Catch My Breath
by FanficAllergy & RoseFyre

oOo

*Click*

The sound penetrates my dreams, forcing me awake.

I've heard something.

Something I shouldn't have. The sound of someone entering my room unexpectedly and unannounced. Something I have left strict orders never to do.

My aides have been trained to knock first and wait for my acknowledgement before entering. My advisors have been informed to call me with any urgent news rather than wasting precious time delivering it to me in person.

Therefore, it cannot be one of them.

My servants know better than to disturb me. I'm a light sleeper as it is. Anyone who dares wake me will often find their tongue or other body parts removed for the transgression.

It's been a very long time since I've been disturbed by my servants.

Others, however...

Slipping my hand underneath my pillow, I wrap my hand around a small firearm and flip off the safety.

It could be nothing, but I haven't lived to the vaunted age of seventy by being careless.

The sound of a sole brushing against carpet tells me beyond any shadow of a doubt that I am not alone.

I shift the gun in my grasp, slowly opening one eye to survey my surroundings.

I spot a flash of white near the servants' entrance. A Peacekeeper. Or someone pretending to be one.

My loyal guards know better than to enter my quarters without my permission. This person is clearly an impostor.

Careful not to attract the intruder's attention, I line up my shot and fire.

The acrid smell of gunpowder assaults my senses.

The intruder takes a step forward before collapsing to the ground.

Sitting up in my bed, I press the panic button located on the headboard and take aim at the prostrate figure.

Once again, I pull the trigger.

The base of the head explodes outwards in a mass of blood, brain, and bone. The intruder might have been playing possum before; they are clearly dead now. One can never be too careful in my line of work.

Setting my weapon on the nightstand, I get up, sliding my feet into my waiting slippers. "You know, that was awfully rude of you," I chide the corpse. "Don't you know that it's impolite to disturb an old man while he's sleeping? I would've thought your parents would've raised you better, but clearly I was mistaken."

I move to the sideboard and pour myself a finger's worth of brandy. Purely medicinal, of course.

I glance over my shoulder at the dead man. "Can I offer you a drink?"

The corpse doesn't answer.

"I'm guessing your silence means no. Typical."

Sighing, I regard the corpse. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood out of the carpet?" I don't bother waiting for the man to respond. "No, of course you don't. Let me tell you, it's quite difficult. Silk does stain so." I shake my head. "And this is the third time this month."

I pause, taking a sip of my brandy. "You assassins really should get some better ideas. Sneaking in to kill me while I sleep? How unoriginal. I mean, where are the days when people would poison their enemies? Now those were the good old days!"

I nudge the corpse with my foot, noting that the man appears fairly young. "Of course, you probably wouldn't know anything about that. So, assassin, where are you from? You have the look of Two about you." I sigh. "I've always had a soft spot for District Two. Your people were so loyal, so hardworking. It was impossible not to love you. And your tributes! Always so marvelous in the Games. Yes, you used to be my favorite. I have to admit that's changed now, what with the rebellion and all."

I take a sip of my brandy. "I never should've listened to Plutarch," I say after a few long moments. "It was his idea to merge the ideas the other Gamemakers were floating around: tributes of all ages, who had never taken tesserae, no volunteering, etcetera. Granted, someone should have noticed that 'all ages' included infants and children. I would have limited it to Reaping age and older. That little, tiny slip has caused me so many headaches." I shake my head. "I have to admit, I'm a tad disappointed Plutarch's dead." I lean my head back, regarding my ornately painted ceiling. "I would have so enjoyed killing him along with the other three for their failure. I guess I just have to content myself with punishing Seneca Crane."

Thinking back on the former Head Gamemaker's execution causes me to frown. "Not that I got much pleasure watching him expire. He died poorly, that man. All blubbering and begging. No sense of honor and dignity." I tilt my head, lowering my tone. "Why, I think he even soiled himself before he died."

Taking a sniff, I eye the dead man at my feet with disgust. "Seems you've soiled yourself too. Although I suspect that's a symptom of your recent demise as opposed to any fear on your part." I nudge the man with my toe again. "Yes, between you and me, the Quell was a mistake. I can admit that to you."

"We'd have been fine if we'd have not allowed volunteers," I tell the corpse in a jovial tone. "We'd have been fine if we'd only allowed those who hadn't taken out tesserae. We even would have been fine with all ages." I sigh. "We were simply too ambitious. We wanted to do too much. Besides, it's not like we could do what was initially in the box. There were no living female Victors from either Seven or Twelve." I think about what could have been. "Now those would have been a Games to remember."

Realizing that several minutes have passed since I first pressed the panic button, I glance up, looking around the room. "Where are my guards? They are most tardy. Perhaps there was a malfunction in my bedside alarm. I'll have to have that checked. Do remind me," I say to my uninvited guest.

I sit down in my favorite chair, pressing the panic button hidden in one arm. "You know, it really is hard to get good Peacekeepers nowadays. So many of you, assuming you were a Peacekeeper, are angry about what happened in the Quell. Objectively, I suppose I can understand your anger. In hindsight, I should have considered sponsoring the boy, but who would've guessed he'd last that long? Certainly not me. Simply bad luck that he expired when he did. However, this rebellion of yours is really too much." I shake my head at the corpse. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. It's not like you care."

I pause for a moment, waiting for the corpse to speak.

It doesn't, of course, but I don't let that stop me. "You're probably wondering why I'm having a conversation with a dead man. Is it my age? No. My doctors say I'm quite spry, considering my years. Yes, the poisons I've ingested over time have started to show their effects, but really, other than that, I'm perfectly healthy. But why, then, would any sane man hold an extended conversation with a corpse?" I pause, considering my words. "Well, it's really quite simple. As a long dead man once said, 'two may keep a secret, if one of them is dead.' And you, my dear fellow," I say, chuckling, "are very very dead."

I take another sip of my brandy. "You'll soon have quite a bit more company, I'm afraid. I really need to do something about those Peacekeepers who let Beetee Latier be spirited away right under their noses. I've considered making a public example of them, but I really don't need any more martyrs for the cause. Why, even that imbecile Cray has turned into a symbol!" I shake my head at the idiocy of the rebellion. "If only they knew just how incompetent that man was. You should see his paperwork. Horrible! Hideous! It will take years to straighten out! I should just bomb the place to smithereens and be done with it." I pause, considering. "Oh. That is an idea. I'll keep that in mind for later. Maybe if I need to make an example of someone, I'll just burn the place to the ground. It'd certainly be easier than trying to straighten up the mess that Cray and Mayor Undersee left behind. Coal production can move to either Two or Six. There are deposits there. Even Four and One have some, if I recall. I'd have to check with my geologists. They could tell me."

I shake my head again, thinking over what I've been saying. "No, for the people who let Beetee escape, I think a reassignment is in order. Perhaps to District Twelve. Or maybe Ten. Someplace where that illness is still raging." I indulge in a feral smile. "After all, if they die from disease, it's not my fault. Just bad luck!" Nodding my head, I say, "Yes, that works. I'll draw up the orders in the morning."

I press the button on my armchair again. I'm rather annoyed no one has answered yet. "It really is quite hard to find good help these days. Of course, you'd know all about that. Most of my good people seem to have abandoned me. My wonderful, beautiful Finnick Odair. The light of the Capitol. Gone. Along with that tacky designer friend of his. I suppose I wouldn't be too upset with their defection if they hadn't also taken the Gaultiers with them. Cashmere was quite the bon vivant, and her smile could light up a room. If I were twenty years younger, I might consider indulging in a night in her arms. But alas, age and politics have stolen that pleasure from me." I tap my finger against my glass, lost in thought. "That reminds me. I should see about the health of their families and loved ones. And maybe that mentor of Odair's. I really shouldn't let such insults go unpunished. It sets a bad precedent."

I take another sip of my brandy. I'm almost done with it, unfortunately. "It's simply too bad that those Mockingjays have no one left who they seem to care about. I had thought the mother, but…" None of them, not even Peeta Mellark, seem to care about the woman. From what I've been told about her, it makes sense. Unfortunately, it also makes her useless. "And I really was rather too hasty with dealing with Abernathy's family. I should have left the brother alive, someone I could hold over him. But I was young, then, and stupid. I can admit that now. I hadn't quite learned to control my temper. Yes, a little hope is a good thing. Leave part of the family alive and they'll do anything to keep them safe from harm. Kill everyone they care about and you have no further leverage to use against them. It was a difficult lesson to learn."

I swirl what's left of my drink, thinking about Haymitch Abernathy and the propo he starred in. "I wonder how darling Epiphany and Haymitch are living underneath Alma's thumb. That woman gives me the shivers. She's insane, you know. Clinically insane. I actually feel a little bit sorry for her." I lean forward. "I'll let you in on a little secret. You see, it's my fault she's turned out this way. My scientists engineered a lovely little virus that I just had to test out on Thirteen. Yes, it did cost me my best spy, but honestly, the sacrifice was worth it." I smile at the memory. "Unfortunately, I couldn't take care of darling Alma. She survived. But I did manage to take out her husband and daughter. It's the little things in life that you learn to enjoy."

I look at the corpse again. "You know, I'm actually really happy you stopped by. It's a shame we won't be able to do this again. You're quite possibly the best conversationalist I've encountered in years. And you're dead. You know," I say, looking down at my empty glass, "I really should get something to eat."

I press a different button on my chair, this one summoning an Avox to me.

A young man dressed in Avox red, Marius, appears a few seconds later, tilting his head curiously.

"I should have summoned you first," I mutter, shaking my head ruefully at the fact that the servant arrived in seconds while the guards still haven't appeared. I gesture at the corpse. "Take care of that for me and have the rug sent out to be cleaned. Again."

Marius sighs and nods his head.

"Is my breakfast ready?"

Another nod.

"Then I'll leave you to it."

I head down to the solarium, not even bothering to dress. My morning conversationalist is blocking the way to my wardrobe and I don't feel like getting blood on my slippers. I'll have an Avox bring me clothing later.

As I take my seat and contemplate the spread of pastries set before me, the clatter of high heels on marble rouses my attention. I turn in my chair to see Egeria running towards me.

"President Snow!"

Selecting a croissant, I raise an eyebrow at her disheveled appearance. "Yes, my dear?"

"We've received news of an attack!"

As if this day couldn't get any worse.

oOo

AN:
Written: 12/28/15
Revised: 1/15/16
Revised 2: 1/21/16

The title of this chapter comes from the Kelly Clarkson song of the same name. It just worked.

Snow is completely insane. Yes, we know this. He actually did get the flu, and it didn't help with all the poison in his body. It's heading towards his brain. So yeah. He's not all there.

But God, he was fun to write. We decided to go with the monologue because really? Everybody needs a Snow monologue.

Randomized:
- Did Snow get the Flu. He survived because of plot. But we rolled to see if he got sick.

As a note, we came back to publish this chapter for our anniversary, but for a number of reasons, we haven't really written in the last month. So it will likely be some time before we return again. Please follow RoseFyreFyre on tumblr for more information and updates.

If you are interested in our process of publishing something original, you can follow our other author page of ChristinaRoseAndrews on tumblr.

When we return, it will be with:

Interlude: Are You Gonna Go My Way - AKA: Meanwhile, back in District Thirteen...

And after that: Lovers in a Dangerous Time - The Revolution has begun and Gale's family is smack dab in the middle of it. It's going to take everything they have to make it out alive. Gale's going to do everything in his power to make sure they do. But that's not going to be easy, especially not in the middle of a civil war. He's going to need luck. Unfortunately, Gale's never believed in luck.

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