there is a light at the end | {beck/lysander/mackenzie}

“You look like you’re planning something.“

Mackenzie stared intrinsically at his younger companion. A cloud of smoke and two should-be-dead boys sitting on the window ledge of the seventh floor in the 5 am light. Beck had grown silent the second the nurses had called Mackenzie to let him know the new victor would be waking up soon. Which would’ve been fine, except Lysander Mae had killed a tribute from District Four, the district Beck was mentoring, and this was Beck’s first year as a mentor, and he’d asked to come along.

Mackenzie remembered what it had felt like his first time mentoring, how ragged with pleasure he was when Lex took the wealth, how big of a relief it was when Angel surrounded himself with allies, and how unsettlingly real it was when both of them had made it to the end. He remembered how angry Glamour Kinkade was, standing over his bed in the middle of the night making threats. He remembered how heartbroken and powerless he’d felt after that, all the way up until not one of his tributes, but both died. It wasn’t an easy way to feel; he knew that. But he also knew that everyone in every arena had at least one thing in common. It was always the same end goal: survive. By any means necessary. No one could fault Lysander for succeeding.

He glanced his own reflection in the fogged up window; he hated the Capitol version of himself, fur-collared and freshly shaven and seemingly whole. Someone could take one look at him and assume he was doing fine, and maybe he was for the most part, but losing innocent souls entrusted to your care, year after year, knowing if they perform poorly it’s because of you and knowing if they perform fantastically that they’ll just die sooner, it takes a toll on a person. Hellemine had only lasted a few days, and JJ had gone in fully knowing he’d never come out. And despite that this was his fifth year trying, Mackenzie Pryce hadn’t found a formula of success yet.

“Here,” he said, handing over a peace offering and hoping it would calm Beck down enough to deter him from whatever he’d decided to do or say. “You need it more than I do.“

With that, he stood, bounded over to the bathroom with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He grabbed a bottle of cologne and some gum, and brought each over to Beck after he’d gotten his own use out of them.

“Just try to remember,“ he said, his voice careful, “That a year ago, it was you waking up in that bed.“


Thirty minutes later and the boys found themselves in a waiting room; Mackenzie yawned, twiddling his thumbs until a nurse with a familiar face peaked her head out.

“Come on,” she said, and they did.

It had only been a few days, but Lysander Mae looked so unfairly complete. It was the Capitol version of herself, at least while she was still not fully conscious. Perfect skin, brushed hair, well-rested. She even looked like she’d gained back some of the weight she’d lost in the arena. Ah, but she had a tell. It was the same one they all had, the same reason Mackenzie avoided looking any of them directly in the face. When her eyes opened, they were somewhere far away, full of pain.

Victors always saw ghosts.

“You’re safe,” he said when she looked at him. It was technically only partially true: she would never be fully safe again. But she was as safe now as she would ever be again.

“It’s over.”