The first thing Hebe did when she got back home was check on her mother. As soon as that train pulled into the station, she grabbed her violin, ignoring her bags entirely, and ran all the way back to Victors village.
It was strangely reminiscent of before the games, when she used to train by doing laps around the district. But, whilst her pace used to be calm and rhythmic, now her footsteps along the path were almost frantic as she sprinted towards her goal.
It was much more similar to how she had been that day Snow came to visit her and she watched that smooth metal ship land outside her house. It was that event that had led her to be this paranoid, convinced that she would see her house in victors village burnt to ashes, or her mother would be shot and left on the doorstep.
But, like many things after the games, this wasn't real. Instead as she passed through the wrought iron gates, the community was peaceful, none of them aware of her fear as she burst through the unlocked door to her house.
She placed her violin gently on the floor, and called out to her mother, announcing her presence. And, luckily, Juno responded.
The small woman came into view, her arms outstretched to welcome back her daughter, who returned the embrace gladly. She ran at her mother with such force she nearly bowled her over, clutching onto her as if she would disappear if she let go.
Thankfully, the older woman didn't question her sudden clinginess, instead choosing to be happy her daughter was home at last.
Hebe didn't feel the need to explain her behaviour, and she didn't choose to tell her mother about what happened in the Capitol either. She hadn't even told her what Snow had told her when he came to visit. She didn't want to put any more pressure on her than what was necessary. That was the whole reason for going into the games; to relieve her mum of all that stress.
Besides, Juno was a smart woman. She could work out most of it from overheard conversations between her daughter and Finnick, or small clues that Hebe accidentally dropped now and again.
Once Hebe was finished clutching onto her mother, another thought shot through her head. Annie. That was who Snow had directly threatened when he spoke to her, she was at the most risk.
She immediately asked Juno where Annie was, when was the last time she had seen her, and upon her answer she sprinted out of the house without a second thought.
She ran all the way to the girl's home in the richest part of four (barring Victors village). She knocked frantically on the door, and her father practically rolled his eyes when he opened up.
He'd never been a fan of Hebe. Never mind the fact that Hebe and Juno had practically raised the girl when he refused to. Although, he'd never really been a fan of their oldest daughter, so she didn't take all that much offence.
But, thankfully he didn't snap at her to come back later today, instead he called upstairs, rather harshly, for Annie to come down.
Hebe waited in suspense for a few moments for the girl to descend the stairs. Every second that she didn't appear was like torture. She could imagine it, just like she'd imagined her mother. Peacekeepers had stormed the house when her father wasn't home, backing her into her room and shooting her in the skull, leaving her to die there, blood blossoming onto those clean white sheets…
But, yet again, she was just suffering from post-game paranoia, because a few moments later, she flounced down the stairs, smiling widely at the sight of her oldest friend returning home. Hebe didn't return the smile, unable to feel any emotion except relief. She barrelled into her much like she had her mother, burying her face in the younger girl's shoulder and breathing in the scent of that perfume she loved so much.
Vaguely in the distance, she could make out Annie's father tutting at her display of emotion, but she ignored it, too glad the girl was even alive to care.
She didn't bring up the topic of the games with her friend that day. She was too emotionally raw. Instead she waited until a few weeks later when she could at least think about it semi-analytically.
Hebe knew Annie still wanted to volunteer, and it seemed that Hebe's victory had cemented this desire even further. She wanted to 'make her district proud'. The victor had to swallow down vomit every time she heard those words, remembering the bullshit they used to feed them at the academy.
At first Hebe had been content to let the girl go through with her plan. It had been what they had both been set on for so long, although Annie was much more of a typical career about it than Hebe had ever been. And she did believe that she could win the games. The Capitol would love her. But that was the problem.
Hebe couldn't watch her go through the games. She couldn't watch her win the games. She couldn't watch her experience the 'life of the victor' that was so heralded, but that Hebe knew was torture.
And, she also knew that if she went into that arena, Snow would, either, make her die a horrible death, or see her right through till the very end, crown her victor, and then make Hebe stand by as he destroyed her.
And she couldn't let that happen.
"I can't let you volunteer, Annie." She said softly, trailing a stick through the wet sand and drawing nonsense patterns.
"What?"
"You're not going into the games, I won't let you." Hebe shook her head firmly.
Annie stood up, her expression stormy, "Why not? You don't get to decide what I can and can't do."
The victor waved for her to sit back down, and the girl begrudgingly obliged, clearly still irritated.
She then explained everything to her. She explained what it was like in the games, what it was really like to watch her friends and allies die, and to kill other people, other children who had families and friends just like her. She explained what it was like to go on that victory tour and pretend what she had done was a great honour, to pretend that what she had done was right.
And finally, she told her what Snow was doing to her. What he was convincing her to do.
Hebe of course left out the parts where he threatened Annie's life, and where he filmed her and Finnick on the train, but she shared everything else, finally laying her soul bare to the one person she had never kept anything from. Not before the games.
Since she won, Hebe had been shielding her from the reality of what really happened there, thinking it would be better if she came to her own decision about it. Although it seemed like it, she didn't live with them, so she wasn't awoken each night by Hebe's screaming after the nightmares.
When she was done, Annie stared at her, the angry expression on her face long diffused by the quiet confessions of her oldest friend. The redheaded girl was entirely silent for a full minute, longer than Hebe had ever known her to be quiet.
And then, when she was just beginning to believe that the girl hated her, or was disgusted by her, Annie nodded.
"I won't volunteer. I promise."
Hebe let out a sigh of relief, and it felt like she was able to breathe again.
"And I'm sorry. I didn't realise you went through that. I'm sorry for not being there for you Hebe." Her voice broke slightly and tears began falling from her eyes as her shoulders shook with sobs.
Hebe quickly rushed forward, wrapping her arms around the girl, and reassuring her that it was alright, and she didn't have to be sorry about anything. And, most importantly promising to keep her safe from harm.
From then on, Hebe was summoned to the Capitol a total of 5 times. The first time was the hardest.
She was put on that train alone, and sent to the Capitol. Snow had clearly decided not to have her and Finnick working together. It was probably for the best.
However, that didn't make it any less awful. She milled around her pen and felt like a lone farm animal being sent to an opulent slaughterhouse. Or a songbird, caged, and forced to sing for the masses.
When she arrived at the remake centre, she was grateful that there was no crowd to greet this time. She walked into the building on her own, making her way over to the room where she knew her prep team would be waiting for her.
They gushed about how exciting it must all be. 'Her first Capitol party'. None of them knew why she was really going to this party.
Tigris wasn't even there anymore to talk to. Instead she was stuck with Estella, who was nothing if not a prissy, stuck up bitch, and as she laced up Hebe's outfit, she constantly whined about how skinny she was. She clearly didn't realise that it was difficult to eat like you used to after the games.
There was no Capitol escort to guide her through the party. She found herself sorely missing Ambrosia's presence, now feeling bad for taking that buzzing chatter for granted. It would've filled the silence in the Capitol assigned car she had.
Instead, at the entrance to the grand house, was the person she least wanted to see. Felix Dovecote, a smug grin on his face, held his arm out for her to take as she exited the vehicle. Hebe hated him, but hated the way she was forced to perform even more.
The party went by in a blur, and she downed glass after glass of champagne to try and keep it that way.
At points she could even imagine that his hair was a sandy blonde instead of that greasy neon orange. His face blurred as he sat next to her in the car to the hotel, and she could barely feel the hand that gripped her bare thigh so tightly.
The rest of the night was almost non-existent, a gap in her memory where something was stolen from her, and she was glad at least the memory of the event was gone.
That way it couldn't reappear in her nightmares. But she could still feel it in her dreams. Hands wandering all over her body, hot breath fanning over her ear that reeked of alcohol and garlic. She would wake up with her skin crawling, and wish that her mind could dispel the nerves in her body that could feel touch and smell scents.
But it somehow got worse when Hebe returned home after those trips, because she no longer had anyone to wipe away her tears. She no longer had that person who understood her. She had driven him away.
She had been forced to, of course. She never would have done it willingly. But it was still her fault. Her fault for crossing the line that Snow had warned her about. And now they must both pay the price.
Everytime he had knocked on her door, or had rung the phone in the hall, she had ignored it, scrunching up her eyes and trying not to destroy herself with the guilt of what she was doing.
But he wouldn't give up as easily as she had hoped. He would seek out her mother, Annie, and ask after her. And they, of course, would relay his messages back to her, their eyes silently beseeching her to talk to him.
He left messages on the answering machine, asking her to meet him at the beach in their usual spot. Slowly, his messages grew more frantic, more pleading. And then they began to dwindle in number, until they stopped completely when he realised they weren't working.
Hebe would sit by the phone late at night when she couldn't sleep, listening to the messages on the machine just to hear his voice again. She missed him, she couldn't deny that.
And then she would sob with guilt. The guilt of knowing that she had no right to cry, when this was all her fault.
She spent time with Mags more and more as time went on, and in only a little while she had mastered sign language, and that was the only way they communicated. Almost twice a week she'd be at her house for tea, or to help her with garden chores.
During that time, Hebe had decided to mentor, and whilst Mags was hesitant at first, after a lot of badgering, she accepted the offer to step down. It was the right thing for Hebe to do, after all, Mags had been forced to hold the job for the past 60 years.
Mags never asked her directly why she didn't speak to Finnick. But she didn't shy away from speaking about him, talking like a proud parent would about her son. It kept Hebe going when the messages deleted themselves from the answering machine. It made her feel better to know at least some of what he was up to.
But things got so much worse in the new year, when her mother started up her monthly dinners with the neighbours. All the victors would come round like they had that first time, and they'd all make friendly conversation with one another.
All of them except Finnick and Hebe, the latter refusing to meet his eyes or even speak to him, mainly for fear that she would break down entirely.
When he'd first come, she had expected him to ignore her, to wear that cold look he did when conversing with the Capitolites. But of course, he was a better person than that, and he looked at her just as warmly as he always had, with the exception of a small frown etched into his face when she wouldn't meet his gaze.
And she wanted to. She wanted to so very desperately. But she couldn't, not when she hadn't spoken to him for the past two months. It had been too long, and now she was set in her decision.
It broke her heart looking at that sad expression from across the room, and it almost destroyed her that she was the one causing it. But Hebe reminded herself that she had no choice, and that she had to keep it up. For Annie. And for Finnick.
But, as the seasons changed, and April rolled in, a piece of her resolve broke. She couldn't stand the guilt of not acknowledging on his birthday, of all times.
And so she went to the market, and into one of the back alley shops that sold prohibited technology imported from the Capitol. She scoured the shelves for what she was looking for, grabbing it quickly when she saw it, for fear that it would disappear if she left it too long.
The man at the counter seemed shocked to see her there, and she realised that it must be strange to see a victor partaking in black market dealings. So she tipped him a bit extra, both out of the goodness of her heart and to stop her name from getting back to the peacekeepers.
It took her a little while to record the pieces she wanted, but it took her even longer to get the machine to work. Hebe had never been the most technically gifted.
But eventually she got it working, and she wrote her confessional letter, and slipped it in the envelope as well as the device.
Finnick:
The day Finnick returned from his 'birthday celebrations' in the Capitol, it was bright. Especially so, even for 4 which was blessed with good weather. He had to squint his eyes to see properly as he walked towards Victors village, the white paintwork on the houses not doing much to help matters.
Mags was out in her garden, watering the flowers that had just begun to bloom. She smiled at him, and he returned it, quickly inviting her round to dinner later. She brightly accepted, giving him a big thumbs up and a short sign of 'happy birthday!'.
She was perhaps the only person he wouldn't mind saying that to him. Unfortunately, the other had refused to speak to him for the last six months.
He constantly wondered just what he had done wrong. They had grown so close, and then suddenly they were like strangers again.
Finnick sighed as he climbed the steps to his front porch, shaking the thought away. It would do him no good worrying about her constantly. She'd made her stance quite clear when she refused to even make eye contact with him at each dinner her mother hosted.
He was just about to open up his front door when he saw a thick package stuffed halfway into his letterbox. It wasn't anyone's handwriting he recognised, not even Snow's. He peered at it curiously for a moment, before unlocking the door, taking the package, and sitting down on his sofa to open it. On the off chance it was Snow, he wanted to be prepared.
He ripped open the top of the envelope, and removed the items that were inside.
There was a letter, also addressed to him, as well as a cassette player and a bunch of small tapes, each one labelled with different things. There were four that were named after the four seasons, some named after different folk songs, and one labelled 'Finnick'. He frowned at them, wondering what they could possibly have on them. He opened the letter, praying that it wasn't something insane from some Capitolite.
But, when he looked at who the letter was from, Finnick was shocked to see the name of his tribute. His hands shook with adrenaline, as he begun to read:
Finnick,
First of all, Happy Birthday. I know you must be tired of hearing it, but it would feel wrong not to say it.
Secondly, I have to apologise to you. I'm sorry for the way I've treated you since the tour, it was wrong. But, just know that there was a reason for it that you would understand if you knew, and that I never would have done this on purpose. It's destroyed me to stay away, but you have to understand that it was for not only your benefit, but other people's as well.
I'm sure Mags has told you I'll be mentoring with you for the next games. I'm sorry for not telling you in person, but, as cowardly as it is, I wasn't sure if I could face you after what I've done.
So, please forgive me.
As for your present, I'm sorry it's not quite as grand or thoughtful as what you gave me, but I tried my best. I trust you know how to use a cassette player? If you don't, there's instructions on the back of this letter.
I hope you like your gift. And I promise I'll explain everything one day, when I'm sure it's safe.
From, Hebe.
P.S listen to the one marked 'Finnick' first. I'm most proud of that one. Enjoy your private concert, I'm sorry I couldn't give it to you sooner.
Finnick leaned back on the sofa, feeling more confused than he had been before he read her letter. For some reason it had been easier to simply believe she hated him, or that he had done something to wrong her he was unaware of. But this… it had to have something to do with Snow, and that left a bitter taste in his mouth.
And what had she meant, that she would explain when it was safe to? What was Snow holding over her head?
He groaned, raking a hand through his hair, his brain hurting trying to figure her out. He sat for a while, letter in one hand, tape in the other, trying to work out what could have possibly happened at that party for her to act like this.
It was a while before he finally relented, setting the letter down on the coffee table, and deciding to follow her advice, and listen to whatever she had put on the cassette tapes. He slipped in the one with his own name on first, his hands shaking slightly as he reached to press play.
And then, it was like Finnick was transported back in time, back to her performance in the Capitol, and he sighed as the sound of her playing wafted over him, the sound just as rich and skillful as it had been that night.
This song wasn't as frantic as that one had been though. This was soft, and sorrowful, almost yearning. It wasn't something he recognised, and as he looked down at the label, he realised why.
She had composed a song for him, using the violin he had given her.
His heart ached as he thought about it, his entire body wracked with a strange emotion that he couldn't quite pinpoint. He felt the sudden urge to run next door to her house and demand answers.
But he didn't do that, he couldn't. Instead he just listened to the song she had made for him. He listened to the private concert she had curated, just for him.