A/N: You guys are seriously the BEST. Thank you so much to everyone that reviewed the last chapter, it means so much to me and I'm so relieved that it turned out okay lol. As a gesture of gratitude, here's the next chapter, no waiting! I hope you like it :)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. 'The Hunger Games' belongs to Suzanne Collins and her publishers. Chapter title comes from The Beatles' "Revolution."
Chapter 8 - You Say You Want a Revolution
I wake slowly, reluctant to leave the pleasant haze of sleep behind. I am more comfortable than I have ever been in my life. The first thing I become aware of is Gale, his steady heartbeat beneath my ear and strong arms holding me gently, filling me with a deep sense of peace. The soft blankets around us create a warm cocoon, protecting us from the outside world. I have never felt so safe.
I realize how ironic that is given that I have never been in more danger than I am now. That thought is what finally rouses me fully. I can see the light peeking through the narrow slit between the drapes, and know that it will not be long before we have to face the world again. Every minute brings us closer to the Capitol and all the horrors that await us there. But we are not there yet, so I try to savour this moment for as long as possible, knowing it is likely one of the last few happy ones I will ever have.
"Morning," Gale mumbles sleepily, stirring beneath me.
"Morning," I whisper back, raising myself up to brush a soft kiss against his lips. We gaze stupidly into each others' eyes for a minute.
Gale runs his fingers through the strands of hair that have come loose from my braid in the night and I hum contentedly. He shifts us so that I am on my back while he hovers over me, tracing my features gently with his fingertips. I sigh happily and he leans down, our mouths meeting in a long, lingering kiss.
"I could get used to this," he smiles when we finally pull apart. Then his expression darkens, and I'm sure mine does too, as the reality of our situation comes crashing back down on us. We will never have the chance to get to used to this. We will never have the chance to do a great many things.
But I am still determined to hold onto whatever brief moments of happiness we have left, so I pull him back to me, pressing our bodies firmly together and kissing him deeply. Yes, we are on a train, that in a few short hours will arrive in the Capitol, where we will be subjected to any number of indignities. And in a few days, we will be tossed into the Arena, to engage in a futile battle for our lives, which we cannot hope to survive. But here, now, in this bed and each others' arms, it is surprisingly easy to pretend that none of those things exist.
It becomes decidedly more difficult to pretend a couple moments later when my door flies open and Effie Trinket is bustling into my room, chirping brightly, "Rise and shine dear! It's almost time for breakf-aaarfhgl…" The rest of the word is lost in an incomprehesible squeaking sound of surprise. Evidently, she had not been expecting to find Gale here, in my bed, having clearly spent the night, both of us quite obviously naked. Personally, I think that after the scene she discovered in the car when we arrived at the station yesterday, she should have seen this coming.
Effie stands there mutely for a minute, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. I can feel my face burning with embarrassment, but I refuse to duck my head as if I have something to be ashamed of. But I can't bring myself to speak either, tempted as I am to shriek at her to leave us the hell alone.
It is Gale who finally breaks the silence, his voice dripping with false cheer and barely concealed irritation. "Morning Effie. Sleep well?" I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
This seems to snap her out of her shock and her eyes narrow. "Breakfast starts in half an hour. Do not be late, and do NOT make me come back here to get you." She spins on her heel and storms out of the room, muttering about "scandalous behaviour" and "complete lack of civilization" before the slamming the door behind her.
"Well that should do it," I mutter when she's gone, mostly to myself. At Gale's confused look, I clarify, "Yesterday I wondered how long it would take her to learn to knock before barging in on us. I think this ought to have taken care of that little problem."
He snorts, "Let's hope so," and leans back down, intent on continuing where we left off. But I place my hand on his chest and push him back gently, not because I want to, but because I know there will be hell to pay if Effie has to come back here. We have enough to worry about as it is, without adding an angry Effie Trinket to the list.
"Sorry," I say apologetically, kissing him quickly before hopping out of the bed, away from his reach. He pouts at me, looking deliciously rumpled with his hair mussed from the pillows, staring hungrily at my naked from, and I almost cave, but manage to stay strong. "You know we need her on our side." His face twists with displeasure, but he doesn't argue. "Come on, we both need to shower and get dressed."
Gale sighs unhappily but slides out of the bed, walking to where his pants are lying discarded on the floor and bending to retrieve them. I stop him with a hand on his bicep and he looks up at me curiously. "I thought you said we need to shower," he asks, raising one eyebrow at me as he straightens his back.
"We do." I shrug coyly, looking up at him from beneath my lashes. "But I didn't say we had to shower separately." He grins widely as understanding dawns on him. Then he swoops down, picking me up around my waist and tossing me over his shoulder, making me squeal with laughter as he carries me into the bathroom.
We end up being only 15 minutes late for breakfast. Since Effie never did return to my room, I decide this is close enough to being on time. We show up dressed in the same clothes we wore to dinner yesterday. Somehow we managed to keep them clear of Haymitch's mess when we were carrying him last night, and trying to find something else half-decent in the little chest of horrors that is the dresser in my room would only have made us later.
When we arrive, Effie and Haymitch are both there already, sitting beside each other and speaking quietly but intensely. That can't be good. They stop talking when they notice us. Effie frowns slightly in disapproval, but there is a clear trace of worry in her eyes that gives me pause. Haymitch smirks at us, and I assume she's filled him in on our … activities. Lovely.
The food is set out on a long table against the wall behind Haymitch and Effie, with a stack of plates on one end. Apparently breakfast is a serve-yourself affair. Gale and I head in that direction, piling our plates high with bacon, sausage, eggs, pastries, and fruit. As we do so, a servant appears to set several mugs and glasses at each of our places at the table. When we sit down, I peer at them curiously, trying to identify their contents. One of the glasses has water, the other two some kinds of juice. There are two mugs, both containing dark liquids. I recognize one of them as coffee, which I have never cared for - it makes me too jittery. The other is unfamiliar, but smells delicious.
"It's hot chocolate," Effie tells me, her voice far less condescending than I had expected after the "ate-with-their-hands" debacle at dinner last night. I guess we made our point.
I lift the mug and take a sip. It is possibly the best thing I have ever tasted, and I moan softly in appreciation, forgetting briefly about my determination to not enjoy any of the luxuries of the Capitol and drinking the rest eagerly. Gale raises an eyebrow at my reaction, then tries his own mug. He makes a face and sets it down next to my plate. "Too sweet," he mumbles by way of explanation. I pass him my mug of coffee, and he shoots me a grateful look. We get coffee in District 12 from time to time, but it is definitely something of a luxury item. It's also one of Gale's favourites, and whenever some would come into the Hob we would try to catch some extra game so he'd be able to trade for it.
I realize that Effie and Haymitch have been watching our mostly silent exchange, both looking like they are trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. They share an inscrutable look, and then Effie rises gracefully from her chair. "I have some things that I need to go take care of. Today is a big, big, big day after all," she says in her chipper Capitol accent. "I'll give you three some time to talk," her voice more serious now, though her cheerful expression never wavers. She walks swiftly from the dining room, leaving Gale and I alone with Haymitch.
I study Haymitch, trying to assess how drunk he is at the moment and whether there is a chance of having anything resembling a productive conversation with him. Although he is drinking from a glass that he's been filling from a bottle of the powerful white liquor that I know he favours from seeing him around the Hob, he seems reasonably sober, his eyes clear and his gaze steady.
The silence in the room is heavy and beginning to make me uncomfortable. I glance at Gale, who is again sitting across from Haymitch, and realize from the scowl he is directing at him that although he may have come around somewhat to the idea that we need Haymitch's help, he will not be the one to open the discussion.
I sigh internally, but decide to just get right into it, asking, "So what advice can you give us?"
Haymitch eyes me for a second, then snorts and spreads his arms widely, glass of alcohol clutched in his left hand. "You want my advice? Here it is: Stay. Alive." He turns back to his glass, indicating that that is all he is going to offer.
Gale moves so fast I can barely follow it as he grabs a knife off the table and flings it violently towards the glass Haymitch is holding, shattering it instantly. Haymitch looks briefly shocked, then livid, then he laughs and hurls the stem of the broken glass to the ground. He reaches with his right hand to where the bottle is resting in the middle of the table, but I grab my own knife, ramming the point into the table between his extended fingers, deliberately missing his skin but only just barely. The knife stays upright, buried almost halfway to the hilt. I'm pretty sure we have his attention now.
Haymitch leans back into his seat, the bottle momentarily forgotten as he regards us appraisingly. "Well what do you know," he drawls at last. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"
"Are you going to help us or not?" I snap. Gale remains silent, his expression stony.
"Well that depends, sweetheart," he begins snidely, "on whether you and loverboy here can convince me that you two can actually do something besides each other."
I see red. In a split-second I am yanking the knife out of the table and throwing it in the direction of his head, not intending to hit him but close enough to make it clear that I could if I wanted to. The knife embeds itself in the opposite wall, sticking perfectly in the seam between two pieces of panelling. At the same time, Gale flies out of his chair, circling the table and knocking Haymitch over backwards, chair and all, pinning him to the floor with a hand around his throat.
For a long moment there is no sound in the room but our laboured breathing as Gale and I try to bring our rage back under control. Eventually Gale releases Haymitch and stalks back to the side of the table where I am standing, my fists clenched at my side.
Haymitch chuckles as gets up from the floor and rights his chair. Then he turns to examine my knife embedded in the wall, a mere inch above the top of his head when he was seated. "Not bad," he says when he turns back to face us, sitting again at the table and reaching for the bottle of alcohol calmly, as though we hadn't just made two almost-attempts on his life. "What else have you got?"
"Forget it," Gale spits viciously. "We don't need your help." At the moment, I'm more than inclined to agree.
"You sure about that?" Haymitch asks casually, but then his voice turns intensely serious. "Because from what I saw at the reaping, you need it a hell of a lot more than you realize."
My anger cools from boiling to a low simmer at his words, as all my worries from what we saw in the recap and the interview with Snow come rushing back to me. Even Gale relaxes slightly beside me. There is a reason we decided we needed Haymitch's help in the first place, and it seems like he might already be aware of how much more than the just usual mentoring our situation is going to require.
Gale and I exchange a quick glance, then look at Haymitch meaningfully. I say in the most level voice I can manage given that I am filled with fresh irritation that he is making this so difficult when he apparently understands the complexity of our position, "I think we do realize. Have you watched the recap yet?"
Haymitch blinks in surprise, not having expected us to understand the shitstorm we started with our actions at the reaping. Good, I think. If he underestimated us, others will too - we can use that. He nods. "This morning, before breakfast, when I finally managed to climb my way out of the mountain of towels someone had buried me under, half-naked and soaking wet." Like Gale, I had figured Haymitch wouldn't remember anything about last night. His expression tells me that is not the case. So that is why he's being so difficult this morning. How charmingly petty. We should have just left him on the floor.
"You're welcome," Gale grumbles.
I sigh, sick of fighting, and drop back down into my chair. Gale follows suit a moment later. "So does that mean you'll help us?" I ask, doing my best to keep the sudden exhaustion I feel out of my voice. Gale takes my hand in his under the table, giving it a light squeeze.
"Maybe," Haymitch answers. I scowl in irritation and Gale huffs disgustedly. But Haymitch cuts us off before we can lay into him, "Look, you kids have a tough road ahead. I need to know that you have what it takes to make a real go of it. So you're both good with knives, and loverboy's got a decent choke-hold. What other skills do you have?"
A quick look at Gale and I know that I'm going to be fielding this one, the 'loverboy' nickname having pissed him off all over again. "We can hunt," I start. "We're both pretty good with a bow and arrow."
"I'm pretty good with a bow and arrow," Gale interrupts, "Katniss is amazing with one. Her aim's perfect - she can hit anything dead in the eye every time."
I'm both flattered and irritated by the way he's talking me up at the expense of himself, so I continue, "Gale's great with snares. He can set up really elaborate traps, that no one would notice and wouldn't be able to get out of once they're caught."
"Katniss can run really fast."
"Gale can run faster."
"She can climb trees quicker and higher than anyone I've ever seen."
"He's strong and can handle himself in a fist-fight."
"She's -"
"Okay!" Haymitch interjects, stopping whatever Gale was going to say next. "I get the picture. You two do know that you're supposed to be competitors in there?"
We stare coldly at Haymitch, clearly communicating that that will not be happening. It is not even an option.
He looks at us with approval. "Good. Fine, so you have basically the same skill set. You look reasonably well-fed, so that'll give you an advantage over most of the tributes. The Careers will be tougher, but if you're smart you can probably handle them. And the star-crossed lover angle will play well with sponsors."
Gale looks furious again. "Our relationship is not a strategy," he hisses.
Haymitch looks at him with aggravation. "I hate to break it to you," - though he actually seems to be enjoying it immensely - "but it's either a strategy or it's a liability. When you step into that Arena, everything about you becomes part of the Games. I'm not questioning the sincerity of your 'true love,' but in there you either let them use it as a tool against you, or you wield it as a weapon against them. Those are your only options." Something about the way Haymitch is looking at us tells me that when Haymitch says 'them,' he means the Capitol itself as much as the other tributes.
Though he doesn't look happy about it, Gale nods, conceding the point. Haymitch seems to be considering something carefully, then he asks pointedly, "How far are you willing to take this?"
I can tell immediately from his tone that he doesn't just mean using our relationship as a strategy for the Games. Or more accurately, he doesn't mean using our relationship as a strategy just for the Games. There is more to Haymitch than I initially realized. He understands that what happened at the reaping ignited something that was building just below the surface in the districts. He looks eager to see it grow - I guess I shouldn't be surprised, he has as much reason to hate the Capitol as anyone, if not more. And he knows that what we do in the Games has the possibility to turn that spark of defiance into a flame of rebellion.
I'm not sure how I feel about this. I don't like the idea of mine and Gale's relationship being used as an instrument of rebellion. I am terrified of what could happen to Prim and my mother, and Gale's family as well, if the Capitol gets the impression that we are wilfully trying to incite an uprising. I loathe the Capitol and would gladly dance on the ruins of President Snow's mansion if it were to ever fall - but being at the heart of a resistance movement has always been Gale's fantasy, not mine. I never wanted to start a revolution.
But perhaps the revolution had already started quietly, and was just waiting for the right catalyst to breathe life into it. We happened to be that catalyst, but it would have happened sooner or later regardless. The resentments run too deep and the injustices have carried on for far too long. Unintentional though it may have been, we have put ourselves into a position to contribute to real change in Panem - or to its total destruction. It is more responsibility than I ever wanted. But if we are destined to die in the Arena, at least we now have the chance to try to keep our sacrifice from being in vain.
We will have to be extremely careful to be subtle in how we proceed. Any open display of defiance would bring swift and immediate retribution on our families, and nothing would make that acceptable to me.
Gale is watching me closely. If it were just him, I know what he would choose. But he knows I am more reticent than he is to upset the balance of things, and so he lets me make the decision for us. I wish I had more time to consider this, but time is the one thing we do not have.
Finally, I say slowly, choosing my words with caution, "We'll take it as far as necessary, so long as we don't bring … dishonour to our loved ones back home." I hope my tone makes it clear that it is not 'dishonour' I am worried about, but a horrible, painful death. But I can't say that out loud in case someone is listening to this conversation. Thankfully they both appear to grasp my true meaning.
Gale is practically beaming at me with excitement. I smile weakly back at him, still feeling fairly unsettled about the whole thing. But if our only choices are to die for the possibility of a better life for the rest of Panem, or to die for nothing, I choose a death with meaning.
Haymitch looks somewhat disappointed, having hoped for a more enthusiastic agreement, I guess. But he seems to accept my condition. "Alright," he says, "in that case I'll make you a deal. I'll stay sober enough to help you two, but you have to do everything I say, no questions, no buts, no complaining." Gale and I nod in unison. "And that goes for your prep team and stylists when we get to the Capitol too. You're going to hate most of what they put you through, but how you're presented is almost entirely in their hands. And I doubt they'll be as forgiving as I am if you start flinging knives at their heads," he finishes dryly.
I blush, slightly embarrassed by our outbursts, although I still think Haymitch deserved it at the time. "Sorry about that," I mumble, though I don't sound terribly apologetic. Gale just shrugs indifferently.
Haymitch chuckles again, though there is no humour in it this time. "Don't worry about it. I've gotten worse." He takes a long drink from the bottle of white liquor. He considers us for a moment, then passes the bottle to Gale. Gale eyes it suspiciously at first, then a look of grim resolve settles over his features and he takes a sip himself, cringing slightly at the taste.
The room darkens suddenly, only the faint lights of the train illuminating the car as all natural light disappears, indicating that we have entered the tunnel through the mountains from which we will emerge into the Capitol. We will be there in less than an hour.
"It isn't going to be easy in there," Haymitch warns us. "You're both going to suffer."
Gale passes me the bottle, and I raise it to my lips. "No," I say, my voice hard. I drink, the alcohol blazing a path down my throat, cementing this unlikely conspiracy of three. "We are going to burn."
A/N: Cue dramatic music! I'll be back later this week with Chapter 9, when, after 30,000+ words, we will finally get to the Capitol. Please hit 'Review' if you have time and let me know what you thought about the last leg of our journey there :)
