**Just wanted to give a shout out and credit where credit is due to my collaborator for this scene. Thank you to Natalie5678 for brainstorming with me on the method of Katniss' and the other captured victor's method of rescue. You are so clutch girl! And thank you to all the readers who have stuck with me through this story! You all are incredible and I don't deserve all your support and encouragement! Much love guys! And on to the new chapter….**
This scene takes place a few days after Katniss, Johanna, and Finnick are first required to perform for the Capitol Elite at the nightclub.
District 13
Special Weapons and Engineering sector
Beetee Latier's office
(Deen POV)
"Beetee, it's been five days since the last broadcast. Tell me you've got something, anything." Peeta's voice pleads, and it's horrible and heartbreaking to hear my normally good natured and easy going mentor's voice sounding strained and weak.
I look over at him. He looked half alive honestly, and the only time he looked even relatively normal these days was when he recorded propos urging for Katniss' release and help with the rebellion. The rest of the time though, he walked around looking like, well, like he looked right now.
His eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep, his normally charming blond curls are messy and matted in some places, having obviously not been brushed or styled in days. The prep team here in 13 is having a hard time keeping him looking presentable. His uniform is also starting to hang loosely over his thinning frame. He hasn't been eating well either.
For as long as I've known him, he's always looked physically strong. Maybe not as tall as some guys. Me and Hawthorne, as wiry Seam males, still had a couple of inches on him, but what he lacked in height, Peeta made up for in brawn. But in the last year or so he'd gained an inch or maybe an inch and a half in stature. He was what? 5'10 or 5'11 now? He'd looked so strong just a month or so ago. Now it was almost like he was shrinking and wasting away without her.
Not for the first time, I replayed the hazy events of her capture in my mind. The moment it all went wrong.
.
.
.
.
I came to, and felt agony and saw dizzying images that I knew couldn't be entirely real swimming before my eyes.
The giant oak tree's limbs look like they have come alive and are moving like serpents writhing on the ground ready to reach out and kill anyone who gets too close. The girl, the woman standing in the clearing, backed up against the animated tree looks on with somber grey eyes that pierce through the distance and find me in an instant as cruel hands drag me forward.
I feel...rippling pain, coming from my side where the Peacekeepers broke three of my ribs as I try to breathe. They had caught up with me before I reached the clearing where we were supposed to rendezvous with the soldiers from 13. I wasn't even much of a challenge to capture, I was so out of it from the trackerjacker venom, exhausted from covering miles of arena in 48 hours, fighting mountain cat mutts, and not to mention trying to hold onto my sanity by a fucking thread.
The traps and the mutts, the hallucinations, and the all around life threatening danger had me flashing back to my Games with increasing frequency. My Games, which I'd only survived a few months ago. The blood, the death, the unavoidable tragedy of it. Pushing me closer to the brink. But as always, the sight of her, her grim expression, her steely glare renewed my strength.
She stood small and resolute, surrounded by the bodies of the dead soldiers that had been gunned down by Peacekeepers as they tried to protect her. She was a legend in my mind, made more extraordinary by the venom inspired visions swirling around in my head as I tried to differentiate between her true form and the otherworldly visage of a bloody and ferocious huntress that stood meters away.
She had been almost mythical to me for so long. A legend in a lot of people's minds. But how to put into words exactly what she meant to a starving orphan who grew up on leftovers, half rotten food, beatings, and very little affection? How to describe the effect she had, simply by continuing to exist, to draw breath, when all the odds had been against her? It was as hard to define as it was to separate the real Katniss from the tracker jacker conjured version of her in that moment.
She had taken a chance on me when we first met. She had made me believe in her, in myself, and in, of all things, hope. And then I survived the Hunger Games against all odds, just like her and Peeta. And hope became a tangible thing in my life when I was with them, and Haymitch.
And yet on that chilly November morning, in the clearing it had all come crashing down. With just a few words from a Peacekeeper named Thread, as he held a taser to my throat.
"Katniss Everdeen. Surrender peacefully, or this one will die slowly. Very slowly." He had threatened and I had tried to tell her, with my eyes, to let him kill me. To let me die. She was so much more important, so much more vital than I. But there was that grim determination again. And I knew what she would do, even before the words left her mouth. I wanted to scream at her to shut up, to run, to do anything, anything but that.
"Take me instead!" She had cried, her voice clear and commanding in the open space.
And at that moment, I knew what it truly meant to belong to Katniss Everdeen. To be considered her family. And even though I had told her, the night before we escaped what she, Peeta, and Haymitch meant to me, that they were my only reasons for living, I had never expected her to do this. To trade her life for mine.
Because she had so much more to live for, had so many more people who loved her and needed her, than I did. I was one of those people. And maybe once, I had thought I was a little in love with her. In that stupid, adolecent, immature way that was just a result of me not being able to imagine being close a girl who was close to my own age, in any way other than romantically, or sexually.
But that was before the arena, before I understood the truth of how deep and clear the bond of trust delved between us, between all the people who had lived through and survived what so few had. I had been cured of that particularly false impression though, for some time before that day in the clearing. And when she said she'd take my place, go in my stead to death and torture, it all became very very clear, despite the trackerjacker chemical tampering in my brain.
She was the small, wily Seam girl again. Brave and fearless, under a frosty early morning blue sky. And I loved her like a sister. And she loved me like a brother. It couldn't have been more real if we had been born to the same parents. It just was.
So it became painfully and horribly real when she marched forward with the look of a battle hardened soldier on her face. And I wanted to scream for her to stop. But she had that look in her eyes. The one that had never left any room for arguments. And I had been bound and gagged anyway. Still, I had tried.
"This'll kill him. He loves you too much! He can't lose you!" I tried to shout at her, tried to remind her of the man who was waiting for her, who loved her in that deep and meaningful way, that was so much more than brotherly. Her true love, Peeta, who would undoubtedly be undone by her capture and death. But the gag jumbled my words. And her eyes only flicked towards me for a second, before she looked away.
"Keep walking, Deen, and don't look back." She had ordered and I, to my everlasting shame, had obeyed.
I had been so scared, seeing her holding the gun to her head. The deadly looking metal contraption filled me with inordinate fear. I don't know if it was the hallucinations, the pain, or just my own weakness. But I didn't think my mind could handle seeing her blow her own brains out, blood and flesh spraying all over the late autumn leaves and snowy ground. The thought of seeing her kill herself would have driven me mad.
I had been a coward.
And they had taken her, when it should have been me.
If only I had done something different...
I dreamt about that moment every night. Every damn night. It was so painful, so crystalized and static in my mind that it almost made me long for my old Hunger Game nightmares, which had taken a backseat to the recurring nightmare of her capture.
I woke up screaming every night for them to take me instead. Haymitch had looked at me strangely, on those first few mornings after I had come out of my coma. But he never commented on my dreams or the things I screamed late at night, even though his hospital room was right next to mine. They were keeping him under observation, for his burned hands and the alcohol withdrawal. Sometimes I heard him screaming late at night too. We made for sorry neighbors.
It's Haymitch's voice, actually, that brings me out of my contemplation.
.
.
.
.
"You're close to Coin Beetee. In almost all the meetings. You've got to at least know if she's still alive." The oldest living victor of district 12 says. His skin looks grey, and his eyes look sunken, but his mind does appear alert and clear despite everything.
Beetee, sitting at his desk down in his private engineering room, pushes his thick black framed glasses up slightly as he takes in the group that had snuck in to converse and plot with him in the night. Gale had unlocked the door for us, and was standing off to the side, running his long fingers over the string of a wickedly dangerous looking crossbow. A prototype he and Beetee had been working on.
Gale didn't say much these days. Except to relay information, times to meet, and where. He seemed to retreat into himself the longer Katniss was away. His eyes hardened and his muscles got bigger the more he trained. But there was something essential missing from his gaze. Something dark and lost that rose up in the emptiness where I guess she used to be.
If Katniss' absence was slowly shattering Peeta, then it was alternatively hardening her old hunting partner into someone who's quiet deadliness was starting to remind me of, all things, a Career, lately. Grief affected different people in different ways, I guess.
Beetee sighed slightly. And then he flips on a switch to start up the hodgepodge of old and new technology that culminated in a strange looking computer on his desk. The screen flashed on and he typed in a few commands with his keyboard.
"There has been some development, but honestly, I don't think you're going to like it." Is his clipped and carefully worded answer. Despite his warning, we all huddle closer around his computer screen. Soon, a video clip is loaded up and when Beetee presses play I stifle a gasp.
I can clearly see Katniss, in an extremely tight fitting strapless red dress that has a cut in the fabric that goes all the way to the top of her thigh. She looks to be onstage, the camera is giving a close up of her face and she seems to be singing. She also looks high out of her mind again. Her gaze is unfocused, flitting around randomly and her eyes look black and flat instead of silver and alive like usual. She had one of those small microphones fitted over her ear that wraps around and curves along the side of a person's cheek and ends right over their lips. But I can't hear any sound.
"Sorry, I was able to obtain this bootlegged video from some irreputable sources. But there's no audio." Beetee explains and what I see next when the camera zooms out makes the need for sound pretty much moot.
Finnick Odiar, almost naked, dancing behind Katniss, grinding his pelvis into the back of her dress, against her ass as they move together in a sensual manner. God, it looks like they're getting ready to fuck right there on stage. I hear Peeta's choked exclamation first, and then almost immediately Gale's sharp intake of breath. Haymitch swears and tells Beetee to shut the fucking thing off. Beetee sheepishly complies.
The atmosphere in the room is a hundred times tenser than a minute before, and that's saying something. The one thing I'm glad for is that Prim is pulling a late night shift at the hospital tonight. I am glad she didn't see her sister reduced to a strung out puppet who was forced now it seemed, to not only perform vocally for the Capitol elite, but with her body as well. I turn to Peeta in the quiet, and notice all the color has drained from his face.
"It's the moderate bidding stage." I tell him softly and he nods, numbly. Haymitch knocks over a few glass beakers, and some papers, cursing again angirly. Beetee flinches but doesn't say a word. Gale stares at the wall, looking for all intents and purposes like a human volcano in danger of erupting.
"That wasn't broadcast to all the districts though, like the interviews she did with Flickerman right?" Gale asks, after he takes some time to compose himself. Still, his voice sounds tight with barely controlled fury.
"No, um, it was bootlegged off a special Capitol channel, one that's...um...designed to be accessed by paying a certain fee...not mandatory viewing." Beetee explains and I automatically understand what he's saying. There were these channels in the Capitol that specialize in one thing and one thing only. Sex. Specifically, pornography. It was rampant in the Capitol. They shoved it down the populace's throats constantly. And now they were using Katniss and the other captured victors in their sick little games.
"The porn stuff?" Peeta asks incredulously. And his breathing kicks up, fast and irregular as he puts a hand to the middle of his chest, like he's having trouble calming his heart rate. Damn, he's gonna have a panic attack.
"Beetee, her bidding's not even over yet? How can they be filming her for that kind of stuff?" I ask quickly, hoping he might have come across insider information while uncovering this video. Peeta grabs a chair and sits down heavily, trying to get a grip on himself obviously.
"Oh, well, yes. The rest of her time on video is just her singing and dancing, albeit in a somewhat suggestive way...but the main draw is the other victors. The video I showed you described Katniss' performance as an opening act. The majority of the video is of...Finnick and Johanna Mason." The district 3 victor says in a sad and quiet voice and I close my eyes, shaking my head in empathy for them both.
"They forced the other two remaining victors to have sex with each other?" Gale says, his voice clearly disgusted beyond all reason. "How could they even do that? What did they do hold a gun to their heads and-"
"They have lots of ways of making people obey. My guess is they threatened to do something worse than force them to have sex on camera." I say in a tired voice. I wish he wouldn't ask these kinds of questions. For Hawthorne it was always a struggle to understand the complete and utter control the Capitol displayed over people. He was always a little dense about just how manipulative and ruthless they could be. But then again, he'd hadn't been one of the people they focused their attention on. He wasn't a victor.
"What's worse than that?" He yells angrily, his hands flying up wildly.
"Certain forms of torture, killing people they care about, oh and brutal rape of course." I relay blandly, willing him to just fucking drop it. And when he sees the flat, serious expression in my eyes, the one that tells just how familiar I am with this kind of manipulation myself, he does the wise thing and shuts up. He turns away angrily, to stare again at the weapons lined up on the left side of the room.
"Alright kid, you made your point." Haymitch says dryly and then I cringe, realizing that I said all of that and forgot he and Peeta were listening. Man, I hate this.
"Beetee, have you managed to hack into the bidding network yet?" Peeta asks, his voice is so desperate, the look on his face so raw and broken that even Beetee's eyes go wide for a second when he sees Peeta's expression.
"Yes, actually, that is the good news. Here, let me show you." He says and he clicks a few times and presses a few buttons. Then another screen comes to life. It displays numbers and account information, as well as names attached to specific bids. The monetary value is actually quite high. Much higher than I had ever imagined it would be.
"Holy shit." Haymitch exclaims when he sees how many zeros are attached to some of the numbers.
"Yes, the current rate is quite high right now. I haven't heard of a number this high since Finnick's auction, 12 years ago." Beetee says ruefully. Haymitch and I frown at this. Finnick was now the Capitol's most highly requested victor, among the elite. Even more popular than Cashmere and Gloss, Enobaria and Silver, the victor who won the year before me, during the Quarter quell. If Katniss was attracting that kind of attention...well...
"What does that mean?" Peeta finally asks when he's had enough of watching Haymitch and I stare at each other silently. Haymitch shoots me a look, suggesting I be the one to spell it out. Damn coward. But I just clear my throat and turn toward my blond haired mentor to explain.
"It's kind of like a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it will definitely be an incentive for Snow to drag the bidding out. And maybe even keep her around for a while after. On the other hand…." I trail off, not wanting to put into words the horror my favorite mentor will undoubtedly be subjected to as Panem's new favorite 'working' victor.
"She's going to get sold like a broodmare." Peeta finishes for me and all I can do is nod. His jaw clenches painfully, and a shiver runs down my spine.
"Well, we'll just have to save her before that happens." Gale's low but insistent voice pipes up from the other side of the room.
This causes Peeta's eyes to refocus and Haymitch straightens up a bit.
"Let me see the list of bidders, their names." Haymitch tells Beetee and Beetee complies, scrolling down the list slowly.
"There! That one right there! He's part of the resistance!" Haymitch says, his finger tapping on a name on the screen.
"Then what the fuck is he doing bidding on Katniss?" Gale snarls the question agility and Peeta also looks on with suspicion.
"He's probably trying to save her, or help her. I know him, he's been with us for years. Helped during you and Kantiss' games, during Deen's as well. He can be trusted." Haymitch vows and I contemplate the name he's pointing to solemnly.
Plutarch Heavensbee. The current Head Gamemaker. Wow, who'd have thought?
"Can you siphon off funds to his account? To inflate his bid?" Peeta asks eagerly.
Beetee scratched behind his left ear, absentmindedly, as he looked up seemingly to work through the question in his mind.
"I think so, but it will take time. I'll have to write a special code, one that's undetectable and untraceable so that the Bidding committee doesn't become suspicious. It might take about another week or so to get it right."
"A WEEK?" Peeta's voice is incredulous, angry even. Beetee looks apologetic.
"I'm sorry, but it took me this long to just hack into the network. Their firewalls are incredibly strong. It will take me at least as long to write the specific code. In addition to all the other work I have to do during the day for the rebellion. And with everything that's at stake, well, there will only be one chance to get this right."
"Ok, ok, sorry. Yes, I understand. Thank you, Beetee for all you've already done." Peeta replies, his more pacifistic demeanor returning. But I can see the strain he's under. Another week will undoubtedly be hell for him. Haymitch looks slightly optimistic though, Gale has gone back to expressionless. I just really wish I had a drink right now.
"Well, that's settled on that end then. But now we have to discuss the other part of the plan. The rescue."
Gale sinks over fluidly back to our side of the room, he's been in charge of this half of the operation since he's gotten in deep with the military side of things.
"We have people on our side willing to help when the time comes. They can get us a hovercraft, and a pilot. Weapons too. There's a lot of unhappiness over the slow action on rescuing the victors. Especially Katniss. Still, I want to put it forth again, the suggestion to tell Coin about the progress we've made. If we can get her on board, we'll have infinitely more help and technology at our disposal." Gale says and Peeta shakes his head. Haymitch narrows his eyes slightly, not as if he's assessing Gale's suggestion, but as if he's assessing the man himself.
This isn't the first time Gale's tried to lobby to reveal our plans to Coin.
"It's too risky. She hasn't shown enough initiative." Peeta replies warily. I think he's beginning to question Gale's attachment to Coin's regime in the same way Haymitch has been. I look down at Gale's wrist, to the shiny communicuff that he had recently been granted as part of being inducted to Coin's special cabinet of advisors.
"Is it safe to talk with that thing on?" I ask Gale pointedly. He glares at me. I cross my arms over my chest and glare right back.
Nobody says a word for a tense second, and just as Gale opens his mouth to reply, Beetee cuts in.
"I've blocked all transmissions in and out of this room, while we're here. It's safe to talk within these walls, but I wouldn't take my chances outside, get my drift?" He says quietly, as he peers over the rims of his spectacles. And I actually smile at the fact that he used a metaphor correctly. He was usually a very literal person, but I guess spending more time with people was rubbing off on his vocabulary.
"Thanks Bee, that's real thoughtful of you." Haymitch says in his characteristic drawl, and nods over at the tech wiz, who nods back.
Gale, still irritated by the conversation, clears his throat.
"The only thing we're waiting on is a way to get word to that operative in the Capitol. Heavensbee. If he's as dependable as you say he is, then he could be integral to the rescue operation. The next step is to relay instructions to him. But most of our operatives also report back to Coin. Which is why I suggested letting her in on this, if we don't we'll have to find an alternative route to get the message to our spy."
We all think it over for a minute, no one says anything. It is certainly a conundrum. But then, Beetee turns back to his chair and clicks on the footage from Katniss's video from earlier. I'm momentarily upset, thinking he's trying to ogle her or something, but then I see him zoom in on the background. And I can clearly see a frame of Plutarch Heavensbee's face looking out from a glass window as he watches the performance with the diligence of a Head Gamemaker watching the Hunger Games. And I think, is he in charge of directing all of the victor's appearances? Does he orchestrate their performances and the like, even in those radically different settings?
"Beetee, was Plutarch there during Katniss' interviews with Caesar?" I ask curiously. And Beetee, rapidly calls up the footage of her interviews, displayed in little windows on his screen. He searches them simultaneously, and in three of them he finds evidence of Plutarch's face, profile, or silhouette. I grin.
Haymitch studies my expression and Peeta peers over at me questioningly.
"What is it, Deen?" He asks and I turn to him with a smile.
"Snow put him in charge of all the victor's, of their trials, of their performances, everything that gets recorded for television." I say carefully, laying out my thinking.
"Yeah, he's the Head Gamemaker, that's right up his alley." Gale says.
"Exactly. So, another way to get word to him, would be to have an in with the captured victors." I tell them and I watch awareness flicker to life in Haymitch's eyes. He looks angry.
"What? How can we do that from all the way over here in 13?" Gale asks, not quite catching on yet.
"Fuck, no, kid. No!" Haymitch mutters angrily under his breath, shaking his head at me. I ignore him.
"What? Will someone please explain?" Peeta asks as he rubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms tiredly, man he looks like shit. But I have a feeling I'm going to make him very very happy in a few minutes.
"Simple, we can't do it from 13. That's why one of us victors will have to get caught. And taken to the Capitol." I say, and am met with dead silence. But I just grin at them happily.
Finally, I'll get my chance to make things right.