A/N: Just a reminder that voting is OPEN for this fic. If you need a reminder on the rules for voting for your favourite tribute, go back to chapter 9, which lays the system out. And, uh, I don't normally do the begging-for-reviews thing, but if you're still reading, even if you don't vote, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know. With the big gap between updates, I feel like I might have lost a lot of readers, that's all.
Thanks! And please do vote, by review or PM!
Chapter title is from "Goodbye-ee", a popular WWI song which I now can't stop singing. The things I do for you people!
8 - Wipe The Tear, Baby Dear, From Your Eye-ee
Teddy knows several of the Peacekeepers through his mother, who works with them. Unsurprisingly, she's not among the cadre who escort him and Yaraminda into the District Seven Justice Building, but that doesn't stop him smiling and chatting with the Peacekeepers he recognises under their visors. Although they're more brusque than usual with him, they do chat back, which only seems to make Yaraminda glare at him harder. There's real hate in her eyes, and despite himself, Teddy is incredibly relieved to be ushered into his own room, away from her poisonous looks.
His mother has described the Justice Building to him before, but seeing it in real life is still breathtaking. He looks around the decorated room, and all he can think is how amazing it would be as a theatre. The high ceilings give good acoustics, he realises, and he's singing scales up to the beams, distracting himself with that, when his parents walk in. Delilah is still in her Peacekeeper uniform, although Teddy assumes she's been relieved from duty; Brayddhen looks harried and tired, his shirt rolled up to the elbows as always. Looking at them, Teddy feels a sudden rush of affection for his adopted parents. All he manages to say, though, is "...Grass. You'll look after Grass, right?"
The two of them exchange looks. Delilah's face is unreadable, but Brayddhen looks broken, like he might collapse any moment. "Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "Yeah. We'll look after Grass."
Teddy lets out a long, relieved breath. Grass, his cat, is very dear to him. He'd hate to think that his leaving would mean Grass got neglected. "That's okay, then."
Yaraminda doesn't have time for the glorious architecture of the Justice Building, and even if she did, she wouldn't like it. It's all form, and no function; a Capitol building, even if it is in District Seven. She hates the pomp and circumstance surrounding it, and although she does acknowledge that a velvet seat is much softer than a wooden one, that doesn't mean she wants to be there.
What she wants, more than anything, is her family. Although she'd never admit it, what she really wants is to have her parents back, even if only for a few moments, to hug her close and tell her everything will be all right. But she's made her commitment, and she has to stick with it. That means she has to be the parent here, the responsible one, the one who doesn't let her fear show. When her family does arrive, she's sitting in the velvet chair, legs akimbo, trying to look as relaxed as if she was sitting by the fire at home.
Bushel, unsurprisingly, is in tears – she's the only one of them who cries so easily, even if she should be old enough to know better - and clinging onto the hand of their elder sister Maple, who looks like she's making as much effort to seem normal as Yaraminda is. Their brother Axel, the youngest, is holding Maple's other hand, but although he looks horribly solemn, he isn't crying. Yaraminda stands up as they come in, moving to hug Maple, then kneeling down to pull Bushel and Axel close. For them. Just remember, you're doing this for them.
"Got you this," Axel says, after a moment, digging in his pocket to pull out a pinecone. "From the woods. I ran and got it when you volunteered, so's you've got a good token."
She smiles, taking the pinecone, and puts it to one side so she can pull him into another long hug. That makes Bushel pout more than ever, so then Yaraminda has to hug her again, too, and then there are more hugs, and more, while the lump in her throat continues to grow. At last, she straightens up to fall into Maple's arms, letting herself relax ever so slightly as she's held by the closest thing to a mother she has. Maple strokes her back and whispers to her that it'll be okay, in a choked voice which says she's scared it won't be.
"Look after them, okay?" Yaraminda says, as the Peacekeepers open the door to escort the family out. "Axel, Bushel, don't you fret, you hear? I'll be back before you know it, and then everything'll be better. Just wait and see."
And then she's left alone, in the too-fancy room, to turn the pinecone over in her hands and fight against her tears. You're doing it for them. Remember that, and it'll be okay.
The District Eight Justice Building is hung with tapestries and silk wall hangings, making the vast corridors feel almost tent-like. The fabric rustles softly as Clark and Lacey are led to their rooms, and they deaden all the sounds, so even the Peacekeepers' booted feet hardly echo. It feels strange and otherworldly; it's hard to connect the finely-woven fabrics with the noisy, dirty, dangerous factories where they must have been made.
Clark is ushered into a room which is so softly carpeted that his feet don't make any noise to echo, even if the walls weren't just as insulated by hangings here as in the hallway. At last, the Peacekeepers leave him, and he can relax out of his persona of a stupid, scared kid. He picks it back up, briefly, when the door opens, but lets the facade drop again as soon as he's left alone with his brothers.
"You've got the strategy underway, then?" Sam says, almost as soon as the Peacekeepers have left.
Clark nods briskly. "Stupid and laughable. Got it." There's a brief pause. "I'm scared. What am I going to do?"
"Stick to the plan." Sam isn't smiling, but there's a confidence to his voice that Clark envies. He wonders whether Sam would be so confident if it was him in this position. Then again, he probably would – after all, it's Sam who steals Peacekeepers' clothes and shuts of the electric fence. It's Sam who got all the courage, not to mention the brains. "Just stick to the plan, and let them kill each other." Reaching out, he squeezes Clark's shoulder. "You got this."
"I'm sure you'll be all right," Emmett adds, although he doesn't sound very sure at all. He shifts from foot to foot where he stands, his arm around their mother, who looks overcome by the situation. He's not the most comfortable with physical contact, but he pulls away from her and gives Clark a brief hug anyway, and an awkward clap on the back. His worry is palpable. "Don't get yourself into trouble. Just... do what your mentor tells you. Keep your head down. Look after yourself, all right?"
If he was Sam, Clark would probably make a snarky reply to that. But, while Sam may be his twin, they're far from the same; Clark isn't good at pretending, and he can't pretend that he's not affected by all this. Emmett might be a bit laissez-faire as a caretaker, but he's still Clark's family, and that matters. It means it hurts to see him worry. It means it hurts to say goodbye.
Almost the worst thing, now the initial shock of being Reaped has passed, is seeing Lyle helped into the room. Lacey knows he wouldn't want to let her go without saying goodbye, but she also knows it can't be good for him to be out of bed. He looks even worse than he did when she left the house that morning; his once-bright eyes are sunken and shadowed, his skin's taken on a greyish pallor, and he's all but carried into the room by their parents. Lacey gets up as they're ushered in, forcing a smile, and hurries over to help Lyle onto one of the velvet-upholstered chairs.
"It's so..." he starts, looking open-mouthed around the lavish room, then trails off. His bony fingers stroke over the velvet seat, but his eyes drop to his lap, and his look of wonder is short-lived. "You're going to be okay, right?" he asks quietly, and has to break off to cough. "Lacey?"
She bites the inside of her cheek before replying, her arm going around his shoulders. "'Course I am," she tells him brightly. "You know me. I'm brilliant. I'm gonna be brilliant. I'll be back before you know it, and then we'll move into Victor's Village and get you a decent doctor, and everything's gonna be better." Seeing the trusting look he gives her, she just hopes that's true.
Lyle doesn't stay long. Their father, his usual smile decidedly strained, lifts him up in his arms and carries him out after ten minutes, leaving Lacey with her mother for the last few moments before the Peacekeepers return.
"You just look after yourself," Calico tells her, brisk as always, and Lacey feels a rush of love for her mother, who always has advice for every situation. "Don't antagonise any of the others, don't get yourself into fights you can't win, and just remember, your mentor knows what's best for you. You do what he says, you hear me?"
"Gotcha." It's wearying, keeping up the smile. Lacey's relieved when she can hug her mother close and let it fade a little, where her mum can't see. "Look after Lyle, okay, Mom? Don't let him worry about me. I've got this."
There are tears in her mother's eyes as she pulls back; embarrassed by them, Lacey pretends not to see them. They bid each other another farewell, quietly but without breaking down, as Calico is led out of the room.
Next comes Lana, Lacey's friend from school, who talks even more than usual and leaves with a tight hug which leaves Lacey breathless. After that, Cotton, her neighbour, who's more subdued than usual but still manages to crack a few jokes and leave her smiling. There are more people Lacey wants to see – schoolfriends, neighbours, half the District seems to be made up of people she'll miss. An hour isn't long enough, and they won't let enough people in. Maybe that's for the best, though. It gives her a little breathing space before she has to head to the station, time to clamp down on her feelings and regain her confidence.
Never let them see you cry.
The Justice Building in Nine is all gilt and silver, and so dazzling that both tributes have to screw up their eyes as they walk in the doors. As they are escorted the short distance to their separate rooms, Daisy looks up at Bernard, her eyes still pink from crying, and gives him a little smile, reaching up to touch his hand. "Don't worry," she tells him, her high voice echoing around the corridor. "You'll be okay."
He knows that's not true, but he appreciates the gesture, and wishes he knew how to return it. Perhaps luckily, he's not given the chance, as the Peacekeepers separate them into their rooms for goodbyes.
Bernard doesn't have family to come and visit him. In a way, he's glad about that. He dreads emotional scenes, and has always felt bad for the tributes who have to have tearful goodbyes from their parents. He isn't spared the whole process, though. There's still Rebecca and Ian to deal with.
To his surprise, although his friends have presumably come from the Reaping together and although neither of them have families to deal with either, they're shown in separately. Rebecca comes first, looking tired and sad; her neatly-tied hair has come loose around her face, and she fidgets a little as the Peacekeepers show her in. She's resilient, though – even more than most of the orphans, she's good at taking what life throws her way. She wishes Bernard good luck, and they talk for a few minutes; he's reassured, despite himself, by the fact that her sarcastic, dry wit goes on. He's thrown off-guard, though, when she shoots a glance back at the closed door and says, "You going to tell Ian?"
"Tell him what?" Bernard isn't a good enough liar to pretend he doesn't know what she's talking about, though. Rebecca rolls her eyes.
"There's never going to be a better time, Bernard," she points out, raising her eyebrows. "What's the worst that can happen?"
Theoretically, Bernard knows she's right. In practice, when she leaves and Ian is escorted in, brown-eyed and soft-featured and perfect, Bernard knows immediately that he can't do it. Maybe there is never going to be a better time to tell Ian how he feels. On the other hand, when he's about to leave forever and die horribly in front of the cameras, maybe there's never been a worse time. If there was a chance, he has a sick feeling he's already missed it.
So he talks mutedly with Ian, stumbling for the words, unable to explain why it hurts so much to say goodbye, and when Ian hugs him quickly and the Peacekeepers lead him out, that's when Bernard Stiles starts to cry.
Daisy's hardly settled into the plush room when her mother sweeps in, rushing past the Peacekeepers to pull her little girl into a tight hug. She's clearly beside herself with worry, all but hyperventilating as she looks down at Daisy, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. "Oh, Daisy! When they called your name, I... I didn't know what to do, what to think. My poor little girl!" And then Daisy's enveloped in another hug, her mother sobbing quietly. Daisy doesn't mind how tight her mother's hug is – in fact, she's glad for the support – but she hates seeing her mother so upset. It makes her think, queasily, of how horrible it will be for her parents if she doesn't come back.
It's a long time before she disentangles from her mother long enough to hug her father. He leans down to wrap his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Although he looks a little pale, beside his wife he looks positively calm. "I'm proud of you," he tells her, softly, pushing her hair back away from her face and giving her a little smile. "I know you'll do well, Daisy. You're a brave girl – our brave girl – and you're smart, and..." He shifts slightly, his smile wavering, and his worry shows through in his clear green eyes. "Just come back to us safe, all right?"
"I will, Daddy," Daisy assures him, and hugs him again, her head pressed against his stomach. She feels like crying again, but she knows he wants her to stay strong, so she manages to push it back.
"We're proud of you," he repeats, gently, as the Peacekeepers open the door and beckon the two adults out. "No matter what, we'll always be proud of you."
Daisy's left alone for a few moments more – long enough that she starts to wonder whether anyone else is coming – before her best friend Rue bursts in, flushed and breathing heavily. "I ran home to get you this," she explains through gasps, holding out Daisy's favourite bracelet. It's a charm bracelet, with three charms on it – one for Dad, one for Mom, and one for Rue. Daisy takes it with a grateful smile, slipping it on, and hugs Rue tight. There are tears, on both sides, but Daisy feels stronger for her father's confidence, and some of that passes on to Rue. When Rue leaves, unwillingly and with a long backwards glance, they're both smiling. Daisy fingers the charms on her bracelet, takes a deep breath, and smiles.
How bad can it be?
This isn't so bad, Lysander reminds himself as they're escorted into the vast Justice Building and into the rooms where they'll be held for the next hour. The rooms are lavish, even compared to Emily's house in the Victor's Village, but he doesn't pay his surroundings much attention, flopping down on a chaise lounge and stretching out. He had to get up earlier than he wanted for the Reapings, so it's pleasant to be able to relax for a few moments before his family is shown in. Then, of course, it all gets a little chaotic, with his parents and sister pressing in on each side, his father distant and stoic as always, his mother distracted by the luxury of the room and by her own upset. His sister Bella hugs him tight, not laughing for once, and begs him to be careful.
"I'll be fine," he assures them, more than once. "I've got training, right? And Jareth'll look after me. I'll be fine."
Eventually, it seems to sink in. His mother, having said her goodbyes, goes to admire the inlaid table by the chaise lounge; Bella chats with him, sounding more and more like her usual jokey self, until they're called away by the Peacekeepers. As they leave, his father clasps Lysander's hand - an adult gesture, man to man – and nods to him, wordless. Lysander is left alone again, long enough to sit back down and take a drink from the pitcher on the inlaid table, before Mark appears. Mark seems to have control of himself – he knows Lysander, knows he's practically a Career – and their goodbyes are remarkably relaxed. Then, of course, there's Emily.
She kisses him before she says anything. It's a long kiss, with a lot of feeling in it; after a moment, she pulls back, opens her mouth to speak, then shakes her head and kisses him again. Lysander smiles, kissing her back, his predicament forgotten for now.
"You'll be all right, won't you?" She sounds tremulous, worried, even though she's been around for all his training.
"Sure," he tells her, resting his forehead against hers. "I've got your dad to take care of me, haven't I?"
Her laugh's a little watery, but it's still a laugh. "He'd better take care of you, or I'm never talking to him again!" she declares, jutting her jaw out. "Just in case, though..." She presses something into his hand, closing her eyes. "I made you this. So you don't forget me while you're out there. And for luck, you know?"
"Sure," he repeats, putting the object in his pocket without looking at it, and kisses her again. It's not until she's gone that he looks at what she's given him; a woven rawhide bracelet, just the right size for his wrist. His token. He smiles a little, running his thumb over the plaited band, and settles back onto the chaise lounge with a little sigh.
Lailani is more impressed by the Justice Building than her District partner, not being accustomed to anything richer than her family's ranch. At the same time, it scares her breathless; although the room she's shown into is big, it's still an enclosed space, and when the door is closed on her, her heart starts to pound faster. She tries to distract herself with the softness of the cushions and the thickness of the carpet, but she's still profoundly grateful when the door opens and her family are allowed in to distract her from being so trapped.
There's none of the usual tension between her and her brothers, although when they go to hug her she tries to fight them off with a yelp of "Gerroffme!" – their need to protect their little sister seems to have overtaken their need to tease and annoy her. Her father, too, is teary-eyed and prone to hugs today, which she suffers through gamely. Her mother's a little easier to deal with, and stays out of the hugging, telling Lailani she's proud of how well she reacted to the Reaping, that she knows she'll do well. Lailani rolls her eyes, but secretly, she's glad for the support her family gives, and the love they're showing her in their different ways. When they leave, it wrenches at her heart. Even if she lives through this, she thinks sadly, she'll miss them while she's gone.
Cassidy helps distract her from those thoughts, when he's there. He talks with his usual authority on all the tricks he's heard are good for the Games, and makes her laugh with suggestions for pranks she can pull on the other tributes. When he's gone, though, and when her other best friend, Rohan, has come and gone as well, she feels very lonely indeed. The walls of the beautiful room are pushing in on her, and she feels a familiar upswell of resentment. Why should she have to be torn away from the people she cares about so much? Why is she being punished for a rebellion she wasn't even alive for? Who's sick enough to find all this a source of entertainment?
She knows, of course.
"I hate them," she mutters, into the glorious, empty room. "I hate them all."
District Eleven, so poor and strictly-run, doesn't have any other buildings which even approach the Capitolesque glory of the Justice Building. Sift, who until now has been extremely closed-off and unreadable, can't hide her amazement at the riches of the building, the fabrics and stones she's never even seen before. Husk, on the other hand, doesn't care. His arms are still pinned to his side by two burly Peacekeepers, who all but carry him to the room and close the door on him quickly before he can cause any more trouble.
By way of punishment for his onstage attack on Steffi, Husk's visits are cut short. A Peacekeeper accompanies his family in, standing by the door with her hand almost nonchalantly on her gun, and remains in the room after the door is closed. It's clear they're not taking any chances. Husk hates them even more for that.
His mother and his sister fuss about the scene he caused at the Reaping, by turns berating him and smothering him with affection. His father, by contrast, seems much calmer, if still upset.
"You come home," he tells Husk, with a glance at the impassive Peacekeeper by the door before he meets his son's eyes again. "Promise me?"
Husk nods. "Promise," he agrees.
"That's long enough," the Peacekeeper cuts in, her hand still on her gun as she ushers the family out. When they're gone, she stands back against the door, watching Husk, expressionless behind her visor. He glares at her, wondering what she'd look like with her hateful uniform set on fire, her skin bubbling from the heat. That thought tides him over for the twenty minutes before they let in his other visitors, Hull and Till.
Hull, who hates the Peacekeepers as much as Husk does, gives a vicious look to the Peacekeeper in the room, but helps Till in without comment. Till's cane taps on the tiled floor as he feels his way towards Husk. With Till's blindness, it's hard to tell whether he's even aware of the Peacekeeper, but Husk suspects he is; Till tends to know more than he lets on.
With the Peacekeeper there, and ostentatiously checking her watch, it's hard to discuss the things they want to. Hull tries to turn the conversation to the vitriol bubbling just under the surface, but Till shushes him quickly and goes back to advising Husk to keep his head down and not cause trouble. In the end, almost the only conversation Husk gets with Hull is in the moment, right before the two older boys are led out, when Hull presses the empty matchbox into his hand, leans in close, and whispers "Burn them all."
Despite her paralysing fear, Sift can't help marvelling at the surroundings she finds herself in. She's never felt anything as soft as the velvet seat she sinks into, or seen anything as delicate as the plasterwork on the ceiling, and she never even imagined that someone would make a floor so beautiful just for people to walk on. Sitting there stroking her dark, bony fingers over the lush green velvet, she wonders idly how much the furnishings in just this one room might be sold for, if you could find a buyer. It's hard to resist the urge to smuggle out something – a gold candlestick, a tiny china vase – and it's only the recollection that she's going somewhere even richer that stops her.
Unlike Husk, she's not supervised – of course, unlike Husk, she hasn't given them any reason to assume she's a troublemaker. That doesn't matter so much to her when it's her parents who come to say goodbye, spending a good ten minutes in almost unbroken silence, but it matters a lot when her next visitor arrives, because Sift doesn't want anyone else around when she says goodbye to Coppice.
As always, she's overwhelmed by Coppice's presence, now more than ever. Coppice is braver than her, and more beautiful, with long eyelashes and a fuzz of brown hair which Sift loves to run her fingers over. She runs her fingers over Coppice's hair now, pulling the smaller girl in for a kiss, and feels the burn of tears in her throat.
"When you come back to me," Coppice whispers, pulling away and resting her head against Sift's bony chest, "when you come back to me, promise me you won't have forgotten me. Promise we can go back to this, when you're back."
"You know I can't promise that." It stings in her throat, and she's shaking as she says it. The tears are spilling down her cheekbones, smearing the ugly knot of scar tissue on her face, dripping onto Coppice's short curls. "I'm not coming back, Coppice. I'm going to die."
"Don't say that!" Now Coppice is crying too, reaching up to take Sift's face in both her hands. "Don't ever say that! I can't lose you!" She breathes in, shakily, her fingertips tracing down Sift's scraggly neck. "I can't lose you," she repeats, miserably. "I'm not going to lose you. We're going to last this thing out, you and me. Hold out your hand."
Sift is trained to obedience by the harsh life of Eleven, but that isn't why she holds out her hand. She does it because this is Coppice, and she trusts Coppice more than anyone. With a little sob, Coppice slips a ring onto her finger - a smooth, plain applewood ring – and kisses her palm.
"It's too big," Sift says, with a choked little laugh, as the ring slides almost off her finger, and she shifts it to her thumb, trying to pull herself under control. She has to look good for the cameras, after all. But it's hard, knowing Coppice is right here and never will be again. Quietly, hoarsely, she says the words she's never quite managed before. "I love you."
It's not often the Justice Building in Twelve gets to see two tributes who are quite so all right with being there. Piper gazes around with a grin spreading ear to ear, staring wonderstruck at the high, wrought-iron ceilings and stained-glass windows, while Ash marches along with his hands in his pockets. He sticks his chest out as he follows the Peacekeepers, imitating their easy manner and mimicking one Peacekeeper in particular, a big man with a barrel chest who is, he's happy to find, one of the Peacekeepers conducting him to his room.
When the rest of the Ember family are shown in, Ash is a little frustrated to find them all fussing about him; his big sister Lorelei and his parents, particularly, seem determined to focus on the little things like the possibility he might not come back. It's much easier to talk to Spark and Jacquie, his other two sisters, who are much more excited – as he is – by the prospect of him going to the Capitol and coming back famous and rich.
"And," he finishes, with a flourish, "when I win, I'll never have to go down the mines! And I'm going to win, Lorelei, stop looking like that! I'll be back in time for your wedding, easy."
She doesn't seem convinced, and she and Ash's parents are still dabbing at their eyes when they leave, but Ash isn't about to let that wear him down. Instead, he settles back on the velvet couch, swinging his feet so his heels knock against the wooden base, and relaxes until Jeromy, his best friend, is shown in. Seeing how uncertain Jeromy looks, Ash launches back into his spiel about how awesome the Games are going to be. Jeromy just pulls a face.
"As long as you don't do anything stupid," he mutters.
Affronted, Ash folds his arms. "I don't ever do anything stupid!"
Piper's struck up a conversation with one of the Peacekeepers, and is quite sad when he tells her, gently but firmly, that he has to stay outside the room while she says her goodbyes. She pouts briefly, but is quickly cheered up again by the lushness of her surroundings. She's never seen anything like it, and she loves the room she's left in, with its velvet couch and chairs and a carpet that's deeper and softer than she's ever seen. She almost wishes that she could stay here instead of in the Capitol – but then she remembers, it's the Capitol she's going to, and it probably makes this room look like ass.
She bounds over to her mother when the door opens, like a particularly exciteable puppy, grinning from ear to ear. "Isn't this awesome?"
Her mother, who's had seventeen years to get used to the fact that everything is awesome to Piper, nods rather unconvincingly. "Awesome is... one word for it," she agrees, guardedly. "Just take care, all right, Piper? You're all I have. Don't go throwing that away."
That brings Piper up short for a moment. There's a mournful look in her mother's eyes that she's not quite cheery enough to ignore, and it starts to sink in that this is actually goodbye, for who knows how long. She pulls her mother into a hug, not caring if she messes up her mother's neat dress, and looks up at her.
"Mum, I'll be fine. And I get to go to the Capitol, and meet lots of new people, and be famous. It's cool."
"Cool." Mrs Rhuste shakes her head, her voice edged with bitterness. "One more year. One more year, and you would have been safe. But, yes, it's cool."
"Yeah." Piper smiles, reassuringly, letting go of her mother. "Yeah, that's right. It's totally cool."