Disclaimer: I do not own any of this.

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The Song of the Mockingjay

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Chapter One

The Victor

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oOo

As soon as I get into my room, I throw my loot as far as I can, almost like if all those jewels and diamonds disgust me. And partly this is so, not because of the jewels themselves, but what they represent to me.

They are a payment, the value they have placed on me, what the people of the Capitol and President Snow believe I am worth. They are a symbol of what I became as a victor.

Immediately afterwards, I ditch all the luxury and take a long shower, letting the hot water cleans me and wash the memories of tonight down the drain. Although deep inside I know that they will never go away, but will join the others, the same ones that haunt me in my dreams. The ones that never leave me alone.

I rest my back against the cold wall of gold tiles and sigh, laughing at how low I have fallen. How I have gone from being a gladiator to a simple doll that goes from hand to hand, paying favors that do not belong to me. Stealing information that I'm not interested in and praying that's enough to keep me living by the grace of the president.

I never thought that this would be my life as a winner, but -as Finnick Odair told me a year ago when I won my games, we just do what it takes to survive.

Survive

Before my Games, I used to believe that the people of District 2 weren't like everyone else; that we didn't survive, we lived, or that's what I thought before it all started.

The threats, the trips, the lovers, everything has happened so fast that it still sounds ridiculous in my mind. How did I, the neck-breaker, the ruthless assassin become one more puppet in Snow's game? I do not know. And I know I shouldn't care, but the thing is it does, much more than I would have thought. I suppose there are things that even the most loyal people of the 2 make us uncomfortable with. And yet, thanks to Finnick -who is a pioneer in these matters, I learnt that there is a small advantage in all of this of allowing my body to be used as if it did not belong to me. And it is not about the jewelry or the money that my 'lovers' give to me after our meetings but also something more simple and valuable: secrets.

If I've learnt something the last year is that we all have secrets. It could be a little guilty pleasure, something wrong, shameful or illegal, but no one is saved from one.

I have many secrets too, but it is vitally important to ensure that no one discovers them. So far, many of them are dangerous, affecting too many people. I know what people do with other's secrets, how they use it against them. I know it because I'm the one who stole those secrets for them.

Secrets are the most valuable currency in all of Panem, and although I cannot reveal my own, I have become an expert at stealing other people's. That is my job, or at least what keeps me alive: to observe and convince my lovers, no matter how, they reveal their darkest and forbidden secrets to me.

Thus, in just over a year, I have learnt a lot about people, that the one who hides something big is not always the one who looks the most suspicious, and that even the most innocent of citizens can have a secret that threatens the entire country.

I have seen and heard many things, from strange sexual appetites, to gossip about the most prestigious families in the country; What if so-and-so goes to bed with his sister, or things like that. So far I haven't had anything too important, but I've only been in this for a little over a year. Nevertheless, you never know when even the smallest piece of information about a nob can help you.

My lovers always ask me about my secrets too, but, of all the ones I have, the secret that I keep most jealously is not exactly dangerous to anyone but those of us involved. It is rather personal and intimate, and it is not scandalous by any means, but if it reached the ears of those who control me it could turn into a catastrophe.

That's why I keep it just for myself, always pretending that I have nothing to hide.

But like everyone else, I do.

My secret's name is Madge, and although at first glance a simple name may not seem like such a dangerous secret, to me it is. Because no matter what I do I think of her every moment. I think about her porcelain skin, her golden hair and those blue eyes so different from any other I have seen before.

I remember the softness of her skin the only time I took her little hand while that seductive red blushing stained her cheeks. She was so fragile, shy, and delicate as a rose, but at the same time as strong as a warrior, although no one but me seemed to have noticed it.

We do not share long afternoons hand in hand, or nights together. We know almost nothing about each other. We don't even share more than a couple of hours together, and we could never share more than that. But still, for me, Madge Undersee is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen; born and raised at the end of the world, in a place as dreary and poor as District 12, yet still the brightest diamond I have found in all Panem.

That bothered me at first, but later, when the days passed and she didn't leave my head, I began, for the first time, to miss someone with whom I had practically no emotional ties. A girl I didn't know at all, as strange to me as any other person from 12.

My brother says that this is to be in love, but I had never fallen in love before; in District 2 there is no place for those kinds of feelings. At least not while your name is still on the Reaping since emotional uprooting makes many things easier for you once in the Arena. But when it happens, when you love someone, you just can't control it, or at least that's what I heard out there. It makes sense, I guess. But if I'm really in love, it couldn't have been at a more inopportune moment.

Love is worth nothing when you are forced to live hundreds of miles from that person, much less when you are nothing more than a Capitol's puppet. No will or vote to decide on your own life.

That is exactly what I am. Not a victor, not a killer or a gladiator. I am just a boy who used to believe in his nation, love it and dream of defending it with his life, and to whom it taught him that his life is worth nothing. They are using me, threatening me, and selling me. And if President Snow knew that I have feelings for the daughter of the mayor of District 12 it would be another way of blackmailing me to do whatever he wants me to do; I know well that he would not mind using Madge, much less damaging her to force me to carry out his orders, just as he did not mind harming my family.

That is why I allow him to use me, and that is why I try to make him happy with my work.

It's unbelievable how easily some people can loosen their tongues in the privacy of their beds. And although the secrets I have obtained so far do not go beyond a couple of malicious gossip about high-ranking officials or people in the show business, the one that keeps me awake tonight, in addition to the memory of Madge, is different.

My lover on duty, a disgusting rich and nob old man, with more money than brain -and who luckily only settled for touching me, told me something that, although it might not be important, is, at least, curious. The reason that has taken our beloved president's sleep in recent times; her greatest fear and source of anger, a malnourished and poor girl from District 12, recent winner of the 74th Hunger Games, "Girl on Fire", Katniss Everdeen.

I admit that her games were out of the ordinary, and were quite interesting indeed, but she has something that I don't like. She is not a victor, I can see it in her face, because in my "job" I have learnt to read people. I'm really good at.

I learnt that there are several types of victors: the haughty and fierce, who believe that they are always in the Arena, even after leaving it; the false modest, who not even his mother believes him how honoured he says he feels for having won the games; the proud, who does not care what others say, he deserved to win; the mysterious, the sympathetic, the flatterer and the crybaby. Katniss Everdeen doesn't add up to either type. She never seems happy, flattering, or overly emotional, much less proud, fierce, or mysterious. At first glance she has nothing more than a good stylist who somehow managed to make Katniss look like she really was someone interesting; she is pretty simple. Too much not to look suspicious.

I laugh again at my own occurrence, and at that moment the screens across the room turn on for an informative flash, briefly surprising me when the image of Katniss appears in the foreground, greeting the audience from District 11 as she remembers her lover -who died tragically in her arms, with tears in her eyes. At that moment I sharpen my eyes and -one more time, try to figure out what is threatening about her so that bothers someone so powerful like President Snow. She is still not being particularly pretty, nor does she look very smart, nor is she dangerous at first glance. She reminds me of someone, although she seems more like a little girl lost among so many people, and not the revolutionary leader that my lover said the president thinks she is.

And then I get out of the shower and I sharpen my gaze as I continue with my analysis. Everything seems too normal and routine, but suddenly it happens. In a moment of general astonishment as Katniss remembered her boyfriend and the tribute girl from that district, an old man whistles the same note as the girl from last year's games, raising all three middle fingers. At that moment the transmission cuts out, but before the screen fills with static I could clearly see movement among the peacekeepers.

And I stare at the screen off again, confused, but at the same time understanding why that girl could represent a danger to Panem.

And then I laugh.

A well-known saying in the country says that nobody decent wins the Games. I believe that rather being a victor is not a title that anyone can hold, and we have to see if she will really know how to win it.

oOo

The train continues to move at an incredible speed, but so quietly that if it weren't for the warping landscape outside it might appear to be holding still.

I don't like trains for two reasons: The first is that I had to get on a train the first time I went to the Capitol as a tribute for the Hunger Games, where my life changed forever. The second, because it is the means of transportation that they force me to use every time one of President Snow's friends buys my company.

It's barely ten minutes into the trip out of the Capitol when I notice someone put a drink in front of me and I feel a hand touch my shoulder, taking me by surprise.

"What are you thinking about?"

I turn around and Finnick smiles at me in that seductive way that he uses indiscriminately with everyone. Behind him, the beautiful Cashmere does the same, although in a slightly more forced way, but it does not surprise me, because I suppose I should smile the same.

I make a lopsided grin and look at them, amused.

"Think? We don't think, Finnick."

"That would affect the 'balance'," he laughs, settling on the railing next to me with his drink.

"And how's your week?"

I accept the drink and take it in one sip to give myself the courage to remember that. It's quite a bit smoother than I expected, which surprises me about Finnick. Still I don't care.

"Old, fatty meat." I groan "But, luckily, I just had to let him get turned on by playing. It didn't last long."

He and Cashmere laugh.

"Good General Craven ... You were lucky this time," says the second.

"No, you were lucky." Replies Finnick "You only accompanied the president's granddaughter for a week", Finnick, sipping from his glass, making a pause before continues "I had to fuck an old woman with so many surgeries on her that she was falling apart. Literally, I thought her nose would fall off or something during the act"

The three of us laughed now.

I don't know if it could be said that we are friends, but only we understand what it is to be, well, like us, and that is enough to have these brief and pleasant moments, beyond being friends or not.

And then I remember the train of my thoughts, and the doubt comes back to attack me.

"Did you see the broadcast of the Tour from District 11?" I ask, frowning in intrigue.

"I was doing makeup with the president's granddaughter, so I didn't pay much attention," Cashmere says, shaking his head as Finnick and I look at her. "What? You two should be happy that I didn't have to spread my legs for some filthy old man for once"

"Wow, what a way to sacrifice yourself for your nation," I say, and she purses her lips as she slaps my arm, leaving her hand there to cling to me and gaze out at the scenery. We're close to her district now

"Finnick?" I call him.

Suddenly, Finnick seems tense and distant, like he's remembering every detail of what happened. After he looks at us, hesitates a few seconds before speaking and after thinking it over, he seems to make up his mind.

"It was strange, wasn't it?", he says unexpectedly, "I heard that all of us... well, at least I am forbidden to go near Katniss Everdeen when the Tour goes through my district. Express orders from the president."

"Me too," Cashmere says, leaning his head on my shoulder, and they both stare at me.

"I didn't get an order," I say, curious. I pause because I remember that someone might be listening to our conversation. "And why can't other victors get closer to her?"

Finnick looks me in the eyes, and it's not just because I'm so good at this, but in his I see that he knows the answer. However, he just sighs and takes his gaze out to the landscape.

"Who knows?," replies, smoothly, "but it doesn't matter, does it? Nothing will change after this tour ... I'm hungry, by the way. Are you coming to the dining room?"

I nod before he turns to leave first, Cashmere at his heels, then standing next to him and taking his arm. I stand a few meters behind and look at them, unable to help but think that Finnick seems to have a secret on his hands, one of the greats, and even if he is better than me pretending he cannot hide it.

I finally go after them, unable to decide if that's good or not.

oOo

The morning of Katniss Everdeen's arrival to District 2, everyone is excited.

The station is a mess of cameras and journalists, many more than we receive each year. Agents go through their schedules over and over again on the streets, lighting and sound technicians spend their time testing their lights and microphones, while the Capitol's cameramen preparing their rails and devices to follow the brand new winner from the station to the plaza without missing a single second of his triumphant arrival.

I really don't understand why she has become so famous to the point of turning our district upside down. Well, It is true that she and her partner played the tragic lovers' card very effectively with that of the suicide with poisonous berries issue. Nevertheless, he could not resist the blood loss of his wounds and died. And all this excitement would have been understandable if they were both alive and wasting love for everyone, but it's only her now, who of the two was the one that had the least to offer to the public.

The boy was charismatic and knew how to control the audience, Katniss is rather simple and without grace, but the truth is that even I believe her the role of long-suffering lover that he sketches for the cameras. If she really loved that guy I can't know, but frankly, it's none of my business.

The hours go by tense and too slow until at noon madness finally breaks out. The train from District 3 arrives on time, and the chaos begins with applause, screams, lights and, flashes. I see it all from the box in the Justice Building, standing next to Brutus and Lyme, who seem just as curious as I am. From up here, the whole thing looks like a scene from a real circus.

"So much scandal for a brat without any grace," Brutus croaks, with that characteristic delicacy of his, spitting at the balcony floor.

"Her games were the most popular in years," says Lyme, as passively as an understanding aunt. "And she's suffered a lot."

"We have all suffered." I say " And I agree with Brutus. I don't know what's special about that girl. Besides, it's Clove who should be in her place," I add, not only because Clove was my friend, but also because I really still believe that she was the best option to win. Then I turn around to go back inside the building, but Lyme stops me.

"Hope," she says, quietly, and I turn to hear her better because the first time I thought I wasn't doing it right.

"What?"

"I said she gives hope to those who haven't had it for a long time." she adds "Like those people from the 11. And that, Cato, is much more valuable and dangerous at the same time than anything else."

Brutus and I look at her, and then at each other, uncomfortable. We don't know when someone might be listening to us, and I guess the last thing we both want is to be charged with conspiracy over a comment from the crazy Lyme. Here in the 2, you can be corrupt, a con artist or, everyone's favourite, a trained assassin, but never a traitor, especially if you want to still breathing.

"Uh! You're crazy, woman!" My former mentor says as he glares at Lyme. She blinks and looks at us too, shrugging as she steps ahead of us.

"Don't worry," she answers, stopping before entering the building "They can't hear us here. And remember, no one comes close to Katniss Everdeen, " she says, and leaves. Brutus waits a few seconds and takes the opposite direction, leaving me alone, and it takes me a few seconds for my mind to work. I've never been particularly thoughtful, but even so, to my regret, Lyme's words sink deep into my mind.

On the one hand, I feel something very similar to fear. Hope is not a word that is heard a lot around here, and perhaps that is why it sounds dangerous and disturbing to me.

Hope for what? The Capitol controls every aspect of our lives, and after the Dark Days, they won't stop doing it just like that. That word sounds almost ridiculous the way Lyme had tried to phrase it, but then I wonder why he used it to refer to Katniss Everdeen. Why could that bland girl mean so much to the people of this nation, to the point of making an old man like the one from 11 make that stupid thing in public?

I had never even thought of a long shot, but then I remember my brief stay in District 12 over a year ago. The dirty people, with sunken eyes and cheeks and tired faces, mechanically applauding me from the square; It is unthinkable that the hope of an entire country could come from such a place, but then I also remember the beautiful daughter of the mayor, Madge, who shone in the darkness of the coal seams that littered the streets, with her blond hair like the gold and her white dress. I remember the few words we exchanged while I was at her house, and how I first believed that, if the circumstances were different, she could have been the perfect woman for me. But above all, I remember that, after asking her opinion on the Hunger Games, politely and carefully measuring her words, she told me that she was still having the hope that everything will change someday, and then, things would be better for all of us.

I think that I did not give importance to it that moment since I was more concerned about kissing her before the day was over than about anything else, but now I see that even before someone else noticed, something was already brewing in the poorest and forgotten district of the country. The one where every day someone starved, and that Katniss Everdeen, without realizing it, had spread like wildfire.

The thought stuns me enough that I don't realize where my feet are going, and in doing so it's too late, because I'm opening the door without announcing myself, and Katniss, sitting on the bed, turns to look at me, surprised and somewhat scared. And I get scared too, because I had never disobeyed an order from the president, and I really have no idea what to do next. So I try to stupidly introduce myself.

"Hello. I'm..."

"I know who you are," she says, so softly that I can barely hear her. She seems uncomfortable, and it doesn't surprise me because I feel the same, "What are you doing here?"

"I'd like to...talk to you," I say because it's the first thing that comes to mind so as not to scare her.

She opens her eyes wide and doesn't stop looking at me as if I were a mutt that's about to jump at her neck.

"Why?"

"Because ... we are victors. And that is what victors do."

"I have not met other victors," she says, a little higher while lifting her chin. "What do you want to talk about?"

"About you." I stupidly say.

"About me?" Obviously, she doesn't like me, but at least she tries not to show her dislike. "There are much more interesting things in life to talk about, trust me.", she says, bothering me.

"Not for me," I admit. I think nervousness makes me sound pushy, or maybe I'm so used to sounding that way that I can't help it.

Katniss opens her dull gray eyes a little wider, looking at me suspiciously. Suddenly she stops being shy to show something annoying.

"Not for you? But if you are the great Cato. The new darling of the Capitol. The famous and deadly last victor of District 2. We could spend hours talking about you, but sadly, I have no money with me."

Wow, I think. The simpleton of the 12 has claws. That's funny. Her sudden haughtiness, far from making me angry, in a way amuses me.

"Do not worry. I'm not going to charge you. Professional courtesy." I reply "Although, we could do some kind of ... trade for each other's time."

She looks at me once more, frowning.

"How nice of you to offer, but I have to prepare myself for dinner, so ..."

"There's still time for that," I say, taking a step towards her. "Instead, your time and mine together will be much shorter."

"Don't get my hopes up," she blurts out. I like her sour attitude, and I have to admit that Katniss may seem simple outside, but she has fire inside. I think with a few extra pounds she could easily pass as someone from District 2. "What do you want?", she repeats, surprising me.

"I want to know what is special about you, Katniss Everdeen." I reply. "What is so special about you that so many influential people hate you", I just let it go because I know that precisely on the floor where we are, there are no microphones for the special request of the mayor since here is where he usually meets those underage prostitutes who offer him their services.

Katniss is once again surprised by my words and allows me to guide her to the centre of the room as she steps back to avoid my closeness. Here I am sure that no one will be able to hear us, but that, obviously, she does not know, so she continues to be reluctant.

"There is nothing special about me. Peeta was special, I'm nothing", she claims, and her sincerity and slight tremors surprise me, just like that downcast look. And I can't help but think about the way she cried when her boyfriend died, or how she adorned the body of the District 11 girl after she was murdered by Marvel from District 1. Then, I realize that whatever makes her especial, it goes far beyond herself, that she does not control it, nor that she could do it even if she wanted to. It is something that goes far beyond anything we have seen before, far beyond anything that someone like me or Brutus could imagine. It is something more profound, the representation of satiety and the need for change.

It is hope.

I stagger slightly and take two steps away, because, right now, I feel too confused to do anything else.

Since I was born I have been taught that glory and honor are worth nothing without loyalty, that we must always be faithful to the Capitol that loved and cared for us. And now this girl, with her thin cheeks, her hollowed-out eyes, and that attitude that could even seem selfish, in just a few minutes, without trying, has changed everything.

And that scares me because I don't know or want to know another life. Now I understand why Finnick and the others were forbidden to approach her, because Katniss is the seed of doubts and change that have been in the air for years, without anyone daring to plant them. And something, or rather, everything about her screams danger, so I take a step back, trying to get away before it's too late.

However, suddenly I notice something that shines on her chest, and without thinking my fingers go over the gold pin, analyzing it in detail. I've seen a lot like that on Capitol Hill, but Katniss's, that specific pin, I've seen it before. In Madge's dress.

"Where did you get that from?" Katniss instinctively raises a hand to her chest and looks at me suspiciously.

"It's mine.", she alleges.

"No," I correct her, trying not to lose patience. "I've seen it before on someone else's dress. What are you doing with it?!"

She opens her eyes and looks down, but only for a moment.

"The mayor's daughter gave it to me." She cries, "She is my friend."

A violent shudder invades me as I remember Madge once more, with her golden curls and her eyes as blue as the sky... Remembering her makes me feel calm again, like when I hid behind a wall to listen to her play those beautiful melodies on the piano.

I stare at her and try to discover what other secrets the pariah from the 12 keeps, but I don't see anything. She's a blank space like she really has nothing to say. And I have the urge to rip my dear Madge's pin from her chest, but I hold back.

I straighten my back and return to my starting position. I clasp my hands behind my body and shake my head like I've seen a lot of people do on Capitol Hill. I put my heels together and take a step back since I already have everything I need from Katniss Everdeen. I head for the exit, but I can't help but stop.

"When you see her ..." I start, uncomfortable. "Madge. When you see her again, tell her that ... I think about her. A lot. " I say, and without waiting for an answer, I leave.

oOo

Hello there!

This is my very first time publishing a story in English, so, sorry for the grammar and structure xD

I wrote this story years ago for a challenge, but It's one of my favorites, so I wanted to translate it as a part of my first incursion into the English-speakers fandom xD Besides, rewrite some of my stories in English helps me to practice and improve my written performance.

As a French boy, who was raised in Spain and Argentina, you can imagine, my English is quite bad, but I'll do my best. And if you have any suggestion, you're welcome :D

JUST AS AN ADVICE!

In this fic's universe Cato, as you read, was the winner of the 73rd Hunger Games, and Peeta died in the Arena during the next edition.

*End of the advice*

What do you think of the chapter? How I did it by my own?

All comments are welcome!

See you soon!

H.S.