(This chapter is dedicated with lots of love to my Scorpio sisters over on Tumblr - mathgirl24, famousfremus, and swishywillow. Happy belated birthdays, my darlings!)
Peacekeeper motorcycles flank the limousine on all sides, their sirens screaming against the wind. Inside the limo, Peeta's head pounds as he listens to Thresh barking orders into the communicuff on his wrist. The sounds of bullets firing ring in his ears in conjunction with the wail of the sirens; he silently prays that both will stop, and he'll be bathed instead in glorious, peaceful silence. He's so lost in his thoughts and dreams of silence he doesn't hear Thresh call his name until the man shakes his shoulders.
"Mr. President? Mr. President!" Thresh commands.
Peeta blinks wildly as a surge of pain shoots down his right arm, helping to snap him out of the numbness of it all. He wonders why his shoulder hurts so atrociously until his brain flits back to being tackled to the ground by Gale; it must have jammed against the concrete. For now, it's something to keep him grounded, something to remind him he's still breathing. "Who's dead back there?" he asks Thresh quickly. "Who took hits? Where are Gale and Thom?"
"There aren't any reports yet on who might be injured, sir. We'll have more reliable information in a few minutes," Thresh responds.
"Why aren't Gale and Thom with us? Where are they?"
Thresh winces. "Gale…Gale was hit, Mr. President. Thom stayed with him to administer first aid until the medic corps arrive."
Peeta feels every ounce of air leave his lungs. "Castor! Turn around, I need to see what's going on back there!" he gasps.
"Mr. President, no, that isn't an option," Thresh says.
"I don't give a damn! We're going back and making sure he gets to the hospital!" Peeta snaps back.
"I will follow protocol to the letter in this situation, Mr. President, and protocol dictates I get you to the mansion as soon as possible. This isn't a discussion we are having or a decision you can override, sir, this is for your own safety. As soon as we're inside the mansion, I'll get you all the information you want." His voice is steady, unwavering. His deep brown eyes stare Peeta down, practically begging for a challenge so he can reiterate his point. Peeta knows it's no use and thunks his head against the seat behind him in exasperation.
"I need to know who might be dead back there, Thresh. Please," he pleads, his voice a strangled moan. The guard looks almost apologetic at having to deny Peeta's request again when his communicuff crackles to life.
"Johanna to Thresh! Johanna to Thresh, come in!"
"Thresh here, go ahead, Jo," Thresh says quickly.
"We got 'em. All three of the bastards. Forty-seven seconds from the first shot," Johanna's voice trills. "Abernathy is in a car bound for the mansion, and the medic corps just arrived."
"Who's wounded?!" Peeta cries, grasping Thresh's wrist. "What happened to Gale?"
"Mr. President?" Johanna stutters on the other end.
"Answer him, Jo," Thresh says calmly.
The other end is silent for a minute. "Sir, what did you see so I don't tell you what you already know?"
"All I saw was the ground coming toward my face as Gale took me down, then the inside of this car. Fucking hell, Johanna, I need to know which of my people are dead back there! Delly? Boggs? Finnick? Beetee?"
"The First Lady is secure, sir. She's in the same car as Abernathy, I saw her myself. Odair and Watts are still on the scene, but neither are injured," Johanna responds.
Peeta finds he can breathe again—for a moment anyway.
"Boggs? Where's Boggs? The same car?"
The line is silent again.
"Johanna, come in," Thresh orders.
"Hold, please," Johanna's voice shakes as the device crackles and seems to die. Peeta tries to suck air in through his nose, but it's useless. He knows. In this moment, he knows exactly what happened.
"Mr. President?" Johanna's voice comes again with a burst of static.
"He's here, Jo. Answer him," Thresh says.
"We had to wait until the medic corps arrived to make the call, sir, but they just confirmed what we already knew. I—I'm very sorry to be the bearer of this news, Mr. President, but Prime Minister Boggs sustained two shots, one to the lower spine and one to the back of the head. He—he died immediately, sir. The Prime Minister is dead."
Peeta's body convulses at the news before he pitches forward and empties his stomach on the floorboards of the car. He doesn't hear Thresh bark a final order to Johanna due to the sound of his own retching in his ears, and only barely registers Thresh's hand on the back of his neck to guide him back to a sitting position when he's expelled everything in his stomach. The dim light filtering in through the tinted windows makes the vomit look almost black.
Thresh twists in the seat next to him and looks down at the foul pool at their feet with wide eyes. Suddenly he kneels in front of Peeta and pats down his torso, arms, and finally his legs. When his hand grazes his left calf, Peeta registers a jolt of pain shoot up his leg that makes the pain in his shoulder feel like a paper cut.
"Cripes," Thresh growls before rearing back and calling to the driver over his shoulder, "The President was shot, Castor! Hospital, now!"
Peeta hisses in pain as the guard removes his tie and cinches it around his calf just under his knee. Thresh sets his jaw and nods at him. "You're going to be alright, Mr. President. You're going to be fine."
A nurse called Emmaline answers the phone in the emergency room. At first all she hears is the dial tone on the other end, then the insistent trill continues. She replaces the receiver for the incorrect phone and answers the navy blue one hanging on the wall instead.
"Medic ops."
"Operative 11 dash 567 here—Mockingjay has been compromised, and we are en route!"
Emmaline looks curiously at the receiver in her hand. "Is this a drill?"
"No!"
"We just had one of these last week, sir, I'd just assume..."
The screeching of sirens pulling up to the emergency room entrance door silences her. Her jaw drops just before the phone falls from her hand. She picks up the PA receiver and barks into it, "Code Orange! We have Code Orange incoming!"
It takes three minutes for the Tributes to clear the waiting area and non-critical rooms. An executive agent positions tertiaries at every door, just in time for the presidential limo to skid to a stop in front of the entrance. A team of doctors and nurses race to the door with a gurney, and a second later, Thresh pulls the President from the back seat.
"I'm fine! Thresh, we need to go back!"
"No sir, Mr. President. Who's the lead of this team?!" he bellows, surveying the medical staff. A familiar woman with chestnut hair steps up.
"Dr. Lindsey, at your service. What happened?"
"Multiple shots were fired at the President and Prime Minister as they walked the rope line after the State of Panem address. The only wounds the President appears to have sustained is a shot to his left calf muscle and possibly a dislocated right shoulder...can't tell you more than that, Doctor. Is the trauma room secure?"
"Yes sir! Mr. President, I'm Dr. Lindsey...I treated your son when he..."
"Thresh stays with me!" Peeta gasps as the nursing staff begins to cut away his clothing. He finally catches sight of his leg and nearly retches once more..
"Of course, sir! If this is the worst of your wounds you're incredibly lucky. We'll place you under anesthesia to reset your shoulder and clean and de-breed the muscle wound and assess for nerve damage. It's a minor surgery, Mr. President, nothing to worry about, I assure you."
"No! No, no surgery! I can't be placed under anesthesia!"
Dr. Lindsey gapes at him. "Sir, it's a minor procedure…"
"Do not put me under anesthesia!" Peeta cries.
"Mr. President, Mr. Abernathy and the First Lady are two minutes away. Please, keep calm," Thresh tells him, his voice surprisingly dulcet. Peeta grips the front of Thresh's shirt with his bloodied hand and pulls the man's face towards his own.
"Thresh, please. Please don't let them put me under..."
The guard looks at the doctors and nurses, all of whom are shaking their heads in confusion. He closes his hand around his mark's wrist and nods solemnly. "I've got you Mr. President. You're safe now."
Katniss closes the door of the master bedroom behind her when residence guards Cato and Marvel burst inside. Her nerves haven't quite adjusted to the pace at which some of the Tribs move, and she's certainly never seen the pair of them move with such urgency before. Marvel's hand whips out at once and slaps at a button on the wall; a moment later, a large solid metal sheet slams down on the multi-paneled picture window at the other end of the hall. She whirls around to face the guards and demand an explanation, but before she can get out a word, Cato shoves her aside to throw the bedroom door open.
"He is sleeping!" she hisses as he shines a flashlight on the boy's face. He ignores her as he sweeps the beam around the room before slamming the door closed, not even bothering to be quiet about it.
"Primary check of the residence indicates Little Duck is secure. Secondary sweep in progress," Cato barks into his communicuff and starts down the hallway without another glance at Katniss. Her hand whips out and grasps Marvel by the hem of his sleeve, forcing him to a stop in front of her.
"What the fuck is going on?!" she demands, still refusing to raise her voice above a harsh whisper, lest she wake Rye up unnecessarily. Marvel's lip curls as he yanks his arm from her and nods to her communicuff.
"Set it to frequency Alpha-One-Three. There were multiple shots fired tonight as the President left the State of Panem address. You are to await orders from Agent Courtney before leaving the residence. Mind your mark, Agent Everdeen," the man snarls at her before continuing on, practically breaking down the door to the First Lady's bedroom across the way. Katniss feels her stomach drop, and her mouth goes dry as she fiddles with the dials of her communicuff, the peaceful silence of her evening fading away into static and the sound of multiple voices all speaking on top of one another. It takes her several long minutes to hear a voice she recognizes, then another—none of them, however, belong to Gale.
"Wait!" she calls out as the agents make their way down the hall to exit out the front door. "This is all gibberish, I don't understand—who's Eagle? 'Eagle is down' means he's dead, but who the hell is Eagle?"
The guards share a look so condescending Katniss would love nothing more than to claw it off their faces with her stubby fingernails. Cato speaks first, rolling his eyes as he does.
"The Prime Minister is Eagle," he sneers. "The Prime Minister is dead."
Katniss feels as though she's been punched in the gut; a scant few moments ago, she was watching the Prime Minister and President clasp hands and raise them triumphantly above their heads. Now one of those men is dead, and all she can think about is the sleeping towhead who wanted so bad to greet his father when he arrived home. She wonders if Rye will ever get the chance to greet his father again. "The…is the President secure or is he…?"
"Listen to the frequency and figure it out for yourself, Everdeen," Marvel says bitterly before the men slam the door behind them.
It takes Katniss a long moment to process everything, but when she finally does, she feels herself sinking down to squatting against the wall outside the President's bedroom, her communicuff pressed firmly to her ear.
On the other side of the door, the little boy she guards sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware of anything outside of his sleep-syrup induced dreams.
The guards stationed outside the President's room don't even bother trying to keep Delly Cartwright and Haymitch Abernathy from bursting past them in an attempt to get to the man's bedside.
"Peeta? Peeta!" Delly cries as soon as she sees her brother laid out, hooked up to all manner of machinery. She leans over the rail of the gurney to press her forehead against his and attempts to smile at him through the tears rolling down her cheeks. "You're alright? You're really okay?"
"I'm fine, Dell, just…watch the leg, okay? And my shoulder isn't in great shape either."
"Mr. President?" Haymitch takes in the sight of the man, his pallid and panicked expression, and sets his jaw firmly, steeling himself to be strong and take charge. "What's your prognosis?"
"They want to do surgery, Haymitch. You have to make sure they don't…"
"It's an incredibly simple procedure!" Dr. Lindsey says exasperatedly. "We have to put him under to reset his shoulder and explore the wound. He'll be in a profound amount of pain if we—"
"Surely there are drugs you can ply him with that won't knock him completely unconscious," Haymitch growls, stealing his own glance at the wound. Blood has already seeped through the thick gauze they've dressed the bullet hole with, partially contributing to the sickly shade of the young man's skin.
"We can dope him up with enough morphling to take the edge off, but popping his shoulder back in place without anesthesia…"
Peeta's hand lurches out and grasps Haymitch by the wrist. His blue eyes are almost feral as they stare him down, but his grasp is shaky at best. "I don't have a Prime Minister, Haymitch. What happens if I'm unconscious for an hour and there's no Prime Minister?"
Haymitch immediately knows the man is correct. A line of succession has never been established, a residual effect of Snow's corrupt attempt to wrest as much control away from Parliament and into his own Aula as possible, and they both know it should have been one of the first bits of legislature they passed after taking power—but keeping the country fed had been more pressing, and thus it had fallen through the cracks. Haymitch knows they shouldn't have allowed it to do so, but it's far, far too late now.
"He's right," Haymitch calls over to his shoulder to the doctor. "With the Prime Minister dead, there is no next-in-command to assume the President's powers if he's under anesthesia. You can't put him under."
"So what, he's gonna bleed to death while you call a special session of Parliament to determine the new Prime Minister?!" Delly shrieks. "Haymitch, look at him!"
"Only Peeta has the power to call a Parliamentary session—you think he's in any state to do that? You think any of those delegates who were just shot at are clambering to go back into chambers to hold a head count?" Haymitch snaps back. He and the First Lady have never gotten on, and not even the President laying between them injured is enough for either of them to forget it.
"No surgery," Peeta gasps as a fresh wave of pain crests over him. "Just…hold me down and reset me and whatever else you have to do. I'll have to grin and bear it."
"It will be excruciating, sir," Dr. Lindsey says, stepping into his eyeshot. "You may end up passing out from the pain anyway, even with morphling to take the edge off."
"Well then, work fast, Doctor, and I'll try to keep myself from passing out. I'm not leaving this country leaderless, even for an hour." Peeta's resigned and stoic, even though the word 'dead' in reference to Leonid Boggs takes his breath away. Any minute now he's sure Haymitch will tell him there was some sort of mistake, and Leonid will breeze through the door and officially accept temporary leadership of the Aula so Peeta can spare himself the massive amount of pain he's about to endure. The moment doesn't come, and it's everything Peeta can do to keep the weight of despair from completely crushing him.
Delly turns green and pushes her head between her knees to try to stop the bile from rising up in her throat. A nurse loops an arm around her and moves to escort her out of the room. She turns back and looks forlornly at her brother just before the door closes between them. "Please don't die, Peet!"
"Check on Rye, Dell, please!" Peeta calls back, knowing full well his last few words were cut off by the closing door.
"She booted in the back of the limo—you know they'll charge you for that, right?" Haymitch says in an effort to distract Peeta from the large hypodermic needle that's about to plunge into the crook of his elbow.
"Yeah, so did I. Be a hell of a smelly ride home…"
The morphling works fast, and Peeta's world begins to turn muted and fuzzy around the edges. He barely makes out the doctors redraping his leg to try to disguise their movements for his own edification, but the dull throb of his leg as his heart continues to pump the blood out of his body nearly as fast as they can replace it reminds him again of the pain he's been assured he'll experience. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, but he's able to form the name "Gale?" before both men at his side just shake their heads at him.
"They took him straight to surgery, sir. We won't know anything for a while," Thresh tells him.
Suddenly, both his guard and his Chief of Staff grasp his good arm tightly as if to hold him in place. A nurse places a scrap of leather between his teeth and Dr. Lindsey begins a slow countdown from five as she grasps his twisted arm in preparation for the reset. Instead of waiting for 'one,' she jerks the arm back into place on 'two' and Peeta nearly pitches off the gurney, despite the two men doing their damndest to keep him still.
The leather falls from his teeth and his howl of agony resounds throughout the entire main floor of the hospital. It's only slightly less terrifying than his whimpering and begging a moment later when the smell of his burning flesh permeates the room as they begin to cauterize the bullet wound.
Flashbulbs burst continually, leaving spots in Finnick's eyes as he tries to maintain some decorum in his press room. Finally he simply resorts to yelling.
"I can only answer fourteen or fifteen questions at a time, cripes!" he bellows, and the reporters fall silent. "Thank you. Claudius, then Maura."
"Who'll be taking over the Prime Minister's position?" Templesmith demands. Finnick shakes his head.
"I'd like to remind you all that Prime Minister Boggs has barely been dead a couple of hours. Out of respect for his family and his memory, the Aula won't be speculating on who will be taking over his post. I can tell you that when the time is appropriate, President Mellark will be convening a special Parliamentary head-count to determine the successive Prime Minister."
"Finnick, who's in charge while the President's wounds are being treated? Surely he can't be expected to make executive orders from a hospital bed," Maura Cressida calls out.
Finnick pauses when Beetee sidles up to him and slips him a note. The man's scrawl is hardly legible, and Finnick has to swallow hard before dictating it back to the assembled group.
"The latest word on the President is that he underwent a procedure to reset a dislocated shoulder and repair a bullet hole in his calf. The doctors anticipate that he will make a speedy and complete recovery. Does that answer your question?"
"Resetting bones is usually done under anesthesia!" Caesar Flickerman protests. "Is he unconscious right now? If he's unconscious, who the hell is running the country?"
Finnick grimaces. "The President refused anesthesia. He was lucid while the procedures took place, and is holding counsel with Chief of Staff Abernathy to determine the best course of action to deal with the aftermath of tonight's tragedy."
"He was conscious?" Flickerman says with a gasp.
"Yes. One last…Maura, you have a follow-up?"
"Are there any additional fatalities you can confirm at this time?"
"One of the President's Secret Service bodyguards was critically wounded and is currently undergoing surgery. I can't give out his name at this time."
"Why not!?" the woman cries out.
"We haven't located his family yet. I'll be back in one hour, folks," Finnick says, ignoring the continual cries of his name as he leaves the podium and falls in step with Beetee towards the Aula. Both men move as if in a daze, but knowing they still have a job to do keeps them pressing forward.
"You handled that well. According to Haymitch, the President is already demanding to be released against medical advice. He's trying to talk him down, but he thinks he might need our help. We should head over there now," Beetee says quickly.
"Cripes, why the hell did he refuse anesthesia? He must be in agony…" Finnick says with a shake of his head.
"He didn't have another choice with Boggs dead," Beetee says. "Haymitch also said the First Lady is being treated for shock and has been sedated, so no one will be home with Rye save for his guard until one or both of them is released. Hence why the President is so desperate to leave."
"I just need to stop by my office for two seconds. I'll meet you in the driveway, alright?"
Beetee nods as Finnick ducks into his darkened office. He flips on the switch and immediately rounds to his desk and picks up his phone. The number he dials is a speedy, automatic action, and the voice he craves hearing most answers after only two buzzes.
"Finn!?"
"Hi, Annie. I'm alright. How're Noah and the belly?"
Finnick and Beetee walk into the hospital to find the President's bodyguard attempting to hold him still as Peeta claws wildly at the IVs and tubes shooting out of his body. The sight is gruesome and sad enough to turn both men's stomachs, as well as tear at their hearts.
"Thresh, let go! I need to leave, I need to go home!" the President groans, his voice thick and heavy from the residual pain-killers.
"I can't, Mr. President, you need to lie still. The doctors need to keep you here until…"
"They admitted Delly! I need to go home to Rye, someone needs to be with him, and it should be me…Thresh, please, I need to see my son…"
"Mr. President, Rye is safe and secure in the residence—Agent Everdeen is with him, and Agents Cato and Marvel are in their usual posts outside the front door," Beetee tries to reason with him. "He'll be fine. You need to focus on letting your body recover from the ordeal…"
"I'm fine!" Peeta snaps half-heartedly. "They stopped the bleeding, I just…I need to get out of here!"
"Boy, you touch one of those damned tubes again, I will tie you down myself," Haymitch says, looking the President straight in the eye. "You hear me?"
"Haymitch…"
"I'm not arguing with you on this. You should be in this hospital several days minimum to recover from this, and you've already cowed the doctors into releasing you in the morning. You need to rest, or else they'll go back on that and keep you here like they ought to. Lay back, boy, and stay still for three damn seconds."
Peeta slumps back on the pillows defeatedly and squeezes his eyes together. "How'd the briefing go, Finnick?"
"As well as can be expected, sir. Please don't worry about any of that, it's nothing Beetee and I can't handle," Finnick replies.
The President nods bitterly. "Did they ask about Gale?"
"Yes, sir. Effie is working to contact his next of kin, but it seems his mother works nights. I won't release his name or the specifics of his injuries until she knows," Finnick confirms.
"But he's not dead, right?" Peeta looks pleadingly at Thresh, who shakes his head.
"The doctors assured Thom that his wounds are treatable, but severe. You need to give them time, Mr. President," the guard says.
"Sir, if I may…I'd suggest Haymitch speak at Finnick's next briefing. The country needs to be reminded that there is still a leader, and until you are recovered…I have a short statement readied already," Beetee offers.
"Bold move there, Watts," Haymitch sneers.
"He's right, Haymitch. Give the statement. And tell them that I'll give one sometime tomorrow after I'm released. After I can be in the residence for a few minutes," Peeta says, gritting his teeth through the lingering haze of morphling.
"What else, Mr. President? Anything?" Finnick asks quickly.
"No. The three of you should go back. I'm not going anywhere for several hours, apparently."
"Thank you, sir," Finnick and Beetee say respectfully before filing out the door. Haymitch places his hand on the younger man's shoulder, and looks down at him. For the life of him, Peeta cannot fathom what the look could possibly mean.
"I meant no disrespect, Mr. President. But you need to rest," Haymitch says quietly. Peeta reaches up and cover's his mentor's hand with his own and nods simply.
"Make sure Effie gets in contact with Gale's mother. And keep Johanna close by so Thresh can call the pair of you back if I need you," Peeta replies.
"Thank you, Mr. President," Haymitch says curtly before he slips out the door.
As soon as he's gone, Peeta gives into a crushing sob, wincing as the sharp inhale and exhale of breath makes his entire body ache and throb.
"Sir…Agent Everdeen has a communicuff similar to my own that can project images. The screen is tiny, understand, but if you'd like, I could—" Thresh offers.
"Rye?" Peeta says hopefully, his heart leaping into his throat. "I can see him?"
"In a manner of speaking, sir, yes."
Peeta nods through the hot tears streaming down his face and watches as Thresh fiddles with the dials on the device, speaking in the code all agents use that is mostly gibberish to anyone not SS. He's vaguely aware that he's never, not once, seen Thresh, Gale, or Thom remove the device from their wrist, and so it floors him when Thresh pulls it off his hand like it were a watch and hands it to him.
"I'll be just outside the door so you can have your privacy, Mr. President."
Rye wakes up in a daze as someone shakes his shoulders. He whines and flips onto his belly, hoping that Daddy and Auntie Delly will just let him sleep. He's so sleepy and his nose is still all stuffy and he just wants to—
"Rye? Rye, I need you to wake up, okay?"
"Whaa...Katniss?" he grumbles.
"Will you wake up, please? Your father...he wants to talk to you..."
The boy sits up and rubs his eyes with his fists. He blinks around the room as he searches for his father but comes up with nothing.
"Where's my Daddy, Katniss? And why do you look so weird?" he asks.
"He's...he's on my communicuff. You're going to talk to him on that, okay? Can I sit with you so you can talk to him?" Katniss gestures for him to scoot over so she can sit against the headboard next to him. He pulls Maysi the cat against his chest and wipes his runny nose with the sleeve of his father's oversized sweatshirt. Katniss fiddles with the device on her wrist before holding it out in front of her; when the tiny screen flickers to life, Rye watches as a miniature picture of his father appears.
"Daddy?" He's probably imagining it because the picture is so tiny, but it almost looks like his daddy is crying.
"Heya, Ry-Ry. Oh, buddy, it's good to see your face." His daddy definitely sounds like he's been crying.
"Daddy, you just saw me a couple hours ago. Why aren't you home yet?"
Despite the tiny picture and his eyes still adjusting to the light of his bedside table, Rye can make out his father hastily wiping his eyes and taking a shaky breath in and out. "Buddy, you haven't watched the television at all since my speech ended, right?"
"No, I was asleep...Daddy, what's wrong? Why do you look so sad?" Rye asks, his own jaw beginning to tremble. His daddy only looks like this when something is the matter.
"I need to...it's okay. Everything is okay now, but I need to..." His daddy can't form complete sentences. This is a bad sign. "Do you remember when we talked about your nightmares? Remember, when you used to think there was a big hairy monster under your bed, and he'd come out when you were asleep to drag you away to someplace me and Auntie Delly couldn't get to you? Remember all that, Ry-Ry?"
Of course Rye remembers. That dream had only begun when he and his daddy had moved to the Capitol for good so Daddy could be the President. He nods, hoping that his father can make that out.
"I need to tell you something, Rye, and you need to listen to me very, very closely. It might scare you, but Katniss is there with you, and I will be too in just a little while. But you need to listen closely, okay?"
"I'm listening, Daddy," the boy says. He clutches his stuffie tighter against his chest and shrinks closer into Katniss's side. He feels her pet his hair tenderly and press her cheek to the crown of his head.
"Sometimes, Ry-Ry...sometimes monsters and nightmares are real. Sometimes people do bad things to other people and people get hurt, and it can be so, so scary."
"Are...are you hurt, Daddy? Is that why you aren't home now?"
On the tiny screen, Rye can see his father nod in confirmation. The little boy begins to cry, despite Katniss gently shushing him and rocking him slowly from side to side.
"I'm okay now, Rye. I'm okay, and Auntie Delly is okay, and just as soon as I can, I'm going to come home to you, I promise, Duck. This is the most important part of this story, and I need you to put on your brave face for me for one more minute so I can tell you this part."
The boy wipes his tears and snotty nose on his sleeve again and nods at his father's face.
"Sometimes monsters and nightmares are real, Rye. But you know what? Even when they are—we still wake up. We always wake up. So you're going to go back to sleep now, and when you wake up, you'll find me there waiting for you. I promise, Duck. I'll be there when you wake up," his daddy tells him.
Rye sucks in a deep breath and nods his head. "Daddy, can you sing? I can't go to sleep again unless you sing..."
For a moment, he thinks his father might cry again, but his voice is deep and rumbly and calming, just like it always should be when he sings.
"Deep in the meadow, under the willow,
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow,
Lay down your head and close your sleepy eyes,
And in the morning, the sun with r-rise…"
His father's voice breaks with the last line, but amazingly enough, the song doesn't stop. Katniss picks up seamlessly right where Daddy trails off.
"Here it's safe and here it's warm,
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet,
And tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you."
Rye can tell his father is crying for real now, but he's smiling too, so he supposes it's alright. Katniss presses her cheek to the top of his head again and Rye puts on the brightest, bravest face for his father that he can muster.
"I'm gonna go to sleep again, Daddy. But I'm not 'fraid of nightmares, I promise. I'll see you soon," he says strongly.
"That's my boy, Duckie. I love you, Rye. I love you so much."
"I love you too, Daddy."
The picture fades out, and Rye clings to Katniss's side. She smooths his hair and shushes his gasping little sobs for several minutes more, until the boy more or less cries himself back to sleep. She's turned out the light and is letting herself back into the hallway when he calls out to her with a squeak.
"Katniss, how do you know my Daddy's song?"
Her reply is soft and hesitant. "It used to be my daddy's favorite song to sing, too."
"Will you finish it before you go?"
She seems to hesitate a minute, her shoulders rising and falling and her head beginning to shake back and forth—but a moment later she's back at his side, massaging his upper back lightly with her palm as she continues to sing from where she'd left off.
"Deep in the meadow, hidden far away,
A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray…"
Katniss knows she ought not to, but after Rye falls back to sleep, she pulls up one of the plush chairs next to the bed and watches him, her eyes almost completely adjusted to the darkness. Her hand reaches out and strokes the child's curls every now and again, and when he murmurs in his sleep, she closes her fingers around his tiny hand gripping the cat stuffie close to his face. She knows she ought to have her communicuff tuned to Alpha-One-Three in order to get some sort of handle on what's happened in the meantime, or at the very least, determine why Gale's voice hasn't echoed across the wavelength, but she just can't leave Rye. The clock on the President's bedside table reads almost 4 am when her eyelids begin to droop. She leans forward at the waist and rests her head on the mattress next to Rye, vowing to only rest her eyes for a minute or two, until she's awoken hours later by the bedroom door flying open and Thresh stepping inside.
"Katniss?" Thresh says quietly, narrowing his eyes as the woman leaps to standing, sending the chair she'd been sleeping in toppling backwards. Her neck screams from her awkward sleeping position, and her gaze flits down to Rye's still soundly sleeping form before holding her head high and locking her hands behind her back.
"He's asleep," she whispers. "I realize it's inappropriate for me to—"
She can't possibly continue when the President walks in behind his guard. His skin is ghostly pale, and his right arm is hung in a sling while his left hand clutches an elegant cane as he hobbles into the room. His gaze focuses on Katniss for only a split-second before it shifts, and he drinks in the sight of his sleeping child. A soft whimper of relief escapes his lips as he limps around the bed and kneels on the mattress next to the boy. The President's uninjured hand covers Rye's curls reverently, the pad of his thumb slowly stroking the child's temple before he leans down and presses his lips lightly to his forehead. The sight of the reunion, even when one is fast asleep and dreaming, is enough for Katniss's mouth to go dry, and tears prick at the back of her eyes. The impulse grows when hears the man whisper "Daddy's here," into the child's ear. She looks to Thresh, who appears to be trying to slip out the door slowly. She moves to follow him, understanding at once that this is no place for her now that the President is home, but his shaky, hoarse voice calls out to her and stops her in her tracks.
"You stayed with him all night?" the President asks.
She turns in place and tries not to look at the man's tear-streaked face. "I…yes sir. He's my mark. It was my duty."
"Oh, Katniss…thank you…" he murmurs to her.
"Mr. President, I'm sorry, but are you…you look awfully—"
He waves his hand and returns his gaze to Rye's cherubic face. "I made them release me. I shouldn't have, but I don't…I have a country to run and Delly is still… Katniss, do you know about—"
"Peeta," Haymitch Abernathy's voice calls out a moment later. Never before has Katniss heard Abernathy or any of his senior advisors refer to the man as anything but 'Mr. President' or 'sir;' it clearly surprises the President too. What little blood remains in his cheeks drains, leaving them even paler than before. "Leave the boy for a moment and come to the sitting room with me."
It appears to be a spectacular struggle for the President to get to his feet, but he manages it and hobbles after Abernathy with only a few winces and gasps of pain. The elder man holds the door open for the President, but catches Katniss's own gaze. "Agent Everdeen…you ought to come as well. The kiddo will be fine for a couple of minutes."
Her blood turns to ice crystals in her veins, but she follows all the same, watching as Abernathy places a steady hand under the President's elbow to assist his tottering gait. The brief walk to the sitting room seems to take an eternity, but when they walk through the door, Katniss lays eyes upon Thresh, Thom, and Johanna Mason. All three stand straight and tall and share a mutual look of…what is that look? Katniss can't place it, not until she notices the pink tinges in Thresh's eyes, the hastily buttoned blazer of Thom's that doesn't quite hide the huge splotches of deep crimson marring the crisp white of his shirt, and the ever-so-slight tremble of Johanna's jaw. And then all she can feel is something akin to falling, even as she maintains standing ramrod-straight.
"Sir, I'm afraid that I have some bad news for you. You may want to take a seat," Haymitch says. The President sinks into a chair, an unmistakable look of horror etched on his face.
"It's Gale, isn't it?" the President whispers. He doesn't look at Abernathy, but instead at the three guards, none of whom move a muscle. "Johanna? It's Gale, isn't it?" he presses. Johanna appears to bite down on the inside of her cheek—and hard.
"Yes, it's Gale, Mr. President. The staff surgeons were confident that their work to repair the ruptured valve in his chest went as smoothly as it could have, but there was a complication that none of them could have foreseen. It…he began to bleed very rapidly, and by the time they were able to locate the source of the bleeding, he…Peeta, Gale is gone. They pronounced him dead just a few minutes after you left the hospital. I am very, very sorry, son," Haymitch says softly.
Katniss watches in abject horror as the President bows his head and pinches the bridge of his nose just before a racking sob echoes throughout the room. Her gaze flits from Tribute to Tribute, searching all of their faces for some sort of sign that Abernathy might be incorrect or simply playing a cruel joke on the man. She can see in an instant that it's real, very real. Her knees nearly buckle underneath her and an invisible weight begins to crush her chest to the point she's gasping for air. This can't be real, she thinks. This can't possibly be real.
Katniss watches as the President finally looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and his cheeks damp; he seems to be seeking someone out other than Abernathy, and finally his gaze settles on Johanna. Katniss watches as Johanna breaks formation with Thresh and Thom and steps forward, swiping at her own eyes angrily before clearing her throat.
"Mr. President, I am so, so sorry…" Johanna begins, but the President cuts her off with a wave of his hand.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Johanna," he stammers sadly, and Johanna nods quickly before stepping back amongst her fellow Tributes. The President seeks out Abernathy again, and the older man leans down so the younger can whisper something in his ear. Abernathy nods first at the President, then the Tributes to gesture they ought to leave the room—all except Katniss.
With a final consoling cup to the President's shoulder, Haymitch walks out of the room, the guards filing quickly behind him. Katniss stands there in utter and complete disbelief. This can't be real, her brain repeats. There must be some mistake. There must be...
"Katniss..." the President croaks. "I...I need your letter."
She blinks at him, completely overwhelmed and utterly baffled. "I'm sorry, sir? I don't..."
"A letter of resignation. From you. I need you to quit, Katniss. I think it'd be for the best if you were no longer Rye's guard."
She rears back. Not ten minutes ago, he was thanking her for staying at Rye's side all night, keeping him safe. Why would he ask...?
"Mr. President, I don't understand. Have I done something wrong?"
He turns to her, and the look on his face is one which might have her believe she's sprouted a second head without knowing it. He shakes his head indignantly, wiping at the tears rolling down his face with the back of his hand.
"I can't breathe around you, Katniss!" he exclaims, his voice breaking and his tone incredulous. "I can't look at you without thinking any number of thoughts I should never, ever think of in regards to my son's guard! And the other night, in the art room, I could have murdered Finnick for interrupting us! I cannot breathe around you. And if this had happened to you... Oh, damn it all..."
He is in front of her in an instant, his unbandaged hand reaching for her, cupping under her jaw to tilt her face up, and the next second, his lips are flush with hers. She gasps, but it catches in her chest and air is almost impossible to find. His mouth claims hers so utterly, so completely that she forgets for a moment what it is to not have have his salty, chapped lips fused to her dry, pliant ones. She hears him whimper when her hands reflexively circle his broad shoulders and her fingers link behind the back of his neck. It brings them infinitely closer, their chests and stomachs and legs flush as their mouths continue to slant and slide together sinuously. She can feel herself becoming almost delirious with the lack of oxygen in her lungs, but no part of her cares. Not with the Pres—with Peeta kissing her.
The velvety tip of his tongue is tracing the seam of her lips when he suddenly wrenches away, their mouths popping loudly as they separate. Peeta whirls around looking wide-eyed at the door. Katniss follows his gaze and sees a gaping Delly Cartwright looking back.
"Dell..." Peeta squeaks.
"I just got back. Rye's awake, and he's crying because he doesn't know where you are. You should..."
The President moves faster than Katniss believes is prudent in his condition, clutching the cane like a lifeline as he hobbles past his sister and down the hallway, leaving the two women alone. With one more look at Katniss, Delly turns as well, moving to follow her brother when Katniss cries out on impulse, "Madam First Lady!"
Delly turns and sighs deeply. For a second, Katniss thinks she might be smiling, but surely she's mistaken.
"He's my brother, Katniss. Not my husband."
She offers nothing else before disappearing. And suddenly, without understanding exactly what she's feeling and why, Katniss ghosts her fingertips over her swollen, slightly moistened lips, and begins to weep.
A/N: Some technical notes:
-"Kill Monsters in the Rain" is my very favorite song by a band called Steel Train. Its lyrics directly inspired Peeta's explanation of the shooting to Rye, so do give it a listen.
-I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV. The injuries sustained by Peeta, as well as those that killed Boggs and Gale are intentionally vague for that very reason.
-This story arc is based off the first season finale of The West Wing ("What Kind of Day Has it Been"), and a few lines and scenes from the first two episodes ("In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, parts One and Two") of the second season were borrowed for this chapter.
-When Finnick asks Annie on the phone about 'Noah and the belly', he's referring to Annie's earlier mentioned pregnancy, as well as a second, older child the two have. Noah is, in fact, Finnick's son in my dear friend haka-nai's collection of Odesta/Everlark/Gadge stories Balancing Equations, and very closely inspired little Rye for this story.
Personal notes:
-I continue to be nothing but humbled and thrilled with the response this story is receiving. I am so, so happy you all are enjoying it so - and I truly hope Everlark's first kiss was not disappointing after the slow burn that drove so many of you (and my betas and myself!) a little crazy! I adore hearing from you all here and on Tumblr, so please don't be strangers. I cannot wait to hear what you all think of this chapter in particular!
-This story would in no way be what it is without the incredible beta-work, love, and support of sohypothetically, meggiemellark, and Court81981. Thank you ladies for looking up what actually would happen to the tibia in the event of a bullet going through it, reminding me to swap passive voice for active, and for holding my hand while I finally got Everlark locking lips! If any of you have somehow missed stories like Girls Night Out, Dissonance, or One by One, please check them out - my girls are three seriously talented writers whom I aspire to emulate with every one of my own words.
-Finally, while President!Peeta is always high priority in my writing schedule, I am also currently in the midst of finishing Flesh and Bone (which I co-author with meggiemellark) as well as plotting and writing a Holiday Exchange Fic for Ao3, so please do bear with me if chapters take a little longer to come between now and the end of the year. I promise there is a lot of Everlark and Rye goodness still to come in this one, and my next chapter won't be too terribly far behind!
Happy reading (and watching of CatchingFire next week!) as always; thank you, thank you,thank you for all your support!
