River watched things unfold carefully, tongue licking his lips and hand wiping away at the tracks the tears left as they fell. He kept quiet when she spoke, trying to take in her every movement, each tick she had and every sound she made and a part of him couldāve sworn on Gavinās life that there was somethingĀ eerilyĀ familiar about this Andrina Vane of District Six. Something about her told him that she was someone that he could trust, even though he was hesitant to do that with just anyone. In her movements, she seemed more hesitant than him, and he checked off that maybe, perhapsā she was scared.
But of what, he hadnāt figured out yet.
āI donāt know Gavin very well, and I justā¦ I just want to help.ā
Not a very well-explained motive, River easily sensing that she was hiding something. Butā¦ He was just too tired to think. His brain was running quickly and all he wanted was for it to slow downĀ to a level that he could managed thinking at when sleep deprived.
Again, he nodded, turning towards her in the cot, his legs slipping from under the blanket, dangling off the cushion. The dim light shined off of his leg and he quickly pulled the blanket over himā scaring the woman away wasnāt going to help him. āAl-alright,ā he spoke, voice tiny and soft, something it almost never was. He was River Eberhart, brash and snarky and very much a little shit of a twelveā thirteen year old. Being soft and scared wasnāt in his nature. āPlease help,ā but apparently, begging was.
Seconds ticked and she swore she could see the cogs turning in his head, mimicking the same way Wesley would calculate and consider his options before answering. Her heart pounded and she felt her eyes sting, blinking away any amount of tears before they could consider falling,Ā choking out a complacent smile. God, she must have looked like a lunatic to him. He would be right in sending her away. She rememberedā¦ the first night she went to Wesley. The way he had stopped and thought, his eyes consuming her like a puzzle to be solved, then welcomed her- it wasnāt as if anything happened. But she saw something in him. Something she didnāt see in a lot of theā¦ victors. The other mentors. She saw the scarring, the same, maybe, that she carried with her every day. She hacked off her hair with him that night, the long black strands laying in his sink, a horribly cut asymmetrical bob-sort of style replacing it. Snow was furious. Her aesthetic was his, her aesthetic belonged to the capitol, the young victor they had all rooted for, it was practically betrayal. And she was punished.Ā
River utteredĀ a word- just one, and her heart floated, and a few tears broke past the dams, hey eyelashes betraying her, her hand quickly wiping them off her cheek as she kneeled in front of him. She wondered if all mothers had these moments. The awe and grateful feeling at being allowed to help the person that somehow you felt needed to be offered the world, even when you couldnāt- not with the state of the world they lived in. She wondered if any future mothers could appreciate that. Could cry at being allowed to button a pajama top because you were the reason your child not. Because you wanted to badly for it not to be so- because you tried so hard to keep that from happening at all. She owed this to him.
She glanced at his leg that was covered before lifting her hands, thin, quick, calloused fingers working throughout their shaking to work downwards, buttoning as they went. She took her time.Ā
āThis must beā¦ a shock for you. All thatās happened. We allā¦ the team worked hard to make you feelā¦ comfortable. But I donāt think itās possible to be. After what you were put through, and Iā¦ Iām sorry.ā Her words were quiet, soft, not at all in the monotoned delivery she normally used. More open, vulnerable, so easy to affect and reflect everything she was thinking, and so unlike her usual self. Part of her hoped it might be this way. Even just leaving the capitol, everyone home under the impression she was dead, she became more freely expressive. Nothing faked, the way it had to be in the capitol, the dislike was now able to freely roll off of her in waves of contempt through her tone, her actions, the rolling of her eyes. She was allowed to experience happiness, and it didnāt have to be controlled. And she was already far beyond the husk of a person she had been. The only time she was human back then, after the Games, before the rebellion, was alone in Wesleyās room. Soon, she would be free to feel like that all the time. She wasnāt sure she deserved the freedom. After all sheād put her son through? Maybe she still had yet to earn it.Ā
