Title: From the Ashes
Rating: MA
Genre: Angst/Drama/Romance
Characters: Katniss/Haymitch; Katniss/Peeta
Summary: What could possibly be more dangerous for Katniss Everdeen than The Hunger Games?
Author's Note: Katniss' P.O.V.
The crowd is a blur of color as they trample each other trying to get to the exits. Their petrified screams sound like justice; the smell of smoke and flame like victory.
Didn't see that coming, did you, Plutarch? I scan the area for any sign of retaliation, the bow humming in my hands as it waits for me to take aim on my next target. Someone appears at my left, rifle in hand and I look over at Gale, narrowing my eyes in annoyance.
"Took you long enough."
"Simmer down, Catnip, we had to try and outsmart a Gamemaker, after all."
"Haymitch and the others—"
"Will be fine; we've already got a team on the way up."
I look into the camera, not sure if the feed is still being broadcast. "See you soon." I say to all of them, each one holding a different meaning in my heart.
I look back at Gale. "Let's find him."
"Intelligence says that he's fled the Training Center. We had scouts planted in the control room after the blackout and there's been no communication from him." Gale tells me as we leave the burning stage, ignoring the frantic crowd, still scrambling out the exits. "Paylor has Peacekeepers sweeping the Capitol for him, but if he was smart, he bailed."
"Then we'll just sweep the districts and the outlying country." I say, my mind set on revenge. "He won't last more than a week."
My body goes on autopilot as my mind tries to assimilate the last 12 hours into reality. Truth: The rebels were behind the blackout, using that time to infiltrate the training center in strategic areas. Truth: Those who had infiltrated the command center, gained complete control of the building. Their signal to us that they had control was the lights being turned back on and the medical team being dispatched to heal Haymitch and myself. The interview with Caesar had been arranged by Plutarch, and the rebels had decided to keep it on schedule to try and flush Plutarch out of wherever he'd holed up when he realized he'd lost control of the Game. I wasn't sure how I felt about Caesar being a pawn, but he was as willing as everyone else to watch Peeta or Haymitch die for pure entertainment, so I let myself remain apathetic to him.
When the guards had taken me from the apartment this morning, I hadn't fought them, hadn't considered trying to escape them. I was simply ready for it all to be over. Imagine my surprise when the elevator doors opened on the lower level and Gale was standing there waiting for me. I was so overcome with emotion that I hugged him and slugged him at the same time. As they suited me up in my Mockingjay armor, Gale had quickly filled me on how they had been planning a rescue attempt since Plutarch's first propos.
Apparently, Plutarch had gone rogue. None of his new shows had gotten the same response as the Hunger Games had gotten and he'd felt cheated out of his fame and glory. He had taken us hostage in the Training Center, letting no one in or out and hijacking the airwaves to broadcast the show the same way Beetee had during the rebellion. No one was certain if Plutarch intended for any of us to survive, but one thing was sure…this show had just been cancelled.
"Yeah?" I hear Gale next to me and look over to see him pressing an earpiece more firmly into his ear. "Got it. We'll head that way."
"What way?" I ask anxiously, hoping they've cornered Plutarch and are waiting for me to arrive on the scene so I can put an arrow straight through his heart. Or maybe his eye. Or his head. My mind flashes through all the possibilities before Gale can even answer.
"Come on, I've got a surprise for you. I think you'll like it."
We head down to the cafeteria, my heart racing in my chest. When Gale pushes open the door, I feel all the tension melt out of my body. Haymitch, Peeta and Effie are all here. Last night, after Haymitch had fallen asleep, I had quietly said goodbye to him, knowing I wouldn't see him—or any of them—again.
A strangled sob escapes my lips as my eyes dart between the three of them. Effie looks like she's in shock, sitting in a chair and barely registering my presence. But Haymitch and Peeta are both looking at me anxiously, trying to figure out who I'll run to first. Somewhere in my amped up brain, I realize that this moment is just as emotionally charged for them as it would be if I were making my final decision about who lives and who dies. Whoever I run to first, they'll both know that's who I would have saved. I force myself to step towards them slowly, coming to stand a few feet away, directly in the middle of both of them, then hold a hand out to both of them.
I see the relief that washes over Peeta's face, but Haymitch's expression remains impassive as they both take my hand and allow me to pull them into a group hug. Peeta tucks his head down against my shoulder, one arm going around my waist. Haymitch, however, doesn't release my hand, and so he just stands awkwardly against me as I try to hug him.
I know I can't talk to both of them at the same time in order to say what's really on my mind, so I decide to skip the sentimentality and go straight to filling them in on everything. Peeta looks like a man who's been given a death pardon as he shakes the hands of the men and women in the room with us, clapping Gale on the shoulder like a long lost brother. Haymitch, however, hasn't moved.
With Peeta and Gale now talking about the strategy, I reach for Haymitch's hand, but he pulls it away. I look at him curiously, and see the uncertainty in his eyes.
"I need to know," he says softly. "Who was it going to be, sweetheart?"
"Both of you." I tell him.
He fights a smirk. "How'd I know…" Haymitch looks towards Peeta and Gale, taking a deep breath before he looks back at me. "And how were you going to manage that?"
When I reach out again, he lets me take his hand, let's me wrap my arms around him, let's me kiss him as deeply as I possibly can. When I pull back, he slowly opens his eyes to look at me, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from my face and tucking it behind my ear. My senses tell me that all eyes have turned to us, but I don't care.
"That doesn't answer my question." He teases lightly.
"I know." I say, laying my hand over his heart. "But you just have to trust that I would have saved both of you."
"By killing yourself." It's not a question, and I know he knows that had been my plan in the end.
"If that's what it took."
Haymitch wraps me in an embrace so tight that I can feel his muscles quivering under the strain. His lips press against my ear and I hear the strangled sound of his voice whisper, "I thought I told you not to do anything stupid."
I pull back to look at him. "Guess it's a good thing I didn't get the chance."
He looks like he wants to kiss me, but he's too aware of our audience and he settles for kissing the top of my head before he releases me. "Go plan with Bread Boy* over there. I'll see about returning Effie to the land of the living."
"Is she okay?"
"In shock." He tells me. "This has all been…"
"A fucking nightmare?" I finish when he fails to find a word. Haymitch tosses his head back with a laugh straight from his belly, and this time he does pull me in to kiss my lips.
"Absolutely, sweetheart. A fucking nightmare."
He lets me go and I watch him move to where Effie has remained unaffected by everything around her. Haymitch squats in front of her, taking her hands and I see Effie's eyes shift to his, but they still look a million miles away, vacant like they were after they released her from prison.
"Katniss—" Peeta calls out to me and I break my gaze away and turn to move over to where a group has gathered around one of the tables. I sit between Peeta and Gale as the plans start to weave into something workable now that we've taken over the training center and ended the Game.
"Paylor knows that you won't stop hunting Plutarch, and—frankly—she's going to need all hands on deck to find him." Gale tells me. "We have orders to bring him in alive, but no one's going to hold back if he 'resists.'"
I understand the unspoken suggestion. If, say, in the heat of battle, I "accidentally" send an arrow into Plutarch and he dies from the wound…no one would protest it. "Maybe I'll just shoot him in the knee and make him walk to the President's mansion." I offer. "He doesn't deserve a quick death."
As we discuss strategy and try to decide where Plutarch would be holing himself up, Haymitch wanders over and leans against the edge of the table, listening. There's talk about Plutarch going back to 13, going to 2, going to 12, but Haymitch is the one to shut these ideas down.
"Plutarch is a creature of habit. He'll be where the action is at, and that action is going to be wherever Katniss is. If he's looking for revenge, he's going to wait for the prime moment."
"Then he's still in the Capitol."
"No." I say, meeting Haymitch's gaze. "He's still in the building."
Everyone falls silent and all eyes turn to me. Gale clears his throat. "Katniss, we searched every inch of this building…there was no sign of him."
"I guarantee you, you haven't." Haymitch says. He tells someone to bring over a blueprint of the building the rebels have been working on, then takes a pen from someone and begins to make new lines on the paper, adding invisible rooms and strange narrow passageways.
"Where were you two days ago?" Gale mutters unthinkingly.
"Oh, you know… Hanging around, getting my ribs broken, that sort of thing." Haymitch tosses back, his voice full of sarcasm, before quipping, "Where were you?"
Gale clears his throat again and looks back at the blueprints and I roll my eyes, knowing that was his lame apology to Haymitch. As much as I want to help track Plutarch and bring an end to all of this, I'm exhausted. The others are talking around me, making a strategy of who's going to take which floor to search the new areas Haymitch has drawn out for them. Peeta's hand brushes against my leg and I look over at him. He's giving me that wonderful little half-smile I've missed so much and I can't help but smile back.
"Go and sleep, Katniss. Everyone knows to take him alive and leave him to you. We can take it from here."
I'm tired enough that I don't argue and no one says anything as I push back from the table, moving over to a bench along the wall and laying down. I watch the group planning, asking Haymitch where he thinks Plutarch would most likely be. Haymitch is completely engaged in the conversation, pointing out several places he feels are most likely based on well he knows the man from their planning together during the rebellion. I vaguely remember seeing this side of Haymitch during the rebellion when we were back in 13, but I had been so angry with him then that I had always tried to tune him out. I realize just how brilliant and cunning Haymitch is. Peeta was right, Haymitch is the strategist, and I'm certain that most of what we accomplished in the war was because of him.
My eyes drift around the room, to the various faces of the men and women who helped in our rescue and who continue to plan to bring the madman to justice. There are only three people not gathered around the table. Myself, Effie and someone else who is milling around, his back halfway turned to me. Something about him seems oddly familiar, but I dismiss it. Surely I know him from the resistance—I know almost everyone here from our rebel troops.
As my eyes start to drift close, a flash of silver catches the light and I refocus on the man, seeing the knife in his hand for the first time. He's moving towards Effie—unguarded, unaware, unarmed Effie.
"NO!" I shriek, jerking to my feet and reaching for my bow as Plutarch rushes at Effie, the knife slashing. It takes only a second to find the arrow, load it, and release, but I can see the red slash along Effie's throat and I know I was one second too late.
TBC
* Stole the idea to use the nickname Bread Boy from LankySundown because the way Haymitch used it in her fic "Screams" was just brilliant. Hope you don't mind Lanks. I offer free, shameless plugs in payment of my mooching.