Author's Notes: edited August 17, 2018
Chapter Thirty-Seven – The Revelation
Cinna had stayed true to Prim's moniker as Panem's Fire Angel. The dress was every bit as soft and flattering to her angelic features as the previous ones had been. It was a pale yellow that would have been close to her hair color if it were a few shades darker. The top was halter and two strips of fabric went down her back and crossed in the middle, providing the only coverage for her skin there. The sheer fabric softly glowed, and every move from the air sent a shiver up her spine. From her neck till her waist, the dress fit snugly, then it fell to her knees in a type of fabric that had Prim thinking it looked like she was wearing a cloud. Various layers of the material added to the effect, and the dress transitioned from being pale yellow to candle white.
Prim looked at herself in the mirror. She looked every bit as ethereal as she had when they'd ridden that chariot in the first part of the Hunger Games, but even she could tell she was far from being the innocent girl she had once been. Her fingers reached up to touch her hair; it was half up in a braid from either side of her head that reminded her of the flower crowns she used to make as a child — or a halo — while the rest fell in soft curls.
"What do you think?" Cinna asked, tucking a curl behind her ear.
"I think you're amazing," replied Prim with a smile as she met Cinna's eyes through their reflection.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, "You're beautiful, my Angel." He then bent and whispered softly in her ear, "Never lose your fire."
As compared to her previous looks, Prim looked a lot closer to her age now. Leather flats encased her feet, and her fingernails were coated in clear polish while her face was made to look rounder than it actually was. The light blush they had applied complimented the rosy hue her cheeks easily took on whenever she was embarrassed, and Prim supposed that was what they were going for.
She hadn't seen Cato since they'd been on the hovercraft.
They would be reuniting not just in front of cameras, but a live audience and the ever exuberant Caesar Flickerman.
The thought of Cato had her reliving their last moments in the arena; thinking they were gonna die, admitting their feelings for each other, accepting their own death…
She hadn't even realized that she had switched locations until Haymitch had placed a hand on her and spoken, effectively startling her out of her stupor.
"Easy, just me. Let's have a look at you." He took one of her hands and raised it over her head, prompting her to spin. "Good." He let go of her hand, and Prim regarded him from beneath her lashes.
Prim could tell there was more to be said, and a sense of dread begun to fill her. Why did it feel as if she were still in the games? When Haymitch got on one knee, she didn't hesitate before throwing her arms around him in another embrace. His arms were quick to wrap around her and keep her in place, and he spoke quickly and quietly, lips concealed by her hair.
"No matter what happens, you have to trust me."
"Cinna and I have decided to make sure you and our Angel would match each other well…if you agree to it." Celia explained as she brought out choices for him to wear.
Celia showed each ensemble of garments to him, though in general it was a choice of either gray or red. It was a tradition of sorts for District Two Victors to wear very loud and expressive colors for their Coronation. After all, it was a huge honor and achievement to win the Hunger Games. He met Celia's gaze, trying to see whether or not there was a correct answer. Why was he being given a choice? Was it not her job as the Stylist to make these decisions for him?
He had, in the end, chosen the gray suit that Celia claimed would complement Prim's dress. There was a message being said in that moment, he could feel it. In his choosing to match her, he was presenting a united front not just to the audience, but to their teams as well.
A grey coat, a black shirt underneath, matching grey trousers, with black socks and shoes finished his rather simple outfit. His hair was left alone for the most part, and he looked every bit the teenager he actually was, when he finally had a look at his reflection.
"Cato," Celia met his gaze when he turned to her. She stepped up to him and smoothed down his suit lapels. "I'm glad you're alive." She pat his breast pocket affectionately, making him frown. Since when had they had a relationship that warranted that reaction?
He didn't say anything in return, at a loss for words.
As Celia turned to leave, Lyme entered the room.
And in the entirety of their acquaintance, that was the first time he saw Lyme as anything other than that other Victor from District Two. He'd always thought her intelligent, yes — she was the reason most of the team had been on board with recruiting Prim after all — but she was also almost always overshadowed by the louder Victors. Her shoes clicked evenly against the floor as she strutted towards him. There was an ease and efficiency with the way she moved, as if every move had been thought out and planned ahead.
"You are remarkably lucky." She smoothed her hands down the front of his suit jacket, which looked odd considering how she was as muscular as, if not even more muscular considering his very recent win, he was. She reached into her pocket and placed a yellow pocket square into his breast pocket.
They stood like that for a moment, Lyme seemingly lost in her own thoughts as she stared at the newly placed piece of fabric.
Cato was just about to speak when she beat him to it.
"Your Rose is every bit the healer I'd thought she'd be." The 'and more,' hung in the air between them. He heard the way she emphasized Prim's name, and realized that he would perhaps need to take up calling her that once again.
As he stood in the small dark room he had been asked to wait in, Cato couldn't help but think of Clove. She could've lived. He had nothing in his own District to live for, but she did. Her family wasn't like his.
Then again, would Clove have made the same call as Prim had in their final moments?
If it had been Cato Hadwell against Clove Kentley in the end, they would have battled to the death, wouldn't they?
It was these thoughts that were running through his mind when he heard someone enter the room.
Cato thought that the first time he would meet Haymitch Abernathy, the man would smell strongly of alcohol. He wasn't entirely wrong. There was a faint scent of whiskey surrounding the man, but he was neither drunk nor did reek from his mouth.
"Now that's just too much." Without waiting for Cato to respond, Haymitch pulled out the pocket square Lyme had placed earlier. He took out his own white one and replaced Cato's. It was as he was tucking in the fabric that he pulled the young man closer roughly.
Immediately on the defensive, Cato glared at the man before him, on hand holding Haymitch's wrist. A quick twitch of Haymitch's lips betrayed his amusement in the situation though, which served to confuse Cato even more.
"Relax," said Haymitch with a laugh. "I'm not a fan of the way you've been treating Prim but I accept that you're the person she loves, so I propose a truce." He twisted his hand to get out of Cato's hold, and pulled the confused Victor into a hug.
"Is she okay?" The words tumbled out of Cato's mouth before he could even think about it. There was a minute change in the way Haymitch's hold loosened on him, and he supposed he wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been in such close proximity to the man.
"Listen up. You're in trouble. Word is the Capitol's furious about you showing them up in the arena. The one thing they can't stand is being laughed at and they're the joke of Panem," Haymitch was quick to speak in a whisper. Without the aid of Prim's hair to hide the movement of his lips, he used his actions as a distraction. He took his hand out of Cato's pocket and fixed his suit.
Cato understood that there was a need for secrecy and illusion in their quick exchange, and even though he could feel his anxiety rise with the revelation, he forced out a dry laugh as if he were mocking Haymitch's supposed threat. "Think you can keep me away, old man?"
"You're desperately in love with her." Haymitch stood back so that they stood at a more understandable distance. "I respect that but I don't like it."
The door opened to reveal Lyme and Brutus.
"Well aren't you a sight for sober eyes, Haymitch?" Brutus' loud baritone caught both men's attention with ease. He stayed by the door as Lyme entered.
Cato watched as Lyme and Haymitch met halfway, and he was unsurprised to find the pale yellow square of fabric that had once been his pocket square was now in Haymitch's own suit. The two passed each other with only a nod of acknowledgement being exchanged, and Cato saw the door close as Lyme reached him and the two other males left.
"Wouldn't it be fitting to give your Rose a rose?"
A single stemmed white rose was in Lyme's hand.
In spite of all the thoughts racing in his head, Cato took it without a word. He wasn't stupid enough to misunderstand. Everyone was selling their love story. The Capitol was watching them even closer than they had the other Victors because they'd been outsmarted.
Lyme exited without another word, leaving Cato standing alone, the white accent of his pocket square and the white rose making him look like heated charcoal.