The Night Before
-Consus Ornstein, 18, District 2-
The jazzy music, bright lights, and cheering audience had all faded away – slower than expected, as even in the shower with the water running down his dark hair he still saw them when he blinked, his ears still rang – tinnitus, that had better not be permanent! – and his heart was still pounding.
No, the interviews took a long time to truly be over. A long while of sitting in the dark and the silence and hearing the blood roaring past his ears, trying to rush to his beating heart, trying to make him feel like his breaths weren't sucking in nothing. Even now, later into the night, he didn't feel they were truly over. He could barely close his eyes, it was as if his body was forcing him awake despite it being not at all productive to do right now.
There were just too many thoughts going around in his head to allow him to sleep. Too many lights that still danced across his closed eyelids.
This was truly it.
His pride had gotten here, and now his pride was the only hope he had of getting out of here. And he wasn't sure he had any of that left.
Standing up to Smough felt good. Finally, he wasn't being pushed around, forced to accept a lower standing all because he wasn't a brute. Finally, he did something that he actually thought his family might notice him for, and be proud about.
He wasn't proud anymore.
It didn't matter to him that he had taken Cupey down once. That only gave Cupey the knowledge he needed to win the second fight. It felt good when Isabella actually looked his way, and he felt like he had done something honorable to her, made her proud for even just a second. To walk away with her from the loser, being the winner for once.
But he didn't feel like a winner anymore.
He had been the loser enough to know what it felt like to be walked away from. And now he had ruined Smough's life, and was only poised to ruin more lives as he went.
Consus Ornstein thought that he deserved to be the winner after so long being the loser. He thought that would make him feel good, feel fulfilled.
But it didn't.
And now he had no other choice but to continue down this difficult path.
But he had one choice that he could make. Well, he had to make, he still wasn't sure if he could.
His Aunt's container of grease. The shoelace from his step-cousins. His mom's earring. His Dad's cufflink. His sister's little squishy. His mentor's ring. His non-sister's fuzzy pink keychain. One, two, three… He was missing one.
Ornstein looked around the desk in his room, getting on his knees to check the floor for anything that might have fallen. He hadn't counted them since the train ride, it could be anywhere! He didn't see anything on the ground so he looked at the tokens again, thinking through each of the people in his life. Seeing their faces in front of his eyes hurt him. People that he thought didn't care about him, in many cases, and yet they did, they were just… They were shit at saying it!
And now because they couldn't say how they really felt about him, he was here, in this mess.
Ornstein took a deep breath, slowly walking around the rest of the room, checking the floor, under the bed, under the other furniture. Nothing. So he slowly started retracing his steps, getting worried that he wasn't going to find it. Then how was he going to choose? He could only take one of them into the Arena with him, after all.
He went out into the common area and stopped when he saw the lights already on and a figure already there, sitting on the couch. His brows went up in surprise when he saw Isabella there – she usually was the one to hide in her room, not be out where other people might see her.
They made eye contact for a long moment – maybe it wasn't very long, but it was too many heartbeats to be considered short to him – before she quickly got up, walking past him toward the rooms but not before he noticed something in her hand.
"That's mine!" he burst before he could stop himself, before his cheeks blushed instinctively at standing up to her even for something like that.
Isabella turned around, sure enough holding the button Ornstein got from his uncle and slowly setting it on the counter. "I just found it on the floor."
"It's mine," Ornstein said, feeling protective and not waiting for her to move before he went over to snatch it off the counter, his voice taking on a certain edge as Isabella just stared at him doing it.
"I didn't know. Sorry."
It was the first admission of any kind he had heard her make. Something about hearing a softness in her voice made him soften up immediately. It was just so… Unnatural to hear.
"It's fine," he said, twirling it around in his hand a few times. "It's just… One of my tokens."
Isabella was twisting a small bracelet around her wrist – must not have been wearing it when she was training since he didn't notice it then. "One?" she asked finally.
"I have eight," he said softly, realizing just how many it was as he thought of them all.
Isabella crossed her arms at him. "You won't be allowed to bring eight things into the Games you know."
"I know," Ornstein said with a sigh as he shook his head at himself. "I didn't expect to get a single one after what I did, and knowing how my family felt about me. But I guess I had no idea how they really felt about me. Now I have more than I know what to do with."
Isabella glared over at him for a long moment, and Ornstein fully expected her to walk away. It was the smart thing to do. And Isabella was chosen to volunteer for a reason. It was because she was the perfect candidate that always made the choices that brought her closer to winning. But she didn't move.
"Sounds like a good problem to have, I guess," Ornstein continued, barely talking to her as he doubted she was even listening anymore. He was mostly talking to himself. "But now I don't know what to do. I don't know who to take with me into the Arena." He thought about the faces of his family members, each of them looking different, and giving him a different feeling. Some were definitely warmer than others, but was warmth the right thing for him right now? He didn't even know what was right for him anymore, he just wanted to live.
"My aunt, my uncle," he said, flipping the button around again. "My cousins, my parents, my sisters, my mentor…" It was all making his head spin. He loved them. He always wore his heart on his sleeve with them. And many of them didn't ever return the favor until it was too fucking late. "Each one is special, but each one also has so many memories with it. I mean, I got so mad over a stupid button, and my uncle isn't even related to me by blood…" He closed his eyes, trying to work through the problem in his head, find the right answer. "What's the thing that's going to push me to get out of this hellscape? You know? Well, maybe you don't, but-" he finally looked up.
She turned to put her back to him and had already taken a few steps, walking to her room.
"Sorry," Ornstein said quietly as he watched her go. He was a fucking idiot. She was right when they first stepped on the train together. They weren't here to make friends. They were both here to ruin lives. Not only had Ornstein chosen this, so had she. She was no better than he was in that moment. He just had to put his head down and focus on what came next. "Good night."
Isabella had her hand on her doorknob for a long second as he turned with button in hand to go back to his room. She spoke to the wall, so quietly that he almost didn't even listen.
"None of them are the ones that'll get you out of here. You're the one that'll get yourself out of here. If you never learn that, you're already fuckin' dead."
Ornstein turned around but the door had already closed.
He slowly went back into his own room, turning the knob as he closed the door so as to not make a sound and cause a disturbance. He went back to the table, spreading out the tokens again and putting the button in the pile that was now complete. His family.
He wanted to perform more with Aunt Eirini.
He wanted to have more little chats with Uncle Caius.
He wanted to take his cousins trick-or-treating.
He wanted to hug his Mom again.
He wanted to watch scary movies with his Dad again.
He wanted to be part of Chari's life – and take some responsibility for taking care of her as her older brother.
He wanted to spar with Pryderi more.
He wanted to tease Siri, play for her, teach her things, play with her little dog again.
The container, the button, the shoelace, the earring, the cufflink, the squishy, the ring, the keychain…
Ornstein stared at them all for a moment before he got an idea and sat up straighter. His fingers worked quickly, taking the shoelace and beginning to thread things through it. The button through one of the holes, the ring, the keychain, the cufflink through the cylinder closing device… He looked around for some glue, staring at the remaining items and becoming determined to add them on. He stabbed the earring through the fabric of the shoelace and put the back on, pushing the back end of the squishy onto the flimsy needle and shoving the back on. He was just able to clamp the container around the shoelace and press it closed before he carefully tied the two ends together, holding up his creation with pride.
A necklace.
A family necklace.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't coherent, and in all honesty, it was pretty ugly. But each part of it was a gift from one of the people that Ornstein loved. And this was a token that proved to him that they loved him too. Even when he didn't know it, or wouldn't see it.
He pulled the necklace up for a moment, looking at it with a special kind of pride. This was his family. He made the token special, himself. Maybe this would be his good luck charm after all.
He set it out on the desk for a moment and stared at it without blinking for a few long seconds before he closed his eyes.
Blink.
Blink.
All of that pride had quickly vanished.
Why? He looked at the token – it represented his family, everyone that loved him! But he just wasn't feeling… He didn't feel anything looking at it. It didn't make him feel warm. It didn't make him feel any more prepared to go out there and ruin more lives.
What she said was starting to make sense. He picked it up, trying to remember how it felt to hug his family in that goodbye room. But looking at these things didn't bring that feeling back. They were just shabby, ugly things. All together, as much as his brain knew that it was supposed to represent something to him, it just… Didn't.
These items weren't them. They were just things. He didn't need things to get home. He already had their love whether he was looking at the things or not. And in that moment, after a lifetime of wondering and worrying about it… That knowledge was finally enough for him. It was a peace he had never felt before, a stability, a reassurance that was foreign in his chest.
His heart had stopped pounding.
The lights stopped flashing across his eyes.
The sounds stopped ringing in his ears, and he finally became aware of the gentle dimness of his room, the silence that surrounded him.
So after a moment, he took the necklace, holding it in his hands and only worrying about it for a moment before he put it over a small bin in his room and opening his fist, releasing it into the bin.
Those were just things.
Ornstein knew what was home waiting for him, whether he had those things or not.
You're the one that'll get yourself out of here.
He didn't have another choice now.
~.~.
-Astra Kaminisky, 18, District 3-
After the energy of the interviews, being back to the quiet mundane areas of the tribute building almost felt like a shock. Like a cannon ball into an ice pool. She had a bit of a shiver despite being in the Capitol-grade shower that was even more luxurious than her own back home.
She took a deep breath – in through the nose, and out, trying to remind her body that it was over now and there was no need to feel stressed anymore. There was nothing to be nervous about. Even though it was just a big delusion, she hoped that with enough breaths like this, she could at least physically recover.
She knew that she said too much. The Capitol audience didn't care about her troubles back home, her unhappiness with what she was currently doing – and with that she was sure she pissed off her parents, students, mentor teachers, and administration. She didn't drop the place by name but surely it wouldn't take those press snoops long to figure it out. They weren't dumb – they couldn't be in order to find out so much protected information with the purpose of ruining lives.
She had never really talked much about how small she felt all the time – obviously, not until the cameras were displaying her problems for the entire nation to witness. That was just the perfect time to spill everything that she had been holding inside.
It was the night before people were going to start dying… So maybe she could at least try to give herself some grace.
Easier said than done, of course. She stretched up her arms, squeezing her eyes shut at the dull ache of her side from the tumble out of the Tribute Center. Thankfully, Caesar didn't ask her about that – so whatever magic Chrome worked on the bystanders must have worked. Right? She could only hope. That was a great thing to be known for, the girl that couldn't even be brave enough to try.
She was going to reach for a towel when she stepped out, letting out a small noise of surprise when the platform made a slightly electrical sound and her hair stood up for a second, before falling back to her shoulders almost dry, the droplets practically evaporated from her body. This kind of tech hadn't made it back to Three yet, not even the fortunate families like her own – and she wondered sometimes if things like that ever would.
Either way, she still took a towel, just wanting something soft to hold onto for a moment even if she didn't need it. She sat on her bed, wrapped up for a long moment. She knew that she should get up, get changed into some PJs, and wind down for bed, but she didn't want to. And the longer the realization of the Games loomed over her, the more she thought she should do what she wanted. She wouldn't have much longer of being able to do what she wanted to anyways.
She wasn't sure how long she had just laid there, the comfort of the towel wrapped around her curled up to cover all the way to her toes. She had closed her eyes for a little bit, trying to focus on breathing. Who knew that even breathing would be considered a gift to her?
It was only when her body started to get uncomfortable that she finally forced herself to get up – her eyes nervously darting to the clock that sat next to her bed before they darted back away, deciding it was better if she didn't even know how long she had been there.
She finally was able to change into the PJs set out – silk, nice and light shorts and a tank since she slept hot. She stretched again, clicking her tongue a few times in her mouth and feeling that dryness in the back of her throat.
Ugh, I'll definitely have to pee in the night if I drink now…
But she wanted some water. So her feet slowly shuffled to the kitchen.
She squinted – even the small night light in the kitchen was too much for her eyes after being closed for so long – and stopped when she saw movement – just an Avox that had jumped into action seeing her come in.
"Just water," she said, barely wanting to talk to the young man as she would have rather done it herself. But that wasn't how things went around here. So she stood around, awkwardly hugging herself as she was insecure in the silky clothes standing in the open like this. Thankfully it didn't take the man long to deliver to glass to her, which she took. She made contact with his eyes for a long second, and before she could stop it she had already uttered a "thank you" to him. She wasn't supposed to, but she was always so afraid of coming across to others as brash, impolite, or the worst, ungrateful. He had already scurried away before the words left her mouth, leaving her staring at the floor for a long second as she had considered what she did.
Finally, she took a sip – the cool liquid going down her throat immediately soothed not only her thirst but also the uneasy feeling of her stomach, if only slightly. She took another deep breath, in through the nose, and out, bringing in a wave of cool air through her entire body before releasing it – which was quickly followed by a yawn of warm air coming back up from her throat and popping her ears.
Another sip. She should at least try to forget about what was to come and get some rest.
She turned a little bit, her feet taking her away from her bedroom despite her brain's protests. She knew that she should go to bed and prepare for what was to come, try to be at least a little rested before she would get thrown into who-knows-where tomorrow.
But she wanted to look at the night sky.
The real sky.
It was the last time she could possibly know for sure that she was looking at the same stars that Jesse was underneath. The last time she could ever be assured that the moon that watched over her watched over him as well. After tomorrow, everything was going to be different. She just wanted to try to enjoy things while they were still at least a little bit the same.
She saw another bit of movement, and her eyes moved towards the source, blinking slowly with surprise that someone was out there. Mickey was always the early bedtime kinda person, he hadn't been awake at this hour a single night since they had gotten here. But the Games could ruin even the strictest of routines, she supposed.
A small click, and the door rolled open a few steps beside her.
"I thought that was you shuffling around out there."
"Sorry," Astra said softly, her eyes transfixed on the dark blue sky, somehow reassured by the small drips of light spreading out across it, glowing in a welcoming manner.
"No need to apologize. I'm also guilty of ruining my sleep schedule."
"I was surprised by that," she said as she finally stepped out, realizing that he had opened the door for her to come out, not for him to come in. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment at the view, only vaguely remembering what it even looked like as she was so focused on looking down last time she was out here.
"I have… A complicated relationship with the night," Mickey said as she stayed back towards the building and leaned on the door, crossing her arms to herself at the slight summer night breeze. He turned around, ginger hair being blown gently by the wind as he tweaked his glasses. "It makes me… Feel."
"Feel?" Astra asked quietly as she watched him, leaning on the railing in front of her, looking mostly at his back and not his face.
"Yes," Mickey said with a small sigh. "It makes me feel. I wish I could explain it better, but… That's all I can really say. The night brings about a… A feeling. When I first woke up without my memories, I would sit out there and try so hard to get it back. That memory, any memory really."
Astra frowned. "But it never comes?"
"Never," Mickey said. "So I gave up. But tonight… I thought maybe I would try again. One last time."
Astra's heart sunk all the way to her stomach thinking about that fact, and trying to put it away in the back of her head. It wasn't real, it wasn't happening. "Is it working?" she asked quietly, feeling like she should, even if she knew the answer.
"Not tonight," he said, softly as well, as he looked out across the city and she could see his shoulders go up and down with a slow, deep breath.
"Well…" Astra said, slowly taking a step closer as her legs started to shake at even getting close to the edge again. "What do you feel?" she asked him.
Mickey turned back to look at her for a second. "The Games is no place for compassion."
"Guess I'm just doomed to always be a good friend," she said, but she still wasn't totally sure that was true. Would her friends say that about her? Did she even have real friends?
He let out a sound – somewhere between a laugh and… A sob. It was like she had poked him with a branding iron with how sudden he cried out.
"I-I'm sorry," she said, stepping back towards the building again.
Mickey looked up at her, tweaking his glasses, and quickly rubbing his eyes. "No, I'm sorry," he said right away. "Guess I have a friend that I'm missing tonight. Probably all the time, but something about you brought some kind of feeling forward." He sighed a little bit, crossing his arms again as if to pout at the moon. "Longing," he said after a beat.
"Longing," Astra repeated sadly, looking at the same moon.
"That's how the night makes me feel," he said quietly. "It makes me feel a sort of yearning. But I don't even know what I'm longing for. It's different than the longing to remember, or the longing to make something of myself. It's some kind of longing for something…" He frowned as he looked at his hands for a moment. "Infinite."
Astra just blinked a few times, rubbing her hands on her arms as her arms were crossed as she thought about that for a moment. "Sounds like an impossibly large feeling."
"Feels like it too," Mickey said with a bitter snort as he tweaked his glasses again.
"I'm sorry Mickey," Astra said softly as she tapped her foot a little bit. "If you feel it, then surely that infinity is out there somewhere. Right?"
"Maybe," Mickey said, before he just shrugged again. "Maybe not. We're too small to know, you and I."
"Yeah, I suppose so," Astra agreed, slightly begrudgingly, as she was just trying to make him feel better. She felt sad for him. And lost too, him being lost only made her feel it even more.
"All we can control is ourselves at this point. Everything else will be in the hands of whatever is out there." He tapped his fingers on the railing. "This helplessness is strange to me. It's something I haven't felt in a long time. And yet, in a way, it feels like an old friend. Like a shadow, almost."
"Oh, I'm plenty used to that feeling," Astra said quietly. "My whole life back home was just spiraling out of control and that was before I got thrown here."
"Maybe," Mickey said. "But despite that, I could tell from the time I met you that you're going to keep fighting through it. I guess we're kindred spirits that way."
"I'm no fighter," Astra said quickly, shaking her head right away. She was not gritty, she was not strong, and she was not at all ready for tomorrow.
"You don't gotta be one of them big guys to have grit," Mickey said. "Sometimes all it takes to get out of here is that little bit of genuinity. That's one thing that strikes a true chord with me."
Astra didn't know what to say to him. Her eyes filled with a few tears and she picked up her water to sip it slowly, not wanting to cry in front of him. The only person she cried in front of was Jesse, and even then, she usually tried not to - especially when she didn't want to be comforted.
"There's something real about you, Astra," Mickey told her. "It's why I wanted to trust you from the start. When I think about the Games tomorrow, I just have this feeling that… Well, I think it's all gonna be okay."
"That's a fuckin' superpower," Astra told him, and he just chuckled.
"Guess it is. Probably just took too much of Gio's advice to heart."
"Anything is possible," Astra said.
Mickey put up his finger. "Actually, it's everything is possible." He looked gruff for a second, but then cracked a tiny smile.
"Oh, so sorry to misquote," Astra said with a bit of a laugh, trying to keep him feeling happy and not let it get… Sad again. "Must be some weird effect on my memory."
"Don't go talking about memory to me," Mickey said, chuckling as he gave one last look to the moon. And in his blue eyes, which practically glowed in the night, she could see the last longing look he gave to the moon, before he turned away from her and flicked the switch to open the sliding door again. "I'm glad you came out tonight. But it's time to try to close our eyes. Yes?"
"I doubt you'd let me near a balcony alone again," Astra said, before she felt the catch in her throat.
"No," Mickey said quietly as she went past him inside.
She could feel the sting in her eyes and hoped he didn't notice, finding in her the strength to be polite and give a proper good night. "Good night Mickey. Thank you."
He said something quietly in response that she didn't hear – sometimes she struggled when people mumbled – and closed her bedroom door behind her.
She felt the tears start to leave her eyes as soon as her head touched the soft pillow, slowly falling into the fabric and leaving dots of wetness in their wake. Dots would become streak-shaped before they became large, contorted blob shapes.
Finally, though, her teary eyes closed to rest, surrendering to the reality that after tomorrow, nothing would ever be the same.
~.~.
-Bucket Tanzer, 16, District 7-
When he closed his eyes, he could still hear their cheers.
All those people… Cheering… For him. He still was in disbelief.
Maybe it was because he didn't have so many cheerleaders back home. He was so used to being put down, and he didn't even realize how it felt to be lifted up. And now that he got even a small taste of it, it was quickly becoming into an insatiable hunger.
Sure, everyone else interviewed well themselves. Sabine looked beautiful, and she was even smiling backstage at him. Sure, Maverick had a great moment coming out to the whole nation, to the applause of the entire nation. Sure, other things happened that night but Bucket wasn't thinking about all that other stuff. He was just thinking about one thing: himself. How it felt to stand up there with Caesar hanging on his every word, hearing his voice be amplified to a crowd that was sitting on the edge of their seats, hungering for his words, waiting to hear what he might want to say to them. He had never felt like that before. And that feeling itself was addicting.
A little… Too addicting.
After all, as much as he tried, he couldn't forget why this was happening. As much as part of him wanted to forget about everyone else and continue to fight for this good feeling, he just couldn't shake the cold deep inside of knowing what he was going to have to do to other people to get out of here alive. Other people with thoughts, souls, feelings just like him.
Including Sabine.
He could pretend he was ready all he wanted, but he knew the reality deep down. All of the smiles and waves, they were just an act. That wasn't really him. The person that those crowds loved, it wasn't Bucket Tanzer. It was some creation of himself that he had made to try to get them to sponsor him. It felt like nobody would ever truly love him for who he actually was, deep inside.
Well… Except one.
Bucket had been holding his tongue these past few days around her. After all, that was the smart thing to do, wasn't it? That was the thing that he could do to obey his grandmother's wishes, and to have a chance of survival.
Even so, Luther's words didn't leave him. He didn't want to regret anything with Sabine, or with anyone. It was why he tried his best to give Maverick his jacket, even though he was full of bitter jealousy witnessing this scene before his eyes.
Maybe he wanted a standing ovation for coming out too.
Maybe he deserved to feel accepted and loved from the first moment he said he was transgender.
Maybe he earned the right to a name that he loved, that felt like him, that he could demand to be called by too.
But he didn't.
He didn't get any of those things.
He got disappointment.
He got treated like he was sick.
He got witch doctors screaming in his face, hypnotists demanding the little girl inside of you come back, therapists asking him about his problems while his biggest problem was sitting in the room beside him, refusing to see her son, refusing to acknowledge who he was, forcing him to put on a mask named Moxie and wear it every god-forsaken day he had to step into that
stupid,
tiny,
dingy-ass
apartment-
He took a deep breath, reaching up to touch his face and realizing it was covered in a thin film of wetness that caught the draft on his cheeks.
He blinked a few times in surprise at his own tears, as if not expecting them to be there, because he wasn't. And the voice he could hear in his head that sounded feminine, just a little raspy, and low, full of disappointment, spoke to him.
This wasn't the Bucket he knew. And it wasn't the Bucket he wanted to be either.
My little girl would never act this way.
No.
He wasn't that little girl.
He wasn't
a lost
little girl.
Why did he still feel like that?!
He put his face into his hands and he cried. He cried for what his life could have been. For what he deserved and never was lucky enough to receive. All this time he tried to hold back his tears, his feelings, and cover them up with a flimsy hope that things were going to get better with time, with the hollow promise to himself that this was only going to be temporary, that the scorn and the yelling, begging, pleading for him to go back into the closet wasn't going to last forever. That he could be manly and push it all down.
But Sabine was right.
Nothing was going to change their minds.
The only thing that Bucket could do to make them love him again was to go back to how things were when they loved him before. To get up in the morning and do his hair, get excited about the new make-up he got from Mom. Touch up his nail polish. Put on his bra. Worry about what the men would think about his butt. Become something that he would never, ever be. Act his way through life in a way that made them happy. Put their needs and wants before his own.
He was too used to doing it. But it was exhausting. He didn't want to do it anymore. He wanted to be done doing it. And after everything that had happened to him, he realized that soon it would be over. Either he would be dead and gone, unable to care anymore, or he would be free. One option sounded far better than the other. But at least either one would finally grant him an out from where he was right now.
Bucket?
Would this be his name forever? A stupid joke? A nickname given to tease him? That would be his identity for the rest of his life?!
He realized after a second that he had heard the question, and that meant that someone was there, talking to him.
Whatever haze he was caught up in faded slowly, like fog, as he turned around to face Sabine.
Sorry.
Did he say that out loud? He said it, but he wasn't even sure that he meant it anymore. What even was an apology anymore?
"It's fine," she said as she slowly sunk down on the bed next to him. "I just heard you…"
"Heard me?" Bucket asked, before slowly wiping his face. Of course. If there were tears, that meant there would also be… Sounds of some sort. "Oh. Right. Sorry." It was just as hollow as it felt. Not a true apology. If he truly felt bad for crying out loud and possibly robbing Sabine of sleep the night before the Hunger Games, he would have stopped doing it. Like he even noticed in the first place.
"I'm not okay either you know." It was so like her to skip the pleasantries, and just say what they were both feeling. At the end of the day, he appreciated that about her.
"Who would be?" he asked finally, trying to focus on her right now instead of getting lost once more in his own thoughts.
"Crazies," she said, making the sign by her head. "And we got a few of em here."
"Guess so," Bucket said, feeling just a little more grounded from needing to sustain the conversation with her. He had to keep himself here, in the present.
"Oh I know so honey," Sabine said, pulling up her fingers. "Career, Career, Career…" she counted on each finger.
"Mostly the Careers," Bucket said, going back to staring at his hands. He had worked them so hard over the past few days that callouses had started to form, that were quickly shaved off to the best of his prep team's ability. And his hair. He still didn't even get to cut his hair.
"Yeah," Sabine said. "And a few that give me the weird vibes." She went quiet for a moment and then reached over to put her good hand on his shoulder. "Though… I guess in the next few days we're all gonna go a little crazy, huh?"
"The only way to not is to step off your plate," Bucket said. "And be considered crazy for the rest of your memory."
"Yeah," Sabine said, closing her eyes. "I'm having nightmares that I'm gonna fall off the plate."
"You won't," Bucket said right away. For a moment of her looking at him like that, he felt like he had purpose again. "Alright? Get that thought out of your brain. You're going to be fine."
"I'm going to try," she said, but she just stared at her hands for a moment. "I just hope that my memory lasts a while," she said quietly. "That's all."
"I'll always remember you," Bucket told her, and he meant it. "As the first person to make me feel like I wasn't going insane back home. To make me feel seen. Remember?"
Sabine was tearing up but she still managed to give him a smile through her misty eyes. "Thanks Bucket."
There it was again.
He closed his eyes for a moment. But when was a better time than now? Now, when she had come here for him after hearing his distress?
"Sabine. I want to ask you something," he said, reaching over to gently take her hand for a moment. "You don't have to answer now…"
"Yes, I have peed in the wilderness before, but only once."
He was so caught off-guard by her serious tone that he couldn't help a laugh that burst out of him before he could stop it. "No," he said, becoming aware of… A smile. The feeling of tension pushing his cheeks… Upward. "Wait, you peed in the woods? I never have," he said.
"Never?" she asked, looking genuinely surprised. "Damn."
"The question," he said, clearing his throat to remember again. It was a funny diversion, but with the weight of the question he took a deep breath. "Sabine… I know I've said it before but you have always been a supporter of me. And the patch you made for me was one of the best presents I've ever gotten, because of the feeling of acceptance that I got with it. I'll never be able to thank you enough for that."
"It's a low bar when your family is a bunch of shitheads," she told him mildly with a shrug.
Bucket couldn't help but wince at that, even though he knew it was true…
"I want you to name me, Sabine."
That caused a moment of true silence. He finally made himself look over at her, seeing her shocked expression and wincing a little bit. "If you want to," he added quickly, clearing his throat.
"I can't take that away from you," she said right away.
"Yes you can," Bucket said as he flopped back a little bit and stared at the ceiling in the dim light. "You've seen how it's gone with me trying to name myself," he added with a chuckle.
"Well yeah, because you're picking names like Zack with a K at the end! With a K!"
Bucket laughed at her, thinking about that small phase. "I know," he said with a sigh. "I think that ultimately, I'm never going to be able to pick a name I like because I don't even really know who I am, let alone how to name myself. I thought maybe I should give that to someone that can really see me, you know?"
"I don't know Bucket…"
"You said you wanted your memory to last, right?" he asked. "Well… This is a way I can make sure your memory lasts as long as mine. No matter what happens to me, and to you…"
Sabine sniffed a little bit, not looking at him. "I… What if you hate it?"
"Oh I won't hesitate to tell you if I hate it," he told her, and that made her laugh a little bit, before it faded once more to silence.
"I wouldn't want you to," Sabine said as she was quiet for a moment. "I just want you to find who you are. Not who people think you oughta be. That's all."
Bucket frowned at that for a moment. Should he want to choose for himself? He didn't know. "Well…" he said. "Who I am wants to have a piece of you with me. Always. And nothing lasts longer than a name."
Sabine turned to look at him for a moment, her cheeks glimmering a little bit in the dim light as she did so. "Then I'll make sure to give you a good one."
Bucket smiled a little bit at her. "Don't stay up too late thinking about it, okay?" he asked.
"Well you can't just give me a huge responsibility like that and tell me to not stay up thinking about it!" Sabine protested, getting a little bit of her zinger energy back as she crossed her arms at him.
"I'm sorry, I've been thinking about it for a while," he said sheepishly.
"And you waited til now?!" she asked, giving him the gentlest flick on the temple.
"Yes yes," he complained only a little bit, and very apologetically. "Sleep on it and take your time. We still have some of it left."
Sabine nodded, sighing softly again as she got herself up and slowly started walking out of his room.
"But nothing is guaranteed anymore."
He felt himself growing sadder as he nodded. "It's not," he agreed softly. But at least they had a few more hours guaranteed between them…
"Good night," Sabine said, staring at him. "…Not Zack with a K."
Bucket chuckled softly, feeling that calm feeling once more.
That feeling that even for a little bit…
Things were going to be alright.
That feeling that he only really seemed to feel with her by his side.
"Good night Sabine."
~.~.
A/N: Alright, BB is on-course for 02/22. I will be 27 and tributes will start falling like flies!
Nothing else to say besides I'm emo, and I will see you then!
