Call Me, Doc, I Must Be Sick [The Games AU]

[dead_black_eyes]

Who: Linden Lockhearst and Dr. Caesar Salazar
When: After Linden's latest stint in rehab, between Arenas
Where: District 6's suite in the Tribute Tower
What: Some self-destructive Victors go through doctors faster than others.



It had felt like a sudden pain, a sudden weight, and then the floor rushing up in a punch-drunk smack of cold marble.

Usually, Linden knew his tolerance, until it got higher and he had to adapt to survive. But this time had been different; this time, he was at least two kilos thinner. They'd taken in his clothes before the party, pinched-lips and shaking heads he barely registered. Wherever the weight had gone, it had left him sparser, paler and more vulnerable, and as he did what he needed to in order to stay alive in the colorful sea of sick indulgence, the room had started spinning, too much, too fast, too LOUD.

The rest was related to him later after he woke up. He learned that he'd been dead for a few minutes after his heart stopped, and then that his rib cage had been cracked open like a Capitol child's birthday gift so they could restart it. All very desperate and dramatic, and under the hazy influence of the good drugs that weren't even usually accessible to Victors, he'd resented that they couldn't just leave him alone after what was probably a better run than he'd ever counted on having.

Rehab, as usual, was terrible. Nothing happened or changed there. Folding paper into fragile flowers, talking about feelings and productive ways to stave off cravings. Bullshit, in so many words. Linden saw it in the other addicts' eyes, met them, shared silent understanding and laughter. If those were truly alternatives, and life is so fine, why the hell would we run from it in the first place?

Counting down the days, the hours, the minutes has finally paid off. He's been released but not allowed to return to District 6 until after the next Arena when he'll presumably be stronger. They think that putting him here in the Capitol will keep his brittle, wasted body safer. They're wrong, of course, but it's a tired song and dance now, the futile cycle of keeping a man who wants to die present, painting roses in his cheeks and presenting him as a spokesman for a government he silently despises.

There's nothing to do for it, of course, but tie off his arm and examine his needle collection on the surface of a chessboard. Long-neglected pieces look on and silently judge him; the Bishops turn up their noses, the Knights gape hungrily. Linden looks for a vein that isn't collapsed, burst or otherwise destroyed. The suite, built for socializing with a large fireplace in the center of the room, is still and silent and crawling with anticipation. It almost doesn't matter that a doctor is on his way; what can he really do?

Comments

[evowhisperer]

"... Chess?" Cesar guesses, noticing Linden following his gaze. "That might work. You already have a reputation for it, and you'd have access to anything else you need to improve your skills."

Looks like that problem's becoming solved. He's not trying to slip away from the subject, but this whole conversation has been a roller coaster, and his patients' mental wellbeing has never been thrust on him as a main priority. He knows at some level that it should be, but without a calm voice to insist when he moved to the Capitol the attention slipped to the wayside and never returned.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden exhales heavily through his nose with an accompanying and withering glance, as if to ask really, however did you guess something so obvious? He doesn't deny it or offer a biting, sarcastic answer, however. What Cesar says is the truth, from the hobby to the reputation.

The skills, however, get a quirked brow.

"You know that I'm already one of the top-ranked in Panem, don't you? One year I was the top-ranked. I'm not exactly worried about improvement. Where do you go from the top but down?"

[evowhisperer]

The information confirms something he was only half-aware of. The part of him that's getting frustrated with his patient wonders nastily if the victories were given to him just to keep him placated, but he silences the thought before it gets very far.

"Even people at the top can still learn. If you're bored with it, however... You could pick up another game?" What's similar to chess? "... Checkers. Go. Poker. I know for a fact that that last one can quite lucrative, provided you're good enough."

His patience is thinning; he never succeeded in entertaining his little brother by suggesting things the way he is now, and he's not expecting this to work, either.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden's brows raise, as if he's guessing Cesar's line of thought and adding it to his kindling pile of things to resent and eventually set fire to.

"Lucrative? You think I care about money? I'm a Victor. I snap my fingers and I get whatever I want. Except your departure," he mutters icily. "But most of these games require partners, you know. The fact is that my social life, such as it is, consists of other Mentors. When we get together, the list of things we do is pretty short. There's a lot of drinking, a lot of rutting, and a lot of broken furniture."

He chuckles, taking pleasure in the idea of something that Capitolites just don't have access to. The ascended Districters who come away from the Games with their lives and their scars have a dynamic all their own when they're exclusively in each other's company. Whether or not it truly deserves the rumors, the dynamic has attained legendary status to those who covet Panem's finest and the allure of destructive, fast-burning celebrity.

[evowhisperer]

It's a far cry from the busy and useful lives the city's propaganda likes to push forward, and Cesar's slight frown speaks volumes: he's disappointed, and at least part of it is over the fact that he fell for such a naive assumption.

"How about a deal?" Cesar says, before his mind really catches up to his mouth. "I'll teach you to play poker if you'll go through the first round of treatments."

... Apparently they've reached this point: Cesar is not above cheap bribery, and he's well aware of the fact that this is the sort of thing one might cajole a small child with. He can distinctly remember using a nearly identical offer with his kid brother.

[dead_black_eyes]

Cesar's disappointment is broadcast clearly enough to make Linden's smirk widen. Shattering the man's idea of Victors is his pleasure and his joy, one of few that remain to him, and he will absolutely take advantage of it.

"I know how to play poker," he says softly. "A lot of my bidders want to play games with me, in case you're wondering. If you really want to play one... how about we turn it into a wager? We can even use poker, since there's no challenge if it's chess. If you win, I'll undergo one round of the treatment. If I win, you leave me alone. Either way... well, it's a diversion for both of us, isn't it?"

[evowhisperer]

Cesar lifts his eyebrows, eyes narrowing. "I can't leave you alone forever," he points out. "But... maybe for a little while... How does a week's delay sound?"

Not that Cesar plans to lose. It's an unfairly painless stake from his end, but he's privately not planning to concede even that much to this self-destructive child in a man's body. How fast are his eyes? Linden survived a life-and-death struggle using his wits and reflexes, but the games he's practiced are likely to be very different from the ones Cesar plays. Cesar is confident in his odds.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden shrugs, as if to say maybe you feel like you can't, but you will, and you'll get fired, and it's really not my problem if that happens.

"A delay until I have it in writing, from Snow, that no one else is to be my doctor," he proposes, a twisted smile on his lips. "If you agree to that much then the diversion is an acceptable bet to me."

It's unfairly painless for Cesar, but Linden is bored, restless, and returned from the dead to a more inconvenient and fragile life. It shakes up his dismal status quo and gives him some kind of phantom rivalry, even if he has already ruined it by thinking of Scorpii and not being able t help the momentary comparison.

"I think I have a deck somewhere. Probably in that drawer," he says, gesturing vaguely toward his desk. Any of the drawers Cesar is liable to open will require picking through loose, unlabeled pills and needles; it's likely that any corner of this room has a hidden, squirreled-away stash, which likely explains how unconcerned Linden is when someone finds and confiscates one.

[evowhisperer]

Cesar lifts one eyebrow, thinking about bureaucracy and the time it would take for Linden to get a rejection for this request. Then he reminds himself that Linden is a victor, and that in the end Cesar can always just override their deal if he has to.

"That sounds reasonable." He feels no threat from this at all.

The desk isn't very far away. Cesar puts his clipboard down and pulls on the closest drawer. It turns out to be full of a vase that's been broken into three pieces, a few needles, a lone, cheap chess piece, and spare papers. The next drawer has equally irrelevant odds and ends and even more needles. The third drawer has the little box he's looking for, almost hidden completely by the bulk of a folded up cloth.

The slight pause as he looks over the box gives him time to listen for other sounds in the room. He doesn't think Linden is watching very closely. Not missing a beat, Cesar opens the box and begins to sort the cards onto the table. There's no explanation given to this, because clearly none is necessary.

[dead_black_eyes]

So much of it is a sad case of a Victor pulling rank to the best of his ability, making what paltry demands and threats he can and bluffing with his sham authority. It's sad, but the truth is that Cesar really doesn't have anything to lose by agreeing, or, in this case, ultimately pretending to agree.

"Good. It is reasonable," is Linden's frosty reply. He watches the chess board as he hears Cesar rifle through his things, unconcerned with trinkets and paraphernalia that he wouldn't have mourned leaving behind.

"They should all be there, but I'm not sure," he calls over his shoulder, with only a cursory glance in Cesar's direction. "You should probably check and make sure."

[evowhisperer]

"I'm already doing that," he says without looking up. Cards are dropping quietly into little piles with the regularity of a conveyor belt. It takes some doing, but soon there's the sound of shuffling over and over.

When he turns, the deck is in one hand.

"Shall we...?" His eyes travel to a pair of garishly designed chairs by a shining coffee table. It's not a tall enough surface to be ideal, but there isn't much better of an alternative available.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden seems slightly surprised that they're all there, and maybe mildly impressed. There could also be a hint of disappointment that he hasn't managed to inconvenience Cesar further by forcing him to go look for a complete deck, but he takes it gracefully, for someone with his particularly immature outlook.

"It isn't like I have anything better to do," Linden replies with a careless shrug, standing and moving toward the coffee table. Like most of his furniture, it's barely used, more a place for clutter to accumulate than an operational and practical addition to his suite.

"What are we betting? Or is it just the winner of the most hands taking the grand prize?"

[evowhisperer]

"Ah... we're betting..."

Cesar's eyes swing back to the desk with inspiration, and he takes a moment to question his decisions. The doubt is easy to shrug, and he turns and opens the top drawer again. He's taking something out and putting it on the desktop surface.

He says over his shoulder, "How about we start with ten needles each?" He's emptied the top drawer (so far as he can see), and moved on to the second one. Before long he's leaving the desk with a stack of them.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden watches him, a flicker of life and interest in those glassy, cold eyes. Sadly, but also fairly true to form for such a notable addict, needles are one of the few things that can reliably grab Linden's attention and hold it. Admittedly, Cesar's choice is also darkly amusing to him, but he doesn't say as much, merely watches as Cesar counts them out.

"I have no objections. It's certainly true that I have enough of them to make for a pretty generous pot," he says. "Just be careful. You went to medical school, but I'm willing to bet that I have more experience handling them than you do."

[evowhisperer]

"Maybe so." He sits down and tips the pile off to one side, arranging them into roughly two piles. Specifics don't appear to concern him much, since he starts dealing without counting who gets how many.

Five cards to each of them, one by one. Cesar selects a single needle from the pile and slides it to the middle of the table, scooping up his cards in his other hand. "Ante of one to start?"

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden doesn't bother arguing that it is almost certainly so. He merely shrugs easily, settling into the chair at the edge of the table near one of the piles. They don't look precisely even, but he lets it slide; the odds are never really even to begin with, anyway, so it seems grimly appropriate in its way.

"That's a fine ante," Linden agrees, clearly on autopilot as he tosses one of the glinting silver needles toward the middle and glancing at his cards. He has three of a kind, sevens, and tosses two more needles into the pot alongside his ante.

[evowhisperer]

"Call," Cesar murmurs, sliding two more needles forward and glancing past his cards to his opponent. This is what he does with this kind of hand, he tells himself, noting the degree of his slouch, the lines of his eyebrows, and the places he glances. Lots of different things could be tells, and even though the deck is stacked against him Cesar is putting on the act he would show if it weren't. He's taking it seriously, just in case.

His eyes drop back to his cards, and he studies them one by one. He'd rather wait for Linden's decision before trading any cards of his own, but if the silence carries on for too long he'll just go and take a chance.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden's poker face is fairly decent, all things considered, even when he glances up and notes the way that Cesar is subtly but thoroughly studying him. He rolls his eyes, but the gesture lasts for just a second before he's lifting out the cares that aren't his three of a kind, sliding them across the table to indicate that he wants to exchange them for a new deal.

[evowhisperer]

"By the way..." Cesar deals him two cards--a five and a three, different suits. "I noticed something in your files that I'd like to have confirmed. At least three doctors have prescribed supplements, but later tests show no improvement." He puts one of his own cards down and draws to replace it.

"You weren't taking any of those, were you?"

[dead_black_eyes]

The cards are worthless to him, but he keeps his features neutral and schooled into expressionless boredom, if anything. He rolls his eyes, though, at the question, tossing another needle into the pot.

"Not exactly. I did try them, but it turned out I couldn't get high that way. So, imagining for just a second that you were me, what was the point, do you think?"

[evowhisperer]

"Better health?" Cesar says dryly. He tosses a needle in after Linden's, resting his fingers on another. Then he leaves the bet as it is, looking past the cards.

"You do realize that it would make life between the highs more tolerable, don't you?"

[dead_black_eyes]

"We haven't known each other very long, Salazar, but if you can learn, I can't imagine you can be surprised at this point."

He's betting recklessly, probably too recklessly for his very poor hand. Not that Cesar should know that his hand is poor; he's got an admirable balance going, firm confidence and commitment to a hand that he wants Cesar to fold before its revelation. The same, of course, could be said for the treatment plan; it would be better and so much easier if he simply gave up and decided it would be more trouble than it was worth to see another ridiculous, childish, petulant Victor's raise.

"Is 'tolerable' what anyone aspires to, really?" Linden asks. "It's settling, at the heart of the matter. Victors, of anyone, have earned the right not to have to settle, wouldn't you say?"

[evowhisperer]

Cesar crooks an eyebrow, wondering privately if he would've been able to see through this act if he hadn't known the cards already. Where are the flaws? His gut tells him that they're there, but it's also telling him that it would've taken him several games before he'd spot them in a real game. He's reluctantly impressed.

"Perhaps," he says out loud, separating another card from his hand and placing it face down. "In a more perfect world it would be true. Unfortunately for you, the reality is that victors are as much at the mercy of their circumstances as the rest of us."

He deals himself a replacement to his card, resisting the urge to palm an extra. He doesn't need it; right now all he needs is to finish this game.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden's played before. He knows and does enjoy the game, it being a contest that he can focus on for a little while without growing bored and feeling as if he's outgrowing the restless confines of his own skull. He needs stimulation, challenges, reasons to stay sharp and clear, and anything that grabs the attention of his cracked but brilliant mind tends to keep it.

He holds a hand up slightly, stay, indicating that he is satisfied with his hand. That isn't the case, but for one blind to the cards (as Cesar isn't), it it very convincing. It could be. It must be.

"I have heard words like that before. Not just from physicians," Linden says darkly. "Typically, it's not a way to endear yourself to a Victor, you know. Implying that we're just like everyone else. We're not. That's the point of having Victors."

It's not the point, and he realizes it, but the stubborn and petulant streak he has is a miles wide and highly volatile.

"You probably don't get invited to very many parties."

[evowhisperer]

"I get more invites than I attend. I usually decline." He remembers broadcasted interviews with victors at galas, ones where Linden is either glimpsed only in backgrounds or dragged forward for tellingly short interviews--he has an inkling as to what sort of control Linden has over his life. As petty as it is, the corners of his mouth twitch up.

"I call."