Chapter Five
Daybreak
He didn't often dream.
Usually when he did, the dreaming was entirely of nonsensical things, after drinking one too many bottles of liquor the previous night. He'd dream of wrestling cats, or weddings on the moon, or small pink creatures devouring planets and galaxies… and then promptly forget the useless knowledge by the time he woke up. None of it stayed. None of it was worth remembering in the first place.
But not tonight.
Tonight, when he dreamt, he dreamt of something beautiful.
In his dream, Gil was alive. He was at the altar, but this time, it wasn't broken. This time, rows and rows of loving people— classmates, friends, family, clients, even— lined the sides. The moon was bright, instead of dull, and the stars made constellations of hearts. He wore a white suit that flattered him, and smiled his greatest smile at him. He was waiting at the altar for him.
In his dream, his father was alive. Fete came across the altar, and Gil was beaming, and his father took Fete's hand, and walked him down. He was wearing that nice black coat, and wore a smile so nice and comforting— the type Fete couldn't remember seeing since he was small.
In his dream, even his mother was alive. She stood there, on the other side of the altar, crying tears, like parents do on their son's wedding day. Her lungs were clean, she had been healed. It was she who planned this at all.
And as he made it to the end of the aisle, as he took Gil's hands in his own… he looked back at the people in the audience. Everyone he ever knew, and ever loved— all of them were there.
Melanie. Mourna. Lane. Deco. His old classmates. His old teachers. His old clients. Even Laetitia, the nurse who had brought him to his mother, and her spouse. All of them, every last one of the people he knew was there, and every last one of them was beaming, and crying, and cheering the two on.
Fete glanced back at Gil. And he smiled.
He began to cry too, like all of them.
…
…but it wasn't a happy cry.
Tears fell, and he felt himself let go of Gil's hands.
Gil reached out to him—
But the wind picked up. Snow from the mountains came at impossible speeds, blowing a chill past all of them.
Gil dissolved before his eyes into nothing but snow.
All of them did. Everyone did. His parents. His friends… all of them became nothing but a flurry of white.
And he was alone again, tears hitting the stone of a broken altar.
…
…
…
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
…
…
…
"…hello there, Fete Fabergé."
…
…
…
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
…
"…I know you can't hear me right now, you're still sleeping. The doctors put you under quite a powerful anesthetic, so I expect you won't wake for a very long time. Perhaps a few days, even."
…
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
"I'm glad."
…
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
…
"I don't think I could say this to you while you were awake, but I must. I'm certain that if you were conscious now, you would understand the feeling, Fete."
…
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
…
"I need to thank you."
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…
…
…
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
"The President asked me to wow him, Fete. I had to give him a show, I had to prove to him I could use the tool of propaganda I was given, and wield it like the sharp blade it was. I had to create a character, a supreme Victor, out of a tribute. A tribute that stood for everything the Games stand for. One that showed both the glory of the Capitol and the brutality of the Districts. Yet one that could win the heart of the audience all the same…"
…
…
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
…
"…it was a tall order, and I was only given six years to make that vision come true. To write the story he dreamed of."
…
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
…
"I worked hard in those first five years. I thought that, perhaps, if I had just put in the time, if I was brilliant and creative enough, that I could make that story. I thought that if I just worked harder, that I could show him my potential."
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
…
"But it was never enough."
…
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
"Lane Folie was not enough, that first year. She was too rowdy, too rebellious, too uncontrollable to be the supreme Victor I required. So, I thought to myself, that perhaps, I just needed more time to meet the President's demands."
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
"But it happened again."
BEEP.
"And again."
BEEP.
"And again."
BEEP.
"And again."
…
"…"
…
…
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
"And that's why I had to make a change to the rules."
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…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
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"Because, I realized, Fete— just allowing anybody to be selected as a character in my story, in the tale I would have to weave… that wasn't enough. If I selected just anybody, I found out, in the first five years of telling my stories, I would never get the characters I needed. I could never create my supreme Victor."
…
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
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…
…
"So, I abolished the Games' gendered systems."
…
…BEEP. BEEP…
"That's all I told the Panemian people, at least."
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…BEEP…
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"There was another change, besides allowing just anybody to come to my Games. One that I didn't tell the audience. One that I didn't even tell the tributes, although I fear that some may have pieced it together."
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…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
…
"I am happy that you still sleep, Fete, but on the off-chance that you find yourself listening to me now, somehow, know that I am glad to see you still among the living. You are who I needed. A half-Capitolite, with a story so mysterious, I can weave it in whatever way I wish. My supreme Victor…"
…
…
…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
"And as the one responsible for sparing me from the President's wrath, I will confide in you what I have done to this year's Reapings, as you dream."
…
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…BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…
"I rid the reaping bowls of most of the tributes' names, Fete. I left only a select few remaining, a select few. I only left those from the same place in the bowls. I only left those with a chance of knowing each other eligible, and have told no one. And, I apologize that you were one of the victims of this."
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(…)
"I will leave you now to rest, Fete Fabergé."
…BEEP… BEEP…
"Sweet dreams."
…he had a horrible headache.
It was the first thing he noticed, when he began to open his eyes, conscious being wrestled back to him against his consent, the bright white light of… wherever he was bringing him back. He didn't notice, at first, the large, empty, much too sanitized room. He didn't see the woman with rainbow colored hair, sitting adjacent to him, holding… something. Instead, what he noticed was the one thing that had been omnipresent since the very instant the nightmare began. His damn headache…
…he groaned, sitting up in the… bed…
…bed?
…
…
…slowly, it all came back, as his vision cleared up.
The avalanche.
Gil.
Rubin…
…
…but what he hated the most, despite it all, despite everything that had happened— it wasn't any of that. Surely, it would be, soon. It would be, eventually. Soon, it all would be. But for now, it wasn't. For now, it was just this.
It was that he didn't need to ask where he was. He already knew exactly where he was.
…
…
"…you alright there, kid?"
He turned to his left, seeing Lane Folie, once more, from the corner of his eye. It hurt to move, everything hurt, so he just didn't try it.
"No."
"…that's fair."
…
…
"…why are you here?"
She gulped, her face a line as she glanced elsewhere, and for once, Fete was presented with an expression he could actually fucking read, as he observed her features. Solumnity… regret… sadness… all of it there, tied up in a not-so-neat bow.
"Well… technically, I'm supposed to be showing you your Games highlights scene right now, before the cameras fire up…" she started. At that, Fete glanced around, and, in fact, did see a camera, faced towards his hospital bed.
Was that seriously how they did crowning ceremonies here?
"But I don't think you'd want to see that, so…"
"I don't."
"…right."
…
…
…
(…he was alive, now.)
(He was alive, and trapped in the very room that started all of this. The room in the sky, the room overlooking the view in Sanitas Sanctuary. The room that had, definitely, ruined his life. …It just felt like everything had been a disaster, after disaster, after disaster since that point… And not once did it improve.)
(…huh.)
(Gil never knew the truth, did he? Fete never got around to actually telling him what happened in the Interviews, or in this room, even. He had lied to Gil up until the very end, hadn't he? So convinced he would die, that he didn't think it would ever matter…)
(He made himself a promise, for Gil, now. That he'd live on, and on, and on… because he'd broken too many promises to break another. It felt so real, back on the mountain, in that snowy hellscape. But now… it only rang hollow to him.)
(…)
(…Gil was gone.)
(Just like everyone else he had loved in his life, Gil was gone…)
(…)
"…Fete, Fete."
…
…
"…let me give you some advice, at least."
…
…
Lane sighed, turning away.
"Deco… Deco went back home. Now that you're here, the Capitol says he's allowed to retire. Maybe that's why he wanted you two to win so badly, just to leave…"
He couldn't help but mirthlessly snort at that, not offering a response beyond that point. Lane gulped, but kept going.
"You… you kept living, and I know this sounds fake, but… you kept going for the same reasons I did, I think."
…
…
…he glanced upwards at her.
Lane hadn't ever been genuine, not once in their time together, he felt. Maybe at the launch but… not even then, perhaps. Not until he was lying here, helpless to hear just what she had to say, did her eyes shine with real concern. Concern Fete didn't even want, not now, not really.
…
…but he found his attention drawn, regardless.
"And… what's that?"
"Because of them."
…she didn't turn away. She stared at him, eyes wide, eyes so far away despite that, eyes seeing someone else, not Fete. He couldn't tell who she was seeing, but he knew that, despite talking at him, she wasn't talking to him.
"Because we have to live the life that they can't, Fete," even her voice was far away now, "Because since they aren't here… we have to give them the life they never had. We have to be… we… we…"
She stopped, her mouth a line.
…
…
…her eyes were glossy, and her words were choked, but she still managed to ebb out a few last words.
"We have to keep at least one promise to her, because that's what she deserves…"
…
…
…
…
…in the distance, Gil stood on top of a mountain. Too far away for Fete to call out to. Too far away to touch, in all of his life. He couldn't make out the features, but he knew it was him. It was, it had to be.
But it wasn't just him.
It was everyone.
All of the tributes that he had killed, and that only died by another's hands… All of his friends, Melanie, and Mourna, and Gil once more… All of his family which had long since vanished; all gathered there, on the mountain.
And they waved, waved goodbye.
"Goodbye, Fete, goodbye."
"Can I not come with you?" he shouted, but they did not hear, "Can I not be left to rot on my own?"
They did not answer.
But, as the wind blew, they did, all the same.
"We will meet again, Fete," it said to him, and on the mountain, they all faded away, "We will live… in you."
…
…
…
…
Lane glanced up, the tears vanishing from her eyes.
"So… yeah," she said. It tried to be nonchalant, but there really wasn't a way. Not now, not ever, could they properly be "nonchalant" about, well, all of this…
…
…
…but she saw it, in Fete's eyes.
The spark.
The hope.
The drive, the drive to continue on, despite everything that had occurred, despite everything that would and forever not be…
…she stood up, and for once, she smiled.
Just in time for the camera to turn on.
…
…Fete was confused the whole time, of course, still loopy, still out of it. But, ever since the victory of Oda Townsend, six years ago, the Victor's Ceremony was always here, somewhere significant, with the crown of gold bestowed by a mentor. Lane had never had the honor, or, dishonor, perhaps, or being the one to do it.
But placing the crown on Fete's head…
…
…she was at least glad that she was able to do it, just this once.
Because they were all right. She did have to carry on.
He had to carry on.
Together, they all must carry on.
And together, it might just be a little easier.
"…"
"…"
"…did you feed my cats?"
"…no, I let them starve."
"What?!"
"Oh, learn to take a joke—!" Mourna threw her hands in the air after saying that, huffing and sitting back down on the bench, "Yes, your kitties are fine, feet…"
…
…she was turned away now, on the bench.
It was… quiet now, at the train station. Fete had requested it like that— it was the last thing he had even asked Lane, before she went back to the Capitol for some PR shit. Just that when he arrived at the station… it would be quiet.
It had been a lot, the past few days.
His identity had been questioned a lot, by the Capitolites, and, as he lay in his hospital bed, not even Lane herself could keep all of the reporters at bay. It had been question after question after question… and frankly, at this point, he was sick of the crowd. He didn't want anymore, now that he left.
…well, all he could do was left now, considering…
…
…Mourna was allowed into the station. She was the only one allowed in; he had been asked to list relevant people for him to allow in, and… she was the last one. The only one.
…he sat to her left on the bench, watching as the train departed, for what would be the last time in a long time… And for a second, they both just watched. Neither of them could think of what could possibly be said.
…
…
…she went to grab Fete's hand.
…and again.
…and again.
Until, eventually, she couldn't grip it anymore, and glanced over at Fete's hand.
…"hand."
"What the fuck—"
Fete sighed, "Yeah, I knew eventually you'd catch onto that."
"Where the hell is your right hand?"
He looked at her, biting his cheek. The weight was heavy in his chest, but… he'd manage, this time. Perhaps.
"You watched the broadcast, didn't you?"
She nodded, her face contorted in both confusion, and, what shouldn't surprise him at this point— although it was still strange to see on her— utter concern.
He continued, "Well… the sword slice was too much for my hand to… handle, so… no more hand."
She just continued gawking for a few more moments, until eventually, she shut her mouth, looking back forwards.
Mourna just… was out of anything to say, that was all.
…
…
…
"…sorry."
…she looked back up.
"After how I treated you…" she began, and looked him in the eye. He didn't look back, still staring at the rails, "After all I did, shouldn't I be apologizing to you?"
He just kept on looking forward.
"You did already, didn't you? Unless you didn't mean what you said with the Sponsorship."
"…I did."
"…thank you, for that."
"…"
"…I accept the apology, but I think you need mine."
She breathed in, as if to protest, but he held up the one hand he had left as to stop her, giving her a side-eye. She shrunk back.
…he breathed in…
…
…and out.
…
"…I don't think either of us knew how to really deal with everything that was going on. With… my mother… and your sister… And then my father, and now Gil… I don't think I knew how to deal with it."
"…"
"…and I'm sorry, I'm sorry that I couldn't understand your pain, as well as mine. I'm sorry."
"…you don't need to apologize."
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…it's still accepted, don't worry. But you don't owe me anything."
"…"
"…"
She glanced out, as he did, out to the train cars sitting in disuse, many lanes away, and the cloudy sky, casting solemn shadows onto the landscape… and for a few moments, she just let herself feel.
…
…
…
"…so what now, then, Fete?"
"…we live."
He blinked, sitting back on the bench, and staring upwards into the clouds.
He wondered if they were out there, up and away, and looking at him now.
"We live, and we rebuild, Mourna."
…
…
"For them."
…
…
…
In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.
Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ.
Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.
Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.
What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.
He offered Mourna his hand.
Mourna took it back.
And above them, the sun crested over the clouds.
THE END