A/N: The chapter everyone's been requesting is finally here. Not that it took long to write, with all the feels involved. As I said in the story notes and as anyone who has read Lifeblood knows, I utilize a mix of book and movie canon, leaning to movie for any major visuals. There is a big mishmash of the two in this chapter, along with large blocks of original content. No copyright infringement intended for passages straight lifted, of course, just sticking to the story as I do.
Latching onto Katniss's hips, I flutter my tongue and gasp in a precious breath before closing my lips to resume sucking the life out of her folds. Fingernails digging into her ass with effort, I'm almost drowning in her juices as her hips gyrate over my face. If I did drown, it would be the most pleasant death imaginable. But I'm not in this compromised position just for my own arousal. Katniss needs this. This power, this release. Tomorrow is all about vulnerability and stress. Tonight, I want to make her forget, if only for a few blissful seconds.
One hand squeezing the headboard and one ripping the follicles from my scalp, Katniss lets out a cry that stutters with her hips as her crotch spasms and spills on my chin. We've long stopped worrying about being too loud. Darius has been acting surprisingly indifferent about it, while Athena figured out my sexual partner's identity weeks ago and basically washed her hands of it, claiming she knew nothing. I'm more of a talker than a screamer anyway, but my usually taciturn girlfriend can be uncharacteristically vocal in the sack, especially when she takes charge.
When the girl's quaking wanes to residual shudders, I slow my pace and release a satisfied groan at the taste of her, the source of which is still leaking into my mouth. I'm busy cleaning it up when my eyes flutter open and abruptly narrow at the sight of her face. It's tight and etched with creases, fear still burning behind the passion in her eyes. I roll mine and push on her stomach, forcing her to shuffle backward and allow me the space to sit up with her in my lap.
"Fucking relax, baby," I whisper hotly in her ear, gripping the back of her neck.
"Hanna-" Her rebuttal is cut short by my fingers diving into the pool of arousal and feverishly attacking her clit. A high gasp forces its way out and she claws at my back, only encouraging me with the pain.
"Shut up," I hiss. "You're going to come again, and you're going to relax. Is that clear?" Katniss whimpers and starts rocking her hips, but doesn't answer. Pulling down on her neck, I growl against her lips, "That's an order."
Katniss gasps again, but this one morphs into a moan and she nods furiously, her hips now fighting to keep pace with my hand. It's all of ten more seconds before her head and eyes turn upward and she bucks against me with a yelp of surprise. A few squeaks later, she's groaning and slumping forward against me. Slowly I lie back, my one hand drawing her out while the other sweeps strands of hair from her dazed face. Finally.
I remove my hand and settle it on the small of Katniss's back as she nestles her head in my chest. Tiny strokes of my fingers over her hot skin make her burrow deeper and stretch out like a cat, humming contentedly. We spend a few lazy, sensual minutes wrapped up in each other before I start to feel the tension returning to her cheeks. Rubbing her back soothingly, I tease her, "Hey, I can feel your worry lines coming back."
Katniss snorts and opens her eyes. "Sorry," she drawls, beyond sarcastic. She's entitled to it. We both know she has a lot to worry about.
"You're safe here." I circle my arms around her protectively. "You're safe here." Her eyes flicker but she says nothing. Smoothing my hands over her back, I offer, "Stay with me tonight."
"I'd love that," she replies stoically, pushing up on her elbows. "But I can't." So she's back to herself, already. I wish I could just turn her brain off and let her be a teenager for a while, free of all these burdens.
"Why not?" I dig.
"It's the night before Prim's first reaping. I need to be there for her."
Cocking my head, I press, "And who's gonna be there for you?"
"I will," she declares, eyes suddenly narrowed. "I don't need anyone but myself. I was doing just fine until you came along, you know." Her head dips so our lips are almost touching when she demands, "Don't underestimate me."
An affectionate grin splits my lips as I cup her cheek. "Never."
My smile is mirrored on her face for a second before it drops again and she shifts to get out of bed. I pout and get a loose grip on her hand to discourage her. Not because I need the favor returned - there was plenty of that earlier - but because I'm loathe to lose contact. Because I don't want her to leave. Ever. Not that I'd resort to begging. Katniss can know just how much I love her, but not how much I've come to need her. It's embarrassing and disconcerting.
After giving my hand a tiny squeeze, she shakes free of it and starts collecting her garments strewn around the room. My brow furrows. "Please tell me you're at least going to shower first."
"Johanna, it's not like my mother doesn't know we're having sex," she snorts. I refrain from commenting on the slight blush tinting her olive skin pink. "It's pretty obvious. The sleepovers? The bruises? No use hiding the evidence."
"Fine," I grumble. "Does Prim know?"
"Yeah, she's not stupid," chuckles Katniss as she secures her bra and turns it to slip her arms through.
"Does she tease you about it?" God, those were the days. Corny and Jordie, sitting in a tree. F-U-C-K-I-N-G.
"Not really," she shrugs, continuing to dress. "But one time she tried to ask me how it works with two girls and I left her in my dust. I was mortified." She hardens her gaze as I enjoy a laugh at her expense.
"How hard can it be? Just tell her, 'You know how when you touch yourself down there, it feels nice? That, but someone else does it for you.'"
Katniss balks, her expression downright scandalized. "Prim doesn't touch herself like that."
Tipping my head, I grin ear to ear. "You wanna bet?" I get way too much pleasure out of irritating this girl.
"She's twelve!"
"Yeah, exactly, she's twelve," I stress. "And she has an obvious boner for mini Stormy."
Her face puckers. "Gross, don't even."
"Don't even what? Remind you that your little sister is a human being?" That comes out sassier than intended. "The fact that she even asked shows she's curious about these things. And that's normal, you know."
"Then I guess I'm just not normal," Katniss mutters, looking down at her belt that conveniently needs buckling. "I was never interested in anything like that until I started getting to know you." Her cheeks flare up. "I'd barely even know what to tell her. It's still new to me, all of this."
With a grin and a casual shrug, I offer, "I can explain how it works, if you want. Two girls." I'm only sort of kidding.
Her eyes go wide with alarm. "Please don't."
"Okay," I draw out, eyebrows arching.
She sinks onto the bed and puts all her attention into lacing her boots, face still burning. My gut twinges with guilt and I crawl over, circle my arms around her shoulders from behind. "Sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you." She tosses me a doubtful glance and I admit, "Not really."
"It's not difficult," she mumbles, then clears her throat. "Not with some things."
I grin affectionately into the side of her neck. "You're still a prude at heart."
Her eyebrows peak as her head turns. "At heart?"
"Prudes don't usually ride my face and call me a nasty little slut," I deadpan, my straight face on the verge of cracking.
Katniss flushes impossibly redder. "You told me to say that!" she protests.
"You liked it."
"Untrue," she huffs.
"You literally got off on it."
Whipping around, she tackles me to the bed. "Shut up," she hisses, her voice husky as all fuck. That and her warning tone let loose a flood between my legs.
It's a struggle to keep my voice steady and sassy, not betraying my sudden need. "Make me."
She can tell anyway, I know from her sadistic grin. Breathing hot air on my cheek, she brushes her lips across to my ear as she trails a hand from my collarbone down through my cleavage. "No time," she whispers, nails scraping my belly. I must be wearing the most petulant glare imaginable, because she laughs aloud and plants a firm kiss on my lips before standing up. "I'll see you tomorrow for dinner."
Right, that. Apparently even in Twelve, many families have a celebration meal of sorts after the reaping. Only celebrating being spared another year, though, not the event itself like they do back home. I'm invited, as we've had a few successful family dinners in the five weeks since the disaster at Prim's party. Katniss even kissed me goodbye in front of her mom last time and it didn't seem to be a problem. Not that it was the kind of kiss they walked in on before.
My scowl goes nowhere. "Fine."
Neither does her smirk. "You're so cute when you're frustrated."
Sitting up threateningly slowly, I warn her, "You have ten seconds to get out that window before I rip your clothes off again and make you mylittle slut this time."
Backing up to the window, she's still wearing that shit-eating grin. "I already am." My mouth falls open, making her eyes sparkle deviously. "'Til tomorrow, Agent," she mock salutes me. Then she's gone before I have the chance to gather my wits and craft a witty comeback. Moving to the window, I watch as she swaggers toward the fence with the confidence I've given her. Despite my indignation, I can't help but smile.
That girl.
***o***
A sudden noise jerks me into consciousness later that night. My heart in my throat, I flip over and search the darkness for the threat. All I see is the clock that reads 2:37. A knock sounds from my window, louder this time, and the pieces come together. Dragging my groggy ass out of bed, I blink the sleep from my eyes, mentally cursing Katniss. I'm pushing the window open and looking down into her anxious eyes before I remember. This is the day of the reaping.
"Couldn't sleep?" I ask, consciously softening my expression.
"I had a nightmare," she admits. Her hands push deep and clench inside her pockets. "Woke up Prim, too. She said I should come be with you."
"Thought she needed you," is my surprised response.
"Well, apparently not," scowls Katniss. "She crawled in with Mom instead."
I can't help my amused snicker. "It's tough being the daddy, isn't it?"
"Fuck off, Hanna," she barks. "Can I come in or not?"
"Of course," I smirk, extending my arms. "I offered, didn't I?"
Once I've helped the taller girl through the window, I pick through my drawers for something for her to wear. She shakes her braid loose from her cap, shrugs off her jacket and lays them both on my chair, then takes the sleeping shorts and t-shirt I offer her with a mumbled, "Thanks."
Her words and demeanor have lost their edge. I don't comment on it right away, merely crawl into bed after her and wrap her up from behind. But as she lies there stiffly, clutching my hand hard enough to force the blood from it, I start to get a little more concerned. "I don't suppose you want to talk about it?"
"Your tall friend slit Gale's throat and drowned me in his blood," she tells me bluntly.
"Oh," I mumble, squeezing her forearm. "Shit." But for some reason, I feel the need to defend my old frenemy. "It's okay, it was only a dream. I know because that isn't Scar's style. It was always quick and dirty." My nails graze back and forth over the gooseflesh on her exposed skin. "She took no pleasure in killing."
"So then what's her story?" Katniss's tone drips with sarcasm. "Selfless friend, devoted daughter, willing to slash a few jugulars to score a fortune?"
"You wouldn't care," I sneer. I'm on the verge of telling her to shut the fuck up about Scarlett, but bite my tongue because I know why she's being all testy about it. Things will be better once the Games are over. Sighing against the back of her neck, I tighten all my limbs around her. "Just try to get some sleep, kid."
"Easy for you to say," she grumbles. But she's out like a light within minutes, now cocooned in my warmth and comfort, and it's my brain that refuses to turn off. When I eventually fall into a restless slumber, I'm haunted by visions of Clove lodging a knife in the back of Katniss's skull.
The next noise that wakes me is a train whistle, and I rouse just as grouchy as I did several hours before. Growling inwardly, I nuzzle into the back of Katniss's shoulder in search of more sleep. I already know it will be fruitless, because the girl in my grasp is stirring as well. Goddamn trains. I've grown to loathe them because of the station's proximity to the barracks. Early morning trains aren't rare around here, but to be fair they usually come after I've woken up anyway. Today is only different because I start two hours later, as does most of the morning crew, to maximize coverage during the reaping.
Katniss turns in my arms to settle on her back. "Hey," she murmurs.
"Hey yourself." Studying her face, I graze my fingers over her jawline. "You gonna stay for a bit?"
"A bit. I'm meeting Gale to hunt." Her eyes flit away, clouding over. "Day off, so." She seems lost in thought, gnawing on her cheek, so I wait for her to speak again. Eventually, she returns her eyes to mine. "Can I ask you something?"
I settle my hand on her stomach and hold her gaze intently. "Anything."
Despite my sincerity, it's a moment longer before she inquires, "Why did you want to volunteer?"
Eyes narrowing, I cock my head and scoff, "You actually care?"
No doubt expecting that reaction, Katniss doesn't fire back. "You're just… not what I'd expect," she admits evenly. Right, she'd expect me to be some kind of soulless, blood-soaked monster. Like my tall friend. Then again, what else would she expect, coming from Twelve? That's all they see of District Two here.
I consciously release the tension in my muscles with a slow breath, gathering my thoughts. "I just wanted to be somebody," I sigh. Her questioning look bids me continue. "We don't exactly live glamorous lives in Two. We have enough to get by, but we live in the shadow of the Capitol. It's like they rub it in our faces on purpose."
"They rub it in everyone's faces," she remarks blankly.
"It feels more direct, I guess?" I muse. "It's like, 'All this could be yours, if you were just a little better, a little stronger, a little more loyal.'" This doesn't seem to have any impact, which I suppose is fair enough. It must seem like a pretty good problem to have, one she'd trade me for any day. So I move on to an insecurity I hope is more relatable.
"My family didn't take me seriously," I tell her, "no one did. I was tiny and mouthy, but I could be as loud as a thunderstorm and no one would listen." Nibbling my lip, I pick at a loose thread in my sheets. "I'm from a poorer family in a shitty little mining town and the only usual ways out are to work in Central Defense or enlist. Military stuff. I didn't want to do either."
"Yet here you are," deadpans Katniss. Despite her efforts to the contrary, her lips turn up a little.
"Yeah," I smile in return. "Here I am."
Trailing her fingers over my cheek, Katniss smirks, "Can't believe you ever signed up for a job where people tell you what to do." I chuckle faintly and her smile grows. With a shrug, she admits, "I can see why Peacekeeping wouldn't be your first option."`
"Yeah, I got enough orders at home," I scoff. Pausing a second, I waffle over whether or not to divulge any more. My words are slow and deliberate when I do. "My dad was a Peacekeeper."
"What?" Katniss rolls onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "I thought you said you couldn't have kids."
"Not during our service," I specify. "Some vets have kids in their forties. But my dad was honorably discharged five years in. Went home, married his high school sweetheart who'd never quite moved on, and got on that right away. Josh popped out less than a year later."
"What happened to him?" she inquires, sliding her left hand up to rest on my hip. She gives her head a little shake. "I mean, why was he discharged? Was he injured or something?"
I nod, swallowing dryly. "He was a mechanic as well as a shooter, lost most of his middle finger in some repair job gone wrong. Impaired his ability to handle a gun." An ironic smile quirks my lips. "Unfortunately, not his ability to handle a belt." I wave off the concern washing over her face as her grip on me tightens. "Doesn't matter, anyway. They don't allow anyone with physical deformities to enlist, and they discharge you if you get any during your service, which is total bullshit. You get how ever much of your pension you've earned and a bit of severance pay, but it's hard to find work even if you're missing a finger, let alone a limb."
"And I thought amputees didn't faze you because of mining accidents," she recalls.
"Oh, there's some of those too," I agree. "Mining's more dangerous than Peacekeeping. Thankfully my mom never lost anything." Rethinking that, I snort, "Except for her brother." Katniss doesn't say anything, but the slight arch of her eyebrows tells me that my cavalier attitude toward my family has caught her off guard once again. It might not if she knew the whole story. Shrugging this off, I add, "It helped her convince Josh to switch to working the loading docks. A little less money, but safer." I raise my eyebrows pointedly. "You can see my options were a bit limited."
"Yeah," she ponders, eyes on the wall behind me.
"It's different there, you know," I remind her. "Victors are treated like celebrities. Representing the district is an honor, especially if you volunteer." My eyes fall to the mattress. "My parents were really proud of me when I joined the program."
"They should have been proud of you to begin with," she states flatly.
"I didn't give them much reason to be, to be fair. I was sort of a useless asshole."
Katniss's lips slowly draw back into a toothy grin. "Was?"
I should have expected that. Set it up too well for her to resist. Still, I roll my eyes and punch her in the arm. "Dick. I may be useless, but at least I'm not brainless."
"You're not useless," she assures me. Her smile growing wider, she slowly rolls over, forcing me onto my back. "In fact," she purrs, sliding a hand up under my shirt, "I find you useful for a wide variety of things."
Her hand has just closed around my breast and her lips are inches from mine when the distant rumble of engines catches my ear. I snap upright, my eyes going wide as the volume grows.
"Shit!" I curse, hopping out of bed, Cray's warning from when he suspended me echoing in my ears. We can't have any trouble on Reaping Day, not with any cameras or reinforcements around. The consequences could be dire.
"This place is about to be flooded with Peacekeepers," I explain to my puzzled girlfriend. "The kind who would shoot you on sight."
Katniss needs no more motivation. She is already on her feet, shucking her sleeping clothes and throwing on the ones she wore here. I assist her in the hasty effort, gathering more of the discarded articles for her while trying not to panic. No one will be invading any of our rooms as far as I know, but the clearing she has to cross to reach the fence is visible from the Commune if someone's looking out the wrong window. Plus it's a sunny morning, so it's probable that some imports will want to wait for instructions outside.
The hunter's barely had time to jam her feet in her boots before heavy footsteps start echoing down the hallway from the common area. Face blanching, she abandons her half-finished lacing job and darts to the window. I push it open for her and help her clamber onto the sill. Halfway out the window she turns back long enough to plant an urgent kiss on my lips, wild eyes saying everything she can't. Then she promptly drops to the ground and sprints away on those legendary legs, leaving me staring after her dizzily. I watch hawk-eyed until she's maneuvered through the fence and disappeared into the forest.
Fingers tracing my lips, I turn back into my room and heave a sigh of relief. My eyes immediately lock on Katniss's forgotten hunting jacket draped over my chair and narrow with concern. It's still early; she might get cold on her hunt this morning. Oh well, tall dark and brooding will no doubt be more than willing to share his body heat. I snort to myself, fingering the leather exterior. She'll be fine. I'll return it to her tonight.
***o***
I'm in serious danger of contracting claustrophobia today. I already knew I wasn't going to enjoy reaping day, for a whole host of reasons, but fuck this shit.
Fifty-six additional Peacekeepers were imported from the Capitol for the event. In larger districts, they just bring in extra bodies from outposts outside of the main towns, but here that's obviously not possible. They'll be on the same train out again maybe an hour or two after the tribute train departs. In the meantime, they made me feel like a fucking sardine in the briefing room and the truck to the Square.
Other, luckier Peacekeepers were given patrol assignments elsewhere in the district, making our presence felt well in advance, while those of us in the Square assisted with setup for the event. Hanging banners, erecting scaffolding and lugging gear for the camera crews. Though I obviously have nothing against lifting shit, I couldn't help but find it a bit demeaning being relegated to grunt work. It probably wouldn't have bothered me any other day, but I was already in bitch mode, fighting off this sense of malaise because a part of me still wishes I was going to be in the pen in Two today. That's where I was supposed to be. This was the day I was looking forward to for half my life. It makes being a faceless person in white even more unbearable today than it was at the Victory Tour. I may be over Clove, but not what she took from me. That only makes me feel more guilty about the whole thing, because being here should have changed my perspective. And it has, just not enough to fully undo eight years of emotional investment.
When setup is completed shortly after twelve o'clock, all but a handful of us are sent out into the Seam or the adjacent streets of the town to beef up our presence and start to corral the citizens to the Square once the summoning whistle sounds. Again, I'm one of the unlucky ones who are relegated to babysitting the Square. Actually, I think it might be more that Purnia's babysitting me, either because she deemed it necessary or because Cray ordered her to. Much of the afternoon shift started at noon, giving us over a hundred Peacekeepers on duty. What are the odds I'd get stuck here with her?
When I pull her aside and confront her about it, she doesn't skirt around the subject. "You behaved out of order at the last televised event, Agent," she reminds me. "For your own good, it's best that you stay somewhere where I can keep an eye on you."
Folding my arms, I scowl, "Did Cray put you up to this?"
"No," scoffs Purnia. "Cray doesn't give a shit about you, Johanna. I do." Her eyes and voice turn earnest. "I don't want you getting in any more trouble."
My eyes narrow dangerously as I cross my arms. "This isn't just about the Victory Tour, is it?"
"Of course not. Telling you not to do anything stupid is never enough, especially where that girl is concerned." I open my mouth to protest, but she puts a finger to my lips before I can say a word. "That's final," she declares. My harsh glower and pursed lips do nothing to sway her. She dismisses me with a decisive, "Don't go wandering off."
Steaming under my helmet, I turn on my heel and stamp away. Like I need to be fucking supervised. What does she think I'm going to do, anyway? Abscond into the forest with the Everdeens? Yeah fucking right. Tamper with the reaping ball? It's under heavy guard. Volunteer for my girlfriend? Even if I weren't a Peacekeeper, I'm not a citizen of District Twelve. There's nothing I can actually do to disrupt the proceedings.
It's not until the summoning whistle has been blown at 1 PM and potential tributes are filing in that I realize her concern may be well founded after all. My personal investment in this reaping becomes clear to me the moment I spot Katniss in the crowd. Well, the moment I recognize her, I should say, because it takes a few seconds. I've never seen her in a dress before, nor with her hair in an updo. It's strange but oddly attractive. Not that that's the first thing on my mind. What pulls my heartstrings is the blend of concern and stoicism in her face and then, more poignantly, the panic in Prim's as I get my first unobstructed glance at her. She stops dead in her tracks, mouth dropping open with a gasp as she lays eyes on the sign-in table.
I find myself moving closer as I watch Katniss bend down to reassure her sister. I'm much too far away to hear her words, but whatever they are they don't seem to be having much effect. I wish I could help, but I know I can't. I can't act out of order again, Cray made that very clear.
After a moment, Katniss stands and the two of them separate, each joining a line leading to one of three Peacekeepers taking blood samples to verify identities. Purnia is flanked by a couple of other women, and they're working fast, efficiently pumping the kids through and into the reaping pen. It's only a couple minutes before Prim reaches the front of her line and freezes up again.
"Next," Purnia orders the blonde, beckoning her forward. "Next." My CO's lips tighten with impatience as Prim hangs back warily. In that instant, it occurs to me that I can help after all, without breaking rank or breaking my role.
"Quit holding up the line, kid," I growl, stepping around the table to take her roughly by the arm. "Let's move it." Prim catches my eye, looking as confused as she does scared. I throw her a subtle wink to reassure her as I add a hand to her lower back, guiding her forward. "Don't tell me you're scared," I tease her under my breath as I drag her to the edge of the table. "I thought Katniss was the one afraid of human blood."
That at least makes the girl snort, though her expression gets no less begrudging. Purnia's close enough to hear my words, but barely acknowledges my presence, instead grabbing Prim's wrist as she readies the needle. I keep my hand on the kid's back the whole time.
"Hey Prim," I whisper, "how many Peacekeepers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?" Both of them blink my way in surprise this time, though Purnia almost immediately grasps my intention and looks back to Prim's hand. As Prim flinches at the needle prick, eyes still on me, I deliver the punchline. "Two. The hard part is getting them in there first." A second of squinting later, her eyes light up and she chuckles. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
"Go ahead," instructs Purnia as the DNA scanner logs Prim's identity and notes her attendance. The blonde exits the line before she draws any more of my boss's ire, though I don't get away without being shot a pointed glance. But she doesn't reprimand me or say she told me so. For now, at least.
Seeing Katniss is only a couple people back in her own line, I plod back to where I'd been standing at a convenient pace so she can brush by me on her way into the pen. She doesn't pass up the opportunity, slowing for just a moment to make fleeting contact. "Thanks," she mutters, grazing the back of her hand against my gloved one but keeping her face forward to avoid attracting attention.
We're close enough that she can feel my nod as I too avert my gaze. "Good luck."
Then she disappears into the mix of kids, and my stomach unexpectedly seizes and does a backflip. Suddenly, I think I get how the parents gathering around the edge of the Square feel. Mrs. Everdeen was right about me being at the mercy of the government, same as everybody else. Now with both girls out of my reach, I truly am just another helpless observer.
That feeling is still eating at me as the ceremony sets to begin. Again, I'm stationed away from the action, keeping watch from a tower with one of the many camera crews as Mayor Undersee and the Capitol escort exit the Justice Building and sit in two of the three chairs on the stone platform in front of it. Three chairs is quite depressing, as that leaves only one for any living victors. And from what I've seen of Haymitch Abernathy, he's not much to be proud of. He can't even be bothered to show up on time for the reaping.
As the clock strikes two, the Mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read the history of Panem. The nation rising from the ashes of North America, the Dark Days that saw the districts rebel against the Capitol, the defeat of the traitors and the Treaty of Treason that brought in new laws and created the Hunger Games. I've heard this all ten million times before, so I zone out and search for Katniss in the crowd of girls on the near side of the Square.
There she is, near the back with the other older girls, squeezing her fists and then wiping her sweaty palms on her dress. It's a plain but rather nice blue number, probably one of her mother's from way back when, since Seam people can't afford shit like that. Most of them can't even afford to eat. Her hair is still braided, I note as I get a better look this time, it's just pinned up in an intricate manner. I can't help how my thoughts roam to tearing that hairdo apart, running my fingers through it and ripping that dress off of her. It's a much more pleasant way to pass the time. Not that I'll get the chance to do any of that, anyway. I have no doubt that the first thing she'll do when she gets home is change.
A commotion calls my attention back to the stage just in time to see Haymitch stumble out of the Justice Building and land in his seat. The crowd responds with a smattering of applause, but he's too busy trying to hug the escort to notice the ovation.
The mayor looks distressed, and I don't blame him. Everyone looks down on his district already, and now his lone victor is giving the haters even more fodder. He quickly leans into the mic again. "And now to draw the names of our tributes, please welcome Miss Effie Trinket!"
Right, that's her name. I once overheard Xavier referring to Trinket as a high-maintenance and shallow bitch, which is hilarious coming from him. He's the very definition.
Curly pink-tinged wig slightly off kilter after that incident, Effie steps up to the microphone with a fervent and cringingly high-pitched, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be everin your favor!" Then she starts on some bullshit speech about how honored she is to be here, which might seem more convincing had Haymitch not just molested her on national television. My eyes wander to Katniss again and find her looking across the Square. Following the direction of her face, my eyes land on Gale looking back at her, vaguely amused. Despite the fact that they're down there and I'm up here, I feel a burble of jealousy in my gut. This is something they can bond over that I'm not a part of. Even at the reapings I attended in Two, I was never terrified for my life like this. The fear is clear in his eyes, despite the ironic smile.
"Now," Effie continues, "the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honor of representing District Twelve at the 74th annual Hunger Games." After a pause to let that sink in, she chirps, "As usual, ladies first!" Then she clacks her way over to the girls' reaping ball, her high heels obnoxiously loud now that the crowd has fallen dead silent.
I'm behind Katniss and can't see her face, but the tension in her shoulders and the clenching of her fists spell out her anxiety anyway. I wish I was down there so she could squeeze my hand instead. I wish I could whisper assurances in her ear that it's not her, and that even if it was, she'd kick so much ass in the Games. But I can't, so I wait up here with bated breath like everyone else. It doesn't even hit me how scared I am until Effie is returning to the microphone, paper slip in hand. She unfolds the paper and looks at the name, and in that instant I just about lose my lunch onto the head of some eighteen year-old girl below me.
Still obnoxiously chipper, Effie pronounces, "Primrose Everdeen."
What? I blink, trying to process this. No. No, this isn't happening. Forgetting about vomiting, my stomach now drops into my asshole, because I know immediately what's going to happen. Katniss didn't have her name in there twenty times after all. It was twenty-one, for all intents and purposes.
For a second I wonder if I'm wrong, because Katniss doesn't move an inch, doesn't come rushing forward to volunteer like I initially expected. Then she tips to the side a little, forcing someone beside her to reach out and steady her. My eyes jump to the front, where the young girls are clearing out from around Prim, staring in disbelief. Twelves rarely get picked, and the murmurs rising up from around the Square make clear the surprise and displeasure of the crowd. The youngest victor ever was Finnick Odair at fourteen, and that had as much to do with his looks as it did his fighting skills. The young kids don't stand a chance. The mere thought of Prim being cut down by Cato sends physical pain radiating through my body.
Primrose stalls even longer than she did at the sign-in booth, but eventually she gets her feet to move toward the stage. Somehow in this moment she has the presence of mind to tuck in her loose shirttail, while Katniss still appears to be paralyzed. Then suddenly the older girl is moving through the crowd, heading for the aisle between the boys and girls pens.
"Prim!" comes the strangled cry from her throat. The girl in question whips around and looks on her sister's panicked face. The second cry is clearer. "Prim!" Katniss starts down the aisle toward her, but two of my comrades step in her way and hold her back. I can only see a piece of her face, but the desperation in it is unmistakeable as she fights back against their grip. "I volunteer!" she hollers. "I volunteer!" Pushing one of the men aside, she steadies her stance and her voice. "I volunteer as tribute!"
"I believe we have a volunteer!" Effie announces, surprise permeating her tone as Katniss runs down the aisle and wraps Prim up in her arms. "Lovely! But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um . . ." she trails off, unsure herself. The mayor has stepped forward and is saying something to her, something I can't hear from this distance. But I can see the pained expression on his face, the flicker of recognition in his eyes. Yes, Katniss and his daughter are friends of sorts. He would know her. Speaking again, he shakes his head resignedly.
Meanwhile, Katniss has bent down to Prim's level like she did outside the pen and is talking to her urgently. I can't make out her words either, but Prim's cries are clear and loud. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" She clings onto her big sister, whose face now goes stony. There's that impenetrable act I've seen so many times.
"Prim, let go," her sharp voice carries. Prim doesn't even think about it, but I spot Gale emerging from the crowd and hurrying over to intervene. "Let go!"
Gale swoops in and plucks Primrose off of Katniss. "No!" she shrieks as he hoists her up to his chest and turns to carry her away. "No!" He retreats down the aisle as her screams continue, making my throat ache. Even if I didn't know the sisters, my heart would break watching this exchange. Acquainted with them as I am, it shatters.
The Peacekeepers formerly surrounding Prim now make a box around Katniss and escort her the remaining distance to the stage. Effie Trinket beckons her welcomingly as she climbs the stairs with even steps, looking slightly dazed but otherwise emotionless. Not that it fools me. I can feel the terror coming off her in waves.
"Well, bravo!" gushes Trinket as she guides the brunette to the microphone. "That's the spirit of the Games!" I'm suddenly tasting bile again. "What's your name?"
"Katniss Everdeen," she mumbles.
"I bet my hat that was your sister, wasn't it?" Trinket probes.
"...Yes."
Seemingly ignorant of - or at least immune to - the girl's hollow tone, the escort trills, "Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"
The Square is every bit as silent as the moment she plucked Prim's name from the bowl. But the tension in the air makes it clear this is not a simple lack of enthusiasm. The district is refusing to clap for this. Refusing to honor not Katniss, but the system that required her to take this action in the first place. But then something else happens. At first one, then another, then almost every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to her. I'm unfamiliar with the gesture, but in this instance I assume it must be something akin to giving the Capitol the finger. Which I wouldn't mind doing either, at the moment.
It probably has some deeper meaning than that, because Katniss appears genuinely moved, on the verge of losing her composure. Thankfully, Haymitch chooses this time to come staggering across the stage to congratulate her, usurping the spotlight. "Look at her. Look at this one!" he hollers, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "I like her! Lots of…" He can't think of the word for a while. "Spunk!" he settles on triumphantly. "More than you!" He releases her and starts for the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouts, pointing directly into a camera. Before he can say any more, he plummets off the stage and knocks himself unconscious.
If the situation weren't so dire, I might laugh. It is some very well timed comic relief. Because with every camera gleefully trained on Haymitch, Katniss has a few seconds to release a tiny shudder and compose herself without the crack in her mask being broadcasted around the country. Good. Let them know just how brave she is. Putting her hands behind her back, she wipes her face of any expression and appears to stare off into space, though I can see her eyes wandering a little. It takes me a moment to realize they are sweeping over the Peacekeepers in particular. She's looking for me.
Firming up my stare, I try to telepathically communicate as best I can, drilling into her with my eyes in hopes she feels them more than the thousands of other pairs that are slowly returning to her. It takes a few seconds, but suddenly her gray eyes snap up and straight into mine. The breath pops out of her lungs as though she was just kicked in the stomach, and for an instant the fear shows in her eyes. But I guess she draws strength from my calm yet intense gaze, because she sucks the air back in and stands tall. I feel anything but calm, but I learned how to act, how to give off the energy and emotion I need to to manipulate a situation, or a person. It's not a skill I explicitly taught her, but she was never bad at it to begin with, except where I was concerned.
Haymitch is whisked away on a stretcher, and Effie Trinket is trying to get the ball rolling again. "What an exciting day!" she warbles as she attempts to straighten her wig, which has listed severely to the right. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" Clearly hoping to contain her tenuous hair situation, she plants one hand on her head as she crosses to the ball that contains the boys' names and grabs the first slip she encounters. She zips back to the podium, and before the crowd even has a chance to get nervous again, she's reading the name. "Peeta Mellark."
Wow. As if I couldn't feel any worse. I'm glad it's not Gale for Katniss's sake, but couldn't it have been some boy I don't know? I mean, I don't exactly know Peeta, but he seemed like such a nice kid. Caring in demeanor and exacting in his work. Had a lot of potential in business, I remember thinking. But that's all gone up in smoke now. If the Careers don't kill him, Katniss will.
He appears struck by shock as much as Prim was, but takes less time to get moving. With his steady steps, he's trying to copy Katniss's emotionless air, but he's not nearly as good at it. The fear of prey is clear in his eyes and it unconsciously makes my inner hunter salivate. Despite his musculature, I would have watched this from Two and considered him easy pickings, someone I'd snack on for breakfast before going after the real challenge, his impassive district partner.
No, what the fuck am I thinking? The blood drains from my head as the obvious finally dawns on me. Had Clove not done what she did, I would be in these Games against Katniss. Teaming up with Cato, planning ways to kill her. Of course, I wouldn't know her, but the mere thought is horrifying enough that this time I actually do puke in my mouth. And vomit's not one of the things I'm willing to swallow, so when a second wave pushes up from my stomach I let it all loose on the floor of the camera nest. The video guy next to me and the other Peacekeeper in the tower shoot me a pair of strange and disgusted looks.
"Knew those rations had gone bad," I mumble, wiping my mouth and turning back to the stage. My forehead is bursting with sweat and I'm trembling, gripping the railing as I try to get a grip on myself. I cope by focusing all my attention on the proceedings, allowing myself no more time to ruminate. Effie is asking for volunteers, but this time there's no hero to step in for the unfortunate tribute. I'm pretty sure at least one of his brothers is young enough to do so, but few people love or protect their siblings so much as Katniss does. Had I not trained for the Games, I wouldn't have stepped in for one of mine either. Of course, Josh is a boy and Jordan was last eligible when I was twelve, but theoretically speaking.
The mayor begins to read the long, dull Treaty of Treason and my mind threatens to spin out of control again. I try to catch Katniss's eye, to somehow communicate how sorry I am, how I get it now, but she's staring into space for real this time. I breathe my way through the ensuing minutes, counting in and out, physically forcing my body to calm down. But it's still tough because I've only ever expected to fear for my own life, not the life of someone I love. So very, very much.
Once the Treaty is finished, the mayor steps back and motions for the two tributes to shake hands. When they face each other to do so, their prolonged eye contact surprises me. Katniss tends to avoid it to begin with, one of her many antisocial qualities, but its intensity and the firmness of their handshake suggests some familiarity as well. Of course, they are classmates. And with all emotions heightened as they are right now, it could also be a forced sense of camaraderie. Because while they'll be enemies in the arena, there's a long week of shit they'll have to get through together first, with only a drunken victor and an obliviously peppy escort to guide them. Maybe in a sense it would have been best if Gale was reaped. Katniss can use all the allies she can get, and she's not great at making friends. I can only hope this boy is as nice as he seemed, and not just cunning and manipulative like me. Like Clove.
The pair turns back to face the audience and Horn of Plenty, the national anthem, begins to play. The familiar tune elicits a mix of confusing emotions in me. If I were on that stage by choice, it would be a battle cry, but now it's a song of helpless mourning. A reminder of how in control the Capitol is, of how they can take our loved ones and kill them for sport before our eyes. Of course, Katniss has a good chance with the training I've given her. At least I can take solace in knowing I'm helping her in a sense, and in knowing she might come back. To get through these weeks until she returns, I have to believe that she will. That the odds arein her favor.
Katniss is gazing at her mother and sister as I refocus on her, and within seconds her eyes flick up to meet mine again. A slightly shaky breath pushes out of her again, but this time her eyes don't hold fear so much as regret and resignation. Her lips don't move much, she has an act to keep up, but it's enough for me to recognize the words, "I'm sorry." I shake my head. She has nothing to be sorry for.
Whether she agrees or not, she takes one last lingering look at me before consciously averting her eyes to the hills in the distance. They stay there until the anthem ends and Effie guides the tributes through the doors of the Justice Building, where Cray and a group of Peacekeepers await to take them into custody. They turn down the hallway, the doors close, and she's gone.
Though I'm shaking, I manage to make it down the ladder without falling into the crowd as it is dismissed. Despite my racing thoughts, my mind is numb. Did that really just happen? My incessant blinking fails to wake me from this nightmare. I step under the tower to avoid the crush of bodies leaving the Square, still staring at the stage. Slumping against the scaffolding, I close my eyes for mere seconds before I feel a tentative hand come to rest on my shoulder. "Mason?"
"Captain Stark." Turning slowly, I look into the older woman's eyes. Though striking as ever, I recognize the sympathy and concern lurking there. A tiny bit of dread lifts from my shoulders. She's not here to yell at me for intervening earlier. She's not here to say anything at all, apparently, though she gives my shoulder a minute squeeze. "I… I don't feel so well."
"Go home, Agent," she commands me gently. "It's okay."
With a grateful nod, I get my voice to form a scratchy, "Thank you." Then I turn and meld into the crowd, trying to swallow the lump and sob that seem to have lodged in my throat.
I'm a little outside of town, turning onto the road to the train station by the time my thoughts start to solidify. I need to go see Katniss. In just under an hour, she'll be driven to the train station and whisked away to the Capitol, and I have so much to tell her before then. I have advice and useful scouting reports to pass on. Plus I have to say goodbye. I need to.
Knowing I can't just waltz in there to visit her in my Peacekeeper garb, I hurry to the barracks to gear down and grab a change of clothes. Dressing down is a gamble, I know that, but it's either visit her in disguise and risk getting arrested or attempt to visit her in uniform, probably fail to get past the door, and definitely get arrested. Purnia was right. Katniss makes me do very stupid things.
Rooting through my stash of clothing from home, I throw together the most ratty and nondescript outfit I can. My lighter skin tone aside, with my dark hair and eyes I'll more easily pass for Seam than Townie. Unfortunately, even my cheapest clothes would barely pass as Townie caliber. Frankly, I don't look like a citizen of Twelve. I look like an off-duty Peacekeeper hanging around the barracks. And on that note, I'm sure I've worn every one of my shirts around the barracks, too.
What's more, my face will be recognizable to anyone stationed here, no matter what shift they work. There's only eighty-three of us; we all sort of know each other. And unfortunately, my only hat with a brim to hide my face has Glenwood Hot Springs emblazoned on it. Like that's not gonna raise any red flags.
Deciding the plain beige t-shirt and ripped jeans I'm wearing will have to do, I settle on tying my hair back to at least alter my facial appearance a bit and hope the bangs don't give me away. As I walk over to dig in my desk for one of my rarely used hair elastics, my eyes fall to my chair and go wide with discovery. Of course.
Sighing heavily with relief, I pull my hair into a ponytail and tuck it up under Katniss's hunting cap. I sweep the bangs under the brim as I pull it down close to my eyebrows, then slip her jacket over my shoulders. It's several sizes too big, but no one would expect a Seam brat to have perfectly tailored clothing anyway. Zipping it up to hide the potentially familiar shirt, I take another look in the mirror. Much better.
Despite the barracks being mostly deserted, I pull a Katniss and shimmy out my window, reaching up to prop it open once I hit the ground. Then I dash along the fence, past Cray's house, and enter the town from the back. I never stop running.
I arrive at the Square, flushed and panting, at 3:07 according to the town clock. Just over twenty minutes to go. Hopefully she doesn't have a line of people waiting to see her, though I doubt that would be the case. I've just climbed the very steps Katniss did not an hour ago and am trucking toward the doors when they open and Madge Undersee comes walking out. Shit! Slowing my pace, I duck my head and pray she doesn't recognize me. But Madge isn't even looking at me, just hurrying toward the other set of steps. The girl looks a bit agitated, but her eyes are dry. As she strides away purposefully, I sigh with relief again and push through the doors.
Upon reaching the lobby the lobby, I furtively glance about for any indicators of where the tributes might be. A pair of Peacekeepers by the elevator catch my eye, so I make my way over there. "Hey," I mumble, purposely deepening my voice, "I'm here to visit one of the tributes."
One of them nods and presses the button to open the doors. "Second floor. Once you're up there, turn left for the girl and right for the boy." I nod my understanding and board the rickety contraption. It smells kind of like old cheese, which doesn't help the state of my stomach. Gratefully I exit on the second floor and turn to the left, hurry to the table set up some ten yards away.
"Here to see Miss Everdeen?" poses one of the Peacekeepers at the table. There's two sitting and one flanking them on either side. None are wearing helmets, and I don't recognize any of them. I nod breathlessly and he pulls out a form and a pen. "Name."
Jeez. For all the trouble I went to crafting a believable outfit, I really didn't think this through. My brain freezes and I struggle to think of a name, any name other than my own. Johanna. Katniss. Prim. Johanna. Hanna. "Hanna Taylor," I blurt. Turns out, I didn't even have to think of a name other than my own. It's just cutting off at my middle name, which thankfully also passes as a surname.
"Relationship to the Tribute?"
As I open my mouth, it occurs to me that this might be the only chance I get to declare this officially. Blinking, I stammer, "…G-girlfriend."
The man's lips pull tight with a tiny sympathetic smile and he turns the paper around, marks an X on a line at the bottom. "Sign here, please." I forge some ridiculous signature that looks nothing like my own, making a point to add an H to the end of my truncated first name. Noting that he spelled it that way too, I slide the form back to him and turn to the door.
"No, no," says the nearest guard as he extends an arm to block my path. "There's someone in there already. You'll have to wait."
Nodding obediently, I plop down on the bench across from the door with a scowl. Who could it even be? As I understand, they only allow ten to fifteen minutes per visit, and Madge just left. Gale must have come right after her family. Maybe more people like her than she thinks. Relieved of the fear of being recognized by one of my usual coworkers, I unzip the jacket to release the heat my prolonged sprint produced, leaning back against the wall.
A few minutes later, the other man at the table nods to the one by the door, and he walks into the room. "Okay," he says, breaking up whatever visit is going on.
A male voice requests, "Just a few more minutes?" Oh, shit fuck. That's Gale. My first impulse is to run, but where to? If I leave, I might not have time to see her once the coast is clear. Deciding to take my chances, I shrink as small as I can, drop my face and hope he doesn't notice me.
"Time to go," the guard insists, and the woman standing by me follows him in for backup. By the sounds I hear, they're forcibly pulling him away.
"Take care of them, Gale - whatever you do, don't let them starve!" Katniss's voice has an unusually high pitch and degree of panic in it as she levels her last request.
"I won't!" Gale calls back. "You know I won't! I'll see you soon, okay?" He barely gets that out before the door slams in his face. Shaking off the Peacekeepers on either arm, he turns to go to the elevator but then pauses in his tracks. As his head turns my way, I duck mine to tip the brim down again - I could barely peek past it to see him to begin with. But almost immediately, his hand cups under my chin and lifts it to reveal my face. His eyes bore into me and I gulp, my own eyes wild with a panic that I don't even try to hide. Gale's expression shifts from irritated confusion to anger and disbelief. He steps back, snapping his hand away like I'm a burning hunk of coal.
"So it's you," he surmises, eyes as wide as mine. I'm not sure me being here to say goodbye quite justifies that leap until I remember I'm wearing her clothes. The hat comes and goes, but Katniss wears this jacket almost every time she hunts, and much of the time even when she's not. She probably wore it on their hunt yesterday afternoon, and if it was missing this morning, well, Gale can put two and two together.
There's no believable excuse I can make, not to Gale. So I don't bother. "Gale, please," I beseech him in a hushed tone. This is not the time for this. He can rail on me or try to beat me up later if he wants, whatever, but if these Capitol Peacekeepers discover my identity, I'm in deep shit. No doubt he'd like that, but I have to hope his affection for Katniss will at least allow me to say goodbye before he has me dragged off, subjected to a tribunal, possibly Avoxed.
The wheels are turning in his head, I see it as he bites his lip and glances at the puzzled guards. "Please don't," I repeat. My pride has no place here. I'm at his mercy, and I know it every bit as much as I hate it.
The boy takes a long look over his shoulder at the door he just exited. Still hoping he will he keep his mouth shut for Katniss's sake, to my dismay I notice the tightening of his jaw, the flush that's reddening his olive skin. My one saving grace could backfire if he is angry enough to hurt her out of spite. Katniss is not just his crush, she's his best friend and hunting partner, his closest ally. Gale's disdain for the powers that be is no secret, and my conversations with Katniss have only made that more evident. And this ally of his is involved with a Peacekeeper, of all people. It couldn't be a bigger slap to the face, a bigger betrayal on many levels.
"Wow," he enunciates, turning back to me. Shaking his head with an aggravated snort, the disgust in his expression seeps into his voice as he remarks, "She'll be happy to see you." Then he storms to the elevator and smacks the button so hard I wonder if he broke it.
"Miss Taylor?" As I'm busy watching Gale's glare disappear behind the closing elevator doors, the guard by the door has to repeat himself, all the more irritated. "Miss Taylor?"
"Huh?" Whipping my head around, I see the guard motioning at the door. All my tension and worry exits me in one breath as I leap to my feet, a smile instantly spreading across my face. Oh, thank god. As I turn the doorknob and enter the room, Katniss startles and spins around from where she's staring out the window, gripping the sill. Her mouth and eyes fall open at the sight of me.
My confidence suddenly renewed, I toss the door shut and smirk, "And you said you weren't gonna volunteer." I open my arms as she crashes into them, squeezes me so tightly it makes breathing an issue. Far from complaining, I only reciprocate. We spend either hours or seconds pressed so tightly together, sharing body heat and a sense of security that will be gone far too soon. I run my hands slowly down her back, memorizing the muscles and divots as I bury my face in her collarbone and inhale her characteristically earthy scent.
When she begins to tremble in my arms, I loosen my own grip a little to sneak a look at her face. Fisting my shirt with both hands, she whispers into my neck, "If Clove hadn't…" She lifts her face a little to make eye contact, looking rather dazed. "I could have killed you."
"Please," I scoff.
Finally pulling back, Katniss drags her eyes over my body. "Nice outfit," she deadpans. But from her growing smirk and dancing eyes, it seems my wearing her clothes has the same effect on her as the opposite has on me.
"Had to look the part," I grin. Now with a little space between us, I notice something about hers too. Pinned over her heart is a small circular pin of a bird in flight, an arrow slicing through the bottom of the circle just under the bird's claws. "Where'd you get that?" It appears to be real gold, I note as I lean closer for a better look.
"Madge," she tells me. "She didn't stay long, just put this on my dress and made me promise to wear it in the arena." But she's not looking at the pin, she's focused on her jacket as she trails her fingers down one of the arms. A debate rages in her features as she eyes the worn leather. "You should hold on to it for me."
Shaking my head immediately, I counter, "I can't. It was your father's."
Recoiling a little, she asks, almost accusingly, "How do you know that?"
"It's too big for you. You wear it all the time. Hug it around yourself sometimes when you're sad or nervous." As I list off the evidence, she drops her eyes to the carpet and nibbles on her cheek. Reaching in to take one of her hands, I conclude, "Your mom should have it. I'll take it to her."
She blinks soberly. "Thank you."
As I pull her into another hug, I survey the room over her shoulder and suddenly realize I've been here before. The velvet furniture, thick carpet. This is the same room where I talked with Scar all those months ago. Back when I barely knew Katniss. I don't mention this discovery, of course, as Katniss is not a fan. But remembering my friend from the program kicks my brain back into gear, and I shrug free of her arms to make eye contact again, now gripping her shoulders intently.
"Listen," I begin, "the reaping in Two is the last one because of the time difference and their proximity to the Capitol. So I don't know for sure, but if the tributes are who I expect, they're strong this year."
"The girl is good with knives," Katniss remarks dryly. "Prone to break alliances."
"True," I confirm, fighting off a smile. "Also a good wrestler. Feisty. Mouthy. Good at hand-to-hand for her size, but only if she has a knife. She relies too heavily on her specialty weapon. But don't overlook her."
"How could I?" she grumbles.
"Hey!" I snap, a hand flying up to touch her cheek. "Focus. This isn't about me." My eyes narrow. "Don't you go chasing after her, brainless. She's lethal from a distance and in close quarters. If you got yourself killed on some half-cocked revenge mission, I wouldn't be able to live with myself." My words strike her true, judging from her glum mouth twitch and deflating posture. Still I feel the need to insist, "Promise me you'll steer clear of her."
"Of course," she retorts. "I'll steer clear of the whole Career pack, like anyone who isn't a complete idiot."
Sighing out my anxiety, I remark, "Chances are, one of the other Careers will take her out before you get the chance anyway. She's bound to piss someone off enough."
Nodding brusquely, Katniss quickly changes the subject. "What about the boy?"
"His name's Cato," I inform her. "He's huge, and a pretentious asshole. Handsome, will definitely get sponsors. He'll score at least a ten for sure, but you'd fare better against him than Clove."
"Okay," she says, clearly interested though she's folding her arms. "How so?"
"He's a shit range fighter," I reply simply. "He can throw a spear half decently, but never spent much time tossing knives or shooting. He only likes weapons that will tear people apart, preferably from close enough to get splattered in their blood. Spears, swords, maces, machetes."
Katniss snorts to cover the growing fear in her eyes. "Sounds pleasant."
"The Capitol loves that shit," I point out. "He'll be popular. But he has his downfalls. He has a really bad temper, and he's arrogant." A sly grin crawls onto my lips. "Not like anyone I know." Glaring, Katniss knocks my hands from her shoulders, granting me a satisfied chuckle. "Piss him off or take him out from a distance. That's how you beat him. Surprise him, because he'll definitely overlook you for being a girl half his size, no matter how you score."
Peering closely, she gathers, "You've experienced it firsthand."
"Have I ever. Despite usually beating him." Katniss blinks, absorbing this with what appears to be surprise. I roll my eyes. "I excelled at sparring because I was versatile," I explain. "It's one of the most valuable qualities you can have, and I passed it on to you."
"I wish youcould be my mentor," mutters Katniss, "not that hopeless drunk."
"Me too."
The girl searches my eyes, a certain desperation seeping into hers. "Anything else you can help with?"
Racking my brain for any more insider info to pass on, I start by considering the trip itself, then their arrival in the Capitol. "The remake isn't fun, as I hear. They soak and scrub you, rip all your body hair out, and put you in an embarrassing outfit for the parade. But deal with it. First impressions are key to getting sponsors."
Those gray eyes widened at the body hair part and have not yet receded. "All of it?"
I can't help but chuckle as I catch her drift. "No, I think they generally leave your pubes." My lips turn up. "Unless maybe if they're planning on parading you naked covered in coal dust."
The new tribute scowls, crossing her arms again. "That's a very real possibility, Hanna, and I don't find it very funny."
"Okay sorry, sorry," I backtrack, biting my lip to suppress my growing grin. Stepping back a touch, I run my eyes over the tribute and size her up. "With your legs, you'd be first to the Cornucopia. It's dangerous if you're not in an alliance, but it would give you first pick of the weapons." I shrug. "But since you can handle several weapons, first pick isn't that important. You could wait it out and see what becomes available as the kill count grows. Your call." She raises an eyebrow at my rare state of indecision, making me shrug again. "I'd say go for it for sure, except Cato's vicious in close. He's not that fast, but if you didn't pick him off before he got his hands on a sword, you'd probably be dead."
"It's not really him I'm worried about," she admits. When I cock my head, she blinks to the ground and mumbles, "I don't know if I can kill Peeta."
This, I can understand. It's tough knowing you might have to kill someone you've known for years. Not that some part of me wouldn't have gotten a perverse kind of satisfaction out of killing Cato. I place a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "District partners usually leave each other for last except sometimes when the Career pack is splitting up. You know that. Odds are, you won't have to."
"The odds haven't been very dependable as of late," she remarks dryly.
"True," I admit. The curiosity I felt at their intense eye contact reemerging, I casually ask, "So, you guys are friends, or…?"
"He saved my life once," says Katniss flatly. "Sort of." I squint and she waves me off. "Long story."
As if she could get me to dismiss this revelation. It could prove more deadly than Cato and Clove combined. I know just how badly Katniss hates owing anybody. Taking her face in both hands, I urge her, "Do whatever you have to do, Katniss. I need you to come home." My throat swelling painfully, I choke out, "I need you."
Widening at my words, Katniss's eyes darken with emotion and flit down to my lips. Before she has a chance to close the gap, I'm already leaning in and pressing a desperate kiss to hers. She responds readily, tongue slipping between my lips as she sucks in a sharp breath through her nose. Our passionate kiss is tinged with sadness and longing. Longing for a reality where she wasn't picked, longing for simpler times that have been stripped away from us forever. Even if she returns, things won't be the same. She won't be the same.
My eyes well up despite my best efforts and a single tear rolls down my cheek. When it contacts Katniss's face, she immediately pulls back, swiping it away. "Damn it, no. No tears," she demands, stubbornly blinking her own burning eyes. "I can't look like I've been crying. Nobody's going to label me an easy target," she proclaims defiantly.
"I dunno, that's what I'd do if I wasn't from a career district," I muse, wiping my eyes. "Act like a sniveling weakling and hope everyone ignores me, then whip out my combat skills partway through the Games, once the field has shrunk enough."
"I volunteered out of Twelve. There's no way I'm flying under the radar."
"Then use that to your advantage," I advise her. "Make sure they remember you. You're going to need all the sponsors you can get against those Careers. The sob story of volunteering for little sis should help." She glares at me and I tip my head drolly. "You know what I mean. I'm a student of the Games and I know this shit works. Let them into your personal life, give them something to feel, and the Capitol people will be eating out of your hand."
"I don't want them in my personal life!" Katniss all but shouts.
"It's better than losing your life, isn't it?" I argue. Hands cupping her face again, I hold her gaze intently. "You entered the game. Now you have to play it."
Sounds from the hallway catch our ears and snap our eyes to the door. As I turn back, I see panic flaring up in her eyes like it is in my gut, and I pull her into an urgent embrace. "You're gonna do great," I whisper. "See you soon."
With a dry chuckle, Katniss retorts, "God, I hope not." It takes me a second to catch the reference, the moment we parted for the first time. The somberness of the moment sucks the intended humor from that, but I gratify her with a half-hearted smirk anyway as I hear the door opening behind me.
"Time," the guard calls just as I lunge forward for another kiss. The sound of him walking toward us only intensifies the contact, and we both lose our breath and our mind in the span of a few short seconds. An arm wraps around my midsection and yanks me away, making Katniss's eyes grow huge.
"Wait!" she yells. More footsteps are coming in from the hallway, but the man holds up for just a second, long enough for my girl to cup my cheeks and lay one final kiss on my lips. "I love you," she whispers, emotion threatening to crack her voice.
"I love you too!" I call back evenly as I'm guided backward by both Peacekeepers. "Stay strong. You got this, Katniss! I believe in you!" Then the door is closing and I lose sight of her, again.
It's for the best, because I couldn't keep that calm facade up for a second longer. A choked sob bursts from my lips and I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle it while more tears sprout in my eyes. As I wipe them away with an indignant sniffle, I notice the woman at my arm looking on me with a touch of sympathy, like her comrade did earlier. Apparently even in the Capitol, there's those of us who are just doing our job. I nod the gratitude I don't actually feel and bolt for the elevator before I start crying for real.
***o***
Clove and Cato volunteer out of two, as I expected.
I'm sitting in the Commune watching live as it happens, leaning into Darius's side with his arm draped over my shoulders, in silence. Hearing Clove's voice as she volunteers makes my stomach tangle again, but I keep my expression neutral as I watch the little traitor climb the steps and introduce herself. My chest aches as the camera pans across her face, which only pisses me off more. I don't want to care what happens to her.
As the broadcast fades out and some of the group starts to leave, Darius finally looks at me, speaking for the first time since he sat down. "I'm not going to ask if you're okay, because that's stupid," he says cautiously. "But if you need to talk or anything, you know where to find me."
The offer is sweet, but rather useless. He can't truly commiserate. Neither can Purnia, nor Athena. Ultimately, there's no one else here who knows exactly what I'm feeling. But there's two people not far away who are feeling something similar. I decide that's where I belong right now.
Half an hour later, I'm passing through the gate to a familiar yard, a leather jacket balled up under my arm. The shutters are pulled on the Everdeen house, only an eerie silence coming from within. As it gives off an almost haunted feel, I unconsciously tiptoe up the steps to the porch. Lifting my fist, I give the door three steady raps with my knuckles, my heart suddenly jumping into my throat. The floorboards squeak, the lock clicks, and the door opens to reveal Mrs. Everdeen. She doesn't look especially surprised to see me.
"Am I still invited?" Swallowing hard, I extend the jacket and the cap wrapped up inside it.
"Hanna!" Prim jumps out of her chair and rushes over, squeezing me tight in her arms as she presses her tear-stained face into my chest.
Mrs. Everdeen relieves me of the bundle, allowing me to hug her younger daughter in return. The way she reverently hangs Katniss's effects on one of the coat hooks, like she'll be back tomorrow, sends a stabbing pain through my chest that makes me double over into Prim. A sob catches in my lungs and I tip my face down to the girl's ear to whisper, "I'm so sorry, Prim."
Turning back to us, Mrs. Everdeen steps up to my left side and takes us both in her arms. The gesture unexpected but far from unwelcome, and tears begin leaking from my eyes in response to the older woman's warmth. "We'll get through this," she declares determinedly as she brushes strands of hair from my sticky cheeks. "Together."
A/N: For those who have asked, the upcoming chapters will include some of the actual Games, but more so Johanna's experiences while it's going on. Watching it, interacting with others in the district. Less impactful events that stay the same may just be summarized. Not everything will remain unchanged, of course, with the plot alterations leading up to it, and we will see more of the Career Pack.
Thanks to D7P for the beta read and top notch editing.