128th - Marshall "Doc" Ford, District Nine
…
Pine doesn't want to fight anymore.
He's been on this train ride to nowhere for far too long. He's lost count of the days he's spent nervously sleeping in empty compartments, accompanied only by the swaying of the car, wondering if any of this is real at all. There's bodies strewn about the compartments, because apparently there's no way to remove them, and Pine is all out of supplies. He's been out of food for three days, water for one. He only has so much more left in him.
But he doesn't want to fight anymore.
When it comes down to just two of them, Pine meets Doc in a compartment at the center of the train. He lost track of who was still alive days ago, so it's a bit of shock to see Doc approaching. He wouldn't say that he's friends with Doc. Pine wouldn't say that he's friends with anyone on this train. But he talked to Doc during training, and they were a bit of kindred spirits. In another life, they could have been good friends.
Pine doesn't want to kill him. Pine doesn't want to kill anyone anymore. There's already enough blood on his hands.
"Hey," Doc says. He looks unarmed, although Pine is sure that he could be hiding weapons in the fold of his train conductor's uniform. God, the arena outfits are so fucking stupid this year.
"Hey," Pine says back.
"Fancy seeing you here."
"Right," Pine says. "How've you been?"
Doc shrugs. "Can't complain. You?"
"Can't complain."
(He can complain. His mouth is dry as a desert and his stomach is so empty it hurts. He notices that Doc doesn't seem to have any supplies on him, either.)
"Guess we've gotta…you know," Pine says. "Fight."
"Yeah," Doc says. "Or we could…not."
"What?"
"Hear me out," Doc says. "We're both running out of supplies. It's been two days since I last had a drink of water."
Pine examines Doc closely, trying to decide if he's lying or not. It's hard to tell. Pine's head is cloudy.
"So," Doc says. "We could just go our separate ways. One of us will die sooner or later."
"It would be faster if we fought," Pine mutters.
"You don't seem too keen on it," Doc says.
"I don't want to fight anymore," Pine answers.
"Then let's not," says Doc.
It's been two days since Doc last had something to drink. He must be halfway to death's door by now, right? Pine's doing better than him. Yeah, maybe this could work.
"Okay," Pine says. He puts out his hand.
Doc shakes it. "Good luck."
"Likewise," Pine says.
He turns one way, Doc turns the other, and they walk away from each other. A day later, Pine sits down in a compartment and drifts off. He doesn't have any fight anymore.
originally had a different plan in mind for this prompt. then decided i needed to write something a little bit nicer. hope you're all doing okay.