Our happy life shatters the day we're set to leave for the victory tour. Peeta and I have both been feeling a bit tense at the idea of the tour, of seeing the families of all the tributes we killed. I don't know how I can possibly face Rue's family.
So on the morning of the day we're set to leave, I decide to go on an early morning hunt to try to clear my head. Our prep teams are set to arrive at noon to make sure we're properly waxed and polished for the walk from our house to the train station, so I set out early and cross the fence at dawn. I only hunt for a few hours, but as always it feels good to be out here. Short of being held by Peeta, this is the only place where I can truly feel at peace.
As usual I bring my game to Hazelle. I decide to keep a squirrel for myself, thinking it's still early enough that Peeta and I can have an early lunch together before the prep teams arrive. As I leave Hazelle's the snowfall that had been threatening all morning finally begins, quickly covering every flat surface with a thin layer of white. By the time I reach the Victor's Village my boots are leaving squishy footprints in the wintery mix covering the ground; footing is going to be treacherous by the time we have to walk to the train later. Peeta is still getting the hang of using his prosthetic on slippery ground. One day last week when we were walking through town he happened to hit a patch of ice under the snow and his leg slipped out from under him; he wound up swinging around almost comically and falling flat on his back, pulling me down to land on top of him. I was afraid he might be seriously hurt, but he just laughed and kissed me as we lay there in the snow.
The memory puts a huge smile on my face as I return home, looking forward to one last meal alone with him before the Tour, but I don't make it two steps into the house before Peeta's there wrapping me up in a bear hug. "Mmmm, I missed you," he says a bit louder than necessary, while slipping my game bag off my shoulder and dropping it out of sight behind a box of paintings that wasn't there when I left this morning. "Did you have a nice walk?"
"Walk?" I ask. Peeta knows where I went this morning. It's only then that I register footsteps coming toward us from the kitchen. Not the footsteps of anyone I know. "It was more like skating. It's really getting slippery out there."
"Well, I'm glad you got home safely," he says. Then more quietly, "There's someone here to see us."
He steps back from me quickly, but doesn't let go of my hand, just before a man enters from the next room. One look at his tailored suit and surgically perfected features and I know he's from the Capitol. Something is wrong.
"Are the prep teams early?" I say as casually as I can manage. "I thought they weren't coming until noon."
"Please follow me, both of you," says the Capitol man. He steps past us to open the front door and gestures for us to go outside. He follows us out, and proceeds to lead us down to my mother's house. He knocks once on the door, and it is immediately answered by another Capitol man. I can see my mother standing off to one side, looking pale and frightened. I don't see Prim anywhere. I try to tell myself that means she's safely elsewhere and not in some terrible danger, but my mother's expression concerns me greatly. I squeeze Peeta's hand and he squeezes back. Whatever happens, we're in this together.
We are led inside and down the hallway, towards the study. The door to the study is closed; my mother never keeps that door closed. The Capitol man stops and opens the door for us, and gestures for us to enter. As soon as the door opens I'm assaulted by two overpowering scents: roses and blood. I look over to Peeta and I can tell by the wriggle of his nose that he smells it too. "Go right in," says the Capitol man.
We enter to find a small, white-haired man sitting behind my mother's desk reading a book. He looks familiar, but somehow out of place. Peeta must recognize him as he freezes next to me. The man holds up a finger as if to say, "Give me a moment." Then he turns and I'm staring into the snakelike eyes of President Coriolanus Snow.
My mind is searching for a rational explanation. Maybe this is a normal part of the Victory Tour? If it is, they've never publicized it before. But I know President Snow only attends celebrations in the Capitol. No, he traveled all the way from the Capitol to my house – no, I think, to my mother's house – just to intimidate me. The absolute ruler of Panem came here to intimidate me. And while that thought fills me with incalculable fear, I also feel a bit of confidence. Maybe I'm more important than I realize.
"President Snow," Peeta says, breaking the silence.
"Mr. Mellark, Miss Everdeen," Snow says in reply.
I think my tongue has frozen and speech will be impossible, but President Snow has done me a favor by using my old name. My response is pure reflex by now and makes me sound much more calm and confident than I really am. "It's Mrs. Mellark, actually."
"So it is," he says. "You two rushed off to the Justice Building before we could organize a Capitol wedding for you."
I can hear the threat in his words. You robbed me of another chance to exploit your lives for my gain he's telling us. I don't bother correcting him about the wedding; if he doesn't already know the details, then there's no need to endanger the Undersees by informing him.
"We didn't want to wait any longer," Peeta says evenly.
The president regards us for several moments. "I think we'd make this whole situation a lot simpler if we all agreed not to lie to each other," he says. "What do you think?"
Peeta doesn't respond. I can see his jaw twitch, whether out of anger or because he's biting back inappropriate replies I don't know. I say, "Yes, I think that would save time."
President Snow smiles, accentuating his overly-puffy lips. Are there people in the Capitol who think that looks good? "My advisors were concerned you two would be difficult, but you're not planning on being difficult, are you?" he asks.
"No," I confirm.
"No," Peeta forces out.
That smile again. "That's what I told them. I said that two people who have gone to such lengths to preserve their lives aren't going to be interested in throwing them away with both hands. And then there's family to think of. Parents. Siblings. And all those… cousins." By the way he lingers on the word "cousins," President Snow clearly knows the truth about the Hawthornes. Well, he said we wouldn't lie to each other.
"Please, sit," he says, gesturing towards two chairs on the other side of the desk. It irks me a bit that he's acting host in my mother's home, in my Victory House, but I know better than to say anything. This is a place that he has no right to occupy, but ultimately every right.
"I have a problem. A problem that began the moment you pulled out those poisonous berries in the arena," the president says, turning to me. I don't say anything, so he continues. "If the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, had had any brains, he'd have blown you to dust right then. But he had an unfortunate sentimental streak. So here you are. Can you guess where he is?" he asks.
I only nod. Clearly Seneca Crane is dead, executed for the crime of letting Peeta and me live. No, wait, that's not what he said. For the crime of letting me live. It's clear I'm to bear the brunt of the blame for this situation. I'm the one who pulled out the nightlock berries, after all.
He continues. "After that, there was nothing to do but let you play out your little scenario. And you were pretty good, too, with the love-crazed schoolgirl bit, fawning over the dashing young hero. The people in the Capitol were quite convinced. Unfortunately, not everyone in the districts fell for your act." My face must register at least a flicker of bewilderment, because he addresses it. "This, of course, you don't know. You have no access to information about the mood in other districts. In several of them, however, people viewed your little trick with the berries as an act of defiance, not an act of love. And if a girl from District Twelve of all places can defy the Capitol and walk away unharmed, what is to stop them from doing the same?" he says. "What is to prevent, say, an uprising?"
It takes a moment for his last sentence to sink in. Peeta seems to get it faster. "There have been uprisings?" he asks. The idea both chills and somewhat elates me.
"Not yet," President Snow says. "But they'll follow if the course of things doesn't change. And uprisings have been known to lead to revolution." He rubs a spot over his left eyebrow, the very spot where I myself get headaches. "Do you have any idea what that would mean? How many people would die? What conditions those left would have to face? Whatever problems anyone may have with the Capitol, believe me when I say that if it released its grip on the districts for even a short time, the entire system would collapse."
I don't know how I dare to say the next words, but I do. "It must be very fragile, if a handful of berries can bring it down."
There's a long pause while he examines me. I don't dare say anything, and neither does Peeta. Finally President Snow says, "It is fragile, but not in the way that you suppose."
There's a knock at the door then, and the Capitol man sticks his head in. "Her mother wants to know if you want tea."
"I would. I would like tea," says the president. My mother comes in and presents a tea service. She still looks pale and strained, but she seems relieved to see us. What, did she think we'd be beaten or dead already? And then I think, Well, why not? It's a sobering thought.
President Snow is making smalltalk with my mother about how no one thinks to offer tea to presidents, and the whole thing makes me sick. I want to vomit, I want to run away, I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to punch Snow in the face. Instead of doing any of that, I just sit quietly and wait for him to address me again.
"We didn't mean to start any uprisings," Peeta says once my mother has left the room.
"I believe you. It doesn't matter. Your stylists turned out to be prophetic with their wardrobe choice. District Twelve, the tributes set on fire. You have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow to an inferno that destroys Panem," he says.
"I'm the one who pulled out the berries," I say. "Why don't you just kill me?" I can feel the look of horror from Peeta but I don't dare look away from President Snow.
"Publicly?" he asks. "That would only add fuel to the flames."
"Arrange an accident, then," I say.
"Who would buy it?" he asks. "Not you, if you were watching."
"No one has to die!" Peeta says. "Just tell us what you want us to do, and we'll do it."
"If only it were that simple," President Snow says. He picks up a beautifully iced cookie and examines it. "Lovely. Your mother made these?" he asks me.
"I did," Peeta says.
"Ah, yes, the baker's son," President Snow says. "Still keeping up the family business?"
"I mostly bake at home now," Peeta says. "My family still runs the bakery."
"Yes, the bakery, where your family works all day, and the apartment upstairs where they sleep all night," President Snow says lazily. "A bakery fire wouldn't arouse any suspicion at all." He stares at Peeta to let his words sink in, before turning to me. "And how is your handsome cousin? Him I can easily kill if we don't come to a happy resolution," he says. "You aren't doing him any favors by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday, either."
My throat wants to close up but I force words out. "If you've been watching us then you know all we do is hunt. We've been doing it for years. We're not… plotting anything. There's no harm done, other than his family having food to eat."
President Snow smiles again. "If the lovesick schoolgirl is seen sleeping around, I'd say that constitutes harm done to your carefully constructed image. Wouldn't you agree, Mrs. Mellark?"
Even as I'm doing it I can't believe I am, but I can't hold in the laugh I bark out in President Snow's face. I can tell by his reaction that no one has done that to him in a long time. I reign myself in as quickly as I can, but the absurdity of his accusation has pushed me over the line from paralyzing terror into liberating madness. That's the only explanation I have for what I say next. "If you actually think I'm sleeping around, then you should have executed your surveillance team, not your Head Gamemaker."
I can't believe my audacity, and for a moment I'm sure it has cost me my life. But if my laugh has damaged President Snow's stern composure, my comeback has completely destroyed it. His mouth actually drops open for a moment before he contains himself. "Oh my dear Mrs. Mellark. I know about the kiss."
I have completely lost my mind. "You really don't," I say dismissively.
President Snow regains his smile. "I happen to know that on the very first night you had free after the victory celebrations, you and your 'cousin' snuck out behind your house to kiss in a most un-cousin-like manner." His eyes cut quickly to Peeta, looking for a reaction, but Peeta doesn't give him one. I've never been happier that I had the nerve to be honest with Peeta that night, so none of this is being revealed to him only now.
I must not be in control of my body anymore, because I feel myself smirk at the president. "You only got a report about that and didn't see the surveillance for yourself." Another slip of his smile tells me I'm right. "I didn't kiss him. He kissed me before I could stop him, and I made sure he knew never to try it again."
"What about you, Mr. Mellark?" President Snow asks, turning his full attention to Peeta. "You seem remarkably unmoved that your wife is spending hours alone in the woods with a man who clearly wants to be more than just friends."
"It's not news to me," Peeta says calmly. "She's been hunting with Gale for years. He's her closest friend. And that's all he is to her."
"But that's not all she is to him, hmm?" President Snow asks, trying and failing again to get a rise out of Peeta. "Do you really trust him around your wife, after that kiss?"
"I trust my wife," Peeta says evenly. "Around anyone." I wonder if President Snow hears the unspoken Even you that my mind attaches to that statement.
"There's no need to hurt Gale," I say. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now."
"I'm only interested in how it affects your dynamic with Peeta, thereby affecting the mood in the districts," he says.
"Gale has no effect on our relationship," Peeta says. "Is it that unusual for someone to have a friend other than their spouse?"
President Snow regards us for a long moment. "I have to say the act you've put on here today has been very convincing. Of course, it wouldn't fly on camera at all. No, you'll have to do much better if the uprisings are to be averted. This tour will be your only chance to turn things around."
"This isn't an act," I say.
"Doesn't matter," President Snow says. "It's still not good enough for the cameras."
"We'll convince everyone in the districts that we're madly in love, that we weren't defying the Capitol, that we couldn't bear to live without one another," Peeta says.
President Snow rises and dabs his puffy lips with a napkin. "Aim higher in case you fall short."
"What do you mean? How can we aim higher?" I ask.
He drops the napkin and retrieves his book, and walks around the desk towards me. I don't turn my head to watch him, so I flinch when he whispers in my ear, "Convince me." Then he walks away and the door clicks shut behind him.
Peeta and I turn to look at each other, and we're immediately in each other's arms. We don't even talk, we just cling to each other. Hanging on for dear life.
…..
From outside, I can hear a car start and then fade away into the distance. It's not until I hear footsteps in the hall that Peeta backs away from me and holds me by the shoulders. "Listen, we need to pull ourselves together. We can't let your mother or Prim know what's going on." I only nod, just barely holding back tears. He kisses my forehead and holds me close again. "You need to be strong for them, just like you've always been."
When I hear the footsteps stop we both sit back. I take several deep breaths to try to compose myself before my mother opens the door and walks in. I can see Peeta sipping his tea, I have no idea how he can pretend to be that calm. I know if I tried that I'd wind up pouring tea all over myself.
"Is everything all right?" Mom asks.
"Oh, fine," says Peeta. "We never see it on television, but the president always visits the victors before the tour to wish them luck." It's the same idea I came up with earlier, but Peeta makes it sound believable. Sometimes it scares me how good Peeta is at lying, but it's a skill that's kept me alive too many times for me to really fault him for it.
My mother's face floods with relief. "Oh. I thought there was some kind of trouble."
"No, not at all," I say. "The trouble will start when my prep team sees how I've let my eyebrows grow back in." Peeta dutifully laughs, and my mother does as well. I make an effort to join them, but it sounds half-hearted to me. At least my mother doesn't seem to realize the extreme danger we're all in. Looking at her now, I know that Peeta was right that we had to lie to her. Despite how we've repaired our relationship in the last few months, there was no going back after I took over caring for the family when I was eleven. I'll always have to protect her.
"We should probably head home," I say. "They'll be there for us pretty soon."
We make our goodbyes and head back to our house. As soon as the front door closes behind us I fall against it and sit on the floor. Peeta joins me and we simply hold each other for a while longer.
"Listen, Katniss, we'll be okay," Peeta says. "All we have to do is convince people that we love each other. How hard can that be?"
I'm not holding back my sobs anymore. "He just said, our real love isn't good enough. I can't fake anything, Peeta. I'll probably manage to convince everyone that I hate you."
"We'll handle it," Peeta says as he strokes my hair. "I'll do most of the talking. You just swoon over me whenever someone asks you a question."
"I don't know if that'll be good enough," I say. "I was the one who pulled out those berries, I'm the one who has to convince people I did it purely for love. No amount of you talking will do that."
"Just think of it this way," Peeta says, still trying to sooth me, "All of those silly girl-in-love things that normally make you gag, whenever there's a camera just do them. That's what he's looking for; nobody's going to defy the Capitol because of a silly girl. If you completely embarrass yourself, then you can't spark an uprising."
We sit quietly on the floor for a while before I can focus on anything other than sheer terror. "Peeta, the smell of blood… it was on his breath." Peeta gives me a confused look, so I continue, "When he whispered to me right at the end there. His breath smelled like blood."
Peeta thinks for a moment. "What does he do? Drink it?"
I imagine him sipping it from a teacup. Dipping a cookie into the stuff and pulling it out dripping red. The idea is so absurd that it makes me chuckle. I explain my idea to Peeta, and soon we're both laughing. Gallows humor, the last refuge of the desperate. But I'm able to push back the terror. For now.
…..
The Tour is a disaster.
The worst stop, by any analysis, is our first one, in Eleven. It would have been distressing enough facing the home of Thresh and Rue without President Snow's threats hanging over us as well, but as it is I literally make myself ill with dread. It's as bad as our old school trips to the mines after my father was killed. Going into the arena hadn't unnerved me this much.
But in Eleven we make a real concerted effort to quell any tendency at uprisings. Peeta speaks glowingly of Thresh and Rue, showing great respect for the Eleven tributes. He thanks them for saving our lives, reinforcing our love story. We even offer each of their families one month of our Victor's winnings each year, a ploy to show the generosity of the Capitol, to try to engender some gratitude for the compassion the Capitol is showing for their losses.
However, it all goes wrong when I offer my own thanks to the families, and thank the District for their gift of bread. An old man in the crowd whistles Rue's four-note melody from the arena, and in response, the entire crowd gives me the District 12 three-finger salute, the one all of Twelve gave me when I was reaped, the one that I offered Rue after covering her with flowers. This is a mass act of defiance, exactly the kind of thing Peeta and I are supposed to be trying to stop, but what could we have done to stop this? This was done in unison by the entire crowd, clearly it had been planned long before Peeta and I had even arrived in Eleven. There is nothing we could have done to prevent it, but we will be punished for it. Our families will suffer for it.
And the people in the districts will suffer as well, as shown by the example of the man who had whistled Rue's tune as the signal to the crowd. Peacekeepers bring him up on the verandah we were speaking from and shoot him in the head, so quickly that Peeta and I haven't even made it back into the building yet. And we hear two more shots once we do. Who else has died because of us today? Did some over-eager members of the crowd try to attack the Peacekeepers? Did the Peacekeepers find more people they thought were responsible for planning this? Will Rue or Thresh's families be punished for our gesture, which seems so much more defiant on the heels of the crowd's actions?
All of these questions are still swirling in my head when Haymitch leads us up a series of staircases and hallways, culminating with a climb up a ladder through a trap door. We finally end up in the dome at the very top of the Justice Building, a room that looks like it hasn't been used in a decade, and one in which Haymitch seems to think we can talk freely. He wants to know what happened after our speeches, and as I'm still too frazzled to speak, Peeta tells him.
Haymitch takes everything in for a minute, then looks back and forth between Peeta and me a few times. "There's more you're not telling me. You kids can't hide things from me."
"Yeah, cause you've never hidden things from us," I say bitterly.
"Now listen, Sweetheart-"
As beaten down by the day's events as I am, I have no energy for an argument with Haymitch. I slump down into a dusty chair, not even caring that I probably just ruined Cinna's beautiful dress, and say to Peeta, "Oh, just tell him." Peeta gives me a questioning look, so I add, "Misery loves company. Go ahead and tell him."
Peeta relates our meeting with President Snow to Haymitch, who becomes more and more agitated as the story progresses, but the only part he comments on is the president's accusation about Gale and me.
"Snow really accused you of sleeping with your friend hunter boy?" he asks me, genuine amusement in his eyes.
"Yes," I answer.
"Are you?" he asks.
"No! Haymitch!"
"Just checking, Sweetheart."
I look over at Peeta with fresh despair over our plight. "You see? This is exactly what I was talking about. You said it would be so easy to show everyone how in love we are, but even Haymitch has to check and see if I'm having an affair with Gale. I can't convince anyone of anything, no matter how true it is."
Peeta opens his mouth to respond, but Haymitch doesn't give him the chance. "So what else happened with Snow?"
Peeta gives me what I'm sure is supposed to be a comforting look, then answers Haymitch. "That was pretty much it. He threatened our families, he said that we had put on 'a pretty good act' in person but that we'd have to do better on the Tour, and he left."
Haymitch considers everything for a moment. "You kids were supposed to calm down a rebellion, and your best idea is another rebellious act?"
Now Peeta is starting to get agitated. "Haymitch-"
"It doesn't matter." I cut in before anything can escalate too far. They both give me questioning looks, so I continue. "It doesn't matter. Nothing we did today made any difference one way or the other. That man gave a signal, and the whole crowd reacted in unison. That didn't happen spur of the moment. They didn't do that in reaction to anything that happened today. That was planned beforehand, probably long beforehand. There was nothing we could have done today that would have prevented it." I look hard at Haymitch. "Tell me I'm wrong."
Haymitch looks back at me, just as hard, but he confirms my thoughts. "You're not wrong. Snow's got you on a fool's errand. If the other districts are anything like Eleven, then there's nothing you can do to prevent uprisings. Not now."
Haymitch has just confirmed my worst fears, but something about his words sticks out to me, and I turn away from him as I try to puzzle out exactly what it is. While I'm distracted, Peeta asks, "So, Haymitch, now that you know everything, what do you think we should do?"
"Exactly what Snow tells you," Haymitch says. "You read your Capitol-supplied speeches. You don't go off script. You smile and kiss at the parties. It won't calm the districts, but blind obedience may placate Snow."
"But that's not what he told us to do," Peeta counters. "He didn't say to read speeches and kiss. He told us to calm the districts. In order to obey, that's what we have to do."
"In that case," Haymitch says, "I'd start saying goodbye to your families as soon as you get back to Twelve. Assuming they live that long."
I finally break my silence, though I don't look up from the spot on the floor I've been staring at. "Well, good thing we told you everything, isn't it, Mentor?"
"Now listen, Sweetheart-"
I don't let him say whatever it is he's trying to say. "Stuff it, Haymitch. Do you really want us to tell you everything from now on?"
"I think that would be best," Haymitch replies.
I finally look up at him with the coldest stare I can manage. "Fine. You want us to be honest with you, then you need to start being honest with us."
"What are you talking about? If this is about the Games strategy-"
I cut him off again. "We said President Snow wanted us to calm the districts and prevent uprisings. Plural uprisings, as in each district may rise up on its own. But you then immediately called it a rebellion, like there's one unified resistance behind all of this." Haymitch's eyes widen, and that's all the confirmation I need that I'm not just imagining things. "That's quite a leap to make, scattered uprisings to organized rebellion. In this new era of mutual honesty, is there anything you'd like to share with us?"
Haymitch and I stare at each other. We can have entire conversations with our stares. But this one is more like a battle of wills. This is a test, and Haymitch knows it. He wants us to share everything with him, but he apparently has information about a rebellion that he doesn't want to share with us. Is there actually a rebellion? Does someone want to start a rebellion? Is this just a drunken fantasy of Haymitch's? Or will he stonewall me, and give up any pretense of cooperation between us?
After a long moment, he finally answers my question. "No," he says carefully. Stonewall.
I roll my eyes and stand up. "Well then I guess we're done here. We'd better go, Peeta and I have a dinner to attend."
We leave Haymitch behind as we descend the ladder out of the dome. I can hear several things shatter in the room behind us, but we don't look back.
…..
I'm skipping over a lot the Tour, because I don't want to re-tell parts of the story that are identical to canon. You've already read the details of what happened in District 11, I don't think I need to copy and paste that chapter out of Catching Fire. The point of the story is to show what's different in this AU.
Next chapter: The rest of the Victory Tour. What rabbit will they pull out of their hat in the final interview?
Preview quote from Chapter 12:
"You two have got nothing left to lose. May as well go for broke."
