A/N: Thanks everyone for reading, and Belle453 for betaing!
"Please take a seat in here. I will be with you shortly," the man tells us, drab and formal, as he holds the door open for us. Then we are alone in the interrogation room. If not for Bear's presence, it would be uncannily like last night's dream. I go straight to a chair, but Bear moves slowly through the room. He looks at his reflection in the mirror, then puts his fingers up against the reflective surface. Giving himself a small wave, he turns back toward the room. "One-way mirror," he says, as if he expected it. "Anyone could be watching." He has to know that if there is anyone on the other side of the mirror, they can surely hear him. He doesn't seem to care.
"Do you think -," I start to ask before he cuts me off with a shake of his head.
"It doesn't matter what I think, or who's back there," he answers. "It doesn't change anything." I'm not convinced. I can't help but stare at the mirror, wondering if someone is staring back at me. But who is it, and what are they thinking? Whoever is here to identify me, could already be in that room. I wonder if anyone was there the last time I was in this room.
Bear comes over to where I am sitting, sliding a hand over my shoulder, pressing against a tense neck muscle lightly with his thumb. As if triggered by his touch, I tilt back and inhale deeply, then slowly release my breath. "It doesn't matter," I repeat to myself. I wish I believed it.
He slides a metal chair over next to mine and sits beside me. I want to kiss him but I'm too aware of the possibility that we are being watched. Instead I wait nervously until the man returns. Finally he reappears and takes the seat across the table, his back to the mirror.
"Miss Amelin, today we will be reviewing the facts of your claim. Your friend," he says, nodding to Bear, "can stay in the room, as long as he does not interfere in the interview." The man stares Bear down and warns him, "one inch out of line and I'll have you removed." The threat is unnecessary. Bear nods wordlessly.
By now I'm resigned to where we are headed. When the official starts asking me questions about my past, I answer wearily. I wonder how many more times I'll be asked to repeat the same information. I am starting to understand how they could think I am making it all up; the more I repeat it the more abstract it seems, until it feels like I am telling a story, about some other girl living in some other world. My only hope is that there is someone behind that mirror - someone who can tell them my story is the truth. Then he places a small shiny object on the table in front of him and asks me, "do you recognize this?"
I can tell what it is in an instant and answer automatically, "yes. It's a mockingjay pin." I stare at it, like it's a relic of the girl in my story that might reveal how she and I are connected.
The man makes a note on his paper. "And you claim to have given it to Katniss on the day of her reaping?"
I reach for it, glancing up at the official hesitantly in case he is going to stop me, but he doesn't. I slide the pin across the table toward me. I look at the eye of the bird, a black stone embedded in the gold pin.
"No," I answer.
He raises an eyebrow as he makes another note. "So you admit you didn't give her the pin?"
"No," I glare back. "I didn't give her this pin," I tell him through gritted teeth.
"What do you mean?" he asks, his bland tone unchanged.
This isn't my aunt's pin," I answer, resigned. I explain to him, "the real pin, the pin I gave Katniss, has a black enamel eye painted on. This has a black stone for an eye, not enamel." I push the pin back across the table explain. "This is a copy. It's probably from the Capitol." Leave it to the Capitol to make the imitation fancier than the original.
As he scribbles more notes, I am convinced that the corners of his mouth pull slightly upward, though he is looking down so I can barely see his face. When he looks up, his lips are pressed in to a thin frown. I wonder if he purposefully asked me about a fake, as a test, or if he's just using the closest thing he could get his hands on. If it was a test, it could mean that this is really it – that he didn't even find anyone to identify me. Maybe there is no one behind the glass, at least no one from my past. Excitement flows through me as I wonder if the pin is enough on its own. I glance over at Bear, anxious to know if he's thinking the same thing, but the man clears his throat and gives me a disapproving stare. "I see," he says. "And where did this … or rather, the original pin come from again?"
In my mind, I fume at having to repeat everything about my life to this man. But I swallow my frustration and answer. "My aunt Maysilee was a tribute in the second Quarter Quell. It was her district token. My mother gave it to me when I turned 12 – when I was old enough to enter the reapings." Then he asks me why I don't want to go back to District 12, as if it makes him doubt my story.
After more questioning, the man relents again. He pushes back from the table. "Thank you, Miss Amelin. Please wait here, I'll escort you out in a few moments."
Fine, I think, it's not over yet. But surely it will be. We'll follow their rules, wait here, be escorted out, come back in another month, repeat these meetings until they finally give in and accept that I'm legit. Rinse and repeat. Fine. Even so relief spreads through me, and I turn toward Bear, sure that that is what they will, eventually, decide. I'm more than a little surprised to hear the door behind me opening again so soon, and dumbfounded when I see that the person standing in the doorway is a familiar face from the Seam. Gray eyes. Dark hair.
Without thinking I run over and throw my arms around him. "Haymitch!" I cry. Despite all the dreams of people from 12, I am at a loss at finding myself in front of one of them.
He tolerates the hug, though he was never one for such displays. Despite the smell of liquor that still envelops him, and the half-empty bottle hanging limply in one hand, he is steady on his feet. "Crazy girl," Haymitch mutters, patting my back with one hand. "Everyone thinks you're dead, you know."
Tears spring to my eyes and I let go. So many questions come instantly in to my mind that I can't sort through them all. I blurt out, "How's Katniss? She's not really crazy is she?" He must know more than we've seen on the broadcasts.
He shakes his head. After a moment of silence he asks, "you ever hear about her mom after her father died?"
My brow furrows as I think. "She was depressed, right?"
"Depression hit hard," he agrees. "It's not just sadness. She lost the will to live. Same happened to Katniss. Losing Peeta, then her sister. Losing Hawthorne - she blames him for Prim's death. Been holed up in her house in 12 since the trial. Them doctors got Peeta thinking straight again, think he'll help her. There's hope. I hear she's even hunting again."
"Why would she blame Gale for Prim's death? And what was wrong with Peeta?"
"What am I supposed to tell you? Long story. Snow brainwashed Peeta so he'd think Katniss was a mutt. Pretty nasty stuff. You ever wonder why they never showed the happy reunion? He tried to strangle her."
After a moment in which I'm too shocked for words, he continues, "Not your worry. You can't help them and I'm just passing through here. Just remember there's nothing there for you. Look at you; you got yourself a good life here; don't be dumb enough to give it up."
"I'm not going back," I assure him. I am completely unsatisfied with his explanation of Katniss' problems, but it's obvious he's not going to wait around to tell me more. He is as stubborn as Katniss, so I know better not to push him, and allow the change of topic. "If you were watching you already know that."
Haymitch's eyes flicker past me. I'd almost forgotten Bear was there. Now he walks up behind me, holding a hand out to Haymitch as if to shake his hand. "Bar'nd, sir, It's an honor ..." The words spill out of him so fast - he's nervous.
But Haymitch just gives him this look, as if in question. "Cut the horseshit. I'm not her father, boy. You don't need my blessing."
Then he looks at me with a squint and continues, "I had to see it for myself - never thought Henry'd go through with it, you know."
I just stare back at him, trying to make sense of his words. I don't know what to say, or ask, or how to talk to him about my father. Instead I ask him, "that was your idea, wasn't it? The fake pin?"
"You think they'd trust the word of a drunk?" He waves the bottle in his hand as if for emphasis.
"After everything you've done for them?" It's a joke, but it's not, since I don't truly know what he's done. Most of District 12 just thought of him as a drunk. I don't know how much he actually did for the rebellion. I could never ask him. He must have been in on what happened during the Quell, though. I know more about Haymitch's games than most - his too-clever strategies, his refusal to play by Capitol rules, his guilt over my aunt Maysilee's death.
He snorts. "They don't know what to do with me. Now they can't trap me in 13 and interfere with me drinking." I wish I could tell him he's payed his debt. I wish it would make a difference. He clears his throat with a series of phlegmatic coughs. "Alright, I'll have Plutarch set it straight, this record business," he says gruffly. "You can change your name back if you want. Might be easier as an Amelin. It's up to you, sweetheart."
He turns and pushes the door open. I don't even register his words; I am caught up in the surprise of seeing him, and the suddenness with which he is leaving. Then he fumbles in a pocket and tosses something shiny toward me. It clatters across the table. The mockingjay pin. The real one. "I reckon this is yours," he mutters.
"What will you do now?" I ask him. For the first time in his life he's really free - all of us are.
Before he answers, the district official returns. "Miss Undersee, if you'll come with me?"
I look at Haymitch. His look softens. "They'd approve. You're gonna be fine here." He's not saying outright that I'll never see him again, but I wonder, if he stays in 12 and I am here, if I will.
"Haymitch ...," I look for the right words. He feels like the closest thing to family - real family - that I have. He's always been drunk and miserable, but we won. We beat the Capitol - I just don't want him to be sad anymore. "You don't have to be lonely," I tell him.
He cackles. "Alone ain't always lonely, girl."
He's been alone so long, he should know, but I am not sure I believe him. "Well ... you could always breed rabbits, or get a pet or something," I say.
He rolls his eyes at me and is out the door. The official directs us out, down a different hallway, and back to the entrance of the offices. When he says goodbye, I think we see the first genuine smile he's given me. "It'll take some time," he warns me, "but it looks like the records will get straightened out, Miss Undersee. What Mister Abernathy said is true - you will be allowed to choose the name you are listed under. Still, we ask you don't bother Mrs. Everdeen. We'll let her know you're here, and give her the choice to be in touch."
I thank him, and then he walks back into the offices, leaving Bear and I alone again. I'm still reeling, repeating everything Haymitch said in my mind, wishing I'd been able to really talk with him. Bear nudges me with his elbow. He stops me, takes the pin from my hand, and fastens it to my shirt. "Lookit you, Miss Undersee. How's it feel?"
A smile spreads across my face. "Are you sure I'm not still dreaming?" I ask, wiping away tears that have gathered in my eyes. "It doesn't feel real." I look down at the glint of gold pinned to my shirt and shake my head.
"It was pretty intense," Bear agrees. As we walk out of the building he comments, "so ... that guy. He's ... Interesting."
"Haymitch?" I answer.
Bear looks at me questioningly. "What's wrong with him?"
I balk a little before shaking my head, a sad smile on my lips. "That's just how he is. I wish we'd had more time," I sigh. I try to remember what he said, parse out his meanings - what he thinks of me, my father, Katniss, and the others, as if it will fill in so many gaps."
Bear answers, "it sounded like he knows everything about what really happened when we were trying to piece things together from the broadcasts." It grates on me that Bear sees Haymitch merely as a source of insider information, even though I couldn't argue how my own desires are any different. But I care about what happens with Haymitch ... and I know he cares about me, if only because of my family. It may not be truly different, just more personal ... but isn't that difference enough? Bear prods me a bit, but after a few taciturn responses from me we lapse into silence.
We go home together for lunch. On our walk back, I can tell Bear wants to talk more about the morning. He probably wants to know what I think about Haymitch's too-brief comments about Peeta and Katniss. Which name I'll use. At least he's not pressing the issue. I know we'll talk about it, but right now I'm too exhausted to think clearly. I should just be happy about the records, I tell myself.
I push it all out of my mind, hoping that it will be easier to talk about once I've sorted it out. As we reheat fish stew for lunch, Bear asks if I'm okay, and rubs the back of my neck as I slice stale bread for out meal. It pulls some of the tension out of me, reminding me of exactly what Haymitch said - how much I have built a new life here, with Bear and the others. As Bear and I scoop the stew into bowls, I am grateful for it all. It's hard to let go of the past, but I finally know that I get to move forward here, just like I wanted.
Even though it's an unusual day for both of us, the little routines are the same - moving around each other in the kitchen, soaking up broth with stale bread, sitting so close on the couch that we are touching. Bear and I have the place to ourselves for now. Mick is helping Naiya and Rose at the distribution center today. Johnny is in a physical therapy group with other soldiers.
After lunch, we agree on a nap. We're both tired, but curling into him on the bed we share brings the emotions of the day back to mind. "Thanks for coming with me," I say quietly, tilting my head back toward him.
There's a subtle movement in his body - I think a shrug. "I didn't do anything," he answers, his face near my ear.
I push up onto an elbow so that I can give him a look, one that says you've got to be kidding me. "That's not true!" I answer. I bend down and we kiss, briefly. Then I prop myself back up to look at him, feeling restless. I can't stop the thoughts in my head. After a moment I say, "I can't believe Peeta really tried to strangle Katniss."
"Maybe he made it up," Bear suggests, pulling me down so that we are laying parallel on the bed, facing each other.
"No way," I answer. "Haymitch wouldn't make that up. It must be true, it's just ... so hard to imagine that Snow could have turned Peeta against her."
Bear admits, "I don't know. But if it did happen, I'm not surprised the rebels hid it. To most of us theyr'e just figures in the rebellion. I still forget sometimes they were your friends." He shifts so he is closer to me, then rubs my back with one hand and kisses me. It's nice being here with him, in the quiet of the apartment. I know that eventually, we will talk through the meeting in a level of detail that is probably unhealthy. I let it go. Our kisses match the afternoon, slow and lazy after such a tempestuous morning. And after awhile, I fall asleep in his arms.
A/N: Whew. The beginning of February has not been what I expected, and has kept me quite busy. Sorry this update took as long as it did - thanks for your patience. :) What do you think?