"What are you doing here?" I ask Plutarch, my tone blank and my eyes narrowed. I'm trying to keep my appearance unfazed and vaguely intimidating, despite the fact that within my chest I feel a deep sense of anxiety start to overwhelm me. It's not so much that I'm scared of Plutarch individually. In fact, there is little doubt in my mind that I could overtake him physically on my own, and faced with three Victors together he stands no chance.
No, it's not him, but what his visit could represent that scares me. I know I shouldn't dislike him, as he's been on our side for ages, but I could never trust a head gamemaker, even if he was working for the Rebellion. Even if his overarching motivations are good, too many of his actions are spurred on by the desire for fame and status. I can almost guarantee that he wants something from us right now, and I'm equally as confident that it is not something we would want to do ourselves.
"It's wonderful to see you, Miss Everdeen," Plutarch says, dodging my question. "I'd love to go inside and chat with the three of you, if you'd be so kind as to invite me in." I'm searching my mind for an excuse to refuse when Peeta interjects.
"Sure, Plutarch," Peeta says, opening the door. I look at him with a slightly strange expression as I head into the house behind Plutarch. Haymitch and Peeta follow me in, and in the moment of slight separation from Plutarch, Peeta mumbles under his breath "I don't know what this is but we're gonna have to pick our battles. It wasn't worth fighting over letting him come inside when we'll have to save up credit for later." Haymitch nods, as if thinking along the same lines as Peeta. It makes perfect sense, even if my instincts would have taken me a completely different way. Peeta is much better at handling these sorts of situations than me, though. Even Haymitch is, if I'm being honest.
"So, what brought you to 12, Plutarch?" Haymitch asks, taking a seat in his normal armchair as Plutarch sits down in the other one. Haymitch's demeanor has changed significantly, as if he's sobered up just by the presence of an intruder. Peeta and I settle on the couch and I immediately take Peeta's hand in my own, almost instinctively. In any sort of stressful situation, my first move is always to be as close to him as I can.
"Well, I was hoping to speak with the three of you," Plutarch says, flashing what I'm sure he thinks is a warm and amiable smile. "I've actually been here for a few hours now, but when I checked all three of your houses and found them empty I figured I would just wait it out at Katniss's here."
"It's Peeta's and mine," I hear myself correct for no discernible reason. I don't even know why I'm telling him. If anything, I should want to keep our relationship as far away from the prying eyes of the Capitol media as I possibly can, and yet for some reason I feel that it would be completely wrong to not make it known that I share my life with Peeta. I really don't know why.
"Oh how wonderful!" Plutarch says, his gaze now shifting to our joined hands. "Well I'm sure everyone in Panem will be just as pleased as I am to see that the star-crossed lovers have found their way back to one another." Peeta picks up on the subtext in this quicker than I do.
"And in what context would that be made public, exactly?" Peeta asks, trying to keep his voice calm and friendly. He doesn't want to sound accusatory, probably still trying to earn good will with Plutarch in an effort to get us out of whatever situation this is. Plutarch chuckles a little bit.
"Ah, you don't miss a beat, do you Peeta?" he says, still laughing to himself. Peeta doesn't seem to know how to respond to that so says nothing. "Well," Plutarch says, straightening his coat a bit before continuing. "As you may or may not be aware, the one year anniversary of the fall of the old Capital and the Snow regime is approaching us at the end of this month."
My mind reels and I feel myself becoming overtaken by a sense of surprise and anxiety. I was not aware of that, actually. Not at all. I have not kept any real measure of on what day that all happened, very intentionally so. I didn't know what any exact dates were at the time, having been in battle and then completely broken in the hospital, and no part of me wanted to check. Knowing exactly what date I saw Prim for the last time was only ever going to cause me more pain, so I made the choice not to look and find out. That choice has been taken away from me, however, as I know the date Plutarch is talking about is the day the bombs fell. The day she died.
"Given its significance to our nation, this date has been chosen as the independence day for the new Panem," Plutarch continues. I feel my blood boil at this. It's true, this day does mark the victory of the rebels and the capture of Snow, making it a reasonable choice. But it also marks the death of dozens of innocent children. We never seem to be able to change as much as we think we can, do we?
"So, in honor of the first instance of this holiday, those of us at the Communications and Entertainment Council thought it would be excellent for the unity and morale of the nation to have something of a celebration in the Capitol. We thought it would be appropriate, in addition to speeches from our new government officials and various celebratory events throughout the districts, to welcome the remaining Victors, as well as some other war heroes, to the Capitol to give interviews and take part in the festivities. That's why I'm here today, to invite the three of you."
No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. I have very little interest in returning to the Capitol at any point in my life, but especially not on the anniversary of Prim's death. Especially not to be forced to celebrate and used in propaganda in the same ways I once was. No. My heart is pounding with anxiety and I feel my hand start to shake in Peeta's. His grip has tightened on mine, a telltale sign that he is upset too.
"Um," Peeta starts. I can see in his face that he is thinking through his words, clearly trying very hard to calculate his speech in order to be as polite as possible. Personally I'd rather scream at Plutarch for being an idiot, but that isn't Peeta's way. "I'm sure you can understand, Plutarch, that the Capitol is a pretty painful place for the three of us. I mean, just given the experiences of loss and pain we've had there. I was tortured, Katniss lost her sister..." he trails off for a moment and I worry he might be getting lost in his thoughts and at risk of a flash. I squeeze his hand, though, and he shakes his head quickly to clear it.
"Sorry," Peeta says. "Anyway, it just isn't really a place we want to go back to, at least not yet. And given the public nature that our lives were forced to take on for so long, I'm sure you can also see why we might want to just keep to ourselves, and not act so much as public figures anymore, even though I'm sure all of the celebrations would be wonderful to take part in."
Once again Peeta has proven to be a genius with his words. He's managed to convey just how much we don't want to do this, and give good reasons for it, while also remaining polite and even flattering Plutarch in the process. I could never get by something like this on my own. I was never able to, after the Games, and that hasn't changed.
"Of course, of course," Plutarch says. "Don't worry, though, we'd make sure to keep all of the Victors comfortable and supported. We understand the pain you've all had to go through. And the interviews and press would be nowhere near as intrusive as they once were. You could maintain a vastly improved degree of privacy." I find myself rolling my eyes. "Vastly improved" means nothing. All of his assurances mean nothing. I look between Peeta and Haymitch, and see on Peeta's face that he is not at all calmed by Plutarch's words either. Haymitch just looks at Plutarch with narrowed eyes, studying him closely, as if trying to figure something out.
"No, Plutarch," I say, a little more harshly than I intended or should probably have allowed myself to be. "I'm sorry, it's just, there isn't really a way to make it comfortable. That place isn't comfortable to us. Neither is being on interviews or whatever. It just won't work. Besides, doesn't the whole country basically think I'm crazy anyway? I don't think that I'm really the image you want to put forward for the new nation. None of us are." Plutarch smiles at me again, but this time it isn't as convincing. I can tell he's getting irritated with us. Haymitch still hasn't said anything in our defense, which surprises me a little bit. Maybe he isn't as clear heeded as I thought.
'In fact Katniss, I think it is precisely because of your image with the country that it is so important for you to be there," Plutarch says. "The country loves its Mockingjay, no matter what you've been through or what it's made you do. They want, need, to see the progress you've made. It's clear to me that you've made tremendous strides in your healing. The nation needs to see that as well. It will give them a sense of hope, possibility, and happiness."
I'm angry now. I've made progress because I've been left alone. Because I've been able to surround myself with only the people who will actually help me heal. Because I haven't been forced to perform for anyone else's agenda.
"I'm not your prop anymore, Plutarch!" I say, my voice rising now. "None of us are! If some of the other Victors want to go back, fine, though I highly doubt it. They can do whatever they want, though. We're staying here."
"Frankly, Miss Everdeen, you don't have as much of a choice in the matter as you think you do," Plutarch says, his voice level but cold now. "You barely got off on your trial. You murdered the future leader of our country. It's the least you can do to help rebuild our image, and to bring a sense of unity to Panem. You don't want to miss an opportunity that could help ensure your future safety, help avoid any retribution for your crime, now do you?" I gape at him. I didn't have a lot of respect for Plutarch to begin with, but I didn't think he would stoop to the level of threatening me.
"Did Paylor approve of you threatening to imprison the Mockingjay, Plutarch?" Haymitch says finally, raising an eyebrow. "It doesn't seem to me like something her government would push for. Perhaps you've misunderstood your authority, or overstepped your boundaries." Haymitch's voice is calm and nonchalant, but he's calling Plutarch's bluff. I realize that Haymitch has been watching Plutarch's mannerisms this whole time, studying his words and picking up on where he's bluffing. Plutarch looks ruffled at this. He clears his throat and straightens his coat again before speaking.
"Of course, we have no desire to actually imprison you, Katniss, but you should understand the importance of your collaboration," Plutarch says. I can feel Peeta tense beside me. I look up to his face and see that he is angry. As angry as i've ever seen him, frankly, at least since he's recovered somewhat from the hijacking. He doesn't have an ounce of patience for them threatening me.
"Plutarch, I'm not sure if you're aware, but I still flash sometimes. The hijacking hasn't fully worn off, they don't think it ever will. I can't imagine the number of things that could set me off in the Capitol. You don't want some crazed, murderous Victor running around your celebrations, do you? That certainly wouldn't help with the image you're trying to present." Peeta is trying to take the heat away from me by describing himself as the ruthless mutt he absolutely isn't. But he's trying to make himself the reason we can't go, so that I don't have to, but I'm not the one at fault and it can't be used against me.
"As a matter of fact, I did take that into account," Plutarch says, the cheerful tone returned to his voice now that he's dealing with Peeta again. "I consulted with some doctors in the Capitol, who told me that they believe you have made enough progress in your recovery to not get violent, even if you do flash. I genuinely applaud how much progress you've made, Peeta." Peeta is seething and I can tell how much he's trying not to let this egregious invasion of privacy get to him.
"I really wish you hadn't done that, Plutarch," he says, his voice very controlled so as not to be angry. "Or at least had asked me before consulting my doctors."
"Oh don't worry, they didn't reveal anything detailed," Plutarch says, brushing him off.
"Let's cut to the chase, Plutarch," Haymitch says, interrupting the conversation. "You know none of us have any interest in doing this. You must have known that before you came here. What do you have on us to get us to do it?" Plutarch takes a deep breath before speaking again.
"Well, I will be blunt with the three of you. We've been very kind, thus far, in terms of restraining the press from interfering in any of the remaining Victors' lives. There are hoards of press crews, none of which are under the direct control of the government, who have been aching to come find you all and pester you with questions, requests for interviews, and photographs. We've been doing our best to corral them all for your benefit, but it's still not always within our control. I know that one photographer found Johanna Mason up in District 7. Unfortunately that man ended up leaving the interaction with a black eye, but he did get his picture." I smirk a little bit at this, proud of Johanna
"We've been putting a great deal of effort into restraining the very eager press, but there is a limit to what we can do, and the desire for information on you all is great. Going through with one controlled public appearance will likely make the rest of your lives a lot calmer and easier, as some of that desire will be sated. And, to be frank, there is no need for the Communications and Entertainment Council to spend as much time and effort protecting you all as we are. If you'd prefer, we could easily scale back our efforts, and you could encounter the press directly rather than through us."
This is a threat. This is a threat and I want to send an arrow through his neck. I can only imagine he's made this same threat to every other Victor, and my chest hurts thinking of poor Annie, vulnerable and confused. I am furious at this man in front of me.
"I assume you all don't want that, do you?" Plutarch asks lightly. When none of us respond, he takes it as a victory. "Good. Now, how about we just set you all up for a five day visit to the Capitol? You'll travel there by train with other Victors, as well as some heroes such as your fellow remaining Star Squad members."
"Two," Peeta says. I turn my head to him.
"Sorry?" Plutarch says.
"Two days. We aren't staying there for five days. You don't need that long." Plutarch mulls this over for a moment before responding.
"Three," Plutarch says. "I think that three days should be long enough to get what we need."
"Fine," Peeta says, making no effort anymore to hide the anger in his voice.
"Good," says Plutarch. "Are we in agreement then? Katniss, Haymitch?" I turn to Haymitch but when I see him say nothing I know that he hasn't found a way for us to get out of this without risking press in every single aspect of our lives from here on out. If he hasn't, I can't. So despite every fiber of my being willing me not to, I nod.
"Excellent!" Plutarch says, back to his jovial self. "Well, then, the train will arrive at district 12 in two weeks or so, and you'll head to the Capitol to be prepped and readied for the festivities." This all sounds so similar to the Games that I want to vomit. The three of us say very little as Plutarch gives us some remaining instructions. When he takes the hint that we're done talking, he readies himself to go.
"I'm very glad we've all been able to work this out," he says, standing by the door. "I'll see you three in two weeks." Plutarch leaves, shutting the door behind him.
"Fucking shit bag," Haymitch curses the minute the door is closed. He gets up and starts raiding our cabinets, looking for any bottle of liquor he might have stashed here at some point.
"Is there any way we can get out of it, Haymitch?" Peeta asks, a slight tinge of hopefulness to his voice although his face looks doubtful.
"Don't think so," Haymitch says, finding a bottle of white liquor and taking a long swig. "Not unless you want press practically in your goddamn bedroom. I think he knew all of that before he came here. He made sure to come prepared."
"This is ridiculous," I mutter under my breath.
"Tell me about it sweetheart," Haymitch says, taking another gulp of his liquor.
"It's so fucking unfair!" I say, loudly this time. "After everything we've fucking done, and they can't even just leave us alone." Haymitch just shrugs his shoulders.
"It seems that even better governments don't have a full understanding of what 'fair' is, sweetheart," Haymitch says apathetically. "I will say, though, it's clear that he overplayed his hand on the jail thing. It was obvious that Paylor didn't give him any authority to say that shit, and I highly doubt she ever would. She likes you, and she actually has a brain, unlike Plutarch here. I wouldn't worry about it."
I wasn't, really. Honestly, of all of the aspects of tonight's conversation that have been swirling around my brain, I've hardly been worried about Plutarch's threats to have me thrown in prison. It just doesn't feel like much compared to the immediacy of having to face the spot where Prim died.
"I don't even know how they came up with this," Peeta mumbles. "I mean, they think they've got some fun plan, and it's really more effective torture than they could come up with if they tried." Haymitch laughs dryly at that, but Peeta's words strike up a memory within me.
"Haymitch," I say, my voice quiet now. "You don't think Effie could have had something to do with this, do you? It's just, when I talked to her not too long ago, she was saying that she could find ways to get us involved if we wanted. I told her no but I didn't really emphasize how much we didn't want it, she might have misunderstood." Haymitch's face falls a little bit.
"I'd like to think that Effie has more sense than that," Haymitch says, although he doesn't sound certain. Almost as if on queue, the phone rings. Peeta gets up to answer it, knowing I'm not in the state for that.
"Hello?" he asks, his voice tiered and unenthusiastic. "Oh, hi. Yeah, I'll give you to him." Peeta turns to Haymitch. "It's her," he says, holding out the phone.
"Princess, you've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do," Haymitch says as he takes the phone, and I hear Effie's high pitched rattling start off on the other side. I can't make out her words but Haymitch is silent for a long time, and a small smile creeps onto his lips.
"I believe you princess, I believe you," he says after a while. "And I'm sure the kids will appreciate it. We all appreciate you helping." He exchanges a few more words with her before hanging up.
"Well?" Peeta asks.
"She just found out, about an hour ago, and she's furious," Haymitch says, his face showing a grin that seems entirely at odds with the state of anger he's describing. "She called my place first and then figured she'd call here when no one picked up. Apparently no one asked her for input on this, which she thought was completely ridiculous both given her position and the fact that she knows all of us. She says she tried to talk them out of it but Plutarch had already made up his mind. But she's promising to act as an escort for you two again, saying she'll do everything she can to make it the least painful it can be." I smile a little bit at that. There is really not much that Effie can do to make this better, but I'm proud of her loyalty and grateful for her friendship. It's something, at least, to have one person in the Capitol who is wholly and completely on our side.
Haymitch takes another long swig from his bottle, tilting his head back to empty it.
"Well," he says. "I'm going home. It's time for me to pass out and you kids don't have enough liquor here for me to do that. I'll see you tomorrow." He heads out, leaving Peeta and I sitting in silence.
"How are you feeling?" Peeta asks me. I think that question over for a second. It's a simple question, but so many different emotions have gone through my head tonight that I'm not really sure what the answer is. I've felt anxiety, sadness, shock, anger, but none of those are quite the right word for how I'm feeling right now. No, my real answer is much more pathetic than any of those feelings.
"I...I'm scared, Peeta," I say, my voice small. "I don't know how...I don't know how to handle seeing where it happened. Where she died." I feel a tear start to slip down my cheek, and Peeta moves closer to me on the couch and wraps me in his arms.
"I'm scared too," he says. "Terrified, actually. But I'm going to be there for you in every way I possibly can, and I know you'll be there for me too. That counts for something."
The two of us just hold each other for a long while, taking comfort in the closeness and trying to fight the fear away, as if somehow the two of us being a unit protects us. It does, I guess. At least a little. I find myself crying some more and Peeta strokes my hair. I can tell he's being honest when he says he's scared too, and I feel bad making him take care of me through his own fear. I know that no matter how distraught I'll end up being when we get to the Capitol, I need to do my best to be there for him, because he's going to be in a ridiculous amount of pain too.
After a half an hour or so of holding each other and crying, Peeta convinces me to head upstairs. I'm still physically anxious and visibly shaken from everything; my hands can't seem to stay still and he can feel my accelerated heartbeat.
"Why don't you take a shower?" Peeta asks gently. "Warm water might help calm you down." I nod, and Peeta heads into the bathroom to turn on the water for me. I follow him in and begin undressing. When the water is warm I step under the stream, and it does feel nice. Peeta turns to leave, but I stop him.
"Peeta?" I ask.
"Yeah, Katniss?"
"Come in with me?" I say, begging him with my eyes. Peeta nods and undresses quickly, stepping into the shower with me soon after. Within moments our arms are wrapped around each other again, and the two of us embrace under the warm flow of water. It's not sexual right now, or even particularly romantic. It's just that I need to feel the warmth and steadiness of his body to keep me here, and I know he feels the same. We stand there, together as one unit, and try to let the water wash away our fears for the future.