𝔻𝔼𝔸ℝ / 𝙄𝘾𝘼𝙍𝙐𝙎 *

𝙎𝙒𝘼𝙉𝙉 𝙈𝙀𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙀 ( 𝘴𝘩𝘦 /𝘩𝘦𝘳 ) of 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗨𝗥

right after the sun has set beneath the horizon, summer rain showers, red lipstick pressed to crystal wine glasses, classical music playing from the other room, half-written notes left for a lover, fingers pressed to lips, secrets kept locked away behind bolted doors.

This is new territory for Nelly. Having people apologize for her, and put value into her. People have never really ‘wanted to do better’ when it comes to Nelly, so when Swann says that, she just parts her lips and blinks, giving Swann a soft, “Oh,” Should she not thank those for taking action to be better? Apparently not. “Okay.” So she wont. 

And Swann doesn’t have anything she wants to get off her chest and Nelly’s confused until she continues, and says that she doesn’t know what she can offer. Nelly continues to blink and stare blankly, taking quite some time to figure out what in the world Swann is trying to say. It feels like there’s something added there but she’s not sure. But she wants to help.

“I think we all just want to keep our loved one safe.” She nods in confirmation. Nelly really has no idea what she could ask Swann to help with. Nelly herself just just trying to make sure everyone’s okay and that she can keep Wren alive in the Quell. “But you’re smart and people love you, I think you have a lot to offer.” She smiles, hoping that that’s a sense of reassurance.

—

Prior to the most recent Victor’s Party, one of Swann’s highest priorities had been to observe. Watch, listen, analyze, and store away information for her own self-sustainability as well as Roux’s. Though circumstances have changed and she’s by no means at risk here with a friend, those instincts to take in everything still settle in and work away leaving Swann worried that she’s lost Nelly somewhere along the way.

Nelly, however, surprises her just when she’s ready to change subject and offers a bit of a confirmation that she understands what Swann is trying to say. She’s ready to elaborate, affirm that’s precisely what makes her so nervous when she adds on an affirmation that catches her completely off guard. “I think that’s the first time a non-relative has called me smart,” she laughs, breathy and uncomfortable. It’d be flattering if her lack of confidence in her wit and ability to make smart decisions wasn’t precisely why she finds herself so disoriented and unsure of herself in the first place. “I’m just not all too sure I’ve been great about making the smartest decisions lately. I’m worried I’ll only make everything worse, but I hate the idea of being useless as well.”

THERE’S A SIGH of relief that comes when Swann shows that her convictions remain unchanged, even after all this time. The fear is there, that much he’s sure of, and he appreciates that honesty from her, but more than that, she’s prevailing, fully determined still, perhaps now more than ever, to do some good and get them out of this situation. “I understand, Swann. Thank you for that,” he makes sure to let her know, slight smile given to alleviate even a bit of the pressure he knows will come with what he intends to tell her next.

“I know it’s a little too soon after what’s happened to you, but… working with you in the trains has made it clear to me that you’re someone we want — no, need — with us for this,” he continues, trying to choose his words carefully. It’s a quiet spot, but he lowers his voice anyway. “I’ve already told Blythe about it, and she intends to… bring in Ostro, I guess, if and when they return, so I knew I had to bring you in too.” He goes through that last part quickly, not wanting to linger on it too much should she ask about it, and moves straight into the meat of the talk.

“The rebels are here, Swann. Plutarch is team leader of the group that’s in the Capitol. He… kind of inducted me, the night of the reception. I’m sworn to secrecy, and I can’t bring just anyone into this. Naturally, I’m choosing the ones I trust the most for these kinds of operations — that’s you, and Blythe.” And he figures Ostro, on Blythe’s end, but there’s no need to focus on that right now; they’re not back yet, still missing ( which Blythe clearly means to do something about ), so he’ll figure out a way to cross that bridge when all four of them get there. For now, it’s all about getting Swann in on the team. He’s ready to show her the envelope he’d been given, but he wants to give her time to process all of what he’d said first.

—

He uses the plural. There’s a we in all of this. Swann’s own breathing hitches, knowing that whatever he is about to share with her, will likely change everything. The mention of Blythe isn’t surprising, given the victor’s history and Swann’s own inclination for Blythe to be the first person she confided in, but Silver’s makes her cringe. It feels childish to just assume that they’d have to come back, just as she had. That isn’t the world they live in. The only guarantee the districts have ever been handed is that their life isn’t their own but rather one bound by the wills of the capitol. 

But, that if still hangs so heavily, even if she knows the numbers and probabilities don’t align for her friend. She still has hope: that they’ll return, that they’ll still be the same person she came to call their friend, that they’ll all see this through to the end. Maybe she’s a fool. She probably is.

“And have you seen these other rebels, spoken to them, other than Plutarch?” The skepticism and anger is far too evident in her voice. “I —” her hands begin to shake again, as she reigns in any displaced frustration and projection of her own discontent with how the rebels have handled themselves ( and her failures within that lack of guidance ). “—I’m not angry at you, of course.” Swann clenches and then unclenches her fists. “I ask because Plutarch gave me the letter with the information I relayed to you on the train the night of the Victor’s Party, and I don’t believe you’ll need any reminder of how much more assistance we got from Plutarch and his rebels before making plans of our own.” She finishes her statement, taking a moment longer to process it all, realizing that it was only now that she had revealed the individual behind that note. Odd. Of all things to keep secret, why that was the item she never shared, she’s not quite sure, and there’s not point in analyzing it further. At least not now.

You’re talking too fast. Jaw tightening, Swann’s eyes close shut squeezing and forcing some semblance of control to return. But it doesn’t work. Her eyes open once more and land on the notes she had prepared for their meeting. Strategy. Alliances. Ensuring Marina and Abe were in the inner circle when it comes time for the tributes to make this Great-Plutarch-issued Escape from the arena. There had been a plan, but now Roux’s chaotic verbal rampage takes center-stage, and Swann can’t make sense of any of it: the plans, Roux’s current concerns, their prior discussions. It’s all just — “Roux.” Too loud. Too assertive. Her hand’s shaking and won’t stop, but she can at least control her tone enough to reign it all back in. “Roux, I need you to slow down. What did Digit do exactly?”

It’s not the best method they think they can come up with for passing along messages––nothing and no one is safe in this tower, and they’re always been watched––but for how the static hasn’t lessened since being thrown back into Three’s suite, it’s the best they can do for now, the same way Blythe had gotten the wooden owl to them all those months ago, perhaps the way that coded message had ended up on their workbench in Three. 

After their conversation with Blythe, they wish they had time to breathe before another painful, but desperately needed reunion. Their mind is full of distortion at the edges, memories cutting in and out, with no ability to write their thoughts down to keep them from flickering out of existence at the whim of the lingering electricity, and their body is exhausted. But they’re determined, a few more people they must see before they can consider going back to Three, taking a break, finding Robyn for a moment of quiet, and aid in changing their bandages.

So they head to the familiar spot, albeit a little more slowly than they wish, body working against them. And there she is, standing, safe in the very spot they had stood waiting for her to return. How twisted, how cruel of the Capitol to continue this over and over. How foolish, that they hadn’t learned their lesson, spitting too many of them back into the same place, with a new anger.

Silver approaches slowly as Swann turns around, greets them with words that are becoming all too familiar, and that newly familiar pang of emotion washes over them, grateful to see her safe, to know she’s still here, to see it with their own eyes. “They’re still not intelligent enough…to kill us,” Silver says, voice still not quite back, hoarse and shaky as their body, the joke not really a joke anymore, a true response to the very real worry that they had felt, too, when Swann had been taken. “Perhaps they’ll learn their lesson…soon enough…But for now…I’m glad to see you, Swann.”

—

She blinks: hard, fast, just enough to force back any tears that had threatened to force through at their initial remark. It begs the question she has been wondering for so long as well. Why haven’t they killed them yet? “Maybe you’re right. Lack of intelligence and too much arrogance.” Swann smiles then, not particularly bright nor warm, but a genuine smile. What matters is Silver is here, that they’ve been afforded a little more time, that they still have a chance at finishing what they, what Swann, what Blythe, and what Griffin started. 

“It just makes them weak.” Her voice comes out defiant, but oddly soft, as if she’s offering them a promise. If she thought more, she might realize that she is: a promise to take advantage of that weakness and a promise that she’s still not backing down. But there’s a question in there too. It’s the same one Silver skipped around upon her return — Blythe as well — and Griffin only having just been forthright in his own. 

They’re here physically of course. She doesn’t need to touch them to see just that, but she wants more than anything to know that the Silver standing before her hasn’t been lost to the wills of the Capitol. That they still have their spirit. That the Capitol wasn’t successful in convincing them that this all was a mistake, their fault for disobeying. Whether or not they still want to continue fighting and rebelling, it couldn’t matter less, and she’d understand it all the same, but Swann isn’t sure she’d know what to do if they blamed this all on themself, and if the Capitol had finally broken them down enough to regret ever having thought of the rebellion at all. 

“I’m glad to see you too, Silver.” She goes quiet then, pushing down a swallow as she pushes down the shaking in her hands. “And, as one of my wisest friends once told me, what matters most is that you’re here. I’d like to keep you here, breathing for as long as nature will allow it. I know.. there are things that no one will be able to understand about what you went through. I won’t kid myself into thinking I could either, but... if there’s anything that I can do for you, please let me do it.”

It’s not the way he had been planning to spend the morning, but he thinks it’s worth it to forget the workout for now in favor of a conversation hidden behind a run. There’s too much going on not to make time for conversations like this one right now, and if she’s part of all the shit Blythe and Griffin are doing, and can’t tell him about, then it feels pretty important she knows that he’s making an effort, too, as hard as it is to swallow his pride to be the bigger person after years of doing the complete opposite.

DeeZee nods vaguely, glancing at her. He thinks there might be something else there, because, of course, there would be, she was taken and tortured after all, it’s no wonder she hasn’t been out training since getting back. No reason to push, though, when he’s got no right to whatever aftermath she’s been dealing with since then, when they’re only just now getting back on a path to what they had had before. “'Course, gotta heal up or it’ll all just make it worse. But I get that, especially right now. Doesn’t feel like the time to sit around, no matter what’s happened,” he shrugs, watching as she gets ready to leave.

“Yeah, guess so,” he says with a little breath of a laugh, not really one to follow anyone’s lead when it comes to training. And running, well, it’s just a reminder of the mess with Pista, the only person he ever really willingly runs with, but that’s the last thing he needs to be thinking about right now. So he follows after her, keeping it at her pace, by her side. “Good rest of the reception for you, then?”

—

Swann used to flourish in performative pleasantries and conversations. It was her skill that launched her into Capitol stardom, and her skill that kept her from being swallowed hole by it when her place as a favorite was cemented. Now, she can barely stomach it. It’s one thing when she’s the one forcing it out into the world to play her role as the subdued lap dog that got caught trying to steal from her owner. It’s another when she sees others do the same and is forced to respond to it with the same level of ease and poise. 

“Who doesn’t love weddings? Everyone looking so spectacular, so carefree. ” she replies behind labored breathing as she pushes through the aching in her lungs and muscles. Swann tries not to think of her ending to the evening: the image of a fleeing Cinna, and the proceeding message from the rebels, which they both knew led to... well...

She wants nothing more than to change the topic back to Griffin, but with only a little over a block further before the construction site, she knows it’s off limits for now. “How about you? Were you able to wrangle anyone back to your suite, cowboy?” Swann attempts to play it all off with the same level of playfulness and faux-mockery that used to cloud their post-night-out conversations, but it comes out flat and emotionless amongst her fatigue.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take much longer for the noises of the construction to grow louder and more present. Maintaining her stride, Swann gestures over to an area that appears to be relatively covered by the commotion of whatever project the Capitol has going on. “Warmed up enough to get to stretching?” Eyebrows hike up, hoping he gets the underlying message that she won’t be all too chatty if they continue running. Better to stay here, where they can chat somewhat openly under the guise of DeeZee’s warm-up and her cool-down stretches. “Griffin’s been checking in about how I’m recovering, and I’m trying to maintain this new overly-protective dad side of him.” Not subtle, but then again, who knows how much time they have.

FOR THE MOMENT, Robyn lets themself sink into her embrace, eyes closing as they bask in the warmth of being held by her. They won’t lie and say they’d been considering not talking to her about Silver at all, knowing how fragile she might still be after everything that’s happened to her, and perhaps that may have pushed them to keep their distance the past days — but having her hold them like this, running her fingers through their hair, agreeing to stay, to not leave them be for the night, is all the confirmation they need that nothing has changed between them. This is Swann, after all. Swann, who’s always been there for them, to sit beside them, to hold their hand or to listen, all without duty and obligation.

Swann, who loves them.

Robyn means to hide their face away, overwhelmed by how directly, how blatantly she’s showing them her affection and care, and there’s no doubt that they feel warm inside from such a declaration — but Robyn doesn’t know how to respond to something so deeply meaningful and heavy. Do they say it back? Do they show it somehow? Will actions suffice? “Swann — ” they start, but then she touches their cheek, and they’re lost in the gentle warmth of it all over again. They can’t even respond anymore before she gets right back to business and tells them to grab a chair and take a seat by the sink, and tired as they are, Robyn admires her dedication to the idea of taking care of them tonight.

So they do pull back, and they do grab for themself a chair, carefully and quietly, before taking their place by the sink as instructed. They wait for her while they sit there, staring at the hands that perch loosely curled around each other on their lap. Swann putters about in the background, and they let her, asking no questions, offering no words. Her voice breaks through the silence soon enough, and Robyn looks up at her now, noting the things she’s gathered in her arms. There’s a twinge of guilt. “Thank you for doing this, Swann,” they murmur. It’s hard not to feel bad when she shouldn’t be doing any of this for him at all. When they say this, their voice comes out too soft, their tone a little pathetic. “I… shouldn’t even be letting you take care of me like this. I’m your Escort.”

—

She doesn’t linger. She won’t — she can’t hear their response to her confession. It has taken years to allow herself to feel this deeply for others this openly. However, the potential for reciprocation — allowing another to see her and love her — is far too weighty of a circumstance to throw herself into. 

Better to live in blissful ignorance, without the responsibilities that come with being loved, without the knowledge of just how she could hurt them, without the threat of them getting too close, seeing something they might not like, something they might not trust. Excuses. Lies. They continue to play over and over as she makes herself busy, useful.

Robyn’s comment, however, jarring her just enough to break her out of her mental spiral. Swann laughs, warm and bright for what must be the first time since the wedding. “You are, aren’t you?” It’s a stark contrast from the environment the two find themself in, but Swann can’t help but find the oversimplification of their relationship humorous. Their declaration of their official title, the relationship the two of them are supposed to hold, seems less like a fact and more like a poorly timed joke in the wake of her declaration of love for him.

Fingers gently comb through their hair before placing a warm towel around Robyn’s shoulders. “To the Capitol that might be all you are to me.” Swann carefully guides their head back so it’s tilted above the sink’s basin before slowly pouring warm water from the front of their hairline to the back of it. “But, I’m assuming Escorts are not supposed to stay with me after the 75th Games announcement, nor am I supposed to consider my Escort my best friend.” Next comes the shampoo. Light, foamy, and homemade in Four, she gently massages it into their scalp. “—So, it seems to me we might need to consider dropping that title as the descriptor of our relationship. What do you think?”

“I redecorated.” Digit smiles, expression a little too pinched for authenticity. This, she thinks, is why visitors are always a bad idea. She’s a mess too well reflected by the chaos that brings her comfort. The number of people who get to see this side are few enough to count on one hand: there’s Ada, who cleans in her wake; Robyn, who sees (no doubt judges) but accepts; and Silver, who tolerates. Pitiful. Somehow inducting Swann into their number feels fitting. Haven’t they always sniped at each-other? Teased about visits to their respective districts that Digit knows now are never going to happen? 

She considers this moment a gift–the recipient is unclear. 

Digit manages to maintain eye contact for a record forty-three seconds, then she’s shrugging and cringing and searching for an answer. There’s guilt, too, and she doesn’t know where to begin with that. Dread. Regret. Heat, pressure behind her eyes and a gnawing in her gut. 

“I didn’t see what happened with… them.” 

—

Breathing out, Swann’s entire body nearly gives way. Digit ‘redecorated’. She didn’t witness what happened to Silver.

Relief mixes and swells with worry, concern, and fury to culminate into an overwhelming wave of phantom burns and electric shock. Water and electricity can be a formidable tool when wielded properly, but she hasn’t yet learned the discipline required to control it. 

Instead she stands there, matching her friend’s eye-contact while her body buzzes like a live wire, and when Digit breaks it, she’s left reeling aimlessly once more. Something is wrong, beyond the obvious. That alone is clear enough to see, and that alone isn’t even taking into consideration the danger Digit has now found herself in with the sudden disappearance of her mentor.

“Okay.” Swann breaks her own silence, but finds herself questioning what it is she can really do for Digit. “Stay with me for the night, until we can figure out more.” Her offer comes more easily than expected. It’s the same one Blythe gave her, she’s given Roux, and, more recently, she’s given Robyn over the years. “You can stay in Four’s suite, or we can stay here if you like. We can talk or just sit here staring at each other, but I don’t think you should be alone.” A pause and another exhale follows. She thinks then of the wedding, of Digit’s offer. “I don’t want you to be alone. You look after me. I look after you.”