But if to live, we have to be numb

[impaledqueen]

Who| Peggy and You
What| The spitting image of her dead best friend/only love is now running scared in the arena with the spitting image of her not-so-dead best friend chasing him. This has caused serious flashbacks and unearthed a lot of repressed trauma. Peggy deals with this by destroying her body with the gym.
Where| Training Center
When| After the Arena begins
Warnings/Notes| Discussion of trauma, addiction to exercise, possible mentions of bidding (but that's not in the header and threads with it will be labeled)

Peggy has a very rigid schedule that no one can get her to deviate from. Two and a half hours of exercise in the morning. Two hours in the evening. Two hours midday. Minimum. Even if she has to skip meals or cut into her ability to sleep, she will do that minimum every day. When she can't, she gets moody and anxious and very unpleasant to deal with.

This is well beyond her minimum. She's getting into her fifth consecutive hour with only the bare essentials of hydration and skipping her meals. She's covered in sweat. Her throat is dry. Her muscles have gone past the point of pain. She's forgotten about things like eating and drinking, only remembering to drink from her water bottle when the pain in her throat gets searing. She picked a time when the gym wasn't crowded, but it doesn't stay that way, and people are coming in.

To those who don't know her, it looks normal. She's wearing a little bit of waterproof makeup so the sweat doesn't make her look too unseemly, and she just seems to be deep in an intense workout. To those who do know her, there's something very wrong. The biggest sign of that is that she's not wearing one of her signature scarves. The scar on her throat is knotted, mottled, and exposed to the world. She had to take it off to keep her neck cool. She never takes it off unless she's getting into a spar or working with heavy equipment.

Comments

[whatisay]

"I'm going to whip her," Jason mutters to himself. "I'm going to have the Avoxes hold her down and I'm going to whip her with a switch if I have to."

That's become something of a mantra as he searches for Ruffnut, who's gone missing from her scheduled exercise routine. Unlike the other denizens of the gym, Jason's not in exercise clothing, and he's all but flouting good health by chewing on the end of his cigarette between puffs. In his suit he stalks around exercise machines and the rock climbing wall, looking for his damned errant Tribute, pacing frenetically around corners as if she'll pop up out of the ground if he retraces his steps enough. It's beginning to occur to him that she's not at the gym at all, that she's deviated entirely from schedule, and that makes him livid.

He pauses when his pursuit brings him towards Peggy, whom he hasn't really paid much attention to except to note that she's beating the hell out of a punching bag with the same sort of fury he's fantasized about unleashing on about eight people per day. Now he glances up at her and actually sees her, rather than just registering her and moving on, and a crinkle forms in his brow.

"Peggy." Jason looks at her face less than the scar, not out of curiosity, but to make a point to her that he sees it even without words. He's seen it before, he doesn't care, but he knows she wouldn't expose it for nothing. The concern he feels for is almost masked by the irritation of the day that's settled onto his features like a layer of frost. "What the hell are you doing?"

[impaledqueen]

Peggy depends on the fact that Jason usually doesn't pay attention in the gym to anyone other than his tributes. He usually leaves her to her routine, and if she prolongs it a little bit, he won't notice.

But of course he's noticed her. The one man who can probably see right through her whenever they're together notices.

She doesn't look at him. She looks at the punching bag. "I'm exercising." There's a silent so fuck off attached to the end of that. She's not in the mood for an intervention.

[whatisay]

"Like hell you are." Jason turns off his cigarette and tucks it away, meeting Peggy's hostility with his own strident stubbornness. He takes a step up onto the exercise mat, not showing on his face that the way it gives under his foot surprises him a little. "How long have you been here, six hours straight? Seven?"

He reaches for her wrist to grab it. Normally he knows better than to touch Peggy when she's in a mood, but he'll risk her lashing out at him right now; he's actually worried she'll hurt herself if she keeps this up.

[impaledqueen]

"It doesn't matter, I--"

Fingers curl around her wrist, and her reaction is instinctive. Her heart is thundering, her muscles shaking, her ears buzzing, and someone is trying to restrain her and they might hurt her no no no-- "Don't touch me!" She swings around, aiming her next punch right at Jason.

[whatisay]

"Jesus!"

He sees it coming (has known it was coming) a second beforehand, and so he manages to duck his head back before she hits him hard enough to undo that rhinoplasty his mother spent so much money on. She does manage to land one that sends blood spilling down the neck of his collar, that splits his upper lip.

"Peggy!" He covers his bloody nose and mouth with his hand. He knew it was coming, on some level. He wanted it, because it would prove a point, that she's out of control, or because it would get whatever violent impulse is in her out of her system if she hits a real flesh and blood person. "Get a hold of yourself!"

[arrogantalloy]

Normally, Tony never bothers going to the training center. While he did have interest in learning how to defend himself back in his own world, he flat out refused to try in the Capitol because he's obstinate and enjoys not always living up to the expectation. But right now, Tony needs something different and unfamiliar to clear his head a little, especially after his own way of finding out that Steve was not only in the arena but looking how he does in the photo's Howard had in his office. Knowing that the training center is huge and with the arena running, should be fairly devoid of people.

As he wandered aimlessly in there, he could hear at least one person in here, making themselves sweaty, curiosity gets the better of him and he comes over to see what's going on. At first Tony can't see who it is due to the fact he's not close enough or the right angle, just a dark haired woman as far as he can tell. He stops several feet away, with his hands in his pocket and a smirk.

"You know, you don't really have to train that hard when there's an arena running."

[impaledqueen]

She recognizes the voice. Another mentor, but one from the new games. She doesn't bother thinking too hard about it or looking at his face. She just focuses on her exercise, and right now, that means beating the shit out of a punching bag. (Her hands have already gone numb.)

"I already won my games." The last word is punctuated by a particularly solid punch. "I'm not training for the arena."

[arrogantalloy]

"And yet. You're here."

Tony makes a point to look around the room. He narrows his eyes momentarily at the voice, feeling familiar but he can't rightly place it so he just moves on, figuring he's just heard her about the place.

"Looking like you're training for a triathlon."

[impaledqueen]

"I like exercising."

She feels herself getting irrationally angry at the mentor. She finally pauses in her punching to just grasp the bag, her muscles shaking from exertion, and she looks back at the mentor. She forces her voice to be polite when she says, "Do you need something?"

[cw: mentions of bidding]

[clotting]

Temple isn't here to exercise, and a single look could tell anyone that. She in tall candy-apple heels and a floral dress that brings her knees tight together, with gloves up to her biceps and a hat that falls over her face as if shielding her from a world that seems too harsh for her delicate and dolorous features. One hand to her clutch, she clicks her way along the perimeter of the Training Center, trying to decide if the metal floor stretching out before her is the same one that she stood on nearly a decade ago or if they replaced it entirely.

They probably replaced it entirely when they expanded the facilities for nearly a hundred Tributes. Temple realizes that it was probably silly to assume anyone was sentimental enough to keep it. She drums her painted fingers on her clutch and walks by one of the exercise mats.

"Peggy Carter, hasn't anyone told you your Arena is over?" And they aren't allowed to punch Bidders, so Temple doesn't see the point of continuing to pound away at a punching bag as if muscle on her bones will protect her. "Come on, dear. You look exhausted. Let me take you for a drink."

It's not that Temple knows Peggy that well or that they're friends; it's just that Temple calls everyone pet names, and more importantly, that she hasn't comfortably settled back into being a Mentor and is scrapping around for a familiar face.

CW probably for whole thread

[impaledqueen]

Peggy doesn't pause in her workout, but she does take the time to glance at the person who's talking to her. Temple. Peggy's throat constricts and the next punch to the bag is particularly hard.

"Thank you, Temple, but I'm afraid I'm not in any state for drinks at the moment." Peggy looks away from the woman and keeps punching. "The arena is over, but no one says you shouldn't keep in shape afterwards."

Re: CW probably for whole thread

[clotting]

Temple doesn't seem perturbed or hurt by the rebuff. Gathering the hem of her skirt around her, she takes a step up onto the mat, eyes still wide and beguiling and mouth still plaintively tipped upwards. "Did you not hear me when I said you looked exhausted?"

She presses a palm against the back of the punching bag, absorbing the vibrations as Peggy throws another punch. She doesn't seem scared of being hit, not because she doesn't think Peggy will do it but because she doesn't much care. "Come on, Peggy. There are more ways to unwind than sweating it out. And you're probably dehydrated."

[impaledqueen]

"Temple..."

Peggy outwardly stays polite, but inside, she feels irritation flaring. The woman standing there, dressed immaculately as Peggy usually is, wearing the Capitol mask that Peggy usually does, but without any kind of hopeful fire, makes her feel like she's looking in a cracked mirror. It's terrifying.

"I'm sorry, but I need to finish up in here. Maybe this evening?"

Anything to make her leave.

[sociopathicwolf]

Derek doesn't understand what's got Peggy like this, why she's acting so unlike herself, but he does know that something's wrong.

The burns and chemical scars on his hands and chest are something that Derek doesn't care about people in the training room seeing, because it usually serves his purpose to remind people of what he'd done in the arena when he's in here, but it's not the same for Peggy. Derek knows that, even if he doesn't really know why.

His hackles are up when he comes back to the training room after an hour or so and sees her still there, sees that things have gotten worse, and he knows that she needs to stop. He just doesn't know how to ask her to.

So he doesn't ask. He just moves in front of her, apparently unconcerned about the potential danger of physically interrupting someone that intense into their workout.

"Peggy?"

[impaledqueen]

Peggy has put weights on her feet and is in the middle of doing pull ups, dangling from a metal bar as sweat streaks her skin and her muscles tremble from the extended stress. If she keeps this up, her muscles will give on her and she will fall from the bar. Under her breath, she's counting the pull ups. She's already gotten up to eighty-seven.

She waits until her head is above the bar again to focus on Derek, keeping her mouth a grim line. "Derek."

She knows you're not stupid, Derek. You know that you're interrupting something and it'd better be for a good reason.

[sociopathicwolf]

No, he's not stupid. But he also knows that Peggy isn't stupid - or at least, he's come to believe that she isn't. He knows how much and how often she trains, but he's never thought to question it - it's about how often he trains, after all. There's nothing else for him to do, really, and he's never wondered if there was a different reason for her.

He kind of wonders now, but only because this is different than her usual behavior, which means something must have prompted it.

Derek frowns, unsure exactly what it is that has him unsettled at her behavior, then relaxes a little when he comes to a conclusion.

"This is counterproductive."

It's hurting her more than the training would help, and that's stupid. Peggy isn't stupid, so there must be a problem.

[impaledqueen]

"How so?"

She stops looking at him. She looks upwards and starts doing her pull ups again. Eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety.

She's ready to talk in circles around him, to talk about whether or not this is counterproductive (it's not productive for building up bulk, but it is for making her forget, that's what it's good for), anything to keep him from asking what triggered this. She can't talk about it, not in public.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden only sweats at night. During his waking hours, he scarcely does anything that could make him break a sweat; if his heart beats faster or more slowly, it's due to the toxins he's introducing to his system and their effects. Therefore, he's not a terribly common sight in the gym, but he's here this morning, a water bottle in-hand as opposed to a flask that is more characteristic for him.

This is largely because it's not for him, but for the other person present with a conspicuous and uncovered throat scar.

"Before you say you're all right... please understand that I'm not going to buy it for even a second. How many hours has it been, now?"

If she lies, he'll have a quick correction at hand.

[impaledqueen]

At the moment, she's doing bench presses. Under normal circumstances, the massive weights on either side of the bar she's lifting and the way her muscles are trembling from exhaustion and overexertion would combine to spell something very dangerous, but the exercise equipment here is designed to catch itself if dropped, so it's impossible for desperate tributes to try committing suicide by dropping weights on their throats. Even if Peggy's muscles give under her demands, the bar can't kill her.

Her eyes flick to Linden as he speaks to her. She purses her lips. The only thing that quiets her head is the burn of overworked muscles. It's the only thing that makes her feel somewhat safe.

"I'm on my third hour." The lie comes easily even though she knows he'll know she's lying. It's an instinct. Whenever friends expressed concern about her exercise, she brushed them off, downplayed, lied, did anything to alleviate the concern without actually changing her behavior. It's what she has to do to keep up her routine.

[dead_black_eyes]

The precaution against suicidal Tributes might or might not be necessary; on one hand, it's a decently reliable way to kill yourself. On the other hand, it's all but guaranteed to be a death every bit as painful and brutal as one in the Arena.

"I count five," Linden says mildly, picking up on what seems like an expectation for correction. "I'm no bodybuilder... far from it, but I know enough about fitness to understand that if you hurt yourself, you have to take time off. It's actually not so different from taking enough Morphling to stop your heart," he adds thoughtfully.

[impaledqueen]

"Exercise won't give me a heart attack, Linden. At least not until I'm thirty."

Not necessarily accurate, and not necessarily discussing the point he's trying to make, but it's a response. She keeps pressing, fixing her eyes on the ceiling.

"I won't hurt myself." That's definitely not accurate.

[theyoungperish]

Chuck doesn't run as rigid a schedule as Peggy does, but he knows he well enough that sometimes they overlap. Even now, years after his own game, he keeps up, spends a decent amount of time in the gym because it helps. Keeps his mind sharp, his control over his body steady, and that's all he needs.

Especially with the luck he's had with his gaggle of tributes.

Except that's Peggy Carter there, sans scarf, throwing herself into her fight as if she could claw her way through whatever she's working through. That's -- well, that's fucking unusual is what it is. So he picks his way closer, eyeing Peggy like he once eyed the kids in his Arena, searching for her weakness, trying to figure out how long she's been wearing herself down. Doesn't like what he sees.

"Oi Carter, give the bag a break, will ya?"

[impaledqueen]

Part of her--childishly, very childishly--wants to snap that he can be her new bag if he's so worried, but she bites her tongue. She's not entirely aware of exactly how obvious her upset is, so it's still important to maintain some composure, even if it's only verbal.

"What, were you hoping to get a turn, Hansen?"

Turn it into a joke. Banter. Deflect. That's how she's trying to slip around other people's concern.

"I can move onto the bench press if you were."

[theyoungperish]

The thing is, Chuck's known Peggy for years -- but he doesn't really know her. He doesn't know how to deflect this, how to pull the poison from her, comfort her when he can tell she's hurting. Often, Chuck doesn't know how to be kind, how to be comforting. He doesn't mind usually, but now it's something that has him feeling uncomfortably off balance.

He shifts, shoulders tense, gaze heavy as he watches her. There's a frustrated twist to his mouth, and Chuck's jaw tightens as he comes to a conclusion. This might go badly, but hell, he'll do it anyway.

"Wasn't what I meant."

[impaledqueen]

She doesn't actually expect him to pursue it too hard. They're on good terms and she would consider them friends, but they've never really talked about the sorts of things that matter. Chuck has Derek for that, and Peggy... well, she used to have Steve and Bucky. Now she has Jason or Linden, and neither of them are people she should probably emotionally depend on too much.

So it's a little surprising that he doesn't take the out she gave him, but maybe he just needs a little more time to realize that it's not a good time to be needling her. "What did you mean?" she asks, feigning innocence. She's usually loathe to play dumb, but she behaves strangely when people threaten her exercising. She knows the reason why--she's seen the same behavior with people and their alcohol or morphine--but she will never say it.