Burn
by Dispatchesfromdistrict7
I watch as they quickly roll a young woman on a gurney into a treatment room. Her head has been shaved and her emaciated body is covered in bruises and oozing sores. She is unconscious, which is probably a blessing. I don't know if it's from shock or injury or something else, but it allows the medical professionals to work without hindrance. A nurse takes her vitals, while another starts an IV line. I pause and stare at her, then realize it's my Jo. Not that she's really mine. She deserves so much more than an old drunk. What did that bastard do to her? Anger burns in my gut. Nurses and doctors buzz around her, taking care of her. I can do nothing for her now. Shaking my head trying to clear the image, I stumble then hurry my step to keep up with Katniss as we go to find the boy.
Boggs walks up to us, he looks a little roughed up, but he came through otherwise unscathed. "We got them all out. Except Enobaria. But since she's from Two, we doubt she's being held anyway. Peeta's at the end of the hall. The effects of the gas are just wearing off. You should be there when he wakes."
I feel relief. So they've been gassed. I hold onto that. Jo may not be as bad off as she looks. A sigh of relief escapes before I turn to Katniss and grin, "Come on, then," grateful the boy is all right. She practically skips to the room. She slips through the door moments before I do. I enter the room just in time to see the boys hands wrap around her neck.
No one can see me behind the medical curtain. I take a swig out of the small flask that Plutarch slipped me a while ago and carefully slip it back into the pocket of the jacket of my standard District 13 uniform. He said something about needing me to be on my game. I drink just enough to stave off the shakes; despite the intense craving for more. It's too hard to come by white liquor here.
I checked on the girl a little while ago. She's come to and now they're icing her neck with some sort of cold-collar. Luckily, there was no permanent physical damage. But her eyes, they just looked lost. I sat with her a bit but didn't say anything. She's heard too many false promises and I have nothing else to give her at the moment. They sedated the boy and tied him down. He shouldn't wake till morning. According to the doctors, he's been subjected to some sort of fear conditioning using tracker jacker venom. Hijacking, they called it. Now I sit by Jo and wait for her to wake. I hold her hand, which looks skeletal. Her knuckles are covered in scabs. She's missing a few fingernails. I lift it to brush my lips against her palm gently.
A moan escapes from her lips. I gruffly say, "Jo, I'm here," and I grip her hand harder. She slowly stirs.
A breathy "Haymitch," escapes from her lips.
"I'm right here."
"Hold me?"
A sharp pain hits my heart at how broken she sounds. She hates being vulnerable. I look around. We are alone in this room. I climb onto the bed beside her and hold her. She settles back down to sleep.
I'm awakened a couple hours later by a nurse who gives me a knowing look. I ease out of the bed and take the chair again.
The next morning I wake to Johanna cursing. She wants real food not clear liquids. I chuckle when she tosses the broth at the orderly.
"Jo. You have to keep that down first. If you do, maybe they'll give you pureed turnips for lunch," I admonish her. She glares at me. The pureed turnips here are awful.
"Fuck you, Haymitch."
"There's my girl." I stand and I brush my lips across her forehead. She grabs onto the front of my shirt gripping it, holding me there. I slowly untangle her hands from my shirt. I sit down again and take her hand, weaving her fingers with mine.
"So I'm in District 13, the last thing I remember was passing out due to a gas. The truth is I was only half-conscious anyway. They'd just finished another session at The Spa."
"The Spa?" I ask.
"Yes. It was special room of torture. Snow told me they built it just for me. The called it that due to the water. He said I should like it since it rains so much at home."
I sit quietly and wait for her to continue.
"They' strapped me down to a table and tied a rag around my mouth. Then the water would start to pour." Her voice cracks. She shudders. Her face turns stony and she continues, this time being careful to keep emotion out of her voice, "Do you know what it feels like to drown daily? I do. When they got tired of that, they'd start shocking me. Water is a great conduit."
I notice my hands are shaking either from rage, or something else, or both. I'm not sure, so I pull out my flask and take another swig. It still burns.
A/N:
I wrote this originally as a birthday gift to Deathmallow last year and never posted it. Since then I've revised it a bit further.
The characters are the property of the amazing Suzanne Collins and do not belong to me. You probably also have noticed I'll occasionally weave in one of the famous lines from her novels. Those totally belong to Ms. Collins too.
If you'd like more information about my fanfiction, please visit my Tumblr: dispatchesfromdistrict7.