Welcome back! Thank you for your reviews last chapter.
Four victors were captured by the Capitol. Four victors have a story to tell.
Warning: some of the torture is rather graphic. We're skirting between T and M rating, but it should be palatable (and it ends well).
Enobaria, District 2, 62nd Games.
Her shock in the hovercraft hadn't been faked.
Rebels. Rebels who were so fucking late that only six remained, and they couldn't even be bothered to save them all.
Enobaria had seen them fly right above her. Ignoring her. They could have shot her, she allowed, trying to distance herself for the fury.
Why was she so furious? She had nothing to do with those flea-ridden mobs. She'd not have joined them had they asked.
But Odair had said they weren't enemies. He'd wanted her to come. Enobaria had run, she wasn't stupid enough to stay and watch what that bitch would do with her wire and bow, but the way Finnick had led her to that tree… Enobaria had almost believed then, that victors meant something even outside of District Two.
Rebels. A furious hiss escaped her teeth. They'd better stay away from her.
At least she hadn't been led to the Capitol in chains. She couldn't take anything for granted anymore.
Enobaria was back in the mentors' quarters, showered and changed, and it all felt wrong.
Seeing Lyall was a punch to the gut. Brutus had been the last death in the arena. Muttations. Peeta had given the shove, he'd had the intent, but the same mutts who'd killed Brutus had spared the boy from Twelve.
Enobaria let herself fall to the floor, legs crossed, her head hanging. Until now, it had been a thought she couldn't afford, not in the arena, but now she was alive, and Brutus wasn't, and now she could admit to herself that he should have been the Capitol's victor.
She'd never really liked him, but she'd sure respected him, admired him even, and he'd been given a bullshit death, as if he'd just been another wet-behind-the ears Career tribute.
They'd killed Brutus. They'd spat on loyalty and called Twos slaves for the whole of Panem to hear. Victors had become obsolete. The Hunger Games era was over.
What did that make her? What did that make any of them?
"Enobaria," Bahamut said softly.
She lifted her eyes to meet her mentor's. The emotion in them twisted her heart. She'd been through this bullshit once already, and at least then she'd been self-absorbed enough to be able not to feel the man before her.
They'd hurt him. He was family. The closest family. Enobaria wanted out. She needed out.
Three doors, five windows. She'd need something to break the fall. The -
"Lyme's gone," Bahamut said, interrupting her calculations. "She left, with a rebel."
Enobaria's thoughts crashed to a halt. Lyme. She blinked, expecting the large woman to appear. She stood back up, her fingers digging into Bahamut's biceps as she stared in disbelief.
Lyme. Her mentor's mentor. Turned coat. And she'd left Bahamut behind?
A scream of rage burned through Enobaria's lungs and she turned, taking the nearby mirror and throwing it to the ground. Bahamut and Lyall stepped back, neither moving in to stop her.
No! Bahamut was supposed to be whole. He was supposed to be the rock for her, not share his pain with her. Brutus was dead. Tradition was dead. Their family, shattered. Lyme, who'd made Enobaria boil with jealousy for the unconditional filial love Bahamut gave her, had left him behind.
Enobaria watched the decanter rebound instead of shattering and blinked. She let go of the crystal glass she had been holding and swallowed down bitter self-disgust. Violence, Annex-bred, etched into her very being. Mercury would be rolling her eyes.
Hitting things was an illusion. Pain was an illusion. All this was just wallowing in one's uselessness until denial settled in.
"Are we free to go back to Two?" Enobaria said, as if she wasn't standing in the middle of half-a-year's pension worth of damages.
Bahamut grasped her hands. The sting of his fingers on her cuts was nothing compared to his ability to act as if she was clean. "The two of us are, but Snow has a task for you."
Enobaria swallowed, her breathing suddenly labored. She tightened her hold on his hands, willing them to be fused together. "I'm a big girl, you be safe." When had roles reversed?
She now felt desperately unprepared. She'd never been trained for goodbyes. The panic in her chest reminded her that even thinking that her mentor wasn't invincible wasn't allowed.
~~o~~
Seventeen objects in Snow's office could serve as lethal weapons. Twenty-eight actually, if his bodyguards took more than three seconds to react. Those objects sang to Enobaria. The monster in her blood, the Career, so much stronger now that it had been fed by that arena, begged her to do it. 'It'll feel better afterwards', it promised.
"Anything would be useful to know," Snow said, seated behind his desk like he'd not killed Brutus the day before.
Two bodyguards were standing right behind her. How cute. They should have shackled her if they were really afraid.
Enobaria shook her head. "I don't have anything, Mr. President. Lyme and I were never equals. We never talked about our loyalty to the Capitol." She almost snorted. "I thought it was a given, that her loyalty was absolute."
Enobaria was still sure. Lyme was wound as tightly as Brutus had been, she just wasn't as stupid about it, so Lyme probably had figured the Capitol didn't deserve her loyalty anymore.
Could there be a Two without the Capitol? They'd have whipped her at the Annex, for so much as daring to think it.
"Mercury from Three could help you with the technology, Sir, if you want to track Lyme down in the Districts."
Snow's lips twisted. "Three's Village was pillaged after the arena exploded. There's nothing left."
Enobaria blinked. No. A feeling she barely remembered from when she'd been a child resurfaced. A feeling with no trace of anger. A feeling that stripped her of power and control. Sadness.
Only a concerned frown made way on her face. No weakness, never, not in front of him.
"Mercury and Aster are gone," Snow said after a pause. "Reports hint they may be in Six."
Fuck. That bastard had paused just to check out her reaction at the news. Either blow up Snow fast or turn yourself in and collaborate, Mercury.
"Then what may I do?"
"You will stay and interpret the information we get. Act as liaison with the victors in Two's village."
She'd be able to talk to Bahamut. Suddenly, Enobaria found it much easier to stay calm.
"We have peacekeepers suspects under lock. Most completed the Annex conditioning. We lack the tools to persuade them to speak. Enobaria, I want you to get the information they have, but whatever means that will yield results."
It was an obvious test. "With pleasure," Enobaria said with a toothy smirk, raising her angle like a spiked shield. Childish eagerness colored her tone. "Shall I also interrogate the other victors you brought in, Sir?"
Snow chuckled. "That won't be necessary. Neither Johanna nor Annie should prove half as hard as Two's strapping lads."
Annie. Enobaria's mind drew a blank before she remembered. The redhead who by all accounts had gone loopy. The game of twelve-year-olds the Capitol now wanted to forget. The victor hidden by Mags and Finnick. The one who'd got away.
Enobaria sneered. "'Half has hard' is generous, Sir," she said.
Annie. Her stomach churned. She was getting soft.
Finnick had tried to warn her. He'd tried to save Enobaria even when all the other rebels would rather see her head on a pike. Bloody Fours. They thought they were all one big family. Mags had been the worst.
No, neither Annie nor Johanna deserved this, but Enobaria couldn't help them. They were rebels, the rebels' responsibility. Enobaria had to get home, to Two.
Year 75, late August, the Capitol
Caesar Flickerman scanned the morning issue one last time.
Breaking News: Twelve's power-stylist Cinna found dead in his bed. Post Mortem reveals poison that melts at 98°F and a pin prick on his finger. Katniss' Mockingjay pin, murder weapon? Investigation reveals the pin was not screened for toxins before launch.
It had to be breaking news. People weren't stupid, just average. Out of sight, out of mind, but when it was in the mind, their thirst had to be quenched.
Page 3 – Quarter Quell: arena defect or sabotage? Head Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee moving on site to investigate.
Caesar had two days to decide how to continue that story.
Page 4 – Doctors sound the alarm: new line of 'Eat all you want' pills may kill you!
They'd been shoving 'home cuisine' at the masses for months. Food consumption had already been cut in half as people took the time to cook their own meals. Caesar Flickerman hoped the trend would hold. If the President decided to starve the Districts to feed the Capitol's excesses, there would be no Panem left.
Page 7 – Annual self-styling fair: put the 'reflection' in fashion!
Please do keep busy and don't riot.
Page 17 - Prof. A's financial column: How District crime affects your capital, and why you shouldn't worry.
They should worry, but just enough not to frown too hard at the Peacekeeping budget.
Page 21 – District special: Eleven's criminal bosses executed! Promising chemical to treat greenhouse blight. Violent storms hit the coast: no seafood this season, distraught Four spokesman says. District Eight working full capacity: comeback of the shift dress and leather tuxedo.
Caesar wondered how long they could keep blaming the alarming drop in productivity on natural disasters. He gritted his teeth in frustration. The truth eluded him. How could he give the Capitol the right narrative when everything was shrouded in chaos. Every new update threatened to destroy all that he had so carefully crafted. District Thirteen? Surely it was an exaggeration, a myth!
Page 23 – Special Feature. Hypnosis: it's easy, it works, consent is not required. Is hiding dangerous science truly unethical?
Caesar counted to ten while the eye-drop cleared some of the screen fatigue. So many conflicting reports, so many blind spots… And a deep seated, gnawing fear threatened his concentration.
Mags was dead, but her allies lived. His boys and Sybil were in hiding. He itched to call them. To check they were safe.
The narrative had to be strong. President Snow had demanded it. Panem's fate depended upon it.
He hated Mags for instilling such fear in his bones. Even dead, she continued to plague him.
Caesar hadn't slept in days, scanning every newspaper, every peacekeeper report, sifting through the rumors, the conspiracy theories, and frantically trying to patch the hole the rebels had punched through the web of control that kept the Districts and the Capitol as they should be.
District Thirteen. What would the narrative be? A rebel bunker? An isolated force? Something contained, yes, but something unknown and inhuman, to distract the people from the rest. And what to reveal about District Twelve? Caesar rubbed his temples. Templesmith had better be pulling his share.
Unfortunately, Caesar knew he had the better job, at least he was talking to an audience that trusted him. Templesmith could feed the Districts a masterpiece but the man could only do so much faced with people who refused to listen or believe.
How to make the Districts believe? Crush the hope and snitches will rush to the peacekeepers, fearful for their lives, eager for the rewards.
The blaring blue light of an incoming video call had Caesar snap to attention. Even dead they'd not catch him looking anything but his best. It wasn't just the job, he was the Capitol's face, the power of a nation pumped through his veins every second of every day.
It was Snow. The white-haired President had known better days.
"We have no mutts, Caesar."
Caesar stared in dumb shock. He realized he needed to update his list of top three things the Capitol –and the Districts- could never, ever find out.
"How?" He breathed.
"The vats have been sabotaged. Of the last generation of lizard-men only two legions are viable. Glynn Valens has vanished, with her family, Four's escort and Lyme from Two." Snow's blood red lips were trembling with fury. "A District woman, Caesar. How predictable and yet all of you advised me to- " Snow paused. His sudden smile was the most terrifying thing Caesar had ever seen. "By the end of the week, there will be no free District born left in the Capitol. I want them to be criminals on the front page of every paper. Caesar, give me a home-based District conspiracy, the timing's perfect."
Caesar nodded slowly, his mind whirring. He could whisper a thousand words in every man's ears, but each word would have consequences. He had to anticipate every move. To find the right narrative.
The President waited. Seeing him patient, respectful of Caesar's ability, brought a small smile to his lips.
How to make the Districts believe? No mutts. Caesar straightened. Sometimes a door had to slam in your face for the obvious to be revealed.
"Mr. President, I have a narrative for you. I shall need Peeta Mellark."
They didn't need to make the Districts believe. Just one District-born and the others would burn out.
Plutarch Heavensbee, you sly bastard, you have no idea who you're up against.
Peeta, District 12, 74th Games.
He had lost all sense of time.
He couldn't move. He couldn't open his eyes. He was trapped in sleep-not-sleep. He tried to shift, to wiggle his fingers and lick his lips, anything to give him a sense of who, of where, of when. Instead there was just fog and discomfort, a dull, choking pain. Sometimes, he thought he remembered questions, but he couldn't answer. He wasn't sure he had a mouth.
A stab of pain shot through him. He stiffened in terror. Eyes. He couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't feel his body. Searing agony, building up until he wondered if he had died.
It stopped.
He was only aware of his ragged breathing. Where, what? Time seemed to stretch to infinity as the tiny, lucid part of his brain burned up all its energy waiting for the next blow.
It came without warning. It was different, blunt and stinging,
It stopped.
A second or an hour later, he was cold. So cold.
He'd stopped thinking long ago. Now he just waited, soaked in fear, for the pain to come.
Suddenly, there was a voice. Maybe just an echo. "Give me one name, Peeta, and you'll get water."
The sound of his name reminded him the world wasn't just darkness and pain.
Katniss.
Katniss. He didn't know where she was.
Katniss. Haymitch. Brutus. He'd killed Brutus.
"KATNISS!"
~~o~~
Peeta opened his eyes. A decorated ceiling. He was in a large, soft bed. The Capitol. No pain.
Had it all been one long nightmare? He'd read up on sleep paralysis, night terrors, on everything he could land his hands on after the Victory Tour, when Katniss had crawled in bed with him, so terrified of falling asleep alone that she'd allowed herself to need him.
Katniss, where was she? Haymitch, Effie -
He threw some clothes on, pushing panicked theories out of his mind. Fear would just cripple him. He needed answers.
It was Caesar Flickerman who came to him. "Welcome home, Peeta Mellark. You've won the 75th Hunger Games."
What? No. He couldn't be victor! Katniss… Peeta shook his head. No, no… He took a sharp breath. No! It had to be a trick. He'd remember. That wasn't something he could forget.
"What happened, Caesar?" He asked softly. Proof. He'd believe nothing without solid proof.
"Would you like some lunch? You've been through a lot."
Peeta's eyes narrowed but then he nodded. He had to play along. He might not have another chance.
"I remember having been asked questions," he said.
Caesar frowned slightly and soon he was smiling. "You remember? They underestimated you, young man." His smile fell. "You were captured Peeta," Caesar said. "Criminals blew up the arena. They separated you from the others. They must have known that Katniss and you draw strength from each other. We rescued you from them two days ago. The doctors found drugs in your mind, chemicals to erase your memory. Do you remember what they asked you?"
Peeta shook his head. "They wanted names." Caesar frigging Flickerman. Peeta was used for the power not to be in his hands. He was used to swallowing anger, to locking his pride away, saving it for the days it would matter. Caesar had information. Peeta had to get it.
He had to know if Katniss was alright. She was alive! No point in keeping Peeta alive if she wasn't. She was alive and the Capitol didn't have her.
"How long was I captured? Where is Haymitch?"
"The arena blew up two weeks ago," Caesar said, his eyes brimming with compassion. "Haymitch Abernathy went back to Twelve. Eat, your body needs it."
Two weeks. Peeta ate alone, forcing himself to savor the food. The taste was too rich, the flavors too many, everything too something, and Peeta swallowed it down, letting it become part of him so he could fool Caesar into believing he was willing to work for him.
Who had rescued Katniss? What did they want with her? Who else had made it? Was he the only victor in the Capitol?
Caesar lead him to a room, small by Capitol standards, with just one large table with chairs and screens.
"I have to show you something. This is important Peeta," Caesar said.
The screens came alive with mutts. Mutt vats, mutt armies. Peeta stood, unable to stay seated. Unmoving, helpless. RUN!
Mutts snarling, running, stalking, poised to strike -
Peeta blinked, the screens had gone black. He was covered in sweat. He forced a smile, clenching and unclenching his right hand. "The arena had even scarier ones," he said weakly.
She'd saved him. The morphling woman from Six. He had to find out her name, her story. He already knew why. Katniss. They wanted the Mockingjay. He just wanted Katniss to live, and yet the knowledge these people, these victors, had valued him, was exhilarating.
Caesar offered him a glass of water. Peeta drank.
"Peeta, Panem needs peace, now. Our nation has gone mad. If those criminals don't wake up, there won't be a Panem in three years' time. They're not attacking us, they're turning upon themselves. They're burning crops, getting experts killed…" Caesar laughed weakly. "The hospitals are gone in half the Districts." Peeta looked down. Twelve hadn't even had a hospital. "So many shops have been pillaged, the owners treated like they were criminals for daring having price tags on their wares."
Peeta winced. That struck closer to home. Katniss' stunned eyes when he'd given her that bread. She'd been so skinny in that storm, disappearing under her soaked clothes. She'd looked at him like she couldn't understand even common decency. They'd been in the same class for years, and even when his self-confidence had been at its lowest, he'd never suspected just how alien, how vile, he was to her.
"Those mutts are what we'll send if we feel threatened," Caesar said tightly. "No Homeguard, no Capitol civilians. It will just be more District death."
Peeta nodded, pale. He heard the threat loud and clear. "What's to be done?" He whispered.
"Peeta, I hate to be the person to tell you this. But… Some rebels have banded together and have built a base next to District Thirteen. They must think it's symbolic. But we underestimated how far they'd go to turn the Districts against us. Turning the Mockingjay into their personal puppet is just the tip of the iceberg."
Peeta had no idea what an iceberg was, it didn't matter. Thirteen. Whoever they were, they had Katniss.
Caesar clicked on his remote. Peeta stood up in a jolt when he recognized the picture. He rushed to the screen, pressing his palms against it as if he could be swallowed inside.
District Twelve. The road out of the city, people, fleeing, hundreds. Running. The pictures were poor quality, but he thought he recognized some faces.
His hands shook. "What happened?" He couldn't trust these people, but why would they have a video of so many people walking – no, running away- on the road? Where could they be going?
"To frame us, maybe… To… to fan the hate," Caesar said heavily, "Thirteen… they bombed District Twelve, Peeta."
What?
"We shot down their crafts as soon as we got there. What you saw on tape is the evacuation. We've lead the survivors to a refugee camp. Radio silence is necessary until they're taken to a more secure base, but as soon as we can, we'll establish a list of survivors." Caesar shook his head, looking overwhelmed. "These... they're monsters, Peeta."
Survivors. Peeta had only glimpsed dark-haired faces. Rye, Flax, Dad, where are you? Delly, Madge… All his life, all his people. Primrose. Haymitch. No, they couldn't be gone!
"Every District is essential. It'd be so much more convenient, to have all the population of Panem in one place, so much easier to manage, cheaper, but the industries are our lifeblood. These people, Peeta… Is this what you stood for, when you saluted Katniss Everdeen on that stage?"
Peeta's face darkened. They'd saluted courage triumphing over fear. Family over submissiveness. They'd stood for her, because for one shining moment, she'd made them forget the Capitol.
"Is my family alive?" He asked hoarsely.
Caesar clasped his shoulder. "I have no idea, Peeta," he said in apology. "I know Haymitch, Primrose Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne survived. He was seen leading people out." An odd smile lit Caesar's face. "The report explicitly stated they'd forgiven the lad's insolence because they'd been so impressed."
Peeta clutched his hands on his lap as violent shudders shot up his spine. He should have been there.
"Call if you need anything," Caesar said softly, squeezing Peeta's arm. "We'll talk again when you feel up to it."
Peeta nodded. "Thank you," he managed. Caesar hadn't asked for anything. But then why was he talking to Peeta? What did they want?
~~o~~
"How can I help?" Peeta said.
He'd had no visitors. There was no TV in his room, nor even an avox. He'd slept in the chair. He couldn't lie down, not when his limbs could vanish and nightmares trap him in pain and darkness. He couldn't stay there, he'd go mad. He couldn't shake off the fear that clung to him every waking minute. Were they drugging him?
His only option was to volunteer his help. Caesar must have known that.
Caesar's smile was full of compassion. It often had been during the tribute interviews. This man's heart had turned to coal long ago.
"Peeta Mellark, you're intelligent, twice you said the perfect thing during your interviews. You have a knack to get people to listen. You know people must set down their weapons."
No, he didn't know that. He knew so little. Katniss was alive. His family maybe wasn't. Thirteen was real.
"How can I talk to the Districts and make them listen?"
Most of the Seam had hated him just because he ate his fill and never had to wear clothes weaved from tesserae bags. What he was wearing today was a hundred times worse. Whatever he'd wear in front of cameras would sever whatever connection he might have managed to establish with the rebels.
"I want to interview you. I want you to be the voice of reason because I, and every other Capitol citizen cannot be. Peeta, you now have the chance to save thousands of lives."
Brutus. Had Peeta run, had he waited a minute, maybe Brutus would be alive.
"I'd like that," Peeta said, mustering a genuine and yet very fake smile of his own.
What if he'd said no? What would Caesar have done then?
~~o~~
Peeta had done it. He'd asked for peace, he'd told the rebels –not knowing how many people hid behind that name – to lay down their weapons. He'd meant every word while knowing they'd never listen to him. No rebel would let a seventeen-year-old boy in a fancy suit tell them how to do best by their family. Caesar had no idea just how patronizing this whole interview was.
Had Katniss seen him? Of all the watchers, she was the only one who might listen. The only one who'd see a person and not a puppet. Would she hate him? Worse, would she believe him?
Thirteen wanted to use her. Why hadn't Peeta seen her on TV yet? How much was Caesar keeping from him?
He had to know.
It was 3 AM when Peeta left his room. He wondered how far he could go before they'd stop him. Would they be polite, pretend to escort him back for his own safety? Would they beat him?
~~o~~
Pain. He'd ducked and shoved his shoulder in his attacker's plexus, but instead of skin and bones, he'd encountered armor.
Johanna.
A punch knocked the wind out of his chest.
He'd found Johanna. Just four floors below, in chains. The avoxes had been cleaning the corridor, they'd let him slip in.
Had it all been one big trap?
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't remember falling when his elbows cracked against the hard floor. He couldn't see.
He couldn't die. He had to know if Katniss was alright.
~~o~~
Katniss didn't say a word as she slid the train door open and walked barefoot up to his bed. She was gaunt and disheveled, so different than the rosy-cheeked, styled victor the Districts saw during the day. She was so beautiful. Peeta ached for her closeness, but not at such price. He lay next to her, trying to relax despite her intoxicating scent, willing her calm down, to get some sleep, to stop beating herself up.
Peeta gasped as pain exploded in his stomach. Katniss' hands trapped his and she turned to face him, hate in her gray eyes.
Blood pooled in his mouth. He couldn't speak.
He was trapped in memories. Wrong memories. Flawed memories. Something was wrong.
He was back in the arena, the first, in the cave, so sick, so thirsty. He was going to die. Katniss was a yard away, her back to him. Peeta tried to hide, whimpering in fear, while a stubborn sliver of awareness wondered why he was afraid of Katniss. She had her bow. With an arrow. She turned to face him. He screamed when she plunged the arrow into his leg twisting, ripping.
No, wake up!
~~o~~
It couldn't be real. Katniss wouldn't.
His mind was fog. His eyes wouldn't open.
He screamed and writhed and fought against the chains. He'd wrestled grown men into the ground, he'd shoved Brutus into a sea of flesh-eating crabs, he'd won! He wouldn't give in!
He matched pain with fury. Surely if he pushed hard enough he'd wake up!
Katniss's face flashed behind his eyelids. Her voice echoed off the walls, screams and whispers and laughter leaving him nowhere to hide.
He gave her the bread. She was so skinny. So lost. She didn't take it. Katniss, take it. I want to help you, please. She threw it back at him. It became an ax. His chest exploded in pain.
He woke up, shaking. "Katniss, why?"
Katniss wouldn't.
~~o~~
'Katniss, don't trust them, don't trust anyone. Ask the rebel's what they're planning, they're using you.'
The words kept running in his head. Sometimes he was being interviewed by Caesar. Sometimes he was just shouting in the darkness. He couldn't remember. Then sometimes he almost could.
He hid in his room, beneath the bakery's roof. He was seven years-old, barely old enough to use the oven, and she came in screaming. "You're not worth a crumb of that burned bread!" Katniss snarled, slapping him across the face.
He stood up, suddenly adult and shoved her back. "No more!"
She'd made him miserable all his life. She hurt him. She hurt him so much. In every memory… Dazed, Peeta struggled against the binds. He hated Katniss Everdeen.
~~o~~
She hated him. Everything hurt. He was losing her. The laughter, the shared moments. During his precious few moments of lucidity he tried to remember, but he only remembered fear and pain.
Her hands were burning on his skin. Her nails knives tearing into him. Her words were acid, dissolving everything good.
He gritted his teeth, fighting his own mind with all his might. He loved her. He wasn't afraid of her. She wasn't here. It was all wrong.
~~o~~
"Peeta!" The voice was muffled, but it grabbed him around the throat and jerked him awake. "Wake up!"
Johanna. He was in the Capitol. He remembered now. What did they want? What were they doing to him?
What were they doing to her?
"I'm here, Johanna," he rasped, barely making a sound. He had to help her.
~~o~~
Peeta blinked. He was in a bed. A smaller bed than last time. It was dark and his pajamas were odd -. Hospital gown.
He was in ward. Peeta shoved the covers off and rushed to find a mirror. He almost slammed the door into a nurse.
"Mirror," Peeta begged.
"Yes, take it easy," the woman said, steadying him. "You had quite a relapse. We purged your body from the drugs."
Relapse. Drugs. Those had made Katniss hate him? He didn't dare try and remember, afraid he'd find the wrong memories.
The mirror was no help. There was no damage, only sunken eyes and exhaustion.
Thinking felt like trying to find a goat during a storm.
Just nightmares? But if it was, why couldn't he remember anything after the interview?
It was much too soon when Caesar Flickerman came in. "Peeta, we'll need you again. You've been out a whole week. We thought we'd lost you. Your interview did a lot of good."
Which one? The memory felt like black and white in a world of color, but it felt oddly real, that second interview. 'Katniss, you can't trust them,' he'd said.
"The Districts need to see you. You're their hope for life," Caesar said. "While our best doctors were saving your life, dark rumors spread into the Districts, claiming you dead. Time is of the essence."
Peeta nodded. "I understand. I'm afraid I'm not all healed yet," he said weakly.
Whatever had happened, nightmare or real, his body remembered. His body was terrified.
Johanna. What was real? It had felt real, more than anything. Johanna was in pain. He had to help her.
He rubbed his skin, possessed by a nervousness he couldn't control. He felt like he was trapped in a strangers' body. He couldn't breathe.
"Peeta, don't worry, we'll make you read off a monitor. I'll let you rest."
What was happening to him?
That evening, he put on his sparkling white suit for the second time. It didn't feel real.
A woman told him to step closer to the light. Not Katniss. His hammering heart slowed in relief.
Relief? When had he become terrified of Katniss?
The dark memories were there, just at the edge of his mind.
He couldn't stay here. "Excuse me, I need the bathroom," he said, plastering a polite smile on his face.
An avox gave him a towel when he threw up in the toilet.
"The Capitol's going to attack Thirteen tonight."
Peeta stared at the avox. Was he hallucinating?
"They don't check if we've stayed mute," the man in red said with a small smile. He pulled his tongue out, rosy and intact, and winked. "Medicine does wonders, and rebels do even more. You're not alone Peeta Mellark."
Peeta managed a small smile.
His brothers could be dead. He was a prisoner in the Capitol. But there was a rebel avox with him. He impulsively hugged the man. The crushing loneliness buried beneath Peeta's fear evaporated as he clung to this stranger who represented in that moment everyone solid and decent that Peeta had ever known.
He let go with a tight rueful smile. The avox was beaming at him.
"Okay," he whispered. "I can do this."
"Sorry about that," Peeta later told the makeup-lady. "Must be stage fright."
"You look awful, Peeta," the woman said, concerned. "But Caesar said to leave most of it under, to show your concern for the people. We're lucky to have you here."
Soon, Peeta was in the interview room again, alone with Caesar. This time, he read off a screen. It was a lot harder than he'd thought. He struggled to keep a natural-sounding pace to his speech. A dam had blown up in Five?
"I'm begging for restraint and decency," Peeta was saying. He was exhausted. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be with Katniss. With his people. Rye, Flax, Dad, Delly… He needed to know!
Suddenly, the screens weren't all him anymore.
Singing. His heart skipped a beat. He knew that voice.
When he saw Katniss, he almost screamed. It was her, really her. Peeta was so cold, his heart racing, fear blocking his muscles. He was ecstatic, fire shooting up his veins, his relief so strong he thought his chest might burst.
"Katniss," he rasped. "Is that you?"
She was so beautiful. She wasn't lying. Katniss never could lie, not to him, and she stood proud. Thirteen hadn't used her. Thirteen was good. They weren't alone.
"Peeta, please continue," Caesar urged sternly. "You were telling us about these savage attacks."
"Yeah…" Peeta said, forcing himself to focus on the screen with text. "The attack on the dam was a callous act of destruction -"
Singing filled the room once more. Her voice. In the ruins of Twelve. She was alive. His mind rebelled, refusing to accept the devastation left by the bombs. Twelve, home, everything was gone.
"Think about it," Peeta croaked, struggling to hold back tears. "How will this end? How will we survive this?" His hands were shaking uncontrollably. He was losing it, overwhelmed by warring feelings.
'They're going to attack Thirteen tonight.' Peeta swallowed, alarm jolting up his veins. He'd almost forgotten.
"No one is safe now," his breath hitched. He had to speak fast. "Not in the Capitol. Not in any of the Districts!" He tore his eyes from the script, tore his eyes from Katniss on the screen to look at Katniss, behind, Katniss in Thirteen. "They're coming, Katniss. They're going to kill everyone. In District Thirteen!" He was running out of air. "You'll be dead by morning."
The screens went black. Caesar was standing.
Peeta gave the furious man a weak smile. "You told me I'd save lives. That's what I'm doing."
They could kill him now. She was alive, she was saving everyone. They would win.
Caesar's face held no trace of the cheer and humaneness he saved for the people he manipulated. Peeta felt a liberating jolt of pride. He'd be no man's puppet.
"Peeta, Katniss will rescue you," Caesar said calmly. "but by then, we'll have finished what we started."
Started? What had they started?
"You'll be the death of her, Peeta," Caesar promised. "We will win. We always win." He finally smiled. "Oh and Peeta, the Merchant part of town was pulverized. Your family, all your golden-haired friends, are dead."
Peeta stumbled. He'd hoped – He'd - "Good," he managed, "then you can't torture them." He was going to be sick.
Caesar chuckled. "Why don't you go join dear Johanna again."
Peeta's vision began to fade.
"You'll be the death of her." Never. He'd rather die.
Annie, District 4, 70th Games.
The air was thick with sea and sand. Annie's throat burned as she breathed salt, her red hair curling from the splash of a hundred waves crashing against the Pier of Spirits. The wind howled, pushing everything back towards the shore.
The burning wicker-boat refused to reach the high sea, but stubbornly, it also wouldn't sink.
A choked giggle escaped Annie's lips. "Even the sea wants to give her back to us," she said, shouting to be heard as she clung onto Nori's arm.
Mags. You'd promised. Was this part of the plan? A secret so we did not worry?
Annie's tears mixed with foam carried by the wind. Her Finn was hurting and alone.
He'd come back. He always came back.
Nori's hold on her tightened. Annie turned, alerted by a sixth sense. Something was here. Something that didn't belong! Metal. Hovercrafts, struggling against the wind. One was on fire.
Shots. Annie hadn't heard the shots until now. Men, Creneis' people. This was an attack.
Annie's eyes were wide, trapped in another day. Hovercrafts, lowering themselves over the water, monstrous pincers diving under to grab the limp bodies of twelve-year-olds who'd never had a chance.
"Run," Nori cried.
Annie ran. She screamed, falling to her knees, when a hovercraft crashed ten yards away from her, swept down by the storm like an irksome fly. Her ears rang from the explosion, her vision red from the fire.
Go away! Leave me alone! GO AWAY!
Annie woke up.
She didn't open her eyes. Not with restraints around her limbs. Padded, comfortable restraints that held her wrists and ankles together, but didn't tie her to the hard bed she was on. She was moving, the screech of wheels whistling in her ears. A hospital cart. The air was fresh, dry, and artificial. Annie could feel the sedative relaxing her muscles, slowing down her body. She shifted slightly to assess her clothes. She was still in her long-sleeved summer dress. She still had her shoes.
"Get some shifts, we'll get her changed here," a man said. Capitol accent. Annie's heart accelerated. She'd already known. "They're coming to move her."
Annie counted to five when the first set of steps had left the room. She was alone with the man. Enemy.
She opened her eyes, just a peek. She was in a corridor, empty but for the doctor who was pushing her into a small room.
They'd given her sedative accounting for her weight. They'd forgotten she was Career. They'd forgotten she was Mags' and Finnick's friend. They'd forgotten she knew Finnick loved her. She wouldn't be used to cause him pain.
Nori, please have run.
For Mags. For Nori. For Finn. Annie wasn't carrying his baby. They'd promised. She wouldn't die before she'd had his baby.
Annie tensed her sluggish stomach muscles and pulled herself up. The man gasped, managing only a muffled cry, when she slammed her elbows in his teeth. He couldn't scream anymore when she hit his nose, sending him sprawling backwards, too stunned to cause harm.
She didn't blink at the blood. He was a grown man. An enemy. She couldn't wait for Finn anymore, she had to go to him.
Annie unfastened the cuffs with her own teeth and slammed her foot on the man's throat. He'd not be warning anybody.
Ground floor. Annie didn't know the building, but every window was a way out. She grabbed the fire-extinguisher in the corridor and smashed through the glass. She ran.
They'd remember she was Career now.
It was the middle of the night. Safe people would be at home, the streets weren't safe for her. Her eyes were wide as she ran. The streets were huge. Finn had told her, how the Capitol spanned for miles and miles and people had taxis and busses and sometimes even their own cars to get places. There would be cars looking for her within minutes. Annie ran past tall, cold buildings until she found a street of large houses with walled gardens. One had lights lit on the second floor.
It had been almost ten minutes, and her body was too sick to run so fast much longer. She concentrated on her heart rate. 170. Her breath hitched. Not good, not when sedated. She couldn't afford to faint.
She slipped into the garden, discovering a nice back yard. It was so clean, with such tall, pretty flowers. Much too clean for kids or mutts, or pets. Whatever the Capitol called them.
Relieved, Annie licked her lips and climbed onto the balcony. She chanced a peak when she'd reached the first window.
"Hands up now."
A man's voice. Annie tensed. Would a man live alone in a big house like this?
"I need your help," Annie whispered, raising her hands. "I'm no thief."
"Turn around slowly, girl." He sounded much less wary.
Annie bit her lip. It had always been her angle. Cute. And then crazy. She imagined Finn was right next to her, that she wasn't in any real danger.
'There's some truth in every angle, Annie. You're much more cute than crazy.'
She had to get herself safe, for Finn.
The man's weapon was some long blunt stick. He wasn't balancing it properly. He was just a guy. She was Career.
She relaxed. "I'm Annie Cresta, and I'm going to die if you don't help me, Sir," she said, her voice shaking.
The man lowered his weapon, his brow knitting into a deep frown.
"I'm Marcus, get in, Miss."
He was an older man, short gray hair, lines, and no shirt. The last made Annie feel safe despite the alteration that made his chest and arms look like a chiseled statue. He was just a grandfather in his own house who couldn't sleep at night.
Marcus gestured towards the couch. "Sit down and don't move, please."
Annie let herself fall in the couch, keeping her ears sharp for the sound of a phone. The landline was next to her. If he wasn't Homeguard, he should have no other. She bit her lip, hoping her mind wasn't mixing up Finn's words.
Marcus was soon back with a weird shirt and a book. The Victor Book. He flipped it open towards the end and turned the pages. When he stopped, he nodded.
"You do look a lot like her. What's your trouble?"
Annie swallowed. She'd always been trusting. She'd paid for it a few times. She hoped she'd paid enough.
"They think Finn's a rebel. They want to torture me to get to him."
The man stared. He stood up, frightened, and Annie brought her knees to her chin, tears pooling in her pale green eyes. "Please, it's not true, he doesn't want anyone hurt."
Marcus shifted in discomfort. He looked to be struggling, so Annie tightened her hold on herself to look even smaller and desperate. Maybe this was her very own second arena.
Marcus exhaled. "Don't cry, Annie. Finnick must have friends here, someone who can help you."
Annie let the tears fall. Friends. Finnick didn't tell her. He protected her. The people he told her of didn't matter. Or they were victors… gone.
"Where are Cecelia's children?" Annie whispered hoarsely. In the interviews Cecelia had said the Capitol had them. If they were safe, Annie could be safe with them. Charles… he was older now. Eight, nine? Annie hoped she wouldn't scare him, that the nightmares would stay back.
"I don't know. They were on live TV two days ago, but –" He gave Annie a pleading look. "Someone in the media, someone wealthy, who can get away with a lot? I'm just a retired salesman."
Get away with a lot. Annie grinned. Yes! She remembered now. The man with the falcons. The man who'd made the memorials for Finnick's family when that train had crashed, and who'd helped them find Cinna.
Marcus sighed deeply after her explanation. "The man no-one wants to have to go see. You want Mr. DeCharon."
Annie nodded eagerly, pushing her tangled red curls behind her ears. Yes, that was the name. She felt so much better now.
"Alright, the gym's open, so I'll just get an early workout and leave you at DeCharon's on the way." Marcus checked the window, his hands shaking. "If we're stopped on the way, you're on your own." He winced. "Maybe you should ride in the trunk, Miss."
For all Marcus' grimaces and apologies, Annie didn't mind the trunk. Clean, soft, and not too small either. They slowed a couple of times but didn't stop. The sedative had worn off, she felt much better.
"It's here," Marcus said, making a bell ring inside the shop. "I hope he's awake."
It was an odd shop, the funeral home. A huge glass window, with flowers, fake and real, fancy boxes and vases, and fake people made of everything and anything. Annie wrapped her arms around her chest when she spotted a small boat. Mags, are you watching over us still?
The ringing seemed to go on forever.
Mags, I'm trying to be brave. I'll find him.
Finally, someone answered.
"Mr. DeCharon, I'm so sorry," Marcus blurted, "but this is Annie Cresta! And –"
DeCharon looked like a crow who'd read too many fashion magazines. He did wear death on his shoulders pretty well. The Capitol Death, the one that came late and had too much money.
He turned to stare at Annie who eagerly returned the stare.
He then turned to Marcus. "You can go, Sir," DeCharon said, "thank you."
Marcus smiled, giving Annie an awkward nod before he rushed back off to his car.
"Well, well," DeCharon said, leading her inside. "That's a surprise worth being torn out of bed for. Welcome, Annie Cresta."
Wide-eyed, Annie struggled not to poke at all the things, tiny models of bigger memorials probably, that were on display. Pretty! She wanted to snatch them and add them to her collection. The place was both dark and oddly cozy, Annie liked it.
"How many people die here?" Annie whispered.
"On average? One every other day." So many? DeCharon smiled at her shock. "It's rather low. The Capitol is over twenty times bigger than Creneis Town, Annie Cresta."
Cresta. Soon it'd be Odair. The Capitol wouldn't be able to ruin it for them anymore.
Her fingers traced the jewel-flowers. So many pretty things. "How much trouble did I put you in?" Annie asked, now feeling a little queasy.
"No more than I was already in," DeCharon said with an oddly fun grin. "Death doesn't discriminate, I've met every family in the Capitol." He winked at her. "I grow on people. Killing me wouldn't serve the peace."
Annie smiled. He talked a bit like Mags, of reasons why and hidden power that rested neither on Snow nor on men with weapons.
~~o~~
'Poor Annie. Mad Annie. '
She woke up in a hospital, bound hard and not sedated at all.
"You never escaped us. We kept you nice and warm right where we wanted you. You're some pretty bait," the voice teased, "and you'll help us get the big fish."
Annie's breath hitched in terrified denial. Bait. Betraying her Finn.
She let the door in her mind unlock, she let the water take her. Barnacle, his head rolling away. The grenades, tearing through them, ally and enemy. The Hovercrafts, above the sea, one by one, the children drowned while she stayed afloat, leaving them to die. Annie screamed, losing control over her surroundings.
Her last thought was for Mr. DeCharon. One whole month he'd kept her safe. They'd met people, she'd seen Charles, Victoria and Camlet. She hadn't even scared them. She'd been a bit drunk, but she was a calm, happy drunk. Those children were so brave. There had been pictures of her with them, not in the paper, but handed around. She'd not said anything truly rebellious, but her presence alone should have been enough.
She'd waited for Finnick, any sign of her Finn. He'd find her. She'd find him.
'Poor Annie, mad Annie. This is for your own good.'
They'd found her first. There'd been no fight, just legal papers and a needle in her arm. She hoped DeCharon would be alright.
Annie couldn't let them get inside her head. She would only let them see the madness.
Johanna, District 7, 71st Games.
Rain. It was raining inside. So much water. She's drowning? They're drowning her?
Johanna cried out, her whole body arching against the restraints as indescribable pain shot through her. Water isn't pain. This water is pain.
"You haven't asked any bloody questions!" Johanna screamed.
She forced her eyes open through the agony when she realized one of the screams was not hers. Electricity, her locked muscles just wouldn't obey. But finally she managed a peak through the long narrow glass pane in the wall.
Peeta.
Johanna screamed, this time in rage. They'd died for him! They'd died and those useless rebels hadn't even saved him?
Damn it, Finn, who the fuck have you been trusting!
Johanna chuckled dryly when the electric shocks stopped just enough to let her breathe. "You torturing me because you're frustrated you got me instead of Odair and Volts?" She shouted. "I'm offended! I know stuff!"
She laughed again when someone came in. They didn't have Finnick, they didn't have Beetee. Those screw-ups had better rescue her.
~~o~~
"Who told you of rebels?"
"Where are they based?"
"How did they contact you?"
Johanna gave answers, useless snappy answers. Bastards slapped her, starved her, and must've forgotten she'd been the victor getting broken bones from riding her home-built hang-glider. Pain was a friend. It was so nice, Capitol people finally dropping the mask. The world like she liked it, ugly and simple.
Sometimes, Johanna threw them a breadcrumb, something almost valuable. Something to hide the fact she barely knew shit. It was her shameful secret: she didn't want to die. Not here, not in their hands, not alone.
Not after Finn had made her hope in a better world.
"Where do the orders come from? Which District?"
"Four." Blame it all on District Four. They'd probably puff up in pride anyway.
"When will they attack?"
Johanna bared her teeth. "Every day, everywhere, until they stab you through the eye in your sleep."
They tied her up and shaved her hair, cutting deep into her skin when she struggled. It pissed them off, the insults, but Johanna was no stoic lips-sealed prisoner.
They brought mutts. Three snarling wolf-mutts half the weight of their handler, with teeth as big as Johanna's face.
Johanna didn't bother hiding her terror. She didn't have the energy to spare.
"The sound of human voices calm them," the handler said. "Start talking."
Idiot. "Your mother's so ugly they turn off the surveillance cameras whenever she walks in a building," Johanna said with a big smile.
The handler gave the mutts an inch of slack, just enough to drool on Johanna's face. Johanna gathered her courage and threw herself at them with a snarl. She screamed when their teeth dived deep into her shoulder and back. That should keep their doctors busy.
She woke up in the same cell. No mutts, just restraints and water. She tensed, waiting for the shocking pain. She hoped she'd gained at least three days. Fuck it had hurt.
She winced when the air begun to crackle. What was that noise? It was whistling, whining, audible but barely. It dug in her head. It –
Johanna gritted her teeth. She was going to hate this. She swallowed, her consciousness slipping as the noise became obsessing, taking over all her thoughts.
~~o~~
It had been roughly a month. Maybe three weeks, probably five or more. Johanna didn't have to tuck in her stomach to count her rib bones.
They'd stopped the ultrasounds when Johanna had locked up and gotten silent. Johanna sneered, holding onto her pride while she shuddered. It was so cold. They'd removed the water and shocks for the last days, letting her just sit there feeling sorry for herself, with a big black eye as a souvenir.
Had she been that close to going insane, or were they just giving her time to conjure up a new horror before they began some new type of torture?
They were out of luck. Johanna had very little imagination. She still had no idea what was in that foul-smelling mush they were feeding her. She didn't care.
She started caring when four men stripped her naked and bound her, flat on her stomach. Seriously? They figured that'd work but they'd waited that long?
But Johanna realized her imagination had again failed her.
They didn't touch her. They poured something over her. It was something thick and warm that smelled -. Blood. Blood seeping into her every corner. Blood entering in places Johanna would never manage to wash properly.
Johanna thrashed and screamed. She had to get out! She – She slammed her head against the table and fell out of consciousness.
A girl screamed, jolting Johanna awake. Johanna jerked against the restraints. That was definitely not her voice.
She was sticky. Her breath hitched when she remembered. Blood. Blood all over.
"Okay, wait," the girl whispered.
She knew that accent. I wasn't Capitol. It was warm and full of songs. She knew it.
Johanna moaned when something wiped at her back and legs. The restraints finally loosened. She managed to get on her feet, forcing her stiff muscles to hold her weight.
She stared.
"Annie", she said, unable to believe it. "You're Annie Cresta." Someone she'd always been on the fence about meeting, but surely never wanted to meet here.
A naked Annie Cresta, who chucked away her now blood-soaked shift. She looked dazed rather than hurt. No, Johanna had the full view, and no-one had touched a hair on the head of that pretty girl.
Crazy girl. Johanna felt a pang of guilt as she braced herself for an attack. She didn't mean to be disloyal to Odair, but she didn't see Snow putting them together so they could braid each other's hair.
They'd shaved off Johanna's hair. Every day she realized she could hate even more.
Annie wasn't looking at her. She was standing on her tiptoes by the narrow window, her eyes wide as she stared at Peeta.
"Peeta, they took him out twice, but otherwise he just stays there, with that pump in his arm and those things plugged to his skull. He doesn't say much."
Not aloud. That had almost stopped after the first time they'd taken him out. Johanna had watched sometimes, when she hadn't been bound. Peeta's face told a thousand stories, all painful, in that torture-sleep they'd put him under.
She'd wake to him shouting Katniss' name, and wondered how a single name could hold such pain. A few times, Johanna had heard her own. He knew she was here.
What where they doing to him? Johanna hated to admit the sight of him gave her strength. She was the luckier one of the two.
"Hel-lo…" Johanna said when Annie didn't answer.
Annie turned and mustered a smile. "You're Jo. You're pretty even without the hair."
Johanna's lips twitched despite everything. Okay, Odair, I can get why you like her. Careers weren't supposed to be huggable, but damn that woman was cute.
And pretty good at ignoring the blood. Johanna didn't whoop and cheer just yet. What were Annie's 'crazy' switches?
"I'd have liked us to get dinner before we got naked together," Johanna said with a smirk.
Way too many victors had seen her naked. At least that elevator had been warm…
"We often swim naked," Annie said with a shrug, much more concerned by Johanna's bruises and scabs.
~~o~~
The room was so cold. Whenever Johanna began to think she could ignore it, sprinklers spat cold water at them, biting into her skin. Johanna shuddered violently. She needed that blood scrubbed off, but she hated water. They'd made her fear water.
Hysteria built in her chest until choked laughter left her lips. She grasped onto Annie not to fall. Of all the things they could have done to her, they'd made her fear water.
Except it wasn't funny. She couldn't breathe. More water seeped in and the water began to rise.
Annie wrapped her arm around Johanna's waist. Of course Annie wasn't afraid. She had no idea.
Johanna braced herself for the electrical shock. For the moment they'd drown in half-a-foot of fucking water.
When it happened, Johanna fell. She realized she'd started screaming, even before the mad girl.
~~o~~
Johanna woke up bound on the table once more. Everything hurt.
She twisted her neck to see through the glass. Peeta was gone again. If it was like the last times, he'd be back in a few days.
What did they take him away for? He'd come back looking much better the first time. And then they'd hooked him up to that machine. The second time, he'd looked like he'd barely regained consciousness at all.
Annie was gone.
Johanna felt tears stinging in the corner of her eyes. Now she cared, damn it. She couldn't push Annie's face out of her mind.
"You spoke of FLASH last time," the interrogator said in his infuriating cordial voice. "You used the word 'ghosts'. Tell us more."
Come on, rescue me!
Amazingly, this time, they heard.
~~o~~
Johanna opened her eyes. She was in some ugly underground place. Way too ugly for the Capitol. She loved it already.
No restraints, a tube under her nose. Another in her arm. She'd never felt so good as when she ripped them off.
Katniss. Johanna smirked. That was definitely the chick-on-fire, radiant as you please. Johanna almost forgot she couldn't stand the girl.
"Finnick!"
Johanna's eyes flickered to the side. She knew that voice by now. Annie Cresta and all her red hair, twirling in Finn's arms. Oh look at them. Envy and sheer happiness stamped an embarrassing grin on Johanna's face.
Katniss had run off, calling for Peeta, who looked like he had his own room. Johanna hoped it was because he was special and not because he'd been too badly screwed up.
She stumbled as her feet hit the cold ground and soon found two strong arms beneath her.
"Jo, look, we got rescued by rebels," Finn said, with a very guilty - but not guilty enough, not nearly - smile.
Smack! She winced, pretty sure she'd hurt her own hand more than him.
"Took your bloody time, Boytoy" she hissed, wrapping him into a fierce hug.
He was crying, the bloody sap. "Oh quit it, I could've held another month," Johanna said.
But she was damn glad she hadn't had to wait that long to see that huge happy grin again.
Enobaria, Ceasar, Peeta, Annie and Johanna, I hope I did them and canon justice. I'm looking forward to your comments and criticism.
Note: Peeta's first interview wasn't broadcasted the day it was done (before somebody tells me my dates don't fit with canon^^). Caesar waited for the right time. The second and third were live, because by then they figured they had Peeta under control (they never learn).
Peeta's brothers' names, Flax and Rye, were borrowed from ETNRL4L who wrote all my headcanon on them.