Thank you to Simone Snickers for beta reading my messy writing and for encouraging me to keep trying to finish this chapter even when I had a massive case of writer's block. You are a star my dear.
District 13
Family Compartments
(Peeta POV)
I woke up from a nightmare where Katniss was being strangled by a mutt version of the imposter who looks like me on TV. My heart was beating so hard it felt like it was going to pound right out of my chest, and then I noticed the thin, threadbare sheets they assigned to me here in 13 were soaked with my sweat. Even so, I laid back for a minute catching my breath and trying to calm my heart.
It feels like it takes forever for me to parcel out the dreams from the reality of waking up alone in what is still a very strange place to me, even though we've been here for a month now.
I share a compartment with my brother Rye. He's usually already gone when I wake up; he was assigned to work in the kitchens because of his previous experience working in the bakery back in 12. He's usually up before dawn, even though it's hard to tell what time of day it actually is underground. There are alarms and lights that come on automatically during waking hours. If we didn't have clocks or the timed lights, I fear we all might lose our sense of natural rhythm with the world above completely.
I'm surprised I managed to get even a meager 2 hours of continuous sleep last night. But the clock on the wall says I did, if I'm to believe it. I just throw back the sheets and make my way to the bathroom, not bothering to try to go back to sleep now after that nightmare. I'll get no relief or peace either way, so I might as well get up and rinse the stale sweat off me so I can start my day.
My shower is short and timed. They have everything here down to a science. That way no one wastes water or energy. I just miss my old shower in my old home. Not just because of the extra room and comfort it afforded me, but for the practicality as well. The showers here in 13 aren't really equipped for people with disabilities. They aren't accommodating to people who only have one real leg like I do. So I either have to make the choice of taking a quick shower with my prosthetic on so I won't slip, or filling the tub up and doing my best to maneuver in and out of the bath with my prosthetic off.
Most of the time I shower with it on, like today. But sometimes, at least once a week, I need to shower with it off to give my skin a rest. Even though the leg Beetee and Wiress designed for me is by far the least abrasive and damaging to my skin that I've ever used, it is still a foreign entity that I attach and wear everyday. Now that I've resumed training with Deen and the others who are in on our plan to free the victors, I'm seeing more wear and tear on my skin. It's nothing I can't handle. It's not even a blip on the map compared to what I'd do to bring Katniss home.
I finish showering so efficiently that even Coin herself would be proud. The thought makes me frown as I step out of the shower to towel off.
I look in the fogged up mirror for a moment before I wipe the surface with my hand and stare at my reflection. I've filled back out a bit, now that I'm eating more regularly. The dark circles are still there like shadowy half moons under my eyes that bely my lack of sleep. My tall bunk-like bed hardly gets any use these days. Most of the time I just wander around the halls like a ghost at night. If I do manage to get any sleep, it's sitting up-right in the chair in Deen's hospital room, or a few stolen hours in my assigned bed like tonight.
I wonder what it means that I can only seem to relax around my fellow victors these days. We seem to have so much in common. We're all damaged and broken, scared and alone despite living amongst this hive of activity and people. I've bonded the most with Annie and Cecelia. Even though they are women, they've both lost their significant partners to the Capitol. Cecilia's husband died to ensure her and their 3 children would make it to freedom in 13. So she has been in mourning while also trying to get through her duties as one of the new faces of the rebellion, like me. She puts on a brave face but I'd recognize that zoned out empty smile she wears anywhere. It's the same face I put on when they turn the camera on me.
Then there's Annie, who I have more in common with than I ever thought I could. I had no idea she had been carrying on a secret relationship with her fellow victor Finnick Odiar for years. They had managed to keep it a secret from almost everyone, but now he was in the Capitol just like Katniss. The loss of him drove Annie into a deep depression that was not good for her already troubled mind. I try to make time to speak with her everyday, even if I don't see her at meal times. She is hospitalized with psychological issues more often than not these days, and she doesn't have anyone else to really talk to. Sometimes, when I wander the halls at night, I'll find her tying her hair into knots in the hospital ward. We'll stay up, not sleeping, and worrying over our loved ones together.
Despite the fact that people consider Annie to be mad, I find her oddly insightful at times, and very understanding. She isn't a danger to anyone but herself really, and that is only if she catches wind of gossip about what's being done to the captured victors in the Capitol. In those instances, she tears her hair or hits her head repeatedly on a wall or floor. I always move to stop her from hurting herself and call for help, but I also find myself empathizing with her completely at those times. I too, understand the all consuming need to block out the truth of the horror going on around you that you are helpless to stop.
Yes, Annie and I have a lot in common. So much so that I wonder how much longer it will take until I start pulling at my hair nervously, or laugh at odd moments. I wonder if I am losing touch with the other people left around me. I have tried to be there for Rye, the only brother and family I truly have left. There have been nights I've stayed up with him until dawn while he just weeps silently over the loss of his wife and unborn child, and our father. Though I would never tell him this, his grief tears at me like an open wound. Whenever I'm around him, some part of me feels like I'm looking into a window of my future.
It's a future I refuse to accept.
So when the morning comes, I usually drag myself up even though I haven't gotten any rest and report for meeting after meeting where people talk and talk about the best ways to get a full blown rebellion started. They talk about changing things and uncovering the truth. But the real truth is people here in District 13 are afraid. They don't have the numbers or the fire power to hold out for long against the Capitol without the rest of the districts to back them up. They are waiting for another spark, someone to make a move. They need another powderkeg moment like with Katniss and the berries. They always stare at me like I'm supposed to have some kind of divine insight on these kinds of things. As if I had somehow been a part of the process for Katniss' brilliant thinking at that moment. But what no one understands is that moment was completely organic. It came from Katniss without any prompting or prodding from me, Haymitch, the Gamemakers or anyone else.
So many things came together in that moment, our love story to garner sympathy, the Gamemakers going back on their word, the sheer number of obstacles Katniss and I had already faced and survived before that point – and that was just in the arena. Outside, there was misery in the districts, unhappiness with the Capitol and Snow, and so many more little factors that Haymitch and I couldn't orchestrate into place if they allowed us to plan for 100 years.
And that was precisely the reason it had been so powerful in the first place. So they completely missed the point I was trying to make when I told them it's really hard to capture lighting in a bottle twice. They had all laughed like I said something funny. But not Haymitch. He had understood what I was trying to say and with his eyes he told me that we needed to do something about this untenable situation quickly. So I requested a private meeting with President Coin.
I try a winning smile on for size as I face the mirror again, wanting to present myself as collected and capable as I could for the meeting, but there is a noticeable lack of emotion behind my eyes.
Most of the time I feel like an imposter these days. Plastering on a smile and a brave face for the propos. The truth of who I am underneath the thinly held together veneer is much uglier. The only people who know how badly I'm really doing are Haymitch and my brother, and Deen of course. I have moments where I feel like I'm not even here. My mind just...retreats. I get lost in memories of happier times.
Washing dishes together in my kitchen.
Late autumn evenings and dinner with her family.
Late nights with her body wrapped around mine and tangled sheets.
I just get stuck. And it sometimes takes hours for me to come back from the past.
There is only one thing that can bring me out of these episodes.
And that's Katniss.
The funny thing was...we'd figured out recently that personal mementos that I associate strongly with memories of Katniss actually help unlock the door and drag me back from my memory prison.
Prim had been there the last time I shut down, and Deen explained afterwards that she rushed back to her room and rifled through drawers until she came running back with the small shampoo bottle in hand. Then she stuck it under my nose and told me to breathe. After two minutes I was able to talk and respond to the people who were in the room with me again.
"You're trying to hold on to her the only way you know how." Prim had theorized when I had said I didn't know why I got lost in those memories at certain times.
Her words had brought tears to my eyes, and Deen had cleared his throat and looked away, overcome with emotion himself.
I looked in the hazy mirror again and saw the fog creeping back up the glass towards the center and clouding my reflection again. I exhale a deep breath and make my way out of the bathroom and towards the single dresser in the room that my brother and I both share.
I open the top drawer which is mine and stare at the white socks folded neatly in lines. I push the socks aside and reach towards the back for the odd collection of objects that help me when I start feeling hazy and absent.
A shampoo bottle that smells like lemons and flowers.
An old grey t-shirt that always looked better on her than it ever did on me.
A plain gold band.
I take out the last one. The ring. I had brought it with me all the way from District 12. A last attempt to hold onto something. I guess that had always been my most deep seated fear, losing her.
I stared at its shining circular form under the ulgy fluorescent lighting long and hard. It wasn't real….not in the way everyone thought at first. The wedding had been fake. But the words she had said during the ceremony had been real. The way she'd looked into my eyes...it was the same way she'd looked at me in the pool inside the cave during our escape. Desperate, worried, and pleading. I hadn't known then that it was love.
Funny how things seem so much clearer with time.
I slipped the ring on my finger and just let the feeling settle over me.
There was so much tied up with that feeling. I could recall exactly the way I felt when she slipped it on my finger.
Yearning, pain, confusion, and yes...love. Always love. That was the one that always won out when it came to her. No matter what.
I breathed through the emotions that churned in my stomach and in my chest. I needed to reorient myself before I headed to breakfast and then to my meeting with Coin.
After a few seconds or minutes I felt better.
I got dressed and combed my hair. I brushed my teeth again just for something else to do. I looked in the mirror when I was done and found I still had the ring on the third finger of my left hand.
I stared and stared.
Finally, I slipped off the ring and put it in my pocket, knowing I needed it tonight to keep me anchored in this reality. Then I left to go to breakfast.
.
.
.
.
"And why should I approve the risk of sending an untrained civilian into unarmed combat?" President Coin asks with a cold stare. The woman is ice and steel, almost unreadable sitting at the head of the smart-glass conference table. Several different designs and plans are layered as open tabs on the surface of the glass. The light that illuminates the interesting device makes President Coin's eyes appear more pale and ghostlike in the conference room.
"Actually I have been training again. Soldier Hawthorne has been working with me for a while."
"For...how long? Maybe two weeks prior to this?" President Coin says with a scoff, and shakes her head.
"Well, I do have previous combat experience. My Hunger Games, to name one. Training my tributes for two years in hand to hand fighting and wrestling, and then of course the numerous battles we fought when we escaped District 12. All of that with handed down or cast-off weapons. I haven't been a civilian in a long time, President Coin. The training I've been doing with Soldier Hawthorne is more of a refresher, for me and my former protege, Soldier Sparrow." I say all of this with an easy air, as if it's all been for some higher purpose. That purpose would be to solely serve 13 and the Rebellion. I want Coin to think that's what I believe. Without it, we won't get her approval.
"Yes, I heard he's signed up to serve as well." Coin says with a suspicious narrowing of her eyes. I give her a reassuring smile. Her stern gaze untightens just a smidgen.
"He has. He's a very good fighter, one of the best actually. Between the three of us, and Thirteen's own fine soldiers, I have no doubt we'll be as prepared as possible." I assure her again and she leans back in her chair, assessing me. I stare back at her unconcerned. This is what I'm good at. Bluffing, using words, playing the game. Years of smiling through the lingering pain of beatings and verbal abuse at the hands of my mother and then the abuse of the Capitol was its own kind of training. Humor and winning a smile can sometimes be more effective than weapons. They are actually my preferred solutions in cases like these. No doubt Katniss would be handling this meeting completely differently. She'd probably just walk in with a list of demands and refuse to do one ounce of work unless her terms were met.
But I'm not Katniss. And I'm not the driving force of this Revolution. But I am a very important cog in the machine. That much Coin can't deny.
The revolution itself has been gaining ground recently. The other victors who had managed to escape have been making propos. The only ones yet to tell their stories are Haymitch and Deen. Haymitch refused on the premise that his games were so long ago, no one really cares what happened. But I think he secretly can't face the horror of recounting losing his entire family without the help of some really strong liquor to get him through it.
Deen said he couldn't do it without Katniss being there to help him. And I had told him I understood. He was, at heart, a very private person despite the party boy persona he adopted during his Victory Tour. And Katniss was one of the only people he felt comfortable enough to be completely vulnerable with. They had bonded in a way after Deen had come back from the Capitol. Both of them are so strong and fearless at turns, and yet fragile and broken because of the choices that had been taken away from them by Snow.
It was that balance of resilience in the face of cruel opposition that had the country stirring again. Even now there were rumors of an uprising in District 8. That was exactly what I was hoping for, counting on, to be honest.
"Why the change of position? When you first agreed to the props you were adamant that you wouldn't participate in any combat situations, simulated or otherwise. You even refused to issue a call to take up arms? Why the about face?" Coin probed with a calculated look in her eye.
"The pacifist track doesn't seem to be working as well as I hoped. I realized recently that no matter how humanely our side tries to deal with the Capitol, we will never receive the same treatment from them. The punishments imposed on the districts are only getting worse. And the things they are doing to the rebel victors are getting worse too, I'm sure you know." I tell her with a tight-lipped consternation.
She knew very well, she got the reports everyday of more peacekeepers being deployed, widespread hunger and starvation, a huge increase in executions and corporal punishment for anyone even supected of joining the rebel cause.
"Yes, it's very unfortunate. But that was to be expected. It is Snow's M.O. after all. But my contacts in the Capitol tell us we might have a little more time than previously anticipated. Which will aid us in putting together a rescue plan. It seems Snow is profiting enough to consider extending their imprisonment." She says as she brings up a document that has a list of earnings and profits detailed into the report. She scans it quickly, cold heartedly, as if it's not a manifesto that might as well be written in blood and agony for the people that star in it. That report shows exactly how much Katniss and the other captured victors are worth to their captors and torturers. It is proof of the way people have been reduced to objects, commodities, and products. It is proof of the loss of any measure of humanity.
And she reads it like it's a footnote.
I bite down on my tongue to keep from screaming.
"I don't think I have to outline why it would be undesirable for our side to allow the captured Victors to languish in the Capitol imprisonment. Suffice to say, it's likely the whole of Panem hasn't seen the recent tapes, but if they were to, it could be demoralizing for the movement." I tell her in as even a tone as I can manage.
"Yes, it is rather unsavory. But I assure you Mr. Mellark, we are doing our utmost to bring them back." She tells me with so little true concern that it does the opposite of reassuring me. This woman thinks I'm an idiot. She thinks I'm a stupid kid who has no idea when people are using him for their own gain.
"I know that President Coin. That's why I want to step up my efforts. Maybe if I make a personal appearance, if I join the fight on the front lines, it will spur the rest of the districts to start fighting back." I tell her with as much sincerity as I can manage. If she's not going to put any real effort into getting Katniss back then our secret plan will have to be put into motion. I can't understand how Gale doesn't see just how disingenuous this woman is. I can't believe he actually wanted us to try and bring her in on the plan.
"It could. But I can't promise something couldn't go wrong. I can't guarantee your safety. You could also be killed, and then where would that leave us? The Mockingjay captured and the Meadowlark killed?" She tells me with a look of feigned concern. Her use of the nickname the rebel soldiers have dubbed me with makes me want to snort derisively. She's not a very good actress. She's too stiff and mechanical after years of trying not to show emotion. Her attempts at genuine human feelings fall short. But I smile at her gratefully anyway, so that she thinks I buy it.
"No one can guarantee anyone's safety during a rebellion. But nothing adds more fuel to a movement like martyrdom. If it happens, I suggest making sure your film crew gets a decent shot." I tell her with as much bravado as I dare to show. I'm not as naturally fearless as Katniss, to run headlong into a gunfight or battle, but if it has anything to do with protecting her I'd sacrifice myself a thousand times over. That sentiment I'd never have to fake.
"Hmm. Alright, Mr. Mellark. I'll think about it. Until then I want your combat skills evaluated by Boggs. How's the new prosthetic working out by the way?" She asks me looking down pointedly at my prosthetic crossed over my real leg as I sit at her conference table.
"It's incredible actually. Better than the first two. Beetee and Wiress really outdid themselves. It's the closest thing to having a real leg that I've ever experienced since my Games and losing the real thing." I tell her honestly. She smiles a tiny bit. Even that is chilly and calculating.
"That's encouraging. I hope you appreciate 13's generosity. I specifically requested Beetee to devote time to completing it faster." She says with a dip of her head and I nod.
"Ah, well you didn't have to do that, President Coin. Thank you." I say graciously. I do appreciate the leg, but Beetee was the one who crafted it for me. Coin did nothing but command him to put an express order on it.
"Of course," she said quickly, then "You're dismissed soldier Mellark." She tells me with a flick of her eyes toward the door. And just like that, I'm reminded of my very precarious and somewhat untenable position here in 13.
"Good day Ma'am." I tell her with a falsely humble smile as I leave.
After riding around in the elevator for a bit, I realized I had half an hour before lunch, since the meeting hadn't taken nearly as long as my schedule had planned for.
I decided to go to the combat training room. I've been devoting more time to trying to get back into shape for the field missions we're going to be going on. My food rations had also been increased in correlation to the amount of energy that I'd been burning. Once I get to the training room I find Gale and Deen there sparring. It's funny how our clandestine activities have forced us to work together more closely than even when we were planning our escape from 12. I watch them dance back and forth on the mat for a few minutes, just studying their distinctive strengths and weaknesses as combatants.
Gale is fast, maybe one of the fastest fighters I've ever seen. Even Deen sometimes doesn't catch his movements until right before his fist lands. It's just another thing that reminds me of Katniss. That quick striking, no hesitancy that seems a common thread for those born in the Seam. Theirs was a life full of kill or be killed scenarios that started first with hunting and trapping and eventually translated to surviving the Hunger Games for Katniss and then surviving the escape through the wilderness to 13 for both of them.
But Deen is almost Gale's equal in speed and has become quite adept at staying out of Gale's range until he's ready to do some striking of his own.
Dean is also incredibly flexible and his fighting style is unpredictable. He's just got an innate instinct for using unorthodox moves and combinations that work well together. He had it even before he won his Games. Katniss had seen it in him. Maybe it was the way he walked or held himself. Maybe it was the angry spark in his eyes. Whatever it was, it was lethal. And it had only been honed and sharpened recently.
Deen twists quickly and fluidly to the side, out of Gale's reach for what would have been a knockout punch. Gale doesn't react fast enough to Deen's new position and ends up getting dragged to the floor. Deen quickly and efficiently gets him to submit after a few minutes of grappling. Both men are panting and sweating but Deen's cocky grin is visible even from a distance.
I head over to talk to them.
"Pretty good Sparrow, but you didn't guard your left again. Gale could have reversed you and pinned you easily if he had known how." I chastised Deen gently. It was true. Gale was lighter on his feet than any of them, his wiry muscles and long reach made him dangerous.
"I'm not much for the wrestling stuff, too much like hugging for my taste." Gale pants as he wipes the sweat from his brow with a nearby towel.
"I thought the same thing before Peeta taught me. But it could save your life. It did mine, in the Games." Deen says tiredly before pulling out his water bottle and taking a long drink.
"You're the one who taught him? I thought they had trainers in the Tribute center for that." Gale inquires looking over at the two of us and Deen grins again, but this time at me. He's probably remembering how badly I beat him the first few times we wrestled. It took him being defeated soundly numerous times before he started to take my expertise seriously.
"They do. I tutored him privately after hours." I tell Gale as I hand him a water container. He nods at me gratefully before he unscrews the lid.
"Isn't that illegal?" Gale asks before he takes a drink.
"No more illegal than District 1 & 2 sending their kids to an academy to train for the Games from the time they can walk." I say quietly with a shrug of my shoulders and a tick of eyebrows as I cock my head to the side in an unconcerned gesture.
Gale grins. Deen laughs.
"We're going to need all the skills we can get. I have a feeling Coin is going to approve us for field missions soon." I tell them and both of their faces light up in mutual excitement.
"So the meeting went well?" Gale asks in a measured tone.
I nod. Not wanting to discuss just how much I hated these bi-weekly meetings with Coin. The woman had the power to do more for Katniss' and the remaining captured Victor's situations, she just preferred to play it safe.
"Yeah, she wants her right hand guy Boggs to evaluate us." I tell Gale and he nods.
"Boggs is a good guy. He's um," Gale coughs slightly, and covers his mouth partially, with the water container, "on our side."
Ah, yes, I'd heard Gale bring up Boggs' name before in some of our meetings. But I had no way of knowing just how many soldiers there were named Boggs in Coins ranks. Looks like it was just the one, or at least the same one that was close to Coin, who was also willing to help us with our rescue mission.
"That's good." I say carefully and Deen nods as subtly as he can.
"Well then Mellark, you'd better teach me those wrestling moves of yours. We're gonna need to be as prepared as we can if we want Boggs to green light us for a mission."
I smile at Gale, and it's unpracticed, easy. I wonder if it's as strange for him sometimes as it is for me to work this closely together to bring home the girl we both love? If it is, he tries not to let it show. Just like me. We keep our differences at bay for the sake of the greater cause. We've been doing it for so long it almost feels like an old routine by now.
So I climb onto the mat and get into position. Deen agrees to referee. And Gale jumps up nimbly to rock on the balls of his feet.
He'd be a dangerous opponent if we ever really ended up on opposite sides. But Gale and I have never really been enemies. Rivals, maybe. But even that was probably more in our heads than anything. We were in this together. We were going to get her back together. And we were also working to free all of Panem together. One district and victor at a time if need be.
The first thing we needed was to open the Mockingjay's cage. That would only be accomplished by being capable of kicking some serious Peacekeeper ass.
So I tutored my lover's best friend and one time love interest in wrestling. And it wasn't nearly as awkward as either of us expected it to be.