A Deeper Conversation
Is your skin as tan as mine?
Does your hair flow side ways?
Did someone take a portion of your heart?
Now I'm learning you
And if you don't mind can you tell me all your hopes & fears
And everything that you believe in
Would you make a difference in the world
I'd love for you to take me to a deeper conversation
Only you can make me...
I've let my guard down for you
And in time you will too
from Deeper Conversationby Yuna
A/N at the end
We make it back to my room, checking that no one is there to disturb us. Mom and Prim are scheduled to work their afternoon shifts, and I decide that my nuclear history teacher will forgive me if I sit out today's lesson. I would be too giddy with a stupid kind of happiness to focus on his lessons anyway.
The source of my happiness glances around our room, which is spartan even by District 13 standards. I can't imagine that Peeta's would be any different, but it occurs to me that he has spent most of his time in District 13 in Recovery, so all this will be new to him.
"Is this your first day out of Recovery?" I ask, inviting him to sit at the small table that is flush against the wall but actually seats four comfortably.
"Yeah. I came right to you," he says, folding his hands on the table. I study them - they are still broad and thick from a life of kneading bread and carrying heavy bags of supplies and the dust of gold hairs on the fingers glint in the fluorescent light. "I just didn't expect everything in the residential quarter to also be so monotonous."
I clear my throat. "I think they went deliberately out of their way to make everything as bland as possible," I quip and suddenly, an awkward silence falls between us. I try not to stare at him - it's been a month, after all, since I've seen him and now my eyes are suddenly hungry, and I want to take my fill of him. I reminding myself that I shouldn't manipulate his feelings. Instead, I stand to get two glasses from the tiny cabinet above the table and fill them with water.
"Thirsty?"
"Thanks," he says as he accepts the glass and drinks heartily. The silence persists and as usual, words fail me because I'm completely and utterly useless. Thankfully, Peeta picks up the initiative and takes out the disc - a move I've been dreading since he showed it to me.
"I've been talking to Rye. He's been able to give me some...unbiased information in addition to his overbearing opinion. But he can only do so much. I remember the Games from previous years. They're...pretty traumatic." His voice almost quakes in nervousness. "So if you think it might be too hard for you, we can do this another way…"
His fear for my well-being touches me. He's right - revisiting those Game will likely create nightmares so intense, I will lose these nights to them. But if this is the only way to get him back, then I have no choice but to go through with it.
"No, Peeta. We'll do this like we've done everything else - together." My voice catches and I struggle to stay calm. "But you have to realize, there was so much happening behind the scenes...it was all so complicated…my actions aren't always...they don't always..." I trail off helplessly.
"It's okay." He slips the CD out of its container and searches the room until he finds the screen embedded in the wall. He has difficulty getting the television to work so I stand to help him, taking the CD from his hands. I realize my hands are shaking as I experience a sudden cascade of all the things that took place in those Games. The sensation of drowning is so powerful, I make every effort to not get carried away by it. I'm overwhelmed and suddenly grateful for the structure the CD will surely provide.
"Are you ready?" he asks, watching me as if he can read my thoughts.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I respond as I pull a chair up. "Let the Games begin…"
"And may the odds be ever in your favor," Peeta jokes as Panem's anthem began to play.
XXXXX
"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" The words burst through the speakers and into the small room like the volley of cannon fire. I grip the edge of my chair, trying to keep those words from echoing in my ear. Peeta glances over at me and there is both admiration and another expression in his face I can't read.
"Rye told me you had volunteered for Prim, but there's nothing like actually seeing it happen," he says quietly when Effie's voice pierces the air, interrupting our conversation as she calls out Peeta's name. On the screen, I am stoic - my face is shrouded in the well practiced, impassive mask where no emotion sneaks in or out. However, Peeta catches a glimpse of himself walking dazedly up the stairs to the platform, tears streaming down his face. I remember wondering if that was a ploy to appear weak, to disarm the other tributes, but now that I know him, I know the tears were real and he was not afraid to show his grief. That took another kind of strength altogether, one that a person with a better understanding of him would have been able to grasp. I was not that person at the time.
"You were strategizing from the beginning, getting Haymitch to do his job and mentor us." I smile somewhat wryly at the memory of Peeta slapping the glass of drink from Haymitch's hand, earning him a punch in the jaw, which I followed up with a credible attempt to stab our resident drunk in the hand. "We were a team, even then." I say quietly when I tell him about the incident, recalling Haymitch's words.
"I actually got a pair of fighters this year," he'd said as Peeta nursed his jaw. "That's when the real mentoring had begun" I told an astonished Peeta. And it was a credit to Peeta and the way he'd latched onto a goal and went after it with an intractable, dogged persistence. Hadn't he done the same thing in the Quarter Quell, planning from its announcement that I should be the one to live? Those tears, intentional or not, were only reflecting the Peeta I would come to know later on.
XXXXX
There are days in that brief interlude between Peeta's dismissal from the hospital and what came afterwards where the footage raises even more questions than I would have thought possible. This is especially true when we watch the tribute interviews before the actual entry into the Arena.
"In fact, every interview you gave, you managed to shut down the house. It was for the best that you were always the last tribute because you were always a tough act to follow." I smile at Peeta's uncanny ability to always say just the right thing.
"You weren't that impressed if you pushed me into a vase," he quips, half-jokingly, though there is an underlying sadness in his expression.
"I became angry because I didn't know what you were up to. I thought your confession made me look weak," I say, now ashamed given everything that came afterwards. "But Haymitch said you made me look desirable."
"You wouldn't need my confession for that," he says, turning away and blushing furiously when he realizes what he's just said.
Unable to control myself, I reach out and thread my fingers through his even though I know I shouldn't. He is not in the same place I am, not really. It's one thing to have a crush on a person from afar; it's quite another to love a real-life person, to have a shared history, and to want them with all their defects in place. Before he'd forgotten it all, he'd seen me at my worst and had still loved me. Now, I'm back to square one, and this time I have to try to earn those feelings back, without the Games, without the events that once bound us so tightly together, without the great gestures and death-defying schemes. Just me. I'm not sure if I'm enough.
Peeta leans forward in his seat as he watches himself and the Careers interact with the girl from eight. I realize what's coming, but it's too late for me to stop it. When the Careers have had their sport with her, Peeta turns back and gives her relief from the wounds Clove has inflicted on her. Even here, the female tribute from District two does nothing to hide her sadistic pleasure with knives and flesh. Gritting his teeth, Peeta finishes the job by slitting the girls' throat. On film, he turns away to follow the Careers. In my quarters, he looks like he's about to throw up.
"I knew...I knew when I saw myself being reaped, that I would have to...have to fight...and kill…" He says this with a bottomless desperation that brings me out of my chair and on my knees before him. "But to see myself...like that...I'm a monster!"
"No!" I shake my head at him. "You're not! You saved her from a slow and painful death. You were merciful…"
"I'm a murderer!" he practically shouts, leaping up from his chair, forcing me to get to my feet also. Pacing the room like a caged animal, he is beside himself with self-loathing. "Worse, they tortured her, and I didn't do anything but stand guard!"
"Peeta, you're being too hard on yourself. If you had intervened, they'd have killed you right then and there. And the girl too. She wouldn't have escaped them regardless." I stand out of his way so that he can have free range of the little space that my room has to offer. "We all had to do things that we didn't want to do when we were in the Games. That's why they are so evil - we are forced to fight for our survival like animals." I try to capture his eye. "Peeta, look at me!"
He stops his compulsive pacing and stares at me, his blue eyes wide and hollow with grief as I continue. "You weren't even doing it for yourself! You weren't trying to win for your sake. Every decision you made in the Games was designed to keep me alive and safe. Every risk you took was to protect me," I approach him until I am mere inches from him. "If it's any comfort at all, you didn't hurt anyone else unless it was for self-defense and you always did it for me."
Peeta stares back at me, his face relaxing somewhat. "I must have loved you a lot."
I give a sad smile, my heart in mourning for what I can't have, "You did." My voice catches and I pretend to cough.
"And did you love me?" he asks quietly.
"Everyone says I did. Everyone says that's why I did what I did in the Arena," I say, feeling as hollow as his eyes were a moment ago.
"That's no answer," he answers. "But I suppose it's not fair of me to ask."
I nod, agreeing with him. It's not fair to ask and anyway, what can he do about it if I do love him?
He presses the button on the television, the thin disc sliding softly out of the player. He replaces it in the case, handling it with such tender care, as if it will dissipate between his fingers.
"Thank you," he says, though his back is turned to me. "It's been a pretty intense day. I'm going back to my room to rest."
"Of course," I say reluctantly, my mind screaming at him to stay, to hold me because I know that girl from District 8 will appear in my nightmares tonight. Instead, I make my way to the door and press the button. "Do you want me to see you to your quarters?"
Peeta shakes his head, his eyes unable to meet mine. "I have an idea where they are, now. If not, the place is teeming with people. Someone will help me." He finally looks up at me and the sadness I see is so profound, I almost throw myself at him in comfort. "Maybe tomorrow?"
I nod. "I...yeah. Just send me a message."
With that, Peeta walks dejectedly down the metal corridor in search of his own compartment, leaving me desolated and utterly alone.
XXXXX
Peeta doesn't come back the next day. In fact, I don't see or hear from him for a few days. I understand though. It's not everyday you watch yourself committing cold-blooded murder, and he has to adapt to this newfound piece of knowledge. I wonder to myself what is worse - remembering yourself killing someone and knowing all the rationalizations you used to help you carry you through that soul-destroying moment or to see the evidence of what you are capable of and confront that part of your character with none of the context required to forgive yourself? My heart aches for Peeta and I want very much to confirm that he is alright but my instinct or my fear tells me to leave him alone.
So, I continue my schedule of training, going about my routine. My nightmares are such that Prim goes to sleep with mother because of my violent thrashing from my tortured dreams but sometimes, I wake them anyway. On the third day, as I leave training to take my hour Reflection, I am surprised to find Rye in front of me. I pull up short - I've rarely met anyone who dislikes me so openly and vapidly as he does and it makes my hairs stand on end.
I cross my arms and stare at him, waiting for him to launch into his attack.
"What is the point of going through the Games with him again?" he asks without preamble, seething with a barely repressed rage. "Do you think that by having him relive all of it again and giving him your own version of the story, that he isn't going to figure out by himself who you are?"
The stress of not seeing Peeta for three days comes to a head and my patience snaps. "I am way beyond caring what you think! He asked to watch those Games. That was his idea, not mine."
"And you jumped all over that, didn't you? You need to give him a chance to heal and adapt to being here in District 13, to a new life, not try to force him to remember things that he would do better to forget. His constant obsession with you and the Games is keeping him from moving on! He doesn't know the real you - he still has in mind the girl he had a crush on since forever."
I have nothing to say about that. I am filled with self-loathing and doubt, wondering how wise it is to make Peeta see these things that he's mercifully forgotten about. I know I am doing this with him to get him back. But it also frightens me because he will finally see that I'm selfish, manipulative, dangerous, and vengeful. As soon as Peeta does sees me for who I truly am, I may wish he had never remembered anything.
I don't tell Rye any of this. I don't want to give him the satisfaction. "It's hard to tell when he has nightmares," I say instead, almost distractedly, remembering the rigidity of his frame as the only indication that he was reliving those horrible moments in the Arena. "The only way you can tell is by the way he grinds his teeth together. If you catch it, don't let him hurt himself. Wake him up."
The anger fades from Rye's face and he gives me a stricken expression, all fight having fled from him. He stares at me and for a moment, we have this in common, this boy that, in our own ways, we both love very much. "He never was a thrasher, like Bannock and me. As if he didn't want to put anyone out, even when he was having a nightmare."
I nod, because it's so accurate, and I will myself not to cry, because I'm afraid if I start, I won't ever stop again. I just nod and walk past him, down the corridor and take the elevator to the level above mine, where I know there is an infrequently used supply closet. I suddenly don't want to spend Reflection with my mother and sister. All I want is to hide away and not speak to anyone else ever again. It isn't until long after everyone has gone to bed that I crawl out from the smell of cleaning agents to wend my way back to our quarters.
XXXXX
The very next day, as Prim, my mother, and I ready ourselves, there is a knock at the door. I pull it open and all the air rushes out of me.
"I thought of sending you a message but figured the exercise would do me good," Peeta says sheepishly.
"Katniss, who is it?" my mother calls from behind the privacy wall that is set up to keep the sleeping area blocked from the entry doorway.
"It's Peeta! We're going to take a walk, mom," I say, looking at him meaningfully, to which he nods. "I'll see you at lunch!"
I press the button and allow the door to close on any potential protests. I unconsciously walk towards the mess hall. "Have you had breakfast yet?" I ask.
"No. I was hoping I could catch you and we could eat together," he said and I can hear the nervousness in his voice.
An awkward silence hangs between us as we maneuver between people, each getting to whatever schedule has been tattooed on their forearms. Finally, when we are in an elevator alone, Peeta turns towards me.
"I'm sorry I went missing. I needed time to process that girl's death…" he begins but I stop him.
"You don't have to explain. It was a shock and I should have prepared you for it," I say quickly.
"No! There's no way you're to blame. Rye is convinced that you are responsible for so many things but I watched most of the first Games, Katniss, and I don't see it. All I see are two kids doing everything possible to survive. I see a girl who came up with a crazy idea at the last minute and wrecked the entire system as we knew it with a handful of berries. That's what I saw."
"You watched all of it?" I ask and I wonder why I thought he would only watch that CD with me.
"Yes. Rye and I had a heart to heart and I agreed that I would watch the Games without your influence, as he calls it," Peeta says this apologetically but I take it in stride. "Then, once I got my overall impressions, I should come ask you questions about what I saw. It was the best compromise I could l make with him because I could tell that forcing you to watch the Games over again was a trauma for you too."
"Just a little," I say, which might be the biggest understatement of the century but he doesn't need to know that.
"But I do have some questions. If you have a little time, maybe you can help me answer them?" He ends his statement with a question, a hopeful look in his eyes, and there is something so boyish and young about the way he does it that I can't help but laugh at the expression on his face.
"Well, since you ask me like that, let's go have something to eat and ignore our schedule today," I say, the heaviness of the last few days falling away from me.
"That sounds great. I do have one appointment I have to keep, though," he says and I sense that it is something he is very proud of.
"And what would that be?"
Peeta smiles as he picks up an empty tray for each of us. "Rye and I are going to go down into the kitchens to teach the cooks something about real baking because this," he holds up a piece of dark, whole wheat bread that looks like the chaff was left on it, "...isn't going to fly." He taps the bread on the metal edge of the serving counter. "This may be the worst piece of bread ever baked. I can't stand by and just watch this stuff get consumed by human beings."
I smile at him. It is so much like him that I almost want to run away before I do something stupid like cry in the middle of the dining area. It was something the Peeta with his memories would do, and it makes my heart soar and ache at the same time.
To distract myself, I nod my head in the direction of our table mates. "Oh, look, Johanna is staring us down. What do you say we go and bask in her sunny disposition?"
"It sounds dangerous, and somewhat intriguing at the same time. Lead the way."
XXXXX
We return to my quarters and the questions begin right away.
"It appears that I joined the Career Pack to protect you," he states as he skips to where I am trapped in the tree. "We didn't preplan this tactic, did we?" I'm surprised how quickly he's picked up that he didn't join Cato and the others out of desire for his own survival, but then again, he must have seen how he kept leading them astray from my path.
"No, that was entirely your decision. We'd split up, I think, so we wouldn't have to fight each other if it came down to it." I swallow hard at the idea of being forced to fight Peeta and am grateful for the twisted luck that lead to the berries and to being able to save his life.
"That's why I dropped the tracker jacker nest. I thought you had really allied yourself with the Career Pack. I hadn't realized what you were doing until I found you with the thigh wound." I point at his prosthetic. "That's how you lost your leg." Peeta instinctively looks down, rubbing the plastic through the fabric of his pants leg.
I click the remote and jump to the scene with him and the Careers stalking me at the tree before I drop the tracker-jacker nest on him. "From where I was sitting, I thought you were in it for yourself, so I behaved as if you were my enemy. I wasn't aware until afterwards that you'd been up all night, guarding the tree to make sure that I was safe."
"I was very brave, I have to admit!" exclaimed Peeta, laughing. "But then, so were you," he adds, with a bit more seriousness.
"Not really," I say, embarrassed now by his praise.
"Yes, you were! You came for me after the rule change, even though you weren't sure if I was in with the Career Pack or trying to hunt you down. You couldn't completely trust me and yet you nursed me back to health," he says in a tone that implies he is in awe of me. I have nothing to say to that so he continues.
"That little girl, Rue…" he says, changing demeanor. "She was so young. That was another reason I stayed in my quarters. I kept thinking of that Marvel boy spearing her, and I couldn't get it out of my head. You were so broken up by her death, there was no way I could put you through that again."
I nod at him, truly grateful that I didn't have to watch Rue die again. I see it already most nights in my dreams. "Thank you," I say.
Peeta nods, then continues. "I watched the footage from the Cave. I know we were both acting for the camera, but some of it seemed pretty real," he says warily, watching my reaction.
I shift uncomfortably on the bed we are both sitting on, the space suddenly too narrow for the both of us. "You were very sincere, at least most of the time," I say.
"And you?"
I clear my throat, thoroughly unnerved but pushing the anxiety out of the way. What does it matter? I'm not pretending anymore. "At that moment, I was worrying about saving us both. Sometimes I was acting. But sometimes I wasn't. I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about it." I stood up, wishing there was a window I could walk to and look out of. "At a certain point, I think I even convinced you...that I...you kn...know..." I stutter, afraid to insinuate so much to him. "When we returned to District 12, I was very confused about things. You didn't take it very well."
I turn back to look at him. "We didn't speak for about six months."
Peeta quirks an eyebrow in surprise. "Not the smoothest course for us, huh?"
I smile. "Not really."
Peeta stares down at the remote he holds, his brow furrowed in thought. "But you saved me. Repeatedly. For whatever reason you had then, you saved me, and I thank you for that." His eyes are so serious, he looks almost angry, though I know he is not. "I can see how the berries would have caused problems for the Capitol. No one's ever done that before."
"You weren't sure what I was doing, but you trusted me," I say, returning to that moment of decision, sorting through the memories. I remember how angry I got when he ripped the tourniquet off, how ready he was to die. The moment hits me in the gut, forcing me to turn around and grip the back of a chair, holding on before it carries me away. "But you did what I told you. It was a gamble, and it worked."
"Yeah, it was a gamble. You could have also just killed me," he says slowly.
Don't! I plead with him wordlessly. I still haven't figured out why I did it. I'll never really know what combination of factors led me to that act of desperation that set off so many other events. There was pique at the Gamemakers and the Capitol for putting me in that situation to begin with. There was self-preservation and the fact that I would be a pariah for killing my own district partner. But there was also him - I couldn't lose the boy with the bread. I couldn't leave him in that arena because I would have spent the rest of my life trying to get him out of there. I would have left my life frozen there, in that one moment, and would have never been able to move on.
It seems so easy, now that he's become the person I cannot live without. But then? I can't be honest because I don't know. I might never know. It will always be all those things and it will never be romantic enough or loving enough but it will always say something about who I am. And I can't change that.
"I could have. But I couldn't stand to do it for too many reasons," I say, releasing the chair.
"Katniss, I think that we both cared alot about each other, even then." He tips his head in the direction of the screen. He's fast-forwarded it and now I see myself pounding on the glass behind which they've taken Peeta. I'm shouting his name and screaming, in my filthy arena clothes, my dirt-caked nails, and matted hair, and I sink slowly down onto the chair.
"That doesn't look like a person who was using me for her own protection," he says quietly.
I remember the agony of that moment, how pale and still he looked lying on the silver table, tubes and wires springing out from his entire body.
"For a moment, I thought the doctors were part of the Games and there to hurt you," I say, almost to myself. "I attacked them and they had to throw me out of the operating room." My voice catches and I know this time, I won't stop the torrent that will come. I just hope I won't be ridiculous and blubbery when it happens. "I couldn't stop watching them work over you. Your heart stopped twice, I think." I turn to look at him and I know that I have the look of a morphling about me - wide, saucer-sized eyes, a frown that pulls my entire face down under the weight of fear. "I think I went crazy because I attacked the door again. I stopped thinking because you were in there and if you died...if you died…"
He pulls me towards him in a moment and I realize his arms are around me. All the fear, the grief, and the longing well up inside of me and the tears I've been fighting for days spill out. I'm not sobbing - I'm proud of that at least - but I'm in pieces and he is holding me with his strong arms and I am safe and sound, enough to let this agony out of my chest. I'm back on the train during the Victory Tour and his arms are holding my sanity together again and even if it isn't really all of him, for a moment, I can pretend that he's back in his entirety.
We don't speak. Peeta must sense that motives are no longer relevant, or maybe, because he knows me better than anyone, even now that a portion of me has been scooped out of his brain, he intuits all these things and figures it's not worth articulating. Anyway, I've done enough since then that would please even the most romantic heart.
He doesn't pressure me for any more explanations after that. Instead, he pulls back and gently places his hand in mine, running his finger over the veins that creep up the back of it. It's soothing and I realize, even after all the tears and abandon, that I've been holding my breath and this gesture causes me to exhale. I almost want to thank him - for being the same even when half of his mind is gone, for still seeing the good part of me, and accepting the bits I'm not proud of. This remembering is hard, but I'll endure it if it helps him recover his memories. Yet even without that part of him in place, I know he's on my side, even if he doesn't quite know why, just as he was when he took the handful of berries from me. And that means everything to me, because I can get through anything as long as he is still my ally.
XXXXX
After some time passes, he makes a confession to me.
"You know, the interviews with the families of the final eight? I keep seeing my parents and my brothers and I can't stop watching them," he says with open grief.
"There's nothing wrong with that," I say. We haven't let go of each other's hands and I squeeze it reassuringly. I really want to take him in my arms and sing the meadow song, like the one I often sing to Prim when she needs of comfort but instead, I just hold his hand. "I know you're just trying to hold on to what's left of your family."
Peeta opens and closes his mouth as if to speak but I just shake my head. Eventually he gives up. There is too much pain in processing a loss so great and some things really don't have words. I, of all people, know that very well. So I search for something to straighten among my already neat counters and drawers and leave him to his quiet mourning.
When my mother returns to our quarters mid-morning, she find us both in a reflective silence and is surprisingly accommodating as she greets Peeta. Even with the memory loss, Peeta is still the same, considerate soul and even offers to leave to give us privacy.
"Don't leave, dear," she says gently. "You're practically family." She tousles his hair, which elicits a soft chuckle from him. The sound of it makes me happier than I've been in a long time, and it must show on my face, because I catch my mother smiling at me with a knowing kind of look before taking her leave and returning to her schedule.
"You know, little by little, we'll put all the pieces together again," Peeta says when my mother leaves. "I just feel, when I'm with you, everything fits." He casts his eyes down and I see the bloom of pink spreading across his cheeks. I miss his strong arms warding off my nightmares. I miss the sound of his heartbeat beneath my cheek as I rest on his broad chest. Though mutts aren't chasing us down and deadly fog might not be overwhelming us, I will never feel as safe as I felt in his arms. But I can't have that. Not yet. But maybe, one day, he'll remember enough to want that too.
The rest of the morning meanders away in casual conversation until our scheduled meal time, when we take our time walking hand-in-hand. I have the mad idea that we are the only spot of living color in the grey sea of District 13.
XXXXX
We sit at the usual table where other District 12 residents sit. I'm surprised to see Delly Cartwright today. We were never really close friends but she had always been a sunny, happy person with everyone she met. Instead, I had spent more time with Madge Undersee, if I spent time with anyone at school.
The thought of Madge brings a pang of sharp pain to my chest. Neither she nor her family made it out of District 12 and my heart suddenly aches for one of the few people I could call a friend. I run my fingers over my Mockingjay pin as my mind floods with memories of her - playing the piano, trading with Gale for the strawberries she loved, her gift of the pin before I left for the first Games.
I look up to see Peeta next to me, regarding me with penetrating clarity, asking wordlessly if I'm alright. I school my features, which have darkened in concentration and smile reassuringly at him, a gesture that may not convince him but he is intuitive in knowing not to push the issue.
A glance down the table shows the Hawthornes seated in their chaotic group. Rory and Vick bicker over something while Hazelle tries to feed Posy. I just catch Gale's grey eyes as they flit away from me, his expression unreadable and hard as he scoops a spoon of vegetables from his tray and gives Rory and Vick each a serving.
"Katniss!" Delly chirps happily. "I've been assigned to assist Prim in the hospital unit."
"Really?" I ask. I can't help the happiness I feel when I think of Prim at work, doing all the things she could never have done in District 12.
"Oh, she has such talent!" Delly replies. "Everyone talks about her." She drops her voice, eyeing the other diners in the large mess hall. "I think that, being from District 12, they probably thought we were no better than starving, cave people. We sure showed them!" She laughs happily as she takes another portion of gruel, swallowing the bland concoction with a grimace.
Peeta, catching Delly's expression, chuckles at her. "Even Greasy Sae can't make this taste good."
"Oh, I know. I'd give anything to have some of her squirrel soup. Too bad you can't hunt for squirrel, Katniss," she says breathlessly.
I'm about to answer but am interrupted when Finnick and Johanna sit down across from us, next to Delly. Johanna takes the sliver of space between Finnick and Delly, which constrains an irritated Delly to move over and make way for her.
As we make small talk, I watch Finnick, who has taken to twisting his fingers when he does not have his rope in hand. He is trying his best to get better, but the signs of the emotional strain from Annie's captivity are exposed by his gaunt appearance and the dark circles that have settled around his eyes. Peeta smiles kindly at him and makes an extra effort to be gentle, not because he remembers any of his interactions with him in the arena but because of what I've shared with him. We haven't gotten to the Quarter Quell Games yet, but he knows we were all allies and Finnick saved his life.
While they are speaking to each other, Johanna leans forward and whispers, "So, how's Peeta's head?"
"He's getting better, but he doesn't remember anything yet," I respond in a low voice.
"That sucks," she says as she tears a piece of bread and pops it into her mouth, chewing slowly. "That's not stopping him from following you around like a whipped puppy, though," she says suggestively. However, instead of embarrassing me, I feel a small thrill of excitement course through my body.
"Finnick's not sleeping, and he barely eats," she continues abruptly, her harsh tone not quite able to hide her concern as she glances over at him. "They have him back on the morphling,"
"Still no news about Annie?" I ask because there's no question why Finnick is falling apart.
Johanna shakes her head. "The last we heard, she was rounded up with other Victors and taken to the Capitol. I just don't know how long he can keep it together."
There is small burst of laughter next to me as Delly and Peeta chuckle at something Finnick says. At that moment, he almost looks like himself - his wide smile, still-tanned skin, the gaunt but chiseled features - they all hide the message in his eyes. The sorrow and half-crazed moments of panic are written in the faint, dark circles, lines of intense worry spreading like clawed fingers up to his hairline. Finnick is in pain, and it isn't the kind that morphling will take away.
My thinking is interrupted by the television screens around the dining area as they light up. I watch as everyone's eyes swivel towards the now visible symbol of the Capitol while the anthem floats in over the speakers. I'm almost bored and look away, expecting the usual loop of war footage and propaganda when Caesar Flickerman appears, looking painted and sparkly, with a pink undertone to his skin and hair. The programming has all the makings of a propaganda short, much like the commercials that often appear between regular programming. The slogan in the background catches my eye - One Panem.
As my eyes scan the stage, I observe a line of people standing in the background, each dressed in white, all wearing variations of the same blank expression. I realize they are Victors, especially when Flickerman begins to call out the names of each of them - Bijoux Renuart, from District 1, Enobaria Cassius from District 2, and Jules Kalo from District 3. The highly decorated interviewer gives them an opportunity to speak as they encourage the Districts to stay loyal to the Capitol, who cares for them like a parent cares for a child. Angry murmurs spread throughout the mess hall as the residents of District 13 react to each of the Victor's words, but I am swallowed in shock as the next name is called.
"Annie Cresta, District 4."
I gasp, but it is nothing like the groan of agony that emerges from Finnick when Caesar pulls her forward. There is no description for the expressions that race across Finnick's face. He is, at once, shocked, relieved, horrified, and grief-stricken as he watches the camera shift from Caesar Flickerman back to the Victors, lingering momentarily on her face as everyone waits for her to speak.
She's perfectly styled, her brown hair brushed out softly around her shoulders. She wears a soft, white dress with a discreet neckline embroidered with pearls. Around her neck is an elaborate choker that is breathtaking in its design. However, something about the way she jerks her head to the side knots my stomach with dread.
"Annie!" Finnick shouts, not a piercing, loud sound, more like the moan of a dying animal. "You're alive!" He approaches the suspended screen with Johanna, who never leaves his side, staring at the crowds in the dining hall with slitted eyes, daring anyone to come close to them.
"So, Annie," Ceasar says with exaggerated kindness, as if she would dissolve in his hand if he is not careful. "What would you like the people of Panem to know?"
She opens and closes her mouth several times to speak. When the words emerge, they are breathless, barely above a whisper. "We…we shouldn't…fight. We shouldn't rebel." She pauses to steady her voice. "Finnick...Finnick wouldn't like it." Her voice catches when she says his name. It's heartbreaking to watch the way her tremulous lips caress his name, and the equal vulnerability with which he responds.
"No, we're sure he wouldn't approve of the fighting. Thank you," Caesar says as he leads her back to the line of Victors and continues his interview with the Victors from Districts 5 and 8. "A united Panem is a victorious Panem!" Caesar calls out at the conclusion in that saccharine, soothing voice that makes me want to bury a butter knife in his neck. The screen fades to black, leaving Finnick staring at the screen as if it would bring her back into view.
The reaction in the mess hall is instantaneous, with shouts and accusations of betrayal launched like bombs onto the floor. Finnick is still fixated on the screen but Johanna's eyes trail the sea of faces, her face becoming more and more twisted in anger. Gale, who stood to study the program, stares intently at the ground in deep thought. I almost give in and ask him what's he thinking but Peeta approaches Finnick and I can't help but follow as Finnick's hands seek out the short piece of rope in his pocket to compulsively handle it.
"She looks healthy, at least. Doesn't she?" He looks around at everyone, but his eyes are wide and empty and I wonder if he actually sees us at all or if he doesn't still have Annie before his eyes.
"She does," Peeta says soothingly. "They'll use those Victors as propaganda. They won't hurt them."
"That's not true!" Finnick says, perhaps with more force than he intended. "They have her because of me! There's no other reason for her to be in the Capitol. She doesn't know anything about the revolution." Finnick becomes agitated and sits on the nearest bench, trying to get himself under control. "Snow will have her killed if he thinks it will hurt me. He takes pleasure in seeing his enemies suffer."
"The Capitol can't be sure you're here willingly. You could be a hostage for all they know," I suggest weakly. However, we both know it's a lie. I remember his words in the arena - Do it, Katniss! There was no question what he was referring to. I become nauseous at the thought of what could happen to Annie and glance over at Peeta, wondering again what I would have been reduced to if it had been Peeta who'd been captured by the Capitol instead. I'm filled with pity for Finnick, wracking my mind for a solution to his problem.
I can't help but capture Peeta's hand and squeeze it tightly to reassure myself that he is actually here, next to me, and not in some squalid prison. There's terror, the sudden pang of imagined loss, and longing - there's always that too. I make to release his hand but he holds on tightly and doesn't let go. I don't know what's going through his mind but his eyes, always that surreal blue despite the odd hair and pale skin that's become even lighter with lack of exposure to the sun, appear to flash with excessive emotion. It's all I can do to keep from hugging him to me.
"Katniss. Peeta," Gale says from behind, startling me with his approach. I watch his eyes land on our joined hands before they return to look at his communicator cuff. "You're requested in Command," he says gruffly and turns stiffly to walk towards the exit of the mess hall, fully expecting us to follow.
Finnick glances between me and Peeta, his eyes lingering also on our joined hands. "You don't know how lucky you are, Katniss!" he says. Finnick's eyes become unfocused, and I know he is about to lose it again. Johanna, sensing this also, helps him up and leads him out of the hall in the direction of the medical unit. Gale nods as they go and waits patiently for Peeta and me to catch up to him.
We make our way silently down the corridor, boarding an elevator that takes us down further into the depths of District 13. Gale faces the door, his back rigid as Peeta and I stand behind him, each of us wrapped in the chaos of our own thoughts.
By putting the Victors in their anti-war campaign and forcing them to declare their allegiance to the Capitol while simultaneously encouraging the Districts to stand down, Snow has essentially sealed their fates. I know the anger I had just witnessed in the mess hall would be taken out on them if the rebels won, regardless of what torture or atrocities had been committed against them to draw their words out. My skin crawls at the idea of what kind of justice might be meted out on them. They would be treated no better than Snow and the Capitol citizens. Seventy years of rage and hatred would fall on their shoulders, whether they were put on that stage willingly or not.
I think of Annie, finally freed after the war, only to turn around and be captured, tried, and executed by rebels for treason. Peeta, meanwhile, watches the expressions on my face as they change but doesn't say anything. We've stalled long enough. Annie's appearance has prompted Coin into action, and it will be all we can do to keep from hurtling headlong into a situation for which we are completely unprepared.
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Please review! It's been a while since I've updated and I would love to hear from all of you :).
Things are going to pick up from here and I can't wait to share it with you!
Many thanks to my fellow betas and best writing buddies ever, ever: peetabreadgirl, solasvioletta and bubblegum1425 for their hard work. They really made this chapter into what it is with their feedback. This looked like something else entirely before they got their hands on it!
