Chapter Text
My elation lasted exactly as long as it took for the hovercraft to land at the hospital.
No one wins the Hunger Games. I should have remembered that.
The Capitol was enraptured and celebrating but once the surprise started to wear off the mood among the mentors grew sombre: we all knew there would be a price to pay for this, the only question is what that price would be.
Katniss had set us on a path I had never ever dreamed was possible and I’m ashamed to admit, even now, that I was left scrambling in my attempt to regroup.
There was a bitter taste in my mouth as I desperately tried to plan, to predict what the Capitol would do now. What Snow would do. What I could do to protect my girl from the inevitable fallout.
It was Finnick who pointed out that with this love story Katniss should be safe from the circuit… not even Snow would dare try to whore out one (or both) of the star-crossed lovers, but this was a cold comfort. A thwarted Snow was vindictive. A cornered Snow would likely be lethal.
And Katniss had cornered him. In the space of three minutes, she had neatly put the old snake into a check mate he couldn’t easily wriggle out of – and that would make him more dangerous than ever.
In some ways it would have been better – or at least easier – if the circuit was all we had to worry about, but it wasn’t. With the Everdeen’s, especially Primrose, being the darlings of the Capitol it was unlikely Snow would strike there, but that left the question of what punishment he would use, what retribution he would seek. There would be a punishment for this, of that, at least, I was certain.
It was two days before I was allowed to see Katniss. My fellow mentors assured me that this was usual for the Victor of the Games. I couldn’t really remember my Games that well, not the immediate aftermath, loosing half your blood volume and nearly being gutted will do that to you though and as this was my first time with a Victor as a mentor, the delay worried me. I can’t explain the relief I felt when I finally laid eyes on my girl.
She was still pale and thinner than she had been, but she was sitting up in the hospital bed alert, whole and healed, physically at least. It would take time for the emotional damage from this to become clear, but she wouldn’t be alone as I was and I was determined she wouldn’t fall in to the same trap as I had done.
“How’s Peeta?” Were the first words out of her mouth, “I haven’t been allowed to see him and they won’t tell me anything.”
Her distress was clear, but here I couldn’t help and it left a bitter taste in my mouth. “Orders from Snow himself,” I said in as neutral a tone as I could manage. Kat knew my views on Snow, and I hoped she would understand the warning I was trying to convey. The Games weren’t over, not yet, not by a long shot.
“They want to do your reunion live on the Post Games Victors’ interview.” Kat nodded, eyes thoughtful.
“Of course,” her nod reassured me and I felt my breathing get easier as anxiety loosened its tight band around my chest. She understood, but I needed to make sure she understood all of it.
“First Victors love story, and all that,” I say with deliberate nonchalance.
My girl’s eyes widened for a second and a flush spread over her cheeks, but she nodded again even as she looked slightly nauseous. I’m not sure whether, or how much, of the story Kat wove in the Games was real, but it had to be real now. We couldn’t afford for Snow to suspect anything different or for him to start thinking that this was an act of sedition.
“Yes.” She said, her voice trembled slightly, and I longed to reach over a comfort her as I would in ‘12, but I didn’t know whether this room was bugged, and I couldn’t take the risk.
The last 10 minutes of our allotted time together was spent telling Kat about her schedule for the next three days until she had her Victor’s interview with Caesar. I could tell she found the prospect as appealing as I did.
The Victor’s interview was the final twist of the knife from the Game Makers. As if it wasn’t enough to put 24 kids through the slaughter and prolonged torture of the Games, having won it they then got the joy of being made to re-watch all the deaths in gory ultra-high definition – just in case they had forgotten any. Only the nut jobs and the Careers ever enjoyed Caesar Flickerman’s obsequious fawning and even they usually started looking a bit drawn by the end of that ghastly interview.
I’d done what I’d needed too though – Kat was warned and knew not to let her guard done. With more Capitol bugs in the Capitol than actual insects, this was all I could do. Maybe her hospital room was clean, maybe it wasn’t. It didn’t really matter to me – having got this far I was paranoid about putting a foot wrong and bringing this house of cards down.
At 13:15 precisely, the dour faced nurse who had let me into Kat’s room reappeared to usher me out. It hurt to leave, but the nurse insisted, so after a distant goodbye I allow myself to be directed out of the room and across the hospital to see Peeta.
Snow was clearly determined to make sure that the two Victors had no prior interaction (or news of the other) before their big reunion live on Capitol TV. Peeta wasn’t just in a different room to Katniss – he was in a different ward, on a different wing, with completely different staff. The room I was shown into was identical in everyway to Katniss’ except that where Kat looked well – if thinner – Peeta looked dreadful, and it was easy to see the Capitol had arranged a longer than usual period between the end of the Games and the interview.
The boy in the bed was pale and sweaty, cheeks red with the bright flush of fever. The Doctor who had shown me to the room had assured me that Peeta was healing well but had contracted an infection – probably from the claws of those monsters that had ripped into his leg.
On the leg front, there was good news and some not so good news. The Doctors had managed to save the leg but there was considerable damage to the muscle, which would take time to repair. So Peeta would need a walking stick for several months, once he was allowed out of his wheelchair. Even Capitol medicine has its limits, and apparently those limits had been reached with the damage done by those fucking mutts.
Peeta had smiled as I entered the room, joking in a hoarse voice that he wouldn’t get up. The banter brought a relieved smile to my face, despite the leg and the ordeal of the Games, Peeta was okay – he was still the charming boy who smooth talked and charmed the nation. It didn’t take long to realise that Peeta was oblivious to the wider ramifications of his escape from death. I’d thought before the Games that the boy lacked the cynical bent that both Kat and I had in spades. It was the worst time to be proved right. For all Peeta’s innate gift with storytelling and perceptiveness, he was an optimist. Worst than that, he was an oblivious optimist. A dangerous combination at the best of times, let alone now when what you needed was scepticism and perspicacity.
Given the risks attached to saying too much in a place where the walls literally had ears, I had to settle for innocuous small talk – the kind that bored me into wishing for a drink… or a coma. In quick order I’d updated him on his schedule, explained I couldn’t tell him anything about Kat, as that was being saved for their grand reunion, and then promptly run out of Capitol safe topics to canvas. I needn’t have worried though, the moment Peeta heard about his upcoming live action reunion he got this vacant, lovestruck, look on his face and I knew he’d tuned out.
That the boy was completely besotted with my Kat had been blatantly obvious in the arena and the googly eyes just confirmed that it was the real meal deal and not something faked in the arena as part of a longer strategy. This was both a relief and a renewed cause for concern. Peeta’s feelings were obvious and apparent. Katniss’ on the other hand were anything but, and knowing her as I did, I had my doubts.
That Kat was fond of Peeta was clear. She wouldn’t have risked Capitol displeasure by trying to save Rikon Thatcher, for example, even if he was head of ’12 School football team. She liked Peeta, sure – but was she in love with him? That I wasn’t so sure about. If left to things in her own time, I thought they would make a good pair – they balanced each other – but the Capitol wouldn’t let things happen at the snail pace my Kat would need. They’d want flash, bang, wallop and in double time. Knowing the Capitol, they’d have Kat and Peeta up the aisle in the space of a year, if they were allowed their way, with a house full of little ones following shortly after. That Kat and Peeta were little more than kids themselves wouldn’t occur to the Capitol appetite for sensation and celebrity news.
So yes, I was worried. Kat was forewarned about what would be expected of her in the interview, and I had no doubt that she would ham it up wonderfully during that short period. The problem was once we were back in ’12 – would Kat be able to keep up the star-crossed lover’s story or would she drop it once she thought they were safe. Only time would tell on that front, but the risk of something going wrong was increased with Peeta’s obliviousness.
As I walked back long the sterile white hallways of the hospital, I turned the problem over and over in my mind – worrying at it like a dog with a bone. That I would need to talk to Peeta once out of the Capitol was clear. He couldn’t be left in the dark on this, and if left to Kat I had horrifying thoughts of her undoing all the good of the interview by reverting to the surliness that denotes when she’s most uncomfortable and lashing out at Peeta, driving a wedge between them, as she explains that it was a strategy to get him home.
Peeta would likely not see, or understand, the undertones of that admission – that Katniss prized his life enough to poke the hornets nest that is the Capitol and risk all those she loves in order to save him and that what he needs to do it take things slow with her and ease her into the path they have to walk. As for Kat? Well… emotions have never been her forte, especially after Henrick’s death and her mother’s total emotional collapse. If Peeta wants Kat, he’ll need to woo, cajole and soothe her down the path to love. It’s not a job I envy.
The interview took place on an otherwise miserable Wednesday. It had been pissing down with rain for the last 24 hours, which had the extra fun of making Katniss’ mane of hair frizz – personally I couldn’t see the issue as Kat normally just plaits it, but for Cinna it was a disaster at least on a par with, if not actually worse, than the destruction of Pompeii. Kat herself was uncharacteristically jittery and unsettled. Even in the Games she had been calm and composed, but not she was restless and agitated, needing to pace about the preparation space she had been given.
I had thought, given Cinna’s sartorial choices pre Games, that we would be looking at another black outfit and fire combo. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The Katniss who emerged from the changing room was totally different, dressed in a white dress with a high neckline and puffed sleeves, that screamed sweet and innocent. The look was completed with her hair down and carefully arranged to emphasise her youth. Cinna must have caught my confused look as he raised one sardonic eyebrow, and I understood. Genius that Cinna is, he’d had the same thoughts I’d – and most likely all those with a brain watching – had had. Before, he’d dressed Katniss to look like a warrior – impressive, fearsome, aloof – someone to bet on as a contender for the position as Victor of the Games. Now he was trying to rework the image to show Katniss as someone unthreatening and innocent.
I hoped it would work. I feared it wouldn’t. Snow’s eyes as he talked to Caesar earlier had been flat and cold with a malevolent edge that made shivers race down my spine.
The interview itself went surprisingly well. Kat’s reaction to seeing Peeta was everything the Capitol could have wished for, and they did well supporting each other during the ‘highlights’ of the Games we were all forced to watch. Still, I breathed much easier once the damned thing was over and I had both kids back in our sweet at the tributes tower. One event down, only one more to go and then we would be on the train home.
I was under no illusion that however much I worried about the interview, it was the crowning and afterparty which was the biggest hurdle. Up until now Snow hadn’t been in direct contact with either of my kids, but at that event it was tradition for him to have a five-minute chat with the Victor – alone and in private. It was a prospect that filled me with dread.
It was at the afterparty that I had the first inkling that something bigger was afoot. The tone of the party was off. There was the usual excess of drinking and eating that always made me feel sick at the unforgivable waste when there were people starving in the Districts. There were the usual gaudy entertainments and ridiculous clothes. The usual people were in attendance. Yet something was off, an undercurrent that set my nerves on edge.
I hate being at the Presidential Palace at the best of times – too many bad memories associated with my own experience as Victor – to ever really enjoy the afterparty, and usually my plan was to find Chaff and see who could get drunk quickest. It’s a game we were both incredibly good at, and as a coping strategy it has worked without fail for much of the last decade.
This time, with my kids vulnerable and centre stage, getting rat arsed wasn’t an option, no matter how dry my mouth was or how much I longed for something to dull the noise and chaos of the celebration. Sobriety had been an unfamiliar friend through the last few weeks, and I was looking forward to getting back to ’12 so I could once more enjoy some of Ripper’s finest, but first I had to get through the afterparty.
Despite the uneasy feeling I had, it seemed to be going okay - at first anyway. Katniss and Peeta were crowned in front of the goggling masses, the silver Victor’s crown shining against Kat’s dark hair in a twisted parody of a halo. Once the crowns were in place, and the medals awarded, Snow then did his standard speech about the glory of the Games, the troubled history of our great nation, and the valour of the Victor. The only deviation was his acknowledgement of there being two Victors, other than that it could have been a script from another of the 73 Games and no one would have been any the wiser.
Once the ritual toast to the glory of Panem had been completed, the band struck up and the party got underway in earnest. Cinna was still going for the sweet, innocent look, which meant a demure dress with a high neckline and floor length skirt. It was a small consolation to my already sky high blood pressure, and clear evidence that the stylist and I were on the same page, as the party of full of lecherous individuals who were known not to take no for an answer. I could only thank the stars that so far Kat hadn’t noticed the leering looks or blatant appreciation being directed at her by men and women as she passed. We just needed to get through the night with as little drama or excitement as possible, and Kat realising that half the guests were undressing her with their eyes would guarantee the opposite.
At some point, Peeta whisked Kat onto the dance floor, which made the audience swoon at the living romance they were watching play out live in front of them like one of those horrid Capitol soap operas the inane masses loved here in the Capitol. Seeing the kids were safe and occupied for the time being, I finally let my guard down and went to get some food. It was a mistake. While I was by the buffet table, distracted by one of the doners who wanted to talk about the possibility of a private dinner with both Victors, Snow struck.
It was Plutarch who alerted me in his usual cryptic way that something was going on. Concerned I had looked towards the dance floor and then my heart sank. Peeta was now twirling some nameless socialite round to the applauding crowd, but there was no sign of Katniss. The Palace is large, but the function area doesn’t take long to canvas, especially when you’re looking for one dark head amongst a sea of unnatural pinks, greens and blues.
Katniss reappeared 15 heart stopping minutes later with a thunderous expression that made my stomach churn in worry. It didn’t take long for me to weave my way over to her and corral her into a convenient alcove for a quick chat in relative privacy. Much as expected, it wasn’t good news. Snow was suspicious. He had also informed Katniss as to the reason behind the Head Gamemaker’s absence from the party. I’d noticed that Seneca Crane wasn’t holding court – like he usually did at the afterparty – but my attention had been focussed on my kids, so I hadn’t thought much of it. Now I understood. I have to say, as deaths go, this one was strangely poetic, but it was also a message to Katniss and Peeta. There would be a price to pay for outwitting the Capitol. Crane had paid for his part in it. Now the question was, what would be the cost for my kids?
Kat was in no mood to stay after her powwow with our illustrious President, but mindful of Snow’s suspicions, I cajoled her into dancing with me. Snow usually trotted off to bed close to midnight, which was the usual time I left, so no-one would think it odd if I took the kids home with me then. One dance turned into two and then I gratefully handed her over to Cinna to have a turn, while I sloped off for a glass of the regrettably alcohol-free punch. When I came back, it was to the sight of Snow watching her and Peeta dancing, his snake like eyes icy.
It was a relief when Snow went to bed right on schedule, which meant I could hustle the kids out of the party and into the relative safety of our suite at the Tribute Tower. Cinna and Portia accompanied us on our trip back, both stylists were unusually quiet and sombre as we bid the kids goodnight before heading up to the bug free rooftop.
Like me they were worried and, like me, they had no idea how to keep Kat and Peeta safe from the dangerous waters they’d steered us into, especially once I told them about Snow’s chat with Katniss. The news got worse from there. Cinna had heard from Plutarch, there were rumblings in the Districts. ’11 was on the verge of revolt with ‘8, 9’ and ‘4 not far behind. We’d be going home tomorrow, which normally meant a good 5 months of quiet before the Victory tour, but it looked like my part of the revolution was about to get busy. Plutarch thought our moment was about to come and we all had to be ready.
Looking back, it’s easy to see what he meant by that, but at the time I was too happy at the thought of not going home with only coffins for company that I wasn’t thinking much about the revolutionary opportunities Katniss’ victory afforded us.
Our last day in the Capitol dawned overcast and muggy. Kat and Peeta were both up on time and far more chipper than I was when Effie finally succeeded in dragging me out of my bed. All those late nights and sleep deprivation had caught up with me and I was feeling unusually sluggish and out of sorts, as I stumbled into my usual chair at the table, glaring at the offending mountain of food one of the avox had brought for me.
Gauging my mood accurately, Effie and the kids kept quiet while I slowly munched my way through the mountain and downed a gallon of the super strong coffee the Capitol love so much. By the time we were due to leave for the train home I was feeling more human and less like an IED waiting to go off in someone’s face.
The station was packed when we got there, which was unusual to say the least. Each District had its own dedicated station. ‘12’s was usually like a ghost station, empty and eerily quiet. Not this time though. That day it was heaving, and Peacekeepers had to push our way through the thronging masses so we could get to the actual train. Once safely inside, I got a better view of the station. It was full to bursting with the usual vibrant colours the Capitolites love, but unusually many of them were sporting Kat’s signature plait or bleached blonde hair cut like Peeta’s. It was unnerving to say the least and I could see Kat looking shocked as she spotted the new hairstyles.
People were calling out to Katniss and Peeta, begging them for autographs or even just to touch their hands. I’ve never been so thankful for a Peacekeeper then at that moment. Crowds are dangerous, volatile entities, and they can easily turn into mobs, and watching the crowd banging on the one-way glass on the train, desperate to see my kids, it was a very real fear that they might try to storm the train or something equally stupid and dangerous.
The driver clearly had the same concerns, as over the Tannoy system the announcement came for people to stand back away from the train, as it would be departing early. There were annoyed shouts from the crowd but, with the help of the Peacekeepers, they did step back and let us finally leave, which meant it was time for my first drink in days.
Across from me, on the plush curved seats along the panoramic window at the back of the train, Kat dozed, her head pillowed on Peeta’s shoulder. It was a sight made me smile and Effie sigh in that giddy way she has when she’s really happy.
We’d done it.
We’d done the impossible.
We’d brought both kids home.
District ’12 now had three Victors to boast of, two from one of the most memorable Games in living memory. Plutarch was right, it was a win to be proud of and sitting in that train, glass in hand, I was proud. Proud of my girl who had defied the odds, proud that she and Peeta had been able to come out of the Games healthy and whole, proud that they had shown the Capitol the true spirit of ’12.
The celebration that awaited us when we got off the train was less gaudy and much less grand than the Capitol, but all the more genuine and welcome because of it. The film crews were there to capture the moment Kat was reunited with Prim and her mother, which I’m sure the Capitolites were delighted by. Peeta’s reunion was more subdued than Kat’s, and I noted the telling absence of his sour-faced mother, but his father and brothers made up for it with banter and back slapping.
The Mayor said a speech, thanking the Capitol for the extra food and medical supplies. The school choir put in a performance which was politely applauded by the Capitol film crews, and then it was time for the Mayor to show the Victors to their new houses. By the look of it Prim and Clarabel had already moved into their house, which was next to mine, and that was that. Seven weeks of more stress, anxiety and fear then I can remember since my own Games, and it was now officially done. The nightmare that had started on Reaping day was finally over. As Kat settled into her new home, I finally relaxed. For the first time in two months, I could breathe easily in the knowledge that Katniss was safe and sound and that I had done Henrick proud.
Back when all this started, I thought the biggest challenge would be getting Kat home safe and – hopefully – in one piece. Lucy would have been ashamed of me. No one wins the Games, I should have remembered that. Getting home wasn’t the end, it was the start. We had won the battle, but not the war – and war it would be. Snow was never going to let us get away with this win. He would be coming for us; maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day he would, and we had to be ready.