A/N: Just felt like playing with my own story. Robbingjay is on its way. I just need time at the moment.
Nathan Ford is not a happy man. He hadn't been a happy man for a very long time. He was a champion, a victor of the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games. It was an impressive feat and not for the reasons anyone would expect. He remembered it. He still had nightmares about it all.
He raced through the woods as fast as he could. He was going downhill but that made no difference. He was still going to be too late. Thresh, the tribute for District Eleven, had his spear aimed perfectly. His aim was perfect. He would kill Sophie Devereaux in no time flat, but Maggie ran towards her. The spear was thrown and both girls disappeared.
He was in shock. He knows that now. That's why he took so long to realize what happened.
He arrived too late. The girls were at the bottom of the tiny cliff. Maggie's blonde locks were filled with leaves and underbrush. She had red smears on her cheeks. He actually thought she was the one bleeding. There was red all around her clothing. Then he saw Sophie and everything just stopped.
He registered the sigh of pain that escaped from her lips. He couldn't understand a thing Maggie said. He could only see Sophie and her poor, broken body. The spear jutted out at such an odd angle. He thought that was good. They could fix that.
"Nate," Sophie choked.
He shook his head, ignoring the prickle in his eyes. A lone finger fell to her lips. He brushed the hair away from her eyes. There was blood on the corner of her mouth. That made him all the more determined. He picked up her knife and started sawing away at the obtrusion. Sophie screamed.
"No, Nate!" Maggie screamed, "Don't do that. That only makes it worse!"
He thought about ignoring her. Sophie needed their help. The only way for them to succeed would be for him to get the spear out. If he pulled it out it would cause more damage. They had to cut it away and work slowly. Sophie would bleed to death if they didn't.
"I-I'm dying, Nate," Sophie sighed.
He was very unhappy with that answer. He threw the knife in his hand and glared at her. He picked her up by the shoulders and shook her in his anger. Then he remembered the spear in her stomach and felt sick.
"You're not dying!" He growled.
He didn't know how she did it. She was far too pale, far too much in pain to ever function properly. But a hand rose towards his face anyway. Her delicate little fingers traced his jaw, his cheek, his lips. He closed his eyes reflexively at the touch. He kissed her thumb out of fear he would never feel her again. His eyes opened and found nothing but brown.
"Win," she ordered softly.
He didn't know what Maggie said. He felt the vibrations of her teary voice in his chest, but he couldn't hear. He could only feel and see. He felt Sophie's life ebbing away. He saw it in the way her eyes kept growing duller with every stretched breath. It was merely impulse driving him after that. His hands felt the velvety skin of her cheeks. Then his lips were on hers, selfishly swallowing any breath she had left. He knew the very moment she died and still couldn't detach himself from her. He couldn't even move when the hovercraft blades began to sound.
He didn't remember much after that. There was an announcement and pain. Maggie kissed him once, twice, many times in that stupid cave of theirs. He let her too. He even managed to kiss back upon occasion. The viewers of Panem called it "falling in love." He just didn't want to be alone. Then he and Maggie were the only two left. They were of the same district. They'd won.
"The rule of the previous is revoked. May the odds be ever in your favor."
He didn't care. He wasn't nearly as upset over the idea of dying as Maggie was. He wanted her to live. Even his promise to Parker didn't matter anymore. He just wanted this Hell to be over. But he didn't want the Capital to win. They promised Maggie that both of them would leave. She did everything in her power to make certain they both made it out of the arena. President Snow was allowed many things, but he wasn't allowed to lie to Maggie.
So he proposed an idea. It wasn't a kind idea either. It was a lesson they both learned not too long ago. Maggie tried to find some plants for them to eat. He was left alone. He found berries that looked edible. He figured he'd surprise Maggie with them. He gathered them up in his pack, not even noticing the pair of hands sneaking in for food. Then a cannon sounded and he learned the truth. The blue berries were bad.
He held the berries in his hands and presented them to her. Maggie remembered what they did. She looked surprised but she smiled anyway. Their fingers laced as they halved the deadly berries. They raised them to their lips, Nate even darted out his tongue to taste the ecstasy of sweet death's embrace. But the announcement was made that they had won and Maggie would have killed him if he swallowed the berries now.
The rest of his life was a blur. President Snow threatened Maggie. Jimmy and Haymitch told him the truth about the victors. He wound up fighting in the arena again, by Maggie's side. A whole lifetime passed him by as he pretended to fall deeper in love with the Baker's daughter from the Seam. He even convinced himself he loved her once.
He must have. He was sure of it. There was a time when he was almost happy. His thoughts were never far from Sophie, even when Maggie was the Mockingjay and they won the rebellion. Sam was the only one who actually woke him from his reveries. Then his little boy soon died too, taking his love with him.
Drink was his solace now. He drank daily, weekly, monthly. He was aware that it was a problem. He's just apathetic to Maggie's pleadings. Eliot's scowls don't matter. Hardison's sadness stings his cares away. Parker died during the war; Coin made certain of it because Maggie cared for her too. His father didn't even make it to the battle. He was tortured and killed before the rebellion even had a chance to properly get started.
He has nothing left to live for, but he can't quite convince his body to stop working.
"Drinking again, I see."
Nate smiles for the first time all week. He'd spent the last two hours wondering if she would show up. Maybe that was why he was still alive. He loved it when she showed up. He sometimes loved it far too much.
"Hello, Sophie," he says, staring at his beloved hallucination in amazement.
He's often wondered what she'd have looked like if she had the chance to live. The vision rarely changed. She only had more meat on her bones. She still looked strong, fearless. Muscles rippled throughout her body, sleek as runners' bodies tended to be. Her jaw grew stiffer as Maggie's had, but her eyes always softened when he was around. Her hair still rippled in brown curls. She always had that million watt smile on her features.
"It's been a while," he says.
"Well," she shrugs, "It's your head. I only come when summoned. You should work on that."
It probably wasn't a good thing that he made a mental note to do just that.
"It's Sam's birthday," he explains, "You know how I get on his birthday."
"Like you need an excuse."
"Sophie…"
"Do you remember what I told you the day I died?" Her face fills with concern and he immediately remembers her words. He can still feel her blood in his fingers. He can still taste the copper on his tongue. He'd never before felt so alive as he did when he stole away her very last breath.
"Win," he coughs.
"Right," she nods. She was satisfied with that answer. That isn't good. She is about to call him on something he didn't even know he did wrong. Or maybe he does know; he just enjoys it when she was the one telling him.
"Nate, what are you doing?" She hisses her features suddenly scowling and ready to kill.
"Drinking," he replies.
He's irrationally angry. This is his hallucination. He could curb the conversation whenever he wants. But why couldn't she understand his pain? That was her job! She was his subconscious. She knew him better than anyone. She knew how to stop him from doing this. That was why she was here after all.
"Do you even know why you're drinking?"
Of course he didn't. He knew that at least. He remembered it started as a way of chasing away the memories. He understood Jimmy better and his father made certain there were always enough spirits in the house. But then the Quarter Quell was announced and he had to start training. He didn't miss it when he was being tortured. They gave him plenty of other things to keep his mind occupied. It wasn't until he'd finally lost Sam that he couldn't stay sober anymore. At least with Snow he held Sophie again.
"Does Maggie know?"
That was the one to set him off. His ex-wife was off limits. That was one of the rules. So far, she'd broken two. Maggie was the last straw.
"What business is it of yours?" He yells, "I'm drunk! Why does it matter? I like drinking. It gives me something to do other than picture the way things used to be!"
"It seems to me you picture the old days far more often when you drink!" Sophie replies.
He wishes she was real. He could hit her for that. He could smack her on the cheek and get the lovely satisfaction of watching her fly across the room. He could even picture choking her. He'd love to feel the velvet of her skin in his hands again. Instead he settles for squeezing the neck of the glass instead. The effect only reminds him of the truth he's trying to avoid.
"You're dead. Why do you care?"
It doesn't just burn her to hear that. He wants to apologize immediately but his brain has finally caught up with the rest of him. She's dead. It's the one fact that has always haunted him most. He knows why too. His brain can't figure out the puzzle. He's always thinking about it. He drinks in hopes of somehow discovering the truth. He still can't stop tasting her lips.
"You still can't figure it out," she says.
She says it as though she's always known. There's disappointment on her features. She even looks mildly sad. She wants to comfort him and he wants her comfort. He wants her arms to wrap around him and promise him that Snow's no longer there to haunt him anymore. He wants her to whisper in his ear and promise to be there every step of the way. He wants to feel more than her dying breath in his lungs.
"I loved you," he decides, "I must have. That's the only explanation I can come up with."
She looks far less relieved than he expected. If anything the best description for the look on her face would be pain. He understands that. It's what he's felt for years, decades since this whole mess began. He often wonders why her. He thinks it happened before Maggie. He thinks it started in training when she sat with them and decided they were the allies she wanted, that he was what she wanted. He knows it happened before she told him to win, before she died and he became numb.
"It wasn't love, Nate," she says. Her voice is soft, lulling in effect. He feels his eyes close at the gently sound she makes. A small smile begins to stretch itself upon his lips. He can almost feel her hand whisking away a stray hair.
"We never got the chance for that."