Sweet Love of Mine // [Mace/Ara/Elon]

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

It was time. They'd arrived late the evening before, but still ahead of the train from Twelve. Mace had insisted on bunking with Elon, even though technically he had his own apartment. He spent the night on the strangely undulating sofa, watching his little brother as he slept fitfully. He'd dozed, a little, and it was enough for him. There was a time in his life when he'd managed no more than few hours every night for months on end while he following the cows around the fields. This would be no different, only the time container was much shorter. Painfully short.

They'd both gotten up before dawn, taken turns showering and shaving. Elon had suggested they go to the dining hall as the sky pinked, but Mace had a different idea. He tried not to be offended by Elon's look of surprise as he directed them towards Aranica's apartment. "I want to meet my son," Mace growled as they walked through the morning light streaking through the pristine windows of the center's exterior. Even the dawns felt wrong in the Capitol, the sun too harsh and opulent, not soft and welcoming the way it was in Ten.

Elon said something about understanding, but he didn't. How could he? The likelihood that he'd ever had a child had never been especially high, and it had recently tanked. But he was going to meet and know his nephew, even if that meant they were late, even if that meant Mace got than his usual share of torture from Olive. None of it mattered; he'd known that before, but never quite so viscerally. Family mattered - his brothers, his sisters, Ma, Whicker, and now Ara and Kieran. And maybe someone else, too.

Damn it all, though, if he could just go an hour without thinking of Julian he'd so happy. Relieved. But it was unavoidable, especially here, where he thought of their past conversations, of how he played some small part in getting that boy through the arena. He could do that again. Had to. Mace just had to figure out the right thing to say.

And while he thought about it, he said nothing at all to Elon. The other boy was tired; he could tell by the way he kept rubbing his eyes. It grated on Mace - Elon's total lack of physicality. If it had been anyone else, Mace would have already written him off. He was sure the other mentors and their tributes would have done the same by now, and he was counting on it. If Elon had any chance at all, it would have be that of surprise. He should've been preparing him already, though, and Mace had every intention of putting the Emberstatts and Stromstatts through their paces when he got home.

When he got home. Alone.

He rounded on Elon just a few feet from Aranica's door, gripping the younger boy's shoulders. He never tired of surprising Elon, the way his jaw unhinged, his eyes wide. He'd learned to control the fear a little better lately, and Mace hoped that would help him. Some sort of trainer he'd turned out to be. "You just remember that he's an Emberstatt too. Like us." Mace met his brother's gaze for a moment, straightened his ridiculous polka dot bow tie, and then lifted his fist to the door. His stomach turned over once, and for the first time he allowed himself to actually feel excited about this moment, the moment he would meet his son.

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[WT]

"Shh, baby, it's going to be fine. You're going to love your father, and he can't not adore you at first sight. We'll be happy, pebble. More or less. You'll see."

Aranica, I do not think he is the worried one.

"Who asked for your input?" Irritation faded with the words, replaced without delay by regret. "That was unnecessary. Sorry."

You have not been sleeping.

"Of course I fu-" Aranica bit her lip sharply. When she felt she was under control, she took a steadying breath and tried again. "Did you really expect any different?" The rock had no answer for that. "Thought so," she said, a touch of the snark seeping back into her tone. She felt bad, but at this point she was too tired to fight it. Ironically, she had been sleeping better with a newborn in the house than she had at almost any time in the years prior to his birth. Kieran's constant demands had driven off her usual nightmares and his cries tended to drown out the clouds' nighttime whispers. It was easier to snatch quick naps between bouts of feeding and changing and rocking than it was to sleep straight through the night. But returning to the Capitol had brought everything rushing back. Last night Aranica had woken screaming in bed for the first time in almost five months, so loud that she couldn't hear Kieran over her own voice, didn't even realize he was crying until an avox rushed in to calm them both down. Worse, by morning the sudden return to her old habits had hit her hard. She as barely upright and coherent, let alone in control of her emotions.

Talking helped, though. It usually did. Actually, Kieran usually helped, period, whether talking was involved or not.

Sometimes she still worried, of course. Mostly, she fretted that she wasn't up to the job. There were things she didn't know how to do, times when she spent two hours trying to still the crying and her failure drove her to tears. (There were even times when the clouds said Wouldn't it have been easier if he hadn't been born? and she was a touch too slow to disagree, moments when she had to wonder whether urge to smash something was normal frustration or a violent instinct passed down from the first Aranica. But she ignored those. This wasn't about her, after all. It was about making sure Kieran had the best possible life. She had accepted that long ago, and if she had ever needed convincing, one look at his face would have chased away any doubts.)

Ms. Charisse helped with that. Although they were both long since dead, she had raised two children and was well-equipped to answer almost every Is this normal? and What have I done wrong? and What does he need? that Aranica brought to her—or at least, she did when lucid. More and more lately, the old woman seemed to be slipping away from the world, speaking to Aranica from places that words couldn't reach. At times, when she had to explain her presence three times in an hour, it felt almost like she had two children to look after. Most of the time, though, she was the mother Aranica tried to be, the person who would be the closest thing to a grandparent Kieran would have in Twelve.

But today, Aranica's employer-advisor-protector-shoulder-family was a nation away, and looking at Kieran only reminded her of how inordinately anxious she was about seeing Mace again, and the Gamemakers and the clouds stole her sleep. So, under the guise of quieting her awake but perfectly calm son, she talked.

Until a knock sounded out. Heart in her throat, Aranica took a deep breath, allowing herself a faint smile as the air whistled a soothing message. Then she crossed the room and opened the door.

Two people, rather than the expected one, greeted her. That was a surprise, but it only took a moment for her eyebrows to settle. "Hello, Mace," she said as she stepped forward to hook her chin over his shoulder in the best hug she could manage with her hands full of baby. "This must be Elon?" she added as she pulled away and turned. "I'm Ara. I'm glad you came along, it's nice to meet you." Her foot lifted a fraction of an inch and settled down in the same beat, voicing her hesitation with an almost inaudible skin-on-carpet whisper. Then she stepped forward and gave him the same half-hug. "I wish the circumstances were better."

And didn't she, with all her heart. Aranica had never even seen any of Mace's family off-screen, let alone met any of them, but this was not the method she would have chosen. (Especially since Elon, from what she had seem of him, didn't look strong enough to make it. Aranica of all people ought to have known that physical weakness was not a death sentence, but it was hard not to worry.) Somehow, though, she couldn't work up any surprise, only a sick sense of inevitability. Families regularly fell to the Games, sometimes even in the same year (the cousins from One and District Eight's poor sibling quell tributes), but it seemed more common with victors' siblings, especially recently. First the brother she'd only just found, then the sister Topaz had volunteered to protect, and now Mace's brother. The Capitol's way—the clouds' way—of reminding them that they had not won. As if they didn't already know.

You are squeezing—

A wail from Kieran cut off the rest of her rock's warning. Startled, Aranica loosened her grip and patted his back, rocking gently. "Shhh. Sorry, pebble. Don't worry. You're okay." As the wail tapered into a whimper, Ara shifted and hoisted the baby so Mace and Elon could see his face. "We're with family, see? Mace, Elon," she said, moving her gaze from the little one to his father and uncle, "meet Kieran Lionel Emberstatt."



((There we go. And about damn time, Wolf Tears! Sorry. D:))