CH 25: Head Games
Patrick Doyle sputtered blood, expelling it onto the crimson-smeared silver table in front of him. The blood was coming from everywhere as far as he could tell: his lip was definitely split, probably in more than one place, broken nose, and his entire face felt wet and hot and itched as slow moving tributaries of half-congealed and new blood swept down it like a red river. He ran his tongue back and forth in his mouth; pleased that he seemed to still have all of his teeth…at least that was something.
Peacekeeper Darren Crowe wiped his fist with a wet towel and took a seat across from him.
"You always had a mean right hook, Crowe," Doyle chuckled. "Never had a better sparring partner."
Crowe smiled, "Plenty of sparring partners here in the Capitol hit just as hard if not harder than you ever did. None of them are half as cunning though. Makes for mostly boring fights."
"You must have been holding back on your cunning in 8," Doyle popped his neck from side to side, "After all, look at you now…transfer to the Capitol and I'm…" he jingled the cuffs on his wrists that were shackled behind his back. "Well…I guess I've had better days."
"That's why you stopped me from whipping her…all those years ago."
Doyle looked at his former colleague. Darren Crowe's brow glistened with sweat from the exertion of the beating he had just dealt; his crisp, white uniform was smeared with the red reminder of his duty. It wasn't a question that needed an answer. Doyle let another mouthful of blood collect and then spat it on the floor. They were going to kill him anyway; he didn't owe them an explanation, especially not an explanation for the painfully obvious.
Another Peacekeeper entered, Doyle didn't bother to look up, keeping his eyes locked with Crowe's instead, trying to glean some kind of sentiment from the man's stony exterior. But, that was Crowe. He was what he had been trained to be. When it came time, if they gave him a last request, he decided he would ask for Peacekeeper Crowe to carry it out since Martell had been sent back to District 8. He preferred to die at the hands of someone he knew.
Maura could hear the anthem playing in the studio above, the end drowned out by the raucous cheer of the audience that boomed when Caesar Flickerman took the stage and greeted them. Caesar's words were overtaken at the end of his introduction as the crowd roared to the entrance of the prep team. It was almost impossible to believe that they could get any louder but when Caesar introduced Korsak, one of their revered victors and now twice the mentor of victors, their cheers, clapping, and stomping seemed to shake the whole building above.
Watching from home all those years, Maura had always imagined that the presentation of the victor must be such a wonderful and relieving event for the mentors. Their tribute had won. They would be bringing a child home to their family, to their district. Through all of the tragedy and the loss there was at least that one bright spot. But, now she knew, that bright spot was tarnished with the knowledge of what awaited…or in some instances, what had already happened.
It all made sense now…the wardrobe. Though, Cinna need not have dressed them so femininely to make them seem less a threat or weak. They very well could have walked out naked, still gaunt and starved with protruding bones. There was nothing strong about the way they looked in the dressing room mirror not too long ago. She ran her hand over the front of the dress. Poor Cinna, Maura thought. He had to walk a thin line the same as the rest of them. Everything within his power he had done before the Games to present an image that would rally the Capitol around them and make them appear as formidable foes to the other tributes. Now, he had to tear that all apart, rip the pedestal out from under them, and humanize them from heroism. In the end, he, Portia, all of them, were probably in just as much danger as she and Jane. Though, poor Flavius, Venia, and Octavia were too stupid to realize it.
Her breath caught in her throat as the lift below her began to rise. Suddenly, Korsak's warning and entreating of them to make it convincing seemed completely unnecessary. Maura brought her hand to her chest, feeling lightheaded from the rapid thumping of her heart. It was as if she really had not seen Jane before now.
As the lift came to a stop, there was a divider blocking her view. Maura looked out at the audience for a moment, though the blinding studio lights kept her from seeing them their cheers and whistles were deafening. Then, the divider was lowered and across the stage stood Jane. The tears that came streaking down her face weren't falsely conjured. Every second away from Jane struck a sincere chord of fear that their previous time together had been the last. This time, no less than in the hospital when Patrick Doyle had brought Jane to her, truly seemed like the first time she had seen her since the arena. Her feet wouldn't move, her body knew that one step would bring her to her knees. She didn't need to move though. In a flash Jane had cleared the stage and gathered her in her arms, holding her, burying her face in Maura's neck.
"It's ok," Jane whispered, sniffling back her own tears, "I'm here." She lowered Maura back to the ground and cupped her face, wiping the tear trails away with her fingers before they kissed. Caesar's voice filled the background, but Jane didn't hear a specific word of what he said as the kiss consumed them both.
After several minutes, much to the audience's delight, Caesar tapped them on the shoulder. Begrudgingly, Jane pulled her lips from Maura's but didn't release her protective embrace, still holding Maura tightly to her they made their way to the victor's chair: what was normally a single ostentatious chair of almost throne-like appearance, had instead been replaced by the Gamemakers with an inviting black velvet loveseat. How appropriate, Jane thought as they sat.
As Caesar interacted jovially with the crowd, Maura curled even tighter into Jane's side, her arms wrapping around Jane's waist as Jane placed a protective arm around her shoulders and lightly stroked her. "I don't want to see this," Maura whispered in Jane's ear as the lights dimmed and the seal of the Capitol appeared on the screen. She saw this every time she closed her eyes to sleep: the deaths of the other tributes in the arena. And now, for three hours, they would be forced to endure a highlights reel of sorts. She knew she couldn't run, but the mere thought of having to watch it, with the actual emotional wounds still so raw and unhealed, as if they ever would heal, left her on the verge of vomiting.
"I know," Jane muttered as she placed a kiss on Maura's forehead. "Before, I…stared in the direction of the screen, not at it. Watch without seeing. Think about what it will be like to go home; think about how we're going to arrange our new apartment, how we're going to spend the rest of our lives together. Think about anything except what's about to be on that screen."
The beginning of the show focused on the pre-arena proceedings but soon enough the events of the arena began to unfold before them; except, unlike in previous years there was a story that underlay the highlights. A love story. A story of intended self-sacrifice and ultimately survival against all odds. Jane was surprised the Gamemakers played it up as much as they did, that Hoyt would let them air the story that had purportedly ignited dissent in the districts.
Maura tried desperately to do as Jane said: to watch without seeing. But, no matter how hard she tried, even if she closed her eyes, she could still hear it. When the replay of Silas stabbing her filled the giant screen it felt as if the dagger had entered her once again. Maura flinched and reached for her side but was instantly comforted by Jane much to the cooing awws of the audience. On the one hand the show filled in certain questions: how the Careers had booby-trapped the supplies, how Giovanni came to possess the map, and how poor, young Madge had died. She had to listen to Rondo sing as Blight cut him down and worst of all, watch as Ian dealt the fatal blow that killed Barry Frost as he and Jane fought for the medicine that saved her life.
"I can't…" Maura choked, closing her eyes and burying her face in Jane's neck when Haymitch appeared on the screen, and gathered a dying Star into his arms.
So, Jane watched for them both, because she owed it to him. It was then she saw him make the sign in the direction Maura had run; the sign Korsak said even the people in the Capitol offered up to honor them when they thought they were about to die. Finally, they arrived at the end and they both watched the confusing events unfold, because they had counted: one…two…thr...and then the world had gone deaf and black around them.
With the screen fading to the seal and the studio lights slowly rising, three hours had passed, and Jane knew: now the true test of will would come. As the anthem began to play, Jane pulled Maura close, kissing her cheek as she moved her mouth to her ear. "Hoyt will crown us now. You have to…smile."
The thought was vile and rotten; she couldn't even imagine how Jane would be able to stand there in his presence…how she had been able to stand in his presence seventeen years ago.
Play their game. Maura laced her fingers tightly with Jane's and squeezed. Everything they had done, everything they would do was in service to one goal and one goal only: going home. President Hoyt took the stage followed by a little girl holding a crown on a fringed velvet pillow. The crowd began to mutter in confusion at the sight of only the one ornament. But, as he lifted it, he gave it a twist and separated it into two halves.
He crowned Maura first, placing the crown gently on her head. She thought for sure all of Panem could see her trembling. When he reached for her shoulders and began to pull her forward an icy stillness streaked from his touch through her body, for a moment, she could swear her heart stopped beating. His rough lips touched one cheek and then the other before whispering, "So nice of your father to come to your bedside."
Jane took a deep breath as he stepped in front of her. Seventeen years ago she had tried to calculate if there would be enough time to reach out and choke him to death before a Peacekeeper made it to the stage to intervene. As he had walked towards her she wasn't sure she could continue to live so long as he did, not with what his Games had done to her, not with what he had physically done to her, not with the knowledge of what he would do to someone else. But, in her mind there had been Korsak's voice: think about home, your Ma and Pop, Tommy…what will Frankie do without you? She froze that time, almost emotionless as he placed the crown on her head, looking past him, focusing on a woman in the audience with a gaudy orange hat that was almost neon under the glare of the studio's fluorescent lighting.
This time, she looked him right in the eyes as he faced her and stooped so he could place the crown on her head without reaching. Her peripheral vision caught a microphone descending from the scaffolding above as if some grip knew she wanted to say something. Jane smiled and as she stood straight extended her hand to him, "It's an honor to be your victor a second time…sir."
By the look on his face she knew she had caught him off guard, even if only for a moment, the look of shock was gratifying. However, Hoyt recovered quickly and his insidious smirk of a smile again graced his visage. "Jane…" The way her name dripped off his tongue always sent a shiver down her spine. "As always, the pleasure is mine."
Patrick Doyle never forgot a face. As a Peacekeeper it was paramount to his job. As a child they had called him gifted, said he had something closely approximating an eidetic memory. They loved their little tests in the Capitol, as if those I.Q. assessments meant anything in the long run. His mother had been convinced he would achieve greatness, whatever that meant for a boy in a sea of other boys all backed by privilege and wealth. When it came down to it, he was great…great at running rackets and scams, cheating and swindling, and when push came to shove fighting…and as the passage of time would reveal: killing.
The important thing, however, was that Patrick Doyle never forgot a face. So, the shock was evident in his eyes when Peacekeeper Richard Byrd excused Crowe from the room and took his seat.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Byrd said with a smile.
"I suppose I am," Doyle slurred, his split and swollen lips making it increasingly difficult to talk. "Because you look like Ricky Byrd…only…not nearly as old as you should be."
"Well," the Peacekeeper chuckled, running a hand through his still thick, chestnut hair, "they have procedures here in the Capitol to help with that. How long has it been Paddy?"
"Long time," Doyle answered. "After training they sent me to 8 and you to 6. I guess the decades in between don't really matter, it's pretty obvious where we both ended up."
"We could have both been here, you know." Ricky sighed. He and his friend, they had made plans. They had no choice to become Peacekeepers. Reckless children had turned into even more reckless and defiant teenagers and the Capitol wasn't known for being forgiving of criminals, not even those still shrouded in the veil of youth. The choice was no choice at all: prison, slavery, or commit to the Capitol as a Peacekeeper where insolence would earn you death but service earned you the most freedom of the options presented. "That was the plan. Do our time out in the backwater and then angle for promotion and transfers back here."
"I wouldn't change anything that I did." The words were laden with a growing impatience. Just do it. Just do it already.
Ricky smiled and nodded, "Of course you wouldn't. That's always been you, though. Unapologetic. I still remember when they hauled us in before the judge. It was the first time I was ever really afraid. Strange isn't it? Never before when we were hustling and flouting the law, never when the real danger was, when we could have been jumped by rivals or flayed by Peacekeepers. But, you just stood there, head held high, chest puffed out like you didn't give a damn. You know why I was never afraid before? Because; I had my friend Paddy by my side on those streets. You know what else you are, Patrick Doyle? You're loyal to those you love and respect. You saved my ass a thousand times when we were kids; you never cut and run when you could have, when it could have just been me standing in the Justice Building and you safely back at home. It seems you've always lived by that code. All these years and I never forgot that. It's the single greatest thing anyone has ever taught me: loyalty always returns dividends."
Doyle shifted wordlessly in his seat. The adrenaline from the beating was wearing off and he could feel the pain and stiffness settling into his bones. It was a stark reminder that he wasn't the rebellious youth his old friend remembered. It was an even starker reminder that soon there would be no feeling at all.
Ricky produced a file and laid it on the table. "You know what we were charged with doing."
"President Hoyt has commanded you to execute me," Doyle regarded the man in front of him, so familiar, yet, they had now spent more of their lives apart than they had ever spent as friends. For all Ricky's talk of loyalty and its returns, Doyle knew that meant the papers in front of him must be his death warrant and that Ricky would carry them out because he was loyal…to the Capitol. "Do you know why?"
"Treason," Ricky replied without pause. "The specifics? Classified. Way above my pay grade." It was a half-truth. When Jane game Maura the ring in the arena, everyone had heard her say the name Patrick before trailing off, and Crowe had been able to assist in filling in the rest. "And yes, President Hoyt commanded you be executed. That is of course the typical punishment for crimes against the state. However…it's a funny thing…did you know when a Capitol citizen is taken as a plea bargain recruit to the Peacekeepers they lock his citizenship records? Only certain administrative levels have access. The other funny thing is the Capitol likes to pretend it's much more evolved and humane than it really is; there is a strict distaste for using capital punishment on Capitol citizens. Somehow…your file found itself unlocked. And somehow…it worked its way up the chain command, all the way to the Head Justice and the President. President Hoyt, in his infinite mercy, generosity, and overwhelming compassion for you situation," Ricky stopped, sarcasm spilling out with each word. "Has approved the following offer: You will sign this declaration of treason against the state and as punishment you will live…as an Avox, duty assignment to be determined."
Doyle's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched despite the discomfort of the strain, he leaned as far forward as possible, blood dripping from his brow to the papers on the table. "I'd rather die."
There was no rest for the weary, no being spared the exploitive pageantry of their victory. They had been bet on the same as if they were racehorses and now they were groomed and decorated with laurels and paraded around for what seemed a never ending spectacle.
The Victory Banquet immediately followed the crowning. In between Capitol officials and sponsors jockeying to take pictures with them, Jane kept her eyes trained on Hoyt, being sure to gently guide Maura to the farthest point in the great hall from their tormentor as possible. Korsak wove deftly through the crowd, always finding himself halfway between Jane and Maura's position and Hoyt's. The whole performance was even more repugnant to him this time than before. Before, he had promised her they would get through the night and the interview the following day and then they would go home and she would never have to see Hoyt again. The Quell had made a liar of him. Worse than Jane being reaped a second time was her winning and being forced to endure the sham again, forced to be in the same room, smile, and shake the hand of the man who had made it his pleasure to destroy her life, to see how far she could bend before breaking. And no one else in that room knew. And there was nothing he could do about it.
By the time they arrived back at their suite from the Banquet, the dark of night had shifted without warning into a gentle dawn.
Maura clawed at her dress as they made their way to the bedroom for what little sleep they could garner before their final interview with Caesar. She pulled the garment from her body as if the touch of it burned her skin and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. Jane watched as Maura crawled naked into the bed and curled into a ball. She had thought maybe the immediate post-Games trauma would be different for Maura than it had been for her. The first time she had to endure it alone. This time, they had each other. Yet, she could see the battle raging inside her lover and deep down she knew that she was powerless to do anything but just be there and weather the storm.
She shed her own dress and gingerly settled into bed next to Maura. With each inhale, Maura's ribs expanded and stretched her skin even tighter over already visible bones. Jane reached out to caress down her arm but Maura flinched and shrugged her touch away.
"Don't," Maura muttered, reaching for the sheet and pulling it farther over herself.
"Ok," Jane whispered, too emotionally drained herself to tackle the wall Maura was building. She rolled over, closed her eyes, and prayed for a deep and dreamless sleep.
The faintest touch woke her, a hand sliding tentatively over her hip and around her midsection. Light breaths whispered through her hair and the presence of another body warmed her back.
"I should have let him kill you," Maura said. "And then I should have let him kill me."
Jane clasped Maura's hand tightly to her chest and closed her eyes.
"It would have been easier."
"You don't mean that," Jane argued.
"I do."
Pulling out from under the embrace Jane rose, and with little regard for her state of undress padded to the dining room and retrieved a carving knife. Maura sat up and Jane knelt on the bed in front of her. "It's not too late. We can throw in the towel, right here, right now. You don't want to go on. Fine. But the same rules apply. I'm not going on without you." She pressed the tip of the blade to the thin blue line that ran under the skin of her wrist. A bead of crimson swelled and a tiny red rivulet began to spiral down her hand. "Is this what you want?" She started to push deeper and drag the blade.
"No!" Maura reached for her, pushing the knife away and covering the tiny puncture with her hand. "No," she said more softly. "I…I just don't know how to deal with these emotions. It's all so overwhelming and…I feel like I'm unraveling. Here and there another seam pops; I lose a little bit more control. And I'm afraid, Jane. I'm afraid I'll never be myself again."
"I know, Maura," Jane commiserated. "I know. And I can't make you not feel those things. It just is what it is. But, I'm here." She threw the knife to the floor and stroked Maura's face. "I'm here with you and I won't let you lose yourself because of this. I know who you are. And you know who I am. And when the darkness overtakes us, the other will light the way back."
Maura pulled her hand away from Jane's arm and stared at the red smear on her palm. "This is what I see, all the time. No matter how many times I scrub them, I can't wash the blood away."
Jane took the sheet and wiped as much of the blood from Maura's hand as she could. "Do you remember the first night in the arena, when you asked me: what do we do now?"
Nodding, Maura replied, "You said: we survive."
"And we did. And I refuse to feel guilty about it this time, because I deserved it. We deserved it. We deserve this…being together…waking up tomorrow and every day after side by side. I didn't enjoy what I had to do in the arena, but I refuse to regret it." She pulled Maura into her arms and ran her fingers through her hair and mapped every inch of her skin. "I refuse to regret having the opportunity to hold you like this, to feel your skin against mine."
"We survived," Maura whispered into Jane's neck as she returned Jane's embrace. "Now what?"
Jane kissed her and held her tightly, "Now…we live."