XXXVIII: Fairfield Memorial Hospital - Independence, California.

Tarquin Vierra, 16
Applicant #4

They finally take him off the drugs at the end of the third day.

He misses them a lot, on the fourth day. It wasn't a total numbing experience but it helped quell that feeling when his brain got all up in arms with him.

He learns to get over it, on the fifth day, because they clearly aren't giving him anything else.

Skin grafts are a pain in the ass, he learned. The main doctor whose name he can't remember, if he ever knew it, has done a whole lot of explaining in his time here. Most of it has revolved around how much the process has evolved in the past hundred years or so. It takes mere days to fix things like this, now, and although they don't have the technology of the Capitol out here in middle of nowhere, California, it won't scar like it used to.

The doctor uses the term pre-Panem a lot for someone who clearly never lived there.

His skin isn't perfectly normal. Won't be ever again, unless he goes to a proper hospital in the Capitol and gets it fixed. Those types of procedures were something even his parents could barely afford, and they had always been beyond well-off.

Most of it's his legs and feet, anyway, which he can't see most of the time. The skin at his wrist and at the palms of his hands is tender and even a bit itchy, slightly rippled like someone disturbed a lake with a small skipping stone. You really wouldn't know unless you were making a point to stare, but he knows, and he can't stop touching it no matter how many times he's been told not to.

The holes they've sewn up at his ankle don't look as terrible as he expected them to, really. Still, he can't even begin to wrap his head around the reactions of his parents. Someone's going to cry, and it's probably going to be him. He's not going to last more than a second after he looks them in the eye.

His friends are more troublesome because he doesn't think they'll care about what he's done, so much, and he would almost want them to. Hell, Velia would probably be proud of him with all the times she's whacked him with a prop sword.

It's just putting that to good use, really.

He's been mulling over this for too long, really, but it's about the time of day that the nurse always comes to check on him, and just after seven she pokes her head in the door. As always she looks slightly surprised to see him just sitting there, perfectly awake.

You think she'd have gotten used to it by now.

"Need anything?"

"I'm good."

She's one of the only ones who seems to spend time around him without acting weird about it. All of the others look afraid to even touch him. He knows what's circulating - the number thirteen in comparison to everyone else, but they don't get it.

They think him a cold-blooded killer, like he hunted them all down for the sport of it.

It couldn't be further away from the truth.

She used to bring him food, is the thing, and now she doesn't. She's now trying to starve him out, essentially, and coax him into eating with whoever else is sitting out there at the time.

It worked yesterday morning, but no one else was out there.

"Food's out, if you want some," she offers, because she knows how predictable he is at this point.

It's just weird, feeling this way. Before someone would have to drag him kicking and screaming away from the masses, from the best of the conversation and the chances of things happening. Now he just wants to avoid them altogether.

He's talked to Ria a few times, or rather sat out there with her in relative silence. Emmi, when she talks to him, must think she's only talking to herself.

He's listening, though. He just hasn't figured out what to say yet.

Long after she's left, closing the door behind her, he pulls himself to the side of the bed and drops down with a sigh. It's hard to go easy on his feet without becoming entirely immobile, and they've told him it's safe to walk. It's trusting anyone when they say the word safe that's the tricky part.

He can't lie, though - even the smell of food makes him wanna die in the best way possible. He nearly cried when someone gave him something other than water to drink for the first time. He doesn't know what it is, this time, but the smell is filling the hallways, making it all the more easy to come out.

Ria's already there, working away at a bowl of something he can't quite make out. Emmi is making one for herself, too, but stops to lob him a bottle of juice that he cradles against his chest, unwilling to let go of it.

Apparently they're all in the same boat with the whole water thing.

He watches Ria scoot a ways down the bench and then sits down next to her, rolling the juice bottle between his hands.

A moment later Emmi plops down her bowl in front of him, and then goes back to making another one.

Ria smiles around her fork, and then reaches down the table to grab him one as well. It's some sort of pasta, smothered in red sauce. For a hospital the food's really not all that bad.

Then again, you could probably feed him the most terribly-prepared food in existence right now and he'd think it was delicious.

"Where's Icarus?" he asks, as Emmi drops himself on the bench across from him.

"Probably protesting by locking himself in the shower."

"Protesting what?"

"Pandora wants to talk to us all, like properly. She said during dinner so... now, I guess? He said he was coming but I'll believe it when I see it."

"Does anyone know what about?"

Emmi shrugs, shoving a forkful of pasta in her mouth.

"I heard some of the nurses talking earlier," Ria says. "I think we're about good to go - well us, at least. I don't know about Soran."

"Hey, he was walking this morning," Emmi points out. "Sort of."

Tarquin doesn't even really want to walk, now with the odd numbness in parts of his feet, so he can't imagine Soran wants to be.

"So, what?" he asks. "Are we going home?"

As if anyone here knows. That information is being held by other people who they may or may not be able to trust. Home doesn't even sound real, at this point. It sounds more like a distant possibility that's getting further away with every passing day.

There's too many things that could go wrong. If they send them all home, then they have to reveal the truth. Everyone will know what they did.

It's sort of sick that no one will really care about what he did, at least not in comparison to the others. He may have done the most damage but he didn't take anyone's child, anyone's sibling, anyone's best friend...

No, he just killed them all, so he can't really say that.

"Hopefully," Emmi mutters eventually, though she doesn't seem too convinced about it. Ria chews very slowly through what appeared to be a minuscule bite of pasta to avoid saying anything at all.

At least that hasn't really changed.

The nurse watching them from down the hall turns to go when Pandora shows up. She hurries over, dragging a chair to the end of the table instead of just sitting down next to any of them. Oddly enough, he feels like he's about to get scolded by a teacher for something that wasn't even really his fault.

"Sorry about that," she says. She puts something on the table in front of her - a notebook, and then a tablet. "I was just speaking with one of the doctor's."

"About?" Emmi asks.

Pandora seems to realize then how still they all are, watching her in silence. "About how everything's going, with each of you."

"So we're right, then? Are we getting out of here soon?"

Pandora looks slightly worried. Something in his stomach turns and flops over a half a dozen times in the space of a few seconds.

"Does anyone know if—"

"Icarus said he was coming. Don't know about Soran."

This is so many levels of convoluted he's having trouble wrapping his brain around i; he can't even begin to imagine what they're going to be told. What choice they'll have in it, if any. It doesn't seem like there's any real possibility of that happening.

"Well, I'd like to wait for him," Pandora says, offering no solution as to what they'll do in the meanwhile. Stare at each other? Should he just eat his food and mind his own business?

"No need," Icarus announces, appearing so suddenly that Tarquin nearly slips off the bench. He sits down next to Emmi with a thud, hair slightly damp. Well, at least he didn't lock himself in the shower.

Not that Tarquin would blame him, really.

"So," he continues. "What awful thing is about to transpire now?"

Icarus Devereux, 17
Applicant #10

The funniest thing about Pandora is that they'd get along perfectly, in other circumstances.

Both loaded to the teeth, growing up without a care in the world. Parents that both made a lot of fucking mistakes, evidently. He doesn't even dislike her, has no reason to, but the look in her eyes reflected back at him whenever he meets hers is something else.

She doesn't know what to say to him.

Maybe she knows about him and Soran, maybe she doesn't. They've been holed up in the same room for long enough that it's not exactly a secret.

But whatever she's thinking when she looks at him, he has no idea. Maybe the whole murdering two border guards thing has gotten to her.

Maybe it's everyone else he killed.

She looks down the hall, over his shoulder to a point none of them can see.

"He's sleeping," he tells her. "And I'm not waking him up for whatever bullshit we're about to hear."

"Fair," she concedes. "You'll tell him, then?"

She no doubt wants to tell Soran herself, but she won't. She actually wouldn't dare, he guesses. He's seen her within ten feet of the door a dozen times, now, but she's never gone in unless the nurse has been lying to him. Even when he's been awake or trying to walk she hasn't showed up.

Icarus shrugs. Soran will probably drag it out of him if he doesn't fess up anyway.

"Alright, then," she starts. He'd never say it aloud, but she really looks like she could use some sleep. "I've been consulting with the doctor's all day, talking about your conditions. They've all come to the agreement that there's not much else to do for you here. The President has decided—"

"You're seriously taking him out of here?" he interrupts. "He can barely walk."

"And that will come back with rest," she says. "He doesn't have to do that here. There's no point in keeping all five of you cooped up here for a few more weeks until he's fully recovered. Besides, we're bringing a doctor on site. Someone on stand-by in case we need them."

"On-site where?" Emmi asks.

"Not home," Ria says quietly. He knew it. He fucking knew it - he'd rather go back to One with his grand total of nothing, or even back to his parents, before he allows whatever this is to happen.

It's not like he gets a fucking choice. When has he ever?

"It's been agreed upon that the five of you are coming back to the Capitol with us; you'll be staying with me at the family estate—"

"Oh, you're fucking kidding me."

Nothing has been surprising him lately, nothing except for Soran's voice whenever he wakes and his voice right now, decidedly not tucked away in his room or sleeping like he was five minutes ago.

He's also got no one with him, nothing to hold onto except the wall that he's clutching at for dear life.

"I just said you could barely walk, are you trying to make me look like an asshole?" he snaps, although he's already halfway there by the time Soran even opens his mouth to respond.

"I don't have to do much to make that happen."

"God," he manages, grabbing a hold of his arm. "You're just asking to fall over at this point."

"Hey, I took a whole like, ten minute shower this morning. Give me some credit."

"Yeah, with someone waiting outside the door in case you did fall over."

He grabs his other arm, then, before he can do something stupid with it like lift it up and wave at her, for christ's sake. Pandora is pretty much already openly staring at him, trying to do that and deal with an increasingly angry Emmi at the same time.

"This is the fucking worst," Soran decides, although Icarus would beg to differ. Him being dead was a lot worse - even his scratchy, wheezy voice from a few days ago is more terrible than this.

But he gets it.

"So, when did we agree to this?" Emmi spits. "I don't remember being asked about this."

"No one knows about you - you know that," Pandora points out. "While we try to figure out how to release this, we want to make sure you're all safe."

"And contained," Soran mutters.

"Then just fucking release it!" Emmi says. "There's nothing stopping you."

"We're looking not to create a shockwave with this. Something like this could create an open rebellion if we're not careful."

If Icarus is being honest, and he usually is, he thinks that all five of them would prefer open rebellion to whatever this is. He feels like a fucking prisoner right now. There's no bars, nothing confining him, but if he tried to take one step out of this ward someone would stop it. They wouldn't even let him outside.

"This was a mistake," Soran says.

"What was?"

"Living. And also coming out here."

"Alright, let's go," he says, letting go briefly with one hand to allow himself a wave. Just because Soran can't do doesn't mean he can't do it himself. "Great fucking plan, let me know when we're leaving!"

So I can hide, is what he leaves out, because it's pointless anyway. They're going whether they like it or not. He thinks he hears Pandora's sigh even from here, something beyond tired. This isn't her, not really. She'd get them back home if she could.

He does trust that, stupid as it sounds. He still believes she's on their side.

Only when Soran is seated on the edge of his bed yet again does he allow himself to breathe, feeling like he needs it now more than usual. You'd think it was him with the lung injuries.

"Think we can pull an escape?" Soran asks. It's a funny thought with how tired he sounds.

"Sure. Let me know how jumping out the window goes."

Soran actually turns around to look outside as if considering it, and he scoffs. They're at least three stories up, maybe four. It wouldn't end well, especially not in his already fragile condition. Icarus doesn't know if his brain would survive Soran chasing after death like he wants it more than anything else.

"I really don't wanna do this," Soran says eventually. When Icarus turns to look he's staring blankly at the opposite wall, like he's wishing it's going to open up a way out of this.

"I know," he says. "Believe me, I don't either."

Really, though, when you think about how the past two weeks have gone, what's traveling to the Capitol and being safe? They probably just sound like ungrateful little shits.

And he is, thank you very much.

Soran lays back down, gingerly, but he doesn't move out of the way just yet. He's to the point where he can curl up a little bit anyway, so long as he keeps the weight off of his rather torn-apart side.

"I shouldn't have even gotten up."

He hums in agreement - that's why he told him to go to sleep in the first place, because it either wasn't going to be important enough or it wasn't going to be worth his time. On one hand it's good that Soran has finally regained the fortitude to rebel against him. On the other hand he wants to say I told you so all over again.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Last night?"

"You fell asleep in a chair in here for like, three hours tops."

"And?"

The glare Soran points at him is weak, half hidden by the arm he has curled mostly over his face against the light. He's completely adapted to sleep deprivation at this point - it's essentially his best friend, a very consistent ally in this whole mess.

"Go sleep in a fucking bed for one night," Soran mutters. "Maybe I won't wake up with you staring at me for once."

"Don't act like you haven't gotten used to that."

"Oh, I have. Doesn't mean it's not creepy as hell."

One day his brain is going to give out on him as a result of this, but he really does hate being here. His brain doesn't allow him to sleep like it would anywhere else. Hell, he slept better out in the valley. Somehow, out there he felt less like something was about to happen than he does in here, and it doesn't make any sense. Soran even nudges him in the leg with the heel of his foot, as if to tell him to to leave once and for all. It might work if he had more strength in his legs.

It might work if Icarus felt the need to leave.

Soran reaches out, waving an arm aimlessly around until Icarus grabs a hold of it. Instead of pushing him off like he so expected Soran drags him forward, until he nearly faceplants into the foot of space left at the left side of the bed, tucked between him and the opposite railing.

"What if I had just squashed you?"

"It would've really hurt," Soran says flatly. "Go to sleep."

"I'm not sleeping in here."

"Then shut up and let me sleep, at least."

Icarus is still sitting enough upright that he probably wouldn't be able to sleep without his entire body aching by tomorrow morning. He looks down at Soran, burrowing even further into his hopeful little hole of sleep.

"I could roll over and smother you, you know."

"That'd be unfortunate."

"I'm serious."

"This bed is like, twice the size of normal hospital beds."

"Bringing out all the stops for the honorary Quinn," he says, although allows himself to sink a few inches lower regardless.

"Fuck off," Soran answers, although there's no venom in it. In fact, he almost sounds a little amused. Maybe he's finally coming around to the whole idea of this, or maybe he's just accepted that there's no getting rid of Pandora at this point. They're in too deep.

He looks over, slightly down. Soran's face is almost entirely covered by his damn arm, so he reaches up and lifts it off, grabbing his hand and tangling their fingers together before he can get it back. Soran makes a noise, perhaps half a complaint, but doesn't do anything else. It already sounds like he's half asleep, unwilling to fight it.

Good. He wasn't planning on giving it back anyway.

He feels like he shouldn't, knows he shouldn't, but curling up by his side allows him to close his eyes a little bit easier. It's just the right amount of warmth, the level of reassurance that calms his usual racing heart when he imagines waking up in here yet again.

And to think, where they were two weeks ago...

It doesn't matter much, now.

I realized this was unedited and un-author's note-ed like maybe ten minutes ago so here, have a very poorly edited chapteer as if they're all not poorly edited, if they're edited at all!

I posted a little (ha) thing tied into my universe and victor's a few days ago so if you're bored and have a spare several hours, feel free to go make my day and check that out. Or not. You do you.

Until next time.