Author's Note:
Thank you all for the overwhelming response to the last chapter - it seems to have been popular :) We all need a little sappiness now and then.
Also, I have started a poll! I'll spare you the details here - please take a look at my profile for all of that.
Finally - a WARNING for this chapter for some brief but graphic violence. But if you've read The Hunger Games, well, then you know.
I expect to find the Hawthornes in the same place I always do, at the west end of the Square near the edge of the crowd and poised to make a quick getaway as soon as we are all permitted to go. This is the last mandatory event for a while; after the bloodbath is over everyone is expected to watch the Games at home on their own televisions. I'm not sure what's worse – the public spectacle or the private misery. It's one thing to be forced to watch it in the middle of town, and another to have to welcome it into your own home.
I wander a bit and look around, trying not to appear lost because it's obvious that I'm incredibly out of place. When I cannot find anyone that I know after a few minutes, I start to feel awful. Has he forgotten so soon after such an unusual display of kindness? Or has he deliberately changed his mind? He had never made a secret of the fact that he does not like me much, but I never expected him to be cruel. I waver between fury and heartbreak, and it is nauseating because this is something simpler and deeper than a silly, hopeless crush or a debt to be paid. I need so much not to be alone for once, for this crucial moment. My only friend can win the Hunger Games, but only if she survives the Cornucopia. I have faith in her, but this is the part that will decide her fate. I feel my eyes start to sting because though I am in the midst of thousands of people, I have no one with whom to share the burden of my worry.
"Madge-"
I snap my head around at the sound of my name, and come face to face with Rory Hawthorne.
"Gale told me to come get you." He beckons for me to follow him. "We're up front today. He said we should keep Prim and Mrs. E company."
The sudden flux of emotions feels like it breaks some ribs, but even that is a relief. I trail behind him gratefully, and I find that although I've always had great respect for what Gale does for his family I am coming to appreciate – and admire – the greater sense of honor to which he holds himself bound. He doesn't like me, but he's willing to admit I've done him a favor. To even give a gift to repay it. He agreed take my advice about interviews, because though he'd rather not, he's willing to admit we share common ground in wanting to keep the Girl on Fire ablaze. He's willing to let me spend an hour or two with him and his family, because despite the resentment he harbors for the life I lead, he appreciates that I'm afraid for our friend. And though he is not thrilled enough about this obligation to come get me himself, he sends his brother to make sure I'm not left behind. On top of all of that, he's willing to offer the support of his family's presence to the Everdeens, even if it means that there will be no escaping the Capitol reporters now.
I've had a crush on Gale Hawthorne for years. But this is the exact and precise moment that I fall in love with him.
….
Rory returns with Madge Undersee following close behind. She manages a pained smile of thanks when she sees me, and I lose my place for a moment in the argument I'm currently having with my sister. How does she always knock me off kilter? I partly regain myself when her bright eyes shift from me to Prim and she goes to offer words of encouragement. I'd never thought I'd say it, but I'm actually glad she's here. Talking to Katniss' sister is still a challenge, and today is worse than usual. I can't catch what she says over the crowd noise and Posy's chattering, but she coaxes a small smile from Prim. Rory finds this to be a convenient excuse to initiate conversation for himself, and watching his maneuvering is entertainment all its own. He positions himself next to her, close enough to be supportive but still not so far from his own family members as to be embarrassingly obvious. It doesn't matter much, because the art of subtlety is completely lost on my brother – a blind man can see the girl is the only person standing in this hellhole as far as Rory's concerned. Mom pulls Vick with her as she moves around them to Mrs. Everdeen, and makes a valiant (if largely unsuccessful) effort at conversation. These little futile gestures amaze me; holding the Everdeens together is holding us together.
"Gale!" Posy says as she smacks me impatiently in the shoulder. "I still can't see good! Why can't I sit on your shoulders?"
I scramble to remember the excuse I'd prepared. The real answer to the question is that last year, when we had tried to keep her from watching too closely, she managed to peek anyway and then had nightmares, which meant that the Hawthornes (and half the Seam) got no sleep for a week and a half. Posy doesn't remember that, which is a mixed blessing because it means she still really wants to watch. I already tried to convince her that Katniss will not be wearing her "jewelry dress," to no avail. I have her strategically balanced on a hip, so she has to face behind me, away from most of the screens.
"You're getting too heavy," I say, which is not the original out I had planned but I hope it'll do in a pinch. Damn it, Madge. You have to have all your wits about you to argue with a four-year-old.
"You let Vick do it," she says with the kind of exasperation that only a toddler can express.
Part of me is pleased that she is too smart for that one, part of me just wishes she'd take no for an answer. "Pose, my neck is sore. I slept funny last night. It didn't hurt when I let Vick do it. And you're squirmy."
She sighs dramatically, but she is suddenly distracted by the person standing next to us. Madge eases her way back toward me, I suppose because of all of us I am the one she is most familiar with. I study the way her lips curve when she smiles at my sister's shy hello, the way she cocks her head to reveal a smooth, perfect expanse of skin from ear to collarbone. She may never look at me the way I look at her, but at least she's not embarrassed to be seen with us. I'll give her that.
The mayor's voice booms over the loudspeakers, followed by the shrill whine of feedback. Everyone cringes and stops dead; after another harsh pop, he announces that the broadcast is about to begin. Without thinking, I lock eyes with Madge and in her face is an exact reflection of the gnawing anxiety that I just felt bite down hard.
….
Claudius Templesmith lists the names and districts of all the Tributes – one final roll call – as their promo photos flash onscreen. Peeta and Katniss are shown last, of course, and this time there is no cheering, no whistling, no dancing. This is the moment of truth. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!"
The picture fades into a view of a large, flat expanse of packed earth and pans from a treeline to the towering, golden Cornucopia overflowing with food, provisions, and instruments of death. Something at the mouth of the cone catches my eye just before the camera sweeps on to the semicircle of tributes rising from the ground.
"Gale," I breathe without looking away from the screen, "did you see-?"
"A bow," he whispers back.
"They gave her a bow – she can-"
His gray eyes narrow critically. "No. It's a trap…."
It takes me a second to follow, but I see it through his eyes, the bow, the training score, all of it – they've painted a target on her back, and baited a snare. She needs that bow if she wants to live, but getting to it will kill her….
"She wouldn't – not like-"
He cuts me off, and his tone has an angry edge. "She might." His jaw clenches, he shakes his head.
"She isn't stupid," I say, even as we both see her shift her weight like she is preparing to make a mad dash for her weapon of choice.
"She picked a fight with a bear over a honeycomb."
"She – what?"
"Dammit, Katniss, don't…."
Then she looks inexplicably distracted for a few seconds, the bow forgotten as she squints off toward her right. Exactly when the gong sounds. And the Girl on Fire is two paces behind everyone else. No one breathes. Because the distance between life and death in the arena is less than inches.
Peeta shouts to a few of the tributes from the career districts, and one of them points as if to give directions. They break for the horn, working in concert to keep other tributes away from the supplies they want. The camera comes back to Katniss; she sprints while she stuffs a sheet of plastic into her sleeve, and I gasp when it becomes clear that she's running toward the melee instead of away from it.
"Oh no…"
"Fucking stupid – " Gale catches himself before he can snarl further obscenities into his little sister's ear, and presses her face into his shoulder so she will miss the worst of the scene.
Katniss dives for a backpack, but so does another boy and just as they both lay hands on it, the tall, dark-haired girl from District 2 readies a dagger in her right hand. Katniss and her opponent are oblivious as they tug on the pack, but the rest of Panem sees it coming - the District 2 girl hones in on them and with a graceful twist hurls the knife.
I fist a hand in Gale's sleeve as Katniss gives the coveted backpack a vicious yank and flings the boy sideways; he spits blood in her face when he catches the knife in his back. The knife Katniss should have taken in the chest. I make a sound almost like a laugh at the elation that washes over me when my friend does not die while Gale lets his head fall back with a deep sigh of relief. Then I taste bile in the back of my mouth.
….
When I open my eyes again Katniss is running full-bore toward the woods, away from the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, when a second knife lodges in her backpack. Not an altogether bad thing. Stupid bitch needs all the help she can get. Clearly she's got no more sense than the fucking raccoons I just butchered this morning. A hundred more awful things to call her crackle through my mind, but deep down I know that most of the anger rises from the memory of our final farewell at the Justice Building on Reaping Day. Get your hands on a bow as soon as you can, I'd said. Your best chance.
She tried to run into the bloodbath. It could have killed her. Should have. She was going to do it. Because I told her to.
After a few seconds, they seem to decide that Katniss running through trees is boring even if she is the biggest sensation the Hunger Games has produced in years, and they come back to the Cornucopia. God forbid they miss and instant of the bloody battle. I'm actually relieved, because I can't bear to look at her right now.
The fingers in my sleeve tighten, and it doesn't seem to bother me as much as it should. I notice distantly that Madge bows her head and covers her mouth with one hand. Sways a little on her feet. I stand very, very still because I'm trying to judge if I'm going to have to catch her in a moment and it's going to be tricky with my other arm full of Posy. This I do find irritating. Welcome to the real world, Princess. I'd love to let her drop right now (it'd do her some good) but her father is the Mayor and he's standing right over there….
"Blood bother you?" I ask, probably not as nicely as I should.
Her brows knit, and I see her eyelashes glisten as the hand over her mouth becomes a white-knuckled fist. "No. It's… they just made me happy – " (she hisses they the same way she said Capitol people yesterday, so I assume that's who she's talking about) "happy – that that boy died. Happy." She shakes her head, and it dawns on me that she's not spoiled and squeamish; she's angry. "And he was somebody else's Katniss. It makes me feel like they're winning," she snarls quietly through gritted teeth.
I feel upside down. Inside out. Backwards. I'm an opinionated person. It's not often that I'm at a loss for words. For thoughts.
"Catnip is okay, right?" Posy squeaks into my shoulder.
"Yeah, Pose." My voice sounds like an echo.
She doesn't believe me – or maybe she does?- and I snap back to the District Twelve Town Square because I struggle to control her squirming to see, but since I don't want to hurt her I lose the battle. Right when a skinny girl with short brown hair and hazel eyes takes a blade across her belly and organs start spilling onto the earth. My sister spirals into hysterics.
I crush her against my chest, try to speak soothingly, consider making a run for it, dismiss the idea because it will get me arrested, try to think of any other option. I can keep her from watching more on the screens, but there's not much I can do about the audio – screams of horror, cries of pain. Even slicing and stabbing and blunt-force trauma have very distinctive sounds. I wish I could get out of here, but I know they won't let me, even with a sobbing four-year-old.
Out of desperation I look to Madge, but her eyes are scanning the crowd. To call her angry now would be an insult. Yes, there is definitely fire in her – not a roaring flame like in Katniss, more like the embers hidden in the ashes of an old campfire, dormant but alive, waiting for tinder. She locks on something and disappears. The only fire I have left is gone. Leaving me alone in the dark. With a terrified child. Fighting monsters that scare me even more than they scare her.
...
Footnote: As an aside to Howlynn - I read your last review, with your comment about the "L-word" and all, and all I could think was "Ack! How are you in my head? Get out! It's crowded enough in here with just me smacking into things!" I've litterally had that scene planned in detail since I typed "Pretty dress." Kinda creepy ;)