here to kingdom come - Chapter Three: night has always pushed up day
Title: here to kingdom come
Author: alinaandalion
Rating: M/NC-17
Spoilers: All three books of the Hunger Games trilogy.
Warnings: Drug use, cursing, dubious con, and character death
Characters: Sophie Devereaux, Nathan Ford, Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason, Eliot Spencer, Parker, Alec Hardison, Tara Cole, Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, various other characters, and minor OCs.
Pairings: Nate/Sophie, Sophie/Finnick, Sophie/Tara, Parker/Hardison, Annie/Finnick, Peeta/Katniss, and Johanna/Gale.
Summary: As a Victor, Sophie Devereaux has spent the last fifteen years of her life trying not to feel. But rumors bring news of rebellion, hope for a better future. A second chance.
night has always pushed up day
“Night has always pushed up day
You must know life to see decay
But I won’t rot, I won’t rot
Not this mind and not this heart,
I won’t rot.”
- “After the Storm” by Mumford and Sons
Sophie nudges Eliot’s arm with her shoulder as she sits down beside him. “Something on your mind?”
“Just thinking,” he mutters. He turns to her with a wry grin. “You and Nate fighting again?”
“What makes you think that?”
“He’s in a bad mood, and you’re here because you want something.” He shrugs. “Not hard to figure out.”
She leans into his side, placing her hand on his arm. “I haven’t seen you for awhile. I thought we could…catch up.”
He stiffens under her fingers, and she smiles a little with triumph. But his smile fades into a frown, his jaw tensing. She sighs and slumps back into the couch’s cushions.
“I ain’t really looking to help you make Nate jealous,” he says slowly. “You’ve got Finnick and Tara for that.”
“You really think of me that way? That I just use people?” She withdraws her hand and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Didn’t say there was anything wrong with that.” Eliot prods at her thigh and gives her a small smile. “Hell, we all do it. Least you’re honest about it.”
“So you don’t want to use me, is that it?” she teases, pulling her legs onto the couch and tucking them underneath her.
“Pretty much. Nate’s my friend. Don’t want to piss him off.”
“He doesn’t own me, you know.”
“Street goes both ways, darling.”
Sophie curls into his side and leans her head on his shoulder; she dances her fingers along Eliot’s arm, feeling the lines of his muscles. Eliot is one who doesn’t really care for close contact, but he lets her do what she wants.
She was the first one to seek him out after he lost his first tribute; ever since then, it wasn’t unusual to find him outside her door when the nightmares were too much, at least, up until the last few years. He allows Parker to touch him as she pleases as well, but Sophie isn’t privy to the details of why. But the two of them are the only exceptions Eliot allows.
What she really likes about Eliot is the way he talks, straightforward, honest. There’s nothing sly or cunning about him, nothing manipulative when he speaks to her, and it’s a nice change from the atmosphere of the Capitol that thrives on lies and flattery.
“You must think I’m an idiot,” she murmurs as she tucks his long hair behind his ears.
He shakes his head, his hair falling right back into his face. “Not any more than the rest of us. At least you know it.”
She follows the line of his gaze and watches Johanna and Finnick at one of the windows. Johanna is more animated than normal, a smile on her face as she touches Finnick’s arm. Sophie feels badly for the girl, in love or something like it with a man who only has eyes for another. From the way Finnick is acting, he has no clue about Johanna’s feelings.
“I named a horse after you.”
Sophie raises an eyebrow. “A horse? What is that supposed to mean?”
“She’s a beautiful horse. Graceful.” He winks at her. “She might be my favorite.”
Sophie shoves his shoulder, laughing, and he chuckles in response when the force barely moves his body. Mikel comes over and whispers something in Eliot’s ear. Eliot pats Sophie’s thigh and stands up.
“Well, we have a sponsor to talk to,” he explains, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Seems he’s changed his mind about giving money to our tributes.”
His mouth curls slightly in distaste, and Sophie wonders exactly what has been done, or will be done, to sway the sponsor. She’s no stranger herself to trading small sexual favors for a sponsor’s money. It’s technically against the rules the mentors are supposed to follow, but the Gamemakers pretend it doesn’t happen since it means more money to fund the Games.
Parker takes Eliot’s place, bouncing on top of the cushions until her body stills on its own. Parker brandishes a delicate gold bracelet with a slightly manic grin.
“Look what I found,” she whispers.
“I doubt you found that bracelet,” Sophie replies, trying to pretend disinterest even as she starts scanning the room to see who is the unlucky victim of Parker’s sticky fingers.
“I’m going to give it back,” Parker says, looking a little disappointed that Sophie isn’t sharing in her excitement. “Eventually, anyway.”
Sophie pulls the bracelet out of Parker’s grasp and holds it up to the light. “Who did you take it from?”
“Effie.”
Sophie sighs. “Parker, you know how that woman is. When she notices, she’s going to be very upset.”
“I’ll get it back to her before she misses it,” Parker huffs. “I thought you would think it’s funny. You looked sad.”
“I did?”
“Yeah. Hardison said you had a fight with Nate.”
“How did Hardison know that?” Sophie asks, wondering if all of her private moments are shared among the mentors.
Parker shrugs. “Eliot told him.”
Sophie groans. “Does everyone know about every little thing that goes on?”
“Pretty much.” Parker takes the bracelet back and loops it around her wrist. “I don’t know if I want to give this back. It’s really pretty. Shiny.”
“It’s not yours, Parker.”
“She can afford another one,” Parker grumbles.
“And you can afford to buy your own,” Sophie replies, stretching her legs out.
Parker rolls her eyes and puts her legs across Sophie’s lap, braiding a lock of her blonde hair as she leans her head over the back of the side of the couch. Sophie watches Parker with envy, wishing she could move her body in that fashion.
“Tell me a story.”
Sophie smiles. “What kind of story?”
Parker sits up and scoots closer to Sophie, her fingers brushing through Sophie’s brown curls. Sophie pushes Parker’s feet to the ground and turns around so Parker can get better access to her hair.
“A happy story. About bunnies,” Parker says softly as she starts braiding some of Sophie’s hair.
Sighing, Sophie lets the last remnants of tension flow out of her body. It’s early afternoon, and all the tributes are currently performing for the Gamemakers. She’ll have to leave soon with Finnick to wait on Lydia and Martin, but she’s content to entertain Parker for the time being.
So she conjures a simple story about a family of bunnies that finds buried treasure and never has to go hungry again because they vanquish the evil farmers who make the bunnies work very hard digging holes for planting crops. Anyone who listens will hear the faintest trace of treason underneath the fantasy. But it’s innocent enough, and they’re all so trapped by this life that it doesn’t matter how they feel. Freedom costs too much now.
***************
Sophie was just sitting down to supper with her mother and Mags when the phone rang. All three women turned to look at it on the wall beside the back door as it shook in its cradle with the force of its rings.
Sophie looked pleadingly at her mother. “Please, Mama, that has to be him.”
Her mother pursed her lips in disapproval. “We are eating, Sophie.”
“Please, he hasn’t called in two weeks!”
Sophie was already inching out of her chair, ready to grab the phone from behind her head when her mother sighed.
“Fine.”
Shooting up out of her chair, Sophie snatched the phone and muttered a hurried greeting into it as she swept out the back door for privacy. She pushed the door closed and pressed her back against it, sliding down to the ground.
“Hey,” she said quietly, almost shyly.
Nate chuckled. “Hey. Did I interrupt something?”
Sophie rolled her eyes and cradled the phone against her cheek. “We were just having supper. Mama almost didn’t let me answer the phone.”
“Aren’t you an adult by now?”
“Twenty-two years old.”
“Practically an old maid, then,” he teased. “Why don’t you just do what you want? It is your house, after all.”
“Things have been tense here recently.” Sophie sighed and let her shoulders slump. “She worries so much, and after everything she’s been through, I don’t want to make life harder for her.”
“That’s fair.” Nate paused and cleared his throat, the sound crackling through the phone’s receiver. “How is Finnick?”
“He’s recovering. His Victory Tour will start in a few months.”
“Is Snow planning on…”
“No,” she cut him off quickly, not even wanting to hear the suggestion, not on such an exposed connection. “Finnick is just a boy. He still has a couple of years.”
“But there’s something else,” he said slowly.
She closed her eyes. “Snow has already started the bidding on Finnick.”
Nate went quiet for a few moments before saying, “That’s disgusting.”
“Yes,” Sophie agreed. There wasn’t really anything else to say, nothing that wouldn’t get her into trouble, anyway.
They both lapsed into silence, and Sophie twirled her fingers through the phone’s curly cord. She listened to Nate’s breathing, matching her own to his pace, a calm in and out. She had missed his voice, the way they could sit in comfortable silence like this, and it was as if he was sitting beside her.
“I have something to tell you.”
Nate’s voice startled her, and Sophie dropped her fingers from the phone’s cord, her body tensing at his serious tone.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice quiet.
He sighed and laughed, the sounds harsh, a little broken. “Maggie’s pregnant.”
The air rushed out of Sophie’s lungs, but she managed to say, “How far along is she?”
“I think two months.” He paused then said, “It’s why I haven’t called you recently. I didn’t know how to tell you. Not after everything that happened in January.”
His words hit her like a punch in the stomach, and she sat there, stunned, with the phone pressed to her ear.
It felt so long ago, those two days in January. She had gone in for an exam to make sure there were no venereal diseases lurking inside her, and the tests came back with weird results. The doctor did more tests and handed her the news with cold detachment.
He had explained there was a strict protocol in this situation for victors, and so there had been a procedure the next day. She left the Medical Center, hollow, no longer filled with a growing life. She hadn’t even had a choice; she was packed off back to District Four for three months before being called back to the Capitol.
Nate was the only person she had told aside from her mother and Mags.
Sophie wiped away the tears that had slipped down her cheeks and said, “I’m fine, Nate. Really. But, are you okay?”
“What do you mean?” His reply was too fast, defensive.
“You and I both know that victors’ children almost always end up in the Games,” she replied softly, hating herself for it. “I know you’ve already thought about it. I know you. You’re worried.”
“I don’t know if I can do this, Soph.” Nate’s voice shook, too much, and she longed to be able to reach across the distance and offer him more comfort than she could provide like this. “I mean, I don’t even know how to be a father, and I just can’t…”
“It’s not a given, Nate. It might not happen,” she interrupted, determined to not let him slip into a depression.
“But it’s possible,” he murmured. “More possible than if Maggie and I were just ordinary people.”
“You have to do what you can.”
“How can I? Knowing what my child might have to do. How can I do that, Soph?”
“Are you going to let your fear keep you from loving your child?” She kept her voice calm and steady. “You’ll give him a chance, Nate. You can teach him, train him, give him what most other children never have.”
“It might not be a boy,” he replied. His voice already sounded lighter, and she suppressed a relieved sigh. “You can’t predict the future.”
“I like to try,” she said flippantly. “Such as, I know your baby will be born in the spring.”
“That’s just basic math, Sophie.”
“Mmm, maybe.” She laughed and said, “Don’t wait so long to call me again.”
“I won’t,” he promised, voice warm and rich.
She listened to the click of him hanging up before dropping the phone into her lap. She traced her forefinger along the edge of the beige plastic, the smile fading from her face.
***************
Finnick groans as he sits down next to Sophie on the couch.
She smiles and nudges his shoulder. “Long day, darling?”
“You have no idea.” He covers his face with his hands and shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do with that kid. He’s so timid, he has a mediocre score. There is nothing about him that stands out. At least Lydia has some charm. Martin has…nothing. I haven’t been able to find one way to make him interesting.”
“Poor baby,” Sophie coos as she rolls her eyes. “You didn’t try teaching Lydia how to walk in heels. She doesn’t have much grace. At all, actually. Tara had to leave after awhile because she was so frustrated.”
“But she has an alliance with the Careers, and she got a really decent score from the Gamemakers.”
“Relax, Finnick.” She leans her head on his shoulder. “We already have plenty of money from our sponsors. Now we just have to hope our kids can stay alive when they get into the arena.”
“What are we going to do with Martin, though?” Finnick asks, rubbing her back. “He hasn’t exactly made friends with the Careers. I think they might be planning on killing him in the bloodbath, so we have to find a way to convince him to get out of there. He’s pretty insistent that Lydia will side with him.”
“She shouldn’t, though, not if her allies don’t want anything to do with Martin. They’ll kill her, too, rather than carry around someone as dead weight.” Sophie presses her fingers to her forehead. “Did you try talking to him?”
“Three times. The kid just isn’t listening, and I don’t know how to get through to him.”
“Sometimes we have to accept some losses.”
Finnick narrows his eyes as he looks at her. “Are you saying we should give up on Martin?”
“Finnick, we have two tributes to keep alive. If one of them is set on getting himself killed, then maybe we should just let him. The second they step into that arena, they’re outside of our protection anyway.”
“That’s bullshit!”
“It’s the way it is,” she says calmly. “You know that. I’ll try talking to Martin in the morning, see if I can’t get him to make a plan to get him out of the bloodbath. If he doesn’t, though, then you know he won’t make it out of there alive.”
“Do you think Lydia will make it through?”
“I don’t know. Not with that girl from District Twelve still such a wildcard, and we don’t really know anything about the Careers yet. You know how brutal they are, though.”
“So, it’s a slim chance, then?” Finnick wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her closer.
“Yes, but it is a chance,” Sophie murmurs, curling closer to Finnick. “We’ll do what we can.”
“That’s not much.”
She wants to argue, but he’s right. She wants to hate him for it, and she can’t because she can pretend they can do something to change the roles they’ve been forced into, but it isn’t the truth. Suddenly, his closeness feels claustrophobic, and she needs to break free.
She pulls away from him, standing up, her face falling into shadow. “No, but that’s the point, isn’t it? To have no power over the outcome but still be responsible.”
***************
Sophie picks up her earpiece and inserts it as she looks around the Control Room. There are twelve stations side by side, one for each district of Panem. She runs a casual finger along the edge of one screen. Each station has four screens for watching the Games, two to follow the district’s tributes, one that will divide into sections for the remaining twenty-two tributes, and the last that can flip between any of those twenty-two tributes for a closer look.
She turns to face the displayed map on her right. It only shows the arena at the moment with a large gold dot for the Cornucopia and small blue dots for water sources. If any trouble is manufactured inside the arena by the Gamemakers, the map illustrates it with a red dot. The tributes from District Four will be displayed with green fours, and any approaching tributes will show up as red numbers representing their district.
The monitors on her left show the basic statistics on her tributes’ health. If their blood pressure or heart rate spikes, she’ll know about it. The last screen is set inside the glass table; it displays the money given by sponsors that will be available to use and three separate buttons for the different frequencies of the earpiece.
If a sponsor contacts her with a new donation, the middle button lights up. The first button stays on the entirety of the Games, and that keeps her constantly connected to Finnick so they can talk without being confined to the one room. The last button allows her to order gifts sent into the arena.
Sophie glances around at the gathering mentors, taking in the hum of conversation as some take their seats and start fiddling with the controls of their stations. They’re not actually doing anything, but it is a good release for overwrought nerves. She rolls her shoulders; they’re tense with worry, and she can already feel the familiar knot that always develops at the base of her neck.
She pulls at her black tunic and wanders away. Finnick hasn’t put his earpiece in yet, so there’s only a faint hint of static in her ear. They used to have headsets, but Hardison invented the earpieces for convenience and so the mentors could slip away for naps without having to disconnect from their partners.
The room adjoining the Control Room is filled with cots and couches and no windows to let in the light so it stays in perpetual twilight. There are some lamps lit right now, and Sophie looks at all the bags littered across the floor; all the mentors bring two changes of clothes with them so they don’t have to leave. Showers are available if she steps through the door in the far right corner.
She sinks onto one cot and closes her eyes, breathes slowly. There’s a crackle in her ear, then Finnick’s voice.
“Where’d you go?” he asks.
She stretches out on the cot. “I’m in the bedroom. We have a few more minutes before the Games start.”
“Well, everyone is almost here. You want to head back?”
“In a second. I just…I need a moment, Finnick.”
“Okay.”
There’s a cold silence then the static returns, and she realizes he’s taken the earpiece out until she joins him in the Control Room. She appreciates the gesture, and she loosens her hair from its ties, shaking it out. She puts it back up into a tight ponytail swiftly and heads back to the Control Room.
The tubes are just starting to rise from the ground in the arena, and the mentors fall silent as they watch, many checking their stats screens to make sure one of theirs isn’t about to accidentally step off the metal plate. Sophie grips Finnick’s hand as the countdown begins, and she watches Lydia bend her knees a little, pointed toward the Cornucopia. She hears Finnick mutter something behind her. It looks like Martin is headed to the Cornucopia as well as soon as the cannon booms.
The cannon sounds, and the arena erupts into chaos. The map is a mass of red, green, and gold in the center, and it’s impossible to be able to tell who is around Lydia and Martin. Sophie catches a glimpse of the boy from District One, Marvel, flanking Lydia, a spear already in his hands. Lydia has a short sword and a couple of long knives tucked into her belt.
Marvel moves away to deal with an approaching tribute, and Lydia continues forward, stopping short when Martin appears in front of her, a sling in his hands.
Sophie tenses, and just as Lydia looks like she’s going to take him into the alliance despite what the other Careers think, Cato charges into the pictures and swings his sword into Martin’s neck, severing it halfway.
Lydia’s scream sounds in Sophie’s ears, as well as the gurgle of blood in Martin’s mouth as he stumbles then slumps to the ground, his blood leaving his body in bursts.
“We tried to warn him,” Finnick says softly from behind Sophie as the screen for Martin goes dark and his stats blink off.
Sophie shakes her head. “Don’t. Not right now.”
She looks around the room. Other stations have gone completely dark, both tributes gone in the first few minutes. The mentors will stay for the duration of the Games; it’s not as if they have anywhere else they can go.
***************
Sophie watched as Nemo drove his spear into the male tribute from District One, Luxor. Luxor fell to the ground, blood spluttering out of his mouth as he gasped for air. Nemo pushed the spear in deeper, twisting it, pulling it out partway and shoving it back as deep as it would go until the point broke through Luxor’s back.
Luxor twitched and slumped forward; Nemo kicked him over and stumbled back from the body as the cannon boomed, wiping blood from his face. He turned to Sophie and grinned.
“Well, that leaves only four of us,” he said as he rubbed his hands along his torn jacket.
Sophie nodded. “Yes, it does.”
She slipped a sharpened knife from her belt and tapped the flat of it against the palm of her hand. Nemo was still smiling at her as the hovercraft descended and retrieved Luxor’s body.
“That was your last spear,” she said slowly.
He shrugged. “I have more at our camp.”
She cocked her head to one side. “True. But they won’t do you much good here.”
Nemo stiffened a little, his eyes widening as she approached him, the knife clutched tightly in her right hand. She was poised to throw it at a moment’s notice.
He stumbled back. “Wait. We’re allies. I thought…”
“It has to end sometime,” she replied quietly, her eyes darkening in the fading light. “It’s nothing personal, Nemo. But I can’t exactly trust you anymore.”
“I promise that I won’t hurt you,” he begged. “Please, just let me go.”
She paused, straightening up, considering the idea. They had started off with four other members of their group. It had been her machinations that resulted in their deaths, the way she knew how to turn her head just so, flash a smile and say just the right thing at the right moment.
It turned out that all boys could be manipulated the exact same way. But Sophie had promised her mother she would come home, and so she had transformed into a new Sophie, a young woman who reveled in killing and smiled when blood splattered across her face. This Sophie, a mask of survival, believed in only one thing: be the first to strike.
“Fine. I’ll give you ten seconds,” she replied.
“What?”
“Ten, nine, eight…”
Nemo took off, running desperately through the tall grass. She watched and just kept counting, sure that he wouldn’t be able to beat her. He wasn’t as adept at maneuvering through the undergrowth as her, and his fear was slowing him down.
“Two, one,” she finished under her breath, launching into a sprint.
She weaved in and out of the trees, catching a flash of Nemo’s bright yellow jacket ahead of her. He fell to the ground with a cry, and she overtook him. With a swift gesture, she pulled the knife across his neck, digging deep into the delicate skin, his head falling back into her left hand.
Blood poured out of him. In his dying struggle, he turned to look at her with wide eyes, dark, thick blood spraying into her face with his last breath. She slipped to the ground with him in her arms. His body jerked one more time, and it was over, the cannon booming, the sound echoing through her ears.
An apology hovered on her lips, and she forced it back. If she had waited much longer, he would have shoved one of his spears through her spine. There was only one way to play this game: kill or be killed.
She let his body fall through her hands, and she staggered away, leaving her blood-slick knife beside him. She could only see red now, her hands grasping at leaves and branches, leaving behind ugly streaks of his death. She licked her lips and choked on the taste of his blood.
***************
“Sophie. Hey, Soph, wake up.”
Sophie stirs from her sleep and moans quietly at the intrusion of Finnick’s voice through her earpiece.
“What’s going on?” she mumbles, her voice raspy.
“It’s almost morning. Haymitch says that Katniss should be making her move soon.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Sophie replies in a hushed voice.
She has an arm draped over her waist, and she glances over her shoulder to see the arm belongs to Nate; Parker is curled up close to her, so Sophie scoots forward and shakes Parker’s arm.
“Parker, you need to wake up.”
Parker snaps her eyes open and sits up, stretching. Sophie tries to move Nate’s arm off her body without disturbing him, but he moves restlessly before looking up at her.
“What’s going on?” He keeps his voice low out of consideration for all the other mentors sleeping around them.
“Things are about to happen,” Sophie murmurs back.
“I’ll come with you,” he says, already clambering to his feet.
Sophie shrugs and takes his proffered hand, letting him pull her up beside him. She looks over the floor of the room, smiling at the sight of the sleeping mentors tangled in a heap of limbs, on a break from the Control Room for a few hours. For some reason, they all decided to pull the cushions off the couches and made a makeshift den so no one had to sleep alone.
It’s been like this since the first night.
Parker has already made her way to the door and is waiting impatiently for Sophie and Nate. Chaff is with Finnick and Haymitch in the Control Room. Enobaria, Cashmere, and Gloss are huddled around the stations for their districts, and Sophie greets them with a tired smile.
Finnick hands Sophie a cup of coffee when she reaches him; she normally drinks tea, but with the long hours, she needs the caffeine to keep her alert. Parker continues on to her station where Chaff is waiting with a bowl of cereal, and Nate ambles between the stations, stopping by his district’s periodically to look in on his surviving girl tribute.
A close-up feed of Katniss is on one of the monitors, and Sophie studies the girl curiously as she sips at her coffee. The Careers are scattered around the base of Katniss’s tree. Sophie spies Lydia curled up near Marvel, one of her hands clutching her sword.
Sophie notices the boy from District Twelve, Peeta, is awake and alert, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Cato. All of the mentors know about the game Peeta is playing, and Sophie can’t help feeling a small amount of admiration for his dedication to Katniss.
If Lydia doesn’t make it out alive, Sophie might just hope that Peeta will be the winner.
Sophie finishes her coffee as morning starts to break in the arena; Katniss will have to make her move soon. Finnick shoves a small plate of food in front of her, and she nibbles on the toast, forcing herself to swallow it.
They watch as Katniss shoos Rue away and climbs up the tree; each time Katniss’s knife passes across the limb and no one stirs below, Sophie’s heart pounds harder. There’s still time. Lydia can get out of there if she only wakes up and realizes what’s going on above her.
Then Katniss pushes the limb free from the tree, and the nest crashes into the ground, sending trackerjackers swarming over the tributes below. Sophie cries out as the trackerjackers sting anyone within reach without discrimination. She can tell that Lydia has been stung too many times to survive.
Lydia’s stats are going crazy, her heart rate elevated far beyond what is normal. Sophie shakes her head and runs out of the Control Room, trying to keep breathing. The screams from the stung tributes are in her ear, and she can hear Lydia’s agonized cries, her harsh gasps for air as she stumbles.
Sophie pulls the tiny earpiece out and flings it across the hallway. Arms encircle her from behind, and she tries to pull away, tears streaming down her face.
“Sophie, it’s just me,” Nate says in a firm, quiet voice. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” she chokes out because she’s crying now, sobbing because she’s failed again. “It can’t be.”
He just pulls her closer to his chest, presses his cheek against the back of her head. She can’t look at him.
***************
The sun is blazing hot, high in the sky. The heat is only helped by a slight breeze that catches at the escaping tendrils of her hair. Sophie lifts the bottle of whiskey to her lips, drinks, winces at the burn.
By the end of the day, her skin will be red and sore from the exposure. Not that she’ll notice, though, because she plans on being incredibly drunk as well. Sweat clings to her skin, sticky against her sleeveless shirt and shorts.
She takes another drink, a longer swallow this time; the heat makes the whiskey feel thicker in her mouth. She tosses her ponytail off her shoulder, and the weight of her hair falls against her back.
This isn’t a normal day. It’s an anniversary of sorts, but it’s not the same day each year. It’s a day of mourning. Sometimes it comes right on the heels of the Games. Other times, it falls closer to winter, nearer the time when she lost her mother. She’s learned to let the feelings come and to deal with them in her own way.
It’s not helping her heal, but then again, that’s not what she really wants.
The sand is blinding white under the sun, so she closes her eyes, the light still a heavy pressure on her face. She tips the bottle against her lips.
“Sam’s sick, Sophie.” Nate’s voice cracked, desperate.
“What? When did this happen?”
“A week ago. The doctors here don’t know what to do.” A pause, then the rest spilled out of his mouth. “They don’t think he’ll make it if we don’t take him to the Capitol.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Whatever it takes, Soph.”
Sophie feels something wash over her toes and glances down absentmindedly; the waves are closer than before, near enough to just creep over her feet. She moves back and takes a long swallow of whiskey.
It wasn’t the arena that killed Sam like they had all feared when he was born. In a way, it was worse than losing him to the Games because it was unexpected.
She tried everything to help Sam, to help a slowly unraveling Nate. It didn’t change anything. And, it doesn’t matter now. Sam is still dead. She shakes her head, wipes away the sweat gathering on her upper lip with the back of her hand, and drinks deeply from the bottle.
“So, do we have a deal?” Sophie asked, leaning forward in the cushioned chair.
“Yes, Miss Devereaux, we have a deal,” Snow replied with a mild smile. “You may do your best to get this favor for Mr. Ford, and I will not interfere.”
\William never liked the arrangement, but he didn’t try to stop Sophie from her goal.
“I don’t like seeing you sell your body for these favors,” he said one night.
He sat on the bed, watching her get ready for a rendezvous with a prominent businessman who could get her an appointment with the best doctor in the Capitol. She shook her head impatiently and sighed.
“It’s almost over, William,” Sophie said quietly. “And we’re running out of time.”
“Then let me help. There has to be something I can do. I am a doctor, after all, even if I’m not exactly qualified to deal with this sickness.”
“Snow has told you personally not to get involved.” She tilted her head to the side and put in an earring. “You’ll only put yourself in danger.”
“So I’m just supposed to sit by and let you do this on your own?”
Sophie caught his gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, William. Please try to understand.”
He didn’t answer her.
Looking back, she knows she should have seen William’s next move. Of course he couldn’t watch her sell her body to any powerful person who would take it and not do something himself.
She just wishes that she had been less wrapped up in Nate and paid more attention. Maybe she could have stopped William. But this kind of thinking is useless. The past is the past, she knows this, but it is all she has.
The sun has crawled higher in the sky, but the heat feels less oppressive and more like a comfort. Drunkenness has its benefits.
The scene wasn’t what she had expected when she had been led to the basement of Snow’s mansion. William was kneeling between two Peacekeepers, a little bruised, but he looked like he hadn’t been treated too roughly.
She looked to Snow. “What’s going on?”
President Snow smiled and stood beside her as he said, “William here decided to disobey my instructions and went to District Five in a misguided attempt to help Samuel Ford. A useless effort, unfortunately, now that the boy has died.”
Sophie felt like all the air had been knocked out of her. “What? Sam’s…dead? When did this happen?”
“This morning,” Snow replied as if he was just discussing the weather instead of a little boy’s death. “Now, I have to determine William’s punishment. The reason for all the secrecy is that I can’t have it getting out that Capitol citizens are participating in rebellious activities.”
“You promised,” Sophie stammered. “You said that if I got the appointment for Sam, he could come here to get better. I’ve had a standing appointment for him for an entire week.”
“No, I said I wouldn’t interfere.” Snow sighed and frowned. “Nathan Ford has been suspected of communicating with rebels. Even if it’s only a rumor, it’s still a dangerous notion to have out there. I couldn’t risk turning a blind eye, so I punished him, guilty or not.”
“By letting his son die? Why not just kill Nate instead?”
Snow laughed. “Because, my dear, you know very well that victors are valuable. It was only one little boy. If he had died in the arena, no one would bat an eye.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, what to do with William? It’s probably best not to leave any marks people can see. I’m sure his mother will have a visitation, probably an open casket.”
“What do you mean?” Sophie whispered, her knees going weak.
William looked at her, opened his mouth; a strangled sound passed through his lips, and she bit back a scream. They had already cut William’s tongue out.
“Well, treason is grounds for an execution,” Snow said mildly. “And, I felt you could use a reminder about the costs of rebellion.”
Sophie was on her knees in front of Snow before she could think, tilting her head back to look up at him. She nearly choked on the stench of roses and blood surrounding him, but she didn’t let the revulsion show on her face.
“I’ll do anything,” she pleaded, grasping at Snow’s trouser leg. “Please. He only did it because he loves me.”
Snow nodded his head. “True. But, that in itself is a problem. Did either of you seriously think I would let you marry? This is the only solution.”
Sophie bowed her head, and when William’s agonized screams pierced her ears, she sat staring at the floor, her back to him. She didn’t say anything.
Sophie swirls the whiskey around in the bottle, watching the light catch in the liquid, and smiles a little. She turns her attention out to the sea and the horizon beyond. There are clouds gathering on the edges, a possible storm that won’t hit until tonight or the next day.
Her stomach rumbles a little. She hasn’t eaten anything all day, which explains how she’s barely made a dent in the whiskey and it’s already going to her head. From the position of the sun, it looks to be only a little past noon. She turns her head to examine her right arm, pressing down on the skin with her forefinger, watching the slight imprint turn white then go back to red.
She swallows some whiskey, breathes, then drinks some more. She has thirty-five deaths staining her hands. She has watched almost everyone who has come into her life eventually die, die because of her.
Five tributes she murdered in the arena during her own Games. Twenty-eight innocent children sacrificed to the Games. William lost because he loved her and she didn’t love him enough to walk away. Her mother dead because of Sophie’s selfishness.
Sophie knew something was wrong the second she approached her house in the Victor Village. There was an eerie silence replacing all the usual sounds of people working in their gardens, Mags teaching Finnick’s little sister to make fish hooks and weave nets, and her mother singing as she cleaned the house or cooked supper.
Breaking into a run, Sophie rushed inside, breathless as she searched the kitchen, passing over a cold stove, past dishes still in the sink from that morning; she listened for movement from upstairs, something to reassure her, keep her rising panic at bay.
It was her worst fear coming to life. She should have known better than to refuse the summons to the Capitol only a month after William’s death. She had thought there would be a warning.
She prayed that her panic was all for nothing, that her mother was simply visiting Finnick’s family or Mags, but as Sophie stumbled into the vegetable garden that was her mother’s pride and joy, she cried out, the sound broken and strangling in her throat.
Her mother lay in the middle of the carefully planted rows, her red-gold hair strewn over green leaves, her glassy eyes staring back at Sophie. Sophie scrambled on her hands and knees, whimpering, and she touched her mother with trembling fingers, stiff skin cold beneath Sophie’s hands.
Mags and Finnick found Sophie sitting beside the body as the sun was setting. Another summons came from the Capitol in the morning, and Sophie went, her eyes dry and her lips smiling.
Sophie licks her lips, tastes the salt on them, and she wipes the tears off her cheeks. Her hand shakes around the bottle’s neck as she lifts the bottle to her mouth and drinks deeply. The whiskey no longer burns as it travels down her throat.
A hand tugs the bottle from her fingers, and Sophie turns to see Finnick crouching on her right, a sad smile on his face. He lowers himself to the ground, and Sophie catches sight of Annie on the other side of him, her long dark hair flowing in the strengthening breeze. Sophie looks to her left and watches Marcus help Mags sit down in the sand, settling on the opposite side of the older woman.
“You know, Sophie, we’re not much, but we’re the family you have,” Finnick says softly, laying a gentle hand on her arm. “And, we all have a reason to mourn.”
He passes the whiskey to Annie, and she takes a small sip, her green eyes narrowing at the burn. Finnick takes the bottle next and drinks, handing it off to Sophie when he’s done. The bottle goes up and down their little line, silence around them except for the crash of the incoming waves and the calls of the seagulls overhead.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Author: alinaandalion
Rating: M/NC-17
Spoilers: All three books of the Hunger Games trilogy.
Warnings: Drug use, cursing, dubious con, and character death
Characters: Sophie Devereaux, Nathan Ford, Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason, Eliot Spencer, Parker, Alec Hardison, Tara Cole, Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, various other characters, and minor OCs.
Pairings: Nate/Sophie, Sophie/Finnick, Sophie/Tara, Parker/Hardison, Annie/Finnick, Peeta/Katniss, and Johanna/Gale.
Summary: As a Victor, Sophie Devereaux has spent the last fifteen years of her life trying not to feel. But rumors bring news of rebellion, hope for a better future. A second chance.
night has always pushed up day
“Night has always pushed up day
You must know life to see decay
But I won’t rot, I won’t rot
Not this mind and not this heart,
I won’t rot.”
- “After the Storm” by Mumford and Sons
Sophie nudges Eliot’s arm with her shoulder as she sits down beside him. “Something on your mind?”
“Just thinking,” he mutters. He turns to her with a wry grin. “You and Nate fighting again?”
“What makes you think that?”
“He’s in a bad mood, and you’re here because you want something.” He shrugs. “Not hard to figure out.”
She leans into his side, placing her hand on his arm. “I haven’t seen you for awhile. I thought we could…catch up.”
He stiffens under her fingers, and she smiles a little with triumph. But his smile fades into a frown, his jaw tensing. She sighs and slumps back into the couch’s cushions.
“I ain’t really looking to help you make Nate jealous,” he says slowly. “You’ve got Finnick and Tara for that.”
“You really think of me that way? That I just use people?” She withdraws her hand and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Didn’t say there was anything wrong with that.” Eliot prods at her thigh and gives her a small smile. “Hell, we all do it. Least you’re honest about it.”
“So you don’t want to use me, is that it?” she teases, pulling her legs onto the couch and tucking them underneath her.
“Pretty much. Nate’s my friend. Don’t want to piss him off.”
“He doesn’t own me, you know.”
“Street goes both ways, darling.”
Sophie curls into his side and leans her head on his shoulder; she dances her fingers along Eliot’s arm, feeling the lines of his muscles. Eliot is one who doesn’t really care for close contact, but he lets her do what she wants.
She was the first one to seek him out after he lost his first tribute; ever since then, it wasn’t unusual to find him outside her door when the nightmares were too much, at least, up until the last few years. He allows Parker to touch him as she pleases as well, but Sophie isn’t privy to the details of why. But the two of them are the only exceptions Eliot allows.
What she really likes about Eliot is the way he talks, straightforward, honest. There’s nothing sly or cunning about him, nothing manipulative when he speaks to her, and it’s a nice change from the atmosphere of the Capitol that thrives on lies and flattery.
“You must think I’m an idiot,” she murmurs as she tucks his long hair behind his ears.
He shakes his head, his hair falling right back into his face. “Not any more than the rest of us. At least you know it.”
She follows the line of his gaze and watches Johanna and Finnick at one of the windows. Johanna is more animated than normal, a smile on her face as she touches Finnick’s arm. Sophie feels badly for the girl, in love or something like it with a man who only has eyes for another. From the way Finnick is acting, he has no clue about Johanna’s feelings.
“I named a horse after you.”
Sophie raises an eyebrow. “A horse? What is that supposed to mean?”
“She’s a beautiful horse. Graceful.” He winks at her. “She might be my favorite.”
Sophie shoves his shoulder, laughing, and he chuckles in response when the force barely moves his body. Mikel comes over and whispers something in Eliot’s ear. Eliot pats Sophie’s thigh and stands up.
“Well, we have a sponsor to talk to,” he explains, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Seems he’s changed his mind about giving money to our tributes.”
His mouth curls slightly in distaste, and Sophie wonders exactly what has been done, or will be done, to sway the sponsor. She’s no stranger herself to trading small sexual favors for a sponsor’s money. It’s technically against the rules the mentors are supposed to follow, but the Gamemakers pretend it doesn’t happen since it means more money to fund the Games.
Parker takes Eliot’s place, bouncing on top of the cushions until her body stills on its own. Parker brandishes a delicate gold bracelet with a slightly manic grin.
“Look what I found,” she whispers.
“I doubt you found that bracelet,” Sophie replies, trying to pretend disinterest even as she starts scanning the room to see who is the unlucky victim of Parker’s sticky fingers.
“I’m going to give it back,” Parker says, looking a little disappointed that Sophie isn’t sharing in her excitement. “Eventually, anyway.”
Sophie pulls the bracelet out of Parker’s grasp and holds it up to the light. “Who did you take it from?”
“Effie.”
Sophie sighs. “Parker, you know how that woman is. When she notices, she’s going to be very upset.”
“I’ll get it back to her before she misses it,” Parker huffs. “I thought you would think it’s funny. You looked sad.”
“I did?”
“Yeah. Hardison said you had a fight with Nate.”
“How did Hardison know that?” Sophie asks, wondering if all of her private moments are shared among the mentors.
Parker shrugs. “Eliot told him.”
Sophie groans. “Does everyone know about every little thing that goes on?”
“Pretty much.” Parker takes the bracelet back and loops it around her wrist. “I don’t know if I want to give this back. It’s really pretty. Shiny.”
“It’s not yours, Parker.”
“She can afford another one,” Parker grumbles.
“And you can afford to buy your own,” Sophie replies, stretching her legs out.
Parker rolls her eyes and puts her legs across Sophie’s lap, braiding a lock of her blonde hair as she leans her head over the back of the side of the couch. Sophie watches Parker with envy, wishing she could move her body in that fashion.
“Tell me a story.”
Sophie smiles. “What kind of story?”
Parker sits up and scoots closer to Sophie, her fingers brushing through Sophie’s brown curls. Sophie pushes Parker’s feet to the ground and turns around so Parker can get better access to her hair.
“A happy story. About bunnies,” Parker says softly as she starts braiding some of Sophie’s hair.
Sighing, Sophie lets the last remnants of tension flow out of her body. It’s early afternoon, and all the tributes are currently performing for the Gamemakers. She’ll have to leave soon with Finnick to wait on Lydia and Martin, but she’s content to entertain Parker for the time being.
So she conjures a simple story about a family of bunnies that finds buried treasure and never has to go hungry again because they vanquish the evil farmers who make the bunnies work very hard digging holes for planting crops. Anyone who listens will hear the faintest trace of treason underneath the fantasy. But it’s innocent enough, and they’re all so trapped by this life that it doesn’t matter how they feel. Freedom costs too much now.
***************
Sophie was just sitting down to supper with her mother and Mags when the phone rang. All three women turned to look at it on the wall beside the back door as it shook in its cradle with the force of its rings.
Sophie looked pleadingly at her mother. “Please, Mama, that has to be him.”
Her mother pursed her lips in disapproval. “We are eating, Sophie.”
“Please, he hasn’t called in two weeks!”
Sophie was already inching out of her chair, ready to grab the phone from behind her head when her mother sighed.
“Fine.”
Shooting up out of her chair, Sophie snatched the phone and muttered a hurried greeting into it as she swept out the back door for privacy. She pushed the door closed and pressed her back against it, sliding down to the ground.
“Hey,” she said quietly, almost shyly.
Nate chuckled. “Hey. Did I interrupt something?”
Sophie rolled her eyes and cradled the phone against her cheek. “We were just having supper. Mama almost didn’t let me answer the phone.”
“Aren’t you an adult by now?”
“Twenty-two years old.”
“Practically an old maid, then,” he teased. “Why don’t you just do what you want? It is your house, after all.”
“Things have been tense here recently.” Sophie sighed and let her shoulders slump. “She worries so much, and after everything she’s been through, I don’t want to make life harder for her.”
“That’s fair.” Nate paused and cleared his throat, the sound crackling through the phone’s receiver. “How is Finnick?”
“He’s recovering. His Victory Tour will start in a few months.”
“Is Snow planning on…”
“No,” she cut him off quickly, not even wanting to hear the suggestion, not on such an exposed connection. “Finnick is just a boy. He still has a couple of years.”
“But there’s something else,” he said slowly.
She closed her eyes. “Snow has already started the bidding on Finnick.”
Nate went quiet for a few moments before saying, “That’s disgusting.”
“Yes,” Sophie agreed. There wasn’t really anything else to say, nothing that wouldn’t get her into trouble, anyway.
They both lapsed into silence, and Sophie twirled her fingers through the phone’s curly cord. She listened to Nate’s breathing, matching her own to his pace, a calm in and out. She had missed his voice, the way they could sit in comfortable silence like this, and it was as if he was sitting beside her.
“I have something to tell you.”
Nate’s voice startled her, and Sophie dropped her fingers from the phone’s cord, her body tensing at his serious tone.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice quiet.
He sighed and laughed, the sounds harsh, a little broken. “Maggie’s pregnant.”
The air rushed out of Sophie’s lungs, but she managed to say, “How far along is she?”
“I think two months.” He paused then said, “It’s why I haven’t called you recently. I didn’t know how to tell you. Not after everything that happened in January.”
His words hit her like a punch in the stomach, and she sat there, stunned, with the phone pressed to her ear.
It felt so long ago, those two days in January. She had gone in for an exam to make sure there were no venereal diseases lurking inside her, and the tests came back with weird results. The doctor did more tests and handed her the news with cold detachment.
He had explained there was a strict protocol in this situation for victors, and so there had been a procedure the next day. She left the Medical Center, hollow, no longer filled with a growing life. She hadn’t even had a choice; she was packed off back to District Four for three months before being called back to the Capitol.
Nate was the only person she had told aside from her mother and Mags.
Sophie wiped away the tears that had slipped down her cheeks and said, “I’m fine, Nate. Really. But, are you okay?”
“What do you mean?” His reply was too fast, defensive.
“You and I both know that victors’ children almost always end up in the Games,” she replied softly, hating herself for it. “I know you’ve already thought about it. I know you. You’re worried.”
“I don’t know if I can do this, Soph.” Nate’s voice shook, too much, and she longed to be able to reach across the distance and offer him more comfort than she could provide like this. “I mean, I don’t even know how to be a father, and I just can’t…”
“It’s not a given, Nate. It might not happen,” she interrupted, determined to not let him slip into a depression.
“But it’s possible,” he murmured. “More possible than if Maggie and I were just ordinary people.”
“You have to do what you can.”
“How can I? Knowing what my child might have to do. How can I do that, Soph?”
“Are you going to let your fear keep you from loving your child?” She kept her voice calm and steady. “You’ll give him a chance, Nate. You can teach him, train him, give him what most other children never have.”
“It might not be a boy,” he replied. His voice already sounded lighter, and she suppressed a relieved sigh. “You can’t predict the future.”
“I like to try,” she said flippantly. “Such as, I know your baby will be born in the spring.”
“That’s just basic math, Sophie.”
“Mmm, maybe.” She laughed and said, “Don’t wait so long to call me again.”
“I won’t,” he promised, voice warm and rich.
She listened to the click of him hanging up before dropping the phone into her lap. She traced her forefinger along the edge of the beige plastic, the smile fading from her face.
***************
Finnick groans as he sits down next to Sophie on the couch.
She smiles and nudges his shoulder. “Long day, darling?”
“You have no idea.” He covers his face with his hands and shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do with that kid. He’s so timid, he has a mediocre score. There is nothing about him that stands out. At least Lydia has some charm. Martin has…nothing. I haven’t been able to find one way to make him interesting.”
“Poor baby,” Sophie coos as she rolls her eyes. “You didn’t try teaching Lydia how to walk in heels. She doesn’t have much grace. At all, actually. Tara had to leave after awhile because she was so frustrated.”
“But she has an alliance with the Careers, and she got a really decent score from the Gamemakers.”
“Relax, Finnick.” She leans her head on his shoulder. “We already have plenty of money from our sponsors. Now we just have to hope our kids can stay alive when they get into the arena.”
“What are we going to do with Martin, though?” Finnick asks, rubbing her back. “He hasn’t exactly made friends with the Careers. I think they might be planning on killing him in the bloodbath, so we have to find a way to convince him to get out of there. He’s pretty insistent that Lydia will side with him.”
“She shouldn’t, though, not if her allies don’t want anything to do with Martin. They’ll kill her, too, rather than carry around someone as dead weight.” Sophie presses her fingers to her forehead. “Did you try talking to him?”
“Three times. The kid just isn’t listening, and I don’t know how to get through to him.”
“Sometimes we have to accept some losses.”
Finnick narrows his eyes as he looks at her. “Are you saying we should give up on Martin?”
“Finnick, we have two tributes to keep alive. If one of them is set on getting himself killed, then maybe we should just let him. The second they step into that arena, they’re outside of our protection anyway.”
“That’s bullshit!”
“It’s the way it is,” she says calmly. “You know that. I’ll try talking to Martin in the morning, see if I can’t get him to make a plan to get him out of the bloodbath. If he doesn’t, though, then you know he won’t make it out of there alive.”
“Do you think Lydia will make it through?”
“I don’t know. Not with that girl from District Twelve still such a wildcard, and we don’t really know anything about the Careers yet. You know how brutal they are, though.”
“So, it’s a slim chance, then?” Finnick wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her closer.
“Yes, but it is a chance,” Sophie murmurs, curling closer to Finnick. “We’ll do what we can.”
“That’s not much.”
She wants to argue, but he’s right. She wants to hate him for it, and she can’t because she can pretend they can do something to change the roles they’ve been forced into, but it isn’t the truth. Suddenly, his closeness feels claustrophobic, and she needs to break free.
She pulls away from him, standing up, her face falling into shadow. “No, but that’s the point, isn’t it? To have no power over the outcome but still be responsible.”
***************
Sophie picks up her earpiece and inserts it as she looks around the Control Room. There are twelve stations side by side, one for each district of Panem. She runs a casual finger along the edge of one screen. Each station has four screens for watching the Games, two to follow the district’s tributes, one that will divide into sections for the remaining twenty-two tributes, and the last that can flip between any of those twenty-two tributes for a closer look.
She turns to face the displayed map on her right. It only shows the arena at the moment with a large gold dot for the Cornucopia and small blue dots for water sources. If any trouble is manufactured inside the arena by the Gamemakers, the map illustrates it with a red dot. The tributes from District Four will be displayed with green fours, and any approaching tributes will show up as red numbers representing their district.
The monitors on her left show the basic statistics on her tributes’ health. If their blood pressure or heart rate spikes, she’ll know about it. The last screen is set inside the glass table; it displays the money given by sponsors that will be available to use and three separate buttons for the different frequencies of the earpiece.
If a sponsor contacts her with a new donation, the middle button lights up. The first button stays on the entirety of the Games, and that keeps her constantly connected to Finnick so they can talk without being confined to the one room. The last button allows her to order gifts sent into the arena.
Sophie glances around at the gathering mentors, taking in the hum of conversation as some take their seats and start fiddling with the controls of their stations. They’re not actually doing anything, but it is a good release for overwrought nerves. She rolls her shoulders; they’re tense with worry, and she can already feel the familiar knot that always develops at the base of her neck.
She pulls at her black tunic and wanders away. Finnick hasn’t put his earpiece in yet, so there’s only a faint hint of static in her ear. They used to have headsets, but Hardison invented the earpieces for convenience and so the mentors could slip away for naps without having to disconnect from their partners.
The room adjoining the Control Room is filled with cots and couches and no windows to let in the light so it stays in perpetual twilight. There are some lamps lit right now, and Sophie looks at all the bags littered across the floor; all the mentors bring two changes of clothes with them so they don’t have to leave. Showers are available if she steps through the door in the far right corner.
She sinks onto one cot and closes her eyes, breathes slowly. There’s a crackle in her ear, then Finnick’s voice.
“Where’d you go?” he asks.
She stretches out on the cot. “I’m in the bedroom. We have a few more minutes before the Games start.”
“Well, everyone is almost here. You want to head back?”
“In a second. I just…I need a moment, Finnick.”
“Okay.”
There’s a cold silence then the static returns, and she realizes he’s taken the earpiece out until she joins him in the Control Room. She appreciates the gesture, and she loosens her hair from its ties, shaking it out. She puts it back up into a tight ponytail swiftly and heads back to the Control Room.
The tubes are just starting to rise from the ground in the arena, and the mentors fall silent as they watch, many checking their stats screens to make sure one of theirs isn’t about to accidentally step off the metal plate. Sophie grips Finnick’s hand as the countdown begins, and she watches Lydia bend her knees a little, pointed toward the Cornucopia. She hears Finnick mutter something behind her. It looks like Martin is headed to the Cornucopia as well as soon as the cannon booms.
The cannon sounds, and the arena erupts into chaos. The map is a mass of red, green, and gold in the center, and it’s impossible to be able to tell who is around Lydia and Martin. Sophie catches a glimpse of the boy from District One, Marvel, flanking Lydia, a spear already in his hands. Lydia has a short sword and a couple of long knives tucked into her belt.
Marvel moves away to deal with an approaching tribute, and Lydia continues forward, stopping short when Martin appears in front of her, a sling in his hands.
Sophie tenses, and just as Lydia looks like she’s going to take him into the alliance despite what the other Careers think, Cato charges into the pictures and swings his sword into Martin’s neck, severing it halfway.
Lydia’s scream sounds in Sophie’s ears, as well as the gurgle of blood in Martin’s mouth as he stumbles then slumps to the ground, his blood leaving his body in bursts.
“We tried to warn him,” Finnick says softly from behind Sophie as the screen for Martin goes dark and his stats blink off.
Sophie shakes her head. “Don’t. Not right now.”
She looks around the room. Other stations have gone completely dark, both tributes gone in the first few minutes. The mentors will stay for the duration of the Games; it’s not as if they have anywhere else they can go.
***************
Sophie watched as Nemo drove his spear into the male tribute from District One, Luxor. Luxor fell to the ground, blood spluttering out of his mouth as he gasped for air. Nemo pushed the spear in deeper, twisting it, pulling it out partway and shoving it back as deep as it would go until the point broke through Luxor’s back.
Luxor twitched and slumped forward; Nemo kicked him over and stumbled back from the body as the cannon boomed, wiping blood from his face. He turned to Sophie and grinned.
“Well, that leaves only four of us,” he said as he rubbed his hands along his torn jacket.
Sophie nodded. “Yes, it does.”
She slipped a sharpened knife from her belt and tapped the flat of it against the palm of her hand. Nemo was still smiling at her as the hovercraft descended and retrieved Luxor’s body.
“That was your last spear,” she said slowly.
He shrugged. “I have more at our camp.”
She cocked her head to one side. “True. But they won’t do you much good here.”
Nemo stiffened a little, his eyes widening as she approached him, the knife clutched tightly in her right hand. She was poised to throw it at a moment’s notice.
He stumbled back. “Wait. We’re allies. I thought…”
“It has to end sometime,” she replied quietly, her eyes darkening in the fading light. “It’s nothing personal, Nemo. But I can’t exactly trust you anymore.”
“I promise that I won’t hurt you,” he begged. “Please, just let me go.”
She paused, straightening up, considering the idea. They had started off with four other members of their group. It had been her machinations that resulted in their deaths, the way she knew how to turn her head just so, flash a smile and say just the right thing at the right moment.
It turned out that all boys could be manipulated the exact same way. But Sophie had promised her mother she would come home, and so she had transformed into a new Sophie, a young woman who reveled in killing and smiled when blood splattered across her face. This Sophie, a mask of survival, believed in only one thing: be the first to strike.
“Fine. I’ll give you ten seconds,” she replied.
“What?”
“Ten, nine, eight…”
Nemo took off, running desperately through the tall grass. She watched and just kept counting, sure that he wouldn’t be able to beat her. He wasn’t as adept at maneuvering through the undergrowth as her, and his fear was slowing him down.
“Two, one,” she finished under her breath, launching into a sprint.
She weaved in and out of the trees, catching a flash of Nemo’s bright yellow jacket ahead of her. He fell to the ground with a cry, and she overtook him. With a swift gesture, she pulled the knife across his neck, digging deep into the delicate skin, his head falling back into her left hand.
Blood poured out of him. In his dying struggle, he turned to look at her with wide eyes, dark, thick blood spraying into her face with his last breath. She slipped to the ground with him in her arms. His body jerked one more time, and it was over, the cannon booming, the sound echoing through her ears.
An apology hovered on her lips, and she forced it back. If she had waited much longer, he would have shoved one of his spears through her spine. There was only one way to play this game: kill or be killed.
She let his body fall through her hands, and she staggered away, leaving her blood-slick knife beside him. She could only see red now, her hands grasping at leaves and branches, leaving behind ugly streaks of his death. She licked her lips and choked on the taste of his blood.
***************
“Sophie. Hey, Soph, wake up.”
Sophie stirs from her sleep and moans quietly at the intrusion of Finnick’s voice through her earpiece.
“What’s going on?” she mumbles, her voice raspy.
“It’s almost morning. Haymitch says that Katniss should be making her move soon.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Sophie replies in a hushed voice.
She has an arm draped over her waist, and she glances over her shoulder to see the arm belongs to Nate; Parker is curled up close to her, so Sophie scoots forward and shakes Parker’s arm.
“Parker, you need to wake up.”
Parker snaps her eyes open and sits up, stretching. Sophie tries to move Nate’s arm off her body without disturbing him, but he moves restlessly before looking up at her.
“What’s going on?” He keeps his voice low out of consideration for all the other mentors sleeping around them.
“Things are about to happen,” Sophie murmurs back.
“I’ll come with you,” he says, already clambering to his feet.
Sophie shrugs and takes his proffered hand, letting him pull her up beside him. She looks over the floor of the room, smiling at the sight of the sleeping mentors tangled in a heap of limbs, on a break from the Control Room for a few hours. For some reason, they all decided to pull the cushions off the couches and made a makeshift den so no one had to sleep alone.
It’s been like this since the first night.
Parker has already made her way to the door and is waiting impatiently for Sophie and Nate. Chaff is with Finnick and Haymitch in the Control Room. Enobaria, Cashmere, and Gloss are huddled around the stations for their districts, and Sophie greets them with a tired smile.
Finnick hands Sophie a cup of coffee when she reaches him; she normally drinks tea, but with the long hours, she needs the caffeine to keep her alert. Parker continues on to her station where Chaff is waiting with a bowl of cereal, and Nate ambles between the stations, stopping by his district’s periodically to look in on his surviving girl tribute.
A close-up feed of Katniss is on one of the monitors, and Sophie studies the girl curiously as she sips at her coffee. The Careers are scattered around the base of Katniss’s tree. Sophie spies Lydia curled up near Marvel, one of her hands clutching her sword.
Sophie notices the boy from District Twelve, Peeta, is awake and alert, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Cato. All of the mentors know about the game Peeta is playing, and Sophie can’t help feeling a small amount of admiration for his dedication to Katniss.
If Lydia doesn’t make it out alive, Sophie might just hope that Peeta will be the winner.
Sophie finishes her coffee as morning starts to break in the arena; Katniss will have to make her move soon. Finnick shoves a small plate of food in front of her, and she nibbles on the toast, forcing herself to swallow it.
They watch as Katniss shoos Rue away and climbs up the tree; each time Katniss’s knife passes across the limb and no one stirs below, Sophie’s heart pounds harder. There’s still time. Lydia can get out of there if she only wakes up and realizes what’s going on above her.
Then Katniss pushes the limb free from the tree, and the nest crashes into the ground, sending trackerjackers swarming over the tributes below. Sophie cries out as the trackerjackers sting anyone within reach without discrimination. She can tell that Lydia has been stung too many times to survive.
Lydia’s stats are going crazy, her heart rate elevated far beyond what is normal. Sophie shakes her head and runs out of the Control Room, trying to keep breathing. The screams from the stung tributes are in her ear, and she can hear Lydia’s agonized cries, her harsh gasps for air as she stumbles.
Sophie pulls the tiny earpiece out and flings it across the hallway. Arms encircle her from behind, and she tries to pull away, tears streaming down her face.
“Sophie, it’s just me,” Nate says in a firm, quiet voice. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” she chokes out because she’s crying now, sobbing because she’s failed again. “It can’t be.”
He just pulls her closer to his chest, presses his cheek against the back of her head. She can’t look at him.
***************
The sun is blazing hot, high in the sky. The heat is only helped by a slight breeze that catches at the escaping tendrils of her hair. Sophie lifts the bottle of whiskey to her lips, drinks, winces at the burn.
By the end of the day, her skin will be red and sore from the exposure. Not that she’ll notice, though, because she plans on being incredibly drunk as well. Sweat clings to her skin, sticky against her sleeveless shirt and shorts.
She takes another drink, a longer swallow this time; the heat makes the whiskey feel thicker in her mouth. She tosses her ponytail off her shoulder, and the weight of her hair falls against her back.
This isn’t a normal day. It’s an anniversary of sorts, but it’s not the same day each year. It’s a day of mourning. Sometimes it comes right on the heels of the Games. Other times, it falls closer to winter, nearer the time when she lost her mother. She’s learned to let the feelings come and to deal with them in her own way.
It’s not helping her heal, but then again, that’s not what she really wants.
The sand is blinding white under the sun, so she closes her eyes, the light still a heavy pressure on her face. She tips the bottle against her lips.
“Sam’s sick, Sophie.” Nate’s voice cracked, desperate.
“What? When did this happen?”
“A week ago. The doctors here don’t know what to do.” A pause, then the rest spilled out of his mouth. “They don’t think he’ll make it if we don’t take him to the Capitol.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Whatever it takes, Soph.”
Sophie feels something wash over her toes and glances down absentmindedly; the waves are closer than before, near enough to just creep over her feet. She moves back and takes a long swallow of whiskey.
It wasn’t the arena that killed Sam like they had all feared when he was born. In a way, it was worse than losing him to the Games because it was unexpected.
She tried everything to help Sam, to help a slowly unraveling Nate. It didn’t change anything. And, it doesn’t matter now. Sam is still dead. She shakes her head, wipes away the sweat gathering on her upper lip with the back of her hand, and drinks deeply from the bottle.
“So, do we have a deal?” Sophie asked, leaning forward in the cushioned chair.
“Yes, Miss Devereaux, we have a deal,” Snow replied with a mild smile. “You may do your best to get this favor for Mr. Ford, and I will not interfere.”
\William never liked the arrangement, but he didn’t try to stop Sophie from her goal.
“I don’t like seeing you sell your body for these favors,” he said one night.
He sat on the bed, watching her get ready for a rendezvous with a prominent businessman who could get her an appointment with the best doctor in the Capitol. She shook her head impatiently and sighed.
“It’s almost over, William,” Sophie said quietly. “And we’re running out of time.”
“Then let me help. There has to be something I can do. I am a doctor, after all, even if I’m not exactly qualified to deal with this sickness.”
“Snow has told you personally not to get involved.” She tilted her head to the side and put in an earring. “You’ll only put yourself in danger.”
“So I’m just supposed to sit by and let you do this on your own?”
Sophie caught his gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, William. Please try to understand.”
He didn’t answer her.
Looking back, she knows she should have seen William’s next move. Of course he couldn’t watch her sell her body to any powerful person who would take it and not do something himself.
She just wishes that she had been less wrapped up in Nate and paid more attention. Maybe she could have stopped William. But this kind of thinking is useless. The past is the past, she knows this, but it is all she has.
The sun has crawled higher in the sky, but the heat feels less oppressive and more like a comfort. Drunkenness has its benefits.
The scene wasn’t what she had expected when she had been led to the basement of Snow’s mansion. William was kneeling between two Peacekeepers, a little bruised, but he looked like he hadn’t been treated too roughly.
She looked to Snow. “What’s going on?”
President Snow smiled and stood beside her as he said, “William here decided to disobey my instructions and went to District Five in a misguided attempt to help Samuel Ford. A useless effort, unfortunately, now that the boy has died.”
Sophie felt like all the air had been knocked out of her. “What? Sam’s…dead? When did this happen?”
“This morning,” Snow replied as if he was just discussing the weather instead of a little boy’s death. “Now, I have to determine William’s punishment. The reason for all the secrecy is that I can’t have it getting out that Capitol citizens are participating in rebellious activities.”
“You promised,” Sophie stammered. “You said that if I got the appointment for Sam, he could come here to get better. I’ve had a standing appointment for him for an entire week.”
“No, I said I wouldn’t interfere.” Snow sighed and frowned. “Nathan Ford has been suspected of communicating with rebels. Even if it’s only a rumor, it’s still a dangerous notion to have out there. I couldn’t risk turning a blind eye, so I punished him, guilty or not.”
“By letting his son die? Why not just kill Nate instead?”
Snow laughed. “Because, my dear, you know very well that victors are valuable. It was only one little boy. If he had died in the arena, no one would bat an eye.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, what to do with William? It’s probably best not to leave any marks people can see. I’m sure his mother will have a visitation, probably an open casket.”
“What do you mean?” Sophie whispered, her knees going weak.
William looked at her, opened his mouth; a strangled sound passed through his lips, and she bit back a scream. They had already cut William’s tongue out.
“Well, treason is grounds for an execution,” Snow said mildly. “And, I felt you could use a reminder about the costs of rebellion.”
Sophie was on her knees in front of Snow before she could think, tilting her head back to look up at him. She nearly choked on the stench of roses and blood surrounding him, but she didn’t let the revulsion show on her face.
“I’ll do anything,” she pleaded, grasping at Snow’s trouser leg. “Please. He only did it because he loves me.”
Snow nodded his head. “True. But, that in itself is a problem. Did either of you seriously think I would let you marry? This is the only solution.”
Sophie bowed her head, and when William’s agonized screams pierced her ears, she sat staring at the floor, her back to him. She didn’t say anything.
Sophie swirls the whiskey around in the bottle, watching the light catch in the liquid, and smiles a little. She turns her attention out to the sea and the horizon beyond. There are clouds gathering on the edges, a possible storm that won’t hit until tonight or the next day.
Her stomach rumbles a little. She hasn’t eaten anything all day, which explains how she’s barely made a dent in the whiskey and it’s already going to her head. From the position of the sun, it looks to be only a little past noon. She turns her head to examine her right arm, pressing down on the skin with her forefinger, watching the slight imprint turn white then go back to red.
She swallows some whiskey, breathes, then drinks some more. She has thirty-five deaths staining her hands. She has watched almost everyone who has come into her life eventually die, die because of her.
Five tributes she murdered in the arena during her own Games. Twenty-eight innocent children sacrificed to the Games. William lost because he loved her and she didn’t love him enough to walk away. Her mother dead because of Sophie’s selfishness.
Sophie knew something was wrong the second she approached her house in the Victor Village. There was an eerie silence replacing all the usual sounds of people working in their gardens, Mags teaching Finnick’s little sister to make fish hooks and weave nets, and her mother singing as she cleaned the house or cooked supper.
Breaking into a run, Sophie rushed inside, breathless as she searched the kitchen, passing over a cold stove, past dishes still in the sink from that morning; she listened for movement from upstairs, something to reassure her, keep her rising panic at bay.
It was her worst fear coming to life. She should have known better than to refuse the summons to the Capitol only a month after William’s death. She had thought there would be a warning.
She prayed that her panic was all for nothing, that her mother was simply visiting Finnick’s family or Mags, but as Sophie stumbled into the vegetable garden that was her mother’s pride and joy, she cried out, the sound broken and strangling in her throat.
Her mother lay in the middle of the carefully planted rows, her red-gold hair strewn over green leaves, her glassy eyes staring back at Sophie. Sophie scrambled on her hands and knees, whimpering, and she touched her mother with trembling fingers, stiff skin cold beneath Sophie’s hands.
Mags and Finnick found Sophie sitting beside the body as the sun was setting. Another summons came from the Capitol in the morning, and Sophie went, her eyes dry and her lips smiling.
Sophie licks her lips, tastes the salt on them, and she wipes the tears off her cheeks. Her hand shakes around the bottle’s neck as she lifts the bottle to her mouth and drinks deeply. The whiskey no longer burns as it travels down her throat.
A hand tugs the bottle from her fingers, and Sophie turns to see Finnick crouching on her right, a sad smile on his face. He lowers himself to the ground, and Sophie catches sight of Annie on the other side of him, her long dark hair flowing in the strengthening breeze. Sophie looks to her left and watches Marcus help Mags sit down in the sand, settling on the opposite side of the older woman.
“You know, Sophie, we’re not much, but we’re the family you have,” Finnick says softly, laying a gentle hand on her arm. “And, we all have a reason to mourn.”
He passes the whiskey to Annie, and she takes a small sip, her green eyes narrowing at the burn. Finnick takes the bottle next and drinks, handing it off to Sophie when he’s done. The bottle goes up and down their little line, silence around them except for the crash of the incoming waves and the calls of the seagulls overhead.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven