Endgame
Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins and I do not own the Hunger Games, or any of the quoted lyrics.
Chapter 2
"Is he cooperating?"
"Seems so, sir."
"No rebellion nonsense? Remember, this one was fiesty."
"No rebellion talk."
"Well, then, bring him over."
As we approach District 13, I can't help but think about how much it looks like District 12 from the outside. Nothing but rubble and scattered remains of buildings. On the inside, though, it can't be any more different from how District 12 used to be. District 13 is strictly controlled. Supplies -even something like a scrap of paper- are regulated, food portions are carefully measured out, and they even have a schedule for everyone. Printed on your arm in the morning with pale purple ink, the schedule is to be strictly followed.
Breakfast- 7:00
Kitchen duties- 7:30
And it goes on and on until bath time (22:00), when the ink breaks down and dissolves in the water and your forearm is clear until the next morning. There's barely any time for exercise and we're almost never allowed outside, only when our schedule permits once or twice a week. I feel as though I'm in a comatose down here, without my woods and sun and bow and arrows.
I've been able to avoid the constrictive time table for a while, what with me being sick in the medical center for so long, but now I'm required to have the schedule imprinted on me, even though I don't usually follow it. I mostly wander around aimlessly, sleeping in places where no one- not even Peeta- can find me. No one bothers me because I'm mentally unstable according to the plastic bracelet wrapped around my wrist. I wonder how long I can keep the half-baked charade going.
I barge into the compartment I share with my mother and sister (number 307) and dump the contents of my game bag on the floor, including Buttercup. I doubt they'll be asking any questions about my trip. Between Gale and the bombing and the Games, most of the time everyone thinks I'm a time bomb, just waiting to set off at the slightest provocation.
Prim and Buttercup share a tearful reunion, while my mother hugs the wedding picture to her chest and gingerly places it on our chest of drawers. She takes the book of plants and herbs from my hands and places it next to the picture, running her fingers over the cover. I hang my father's hunting jacket in the closet and nervously finger the ring on my thumb.
"I found something in the ashes of G-Gale's house," I say, fumbling over his name. I haven't said it out loud in such a long time. "I'm going to go give it to Hazelle." My mother nods tersely and Prim only looks up at me for a second, her attention immediately going back to that wretched cat.
I head out the door, forcing my feet to go one after another before I change my mind and run back to the illusion of safety that my compartment offers. I knock on the door of the Hawthornes' compartment, and a distracted-sounding Hazelle shouts, "Come on in."
I open the door, and step inside to see that their room is in total chaos. The kids have all thrown around their gray clothes district-appointed clothes and messed up the linens, making it look as if a tornado hit the room. Rory is wrestling with Vick on the bed, and Posy's sitting next to them, clapping her hands and cheering Vick on. They all fall silent, though, when they see me. Rory drops his eyes while Vick looks around awkwardly. It's only Posy that runs up to me.
"Katniss!" she cries, wrapping her arms around my legs and looking up at me. "Have you found Gale yet?"
I try to keep my lip from trembling.
"No, not yet Posy," I say, horribly failing at trying to smile at her.
She frowns.
"We'll try to find him soon, though," I say, attempting to cheer her up.
Her face brightens with false hope. "That's good!" she says, turning towards her brothers, "Gale's coming soon!"
She is met by silence.
Seemingly unfazed, though, she hobbles over to the bed, resuming her comfortable spot on the mattress. She picks up a simple doll that is offered to all of the children in 13, and that's the end of the conversation.
I wriggle the ring off of my finger.
"I-I found this by your house," I say, holding it out to Hazelle.
She looks at it for a while, and then gingerly reaches out and takes the ring from me. Inspecting it, she looks up at me with a slight frown.
"It's a ring that was passed down on my husband's side of the family. I thought G-Gale sold this ages ago," she says, "when Posy was born and we needed the food."
She pauses.
"Must've hidden it from me," she says with a sad laugh, almost choking on her words. She averts her eyes, and I can see them glistening with tears in the artificial light. Hazelle could take her husband's death, but she can't be expected to take her oldest son's capture just as easily. It's not possible.
"He never was one to listen to others, was he?" she says, her voice slightly watery. Posy's head snaps up, sensing a change in her mother's mood. She walks over to Hazelle and wraps her arms around her mother's legs. Hazelle absentmindedly pats her tangle of hair in return.
"You keep it," she says, holding out the ring to me.
"That's ridiculous," I say before I can stop myself. "It's yours, you have to keep it. It's probably the one thing you have left of District 12." I look around the room and see that I'm wrong. Gale's bow and arrows set lies in the corner, probably salvaged from the woods.
"I can't have another reminder of them around. Please, take it Katniss," she says, almost pleading. My heart breaks at her tone and I reluctantly take the ring back. I slip it securely around my thumb again.
"T-thank you," I say, turning to leave. I pause for a moment, hesitating slightly before pulling Hazelle into a hug, almost crushing Posy in the process. We grip each other like lifelines for a few minutes, Posy caught between us, while the rest of the kids watch. These are probably the only people who feel Gale's absence the way I do.
"We will find him," I whisper, pulling away. I'm in danger of crying myself after a quick sweep of the room imprints everyone's heartbroken faces into my mind. "We will find him," I repeat like a mantra, "we will."
I leave the compartment without another word.
We will find him, I think ferociously. Damn President Snow and his prison and his bloody roses. He won't keep Gale.
I meet Peeta in the hallway.
"We were looking for you," he says hurriedly, his voice the slightest bit frantic. "We need to go to Command right now."
"I don't want another Mockingjay meeting," I snap, and immediately regret my harsh tone. None of this is Peeta's fault. He seems unfazed, though.
"No, no. It's not that. Come see for yourself. Please, Katniss," he says, tugging gently on my arm.
I wonder what could be so urgent. Peeta is not a huge fan of the war and Mockingjay-related meetings, so he wouldn't drag me into one of those. With him still holding my forearm, we run through the hallways, twisting and turning until we arrive at Command. Peeta and I enter, and I see that everyone's already gathered around a large TV set, gravely staring at whatever's on the screen. Peeta gently nudges me forward, and everyone parts to make way for me. I suddenly see the importance of whatever's on the television.
There's Caesar Flickerman, with his powder blue lips and hair, sitting on a chair, looking a bit uneasy, as if he was forced into doing this interview. But most importantly, opposite him sits one of the many people that haunt my dreams these nights.
"Gale," I breath, and everyone's eyes flick to me for a moment. I don't care. "Gale!"
I race towards the screen, laying a hand on it. I drink in his face, not quite believing that it's really him. He's completely flawless, any signs that he was in a burning district before gone. There's no signs of any injuries, but he does look thinner. Weaker. I stay in my spot, afraid that if I move I'll never see him again.
"So, Gale Hawthorne. Katniss Everdeen's cousin," Caesar says as a way of introduction.
I know how Gale's going to reply before I hear the words. By the look in his eyes, I see they still haven't taken away his fire. It comforts me just a tiny bit. "She's not my-" he snaps, but then stops suddenly, looking at something over Caesar's head. He puts on his emotional mask. "Yes, my cousin," he says. I frown. What the hell?
"I remember interviewing you during the 74th Games, when your cousin was one of the last tributes remaining. Everyone I asked led me to you, boy. That was quite enjoyable, wasn't it?" Caesar says, obviously trying to warm Gale up.
Gale's expression remains hard. "Enjoyable," he echoes dully. His gaze keeps flicking unconsciously to that area over Caesar's head. What is it there?
"So, I'm sure you've heard about the rebel movement. Do you know what part your cousin plays in it?" Caesar asks, moving on.
Anger flares up in me. They're using him to get information, when he doesn't have any, except for whatever the Capitol has filled them in on. True, Gale has been a rebel since birth, but he had no involvement in this particular plot. What is Snow trying to do?
"My cousin," he says, spitting out the last word, "didn't have any say in what happened to her. I don't recall her ever mentioning such a thing as rebellion. Whatever this movement is, she has no part in it."
No, Gale, don't try to spare me while you're in the hands of the Capitol. They probably already know everything.
"Did you know anything about the plot's existence before the 75th Hunger Games?" Caesar asks.
"No," Gale says, his jaw twitching.
"They must've known something, and maybe someone let something slip...," Caesar trails off.
"They didn't know anything!" Gale snaps, his voice rising. "In the arena, did it look like she knew anything? I saw the tapes. Neither her or Peeta knew what they were doing! They were just trying to win your damned Games!"
"Do you think their mentor might've known anything about it?" Caesar asks, looking significantly more uncomfortable.
"They shouldn't have trusted him. That's all I can say," Gale says, anger etched in his face.
"Do you think the rebellion is the right way to go?" Caesar asks, and his tone implies that he's expecting a flat-out no.
"Hell, yes," Gale says, leaning forward in his seat and turning his face towards the camera, "How else do you think this is all going to end-"
The connection cuts off, and the TV shows static instead of the broadcast.
"They'll kill him!" I say, my eyes widening with Gale's response. I back away from the TV. "They'll kill him! Oh god, what the hell did he just do?"
Everyone starts to murmur among themselves, but no answers my question.
"Well, at least we know he's on our side," Coin's voice rings out. I turn around, my eyes flashing. I try to run at her, but someone holds me back. I jerk away from the touch, and instead feel the familiarity of Peeta's hand on my shoulder. He blocks me off from the Capitol guard who reached towards me, his blue eyes blazing. It wasn't an aggressive touch, but I've been hyper sensitive to any contact with strangers ever since the Arena.
"Damn you and your stupid rebellion," I say to Coin, my voice dripping with venom. "They have Gale. What if he dies? Do you not care at all?"
"I doubt they'll kill him," Coin says, her voice not frazzled. "Besides, if he did, it would be for a greater cause."
Fuming, I yell a few choice words that not even a drunken Haymitch would use at her. Peeta tugs on my arm, gently trying to lead me away from the scene. I can hear someone mumble to Coin about me being mentally unstable.
"You haven't been dismissed," a guard says when Peeta and I start to exit.
I'm about to yell at the guard and scratch him if necessary, but Coin's words stop me.
"Let her go," she says dismissively. I open my mouth to say something rude, but Peeta hushes me.
"Come on, Katniss," he says gently. I clench my jaw, still shaking slightly, but he loops his arm with mine and heads towards the door. "Let's go."
(A/N)
Thanks to anyone who reviewed or read the last chapter :D
