Night Dogs

Her feet shuffled back suspiciously.

Pandora didn't respond right away, she couldn't form words.

Memories of the arena, death, and grief were blurring her reality. The realization of who Viktor Mironov was had propelled her into the past, to her bloody body on a gurney with a broken leg, fingers, and soul.

She blinked her eyes away, suddenly noticing that her nails were digging into her palms.

"Would you like some water?"

A strand of hair fell in front of her eyes. She was darkly peering at him now, inspecting him.

He had kind eyes but it didn't matter to Pandora. He was from the Capitol, which meant there was no way she would ever trust him.

"I'm not thirsty."

"Suit yourself," he took three limped strides to his desk and lowered his bag down with a thud, "I'm sorry I'm late, I was detained."

"You—You work in this place? Aren't you a doctor?"

Mironov's bushy eyebrows rose, his eyes glanced her way, "I am, but I'm also a scientist, you know. I split my time up between the infirmary and PSO. Believe it or not I prefer the sick people to this drafty place…just between you and me, it gives me the creeps."

Blood rushed to her brain, she could feel her heart pumping.

"I don't know why I'm here—but—I shouldn't be."

"Pandora?"

"Don't say that! You don't know me!"

Her gaze shifted to the door.

Mironov slightly tilted his head as he unfolded a pair of glass that had been resting in his lab coat. He cleared his throat as his fingers gingerly placed them on the bridge of his bulbous nose.

A smirk stretched his lips. He had noticed where she was looking.

"I suppose you could run," he gave his bad leg a loud thump, "It's not like I'd be able to catch you."

It wasn't until Mironov laughed that Pandora realized it was a joke. Her lips parted anxiously.

"What do you want with me?"

"Relax. No one's going to bite. Just take a seat."

"Do I have a choice?"

The cut in her words wasn't lost on the doctor. Pandora waited, expecting a snide laugh or maybe even a pointed remark, instead Mironov's smile dropped. He shook his head carefully, creasing his already wrinkled brow in confusion.

"Pandora—of course you have a choice. I'm not keeping you here against your will, whenever you feel like leaving, you leave."

The response stunned her. Whether it was a lie or truth, Pandora wasn't unable to tell. She clenched her jaw. Whoever this doctor was he was here for a purpose, he wanted something from her. No amount of politeness would make her forget that fact.

However, in spite of all of that, she dropped her eyes, "Alright—I guess I could sit."

The couch creaked as she slid onto the cushions and tensely looked around.

"All this rain is getting to my knee, I think…or maybe I'm just aging at a faster rate. I swear I was 30 just last year. But I guess at some point it becomes hard to keep track."

He was rambling casually and continuously, something that was throwing Pandora off. It seemed to be an attribute that was characteristic of him.

Over his talking she heard him fiddling with something on his desk. It wasn't until she forced herself to look his way that Pandora noticed what was in his hand.

He held a syringe up to the light and grabbed a few swabs.

A tremor of fear sent a heavy breath past her lips.

"What are you doing with that?"

Beams of the floor shook as he limped towards her, "First things first, you know. I figured we'd get the chores out of the way. Now, please take off your coat and roll your sleeve up."

"No—no, absolutely not."

He froze in confusion, "Excuse me?"

"You're not getting near me with that!"

"Afraid of needles?"

She twitched her eye from the syringe to Mironov's face, "I said no."

"Well what the devil do you think I'm going to do to you, anyways?!" It was almost humorous how he exclaimed the question.

She was trying to catch her breath. Her nerves were already on edge from her meeting with Snow and the photo shoot. Now, the Capitol wanted to stick her with needles like a pincushion

"What is that for?" She repeated, this time more calmly.

"A blood sample, I'm not performing a lobotomy or anything…at least not yet."

Her eyes widened in fear. This made the old doctor chuckle to himself.

"I'm kidding," a faint smile appeared on his face, "Don't worry. Just give me your arm before we both start gathering dust."

There was a second's hesitation before she pulled her coat off and rolled the sleeve of her dress up. Dr. Mironov waited patiently, smiling a little at the way her brown eyes cautiously glared at the needle.

"This will sting just for a moment," He rasped, inserting the needle with precision and care.

Her fingers twitched at the sharp pain. This wasn't the first time the Capitol had wanted her blood. She scanned the doctor's face as she recalled the night before the arena, when Adric had taken the sample.

"Why do you need my blood?" The question came out before she could stop herself.

The syringe started to fill up with a flash of crimson. His eyes didn't leave the syringe as he spoke: "For some data—just a health check-up really."

"You're lying."

He delicately pulled the needle out and grabbed a vile from his pocket.

"I am?" He replied as he began to siphon the blood into the small test tube.

"This isn't the first time I've had my blood taken—isn't once enough for a check-up? Not to mention I was checked by doctors a year ago when I was reaped for the Games."

"You've just traveled all over Panem, you've come into contact with all sorts of people. This is simply a precaution."

Her eyes narrowed. He wasn't going to say a thing, but she knew it was all lies. For some reason they were harvesting her blood. She winced at the image that popped into her brain. The thought of scientists analyzing and studying her, like a cadaver on a table or dusty old medical journal.

Dr. Mironov was taking extra care as he screw the top on the vile. He placed it into a plastic bag near his desk before he returned to the sitting area, this time lowering himself onto one of the chairs across from Pandora.

"Is that it, then?"

His eyes lifted to her face in surprise, "Is what it?"

"Can I leave? Are we done?"

"You're that hurried? Is it something I said?"

His blue eyes twinkled as his lips once again stretched into a smile…but Pandora didn't return it, her eyes and face remained withdrawn.

"You're trying to be funny."

"You don't like me, I see that."

"No," she agreed, "I don't like you."

Mironov crossed his legs, nodding in thought, "I hope it's not from any prejudices."

"What?"

"Well, it's just that you seem hostile, and I haven't done anything to you. Almost as If you're expecting me to do something."

"Spare me the pretense, Dr. Mironov."

"Viktor, just call me Viktor."

"Well, Viktor, you and I both know that you just need what you were assigned to get from me. Judging by your face I know it's not only my blood, though apparently that seems to be in high demand."

"What are you referring to?"

She pursed her lips. "I'm referring to the sample you took from me before the arena. You had Officer Pedersen take that. I'm sure you're also credited with the serum he gave me."

"Adric—such a nice young man."

Her brow furrowed, that wasn't what she was trying to get at.

"The kid's had a tough life, first his mother dies and now all the pressure with his father."

Pandora had no idea what Dr. Mironov was talking about but she didn't care, "Yes—I'm sure a Capitol elite has had a terrible terrible life."

He didn't seem shocked by her quick and sharp response, in fact he looked rather calm. Quietly he scratched at his small beard, "You seem angry."

"Insightful."

"Pandora, whatever you may think I am, I'm not."

"So you're not the person who is responsible for the death of all those children in the arena, all those children that died from that gas."

Suddenly an image of Petro's mangled body and Scorch's foaming mouth flashed through her mind.

"I did what I had to. If I hadn't, you wouldn't be here."

"And maybe the world would be a better place."

Dr. Mironov leaned back. Only a glimpse of strain could be seen in his eyes.

"You blame yourself?"

Her eyes peered away from the doctor, her head craned to the side with sudden agitation, "Do you think I'm that stupid? To blame myself?"

"I think you're that human."

She corner-eyed him. Her heart hurt suddenly.

"What do you want from me?"

He traced the edge of his jaw with a shrug, "I was just hoping we could talk."

"Talk? I thought you were a doctor."

"I'm many things."

"So you're a surgeon scientist who likes to yap?"

A smirk wrinkled his cheeks, showing the crow's feet around his eyes, "The President has asked me to look after you…to talk."

"Her face soured, "I don't need a psychiatrist."

"May I be honest with you, Pandora?"

She arched her eyebrow, "You can try, I suppose."

Again he smiled. "I would much rather be performing surgeries and doing my own research, but as it is I don't really have a choice. I've been asked to be your confidante, so as an obedient civil servant I am going to try."

"Why you?"

"I suppose the President thought because I saved your life and fixed you up that it was appropriate."

Pandora gritted her teeth, "I don't need to talk to anyone."

"You're missing your family?"

The impulsive question made her mouth go dry.

She turned her face away, rubbing her forehead harshly.

"What do you think?" She sarcastically growled.

Again, Mironov was unaffected by her quips. Sincerely he pulled his glassea off and tucked them back in the breast pocket of his coat.

"I've upset you?"

Bitter pride filled her. She narrowed her eyes, straightening her back as she glowered at him, "No, Viktor, you haven't."

"It's fine if I had. Maybe I shouldn't have asked, it's only that—well—you remind me of someone I once knew."

"Oh yea? And who is that?" she scoffed.

"Yes, my daughter…believe it or not."

Pandora's eyes shifted to him abruptly. He was staring at the ground as if in a trance.

"Not in temperament, of course…she was much sweeter than you are. But something about your physical appearance, something I can't quite put my finger on."

"Was?"

"Hm?"

"You said was."

"Oh—" a gruff sigh whispered from him, "Yes, well she died."

Shock softened her face.

"Of course, now we're getting side tracked, aren't we?"

"I'm sorry," she was surprised at her own words, "How did she—"

Mironov glanced from his hands to Pandora. Even when he was talking about such sadness his eyes looked lively and warm.

"Rebels. They murdered her and my wife."

"Why would they do that?"

"Wrong place, wrong time. I was traveling through District 3 with my family when the train was ambushed. Of course it's all…well it's not even in the records, you see, because we can't have that sort of business televised or documented. It would only lead to more unrest. It was quite a while ago though, feels like more than a lifetime."

Pandora had never thought of the rebels as murderers. The Capitol didn't broadcast the growing rebel fervor, mainly because it wasn't necessary. The rebels were a small group of people, not the entirety of a District. They worked mostly underground, traveling like mercenaries so the military would never catch them.

She chewed on the corner of her mouth, thinking over Mironov's story. She didn't know how to react to his words. Her head tilted away in reservation, but her eyes had relaxed.

"I know what it's like to miss your family," he continued, "Sometimes you wake up, not remembering they're gone, thinking that maybe it was all a horrible dream. But then reality sets in, you realize this is it, that they are gone."

Memories of her family started to surface like a film reel of images.

Her eyes hesitated to look into his.

"I don't think I can relate, my family isn't dead," the last word lingers on the tip of her tongue, churning her stomach.

"But it feels like that…doesn't it? As if the distance is just as bad as death itself."

"I haven't thought about it."

This was a lie, in fact it was all Pandora had been able to think about.

Knocks pummeled the door, suddenly interrupting the flow of the conversation. A split second past before a weasel-like scientist popped his head into the room.

"Dr. Mironov, we need you in the laboratory."

He barely glanced over his shoulder, "Right, of course, I'll be there soon."

The door quickly shut.

"Well, Pandora, I'll be seeing you."

He extended his hand to her. She stared at him briefly before shaking it.

"It was a pleasure," he added.

The longer she stared at him the more she noticed that he wasn't just looking at her. He was gazing, scanning her face.

"Yes, likewise, Dr. Mironov—"

"Ah! What did I say about that?"

"Sorry—Viktor."

Mironov gave her on final nod before limping towards the door.

He left with a sad smile on his face. Her guide showed up several minutes after to escort her out.

She was directed through the PSO the same way she had come in. This time her eyes didn't move around in curiosity, instead they were glued to the floor. Over and over she tried to make sense of her meeting with Dr. Mironov, but there were no rational reasons for it.

Rain poured from lead clouds as the car sped through the lamp-lined streets. The sun had set, night had once again captured the Capitol.

When the car came to a stop outside of the familiar glass tower she paused.

"Sir—sir?"

The driver jerked his head around. He had muddy eyes and sharp nose.

"Could you tell me something?"

"Depends on what that something is."

"The place I just came from—"

"PSO."

"Yes. What does PSO stand for?"

He sniffed loudly, adjusting the leather trimmed cap on his head, "That would be Panem Special Operations."

Her heart sank and her stomach tightened.

She walked through the lobby and into the elevator like a zombie.

When her hand pressed against the small panel just as Adric had shown her the night before, she felt like could collapse right there.

"Welcome home, Pandora Sullivan."

The locks and metal cranked and screeched.

As the door opened, the smell of sandlewood and steel wafted in her nostrils, the smell of her loft. She gave the wall of windows a brief and hateful glare when she passed them. Her hands slowly began pulling pieces of clothing off. By the time she reached her bedroom she was naked, save for Dash's bracelet and a tiny cotton swab on her arm from where Dr. Mironov had taken blood.

It was quiet in her glass tower.

Only the sound of rain tinged her ears.

The sheets were cold and smooth as she settled into the darkness of her bed and nestled her head against a pillow. Her fingertips caressed the taped cotton swab.

What was so special about her blood?

Why did it need to be tested?

Why was she taken to Panem Special Operations?

These questions and more buzzed in her brain, consuming her.

She tried to come up with solutions, to come up with rational explanations, but there were none to be found.

Tomorrow she would see Finnick. Goosebumps prickled her back and arms. She should have been more excited but shame distracted her, shame from the photo shoot. Shame from allowing herself to get into that situation. She didn't want to know what Finnick must think of her now.

Sleep slowly blanketed her and, though she tried to resist its seduction for fear of nightmares, her eyes gradually closed. Darkness followed. Restless sleep awaited her.

The next morning it felt like a ton of bricks had been resting on her chest all night.

Her eyes opened, harshly taking in the points and ridges of the bedroom. For a moment she clung to the sheet, not wanting to get up but then it hit her.

"Finnick," she whispered.

Instantly she threw the covers off and checked the clock near the bed. It wasn't that long before noon.

She showered and dressed as quickly as she could. Her eyes darted around the lobby, nervously twitching towards the desk. The concierge was nowhere to be found. This gave her some small relief.

"Where to Miss Sullivan?" the driver groggily whispered.

"The City Circle, please."

He peered at her in the mirror, "Are you sure? It might be busy."

"The City Circle," she repeated.

He mumbled something to himself before starting the engine. Within a few a seconds they were on their way.

She leaned closer to the window, mentally cataloguing the route the car was taking so that she could remember it for later. Whoever this man was driving her, he answered to someone, someone who no doubt told President Snow every move Pandora was making.

She sighed slowly, widened her eyes. Next time she would go on foot, she would remember this trail and go on foot.

It was a short drive to the City Circle. Her eyes rose to the sights and curves form by the beautiful architecture surrounding the keyhole-like square. They reached the edge of where the road curved before she spoke.

"Right here is fine."

She was scanning the vast stone and rock clearing when she stopped short. Her hand suddenly dropped. To the north, along the large façade of one of the buildings was a billboard so huge that it took up most of the tower. Her mouth tensed at the sight of the figures.

It was Finnick and Pandora, a photograph from the campaign pictures the day before.

Staring at it was like an out of body experience. In the picture she didn't look awkward or uncomfortable, actually it was quite the opposite. A fire lingered in her brown eyes. Near the edge of the billboard, in bold black letters, read the phrase By Land or Sea.

"Miss?"

She caught her breath, turning to the front again.

"Are you sure you should be going out there alone? You have one of the most recognizable faces in Panem right now."

"I'll be fine, I—" she peered back to the window. When she finally managed to drop her eyes from the billboard, she noticed that Finnick was already waiting in the middle of the roundabout, "I'll be fine, alright?"

"Huh, Alright…I guess," he mumbled with doubt.

Strands of hair blew over her face as she exited the car.

At first he was just a silhouette, but slowly his face and body became clearer. When she saw him, she hesitated, politely smiling as she dashed across the street.

"You're late."

She shook her head, "You're early."

Finnick was wearing a grey coat that looked out of place on him. Winter clothes never suited Finnick. His auburn hair stirred in the wind as he peered past her at the car.

"You have a driver?"

Pandora nervously brushed her hair behind one ear, "You don't?"

He grinned with a laugh, "The perks just keep getting better."

Instantly she dropped her eyes.

"I'm only kidding, Pandora."

"Yea, I know. You think you're funny."

"Think?"

A coy smile lit up her face, but still her eyes moved around the City Circle subconsciously. Anyone could pass by and see them, know who they were instantly.

"You look better now that you're not covered in glitter."

She looked back at him, "You look better now that you have clothes on."

His pearly teeth gleam with one of the biggest grins Pandora had ever seen, "C'mon I know where we can go."

She furrowed her brow as she felt Finnick grab her hand and pull. Her feet stumbled in place for a minute.

"What are you doing?!" She whispered.

"Hurry, before your driver sees."

She let him drag her further, turning back to see if the driver was looking. He wasn't, something was distracting him on the dash of the car. He was completely unaware that they were moving. Instincts told her that this wasn't smart, that somehow she would be punished for slipping away, even if it was for a few minutes. But then Finnick laughed and her attention shifted ahead of her. The laugh made her smile grow.

They had sprinted across the street and down an alley. At the mouth she could see that only a few paces away an opening waiting in between two tall hedges. Her feet stopped before they entered.

"What is this?"

"The Sculpture Gardens."

Her eyes danced around. The ground was cobblestone, only a few patches of grass poke through. All along the ways were various statues, sculptures, and fountain, some with plaque below them, and others remaining anonymous. A maze of hedges enclosed them. It felt like they were tucked away into some private sector of the Capitol, but beyond the hedges Pandora could still hear the pedestrians and traffic of the City Circle.

"A strange looking garden," she finally whispered.

Finnick silently took a seat while wrestling with the sleeves of his jacket. When she sat next to him a cool wind swept water from the overflowing fountains onto the ground.

Just over the hedges she could still see the campaign advertisement. Without realizing her eyes narrowed angrily.

"Are you okay?"

The question interrupted her thoughts. She lowered her eyes and shook her head. "It's just this advertisement, it's completely ridiculous."

"Yes, I wasn't expecting to see you there."

"Weren't you?"

"You were expecting me?"

She corner-eyed him, "I was told you'd be there."

He was also looking at the advertisement. He licked his lips in silence. The silence lasted a few heartbeats, it made Pandora anxious. She found herself trying to think up something to say, but nothing came to mind.

"I wish it had been someone else instead of you," his words broke the quiet.

"What?"

"I just—I know it made you uncomfortable. I wish you didn't have to do it."

Her jaw clenched as she recalled being stark naked in front of an audience of designers, photographers, workers, and Finnick.

"It could have been worse," she finally said, denying her own embarrassment.

He smirked for a moment, tilting his head up, "I guess it always can get worse, can't it?"

They peered at each other slowly, both sharing a dull and restrained laugh before looking away.

"I missed you, you know?"

Her smiled instantly hardened into straightened lips. It was strange to hear. Strange because to Pandora their friendship had never fully taken off. They were friends, or at least that's what Finnick had said. The warmth Pandora felt for him had been there on the beach in District, but sitting next to him now she couldn't help but feel tongue-tied and distant.

"Thank you," she awkwardly replied.

His laugh was abrupt, almost shocking, "Well, you're welcome, I guess."

Her cheeks flushed. That wasn't the right way to respond. Suddenly she felt stupid and callous.

"I should go—my driver, he'll be looking for me."

She tried to get up but Finnick grabbed her hand and pulled her back down.

She stared at him in surprise.

"No, let's just sit here for a while."

"And do what? Someone might see us. Do you want to deal with a mob?"

His smile was gentle, "No one will see us. I just want to talk, just for a little while longer."

Her brown eyes were glued to his face. His hand was so warm in comparison to the cool air surrounding them. This was the first time she felt safe, the first time she felt comfortable since her return to the Capitol. When she looked into his eyes she knew that he felt the same way.

Hesitantly her hand slid away from his.

A smile to match his appeared on her face, "Alright, just for awhile."

This seemed to ignite a twinkle in his eyes. His green irises glimmered, "Good."

"Finnick?"

She looked away, trying to find the courage for the next words.

"Yea?"

"I—" she could feel her hands getting sweaty, "I missed you too."

Although she couldn't see him, Pandora knew he was smiling. A moment past before he leaned over and thoughtfully nudged her.

They sat there for what must have been hours, though it was hard for Pandora to keep track of time. It was close to sunset before she journeyed back to the car and received a scolding from the driver.

They left the City Circle with a spark of excitement and terror, the kind of emotions that are only evoked through the beginning of a true friendship. Pandora nervously twirled a bit of thread between her fingers. Her eyes gaze out of the windows. Suddenly she didn't feel so alone.

However, across town, in an altogether different place, another meeting was about to happen.

An envelope had just been delivered to one of the many offices of President Snow. He received it with a shrewd nod and no thanks, taking a sip of coffee before delicately opening it.

His pale eyes brightened as he flipped through the photographs.

They were black and white prints, taken just earlier that day at the Sculpture Gardens. Images of Finnick Odair and Pandora Sullivan talking near a fountain. There must have been fifty or so photographs in total but the President only looked at a few.

Three firm knocks suddenly sounded.

His eyes shifted to the doors of his office. His back pressed against the leather of his chair. His half moon eyes blinked.

"Come in."

Slowly the door opened. At firs the figure was cloaked in the darkness of the office, but as he approached the desk, a lamp illuminated his face.

"Ah, Dr. Mironov. What a pleasant surprise."

Mironov wasn't wearing his lab coat, but he still had the haphazard look of a sleepless scientist. He bowed his head in respect.

"Mr. President."

"I trust everything went smoothly yesterday?"

"Yes, she was pleasant."

"Do you have something for me?" Snow gestured towards the folder in Mironov's hand.

"It's the test results, I just got them back today."

"Please, take a seat."

Mironov limped into a skeleton chair across from President Snow. He scratched at his beard briefly, almost as if he were thinking about what to do next.

"Let's see what you found."

He slid the folder to Snow, swallowing hard before settling back into his seat.

"What you're looking at is the DNA I obtained from her blood sample, and right there you can see her chromosome count and chart—sir, are you sure this is right? She's just a girl."

"Viktor, don't you want to continue with your research? You told me she could be a candidate."

Mironov's blue eyes shifted from the blood results to Snow, "For all I know we have someone in the Capitol that matches the requirements."

"No, I want it to be her."

"Why, sir?"

Snow lifted two fingers to the side of his brow. He stayed quiet for a moment, as if he were truly contemplating Mironov's question.

"It just has to be her. I won't accept anyone else."

"Things could go wrong. The consequences of a failed attempt could be catastrophic, even leading to death."

"Viktor, you met Miss Sullivan, yes? Tell me—what did you think?"

"She's guarded, clever, and strong. From what I noticed she seems to be trying to detach herself from what is going as a coping mechanism."

Snow's smile grew.

"You remember that serum you created?"

"Yes. It's the reason why she survived the arena. I had Officer Adric Pedersen give it to her."

"What?! He doesn't know anything does he?" Suddenly Snow's tone was sharp.

"Of course not. He just followed my orders, he doesn't know anything about all this."

Snow paused, eyeing Mironov sternly.

"Well I was under the impression that that serum was the reason she survived too," he finally continued, "Just as you said. I thought I had made a mistake coaxing her into a written contract, in fact I even thought about just letting her die."

"What changed your mind?"

"I changed my mind when I saw her kill that boy from her home District."

The answer made Mironov feel sick. He stared at Snow, not knowing how to respond initially.

"Why—Why are you saying this, sir?"

"Because, Viktor, I've seen this girl be beaten, manipulated, and almost eaten alive. I've seen her stand up in front of a crowd of thousands and actually make them think she loved being reaped and crowned Victor. Each time she has faced these obstacles she has overcome them. She won't let herself die, Viktor. She thinks she has it in her to just die, but she doesn't. She will never give up. An admirable quality, one which she is completely unaware of, a quality that will work in our favor when the timing is right."

"This isn't the arena, President Snow. This is another animal. There are too many variables."

Snow lifted his coffee to his lips, smiling devilishly through the steam.

"Trust me, my dear Dr. Mironov. If there's anyone I believe in, it's Pandora Sullivan."