Welcome to the penultimate chapter of Picking Up The Pieces!
Obviously, I want to thank every one of you who's reading, reviewing, sending me PM's, all of that jazz. It's really nice to see that people are reading the story, and I'm so excited to show you what's in store for the homecoming chapter!
Now, a trip to the Capitol I say! One last time, before we revisit Izzy.
Thank you to Remus98, FireflyLlama and BamItsTyler for your lovely reviews!
"I know so many last words. But I will never know hers." ~John Green
Mona Derale, Thirty, District Six, Victor of the 67th Hunger Games
I stare into the corner as chaos reigns.
Last night was a whirlwind to say the least, especially as the late hours of the evening resulted in medical staff checking all of us over, looking for even the slightest trace of poison both in our system and on our person. Our rooms have been searched as well; they seem dedicated to uncovering almost every secret they can find. They even went through my diary, which contained feelings I've never spoken out loud before. Part of me feels afraid of all of these procedures. Is this serial killer one of us? Is it someone else? Is anyone an accomplice to this individual? It makes me wonder if all of this prying is even worth it.
Of course, my face is a mask of boredom.
It's my resting face, but people always assume that I'm calm, when inside a raging fire can be burning me at both ends, a withered matchstick devoid of a single spark of personality. I am afraid. All of us were nearly poisoned and killed tonight, and that blows my mind. I'm pretty sure I'm not touching coffee for a long time, that's for sure.
The thing is, if you're a mentor, you survived the Games. There's no valid reason to have someone come after us after everything we've been through, be it a personal grudge against victors or a tool to strike out at the Capitol. Why use us once again? Are we just playthings to be discarded or ditched even after all this time?
We may not have everything, but we have something.
Status.
We might not be able to change the world, but we are the beacons of hope that stand within it. Take us out, and the Hunger Games becomes pointless and void, unentertaining and bland. It was the hope of survival that drives people to fight because the tributes don't want to die.
"Hey, you okay?"
I've been staring so hard at the wall it could have burst into flames, but Chive settles beside me on a caramel coloured couch and brings me back to the present.
"Just thinking about things," I sigh. "You know how it is. When something like this happens, I just wonder what will come next."
I felt the same way the night of the shooting a few days ago. I didn't think I'd feel this way again so soon.
"We'll make sure that doesn't happen," Chive answers me. "It's been too long since we were able to stand and fight for ourselves."
"The country can't handle another rebellion, if that's what you're talking about," I whisper, narrowing my eyes. "I don't think I can either. The rebels don't have any fight left in us."
I don't have much fight left in me, either.
"No, I'm not talking about rebellion," Chive tells me, shaking her head. "I'm talking about an alliance. A group of us actively standing against whoever this murderer is, but also for other concerns we have."
"Like a support group?" I ask, a little crestfallen.
Part of me wishes that Chive was going to reel me into some dangerous plot, but at the same time, I don't know if I'd be able to handle it. This group, supporting my fellow mentors? It sounds promising. Even so, the concept of a support group just sounds so basic, as if it'll be a complaints board with no real agenda or sense of direction.
"Similar," Chive admitted. "But we'd actually take action. We need to see if we can use our status to get people to help change lives for the better."
"We'd have to get it authorised first," I dismiss. "I doubt it though. There's no way a group like that would be allowed to go forward."
"It's a secret group," Chive declared. "Nobody would know about us. We can even exclude some mentors if we don't think they'll be tactful about it."
I chuckle a little. Chive didn't mention Connor Weaver's name, but we all know of the danger of having a chatterbox around. Besides, he's a snake. He'll tell the President anything if it suits him best.
Okay Chive, I'll bite.
"So, how many members are there, then?" I ask.
"Well, just me at the moment," she admits, embarrassed. "But I figured you might be the person to talk to about it. Y'know because-"
"I'm chilled out, yeah," I roll my eyes. "Well, I'm not. Half the time I'm freaking out. What makes you think I can do this?"
"It's not a big deal, I just need a vice-president," Chive spoke. "I feel like the two of us could work well together and that we both want change but without going in guns blazing. So, are you in?"
I crack a smile.
The promise of change is so tempting. Even the idea that mentors could be treated with more respect does seem like a viable plan, especially since the rebellion failed so badly. We can't solve our problems by attacking the Capitol head-on. We have to play their game. Maybe by creating a better strategy, we can find a way to make things a little better for us and the people we care about. Sure, it's a selfish notion, but we've already tried to save everyone. Time and time we have failed, despite it all.
"Sounds good," I agree. "I'm in. It's about time something changed around here anyway."
Chive smiles warmly at that. It's nice to have people you can trust, and while I certainly can't trust many mentors, Chive is one of the few. The weight on my shoulders has lessened, and already I feel lighter. Maybe the potential to bring about great change is really possible. Maybe we can try to shifts the odds in our favour.
"Find a few people you trust, and I'll do the same," Chive tells me. "Send out a few letters, whatever. When we're next able to meet, we'll do it."
"What about the newer victors?" I wonder. "Royce from One, Luke from Twelve? Izzy from Five?"
"Bring Royce and Luke. I'll speak to Leila about Izzy."
"Are you sure she can handle helping Izzy when she's just lost Nate?" I ask.
"Well," Chive sighs, standing back up. "If she wants in, then she'll have to handle it. I overheard some of the officials talking about her working with Izzy to prepare her for mentoring. She can talk to her then and make a connection with her. I don't know how Leila's going to cope, knowing that Nate isn't here anymore. I guess we'll just have to wait and see."
"Grace is gone," I remark. "Mallia too."
"Yeah, but Grace was, well, Grace," Chive shrugs. "Luke's escort friend is going to mentor Ten now."
I notice how she avoids saying Mallia's name, but all of us are. Death is too real. It's better to live in denial right now, at least until we can process what's just happened.
"Consider it done," I nod. "I guess I'll talk to you over the phone?"
"You certainly will,"
Chive leaves me then, and I fix my gaze back at the wall. If I have a part to play, then I have to keep pretending. Bored face, blank mask…nobody will suspect my true intentions if I hide them.
It's not like those intentions are bad anyway.
The ends justify the means after all.
Kile Fawkes, Fourteen, Capitol Citizen
This can't be the end.
The last few days have just been a mess, but I didn't expect it to end up like this.
My palms are sweaty and the ringing bells echo down the corridors of the Capitol hospital. Part of me feels frozen, glued to the seat beneath me. I love my Mom, but the weight of what's on my mind makes me wonder if I have enough inner strength to go in there. It's because of my feelings that I'm in this mess. I guess I'm just so emotional right now. Mom and Luca give me the condescending crap about hormones and everything but I just feel so weighed down.
My heart beats as the pulse throbs in the neck, my breathing light and my vision slightly hazy. After everything that's happened today, I've run across half the city to get here.
I'm dead.
When they finally let me in to see Mom, she's like a ghost, pale and fragile. Sometimes testing can really take it out of her, and seeing her so frail puts my nerves on edge; more so than they usually are as well, after what happened.
The faint beeping of machines greets my ears as my Mother's even breathing fills the hospital room.
For almost a year, I've come here every night after school just to see her. Mom's a fighter, and she's never going to give up, but when that person put poison in her wine? What was the reason for that? Why would they do something so horrible? Luca's given me an update about the person bothering him. Finite sounds like a dodgy name, and even when I don't want to admit it, I do worry about my brother going out on these missions, trying to uncover the identity of a sniper.
Maybe Finite's the poisoner too.
Mom's half-asleep, eyes heavy and almost closed over her green eyes. The sun seeps in through the blinds, sending golden fingers over her bedsheets filled with warmth and love. The seat next to her bed is waiting for me; it's routine for me to just sit there and watch over her, to make sure she's okay.
My fingers close around hers, caressing the back of her hand. The memories are close to me when I'm here, the happy ones with the baked cakes that she loved to test taste, or her ability to beat me at tennis or football or just about any sport.
"Kile…"
"Mom?" I ask.
She's awake, looking over at me, smiling a little.
"Hey sweetheart," she says. "You've got your thinking face on. Something's bothering you."
There's never any beating around the bush with Mom. She's a sweet and loving person, but she doesn't take any funny business. She wants the truth given straight to her, without the pleasantries or dressing it up.
"It's Kent," I mutter. "We had a…talk. It didn't go well."
The mention of my friend is too raw and painful for me to dwell on it, but how could I not? Everything I'd hoped for was for something more. All I wanted was someone at my side to be there for me when nobody else could, but Kent doesn't want that. He wants his purple hair and matching contacts, his partying and his life of fun.
He just doesn't want me.
"Kile," Mom says, a hint of warning in her voice. "Whatever it is you want to tell me, it's okay. The Doctors…they don't know how long I have left. Any slight change could send me into cardiac arrest. I don't want any secrets before I'm gone."
"M-Mom," I shake my head, hot tears welling up in my eyes, fogging up the room before me. Part of me doesn't want to cry, but I have to let it out. "No, you can't leave me."
"Oh, my sweet boy," she sighs. "I didn't want to tell you before Luca got here, but they can't fix me. I could have anywhere from a few hours to a few days."
Her words rain down upon me, but her tone is gentle. I don't feel this new reality, because I'm frozen to this chair, my hand wrapped around hers. Everything that has been swirling into one at this point has formed this ball of anger, anxiety, sadness and regret. Why was it I who had to take this all for granted? Had it been two years ago and I knew this would happen, I would have made the most of the time I had with my Mom. The news is not really a shock, more so a damning confirmation that life is going to change, just without Mom in it. I can't help but want to deny it, even as the words are spoken into existence.
Mom's dying.
"Kile, say something," she begs me, a tear or two slipping from her eyes. "I know this is hard baby, I'm sorry. I've been fighting so hard to get better, but it's just getting worse."
"I just don't want you to go," I say, my tone barely a whisper as the tears begin to fall. I wipe them away quickly, trying to stem the flow of emotions, to hold back the leveés that threaten to break.
"I know," she says sadly. She's crying too. "So tell me. Tell me before I go. This might be your only chance to say something."
"Okay."
So I tell her.
Kent.
His red hair is a mid-length, his fringe to the side, dimples making their appearance known at the sight of his sweet smile. If he ever caught me staring, I don't know how he'd react. Maybe I'm a little dramatic, but the Capitol is the Capitol. You can express yourself in any way you want to here, so why do I feel like I'm suffocating? Why do I feel like he's stepped on my lungs to leave me with air I can barely draw in?
Crushes are dumb and I hate them.
He's just so…nice, though. He's so easygoing, almost as if life itself just breezes on by and he doesn't have anything to worry about. Am I looking for that? Am I looking for someone to get me out of this box I've locked myself in?
All I know is that I couldn't ever hate him.
"Is your Mom okay?" Kent asks me, the two of us walking together to Business Studies class. "I know she's not really gotten much better."
I take a sudden interest in the individual pages of my red notebook. I bought it because it reminds me of him. A shade of red that nobody could ever forget…it's a beautiful colour. Some see only violence and blood, or lust and love, always at odds with one another. It's a comfort, a reminder that it's okay to talk, at least to Kent.
Red is beautiful, and so is he.
"She's okay, just the usual blood tests and stuff," I mutter. "It's just hard sometimes, y'know?"
"Yeah, I'm sorry," Kent sighs.
He leans over and wraps his arms around my shoulders. I shouldn't snuggle in, but he's just so warm. He's like coming home to a bed and there's a roaring fire in nearby. The crackle of the flames could make anyone deliciously drowsy. I feel the warmth from him as I hug him back. I'm grateful for his support, but this closeness to Kent just leaves my heart to move at a stupidly fast pace.
"Thanks," I grin.
"Anytime," he nods. "Now, time to bore ourselves to death."
He smiles at me. I can't help but smile back.
Butterflies take residence in my stomach whenever he's near.
It's almost as if the rain goes away when I see Kent, like I can forget the gathering clouds and the fear of the oncoming storm. It's almost as if he's my comfort blanket. We've always been friends, but we've transformed, no, blossomed into something more.
So why am I so afraid to tell him?
He dyed his hair purple today.
It's not the same, it never will be. I've always loved his signature red.
For some reason though, it feels like a betrayal, as if he's throwing away the Kent I care for so much and turning into someone I don't really recognise. What's next? The contacts? The body modifications? Maybe I'm the only one in my class who's not interested in drastically changing my appearance, but Kent? Sweet, lovable Kent?
I feel sour, even though I don't want to feel like that.
I shouldn't be complaining – it's his choice what he wants to do – but it just feels like a kick in the teeth, like I'm the one who's been played, the one who's been led astray all this time.
Yet even with this change, I still care about him.
My feet pound the concrete, my breathing hard.
No. He said no.
To confess a crush is one thing, to lean in for a first kiss is another.
Kent just shattered the dream I had of both. He said he already knew, that he was aware I was different. He didn't mind, he said, and for some reason, it upsets me. I wanted him to be angry with me, to say that we couldn't be friends anymore, to kick me down or to give me another reason to hide. In fact, he was completely the opposite. He was happy for me. He just didn't see me that way.
It hurts. Be it Kent's kindness or the feeling of rejection, it hurts.
I should have expected his reaction, so why did I feel like it would be worse? Why does it still feel so bad? The Capitol are open to almost anything, and I should have known that the people living there would fall to the same ideals. It's great, and I shouldn't be bitter about it, but I am.
"We can still be friends," he'd said.
Friends. A possibility. An open road for us to return to our same old closeness once more.
I'd be okay with that.
I just wish it wouldn't hurt so much.
"I'm gay, Mom."
There it is. A confession so seemingly simple, yet it holds the weight of everything in my hands. It's the spoken reality that's been trapped inside of me, and somehow it's now gone. Three words, spoken in the midst of ringing silence and beeping machines; the words to take my weight away. She smiles, no, she beams as if her face has become sunshine. Acceptance and pride roll off of her in waves, and despite the pang of bitter rejection still running through me from earlier today, I know that telling her was the right thing to do.
"I love you," she tells me. "Whatever you couldn't find in Kent, can be found in someone else, you know that, right?"
I nod quietly.
"Love comes from everywhere," she tells me weakly. "Love is timeless. Love is pure."
"Then why does it hurt so much?" I scoff.
"What you held in your heart was never love," she tells me. "True, real, honest love? It shouldn't sting you. Sometimes it might hurt, but never because the other person is hating you or hurting you, but instead because you miss them. You care for them. You support them. Just promise me that when you find true love, you never let it go."
I don't know if what she's saying is right, but I don't stop her.
"I promise," I tell her.
She's giving me hope, just something to get me through, to help me to keep going.
I hope it'll be enough.
Luca Fawkes, Twenty-Five, Head Gamemaker
I hope I'm in the right place.
It's a sleek-looking building, small yet fanciful, decorated in pure white marble, grey cracks adding an accented, professional look to its exterior, carved steps and rippled glass, an enticing sculpture that reels me in.
Bassett's Bodyguards.
It's stupid really, to think I can hire anyone to keep me safe, but thankfully, hiring someone for 24/7 work is easily paid for. A Head Gamemaker's salary is great, but it's nothing near seventy-one million, my current outstanding price for Finite. The fact they said they'd get back to me already has me on edge, and while I know they said it wouldn't be soon, it can't hurt to take some precautions.
So yes, bodyguards.
More for Kile than for me, but it's always good to have a couple around. If I hire just a couple for me and one for Kile, then I should be okay, and it's not too costly. Kile…I don't want him talking to some faceless guard who won't have any common ground with him. I want at least one of them to have a face, to have some kind of personality – someone Kile could connect with.
I know you shouldn't mix business with pleasure, but Kile's just been so lonely. I know I work a lot of the time, but even I know that my little brother's been having his own problems. Maybe a friend who can be there for him and defend him at the same time could be good for him.
I stride in through the doors of the building, lowering my hood as I enter.
I've kept my precautions, as the paparazzi and Finite seem to follow me almost anywhere. It's probably a good thing I told nobody about my decision to come out today, because nobody will be aware of what I'm planning.
It's better to be safe than to be sorry, so when I move up to the counter, I prepare myself.
This is for my Mom and Kile as much as it is for me.
A middle-aged man with a weather-beaten face and black hair greets me as I enter. He's well-built and strong, and regards me with a look of interest upon my entry. He's so non-Capitol that it's almost disorientating but still welcome.
"The famous Luca Fawkes," the man chuckles. "Sneaking into my business in broad daylight, huh? Something tells me you're in trouble."
"Ha," I grin, adding to my cocky charm, although my heart's not in it. I can tell the man can see through the cracks almost right away. "There's been some attacks in the papers, as you know. I'm worried about my family. I was hoping I could hire someone to protect us, with constant security. I can provide live-in arrangements if that's an issue."
"Cutting right to the chase, hm?" the man chortles. "My name is Bastion Bassett, and I own this business. Nice of you to say hi."
"My apologies," I explain. "It's urgent."
"Don't worry yourself about it," the man grunts. "I've had customers a lot worse than you. So, what are we talking, two for you, say, four for the family?"
"My Mother's in hospital and my brother is at school a lot of the time. My Mother is well protected by the Presidential security team. Maybe just two for me and two for my brother?"
"Done," the man nods. "I can't promise you a good chat with my guards, but they're good at their jobs."
"Well, that was something I wanted to ask," I tell him. "Do you have anyone on the younger side? See, my brother's been a bit down lately, and I thought that having someone around his age could lift his spirits."
Bastion regards me quietly and nods.
"My son's just the same," he admits. "Boys tend to keep to 'emselves when they're that age. My boy's just got into the business, although he's on an apprenticeship. How old is your brother?"
"Kile's fourteen," I say. "Your son?"
"Fifteen," Bastion smirks. "I home-schooled him, and he's an apprentice in the family business at the same time. Kinda handy, huh? Maybe you can have him as an additional guard for your brother. It might give my boy a friend and stop him brooding."
"It's dangerous work," I warn him.
"It'll be fine," Bastion waves a hand. "I tend to hear people say that a lot, but the threat is more invisible. They tend not to target bodyguards if they don't have to. My kid'll be fine, but he's a part-timer until his apprenticeship's up."
I don't ask twice; Bastion's confidence in his son is enough to suggest that he can keep himself safe.
"How much?" I ask.
Fifteen minutes later, I exit the business into the street, my hood up and the breeze hitting my face. I breathe in a lungful of air, my worries dissipating with the wind, no longer a cause for concern. Finally, it feels like I've won something, or at least bought myself some time to prepare for the next big thing.
My phone rings, and I reach into my pocket to grab it, no longer afraid of who the caller will be.
"Hello?"
"Luca!"
It's Kile.
"Hey, buddy, what's up?" I ask. I hear a sniffle on the other end of the line, and my heart plummets. This phone call only reminds me of the one a year ago, when Mom was poisoned and was admitted to intensive care.
"It's Mom," he says. "You need to come quick. They don't know how long she has left."
The words die on my lips. The clouds darken and swell. The rain falls.
"I'm on my way," I say.
I have to be. For her. For Kile. For myself.
Mother…
Please don't go so soon.
Okay okay okay, hi hello here we are!
Hmm, it looks like the victors are definitely banding together to plan something, what do you think that'll be?
Ameera's oncoming death and Kile's confession, how do you feel about that? Will Kile ever talk to Luca about things?
Luca meeting, well, a new character? Bastion? We'll be seeing his son a lot more (Blau) in CM, who'll become a prevalent character in the verse. What did you think about Luca hiring bodyguards?
All of the plot might make sense now, but it'll be a while until I release Volume III of this Verse, "CM". So, just to stay up to date, I'd recommend that you keep tabs on the Fawkes Verse story "Knives and Fawkes" for when it next updates, as that story will provide a summary of events to jog your memory should you forget.
That's the last of our look at the Capitol! Next chapter, we'll be seeing Izzy's victory through her eyes.
Over and out!
~Mental