FABIAN'S POV
I wake up after not much sleep and look over at Reginald, who's staring at the sky with a scowl on. I swallow hard, trying to sit up with tied hands and looking up at the sky.
Is anyone going to save me? What if someone tries but it's too late?
My spirits are still heavy and sunk and I'm scared for my life. Not to mention that this whole thing with Reginald could be nothing to him but an act. That would hurt more than an arrow to the chest.
I really like Reginald, though I think I've been in denial. From the moment I laid eyes on him I noticed him (he's so damn tall, it's hard to not notice him), but when I heard him sing, it became something more than toleration.
It became something so much more than just a simple interest.
It became friendship.
It became love.
Or, at least, that's what it became for me. The thought that it didn't become anything for him: or worse, that there was nothing there to begin with, makes my stomach flop uncomfortably.
I stare at the sky as Reginald paces. We have breakfast, he splits it perfectly half and half for both of us, which gives me hope. He's so incredibly hard to read…
Did he love Blanche? Was his "inability to kill me" all an act until now? Is it a scam to get sponsors… Is he using me?
I can never be sure.
This alliance is over today. Either by my dying, or by us parting ways. I'm not sure which will hurt more. I want to protect him, I want him to protect me, still. I want to have the love there, I don't want it to fizzle away…
I stare at the sky, becoming surer and surer that I'm going to die tonight. Nothing is coming.
Reginald takes me by the rope tied around my hands to go fishing. He keeps a close eye on me as he gets some fish for our lunch and starts a fire. His eyes, cold and hard and unforgiving, stay trained critically on me.
We eat lunch in silence. I keep flashing him desperate looks, but when he catches my eye he scowls at me and looks away. I can't do anything to change his mind now, nothing will ever be the same for us again.
The sky begins to darken, the sun begins to sink. Reginald keeps looking at me, his scowl getting bigger and bigger with each second that nothing falls from the sky.
Tears push out of my eyes, and I admit to myself for the first time that I'm scared. I'm scared of what's going to happen. I don't want to die, but part of me would rather die than be separated from him. I watch the skyline, waiting for anything, anything to happen.
"Please…" I try not to let my tears show through my voice as I whisper, pleading someone to send something. "Please…"
My heart pounds heavily, with each second I feel a stronger and stronger urge to breathe, nervous energy spreads throughout me, I have to breathe to remember I'm still alive, that I could still be alive by the end of the night if only someone would just help me…
Time slows down. The sun starts to sink, and the tears refuse to stop. I cry, I cry into my knees, I cry like there's no tomorrow, because it's looking like there won't be. I feel his eyes on me, I look up and they're gentler than I've ever seen them before.
"I'm going to have to kill you," he whispers, his voice wavering. I look up, my eyes probably red and swollen for crying.
He takes a deep breath, rubbing his temples. "I'm going to kill you in five, four-"
Suddenly, we hear beeping. Beeping coming closer and closer. I look up, drying my eyes and cheeks. Reginald wipes his eyes when he thinks no one's looking.
We run over to the parachute and he opens it. Inside is a tiny little canteen. It's a tiny gift, especially because we have much larger canteens already, but right now the small present is probably the most beautiful thing I've seen in a long while, especially considering the fact that it saved my life.
"So you were right. I don't have to kill you."
I nod a little bit.
He looks in the bucket and pulls out a little piece of paper. I watch as he looks at the picture, confused. Then his eyes widen, and pool with tears. "Oh my God…" He hurriedly flips it over and reads what's written on the back before dropping the paper on the ground and falling backwards against the wall, tears pouring down his cheeks.
"Blanche," he gasps out, between hyperventilating breaths. "F-Fabian…" He looks around frantically, trying to calm himself down. I pick up the picture, the picture of Blanche's suicide and the two of us sleeping in the background.
"We slept right through it, Fabian," he says, "We thought she was alright… I thought she was okay, I thought she would wake us…" He buries his face in his knees as I flip the picture over.
Spare the boy. I'm sorry you had to find out like this.
-Ricco
I take a deep breath, relief flooding through my body, and I let the picture go and never want to look at it again. I mourn quietly for Blanche. She was a chained young prisoner. She's free now, though. I just know that she's free now.
Reginald gets a hold of himself pretty quickly. Soon, besides his slightly puffy eyes, I can't even tell he'd been crying.
He goes over to the sister parachute and opens it, pulling out a knife. We don't need any more proof, but I'm sure it will go to good use anyways.
"Turn around," he says quietly. I do as he says. Suddenly, he slashes me free of the rope. He puts my weapon and my knife in my hands, along with a backpack and a sleeping bag.
"Go."
"Is this really goodbye?"
"It has to be. The time I've spent with you has changed my whole outlook. I really mean that."
I believe him.
He takes both my hands. "But I still have people to get back to, and so do you. And only one of us can get back. I can't go on like this. We may meet again, whether it be in the afterlife or simply in my nightmares."
"I-I understand."
"So, thank you for everything. From the deepest depths of my heart." He puts one of my hands to his lips and kisses it. Then, he lets go, slings his bow over his shoulder, and nods to me one last time before running off. I stand and watch his figure run away into the sunset. I allow myself to take a deep breath and feel at peace.
This is for the better, even if it may not feel like it now.
~.~.
SALEM'S POV
"Salem, dear, come hold him!"
The nurse holds my hand and takes me over to my mother's bedside. I crawl up on the bed with her.
"Careful now," says Nurse Klara quietly, "Wouldn't want to hurt her."
"He's alright," my mother says, smiling. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks frazzled, but radiantly happy.
"Want to see your baby brother, Salem?" asks Mom. I nod a little bit.
They place a warm, slightly heavy for my two-year-old self, wad of blankets in my lap.
"His name is Holland."
"Mommy, what's a Holland?" I ask.
"It's a place, a place that was once in existence very far away from here."
"Like Salem?"
"Yes, a little bit like Salem."
I look down at the little face, the cute, chubby little baby face of my new brother. A smile breaks across my lips. "It's like he can't even hear us!"
"Yeah, it is like that."
The little being shifts around in my arms and I look down. His eyes open just then. Huge and a sparkly, light gray.
It's a moment that changed my life, it really did. Whether for better or for worse, well, I don't think I'll ever be able to figure that out.
In school, every year I asked my teacher how much they could tell me about the place called Holland. It was never in the Capitol curriculum, though, so my questions were dubbed irrelevant and shaken off. I know about my name, Salem, from our Basic North American History class. It was a place near District 12 that killed itself off ideally in a scare of magic and witches. But nobody ever told me about Holland.
As I grew, my dislike and jealousy of my little brother grew and flourished. He began to suck attention away from me and everyone who surrounded me knew me as "that cutie Holland's much more unpleasant older brother."
They figured out he was practically deaf, and with that everyone forgot my very existence except for Hester, Kyran, and Hazelle. Or my parents, when stuff sprung up that was a "big brother job," and then I'd get yelled at for not doing it.
Good big brothers look out for their little brothers. Big brothers read to their little brothers, and sing to them. Big brothers help little brothers and tend to their injuries. Big brothers stay strong for their little brothers. Big brothers never show weakness, never cry in front of their little brothers. Big brothers never abuse, fight, or cuss out their little brothers. Big brothers share everything with their little brothers, taking one fourth and giving the other three. Big brothers work for their little brothers.
So many rules I'm bad at following. So many roles I could never fill because I'm scared and emotionally weak.
Salem! Holland giggles as he signs, Salem!
"What do you want, Holland?" My fingers fly as I talk and sign, I don't even think about it, really signing was something that came naturally to me and always happens on its own.
I'm supposed to get you! He signs, for a surprise! He takes my hand and starts pulling me at a run towards the house. I stumble after him, trying not to smile. He sits and I sit by him, eventually scowling and shaking him off of me.
"We have a surprise for you," says Mom. It's been forever since I've gotten a surprise! I start to get excited!
My Dad pulls out a little machine and puts it in Holland's hand. I guess I'm not getting anything after all.
"We were finally able to find this for you, Holland," Dad has to sign slowly still, and Mom still doesn't remember simple signs.
"It's because-" Mom pauses. "How do you say I love you again?" she asks. Dad shrugs and they both look to me, smiling. I roll my eyes and do the sign, pointing to myself, crossing my arms on my chest, and pointing to them. The nod and say, "Yes, because I love you." She kisses the top of his head and they both leave without bothering to watch him try it out.
Holland quickly puts the buds in his ears and tugs on my sleeve. Salem, he signs, Say something!
He switches the device on and I glance at him, his wide, expectant eyes, and try to think of what the first thing he ever hears should be.
"Holland."
His eyes widen, exploding with awe. What's that!?
"That's your name," I say signing as I speak.
Say it again!
"Holland. Your name is Holland Pitt Christenson."
He stares at me, a smile spreading across his face. Again!
I laugh a little bit, and he makes a thrilled little squeak. "Holland." He grins, Again! "Holland!"
I actually smile a little bit, and he signs Again! until I'm sure his arms are tired from tapping his fingers to his palm.
I laugh out loud and shout, "Holland! You're Holland!" He squeals and beams.
"Holland!" I keep saying it, he keeps beaming and listening until I get sick of saying his name.
"There are so many other things to hear!" I say, signing rapidly, "What do you want to hear!?"
He tugs on my shirt and I look over. He smiles, pointing to himself, crossing his arms across his chest, and pointing to me. I stop short. I haven't even signed this to anyone in years except for an example for my parents. I hesitate to give out love, I'm too afraid of my heart being broken by the Games or by rejection, or because I'm no good at being a role-model.
Finally, I say it and sign, "I love you, Holland."
Tears spring to his eyes, he laughs happily and when he hears his own voice, he laughs louder. I smile, actually feeling like it's a gift for both of us.
Do I have a good reason to hate Holland? No, not really.
I guess I'm just jealous of him. Everyone loves Holland, and they have good reason to. He's everything I ever wanted to be. Everything I'm not. He's tall, and he's got the cutest face, and he's kind and funny and he's got a great smile. His eyes are shiny and sparkly, he's good with people, he's sweet, he's got nice words to say, and he's all-around a people person. Pleasant. Someone you'd want to console you if you were having nightmares or cutting. I'm not that person, and I doubt I ever will be.
I sigh quietly, keeping my wound tightly wrapped up in a cloth so I don't have to look at it.
Doesn't matter. I'll never sign again.
I try not to look discouraged (it's a bad habit, right? Just a bad habit) as I grab my stuff and get up to walk.
Memories of Hester teaching me how to braid, memories of braiding Holland's hair and dressing him up in clothes I thought were stylish, happy memories with fun and laughter spent with Hester and even with my brother come to my head as I walk.
I smile a little bit and sit down on the ground, checking to be sure my knife's still in my pocket. Yeah, it is.
Maybe I could get my brother back if I made it home.
My soul is crushed again by the weight of guilt for every rude word I said to my brother, and I sigh quietly, the tiny window of happiness closing quickly.
I can never get him back. It's too late for that now.
~.~.
AVOGADRO'S POV
I wake up that morning as the sun is rising and yawn tiredly. What a day it's been…
Suddenly I hear something… What? Beeping…
I look up and see the silver parachutes floating down from the sky. They appear to be coming close to me…
My first thought is, Who the heck is near me!?
Unless… Maybe, just maybe, at least one of them could be fore me… Impossible. Who would spend money on the 14-year-old? Suddenly the beeping becomes much louder and the parachute lands at my feet, the other landing close to it.
Someone… Or a couple of someones… They believe in me!?
I open the larger one first and my eyes go wide. It's…. It's a sword, but it's a really really nice one! The handle is shiny black, elegantly designed, it's got some kind of gem on it and beautiful golden embroidery-looking designs.
This is nicer than anything I've been allowed to touch in my time. When I pick it up, something about it feels natural. Or, well, as natural as a weapon can feel in the hands of a young boy who isn't good at murdering others. It couldn't have been cheap, and the thought that someone spent so much for me makes me feel warm and happy.
Then I open the smaller canister. I have to look twice to make sure I'm not hallucinating or anything. II set the sword down, standing over it protectively as I take the soft bear out of the container.
The first thought that comes to mind is how desperate I am and how lonely I've felt since Mick died. The second thought is that teddy bears are for children and this is stupid.
I had one, but one day when I was five I came home from school he was gone, because I had outgrown him.
I wonder why someone would send me this. I put him down, picking up the sword again. "I'm not a child," I mutter quietly, turning around and about to leave it.
I can't walk away from it, though. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides, if I leave a sponsor gift behind, people might feel discouraged to send me other gifts.
Of course. Yes, that's why.
I decide to take it, putting it in my backpack but leaving his head out (not so he can see, that's silly, because it wouldn't fit!), grab the expensive sword, and hightail it away from there, keeping on moving forward.
A weapon to take lives and a children's toy… Surely the oddest combination of presents I've ever received.
I walk for a while, the teddy bear in my backpack, the sword light in my hand. I look around until I see the boy from District 12, sitting by himself.
The fingers of his right hand move fluently, never stopping, just like they did at his interview.
"Now I think we're all interested, Salem," Yin says, "What are you up to?" Yin looks down at Salem's rough, rugged, forever coal-dusted hands.
"Shut up, so I sign. Whatever, it's not like I'm some kind of fairy."
"It's an interesting talent!"
"I was forced by my parents to learn it for my brother."
"Oh, yes, and what's his name?"
"I'm not saying. He's too damn annoying for that. Signing is nothing but a bad habit I need to get rid of."
"So, if you win the Games, you can get the best hearing technology the Capitol has for him! Problem solved then, eh?"
"Oh, the problem'll be solved, alright. I'm going to leave them all behind. Take my girlfriend and move out. I can't stand my family at all."
"W…Well you did learn how to sign, so you must care a bit."
"No, I said I was forced. I don't care about ANY OF THEM!"
The crowd murmurs quietly at his outburst.
No wonder this guy appears to have gotten no sponsors.
Then again, I blatantly insulted Yin in my interview, and I got so much stuff…
I put my stuff down and logically study the situation. Salem's skinnier and paler than he was when I saw him last. He's got open wounds, his left arm is wrapped up in cloth that's stained with blood, which makes me wonder if he's even got a hand there…
And, I figure that people spent money on me, I guess it's my job to appease them by killing someone already.
I hold my sword to the 18-year-old's throat, taking a small breath. Suddenly, his gray eyes (much more brilliant-looking up close) fly open and go wide.
"Three!?" he shouts, jumping up and getting out his knife and holding it up threateningly.
I scramble backwards at the outburst. Even injuried, he has a bite to him. Then there's the ever-looming question of can I even take a life!? It's time for me to find out.
If I stay smart and don't hesitate to kill, I could win this fight.
"You're fourteen! Just a kid!" growls Salem, slashing his knife at me. I keep dodging quickly, another advantage of being tiny. "You think you can fight an 18-year-old!?"
I finally take a breath and start on offense with my sword. He's weakened and has a shabby little weapon, whereas I may be younger but I'm sponsored. This sword isn't only beautiful to the eye, but it's also quite effective.
Salem swings his knife at me and I just keep jumping backwards and sideways out of the way, jabbing the sword forward and stabbing his shoulder with all my might as I feel a sharp pain tear at my stomach. I yank the sword out of Salem's shoulder and aim for his wounds, trying to reopen as many as possible.
The sword hits scratches on his arms, legs, stomach, trying to get perfect aim. He runs the knife down my arm as I finally stab him right in the chest. I'm pretty sure I missed the heart, but not by much. As I pull the sword out, he collapses to his knees, his hand grabbing his chest.
He looks up at me, his face turning from hard anger to a desperate, upset expression as his shirt turns bright red. His face loses all its color, he lies on his back, his hand covered in blood already from his chest.
"Holland," he chokes out, quietly, tears pouring out of his desperate gray eyes. "His name is Holland Pitt Christenson."
I blink as Salem takes shaky breaths, making choked sobbing noises as he stares up at the sky, tears falling out of his eyes. He holds his bloody hand in a fist on his chest and moves it in a circle around his chest in one last sign that I don't know. I don't want to know.
I'm bleeding and hurt, but I can't take any more of this watching Salem suffer. I grab my backpack and supplies and run away from there. I don't get far before his cannon booms. I really try not to cry, but after what I've seen, I can't help it.
I take the teddy bear out of my backpack, and I allow myself to hug him tightly and get comfort from him after this traumatic situation. I have blood on my sword now, I'm officially a killer. A killer at 14. My life will never be the same again.
I sob into the bear's fuzzy stomach, allowing myself to grieve for not only the life I've just taken, but for Mick, and for Nolan, and for Blanche, for Lincoln, and Antoinette, and Fahrenheit and Ian and even for Pride. Everyone who's died, anyone who's ever had to fight for their own survival. I sob until I've simply run out of tears, and allow myself to inhale the cozy, homely smell of the bear. He smells like maple syrup.
It only took one traumatic event for me to go from indifferent to the bear to being unsure how I could've survived without him. Just like Mick.
The Capitol anthem plays, and Salem's face flashes in the sky. I look into the picture's eyes, and my head pounds with yet another question I don't know and probably never will.
Was there more to Salem Christenson than anyone thought?
~.~.
A/N: Phew, that was a doozy! But way fun to write! Of course I had to redeem Salem just to kill him off in the end! The tributes thank you for your presents, keep them coming while they're cheap-ish because next chapter prices will be increasing slightly probably! I FORGOT CANDLE OMG SORRY CANDLE I'LL DO YOUR POV NEXT CHAPTER I PROMISE!
Chapter question: Do you like my brief interview flashbacks? Would you like more flashbacks of reapings/chariots/interview/chariots for anyone or everyone? Tell me what you think!
Anyways, here are points so far:
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Thank you as always for reading!