Blaine Abernathy: A Canary Caged

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games

Chapter 66: Closer to Everything.

Blaine's POV

The drive back to the Nest was quiet. Jason and I managed to evacuate while Simon and Cleo remained there in the chaos for the act. Neither of us talked about the mission being compromised. It started out perfectly; except, President Snow knew me. He knew I would never put a kid in danger. However, Jason was ordered to make an example and shoot the bodyguard. President Snow should be cautious in both the battlefront and the city.

The moment we got in the vehicle, Jason told me not to say anything. Not as a negative, but I was mentally spiraling. I didn't know what to do or say as I tried to regulate my thoughts through my breathing exercises. I managed to be close to Snow, and yet I could feel the snake coiling around me once more.

Once we got to the Nest, I exited the car before Jason asked questions. However, Varick and Cinna were in the garage.

Varick came up first, "What the hell happened?"

"Simple," I snapped. "He knew me!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jason demanded, slamming the door to the driver's seat.

I took a deep breath, "President Snow knows me personally inside and out. He knows how I think and how I behave, and he knows my weaknesses. And one of my weaknesses is killing a kid. Give me a gun to kill a kid, and I'll end up shooting the person who gave the gun."

"Damn it," Varick sighed, brushing his hand through his hair. "I should have thoroughly anticipated this."

"You think," Jason snapped.

"Look, it's late, and things didn't go according to plan," Cinna said, intercepting the tension between us all.

"Cinna's right," Varick agreed. "Let's talk about this in the morning."

"At least we gave him a warning," Jason muttered. "Canary scared the shit out of me with that storm comment."

I shrugged before yawning, tiredly, emotionally exhausted. I fear the mission failed, and Peeta is still under President Snow's control. After that stunt, he, Johanna, or Annie is in more danger than ever before. What are we going to do? We got to get Peeta and the others out? Pinching the brim of my nose, I tried to hide my irritation of worry. Suddenly, a slight headache started inching into my head, and I was unsure whether it was natural or artificial. The serum was still in my system, as the stress triggered it.

"Blaine," Cinna murmured as he noticed my posture changed.

Cautiously, I took the Scope out to allow the hallucination to take over. As one of my recent fears took over, my world became black. My breathing became irregular as I tried to control this fear. A hand took my own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I held onto it tightly.

"I'm here," Cinna murmured softly. "I'm here. You are safe. Whatever you are seeing is not real."

"I can't… see… anything," my voice wavered.

The men were quiet as they took this information in. Now, it makes me wonder if this was a hallucination or if I had gone blind all of a sudden. And it scares me.

"Put the Scope back on," Varick ordered calmly.

I nodded as I tried to put it on but struggled. Cinna took hold of the Scope and helped me put it back on. It took a moment, but I was able to see. I panted, staring at Cinna, who gave a reissuing smile, wiping the tears away.

"I want Dr. Caduceus to take a look," Varick said. "We need to know if it is the serum or physical."

We only nodded. Varick told Jason to head back and rest while Cinna took me to the infirmary. Nothing was said. Once in the infirmary, I sat on the examination table, trying to regulate my breathing. Cinna stood by me, rubbing my back. We didn't say a word, for any conversation might make me panic.

Varick arrived with a tired Dr. Caduceus. Not saying a word, he grabbed an Ophthalmoscope and brought it to my eye.

"I've been told you just lost your sight a moment ago," Dr. Caduceus said.

"Yeah," I mumbled.

He continued to examine my eye, "I don't see any changes. Can we take the Scope off to see?"

I nodded as he stepped back. I carefully removed the Scope and handed it to Cinna. This time, my vision did not go black. I could see normally in my lone eye. Dr. Caduceus took the Ophthalmoscope to continue the examination, along with the basic eye exam. After twenty minutes, he sighed.

"It could have been a hallucination," he said. "Tomorrow, I want to examine your eye again by dilation. Just to be sure."

I nodded again.

"Get some rest," he said with a sincere smile.

"Okay," I managed to say.

Nothing was said afterward, but I noticed Varick's concern. Cinna wrapped an arm around me. I lean heavily on Cinna. I was so tired and exhausted, not caring where I was going other than to bed. After separating, Cinna led the way to his room. I was too exhausted to care where I was going and could only think about finding some solitude. Never in my life had a simulation actually meant a possibility. One eye, only one eye. If I lose that one or grow old, losing sight, I might not survive in the darkness. To be blind scared me, for I pretty much used my sight for everything.

"What if I go blind?" I asked aloud, not thinking who heard.

Cinna stopped opening the door to his room. "Then I'll be your eyes." He turned around, took my hand, and led me inside before embracing me. "You have nothing to be afraid of."

"I failed," I whispered.

"No, you didn't," he objects.

"He knows me, Cinna," I protested, pulling out of his arm and walking further into his room, kicking off the damn heels. "Inside and out."

"Well, not inside," he murmured in an almost husky voice. He coughed, shaking his head. "You lied to him, and he believed you."

"What?"

"You told him I was dead, and he believed you." He explained.

He's right. I did lie about him being dead. Well, there's one accomplishment. I sighed, removing the jammer bracelet. "I just hope our friends are safe, Peeta, Portia, Johanna, Annie, Ef-"

Suddenly, his lips cut me off. "I'm sure they'll be fine. You didn't expose yourself, so Snow can't harm them without a purpose."

I sighed, turning my back to him to get the dress's zipper. "Would you mind helping me out?"

"As you wish," he whispered, setting my hair over one shoulder, exposing skin to kiss. He found the zipper, pulling the dress down ever so slowly while continuing to kiss exposed skin. I sighed in content, enjoying the attention as I leaned against his form. The chiffon curtain down my skin pooled around my feet, leaving me in my undergarments.

"You like to tease," I chuckled tiredly.

"Only with you," he murmured, handing me one of his black shirts from the dresser.

I put it on, then walked to the bathroom to wash the makeup off my face. Once that was done, I put on an eye patch and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Despite losing an eye, I can still see the Capitol's influence. I wonder what I truly looked like if it wasn't for the remake. Instead, I was the possible version of Lucy Grey. Yet, I do not know what she would have looked like as an adult. And then my hair was lightened. The dormant rage stirred, and a part of me wanted to punch the mirror. However, I know Cinna would disapprove.

I continued to stare at myself, losing track of time, when Cinna came in. He was shirtless and leaned against the counter, arms crossed, as he watched me.

"What do you see?" He asked.

"A lie," I answered.

Cinna sighed. No matter how much he helped me, I will always hate my appearance internally. No amount of makeup or clothes can cover up what has been taken from me. Yet, I do not want to have an alteration and surgery again.

"Stand straight," he said.

I took a deep breath and stood straight. Cinna opened a drawer, pulling out the scissors. I was surprised but understood what Cinna was offering. He got behind me, parting my hair into sections.

"How short?" he asked.

I paused, thinking about the length. All I know is that I want this long hair gone. This illusion that the Capitol made of me.

"Surprise me," I answered.

"I'll do the basic cut," Cinna said as he started cutting my hair. "And get the dyes later."

I nodded, appreciating it. I know Cinna wouldn't dye my hair in a crazy color. Knowing him, he would bring back my natural colors. Back to dark hair. I closed my eye, letting Cinna do his work. After some time, Cinna finished his work. I opened my eye to see my hair now reaching past my shoulders. So much weight had been lifted.

"They say hair holds memories," Cinna murmured. "When was the last time you truly had a haircut. Not a trim."

My eye watered, "A month before my game."

Cinna muttered something in his breath. He set the scissors down and held me in his arms. I cried softly as I held onto those memories, unable to have any control. Now, I have some control over my life and don't know what to do with it. My choice has brought me back into a similar environment, only this time, it is to fix my wrongs.

But most of all, I'm not doing this alone.

Cinna picked me up and carried me to his bed.

Sleep was avoiding me, even as my head hit the pillow. Cinna got on his side of the bed, moving his journal onto the nightstand, yet a sample came out. I reached for the sample and touched it. It was gray with strands of white. It felt familiar. It's not like the fur coats made by designer Tigress. It's something else.

"What's this for?" I asked.

Cinna paused thinking about it, before opening his sketchbook to reveal the page. I adjusted myself to see the design and realized it was the fur cloak during my game, with a drawing of me wearing it. A girl with dark hair in a messy ponytail. I traced my fingers over the design. I have seen the final result, but seeing the cloak design saved my life from the cold.

"I'm still amazed that your cloak saved me from the cold," I murmured.

"At first, I didn't think you would get it," he confessed. "But it was the Jabberjays' way to earn my trust. "

"Weren't you in college then?" I asked, staring at the artwork.

"I was," he answered. "Although, the insurgents had their ways of secretly earning trust. Usually, you are born an insurgent, though sometimes connections could be made."

"How did you get involved in this?" I asked yet again.

"My father was an insurgent." He said sadly. "My father's side had connections in helping the rebels since the Dark Days. He was a historian, and my father's side of the family has gone deep since the Dark Days. In college, I didn't get involved in politics. However, when you were reaped, something changed, and I must have done something for the Jabberjays to notice."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I betted on you," he answered, taking the sketchbook away. "I was lucky, so lucky. The students didn't bet on the victor, but who will survive each day."

"Is that how you got those scars?" I asked.

Cinna nodded as he wrapped his arms around me, gently pulling me close. I traced along his chest, on top of the scars. I never thought Cinna would tell me about his past, let alone his college life. Portia once said Cinna was a loner and hardly socialized at the institute except at significant events. Now, hearing all this felt more trusting. Also, Cinna was the one who made me the cloak that saved my life through the cold arena. Helped me camouflage and stay warm. However, a few other scars bothered me, such as those that look like branding symbols of a ring. I traced my finger over the burn.

"And the burn?" I asked.

"Augusta Flickerman," he answered bitterly.

I inhaled sharply.

"He was the one of them," he said. "As a reminder of how dangerous gambling can be."

My heart sank knowing the monster Augusta was. How he took advantage of people and got away with it. Out of all the clients, I felt like Augusta was raping me. The rest try to compensate, but Augusta takes in his cruel ways. Now, knowing the scars on Cinna, Augusta was indeed a sadist.

But Cinna never let Augusta win. At least, that is what I think. Cinna always had a calm demure demeanor, masking all his emotions and putting them in his work. Now, he lay beside me all vulnerable, telling me about his visible scars—the ones he got because he believed in me and tried to help me by sponsoring me before he became a stylist.

If that is not love, then I don't know what it is. I wish I could show him my affection, yet the exhaustion after tonight's events drained me. Thus, I leaned forward and placed a kiss on his chest before looking into his face. The scenery screen of a starry night partially illuminated his face. His green eyes were slightly lit as he stared at me.

"I'm falling for you," I whispered.

He smiled as he cradled my face, his index fingers tracing behind my ear, "To hear you say that is sweeter than knowing it."

With that said, he pressed his lips against my own.

A kiss could be anything, but with Cinna, it was something special that sent sparks flying. How warm and skilled yet hesitant and courageous. He tilted his head and kissed my jaw. I sighed, closing my eye, savoring every touch, and resting my hands on his chest. As much as we wanted to go further, we had no protection and were exhausted from the night. Instead, we were curled up in each other's arms.

He placed a kiss on my forehead, "How could such a beauty come from such a dark history and be with me."

"Because a spark showed me the light," I whispered.

We lay in each other's arms, forgetting the world around us.

.o0o.

A few days passed, and there were some adjustments. Dr. Caduseus checked my eye and confirmed that my eyesight was fine and that the blackout was from a hallucination and not a potential case of blindness. It was hard to be dilated, but Cinna was there, ensuring that all was real.

Even though Cinna has told me his history, his time as a Jabberjay showed and exposed all his secrets. The wall that had been separating us was crumbling down. Knowing I had a guardian angel since I entered the arena made me realize I was not alone. We spend a lot more time together, getting him out of his cave of fabric. Everyone was surprised to see him in the training room but didn't mind letting him train with us. Cleo kept a sharp eye on us, being in charge of who gets to train in what station until clearance. It doesn't matter. We all need to regulate anger in the mission failing.

However, it wasn't the mission that had everyone furious. Hacker logged on to the Rebels mainframe and discovered their plans for Katniss. They were going to send her out in public. Dr. Caduceus kept tabs on Katniss's mental file, declaring the girl was not emotionally - if not mentally fit to go out in public, let alone a war zone. Practically, any insurgent is uncomfortable with having a teenager leading, who is the face of the war. District 13 didn't start acting up until they got motivated to fight when Katniss pulled out the berries, defying the Capitol.

Sometimes, members would look at the victors, and murmurs would go around on who could be an excellent example of leadership. Acre nearly dislocated a guy's arm, suggesting it was him. Other times, people would fuel the fire, suggesting I should be a face. However, Varick refused anybody being a symbol or propaganda regime, for we are all created equal. Still, he came up with a theory about what the rebels intended to put a distraction between Katniss and President Snow.

Another problem was the air raids in District 8, where the Capitol Air Force continued to bomb the sewing district continuously. Thoughts of Cecelia's children's safety made me unsure if they were still alive. They were hardly pre-teens, and I pray they remained safe or somewhere far away from the battle. The person in charge of District 8 was a thirty-year-old woman named Paylor. Commander Paylor. She is in charge of District 8, focusing on the well-being of the citizens rather than the war from her file. In fact, she would take any offer from the Insurgents or Rebels as long as her people were safe. Though, the population is dropping. The Insurgents can only send Intel when a wave comes and sometimes intercept messages from the Capitol Military; otherwise, the rebels have physical help…if they get out of the rabbit hole.

It slightly bothers me in the effort the rebels put work into this war so far. They hardly made an appearance other than attacking the arena. Whatever President Coin was planning had every insurgent on red alert. Varick explained if Coin became the next President, then all that the war was about would be a waste of innocent lives to put in another dictator. At least she doesn't wear a white hat and calls herself a saint, but she was no leader just by looking at her picture. Especially when she holds nuclear weapons under her command; she knows nothing when it comes to the people.

Fear is an idea; if the rebels want the Capitol to cooperate, they need to consider appeasement, which the Insurgents have. The insurgents practically own half the Capitol resident trust. They are nearly everybody, from doctors, bankers, construction workers, historians, and so on, and the Capitol drives on survival rather than the government.

Hacker's lab was on a field day of decorating new inventions he came up with. The lab was larger than the control room, with computers, materials, and a small testing area. He said he developed new weapons that'll be less deadly and more proactive on missions and tight battles. Acre and I joined the computer master in his lair as the small man tinkered with his profound toys. Nearly everybody had a specific weapon; for example, Jason, with his multiway gun, could turn a sniper rifle into a two-hand pistol.

"What do ya get for us, nerd?" Acre asked.

"Don't call me a nerd." Hacker muttered, putting the solder away. Then, focused on me, "How are things going for you?"

"I'm doing well," I answered. "How are you doing?"

"I'm on lockdown here. You see those two over there?" he pointed at the other scientist in the lab. "They think they know everything and that they're better. I like to see that happening."

"Okay," Acre is not really interested in who the top brain is.

"Anyway, here are your weapons," Hacker said, pointing at the table he was on, which showed different types of handguns, knives, armbands, and other items. "After watching each of your games, I played with the Capitols' primary weapons and modified them to your personality."

"They weren't guns in the games, nerd." Acre pointed at the math

"Protocol," Hacker waved off. "This should hold your interest." He hands Acre a pair of thick, intimidating, two-inch metallic brass knuckles. "You're more into close-range combat, so these metal knuckles are made out of titanium. It doesn't dent so easily. But if you squeeze the handle to a certain point." Acre did so, and immediately, the brass knuckles held spikes, tiny thin spikes hardly visible. "These spikes contain a toxin that'll paralyze the opponent."

"Nice," Acre smirked, admiring his new accessory.

"And for you, Blaine, you are close range, but in the knife department, so I made these." He asked for my left arm, which I cautiously gave him as he strapped on some black body armor bracer with metal plating on the forearm. Some chambers lay underneath while rings were placed around my fingers. It was slightly heavy, though hardly weighted to cause difficulty. "It's a hidden blade. The rings are sensitive and activate to release a dagger in a certain motion." He showed the motion of the three middle fingers flexing. Suddenly, a long dagger came out. "Though you probably need to be careful."

"What else does it do?" I asked slowly, waving my armed hand to analyze the movement.

"More than one," Hacker murmured, pointing at the top tube. "This is a miniature barrel containing a gun. A last-resort gun. To trigger it, you aim your arm while using your right hand to press the trigger, which can only activate when wearing this ring." He held off a ring but didn't give it to me.

The gadgets he showed us were fascinating. Acre seemed to like his new toys, from the titanium knuckles, a mace that could change its weight by Acre command, and a Walther PPK/S nine-millimeter short. That has been coded to Acre's palm print, so only he could use it. Acre distasted guns, being quick and cheating death, let alone having little experience with guns. Hacker gave him a simple combat knife when he asked about a blade, saying it was just a knife. After Acre got a few more severe instructions, he went to the training area to test them out.

Next, I turn on a few weapons, one being a ballistic knife, looking like any combat knife; however, when pushing a button, the blade becomes a projectile…. except it's a one-time use. Another was a set of throwing knives, sharp and agile, containing each set of different specialties, explosives, and poisons. Then, the final weapon, the same gun as Acre, coded to my palm print.

These weren't toys.

They are deadly instruments for the human mind is the true weapon.

.o0o.

"So, take this once a day at an exact time. Otherwise, the side effects may be irregular," Quinn said, handing me a small compact case full of something opposite to foundation but contraception. In other words, birth control. It was not an implant, as Quinn suggested my body needed a break from the harsh hormonal treatment. These pills do provide protection, yet they are not extreme enough to affect my fertility in the future.

It was difficult not to blush while Quinn continued her speech on health and such…Effie and Abigail had to give me lectures about the female body. Along with Chanel when I became victor. Let alone the constant health checks after meeting a client for sexually transmitted diseases. Since my clients never took protection. Quinn was shocked when learning how I was treated, asking questions about previous partners, any confirmed STDs, and such.

My last intimate partner was Cinna. And it has been almost six months since we had sex. Before Cinna, my previous client was Seneca. Although, that was three months before the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. After him was…. I seriously don't want to think about it. I know I ruined the value of my body. Being a prostitute.

Quinn noticed my self-consciousness as she tried to reassure me that I was no longer a prostitute. That the pills are for protection. Not against my partner, but…ill intentions. In other words, rape. There is a dark side to war. Then again, I have seen the dark side of government.

Quinn did a deep physical, taking samples before finishing up. My cheeks were burning red, and I felt completely humiliated by the awkward conversation and examination.

Afterward, we headed to the cafeteria. I kept the compact secure in my back pocket. We grabbed our food and went over to the others. I found Cinna and sat next to him. He was in a deep conversation that I let him be, yet he rested his hand on my knee. I smiled slightly before eating my lunch.

Miya was walking to Cleo, interested in self-defense and weapons. Although Miya was in communication, everyone considered getting her back into training—not as a soldier or agent, but as able to protect herself. For there will be a time when we won't be there to protect her. I talk about a defense cuff similar to what I have.

Cleo had something similar to the assassin bracer; only hers contained a gun and a grappling hook. We were not your stereotypical girls who would talk about boys, music, and painting nails. Maybe some other time, but now our focus is today's news since thirteen appeared twenty-four hours ago in District 8. A rumor about Katniss being active in participating in Propos…

It wasn't long before Jason, Cinna, and Acre had finished their conversation. There was a sketchbook, so I wonder if Cinna was going over designs for them to wear on the field. Cinna squeezed my knee, to which I looked at him. He turned his attention to me, giving me a sincere smile. A smile that warms me. I placed my hand over his and gently squeezed it. In front of others, we tried to keep our affection at a minimum, at least reasonable. However, he gets personal when we are alone in his studio or room.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Overwhemling," I muttered, to which Quinn chuckled.

"Oh c'mon, Blaine, better be safe than sorry," Quinn replied.

"For what?" Jason asked.

"Oh, you know the, "Instantly, I threw a roll at her.

"Shut up!" I warned. "Oh, so help me. I shall be the reason children call me a nightmare."

Quinn smirked but grabbed the roll and munched on it. Cleo snickered at this. Miya was quite aware that it was not one conversation she needed to be part of. The guys were confused and shrugged, returning to their meals and conversation. Suddenly, the televisions in the cafeteria were acting up, attracting everybody's attention.

The television screen changes to solid black instantly, and many think somebody hit the off button on a remote. Suddenly, something flickers on the screen, a fire consuming, if not growing, the dark black screen, morphing into Katniss Mockingjay's pin.

What the hell? I thought.

Everyone in the cafeteria murmurs in confusion or appalled at what this advertisement may be. It only gets worse as Claudius Templesmith narrates, "Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, burns on."

Suddenly, she was standing on District 8's destruction dressed in Cinna's Mockingjay suit.

"I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. I am right here in District 8, where the Capitol just bombed a hospital with unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors!" Katniss announced that the screen changes to show what's supposed to be a hospital collapsed on itself. "I want to tell the people, if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself because you know who they are and what they do." Then she lifted her hands, indicating her point. "This is what they do, and we must fight back." A montage of the battle complete with bombs and ammunition firing at hovercrafts while people running for their lives. "President Snow says he's sending us a message. I have one for him. You can torture us, and bomb us, and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" The camera changes to a crashed sight of a capital plane burning, as the insignia illuminates from the inferno melting back to the image of Katniss's face shouting at the audience and…more importantly, the President. "Fire is catching. And if we burn, you burn with us."

"That fucking bitch!" Cleo growled.

"I can't believe they just did that!" Jason agreed.

"Don't they know they are putting the captives in danger now?" somebody added.

Acre, Miya, and I remained quiet, slowly watching the final words on the screen:

IF WE BURN

YOU BURN WITH US

A groan ruptures from my lips as I hide my face in my hands to hide the humiliation. This was not good, not good at all. A challenge and a spit in the face. What was Katniss thinking…was she even thinking at all? She was not the type to be used for proposals, let alone any advertisement. All this has done is put more lives at risk, let alone Peeta's.

All I could say was, "What have you done?"

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