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Who| Samuel and YOU
What| Samuel is back from getting arrested during the binding plot
Where| Tribute center
When| After his release and onward through May for any shenanigans you'd like
Warnings/Notes| Self-destructive behaviour

He isn't allowed to tell the truth about what happened. In fact, he is supposed to be spreading lies which is why Sam avoids people as much as he can after his release. He doesn't know how to look those he cares about in the eyes and lie to them, much as he wants nothing more than to look them all up and hold them close for a long, long time.

His usually tortured nights have become even harder to get through, and he is fairly certain that he is perilously close to falling off the edge again, shattering like glass. He doesn't think he'd be given an opportunity to put himself back together this time.

Inside he is fifteen again, a scared and angry boy doing terrible things just to stay alive another day, and he feels dirty, soiled, tainted. Several tattoos are added to his painted body, alterations made to already existing ones as he loses himself in pain because it is the only way to make his head go quiet.

He is almost constantly mumbling to himself now, a steady stream of consciousness conversation with that ambiguous Other that he tends to communicate with when he is alone. He looks pale and worn, dark circles under his eyes. He tries to find his way back to peace, tries not to regret what he did because he knows that it was right.

The truth is that he needs help, but he has absolutely no idea how to ask for it.

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Ever since the Binding occurred, Leonidas found himself in an interesting position as he watched Samuel try to function without interacting with people. What a foolish mistake, and most of the coach's mind assures him that the victor got what was coming. As a Districter in the Capitol, Årud knew that whatever he did would be held in scrutiny and properly punished.

And yet, some vestigial sense of dread, a natural reaction to seeing pain on others, made him approach Samuel, "If you're trying to be a ghost, try actually dying first. Otherwise, you'll come off as neglecting your duties."

Never mind, he's a dick.

Mostly, Beck keeps her eye on her own Tributes and Victors, on the people associated with her District... on the people she has some measure of responsibility for, in fact. For the last few days, especially, she's been preoccupied, settling into her new role as chief Stylist. It's been a busy time. Busier still when you're trying to keep your head down and stay out of everything associated with that stupid attempt at rebellion a while back.

But if there's one flaw Beck has never been able to keep under control, it's her need to get involved, and it's impossible to ignore Årud's clear discomfort. She bites it back for a while, reminds herself it isn't her job to look after him and that he's got his own District's team to care for him... and yet, a week or so after his release, she's knocking on his door, still in her running gear after her morning jog, but with a box of homemade cookies in one hand and a look of determination on her face.

"Samuel? You okay in there?"

Samuel is tempted to say that neglecting his job would be an excellent way of achieving death, and in another time he might have done so too, but there was too much at stake now, and so he took a deep breath and tried to think of some other way to respond.

"What was revealed to me is just a lot to process. I need some time to think it over."

Hopefully that sounded enough like he was at least intending to be a good boy and do as he'd been told.

It is very tempting to just... not open the door. To pretend like he is asleep or simply not there. But he does know that this strategy of avoidance isn't actually sustainable, he does. He'll have to start talking to people again sooner or later, he'll have to start actually doing his damn job again.

Besides, Jolie will probably castrate him if he tries to disappear again.

So he heaves a great big sigh and opens the door, even managing to drag up a crooked little smile from somewhere deep down in the emotional sludge that he's wading around in these days.

"That's usually my line."

As usual, Trey is about at the end of his rope as far as handling things goes. He knew the little scheme wouldn't go off without a hitch, but things got really ugly and it happened really fast. It was bad enough watching Steve over the communicators, but the complete uncertainty where Samuel is concerned is even worse.

It's really fucking unfair how things work, they finally start understanding each other and giving in to each other and he disappears. It sucks, because he can't blame him. He did what he could, what he had to even. Trey can't fault him for joining in when he put himself at risk helping out as well. It doesn't mean he doesn't sit alone, berating Samuel in his head and berating himself for not helping somehow. It's a little ridiculous, but it's the only way he knows how to cope for the moment.

There's pretty much no avoiding him, either. He barely gives himself the chance to consider that Samuel might not want to be around him, the moment he hears he'll be coming back for him he's waiting on the end of his bed. Everything they're doing is meant to be subtle, now is no exception. It's even more important to keep his reactions controlled when sympathising too much could get them both in trouble.

His eyes raise from the floor when Samuel moves into the room and the desire to stand up and throw his arms around his neck is as instantaneous as it is powerful. He refrains, pressing his lips together in a thin line so he can look both severe and disappointed. His arms are folded tightly over his chest, both so he can refrain from trying to touch Samuel and so he can add to the overall look of annoyance. Like any good Capitolite, his posture and poise is perfect and he looks perfectly well rested and healthy. He hasn't bothered with drag, but he isn't under-dressed by any means. It's only his eyes that look truly tired, if only because they aren't truthfully alight with anger like they generally would be in this situation.

"You took your time." He points out, voice softer than he means it to be. "I didn't think you were coming back this time."

"Well, you didn't seem to be using it." Beck smiles at him, her concern obvious but her posture relaxed, and holds out the box. "Made you some cookies. I mean, who doesn't need a sugar boost sometimes? You like chocolate caramel?"

As she talks, she's looking up at him, noticing how tired he looks, and the new tattoos. She doesn't know him well, but she doesn't have to know him for it to be clear that he's struggling, and her heart goes out to him. She reaches out and pats him on the arm.

"Can I come in? Thought we could have a chat."

"Oh? Were you brainwashed like the others then? Because you'd frankly be stupid or had your mind cleaned for a whto try and take on the Capitol with just a rag tag team of support."

Yes, Leo's going to take full advantage of this moment, but he stops short in accusing Samuel of full betrayal. Whatever the Initiate had, he seized on it and it made people go absolutely insane.

"I do hope you're not planning on dying, Årud, I'd hate for your District to lose a Mentor."

"Yeah. Yeah I was brainwashed."

He hates lying, but he's actually starting to hate talking to Leo more so if spewing the bullshit he's supposed to spew gets this little shit off his back he is prepared to do it. At least right now.

"No current plans on dying."

Not serious ones at least, though he'd be lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind a couple of times lately.

He accepts the box, shaking his head a little in disbelief.

"You made me cookies?"

That is so very unexpectedly sweet. He smiles a little at her and steps aside so that she can come into his room.

"Come on in."

He does expect Trey to be angry. Furious, even. Then again maybe he understands why Sam had to do it. Maybe he understands that he was doing it for them.

He can't live this way, secret and tucked away like something dirty. Not when he is starting to realise that he loves this guy, really loves him. That what they have built during all these years of fighting and bantering and working really damn well together has blossomed into something that could become a shared life if only things were different.

He needs them to be different. He needs Trey to be able to be a part of his family. He wants to be proud and happy and in love and he is so sick of being afraid.

He isn't sure what he is supposed to do now, what Trey wants him to do. Should he touch him, or would that just make things worse?

"Yeah, kind of thought so too for a while there."

There is a deep fear present in humanity.

Shepard didn't like to talk about it, of course, because in a very real way, that fear was her fear too. It was the fear that makes a small man challenge a large one to a fight. It was the fear that sends a species out to the stars, or to the top of a mountain, or into a wide and unknown wilderness for no better reason than that it seemed the thing to do. It was what made teenagers rebel and grown men buy shiny cars, and also what drove straight-A students into study-hall while rich men strove to grow richer. A fear of inadequacy, of fading into nothing having done nothing significant, having been left behind as a pile of dust and the ghost of wishful thinking.

But knowing that fear, understanding it, capitalizing on it... that was an undeniable skill. Shepard took one look at Samuel Arud and saw that fear, the terrible looming darkness in the curve of his spine and the nervousness of his hands. She remembered, with effort, a face with his eyes, and remembered him as an ally.

"Hey, buddy," Her hand on his shoulder was meant to startle, to shock him out of his self-induced trance. Straighten a spine bent by fear into a different, more immediate fear: call it the hair of the dog, "You got a minute to talk?"

Ask for help? He should be so lucky. Shepard never asks before helping.

With an answering smile, Beck tucks her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and ducks into his room. "I figured, everyone likes cookies, right? And a sugar rush is way healthier than getting fifty new tattoos. You're going to run out of skin, the way you're headed."

Cora wasn't that huge a bitch to not recognize pain when he sees it so he has an Avox bring them two bottles of water, "Hydrate yourself, keeps the migraines and the ghoulies away." A small peace offering laden with sarcasm and District 2 pride.

"Have you talked to your family yet? To your friends? They should be worried about you being missing in action."

Too many people were roped in and that was terrifying enough, no need for Capitolite bullshit heard on the radio.

The secrecy has always been exhausting, Trey should have figured it would only intensify when you're bringing feelings like this into it all. He knows he can't really be mad, but his worry turned into hurt and his confusion turned into irritation. You can't be mad at someone for not telling you everything when they can't, but it doesn't make the feelings disappear.

He moves to stand, though it makes it harder not to reach out for him. He can't hide the fact that he's raking his gaze over him with a worried air, checking for bruises or wounds.

"I'm glad you didn't fuck it up too much, then. We need you here." I need you here, rather. "How are you feeling?" He asks that carefully, not wanting it to slip too much into sounding like he sympathizes. It kills him to do it, but he needs to look like he's not on Sam's side for this one.

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