A/N: Yet again, I must remind you guys of just how awesome you are. Seriously. You're really starting to freak me out. Too much awesomeness. My brain simply CANNOT process the awesomeness . . .
And I really don't have much to babble today . . . weird . . .
Today's movie quote comes from Lord of the Rings.
Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?"; "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"
Chapter 7
Peeta and I only linger in the library for a second or two more, knowing that my mother is probably beyond worried judging by the looks that she was giving me. "We have to tell Haymitch when we get the chance," Peeta whispers to me as he opens the door.
The idea doesn't sit well with me, but what other choice do we have? I can only think to tell two other people aside from Haymitch and neither of the two are a good idea. Cinna, of course, would be reliable and trustworthy, no doubt providing a few good words of advice along the way, but he's too close to the Capitol. If anyone thought that he knew anything about uprisings, it wouldn't be good for him. The only other person I would ever think to tell would be Gale, but he hasn't been on speaking terms with me and with the fury that he already holds against the Capitol, telling him about the uprisings might just give him the incentive to try and start one himself.
So that left Haymitch, our drunk, combative, confrontational mentor. Fantastic. Though, I tell myself, he did get both Peeta and I out of the Games. Maybe he's still up for keeping us alive.
Hopefully.
"Right," I murmur back to him just as my mother approaches us, looking as worried as ever.
"Is everything alright?" she asks. "I thought that with the president here . . ."
While I'm fumbling for an explanation, Peeta saves the day. "It's no big deal, Mrs. Everdeen. We never see it on camera, but he always stops by the Victor's house the day the Tour begins. Just to wish them luck," he lies smoothly. "Nothing to worry about." Peeta flashes his best charming grin, and my mother visibly sags in relief.
"Oh, good," she says, color beginning to return to her face. "I was worried."
"No need to be," I say. "Everything's fine." I look up at Peeta, a teasing smile playing at my lips. "But some heads are going to roll if Portia and your prep team show up and you're not there."
"Or worse, Effie," Peeta grins. "You know how she is with schedules." He glances at the clock on the wall and sighs. "You're about to kick me out, aren't you?"
"Only for your own good," I reply as I begin to lead him toward the door, ignoring how he is taking abnormally small steps. Honestly, Peeta is just as bad as Rye sometimes.
"But I would much rather stay here with you," he practically whines.
"I need to take a bath."
"More of a reason for me to stay."
"My mother is here!" I hiss as I slap his arm, unable to keep from glancing over my shoulder at my mother, who is watching us with narrowed eyes. I really hope she didn't hear that . . .
We step out onto the front porch and shut the door behind us. Immediately, I turn to him. "I can't believe you said that," I scold, and Peeta just chuckles.
"You seriously think that your mother is completely oblivious?" he asks amused. "Come on, Katniss. See things from her perspective. We had no qualms about making out, quite passionately I might add, on live television." Peeta eyes glitter with michief as he continues, "Imagine what we might do without cameras."
I blush furiously, and Peeta wraps me in his arms with a big smile. "Hey, just think, she hasn't banned you from coming over to my house."
"Like I'd listen if she did," I say rebelliously and Peeta kisses my temple.
"Good to know," he says softly. "I better go, though."
He pulls away from me and glances around. The snow is falling heavily now, creating a swirl of white everywhere. "I thought you were going," I say, fighting a shiver when the wind blows, the icy air stinging my skin.
Peeta looks back at me, a serious, weighted look in his eye. I know that he's replaying President Snow's visit. Even Peeta, as naturally upbeat and cheerful as he is, cannot distract himself from the impending danger that is hanging over our heads for long. Common sense and self-preservation won't allow it. "I don't want to leave you," he admits, his eyes glancing around again, as if searching for hidden Capitol men that are waiting to snatch me up when he's not looking.
I don't blame him. I'm feeling practically the same way. "I'll be fine," I assure him. "Now, go."
"One last thing," he says before pulling me to him and giving me the gentlest of kisses. These kisses always make my heart feel as though it's going to burst. These are the kisses that tell me he loves me without saying the words. No matter how passionate some of our other kisses are, these gentle, simple kisses will always be my favorite.
Gah, when did I get so mushy? I think wryly. The answer comes to me quickly. Two words that explain it all, this odd, drastic change in me: Peeta Mellark.
"Okay," Peeta breathes when he pulls away, his hands still cradling my face. "That will tide me over for the next few hours."
I laugh a little. "Go," I order and he caresses my cheek tenderly before turning and trekking back toward his house.
My eyes follow him until his front door shuts behind him. Once he's out of sight, I quickly retreat back into the warmth of my own house. Maya is right in the entryway, waiting for me no doubt, and wondering why she wasn't outside with me. I take my coat off and hang it in the closet before easing down in front of her, my fingers threading through her thick, winter coat.
"I hate that you're not coming with me," I say regretfully. For a brief moment, I entertain the thought of actually taking her with me on the Victory Tour, if the Capitol even allowed it in the first place. I would certainly like her company, knowing that she had my back. And, as irrational as it is, it calms me knowing that she's sleeping at the foot of the bed at night, like she could physically fight off the nightmares that might come charging through the door.
Maya seems to understand me because she cocks her head to the side, studying me. "You'll just have to stay here until I get back. Protect Prim while I'm gone."
"There you are!" My mother hurries to me. "Your prep team and everyone else will be here soon. I've already drawn you a bath, but you need to get to it before the water gets cool."
"Thanks," I say with a small smile. I look back at Maya. "You need to get out of here," I tell her as I lead her to the back door. "It's not a good idea for the Capitol to know about you."
I open the door to the backyard, knowing that there is a shortcut to the woods from this point. "Go hunt," I say and Maya looks up at me before trotting out the door. In the falling snow, she's practically invisible.
Now that she's taken care of, I hurry up the stairs and quickly undress, hopping into the bath. The warm water soothes my still-chilled skin, and I sigh. I'm able to lie in the tub and soak for about a minute before my mind is assaulted by the events of the day. Waking up this morning with Peeta seems so far away. The meeting with President Snow replays over and over in my mind as I wash on autopilot.
Even though I survived the danger of the arena, the danger that I face now seems twice as perilous. Because this time, it isn't just me and Peeta that I'm trying to keep alive. It's Prim. My mother. Gale. Hazelle and the kids. And then there is Peeta's family, too.
If Peeta and I failed, if we didn't stop the uprisings, they would suffer for it.
I'm just able to finish bathing and put on a bathrobe before my prep team storms into my bedroom and engulfs me in huge hugs. They all seem to hover around me, surveying me, and it's not half a second before they start wailing.
"Oh, Katniss, what have you done to your eyebrows?" Venia shrieks.
"And these nails!" Octavia laments, and I can't really blame her. My nail-biting habit really is counterproductive to her efforts.
Flavius, his orange ringlets and purple lipstick as bright as ever, is running his hands through my wet hair. "Have you cut your hair?" he asks. "We told you to leave it alone."
"No!" I say, finding a little hint of pride that I managed to console them a little. "It's just been in my normal braid."
"Oh, good," Flavius says before clapping his hands together. "Let's get to work!"
The next few hours are their own form of torture. Venia goes to work on my eyebrows, plucking them to perfection, as Octavia buffs my nails back into shape. I notice that Venia's gold tattoos not only border her eyebrows, but now extend to the corner of her eye. Octavia has dyed her skin again, going from a pea green to a lighter, more spring-like shade. No doubt both changes were an attempt to keep up with the ever-changing fashion trends.
Flavius is rubbing some type of goo into my hair as Venia and Octavia work, all three of them prattling nonstop. They go on and on about my and Peeta's Games and how everyone loves us and can't wait to see us again at the end of the Tour. Next topic of conversation is all the gossip. Who said what. Who had an affair with who. Who had the audacity to wear whatever fashion style that was so last season.
And then they get to the Quarter Quell.
"Isn't it exciting?"
"Your first year of mentoring, and it's a Quell!"
"You can bet Haymitch better prepare for a lot of attention!"
You see, every twenty-five years there is a Quarter Quell. It marks the anniversary of the districts' defeat by the Capitol. And just to flaunt their control and watch all of Panem squirm, each Quarter Quell has a miserable twist. For example, during the Fiftieth Hunger Games, the Second Quarter Quell, the twist was that twice the amount of tributes were reaped. An arena of forty-eight tributes.
The Victor of those Games was Haymitch Abernathy, my mentor.
I've never seen Haymitch's Games, and I really don't want to. Whatever nightmares he lives with are his own, and I don't need any more images of death in my brain. Who knows what kind of new terrors it could create. In a way, it's a good thing that Peeta and I are mentoring this year because Haymitch is sure to be passed out drunk the entire time.
Venia approaches me with the dreaded wax materials, and I glare at her. Seeing my look, she clucks her tongue at me. "I'm sorry, Katniss, but you've really let yourself go," she says as she preps my legs to be waxed.
"It's winter!" I protest as she rips off the first strip. "No one is going to see!" I hiss.
"Not in District 11," Venia tells me as she rips off another strip. "It's nice and sunny and warm there."
I resign myself to my fate and grit my teeth as she rips out all of my body hair, only leaving alone my eyebrows and my head. When it's finally over and my skin is stinging, I'm just about ready to bolt. Forget prepping. All that seems important to me is to convince the districts that my act with the berries was purely out of love, which, of course, it was. The fact that they're seeing it as a form of rebellion is not my problem.
And yet it is, because President Snow has made it so.
Once Venia soothes my skin with a special oil, she wraps me up in a bathrobe. Just as they're sitting me in the chair, my mother comes in shyly. "Cinna asked me to show you Katniss's braid she wore at the reaping," she says softly, slightly nervous, as if she expects a rebuff.
She couldn't have been further from the truth. My prep team is absolutely thrilled to learn the elaborate braid and all but drag my mother to stand behind me. They watch, thoroughly engrossed, as my mom puts up my hair. Eagerness shines in their eyes as she lets each of them try a step of the braid. My prep team may get on my nerves with their Capitol raving, but they're good people. They simply don't know any different. Kind of like children.
After my hair is done, my mother and my prep team leave. I barely have a minute to myself before Cinna strides into my room, but I can't help but smile. "Cinna," I say as I give him a big hug. I notice the garment bag hanging over his arm. "What do you got for me?"
"Why don't you see?" Cinna asks, his voice slightly indulgent.
My smile widens as I see the outfit. Black pants made of a soft, warm material, a comfy white shirt to be worn under a green sweater that is as soft as a kitten. I look up at Cinna. "Did I design these?" I ask, a smirk playing at my lips. "Because it looks like I show a lot of promise."
Cinna scoffs good-naturedly. "Get dressed, you worthless thing."
As I change, I ask him, "Aren't I showcasing my designs before we leave?"
"Yes," Cinna answers, taking some cards out of his pocket. "You'll read these off-camera as they film the clothes. They're all laid out downstairs."
"Oh, great," I say, glad that I don't have to be in front of the camera.
"Just sound like you care," Cinna teases just as Effie comes in. She kisses me on both cheeks as a greeting, before she begins to ramble nonstop.
"We have a schedule!" she admonishes, like we've already dawdled long enough. "Katniss, dear, it's so good to see you, but we've got to get you downstairs!"
Cinna hands me the cue cards and I quickly look over them so I don't fumble any of the words. Effie leads us downstairs and I glance around at the multitude of clothes on display, clothes that I supposedly designed. I glance back at Cinna, "I must have been inspired," I say and Cinna grins at me.
"Yes, you aspire to outdo me, your fashion hero," he replies with a smile and I laugh.
Cinna is so easy-going and calm. The urge to tell him of President Snow's visit is almost overwhelming. He's always given such good advice and he's so easy to talk to, but I keep my mouth shut. I can't burden Cinna with my secret. Haymitch is the one who needs to be told, just as Peeta and I agreed earlier.
The camera crew films the clothes, and I read the words on the cards in as upbeat a voice as I can without sounding fake. Once it's over, I look to Cinna who gives me a smile, telling me that I did a good job, and just as I open my mouth to say something, Effie swoops in, talking about the schedule as she leads me to the door, clapping her hands. "Attention, everyone! We're about to do the first outdoor shot, where the victors greet each other at the beginning of their marvelous trip. All right, Katniss, big smile, you're very excited, right?" she says as Cinna helps me with my coat, which is furry on the outside and the inside, though I don't recognize the animal.
Cinna fixes my mockingjay pin to my scarf and then puts a pair of earmuffs over my ears. I frown, not liking the fact that my hearing is lessened. Even if the Capitol fixed my deafened left ear after the Games, I still don't trust it completely, and check it occasionally, making sure that it's still transmitting sounds.
"Come on, Katniss," Effie urges, sounding rushed. "We have a schedule to keep! Don't you want to see Peeta?"
I'm not exaggerating when I say that the moment Cinna declares me presentable, Effie shoves me out the door. It's still snowing heavily, and it takes me a moment to see through the swirling whiteness. Then I see Peeta coming through his front door, and I smile, though it threatens to falter when I remember President Snow's threat.
Convince me.
This is what prompts me to dash down the steps of my front porch and run toward Peeta like I can't stand the distance between us any longer. I fling myself into his arms, and send us tumbling into the snow. Peeta makes sure that he hits the ground first, and I land right on top of him, my hands bracing themselves on his chest.
It's not a second later before we're kissing, and immediately I feel reassured by the steadiness that Peeta brings into my life. For a moment it's just me and Peeta, forget the cameras that are filming us. But the second we pull away, it's almost like I can feel President Snow watching us, and saying, "Not good enough."
Peeta must see the worry in my eyes, "It'll be alright," he whispers so that the microphone won't pick him up. He claims my lips again for a brief second before saying, "Is this how you're greeting me, now?" he teases, his voice at a normal level. "Tackling me to the ground?"
"With a kiss," I add with a wide grin as I hop to my feet, taking his hand and pulling him up with me. "That's got to count for something, right?" I give him a quick peck as I thread my arm through his, leaning into him as we walk to the train station.
I'm never this clingy, but we're going to have to be as lovey-dovey as possible to convince everyone that we're so crazy in love that starting the spark of a rebellion wasn't our intention when I pulled out those berries.
We bid everyone goodbye at the train station and once the doors close, we're led to the dining car where an exquisite Capitol meal is laid out. I hardly notice what I'm eating. All I can think about is President Snow's threat and the seemingly impossible task that he has given me and Peeta.
It seems like hardly anytime at all before night falls and I've changed from my day clothes into a thick, plush bathrobe. Peeta is stretched out on my bed, his fingers linked together behind his head. He's changed into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt. I climb onto the bed and lean my back against the headboard. Peeta glances up at me, "You okay?"
"No."
"What's wrong?"
I give him a look, one that says, 'you're kidding me, right?' Peeta sighs before shifting so that he's propped up on his elbow. "You've got to relax," he tells me and I look at him incredulously.
"How am I supposed to relax, Peeta?" I whisper heatedly. I know that I can't say much on the train because who knows if it's bugged? So I've got to be careful with my words. "With everything that's going on?" I continue ambiguously. "It's just a little stressful."
"It'll be alright," he says and I wonder if he really believes it or if he keeps repeating it so eventually he will. Seeing that I still look unconvinced, he reaches up and wraps an arm around my waist before pulling me down to him so that I'm lying beside him. My eyes immediately meet his, and I'm transfixed. "We can't win a battle if we already think we've lost."
"Do you really think that we can win?" I ask quietly, and Peeta stops trying to reassure me, letting his tiredness and fear show, but there's still a silent determination shining in his eyes.
"I think we have to try," he says, knowing better than to placate me and give me the answer I want, which is 'yes' he thinks that we can miraculously convince the districts that we never meant our action with the berries to be seen as a form of rebellion. "And then we just have to see what happens."
I sigh, scooting closer to him so that there is hardly an inch of space between us. "I hate this," I say so softly that Peeta probably has to strain to hear me. "I hate him." President Snow. I don't even know if hate is a strong enough word. It's one thing to threaten me. It's another to threaten those I love, those I protect.
And I hate how absolutely helpless I feel. I hate how I'm being controlled, used by the Capitol, by Snow. I hate how I'm constantly reminded of the Capitol's power, how they oppress the districts. If everything weren't so dire, if the lives of those I loved weren't at risk, I might honestly tell Snow to go to hell and start my own uprising.
"I know," Peeta whispers, his lips at my ear.
He gently eases me onto my back so he's hovering over me, and he begins a slow trail of sensual kisses along my neck. My eyes close involuntarily. Sometimes I still can't believe how far we've come in the physical side of our relationship. I still remember the days when he wasn't so confident, always hesitant, never wanting to upset me by going too far. The days when there were nervous, embarrassed laughs as we fumbled through things.
The memory of Peeta's first attempt to remove my bra will never fail to make me laugh.
Even now, I can't help but smile as his lips finally meet mine. "Is this your attempt at getting me to relax?" I ask.
"It is my intention," he replies with a smile. "Is it working?"
"Getting there," I admit as he unties my robe.
Peeta sees what I'm wearing, and grins. "I've been looking for that shirt."
I may not be the most romantic girl out there, but even I am not immune to the allure of stealing my boyfriend's shirts. Even if I don't really like the term 'boyfriend.' There's just something about that title that seems inadequate when you and your 'boyfriend' survived the Hunger Games. I think I'll always see him as my partner, in every sense of the word.
"Well here it is," I say with a shrug. "You can always take it back."
A playful light enters Peeta's eye. "What if I want it back now?"
I reach up and kiss him teasingly, tracing his bottom lip with my tongue. "But then what will I wear?" I ask with a sly smile.
"Ideally?" Peeta grins as his hand glides up my thigh. "Nothing."
I can't help but laugh. "You know, I'm feeling pretty relaxed," I admit, still surprised by the effect this boy has on me.
Peeta pretends to pout. "But I wasn't done yet. I had a plan."
"What did the plan involve?" I raise my eyebrows in question as I slide my hands up his chest and along his shoulders before my fingers begin to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
Different sides of our personalities that no one else really gets to see tend to come out when Peeta and I are in the bedroom. I surprised us both by being rather playful, an adjective I would never have associated myself with. Peeta is more of himself, just a little bit more dominant, or maybe assertive is a better word. It worried him a little at first until I told him that I truly didn't mind. In fact, I found a dominant, more assertive Peeta extremely attractive.
"Well . . ." Peeta says slowly. "I've had this fantasy since I was fourteen about you and me in the shower that has yet to play out in real life."
I laugh. "And I suppose the goal would be getting clean?"
"Of course," Peeta grins as he kisses me. "I plan to clean every inch of you, especially those hard to reach places, very thoroughly."
Another bout of laughter escapes me. "Exactly how many fantasies do you have?"
Peeta gets this serious look on his face, like he's doing the math in his head. "Can we just say a lot? I've had years to come up with them."
The train suddenly begins to slow, and I look at Peeta, seriousness quickly overcoming the levity in the air. The train is stopping for fuel, which gives Peeta and I just enough time to talk to Haymitch.
Without saying a word, both of us get out of bed. I retie by bathrobe and slide my feet into a pair of slippers as Peeta quickly ties his shoes and shrugs on a jacket. When we step out into the hallway, the train is quiet and there's no one in sight. Together we go Haymitch's compartment and Peeta doesn't hesitate to knock. We both know that even though it's the middle of the night, Haymitch won't be asleep. He won't sleep in the dark.
It takes a few seconds of knocking before a grumbling Haymitch yanks open the door. He glares at us both, and the smell of wine wafts into the hallway. "What do you want?" he snaps.
"We need to talk," I whisper.
"Now?" I nod. "Well, this better be good," he says, and then waits for either Peeta or I to say something.
"It's a little stuffy in here," Peeta hints, telling Haymitch that we don't want the Capitol bugs to hear.
Haymitch's eyes narrow in understanding. "I know just what you two need," he says before stepping out into the hallway, barging past us. He leads us to a door that he swings open and then trips out onto the ground, swaying slightly. A Capitol attendant hustles to help him, but he waves her away good-naturedly.
Peeta takes the cue. "We'll get him," he assures the attendant.
"He's just drunk," I say ruefully. "Little fresh air will do him good."
The attendant nods, leaving us, and Peeta jumps out onto the ground before turning back to me. I quickly follow, though I cringe slightly when my slipper-covered feet sink into the snow, quickly becoming soaked, but I ignore it and walk over to Haymitch.
Once we're a little distance away from the train, he spins to face us. "What?"
Peeta and I take turns telling him everything, all about President Snow's visit. The uprisings, the threats if we fail—everything.
"Then you can't fail," Haymitch says simply at the end of our explanation and I huff at the practically useless advice. I don't know what exactly I was hoping for by talking with Haymitch, but I didn't think he'd tell me something I already knew that was blaringly obvious.
"You've got to help us get through this trip," I say angrily. "You got us out of the arena, but does it all end there? Are you just going to leave us on our own?"
"Listen, sweetheart," Haymitch snaps. "Even if you two pull it off, they'll be back in another few months to take us all to the Games. You and Peeta, you'll be mentors now, every year from here on out. And every year they'll revisit the romance and broadcast the details of your private life, and you'll never, ever be able to do anything but live happily ever after." He glances between the two of us. "Now, I'm not saying that that will really be a trial for you lovebirds, the love part at least, but you're never escaping the Capitol. Your only shot to get them to lighten up is to show them that you two are serious, that your time in the arena wasn't a hormone collision because you both thought you were going to die. You've got to show you're committed."
I glance up at Peeta, the weight of what Haymitch is saying hitting me. Commitment. The ultimate commitment.
"You're saying we have to get married," I breathe, and Haymitch shrugs.
"What?" he questions. "It's not like it wasn't going to happen eventually." He suddenly looks between the two of us. "Right?"
"Well . . . I . . . it . . ." I stammer, unable to string together my thoughts that are flying a mile a minute through my brain.
"It was a long way down the road," Peeta says, glancing down at me worriedly.
This isn't right. I shouldn't be forced into something like this. It's not as if the idea of marrying Peeta is abhorrent to me, though it is slightly terrifying. No, the abhorrent part is the fact that the choice is being taken away from me. The Capitol is controlling my life. Controlling everything that I do, and I have no choice but to comply if I want to keep those that I love safe.
"It's not fair," I say. "It's just . . . it's just not!"
"Life isn't fair, sweetheart," Haymitch shrugs, and the casual action, as if this is no big deal, infuriates me, and I can't stand to be near him for another second.
"I'm going," I say definitively, turning on my heel, but I feel a hand grab my arm.
The action was gentle, so I know it's Peeta, but I still shrug him off. "Leave me alone, Peeta," I snap before he can say anything, and continue to stomp back toward the train.
I march back to my room and shut the door with more force than was necessary before locking it, even though I know it won't deter Peeta if he wants to talk to me. He'll just pick the lock.
I really hope he doesn't.
Because right now, he's the last person I want to see.
Yeah . . . Katniss is being stubborn again. I know, I know . . . SHOCKER.
But you've got to admit, she does have a right to be fairly pissed. Because while in the original, she just didn't want to marry Peeta, in my version it was in her future (however distant and scary) but at least it was her choice. Now, that choice is being made for her, and we all know that Katniss doesn't take too kindly to that.
And poor Peeta. He's stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Anyhoo, next chapter is a lot of fun, especially the beginning. It's a serious, dramatic chapter, but with a few lighthearted moments to ease the darkness a little bit. It's a lot of fun. :)
Quote, quote, quote, I must give you a quote . . . hmm . . . Katniss has a good line . . .
"You killed him!"
Lots of love,
AC
