Ricochet
Chapter 35: The uncertainty
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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It was a very loud sound that finally pulled Katniss out of her chemically-induced stupor. In the back of her mind she knew it could only be an explosion, but even so it sounded muffled to her ears, as if she were submerged in water, and even though her instincts were screaming at her that this wasn't normal, she couldn't will herself to move. It was as if her mind could recognize some upcoming danger, but her limbs simply couldn't respond to that message.
More explosions followed, as well as intermittent clanging sounds she dimly recognized as gunfire. The sound of hurried running in front of her cell she only distinguished because her ear was resting against the concrete wall. She didn't know how long it had been since the sounds started, but it felt like a really long time to her. She closed her eyes. She felt like her head was full of air— like she was floating on a gas bubble, and although nothing hurt, being completely numb wasn't very pleasant either.
Some indeterminate amount of time later, she heard a screeching sound, like something heavy being dragged against the ground. The noise grated on her ears. A door? Is that a door opening? A moment later she felt something— someone?— grab her by the shoulders. She wanted to run away, but she couldn't. Her body wouldn't respond. And then, through the muddled maze that were her disjointed thoughts, a voice broke through.
"...atnip? Catnip, can you hear me? Damn it, please be okay."
She recognized that voice. At first she couldn't tell who it was, but she knew it was someone familiar to her. She felt hands lightly patting her cheeks as if to get her to open her eyes, and she wanted to, she really wanted to, to get to see the person, but it took so much effort.
The person— a man— kept trying to get her to react for a minute, his hands momentarily at her wrists, cold fingers against her neck, and while she couldn't piece together why that was, part of her simply knew he was checking if she was okay. If she was alive. Was she? She wasn't sure.
She only managed to open her eyes, half-lidded, as he picked her up in his arms. Her head lulled back against his shoulder and she could see the olive skin of his neck, and dark hair peeking out from under his helmet. Catnip, the word finally hit her. Only one person ever called her that. "G— Ga—" she attempted to speak, but her throat was rough, perhaps from screaming so much, or dehydration, or perhaps for being quiet for so long. "G— Gale...?"
"Easy there, Catnip," he murmured her way, the vibration from his deep voice careful but comforting. "I've got you. And I'm getting you out of this hellhole."
She wanted to nod, but she didn't have the strength to do so, and her eyes closed again of their own accord, pulling her into the confusing limbo of unidentified sounds and sensations she'd been in earlier. She felt a jostling sensation that she recognized as him starting to move, and she could tell from behind her closed lids that wherever they were, it was more illuminated than before. Had he taken her out of her cell? Were they outside?
She could pick out one more sound from the sea of noise that surrounded her: echoing steps. Close, probably. "Oy, Hawthorne!" came a second voice. Higher-pitched. A woman. "They need you back at Cresta's cell. They can't get the lock open." There was a pause, and the steps halted as well. "Okay, she's in one piece. What's wrong with her? Did they mess with her brain or something?"
"I think she's drugged up," Gale replied, and only then did the thought cross Katniss's mind that the woman might've been talking about her. Was that why she couldn't move, could barely understand what was happening around her? Had they drugged her? Gale continued speaking, oblivious to the spinning thoughts in Katniss's head. "And I'm not going back in until I know she's safely out of this place."
"Well, I'd rather be back getting Annie out but I'm not one of the brains, now am I? You are," the woman replied in an urgent, snappish tone. She felt Gale's hold on her tighten. "We don't have time to argue. You let me know which way to take, I'll make sure she gets out. You go back to the cells."
Katniss zoned out for a second but she thought Gale must've agreed with the woman, because next thing, there was something solid under her feet again. She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't hold her up, and she slumped back against a smaller, thinner body. "Take the 5a, then the 35 and then the 21," Gale said, from somewhere beside her. "Should be clear." Then, steps— heavier this time.
She felt her arm being pulled and propped against something as someone else's wrapped around her waist, holding her up. "Does Goldilocks know he's mooning over this one, I wonder?" the woman muttered under her breath. "Because that can't be a fun place to be in." Katniss barely heard it, and couldn't respond even if she had known what the woman was talking about.
They moved through what felt like very tight corridors, Katniss being more dragged than helped up; her legs were too weak and too twitchy to coordinate appropriately, and she was little more than dead weight. She kept fading in and out of consciousness, with only brief moments of clarity, in which she wondered where she was, where Gale was, why he had left her, where she was being taken and by whom. "Wh— Who...?" she attempted in one of those halfway-to-lucid moments.
She felt the woman's hair tickle her face as she responded. "Oh, you know who I am, I'm sure," she said, almost patronizingly. "But don't worry, I'm not about to hack at you with my axe... yet." Katniss wasn't aware enough to take her words seriously, if she had even meant them that way.
She faded out so deep that she barely felt the jostling of their movements, but eventually the brightness of the light outside permeated through her closed eyelids. The must have covered a long distance, as she could hear noise again. Running. Screaming. Shots.
She heard the woman curse under her breath. "You better be worth all of this, Brainless," she said, and Katniss felt herself be hastily lowered down to the floor, her back against something freezing cold. That was as much as she could register before she found herself awash in a sea of confusion. And then, darkness.
When she finally came to, it was with a start. Breath ragged and heart in her throat. She tried to place her surroundings but everything looked different, and she had a hard time sifting through disjointed flashes of memories; the whole thing must have been real— pain, too much pain for it not to be— but at the same time it could've been just a horrible nightmare. Both choices were terrifying to her.
She looked around at the grey walls— not cold concrete, like in her cell, but rather cold metal. Her vision was no longer hazy from the drugs but she still felt so weak, she could barely raise her head to inspect her surroundings. It was only when Gale leaned into her field of vision that she realized he was there, by her bedside. And that could only mean they'd gotten her out.
Gale answered her question without her even having to ask; he knew her that well, he could tell from the expression on her face. "Hey," he started. "You're safe. We got you out. They can't hurt you anymore, Catnip." She wished she could feel reassured. She was glad to see him, to a point that the relief was like a physical wave spreading through her soul. But no matter how hard she tried to tell herself that it was over, that she was safe, it felt like a temporary respite; she still couldn't shake the feeling that she was going to die.
She tried to ask him what happened, where they were, but she couldn't; if her head felt like a train had rolled over it, her throat felt ten times worse. He noticed. "Don't try to talk," he told her, opening and then handing her a bottle of water. "There were explosions. The medics said you inhaled a lot of smoke, and your throat might be raw for a while." He helped her sit up, carefully so she wouldn't pull out the IV that she noticed was hooked to her forearm, and then sat beside her, telling her everything.
Prim was alive. Unconscious, but alive. So were Peeta, and Madge, and Gale's family. But Twelve was gone. Snow razed it. Burned it to the ground. She didn't have a home anymore.
Her entire district was gone, and it was her fault.
District Twelve had not been part of the rebel movement. They didn't have any sort of organized insurgence. They didn't even know Thirteen was still out there. They had simply been going about their lives, forced to watch the horror of the Games on television every night, hoping to survive to see the next day. There was no reason to eliminate them. No reason at all, save for the fact that they had borne one stubborn girl who was so scared of losing her sister that she punched a Peacekeeper and unknowingly set off a rebellion.
She didn't know what to make of Thirteen, and the idea of being thrust into such an unknown made her anxious. Maybe that was unfair of her. Her fellow squad members had all been strong, brave people who gave their lives for a cause they believed in while Katniss could do nothing but cower in a cell; they had done nothing to arouse her suspicions and neither should their home.
Also, from the way Gale talked about the place, she could tell it meant a lot to him— and she could imagine, to the rest of her fellow District 12 residents— that Thirteen had given them shelter and food when their own district was obliterated. As far as she could tell, all the survivors were being treated fairly and were now living in better conditions than they had been before. She should feel grateful, too.
Except she didn't. She could still hear President Snow's words bounce around in her mind: They're not doing this to help you, or they would've done so decades ago. She couldn't help but ponder on the veracity of that statement. In her experience, people didn't do things for no reason; Thirteen had extended a helping hand to the people of Twelve, but what did they want from them in return?
These thoughts weighed heavily in her mind even after Gale left so she could "rest up," which she knew was just an excuse; spending who knew how many weeks under sedation had given her enough rest to last a lifetime, and they both knew it. It was just a way for him to let her process all this information on her own. It must've been clear from her expression just how overwhelmed she was.
But the more she thought about everything, the more she hoped not to have to think about it anymore. She was out of Snow's clutches at last and the rebellion was happening with or without her. She didn't care what Snow did. She didn't care what Thirteen's intentions were. All she had to focus on at the moment was Prim, and getting her back to health no matter the cost.
She felt the hovercraft land and dread started building up in the pit of her stomach. What if she was placed under arrest under suspicion of collaborating with Snow? What if they determined the deaths of her squad mates were her fault? What if the people of Twelve blamed her for the bombing? None of it was too much of a stretch. And what if they told her there was no way to wake Prim up? What if, despite everything that happened, she finally made it out only to see Prim die either way? She couldn't handle that. She couldn't.
She stayed like that, sitting up in the little bench, knees pulled up against her chest, as people started making their way out. She could hear the medics loudly detailing patients' conditions over the sound of stretchers being wheeled down the ramp of the aircraft; Gale had told her a few of their soldiers had been injured during the operation, including Johanna Mason, who was the woman who got her out of Snow's prison.
The hubbub quieted down after a few minutes, but Katniss didn't move from her position until a medic popped his head in and offered to help her out. Gale had been called to an emergency debriefing she likely wouldn't see him again until later, but the medic had been assigned to take her to the infirmary and make sure she got looked at by a proper doctor. She didn't have much choice except to comply; she couldn't very well stay holed up in the hovercraft forever.
And so, she walked out of the craft, trying to stubbornly lean her weight more on her IV pole than on the medic. She had just taken the last step off the ramp and onto solid ground when she finally looked up and around the place— and there he was.
Peeta.
Their gazes met across the room, and her feet halted on their own just as his started moving forward. The hangar was far from empty; all around she could see soldiers reuniting with their families, medical personnel giving quick check-ups to those with non-severe injuries, and a throng of onlookers who seemed to be there for no particular purpose other than to sate their curiosity. But she kept her eyes on Peeta as he nudged people out of the way to get to her. The closer he came, the better she could see his eyes, wide and blue and swimming with some unidentified, intense emotion.
He came to a stop a few feet away from her, looking her over as if reaching for visual confirmation that she wasn't hurt in any way. She held her IV pole a little tighter. She had no idea what to say to him. Perhaps she should tell him how relieved was to see him again, to know for certain that he was still alive and well; or demand to know how he knew so much about her past and why he put himself on the government's radar just to help her. Perhaps she should thank him for getting her sister out of the arena, or simply pretend she'd never seen that video clip and greet him with a silent nod like she would any other acquaintance.
But none of these things ever left her mouth. It's like the words were stuck in her throat, and he wasn't saying anything either. Was he feeling the same awkwardness she was feeling? She couldn't read his expression. He was just staring at her, and it made her feel uncomfortable, like his gaze could somehow scorch her skin as it swept over her.
Finally, he took a wide step forward, a breathless "Katniss," which she barely heard over the murmur of people around them, falling from his lips. She opened her mouth to attempt to say something— anything— but her intentions were cut off as he threw his arms around her shoulders, drawing her close to him.
Her entire body tensed, her heart rate speeding up. In the back of her mind she felt the medic let go of her torso, but her grip on the IV pole was so tight she remained steady, or perhaps that was because Peeta was supporting her weight with his embrace. He was holding her tightly, so tightly, and he was warm. She felt warm. Warmer than she'd felt in weeks.
His head lowered against the side of hers, and she heard his voice in her ear. "I'm so glad you're okay," he whispered, with such emotion held in those five words that his voice shook. And then she felt something wet drop against the skin of her neck— he was crying— and the thought hit her that he really, truly, must have meant every word he said in that propo.
She found herself releasing her white-knuckled grip on the IV pole, and her arms wrapped around his waist almost of their own accord. She closed her eyes and hid her face against the crook where his neck met his shoulder. For the first time since she was captured, she felt safe.
It was only when they separated that she saw the cameras.
There wasn't much time to say anything else even if they'd wanted to, because she was taken to the hospital bay, so she could get a proper medical examination. Peeta, as her "husband," was allowed to be there, but once the doctor declared there didn't seem to be any urgent threats to her well-being, he excused himself, saying he needed to "go pick something up." She was glad he wasn't there, though, as the physical examination was more thorough than she expected, and it was bad enough that she had to get partially undressed in front of the female doctor.
She was declared healthy enough not to need to stay in the medical bay, but she was warned that she was partially malnourished and they recommended she keep the IV treatment twice a day in order to regain her strength back. She simply nodded to whatever the woman said; all she wanted was to see her sister.
Finally she was led to a room just off the side of the medical bay, and there Prim was, prostrate on a hospital bed, her blond hair fanned out around her on her pillow. Katniss rushed to her bedside, a trembling hand stretching to touch her sister's face, hesitant because she was afraid this was all a dream and the moment she touched Prim, she would disappear. All through her captivity she'd been plagued with nightmares of losing Prim; it wouldn't be the first time her subconscious taunted her this way.
But this time it was real. The tips of her fingers touched the young woman's brow, no longer soft and smooth as it had once been, but prickled with little scrapes that had to have been serious if they were only just healing, but at least she was there, out of the arena, where she couldn't be hurt anymore. "Why hasn't she woken up?" she asked, her throat still rough.
The doctor launched into an extensive speech about physical injuries, brainwave patterns and stimulus response that Katniss didn't even try to understand. She simply stood beside Prim's bed, lightly running her hands through her sister's hair and watching her breathe, filling her soul with the reassurance that she was alive.
It was only when the doctor paused that Katniss snapped back into attention, and that was only because Haymitch spoke up. "Better that she's not awake, I'd say. Doesn't hurt if she's out." The older man was sitting on a chair by the wall, feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on the corner of Prim's mattress. She hadn't even noticed he was there as she came in.
She had the urge to kick his feet off Prim's bed, with the excuse that it was disrespectful, but in truth she just didn't want to have to deal with Haymitch yet. She knew she'd have to, eventually, because he was the one that had gotten her involved with the rebellion in the first place, but she resented that, and at the moment she just wanted to hold onto that resentment. As it was she limited herself to scowling at him, before turning to the doctor and asking: "Would she be in pain? If she was awake now, I mean."
The doctor only pondered the question for a second before responding. "Not right at this moment, no. Most of her physical injuries have already healed or are making good progress. When she was first brought here, however, yes, it would have been very painful for her to be awake."
Katniss frowned. That didn't make any sense to her. If Prim was physically okay, then why was she still hooked up to all of these machines? "If she's healed, then why haven't you tried to wake her up?" she asked, almost accusingly. She couldn't help it; it hurt so much to see her sister this way, so fragile.
The doctor looked down at Prim's chart, which she held in her hands, for a split second before addressing Katniss again. "The human brain is a complicated organ. Even with our current levels of technology, there's still a lot about it we can't understand. Your sister's heart was weakened by the current she was exposed to in the arena, and we think that is why she hasn't come out of the coma on her own yet: her body is protecting itself from outside stimuli her heart might not be able to handle yet. We've stopped trying to wake her up chemically, and it was decided the best course of action was to try and ease her into waking up by herself via the pacemaker."
Before Katniss could ask anything else— what did she mean by "weakened," how long it would take for Prim to wake up, what her condition would be like when she did— the door to the room opened, and two people walked in. The first was a severe-looking woman with sharp, clear eyes, gray hair in a stiff haircut, and wearing a no-nonsense pantsuit and shoes that clattered loudly against the floor as she walked. "Madame President," she heard the doctor address the woman, and she understood she was about to meet Alma Coin, the President of District Thirteen. Somehow she hadn't imagined her looking quite like that from what Gale had mentioned about her.
The second person was Madge. Her blue eyes widened when they fell on Katniss, and for a second she looked like she was about to rush toward her and hug her, too, but she didn't. Instead, she lifted a hand to her chest— signaling some kind of emotion Katniss couldn't quite pinpoint— and smiled at her brilliantly, if a little tearful.
If the President noticed Madge's reaction to her presence, she didn't say, but she still looked unmoved enough to present a stark contrast to her friend. Katniss could remember Gale mentioning that Madge had recently taken the position of Coin's assistant; clearly this visit was not a social call.
"Miss Everdeen," Coin started, "good to see the mission concluded satisfactorily." It was obvious the comment was a forced pleasantry rather than a genuine welcome; not good to see you're alive and well or good to have you with us, but instead, Katniss was merely physical proof that her squadron of soldiers had done what they were supposed to do. "I trust the doctor here has already informed you of your options regarding your sister's treatment."
That last phrase caught Katniss's attention. She had options? "The doctor was just telling me the best thing was to wait for her to wake up on her own," she said, looking from the President to the doctor, who was now pursing her lips as if she disapproved of the turn the conversation had taken. "Is there any other possibility?"
The doctor spoke up, her lips twisted in a grimace around the words. "Like I said before, your sister's physical condition is as good as can be expected after the healing period she has had since she was brought here. The best-case scenario would be for her to wake up on her own, but her heart should resist regular stimuli by this point, despite its weakened state. The chance is still relatively high that we may be able to keep her condition stable even if we induce consciousness chemically."
"What does that mean?" Katniss asked, the explanation being too technical for her to comprehend.
"It means we can wake her up, if that's what you prefer," it was Coin who clarified. "No procedure is completely safe. Your consent is required for any further actions that may imply a risk."
"How high is the risk?"
"Given her latest test results," the doctor explained, grave but confident in what she was saying, "I estimate her survival probability to be between seventy-five to eighty percent if we conduct the procedure in the upcoming weeks. Those are better odds than most patients with her initial injuries get."
Katniss wasn't convinced. Eighty percent still meant there was twenty percent chance Prim might die in her hospital bed. But then the doctor added that there was no way to guess the chances of her waking up on her own— she might wake up the next day, or it might take her fifty years. Or perhaps she'd never wake up. She was physically healed enough that there was nothing critical to stop a positive upturn in her condition, she said, but they couldn't know if there was brain damage until she woke up. If she woke up. When it came to the human brain, there were no certainties.
"If you would like to go through with the procedure," the doctor added, "we would need to know as soon as possible. There are certain preparations we need to make before we can attempt to induce consciousness, adjustments to her medication and intravenous treatments that will take a few weeks." The woman paused for a heartbeat. "I know this is a lot of to take in, and you can take some time to think about it, but please don't take too much time. If we wait too long, the coma might deepen so much that the chemicals could be rendered ineffective."
It was an impossible decision. Wake Prim up and risk her dying, or let her stay in a coma she might never wake up from? It was overwhelming— the situation as much as the amount of information they'd thrown her way in just a few minutes— and she was expected to pick a choice so quickly? Her head swam, a throbbing in her temple from a headache that had only gotten worse since she arrived. It was almost as bad as being back in sedation, except this time it hurt.
She looked around the room for someone, anyone, to tell her what to do. Haymitch was looking down at the bed, serious, a marked frown marring his features. When she turned to look at Madge, her friend's blue eyes let her know she was about as torn as Katniss felt. The doctor looked concerned, which Katniss appreciated, while Coin looked nothing except expectant, like the situation wasn't truly life or death.
But then she looked down at Prim; at her sweet, soft face, her fair skin and golden hair, and couldn't help but wish she would open her eyes. She wished her sister could hug her, welcome her back, and laugh, and talk about the patients she had healed and ask about her stupid cat and just be the beautiful girl she always was. She needed that. She knew she had to make a decision.
Years of taking care of her family, of not knowing where their next meal would come from, had taught Katniss to trust her instincts, especially that of survival. It wasn't always easy to find something to put on the table, but she always kept looking for ways to do just that. Taking action was better than despairing at the uncertainty. And this was no different. "Start preparing her," she finally said, her voice wavering more from the fear than because of her sore throat. "I don't know yet if I'll decide to wake her up, but you can at least start preparing her now."
The doctor nodded and started writing something down on Prim's chart, while Coin assented verbally. She started typing something out in the electronic device she had wrapped around her wrist. "Miss Undersee, authorize a 25% increase in the medical budget to include any tests needed for Primrose Everdeen's recovery." Madge nodded. "Please go with the doctor and ensure that the appropriate requisitions are input as quickly as possible."
"Yes, Madam President," Madge replied, and with a light nod to the doctor, the two of them left the room to work on that request immediately. Madge gave Katniss a small smile over her shoulder, which Katniss couldn't return at the moment because she still felt agitated from everything that had just happened.
She had a feeling that sensation wouldn't go away anytime soon, as Coin took a step further into the room instead of walking out as Katniss had expected. "I'd like to have a word with you about the rebellion, miss Everdeen," she stated, straight to the topic she had clearly wanted to bring up from the beginning. Her tone was no-nonsense to the point it had Haymitch straightening up in his chair.
"What about the rebellion?"
"We have been making progress in the districts the government has already cracked down on, like Eleven and Eight," she expanded at Katniss's request. "The ones that have been punished don't need any further push into action, and have severed ties with the Capitol. In the case of the districts that are still dependent on the Capitol, they require more... convincing, let's say, to ally themselves with our cause. I'm sure you've seen at least some of our propos."
Her mind immediately went to Peeta's interview, and how his seemingly heartfelt account of his feelings for her hid a message of sedition underneath. "We have determined that we need to give the districts is a symbol to rally around. Someone to inspire them to take the leap. Give a face and a voice to our message. And that must be you."
Katniss swallowed hard. Did they intend for her to join the fight? Did they want her to film propos like Peeta had? She would be horrible at it. Weren't her disastrous interviews with Caesar Flickerman proof enough that she couldn't be convincing if she tried? She thought of Cinna, and felt her guilt returning in full force. The only thing she could do in front of a camera was make a fool of herself, and get people hurt because of it. This was not a good idea. "Why me?" she asked.
Coin didn't hesitate. "Because you started this," she stated, and Katniss flinched. It all went back to the moment she punched the Peacekeeper, and how she wished she could go back and undo it. "Because something about you rattled Snow enough that he felt he needed to contain you," she continued speaking. "Whether he meant to or not, he made you important. That is why you must become our Mockingjay."
Mockingjay. The significance was not lost on her. Mockingjays were a symbol of rebellion all on their own— proof that the Jabberjays, muttation experiments that were disgraced after they lost their usefulness, had not only survived but thrived even when the Capitol intended for them to die quietly. It was the same for her: the Capitol took her sister, the most important person in her life, and expected her to simply take it and fade away like just another victim of the Games. But she didn't. And Coin wanted the people of the districts to be reminded of that, to be inspired by that to do the same.
But she couldn't. She wasn't a leader, she wasn't a symbol. Half the time she didn't even think before she did things, she just reacted in her desperation, and that's what led her to this point— it was all a string of failures, not some kind of extended appeal for attention. Surely they had so many people working on these propos, so many other ideas. "I'm not the one you need," she replied, shaking her head emphatically. They had Peeta, they had Finnick Odair, they could try something else. She wasn't the right choice for this.
"Your supporters seemed to think you were when they demanded we extract you from your imprisonment," Coin declared. It was confirmed, then, that the only reason why Thirteen had even bothered sending in a rescue team to get her out of Snow's prison was because they thought she could be useful for their own purposes. She suspected as much, of course, but it was clear President Coin had no interest in even pretending it wasn't true.
Katniss snuck a glance in Haymitch's direction, wanting to see his reaction to Coin's insinuation. He didn't admit anything. His narrowed Seam eyes remained fixed on Coin, making it seem like he didn't like what Coin was suggesting, but he didn't say anything to oppose it, either.
"You won't have to do this on your own," the woman further explained. "You will have a team behind you, letting you know what you have to do." She would be told where to stand, how to dress, what to say, to ensure that there were no errors or loose ends; all that was required of her was to stand there and do as they said, Coin assured her. Basically they wanted her to be their revolutionary puppet. It sounded remarkably similar to Just let him lead, less chance of you messing it up that way, and that made her immediately distrustful.
But what really made her worry was what Coin said next. "I urge you to consider this offer, miss Everdeen. We put the lives of many good soldiers on the line to bring you here; you wouldn't want to seem ungrateful. Especially considering we're only just starting your sister's treatment." She could almost hear Snow's words reverberating in her ears: Of course, remember I know exactly where your dear sister is right now. It made her blood run cold.
The implication in her words was unmistakable, but could they do that? If she refused to be their Mockingjay, would they stop Prim's treatment? Would they leave her in that coma forever, or even unplug her from the machines before she was ready? She took in the way Haymitch's jaw clenched and she knew they would.
And that was their right, too. It wasn't their responsibility to bring Prim back to health. They only did it because of her, and just as she had been thinking while she was still on the hovercraft, she knew she owed them for it; now they were collecting payment, and she couldn't refuse. "Fine. I'll do it. I'll be your Mockingjay."
Coin seemed pleased by this response; her expression barely changed, but the entire atmosphere shifted around her, and that's how Katniss knew. "Very well," the older woman said. "Plutarch Heavensbee will get in contact with you shortly, to explain all the details." And with that, she left the room, tapping her wrist communication device as she walked out the door.
As the door closed, Katniss stood there, holding Prim's limp hand and feeling sick to her stomach. It was the same, it was always the same. She had only just met Coin and already she could tell how cold and indifferent she was. The woman might be a decent President; the people in her district had food, clothes, a roof over their heads and a sense of security that no other district could compare with, but that didn't make her a good person.
That was the moment Haymitch chose to speak up, almost like he could read her thoughts. "You have no idea what you got yourself into, sweetheart."
Katniss glared at him. He had some nerve to say that now, when he made no comment whatsoever when Coin was strong-arming her to do what she wanted. "I did it for my sister," she stated, sharply. So what if Coin had used Prim's recovery as leverage; at least her sister was going to get the medical attention she required. Becoming Coin's puppet was a small price to pay for that.
"I know you did, and it was the right thing to do," he replied. His words were still somewhat mumbled even if he was clearly sober— it was almost like he didn't want anyone to overhear. Was that it? Were they being spied on here, as well? Just another hint that the Capitol and Thirteen were more alike than they let on. "But that doesn't mean it's going to be easy," Haymitch finished the thought.
"I can take care of myself," Katniss assured him, resolute.
"Yeah, but you're not the only one who can get hurt this time." Her glare transformed into a frown in a split second. What was that supposed to mean? It was her whom Coin wanted to become the Mockingjay, and it was her decision to accept. Apart from her and Prim, nobody else should be affected by that decision.
Noticing her confusion, Haymitch got up off the chair with a loud exhale, and moved closer to where she was standing. "Look, we both know you and the boy aren't really married," he started. "Coin knows that, and the rebel big wigs do as well." She nodded, wondering what this was about. She had noticed Coin had called her "miss Everdeen" and imagined that was the reason.
"But the rest of the country doesn't know that," Haymitch continued, "and we have to keep it that way. Being the Mockingjay includes being in love with him for the cameras. We're selling love to the districts as a reason for them to fight, and that takes more than just you, sweetheart. So you have no choice but to keep up the ruse if you want them to help your sister."
Katniss blanched. What had she expected? That just because she accepted to be their Mockingjay, that they wouldn't use Peeta anymore? How stupid that thought was. Even if she became the figurehead, having Peeta in front of the cameras was too good an opportunity to pass. He was golden when it came to convincing people. And that was what they wanted, wasn't it, to convince he districts to ally with the rebellion? They would never let Peeta and his way with words go that easily.
"And he'll do it," Haymitch wrapped the thought up. "That boy will put keep making himself a target if that's what it takes— for you. You know he will."
She looked down at Prim, unable to hold his gaze. He didn't need to say it— she already knew. Peeta was just so good, so immeasurably good, that he would keep up the pretense to help Prim. But she also understood what Haymitch implied: that it wasn't merely his goodness that drove Peeta's actions... no, he would do it because he was in love with her. And she had consented to this without even asking him. She knew he would do it, but he still deserved to be taken into account for this decision. It was his life, too.
It could put him in danger. She knew that's what Haymitch meant, because the thought had crossed her mind a thousand times after she saw his first propo. In trying to help her, he had given the Capitol a name, a face to persecute, and the only thing that could assure his safety would be stepping back, going back to a quiet life and not getting involved in the rebellion anymore, but he wouldn't do it. Not if there were still people in the line of fire. Not if she was still in the line of fire.
A knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts, and startled, she looked around the room to find that Haymitch was no longer there. She hadn't even heard him walk out. When she looked in the direction of the open doorway, she saw that it was Peeta who was standing there. Considering what she had just been thinking of, she started feeling anxious, wondering what she could even say to him.
Luckily, he was the one who spoke first. "Hey," he started, giving her a small smile. "Um, what did the doctor say about Prim?" She gave him the short version of it, that they had to prep Prim before attempting to wake her up again, and he seemed to be optimistic about it. "If her chances look good, we should trust them. They know what they're doing." Given the way the doctor seemed almost reluctant before, Katniss couldn't be so sure what Peeta had just said was true. But she didn't comment.
They remained silent for a few minutes, calmly watching Prim breathe. Katniss took the chair Haymitch had just emptied and moved it closer to the head of the bed, taking Prim's hand in hers as she sat down. That's when Peeta spoke up again. "Oh, before I forget, I have something for you." She watched curiously as he took a step outside, picking something up off the floor outside the room, and then popping back in. In his arms he held a large, black case— a familiar one.
He handed it to her and she opened it, to find her father's bow and makeshift sheath of arrows nestled comfortably inside, looking exactly as they did when she last saw them, weeks ago. Her breath caught. "How— how did you get this?"
"Before we went to the arena we were stationed in the same safe house you were in," he explained with a shrug. "I figured you'd like to have it back."
He made it sound like it wasn't important, like it was no big deal, but it was. The bow and arrows weren't just one of the few things she had that still connected her to her father, but they were also her one means of subsistence and the only thing that kept her and her sister alive when their mother killed herself. The weapon was a symbol of strength, of survival, and she didn't even know how much it meant to her until she had it with her again. The relief was dizzying.
But more than that, his seemingly off-hand explanation reminded her of everything he had done for her, everything he had risked for her. Not only did he come with her to the Capitol, but he joined the rebellion, he went into the Hunger Games arena for her. He got Prim out. He saved her sister, the person she loved most in the world.
The knot in her throat grew, and she found she couldn't look at him anymore. She lowered her eyes to her lap, to the case with the bow and arrows, just to avoid the blue gaze he fixed on her. "Thank you," she croaked out, the words she owed him, the words she should've said to him so long ago now feeling wholly inadequate.
He shrugged again. "It's your bow," he replied, simply. "I'm just returning it to where it belongs."
She wished she could say something else, because he thought she was only thanking him for the bow but in reality she was thanking him for so much more. For the bread when they were kids, the hope that gave her the strength to find her own means of survival. For being by her side when she decided to go save her sister. For putting his life on the line to get Prim out of the arena. For keeping her alive while Snow held her prisoner. For everything. For being so wonderfully selfless. For being him.
She wished she could tell him, but the words wouldn't come out.
"By the way, I wanted to let you know," he continued speaking, oblivious to how uncomfortable she felt, "since we're supposed to be married and all, they, uh, they gave us a double room." Out of the corner of her eye she could see the tips of his ears were turning slightly red. "But don't worry, there are two beds—" he hurried to add. "One is officially for Prim, since she's also registered to stay with us. There's a double and a single. I can just take the single so you can sleep on the larger bed. And then, when Prim gets healthy, I can just sleep on a cot or something. It shouldn't be a problem, I don't think."
She might've been amused by how flustered he got all of a sudden, but all she could focus on was the fact that he had said "when Prim gets healthy" and not "if," and he said it so effortlessly, like he didn't even have to think about it, like Prim getting better was nothing but a fact. One small word that could tear down a seemingly-endless maze of uncertainty.
"No, I'll... I'll just stay here with Prim," was the only thing she could say, unable as she was to look him in the eye.
"Oh," he said, and this time there was no missing the disappointment in his voice. He shook his head quickly, as if trying to shake off such undertones before she could notice. "Yeah. Yeah, you can do that too. I'm sure they'd let you stay here. Finnick just sweet-talked one of the nurses into letting him stay with Annie." He let out a small chuckle. "Actually, I think he talked her into letting him sleep in Annie's bed, the woman was that besotted."
She finally turned her head to look at him, just as the upwards quirk of his lips from the smile he previously held was giving way to a serious expression again. His brilliant blue eyes met hers for the first time since they saw each other at the hangar. "But no one will mind, I'm sure. I mean, it's obvious he..." He paused for a moment. "He just loves her so much, you know."
Katniss felt her heart clench painfully at those words. With the way his voice had tapered down to a cracked whisper by the end, she couldn't help but feel that he wasn't really talking about Finnick anymore. And what could she possibly say to that? He was looking at her so intensely, it made her want to run out of the room, yet at the same time, she couldn't look away.
It was he who broke their held gaze, momentarily looking down at his feet. Then he looked up again, flashing her a small, somewhat tired smile. "Alright, then. I'll let you get some rest. I'll stop by later." He gave her a light wave and turned to walk out of the room, leaving her to her thoughts.
She watched as his form disappeared past the doorway, feeling a pressure in her chest she didn't know how to deal with. She was a horrible person, that much she knew. All this time she had thought the worst that could happen was Peeta putting himself in danger, physical danger, to help her. She was selfish and terrified that it would be her fault if something happened to him, but in truth, that was hardly the worst pain she could cause him.
But he loved her— she couldn't not see it, not anymore— and because he loved her, he would go along with this charade. Because she couldn't lose Prim, he would do it. But how much must that destroy him on the inside, having to pretend to be in a relationship with a woman who didn't feel for him what he felt for her? If she were a good person, like him, she would never put him through that kind of pain. She would find another way. But she wasn't, and she couldn't.
With a tremulous sigh, she closed the black case and carefully propped it up against the wall by her sister's bed, before pulling her knees up to her chest and leaning her head against the backrest of her chair. It should be easy, she thought; it should be easy to pretend to be in love with Peeta. Any other woman would fall in love with him for real in a second, she knew. But not Katniss. She couldn't love him. Maybe she couldn't love, period; she just wasn't wired that way. And he deserved so much better.
.
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Author's notes!— Can't paste it here, but I wrote a lengthier note a few days ago on my Tumblr. Please check it out at girls-are-weird (search for the "cali writes" tag) if you'd like to know more about the current status of this story and what's happening with it in the near future. Thanks.