Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games series or any of the characters created by Suzanne Collins.
Chapter 21
Gale
There are ten minutes left before the interview airs.
My heart races as I wipe my sweaty palms onto the pants of my uniform. My eyes continue to impatiently skirt over the sealed doors of the Control Room, willing Madge or Katniss to burst through them quicker.
Other gray-clad soldiers mill about the room, buzzing excitedly like worker bees preparing honey, or in this case, the sweet nectar of declaring war with the Capitol. Queen Bee Coin sits upon her throne at the front of the Control Room with Plutarch. They converse in hushed tones, and I am grateful that they are so wrapped up in their own plans for Operation Airtime Assault that they have failed to notice my strange, jittery behavior.
Finnick Odair is as still as a statue in his seat, tying and untying a knot in a worn piece of rope, the continual weaving of his fingers serving as my only indication that he is still breathing.
I glance at the clock that is mounted on the wall above the doors. Eight minutes remain.
One person in the room immediately suspects my foul play, and I can tell he is on to me the moment he staggers into the room with his indiscreet bottle of liquor.
Haymitch's bloodshot eyes continue to find their way back to meet mine, as if he already knows what Madge and I have plotted, until he finally decides to do me the honor of moseying up to my side.
"You look suspicious, boy," he states, his accusatory booze breath blasting against my cheek.
"And you look very well hydrated, Haymitch," I reply, sniffing him out like a hound, just like he had with me. Although, to be fair, I don't have to do very much work in order to pick up the scent of alcohol on this man. Goodness, he could use a nice bath.
Haymitch simply raises me a sideways grin, his all-knowing eyes flashing in the direction of the clock. I follow his gaze.
Six minutes.
"Whatever it is that you're planning, Hawthorne, better happen fast," he all but whispers as he continues past me and flops down in his assigned seat, nursing the drink as it nearly sloshes all over him from the impact of his landing. I quickly, nervously scan the room for any upturned heads, any sign of someone having overheard Haymitch's rather loud remark.
Just as Haymitch must have suspected, no one is paying us any attention.
More soldiers begin taking their seats as time continues to dwindle. The doors to the rest of District Thirteen remain closed, only to be reopened when Coin walks through them to deliver a speech to the public relaying the details of the Operation.
Unless those doors open sooner, for another reason.
Five minutes.
I fight the urge to physically lash out at something—or someone. When I left Madge in that corridor last week, she had promised me that she would tell Katniss about the interview. We had no long, drawn out, elaborate plan for what would come after Madge gave the news to Katniss. There's no telling what plans Madge had up her sleeve, if any at all, for how to actually bring Katniss to Control.
As soon as Coin spoke of Mellark's involvement in Operation Airtime Assualt, I knew I couldn't be the one to do it, to rip the band-aid and tell her. I am running on thin ice with Katniss as it is, so she would not have believed the words if they came out of my mouth. Madge, on the other hand, is trustworthy, and any news that comes from her Katniss will find reliable.
It took Katniss literally slapping some sense into me to realize the error of my ways. The rebellion was an addictive drug, something that had become a part of me and something I could not live without. But like a drug, this rebellion had begun to suck the life out of me, had made me so dependent upon our mutualistic relationship that I had nearly abandoned the person I was before this drug was so easily accessible to me.
Only, by the time I reached the woods, it was too late. By refusing to tamper with Coin's trust in me, I had jeopardized Katniss' trust in the process. I was hooked on the war, and Katniss understood that my abuse had made me worse for wear.
As I sat in this very Control Room just a week ago and heard news of Mellark's next interview, a very small and very powerful part of me knew that both Katniss and Madge had the right idea about where my mind has gone these past four months, at least on some level.
I had attached myself to President Coin, placed all of my eggs in the basket of this rebellion. I had been wearing blinders, so busy barreling down the road ahead that I had forgotten to pause and remember that in life, there is no straight road. There are decisions, people, stops, twists, and turns that make up obstacles along the way, that make the road extremely difficult to travel down with one's eyes on a single, fixed finish line.
There was no one way road to winning this rebellion. It took me coming to terms with the detour that is cooperating with and believing in the strength of my friend and leader, the Mockingjay, to understand this.
So why was I so reluctant to be the one to tell her? Why have Madge do my dirty work for me?
Since that fateful morning in the woods, the withdrawal process has been an agonizing one. By becoming silent and seemingly aloof, I've laid off on my dedication to the war, slowly weaning myself off of the drug. Recovery was easier said than done, however. Among my many days of repentance, there were still evenings in which I would find myself in weaponry at three in the morning, breathing heavily, shaking, sweating, and doodling blueprints for a new weapon of attack.
I am no longer sure if my fears concerning this afternoon truly lied in facing Katniss and telling her what was going to happen to Peeta. Conversation and confrontation were our strong suits. No, my fear came from a much more deeply rooted seed inside of me, from the fear of my own cowardice.
As wrong as I was to fully commit myself to the rebellion and disregard everyone else in the process, to say I have torn myself away from this cause entirely by tearing away from Coin's orders would be a gross lie. The Soldier inside of me still clings on for dear life, begging me to continue fighting.
Bearing all of this in mind, I am presented with my conflict once again. I can only dance along this fine line, so taught and tethered like a tightrope, between Soldier Gale Hawthorne and Best Friend Gale Hawthorne for so long before my feet give out and I collapse to one side of the line.
I suppose my greatest fear came from worrying that I would not be able to tell her at all. From this tightrope upon which I walk upon, I feel fear with each tedious step I take forward. If I look down, I will certainly see how high up I have hoisted myself in conflict, I will clearly see the two competing arenas of my inner conflict, I will fall onto the side that is much easier to land on and revert back to who I was merely weeks ago.
And I know that all eyes are on me, watching and wondering if Gale Hawthorne will ever make it to the other side of the suspended platform that holds this tightrope in place.
I think of Madge's crystalline blue eyes, filled with quiet fear each time I snapped a biting remark at her about my ranked position and how important I was—or at least thought I was—to this war. Those eyes shift into the burning gray eyes of the Mockingjay, reflecting the Monster she sees back at me until he has leapt inside of me and attacked me and my thoughts as well.
How easy it is for me to become that fearful creature, that wild beast who craves for Capitol blood. As much as this beast's quick-to-obey attitude pleases his master, Coin, he is not a persona who I intend on getting too cozy with.
While that beast was hard to stomach, there is no denying that he still exists inside of me, reminding me that I am not about to become inactive in the war all because of my own confusions regarding where my loyalties truly lie.
I must find a balance between this war and the peace that the people in my life demand of me. Become what they want me to be all while not abandoning who I aspire to be.
Finding a balance between two such very different things, however, is trickier than I expected it to be. As I have seen on the battlefield of this war, all too similar to the battlefield of my mind, middle ground between war and peace is nearly impossible to find.
I will eventually have to sway one way or the other. This decision will stem from the deeply packed soil of my soul, once my brain and my heart, like sun and water fighting for the chance to overexpose the seed of my allegiance, have finished battling it out for top billing, of course.
Therefore, I continue to keep my toes curled around the thin rope that dangles beneath me, keeping my eyes wide open for any hurdles that will fly my way and try to knock me off kilter before I am ready to take any steps further.
Alma Coin clears her throat, reminds me of the task at hand. Three minutes left for the Mockingjay to show up. She and Madge only have three minutes.
I don't know if Madge has followed through with her promise to me or not, and as the clock continues to menacingly shave seconds off of Katniss' potential arrival time, my faith in her begins to falter.
When there are exactly two minutes left before the interview airs, I catch sight of twisting metal out of the corner of my eye. Katniss, sweaty and puffy and enraged as ever, flies through those doors like a big, bulging blessing.
I fold my hands in front of my mouth, covering my dry, cracked lips as they break out into an involuntary smile. I never should have doubted the strategic ability Madge Undersee. The girl has drawn up a more brilliant plan than I ever could have conjured up: programming Katniss' arrival to be mere minutes before the airing and granting Coin no cushion time to be able to throw her out.
Suddenly, time slows down. No more than five seconds have ticked by before Katniss is already screaming in Coin's face.
"So you weren't planning on showing me this interview, either? You have me do all of the work—film the propo that's supposed to overlay the broadcast, obey your every command, be your war symbol, and sit there and take your bullshit about a rescue mission—but give me zero payoff, no insight as to what is actually going on in this rebellion? I don't deserve to know the fate of the father of my child? I don't deserve to know how you plan to turn the tides of this war with footage of me? I don't deserve—"
Coin's cowering is brief, but unmistakable. Quickly, the President is on her feet, something inside of her having clearly snapped. She is staring directly into Katniss' wild eyes with a flicker in her own eyes that I have never seen before.
"Don't you dare raise your voice at me again! The only thing you deserve is a good smack across your face, you selfish little ingrate," Coin fires back immediately. "You may be the Mockingjay, but remember that you answer to me. I know how you feel about me, Katniss Everdeen, how you think I am a selfish, hate-fueled leader, but know that my mind has more than just one track. I am always ten steps ahead of you, which is not too difficult considering you act entirely on impulse."
Katniss' mouth flies open in protest, and Coin holds up a steady hand to silence her.
"Yes, Ms. Everdeen, I know exactly how you function. How difficult you truly are to comply with. I've known it from the moment you volunteered for your sister. It's what drew me to you and what now frustrates me most about you. You live in a world in which you are the core. You have the hardest time listening to anyone who isn't yourself when they tell you what to do because you are convinced that this world of yours is out to get to. The reality of it is, Katniss, that we've all only had the best interests of our Mockingjay in mind. When your mother requested that you discontinue your duties as Mockingjay to rest, we abided by those rules to keep you safe and healthy. I bet you didn't even know that I have spent the entire week ensuring that one of my spies becomes a guard in the Capitol's prison where the Victors are being held in order to relay information about your precious Peeta's whereabouts to my spies back here in Thirteen so that we may begin forming a plan for a rescue. It's a major deviation from our original plans, but I have agreed to make in exception in order to try to rescue him for you. You, however, have been too busy resenting me to even begin fathoming the possibility of me helping you. We are trying to save this boy for your sake, for that child's sake, and we are risking nearly everything in doing so. You better shut that mouth of yours. I gave you this title, and I can take it away just as quickly…"
As Coin's rant begins to wind down, the sound of the doors creaking open once more silences everyone in the room and turns our heads in the direction of Madge Undersee, caught in the act of trying to silently slip in while Coin was lost in her temper tantrum. She locks eyes with Coin and grips onto the door handle for balance.
My mind immediately categorizes them in terms of hunting. Madge is a small, defenseless animal, and President Coin is the point of Katniss' arrow.
Coin directs a harsh finger at Madge without missing a beat. She stomps over to where Madge stands, frozen at the ajar door. Her face contorting in pain, Madge yelps as Coin quickly rips the communicuff from around Madge's thin wrist, leaving a bright red, bleeding cut in its place. Madge plummets to the floor in pain and shock, and I wince. My hand flinches, my reflexes demanding that I run over and inspect her wound.
Like a damned moron, I stay planted in my seat.
Coin is livid and yelling once again. "You! I knew you would be the one to sabtotage everything! I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you. Your father was a Capitolite, and for all we know, a traitor. How could I have been so foolish as to think you, the Mayor's daughter, would be any different?"
Coin is our fearless leader. Before, I looked to her with utter admiration. She and I had the same common goal in mind, and I greatly respected her no-nonsense attitude toward bringing the Capitol down all while exhibiting her democracy over District Thirteen's people to the point in which I was willing to devote everything to her noble cause.
Nowadays, I look to this woman as a new source of inspiration. Coin walks along her own tightrope of war versus peace, and she's gotten this balancing act down to a tee. She ensures peace to her people and fights for peace across the land all while waging war against the Capitol. Her placid, composed face is the calm eye of this rebellion's storm.
All of that has gone out the window in the past minute. This is the face of a President that no one in this room, not even wide-eyed Plutarch, stony-faced Finnick, or drunken Haymitch, recognizes.
Alma Coin fires shots at Katniss and Madge with so much exasperation in her flitting voice and frantic hand gestures that it leads me to believe that this woman's drug, her dependency, is in her control over this war.
Ironically dealing with this curveball as she swerves around the room in which all matters of control are dictated by her, I see that Coin does not fare well with wrenches being thrown in her plan. The pregnancy, the rescue mission…Katniss' ability to tamper with Coin's control has all accumulated until her being in this room in this very moment, encroaching on Operation Airtime Assault, has sent Coin free-falling from her tightrope.
Where she has crash-landed, I'm afraid, is too far from the side of peace to even begin to think about crawling back.
On one side of the room, Katniss remains paralyzed in her shock and confusion. Coin's uncharacteristic bellows are usually specifically designed for Katniss, and Katniss alone. To see Madge Undersee, of all people, receive the same treatment is unexpected, to say the very least.
Madge is crippled underneath Coin's manic allegations, her eyes wide and fearful. Coin seems to realize the impression she is giving off to everyone around her and tones down her craziness. The President fights to keep her composure as she begins inching closer and closer to the frail blonde girl. Her tone drops several decibels while speaking, back to the leveled voice that we all know to be Coin's soft, convicted manner of speech. The menacing undertones laced shallowly beneath her words, however, do nothing to calm everyone's on-edge nerves.
"Soldier Undersee, have we forgotten how to speak? Or have all of your words been wasted on divulging highly secretive information to Miss Everdeen, so that you are now unable to voice an explanation for what is going on?"
"I—I," Madge croaks meekly, her thoughts betraying her and falling short. Coin's eyebrows arch.
"Interesting case that you plead, Miss Undersee. Now, Soldier, I like to believe that I am a fair woman…"
Katniss snorts. Coin barely acknowledges Katniss' existence. All of her fury and rage is currently focused on Madge, whom she has literally cornered in the doorway.
"Therefore, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. You are innocent until proven guilty. Right now, Soldier Undersee, you have one chance to admit that you have broken the promise you made to me in this very room just one week ago and were the one to have given Katniss the leading information to come to the Control Room."
My fists clench. Madge doesn't deserve this. She's one of Coin's best soldiers. Obedient, quiet, and hardworking, she does not deserve this maltreatment.
And yet, there she sits, about to take the fall for Katniss, for me.
Madge's eyes go blank. She appears to be gazing past Coin, past every soldier, and out of the windowless Control Room. She appears useless. Judging by the look in Coin's unfeeling glare, I know that Coin finds her to be dispensable to the cause, a traitor whose allegiance has always been to the Capitol that raised her. The comunicuff clutched in the President's hands is going to be disposed of as soon as Madge confesses.
Up until several years ago, I would have sided with Coin, agreed that someone like Madge Undersee, whose life had been handed to her on a silver platter, was not qualified to be among my ranks. But now, I know Madge Undersee better than to write her off as a weakling merchant girl.
She may be obedient, quiet, and hardworking, but among all of her redeeming qualities, Madge Undersee is strong.
The blank stare is an act. She's thinking quickly, analyzing every possible scenario, every possible word choice, she can make to ease Coin's distress and woe, to hoist the President back onto her tightrope.
My eyes involuntarily return to the stilled hands of the clock. Time has decelerated drastically, and after all that has happened, a minute still remains before Operation Airtime Assault.
Madge sighs, and I see in her sad blue eyes that she has come up with nothing. Her dry pink lips rip apart, and air fills her deflated diaphragm. Slowly, she rises to her feet. Her legs are straight, unwavering, and tall beneath her puffed chest and raised chin.
She looks braver than ever before. Immediately, I see in her exactly the type of soldier I should have been all along. Her bravery lies in her ability to stay true to herself, even when times are trying and risks are detrimental.
Coin had been the wrong influence on me. All I had to do was turn around and see that Madge was truly the one who had a grip on her tightrope walking tricks.
Her eyes stir a melting pot of emotions. Fear, of course, is the main ingredient, but it is mixed with relief, determination, pinches of guilt and humility, and above all else, sacrifice.
Those lips part once more, and I know exactly what she is about to do.
She is going to hand over everything, her power, her position, and possibly her life, to protect everyone else in the room.
Madge meets Coin's gaze and frowns slightly. "I'm sorry, President Coin, but I—"
"I told Katniss," a voice much deeper, much gruffer than Madge's, finishes and adds to the pandemonium of the situation.
Coin turns to face me, her brow knitting together in confusion as she looks me up and down. "Soldier Hawthorne?"
My heart beats loudly in my ears, falling into sync with the unbearably loud ticking of the wall cock.
Thirty seconds left.
I shrug, mustering up the most believable act I can manage. "Yeah, I was the one who told Katniss everything about the interview, not Madge. Madge didn't know anything. She had been helping Katniss out with organizing baby clothes, which caused Madge to run late since she had to finish the job on her own after Katniss ran out on her since she knew what was about to happen after I had told her a few days ago. I gave Katniss all of the details, told her where we would be and what we had planned. Told her about Mellark being involved. Madge didn't know anything. She didn't do anything wrong. If you're going to punish someone, punish me, not her."
My eyes fly past Coin's perplexed face as she tries to fit the pieces of my story together in logical order and meet Madge's unending sea of calming blue waters. The eyes that have been my safe harbor so many times before now find solace in me.
The President's hands rise to her temples as she sits and tries to process all of the information that has been thrown at her. The past couple of minutes have been too eventful for even someone as well-prepared and all-knowing as she is to be able to predict.
Finally, her focus is back on me.
"I'm very disappointed in you, Gale," my leader says softly, and for a moment, I sense the genuine quality of her disappointment. It stings.
This disappointment, however, comes from the fact that she knows that I, one of her most trusted and highly regarded soldiers, have just taken the fault for Madge Undersee and Katniss Everdeen and simultaneously thrown my previous commitments away in the process of doing so.
I bow my head and ingest her hard eyes solemnly, accepting the consequences of my actions. Gone are the benefits of war, the spots in the front lines, and the feelings of importance my communicuff once carried.
My decision has been made much easier in a flash of blinding light, dizzying me and knocking me over the edge of my own rope, onto a side in which my stature as a soldier is virtually nonexistent. It should feel like a much greater loss than it actually does in this moment.
One look at the relief-swept face of Madge is all it takes to know that I have done the right thing by saving Madge's reputation, and possibly her life, by handing over my own personal advantages in exchange for her guaranteed safety.
Katniss's eyes never leave me as the entire scene unfolds. I feel her dissecting my every word and action as I drag my feet to my chair and lower myself down in a fight against gravity.
She's every bit as confused about what I have just done as the rest of us are, I suppose.
Flickers on by itself, the television is the one to dissolve the tension in the room and break us all from our previous train of thought.
The clock strikes six just as the first chords of the nation's anthem strike up. I don't even bother to look at the clock. I know that it's right on time.
The image of the Capitol seal, followed by Mellark, fills the giant screen. Katniss' breath audibly hitches. Madge's hand flies to her heart. Haymitch takes a swig of his drink. Finnick ties another knot. Coin simply stares.
Mellark's eyelids flutter, as if he is still getting used to the dim light of the room in which he is seated in a high metal chair. The camera pans out to reveal President Snow standing several feet from Peeta, hands folded calmly on his podium and reptile eyes shooting forward.
The boy looks like he has just barely been cleaned up in a last ditch effort to hide that he is on the brink of death. Feeble attempts have been made on the Capitol's behalf to make it look as though he has made any sort of recovery since his face was last projected all over Panem. Still pale, slight, and broken, Mellark comes across as more defeated than ever. He barely looks up, revealing deeply set dark circles beneath his barren blue eyes, which are unfocused, angry.
Whether it is the heat of the stage lights or the heat of Snow's glare that's causing him to produce copious amounts of sweat, the beads of perspiration poking through the powder caked heavily on Mellark's face are unmistakable.
There is a map of Panem situated behind both of them. Behind that map, I catch the slightest traces of what appears to be the steel bars of a jail cell, but I am uncertain if it is just my eyes playing tricks on me.
Snow greets all of the Districts before turning things over to Peeta. Clenching and unclenching his jaw and fists, Mellark speaks in a strange, strained manner about how he still insists that both sides abide by the cease-fire and about how the rebel causes has attributed to various acts of what anyone could tell was Capitol destruction desperately staged to frame us: broken dams, collapsed granaries, train crashes all made out to look like we are responsible for the mayhem across the nation.
Suddenly, Peeta's face is replaced by Katniss, standing like a warrior among the rubble of our old District. I recognize this as the day Madge filmed her propo, another instance in which her bravery had put everyone else involved in the rebel cause to shame.
Triumphant uproar of the Soldiers and Plutarch rings out, and Coin smiles in serenity. Cheers of Beetee's praises fly about Command like corks from champagne bottles. I feel my own fist happily pumping at the air upon the sight of our footage breaching the Capitol's.
Madge continues to stare, unblinking, at the screen. The cut on her wrist has grown pink and puffy with early signs of infection.
The broadcast flashes back to Mellark's terror-stricken face. There is no doubt that Katniss has just appeared on whatever monitor he had been reading his script from. He aimlessly tries to continue speaking, only to be replaced again by my hankering form as I slash through the ghostly remnants of the Seam in search of my home, Katniss following closely behind with her bow at hand, both of us muttering a string of Capitol insults.
Plutarch claps a hand on my shoulder, beaming at me with pride. It is an odd sensation, being a part of the broadcast that will declare this war official. Under different circumstances, I would have considered it an honor.
In this moment, I am numb to it all. My eyes are trained on that screen, and occasionally on Madge Undersee, to be ready for whatever shows up next.
I am followed by a clip of Finnick as he delivers bits and pieces a moving speech about the fallen tribute from Katniss' Games, Rue, whose death has been speculated to have been the one to light a spark of its own with this rebellion.
Peeta's back. His face screams suffering, and his shaking voice combats his hysterics as he continues to trudge through the teleprompter's prepared monologue.
Immediately, Madge's face appears. Both Coin and Madge visibly tense up. She's screaming, lost in her own world of terror, atop the remains of her home.
A battle then breaks loose. It's Beetee's arsenal of propo clips, no more than five seconds long each, versus the image of Peeta Mellark, which grows more and more distressed with each passing clip.
Time stands still once again as an unusual image is projected on the screen. I recognize the room in which Katniss stands, enraged yet again, as the room we are all celebrating in now. It lacks the familiar digitally-enhanced luster of one of our propos, this clip, and instead rolls with a grainy image of Katniss that takes several moments to come into focus.
The hubbub of delight has died down just as quickly as it came as the soldiers in the room try and piece together what this clip's intention is.
I remember this day as the day we all met before we departed to District Eight. Katniss and Haymitch had gotten into an argument over something. What was it that they had gotten so heated over, though?
My thoughts are cut short by the sounds of Katniss' dread. It can be summed up in the single, blood-curdling scream that escapes her lips before she runs into the arms of Finnick.
She reaches out, and my eyes follow the trail of where her shaking finger directs us all with terror as realization dawns on nearly everyone.
Katniss points at her television counterpart's highly-evident pregnant stomach, fully displayed on that screen and visible to everyone in Panem.
'Haymitch, perhaps you haven't noticed, but I am having a baby. I am pregnant. It's not a hoax, it's real,' the audio of Katniss relents as I recall the memory of the live argument. Haymitch had demanded that the video be destroyed for the sole purpose of avoiding Snow ever being able to get his hands on it.
The clip, certainly having lasted longer than five seconds, quickly cuts out. Beetee must be panicking down in the weaponry room; the showing of this clip is obviously a mistake.
Peeta's face is now flooded with confusion as he returns to the television.
"Pregnant?" he asks to no one in particular.
"Pregnant?!" Snow booms from behind him.
Katniss is back onscreen, the angle in which she is being filmed from where Messalla left his camera turned on and resting on the table shows her side profile and makes no mistake of her newly formed curves.
Beetee's timing couldn't be any less perfect as the snippet of footage just manages to capture Katniss making grandiose gestures at her baby while shouting, 'No amount of sick patients or fancy editing can change the fact that I am pregnant…'
The deafening sound of static fills the room and the Capitol seal replaces Katniss' belly. It imprints itself on each of us as its reflection from the screen diffracts off of the projector and onto our faces, reminding us all who we have chosen to pick a fight with and who we have just given vital information concerning our Mockingjay to.
I am unsure as to what has happened, whether the events that have just unfolded have occurred in real time or if this entire broadcast is a sequence out of my nightmares.
Madge lowers herself into a chair, knees buckling beneath her. President Coin's face is buried in her hands, her backfired plan having blown up right before her very eyes. Plutarch Heavensbee sits, face contorted in utter shock. Haymitch downs the remainder of his bottle.
This is a living nightmare, I realize.
Both Mellark and Snow are beside themselves when the camera zips back to being on them. The set is in turmoil. The map has been knocked over, and many white-uniformed Peacekeepers scuttle about behind the two men as they desperately try to regain control of the situation.
All it takes is one look at Snow's bewildered expression to understand that one thing is certain:
President Snow now knows that Katniss is pregnant.
He clears his throat, straightens the white rose pinned to his lapel, and smiles a grin so sickening that it chills my blood.
"Citizens of Panem, it appears as though the rebels are displeased with information we have disclosed to you concerning their 'noble cause'. I assure you that truth and justice will continue to prevail. Our full broadcast will resume once security has been reinstated."
His slit-like eyes are back on Peeta, who wears a countenance that is nearly unrecognizable in his confused stupor.
"In the meantime, I turn things back over to Peeta Mellark."
Mellark flinches as teh final syllables fall from Snow's pursed lips. The sound of his own name isn't even safe anymore.
"Peeta," Snow drawls slowly and almost too calmly, as if this next segment is premeditated. "Is there anything you would like to say to Katniss Everdeen?"
In his features, I read his disappointment in the younger man. It is the same disappointment Coin had shot my way just minutes ago.
And that's when it hits me: Snow believes that Peeta knew about the pregnancy all along, that the stint at the interviews was never really a stint. He's embarrassed that he fell for it, that he allowed himself to be swindled by the silver tongue of Peeta Mellark in a sticky web of baby lies.
Vengeance flashes across Snow's features, and I can sense that immediately following this broadcast, Peeta will be paying for this alleged 'wrongdoing' that the boy truly knew nothing of.
For the first time since I have been forced to be associated with Peeta Mellark, my heart goes out to him.
Mellark is clearly struggling with his own thoughts concerning what he has just seen when he lurches forward, strangulated by his own weakness and pain.
"Katniss," he rasps, blatantly reading off of the teleprompter that now haunts him with images of a pregnant Katniss, once again, "How do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe here in Panem. Not in the Capitol, the Districts…"
Mellark pauses for a moment, his stare bordering on insanity as his eyes fly up from their fixation on the teleprompter to stare directly into the camera. Directly at anyone who dares to stare back.
What comes next is clearly unscripted.
"And you, in Thirteen…dead by morning!"
It all happens in the blink of an eye. Snow knocks the camera to the white-tiled floor and demands that the cameraman end the broadcast.
Beetee returns with more images of Katniss, and the rest unfolds in utter chaos as we are subjected to a slideshow of alternating rebellious propaganda and real-life hell.
Peeta knocked forcefully to the ground, just inches from the camera. Katniss standing before the hospital in Eight. Boots scurrying across the tiled floor. Katniss shooting an arrow into the flaming sky on the warehouse rooftop beside Paylor and I. Mellark begging, pleading as Snow's patent leather shoes come into the shot. The famous mantra of 'If we burn, you burn with us' written in flaming hot lettering. A concurrent cry of pain and blow to the head.
Blood splotches, undoubtedly belonging to Peeta Mellark, taint the lens of the Capitol camera and the pristine white canvas of the studio's floor before everything goes black for good. The room is so silent, I can hear a pin drop from District One.
Coin is on her feet almost instantaneously.
"This is a disaster!" she screeches. She's even more distraught than before the broadcast aired, a task I would have deemed nearly impossible. "Where on Earth did that footage come from?"
Katniss, still stunned and a pile of mush in Finnick's arms, shakes her head in utter disbelief. "It's from months ago, a meeting before we went to District Eight. I barely remember it happening."
"That's because it was supposed to be destroyed," Haymitch growls, making no attempts at hiding the daggers he sends Cressida and Messalla's way. They tremble with terror, giving away entirely their responsibility for the taping of that particular outburst.
"How did Beetee get his hands on that video? Why would he show it? He would never betray us on purpose, so that footage must have been carelessly left lying around to be mistakenly added to the pile of attack clips without Beetee's full knowledge of its contents," Coin wonders aloud incredulously. She begins pacing and Plutarch springs up to follow closely behind her, should she do something irrational in her spiraling rage.
Cressida involuntarily lets out a sob as she clings to Messalla, and Coin's eyes fire like laser beams their way.
"How did Beetee get that video?"Coin shrieks, her bark sharp and piercing, causing the two of them to become puddles in her presence.
"We had full intentions of destroying it!" Cressida cries out. "But the mission to Eight required so much prep and our immediate attention that we figured we would hold off on destroying it until we returned…and I suppose in the excitement following what happened in District Eight we completely forgot…"
"Do you think you can afford to forget?" Coin bellows, her screams echoing that of the stressed cries President Snow displayed on live television before he beat Peeta to a pulp. Her hands fly skyward, and for a moment, I fear that the camera crew will suffer the same fate as Peeta. In a huff of frustration, Coin can no longer stand to look at the pitiful pair and she turns to face everyone else in the room.
"Obviously, we have a situation on our hands. Snow now may have that footage in his possession," she states the apparent fact that we all have mutually agreed on. Coin's exterior deteriorates before us as she scrambles for a follow up, a course of action in which we must take to gain back our lead.
Plutarch senses her floundering and steps forward.
"Yes, this is a setback…" he begins, only to be cut off by the stifled ironic laughter of his leader.
"A major setback," Coin adds.
"A major setback," Plutarch repeats. "But I propose we begin drafting more propos and interviews in which we act as though Katniss is merely continuing the pregnancy rouse started by Peeta during the Quarter Quell. Act like the baby isn't real and that we had planned to film several 'what might have been' propos in which Katniss had not miscarried in the arena."
Haymitch rises slowly and wanders over to Plutarch's side. "I think we're forgetting the most important detail in that interview, ladies and gentlemen. Yes, it adds to the mess that the pregnancy question has resurrected itself unexpectedly, but that is not the issue we should be focusing on here, not yet at least."
"What are you getting at, Abernathy?" Coin barks, clearly in no mood for his cryptic exposition.
Haymitch rolls his eyes and taps his head, as if instructing Coin to keep up with him mentally. "It's not rocket science, everyone. Clearly, when the boy looked directly into the camera and told us all that we would be 'dead by morning', it was a code. He was warning us of an attack here in the District."
Cries of rebuttal erupt.
"How would he have been given that information?"
"Why should we trust him?"
"How do you know that's what he was trying to tell us?"
Haymitch glowers at the flurry of soldiers before yelling a resounding, "Shut up! All of you, just shut up! We all saw what they did to him the second the information flew out of him. They're beating him senseless as we all sit here trying to make a big production out of a very explicit clue. I don't know what more of an indicator you meat heads need, his carcass flying from a Capitol flagpole?"
The former Mentor is only met with more refusal. Attacks and counterattacks on various arguments concerning Peeta's final statement run together until all that can be heard is an incoherent gaggle of 'but's and 'can't's. I look on in silence as Haymitch becomes flustered and turns to Katniss amidst the chaos.
"A little help would be greatly appreciated, Sweetheart."
It takes Katniss several moments to regain her senses before she springs back to life, a rekindled fire lit in her eyes. This inferno burns angrily within her, sends her barreling through the crowd of soldiers until she stands before all of them.
"Hey!" she shouts, waving her arms high above the crowd, only to receive no acknowledgement. I watch her act on what Coin referred to as 'impulse' as she grabs Haymitch's empty bottle of liquor and smashes it against the nearest wall, finally garnering utter silence. Plutarch rubs his tired eyes.
"People need to stop breaking glass in this room," he mutters.
"Haymitch is right," Katniss speaks quickly, purposefully. "There's no telling where Peeta got that information or if it's true, but I know Peeta well enough to know that he wouldn't say anything unless he believed it to be real. And now, because of what he has said, they're—"
She pauses, faltering and turning green as thoughts of what is currently occurring to Peeta now that the cameras have stopped rolling fill her mind and the words catch in her throat.
Madge is surprisingly the one to grab Katniss when her knees buckle and she nearly slips to the ground in unconsciousness.
"Look, Alma," Haymitch begins, his voice softening, "you don't know that boy. Not like we do. Get your people ready. Whether we're under attack or Snow's bluffing, it's better to be safe than sorry."
Coin mulls over the argument of the Victors from District Twelve for several moments before she finally stands up and nods quickly at Haymitch with a look of understanding that is oddly sincere. She waves two soldiers off to alert and rally the remainder of the troops. Appearing collected once more, face placid and eyes emotionless, Coin makes her way to the intercom system in the far corner of the room.
I should have suspected that Coin was anticipating a measure like this would eventually have to be taken during the war. It was only a matter of time before something, even something as shocking as a botched Airtime Assault, would calll for this measure to come to fruition. The calm that settles over her is the nearly crippling liberation of regaining some semblance of control in her position, as she holds in her hand the microphone that has the power to send this District into distress mode.
She sighs, gripping the microphone with white knuckles, before turning the system on. An uncharacteristically cheery ding dong fills the room and every corridor of District Thirtreen before our President speaks gravely, yet urgently:
"Attention, District Thirteen. We have just received warning of an attack of Level Five caliber coming from the Capitol. Beginning effectively once this announcement is through, the District is in Lockdown. Please, follow the instructions gone over in drill practices and remain calm. Thank you."
As soon as Coin's bony finger leaves the microphone, an otherwise stagnant blue light above the door frame suddenly begins to flash in blinding shades of cerulean and an eardrum-rupturing, shrill siren infiltrates the halls of District Thirteen.
Katniss, Haymitch, and Finnick are corralled by Commander Boggs out of a door that opens to reveal a secret exit. Before I can call out to her, Katniss and her team have disappeared and all I can see around me is the familiar gray cotton of my fellow soldier's uniforms as we all shuffle out of the main exit. I wedge through this tightly packed school of fish to the very front of the cluster, where I spot the back of a bowed, blonde head of hair.
My fingers wrap gingerly around Madge's uninjured wrist as I yank her back into the center of the crowd. She recoils almost immediately, her face scrunched in defense as she whirls around to scold whoever has assaulted her. Her features soften when she recognizes me as her captor.
"Stick together," I instruct loudly, although I cannot even hear myself over these sirens. She reads my lips and nods tersely before turning her attention back out into the never ending gray river that continues to be bled into with more and more citizens from different corridors as we all make our way down a never-ending flight of stairs.
I cannot help my strain every muscle in my body as I crane my neck in scouring the area for the faces of my family. It is no use.
Once we have traveled deeper than I have ever ventured before, people begin to disperse in designated, marked off areas and scan their schedules into a computer that I assume keeps track of every resident.
I worry that we have missed our exit as we are ushered deeper into what would be mines of District Thirteen, had they had the pleasure of being a coal-mining District like Twelve, but the stairs only multiply with our descent.
We are led into a corridor that looks neither natural nor manufactured. White signs scatter the earthen walls around the tunneled out area and designate our sleeping bunks based on where we live upstairs. A bright red 'E' denotes that this is where I will be staying. Judging by the built in kitchen and bathroom, I realize that the stay ten-thousand leagues underground could be longer than any of us anticipate.
It is not until Plutarch Heavensbee, a peculiar grin on his face—please, do not tell me that he still believes his brilliant Airtime Assault plan was even somewhat successful or that he attributes the bomb threat to his brilliant plan's contribution—strides up to us and instructs Madge to follow him to the 'C' area that I realize that our hands have been clasped together this entire time.
"This way, Miss Undersee," Plutarch urges, his fingers curling into his palm with a gesture of beckoning. Madge sheepishly eyes his hand with trepidation, those blue orbs of hers nearly bulging out of their sockets.
"But…" she begin as Heavensbee tears her away from me. she sends a quick, unreadable glance my way.
My rebuke is left hitching in my throat upon the sight of my mother's elated smile as she rushes toward me, my brothers and sisters flying behind her.
"Oh, thank goodness," Mother breathes, her arms tightly snaked around my neck. My siblings latch on wherever they can, the distress in their terror-stricken, trembling bodies fusing them to me as they melt into the safety of my presence. "We were worried sick about you, Gale."
"It's alright," I soothe her, rubbing circles into her back. "We're all together and we're all safe now."
"No, please! NO!" a voice suddenly screeches, disrupting the peaceful and eerily organized routine of this lockdown.
My eyes fly open, still secured safely in my mother's embrace, and I watch over her shoulder as the display in front of me unravels.
Madge screams, thrashes, and cries out for her father and mother in the arms of two guards as they begin dragging her down the hallway and past the orderly distribution of bedding material.
Her eyes are wide, panicked, and trapped in what I know to be the haunted thoughts of bombings past.
She is experiencing flashbacks of the harrowing event that killed her family and left her alone to fend for herself in Compartment C. The post-traumatic stress of what happened to her months ago has finally caught up with her in a twisted déjà vu.
I wriggle from my mother's tight grip and storm up to the soldiers.
"Let go of her!" I snarl as I hurl them from Madge's body, nearly sending them into the half-completed brick walls behind us
"She must go to her designated quarters immediately," one soldier snaps as he regains balance.
The other rubs his clenched jaw. "And she's frightening everyone else with her behavior."
I take hold of Madge and pull her against my chest. She burrows into my shirt, soaking it with the tears of her heaving sobs. My arms protectively ravel around her frail waist and clutch her tightly. The glare I emit signals that I won't be letting go anytime soon, so these guards better take the damn hint and stop staring at us as if we have escaped from the circus.
"She is clearly the most traumatized one here," I hiss over the muffled shrieks of the sirens and Madge's agony-filled weeping.
Plutarch has returned, all traces of his dopey smile having evaporated.
"Is there a problem here, Soldier Hawthorne?" he asks, as if he is oblivious to what is happening right before him. My family has formed a concerned crowd behind Plutarch, along with several nosy bystanders who seem to be unfazed by my hateful looks.
"I—I need to stay with her," I explain, my thoughts as jumbled as my words. "She can't be alone. I don't want to leave her to go through this alone."
Plutarch sighs, whispers a sniping command at the two guards. They leave and return instantly, two sets of bedding and other necessities in their arms.
"Very well. You will stay with Miss Undersee in the 'C' bunker. I'll make sure to record the numbers in the census log," Plutarch answers, visibly annoyed that his precious section numbers will not match up.
I send a harried glance my mother's way, and she immediately returns my worried expression with a much more palliative one of her own.
Stay with her, my mother mouths. She needs you.
I think of how our hands were intertwined throughout the terror of the evacuation, up until the moment we had been separated, and realize that I may need her just as badly.
After both of us have calmed down, I lead her to the white sign labeled with a bright red 'C'.
The first action I take when we have received our packs and found our assigned cots is remove an adhesive bandage and salve from my first-aid kit and tend to her injured arm. She protests at first, insisting that Coin 'barely nicked her skin', but the soothing sensation of the salve against her wound elicits a relieved grin that even she cannot hide from me.
Once we have settled into our cots, marked off by chipped white paint that delineates our twelve foot by twelve foot spaces—although it's hard to feel claustrophobic in area 'C's bunker, a much more spacious location considering the number of single dwellers in Thirteen is staggeringly small—Madge looks up from where she has been silently making the bed. I catch her gaze without missing a beat.
"Thank you," she whispers, bashfully blinking the tears away from under her thick eyelashes, still trying to hard to be the strongest girl around, even in this time of tragedy. She slowly makes her way around to the other side of her bed, where I stand frozen in place, and wastes little time before she silently brings her arms back around my torso, anchoring us in this sea of turmoil once more as her hug closes the gap between us.
"For everything."
I hug her back, this feeling of comfort one I do not want to let go of.
"Remember that night in the woods, after the bombs had hit, when our groups had found each other?" I ask slowly. I feel her head vibrate in a nod against my shoulder blade.
"How could I forget?" she asks dryly, mirthlessly.
"You told me that you didn't feel brave that night. The truth is, Madge, you're the bravest one of us here, a hero..."
She laughs dismissively.
"I am by no means a hero, Gale. I barely can handle being a soldier…"
I grip her tighter, urging her to hold onto what little confidence she has left. "You're a hero to me, understand? If you hadn't brought Katniss to Control, there's no telling if anyone would have believed Haymitch's theory. To me, you helped save the District."
She becomes mute, and for a moment, I wonder if I have been hugging her too tight, if I have squeezed all of the air out of her in my need for support.
I feel her breath flutter against the skin of my neck as she exhales heavily. Her eyelashes sweep against my throat as she shuts her eyes tightly.
"You and I have very different definitions of hero, then, Gale Hawthorne, because what you did today, taking the blame for me like that...well, it was one of the most courageous displays I have ever seen."
I scoff. "You have no idea how much of an effect you truly can have, do you, Madge?"
She sighs softly. "No, Gale, I suppose I don't."
I sigh at her resistance and escort her to my cot. On any other occasion, Madge Undersee would have ardently objected to climbing into bed with a man, no matter how harmless the gesture may have been. Today, however, her desire for human closeness is palpable and overrides her ladylike code of conduct as she silently wills herself to crawl under the thin covers and settle against my side.
My hand finds the back of head and my fingers begin to comb through her blonde waves. "Well, the bad news is that we might get bombed…again."
Her laugh is somber, bitter, as it resonates against the sullen walls that barricade us thousands of feet below the crust of the earth.
"Is there any good news after what has happened today?" she asks, her voice dripping with skepticism. Everyone in that Control Room has been through hell and back in less than an hour, and she's right to think that all else looks bleak.
Holding her in my arms while the possible end looms toward us, however, makes me feel more untroubled than ever before.
"The good news is that you're here and I'm here, and we're not going anywhere until we're safe and sound," I tell her.
"Why are you doing all of this for me?" she blurts out flatly from where head rests at the center of my chest, the question bottomless. I can tell she expects either a crock of shit or no response at all, and that it took a lot of bravery on her part to even muster up these words of the inquiry.
I think back to a time in which a crowd looked on while I publicly lashed out, after I had received the news of Katniss' pregnancy, and punched a wall. I remember Madge's unwavering presence, her lack of judgment, and her never-ending support at my side as I faded in and out of my disparaging reveries, and I have found my answer.
"Because, Madge, this is what you and I do. We look out for each other."
Madge has no retort for this, to my surprise. If she does, at least she doesn't voice it right away.
Her acceptance comes in the form of her hand eventually finding my own again, lacing her delicate fingers with my meaty, rugged ones as she finally drifts off to an involuntary rest.
I stay awake, my eyes plastered to the dirt ceiling that encases the winding staircase above me. There is no telling what the future holds for any of us. Whether or not District Thirteen will survive the night is up in the air. The fate of my communicuff is uncertain. Madge's military involvement may or may not come to a halt. Katniss Everdeen is likely driving herself crazy this very moment over the dire situation of Peeta Mellark. President Coin could have drawn up dozens of plans for a counterattack by now. President Snow may be drawing up attacks of his own, now that he has a new target in the form of that baby.
The most certain piece of concrete fact that I have is what I hold in my arms at this very moment: Madge's safety, comfort, and security as she grips onto me with the silent promise to watch over me as well.
It's enough to keep me at bay and drown out the sound of those blasted sirens as I finally allow sleep to take over and begin to close my eyes.
Peeta's blood, the blood that smeared against the camera, now dots the back of my eyelids in blinding splotches of fiery shades of warning crimson before the nothingness takes over.
A/N: Hey everyone! Here's the next installment. I know that was probably a lot to read/digest (longest chapter wooo!), but nonetheless I hope you enjoyed everything! As you can see, Gale's got some layering going on. He's my toughest POV to write for, so hopefully his conflict is clear and as true to character as possible.
Again, I cannot thank you enough for all of your support with this story. To have over 100 reviews/follows and nearly 60 favorites is beyond my wildest dreams of what I imagined for this. To those of you who are fans, old and new, of Ghosts, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I'll do my very best to update as quickly as possible! I have a relatively busy week ahead of me, so it may be a little difficult. But in usual fashion, here's a little preview for what is to come: We travel back to the Capitol following the aftermath of the Airtime Assault, both President Snow and Peeta having to decipher for themselves what the accidental clip of Katniss' pregnancy means.
Thanks so much for everything. You guys are truly the BEST of the best and you all have made writing this fic so enjoyable thus far! Till next time!
-ILoVeWicked