"I want to see Gale," I demand of one of the guards.
The guard doesn't answer. He doesn't even look at me.
"As the winner of the Hunger Games, I demand that I see him," I clarify. Winning should be worth something around here, shouldn't it?
This time he glances my way. And he scoffs. I'm about to start throwing punches, but a hand grip tightly onto arm and starts dragging me away.
A murmured command tumbles into my ear. "Calm down, sweetheart."
It's Haymitch. This is the first time I've seen him since we won.
"I want to see Gale," I repeat, my feet stumbling as he wrenches me forward.
"Yeah, I'm sure you do," he grumbles.
He keeps dragging me along until we reach a balcony. He closes the door behind us before he releases his steely grip.
"Congrats," he says sardonically, a distinct lack of congratulation in his voice. He twirls his finger in the air and monotonously croons, "Woo."
"Can you get me to Gale?" I ask him.
"I've pulled enough strings for you two."
"When can I see him?"
"My estimation? Never," he reveals bluntly. He walks past me, leaning onto the edge of the balcony.
I face his back. "That's not fair. He won."
He turns back toward me, his elbows resting on the ledge. "This place doesn't foster fairness, and he won in a way that all but does away with his victory."
"What would that be?"
"He one-upped the Gamemakers," he says. "We can damage the Capitol's luxuries and their food supplies, but damaging their pride? That's gutsy. Nearly stupid. Not to mention your handsome little friend assaulted the medics."
When Gale and I got picked up after winning, a herd of people had come at us trying to pry us away from each other. Gale still had that knife in his boot. He'd been more prepared for victory than I was, which makes sense, since it was his plan. He got that knife out pretty quickly, and a muscular guy who'd been in combat mode for the last several days had a bit of an advantage over a bunch of nurses. Even the guards had a hard time sedating him.
Ever since we'd arrived back at the building we'd waited and trained in, he'd been confined to his room. It seems like forever ago we awaited death here. The rooms look different, though they haven't been slept in by anyone else. Colors themselves look different. If I look in a mirror, which I still haven't gotten around to, I imagine that I would look different, too. Maybe that's because I'm the one who actually changed, my perception changing with me.
"They didn't even take the knife away from him," I recall, "or offer him medical attention. They just threw him in his room." I had gotten medical attention after Gale was taken from me. There's no evidence of a knife wound in my back. Blood loss is Gale's immediate medical concern, but with his wounds patched up, he should recover from that soon enough.
"They didn't take his knife?" Haymitch quirks an eyebrows. "It looks like they're hoping he'll off himself. They only want one of you."
I shake my head. "He wouldn't do that."
"You don't know that," he offers. "Things look bleak for you two."
"Things have always looked bleak for us," I retort, "but we get over it and live our lives."
"Well, get ready for your next episode of living, sweetheart, because—" he stops, his gaze flitting down. He approaches me, and as he does, he glances down at my hand. My fist is clenched around something.
He takes my wrist between two fingers and flips my hand over, palm-up. Obediently, I uncurl my fingers.
The mockingjay pin rests there.
I've been relieved of my arena clothing, and now I wear a simple cotton dress, but I have held onto this pin.
Haymitch chuckles, something almost reverent in the sound.
"Because your interview starts soon."
Enter Effie. She's squeals with delight upon seeing me, bending at the waist to offer me a hug. However, this delight is quickly replaced with anguish, since I'm so horribly unprepared for an interview. I'd gotten around it the last time. (I'm not all that insulted that she didn't expect a follow-up interview. A lot of the time, I didn't expect one either.)
I have half a mind to try to weasel my way out of this interview as well, but if this is the Victor's interview, then Gale is expected there, too. I'm not depriving myself of this chance to see him alive and well. I know he hasn't killed himself like Haymitch suggested, not after we've just achieved the ability to not get murdered, but I have a nagging feeling that he's in danger.
Who am I kidding? He is in danger. I am, too, but as far as the Gamemakers are concerned, he's the ringleader.
Effie mentions nothing of the circumstances of our win. She mostly just teaches me how to walk and smile as quickly as she can manage. Her despair at my lack of natural talent is evident.
Hopefully, I end up a somewhat presentable person.
Enter Cinna.
He greets me with a broad, genuine grin.
"Congrats," he echoes Haymitch's words from before, but it sounds exponentially more sincere from him. It's nice that in this city of deception, there is one genuine person.
"Thank you," I reply just as sincerely.
Cinna doesn't talk about my winning circumstances either, he just asks me to turn for him, expresses that my figure hasn't changed much from the last time, and then brings me a dress. He claims he's been working on it for a while in the event of my return.
He knew, or at least hoped very much, that I would come back.
The thought brings a smile to my face.
The dress seems plain, although pretty and much fancier than any dresses I've worn back in District 12, but Cinna specifically instructs me to spin during the interview.
"Spin?" I raise my eyebrows. "Like, turning?"
"Yes."
"I might fall."
"We can pair it with flat shoes."
He dolls me up, with the help of various other stylists and make-up people. They leave my hair down, and it falls in waves around my shoulders. It's then, in front of one of their mirrors, that I finally see my reflection.
I've lost a considerable amount of baby fat, my face consequently more sallow. There are heavy bags under my eyes, but they're covered up tidily. My shoulders and arms look more muscular, and I'm not the skinny girl from District 12 anymore. I can never be her again, I think.
Effie arrives shortly to escort me to the interview. As I'm leaving, Cinna calls out to me.
"Hey, Katniss!"
He beckons me to him, and trot back to him. "Yes?"
"Tell your friend I congratulate him, too," he says. And he lifts his hand and starts attaching something to my dress just above my chest.
It's Gale's pin. The mockingjay pin. I'd put it down at some point during this whole debacle to pretty me up. He must have recognized it and retrieved it for me.
I smile at him, and even if my smile looks as unconvincing as I think it does, I hope he knows how much it means coming from me. I appreciate his presence here. I really do.
"Thank you."