Chapter Text
Peeta
I don’t sleep much anymore. Not that I was ever well rested prior to our arrival at 13, but without her it’s so much worse. Here, underground, miles upon miles away, my nightmares of losing Katniss no longer end when I wake up.
Nothing brings me solace.
You’d think it was me in the hospital bed the way Haymitch has to force feed me. My own stay here was brief. When the hovercraft turned around after saving Haymitch, Beetee, Johanna, and Mags, I became a ‘serious security threat’ for whatever reason, and I wasn’t allowed to wake up until we landed in District 13.
After that, I graduated from ‘serious security threat’ to ‘mentally disoriented,’ which earned me a special little white bracelet and several special chats with a doctor. Although I’m no longer required to stay in the hospital, the wristband of shame and the therapy sessions are nonnegotiable for now. We don’t talk much.
“You should really finish that,” Haymitch says, nodding to my tray, “you look like you’ve lost twenty pounds.”
I wonder how far off that actually is. I indulge him with a small bite of the dense bread. It’s not good.
We’ve been here two weeks now. Thankfully, intelligence from the Capitol strongly indicates that the tributes taken from the arena are still alive. As promised, Haymitch and I’ve been in Command nearly everyday in preparation for the extradition of the captive victors. Luckily, we haven’t had to fight to get Coin and the upper ranks on board with a rescue mission. The only thing we’ve had to push for is to speed up the timeline, but even Boggs has reassured us that if we do this, we don’t want to risk doing it the wrong way, unprepared.
It doesn’t make every day without her any less excruciating.
It doesn’t take away the suffocating dread over the small possibility that she’s already dead. That I’ve lost her forever.
Neither of us like Coin, and we figure that out pretty much right away. Haymitch never sleeps through the night. Most of mine are also spent sleepless by his side in the hospital, there to ground him when he gets lost in a flashback. I’ve gotten pretty good at sleeping sitting up. He told me, after the first night, that he doesn’t need a babysitter.
“Think of me like your mentor then.”
He rolled his eyes but didn’t protest at my presence anymore. I didn’t tell him how afraid I am to be alone. I think he knows.
I have no one else anymore. District 12 has been firebombed, and my whole family is dead.
Maybe it’ll hit me harder later, but the hollowness caused by the absence of my loved ones doesn’t send me into the tidal wave of grief I’d have expected it to. I don’t feel much of anything most days.
I miss my brothers. They’d always been far closer with each other than either of them had been with me, but I know they loved me, despite how much I got picked on. I used to feel jealous over their relationship with each other, but now, I just regret what could’ve been. Maybe we’d have changed as the years went on. Maybe we’d have grown closer. Maybe not, but now I’ll never know.
Now, all I have are the memories. Paten’s cheerful customer service voice dropping into a groan as soon as he makes it into the kitchen. Paine’s laughter, usually at me; the way he went about life without a care in the world. Paten taking a beating for me. The time Paine and I cracked an egg over Paten’s sleeping head, and Paten putting vinegar in our water at breakfast the next morning. Paten’s art. Paine’s jokes. The three of us dodging an angry wooden spoon after a spontaneous, disastrous flour fight.
I miss my dad. He was gentle most of the time, and always kind. I miss the patient way he had of teaching, the way his eyes crinkled up when he smiled, the way he laughed. If there was anything he knew as well as he did baking, it was how to tell a story. When I was young, I would cherish every word. Now, I’m grasping at any details I can remember because I’ll never have the opportunity to hear him tell another.
My mother is also gone.
My mother is dead.
It doesn’t sound the same. It doesn’t feel the same. I know I shouldn’t be thinking like this. There’s still pain there, but do I miss her? I don’t know. I don’t know what kind of person that makes me, but I can’t bring myself to feel anything when I think about it. I don’t doubt that it could still break me when my guard is down, but right now, I’m too far past broken to feel anything for the bitter woman.
My mother is dead.
The sky is blue.
Life moves on.
In District 13, life moves on rather efficiently whether you’re moving with it or not. I am not. I accept the little tattoo on my wrist at breakfast indicating my schedule, but I don’t make an outstanding effort to follow it. I’ve been in the kitchen once, and I’m sure I’ll go back, but not yet. I have no interest in soldier training either.
Of course, I do attend every meeting in command that I’m scheduled for, and Haymitch and I have already developed a habit of loitering around other conferences in an attempt to gather information. I’m glad that I don’t have to worry about Haymitch being every bit as motivated to get Katniss back as I am.
“She’d want you to be taking better care of yourself.”
Haymitch’s words reel me back into the room. I look at him dumbly.
“Please,” he pushes my tray, “eat. She’s not going to be happy when she comes back if you look like a twig.”
I snort. “Hardly think there’s a chance of anyone calling me a twig.”
“Eat, smartass.”
I take another angry bite of my bread and Haymitch looks somewhat appeased.
“What do you think we’re walking into today?”
He shrugs, swallowing his oats, “I can’t imagine it’ll be very fun.”
He sounds about as excited as I feel. Today, I’ll be filming my first propaganda spot — propos, Plutarch calls them. We’ll be working with the overenthusiastic man and his meticulous assistant Fulvia to create videos that they’ll broadcast to the districts, in hope of inspiring others to join the revolution. Something that wouldn’t have been possible without Beetee, who apparently redesigned the network that transmits the Capitol’s programming a number of years ago.
I begrudgingly agreed to the propos in fear that our lack of cooperation may affect the course of the extradition mission. I wouldn’t put it past them to hold the safety of the other victors over our heads. Haymitch outright refuses, not sharing the same concerns as me. They want to bring in Johanna too, but she’s also refused to have anything to do with the ‘clown show.’ Haymitch and I fought a lot over it the first few days we were here, and although it’s clear he’s not going to budge, he’s not getting out of coming with me.
He finishes his breakfast and we make our way down to one of the lower levels where Plutarch and Fulvia await in front of a small studio set. The backdrop behind a narrow platform is green but completely bare. The pair don’t notice us at first upon arrival, Fulvia scribbling rapidly on a clipboard while Plutarch talks more with his hands than with his voice.
“Good morning!” he calls cheerfully when he finally sees us approaching, “we’ve got quite the day lined up for you. If you’ll just head through the door on the right there, we’ve got some familiar faces eager to get you ready for the action!”
Haymitch and I share a look in lieu of responding. I’m already sick of this guy and it’s only 7:45.
To my surprise, behind the grey door we’re met by our former prep team and Portia. Lupercus, Thalia, and Odelette are ecstatic to see us; I greet them warmly but Haymitch is stoic at best. He’s never been fond of the trio. We’re both delighted to see Portia, however.
“How are my favorite young men?” she asks, pulling me into a tight hug. Haymitch laughs; it’s the first time I’ve heard it since he’d gotten out of the arena.
“We’ve been better,” I tell her. She nods in understanding. She looks to Haymitch, smiling warmly, but she doesn’t move to embrace him like she did me. She knows better.
“It’s good to see you,” she says to him.
“Likewise.”
“So,” she begins, “we’ve got about an hour with you before they want to go over the lines and shots you’ll be doing today.”
At this moment, Octavia walks in, carrying a garment bag in one hand and a small rectangular box in another.
“Oh!” she says, seemingly just as surprised to see us as we are her. There’s something else on her face. Guilt? Pity? She masks it quickly. “It’s so wonderful to see you both.”
She looks as if she wants to speak again, but her composure breaks and her eyes well up with tears as she quickly excuses herself from the room.
“Venia and Flavius are here as well,” Portia says lightly, “for when our girl gets back.”
I exhale loudly and turn to look at the rack of clothing to my right so that I won’t cry.
“Ready?” Odelette asks far too cheerfully.
No. I nod.
“Let’s get this over with.”
Katniss
We’ve been here eleven days.
That’s what Wiress tells us. If not for her, I’d have no idea. The lights in our cells turn off and on at random. Sometimes we’ll sit in darkness for hours and hours, but the time before now, I’m positive that the lights remained on for at least three days. They were off after that for a few hours, but they’re already back on again. The long bright bulbs give me a headache. I bury my face in my arms in an attempt at rest.
Our first night here was the longest. I don’t think any of us slept. Wiress had been vague about what awaited us, despite our attempts to get her to talk. Finnick had been acting uncharacteristically quiet, and still is. I don’t know Journey, but she seems rather calm considering our circumstances. I heard her cry once, the second time we all slept. Besides that, she’s been a sturdy and reassuring presence. She says the things that give us hope are the same things that allow us to be brave.
I don’t know about that. When I think about all the things I’m hopeful for, I feel more like a coward than I ever have. Why would I be comforted by how much I have to lose?
I do like Journey though. The frail District 6 tribute is far more perceptive than I’d have expected her to be. She’s nothing if not kind, and she was a reliable source of comfort after my first panic attack.
After that first night, when the lights turned on, I was immediately dragged from my cell and thrown into the elevator. When the doors opened, the guards led me out into a wide hallway. We made one turn before stopping at a door identical to countless others lining the hall.
The room was small. A large wooden desk separated two chairs. The smell was sickly sweet with the aroma of roses that always accompanies the man who sat in the chair opposite me.
President Snow gestured for me to join him in the empty chair.
“Miss Everdeen. Tea?” he asked. A kettle and two cups sat on the desk.
“No.”
“Very well,” he said, taking a sip of his own. He considered me for a moment; I tried not to let any of my fear or discomfort show, but I’m not sure how successful I was.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
I didn’t answer, and he didn't wait long.
“My original plan was to have you killed right away, of course. I ultimately came to the conclusion, though, that it would just be too much of a waste.”
Still, I didn’t speak. The next time the rim touched his lips, a trail of blood trickled down to pool into his tea.
“You see, I think there are several ways that the Mockingjay might be useful to me. Are you aware of what’s happening in the Districts right now, as a result of the escape from the arena?”
So the others have escaped , I thought. I didn’t want to allow myself to believe it when Finnick made that allusion. I shook my head at Snow.
“Uprisings,” he said slowly, “violence and killings. Those in the Districts seem to believe that destruction of the arena means now that the destruction of our fragile system is also within reach.”
He looked at me intently, clasping his fingers together tightly on the desk in front of him.
“Not only do I think you’d make an excellent bargaining chip with the rebels, but I also believe you’ll be of great help in persuading those in the Districts to surrender.”
“I’m not sure why. You and I both know I’ve never been a very good actor.”
Snow smiled at me perversely. “You’d better learn then, my dear, because there are many lives at stake and an infinite number of ways to break the human spirit.”
He’s right. There’s nothing I could do. While it’s probably safe to assume that Haymitch, Peeta, and the other victors made it somewhere free from danger — perhaps District 13, where Bonnie and Twill claimed they were headed — there’s no way of knowing where my family is at or what’s happening in District 12. I know that given the choice, Peeta would never leave our families or Gale’s family behind, but there’s a strong possibility that nothing is within his control. Whatever the plan had been, I don’t think Peeta knew about it until the very end. I wish I’d been paying more attention to him. Or at least, I wish I’d been paying attention to him differently.
I was dismissed without ceremony, not given any information about what will be required of me. The guards led me by the arms back down to my cell, throwing me into it pretty roughly when we reached the door.
“You okay?” Finnick had asked with a great deal of concern in his green eyes.
“Yeah,” I lied, lowering my voice, “I just had a meeting with President Snow. He wants me to dissuade the Districts from rebellion, and that I might be a good ‘bargaining chip’ with the rebels.”
Finnick let out a sigh of relief.
“That’s good. I mean, not good, but it could be a lot worse.”
By the way he said this to me, I got the impression he’d been speaking with first hand experience.
“Who’s to say it won’t get a lot worse?” I spat with bitterness that I hoped Finnick would realize wasn’t meant for him.
“It might,” he said quietly. I didn’t like the look in his eyes. I couldn’t stop thinking about Wiress telling us that we were here to play another Game. I couldn’t stop thinking about Snow’s words, Finnick’s words, picturing my family being tortured, starved, murdered…
I lost it. I was a shaking, sobbing mess. I could faintly register Finnick calling my name, somewhere in the distance asking me if I was alright. I had left, though. I was gone. More gone than the night Peeta found me broken on the bathroom floor of the Training Center. I shook with grief and fear and loss to a degree I’d never felt before.
The only thing that brought me back was Journey’s soft, gentle singing from the cell adjacent to mine. A lullaby. Not one I know, but it somehow still reminded me of home. It took time, so much time, but she pulled me out of the nightmare going on in my head. It was after this that I decided how much I liked her.
One by one, my neighbors would start to disappear. They took Finnick on the third day; he returned with bruises on his neck he wouldn’t talk about. After that, he ripped the hem off of his blanket and meticulously began tying and untying the strip of fabric in a variety of intricate knots. He hasn’t stopped.
Wiress is the one who tells us when it’s nighttime. Despite how much I try to refrain, when we all go to sleep, I wake several times a night to check on Finnick. To make sure he hasn’t tied himself a noose.
Wiress was next, and she was gone for two full days. She has yet to speak a real word since. Just hums and the occasional clicking or whistling noise. I can see her when she comes to the door of her cell, but usually she lays curled up somewhere out of my sight. Journey and I both sing her lullabies. We all learn some new ones.
Journey was taken on the sixth day, and while her vacation was the shortest, she returned in the worst state. I couldn’t see her, but I could see Finnick’s look of horror when they brought her back. When I stood on the left side of my cell, I could smell the blood.
Still, the woman didn’t cry.
No one comes for me. It’s been five days since Journey’s return. Each passing hour brings me a new sense of dread. The evidence of what Journey went through is clear, but Wiress came back without any bruises or scratches. Finnick came back with an almost unharmed frame as well.
Which way will they target me? Do they want to hurt my body or my mind? Will they save both pleasures for their little Mockingjay?
Why haven’t they taken me yet?
I don’t have to wait long to find out.