***Hi, all! I've gotten the super-cool opportunity to be interviewed about TL&N by JenieZee for her Tumblr blog! I was sure no one would care would I had to say about my fanfic, but she's assured my otherwise, so I hope you enjoy! It was really fun. Thanks to the awesome JenieZee! The website address for the interview is in my profile and it's filled with lots of insider secrets. ;) Enjoy!
I need to get some air. I bet they think they're the only ones that feel stifled in that grandiose, window-free room filled with gadgetry, but being familiar with it doesn't make me like it any better. I wonder if Katniss remembers that I, too, used the woods as my escape. They were just a source of sustenance for neither of us, but a place to pause and breathe, to catch our breath and steel ourselves to take on the challenges of living in District 12.
There are challenges here, too. Lately I'm distressed by, of all things, how easily I've seemed to fit in. I always held myself above everyone who lives here; held them in contempt. Now I'm forced to hold myself in contempt. I remember my sneer at Katniss' concern over her prep team's health in District 13, those self-absorbed pets. The tales she told me about the parties where tiny crystal goblets would be distributed in the bathrooms. It made their beautiful Capitol bathrooms smell like vomit, she'd said.
"Vomit covered in artificial flowers!" I remember the incredulous tone in her voice. We'd laughed. That was after the Victory tour, just before everything went to hell. Well. Before everything went to hell again, anyways.
Peeta's scooped her into his arms again, and I can tolerate the sight of it but I don't enjoy it much, so I climb the marble stairs to where the sunrays pour in through the main front door. Johanna has beaten me upstairs; she regards me coolly, leaning against a marble pillar and smoking. The thick, delicious scent of good tobacco rolls towards me. She sees me eying her smoke and shakes a pack loose from her belt, flipping it open with her thumb.
"Want one?" she invites. I oblige. She produces a silver lighter and I hold the smoke in my teeth as she flicks the flame out for me. I take her wrist to steady it and we study one another for a minute. Johanna's tapping one boot obsessively on the lintel. We move aside so that Fulvia and Plutarch can pass. Plutarch beams obliviously at Johanna. When he passes, she closes her big brown eyes briefly and knits her eyebrows together in weariness, a gesture that would be comic if it didn't reflect my own emotional state.
"Want to take a walk?" she asks. She arches an eyebrow. "Unless you're afraid of me." I remember that moment in Peeta's hospital room and a small smile escapes me. She gestures in front of me and I exit the veranda and hook a right around the building, and then a left at the back onto a walking path fringed with overhanging birches and aspens. They're decorative, I've discovered. They're fed all kinds of chemicals to help them stay greener, produce more blossoms, and to stunt their growth so they stay airy and romantic. These are the kinds of facts I try to forget when I'm sitting at dinner with the Cabinet in a silk shirt and jacket. I still don't know how I got here. Katniss' presence is bringing back all the old memories, standing in such sharp contrast to my own recent experiences.
It's better for your mother and the kids that you followed them here. This is true. My family has a better life now than they could ever have dreamt of. They're held in high esteem. The kids attend school and have enough food and warmth, and my mother has been part of a team that's helping restore the insides of houses that were damaged during the war, so that emigrating families from the districts will have places to live. We have the kind of life that I always imagined was possible once we'd escaped the tyranny of the Capitol's rule. I just didn't think we'd have it here.
I've walked this path many times so my feet move over the dips and rises in the packed earth without my thinking about it. Johanna has been ambling along beside me, trailing her fingers over the low wooden fence and smoking. I breathe.
"This must be hard for you," I say. I can't think of anything else. I say it mostly to have something to say. My mind is still so preoccupied with Katniss' physical proximity. She'll be eating with Peeta, of course.
"You can't do any better than that?" Johanna snorts promptly. I stop. She's looking at me with ill-disguised derision.
"Fine," I say. Johanna shares the trait with Katniss and I that she doesn't really play games…not the kind other people play, anyways. She has no desire or aptitude at disguising her emotions. I don't know her backstory, but whatever led up to her collision with Katniss has made her hard as nails and twice as sharp.
"How long has that been going on?" I ask her. I don't know I'm going to ask this until I actually hear the words emerging.
"I don't owe you any loyalty," she replies, although complacently.
I sigh. "Please, Johanna."
"What did you expect, Gale?" I don't remember if I've ever heard her say my name before. We're not really friends. As a wildcat in the hospital siphoning Katniss' morphling drip, so long ago, she used to flirt with me, but we've never interacted much without Katniss as a buffer.
We walk in silence for a few minutes. The sounds of the city have faded away. Bright spring birds twitter above out heads. I glance at my communicuff. We've used up 20 of our 60 minutes. I run one hand over my eyes, tiredly, distracted. Johanna's moved ahead of me a bit and as I make this gesture, her eyes flick up to me. She stops and turns to regard me. I raise my eyebrows at her.
Johanna reaches her hands out—fingernails chewed to stubs, I note, and no ornamentation—and places them up high on my shoulders. My attention has returned.
"Look, Gale," she says. "It's not going to happen."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply.
"Don't act stupid," she says sharply, "I'm not saying this again. I don't even know why I'm saying this now. If you want to do kind things for her because you love her, fine. By all means. That was nice of you and I'm sure she's appreciative. But don't do it because you want her back, not even in the furthest corner of your mind." Her voice is firm and clear and slow. Her brow is furrowed as she concentrates on me. I try to keep my face impassive, no small feat at her next words. "She's in love with him," she continues. "He adores her, and he's good to her, and they're rebuilding one another. Let her have that shot. Give yourself a shot. She wants to forgive you. But you have to let her go."
"What do you care?" I ask, but my voice is exhausted. I don't have the energy to keep this stiff, formal, poised front up for the rest of the afternoon. I wonder who else in that room is actually feeling as bad as we all seem to be under the cool exteriors.
She laughs. "If I had friends…well, Katniss is as close as I've come to having a friend in a long time. I don't have faith in romance and love stories and happy endings…" Her eyes flick away to the trees and then back to me, "But I'd like to hope that we're all finding some kind of peace, and she's…she's better with him. They're stronger together than either one of them is alone." She looks at me.
I shy away from the feeling of pain that wells up inside me. I'm angry that I've let it affect me so much after all this time. I've had enough time to heal. I have no shortage of female company here; there are plenty of beautiful Capitol girls with long, shiny hair and long, slender legs who serve at the functions we attend, who take part in my mother's rebuilding crew, who teach at the school where my siblings attend classes. I've had my share of women in my bed since I came here. It doesn't make me forget. Sometimes, in the middle of these encounters, I close my eyes and think of Katniss.
"How'd you sleep?" Johanna asks. I wish I didn't understand the context of this question. I'd slept over at the boardinghouse in a downstairs room for simplicity last night, but I won't be doing it again.
"I heard enough," I say. She steps back and for just a second, bites her bottom lip hard. Then her face resolves again. "Yeah. Wish you hadn't. This must be hard for you."
Despite everything, I smile. She smiles back.
"Want lunch?" I ask her.
"Yeah," she says, and we make an about-face and head back. "I better check on Katniss. That really was a nice thing you did for her. She's holding it together pretty well but it's hard. It's taken so much time for her to build back up to facing the past." This information, unasked-for, feels like a sort of reward. I drink it up like cold water on a hot day, any information about what's going on with her.
"She seems like she has a lot of help," I say. I try to keep the envy out of my voice, but fail. I shut myself off from everyone but my family and my work when I came here. Katniss was the only really close friend I had in 12, anyways. I feel a stab of homesickness nevertheless.
"She needs a lot of help," Johanna says. "She'd die before she admitted it, though." This exchange feels strange even to me. I realize I haven't heard a peep from Johanna about her own experiences since the war ended. Just radiating hostility and the little blue pills she pops when she thinks no one is looking. I miss little, after the war. Ironically, only Katniss remains shrouded to me.
"How are you?" I ask, with genuine curiosity this time. Johanna and I owe each other no favors, but she's treating me like, if not a friend, at least not an enemy. She seems to consider this. I shoot a glance at her. She's slight, petite almost, with short hair sticking up in crazy spikes, long eyelashes and boyish hips and big combat boots. Her army fatigue-print pants are slung low and a knife stowed at her waist. The first few buttons of her black cotton shirt are unbuttoned and a delicate curve of collarbone peeps out. She's put on muscle since those long-ago days in 13, but her eyes get a hazy, distant quality to them sometimes, as if she's blanked out for a moment or two, gone into some secret world. She shrugs noncommittally.
"I'm here, aren't I?" she replies. I sense that she doesn't really want to answer this question. I give her a minute and nothing else comes forth.
"How's home?" I try again.
"Wish I were there now," she answers, and falls silent again. I don't push it. We're arriving back to the Capitol building anyways. Johanna ticks off a saucy salute to me. I thank her for the smoke and she drifts away up the porch.
Johanna returns to Katniss and Peeta, who are sitting on the opposite corner of the stairs in a sunbeam, a lunch tray—a single lunch tray—on the stair beside their feet, crystal glasses of tea balanced on top. They're holding hands. Johanna plops down beside them and grabs an apple off the tray, taking a deep bite, and Peeta asks her something, glancing back at me in curiosity. Johanna replies, making some broad gesture with her hands, but I spare a single sidelong glance at Katniss, those fragile wisps of hair that always escape her braid that my fingers spent years yearning to push behind her ears, forearms on her bent knees as she leans forward to listen, before I'm back under the shade of the eaves. The taste of tobacco lingers in my mouth, but I'm not really hungry. I'm loathe to return to the War Room, though, so once I'm inside I continue across the foyer and upwards, climbing the stairs until I find a shadowed alcove in the hall, and sit on the carpet, my back against the embellished wallpaper, to wait for the rest to return.
I almost drift off, sitting in the quiet. It's the loud voice of Fulvia calling us back that jolts me out of a half-doze. The prospect of returning to the council meeting is distinctly unpleasant. I rub my face with one sleeve, trying to erase any marks that might be there from my slump against the wall. I feel groggy. I take a short walk down the hall to the restroom and splash my face with cold water from the ornate taps, forged in the shape of lions' heads—at least I think they're lions. I stare at myself in the mirror. My shoulders are up around my ears and I force the tension down, pull them back, stand up straight. My face is an unreadable mask, even to myself. I lick residual droplets of water off my lips and sigh, closing my eyes for just one more moment, before surrendering to the relentless plod of this day.
People are still drifting in when I re-enter the room, my hands clasped at the small of my back in order to remind me about my re-engagement. Randolph and Flora are engaged in an animated conversation about some reported food shortages in 2. Fulvia is trilling animatedly to Plutarch about this afternoon's propo shoot. As I take my seat next to Beetee, the trio from the stairs filters in and resumes their seats. Katniss tucks her legs up under her and sits on them, still small in the deep War Room chair. A painful memory shoots through my head, but it takes a second to place it—Katniss and Peeta on that ridiculous stage with Caesar Flickerman, curled up on the loveseat after the 74th Hunger Games, during the recap. Her posture was just so, then. She looks a little pale, but her face is set in the stubborn lines I associate with determination and occasional defiance. Johanna looks impassive, but her fingertips, like her toes, drum impatiently on the tabletop. Of the three of them, only Peeta sits back, his feet planted firmly on the floor, his body subtly angled towards Katniss at all times, as if to shield her. The two of them flank Katniss, as before. I'm too weary to feel jealous anymore. Johanna's advice rings in my head, making it ache. I try to catch Katniss' eyes but she's staring off at some fixed point in space. Tuning everyone out, maybe, like at breakfast. We have a little over two more hours in here and then it's out to the propos. Because of my suggestion about Rue's family, tonight will be blessedly shorter, though. The day already seems interminable.
Just as Paylor, who has been sitting calmly regarding us all, stands to call everyone back to attention, Haymitch slouches in. He looks ill-tempered and I wonder if he was hoping for something harder than tea at the lunch buffet. I could have warned him in advance. Alcohol and intoxicating substances are never permitted in State buildings, on State grounds, or at any State-associated meeting, event or training, not even dinners and holidays. The new government permits it for personal use for citizens over legal age, but public drunkenness is grounds for citation and repeated infractions can lead to one's name being placed on a register of those "unfit for sale." It's the closest they've come to a compromise. Haymitch looks sour, and slumps into his chair next to Peeta just at the President begins to speak.
"Thank you for returning on time and I hope you enjoyed our well-earned rest," she says, "And are ready to continue with this afternoon's discussion." Discussion is a word for it, I guess. "Next on the agenda is the matter of the possibility of executions of war criminals. As a relevant point of history, it should be noted that the democracies after which we are modeling our current system of government had divergent views on whether or not execution—"capitol punishment," as it was then known—should be a possible punishment for a criminal. There was further debate on what crimes made a criminal eligible for this punishment, although it was commonly reserved for outstanding crimes such as murder and great personal violence. There is a known history of war criminals being executed for their crimes across various wars known to us today, but this practice was by no means universal. As an alternative, many criminals were simply imprisoned for the remainder of their lives, though this frequently cost the citizens a great deal in upkeep fees. This discussion is occurring in order to garner feedback about whether or not there is a vested interest in capitol punishment for those who are convicted of war crimes, and if yes, what type of crimes and criminals are eligible."
Peeta asks, "Are all accused parties going to be tried by a court?"
"Yes," replies Paylor promptly. "The court will be composed of a jury of citizenry coming from all districts and the Capitol, plus an impartial judge who will weigh the evidence and the jury recommendations and submit them to a final council for approval. Everyone in this room will be consulted once these trials are complete and a list of results is distributed. If necessary, we will converse remotely about this matter. We are ultimately hoping to achieve unilateral agreement amongst the three involved branches about what the final outcome should be."
"What are you looking at for time?" asks Haymitch. I can't tell if he's asking this so he knows how long of a reprieve he'll have after this discussion, or if he's trying to make sense of the scale of the matter.
"Full trials could take months to complete," says Plutarch, a note of resignation in his voice, a note befitting a former Gamemaker eager to deal out death-blows, I think with disgust. Must be getting bored with no more kids to drown or blow up or watch starve. I can never quite let this fact go, despite his complicity in the movement against the Capitol and his position now. I glance quickly at Katniss, and a look of undisguised relief flits quickly across her face before she can compose it again. More time. I feel a little pity in my heart, for the way that this government will want to continue to disturb the lives of people who would opt of participation otherwise. I'm not dragged periodically from my home, of course; I opted in to this life of power and prestige. The four bodies around the table from me radiate a sense of resignation. They've had enough prestige for one lifetime.
Paylor nods in response to Plutarch's comment. "We're just here to assess what forms of punishment are options, so that this information can be passed along to the trial juries and judges, who are being selected now, and for what crimes such ultimate forms of punishment can be used."
"Alright," says Katniss. Surprising me, she takes the lead. "The four of us have agreed previously that we think executions should be an option of punishment for certain groups of people associated with war crimes." The others nod curtly in response.
Paylor looks nonplussed. I'm not surprised either that the four of them have had previous conversations about what would happen once they got here. Together they certainly have brains and understanding to spare when it comes to generally predicting what topics would arise. "Have you discussed which groups of people this encompasses?" she asks. This time it's Haymitch who answers.
"We have agreed that this should include all those who were directly involved in sanctioning or carrying out the torture, mutilation or murder of district or Capitol citizens or soldiers, either intentionally or by neglect."
"Even those who were carrying out direct orders?" asks Beetee.
"Yes," Katniss snaps savagely.
"There is a certain question around their ability to freely act with their own potential safety, and that of their loved ones, at risk," Lyme chips in. "Many of those currently detained are insistent that they were threatened with torture or death themselves, or their families were, if they did not carry out these orders. This should be taken into consideration."
Katniss' hackles are rising but Peeta puts a hand over hers and she exhales slowly. I can see her trying to reason with herself, flatten out the rising temper. Johanna's eyes are narrowed. Clearly, the two of them want no mercy shown in this area.
"Those who were murdered or mutilated by others carrying out orders are just as murdered or mutilated," Katniss says evenly. "I don't think it matters much to them for what reasons. The people who tortured Peeta…" her voice is rising despite herself, "…should be held personally responsible for their actions regardless of how they came about."
"And they shall be," says Paylor firmly, meeting Katniss' gaze levelly and calmly, "But the question on the table is, have they forfeited their very lives?"
I stay silent on the matter for the moment. I want the first input to come from the other end of the table, to drink in what the Victors' viewpoints are. From the first whispered conversations that unfolded between Katniss and myself during our hunting trips in District 12 over the years, my viewpoint has been clear. I have no moral qualms about the obliteration of anyone and everyone in the Capitol who was connected with the suffering that occurred both before and during the war. I told Katniss this many times, and it hasn't changed. Despite what happened with Prim, an incident for which I'll never fully forgive myself, I still have to believe that we were only doing what we had to do to survive—that our actions in retaliation against the Capitol, even if they resulted in the same consequences, were driven by necessity and desperation and are excusable. We were driven into a corner. An animal driven into a corner will raise its hackles, bear its teeth, bite, scratch, fight back, fight to kill if need be. This is what we did; we were the cornered animals and the Capitol the armed hunters bearing down on us with bombs and guns. The choices I made during the war were never easy, but when I accepted the offer of coming to work with Beetee here after the war had ended, I also accepted my own role in retaliation. "Warrior Gale," they called me, jokingly, in my training unit back in 13. I refuse to cede that we could have done different. We're out. That's all that matters to me, in the end. I have no heart for those in detainment. But this is well-known, so I sit back and listen.
"Would they have shown us mercy, if we had lost the war?" queries Johanna snidely, breaking my train of thought.
"Do you think we should try to be like them?" asks Lyme quietly in return.
This silences everyone for a moment.
"Can we agree on certain groups of people immediately that should be subject to this form of punishment?" asks Randolph reasonably.
"I would say that the most likely candidates would be the dozen or so Cabinet Ministers composing President Snow's closest governmental allies and all commanding generals of the war's foot-soldier and air-traffic divisions," suggests Paylor.
Katniss and Johanna are nodding, Haymitch is looking watchful, and Peeta is quiet beside them. I raise my eyebrows in assent at the President. Beetee nods, too.
"Is that an acceptable proposition, that these highest-ranking military and government officials be tried with the possibility of execution?" asks Paylor. She's remaining calculatedly neutral in this conversation, I note.
Plutarch and Fulvia look slightly uncomfortable, a reality that doesn't surprise me, much, since they were probably in closer proximity to the people we're discussing only abstractly. I know that there'll be a full-on mutiny, though, if we can't reach some kind of compromise over the capitol punishment issue, and not just from the District 12 side of the table. Lyme is playing peacemaker but I'm aware there's been a loose consensus that this form of punishment is at least in some cases, applicable.
Katniss gives a glance around at her group and I know that they've elected her de facto leader, and that she's chosen, since this morning, to step up to the task.
"Yes," she answers, for all of them.
"Motion?" asks Paylor, and looks placidly at us. My hand is first, but Beetee is close. Slowly, Randolph nods and lifts his. I know, too, from my new place as an insider privy to insider chatter, that Flora has been hesitant to take this step. But she's looking resigned, because Flora is smarter than she lets on and she knows already she'll be outgunned, and would rather not be the last holdout. I doubt she'd be anyways because even when her hand finally does take its place in the air, Plutarch and Fulvia are still squirming slightly. I marvel again at how easily perturbed the man can be, when his former employment involved devising entertaining ways to kill kids. Katniss is looking his way with outright contempt. He doesn't spot it, but Fulvia does and even cows a little beneath it. Haymitch's face is resolved in lines as hard as stone. Their hands rise. Paylor and Lyme are the last holdouts, and I know this was intentional. They wanted to see how it would play out with us. Though they have the power between them to override all of us—despite the mutiny that would ensue—they nod in tandem.
"Motion carried," says Paylor. I remember that she and Lyme are foremost, generals, not civilians. Their blood rises with a battle. They're not afraid to make tough calls and they're familiar with the concept of triage. As newfound politicians, they're also familiar with the concept of compromise, and this agreement gives them leverage for what follows.
The discussion moves back and forth from there over what should be done with the "lesser" offenders—military captains, head Peacekeepers, the squads of soldiers whose assignments included torturing prisoners of war. Higher-value prisoners, like Johanna and Peeta, Paylor informs us, were nearly always kept under lock and key by the sort of advanced level military operatives that are likely to be included in our original motion, but many others—like the Avoxes and I—experienced their torture, mutilation and humiliation under lesser soldiers. This is where the debate grows more heated, with Lyme maintaining the position that soldiers' primary obligations are to follow orders, particularly in cases where their own safety is threatened if they defect, and that though these soldiers should be punished for moral failure, they should not be subject to the possibility of execution. Katniss, of course, flares up at this, insisting that we, too, were soldiers who were given orders, and often disobeyed them—Haymitch's mouth twitches—to do what we thought was right. Additionally, Johanna correctly points out that many of the Capitol's soldiers did defect before the end of the war to join our cause, and are now pardoned for doing so. Theoretically, this option was open to all, even those who didn't take it. Paylor counters that those soldiers who were most important to the Capitol's cause were kept under much tighter guard than those Peacekeepers and field soldiers who, scattered throughout the districts, could be absorbed into the fray and protected by fellow allied fighters. It goes on like this for awhile.
Eventually, it's Paylor who rises into her Presidential role again after 75 minutes of heated debate, as she glances at the large metal-and-glass clock floating beneath the table. 15:15. Our limited time is drawing short.
"I motion that we apply a general standard that second- and third-tier operatives be regarded as generally immune from capitol punishment…"
A clamor begins at our end of the table and she raises her voice firmly, continuing.
"…except in special circumstances to be determined by evidence hearings and the recommendations of jurors. Conceivably, this can include such crimes as the torture of children, which will bring past Gamemakers under sanctions…"
Katniss looks slightly mollified.
"If extraordinary circumstance is demanded by both judge and jury, the capitol punishment option will be re-engaged before final punishment is determined. This is not to say that it will always be used in such circumstances, as we will stress that this is not generally to be considered an appropriate punishment at this level unless extraordinary evidence emerges that suggests the contrary. Early rulings will be used to set precedents for later cases, for example, in terms of Gamemakers. Let's say, around a six-month mark from here we will reconvene and evaluate the results of the trials and the sentences and affirm or deny them. Sentences considered by the council to be incorrect or inadequate will be returned to the lower courts to be reconsidered. All accused parties, judges, juries and the general public will receive transparency about the process as it unfolds, as will all at this table and other upper-Cabinet members, as well as the Congress. The option of life in prison will be maintained within all these trials at any level."
We're all listening attentively until she stops speaking. I have time to admire her handiwork—this is a well thought-out and comprehensive attempt at mollification and compromise. I do think she is a good President, although I suspect trust in any form of established government leadership will be slow coming from the Victors clustered at the end of the table.
It's Peeta who speaks up, though he's been very quiet throughout. "Where will final approval reside?" he asks.
"Final approval will reside with the vice-President and I," says Paylor, and I hear another rumbling of displeasure.
"However," Paylor continues pointedly, "No execution sentence will be carried out without two-thirds agreement across the three units of judge, citizens' jury, and the council present in this room. If we cannot reach two-thirds consensus, the maximum sentence will remain life in prison. This will allow us to balance all decisions."
"Let's get this straight," Haymitch cuts in. "Former Capitol generals of war, both land- and air-based, and Ministers and advisors in Snow's council, including the vice-President, will be eligible for death. The trying judge and jury will be informed of this."
Paylor nods.
"Head Peacekeepers, Gamemakers, captains in the war, and soldiers' brigades who were assigned to and did carry out torture and mutilation will generally be subject to life in prison, as determined by judge and jury, as a maximum sentence."
Paylor nods.
"However, the judge and jury may make special requests to waive this rule if evidence suggests that the person's deeds warrant more severe punishment. In this case, the decision will be handed up to the council in this room and a final decision will be made. In six months we will reconvene to examine these results. If this council can't come to an agreement on a case, our recommendation will ultimately come directly from yourself and Commander Lyme."
Paylor nods a third time, not correcting Lyme's title.
"Our recommendation will be returned to the lower courts for a final ruling, and whatever the two-thirds majority decides on as a punishment—judge, jury and ourselves, will carry the day."
"Yes," replies the President.
Katniss surprises me. "Okay," she says. I wonder if she, like me, is tired. The unlikely pair of Peeta and I have been quietest during this ongoing and vociferous debate, for an amusing set of reasons—everyone at the table knows that I'm supportive of the most extreme forms of punishment, and everyone here thinks that Peeta is usually loathe to resort to them, though he'll throw his lot in with his allies in the end. Still, I'd be interested to know what's going on in his head. That experience of being tortured here cannot have left him unscathed in terms of showing leniency with these monsters. Nor can what was done to our district…and to Katniss, of course. I will never deny that Peeta loves Katniss with every fiber in his being—a fact that makes it nearly impossible for me to resent him at the end of the day. I know he's protecting her. I know what Johanna said is right—it would be selfish for me to intervene in any way, large or small, passive-aggressive or overt, when they're finally building the life Katniss deserves to have, even if it's not with me.
"Motion?" asks Paylor. This one passes faster. Johanna looks a little unhappy. Plutarch looks relieved, Beetee serene. I try to keep my face unreadable. Katniss glances at me, though, and I give her a little nod, as if to reassure. Peeta's hand goes up early. I think he, maybe of all of us except the President, can appreciate the compromise. Haymitch just seems loyal to Katniss today, and the Ministers seem to think this is fair.
"Motion passed," says Paylor, and a collective sigh, almost comical, escapes the table. We adjourn for a five minute break. Katniss stretches her arms over her head, twisting this way and that as she stands beside her chair. The break is not really long enough for us to do anything more than stretch and perhaps walk outside the doors for a drink of water, but the council session is almost at a close. I know enough about what will come next to assume the last part will pass quickly—more quickly than the Victors suspect, no doubt. Propo shooting will come after. That will no doubt be interesting.
Katniss sits on Peeta's good knee and his arms encircle her waist lightly. I think about the faint sounds that emerged from behind their closed door this morning, the ones Johanna alluded to. Want still flares in my body as I imagine Katniss, mentally erasing Peeta, gloriously naked and stretched out upon soft sheets and blankets, drenched by morning sunrays, her eyes hazy O's of pleasure. Fire surges through my fingers and toes and I have to turn away.
When we return, everyone is drooping, even Johanna, whose energy level is usually admirable, fueling an amazing level of acerbic rebuttal. I'm glad that this part has almost ended. Paylor takes her place at the end of the table.
"Our meeting has just about come to an end for today, but there is one final thing that is left to discuss," she says.
"The Hunger Games," says Peeta wearily.
Paylor nods. "Yes. There's been a bit of talk about that since the new government has come into its own over the past few months. We are aware that a previous vote stands where there was some support for staging a final arena, to be populated by the children of high-ranking military war criminals as a type of public punishment. At that time, several of you indicated that you supported this plan."
Katniss, Haymitch and Peeta are quiet. Johanna nods. My gaze sharpens at this.
"We hoped to broach a new thought today, which is this. My administration, including the vice-President and the Ministers who are present at this table, have conversed about this topic at length. It is our consensus that at this time, holding such an event would do more harm than good, undermining the dissimilarity between this government and the former regime which we've tried so hard to highlight, drawing potential criticism for hypocrisy and barbarism, and bringing to light old memories that would be better left buried. Crews are in the process now of converting old arenas to memorial sites rather than tourist attractions, and this too would seem to run contrary to building a new arena. We believe ultimately that the decision to stage a 76th Games would do more harm than good to the new government, and likely be seen as a petty action taken in spite rather than an example of honest justice. For this reason, we are disinclined at this time to see this come to fruition. Of course, we are open to hearing your opinions."
Katniss takes a breath and lets it out very slowly. When she speaks it's with deliberation, but Peeta looks pleased and so gives it away. "Haymitch, Peeta and I have come to previous consensus before attending this meeting that it would be undesirable to continue the Hunger Games in this new era," she says. "Johanna…"
Johanna speaks up, as Katniss is unwilling to speak for her. "I disagree," she says. "I feel that it would be a powerful message to send to barbarians about the damage they've done to all of us, and I have no qualms about using their children. But I'll respect a consensus." I see her squeeze Katniss' hand on the table. I know that Johanna would have fought to the death to see this occur if the consensus she speaks of were happening only at our end of the table. What she respects is Katniss' consensus. I wonder if Katniss ever did come to realize the affect she has on people; how much others have looked to her as a leader. Even Haymitch has stood behind her all day today, though he's looked surly and itching for a drink. No one from her group has contradicted or challenged her—if this was done, it was done in the meetings that occurred before we all came together. They've worked in tandem like a team of well-trained oxen. I can't help but admire the precision of it, the insight of forming a plan together before these ideas were on the table.
Paylor looks to Beetee and I with her eyebrows raised and I realize the silence has held for a few minutes.
"Beetee and I disagree as well," I say, standing, "But like Johanna, we're willing to accept that we're outnumbered. Annie Cresta has also expressed the view that further Hunger Games would be unnecessary and destructive." Actually, Annie had begun to shake her head violently, shivering, and make a low sound of negation—nnnnnnn—when we'd broached the subject, but the meaning was clear enough, and Paylor backed off. Everyone is kind to Annie and understands and respects her fragility with gentleness. It feels less like interacting with fine crystal anymore, but she doesn't have that steel core of wire that brings Katniss and Johanna and even Peeta through, whatever fire they have to walk to get to the other side. Annie is almost like a child.
"Well?" asks Lyme.
"Motion to table the Hunger Games at this juncture," says Paylor. Randolph, Flora, Lyme, Paylor, Haymitch, Katniss, and Peeta raise their hands. Plutarch and Fulvia's hands rise in tandem, though I have time to think, I wonder if he's glad his friends' kids won't be dying or sorry he doesn't get the honor of staging the event.
"Nos?" asks Paylor. Beetee, Johanna and I raise our hands. "Let the record note no votes from Gale Hawthorne, Johanna Mason and Beetee Keehn," Paylor says into a microphone built into the table, which records the proceedings. "Affirmative votes…" and she lists all the names. This discussion has been a heated one and the serenity of the vote here belies it—I respect my President as a soldier and so I honor her and Commander Lyme's decision, but I vociferously disagreed in the debates that led to this moment. Sometimes I'm disappointed in myself and the bloodlust that hangs in the back of my throat, unslaked. I felt triumph in my heart like a shard of steel when we defeated the Capitol army and killed the President who we so loathed and who so made our early lives hell, but a bitterness lingers. Warrior Gale. I always had a cause; all I needed were the means. Now all the means have been laid at my feet. I get a sort of savage pleasure out of designing weaponry, which is challenging work requiring concentration and problem-solving. I like working with Beetee. I don't much concentrate on what these weapons will be used for, only in perfecting them. I am glad for our new governance and I think that as of yet, it is fair, but government in general, I feel that all of us may distrust forever in our deepest hearts. I feel contradictory, building weapons for a government that could one day use them against us. My justification comes, of all places, from Beetee, because I remember how he absorbed the Capitol's knowledge and then wielded it against them with a kind of ultra-focused force that helped destroy an arena, set Katniss free, and bolster an emergent government to the degree that it ensnared the hearts and minds of all of Panem. I know having this kind of knowledge, being one of the only few who does have it, makes me feel safer, even if it is in the service of another government. I suspect Beetee feels the same.
Ultimately, I could understand the President's reasons, which were made with a cooler head than mine, with more care and caution. Given the time to calm down and be soothed by Peeta's pacifism, so different from my bellicosity, I can't be too surprised that Katniss' frame of mind has changed. She doesn't want to be immersed again in something so painful, I'm sure, or to be party to it. I believe my conscience could survive the test of watching the results of my decision. Having been through it herself, twice, she and the others are not in the same place. I will always have to accept that this rift is permanent—the cluster at the end of the table did not form by accident or even geography, but by shared experience that I lack.
"Motion to adjourn," says Randolph.
"Motion carried," says Paylor. "At this time…"
It's 16:00, and as we stand and stretch again I think about how now it'll be time for propo preparation, making all these exhausted faces look shiny and new again. Katniss looks strained and I have doubts about the wisdom of trying to accomplish this after having already spent a full day in reports and meetings. I don't have to consider this for too long, though, because as Paylor begins to speak, a Capitol aide hurries up to her side, bows low and respectfully, and begins to speak quietly into her left ear. I know it's a high-ranking Ministerial aide because they all wear red uniforms. This one is a young woman with flaxen hair that falls past her waist in a curtain of gold. Paylor listens and frowns, asks a quiet question. The girl shakes her head and speaks again. This goes on a moment.
Paylor speaks out again, loudly, getting the attention of the group, which has begun to wander as people slowly edge around the table and towards the stairs, talking in clusters.
"It seems we will have to adjust our schedule for the evening once more," she says, an undertone of frustration in her voice. The room goes quiet. "There's a matter regarding a food shortage that needs to be managed immediately, and I'll need to meet with my council." She looks towards the cluster of Ministers and Plutarch, who nods. Fulvia looks put-out at missing her anticipated propo shoot.
"Given the amount of time that this will take to resolve, my feeling at this point in the day is that the rest of the day's activities should be postponed for early tomorrow morning," she says. "I will release a new schedule and have it distributed to you this evening, however, you should prepare to wake early, as we still have propos to shoot and an address for Katniss to give. The Avis family should be arriving by midday as promised."
The President looks resigned but she adds, "I should add that you all should make sure to have a good rest tonight, since you've more than earned it today. Tomorrow will be another full day. We will have dinner delivered to your quarters tonight and shift our official dinner to tomorrow. Of course, it will still be possible for you to depart the following day, should everything happen in a timely manner."
There is a look of almost universal relief, though Randolph and Lyme look concerned. I remember their earlier discussion about District 2. This is not my area so I will not be privy to this information, but I am curious. It must be serious for Paylor to postpone the rest of today when it's only a little after 16:00. I'm not going to complain.
"Let's meet here at 8 AM tomorrow morning," says Paylor. "We will disperse from here in order to prepare you for propos. She turns to the respectful red-clad aide, still waiting. "Please contact Annie Cresta about the change in plans." The aide nods and immediately turns neatly on the spot to follow orders.
I don't remember the last time the cool evening air felt so sweet on my face. I turn it up to the sky and close my eyes. Katniss' birthday is coming up next month. I should send her something but at the moment, I can't imagine what it would be. She emerges just behind me and I check my posture automatically. Like always when I'm nervous these days, I clasp my hands behind my back to stand up straighter. She's conversing with Johanna—it sounds like they're talking about evening plans—and Peeta is just behind them, speaking quietly to Haymitch in a more serious tone. All four of them look far more relaxed now that they're out for the day. Like children when summer vacation begins.
Katniss stops and regards me. Those grey eyes never seemed so multifaceted—not one flat color, but subtle tones of silver that seem to shift like clouds.
"Would you like to have dinner with us?" she asks, a little formally. I want to say yes, but I know inside I can't.
"I'm going to head home for the night, I think," I reply. "Thank you for the invitation, though." I smile to her, though it feels hard. I'm sad. I move to turn away, but at the moment before I do, she calls me back.
"Gale?" I look back. Peeta's taken her hand. Johanna is behind her, her chin resting on Katniss' shoulder companionably. I feel lonelier than ever looking at them. Haymitch has moved on ahead.
"We can find some time to talk, if you still want to." And then she gifts me with the smile that only Prim and I used to be able to coax out, once upon a time.
"I'd like that," I say. I can feel her watching me when I turn away again to walk home.
That night when I take the chrome-and-black elevator up to the high-rise apartment that I inhabit by myself, filled with tasteful modern furniture in black and white and steel and glass, almost sparse, like barracks, my toes out of their boots sink into the plush white carpeting. The glass doors overlook a whole panorama of city lights below me and I stand on the balcony in the late spring breeze and inhale, the sounds of laughter and traffic drifting up from far below.
When I slide the doors closed and retire to my room, my bed, made with the military precision with which I've become accustomed, looks enormous, all its corners sharp, the fireplace in the corner—square marble and lit by a button, no flagstones and woodsmoke—empty. The tasteful muted lighting illuminates the silence, and I sink to my knees beside my bed as though I were about to pray. I put my face in my hands and cry. I don't remember the last time I cried. Katniss has never seen me cry the way I do now. My mother has never seen me cry like this, and I would never let them—some misguided attempt to seem impenetrably masculine, I'm sure. My back bows as though beneath a heavy load and it's only my sobs that fill all that silence. I cry for what we've lost and what we've gained and the fact that things will never, ever be what they were even three years ago. I cry for that very last morning that things were the same, before Prim's name came out of that glass bowl and our lives as we knew them ended. I cry because I'm sorry and I can't say it, because I love Katniss more than anything in the world and can't say it, because as the children say when they play their games, there are no backsies. I cry because I feel the last of all of our childhood gasping and strangling in the air like a fish on land. We never had much to begin with, but any minor luxury that might once have been is lost now in the necessity of being adults who will always make adult decisions, never again have the freedom to do something willfully stupid for the sake of it. A child would have done that—found Katniss in a spare room today, counted on the past to make up for the present, taken her small body into his arms like he so longed to do, to hell with the consequences. A child would have done so. But I am not a child and any child I saw in Katniss was snuffed out with the sounds of her making love to Peeta—those sounds of a woman in love that would never belong to me. I cry to get it out, to get this all out so that it can flow away from me and I can move on. I've held it with a closed fist, so tightly, all these months. I cry because this is the last of my hope, this thing with feathers. In a handsome leather bag in the closet hangs my old hunting clothes and belt and game sack. I never look at them and I don't now, but I feel them like the presence of a ghost.
"I love you," I whisper to the emptiness. Only the echo greets me. I feel exhausted, suddenly, almost incapable of moving. Without undressing, I crawl into my big bed by myself, and I have time for only one fleeting thought as my swollen face hits the blessedly cool white pillowcase—she's not alone tonight. I send this thought away, but despite my misery, there's a remote corner in my brain that is soothed. Katniss is not alone. Katniss will never be alone, because she is safe.
I cling to this, and then the sweet relief of velvet blackness sweeps over me, and there's nothing.