Ricochet

Chapter 34: What it takes to break

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.

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"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers." —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

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Wait. That was all that Peeta was allowed to do.

Again.

When Beetee announced they found Katniss's location, that was the day he began to breathe again. From that moment he couldn't allow himself to miss a single detail, nothing that could make or break her safe return home. He talked his way into every Command briefing, every strategy meeting; short of sharing lunch with President Coin every day, there was no way he could be more informed than he already was.

Whenever he wasn't in meetings, he was training. He was already an okay fighter, and had been commended on his reflexes, but the rest of it (shooting, in particular) didn't come easy to him and he hadn't been giving it all the effort he could give it before. He did his best within that one week to be as up to par as any other soldier in his unit; he knew he would have to be approved for combat by his CO before being allowed to join the rescue squad, and he wanted there to be no doubt that he was ready when the orders came.

Except they never did. "Too emotionally involved," was the official reason they gave him when he kicked up a fuss, but he thought it was crap. Gale got to go on the mission, and they all knew how close he and Katniss were. Or, well, they knew Gale and Katniss were best friends since they were children. That had to mean at least some level of "emotional involvement" even to these serious, military types.

(Of course a husband would rank as more "involved" than a best friend, and not for the first time Peeta felt like kicking himself for coming up with that story. But then he remembered that those propos were perhaps the only reason why Katniss was still alive, and he couldn't bring himself to regret it).

Finnick had tried to explain the reasoning behind it to him. They didn't know which state Katniss would be in when they found her, so they needed someone on the mission that she could recognize and trust, to make sure she wouldn't reject them or even attack them, if the situation came to worse. Finnick said if he couldn't be there himself to get Annie out of that hellhole, at least he knew he could trust Johanna to do whatever had to be done. It was supposed to be some kind of comfort to Peeta, but the fact remained that someone else went on the mission to bring the girl he loved back, while he was left behind. Again.

That was unfair to Finnick. Having the District Four Victor around really was somewhat comforting, he had to admit. It might not do much to help his anxiety levels, but it was reassuring to have someone he could empathize with, at least. It made him feel like less of a sucker.

When they found out that Finnick's Annie was being held in the same facility where they were holding Katniss, Finnick had all but promised Peeta his firstborn if he could help him make sure the squad to rescued her as well. Not that he needed to even ask; Peeta knew Annie was an innocent, and he could never be okay with Katniss being rescued at her expense. So he and Finnick, along with Haymitch, actively campaigned to have Annie added to the squad's list. Or, well, as "actively" as Haymitch could manage. The forced sobriety hadn't exactly made him more amenable to other people.

They were surprised by the fact that it didn't take much effort on their parts. But soon enough Peeta understood that was not because Coin felt any sort of pity for her, but because Annie Cresta was one more Victor in the "this is what the Capitol does to the people they claim to like; imagine what they would do to you" list. And Coin wanted to have as many of those as she could get on her side. Not people, just figureheads. Poster children for a rebellion that was sounding less and less humane by the day, and that bothered him greatly.

But he could at least see Katniss come back safely. Maybe even that very day.

The brass had spent the entire last two days ensconced with Coin in Command, and none of the Victors, not even Haymitch, were allowed into their sessions. Purely tactical, they said. Peeta wished he could at least hear what they were discussing, know how certain their chances were of getting Katniss out of the Capitol's clutches unharmed. His only source of information at the moment were the daily mission reports, and they didn't really disclose that much. On the other hand, this also meant he didn't have to attend training, and that meant he had a lot of free time to think. And worry.

The mission report that morning announced that the squad was slated to go in at sundown that day. He wasn't sure if that meant sundown their time or sundown Thirteen time, but either way he had resolved to wait down at the hangar. Madge had approached him after breakfast to let him know she could have him moved to the second dinner shift if he wanted. His feelings were probably completely transparent to everyone at that point, if Madge had recognized his plan to wait in case the squad made it out quickly and were able to get to Thirteen later that night. Or maybe she had the same thought herself. Either way he appreciated the gesture, though he wasn't planning on having dinner, really, in either shift.

Finnick had joined him about an hour into his vigil, and there they sat, backs against the metal back wall of the hangar, as the sun went down. They were mostly silent, Finnick knotting and unknotting his trusty rope while Peeta tried not to lose himself in worst case scenarios. After about the fourteenth time Peeta shifted his position to make himself more comfortable, Finnick glanced his way, a barely-there smirk on his lips. "Here," he said, and extended the hand that was holding the rope toward him. "It'll help you relax."

Peeta looked down at the piece of rope, wondering how such a thing could help him at a time like this. Finnick seemed to misread his expression, however, because he commented: "I can get you one of your own some other day, but for now just use mine. Look." He showed Peeta a few easy knots (he knew a lot more than they had been taught in training, that was for sure), and then handed him the rope again.

The blond stared at the object with hesitance, not certain what good it would do. But he figured if it worked for Finnick he might as well try it, so he started knotting and unknotting, just as he saw Finnick do. It took him a few tries to get his first District Four knot right. He had to admit it at least distracted him from the numbness in his legs and butt from sitting too long.

After a few more minutes of being quiet, save for some tips on how to make the knots better, Finnick deemed him competent enough and leaned his back against the wall, closing his eyes. He let out a deep sigh. "You look a lot calmer than I feel," Peeta commented, frowning down at the piece of rope in his hands. If that thing had some sort of magic power that calmed people down, he should've asked Finnick about it weeks ago.

The older man let out an unamused chuckle. "Oh, believe me, I'm worried sick," he admitted, sounding casual at first glance, but Peeta could tell he really meant it by the way he faltered a little on the last word. "But I know there's nothing I can do right now, so it won't do to stress myself out to an early grave before I get to see her again."

Peeta nodded. He understood, though he thought it was easier said than done. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this... all this waiting," he admitted as he struggled to untie the last knot he made. Finnick didn't respond. He didn't even open his eyes. "Hey, Finnick," he started again. Now that the silence was broken he didn't really want to go back to it. "What you said the day of the bombing... about how Snow can use the people we love to hurt us... is that what he's doing with Annie?"

Finnick slowly opened his eyes, his expression darkening as he did. When he spoke, his voice came out hoarse, like it was a struggle just to get a single word out. "Yeah," he said. Simple, sobering. "I'm sorry about that day, by the way," he said a heartbeat later, seemingly shaking himself out of the dark place his mind had run off to. "I... I panicked." He was still very serious, but not tense, as he pushed himself backwards to sit straighter against the wall.

"It's okay," Peeta replied. He didn't blame him for being scared, so really there was no apology needed.

Finnick turned his head to look at him. "How much have I told you about Annie?" he asked. When Peeta relayed what little he knew about the girl, Finnick took a deep breath and continued speaking. "Well, after she won her Games, she went back to Four and lived with Mags. It wasn't a good idea for her to be alone, and Mags was the only person I trusted to care for her."

"Why didn't she live with you?" Peeta asked. As far as he understood, Finnick and Annie's relationship was the real deal. They loved each other, had for quite a while, and they both knew it. Surely they were past the idea of living in separate residences, after so many years.

"I have to... I spent most of my time in the Capitol. I was only in Four a few weeks at a time," he responded, almost like he was trying not to say too much. Peeta was about to ask why that was, but Finnick seemed to anticipate the question with a shrug. "It's the price I had to pay so they'd leave her alone."

Peeta thought maybe he understood what he meant. Being a Victor was a very big deal, and there were always rumors going around that the Capitol made the most use of any talents they might have, whether they wanted it or not. Haymitch had never really gotten much attention from the Capitol because he was a drunk and an embarrassment, but he'd seen more than enough glimpses of Finnick on television through the years to know the man pretty much lived with a camera crew following him around. That couldn't have been easy.

He had to admit, initially he had thought Finnick was nothing more than an unrepentant player, what with the endless rotation of women by his side and the way he seemed to enjoy the attention. But now he almost felt guilty for thinking that way; knowing that all that time, all he wanted was to be back in Four with the woman he loved, meant that surely those Capitol flings were nothing more than a chore imposed on him. A pretense.

Did everyone who was touched by the Games end up having to live a lie? Even he was, and he wasn't a Victor.

"It was worth it, though," Finnick continued, snapping Peeta out of his reverie. "Every time I went back home, I only got a short time with Annie before I had to go back to the Capitol... Moments. Just moments. But those were the moments I lived for."

That, Peeta could definitely understand. He remembered the last time he spoke to Katniss, how beautiful her smile had been, the very first smile she ever gave him. How warm her pillow was, that night they slept on the same bed on the train, and how it smelled like her, just as he imagined the fresh air in the woods might smell like. How her silver eyes grew softer whenever she spoke about her sister.

Yes, the small moments. Those were the ones that let him know all this waiting was worth it.

"And when news came that they had captured her," Finnick continued, apparently not noticing that every phrase he uttered resonated with Peeta, "I just..." He sighed again. "Annie's circumstances are not exactly the same as Katniss'," he finished, somewhat disgruntled.

Peeta scoffed. "Yeah, because Annie didn't piss off the President of Panem on national television."

"Hey, you knew she was a firecracker when you went and fell in love with her," Finnick retorted, pointing a finger at Peeta, mock-accusingly. Peeta almost wanted to say that he didn't; after all, he fell for her that day he heard her sing, and he barely knew anything about her back then. But as his crush grew, over the years, he began to notice her fiery personality and that only made him love her more. So he thought it best to remain quiet.

Finnick shook his head. "No, what I meant is... they can't possibly get anything out of Annie, not like they can with Katniss. They kept Katniss alive because they needed her for something. But there's nothing Annie can do for them. She's not... she's not well enough to do anything for them." He ran a hand over his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes for a second, like he had a headache. It was only the second sign of nervousness Peeta had seen from him that day.

"I don't know if you know this, but since her Games, she hasn't been... quite there. Mentally, I mean." Peeta frowned as he thought about that. The very few times he'd seen Annie on television, she'd seemed almost skittish, as if she was expecting the wind to pick up and blow her away. And whenever the cameras focused on her, she appeared to be staring off into the distance, like she wasn't really aware that anything was happening around her. Was that what Finnick meant? "And I've never told her about any of this," Finnick continued. "About the rebellion. I wouldn't put her at risk like that."

"Then why did they take her?" Peeta asked the obvious question.

"Because they can," was the Victor's reply. He swallowed hard, like his throat was suddenly dry. "I would do anything for Annie. Anything. And Snow knows that. If they can't stop what we've set in motion, then their only way out is to bring us down. Each of us, one by one. If there's one thing Snow knows how to do, it's destroy lives— trust me on that one." He paused, with a grimace, and once again Peeta wondered what Finnick's life had really been like. Of course, having to be in the Hunger Games was a horrible ordeal, no doubt about it, but whenever the man let these little bits of information slip, Peeta got the feeling his grudge against Snow was a lot more personal than that.

Finnick continued speaking. "He's holding Annie's life in his grasp because the uncertainty and fear might just be enough to break me." With that, he turned to Peeta, his expression grave. "It's just the same with you and Katniss," he said this like it was a fact. And for Peeta, it was. "So... what would it take to break you, Peeta Mellark?"

Peeta considered the question; every possibility lodged itself in the bottom part of his heart, heavy so that it felt like he couldn't breathe. So many horrible things could happen to Katniss, so many fears that had crossed his mind since the moment he last let her out of his sight, that he couldn't fathom one thing being worse than the other. Every second Katniss was away from him already felt like the straw that broke the camel's back, and his soul was so weary he felt like things couldn't possibly get any worse, even though his mind assured him it could.

It was an impossible query to answer, and he could see Finnick wasn't expecting him to. "I..." he started, now feeling like he was the one with a knot in his throat. "I'm just... I feel like I've been on the edge, ever since I got here. Maybe even before that."

"In what way?" his fellow rebel asked, not confused or curious, like he had no idea what Peeta meant, but instead it was like he understood; like he knew there were so many things, so many feelings that could be pushing him to the brink at that point. Too many.

He shook his head and tried to explain. "It's like... I'm just angry. All the time. It's... it's so strange, feeling this way. I'm not like this, usually. At all. But so much stuff is happening and I can't do anything about it, and it's just... it's killing me." He shrugged lightly before adding: "And the worst part is that I don't even know who I'm really mad at: Snow, Coin, myself... everyone."

He turned to look at Finnick out of the corner of his eye. The bronze-haired man wasn't looking at him; he was looking down at his hands in his lap, as if he missed the weight, texture and security of his piece of rope. Still, Peeta could tell he was listening. He offered no comment, because how could he attempt a solution for the problem when Peeta himself couldn't suss out his own mess of emotions? But he was listening. And that was okay, because that's just what Peeta wanted: someone to listen. He didn't know what Finnick had been through and he wasn't going to pry, but he was glad he decided to open up to him about this. He needed to get it off his chest, and if anyone in Thirteen could understand, it was Finnick.

He took a deep breath and spoke again. "I... I can hardly remember a time in my life when I didn't love her," he admitted. People said one can't miss what one never had, but the heavy feeling in his heart begged to differ. He would give anything to just know Katniss was alive. That she was okay. That she could be happy. "And I don't know what I'm going to do if anything happens to her." His voice thinned out, as if saying the words alone was enough to make it real. The sound still echoed off the stone walls of the hangar. "So... maybe I'm already broken."

Finnick let out an unamused chortle at that, but not in a way that made Peeta feel that he was making fun of him, or mocking the way he felt. He moved forward, leaning away from the wall and leveling his weight against his knees, before clapping a hand on Peeta's shoulder. "You're not, man. Believe me, if you're worried you may be... then you're not."

Peeta wasn't so sure, but he appreciated the sympathetic gesture nonetheless. Finnick sighed, sneaking a look at the clock that was high on the wall a little to the right of where they were sitting. "The second dinner shift's almost over. You think this is going to happen tonight?"

"I don't know," Peeta responded, resigned. "But I don't think I could eat until we know something."

"I get you," Finnick shot back, with something of a flinch. "I'm not feeling too hot right now either." It crossed Peeta's mind that this might be the first and last time such a phrase ever came out of Finnick Odair's mouth, but he didn't mention it out loud. Neither of them were really in the mood for jokes.

They sat there, in silence, for a few minutes more. There wasn't much more to say; it was just a question of when those doors would open and that hovercraft would land, hopefully bringing the girls they loved back to them. The quiet remained until a metallic-sounding motion broke it; unfortunately for them, it didn't come from the hangar doors, but from the elevators in the back of the room. Footsteps came closer until Cressida's tattooed, spiky-haired head poked around the corner. "Hello. I've been looking for you all over. Should've known you'd be here."

The two of them turned to look at her, attentive. She could bring news from the squad. "Thought I'd let you know not to wait," she explained. "There were some inconsistencies with the guard rotation, so they decided not to go in tonight. You might as well just go back inside. They'll try again tomorrow."

Peeta didn't know how to feel about that. On one hand, he had the certainty that nothing had gone wrong, and Katniss could still be rescued. On the other hand, it was one more day she had to spend in captivity, and most likely in suffering. But from what little he'd been allowed to see of the strategy meetings, he understood if they had decided to postpone the operation, it was because it had greater chances of success the next day. This was a good thing, or so he kept telling himself.

Cressida had turned to Finnick while Peeta was busy making these mental observations. "Finnick, if you're still up for that propo we were talking about last time, we were hoping maybe we could film it now." In reply, Finnick ran a hand over his face and then nodded, making a show of standing up and stretching. He let Peeta know he didn't mind if he came to watch the filming of the propo. He'd been around for enough of Peeta's, anyway.

The blond shook his head. "Nah. I want to go to bed early, to be well-rested for tomorrow. Besides," he looked up at the clock on the wall, "if I hurry up, I can still make it to dinner. Now that I'm not worrying about the mission, it hit me that I am actually pretty hungry." With that, Finnick patted Peeta's upper arm as if saying goodbye, and followed Cressida back to the elevators.

Peeta did manage to get down to the dining hall before dinner was over. He picked up the last of the potato salad and a couple of (not very good) dinner rolls. He tried his best to ignore people's stares as he made his way around the tables. He waved hello to Greasy Sae— he liked the older lady and admired her dedication to helping out; she usually had kitchen duty during the first shift so she only got to eat in the second one. But that was the extent of his interaction with people... he was too distraught to deal with pity or compassion at that point. He decided on a table to the back of the room and sat down on the side facing the wall.

He was about halfway done eating (and the rolls were really, really not good— he knew he'd never get used to it, and that was saying a lot as he'd been living on stale bread for most of his life), when he heard someone approach his table. "Hi, Peeta," came a soft, if slightly squeaky voice. A familiar one, though he hadn't heard it in a long while.

"Oh, hi... Delly," he found himself replying. For a moment he had been aggravated by the mere fact that she had approached him— if there was anyone in the whole country who was the epitome of unsolicited compassion, it was Delly Cartwright, and he didn't know if he could deal with that at the moment. But that feeling was fleeting; Delly was his friend, and he'd known her since childhood. He knew she was just such an inherently happy person that whenever she saw someone who wasn't, her immediate reaction was concern. And it was such genuine concern, he would hate to hurt her by rejecting her presence.

"Um, can I sit with you?" she said, with a small smile, gesturing to the chair right beside his. Peeta assented, and so she sat, pushing the chair forward so she could lean her elbows against the table.

He noticed she didn't have any food with her, and thought this was curious. "Why are you down here this late? Do you usually eat in the second shift?" he asked her. This would explain why he hadn't seen her around much since the refugees from Twelve got in.

She nodded. "Yeah. Well, sort of," she amended quickly. "I should be in the first shift, but my boyfriend isn't. Um, he's apprenticing in plumbing?" She posed it as a question, maybe because she wasn't sure if Peeta knew her boyfriend or not. He didn't, so the extra information was welcome. "Anyway, he's scheduled for the second shift, so I asked Madge if she could change mine... you know, discreetly," she added, in a sheepish tone. Peeta almost snorted; that was probably the most mischievous thing Delly had done in her entire life.

She chuckled before continuing. "We were almost done when you came in. I told him to go on while I said hi to you..." She laid a hand on Peeta's forearm, which was still holding onto his table knife. "We haven't spoken in a while."

That was true, and it made him feel guilty. He'd caught glimpses of her in the corridors, and waved hello a couple times, but he was always busy going in and out of meetings and training and such, so he never got a minute to talk to her. Now he felt bad about that. She was his oldest friend, and he'd been so preoccupied with... everything... that he hadn't even given a thought to the fact that she had also just gone through something traumatic. Some friend he was.

"You're right," he cleared his throat, "I've been busy." She gave him a look, and he could almost hear her think Understatement of the Century, because of course she'd seen him on television and standing with the higher-ups and being called to Command. But he wished he could tell her it had all been nothing but a lot of waiting. "So, how have you been?"

"Good," she responded with another nod. "Well, at least as good as I can be after... after what happened back home." She ended the sentence abruptly, and Peeta knew she didn't feel comfortable bringing up the bombing. He couldn't imagine what that must've been like.

From the way her expression fell and her eyes watered, he knew without a doubt that she had lost someone that day. "Your family... did they..."

She blinked a few times, as if to keep the tears at bay. "Uh, well, my brother made it out," she explained after a bit of a pause. "Luckily neither of us were in town when it happened. My parents didn't make it, though," she finished, looking understandably somber.

He put his fork down on top of his plate and put his hand over hers, where it rested on his left arm. "I'm so sorry, Delly," he told her, and of course he meant it. The Cartwrights had been some of the nicest people he'd ever met, friendly and supportive and generous, and several times when he was growing up and his mother's ugly side reared its head, he had wished he could be part of their family instead of his own. He knew how much Delly loved them, and they didn't deserve to go that way. No one in Twelve did.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I'm sorry about your family, too."

He responded in kind because, well, what else could he do? After that they fell into silence— not a contemplative one, like it had been with Finnick, but actually kind of uncomfortable, which Peeta felt bad for. He'd never had any trouble talking to Delly... not before all of this happened.

He picked up his fork again but before taking another bite he wondered if he should ask her something else about her life in Thirteen. Maybe about her boyfriend? Her job? She had been a teacher back in Twelve and Madge had mentioned she was also working in the Education Department here in Thirteen. He should ask about that, but he felt the mood had shifted too far to go back to lighter topics. He was afraid he simply wasn't in the right frame of mind for small talk.

But just then, Delly solved his predicament for him. He really shouldn't have been surprised; Delly was who she was, and there was an inherent warmth to her that always shone through, even in the saddest moments. Perhaps especially in the saddest moments.

She sidled her chair closer to his and nudged his shoulder with hers. "So," she started again, sounding somewhat hesitant. "Should I be angry that you didn't invite me to your wedding?"

He looked at her, and for a second wasn't sure if she was joking. Her tone had sounded perfectly innocent, and the fleeting thought crossed his mind that she might actually be disappointed to not be included in what any regular person would consider a momentous occasion in a friend's life. But then he saw the amusement in her blue eyes, and realized she was only teasing.

And that's when it hit him. How absurd this whole thing was.

He couldn't help but laugh. It started out slowly, with just a few chuckles bubbling up as the words registered in his mind, but little by little the intensity grew until his shoulders were shaking to the point he started bending forward until his hair was nearly touching his food. By his side he heard Delly start laughing too, but he could barely see her because by then he was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes. And yet it wasn't hysterical; instead it was a mirth that felt like it came from the very center of his soul. It felt cathartic, maybe even more than his talk with Finnick had.

By the time they managed to calm down, the back of his head was throbbing painfully from laughing so hard, but he still wouldn't trade the feeling of relief he felt for anything. He wiped the last of the moisture in his eyes with the heel of his hand and, still grinning, he threw an arm around Delly's shoulder. "Oh, Delly. Please never change," he said, still a little winded. His friend rewarded him for that comment by giving him a bright smile and throwing her arms tightly around his neck.

He felt lighter, much lighter than he had in weeks. And it was then that he realized that he wasn't completely broken yet. Not by far. And because of that, he had to believe they'd rescue Katniss. There were no ifs about it, they simply had to get her back. And they would, he was sure of it.

One more day of waiting. Just one more day.

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Author's notes!—

Stuck in a characterization hole for over a year. Still trying to figure it out.

But regardless... no excuses. Here you go. Hope you like!