thecapitol | we were tight knit boys [closed]

Entry tags:

✘ stephen reagan

we were tight knit boys [closed]

Who| Stephen and Cyrus
What| A discussion of Stephen's poor life choices
Where| Glacialis
When| During family plot, afternoon of the families' arrival
Warnings/Notes| Weaponized passive-aggression and also really gross dehumanizing of offworlders/people from the Districts.

"Whew! I thought they'd never leave," says Stephen under his breath, watching the camera crews leave over the rim of his cup of hot chocolate. "We'll all be under very close scrutiny this week, from legitimate news sources and tabloids alike."

He sits across from Cyrus, perched on a warm, thick fur. The whole room is covered in ice; the tables and chairs seem to be made of it. Stephen doesn't know how they keep the place from melting, and honestly, he's not more than passively curious. His elbows are tucked in as he holds his cup with both hands, grinning. The fight earlier with Kevin and Cecil -- the other Cecil, he reminds himself, not our Cecil -- has left him completely unshaken. Actually, there's a little more adrenaline than usual pumping through him.

Stephen has a disproportionate idea of his own invincibility, and he feels as though he was never really in any danger. But man, if it hadn't been exciting at the time, it sure felt that way looking back on it. Stephanus Reagan is completely unshaken.

"What an exciting start that was."

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If Stephen has a disproportionate idea of his own invincibility, Cyrus has the opposite problem. He'd seen the first few seconds of the fight. That hadn't been just two angry men having out a minor difference - he'd seen their grips on each other's throats. He's watched enough people die onscreen to know what the intent to kill looks like. And to see Stephen, to see his brother, just-- fling himself between them--!

He feels shaken enough for both of them, even now. He watches the cameras go, and the moment they're out of sight, the warm smile on his face vanishes.

"Exciting?" His grip on his own drink is tight, and his tone is as cold as the air around them. He's keeping his voice down, but he's making no effort to disguise his disgust. "That was disgraceful. A citizen could have been killed." My brother could have been killed. "And right in front of the cameras! If every Peacekeeper on the floor isn't suspended for negligence--!"

He doesn't have to finish the threat. The things he could see done to them are easier left to the imagination.

Stephen's face falls as fast as the temperature. He knows Cyrus is serious -- seriously mad.

"Cyrus --" he began. "Oh, come on, everything turned out fine. Nobody died, and besides, with Ziva around I was never in any real danger."

Despite Cyrus' simmering anger, there are a few things Stephen could have said that might have begun to pacify him. That was not one of them.

"Anyone there could have died. You could have died." His voice is tight, his anger under control by force of will. "I trust your safety to the Peacekeepers, not to some uninvolved denizen-- who, for all I know, was as prepared to leap into the fight herself as to help you. That they were nowhere to be found is unacceptable."

Edited 2014-04-19 23:45 (UTC)

"Well--" countered Stephen, "you know more about the Peacekeepers' assignments than me. Where were they?"

He felt defensive -- perhaps unreasonably so, given the situation, but this was far from the first time Cyrus had criticized Stephen's job.

"I don't know, Stephen," he said, and his voice was calm. Dangerously calm. "I do know how many we had on the floor. I know that the ratio of Peacekeepers to Tributes has been increased for the duration of this little media stunt, and that they were briefed weeks ago on potential hazards involving otherworlders. However, ensuring that every individual Peacekeeper in the Capitol is exactly where they need to be at all times is not my job."

The calmness trickled from his voice as he continued, and by the end of the last sentence, every word had edges.

"...Just as breaking up fights between unhinged otherworlders with their hands at each other's throats is not your job."

Stephen opened his mouth, then closed it again, trying to find the words to protest.

"--but they might have killed each other!" was what came out, insistent and a little shriller than Stephen would have wanted. Stephen really wanted to make a logical argument while completely composed and controlled, but that wasn't nearly as easy as Cyrus made it look. "Someone had to do something!"

"So what?" It was snapped, almost overlapping Stephen's final word, and louder than Cyrus had intended. No one looked their way, but he cast a glance around regardless, and forced himself to take a long, slow sip of hot cider before he continued.

"So what?" Lack of volume did not mean lack of intensity. "So what if they'd killed each other? It would have been a scandal, it might have launched an inquiry, but they're just Tributes. Can you imagine what would have happened if they'd murdered a citizen?"

He let that sit for a second, his gaze flat, unimpressed and tinged with disappointment. "I don't think you can. Clearly you weren't thinking of it back there."

Stephen was taken aback. "But, Cyrus, they're my Tributes. I know Kevin is creepy, but that doesn't mean I don't care if he's killed! And the people we brought in from offworld, they're not Tributes. We have a responsibility to keep them alive and safe until they're returned to their worlds!"

He huffed, forming a cloud of mist with his breath, which quickly dissipated.

"I don't see why you're so upset. No one was hurt."

"This time." Cyrus hadn't had much patience coming into this conversation - or argument, it was looking like - and what little he had was quickly running out. "No one was hurt this time."

He was glaring right into Stephen's face now, daring him to look away. "Look. No otherworlder's life is as important to me as your safety. And to see you throw yourself into a dangerous situation without a single thought for the consequences-- you think that isn't upsetting to me?"

...under other circumstances, Stephen would be very, very concerned about Cyrus's hurt feelings.

However, a Tribute and a citizen of some other world had nearly died, and that seemed a little more pressing to Stephen right now than Cyrus's feelings.

"I know it was thoughtless," he began, and it didn't sound all that much like an apology, "and I won't do it again. But that is literally the first time a situation like that has come up, and you know as well as I do that it wasn't under normal circumstances! My job is usually as safe as yours!"

--he said, very sure that the worst thing that can happen to you in Capitol politics is a bad papercut.

Edited 2014-04-22 15:27 (UTC)

"You weren't doing your job!" Cyrus snapped. "Your responsibility to them begins and ends with making sure they don't embarrass themselves on camera - if they decide to take their lives into their own hands after that, it is not your affair."

The lives of that creepy otherworlder and his attacker meant less than nothing to him. That Stephen should think either of them a compelling reason to put himself in danger was so backwards that Cyrus could hardly believe he was still arguing the point. Worst of all, he had the suspicion, given what he'd seen, that Stephen would do it again.

He sat back in his frozen chair, regarding his brother without sympathy. "...Maybe you weren't ready to come back to Escorting after all."

Stephen's mouth opened in horror -- and in anger.

"I'm not leaving," he said, the line of his jaw as firm as his resolve. "Not over one mishap. How would that look? 'Stephen Reagan can't handle what is generally seen as the easiest job in the Hunger Games; resigns because he's too frightened of his own Tributes to work.'"

Cyrus would not pressure him into leaving again, not when he had just come back.

Stephen's attachment to his job had always been something of a frustration for Cyrus. Having a family member so involved with the Hunger Games certainly looked good, but he had never liked how close it brought Stephen to the Districts. Or how little Stephen seemed to mind that it did.

"It's not about whether or not you're frightened." The fact that Stephen wasn't frightened, or at least didn't seem to be, was its own source of worry, but also beside the point. "It's about whether or not you can be trusted to act properly, should there be another mishap. I'm not sure you can, Stephen."

"Of course I can!" he protested. "This was the exception, Cyrus! The peacekeepers won't be stretched that thin, and I swear I'll call them if anything like this happens again!"

He scowled, sitting back in his own chair, glaring across the table.

"I said I was sorry! What else do you want from me?"

...Now there was a question with no simple answer.

Cyrus' expression, however, did not waver. "Any sign whatsoever that you're taking this seriously, to begin with. It's like you don't even realize how much danger you were in today-- what those otherworlders could have done to you."

There was a hush for a moment -- just a moment -- as Stephen's eyes narrowed to slices of sky-blue, like chips of ice.

"I don't believe it," he said, quieter than before, but with no less passion. "Just because I'm not too afraid of my Tributes to let them kill each other in front of me, you think I'm not taking this seriously? Fuck, Cyrus," Stephen went on -- he didn't swear often and hardly ever so colorfully, but this whole confrontation was making him want to push back against the limits on him, "--I know you can't lighten up about anything, but that doesn't mean I can't tell when something's important!"

Cyrus gave the room around them a swift, furtive glance-- family disagreements didn't look good in public, and would look all the worse the first day of an event like this. No one seemed to be paying them any attention, though, and the cameras were gone. Lucky for them. But it pricked at his anger nonetheless-- why was he the only one here concerned either with Stephen's safety or his image? Why was it always his responsibility?

"Well, obviously, you can't!" he said, hotly-- finally letting the control in his voice slip. "You still think this is about your apology, about whether you were afraid-- it isn't, Stephen, it's about the fact that you have never once considered the consequences of your actions, and I have no reason to believe that your apology means you intend to start now!"

Edited 2014-04-27 01:35 (UTC)

"I handled that situation!" Stephen hissed. "You said it yourself -- I know those Tributes better than you do! I stopped the fight, I made sure they were separated for good, and I made sure Kevin wouldn't do anything like that again for the rest of the week!"

He was proud, actually, of how well his intervention had gone. Had been proud.

"I did the right thing, Cyrus! I don't try to tell you how to do your job -- what makes you think you can tell me how to do mine?"

It took genuine effort to hold back the first scathing response to leap to Cyrus' tongue: You wouldn't know how to tell me how to do my job. But he bit it back, pressed his palm to the icy edge of the chair and let the sharp cold keep him from saying something stupid.

"We'll see how long that lasts," he said instead, low and vicious. "Were you watching the Games? That otherworlder strangled the man who saved his life, and smiled while he ate his corpse. Do you really think he cares what you told him to do? Do you seriously think this was the end of it?" He leaned forward in his seat, eyes narrowing. "From where I was standing, you flung yourself into a fight that wasn't yours and taught a couple of insane otherworlders not to expect consequences from the Capitol for a public attempt at murder. Tell me again how you handled that situation, Stephen."

Well, whose fault was that, Cyrus? Really. Don't hide ugly truths from your brother and then complain about it -- you can't have it both ways, bro.

"Shows what you know," Stephen snapped back. "Kevin kills in the Arena because he knows that's his job, and being professional matters to him. He eats Tributes because he's not too disgusted by the idea to turn down a quick way to get food. He's not cruel, he's just amoral and efficient. He has no reason to kill anybody outside the Arena except for his unique brand of insanity, where his brain interprets violence as forms of affection. If he thinks choking someone looks unprofessional, then he won't do it."

So there.

It was almost like Cyrus didn't actually care about the Tributes' motivations.

Goodness, Stephen. Whatever gave you that idea?

"This is exactly what I'm talking about. This is what you always do." It wasn't clear whether the disgust in Cyrus' tone was leveled more at Kevin, or at Stephen's sympathy with him. "You've let him convince you of his good intentions so you won't have to deal with the consequences the next time he loses it on camera." That Kevin would snap again went without saying; why wouldn't his brother see that? Even if he didn't, the assumption that he would was infinitely safer than Stephen's harebrained conviction that he wouldn't. "Stop trying to convince yourself he's guided by any kind of human reason, Stephen, and maybe what happened today won't happen again!"

"Let him?!" repeated Stephen, astounded. "Let him convince me--? You think I don't know what I'm doing?"

A pause.

"You think I don't know what I'm doing," Stephen repeated, and it was no longer a question. "You think I can do a job for five years and still be completely clueless." He stared at Cyrus for a long moment, reading his face, reading his body language, waiting for a denial.

"That's not--" Cyrus began, and stopped, because an outright denial would just look insincere. Because an outright denial would be insincere.

He changed tack, angry at being caught off guard, vicious with frustration. "What else am I supposed to think, when after five years you haven't figured out when to take a threat seriously? You didn't exactly give me a reason to think otherwise this morning!"

"I told you --"

And then Stephen cuts himself off. Because he did tell Cyrus. Cyrus just wasn't listening.

He set his drink on the icy table, and stood up.

"We're talking in circles," Stephen declared, "and since talking about this isn't getting us anywhere, I'm not going to talk about it anymore. Excuse me."

Cyrus' eyes narrowed. His expression was... almost disbelieving. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to walk out on him. No one in the world but Stephen would have believed they could get away with it.

And because it was Stephen, for a very brief second, he considered backing down. Apologizing. Asking Stephen to sit. Having a more civilized conversation. As frustrated as he was, he didn't want his brother seething on camera next to him for the next week. (As furious as he was, he didn't want his brother angry at him.)

...But no.

"Go ahead," he said. His voice was under control again; but there was steel in it. "You don't need to wait for my permission."

"You're damn right I don't."

Cyrus Reagan could have almost anything in the world, but complete control over Stephen wasn't one of them. Not anymore, anyway.

Stephen walked out of Glacialis with his head high and his heart too angry to be troubled. It wouldn't be until that evening, when he had cooled off and had time to think, that he would begin to worry. Had fighting with Cyrus really been a good idea? They hardly ever fought. And this week was the absolute worst time to have a family spat in a public place -- he would be lucky if he and Cyrus weren't in the tabloids tomorrow.

Stephen could only hope that the tributes' families were interesting enough to keep the press off of the Reagans. And although he felt worry and growing guilt twisting in his stomach like a nest of snakes, he knew that he absolutely would not leave his job, and nothing Cyrus could say or do could make him.

[~THE NEXT DAY~]

Cyrus spent a restless night in the room provided for him by whatever gamemakers' committee had been put in charge of lodgings. His pointed observation that he had an apartment in the city and no need to stay on a District floor had not inspired action on his behalf, and so he'd spent the hours pacing in front of a wide window that wasn't his, stopping to glare occasionally out at a view of the Capitol that was not as high as the one he was used to.

He'd slept, eventually, and woken up feeling... well, still angry, but clearer-headed. It had been years since he and his brother had fought-- really fought-- and Cyrus could admit, grudgingly, that the argument had been at least as much his fault as Stephen's. Not because Stephen was right, but because arguing with Stephen when his mind was made up was an exercise in futility. In family disputes as much as in Capitol politics, diplomatic concessions were occasionally necessary.

...Also, he hated fighting with Stephen, hated being out of his brother's good graces - as much as he wanted Stephen to listen to him, Cyrus was willing to sacrifice some pride for peace.

It was for that reason that he sought out Stephen early, before the Tributes gathered for breakfast, before the cameras began to crowd them. The Tribute Center wasn't far, and the escorts' apartments not hard to find. Better to seek Stephen out on his own ground; better to bring his apology to him. Stephen would find him outside his door, dressed for the day, looking tired and uneasy, his hands in his pockets. Not contrite, but not hostile.

"Hey."

Stephen, over the past few weeks, had grown accustomed to early mornings again: he was perfectly willing to trade sleeping till noon for having his job back. When he stepped out the door of his room, he wasn't done up for the day, but while he looked tired, too, he was dressed.

He also looked very surprised to see Cyrus there.

"...hey," he said, blinking a couple of times. Stephen was clearly off-guard, clearly not prepared for any sort of angry confrontation.

That was all right with Cyrus. He'd half-expected Stephen to shut the door in his face. Unexpected was better - if he set the tone right from the start, this wouldn't have to be a repeat of the day before.

He drew a breath, and hesitated, as though he were unsure how to begin. Glanced at Stephen, and then away. "Look," he said, finally, "Maybe you still don't want to talk to me, and if not, I understand. But... I came here to apologize for what I said to you yesterday."

He tried to catch Stephen's eye in the pause that followed - let him decide whether he wanted to hear what Cyrus had to say.

An apology? From Cyrus?

Cyrus came all the way to the Tribute center to apologize?

Stephen doesn't back down immediately, though -- Cyrus was in the wrong and Stephen knew that, and he wants to hear the apology.

"...I'm listening."

Cyrus came all the way to the Tribute center to apologize. You cannot know what a concession he is making here, Stephen.

He took a breath-- just because he was willing to be the bigger person here, it said, didn't mean this was easy. "I shouldn't have said what I did. I'm sorry-- I criticized you, and all you were doing was... well. Your job." That he managed not to make this come out even slightly grudging was a real accomplishment. "And I don't think you're clueless. Reckless, maybe, but--"

No, that wasn't productive. He cut himself off with a shake of his head. He hesitated, as though he wasn't sure if he was going to say what he was thinking aloud-- and then went ahead with it. "I was just-- worried about you."

You have to understand that, right?

Oh, Cyrus! He understands completely. You were worried, and you were frightened for him, and it made what you had to say come out all wrong.

Stephen hated fighting, too -- he loved Cyrus, maybe more than anyone else in the world, and it wasn't right when there was something between them. It was unfamiliar, and uncomfortable, and all the angry resolve Stephen had built up came crumbling down.

"I'm sorry too," he said, and the words came out in a rush. "I lost my temper, and I shouldn't have -- especially not in public like that. Oh, god. Cyrus, I didn't mean to scare you, I really didn't -- and I'll be more careful from now on, I promise."

There was relief in the smile that crossed Cyrus' face. He took his hands from his pockets-- a loosening of his posture, a small sign that things were more all right than they had been.

"I know you didn't mean to," he said. "I know you wouldn't. And if I'd bothered to think about it I would have realized that yesterday." There was subtle pressure in that, buried deep under the apology-- Stephen would behave as Cyrus expected, the next time.

But on the surface, he was all understanding, all forgiveness. "I spent all of yesterday angry at you, instead of being glad you're safe. I'm sorry for that, too." A cautious grin-- "I hope you'll let me make it up to you."

Stephen doesn't pick up on the deeper levels -- of course he'd be more careful, because he doesn't want to put Cyrus through another night of worrying.

He almost says I was never in danger, Cyrus, almost says, You didn't have to be glad I was safe, I was safe the whole time, but thinks better of it. Stephen doesn't want to start the argument again, not when they're just nicely making up.

"I'll give you a chance," says Stephen, mock-harsh: Cyrus is already forgiven, and both of them know it. "It had better be good."

It's not entirely clear how much even Cyrus picks up on the deeper levels of what he says-- the extent to which he's conscious of the gentle ways he pushes Stephen in the direction he considers most beneficial to him. But Stephen's answer has mollified him, for now.

"Go easy on me," he said, mock-anxious-- he knew it was over. Simple as that. "Have you ever seen a politician follow up on an apology? It's hard."

Stephen couldn't hold back the laugh -- the joke wasn't even that funny, but the laugh was fueled also by relief. Everything was fine again.

"If you think you'll get special treatment just because you're family," Stephen shot back, "you're sadly mistaken."

"...Aw, Stephen. See, this is why you didn't go into politics." Ha ha ha! Corruption! Nepotism! Stereotypes about politicians that totally had no truth to them whatsoever!

He glanced over his shoulder down the hall - no cameras yet, but he could hear the movements of people behind closed doors, feel the building waking up around them. "Hey," he said. "There's still an hour before they start herding the unwashed masses downstairs. Want to get breakfast?" He grinned. "It might be our last camera-free meal for a while."

Ha ha ha!! Sooooo funny, Cyrus!! You think this is funny for completely different reasons than Stephen does. However, his face falls.

Stephen glances at Cyrus, then at the door, then at the doors leading into the other rooms in the suite. He looks very, very torn for a moment -- very tempted.

"I'm sorry," he said, brows knitting together, "but I really shouldn't. I've got to make sure everyone's up and ready, and that takes time. I'll see you later today, though!" he added. "It'll just have to be with everyone else." He offered a small, apologetic smile.

"...of course."

He can't complain. Not three minutes after telling Stephen he's good at his job. Not after going to so much trouble to buy peace. And so he shoves away his irritation - it's fine. Everything is fine. He doesn't care that he'll be eating alone the second morning of the family event, after having an argument with you in public. This is your job. You are so dedicated to your job, and that's fine.

He smiles. "I understand. Someone's got to explain to the caveman's relatives how the sinks work." Does the caveman have relatives here? Whatever.

Cyrus takes a step back, half-turning to head back down the hall. "I'll see you later, Stephen." A glance over his shoulder, and a parting shot-- "Don't wear pink." It's a Reagan goodbye - See you later! Let's not clash on-camera!

Actually, he's a nomad--!

But Stephen, too, bites back something he wants to say for the sake of peace. He lets the unwashed masses and caveman comments wash over him: Cyrus came here to apologize, and the gesture meant a lot. He'd also disappointed Cyrus this morning, and Cyrus had been understanding about it, and really, Stephen didn't have any room to complain.

He watches his brother go, then tries to shake off the lingering guilt. Stephen has enough to worry about already without picking over resolved conflicts.

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we were tight knit boys [closed]

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