I stare at the flower, uncomprehending. Was it some sort of message? If it was I have no way of guessing what it was supposed to mean. They already have Katniss. What more do I need to know?
Buttercup hisses at it for a little longer, letting his ears lie flat on his head, but after a few minutes he seems to decide that the flower simply isn't that interesting and starts to yawn. I decide that he has the right idea. My ignorance has always been my greatest weapon against the Capitol. If I'd known that Katniss' feelings to me were ambiguous, I might have actually tried to kill her. If I'd known that the Districts were on the cusp of revolt I never would have tried to pull that stunt in District Eleven. It's too bad President Snow didn't try threatening me. I might have been paying attention.
I go outside walking back to the center of the ruined District, figuring that at some point the hover-plane will realize I want to leave. It doesn't take very long for it to materialize. A hard-faced middle-aged soldier with a large gun scowls at me from the side as it lands. I soon realize that he's not looking at me, but at Buttercup, who's staring at the hoverplane's door expectantly. I keep forgetting about all the arcane rules in District Twelve. I'm pretty sure I've never seen anything resembling a pet there. It's hard to imagine what use they would have for a cat. Cats eat things that you don't want, and District Twelve has no comprehension of such a concept.
"Look," I say, thinking quickly. "I know it's a little strange, but he's the whole reason I came out here. I thought they would have mentioned it."
He looks at me, still scowling, but now a little more uncertain. I hear a peppy voice coming from behind, clear and unmistakable even over the din of the hoverplane's engines.
"Oh!" cries Delly. "You got Butterscotch! This is wonderful! I was worried that he'd be gone forever!" In exuberance, she pushes past the guard and grabs Buttercup in her arms and starts hugging him before any of us have the faintest idea what's going on. Buttercup has a panicked look on his face, uncertain of whether or not he should be trying to escape. I'm still a little dumbfounded that she could remember enough of his name to get it wrong. When could she have possibly met him? The again, even one encounter would have been enough to set a firm impression in her memory. Delly loves all living things, and as far as cats go Buttercup was by far the healthiest in District Twelve.
"He's a symbol of hope for us in District Twelve," I rattle off quickly. "We always thought that if a mangy cat like Butterscotch could make it through the day, there was nothing stopping the rest of us."
The guard seems unconvinced, but with his expression it's really hard to tell. I steal a glance at Buttercup. He's not believing it either.
"He's like our little Mockingjay," says Delly in a silly sing-song voice aimed at the cat, but loud enough that she can be sure the guard heard it.
He grunts and motions us into the hoverplane. Once he's sealed at the front with the pilot and I'm alone with Delly and Buttercup, she lets him go. He jumps straight out of her arms and runs to the opposite side of the plane, angrily hissing at her.
"Don't worry about it," I say, putting my bag down on the seat next to mine. "He'll like you much better once he figures out that you helped him find Prim."
At the mention of Prim's name again Buttercup calms down. I figure by the time we get back he should be able to stand being carried around again. Delly's fingering a scratch wound, but she doesn't seem too bothered by it. She abruptly realizes that I'm looking at her. "Oh, I'm fine," she says. "You can't let a little thing like a scratch or two get you down."
I find myself increasingly relieved that Delly managed to survive the destruction. Her ability to maintain a positive attitude in the most ridiculous of situations makes me doubt whether the world I live in is really such a brutal horrible place. We chat on the plane about the various ins and outs of District Thirteen. I would like to avoid making a major social error when I go to see President Coin, so I treat Delly's words like a last-minute study guide for an important exam. After an hour or so we land in District Thirteen. I know that President Coin is going to want to see me as soon as possible now that I'm back. I watch as the doors to the hoverplane open, neither anticipating nor dreading whatever it is she plans to say to me.
"Well," says Delly, "if you're busy I can take Butterscotch to Prim and your things to your room. Is that all right?"
"Just take everything to Prim for now," I say. "Tell her that I'll probably be by later to take the things she can't use, like my suits. " She's about to open her mouth, and I anticipate her next words. "Don't try to divide them by yourself. I'm still not sure what I want to take with me yet."
She looks a little hurt. I don't think it's because of me, but rather the fact that she's going to have to return to her regularly scheduled duties. The regimented lifestyle of District Thirteen is the only thing she'll even allow herself to hint at complaining about.
"Well," she says, brightening up again, "enjoy your meeting." She scoops up Buttercup and the bag, then proceeds walks out the plane with such a confident air that none of the guards question why she's carrying a live animal into the compound. Buttercup stares back at me, making it clear that unless he likes what he sees at the end of this tunnel he's taking it out on me personally.
I walk with a few guards in strict silence down a long path of corridors. I try to memorize what few landmarks exist on these paths so that I can get around later. Without even realizing it I find myself starting to think of it in terms of combat situations. If a Capitol soldier leaps out of the room on the left, I duck behind the guard to my right and grab his gun. If I feel the ground moving I need to stop and wait to see what's going on. If something comes from behind…well, there's nothing I can do about that, so I keep looking over my shoulder to make sure no one takes me by surprise. It isn't until we get to Coin's office that I realize I'm not in any danger. At least, as far as I know.
Coin's office is very spare and functional, just what I would expect from the President of District Thirteen. She motions for me to take a seat, and has the guards leave. I panic briefly, not having expected that I would be alone with her. I thought that there would at least be an advisor or something. She leans forward, hands on the desk, making sure that I get a good look at her face. It's wispy and aged, but in a fine confident way that makes me want to listen to her.
"Peeta," she says calmly, stoically. "There's three things I need to tell you. You can ask as many questions as you like, but I think most of them will be answered if you're just careful and listen to me explain everything. The first thing you need to know is that the decision to make Katniss first priority was not made unanimously. I thought that we should have gone after you instead."
I stare at her unblinking. The way she says it it's as if she thought I would disbelieve her. I almost do, except I can't think of any reason why she would lie about this. This reaction dulls my next impulse, which is to hit her as hard as I can for suggesting that I'm more important than Katniss.
She continues before my emotions can get much farther than that. "The second is that yes, Peeta, you are important. You do matter. Katniss is the Mockingjay, there's no doubt about that. But Mockingjays are beautiful because they can sing. She may have been the fire, but you were the spark. Ask yourself something. Would there have been a revolution if it had been some other boy? I saw your interviews with Flickman. You know how to talk to a crowd. You took a simple boyhood crush and turned it into a statement on the inhumanity of the Hunger Games."
That part hadn't been so difficult. I'd rehearsed in my head so many times how one day, just one day, I would finally have the guts to talk to Katniss, but I never could manage it. Then one day I was going to day, and in front of a live audience with countless people I spilled my heart out. My mind catches up to the remark about this "boyhood crush". I now have a very strong urge to strike her, and start to clench my fists. As if anticipating my feelings, she's started talking again.
"What's left is that recovering Katniss is now our number one priority. We've already assembled a strike team. We know exactly where she's being held. She's under heavy guard, and they know we want her back. What we need is a distraction. Something big and dangerous enough in this war that they'll lower their guard, for just a minute, just long enough to force our way inside and get her back. For this, we need you, Peeta."
I unclench my fists. This possibility had never occurred to me. Could District Thirteen really be strong enough, that they could get Katniss back before the Capitol kills her, or worse? Coin moves back into her chair, making herself taller, showing power, confidence, and belief. All in me.
"Now," she says, "do you have any questions?"
I stare down at my hands. She was right about my questions already being answered. I know everything I need to about the current situation. That leaves only one unanswered query. I look up, straight into her eyes.
"What do you want me to do?"
