in all of Panem who burns more brightly than Stella - than her Stella.

"I count every one of those stars that I am so lucky to love you, know you, cherish and honor you. And I - oh, reaping curse it, can you help me?"

A few tears sneak past her waterproof mascara as they both laugh. Ex shakes the confounded clutch for good measure, and waits until her fingers and Stella's move as one to finally free the clasp from its lock. The contents fall to the ground: her identification, a charge card, a few breath mints, and one heavy piece of metal and gem that pings, bounces, and rolls right into Stella's knee.

And then Ex is there, kneeling too, one hand scooping up the fallen ring and the other revealing the one Stella had presented her, moments before.

She does the same now, tears running freely, holding the ring she'd selected aloft. "Stella, I will marry you, with all of my heart. Will you have me, too?"