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chapter thirty-eight
UNTIL DEATH DO US PART

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tw: violence, character death, bodily injury
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Sage is just about to wake Ptolemus from his nap, his chest still rising and falling at a steady pace, when shadows reemerge onto the beach. Her heart jolts, and she clutches her hatchet anxiously in anticipation for Augustus and Enobaria. She sees his trident first, and she relaxes at his bronze-head of hair. Although, despite her relief, Finnick appears anything but pleased. His lips are in a grim line as he almost catatonically walks right into the water. He plops down in a daze.

The others trickle out after them. A trembling Katniss is in Peeta's arms, and he drops down to the sand, still holding her. Johanna doesn't appear amused. Curiosity and unease gnaws at Sage at the thought of whatever they could've just endured.

Beetee also returns, still clutching that spool. Now that Sage is closer, she can see what it is, the coppery tint burning in the sun that's soon to set.

Wire.

Of course. He's from District Three — what else might he use? But for what? And how? She dreads the possible answers to what Beetee Latier could truly do with that wire.

Then she remembers that these aren't just any Games. These are the Games where the Victors — particularly Katniss and Peeta — will be broken out of the Arena and whisked away to somewhere safe.

The wire must be part of the plan. It's clear that Beetee is a crucial component of it as well if Johanna was willing to risk her life for him.

Though without electricity, Sage can imagine the wire is useless, hence why it hasn't been used yet.

It's happening.

She inhales sharply when she realizes. Midnight. When she and Tolly are supposed to meet them. The lightning tree. Surely that's plenty of electricity to do something with that wire that could get them out. She inches closer to the treeline, still careful to lurk in the shadows when Beetee seems to be calling the others over for something. She tries to listen from this distance, but it's futile as he merely whispers.

They're all deep in conversation. Then Beetee points to the ten o'clock sector. She frowns. A gesture to the sand. Back to pointing to his wire. Her heart jolts when it appears he's pointing at her in the treeline. The others turn to follow his gaze. Then she realizes their stares are boring into the jagged and grotesque lightning tree in the jungle behind her. She stifles a shiver at the confirmation. They're starting to put their plan in motion. He traces his finger back down to the water.

Sage watches a minute longer, everyone seemingly nodding at his proposal. They look to the twelve o'clock sector again, and Finnick points from the tree to the sector she's in. More nods. She desperately connects all the dots silently, her picture offering further confirmation that they plan to wait for their rescue in the dormant one o'clock sector.

Hopefully her picture is correct and not just a bunch of scribbles.

She waits for them to pack up camp, but they don't. They must be waiting for Midnight to grow closer. It should only be five or six o'clock. Six more hours at the least.

It's happening.

She quickly turns back around to wake Ptolemus. Her palm gently rubs his shoulder. "Tolly." He groans. "Wake up."

His eye flutters open. There's a small drop of drool slipping from the corner of his mouth, and she gently wipes it away with her thumb. He's still blinking away the slumber, but he straightens from the tree on his own. They smile lightly at one another, her heart sighing with relief that he's awake again.

"Morning gorgeous," he greets groggily.

"Morning," she echoes. Then she reaches over for the silver canister of cream Barrow sent down. She can't help herself when a big smile tugs at her lips. "I've got good news. Barrow sent us medicine."

Ptolemus straightens. His gaze drops down to the gift in her hand. Bewilderment stuns him first as he stares breathlessly. "Really?"

Sage nods excitedly. "Here." She sits in front of him, gently removing his makeshift bandage. The moss is stained with blood and could use a change. She stifles a grimace at his eye, but fortunately, he's kept the lid closed just like she instructed.

Carefully, she scoops some of the clear cream onto her finger, before gingerly applying it to the laceration on his skin. He tries to stay still, but the touch makes him flinch. Her stomach churns.

"Sorry."

"No, it's okay," he dismisses. "It's just cold."

"Barrow's note said only on the skin, so I can't put it on your eye, but..." She finishes applying it along his cheek, and scoops more for above his eyelid and brow.

Ptolemus knows his eye is probably lost. Even with the laceration closed, he's sure to have an infection within a day or two in this jungle. He hopes he can hold on long enough for her to be Victor. He listens closely to Sage as she continues.

"I think it's the same cream Katniss had to get Peeta at the Cornucopia for his leg. Do you remember?"

"I think so." He barely stifles a frown. "That sounds expensive though. Barrow used your donations?"

She knows where he's going with this. She just shakes her head at him. "I wouldn't want it any other way." A sigh as she finishes with his face. "Now let's get your leg and arm while we're at it."

"Uh-uh." He glances back down to her shoulder. "Your donations, that means you're next."

He starts to untie her bandage. She doesn't object, mostly because she knows she isn't going to win. Besides, there's plenty of the cream for the both of them. He scoops some on his finger, then lightly rubs the ointment into her wound.

She grimaces and frowns. "It is cold."

"Told ya."

Once he seems satisfied, she redresses his bandage over his eye again, grabbing fresh moss to lay over top. She's hoping that by the time they're in Thirteen, the wound will be closed up completely, perhaps only leaving a scar. After his bandage has been changed, she applies the cream to his arm and knee as well, before repeating the same process for the moss. When she's done, he's found some more nearby to cover her shoulder. She lets him.

"How's the pain?" Sage asks, studying him very carefully. She waits for him to lie to her.

"Sleep was easier than I thought it'd be," Ptolemus starts. Not entirely a lie. It was easier, but it wasn't easy.

While his body was fatigued, the scorching pain still pulsed, trying to keep him up. Just like it is now. His lips part like he's ready to lie again, but he must notice that pointed look in her eye.

He sighs, the fire across his head now just a deep and throbbing ache. "Still hurts."

Sage nods. Then she reaches behind her for the other two canisters. "We got two more parachutes."

"Two more?" he repeats, almost dumbfounded.

"Mhm. More bread from Ten." She holds it up for him to see, and his mouth starts to water when he thinks about tasting cheese again. He waits for her to show the next gift. Sage inhales a soft breath, almost hesitating, before carefully holding up a small vile. "And Morphling. For your pain."

Ptolemus eyes it warily. He remembers being given it after he won his first Games in the hospital, it freeing him of the aches and pains but shrouding him with a hazy curtain that felt like he was stuck between worlds. It was the strangest feeling. He doesn't remember enjoying it.

"Barrow sent that too?" he finally asks.

Sage blinks. Then her lips form a tight line as she shakes her head, retrieving the note again. She offers it to him tentatively. "Your mom did, actually."

Ptolemus flinches, but not from the pain this time. He almost recoils from the note in Sage's hand. The first thing he expects is it to be a trap, to be more manipulation, more of those icy whispers down the back of his neck. There must be something in it for her. Why else would she help him?

"I don't want it," he denies quickly, pushing the note away.

Sage's shoulders slump with sympathy. "Tolly."

"It's a trick." Something inside him rattles and quivers. Something that's been fragile since it was born, vulnerable and wounded just like his eye. "She wouldn't send that to me. Not without a reason."

A pause. There's a tear forming in his visible eye. She scoots closer to him, gently cupping his unharmed cheek with her palm. He shivers and inhales another shaky breath. "I don't know if a reason really matters right now, Tolly. You need this. You're in a lot of pain."

He's always been in pain. For as long as he can remember. Ptolemus tries to hold back the tears. He can't imagine that's good for his wound.

"Your body could go into shock with too much pain," she reminds gently. "And even if not, it's still disorienting."

He knows she's right. While he's sitting still now, he can't imagine trying to fight against Augustus, Enobaria or Finnick in this moment. He knows it'll slow him down. Render him useless. He'll never be able to truly protect Sage like this.

Ptolemus is quiet for another minute. Then he swallows the bile down his throat. "Can I see the note?"

Sage hands it to him. He takes it tentatively, reading the words over and over. It's strange to see his mother's initial on the card. Nothing about it is healing. He just aches more. Of course she only shows she cares once he's dying — not the other twenty-two years of his life. Can you even call it that? He remembers her words before boarding the hovercraft yesterday. Is it love and care? Or is it something else for Petra Pierce?

Eventually, Ptolemus lets it slip from his fingers and into the dirt. He doesn't look at it again. Instead, he's looking at the Morphling. Then back to Sage.

"Do I take that whole thing?"

"Maybe not." She shakes her head. "I don't know how strong this dose is supposed to be, probably stronger than what we have in the Districts. If it's too strong it could knock you out like they did to us in the hospital." They both stare at the vile warily. "We can just do half of it, if you're okay with that. Save more for later."

Ptolemus sighs and nods. His pain is obnoxious, the right side of his face throbbing. Sage carefully unscrews the lid and hands it to him tenatively. Just as they discussed, he only drinks half of the Morphling. He hands it back to her, and after screwing on the lid, she stuffs it back into her wetsuit pocket with the spile.

"Are you hungry?" she asks lightly.

"Starved."

Sage gently breaks off a small bite of the bread, as big as her thumbnail, and hands it to Ptolemus. "It's probably going to hurt to chew. If it won't dissolve, we'll just keep eating small pieces."

"Sounds like a plan, Doc."

She's right, it does hurt to chew, more shocks shooting across the nerves of his face, so he takes her advice and eats super small bites, essentially swallowing them whole. He demands that she eat some too, so they take turns. A bite for him, a bite for her, and so on. The bread is halfway gone when Ptolemus puts his hand over hers.

"We should save it. For tomorrow."

Sage bites her tongue. She forces herself to nod, putting the bread back into the canister. Then her gaze drifts over to the beach where Katniss and the others loom. She imagines they'll be leaving for their plan soon. A soft sigh escapes her as she looks back to Ptolemus.

"I think we should go soon," she starts. He listens to her warily. "I heard the others talking. They've got some kind of plan with Beetee's wire. It doesn't sound like the beach will be safe much longer."

A silent beat passes, and he stares out at the treeline quietly. The beach? What are they going to do to the beach? It's suicide. It's the only safe place in this entire Arena. Perhaps they're ready to pick everyone else off so that they can finally turn on one another. Ptolemus's gut twists, and he peers back at Sage.

"But the jungle —"

Sage already has an answer ready. "I think this might be the safest sector we could be in. If it's just rain, well — blood rain, we can build something for cover and wait until it's over."

Ptolemus still hesitates. He heard a cannon in this sector last night. Then there's the concern of running into Augustus and Enobaria again, wherever they might be lurking. He doesn't know if he can take them on again. He tries to envision what they could craft with vines, but all his imagination can muster up is them holding a giant leaf over their heads pathetically while crimson hails down on them.

"Sage, you know I love you, but I've seen your hammocks..."

A gasp of false hurt escapes her. If his humor still being in tact didn't make her so hopeful, she might grow impatiently frustrated as she tries to convince him to relocate in time for Finnick's plan. She squeezes his hand with hers.

"Tolly."

A new serious urgency settles in her tone, and while there was a light-hearted moment, they both know it's fleeting. Especially in a place like this. Especially with circumstances like these.

Her stare lingers over his wound again. Midnight can't come soon enough. "We need to go."

Eventually, he nods softly, squeezing her hand back. "Alright."

With that, Sage packs up their camp. She takes another glance out to the beach, noting that it seems to be Katniss and Peeta's turn at watch. They sit back to back, one staring out at the water, another at the jungle. Finnick seems to be napping, and Johanna plays with her ax. Turning back to Ptolemus, she helps him to his feet again. His head feels heavy and achy, but not as piercing as before. He'd be relieved if the Morphling symptom of grogginess didn't accompany his pain maintenance.

Sage makes sure to line herself up right at the border of twelve and one's sector. Then she helps Ptolemus with the climb up the hill and through the jungle. It takes some time, the uneven terrain and the darkness acting as obstacles even for her. He uses his sword like a walking stick to help steady himself. She stays on his blind side and guides him. Her other hand grips her hatchet readily for Augustus and Enobaria. They never come.

While the rest of Ptolemus's body feels relatively strong, it's getting used to his lack of sight that feels disorienting. The more he walks, the more he feels steadier about it. They trek for a good hour before Sage peers up at a break in the canopies. She sees the outstretched fingers of a familiar and jagged branch looming maybe thirty yards up the hill. In a few hours, it'll be simmering with joules of electricity.

Ptolemus's legs are shaking, and she decides this is close enough before moving them over by ten more feet into the one o'clock sector. She should be able to hear Finnick and the others coming when they make their own climb. Besides, he knows to be expecting them.

They both sit carefully in front of the base of a fairly large tree, covered in sweat from their march. Her lungs are heaving more than she realized. Ptolemus blinks in an attempt to free himself from the fog creeping into his system. No doubt from the Morphling. Even just a sip or two, and its effects are powerful. It doesn't help there's hardly any food in his stomach besides the few morsels of bread. The worry it'll get stronger looms in the back of his mind.

It's when Sage is getting more water for the both of them that he decides he should do it now. The weight of the rings looms against his chest, reminding him of how much he loves her. How much he's always loved her. How much he'll love her even when his soul is gone from his body. And even if they crumble bread crumbs over his corpse, he knows he won't be making that journey back to wherever it is he came from. No matter what higher power tries to force his soul back, he'll never leave her. Not truly.

Sage can see by the look in his eye that Ptolemus is thinking deeply about something. He almost doesn't notice her approach, his palm on his beating heart. It worries her at first as she crouches in front of him. Something must be wrong.

When she ducks into his vision, he finally looks at her. It's as if for the first time again as she entered that Gleam Gala.

"Hey," she murmurs, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. "Do you feel alright?"

Ptolemus studies her softly. Then he nods, another dull ache moving through his skull. It's more annoying than it is painful. He opens his arms for her to sit in his lap, and she carefully crawls into him, still trying to salvage their leaf of water. It splashes onto his thigh, but he doesn't care.

"It's okay. I'm not thirsty right now," he insists. There's a gleam of gold slipping out of her own wetsuit, and he notes the different birthstones decorating her locket. His lips twitch upward when he sees hers — a deep emerald.

Sage watches as he gently grazes a thumb over the engraving. The famed words of the Navarro family. A vow of love.

"You never told me your token," she reminds lightly. Her gaze falls to that gold chain peeking ever so subtly out of the collar of his wetsuit. "You said I'd have to wait and see."

Ptolemus remembers.

He thought he'd feel more nervous for this moment, always imagining himself getting down on a knee one day, somewhere private first. The real proposal would just be theirs, then another staged for those vulturous paparrazi. But instead, he's completely and utterly calm.

That's because he knows this is more than right. This is destiny.

He nods softly. "I did." Another light quirk of his lips, and he gently tucks a dark strand of hair out of her eyes. "I guess you've waited long enough, huh?"

She watches as he drops her locket back onto her chest. Then, inhaling a soft breath, he reaches for the gold chain around his neck, pinching it between his fingers. At first, it seems like just any necklace, but as he pulls it over his head and tugs it free from the tight wetsuit, she sees something dangling in the middle. Some kind of pendant. He lays it out onto her palm to see. It's difficult to make out in the darkening jungle, but she does see the gleam of a diamond.

"You know how we talked about wishes the other night?" Ptolemus asks.

Of course. How could she ever forget? The thought of it stirs all those feelings up in her again, and she swears she can feel them journeying out of this Arena and to that pasture beneath the stars. God, they're so close. They're so close to salvaging it all.

Sage musters a tentative nod and waits.

"Well this is one of mine."

It's when he unclasps the chain and slides the pendants off that she starts to make out their shape. He holds the one with the diamond up for her to see, before gently reaching for her left hand. She slowly realizes what he's doing, and her heart swells with warmth, flooding across her chest and through her body.

Ptolemus holds the ring right in front of her ring finger. He looks into her eyes as he speaks, clinging to the suns that have always kept him warm.

"I wish to be your husband, if you'll have me." Sage's breath hitches, and he squeezes her hand, heart trembling. "And I wish for you to be my wife, if you'll do me the honor of marrying me, Sage Navarro."

Sage sees her future so clearly again. Their future as they lay in that starry pasture again. Except unlike the first time she pictured it, there's another touching detail gleaming gold around their fingers. It's right there for her to take.

She's never wanted something so badly in her entire life. It's her wish as much as it is his.

He's waiting so patiently as he holds that ring over her finger. She nods, seizing their future. Happy tears prick her eyes, a soft hum vibrating in her throat until she finds her voice. "Yes, Tolly. Always yes."

He smiles lightly at her even though it hurts. Then he slides the ring over her finger. It feels even more satisfying than he imagined.

"Now I know this is a short engagement," Ptolemus starts lightly. She chuckles, a tear falling down her cheek as she clings to him. "But uh, I have some vows if you'd like to hear them?"

Sage straightens with a light spark in her eye. She recites the minister of Ten that presided over Almanzo and Coretta's wedding back home. "And what do you vow to your beloved, Mr. Pierce?"

Now he chuckles, the sound strange to hear with all the pain he's been in. He tucks another strand of hair behind her ear, before allowing his hand to linger, cradling her face gently. It feels like holding a star, and he wonders how he got so lucky.

"Meeting you was the best moment of my entire life," he admits earnestly. He remembers that night so clearly as well as the gravity of the life he'd been sleepwalking through. He honestly doesn't know how he ever did it without her. "Meeting you saved me."

Sage nods, tears pooling in her eyes. Her voice is barely above a whisper. "You saved me too." Then she looks to his eye, gently rubbing her thumb along his left cheekbone. "You're always saving me."

He squeezes her hand warmly and steadily.

"So as your husband, I vow to protect your heart as long as mine will beat." More tears, the sobs soft and tender. He looks right into her eyes as he makes her another promise. "And even when it stops, and they've laid the crumbs over my body, I vow to always find you and love you in every life we have together."

Sage's heart aches with every single word. It isn't the kind of ache that makes you sad. It's the kind that reminds you you're human, and being human means you are capable of feeling a great and powerful love. A love like theirs.

She wants to kiss him. But that's not the tradition of Ten's wedding ceremony — not yet anyway. So she speaks from her heart instead like her Mama always taught her.

Gently, she takes the other ring from his palm, and she grabs onto his left hand. She hovers it over his ring finger too, another tear brushing down her cheek. A soft smile. "It's my turn."

Ptolemus nods, a corner of his lips quirking upward. He mimics her tone from earlier. "And what do you vow to your beloved, Dr. Navarro?"

"You've always kept me safe." A soft and grateful sigh as she squeezes his hand. "And as your wife, I vow to take care of you just like you've taken care of me."

She's less than four hours away to being successful at that. If only he knew how close they really were to their dreams.

"You're my first love, and my only love, and I vow to love you forever," Sage promises. His heart aches the same way hers does as he pulls her closer in his lap. "I vow to love you as deep as the canyons and as tall as the sky." She slides the ring onto his finger. He shivers. "For the rest of all our lives, however many we live together."

Ptolemus can't breathe until he kisses her. Neither can she, but she raises a gentle hand, begging him to pause. "One more thing."

He just waits, lips hovering only inches from hers as he feels her breath. Carefully, she grabs a nearby vine, before intertwining their ringed hands together. He watches quietly and curiously as she uses the vine for District Ten's famous wedding tradition.

"With this, I bind us together into one," she recites lightly with a faint grin.

Sage ties their hands together with a knot he's never seen before, her fingers unwaveringly steady, and he smiles as he watches. She remembers seeing the pictures of her mother and father's wedding day, and witnessing Almanzo's and Coretta's. There was so much love you could feel it. And she feels it living inside her now. Right in this moment.

Her eyes bore into Ptolemus's. Her husband's.

"So that even when we die, we will be eternally one."

His eyes fall to his wife's lips with a yearning question. She nods.

"You may kiss your bride."

They tug one another closer until they're chest to chest, heart to heart. Their marriage is sealed with a kiss, his arms wrapping around her frame and hers wrapping around his neck. Salty tears mingle with their lips as they hold each other so close they look like halves forming into a whole. This kiss is different than the one in the garden. Before, they were muses for the poets and their sonnets of young love. But now, they're so much more than inspiration. They are the great love you dream about.

They are husband and wife.

Neither of them want to pull away. Neither of them want to let go. Ptolemus aches at the thought of leaving Sage a widow, so he clings to her tighter, silently vowing to hold on as long as he can. Meanwhile, she refuses to mourn him, making a vow of her own as well as the hours to Midnight dwindle. She's going to get him out — no matter the cost.

It's pitch black when their lips finally pull apart. Ptolemus's wound is trickling with a light trail of blood again. Then there's the fogginess to his mind. That damn Morphling still makes itself known. He hates how exhausted and heavy he feels while that curtain creeps up on him and tries to tuck him away from Sage. His fingers tangle into her hair as they press their foreheads together, their breaths tickling each other's lips. While the vine has slipped from their hands, the unique knot is still bound, helping it hold its shape on the jungle floor.

"Let's lay down," Sage breathes. "You can sleep, I'll take first watch."

Ptolemus would argue if his head wasn't bothering him so much. He just nods, and they gently lay on the jungle floor. They rest on their sides, facing each other. He keeps his arms around her and tugs her close to his chest.

"This isn't probably the safest," he murmurs tiredly.

"I'll turn when you're asleep." She gently cups his unharmed cheek, memorizing the way his flesh feels against hers. Tomorrow night, they'll be in one another's arms again. In District Thirteen this time. And one day — Ten.  "I just want to pretend for a minute."

"That we're in the pasture?"

"Yeah, that we're in our pasture."

He kisses her on the lips fondly. They both savor it. "Goodnight. Mrs..." His voice trails, unsure of what to call her now. He's never imagined burdening anyone else with his name.

"Pierce," Sage decides. She feels him stiffen to object, but she just rubs soothing circles into his cheekbone again. "It's not your parents' name, it's yours. And I want yours, Ptolemus."

Something inside him heals. Something he thought was long past healing. His lips twitch upward faintly. He's never liked the sound of his last name until now. The start of a different legacy.

"Alright. Goodnight, Dr. Pierce."

Another kiss. She gently runs her fingers through his hair as his heavy eyes close. Hopefully, when he wakes up, they'll be on that hovercraft to Thirteen, and she'll be reunited with her family.

They're so close.

"Goodnight, Mr. Pierce."

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Sage's forearm pulses angrily and hotly while her own blood oozes onto the ground. She quickly applies the moss over her self-inflicted wound, straining to tie another piece of her wetsuit to tie her final bandage of the Arena. It takes her longer than she'd like, more blood pooling, and she stifles a frustrated huff. Eventually, she finishes the knot, her arm still aching. She hurls the shining tracker over the hill and out of her sight, similar to where she threw Ptolemus's.

Trying to cut out his tracker was nerve-wracking. Once she remembered and realized that they were still pulsing inside of them, she almost fell into a panic, her restless mind presenting scenario after scenario as to how they would fail and be caught. However, after a few more moments, she was able to pull herself together enough for a steady hand.

He whimpered and groaned when she did it. She gently wielded her knife as a scalpel to make the cleanest and safest slice she could make. He still bled too much for her liking. His eyelashes fluttered, but didn't open until she had finished the knot of his newest bandage. After informing him she was just changing his bandages very calmly, he simply fell back into his slumber.

She can't decide if that's to her benefit or not as she sits nervously in front of him. His chest is still rising and falling normally. But to barely stir awake after having his arm sliced open? It has to be the Morphling. He only had half of the vile. Could it be even stronger than she anticipated?

It's as if he senses her return, because his freshly bandaged arm reaches for her in his sleep. She lets him pull her closer to his chest as she peers out into the jungle. Her knuckles wrap tightly around her remaining hatchet, and she watches carefully for shadows.

It's been over an hour since she heard the ten o'clock wave. Now all she hears is that obnoxious clicking again from the eleven o'clock sector. She could've sworn she heard footsteps and voices fifteen minutes ago, one sounding like Johanna, but perhaps her imagination is just running wild.

Midnight. Midnight has got to be soon. They're going to be safe soon. They have to be.

Sage jumps when the anthem blares through the Arena again, and while Ptolemus stirs from the movement, his eyes remain closed. Her stomach knots. She refuses to look up at the sky, first peering down to check on Tolly, but she can still feel Cashmere's haunting features looming over her. Bile rises up her throat, guilt shuddering against her heart.

It disippates quicker than she thought when Wiress's picture is next, signalling that Augustus and Enobaria are still out there. Her grip on her hatchet tightens as she looks at Ptolemus's eye. Perhaps there will be a chance for her to kill Augustus before the grand rescue.

Next is Mags. Sage stares at the old woman's brave face sadly. Then Nina from Five, Helena from Six, and Blight from Seven illuminate the sky after. He's the last face before the artificial stars, clouds and moon replace him. Besides Katniss's allies, Chaff is still out there. Sage just stares for a moment longer.

It's when she looks at the empty sky that she realizes the eleventh hour has to be over soon. The clicking still vibrates through the air, but it's been doing that for at least thirty minutes now. It's so obnoxious that she almost doesn't notice the voices thirty feet to her right in the twelfth sector. Sage's heart and body grow deathly still.

"Come on." Through the dense foliage, she swears she sees the outline of someone's head. There's another trailing right behind them down the rocky hill. "I wanna put as much distance between me and this beach as possible."

Johanna. That sounds like Johanna. There's the shadow of a bow slung over the other figure's shoulder.

"Frying is not how I want to go."

Sage just watches and listens carefully as Johanna and Katniss navigate further down the hill. There's a soft whirring with each of their strides. It reminds her of when they have to uncoil fresh wire for the pasture fences.

The wire.

They don't seem to see her. She can't believe her and Tolly are only thirty feet away from them. Soon, they'll be joining them on that hovercraft, the wire acting as their ticket out of here. Sage doesn't understand it completely like Beetee's brilliant mind might, but she believes in it. What else is there for her to trust?

Clang!

Everyone stiffens. Even Sage at the subtle yet jarring sound. She watches Katniss and Johanna's shadows freeze, the former yanking her arm again. The wire must be caught. Sage realizes on what when she notes the two other shadows lurking and creeping behind them. Her blood runs cold, and she almost shouts out a warning.

Katniss sees them a second later as the wire snaps, raising her bow to aim. That's when Johanna swings the coil into her temple with a vicious grunt. Her heart drops with Katniss's collapsing frame.

That doesn't look like it was a part of the plan.

Sage lurches upward the same time that Augustus and Enobaria break into a ruthless pursuit of the Victor from Seven counter-clockwise. Just when she thinks about sprinting over to help Katniss, she's sharply reminded of Tolly sleeping behind her. She stops. Her chest heaves, and she spins to face him. His eyes remain closed.

"Tolly," she urges. Her hands find his shoulder, and she gently tries to shake him awake. He doesn't even flinch. Her heart accelerates anxiously, and she glances back over to where Katniss and Johanna once were. "Tolly, wake up."

While he's breathing just fine, he isn't waking, the Morphling still holding him hostage. She's about to shout his name when the cannon fire obliterates the night air. Ice shoots down Sage's spine as her wide gaze reers up to the sky, half-expecting to see the lost soul's face peering down at her. There's nothing but the moon.

Katniss? Is it Katniss or Peeta?

It's happening. Sage flinches. Nothing about it feels right.

It can't be them. If it's them, her and Tolly aren't going anywhere. If this plan fails, which it's looking like it will thanks to Augustus and Enobaria, Tolly is going to die. How can she keep the plan from failing? How can she ensure Tolly will make it out of this Arena safe and alive?

Katniss. She needs to see if Katniss is alright.

It's happening.

Sage has seconds to decide what she's going to do. She tries to shake him one more time, but he doesn't wake, only groaning. Her heart heaves. She glances back to the twelve o' clock sector, then to him one more time. This is where the others are supposed to meet. If he stays here, at least Plutarch will be able to grab him. Plutarch is going to grab him.

As long as the plan works.

She kisses his cheek hastily. "I'll be right back."

Sage pushes herself off the ground, tearing through the darkness and into the twelve o' clock sector with her hatchet. She comes up on where Johanna hit Katniss quickly, yet when her frantic gaze scours the ground, the girl is nowhere to be seen. There's a pool of blood on one of the rocks, but the trail is dead.

Where is she? Where the hell is she? How did she get up after a hit like that?

It's happening. Her body jolts with her eerie intuition the same time that she hears Finnick's panicked scream.

"JOHANNA!"

No. No, no, no — something's going wrong, everything's going wrong!

It's happening.

She struggles to follow his voice as her heart pounds in her eardrums. Her feet take staggering strides up the hill, perhaps to the lightning tree. She doesn't get very far once she hears Peeta cry out. Except he isn't near Finnick or the lightning tree. He's somewhere in the exact same direction Johanna, Augustus and Enobaria went.

"KATNISS!" he screams, maybe only fifty feet to her left. The desperation in his voice makes her own heart rattle. "KATNISS, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

It's happening.

She doesn't think, only does as she veers in his direction. Could Augustus or Enobaria have him cornered too? Where did Katniss go after a hit like that? And Johanna — isn't she supposed to be in on the plan? Why turn on her with the remaining Careers looming right above them? Whose cannon did she just hear?

Sage continues counter-clockwise, propelling herself forward with rapid strides. She waits and prays to stumble upon Katniss, Peeta or Finnick. Even Beetee at this point. Her mind races with her legs as she clutches her hatchet, ready to throw, ready to swing, ready to do whatever it is she needs to do to salvage the plan. Keep Katniss and Peeta safe and alive for Midnight.

Keeping those kids safe and alive will keep Tolly safe and alive.

A gasp escapes her when her foot catches on something solid. Perhaps a rock or log, and she curses herself as she crashes onto the ground, barely clinging to her hatchet. The earth slams into her ribs, knocking the air right out of her breathless lungs. She fumbles to get up, yanking her foot over the rock, and her wild gaze darts behind. Instead of a rock, Chaff's lifeless eyes stare right back at her.

She yelps in horror as she scrambles to stand. His blood seeps into the ground, and as she peers down at his body in bewilderment, she sees the brutal slash across his throat.

Someone screams only ten feet away from her now. "KATNISS!"

Subtly uneven strides march toward her, and the leaves to her right rustle. She can see his ashen hair peeking over the foliage. "KATNISS!"

Peeta appears just as stunned to see Sage as she is to see him. He blinks at her with ragged disarray, sweat shining on his forehead. He's got his machete in his hand. Just when she's about to hold her own palms up innocently for him to see, as if calming a spooked animal, there's the Snap! of a twig behind them.

A ragged and beaten Augustus pants as he materializes into the clearing like a forgotten shadow. The sight of him sends a hot rush of blood to Sage's head, just like the crimson that stains his dagger. She realizes who delivered Chaff's fate now.

His dark eyes bore into a stiff Peeta first. He quirks his brows in amusement at the boy from Twelve, taking a dangerous step in his direction, and he braces his machete. Sage shifts herself in front of him in a heartbeat. Peeta's bewildered stare bores into her back.

It's when she does that that Augustus straightens, finally noticing her. He whistles a low whistle that could make her shiver if she weren't so furious. "Well howdy, gorgeous. How's Tolly Boy's eye?"

Sage clenches her hatchet readily, and he smirks a wolfish smirk.

"Looks like you've run out of time."

The thunder of someone's cannon shocks every bone and nerve in Ptolemus's body, jolting him back to reality despite the thick medicine coursing through his system. Every ounce of fatigue is gone, but the world is still fuzzy and blurry with that damn curtain. His limbs and head feel heavy.

Especially his right forearm, a deep soreness pulsating beneath the flesh. When he glances down to it, the blood oozing from a bandage he doesn't remember being there before isn't what startles him.

It's that Sage isn't in his arms anymore.

His mind jolts into jarring clarity, but the rest of him still feels trapped in limbo, that curtain hanging between him and reality. The earth beneath him tilts and slides, and he shakes his head to rid himself of the sensation. That only sends uncomfortable stinging shocks inside his right eye socket as he winces.

"Sage." He's not sure if he's thought her name or said it. When he doesn't get an answer, he calls louder in a panic. "Sage!"

How long has he been asleep?

A cannon. He heard a cannon!

In the darkness, it's hard to tell that the sand and dirt beneath him is more than just that. But as he gains further consciousness, the terror spreading like lightning through his veins, he realizes there's a warm, sticky substance coating the ground next to him, right where Sage was laying. He may be pretty beat up, but it's too much to be his own.

An iron fist reaches into his chest and clenches his heart with a deadly squeeze. He almost wheezes.

"SAGE!"

Ptolemus stands too quickly, almost falling back down with his ankles wobbling. His chest heaves as he grips his sword, stumbling to follow the blood trail. He follows it for several paces as the only sign of her eventually fades into nothing but more dark jungle. That damn curtain keeps hazing in front of him, and he strains to tear it away.

"SAGE, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

When he only receives more silence, his mind goes to the beastly man and woman who swore to kill his wife after her stinging betrayal. The desperation rattles his voice like a glass house trembling against a strong gale. He's about to shatter. "SAGE!"

"PEETA!"

This voice isn't hers, he knows that. It sounds farther, somewhere up along a hill. Either way, he recognizes it. Katniss. Another daunting thought plagues his panicked and disoriented mind.

Maybe it wasn't Augustus or Enobaria. Maybe... it was them. They outnumber the disbanded "Careers" anyway now.

How could he let this happen? How could he sleep through an entire attack? Was she screaming for him while they hurt her?

Nothing's making any sense. Sage. Where the hell is Sage?

Another voice calls, this time sounding faint, deep in the jungle. "Katniss!"

"PEETA! PEETA I'M HERE!"

Ptolemus grinds his teeth together, staggering up the hill toward the sound of the Girl on Fire's voice. She keeps shouting for Peeta, and he's calling for her, somewhere in the distance. Medicine weighs Ptolemus's limbs like anchors, coating them in concrete and threatening to sink him below the earth's surface. But he doesn't let them.

Something supernatural, Herculean maybe, allows him to trudge forward and through the jungle. He slices at the thick foliage with jerky and chaotic motions of his sword. When he stumbles and slips, he only grunts with frustration, digging his fingers into the ground to push himself back up against the hill.

Another voice has joined in on the chaos. Finnick. Everyone is shouting from their different corners of the jungle, some closer than others. But not Sage. He hasn't heard Sage yet. Why hasn't he? Where is she? Is she hurt? There was so much blood next to him. How didn't he hear an attack? Whose cannon was that?

Where is she?!

Ptolemus's chest feels like it might cave in. His voice booms almost louder than the cannons. "SAGE?!"

"KATNISS!" Finnick shouts.

He doesn't care about her. What did they do to Sage?

Ptolemus's vision blurs, and he grunts in anxious fury, hacking violently at the leaves. It's when he does so, that the fuzzy outline of a clearing emerges. At first, it looks like the earth is growing its own arm, the grotesque fingers outstretched and reaching to the dark heavens. There's three of them dancing in his vision, and then they join together, back into one.

Standing in front of it, with her arrow nocked and pointed right for his chest, is Katniss Everdeen. She hasn't released it yet, but with the murderous glare in her eye, it already feels like there's a hole through him.

A figure bursts through the trees about fifteen yards to Ptolemus's right. It sounds farther, and he shoves the heel of his palm into his good eye, begging for the fog that cloaks around him to fall. Dark dots pepper his vision briefly, then they fade. He only feels a little bit better as he grinds his teeth together.

He shifts his body to see the faint glint of Finnick's trident, the Victor from Four's chest heaving from all the running he's seemed to have done. The sight of him sparks something seething just beneath Ptolemus's heart. If he can feel the heat of his glare, he's ignoring it. His eyes are only trained on Katniss.

"Katniss," he tries, raising his palm gently, like one might do to an easily spooked animal.

She seems to snarl, her murderous gaze and lethal aim shifting to him. Finnick flinches. There's no blood on his trident. When Ptolemus adjusts his sweaty grip on his sword, he notices there's a slumped figure laying behind the Victor from Twelve.

There's another figure creeping into the clearing, this time to Ptolemus's left. He recognizes it immediately, the white fiery rage almost blinding him more than his own wound. Enobaria is much closer than Finnick, her predatory gaze darting between Ptolemus and Katniss. Crimson flashes.

In her grip is a bloodstained sword.

Ptolemus feels as if he's been yanked outside of his body. Yet at the same time, he's more conscious, more present, more clear than ever.

With a steady hand, he points his sword right for the woman's chest. Rumbling brews darkly in the sky, and the earth trembles. His voice is uncomfortably low as he glowers with a narrowed but teary glare at Enobaria in front of him.

"Where's Sage?"

Nothing Enobaria could say would've saved her. Within a breath, Ptolemus launches forward with a guttural scream that makes your bones cower, everything about him primal, predatory, and inhuman.

Like a wave that she didn't see coming, he overwhelms Enobaria within a moment, her futilely holding up her sword only for him to violently swat it out of her grip with his own. The snarl that curls at her lips quickly morphs to a fearful shriek as he snatches her by the throat and slams her body to the ground.

Behind them, Finnick is shouting frantically at Katniss. Enobaria howls as Ptolemus's knee digs into her wrist, bearing her fangs and desperately reaching for his throat, just like when she was just a scared seventeen year old fighting for her life in her own Games. The terror in her eyes hardly quenches his ravenous rage.

She hurt Sage. She hurt Sage, she hurt Sage — how could he let her hurt Sage?

A sob quakes in his chest with the fury as he raises the sword high above his head. He plunges the blade through her chest bone and right into her heart without a second thought. The sky roars and the world is illuminated into a blinding blanket of white.

Enobaria's cannon is louder than anything that Ptolemus has ever heard, shattering his eardrums and sending him flying off her body. His own soars through the air like a whip, smacking into a tree behind him and cracking a rib.

There's a big dark cloud forming at the back of his skull, growing in size like a fresh blob of ink. He doesn't try to fight it. Why would he? How could he? Not without Sage.

Instead, he lets it consume him, already planning to uphold his vow and find her in their next life.

━━━━

»»-----　♡　-----««

Oh. My. God.

So many emotions writing that entire chapter I'm distraught. I can't believe we're here! I can't believe we've finally reached these moments!!! I've been planning for them for so long — like, since I first got this fic idea in the first place.

Sage and Tolly are so Dangerously in Love 2 by Beyoncé/Work Song by hozier coded I can't 😭

Welp, that is the end of act two. Sage and Tolly are married, but of course... they are not going to end up in the same place just yet :( that damn Morphling and stupid Augustus and Enobaria!!!

That ending scene was so hectic and stressful to write honestly — there's so much going on. But, if you want some peeks at where Tolly ends up and where Sage ends up, feel free to check out their Mockingjay posters I made a few months ago below! I've been dying to share them but didn't want to put them in the graphic gallery because ya know... spoilers.

Please comment what you think if you feel like it!! I love hearing your thoughts and reactions! :)

Also, feel free to imagine Sage's ring anyway you'd like, but I envision anything like these three below! The one on the right it would just be the ring not the band that comes with it but yeah.

How were their vows??? Their little wedding???

Please ignore the fact this scar is probably not super accurate to what he looks like, I just tried to make something like it on procreate. I imagine it does not look this neat and is probably a little more gorish!! I did my best. And yes, he can't see out of his right eye anymore :(

I am going to warn you, when Ptolemus first wakes up in 13, he's not going to realize where he is. He's going to see he's in a hospital and assume he's somehow the Victor of the Quell and he is going to be VERY UPSET. There will be a tw at the beginning of course for a tough scene that you can skim past if it is too upsetting at the beginning.

But here is Mockingjay Tolly. I need to reread the book and watch the movies again to make sure I do this next act Justice!

Ugh, then Sage, my sweet baby. She has gone through SO MUCH this act and has done so much behind the scenes to protect Tolly. Our poor, sweet and brave honey.

That being said! While Sage is in the Capitol and is being tortured, I do not plan to write any of that in explicit detail. It'll be mentioned and you'll have an idea of what they did, but I don't feel the need to graphically write the torture she goes under. Therefore, act three will have more scenes from Tolly's pov in 13 until the grand rescue.

Our poor babygirl :(

Flip on over to check out my act three chapter!

Word Count: 8491