A/N: Lots of news. First off, did anyone else notice that Madge was listed twice in the character selection? Well, I informed the staff of FFn and they fixed it, but consequently half of the Madge stories now have "unknown" in the character description. So, uh, if you have a Madge story, you might want to check it. Sorry to both authors and to Madge. She does tend to get the short end of the stick.
Secondly, I recently joined the staff of Muttations Podcast. I'm a contributor to the Fanfic Pick page, where I will be posting my own HG fic recommendations. Check my profile for linkage.
In case FFn is failing in the posts, you can also read this story at thegirlonfire(dot)com. If it's failing in the alerts you can follow me on the tweety: KenoshaChick10
Lastly, the votes are in and the winners have been chosen in the Countdown to Mockingjay contest. Check out the site to see the winners.
Thanks to Medea Smyke for pre-reading!
Phew. Story time. Enjoy.
Bruise
"Hawthorne! I swear to God, if you don't sit still," Wing gripes. However, he conveniently leaves out the threat. That's Wing. All bluster and no bite. Gale continues to march back and forth between the mirrored strings of hospital beds.
"I don't understand how you can just lie around," Gale fires back. Gale has been pacing since he woke up, stifling his anxiety with exercise. He was never this antsy in Twelve, but back there he had an entire forest in which he could rant and rage. There's no room for his boiling energy here. Meanwhile, Wing has been relaxing on Madge's bed all morning. Although, he might as well not be on her bed because Madge is sitting at the end with her legs crossed under her, keeping her eyes on her lap. She's been very quiet.
When the boys stop bickering the room settles in a quiet hush. Dr. Holden checks over the patients who were deliberately injected with disease. Despite this, they seem in good spirits as they eat large breakfasts of eggs, toast, and potatoes. I think I recognize some of them, but I don't know for sure. I've yet to get a good look at anyone. Each time I glance over someone's face for a prolonged period of time their eyes flicker to mine and they stare. I'm easy to recognize. And I have to look away. I don't know what the right reaction is. Haymitch didn't coach me on this.
"How are all of my favorite patients feeling this morning?" Dr. Holden recites as he picks up a clipboard from the foot of my bed and scribbles on it—falsifying documents no doubt. We're all supposed to be suffering a dire illness right now.
"I think I've got a touch of something, Doc," Wing calls out.
"You don't say? What is it?" the doctor asks without looking up from the papers.
"It's right here in my chest." Wing lays his big ring-less hand over the left side of his chest dramatically. "I think it's my heart," he croaks. He nudges Madge in the elbow with his foot. I don't miss the way Gale grunts indignantly from the other side of the room. Undoubtedly, he's irritated with Wing, but the exact reasoning is unclear.
Despite his skepticism, the good doctor walks over to Wing, instructs him to sit forward, and situates his stethoscope on Wing's front. A few seconds pass and he throws the instrument back around his neck. "I think your heart is fine."
"If you say so, Doc." Wing settles back against Madge's pillows. He nudges her again and this time she looks over her shoulder, offering a small smile before she turns back around. Wing fails to make her laugh like he could yesterday or any day before now. The silence sends a pang of guilt twisting through me.
I regret pushing Madge to admit the truth about Gale. It hasn't helped things at all with their relationship and I damaged what fondness she had for Wing. This may please Gale if he notices, but it obviously isn't bringing Madge any happiness. If only Gale knew he is the source of so much grief. He would never have let it go on for this long, especially if he was developing feelings for her. Gale is hardheaded, but he's not cruel. Unfortunately, this isn't an issue that can be brought up at the moment. Emotional compromises and whatnot. We will have to wait till we get back to Thirteen to address the inevitable Gale/Madge/Wing blowout.
The room is too cold so I snuggle into my covers. The silver paper gowns we're supposed to be wearing must provide good insulation, because the other patients don't appear bothered by the chill of the room. I see a man and a woman whispering over the rims of their coffee cups. When they peek at me simultaneously I put my sights on the ceiling. They're whispering about me. I know it. It's no different from the whispers in Thirteen or the stares in the Capitol. I hate it. I know I was sent to boost morale or some kind of nonsense, but how does my mere presence boost morale? The fact that I'm alive is no great victory of mine. It's the achievement of the skillful minds around me who claim I deserve to live. Unless the spies are appalled by the amount of time and energy put into keeping me alive, they have no reason to gawk as they do.
"How are you feeling, Ms. Everdeen?" a voice as smooth as silk murmurs close to my ear. Dr. Holden stands over me. I think I dislike his look most of all. His eyes are kind and he speaks in the calming voice of a healer, but his perfection disturbs me. Perhaps I've grown too accustomed to seeing people with pale skin and tired eyes.
"I'm dying," I deadpan in reply. "I forget the illness. What is it? The flu? Some kind of parasite?"
Dr. Holden chuckles and even his laugh is warm. The scent of his overly minty breath washes over me. It's too sharp—like he sucked on an entire bag of peppermints. "Can I show you something?" His eyes flicker to the door.
"I thought I wasn't supposed to leave." While the guys have been able to traipse around the deck, I've been stuck in the quarantine room for fear of being recognized, which is also the point of my being here, so it's all very confusing.
"It will be alright. The Peacekeeper likes to sleep in," he promises with a wink.
I'm conflicted. I can stay here and suffer through the whispers or I can go off alone with the man who gives me a creepy vibe. Neither option appeals to me, but the offer for some freedom from the quarantine room is slightly preferable. Besides, if either the Peacekeeper comes along or Dr. Holden tries something questionable, I have my gun. I don't want it to come to that, but that is what it's there for.
Dr. Holden takes me through the sliding doors and down a narrow corridor. I observe the way he walks and the way he locks his wrists behind his back. There isn't a single threatening thing about him, from his appearance to his body language, and still I feel a creeping sensation crawl up and down my back. The glare on his glasses obstructs my ability to see his eyes, but I feel them on me.
"You don't think much of your position in the rebellion, do you, Ms. Everdeen?" he asks.
Think much of it? The thought has consumed my every move and decision for over a year. But if he's asking if my status as the Mockingjay is something I desire or think of fondly, then no, I don't think much of it. It isn't a cause I chose to lead. It is a long series of manipulations that never seem to end. Do accept it? I'm here. That's indication enough. "It doesn't matter what I think. It never has," I mutter toward the floor.
"I see," he responds.
I'm left with nothing to say. I sound ungrateful and bitter. How should I present myself to the spies in the quarantine? Shaking their hands and offering enthusiastic cheers of encouragement? No one has ever interpreted my enthusiasm as sincere; anyone with half a brain. It would feel like I was part of a show again, and at no point did Haymitch instruct me to act while on this mission. If they want to see Katniss then they get to see the real Katniss; bitterness and resentment included.
We reach the end of the hall and are met with another pair of sliding doors. Holden punches in a code on the side panel and the doors whoosh apart. We step into a recreational room similar to the one on the hovercraft we left behind. This one has a larger kitchen and additional seating. The room is empty of any persons and looks rather sad despite the superior trimmings.
"What did you want to show me?" I ask quietly, hoping that he really just meant to give me a break from the whispers.
"This." He gestures toward the windows on the right side of the room. The bottom edge of the glass starts at my hip and extends all the way to the ceiling. The brightness of the morning fills the cabin, but it's the harsh rainbow of colors of the Capitol buildings that causes me to squint. I've never viewed the Capitol from a hovercraft, as we came in on trains during prior occasions. From here I can see the vastness of the city. It extends far into the horizon—sparkling like the surface of a lake on a summer day. I'm inclined to turn away, uninterested in witnessing the prosperity. However, when my eyes eventually adjust to the light and the reflectance of the tall buildings, I begin to absorb the details. The buildings still stand hundreds of feet in the air, but so many windows are cracked or broken. Bands of windows on the lower stories are boarded up. The streets are eerily vacant, lacking the familiar buzzing of cars or people lining the sidewalks in their fantastical hairstyles and clothing. In fact, I can't see a single person—like the city has been deserted. It must be because we're up so high that I can't see them. Further off in the distance the buildings reduce in size and don't sparkle like the taller ones near the center. They're blackened and crumbling, like they've been burned. I've never seen those buildings on the edges of the city from the train. And even from the rooftop of the training center our view must have been obscured. It's unreal. It's some kind of trick. The Capitol is nothing but decadence and riches as far as the eye can see, right? No one has ever said anything different. Nonetheless, it looks as though parts of the city have fallen into a warzone, but the war isn't being fought here.
"What happened?" I say barely above a whisper.
"Did you think we were having parties while you were stowed away in Thirteen?" He doesn't laugh at his own joke or insult—whatever it was meant to be.
"You're from the Capitol?"
"I am," he admits. He's not proud or ashamed. He acknowledges the fact.
I should have realized. It explains both his flawlessness and his ability to organize this complex ruse with little help. And despite the disconcerting nature of his appearance, relative to what I've seen in the Capitol, he's not as unusual as he could be. "You're not as…odd as some."
"I'm plenty odd for the Capitol," he muses, but he doesn't elaborate and I don't ask him to. He leans his palms against the ledge of the window, causing him to hunch over slightly. His face is worried, like he's looking over a failing patient.
Another, much larger, hovercraft flies near us and my first instinct is to duck. Dr. Holden doesn't even flinch and I realize I can't see into the windows of the nearby hovercraft, so I presume they can't see us. I take a moment to swallow my momentary panic. "So, what happened here?" I repeat, hoping he doesn't notice the bead of sweat on my forehead.
Dr. Holden's head falls between his shoulders. The gesture screams defeat and if he were anyone else, I'd pat him on the back in reassurance. "It's all a show. It always has been. Even here."
Another hovercraft floats by. The altitude changes slightly and my ears pop. It all makes comprehending the doctor's words much harder, especially when he's talking in riddles. "I don't understand."
Dr. Holden sighs and stands up straight again. He turns around and leans against the ledge, removing his glasses and cleaning the smudges with a bright white handkerchief from his coat pocket. "I imagine you witnessed the riches and frivolity while training for your Games or during your tour." I don't nod or anything because he knows that's what I saw. He moves on to the second lens of his glasses with his handkerchief. "What you saw was real; that excess is a result of preying upon the districts. It's also what Snow wanted you to see. He wants you to believe that's how we all live."
As Dr. Holden replaces the glasses on his face I pinch the bridge of my nose. I want to stop him. It's yet another secret and one I'm not sure I want to know. If Haymitch didn't tell me then he has to have a reason. I curse myself because that thinking is wrong. I don't want to be a victim to manipulations anymore. I have to listen.
"You saw the wealth and the technology, but that isn't typical to every citizen. There are class systems here, too. Sadly, the gap between the very rich and the very poor is much wider, thus creating a huge chasm for corruption."
I assume he means corruption of the law, because the corruption of the minds of the people of the Capitol is no secret. "But you have so many Peacekeepers. I thought the law was very strict here." Another craft flies by and my whole body cringes. I turn and face the room. Living in hiding for so long has affected me more than I realized.
"It is, but the Capitol is not omniscient. When people are desperate they'll do anything. And in these past months when food has been limited and hundreds of Peacekeepers have been moved throughout the country, violence has increased."
The burn marks. The boarded up windows. Is this the result of riots upon the Capitol itself? Could there possibly be starvation in the Capitol? That was the plan of the rebellion, to drain the Capitol of resources, but to think of its citizens as desperate, especially prior to the rebellion, is absurd. The Capitol steals from us. They allow us to starve and they do it on purpose if they feel the need to punish us. The idea is not only absurd, it borders on offensive, like he's suggesting the Capitol has suffered more than the districts. "Are you saying there are places comparable to the Seam here?" I look back upon the city, trying to get another look at those blackened buildings, but we've dropped down in elevation and I can't see them anymore.
"Not in terms of technology, but in every other way, yes. There are slums and crime, drug cartels and a gun in every other hand."
The Seam didn't fight with guns. Even the Peacekeepers went without firearms for a long time. I feel a strange sense of appreciation for it. Knives or fists are dangerous, but I never once worried about being shot. And yet, it was my home that was bombed when the real danger lives here. "Why doesn't Snow stop it? He destroyed districts for a lot less than this."
"Because the Capitol gangs and lawbreakers aren't acting in rebellion. They depend on the wealth of Capitol for their livelihoods, as dangerous as they may be," he explains. His perfect skin is marred by the deep crease in between his eyebrows. A shadow casts darkness over the room as the sun is masked behind one of the many skyscrapers. We're coming in closer to the buildings, and the creeping feeling I had for Dr. Holden leaks into my stomach. We're only minutes away from the landing bay of the hospital.
Dr. Holden takes a cleansing breath and looks out over his own city, his home. I wonder what kind of world Dr. Rafe Holden came from, since it couldn't have been the world of comfort the Capitol is known for. How did he develop a conscience? "Where do you fall in all this?" I ask.
"Those burnt-out buildings?" He gestures toward the outskirts. "That's where I grew up. Along with my mother and my two younger siblings."
It comes as a shock to me that I could have anything in common with a Capitol citizen, least of all a well put together doctor. "And yet you're a Capitol doctor?"
"It's not a pretty story." He gives me a serious look. I nod to encourage him to continue. I have my fair share of ugly stories. I can handle his. He runs his fingers though his hair, ruffling it a bit. It takes away from his perfection, but it looks better that way. "When I was fifteen I dropped out of school and started working odd jobs to help my mother. I spent a lot of time out of our apartment. One night, my mother was carrying home groceries when she was accosted. The assailant was probably starving. He needed to feed his family. When she refused to give up her food, he shot her. She died in the street." Dr. Holden pauses.
I don't know what to do. Sympathize or talk or remain silent. I choose silence.
"My siblings and I ended up in different foster homes. I was fortunate. My foster family was wealthy. I was put back into school. I thought if I worked hard and was successful I could get my brother and sister back."
"Did you find them?" I inquire. Dr. Holden's stiffness speaks volumes. I know the answer before he says it.
"Valentina passed away from pneumonia when she was four. Liam died when he was sixteen of a stab wound. I don't how he got it," he says lowly.
I fidget in my place. No wonder Dr. Holden is risking everything to take down President Snow. He's already lost everything. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," Dr. Holden breathes. "It's the fault of Snow. He lets the violence go on. And everyone else doesn't wish to disrupt their luxurious lifestyles so they pretend like the ghettos don't exist. As far as the districts know, they don't."
"Why weren't we supposed to know?"
"What is your perception of Snow after learning the truth?" Dr. Holden casts an eager expression my way and I feel more apprehensive than I did answering questions for Caesar. Someone actually wants to know my opinion to determine if I'm smart enough to be the leader of a rebellion—something I don't put much faith in myself. I take a second to digest the question. I suppose what bothers me about Dr. Holden's story, is how we've been living under such a great deception. We've remained compliant to his laws because we were brainwashed and consumed by fear. Like Dr. Holden said, it's a show. "If Snow can't manage to control his own city," I say as I observe the rough carpeting, just in case I'm coming to the wrong conclusion. "Why are we so afraid of him?"
"Exactly," he replies. "If the districts knew how tenuous and manufactured Snow's grip on the country is, there would have been riots decades ago."
Well, this is all very interesting. What exactly is the point?
"So why tell me?"
Dr. Holden stands up straight and removes the handkerchief from his pocket again. He holds it in between his fingers like it's made of glass. "Katniss, you need to know how important your influence is, not only to the people of the districts, but to the Capitol as well."
And I almost laugh in his face. Luckily, it comes out more like a cough. "The Capitol wanted to see me suffer and die for their entertainment," I scoff.
"I cannot deny that attitude exists nor can I ever expect forgiveness for that brutality, but it is not the only thing that lives here. There are good people here, or people that could be good if they weren't uneducated, scared, and trapped in Snow's corruption."
As much as I want my freedom, the aftermath of this war suddenly feels insurmountable. The Capitol won't know how to live without sucking the life out of someone else. I think of my silly prep team: Flavius, Octavia, and Venia. They're here somewhere. And they won't survive if they're forced to live on their own, or God forbid, in the wilderness. "This place is a mess. Even if the rebellion succeeds it doesn't mean all that bad is going to disappear. It might get worse."
"You're right. That's why you're here."
I want to disagree. That's why the spies are here. They're going to organize things after we leave; keep the Capitol from completely imploding after Snow's surrender. Before I can say anything, Dr. Holden unravels part of his handkerchief, revealing a golden mockingjay embroidered into the fabric. I shake my head and my stomach feels worse.
"You are proof that goodness can prevail in this broken system. You provide a shining example of hope," he says confidently.
Goodness from a broken system? If anything, I did what I had to do to survive a broken system, and much of it wasn't good. "You make me sound like a saint. I'm far from that," I grumble.
"We all are. And that is why you inspire so many. You're not a saint, and yet you stepped forward to save your sister, your friends. That's why we wear your token. It reminds us to put faith in our fellow man—a belief that has been lost for many, many years."
I motion for him to stop because I've heard more than enough. Dr. Holden tucks the handkerchief back in his coat pocket. Gale's recent words fill my head. That you could be braver than the rest of us. That's what inspires people. I'm reminded of every speech Haymitch gave about protecting the Mockingjay. It's overwhelming to represent the hope of so many. I just want to be safe at home with my husband and family. I suppose, that's what every person wants, even the slobs in the Capitol. However, I'm the one who's been placed on a pedestal and expected to symbolize that vision for every person in Panem without my consent. Have I accepted it? I don't know. Maybe when it's all over I'll finally accept it.
The increments of bright light shining into the cabin become shorter and shorter. In moments we'll be at the hospital which stands in the center of the city; a brilliant example of the great technology the city has to offer.
"And yet," I say with a nervous laugh in my throat, "we were sent into hell to destroy the one good thing it provides."
"Regretfully, yes," the doctor says sadly, honestly. His compliance in this mission violates his vows as a doctor and as a citizen of the Capitol. "I would have predicted you might look forward to some validation in the process. After all, the Capitol destroyed your home."
"I'm not interested in being responsible for anyone's death," I snap. I'm not pure. That's firmly established. But I'm not corrupt. Snow hasn't destroyed that piece of me.
Dr. Holden adjusts his glasses and gives me a look of apology. Look at that. My scowl does still work. "You are a remarkable creature, Ms. Everdeen."
I change the subject. I'm done talking about me and how remarkable I may or may not be. "Do the people here know there is a war going on?" I inquire because if we didn't know about the warzone that is the Capitol, perhaps they don't know the state of the rest of the country.
"Yes and no. Snow says there are disruptions, but he insists the districts will know the heavy hand of the Capitol."
"But he hasn't bombed anyone since Twelve."
"He'll cause the collapse of the country if he does, but I wouldn't put it past him. If he gets to a point where he's sure he's going to fail, he might obliterate the districts just for the hell of it." That's why everything is so covert. If he knew of our actions here today, he wouldn't hesitate to retaliate.
Suddenly, the floor vibrates and the entire hovercraft jerks forward. I grasp the ledge of the window to keep from toppling over. A red light starts flashing above us. We're about to land on the rooftop hanger.
"You sound like you know him well," I add when I have my footing.
"I was hand-picked for the President's employ. I developed several of the procedures you yourself have undergone. The body polish. The hair removal process for men."
Wow. I'm speaking with a celebrity, I think sardonically. What am I supposed to say? Thank you? Although, it does explain why Dr. Holden's skin is flawless.
"I was even his personal physician for a time," he adds.
"You were his doctor?"
"One of many." Doctor to the President? What a prestigious position. One that must have provided ample opportunities.
"Why didn't you just kill him?"
He laughs. It's kind of funny. It's also a touch sadistic. I don't judge. I'm the one who said it. "I was a younger man, stupid and scared, but if I could go back in time…" The words fade out. The floor shakes one last time and the red light stops flashing. Dr. Holden catches himself and abruptly straightens his tie, which didn't need to be straightened. "Those aren't comforting words to come from a doctor."
I shrug. I've heard worse.
"Come, we need to get you back to bed. You're never going to recover at this rate," he teases. We hurry though the doors and back down the hallway. The feelings of discomfort I had toward him have dissipated. It was his façade that made me nervous, but now that I know his story, his persona is far less threatening. Our mutual desire to murder President Snow does a lot to help us bond, too.
Dr. Holden drops me off in the quarantine room then shuffles off to who knows where. My silver gown and face mask are laid out on my bed. Everyone else is dressed in full quarantine garb. Wing is tucked into his own bed. I pull the gown over my head, position the face mask, and crawl under my blankets. We wait. The doors open and close multiple times. There's noise. Several monitors are beeping and the wheels of the beds are squeaking as people are moved. Papers are rustling and I just know someone is looking over my chart. I wonder who it says I am.
"I thought there was only supposed to be twelve," someone comments, though their voice is slightly muffled, presumably by a mask.
"These five were just beginning to show symptoms. I couldn't risk leaving them behind." Dr. Holden pleads our case. I wonder if I should cough or sneeze or something, but I'm a bad actress and I don't know what ailment I'm supposed to have, so I decide against it.
There's a clanging sound against the footrest as the chart is replaced. Something clicks, something beeps, and I'm moving very quickly. There's the dull sound wheels moving over carpeting, then the clean sound of linoleum. The wheels resound loudly when met with the grate of the exit ramp. There's cement. A gust of wind threatens to blow my blankets away. I hold tightly to them. Linoleum returns and there's nothing but that gentle rolling sound for quite some time. I'm assaulted with the scent of hospital: cleaning solutions, re-circulated air, and plastic gloves. Worst of all, the smell makes me think of home. Not Twelve or Thirteen in particular, but the tiny room in the hospital wing that I've shared with Peeta for the past month. I don't know which is worse, the ache of missing him or the fact that the smell reminds me of him.
The noise subsides and the light dims. I wait for some sort of signal.
"It's in your best interest to allow me sole care of these patients." It's Dr. Holden again. I hope our fake sickness is scary enough that these people won't take much convincing. "They're highly infectious, to Capitol residents especially, who have never been vaccinated for this disease." I nearly snort into my mask. Nice touch, Doc. "My team from Three will be able to handle it."
There are a few objections, but the voices fade away. It sounds like Dr. Holden is leading them outside the room. Best to limit the exposure to infection, naturally. I hear the shuffling of fabric and I wonder who's making all the noise, but stay hidden under the covers—that is, until someone punches me in the shoulder.
"Hey!" I shout as I throw the blanket off.
"Had to get you back, Catnip," Gale says. Apparently, the signal was to bruise my arm. Gale sneaks away before I can get a swipe at him. Madge's bed is next to mine, just like before. She's got her knees folded against her chest. I wish I could have seen how Gale signaled her.
The small room is empty of any hospital staff; it's also missing the entire team of spies. The hospital must not have been prepared for five additional patients—Dr. Holden 'forgot' to warn them—and they stuck us in another room. There aren't any windows, thankfully. If Holden can keep the staff out we won't have to worry about being discovered.
The guys already have their gowns off and are pulling hidden clothes out from under their mattresses. I lean over and check under mine. Sure enough, a pair of light blue trousers, a matching top, and a short jacket of a darker shade is hidden there. The material is thin, but I have a feeling it will be warm like the gowns. Oh, the wonders of the Capitol.
"Get changed," Wing instructs. "The faster we move, the better."
I quickly get the gown off; then realize, at the same time as Madge, that we're going to have to change in front of the boys. I've been in various states of undress in front of strangers, but not Gale, Wing, and Garrett. The guys are somehow oblivious to this and don't seem to notice our hesitation. I clear my throat obnoxiously. All three look up simultaneously. Garrett, a gentleman, and Gale, a guy who lived in a two-room house with girls, immediately get the picture and face the wall. Wing takes his sweet time, both in turning around and in putting on a shirt to cover his naked chest. It takes Gale less than a second to sock him in the arm. I assume there was more behind that single punch. I bite at my smirk.
"Ow!" Wing protests. He rubs the spot where the bruise will be as he turns around, taking a moment to give us a good view of his tattoo. So much for moving fast.
I glance at Madge, hoping she found some humor in the interaction, too. She's standing very still, gripping her blue top and staring at Gale's back. While Wing grants us a show, there is a very brief flash of the rippling permanent marks on Gale's back as he changes from one shirt to the other. Madge stands frozen for a few moments longer. Before I can say anything, something startles her back into reality and she quickly changes out of her clothes. Eventually, we're all in disguise, typical hospital staff uniforms. We take time to readjust our holsters, which are barely hidden by the jackets we're provided. Fortunately, our ankle holsters that contain our knives are hidden easily under the semi-loose pants. The guys each carry a white satchel, which would normally hold medical supplies, now they carry pieces of the device meant to knock the building down. Overall, we seem a little too plain, in my opinion. Our lack of green skin or pink hair will make us stand out, won't it? Just as we've gotten ourselves together, Dr. Holden walks though the doors. He spends a few seconds hitting buttons on the side console before he greets us.
"There's my team for the quarantine patients," he says teasingly. Oh. Now the uniforms make some sense, though I hope he doesn't expect us to actually do anything medical-related. We all gather together in a clump in the middle of the room.
"How is the exit plan going?" Garrett asks, breaking his usual code of silence. If he's concerned, than we all should be concerned.
"Everything is fine. Half have already taken their leave. The other half will leave within the hour." Dr. Holden is talking about the spies. Getting out of the hospital is very important. They don't want to be anywhere near this place. "You've got your directions, correct?" he asks the guys. They all nod. I'm at a complete loss.
"What directions?" I ask quickly. I feel stupid, but I have to ask.
"We're going to the basement level to hook up the device to strategic places that will destroy the foundation. The building will go down with as minimal firepower as possible," Wing explains. And I feel even more stupid that Wing knows so much more about what is going on than I do.
"You and Madge are going to go with Dr. Holden to level seventeen. That's where they've got Cresta," Gale adds.
Oh sure, send me to pick up the crazy girl. Just because I happened to be a little out of it for a few months.
"We'll meet you on the rooftop hangar and we'll be on our way home in a couple hours," Wing says cheerfully. If only it could be so easy.
"How do we get Annie to the roof?" What if she's catatonic or manic or strapped to a bed? Not to mention how much security she must be under.
"The Doc will help you with that," he explains, or doesn't explain, as it were.
"Are you sure we should split up?" I hedge. Being together is dangerous because if one of us is discovered than all of us will be. However, being separated seems just as risky. We don't have any way to communicate with one another if something goes wrong. Everyone, even Wing, is able to drain their face of emotion and keep up a poker face. Everyone but me.
Gale places his hand under my elbow and tugs me closer to him. "Listen, we're here to do the job we were trained for. We'll be fine," he assures, but it's hard to believe him. It will only take one person who questions our presence for the entire mission to go to hell. I don't say anything though because I've brought down the energy too much already. Gale leans forward and places a light kiss on my hairline. It's a nice gesture, it feels friendly, but it's not the kiss I want. Gale can't help that. He lingers near my ear and whispers, but we're so close together everyone can hear him. "Don't hate me for saying this. We all want to bring Annie back, but Haymitch gave us explicit instructions about the mission. If it's too dangerous, get yourself out." He means to say, the Mockingjay is more important than Annie Cresta. She can be left behind.
I want to hate him. It's such a cruel thing to say. The last team risked their lives to save Peeta. I have to do the same. Gale knows that. "Same goes for you," I say as I stand up on my toes and wrap my arms around his neck. We say the words and we mean them, but it's a promise we don't expect the other to keep. We wouldn't have come if we weren't willing to give our lives. As bitter as I am, it's the truth.
The hug only lasts a few seconds. Gale sets me back on my feet. "Keep an eye on her for me, will you, Madge?" he requests.
I look over my shoulder. Madge appears the confident soldier once again, energized by the adrenaline and potential danger. "Of course," she replies, the first thing she's said all day actually. I don't like the insinuation that I need protection, but I ignore it because I'm glad Madge and Gale aren't squabbling for once. They stand in a silent staring contest of sorts—something I've seen them do in the past, usually when one is stuck without a comeback. This time, there are no smiles or spiteful remarks, although something in the air sparks between the blue and gray. It goes on for too long. Too long to be construed as a look shared between friends or whatever Gale and Madge are.
I'm desperate to know who will break the trance first. And it is disrupted, but it's by Wing. He yanks Madge's arm and pulls her against him. She's a bit thrown off by it. Gale stiffens considerably.
"In case I don't make it back, I meant what I said," he declares cryptically. I want to roll my eyes because he's being a tad melodramatic, and he's doing so in front of everyone, but his face is honest. At the very core Wing has always been honest. He wraps his hand around the back of Madge's neck. I think he's going to pull her in for a kiss, but instead he dips his finger under her collar, tugging on the chain of her necklace. Madge holds in a breath, and just before the ring can peek out from under collar, he releases it.
"It's time to go, kids," Garrett says wryly, because he is officially the only person here who isn't emotionally compromised, as far as I know.
Wing drops his hands. Madge stumbles back, a little dazed.
"I'll see you in a bit, Ace." Wing winks. Dr. Holden takes the liberty of punching in the code for the door and the guys have no choice but to leave. There's no official goodbye, but it's better that way. We'll be seeing each other in a couple hours, just as Wing said.
The doors snap closed. The room remains charged with the emotional interlude that just went on. Madge looks at the floor and plays with her fingers. I can't identify with her situation exactly, but I know the feeling of being pulled in two different directions and not having the opportunity to figure out what it all means. I gently place my hand on her shoulder. She looks up, her face a little red. She doesn't grin or nod, but she understands. As much as she is protecting me, I'm here for her.
"Ready?" Dr. Holden asks. He hits the buttons again. "Masks on."
I dig in the front pocket of my jacket to find a new mask there. I wrap the elastic part around my ears and remember the advice the Peacekeeper in Three gave me, follow and don't talk.
I keep up with Dr. Holden's steady pace, concentrating on not making eye contact with anyone, but taking in as much of the scene as possible. It's bustling with noise and lights and people. Everywhere there are people. The patient rooms are full. Empty beds are stacked in the hallways. I'm overwhelmed with the scent of disinfectant and my stomach is swimming, even though I haven't seen anything worth being squeamish about. As it turns out, my concerns about standing out are unnecessary. There are a few wild hairstyles and occasional unnatural skin colors, but generally everyone is dressed in the same blue uniform and everyone is wearing a mask. This isn't the kind of place for wild dress, and it may not be a concern in the Capitol lately.
I'm elated when we reach the long line of elevator doors. They open and close rapidly, practically spitting people out on the floor. I wait patiently next to Dr. Holden and hope I don't see anyone I know.
"Rafael Holden!" a woman squeals when the doors open in front of us. She's got bleach blonde spiral curls that bounce when she talks. Her skin is artificially tanned and her lips are hot pink. The white doctor's coat she wears is a stark contrast to the bimbo look she's going for. "I haven't seen you in weeks. Where have you been hiding?" Her voice reaches a pitch similar to that of a field mouse.
"Millicent, it's good to see you again," Dr. Holden greets with a perfect smile. I think about hopping onto the elevator before it zooms away, but going on without a guide would be a bad idea. I'd be lost in no time. "I've been on official business for the President," Dr. Holden clarifies.
Among others.
"Impressive," she hums. And no one could mistake the way she quirks her eyebrow as anything but flirtatious.
I tap my foot anxiously. I don't like standing here without a purpose. At some point someone is going to ask me how I got my hairstyle to match Katniss Everdeen's so perfectly.
"You'll have to excuse me, Millicent, but I was on my way up, and you should be wearing a mask if you're going to be on this floor."
She reaches into a pocket and pulls out her own mask, waving it in the air. She suddenly stops and casts a glance at her fingernails, which are badly chipped and broken. She quickly puts her hand back in her pocket. "I should be getting back to work," she mutters, and even under her overly tan skin I can see the hint of a blush. She brushes past us without a goodbye. Dr. Holden gives her a wave she doesn't see. I gladly step into the elevator.
We're quiet as the elevator goes up. I want to ask Dr. Holden about the woman, if she's his friend, if she's a part of the rebellion somehow, if she can be saved. She looked like she was made of plastic, but one never can tell who's a spy. I don't get a chance because the elevator is impossibly fast and we reach the seventeenth floor in mere seconds.
This floor is an absolute contrast to the ward we just left, which must have been an infectious disease floor. I notice only a few elevator doors on this level. It isn't full of people, sick or otherwise. The lobby we enter is enormous, painted varying shades of green with a huge bay of windows and a simulated waterfall. The couches strewn about look plush and soft and the sound of the ocean is being pumped through the speakers. Beyond the lobby is a long corridor of doors. Our destination becomes plainly obvious when one door has a pair of Peacekeepers standing guard. I instinctively tighten my jacket to conceal my weapon.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Dr. Holden says in a voice so serene it matches the décor. "My associates and I would like to speak with Miss Cresta."
I expect the Peacekeepers to tell him to shove off, but when Dr. Holden presents them with some form of identification, one of them pushes a code on a side panel, and the door unlocks. Dr. Holden must be a master at forging documents. Or maybe they're real. Being a physician to Snow must come with some perks.
The door closes behind us. We're met with silence and a room with a stunning view. The furniture is soft and rounded corners and subtle neutrals. The air is somehow sweeter. Standing in the sunlight is a woman of medium height, thin build, her hair down to her waist, wearing a casual pair of pants and a baggy sweater. Her cheeks are bright and there's a small smile on her lips when she sees us.
She doesn't look…crazy.
A/N: A silver parachute for anyone who understands the Millicent reference.