A/N: Fair warning, this is not the fluffiest chapter of all time.
Katniss's invitation occupies my thoughts all day Friday as I consider the merits of a trip to the lake. I can find it on my own now, as we made many a trek there in the months following her victory. We haven't been back since the snow started, and I miss it. Whereas at the house I sometimes felt a quiet unease, worried that Scar was right and we were under surveillance, the lake felt like freedom. It was freedom. We'd swim. Shoot guns. Make love. Whatever we felt like. Best of all, we could talk about whatever we wanted without any apprehension.
That's why Katniss picked it. Whatever half-cocked scheme is swirling around behind her eyes, it's too dangerous to discuss anywhere near the district. While I'm wary of trusting Katniss or her logic and planning skills at this point, I'm also intrigued. And ultimately, that's why I need to go. Because if I don't, I'll spend my whole life wondering if things could have been different if only I had given her a chance to make things right. If I even survive the coming weeks, that is, which her warning has made me doubt. That's the other reason I begrudgingly decide to accept the invitation. With my life possibly on the line, I don't really have a choice.
I'm already jittery with anticipation a day in advance when I enter the briefing room Saturday morning. The fact that I find Cray standing at the front alongside Purnia does little to soothe my anxiety. He mostly works from home, and his rare appearances at morning briefings typically signal trouble.
When he calls the meeting to order, that seems not to be the case for once. "I won't take up much of Captain Stark's time, but I'm here to set your minds at ease," he tells us. "I know many of you have been concerned since the uprising in District 8. We do, after all, have one of the lowest Peacekeeper-to-civilian ratios in the country."
It's true. I was far from the only one shaken by the graphic images of Peacekeepers lying dead and maimed in the streets. Giving us a smile of assurance, Cray continues, "The government shares your concern, and has made a pledge to beef up security in every district to help keep its soldiers safe. There's a Commander coming to town tomorrow to help us make the necessary adjustments, and I'm told we'll have reinforcements arriving within the next several days." It's too early in the morning for cheering, but mumbles of approval spread throughout the room. Despite the positive tone of his statement, Cray finishes with a warning. "I expect everyone to be on their best behavior for the duration of this Commander's visit."
Stepping forward with her clipboard of assignments, Purnia jumps in, "That means no wandering from your posts, no black market excursions, and no backtalk." Her eyes land on me during that last point and I cock an eyebrow.
Reinforcements. It's almost too good to be true. Only two new Peacekeepers have been added to our ranks since I arrived a year ago, and one of them was to replace the dead would-be rapist Milo Fields. Outpost 1201 is perpetually underfunded, lacking more resources than just bodies. But bodies are a good place to start.
It's not until shortly after nine the following morning that I realize this development may not be entirely good news. I'm packing my rucksack with the things I figure I'll need for this trip to the lake house. Food, a change of socks, plenty of alcohol. As I'm securing the straps, I hear quick footsteps traversing the hallway, ending with an urgent rapping on my door. My brow furrows as I cross the room to open it, revealing Purnia. Her face is even paler than usual, but her eyes are dark, pupils blown.
She looks scared. I've never seen that before.
Our recent spats suddenly so far from my mind, I raise my eyebrows in concern. "Purnia, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, Agent," she says, stiffening her posture. "I need you in the Commune in five minutes."
"For a game of hoverpuck?" I joke in an attempt to break the tension.
It doesn't work; her reply is every bit as terse as her greeting. "Mass meeting. The whole outpost." That explains the odd choice of venue, if nothing else. The Commune is the only room in the barracks large enough to fit 80+ people. "Get geared up," she advises me as she moves on to knock on more doors. "Don't be late."
After stowing the suspicious packed bag under my bed and changing into my uniform, I throw on my boots and hurry down the hall. With this ominous feeling stirring my gut, I decide instead to focus on the bitterness I feel for the loss of my personal time. They wouldn't be getting me to gear up unless they were sending me out on duty, so I hope it's not for long. Despite what she said, Katniss won't wait all day. If I'm lucky, I can at least catch her on her way back, speak to her at a safe distance from the district. But given that Purnia caught me two minutes before I was going to be out the door, I'm not feeling so lucky today. Then again, if I couldn't be located within the district, that would have caused trouble of its own.
The thunder of dozens of boots rumbles from the foyer down to the gear room, further unsettling my stomach as I strap on my armor amid the melee of afternoon shifters suiting up. Seems I'm not the only one being pressed into service. Once I've grabbed my helmet and loaded my handgun, I hustle to the Commune to look for Darius. He always seems to know what's happening.
Darius's helmet is off, making my search much easier. He's standing near the coffee counter as I approach, fingers wound in his unmistakeable red hair. Once I've elbowed my way close enough to see his face, I can read the distress lurking under the surface. Sidling up to him, I nudge his side and lift a questioning eyebrow. "They took Cray," is all he says.
I blink. "Took?"
"I was part of the group stationed in the Square with Cray to welcome Thread, that new Commander," he elaborates. "Thread's lackeys cuffed and black bagged Cray in broad daylight, threw him in the back of a hummer."
And here I was, fearing this would be bad news. "Good riddance."
"I don't think so." Catching my eye, Darius nods to the front of the room. "Careful what you wish for."
Peeking through the mess of taller bodies, I survey the area as best I can. There's about a dozen new Peacekeepers standing near the front, all of them wearing heavy tactical armor. Purnia's up there too, making fast and copious notes on her clipboard while a rattled Captain Rawley stands by idly. Purnia in charge is the second best consequence of Cray's departure after ridding the district of another sexual predator, so I don't get what Darius is on about until I catch a glimpse of the Head Peacekeeper's uniform. And how it's not on Purnia, but a tall and hulking man.
"A new Head?" I gape. Darius nods. "But that's not fair! What about Purnia?"
"I guess they think she's part of the problem," he mutters wryly.
"What problem?"
A cracking noise pulls our attention up front, where the new Head is rapping a table with the butt end of one of the pool cues. "Attention, everyone!" he bellows into the room. Once the last whispers die down, he continues in his normal voice. It's still frightening, though, deep and authoritative. Menacing, even.
"I'm Commander Thread, your new Head Peacekeeper," he says in introduction. "Commander Cray has been relieved of his duties due to the substandard state of this outpost and district. I'm sure you are all aware of what transpirsed in District 8, and it is my job to ensure that won't happen here. There's rebellion brewing in the districts, and I've been tasked with putting it out at the source."
"Oh, shit," I breathe. There has been little of anything brewing in District 12. They don't have the numbers to stage an uprising. So I know what source he is talking about. The girl on fire.
"He was one of the people they brought in after the riot in Eleven to help 'restore order,'" Darius whispers into his collar. "He specializes in crackdowns. I'm not sure he's fully human."
"To make our presence felt, we need all hands on deck until the rest of the reinforcements arrive tomorrow morning," continues Thread. "Those of you on the morning and afternoon shifts will all be working until ten o'clock this evening." Though no one dares voice any displeasure, he knows enough to assure us, "Captain Rawley will be coordinating ration delivery throughout the day to make sure no one keels over. But we have a lot of work to do before the big blizzard blows in tomorrow morning."
This work turns out to be entirely intimidation tactics. We'll comb through the streets in teams, frisking civilians and raiding random houses and buildings in search of weapons or other contraband. Once the blizzard passes, we'll be installing machine gun nests and a series of other "deterrents" in the Square, which can't be anything good. Meanwhile, the mines and school will be closed until further notice, handcuffing the economy. There are improvements underway at the dam in District 5, and when the power gradient will allow it to be electrified 24/7, we'll fix the holes in the fence surrounding the district. Though my mind is swimming in all this new info, it never quite moves past that first ominous statement. The source.
Once Thread is finished with his to-do list from hell, Purnia steps in with new assignments and a bucket of radios. She pairs me with Darius, which I appreciate. She assigns us to the team patrolling the industrial district, which I don't. Call me sentimental, but I'm not exactly thrilled by the prospect of being involved in a crackdown on the Hobsters, some of whom I consider my friends.
When we're dismissed, Darius turns on his heel and all but bolts out the door. Ignoring the shoveled roadways, he cuts across the snow-covered grass with huge strides. I have to borderline run to keep up, an indignity all its own, but that's not the only reason it pisses me off. "You're in a hurry to go harass the Hobsters, now?"
Darius squints down at me, slowing only slightly. "It's official. Purnia's smarter than you." I have no idea what he's talking about, and his eye roll suggests this is obvious. "The pairings posted in the industrial district are all Hob regulars. She assigned us there so we can warn them, doofus."
Though this revelation makes me feel a little better, it doesn't do much for my overall sense of foreboding. "They're not who I need to warn."
Darius catches on, I can tell by the cheeky glint in his eye. "I thought you were done with her."
Sighing, I shake my head. Might as well admit it. "I'll never be done with Katniss Everdeen."
"Well you can't go running off now," he points out. "Besides, isn't she hunting with Gale for several more hours still?"
"No," I grumble, "she's waiting for me to meet her at the lake. She's gonna think I wasn't going to come, didn't want to see her."
Darius considers this a moment before concluding, "That might be for the best." When I throw him a glare, he raises a hand in innocence but defends his logic. "I don't see how you guys can keep it up with Thread in charge."
"We'll work something out," I mutter, in an effort to convince myself as much as him. "This has never exactly been easy, Darius."
When we arrive at the Hob, we find the building completely deserted. It's eerily silent, the boards groaning under our feet as we tiptoe in. I'm not sure why we're trying to be quiet. Maybe because it feels like something out of a horror story. This whole day does. "Hello?" I call. My voice echoes in the rafters and peaked roof, but I try once again, louder. "Hello?"
"Someone who saw them bagging Cray must have figured it out and warned them," muses Darius. "Good."
We both wander in a ways, taking in the remains of this place we have grown attached to. I peek into a few of the stalls, checking if people got out with their product. Greasy Sae's stall is empty - after all, she doesn't sell anything illegal. Ripper's stash is still here, though. Biting my lip, I start to load my arms with bottles. "What are you doing?" asks Darius, his face morphing in disgust as he closes in on me. "Talk about opportunistic," he sneers.
"I'm not stealing it," I promise. "It's Ripper's livelihood. She can't risk coming back here, but if someone spots us with it, we can say we confiscated it."
"And, what?" scoffs Darius. "You're gonna take it to her house? You'll get her arrested if they find it."
"I know, but maybe we can hide it somewhere for her." My voice warbles, threatening to crack. Maybe it's stupid, but I want - no, need - to do something about the injustice of it all. Injustice. That's a funny word for it, given they're technically criminals.
Darius's face softens and he reaches in tentatively to start unburdening my arms. "Johanna. Leave it." Sadly holding my gaze, he tells me, "We can't fix this."
Though he says this with bottles in his hands, I know he's not just talking about Ripper's stash. Or even the Hob. We can't fix any of it.
***o***
I've made friends in this district. I'm no Darius, and I still have my moments, but I've come a long way from the angry, power-tripping former candidate I was when I arrived. People see me in the streets and smile, recalling a favor or a pleasant conversation.
But now I'm the enemy. When I try to make friendly eye contact while conducting a half-ass and largely fake raid on a house, the occupants look away. Passerby don't acknowledge my apologies whilst patting them down, blaming new procedures. As the day rolls along, it proves to be more emotionally than physically exhausting. How Darius is still going after starting at six is beyond me.
The sun has nearly set when we get our first radio call in hours. The walkie-talkie we're sharing has been going off all day, what with all the raids and so many bodies in the field, but we've rarely been addressed directly. "CO to Patrols 9, 16, 23, and 25," Rawley's voice crackles from my hip, making me pause in the middle of the dirt road. "Report to the Square for crowd control."
Squinting at the radio in the shadows, I confirm the number 16 scrawled on a piece of masking tape on the base. Hesitantly lifting it to my lips, I ask, "Crowd control?" The last thing I want right now is to get in the middle of a riot.
"Punishment of a criminal," answers Rawley. My gut slides down into my bowels as I exchange a look with my partner.
"Great, it's started," Darius mumbles bitterly as I hand him the radio. But we don't delay. Today is not the day for insubordination.
We hear the crowd before we see it. There's an ominous buzz in the air audible from the edge of town, but it's not until we weave through the streets of shitty houses along the way that we spot the sea of bodies spilling into the gaps between the shops ringing the Square. My uniform and gun could probably get me through the crowd easily, but after everything that's happened today, I'd rather use my manners. I'm about to approach and tap the first person on the shoulder when Darius says, "Jo, look."
A few shops away, there's three Peacekeepers standing outside the ring, embroiled in conversation. The helmets make it hard to recognize each other from a distance, but one of them is holding her signature clipboard. Drawn to Purnia as always, we're not far off when the other two nod and start making their way through the crowd. Before she can follow them, Darius calls, "Hey, Purnia!"
Stiffening at the sound of his voice, Purnia spins around. Her eyes widen and she holds a hand up in a command for us to halt. "Wait," she snaps. "What are you doing here?"
"We were called for backup," I snark as we close the remaining distance. "What do you think?"
Shaking her head, Purnia positions herself between us and the crowd. "We have a big enough backup squad already," she tells us. "We need more of us out in the streets."
Darius blinks. "So, wait, you want us to go harass the locals?"
"No," I observe with a suspicious squint. "She wants us to leave." Purnia says nothing, but the guilt in her eyes as they flick my way makes my heart seize in my chest.
Oh, fuck.
Forgetting all about manners, I shove Purnia out of my way and barrel through the crowd. My partner's panicked voice rings out behind me, begging me to stop, but I pay him no heed. He must have figured it out at the same time I did. Skidding to a stop on the icy cobblestones, I see two of the new imports securing someone's wrists to a wooden post. They step back, confirming what I already knew. My stomach flips at the sight of Katniss topless and on her knees, braid tucked in front of her shoulder to expose her back.
"Johanna!" Darius calls out again as he bursts from the crowd, throwing his arms around me to hold me back. But I'm incapable of movement, paralyzed by shock.
Katniss hears him through the din and turns her head, locks eyes with me. After an initial flash of anger, they turn sad, maybe even apologetic. She hardens her expression and shakes her head. "Stay put," she mouths.
"Those two caught her in the Seam with a dead turkey in her bag," says Purnia, indicating the pair of Peacekeepers where they now stand talking to Thread. I only now notice the animal tacked to the post above Katniss's head, the game bag and hunting jacket tossed to the side along with her shirt. For all the trouble she's caused, I sometimes forget that her most humble and everyday crime is poaching. "You just missed her trial. Not that there was much she could say in her defense."
My eyes go back to Thread as the two new Peacekeepers give him deferential nods and exit the Square. As they push their way out through the crowd, Thread pulls the whip from his belt and slowly begins to uncoil it. My dry mouth doesn't want to cooperate, but I manage the words, "He can't."
Purnia's hand locks around my arm. "If you intervene and they find out you two are involved, do you know what they'll do to you?" I do. They'll shoot me if I'm lucky. They'll take my tongue if I'm not. But after all that's happened today, I can't stand idly by anymore. This is something I can fix. Something I have to fix.
"Hallett, Stark, let go of me," I order them, straightening up into a confident posture. "I'm not going to do something stupid. I'm just going to talk to him."
"That would be something stupid," argues Darius, his fist tightening its grip on my jacket.
"I'm walking over to him now," I declare, undeterred. "You guys want to hold me back, drag me away? You want to make a scene? Go ahead. I'm sure that will look good on all of us."
Exchanging a look behind my back, the two of them hesitantly release me. "Careful," Purnia warns me as I brush by her, taking large strides on my way to Thread.
"Excuse me? Commander?" The new Head looks up from shaking out his arm. Apparently he's really getting into this. Nodding at the post, I question him, "You do know who that is, right?" His narrowing eyes tell me he interpreted that as sass, so I stand at attention. "Pardon me for saying, but I think this is a bad idea."
With a dismissive shake of his head, Thread informs me, "Controlling Katniss Everdeen is one of my main objectives here, Agent. President Snow himself insisted I find a way to subdue her." He chuckles to himself. "I didn't expect her to give me such an easy way on day one."
His flippant appraisal of the situation pisses me off, but I keep a calm demeanor. "Are you sure he didn't mean subdue her with threats?"
Thread looks at me as though I am insane. He's not exactly wrong. "She was caught with a poached animal in the middle of a busy street, with several witnesses. We can't afford to give special treatment, or empty threats."
Trying another angle, I remark, "I can't imagine this will go over well in the Capitol."
"This isn't getting broadcast to the Capitol. They won't see it." He gestures around the Square. "These are the people we need to see it. If we let this slide, it sets a poor precedent." It's a solid argument, one I can't counter without revealing my feelings about the crackdown. There's no point, anyway. There's no changing his mind. I stay silent, my throat swelling in despair. This is happening, and I can't stop it. "This district needs to know the times are changing."
"I still think this would be a mistake, sir," I try as a last ditch effort, gulping subtly.
"What you think doesn't matter, Agent." He points to his right with the whip, indicating the backup squad to the south. "Now fall in formation, unless you want an infraction on your record."
"Agent!" barks Purnia on her way by, Darius on her heel. "Let's go."
Thread eyes me expectantly, a threat looming in his expression. I know that look. I know what he wants to hear. Giving him a curt nod, I reply, "Yes, sir."
Though my body marches over to join the squad, I don't feel like I'm in it. A fuzzy sensation blocks out the world around me and it feels like I'm floating on air. I vaguely register Darius and Purnia flanking me as I take my spot, no doubt afraid of what else I might try to pull. Like my trigger.
"Silence!" Thread's booming voice jerks me back into the moment, quieting both the crowd and the buzzing in my ears. "For anyone who missed the trial, this girl was caught with illegal game within the district's borders." Eyes roaming the Square, he cocks his whip and proclaims, "Let this be a reminder to you all. The law is the law, no matter who you are."
Katniss is quivering at the foot of the post, and I know it's not just from the cold. Aside from the fear of pain, I'd bet it's a fear of the unknown, too. She's never been in this situation before. But I have. There's no need for me to imagine her terror, kneeling and vulnerable before a man with a strong arm and something to prove. At least the worst I ever got was a belt.
The first blow draws a collective gasp from the crowd, but no sound to speak of from Katniss. Even as Thread continues, whip tearing at her raw skin, she refuses to release anything more than muffled grunts. She wants to deny him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. I understand the impulse, but I know people like Thread. He won't stop until she does. Maybe not until long after. I was right, the day I met her. She's too proud for her own good.
Katniss turns her head a little to clamp down on her own bicep, keep her reactions suppressed. Thread doesn't stand for this; his next lash strikes her high and grazes her face on the way to her shoulder. Her head snaps to the side in reaction, and that's when she finally cries out. Out of shock more than anything, probably. But after that, it's harder for her to keep quiet.
Thread knows what he's doing. He takes his time between lashes, letting the sting die down and the skin tighten and inflame. It makes for more blood, more pain, and a better show. A show I'm forced to watch and pretend not to be affected by as my girlfriend's flesh rips open and the subdued whimpers she's trying to fight off devolve into wails of pain. I'm a decent actress, but bile is rising in my throat.
As the scent of blood grows thick in the air, I feel eyes burning into me. Turning my head, I catch Gale Hawthorne's furious glare from the crowd. But I'm in no more of a position to intervene than he is. And I can't stand it. This is the worst kind of torture for me – truly, I'd rather be Katniss right now. This wasn't supposed to happen to me anymore. I'm dressed in Peacekeeper garb and have a gun strapped to my hip, yet I've never felt more powerless in my life. This is even worse than the Reaping, watching this spectacle unfold before my eyes.
Darius's hand on my midback may be the only thing grounding me right now. It's all I can do not to turn and bury my face in my tall companion's chest, block this whole thing out. Thread must have lashed Katniss at least twenty times by now, though I've made a point of not counting. The less present I am, the better. But my efforts to dissociate are defeated when a scream cuts through all the muddled thoughts in my brain. My eyes focus fully on Katniss only seconds before she slumps forward, hanging from her wrists.
Purnia grips my arm as my balance falters in a moment of panic. "That's a good thing," she calmly informs me. "She can't feel it if she's passed out."
"I'm not an idiot, Purnia," I snap, tearing my arm loose. "Loss of consciousness is never a good thing during a grave injury." Eyes on Katniss, I try to still the tremor in my hands. "Passing out in response to pain is your body's way of easing you out of the world." Thread strikes her again and I shake my head, eyes wide. "Why even keep going? Why can't he just cut the poor kid loose?"
"Because she'll feel it when she wakes up," is my CO's matter-of-fact reply. "And to make a point." My jaw and fists clench, and Purnia's eyes flash over to me. "She told you not to intervene."
"I don't think she would've if she'd known he was going to kill her!" I hiss.
"She'll live," says Purnia. "And even if she doesn't, it's still better than him killing both of you."
Uncharacteristically silent up until now, Darius finally speaks. "I'll go."
My mouth falls open as I turn to him. "No. Darius-"
"Better me than you."
"Darius." My voice falters as I grip his sleeve, torn between holding him back for his own safety and releasing him because I need this to stop. Maybe if he intervened, he wouldn't get in trouble as badly as I would. But that's a big maybe. Another whistle and crack sounds, and the beaten body slumps lower. I let go.
Darius has just taken a couple of steps forward when a vaguely familiar voice calls out, "Hold it!" I don't realize that it's directed at Thread and not Darius until Haymitch Abernathy bursts from the crowd. Oh, thank god. Striding over to the post, he takes in the state of his mentee and turns on Thread. "Are you insane, or just suicidal? That's the darling of the Capitol, you know."
"She's a confessed criminal," growls Thread. "I don't care who she is."
"Then you're extremely stupid," retorts Haymitch. "She's got a photo shoot next week modeling wedding dresses. What am I supposed to tell her stylist? Or the President, for that matter? He's throwing the whole event."
Though he only stands up taller, doubt creeps into Thread's tone. "That's not my problem."
"Oh, well it's about to be your problem, my friend. Over half of her dress designs are going to be out of the question now. Forget the president, the Capitol citizens will eat you for breakfast when they hear about this. Torturing their beloved victor. And over what? A turkey?"
"It's not just a turkey," asserts Thread, resting the whip on his hip. "It's the law."
Sensing an opportunity, Purnia takes this moment to intervene. Clearing her throat, she steps forward stiffly. "I believe, for a first offense, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we would carry out by firing squad."
Thread blinks, scanning the group. "Is that the standard protocol here?"
"Yes, sir," she answers. Several others nod in agreement. None of us want to be here.
"Very well," he says to Haymitch. "Get your Capitol darling out of here, then."
As Thread wipes his hand along the length of the whip, splattering the snow with blood, Gale jumps forward with a knife in hand. For a split second I think he's going to attack Thread, but he only goes for the ropes around Katniss's wrists. "Better get her to her mother," I hear Haymitch say to him as he cuts her loose. "Do you have help?"
I don't get a chance to hear Gale's answer, because while Thread coils up his whip he turns to us with new orders. "Clear the Square."
"You heard the man!" barks Purnia, and the squad scatters in pairs. As I turn to follow Darius, she catches my arm and pulls me in tight. "Get out of here," she hisses. "I'll cover for you. Go!"
She doesn't need to tell me twice. As soon as I'm out of Thread's sight, I break into a dead sprint for the Victor's Village, boots pounding on the pavement. Usually I avoid taking the road in, not wanting to announce I have any business there. But this is an emergency. Still, I go to the back door out of habit.
Spying the other Everdeens through the cracked kitchen window as I round the back of the house, I call their names before I even make it to the door. "Prim! Mrs. E.!" Stumbling up the steps, I throw open the door to a couple of very shocked blondes. "It's Katniss!"
Mrs. Everdeen springs out of her seat. "Is she hurt?" My breathless nod prompts her to grab her coat from the back of her chair. "Where is she?"
"They're bringing her to you," I pant. At her quizzical look, I take a couple settling breaths and explain, "New Head Peacekeeper, just got in today. They caught Katniss with a turkey in the Seam and…" I can't finish, but I can tell I don't need to from the way the woman's eyes are darkening.
"How bad?"
"Bad. I lost count." Prim's expression flickers with understanding, but it's her mother's that grabs my attention. Something so much worse than disappointment crosses her face as she pieces together that I was there. In uniform. And what that means. "I'm so sor-"
"Don't apologize," she interjects. "Help us."
Desperate to be anything but useless, I nod eagerly. "What can I do?"
The next several minutes are a whirlwind of preparation. As I clear the table and cover it with a sterile cloth, the others get water boiling and grab a bunch of remedies from the medicine cabinet. Things to put in the water to help disinfect the wounds, I gather from their conversation. "She'll need some kind of painkiller too," I remind them as I peel off my gloves. "She was passed out last I saw her, but when she wakes up."
Figuring we'll need all the space we can get in the kitchen, I take the hallway to the study and strip off my armor there. After a moment's hesitation, I remove the gun and holster from my belt as well, hide them under my breastplate. Tempers are sure to flare when Gale and Haymitch arrive, and I don't want any firearms at hand.
As I reenter the kitchen, I catch the others in the middle of what appears to be an argument. "It'll help with the inflammation," insists Mrs. Everdeen.
"Mom-" Prim starts.
"Primrose," she snaps. "My patient, my house, my supplies."
"It's Katniss's house, actually," I point out with just a dash of cheekiness. Both turn to glare at me and I shrug my shoulders up to my ears, shoving my hands in my hip pockets. "Just saying."
Directing her hardened gaze back at Prim, her mother orders, "Brew the tea."
As Mrs. Everdeen adds the final remedies to the disinfectant solution, we hear urgent voices outside the window. Moments later, the door bursts open and Gale shimmies in backwards, supporting one end of a board they must be using as a stretcher. "We need help!" he calls over his shoulder.
"We're on it," says Prim, nodding at the covered table as she pours a mug of tea from the pot.
Another Seam guy carries the second end, supporting Katniss's head, and a third one trails behind him. Seeing no sign of Haymitch, I walk around to the other side of the table to help transfer her over. My cheeks pale at my first glimpse of Katniss, covered in blood and writhing on the board. The sight of her suffering makes my throat ache and swell. Though her regaining consciousness is a good sign, I doubt it's something she's grateful for. "How long has she been awake?"
Gale just about drops his end at the sound of my voice, head whipping around. His eyes are full of fire, but he doesn't say a word. "Not long," replies the guy bringing up the rear as he joins me on the far side of the table. Eyeing up my uniform curiously, he adds, "A couple minutes. She's still not all there." Her dazed whimpers turn to a sharp cry as we transfer her over, though, barely quieting to a series of moans once the board has been slid out from under her. Shit.
Prim hurries to her sister, carrying the mug. Plopping a straw in, she bends down and instructs her, "Katniss, drink this." When Katniss doesn't respond, too busy moaning and squirming, she grabs a fistful of her hair and looks her dead in the eye. "If you want to feel better, drink this." Katniss manages obedient little sips between whimpers, but it's understandably slow going. She can't stay still or shut up. "Good girl, drink it all," Prim encourages her, masking the helpless expression on her face as she looks up.
Still refusing to acknowledge me, Gale nods my way and asks Prim, "What is she doing here?"
"Helping," states Mrs. Everdeen as she steps up with the basin, her firm tone ending that argument before it can start. Setting the basin down, she wrings out a steaming cloth and lets it cool a moment, then uses it to start soaking up the blood. Katniss makes an awful sound at first contact, forcing my eyes away as she recoils at her mother's touch. Prim gives up on the tea, setting it on the counter harder than necessary.
The front door opens and closes behind me, and seconds later Haymitch appears with Peeta in tow, carrying Katniss's clothes and bag. "New Head Peacekeeper," he explains. "Not entirely peaceful." One of his eyebrows lifts at the sight of me, but he doesn't say anything. I'm sure he knows who I am to Katniss, but we've never talked much. I've seen more of him at the Hob than in the Village. He gives the guys I don't know some money and sends them off quietly.
Returning my eyes to Katniss, I pick up on a tremor in her leg beside me. That's when my training kicks in and I remember to check skin condition. Sliding my hand up her pant leg to find skin that should be warm, I press the back of my hand to her calf. It's cool and damp. Fuck. "Get a blanket!" I throw into the room. "She's in shock!"
As Peeta nods and disappears into the living room, I start the process of stripping off Katniss's water and blood-soaked boots, socks, and pants. Prim steps in to help, and when Peeta returns we wrap the blanket around her legs, tuck it under her feet. It's hard when she's still writhing around, but we get it wrapped loosely, anyway. "We've got to preserve as much of her body heat as possible," I explain to anyone who cares.
Finally registering my voice, Katniss lifts a hand in an attempt to reach me. "Hanna," she manages between various horrible sounds of agony.
"Hey," I answer, stepping to the end of the table. Tears springing to my eyes, I take her right hand in mine. "I'm here, baby."
There's a beat of relative silence, broken by the scuff of Gale's boot as he stops pacing. "Don't call her that," he seethes. His eyes bore into mine as I blink up. "You are the worst girlfriend ever."
"Gale," I snap, shooting him a warning look. "Now is not the time."
"It's exactly the time!" he shouts over Katniss's ceaseless string of moans and curses. "This is your fault, Agent. She was out there to meet you, you know."
The pain of that truth is what makes my mouth fall open, but I play it off as disbelief. "My fault? I know about her little arrangement with your mom. She was caught in the Seam with fresh game, when there's a hole in the fence not far from here." Tilting my head, I go in for the kill. "Who do you think that turkey was for, Gale? Where do you suppose she could have possibly been taking it?"
My volume swelled involuntarily in that last sentence, and Gale's rises to meet it. "You're such a fucking coward. You had a gun, you're a Peacekeeper, you could have done something!"
Clenching both fists, I spit, "What could I have done, Gale? You were standing right there too, and I didn't see you stepping in. If you had, you probably would have just gotten flogged along with her. Whoop dee doo. But if I had… do you have any idea what they do to traitors in the Capitol? It wouldn't have helped any of us." Taking a long, deep breath to calm myself, I conclude, "Reason is the only thing that might have worked with him, and it didn't. Not from me."
"Hanna," Katniss groans louder and more insistently this time, tugging on my hand.
"Hey, hey. It's okay," I tell her, kneeling on the floor so she can see me from where her right cheekbone rests on the edge of the table. "I'm here." The color returns to her fingers as I relax my grip post-rant, but hers remains tight. Cupping the back of her head, I press our foreheads together. Her eyes squeeze shut, forcing out tears that drip down and join mine in a cascade down my cheeks.
While her mother continues to clean her wounds, Katniss pants and moans through gritted teeth, nails of her left hand clawing at my shoulder. Blinking down to her other hand where it's clasped with mine, I finally notice the raw rope burns on her wrist. Worse, the splinters under her fingernails from digging them into the post.
"She needs something stronger," I direct to Mrs. Everdeen, but she's in the zone and doesn't seem to hear me. "Paula!" I snap. Her eyes flick over and I demand, "Get her something for the pain."
"I already did," she replies steadily. "That's what the tea was for."
"Bullshit. How many times have I seen you do inventory? I know you have actual pills."
"Mom, she's right," Prim chimes in. "I told you. We need something stronger."
"No," she calmly refuses. "Like I said, we need to save those for the people who really need them."
"Who needs them more than her?" Gale protests, finally in agreement with me over something.
"Mom," Katniss whimpers pitifully, fingers still locking mine in an iron grip. Her face contorts as she tries to fight off the pain. "Mommy, please."
The blood drains from my head at those words, at this display of helpless suffering. But while her daughter's plea sparks a flash of pain in Mrs. Everdeen's eyes, still she shakes her head. Anger swells in my chest and behind my eyes as I'm struck by a vision of an emaciated eleven year-old Katniss shaking this woman's arm and begging her with those very same words. In vain.
Before I know it, I'm on my feet. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I'm all but screeching, shaking with rage as I close in on her. "That's your own flesh and blood, for fuck's sake!"
Peeta steps in front of me before I can reach Mrs. Everdeen, who to her credit remains wholly unfazed. Barely looking up from her work, she gives the order, "Get her out of here."
"Gladly," growls Gale, and two seconds later I'm wrenched backward by the collar of my jacket. He and Peeta each grab an arm, but I'm as stubborn as I am strong, my boots scraping the floor as they struggle to move me. Finally they resort to exploiting their size advantage and literally pick me up.
Thrashing as they wrangle me to the door, I scream over their shoulders at the infuriatingly impassive healer. "She was right, you're a terrible mother! How can you just stand by and watch your child suffer? Again?" Peeta somehow gets the door open in the midst of the scuffle. Just before they thrust me outside, I shout, "Fuck you, you heartless fucking cunt!"
It's not an exaggeration to say Gale throws me off the back stoop. The air is jolted from my lungs as I land hard on my back in the snow at the foot of the steps, and I can form no more words before he slams the door. The coughs I make in an attempt to regain my breath turn into sobs, a new bout of tears welling up in my eyes. Swiping them away, I give voice to my anguish once more by screaming into the vast night sky.
It's not enough. A tree in their backyard becomes the latest victim of my rampage. Without an axe at my disposal, I strike it with my fists over and over, a never-ending stream of curses spewing from my lips. The physical pain is a fortunate consequence of my bare-handed attack on the bark. Anything to detract from my inner torment.
When my knuckles and throat are raw, my muscles aching and weary, I collapse back against the tree and slide down onto my butt. Burying my face in my bloody hands, I return to crying. My burning throat will hardly produce a sound, but my body shakes and tears pool in my palms.
When I eventually cry myself out, I stay seated in the snow, too exhausted to move. While my mind remains blessedly numb, over time the biting cold air starts to burn my ears. Meanwhile, the throbbing in my fingers intensifies until it matches that in my temples.
Suddenly the door opens, and I brace myself to face an angry Gale come to drive me from the property. But when I look to my left, I see it's Mrs. Everdeen crossing the yard. A rush of guilt and dread freezes me in place and makes my stomach drop. She doesn't appear angry, though. In fact, she's carrying bandages and ointment that must be for me. That only makes me feel worse.
"I meant get you out of the room, not the house," she tells me when she reaches the tree. "Gale was a little overzealous."
Still overcome by shame, it takes me a couple seconds to respond. "I'm sorry," I force out. "I didn't mean those things."
Mrs. Everdeen squats beside me with a sigh. "You did. But I've been called worse. No one can stand to see their loved ones in pain, including me. I've just developed the thick skin to work through it." Glancing down at my lap, she observes, "You, on the other hand…"
Following her gaze, I finally take in the state of my hands. The knuckles are a mess of torn flesh, bits of bark, and coagulated blood. My white pants now sport red smears where my hands were resting. Further inspecting my uniform, I find blood has dribbled down my forearms, staining the cuffs of my shirt and jacket. If I had any emotional capacity remaining, I would be embarrassed for my outburst. But somehow, I think she understands.
Setting the bandages and ointment aside for the moment, Mrs. Everdeen gently takes my left hand and starts to clean it. As she picks the last flecks of bark out of my wounds, she asks, "What did that tree ever do to you?" This attempt at humor allows me a small smile but also brings on another round of sobs. Once she's bandaged the hand, she stops her work long enough to shuffle closer and wrap her arms around my shoulders. I lean into the embrace, too weak to refuse, but it doesn't last long. She has a second set of knuckles to treat.
When she's finished with my right hand, Mrs. Everdeen gives the unmarred palm a squeeze and turns my chin to force eye contact. Hers are kind but serious, strictly prohibiting any more nonsense. "Are you going to stay calm now?" I nod, and she stands and helps me to my feet. "She's asking for you."
Inside, I find Katniss bandaged up but otherwise much the way I left her, writhing and moaning on the table. Whimpering my name, despite the presence of her best friend and fiancé on either side of her. Resisting the urge to throw a gloating look Gale's way, I crouch down in her line of sight and brush some strands of hair from her clammy forehead. "I'm sorry, baby," I croak, voice still hoarse from all the screaming. "I'm back."
Though her face hardly relaxes in her current state, Katniss's relief is audible in her sigh and her voice. "Don't leave me again."
"I won't," I assure her resolutely, stroking her hair. "I promise."
Her brow creases as she blinks the focus back into her eyes. "What happened to your face?"
"What?"
"You're bleeding," she tells me, squinting in what appears to be genuine concern. Right, I was crying into my bloody palms. My face, like my hands, must be an unholy mess of tears, mucus, and blood.
"Look who's talking," I tease. That culls a snort from Katniss, one that immediately makes her wince. So much for humor as a distraction. "It's from my hands," I explain, lifting them to flank my face and show off the bloody strips of cloth wrapping my knuckles.
Though the movement clearly pains her, Katniss reaches out to take one of my hands. Skimming her thumb across the bloodied bandage covering the back of my fingers, she makes a sound of exasperation. "Fuck, Johanna." For some reason, this makes me laugh. Ignoring my reaction, she draws my hand in to lay a kiss on my knuckles. I wasn't expecting this, but if focusing on my injuries makes it easier for her, who am I to argue?
Mrs. Everdeen offers me a chair, but I refuse it, staying in a squat so Katniss can see my face. I reach up to the table to find her other hand, which gives mine a strong squeeze. That bodes well. If she dies, it will be from infection, not blood loss. Peeking over her head, I catch Gale glaring at me from the corner he's retreated to, but he doesn't say anything. He must have received a stern warning too.
The sound of the doorbell makes my head snap up. Uneasy glances fly across the table as the already palpable tension in the room thickens. We all know who it must be. "Peacekeepers," voices Haymitch. He looks my way. "You should run."
"No," I refuse, squeezing Katniss's hand where it still rests by her lips. "I promised."
Katniss groans, pulling my gaze back down. Her earnest gray eyes shine with fresh tears, but are determined as ever. "Hanna, they'll take you. Go."
Even now, she's trying to protect me at her own expense. Shame doesn't even begin to cover what I feel. I was an idiot, thinking her selfish when she was trying to save me the entire time. No, I'm the selfish one. The one who fled at the first test of loyalty.
In answer, I only grip her hands tighter, shaking my head. I'm not letting go this time. Let them pry her from my cold, dead hands. "If they take you, they take me too."
As her mother goes to answer the incessant ringing of the bell, I keep my eyes on Katniss. Her face shows disappointment, yes, but also relief. She actually thought I would leave her. I can't really blame her. Perhaps my last chance ever to do so, I press my lips to her forehead to comfort her. She smells like a hard day in the woods, sweat and dirt tinged with pine. And blood.
The door slams, and my eyes flash up to catch sight of whoever's bootsteps are echoing down the hallway. My mouth drops open when Madge Undersee of all people enters the kitchen carrying a small, soggy cardboard box. She bristles at the sight of me, narrowing her eyes in unmasked contempt. "You've got guts, showing up here."
Tossing Gale some side-eye, I remark, "At least someone thinks I'm brave."
Mrs. Everdeen is on Madge's heels, taking the box and striding to her supply cabinet immediately. My heart soars with hope when she digs out a syringe and pokes it into a vial she's plucked from the box. "Is that morphling?" I ask her. She nods silently as she fills the syringe, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Hearing Madge approach on my left, I turn to her with a look of sincere gratitude. "Thank you."
"Just being a good friend," she mutters sullenly, avoiding my gaze and resting a hand on Katniss's bicep.
My eyes flutter as I absorb her words and demeanor. "You too?" I ask quietly. Madge glances at me involuntarily before averting her eyes again. Chuckling to myself, I shake my head. "I don't know how she does it."
"This isn't a joke," asserts Madge, eyes flashing. "You broke her heart." Her words make me swallow with guilt. Seems all I do is cause Katniss pain. Mrs. Everdeen's approach is a convenient excuse to look away. Katniss grunts and clenches her fists, strangling my fingers as her mother sticks the needle in her neck. But as the syringe slowly empties, her shoulders and face start to relax. "She's been over more often since you left," says Madge. Though she's speaking to me, she's watching Katniss when I look up from my crouch. "Needed a shoulder to cry on."
"Which you were no doubt happy to provide," I parry.
Madge's eyes narrow, full of judgment. "I was really starting to think I was wrong about you."
"Okay, I get it," I concede, rolling my eyes. "Everyone here hates me."
"I don't," Katniss mumbles blearily, fading away. I might have missed her words entirely were her lips not so close to my ear. I press a kiss to the back of her hand as its grip weakens.
With Katniss finally unconscious again, everyone else can relax too. Judging by the way they slump and sigh, I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one feeling exhausted now that I can let my guard down for a minute. Sort of. I'm still very much in hostile territory, despite the fact that this was my home for three months. Prim finally doles out the stew that's been simmering on the stove this whole time and passes around some bread. We eat a quiet meal, holding our bowls seeing as the table is rather occupied.
When the dishes are done, Mrs. Everdeen starts to clear everyone out. Haymitch and Peeta are both hesitant to leave, but she assures them there's nothing more they can do. They live close by, anyway, in the event that they are needed. Madge and Gale are a different story. Though there's no official curfew, they run the risk of being harassed by Peacekeepers if they are caught out after dark.
As they debate whether to stay or not, I inform them of the coming storm Thread warned us about. "Better get going or you could get stuck here for days."
"And what about you, Agent?" asks Gale.
Pulling a chair up to the head of the table, I look him in the eye. "I'm not going anywhere." Assuming he won't approve, as I settle in front of Katniss I add a snarky, "Sorry."
"It's a good thing," he replies neutrally. I'm starting to think maybe he regrets his actions and intends to re-bury the hatchet until he tacks on, "An improvement." His stony face echoes the sentiment of his words. He doesn't trust me with her. Whatever tenuous alliance we had fallen into has clearly been broken now.
Prim is the last one left in the kitchen with us. Busying herself tidying up, she doesn't even look at me. And from the extra force she's using on the doors and drawers as she puts things away, I know it's not just because she's physically and socially exhausted.
"I'm sorry, Prim," I say to her back. She pauses her movements. "I was a real dick last week."
Prim turns, folding her arms. "I can handle you being a condescending jerk," she informs me. "I'm tougher than you think. I'm more angry that you hurt Katniss."
"I know," I mumble, eyes flicking back to the wounded girl on the table. I've seen her in enough pain for a lifetime. Knowing I've caused her any makes a lump rise in my throat, another wave of shame crashing over me. "I don't ever wanna do that again."
Sighing, Prim puts away one last dish and comes closer. "We all hurt the people we love, from time to time," she consoles me. It strikes me as wise beyond her years, and I look up in surprise. But her eyes are on Katniss. "She hurt you too."
"You were right, though. I should have stayed, waited to talk to her." Prim now meets my gaze, but I have to avert my eyes as I confess, "But I wanted to hurt her back. I wanted her to feel the way I felt when I saw her say yes."
"I know," Prim says, then she disappears into the hall. A moment later, she returns with a blanket. Smartly deciding not to toss it to me over her injured sister, she comes around the table and places it on my lap. "Get some rest, Hanna."
Her use of my familial nickname provides a shred of comfort and hope. Hope that she is getting over my betrayal and we can feel like family again, sooner rather than later. I know we will eventually. Prim's possibly the most forgiving person I know. Grateful for her hospitality, I shrug off my constricting jacket and wrap the blanket around my shoulders.
Her advice about getting rest falls by the wayside, however. Several hours later, sometime after midnight, I'm still wide awake. How could I possibly sleep? Between my righteous shame for intentionally breaking Katniss's heart and my complicity in her physical torture, my brain denies me any reprieve. Maybe it was the right decision not to physically intervene during the whipping, but it's a decision I know will haunt me for the rest of my life. Her helpless wails echo in my ears as I run my fingers through her hair, gently squeezing her left hand where it rests in my right. If I could take all her pain on myself, I would.
Katniss stirs under my touch, though her eyes remain closed. It's not until she smiles faintly that I realize she's come to. "Hanna."
"Hi," I force through my tight throat. Swallowing hard, I blink the tears from my eyes and lean forward to place a kiss on her hairline. "You doing okay?"
Katniss hums to herself, mulling this over. Peeking an eye open, she cracks, "It's not the most fun I've ever had on this table." My surprised laugh brings a genuine smile to her lips. Trailing her thumb over my wrist, she teases, "You know, everyone else is asleep…"
"Yeah, the last thing you need is to get your blood pumping," I decline, though I doubt she's being serious. "You'll bleed out."
"At least I'll die happy," she mumbles, eye falling shut again. She shifts, no doubt stiff from lying on a table in the same position for hours. New blood seeps into the bandage, but she's feeling no pain. Settling down again, she sighs with relief. Just when I'm thinking she's drifted off again, she says, "You never got to hear my brilliant plan."
Clutching her hand urgently, I lean in and tell her, "I'm so sorry I wasn't there. I didn't stand you up. I was pressed into service."
"I figured that out." Swiping the air blindly, she finds my face and tugs behind my jawbone, urging me closer. "C'mere." Once her lips are pressed against my ear, she whispers, "We need to run away."
My eyebrows peak. So that's the plan. It's not like I've never fantasized about it before. It was hard not to on those days at the lake, when there were no appearances to keep up and we could just be ourselves. Even the odd time before she was reaped, I imagined a life where we weren't star-crossed lovers. But I knew she would never go for it. She couldn't leave her family behind. Even now, I'm sure she's included them in her escape plan.
But can we do it? It'll be a rough go, running off into the wilderness with no safe destination. And Katniss is high-profile, so we're sure to be pursued the second she's discovered missing. Perhaps the more important question, though, is can we afford not to? The threat of death hanging over me aside, Darius was right about me and Katniss. This current situation is unsustainable, especially now with Thread running things. This just might have to be the solution we work out. How else could we stay together?
Not wanting to give away the content of our conversation to any listening ears, I decide to stick with the theme we had going before. Giving her an aroused chuckle, I ruffle her hair and purr, "Yeah, I wanna do that too." Making the effort to open her eyes, Katniss peers at me in confusion, apparently too out of it to grasp my intentions. So I rephrase. "I agree. That's an excellent idea."
"It's gotta be soon. I told you-"
"Shhh," I whisper, putting a finger to her lips. She's right, but now's not the time to tell her that fixing the fence is on Thread's agenda. No need to add to her stress while she's convalescing. "We'll talk about this when you're feeling better, okay?"
"I feel great," she drawls, staring at me. Her lips creep up into a loopy grin. "You're pretty." Snickering under my breath, I graze my thumb over the back of her hand. Oh, the stories I'll have for her when she's sober. Sliding her other hand down my neck and into my cleavage, Katniss fishes out my dog tags and closes her fist around them. "Kiss me," she murmurs, reeling me in by the chain.
Our kisses are intimate but sluggish, hampered by her uncoordinated lips and tongue. Losing steam quickly, she slumps and lets her forehead rest against mine. "I love you so much," she breathes. Her eyelids flutter but fail to open entirely.
"It's okay," I tell her, stroking her hair. "Go back to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
Having little choice in the matter, Katniss goes under again within moments. Her arm pulls on the chain around my neck as it droops, but as her grip loosens I'm able to work it out of her fist. Laying her arm gently on the table, I examine the tags now dangling out in the open.
Agt. Johanna T. Mason
Infantry/Outpost 1201
Meredith, District 2
John + Jocelyn Mason
Running my thumb over the engraved names of my next of kin, I can't help reflecting on what they would think of me and Katniss. My mom never seemed very interested in politics, preferring to keep her head down and work hard. She probably paid little attention to the ramifications of Katniss's actions and wouldn't care, aside from her poorly hidden bias toward me ending up with a man. But my father's always been a staunch Capitol loyalist. Being from a family of Peacekeepers will do that to you, that and pass on a penchant for brutality. He'd beat the hell out of me if he knew.
But what for? I haven't actually done anything to betray the Capitol. And truth be told, I'm ashamed of it. I could fool myself before, follow Darius's advice and try to make people judge me for myself, not my uniform. But after today's events, I can no longer deny it. I'm one of the bad guys.
The metal edges of the tags dig into my palm as my eyes roam over the blood-soaked bandages on my girlfriend's back. Ripping the chain from my neck, I pitch them toward the living room. They skitter across the floor, skipping off the edge of the rug before landing somewhere silently. The mug was much more satisfying.
Even with everything going on in my head, I do eventually pass out. But it's mere hours before my internal alarm clock wakes me again. Squinting at the wall clock through bleary eyes, I see it's almost a quarter after five already. I need to leave soon if I want a chance to eat before shift. Sure, I said I wouldn't leave Katniss's side, but now that my brain has rested a bit I realize that I can't run away with her later if I get arrested for skipping work now.
Settling for being true to my word about being there when she wakes, I shake Katniss's shoulder after suiting back up. Her eyes flutter open and I crouch down into her sightline. "Hey. I have to go to work."
Katniss shakes her head, getting a loose grip on my wrist. "Stay," she pouts.
Thumb brushing over her cheek, I smile sadly. "I can't. It's not Purnia and Cray in charge anymore. My new boss, he's not messing around."
"I noticed," she deadpans. Wincing, she adds, "Can you give me another shot?"
"Yeah, sure," I agree without hesitation. Mrs. Everdeen was sure right about me lacking a thick skin. After leaving a note by the box telling her what time I administered the last shot, I draw a second dose from the first of five vials. "Hold still," I warn Katniss. She grimaces when I insert the needle, but doesn't complain. Within a moment, she sighs in relief.
Her eyelids are drooping when I return from storing the drugs. Kneeling at the end of the table, I give her hand a parting squeeze. "I'll be back before you know it. I promise." Katniss doesn't reply, but her mouth twitch indicates she heard me. Smiling in return, I leave a soft peck on her lips. "I love you."
***o***
The barracks has never felt like a longer walk from home. Dread weights down my boots as I trudge through the fresh powder to face my second day of working for Thread. All I can do is hope that blizzard shows up soon and keeps us off the streets.
As I approach, I notice a pair of Peacekeepers posted outside the M wing door. What for? It's not like any locals would come anywhere near this place after yesterday. The way they're staring at me unnerves me until I remember all the blood on my uniform. My bandaged hands are out in the open too. I didn't even bother trying to fit my swollen knuckles into the tight leather gloves.
"Agent Mason?" one of them inquires. They're both new; their heavy tactical armor would have given them away even if their unfamiliarity with me didn't.
I cock an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Proof," he counters brusquely. Bristling at his tone, I wave my keycard in his face. He is not amused. Eyes flashing to my neck, he presses, "Where are your ID tags?"
In Katniss's living room. Shit. "Uh… I must have dropped them somewhere?"
His partner huffs. "They weren't kidding about this place."
"She'll need new ones, anyway." Putting the radio to his lips, the first guy says, "Captain Stark, we found your straggler. Mason's accounted for." It's a little early for Purnia to be counting heads, but okay. She doesn't answer, anyway. Stepping aside, he gestures at the door. "Inside, Agent."
The noise is the first thing I notice. As soon as the door cracks open, a clamor of footsteps and voices reaches my ears. Stepping inside curiously, I find a swarm of new Peacekeepers milling about the hallways. Oh right, the reinforcements. They probably called an early briefing and idiotic little me wasn't even in the barracks. With Thread in charge, that will no doubt mean trouble for me.
Hustling toward the common area, I don't notice my open bedroom door until I'm halfway past it. Hand snapping out to nab the doorframe, I halt my momentum and pull myself back. It's Darius who has infiltrated my quarters, apparently raiding the place. The contents of my dresser drawers have been dumped on the bed and he's currently crouched by the bookshelf, pulling everything onto the floor. "What the fuck?"
Darius looks up with a sigh that rides the line between exasperation and relief. "Jo, where the hell have you been? You only have ten minutes left to pack up."
"What, are we changing room assignments? Bastards are taking all the window rooms?" I take another look at the sheer number of them. "Making us double up?" Something inside of me grasps what's happening, but my brain refuses to comprehend.
Standing slowly, Darius eases himself closer. "Jo."
"Shouldn't the reinforcements be the ones crammed in like sardines?" I protest.
"Johanna." Though his eyes remain soft, his tone demands I acknowledge the truth. That's something I cannot do. "They're not our reinforcements. They're our replacements."
A/N: D7P is the Johanna expert and had a huge hand in making this chapter as good as it is by helping me keep Johanna in character and offering insights into Thread's motivations. Thank you. Your help, as always, is invaluable.