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Now he's cursing himself for letting the anger at the situation spew up and out in the form of a conversation he knew would upset her in a situation when she's already worked up. He sighs, counts to ten and then stands up. She said she was going back to the Tower, but the fact she hadn't started moving towards the elevator tells him that maybe she's not quite set on it. So he moves towards her, still keeping the kitchen island between them, still all too aware that she's been hurt tonight.
"Talia, I'm sorry. I just..." But he pauses again, shakes his head as he looks down at the counter in front of him. He just what? Hated knowing others put their hands on her. Hated the whole situation. Hated seeing her hurt. But that was his own anger and irritation. His own selfishness wanting to get her out. Though he knows she hurts too, knows she hates her situation as well. "Nevermind."
"Don't leave." There's a sort of sadness in his baby blues, a desperation as he asks her to stay. It's part selfishness just as much as it is part worry for her. He wants to know she's okay. He knows he won't know as such if she leaves. He knows he won't sleep a wink tonight if she goes back to the tower. "I won't bring it up again." Not tonight at least. "Let me get you some motrin and you can sleep. It's late Talia. You can sleep in my bed, I'll sleep out here."
She watches him warily as he approaches, making no move to leave. The logical part of her brain tells her he's not a danger to her. The illogical part, well that part is still stuck in the fight or flight mode it's been thrust into earlier in the day no matter how much wine she'd drank to try to drown the instinct out. He stops on the other side of the island however and it is her turn to sigh heavily.
She watches him, eyes meeting his gaze and then dropping away at the emotions she finds there. "Fine," she hadn't truly meant to leave anyway. He is where she feels safe, not at the tower, not at her own apartment, not even fully at home in Four. Where he was was where she felt safe and she wasn't willing to leave her safety, not when she felt the way she did. "I'm not gonna make you sleep on the couch. You're getting to old for that," she cracked a smile at her own joke, but it quickly fell away as the smile stretched the wound on her lip causing it to bleed anew. Her tongue came out to lick the blood away. "Besides I doubt I'd get much sleep in there by myself."
Natalia grabbed her glass of wine and moved around the island, finally closing the distance between them as she wedged herself between the counter and him, pressing herself fully into his personal space. "I don't want this," and she'd refused to put a name on what they were to one another, "to have a price tag on it. He's," her forehead is pressed to his chest now, her voice softer, "taken so much from me. I won't let him take this too."
He doesn't prod when she won't look at him or when she doesn't answer. He knows that if she wants to answer she will. If not he isn't going to press her further. Some nights she wanted to talk, others she didn't. And when she moves, he stays. Unwilling to encroach on the space she's put between them. Her claim of being fine draws a frown to his lips, corners of his mouth turning down.
"No you're not." He asserts, leaning forward to place his glass on the coffee table. Still he stays where he is, studying her, notices her fingers at her throat. Was the busted lip not the only injury? "Your lip is bloody and swollen and it sounds like it hurts to talk." And he was angry. Not at her, never at her, but at the situation, at Snow, at every man and woman who had ever forced themselves on her, knowing he has to face several of those men and women daily.
"Damn it, Talia. I could... I," but he doesn't finish the statement. It's an arguement they've had before. Coriolanus knows he has a special interest in Natalia though he isn't sure just how much Snow knows beyond his interest. Does Snow know that Natalia's here right now? That she usually spends several nights a year at his place? Probably.
It did hurt to talk. She can't deny that. Everything hurt. Her head, her legs, her jaw, her upper arm where Valerius had grabbed her too hard, her heart, her mind. She grabbed a washcloth from the drawer next to his sink and wet it, wiping at the blood he'd pointed out on her lip. She'd been about to proclaim herself all better when he spoke again. She leveled a stare across the apartment at him. He'd offered before, to try to free her of Snow's use of her. She'd told him no.
"Tiberius, we've discussed this before and the answer is no," she is irritated that he's brought it up again. "I'm a fucking big girl," though she'd barely been such when they'd met, not even twenty yet at the time. "And I can take care of myself. I will not be bought, not by you. Especially," she's getting worked up now and has to stop her mini-rant to cough, her throat protesting the use of her voice after the trauma it'd sustained earlier in the night, "especially not by you." She loves him, but she doesn't want to feel that she owes him anything. She doesn't want to ruin the realness of their relationship. Some of the people who bought her felt they loved her too, she wouldn't let Snow cheapen what she felt for Tiberius down to whatever dollar amount he deemed appropriate to allow her her freedom, or rather appropriate to sell her to one person for the rest of ever.
"You know what," she's sat her freshly filled glass of wine aside, falling into a fit of coughing again. "I'm going back to the Tower. Mags'll make sure I'm okay." Though she wouldn't let Mags know she'd been hurt anymore than she'd been willing to tell Tiberius she was not okay.
He flicks on the light, hand already having been reaching for the switch before she spoke. He quickly reaches to dim the lights back down, not all the way off, but close enough. If she's sitting in the dark, he already knows where she's been before letting herself into his apartment, knows why she's here unannounced, knows why she hasn't gone back to District Four's floor at the tribute tower.
"You know you're always welcome," he calls back, dropping his keys on the table by the elevator and shrugging out of his jacket to hang it on the coat hook. He spots the wine glass in her hand and his eyes scan the open space to find the open bottle on the counter in his kitchen. He pours himself a glass before moving into the living room as well. When he moves to the living room, it isn't to sit next to her, or even on the couch, but across from her. He has learned better than to join her in these moments, to let her come to him or ask for him.
It was only once he was settled into his seat that he noticed the fact her lip was busted. "Tal..." he sighs, dragging a hand down his face, trying to quell the anger the wells inside him. "Who?" Though he isn't sure he wants to know, or that she'll answer.
The brightness of the light causes her to flinch. The salt from earlier shed tears only burning worse as the light is flung on and she closes her eyes against it. But the light fades to a dim glow and she tentatively reopens her eyes, watching as Tiberius moved about his space and then settles across from her. She hadn't realized the tenseness in her shoulders, a reflex of her own anxiety rather than his presence in of itself, until he settled without touching her and she relaxed. She may have wrapped herself up in the comfort of him already, his clothes, his home, his wine, but she didn't want touched. Not yet. She'd been touched enough without her permission already. She'd call for him on her own time.
She meets his gaze when he speaks but drops it a second later, focusing on the wine in her hand. It's nearly gone but she swirls the little bit of liquid around in the glass and watches it. It takes several minutes before she speaks and she only does so after swallowing the rest of the wine in her glass and walking to the kitchen to fill her glass again.
"Valerius," she speaks and it hurts to do so. Her fingers rub at her neck and she sighs. That also hurt. "Ti, I'm fine." That's a lie. He'll see through it, she knows. They've known each other for several years now, know each other's tells.
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He continued to hold her, his arms wrapped around her. His own grief wells for everything they'd lost. Thirty years they'd danced around one another. A constant game of will they or won't they. Nothing confirmed, but so many in the Capitol sure. Some even wondering if he had fathered Natalia's child. They'd talked after the arena had gone down, once he was sure she was okay, that they both were. They were supposed to tell Rose once things settled, finally admitting to the person who deserved to know most who he was. He wanted to be part of Rose's life, but he'd planned to leave the ball in her court. He'd desired that for many years. But had always abided her wishes. He couldn't blame her, wouldn't blame her for his inability to ever have that relationship. Being the child of a victor placed enough of a target on Rosemarinus's back. Being his child only doubly so. What a sensation that would have been?
He doesn't realize that he is crying too, tears falling silently down his face and into her hair. His own grief manifesting in his own way. He doesn't realize until he speaks, tasting salt on his lips, "There is no me without you." He's quiet a moment, pulls back, brings his hands up to cup her face. His own tears are ignored as he brushes her aways with the pads of his thumbs. "We face tomorrow, whatever it brings, together."
Reluctantly she meets his gaze, trying to catch her breath or stop the tears falling down her face but unable to do either thing successfully. Especially when the gaze reflected back at her is one that mirrors that of their child and she is reminded all over again that Rose is gone. She does manage, a moment later, to heave in a deep breath. "No me without you," she whispers in return. A mantra not near as long lasting as their relationship, but one lasting longer than even their I love yous. "Together, always." It hadn't always been that way. She'd pushed him away plenty throughout their relationship, pushed him away to pull him back in. There'd be no pushing him away now. She couldn't even fathom doing so now.
Natalia pulls away then, stepping back into the apartment. She didn't say anything else, simply crawled into his bed, kicked the bedding down and then curled up under it. She was done, exhaustion winning out over anything else. It would take a while, her body breaking into the occasional sob every so often, before her exhaustion completely won out and she fell asleep.
When: During the 47th Annual Hunger Games
Where: The Capitol; The apartment of Tiberius Germain
Who: Natalia & Tiberius @tiberius-germaine
The woman at the front desk had long since stopped asking Natalia why she was there, long since stopped questioning if Mr. Germaine was expecting her. Natalia didn't know why the woman had stopped, maybe accustomed enough to Natalia showing up or maybe Tiberius had told her himself that Natalia was always welcome. Whatever the reason, Natalia was thankful as she sulked into the building with a bloodied lip and what would probably become a lovely bruise if the ache of her throat was any indication.
The penthouse apartment was silent and dark when she let herself in, but that hadn't kept her from making herself at home. Pouring a glass of wine. Showering. Donning a pair of his sweats she'd pulled from his dresser and a t-shirt that she'd found tossed on his bed. Curling up on his couch. Waiting in the still darkness as she sipped from the glass of wine she'd poured herself. Her body hurt and she couldn't let Mags or Beck or Murphy see her like this. At least not until she'd slept it off. God she just wished she could get out, get Snow and all his goons to leave her fuck alone.
She must have dozed off, glass of wine in one hand, the other holding the shirt she wore to her nose, finding comfort in just his scent alone even when he wasn't physically there. God, she's falling in love. Really, she already has. She won't admit that. Doesn't need the gossip journalists anymore in her business. She startles at the sound of the elevator's ding as it announces someone having arrived. Tiberius, she knows, he never hosts other company.
"I let myself in," she announces from her spot, still curled up on his couch, still in the dark.
[Propo] Why did you keep your relationship with Tiberius secret to the public for so long, as well as his paternity to your late daughter?
"It was none of anyone's business." When she'd first been dragged in front of the camera, she'd looked haggard, tired, worn out, exhausted. This time she looked more her old self. She'd allowed the camera crew to do what they wanted with her hair and face. The darks bags remained, but were hidden now behind foundation and concealer. Her hair was free of any restraint and curled loosely around her face and shoulders. But her gaze is devoid of much, her stare at the camera blank. Her grief has moved on from anger and denial and now she's awash in depression, floating on the abyss of nothingness.
"I was barely an adult when I came out of the arena. That didn't matter though, everyone was in my private life. It was like living behind a glass wall." She scoffs, the first showing of any emotion over the last few days. "Miss Morrissey seen out to dinner with Maximillian Neuroux. Or District Four's Natalia caught leaving the penthouse of Bacchus Decimus. Or Marcellus Kiokos, Lysander Invictus, Valerius, Victoria, Eurydice, Augustine, the list could go on. And by god if one of them was married, which happened but wasn't as often in the tabloids I expect Snow had something to do with that, and the spouse ended up angry... I was the home wrecker." She was naming names, she knew it'd ruffle feathers. Good they deserved every bit of feather ruffling after everything she'd done through at their hands. "What I did behind closed doors was always speculated about in the tabloids. Always reported on, almost always front page gossip. But never my choice."
"He was just another on the list. Sponsors Snow sent me to. At least I expected him to be just another name, just another person who paid to rape me," she'd never put to word those exact words, not until then, "to mandhandle me, to do whatever they wanted for however long they paid. I can't tell you how many times I came out of those... encounters bruised and beaten. Some of them liked it when you fought back. But Ti never even tried to touch me. Not until I came on to him at least," She was sharing more about their life than ever before, but what did it matter anymore? Everything she'd found to keep safe and protected was not longer safe and protected.
"Eventually, when I asked after one particularly brutal night, he got me out." She refocuses on the camera, not realizing she had drifted off to a time deacdes ago. "I never asked how, though I know how Snow works so I can assume." She still didn't know the exact figure, nor did she want to know. The disparity even between his fortune and her's as a victor massive, not to compare the measly amount most people in the districts barely survived on.
"He was mine and I was his and for a little while we were able to keep it secret. Out of the tabloids, out of the mouths of those who live on gossip. It was nice and I fell in love. But I knew what would happen if we ever confirmed anything. If my supposed one night flings were front page news, we would never be left alone. Especially after..." she pauses over her words, stumbling to a halt and licking her lips, "Rose was born. " She sniffs quietly, trying to distract herself from the ache that returns to her chest. "It was easier to pretend she'd been born to some fisherman from Four. I was good at one night stands, affairs, flings, right?" She shrugged. "Snow would've made us get married if I dared confirm Ti as her father. I might've been in love, but I valued my privacy more."
And she knew so much of this might've sounded like a sob story. Poor victor, always held in high regard, complaining because she was in the public eye. But it had never been the life she'd wanted for herself. She'd have gladly turned back time and gone back to catching fish with her family if it meant not having been crowned victor and enduring the years that followed.
Cadence knew that she should be getting out more. She should be doing what her schedule said. She should be pushing for her pain, for the the better future for Panem. Cadie knew that was what Coin would say to her. But she didn't want to push through it. She wanted to mope around. Cadie knew from experience that it wasn't easy to get over the death of a loved one. Losing Clove last year had been proof of that. That loss still felt raw, and now she was dealing with losing Brutus too. Grief was a lot. It was too much at times. And Cadie thought it was okay to hide away sometimes. And that was why she was going to do.
A knock on the door got her attention though. She wasn't used to that many people coming around. Most people left her alone, which was exactly what she wanted. And she was going to ignore the door, but that was until she heard the voice. She hadn't heard that voice in so long. And that alone got her up to answer the door. She had no idea what Natalia had gone through at the Capitol. But if she could push through it enough to come check on her, then the least she could do was answer the door.
"Nat...." She had to force a smile on her face. But she was genuinely happy to see Natalia. Despite her sadness she was so happy to see all her friends that had been trapped away in the Capitol. "Did you make that yourself? For me?" It reminded her of when Ezra had cooked for her after Clove had died. It reminded her that even in her sadness, even in her overwhelming grief, she still had people that cared for her. And maybe that was enough to make her believe she could go on. "Come in."
Natalia had been about to walk away, turn on her heels and retreat back to her own room, when the door opened. She too forced a smile upon her face upon seeing Cadie. "Hey kid," she murmured softly, looking to the bowl of stew in her hands when Cadie asked about it. "Yea I did. I thought you might need a good meal." Of course she too could do with a hearty supper, but she hadn't felt like eating recently, only forcing herself to do so when she knew she'd gone too long.
"Thank you," she spoke as she stepped into the room at Cadie's offer for her to come in. She moved into the room and sat the bowl down. She was glad to see that at least physically Cadie was well enough. So much worry had clouded her thoughts in the time they'd all been apart. Cadie, Finnick, Annie, Johanna, they'd all been on her mind constantly.
"How're you holding up, Cadie?" She wouldn't ask if the younger woman was okay. She knew she herself wasn't okay, she couldn't imagine Cadie was either.
'Just friends' Tiberius Germaine and Natalia Morrissey smiled for a picture after being spotted out on the town for dinner. They seemed pretty cozy for 'just friends'. - The Capitol Tribune Vol 73 Issue 2, February 14th, 73
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Arms enveloped invitingly around Natalia's frame. Lids pressed shut, pushing the salty liquid from her eyes in a means to compose herself. It was what she should've done all along instead of moping around, feeling sorry for herself over some stupid rules they deemed sensible in this hole of a district. The elder blinked several times, before her gaze went up to the sky. Well - more like the lamps that were buzzing above them throughout the cafeteria. She had to get herself together. For Natalia's sake. For Annie's sake. For Finnick's sake.
Mags could only shake her head at the statements made. She didn't feel like she was lacking any sort of communication for this was Natalia and she was used to speaking with a non-verbal person. Well - maybe not in a general sense. But she certainly was used communicating with her. They found their way. So in this case it didn't matter that she left her device tugged away in her drawer.
She leaned back, gently taking Nat's face in her palms and wiping away the remaining tears before they got the change to roll down to her chin. Eyes locked with hers and once again she shook her head; making her point that the blame was elsewhere.
Mags shakes her head, asserting that Natalia is not to blame. Nat can see it in Mags's eyes. It doesn't help the hurt or the guilt Natalia feels however. She is sure if she'd just followed the rules, done what was expected of her, Rose would still be alive. Or if she'd gotten Rose out first, but she hadn't even known how to get herself out until Connie's elusive message. Had she been the one to make the order? Of course not, but she still felt that blame deep in her chest.
"I won't be able to take her home," she had little doubt Snow had already disposed of any evidence of wrongdoing on his part, especially with her own disappearance days before.
Nat's eyes closed against the harshness of the salt in her tears and the tenderness of Mags's fingers against her skin. It was grounding for the younger woman, able to focus on something else even if only for a short time, able to force her lungs to expand with each breath. She placed her own fingers over one of Mag's hands before opening her eyes once more, sniffling as she did so.
"He made Annie watch," she murmured, not trusting her voice to speak any louder, afraid her voice would crack and send her spiraling into another breakdown. "And they won't let me see her," she was sure Mags had the same story to tell, sure Mags had probably been down to the hospital to check on Annie. Hell, Mags had probably put up more of a fight than Natalia had. Her fight had been wiped out of her the second her daughter had slumped to the floor.
Let her go. Any other time, he'd have let her go with just those words. He'd never been one to stop her, or hold her captive, hold her against her will. She had trauma and he knew that, had seen the scars and bruises, leftover memories of those who'd forced her to stay. Any other time he'd have acquiesced to her plea. Any other time. But now, now he wasn't letting go. Now his arms remained around her as his head bowed, pressing his face into the top of her head. He didn't say anything, simply held onto her, let her beat against his chest as she cried.
"Talia, I can't." There were so many things he couldn't do. He couldn't let her go. He couldn't live without her. "She wouldn't want this for you. She wouldn't want you to die just to be with her." He speaks into her hair, refusing to let any space form between them.
He doesn't let her go and she deflates in his arms, giving in and giving up. The logical part of herself knows he won't let her go. Not when she was spewing what she was. The illogical part of herself however, just accepted that she'd lost and he'd won. He wasn't going to let her hurl herself over the railing.
Her hands fall flat on his chest where she buries her face, weight sagging into his arms, barely holding herself up. She sobs, truly sobs. Her lungs burn as she heaves in breaths but they just come back out on the wave of sobs. Her body aches, muscles having been tense for far too long. But nothing, nothing compares to the ache that resides in her chest. It feels raw, beaten and hallow all at the same time. It feels as if someone had reached into her chest, breaking ribs and flesh as they did so, and yanked her heart from her chest.
When she'd heard about Brutus for the first time, she'd been too far withdrawn into herself to take care of anyone, to even care what was going on around her. But when the initial shock had worn off, she realized there were still people she cared about her. Not her blood, no, but kids she'd watched grow up, kids she'd protect just as much as if they were her own flesh and blood. One of those such kids being Cadie, her mind flickering back to hearing about Brutus's death. She knew Cadie had to be hurting.
She wasn't the closest with Cadie, but she'd always made sure to look out for the younger victor. And now was no different. If there was one thing that could pull her out of her own grief, even if only momentarily, it was taking care of others. So she'd made her way to the kitchen, ignoring any naysayers and going about making as hearty of a stew as she could. Being in a kitchen made her feel sort of like herself again, cooking had always been a favored past time. She'd almost always had something cooking in her kitchen at home.
She'd left the majority of the stew for whoever needed or wanted after fixing a healthy bowl and snagging a piece of bread to carry down the hallways in search of the room she'd been told would leave to Cadie's room. She knocked then waited quietly.
"Cadie, it's me, Nat... I brought you something to eat," if Cadie was anything like herself, she more than likely hadn't been taking care of her the past several days. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, glancing down the empty hallway. "I'll uh... I'll just leave it out here for you." She was beginning to second guess herself, maybe she should just make her own room again.
It was a busy time for Natalia. The reaping was tomorrow and that meant she'd be required to make an appearance at the reaping, but also that she'd be leaving for a couple weeks. Most years, whether she was mentoring or not, she travelled to the Capitol during the Games. This year was no different. But before she left, there was a new addition to district four's family that she needed to meet. She'd gotten ahold of Annie and Finnick, ensuring she was welcome this soon. Their baby was young, not even two weeks old. She'd have understood if she'd been told they weren't ready yet.
She'd arrived bearing gifts, of course, a hand knit baby blanket, a couple outfits, a couple toys. She knew as a newborn Caspian wouldn't be playing much with the toys, but she couldn't help herself. She thought of Annie and Finn as much her children as Rose and thus was just as excited for the new addition as she'd have been if it'd been Rose welcoming a baby into the world.
Natalia knocks on the door and waits, shifting the bag off her shoulder. It was nondescript, just another tote bag she took with her when she'd go shopping in the district's shops. She didn't want to draw anymore attention to Cas's arrival than his parents wanted, which Natalia was sure was none - at least where nosy capitalites were concerned.
Finnick hadnât thought of the logistics of losing a tribute before. With the Games not in season, he hadnât needed to, and it wasnât a particularly glamorous aspect of victor life. All those Capitol reporters had been dying to ask him about how he felt delivering that final blow, if he ever found out who had sent him that trident, how he felt having that crown bestowed upon him from Snow himself. No one was tripping over themselves to inquire about claiming the body of a tribute or district memorials. It was too morbid. Too dirty. They could watch a live feed of murder, but heaven forbid they are forced to reckon with the reality of it.
But that left him, at just 16, to do it himself. Natalia had been gracious enough to step in and offer to take over, but it didnât feel right. None of it did. And how could it, when everything was just so wrong?Â
The noise from the monitor died out as she pushed the power switch, killing the feed as the two tributes from One divvied up the contents of Selkieâs black backpack. Finnick forced himself to look at the woman before him; her gaze full of something reminiscent of the concern he found in his own motherâs green eyes. Guilt nipped at him, both over his failure and at causing Natalia to worry about him when there were clearly more important things to attend to. He had had his time. This was about Selkie now, her legacy
âHome, right,â he echoed. âSo she can go home.â Did Natalia feel just as sick? âWe should do that.â Do what? Finnick hadnât the slightest idea of where to go or who to even talk to, let alone what forms needed to be submitted. âTogether?â
Every year the District Four team took home at least one dead body. One dead child, or young adult. It never got better, or easier. It just got easier to pull an act into place, to pretend it didn't hurt, at least until she could get behind closed doors and let it all out. Anger, frustration, sadness, let it all out. But now wasn't the time for that. Now was the time for keeping a calm exterior, for helping Finnick in this trying time. It hurt, she knew it did. But she'd be strong for him in that moment.
"We can go together," she agreed. She certainly wasn't going to send him alone. So if he wanted to do it, she was most definitely coming with. She waited another moment, trying to gauge how ready he really was for this, but who was she kidding, she was never ready to tend to these tasks and she'd been at it for nearly three decades.
"Whenever you're ready." She wasn't going to rush him. Not now, not ever, but certainly not now.
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She wanted to scream. She wanted to scream and thrash everything within reach. A sick feeling she had not felt for such a long time was boiling from the pits of her stomach and tightening in the centre of her chest. A sensation that had overcome her on her first night on the train to the Capitol after being reaped. A feeling she would submerge in after her victory during the quiet, sleepless nights. Cursing the horror, injustice and helplessness of her fate. Blocking out any of it with noise and destruction until her throat grew sore and materialism broken.
Then later, at the hopes of change when a new President rose to power. When nothing changed, only for the worst. When Districts were shut off from one another by high fences. When the murder of children grew only more glamourous.
And Mags had felt something similar about the captivity of half of her found family, even though there was a lingering hope for their return. Nothing final or definite. But the helplessness was eating at her. No one seemed to listen to an old lady or in need of her assistance. Perhaps if they had listened, they would've been in time to safe the most innocent of all; little Rose, whose life she would trade with hers any given day.
But the elder couldn't scream. She couldn't thrash. Instead she hoisted herself up to walk over and sit beside Natalia. Nourishing arms wrapped around her and gently pulled her into an embrace in the hopes there was any consolation to be offered with it. She was thinking of Annie and how she struggled from time to time. She was thinking of Finnick and the moments his mask showed some cracks. Natalia, who found so much joy in little Rose. Little Rose on the beach. Little Rose's smile. Little Rose. Dead.
Mags cried as well, hidden in Natalia's hair. She cried for all of them.
When Mags moves to sit beside her, when she feels the warmth of her mentor's arms around her, Natalia is no longer able to quell the damn that is her emotions. She had always wanted for a better tomorrow. Hoped for a better life for her child. Prayed Rosmarinus would never know the cruelty of the world, never know the trauma she herself had faced both inside the arena and in the years after as a desirable victor. She'd almost succeeded in keeping her daughter out of it all. If only she'd kept her mouth shut, even in private. If only she'd kept the perfect victor facade in tact even where she lay her head most nights during the games. But she hadn't and now Rose was gone and it was fault. She wishes she could burn everything to the ground.
A sob comes forth from her lips as she folds herself into Mags' side, feeling much more the barely eighteen year old girl Mags had first met than the fifty-four year old woman she had grown to be. Her arms encircle the older woman, hiding her face against Mags' shoulder as she simply lets her tears fall. She has no idea how she will continue to go on, how she is supposed to continue in a world where her daughter is not. She wants to cry out, but she doesn't. It would be useless.
She stays like that for several minutes, weeping quietly, letting herself truly feel the weight of it all. The sadness. The anger. The guilt. Her eyes feel heavy with salt and so she lets them close for a moment, but they are snapped right back open seconds later when her mind flashes images of her daughter behind her closed lids. "I... I failed her." She'd always been so careful, but obviously not careful enough. "How do I go on knowing that?" Her questions are just as shaking as her breathing is, her lungs struggling to bring in the required oxygen when she can't help but to cry.
He's watched her in worry the entire time. Tiberius's own heart aches in his chest. He has realized, not for the first time since Rose's voice rang out over the District Four square, just what all he has missed out on. Everything. And there is a part of him that blames Natalia. She was the reason he'd never gotten to be a father to his daughter. She'd pushed him away. But at the same time he had to admit that he had never pushed back against Natalia. Too keen on keeping her happy to do anything that might risk that. But now... Now he would never get the chance to even begin to know Rose, and that too, he knew they were both to blame for. How many occasions had they stayed up late speaking of far off indulgences, far off rebellious thoughts, far off plans of running away? And on how many occasions had he himself lied to the President's face, unabashedly, in order to keep them safe. Or so he thought.
Now he watched Natalia and leaves her be. He lets her move about his apartment, staying at least a dozen or so feet away. He maintains that position, keeping his distance until she looks back at him, until she speaks. Tiberius knows without her even having to say a word what contemplation is running through her mind. The multiple glances over the railing, her words striken with grief, the look of hopelessness in her gaze.
Tiberius closes the distance between them in four long strides, wraps an arm around her middle. If she goes, so does he. He refuses to loose her as well. Not after so much loss. He puts himself between the railing and Natalia, arm still wrapped around her as he looks down at her. "Talia, no." He murmurs softly. "It's not your fault." Not her's alone at least. He shares in that responsibility too. There is a shimmering line of water along his own lower lid, vulnerability finally showing even in the most minimal of ways. "It's neither of our faults." His voice is barely a whisper, trying to hold himself together. No one's watching now, at least not that's in his apartment. No Caesar. No live audience. No one.
His arms are around her before she can act on her thoughts. His body put between herself and the railing before she can let herself fall over the edge and end it all. Her fists connect with his chest. How dare he stop her? Her tears are falling freely now and a sob rips from her throat as she buries her face against the woven silk of his shirt. She raises her balled hands and bangs against his broad chest again. "Just let me go." She manages despite her inability to breathe. "I don't wanna be here anymore."
She doesn't look up at him, doesn't attempt to move out of his hold. As much as she wishes she could just leave everything behind, as much as she wants to be with Rose, there's a part of her that doesn't. A part of her that wants her to keep fighting. It's that part that keeps her within the circle of his arms. "Let me go, please." Her words whisper out this time, but still she doesn't try to get away from him. "I-I want to be with her." Her voice cracks and that starts a fresh wave of tears down her face. "I ca-can't be here wi-without her, Tiberius. I've always been there for her, always. She... she won't know where to go without me."
baratheonpilled
titsay
