thecapitol | A Bloody Valentine: Dance Auction!

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A Bloody Valentine: Dance Auction!

Who| Everyone in the Capitol!
What| Dance auction!
Where| The top of the Romulus Hotel in the Capitol
When| February 14th, in the evening
Warnings/Notes| None at the moment

It's the Valentines day gala come again, and moreover, it's been over two months since Capitolites have gotten to get up close and personal with their favorite Tributes. With all the curfews and restrictions and fear suddenly cropping up, everyone's due for a little time on the town. And you, the lucky soldiers (and hostages), get to take the briefest of breaks from the battlefield and get away from the Detainment Center for a few hours.

There is a catch however. Two. The first thing is that there can be no mention of war whatsoever to the Capitolites. None. Talk of war will result in talk of execution. Your execution. The second catch is that a number of you have been signed up for dancing auction! You will be expected to dance with your assigned partners (some people may buy dances for an offworlder to dance with another offworlder!), be respectful, and at least slightly enjoyable. Most of all, you are to be a distraction. These people cannot know there is a war going on.

Some years ago, a similar dance auction was held. On top of the tallest hotel in the center of the Capitol, there's just as much scuffle as back then to fit into the elevators, maybe even more so after the long absence of Tributes. Just as back then, the sky has been artificially cleared of clouds, with more stars projected upward in their place. It's chilly out here in the early month of February, but the very floor has been set up with a heating system, keeping the rooftop nice and cozy. The Games are aired and the narrators are nostalgic.

There's something tense about the party. Everyone is smiling too hard, trying their best not to seem nervous or cast too many side-glances over unspoken worries. Small talk is taken up with intense gusto, everyone more eager than ever to forget all worries and woes. What lies are told about what the Tributes have really been up to in their absences are swallowed entirely.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a booming female voice announces from nowhere, "Celebrus Magazine, in conjunction with The Romulus Hotel, are delighted to host the third annual Hunger Games Dance Auction for charity! As a matter of decorum, let us remind you of some ground rules. A guest's actions reflects on the hotel, and the Romulus reserves the right to remove anyone in any position of authority from the premises for any reason, including going beyond the boundaries of a dance auction. Any unseemly, fraudulent or presumptive action on the part of the guests will lead to their immediate dismissal. These Tributes volunteered for charity, and their wishes should be respected.

"You may bid as much as you like, on however many Tributes you like, but please don't promise more assi than you have on-hand. All donations will be taken at the time the winning bidder is announced. Get excited, but don't get too excited!

"And now… may the bidding begin!"

At no point does Celebrus Magazine indicate what sort of charity any of the money generated is going towards. It will be a good hour and a half before the bidding closes and the pairs are announced. In the mean time, everyone is welcome to mingle. And... should a few people slip away from the party for a little while, using the crowd to hide themselves, well, who would really notice? Be sharp and keep low and you may just get away with it. The rest of you may just have a new meaning to the job of being a distraction.

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Jet hadn't been around this many people in what felt like forever. Thankfully, he was largely ignored when the few glances thrown his way were met with next to no reaction. He was too lost in his thoughts to play the Capitol's 'game.' He hadn't done it much before either, so that helped. At least he was fairly certain he hadn't.

That was part of where his mind was now, trying to figure out what was a real memory and what was a fake one. They all felt real, but some of them seemed fuzzy at the edges, as though half forgotten dreams, but was that the drugs or because they were made up? He didn't know and didn't know how to sort them out.

At least he could think far enough to try and sort them out now. They used him for what they'd needed and tortured Sam with it. They'd made another Cyborg soldier and didn't even know what they were really doing. Creating a weapon, more than likely, who cared if it ruined a man's life? It made Jet feel sick on top of the nausea the withdrawal was causing. Part of him almost wished he wasn't facing whatever reality this was now laid out before him if it included suffering of someone he loved thanks to his existence.

But then he was found in his corner, cold fingers pressing to the back of his overly warm neck and it drew him back to the room as he leaned into the touch. This was why he could face things, why he'd work to sort out his mind and figure out what pieces belonged where, this man needed Jet to be okay and Jet needed him. The facts were fuzzy, mixed, and most conflicted so badly he knew one of them was wrong and the other right, but he knew Albert was someone he could trust. A friend.

Jet mustered a smile for the other cyborg and nodded after a moment's hesitation. He did know how to dance, he was fairly certain. "Yes." Looking at Albert was better than looking at empty space. He let himself be lead to a spot just for them and fell into simple steps easily, second nature, so he could focus on lacing a sentence together with broken thoughts. "Al...I need your help."

"Anything," he murmurs quietly, a part of him fearful that Jet will ask him something based in the unreality that he seems to exist in at times now, to tell Joe something or promise all over again that he won't look for a way to die as he did in the early days of Black Ghost. Things impossible, things long resolved, he worries these things have returned for his husband.

But he'll sort through them, gently but with a careful tenacity that won't be daunted. He'd needed Jet like this more than once, to piece him together, to make him whole, and he won't let his husband down now when he needs the same of Albert. Not if he can help it, no matter what doubt attempts to crawl from the furthest reaches of his mind, the niggling little voice tauntingly asking if he - broken as he was - can really expect himself to be able to fix Jet.

He buries that voice.

"Anything." He repeats it firmly, leading Jet in a slow circle to the music.

He opened his mouth a moment as though to start talking, but closed it again a moment later, the words dying before they could form. What did he need? He needed to be able to think. He didn't want to hurt Albert with his words, why did it feel like he'd done that so many times already? Why did he care?

Blue eyes found silver and confusion raged through his head. He cared so much if he hurt this man, his teammate. His...no, more. His soul. Heart and Soul. They were... "Everything's a mess in my head, Al, like someone took the pieces and shook them up and poured them all over the floor. But not just that, they threw in a whole new puzzle and mixed the pieces up so I can't tell which ones belong there and which ones don't. I...think you'll know, if I ask. Will you tell me if something doesn't belong?" He hesitated, his fingers tightening a bit on Albert's hand. Why was this terrifying? Why wasn't it as terrifying as it should be? No, he knew. Heart and Soul.

"We're...we're partners, right? I mean...I love you...and you love me? I didn't make that up, did I?" Please, please, he didn't want to have made that up, so many of his memories involved how much he loved Albert.

"For more than a lifetime." He sways gently with the music, worried he can't dance and talk about something so important at the same time. Jet has his entire attention.

"I learned to dance for our wedding, because I know you love to dance and I never did." A soft exhale and the corner of Albert's mouth quirks at the memory. "You were surprised. You couldn't stop smiling, though I don't know if that's because of the dancing or because we were finally married."

As they move, Albert slips the hand at the back of Jet's shoulder to his left hand, letting his metallic fingers clink against the ring that is thankfully still there. "You didn't make that up, my Sparrow. It's real."

He looked at the ring as though he hadn't noticed it before and, really, he hadn't. It had been part of his hand as much as the finger it was on, he hadn't payed attention to it. He'd known it belonged, even if he couldn't remembered why at the time. His expression softened to one of fondness and relief. "Good."

And they were married, he remembered that. The memory shined brighter than most and, perhaps that set it apart, but as real or simply exceptionally special? There were too few for that to be the mark of a 'real' memory. Although, thankfully, a good portion of those had Albert in them, supporting the reason why it felt so natural to be this close to Albert. His lover.

"I remember that. We were in the Capitol." Like they are now. His face fell a little. "Then...our apartment in Germany, the cat...? They're not real, are they?" He wanted them so badly, that life, but he already knew the answer before Albert could say anything. He still needed to hear it.

It hurts, hearing this. The life they should have had. He can picture it just as clearly.

A third story apartment in a square-facing white-washed building with carved brown shutters. The breakfast table would be by the window and they'd have to shoo the cat from the surface to use it. Albert would grouse about hair and Jet would just smile at him and bring the coffee to silence his husband's complaining. The winter sun streaming in through the panes made Jet's hair shine gold and really, that's what would shut Albert up.

"No, I'm sorry," he whispers it, genuinely remorseful that it isn't where their life is now. They've done enough, more than a lifetime of fighting the good fight, and yet here they are under the thumb of yet another totalitarian regime, this one having worn at them more than the rest.

He stops moving altogether, instead lifting himself on his toes and pressing his forehead lightly against Jet's, a gesture he hasn't given in over a year. "Someday."

The gesture is like a cool breeze on a hot day, refreshing and grounding and Jet drinks it up like it'll save his life. Maybe it does, in a small way. He takes that moment to start two piles in his mind: 'real' and 'not real.' No apartment or cat or peaceful life, but they are married.

His hand came up to Albert's hair. "Okay." He searches scattered memories for a new one. "Fran, Joe, Junior, they're here too: real or not real?" He felt stupid, incomplete, having to ask and cut and paste like this. But maybe, one simple truth at a time, he could fit the pieces back together.

"Not real." He fights with himself for a moment, if he should explain that Joe was once here, and then vanished, but he'd rather just let that go. It was so long ago now, there's nothing they can do, and it isn't what Jet means anyway. Jet can see them, he thinks, as if they're right there.

"Thankfully, not real," he repeats, qualifying it with relief as he starts them moving in a slow circle again. He'd rather they be dead and gone in the time they'd been reaped from that alive but stuck in the Hell that is Panem.

He nods. Thankfully. This place wasn't good, he didn't want them here. Dead then, he thought he remembered that and, if they weren't here, then that must be the answer. He felt the heaviness of loss at the realization, but it was a familiar weight, like one he'd felt before and that, more than anything, told him he was right. Real.

"The others, are they safe?" It wasn't a real or not real question, just a different realization that he didn't really know what had happened to their friends in the time Jet hadn't been with it. "The others that...aren't Sam." Sam he knew. Sam...Jet didn't think they needed to talk about it to know what the other must be feeling.

"Safe is..." No. None of them are safe. Wasn't it Hannah that had told him that? Hannah who he'd completely lost track of when one thing after another cascaded down on him and he'd ended up back in the Capitol feeling even more trapped than he had when they'd been initially reaped.

"...Relative to here, as far as I know. They're recovering." And hopefully will be kept away from the battlefield instead of attempting to mount some kind of rescue. He doubts they will; they've all lost too much already to try something that would probably lose them more. "They'll be alright."

He hopes.

Jet steps in a little closer, allowing for a more intimate dance, but also allowing for quieter, easier words between them. "Good." Not here was just as good as safe in Jet's opinion. If he could make Sam not here too, then it'd be even better. He winced as a thought fluttered through his mind and slipped to his lips.

"I wish you weren't here too. I wish you were safer." Recovering. "But..." The wince turned to a look of frustration he buried against the side of Albert's head. He was so selfish, disgustingly so, a disappointment even to himself, but he didn't stop the words from coming out because, more than Albert's safety, he needed Albert's presence and the reminder that he loved Jet, even with his mind a scrambled jigsaw puzzle. " But I'm glad you're here now. I wish I wasn't, I wish I didn't, but I need-" This. Albert, his hands and the sound of his breath, the small reminders that Jet's partner was alive and there with him and holding the half of him that wasn't fucked up by the Capitol so Jet could use it to fix the rest.

Jet's grip on his husband tightened. "It's fine. If you're here, I can protect you. I'll...I'll protect you, they won't hurt you and maybe it'll be fine that I don't want you gone." It was gone again, that line between what was in his head and what was coming out of his mouth and he shut his lips tight to stop any other garbage from coming out until he could draw that line again.

"I may not have come here by choice, Jet, because I promised you I would talk to you first about running into danger, about making decisions for the both of us..." He has to say that first, not just to reiterate that he hadn't simply jumped at the chance for capture, but to remind Jet of the promise as a whole, of that step they'd taken together and come to terms with. "But I need you, as much as you need me, and there's nowhere I would rather be than at your side, even through this. Especially through this."

Albert's voice is a low rumble, felt more than heard as he keeps his voice low against Jet's ear. He holds Jet close, less dancing than rotating in a small circle on their corner of the floor. He's not sure if this is the same song they'd started to or if it had melded into the next without his noticing. He's not sure he cares, so long as he has Jet here in his arms, giving him at least the illusion that he can protect and comfort his husband.

"I wish we were both safe, Sparrow, but if you aren't, then nor am I, no matter how far away." He puts a soft kiss to the side of Jet's head, minutely taller in that moment for how Jet's head is leaned down to his shoulder. "I'd rather be here, with you, than suffering alone in supposed safety."

I need you as much as you need me reverberated in his head and he nearly choked on his own disbelief, how could Albert need him when he was like this? How could anyone need him when he was like this?

But something fought the notion and killed the words on his tongue. especially through this. Putting him back together, helping him find the pieces...it was familiar, the same and put his mind to an uneasy rest. He still felt wrong about it, about how wrong he was, but he had to trust that how Albert felt about him was no different than he felt about Albert. He never would have abandoned his partner when he needed Jet's help to get back on his feet, Jet had needed him then too, even when Albert didn't believe it.

No different.

Jet nodded, too many emotions stirring in him to risk speaking just yet.

His feet stopped and he simply stood there, content to hold his husband in the middle of a party like no one else existed. Finally, after a moment, he spoke quietly into Albert's neck. "We'll get through it." He was parroting himself, he was sure, the feeling wasn't there, but the words seemed right and if he could just convince even a part of Albert it was true, then they could have their hope.

They stop moving and it's as if the world stops moving too. They're able to capture this one moment together, still with worries and problems but concrete in the knowledge that they remain by each others' sides.

Jet speaks and it's words Albert has heard him say before, on the cliff outside of 13 when they'd pretended water was whisky, on Valhalla with Albert huddled in the shower still clothed and soaking wet, on Mocawa overlooking a sunrise above the storm, in the tiny cells of Ghost Island with nothing but his voice through a vent. He may not have said it in so many words each time, but Jet's always embodied the sentiment, just as Albert tries to do so for him now.

"We will," he says with certainty.

We always do.

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A Bloody Valentine: Dance Auction!

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