It was well over twenty four hours after he was pulled from the arena before I was allowed to see my father. With the effects of the violence inducing red mist still working on him, he had to be tranquilised before the hovercraft could remove him safely. He was in nowhere near as bad shape as I was last year; the gash under his eye took next to no time to heal, and aside from a few other minor cuts and bruises he walked away from the arena physically relatively unscathed.
It is his mind that refuses to heal.
When I first saw him, I collapsed on him, I threw my arms around him in a hug that wasn't returned. There was no greeting, no love in his eyes, no relieved reunion. Just an empty shell of a man where once there stood my hero.
Haymitch warned him to play his part for the cameras; that his refusal to play the end of the games on the Capitol's terms would have probably put him on Snow's radar.
"I don't care," he had said. "I don't care what he does to me."
"I daresay you don't," Haymitch had said. "But I reckon you do care what he might do to your family. Am I right?"
Something lost inside him seemed to awaken briefly at Haymitch's words. "He wouldn't?"
"A man who sends twenty three kids to their death every year wouldn't use the threat of violence to make you toe the line? Sure. You just keep telling yourself that."
"What do I have to do?" His words sounded so hollow and empty.
"Thank them for the opportunity to live. Thank them for their generosity. Thank the other tributes for their sacrifice."
For the most his interview with Caesar went well. He remained humble but had lost the jovial edge from his previous interview. When they showed the recap of his highlights, the cameras closing in on young Yohan's face as the life was crushed from him, dad seized up, unable to watch what he had done, shame apparent in every line on his face. I was correct in assuming that they wouldn't be broadcasting his reaction to the highlights to the rest of Panem.
The interview then turned to the discussion of our wedding. He found it difficult to feign joy and excitement even for that; the broad smiles he wore did so little to mask the sadness in his eyes.
I knew from painful experience that returning to Twelve would not make him forget what had happened, but I had hoped it would help him come to terms with it. I was wrong. He has a house to himself in Victors Village, but I rarely see him now. Like Haymitch, he often drinks to numb the pain. I spend much of my days trying to bring him out of his shell but the man who left for the Capitol is not the same man who returned.
Mother actually had the audacity to turn up on his doorstep on his return. The Cronins threw her out after dad killed Rafe. I watched from my front steps as dad slammed the door in her face. She then came crawling back to me. After everything she did she wanted me to offer her sanctuary. I almost caved in. I almost said yes. Almost. I know she asked both Rhees and Kern as well; after they both turned her down she was forced to take a job as a cleaner in the Justice Building. She was exceptionally lucky that just such a position had come up after the previous cleaner had fallen severely ill. It is the type of work she had always thought of as beneath her. As far as I know she pays for lodgings in a small room with the Harper family who own the tailor's.
I had hoped that the Capitol would leave us alone for a while, at least until the Victory Tour so that dad might have some respite from them but we were constantly bothered by emissaries from the Capitol who wanted our opinion on ideas for our wedding. Not that our opinions counted for anything. Anything we said and suggested was duly ignored. Neither of us wanted anything extravagant. Katniss would have happily foregone any type of wedding at all.
About a month before we were wed was the Victory Tour. Dad was unsure what he could showcase as a talent; all he had ever known was how to bake, and he claimed to be too old to learn anything new now. Rhees offered to whittle him a few wooden sculptures to take with him; now the Capitol believes I have inherited my artistic talent from my father.
Dad's Victory Tour was mostly uneventful. He followed Haymitch's advice to the letter, sticking entirely to a pre-approved script in each District. It was once he reached District Five, and was face to face with Yohan's parents that he finally broke down. He was immediately ushered off the stage, the cameras stopped rolling and his prep team descended on him like vultures to quickly dry his eyes and make him camera ready once again. He shooed them away and turned to me instead.
"Peeta, help me."
I had one last ditch effort to try and bring him back. "Dad, before they… before it all ended, you said to…..him….. 'don't forget to live.' I need you to do the same."
"I killed a little boy, Peeta. I don't deserve to live."
"You didn't kill him," I said in a hushed voice so that none of the Capitol attendants or camera crews could hear. "They did. That wasn't you."
"I see his face every day."
"I know. I still see their faces too."
"But you didn't do what I did. You said it wasn't me, but it was Peeta. I could have stopped. If I'd focused harder, if I'd really tried, I could have stopped, I'm certain. It shouldn't be me here."
"Dad, please…."
He looked at me with dull, empty eyes then demanded to be taken back to the train. Our stop in District Five was cut short and dad refused to leave his room until we got to District Four, secreting himself away with a bottle of white liquor.
Once the Tour was finally over our wedding plans were thrown into full swing. The Capitol insisted on Dad being my Best Man so that even after the Tour he wasn't left alone. Hundreds of guests, most of whom we didn't know, turned out to wish us long and happy lives. Long banquet tables groaned under the vast array of food, and once again Katniss and I bore witness to the wastefulness of the Capitol citizens as they gorged themselves over and over, vanishing periodically to purge themselves and start over again.
We must have spoken to every single person in the room, and it was the early hours of the morning before the party finally began to draw to a close. We were trying to make our excuses to leave when at long last President Snow came over to speak to us.
"Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Mellark," he said, the coldness in his snake-like eyes not matching the words coming from him.
"Thank you," said Katniss, bowing her head slightly to him.
"It must certainly was a moving ceremony. Two generations of Victors in one family. I expect one day to make that three generations."
I felt Katniss grip my wrist tightly and I felt a sense of vertigo as the implications of what he said washed over me. One day he will want us to have children. And that child will, one day, be thrown in to the arena.
"One thing at a time," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "I just want to enjoy being a married man for a while before enjoying fatherhood."
"Of course. Don't allow me to keep you from your blushing bride. I trust that everything in your marital suite will be to your liking."
We had planned on having a small toasting, just the two of us, once we returned to the suite that had been provided for us, but as soon as we were alone, Katniss had become frantic. "He'll force us to have a child, and he'll take them from us!" she cried. "I can't do this!"
I wrapped her in my arms until she began to calm. I had always wanted to be a father, despite the risks. But it was no longer a risk that a child of mine could be taken. It was a predetermined fact. That my future had been decided for me tore me apart. "He can't make us. And anyway, some people can't have children. Maybe we'll get lucky."
She nodded sadly, took my hand in hers and we walked slowly towards our room. "Did you still want to do our toasting tonight?" I asked her.
"I don't know," she replied. "I don't really feel like it anymore."
"We can't have this…" I looked around at our surroundings to find the right word, "…..travesty as our wedding. Please, let's just have something normal."
She sighed, and kissed the side of my cheek. "Of course."
We opened the door to our suite, just as an Avox was turning down our bed. "It's ok," I said. "We can take it from here."
The Avox turned around and I felt my breath catch in my throat. I knew that face, and I hated that face, and until now I hadn't known her fate. Our new Avox, the person assigned to wait on us hand and foot, was Briar. It was a cold move on the part of Snow, one designed to wrong foot us, one designed to terrify us into submission.
I had no idea how to feel at the sight of her. Fear, anger, guilt, remorse, pity, hatred, disgust… All fought for control inside me. "Get out," I hissed.
We didn't have a toasting that night. The sight of Briar had shaken me up too much, and coupled with the expectations piled on us from Snow, our wedding had ended very much on a low point. Both of us suffered nightmares that night, mine full of tongueless children screaming silent screams. We woke up, both of us covered in cold sweat, and took our comfort from each other.
It was barely a week after our wedding when the first envelope arrived. Written instructions signed from Snow himself that later that evening we would be meeting with a man named Struve Grevelle. Within the instructions was a reminder that Prim was still of reaping age, that Rhees and Kern could both very easily meet with over-zealous peacekeepers. Katniss responded with unmitigated fury, breaking everything in sight until she broke down in tears. I held her until her tears began slowly to subside, a feeling of numbness inside me swelling until I was aware of nothing else.
Struve was a middle aged man with the paunchy stomach of the terminally overfed. He smelt of stale tobacco and too much cologne. Both of us were utterly terrified when he instructed us to undress, but at first he seemed content to watch us. When he told me to stop and stand aside I wanted to protest, but Katniss whispered to me, "For Prim," and I had no choice. I watched, a hopeless feeling of impotency washing over me, as another man fucked my wife. She kept her eyes tightly closed, fisting the sheets as he pounded into her over and over again. He flipped her over and instructed me to kneel in front of her so she could take me in her mouth at the same time.
Afterwards, once we were alone, we held each other and we wept for hours. But this is our life now. We have no choice. Some clients are kinder than others. Some only want me, some only want her, and gender never seems to be a deciding factor. In the Capitol, anything goes.
As far as I can tell, dad doesn't know. He believes that lies the 'official business' we have to go to the Capitol for is modelling for advertisements because we are young and the Capitol is still obsessed with the Star-Crossed Lovers. Every day I pray that no-one ever wants to buy him. I pray that he never finds out the truth. That I helped him become a murderer by selling myself.
On a truly selfish level, at least I have Katniss by my side. After each encounter we help each other, we bring each other back to reality. We are still intimate with each other outside of the Capitol, thankfully able to separate our personal lives from the encounters forced upon us. But the knowledge of what we are subjected to is always present. All in all, my experiences in the Capitol have taught me one thing. Your life ends the moment your name comes out of the Reaping Ball. It's just that some of us forget to stop breathing.
A/N – Thank you for reading and sticking with this story. And sorry that I couldn't give them a happier ending, but really, without the rebellion, I don't think they would have had a particularly happy ending.
If you want something happier (and smuttier!), please feel free to check out my fic Sabotaged Heart, which is also now complete. Thanks!