Ian MacCaul

But now I was late.

Cursing under my breath, I jogged back down to the docks. The flowers were maybe too much. I could barely see around them. More than one person was bumped into and hastily apologized to.

Through the bouncing flowers I could see she was already waiting, starting out at the water. Even from the back she looked so beautiful, my heart ached. And I was the ass that was making her wait.

I couldn’t help but speed up. I had to get to her. Kiss her. Hold her in my arms again. I missed her so much. And she was right bloody there. 

The speeding up was quickly marked as a mistake when an uneven board jumbled my feet and I was pitched forward but the stupid flowers blocked my view and with a pitiful yelp, I over compensated and went right into the drink. Flowers and all. 

“Ian!”

I heard Dory’s frightened cry as I hit the water face-first. 

I sopped, my boots filling with water and heavier than hell. I tried to swim toward the dock and I eventually made it. Dragging myself onto the dock, I coughed a little, looking up at her. Her hands were adorably positioned in front of her mouth, hiding a smile. She was trying to hard not to laugh, but I could see her shoulders rocking a bit. 

When the fighting was over and I could finally breathe again, I crumpled over in pain.

White hot, piercing pain was lancing through my torso to the point that my arms were numb and the previous sounds of explosions and gunfire and screams gave way to the sound of my heartbeat throbbing in my ears. I coughed, my face on the gravelly pavement, and blood splotched down my cheek. "Kyr-" I coughed again, wet and painful, flaming coughs. 

Each cough sent a ripping pain through my chest. It couldn't be good. Not with all the blood. 

"Ian!" Kyra vaulted over a low retaining wall that was crumbling away, blood dripping down her own cheek. Her braid was loose now, hair falling haphazardly into her face. "Ian, what's wrong?!"

"I can't breathe," I managed to rasp out. My mouth tasted like iron. Despite the blood sticky on her own face, her hands checked me over, following the blood stains. Her gasp was enough to tell me she'd found the source after lifting up my shirt. "That bad?"

"We need help."

"If you die, I swear I'll kill you." The harsh voices owner came into view over my head. Cat's hair was in similar disarray to Kyra's, her cheek painfully road-rashed. 

"We need help." Kyra's voice cracked. 

"We do." The accented voice of a  man who I'd never fully liked shadowed Kyra's. I lifted my head, amid the dizzy waves I could see he was using the wall Kyra jumped over to support himself, face creased with pain. 

"Alright, lets go find help." I tried to sit up and pain overtook me, the blackness mingled with the shouts of the people around me.

Then it was all gone.

When I woke up, the sounds and smell around me were completely different. A light touch with a warm cloth sent a shiver down my spine.

"Mr. MacCaul, calm down." She shushed me.

There was only a faint pain in my abdomen and chest. A tightness that was jarring when coupled with the fact I couldn't really feel my arms or legs. "So," I said lightly, "What's the damage?"

She looked down at the cloth in her hands, "While you were out there, there was an explosion."

"I remember that part." I grinned despite the sinking feeling in my stomach.

"You were hurt pretty badly." She sniffled despite the clear effort she made to be strong for my sake, "Your right lung and abdomen were punctured by shrapnel. They've medicated you - made you..." She stifled a little sob, "Comfortable."

The word seemed so heavy despite its meaning and I smiled again, "So I'm going to die."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement that made her grip my hand tightly in both of her small ones. Her big, brown doe eyes seemingly bigger with the sheen of tears. I reached forward and touched the large, obviously pregnant stomach she was sporting, feeling a light kick.

"Your bun doing okay?" She nodded, "Boy or girl?"

"Girl."

"Good." I smiled, "She'll look just like you. Beautiful dark, wavy hair and nice, warm brown eyes, like that hot chocolate they serve in the Capitol." She nodded again, earnestly, "If she were mine, I'd name her Mari." 

I didn't know why I was rambling like this, my head was fuzzy and I couldn't think straight but I was genuinely sad that baby fussing in her womb wasn't mine, that I hadn't had the chance to kiss her again since the first time. I remembered it so clearly.

She was panicking, rightly so. About to walk out in front of what looked like a million crazily dressed Capitol folk to be proposed to and whisked away by some random guy she'd never met but had taken a shine to her. It was all insane. And I'd taken her by the shoulders and told her those people wouldn't have her first kiss, that she could keep that for herself and I took it. 

The look of shock on her face still made me chuckle. 

I looked back at her, head a fog of medication and pain and death and I smiled again, "I was your first kiss, how about you be my last - I'll take it to my grave." I gave her a wink.

She didn't return the shocked look I'd been expecting, instead she gave me a watery smile and bent forward, hand on her unborn child, and pressed her lips to mine.