If That Horse & Cart Fall // [Ara/Mace]

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

The few quiet times Mace ever found in the Capitol invariably occurred in the District Twelve penthouse. He'd come over after dropping off Saffron and Mantel at training, with a full stomach and a plan. He had a simple brown paper bag and a smile when Ara answered the door. It was easy enough to distract from it, as he ran Kieran around the coffee table. Every Games he found his son leaping ahead in age. Last year he'd been able to walk, and had just started to be able to string together a story, albeit silly ones that often made no sense to Mace, as he didn't really know anything about his day-to-day life. That had been its own special sort of torture. He was ready this year. Ready for make believe, and asking Kieran his name - his full name - and age. But he also wanted to try something else.

He swung the toddler up, catching him around his belly and spinning once before collapsing onto the couch. Kieran screamed delightedly, and Mace bear hugged him. He smelled of soap, and just a hit of dirt, as little boys from the outer districts did. Mace breathed in deeply before Kieran wriggled away. "I brought you something." Mace reached for his bag of wonders, and pulled out a coloring book, crayons, and lined paper. For the next twenty minutes he sat with Kieran, first doodling, and then helping him write his name. He looked to Ara every so often, checking to be sure she was still there. He loved his son, but a few weeks a year was not enough to be a parent. He wouldn't have any idea what to do if he started coughing, or hit his head on the steps. So, he checked in with Ara, and let Kieran hold the neon blue crayon.

"I have something for you too," he said, settling back into the plush couch. Whoever thought having white couches in the training center was a good idea had been a poor planner. Mace dumped out rainbow crayon dust before finding the small, cardboard box, no bigger than the palm of his hand. He handed it to her, and let his arm drape over the pack of the couch, his fingers inches from her. He waited, his heart in his throat, as the small wood carving came into view. It was simple, just a circular, beveled coin of mahogany, with the words "BEST MOM EVER" engraved by hand. A very shaky hand. Mace had considered commissioning it, since his fingers could not be trusted not to shiver at the slightest breeze. But then, it would be less of his gift, and that wasn't acceptable.

He cleared his throat. "It's sort of a new token. From Kieran and me. I thought, you know, you might want something, after surviving another ten years. And I'm sure as shit glad you made it out of the arena, Aranica." He paused, waiting to catch her gaze. And when he squeezed her shoulder, he felt a little like crying, which was stupid, because it wasn't his ten year anniversary. Mace pulled her close, his chin hovering above her head. There would be some sort of fanfare for her anniversary, as there had been for Arbor's, he was sure of it. But he hadn't wanted to give her the token in public, where the cameras could broadcast it. That would make it part of their games, and therefore not a gift at all.

Kieran was still busy writing his name. Mace looked down, once he was sure the itchy feeling in his eyes was gone. He chuckled. "The duck lips on the K go on the other side of the line." Mace reached with his other hand, tapping the page on the coffee table. The >|IERAN stood out in blocky blue letters, from Mace's first wobbly example in green. "Try it again, buddy." He watched him try for a moment, before Kieran swapped out crayons and began marking the page with straight lines. Mace shook his head, lost for a moment in the simple troubles of a child, when he remembered the other reason he had come to visit Ara.

The cold crawled up his spine even before he formed the words. He looked away, to the windows, out over the Capitol. It was filled with people who loved the Quell twist, who thought sending children in would be wildly interesting. He'd wondered as of late if it really mattered. Was there such a difference between twelve and eighteen? But then he remembered he'd started ranching in those years, taken up smoking and indulged in sex. Those were experiences he didn't expect most tweens to have, and certainly not fragile Mantel and quiet Saffron. So he had to try, harder than he ever had before, to give them the chance to get into trouble. Luckily, both of them could already write their names properly.

"Ara, I gotta ask you somethin'. About these Games. If you aren't up for it today, I get that, but I need help. I ain't never had tributes this young, and I just - I want to do right by them. I guess I just need to know that it's possible, not just for you. And if there's something I ought to be telling 'em, something you got old, or wish you'd got told, I'd like to know. I know you got your own to look after, but I was hoping..." And it had just been so damn long since Mace had dared to hope about anything.