Chapter Five: Lovers' Candescence
A/N: I still don't own The Hunger Games or Portal. I apologize for the lateness of this story; I traveled a lot and lost track of time. Thanks for reading!
The cameras of Panem recorded the assemblage of a room in the arena. Nozzles of gas filled the corners, and small black chips filled the floor. A small box with a red light and a green light was set into the floor, and grooves carved into the floor leading to it. When the wall panels were in place, a door and a series of lowering, stair-like platforms were evident. When all was assembled, the Gamemaker let it rest a minute, a minute for the viewers at home to wonder.
At then, fire.
The cameras filled with brilliant light, so close the viewers could almost feel the heat through their TV screens.
Cut to Finnick and the Annie-Core. The Gamemaker began to speak to them: "You have been excellent tributes. Well, one of you has been. I'm sure you can guess which one."
"Not me," Annie mumbled.
"And rest assured, if you fear for the safety of the handheld portal device, that all Aperture Science equipment can remain undamaged in temperatures of four thousand degrees Kelvin. Thank you for your cooperation… and may the odds be ever in your favor."
"What?" Finnick said. "Is this good-bye? There's two other tributes – the Game can't be over, we're just down to the final three."
"Four," Annie corrected as they stepped onto the moving platform.
"Four, of course, sorry…. What's even going on? And where's that light up ahead?"
"It's cake," Annie said calmly, reading the black and white sign.
Finnick felt the heat first. He turned right around and jumped onto the next platform, and the next, both of which were moving towards the light – and curse it, they had gotten faster.
"You can't escape, you know." The Gamemaker's voice was condescending and cool. "This is really the neatest way to go. And so trendy. Fire is very 'in' these days. A Capitol trendsetter should appreciate that."
"Wait! Finnick!" Annie's voice was shrill and excited. "She just said that Aperture Science equipment will be safe—"
"She meant the portal gun," Finnick said, panting.
"But I'm also a piece of equipment, aren't I?" By now the platform had taken them into the furnace itself. Finnick choked, breathing in hot air. The platform would coast for another fifteen feet before sinking into the flames.
"Look down, to the left," she said. "See that? Throw me down, onto the green light!"
"No," Finnick shook his head fervently and kept moving backwards, looking around for a portal surface. There was none to be found.
"Finnick, I can tell now, it's core-interactive switch. I can turn the inferno off!"
"But –"
"No buts! You've been saving me, Finnick, let me save you."
Annie raised her lower optic in a core's smile. Finnick couldn't answer. He put a hand on her hull, then snatched it away quickly – the metal of her was burning to touch.
As if that was the signal, she jerked out of the static, protective hold of his gun and into the flames.
"Annie!" Finnick cried. But he had no choice, but to keep running up the moving platforms, looking down for a glimpse of her, even as smoke filled his mouth and made his eyes stream. He kept climbing, climbing, climbing. The desire to just give up, to fall into the red and yellow heat, grew stronger. It was almost like the sea, it would obliterate him entirely – burn away all of the Capitol filth he'd accrued over the years – when suddenly it vanished. Smoke still filled the air, but the floor of the chamber was just black, its blackness smearing up towards the walls. The heat was diminished. And bright among the floor's ciders was the red-hot hull of Annie's core.
He leapt off of the platform, and slipped when he landed. He was standing in a gutter, a deep groove just the size and shape of Annie's core. She had rolled down it to the off-switch where she now lay. There were several other grooves in the floor, all leading to the same place.
'She planned it,' Finnick thought. 'Damn her, the Gamemaker planned this!'
He slid through the hot embers towards Annie and kneeled next to her. "I'm here."
Annie turned slightly upward to see him. The glass of her optic had warped and partly melted. "I did it," she said. "I saved you."
"Yes, you did. And you're safe, too! What was that about Aperture Science equipment and high temperatures?"
He smiled, but Annie dully answered, "I don't think I was very well made." Her hull was no longer red but Finnick could feel the heat coming from her. "This is what happens when I try to be the Girl on Fire…"
""Okay," Finnick said, "Here's what w'll do. While you cool down, I'll go in search of some kind of – I don't know – repair station, or –"
"No. Stay. I wasn't made to last long."
"Annie—"
"Don't say that. I'm not real. I have never been your Annie." Now it was Finnick's turn to fall into a stunned silence. The core looked at him and gave a weak little laugh. "But I do love you. And I'm glad I saved you. Just stay until I'm dead… and then you can escape."
If Finnick thought there was something strange about that choice of words, he didn't show it. He was going to say something and then was overtaken by a racking cough. When his lungs finally cleared the smoke, he stroked Annie's hull, finally cool enough to touch. "It'll be okay. Think of the sea."
The core gave a feeble nod. Its optic flittered to sea-glass-green one last time – then Annie's voice whispered, "Bang." And the light went out.
Finnick hauled himself to his feet. The activity demanded oxygen of his weary muscles, and he coughed again, inhaling more of the sick, sooty air. As he walked, almost in a crouch, his cough got worse, and his breathing shallower. At the last, Finnick Odair, the Capitol's darling, collapsed in a dingy grey hallway and hacked his blood onto the grey tiles. The hideous sound filled the airwaves. When he fell still, the lights in the hallway went black.
Bang.
Finnick woke up very slowly. He took one breath, and then another, and then another.
'I'm not dead,' he found himself thinking. 'Why am I not dead?'
A cool breeze touched his face, and he inhaled deeply. He smelled earth, and grass. And the breeze carried laughter to him. His left arm was in pain but – otherwise he felt pretty good. He opened his eyes to starlight.
"Who's laughing?" he asked.
"Me."
He turned his head and saw Johanna Mason sitting next to him. She gave him one of her razor-sharp smiles, and he could make out a large bandage pressed on the left half of her head.
"Welcome back to the land of the living. Well," she added. "I think so."
"What?"
"Either the three of us are dead, and doomed to be together for all eternity – or we're alive, and out."
"What?" Finnick struggled to sit up. "How can we be out? Where are we?"
"It looks like the southern edge of District Seven, to me, but what do I know?" Johanna shrugged. They sat (or lay, in Finnick's case) on the edge of a forest, next to a small black shed. To their left was a large, well-maintained field. A little ways into the field was a figure standing against the stars. She was looking up.
"Wiress?" Finnick asked.
"The very same. She got a radio somehow – Aperture Science make! – and has been tinkering with it since I got out. Not like I can understand a word she says anyway."
"But why – "
"No idea. But I'm glad you're out of there." Johanna took Finnick's hand and squeezed it.
He stared at her hand, unable to comprehend why she was doing this, why any of this was happening, if it was real. But – on the inner forearm of his left arm, there was a large, dark bruise, and the pain from that was dreadfully real. Finnick gingerly touched it.
"The tracking device," he said wonderingly.
"No exit wound," Johanna said. "It wasn't gouged out, it's just gone. Same for me, and for Wiress. You remember those emancipation grids?"
"Yes – why?"
"I think that we were passed through one of them on our way up here – extra strength, to destroy the trackers. It hurts – but it means we're free." Johanna looked down at the bruise on her own arm, smiling with a fierce and unaccustomed tenderness. "Free," she said again.
Finnick lay back and looked up at the stars. He didn't dare to believe that it was real. He didn't dare to think, to wonder at what this meant, or what came next. All he dared to do was to look at the stars, and feel Johanna's warm hand in his own, and feel the fresh air.
It wasn't so bad. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't so bad.
A familiar, vibrating hmmm sounded in the air, drawing nearer. Wiress waded through the knee-high grasses to them. In the darkness, she sounded pleased. "They're coming," she said.
"Who is? The Capitol?" Johann asked.
"No." That was all Wiress said before she bent down to pull Finnick to his feet, and he looked up again. The stars were blotted out by a hovercraft. And he realized, finally, the plan was working. He was going to see the promised land – District Thirteen.
He closed his eyes. Whatever came next, he would accept it, like he accepted the waves of the sea. He squeezed his friend's hand. "I'm ready."
Martyr
When the cannon sounded, Peeta stopped dead in his tracks. He saw Katniss, through the glass wall, do the same. He gave a short laugh – which was evil, completely evil, Finnick had been a good guy and District Four was going to grieve him – but he couldn't help it. He felt relieved, giddy, light as air.
"It's over," he said. "We're the only two left to fight. And we won't fight each other – it's over, Katniss. Katniss – look at me!" He waved his arm and she slowly turned to look at him. Her face held no joy, only wariness. "We're the only two left!"
"Now, we both know that's not quite true," said the Gamemaker. "Don't we, Katniss?"
"Katniss?" Peeta asked. "What is she talking about?"
"You don't need to know," said the Gamemaker. "And you don't even really care. All you care about is getting your happy ending with your sweet mockingjay and tragically nonexistent nest egg. Anything that threatens that idea, you'll just lie it out of existence. And not that I don't have respect for the fine art of lying… but you don't belong in your own happy ending. Your favorite role to play… your only role in this ending… is that of martyr."
"That's not true!" Katniss yelled. Peeta looked at her, surprised at how clear her voice sounded – and realized that the glass windows were sinking into the walls.
"Katniss!" he yelled, and she turned to him. She gasped, her beautiful smile lighting up her face. She covered the distance to the window, and vaulted over it as he reached out his arms to her…
"Ah-ah-ah," said the Gamemaker. "How about one last game? The simplest game of all."
Neither of them listened. Before she even finished, Katniss was in Peeta's arms, and he felt her heartbeat, her warmth. He smelled her hair, and this was right. This was where he belonged.
He smelled something else, too. Cinders, and ash, and hot stone. He and Katniss broke apart and turned. To Peeta's left there was a roaring inferno, which was swallowing up the walls and floors as it went.
"Tag," said the Gamemaker. "You're it."
Katniss' hands clawed at him, pulling him forward. "Run," she said. "Run!" She dropped her portal gun, but her free hand did not let go of her slender white bow. Peeta, though, was glad that he kept his; the test wasn't over, and the ledge that loomed before them ended in a sharp drop into a pool of oily water, the only answer was: portals. Portal to the ledge ten feet ahead of them, portal to the small angled panel in the wall thirty feet below them that they could only make if they jumped NOW.
They landed and ran and ran, and the heat burned at their backs. Katniss was faster, of course. Her nails were digging into his arm, drawing blood from his skin. And with every step he took he knew his leg – his artificial one – was going to fail him. It didn't hold together under his flesh, it yielded and was beginning to fall apart, he knew it, and he just prayed he wouldn't slow Katniss down too much –
Except for a tiny, twisted part of him that wanted to run at all costs, and damn Katniss –
But Peeta squashed that part of him and kept running even though his leg screamed at him that he couldn't run forever –
The walls narrowed in around them until they were running in a small corridor, hand in hand and not slowing, and the fire behind them seemed to be finally dying away. And at the exact moment when Katniss turned around to look and make sure, the lights went out.
Every single light went out. The two of them were left in complete blackness.
Katniss screamed, and Peeta's arms sought her out and wound around her, holding her close. She muffled her next scream in the muscle of his shoulder and he understood why – what Seam child didn't have a terror of the underground spaces? And the underground darkness had claimed Katniss' father, years ago.
"Calm down, Katniss," he said to her. "Calm down. I'm here, I'm right here. We have got to—"
He didn't even get to finish his calming words when Katniss grabbed him and they kept moving—not running, but walking as fast as they dared, each one touching a wall with their free hand. He didn't know how long they kept moving like this, long enough that he developed a stitch in his side. Finally he said, "Stop, Katniss, stop. The inferno's gone. The fire's gone. We can stop."
But Katniss seemed to have moved someplace beyond reason, in the complete darkness. She halted, but didn't really stop. He could feel her shifting her weight from foot to foot, like she was expecting another reason to run.
"Calm down," He said to her again, even though he knew it was useless.
"It won't stop," she said, her breath ragged. "It won't stop until one of us is dead, Peeta. There's no more berries. Finally we're paying the price for that damn berry trick. Peeta, I am so sorry."
"Sorry? Katniss, I got another year with you. There's nothing to be sorry for—"
"Stop acting!" she snapped at him, then her voice was suddenly soft and contrite again, "I'm sorry, sorry, I don't know where that came from, I'm sorry—"
"It's all right – but I'm not acting. Please, just breathe. Calm down. Let's breathe in together, okay? Inhale, Katniss – one, two, three… And… exhale… one, two, three. Inhale…" He felt her breathe in with him. And the simple intimacy of the act moved him so deeply; he was glad for the darkness, it let him forget there were people watching. "… and exhale."
When she spoke again she sounded calmer. "Where did you learn that?"
"I'm making it up as I go. Now, in…"
But the brief silence was shattered by a scream. Peeta recognized that scream in a minute – and it made no sense. And his exclamation of "What?" was drowned out by Katniss' cry, that echoed through the hallway they stood in:
"PRIM!"
Primrose was screaming, further down in the dark tunnel. And Katniss, still half-mad with fright of the dark and the fire, only seized the fabric of Peeta's jumpsuit and let it go before she ran, confident that he would follow her.
And he did – he tried his best to follow her – but his damned leg! The first step on his bad leg was a torture, the second was a nightmare, the third wasn't so bad, really, and then on the fourth his leg fell apart. He fell to his knees. Now it was his turn to yell her name, in the hopes it would reach her, but she was gone.
No, she had to come back. She had to realize that Prim couldn't be in this arena, but Peeta was, and he needed her, now.
"KATNISS!" he yelled, and realized that his voice didn't echo. He flung his arms out and the portal gun hit a wall on one side – and his free arm also hit a wall. The space around him was closing in.
Now, in a brief and terrifying moment, he understood the Seam children's fear of the dark and the underground. The walls were getting closer in. He wasn't imagining it – or was he – no, he wasn't, he could feel them moving, and every breath he took was getting shallower. "Katniss!" he yelled again.
"She can't hear you."
Willfully ignoring that, Peeta called her name twice more – she was his love, his salvation, she couldn't just leave him here, that wasn't what made her Katniss.
"Stop wasting oxygen."
Peeta felt goosebumps prickle up on his arm. It wasn't just getting closer, it was getting colder.
"Don't worry, Test Subject Twenty-Three. You can cry here." The Gamemaker's voice had never sounded this close. It was as if there was a woman in every corner of the room. "No one can see you here. There are no cameras. I promise."
Peeta dropped the portal gun to curl up on his knees and rub his arms. He was sure that if there had been any light his breath would be a fog. He ran a hand through his hair, over his face. This was the ended. This was how he ended.
"I don't want anyone to hear any spoilers. Are you listening, Peeta?"
The use of his name was so startling that Peeta looked up, even though there was nothing to look at.
"Let me tell you what happens next. You will feel the air get colder, and colder, and colder, until it passes temperatures comfortable for a human to bear. You will smell knockout gas, and then pass out. It will seem as though all of your vital signs have ceased. And the tracker in your arm will register this, and then it will promptly shut down, signaling to the Capitol that you are dead. Your body will be shipped to District Twelve, where you will be buried in an unmarked grave, to be covered with burned bread for as long as there are miserable coal miners who remember you."
Peeta, over the pain of the cold, forced himself to understand. And he had time to think, that wasn't so bad. He'd get to return to District Twelve. And Katniss would be the Victor. That meant everything would be all right.
"But there's a plot twist. You won't be dead."
The walls were so close now that Peeta could barely move, almost like a coffin.
"You will wake up in about seventy-two hours. It will be as dark as it is right now, but it will be warmer. It will be very close. You will be conscious, but there will be six feet of earth between you and anyone who might hear you scream." After a pause, she added, "Nothing personal, you understand. I just thought that you should know. Knowledge is power. Or, in your case, articulated terror. But don't worry. You'll certainly be a martyr, Peeta Mellark."
Then it became too cold to think, too cold to breathe, too cold to do anything but lie down and die. And Peeta took his first gulp of almond-scented gas, and knew no more.
- Not the Last One –
Katniss ran without thinking of Peeta or what would happen to him, heedless of the darkness all around her. Her entire being had focused, sharpened to one point: Prim needs me.
She started when she passed through a door and her whole world filled with light, brilliant and blinding, so that she had to stop and close her eyes, still inching forward, towards the screams that were still emanating from before her. Except that when Katniss opened her eyes, and they finally adjusted to the brightness, what stood before her was not her little sister, screaming for help. And once Katniss realized what it was, a crushing weight of weakling, idiot, Capitol-played MORON fell onto her.
Supported by a stand at Katniss' eye level was a core. It was shoddily put together, bits of its metal hull overlapping and leaving triangles of wires exposed. Its light was a dim yellow, the color of spoiled cream. And its screams filled the entire chamber.
Katniss slung her white bow over one shoulder to press her hands against her ears. Then she turned around. "Peeta?" she called, trying to be heard over the screams. "PEETA!"
There was no answer, only the continued sounds of artificial screams. Katniss turned back to the core. "I HEAR YOU!" she hollered. "I fell for it! I fell for the scheme! I played right into your trap, your game! Here I am, your trapped lab rat! Just shut up!"
The core fell silent at once. When it was perfectly still, and its faint yellow optic was less prominent, Katniss noticed that its metal body looked a lot – an awful lot – like Wheatley's. It even had that same faded sticker on the one side. Katniss stepped closer to it. "Okay, answer me," she said out loud, to the core, to the Gamemaker, to anyone that might be listening. "Do you really have Prim, my sister, in this arena? Or was that a fake scream – some other thing made up by the Capitol? Because if you do have Prim—"
She was close enough to see every last smudge and scratch on the hull, and yes, it was Wheatley's body, and the thought of that earnest little core broken down for parts made her sick. But before she could think further, there was a voice:
"This core will self destruct in five… four…"
Katniss turned and ran out the way she came, dropping and rolling to the floor just as the core exploded.
She turned, to survey the damage (not that big a blast radius, actually), and then looked down the hallway. Peeta wasn't there. Peeta wasn't coming. And the silence, the emptiness around her, yawned too greatly for words.
She got to her feet, every tired muscle in her body protesting, but she would go back, even into the darkness, and she would find him –
Katniss hadn't taken eight steps when she heard the cannon go off.
She stopped. She stood as still as a statue for a long moment.
"This is it," she said, her eyes staring straight ahead. "This is it. I'm the only one left. I'm…"
"We both know that's not true."
That snapped Katniss out of her trance. She looked up and around the hallway, and found the camera easily. It was empty of personality, but it made a handy vessel for the Gamemaker. Katniss frowned at it.
"Come on, Test Subject Twenty-Four. You've known this since the end of your first Game. The moment when you took out a handful of berries, and treated the Gamemakers like the rivals that they were. Well, you get a reprise of that moment. You have one opponent left."
In a smooth move, the camera turned itself vertically, exchanged its light grey shell for a white one, and said "Say cheese."
Katniss ran, the sound of gunfire following her every step. She had one last opponent – and that opponent was everywhere she looked and everything she touched.