XXIX
…
He was on the other side of the glass. I just knew it.
…
He looked as I remembered. If anything, he looked better. Healthier. His skin was clean, his skin's normal olive shade showed instead of one dirtied with coal and his hair was freshly washed and trimmed, black. The dark bags that once inhabited the skin beneath his eyes had faded away. His teeth were lighter, there was no more yellow embedded in between his teeth. His frame had gained some weight - muscle, too.
Stepping through the door, the nurse exiting the room closed it behind her, just leaving the two of use in the white walled room. He offered me a thin smile before striding across the room, pulling one of the chairs that rested against the wall along with him. Coming to a halt, he placed the chair just a few feet from where I was strapped to the bed, beside one of the monitors that kept track of my vitals. Again, he offered me a thin smile as he sat down.
"How's it going, Katniss?"
I couldn't help but snort. "I'm strapped to a bed that's in a locked room under constant watch, Gale."
His lips purse together and he nods his head. "You did try to kill a man."
"He deserves to die."
His face scrunched, his eyes swooping down across the ground before looking up at me again. "As much as I dislike the guy, I don't think he does."
"Snow's games won't stop till he dies." I tell him, feeling an unfamiliar sensation travel across my skin, clawing at my neck.
"No," he shakes his head. "Snow's games won't some till the Capital falls and he dies with it, Katniss."
"Gale-"
He doesn't let me finish. "He's on our side, Katniss."
I feel my teeth grit and fingers clench at his words. The sensation, a heat of sorts travel higher up across my skin and grew more intense, no doubt turning my skin red. "He's out to kill me."
"Your games are over, Katniss. You won."
I look him up and down, looking for something, anything that would tell me it was a lie, a practical joke. Yet, something showed. His voice didn't rise, he wasn't swallowing hard, his jaw didn't slide, his eyes didn't viod contact, his posture was straight yet not stiff, he was blinking but not too much, there was no usual hand gestures, there was no covering of the mouth or eyes, nor did he include any excess detail. It was the truth… or Gale had become a good liar.
Too many images came flooding back...
Cato waving alongside Glimmer in the the tribute parade.
Cato slicing dummy after dummy in half at training until there were none left.
Cato laughing alongside Caesar Flickerman during his interview.
Cato glaring at me across the Cornucopia as the timer counted down.
Cato laughing as Peeta bleed out, enjoying as his last moments were taken.
Cato running toward me when the arena was attacked by the rebels.
Yet, Gale's voice draws me out of my mind, back to reality. "Katniss?"
"Yeah?"
His eyes look me up and down, concern flooding his eyes. "What's going on in your head?"
"Remembering."
He nods, unsure if he wanted to know about what yet, he ask anyway. "What exactly?"
"The games."
"The real ones or fake ones you have created up in there," he asks, motioning to my head.
"The one with Cato."
He nods. "The fake one, I take it then."
"How do you know it's fake," I eye him, looking for something to tell me he's just not messing with my mind. "How can I trust you?"
He shakes his head, letting out a heavy breath. "What, would you like to see the footage?"
"Yes." I tell him, the words slipping out before I can even think.
…
When the screen goes dark, I can't help but stare at my hands. They tremble more than they have ever before.
…
"Got questions, sweetheart?"
Staring down at my hands, my minds won't cease, my hands won't stop shaking. "Too many."
He laughs a little, causing his chest to rumble and cheeks huff, a small smile that I had not seen in far too long play across his lips. "Well, where do you want to start then?"
"What happened after?" I ask, looking up at him. "I killed Ca- I killed Ramsay and when - what happened?"
"You saw what happened, sweetheart. You lost it and then got it and then lost it. You won the games, became the Capitol's new fatuation. You got crowned, got interviewed, was forced to take photos, was interviewed again, gave photographs to your fans, went to parties, went on shopping trips, more parties, went on tour, went to more parties and on more shopping trips."
I shake my head. "What happened in between, what happened in between it all with me and - and him? What happened - what happened when the camera wasn't there?"
"You and Cato?"
I nod. My hands begin to tremble beyond my control.
"Well," he smiles, intertwining his fingers over his stomach, "what do you remember?"
"Nothing." I tell him, grasping at my hands, praying they would stop, just for a second.
"Oh come on, sweetheart. I know you may have gotten a little better at acting, but you know you're still a shit liar. And, I've been standing on the other side of that glass window for weeks now, I'm sure you know that. I know you remember stuff. You've confided in Hawthorne about it. It's all documented… You just don't know if it's real."
I look to my hands, I can't control them. They're too jittery, to shaky. My eyes beginning to water as my head pounds. "I don't know how to tell what's real from what's not."
He gruffs as he had done before, leaning back in his chair as he propped his legs up on the edge of my bed. "Then why don't you ask."
…
The questions didn't seem to stop, there's too many plaguing my mind. Nevertheless, none went unanswered.
…
He was not as I remembered him. His eyes weren't bloodshot nor did his pupil overtake his iris. There was no vein sticking out of his forehead, just on the backs of his hands and down the inside of his arms. He wasn't aggressive nor jittery. There was no snide smile playing across his lips. He wasn't the man I remember, or at least not the shiny version that seemed to invade my mind.
He stands at a distance, his back to the window where doctors and other officials no doubt are watching impatiently. Instead of sitting in the chair beside by me, he stood two feet from the foot of the bed. His posture was straight and arms locked across his chest.
"Scared?"
He smiled, just a little. "No. Should I be?"
"Your body language says otherwise."
He nods, uncrossing his arms and stepping to the chair beside the bed.
"I know you've been watching."
He leans back in the chair. "Less though over the last couple of weeks. Been training."
"Coin making you one of her toy soldiers?"
Again, he smiles. "Along with you and everyone else in this district."
I nod, looking down at my hands, their trembling again. "You know I might not get better."
"I've been told. But, I've also been told you've been making progress between treatment and your sessions with Haymitch and - and Gale."
I grasp my hands together. "Both versions are still up there," I tell him, motioning to my head, "All those injections and therapy sessions with Gale haven't erased what Snow implanted in my head."
"But you can tell them apart. Or, at least you think you can." He counters.
My knuckles go white. "The fake memories are... they have a glimmer of light to them, always in the same spot. They're shiny."
"And the real one's aren't," he concludes.
Cato sitting on the leather couch in the penthouse, pressing his palms into his eyes.
Cato wrapping his arm around me, blocking out the flashes of camera as we walk through the Capitol's streets.
Cato on the living room floor of my home, holding out toward me a plate of bread and berries.
Cato walking through District 12 in the dead of night with me, passing through the village, the merchant shops, the Seam, the meadow.
Cato sitting beside my head at the front of the table while I lay there, my back bleeding out.
Cato standing outside the Hawthorne's home, a blank yet confused look encasing his face while a needed promise escapes his lips.
"I'm suppose to ask you if they're real or not." I tell him, my eyes still focused on my hands. "If the ones that are shiny and if the ones that aren't, if they're real or not."
"Then do it."
Pulling my focus away from my hands and look up at him. "Why risk it?"
"I had nothing to lose."
Studying his face, I can tell there's more. "You had everything to lose. You had a life. You could have lived comfortably, in a safe state of life if you didn't get involved with me. You may not think you had anything worth losing, but you did… So, why did you do it?"
"You were worth risking it for," he tells me, not an ounce of falsehood coating his voice. "You were different from the others, a survivor. You - you deserved a chance."
My hands stop shaking, my knuckles remain white. "Some chance."
"Well, from what I hear you're going to be getting that chance," he tells me, a sad smile playing across his lips. "The tenth member of Squad 451."
I smile along with him. "I've heard."
"Boggs, Mitchell, Homes, Jackson, Mitch, Finn, Jo, Gale, Me-"
I snort, "And your local basketcase of District 13, Katniss Everdeen."
"You shouldn't be going."
I look him in the eye, the first time since he entered the room. They were blue. Not light like Peeta's, but dark. An intriguing shade of dark blue, one that made you not want to look away. "I know it's a suicide mission."
"Yeah, it's Coin's master plan to kill you, to fuel the rebellion, to take Snow's position, and make this whole hell we've been stuck in for seventy-four years to begin again."
I watch his eyes flutter up and down my figure. "Only thing is she won't."
…
My life wasn't the concern of the mission, Cato's was.
