A/N: I didn't specify this at the start, but this fic will use a mix of book and movie canon, though more book canon because this story starts before the movies and so I have to utilize a lot of backstory, of which there isn't much in the films. Also, the films leave out a lot of the stuff about the Peacekeepers and the general culture of Twelve, the policy of benign neglect, etc. Some movie aesthetic will used, and some book. For instance, my conception of Katniss's appearance in this one is that she looks like JLaw but is a bit shorter and darker. Events will likely be more accurate to the books but I know that those will get mixed too eventually. I'm mentioning all this so no one gets confused when this becomes more noticeable later on, once we get to and beyond the 74th Games.
Also, thanks for waiting for an update while I focused on Lifeblood for awhile. I hope you all enjoy this one.
UPDATE: I've made a small adjustment to the layout of the Justice Building. Nothing that really affects the plot, but since I changed it I figured I should mention it.
"You have plans after work, or are you up for some illegal activity?"
I look up at my comrade as we make our way to the hummer our replacements drove to our post. "Not even a week in and you're trying to corrupt me already, Hallett?" This is the second time in three shifts I've worked with Darius, though last time we were on square duty and had Troy with us. Today we were alone and stationed near the community home on the edge of the Seam, so I finally got my first taste of the slums while on patrol. It's depressing, to say the least.
"Makes no difference if you piss in yellow snow," the boy teases, nudging his forearm into my shoulder.
"Ouch," I retort playfully, returning the shove. "What makes you think I'm corrupt?"
"Just a feeling. You have a bad girl vibe." He seems to mean it as a compliment. I duck my head to hide my smile and just listen to the fresh powder crunching under our boots.
"Good," I finally say. "What kind of activity? Drugs? The Hob?"
"Hob, of course. It's Thursday, remember?" Oh, right. Darius told me all about this yesterday over some games of hoverpuck on our mutual day off, pitched it to me as a chance to see Cray and maybe the elusive Haymitch staggering around and tossing their guts. The most notorious local moonshiner routinely shows up with a new batch of her white liquor every Thursday, and since she often sells out by Monday, a crowd is guaranteed. Because Thursday brings out all the drunkards, the miners who brew on the side usually show up that day too, with everything from stout to apple wine bottled and in tapped barrels. Darius claims it's a total shit show with high entertainment value.
"So you need a drinking buddy?"
"Something like that. Though I doubt you'll get much down before it comes back up. Ripper's shit could take the paint off the side of a house. Stuff's lethal." I narrow my eyes at him and his grin only widens. "We might have to start you off on that apple wine," he taunts me, eyes glinting mischievously as I level a harsh glare at him.
"A: Fuck you, I'll drink you under the table," I sneer. "B: Wine gives me terrible hangovers. I'll stick to the hard stuff, thank you very much." I speed up to distance myself from him and then call over my shoulder, "Oh, and C: I'm broke right now, so you're buying."
"Which might worry me if I actually thought you could outdrink me," he replies, hustling to catch up. "You're not even legal age, how could you have a high alcohol tolerance already?" Being twenty-one, Darius has been legal for two years, but he probably started as soon as he got here three years ago and realized no one gave a shit. Even so, unless he indulged back in District Two, I have a head start on him.
"Legal age is totally arbitrary," I argue. "Besides, not everyone obeys the law back home, you know." I certainly didn't. If I had, I wouldn't be here. "I have two older siblings and an alcoholic uncle. Booze was easy enough to come by."
"Sorry I asked," he mutters. "But hey, if you're still bummed you were assigned here, think of it this way: at least in Twelve you can drink without having to worry about the Head Peacekeeper getting on your case."
"Well, it would be really hypocritical of him to crack down on underage drinking given his fondness for underage girls," I spit. I hear Darius stop in his tracks, and when I pivot to face him I find his mouth hanging open.
"How do you know about that?"
"What," I reply haughtily, "you think you're the only person I know in Twelve?"
"Actually, yeah," he replies bluntly.
"Don't flatter yourself, Hallett." I start to turn back toward the vehicle, but he grabs my sleeve and gives me a serious look.
"Be careful who you badmouth Cray around," he warns me. "He has a temper, remember."
"Oh, I know," I laugh ironically. The boy narrows his eyes inquisitively, but I hold his gaze despite my discomfort.
"Okay," he states, folding his arms, "there's something you're not telling me. What happened with you and Cray?" I've said too much already. I'm sure Everdeen was right and I would never live down the tale of how we met if it got out, but even if I wasn't concerned about my overall reputation, I don't want Darius to think badly of me. He's the closest thing to a friend I have in this place. But he's not going to let me get away without answering.
"I met your angry poacher friend," I nonchalantly inform him.
He rubs his chin, his expression only hardening further. "That boy needs to watch what he says around the district," Darius says gravely. "There's informants everywhere."
"What? No, I'm talking about a girl," I correct him. "She knows you from the Hob. The archer with the braid," I specify, as though I don't remember her name.
"Oh, Katniss," he smiles fondly, though the concern never leaves his eyes.
"Right, Katniss Everdeen. Anyway, she made a snide remark about it in front of Cray and he came down on her." Hallett's eyebrows shoot up so I quickly tack on, "Don't worry, she's fine. All she got was a tongue-lashing. And a smack upside the head."
"Still, that's not like her," he muses.
"I guess she was having a rough day." I can tell he's still confused and dissatisfied with my answer, but I don't want to go into any more details. Or for him to seek them out elsewhere. "Better not mention it to her," I suggest casually. "The whole thing was kind of embarrassing for her."
"Okay, then," he agrees waveringly. "I won't." He then changes the subject as quickly as he snaps an impish grin back onto his face. "You wanna drive?" he asks, whipping the keys out of his pocket and dangling them in front of my face.
"Hell yes!" I shout, snatching them from his grasp. I've never driven before, but I've been a passenger enough times to sort of know how, and I've always wanted to try. Darius just laughs at my enthusiasm as we traverse the remaining distance to the vehicle.
"You know how to drive stick?"
A delicious smirk takes over my face before I even start to answer. "No," I wink, "but if you wanna teach me, I'm up for it." His suddenly mute, open mouth betrays how successful that attempt to throw him was, but he quickly shakes it off and laughs uneasily.
"Pervert," he grunts.
I just walk off swaggering my hips. "Honey, you have no idea."
***o***
Truthfully, Darius isn't the only reason I'm here. Though I like the guy, he's a bit much. I was sick of him by yesterday afternoon after he took it upon himself to entertain me for the day, so I took to the woods again before dark. The downside of peace and quiet I found there was the lack of distraction from the thoughts and regrets that cloud my brain whenever it is otherwise unoccupied. There's not much peace and quiet to be had here on a Thursday evening at the Hob, but plenty of company. Unfortunately, the only truly familiar face in the crowd is Hallett's. No one would know, given all my bravado, but I can be painfully shy around people I don't know.
For all his talk, Darius is putting very little effort into outdrinking me. He's just sitting on the counter at a stall manned by some old woman, chatting her up and nursing a mug of something or other. I'm making decent progress on a small bottle of Ripper's liquor, the strength of which Darius aptly described earlier, but I'm no lightweight. I don't stumble at all on my way over to punch him in the knee.
"So much for me not being able to outdrink you," I sass him, jiggling the bottle in front of his face.
He bats my hand away and condescends, "I never said I was planning to get plastered. You assumed." He gestures at my drink. "But I promised I'd buy, so if you want to sit out sick tomorrow, by all means, drink up."
"You think I'm such a sad sack that I'm going to drink alone, Hallett?" I shoot back, heat rising in my cheeks. "Or are you just a pussy?" He lets out a boisterous laugh that is echoed by the old lady, so I deepen my glare. "What's so funny?"
"You're slurring," he informs me before pointing to the woman and proceeding to make introductions. "Mason, this is Greasy Sae. Sae, Johanna Mason. She's this abrasive even when sober."
"I'm not drunk!" I protest. "I'm perfectly in control of my fac- fa- facilities." This draws another howl of laughter from the boy and his companion. It's faculties, isn't it? Maybe I'm farther gone than I thought. I'm pretty sure Darius is too, though, hunched over and holding his aching belly through a laugh disproportionate to the humor in the situation. At least, in my opinion.
The nearby door squeaks loudly on its rusty hinges, and I snap my head around to peek over my shoulder at whoever's entering. It's just a couple of on-duty Peacekeepers. My eyes jump to Cray, who's embroiled in conversation with Ripper and doesn't seem to have noticed. Not that I'm sure he's sober enough to care.
"Who are you waiting for?" Darius asks.
"No one." I motion between him, Cray, and a small group of our fellow morning crew hanging out in a nearby corner. "Everyone I know is here." I'm sort of lying on both counts, but I'm hoping he doesn't remember that part of our conversation this afternoon. It was kind of stupid of me to assume I might run into the gutsy huntress here. It's a weekday, so she's probably in school until a couple hours before the sun goes down. She might not even have a chance to hunt. I leave Darius with Sae and head for our group of coworkers, partly to prove my point and partly because he's belittling and irritating me, but I'm not even halfway there before he catches up. Damn these tall people and their long ass legs. "What?" I scowl. "Ditching your girlfriend to follow some stupid drunkard around?"
"Hey now," he protests, lifting his hands in surrender, "I never said that." The glower has almost left my face by the time his cracks into a grin. "I think she's a little old for me." I smack his arm, yet smile all the same. He's kind of a dick, but at least he's funny. Much like me.
I actually start to enjoy myself a bit after that, making jokes and light-hearted conversation with the other Peacekeepers. It's all surface-level bullshit, but I haven't had enough of anything light-hearted recently. Or in my life at all, really. Part of that's my fault for being so drawn to darkness. My most recent relationship is proof enough of that.
It's been maybe ten minutes by the time the on-duty guys join our group and I sneak another look at Ripper's table to assess Cray's reaction. I don't see him, but my stomach jumps when my eyes land on a familiar braid and jacket over by Greasy Sae's stall. I must have been too distracted to notice her coming in. I don't consider whether to approach her or stick with the group; some force pulls me toward her without the need for any conscious thought. I stealthily slip up beside her before leaning back against the counter and pulling on my best smirk.
"Hey, brainless," I purr.
The younger girl cocks an eyebrow and pointedly observes, "Oh, it's you."
I force the grin to stay on my face and reply, "At least I didn't call you Catpiss."
"I guess I should be grateful," she deadpans, but the small upward quirk of one corner of her mouth calms me, and my face relaxes into a more genuine smile.
"How are you?" I inquire, meaningfully flicking my eyes down to her feet.
"Clean bill of health, no thanks to you," she retorts. And Darius called me abrasive.
"Glad to hear it," I reply evenly, purposely ignoring that remark. I twitch my eyebrows and casually conclude, "In that case, I'll leave you alone." Two can play that game. However, I can't stop myself from peeking over my shoulder after strolling a few steps. She's watching me, and I let a catlike grin take over my face as I keep walking, right into a tall, hard body. I stumble back a step on the rebound and crane my neck up to get a look at the man I crashed into. He looks like a male version of Everdeen: every bit as attractive, same dark hair and piercing grey eyes, same olive skin and grouchy disposition. He's scrawny like her but about Darius's height, and definitely older, not underage. Maybe for drinking, but not other things. I lick my lips and grin once again, fluttering my eyelashes.
"Hello, handsome," I drawl. "You know, you'd be a lot prettier if you smiled." I'm just kidding. He can scowl at me like that any day. Or night. The young man just stares at me in silent disbelief, but a cackle slowly rises up behind me.
"I've been telling him something like that for years, sweetheart," laughs Greasy Sae. "Don't bother waiting on that. If you want a jolly man, stick with your redheaded friend."
"Pffft," I snort, swiveling to face her, "I'm not into Darius like that."
I catch Everdeen's eye almost immediately. She has her poker face on again, but I can tell she's annoyed. That's explained very quickly when she snaps, "Mason. This is my hunting partner, Gale." I think I spy a hint of jealousy. Maybe she has a thing for her not-boyfriend after all.
"That's a girl's name," I giggle, masking my sudden unease.
"It's spelled differently," the boy scoffs from behind me. He even has Everdeen's deep voice. Damn. "Like a windstorm."
I smirk at him over my shoulder. "Stormy. How fitting." He's still eyeing me sourly when Darius sidles up to him, claps him on the shoulder, and asks what the haul was like today.
"Your little shadow," Sae whispers, drawing my attention back to her and Katniss. She winks, and I just roll my eyes. Her smirk only grows when Darius slings an arm around my neck a moment later.
"My three favorite ladies, all in one place!" he proclaims heartily.
"Shoo, you big lug," the old woman chuckles, flicking her dishtowel at him. "You're scaring away my customers with your shouting."
"Oh, really?" he blusters. "I'd think I'd be attracting them. Buy your soup, get some eye candy on the side." He flexes his free arm and morphs his face into an expression much more ridiculous than seductive. Maybe it's the alcohol, but I find myself keeling over in laughter. It probably isn't just the alcohol, actually, because even Katniss is laughing.
"No, no," I gasp between peals of laughter. "They're the eye candy." I point at the hunters. "You're just a pasty redhead."
Darius folds his arms and glowers down at me theatrically. "Excuse me, Agent Mason," he huffs, "but I'll have you know that redheaded men are known for having particular… talents."
"Like verbal diarrhea?" I sass him with a cocked eyebrow.
"All right, that's enough," Greasy Sae cuts in. "I'm telling Ripper and the boys both of you are cut off if you don't scoot."
"Fine," Darius groans. "Ruin all our fun." He tugs my arm on his way deeper into the warehouse. "Come on, Jo."
"Don't call me that, I told you," I growl as I turn and catch up with him. He's eyeing me teasingly and opening his mouth to argue when we're interrupted by a familiar voice behind us.
"Darius, have you seen the baker?"
The boy looks over my head to make eye contact with Katniss. "Mellark? No, why?"
"I was saving a squirrel for him," she explains as I feel and hear her brushing up beside me as we continue to walk. I glance over to find her eyes already on me, but they instantly drop to her game bag. "If he doesn't show, you want the little fella?"
"Don't know if I can afford it," says Darius. "I already paid to get our tiny friend drunk tonight."
"I'm not drunk!" I protest.
"Yes, you are," he counters assuredly.
"That might be why he's not here, come to think of it," Everdeen muses. "Probably saving up to buy a turkey from us in a couple weeks." She's referring to the Harvest Festival coming up in a little over two weeks. It's not exactly a holiday; we still have to work. Well, I don't have to because it's celebrated on a Sunday, but Darius and the others I know well are all working. Purnia has Sundays off too, but I'm not exactly friends with the ice queen, so I guess there won't be much of a celebration for me. It's far from what I'm used to.
"Hey," Darius barks, snapping his fingers in front of my face. I blink up to meet his eyes, which narrow. "Watch where you're walking. You off in la la land?"
"Just thinking about the Festival in the Square," I admit wistfully. "When the Tour would come through."
"You've been?" he gawks. "I thought you lived a ways out from the city."
"Not that far. Besides," I add slyly, "I may have been invited a couple times because I knew the victor." All the kids in the candidacy program for DV were always invited to the Victory Tour, actually, whether District 2 won or not, and we've had two victors since I formally declared my interest and joined at the age of ten. Three victors, if you count this year.
"Really?" Hallett inquires, genuinely curious. "Who?"
"It's rude to name drop," I tease him evasively.
"You're full of shit," he scoffs.
"Whatever, it doesn't matter," I concede. I don't want to talk about the program or any of that right now. "Point is, I've been there. It's a riot." My eyes flit over to our armed on-duty comrades and I clarify, "In a good way."
"You mean if your district won?" Everdeen's low and quiet voice comes from my other side.
"Yeah. Whenever we win, we mix our Harvest Festival celebrations with the Victory Tour ones because they end up falling on the same day," I explain. The girl's eyes dart away. Her face twists a little and she starts sort of chewing on her lip. "What?" I ask. "Don't you do the same here?" Her eyes meet mine again, and despite her suddenly expressionless face, I can distinctly make out the anger burning in those grey orbs.
"How drunk are you?" she asks blankly, with the tiniest hint of sarcasm. "'Tribute' is pretty much synonymous with 'corpse' in Twelve. You know how many victors we've had in seventy-five years?" Of course not. All I know is that Haymitch is the only semi-recent one.
"Three? Four?" I extrapolate.
"Two," she answers evenly. "And none in my lifetime. So, no, I've never been to a big party at the end of the Tour." Her words dig into my conscience thanks to the subtle edge in her tone. I shift uncomfortably and glance over at Darius, who is pretending to be conveniently distracted by someone across the room. I begrudgingly look back to Katniss, who again holds my gaze intently, but her eyes convey frustration more than anger now. And maybe a bit of fear. Of my reaction, probably. But I'm not about to give her grief or punishment for accurately pointing out that her district is disadvantaged in the Games and has less reason to celebrate. I would have questioned that fact before I got here, but not now. My pride urges me to mock the girl for being touchy, but I can tell she's actually a bit upset and I don't really want to make it worse. Or get on her bad side. I'm never going to tell her that I'd been planning to volunteer this year. Somehow, I doubt that would go over well.
"I'll buy your squirrel," Darius offers with a weak smile, easing the tension slightly. "Jo still needs her first taste of backwoods cuisine."
"Seriously, don't," I repeat, punching his arm hard enough to stress that it's no joke. "My ex used to call me that, and thinking about her sends me into fits of rage I'm sure you'd rather not see." To be fair, Clove wasn't the only one; most of the candidates addressed me as Jo. But thinking about any of them is painful these days. I'd rather lose myself in this new life, as much as I don't care for it.
Darius halts mid-step, boot scuffing the dusty floorboards. "Her?" He asks, intrigued eyes giving me a onceover when I stop and turn around. I bite my lip and bounce my eyes between him and Katniss, whose face is still remarkably impassive. Then again, maybe she isn't surprised, or just doesn't care.
"What?" I sputter. "You have a problem with that?"
"Not at all," Darius grins lecherously, throwing me a wink. I roll my eyes. "I just didn't peg you for a homo."
My mouth puckers. "Who actually uses that word anymore, Hallett? What century are we living in?" It's not really an insult, but it's definitely obsolete. Most people in Two don't bother to classify each other by sexual preferences when it comes to gender, or anything else.
"I've heard it around," he shrugs innocently. I don't bother asking where, because I honestly don't even care.
"What's a homo?" Katniss inquires after a long beat. I smile a little despite myself.
"Homosexual," I say. "Means someone who fucks the same sex, not the opposite sex."
"Oh," she mumbles, eyes flitting away. Even through her darker skin, I pick up on red tinge surfacing in her grubby, sweat-stained complexion. She's sure easy to embarrass. "We don't have a word for that here."
"You mean there's no one like that around?" I ask in disbelief. That's not possible. Maybe it's just a social taboo here and no one speaks of it; I mean, this is hick country.
"No, there is," Darius answers for her. I shoot him a look before returning my attention to the younger girl to let her answer if she so desires. She says nothing. "Don't worry," the redhead continues. "It's the same as back home. No one's gonna bully you over it."
"Of course they won't," I snap. "Because I'm not a homo." Off his obvious bewilderment, I explain, "I like boys too. I don't know what the word for that is."
"Me neither," Darius admits. The twinkle in his eye slowly returns along with a cunning smile. "Then I didn't peg you so wrong after all, Jo." My face hardens, and he immediately backpedals, "I mean, Mason. Johanna. Please don't hit me." I smirk a little at his obviously exaggerated cowardice. He has no idea I could kill him with my bare hands or any of a variety of weapons. The mere thought is enough to make this whole conversation so much more palatable.
"If you feel the need to shorten my name," I tell them, "you can call me Hanna." That was what my family called me. Most of my memories associated with them are pleasant, or at least not currently causing me to want to throw myself down a mineshaft, so it's a better alternative.
"Hanna?" Katniss probes. She hasn't seen my name spelled out like Darius has.
"Silent H," I explain. Darius suddenly breaks into laughter, and we both look his way.
"Can I call you silent homo?" he sniggers.
"I'm not a homo," I reiterate warningly.
"And definitely not silent," Katniss pitches in. "You're almost as bad as him."
"Okay, I give up," I declare, backing away and flipping them both off jokingly. "You guys eat your damn squirrel. I'm gonna go find some people who actually like me."
As I'm stalking off toward the group of Peacekeepers, I hear Darius call after me, "Good luck with that!" I flip him off again over my shoulder, but I'm smiling. I don't exactly relish being picked on, but when it's good-natured, I know it bodes well for the future. It means I belong.
***o***
"Ladies and gentlemen, the victor of the 73rd Hunger Games, Scarlett Caskey," Mayor Undersee's voice booms from the speakers. Polite but faint applause from those herded into the square greets the towering 17 year-old, who smiles broadly and waves as though the lack of enthusiasm doesn't faze her in the slightest. And I'm sure it doesn't. We were always taught to have a thick skin. Scar surely wasn't expecting the warmest welcome from the people of Twelve, anyway, given her involvement in the deaths of both their tributes. She slit the boy's throat personally in the bloodbath and was part of a diabolical Career pack that stalked the girl until she opted to fall on her own knife rather than face a humiliating and possibly slow death at their hands. Scar was very business-like about her kills and not the type to taunt or torture a fellow tribute, but she was there, and thus guilty by association.
It doesn't surprise me one bit that Scar keeps her words about the female tribute even more short and to the point than her kills. The girl's choice was much maligned back in District 2 because she died dishonorably, and in the Capitol because suicides are anticlimactic. I understand her motivation, however. There is a certain rebellious glory in going out on your own terms, so to speak, rather than being stripped of your power in your final moments. Or hours, if they decide to draw it out, which is another good reason to end it before they catch you. Careers rarely die slowly, though, so I always pushed aside any worry about the possibility.
I'm grateful that I don't have to feign any positive emotion on pain of imprisonment in this situation, unlike the locals. The glazed-over somber mood in the square doesn't help the acute pain in my chest or the burbling of my stomach. Being stationed on the stage is particularly cruel. I'm twenty feet from where I should be, twenty feet I will never traverse. The regret is crushing my mind, and apparently my lungs as well. Regret for not pushing for my own selection last year, for deferring to Scar and taking another year to mature and train. Scar never would have gotten into the mess I did. We both would have gotten our chance.
It's a mercifully short few minutes before the victor is saying her final thank-you and retreating back inside the Justice Building. Seeing her again at all, let alone in this context, is extremely painful, but I can't drag my eyes away. I wait for her to make eye contact and smile, like she always did. She walks right past me. Unbelievable. I wasn't three feet away, and a girl I've known for a good six years just looked right through me like I wasn't even there. This fucking uniform is something else. My face and neck burn as I wheel in time with my partner across from me to march out behind her. We pass our comrades at the doors, and suddenly there is nothing between her and me but the uniform. And twenty feet, yet again. I'm not supposed to break rank until she and her entourage have made it back to the prep rooms, but I'm not just another one of these drones. I'm not just another face in the crowd. I have a name.
"Scar!" I call out, speeding up a little, but I get no reaction. Maybe I'm inaudible as well as invisible. I try once more, louder and deeper. "Hey, Beanstalk!" Scar pauses and turns her head in surprise, and she finally catches my eye. Despite my inner turmoil, a grin splits my face wide open.
"Jo!" she hails back, immediately backtracking her steps. I have a name. It's painful to hear, but I have one. Scar catches me off guard by grabbing one of my biceps and pulling me into a tight hug the second I'm within her reach. It's not like we've never hugged before, but we're not really what you'd call friends, nor are we exceptionally close. In fact, we were rivals more than anything for a long time. I resented her at first because she joined the program after me and was the same age, but as other potential candidates dropped out over the years it became an unchallenged assumption that we would be selected at 17 and 18 for the 73rd and 74th Games, though the order was up in the air. Once the competition died down, we were able to settle into a more amicable relationship, but we still rarely saw each other or had the chance to train together because our villages were not even remotely close. That's where Clove came in.
"You don't mind if I steal your comrade, do you?" she rhetorically asks my partner over my head. There are a few more of us back here, but there's no officers to object right now, won't be until the mayor's closing statement is over.
"I'm off now, actually," I fib into her chest. It's close enough to the truth. "I'm usually off at two, but duty calls when there's big events."
"Scarlett!" a familiar male voice shrills from behind me, causing me to grimace. One thing I won't regret missing out on as a tribute is listening to him all fucking day. "We have a schedule to keep."
"Five minutes, Xavier," she insists. "She's an old friend." Okay, maybe I was wrong about that. Before I know it, I'm being dragged into a stuffy, dark elevator. Scar says nothing more until the doors have closed behind us, even for a few seconds after that. "I kind of feel like I'm seeing a ghost," she finally says without warning, looking over to make eye contact.
"I guess the outfit doesn't help," I crack, sweeping a hand over the all white ensemble. She laughs. I smile. This is routine for us. This almost feels normal.
"I mean I never thought I'd see you again," she rephrases, poking me in the shoulder. "Though you are one of the last people I ever thought I'd see decked out in white." She clears her throat and looks forward again. "I mean, I heard you enlisted, but I kind of thought you'd offed yourself and that was just some bullshit cover story."
My face scrunches up, but she's not looking at me, so I have to verbalize, "Why would I do something like that?"
Scar catches my eye again, her face suddenly dark. She peeks out into the hallway once the elevator slows and its doors open, but even though we appear to be alone, she remains silent until she's pulled me a good thirty feet down the hall and into her prep room. "Listen," she whispers urgently once the heavy wooden door clicks shut behind us, "I know what Clove did to you." My eyes bulge in alarm. "Don't worry, it's not like it's public knowledge," she immediately adds. "You're fine." I release a heavy sigh of relief. "I figured it out on my own."
"How?" I demand, narrow-eyed.
"Logic," she smiles wryly. "Just because I'm pretty doesn't mean I'm stupid. You're proof enough that the two don't always go hand in hand." I blink away as I feel a blush creeping up my neck. Maybe I should have been with Scar instead of Clove. Things would have turned out much better. But she's not really my type, and I don't think she's into girls that way. She's just sly and flirtatious. Like me. She played those strengths and her striking natural beauty to her advantage in the Games. She didn't exactly pull a Finnick Odair, but she was never wanting for parachutes. Not only was she considered one of the more gorgeous tributes with that dirty blond mane, those stunning hazel eyes and perfect cheekbones, but she had the build of a victor and wouldn't be considered a long shot by anyone. She's clearly from a family of stonecutters, tall and broad-shouldered and well-muscled. There's a reason I resented her and found her intimidating early on. "I'm not the only one."
"Huh?"
"Other people have figured it out," she repeats. "Who knew both of you." I guess that's not too surprising, even if the one person I told besides my family didn't blab. Clove and I didn't exactly keep the fact that we'd evolved into more than training partners under wraps. Being closely associated with a known troublemaker was probably not my finest life choice. But I like trouble.
"I told Jasper," I admit.
"What for?" gapes Scar.
"I needed advice!" I practically shout. He seemed the best person to go to at the time, being one of the bigwigs in the candidacy program and someone I considered a friend of sorts. "I didn't know what to do. Blackmail's a new one on me."
"What did he say?"
"'Sorry, Johanna,'" I boom in a deep pitch, "'but technically, you broke the law.'" Returning to my normal voice, I elaborate, "He said he knew the politics of the committee well and that if charges were laid there's no way they'd select me even if I didn't go to prison, and there was nothing he could do about it. Basically."
"Wow," she breathes. "What a dick."
I sigh resignedly and sink down onto a nearby velvet couch. I pull my helmet off, drop it beside me, and eagerly comb my gloved fingers through the freed black tresses. "He was right, though," I croak, "I did break the law."
"Yeah, but it's total bullshit," Scar instantly replies, concern filling her face as she sits herself down beside me. "No one actually sees you as a criminal, you know. There should be a loophole for–"
"Yeah, but there isn't," I snap. "And Clove knew that, I'll bet, and she waited until the perfect fucking moment to betray me."
Scar bites her lip and squints, silently mulling something over. "Do you think she always planned to do that?" she eventually asks. "Because that's a lot of time and effort to commit to fucking someone over."
"I don't know," I admit. "I think about that all the time. It's plausible. Clove's shifty like that." I stare at the thick, luxurious carpet and let a moment of silence pass before I tell Scar, "I like to think so." I catch her eye and confess, "It's less painful that way."
She takes my nearest hand in one of hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry." Her grip slowly tightens, so I blink up to her face and see it is also morphing with intensity. "Even if I didn't care what happened to you, what she did was selfish and bad for the district." She holds my gaze meaningfully. "You were really something. Our best shot at repeating, for sure."
I know that was meant to be a compliment, but it's more like a knife in the gut. I'm not something anymore. And even if she hadn't phrased it in the past tense, the whole idea feels painfully foreign. It's only my tenth day in town, but I almost feel unable to connect with who I was now that I've been thrown into this disorienting new world. Even back in Peacekeeper training, I was starting to feel a certain dissociation, but it's getting worse, fast.
I shake these unpleasant thoughts from my head and point out, "What about Cato?"
"Naw," she argues. "Your skill set is much more diverse and you're way smarter."
"And I have the cooler head." I quip. Scar snorts, and before I know it we're both laughing hysterically, because it's better than crying. I was never known for my emotional restraint – that was Scar's hallmark – but I'd have to be on the rag and starving to rival the volatility of the monstrous blond brute.
"That's good," she snickers. "Keep your sense of humor, if you can." She sighs wistfully and squeezes my hand again. "I miss you, Jo."
I miss Jo too. But I can't help feeling she's not coming back.
A/N: I split what I'd planned to be one chapter in half so I could develop the rest of it without worrying about length, so this one is pretty short. Hopefully that next one will be coming soon. I'm not sure yet if I'm going to focus on that or chapter 11 of Lifeblood first.
Thanks to D7P for the beta read, as always.