Ricochet
Chapter 20: Training, part 2
Author: Carla, aka cali-chan
Rating: Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.
Genre: Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.
Pairings: Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.
Canon/timeline: Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of The Hunger Games. Katniss is 21.
Disclaimer: Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
Note: I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.
Summary: "Primrose Everdeen." This can't be happening, Katniss thought. She desperately pushed through the crowd. I volunteer!, she wanted to scream. I volunteer as tribute! But she couldn't, because she wasn't eligible for the reaping anymore. There was nothing she could do.
.
.
They had drugged her before she even got to ask about Peeta.
Her contact, a middle-aged woman called Jackson, injected some kind of sedative into her arm before she even knew what was happening and next thing, she was waking up in a couch at the safe house. Her commanding officer, Boggs, explained to her that it had to happen this way for security reasons. To say she wasn't happy about this was an understatement— more like she pitched a fit— but whatever demands she threw his way didn't seem to faze the old soldier.
She was so angry, for the first couple of days she attempted to completely remove herself from this plan. She couldn't go anywhere but she could refuse to do what they wanted her to do— given that her sister was still not out of the Games and Peeta was left alone in the Capitol, she didn't feel like she owed them anything, and after the stunt with the sedative, she didn't trust them as far as she could throw them.
Then Boggs cornered her, and explained about District Thirteen. She was stunned. She knew this rebellion was bigger than her, bigger than her plan to rescue Prim... but she had no idea, she couldn't even imagine the real magnitude of it all. An entire district, hidden underground for the last seventy-nine years? An active military, willing and ready to openly oppose President Snow's regime? It had been hard to believe before that a small group of people, even if they were Victors, could really do this— kill Seneca Crane? Sure, somehow they'd find a way. He was just one man. But bring down the entire government?
The existence of Thirteen changed things, and the conclusion was inevitable: it was not just rebellion. This would be war. A war that started with an offensive against the Hunger Games. Prim would get caught in the middle of it whether she knew it or not, and Katniss couldn't just let that happen.
Her fellow squad members weren't thrilled by her reappearance, as they were already inclined to look down on her because their entire role in this mission was to cover her back, like armed babysitters. Still, they had their orders and tried their best to get her up to date on all the planning.
She spent the next four days going over blueprints of the outside structures of the arena, as well as catering schedules, security rosters, and the like. She came to learn a lot about things she'd never even given thought to before. She didn't know, for example, that every year the Gamemakers had several different arenas lined up, and the final one wasn't chosen until after the Reapings, to increase secrecy. Nobody but them and the people involved in building them were in the know. Luckily, the rebels had an inside man who got them partial blueprints for the one that would be used that year.
They didn't have information about the arena itself, it was too risky, but they knew all about the outside structures. Those areas were only used during the first day of the Games; it was the only time the Gamemakers were on-site and according to Jackson, it functioned as a sort of VIP setting: people in the Capitol paid a lot of money just to see the Head Gamemaker press the button that rang the gong.
The area for the Gamemakers would be a tall construction, isolated from the rest of the guests, with guarded access. But it was surrounded by bay windows, from which arena activity could be monitored. The only way they could get to Seneca Crane was through those windows, when he stood up to release the tributes' platforms. So they had to know the structure not only of that specific area, but also the spectator boxes and the large network of service tunnels underground, to be able to get in and out unnoticed. They needed to know every detail about as well as they knew their own names, Boggs had said; it could mean the difference between success and failure.
The glass in the windows was specifically designed to withstand bullets, but arrows were heftier even if they were slower, which their weapons experts, whoever and wherever they were, had determined gave them a greater chance of getting through the glass and hitting their target. But arrows were seldom used for military purposes and soldiers in Thirteen were only basically trained in the use of crossbows, not to the level of expertise this operation required. That's why Katniss was the only one who could kill him: they were dealing with tough shooting conditions, a very small window of opportunity, and very few days to prepare. There was simply no time to train anyone else.
Whenever she wasn't in strategy meetings, she was down in the basement, practicing. She was used to her own bow and arrows and the ones Thirteen's weapons experts had provided were remarkably different, so she had to learn to use them. The bow was black, sleek, noticeably heavier than her father's (that one was made of wood, after all), but very well-balanced. Very elegantly designed, and also completely impersonal. The arrows were much the same, the combination of the two greatly increasing her accuracy even at longer distances.
Another good thing about spending all her free time practicing was that it kept her from thinking too much. She had no idea what was going on outside these four walls. They didn't tell her much; communication was restricted and shared only on a need-to-know basis. To keep herself from worrying to death, she had to keep busy, and training helped... most of the time.
Nock arrow. Aim. Release.
They were finally back home, to Twelve, her and Peeta and Prim. But when they made it to the place where the Mellark bakery usually stood, they found nothing but a pile of still-smoking rubble. When Katniss knocked on the door to the Undersee home, the Mayor looked at her for a moment, and told her nobody by the name of Madge lived there, she must've come to the wrong house by mistake.
She took off at a run for the Seam; it took her but a couple seconds. She made it to the Hawthornes' lot, and just as she was about to rush up the porch steps, she tripped, falling forward, forearms scraping against soil and grass. There was nothing there. No house, no Hawthornes.
She ran toward the mines. Miners were filing out after a hard day's work, Gale was among them. But just as she was about to take a step toward him, a blaze of fire and heat erupted from the entrance, destroying everything in its path. Engulfing Gale. The huge explosion rocked the mines, the Seam, the entirety of her district. And she knew it was her fault. All her fault.
Miss.
She shook her head, as if that could clear the images out of her mind somehow, and tried again. Nock arrow. Aim. Release.
She was back in the train, and Peeta was by the tracks, running alongside the cars, chased by two Peacekeepers. Immediately she knew she had to help him. "Peeta, get down!" She didn't wait for a response— there was no time— she just pulled her bow and arrow up to position, took a second to aim, pulled the string and let go, the arrow flying in the direction she intended. It hit the man right on his neck.
Not the Peacekeeper, but Peeta. His body dropped down to the ground and she felt a scream get lodged in her throat. She threw herself over the railing, stumbling when she hit the ground, and when she reached him she fell beside him, pulling his head onto her lap. The arrow was no longer in his throat but there was blood, so much blood.
"Peeta, no, don't die, please don't die," she repeated over and over and over, tears dropping from her cheeks and mingling with the blood that was pouring out of the wound in his neck and running over her hands and arms and legs...
"You killed me," he rasped out raggedly, face going paler by the second, eyes growing duller as the life drained out of them. "I saved you, you and your sister, and you killed me."
Her hands shook so bad, it was another miss.
She brought the bow down, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Before she knew it she was pacing. One, two, three steps to one side, turn around, and one and two and three steps to the other side. She needed to focus. Bad enough the nightmares were invading her mind at night, she couldn't let them get the better of her during the day.
She halted her steps and turned to the practice target. Once more. Nock arrow. Aim.
Finally she made it to her mark. Her squad assembled around her in protective formation while she took aim. She could see her target clearly. There was no confusing the man; she'd seen enough of him on television over the years. Even just the beard was unmistakable.
Her arrow flew, hitting the man straight in the chest. Fatal shot. He fell.
But the body that hit the ground was not Seneca Crane's. No, it was smaller, slighter, more delicate. Pale skin, billowy fabric, gentle curves and a curtain of long, golden hair that splayed around her form, getting tainted by the spill of dark crimson blood...
"NO! PRIM!"
She couldn't even shoot this time.
Holding back a growl of frustration, she dropped her bow and arrow on the metallic frame designed for them, and then sat down on the ground beside its feet, legs crossed. If she had been back home, this would be about the time when she would run to the forest and lose herself in the freedom of it all until she felt better, but there was no forest for her here. She wasn't even allowed out of the safe house. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh, leaning her head back against the metal.
She was so tired. She hadn't slept well in days. The last decent rest she could remember getting were those few hours she got on the bedroom compartment on the train before they arrived at the Capitol. Back then (wow, it felt like a lifetime ago) she thought it was because she was finally sleeping in a comfortable bed for once. However, her bed here was also fairly comfortable and even then she still had nightmares every night. They wouldn't go away.
Of course, her situation had gotten a lot more complicated since then, and her subconscious was compounding all her fears and worries and transforming them into horrifying images that plagued her sleep every night. There were so many things out of her control, so many things that made her anxious. She couldn't deal with it all.
The uncertainty of whether or not things were alright back at Twelve. The paranoia that she was most likely being hunted by the Capitol. The dread brought on by the fact that the day she would have to kill Seneca Crane was fast approaching. The paralyzing terror that Prim would have to go into the arena. And of course, the constricting guilt at having left Peeta behind, and having no idea what was going to happen to him.
She thought back to their last conversation, up on the roof of the Training Center. When she said she would come get him, she meant it. She hadn't been sure of this "let's convince them" idea, certainly not when she went to find him at the kitchens, but after hearing him say it, sound so sure that they could do it, she knew she wanted him by her side. In her head, she knew both Finnick and Haymitch had a point: bringing Peeta with her wasn't practical, and this wasn't her plan to alter, but she'd rather have him with her than not. Not just a person to watch her back, not just anyone, but him.
Maybe he'd already convinced her. He really was good at that.
It was... an odd feeling, for her. Some of the things he said were so idealistic, her rational mind hurried to dismiss them. She was not an idealistic person. The world they lived in was a cold, difficult place and she couldn't allow herself to dwell on unrealistic dreams, not when she had her family depending on her. But somehow when he brought up his ideas, he sounded so sincere and so open, she didn't know how to react to it, let alone respond. For her, being open meant being vulnerable, but in his case, it just felt like... like that was the way he was. She only knew one other person who was as open as Peeta was, and it was her sister Prim.
The comparison came too easily to her, even though she tried not to think too much about what that meant. Prim was the person she loved most in the world, and Peeta... Peeta was a good guy. A great guy, even. It surprised her when she first looked past her ingrained doubts and suspicions to recognize it. She'd never been interested in making friends, she didn't need more people to worry about, but she knew it would be a lie to say she didn't care about him on some level.
Or maybe it was because she still felt indebted to him. Not only for everything he'd done for her recently... perhaps it stretched further back than that. Perhaps their lives had been connected since the day he gave her the bread that saved her life. Since his gaze across the school yard helped her find survival in the first dandelion of the spring. That was something she could never shake, and if she was honest with herself, she didn't want to. He wasn't a boy anymore, but he would always be the boy with the bread to her, the one who'd taken a beating from his mother to help a starving girl when he didn't have to.
She'd never thanked him for that. She wanted to; she'd always wanted to, for almost ten years. She didn't like owing people anything, but what could she ever give him that was enough to repay such enormous kindness? The least she could do was convey how grateful she was, but she never did. It never seemed like the right time. And now there he was, risking more than just a bruise this time, again just to help her. The emotional debt kept piling up, she felt it almost like a physical weight on her shoulders.
She almost said it, that night on the roof. She had walked into the elevator, her hand still warm where he had touched it, even with the chill of the wind. She pressed the button for the second underground floor and readied herself to go back to the Avox quarters, but before she knew it, her arm was stopping the elevator door and she was calling out to him, a "thank you" hanging on the tip of her tongue. He turned to look at her and she opened her mouth to thank him, not just for that night but for everything... but the words wouldn't come out. So she blurted out something else, something easier. And now she may never get the chance to thank him again.
She wondered what he was doing right at that moment; was he still posing as an Avox? Was it safe for him there? She wondered what they'd told him about her departure— if they'd even told him anything. She wondered if his opinion of her had changed now that she'd left without him.
That was something else he idealized. He seemed to have this superlative image of her in his mind, and she couldn't understand why. It confused her. It was almost irritating, actually, because she knew she wasn't as great as he made her sound (quite the opposite, really), but once again he seemed so honest in his admiration of whatever good qualities he saw in her, sometimes when he said these things, she, who had never really cared what other people thought of her, found herself wishing she could live up to that image. She found herself wishing she could be the person she was in his eyes, even though most likely she would end up disappointing him— maybe she already had. He probably hated her now. She'd left him behind.
She hadn't meant to. They forced her. But that didn't make her feel any better.
She sighed. Nothing was going to make her feel better at that point, that much was obvious. The only option that had mildly helped was her training, so she stood up and, grabbing bow and arrows again, got into position and went for a few more tries.
As she was getting into her stance for a fourth or fifth shot, the door to the room opened and she immediately turned, arrow trained in the direction of whoever had just come into the room. It turned out to be Boggs, but could she be blamed for being jumpy? No way to know when someone was walking around with a syringe these days. To his credit, the man didn't even flinch. "Getting some practice in, Soldier Everdeen?" he asked, lifting a heavy case of sorts onto a metallic table stationed against a wall, a little ways away from the door.
She lowered her bow, reluctantly, but couldn't help but frown at being called by "rank." It was a Thirteen thing; apparently everybody over fourteen was given entry-level rank in the military, and referred to as "soldier" from then on. She'd told him and Jackson repeatedly that she didn't care for the title as she wasn't from Thirteen to begin with, but they paid her no heed.
She didn't respond to his question, but he didn't seem bothered by it. They were all used to her silence by now. "Come here, Everdeen. I've got something to show you." He started to open the case; it had a couple separate sets of locks. She acquiesced and moved closer to him, figuring it would be some kind of new information she'd have to study for the mission.
Instead, she was surprised to find that inside the case, nestled in thick, protective lining, was her father's bow, as well as her quiver with arrows she'd brought with her from Twelve. "I believe this is yours?" Boggs asked her, though she was sure her expression more than gave it away.
She stretched out a hand, touching the wood as her eyes traveled down the frame of the weapon, checking for any possible damage. It seemed to be in good condition, as far as she could tell. "You're giving this back to me?" she asked him, still a little shocked. "Why?"
He shook his head, just a little. "We know you've been having a rough time with everything," he started, and she wondered who "we" was. Him and Jackson? The entire squad? The rebels? "You won't be using it for our mission— that's what the black bow is for," he added, looking down at the weapon she held in her hand, "but it's always better to have something familiar with you."
Because, of course, that "something familiar" couldn't be my fake husband, she thought somewhat bitterly. Not that she wasn't thankful to have her father's bow back— she hadn't seen it since that night they got caught on the train, and with everything that happened she hadn't given much thought to its whereabouts, but the immediate comfort that surged in her just from seeing it again was undeniable. "If this is some kind of bribe to get me to adjust my attitude, it's not going to work," she sentenced.
He gave her a level gaze. "This mission is crucial for the rebellion. And immensely dangerous for us, and you as well. We will all have to put our lives in our fellow soldiers' hands, and for that, you have to trust us." He shook his head again. "There's enough tension in the battlefield as it is."
"Well, I'm not a soldier," she stated, cutting. "Trust has to be earned. And if you want to earn mine, you might want to start by actually telling me things," she emphasized the last three words, even though it seemed she had made this request a thousand times already. "I need to know what's going on outside."
Once again he was pensive as he stared at her, quiet for a moment as he apparently measured his words. She was just about to insist when he relented. "Peacekeepers have cracked down on Eleven," he started. He turned around and, crossing his arms, he leaned his weight against the edge of the table. It was the most relaxed she'd ever seen him— for once it didn't look like he had a pole up his back. "Because of your altercation on the train," he continued explaining. "They thought someone was trying to steal coal."
She frowned as she processed theis news. "That makes no sense." Peeta told her he'd seen the forklift driver leave so all the coal had to have been unloaded. How could any of it be missing? She knew there might be backlash because of the four dead Peacekeepers, they hardly needed to fabricate some kind of phantom motive...
Boggs smirked. It was a strange expression to see on his face, since he was always so serious. "Nobody would dare accuse law enforcement of being smart," he told her and, alright, that was a good point. "They are, however, very paranoid. They've been taking it out on the district ever since."
Her heart sank. "We never meant for that to happen." When they first came up with this plan, she never meant for anyone else to suffer because of it. Not her sister, nor Peeta, much less the poor people of District Eleven who probably had it bad enough even without adding this on top of everything. But of course, because they needed her for their plan, Cressida and her crew had never reported the incident as an attempt to stow away on the train, and the Capitol needed someone to blame, even if they had to fabricate a culprit.
He must've noticed how her face fell. "Don't feel bad. Things are bad for them now, but we don't plan on letting it go on for much longer." This time she knew by "we" he meant the rebels in general. "It actually worked out in our favor," he added, as if pointing out an obvious fact.
It didn't sit well with her, the idea of ever seeing innocent people suffering as a good thing, but she knew well enough by now that he, as most of the people involved with the rebellion, thought of such things in strategic terms. "What do you mean?"
He paused a moment, his eyebrows rising for a moment on his forehead as he contemplated something in his mind. "The people feel they're being treated unfairly, and they're rebelling."
Hearing such a thing admitted so casually startled her, and she turned fully toward him with wide eyes. "There's an uprising? In Eleven?" Not being very careful at all, she dropped the more advanced bow and arrow, which she had forgotten she was still holding, on the table beside the large case that housed her father's bow. The weapon clanged as it hit the metallic surface.
He looked down at her with something akin to pride. "Apparently a young woman from another district showed them that they don't have to take crap from Peacekeepers anymore." He nodded at her, and the idea crossed her mind that he might be stopping himself from giving her some kind of awkward salute. Instead, he clapped her shoulder lightly. "You're inspiring people, Everdeen."
She remained silent, trying to take it all in. She hadn't really understood, when Finnick Odair told her she was "the face of the rebellion," how it was even going to work. But somehow, it had. The rebels had spun her moment of desperation into a sign of defiance, and it paid off. Somehow she wound up being an "inspiration," when she never intended it.
One thing was for sure: this revolution, this war, was looking more and more plausible by the second.
Boggs pushed away from the table, dropping his arms from their crossed position as he did. "I'll be going into the city tomorrow. Need to get in contact with some people." She knew he wouldn't be more specific than that; he might be willing to tell her some things now, but that didn't mean she could know everything. Some information was still classified, she understood. "I may be able to check what's been happening with your husband."
She nodded, appreciative of his offer. She needed to know that Peeta was okay, what they were planning to do with him. Anything was better than nothing. "And my sister, if possible?"
He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "We'll be hearing from your sister soon enough," he assured her.
As if on cue, the door opened again and another member of her squad, a woman in her late twenties she had come to know as Leeg 2, poked her head in. Well, from afar she thought it was Leeg 2— she and her sister were nearly identical, so she couldn't be sure. "Uh, Commander," she said with a nod in Boggs' direction, stumbling over the word slightly, as if she hadn't been expecting to find him there. Then she turned to Katniss. "Everdeen. Thought you'd want to know your sister got a seven." She paused for a second only to make sure they had heard her, and then she went away.
Boggs seemed impressed. He was looking her way as if it had been her being assessed instead of her sister. "Seven. Huh. Not bad," he muttered. Then he gave her another nod (she understood by now that was how military people greeted each other in more informal situations), and moved to the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts again.
She closed the case that held her father's bow, being careful to close the locks correctly. She pushed it further back on the table until it was against the wall, then picked up her Thirteen-issued weapon. She wasn't done with her practice set yet.
Boggs was right; a score of seven was pretty good; it was in the range of scores the Gamemakers usually gave tributes that didn't have impressive offensive abilities, but could at least survive in the arena and escape from danger if they had to. That was precisely what she had wanted for Prim. At the very least, it told her she'd be able to hold her own... until the rebels got her out.
This was really happening. A real revolution. It wasn't just some crazy, impossible idea anymore. She could really get to see Prim again.
Boggs returned two days later. Katniss was relieved when he told her Peeta had been moved out of the Training Center and into a secure location much like the one she was in. They were afraid he could be recognized just as much as her. She was glad to hear that he'd be okay, but the news also made her feel even guiltier: when she came to know about the rebels using her outburst to incite insurgence in the districts, she hadn't even stopped for a second to think that Peeta might've been in the clip as well. And what about Gale? Could they recognize him, as well? That, Boggs couldn't say.
Another big relief was that when Boggs came back, he brought a portable computer with him. She had never seen something like it before; the only computer she'd ever seen was in Mayor Undersee's office, one day she'd made her way to the Justice Building looking for Madge. She'd been impressed then, but looking back that one was big and clunky, with several separate parts; compared to the sleek, simple model Boggs carried with him, the Mayor's computer was a relic.
Boggs' computer would allow them to watch the Tribute Interviews as they aired live. It took a little while— they missed just about the first half of the interviews, which Katniss was put off about because those were the Career districts and the biggest threat to her sister— but eventually they got everything set up in the common room. As Caesar Flickerman made his appearance on screen, Katniss found herself sitting on a tough couch, sandwiched between Homes and Leeg 1.
"Well, Govi," Flickerman, in all his lime-green glory, asked the girl from Ten. "Let me just compliment you on the dress you're wearing. It is quite... fetching," he finished suggestively. Of course he had to say that: the girl was wearing nothing but some sheer, glossy fabric and strategically placed strips of leather. Clearly, they were pushing the sexy angle with her, even though Katniss had mentally labeled her as "threatening" despite her fairly good looks. Most of the squad seemed to agree with her assessment.
"Eh, the dress works for me," Mitchell commented off-handedly from his position on a side chair. Clearly he had forgotten he was mostly surrounded by women, because he seemed surprised by the four repulsed glares he received. Five, actually, because even Boggs sent a cross look in his direction. Sure, she was dressed up to look alluring, but the tribute from Ten was, what, seventeen? While he was well into his late thirties. Thankfully he had enough sense not to mention anything about Thirteen needing to bulk up their population numbers, because that would've cemented him as a total creep.
She didn't even pay attention to the boy from Ten or the two from Eleven; for her it wasn't soon enough when finally Prim got called to the stage. She was wearing a white dress with a high waist (Jackson called it "empire style," though she said she had no clue which empire that was), and slightly puffy cap sleeve. It was such a pure shade of white it even managed to contrast against Prim's pale skin, making her face seem rosy and healthy. The bottom of the skirt, flaring slightly out at her knees, was lined with little blue crystals, the exact shade of her eyes, in the shape of flames. When she moved and her skirt waved around her legs, they would shine with the light, reminiscent of the fire that surrounded her the day of the parade.
Her hair was loose, flowing over her shoulders with very delicate waves in it; she'd never seen Prim's hair styled that way before, but it looked soft and shiny. So innocent. She also noticed almost absentmindedly that she was wearing high heels. And make-up. Like a woman.
Katniss pulled her feet up on the couch and wrapped her arms around her legs as Prim came up to shake Flickerman's hand. She was smiling brightly and even waved a little at the crowd. She vaguely heard the others comment on how natural she seemed. That was good, but Katniss knew her, and she could see the nervousness hidden in her eyes.
"Welcome, Primrose," Caesar greeted as they both took their seats. The applause was only starting to wind down.
"Please, call me Prim," she replied, giving him a soft smile. "It's an honor to be here." Of course it wasn't, and she knew Prim wasn't naive enough to be dazzled by the sparkle and splendor of the Capitol and let herself forget that they were simply fattening her up for slaughter. Still, she had an image to present to the sponsors.
"Prim, then," Flickerman replied, with a nod and a very plastic smile back in her direction. There was a short exchange where he told her she looked lovely and she gamely replied that she thought his hair was very dashing, which the audience seemed to gobble up. As far as they were concerned, it was like Caesar and Prim had been friends forever; the man was really good at drawing out the best of each tribute. "You come to us all the way from District Twelve," the host continued speaking. "Tell me, how are you liking the Capitol?"
"Oh, it's been great. Everything's so beautiful here," she responded. It hurt a little to hear her say that, because she knew it wasn't true— how could her time at the Capitol be great when she was away from everybody she loved, and in mortal peril? She could see it behind the waving and smiling. And then, almost like she could read her thoughts, Prim added: "The food is really good. I almost wish my sister could try it, she would've loved the food. She always says it doesn't matter what food tastes like as long as it's food." That was true; Katniss could remember plenty of instances when she reminded Prim that any food was better than no food. "But I know she would've loved it," she said, stretching out the word "loved" in an enthusiastic manner. Then she lowered her gaze toward her hands in her lap, and Katniss knew that last remark had been just for her.
I'm here, she wanted to scream. She wanted to grab her and hug her, and never let her go. I'm watching you. You're doing amazing. I'll save you. Wait for me. But of course, she was only watching through a screen and Prim could never hear her.
Caesar seemed to notice her change in mood. "That's right, you have a sister," he said. Most of the Capitol probably had no idea of that fact, given that the clip of her punching Mendel had only aired in the districts. Caesar visibly flinched, though he dismissed the movement by pretending the stage lights hurt his eyes for a second, but Katniss didn't miss it. She figured he was probably directly instructed to avoid talking about Prim's sister.
Prim nodded. "She's older than I am," she added before Caesar intervened, a little wistful. "She's the best sister in the world. I love her more than anything." Katniss covered her mouth with one hand— she was biting her lip so hard she might draw blood, so she had to find another way to keep quiet. Out of the corner of her eye she could see almost every single member of her squad turn to look at her none too subtly, but she ignored it, focused only on Prim.
There was a clear "aww" from the crowd, and Caesar looked at her, seemingly sympathetic. After a pause, though, his expression turned mischievous. "I hear you have someone else waiting for you back home. Someone special, maybe?" Caesar asked, clearly eager to stay away from the topic in question. The hint was clear.
His tone was clearly teasing and she responded to it beautifully, a rosy blush immediately appearing in her cheeks and spreading to her chest, standing out against the white of her dress. "Yes, my boyfriend," she admitted, smiling though her posture was a little timid. "We've been together for a long time. We were actually thinking of getting married when... when we were out of the Reapings," she added, her voice cracking a little as her smile dropped.
The audience reacted accordingly. It was common for Flickerman to ask about boyfriends and girlfriends in these interviews, but few of the tributes had plans this serious for their relationships. Usually they wanted to seem completely detached (it made them seem unemotional, more threatening) or on the coy, just-having-fun side (which made them seem younger, with a world of options ahead of them).
Katniss felt her heart grow heavy at her admission. Obviously it wasn't a lie; she knew Prim and Rory had been thinking about marriage for a while— Gale had repeatedly told her as much. But this was the first time she heard her sister actually put it in words, and she wasn't sure how that made her feel.
Flickerman took a hold of her hand and almost consolingly lamented that the Games had put a damper in her plans. She shook her head and assured him, in a tone more confident than Katniss would've expected, that she'd just have to make sure to win so she could go back to him. Caesar took that as his cue to go back to his usual line of questioning. "And may I ask how exactly do you intend to make that happen? Say, what is the one thing you have over the other tributes?"
She was very serious as she replied. "Well, Caesar, let's just say I'm the only one here who really understands how immense the number is of ways a human being can die." And then, making use of what was left of her three minutes, she proceeded to give examples of what she just mentioned. Plants which, if ingested or put in contact with the skin, could make a person bleed out of every orifice in their body... Certain spots which, if hit correctly, could make a person hemorrhage internally before they even realized they'd been hit at all...
The audience responded to that perfectly, every single person in the crowd going almost eerily quiet. The contrast of Prim going from soft and sweet and looking like an angel one moment, to cold and clinical and talking about death the next stunned them all into silence. It was chilling. Katniss thought it was brilliant. It was hard to hear her innocent sister talking that way, but it was a brilliant strategy nonetheless.
Caesar was still flummoxed when the buzzer went off and he had to welcome Twelve's boy tribute to the stage. He was wearing all black except for the blue trim in his suit jacket, which she figured would be striking with his Seam appearance, but the people barely paid attention. Flickerman asked him only superficial questions, which was a good thing because the boy didn't seem inclined to respond in anything but monosyllables.
"Forgive me for saying this, Everdeen," Homes commented once the broadcast was over, "but your sister is creepy." She turned to look at him with a frown and he hurried to qualify: "I mean, she's adorable and all, but... she's creepy." He emphasized the last word so hard, it came out as three syllables instead of two.
Boggs saved him from being on the receiving end of the mother of all scowls when he moved to close and unplug the computer. "Alright, that's enough entertainment for tonight." The way he said "entertainment" made Katniss believe he thought it anything but, which she was grateful for. "Everybody get some sleep now. You'll need it for tomorrow."
It wasn't exactly an order, but everybody complied anyway. Katniss went to bed, hoping the nightmares wouldn't plague her that night. Boggs was right, she needed the rest.
After all, their mission was a go at 0600 hours the next day.
.
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Author's notes!—
Sorry about the delay, guys! Writing action is kind of my Achilles' heel, and that was pretty much all there was to chapter 26, so it took me a while.
Oh, Katniss. When are you going to realize that it's not the bed, but the company? -SMH- Meanwhile, I would not recommend going around shooting arrows at bulletproof glass. It won't work in real life, unless you, like Katniss, have a dedicated weapons expert (y'all know who he is by now, right?) making you uber-awesome, extra-oomph, eat-you-heart-out-Hawkeye arrows. And: "Govi," the name I've given to the female tribute from Ten, comes from the Hindu name "Govinda," which means "seeker of cows." Govinda is a male name, one given to the Hindu God Krishna, but I made up Govi from that.
I'd like to take a moment to reply to Maya, who left me a very insightful review last chapter, but unfortunately she left it anonymous so I can't reply directly:
All I can say about Peeta is: you're actually pretty spot on. He is at this point still operating on the feelings he's had for Katniss since he was five. Katniss has told him a couple of times that he doesn't really know her, and she does have a point. But worry not, this fanfic is far from over (faaaaaar from it), and there are plenty of "life altering" situations coming up that will allow his feelings to mature.
Katniss being the "face of the revolution" is not about her killing Peacekeepers. In the books, she didn't become the Mockingjay because she was famous (not just because of that, at least). It was because she defied the Capitol (with the berries), and she did it where the people of the districts could see it. That pushed the discontent that already existed into action. Similarly in this fic, she'll be the face of the revolution because she defied the Capitol (by punching Mendel and refusing to give up Prim) and the rebels just happened to catch it on tape, so they can use that. It's not an exact parallel, but I don't intend it to be exact, just similar. More on that coming in the future.
Anyway, in other news: as of last chapter, this fic has hit over 200 favorites and over 400 story alerts. You guys blow my mind with all this support, you really do. I'd love to hear from each one of you, though! Hint hint, comments and reviews are always welcome. :3 I hope you all liked this chapter! Next one's Madge, for those of you who were waiting for her. ;)