The Cost of Survival
Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings
This'll be the last of my quickfire updates because my break ends this week and it's back to thesis-ing like hell.
As for my question of how invested you guys are in a bit of Faberry, that's more for a future project I'm considering writing after this. (Kind of a sequel, still taking place within this universe.) (yes, I'm already conceptualizing a sequel, that's how disturbingly invested i am in this universe) (it's also going to be pretty flashback-heavy)
I mean it's highly doubtful that Rachel and Quinn are going to get into anything romantic in this particular storyline, but they are rather attached to each other. Rachel is like the first kind person Quinn has met, the first friend she's made since her tongue and her freedom were simultaneously stripped away. It creates a certain bond and Quinn can't help but depend on Rachel and feel about as close to her as with Santana or Brittany. That's something I plan to explore after this. (Heck, I already wrote a short piece on how they met, and it can be found on tumblr: thestefidelly, filed under my cost of survival page.)
And one more thing. Should I raise the rating for this story? I mean we all know it's only going to get worse once they're in the arena, but the thing about M fics is there're usually sex scenes in them. Clearly, there isn't going to be sex anytime soon unless Tina and Brittany get THAT wasted, which is like hilariously doubtful. But this story has character death and blood and it might eventually have gore and there's torture and it's overall a very dark, gritty story. (Or at least I try to make it so). So is it worth raising the rating to M, or is it fine as a T?
Chapter 16
District 7. 72nd Hunger Games.
It was late. Brittany had no idea for sure how late, but it was late.
After spending countless hours swimming through thoughts and emotions stirred up by the interview, and trying not to drown with the pain weighing her down, Brittany was finally starting to drift into the realm of sleep. It was out of pure exhaustion and probably wouldn't feel very restful, but Brittany was going to take what she could get.
The pain was always there. A constant reminder of that night with the Peacekeepers.
But it was starting to dull into something in the distance as Brittany's senses started to shut off, one by one.
Movement to the side somewhere.
Sounds brought Brittany flailing back towards consciousness.
It took several moments to regain her bearings and figure out what was going on, and there was a second or two of terror as Brittany worried that the Peacekeepers might be back to do more damage to both her body and her mind.
But as Brittany took in the still-dim lights and the nearly complete silence over the room, she realized that she was still as safe as she could ever be. There were no Peacekeepers forcing their way into the Lopez house. There were no boots or rifles or visors.
Just Tina standing over Brittany's bed.
Groggy after coming so close to sleep only to be wrenched back into the waking world, and dizzy from the pain and the emotional turmoil, Brittany could only half open her eyes. Only one word was manageable for now. "Hey."
Tina stiffened as if surprised to find Brittany awake. "Haven't you gotten any sleep?"
"Not yet."
"You really should get some rest, Brittany." Readjusting the blanket that had lowered to Brittany's waist from movement she was only half aware of, Tina tucked it more firmly over Brittany's shoulders, shielding her from the cool night air. It was pretty cold, actually. But given how sore everything was, Brittany actually felt soothed by the cold, like it was ice putting down the swelling of the splotches burning over her face. "It's the only way your body can really start repairing itself."
Licking at her split, cracked lips, Brittany felt it mostly scabbed over. After so many incidents of biting down on it on purpose when the agony became too great, or accidentally when a surprising hit met her chin or jaw, Brittany suspected that her lips looked very different right now. If she were to look into a mirror, she would probably find them swollen to the point of maybe being almost as thick and pouty as Santana's.
How was Santana?
Was she getting any sleep? She needed it for tomorrow. Going into the arena feeling tired and sleep deprived could have disastrous results that Brittany couldn't even bear to imagine.
"Hard to fall asleep when the Thought Monsters keep running around me." If only Santana were here and could see that Brittany was having trouble sleeping. Before, it was usually because of worrying too much about how they would find enough food to get through the week. Sometimes it would be because she was in one of those moods when she really missed her parents. Often it would be because she was scared Santana would get into trouble with the Peacekeepers again. And still other nights were because Brittany was frustrated by how people were so prone to misunderstanding her comments or her jokes.
Whatever the reason, Santana would usually move to lie with Brittany or sit by the side of her bed. Those slender fingers, though a little coarse from the hard work, would go over Brittany's temples, massaging shapes into the skin, and it would relax Brittany. Next would be the hair stroking. Brittany loved that part because Santana would be so gentle about it, and there was just that feeling that came with it. That here by Brittany's side was someone who cared about her and was always there for her.
And on some of the really good nights, Santana would sing or hum. Sometimes nursery rhymes they used to analyze and laugh at when they were children. Other times they were songs about songbirds singing of love, and those were what Brittany enjoyed most because it was like seeing a side of Santana nobody ever saw, not even Santana herself.
"I miss Santana." It was an aching, gaping hole in Brittany.
"You'll… you'll see her tomorrow." Tina looked like she was mentally kicking herself for what she was saying. "Sort of."
Brittany licked at her lips again, realizing how dry they were. Her throat, too. "And you'll see Mike."
A quick scan of the room revealed that on the rickety little table by the side of her bed, there was a pitcher of water and a glass. That was usually positioned in the kitchen-dining room, but Brittany was glad that Tina or Amy or Mrs. Cohen-Chang or whoever had thought to put it somewhere more convenient.
Noticing Brittany eyeing the pitcher, Tina was quick to help. She poured water into the glass to the point of it being half full, then brought it towards Brittany's face. Uncomfortable with the assistance, Brittany attempted to lift her right hand and hold the glass herself, but the smallest movement turned up the pain.
Her shoulder was still sore after being wrenched all over the place every time the Peacekeepers roughly pulled her around, and the slashes across her forearm, though bandaged and no longer bleeding, still burned with every little twitch. It wasn't so noticeable earlier, when she'd quietly wiped at her tears, but now it felt horrible. Maybe that painkiller had been administered too soon and its effects were fading away already.
Brittany had to resign herself to letting Tina hold the glass. It touched Brittany's lips and tilted slowly until the water trickled passed her swollen lips and finally down her dry throat. She hadn't been aware of how dehydrated she was until now.
Drinking this water felt irrationally good.
Once the contents of the glass were emptied, Tina poured another half that Brittany drank up with eagerness that surprised even herself. After, Tina put the glass back on the bedside table and fiddled with the placement in an almost distracted way.
Brittany was about to ask Tina what was on her mind, but didn't need to because Tina blurted it out herself. "I'm scared."
That, Brittany could relate to. "'Mterrified."
Adjusting the blanket again, probably more out of looking for something to do with her hands than anything else, Tina said, "You know… I'm…. I'm going through this confusing combo of hate and fear."
The sudden openness and forwardness to Tina surprised Brittany, but she didn't comment on it, relishing the trust they seemed to now share with each other. As horrible and tragic as the past couple of days had been, Brittany got herself to at least be thankful for this newly forged bond. They were friends before, but not in this open way.
"Those Peacekeepers?" Tina stopped fidgeting with the blanket and instead leaned against the wall by the bed. "I hate them and everything they stand for." The anger Tina felt shone clearly in the way her voice lowered to a hiss. If this had been during the daytime and they weren't at risk of waking Amy, Brittany suspected that Tina might have started shouting.
The anger reminded Brittany so much of Santana, but again, it was better not to comment on that, or think too long about it.
"And I wish so much for things to be different, but wishes don't come true anyway, so why do I even bother?"
"They come true sometimes." As much as Brittany mistrusted so many aspects of life, and hated majority of the situations she had been through, she just couldn't look at things through the pessimistic visor Santana always wore. Brittany needed something positive to believe in and hope for. That's what she always tried to teach Amy through the years, and tried to encourage Santana into seeing.
Tina looked doubtful. "Like when?"
It was hard to think quickly when she felt so dizzy and sore. "I wished for my job at the logging site?"
That didn't really convince Tina. Brittany could tell from the unchanged expression.
Any other time, Brittany would have tried harder to give more convincing arguments, narrate some inspiring story, describe a happy scenario, coax out lifting feelings of encouragement and hope. But tonight, she just felt too tired, and it would be too draining to think.
"Do you ever wish you went with Puck and Quinn?" Tina asked. Her thoughts were jumping from here to there almost as erratically as Brittany's did.
"Once in a while…" Brittany admitted.
Actually, if she were to be honest with herself right now, she couldn't help but imagine a sanctuary where she, Santana and Amy are happily living in a cottage a lot like the old Pierce house, with its cheery atmosphere and welcoming doors. Next door, Puck and Quinn would be waving at them through their adjacent window.
"You stayed because of Amy, right?"
"Yeah."
Amy was still sound asleep, oblivious to the conversation. At the moment, Brittany didn't feel too comfortable with going into detail about this topic with her sister, and praise the leprechauns, Amy wasn't hearing any of it. Let her continue sleeping and dreaming and being somewhere else for a little while.
"And I stayed because of Mom and my brothers…" There was actually a bitter tone to Tina's voice.
Sensing that negative feelings were tied to this issue, Brittany tried to reassure Tina. "Good reasons for staying." It would have been better for Brittany to say more and really elaborate and assure Tina, but thinking and talking was taking so much more effort than it usually did.
"I know…" Tina's grudging response hinted that she might have already heard this before. Probably from Mike. "I know."
"But…?" Holding back a whimper of pain when she shifted position to put less weight on a gash at her side, Brittany tried to focus on Tina and prompt her to talk about what was on her mind. Since Brittany herself was having trouble saying much, and Tina looked like she had a lot to let out, maybe it would be better to just listen without too much comment.
"I can't help resenting it sometimes." Tina seemed to flinch at her own words, and even looked left and right to make sure that only Brittany heard them. "I mean I know it sounds so bad to say that… but… but…"
No longer leaning on the wall but instead shifting from foot to foot, Tina tried to explain herself. Watching her movements worsened Brittany's dizziness. Her stomach squirmed in complaint while her head felt like something was squeezing it and wrapping around it.
"Sometimes, on really shitty days, I can't help thinking that I could be miles away from this dump by now, if it wasn't for them."
A moment of reassessing her condition reminded Brittany that her head had indeed been bandaged, but the squeezing feeling was more out of a headache than out of a bandage that was too tight. The fit was snug enough to staunch the bleeding, but not enough to cause this pounding feeling.
Then Tina's words struck Brittany.
In a similar way, Santana's decision to stay hadn't really been her own. The only reason she didn't go running off with Puck and Quinn that day was because Brittany had chosen not to. Given these confessions from Tina, Brittany couldn't help wondering if Santana ever secretly held similar resentment. Especially during those tough days when they had fights, or when food or money was hard to come by.
"And on top of all that…" Tina kept going as if these were all things she'd been holding in for too long, and now that the dam was broken, they were just streaming out. "On top of all that, I'm scared the Peacekeepers might do to me what they did to you."
That part made Brittany uncomfortable.
"I mean did they even tell you why they did it?"
The welts coating the flayed skin of Brittany's back were starting to itch, and she did her best to resist the urge to claw at them. "I… They…" Remembering that night was making Brittany cringe, and it increased the pain throbbing from her countless injuries. The worst ones- her mangled left hand, her battered face and her marked back – suddenly felt so much worse.
"They just…" Brittany swallowed, feeling agonizingly aware of several specific points in her legs where she knew bullets had entered and exited her body. "They just said that it was because of Santana."
"Santana?" Tina frowned, disbelief falling over her features.
The rough voices were all around her again. The mocking laughter. The echoing gunshots. The cracking whip. The thud of thick boots. The crunch of her own breaking bones.
"She did something…" Brittany swallowed and let her useable hand clutch and cling to the thick blanket over her and the old mattress underneath her. "I have no idea what she did, but I know she didn't cause… cause…" A shudder went through Brittany. "She didn't cause that on purpose." She felt her right hand tighten its hold. "Peacekeepers caused it. Not Santana."
The memory of it was still clear and still terrifying.
There had been no way of escaping and no chance of fighting back. It was being at their mercy and knowing there would be no mercy that scared Brittany so much, and she hoped to never ever go through being in that position ever again.
"So they were punishing Santana by punishing you…"
That sounded like the gist of it, based on what those Peacekeepers spat at her in between their jeers and laughter and brutality.
"They took so many pictures while it was happening…" She could still remember how flashes of light kept hitting her eyes, blinding her even if a lot of impacts were starting to swell them shut anyway. "There was always light in my eyes and I could barely see where they were most of the time." A lot of that memory didn't include too many visual images, and Brittany could only recall hazy pictures of some of their faces.
The click of the camera would fill her ears, in between the more sickening sounds of crunches and thuds and cracks.
"There were moments when I'd hear my own screams being played in my ear because they recorded that too." One particular memory stood out, of when they'd left her lying on the ground, panting and trying to make sense of the mass of agony that was her body. Something had been placed near her ear, and before she had time to figure out what it was, she heard her own voice filling the night.
"That sounds…" It was difficult to clearly see Tina now, but Brittany saw the shudder.
"I… I just wish I knew what it was that Santana did." Not knowing was what made things so frustrating. Just guessing and assuming and having nothing solid to go on. It was like going too far out into the middle of the lake and realizing there's no more earth under her feet and she was just floundering and flailing and trying to stay afloat. "What's so bad that the Peacekeepers had to… had to…"
The pain escalated into an explosion, leaving Brittany struggling to breathe through spasms going through her body. Eyes watering, chest heaving, she tried to fight back the sensations battering her, trying to fool her into thinking she was still somewhere in the middle of the forest, surrounded by beasts who wanted nothing more than to harm her.
The feel of someone stroking her hair wasn't enough to soothe the pain, but Brittany tried hard to latch onto that sensation because at least it could be a positive one. It was different. An awkward hand lost in what it was trying to do, nothing like the sure and calm strokes of Santana's familiar hands.
"It… it'll be okay."
The lie felt so unnatural in Tina's voice, and though Brittany didn't believe it, can't really believe it anymore, she tried to. She clung to it and told herself to look forward to being with Santana again when she comes home a victor. To hugging her and kissing her and telling her that she would never be leaving Brittany's sight ever again.
Brittany shoved aside the nagging thought that told her the price to be paid for a reunion with Santana would be the wrenching grief of Tina and the Chang parents.
Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games.
"Michael Chaaa~aaang…"
The sound of knocking on his door awoke Mike, accompanied by a voice calling his name in a singsong tone too deep to be Kurt's. Tired and drowsy, feeling like those several hours of sleep were too short, Mike sat up and rubbed at his eyes. There was a light bump on his cheek from last night. It was a little sensitive, but didn't really hurt as long as it wasn't touched.
"Time to get reeaa~aadyyyy!"
"What the actual fuck…" Santana tugged at the blanket until she was cocooned in it while Mike was left exposed to the relatively cold air of the early morning hours. For a few groggy seconds, Mike had to remind himself that he and Santana fell asleep talking to each other last night.
"Are you deee~ceeeeeeent?"
Forcing himself out of bed, Mike made his way to the dresser, where he saw that the bruise on his cheek was just a shade darker than his regular skin tone. There were still flashes of Judy's hands in Mike's mind, interlaced still with the sight of Quinn brought down by boots and fists.
Was she out there now?
"I'm going to open the dooooor noooooow!" Blaine continued to call out in that same tune, "Are you awaaaa~aaaaaake?"
"Make him go away." Still wrapped up on Mike's bed, Santana grumbled and refused to move.
"Yeah, I'm up!" Running his hands through his hair to make them look less like he'd jut pulled himself out of bed, Mike turned to meet his stylist. The doorknob rotated, then the door began swinging inwards, and Mike caught the slightest glimpse of Blaine's grinning, excited face.
Then Johanna shoved Blaine aside and barged in without invitation. "Diva, lemme talk the tributes for a second." She went straight to Santana and unceremoniously tugged at the blanket, pretty much rolling her out of it.
Blaine stiffened at Johanna's comment, looking insulted, then seemed to take in what was going on. "Oh my gosh! Is that Santana? Mike, did the two of you-"
"Eww, no!" That woke Santana up. She scrambled out of the bed to shudder and show how much the idea disgusted her. "Wait… Mike, I don't mean that like that." Growing unusually flustered, Santana turned to face Mike, hair still disheveled, eyes still half-focused. "I mean Britts and I like your abs and everything, but no thanks."
Blaine tilted his head to one side. "So you do prefer girls! I called it! Holly so owes me a truffle cake. She thought Santana swung both ways, but nooo. I knew it! I-"
"Leave." Johanna stepped forward, employing that death glare and posture that worked every time. Meanwhile, Mike saw Santana standing with her eyes wide and her face pale. Blaine had put them in a very awkward position and the sooner they moved on to a different topic, the better.
Although a small part of Mike did wonder what Santana really was into. Everyone knew about her thing with Puck, and when those two got at it during the post-Victory Tour drink, it was like they forgot there were other people in the room. It looked like it really peeved Brittany though. Mike remembered moments when it was like Brittany (sweet gentle Brittany) was actually glaring at Puck.
And then there was the way Santana was always all over Brittany and so protective of her. And those times their hands would linger over each other for a time longer than would be appropriate between platonic friends.
It was a really uncertain issue Mike couldn't quite figure out completely.
What mattered though was that Brittany and Santana did really care a lot about each other.
Mike hoped Brittany was okay.
"Go on!" Johanna made a shooing motion.
Blaine's brow furrowed as if he didn't appreciate that nobody in the room was siding with him or cheering him on for winning his bet with Holly. "Alright then. But don't take too long, we have to be in the hovercraft in-"
"I wasn't born yesterday." Johanna waved her hand in a sweeping gesture towards the door. "Now get out so I can talk to them properly."
Grumbling complaints only he could hear, Blaine left the room, closing the door behind him.
Still pale and wearing the face of someone who'd just experienced something traumatizing, Santana walked over to the dresser to stand beside Mike while Johanna started briefing them. As the speech wore on, Santana's demeanor went from embarrassed and flustered to sullen and tense. Mike could guess she was worrying about Brittany again.
"In a couple of minutes, the stylists will be taking you two up to the roof, then a hovercraft's gonna come pick you up and you can have breakfast there, whatever. Then you'll go to the tunnel under the arena, get prepped up a bit, then it's arena time at ten." Johanna explained everything in a rushed, almost irritated tone, as if it was just for the purpose of getting over a formality. "Holly and I were supposed to tell you this last night, but the two of you checked out early, and Holly drank too much."
"Anything else?" Mike asked while Santana remained quiet, staring at something off to the side.
There was a shift in Johanna, and she leaned forward, closer to the two of them. Mike was beginning to question how close she was going to go when Johanna reached forward and took hold of something between and behind Mike and Santana.
Bringing it up to her eyes, Johanna eyed the remote then pressed several parts of it. Music started to fill the room, a piece Mike recognized as something he and Brittany danced to for a previous victor. Johanna tapped at the remote until the music rose up to a volume that made it difficult to ignore. Satisfied, she tossed it towards the bed and returned her attention to Mike and Santana.
"About Quinn…" Johanna's eyes darted around the room again, and Mike realized that all this time, there might have been cameras and other recording equipment set up in every room in this building. Had anyone been listening in on his conversation with Santana last night? They said some very dangerous things when they discussed Quinn and Mr. Pierce.
"She's stationed at the fifth floor, right?"
Santana and Mike nodded.
"They usually don't rotate the shifts, and the same Avoxes serve the same floor every year," Johanna maintained a voice that was low enough that they could hear it if they leaned close, "But since this is a special case, they might assign her somewhere else. Might even move her to a location where they can keep a closer eye on her. I'll have to figure out first where she is, and then work out how to get a hold of her."
"We've been staying on our own floors." There was a waver to Santana's voice, and she looked so nervous and worried. Mike also found himself worrying that something else might have happened. "I'm pretty sure even Berry's been behaving herself. You don't think they'll hurt her anymore than they already have… do you?"
Johanna looked from Santana to Mike. "If one of you turns out to be the victor, and Capitol residents are interested in you, then you can be sure that your friend and maybe even your girlfriends are going to be in trouble."
"Brittany's not my-"
"The point is, I'll do what I can, okay?" Johanna's expression showed that they had discussed this long enough, and there was no more time to argue over the specifics. She turned and walked back to the bed, where she took the remote and shut off the music.
Mike hadn't realized he'd been tapping his foot until there was nothing to tap to.
His mind went right back to the issue of how the hell he was going to use his only skill, his dancing in the arena. Several days ago, Johanna had said that they could be used to improvise evasive maneuvers, and when Mike was working to get his training score, it did come in useful at the Gauntlet.
But applying it practically, in a real situation where one wrong move could mean serious injury or death? Mike didn't know how it could possibly work out.
Just remember to at least try.
"Okay, once you're in the arena." Johanna went back to them. "There's usually enough time to make a quick grab for the nearest weapon or backpack before you run like hell as far away from the Cornucopia as possible."
"You think there'll be an axe?" Santana still looked uneasy, and there was an air to her that made her seem small and vulnerable. It reminded Mike of how Santana looked during her interview.
"I dunno." Johanna said, "But I'd recommend focusing on a bag instead of a weapon." At the doubtful expression from Santana, Johanna explained. "Look, a bag will probably have supplies. Supplies that just might improve your chances of living through the day, whether or not you run into a mutt or another tribute."
That sounded like fair advice Mike could follow. There wasn't any particular weapon he was all that familiar with after trying out whatever was in the gym, but supplies in a bag would definitely be a big help. Atala did say that they were just as likely to die by dehydration, starvation or exposure than by weapons.
"A bag can be used for different things." Johanna continued to elaborate. "An axe has just about one use."
Santana looked like she still wanted to argue, but Johanna didn't leave any room for it. "Go outside while I talk to Mike."
Being left alone with Johanna made Mike nervous in ways he couldn't rationally explain, even to himself. When Santana walked out of the room, Mike wished she would come right back. What if Johanna had something harsh to say that was only meant for Mike's ears? What if Johanna was going to tell Mike that Judy was right all along and tonight's list of dead tributes would most likely include the name Mike Chang of District 7?
The thought made his body remember how tired it was, while the heaviness to his arms came back.
"Fuck Judy." Johanna put it so bluntly, Mike didn't know how to respond. This was the last thing he had expected to hear, and he had to blink a few times to determine whether or not he was still asleep.
"Uhh…"
Johanna folded her arms across her chest and leaned her hip against the dresser. "Don't acknowledge any fucking thing that bitch said to you. I locked her in her room and she can spend her whole damn hangover in there."
Still uncertain of how he was supposed to respond to this news, Mike just nodded.
"I'm arranging for her to be sent home tomorrow." Johanna's lip curled in disgust. "I can't even stand to be in the same building as her." This was so different from how things were on the first day, when they were on the train. Johanna said it didn't matter to her what Judy did, and that was something Mike could remember because it was one of the reasons he didn't think The Nightmare was worth telling Johanna before.
Now, Johanna sounded like she hated Judy almost as much as Santana did. "I mean I get the hell a victor goes through. We all deal with it." From the sound of that, Mike felt jolted by bursts of fear. If escaping the arena left someone living through the daily horror of whatever inner demons these victors had, how bad was it actually being in the arena? "But how she deals with it is just fucking wrong."
"Is she mad at me?" The question sort of came out on its own, but Mike got to wonder what would happen if he did get out of the arena. Would Judy be out to get him and resume doing what she did? They would be living very close to each other, isolated in the Victor's Village, and what was there to stop Judy from bursting into Mike's room at night?
Johanna dismissed the question with the bang of her fist against the side of the dresser. "Doesn't fucking matter!"
Alarmed by the tone and body language, Mike automatically took a step back.
"She's more mad at me." Johanna said. "Called me a bitch and started going on about my arrogance and shit." That did sound like something Judy would say. Mike got a lot of lectures about arrogance and disrespect in between longwinded rants about how much strength is required to be a victor.
A lopsided smile tugged at Johanna's lips. "I punched her face."
Mike's eyebrows shot upwards. "Oh."
"She wouldn't shut up." Johanna shrugged.
Would Judy Fabray have been a different person had she never been in the arena? Mike wondered if being in there was what made the more unusual victors the way they were. Haymitch's drinking and sloppiness suddenly seemed to make sense. Annie Cresta's craziness. Enobaria and her teeth. Johanna's aggressive behavior.
How much were Mike and Santana going to change? If either one of them came home, would they still be recognizable to the residents of District 7?
"Hey." Shifting back into a serious tone, Johanna put her hands on Mike's shoulders and looked him in the eye. The voice she used was like the one last night, when she coaxed him into showing his bruises. "I know what it's like, remember?"
Mike swallowed.
"I know what it's like for them to expect nothing." Johanna said. "All the looking down and the berating."
During her Hunger Games, Johanna had indeed been one of the least popular tributes. So many people looked down on her and expected her to perform like a typical District 12 tribute. It was obvious during a feature that showed footage of the Capitol partying the night before the Games, and several citizens were asked about what they thought of the tributes. Most of them expected the crying girl to be finished by the Careers on the first day.
Even in District 7, there was a lot of doubt. Nobody told the Masons of course, but it was still something they would whisper to each other. About how it was such a shame that young Johanna looked so small next to all those big tributes.
Now, here she was, five years later. A little taller, much much tougher, very respected. Nobody messed with her.
"The difference, Mike." Johanna seemed to sense Mike's mind wandering and squeezed his shoulders to bring him back. "Is that I knew I was stronger and better than all their assumptions about me. I wanted to prove them all wrong. I had to prove them all wrong."
Johanna maintained the eye contact. "You've gotta see and understand that there is way more to you than you think there is."
Like what? Mike wanted to ask out loud, but was afraid of provoking Johanna, given how irritably she reacted whenever Santana said something disagreeable. It was better to just stay quiet and cooperative. Just listen even if there were parts to what Mike heard that he wasn't sure he agreed with.
"Man, you have lived through how many days being treated like shit by that Fabray bitch." Johanna's lip curled everytime she mentioned Judy. "If that isn't strength, then I don't know what is." She pulled away from Mike and shrugged.
Mike shrugged too. He still didn't see it that way.
"If I had to deal with that every night, I'd have killed myself already." A chill ran through Mike at the seriousness in Johanna's voice. It wasn't hard to recall how she sounded so suicidal that day she broke down in the townsquare and attacked the Peackeepers. "And Santana? If you two switched, she wouldn't have been able to take it either."
Still a little unsure, Mike just nodded. He couldn't imagine Santana being in his place. She was just too tough and she was so strong about her opinions, and she never let anyone step on her. How would she have been able to stand being berated by Judy every night?
Johanna squeezed again. "You'd better get going before Blaine starts singing again."
It was a solid attempt to cheer Mike up, and he smiled at Johanna, appreciative of the effort. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks." The three words came out with awkward pauses in between them, but it was too late to fix it. Johanna was already nudging Mike towards the door, still in a loose shirt and pajamas. He barely had time to grab his token from the bedside.
Blaine was just waiting outside when they opened the door, and beamed at the sight of them. "Don't worry about dressing up, Mike. There'll be clothes waiting for you in the Launch Room."
After receiving a final pat on the back from Johanna, Mike followed Blaine to the elevator and then up to the roof. It was different being here early in the morning instead of late at night, but Mike could still clearly remember the things he'd seen. Over there, further ahead, among the potted plants and sculptures, he and Santana saw Judy drinking and talking to herself about Quinn. Much closer, next to that bench, Mike remembered seeing Quinn for the first time since she left District 7 with Puck. And then closer by, several paces from the door, was the spot where they beat Quinn while Mike and Rachel watched helplessly.
Mike swallowed and tried to focus on Blaine.
"It'll be okay." Blaine's expression changed from cheerful and excited to serious and concerned. "You're smart enough to figure it out. I'm rooting for you, okay?"
"Thanks." Mike tried to smile, but couldn't stop thinking of Quinn and how defenseless she was. Of Rachel screaming and begging for the beating to stop. Of how vicious and merciless the Peacekeepers were. Of Quinn.
Further down, Mike saw Rachel standing with her stylist, also waiting for the hovercraft to arrive. She was in a simple shift and her hair fell over her shoulders, softening her overall appearance. It made her look smaller, like a child who really didn't belong here.
Mike was struck by how little he actually knew of Rachel. Just that… what? She liked to sing and she idolized an old victor whose talent was singing and…? For someone to be nice enough to befriend an Avox without even knowing their story, that must be a big deal. Who even does that? It spoke volumes of Rachel's character, and Mike felt ashamed of himself for not bothering to get to know any of the Avoxes who served him in the past several days.
As if feeling like she was being watched, Rachel turned her head and noticed Mike. Their eyes met and it wasn't hard to guess that they were both reliving the same night, picturing the same spot and the same person and the same brutality.
He wanted to say something. Anything. Good luck. Thank you for being so good to Quinn. I wish we got to know each other better. I hope for the best for you. It would have been nice to hear you sing sometime. Something.
Out of nowhere, a pair of hovercrafts appeared above them, and ladders descended. Mike shifted his attention from Rachel to focus on what had to be done. Blaine gestured for Mike to step on, and after a moment of hesitation, he did.
The sudden freeze of his every muscle startled Mike into near panic, and he would have started putting every effort into moving if Blaine hadn't reassured him by saying, "That's normal. You'll be able to move again once you're in."
Still frozen and nervous, Mike felt the ladder bring him up into the hovercraft, where a woman was already waiting. Before he was released, Mike had to watch as the woman injected into his arm what she explained was a tracker. The Gamemakers would be able to monitor Mike's every move with it.
Once the tracker was in, Mike was released and could not have felt more thankful for the mere fact that his body was capable of movement and every limb was fully functional. Blaine came up next and then led the way to a door.
Hovercraft. 72nd Hunger Games.
The food prepared for her, lining the table, just made Santana feel like throwing up. Or slamming her fists into the varnished wood and throwing aside every plate in sight until they collided with the floor or a wall and shattered into numerous fragments.
How could she eat and enjoy any of this while back home, Brittany must be cutting down on food to be able to pay for treatment?
And the bacon… the fucking bacon managed to also remind Santana of Quinn. She was struggling and hurt, too. For all the comfort and luxury her upper-class lifestyle gave her (for which Santana sometimes envied her), Quinn didn't live a happy life. There was the pressure to be perfect because she was the daughter of a victor, and intelligent enough to get good grades that rivaled Mike and Tina's.
Sulking and tormented by her own thoughts, Santana nudged the plate away from her.
From somewhere off to the side, an Avox stepped forward to stand in front of Santana, awaiting orders. The expression on the man's face suggested a question of what may be wrong with the food. Or if there was anything Santana needed assistance with.
There was nothing wrong with the damn food, and there was nothing anyone could do to help Santana.
Or did he know Quinn?
Tilting her head back, Santana looked up at the man. He had a scruffy face, with his pale beard and thick, shaggy hair. Resting on the bridge of a nose that might have been broken a few times were scratched up glasses just barely kept together by various adhesives.
An Avox with impaired vision.
He still managed to get by and get things done despite that. Santana wondered if the same could be said for Quinn. Since Santana wasn't there when the beating happened, she couldn't be sure how serious Quinn's injuries were, but given the way Mike sounded so certain that it would affect her work…
Santana ran her hands through her hair and looked away from the Avox.
Not knowing was the part that just might drive Santana insane. Not knowing bred imagined scenarios that grew more and more dire with each nightmare-riddled sleep. If the Peacekeepers could easily turn one of their own into an Avox, what was stopping them from doing the same to Brittany? They were perfectly capable of it. Especially since Santana was all the way over here, about to be tossed into the arena, and there was nothing she could do to stop any of it.
And this man standing by her, ready to serve her, what was he thinking? Was he thinking about how this face before him was just one out of the many he'd seen come and go over the years? The look to him suggested he wasn't new to this. He'd probably seen and served countless tributes and seen them all go down in the arena.
Did he know of Quinn?
Or better yet, of Mr. Pierce?
Again, not knowing anything was the maddening part.
If Mr. Pierce wasn't working in the Training Center, could he possibly be stationed somewhere here? Or in another hovercraft perhaps? Was Santana this close to him now? She considered asking the Avox if he knew. Maybe he could mime or write an answer.
Then Santana remembered how much trouble might be stirred up by striking up conversation and asking around and drawing attention to herself all over again. Did she really want to go around poking things with sticks, so soon after Brittany's ordeal?
"I'm not hungry." The several bites she attempted a while ago would be enough to get her by. Santana stood up and went towards the window. It was hard not to stare at the Avox and continue to wonder about him and about Mr. Pierce, but Santana distracted herself by watching the landscapes passing by.
There were a number of environments they passed that looked familiar from previous Games. A few even brought up clear images Santana recalled of victors like Finnick or Annie or even Johanna. The Capitol had a thing for visiting old arenas and treating them like vacation hotspots, complete with activities like reenactments of previous Games and grizzly deaths.
That was one of the few lessons Santana recalled from school, given to them at an age when they were young and naïve enough to think the idea of the Games was adventure and excitement instead of brutality and death. That day, their group headed out to the edge of the forest and reenacted some of the more dramatic fight scenes. Puck and Santana were usually the cocky, aggressive ones who insisted on being the victor, while Brittany was just there for the overall fun.
Quinn... come to think of it, Quinn had been quiet for the most part. She didn't participate so much in their game and seemed uncomfortable the whole time.
"Santana."
Tensing at the sound of her name, Santana turned to see Kurt behind her. "We're about to land."
That announcement sent shivers of anticipation and nervousness running through Santana. She swallowed and nodded, not trusting her voice to give a proper response. Time was running out. In a matter of moments, she would be in the arena, fighting for her life. Fighting for Brittany. Fighting for Amy. Fighting for Quinn and Mr. Pierce.
The pressure was making her knees wobble.
When the subtle hums of the floor beneath her slowed to a stop, Santana knew they'd just landed. A sudden urge to run away blasted her, and she imagined herself escaping to some barren place and hiding where no hovercraft or camera could find her.
Until she recalled that there was a tracker in her arm and there was no way she could possibly escape. Especially not on foot while they had every imaginable vehicle at their disposal, and every imaginable weapon to slow her down or take her out.
This was it.
Santana followed Kurt out to another ladder, which also froze her before it brought her through a chute that she couldn't help thinking might suddenly tighten and close in on her, leaving her trapped, slowly constricting until it was impossible to breathe, until her ribcage was caved inwards and her every bone crushed into each other.
By the time she got to the Launch Room, Santana felt weak and lightheaded.
"Nervous?"
Putting harshness into her tone, Santana lifted her chin. "I don't get nervous. I'm too badass for that." It helped to pretend she felt confident. A little more and she might just be able to fool even herself.
Kurt smiled. "And that's why you have so many fans."
"Right." Fans. Capitol people who cheered her name and claimed to be rooting for her, claimed to be fond of her. All they really liked about her was the intriguing story behind the Reaping and the drama-filled interview. None of those Capitol viewers would give a damn if Santana got hurt… if Santana died.
They'd probably mourn the money they lost for betting wrong, but it didn't extend any further than that.
Sulking, Santana looked at the metal platform stationed at the corner of the room, partially encased in a glass cylinder. The Launch Plate. Which, in a few minutes, would carry her up to the arena. Up to victory or death. To be a victor or a winner.
"There isn't much time left to get ready." Kurt gestured for Santana to join him by a metal bar from which her clothes hung. "They're the same for every tribute." Picking out the trousers first, Kurt handed them to Santana. "Thick material. Wear resistant. Spare pockets. Not too baggy."
After the opening ceremony and the interview, Santana no longer had any qualms against stripping in front of Kurt. That, and the fact that he was married to Blaine decreased any discomfort. If he were any other guy, Santana would have felt like she was being watched inappropriately and wouldn't hesitate to beat him senseless.
She pulled on the pants, feeling the way they didn't hug her legs too tightly, but weren't too lose that they were distracting. The knees were reinforced, making her feel like she was wearing kneepads. A thick belt with several hooks, clips and buckles held up the waistband. Tough boots with rubber soles went next, and seemed to add support to her ankles.
"This doesn't feel too thick, but I recognize this material. It retains heat." Kurt helped her pull on a long sleeved, stretchy top that seemed to cling to her body. It also had reinforced elbows, and the wrists felt like a thicker, sturdier material. Either the Gamemakers were putting in more effort to keep the tributes alive and make it harder for them to kill each other, or the arena itself was going to be that dangerous.
Kurt adjusted the neckline around Santana's throat, then proceeded to help her into the final layer: a thick black jacket with red lining. "Waterproof material, but no hood to keep back rain."
"Think it'll be a cold arena?" The way Kurt was making his comments on the clothing was making Santana's mind jump from theory to theory about what she would be facing in the arena. It crossed her mind that she should have viewed the previous Games and noted the clothing of the tributes to get a better idea of what kind of outfit meant what kind of arena.
"Judging by the thickness of the material, and the layers…" Kurt picked up something else and handed it to Santana, "And how most of these fabrics are designed to retain heat… Yes. I'm assuming you're going to face a cold arena."
Cold as in arctic tundra with snow as far as the eye could see or cold as in what the air is like at night?
Santana suppressed a shiver then took note of what Kurt handed to her. A pair of fingerless gloves with thick material coating the knuckles and extra padding to reinforce the palms. After putting them on, Santana opened and closed her hands, feeling how the gloves seemed to strengthen her grip.
"I recognize that as material that is very hard to tear." Kurt said, "And it's curious that they chose not to cover your fingers. If it were an arctic environment, they would normally opt to cover your whole hand, and earmuffs are sometimes included. Also, the jackets provided would usually be fur-lined."
"Right." Santana tried to come up with a snarky response that poked fun at how he was trying to deduce what the arena would be like, but nothing witty was forming in her head. She felt her palms starting to sweat under the gloves, and her muscles felt like coiled springs. The urge to try running and escaping was poking at her again. Panic and fear were bubbling in her stomach and scratching at her throat.
She had to win to be able to get back to Brittany and make sure she was okay and not still bleeding somewhere in the middle of the forests of District 7. She had to be stronger, faster and smarter than anything and everything in the arena. She had to be at her best.
Between her stomach doing flips like a drunk unicorn and her knees wobbling like a blindfolded phoenix, Santana didn't feel like she was anywhere near being at her best.
Hell, she felt at her worst.
And it was almost time.
How… how was she supposed to do this?
The confidence and fearlessness that always sided with her moments before and during a fight were nowhere to be found and Santana needed them now more than ever. This nervousness and panic was not helping anyone.
When Kurt reached for her throat, Santana stiffened and was about to lift her fist to punch him, but stopped herself just in time to watch what he was doing. Moving with care and what almost looked like reverence, Kurt touched the little blue stone and examined it.
"Your token is beautiful."
Remembering how Brittany gave it in the Justice Building, just after the Reaping, Santana swallowed and stammered out a response. "She is—I-I mean…" Brittany was beautiful, yes, but Kurt was talking about the damn stone. "Yeah… Yeah, it is."
Kurt let go of the stone and moved to make final arrangements to Santana's hair, tying it up into a neat ponytail that would keep any stray strands from falling over her face and distracting her in the heat of battle. "Blaine comes from a very rich Capitol family."
"Oh yeah?" They were all the same level of rich as far as Santana was concerned.
"A long line of VIP's make up his family." Kurt continued, "Me, I hail from the middle-class sector of the Capitol."
Was this really the time for random backstories and confessions? The randomness of this talk was agitating her and at first, she tried to hide it. Out of some sense of gratitude towards Kurt. Sure, he could be really annoying sometimes, but he wasn't too bad as far as Capitol folk go. And his thing with Blaine made Santana feel this weird closeness towards them because of her own thing with Brittany. Whatever their thing was.
"We met at a clothing store." Kurt said. "We both disagreed on a piece and wound up going into this long, in-depth discussion on style."
Unable to fight back the agitation, Santana snapped. "Is there any point in telling me this?" Now just wasn't the time for heartwarming stories over cups of hot chocolate. Santana was going to be heading into the arena very soon and if there was anything Santana needed someone to talk to her about right now it was how not to die.
If not that, then maybe how Brittany was doing.
Or Quinn.
But not this.
"I won't pretend to understand what it's like to live your life." The sudden coldness to Kurt's tone showed that he had been irritated.
Seriously, he was the one irritated? Santana was nervous and scared and angry and might die in a few minutes and Kurt was the one irritated? "Oh, for a second there, I thought you were."
"Please let me finish." Kurt kept his tone cold but calm.
Santana wanted to pace the room or throw something at the wall or punch the wall. "Sorry, your face was provoking me." The snappy answer was all she could manage while fiddling restlessly with her hands and toying with the zipper of her jacket.
"Santana…" Kurt raised his eyebrow and looked so annoyingly patronizing.
"Sorry." She grumbled out, just for the sake of getting this over with.
Kurt at least seemed satisfied with the barely sincere apology. "Santana, if there's anything at all we can relate to, it's having people we love whose names start with the letter B."
How the fuck is that relevant? Santana tried to revert to the same aggressive, argumentative tone, but her lip was quivering again, and in this small, quiet room, she could almost hear it again. It was a soft, muffled, distant sound, as if it came from somewhere far away behind a long line of trees and bushes.
But it still tugged at Santana's chest to hear it.
And in her mind, she could see the pictures again. Those legs… riddled with bullets to keep her from running away… her back raw and red from the harsh bite of the whip… Santana could remember how her own skin burned every time she got caught stealing or pissing off a Peacekeeper, and it hurt like fucking hell. But from those pictures, it looked like Brittany got more lashes than Santana had ever endured.
Brittany.
She always tried so hard to stay out of trouble and to keep Santana and Amy out of trouble.
And that happened to her.
"This may not be advice as tried-and-tested as anything Johanna's given you…" Kurt was speaking again, and Santana forced herself to look up and listen despite the way her vision was starting to get hazy again. "But… if I may…" The echoes were pounding against Santana's head, fighting for her full attention.
Kurt lowered his head and shoulders to meet Santana's eyes. The familiar discomfort eye contact gave her made it tempting to look away. Instead, Santana tried to latch onto her view of his pale eyes and focus on clearing up her vision.
"When you're at your lowest in there… when everything hurts and you think you're done…" The idea sent another shudder through Santana. "Just remember her."
How could Santana not remember?
Treating the stone again with great care, Kurt tucked it beneath the undershirt before zipping up the jacket. "She's waiting for you back home."
"Yeah…" Santana swallowed in an attempt to steady her voice. It didn't work. "She is."
A voice coming from the speakers announced that it was time for the tributes to step onto the platform.
Santana shook her hands at her sides like it would rid her of the anxiety. In a matter of moments, she would be up there and in view of hidden cameras, watched by all of Panem. Watched by Brittany, who was waiting back home. Waiting and… was she mad?
"Play to win." Kurt said. "For her."
"Yeah." Santana stepped onto the platform and watched the glass slide over her until it met the other end, closing her in completely. It trapped her and that constricting feeling came back to torment her with images of the walls closing in and crushing her into herself.
Reminding herself that people would be watching, Santana tried to swallow the fear and clear her face of emotion.
The door opened and Santana watched as a Peacekeeper spoke to Kurt, probably to tell him it was time to go to wherever it is stylists went to watch the Games. It seemed like standard procedure until Kurt's face showed confusion and interest.
From behind the glass, Santana couldn't hear any of what they were saying, but she could see the way the Peacekeeper shook his head and gestured for Kurt to leave the room, even patting him on the back in a seemingly friendly show of coaxing him into cooperating. Still, it rubbed Santana the wrong way and dread was starting to fill her.
From the look on his face, Kurt looked intrigued but knew better than to stick around, and obediently left the room, leaving Santana trapped in a glass canister with an armed Peacekeeper looking at her.
Something was wrong and Santana couldn't figure out what just yet.
The Peacekeeper walked over to stand in front of Santana and tap on the glass, either to test its strength or taunt Santana. There was a look to his face… and given her general mistrust and her own mounting dread and nervousness, Santana might have imagined it, but she thought she saw a sadistic gleam to the Peacekeeper's eyes.
The dread increased.
Did they bring Brittany here? Or Quinn?
Santana didn't have long to wonder because another two Peacekeepers came in, dragging between them a scrawny, emaciated man wearing a thin tunic that just hung from his bony body. They handled him with roughness that seemed over the top and unnecessary, but what can anyone expect from Peacekeepers?
But why would they bring this man here?
What was…
It took Santana a few seconds to look past the gaunt face and sunken eyes to recognize the blond hair and the eyes that were so exactly the blue of the sky on a cheerful day. The exact blue of the stone against Santana's collarbone. The exact blue of Brittany and Amy's eyes.
"No…" Santana had to place her palms against the glass to steady herself. "This isn't happening."
The Peacekeeper nearest to Santana nodded as if aware that she had just recognized who they brought before her.
Mr. Pierce was here. Right in front of Santana and Brittany had absolutely no idea. Santana wished she could get out of this damn glass cage and talk to him and tell him about how much his daughter has grown into this strong, beautiful person with the biggest heart ever. Tell him how Brittany took care of Amy and brought her up. Tell him how Brittany overcame everything life threw at her. Tell him how Brittany took care of Santana.
Tell him what his Peacekeeper buddies did to his daughter.
Did he know? Did anyone bother to tell him?
His shoulders and arms grasped by one Peacekeeper each, Mr. Pierce was forced up into standing stiff and straight. It almost seemed to mock the way the Peacekeepers would stand at attention at the start and end of the day, just before they were sent to their posts.
Santana banged her fist against the glass, wishing it would open.
The third Peacekeeper moved away from Santana to stand by Mr. Pierce. By the way they were treating him, it was as if he was never among their ranks. As if he never wore the same uniform or carried the same gun. To them, he was a common traitor. An Avox.
"Open this fucking thing!" Santana banged again at the glass.
Then it just happened so so fast.
The barrel of a gun was pressed against Mr. Pierce's temple. His brow furrowed and he cleared his face of any sign of fear. There was confusion in his eyes, but not a trace of fear. His lips were a thin, straight line.
And it was all over in one gunshot loud enough to reach Santana's ears through the glass, and a spray of blood.
The panel under Santana started to move upwards and a countdown started.
A bit of behind-the-scenes trivia:
So that closing scene, huh? It's the first death Santana's personally witnessed since her own father's execution. When I planned this scene months ago, I figured that what Cinna went through in Catching Fire isn't the first time the Peacekeepers traumatized a troublesome tribute moments before arena time.
The difference though between Santana and Katniss is that a lot of the chaos Santana causes is behind closed doors and off-camera. The trouble Katniss stirred up was widespread to all of Panem. Santana's is just underground. In this universe, I set it up so it's like Santana started to slowly open a few eyes (particularly Johanna's), but Katniss is that huge explosion that really got all the action to happen out in the open.
Also, any guesses on who that Avox in the hovercraft was? (Cameo for now, not sure yet if he'll play a bigger part in the future)