AN: I'm sorry for my absence, it'll be explained in the next Johanna chapter which I plan on having up tomorrow or the next day. This story is officially on chapter 4 of 13 planned. So here we go, long overdue and long awaited. This chapter actually contains very little lemons, but progresses the story.
All bolded passages in the story are taken directly from Catching Fire for context and are not mine. I am not Suzanne Collins, to my everlasting shame.
There is a future Johanna chapter available via donating to the Cancer Society (it involves her torture in the Capitol). You can look up the details by googling fandom4lls
Love you all,
Phoenix Refrain
I lay there in Peeta's arms, in his-our home, like I have for the past two months since the toasting. But this day is different-today they'll prepare us for the Victory Tour. We'll be forced to relive our games and act like we're happy to be Victors. Smile and pretend we loved killing their children while we rub our own survival in their faces. It makes me sick.
Unbidden comes the thought of how different things could have been today. I could have been in the crowds staring daggers at whoever killed my sister. If I hadn't volunteered-but not volunteering had never been an option. Her life was worth so much more to me than my own. No matter what the situation I would have volunteered for her over and over again.
But Peeta could have lived and Prim might have had to watch him talk about how he loved me and lost me. She would be sobbing out there as she looked at him, imagining the life I would have never had. Or worse, I could have been up there alone staring out at the crowd knowing that Peeta died so that I could live-knowing that I would have to face the world, alone.
I don't know how Haymitch has done it all these years, watching tributes die and going home to a cold empty house with all of his family gone. Year after year, he did it but I don't think I could live like that. If Peeta hadn't come home with me...I would be an empty shell of who I was. I'd become Haymitch. The thought makes my stomach roil.
The sky changes from purple to pink as I lay there silently in Peeta's arms. I wish the sun would stay down, that this night would never end and that I wouldn't have to face what's out there. As normal, the sun persists in rising, so I make myself stand.
I can hear Peeta moving in bed as I watch the sun rise. "What's wrong?" His arms snake around my waist and I lean back into his chest. His lips press to my neck and I close my eyes.
"I don't want to go," my voice cracks making me feel foolish and weak. But it's stupid to feel that, Peeta has seen and had all of me-except the reason I said I wanted a toasting. I think about telling him now, spilling out the words in a rush but the moment passes and I say nothing. Coward.
"I know, but it won't be long. Then we'll be home again," he kisses my neck again and I turn to him. The pale light catches in his blonde curls and turns him golden. I don't want this moment to end, I don't want to leave here.
He presses his lips to mine gently, and the fear fades a little as he pulls me closer. I want to meld into him until he and I are the same person, I don't want to lose his warmth or light. But before I can make my intentions known he pulls away from me.
"Are you sure you want to go to your house to get ready? Why don't we just tell everyone Katniss?" It would be easier that way, but I'm not ready to share it. I can't explain it. Everyone knows we're together but there's something that is just ours about this that I don't want to share. I know one day that won't matter, that everyone will know-just not this day.
The snow is so thick outside that it's a struggle just to make it next door. When I open the door, no warm smell of bread fills my senses or the sound of Peeta's voice. But I hear something more precious-Prim.
Her braids fly out behind her as she rushes into my arms. I cling to her blindly choking back the hot ache in my chest. Everytime I see her, I see Rue too in her actions and gestures. "I'm here little duck," my voice remains steady despite the threat of tears building in me. She let's go of me but I grab her hands to hold on to her a moment longer. I take in her dress-blue just the colour of her eyes. "You look beautiful," I whisper.
"Cinna sent it. I wanted to surprise you," Prim says.
Of course, Cinna. I touch the long braids of her hair and I'm about to speak when my mother walks in. Since the Games, we have grown closer in a way. Slowly, I let her into my life where once I left her out. I understood now, at least in some capacity, how crippling her depression had been. I've had enough of a taste of it myself, but a part of me still resents her for leaving us to fend for ourselves. But since moving in with Peeta, I've left Prim mostly to her care, something I would never have allowed before.
She kisses my cheek gently, "I've filled the bath. Hurry up before it's cold." Then she smiles at me. It's so new to see her like this that for a moment, I'm stunned and find myself smiling back at her.
I move up the stairs and shed the layers of my clothes before I sink into the bath. I slide down into the water, letting it block out the sounds around me. I wish the tub would expand so I could go swimming, like I used to on hot summer Sundays in the woods with my father. Those days were a special treat. We would leave early in the morning and hike farther into the woods than usual to a small lake he'd found while hunting. Floating on my back, as I am now, staring at the blue sky while the chatter of the woods was muted by the water. Later, we'd both dig for katniss roots, the plant for which he named me, in the shallows.
Often since then, I wondered if he ever took mother there? Was that place something to them before I came along? Did he name me for the Katniss they'd shared together there in that cabin by the lake? I have thought of him so many times since his death, but there is no one to talk to about him. I'm afraid any mention of him will send my mother into a spiral from which she'll never pull herself out. Prim was too young to know much of him. And if I don't pull this off, something in me asks, how much will she remember of me?
The thought brings me out of the water, sopping wet and retching over the toilet until I'm dry-heaving. My head throbs painfully and tears streak my face as I think of what this trip will mean to my family. It will determine our survival or our decimation.
"Katniss?" I hear the sounds of him outside the door. "You forgot your hunting jacket. Are you okay? Can I come in?"
I flush the toilet and crawl back into the tub. "I'm fine. Go home before they find you here." I can hear him hesitating outside the door for a few moments before he disappears. I sink back in the water and wait for the inevitable-eventually it comes in the shape of my three preening stylists.
Flavius, Venia, and Octavia practically drag me out of the bathtub and into a room. They ask me so many questions about what I've been doing since I've won and how are Peeta and I that I can barely respond to them before the next question is asked. Finally, they dissolve into talk about me and how my Game have changed their lives. But as their voices drone on, it's like I'm back underwater again and they're far away where I can barely hear them.
They work in a frenzy to prepare me for Cinna, getting rid of all the dreadful things I've done to my head, my nails, my hair and whatever else they can think of in their absence. Their shock that I've somehow survived without them is practically palpable.
Eventually though their excitement leads to something I can't escape, the Quarter Quell. Once every quarter century, the Capitol celebrates it's subjugation of the districts. There are banquets and feasts galore to celebrate how we surrendered to them and how they benevolently only ask for twenty-four tributes a year as our penance-except during the Quell.
The Quell is a special reminder of their grace, and for that we suffer more than usual. The last Quarter Quell, forty-eight tributes were reaped. Our teachers never went into much more detail, which is surprising, because that was the year District 12's very own Haymitch Abernathy won the crown.
"Isn't it thrilling?"
"Don't you feel so lucky?"
"In your very first year of being a victor, you get to be a mentor in a Quarter Quell!"
They all make me sick, it's everything I can do to keep myself from running to the toilet to dry-heave again. I push the feeling down with my eyes closed. "I need to see Cinna."
They all stop as though I've asked something completely bizarre, but I'm not going to take no for an answer. I stand up, brushing off their admonishments and I almost escape before I see their abashed faces. I know I'm supposed to hate them because of where they're from but I can't. At my words all the child-like joy has left their faces and I realize just how gentle and kind my stylists are. "I'm sorry, I'm just nervous. Seeing Cinna would calm me down."
Venia smiles, "Of course." She lead me downstairs to Cinna. He's sitting in a chair, the early morning light drifting over his sketchpad. I can see the sharp lines of what he's drawing, the dark colours slick and powerful with a hint of wings. He glances up at me, the sunlight illuminating the golden eyeliner he wears as his only concession to the fashion of the Capitol.
He snaps the book shut and reaches for me with arms wide open. When our embrace ends, he looks at me questioningly. "Is everything alright?"
There's the invitation to tell him everything, to tell him of Snow and I's talk, about Peeta and I, about-everything. But as I look at him, I see him for what he is, something I love that will be taken from me if I don't convince Snow, convince everyone.
I nod, "You're here Cinna. I'm just happy is all." He doesn't believe me, but he lets it go. In silence he finishes my make-up while he explains to me some of the Victory Tour. But he stops after a while and holds my trembling hands, saying nothing at all. If it was anyone but him, I would hate this weakness I'm showing. But how could I hate showing Cinna? How could I hate anything about him?
"You're going to be fine," he whispers. I see the tears in his eyes, "I'll be with you every step of the way. I promise." He rubs circles on the backs of my hands, "Forgive me."
"What?"
He laughs, "We're running out of time. I'm afraid we're going to have to hurry." Knowing Cinna though, I know it's something more that he's not telling me.
They film our ecstatic reunion, running into each others arms and flailing in the snow. He kissed every exposed part of my face-which wasn't much. I have seen him everyday since I've gotten home, who would believe this?
We go along with the script though and make it onto the train. I watch my-our District disappear behind us as we are taken away. Peeta tries to pull me to the dining car, but I stop him. Instead, I pull him into my room and lock the door. I cannot face them, not now. I'd rather be alone with him. I'd rather try to remain in the Districts for as long as I can, even if it's only behind these doors.
"Katniss, we should go eat." I pull his jacket off and push my tongue into his mouth. I want to lose myself in him. I want to forget about my secrets, forget about our secret marriage-I want nothing between us but skin. My hands are fevered, fighting against all the layers of bulky clothes until I finally find his zipper. He gives up on food and strips me down. My legs wrap around his waist as he staggers to the bed with his boots still on and his pants around his ankles.
We crash into it and I roll on top of him, pinning his wrists with my hands. "Let me take my boots off at least."
"Shh…" I unwind my braid with one hand and then I'm over him again. His eyes are a darker blue as I match my rocking to the rhythm of the train. He struggles without conviction beneath my hands as I feel that pressure build up inside me.
My toes curl as I lean my head close to his neck. My breath there makes him squirm in pleasure. His hips rock into mine, and I know it won't be long. I feel something pulling in my stomach, as though somehow I'm trying to pull him closer to me. The heat radiates to my fingertips, and my muscles contract in that precious combination of pleasure and pain. I bite hard into shoulder to stifle the moans that course through my body. I feel his breath hitch right as I finish, and just like that I begin again.
His body shudders with mine and I stretch into him, trying to pull myself closer to him. My mind feels hazy as he wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my temple. "It's okay." His voice is so soft that even in the silence it's hard to hear him. "What's bothering you? You can tell me." His voice is so alluring. He is giving me a way out, inviting me in.
"I don't want to leave this room, not tonight." I cling to him tighter as he pulls the blanket up over us. I don't want to think about anything. I just want him to be here alone with me. I don't want to let anyone else in. I don't want to think about tomorrow or the day after that, because how much time might we have left if I ruin this? How much time until I have to tell him? Until I want to?
He turns my face to his, "Tell me when you're ready." He kisses my eyelids. "We'll stay." His hands wind into my hair and he kisses me until I can't even remember what I was thinking before.
The morning light drifts through the window after our sleepless night. "Sometimes, I think the colour of sunrise is my favorite orange, but then I see the sunset and I'm sure it's that." Peeta is too cheerful for this early in the morning. I bury my head beneath the pillows, but he drags me back out as he talks about the colours that make up the sky.
"See that reddish tint there? That's the colour of your dress when you twirled."
"You know what colour I'm thinking of?" He raises an eyebrow, "A nice rich brown like hot chocolate or the colour of the mud I washed off you in the arena."
"You're the one who wanted to skip dinner."
I give an undignified grunt and find some clothes to put on while he slips into his room to dress. We make our way to breakfast where only Effie is presiding over the table. She informs us that Peeta needn't be attended to until later, while I'm in for a morning of torture with my stylists. Peeta shoots me a wicked grin as he disappears off to his room to sleep some more.
After more hours of plucking, prodding, and scrubbing I'm released to eat lunch. The mere presence of everyone gaily talking about the rest of our lives makes my insides churn. By the time Effie starts talking about our schedule when we arrive in District Eleven, I've reached my breaking point.
"No one cares, Effie!" I snap. Everyone at the table stares at me, even Haymitch, who you'd think would be on my side in this matter since Effie drives him nuts. I'm immediately put on the defensive. "Well, no one does!" I say, and get up and leave the dining car.
On a train though, there's nowhere to run or hide for long. I reach the end car much sooner than I expected. All around me are the pretty dresses that Cinna has made for me or that he has made for me to pass off my talent. If they were anyone but his, I would throw them across the room and shred them. I would destroy everything. But it is the sight of Peeta's painting that starts the tears. Because there is the painting of Rue that he showed me the night of our Toasting.
I begin to sob for her, reminded again how much she is like my sister and how, if not for me, my sister would have shared the same fate. I want to touch the canvas and feel her sun-warmed skin. I want to hear her laughter and feel her touch. But I can't, I won't. Not ever again. There amongst the silks and wools and satins, I sob until there is nothing left.
I apologize to Effie, telling her that my nerves have gotten the best of me. She must see the marks of my tears, because she smiles and let's me go. Cinna looks at me with concern, but it is Haymitch's look that scares me. He knows something is wrong.
Cinna's team begins preparing me almost immediately. They put on more make-up than normal, probably to hide the evidence of my tears. No one wants a pitiful or sobbing Victor, I guess it makes them feel cheated.
I see the high fencing of District Eleven pass by, it makes me feel more trapped than in my own District. There are fields and fields of grain everywhere, yet, I know that it's people are starving. I turn away, unable to bear looking at any longer.
By the time the train stops, I'm in a dress that is the exact shade of orange Peeta loves. Everything about this dress is softness and kindness, I know that it is intentional. Cinna never does anything unintentionally. My fingers play with the mockingjay pin attached to my dress.
There's no welcoming, committee on the platform, just a squad of eight Peacekeepers who direct us into the back of an armored truck. Effie sniffs as the door clanks closed behind us. "Really, you'd think we were all criminals," she says.
Not all of us, Effie. Just me, I think.
Effie drones on and on about how uncivilized it is to be carted around like cattle. I wonder, if for the first time, she realizes what all this feels like to me?
The building looms up ahead of us in disrepair. Perhaps it was great once, but now it is a crumbling shell of its splendour. Places in the Districts don't get done up or remade, because they don't matter. We're shuffled in and placed behind great doors so quickly that I'm breathless. Then they are opening and we are on the stage.
As usual, a special platform has been constructed at the bottom of the stage for the families of the dead tributes. On Thresh's side, there's only an old woman with a hunched back and a tall, muscular girl I'm guessing is his sister. On Rue's ... I'm not prepared for Rue's family. Her parents, whose faces are still fresh with sorrow. Her five younger siblings, who resemble her so closely. The slight builds, the luminous brown eyes. They form a flock of small dark birds.
When the silence comes, we listen to the speech given to honour us. Peeta moves through our scripted speech with ease, making it seem as though it was his thoughts and words. I stumble, parroting the words as best as I can to keep my emotions in check. I can't look at either of the family's if I do, I'll lose my place-I'll forget what I'm saying, I'll ruin everything.
Peeta talks about Thresh and Rue, about how they did so well in the Games. He talks about how they were good people, kind. It was their kindness that allowed me to live, which allowed him to, too. He talks about how sometimes there are debts you can never pay, even if you spend your whole life trying to, because nothing will ever be enough. His voice breaks and I think he's done, but the he continues. "It can in no way replace your losses, but as a token of our thanks we'd like for each of the tributes' families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives."
The crowd is stunned. I don't think it's ever been done before, maybe it's not even allowed to happen? But the words are out there now, and they'll be honoured. He didn't tell me or anyone, that way no one could stop him from saying it. I feel something alive and vibrant in my chest clawing to get out. I reach for his hand and lean to kiss him when I see Rue's family.
Her parents are too stunned in shock and grief for them to register more than sorrow from me, but it is her sister that catches my eye. If I had not known better, I would think she's Rue. Even though I do, it's still hard not to want to reach out to her-to hear her voice, to call her name. But she stares at me in silent condemnation, her eyes dry and accusing.
My skin burns hot with shame. It is as though Rue is staring at me, asking how I can just let her go like that? How can I not tell everyone what she meant to me? How can I stand silent when she would have never stayed quiet for me?
"Wait!" Peeta is right, there are some debts you can't repay-not with actions or words or money. But I try my best, because Rue deserves that at least. She deserves to be seen how I see her."Wait, please."
I look at the small flowers we were given on the stage, and I remember layering them around Rue's body. I remember the smell of them, and I remember singing that song for her as she laid there dying. And I can't, I can't let her go without saying something.
"I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District Eleven," I say. I look at the pair of women on Thresh's side. "I only ever spoke to Thresh one time. Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it. I respected him for that."
For the first time the old hunched woman - is she Thresh's grandmother? - raises her head and the trace of a smile plays on her lips.
The crowd has fallen silent now, so silent that I wonder how they manage it. They must all be holding their breath.
I turn to Rue's family. "But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim." My voice is undependable, but I am almost finished. "Thank you for your children." I raise my chin to address the crowd. "And thank you all for the bread."
Standing there, my words gone, I feel more vulnerable than I ever did in the arena. More exposed and open than I've been with anyone except Peeta. I don't know what to do with my hands or the flowers, I don't know what else I can do because I can never make this right.
There's a long pause. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, someone whistles Rue's four-note mocking-jay tune. The one that signaled the end of the workday in the orchards. The one that meant safety in the arena. By the end of the tune, I have found the whistler, a wizened old man in a faded red shirt and overalls. His eyes meet mine.
What happens next is not an accident. It is too well executed to be spontaneous, because it happens in complete unison. Every person in the crowd presses the three middle fingers of their left hand against their lips and extends them to me. It's our sign from District 12, the last good-bye I gave Rue in the arena.
Everything in my body freezes. What have I done? I can see the peacekeepers moving toward the old man. I can see their rifles coming up, and people are fighting and pushing. The cameras are off and they are not even trying to hide any of this from us, not really.
I am dragged towards the heavy doors kicking and screaming, hoping that I have not just gotten them all killed. Hoping against hope that I haven't killed my mother, Prim, Gale...everyone.
"No!" I scream it as they drag me more forcibly away. The old man's eyes look into mine as they push him down. I am the last thing he sees before they bullet pierces his skull.
The doors slam shut and I am dragged away. Every sound is muffled to my ears. When I come back to my surroundings, Haymitch is yanking off the mic attached to my dress and throwing it. He leads Peeta and I through corridors and passages that he navigates with ease. He hasn't been here since his own Victory Tour, how does he know this?
Finally, we are up in the dome of the building. There is dust and spiderwebs everywhere, most people won't even know this place exists. "We can talk here," Haymitch says. He stares me down, "What's the secret? You're keeping something from me or him or both of us. Spill it, we don't have much time."
Peeta frowns. "Maybe we should talk alone Katniss. Maybe it's something you want to tell me alone first?"
I look at him, at the open honesty in his face. There is this longing there and I know, I know I'm about to crush it. I wrap my arms around myself. "It's a lie. All of it."
"What?" Haymitch's face is crimson, Peeta's is pale.
"What do you mean Katniss? You're not….pregnant?"
Haymitch looks in surprise at Peeta. "What?"
But Peeta is looking only at me. "You've been angry and crying. I've heard you retching. I know it's not the right time, but people will understand."
"No." My voice is forceful. "I'm not pregnant." I inhale sharply then spill out the words. "It's a lie. In the arena, I had sex with you to save you. I couldn't let you die, not when I could stop it. Then we got out and Snow said we had to keep up the love story or he'd kill them. Prim.
Mother. Gale. Everyone." My voice breaks and I feel that choking feeling in my throat that means I'm about to cry.
Peeta's face is livid. "You had a toasting with me, you married me! All of it was a lie? All of it?" His voice is rising. "Do you love me at all? Did you ever love me?"
I look up at him, trying to figure out what to say. But he sees something in my face before I can even fathom what to say. He throws something across the room, and then he's gone.
Haymitch stands there looking at me. I shiver as the dust drifts lazily back down over me. "I had to Haymitch, I had to. You know that. He has to know that."
Haymitch looks out the window. "I know. But you married him and you didn't even tell him. He deserved to know."
"I was trying to protect him!"
"That's cold, even for you, sweetheart."
