SLAM
Well, as far as reunions go, that could have gone… better. Then again, considering what happened the last time we had a reunion, they also could have gone worse.
Besides the sound of the lock sliding and clicking into place, I can hear the muffled yet unmistakable thumps of footfalls running up the stairs. The following just-as-muffled crash to the floor sends a bout of worry through me, but it's clear that Katniss gets back up and continues on her not-so-merry way. Also the whole locking-the-door-behind-her part makes me suspect that approaching her would be a very… very poor idea.
So the only things I can do is sigh and proceed to plant these primroses while trying not to think about how ragged Katniss appeared; be it the matted nature of her hair, the uneven manner that her grafts seem to be healing, the way her grown-out nails are beginning to curve and twist, or the disturbing level of thinness contained in her physique. I think how distressed I felt at her expression showed on my face because she looked ready to tear me a new one before deciding upon her retreat. An irrational urge to go up there to embrace and tell her that things are going to be alright threatens to overtake me, but I manage to put it down because, again, it'd be a very poor idea.
"This is the first time she got up and moved around."
I'll admit that Greasy Sae's voice makes me start a bit, but I manage to compose myself as I focus on making sure the roots of the plant I'm working on are sufficiently covered. "She's not exactly happy to see me."
"She's not exactly happy to see anyone, boy. But that you got her to step outside, if only for a couple seconds."
"Even if it meant confirming that she had to lock the door?"
"Lock the…?" Sure enough, when she goes to test the door, Sae's expression of puzzlement changes to that of exasperation. "That girl…"
"Like I said: she's not exactly happy to see me." I pause in grabbing for the next plant to run my hand through my hair. "I just… I just wish I knew what to do. I know that the safe route would be to give Katniss time…"
"At this point, she doesn't have that long, boy," Sae notes with a grim air.
"Exactly. Just in those few seconds — not to mention he in captivity — I can tell that she's wasting away, and I'd do anything to stop that…"
"But you don't want to push her away." I can only nod at that, and the old lady looks at me for what feels like an eternity before she heaves a sigh of her own and walks forward to brush my hair back. "Peeta, all I can say is that, whenever the opportunity presents itself, you'll know what the right thing to do is. You already made the right choice in getting these flowers; Prim would be proud."
I… I know this why I chose to collect the primroses — to honor Prim — but to have someone else make note of that makes my throat stick. So I settle for another nod in response.
Sae seems to understand and kisses my forehead with a smile before tottering back to wherever she's staying. "She'll come around. But now if you'll excuse me, there's a door I need to unlock."
It doesn't take me long to plant all the flowers and water them, and once I finish with that, I roll the supplies back to Thom as he manages the grisly task of recovering bodies and burying them. It's no small task considering that, despite the supplies they have to facilitate the labor — a trivial part of me wonders where the horses came from — the number of workers could easily be counted within a few seconds. Despite knowing how I'd likely react to handling the remains, I feel obligated to help. However, before I can do that, something interrupts my train of thought:
CLANK
"You hear that?"
Behind his respiratory mask, Thom's face scrunches a bit in a small frown. "Hear what?"
CLANK
"That! That metal noise." It's faint, but still sounds like someone hammering on sheet metal.
"Oh that… Probably our visitor."
"Visitor?"
"Arrived on the same supply train that brought you here; probably didn't notice him because you were busy… yeah. Anyways, moment he disembarked, the guy just wandered off aimlessly," a shrug accompanies Thom's statement as he scratches the back of his head. "Poor fellow seemed to be lost, but he shrugged off any help. And by the time you came to, he disappeared."
"Well, apparently he's reappeared," I mutter as I follow the rhythmic clanging to its source.
The sound leads me back towards the train station, though I take a slight right up a wide path. As I stand before the long yet low-level building with large adjacent depots and landing pads, it vaguely occurs to me that I'm in the old Peacekeeper garrison. However, the status and purpose of this complex didn't save it from being bombed any more than the Justice Building or Seam. What used to be a massive sturdy structure of yellow brick to hold a large unit of Peacekeepers is now caved in and blackened from the inferno, while the depots are just leveled footprints with hunks of twisted metal of what used to be utility vehicles and weapons. And I don't miss the fact that many of the human remains around here have what looks to be armor still attached. Though considering the devastation, there's a conspicuous lack of hovercraft wreckage.
CLANK
That sound, ever closer, prompts me to walk into the larger and now-roofless building, despite anxiety of a wall potentially collapsing atop me… which, all things considered, would probably be a fairly anti-climactic way to die.
Anyways, the interior maze of distorted metal frames — I try not to notice the bodies that have fused within them — that I must navigate seems to signify that this used to be the barracks. And upon that realization, and as I slow my pace to conceal myself, I find the source.
Because sitting in the middle of the collapsed structure is a young man hammering on a piece of metal with what looks like an ornate cane. Honestly, he looks like he could originate from the Seam, but there's something about the way he dressed that seems to hint that's not the case, though I can't quite put my figure on where he's really from. In any case, possible origins and even the ragged scar that mars his cheek take a secondary precedence to the expression on his face. The sort of vacancy and focus expression of someone who has seen too much, especially at a young age, yet somehow has come across something that still surprises him… and not in a good way.
It's probably best to hang back and leave this guy to… whatever he—
"I know you're there, Mellark." Or I could just make myself known. I could ask him how he knows who I am, though I realize how dumb that would be. "You can approach if you want. It's not like it's my place to tell what you can't do in your own district," Besides the last part of the youth's muttered statement, that little accent I can pick up behind the gravelly yet dull quality of his voice confirms that he's definitely not from around here; though I still can't pinpoint where it's from.
In any case, I decided to take him up on his offer and approach carefully. At this point, he's stopped banging that cane against that indiscernible chunk of metal and is merely using the former to prod the latter. When I'm practically on top of the guy, I'm finally able to get a better look at the cane: the majority of it is a beautifully carved light wood, with a spiral of intricate designs the whole way through, except for the handle which looks like it's made of an antler and has just one small little decal on it; a moment passes before I figure out what that decal is, and when I do, I can't help but raise my eyebrows a bit.
It's a Peacekeeper sigil.
Honestly, at this point, all I'm thinking is how gusty this guy must be to still adhere to that symbol and walk into this district with it. On the upside, I think I finally figured out where he's from; though that now I think about it, there's also something a bit familiar about this former Peacekeeper.
As if he's able to read my mind, he mutters, "Yes, I was a Peacekeeper. Is that going to be a problem?" There's actually no challenging tone in that; it's as if he sincerely wants to know if his presence is going to cause any issue.
So I decide to humor him: "As long as you don't cause any." In the meantime, I take a seat on a piece of rubble before noting, "You were causing a slight ruckus earlier, though. Are you alright?"
A snort is emanated from the former Peacekeeper, yet he refrains from looking me in the eye. "I… I just needed to see things for myself…" I'm about to ask what he means by that before he states: "After the end of the Quarter Quell, Commander Thread came back with his unit and told us that, in the process of defying the Capitol, District Twelve managed to destroy itself in the chaos that followed Katniss Everdeen's stunt. The Capitol broadcast told the same story."
"What." I'm barely able to hold down the surge of anger that accompanies my baffled statement. District Twelve got bombed to oblivion, and yet they had the gall to tell the rest of the nation that it was our fault?
If I'm showing any sign of the anger that I feel, the former Peacekeeper makes no note of it, but merely continues: "Well as the war progressed, the message was changed to be that Thirteen disguised its hoverplanes as Peacekeeper bombers to rally the districts. And considering the death and destruction that oh-so-glorious Rebellion visited upon anybody who did not fall in line with them, how could any loyalist not see the logic in that?" Okay, now that one I don't have an answer for; it's not like Thirteen was a paragon of virtue, and I've seen enough in the Capitol to know that the rebels weren't exactly clean in what they did either. "But even after it became clear ever to us just how much heinous shit the Capitol was responsible for… Even when I came here to get an inkling of the loss you suffered… a small part of I had hoped that maybe… just maybe this was merely a false flag operation like in the Capitol. That our own Soldiers in White weren't responsible for sacrificing thousands of innocents and their own comrades just to prove some political point…
"That is… until I came across this:" As he taps that cane again, I realize what that piece of metal is: an bomb. Suddenly I can feel myself pucker up a bit at the sight, and I don't know whether to run away screaming or simply punch this guy for being a moron. However, the former Peacekeeper intercepts my thoughts: "It's inert; I already checked."
"Still…" Okay, and maybe my voice is coming out a bit higher than expected.
"The point I'm making is that these incendiary is of a new and specialized make developed within the last couple years. There's no way at all the rebels would have been able to steal them to do a false-flag operation. And I've come across enough intact and fragmented examples that still have the serial codes that will likely prove that these aren't copies either." It's then that he actually looks up at me, and past that vacant stare I can finally see the guilt and torment that is corroding him. "It means that we were responsible. For all our talk about courage and honor and upholding order, we were responsible for this… for this… this…"
Instead of being completed, the sentence comes out strangled and finally devolves into an inarticulate scream, and the former Peacekeeper kicks at the inert hunk of metal before letting his cane clatter to the ground as he clutches his head in his hands while rocking back and forth.
I'll admit, due to the denial that this guy admitted to, a small part of me feels a sort of satisfaction at seeing his little realization tear into him like a serrated knife, and another part is already thinking of the right things to say that will twist that knife further. But… even without knowing that this guy was willing come here to do some fact-checking… even without knowing that completely decent individuals came from that district and even served as Peacekeepers… even without knowing how District Two suffered as well during the war… the piteous sight before me enough to wash away that temptation to do something really dickish.
So despite my pervious anger, I sidle up next to him to rest an arm across his shoulders. As he trembles with broken sobs, the guy releases a just-as-broken and extremely profane string of damnations — for all their martial rigidity, folks from Two have a capacity to be quite… creative and colorful in their speech patterns, especially when they're pissed off — towards Thread, Snow, the Capitol, and his own district's willful blindness and complicity…
After a few minutes, he must have run out of steam as the profanities fade away and his breathing evens out a bit before he murmurs, "I now can see what put that seed of destruction in Gale's heart. It in no way excuses what he did, but I can see how this… this atrocity turned him into that butcher."
The mention of Gale's name finally jogs in my mind as to what's so familiar about this former Peacekeeper. "You must be Marcus Wilson." He seems to register a bit of surprise that I'm able to recall his name, so I add, "Gale talked about you a couple times when he had to stay in the Capitol."
The surprise doesn't appear to abate any, but Wilson states, "You can just call me Marcus."
"Only if you call me Peeta," I counter in good cheer… in relation to the circumstances; I may just be imagining things, but I swear that the corner of Marcus' mouth twitches in response. "In any case, I've been told that you're a good person… if apparently a bit humorless."
"Like Gale should talk…"
Now that gives me a good chuckle before I sober up to add, "More importantly, I've been told you did your best to protect Katniss, which always makes you good in my book."
If Marcus was surprised before, he's utterly incredulous now. "After I originally planned on killing her! I held a gun to her face! What's good about that?"
For some reason, as irrational as it may be, his counter results in a fit of giggles going through me, and before long I'm in full hysterics. As my vision clears, I can see that Marcus does seem to share my amusement, especially when he asks, "Uh… what's so funny?"
I don't even allow my chortles to abate when I respond: "Have you seen our first Games?"
"Yeah… your point?"
"My point is that Katniss dropped a fucking tracker jacker nest on me. Not to mention that for a split second, she was willing to send an arrow into my heart. Not exactly 'Star-crossed Lovers' material there," I note with a chuckle. I don't mention the instances where I tried to kill her, which are far less funny.
"Oh…"
"Yeah… 'oh' is about right. But you know what? In the end, she saved my life a couple times." I hope I saved hers… "Honestly, I can't blame you for being more than a bit pissed off in that situation, and in the end it doesn't matter; what matters is that not only you weren't the one to actually shoot her, but decided to act as a shield when things got nasty. So I'm not going to judge you on what might have happened but rather what the end result was." Because I damn myself enough as it is.
"Oh… uh… thanks?" Real confident right there… "How is she?"
"She could… be better." That's all I'll say to the situation, and Marcus gives me a small sympathetic grimace. Wanting to change the subject before I can dwell upon it, I ask, "What does Gale think about you being here?"
"He doesn't know." Huh. "Like I said, I needed to see this for myself, under my own initiative."
That actually makes sense, and it increases my estimation of his decency.
"Peeta…" Now though, all I can notice is that he's now looking at me with an expression of someone who's about to try to tactfully say something in which there's no easy way to put it. But before I can head him off, the former Peacekeeper says, "Gale told me what happened… what happened to Darius."
Definitely not liking where this is going, and I'm trying desperately not remember where… No, just don't think about it! "I…"
"But Gale didn't see it directly… he was reliant on second-hand info… Though…" Don't say it… Please don't say it… "he told me you were the last one to see my best friend."
Oh no… By now, I can't miss the mixture of hope, denial, and dread interplaying on Marcus' face. "Marcus…"
Even as I whisper that, I know there's no dissuading him. So I begin to steel myself for the coming blow.
"Please… just tell me… did Darius suffer?"
Did he suffer? Darius… who was beaten and had questions screamed at him even though he couldn't respond. Who's twisted cries were responded to by the guards mocking his prior service. Does that count as suffering? Is it suffering when fingers are cut off… then toes… then… other parts…
Stop! STOP IT! I'm begging you! Stop hurting him! I'll do what you want! I'll say what you want! I'LL DO ANYTHING! JUST PLEASE STOP!
Wait… no… too late… he's dead already. Yeah that's right… took him days to finally expire. Yep… there he is… or what's left of him… those remains hanging outside my cell… replacing Lavinia's… just hanging there… hanging there for days… Huh… oh so that's how Boggs was able to confirm my question.
NO WAIT BOGGS DON'T—
Explosions… the commander lying there… no legs… blood pooling between cobblestones… blood painting the walls… so much blood… Now that mutt swooping—wait… no… that's not right… she's not a mutt. I'm the mutt… I'm the—
MITCHELL GET AWAY FROM ME!
More blood… a rain of blood… a rain of black… chaos… screaming…
Look what you did you worthless creature!
But I didn't mean to…
Doesn't matter. It's still your fault. If you were stronger, none of this would have happened.
No…
You know it's true.
Please…
Instead you were weak…
Stop…
Worthless…
STOP!
Little shit…
I… it's… I… I'm sorry…
Ah… you see clearly, don't you.
… Yes.
So who's fault is this?
Mine.
What's that again?
This is all my fault.
All of this is because of you.
My fault… My fault… My fault…