seestheman: (Hear my prayer)
Clara Murphy ([personal profile] seestheman) wrote in [community profile] thearena2014-06-13 12:22 am

[closed] everything dies, baby, that's a fact

Who| Clara and Alex
What| Alex is dying and there isn't anything Clara can do to about it.
Where| The abandoned house
When| Beginning of Week Three
Warnings/Notes| Death by starvation. Will add anything else that pops up along the way.

Logically, Clara knows that it's something close to a miracle that Alex has lasted as long as he has in the arena. She isn't an idiot, after all, and is well aware of the fact that there was a reason why, back at home, he had to spend his nights at the lab instead of at home. That it wasn't just whatever they had done to him that had kept him away from her night after night. That his basic maintenance is more than just checking to make sure he doesn't have any screws loose. Dr. Norton never told her exactly it entailed, but had made sure to make her completely aware of the fact that, once Alex was home, he would have to be at the lab every night to run through the basic protocols to keep him well.

She doesn't know what those basic protocols even are, but the fact that Alex hasn't had them in weeks explains why he's in such bad shape at this point. Like the fact that she woke up this morning to find him sitting against a wall, mostly unable to move.

Maybe it's wrong and selfish of her, but the moment she realized what was probably happening, she made an excuse about looking for something, she can't even remember what, and retreated upstairs. There are lots of things she knows she can endure, like being alone or putting up a strong front, but she knows she can't handle watching him die. Even if she knows that she isn't really losing him this time.

And even though she knows she'll probably wind up downstairs eventually because she can't bear the thought of him going through this alone, at the very least she needs a little bit of time to herself to silently cry it out so Alex doesn't see (and she fully acknowledges the fact that it's ridiculous that they've been together for years and she still hates to let him see her cry, but for some reason makes her more than a little self-conscious). It's only after the last of the tears (and the few sobs she couldn't keep back) peter out that she finally gives herself a task: finding a jacket to replace the one she ruined. If she finds one, then great, she can go downstairs and totally deny that she was doing anything other than searching and she has proof of it and if she doesn't...she'll still deny it.

She's found, over the past few months, that she might just be the queen of denial.

After some searching and kicking up enough dust to have a decent explanation for her puffy, red eyes, she finds a leather bomber jacket. It's too big for her and completely unflattering and she can't bring herself to care, because finding it means that now she doesn't have an excuse to stay upstairs.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Clara makes her way down the stairs, cocooned in the oversized jacket, almost hoping that he's already gone and feeling like a terrible person for wanting that, even though it would probably be the best thing for him at this point. She walks into the living room that's been serving as their base of operations since they got here and sits down next to him. “How are you feeling?” It's a stupid question, to say the least, but it's the only thing she can think of asking at the moment.
yourmove: (015)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-06-16 11:21 am (UTC)(link)
At first Alex entertained the idea of hiding the symptoms. He'd tried to eat some of the food the sponsors sent him and he's not sure where it went, if it's chewed up somewhere in what might look like an engine block. All he knows is it didn't come out, it sure as hell didn't give him that boost of energy he as hoping it would. Same went with the few gulps of water. He's still left thirsty and hungry and feeling more and more drained by each passing day. At night he can't sleep. Like physically can't sleep: he sits against the wall while Clara eventually doses off, feeling exhaustion pressing in on him. Sometimes he imagines it pressing into the folds of his brain. Then he realizes it's morning already, the fog is still there, and Clara's been asking him a question and he only stares blankly at her.

That's the part where he suspects he's completely and utterly fucked.

Eventually there comes the day where he can't...move. Alex doesn't have in it in him. The weird part is isn't doesn't really hurt at this point. The tips of his hand felt cold but he can't place if that was yesterday or a week ago. He should be worrying about making sure Clara survives another week, working on the windows barricades that the things out there keep attacking. They're running out of wood.

It takes him a long moment for Alex to realize Clara's talking again, his head turning toward her with a tortured squeal of some part that needed critical maintenance a week ago. He mulls over the question. His HUD helpfully tells him he's not doing so good, vitals wise. Something about possible cardiac arrest if he doesn't receive maintenance and glucose solutions. His eyes focus on his wife.

"Tired," Alex says, sounding almost bored. It's the first time he's actually felt like he could doze off since he woke up in this chassis. His voice slurs. "...Sorry, not feeling it today."
yourmove: (023)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-06-21 07:53 am (UTC)(link)
Alex doesn't answer at first and for a few long seconds it looks like he might have drifted away again. "I guess."

Instead of sounding relieved that he can at least manage sleep like a normal person, Alex sounds like it doesn't matter one way or another. The good new is he's not panicking, getting that look in his eye that says he knows they're in deep but he doesn't want to admit it to her face. The tight-lipped look he got when David had to go to the ER when he was little, when he heard about Officer Jacobs getting killed over a speeding ticket when he'd just talked to her yesterday. There's a kind of slackness to his face that Clara's probably only seen when he's asleep and she wonders if this is what he'll look like if (when?) he gets shot on the job like his friend.

Alex seems to have a hard time keeping his eyes open as he sits propped up against the wall. The graphene and titanium column standing in for his spine has locked thanks to a lubricant leak, which means he won't be getting up or slumping over anytime soon. His face has gone so pale that he looks less human, like his skin is pulled tight over a steel frame.

"What time is it?" By some miracle he manages to open his eyes, his voice creaking out in a whisper. He licks his lips absently. Something along his back, a stabilizer or something else, clicks furiously.
yourmove: (096)

And he's a goner

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-06-24 05:38 am (UTC)(link)
His listless nod says everything Alex can't, even when he stares at her with that dull look in his eyes. When he looks at Clara, he doesn't seem to recognize her at all.

The plus side is he doesn't die screaming.

His death is disappointing by the Capitol's standards. People had bet big on him because they saw "cop", "state of the art chassis" and assumed he would wipe the floor with the competition. They're used to big, brutal fights, flashy (if the Tribute is a Career and knows about playing the cameras). Surprisingly and shocking and enthralling if they're the next Katniss Everdeen. Alex, on the other hand, doesn't even go out with a whimper: he simply closes his eyes and quietly passes away in the middle of the night. He might have even looked like he was sleeping, if he wasn't propped up in the exact same rigid position she first found him in, the color to his skin faded, cheeks hollowed out.