Chapter 57: Cecelia Rheys

Matthew Harbuckle feels his hands start to sweat, and he tries not to shake them besides, while resting them over the tablecloth in this, probably the finest restaurant in District 8. He says finest, as there are only two eateries here that he would define as being respectable establishments. The rest are cafes or holes-in-the-wall who tend to give away as much leftovers to Eight's poor as the soup kitchen does down the street.

The Capitol certainly hasn't been kind to the Textile district in the more than six-and-a-half decades since the war. The very last tenements that had been bombed out were only finished in restoration a short fifteen years ago. Eight was the district that rebelled first and the longest, so it stands to reason that the Capitol would have been excruciatingly slow and stingy in helping them rebuild. Another form of punishment, as it were.

He's still quivering. To give his nervous body something to do, Matthew flags down a waiter and asks for another bottle of seltzer water.

"Still two for you, sir?" The waiter asks, gripping his pad while wearing white gloves that would fit right in at the Capitol, but even in this what might be called the highest class business in all of Eight, are still decidedly out of place hundreds of miles from the city.

Matthew gives him a pinched, polite smile. "I'll give her a few more minutes."

The waiter bobs his head and whisks away.

Matthew resists the urge to glance at his watch, the face of it cracked, for that would be rude and what if she's just now walking up the street to the door? He chances a glance out the window which looks out onto a balmy autumn, District 8 night; the light from the streetlamps is all that is visible. Matthew's reflection is grimy in the panes, but even then, he frowns insecurely. He's in his finest suit – the one he's only ever worn to funerals and quiltings (that's the term that's used to refer to marriage ceremonies here in Eight) – and yet he feels decidedly unattractive. He didn't have much luck with girls when he was in high school, and the thought of asking his co-workers in the cloth factory out for a pint was strictly taboo, and anathema to him. Relationships in the workplace never last; he's watched enough of them spark and then flame out.

Besides, he's only ever carried a torch for one girl. The only girl who's ever turned his head.

He hadn't seen much of Cecelia Rheys throughout the rest of his time in high school; she had been Reaped for the 57th Annual Hunger Games just after their freshman year. Matthew had gone to the Justice Building to say goodbye to her, had tried to tell her how he felt about her then, but the words just wouldn't come. Watching her speed off to the Capitol with Savera Inchcape and Woof Rayon and Indigo Weaver, he figured his chance had just gone up in smoke forever.

But then, wonder of wonders, she came back a Victor, crawling over ten other contenders to seize the Crown and earning herself the nickname The Angel of Death.

In his delivery rounds working part-time as the mailman up to the Victors' Village, Matthew has only seen sporadic glances of her in the decade since she came home. Mostly, it's been making small talk while she's out watering her plants. It was hard not to seethe with jealousy when she came waddling out onto the front porch to collect her mail, pregnant out to her feet, during the Victory Tour of the Fifty-Ninth. Then again, seeing her big and beautiful, the autumn after Finnick Odair won. She had gone to the Capitol just a handful of months before to mentor that summer…. perhaps she had met a man there? Cece took trips into the city often; apparently she was quite popular among the Capitol citizenry. As the babies appeared and grew, Matthew has enjoyed getting to see them shriek and run to the door to greet him when he arrives with the mail.

He had been delivering the mail when he first asked Cece out, not long after her own Victory Tour. She'd laughed at him, taking it as a joke, and it had been better for his heart that he just went along with that. In the ensuing years, every once in a while, he would ask her again, sometimes shouting it to her from clear across the street, when she would just laugh and reply, "Call a little louder, Matthew Harbuckle! And sweeter! Ain't no man gonna marry me!" Standing behind him from where he had been getting his mail, Woof Rayon would harrumph and glare at him, which gradually devolved into the old coot not hearing what Matthew would holler in jest either and asking him to speak up.

Also over time, Matthew's attempts to get Cecelia Rheys out on a date also gradually drifted away from teasing and into the territory of seriousness. And with the shift in tone, Cecelia got more and more annoyed.

She was never openly rude, not even when they had gotten up to the point of him asking her casually either every or every other mail run. This morning, when he had asked her again, for the 147th time (he'd kept count. He didn't know why), Cecelia had huffed out a growl and actually said Fine. Yes, tonight. She'd finally caved probably just to shut him up, he knew that, yet he'd still floated out of the Village in a daze, ignoring how Indigo Weaver had been watching him from behind her drawn curtains.

Matthew is jolted out of his thoughts now when a statuesque figure floats into the second floor of this dimly-lit restaurant. What little illumination there is still makes Cecelia's smooth, creamy skin sparkle, framed by dark brown curls cascading down to her shoulders. She glides over to their table warily, eyeing him with large, brown eyes and a grimace that bellows, Are You For Real? Matthew snaps his dropped jaw up off the floor and turns red at being caught staring.

She is wearing a shimmering evening dress, topped off by a chain of opals of jade ringing her curved neck. There is a tiny pause, and then Matthew lunges to one side, nearly falling out of his chair in his haste to circle the table and pull her chair out for her. Tucking in her skirts, she sits daintily and allows him to push her in before he returns to his seat, grinning enthusiastically.

Up goes a dark eyebrow from Cecelia, before she finally sighs and flips open a menu, muttering something that sounds like, "Let's get this over with…" Matthew tries not to let the pang of hurt course through him. Clearly, this is only a one-time thing. He'd better savor it now, while it lasts.

The silence stretches uncomfortably for nearly three minutes, Matthew one tick away from bouncing a little in his seat from nerves. He tries not to stare at Cecelia over the rim of her menu. She probably doesn't even realize how beautiful she is; it's impossible not to stare at her.

"So," he finally chirps. "See anything you like?"

She purses her lips before folding her menu and setting it aside like a cultured Capitol lady. "Yes," she states politely. A beat, and then, wiggling a little in her seat, she states:

"I'm sorry I'm late. I had to arrange for a sitter for Cardella and Aaron."

There are only four people who Cecelia would willingly leave her children alone with, and they're all in Victors' Village. He can quickly rule Woof out, as at this point, the geezer needs babysitting himself. Probably it's a tag team effort between Indigo and Taylor Musslin; Savera's getting too old to climb out of bed without help. He always has to either leave the 9th Victor's mail by the door or give it to one of the others to bring up to her.

"Yeah, how are the kids doing?"

Cecelia purses her full lips again, shyly. "Cardella's loving first grade. She'll be 8 in the spring."

In the interim, the waiter returns with that seltzer water and pours a healthy glass for each of them. Cecelia also orders a martini on the rocks with a twist, alongside their filet mignon. Matthew orders the spaghetti and makes sure his napkin is spread evenly across his lap.

"And Aaron?"

His heart warms when he gets a real laugh out of Cecelia at the mention of her son. "He's…. rambunctious, for an eighteen month old."

Matthew chuckles. "I can imagine." They drift into another uncomfortable silence. Cecelia takes the restaurant in.

"Nice place," she finally throws out there, if for no other reason than to fill the void. "Reminds me of Rhodes in the Capitol. Or that little café above Herod's Department store."

Matthew hasn't been to either of these places, hasn't even heard of them, but he smiles and listens intently. He likes listening to Cecelia. You have to catch her at a good moment to see the woman behind the reserved and cautious mask, one she keeps up especially whenever the topic floats dangerously close to the Capitol. Her Victor's mask, Matthew might call it, if he didn't have a death wish, was looking to get decked and lose his chance at a second date that he likely doesn't have anyway.

She certainly came home from the arena much changed. Gone was the girl who used to joke with him in class. Or, more often, giggle at something he would do just to make her laugh, gaining a reputation for being the class goofball. Post-arena Cecelia is quiet, and subdued. Cautious and wary, with a dash of shyness thrown in. Only in anger can the ferocity and assertiveness that has always dominated her personality shine through. She's very protective of her children, and very loving towards them also. Matthew doesn't think he's known a better mother.

The silence is oppressive, and Matthew is listing about for something to latch onto as a topic of conversation. He seizes on and blurts out the first thing he thinks of, even though it's still months away.

"Looking forward to the Victory Tour? That boy from 1 last summer was something, right?"

Cecelia's expression goes positively glacial – a stark contrast to the environment of the 67th, and most recent Games. "Was that a joke?"

Is this a trick question? Matthew can feel himself starting to sweat again. His brain is telling him to say Yes, just say Yes, but fuck, the gods really don't want him to get anywhere near that second, non-existent date, do they so he gets out, "…. No….?" lilting his voice into an uncertain question.

Cecelia goes very still while the waiter is bringing them their food, but her voice is measured as she pushes a slice of her main course around her plate. "So, you mean am I looking forward to hearing that heartless dog of a boy who skewered my best chance wax on and off about Casein's sacrifice? Oh, sure, it's going to be so much fun!" Her voice is sarcastic and cruel, and Matthew can't fight off the wince.

"Sorry," he mumbles sheepishly, wolfing down a couple forkfuls of spaghetti and a meatball while trying not to look piggish about it. He sets down his silverware. "You, uh, you wanna get outta here?"

Cecelia is rigid in her poise again, and Matthew wants to beat his head against the wall. Even in Eight, asking a lady if she wants to "get outta here" can usually only be interpreted to mean one thing. He doesn't want her to think a one-night stand is all he's after. He wants to wine and dine her properly, sincerely, even if the buck is going to stop only at this one night.

"What, no time for desert, handsome?" Cecelia's voice is lofty and sneering, and Matthew cringes again.

"Not very hungry. Let's just go." He helps her gather her mink shawl and she lets him gentlemanly take her arm as they sweep from the restaurant.

Dinner was a disaster, but Matthew is hoping he can bounce his way back from it by taking her somewhere else that's nice. "Come on. This way." And taking her hand while ignoring her bemused half-smile, half-frown, he hustles them both across the street and then down a few blocks until they're in the shadow of the district museum. Eight's new Mayor had campaigned hard for the attraction, extolling how it would boost tourism and recreation if elected; sure, it had made him sound like a Capitol lackey, but the people voted him in anyway in a squeaker. Because who doesn't love museums?

The place is close to empty now, less than an hour before closing time, and Cecelia and Matthew's footfalls echo as they duck into one exhibit without bothering to look at the title over the archway.

Matthew sways Cecelia to a stop in front of one large attraction, one of several that is illuminated in this place only by deep, overhead spotlights.

"Check out this one! Talk about creative modern art, huh?"

But Cecelia has turned ghastly pale, pretty mouth hanging open. "This is part of the Quarter Quell trash barge. Indigo won her Games right on that rubbish mound." She turns into herself, arms folded fiercely. "I hate this place." Her voice has dropped to an alto that sounds like a mutt's growl, and Matthew wants to kick himself all the way down to the factories because Snow's Roses, can't he get anything right?

"I…. I'm so sorry, I didn't know." He should have remembered the Victors' Exhibit, which is supposed to be the crown jewel of this museum. There's the expansive replica of a section of wheat fields from Woof's Games, while further down, a scale model can be shown of the Capitol Arena that Savera triumphed in, one of the last Games to be held there before the stadium was closed down. He doesn't want to look behind him and see what displays they have for Cecelia's Games, set high on a series of mesas hundreds of feet above the ground. Maybe they show the cave in which she was almost buried alive; he wouldn't put it past them.

It's almost comical how fast they run out of there. Cecelia looks very displeased; desperate at this point, Matthew spies a shaved ice cart stationed down on one corner and flags the vendor down.

"Ice-cold piragua! Parcha, china, cherry, strawberry, and just for today, I've got mamet!" the vendor hawks his wares.

Matthew opens his wallet and buys two blackberry piraguas, forking over the necessary sesterces casually. "Oy, piraguero, como estas?" He only knows rudimentary phrases of what was once called Spanish, though really he shouldn't – it's one of the Forbidden Languages the Capitol has banned. Still, the Piragua Guy grins and shrugs.

"Como siempre, Senor Mateo!" and hands him the treats. Matthew crosses back over to where he left Cecelia waiting on a bench. He's amazed and relieved she didn't run off after being so insulted. Wordlessly, he passes her one of the cups, and she takes it almost in amazement, her big brown eyes huge as she takes in the flavor.

"Blackberry's my favorite," she breathes, lifting her eyes to gaze up at him, almost like she's never seen him before. "How did you know?"

Finally! Something that's going right tonight! Matthew grins and gives a bashful shrug. "Oh, I have my sources." He thinks he catches her smile.

They eat the tasty treats in a silence that is somewhat companionable now.

"Why did you keep asking me out?" Cecelia finally breaks it quietly, turning to him.

Matthew chuckles and tries to make light of it. "I thought that was obvious."

She blinks owlishly at him for a moment, and maybe it's the glare from the streetlight, but he could swear her cheeks turn pink, even as she shakes her head. "You can't mean it. I'm not built to love like that."

This statement hits him right between the eyes, and he cautiously moves forward to steal an arm around her, keeping his fingers well above the dip in her shoulder. "Sure you are. What about Cardella and Aaron? You love them! You'd die for them!"

She flinches noticeably at the word die, but not enough to pull away from him, even as she giggles, though it's mirthless. "It's not the same, Matthew. That love is…. breathing and not having to even think about it. I don't have to pretend with Cardella or Aaron."

Matthew worries his bottom lip in thought as he ponders what she's said. "I want that too," he murmurs. With you, he adds silently.

She's gazing at him curiously. "Why?" she breathes.

He doesn't answer her, taking a deep breath. "Can I ask you a question?"

She huffs out a sigh. "You may as well after that set-up."

"The…. guy… you had Cardella and Aaron with… did you have to… pretend… with him?" He's really careful on the pronouns, because he doesn't know if the rumors surrounding Cardella are true. At the time she fell pregnant, Cecelia hadn't been to the Capitol for a couple weeks. People whisper that she had her little girl with a Peacekeeper Captain posted here. Matthew doesn't take stock in whatever the truth might be, and besides, perhaps this Peacekeeper captain (whoever he is) was transferred later to the Capitol and she met up with him there during Finnick's Games and they had Aaron.

Cecelia notices how tactful he is, and actually grins softly. "I had my kids with different fathers, Matthew. It's OK to say it." He can hear in her tone that she's lying; her timbre nearly breaks, as though she's trying to cover up a sob.

"I won't if it's not OK with you…." Matthew is starting to say.

"Oh for Snow's sake, I'm a WHORE, all right?!" Cecelia nearly screams it in his face. "I go to the Capitol and get paid to share my company with folks who I then fuck because I fuck whoever Snow tells me to FUCK!"

There's no one around on this stretch of sidewalk but them, this late at night – except for the Piragua Guy, who Matthew now sees is squeaking the wheels of his cart as he frantically starts pushing it away further down the block. The only other sound beyond that is Cecelia's sobs, who now sways into Matthew's side and he gamely holds her while she weeps into his suit coat and utterly ruins the pocket square. He pats her shoulder wordlessly, finally in enough control of his mouth to know that now would be the best time to not say anything at all. When Cecelia's crying has been reduced to sniffles, she mumbles into his chest:

"If you weren't such an idiot, you'd stay far, far away from me."

His heart shatters at this. "If that's what you want," he concedes, ever the gentleman. He squirms a little, and is surprised when Cecelia clutches at him, like she thinks he was going to get up and doesn't want him to.

"No," she whispers.

He helps her to her feet when the last of the piragua in her cup is melted soup, keeping her tucked into his side. "Come on, let's get you home to those kids."

It's a long walk back to Victors' Village, which Cecelia admirably tries to fill by quietly asking him about his shifts in the cloth factories. He tries to keep the stories humorous and he gets exactly one chuckle, two giggles and a full laugh out of her by the time they are past the Villages' iron gates. A half-sized, black streetlamp illuminates the walk up to Cecelia's mansion, and Matthew lets her off on the front porch. All the windows are dark, and he figures that either Indigo and Taylor already have the kids tucked into their beds, or they just kept them at their places across the street to give Cece a free night.

Cecelia pauses against the varnished wood of her door. "I had a date in the Capitol with Brutus once," she gets out, quite suddenly, and Matthew remains still, just listening as she laughs and ruefully shakes her head. "It was a disaster, much like this one," and his heart falls. "…. And it ended up turning into the night we conceived our son."

Matthew snaps his head up at this, holding in a gasp. Brutus is Aaron's….? Cecelia is smiling sadly.

"But you know, I don't think I ever had a fella show me a better time. Now I've had two of those." She gazes up at him, and when he gets her meaning, he blushes.

"You know, I'll take that as a compliment."

She chuckles. "Do." There is yet another awkward pause and Matthew just wants to go right in the paint and kiss her, but he's afraid of how she might react if he does. He opts for the safe route, sticking out his hand.

"Well…. goodnight." He can't read Cecelia's expression as she shakes it, then turns the latch to let herself into her house. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Matthew descends the porch.

He's barely clear of the last step when he suddenly hears her front door open and slam again. He turns and she's there, perched on the last porch step just above him, making her briefly taller than him. Her beautiful brown eyes are alive with urgency and uncertainty. Even… fear.

No, not fear – courage. For courage is seen in spite of fear, not in the absence of it.

"You really love me?" The Victor blasts out, her voice whimpering like a child's.

Seeing how his mouth has been mostly uncooperative all evening, Matthew doesn't trust himself beyond giving a firm nod.

Cecelia takes this in neutrally, finally nodding to herself, deciding something. "OK. I…. Oh, fuck it!" And she suddenly has his skull in her hands as she yanks it forward, pushes her lips firmly against his, and kisses him.

Matthew gives up trying not to melt into the liplock too quickly, swaying into Cecelia and encircling his arms about her waist as he passionately kisses her back. She's clearly an expert at this, prying open his lips with her silky tongue and pulling him closer as she deepens the kiss.

When they both finally come up for air, panting, Cecelia - her brown eyes shining and shy - slowly, but deliberately, full of purpose, takes both his hands in hers and leads him into her mansion….

"Mmmmm…. Hmmmm…. Ugggh….. Ooooh…. Ahhhh….. Huhhhh….."

Matthew can only lie back in awe as Cecelia vigorously rides him by bouncing on his member, her hands resting lightly on his chest as she makes wild and enthusiastic love to him.

When she finally cums all around him with a whimper, she promptly rolls off and flops back into the mattress at his side, staring up at the ceiling while she gasps for breath.

"Huh," she states after a moment, the word no longer delivered in the breathy moan from moments before. "Well…. I've had worse."

A bark of a giggle is out of his mouth before he can stop it, and she turns her head to grin at him, her brown curls cushioning her lovely face like a pillowy halo. "All right, and what about you, stud?"

Matthew laughs louder at this, shaking his head, propping himself up on his elbow to gaze down at her. "I don't want to have to compare it to anything after you. Having the best after only one time is enough for me."

She sits up, gazing at him in astonishment. "Really?" At his bashful nod, she grins tenderly. "I'm honored."

Now, he dares to go in and kiss her lips again, and he's elated when she doesn't shy away, though she does giggle into his mouth. Drawing away, he murmurs:

"I love you…"

Her orbs expand at this, though her gaze is solemn and aware as she answers. "I know."

He's grinning like a lovesick fool, as he asks her: "Will you marry me?"

Cecelia gapes a little at this, and he wants to yank his foot out of his mouth so he can plant it firmly up his own ass.

"You move fast, don't you?" she quips.

"After asking you 147 times for a date, I had to," he mumbles.

Cecelia chuckles at this, then realizes he wasn't making a joke. Cupping a silky hand along his cheek, she leans in and kisses him deeply.

"Yes," she whispers softly.

He nearly falls off the bed. He's had to ask her to go out with him 147 times. Now, in bed with her, he only needs to propose once.

They hold their quilting the following spring, after many more dates and Cardella's eighth birthday. Draping the large quilt their guests made around themselves, Cecelia and Matthew stand quite close. The Victor holds back, smiling shyly, before finally leaning in and kissing her new husband to cheers.

Woof gives Cecelia away and dances with her at their reception. Matthew splits his time between entertaining the kids and stealing a moment alone with his bride when they aren't being inundated by well-wishers.

Indigo Weaver takes him aside as Cecelia is tossing her bouquet, likely to put the fear of Snow into him.

"Cecelia's been through a lot," she tells him. "And she's needed to deal with men a lot worse than you – that ass of a Victor outta Two, for example." He nods gamely. "I think you're a naïve fool, but you're also not afraid to tangle with our crowd, and she apparently sees something in you, so…. do right by her and those babies, cause if you don't, well… you can watch my Games and let your imagination do the rest."

Matthew feels all the color drain from his face, yet he keeps his expression placid as he tells the Victor of the 1st Quarter Quell. "You have my word. I'll take care of her."

He's floored when Indigo actually sends something of a smile his way. "I know you will."