Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.
A/n: It's snowing :) Hope you enjoy (if not the fic then the snow)
32) Octavia – Ask
Compared to the people of District 13 and the other districts of Panem, Octavia has had it easy. It's something she has become increasingly, painfully aware of. She can see it in the glares of the citizens and, besides, she hears the mutterings. She never argues about this point.
The one thing she doesn't agree with (but still never argues about because she doesn't like conflict) is that her life must have been perfect. Just because she lived in the Capitol where hunger, poverty and the grief associated with the Games were so very far away. Whenever she sees the glares, she has the sudden urge to tell them about her own upbringing. She never does, of course, because secrets are secrets and never to be told. But she thinks about it often.
The one, simple fact of her story is: she has never met her father.
At first, when she was very little, it didn't bother her that much. She loved her mother and her mother loved her. That was all there was to it. But, one day, it occurred to her that her family was missing something – a father.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
She first asked her mother what had happened to her father when she was six.
"He's gone away," she said in a tone which said that this was the end of the matter.
"When's he coming back?" Octavia asked, ignoring the tone.
"Don't ask questions."
"But-"
"No, Octavia." Her mother smiled sweetly. "Girls who keep asking questions don't get to watch TV."
That ended that particular discussion.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
It didn't end the matter. She didn't ask again until, one day, in school, stupid Junius, losing an argument with her, shouted that her dad had been shot for trying to kill the President. Of course Octavia shouted that he hadn't but, when she got home, she immediately went to her mother.
"How come I never met my dad?" she asked.
"Don't ask questions, Octavia."
"But, Mom, why won't you tell me?"
"Because you don't need to know the answer. Aren't we happy as we are?"
"Yeah..." Octavia thought for a moment and then summoned up all of her nine year old courage. "But, Mom, Junius was shouting at me today and he said my dad tried to kill the President and they killed him. It's not true, is it, Mom?"
Her mother jerked slightly before smiling that sweet smile. "Of course it isn't, Octavia. Now, no more questions."
Octavia left that conversation satisfied. Her mother wouldn't lie to her.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
She found a photo of her mother with a man with Octavia's nose and eyes (though a different colour). She asked her mother if it was her father. She said no. And told her not to ask any more questions.
Octavia began to wonder whether maybe, just maybe, her mother would lie to her after all.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
In History class, they looked at recent, famous Capitol rebels. Among the many photos from thirteen years before was the man with Octavia's nose and eyes (though a different colour). He hadn't attempted to shoot the President but he had been part of a small group who had managed to destroy one small street in the Capitol (given the success rate of the Peacekeepers, this was enough to brand them as major terrorists). No one else seemed to have noticed the connection. They probably weren't even looking at him. But Octavia was transfixed.
"Mom," she said when she got home, "Who was my father?"
"Not this again. Look, Octavia, your father was a man I met once and never saw again. Happy?"
The idea stung but she was determined to follow through. She brought out the book. "Then who's this, Mom?"
"I don't know."
"He's the man in your photo," she continued. "He's my father, isn't he?"
Crack!
Octavia wiped her cheek, her eyes filling with tears. Her mother glared at her.
"I told you not to ask questions. Now go to your room."
"Yes, Mom."
It was the first time her mother had so much as raised a finger to her.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
It was the start of a deterioration in Octavia and her mother's relationship. Octavia would ask all sorts of annoying questions and ignore her mother's orders. Her mother would shout and order her to her room.
Often, Octavia would ask about her father. She always escaped before her mother could slap her. She didn't have enough courage to face that again.
On Octavia's eighteenth birthday, she announced that she was going to move out to a friend's apartment. She was going to work in fashion and aim to be a stylist in the Hunger Games. At the door, she said softly, "Who was my father, Mother?"
For a few seconds, her mother didn't answer. And then, she said, "If I told you who your father was, everyone would know who your father was. And that would be bad for us, Octavia. I never agreed with him and you shouldn't either."
"What?"
Her mother simply shook her head. "There are some things better left unasked, Octavia, remember that."
"I don't understand."
"I know."
Octavia left after that. She never spoke to her mother again.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Her mother's words have never left her. In spare moments, Octavia often wondered what her mother had meant. But as she faces these people in District 13, she finally understands. These people don't ask her about her family because there's no point. But it doesn't matter because Octavia would never answer; it would suggest she's someone she isn't if she tells them her father was a Capitol rebel. So asking her about her father is a question best left unasked in much the same way that her questioning her mother about him was a question best left unuttered.
But not because of the question. The question itself may be fine. No, Octavia realises. The reason some things are best left unasked is because once they're asked, there is every chance that you will receive the answer. And seeing the vengeful faces of these rebels, she knows that too much knowledge can be a dangerous thing. For the asker and the answerer.