Downstairs in the common room a group of six or seven mentors are lounging on the large sofas by the screen tuned to the main feed. Among them are Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta together with Coral Strong, another District 4 mentor. Two of the mentors are from District 5 and to my dismay Ajax is there as well. He leers at me in a way that makes my skin crawl.
"Did you untie your better half yet, Mrs. Mellark?" he asks.
I don't bother to dignify his comment with an answer. I look up at the screen which is currently showing the girl from Eleven reaching a supply station. Good for her but I begrudge her every drop of water and every bite of food, especially if the station won't be restocked or will take more than a day to do so.
"Did you catch the action?" asks Spark, one of the mentors from Five.
"If by action you mean the death of a fourteen year-old girl then no" I reply coldly.
"You missed some really creepy shit." Spark shudders as he thinks about it. "She came across a wall that had this image of a weird woman with snakes for hair carved into it."
"I heard, she touched it" I say, really not needing details. I'll have to see it on rerun tonight anyway.
"It was really gross" offers Coral. "The carved snakes came to life and all of them bit her." She shudders. "I hate snakes."
"Bet the Capitol audience ate it up, though" I say.
Finnick Odair takes his eyes off the screen and looks at me. He's sitting in-between his district friends with his arms stretched out on the back of the couch, as if to be able to wrap them around both women if he should feel like it. Sometimes he really feels like a big creep, even though I have to admit he's quite friendly.
"How's Peeta holding up?" he asks.
"You know Peeta" I answer vaguely, shrugging a shoulder.
"If he's feeling tense you should bring him down here with you…" says Ajax, making the rather innocent remark sound sordid.
"Shut up, Ajax" says Finnick, looking at me intently. "And how are you holding up?"
I feel a sudden lump in my throat and I can't give an answer other than to shrug my shoulder again. Without saying anything else I leave them behind and head for District 12's conference room, ready to sigh with relief when the door slides open and feeling a tiny bit better when it slides shut behind me. I long for Peeta. I want to be back upstairs with him, holding him, being held by him, crying against his shoulder. Only there's no way I'm going back out to the group on the sofa so all of that will have to wait.
I take a seat by the table and turn the screen on. It's tuned on Sally who isn't doing anything of particular interest. She's moving about and I want to believe she is looking for a supply station. She takes out her water canteen and it sounds alarmingly empty when she shakes it. She will need water, and some actual food.
If only she had a mentor capable of brining her sponsors.
Not that she's helping me much in there. She hasn't done anything noteworthy so far and I'm worried that people might be starting to forget about her already. For a brief second I feel envious of Finnick Odair who, during the rare occasions when one of his career tributes isn't bringing in sponsorship on their own, only needs to go out and charm – and bed – some Capitol moron to get the money. Even if I thought I was capable of such a move I'm not convinced I would be able to be charming enough and I would have to bring Peeta and make it a threesome. Definitely more trouble than it would be worth. Plus there's no way I'd agree to letting anybody else but me touch him sexually, tribute in dire need of sponsorship or not. Peeta is mine and mine alone. Too many aspects of our lives belongs to the public but the physical touch does not.
After watching Sally for about an hour with nothing of interest happening I switch over to Tommy's feed. He is kneeling on the ground, having found a part of the arena where the floor is made of something that looks like clay or mud. Whatever it is he is gathering it in his hands and smearing it all over his face any other body part that is visible. I smile to myself, feeling a bit better. He's not as talented as Peeta was in our arena but the basic idea of camouflage is definitely smart.
I switch back over to Sally, leaning back in my chair and crossing my fingers for her. She's going to need a lot more than that but at the time being she'll have to fend for herself. I hope she is lucky enough to stumble across a supply station soon or that she'll find some way of being noticeable so that she will attract sponsors. I can tell it won't be many hours before she'll grow desperate in her need for food and water.
About half an hour before dinner time I give up on watching Sally and make my way towards the elevators. She hasn't found a supply station yet and she's running low on both food and water. I remember my own first days in the arena and how I came close to dying from dehydration. It's a suffering I will never forget and one of the things I hate the most to see my tributes go through. We lost a tribute once to dehydration and I couldn't bear to watch it, leaving it up to Peeta and Haymitch to handle the situation. Not even the pair of them could charm enough money out of sponsors to send water to the tribute. The whole thing was a complete nightmare. When we got back home we were given angry glares from relatives of the poor child for months on end even though we had done everything we could. Grief doesn't make people think in rational manners.
The penthouse seems empty when I step off the elevator. I walk to the sitting room and note that the screen is turned off, meaning that Peeta definitely isn't around. In all likelihood he went out to woo sponsors but that doesn't account for where Haymitch is. It's unlikely that they would both go and leave Tommy unobserved.
Barely keeping in a groan I take a seat on the edge of the divan end of the couch. I close my eyes and rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. Today has been a good day by Hunger Games standards and still it's been awful. It makes me sick to my stomach to know that my nephew is in that vile labyrinth and that he might be dead any moment. I cannot even imagine what his parents are feeling, what any tribute's parents are feeling. I am so glad Peeta and I never had children of our own.
I startle when I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders but it's just Peeta taking a seat behind me. I was so wrapped up in myself that I didn't hear him coming in. He begins to massage my shoulders and I let out that groan, leaning my head backwards, feeling just the tiniest bit better under his ministrations.
Until that reminds me of other ministrations we will have to get to eventually.
"Where have you been?" I ask, moving off the couch and away from Peeta's hands.
"On the phone with my brother" sighs Peeta.
"They allowed you to make a phone call?" I say, surprised by this break from the norm.
"On camera, naturally" he replies dryly. "Not that I was allowed to tell Ryean that we were being recorded. Magnus practically came in his pants listening to the dramatic conversation between two brothers, one of which is trying to save the other's son." He says the last bit like Caesar would deliver it on air.
"I'm guessing it wasn't a pleasant conversation" I say awkwardly.
"To say that my brother is on edge would be putting it mildly." With a sigh he gets up from the couch as well. "Maggie was crying in the background once she figured out who he was talking to. Not that we had much of a conversation. It was basically fifteen minutes of my brother scolding me for not doing enough for his little boy." He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know what he expects from me! I can't wipe out all other tributes at my will and I can't send a hovercraft to pick him up alive and bring him back. I'm doing everything I can but my hands are pretty damn tied."
"I know" I say softly. "Ryean knows that, too."
"I'm not so sure he does" mutters Peeta.
"He knows" I assure him.
We begin to walk towards the dining room and I hook my arm with his.
"Any goodwill he's currently feeling towards us is going to go straight to hell once that recording airs" Peeta points out.
I cringe. I didn't think of that.
"He'll understand" I say, knowing it's very unlikely that he will.
Peeta scoffs.
"Yeah, because understanding is one of the strengths in our family. He's going to be mad as hell and my mother is going to disown me or something."
"Which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing."
"Katniss please."
We reach the table and pull out our chairs to have a seat. The stylists are already there, debating something fabric related that doesn't interest me, but neither Haymitch nor Emalda have shown up yet. I hope they won't be too long or I will insist that we start eating without them.
"I hope the food will be here soon" I say, mostly to make conversation.
"It will get here" answers Peeta tiredly. "I'm more concerned about the food situation inside the arena. It's not like they can eat harmonicas or band-aids."
That thought manages to take away the rather healthy appetite I had only a few moments ago. Then prospect of having to find sponsors to send food and water to Sally makes my headache worse. I find myself feeling relieved that I won't have to do the same for Tommy, that he is Peeta's and Haymitch's responsibility.
The clicking sound of heels announces that Emalda has arrived but I barely look at her as she pulls out her chair to sit. She snaps her fingers at one of the avoxes and seconds later plates of food are being carried to the table.
"What about Haymitch?" I ask.
"He won't be joining us tonight" says Emalda, reaching out to grab an artichoke from a plate that's passing her by. "Dining with some of the other mentors downstairs." She gives Peeta and me a pointed look. "Wouldn't kill the pair of you to do some networking. Neither one of you has managed to be very helpful so far this year."
I snort and don't bother dignifying that with an answer. Peeta just glares at his plate and pushes the food around with his fork. He barely ate breakfast, probably skipped lunch and has got to eat now. He owes it to Tommy to keep his strength up. I give him a pointed look and nod towards his plate but he ignores me and starts half-heartedly mashing the potatoes with his fork.
"So, just the one death so far today" says Sally's stylist, in a tone that suggests making conversation. "Think that will be excitement enough?"
"Seems like the way that girl bit it would suffice" mutters Peeta.
"This arena makes no goddamned sense" I say.
"Not to us perhaps but clearly to the game makers" Peeta replies.
Silence falls around the table as nobody seems to be in the mood for pleasantries. I finish my meal but keep glancing over at Peeta, noticing how few bites make it from the plate to his mouth. By the time I've finished my dinner he's only had five bites of his.
"Not hungry for potatoes and fish stew?" I ask carefully.
"I had a big lunch, I'm full."
"No you didn't and no you're not."
I want to cringe inside, realizing I sound more like his mother than his wife right now, but he's really starting to worry me. He rises from the table, leans over and grabs an apple from the large fruit bowl that serves as dessert plate and takes a bite from it. Then he heads towards the sitting room and I sigh loudly, tossing my cutlery on my plate and leaning back in my chair. Right now I could punch Ryean for chewing him out over the phone like that. I know I could never imagine the stress my brother-in-law is under at the moment but taking it out on Peeta, one of the few people who could actually help Tommy, is just unfair.
Deciding I'm done at the table too I get up and walk slowly towards the sitting room. I can't make up my mind if I want to stay here and keep him company or if I ought to go downstairs and check up on Sally. Stopping in the doorway I lean against the doorpost and look at my husband, sitting on the couch facing the screen which means his back is turned to me. He looks so tense. I want to stay here with him. The evening broadcast will begin in forty-five minutes anyway so there's not much point going downstairs to check on Sally.
I walk over to the couch and take a seat, keeping a foot or two of space between Peeta and myself. A look at the screen tells me Tommy is down on the ground resting with his back leaning against the wall. He looks hungry but otherwise okay.
Peeta looks at me and silently hands me the remote. I try to hide my surprise as I take it and quickly press the right buttons to change to Sally's feed. She's sitting in a pose mirroring Tommy's, breathing slowly through her mouth, holding her water bottle in her hand. She turns it upside down and no water falls out. She's going to get dehydrated very soon. I wish I knew the temperature inside the arena but without a sun in the sky it's difficult to tell. Maybe Caesar and Claudius will tell us in the broadcast, as an exciting detail of the horrific conditions inside the labyrinth.
"Does Tommy have water left?" I ask, switching back to his channel.
"Yeah. Though not all that much."
"Is that really the kind of excitement they're going for?" I ask. "Watching children dehydrate to death?"
"Oh they'll find some way of making sure enough of them get water before that happens" says Peeta in an emotionless tone. "They could make it rain from the ceiling, no doubt. They don't want them to die this way, they want them to suffer this way. It makes for compelling television, apparently."
The thought makes me weary to my bones and I sink back on the couch, feeling like I never want to get up from here ever again. I just want to fall asleep here and not wake up until the Games are over.
Peeta watches our nephew on the screen, saying nothing for almost five minutes. I wait for him to be the next to speak, hope for him to talk to me like he usually does. For more than fifteen years we've stood by each other and carried one another through, leaning on each other through the worst times. Why he is shying away from me now I don't understand.
"He looks so young, doesn't he?" Peeta finally says.
"He is young" I answer carefully.
"Yeah but… I was beginning to think of him as a young man in the making, you know? Now all I can see is the ten year-old who…" He stops and shakes his head, as if the memories are too painful. "And how does my brother feel through all of this? I could barely hold a conversation with him today. I can't stop thinking, what is he going to do, what is he going to say if we come back home without his child?"
"Peeta he knows you're doing all you can for Tommy" I say. I reach out my hand and let the tip of my fingers gently play with his hair. "If the worst should happen he will grieve, just like you and I will, and he might even be angry with us for a while but you are brothers. He won't turn his back."
"Brothers doesn't amount to much compared to father and child" argues Peeta. "You know he would have rather seen me in the arena ten times over than seeing one of his kids in there once." He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, a dark look coming over his face. "Same as how I chose to risk his child being in the arena over having a child of my own who would be tribute."
A surprised frown comes over my face and I open my mouth to prod this particular thought but Haymitch's voice interrupts me before I can even begin.
"Switch to the buffoon feed, will you boy?"
Peeta and I both turn our heads and watch Haymitch stroll inside the room, looking like he desperately wants a drink.
"That's not on yet" answers Peeta finally.
"Both our tributes are currently busy resting, with no other tributes near them" says Haymitch, taking a seat in-between us on the couch. "Caesar or Claudius might have something interesting to say about the rest of the field before the actual evening broadcast begins."
Peeta obliges and switches to the commentators' feed. It doesn't amount to anything of interest, as there's only been one thing of interest so far today and they're saving that replay for the main broadcast. Peeta, Haymitch and I all sit in silence watching and waiting for the actual show to start.
I begin to feel thirsty, and wonder to myself how Sally and Tommy are feeling.