A/N: Another upsetting POV from Peeta in this chapter, so please read carefully!
Katniss and Gale have gone with several suits and the camera crew to shoot propos in 12. Plutarch had found him to ask if he wanted to come, saying it might be cathartic.
Haymitch has found sobriety keeps him from feeling violent as often as he used to, but Plutarch sure knows how to push his buttons. Catharsis. The only catharsis that exists for him is at the bottom of a bottle.
"I'll go to 12 again when I can drink about it," he says, his words terse, and leaves Plutarch standing alone at the elevator that will take him to the hovercraft hangar.
Haymitch is alone, with nothing to do, and nothing to drink.
He walks to his compartment. He's sure there's someone around here who could tell him his schedule, or how to obtain a copy. He's happy to wait for that person to find him.
He tries to imagine District 12, gone. Nothing but ash and bone, burned stone, and twisted metal, all that's left of the buildings that weren't made of wood. Except the Victors' Village. This is how Plutarch described it to him. And it must have been as bad as he said, because the ex-Head Gamemaker had been pale, unaffectedly disturbed by the sight of so much blatant destruction of life.
It had been bad enough watching the Hob go up in flames, the Hawthorne kid being whipped, the starving bodies after the lockdown.
His cousin Ember and her whole family were gone. So were his friends from high school, and their families. Haymitch hadn't spoken to any of them since his family and Terra had died in the Capitol's fire, too afraid of bringing Snow's wrath on them through association. He must have seemed isolated and miserable enough, because he had been able to watch, from afar, as they all grew up, started working the mines, got married, and had kids of their own. Every year, once those kids were 12, he had been extra miserable, certain one of them would be reaped, but they never were.
Lex had died in the same accident that had killed Katniss's father. His wife was a hard worker. She found someone to watch the kids after school, and worked the night shift in the mines.
The rest had all died in the conflagration. Gale hadn't known them, hadn't reached that section of the town in time. Haymitch didn't blame the kid. That anyone from 12 except himself, Katniss, and Peeta were alive was down to him, his resourcefulness, and his powers of persuasion. Katniss had some interesting friends, and here in Thirteen, she might be allowed to keep them.
Fucking Christ, he'd like a drink.
He reaches his compartment, but just keeps walking.
They're all in Command, ready to watch a Capitol announcement Beetee plans on breaking into. The air in the room is expectant. Katniss comes in and sits between Plutarch and Finnick, who's looking better than he has in a while. He has even been released from the hospital. He's wearing a gray jumpsuit, like the rest of them, instead of one of the hospital's white gowns.
Snow appears on screen. Haymitch had thought the attack on 12 had been aimed at him. Snow couldn't destroy all of the victors, so he had reminded Haymitch of his capability for utter destruction. It occurs to him, looking at Snow now, on the screen, that the bombing of 12 is much bigger than him and Snow. The effects of his displays of power were deeply personal, but Snow saw it all as a chess match. One move creates another.
Haymitch looks at Coin. He wonders if she ever plays chess.
These thoughts pass in a matter of seconds, more feelings than articulated words.
The camera has pulled away, showing Peeta seated before a big map. He's bad, very bad. Beneath the table, Haymitch's fingernails find the grooves they made permanent in his palms during his week in the recovery room.
Peeta is sweating through the thick makeup they have on him, that isn't covering how thin he's become, how badly he's shaking, and how unhinged their torture has made him. He thinks of Effie, in her pink "dalliance" outfit. Is she dead?
Peeta is sitting in a chair that's high off the ground, just feet away from President Snow. His stomach hurts. His head hurts. His joints hurt. They had stretched him, again, last night, and there's nothing he can do to sit comfortably. Even lying down puts pressure on his joints. And he can't lie down. He's on live television. He'll need to read the words on the prompter that are scrolling slowly toward the top, as President Snow's speech comes to an end.
Behind the camera crew, a bit to the right, so they're directly in Peeta's line of sight, are a row of Peacekeepers, guns raised and ready. His prep team and Portia are on their knees, the muzzle of the guns out of sight, because they're pressed to the backs of their heads. They all show signs of recent beatings. Portia is the worst. She has a terrible black eye, a fresh cut slowly oozing blood down her cheek. She's shaking badly, and sobbing as quietly as she can. If Peeta isn't convincing, refuses to read, they'll be shot.
He gathers himself together. He just has to read the words. While he's talking, the screen next to the prompter, the one that shows him in front of the map, switches to Katniss singing in a bombed out place. Thirteen? Why is she singing in Thirteen? He looks at Portia, and the masked and faceless Peacekeeper behind her. He must keep reading. If he pretends he didn't see, maybe his team and Portia will live.
But the screen has gone schizophrenic. The rebels and the Capitol are fighting some battle through tech. He doesn't know what to do.
Katniss in the cave, tending his wounds. Katniss at the river, eating his flesh. Johanna screaming. Darius finally dying from slow, slow blood loss. Katniss winding his entrails around her foot-long mutt claws, slurping the steaming, bloody things out of his still alive body and into her mouth, like strands of spaghetti. Katniss, kissing him on the beach like she was really happy, like she wanted to kiss him.
Finally, the Capitol techs give up. The seal of Panem shows up on the screen and is not interrupted. Peeta doesn't dare move, in case they give him directions to read again. President Snow is watching him, he can feel his gaze on his cheek like a winter gale, stinging and not something he can ignore or forget.
Then, the shot of him and President Snow replaces the seal.
"Well, the rebels obviously don't want the people of Panem to know how destructive they are. Cowards know that when the truth comes out, the people will stand up, and fight, but truth and justice will always reign from the Capitol. We will continue this broadcast when our team has fixed any security breaches in the feed."
President Snow turns from the camera to look at Peeta, and he deems it necessary to look back at him, too. Oddly enough, an image of Effie appears saying, "Manners!"
"Peeta, do you have any parting thoughts for Miss Katniss Everdeen?"
Katniss, climbing a tree. Katniss, eating one of his eyeballs. Katniss, Katniss, Katniss.
Parting thoughts? The thing he heard. When they brought him to the Mansion, his prep team and Portia marching along behind him. President Snow wants the bombing to happen during the broadcast.
"Katniss," he says, and the name is a curse, a blight, a balm on his tongue. "How do you think this will end? What will be left?" If he messes this up, his team will be shot, in front of him, because of him. "No one is safe." No one. Not him, not Portia, not Effie, not Snow, not Katniss. "Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you…" His breath is coming hard and fast. His head feels hot. "In Thirteen…" What's he doing? He can't say Thirteen! He's not supposed to know! His mouth moves, independent of his brain, and words come out. "Dead by morning!"
President Snow makes a cutting motion to the camera crew. "End it!" he shouts.
"Katniss, run!" he yells, and then runs toward the camera. "District Thirteen! District Thirteen!" He grabs the cameraman, drops him and the camera, and the prompter to the ground. A boot connects with his stomach, and hot, horrible pain blooms from the contact, up his throat, and he coughs up blood.
He lifts his head. Another kick.
Johanna, and Beetee, and Wiress covered in blood. His leg, poisoned by his own bad blood. Someone is screaming. Someone is in pain. Katniss. Must… save…Katniss. Must kill…
Everyone in Command starts yelling at each other, except Katniss, some disengaged part of his brain notices. She's sitting still as a statue. Haymitch adds his voice to the din, but no one is listening. His heart is pounding, his mouth is dry, and he can't make himself heard. It's like those nightmares he used to have where he's in the Viewing Room, watching kids die, desperately pressing icons that don't work, barking commands that go unheard, and sending in gifts that never arrive.
Peeta's blood on the tiles.
He takes a deep breath.
"Shut up!" They all quiet and turn to him. Alma Coin looks particularly offended. (Will there ever be a president he likes?) "It's not some big mystery! The boy's telling us we're about to be attacked. Here. In Thirteen."
Of course, they all start questioning him. Nothing is real to these people unless they can see it, touch it, or feel it. Well, if they want to personally touch one of Snow's missiles, they can knock themselves out. But Peeta might have given his life to give them this warning, and he will not ignore that.
"They're beating him bloody while we speak. What more do you need? Katniss," he says, turning to her, still so unnaturally stiff and silent, "Help me out!"
She sits up straighter, seems to come out of her odd paralysis. "Haymitch's right," she says, for the first, and probably last time in her life. "I don't know where Peeta got the information. Or if it's true. But he believes it is. And they're -" she cuts off, the pain on her face clear.
"You don't know him," says Haymitch, looking into Alma Coin's gray eyes. "We do. Get your people ready."
There's some speech making, then, finally, decisions are made.