Chapter 10: Return Home
I don't really remember much of the final interview with Caesar Flickerman. I am too exhausted, and unlike every other Victor who had ever come before me, I have a partner by my side to help me through it. In this, I am luckier than most – well, really all – tributes who have ever emerged from the arena alive.
A natural in front of the cameras, Peeta seems to understand what I need and charms much of the paparazzi in his direction. They're baited, hook, line and sinker, but that doesn't mean I can avoid addressing all questions.
The Youngest Victor, they're calling me. The Littlest Killer. The Capitol seems to be going back and forth between the two nicknames, but eventually, the former seems to stick. No tribute has become a Victor this young, and – with my current age being 12 years, 1 month and a handful of days, it is doubtful that no other tribute will. Some records, it seems, are never meant to be broken.
It is my youth that is driving most of the fascination with me, to the point that not even Peeta can save me from a joint sit-down with District 4's Finnick Odair, whose record of youth I have now snapped after he held it for nine years. Finnick is jovial, doesn't seem to mind to have lost out on one record. Plus, he's gorgeous, even I can see that, and I just know Finnick can tell how I blush as we converse. It's a schoolgirl's crush, to be sure, and besides, I have to concede that he might be more my sister's type. Katniss can pretend all she likes that she doesn't have a type, but I know…. and all I have to do is glance back at my district partner, who is watching me from the wings.
At last, it is time to board the train for home. Haymitch is drinking himself sick, overjoyed to have company on the return trip for once in his career. Neither Peeta nor I make any effort to stop the man from imbibing – he's earned it, by all rights.
When we round the bend pulling into Lucy Gray Baird train station, Peeta and I are stunned by the celebration that awaits us. There are thousands of people crowding the platform, people standing on rooftops, to get the first glimpse of District 12's first Victor…. Victors…. in twenty-five years.
Soon as the doors open, hands seize Peeta and I and pull us into the crowd, where we are promptly mobbed. I can hear Haymitch behind us, roaring at our neighbors to leave us be. "You'll kill them!" he cries, only half-serious. But the throng is so exuberant; Peeta and I are lifted onto their shoulders and carried away, only to be set down in front of people neither of us expected to see again.
The first person to catch my eye is Rory Hawthorne, and I am so overjoyed to see him that I dash forward and throw my arms around his neck. I hardly put any thought into it before my lips are on his, kissing him full on the mouth.
A stunned Rory immediately pulls me close, I can feel how his nose is practically burning from bashfulness as it brushes against my cheek, but I don't very much care if people are staring. Finally, I release him and step back, radiant.
"Told you I would get another one of those from you, Rory Hawthorne. I owed you." I say it quietly, alighting in how Rory is practically beaming.
Then, the both of us glance back, our joy dimming into something more shamefaced. Gale and Katniss both look like they want to rush forward and clop Rory over the ear out of protectiveness. My sister is the first to recover, switching targets before she races to me and sinks to her knees, dragging me into her arms.
"Primrose! Darling, you did it! I'm just so proud of you!"
I smile as I nuzzle against her shoulder, but this time, the expression is half-hearted. I may have the Victors' Crown on my head, I may be here alive and breathing and safe in my homeland, but I didn't do it. Not alone. And I can't help but shake the distinct impression that I'm not supposed to be here. Maybe it's due to my youth, maybe it's due to how my prep team, Caesar and nearly everyone damn else thought I was so angelic. I may be a Victor, but I don't look like one. Peeta…. Peeta looks like a Victor, whom I now see is being roughhoused with by his over-the-moon brothers.
Stepping out of my sister's embrace, I shake my head. "I didn't do it by myself, Katty. Peeta helped."
With the sound of his name, my sister finally seems to remember that Peeta is there. Their eyes meet for a moment, and slowly, my sister rises off her knees, still gazing at the Baker's youngest son, as if in a trance. She all but floats over to him, lips slightly parted, taking him in, breathless.
"She's right. And you…. you helped her."
Peeta is staring at her with an expression of absolute admiration, and I have to conceal a smirk. Katniss turns her face away to look down at her feet, running her fingers through her braid – a telltale sign that she is flustered and nervous.
"Thank you," she finally manages to get out, bobbing her head a little, her stormy grey eyes shifting just enough to look him in the face.
Peeta silently dips his head in acknowledgement – a kind of gentlemanly deference. "You're welcome."
Katniss manages to catch his eyes and hold them. "How can I ever repay you?"
If there was ever any moment for Peeta to seize his chance and properly ask my sister out, it's now. I will him to take it. But instead, Peeta just shrugs. "You don't owe me anything, Katniss…"
She frowns hard, obstinate. "Yes, I do. For my sister's life, I must repay you with something…"
"If you're that insistent on making good your debts, how about not being a stranger in Victors' Village? We are to be neighbors, after all." Peeta smiles at Katniss boyishly, and even gives her a wink. Now I let the smirk force its way onto my face, observing as Katniss turns a deep shade of pink. I find it considerate that Peeta left such a condition open-ended, and I hope my sister takes his outstretched hand of friendship. She's never been very good at making friends, which is all the more reason why this could be good for her. I don't let my matchmaking heart hope for any more than that…. at least, for now.
Mother and Katniss move in with me in Victors' Village. The Village in Twelve is set high on a hill, sequestered away from the rest of the district. Of the eleven houses that still remain available, I am careful in making my choice. Katniss's only stipulation is that whichever house I pick, it has to be at least three doors down from Haymitch Abernathy, on account of the smell. I do her one better: three doors down and across the street. As for Peeta, he gamely chooses the one right next door to Haymitch, though I think this is more strategic than anything else. It makes for easy bread deliveries, and possibly even quick access should a medical emergency of the more inebriated variety arise. Peeta's parents and brothers were given the option of sharing my district partner's mansion – there is plenty of room – but they opted to remain living above the Bakery downtown. Which leaves their youngest son in a house all alone, with only a druken lout within arm's reach for company. For Peeta, I have to say this much: the man is a saint.
Winters are cold in District 12. But with Rory Hawthorne's arms around me and his lips on mine as we begin to pursue a romantic relationship, I often don't feel the chill.
Mother has continued her Healing practice out of my mansion in Victors' Village, and I help her as much as I can. Sometimes, patients come to our door less with urgent injuries and more often just to catch a glimpse of me, the Youngest Victor.
On one particularly blustery morning, just a couple of weeks before Peeta, Haymitch and I are set to leave on the Victory Tour, I say goodbye to Rory and enter the Village to find my district partner and my sister seated at the base of the fountain, lost in deep conversation. Katniss's bow is across her knees; she must have just gotten back from showing Peeta how to hunt.
"Why would I want to marry anyone, Peeta? Allowing someone else to own your heart – my mother did that, and it nearly destroyed her when Daddy died!"
"What about children?" Peeta is asking, trying not to look too disappointed by what his crush is telling him.
"And I don't want to have children. Babies are something to love only to become something to lose at the Reaping."
"Well, I want to get married and start a family someday. I could see a bunch of little ones running around and helping me run the Bakery."
Turning away, I fight off a smirk. I wonder if Katniss would sing a different tune if she learned that Peeta wanted to marry and have babies with her. My sister and her secret love have gotten to know each other in the months since the Games. They bicker a lot, but it's never barbed. Honestly, if they would both just stop for two minutes and quit dancing around each other…. I've been waiting on pins and needles for their first kiss, and just hope I don't miss it when it does happen…
I enter my house to find Mother in a brand-new frock coming forward to greet me. Much life has returned to her since I came home from the arena, and though she and her eldest daughter are still cordial around each other, even this has gotten better.
"Did you have a good walk, dear?"
"Yeah, Rory went with me, and…" My voice trails off when I take note of the Peacekeeper officer.
"Miss Everdeen: this way, please."
I am quietly ushered into my mom's office, where I see someone has commandeered her desk and leather-backed chair. When the occupant swivels the chair around, my heart turns to ice: it's President Snow.
"Ah. Young Primrose. Do come in and have a seat."
I have no choice but to take the chair opposite him. "Mr. President – to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Snow picks up a cookie from a plate – I recognize Peeta's handiwork on the icing – and nibbles at it. "These are delectable, if I may say. Did your mother bake them?"
"Peeta. He's practically buried us in sugar cookies."
A creepy grin comes over Snow's mouth, his lips pulling back. He looks like a snake. "Peeta. Such a lovely boy…. Tell me, how does it feel to look at him and know that you were a coward?"
"I'm not a coward…."
"Don't lie to me, young lady! I think it would be best if we agree right here and now not to lie to each other, wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes, that would probably be best." A pause, and then I will myself to ask: "Why do you take me for a coward, Mr. President?"
"Because you refused to kill when given the opportunity."
"Tell that to Cato and Clove," I volley back, and I resist the urge to flinch as Snow's eyes flash.
"And what about Peeta Mellark? What made him different from the tributes from District 2?"
"Peeta's my friend. I couldn't just dispose of him like he was nothing!"
"Because you were afraid?" Snow presses. I don't answer. "Were you afraid of having to come home and look your district in the eye, Miss Everdeen? Or were you afraid to face your sister, knowing that you would have denied her the man she loves?"
I chance a glance out the side window. Out in the Village courtyard, Katniss and Peeta are still talking, my sister running her hands through her braid shyly. A noose ties itself into knots around my heart. Oh, Panem, he knows. How does he know…?
"You fought very hard in the Games, Miss Everdeen. But when it counted, yes, I think you were a coward. You were too afraid to do what needed to be done to make yourself a Victor, and you were certainly too afraid to turn a weapon on yourself because deep down, you didn't want your sister to suffer without you and you didn't want young Peeta to take the blame for your death."
"My sister would have lost either way, no matter which one of us came home," I say quietly. "I may not have wanted to kill my own ally, Mr. President. I may not have wanted to die when the moment came, even though I had up until that point, planned to sacrifice myself so that Peeta might live…. but that doesn't make me a coward."
"Maybe not to you," Snow concedes in an agree-to-disagree tone. "And maybe not to the districts. For you see, Miss Everdeen, they do not interpret your little act with the berries as an act of cowardice or mercy. They interpret it as an act of defiance. Rebellion. And if a little girl from Twelve can do that and get away with it, what is to prevent, say, an uprising?"
My blue eyes expand. Snow is admitting that there have been uprisings in other districts? But where? And when? Mandatory programming, what we see on the television news, is heavily regulated. We wouldn't have seen any such acts of civil disobedience.
"So here is what I want you to do, Miss Everdeen: when you and Mr. Mellark leave for the Victory Tour, I want you to tell people that you are here because you were too merciful. Too cowardly. Your stunt with the berries was meant as an act of magnanimity – you didn't want to see any more death, including your own. It was not an act of rebellion."
"I must convince the districts of this?"
"Oh no…. convince me."
"And what happens if I fail?"
"Then that little boyfriend of yours will suffer a very unfortunate accident. Your sister will be sold off to the highest bidder. The Capitol has seen glimpses of her on television, especially footage from the Reaping. She is quite lovely. It's actually quite a pity her entrance into the Games was not allowed to stand…" And Snow is glaring at me with open hostility.
I have to fight off another smirk. If Snow thinks Katniss would have been better suited as a tribute than me, then he should be very, very careful what he wishes for.
But, as I turn to look at Peeta and Katniss still talking and exchanging shy smiles, I have to concede that Snow has me trapped. I have to toe the line and essentially slander myself in order to keep Panem from devolving into open revolt. I have to do it to save my family and ensure their safety and happiness.
If that's what has to be done, then so be it.
"I understand, Mr. President."
Snow beams; it's actually more of a sneer. "Excellent. I will be watching you and Mr. Mellark's Victory Tour very closely. I am anxious to see you both try your hand at mentoring; the Quarter Quell planned for this summer will be very exciting. Good day to you, Miss Everdeen." Striding to the door, he glances back once, dipping his head to me.
"Oh: and may the odds be ever in your favor… for your sake."
He is barely gone before I sink out of my chair and onto the floor, head in my arms.