Hello everyone, thank you for reading and commenting. 99 chapters... I'm both proud of myself and somewhat appalled. This story is so much bigger than what it had started out to be.
To Paul: do create an account, it's free, it's quick, it's anonymous (you just need an email address, and you can create one in 10 minutes if you don't have one) and I'll be delighted to answer your many questions/discuss the story with you. And don't ever apologize for reviewing and having opinions. You can add a page-long review on each chapter if you want.^^ It'll just unfortunately be a one-sided conversation if you don't sign up.
Year 76, November, District Two.
Wolfe walked under the leaden sky, the fog seeping into his bones. The Victor of the 66th fantasized about throwing his cloak off and ordering those entitled invaders to take him to the Village. Instead he hid in the dark like a criminal in his own city. He deserved better.
Thirteen was everywhere. They'd stripped the peacekeepers of their weapons and assigned them to food and water delivery. People were barricaded in, candles and covers their only weapons against the winter's chill. No one was getting killed, yet.
A patrol. Wolfe silently snarled as he crouched behind trash bags. He was filthy and every detour cost him precious minutes. Lyme would die if he could not get them out of the Nut's ruins.
She'd had to go. She'd not trusted Thirteen and the evacuating peacekeepers not to kill each other. Wolfe couldn't have cared less about them, but Lyme was all he had and he couldn't stop her.
He needed a doctor. Never before had others entrusted their survival to him, and he wasn't sure he liked the feeling. Bahamut was at deaths' door, and Lyme would not abandon him despite her own wounds and the threat of starvation. Wolfe had hesitated to discretely finish him off, but he feared Lyme would not recover, and he was fond of Bahamut, his bumbling older brother in all but blood.
Thirteen's people were still rounding up survivors, but Wolfe trusted none of them. They'd sent the Nut's refugees back to their families, breaking bones at the first sign of trouble. The pretty Mockingjay was gone, and far from innocent eyes, Thirteen showed their true colors. Even Lyme didn't trust them. Lyme had trusted Mags.
Mags, striding in his room at the Annex like she held all the power in Panem, had needed someone to live, and Lyme had chosen him. Sawyer, the ally he'd not wanted, who had seen him, too much of him, and who had willingly died for him, still haunted his dreams. Today, Wolfe would be rid of those debts.
His amber eyes narrowed at the faded 16 above the door he was at. Finally.
He cocked a bolt in his one-hand crossbow before knocking rapidly. An old woman answered. Her skin was smooth and her eyes sharp. It had to be her.
"Glynn?" He swallowed. The cold made his voice even more grating than usual. "I'm the second boy."
"Wolfe," the woman said after a pause. She unchained the door and Wolfe stepped in, sweeping the room. Three ways out, twice as many places to store an accessible gun. It wasn't a bad place.
"Is Lyme safe?"
"No. She's wounded, she can't walk and it's getting infected. Bahamut's shoulder was ripped in half, he's spiking a fever and lost too much blood to safely move him."Wolfe was the smallest, and by far the thinnest, of the three, and he'd almost died, stuck in that 20-yard long collapsed tunnel. "Lyme send me to you."
"Sit down." Glynn said. Wolfe smelled her fear. She had terrible news, and she'd spotted the small crossbow under his cloak.
She was right to fear him. She was the one who'd made Lyme Commander and who'd convinced her that Two was her responsibility. She was reason Lyme was lying wounded and shivering next to Bahamut under a mountain.
"Just tell me," Wolfe said, letting his hood fall back. "You're the only person Lyme trusts here. I won't kill you." Not yet.
"One's Academy was cruel, a platform of human trafficking," Glynn began. "Thirteen easily found a group of locals eager to take it out on the Victors. All the bodies are accounted for aside from Magister, who may be still alive in the Capitol."
"The Capitol did keep repeating we were better off under their protection..." Wolfe pointed out, letting the sarcasm diffuse the tension freezing his limbs. "What of our Village?"
Wolfe smiled when Glynn hesitated, that innocent vulnerable smile that had Instructors and trainees swooning over him until those mutts had torn him apart. The old woman finally understood the smile for what it was: insurance. He was in control. She didn't have to fear his temper.
"Enobaria, Lyme, Bahamut and you are the only ones who haven't been accounted for," Glynn said, her eyes tight. "Two of the crafts made a turn during the bombings. Instead of going for the Nut, they bombed the Village right before they attacked. Then Thirteen, maybe a dissident squad, maybe under orders, attacked. The peacekeepers were too few and reinforcements too late."
Wolfe blinked. Suddenly he wasn't sure what she'd said, only that he was cold. The words wouldn't stick. Compartmentalize, now. He had a mission. He'd come back to Glynn's words later.
"Any theories, Glynn?" Wolfe breathed, regulating his heartbeat to keep that smile on his face. "You have more information than any of us." Glynn had made Lyme Commander, and so Lyme had been away from the Village. He'd been wrong. He owed her.
"I suspect that Thirteen wants the Capitol forgotten." She wore no smile, instead tears slowly ran freely down her cheeks. "Erased from the face of Earth. The Victors, especially veteran Careers, know too much." She stood up to open a wardrobe, her movements slow and deliberate. "Wolfe, there are still a few hundred peacekeepers guarding the Annex. They are armed, and Thirteen and them seem to have come to an agreement. At the Annex, you will find a doctor, and hopefully Enobaria."
She handed him two short-range phones. "Fifteen miles, one's for Enobaria, I have a third. Please call. I should be able to get Lyme and Bahamut to Four by tomorrow night once they're out of the Nut."
Wolfe blinked. Four. Could they pass borders now? Moving Bahamut - He inhaled before the panic could take hold.
The mental exercises kept blinders on his thoughts but they also brought him back to Lyme. He had to go to the Annex, now.
When the time was right, he would allow himself to think about the Village, and he would make them pay.
Thirteen were used to dry underground bunkers with temperature regulators. The winter fog had them shivering like babies. It was disappointingly easy to get to the Annex. He wished he'd had an excuse to kill one of them. Unfortunately, it would have slowed him down.
He let his drenched cloak fall to the ground the moment he found armed peacekeepers. "Take me to Enobaria," he ordered.
Seeing them obey left the sweetest taste in his mouth. That was why he had trained. So no one would feel better than him.
Somehow, the universe had conspired to make him win for much more noble reasons. He had been a log in the pyre the Mockingjay had set aflame. And Lyme wondered, why he found life so absurd.
Enobaria didn't stand up when he arrived and flashed him a sharp golden grin. Insurance. He smiled and told her all he knew.
He was glad it was her. He'd cared little for the others, but they'd been safe and they'd treated him well. His hate made up tenfold for the lack of true grief. Enobaria had never minded speaking of ideas and what-ifs, and they'd gone in town as themselves or disguised, many a night, eager to enjoy the world outside the Village. With her, he hadn't felt different.
And now, like him, she devoted all her energy to choking a storm of emotions that threatened to rip them apart.
"So, was there really a thing between Phoenix and you?" Enobaria asked when he'd finished.
Wolfe's smile broke, his temper spiking. Did she really want to fight? Of all of them, Enobaria had tried the hardest not to solve her moods with violence. "We had sex because doing anything else had us at each others' throats," he hissed, letting his crossbow clatter to the floor. He'd not risk killing her.
Phoenix, Brutus' last, the Villages' baby, two years after him. She'd been perfect, liked by all, beautiful of course, and offensively sane. Wolfe alone managed to get under her skin and he enjoyed that greatly. They'd been rivals and now... His fists clenched painfully. Now he'd won.
He froze when Enobaria wrapped him into a very unexpected hug. "Sorry," Enobaria muttered. She had to be at wits end. "I didn't mean to lash out. I'm happy to see you, Wolfe."
Wolfe embraced her back and laughed softly, his eyes shards of ice. He'd make them pay. "So am I," he admitted, pulling back. "A doctor, Enobaria, now."
Enobaria let him go. "Come, Pliny's here." They ran towards the infirmary Wolfe had spent a third of his training years in. "He and Nilda have a pass, they've been treating Thirteen's just as much as ours." Enobaria's hand shot out, grabbing his shirt. "Wolfe, I must stay here, but you... you save them! Don't you dare let him die!"
He had no intention to.
Her lips twitched as she let go, satisfied by his nod. "The world's gone mad, appointing you as hero."
Wolfe sniggered, feeling light-headed. Madder by the minute.
Year 76, December, District Two.
Enobaria's foot lashed out, slamming into the sand dummy. She grunted, a flurry of punches and kicks in the empty room, like she was sixteen and qualifying for First Tier all over again.
Tyr, Archon, Phoenix; Brutus' legacy was ashes and blood. Lyall, Domitia, Gunner hadn't even had the leisure to die in their beds, but maybe that wasn't too bad a thing. Surely they'd fought until the last. Seif, Steinar, Carlo… none were left.
None but her.
Lyme, Bahamut, Wolfe. Silence, deafening silence had followed the Nut's evacuation. Nice one, Commander. The Nut was rubble, but the people had been saved. Bahamut. Enobaria's throat was dry, her breathing sharp and fast. She should have been there. She refused to believe until she saw a body. He'd been with Lyme. Lyme would never have let him die. She'd waited for a sign, not sleeping for two days, until finally Wolfe had shown up.
For all his charm and wit, Wolfe was still a sociopath, but boy, she'd almost fallen in love with him right there.
Her eyes fell on the phone hidden under her bed. The battery was dead, but she'd gotten the call. They'd left for Four, with Lyme's mysterious ally. Enobaria had heard Lyme's and Wolfe's voices, and her mentor's grunt. Bahamut had been in a critical condition, but alive.
Enobaria gasped, punching the dummy hard enough to bruise her hand. For all she knew the hovercraft had been shot down and her hopes meant nothing. Thirteen had betrayed them all, twice.
Day after day, forcing herself into a routine, Enobaria had made sure the Annex kids stayed disciplined. She calmed them down, answered their questions about the Capitol, about Lyme, about what loyalty was supposed to be now, about their futures, when she really was the last person qualified to speak.
Her scream of rage filled the room, echoing against the white walls. She wrapped her legs around the dummy and closed her eyes. When she President Snow's face well in mind, she snapped the wooden spine with a twist of her body.
She was on her feet, arm crossed, as soon as she heard steps in the corridor. Can't even be alone at six bloody AM.
Gervasi, one of the possible volunteers for the 76th, gingerly opened the door after knocking profusely. "It's the Capitol, Enobaria. We've put the call onscreen in the prep room. A private channel."
Enobaria snorted. "I can actually tell them to go fuck themselves now."
"It's Victor Mercury," Gervasi said, looking at the floor. "She was captured, I think."
Enobaria flinched. "Get out," she snapped. She gasped for breath as soon as the boy was gone, her eyes suddenly stinging. She was out of control. That second arena had knocked her back ten years, bringing instincts she'd thought she'd tamed roaring back to life. And she'd be getting no mentor or safe Village this time.
Disheveled and sweating, Enobaria ran to the prep room, where she'd been stripped, prodded and polished a dozen times to weather it all with a smile in the Capitol. Her eyes immediately sought out the screen-table next to the stylist's chair.
It was truly her. Alive and unchained in a bright room with a table and leather chair, but so skinny a gust of wind could break her. Her skin was white and unbroken, but she looked like she hadn't slept in a month. Enobaria didn't need a manual to recognize non-violent torture. Her burning urge to break was sucked out of her when she stepped in front of the camera and Mercury's blue eyes lit up.
"What did they do to you?" Enobaria breathed.
Mercury's lips twitched. "Don't fret, the arena was worse."
She was answering. She looked lucid. Relief made Enobaria's legs weak. She sat down, her face resting in her hands. Damn it! "What does he want?"
"The same thing as me, for different reasons. Bari, the rebels all want to forget. They'll want to destroy, they'll erase us, like we'd never existed." Enobaria watched stunned as Mercury straightened, some life rushing back to her face, her breath quickening with panic. "We can't let them do that. The Capitol's Panem already destroyed and rewrote so much history! And now… now people in the Capitol are destroying files, and rebels will destroy so much more. It's not just the science, the hospital records and the mutts, it's everything, Bari. Evening news, fashion trends, peacekeeper records, they're everything."
For the first time, Enobaria felt both the urge to weep and chuckle. Mercury, really? Why do you care, they're killing us all!
"You're such a Three," she huffed. "You're a prisoner, and you want me to take notes for history class." Her hands were pressed hard on the sides of the screen, where Mercury couldn't see them, and she couldn't stop them from shaking. "Did you see Finnick's wedding? I cried," she said unabashedly.
Of all things, she hadn't expected Annie and Finnick's wedding dance to be the thing to break the wall holding back the grief at bay. But to see them so happy, together... Enobaria hadn't been able to push back thoughts about her own family and future anymore.
Mercury nodded. "It was beautiful."
Mercury's smile withered. "Aster's dead," she said hoarsely, tears filling her eyes. Enobaria flinched. Aster hadn't been just Mercury's mentor, he'd been her husband. "They… they killed him in Six. They tracked us through Alyx Rivers, an ally of Mags. Alyx… she cracked under torture. She was a great woman, Bari." Mercury brought her fist to the screen, tapping so weakly that Enobaria had to bite back a snarl. "These people, they... they just don't fit in a binary narrative. You can't understand them if you don't understand the Capitol. Victors, we're part of that." Mercury stared straight at her, every bit as righteous as Brutus had been when he talked of duty, despite being weak as a kitten.
Damn it, woman. I'll read a book, I promise. "You need food, water and sleep. I won't contribute to the torture."
Mercury had the gall to roll her eyes at her. "History, people, are complex, you don't get to pick and choose," she said, her voice rising. "We were manipulated as a people, for so long, because we weren't allowed to learn!" She inhaled sharply, the veins sticking out on her sickly skin. "We mattered, Bari! And so did Snow, Evadne Achlys and all the others. They made Panem what it was. It doesn't matter if people find it distasteful. We need to save the data, and I want you to save it for me. To later distribute it."
Ah, so Snow wanted a biography. "And what will happen to you?"
Mercury giggled. Enobaria found herself smiling at the affection in her exhausted smile. "Bari, I… Aster's dead. I… I don't know." Enobaria's smile died when she realized Mercury didn't sound like a woman who wanted to live. "But I won't disappear, not truly, because, you, and everyone who survives, who cares –and you make Beetee promise – they'll value the truth. Listen. We have weeks at best before Thirteen attacks."
"You want me to sit here, and just listen to you, for days?" Enobaria said, her breathing shallow as if a rug had been pulled from under her feet. "Can't you just send files over and I'll make sure they're copied and stored safely?" She had to break Mercury out. Surely there was something she could trade Snow.
"I can't think of a better thing to do," the Victor of the 60th said with a heartbreaking smile. "I will send you files, but too many are already gone. You can do this. Rebels are saving Panem, but you must save them from themselves. Please, Enobaria."
Enobaria shut her eyes. The worst was that she did understand. That was why she had become friends with Mercury despite everything standing between them. Knowledge is power, curiosity is power, and it was something built over generations. Victor Village had been bombed, and she did want people to remember why, and to remember those who had lived there. There was strength, not just comfort, in memory.
"Let me grab a tablet," Enobaria finally said. "There should be one in the room somewhere."
She froze when a door opened behind Mercury. A Homeguard, with a tray of food and water. The woman peered into the camera, her ugly face filling the whole screen. "She's to be fed three times a day, and allowed heating and eight hours of sleep, as long as you listen. Half the talk is to be about the President."
Enobaria kept her mouth shut and her face wisely blank. Still too early to tell the Capitol fuck you apparently.
Mercury sighed when the Homeguard was gone, a smile playing on her lips. "A Two friend with a Three. It'll be no big deal after the rebels win, at least I hope not. This is why this matters." Her hand was shaking badly as she picked up the water pitcher and struggled to fill her glass without spilling. She drank deeply until her voice had regained some life. "Don't worry, I'll tell you the truth, as unbiased as I can make it. This won't be another piece of propaganda. I'd rather die."
Frankly, data accuracy was far from the first thing on Enobaria's mind. Mercury's death was.
But for now, all she could do was listen to her friend. "Talk to me," Enobaria said with a weak smile.
Year 76, December, the Capitol.
"It's done," the doctor said.
The rebels were at their doorstep. It was impossible, but it had happened. The Capitol still had some contact with Two, but all Twelve Districts were under Thirteen's banner.
Caesar Flickerman didn't fancy waiting around for Snow to order his head on a platter. Executing without even a pretense of a trial Magister and Avita had been the last straw. He had personally vouched for Avita! He'd known her from before she'd become an escort. Most of Panem probably didn't even remember that there was a Victor from One called Magister, let alone that he had married a Capitol woman over two decades ago. Snow's paranoia was out of control and it was high time Caesar disappeared.
And what better way than to become someone else?
"Thank you, Agamemnon," Caesar said. "Sorry again for this," he added gesturing around him. No amount of money and fancy machines could disguise the dusty cellar for what it was.
Agamemnon gave him a broad smile. "I'd have hated to die without having attempted at least one risky surgery in a clandestine hospital."
"Ha!" Caesar guffawed. "You've always been my kind of Doc."
Caesar squared his shoulders -Crickey, they felt wide!- and stood up to face the mirror.
Relief was the sweetest feeling. Agamemnon had done a killer job. A completely different man stared at Caesar through the glass. Hello handsome. The new him had almond eyes, high cheekbones and a pointy chin. His muscles ached, tugged at by ravenously multiplying muscle cells.
The exercise he'd need to keep those pounds on would have him curse every forgotten god, but damn, he looked fine.
"Do you like it, dear?" He asked the stunning stranger next to him.
His wife smirked. Her skill was still that delicious caramel tone, but her straight nose was smaller and slightly upturned, her elegant symmetric smile traded for a crooked mouth that gave her a sexy thoughtful look. He'd never thought she could look so good with thick eyebrows.
"It's not everyday your husband turns into your guilty fantasy," she replied huskily, cupping his new cheeks in her soft hands.
Caesar's eyes glinted. The thrill of success, and of seeing her in an attractive body not hers flooded his veins with the oddest kind of desire. For all they could say about him, he'd always stayed strictly monogamous.
"Why don't you two experiment with those new bodies? I have money to spend," Agamemnon said, clapping Caesar on the back. "Call if there's anything. If you want to be there, I've scheduled with your eldest, eight tomorrow."
Of course he'd be there. His sons would be changing faces. "Knock yourself out, Doc, you deserve it."
"Petronius," Nephtys said, letting the name roll over her tongue. "What kind of man hides behind such a name? A naughty one? One who likes to take charge?" Her smile broadened. "Or another lazy old cat, just like that rascal Caesar Flickerman?"
The fake IDs had been easy to forge. Snow had avoxed so many of his opponents over the years that some names had slipped through the cracks of his memory. Petronius Padmore had been an afterthought, blackmail to quieten a family that Snow had in fine decided to permanently silence.
Petronius' family history was full of tragedy and courage, it would seduce the rebels (and said family was so conveniently dead). They'd need him, his ideals, his knowledge of the Capitol. The traitor avox who'd warned Peeta of the attack on Thirteen had revealed -after a bit of prompting- everything Caesar needed to know to keep his cover.
Caesar would make sure Thirteen's leaders would smoothly take control, and they'd reward him lavishly. Tomorrow he would contact them.
"Careful, they say that once power is tasted, it never relinquishes its hold," Caesar purred, marveling at hoarseness of his altered voice. Science! He'd take to smoking foul cigars if that was the price to pay to keep it. He pushed his beloved against the cool wall, letting the moisture seep into her clothes and cling to her skin. "I might never surrender again if I take control, Laetitia."
"Look at you getting all cocky," his wife teased, that quirk to her eyebrows reminding him the alterations were just skin deep.
Caesar realized what he'd signed up for when that gray-haired woman asked him Claudius Templesmith's head. Still, it couldn't be so difficult to organize. A clean death was probably the best poor Claudius could hope for these days, anyway. The Districts would eat him alive.
Odd though, that people with such a good mind for propaganda would not want Claudius on trial. He hoped that after that the woman would reveal how high she ranked and introduce him to other rebels. He had a network to build from scratch in weeks.
He would start with the Homeguard. Most of them had gone soft, they'd be grateful for Petronius Padmore.
Year 76, January, District Thirteen.
His fingers slid between hers, their hands dancing entwined without ever letting go. His chin rested on her soft hair and with every deep breath he slowly chased away the fear that had almost swallowed him whole.
Annie held him tight, her whispers carrying the songs of home to Thirteen's austere bunker. She talked of everything and nothing, a stream of hopes, memories and stray thoughts. Her eyes were closed, as if the world around them didn't exist. Finnick didn't want her to stop.
He straightened to let her shift to face him when he realized she'd opened her eyes.
"They said they'd always known where I was but they let me be," she muttered. "I wasn't worth the bother. They said they just needed you to believe I was being hurt. That it was more torture than they could ever do to me."
Finnick sucked in a breath. He'd forbidden Annie to talk of it when she'd come back. He'd just wanted to hold her and forget. Jo had been the one to shake him and tell him Annie hadn't been captured until the very end.
"No. No, Annie. Torture lasts, it wounds you forever. I did worry, and I did hurt." He'd wanted her dead. He'd wanted his love dead. He'd not believed she'd come back whole. And he'd been so wrong. They'd had Annie, and Jo. They'd killed Mags, Cashmere and everyone who'd ever been strong for him. How could he fight if everyone he loved was dead? "But all of that vanished the moment I saw you. I'm happy Annie. I didn't think I could be so happy." His cheeks ached, his back ached from holding her all through the night, but she was here, and when he dreamed of Mags, his great-aunt smiled. "You're worth every bother in the world."
He'd married her. He'd married her and there had been singing children, and the sight of children had made Annie happy. He'd married her and Jo had dansed. He'd said yes to this incredible woman while a lone fiddler played and for an instant he'd heard the sea.
"What would you name our children?" Annie asked.
Finnick laughed merrily. "We can't call them Mags. Or Cereus." Mags would have hated it. But names had power, they kept stories alive, and he wished Mags' to be told long past the day Creneis' Village had been washed away by rain and wind.
Their child. He let the thought echo in his mind, as if, like Annie's hand, it'd vanish the moment he let go.
"Barnacle wouldn't do either," Annie said, her tinkling chuckle making his heart skip a beat, "but I do like Esperanza, and Angelo."
Who didn't like hope and angels? Finnick now had both. So much had happened in the last months, but he'd been a shadow, dragging himself out of nightmares to wake up to new ones. Crushing loneliness, wrapped in the madness of the Jabberjay songs that wouldn't leave his mind, had made him wonder why he bothered to live another day. He'd tried, for Katniss mainly, because she fought so hard to burn bright for them all, but he'd only wakened when the rescue mission had left for Thirteen.
He'd spilled a hundred socialites' dirty little secrets, baring their shameful cravings for all to see. Another dent in their power, in the myth the Capitol had built.
Then she'd come back, running, healthy, smiling and kissing him.
He squeezed Annie's hand, marveling that he could still smile like this.
The battle for the Capitol. It would be over before the Spring.
"How about Caspian?" Annie said. "I remember his story: the boy who believed everything was possible and who fixed the lighthouse when he was still of reaping age."
Finnick's smile broadened. "Mags told it to me when I admitted that I hadn't dared tell the sailors the idea I'd had to clean their boats faster." He'd been ten and his idea had been terrible, but he'd loved the story, the idea he could make a difference before he was old.
"She had so many stories," Annie said, her eyes bright with longing. She jabbed a finger in Finnick's side, making him gasp. "And she told you so many. Start now, tell me about her, about all these people."
Finnick laughed. "Where to start?"
"Those with pretty names, Finn," Annie said with a sigh, as if there was no more obvious thing.
"Finnick?"
Finnick let Annie slide off his lap, their hands still entwined, when Coin, President Coin, fully opened the ajar door to their room.
The gray-haired woman gave them a small apologetic smile. "I have to speak to Finnick. He can tell you all about it afterwards. Katniss and Primrose are already in the mess hall, Annie. They're always happy to see you."
Annie's tight expression had to mirror his, but Finnick had to acknowledge that Alma Coin was always gracious when she could be.
A shudder ran up Finnick's spine when Annie left the room. His heart raced at the sudden void by his side, dryness invading his throat. She's out of sight, not gone.
"What would you have me do?" He asked.
"We're putting together a fourteen-man squad to infiltrate the Capitol," Coin said, with her customary gravitas. "Squad 451."
"Is the number significant? A banned book I must read?" Finnick said with a crooked smile.
Coin flinched at being interrupted, honest surprise but also ego. Then she smiled. She always had the same smile, one that showed concern but not too much, just the right amount for a leader. Finnick struggled to read her. They had grown up in such different worlds that his frame of reference was skewed, but something about her set his instincts on edge.
"Yes, Fahrenheit 451. It's enlightening," Coin said, a touch of impatience creeping in her voice. "You are to be part of this squad, along with Katniss, Gale, Johanna, Boggs, Cressida and her crew. Plutarch has a holographic map but your knowledge of the Capitol is critical." She believed it. She made him want to believe it. "We can't do it without you, Finnick."
Finnick blinked. "An assassination force. You expect us to kill Snow?" And to film it.
"That would be the icing on the cake," Coin acknowledged. "Don't worry; we'll keep Annie very safe until Snow is dead and the Capitol secure."
Unfortunately the lust in her eyes didn't tell Finnick how much he should trust her, only that Thirteen's General fought this war body and soul.
"Johanna stays here," Finnick said. Jo had no respect for authority and her need for vengeance burned too bright. He'd not stand to see her commit suicide.
"She's been training for the mission with Katniss. The trials are in two weeks. I won't hold her back if she passes the tests."
Then Finnick would have to make sure Jo wouldn't pass, even if it meant betraying her trust. His jaw clenched. "Do a test that puts her in deep water," he said. "She won't pass it."
Coin gave him a long assessing stare. "And you'll go with no complaints? Katniss needs you there. The people need to see you there, and Plutarch tells me you are still popular in the Capitol. The squad will be less likely to be attacked by civilians if you are among them." She sighed. "And I hope you'll keep the others from killing civilians needlessly."
Finnick nodded to hide his surprise. Coin had never once seemed to care about Capitol civilians. Did she mean it, or was this for his sake?
"Finnick, you're the only one who isn't motivated by revenge." Alma Coin put her hand against his arm, her eyes bright. "Everyone can see how much you love Annie. They won't put you in danger, and in so doing, they won't take unnecessary risks. I didn't want Katniss to go, but she won't hear of it, and it is her right. I need you to save them, Mr. Odair."
"I'll go." The words escaped his lips, torn by the earnestness of the gray-haired woman before him. He regretted them almost instantly.
"Good. You'll have to pass the tests too, but it shouldn't be a problem for you."
She left as soon as she had come, alone and apparently unguarded, and Finnick couldn't shake the feeling he was being manipulated more than was to be expected.
He had to speak to Plutarch. He'd stayed trapped in nightmares too long. He hoped it wasn't too late to regain control over the situation. Plutarch had been avoiding him. The wedding was the first time they'd talked since they'd come to Thirteen. This had to stop.
"It's time for dinner," Plutarch said, a hitch in his voice when he saw Finnick standing before his quarters.
"I don't blame you. I'm not even angry at you," Finnick said. *Are we being monitored?* He signed, keeping his gestures minimal.
Plutarch blinked. "I'm happy to hear that," he said, still uneasy. *Yes. Always. Why?*
"Mags would be awed by the progress we made. Two could have been a disaster." He hoped Lyme had made it out alive. He had been thrilled to see Katniss, who hated Careers even more indiscriminately than Jo, come back speaking of Lyme with respect. Commander Lyme. He was so proud of her.
*Do you trust Coin?*
Plutarch slapped his Head Gamemaker facade with such haste that Finnick almost stepped back.
*I… worry, sometimes. We need her.* "The road was long, but we paved it correctly. We've won. Now we must just take the last step with minimal casualties."
"And rebuild. Mags promised that would be half the fun." *What was the technical problem in the arena?*
Plutarch's smile died. "Indeed," he said darkly. "We're not allowed to screw up the politics." *Accident, officially. I tried to dig but encountered walls. I worry.*
Finnick's jaw clenched. Cashmere, she could've killed Jo and Katniss, but she'd trusted him. Cecelia, with her three little kids. Gloss, Seeder, Chaff, Wiress, Blight, Brutus, Woof. They'd been supposed to live! What did that mean, 'walls'?
"Let's go to dinner." Finnick said with forced pleasantness. "We can't let events drive a wedge between us, Plutarch. Not when we've fought so long side by side." His lips quirked. "Besides, without you, the wedding ceremony would have been quite a dull affair. I'd like to thank Peeta personally for the cake, if you'll allow it."
The Capitol had hijacked him, twisting his memories and planting false ones. Peeta had tried to kill Katniss, he hated her as passionately as he'd loved her before. He'd been turned into a weapon of the vilest kind, and he was still enough himself to realize something was very wrong. Finnick had heard that the therapy was slowly working, and hopefully he could help.
"I can arrange that," Plutarch said with a genuine smile.
Peeta was the reason Annie and Jo had made it out alive of the Capitol with the rescue team. Finnick wasn't about to forget it.
Finnick smiled helplessly when Annie came out of the bathroom, hair still dripping and a towel wrapped around her stomach. She made their windowless room feel like a palace.
She walked up to him, her smile oddly shy as she let the towel fall to the floor.
Finnick blinked. Her stomach. His breath froze in his mouth and he stupidly gaped, an awed smile breaking his lips.
Hi, Daddy. Written in white toothpaste on her bare skin.
His jaw just wouldn't move. Daddy. He'd got her back two months before, they'd been married for sixteen blissful days, and he was going to be a dad.
Annie nuzzled against him, reminding him he was much too clothed. "I heard there was a squad with the victors who can fight," she said.
"I'll tell Coin I'm staying," Finnick promised, his arms tightening over her.
Unexpectedly, she pulled back. "It's bad luck to speak of a baby before the quickening. Say nothing. And… Finn, you have to go."
Finnick stared bewildered at his beautiful wife. "I am not leaving you!"
Annie giggled and Finnick tensed. She was nearing the edge, her eyes far away and moving too fast. "You've always fought," Annie said, her lips shivering. "This is who you are. You and Mags… You have to fight." She put her hand to her mouth, her other hand going to her stomach. "I… I have to let you fight." Her voice fell to pained whisper. "I let her volunteer."
Finnick cupped her face in his hands. "Annie, Mags… That was not your fault. She loved you."
Annie gave a resigned giggle. "She'd not have not had it any different." Her eyes sharpened. "You weren't in Two, Finn. How do you feel about that? If you don't fight, you won't be allowed to ask for anything."
True. He wouldn't be part of the rebuilding if he didn't Thirteen's respect. But did it matter? If competent people lead Panem, Finnick didn't need to be part of the new Government. He'd raise their child, their children, by the sea, and he'd be happy. Finnick swallowed bitterly, forced to acknowledge the truth in Annie's words. She was right, a part of him felt he'd betrayed what he stood for by entrusting Two's fate to teenagers and people who only thought in terms of strategy. Had Lyme not been there... He should have been with Lyme.
Annie was gazing at him, her lips parted, and Finnick didn't want to think anymore. She was here, nothing else mattered. His lips hungrily sought hers, and anger became a distant memory.
Later, he lay painfully awake, Annie's words needles in his mind. Who would he be? What job would he have? Could he trust Coin to finish what Mags had started? What would he tell their child?
'You're the only one who isn't motivated by revenge'. The ceiling stared back pitilessly.
What if Katniss died because there wasn't anyone to hold her back? What if he refused to go and Coin sent Johanna in his place?
He had to go with Squad 451.
Annie mumbled sleepily, when he put his hand on her stomach.
"I love you too," he whispered.
He was terrified.
Please review, there aren't many chapters to go!^^
What do you want to see on chapter 100? This will be the attack on the Capitol and the end of the war, so if you want something in the epilogue, now's the time to say it.