(no subject)

[formersurgeon]

Who| Joan and OPEN
What| Joan wakes up, and goes to watch the Games for the first time.
Where| District 11 suite
When| Beginning of week 5, after Joan wakes up in the Capitol
Warnings/Notes| Death


Joan gasps, her eyes flying open. She breathes hard for a few moments, eyes rolling, taking in the room. She's okay. She's okay. Her body doesn't hurt. She can breathe. Her mouth doesn't taste like blood. Her breath steadies, evens out. It's over. She's alive.

Then she blinks, frowns, and sits up quickly. She narrows her eyes, trying to think. Before she died...

It was fuzzy with pain and oxygen deprivation. But she could swear...

"Oh my god," she mutters, getting up and heading for the door. "Sherlock."

Her thoughts are reeling as she heads toward the common room. She wants it to be true, because she's missed her friend badly. She feels guilty, though. This is a terrible place, a brutal, painful place, and she wouldn't wish it on Moriarty, much less Sherlock.

She doesn't know what to hope for. But it doesn't matter. It won't change whether or not Sherlock is here.

When she reaches the room the screen is on as it always is, and she sinks to one of the couches to watch. It's her first time actually watching the Games, but she doesn't think about that. She just searches the screen for her partner.

And there. There he is.

"Oh my god."

Comments

[casaerotica13]

He didn't like anything about that arena. It was like a wake up call to really... deal with the situation he was put in. He didn't know how normal humans dealt with this shit. How was he supposed to cope?

Maybe this was just what his afterlife was to be. Michael was right. Lucifer was... right.

... Nothing to do about that now. If they showed up, the first thing he would do is slug them. Over and over again. He was always bad at learning his lessons.

Once he was finally out of his room, though, his thoughts swiftly changed when he spotted a familiar face on the couch of the common room. They were in the same district? Oh, how lucky. Gabriel leaned against the back of the couch, resting his head on his hand very close to her.

"You ever heard the expression that you shouldn't cry over spilled milk?"

[formersurgeon]

She was somewhat aware of someone approaching from behind her, but didn't bother to turn, focused instead on the screen.

Then she heard his voice, and turned quickly. He had been masked before, but those were his eyes, his hair.

That was his voice.

"You."

[casaerotica13]

"Me."

Gabriel took the liberty of hopping over the back and sitting on the couch beside her, not looking away. He was better to look at than the TV, anyway.

[formersurgeon]

She drew back a little as he sat beside her, but didn't look away.

"Of course you would be in my district. Sorry, didn't catch your name while you were showing off your powers."

It was sarcastic, but not as cutting as it might have been.

[casaerotica13]

He was just lucky to be in such a good looking district. He even figured that finding Joan here almost made up for Wesker. Almost.

"Gabriel," he finally introduced himself, "and I'm glad you enjoyed it. We'll have to dance again sometime."

[formersurgeon]

"Joan," she answered. "But I think you probably know that. So...were you the one who took out the third floor?"

[casaerotica13]

He did know that, yes.

"Apparently. So says the press, that is. I figured I would take out a little more than that, but I don't remember much." Gabriel shrugged. Like it was no big deal. Like losing control of his temper and his abilities all in one go while the Capitol controlled him was no big deal. Just like dying. Again.

"Guaranteed to get mentioned in the tours once this puppy is over, at least."

[formersurgeon]

"True." Her lips twitched up in a smile. "I guess if you're going to go out, you might as well go out with a bang."

Oh, that's terrible, and she totally knows it.

"How many arenas have you been in?"

[casaerotica13]

Well, look at her being all good-natured. He supposes that the fact he didn't play with her as he had initially considered helped a bit now. She was just too fun to talk to.

Sort of. This lady did have a habit of hitting sore spots, but that was kinda fun, too. Call him a masochist.

"Oh, just this one. I'm still taking baby steps and all. What about you?"

[splendid_roman]

Ian was most definitely not sneaking around the District 11 suite. Which was why, when he heard someone come into the common when he was on his way out, he hid behind the couch, hoping they'd go on through.

Of course they didn't, they just sat down. He couldn't stay there forever and he couldn't ignore those words, so he came out from behind the couch, his hands in his pockets, acting as nonchalantly as he could. "What's wrong?" he asked, looking concerned for her.

[formersurgeon]

Joan hadn't really been paying enough attention to realize where he came from. She glanced at him very briefly before turning back to the screen, pointing at Sherlock.

"He's a friend. My partner from home. They must have just brought him here."

[splendid_roman]

"Oh," he said knowingly. That made sense. No one wanted to see anyone from home in the arena. Unless they really hated them, perhaps. "I'm sorry. That's not a fate I'd wish on anyone."

[formersurgeon]

She nodded a little, feeling again that twist on guilt. This was a terrible place for anyone, but particularly for a man already struggling with his demons. And yet...

And yet there was a part of her that had missed him so badly, that was happy to see him.

She swallowed.

"He found me dying. I don't know if he believes I'm going to come back."

[splendid_roman]

Ian remembered back to his first arena and how he hadn't believed people came back. If someone he knew had been there and died it would have made everything far worse.

He looked sympathetically at her. "Is he the sort of man to struggle because he's upset or go on a killing spree in anger?"

[formersurgeon]

"Not a killing spree. I don't think. The one time I've known him to intentionally try to kill anyone, it was just one person."

And it was the person he thought had killed the one woman he'd ever loved. Joan supposed if Sherlock was going to kill anyone, it would be Orc, but Orc was clearly not himself when it happened.

"I think he'd be more likely to be depressed. Hopefully someone's managed to convince him that they'll bring me back."

[splendid_roman]

"If they haven't, he'll probably not last long being depressed. Which might be a mercy." Although if this was someone who had intentionally killed someone perhaps he would last longer.

[formersurgeon]

"Getting killed is almost never a mercy," she said lowly. She pressed her lips, considering as she watched him. "I need to send him a package. With a note."

[designatedfreak]

It was honestly a surprise to find that the woman was, apparently, a part of her new unit. The helpers called them Districts, but Max had no idea what a District was in this world, so she stuck to her own familiar terminology.

Since waking up Max had found herself drawn to the screens, always watching, always keeping an eye on Courfeyrac. It hurt to know that she had failed and left him to survive alone, but there was hope. Somehow he had managed to obtain a gun, and he still had the bombs she had built.

Max watches the woman sit and looks at the screen while trying to observe the other's reactions. Finally, after a quiet spell she quietly asks, "Is he your lover?"

[formersurgeon]

Joan didn't notice that the girl was someone she had encountered before, so focused was she on finding Sherlock on the screens. When the girl spoke, Joan's head snapped to the side, part recognition of the voice, part taken aback by the question.

"What? No. No, he's a friend. My partner, from home." She turned back the screen. "They must have just brought him in."

[designatedfreak]

Relationships were very confusing in this place. Courfeyrac had told her about love and lovers and it all seemed far too complicated in Max's mind.

"Are you soldiers?" Partners in battle was something far more familiar. She understood the attachments formed in a unit; the longing for familiar faces in the middle of this small war of survival.

[formersurgeon]

She glanced at the girl again, longer this time, wondering about her, how she came to know so much about fighting.

"We're detectives," she said. "We solve crimes. Catch the people who did them." She turned a little towards her. "Are you a soldier?"

[designatedfreak]

"A Doctor detective?" It was possible that Doctor's had other duties, although Max wasn't too sure just what a detective was, being one seemed...reasonable. "Is he also a Doctor detective?"

She watched the man on screen, mentally cataloging a dozen small details. Max glanced back at the Doctor and nodded slightly. "Yes."

[formersurgeon]

"No, he's just a detective."

She almost smiled at that, at the thought of how Sherlock might react to being called "just" anything. But her attention stayed with the girl, and Joan frowned when she said she was a soldier.

"How old are you?"

[designatedfreak]

"Twelve." She didn't like the look Joan gave her, it made her feel wrong, faulty.

Max wondered if her flaw was so easily visible that even this Doctor Detective could tell that she had been built wrong.

"How old are you?"

[formersurgeon]

Twelve. The world the girl came from must be horrible.

"I'm 43," she answered. Then she tilted her head slightly. "What's your name?"