"What's the victory tour like?" She asked Haymitch on the train, once Effie had left them, and it was just the two of them. She was having whisky to stay in the bar train with Haymitch. Effie had all sorts of things to say about that, but Haymitch argued if she was old enough to win the Hunger Games, she could soothe her nightmares with a goddamn drink.
And this shut Effie up.
Effie wasn't bad, but sometimes Katniss had a feeling she forgot what the games actually were, until moments when Haymitch snapped at her.
"Bullshit," Haymitch replied, "It's fucking bullshit. The Districts hate your guts. You took away a friend or brother or cousin from them. It's just Snow, showing his power and influence. No one will say it to your face, but you remember how it is when a victor visits."
Katniss frowned, knowing that she always felt like wanting to punch a victor, especially if they personally killed someone from District 12.
"Yeah."
"Look, the speech is fine enough. It's easy. The dinner with the mayor is usually good. Other Victors, if they still live in the main city, will be there. If anything, take some time to get to know your friends."
"Friends?" Katniss frowned, "Them?"
"They're the only ones that understand what you went through. No one else holds up the same," Haymitch said with a sad smile, "You'll find most are decent folk. Except for Careers, no one goes into the games dreaming of dismembering thirteen-year-olds."
"Right," Katniss sighed. She never made friends easily. Even handing her those who shared a unique experience by no means meant she'd come out with any more people to talk to at the end of all of this hullabaloo.
"You'll do fine," Haymitch said, as though reading her mind, "You're popular. You volunteered. Unheard of for us." Haymitch snorted, "All sorts of people are curious about you now."
"Especially after Peeta?" Katniss asked though she didn't know why then or there she had to talk about him. She watched the hurt cross Haymitch's face, as though she'd personally stabbed him. All she could think was that Peeta should be the one here, but he'd been dead now for six months. And that felt like an eternity when you put it like that.
"Especially after him," Haymitch agreed, but she could tell she'd ruined their conversation, so she took her leave, taking the whisky back to her room. She sipped it once more , made a face, and then dumped the rest down the bathroom drain.
She wished she was anywhere but here, including the claustrophobic interior of a pine box.
XXX
The Districts all bled together like someone was just cutting her open wider and wider, letting everything inside her just slither away until there was nothing left of Katniss.
No niceties, no sympathy, no horror, no anger…just exhaustion.
But that was part of it , wasn't it? Tear her down by making her relive her worst moments in the Games over and over again while pretending not to be glad she was alive when each District's children weren't?
Rue and Thresh's district was one of the more accommodating ones, though she still felt a certain kind of nervousness.
The nervousness was rubbed away as she repeated the same things over and over and over, just a dull repetition of a tired speech.
Haymitch nudged her towards those he thought the right ilk when it came to the Victor's dinners. They were always held at the Mayor's house in the main city of each district, where it was so clear to her - having been in the Capitol - that the wealth she once thought the mayors had was so laughably little in comparison.
They were trapped here too.
But they did their best. They pulled out all the stops.
At some, the Victors lined the tables, a reunion within their District to come back together, just as she'd do next year after another child won. Sometimes, it was just a scarce few who sat, staring at their soups or made small talk with Haymitch. Haymitch, who was friendly when he wanted to be, charmed everyone.
Katniss?
Well, not so much.
It was a good thing she had that 'mystery allure' going for her, or so Haymitch said.
She was something new and shiny. She had the interest of the people , who would ignore her social unsureness.
Most victors attempted to be kind to her.
"We all went through it," An elderly man named Woof told Katniss, patting her shoulder with a sad smile , " We all remember how it was."
Haymitch was taking each city as an opportunity to get roaring drunk with whatever Victor was somewhat close to him in age.
The worst of Haymitch's partners in crime was with Chaff in District 11. Katniss is pretty sure they won just a few years apart, but she can't recall who was first. They seem very friendly, as though they're best friends.
Is this what she has a lifetime to look forward to? Connecting with people every year for a few sparse seconds, and then existing in bitter loneliness the rest of it?
Haymitch introduces her to a colorful variety of Victors; Caecilla, Lyme, Beetee, Wiress, Mags, Finnick, Annie, and Johanna…they all start to mix together to Katniss. They all look like children whose childhoods were snatched away if you ask her.
Finnick, Annie, and Johanna, so vetted by Haymitch, are the nearest to her age.
Finnick puts Katniss on edge for reasons she can't explain. He laughs unabashedly, startling those at the dinner table in Four, and eats sugar cubes right from the little jar on the table, chewing them.
Annie is quiet and timid. Katniss can't imagine how she won.
Johanna is loud, brash, and someone that Katniss can almost think may be a good friend. She imagines they'd get along if they had more than one rigid night to get to know each other. She's the type that will be brutally honest.
Katniss is so tired of fake Capitol niceties, it's refreshing to hear someone speak their mind.
She didn't win by being the kindes, that's for sure.
But then again, neither did Katniss.
If Peeta had won…you could have said that.
But he didn't, you did…
One city a day is grinding on her soul. It is the same every single day.
Wake up, get dressed, do your makeup (or let an Avox do it for you), go stand in their town center where just six months ago someone else was taken from their District, read your little speech, go to dinner, and try to act normal, get back on the train and fall asleep with your nice clothes half unbuttoned.
By the time they near the end of it, at the uppermost Career Districts, Katniss isn't even glad. She doesn't know how to feel about anything.
"Any advice, oh great mentor?" Katniss grouches as they step onto the platform in District 2.
"Wipe that growl off your face. You'll get wrinkles, Sweetie," Haymitch says, but Katniss doesn't know how to.
She's angry at this district.
Their male tribute died laughably fast, so much so that Katniss can only imagine that everyone watching at home was in absolute horror when he took a scythe to the neck only one day in.
But they ought to be proud…Clove stuck it out. And she made it a living hell for Katniss.
Katniss is angry because it's Clove who chased them at the end. It's Clove who pushed them up onto the Cornucopia and tried to follow, just as Katniss had reached the top and Peeta was trying to pull himself the rest of the way. It's Clove who sprang and grasped his foot, bringing him down, down, down…
And even though she died not soon after, it's her canon going off that made Katniss lose her grip.
She's replayed that moment a million times in her head, obsessed with thinking of the way she could have saved Peeta. If she'd had a different angle with her fingers, if she'd managed to catch his wrist instead of his hand, if Clove had just been two seconds later and she'd been two seconds quicker…
She's nearly driven herself insane with survivor's guilt.
As Katniss steps onto the platform, she catches Clove's family standing underneath her headshot, leaving a meaningful space between her parents where she should be.
Katniss can see her, like a ghost, standing there.
She never really thought about how tiny Clove was.
The unexpected moment of humanness assigned to someone that has caused Katniss so much grief causes her to stumble through her speech.
By far, it's the worst she's given yet.
Part of her doesn't hate Clove but just hates the Games that forced her to do all those things.
But part of her isn't ready to forgive entirely.
There's an alarming number of Victors in District 2. Enough to make Katniss feel sick that all of these people are here to share the burden each year, while she and Haymitch will be dragged back out every single fucking time (until the end of time) to watch another skinny, starving kid die.
Katniss knows she's one of a kind. Two of a kind, if you count Haymitch.
It makes Katniss feel gross. Whenever she comes to terms with the fact she's a statistic anomaly, a blip in the system, a mistake…she wants to curl up and scream.
She and Haymitch are already late to the party by the time they arrive, all the past victors chatting and catching up. She watches as Haymitch avoids some very specifically, such as Brutus and Enobaria.
Katniss can't pull any other names of past victors past the two that are known for being the most bloodthirsty, but Haymitch seems to slip into a conversation with an older woman who is less stabby-looking than the rest.
Katniss lingers for a second, unsure.
"First time is overwhelming."
Katniss turns to see Cato standing next to her.
Wait, she knows who he is…winner of the 73rd Hunger Games, the year right before hers.
Won at the age of sixteen. Just a year past that, he's one year older than her age now. He doesn't look seventeen. He looks so out of place with all the adults who laugh with drinks in their hands.
He looks out of place because all of Katniss' thoughts of him are with his face covered in blood like he'd bathed in it before winning his title.
She remembers the warnings about Careers and starts to look frantically for Haymitch, but he's knee-deep in conversation , ignoring her entirely.
She can sort of hold her own with the other Districts, but this one is taking all she has out of her.
"Katniss?"
Katniss exhales sharply, turning, "What?"
"Are you alright?"
No, of course not! I'm not alright, why the hell would you ask me that?
"It was hard even for me," Cato offers up after her pointed silence, "Long days, right?"
"Why are you being nice to me?" She snaps, tired of all this stupid Panem subterfuge that Victors suddenly learn how to do as soon as they win.
Cato raises an eyebrow, "Thought you may want a confidant. My mistake." He puts a scowl on his lips, staring her down. When he's looking at her, really looking, his eyes are fiery.
She doesn't care if she's made an enemy.
He picks a champagne glass off a passing waiter's tray, tips it back and downs it in one, and sets it back before she can muster a response.
He pauses as he passes, leaning in. She can smell the smell of alcohol on his breath; not the overwhelmingness that Haymitch has, but just a whiff of it. He's only had one or two , Katniss guesses .
"You should have never won," He says carefully, "Clove was magnificent. And you're just…" He looks her up and down, and behind his eyes, Katniss is surprised she can see something more than just Districtly respect for his fallen fellow tribute. It's something so overwhelming that it nearly bowls Katniss over, a sense of longing and anguish and pain of a wound being reopened.
It must have taken all his good graces to be civil to her.
Though Katniss didn't pull the trigger, metaphorically, it's her fault Clove is dead.
He struggles for an insult, emotions clouding his mind. She can see it, almost feel his hurt so sharply that it's enough.
It doesn't absolve him of his behavior, but on some level, Katniss doesn't think she'd be able to act any differently if the roles were reversed.
Katniss pulls back, "We both lost someone dear to us that day," she says cooly.
Cato jerks back, blinking hard, as though he didn't mean to let on those emotions. Or he didn't expect Katniss to pick up on them.
But how could she not?
She's almost sure that if she held up a mirror, she'd see all those same things staring right back.
Beneath the ache for someone long dead, there's guilt.
Katniss wonders if Cato convinced Clove to volunteer and if he wonders if it would have been better to just live a happy life.
In some ways, she's furious with Cato. He could have had everything he wanted if they weren't so obsessed with glory.
It was never a chance to have that with Peeta, not unless something had changed so drastically in history that she may not have even been here, having this conversation right now.
Cato is still trying to gather himself.
He pushes his shoulders down, examining Katniss, "So it wasn't just for show?"
Cato seems genuinely surprised.
Yes, at first, but then…
Why would she tell that to him? Even if she's not sure of her own feelings, just sure that she wishes she had more time to figure them out, it's best to let the world believe that they were a tragic love story.
Instead of answering, Katniss is the one who walks away from him.
She finds Haymitch , feeling like a child waiting for their parent to get done talking to someone at the Hob , tied to his coattails and uneasy, forcing herself into a conversatiosn she has no business being in. But the Victors allow her to be there, like a silent statue, adding nothing of value as they talk about everything and nothing at all.
Some of them have mastered the art of speaking of such trivial things.
Others speak candidly and painfully, and Katniss wonders if you can ever let those feelings go to bed.
She hopes so because this seems like hell otherwise.
As dinner is announced, Katniss goes to sit next to Haymitch, a surly shadow at his side. Yet, before she can sit down, Brutus stands.
"Oh, the two newest Victors should sit next to each other!" He encourages, motioning to Cato, who has reappeared but has not yet sat down either .
"That's not necessary ," Cato says tightly, glaring at his mentor.
"All these adult conversations are dreadfully boring," Brutus presses, "You'll have much more in common with each other."
"I'm adult enough," Katniss says, feeling like they're banishing her to the kid table, the one where all the school children sit during District Wide Feasts, while their parents twitter nervously about food and resources around them.
"Oh, the Capitol will just die!" Effie cuts in, always unneeded, "Yes, that's brilliant, Brutus! They should be in the middle of the table, right?"
Like someone is puppeting her limbs, Katniss follows where Effie is pointing.
Pick your battles, Haymitch had told her , Except those involving Effie. She always gets what she wants. She works for a higher power.
And then he'd pointed down, and though Katniss knew he meant the Capitol (which was actually west, directionally) she'd understood the reference.
Cato also swallows back his arguments, though it took a bit more pushing from Brutus.
Effie danced around, 'oohing' and 'aahing', though there wasn't anything special about this at all. They were just two people, sitting together in mutual hatred.
"It looks like they're at their wedding reception," Enobaria sniggers. Katniss snaps her head toward Cato, face bright red.
She can see why someone may think that.
Katniss' dress isn't white, but it is from the waist up. They just can't see the colorful skirt underneath the table. And Cato is wearing his very finest tux.
She opens her mouth to beg Effie not to take a photo, but there's a flash, and it's already too late.
With small miracles, Cato seems just as put off as she does about this entire situation.
She huffs quietly. Cato spares a glance at her, locking his jaw and sucking in his cheeks. He watches her for a few seconds longer before turning around.
"Is this hazing?" He asks, trying to seem much more casual about this than he actually is, "A little fun on my behalf?"
"Sure, kiddo," Brutus says in a way that would drive Katniss insane if she were Cato. He isn't a kid. Sure, literally, he was only seventeen. But once you kill even just one other person, you're not really a kid anymore, are you?
At least Haymitch treats her like an adult. He calls her kid too sometimes, but it feels more satirical than serious.
Too much like an adult, sometimes, but she'd rather be on this end of the issue than the other.
Brutus is saying it like he absolutely sees Cato as a six-year-old.
But of course, Cato is the 'baby' of their Victor family. Until someone else wins for two, he's going to be the lowest on the totem pole, the one everyone teases and picks on, the one who is the but of every joke.
Cato Hadley is the singular most eligible and powerful male Victor in Panem except on his home turf.
Katniss doesn't want to have any reason to feel bad for him, but that must really make him angry.
She doesn't have to be that perceptive to see that. His fingers tighten around his glass, another champagne flute in his hands, as though he's trying to prove himself old enough to drink with the big boys. His whole body is tense, his shoulders straight across and she watches as he does three inhales swiftly, like he's self-comforting.
She feels like she's dug up a secret, something like a precious gemstone. Something valuable. She pushes down a grin and decides to keep it close to her chest.
He waves down the Avox, "Champagne, Katniss?" He asks as he swaps it out. She wonders how many he was on before running into her. He's not sloppy drunk, though champagne isn't as bad as the straight whisky that Haymitch takes.
"Just one," She says quietly. She never liked the taste before and the here and now doesn't make it taste better. It's more out of politeness.
"It's shitty, yeah," Cato says, reading her face, "Wish they could pop for some better quality…" He mutters, trailing off, taking more carefully controlled sips, now that it seems he's aware that Katniss is watching and counting.
"Oh, and you're such a master of wine?" She asks with a pinched laugh.
"What else would I do with my time?" He responds immediately, raising an eyebrow, "Don't need to work a day in my life again, so…" He trails off.
Katniss suddenly understands what Haymitch had been talking about; that the victors would be the only people she could confide in. She's almost leaping to say she knows exactly what he's talking about. It's that sense of pointlessness. Everyone in twelve has to work, pretty much up until they die. Even Madge Undersee will need some job. No one is wealthy enough to spend their days frivolously.
Katniss is not good without something to do.
It seems Cato may be the same.
And if he wasn't so outright annoying, she'd perhaps lean into this mutual feeling of restlessness.
The other victors haven't expressed anything like this yet. Maybe they're all old enough to have figured out how to deal with it, leaving the two newest of their club drowning in all that free time and money.
And it sounds crazy when you put it like that, right?
Right.
But Katniss isn't looking to make friends with Cato, so she focuses hard on her salad, unsure how to switch the conversation. She doesn't want him to get the impression that she cares about his answers.
Avoxes come and swiftly take away their salads, slipping a roasted chicken dish into the vacancy.
"Well, at least this is decent. Though, for mine, we had steak," Cato talks, semi aimlessly, because Katniss is not looking at him or responding. Inwardly, she's not surprised or offended. It's a big deal when someone from your District wins. Even a career district isn't immune to that rush of excitement.
"You've had steak, right?"
It's clear at this point Cato is trying to engage her.
"Yes," She answers shortly, leaving little room in her tone for a response back, but Cato plows right through.
"I suppose in District 12 the hunting must be good. We had venison when I came through last year," He muses, "Wonder if it was you who brought it in?"
Katniss goes stiff , her fingers clenching around her fork, "What?"
"You know, with your hunting," He waves a hand casually, as though he isn't talking about treasonous things , " I know that you didn't just wake up and pick up the arrow," He guffaws.
"I don't do that sort of thing," Katniss replies tartly.
"Oh, no one's going to get mad at you now," Cato laughs, "You're important, you're untouchable. Who gives a shit?"
"Don't you dislike me?" Katniss asks, wishing she could be anywhere but here right now.
"So you want to just sit here in silence for a whole six-course meal?" Cato whistles , "Sounds super fun."
"Yes," Katniss stabs her chicken, "Preferably."
"Well, too bad," Cato ignores her, "Because I'd go crazy. So, Katniss, tell me something, anything."
Katniss ignores him.
"I'm just going to bother you until you do."
"You first, Hadley," Katniss tries to shove it off on him, knowing full well that he'll just talk her ear off if she truly ignores him. The rest of the table is almost making a point to let the 'kids' talk, no one is engaging with Katniss right now.
She's fine with silence.
But she knows Cato is stubborn, nearly as stubborn as she is.
"Well, I asked you," Cato smiles, and for a second, it's almost charming. Katniss can see why so many girls fawn over the previous victor. When he wants to be, he can look downright dashing, what with his hair perfectly combed, his teeth gleaming white, and his suit jacket pressed and perfectly black. "If you start, I know how to respond. Social conversations are just like playing tennis. Back and forth. That's all it is, and in a few hours, we'll be rid of each other."
Katniss blinks blankly at him.
"You don't know what tennis is, do you?" He sounds tired.
"No. I take it that it's a sport." She's smart. She can read context clues.
"What do you do for working out in Twelve, then?" Cato's eyes are wide.
We don't.
But if she told him that, it would only play into his stereotypes.
"Running, I suppose," She says, "And kicking a ball around." Though that's for children. As soon as you're twelve or so, you're old enough to work. Most kids have to give up pastimes like that to support their families. The last time Katniss played Dust Ball (named due to the ungodly amount of dust it kicks up into the air) was when she was eight.
"Charming," Cato responds, but winces, "Tennis is with a paddle and a ball about this big," He makes a measurement with his hands, "And you hit it back and forth. It's common here."
Katniss nods.
"If you have more time here ever, perhaps we'll have to teach you," Cato adds.
Katniss nods out of instinct but isn't sure she means it. But, at the very least, it would give her something to do with her time.
"Now, look at that," Cato says after a moment, leaning back on his chair so the front two legs tip, "We made it through an entire conversation. Back and forth. Just like tennis. And now we just do it over and over again."
"Look at that," Katniss repeats as she offers a singular smile, "Almost human-like. Almost normal."
"There's nothing normal about who we are," Cato shakes his head, "Not District, not Capitol. Some fucking mutant in between. Puppets for Snow."
"You seem to rather like him, from what I've seen." All of Cato's videos have been very pro-Hunger Games , pro-Capitol. He talks a lot about the glory he's brought his district and how elated he was to get the opportunity to volunteer.
Cato gives her a strange look , "It's to keep your head attached to your body," He says quickly, "Obviously." Then, not mockingly , but almost mournfully, "You'll do it too, just watch."
There had always been this tension, rippling on the surface of every Victor she'd met, like they're all holding their breath about something, but until now, she hasn't been able to pin a finger on it.
No one's wanted to talk so openly about it.
"What do you mean?" She asks in a low, hushed, and frantic voice.
Cato looks around. His fellow Victor's disinterest in the pair has an unexpected positive; he's almost free to say anything he wants .
"You think the games ended when you won?" He asks in a low, furious whisper, "For the rest of your life, Snow or whoever ends up after him owns you."
Katniss should be afraid, but it's the most candid anyone has been with her. Even Haymitch, she feels, has been holding back, like giving too much information would shatter her.
"What do you mean?" She repeats again, "Specifically."
"You're what, seventeen this year?" Cato asks quietly, "Sixteen when you won?"
"Yes?"
His mouth pulls, and he swallows hard, "The curse of making yourself likable to the Capitol to get support and packages sent in is making yourself known," He says, but isn't really saying anything at all, "The Girl on Fire thing?" He draws in a sharp breath, "You'll regret that."
It didn't seem like a taunt or malice. He seemed genuinely worried on her behalf, a strange development in this non-relationship she has with him. His words are almost mournful like he's heard the same song a thousand times, and it always ends the same.
"I don't…" Katniss presses her lips together, "I don't understand."
"Snow will wait until you're done with your tour, of course," He says, his expression shuttering, face drawing blank, "But around the time of the next Reaping, there will be a lot of interest in…purchasing you."
Katniss feels her heart drop to her stomach. She's not unfamiliar with what he's talking about. Girls do whatever they have to in order to survive in Twelve. Mostly, peacekeepers are the ones who can afford such illicit behaviors. Katniss is grateful she had talent with a bow and arrow so she never had to go to such lengths, but she knows other girls aren't so lucky.
Cato doesn't have to say anything else to know that it's an experience he's speaking from, not just second-hand stories.
Now Katniss does feel sorry for him.
"And if I don't comply…if I speak out against it…" She doesn't need confirmation, she just knows it. Still, Cato gives a tense nod.
"Thank you."
This genuinely surprises him, "For what?"
"For being honest," Katniss sips her champagne, "Almost no one else is."
"Well," Cato sighs, looking at the long table of past victors, anger burning underneath his blue eyes, "I wish someone had warned me."
There is a silence, and for once, Cato isn't trying to fill it.
They manage to meander into a few back-and-forths as the meal drags on, nothing quite as deep or serious, all very surface-level. Katniss is still eager to get away by the time dinner is done. They haven't managed to become best friends. She still dislikes much about him, and it's obvious he hasn't changed his opinion either.
"Well, that wasn't as awful as it could have been," Cato announced as their dessert was cleared away, "I'll see you at the Capitol, Everdeen."
"I'd be lying if I said I was looking forward to it." Katniss doesn't clarify if she means the event or Cato.
Cato stands, his cheeks flushed with alcohol and his tie loosened to hang unevenly around his neck. He reaches across the table to Katniss' half-drunk flute, picking it delicately with his fingers. He holds her gaze as he chugs the last of it.
"Still shitty," He mumbles, setting it firmly in front of her, before slipping away.
XXX
When Haymitch asks if it was bearable to be near Cato, Katniss shudders.
"Just barely."
Then, she thinks about it.
"He's more charming than I would have been led to think."
"Well, duh," Haymitch rolls his eyes, "He had to get sponsors somehow. That's how he won."
That's a point Katniss hadn't considered but was correct. You won if you were popular, as made abundantly clear to her.
"What did you talk about?" Haymitch asks.
The discussion of Snow and Capitol asshats purchasing her swims through her mind, but she shuts it down.
It seems like too much to ask Haymithc about, and some part of her is desperately hoping it's just Cato trying to scare her.
"Tennis," She says with a small grin.
"Ah," Haymitch snorts, "District 2's favorite pass time. Other than creating little killing machines. It's fun with the right people," He concedes.
"Am I to assume because I'm we're the two newest Victors that we're going to be seen as a pair?"
"Yeah, it's always like that for the newest two. But don't worry, as soon as someone wins this year, it will be you and them. And then two years from now, you'll both be old news. The fascination burns out quickly; Capitol folk are mostly dumb and have short memories," He tapped his head, "So you'll do some god awful fake laughing and play nice with him and god willing you'll fall out of everyone's respective consciences soon enough."