The rest of the Tour falls into a horrible routine. We wake up on the train, get prepped and dressed, recite our Capitol-supplied speeches, get prepped and dressed again, have dinner, and return to the train. Some districts include a small tour or some staged sightseeing; some districts film us walking from the train to the Justice Building while others transport us in an armored car.
But the only thing that really changes from district to district is the mood of the crowds gathered to see us. Ten and Five have the same beaten-down feeling as Twelve. Six, Seven, and Nine feel like what I imagine the Victory Tour normally feels like, the crowds there are bored more than anything. The Career districts Two and One are actually hostile to us, they don't like the fact that two nobodies from Twelve took out their promising tributes. It doesn't help that I personally killed Marvel, Glimmer, and Cato, and was indirectly responsible for the death of Clove as well.
But Districts Eight, Four, and Three seem like exactly what President Snow was afraid of: like a pot ready to boil over. The crowds watch us with near hysteria. They chant my name, not with exuberance or admiration, but with rage. When the Peacekeepers try to contain the unruly crowds, the crowds push back. When I see the people in these districts, I think to myself, how stupid is President Snow? Did he really think there was anything that Peeta and I could possibly have done about this? Or is he as misinformed about the actual mood of the district residents as he was about that kiss with Gale?
Peeta and I actually discuss it one night, after leaving Four. That day we had seen the ocean, recited our speeches, escaped the near riot that followed them, and attended a banquet filled with delicious seafood that I barely ate any of because my nerves have been shot since the moment President Snow showed up in District 12. We had thought that the crowd in Eight was an anomaly, but after seeing the reaction to us in Four, not to mention what had happened in Eleven, we knew that wasn't the case. That night, snuggled up in bed together, we hold on to each other with just a bit more urgency than usual, both of us rattled by the events of the day.
"There's nothing we can do," Peeta says, echoing my own thoughts.
"It's like our mere presence is sparking uprisings in some districts," I say.
"It makes a certain amount of sense," Peeta says. "If pulling out those berries is seen as an act of defiance against the Capitol, then the two of us alive are a symbol of its success. Our existence is an act of defiance."
"Then what do we do, Peeta?" I ask, desperate for an answer. Some answer. Any answer.
For the first time, Peeta doesn't have the words to comfort me. "There's nothing we can do now. The spark is lit, and anything we do is only fueling the fire."
"We're not even doing anything!" I cry out, my panic and rage and frustration beginning to overwhelm me. "We're not trying to spark anything! They're just going crazy at the sight of us!"
Peeta takes a moment to calm me down, holding me close and stroking my hair and quietly whispering in my ear as he does when I have a nightmare. Except now we're living the nightmare. Sometimes I feel like such a child when Peeta treats me like this, but sometimes this expression of his love is the only thing that can cut through my panic.
"I know you don't want to hear this," Peeta says after a bit, "but it's not us who are driving these people wild. It's you."
"It's both of us," I say dismissively.
"I'm clearly the lesser part of this duo," Peeta says. "You're the one who dug me out of the mud, nursed me back to health, risked your life to get my medicine, saved me from Cato, pulled out those berries rather than kill me, and successfully put one over on the Capitol. I'm just the guy you saved."
"That's not true," I protest. "You saved me from Cato too; you wouldn't have needed me to do most of that if you hadn't fought Cato for me. And we were both going to take those berries. And you were willing to die for me a long time before I was suddenly willing to die for you."
"But, Katniss, you're forgetting one very important thing," he says, as if he's a teacher dealing with a stubborn pupil. "People love you. You're Katniss Everdeen."
"Mellark," I correct him, annoyed that my own husband got my name wrong.
Peeta smiles and kisses my forehead. "As much as I love that you're Katniss Mellark, none of these people see you that way. Have you noticed how every introduction in every district has called you Everdeen?"
I had, in fact, noticed that, and it pissed me off. I had gone so far as to speak to Effie Trinket about it after our trip to Nine, she was supposed to be in charge of protocol and things like that so I asked her if she could get the rest of the officials to get my name right. She had come back with some sort of nonsense excuse about how I had to be introduced on the Victory Tour under the same name I used as a tribute. But in the more paranoid parts of my mind, which I was indulging more and more lately, I thought it was just another mind game from President Snow. It didn't make sense, though; if his goal was to present us as a convincing love story, you'd think using my married name would be a great help. Was President Snow compromising his ultimate goal just to mess with me? Or was there more I wasn't seeing?
"Think about it," Peeta says. "Right from the very beginning, in the tribute parade. We were both in identical costumes, we were both smiling and waving at the crowd, but who did everyone go nuts over? Whose name were they chanting? Who was the Girl on Fire and who was just the other tribute from Twelve?"
I want to object, but he does have a point. We were both in the same outfit, but I never heard anything about the Boy on Fire. "But you were the one who connected with people," I say. "You were the one who could make people like you. I just tried not to make them hate me. Besides, you were the one who made them like me. Wasn't that the whole plan you and Haymitch came up with? You made them like me when you said you were in love with me. "
"I didn't make them like you," Peeta says, "I just gave them permission. They already liked you. They liked your courage at the reaping. They liked your poise in the parade. Your obvious love of Prim in the interview. All I did was confirm what they already wanted to believe. I went up there and said, Yeah, all of us in District Twelve who know her better think she's awesome, too. I gave the Capitol a storyline they could latch onto, but you're the one who made people like you."
I think about everything Peeta's said. "So how do I make them not like me? How do I make them not want to rebel?"
"I don't think you can," he says. "Even if you made them stop liking you, their anger about that would probably still fuel the kind of riots we've been seeing. The only thing we could possibly do to improve things would be to disappear entirely."
"Which President Snow would never let us do," I say miserably. "That doesn't exactly leave us a lot of options."
Peeta sighs. "Like I said, there's nothing we can do."
…..
My nightmares get worse as the Tour goes on. Even with Peeta there, I rarely make it through the night. Effie offers me pills to make me sleep, but they don't stop the nightmares, they just make it harder to wake up from them. The one night I take the pills, I scream in terror for over an hour while Peeta tries to coax me out of the half-awake haze the drugs have left me in.
It occurs to me that I can't remember the last time I woke up for one of Peeta's nightmares. So one night when we're lying awake after mine have woken us, I ask him about it. "Peeta, do you still have nightmares?"
"Yes, sometimes," he answers quietly. "They've been getting worse on the tour, just like yours have."
"How come I never wake up for yours?" I ask.
"I guess I just don't react as strongly to them," he says. "Not as physically, I mean. No screaming or thrashing around. I'm more likely to be paralyzed in fear rather than lashing out."
I lightly stroke the side of his face. "You know you could wake me up. I'm here for you."
Peeta offers a small smile. "I know. But it's not necessary." His arms pull me to him a bit tighter. "My nightmares are usually about losing you, so when I wake up and you're still here that's enough to calm me down. As soon as I realize you're here with me and feel you in my arms, then I'm okay."
Sometimes Peeta will speak of our love so beautifully, yet so casually that it completely catches me off guard. Even after so many months of living with him, he still stuns me with his words. I could never even hope to express the depth of my love for Peeta with the profound eloquence he uses to describe his love for me.
"Be so much worse if I had to sleep alone," he says.
"Well, you'll never have to worry about that again," I tell him, and punctuate my statement with a long kiss, the kind of kiss that we both know won't end with just a kiss, as usual hoping my actions will express what my words cannot.
…..
By the time we reach the Capitol, we are despondent. We make endless appearances to adoring crowds, but it will make no difference. There is no danger of an uprising here among the privileged, among those whose names are never placed in the reaping balls, whose children never die for the supposed crimes committed generations ago. We don't need to convince anybody in the Capitol of our love, and the people we were supposed to convince in the districts don't care about something as inconsequential as the love lives of a couple of Victors. Whatever we've managed to do on this tour was too little, too late.
Back in our old quarters in the Training Center, I'm accidentally the one who suggests the strategy for our final interview with Caesar Flickerman. "I swear if he calls me Everdeen I'm going to tear some of that ridiculous blue hair out of his head."
Haymitch looks thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe that's not such a bad idea, Sweetheart." I must look at him like he just said he was going sober, because he holds up his hands and quickly adds, "I'm not saying you actually physically attack the man. But this interview is airing live. Maybe it's time you two show Snow that he's not the only one with power here."
"But he is the only one with power," I spit out.
"He's already threatened to kill our families," Peeta says. "Why would we try to antagonize him in a public interview?"
"If you two were describing his demands right, then odds are he'll kill your families anyway," Haymitch says far too casually, as if losing everyone you love is an everyday occurrence. "You two have got nothing left to lose. May as well go for broke."
"And what exactly would we be trying to accomplish?" Peeta asks.
"Remind him of the pull you two have with the people," Haymitch says. "Show him that it's in his best interests to keep you working for him, rather than against him."
I'm still not buying it, and Haymitch can see that. "I'm not saying you go out there and try to call for a revolution quick before they can cut the feed. I'm saying something small, like correcting your name. Put Caesar on the spot. The crowd will be on your side. The audience in the Districts will understand what you're trying to do. It'll show Snow that you have power and are willing to use it, without actually threatening him because it's such a small thing."
"And then what?" I ask. "What's the goal here?"
"Get him to talk to you," Haymitch suggests. "And try to convince him the he's better off with you two using what power you have for him and not against him. Convince him it'll be worth his while to not kill anyone."
In my head I hear President Snow's directive, "Convince me." And now I know we must, though not in the way he meant it. Part of me still can't believe we're in this situation, where we have to make a desperate gamble to try to save our families. We might as well still be in the arena. This interview might as well be the feast where I got Peeta's medicine.
"I can try," Peeta says, turning to me. "If we can get some time with him, I can try to convince him."
Peeta has a way with words, but I think this may be even beyond him. "Convince him of what, exactly? To let us off even though we failed?"
"I'll tell him what we've been discussing the whole time. That this isn't even about us. That the people don't care about our relationship, that it's our mere survival that's sparking things. Make it Seneca Crane's fault, not ours. Make it President Snow's fault, for sending us out there with the wrong idea from the beginning. Convince him to give us a second chance with a better plan."
"Do we have a better plan?" I ask.
Peeta frowns. "No, not really."
"One step at a time, Sweetheart," Haymitch says. I consider my mentor carefully. I'm still not sure how much I trust him after the way he lied to us in District 11. But he does have more experience dealing with the Capitol than either Peeta or I do, and his strategy did bring two tributes home from the Hunger Games for the first time. And the truth is, we don't have any better ideas.
So that's what we do.
…..
It may be the shortest Victory Tour interview in history.
"You've been waiting to see them, and here they are! The Star-Crossed Lovers from District 12! Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!"
Caesar Flickerman, in his twinkling midnight-blue suit, with his hair, eyelids, and lips dyed powder blue, looks like seeing us again is the happiest day of his life. He has no idea what we're about to do to him.
Once we're seated, Caesar starts off lightly. "So how's Panem's favorite couple?"
We agreed earlier, if we're going to do this, we do it right off the top. "Are we really Panem's favorite couple?" I ask Caesar. We also determined that, however unsuited I am to the task, as the aggrieved party I'm going to have to take the lead here.
"Of course you are!" Caesar crows.
"So, people follow the news about us?" I ask.
"I dare say a great many do," he says.
"Do you, Caesar?" Peeta asks. "Did you do research for this interview, so you'd have all the most up to date information about us?"
"I wouldn't be doing my job if I hadn't," Caesar says solemnly, but I can see in his eyes he's mystified as to why we've been asking these questions.
I don't leave him in the dark any longer. "If that's the case, Caesar, then what's my name?"
He shifts uncomfortable in his seat, but keeps his smile plastered on his face. "Katniss Everdeen," he says. There are murmurs in the crowd; they can tell something is going awry, and they're not used to that.
"You watch mandatory Presidential broadcasts, don't you, Caesar?" Peeta asks far too innocently.
"Of course I do!" he answers hastily.
"So then you know that Katniss and I are married?" Peeta asks.
"Yes!" Caesar latches onto the mention of our marriage, launching into a long expression of how happy he was to hear the news, of how in love we must be to have married so quickly, of how much he wishes he could have been there.
"Caesar," I ask when he pauses for breath, "You know that when two people get married, the wife will take her husband's last name as her own."
"Yes, I know that's the custom in some districts," Caesar says, uneasy again.
"Then what's my name?" I ask again.
Caesar doesn't answer at all this time. He must have been told what name to use, and he won't dare disobey that directive. It obviously never occurred to anyone that we would put him on the spot like this. "You know, Caesar, we've been through eleven districts now. And not once in any of those eleven appearances has anyone used my correct married name." I turn my attention to the audience. "You all know, you saw those events on television." The murmuring in the crowd is getting louder. They don't know what's going on on stage right now. I turn my attention back to Caesar. "But I thought you, Caesar, you of all people would do me that small courtesy. You're always so well prepared for every tribute interview. And you were so supportive of us after we won the Games last year. Everyone in the Capitol was, their support is a big reason why we won. I guess I just thought that, in the Capitol of all places, with you doing this interview, I thought this would be the one time someone would call me by my correct married name."
I know I'm no good at acting, so I have no idea if I've managed to convince the audience that I'm actually hurt by this slight. Peeta makes a show of pulling my head against his shoulder and stroking my hair, ruining the elaborate style Flavius spent half the day working it into but putting on a very good display of trying to make me feel better.
Caesar is floundering, unsure of what to say for possibly the first time in his career. Luckily his salvation comes after only a few moments, in the form of a surprise appearance by President Snow himself.
"I haven't yet had the opportunity to congratulate the happy couple in person," he says. He clasps Peeta's hand and gives him an approving slap on the shoulder. The he embraces me, enfolding me in the smell of blood and roses, and plants a puffy kiss on my cheek. When he pulls back, his fingers dig into my arms. "Congratulations, Mrs. Mellark," he says with forced ease. I want to take some small satisfaction at his use of the name, but his snake eyes are as cold as stone.
I do my best to mimic the smile masking his face. "Will we be seeing you at the ball tonight, President Snow?"
He raises an eyebrow, unsure where I'm going now. "I do generally put in an appearance at the parties I host."
"It's just, now that we've seen all of the districts on the Tour, there are so few people we can really talk about it with. So few people that really understand what's going on in all the districts." I pause here, to make sure he takes my meaning. "It would be a privilege to have the chance to discuss it with you. You must have such a unique perspective on things."
The president's eyes narrow as if he's reappraising me. "We'll have to see if the opportunity arises."
…..
The party that night, held in the banquet room of President Snow's mansion, has no equal. Extravagance piled on top of decadence piled on top of extravagance. But the real star of the evening is, of course, the food. Tables laden with delicacies line the walls. Whole roasted cows and pigs and goats still turning on spits. Huge platters of fowl stuffed with savory fruits and nuts. Ocean creatures drizzled in sauces or begging to be dipped in spicy concoctions. Countless cheeses, breads, vegetables, sweets, waterfalls of wine, and streams of spirits that flicker with flames. And I can't imagine having a single bite of any of it.
My stomach has been knotted with nerves ever since we left the interview stage. All I can think of is the tremendous gamble we took, and another still to come when we speak to the President again. Prim's life hangs in the balance. Even Peeta's warm hand wrapped around my hip doesn't calm me like it usually does. He guides me around the room, chatting amiably with our many admirers, while I may as well be a target dummy for all I contribute to the proceedings.
At one point my prep team finds us. "Why aren't you eating?" asks Octavia.
As usual, Peeta covers for me. "She has been, but I don't think she can hold another bite right now."
They all laugh as if that's the silliest thing they've ever heard. "No one lets that stop them!" says Flavius. They lead us over to a table that holds tiny stemmed wineglasses filled with clear liquid. "Drink this!"
Peeta picks one up to take a sip and they lose it. "Not here!" shrieks Octavia.
"You have to do it in there," says Venia, pointing to doors that lead to the toilets. "Or you'll get it all over the floor!"
Peeta looks at the glass again and puts it together. "You mean this will make me puke?"
My prep team laughs hysterically. "Of course, so you can keep eating," says Octavia. "I've been in there twice already. How else would you have any fun at a feast?"
I'm speechless, staring at the pretty little glasses and all they imply. Peeta sets his back on the table with such precision you'd think it might detonate. "Come on, Katniss, let's dance."
Slow music filters down from the night sky projected over the room. Peeta pulls me into his arms and we move in a circle with practically no steps at all. We're quiet for a while. I feel Peeta press his lips against my scalp, and they stay there for a long time. Finally he straightens and speaks in a strained voice. "You go along, thinking you can deal with it, thinking maybe they're not so bad, and then you—" He cuts himself off there.
All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of the children that used to occupy our kitchen table in the Seam as my mother prescribed what the parents couldn't give. More food. Now that we're rich, she'll send some home with them, but only the very desperate will accept anything, and sometimes not even then. Meanwhile here in the Capitol they're vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again.
One day last month when I dropped by to give Hazelle the game, Vick was home sick with a bad cough. Being part of Gale's family, the kid has to eat better than ninety percent of the rest of District 12. But he still spent about fifteen minutes talking about how they'd opened a can of corn syrup from Parcel Day and each had a spoonful on bread and were going to maybe have more later in the week. How Hazelle had said he could have a bit in a cup of tea to soothe his cough, but he wouldn't feel right unless the others had some, too. If it's like that at Gale's, what's it like in the other houses?
"Peeta, they bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment," I say. "Really, this is nothing by comparison."
"I know. I know that. It's just sometimes I can't stand it anymore. To the point where… I'm not sure what I'll do." He pauses, then whispers, "Maybe we were wrong, Katniss."
"About what?" I ask.
"About trying to subdue things in the districts," he says.
My head turns swiftly from side to side, but no one seems to have heard. The camera crew got sidetracked at a table of shellfish, and the couples dancing around us are either too drunk or too self- involved to notice. "You can't say that," I hiss.
"I'm sorry," he says. He knows. "I think I'm going to hit the washroom. Maybe splash some cold water on my face."
That sounds like a good idea. "Don't ruin your makeup," I say.
He smiles tiredly. "What do you think they'd do to me if I just washed it all off?"
"Probably nothing good," I warn.
Left on my own for a few moments, I decide that some cold water actually sounds pretty good. It seems to be the one beverage they don't have a table full of here, so I head for the washroom and drink a few palmfulls from the sink, careful not to smudge my own makeup.
When I emerge, there's someone waiting for me, and it's not Peeta. "You wished to speak with me, Miss Everdeen?"
…..
I didn't realize how long it had been since the last chapter I posted. Sorry about that! It wasn't even on purpose this time! In the interim, I finished my old envy-themed fic, The Grass is Always Greener. Check it out if you haven't read the ending yet.
So this chapter has a bit more of quoting the book than I normally like to use, but I thought that was an important scene to include for this story.
Next chapter: The safety of their families comes with a high price. How much will Katniss and Peeta be willing to pay?
Preview quote from Chapter 13:
"We've done it with other victors."
