Holding on and Letting Go [Kay] ~Embryze

[pthalorarity]

Through each regret and each goodbye
was a mistake too great to hide

[/i][/color]


The office of President Snow was so large an ornate, that Julian would not have been surprised if perhaps his entire home in Victor’s Village might fit inside. If not, it would certainly be damn near close. Julian had been escorted in just a few minutes prior by the forever-silent servants in red. He now sat fidgeting in one of the rigid chairs in front of the lavish mahogany desk. He caught his reflection in one of the mirrored walls of the room and ran a finger through his wavy blonde locks, delicately placing the strand into it’s proper place that Cream had intended it to be.

He’d made sure to wake up early and have his former stylist help him properly prepare for this impromptu, yet dire meeting with the most powerful man in the nation. He would be asking for something most people wouldn’t even consider in their dizziest daydreams. However, with Elon’s tragic demise in the Arena just the day before, Julian was desperate. He was devastated at the lost of the boy who had become his only remaining confidant, but even more so, he couldn’t bare the idea of Mace’s suffering. Whether he fought it or not, Julian knew heart had truly come to belong to Mace, yet also knew he could not be the one to console him…unless—CLICK. The golden doorknob of the giant oak doors turned slowly, and Julian quickly rose to properly greet Coriolanus Snow.

Julian smiled brightly, putting on the charming façade he had been raised to by his District One mother. It was a rare sight these days, but the occasion certainly called for it, and certainly no less could be given to the President.

“Hello, Mr. Bryze, it is good to see you again,” said Snow as he waved away his trail of Capitol attendants. The ones that had been on his heels and entered behind the man quickly scattered and shut the door behind them. The click of the latch echoed throughout the large space.

“You too, sir,” Julian said with glittering eyes, giving a slight bow of his head. The president made his way to the lush, leather chair that was engraved with roses behind the desk. His footsteps were precise and were far too audible in the cold silence between the youngest Victor and one of the few people in Panem deadlier than himself.

“Please sit,” President Snow began, taking his seat and leaning forward into his desk. His pursed lip smile sent a chill down Julian’s spine, but he retained his innocent, friendly grin as he returned to his seat. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and wondered for a moment whether he should just begin into his proposal or whether he should wait to be asked. President Snow answered for him however. “So Julian, do tell me what I can do for the prized Victor of our latest Quell?”

Julian felt some of the tension in his shoulders relax. Perhaps this would not be so bad after all? Snow did of course love his Career Districts. They always made for the most exemplary tributes and Victors. Then again… the proposition did involve the Outliers… and those Districts were certainly not in the President’s favor. With a deep breath and his forced smile, Julian worked up his nerves to ask. Besides, how much worse could this be than being sent in a fight to the death with twenty-three other children?

“Well,” the little blonde began after clearing his throat. “I know that inter-District travel is rather strictly forbidden… but as you know, my mother was allowed to move to District Two to be with my father. I also know that they were two of the most celebrated Victors of their day… but, you see… I know it’s a long shot sir, but is there any way at all… I know he’s not exactly your favorite person, sir, and I know he can be difficult, but … well Mace Emberstatt and I…”

President Snow raised a hand to silence the bumbling Career Victor. Julian felt his stomach drop and his face grow heated with blush. He was mortified. He knew what Snow expected of him… what his reputation was, and yet here he was, stuttering over a few stupid sentences. Julian Bryze was supposed to be powerful, to invoke fear in those he opposed. He was certainly not supposed to be losing his cool over an unruly victor from District Ten.

“Say no more,” came a knowing voice from in front of him. President Snow had not stopped his eerie smile, and even Julian Bryze felt small under the man’s stare. “I think I might have a deal that will give each of us something we want, Mr. Bryze.” His collagen filled lips curled even higher upward as he placed his hands entwined into one fist upon his desk.

Julian could feel his heart flutter to life and his eyes brighten as he looked back at Snow in what had to have been shock. “Really?” He asked before he could catch himself. That was of course a mistake as situations like these go. Julian threw his own bargaining chips away with that one simple, overly enthusiastic word, and President Snow had Julian Bryze exactly where he wanted him.

Does anybody really know?
If it’s the end of our beginning,
A cry, a rush from one breath
is all we’re waiting for.
Sometimes the one we’re taking
Changes every one before

After some length of negotiating with President Snow (although it was far more of the President telling Julian exactly how things would be), a deal was at last struck. For half of every year, Julian Bryze would be granted access to District Ten to stay and live with Mace. From the Games to the Victory Tour, he would spend his time in the fields of this foreign land of livestock. From the Victory Tour to the Games however he would be required to return home, with or without Mace and be required to train and condition what Snow made clear should be his successors. The implications of what should come to pass should Julian not succeed in producing further Victors for one of Snow’s favorite Districts… well, they weren’t pretty.

Worse yet of course was the actual price of this deal. The cost weighed heavily upon Julian’s mind as he was escorted down the hall and out of the building. He was let into a large, shiny black car, like he had been so many times now in the Capitol, that would take him back to the training complex. He knew he couldn’t bring himself to tell Mace what exactly he’d done to get this deal… and with that thought, his heart dropped. What would he do if Mace didn’t want him there? What if he had just sacrificed his last freedom for a boy—no, a man who truly no longer wanted him? This had been Julian’s first truly selfless act and in his haste, it may have all been in vain.

As soon as the car stopped at his destination, Julian bolted from the car and into the building. He ignored the several calls of “That’s Julian Bryze!” and “Hey, Julian!” from the people he did not know, nor cared to know. His feet did not stop running at the elevator, because as fast as it may be, he could not wait… or perhaps it was the Career inside him that made him run up the ten flights of emergency stairs to the tenth floor where Mace’s apartment resided. Once in front of the apartment doors however, Julian froze. His breathing was heavy and a bead of sweat tickled the side of his face as he stood gathering his thoughts. Even for one as in shape as this victor of victors, sprinting up ten flights of stairs could not leave him entirely unscathed.

Julian bit on his lower lip for a moment, as the reality of this moment crashed in upon him. If Mace said no… if Mace truly didn’t want him, then he would—Julian’s eyes lit up as the door swung open. Standing in the large metal frame was a woman he recognized solely as the District Ten escort. He vaguely remember her name being something edible… Pickle, perhaps? He’d hardly taken note of anyone working for the lower Districts, but he was sure Mace or Elon had mentioned her at least once. She smiled at him a little too empathetically for his taste as continued to pant silently.

“I thought I heard someone coming! I didn’t realize you’d be coming to visit us, Julian! I’m Olive, what a pleasure to meet you at last,” she said reaching forward to shake his hand. Unsmilingly, Julian swallowed back the lump in his throat before extending his own arm to return her gesture. “Oh please, do come in!” With that, she gently pulled him into the apartment nearly identical to his own on the second floor. “Oh Ma-aaace,” her thick Capitol accent was particularly evident in the sing-songy way she called out to him. “You have a visitor!” She smiled warmly at Julian who, by the empathetic expression on her face, must have been showing his worry. This entire trip to the Capitol had left him a little too unraveled to maintain his cold mask. Olive pointed down the hallway to the living area with the large television that the District Teams would often watch the Games from when in their own suites. “He’s in there, go on dear.”

At the notion of being called “dear” by this woman, Julian mustered up a quick but icy glare to shoot at her before leaving. He could see her realize her mistake and when her expression seemed apologetic enough, he made his way to the next room. He could see the back of Mace’s head upon the couch as he entered and his stomach did an internal backflip. He bit down upon his lower lip hard to ground himself. Even the site of Mace in this moment of so much uncertainty and vulnerability threatened to unnerve Julian to the point of tears. If Mace didn’t want him—well, then Julian would be alone just as he kept telling himself he deserved.

Julian stood silent for a moment, until finally he found his voice. Granted, it was meek for the young man who could kill nearly anyone in this building at will, but behind one simple word was the sincerity of all he felt for the meaty Victor of District Ten. “Mace?”

It's everything you wanted, it's everything you don't
It's one door swinging open and one door swinging closed
Some prayers find an answer
Some prayers never know
We're holding on and letting go

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[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

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

He'd heard Olive calling. He was grieving, not deaf, damnit. But he couldn't use those words against her, couldn't find any actual anger behind them, just the memory of fire. So he did nothing at all. He sat on the edge of the edge of the ornate couch, his bandaged knuckles and palms folded over one another. The looped bandage around his head was tighter, and once again had a splotch of blood where the wound had reopened. He felt it was a vague dampness, and cared not at all if anyone tended to it. Disease would be a slow, terrible way to go. But wasn't a cutlass through the heart just as bad?

The television was on, but silenced, a compromise his styling team had settled on when he wouldn't respond. He cared not at all about it - loud, soft, silent or blaring. He wasn't listening, or he couldn't hear it, it was hard to tell which. The bandages weren't that thick. Maybe he'd broken something inside when he'd blacked out. There was a long segment of time he couldn't account for, but it didn't change the fact that now he had only had two brothers, and that seemed like the very worst thing anyone could have done to him.

But no no, he could hear Olive plainly now, calling for him. To do what? What could he possibly do anymore? He wasn't a mentor; he'd pretty much guaranteed that end for both of his tributes. He wasn't a victor; there was no winning this never-ending cycle of death. And he wasn't a brother, because what was the point of the word, if it attached to nothing at all? So he really had no idea why Olive would be yelling for him, why would anyone would want him.

He flexed his fingers, winced at the sticky restraint of the tape and bandages and raw skin. He wouldn't be able to defend himself even in an unfair fight. It was as depressing a thought as any other. Whomever was coming for him - Olive, someone from the styling team, a Capitole, President Snow - there was nothing he could do about it. So as the footsteps drew nearer, Mace deflated, leaning back against the couch in defeat.

His grey eyes, sentinels for the gates, couldn't quite focus on the trim figure that came into his view. It wasn't that he didn't want to see him. He just couldn't. His eyes were suddenly awash with tears, and he seriously considered giving up water in addition to food, if only to put a plug in the dam. The room turned wavy until he lifted the bandages to soak up the salt water.

He'd meant to say something accusatory, something mean and spiting. But he could think of nothing as he wiped away the tears, huffed through a sob. He tried again, this time to tell Julian to leave, to never come near him again. But he could no longer force lies past his lips. It was just too damn hard. He pressed his raw knuckles into his eyes, felt the bright flare of pain. It was enough to keep him from succumbing to the despair.

And when he looked again to Julian, he could see him, through red-rimmed grey eyes. And Julian was still beautiful. There were other things he wanted to say only to him - sorry, I will never be worth your love, sorry. But they didn't come out either. In the end, he only had one question, dangling and haunting.

"He said I love you. The last thing - his last words. But who was he talking to?" Mace said, the thought forming more coherently than he had expected. It had taken effort to speak though, days and days worth, even though it hadn't been that long. He leaned back, turned his head to the ceiling so his tears could pool instead of fall. "Who?" he echoed.

banner credit: jurate
lyrics:placebo for what it's worth

[pthalorarity]

Through each regret and each goodbye
was a mistake too great to hide

[/i][/color]


Julian’s stomach clenched as he realized Mace was bandaged up in so many areas. Just what had this victor done to himself as he watched his brother’s demise on screen? The thought alone threatened to rip apart every fiber of Julian Bryze from within. His jaw tightened as he couldn’t help but take partial blame for Mace’s state. If he hadn’t been so proud… hadn’t put them at odds with one another to begin with… perhaps he could have been there for him… Well, at least he was here now, and hopefully it would be enough. The cost was hefty, but Julian prayed the return would be even greater.

He blinked at Mace from a moment, not having quite caught the wounded man’s words at first. Julian had been too lost in those light grey eyes, wet with tears that threatened to bring on those of his own. When he realized the weight of Mace’s question, he furrowed his brow. Of all the things to say… to ask… Julian slowly made his way to the plush couch and carefully sat beside Mace. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, and let his inevitably cold expression soften. This wasn’t a time for walls and masks; there was too much at stake.

Gently, Julian brought a hand, overly soft with Capitol products, and brushed the back of his fore finger under Mace’s right eye. He licked his lips and gathered his words before speaking. Sounding sweet and soothing was not something natural to his tone, but he tried his best as he spoke. “Mace, he loved you. You are his brother and he loved you more than anything. Don’t ever doubt that.” Using his other hand, Julian wiped away the tearstains on Mace’s left cheek as well.

Now that he was up close, Julian could really see the havoc that had been reeked upon Mace’s burly frame. He could feel another lump forming in his throat and his chest tighten, but he clenched his teeth in effort to hold his own weaknesses back. This wasn’t his time to grieve. This was the time to be selfless… a concept so foreign to this spoiled career of District Two. He had never been willing to embrace this with Midas, and it destroyed the both of them… Julian wasn’t going to make that mistake again. His time with Mace meant too much to lose him now, or ever.

After taking in a deep breath, Julian let his gaze fall into Mace’s. “I know… I know that we’ve had a rough time of it, Mace. I know that a lot of it is my own fault…” He paused for a moment to maintain his composure and swallow back the ever persistent lump in his throat. “It’s true though that we would never work with only fleeting glimpses of one another throughout the years, but I don’t want to miss you. I can’t miss you… and I can’t sit by knowing you’re in pain.” Julian winced, his heart tightening further just at the thought. “I can’t promise that there won’t be more heartache in either of our lives in the future… but, I can promise to be there with you through them all, if you’ll let me?”

Julian took another moment’s pause to breathe before getting to the meat of what he had to say. “Well, I spoke this morning with President Snow… and he agreed to let me spend half of every year with you in District Ten and for you two spend time in Two, that is, if you would want that?” He tried to think of something further to add, perhaps a pleading argument for Mace to say yes? But Julian laid out his cards and was now to frozen with fear that his deal may have been for nothing… that Mace didn’t want him. Of course, it would be a fitting punishment, but Julian Bryze could never be entirely selfless, and he wanted to be with the man he loved. So now he sat waiting, unmoving, unbreathing, for Mace to set him free once more of his red prison of solitude.

It's everything you wanted, it's everything you don't
It's one door swinging open and one door swinging closed
Some prayers find an answer
Some prayers never know
We're holding on and letting go

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