The Stars

Title: Fortitude

Characters: Cuan, Pyro

Word Count: 1,021

Warnings: Talk of premeditated murder.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games and the inspiration for these characters comes from another series entirely.

Notes: And the plot moves on! Pyro is probably in his twenties during this chapter.

020: Fortitude

Cuan had always said that it took extreme mental fortitude to contest with the Capitol. Long ago a member of a discreet underground resistance had approached him, seeking an alliance that Cuan politely declined, or so the man claimed. It was hard to imagine their enigmatic and and solitary leader receiving even a proposition to join another group, and for a righteous cause at that. No wonder Cuan had refused.

It was probably for the best, Pyro decided after giving the issue some thought. Cuan might have had many vital connections with people from the Capitol and the charisma and intelligence to utilize them with the utmost efficiency, but in the end he was an insufferable human being who relished in sowing chaos. Ever since Penka died and Syarnark left, everyone had noticed the sharp increase of such jobs.

Cuan embodied an old expression Pyro had once read in a book. If he were to join the resistance, then he would forever be the wolf that they could neither release nor keep hold of safely. In one moment Cuan might have an altruistic whim and in the next he could murder someone and walk away without a care in the world.

The only constant was their group. They were the one thing that Pyro knew Cuan valued, at least on some level. Cuan would give his life for this group, not necessarily because they had become as close as family or because they were friends. It was important that the whole remain intact, he'd told them countless times before, even if the individual had to be sacrificed.

Pyro had seen that cold, simplistic conviction shining out of his coal grey eyes. Cuan was a man who straddled the border between life and death. He played life like it was a game with treasures to be won. He didn't value any particular life over another, not even his own.

Sche had told him long ago that Cuan would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat if that meant the group would survive. He wouldn't do it needlessly, but he would never hesitate if it came down to that.

It was scary, in a way, completely frightening. Pyro had never known another who valued life so little.

That was why he knew it was for the best that Cuan never joined the resistance. He had no love of the Capitol, but he and it had found a mutual bond and relationship based on manipulation. They played a game with each other, a private game no one else had access to.

Cuan played this game even as they resolved to wreak utter havoc upon the ones who had caused Penka's death, and who had stolen Syarnark from them. He was a patient man. Pyro wouldn't he surprised if he waited decades before enacting their revenge.

In a way, they were operating parallel to the resistance, but Pyro knew no one in the group felt strongly for it. They happened to know plenty about it, given the frequent targets of their hits, but most of it was information they never divulged to the Capitol that hired them.

Cuan liked sowing the seeds and letting the fruits of their labor blossom on their own. If he could, Pyro knew he would bring ruin to both sides before he was satisfied.

Maybe he intended to do that even now. Occasionally Pyro would see him conversing with the Victors from their District, although never with Syarnark. He would leave with a satisfied smile or a soft smirk and refuse to speak of the conversation that had just taken place.

He spent an inordinate amount of time tampering with computers and other electronic devices, as well, pouring hours of study into a single book fresh from the Capitol. Pyro didn't want to know who he had to kill to get it.

The less Pyro knew, the better, he supposed. He had long since given up on fighting the man every step of the way like he used to, even though biting his tongue when they killed or stole or did anything of the sort never got easier. It was simple useless to resist, not when Pyro had no intention of doing anything about it.

And indeed, after all these years he found himself oddly complacent. At one time he had nursed the mental fortitude necessary to commit a murder, to kill Cuan Rian, the man responsible for the death of his parents. He had been wholly ready to give his very life to do it. He'd sword on their graves that he would extract revenge on their behalf.

But he had never managed to do it. At first he was weak, far too weak to lift a finger against Cuan. And when he had gotten close to the man, had worked his way into their ranks and grown strong enough to kill, he found that he had a ton of other excuses he could fall back upon.

He'd tried so many times to convince himself that killing Cuan would mean saving dozens. Pyro had already accepted that he would have to die to accomplish it, had already accepted the inevitability of death. He wasn't afraid of it. He still hated Cuan for murdering his parents and sister.

But he could never do it, even when he knew that he would succeed, even when there came a time when he knew that Cuan wouldn't resist, would allow Pyro to kill him with a smile on his face.

Now Pyro no longer denied his affiliation with the rest. He had his moments when he'd scream and throw things at Cuan, times when he grew inexplicably violent. Their small apartment showed for it.

He would still play Cuan's game, constantly locked into battle with the other man. It was inevitable, but it was also why he remained alive. Cuan never kept the things that no longer amused him for long. He was a man who needed stimulation, much like Pyro himself, and boredom was their greatest enemy.

He would continue to play that game until the day came when he no longer had to.