As promised, a somewhat-regular update!
x
For tonight's trip to the Seam I remember to wear my coat. It's getting dark early, now that winter is fully upon us, so when I slip out the back door of my house in Victor Village at quarter to seven, it's almost pitch black. I doubt any of the Capitol's ludicrous hidden cameras will be able to capture anything in this light, but just in case, I don't go directly to the Seam, nor directly to the meeting spot once I get to that part of 12. Instead, I weave my way through the frozen, dirt-packed lanes until I've done enough zigzagging to lose any tracker who hasn't grown up in the Seam like I have, who wouldn't know its secret passageways and shortcuts like I do. The only precaution I can't take is entering the old Abernathy house through any other door than the front; in old Seam houses like this, the only other entrance or exit is the root cellar or a window.
I ease the door open just enough for me to slip inside, then ease the thing shut behind me with extreme care. We've been using this house a lot for rendezvous, so I'm desperately hoping it's still as secure as Haymitch seems to think.
After the door is shut, I'm plunged into a whole new level of darkness, this time without a clear mental map of my surroundings. At once I'm put on edge by the whole thing. I just wanted Haymitch to be here waiting for me, to wrap me up in a kiss and tell me everything will be all right... but I shake my head to clear out the ludicrous idea. We're entering into a war, a mind game with the Capitol. Of course everything is not going to be all right.
I shiver, then step forward into the darkness, my hands slowly rising to feel out the empty space in front of me. My breathing sounds as if it's been amplified, and is harsh to my ears. It's almost impossible to tell if someone else is in the house, even though they should have heard me come in. Then, interrupting my breathing, I hear a creeeaaaakkk. I hold still. It sounded like it was coming from above me... The attic?
"Sweetheart." It's Haymitch, spitting out my name in an urgent whisper. There's a shuffling noise from above, then a louder creaking sound... And then a set of ascending stairs extends down from the ceiling, lighted from a dim glow of orange light from the attic where they lead.
I take the stairs gingerly at first, in case they were waiting to fall apart beneath my feet. Finding them sturdy enough - and still standing after Haymitch had used them - I bound up the last few and enter the attic. Haymitch is kneeling, waiting for me to move so he can pull the stairs back up. A single candle is lit on an old table, illuminating just enough of the space to make out a somewhat sizable room, with the noticeable absence of dark objects in the corners... no furniture.
"Isn't this romantic," I deadpan as Haymitch straightens, brushing off his knees. Romantic is something neither of us ever tries to be, especially when we've got the Capitol on our minds. I almost want to laugh at my own joke. Clearly Haymitch has lit a candle because it's the most light we can allow ourselves, and it will draw the least attention to our location. We're in the attic because there are no windows to show the light, or our presence. Besides, romance in an abandoned house making plans to defy the Capitol? Yeah right.
Haymitch's eyebrows give a jump in response before he pulls me to him and kisses me hard. Suddenly I'm rethinking my consideration of Haymitch's motives and the significance of the single candle. One of his hands wraps around the nape of my neck while the other pulls me close to him.
Well, I guess romance isn't the worst. I reach up and entangle him in my arms while he continues kissing me. He inhales audibly through his nose, not breaking the kiss except to rearrange his position on my mouth.
When he does pull away, his hand still cradles my neck, and the intensity of his gaze keeps my eyes locked on his. "You don't know how many times I've wanted to do that in front of every camera we've been filming with."
"But we can't," I answer robotically, repeating the conclusion we'd all come to as a group in the face of my "growing closeness" with Haymitch. "Sometimes I just wanna say fuck it," I grumble.
"Mmm," Haymitch responds, leaning in to me to press a peck to my lips. "The fire. That's what I've been missing." I don't let him pull away just yet, but hold his face to mine and kiss him again. Damn it's nice to feel him close like this again. Like everything else doesn't matter, like it's just the two of us. Like before.
But it's not just the two of us. Not anymore. Maybe it never was.
Maybe Haymitch can feel my kiss becoming bittersweet, because he lifts his lips from mine, giving me a slightly appraising look as he does.
I hold his gaze again, my expression apparently conveying my thoughts, as Haymitch sighs and says, "Fine, let's talk about it."
Now that the kissing's ended I admit that I'm a little sad about the conclusion of the romance.
"First." He claps his hands together, steepling his fingers before bringing them to the tightened line of his lips. "Cameras," he says. "They're everywhere. They were installed in all of the houses in Victor Village as they were built, and while I've done all I can to disable mine, yours are probably doing just fine."
I've heard all if this before, so I break in. "I know, you already mentioned..."
"Those are not the only places they'll be," he continues, disregarding me and beginning to pace. He throws out his fingers, numbering places as he ticks them off verbally, "The edge of your forest, the streets of the Seam, Victor Circle, store fronts in town. They've infiltrated all of Twelve, and it matters now more than ever."
"Clearly." I agree, wanting him to get to the point. "That's why we're here."
"Yes, but," his eyes are glimmering with something, "what this means is that we may not be able to cover anything up that's happened in the past."
"Anything that's happened in..." Oh. Anything, between any of us in all of Twelve that has happened at any place and time. Those things between Haymitch and I in his house, from before anyone else came around, may or may not be on camera. Those things I said to Peeta in his bakery - they're on camera. My hunting in the woods illegally with Gale - on camera. Cameras that the Capitol has control of. I'm sure my eyes are dilated and betraying me when I turn my gaze back to Haymitch.
"Before the camera crews even came?" I press him. "Or the day they came?" I can't stop picturing myself and Haymitch shirtless on his bed, his body covering mine, his mouth…
On camera.
"And that was only the first thing you wanted to talk about." I almost snort in disbelief. "Do I even want to ask what else?"
Haymitch cocks his head at me in frustration. "If their cameras were filming - which is a big maybe - I want you to be prepared for it."
"And what if I'm not?!" I retort. "I didn't even want my mother and sister to be filmed for my Victor's showcase, so how do you think I feel about secret film being taken of them? Or of me, of the few moments I get to have a private life?"
"There is no such thing as a 'private life' after you're a Victor, sweetheart..."
"...And shown to all of Panem?" I plow on. "No, no thank you!"
"Katniss, you don't have a choice. This is the Capitol we're dealing with. Even if it doesn't further their cause, but it still hurts you, they'll use it. That's the way they-"
"Oh so we don't have a choice, the Capitol is all-powerful, and yet we're assisting in an uprising. Yeah, that makes so much sense…"
"DAMN YOU, KATNISS, I'M TRYING TO BE REALISTIC!" Haymitch explodes. "YOU'RE THEIRS NOW. THEY WILL BREAK YOU. IT'S WHAT THEY DO!"
"Don't you think I know that?!" my voice raises in response. "Don't you think I can take one look at you and remember it all over again? Don't you think that the fear of harm coming to my family has been running my life since before the Games? I'm sick and tired of it! We keep insisting on playing by their rules but it's only getting us hurt! When are we going to start acting like the people in the other Districts, the ones starting a rebellion? When, Haymitch? We need to stop hiding, we need to let them know that we're done with their Capitol bullshit! All this filming, we're just acting for them! We're playing into who they want us to be! They want to see the "real Twelve" but they aren't seeing it, they can't - they can't rationalize what goes on here! Starving kids, families shattered by mine accidents, kids with their name in the Reapings forty times over… Why are we trying to cover it up, too? You came here to talk, so talk to me. What are we really doing here?"
Nearing the end of my rant, Haymitch shakes his head and begins walking toward the collapsible stairs, kicking them open.
"Haymitch!" I screech. It literally sounds like I'm screeching. Despairing, angry, screeching. It's my hurt, last-ditch effort to keep him here, to make him explain to me why we were meeting in a secret location, away from the cameras, if all he had to do was warn me about them. Couldn't he do that in a note, like the one he'd already given me? Which reminds me. "What were you watching when I walked in on you this afternoon?" I had to ask before he left; it had been eating at me since our last run-in, and along with the turn of our conversation I couldn't leave both feelings unresolved.
He pauses on the stairs, turning his head towards me but not meeting my eyes as he slowly answers, "My Games."
I'm about to let him leave again because I'm practically rendered mute by his answer. I find my words just when his head is about to disappear down the stairs.
"Why?" I croak out. Watching your old Games. It had to be pure torture. Why in hell was he doing it?
He didn't turn back this time. "To remind me who the real enemy is."
o0oOo0o
Two houses over, Haymitch closes a front door behind him. Blowing into his hands to warm them, he lumbers down a set of earthy stairs - this is one of the rare Seam houses with a bit of a dugout basement.
"Got it," he says, shoving his hands in the juncture between his body and arms to continue warming them.
"Yes, yes you did," replies a tall, ginger-haired man leaning back in a chair positioned within the glow of three screens' worth of electronic light. "Bravo, Abernathy. Thrilling performance."
The sitting stranger reaches out his hand to a small black device attached to the screens by a cord, his touch starting a blurry, scratchy sound before Katniss's voice rings out in the small space. "We need to stop hiding, we need to let them know that we're done with their Capitol bullshit! All this filming, we're just acting for them! We're playing into who they want us to be! They want to see the "real Twelve" but they aren't seeing it, they can't - they can't rationalize what goes on here! Starving kids, families shattered by mine accidents, kids with their name in the Reapings forty times over… Why are we trying to cover it up, too?"
"Perfect."