three ; for aspen

Have you ever tried to keep something other than yourself alive?

Have you considered every option, exhausted every connection, moved far beyond every limit you thought you had? Not for you, not for your own selfish survival, no. For another. For an innocent.

For a child.


No?


It isn't easy.


"He's done it again!" the voice of Crescent Caroul makes him grind his teeth. What time is it? Appropriate enough that they'll excuse him for being so far away from sober?

He checks his watch.

Nope.

The crowds reach for him over the barricade, flash of the cameras blind him into submission- he knows this game. He'd know it sleeping. He'll know it dead. The best part of the crowd is that it drowns out the red carpet hostess's voice. He can recall several encounters with this one in particular- can't recall too many he enjoyed. She's all about the uncomfortable, asking questions that purposefully get a rise, which unfortunately means she gets a lot of views, and a lot of work as a result.

He tries to drown her out as she went on preaching about his statistics as a mentor. His failings as a mentor. Something about this being the third appearance from District Seven in a finale. Something about Seven getting six top eight placements under Mackenzie's leadership.

Something about not getting a single tribute out alive.

"Mackenzie, please!" she's a small thing, but not fearful. She has already shoved her way right up to the ropes, microphone stretched over and eyes wide as she tries desperately to get a comment. He doesn't give one. Just keeps walking inside, keeps ignoring all of their voices, keeps dreading the next day. Because he wants Aspen Peake to have a chance.

She deserves one.

Reece did too. Hell, all of them did. But she's still alive, and she's so close, and Mackenzie knows it takes one last swing and then it is all over and done with but then there is this: he hasn't ever brought a single one of them home.

Every tried to keep something other than yourself alive?

Mackenzie has. And he fucking sucks at it.

"Get Salazar on the phone again," he says once inside. He doesn't bother to raise his gaze up high enough to meet Jacquelyn's, but he knows she is waiting for a 'please' she won't be receiving. Because Aspen Peake is still alive. And the next twenty-four hours are crucial to her continued survival. This late in the game, every single penny counts.

And after the fight she just had, she needs help.

"See if the fundraiser has reached its new goal. If not, call an emergency banquet tonight. Make sure Crowe family is invited."

She's close to being done and she's grown so much in that arena- too much. Too many unfair things, too many heartbreaks. She's been asked to be older than she is: an adult, a killer, a fighter. More than a girl. More than a child.

Maybe he's being selfish. Maybe her survival is what is supposed to save his ever-fucking-evolving relationship. Maybe if he figures out the recipe to success now, he'll be able to use it again if, god forbid, his own daughter ends up in this situation. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

And hope- that's the most dangerous thing. He doesn't care, he can't. He hopes for her to come back. He hopes for her to live. Fuck it: He hopes for it all. He dares to and he fears what comes next because of it. The after, you see, that's what makes hope dangerous. The realization that it didn't work when it could have. It's the same moment you gotta accept that you didn't fail because it was impossible. You failed because you fucked it up. You didn't take that swing. You didn't step right. You didn't score high enough in the private training session to get automatic sponsorship benefits. You didn't, you didn't, you didn't-

The list of didn't. That's what makes hope so lethal.

x

There are only moments left.

He hopes, sitting in the den of the 7th floor, fingers pressed firm against chattering teeth and tense eyes.

He hopes.

"Come on, Aspen."

He hopes, her spear ripping through the boy's throat so violently that the microphones pick up the squelching noise it makes when she pulls it out.

He hopes.

"Come on!"

He hopes as she screams because she's not done yet, and she could still survive.

He hopes.

He hopes.

He hopes.

He-

hoped.

"Told you I'd bring you the sun."

Her cannon cracks him in the chest like a bullet, and something that should feel the impact isn't. He is an absence. A void.

Violet looks up to meet the broken man she calls her father in the eyes, and he cannot return her expression.

He hoped. And she died. And now. And now-

"Daddy?"








He takes a drink of whiskey, stands with a dazed look on his face for a moment. And then he does what Mackenzie does best. He retreats, hides away to a place no one can find him. He barely motions for Jacquelyn to look after his daughter as he flees the room.