Elucidate
Apparently, emotional strength could only last you so long.
Whatever had happened to her, whatever drugs were still in her system and whatever damage her mind had taken (along with the rest of her) were nothing to scoff at. Katniss had made it approximately fifteen steps away from the ward where Finnick was before her vision swam and she toppled against the wall. The once-manageable hallway warped and twisted, blurry and out of focus in her already poor vision. Her stomach lurched uncomfortably, and for a dizzying second she thought she might actually empty it all over the floor.
She didn't, though. Through a monumental effort and a couple of long, deep breaths she was able to push past the sensation. It wasn't entirely eradicated and would probably rear its ugly head sometime sooner than later. But it was enough for now; enough for her to push herself from the wall and make her way down the length of the hallway and reach the door at the end.
It occurred a little belatedly that anything could be on the other side. If Thirteen was capable of engineering a way to scoop tributes out of the arena, defying everything the Capitol had created and enforced, what else could they do? She hadn't gotten in trouble for being out of her bed yet, but that didn't mean she was safe. That didn't mean any of them were- and chances were good that danger was closer here than back in the artificial jungle. Not only had Thirteen rebelled once but twice and survived. For seventy five years they had lasted, and if Snow didn't find them here and eradicate them, then someone within the forgotten district might.
Except Katniss was beyond caring if she was alive or dead. In fact, she wasn't sure which was preferable now, with everything burning to the ground around her. So instead of ruminating on the possibility of entering a space prohibited to the likes of herself, she gripped the handle and pushed the unlocked door open.
It was brighter here. The lights were stronger, though all of the austere accommodations- the large table, the panels full of screens and buttons, the chairs, the metal cabinets- were just as sharp and cold as everything else in this underground bunker. It took her vision time to adjust, as much as it would at any rate. For the first time since waking, though, she wished that she couldn't see. Because then she wouldn't have to glimpse the face of her former (and probably pseudo since day one) mentor.
"Haymitch."
When he laughed- a sound like cat claws on concrete- she wanted to dig her nails into his unkept face. His smirk was dead from every angle and in every way, but it served as little consolation that the supposed mastermind (or at least willing participant) in the destruction of her home and the peril of everyone in the districts was still alive. And sitting there like he had some excuse to be broken.
"Well if it isn't everyone's sweetheart," he replied, cutting her like shards of a broken mirror.
"What are you doing here?"
"Why, miss me?"
"As if I could."
He clucked at her, like she was some toddler coming to illogical conclusions. Katniss felt like red was filling her up- not just anger or frustration or embarrassment but the sun's red rays, blood's red spray. Her fingernails bit into the heels of her palms as she attempted to control herself.
"-Ah- Miss Everdeen..." Another voice spoke up and trailed off, and Katniss only then noticed that she and Haymitch were not the room's only occupants. Plutarch was there, along with Fulvia Cardew. She supposed she should have been thankful that the looming, impenetrable presence of President Coin wasn't there as well to witness her exchange with the strangely-sober slob she'd once trusted.
"She's not going to give you the same respect, Heavensbee," Haymitch offered with a snort. Katniss took a step forward and he raised a challenging brow at her.
"Tell me what's going on, Haymitch. Everything."
"You sure you're not going to swoon?"
The sting of her nails wasn't enough to keep herself in line, so she opted to press her teeth against her bottom lip as well. "I need the truth now."
Plutarch made a sound to interrupt them again, but Haymitch waved a hand at him in a blatant gesture to shut up. He then leaned in, elbows tucked onto his knees and dim-eyed gaze growing just a hair sharper as he took in Katniss' form. Her sloppy braid, her most-likely damaged skin, the wild fervor that seized her entire frame. He grinned, like he was going to eat her.
"Is that so?" The words were purposefully slow in making their way from his lips. "I heard that Hawthorne filled you in already. About what happened to Twelve, the end of the game- about Peeta and Odair too."
Katniss' pulse quickened to a throb in her throat. "You were in on it."
"From the beginning."
"From the beginning," she echoed, sounding smaller and quieter than she felt before adding, "... So it was you. You did all of this."
"Not all of it, I couldn't have done all of it by myself."
"That's not what I'm asking, Haymitch."
His eyes were dead again, and the smile looked more like a twisted shadow of a grimace than anything else. When he spoke again, his words weren't quite resigned but they came close, treading on the line between heavy and smug.
"Yeah, sweetheart. It was me."
-Here's some advice. Stay alive. -All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere in my drinking and I'll stay sober enough to help you. -So at least half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally. I know it can't be your sunny personality. -Oh excellent. She's got a photo shoot next week modeling wedding dresses. What am I gonna tell her stylist?
-Katniss, when you're in the arena... remember who the enemy is.
Her throat burned and her eyes followed suit as she launched forward, nails finding their home in the tired flesh of his face. Haymitch flinched but didn't fight her, just stayed still until Plutarch wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her away. Battle-honed instincts had her flinging wildly, trying to catch her attacker in the head while she screamed death threats she didn't hear or remember after the fact.
The words injection and tranquilizer were tossed around but the only full sentence that registered in Katniss' frenzy was Haymitch's half-laughed, half-growled, "Nah, let her get it out her system. Thought you wanted a Mockingjay, not a clipped-wing canary." Still, the meaning was lost to her other than the fact that for the first time since waking in Thirteen someone was advocating against pumping her full of more drugs. It was something, but it wasn't enough.
Nothing could be enough.
The moment she was back on the ground and standing on her own, the door opening let a chilling silence sneak in. Plutarch and Fulvia froze, and even Haymitch stilled a little. Katniss didn't want to turn around, especially not when another new voice cut through the heaviness.
"Is there a problem here?"
And one small, saving grace vanished as Alma Coin stepped neatly over the threshold. Seconds ticked by, and Katniss didn't have to turn around since the older woman promptly took a seat right in her line of sight. If she had anything else to say on the state of things, she kept quiet. Haymitch's face was bleeding lightly, Katniss' chest heaved, Plutarch looked too out of sorts for someone who had a hand in an almost-revolution. Fulvia was the only one whose composure remained intact, and maybe on a different day, in a different time, Katniss would have been impressed.
"No problem," Plutarch hemmed, clearing his throat and taking a seat one space away from Coin's beside Fulvia. Haymitch just swung back in so he was facing the table, leaving Katniss the only one standing. Coin was staring serenely ahead, saying nothing and doing nothing as she clearly waited for her to take a seat as well.
Like a child, Katniss refused. She stepped closer, bracing her hands against the chair directly across from Thirteen's president, but kept her expression stony and remained standing. Apparently, you didn't amass the entirely of the rebels' seventy five years worth of power without learning how to choose your battles. Once Katniss was standing but still, Coin started.
"I'd hoped to have this discussion under more amenable circumstances, but this is as good a time as any." Meeting no resistance (or reply) she continued, "You know some of what is happening, I am sure. If you don't remember, I am-"
"I know who you are."
Coin examined her for a few moments, and Katniss felt like an unruly school girl under the weight of her gaze. "Not all of our survivors are so fortunate to retain the ability to remember all of this new information, Miss Everdeen." As diplomatic as her words were, Katniss stomach still clenched. "You must be aware, then, that things are not well in Panem. People are dying, the Capitol is facing as much danger as the districts are. Even before the end of the Quarter Quell revolution was catching. It has been sped up through careful plans but the basic elements were already in place."
That was when Katniss really did want to sit. Even Gale's story had been sugar coated compared to this. She should have felt good- reality, no matter how grim, was preferable to the sweet, lulling fiction fed by both the Capitol and those who even dared to defy it. But that small feeling only increased until she was surprised she could see above the lip above the long table.
She cleared her throat, trying to sound somewhat competent. "And I need to know this because-?"
"You already know the answer to that, Miss Everdeen." Coin didn't lean in, didn't raise her voice. Just sat there, holding Katniss' gaze unblinking. "You are the spark. You have been since the moment you volunteered. And now you need to become more than a firestarter."
"A... fighter?"
"An inferno."
Plutarch raised one finger, recovered from the previous stuggle and Coin's appearance. "As you probably know, your mockingjay has become a symbol for the rebels, something to hold onto. But it's not enough to drive an entire overthrow of the government. So we need someone with a real voice and real presence to head this. We need to make you into a mockingjay."
Katniss said nothing, biting the inside of her cheek. Plutarch's chipper tone had little effect on her, the significance of the mockingjay already dull. It was Coin's unshakeable, immutable, entirely uniform demeanor that drove an icy anchor into her stomach and pulled her down into nonexistence. She couldn't say anything, had no idea how to even form words, but she was saved the trouble.
"You'll begin as soon as your treatment is complete, so prepare yourself for a schedule. More details will follow when you are healthier."
And Coin was done. She stood, walked towards the door and hand her hand on the latch when Katniss finally found her tongue.
"No."
The president froze, as did every occupant of the room aside from Haymitch. Katniss could almost hear the ticking of Plutarch's mockingjay watch, counting down her time in the arena. Her death was probably moments away, and she was ready for it. Even after Coin nodded once.
"Still addled. The medications tend to do that. Plutarch, see her back to her room. She's not ready yet and time is running short. Miss Everdeen-" Katniss stiffened. "-I'd advise against wandering away from your IV drip in the future. It will only prolong your infirmary stay."
Even surrounded by Fulvia, Plutarch, and Haymitch in Coin's wake, Katniss was consumed with the dizzying sensation of being utterly and completely alone.
A/N: And after months and months, she's back! Just in time to be super late and show up to the late author awards after the thing's over and the trophies are packed up. Boo.
So as a gift for your patience you get... exposition you're already familiar with. Oops! I had far too much writing antagonistic Haymitch and Katniss- there will be plenty more in the way of that coming up, along with more Finnick and an appearance by Peeta. Thank you so much for still holding on hope and staying tuned in. This story is not dead, no matter how long I sometimes take. You're literally the best audience a writer could ask for.
And though it might be too much to ask, please keep dropping those incredible reviews!