Beetee

I've been waiting for hours by the time they finally let me in to see Wiress. They said she was hysterical, so she's been heavily sedated, even past what they used for her surgeries. When they let me in, she's been cleaned up, no tubes, she just looks asleep. I pull a chair over to the bedside. "Wire, if you can hear me, it's Beetee. I'm here, love." I feel silly talking to someone comatose, but it's supposed to be helpful. I really want her to open her eyes, give me proof that she isn't dead. I keep worrying that this is a dream and I will wake up in the control area with the other mentors, watching Wiress be torn apart. I lean my elbows on the bed and jam my hands over my eyes, trying to block out the bad images. I've imagined a million deaths for her. After my parents died, she forced her way into my life. She was no longer just Nikola's little sister, she became my confidante, and a friend in her own right. As much as she helped me, she also gave me one more thing to worry about. Another loved one for them to hurt. I used to have plenty of nightmares where the Capitol got her and Nikola. When nothing happened, I hoped that we were free. Of course we weren't. The Capitol was just waiting.

I sit up in my chair, ready to talk to Wiress again, only to find her watching me. "You're awake," I say, stupidly.

"I lived, Beetee. I'm still alive. Aren't I?" She seems a bit confused. The hospital is bleak looking, and I doubt she has any idea how she got here.

"Alive and safe, livewire." I hold her hand in mine. "Just like you promised." This seems to reassure her enough that she closes her eyes again, and falls asleep. It's natural sleep this time, though. I press the button that calls the nurse.

It's pretty cruel to force tributes out of the hospital as quickly as possible so they can get back into the limelight. Of course, cruel is means very little when you compare it to the bloody deaths of twenty three children every year. Wiress is by no means mentally stable enough to get on stage and watch the recap, but we have no choice. I know how it important it is to please the Capitol. I wish I could be on stage with her. Instead, mentors and stylists are in a special section where the camera can easily pan to us for reaction shots. I expect they will be very interested in me, if they continue trying to force a romance. I'm very glad that we never said anything out loud. There's nothing between us, just the promise that someday there might be.

These were really bloody games. We all commented on it at the time, but it's so much worse when condensed into three hours. Wiress is uncomfortable in every way, the team has decided to try to make her look more sophisticated, she's in a seductively slinky dress, and she has to sit awkwardly so it doesn't ride up. Her face is angled at the screen, but I don't think she's actually watching. Her eyes are blank, the way they look when she's miles away inside her own head. I bet she'll have a new project idea at the end of this. I wish I could transport myself away, too. The clips include every single death, and there weren't any that were pretty. No one froze, or even starved this year. Everyone was crushed or gutted or stabbed. And Wiress got the most kills in this game. More than any career, and actually more than how many the careers as a group took out. I'm not sure if even Wiress knew which kills were hers, So many traps were ignored for days before they sprang on someone unprepared. They make a fuss over Wiress whispering my name when she receives her sponsor gift. Of course I'm the one who sent it to her, I'm her mentor. It's a silly distortion of the facts, but I hate how close they've come to the truth anyway.

The second the recaps end and I'm allowed to move, I race backstage to find her. She's standing there, lost and alone. The slinky dress is even more ridiculous looking on someone that scared and wide eyed. I pull her into my arms. "You did well, Wiress. One more day, that's all" Except then there's the victory tour, and then mentoring and the rest of your life owned by the Capitol. That's all. She's shaking, and I hold her tighter and kiss her hair.

The styling team finds us and we get back home. Wiress is completely 'absent', not the distracted that I'm used to. I make hot chocolate and bring it with us to her room. There are deep plush chairs by the window, perfect for a personal chat. "I need to change. I need to get out of this horrible thing." She sounds robotic, but she can handle finding clothes and she disappears into the bathroom, so she must be somewhat alright. I look down to find that my hands have been clenched into fists so tightly that there are grooves in my palm from my nails.

Wiress emerges from the bathroom looking more herself. The heavy makeup has been scrubbed away, and the leggings with a tunic are similar to what she often wears around her house. She sits on the loveseat, and chews her lip. "Please sit with me?"

I move to the loveseat. I will always be there for her, be her best friend, but I have no idea where we stand as a man and a woman. I don't know what we plan on acknowledging and what we plan on ignoring. I know I love her. I had just thought there was time. I thought we could reach her nineteenth birthday with a sigh of relief for not being reaped, and I could broach the subject slowly. I never intended to be a pervert lusting after a sixteen year old girl. Sure, there's nothing actually wrong with it, she's considered an adult by Panem, past the age of consent. But there's legal-wrong and there's being a good person. Some of the thoughts I think about her make me think I'm not that good of a person. The amount of skin to skin contact this loveseat forces me into makes me uncomfortable. I think she notices my hesitation and worry, because her eyes get very sad. "Do you hate me now?" she asks quietly.

"Not even a little bit." I turn in the couch to face her. This way I can look her in the eyes, hold her hand, and solve the body contact problem, all in one. "I'm not sure exactly what you're asking about, but I can tell you that I'm proud of your behavior in the Games. You were a survivor and you fought. You made it out." You made it out to me, for me, I leave unspoken.

"I killed." Her eyes fill up with tears. This is actually a good sign. She's not blank and empty anymore. "I killed a lot of people, Bee." She takes some shaky deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. "They were not pretty kills." They definitely were not. But they were necessary kills, and they weren't barbaric. She did what she had to do, and you should never regret surviving. Those are all things I plan to tell her when she is more capable of listening. For now, I just tell her I don't hate her, and I let her cry. When the tears are done, and all that's left are big sobs that gulp air, I bring her some water. She takes it tentatively, "This is water?"

"Yes, is something wrong? There are juices if you prefer…" She waves off my question.

"Just water" she murmurs to herself. "Clear, fresh water." She ends up closing her eyes before she takes a sip. She seems relieved. "It is water. Good."

I'm silent. This deserves an explanation. She sees me and tries to shrug it off. When I still don't speak, she says, "It looked like blood for a moment there. Like there was blood in the water. But there wasn't. That's all. It's fine."

She leans against me, on the loveseat. I'm past the point of caring about us touching, we're both getting so much comfort from it, it can't be bad. "I see blood a lot. Where I know there isn't blood. I try to ignore it."

I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry, so I take a sip of her water. "I hear screams sometimes. When I'm about to fall asleep. I hear the screams of the boys I electrocuted, and I know I won't be able to get any sleep that night."

"So I'm not crazy?" Wiress leans her back against my chest. It feels so natural, her head tucking right under my chin, my arms sliding around her shoulders.

"Just traumatized, Wire. You've been through a lot." I realize I've started gently stroking her arm without meaning to. She sighs, and sounds restful, so I keep doing it. I've started thinking that I would do anything for this girl.

Wiress snuggles slightly, resting further back against me. "You're the only thing I'm sure of anymore, Beetee," she says sadly. I stop stroking in order to hold her tight, tight so she feels safe and secure.

"I'll always be here for you."

She nods. "But also, I know how I feel about you. I know that has nothing to do with the Games."

I'm so glad that she's facing the other way at this moment. I am so glad that she can't see how close to tears I am. I don't know what to say in response, all the possibilities are still running through my head when she moves slightly, and I see that she's asleep. I sit there for a while before I lift her into her bed and leave.

The next day is the interview, and I really hope this goes well. We've prepped and practiced some likely questions all day, and I think she has enough noncommittal phrases in her arsenal that she can handle it without breaking down. There's a buzz on my intercom. It's Wiress' stylist, Fisk. "Beetee, can you talk some sense into this girl? She listens to you."

His attitude is tempered by affection for Wiress, so I skip scolding him and just ask. "What's the problem?"

"Just come down and talk to her. Please."

I sigh and head down. Everything is in chaos down here, lots of people running around with all sorts of crazy things, it's hard to believe that the show is two people in chairs, with no set. I rap my knuckles on the dressing room door. "Finally!" Fisk opens the door dramatically. "She hates her outfit. Refuses to wear it!"

"Then don't make her, easy solution." He gasps and looks affronted. Fine. I'll try to talk to her, I guess. Wiress is on a stool in front of a mirror, a long rack of dresses in front of her. She has her jaw set stubbornly, and seeing me doesn't change her expression. I raise my eyebrow, and she raises the dress, what there is of it. It's backless and so low as to practically be frontless. Short. Not much on the sides, either. "She's not wearing it, Fisk." Her face relaxes.

"I'm fine with other stuff here," she says softly. "I like the grey one."

"That's for a younger girl," Fisk tells us. "Someone more innocent and childlike. That's not the angle we're taking with you."

"I'd really like to try it on." Wiress pleads. I slip out while they negotiate. Wiress is already worried that the Games have changed her irreparably, there's no reason why they need to make it worse by dressing her up like a doll instead of as herself. It's maddening. I join Elisa in our seats, and wait for the show to begin.

Caesar Flickerman walks out first, waving and blowing kisses. The man doesn't seem to age, but who can actually tell under all that makeup? He's going with a pink theme right now. He introduces Wiress, and out she walks, taking my breath away. She won the argument, apparently, she got to wear the grey dress. It looks amazing while still looking like her. There's a poufy skirt and it emphasizes just how delicate boned she is. Wiress waves and gives a small smile, just like we practiced. Not proud or arrogant, but not scared and timid, either.

A lot of time is spent on Wiress's traps, and she's brilliant at talking about them. Her love for her work shines through, and the audience likes her, even though I doubt they understand her. Closer to the end, Caesar brings up our non-romance. "Last time you were on this stage, you had no comment about a possible romance with your mentor, Beetee Tesla." The audience hoots. "Well, now that there's a future ahead of you, do you have anything to say?"

I keep my face passive, sure that it's being projected on one of the big screens. "Of course I'm very close to Beetee," Wiress says calmly. "We've been friends forever. So I think some people were upset that he was my mentor and thought he prepared me, so they started rumors. But we never prepared before the reaping. I was very surprised to be reaped." That's right, livewire, turn it into a different scandal. Make them talk about something else. She does really well, so much so that I allow myself a moment's distraction at how beautiful she looks in that dress, her hair in soft curls, a smile on her face. She really is absolutely lovely. The rest of the interview is meaningless chitchat, and Wiress has prepared meaningless answers. What she likes about the Capitol, what she misses from home, what she looks forward to on the victory tour. We stressed the importance of keeping everything short. If she can get through a short sentence without drifting off, Caesar can fill in the chatter.

I don't run backstage this time, I saunter back after I know the prep team has reached her. I want her to have her moment of glory with Fisk, want him to have to say her dress choice was right. When I arrive, Wiress spots me and gently pushes past everyone to get to me. Her eyes are bright and eager. "How did I do?"

"Perfectly. As I expected." We're called over for a group picture. The styling team crowds a bit, trying to fit into the frame, and I place my hand on Wiress' lower back so we don't stumble. I hope the contact doesn't give me a goofy smile on my face. I am trying very hard to be serious. Afterwards, Wiress keeps her eyes on me, as if expecting me to say something more. We walk back to the elevators together, my hands in my pockets. She's not sure what to do with her hands, keeps clasping and unclasping them.

"Did you see my necklace?" I hadn't, but now, close up, I see the key to my workshop dangling from her neck on a delicate chain. I expect that it's going to be the latest fashion craze in the Capitol, along with the sloganed shirts they've already been selling. These games will have a lot of popular merchandise. They really like the bloody ones. I stall my response by stepping on the elevator.

"It's your token, of course you wore it."

She exhales a frustrated puff of air. "I wore it because it's from you."

I don't think I'm physically capable of having this conversation right now. I stare at the floor numbers, willing them to go faster. We only need to get to three. When the doors open, she blocks my path. I'm stuck in the elevator doors with them 'ping'-ing angrily at their inability to close. "You aren't allowed to ignore me, Tesla. I'm in your life now, so you're going to have to talk to me sometime."

I close my eyes. "Yeah." She moves out of the way, and I lead her to my room. We are not having this conversation in a public room. I close the door behind us, and face her. It's not fair that she's still wearing that dress and looking perfect. I like this suit, but I don't think I'm turning any heads, and I very much want her head to turn. Wiress crosses her arms and waits for me to speak. "Okay, well, you kissed me in a moment of great stress. It was a very nice kiss, but I understand it didn't mean anything. Don't worry about it."

She keeps her arms crossed. 'That's how you want to play it? Just in the moment?" She sounds like she's disgusted with me, and I hate that.

"No." My voice is quiet, and I'm not sure, at first, if she's heard me. When I open my eyes, she's dropped her arms, and her face looks vulnerable. Like she's been allowed to hope. "No. You know how I feel."

She puts her hands to her face. "No, I don't! I only have…" She drifts off, and I think I might be off the hook, but she has the crease on her forehead that shows she's concentrating hard to keep her brain on one thought. "…an idea of our things unsaid. I know how I feel, though. I've loved you since I was a little kid, tagging along while you played with Nik."

"You have?" I knew she had a crush, but I thought… I thought it was more recent. She nods.

She is so close to me now. She takes my hand and holds it between both of hers. "I was in love with you when I was a child, when you were a child, when you got reaped, when you were in that arena, when you came home again. I took care of you in your darkest time out of love for you. Some people might try to write this off as a crush, but I knew that someday, we could be together, and I don't see why it can't be now." The crease on her forehead is still there, she is struggling, and that just proves how much this means to her.

I really don't have any defense against this. I'm twenty three years old, and the woman I love is telling me that she's been in love with me all her life. How in all of Panem could I be asked to turn this down? "I love you. I thought you were too young, so I kept it inside. I wanted you to mature without my influence, and see if you could possibly want me then. "

"The Hunger Games have a way of maturing you quickly." She says, a grimace on her face. "I have grown up a lot since I killed, what, seven or eight people?" I don't tell her it was more like eleven. She has enough to fuel her nightmares already. "I'm a grown woman, like it or not, Beetee. If, as a man, you love me, then tell me. If you don't, then you don't. But I'm not too young to act on my feelings."

Wiress is in a fighting posture, ready to take on any excuse. I don't have any more. I can't think of any excuses to not do exactly what I want at that very moment, which is to kiss her, right now, while she looks so gorgeous and she's in my bedroom. She's surprised when I touch her mouth, but she kisses back right away, loops her arms around my neck, matches the pressure of my lips. I don't remember moving, but I am holding her around her waist, pulling her tight against my chest. This happens a lot around her. If I stop thinking for a moment, if I just let my instincts be in charge, I get closer and closer to her. I don't want to fight it anymore. Wiress' eyes are still closed when the kiss ends, her lips curled into a smile. "Everything's quiet when I touch you. Everything is beautiful." She finally looks at me, happiness in those blue eyes. She runs her hands over my chest to hold the lapels of my suit. "Handles," she jokes. We stay like that for a few minutes, standing and looking at each other. It's similar to when we work together, we both need time to process new information, to understand a new situation and rewrite everything else around it.

"I'm starving." She says abruptly. "I couldn't eat before…"

"The interview? Because of nerves?" Wiress shrugs.

"Nerves, worried I'd throw up on Caesar, whatever." I open the door for her. "I need to change. Fisk will kill me if I stain this dress. He's letting me keep it, to wear again."

"There's no way he'd let you wear something twice for cameras. He must have realized that it suits you. It's a real life dress, not a camera dress." She makes a silly face at me.

"I'll wear it in the workshop. For you." She ducks into her room. "See you in the dining room."

Wiress

He's finally letting go of his martyr complex and letting himself love me. Letting me love him. I never see blood on him. He's the one uncorrupted memory I have and I'm hoping that going home will find me more, that things from before the Games can't be tainted but I'm so worried that everything will be broken and dirty and bloody and awful forever. Beetee has never been any of those things. He's the silence, the calm, the peace. He's like rain on your face. Wakes you up. Makes you feel alive. Sometimes I'm worried that I'm not actually alive. Not anymore. Maybe I died in the Games. I need to change my clothes, don't I?

There's a side zipper in the dress, convenient that I don't have to ask anyone to help. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever worn, and they gave me little slippers, too. I feel like a ballerina, even though I've only seen them in books, and even then only in the books we aren't really supposed to be reading but we do anyway. District Three has a lot of old books not approved by the Capitol, if you know the right people to ask. I'm one of those people, I guess.

I pick out something warm and comfy to wear, a nice slouchy sweater that fits me like a hug. I need a hug. Maybe I can get Beetee to hug me and then I won't need the sweater. I put it on anyway. Better safe than sorry. There's some blood-that-isn't-really-there near the door. It's easy to ignore because I'm riding so high from that perfect kiss. I still step over it anyway.

I am going to miss this suite when we leave, tomorrow I guess, because of all the gadgets to explore. There are machines that do lots of fun things and I want to take them apart but that gets me yelled at. I still took apart the clock in my room. It's different from the ones I'm used to, the gears are set in a very interesting way. I trail my fingers along the hallway wall as I walk, it's got flocked wallpaper that feels so funny and fuzzy. If I overload my senses with good feelings, it usually keeps bad ones away. Singing, humming, textures, and now, apparently, kissing.

Beetee has gotten an avox to bring out food, it's a little midnight feast for two. I suddenly feel shy because he might be able to see all the love I have for him in my heart and then he would be scared because it kind of scares me, it's so much and now I realize I have been sitting here for a pretty long time without saying anything to him and he might think I'm ignoring him. He just slides a mug across the table to me. It's warm and I hope it's hot chocolate but it isn't, it's tea but it still smells good and I can put milk in tea so it is very similar in a way, much like some conductors are better than others but the electricity still goes through.

"Elisa said this was 'sleepy tea'. Let's see if it works." He lifts his mug to mine in a toast. He's really really cute and this sort of thing always pulls me out of a mood, I don't usually feel sad around Beetee because he does all of these little fun things.

"It tastes like flowers," I tell him. Well, smells like flowers, but a lot of what you might consider taste is actually smell, that's why holding your nose while you eat something repellant helps. "I like it." I take one of the sandwiches, they had all different kinds, but they quickly learned that I just like lots of cheese and then they warm it up and it's gooey. Sometimes it's messy to eat but I don't honestly care because the only person here whose opinion matters is Beetee, and if he doesn't like the way I eat, we definitely can't be together because I eat at least once a day but usually more because I have to eat to live and also because I like it. I've gotten distracted again, but at least I've been eating my sandwich.

"Do you know when…?" I make a waving motion to make up for the fact that the words ran away when I tried to say them.

"We leave for home? Tomorrow after lunch. You have victory tour fittings in the morning." I smile. I like fittings, I get to stand still and no one minds if my thoughts wander, and sometimes I get them to talk to me about Capitol gadgets and sometimes they talk about their work which is actually really interesting, and it gives me all sorts of ideas for improvements in the fabric weaving, in the stitching machines, in the way a conveyor belt model of construction for a garment could be improved by keeping very precise measurements and inputting them to a laser for cutting. That way every piece could be tailor made, only the laser is the tailor. "I don't remember the train well…" I tell Beetee. I was under a lot of stress during that ride. He understands what I'm asking.

"It's a longish ride, we go across everything. Two and a half days, about. Then, we are home. We can see Nik, you move into the new house, the district gets parcel day."

"Then victory tour." I tell him, dourly. I'm not looking forward to that; it's just so gruesome with the families on stage.

He takes my hand from over the table. "It's not all bad. The speeches are bad, but the evenings are usually fun. Each district really tries to show you a good time, there's food and singing and dancing. You remember my District Three party."

"You'll…"

"Be there, yes. I'm your mentor." I give him a look. "You know what I mean," he responds. "There would be someone there to support you no matter what. You just happen to get someone as great as me." He smiles widely, daring me to tease him back. I leave my seat in order to take the one next to him. I need another sandwich, too. I ignore his challenge because I really do think he's great, that's not a joke but I also would have put a lot of other words in there too and I shouldn't give him a swelled head.

"Two more days trapped in close contact with you, then real life." I take a bite of sandwich while I think. I am eager for the normalcy of real life, but this bit, where I'm safe, has been the only part of this adventure I can enjoy and I'm also kind of afraid that being home will break this spell with Beetee and he'll never kiss me again. That thought confuses and upsets me. He must see that on my face because now he looks worried. I'm starting to feel scattered again and he's the thing keeping me grounded. I reach out for him. He lets me grab at him even though I bet I look like a maniac and I don't want him to see me this way but I guess he has seen me worse and I bet I will be worse again because I have killed so much and all of the blood

I kiss him. Everything feels like I'm underwater in a bathtub, all the sounds are muted and distorted, you just feel weightless. He feels like being underwater, only I get the sweet release of breathing as well. I love breathing. I'm sure most people just do it without thinking but I love it. It just feels wonderful. His kiss is like breathing. I love it as much as breathing. It's as necessary as breathing.

My hands cup his face, my thumbs at his jaw line, and I can feel the muscles in his cheeks move as he kisses me. It makes me giggle, and he pulls his head away a bit. "This is funny?" he asks softly, smiling.

"You pulled me back." He waits for me to figure out which words go with the things I think. He knows I need to match them up sometimes. "Pieces of me were flying away and running away and melting away. Metaphorically." I emphasize that. I feel things differently. I have trouble communicating. But I'm not crazy. I know when something I say sounds strange. "You pulled me back, it was all like," I make a slurping noise. I grin so he knows that was me being silly on purpose. I'm not crazy.

"I think I know what you mean." He laughs quietly. "You do the same for me, actually." He reaches up to touch my hair, runs his fingers through a curl, then down the line of my neck. I'm surprised by the longing that gives me, how much I want him. I don't think he intended that at all.

"I'm going to go to sleep." I stand. I should really leave before my feelings make me act reckless. He insists on walking me to my door, and that's really silly because it's only a few feet away and his door isn't much further but it's also really sweet because it's what a gentleman does and I read it as the one thing he can do for me in this moment. I press a quick and relatively chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Goodnight."


So, there are some warnings I need to add around this point of the story. It gets very smutty at several points. It is a relationship between a woman currently age 16 and a man age 23. Now, in my head, Panem either doesn't have age of consent laws, OR it is 16. Where I live, in Pennsylvania in the US, age of consent is 16 and this would be legal. SO, legalities aside, if this makes you uncomfortable in any way, please do not read on.

As FFN is very strict about sexual content, I haven't decided how to tackle this problem yet. I don't like the idea of having edited versions and I don't like the idea of forcing people to read on Archive Of Our Own instead. Anyone with advice, I would appreciate it.