It was a pure stroke of luck that he was in his office, alone in his office, when she started singing.
When he had scraped his jaw off the floor and started blinking again, he found himself idly wondering with a detached kind of curiosity, when the last time he had lost control of his carefully controlled façade had been.
Nothing since that cold January evening when his daughter had brought home that awful boy came to mind. Camden or Cory or Crayon or something. Reeked like district. His relationship to his wife and daughter had been strained for months after. And that might even be putting it mildly. But what had the girl been thinking? She should have known better.
But that was decades ago now. Much like it had been decades since he had last heard the song.
Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
And when again they open, the sun will rise.
He had all but forgotten.
Forgotten the song.
Forgotten… her.
He straightened his back and fixed his tie, while looking straight ahead.
No, he had not forgotten her. Of course, he hadn't. He didn't make a habit of lying to himself. Not even when the lie was so much more comfortable than the truth.
He never found out for sure what happened to her that day by the lake, and no matter how much he reasoned, how much he calculated or debated, a tiny, niggling sliver of doubt remained.
Had she lived?
Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.
Much like in his first Hunger Games 64 years ago, he had two main screens set up. One featured the feed that the majority of Panem saw. It was lined up next to another screen with an un-altered feed. He had access to hundreds of live streams from the arena, but for the most part he kept his eye on the action that went out to his country. To control his people, to keep his people safe, he liked to see what they saw. Even if he kept his eye on things they would never know of, at the same time.
But now they all saw. The girl. That awful girl like a ghost come to haunt him.
District 12.
Katniss.
She had spelled trouble from the moment she stepped on the stage in that dirty, little square where they still held the reaping. Some saw an interesting bit of spice to the action, but he knew better. The way the miners and their ilk held out their hands to her… He had felt a tightening in his stomach, not quite dread, but the whisper of bad news, the like of which he hadn't experienced for many years.
Panem might never have been perfectly stable. He considered this while straightening his cuffs, making sure the cufflinks the still immaculate near his wrists. Taking into account the human nature, human chaos, he had certainly kept the unrest in check, allowing people to live free and, mostly, happy. The prosperity of the Capitol was in its glory days, a true golden age, and it was showing no signs of stopping.
Not as long as it had him, at least.
Deep in the meadow, hidden far away
A cloak of leaves, A moonbeam ray,
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay
And when again it's morning, they'll wash away.
They didn't cut away from the song. Of course they didn't. Probably figured they couldn't.
But they didn't know.
How much trouble another young woman from District 12 caused so many years ago. Another young woman with fire in her eyes and a voice like honeyed tea on a cold morning.
And that pin. He had noticed it immediately, faltered, and quickly recovered with no one the wiser. A mockingjay pin on that slip of a girl that might as well be the crown jewel of Dr. Gaul's work. A mutt made especially to torment him. Except Dr. Gaul never made anything quite beautiful. Not even on the outside. Only monsters that would haunt your nightmares in the most crass and obvious ways possible. He owed her much but was, to this day, thankful that her genius had been restricted to obvious rather than elegant horror. Otherwise, he'd be certain that this was a gift from her from beyond the grave. One last "lesson".
Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.
He shook himself as he compared the two feeds of the District 12 girl. These district people and their primitive rites. At least Crane had had enough brains not to show the other girl covered in flowers.
He shouldn't have let them hear that song, though.