thecapitol | my bones may break

Anna pads out of her bedroom earlier than usual this morning; worry and stress have kept her from sleeping as well as usual, and now that Derek is home she's found herself worrying about him, too. So she gets up early, wrapping herself in her bathrobe, and comes into the kitchen to see Derek with his head stuck in the fridge. Her hair might be its usual huge mess, but the fact that she looks ridiculous doesn't stop her from glowering.

"Excuse me, mister, but you're supposed to be in bed!"

She comes up right beside him, arms crossed.

"Or did you forget?"

He hears her coming, of course, so he has a minute to curse internally that he as found out. Not that he didn't expect it - with five people in the house, chances are he's going to run into one of them. Especially with the way they all seem to be worrying over him, and Derek doesn't know what to do with that.

It's unsettling. Especially the part where it's... not terrible. Where maybe there's a part of him that could get used to it.

But it also means that he has a ready explanation, and he pulls his head out of the fridge to grunt at her.

"Doctor said I need to take the pills with food."

"Hmph." Anna stomps her foot, unleashing the full effect of her glowering on him. "Yes, that's right. He also said you needed to stay in bed, which is why I told you to let me or Chuck know if you needed anything."

It's a sign of how much she isn't afraid of him anymore that she reaches right out and starts to tug at the back of Derek's shirt. "Come on. Back to bed. If you come quietly I'll bake cookies."

Her glowering isn't very intimidating, foot stamp or no. If it wasn't Anna, Derek might almost be tempted to laugh at her - in a mean way, not in the vaguely amused way that he's having to hold back a smile at the moment.

But there's still a moment of surprise when she reaches out to start tugging at his shirt. Chuck has never been afraid to touch him and Kurloz is his stylist, but it's still disconcerting whenever Meulin or Anna actually make contact with him. For a moment, he tenses instinctively, but lets himself relax a little as he closes the fridge and eyes her suspiciously.

"What kind of cookies?"

Anna eases up just for a moment, making sure she's not going to set Derek off on accident by bossing him around, but when he relaxes and closes the fridge door she resumes her tugging immediately. It's a comical sight, a five-foot-three princess trying to budge Derek, who's basically a giant next to her, but she's determined.

"Whatever kind you want," she hedges. "I could do the peanut butter-marshmallow ones, even, I'd just have to run out to the shop, but only if I can trust you to stay put this time!"

There's no denying the way his expression brightens a little when she mentions peanut butter-marshmallow cookies, but he schools it quickly into something more thoughtful.

He allows her to tug him into the living room, if only because he's worried about accidentially hurting her by pulling away, but then he stops.

"What if I stay on the couch?"

Anna's not expecting Derek to stop; his mass is so much greater than hers that she bounces back into him almost comically with a yelp. But his question draws from her a thoughtful sound.

"I guess...that wouldn't be so bad. I could bring you blankets and pillows...but only if you promise to stay put. Promise?"

For a moment, he tenses, until he registers that her yelp was mostly in surprise and not in actual pain. Then, the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in what might almost be an amused smile, bordering on a smirk.

He considers her terms for a moment - and briefly considers the fact that he's even considering her terms instead of just doing whatever he wants, but it's been long enough that he's stopped being surprised at himself that Anna's somehow become someone who might be a friend. If he was the type to have friends.

It's probably safer to call her pack.

"Promise."

It's ridiculous how much her face lights up when Derek agrees to her terms and conditions; she hasn't smiled like that since before her crowning. Maybe because it sort of hits her how far they've come since the first time she met Derek, when she was mostly just terrified of him. It's sappy and so very, very Anna of her, but she gives his hand a squeeze. "Thank you. You stay put here, I'll go get some stuff to make you comfortable."

She nudges him toward the couch, and then makes for his bedroom, where she collects two pillows, a heap of blankets, and Derek's water bottle. On the way back, she makes a pit-stop in her bedroom to grab a framed photo of the three of them. Upon returning, she's literally dwarfed by blankets, but she makes a point to yell, "I've got it, don't get up, it's fine!" over the mountain of blankets and pillows in her arms. It's not until she gets to the couch that she drops everything save the water bottle and the picture frame, both of which she sets on the coffee table. "There. Now you have all the comforts of your bedroom!"

He doesn't know what to do when she squeezes his hand, or when she smiles at him like that. Derek can count on one hand the number of times he's actually made someone happy like that - and he's pretty sure most of them are Anna or Meulin. Which comforts him a little, actually. Anna and Meulin are just like that - it's easy to make them happy, and both of them are genuinely good-natured.

It makes him worry about them, sometimes. But it also means that when he makes them happy, he can be secure in the knowledge that it's more about them than him.

And fortunately she doesn't seem to need a reaction, given the way that she bustles around grabbing stuff from his room. He watches her with raised eyebrows, unable to hide his amused smile - both at her antics and at the look on Chuck's face when he comes back and finds their bed stripped.

But his smile softens when she sets the picture of them on the table, and he reaches out without thinking about it, nudging it a little so he can see it better before he settles back on the couch.

"Better be a lot of cookies."

Anna's pleased to find that Derek hasn't moved, and even more so to see the way he nudges the picture frame closer. It's one of her favorite pictures, the three of them curled up on the couch, one that Meulin had snapped, and it has a special place by her bedside.

But more than that, it's good to see him smiling. It eases a lot of the worry that had accompanied Derek's injury, too. She scoffs.

"Derek, have you ever seen me make any less than two dozen cookies? You should know me better than that!"

Ever since her propo aired, Clara's had something of a resurgence in regards to her popularity with the people of the Capitol. So the Capitol, in their infinite wisdom, has come to the conclusion to take advantage of that and send her into their hospitals with gifts for their wounded to help boost morale and show how generous and loving the Capitol is.

Personally, Clara thinks it's dumb, but it's something that occupies her time and, by cooperating, it means that she doesn't have to worry about Alex and David being brought here (for now, at least).

She's never met Derek in person, other than being in the same room as him at Crownings and the like, but she has seen the footage from his Arena and, if she's honest, just from that, she's slightly terrified of him. So being told that, hey, she's going to deliver a basket of delicious treats and be alone with him (well, relatively alone, there's someone behind a high def ceiling cam watching them to make sure they get perfect footage of the Capitol's generosity at work) was enough to put something of a damper on her day.

Which doesn't stop her from knocking on his hospital room door. "I have a delivery."

Derek's expecting one of the doctors or nurses, or maybe someone from district four, although Chuck and the others don't usually knock.

He's already growling, and it doesn't stop when he realizes it isn't one of the medical staff.

He recognizes her, of course, the same way he knows all of the Victors. She isn't a classic Victor, and he'd held her with a minor disdain - but that was before. She'd stuck with the Capitol, and that was better than some of their own had done.

But his brows furrow in confusion at her words.

"Why?"

The growling? Does nothing to make her feel less intimidated. If anything it makes her want to turn tail and run, but she can't. She needs to prove her loyalty to the Capitol, for David's sake. (Though that does nothing to help her wish that one day the rebels will storm the Capitol and get her out of this place, but no one needs to know that.)

"Because the Capitol wanted to recognize your valiant actions in the field and your willingness to sacrifice for the greater good." It's obviously a memorized line, a memorized smile. And if he's willing to read between the lines, he'll recognize what she's seen in all the other Victors when they smile for the press and cameras and the Capitol, that feeling of 'I am doing this because there's someone I need to protect and I'm still playing their games, just like you.'

She picks up a large gift basket and carries it into the room. It's clear that the Capitol doesn't worry about little things like expense accounts and has filled it with their take on goods from Districts 4 and 7. "I assume the food in here's probably better than hospital food, at least." Of course, this is the Capitol, so maybe hospital food here's somewhat better (though she doubts it).

The growling trails off at her answer, leaving behind uncertainty.

Rehearsed line or not, he's never been given something like this, never any kind of recognition for what he's done for the Capitol. It's always just been expected, it was always just what he did because there was no other option, not if he wanted to keep him and Chuck alive. For a moment, his perpetual scowl fades, making him look a hell of a lot younger, and the fact that he has absolutely no idea what to do with this or how to react to it is obvious.

But it's brief, and then the scowl is back as he recovers. Of course the Capitol is taking extra steps to make themselves seem better in comparison to the rebels. There are a lot of stupid people in the Capitol, and the Capitol has always been very good at keeping up appearances. It's not for his benefit - he's loyal, as far as they know - it's for the benefit of others who are watching, who need to see how the Capitol treats its loyal soldiers.

Especially the ones who end up in hospitals.

Reassured now that he knows the Capitol hasn't taken a sudden interest in his personal well-being, now that he can be comforted in the fact that they're using him as a tool as they always have, Derek settles back down. He looks at her more closely, picks up the plasticity in her smile, and that puts him even more at ease. Outside of the others in the District Four condo, Derek is most comfortable with other Victors.

"Arena food was better than hospital food."

Just because the growling ceases doesn't mean she's any less on edge. It isn't even because of the fact that he was growling, not completely, but the fact that she knows just how many Capitol-loyal eyes are on her right now. Not just Derek, but the eyes of the hospital in the cameras, the minders who are watching the stream to make sure they get the perfect footage for whatever propo they're trying to cobble up based on this, god knows who else.

Despite her nerves and how on edge she feels, she still draws a little closer, approaching a chair, but still not sitting, not yet. She's fairly certain that she isn't a welcome guest, she's just the Capitol's delivery girl, nothing more, but if he gives her an opening to actually engage and not just speak in half truths and fake smiles, she might just take it.

"I guess some things stay the same no matter where you are," she responds, a quirk of a smile that's slightly less false and a little more sardonic creeping onto her lips. "Back home, when I was giving birth to my son, the food in the hospital was so bad that my husband would go get me food from outside." It's a random thing to put out there, but it's a humanizing connection, and if he doesn't take it, she'll at least be able to say that she tried if the Capitol pushes her about it.

A second time is two too many for Meulin's liking. He must be being reckless. He's trained himself for different battles but skills must surely transfer. At least, that's what she tells herself. The hospital proves easy to infiltrate, even if she has to deal with the exasperated doctors talking at her far too fast and too busy to write it down. The one who does writes in such a scrawl she just gives up on the conversation.

The gist seems to be that Derek is a trying patient. Meulin didn't expect any less.

"What did we say about that whole getting hurt thing, Derek?" She says, opening the door and waiting for him to recognize her before she steps all the way in. No time is wasted coming to his bedside and pulling out something from a bag held behind her back. The little stuffed wolf is set on his lap, a grin tugging at her lips even as she tries to remain stern.

As soon as he hears someone coming, he picks up a growl. He just wants to be left alone, and he's cranky and in pain enough that he doesn't even have to try to sound menacing.

But it cuts off when Meulin opens the door, and he perks up a little despite that she's attempting to look stern at him. He's just relieved that it's her, and not another one of the medical staff come to poke him or talk down at him.

His brows furrow when she drops something in his lap, and he looks down at it, picking the stuffed animal up gently before he looks back up at her with what could be considered an almost hopeful smile.

"For me?"

Meulin carefully pulls herself up on the side of his bed as he examines the little wolf. Her legs dangle free but it's something she's more than used to and well worth the close up view of his smile. He's adorable sometimes. It's a weird mix, this Derek and the one she sees only on the battlefield.

"Aw, I was so positive you'd be all gruff and embarrassed and I could use it as an incentive to keep you from getting hurt," she pouts and pats the ears of the little stuffed animal, "I'm glad you like it but you're putting such a dent in my plan. A wolf for every wound."

She taps her chin, pretending to think on it for a moment. She should have known. What would Derek love more than a stuffed wolf pack to go with his very real one?

"I guess I can give them to you anyways but I don't want to now. So no getting hurt again, purromise?"

He should be unsettled by her being this close to him, by her settling herself on the bed next to him - but after months of living together and getting used to more and more casual touches, he isn't. There's still twinges of surprise, moments where he tenses automatically, but it doesn't bother him the way it once might have.

Not that he'll admit that he likes it. And now that she's called attention to the fact that getting a stuffed wolf didn't make him all gruff and embarrassed - well, that makes him all gruff and embarrassed. He ducks his head, growling softly to hide his embarrassment.

It's just that people don't give him things, not people who aren't Chuck, and not just because.

Derek reaches out with his good hand to grab for a pen and pad of paper next to his hospital bed, writing down his response to that.

I didn't say I liked it.

Oh there's the reaction she had been expecting, if a little delayed. Trying to hide the giggles and ultimately failing, she pats the ears of the little wolf and watches fondly. There are few things more amusing than watching a stern person get all flustered.

"You didn't have to! But sure, I can purrtend you didn't. It makes my nefarious plan all the more amusing, especially if you react this well every time."

She swings her legs, careful not to whack the edge of the bed too hard. It wouldn't do to jostle him and then get a hard to follow lecture from his doctors.

"Safe to say you haven't been enjoying your time here."

His cheeks go a little pink when she giggles at him, but that doesn't stop him from reaching out to tug the stuffed wolf closer to him. He'll never admit that he likes it, but he doesn't protest her nefarious plans.

Instead, he gives an affirmative growl at her comment, picking up the pen again.

I'm smarter than most of the people here.

He'll let her take it however she wants - whether it's a joke half at his expense, saying that the people here are even stupider than he is, or just a statement of fact. Either way, it gets his point across.

Meulin raises her eyebrows. Smarter than his doctors? Maybe. But they'd patched him back up and he should at least try to respect that. Without Capitol medicine, he might not be here. So she doesn't look annoyed but still wags a finger at him.

"Be that as it may, you should be calmer. Growling at them won't get you home faster. And don't deny it, I don't have to hear to be able to know you're still doing it," she shakes her head in mock exasperation, "The sooner you get healed up, the sooner you can be home. I think Kurloz gets bored with us all gone."

Well. Okay. Maybe not smarter than his doctors. But definitely the majority of the other patients. ...and some of the doctors.

He opens his mouth to deny it, then snaps it shut with a scowl when she tells him not to deny it. Derek kind of wants to deny it anyway, just because she told him not to, but he knows that won't do any good.

"Not growling that much."

Technically that's not denying, it's just clarifying. But he has to admit she has a point.

Bored Kurloz is dangerous.

She raises her eyebrows at the abject lie. Of course he's growling. She's heard he does it at most everyone nowadays. Though, if he does it at her, she's yet to notice. Hard to, when it's mostly invisible.

"Whatefur you say," she waves off with an exaggerated shrug, "And of course he is. You thought I was bad alone for a few days. I was wondering what he was up to when we're all out in the Districts. I don't think he likes me going but..."

She can make up her own mind. Helping the Capitol isn't really done through gossip magazine and she'd been struggling the last few issues. Finding information about the Capitolites was far more difficult than tributes and staff. No easy to watch arenas.

"I know you don't either, before you even start. I was perfectly fine." Troll stabbing aside.

Of course he's growling. He's always growling, because it's what people expect of him - and because it's easier than talking, most days, and he can be just as expressive with it. Chuck understands it like it's a second language, and that's enough.

But he still hasn't been growling as much as he could have.

He sulks a little when she cuts him off before he can even start, growling unhappily despite what he just said.

"Should learn more about defending yourself. Or not wander so far from us."

Derek and Chuck could protect her, easily - there's nothing out there that could take them out when they're together, as far as Derek is concerned - but that doesn't help if she won't stay close to them.

"I don't wander that far," she immediately protests. He's easy to read, unhappy with her choices. Her family seems more than content to keep her tucked away in the Capitol but she's never been like that. Always wanted to help, always wanted to do something. They can't have expected her to sit at home and watch them leave for very long.

"I stay safe. But if it'd make you feel any better, you can teach me some more. After you're better. Might need it if I keep hanging around those tributes."

She leans over and kisses his forehead. Ridiculously tall he might be, he is lying prone. Makes her life and desire to share affection three time easier.

Once upon a time, he and Meulin were both equally kind. They were both just as likely to show up for a sick friend and lay down gifts and stories and all that could be until kicked out on threat of such illness being spread. There was a time when Kurloz's sympathy came through entirely unfiltered.

That day is gone. Meulin is the nice one now. And he?

He is delivering a stern smack to the body part nearest in reach that he can see has no injury. Then with a huff, he's pointing a Derek sharply, the only way he can express that he is yelling at you Derek Souza you massive idiot. He then snatches the food Derek's grabbed out of his hand.

He squints. You sit your ass down, Souza.

Edited 2016-01-18 22:52 (UTC)

Derek'd heard Kurloz come in, of course, but he'd more or less ignored his presence. He's used to it, enough that his guard isn't up at all.

When something smacks into his good shoulder, Derek startles, whirling instinctively with a snarl on his lips - one that cuts off as soon as he sees Kurloz. It's not like the playful or half serious growls that Derek usually sends Kurloz's way; for a moment, it'd been real. Derek isn't sure that Kurloz can tell the difference, but it makes him hunch his shoulders guiltily.

"Told me to take meds with food," he grumbles, but there's no fight in the words.

For a moment the growl brings surprise, but only for a moment and only that much. He's no regular Capitolite and Derek is no random victor he's stylist for. They grew up together. The live together. Even if neither of them were around for the worst parts, that still counted for something. But it's not mere reflection of Derek's time in arenas now.

For that moment following, his skin feels wrong, like it ain't his own and like Derek can see that. He entertains, for a moment, the dark fantasy of being whirled upon by his family and having some vital part of him torn free. In the vision, it is absolutely just. It is hard not to feel sobered now. For once, he doesn't try to hide behind a plastered smile.

Meds with food, that made sense. He looks down and pats Derek's shoulder one more time, then lays the food out on the counter. He pulls out a chair and gestures for Derek to sit. He can't cook well but at least he wouldn't be doing it one handed. Things like eggs or grilled cheese or chopped veggies, anyone could do those.

If Kurloz was just some random Stylist assigned to him, Derek isn't sure he'd have been able to stop himself in time. But then again, Derek wouldn't be living with him, wouldn't trust him enough to let his guard down around him that a touch could surprise him. A touch that probably wouldn't have come in the first place, considering the other stylists he's had have rarely attempted physical contact aside from what their job entailed.

But this is Kurloz. And Derek watches the way that something in him goes dark, under the surprise, the way his smile slips and for a moment, just a moment, Derek almost feels like he's seeing something real. Something just as real in Kurloz as the snarl had been in Derek.

The moment passes, but it doesn't. But it sticks with Derek, unsettles him, and he's quiet as he lets Kurloz pat him on the shoulder and sits down in the chair that's provided. Their friendship has centered around letting things like this go. Around knowing that they're monsters, the two of them, and accepting it, because it's the way it is. Because there's darkness in them both, even if it's a different kind, and nothing will ever change that.

But there's something about the way Kurloz looked at him when he whirled on him, as though if violence had come Kurloz might have deserved it, that makes it hard for Derek to let this go the way he always has.

"Sorry," he says quietly, and the word falls easily despite the fact that he hasn't said that to anyone who isn't Chuck for as long as he can remember. "You don't deserve that."

He doesn't have clumsy fingers. Stitching and sewing both cloth and otherwise has adapted him into having steady hands. Or at least steady enough. He shouldn't be dropping things so carelessly. But he stiffens and his hand slips on some of the food Derek picked out, causing it to drop. Thankfully, it's barely an inch but Kurloz minds it still.

He turns just the slightest, listening even when Derek goes quiet. He moves, first to wash his hands, then to pluck up pen and paper. He keeps his face carefully smoothed so that even where Derek can see him, nothing is perceived.

He's perfectly calm. Everything is fine.

MY WOLF BROTHER, YOU KNOW NOT OF THAT WHICH I MOTHER FUCKIN EARN OF MINE OWN.

WHAT NOURISHMENT HAVE YOU MOST ILL LONGING FOR? LET IT BE DECREED THAT I MAY SERVE YOU NOW.

Only for his family here would he be caught serving food and drink without worry of how much a motherfucking Avox it makes him seem. He slides the note and pen over.

Edited 2016-01-24 21:59 (UTC)

It's obvious that Derek's hit at something there, but he can't be sure what. Kurloz is right - Derek doesn't know, and that bothers him. He wants to know, and there's a quiet surprise in realizing that. There's a part of Derek that wants to know everything, sure, and Kurloz has known him long enough to be at least a little aware of that part, but it's never really included people aside from Chuck before. He's never cared, not unless they were useful or a threat.

Kurloz is different. So are Meulin and Anna and maybe even Phi, if Derek is being honest, but Kurloz is standing in front of him and so his focus is on him.

"Something with meat," is his absent response, as his brows furrow and he carefully considers his next words.

"You're pack." He says it simply, as though it's a statement of fact and not possibly the most unnerving thing he's said since he actually told Chuck out loud that he loved him. As though acknowledging this and putting a name to it wasn't a good way to make sure that the Capitol knew where his weaknesses were. The only reason he's actually able to say it is because the Capitol already knows, because Celebrus has already called them a pack and it fits the way they want to see him. "Know what you deserve from me, and that isn't it."

Edited 2016-01-31 02:26 (UTC)

Meat. Well that's easy. A simple sandwich, maybe with the nicer bread. He remembers it being nicer anyway. He hasn't had any in a long time. He'd probably not be able to anymore, but that wasn't important. The nicer bread he can warm up and that was always better.

He goes about gathering all the other ingredients he can remember seeing Derek going for in the past at least enough to like that aren't already there and out. Again, Derek's words slow him. Pack is an odd thing to say. It's not a human thing to say. It makes it sound like Derek's less, than he can't use any other word. And yet, Kurloz finds it hard to truly see it that way.

He wants to accept it. He wants to just let himself feel the warmth of welcome into a family, to try and wrap his head around the concept that he deserves anything what ain't less. Even though logically he knows Derek to care in his way

He writes something different. He writes what's been on his mind. WHO HURT YOU, WOLF BROTHER?

And yet, he stares at the bite scar (or remainders after Capitol's patch job) like he already knows.

It's strange, watching Kurloz make food for him like this. Honestly, he can't really remember the last time someone has. His dad used to, and Chuck's mom, before... well, before, and Chuck's dad did, when he was home. And Chuck cooks sometimes, but usually it's either them eating out or Derek throwing together something for himself.

He doesn't know what to think of Kurloz doing this for him. It's not bad - it's really not bad - it's just unsettling in the way things he doesn't completely understand always are, especially when he doesn't know what to do to try to figure them out. It bothers him, that he can't get handle on this.

Enough that he drops it when Kurloz doesn't really respond to what he said, and instead changes the subject to the injuries he's sustained during battle. Derek doesn't have to glance down and follow Kurloz's gaze to know what he's staring at. And he shifts a little, uncertain. The troll that had bitten him isn't Kurloz any more than the mutt that had nearly killed him in the last arena was Chuck, but that hadn't stopped Chuck from getting upset when he saw the bite scars that almost matched his teeth.

"The traitor that tried to claim your name."

He knew already. He only wanted it said. Or perhaps, for it to be disproved. Would he believed if Derek had lied? He's not sure. It would've depended on the lie told, he supposes, but it doesn't matter. His eyes close and he breathes deep, a faint sign of grit teeth behind those stitches.

The Initiate. The monster troll. There were only few so cruel as he in the arenas. There'd been even less to prove themselves traitor in such grand and unrighteous ways.

DO NOT MISUNDERSTAND, MY BROTHER. I WOULD LIKE NOTHING MORE THAN THE TRAITOR'S DESTRUCTION. I WOULD WISH HIM CAST ASIDE AS SHOULD HAVE BEEN AND FORGOTTEN.

BUT NOT EVEN I MAY SUGGEST OF MY FAMILY THAT NOTHING COULD BE. NOT ANY LONGER. MY NEGLIGENCE HAS LED TO INJURY MOST UNRIGHTOUS. IT IS NOT MOTHER FUCKIN FIT THAT YOU ARE MET WITH PUNISHMENT FOR WHAT IS A NATURAL RESPONSE. MY ONLY HOPE IS THAT HE IS REMOVED OF OUR WORLD WITH HASTE ONCE AND FOR MOTHER FUCKIN ALL. UNTIL THEN, PERHAPS IT IS TIME I TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.

A PACK DOES NOT ALLOW IN-FIGHTING, SO I'VE HEARD PREACHED. IT COULD BE SUGGESTED, IN THE WORDS OF MY HOMIE KILLA, I KNOWN TRUE WHAT YOU DESERVE OF ME.

It is not an apology per se. He's not sure one would be enough anyway. But it is a concession of sorts, he thinks.

There is great regret.

His head tilts, eyes narrowed as he reads the words. He doesn't like Kurloz taking the blame onto himself for what the troll did, he doesn't like the idea of Kurloz taking a responsibility that Derek doesn't think is his. And he doesn't like the idea of Kurloz referring to the troll and to family in the same breath, but he can't figure out why.

It unsettles him, again. It's starting to be a familiar feeling since he and Chuck moved in here - since they went back into the arena, really. Since the world that Derek thought he knew - the one where he and Chuck were best friends, Victors and nothing else, and that would stay the same until one of them slipped up and the Capitol took them both out - was turned upside down. Since they became soldiers, since they became everything to each other in yet another way, since Derek found a pack. These days he feels like he's barely treading fast enough to stay above water.

"We're monsters, Kurloz, you and me." It's not accusatory, it's - accepting. It's the way it is, the way it has to be. Derek learned a long time ago that you can't survive the Capitol without becoming one, and the sooner you accept that, the easier it becomes. For them - that will never change. They can never be anything else.

"But different. You're not that. It was a challenge - should have done better. Will do better, next time."

Derek looks unhappy. That's just. If Derek is only just realising they've been drowning this whole time they're already being doomed. It's no surprise when Derek points out what they are. It's a name to a long lingering ill. It's a relief in a way.

Derek says it's different. He wishes it were so. He's tried to convince himself, to convince everyone else, to prove once and for all he was worth something. The Games are over. It probably ain't being nothing but for naught. Now it all feels thrown back at him. Futile. He sees horns in his shadow.

He slides another note over.

MY DEAR WOLF BROTHER. YOU'VE NOT THE KNOWING TO WHAT MAKES ME A MOTHER FUCKIN MONSTER. THINE KNOWING IS ONLY OF FACT THAT I AM. THINE KNOWING IS LACKING IN WHAT I MOST UNRIGHTEOUSLY KNOW.

PLEASE DO NOT PLEAD YOUR BETTERING TO ME. IT REMINDS OF BEGGING AND LEAVES POOR TASTE. AT LEAST FROM YOU. BUT DO TAKE SOME MOTHER FUCKIN CARE MORE THAN HAS BEEN DONE.

He would like Derek to come back from those Districts.

He'll concede the first point. He doesn't know everything that makes Kurloz a monster. He suspects some things, but he doesn't know. And Derek wouldn't be much of a scientist if he acted on suspicions without facts.

But then he reads the second part, and it pulls a snarl from him. He picks up his own pen, crossing it out with a heavy, slashing stroke.

"Not a plea. A threat. Haven't fought with someone I didn't kill in-"

He cuts off, because he can't remember. Before his own arena, it must have been. Aside from Chuck, but that's because he and Chuck are perfectly matched, bonded together in everything. Initiate is different, and in some way, Derek supposes he should be grateful to him. It's been a long time since someone challenged him like this, made him better.

"Needed a challenge."

But that probably isn't taking more care, so he lets that subject drop. Instead he turns his attention back to the first bit.

"You're right. Tell me?"

Sometimes, that rare time, watching Derek and listening to him like this, he feels sad. Derek wasn't like this. Derek didn't need to be like this anymore, he was a victor, he was supposed to be free to live on, move on. He wasn't supposed to change. He wasn't supposed to still thirst. Sometimes he doesn't know who this Derek up and is but a sad a motherfucker what shares his shell.

It doesn't feel like a bettering to Kurloz. Not in this motherfucking case. And it definitely ain't taking care. But what is he to motherfucking do? What does he even up and know? Derek needs... something, someone. But it ain't him.

It ain't his damn other self either, that he knows.

What really catches him by surprise is that for the first time ever, so much as he can recall, he's being asked what happened. He's being asked why. And he considers. He recalls the man, the way Mituna ran out, the way his bones crunched and he screamed and Kurloz just stood there until it was too damn late. He remembers fight his Da, cursing at him, having to carry Mituna's broken body all on his own. He remembers calling for justice. He can feel under his fingertips, the wood of that broken building he pressed into, finding Meulin. He feels the scream that had ripped from his throat like nothing he'd ever heard before. He feels the skin under his nails, clawed off his throat. The weight of her in his arms, the blood, the needle threading through, the stares, the fights, Azhira, Azhira, precious Azhira his world turning away. His father every time he looks in a motherfuckin mirror. The pull of his hair as he promised Caiaborus everything, anything, he'd give anything just to get his life back, he'd give his very soul.

He looks up from the floor. He shakes his head just once. Then, slowly, he drags his fingers over his stitched lips, a zipping motion. A silencing motion.

He best finish his brother's meal now. He goes to do that.

It doesn't take much cajoling at all to convince him, really. Maybe that's a bit of a surprise to most people, who might rather their loved ones stay and heal and come back whole and hale. But Chuck -- Chuck has no fond memories of hospitals, and nothing within the past year has softened that wariness. Seeing Derek injured settled uneasily within him, something deep and dared and scared quaking through his bones.

The confrontations from earlier hadn't helped, doing nothing more than keeping his ever present anger seething. Bringing Derek home felt right in a way he couldn't ever explain, even if Derek hadn't been in the hospital for very long.

Still, that doesn't mean Chuck's pleased to come back and see his injured boyfriend out of bed, picking through the fridge. There's a scowl on his face, mild all told, as he stalks forward, growling with warning, "What are you doing?"

Neither of them have very fond experiences with hospitals - and it's even worse now, when being in the hospital means they have to put on a front all of the time. Derek doesn't want to growl and glare and be on guard twenty four seven, he just wants to go home and sleep in his bed with his boyfriend.

Which he... currently isn't doing. He freezes as soon as he hears Chuck's footsteps, not even bothering with the excuses that he'd had prepared in case he ran into the others. Really, he'd been hoping that he could be in and out of the kitchen and back in the bedroom before Chuck could notice, but he should have known better.

And the guilty expression on his face makes it obvious that he knows damn well he was caught doing something he shouldn't.

"...want me to actually answer that?"

Believe him, Chuck certainly would have -- and did, really -- taken over that growling guard for Derek. He'd hated it, seeing his boyfriend laid out and surrounded by the stark mess of the hospital. For the past days, Chuck's been on edge, snapping and snarling, waiting anxiously for the first moment Chuck could take Derek home.

Only, now that they're here, Derek's definitely not where he should be. Chuck's footsteps are quiet, but not enough to be hidden from Derek's hearing, nor would Chuck ever sneak up on him like that. They both know how it would go.

Instead, he raises a brow at the very obviously guilty look on Derek's face. Chuck's own speaks volumes, a sharp just try me etched into the marble of his visage.

Derek hunches his shoulders a little, gently letting the fridge door shut behind him. Even angry, Chuck would never do something like sneak up on him to catch him in the act, and that just makes Derek feel even guiltier.

"Restless," he mutters, but he knows it's not an excuse. Chuck is worried about him, Derek knows that - he should have stayed in bed. He hadn't exactly promised Chuck that he would, but it'd been implied, and that's just as bad.

He reaches out, fingers curling in the fabric of Chuck's shirt as he tugs him in so he can rest his forehead against Chuck's.

"Don't got a good reason. Sorry."

And he really is - Derek doesn't usually apologize, especially not in so many words.

Derek hunches in on himself and Chuck would be lying if he said he wasn't just a tad satisfied with that response. Derek should feel guilty, as far as he's concerned. The edge of his anger banks, a little, brow raised as Derek's guilty look deepens. It's a pisspoor excuse too, and Chuck is ready to say so, angry and trying to hide just how scared these past few battles have left him.

But, he can't really resist. Not when Derek reaches out for him, fingers curling gently in the fabric of his shirt. Chuck goes willingly, easily, slipping into the cradle of his boyfriend's arms, hands settling warmly on his hips. There's a breath, gusty, as he forces his irritation away. Derek's always been then only one who could ever break him from his anger, and now, well, Chuck leans up into the touch of their foreheads. Their noses bump, gentle, and he lets his eyes close, sa boring instead the solid reassurance of Derek in his arms.

Instinct wants him to spit fire, make Derek promise not to leave the bed again. But -- but Chuck knows exactly how he feels, and the apology goes a long way. They both know just how rare t is. So he simply hauls Derek in briefly closer, before pulling back. Not enough to be separated completely, but just a tad.

"Sit down an' I can make you something." An offering all his own -- they both know he's not really one for mastery of the kitchen.

Of course Chuck is satisfied by it - Derek knows his boyfriend well enough to know that a little gesture like that can go a long way towards settling Chuck's vindictiveness, but he didn't do it to get out of trouble. It's not that Derek isn't capable of that kind of manipulation. He is, and he does it just about every day with the Capitol, but that's different. This is Chuck, and Derek isn't capable of anything but being genuine with him.

Even if that genuinity isn't always good.

He holds himself still, pressed close to Chuck, one hand on Chuck's chest and the other at his hips, just being there. It's always been the best way to break through Chuck's anger in the past, the two of them wrapped up in each other like this, as if they could make a world with nothing else but them. It's hard to stay angry when caught up in that, even with each other.

Derek kisses Chuck in response to that, an apologetic one pressed to the corner of his mouth first before he pulls him back in for a real kiss, tugging Chuck's lower lip between his teeth before he lets go. Thank you.

"Won't do it again." It rankles, just a little, making that promise when he knows that it means he's bound to it and he'll be stuck inside the bedroom. He isn't looking forward to feeling cooped up, even if it is logically the best way to recover quicker, but he'll do it for Chuck. Still, he can't help but add, "Without you."

He's pretty sure that means that they've gotten that resolved now, so he does what Chuck'd told him to and grabs a seat. He reaches for his sling, knocking the magazines that he'd dropped it on askew, and nods at one as he puts his sling back on.

"Think we still have to go to that?"

Tom and Molotov's upcoming wedding is splashed on the cover - and they'd been planning on going back when they were still just Mentors, because they always had to go to those kind of functions, but they're soldiers now. Maybe that changes things. Then again, maybe not, judging how that head Peacekeeper had behaved.

my bones may break

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