Brrring! …. Brrring!

Groaning, he reached blindly to the nightstand, fumbling through his extensive collection of pricey knickknacks before finding the phone. "Caesar Flickerman speaking."

The voice at the other end was soft and low, but Caesar knew the power behind the words it spoke.

"Of course, sir, whatever you wish." Before he could say anything else, the president hung up.

Caesar took a moment to calm his nerves before climbing out of bed. Even after a lifetime of interviewing the most interesting and sought-after people on the planet, any contact with President Snow still made him feel jittery. He finger brushed his lilac hair in front of a mirror before calling for his personal servant. "Aurelius, come get my clothes ready for the day. I have quite the special interview tonight."

By the time he had finished his shower and dressed, a note from the president's mansion had arrived that explained the exact conversation that would occur that evening. Despite years of injections to maintain his youthful appearance, Caesar could feel his brow furrowing deeper and deeper as he read the list. Apparently, this interview would be unlike any he had ever done.

He brushed off his worries. Caesar Flickerman, the most popular television personality in Panem, could ace any interview. This one would certainly be a challenge, but that had never stopped him before. Caesar flashed himself his most winning smile in the mirror on his way out the door. Time to show why he was the world's best.

Could this really be the boy he'd met before the 74th Games? The instant Peeta had walked shakily onto the stage, Caesar had begun to doubt his ability to complete this interview. Far from the kind, strong boy that he had introduced to the nation, Peeta Mellark was now a frail man with eyes that belonged on someone much older.

Though Mellark's appearance gave him pause, decades of experience kept the smile plastered on his face from faltering. "Peeta!" he started, rising from his comfortable white interview chair to shake the other man's hand. Instead of returning the gesture, Peeta backed away a step, eyes widening; the boy's pupils dilated, and Caesar could see that his breath had quickened.

He gave Peeta what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Please, come sit," he said. Peeta sat gingerly on the white chair, keeping most of his weight on the very front of the seat as though ready to pounce at any threat.

For the first time in his career, Caesar was speechless. He wanted to get up and scream to the audience about the mistreatment of this young man, to tell them the horrors the note from President Snow had contained. All of it was wrong, but he could do nothing without risking his own life. Like the coward he was, Caesar sat down and allowed the opportunity to pass.

He turned to Peeta. "So, I am glad that you have decided to stay in the Capitol! It's lovely this time of year, don't you think?"

The old Peeta would have agreed, maybe even added a little joke. This was not that Peeta. He stared at Caesar before blinking several times rapidly. Only after several long seconds of silence did he agree.

"Tell me, Peeta, what do you think of these rebels? Is there a message you would like to send to them after they kidnapped and brainwashed your wife?" Caesar had never felt more ashamed of himself than he did as he spoke those words. They were a complete lie; he knew it, and everybody else in this theater knew it, but he said them anyway.

Something changed in Peeta's expression. "They are wrong. They'll lose. There are no other possibilities." He paused for a long moment before continuing, "I just hope that nobody else gets killed before it's over." The shining in his eyes told Caesar, and the nation, that the boy was being perfectly honest.

Caesar felt taken aback. What had they done to him? Snow's letter had informed him of the basics, that Peeta had been tortured for several weeks, but how could even the most gifted interrogator cause this change?

"Of course they are!" he heard himself say, as if he was watching himself through his television at home. "That's some fantastic insight. You've always been such a kind man."

For the rest of the interview, Caesar chatted with Peeta about nothing of importance. They acted as though the man had been enjoying the wonderful parties and attractions the Capitol had to offer instead of being locked in a cell. Caesar found himself enjoying the interview. Despite what the Capitol's chief interrogators had done to him, Peeta had largely retained his excellent conversation skills.

Finally, it was time to end the interview. Caesar was now relaxed enough to deviate from the script. "It's been a pleasure chatting with you again, but I think our time is up. Any messages for Katniss, the rebels, or even viewers at home before we wrap up?" Even before Peeta began to answer, Caesar knew he had made a mistake. Peeta's shaking became more obvious, and his blue eyes took on a steely edge.

"And you ... in Thirteen ... dead by morning!"

Bedlam erupted. Peacekeepers grabbed Peeta and roughly dragged him from his chair. All the lights shut off, and the hundreds of audience members struggled to leave the theater in the dark, cursing and screaming as they tripped over one another.

Eventually, the sounds ceased, and Caesar was left alone in the studio. He stayed in his plush, comfortable chair for over an hour, thinking about what he had done. He tried to calm his shaking hands as he thought of the lies he had just told the public. Caesar tried to think of some explanation, some reason why he was right to so willingly go along with Snow's wishes, but he could find none. He was weak. That was all he would ever be. Like the weakling he was, he made an excuse. All he had wanted to do was save his own skin, his own career.

Perhaps this situation was still salvageable. Caesar smoothed his jacket and stood. Even though the audiece had long since left, he bowed before leaving the interview area, just as he always had. He strode confidently off the stage, so familiar with the studio that he could navigate around the wires and equipment even in the pitch blackness that surrounded him. Caesar would not be able to avoid Snow now. It was time to ask forgiveness.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it - I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, to be honest. Feedback is very much appreciated. Thanks to ArtemisCarolineSnow, Sda209, turtledoves, and SydneyLouWho for reviewing! See you again soon for the final chapter, starring Cinna!

Edit 7/22/2014: Thank you to turtledoves for pointing out the errors in the earlier version of this chapter.

~finnicko-loves-anniec