I stand with my bow held in the air, trying to hold what I think is an inspiring pose, or even a fierce one, but something is off. At the exact moment that I think it can't get any worse, the intercom crackles to life and pours waves of derisive laughter over me, laughter I know well from two years listening to it whenever I didn't do something right. I lower my arm and stare up at the window hiding the control center, my mouth hanging open as I contemplate what could have possessed him to ignore and avoid me until now, only to be in the booth during the filming of my first promo.
The waves of hysteria subside enough for Haymitch to say, "And that's why you never try and script anything for her. Katniss is terrible at being in front of a camera when she has lines." I hear Plutarch begin to argue with him, saying that it's just jitters, that I just need to practice it, and Haymitch replying that I can practice for days and not get better. The words fade into a buzz in my ears until I don't know who is talking, but it doesn't matter anymore when the bitterness and anger burst out of me and I scream, "Shut up! Just shut up! Who the hell are you to say that I never get better, Haymitch? Maybe I don't, but I at least try to be there when people need me! I'm doing this because this is what I can do to help, and what have you been doing huh? Sitting in your room in the dark drinking your pain away?"
The silence is heavy and thick enough that I can hear the rushing of my blood in my ears, my panting breaths echoing back to me as I become the center of focus. Johanna's face is startled, Fulvia is almost cowering, the camera crew seems to be zooming on my face to capture my anger, and I can hear both Haymitch and Plutarch stuttering and stammering from the booth.
After several minutes of nothing happening, I turn and bury my head in Johanna's shoulder with a huff, wishing that I could do something real, not sit in this studio and give lines that sound stilted even when done with a Capitol accent. Almost as if he read my mind, I hear Haymitch pick up his thoughts and express them, "How about instead of doing this here, we send her out there where the real rebellion is? Not only will you get better footage to work with, but you'll actually get her interacting with the people she's trying to inspire. The effect that could have, you can't ignore it. The possibilities are almost endless." Plutarch and Fulvia both start to try and list all the reasons that won't work, and I can feel Johanna and I nodding in unison as Haymitch shoots them down one by one.
As angry as I am with him, it's nice to hear him doing what he's always done and supporting me. It feels almost like he hadn't abandoned me as soon as we got here, like he is still trying to be the father I'd lost. I tune him out eventually, focusing on the woman in whose arms I stand, on how solid she is, the smell of pines that lives on her skin. The way her steely frame can support me, the gentle caress of her kiss on the crown of my head.
I focus on Johanna, until all the world fades away and the only things that are real are the ground we stand on and the space where our bodies meet. I trust that she will be here for me for however long we have, that the only person to ever breach the walls of my heart will always be careful with what they hold. I also trust that she'll pay attention to what is happening around us, because I certainly am not. I don't want to, at least not yet, because it's all just pissing me off, and I can't be a good symbol if I'm just angry. All too soon, she's shaking my shoulder and telling me to pay attention again because something important is happening.
I look up, and the first thing I notice is that the camera crew has changed. The director(I guess that's what you'd call her, though the point of doing this with me is not directing at all) is a tall, sharp-featured woman with green vines winding up the side of her head, a delicate and beautiful design. Johanna and I both take in a quiet breath when we see her, she is just so striking. The men with cameras are a pair of red haired twins, nearly identical except for the way one of them holds his mouth. Johanna and I grin and look at each other, mouthing 'gingers' and then collapse into paroxysms of giggles.
The second thing I notice is that Haymitch has left the glass cube of safety to come and see the Mockingjay in person, and the look on his face as he realizes that there are actually two of us is confused and a little appreciative. It seems that even with his approval of my relationship with Johanna, he hadn't realized that Cinna knew enough or had enough time to make Johanna a suit of armor too. The last thing I notice is that Plutarch looks annoyed, and it takes me a moment to figure out why.
"Katniss, are you even listening to me?" No, actually I wasn't listening at all. "We have been convinced by your mentor that the only way to get you to be convincing is to take you out to the people in the other districts." Johanna makes a sound behind me that echoes what I feel when I hear that, a joy that gives me the urge to bounce on the balls of my feet. "Now, since you just started combat training yesterday, we're not going to one of the combat-heavy districts. However, we think we have a solution. District Eight isn't seeing much fighting, though there have been a few bombings there. They have turned several warehouses into field hospitals which are providing as much shelter and care as the district can afford to those that have been hurt. It isn't much, but it's something, and showing you talking to the wounded would be very useful to us. We're flying out immediately, so gather whatever you need and meet the soldiers that are providing security for us in the hangar. You have ten minutes, Mockingjay." He finishes his little speech with a faint smile that makes me think of the things that happened to us in the arena. I hate that smile, and I hate the things that run through my mind twice as much. Still, he is telling me that I get to be free of the ever-present tunnels and electric lighting of Thirteen, so I force myself to smile as I grab my lover's hand and drag her away.
We run through the halls, the electricity running from the grip we share conveying our excitement for what is about to occur. The few people we encounter on our mad dash jump out of the way, and we don't slow down until we are standing at the checkpoints to Special Weaponry. In truth, we are only here to get the proper quiver of arrows for my bow since Johanna hasn't put her axes down yet. We rush through the security measures, Plutarch calling down to make it easier for us, and then we're running again, this time with a full quiver on my back. I have to skid to a halt at the door to the hangar though. The way is blocked by a man that seems to be made out of muscle and more muscle, a side of pure beef that someone stuck a military uniform on.
We both recognize Boggs from around the district, but more importantly we recognize him as one of the people that Johanna almost knocked over when she was carrying me away from Command the night of the interview. "Uh... hi big guy. Want to... I don't know, move out of the way? Or something?" The look in my eyes is nervous, I can feel it, but I can't help it. Something about the way he's just standing there bothers me, intimidates me more than any of the tributes I had to face. Something about him make him more of a threat than Cato, and that is no small feat. For several moments he says nothing, then, "On this excursion today, I am your commanding officer. I know you have started your training, so I also know you have a concept of what that means. You are to do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. Do you understand?" I nod, but it doesn't satisfy him. "I said do you understand me, Mockingjays?" We both squeak an affirmative, then do a double-take when we realize that he called us both Mockingjay.
He leads the way into the hangar, the gigantic open room housing what seems like an entire fleet of hovers though it may be as few as twenty. I do recognize the specific hover we are walking towards though, the markings on the hull matching the markings from the hover that took me to what is left of District Twelve. It would seem that this is going to be my designated vehicle, officially or not, so I stroke the metal of the entryway as I step inside as a greeting. Johanna does the same, and that tells me that she recognizes it too.
The camera crew introduces themselves once we're all seated and the engines are spinning up, giving us something to focus on. The woman who is directing the cameras is named Cressida. She's from the Capitol, though she came to Thirteen several years ago in preparation for the revolution that she believed was coming. It makes me wonder what would have happened if the revolution never happened, but I don't dwell on that thought for very long because she keeps talking. It turns out that she's only about seven years older than Johanna, which puts her at twenty-eight, and the reason she left was because the Capitol took someone from her. She doesn't elaborate one that point, but I get the feeling that whoever it was meant quite a lot to her.
The camera men are Castor and Pollux, though Castor does the talking. Something about the way Pollux stands, the way his face rests, the way his lips move over his mouth though he never opens them, makes me think of something. I don't know what it is, but something seems to be wrong or out of place. That's a puzzle for another time though.
Johanna and I make the ride hand in hand, grounding each other through the flight and the thoughts of what we are about to do. Though Plutarch tells us that there won't be fighting, that we are only here to smile at people, be seen shaking hands and soothing minds, we hope that there will be something to do, some way to strike a blow against the Capitol. The ride takes about two hours, and the whole way we have to listen to him natter on about what has been happening in the districts. Eight had an uprising, I remember that from during my Victory Tour almost a year ago, but the Peacekeepers put it down brutally. Since then there have been bombings periodically to keep the population downtrodden, though they always avoid the textiles factories as much as they can. The message is very clear: "Just because we are punishing you for your insolence does not mean you do not have to continue to work for us."
Districts Four and Seven have both been subject to unrest, but they have been keeping themselves busy after what happened to Eight, almost like they are waiting for the Capitol to focus elsewhere. District Eleven has been a warzone, with the farmers and the orchard keepers actually establishing a system of guerrilla tactics using the mockingjays as signals for times and locations of strikes. Though Peacekeeper aggression has gone through the roof in the district, all that has changed is that the rebels are becoming more daring and more capable of avoiding sweeps. They have to be.
The ringing message that we hear through all of the news is that the country is ready for change. The levy is breaking, and a single well-placed movement could bring the whole thing crashing down. Johanna and I? That's our job, to be the rallying point for the masses to push back and topple the corrupt oligarchy that rules us. We are to be the godslayers, the ones that defy the wrath of the 'almighty' President Snow and live to tell the tale, again and again and again, until the grip that he has kept on Panem breaks and we slip through his fingers. That message is hard to hold onto once we land.
The doors open, and the first thing I see when I step out of the hover is a smoking ruin of what used to be a row of houses. To my right, I can see a few buildings that are mostly untouched except for the shattered glass that sprayed outwards, but to the left, only craters and husks. I am reminded of District Twelve, and though I know the destruction here is not so bad, it is still enough to ratchet my hatred of Snow up a few more notches. My hands have unconsciously grasped my bow and one of the normal arrows, the black fletching glimmering in the sun. Some part of me senses Johanna walking just behind me, and I know that she'll have one axe in hand while the other hand rests on the rifle that Boggs gave her, just in case. We drift along the road, the crew in their insect-like shells with the red lights the only indication that they are filming. After a few minutes, Boggs points at a building just ahead.
I see what obviously used to be a warehouse, except now there is a freshly painted red cross on the side of the building and over the bay doors at the end closest to us. This must be the hospital I came here to visit, but suddenly I feel like I shouldn't be here. This isn't what I do, I'm not a caregiver and I don't do well with injured or sick people. I mean, I can handle a few injuries now and then, but these are bombing victims, burn victims, and people injured by collapses. What am I supposed to do here? I try to stop moving, but Boggs just grabs my arm and drags me with him, smirking as he walks. "Come on Mockingjay, don't lock up now. I'd hate to learn that you weren't worth shit after all the trouble we went through to get you out of the arena." I glare at him and shake him off, but he succeeded in getting me to buck up. I march ahead with him, only acknowledging the rebel leader of the district in passing as I head inside. I wish I'd taken the time to prepare myself once I enter though.
The heat of the sun on the metal roof has turned the entire building into an oven, and the only segregation is a long curtain that hangs down the center of the warehouse. On one side, all the burn victims and all the patients that still have their limbs. On the other side, everyone that lost an arm, a leg, had something fall on them and perforate an organ, basically all of the people that we have no hope of actually saving. I can smell sweat, blood, and refuse, the stink of human suffering and squallor turning my stomach but not really the biggest problem. What is worse is that I can smell the infection on the air, the stink of rotting gut and festering wounds, a perfume almost as diseased as the things that create it. In this heat, there is nothing anyone can do to slow the spread of infection, and that thought alone threatens to take my feet from under me. I force myself to soldier on though, to do the job I came here to do for these people. I know that though I can't fix them, I can at least give a few of them hope, and me doing this should help the rebels fight on in other districts if Plutarch is correct.
I begin to wander through the rows of people, Johanna just behind me, and it isn't long until someone recognizes me. A boy who looks to be about twelve or thirteen opens the eye he has left as I pass, and I see the flicker of recognition. "You... You're Katniss aren't you? Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire?" I smile at him and nod, reaching out to touch his bandaged head as his face lights up. A girl who must be his sister gasps and turns to call out hoarsely, "It's Katniss! She's here, Katniss is here!" Soon, the entire hospital is alive with the sound of my name, and I am moving slowly through the wounded with a sad smile on my face as I try to greet and comfort as many as I can.
Johanna is recognized as well, and though she is feared a bit, she is here with me, and there are some who saw us in the Quell and put the pieces together. I hear a few people tell her to take care of me, a few others tell her that she's lucky, or that I'm lucky to have her, and still others thank her for saving me in the arena. All the while, Castor and Pollux follow us quietly, filming the way we interact with the inhabitants of the hospital. I am so overwhelmed by the gratitude I receive, as well as the way the atmosphere changed from one of suffering to one of hope, that I almost miss the quiet whine of hovers coming closer. Boggs hears it too and pales, then beckons to us and runs out the nearest door. Johanna and I smile at the people around us, saying we need to follow our commander, and we run out.
We exit the building just in time to see a flight of hovers drop their cloak. I can see the symbol of the Capitol on their wings, but I still don't understand until the first shockwaves slam into me. Then Johanna and I are sprinting down the street away from the dropping bombs, fighting to raise the hoods on our suits to protect our faces from flying rubble. The planes are too fast, the bombs too many, and we dive behind the nearest dumpster to huddle together. Minutes pass, and all is quiet. Boggs comes over the radios we stuck in our ears as we left Thirteen, telling us to run for the extraction point. Moments later, we hear him swear as another wave of bombing begins, and I make an impulse choice. I run from my hiding place with Johanna following me and leap up away from the ground, grabbing onto a ladder to climb onto the roofs. I feel the ladder shake when Johanna does the same, and we scramble up top to see that we got lucky and found a machine gun nest to dive into. Boggs calls over the radio to see where we are, and though I have to shout back to be heard, I tell him that we're on the rooftops trying to get our bearings. Then I see Cressida and Pollux crouching low and running to catch up with us, a determined look in their eyes.
I don't have time to think anymore, the next flight of planes has just dropped their cloak. I grab an arrow from the right section of my quiver, the yellow fletching indicating that it's an incendiary weapon, and fire after only a moment of aiming. It strikes the wing of a plane and ignites the engine, causing a cheer from the soldiers with my lumberjack and I, her burst fire cracking the glass on the cockpit of another, and the machine gun shattering it a moment later. Both planes tumble out of the sky, and the men around me are cheering for me, saying how remarkable of a shot it was. I lean over to mutter in Johanna's ear, "I missed, I was aiming at the lead plane." She only chuckles and winks at me, then we have to focus again. By the sound of the engines, these planes are the only ones left in the area, so we should be safe soon. Still, my anger at the Capitol and at Snow ensures that I don't want to let them leave without doing some damage. What I see when I look up is both lucky and unlucky: they are heading right for us. I draw and fire an arrow with red fletching, another one on the string and ready to fly when the first one hits. Two planes spiral out of the air when their wings are torn apart by explosive charges, and a third goes down in a cloud of smoke when the machine gun beside me tears through its belly.
When the sound of the planes fades away, we all relax and stand to survey the damage. The planes that we brought down litter the roofs and the streets, but at first it doesn't seem so bad. When we turn, the hospital is in flames and there is an ominous creaking just before the center of the roof falls inwards and buries everyone inside. I know that my scream is loud, and I know that I did everything I could to save them, but I still know I failed. I didn't come here to fix things, but I still should have protected them better, fought harder, done something to spare the lives of the people in that building. I don't know what I could have done, or if I could have done more, but I feel that there must have been something. Johanna coos softly and pets me until I stand, a wooden expression on my face, and scramble to the streets below. Boggs is waiting for me, and at first I think he's about to yell at me for disobeying orders or something, but instead he just puts a hand on my shoulder and says, "Good work Soldier Everdeen. I'm sorry."
I walk to the smoking remains of the hospital I was in barely even five minutes ago, thinking of the boy who saw me, the sister that called out and started the rise of hope. I think of the smiles, the effortless joy that spread through the masses like wildfire, the knowledge that they would be alright because the Girl on Fire was here, and that sense of purpose curdles in my heart. The happiness I felt in that moment sours and distorts until I feel rage at what has happened, until the faces of those now dead become the words I must say to whoever is listening. I turn to face the street I just walked, knowing that Cressida and her cameras would be there.
"My name is Katniss Everdeen. I have been called many things, but there is only one name that matters now, one purpose that I serve. This building behind me, the smoking ruin that you see, was a hospital. Sure, it used to be a warehouse, but after the Capitol started to bomb them, the citizens of District Eight turned it and others like it into hospitals to house those left injured by the attacks! Now it is rubble, because today the Capitol decided that murdering women and children that could not run away was a good idea. Well, I have a message for them. I have a message for President Snow." I point at the nearest fallen plane, the Capitol symbol standing out on the wing for the camera to see. "You've gone too far. We will fight, and we will not stop. You see that, Mr. President? Look closer! Fire is catching, and if we burn, you will burn with us!" I storm right up to the camera as I spit out my last line, almost shaking with my rage.
I lean against my lumberjack as we sprawl across one of the chairs in Command, watching the first Airtime Assault as it happens live. President Snow is doing one of his bi-weekly propaganda speeches, and Beetee is having a blast messing with it, racing ahead of the technicians to use every single weak point in the broadcast he can find. We grin as we watch Snow get red in the face, struggling to keep a calm demeanor while bits and pieces of the propo cut him off again and again. The images we see are perfectly edited, ten seconds of film here and there that punch you in the gut. Me, a smile on my face as I speak to the wounded and the refugees. Johanna and I diving to the pavement and rolling behind a dumpster as a chunk of building lands where we were moments before. Me standing on a roof with my bow held up, a fireball consuming the wing of a plane. The wing of a plane showing the Capitol's insignia as I talk about the bombing. Most powerful of all, a segment of me storming towards the camera as I growl, "Fire is catching, and if we burn, you will burn with us!" Snow tries to end on a dignified note, but Beetee hits him one more time, cutting the screen to black. The words 'Fire is catching' burn through the blackout for a few seconds, then the screen burns away. At that point, the Capitol shut down the broadcast and all you could see was their insignia.
Everyone in Command laughs and congratulates us all, even Coin nodding at me with a smile on her face. We did a good job today, at least to them. Johanna and I though... "Jojo, can we go?" She kisses my head and whispers back, "Of course we can, brainless." I roll to my feet, keeping her hand in mine, and turn for the door. I stop for a moment before I leave, turning and clearing my throat to get everyone's attention. "I... I think I'm going to go to my quarters. I lost a lot of people today, even if I couldn't have saved them. I just..." I don't finish, I can't, but my silence speaks for me. The words I do not say tell the story I cannot voice. I wish I had known what was coming, I wish I could have stopped the bombs from falling. The people I met I would give anything to save, and that I couldn't protect them weighs heavily on me. Everyone in Command stares at me solemnly, the words they will not say hanging heavy in the air, and I turn away and into the hall beyond. I want nothing to do with today anymore. I let my beloved tug me along the halls, not paying attention to where I'm going. I hear a door close behind me, I feel her arms settle around me, but it isn't until she forces me to turn around and tugs me into her embrace that I give up.
I wrap her into a hug and lay my head on her shoulder, shaking from the effort of not reacting. I feel a wetness on my cheeks and I think she's crying until I feel the sobs start. I blink to clear my swimming vision, but it only gets worse and I can hear these weak little mewls echoing back to me. When my knees buckle and my breath catches badly enough that I can't fully inhale, some part of my mind recognizes that the tears and the sobs are mine. We sink to the ground and I curl into her, clinging to Johanna as the only solid thing I have left, and I let myself cry. Somewhere in there, she begins to cry as well, her tears making my hair damp, and we hold each other through the hysteria and the sorrow. During the eternity that the night has become, we somehow get stripped and into bed before crying again, both of us remembering the faces of those that the Capitol has killed.
Johanna remembers her family, and she remembers Blight. She had told me once that he wasn't much, but he was from home. I remember Peeta, and I remember the baker. I remember the mayor, and I remember Madge. I remember Rue, the sweet little girl whose death gave me the first push towards becoming what I am today. I remember Mags, the kindly old woman who volunteered to save Annie Cresta from having to go into the arena again, who sacrificed herself for Finnick and I. I remember Wiress, a woman who might have been completely off her rocker but who was also one of the geniuses that enabled our escape. We both remember the dead of District Eight as we cry ourselves into the oblivion of sleep, wrapped in the only protection we have against the night anymore. The last thought I have before exhaustion claims me is, 'At least I don't have to face this alone. At least Johanna is with me.' I turn my head, thinking to kiss her hair, and instead fall asleep nuzzling her head. Even after crying for most of the night, we each wear a contented smile in rest.
A/N: Kind of a heavy chapter, but I'm actually proud of it. I did this without having the book at hand to reference anything, so I apologize if the pacing is off, but I had a vision for what would happen anyway. I wanted to end this a couple paragraphs earlier actually, but it just didn't feel right. Still, when it DID finish itself, it was powerful and a little painful. So yay! I guess.
Thank you so much for all of the continued support and reviews, it makes me so happy to see so much positive feedback! I can't express how much it means to me that y'all continue to be here, that you keep coming back for more, and that you want me to keep doing this. I love y'all, and it's great that you're enjoying what I make. :)