The next time Emma sees the strange camera shy Victor, is at one of President Snow's post-Games parties. People are drinking and chatting about this year's Victor (an older boy from district 6 this year), and the soft lighting and music makes the whole thing almost seem palatable. She is regrettably dressed to the nines, which she hates but obliges with for the sake of her sister. Parading around talking about inconsequential gossip has never been her favourite pastime, but she's been more and more disgusted by it every year she has grown, since that one summer years ago when she had watched Paul die on camera.
She'd seen countless kids die of course, every year from when she was old enough to pay attention until she was a teen. But this one boy, this ordinary, kind, timid boy had broken the spell.
He had cried, and begged, and still been brave enough to win. Or lucky enough, as she had started to realise. He had died and been brought back, and those few hours whilst he'd been seen to by the finest doctors in Panem had been painstaking for everyone. For the first time, she'd imagined herself in the games, and it hadn't been the glorious battle she'd always envisioned - she thought of running and holding her dead friends in her arms and falling, always falling...
And she had decided, in the end, that the Games needed to stop.
But what could she do? Until one day she had caught her sister, whispering under her breath to an avox about fake IDs and underground tunnels.
Jane Perkins is personal doctor to the President of Panem, and she is working behind his back to free those under his thumb.
"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this!" Emma had shouted that night. "Do you have any idea how dangerous what you're doing is?"
Jane had shushed her furiously, eyes darting around the apartment. Then she had taken her by the arm and dragged her to the kitchen, ..., and under the cover of the noise, had hissed:
"All the more reason to do it. Em, are you telling me that seeing those people suffering for no good reason doesn't make your heart break?" She had taken her sister's hand, clutched at it with white knuckles.
"Of course it does." Emma had stepped back, alarmed at the intensity. "But what can we do about it? You're just one person, Jane, and life sucks. You can't fix everything."
"That doesn't matter," Jane had frowned then, like it was obvious. "If I can fix even one thing, then that will be enough."
Now, at this Victory Tour party, she totters around trying to look like she is enjoying herself. She's looking for someone in particular; part of the rebellions plans is to recruit as many Victor's as possible, although that needs to be carefully done - there are two types of Victors, those who hate what has been done to them, and those who see it is a gift from the Capitol. The latter would easily bring down their whole operation if they heard even a whisper about it.
But last year, she'd met Paul Matthews, and she had known straight away the truth about him - like his crystal blue eyes were a window to his soul. He'll be here tonight, as all mentors have to be, and she is somehow sure that if she can just speak to him, he will understand. He has to.
...
When she finds him, he is draped in an all blue outfit, glowing like electricity. He is nodding along to something that Linda Monroe, in her ridiculous neon green fur coat, is shouting about, waving her arms like she's conducting an orchestra.
Emma approaches like she is trying not to spook a wild animal.
"-and my Gerald, well he just wouldn't stand for that, I mean, we paid in cash, there and then, and they still wouldn't give us-"
Emma pounces. "Paul, my darling!" She squeaks. "Oh goodness, hasn't it just been too long!" Without letting Linda get a word in edgeways, she ploughs on, trying to cover for the bewildered look on Paul's face. "I know I said I couldn't make it tonight but my dear, how could I have missed it? Isn't it just delightful?"
Linda literally grabs her arm and shoves her out of the way. "Miss Perkins," She says with clear disdain. "I do apologise but I was just telling our favourite Victor here about-"
"Oh Linda, I do hope you've let the boy get something to eat? The buffet is this way, Paul," She points with one hand and steers him away with the other. "We'll be right back." They hightail it, letting the thundering background music drown out the woman's protests.
When she finally let's him go, Paul steps away from her like he's been burned. She hands him a pastry, somehow bright purple (god knows what flavour it's supposed to be) and he takes it, face unreadable.
"There you are." She smiles, voice register lower by about an octave.
"Yeah." He nods.
"Are you having a good night?"
He frowns for a second before smoothing it out. "Yes." He says, with more conviction than before.
"Hm. Well I'm not." She waits to see his reaction. That sentence in itself is nothing traitorous - she hears people complaining about the food and the lighting at these events all the time.
"Oh?" He says carefully, startled.
"I haven't enjoyed things like this in a while."
"The food?" He tries, waving the untouched pastry in his hand half heartedly.
She shakes her head. "Not the drinks either, or the venue. Do you remember what I told you last we met?"
He shifts in surprise, leans in close. "I, uh- I don't like surprises, Miss Perkins-"
"It's Emma, please."
"Emma."
"Mr Matthews, do you ever want this all to just stop?"
Paul freezes. "What do you mean by that?" He asks carefully.
"The Games... children are dying. Does that seem wrong to you?"
He doesn't know what to say to that, looks around in desperation like he might see the President himself creeping up behind him.
Emma tries one more time. "I... look, I need you to trust me, alright? We can help each other, Paul. I want to tell you how I feel about the Games, and what I do about it. But I need you to tell me first. Alright? Because otherwise... if we don't both have the same opinion, this isn't going to work."
He blinks at her.
"This partnership." She adds, eyes deadly serious. Gerald wanders over to reach for a glass of bubbling teal foam, and Linda catches his arm and steers him towards them pointedly. "This advertising partnership that you have decided upon with my sister, it really is just delightful!" Emma grins like a switch being turned on.
"Yes, yes and I think I may be interested in further involvement, if you'll have me." He stutters, returning the smile.
Paul's head is spinning as he watches Linda and Gerald re-engage with Emma. He's heard whisperings of rebellion before, from Ted mainly and sometimes from propaganda when a particularly difficult Victor goes missing after speaking out. But to actually talk to someone in the Capitol about it - to talk to a Capitolite about it. Or is that not what she had meant? I want to tell you how I feel about the Games.
He can't though.
It's surely a trap, or Snow is playing with his head.
For the rest of the night, he nods when he is supposed to, laughs when he is supposed to, cries when he is back in his room and out of sight of prying eyes. He doesn't get another chance to speak to Emma, and he doesn't know how to contact her.
Even if he did, he thinks it's best if he didn't try.
Who could do anything to act against the President? There's no way just a few people - even a lot of people - could even make a dent in the system.
No, best to stay under the radar. He'll be home soon, with Bill, sitting by the fire and talking about silly little things, and waiting for the announcement to come for the next Reaping.
Then the hellish cycle will begin again.
He remembers Miss Holloway, his mentor all those years ago, looking at his with pity the first time he'd seen her after he had won.
"Oh honey," She had held him as he'd pushed through the ensuing panic attack. "Nobody ever wins the Games."