Chapter 9

~Katniss~

Dinners were uncomfortably quiet in the Hawthorne house. I found it was easier to talk one-on-one with Hazelle and each of the kids, but together, they were painfully silent. Their eyes were downturned, faces rounder than they'd been their whole lives but somehow still thin, and paler than was healthy. One word answers were the norm, and routines were established in an effort to lessen anxiety, but the air was o thick with it regardless.

I woke each day before dawn to Posy snoring lightly in my face, not remembering her climbing into my bed. If I'd had any disturbing dreams, they didn't follow me to wakefulness. Hazelle reluctantly tasked me with housework at my request, and then I walked the kids to school, using the venture into town as an excuse to poke around. With my shorter hair I was mostly unremarkable, though there were a few random flickers of recognition. My scars had been mostly polished away, but I'd been told that I carry myself with a certain austerity since being labeled the Mockingjay, so maybe that was it.

There was little intelligence I could gather without being an obvious snoop, so I limited my gathering to observation only, and it was a good thing I did. Mr. Weaver was a frequent and efficient visitor to the town center as well, and so I was able to get a sense of his movements, from where he ate to who he associated with. His associations were puzzling, to say the least. Mostly because those he met with, he did so behind the closed doors of the Justice Building, but also because his public interactions were bizarre. He often met with a set of well-built, twinned men for a midday meal at a busy outdoor cafe. They both had dark, wild, greasy hair, light eyes and appeared rather disheveled overall. They dressed identically as well. I wondered if it was so they could work interchangeably. The times I could get close enough to hear their conversations, which I did by sneaking under the raised wooden porch, they consistently revolved around 'the late Mr. Hawthorne.' I'd hear other random bits, but nothing concrete... not until the following Friday.

One of the twins had remarked about something concerning Gale's usefulness, and Mr. Weaver cut in.

"Mr. Hawthorne was only as useful as he was cooperative, and we all know how often he wasn't."

"But his information," said the other twin. "It's still relevant. It could turn everything."

"Irretrievable, as I said before," Mr. Weaver redirected. "But the others, especially the girl, may know something that they aren't sharing. The President wants to move forward with her campaign, and it can't happen unless all the elements are silenced. We have to keep the girl away from this. If this goes badly, we may need her. Can't risk another... accident." He threw back the remainder of his beverage and stood. That was my cue to disappear quietly.

I wandered around, dazed for quite a while, questioning myself. The one thing I knew for sure now was that any slight amount of confidence that may have built in Mr. Weaver's favor- he seemed genuine in short bursts despite the pushy overtones and lack of sincere consideration for the people he dealt with- had flown completely out the window after that last remark. He made President Paylor, someone for whom I held in high regard, sound like a scheming mastermind. How dare he! Gale, is this what you knew about? Is it what got you silenced? And what do they think I know?

I was the stoic one at dinner. Hazelle and Rory snuck concerned glances toward me, but I shook my head. I started to wonder if there was more they knew, but I shrugged that off as paranoia. The Hawthornes were some of my oldest friends, they would have told me what they knew, if there was something to know. I felt certain now that my sudden presence may have endangered them, and the thought sickened me. But if I left, it may confirm Weaver's suspicions about my level of knowledge or suggest an amount of guilt. Most importantly, I couldn't protect the Hawthornes if I was gone.

"Katniss," Rory came up behind me while washing the dinner dishes and inclined his head for me to follow. He stopped my hands when I reached to turn the water off. I glanced at him quizzically, and he put his finger to his lips. I nodded. He had a small television on in the side room, the one that could only be described as a makeshift office. I hadn't been in here before. Papers had been stacked haphazardly in every corner, and I wondered if the disorder had been a result of Mr. Weaver's investigation.

Rory pointed to the screen, then brought his hands to cradle his elbows. Gale did that too when he worried. I froze when I recognized the captioned pictures. Plutarch Heavensbee, and Beetee, stared out pathetically from the glow of the flat glass, looking worn and defeated. The talking head was reading a list of charges, including conspiracy and treason, and noted that the two 'criminals' were awaiting trial at an undisclosed location. He then reminded viewers of their history with the final Games and later, the rebellion. I stopped listening to the rabble when Rory's voice broke. "Gale and Beetee still worked together sometimes... before."

I lay awake for a long time that night. Posy slept with her mother, sick and restless with a slight fever. I'd unconsciously grown accustomed to her warm body next to mine and I missed it. I think her presence had dulled the ache I had for Peeta, and in Posy's absence, I allowed myself to yearn for his strong arms around me. His breath was far sweeter than the little girl's. Alone, I found that I missed him far more terribly than I had allowed before, and now, because I knew I'd feel safer if he were here, if no less shaken from what I'd just seen.

Katniss, it's time.

Gale. I was dreaming again. "I wish you could tell me what I'm supposed to do," I said to his approaching figure. We were back in our old, familiar woods again.

It's time.

"Time? Time for what?"

To know.

He came to stand chest to chest with me, leaned in to brush his lips on mine. I pushed against his shoulders, but it was like pushing on smoke.

"No, Gale! I love Peeta." I shut my eyes, rigid against his advances.

He stepped back peacefully. I know. He grinned, and for the first time, it was genuine. I was waiting for you to admit it. He brought my hand to his lips, kissed my knuckles instead. Be safe.

"Katniss! Katniss?"

My eyes broke open into semi-darkness, and I shot up, ramming into a solid body. "Ow," I complained.

"Are you okay?" Rory's voice came softly. "The wall facing my room is paper thin, I heard you crying."

I sniffed, realizing my nose was stuffy, and felt wetness on my cheeks. "I'm sorry, Rory. I'm fine."

I felt him nod, he was so close. "I know you're not," his voice was low. "But I get it. Neither am I." He was quiet for a minute, and since I didn't move, he guided me to sit back down on the bed, and moved to sit next to me. "Were you dreaming about what we saw?"

I shook my head. "I was dreaming about Gale, actually."

He nodded again. "He sneaks into mine a lot too. Did he tell you anything that might help us figure this out?"

He was kidding of course, but it felt nice to be on the same page when I shook my head. I found myself wishing I'd had a brother to confide in when I was growing up. Gale had been like a brother, but I could rarely confide in him, he'd already had more to worry about than anyone at that age should've had. Rory was different though. He was already deeply involved, already knew things.

"I found some things out today," I told him. "Well, yesterday, I suppose..." I corrected, glancing at the pink digital clock on Posy's little drawing desk. "Mr. Weaver has some rather scary-looking twins doing his bidding. They were talking about Gale like he was conspiring with them against the President, and they made it sound like Paylor was giving orders to silence the people working with him. They think I know something. He said they might use me if things didn't go their way."

"Use you? for what?"

"I don't know."

Rory looked abundantly rattled. "We have to do something," he whispered.

I shook my head. "No, we need to know more first."

"Katniss, don't you see?" he insisted. "Things are already in motion. Look what happened to Beetee and Plutarch. Those are good people. We know them. Whatever Weaver's people are up to, they're pinning it on guys who we know are on the good side, tearing down people the President trusted. Like they're trying to take out her credibility, and she's falling for it if she's having known heroes locked up. What if they're trying to overthrow the Republic? It's still shaky. They could do it, and while things are still so unsettled, it wouldn't be that hard."

Rory surprised me with his maturity and understanding. He'd been paying far more attention in Thirteen than he'd ever let on.

"What if they come for you next? What if they're coming now?" he finished.

"Discrediting the Mockingjay sure would put the cards in their hands," I admitted quietly, feeling the color drain from my face as I realized something else. "Just my coming here looks really, really bad. If they have Beetee tossed out, and he worked with Gale, and they discredit Gale by association, they could tie me in the same way. Oh Rory, I put you all in danger. I'm so sorry." I looked at him seriously, searching his wisened sixteen-year-old face. "Do you have any ideas?"

He nodded deliberately. "We should contact Paylor. She should be warned."

I gulped. "Agreed. But how?"

We crept downstairs to the cluttered office. Rory unboxed what looked like an ancient typewriter, clicked open a concealed flap and drew out a cord. He detached the phone from the wall and plugged in the device. "Gale used this, he and Beetee sent messages back and forth. If Paylor's smart, she'll still have people monitoring the lines." He flipped up an otherwise discreet, clear display and turned it on. A caret blinked. "Go ahead," he gestured.

I sucked in a breath. I'd only used a keyboard a handful of times in school. The keys were awkward and resistant.

They know. We're in danger. -Mockingjay

It was enough to convey the level of seriousness, but not to give anything away, if this fell into the wrong hands. 'They' could be anybody. Weaver's people would know we were in danger; we were in danger from them. Hoping desperately that Paylor would receive the message first, I pressed 'send'.

"Now we wait," I whispered. Rory unplugged the typewriter and put it away. "Rory, get your bow and keep it with you at all times. Just in case."

"What about you?"

I sighed. "If they take me, I'll go willingly. It might be the only way to keep you guys out of this, and the only way to figure out what's going on."

"No!" he protested under his breath.

"Rory, I know what you're thinking, but you have to protect the family. That falls on you. If they come for me, act stupid and scared, like you had no idea. Even ashamed that I might have had something to do with Gale."

"Kat-"

"Rory, you have to," I hushed him. "It's the only way out of this."

His face was tense, he pursed his lips exactly like Gale had when he was exasperated with me. I laid my hand against his cheek. "Please, Rory. "Lots of people have wanted me dead before, this is hardly different."

His eyes resisted, but he nodded. He went back to his bed with his bow clutched in his fingers, and I went back to mine with a fresh slice of fear, resigned to my probable fate.

~Peeta~

"Hey Haymitch, wake up!"

The older man was snoring ruthlessly. It was a wonder his tongue was still attached. I tapped his cheek. "Haymitch!"

His hand came up and swatted near his face. More gutteral rumbling spewed from his gaping mouth.

I sighed. "Enough already." The kitchen was beyond messy, but I managed to find a shot glass, rinsed it out, and filled it. Haymitch sputtered to life when I dumped it over his head.

"What was that for... oh." He blinked.

"Come on, we have to go."

"Go yourself, I need another few hours."

"It's afternoon, Haymitch. You can sleep on the train, I promise."

"I don't wanna sleep on the... train? What train?" he looked bewildered.

"I know where Katniss is," I spelled out for him. "I think she's in trouble. Let's-" I grabbed his arm and heaved, "-go."

I tried really hard not to panic. Katniss used to tell me that I was calmer than anyone she knew, even during tense situations I was the last she'd guess would panic. What she didn't know was that I probably panicked more than anyone, I just internalized it. It didn't take long to explain the letters to Haymitch, but he agreed it didn't look good. He settled into his compartment like a piece of luggage. He'd be useless until he got rid of his hangover. I propped myself on my cot, willing my body to still itself, and flipped through the broadcast channels. A replay of last night's Caesar Flickerman Show. Nope. A badly-drawn epic cartoon, small bodies with overembellished heads and eyes. Garbage. The last three Miss Panems arguing over this year's 'best dressed' award, and they looked like call girls themselves. Pass. A muttation talent contest. Gah. The Capitol still had no idea what entertained the rest of the country. I should have brought a book, but my mind was moving so fast, I'd probably read the first page eight times and absorb nothing.

I flipped to the news station, and sat upright like I'd been electrocuted. Staring back at me were mugshots of two faces I'd never forget, Plutarch and Beetee. My heart began to pound in my ears. I gripped a cushion, riding out the flashback, but kept my eyes trained on the screen.

The criminals Plutarch Heavensbee, Communications Secretary to the President, and Beetee Silane, former weapons expert during the rebellion have been apprehended and secured at an undisclosed location to await trial. They are charged with multiple counts of consorting with an enemy of the State, and conspiracy to commit treason. President Paylor has issued a statement that the criminals will be treated with utmost fairness under the law, and that she is deeply saddened at the loss of faith in her former colleagues. In other news...

The shiny figure of Beetee, piercing me through with a wide-gauge electrified wire. I didn't want to fathom what the Capitol torture techs had been doing to me when that hijack vision was induced the first time. And Plutarch? He was timing how long I could be held under a vat of some thick, foul-tasting industrial lubricant before I lost consciousness, reading that awful pocketwatch. "We'll begin again at midnight," his figure had said.

"Haymitch, Haymitch wake up!" I burst into his compartment, slamming the door behind me.

Haymitch sat bolt upright. "Can you be any less subtle," he droned, rubbing his eyes. "No, I don't think you can." He leaned back on his hands, and blinked at me.

"Plutarch and Beetee were just arrested. They're calling it treason," the words flew out. Haymitch's mouth hung open. I continued. "What's left of the rebellion crowd is dropping like flies. First Johanna, then Gale, and now Beetee and Plutarch? And has anyone heard from Enobaria? Who's next?"

"Wait, Johanna?"

I was floored. "You don't remember?"

"No..."

"Haymitch, she committed suicide last year."

"Oh..." he put his head in his hands. "I can't believe I forgot about that."

I went from exasperation to sympathy a few times in a few seconds, finally settling on the latter. "Well in your defense, you were too drunk to go to the funeral."

"Still no excuse," he groaned.

I sighed, trying to calm myself. "What if... it wasn't a suicide." I proposed. Haymitch looked up at me. "What if someone's targeting all of us?" My intuition often scared me to death. I sat down on the edge of the rigid mattress. "Honestly, key people from the rebellion are being convicted of crimes that don't make sense, or dying in weird ways. Maybe this is what that investigator has been so worried about, the reason he's been bothering us all for what we know? Maybe he's trying to make sure we're all still here."

Haymitch stared off into space, the way he sometimes did when the drinks started hitting him. When he wasn't inebriated, it was a sign that he was working things out. I waited.

"That's what he was talking about," he muttered to himself.

"I'm sorry?"

"When he called me about the murder... it was probably a month ago. He asked me if Gale had been replicating any of his old devices from the rebellion. He asked me that three times, like I hadn't answered properly. The he wanted to know if Gale had ever talked about regime changes within the current administration, and he asked me that one at least twice."

"What'd you tell him?"

"I told him that I hadn't seen or spoken to Gale since we all left Thirteen, and even then, I hardly talked to the guy. Staying out of y'all's affairs and whatnot. And..." he extended, "I told him that he was being a jerk and to leave the two of you alone. Didn't want him bothering Katniss with Gale talk... I know what he supposedly did tore her up."

"To say the least..." I muttered. "But why would he ask the same things so many times? Was he trying to trip you up? That's what Katniss thought when he repeated things."

"Now that I think about it, I'm not so sure. I did get the feeling he knew the answers to a lot of them, he just wanted to see what I knew, which was not much."

"It's as good a place as any to start," I said. "Know how to get ahold of him?"

~Katniss~

I hated this. Hated myself for endangering the Hawthornes, whom I loved dearly. I hated that I'd involved Rory, regardless of the fact that he willingly involved himself, and sickened by the fact that I was comforted by his involvement. I hated that he was so young and yet so responsible. Gale hadn't wanted that, he'd wanted Rory to stay young for as long as he could keep him that way, and I was actively participating in the destruction of his innocence. If anyone had been the betrayer, it was me.

Hazelle readied Vick and Posy for a day's worth of errands and activities in town, and Rory and I separately declined to join them, agreeing with a glance that they'd be in less danger in a crowded place than they would be hiding here.

"Does she suspect anything?" I asked after they'd turned at the end of the street.

"Mom always suspects," he told me. "But, no... not about this. She has it wrong." He dug his toe into the floorboard.

"What?" I prodded. Rory wasn't known for being bashful.

"I got lectured this morning."

"Huh?"

He sighed. "Mom thinks I like you. Like my brother did."

"That's ridiculous."

"S'what I told her. Can't see why she'd think so, she knows I loved Prim."

Stab. This should have been Prim's time to spend with Rory, not mine. She deserved it far more than I ever would. "Rory, we have been spending a lot of time alone together. Give your mom some credit for being intuitive."

"Yeah, I know." He was quiet for a minute. "But you're the big sister I grew up around. I love you like I love Posy. Having you here made me glad I could go easier on being 'man-of-the-house' for a while. And we missed you. Even though you think you made things worse, I'm glad you're here."

I punched his shoulder lightly, giving him a half-smile. "Thanks, Rory. Love you too."

Knock, knock.

Rory and I looked at each other and froze. My heart thudded against my ribs. This was it. Rory put up his hand for me to stay where I was, he went to the peephole in the door and looked through.

"Uniforms," he mouthed.

"Weaver's?" I mouthed back. He shook his head. I tiptoed to the peephole.

They wore the gray and blue uniforms I recognized from the news reel. Two of them, one looked like one of Paylor's personal guards. The way his hair stuck out from under his military-issue cap was familiar.

"Paylor," I articulated. Rory nodded, and I slowly unlatched the door.

Relief washed over both of their faces. "Miss Everdeen, we received your message. If you and Mr. Hawthorne will come with us, we have a secure location for you to meet with President Paylor.

Rory and I looked at each other. "I can't leave my family," he said.

"Mrs. Hawthorne and the two other children are already under the protection of the New Republic Guard," the familiar uniform stated. "They'll meet you there. Please, there's little time. Your safe delivery to the President is of utmost priority."

Rory and I exchanged reassuring glances again, clasped hands, and we were ushered from the house. This was what we'd asked for, too late to take it back. We were fastwalked through the side yard and over the dividing hill, to the tree-sheltered clearing in the next lot where a hovercraft rested, waiting.

"Why didn't we hear this thing land?" Rory exclaimed.

The other uniform chuckled. "You can thank your brother for your stealthy exit. He was a heck of an engineer."

Another partial answer, a dozen new questions.

Strapped in, the hovercraft ride took the better part of a half hour. Upon our descent, I recognized the urban jungle that could only be the Capitol, and my stomach clenched. When they said a secure location, I hadn't thought it would be here. It made sense, but it didn't change the fact that we were arriving at a place I'd only ever associated with pageantry, control, and indifference to suffering. I forced myself to set those feelings aside. This wasn't about me, this was about everyone.

The restraints lifted, the outer door lowered, and we were escorted from the rooftop- wait, I knew this rooftop! I stopped short and the uniform ran into me and I fell, catching myself on my hands. Rory was there to help me up. "I'm sorry Miss, is there something wrong?" the guard apologized.

"Why are we at the training center?" I demanded.

The guard looked baffled, and I checked myself. Of course, only victors would have such strong associations with this place. "This is where your meeting is to be held, Miss. If you'll come with us?"

We were escorted through a set of double sliding doors, into the elevator where two additional uniforms waited. They appeared to be cutting no corners when it came to our protection. Normally I might relax a bit, but the memories drawn up by our location prevented it. I had to swallow back the oatmeal I'd eaten for breakfast... had it only been an hour since we were in the Hawthorne's kitchen? It felt like so much longer. Rory was worrying over my hands, now scraped from the fall. In my apprehension I hadn't noticed. One of the uniforms inserted a key into a space below the elevator buttons, and a panel slid aside, revealing more options. A combination was entered and we hurtled downward. Falling, falling, falling. I didn't remember the ride taking this long during either of my stays, so there must have been more levels far below those I'd visited.

I was suddenly aware that I didn't know exactly what I was going to tell Paylor, aside from the fact that there was some rogue faction bent on upsetting her authority. I had no solid proof, few names to offer and only a broken story to tell. At least Rory and his family were out of danger. I hoped to see them soon, to apologize for all this.

The elevator sunk to the end of its journey and stopped, causing my stomach to turn over again. I breathed through my nose to keep composure. When the doors opened, we stepped out, I felt the strange sensation of cloth across my face, and I was hurtled into darkness. What's going on? I was being pinned at the arms so I kicked out with my legs. I made contact with something soft before my legs were being locked in vise-like arms. Fear gripped the pit of my stomach. We walked into a trap! WIllingly! I heard Rory yelling all sorts of obscenities. Rory!

"Hold him!" I heard a uniform yell.

"Run, Rory!" I screeched.

Suddenly I heard a zap and something drop, hard. Rory's protests fell silent. "Rory! What did you do to him? Let me go!" I continued screaming, my throat raw from overuse. I could feel tears in the connections with the artificial tissue and I tasted blood, but I didn't care.

Then a blunt object connected with my rib cage and something cracked inside. The air rushed out of my lungs.

"She won't be that loud again," I heard someone snicker. "I thought my head was going to explode."

My arms were wrenched up and I was half-dragged, gasping, chest burning and stabbing, and then I was shoved sideways, my shin rammed into something hard and immovable. I landed on my left shoulder, tears springing to my eyes, blood on my tongue and air refusing to fill me. Something thudded next to me, and then a metallic clank ended the ordeal.

I could feel liquid pooling in my lungs, and I spasmed, not having enough air to cough. The pain in my chest ripped through me. The spasm forced my lungs open, and I took an agonizing breath. My hands fumbled with the cloth over my face and pulled it aside, while the shoulder I'd landed on protested angrily. More air came to me, excruciatingly, and colder. I resisted the overwhelming urge to cough, but lost that battle and spit up more blood, not much, but it couldn't be good. Tears clouded my eyes. I felt a dull thudding on my left shin, but it was an insect bite in comparison to my chest. I brought my fingers to feel my side, and the barest touch had me seeing stars.

I forced myself to roll onto my back, slowly. The pain sliced through my right side, blinding me again. At least from this position I could now look to my right where Rory lay unconscious, sprawled on the cold metal ground. I moved my fingers over the flat, frigid surface, taking in the feeling of rust, grasping for purchase but there was nothing to hold onto, no grates or studs, nothing to feel that would distract me from the pain. I grabbed the cloth from over Rory's head and pulled it away, clenching it in my fingers. He'd landed on his side as well, so maybe he hadn't hit his head, I thought. His chest rose and fell, suspending my worst fear of the moment and allowing me to move on to the next one. What had become of Hazelle, Vick and Posy? Where were they being held? Were they being so badly treated? Guilt washed over me, would have pulled me under if not for the pain's stirring, throbbing, and stabbing. I'd brought children into this. If Rory didn't make it out... no, I couldn't think of it.

I was so stupid. Of course Weaver would have his people positioned within the Capitol, if they were as close to gaining a foothold as I'd thought. We were being held right under Paylor's nose, and by people she evidently trusted. My thoughts went to Peeta. I hoped to the ends of my broken being that he would be safe from this. A thrill of despair flooded my soul and transcended the bitter wounds, and I knew. I'd never see Peeta again, never feel his warmth against me, never see his kind, blushing smile, never be enveloped by his softness or strength, never again taste his lips. I'd never hear him say the three words I so longed to hear again. The tears that silently fell were not for my pain, they were for him.

The metal door yanked open some time later. I was in no state to fight off whoever it was, or even move for that matter, without the agony crippling me. Rory was still out, but whoever the intruder was, I surmised they'd come for me, not him. So when the masked visitor pulled out a hypodermic needle, I took it's contents with no more protest than a whimper. And everything went black.