II. Of Auspice And Audacity

Standing on the cliff face, highest fall you'll ever grace
It scares me half to death
Look out to the future, but it tells you nothing
So take another breath

He won't let himself run out of time.

Even though the warmth of his own blood makes his face sting and his heart is practically throbbing out of his chest, Icarus St. Augustine won't let this be his end. Besides, he's come too far to die at the hands of a demented lunatic with a martyr complex and her little pet. He's come too far to die at all.

As he begins to fly up into the air, Calsin screams at him, "What the hell are you doing, you fucking coward?"

I'm not a coward. Icarus takes a deep breath and lets his wings lift him higher. I'm just being practical; there's a difference.

"You're cheating!" the Four boy hisses.

At first Icarus doesn't give the idiot a verbal response. Instead, he rolls his eyes and twirls the sword in his hand. He licks his lips, ignoring the metallic taste of his blood as it drips down his face then cackles.

"Oh Sinny-boy!" Icarus sneers, raising his blade for his first airborne strike. "Don't you realize there's no such thing as 'cheating' when it comes to the Games? I'd think you'd know that more than anyone."

"W-what do you mean?" Calsin stammers.

Icarus smirks. "Your volunteering position, dumbass. Your dearest Atlantis told me that your parents bought it for you. That's real sweet of them, by the way."

"That's not true! Atlantis, tell him that's not—"

Before Calsin can finish his sentence, Icarus glides towards the other boy. His sword pierces through the skin shielding his throat with ease, Calsin's blood splattering against Icarus' shirt.

As the Four boy gasps for air and falls to the ground, Icarus flies backward and away from him. Atlantis strides toward her District partner's body and scoops his chest into her arms as she lets out a gutteral scream.

"You're allowed to use your words, you know," Icarus says to her. "You've always been good at using them, you know."

The Four girl grits her teeth. "Please, just shut the fuck up."

"Why should I?" Icarus raises his blade once more. Truth be told, he hadn't known which one of the Fours to kill first. Both are - or were, he supposes - terribly annoying, it was just a question of who'd go down easier. "You sure didn't shut the fuck up when we were having our little chat with Beowulf."

"Don't remind me," she grunts.

"Don't tell me what to do."

Icarus takes a deep breath than flies towards Calsin once more, this time aiming his sword at the other boy's chest. Atlantis tries to jerk him away, but Icarus' weapon still jabs into the Four boy's heart.

He withdraws the blade from Calsin's flesh and wipes it onto his pant-leg. As the other boy's cannon sounds, Icarus can't stop himself from grinning. "You can smile too, you know. You did spend so much of your time talking about how you wanted him dead."

"I changed my mind," Atlantis says. "Maybe you should change yours too."

"Now tell me," Icarus beckons her. "Why in the world would I do that? You went off and decided you were a changed woman and look where it got you."

He flies toward the other end of the cathedral's balcony then lets himself land on the wooden floor. Killing Calsin in two quick blows was light work. He died just as pathetically as he lived, but a bereaved hypocrite like Atlantis deserves worse. Sure, Icarus isn't one to talk when it comes to ethics, but at least he has the guts to admit that any resemblance of mortality flew out of his body when he walked into Valhalla for the very first time.

"Oh, so you're going to face me like a real man then?" Atlantis sneers.

Icarus scoffs. "Only the best for my favorite little martyr."

As he walks toward her, his chest begins to ache, the adrenaline from Calsin's murder now worn off. Even if feels like there's a pit inside of him, Icarus can't acknowledge it now.

Atlantis runs after him, her sword raised. "Don't you get tired of being an an asshole all the time?"

"No, not really." Icarus twists his wrist to block the Four girl's blade with his. "It's part of my charm."

He slides backward on the balls of his feet and recenters his sword to take a swing at her. With a heavy pant, he cuts to the left, aiming for Atlantis' torso.

She sways her body to the side, avoiding Icarus' blow. "Is missing easy hits also a part of your charm?"

Icarus shakes his head, refusing to let the Four girl's words have any impact on him. His teeth grind against eachother, knuckles white and palms sweaty as he slices through the air once more, this time higher, towards Atlantis' cheek.

He makes impact this time, the cut so clean it takes a moment for her to start bleeding. As she shrieks, Icarus cackles, though his laughter makes his ribs sting.

Swiftly, Atlantis turns her blade so it presses against his, a groan escaping her lips as she attempts to push Icarus away. He bends, hoping that'll help him stay firmly planted to the ground, but all it takes is a kick to the stomach to ruin his stance.

Icarus recoils from the pain, his torso caving in on itself. When he looks up, he sees Atlantis smile, and oh how he wants to wipe that grin right off of her face, even if it's the last thing he does.

Using Icarus' slight stumble to her advantage, Atlantis presses her blade into his stomach, deepening the wound Calsin left earlier. As he feels his blood drip down his torso, Icarus writhes.

But it's not from pain anymore, it's from the fact that he very well could be losing. Icarus St. Augustine did not come here to lose.

(That's not to say that to die is to lose. While he'd prefer not to, Icarus can die all he wants —so long as it's not to her, or anybody else for that matter.)

He forces his blade towards the hilt of Atlantis' sword. Though it pushes her weapon deeper into his core, soon enough, he's able to remove it. With her hands awkwardly positioned to the side, the Four girl isn't able to avoid Icarus' cut across her neck.

She flicks her wrist as a delayed response, scraping some of the skin off Icarus' wrist, but the sound of her coughing on her blood tells Icarus all he needs to know.

"Oh, do you have something to say?" he taunts her, Atlantis' head colvulsing as her lifeblood pours from her lips and down her neck.

As Atlantis' eyes begin to roll over into a pearly white, Icarus suavely plants his sword into her neck. The Four girl's body goes limp, Icarus' sword the only thing holding her above the ground. A cannon fires and Atlantis falls completely.

With a wince of his own, Icarus wraps his arms around his stomach, hoping he'll be able to soak up the crimson liquid that seems to keep coming and coming. Just because she's gone doesn't mean Icarus has time to lose.

He wills his wings to pick him up again, hoping they can safely lower him to the ground floor where he can rest up before going after the two remaining Tributes.

Slowly, the balcony gets further and further away. The only problem is, he's flying up when he should be flying down.

Icarus cocks his head to the side, the arena's sun close by. It's then that he realizes what's happening to him and what he needs to do to stop it.

(Back when they were friendly, Lethia used to regularly warn him that someday he'd fly too close to the sun. He swore up and down he'd never let that happen.)

Already curling his spine to brace for impact, Icarus slides his arms straps out the wings' straps. With his left arm free, he dangles from his right, the sun only getting more near.

"You don't have to do this," a voice in his head says. "You can give up if you want. I'm so proud of you."

"No…" Icarus mutters. "I can't…"

He slips his right arm from the strap and closes his eyes as he starts to plummet.

(Icarus should've known from the first time he was lifted into the air that the more confident he grew from flying, the more it would hurt when he finally fell.)

When he hits the ground, two cannons sound.

It takes a second for Icarus to realize neither were for him.

It takes even longer for him to realize what it means when Caesar Flickermann announces, "Presenting Icarus St. Augustine from District One, Victor of the Fifty-Second Annual Hunger Games."

(As the hovercraft descends toward him and Icarus' eyes flicker open then shut, the muscles in his face refuse to let him smile the way he always said he would.)

He didn't even get his moment.

That much was clear when Caesar played the Games' finale for the entire world to see.

As Icarus fell, the girls from Three and Five beat one another senseless. That's how he won, not because of his swordsmanship or manipulation tactics or anything.

Despite how carefully planned his victory was, it ultimately all came down to luck. That's the one thing he's never believed in, yet it's the reason he's sitting across froim Caesar in a cleanly pressed white suit, answering questions because he lived.

(Secretly, Icarus wasn't always sure this would happen. There were several moments where he was worried his end was near, even if he refused to fully admit it. Now that he's here though, at least he can say they all were—)

(He doesn't know if they were worth it.)

Caesar asks him, "Now that you've won the Games, what's next for you?"

For the first time in his entire life, Icarus doesn't know what he's supposed to say.

(Every second of his childhood was spent in preparation for this moment yet nobody ever bothered to tell Icarus what'd happen once it was over.

Is it because they too, like Lethia, never actually thought he'd make it this far?)

"Well, there's mentoring, of course," Icarus answers, his voice wavering. "The best I can do is hope to pass on everything that allowed me to win."

Like luck? You can't possibly teach luck.

He sighs, realizing that Caesar expects him to say more. What else even is there for Icarus to say though? He's no longer the proper and poised man he was during his interview. Hell, he isn't sure what he is anymore.

(He definitely isn't Aelia's son, that's for sure. His mother didn't raise him to only win because of luck.)

"Other than that, I guess I'll just play it by ear," he continues. "I've got a whole life ahead of me."

That he does. What he's supposed to do with it is something he'll never know.

Icarus can hardly face her when he steps off of the train and into her arms. Even though his mother is repeatedly telling him how proud she is of him, none of her words seem genuine.

If she hates him for this, Icarus can't blame her. Aelia Sullivan didn't risk it all for him to win like this.

"Thank you," he whispers.

As the paparazzi chase him down the block, toward his new home, Icarus carelessly swats them away. He's not too sure why they're following him. Yes, he's a victor now, but why would anybody want photos of a victor who didn't properly earn his victory?

The first thing Icarus says to his mother when she slams the door to their home shut is, "I'm sorry."

She raises an eyebrow. "What are you apologizing for, my dear?"

"I didn't have the epic finale I always promised you," he says, his voice soft. "I let you down, and I'm sorry."

(I let myself down, and now I have to live with that for the rest of my life. Death would have been more gentle than this.)

Aelia's smile fades away, tears beginning to well in her eyes. Was his mother always capable of crying?

"You didn't let me down," she assures him. "I meant it when I said that I was utterly, unbelievably proud of you, my son."

He doesn't believe her.

(Everything Icarus ever done has been for her; that's always the way it's been. Never did he consider doing something for himself. Oh, how it hurts to know that now he never will.

The only thing left for him is death, but luck says that's the one thing he'll never get. Icarus doesn't want death either. Not when he spent his whole life swearing he'd never die.)

(Besides, death would be the final step in him finally having to admit that he's not really the titan his mother raised him into.)

"Are you okay?" Aelia asks, noticing Icarus' extended silence. "I've never heard you so quiet."

He takes a deep breath and groans. "What am I supposed to do know?"

"Oh, honey…" she squeezes him tight, her tears smearing onto Icarus' shirt. "I wish I had that answer for you."

(Was he always capable of crying?)

At least it's something to do, Icarus tells himself as he rings the doorbell for that day's first client. You did always say that there wasn't anything left for you.

As a scantily clad gentleman opens the door for him and coos, Icarus is again reminded that this wasn't supposed to be his fate. He was supposed to die in the arena and never be forced to deal with life after success.

(When Snow offered him this job, Icarus was probably a bit too eager to accept it. Even if he doesn't particularly enjoy the feeling of other people's hands against his skin, they're never disappointed.)

(Their pleasure is never enough for Icarus to wholeheartedly believe that perhaps he didn't actually let himself down.)

Every night, after he comes home, the fireplace in his living room looks more and more like the sun. It's only a matter of time before Icarus gets too close.

When that day comes, he'll finally smile again.

Icarus - Bastille

To be fair, I didn't think I'd be writing Icarus angst until it happened.

So, yesterday was Laney's birthday and I was like hmm… I will write her a treat. It was going to be a Cyra victor AU but then I thought it'd be too sad. Jokes on me because this was also sad.

I'm obsessed with Icarus even more now, sue me. Thank you to Goldie for beta-ing this and thank you to Laney for being born.

No WTP2 tomorrow because I said so, bye.