Meeting in Special Weaponry Continued
(Deen POV)
Peeta looks at me skeptically for a minute, his head slightly tilted as if considering. Gale's eyebrows furrow.
"Does it have to be a victor?" Gale asks, in a hard voice. I smirk at him. I know he wants to volunteer. Probably for the same reason I do. We were both there that day when she got taken. He probably feels the need to redeem himself as much as I do.
"Snow would probably just imprison anyone less valuable and publicly recognizable. Or outright kill them." I tell him, truthfully, but there is a bit of triumph in my voice. Hawthorne doesn't get to have all the damn fun.
"He's liable to just outright kill you, you stupid little martyr!" Haymitch bellows at me and I open my mouth to tell him I'll take my chances.
Gale tries to cut in, and then the three of us are arguing over one another. It's getting loud, Haymitch is getting snappy and the fire in Gale's eyes seems to have been turned up twenty degrees. Then Peeta slams his hands down thunderously on the worktable startling everyone for a second.
"Just fucking quit it already!" He shouts, breathing hard. He's standing up now, and he has this almost wild look in his eye. But his voice is commanding, like that one time when the Capitol doctor came to his house with two peacekeepers in tow and one of them almost attacked me.
"Let's face it. It has to be me. Deen, your ribs and bullet wounds aren't even fully healed yet. And Katniss would kill every last one of us if we tossed you back to Snow after she traded places to save you. And Gale, I'm sorry but you're not a victor. Even if Snow locked you up in the same location as Katniss and the others, there's no guarantee you'd be included in the broadcasts, and get access to Heavensbee. Snow wants to publicly punish traitorous victors right now. That means I'm the only logical choice. He won't kill me right away, and he's sure to televise my trial. That means I'm the only one who has the best chance of getting the job done. Although, if anyone has any lingering doubts, let me just say this. I made a promise to Katniss, a long time ago. That in the face of death or danger, it would always be her and I against the dangers of the Capitol. We're a team when it comes to these things. We know how to keep each other alive. It's been that way since our first Games. The both of you may think you have something to make up for, because of how things went down when she got captured. But you don't. I don't blame you, and I don't think Katniss does either. She made her own choices like she always does. And it's not in her nature to blame other people for them. But it has to me that goes for her." Peeta finishes and I shake my head. Him and his damn speeches. But I won't be deterred by his convincing and oddly logical words.
"Your absolution of my guilt doesn't actually change anything Peeta. It's still my fault she's there in the first place!" I shout at him, really freakin pissed that he's trying to cut me out.
"Deen this is not up for discussion! If I remember correctly Haymitch is still your legal guardian. And I think he'll back me up on why going back to the Capitol is the last thing any of us would want!" Peeta shouts right back at me, and I'm almost stunned. He's never yelled at me before. Not really. He maybe shouted a few times when he was training me for my Games, but that was always in the capacity of being my trainor and mentor. He was pushing me to fight harder, and dig deeper. Not because he was angry with me. It's a strange experience.
Peeta's eyes immediately press almost closed in a pained wince. He shakes his head, as if embarrassed, and I know he's going to immediately apologize for yelling, and I'm ready to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for. I know how much stress he's under. But Haymitch interrupts.
"He's right, kid. I'm not signing off on sending you back into the slaughterhouse. You'll just get yourself killed or worse." Haymitch looked at me pointedly. I bristle a little under his gaze. I'm not a damn kid anymore and he knows that. I've killed and almost been killed. I've been sold and I've lived through things that would make most 16 year olds lose their ever loving minds. But I'm still only 16, legally. Well, almost 17. My birthday is in a few weeks. But what does that even matter? If I was old enough to fight for my life, not just once but twice, and do all that other shit then I'm old enough to decide whether I want to put myself in harm's way for a good reason this time.
"If I fucking remmeber correctly, he'd have to sigh some release papers for you as well Peeta! Does your wrist bracelet still say 'mentally disoriented' huh?!" I snarl at them both.
"No. Deen, it actually doesn't. The hospital released me to my own recognizance two days ago." Peeta tells me with a hint of gentleness that rankles more than it should.
"What?" I ask unbelieving. Had they really released him? Where are they nuts? He's nowhere near stable enough to be on his own.
"It's true. They released him. I'm not his guardian anymore." Haymitch says quietly, his hands shaking a little, like he wants a drink. I look away, because right at this moment I could use a tall stiff drink as well. This conversation is not going at all the way I planned.
"But you're still his mentor Haymitch. Do you honestly think this is a good idea? To send Peeta of all people into the heart of the Capitol, defenseless?" I ask, imploring Haymitch to see reason. Peeta is too good. He's too gentle to go. They'll break him.
"Kid, he's been a victor for longer than you have. And, he's much better at playing the Game than you'll ever be. You and Sweetheart both have the subtlety of hammers. If someone had to get captured, I'd have put my money on him to be the one capable of surviving and coming back from it." He says quietly, staring at Peeta now, even though he was speaking to me initially.
"You know though, if you go that they'll use you both against each other. It will probably be ten times worse for her to see them hurt you." Haymitch tells him, quietly.
Peeta nods.
"We've been through these kinds of things before though. And we'll be together, at least. We're stronger when we're together." Peeta says with such fervor and genuine sincerity in his eyes that it shakes me a little. He's only thinking of her, not the pain and torment they'll inflict on him once he gets there. I've never seen anybody love someone the way he loves Katniss. It's...well it's part of why we're all in this mess to begin with. They started the whole idea, that there was something bigger than the Capitol's control and oppression. Their love is just that damn powerful.
"What if he just executes you both once he has you?" Gale asks frustratedly.
"He won't. He'll want to make them suffer. Drag it out, to make an example out of you both." Haymitch says, looking at Peeta with pain in his eyes. Peeta doesn't see it, but I do. Haymitch is dreading letting him go. Of course he is. Peeta and Katniss mean the world to him. I mean, the guy gave up drinking just so he could focus on getting them away from the Capitol. For someone like me, who knows just how deep addiction can go, I understand he probably made the ultimate sacrifice. Alcohol isn't just something his body physically needed, it was the only way he knew how to cope with the horrors of his past. Killing other children when he was just a kid himself. And then years of sending kids off to die with a fake smile and a pat on the back. And now it was almost as bad as if he was sending Peeta back into the Games. Except this time Snow didn't want a victor. In fact, if they couldn't get him and Katniss out, they'd both be executed for sure.
"I'd like to make the case for both of us going. In case something goes wrong and Snow kills you before you get the chance to make contact with Heavensbee. At least I could be a backup." Gale says again, stubbornly refusing to give up. I don't know how deep his loyalty to Katniss runs, but at this second attempt to surrender himself for torture and death I have to pause and consider him. The look in his eye is more than the desire to make amends, to redeem himself. More than the desire to help a lifelong friend. I knew, since the week leading up to our escape, that Gale wanted to be Kantiss' lover. And the look he has on now, well it rival's Peeta's in its intensity. He must really care for her too.
That's interesting. I had assumed his claim on Katniss had more to do with territorialism. But, no. There's really no mistaking the look. I wonder if Katniss knows just how many people truly love her?
"No way. You can't both go. It would absolutely destroy her to have both of you captured. She'd lose it completely for sure. Neither of you saw what happened at the River after you both went under the ice. But, it was not...she wasn't...it wasn't good okay? We need more help here anyway, to handle operations on this end. And Gale, you've got a better in with the military than any of us. We NEED you to coordinate the rescue." I say quickly. If I'm not going then Peeta really should be the one to go. Gale, while I was surprised to learn he truly cared about Katniss, still isn't the best fit for the undercover op.
Gale and Peeta and Haymitch go around arguing the pros and cons of sending two captives instead of one for a bit, but eventually stop when Peeta points out they are wasting time and need to go back to their rooms soon to avoid suspicion.
"I...don't really agree but we can't keep arguing about it. We need to finish the plans." Gale says disheartedly. Even this, I think, is more an effort to get the ball rolling on her rescue than him truly accepting the reasoning for him to be left behind.
"Alright then, if we can accept that I'm the one who's going to surrender and get captured, then the next question is how long do we need to enact the next phase of the plan? Once Beetee writes the code, how long will it take for them to close her bidding?" Peeta says.
"If he keeps following this timeline, sometime after next week." I replied.
"Will that give you enough time to get the hovercraft and other necessities in place?" Peeta questions Gale.
"I think so. But, we'll need a signal or code word that we can use to determine exactly when the rescue op will need to be implemented."
"Alright, then let's brainstorm on that next…"
(Prim POV)
Deen limps into his room and slumps into a chair near the entrance.
"How'd everything go?" I ask him cautiously. I came in to wait for him after my shift ended hoping he'd catch me up on what I missed.
"Weeellll, it was a lot of male posturing, scowling, and back and forths. But we eventually came to an agreement." He says with a slightly amused lift of his chin and I shake my head almost laughing when I imagine it. All the men in my sister's life who would walk the distance of the earth and back to get her back.
"Really? An agreement about what?" I ask hoping they were finally starting to really get along. Despite having a uniting common interest they still bickered sometimes. I sit down on the edge of his bed and cross my arms over each other waiting for him to elaborate.
"About how to rescue your sister." He tells me cooly, watching for my reaction. I jump up from the bed in my astonishment and almost rush to grab him by the shoulders, shaking him a little, as if by shaking him the story will fall out quicker from his lips.
"What? Really? Deen! Are you being serious with me right now?!" I squeak, trying to contain my excitement. He gently pushes my hands away with a smile. I was gripping him a little hard and he's still recovering after all. Then he tells me in hushed whispers about the plan they are enacting. Going undercover with the other victors, rigging the bidding, and then a recuse. I am beside myself with how well the plan is coming together. I told him so.
"Yeah, Prim. We're set to go in a week." He says with a proud smile.
"Wait. All of you?" I apologize then return my gaze to his face to question him.
"No. Sorry to give you the wrong impression. I meant the operation is set to go in a week. Only Peeta will be surrendering when the time comes." He corrects himself.
"And you're upset about that?" I ask when I see one side of his mouth tugged into a slight frown.
"Of course I'm upset. It was my one chance to make up for everything. It's my fault she's there in the first place, Prim. And all that's been happening to her is because of me!" He tells me after a second, his voice rising in emotion that startles me.
"Deen….take it from someone who's been exactly where you are. And someone who's known Katniss her whole life. You couldn't have stopped her if you tried. Katniss is just selfless when it comes to the people she wants to protect. And you're one of those people." I reply, trying to calm him down.
"Are you saying you don't blame me at all? For getting your sister carted off to the Capitol to be tortured and sold-" He begins guiltily and I cut him off.
"Deen, please. You have to stop blaming yourself. She wouldn't want you to live like this. I certainly don't blame you, or want you to keep beating yourself up over something you had no control over." I tell him sternly.
"Prim, she's your sister! Your only sister. What am I compared to that? I'm nothing. Just an orphan, a nobody. It should have been me who got captured. They had already sold me. It wouldn't have been as bad." He says with fierce certainty and I gasp.
"Deen! Don't say that!" I admonish him and shake my head. How could he think Katniss would ever be ok with sending him back to the people who had hurt and humiliated him?
"It's true. She was supposed to be the Mockingjay! The face of this revolution! I got her captured by the enemy! And what did District 13 get left with instead? Peeta, her heartbroken lover who's almost too depressed to function without her. And me, the Capitol's newest manwhore victor who isn't worth the effort his mentors spent during the Games to keep him alive." He says with a scowl and some angry spurts of volume. I frown at him. His belittling of himself isn't funny in the least.
"If she could hear you talking about yourself right now….she'd kick your ass Deen!" I finally say hoping to get through to him how ridiculous he's being.
"Except she can't. She's not here. They're probably doing unspeakable things to her right now. Prim! God- I can't be responsible for them doing those things to her! Because I know! I know what it feels like- and she- I wouldn't be able to live with myself-" His voice is broken and cracked. I place one hand on his strong and well muscled shoulder, and squeeze gently to get his attention. His head snaps up to me and he blinks at me for a second. I lean down and look him in the eyes.
"Okay. I'm going to say this again. And I want you to listen up and listen well. You matter. To everyone. Especially to Katniss and Peeta and Haymitch. Do you know what she was like before you won? She was a wreck. Her Games haunted her. Her victory tour exhausted her. Then losing both tributes the year before, during the Quell almost destroyed her. The only reason she held on was for Haymitch and Peeta. But she couldn't cope with her new life after the Games. Being a mentor, it was toxic for her. Until you Deen. Until they saved you. When you won your Games, it was like she started to breathe again. Her and Peeta both. They needed a purpose, something to hold onto after all they had lost because of the Capitol. You were the first good thing to come out of the Games for them. Don't you see? You gave them hope Deen. SO much hope ..."
"What?" He asks incredulously, unbelievingly.
"I told you to pay attention you idiot." I mutter, cupping his cheek and shaking my head at him. His face is still baby smooth, even months after his Games. Katniss told me once that they bathed the tributes in a foul smelling chemical bath that discouraged hair growth. I wondered how long it would take before his body would return to normal and his natural stubble grew back in.
"Prim…I never knew. That I meant that much. I mean she never said that in so many words..." He says trailing off, his cheeks a little rosey. I drop my hand from his cheek and take a step back. I had been standing too close to him, I realized.
"Yeah, well, Katniss isn't big on speeches or outward affection. She's...well she's better with actions than words. And let me ask you this. If it had been Peeta or Haymitch that day in the clearing do you think they would have volunteered to take your place?" I prod him to think about a role reversal situation and see him cock his head in thought.
"Well, yeah…." He finally admits. I nod.
"And would you have gone for either of them?" I continue questioning him and he stares back at me.
"In a heartbeat." He replies. In his gaze is a resolve and hot determination that I had only witnessed during his Games, or when he was fighting during our escape. It almost took my breath away.
"Then the truth is Deen, that she only did what any one of you would have done for the others. I think that's something beautiful. We need more of that kind of love in this world. We need more people like You, and my sister, and Peeta and Haymitch." I say quietly, clearing my throat after.
"But…" He begins, and I waggle my finger at him.
"No buts. You're her family. Which means you're mine now too. I appreciate that you want to go and save her. I know someone has to. But Peeta...her and Peeta are just stronger together." I tell him and after a second he reluctantly nods.
"Okay." He admits.
"Good. Now that that's settled. Let's get you ready for bed." I tell him in my best nurse voice.
"Prim, I'm fine. I don't need a babysitter. Or anyone telling me when to go to bed." He growls and I smirk to myself as I turn around and begin turning down his sheets.
"Deen Sparrow, I am your nurse. So you have to do what I say." I command and he groans.
"Just when I think being friends with you would be okay…."He starts to complain and I cluck my tongue on the roof of my mouth.
"Oh, hush." I say.
"Yes ma'am." He replies with a small smile as he gets up to let me help get settled in for the night.
(Katniss POV)
I am losing chunks of time out of my days. And I don't think it's relegated to just the present.
The drugs make it hard to tell what is real and what isn't anymore. Sometimes I prefer not knowing.
They ask me so many questions. We go over the stories countless times. How Gale used to take me into the woods. How we'd hunt. How sometimes we'd do other things...but the other things they tell me about, they feel strange inside my mind. The memories of his rough calloused hands on me are fleeting and ethereal, like I can't grasp the feel of them clearly. The accompanying images in my mind are shiny and unpredictable.
But the things they tell me about Peeta and I are worse.
I hate the sessions where he is present. There is something dark about them I can't always remember. All the nightmares I have now are about blue eyes infected with green. Large wandering hands that grip my wrists and hold me down while people in white coats inject me with chemicals. Whenever I catch glimpses of his blond hair and white mocking smile it drives a cold fear into me that feels inescapable. And for all that they tell me that I love him I find that I can't look at his face for more than a second before I start to scream uncontrollably in the dark.
And of course there is the routine physical torture that they inflict like clockwork. Except torture is never really routine is it? Even though I have become very familiar with pain, they always find new ways of breaking down any resistance I have. They have begun skipping my morphling injections a few hours before escorting me to the lower levels. I have begun to feel the loss of the drug more keenly than the pain they bring on me with knives or electric shocks. In those sessions I try to let my mind wander free from my body, to disconnect and become buoyed above the horror of the things that lurk in the depths of the dark torture rooms. But it is almost impossible to detach from the clawing hungry feeling in my veins.
The nights are just as awful, but in a completely different way. We're dragged out after being given a few hours of rest and a shot of nanobots to heal our most visible injuries. Driven to the nightclub that I have learned is called The Decadence. We're primped and painted and paraded around in front of the lustful Capitolites who pay exorbitant sums of money to watch us kiss and touch each other. I sing and perform for the crowds, entertaining them with songs whose words and dance moves that border on explicit. Those nights are filled with sparking drinks that help me forget, mostly. I don't have to do anything nearly as degrading as Finnick or Johanna, since I am still being held in reserve until Snow can squeeze every last cent out of my Bidding. Kissing and heavy petting seem to be the maximum allowed at this point. Which I'm grateful for. I'm usually too numb to feel much of anything anyway.
When I do feel, it's pity and sorrow for Finnick and Johanna. We try to help each other as much as we can. I write songs specifically for them, since people find the three of us especially intriguing. I try to incorporate them into my performances as much as I can, knowing they'd rather be on stage with me than in a dark booth with come patrons.
I sing to Johanna while she slowly takes off one piece of clothing at a time up on stage. Halfway through my vision gets blurry because of my unshed tears. It's only the muscle memory of my fingers on the frets that keeps me from fumbling the chords of the song. The crowd cheers wantonly after the performance finishes. Afterwards Johanna doesn't speak for almost 24 hours.
The first time Finnick and I are forced to kiss he shuts his eyes so tight it's like he is trying to block out the whole world. The clients complain that it feels forced and even in my drug induced haze I can tell they are right. I whisper to him emphatically, urging him to kiss me like they want him too. The barely recognizable shake of his head almost breaks my heart. I know his reluctance is due to the fact that he doesn't want to take advantage of me. But there is no use fighting it. I grasp his face in my hands and tell him to look at me. There are unshed tears in his eyes. I don't let them deter me even though those shining tears in the eyes of a man who I have only just recently learned is actually a truly and deeply good person almost destroy me. I kiss him gently, as a friend at first on the cheek, to let him know that is what I truly consider him, and I whisper to him that it doesn't matter what they do to us. The people we love are safe and soon, very soon, this will all be over. When he kisses me back it tastes bittersweet and like saltwater. He apologizes to me for almost two hours when we get back to our cells.
But it doesn't stop, and it becomes almost as routine as the tourture. We make promises to each other that what we are forced to do during the hours at The Decadence is not to be held against each other. During the nights we don't appear at the club we talk to each other about our lives and our families. Always about the people who are safely out of Snow's reach, like my mother and sister, or Finnick's girlfriend Annie.
I was shocked to find out he had a steady girlfriend for years, that she was his fellow victor and all. It pained me to learn of how Snow tried to keep them apart for years while he sold Finnick to the highest bidder annually when he returned to the Capitol to mentor in the Games.
Johanna listens mostly, and only explains what happened to her family once. She describes in painstaking detail how they died, how Snow killed them all when she first refused to be sold after her Games. After this confession she vows to skin me alive if I ever repeat the details again. I promise to take it to my grave. So does Finnick, even though he knew most of the story already. We are allies in this place. It's like a dark twisted version of the arena more horrible than I could ever have imagined. But teaming up with Finnick and Johanna feels similar to the bond I forged with Rue and Peeta during my Games. Even though we can't win this game, and we'll never escape this arena we still stick together. We're stronger together.
When Finnick can't stop clawing at his skin after a night at the club I sing so he can sleep. When Johanna wakes up gasping because she has dream after dream of being drowned like in her numerous waterboarding and electroshock sessions, I tell her about the forest in 12, the trees and the mountains and the wild animals. Sometimes she calls me an idiot, but most of the time she just listens.
And when I come back from my venom sessions they talk me down out of my hysteria. They keep me from ripping out my own hair and beating my head against the wall for hours. They try to help me remember what is real. They have to tell me over and over again that the two men who dance with me and sing with me on stage and sit next to me during my venom sessions aren't the real Peeta and Gale. But it takes longer and longer every time. And we are all so tired. Sometimes I want to tell them it doesn't matter anymore. That I almost don't care. But something always stops me.
There is one memory I have that rises up in my mind like a monument, or a beacon. And it is only for me. Despite the number of times my torturers have asked me to recount it. They ask me to tell them about a time when I told Peeta, or Gale, that I loved them. I never have the answer they want. I remember no night on which I whispered those three words across sweat slicked pillows. No morning or afternoon or evening when I can recall saying heartfelt declarations of eternal love to anyone. Except maybe my sister. But that's not what they are looking for. The lack of material to manipulate me with infuriates them, and they are convinced I have somehow found a way to outsmart them. They dig and dig but find nothing in the hallowed out canyons of my pillaged mind. And when they ask me this question, all I can think of is a crisp blue sky. All I can feel is a biting breeze against my cheek. A painful ache in my shoulder, and a reassuring weight of cold metal in my hand. I don't know what the memory is related to anymore. I can't recall more than a few seconds of it, just a sliver really. But the effect is instantaneous.
Peace, acceptance, courage, loyalty, and yes, love flood into me. I remember what all these things feel like. And it's like for a split second I am human again, real and absolutely myself. It's like seeing the sun after months of rain. It's like sucking in that first breath after coming up for air from underwater. It's like drifting off to sleep for a few sweet, peaceful seconds before the nightmares start. It's the feeling of home. It's freedom. And I revel in their inability to completely take it away.
But that doesn't mean they stop trying.