Somewhere over Panem [Wednesday, Fandom Time]
There was a sharp pinching in her arm -- tubes. Katniss was swimming back to consciousness, and this tiny, irritating sensation was what grounded her right now.
Why were they keeping her alive? Because if she died, quietly, it would be a victory. Katniss' death needed to be public and violent as possible, and she hadn't died in the Games. She would receive a criminal's death, on every screen in Panem.
She couldn't even open her eyelids, though her right arm flopped across her body. She had no motor coordination, and for that matter, she didn't even know that she still had fingers. But she could move that arm enough to pull the tubes off.
When the beeping went off, she faded away again before she could figure out why.
---
When she surfaced again, her hands were tied down to the table, her tubes back in her arm. She could open her eyes and even lift her head slightly, and now she could see that she was in a large room with low ceilings and a silvery light. From the other row of beds, facing her own, she could hear the breathing of what she assumed were her fellow victors. Directly across from her was Beetee, with about ten machines hooked up to him.
Let them die. She pleaded, mentally, wanting to scream, and slammed her head back down to her table and was out again.
---
When she finally, truly woke, the restraints were gone. She could raise her hand and found fingers she was able to command again. Katniss pushed herself to a sitting position and held onto the padded table until she was able to focus on her surroundings. Her left arm was bandaged, but the tubes were no longer connected to her.
She was alone, save for Beetee, who still lay in his bed, sustained by an army of machines. Where were the others? Peeta, Finnick, Enobaria -- there was one more, too, at least one more alive before the bombs started going off.
“Peeta....” she whispered. All she had wanted was to protect him. She was still resolved to. Since she had failed to keep him safe in life, she had to find him and kill him now, before the Capitol could choose the agonizing means of his death. She carefully slid off the table, looking around for a weapon.
Syringes. Perfect. All she needed was air and a clear shot at one of his veins. She paused for a moment, considering if she should kill Beetee, too. But if she did, the alarms would start to sound before she could get to Peeta. She would finish him off later if she was able.
There were no guards around. Undoubtedly she was miles under the Training Center or something, somewhere where the odds of her escape would be astronomically poor.
She crept down the hallway, finding a door sightly ajar. She held her syringe tight in her hand, flattening herself against the wall to hear the voices within.
"Communications are down in Seven, Ten and Twelve. But Eleven has control of transportation now, so there's at least a hope of them getting some food out.
Plutarch Heavensbee? That was who it sounded like, anyway. Katniss was confused, until a hoarse voice asked a question.
"No, I'm sorry. There's no way I can get you to Four. But I've given special orders for her retrieval if possible. It's the best I can do, Finnick."
Finnick.
Katniss' mind struggled to make sense of the conversation, of the fact that it was taking place between Plutarch Heavensbee and Finnick. Was he so near and dear to the Capitol that he'd be excused of his crimes? Or did he really have no idea what Beetee actually intended. He croaked out something else. Something heavy with despair.
"Don't be stupid. That's the worst thing you could do. Get her killed for sure. As long as you're alive, they'll keep her alive as bait," said Haymitch.
Haymitch! Katniss banged through the door and stumbled into the room. Haymitch, Plutarch, and a very beat-up Finnick sat around a table laid with a meal no one was eating. Daylight streamed through the curved windows, and in the distance, she could see the top of a forest of trees. They were flying.
"Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?" asked Haymitch, annoyance clear in his voice. But as she careened forward, he stepped up and caught her wrists, steadying her. "So it's you and a syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans.” Katniss stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Drop it." She felt pressure increase on her wrist until her hand was forced open and she released the syringe.
He settled her in a chair beside Finnick. Plutarch put a bowl of broth in front of her. A roll. Slipped a spoon in her hand. "Eat," he said, kinder than Haymitch.
Haymitch sat in front of her. "Katniss, I'm going to explain what happened. I don't want you to ask any questions until I’m through. Do you understand?”
She nodded numbly. And then he told her.
There was a plan to break them out of the arena from the moment the Quell was announced. The victor tributes from Three, Four, Six, Seven, Eight, and 11 had varying degrees of knowledge about it. Plutarch Heavensbee had been, for several years, part of an undercover group aiming to overthrow the Capitol. He made sure the wire was among the weapons. Beetee was in charge of blowing a hole in the force field. The bread they had received in the arena was code for the time of the rescue. The district where the bread originated indicated the day. Three. The number of rolls the hour. Twenty-four. The hovercraft belongs to District Thirteen, which still existed despite the rumors to the contrary. They were currently on a very roundabout journey to District Thirteen.
Meanwhile, most of the districts in Panem were in full-scale rebellion.
Haymitch stopped to see if she was following.
It was an awful lot to take in, this elaborate plan in which she was a piece, just as she was meant to be a piece in the Hunger Games. Used without consent, without knowledge. At least in the Hunger Games, she had known she was being played with.
"You didn't tell me." Her voice was as ragged as Finnick's.
“Neither you nor Peeta were told. We couldn’t risk it,” said Plutarch. “I was even worried you might mention my indiscretion with the watch during the Games.” He pulled out his pocket watch and ran his thumb across the crystal, lighting up the mockingjay. “Of course, when I showed you this, I was merely tipping you off about the arena. As a mentor. I thought it might be a first step toward gaining your trust. I never dreamed you’d be a tribute again.”
“I still don’t understand why Peeta and I weren’t let in on the plan,” she said.
“Because once the force field blew, you’d be the first ones they’d try to capture, and the less you knew, the better,” said Haymitch.
“The first ones? Why?” she asked, trying to hold on to any train of thought at all.
“For the same reason the rest of us agreed to die to keep you alive,” said Finnick.
“No, Johanna tried to kill me,” she said.
“Johanna knocked you out to cut the tracker from your arm and lead Brutus and Enobaria away from you,” said Haymitch.
“What?” Her head still ached, and she didn't understand. “I don’t know what you’re-”
“We had to save you because you’re the mockingjay, Katniss,” said Plutarch. “While you live, the revolution lives.”
The bird, the pin, the song, the berries, the watch, the cracker, the dress that burst into flames. She was the mockingjay. The one that survived despite the Capitol’s plans. The symbol of the rebellion.
“Peeta,” Katniss whispered, her heart sinking.
“The others kept Peeta alive because if he died, we knew there’d be no keeping you in an alliance,” said Haymitch. “And we couldn’t risk leaving you unprotected.” His words were matter-of-fact, his expression unchanged, but he coudn't hide the tinge of gray that colored his face.
“Where is Peeta?” Katniss finally hissed at him, staring him down.
“He was picked up by the Capitol along with Johanna and Enobaria,” said Haymitch. And finally he had the decency to drop his gaze.
Technically, she was unarmed. But no one should ever underestimate the harm of fingernails on an unprepared target. She lunged across the table, raking hers down Haymitch's face, causing blood to flow and damage to one eye. Then they were both screaming terrible, terrible things at one another, and Finnick was trying to drag her out, and she knew it was all Haymitch could do not to rip her apart. But she was the mockingjay. She was the mockingjay, and it was too hard keeping her alive as it was.
---
The drug they used on her caused sedation, not sleep, so she was trapped in fuzzy misery. All she could think of was Peeta, trapped on a similar table, while they tried to break him for information he didn't have.
“Katniss. Katniss, I’m sorry.” Finnick’s voice camefrom the bed next to hers and slipped into her consciousness. “I wanted to go back for him and Johanna, but I couldn’t move.”
She didn't answer. Finnick Odair's good intentions meant less than nothing.
“It’s better for him than Johanna. They’ll figure out he doesn’t know anything pretty fast. And they won’t kill him if they think they can use him against you,” said Finnick.
“Like bait?” she asked the ceiling. “Like how they’ll use Annie for bait, Finnick?”
She could hear him weeping but didn't care. They probably wouldn't even bother to question her -- she was too far gone. Gone right off the deep end years ago in her Games. Katniss was headed in the same direction. Maybe she was already crazy and no one had the heart to tell her. She felt crazy enough.
“I wish she was dead,” he said. “I wish they were all dead and we were, too. It would be best.”
Well, there was no good response to that. She could hardly dispute it, with her syringe and intent to kill Peeta.
---
She locked herself away, mentally. Made people's voices sound like clicking insects in the jungle -- dangerous, but only if approached. She'd moan for more painkillers if things became too real.
Until one day, when someone came by to see her. Someone she couldn't block away, because he really understood how she operated.
"Gale," she croaked.
“Hey, Catnip.” He reached down and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. One side of his face had been burned fairly recently. His arm was in a sling, and Katniss could see bandages under his miner’s shirt. What happened to him? How was he even there? Something very bad had happened back home.
And suddenly, she was swimming back to consciousness in a hurry, because there was just one question. "Prim?" she gasped.
“She’s alive. So is your mother. I got them out in time,” he said.
“They’re not in District Twelve?” she asked.
“After the Games, they sent in planes. Dropped firebombs.”
A new kind of horror began to rise up inside her as Katniss imagined firebombs hitting the Seam.
“They’re not in District Twelve?” she repeated. As if saying it would somehow fend off the truth.
"Katniss," Gale said gently, using the voice he did when approached a fatally wounded animal. Instinctively, she raised her hand to block out his words, but he caught it and held on tightly.
"Don't."
"Katniss," he said, softly. "There is no District Twelve."
[and lo, Katniss is totally alive. Warning for nonconsensual drug use and violence! Stolen from Catching Fire, which is officially done with as of this post. :D]
Why were they keeping her alive? Because if she died, quietly, it would be a victory. Katniss' death needed to be public and violent as possible, and she hadn't died in the Games. She would receive a criminal's death, on every screen in Panem.
She couldn't even open her eyelids, though her right arm flopped across her body. She had no motor coordination, and for that matter, she didn't even know that she still had fingers. But she could move that arm enough to pull the tubes off.
When the beeping went off, she faded away again before she could figure out why.
---
When she surfaced again, her hands were tied down to the table, her tubes back in her arm. She could open her eyes and even lift her head slightly, and now she could see that she was in a large room with low ceilings and a silvery light. From the other row of beds, facing her own, she could hear the breathing of what she assumed were her fellow victors. Directly across from her was Beetee, with about ten machines hooked up to him.
Let them die. She pleaded, mentally, wanting to scream, and slammed her head back down to her table and was out again.
---
When she finally, truly woke, the restraints were gone. She could raise her hand and found fingers she was able to command again. Katniss pushed herself to a sitting position and held onto the padded table until she was able to focus on her surroundings. Her left arm was bandaged, but the tubes were no longer connected to her.
She was alone, save for Beetee, who still lay in his bed, sustained by an army of machines. Where were the others? Peeta, Finnick, Enobaria -- there was one more, too, at least one more alive before the bombs started going off.
“Peeta....” she whispered. All she had wanted was to protect him. She was still resolved to. Since she had failed to keep him safe in life, she had to find him and kill him now, before the Capitol could choose the agonizing means of his death. She carefully slid off the table, looking around for a weapon.
Syringes. Perfect. All she needed was air and a clear shot at one of his veins. She paused for a moment, considering if she should kill Beetee, too. But if she did, the alarms would start to sound before she could get to Peeta. She would finish him off later if she was able.
There were no guards around. Undoubtedly she was miles under the Training Center or something, somewhere where the odds of her escape would be astronomically poor.
She crept down the hallway, finding a door sightly ajar. She held her syringe tight in her hand, flattening herself against the wall to hear the voices within.
"Communications are down in Seven, Ten and Twelve. But Eleven has control of transportation now, so there's at least a hope of them getting some food out.
Plutarch Heavensbee? That was who it sounded like, anyway. Katniss was confused, until a hoarse voice asked a question.
"No, I'm sorry. There's no way I can get you to Four. But I've given special orders for her retrieval if possible. It's the best I can do, Finnick."
Finnick.
Katniss' mind struggled to make sense of the conversation, of the fact that it was taking place between Plutarch Heavensbee and Finnick. Was he so near and dear to the Capitol that he'd be excused of his crimes? Or did he really have no idea what Beetee actually intended. He croaked out something else. Something heavy with despair.
"Don't be stupid. That's the worst thing you could do. Get her killed for sure. As long as you're alive, they'll keep her alive as bait," said Haymitch.
Haymitch! Katniss banged through the door and stumbled into the room. Haymitch, Plutarch, and a very beat-up Finnick sat around a table laid with a meal no one was eating. Daylight streamed through the curved windows, and in the distance, she could see the top of a forest of trees. They were flying.
"Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?" asked Haymitch, annoyance clear in his voice. But as she careened forward, he stepped up and caught her wrists, steadying her. "So it's you and a syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans.” Katniss stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Drop it." She felt pressure increase on her wrist until her hand was forced open and she released the syringe.
He settled her in a chair beside Finnick. Plutarch put a bowl of broth in front of her. A roll. Slipped a spoon in her hand. "Eat," he said, kinder than Haymitch.
Haymitch sat in front of her. "Katniss, I'm going to explain what happened. I don't want you to ask any questions until I’m through. Do you understand?”
She nodded numbly. And then he told her.
There was a plan to break them out of the arena from the moment the Quell was announced. The victor tributes from Three, Four, Six, Seven, Eight, and 11 had varying degrees of knowledge about it. Plutarch Heavensbee had been, for several years, part of an undercover group aiming to overthrow the Capitol. He made sure the wire was among the weapons. Beetee was in charge of blowing a hole in the force field. The bread they had received in the arena was code for the time of the rescue. The district where the bread originated indicated the day. Three. The number of rolls the hour. Twenty-four. The hovercraft belongs to District Thirteen, which still existed despite the rumors to the contrary. They were currently on a very roundabout journey to District Thirteen.
Meanwhile, most of the districts in Panem were in full-scale rebellion.
Haymitch stopped to see if she was following.
It was an awful lot to take in, this elaborate plan in which she was a piece, just as she was meant to be a piece in the Hunger Games. Used without consent, without knowledge. At least in the Hunger Games, she had known she was being played with.
"You didn't tell me." Her voice was as ragged as Finnick's.
“Neither you nor Peeta were told. We couldn’t risk it,” said Plutarch. “I was even worried you might mention my indiscretion with the watch during the Games.” He pulled out his pocket watch and ran his thumb across the crystal, lighting up the mockingjay. “Of course, when I showed you this, I was merely tipping you off about the arena. As a mentor. I thought it might be a first step toward gaining your trust. I never dreamed you’d be a tribute again.”
“I still don’t understand why Peeta and I weren’t let in on the plan,” she said.
“Because once the force field blew, you’d be the first ones they’d try to capture, and the less you knew, the better,” said Haymitch.
“The first ones? Why?” she asked, trying to hold on to any train of thought at all.
“For the same reason the rest of us agreed to die to keep you alive,” said Finnick.
“No, Johanna tried to kill me,” she said.
“Johanna knocked you out to cut the tracker from your arm and lead Brutus and Enobaria away from you,” said Haymitch.
“What?” Her head still ached, and she didn't understand. “I don’t know what you’re-”
“We had to save you because you’re the mockingjay, Katniss,” said Plutarch. “While you live, the revolution lives.”
The bird, the pin, the song, the berries, the watch, the cracker, the dress that burst into flames. She was the mockingjay. The one that survived despite the Capitol’s plans. The symbol of the rebellion.
“Peeta,” Katniss whispered, her heart sinking.
“The others kept Peeta alive because if he died, we knew there’d be no keeping you in an alliance,” said Haymitch. “And we couldn’t risk leaving you unprotected.” His words were matter-of-fact, his expression unchanged, but he coudn't hide the tinge of gray that colored his face.
“Where is Peeta?” Katniss finally hissed at him, staring him down.
“He was picked up by the Capitol along with Johanna and Enobaria,” said Haymitch. And finally he had the decency to drop his gaze.
Technically, she was unarmed. But no one should ever underestimate the harm of fingernails on an unprepared target. She lunged across the table, raking hers down Haymitch's face, causing blood to flow and damage to one eye. Then they were both screaming terrible, terrible things at one another, and Finnick was trying to drag her out, and she knew it was all Haymitch could do not to rip her apart. But she was the mockingjay. She was the mockingjay, and it was too hard keeping her alive as it was.
---
The drug they used on her caused sedation, not sleep, so she was trapped in fuzzy misery. All she could think of was Peeta, trapped on a similar table, while they tried to break him for information he didn't have.
“Katniss. Katniss, I’m sorry.” Finnick’s voice camefrom the bed next to hers and slipped into her consciousness. “I wanted to go back for him and Johanna, but I couldn’t move.”
She didn't answer. Finnick Odair's good intentions meant less than nothing.
“It’s better for him than Johanna. They’ll figure out he doesn’t know anything pretty fast. And they won’t kill him if they think they can use him against you,” said Finnick.
“Like bait?” she asked the ceiling. “Like how they’ll use Annie for bait, Finnick?”
She could hear him weeping but didn't care. They probably wouldn't even bother to question her -- she was too far gone. Gone right off the deep end years ago in her Games. Katniss was headed in the same direction. Maybe she was already crazy and no one had the heart to tell her. She felt crazy enough.
“I wish she was dead,” he said. “I wish they were all dead and we were, too. It would be best.”
Well, there was no good response to that. She could hardly dispute it, with her syringe and intent to kill Peeta.
---
She locked herself away, mentally. Made people's voices sound like clicking insects in the jungle -- dangerous, but only if approached. She'd moan for more painkillers if things became too real.
Until one day, when someone came by to see her. Someone she couldn't block away, because he really understood how she operated.
"Gale," she croaked.
“Hey, Catnip.” He reached down and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. One side of his face had been burned fairly recently. His arm was in a sling, and Katniss could see bandages under his miner’s shirt. What happened to him? How was he even there? Something very bad had happened back home.
And suddenly, she was swimming back to consciousness in a hurry, because there was just one question. "Prim?" she gasped.
“She’s alive. So is your mother. I got them out in time,” he said.
“They’re not in District Twelve?” she asked.
“After the Games, they sent in planes. Dropped firebombs.”
A new kind of horror began to rise up inside her as Katniss imagined firebombs hitting the Seam.
“They’re not in District Twelve?” she repeated. As if saying it would somehow fend off the truth.
"Katniss," Gale said gently, using the voice he did when approached a fatally wounded animal. Instinctively, she raised her hand to block out his words, but he caught it and held on tightly.
"Don't."
"Katniss," he said, softly. "There is no District Twelve."
[and lo, Katniss is totally alive. Warning for nonconsensual drug use and violence! Stolen from Catching Fire, which is officially done with as of this post. :D]