Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, nor do I own the material that this fiction is based off of, the film The Nice Guys. All content belongs to its rightful owners, and no copyright infringement is intended.
*~*~*~* Chapter Eleven: That's The Way I Like It *~*~*~*
One Week Later
((Gale))
We arrive promptly at the Justice Building at nine o'clock for our final scheduled appointment with the outgoing Head of the Department.
His secretary, a woman named Antonia, is packing her things up at her desk when she tells us to have a seat in the waiting area, and that Snow will be with us shortly.
"This guy always creeped me out," Peeta remarks as we sit with our backs to the heavy door of Snow's office. "He just looks like the kind of old man who'd willingly follow Stalin…"
It's an extreme thought, but I can't say I disagree with him on that sentiment.
After waiting for what feels like hours (although when I glance at the wall clock, only a few minutes have passed), impatience takes over and I rise from my chair to pace the corridor. Outside, a rebel protest rages on, and the young faces of those combatting smog twist around embittered screams against Snow and Capitol.
I go to the far wall and pluck a white rose from one of the beds adorning the windowsill.
"That's a fine choice, Mister Hawthorne," a hoarse voice bellows from the doorway, causing me to jump and nearly drop the rose. "Colors are lovely of course, but nothing says perfection like white."
Mellark and I whirl around to eye Snow, clad in a burgundy velvet suit as he strides toward us. The clinking of the chains on his handcuffs, and the two guards that remain on standby at the door, make the confrontation all a bit less threatening.
The propo exposed him for his fraudulent agreements with the Capitol Company, down to tampering with evidence to keep up his appearances as a prosecutor. By the time all of his investors and trusted officials either backed out or turned on him, he'd been found guilty of every charge the film his granddaughter made against him.
In other words, Coriolanus Snow is off to prison.
While an eyewitness hotel worker who saw him attack Beetee had Cato put away almost immediately after the fight, the news surrounding Snow's verdict came as a pleasant surprise to us all. He was guilty, the main citation for his crimes being evidenced in that porno. And soon, Capitol Vehicles and their CEO, Seneca Crane, will be tried. Snow will have spent months in jail at that point.
But we agreed that we couldn't let him go without some sense of closure. We needed answers. Why he cheated and corrupted his way to the top, why he was trying to kill his own grandchild, why he's a fucking asshole…things like that.
"We have many things to discuss, gentlemen," Snow says, his voice low and mocking as he barely glances at the golden watch clasped to his papery wrist. "But, given that I have to be at the state penitentiary in just a few minutes, I have a feeling your visit with me will be short. So let me be brief. First of all, since you failed to do your job, I will not be paying you for your services."
Beside me, Mellark guffaws.
"If you honestly think that's what we came here for, you can keep your dirty money," Mellark spits. Antonia goes to shush him, but Mellark flips her the bird.
Now that he knows he has nothing to lose by speaking candidly with us, Snow ignores Mellark's crude gesture and continues to speak.
"Furthermore, I wanted to let you both know that I do not regret the decisions I made to uphold what I believed to be fair government practice," he says, showing no signs of remorse for the many deaths that his signature caused to happen over the course of these past few weeks. "Even if it weren't for the disgraceful acts at the party last week, I would have conceded, made amends with Katniss…anyone could see that this little game was over by that point. My granddaughter isn't one to give up; I suppose I knew that all along. I must admit, the film was a masterful move on District Thirteen's part. It turned my cabinet completely against me."
A violent coughing spasm rises in his throat, and he struggles to reach into his robe pocket for a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his puffy lips.
"Cancer of the mouth," he says, finally drawing the white kerchief away. The haunting thought that this man will likely die in prison hangs in the air with this admission.
"However, gentlemen, it is with sincerity that I warn you not to revel in your victory for much longer. My failure, of course, was being so slow to grasp the greater consequence of the rebel actions. Katniss' little stunt with the viewing party was just one domino in the larger effect that is going to take place. But she was watching me, and I was watching her. No one was looking at the bigger picture."
"Bigger picture?" Mellark cuts in. "What do you mean?"
"Once I'm gone, they'll try to vote in a successor — most likely my longtime government rival, Alma Coin — and it may seem, given her policies, that she will make the changes to the environment that these youngsters so badly want. But, from my experience, the government is made up of fickle human beings who will do just about anything to stay in power. And corporations, such as Capitol, hold that power. Now that it has been compromised, they will do whatever it takes to keep the power. You see, regardless of who takes this position after me will only perpetuate the cycle."
He's implying that all of our efforts are for nought, as the paying off of government officials big big corporations will always corrupt our system and disenfranchise the people, even after they've spoken out.
"Bullshit," I shock myself when I utter this denouncement aloud. He's essentially saying that justice doesn't exist, and I can't stand for it.
Snow's smile is an omniscient one. "Oh, Mister Hawthorne…I thought we agreed never to lie to each other."
With that, the guards flock to his sides and begin to escort him out of the building.
Mellark starts speaking, in very broken Russian, before he states something in English to seemingly no one in particular.
"The people who cast the votes decide nothing. The people who count the votes decide everything."
Snow's fluffy white eyebrows raise. "Excuse me, Mister Mellark?"
I clear my throat a little, while Mellark just smiles like a coy little bastard and rocks on the heels of his feet behind me.
"Oh, I believe he is comparing you to Joseph Stalin, Sir," I say matter-of-factly, my eyes shifting to Mellark as he sing-songs something else in his poorly-executed Russian accent.
One of the guards tells Snow that it's time. Mellark and I are thrilled to have gotten the last word.
The crowd outside erupts in cheers, whoops, and chants as we all watch Snow being shoved into a cop car from inside the Justice Building.
There's the sound of scuffling behind me. I'm shocked to find someone else being led off of the premises as well.
She's still wearing a fancy dress, which brings out the defeated color of her faded blue eyes and her silver restraints. Her loose blonde curls hang in limp ringlets around the shoulders that once exuded confidence.
Her coercion with her grandfather led to an unfavorable sentence on her behalf as well. I remember feeling sorry for her, as tears streamed down her porcelain face on my television screen, until I remember that those tears are her greatest weapon. The weapon she used to ensnare me to her mercy like a defenseless rabbit.
After Madge Undersee, I think that it's in my best interest to swear off of women for a little while.
"Nice dress," I say. I'm not gawking, like last time. I'm simply stating a fact. It is a nice dress. Shame she'll have to replace it for an unflattering prison jumpsuit soon enough.
This earns me a look of pure disdain from Madge.
"Well, I have to look good for when I go to prison, thanks to you," she hisses, a snake unhinging its jaw to release her poisonous, venomous words into my veins.
"You did this to yourself, Madge," I retort. "You ought to start taking responsibility for your own mistakes, since your precious Grandfather can't cover them up for you anymore."
Madge glowers. "Screw you."
I attempt to hold back my laughter, but Mellark can't contain his hysterical outburst. We laugh at her for a good while, until my cheeks are sore and my sides are burning. Wiping a tear from under my eye, I look at a now-confused-and-still-very-annoyed Madge with all of the pity in the world for the greatest unintentional set up of a joke I've ever heard.
"Screw me? Princess, you already have."
Madge growls and starts for my throat, but the officers holding onto her — I recognize one of them as Boggs — restrain her efforts.
"You worthless piece of scum…"
"Careful, Hawthorne," Mellark says tauntingly. "Don't look into her eyes. She might turn you to stone…and you're already hard enough of a person to deal with."
"Medusa?" I question his reference as Madge is dragged through the heavy door of Snow's quarters.
Mellark shrugs. "I've been reading a lot of Greek mythology lately…"
Another round of cheers goes up when the rebels watch a very resistant Madge Undersee be courted off to serve her sentence of solitude in the state prison.
Mellark and I exchange a satisfied look with each other, knowing that our job here is finally coming to an end. Side by side, we make our way out of the Justice Building to the sunny courtyard.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel good.
((Peeta))
From where she stands, with the sun bending off of the Justice Building's bell tower at just the right angle and her smile beaming and bright, my sister looks like an angel.
Calling out my name, she rushes up the stairs to greet me and Hawthorne. I note that her braid is identical to that of the woman trailing behind her. Their matching plaits catch in the sunlight as they bob toward us.
I take back what I said before. I wish I could freeze this moment and live in it forever.
"I hope you found what you were looking for in there," Katniss says, her hands resting gently on each of Prim's shoulders. She didn't want to come in with us and see her grandfather and cousin off. I don't blame her.
Besides, the rally she organized out here is a big enough 'fuck you' to Snow and his conspirators, anyway.
"After Grandfather's arrest, some interesting information was delivered to me," she announces. "Since neither he nor Madge can control the family fortune from prison, I've been made sole proprietor. I would like for my first order of business would be to compensate the two of your for all of your help."
Without even waiting for Hawthorne's response, I throw up my hands in denial.
"No way. I'm not taking your money, Everdeen. My services were free of charge," I say earnestly. This garners a shocked stare from Prim and a grunt of agreement from Hawthorne.
"And we talked about this earlier, Everdeen," Hawthorne says, catching my attention. When were he and Katniss talking? "I just needed that one favor."
My eyebrows raise in question as I stare up at my tall counterpart. What favor? my pressed expression asks him, but I am completely ignored, much to my vexation.
Katniss continues to try persuading us otherwise. "And that's been taken care of, but I would have done that for nothing. C'mon, guys. After everything you did for me, the least I can do is repay you."
"You can repay us by putting that money to good use," I tell her. I know the young philanthropist must have some charities in mind, places that could use the dough more than any of us could.
Two weeks ago, I would have been tripping her down the stairs to get even a slice of compensation for my work, and now, I'm willingly giving it away.
Prim smirks in approval of the gesture, but her eyes seem to glitter with something else I can't really decipher. Whatever she's trying to urge me to do or say is lost on me. I just gave away our ability to buy cheese from the nice part of the store, I don't know what else I can do.
Katniss finally accepts our polite refusal to take her money, putting her heavy wallet back into the pocket of her jeans. She gazes up from the concrete beneath her feet to us, and her eyes linger on me for just a second longer than they should.
"I guess I'll see you around?"
For some reason, I feel everyone looking at me as Katniss awaits a response.
"Uh…yeah," is all I say, despite millions of other things that could have been better, smoother, more flirtatious, all of the above.
Hawthorne steps in where my words have failed me, reaching out to shake Katniss' hand as he jokes, "Try to avoid getting into trouble for a while if you can, Everdeen. We need a breather before you hatch your next great plan".
Katniss grins.
"I'll do the best I can," she says. Tossing one last unreadable look over her shoulder, she start back down the stairs to rejoin her protest group.
I'm wistfully watching her go, long braid flowing gracefully behind her swaying hips, when I feel something sharp nudging me in the side.
"Ow! What the hell was that for, Prim?"
"Are you serious?" Prim exclaims, withdrawing her elbow from my ribcage. "After all that, you're not going to ask her out? Idiot!"
"Prim," I groan, rubbing my side, "I really resent your tone."
"Stop changing the subject," she spews, edging me closer to the wall of the Justice Building as she reprimands me for my inaction. "She is a young, attractive, badass, single woman who basically gave you a window of opportunity to do something and you stood there like an idiot!"
"Stop calling me an idiot! I was flustered."
"You were an idiot," Hawthorne says, siding with Prim on the matter. Going off of my look, he continues, "She's clearly got it as bad for you as you do for her, so buck up and ask her out. It's not like she'll say no."
"Consider it your compensation," Prim says, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
"I don't think either of you have the discretion to be doling out dating advice," I say, feeling incredibly cornered by the both of them right about now.
I haven't dated a girl…let alone talked to a girl, really, in almost seven years. Asking someone out is a concept so foreign to me I'm not sure I could even do it. It's always been about making money, doing my job, and keeping Prim alive. Dating was something that got pushed to the way way back a while ago.
But then she happened. This conundrum of fire and quiet passion that continues to orbit around me and crash into me when I least expect it to — that conundrum being Katniss Everdeen. Sure, she kissed me at that party last week, but we were both so amped up on adrenaline I doubt she even considers it to be something real.
"Peeta," Prim says, her expression way too serious for a thirteen-year-old. "You're my brother, and I love you. But it's been seven years of you trying to put everyone else before you while you remained miserable, and I can't stand it any longer. If you don't ask Katniss Everdeen out on a date and make yourself happy for once, I will invite Bristel over every weekend until the day I go to college."
It's my sister's most compelling threat to date. I miss the good old days, when her biggest complaint with me was not being able to fix the cable box when her Saturday morning cartoons went fuzzy.
I look into the eyes of a girl I can hardly call little anymore. She grew up while my back was turned, and in my quest to be good enough for her, I failed to realize that all I had to do was turn around and see her for it to be enough.
She's forgiven me, for everything. It's time I do the same for myself.
"Hey, Katniss! Wait up!" Prim, looking way too pleased with herself, calls out at the top of her lungs without waiting for me to agree to anything.
Katniss turns just in time to watch my sister practically push me down the stairs while Hawthorne looks on and laughs.
I'm still teetering off balance when her hands find my shoulders and prop me up to face her. Her touch manages to set me on fire, igniting any dormant desires that have been pent up for seven years. Katniss is biting back a giggle, presumably at how flustered I must look right now.
"You don't really strike me as the rallying type, Detective. No offense," she observes, laughter permeating through her soft voice.
I roll my eyes, an involuntary playful gesture. "Well, to be fair, no one can get up on a soapbox quite like you can."
The smile she flashes for the briefest of moments is a jubilant one. Then she goes back to wiping her hands on the sides of her jeans and shifting her weight in between her feet.
"Well, since you're not here to join the protest, what did you want to tell me? Did Prim finally convince you to share your cheese bun recipe with me? She was being pretty stubborn about it, but I think I wore her down," Katniss asks with another, much more nervous-sounding laugh. She casts a look over my shoulder at where Prim does a victory dance at Gale's feet. The death glare I send her stops my sister dead in her tracks.
"Erm…something like that…" I stutter, turning back to Katniss. "She…uh…wanted me to — I mean, I wanted to ask you if…"
I groan and my eyes roll up to stare at the sky in quiet agony. Oh, God. This is painful. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she works up the nicest rejection possible, and I prep for the sting.
"I'd love to," she says finally, sparing me the agony of finishing my question and nearly knocking me off of my feet again. Those three little words sound eager, pleasant, and startlingly believable as they roll off her tongue. "Friday night sound good? You can pick me up at around eight?"
"Sounds—yeah, that's…good," I choke out weakly. Hopefully, by Friday, I can refamiliarize myself with how coherent sentences are formed.
Katniss smiles, and then she leans forward to place a kiss on my cheek while I'm still sputtering. The blood from my spinning head rushes down my neck and up to the tips of my ears in a revealing bright pink blush.
"Thanks for being such a good guy, Peeta Mellark," she says, silver eyes sparkling in the afternoon light.
One of the protestors beckons her back to the huddle, and we part ways, stealing glances behind us and catching each other for it as we go.
I practically float up the stairs back to Prim and Gale, who wear matching grins.
"Shut up," I say, urging them to wipe those stupid looks off their faces before someone thinks they're suffering from a joint heat stroke. "Just take us home, Hawthorne."
For the past week, we've been living in Hawthorne's tiny one-man apartment over the bar, owned by the crotchety old guy who gives me a drunken run for his money. It's a temporary stay, since I've been spending my days house-hunting while Prim's out with friends, but we've all learned to make the adjustments.
Even Hawthorne, who shocked us both when he offered us lodging, seems to be used to our little picture of domesticity. Jingling his keys in his hands and putting on his suave sunglasses, Hawthorne looks vaguely like the man I first got sucker-punched by in the rental home. But he's different, somehow. The shadows and lines that made up his burdened scowls are nearly evaporated, and he seems lighter, happier almost.
It's a nice change.
"Have to make a quick detour first, if you don't mind," he says, leading Prim and I down the Justice Building as chants for the Mockingay linger behind.
When Prim asks him where we're going, Hawthorne tells her it's a surprise.
I tell him I hate surprises.
Hawthorne informs me that I might like this one.
He pulls down a familiar road, one that I've avoided on my route to the rental home for years, and it makes my stomach churn.
The abandoned lot sits barren atop the small sloping hill. What once stood as a bakery and a home, and turned into an ashy graveyard, is now nothing but a harmless patch of grass and dirt.
Surprisingly, nothing inside of me aches for a drink or a long vacation away from this spot. It has the adverse effect as I start to warm up, like an oven that's just been turned on, and I find myself smiling reverently at the place where I once loved and was loved in return by a baker, his two older sons, his youngest daughter, and even, on occasion, his wife.
It will always be home, I realize, no matter how far away I run from it.
And I finally feel at peace. That is, until Hawthorne slows down to park beside the chainlink fence and I spot the giant SOLD sign creaking in the wind at the center of the lot.
From the backseat, Prim stares at me with wide eyes. I had always told her I would earn the money to resurrect a place to live on this land…but even then I think we both knew it seemed like a farfetched dream.
Now, that dream is ruined.
"It's been sold," Prim whispers, crestfallen.
But she fails to notice Gale Hawthorne's eyes smiling up at her from the rearview mirror.
"Yeah, to Katniss Everdeen. With a lease under both of your names," he says.
Prim's teary eyes whip up from her lap to stare, mouth agape, at Hawthorne. I assume that I am mirroring her stunned expression, because he looks between the two of us and bursts into laughter.
"No way," Prim declares.
"Yeah way," Hawthorne says, mimicking her teenage intonation of the phrase and subverting it.
Prim squeals with delight and rushes out of the car, kicking up red, dusty dirt as she makes up her own euphoric dance steps, moving joyously throughout the field.
But I can't stop staring at him from the passenger's seat.
This was the favor he called in.
Hawthorne claps one of his broad hands on my shoulder, shaking me back to life. "Construction starts tomorrow, so I suggest you draw up some blueprints."
"Hawthorne…" I start, but he holds up the hand that's been resting on the steering wheel to stop me from saying that we can't accept this gift.
"Where I come from, in that little shithole in Chicago, we were taught to give back to the people who give to us," he says simply, training his gaze over the lenses of his sunglasses to watch Prim.
"I didn't give you anything," I say, scoffing a little. "Maybe a migraine or two, but…"
"You gave me something. You might not have known it at the time, but you did."
And that's when it clicks. The man's spent his entire life choosing to be alone because he thought no one else wanted him around. Everyone he's ever cared about in his life has left him or hurt him in some way.
Except for me and my sister. We gave him loyalty and companionship, and in return, he gave us the second chance we needed.
It's more than repayment…it's luck. Luck that our paths crossed, luck that we joined forces on this case, and luck that we could be exactly what the other one needed in our lives.
Guess the odds were in my favor all along. It just took getting some sense literally being beaten into me to realize it.
"So…we're friends now?"
He knows exactly what I'm trying to probe him for and sighs lightly, "I think it's safe to say that neither of us are very mushy guys — so without getting too into it, yeah, we're friends."
The sun begins to set behind the lot that will become our new bakery and home, a brilliant blend of pinks and blues streaked across an orange sky. Dusks like these are my favorite, sunsets that look as if someone had taken a paintbrush and colored in the sky. Maybe, from a new bedroom window, I can try to recreate this image.
"I guess I could get used to that," I say.
Hawthorne laughs, silently taking in the sunset as he leans back in the driver's seat beside me.
"Me too, Mellark."
A/N: So in the spirit of Thanksgiving and not having posted for a while, here is the final update before the epilogue! I hope you enjoyed everything! I'd be ever so grateful for your thoughts in a review!
Thank you! Have a happy holiday!
-ILoVeWicked