District 7
When Snow finished reading the card, Johanna screamed.
No, not out of fear – she would never give the sick bastard the satisfaction. Instead, it was a scream of anger; she let her body express most of the terror, turning tail and fleeing out of Jules' mansion and into the night. At her back, she could hear the old man ordering Blight and Connor to go after her.
But part of the reason Johanna had won four years ago was that she was fast. Her long, svelte legs easily outstripped a pair of 30-something, 40-something-old men, one of whom had a pretty significant drinking and cocaine problem. Johanna tore out of the Village and kept sprinting, past the lumber yards, over the bridges spanning the mills until she reached the towering redwoods, straining up to the sky and waiting for her with open arms.
By the light of the full moon, it wasn't long until she found it – her favorite stump.
The redwood it had once been had been harvested the season after she came home; by now, three or so years on, it was beginning to grow back again, a little. Johanna had to step on a prominent, bunched-out root to climb over the lip of the stump, and curling up into a ball, she began to weep.
In between her sniffles, in the distance, she could hear Blight, Connor, and Blight's husband calling her name with growing degrees of desperation and volume. She bunched her knees up closer to her face, careful now to sob more quietly. She wasn't in the mood to talk with anyone right now, and she knew these woods like the back of her hand. When she was ready to go back (though the desire to just keep running into the redwoods and making a go of it was pretty tempting), she would – probably by the morning.
She wasn't ready by the next morning. Johanna spent an entire day moping on that stump and feeling sorry for herself. And also expressing a yearning to hurl an axe blade right between Katniss Everdeen's eyes and cleave her too-pretty little face in perfectly symmetrical halves.
The morning after that, she was trying to talk herself into getting her legs – now lost of nearly all their circulation – to turn around and carry her back to the Village. When the sound of rustling leaves and crashing through the underbrush reached her ears, she figured that either Blight or Connor had resigned themselves to calling in the Peacekeepers to bring her back as a last resort. When she found out who it was, she'd give that person quite a tongue-lashing, then Blight would holler at her to get over herself like the queen that he was, and that would be that.
Except it wasn't the Peacekeepers come to collect her. It was the old man himself, astonishingly somehow still able to power his wheelchair without assistance. Even then, it was dangerous for him to have wheeled out this far, and on such uneven terrain.
Jules merely sent her a crinkly smile, and Johanna rued the day she had ever told him about her secret hiding place. A cup and saucer was balanced in his lap, the steam still wafting off the top.
"I thought I'd find you here." Jules chuckled as he came to a stop by the stump, craning his neck back just a little bit to see her properly. "Brought you some tea, in case you were thirsty. It is Friday, you know." Johanna wasn't sure herself how he managed it, but somehow the old man had talked her into stopping by his place for tea once a week. When she didn't deign to show up, he would simply wheel the cup and saucer over to her place himself. It was a credit to him that getting stood up for tea dates occurred rarer than not, and on the blue-moon occasion when standing him up did happen, he never took offense to it.
Johanna did her best to glower at Jules, but it was half-hearted. "Not in the mood," she mumbled.
Jules dramatically sighed. "Well, then I guess I'm just going to watch it get cold all by myself. Shame, really. If only this stump had an accessible ramp…"
Johanna snorted. "You could get one of the crews to try and carve you one, but then it'd be all ramp and no stump left to get up to!"
He chortled at this. "True enough."
A long pause, and then Johanna grudgingly climbed down from the stump and accepted the tea saucer. Her numb legs howled in protest from being put back to use, and feeling lightheaded after being seated for so long, so perched herself right in Jules's lap. She smirked cheekily. "I hope you don't mind if I'm too forward, mister. I'm a less-talk, more-action kind of girl."
Jules hooted, his laugh sounding like a grinding of gears. His aged eyes twinkled with mirth. "I'm flattered, my dear," and he gave her a saucy wink, slapping his knee. "Huh, this takes me back…. Vera was much the same way, before the drugs took her…"
Johanna winced, biting her lip. Vera O'Rourke, the only other female Victor from Seven, had passed away long before she, Johanna, was even born. She had heard stories though, of the 15th Hunger Games and how this man whose lap she now straddled had coached his first tribute to Victory. Were Vera still living, the Capitol might be planning a sixtieth anniversary interview to reflect on her Games (the sickos liked to do that sort of thing, when Victors reached milestones ending in a 5 or a 0, and especially if that Victor's numbered Games ended in a 5 or a 0).
Were Vera still living, Johanna would not be suffering from the quakes at the thought of going back to hell after only four years removed from it, guaranteed.
She wished Vera was still alive, even though that would have been unlikely. The very fact that the Victor of the 7th Hunger Games was holding her right now was nothing short of a miracle – most men in Panem, and particularly in Seven, were deemed very fortunate if they ever saw their eighties. Four years ago, Johanna's initial return to the district had blended right into Jules' 80th birthday bash, which was still judged fondly to have been quite the rave.
She even wished old Eamon Sullivan was still around, though by all the other men's accounts, the man who won the 42nd was a flaming asshole. Blight hadn't even cried at his funeral, and Eamon had been his mentor.
Despite these two losses, for an outlier district, District 7's existing pool of Victors was healthier than most. They would be dead even with District 9, their arena arch-rivals, but Johanna was satisfied that their total number of wins was still one more than Nine had racked up.
At least her choice of district partner wouldn't come down to an excruciating coin flip, like what they would get in Districts 5, 6, 8, 10 and 12.
"Why didn't you ever marry, Jo?"
Johanna bristled at this, squirming in Jules' lap as she snorted. "Never been the marrying type."
"Pity. I'd always hoped to see you married before I die." Manipulative bastard. But oh, how she adored him! At least in Village life, he was one of the few she could stand. Connor Murphy was all right, but Blight Gavin was a raging drama queen. And his husband – though not a Victor himself – was worse.
"Maybe I'll be the one called up this summer…"
"Like Blight or Connor would ever let that happen…."
"…. - then you'd have fifteen whole minutes to grab a fella in your holding room and stand before the Justice of the Peace."
"Ah, but you couldn't walk me down the aisle if you're imprisoned in your holding room."
Jules smirked. "True. Or maybe I'll just volunteer for one of the boys, and…"
"Don't you dare," Johanna snapped out through the hitch in her throat, the snarl masking the tears welling up in her eyes.
Old man and young woman sat there in companionable silence, listening to the twittering of the birds overhead.
"You'd make a beautiful bride, Johanna," Jules murmured.
"If you're that eager to marry me off, old man, maybe we should just get hitched."
He nearly choked at this, and the look on his face was priceless enough to make Johanna laugh musically. Laugh like she hadn't laughed in a long time. Even as she shook her head. "There's no one left I love, Jules," even as, staring down at him sentimentally, she knew she was lying. "Besides, what do I have to offer some guy?"
"A lot more than you think," Jules stated meaningfully. "If you would just open your heart."
"Bull. I'm a shrewish bitch."
"That reminds me – I was talking to Haymitch yesterday morning over the phone. Sounds like someone else I know."
Now Johanna glared fiercely. "If you're about to compare me to Little Miss 'I-Look-Like-I've-Passed-a-Kidney-Stone-whenever I-Kiss-Lover-Boy', so help me Panem…."
"I'm not."
"Yes, you were. So I'll save you the trouble: at least we know which one of us keeps their knees firmly closed." As soon as she said it, she wished she could take it back, for how it said just as much about her as it did about Katniss Everdeen. Jules was pursing his lips with intrigue.
"Any of these…. boys you've been with – they of the marrying type?"
Johanna snorted again. "Gods, no." To her, sex was a way to find company, to shield herself from the terrors of the night. A way to forget. Sex wasn't…. love.
She sighed heavily, burrowing her face into the crook of Jules' neck. Who could ever love a monster like her, except for this dear old man wrapped in her arms?
Johanna knew: no one. And since her life as she knew it was over anyway, it wasn't like she would ever have the chance to find out.
District 7 unwisely opened their Reaping with a close-up shot of Johanna Mason's face, and she was livid. She actually put a hand up in front of the camera lens, forcing the media to back off. They panned out, to show the three men and one woman being selected for death. Two of the men were now getting their arms under the third and hefting him out of his wheelchair to stand with dignity. At Jules's left was Blight Gavin, the terrible rogue who won the 52nd Games. To Jules's right was Connor Murphy – mid-30s and handsome, and whom Blight coached to Victory only four years after he himself won the Crown.
The escort considerately waited until Jules was stable before crossing to the girls' bowl. She made the selection quickly, but at least she had the justification that Jules might not be able to stand for long.
"Johanna Mason!"
Johanna promptly made a rude gesture at the camera, and the editors fuzzed out the image of her middle finger a second too late. The escort cringed and scampered to the bowl containing the slips for the men, probably moving quickly so as to get the hell away from her.
"Jules Elmer!"
The audio actually picked up groans and agonized cries coming from the crowd, but Jules held his head high bravely. "I have had a good journey in this life…. I am ready to go to rest. But mark my words: if this Quell is allowed to proceed…. Panem falls!" Jules said this with such passion, he momentarily lurched out of the grasp of his friends. Swaying dangerously, he started to fall backward himself, and Blight and Connor cried out as they barely caught him. Blight snapped his head to the Peacekeepers.
"He can't do this, for pity's sake, please!" When the officers were unmoved by Jules's advanced age, Blight swallowed hard:
"I volunteer. I volunteer as tribute."
Connor sent him a grateful look, but Jules tried to protest. "No, boy, leave me! I'm old, I've lived my life!"
"I volunteer, Mr. Head Peacekeeper!" Blight called, louder and more forcefully this time. Connor eased Jules back into his wheelchair as Blight stood beside Johanna, who tearfully mouthed to him, 'Thank You'.
It was several years later, and Johanna was in her bridal dress, swishing this way and that in the mirror. Behind her, Connor Murphy was watching her, arms folded and laughing.
"Will you stop scowling at your reflection like it's offended you or something? You look sensational!"
"Piss off, Connor," Johanna snapped. At Connor's side, Katniss – her Matron of Honor (a request that had shocked both girls) - nodded eagerly.
"He's right, Jo-ey: you look beautiful."
"What have I told you about calling me Jo-ey?" Johanna jeered, though the look on her face included the most passable smile anyone had ever gotten out of her, at least by Johanna's standards.
"I'm serious: Gale's a lucky man."
Johanna's lips upturned all the more at the thought of that impossible man she loved. "He is, isn't he?" She turned back to Connor, still smiling cheekily. "Well, Murhpy? Ready to help make me an honest woman?"
"You're never anything but honest, even when you were single, Johanna, and no mistake!" Connor blasted out, chortling. His smile turned sheepish. "Sorry you're needing me to substitute – I know you always wanted Jules to walk you down the aisle."
Johanna reared back, sparkling eyes huge. "Where did you hear that?"
"He talked about it a lot. It was a dream of his – a bit old-fashioned, I know, but… that reminds me…" And reaching into the pocket of his suitcoat, Connor pulled out an envelope and handed it to her. "This is for you."
Smirking at him bemusedly, Johanna took the envelope. Turning it over in her palm and recognizing the old man's scrawl across the top, her eyes went even bigger, and she tore it open. There was a long silence as Johanna scanned the contents line by line; by the time she had finished, she had a hand to her mouth to conceal her ugly, wracking sobs. Tears glistened and clung to her cheeks.
"When did he….?" She gazed up at Connor in wondrous disbelief.
Connor smiled at her sadly. "When you and Blight were in Training. He asked me to give it to you, however I could and whatever it took."
Johanna let out another, shuddering sob before folding the letter up and placing it with almost tender care into the folds of her dress. She breathed in deeply, trying to steady herself. "Tell me again. How it went down in the Control Center."
Connor nodded. "Katniss had just fired the arrow, and everything turned to chaos. Peacekeepers barged in, guns blazing. I was pushing Jules's chair out the back as fast as I could in the confusion; old Haymitch was holding the door for us. At one point, Jules yelled at me to duck my head down, and I did. I heard a bullet whizz over me, and it pierced the old codger clean through the temple. His chair tipped over, and I tried to drag his dead weight along, but Haymitch grabbed me and had to carry me out of there." He shuddered at the memory. "I just remember screaming."
Smiling wetly, Johanna reached out and tenderly cupped his cheek. "It wasn't your fault," she crooned, impossibly gentle, especially coming from her. Another cleansing breath to calm herself. Connor beamed emotionally as the music began to play; ahead of them, Katniss winked and began to stride down the aisle at the end of the bridal procession.
"Miss Mason…. Shall we?" Connor held out his arm.
She punched him in the bicep, smirking, before looping her arm through his. "Just get me down that aisle, Murphy."
And the two Victors from Seven glided into the chapel, guiding Johanna towards her future. Seeing Gale beaming at her as though she was the light of the sun, Connor's grin widened, and he leaned down to whisper to the bride:
"You know, I wouldn't be surprised if Hawthorne takes you right over the altar soon as you say 'I Do.'"
"Oh, shut up, Murphy, before I hack off your foot with an axe."
