Chapter 16: Poseidon Waverunner

During the Victory Tour of the 74th Hunger Games

Katniss's POV

The fact that it's the middle of winter probably doesn't help the fact that Peeta and I sleep late on the train, snuggled together in the same bed, sequestered in what is supposed to be just my room. My eyes flutter open and I shift where my head has rested on his chest to take in my handsome district partner gazing down at me with an adoring smile. I weakly smile back.

"No nightmares," I murmur. "You?"

"None. It's about time we earned a break."

The nights on the train, chugging through the night to the next district stop, haven't been so easy thus far. District 5 was a powder keg yesterday; I can still hear the people booing my rote, very politically correct speech. One woman's voice in particular still rings in my ears: "Tell us what you really think!"

If only I could! I would, but it would mean my loved ones end up dead.

"Katty?" I'm biting my lip, so that I feel even more acutely when Peeta's lips suddenly graze against mine as he kisses me, his mouth bumping against my one tooth. I hold the kiss for a moment, try to sink into it a little and forget, before I tenderly break apart and rise languidly from the bed we share. The hem of my nightdress swishes at my ankles as I pace frenetically.

"Sweetheart, are you all right?" Peeta is sitting up in the double bed, shirtless, but with the bathrobe he wore when entering my room last night still slung about his shoulders. The wool covers much of his lean and firm pecs, and I actually feel regret at not having a better view. I feel my cheeks blush rouge, and I compensate with a frustrated huff.

"Fine, I'm fine," I wave him away.

I hear the sheets rustle as Peeta climbs out of…. our bed, and I turn to him, allowing myself to sink into his arms. He rubs my back soothingly, chin resting on the top of my head. "Ssssh…. Nearly done, Katty girl…. Nearly there…"

The sound I make is somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. "You have the strangest nicknames for me…" I lift my head to gaze up at him.

"You don't like them?" Peeta's impossibly blue orbs are dimmed, dampened with wariness.

Perching up on my tiptoes, I kiss him softly. When I draw away, he is blinking in surprise. It's probably the first time I've initiated a kiss between us without any cameras rolling… though I can't say for certain that the rooms on this train aren't bugged. "No, it's fine, really. It's just…" I shrug. "I've never had much use for pet names these last several years. Mother and Daddy used to call us all sorts of endearing things when Prim and I were little, but…"

Peeta smiles sympathetically. "I understand."

"…. But you can call me whatever you like," I try to grin easily at him. "It makes for a nice change. I think Effie would call me 'bitch' if she didn't deem it unladylike… and if she thought she could get away with it."

"Effie likes you," Peeta laughs. "People who are too much alike can sometimes clash, is all."

I cock a matronly, ruffled eyebrow at him. "So you're saying I'm a snob?"

"Not at all!" Peeta hoots, though his blue eyes are now wide in a panic. I decide to grant him mercy by ghosting my lips across his again. Stepping out of his arms, I turn away to the small writing desk in the corner.

"Four's the next stop, then?" I pick up the small packet Effie left under my door last night.

"Yeah, I was reading the brochure before I came over to you," Peeta drifts in behind me to glance over my shoulder. "I think this stop may actually be good."

I snort. "How can you tell? Even when we've been on our best behavior, nothing we've done has ever been good. Can you think of any of the last stops where something hasn't gone wrong?"

"Gone wrong or felt wrong?" Peeta quips, quite perceptively. But then again, he's always been quick on his feet. "Because those are two different things."

"Does it matter?" I mutter bitterly. "Snow's just going to blame us regardless… even if the missteps have been out of our control, for the most part, since 11."

Peeta doesn't answer me, instead crossing over to the dresser and picking up the holoTV remote. Flicking it, a weather report comes on, detailing the weather in Four, along the west coast. Sunny all the way, and unseasonably warm too, the weatherman saying to expect temps in the low-60s.

Peeta whistles. "No white and winter wonderland for us here, Katty. We could walk on the beach, should we find the time! I've never laid eyes on the seaside!"

I smile at him softly. "I'd love to." Plucking another sheet of paper from Effie's packet, I glance over our itinerary. Much of the schedule is as similar as all the other stops have been: give the speech, meet with the Mayor and the district's Victor delegation. Take a tour of the district's industry – in Four's case, it will almost certainly be the fishing wharves. A black-tie dinner in the Justice Building. Get on the train and pull out. And repeat.

Crossing over to the window, Peeta throws back the sash, and I shield my eyes, wincing, from the sudden glare. The train is still chuffing along, though it's slowed even since we woke up; we must be on final approach to the station.

Suddenly, there is rapping on the door, and Effie's voice calls in: "Katniss, dear? Time to get up! It's another big, big, big day!"

I sigh, my exhaustion leaving me close to tears. "I hate it when she does that."

"Katniss?" I jump, thinking my escort might have heard me, and watch as the door handle starts to jiggle.

I push Peeta into the bathroom and then the shower without thinking. "Quick, hide!" I hiss. Dashing back out into the bedroom, I am just in time to see Effie enter. She blinks.

"Oh, good, you're awake. Time to wash up, darling – the conductor says we'll be arriving in Four soon! And I still need to wake up the boys!"

"Thanks, Effie." I beam my fake, Capitol smile. "Maybe go and get Haymitch first. He takes longer to get ready."

If Effie reads anything deeper into my nudging, she doesn't display it, instead huffing, "Don't I know it! Thank you, dear."

The moment she leaves, I rush into the bathroom and drag Peeta back out.

"You have maybe 30 seconds, a minute, to get back to your room. Effie's going to wake Haymitch first."

Peeta kisses me quickly before I can object, and I allow it. "See you soon," he mumbles against my remarkably pliant mouth.

I nod. "See you soon."

Thirty minutes later, Peeta, Haymitch, Effie and I are all dressed and standing before the hydraulic doors of the sleek locomotive chuffing to a standstill into the District 4 train station. Without a word, Haymitch passes the cue cards into my hands, which I then deal in half to Peeta.

"Chins up! Smiles on!" Effie is brighter than any incandescent lightbulb as the train cars hiss open and camera bulbs flash and here we go again…

I hold my fake Capitol persona with precision the entire time. The aura it radiates makes me come off as looking like a valley girly girl. Someone more akin to Glimmer, the girl from 1 last year. I'm not looking forward to that stop, close to the end.

Before we disembarked, Haymitch warned Peeta and I both to be ready. District 4 is technically a proto-Career district, so there will likely be a larger Victor delegation to greet us onstage, following the speech at the Justice Building.

The sunlight is just as blinding as the paparazzi still flashing in our faces, but the air I breathe in is saltier, richer somehow. Certainly, it's a damn smell nicer than the one in Five, where I felt like I was inhaling smog everywhere we went.

The propagandized speeches Peeta and I give actually go off without a hitch, and I allow myself to think that maybe Peeta is right. Maybe in just one district, we can feel what it's like to relax. At least until we encounter a small hiccup when a young girl comes forward to present me with a bouquet of flowers.

"Thank you," I murmur, grinning to her.

"One day, I'm gonna volunteer, just like you did," the young tween tells me while beaming with admiration.

My entire face falls in tragic horror and I all but lunge for Peeta as we turn to head inside.

When we are guided back into the Justice Building, I am surprised to see that the Victor delegation is about the same, maybe only slightly bigger, than most of the districts we've been to. There are maybe six or seven souls here, none of whom I recognize.

I lean over to Haymitch, whispering. "I thought you said this place has a bigger pool of Victors…"

My mentor doesn't have time to answer me before we've arrived at the Victor delegation. "Poseidon!" Haymitch laughs as he embraces an aging man enthroned on what looks like a motorized scooter. The drunk looks over our host's shoulder and scans the group of faces. "I thought we'd have a bigger welcoming committee. Namely, that Finnick would be leading it."

I recognize the name he drops: Finnick Odair, the handsome youth who won just about ten years ago, the youngest Victor to ever take the Crown. Peeta and I were just half his age then, at 7.

This Poseidon sends Haymitch a toothy grin. "Finnick is…. away on other business, but he sends his regards. I was asked to play your host instead. Hope you don't mind, Abernathy."

"As long as you're up for it…" Haymitch is eyeing the motorized scooter in friendly concern. Turning back to where Peeta and I are watching him, he makes a perfunctory, almost lame, introduction. "Katniss, this is Poseidon Waverunner, Victor of the…. 17th Games?"

"16th," Poseidon corrects him, but with a smile that holds no malice. His eyes are kind, in the way that most old folks' eyes are, but unique in that they sparkle the color of sea foam.

Even so, Haymitch's answering grin is positively sheepish. "My apologies. When I was a student, I flunked Hunger Games History."

"I remember us studying your year!" Peeta blurts out suddenly. "Weren't you in the arena with tropical wetlands and sea caves, and the Gamemakers caused the sea levels to rise and create erosion, so that half the tributes were swept out?"

My grey eyes expand as I turn my head to take in Peeta, awed. Haymitch and Poseidon are looking at each other, the older man's lips pursed in a thin and impressed line.

"And this is Peeta. He… passed Hunger Game History," Haymitch mumbles, though his tone betrays something almost resembling pride.

Poseidon reaches out a wrinkled hand to shake with my district partner, even as his eyes shift over to me. "And what about you, my dear?"

I flush, socially awkward. "Oh. Um…. I… barely passed Hunger Games History." It wasn't because I wasn't a good student; I prided myself on keeping up with my studies. I just… never enjoyed the course material.

Poseidon's eyes twinkle with something that might be sympathy. Jiggling a joystick, his scooter puts forward with a whirring sound. "Ron, I've got these ones well in hand!" He calls over his shoulder to his fellow Victors. A man who might not be much older than Peeta and I glances over to us from where he's been talking with his colleagues and nods absently. Briefly pausing at my side, the elderly Victor offers me his arm. "May I have the pleasure, miss?"

I can't help but smile as I take his arm, and he grins back. "Been a long time since I had such a pretty, young, district lady on my arm!"

I think I know now where Finnick Odair probably got his flirtatious reputation that's always discussed in the media. Poseidon is quite the charmer.

He's also a gracious host, leading us through the main fishing towns, the shipping yards before we come to the fishing wharves. As we stroll along, the sound of seagulls cawing overhead, I hear Poseidon and Haymitch whispering to each other.

"I'm sorry we can't see Annie and Mags. Finnick being on business, I can understand, but…"

"Annie gets into a funk when Finnick is summoned to the Capitol. And Mags…. She's not doing too well, Haymitch. The stroke has really taken its toll."

Haymitch hisses through a clenched underbite, tssking in sympathy. "Please:" and he sounds quite sincere. "Give her all our best."

"I will."

We stop at a small skiff on the edge of the wharf, Poseidon wheeling down a ramp and into it. I wonder if this is his boat, and he just wants to show it off. Peeta hovers behind the aging Victor in polite concern. When they turn back, I am surprised when both men gentlemanly take me by the hands and gallantly help me into the schooner. Haymitch follows, toddling, and I wonder how much he's had to drink. I'm at least pleased when the gaggle of paparazzi that's been tailing us all morning is now left in the lurch, with no choice but to pursue us in chase boats as we now back out of the marina and speed into open water.

At home and looking regal in his scooter, now behind the captain's wheel, Poseidon Waverunner now drives this boat like a bat out of hell. It isn't long before a landmass rises up on the horizon, and I realize: it's Victors' Island. The place where District 4's Victors' Village is set.

Peeta happily turns a page in the brochure, looking almost boyish. It's a rather adorable sight, or would be, in any other context besides this one where we swing through the country commemorating dead children, some of whom we personally killed. "It says here," he hollers over the gale-force winds, "that Victors' Island used to be called Catalina Island, back before the Dark Days. It is 22 miles long by eight miles wide."

I blink in surprise, turning back to Poseidon. "You Victors get all that space to yourself? All we have in Twelve is a lousy hill!"

"Eh? What's that, girl?" Poseidon cups a hand to his ear.

"YOU VICTORS GET ALL THAT SPACE ON THE ISLAND TO YOURSELF?" I holler nearly in his eardrum.

The old man just laughs. "No, not all of it! The Village is on the island's highest point! Wait and see!" He winks at me cheekily.

Once we dock and go ashore, we have to wait for the paparazzi chase boats to make landfall. Peeta and I take a couple of photos on the docks, and then the tour begins under Poseidon's care. I can feel the media taking candid shots of Peeta and I every few steps as we stroll arm-in-arm into the main community.

Poseidon is right: the Island is far more than just the Village, the gates of which we can see up on the highest peak if we crane our necks back. I hear Poseidon telling Haymitch and a few of the reporters that we won't actually make our way up to the gated community today; there are health issues that must be given their space. I'm actually more relieved for Poseidon's sake than any of his fellow Victors we won't get to meet, like this Mags woman who had a stroke: Poseidon is probably in his mid-70s: how is he supposed to get up the slopes to his home? Does his scooter have a ski lift or something?

Aside from the Village, Victors' Island is actually a bustling community of shop-fronts and vistas. It looks like the ideal tourist and vacation spot, if travel in Panem wasn't heavily regulated. I buy a sun parasol from a vendor to keep myself shaded from the rays as we advance onto one of the Island's largest beaches, still on Peeta's arm. We must look like a honeymooning couple on holiday, the kind that you see in those really old, romantic movies. Back a ways, Peeta purchased a cassette player and ear buds, as well as a camera, from a visitor's stand, and is now taking a listening tour of the Island. Every few feet, he stops to snap a picture, mumbling bashfully to me how his brothers wanted him to bring back some. His eyes, as deep and as brilliant a blue as the water now lapping near our feet, are taking everything in enthusiastically, and I feel terribly pleased at his happiness. At least one of us is getting something out of this. A few paces behind us, set between the media and us, his charges, Haymitch takes another swig from his flask.

We stop in the surf at one point to admire the view, a light breeze rustling the hem of my light and airy sundress. I allow myself one of the few genuine smiles I've had all day.

"It's really pretty here…" I murmur, leaning into Peeta. I can hear the frantic clicks of shutters behind us, but pay it no mind. Gazing up into his eyes, I suddenly full out beam radiantly, and tug at his hands. "Come on! I'll teach you how to swim!"

"In this tide?" Peeta is staring past me warily to the strong breakers crashing onto the shore. Though I've never seen the ocean before myself, I have to conclude that swimming here can't be much different than swimming in the lake by Daddy's old hunting cabin back home.

"In your clothes?!" Effie shrieks from somewhere over our shoulders, evidently more concerned about our Capitol finery getting wet than she is about Peeta possibly drowning.

"The kiddies didn't exactly pack swimsuits, Trinket. Lighten up!" Haymitch grumbles. His eyes are twinkling devilishly, excited at the prospect of Peeta possibly – probably – about to make an ass of himself. I sneer at our mentor, turning back to smile brightly at Peeta. When he still looks unsure, I pull him to me and kiss him thoroughly. As I deepen the embrace, I even dare to let my hands wander and fondle the supple flesh of Peeta's toned rear. I feel him choke in surprise into my lips, while the paparazzi are clicking like crazy, and I want to giggle. I've never been so forward in displaying my affection, and certainly not even when we're being watched; in a strange way, allowing an openness in my sexuality is…. empowering. We break apart with a poignant POP!

"I'll be with you the entire time," I soothe him. "If you can master floating and treading water, you'll be perfectly safe."

I can tell from the look in his wise eyes that Poseidon isn't so sure about that. He knows these waters better than we do. "The sea ain't like lakes, girlie. It has a mind of its own. Just stay in the shoals, and watch out for riptides. I'll let you know if you're drifting too far out."

I nod gratefully. Out in the waves, I hold Peeta gently and let him experiment with floating on his back. Then I teach him how to tread water. At one point, we get into a splash fight, causing me to shriek with actual, genuine laughter. We are careful to remain where we can feel the sand under our feet, which isn't easy during high tide – a phenomena we learned about in Science class in school. Peeta takes to the water well, and when he suddenly takes me in his arms and kisses my wet lips, I want to sink beneath the waves and kiss him back where no one is watching us.

"Thank you…." Peeta whispers into my soft mouth. We touch lips again, lightly, chastely. "You swim so beautifully. Where did you learn?" Other than the lake out in the woods beyond the fence, there are no bodies of water - manmade or otherwise – anywhere near Twelve.

I blush. "My father taught me."

Peeta chuckles as he takes my hand and we stride out of the surf, Poseidon wheeling up to meet us and also looking impressed.

"He taught you well," the old man rumbles. I smile at him gratefully.

We have a splendid day the rest of that afternoon on Victors' Island. All too soon, it is time to return to the mainland and catch our evening train. I bid goodbye to Poseidon Waverunner by way of a hug, and thank him for being a marvelous host. When I drift off to sleep that night in Peeta's arms, I can't remember another stop on this Tour where I've actually enjoyed myself and had fun; I don't think I'll have to go through the remaining districts and the Capitol to know that Four will have been my favorite stop of the whole trip.

Much later, after we've met Mags and Annie and Finnick, after it's all over, I find it only too appropriate to partially name Peeta's and my son after the old Victor who was our tour guide.