Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun was hidden, remnants of the deadly winter still piled in the square. The snow hadn't fallen in weeks, but the gaunt faces and empty streets of District 12 showed that its impact was far from over. 

However, the battle for survival that all members of 12 had to fight, would be their only battle this year. The children that usually filled the square in neat lines were scattered loosely, holding on to siblings and parents, safe another season. Though death was always right around the corner. 

Instead of having needless space taken up by such a small pool to choose from, Effie had elected for Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch to stand beside her on the stage. Facing the District, as they had when they were chosen for their first Games. 

Peeta stood there now, beside Haymitch, Effie and her two bowls on his other side. He felt calm, calmer than he had for any other reaping. He supposed that knowing the result reduced the stress. 

He had forced Haymitch to agree, begged him only minutes after the announcement was made. No matter what, he had to go in the arena. It had to be him and Katniss, he didn't trust anyone else to protect her, not even herself. 

He watched her now, and the recorded video played, the one every citizen of Panem knew by heart.

Her jaw was set, as it so often was, she spent more time hiding her expressions than revealing them. Peeta had spent months trying to decipher her face, but every time he thought he knew what she was thinking, she proved him wrong. 

The video came to an end and Effie teetered towards the first bowl, her heels clacking on the stone.

“Ladies first!” she said, attempting her usual peppiness, but Peeta heard her voice break.

He felt bad for Effie, in a weird, disconnected, way. She had spent years meeting tributes, working with them, comforting them, only to watch them die, usually brutally. He knew her life was exponentially easier than every single member of District 12, but watching kids die year after year, had to take a toll. And then finally, she had succeeded. She’d won, and in a way no one had before. Two tributes, both alive, both more popular than any other Victors had been. And then she was going to lose them and be stuck with only Haymitch and the usual starved tributes that died before the first sunset.

“Katniss Everdeen!”

There was no reaction, not from Katniss or the crowd, Peeta could see Prim and her mother standing near the front, Gale beside them. 

He’d come to a moment of realization over the past weeks, Gale didn't matter, and Peeta didn't care about him. He cared about Katniss and keeping her alive through the Games. He knew that outcome meant he wouldn't make it, so he couldn’t bring himself to care about what she did after, as long as she was alive to do it.

He watched her shamelessly, he figured it no longer mattered, he was a dead man walking. He always had been, his mother had known it and she’d told him so.

District 12 might actually have a winner this year , she’d never meant him, and even now as he stood, faced with his inevitable death once again, no one truly thought he would survive. Katniss was the survivor, he had spent his first Games hiding while she had fought for him. He had only slowed her down, if he had died she would still be a Victor, if she had, he would have been gone for months.

“And now, the boys,” came Effie's trembling voice, as she reached down, her hand twitching between the two slips. It wasn't the playacting indecision of previous years, where her only goal had been screen time. It was true fear, the knowledge that whichever slip she chose condemned someone to die, someone she knew. It was probably the closest she'd ever come to realizing what it was like to be a citizen of District 12.  

She chose her slip, lifting it in the air, a faint reenactment of showmanship. Peeta's heart beat steadily, he knew what would happen.

“Peeta Mellark,” Effie's voice broke, he knew that she had hoped he would stick around. She knew nothing of his scheme and only wished for a reprieve from drunken Haymitch and slaughtered tributes. 

Peeta had barely begun to step forward when Haymitch grabbed him from behind.

“I volunteer as tribute,” came his gruff voice, echoing across the silent square.

In a second everything changed. Peeta's even heartbeats exploded forward like the Capitols trains, Effie squeaked in shock, the crowd gasped, but none of it mattered. Because Katniss was smiling . Not the sweet fake smile she gave Snow, not the soft smile he had seen her give Prim, but a proud smile. The smile she’d worn when she’d drugged him in the first Games so she could go to the feast. The smile of a plan accomplished. 

“No!” 

Peeta shoved Haymitch off him, but the older man simply grabbed him again. Peeta was regretting the weeks of training he’d forced on the man, clearly it had been working. He jerked again but Haymitch held him tightly, both his arms held behind him. He could smell the blonde man's putrid breath as he breathed in Peeta's ear.

“Don’t fight it, boy, it'll only stir them up.”

Peeta knew who ‘they’ were. The Districts, if he was seen resisting, resisting the rules of the Capitol. It would only be seen as motivation, only flame to the fire Katniss was desperately trying to douse. And the higher it rose, the more Snow would crack down on her. 

Peeta grit his teeth, glaring at Haymitch as he pushed him away. He moved back and watched as Haymitch and Katniss, who was resolutely not looking at him, stepped forward, hands raised.

No applause came, for a moment there was silence as District 12 stared up at their Victors, the bold girl from the seam and the secluded drunk. But after a moment, the watching crowd moved as one, their left hand came to their mouths and they raised it, three fingers up. Peeta watched as Haymitch and Katniss returned the gesture, their faces expressionless.

Peeta felt eyes on him, he turned and saw Prim in the crowd. She looked at him like she could see through him, like Katniss did. And he suddenly felt scared, more scared than he had ever been. Because in the arena he could fight, in the arena he could throw himself in between her and harm. But in the Capital all he could do was smile and appease the wealthy, hoping against hope they would care a fraction of the amount he did. 

He fought to keep his face straight, he wanted to scream. To howl and break things and run until he couldn't anymore. But he refrained, he had a new game to play, a game you couldn't win by being the strongest or the fastest. A game of charm. Well, he’d charmed the Capital once, he could certainly do it again.

And as he was pulled backward by Peacekeepers, pulled away from 12, he realized that he'd had the easy job last time. The inside of the arena may have been bloody and full of betrayal, but the outside was rotten, rotten to the core, and Peeta had to decay right along with it. 

If he was good at anything, it was blending in.

Chapter Text

The train car was silent. They’d been shoved unceremoniously to the station, no cameras and no goodbyes, then pushed onto the train. Through force of habit, the group of four had gone to the dining car and were now staring at each other, unspeaking. There was tension bubbling all around, even Effie seemed unsure where to start. 

Peeta was the first to break.

“What the hell Haymitch!” he hissed at the older man, who was staring at his empty glass like it would reveal the secrets of the universe. 

He shrugged at Peeta, and his eyes looked a thousand years old.

“She's convincing when she wants to be, kid.”

Peeta whirled on Katniss who was sitting beside him, the look of pride still gracing her features.

“You told him to volunteer for me?” he said in disbelief. 

She glared at him.

“I’m tired of you acting like your life doesn't matter,” she said, in a voice that made him feel like a child.

Peeta slammed his fist into the table.

“And I’m tired of all of you keeping me in the dark! You treat me like I’m a stupid kid, too ‘pure’ to know the gritty details! I have a family, I have people I care about. And instead of helping me, you damned me to sit and watch you die!”

He pushed himself up from the table.

“Well thanks, can’t wait to spend the next fifty years drunk and alone, sending kids to their death.”

And he stomped away down the hall without looking back.

He didn't go far, the train wasn't that large. But he ended up in the last car, it had large windows that showed the countryside whipping past. He didn’t know what to do, he wanted to scream, scream and shake Katniss until she saw sense. Why did she care so much about his stupid life, he wasn't anyone, she’d made that clear hundreds of times. And now her life was in Haymitch's unsteady hands. Peeta groaned and pushed his head into the glass, he was their mentor now, and it was his job to make the rudest people he’d met look desirable. He couldn't exactly tell Caesar Flickerman that he was in love with Haymitch. 

As he watched retreating forests through the window he heard the door creak open. He sighed.

“Go away Katniss.”

“Wrong Tribute.”

Peeta didn't turn around.

“Look, kid,”

“Stop calling me that.”

He heard Haymitch sigh and felt him sit down beside him. He moved so loudly, like Peeta did, like Katniss never had. He wondered if she’d be better off without either of them, the drunk and the legless baker, stumbling after her as she climbed trees like she was born for it. 

“Look Peeta, I’m sorry. I was on your side, it's not like I want to go back. It's just..” 

“It's just, what?” Peeta finally faced Haymitch, “Why can't you just tell me the truth for once, why is it always such a big secret,”

Haymitch looked at him, really looked at him. Peeta felt uncomfortable. 

“If you had gone in there with Katniss she would have done everything in her power to keep you alive.”

Peeta doubted this but didn't interrupt.

Haymitch scowled, clearly reading Peetas expression, “I’m starting to agree with what she said, you need to start valuing your own life. You didn't see her the day the Quell was announced.”

“You told me she was very convincing,”

“It wasn't what she said, it was how she said it. Peeta, everything is much more complicated than either of you know.”

Peeta opened his mouth to start shouting again, but Haymitch slapped his hand over his mouth. He stared up and Peeta followed his gaze, it led to a small divot in the wall, a camera. Right. They were in the Capital’s territory now.

“I’m not going in there to save you, kid.”

This time Peeta didn't argue with the term.

“I’m going in there so she survives, she has to survive. She won't sacrifice herself for me, but she would for you. And everything will go up in smoke if she does.”

Peeta narrowed his eyes, “Everything?”

Haymitch nodded solemnly, “Everything.”

“And I assume she doesn’t know,”

“She’s a terrible actor, and for this to work we need her to be herself.”

“We?”

Haymitch shook his head, not here .

Peeta sighed, even when he was in on the secret he was still in the dark.

“Now will you come back and join us? It's already a bloodbath. Katniss told Effie she didn't like her hair.”

Peeta smiled, “I can’t believe I have to make both of you likeable.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Dinner was subdued. Katniss had apologized to Effie and was now sitting silently stabbing her food like it had personally wronged her. 

Peeta had agreed to Effie's plan of golden trinkets to show they were a team. She’d asked him for Katniss and Haymitch he’d realized, because he was their representative. It was odd, going into the games in the role of a Mentor. Disconnected from the violence, but vastly more aware of it than most other citizens of Panem. 

He desperately wanted to talk to Katniss, she was still pissed at him, more than she usually was. He wanted to apologize, he shouldn't be mad at her for wanting to protect him, it was what they did for each other. 

But as dinner wrapped up, they all went to go watch the reaping recap, Peeta was glad to see his notebook had been brought onto the train. He dutifully put stars next to the Tributes, noting those from the Careers Districts. Volunteers from 1 and 2 were unsurprising.

He notes the older woman that volunteered from District 4. He watches her, Mags the screen says her name is, stand next to the other tribute, Finnick. Muscular, classically handsome, a potential winner. He doesn't say it, but he sees them mirrored in the strength of Katniss and the years of drunken dilapidation of Haymitch.

Johanna Mason, the only living female victor from 7, wears the same facial expression Katniss had when her name was pulled from the bowl. The male Victor from 11 is an older man named Chaff, Haymitch laughs darkly as he watches the man wave to the camera.

“Reunited in the arena, how sweet,” he says, Katniss glares at him. 

Peeta watches Caesar Flickerman react to Haymitch volunteering for him. He's teary eyed and he recalls Peetas and Katniss's story. And how their love story just keeps getting sadder. The other commentator remarks that this will be ‘the best games ever’, then the screen goes dark.

Haymitch leaves without a word. Effie tells them to get some sleep, they need to be ready for cameras tomorrow, then goes to bed. 

They sit in silence, him and Katniss. The only light coming from the moonlight that's filtering through the trees. Peeta has so much to say, he always does when it comes to her, but he can't find the words.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. Her legs are curled up under her as she sits on the couch. She's looking at him, only flashes of her face visible as the train speeds down the track. Her eyes are shining.

“I’m sorry too,” says Peeta, “I shouldn't be unhappy that you were trying to keep me safe,”

“But it's okay if you are, there's no reason for you to be happy with me.”

“Katniss…”

“No, Peeta, listen.” She got up and walked across the room to the chair where he sat, “I’m sorry, I’ve been cruel to you. I've just spent every waking minute terrified.”

He could see tears forming in her eyes.

“Terrified for myself, for my family, for you. More than I have my entire life.” She was shaking, and Peeta was weak.

He stood up, arms wide open and she fell into them. He hated how much he enjoyed it.

“I don't want there to be a revolution.” she whispered into his shoulder, “I know it's what I’m supposed to want, but I just want life to go back to normal.”

Peeta thought of Haymitch's meaningful looks from earlier, his need to keep Katniss alive. He realized, thinking of the shouting crowds on their tour, the spray painted Mockingjays in the tunnels, that no one really knew Katniss. She wasn’t a rebel in a big way, she never meant to go against Snow. She was a rebel because she cared, all her actions, volunteering for Prim, covering Rue in flowers. They had not come from a hatred for the government, or from ideas of showing the horror of the games. They came from love, they came from genuine care for the people around her, in a world where empathy was unusual Katniss was a rebel.

And Peeta suddenly understood what Haymitch had meant by Katniss needing to be herself. Because in a world full of death costumed as entertainment, empathy made no sense. In a world of people brought up with death everywhere, brought up starving, Katniss made no sense. But what Snow didn’t understand is that he had made her. The games had made her, the death of her father, the near starvation of her mother, her sister being reaped, they’d made her. And they hadn’t made her cruel, and bloodthirsty, they’d made her kind. Kind and uncontrollable.

So Peeta held her tight as she shook, but didn't say a word. She wished for her life to go back to normal, but there was no normal in Panem anymore, and she had to finish what she started.

Chapter Text

Peeta hadn’t slept well. He hadn't slept well since the tour, since Katniss was beside him. But he had no words to express to her his need to be near her. At least not in a way that didn't make him feel vaguely squeamish.  

So instead he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and made his way through the rumbling train. He had a plan for this morning, they would be at the Capitol soon and Peeta had a very important question to ask.

He was greeted by a cheery Effie, a resolutely not cheery Haymitch, and a tired-looking Katniss. 

They’d stood, arms wrapped around each other, late into the night. They’d barely said a word, and eventually Peeta had untangled his arms from Katniss, kissed the top of her head, and told her to get some sleep. He’d lain awake for hours, his lips tingling where they’d touched her.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking,” Peeta said as he sat down next to Effie, “You two have never fought together, as a pair.”

They stared at him blankly. Peeta vaguely realized that he and Haymitch had switched places, both literally and figuratively. A year ago it had been him and Katniss staring blankly at Effie and Haymitch. The thought made him feel rather glum, so he pushed it out of his mind.

“In fact,” Peeta elaborated, steeling himself, “Haymitch, we don’t know anything about how you won your Games or much about your Games at all.”

Haymitch was glaring at him, clearly detecting Peetas unspoken words, Because you agreed I’d be in the arena so we didn't need to think about your strengths.

Katniss seemed to perk up at this, she put down the roll she’d be slowly shredding and turned towards Haymitch.

“It was a Quell, wasn't it?” 

Haymitch grunted, which Katniss seemed to take as an agreement.

“What was special about it?”

The question hung in the air, Haymitch stirred his coffee slowly.

Eventually, Effie piped up.

“There were double the amount of Tributes. Two boys and two girls from each District.”

Katniss gasped quietly, “Forty-eight Tributes?”

Effie nodded, and Peeta suddenly wondered how old she was, you could never tell with people from the Capitol. Had she seen Haymitches Games? Had she been involved with the Games as she was now?

“How did you win?” said Katniss, ever tactful. Haymitch glared at her.

“Listen,” said Peeta, looking at the older man, “It's either you tell us, or we go watch the tape, whichever you prefer.”

Haymitch considered this for a moment. Peeta had meant what he’d said, it was hard to talk about the Games, even with other Tributes. It was a very personal thing, you were the only one who made it out, well, most of the time.

“Do you remember the fire that you got caught in?” Haymitch asked, turning towards Katniss, “The way it chased you through the woods?”

Katniss nodded, her face grave.

Peeta remembered it too, the Careers, they’d seen the fire. So deep in the forest, clearly on purpose. And they’d run, whooping, hoping it was her. Peeta still remembered the ice that filled his veins when he’d spotted her in the pond.

“Do you remember what you were doing before that?” Haymitch continued, not taking his eyes away from Katniss’s face.

She shrugged, “Just walking, trying to get as far away from the fighting as possible.”

“You had succeeded, you were right near the edge of the arena.”

Katniss looked confused, and Haymith turned towards Peeta and Effie, seemingly inviting them into the conversation.

“When you’re in the arena it seems massive, it seems like the whole world is in there. But there's an end, there always is. They need to keep you contained, close enough to kill but far enough away to run.”

Peeta was losing the thread, but he didn't interrupt.

“That's what I did, I found the end.”

“The end of the arena?” asked Katniss.

Haymitch nodded, “It was a cliff, it didn't look like the end. It looked like the wilderness spread out for miles beyond it. I was disappointed when I found it, until I realized what it was made of.”

Peeta had seen past arenas advertised on TV. They became tourist attractions once the Games were over, and they were like massive upside-down fishbowls. The older ones had metal scaffolding, but the newer ones were essentially massive, impenetrable screens.

“It's a screen, isn't it?” said Peeta. Haymitch wasn't looking at him, he wasn't looking at anyone, he was lost in memory.

“Yes, there is a screen. But a screen can break, so, around the whole arena, from the ground to the sky, is a force field.”

“Like the one at the top of the Tribute center,” said Katniss.

“Exactly, and for just the same reason, there was one at the bottom of the cliff.”

“Tributes can’t kill each other if they kill themselves,” Peeta said gravely.

“It bounces them back, it bounces everything back.”

Peeta raised an eyebrow, Haymitch looked different. Proud, but in a sad way, there was no glee in it.

“It was me and a girl from District 1, in the end. We’d each taken some hard hits, I’d lost my knife taking out her eye. I knew she still had an ax, that had been her weapon of choice the whole Games. I remember her using it in the Tribute Center.”

Peeta held his breath, he knew it had been him who had asked Haymitch to tell his story. But now that it was actually happening he didn't know what to think.

“I was losing blood fast, I knew I couldn't outlast her. I stumbled to the cliff, we hadn't been far, I never went far from it.”

Even Effie was silent, the whole car was in stasis, nothing could have torn them from Haymitch's story.

“She threw the ax, I knew that she would. I dodged, and it went over the cliff. I remember her face, proud, she had fewer injuries, and she was losing less blood. It wouldn't take long.”

Haymitch’s face changed, he smiled, and it could cut glass.

“The ax,” he paused, and stared right into Peeta's eyes, “Bounced back.”

Effie's hand flew to her mouth. 

“Went right between her eyes, and then it was over.”

Peeta was at a loss for words. He had known almost nothing about Haymitch’s Games, they’d been before he was born, and it wasn't exactly a story parents told to their children. There was a revolution clamoring for Katniss, when they had a perfectly rebellious Tribute already. Haymitch had used the Capitol’s power to win, he had used their own technology against them. He was just like Katniss, forcing the Capitol to choose between two Victors or zero. Putting them under his power, forcing them to be involved. 

“So that's why they sent that fire after you,” Haymitch said, nodding towards Katniss, “You were getting too close to the force field, they didn't know what I told you about them.”

“They thought I was going to use it like you did?”

“I'm sure it crossed their minds, it wouldn't have worked even if you had.”

This surprised Peeta.

“Why not?”

This time when Haymitch looked at him his eyes were clear, focused, the way they’d been in the train car yesterday when he’d told Peeta that Katniss needed to stay alive. 

“Two years later they miraculously improved the force fields, instead of just being walls, they were electrified. So if a weapon, or a person, hit them, they’d be hit with a massive electric shock, could even kill them.”

Haymitch's eyes were boring into Peetas.

“But it weakened them in a way, they can get overpowered, fry themselves. That's why they are only used in the arena. The one at the Tribute Center won’t fry you, it'll just send you flying.”

Peeta knew he was supposed to be getting more out of this, but he still felt completely in the dark. It was worse this time because it was his fault, he was finally being told the plan but he didn't have the brain to understand it. He’d always known Katniss was smart, too smart for her own good in some ways, but Haymitch was slowly revealing himself to be just as calculated and sure, if not more so, than Katniss. After years of pickling his brain it was work to see that spark, but when it came through it was just as bright as Katniss’s, strong enough to light a fire.

The train pulling to the station and stopping was so jarring it made Peeta jump. Even Effie, usually on top of everything, had to take a moment to get her head on straight.

“Right,” she chirped, smoothing her neon dress, “We’ve got a tight schedule, Katniss and Haymitch, you've got to meet with your prep teams immediately, they’ve got a lot of work to do before the Opening Ceremony tonight.”

Now that he wasn't a tribute it seemed Peeta required less preparation. He supposed there was a difference between parading down the street in a chariot and clapping in the stands.

Still, he had a suit left out by Portia, and one member of his old prep team to fix his hair and apply a light layer of makeup to his face. Once she was done she kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m so glad you're not going back in there,” she said, and Peeta was shocked by the pain in her voice. It seemed it wasn't only the Districts who disliked the Games this year, many of the Tributes were Capitol favorites.

After she left Peeta wandered toward the window, he could see pinpricks of people below. They were slightly distorted, it took Peeta a moment to realize why. 

The force field.

He was right below the roof, so the force field was directly in front of him. He’d always thought they were perfectly smooth, but as he squinted into the rays of the sun he could see that there was a blemish. A small square that shimmered, almost unnoticeable, but not entirely invisible. Odd, it seemed the more time he spent in the Capitol the more cracks he spotted, it was far from the perfect image it projected.

“Peeta?” came a voice, Effie. She stood in the doorway, her gold hair shimmering.

“Oh,” she smiled at him as he walked towards her, “Don't you look handsome.”

He blushed, he really had grown to like Effie. She was aloof, but she wasn’t cruel. And that was enough for Peeta.

“Now come along,” she said, leading him down the hallway towards the elevator, “We have to check in with Katniss and Haymitch and then we can take our seats.” 

“Are they going to be dressed like we were last year?” Peeta asked as they entered the elevator. His suit had hints of fire detailing, black gems in the shape of flames along his sleeves and up his chest. 

Effie nodded, “They’ve altered it slightly but the concept is the same.” 

The doors opened to reveal the ground floor, the room was full of people. Peeta remembered during his Games all the Tributes stayed near their chariots, this opposite seems true this year. Tributes were scattered, all talking to each other. Peeta spotted Haymitch beside the District 11 Tributes, talking very quickly, his face serious. 

Even Katniss is involved, she’s beside her chariot deep in conversation with Finnick Odair. It takes Peeta a minute to realize what he’s wearing, or rather, what he isn’t wearing. He seems to be wrapped in netting, fitting, being from the fishing District, with it expertly knotted so as not to reveal anything explicit. But Peeta can very easily fill in the blanks. 

Peeta feels his chest get tight as he watches Finnick lean close to Katniss, his handsome face inches from hers. Underneath the layers of makeup, much more than last year, Peeta can see that she’s blushing. He’s about to walk over and do…something. When something catches his eye. 

Haymitch is no longer beside the District 11 Tributes, he’s all the way in the corner of the massive room talking to what appears to be no one. His mouth is moving very fast, and he pauses for a moment shifting slightly. Peeta sees he’s in a doorway,  and standing slightly behind him is another man, Plutarch Heavensbee. Peeta blinks quickly, it can’t be him, why would the Head Gamemaker be talking to Haymitch? But before Peeta can wrap his head around it, he vanishes, and Haymitch begins making his way toward Effie and Peeta. 

Effie huffs and teeters off to get Katniss, who is standing alone by the chariot, lost in thought. 

Haymitch appears at Peetas' side, eyes sweeping the room.

“They’ve changed the order of the interviews.” he says quickly, “Katniss will go after me, she’ll be the last person to air.” 

Peeta stares at Haymitch, yet again the man is telling him something seemingly mundane but with an air of importance. 

“Whatever she says will end the interviews, it will stick in the minds of viewers. Like your confession last year,”

Peeta nods slowly, staring out at the other tributes.

“Make it count,” 

Before he can ask Haymitch what the hell he means Effie and Katniss have joined them. 

“Right,” says Effie, “Cinna says no smiling or waving this year,”

Katniss smiles slightly, “Finally, something I’m good at.”

“Now get in your chariot and turn your suits on,” Effie shoves them towards the final chariot in the line, “Peeta and I will meet you after,”

As they take their seats Peeta mulls over Haymitch's words. 

Make it count.

Whatever she says has to make an impact, and not just on the Districts. What do the citizens of the Capitol care about?

Or, rather, what gives them a strong reaction? Tributes they think of as friends going to their deaths? True, but there’s not much Peeta can do with that. What’s second best to a Tribute? 

As the chariots come streaming down the road a switch flips in Peeta's brain. He remembers the recap of the reaping, the female Tribute from District 8, Cecilia. Pulling herself away from her children, the Capitol announcers getting teary-eyed.  

The Capitol loves a tragedy. 

Chapter Text

Peeta barely watched the procession of Chariots, it was much less impressive from all the way up in the stands. It had felt so dramatic, being down there, his hand holding Katniss’s, he’d felt unbreakable. Now, as he watched Katniss and Haymitch scowl up at the watching crowd, he saw how small they looked. 

Everything is small compared to the Capitol.

Peeta shook himself. He needed to start thinking more positively if he was going to get anywhere. Well, not positively, more complexly. Because smiles and laughing didn’t work on Capital crowds, and they certainly weren’t Haymitch and Katniss’s strong suits.

Characterizing them was going to be difficult, Katniss was at least somewhat liked by the Capitol citizens. And fresh in their minds. But Haymitch was unknown beyond his yearly drunken escapades on television. Peeta supposed he could pull the ‘wanting to protect the youth’ angle. But Haymitch had been recorded several years earlier snorting as the two District Twelve tributes died within the first minute of the Games, so it would be hard to pitch that. 

Katniss would be, shockingly, easier. He had an idea, the kind of idea that got him thrown into walls, but he was willing to risk that. And with Katniss going last… well there would certainly be an impact.

Katniss’s bad mood doubled during their short, but eventful, elevator ride back up to the penthouse. Peeta made a note that Johanna seems to be very physically fit, and could potentially be a good ally. She also gave him a look similar to the ones Haymitch had been giving him, ones that made him feel like an idiot wandering around with his hands over his ears.

Haymitch keeps side-eyeing him as they all head to the table to hear the rest of their schedule. 

Peeta hates this, he just wants to know what's going on, but with the constant surveillance, he knows it's impossible. He's meant to figure it all out on his own. 

“So,” says Effie, settling her massive skirts carefully around herself, “Training starts tomorrow, any plans?”

It takes Peeta a second to realize she's talking to him, he's the one with the plans.

“Uh, right,” he says, “I know neither of you are particularly good at talking to people.”

Katniss and Haymitch give him identical scowls.

“But Haymitch, you already know some of the tributes?”

The older man nods, still scowling.

“Right…” Peeta hates this, he really does, he’s horrible at plans. He’s good at having one bright idea and letting it carry him through, but he has to keep it a secret this time. It's not the right moment.

“Katniss, do the opposite of last year.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Show your skills, shoot arrows. These people already know it's your talent, prove to them it's good enough that they either want you as an ally or want to stay as far away from you as possible.”

“I don't want any allies,”

Peeta sighs, and Haymitch pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Look, sweetheart, I know your whole one-woman show worked last year, but this is a whole different Game. Some of these tributes have known each other for years, they’re friends. And they won't hesitate to kill you to protect each other. You’re gonna need some allies to get through this alive.”

“If you can choose four people that you’d consider, that'll be enough,” says Peeta, trying to keep the whining tone out of his voice.

He hates that he won’t be there with her. He knows if he was she’d ask for no allies but each other, and he’d agree to it. But he doesn't trust Haymitch enough to keep her alive, he doesn't believe that he’d throw himself between Katniss and someone else. So they need more people, just the two of them isn't going to work.

“Three.” says Katniss

“Deal.”

Later that evening, when the penthouse is silent, Peeta hears his door creak open. He’s unsurprised to see Katniss standing in the doorway, her silhouette nearly invisible against the dark hallway. He’d recognize her anywhere.

Her steps are silent, as always, as she walks across the floor. A whisper of movement, a hushed question, and her warm body slots beside Peetas. When she finally stills, and her breaths become even, Peeta smiles up at the dark ceiling. Comfort wasn't always common in Twelve, especially not in the Mellark house, but the only thought that comes to mind when he drifts off to sleep is that he's so…. comfortable.

Training seems to go just as Peeta predicted. Each evening Katniss comes back scowling, Haymitch comes back groaning. And neither of them have any more allies than when they entered.

However, on the third day, something happens. Well, multiple somethings. Throughout the day as Peeta wanders through meetings and needlessly fancy meals, other mentors approach him. All of them asking to be Twelves' allies. By the end of the day, every District except One and Two have asked to work with Haymtich and Katniss. 

This positive news is slightly dulled by Katniss’s report of her actions in her evaluation, which leave Haymitch gasping for air and Effie pounding his back.

“Well, whatever score you get, you still have your pick of the litter.”

“It's all due to your good advice, kid,” says Haymitch, his face still red from laughter.

Peeta raises an eyebrow at him.

“They saw her shoot, really shoot,” Haymitch responds as if that explains everything. And, Peeta supposes, it does. Katniss is fierce, and a simple demonstration of that is sure to make an impact.

“And of course, it's not uncommon for successful Tributes to have low scores,” says Effie, “It's a tactic.”

Peeta stops himself from adding that it's a tactic used when someone's skills are secret, and when every Tribute has hours of footage detailing their every skill, secrecy isn't really possible.

They sit in silence for an uncomfortable minute before Effie suggests Katniss and Haymitch clean up before the scores come out.

After the two leave, she turns to Peeta, giving him what he can only describe as a motherly look. Though, not like any his mother gave him.

“Peeta, do you have any plans for the interviews tomorrow?”

She seems earnest, and Peeta realizes that all the years of drunk Haymitch probably gave Effie a pretty good understanding of the role of a mentor. He wonders how many Tributes thought of her as their mentor.

He nods, “I don't think she’ll like it.”

They both know the ‘she’ they’re talking about. 

“She didn't like the last one either,”

Peeta laughs.

“Having all the fun without us?” says a voice from the doorway. 

Peeta hates the effect Katniss’s voice has on him. It draws him in, everything about her draws him in, and he might have to watch her ... No he thinks Don’t think about that, don't ever think about that.

“Oh you know us,” Peeta says, his laugh trailing off.

“You look lovely Katniss,” says Effie, “You should wear your hair down more often.”

Effies right, she does look lovely. Her cheeks are pink from the shower, her shoulder slightly visible as her too-big shirt sags, her hair slightly damp, droplets falling all around her. Peeta needs to get a grip. The look she's giving him won't last once he tells her his plan. 

He rubs his fingers across the scars on his hands.

After the scores, I’ll tell them.  

Chapter Text

The scoring went much better than expected, with Haymitch managing to pull through with a solid 8.

Peeta can see in his eyes that he’s proud of himself, and he should be. His body has aged much more than it ought to have, and he’s been fighting against it for weeks. 

Katniss, always unexpected, receives a 12. 

Effie cheers when the number appears, Katniss looks shocked. 

“I thought they would hate me, try to punish me.”

There’s silence after that. They’re all thinking the same thing, They’re already punishing her.

Effie, per usual, is the first to speak.

“So, Peeta,” she says, turning to face him, “What are your plans for the interviews tomorrow?”

Katniss and Haymitch shift to look at him as well. Haymitch’s face expectant. 

Katniss is smiling at him, Peeta knows he’s about to wipe that smile off her face.

“Well,” he mumbles, looking at the shiny floor, “We know the Capital loves drama.”

Noises of agreement come from the other three.

“So, Haymitch. Pull the friendship angle, be funny, act like it’s a reunion that just happens to be a fight to the death.”

Haymitch half-smiles at him. Peeta knows this idea isn’t great, but Haymitch’s interview is just a warm-up for Katniss. 

“And Katniss…” he starts, forcing his gaze to meet hers, “There’s only one thing the Capitol loves more than drama.”

She raises an eyebrow, expectant.

“Tragedy.”

Peeta can feel Haymitch looking at him, but he stays locked on Katniss, whose expression is unreadable.

“The Capital also loves to pretend to care, pretend to get up in arms when really they’ve been watching bloodshed for years like it’s nothing. You’re a star-crossed lover from District 12, you’ve been forced to return to the games. You need their sympathy, but you have to reinvigorate it. You have to be so desperately tragic they can’t look away.”

Katniss’s eyes are wide, gray like stormy weather, she looks so young, but she can’t be a little girl anymore. 

“You’re going to tell them..” he pauses, freezing this one moment, the moment before her face transforms in rage, “You’re going to tell them that you’re pregnant.”

The silence is devastating. 

Everything moves in slow motion.

Effie slaps her hand to her mouth, her sharp cry muffled. Haymitch releases a deep shout of laughter, a hand coming up to slap Peeta’s shoulder. Katniss doesn’t move.

“Genius,” says Haymitch, standing up, a wide smile across his face, “Genius! They won’t know what hit them.”

“Well, I’d prefer you not lie. But I suppose…” says Effie, waving her hands like a bird’s wings. 

Peeta ignores them both, he has eyes only for Katniss. He had been correct in his hypothesis, her smile had disappeared. But oddly, it had not been replaced with a look of rage. Instead, her face was perfectly blank. It was almost scary. Peeta knew Katniss’s face well, he had watched it for years. It was never still, her brow would furrow, her eyes would narrow, she would bite her lip, in classes, when she was with her friends, even when she was asleep, her face was never still. Her eyes, which had begun to drift slowly downwards, suddenly snapped up to meet his. Her lip twitched, and her eyes were bright.

“Caesar Flickerman is going to have a field day,” she said, a smile slowly shaping her face.

Haymitch’s bellowing laugh filled the room again, “I can’t wait to see his face! Kid, you’re unbeatable.”

Peeta felt his entire body slack. He had been terrified for days, his mind had conjured about a million ways that Katniss could have reacted, storming out, hitting him, hitting Haymitch, screaming, refusing. None of his predictions had been correct.

“I’m not a very good actor,” she says, the first hint of worry crossing her features.

Peeta silently disagrees, she had fooled everyone, including him, during the first Games. 

“You don’t need to be,” said Haymitch, sitting down, “You just need to build it up, walk around it, make it clear you’re hiding something, and wait for Caesar to ask. Then, boom!”

“Well, you’ll certainly make an impact,” says Effie. Peeta can tell she disapproves, but she won’t say it, this is Peeta’s job, and he’s doing it the only way he knows how.

The interviews come much faster than Peeta would have liked, everything is going too fast, before long Peeta will have to hear the dreaded countdown, but he can’t run away this time.

It’s odd, watching the interviews from the audience. Caesar Flickerman almost looks normal from this perspective. Peeta can feel the eyes of the Capital audience around him, every time he smiles or claps their eyes flick to him. 

The life of a victor, he thinks, Always being watched .

He mostly tunes out what’s happening on stage, he knows he should be paying attention, making notes in his head. But all he can think about is Katniss and what she has to do. He’s not worried, he knows she can act when she wants to. He’s worried about his role. He knows the moment she speaks, the camera will be on him. The doting fiance, the loving mentor, the heartbroken father. 

Father. It’s an odd word for Peeta. It’s not one he’d ever associated with himself. His father was almost a ghost, and Peeta had never really planned to have children. He had fantasized, of course, a happy family, but in a different world. 

Haymitch’s turn on stage goes remarkably well. His dry humor went over well with Caesar and the crowd, and his story about a drunken night with Chaff brings the house down with laughter. Peeta was impressed that Haymitch so easily appealed to the Capital audiences while somehow still appearing rebellious.

He gets loud applause as he leaves, and then it’s Katniss’s turn. Snow had requested she wear a wedding dress, and there had been discussion of outfitting it with her trademark fire, but Peeta hadn’t wanted anything to overtake her announcement. Snow can tell her what to wear, but he can’t control what she says.

The interview starts out like normal, with a few jokes and a moment of sadness when Caesar reflects on the loss of Katniss and Peeta’s wedding. He asks Katniss what it’s like to see the roles of Mentor and Tribute switched and if Haymitch is a good fighting partner. The interview is nearing its end, and Peeta is starting to sweat. What if it ends before Katniss can mention the baby?

“It’ll definitely be interesting,” she says, smiling at Caesar, “I knew it would be hard either way. Fiance versus Godfather is never an easy choice.”

Peeta smiles, she always comes through.

“Godfather?” says Caesar, on cue.

Katniss gasps and covers her mouth, looking to all the world like she accidentally revealed a secret.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” she stage-whispers to Caesar.

He raises an eyebrow at her, the perfect co-star.

“Care to elaborate?”

She blushes, Peeta’s impressed. 

“Well…” she sighs, looking out to the audience, to Peeta, “I suppose it can’t hurt.”

Peeta keeps his face in check, half the cameras will surely be trained on him.

“Haymitch has been nothing but kind to me and Peeta. He’s been a father figure for me since we met.”

Caesar nods, a soft smile on his face.

“So it made sense. He’s the only other person I’d trust to do it.”

“To do what?” says Caesar, on the edge of his seat.

Peeta is frozen, not breathing. Katniss has the entire room under her spell.

“Make him the Godfather,” she pauses, looking out towards the audience, the tension is almost too much, “Of our baby.”

She places a gentle hand on her stomach.

The room explodes.

Everyone around Peeta leaps out of their seats, screaming and clapping. Caesar is frozen in shock. The audience is practically climbing on the stage. 

Katniss runs up to meet the tributes standing on their pedestals, all their eyes on her.

The audience is not dying down, Peeta sees shock and horror on their faces. He expected a reaction, but not this much of one.

He swears he hears someone yell, “Cancel the games!”

Caesar looks scared. The citizens of the Capital aren’t supposed to act like this. Peeta scans the crowd. He sees peacekeepers on the sidelines, their bodies tensed. Suddenly, the sea of noise gets immeasurably louder, and Peeta’s eyes snap back to the stage.

His mouth drops open, the tributes, all twenty-four, are holding hands.

Their arms raise into the air, hands linked, their faces are hard, angry. The audience around him is practically a riot, shouting for Snow to cancel the games.

He catches a glimpse of Katniss’s face, bright and clear, the face of the Mockingjay.

Then everything goes black.

Chapter Text

The hallways of the Training Center are silent. All Peeta hears is the sound of his footsteps as he makes his way to the penthouse. 

Everything had calmed down after the lights went out. Some of the more flamboyant capital citizens had screamed in fear, but most shuffled out, wary of the peacekeepers around them. The tributes had been frog-marched from the stage as soon as the lights went down. Peeta is only guessing that Haymitch and Katniss will be waiting for him on the 12th floor. 

There’s part of him that’s nervous. Katniss had practically started a riot, and the capital wouldn’t care that it had been inadvertent. They like punishment, but there’s nothing they can do to her that’s worse than what’s coming. Peeta knows Snow must be furious, but he can picture the fluttery Plutarch Heavensbee reminding him that all will be solved tomorrow. Peeta hopes that Katniss’s revelation stirred something in people, but he knows it can’t stop the inevitable. 

The door is ajar when he reaches it, and light and laughter are coming from inside. But before he can pull it open, someone pushes it from inside. Peeta steps back, expecting to see Effie or Cinna, but to his surprise, he comes face-to-face with Finnick Odair.

Finnick smiles at him, his teeth blindingly white. “Hey, Peeta,” he says, leaning on the doorframe.

“Finnick.” Peeta says, trying to look past him into the room, “Fancy seeing you here.”

Finnick manages to smile even wider , “They rushed us tributes out of there so fast they didn’t care where we went, as long as it wasn’t on screen.” 

Peeta narrows his eyes at him; once again, he feels like he is supposed to be getting more out of a conversation than he is. 

“Well, don’t let me stand in your way. Don’t want you to miss out on any sleep.”

Finnick laughs, “Oh Peeta, once you win the Games, you give up on sleep. Too many things to do.”

He raises his hand to push his sea-swept hair out of his eyes, then turns and walks away. 

Peeta is frozen , hand still on the door. Had he just seen what he thought he’d seen? The hallway was dark, but the flash of gold on Finnick’s wrist had been as clear as day. A bark of laughter breaks through Peeta’s frantic thoughts. Haymitch.

They’re all sitting together when Peeta enters the room. Katniss curled up on the couch next to Cinna, Effie perched on the edge of a hardback chair, Haymitch lounging in the armchair, Portia standing beside the fireplace. They’re all smiling, even Katniss. Her eyes meet his, and everything freezes for a moment , like it always does.

“Well?” she says, a smile still dancing on her lips, “Did I do a good job?”

For a moment, Peeta doesn’t know what she’s talking about; everyone turns to look at him. He chuckles softly when he remembers Caesar’s shocked face.

“ Definitely, I think I actually saw Caesar’s eyebrows move.”

Haymitch laughs at that; Peeta turns to look at him, focusing his gaze on the man’s wrist; it’s bare.

“Haymitch,” he says, his voice emotionless, “Where is your bangle?”

Haymitch sighs, “Look, kid…”

Peeta ignores him. He turns to Katniss instead.

“Did you agree to have Finnick as an ally?”

“More or less.”

Peeta raises an eyebrow at her. He knows she didn’t want any allies; the only people she’d expressed interest in were Wiress and Beetee.

“I wanted Mags.”

Haymitch cuts in, “Look, Peeta. I didn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want. I just explained to her that while Nuts and Volts are fun and all , she needs someone who can actually fight. Finnick can do that. He’s a good kid.”

Peeta signs, “Fine.” As long as it keeps her safe.

“So,” says Haymitch, “What’s your plan for tomorrow?”

“My plan?” says Peeta. He had just hoped not to vomit. 

“Sponsors,” says Effie, smiling at him, “They’ll all be primed after the scores and interviews, but they can’t start betting until the games actually start. You’ll need to be with them, convincing them that Haymitch and Katniss are the ones to look out for.”

“This year, gifts will be what decide who lives,” says Haymitch. “There are lots of fan favorites in the arena, and lots of rich sponsors are excited for bloodshed. Your job is to convince them that we should live because we’ll be entertaining to watch.”

Peeta nods. He had forgotten about this part of being a mentor, and he could see why Haymitch spent his time at the bottom of a bottle. 

They sit around for a bit more, putting off the inevitable. Finally, Effie cuts in.

“Alright, everyone, off to bed! Lots to do tomorrow. Sleep well!”

Peeta thinks back to Finnick in the hall with a show-stopping smile and sad eyes. What would a Victor be without either?

Katniss looks at him as she gets up, he gives her a knowing smile . He will be joining her tonight; of course he will. But he has a few questions first. 

He can feel Haymitch still in the room behind him. Peeta turns. It’s just them. Haymitch has an odd look on his face. 

“Listen, kid, I didn’t mean to go behind your back-” starts Haymitch, but Peeta cuts him off.

“Why Finnick?”

Haymitch looks puzzled.

“I’m sure you’re right, and he can fight, but you don’t know him. Why not Chaff? Or someone you’re friends with? Why go with someone as unpredictable as Finnick?”

Haymitch sighs and walks to the window. Below the lights of the capital shine, people fill the streets, partying, celebrating, and cheering for bloodshed. 

“It’s not about me.”

Peeta moves closer to him, watching his face.

“What do you-”

“I would love to have Chaff as an ally if I thought the goal of this was for me to survive. I know him, I’ve trained with him, but he’s old. We all are. Finnick is young, strong, determined, and could protect her.”

Peeta knows the ‘her’ they’re talking about. He doesn’t know what to say, that he wants Haymitch to live? Of course, he does, but there’s only one Victor.

“I know what you’re thinking, ” says the older man, turning slightly to face Peeta. “I had those exact thoughts last year. How do I choose?”

Peeta laughed softly, “You don’t have to lie. We both know who you chose.”

Haymitch stares at him, then looks at the ground, shaking his head. 

“I chose both of you, ” he pauses, “I chose both of you because you made me choose.”

Peeta once again feels like he’s been flung into a conversation he knows nothing about. But Haymitch keeps talking.

“I spent years not wanting to choose and not choosing. I was given two kids, usually two starving seam kids. I watched them take it all in, watched them see what they were really up against. Sometimes they asked me for help, but mostly they didn’t. They knew what was coming. I didn’t have favorites because I didn’t have tributes. Effie would fancy them up; they’d do an interview, get a good meal, then be slaughtered before the first sunset.”

He rubs his face, pushing his hair away from his eyes.

“Then I had you two. You seemed to be slightly better than the lot. I’d never had a tribute throw a knife at me.” He chuckled softly, “But I didn’t get my hopes up, at least initially. But then I saw you, both of you. And…”

He stares at Peeta, “You reminded me of myself. Brash, uncaring, yet so full of doubt, so certain that no one cared or could ever care about you. The epitome of District 12. Two perfect tributes, two real people with thoughts and feelings. And I had to choose?”

Peeta doesn’t move a muscle; he can see tears in Haymitch’s eyes, and he can feel some pushing against the back of his own.

“Sure, Katniss and I have a lot of similarities. We have the same level of respect for authority, the same level of charm, and…”

This is hard for Haymitch; Peeta can see. Expressing himself like this is a physical effort.

“And… and we both love you. She convinced me to volunteer because she wanted you to survive, but I did too . Kid, you’re more like me than I care to admit. You’re me, but better .”

Haymitch turns back to Peeta and puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“So, I chose Finnick because he’ll protect her. And I promise I will, too, but I can only sacrifice myself once. I know you wanted to be in my place so you could throw yourself in front of any enemy that came at her. You only trusted yourself to do that. But, Peeta, this is me doing that to both of you. Becaus e… I care about both of you. And this way, you can both come out alive.”

The tears have pushed past Peeta’s eyelashes and are pouring down his face.

“But you won’t ,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even.

“No, ” says Haymitch, taking a deep breath, “I’ll die in the arena like I should have twenty-five years ago. But this time, I’ll have done something good with my life.”

“Haymitch-”

“Don’t worry about it, kid. I’ve lived my life, and this last bit, it’s been pretty good, ” he steps away from Peeta and turns towards the hall, “Now it’s up to you to make the rest of yours better.”

Chapter Text

Peeta doesn’t even pretend to go to his room. The hallway is dark as he pushes the slightly ajar door of Katniss’s room open silently. The lights are off, but she’s not sleeping.

She turns to look at him as he enters; her eyes are wide, and her face is expressionless. He doesn’t say a word, just slips under the covers beside her. She folds into him neatly, his arms coming up around her like they were meant to be there. 

The scent of her hair fills his nose and he can’t do anything but bask in it. A small voice in the back of his head tells him this might be the last time he ever smells it, but he pushes it away.  

Don’t mourn the living , he thinks.

His mother taught him that.

The night feels like it could go on forever. Katniss wrapped in his arms. He wishes he could freeze this moment and live in it. He wants to tell her… he wants to tell her that she is the only thing. She is the first thing on his mind when he wakes and the last thing behind his eyelids when he goes to sleep. There is a solid mass in his chest where she resides, and there is nothing that can move it.

But he holds his tongue. It’s not what she needs to hear.

She falls asleep at one point, not for more than a few minutes. He feels her breath even out and sees her eyelids flutter shut. 

The only word spoken the whole night is in those couple minutes of respite. It sneaks out of Katniss in a breath, and Peeta almost misses it.

“Prim.”

When she blinks her eyes open, Peeta can see them shining. He just holds her tighter and hopes that dawn never comes. 

Unfortunately, the sun does rise. The light sneaks up the bed. Slowly chasing them. First, it covers their feet, then their legs; its sneaking fingers eventually reach Katniss’s shoulders, pulling her away from Peeta. 

Cinna’s the one that actually takes her away. Peeta can’t really blame him. He follows them down the hallway after a minute or so, the empty bed feels cold and unwelcoming.

Cinna and Portia are standing by the door, their faces grave. Effie and Haymitch are there already. Haymitch is grim, and Effie is teary-eyed. 

It feels so wrong to Peeta. Knowing he’ll have to watch them walk away, that he won’t be the one getting dressed or getting the tracker embedded in his arm. 

It dawns on him slowly that this is the last time he’ll see Haymitch and Katniss at the same time. The last time the Victors of District 12 will stand together. At least one of the people in front of him is going to die.

Haymitch claps him on the shoulder, a half smile on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Well kid,” he says. “Enjoy the life of a mentor. Don’t drink too much.”

He winks. Peeta hates this. He knows he’s missing something. Something huge, something that changes everything. And the only person who can tell him is heading to his death. 

Katniss can’t look him in the eye. She shuffles towards him, and the other four pretend to say their goodbyes to give them some privacy. She’s less than six inches away from him when she finally looks up. Her eyes are the color of the sky after rain, the kind of gray that is rich and warm. Her lips are slightly parted, and Peeta sees a mark where she’s been biting them.

He can’t stop himself; he’s drawn to her like a moth to flame. He raises his hand and cups her face, rubbing the gentle curve of her jaw with his fingers, her hair brushing his forearm. Her lips part, and her eyes get impossibly wider. He feels her hand touch his waist, and an electric shock goes through him.

Suddenly, her lips are on his, and the world is golden. 

Her breath is in his mouth, and he sees a hundred sunrises. He feels her hand on his chest, her fingers tap his shoulder, and her thumb massages his clavicle. He leans into her like she’s the center of everything, his sun, his moon, his gravity. Because she is, she always has been. 

And she kissed him.

Eventually, they step away from each other. Peeta feels it under his ribs. Something is being torn away from him. 

“See you later,” she whispers in his ear. Then she’s gone, Cinna behind her. 

He almost smiles. Only Katniss would say something like that.

Haymitch has his hand on the door when he turns.

“Peeta?”

Peeta looks up. He can see twenty-five years of tributes in Haymitch’s eyes.

“Yes?”

“When you’re there,” he begins, gesturing vaguely towards the auditorium where the mentors watch the games. “Just…just remember who the enemy is.”

He looks like he did before. Like the unspoken words are floating in the air between them, and for the first time, Peeta finally feels like he can read them. 

He nods, and Haymitch’s eyes flash. Then the door slams, and he’s gone.

The room feels darker with only him and Effie in it. She looks at him sadly. He doesn’t meet her gaze.

“I suppose we should get down there if we want a good seat.”

Effie smiles slightly.

“Actually, each District gets a booth. Since 12 won last year, we get the best one.” 

She tries to summon some of her usual opulence; Peeta is sure she’s wanted that booth for years. As for him, he didn’t even know it existed. There’s so much he doesn’t know.

“Well,” he says, putting out his arm. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

The auditorium is bigger than he could have possibly imagined. It’s on the top floor of the tallest building in the Capitol. It’s circular, with wide windows from floor to ceiling all the way around. At the center is a mass of screens like a center column. Each one currently shows Caesar Flickerman’s face as he recaps the interviews and scoring. 

The bottom fourth of the column is a serving counter. Avoxes in neat white shirts stand at the ready with empty platters. 

All the booths surround the column; each is a group of chairs and couches with a table halfway encircled by an opaque glass dome that’s open at the top. The largest one is facing the biggest screen. It has the number 12 written on the glass, and the table is already covered in an exorbitant amount of food. 

The room is mostly empty; only a few huddled groups stand near the windows. Sponsors. 

As he and Effie make their way to their booth, one of them approaches Peeta.

His hair is obnoxiously orange, and he has colorful bees drawn on his face; he puts out a hand for Peeta to shake, and Peeta sees that his skin is entirely covered in a beehive design. 

“Caspian Gallostar,” he says, flashing gold teeth. Peeta takes his hand, remembering that this is his job now.

“Caspian!” says Effie, her voice returning to its high-pitched tone. “So good to see you. How is Alabaster? I saw his most recent display, truly wonderful.”

Caspian laughs, leaning his head back, his mouth wide. Peeta tries to smile.

“I will be sure to tell him as much.”

“Of course, you know Peeta,” Effie says, smiling. 

“Know of him,” Caspian replies in a sing-song voice, turning back to Peeta. “You know. I rooted for you from the very first day.”

Peeta finds that hard to believe, but he knows he has a role to play.

“I’ve always wanted to meet my number one fan,” he jokes.

Caspian laughs again, throwing his head back like he wants all eyes on him.

“Well, you’re in luck! I’ve always wanted to meet my number one Tribute!”

“A lucky day for everyone!” says Effie.

The District 2 Mentor is glaring at Peeta from over Caspian’s shoulder. Peeta has a sneaking feeling he may have just stolen a sponsor. 

“Would you like to join us for breakfast?” 

He feels this is the correct thing to say, and judging by how Effie beams at him, Peeta thinks he guessed correctly. 

“Absolutely, I would! Let me just grab my husband – oh Alabaster!”

Caspian bounces away, waving his hands at a squat man with bright yellow hair.

“So, how’d I do?” Peeta asks Effie as they sit down in their booth.

“Oh, Peeta,” she breathes. “You were perfect.”

It turns out that there is rather a lot of time before the games actually start. Apparently, the arena is farther away this year.

Mentors and Escorts trickle into the auditorium over the next hour. By the time Caesar Flickerman displays a countdown behind him, the room is almost unbearably loud. Sponsors bounce from booth to booth, particularly passionate Mentors following them, and Avoxes fill the rest of the space, bringing people fresh drinks and cleaning up dirty plates.

District 12’s booth is packed. Peeta and Effie are sandwiched in. Caspian is directly next to Peeta, regaling him with a tale involving a goose as a wig, which Peeta finds surprisingly entertaining. Effie is deep in discussion with a woman dressed entirely in silver, her hair so high it can be seen above the edges of the glass dome that surrounds them. Peeta is fairly certain there are actual pieces of silver jewelry intertwined in it. Next to the silver women are two people talking to Portia; they are both bald, and each has geometric designs drawn on the tops of their heads. Peeta wonders belatedly where Cinna is but pushes the thought away; he doubts Cinna would want to be seated with these people.

It’s almost comical, Peeta thinks, the fact that he’s sitting where he is right now. He was considered upper class back in 12, but the shining table and plush sofa surrounding him now would have looked out of place even in the mayor’s mansion. 

After he finishes his story and receives what Peeta thinks is an excessive amount of laughter, Caspian pulls out what appears to be a small notebook from his pocket. Peeta sees Effie’s eyes immediately latch onto it. Flicking it open, Caspian brings out a dramatic feather quill and begins writing. 

“Caspian, you’re too kind,” says Effie, placing a ringed hand on the table.

Caspian waves her off good-naturedly, scribbling on the paper.

“Please, it’s nothing. Just a little something to start them off.”

He shows what he’s written to Peeta. The paper is small, his name is printed at the top: “Caspian Gallostar: Artist.” Below that, the words “District” and “Amount” are printed with a line beside them. In each spot, Caspian has written ‘12’ and ‘$100’ respectively. 

Peeta’s brain suddenly catches up. He puts on his most Effie-like smile and refills Caspian’s glass with the pitcher on the table. 

“Thank you.”

Caspian flashes Peeta his gold teeth again. He tears the paper off the pad and waves over an Avox, who takes the paper and disappears. 

Peeta looks at Effie with a question on his lips. She leans towards him, and he puts his ear to her mouth.

“Once the games start, go over there,” she points to the far side of the room, where the wide window is slightly obstructed by a small counter. “And use that for whatever you think is best.”

Peeta nods. He wants to ask Effie what they would recommend. Medicine? Water? When suddenly the room gets quiet.

Peeta turns and sees that the countdown behind Caesar has reached one minute. Every pair of eyes in the room is trained on the screens as Caesar starts guessing arenas.

“We haven’t done an icy one in a while, or maybe they’ll go mountainous!”

Peeta can feel his heart beating in his fingertips. He knows where Katniss is right now. Standing in that glass tube, the potential of the arena breathing down her neck. He looks down at his lap, he’s been worrying the small name plaque that had been at their table between his fingers.

“Peeta Mellark. District 12. Mentor.” Shines up at him, the bronze plaque probably costs more than a month’s worth of bread sales. He squeezes the pyramid-shaped sign in his hands, trying to break through the buzzing feeling that is taking over his body.

Caesar has started counting down. They’re at 30 seconds, and the arena is slowly being revealed.

“Twenty-nine, twenty-eight…is that water??? Twenty-six–My goodness, what a unique cornucopia!”

Peeta feels like the world is tipping around him; he can feel marks forming on his hands where they hold the small bronze plaque. The colors and light around him are overwhelming. The perfume coming off the people around him is choking him. He needs to get out, but he’s stuck. He needs.. he needs…

But before he can leap up and run away, the plaque breaks in his hand. The triangle snaps in two, the pieces revealing that the inside is hollow.

“Nineteen, eighteen...Look at that jungle!”

Suddenly, the world slows down. Peeta isn’t in the Capital, he isn’t in District 12, he isn’t anywhere. He feels himself spin without moving and he sees the people around him begin to bang on the table in rhythm with Caesar’s counting.

Haymitch’s face swims in his memory, his meaningful glances, his loaded words.

“Ten! Nine! Here they come!”

Remember who the real enemy is.

“Eight! Seven!”

Katniss’s face flashes on the screen, but not long enough for Peeta to really see her. The light reflecting off the water appears to be blinding the tributes. But Peeta feels like he can see more than he ever could before.

“Six! Five! Four!”

Within the hollow plaque, the one bearing his name, at his table, in the Capital. Is a piece of paper. 

“Three! Two!”

The paper is creamy white, torn at one edge like it was ripped off something else. The handwriting on it is elegant but rushed. The ends of letters trailing off.

“One!”

Roof. Midnight.

P. Heavensbee.

“Let the 75th Annual Hunger Games begin!”

Chapter Text

When Peeta was ten years old, he drowned. Well. Almost.

It was one of the hottest summers he had ever experienced; the sun beat down on 12, and no one was safe. He spent as much time as he could outside, away from the hot oven and his mother’s rage, amplified by the temperature. 

He was walking one day with his brother. They had left school and were avoiding going home. They wandered, looking for a breeze to break up the stifling heat, and they had found one. Over the crest of a hill on the forest’s edge, right before the fence. Or where the fence should be. 

Peeta remembered the shock that had overtaken his brother’s face, looking at the missing piece. Tools were lying around; some sort of repair had been sidetracked. Peeta knew that the fences were very rarely electrified. He knew the squirrels his father bought from the Everdeens did not come from within the District. But Peeta had never assumed there would be a day when the fence was simply gone. He knew some people despised it, and there were whispers of a time when there was no fence. But Peeta had never thought about it. It was simply there.

Well. Not today.

His brother’s sharp laughter filled the air, and he bolted. Running through the gap and down the hill. Peeta froze; he knew he shouldn’t, knew he wasn’t allowed, but as he watched Rye disappear, Peeta wondered how it really felt to run. Really run, no fences, no peacekeepers, just grass.

He took off behind his brother. Rye hadn’t gone far; there was a small pond at the bottom of the hill, and he was resting his feet in it, his boots beside him. He had his head back and his smile wide. He opened his eyes as Peeta approached.

“Finally built up the nerve?”

Peeta ignored him, and Rye shrugged, then laid on his back, his eyes closed.

Peeta wandered around the pond’s edge; leaning over the bank, he could see his reflection, and beyond it were small fish. A taller part of the bank was several feet above the pond, its earthy edge dangling. Peeta climbed up it, looking down into the water. The sun on his back didn’t feel so bad, away from the dirty streets of 12.

The sky was overwhelmingly blue, the chirping birds above swooping in it without a care. The trees shifted in the breeze, and the lovely smell of flowers drifted around. Bright orange flowers were speckling the field around the pond, and Peeta wanted nothing more than to paint them, though there were no colors as bright in the art room at school.

He knew he would have to leave eventually and return to reality, but for now, he let his eyes close and the open world engulf him.

Then something shifted; the bank he was lying on moved, the base had dried in the sun, and the dirt was beginning to crumble. Peeta had only a second to wonder what was happening before he fell. Crashing down into the water, Peeta discovered that the pond was much deeper than he had assumed. 

As his feet touched the muddy bottom, he could see the muddled light of the sun above him, but he could not reach it. The water was too deep, and no matter how much he kicked and thrashed, he could not breach the water.

He tried to scream for his brother, asleep on the bank and instead found his lungs burning with the water he had swallowed. The light above him was starting to dim, and he felt an immense pressure on his chest. His vision was edged with black, and each time he blinked, he saw less and less of the overwhelming sun. Then everything was dark.

The next thing Peeta knew, he was on his back, his brother above him slapping his face.

“Peeta! Peeta!”

Peeta coughed. His throat was raw. His eyes swam with tears as he stared at Rye, who was soaking wet.

“What the hell were you doing!”

Peeta opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, he doubled over, barfing up water.

Rye signed, standing.

“Get up, we’re going home.”

He was halfway up the hill before Peeta could get to his feet. He looked down at his soaking clothes and knew he had a beating waiting for him at home. As he reached the edge of the fence, he turned and looked back; the pond was smooth once again.

“I had no idea Katniss could swim!” said Effie. 

Peeta came back to himself. Everyone around him had their eyes on the screen, and he followed suit, shoving the piece of paper into his pocket. 

The arena was circular; the Cornucopia was in the center, surrounded by water with long lines of stones connecting it to the beach. Each Tribute was in a section, with water on all sides. 

The camera flipped to Katniss. She was cutting through the water, her face determined. 

Peeta hadn’t known Katniss could swim either, but it didn’t surprise him. 

“Haymitch?” he said, eyes jumping around the towers of screens, trying to find one that showed the old man. 

“There!” said Caspian, pointing. He was nearly standing, a broad smile on his face, and Peeta remembered that this was simply all a game for him.

They’ll never understand, he thought. No matter what.

Haymitch was still standing on the platform. He, like most people in 12, couldn’t swim. He was spinning in place, his eyes screwed up as the sunlight bounced off the water.

A shout caught Peeta’s attention; it was from the District 5 booth, and after a moment of searching, Peeta saw why. A trident was embedded in their male Tribute’s chest; Peeta watched as the camera panned up as Finnick pulled it out and turned to Katniss.

Katniss.

She had found a bow. Peeta wasn’t surprised, but he felt a small amount of relief. If she had a bow, she had a chance. Finnick and Katniss were exchanging words, but Peeta couldn’t hear them. His eyes flicked back to Haymitch, still on his platform. He was squatting now, a hand in the water. His head kept turning abruptly, like there was someone behind him.

The camera zoomed out, and Peeta saw Katniss and Finnick running down the spoke next to Haymitch’s platform. Katniss began removing her weapons, but Finnick stopped her, dropped his trident, and dove into the water. 

Finnick flew through the water, cutting through it like it was nothing, grabbed Haymitch, and pulled him ashore. Just as Haymitch clambered to his feet, coughing, Mags pulled herself out of the water behind Katniss.

They were a sight to see. Finnick leads the pack, Mags on his shoulder, Haymitch is behind him, scowling and holding a knife in each hand; Katniss takes up the rear, her head moving on a constant rotation. 

“That’s some group,” says Claudius Templesmith. He and Caesar are projected on another screen, looking at Katniss and Finnick, who are rapidly approaching the forest line. 

Caesar laughs, his teeth blindingly white. “Katniss and Finnick make a deadly pair, curious how long their older counterparts will last.”

Peeta tries not to let his face reflect his thoughts. He knows that this is only the beginning; he is going to spend days listening to Caesar and Claudius discuss death like it’s nothing, so he’d better get used to it. 

Katniss and her group have made it to the forest. Thick vines coat everything, and Haymitch is hacking them apart with his knife. They climb in silence for a while, but eventually, Mags requests they rest. Peeta thinks it’s mainly for Haymitch’s sake. The man has been training, but 25 years of stagnant binge drinking takes a toll. His face is red with exertion, and the second they stop moving, he collapses to the ground, leaning against a tree, eyes closed. 

Katniss, seemingly to get a better view, begins climbing up the tree Haymitch is leaning on. Her head bursts through the foliage, and Peeta sees her face fall as her eyes land on the Cornucopia. The beach looks red from her view, and the other screens show it up close. Bodies lay everywhere, with a few tributes still fighting along the spokes of the Cornucopia. 

Her face sets, and she climbs back down to the small clearing. Peeta desperately wants to know what she’s thinking.

Finnick watches her descent. Trident gripped in his hand, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“What’s going on down there, Katniss? Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons in the sea in defiance of the Capitol?” he asks. 

Katniss scowls at him.

“No.”

“No.” Finnick repeats. “Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance.”

Haymitch huffs at this, a smile crosses his lips, and he raises an eyebrow at Mags, who looks at him softly. 

Peeta blinks. What .

He turns to Effie, who has an odd look on her face.

“I didn’t know Haymitch knew Mags.”

Effie turns to him, giving him a soft smile, not unlike the one Mags gave Haymitch, “She was his mentor.” 

Before Peeta can reply, Caspian cuts in.

“Oh yes! I forgot about that,” he says. “There were no Victors from 12 when Haymitch was reaped, right?”

Effie nods. “Yes, No living ones.” 

Peeta’s mind reels with this information. Haymitch never mentioned Mags, even when Katniss said she wanted her as an ally. 

The group goes on the move again, and Peeta stares at Mags. He doesn’t remember how old she is, but they discussed the first Victors from each District in school. Mags was the first from 4. Peeta supposes it makes sense; she had no mentor for her Games, so maybe she felt for Haymitch. There was only one other Victor from 12, but they never talked about her, and Peeta guessed she was long dead by the time Haymitch was reaped.

Suddenly, several things happen at once. Katniss is leading the group, having taken Haymitch’s knife, and is hacking vines to clear their path. Her arm swings high when Haymitch shouts a warning. It comes a second too late, and Katniss’s knife whistles down towards a thick vine, but it never makes contact. There’s a sharp zapping sound, and Katniss flies backward, knocking into Finnick and Mags. 

Peeta leaps to his feet; beside him, Effie gasps. The entire table has gone silent. Katniss lies motionless on the mossy ground, her eyes closed and her mouth open. Peeta’s ears are ringing. She doesn’t look like she’s breathing.

Haymitch grabs her by the shoulders, shaking her. 

“Katniss! Katniss!” He slaps her across the face, but she doesn’t move. 

Peeta’s knees have turned to jelly, and his chest feels like ice. He can feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him, but he can’t turn. If he takes his eyes off Katniss, it’s over and can’t be over. She’s survived so much. A stupid force field can’t be her end.

Finnick shoves Haymitch away, his hands run over her ribs, and he presses his head to her chest, then he pinches her nose shut. 

“Wha-” Peeta can barely get the word out before Finnick puts his mouth over Katniss’s. He freezes, confusion temporarily overcoming his fear.

Haymitch and Mags stand silently over Finnick as he starts pressing his palms into Katniss’s chest. Whatever he’s doing, he’s done it before. 

“Ah, yes,” says Claudius. “Common in District 4, this method for restarting the heart is often used on fishing trips after a man has fallen in the sea.”

After an agonizing minute, Katniss coughs. Her eyelashes flutter.

“There’s a forcefield up there,” she whispers. Finnick chuckles, then helps her sit up.

Peeta feels like all the blood has left his head, and he collapses back into his seat. 

“Good lord!” says Caspian from across the table. “Now that was a rush! I think we all deserve a strong drink after that.”

He waves down an Avox, and Peeta counts to ten in his head to stop himself from getting up and punching him in the face.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up at Effie, who has tears in her eyes. 

He signs and sits up straight, eyes back to the screen. 

This is much worse than being in the arena. 

Chapter Text

“You knew that force field was there, didn’t you, Haymitch?” says Finnick. “You started to give a warning.”

Haymitch nods. His eyes flick side to side like he’s doing calculations in his head before he speaks.

“I dealt with them before,” he says. “In my games.”

Peeta remembers what Haymitch told them, how the axe had flown back, how he had used the Capitol’s power against it. Without needing to check the official feed, Peeta knows every citizen of Panem is being shown this. He can almost feel the eyes on the back of his neck, just as he had felt on the tour.

Katniss starts getting up and pushes away Finnick’s helping hand.

“I should have known,” she says. “I-”

She pauses, and Peeta recognizes the look on her face. The acknowledgment that every word she says and every move she makes is recorded .

“It’s almost as if … I could hear it.” 

“I don’t hear anything,” says Finnick. Cocking his head and furrowing his brow. 

“That’s weird,” Katniss whispers, turning her head from side to side as if puzzled. “I can only hear it out of my left ear.”

“The one the doctors reconstructed?” Haymitch offers, an odd glint in his eye.

“Yeah,” she says, then shrugs. “Maybe they did a better job than they thought. You know, sometimes I do hear funny things on that side. Things you wouldn’t ordinarily think have a sound. Like insect wings. Or snow hitting the ground.”

Peeta thinks of the small visible section of the force field on the training center’s roof. The flaw, the chink in the armor. Haymitch had shown it to him, so of course, he had also shown it to Katniss. Or, someone had. 

The group continues their trek when Peeta’s eyes return to the screen, with Katniss in the lead. They wander a bit farther and eventually find a place to camp, eyes trained to the sky, waiting for the anthem of Panem to play. 

As night falls, Peeta has two realizations. One, he has a meeting to make, he had nearly forgotten, and two, the group is missing a key resource. Water.

The evening is winding down, and sponsors are strolling out of the room. After Peeta and Effie give Caspian a heartfelt goodbye and promise to see him tomorrow, Peeta heads over to the other side of the large room. 

The counter that Effie had pointed to has four small screens on it. Peeta watches as another Mentor, District 2, he thinks, places his open palm on the screen, and his name pops up. 

Peeta copies him, placing his hand on the light blue screen that displays Panem’s logo. After a moment, it changes to neat text displaying “Welcome Peeta Mellark.”

A myriad of smaller boxes pop up on the screen with photos of various things on them and prices beneath. He sees a loaf of bread: $20, a healing balm: $150, a tarp: $10. His hand hovers over the option of water, $10 a bottle, when something catches his eye.

As a child, Peeta wasn’t often allowed to go to the Hob; his mother disapproved, and his father didn’t fight her. But, every fall, when the leaves turned brown, he would go. While his brothers were busy working in the bakery Peeta’s father would bring him to a stand at the Hob that sold syrup. The Mellarks made breads and cakes with the stuff, and sometimes, if it was a particularly good year, they would save a little for themselves to drizzle on bread in the mornings. One time, his father let Peeta go alone, and he struck up a conversation with the woman. Peeta asked what he had always wondered: How did she get syrup from trees?

“Well, the complete process is complicated,” she had said, smiling. “But it starts with this.”

And she had pulled an odd metal tube.

“This is a spile,” and she let him hold it. “Trees have veins in them, like people. But in the veins runs syrup. If I put this in the right spot, it flows right out.”

The idea of that had consumed Peeta. When he was bored in class, he would start at his arms, searching for the blue veins that were visible where his skin was particularly thin , and think about those same veins running through the trees just beyond the fence.  

But that didn’t explain why he could send Katniss and Haymitch a spile.

The options provided were clearly tailored to the arena. Fishing implements, cooling technology, and flotation devices filled the screen. The trees Peeta had seen so far looked nothing like the ones in 12. It could be a fluke, a remnant of an old game. But Peeta didn’t think so. Nothing in the games was left up to chance. 

He looked back up at one of the screens, which was showing Chaff, Haymitch’s friend, wiping his brow and cutting through the thick vines that covered everything. The whole jungle looked wet. The leaves had beads of condensation, the air looked thick, and the small animals that scurried in the trees had moisture on their noses.

Wait. Peeta thought, narrowing his eyes at a rodent making its way up a tree, sniffing the trunk as it went. 

Nothing in the arena is natural; everything is engineered . Surely, it could not be too hard to change the inside of a tree.

Without letting himself think too hard, Peeta taps the spile; the price fills the screen: $75. A small slot beside the screen opens, and Peeta stares at it before sliding Caspian’s note into it.

A green checkmark appears, and the option to add a note pops up.

After a moment’s hesitation, Peeta quickly types, ‘ Drink up.’

The screen blinks, then says:

Balance: $15

Would you like to make another selection?

He hits ‘No,’ and the screen returns to the Panem logo. Rushing back to the booth, Peeta searches the screens to find Katniss. His eyes land on her, clearly settling down to sleep. But before the group does, a quiet beeping joins the sounds filling the jungle. All four Tributes look up, searching for the drone they know is coming. 

It hovers over them and drops its package directly between Haymitch and Katniss, who stare at it.

Finnick laughs, “Guess your fiance’s good at his job.”

Katniss looks blankly at him before nodding, a small smile on her face.

“Go for it, sweetheart,” says Haymitch, gesturing at the package. 

Katniss tears it open, holding the note in one hand and the spile in the other.

“What’s it say?” asks Haymitch.

Finnick answers, leaning over Katniss’s shoulder. 

“Drink up? What does that mean? And what is that?”

Katniss doesn’t reply. Instead, she narrows her eyes, staring at the spile.

Peeta has a sudden fear. What if she doesn’t know what it is?

Surely, she does. Burdock Everdeen would not have let his daughter be unaware of any resource found in the forest. In fact, Peeta had seen him talking with the woman who ran the syrup stand many times. Katniss beside him, her grey eyes watching every person around her.

Those same eyes were just as focused as they had always been as they looked at the metal tube and, after a moment.

“It’s a spile.” she says breathlessly.

Haymitch blinks. Understanding dawning on his face. He turns to the tree he had been resting his back against and starts digging his knife into its side.

Mags and Finnick look nonplussed. Clearly, syrup was not available in District 4.

But, remarkably, Finnick stays quiet. Watching as Haymitch makes a hole and Katniss jams the spile into it. They all stand and stare at it for a moment. Peeta holds his breath. 

Please let me be right.

Just as he assumes the worst, a clear stream shoots out of the spile. Finnick laughs, and Mags claps. 

Katniss smiles up at the sky, a camera directly above her catching her face in the sun’s fading light.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, privately. Peeta’s voice is the tiniest whisper in response.

“You’re welcome,” he says to the nearly empty room. I’m sorry I can’t do more.

But as the group takes turns drinking their fill and weaving baskets out of leaves, Peeta knows he has to leave. Effie is waiting for him by the door, the large room almost empty. 

“I’ll be up in a bit,” he says to her anxious expression. “I just need to walk a little, clear my head.”

She smiles at him softly, then cups his cheek in her hand, rubbing her thumb along his cheekbone. No one has touched him this softly for as long as he can remember. 

“Get at least some sleep,” she says. “The camera doesn’t do eye-bags any favors.”

Peeta laughs despite himself. Effie walks away, heels clacking on the tile floor. 

Despite having nearly forgotten about the piece of paper crammed into his pocket, Peeta knows precisely what to do. He heads to the bathroom as the last stragglers leave the room. His eye pressed to the crack between the door and the wall. Avoxes clean up for a bit after all the Mentors leave, but after thirty minutes or so, the room is blissfully empty. 

For a moment, when he read the note, Peeta thought only of the roof of the training center . But he knows the Gamemakers and the Mentors are both in this building, so he can only assume.

Stepping out into the now dark room, he tries to look normal. Despite everything, there are still cameras around, and he has no idea why the head Gamemaker is passing him secret notes. Peeta wonders if Snow is the one behind this for a second, but then he hears a noise.

Across the room, a ceiling tile slides away, and a ladder is slowly lowered . It’s even and steady, clearly mechanical, and likely only used by mechanics. At the same time, he hears a small wiring behind him and sees the security camera next to the door droop and its red light turning off. Slowly, each camera in the room does the same, and Peeta starts making his way towards the ladder. 

His heart is racing, and his hands shake slightly as he climbs, his metal foot clanking on every other step. Thousands of possibilities swirl through his head, but one memory stands out. The last time he saw the Head Gamemaker in person, whispering to Haymitch before the parade. 

There is a trap door at the top of the ladder, and Peeta pushes it open—the cold night air whips around him as he pulls himself onto the roof. Unlike the Tribute Center, there is no garden and no windchimes, only a steel fence reminding him not to go too far towards the edge, and a man standing a few feet away from him, his hands behind his back.

“Mr. Mellark,” says Plutarch Heavensbee. “Nice to see you again.”

Chapter Text

The only other time Peeta has been this close to Plutarch was when he danced with Katniss during the tour. It wasn’t a fond memory.

“Hello,” he says, keeping his face neutral. 

Plutarch beckons him with a hand; despite his calm demeanor, Peeta senses urgency in his motions.

“I know you’re unlikely to trust me,” Plutarch says. “So, here.”

He hands Peeta an envelope; it’s made of thick and creamy paper, but the note inside is scrawled on the back of what looks like a menu.

Peeta- 

It’s impossible for me to tell you everything. But I can tell you this: Plutarch is safe. Trust him, but never let your guard down. 

Don’t tell Effie.

Haymitch

Peeta looks at Plutarch, eyes wide. He knows this has something to do with the mystery he was meant to solve in Haymitch’s words. But he understands nothing, Haymitch had too much faith in him. Plutarch is looking at him like this note solves everything, but Peeta isn’t Katniss; he can’t figure out what Haymitch means from only a few words.

“The planning is ongoing, and I can’t tell you much.” Plutarch begins, talking at record speed. “Your job is simple: keep them alive and keep Katniss popular in the Districts.”

Peeta’s head is reeling. What plan? What is Plutarch talking about?

“I know this will be difficult. To keep her alive, the Capital must like her, but to keep her safe, the Districts have to care. You need to remind Snow who he’s dealing with and remind the Districts why the world is this way.”

Was the man who designed arenas for children to kill each other telling Peeta to rebel against President Snow? To turn Katniss into a symbol for the rebellion? 

The one thing she does not want and has to be.

“Everything you think you know about the Games is wrong,” Plutarch sticks his hand in his pocket and pulls out a small black square. “History has been rewritten for a reason, to make you think you’re alone.”

It’s a screen the size of Peeta’s hand.

“When you’re alone, tap it. I have to go. It’s almost time for a reunion.”

With that, he disappears down another trap door. For a moment, Peeta is frozen, with a thousand questions in his mind. Hundreds of floors below, Capitol citizens are still awake. They scream and laugh at the massive projection of the Games in the city square. Peeta sees the Tributes from District 1 sitting somewhere in the forest, eating some sort of meat. After a second, the camera flips, and Katniss is on screen again. 

She’s running, or trying to. Her legs don’t look like they’re working, and there are boils all over her face. Haymitch is beside her, her arm over his shoulders, pulling her forward. Finnick is behind them, Mags on his back. 

Finnick bursts ahead of them, heading towards the beach. Peeta’s eyes jump from side to side. What happened? Were they poisoned? Why are they running?

Then he sees it, the curling fingers of fog behind them. One of them is steadily approaching Katniss and Haymitch, who have fallen behind. Katniss is weak from the forcefield, Haymitch’s muscles are spasming, his face ragged from holding her up. 

Finnick is screaming for them to catch up. He’s on the edge of the beach. Why has he stopped? Mags is lying on the ground beside him, her body covered in white bumps, her chest heaving. 

Haymitch shoves Katniss forward, and she stumbles over a rock; head over heels, she lands spread-eagled on the beach. Finnick dives forward, face screwed up in pain, and grabs Haymitch’s arm pulling him forward. Both men fall, legs tangled together, and the fog becomes a wall of white behind them. 

Peeta wants to yell at them to get up, to run. But the fog doesn’t pass the edge of the forest; the group on the beach stares at the pillar of white in front of them.

They look bad. Their arms and legs are spasming, and every visible patch of skin is covered in white boils. Breathing raggedly, Peeta sees Katniss begin dragging herself towards the water. She’s panting, her breathing restricted. She sticks a hand into the salt water and immediately jerks it back, her face screwed up in pain. But after a moment, she returns in hand to the water, and tears in her eyes, begins rubbing at the boils. The water around her arms turns milky, and after a moment, the skin is smooth again.

Slowly, she submerges the rest of the water, calling the others. The four Tributes sink into the salt water; Haymitch curses unrelentingly under his breath, Mags groans, and she sticks her wrinkled face into the water. 

Peeta returns to himself, remembering that he is standing on a roof where he very much should not be. He quickly hurries down the ladder back to the large room, hoping the Tributes stay safe for a little longer. The Games are still projected on the pillar of screens, and Peeta sees the group stripping off their ruined jumpsuits and washing off the last of their boils.

He goes to the elevator, which also has a small screen showing the Games. He is momentarily grateful at the Capitol’s insistence that everyone watch; at least they make it easy. But as soon as the thought materializes, he beats it back; the Capitol wants people to watch so that they are reminded what happens if they rebel.

He touches the black square Plutarch gave him, a reminder that their meeting was real. 

Effie’s and his quarters are dark and quiet when he returns. He tiptoes to his room and turns on the television. They are showing a recap of what has happened so far in the arena, so nothing particularly exciting must be going on. Twenty-four-seven live shows can be exciting until everyone is asleep.

After stripping off his clothes, Peeta settles into the bed. It’s large and much too empty without Katniss, but he forces his eyes forward. Sitting cross-legged, he stares at the small tablet; he had realized, belatedly, that’s what it is, on the bed in front of him. He’s scared to start it. He doesn’t know what he’s going to see. 

But after a moment, he shakes his head and reaches a hand forward. He has it easy; he’s not scared that fog or other Tributes will kill him as he sleeps; he can do this.

A video starts playing. The quality isn’t great, and the sound is choppy, but Peeta is able to figure out what he sees.

A man in a high-collared blue suit with rhinestone accents was speaking into a microphone with a huge smile.

“Welcome to ‘The Hunger Games: A Night of Interviews!’ I’m your host, Lucky Flickerman, and I’m so excited to introduce the Hunger Games like you’ve never seen them before!”

Peeta doesn’t remember a Games before Caesar hosted, so this must have been a long time ago. The stage is very plain, and he can see snatches of what appears to be the audience filling the auditorium, though they don’t look very energized.

“Not only will the Games have live commentary for the first time – thanks to yours truly! But you, yes you, can send your favorite Tribute’s gifts!”

Peeta’s mouth is wide open, the man, Lucky Flickerman, goes on to describe how citizens can bet on the Games. It shouldn’t be surprising; Peeta knows sponsorships and betting are part of the Games, but seeing them introduced as new ideas surprises him. How had the Games worked before? How long was it before they were introduced? 

“And now, for the first time in the Games’ ten-year history, you will get to know the Tributes before they enter the arena!”

Well, that answered Peeta’s question: ten years, the 10th Hunger Games. There was something else in his mind associated with that number, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

As Lucky welcomed the first Tribute, the video jumped forward. Clearly, Plutarch, or whoever had made this, had very specific things they wanted Peeta to see.

“And now,” said Lucky. “Our last pair of the night, Coriolanus Snow and his Tribute, Lucy Gray Baird of District 12!”

Peeta felt his breath catch, and his mind went momentarily blank. He must have heard wrong.

Then the camera panned, and two figures walked onto the stage. A girl with hair like Katniss in a rainbow dress, and a boy in a crisp uniform with white curly hair. President Snow, but not as Peeta had ever seen him. His face was pale and handsome, unlined and youthful.

“Hello Lucky,” he said, a smooth smile on his face. His voice was like velvet, but his eyes were sharp and intelligent. 

“Mr. Snow! Lovely to see you. Would you like to tell us about your Tribute?”

“I think she can tell you herself,” said Snow. Stepping back and looking at Lucy Gray. Peeta was shocked by the complexity of emotion in his eyes. There was interest, pride, possessiveness, and something… sweet. But sickly so, a distorted kind of love.  

“Good evening,” said Lucy Gray, stepping forward. Her skin was tan, her eyes were sharp and focused, her hair was dark and thick like Katniss’s, and she had a broad smile.

“I’m Lucy Gray Baird, of the Covey Bairds. I started writing this song back in District 12, before I knew what the ending would be. It’s my words set to an old tune. Where I’m from we call it a ballad. That’s a song that tells a story. And I guess this is mine. ‘The Ballad of Lucy Gray Baird.’ I hope you like it.”

She spoke with the accent Peeta associated with the older citizens of 12. It wasn’t common anymore. The enunciation lessons children took in school made sure of that. But in the evenings, when the mines were closed, when people sat on their porches and told stories, that twang could be heard. 

The Covey Bairds 

Peeta had heard of the Covey; his mother spat the name like an insult, and his father said it like a blessing. They weren’t really around anymore, but whenever someone started to sing a song in 12, they always said, “And here’s an old Covey tune.” 

When Lucy Gray began to sing, Peeta was transported. The Capitol room around him dissolved, and he was a child, sitting on the floor in a house in 12, people gathered around, singing quietly so the Peacekeepers couldn’t hear.

When I was a babe I fell down in the holler

When I was a girl I fell into your arms

We fell on hard times and we lost our bright color

You went to the dogs and I lived by my charms

I danced for my dinner, spread kisses like honey

You stole and you gambled, and I said you should

We sang for our suppers, we drank up our money

Then one day you left, saying I was no good

Lucy Gray’s voice was husky. The guitar in her hands shined brightly. Peeta, much like the people on the screen, was transfixed. Even President Snow seemed unable to look away from her.

Well, all right, I’m bad, but then, you’re no prize either

All right, I’m bad, but then, that’s nothing new

You say you won’t love me, I won’t love you neither

Just let me remind you what I am to you

’Cause I am the one who looks out when you’re leaping

I am the one who knows how you were brave

And I am the one who heard what you said sleeping

I’ll take that and more when I go to my grave

It’s sooner than later that I’m six feet under

It’s sooner than later that you’ll be alone

So who will you turn to tomorrow, I wonder?

For when the bell rings, lover, you’re on your own

I am the one who you let see you weeping

I know the soul that you struggled to save

Too bad I’m the bet that you lost in the reaping

Now what will you do when I go to my grave?

The silence that filled the auditorium was all-consuming. Everyone’s eyes were wide, but then, as if the volume had been turned back up, people were cheering and screaming. Lucy Gray took a bow, then reached out her hand and pulled Snow up beside her. 

The video jumped forward again, and the screen showed a destroyed structure, round with a stage in the middle and stairs all around. 

Recorded from above, Peeta saw figures running around. 

It can’t be ... he thought, as the view switched again. Once again, he saw Lucy Gray, small multicolored snakes surrounded her, Mutts.

It was the arena. Peeta was sure of it. But it looked entirely different than any arena he’d ever seen. It was small, and it looked half destroyed. Chunks of stone and pieces of wood were scattered. There appeared to be a pile of bodies in the corner, with no hovercraft to pick them up.

Lucy Gray was singing again; this time, it was a song Peeta knew. He had heard it before, but he couldn’t think of when. He searched his mind, and then it came to him—Katniss’s father’s funeral. A group of people from the Seam had sung it. Peeta remembered watching Katniss cry silent tears, Prim in her arms, as her mother stood blank-faced, the Mayor’s wife holding her hand.

Before Lucy Gray finished her song, the video cut forward again.

The snakes had gone, and only two figures were in the arena. Lucy Gray was running as a boy chased her. He was much larger than her, but he was panting and swaying. They played cat and mouse for a bit. Lucy Gray coming close to him, grabbing the flag that was draped over the dead Tributes, and then running as the boy ran for the flag. Eventually, it became too much for him, and he stumbled to his knees; he reached for a puddle of water and drank from it. But as he tried to stand up, his face contorted, and his fingers began to knead his ribs and chest. He threw up the water and retched, then stumbled over to the pile of dead tributes and drew in on himself. After a moment, he stopped moving. 

After a beat, Lucky Flickerman popped up on the screen. He was jumping up and down and announced that Lucy Gray Baird had won the Tenth Hunger Games. 

Then the screen went dark. Peeta was at a loss. Sure, now he knew about the first victor from District 12, the one that had been erased. And he had more understanding of President Snow, but why had Plutarch needed to show him this? Sixty-five years had passed since Lucy Gray Baird had won the Games; she was long dead, and Snow had had years to build up his hatred of District 12.

But before he could get too lost in his mind, the screen lit up again. This time, it showed a scene that he recognized. Town square, rows of girls and boys, reaping day.

Two girls and one boy already stood on stage; one of the girls couldn’t have been more than 13, her head barely reaching the shoulder of the girl beside her. A Capitol woman with a terrifying row of pins holding the skin of her face tight reaches her hand into the bowl beside her. 

“And boy number two is … Woodbine Chance!”

Peeta stares at the screen dumbfounded. He thinks back to the conversation he had with Haymitch on the train. The 50th Games had double the number of Tributes, and clearly, that is what Peeta was watching, but where was Haymitch?

The boy, Woodbine Chance, was halfway to the stage when it happened. He dove sideways, sprinting towards an alley; the people all around reacted, shoving themselves between him and the Peacekeepers. Peeta thinks he’s going to make it. It’s only a few more feet, but then a loud noise breaks through the silence, and his head explodes. 

The camera immediately switches, and the smooth display is replaced by shaky movement as whoever is holding the camera runs. There is screaming and the sound of stampeding feet. 

Suddenly, the camera jerks and freezes; a hand covers the lens for half a second before moving away. Peeta is met with the face of Plutarch Heavensbee—younger, but undoubtedly him. 

“Did you get that?” he says, eyes flashing. “Come on!” he dives into the crowd, clearly visible in his violet jumpsuit.

A voice rings out.

“We’ve got five minutes! A five-minute delay, and then we’ll have to finish this live! Get rid of the bloody ones!”

Peeta watches as Plutarch approaches the Capitol woman who made the announcement. She walks towards him, arms crossed and scowling.

“We need another boy! That dead ones no good!”

Suddenly, the screaming gets louder and more directed. Plutarch spins and points, and the camera follows suit. An older woman is screaming at the Peacekeepers and pulling at the dead body of the boy; a girl beside her is helping, holding on to his legs. 

A Peacekeeper raises his rifle, preparing to hit the girl across the face, when a boy jumps in front of her, hands raised. 

The butt of the rifle slams into his temple, and he collapses, but not before Peeta gets a good look at his face.  

Strong jaw, dark eyes more lively than Peeta’s seen, and muscular arms. Haymitch.

Two Peacekeepers are holding him up as he thrashes. 

“Well, I think we’ve just found our replacement,” says the Capitol woman. 

The girl who Haymitch had saved starts pleading.

“Don’t take him – it wasn’t his fault! It was mine! Punish me!” 

“Oh, shoot that girl, would you?”

A Peacekeeper raises his rifle, but a hand comes up to stop him. Plutarch steps back into view.

“Hold it. If I could, Drusilla, I’d love to keep her for the tearful goodbye. The audience eats that stuff up, and, as you always remind us, it’s a challenge to get them to even notice 12.” 

The Capitol woman, Drusilla, and Plutarch exchange words as Haymitch tries to turn toward the girl behind him. After a quick debate it is decided that Drusilla will call the names of both male Tributes again.

She points at Haymitch, “What’s your name.”

“Haymitch Abernathy.”

“Haymitch Abernany,” she repeats.

“Haymitch Abernathy,” Haymitch says again, scowling at her. It’s a face Peeta knows well. 

They shove Haymitch back into the pen of boys along with the other male Tribute. Drusilla gets back on stage, and Plutarch starts counting down. Suddenly, the camera switches again, and the smooth display and angle of before returns.

“And the first gentleman who gets to accompany the ladies is… Wyatt Callow!”

The boy, Wyatt, climbs the steps to the stage, his face blank. Peeta wonders how it feels to do it for a second time.  

“And our second boy will be … Haymitch Abernathy!”

The camera pans to him, but he doesn’t move. It doesn’t look like an intentional act of rebellion; to Peeta, it just looks like a boy trying to catch up with what just happened to him. 

“Haymitch?” Drusilla repeats, looking straight at him.

He begins to move. They cut to the girl from before on the screens above the stage. She has a hand over her mouth, and her eyes are dry. No tearful goodbye for Plutarch.

Peeta stares at her. She’s a Seam girl with dark hair like Lucy Gray and Katniss and the same rebellious glint in her eyes. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, join me in welcoming the District 12 Tributes of the 50th Hunger Games!” says Drusilla, pointing at the group assembled on the stage. “And may the odds be ever in your favor!”

The picturesque scene ends, and Peeta’s view returns to the shaky handheld. The crowd disperses, except for a few stragglers, clearly family of the Tributes.

Peeta watches as Haymitch tries to get to the edge of the stage, where a woman and a young boy are calling his name. But he’s pulled back by Peacekeepers. 

“No goodbyes for these people. They’ve lost that privilege after that outrageous display today. Take them straight to the train, and let’s get out of the stinkhole,” says Drusilla. 

The video cuts forward again, and Peeta can barely keep up.

It’s Haymitch in the arena. Haymitch on his own, Haymitch with a young boy, Haymitch climbing under the arena, Haymitch finding the forcefield he had told Peeta about.

Haymitch, young and angry.

Haymitch, the rebel.

Peeta doesn’t know what to think. He stares as he watches an angry child of the Seam fight tooth and nail to defend himself, yet cry over the body of a dead ally. 

No wonder he likes Katniss so much. 

Peeta doesn’t just see Haymitch and Lucy Gray’s Games. He watches a man from District 3 create an explosive that kills six Tributes at once yet leaves him looking disappointed. He sees a much younger Mags finding food. He is shown shaky footage of an unidentifiable figure placing a bomb and the resulting explosion destroying the dam in the arena.

He watches as, over and over and over again, people sacrifice themselves with the faint hope of destroying the Capitol. He sees years of anger and resentment as high hopes are crushed. But over and over, people come back strong; they come back with hope.

As the screen goes dark and the video is over, Peeta stares up at the television. Katniss is keeping watch, back against a tree with Mags, Finnick, and Haymitch asleep around her. In the darkness, he sees her flipping the Mockingjay pin in her hands as she sucks on the inside of her cheek.

Her anger isn’t new. Her rebellious heart is far from the first. She is standing on a pile of people who cared just as much. After years of work, she has a chance to make a difference, to make their sacrifices count. 

She is a creation of the Capitol and the Districts, an unplanned halfbreed. Created in the real world like the Mockingbird and forced into the limelight by the Capitol’s hand, like the Jabberjay.

Filled with anger, strength, and deep empathy.

She is the Mockingjay. 

Chapter Text

Peeta can’t sleep. He sits in bed and watches Katniss, or tries to. But the general access channel flips between Tributes and flashbacks so much that Peeta eventually gives up and returns to the Mentor’s and Sponsors’ room.

He isn’t the only person there, and it seems the room closing was an oddity, as the Games and, therefore, the betting are nonstop. Peeta knows Plutarch is behind it somehow, as he sits in his booth holding coffee and watching. 

The group on the beach is waking up; they only slept for a few hours, but that’s how it goes in the Games. Haymitch had the last watch shift so he stands as the others organize their stuff. His eyes are focused on something a couple of yards away at the forest edge. Peeta bites his lip and tears the croissant that an Avox brought to him into smaller and smaller pieces.

“Katniss,” says Haymitch from the jungle’s edge. 

She looks up from where she’s organizing her arrow sheaths. Her shoulders go up, and her eyes swing side to side. The tension in Haymitch’s voice makes Finnick look up. 

“Haymitch?” she says, slowly walking toward him.

He raises a hand and points. The camera zooms out, and Peeta sees what made the man so still.

A few yards from where they stand, right at the edge of where the fog ended, are monkeys. 

Peeta has never seen a monkey before, not in the flesh. He learned about them in school, and he knows that the Capitol Zoo has them. He saw them on television once. The monkeys live in a huge cage-like structure.

But these aren’t like any he’s seen before. They’re massive, bright orange, and their black eyes are gaping and empty. Mutts .

Finnick, Haymitch, and Katniss all stand in a line on the beach, staring at the monkeys. Mags is behind them, an oddly bemused look on her face. 

Suddenly, there is movement. Bursting out of the trees half a dozen yards behind the line of Tributes are three figures. They’re a coppery red, and one of them wanders aimlessly, spinning in circles. Finnick, Haymitch, and Katniss spin on their heels. Katniss has an arrow ready to fly when Finnick shouts.

“Johanna!” he calls.

One of the figures spins to face him, “Finnick!”

She runs towards the group. Both Haymitch and Finnick have relaxed, but Katniss doesn’t move, her hands still gripping her bow. 

Johanna is talking as she approaches, her two companions wandering behind her. Katniss narrows her eyes.

“She’s got Wiress and Beetee.”

Johanna is talking lightning-fast to Finnick when they return to Haymitch and Katniss.

“We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn’t see, you couldn’t speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That’s when Blight hit the force field.”

“I’m sorry, Johanna,” says Finnick. It takes a moment for Peeta to place Blight. After a moment, he remembers Johanna’s District partner from the reaping. 

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t much, but he was from home,” she says. “And he left me alone with these two.” She nudges Beetee, who’s leaning slightly to the left as he stands. “He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—”

She points at Wiress, who’s stumbling in circles back where the trio had emerged from the jungle. 

Katniss takes a step back. Somehow, in the time that Johanna had approached, she had gotten closer to the edge of the jungle. Peeta can see that her eyes are sharp, flicking from Johanna to Finnick to Haymitch. She doesn’t trust Johanna. And, by extension, has become suspicious of Finnick. 

“I’ll go get you guys some water,” she says, turning and walking into the jungle.

She makes it four feet into the greenery when she suddenly freezes. Peeta watches her head slowly move upwards, her eyes trained on the trees.

“Katni-” says Finnick, but he can barely get the word out when the jungle explodes with movement. 

Peeta’s never seen any animal move so fast. Monkeys slide down the vines as if the things were greased. Leap impossible distances from tree to tree. Fangs bared, hackles raised, claws shooting out like switchblades. They converge on Katniss, and she yells.

Haymitch, Finnick, and Johanna go diving into the forest. Johanna groans as she does.

Katniss is thrashing; one of the monkeys has its hands around her shoulders and is going for her throat. Her bow is pushed in its mouth, keeping it back, but it won’t hold forever. Johanna’s axe flies through the air and chops the monkey’s skull in two. Katniss doesn’t pause before she begins firing arrows into the ears, eyes, and throats of the surrounding monkeys.

Haymitch hacks at them with his knife, Finnick spears two with his trident, and Johanna swings her axe like it’s part of her arm.

Peeta is almost entranced. The four of them fight like they’re made to do it. From the corner of his eye, he sees Effie enter the room, Caspian holding her arm. They both freeze as they see what’s happening on screen.

But just as Peeta thinks that the group is holding their own, Haymitch starts to struggle. He’s not a young man, and the pure muscle and determination of the three Tributes around him are all occupied. A monkey leaps out of a tree and attaches itself to Haymitch’s right arm; he shouts and buries his knife in its skull. It leaps back, blood pouring out of its mouth, Haymitch’s knife still sticking out of its head.

He’s defenseless. He spins around himself, eyes wide and hands out. Peeta sees the moment Katniss spots him, she shouts something unclear, her hand reaching back to find her arrow sheath empty. 

A monkey lunges out of a tree straight for Haymitch’s chest, and Katniss turns to run for him even though she won’t make it in time.

Someone else does, though. Materializing, despite being on the beach seconds ago. 

Mags throws up her arms as if to embrace the monkey, and it sinks its fangs into her chest.

Haymitch pulls the monkey off her and throws it deeper into the jungle. As if on cue, the rest of the monkeys disappear, fading away. 

“Get her, we’ll cover you,” says Katniss.

Haymitch and Finnick lift Mags. She groans softly, deep puncture marks in her chest. They carry her back onto the beach, Katniss and Johanna at their backs. 

They lay her down on the sand, and Finnick presses his forehead to hers. Beside him, Haymitch has tears in his eyes.

Peeta thinks about what Effie said. Mags was Haymitch’s mentor, but that doesn’t explain why she would sacrifice herself for him. 

Effie makes her way over to their booth and places a hand on Peeta’s shoulder. But before she can say anything, Peeta sees Mags’s lips moving. Finnick has his ear so close to her mouth they’re practically touching. Peeta leans forward in his seat like that will help him hear. Finnick turns to Haymitch, tears running down his cheeks.

“She says she wants you to sing,” he whispers, looking at Haymitch, and then his eyes go to Katniss, still standing. “Both of you.”

Katniss kneels beside Mags, turning to look at Haymitch. Peeta has never heard the man sing, and by the looks of his face, he hadn’t expected the request. He turns to Katniss, his eyes wide.

“I-,” he pauses, mouth open, brow furrowed. “I don’t know-”

Katniss smiles softly, then looks down at Mags. After a beat, she begins to sing.

You’re headed for heaven

The sweet old hereafter

Peeta’s breath catches. 

And I’ve got one foot in the door

But before I can fly up

I’ve loose ends to tie up

Right here in the old therebefore

Katniss pauses for a moment, and Haymitch fills the space. 

I’ll be along

When I’ve finished my song 

Together, their voices weave into something new. Haymitch’s deep timber mixed with Katniss’s gentle, mournful tone. 

When I’ve shut down the band 

When I’ve played out my hand

When I’ve paid all my debts 

When I have no regrets, right here 

In the old therebefore  

I’ll catch you up

When I’ve emptied my cup

When I’ve worn out my friends

When I’ve burned out both ends

When I’ve cried all my tears

When I’ve conquered my fears

Right here

In the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

Mags’ eyes are wide, and she wraps one of her bony hands around Haymitch’s. Peeta can hear Effie’s breath catch beside him, and he turns slightly. Her eyes are brimming with tears as she stares at the screen. Looking around her, he sees that everyone in the room is bewitched by the song, Mentors and Sponsors alike, frozen. 

I’ll bring the news

When I’ve danced off my shoes

When my body’s closed down

When my boat’s run aground

When I’ve tallied the score

And I’m flat on the floor

Right here

In the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

When I’m pure like a dove

Haymtich’s voice catches on ‘dove’, and Peeta sees Mags squeeze his hand impossibly tighter. They’re an odd vigil, Finnick on his knees, his head pressed into Mags’ neck as she holds him gently, Haymitch and Katniss on her other side, singing. Johanna and Beetee stand behind them. But Wiress is the oddest of them all. She stands several feet back from the rest with her mouth wide open and her eyes cloudy. 

When I’ve learned how to love

Right here

In the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

They’re silent for a beat. Mags smiles, blood pooling in the corners of her mouth. Then she stops moving, and a cannon fires. 

Finnick makes a sound between a sob and a shout, his head still buried in her neck. Katniss places a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he flinches back.

“Finnick,” she says. “Finnick, you have to let go.”

He shakes his head.

“Her goal in her Games was to protect her District partner,” says Haymitch. He hasn’t moved from his knees beside Mags’ unmoving body.

Finnick turns slightly in Haymitch’s direction. 

“She told me about you, you know.”

Haymitch doesn’t react to this.

“When I was reaped, we watched the recap on the train,” Mags’ hair slightly muffles Finnick’s voice. “I was cruel. I said it was no wonder the District 12 kids always die. She told me she’d mentored you and that the Games had changed you. They change everyone.”

Nodding, Haymitch puts his hands on Finnick’s shoulders and forces them up.

“They only change you if you let them,” he rises, pulling Finnick into a standing position. He lets go, and the younger man sways briefly before taking a deep breath and pushing his shoulders back.

“Now let’s get some rest,” Haymitch tells the assembled group. “While we can.”

Caesar and Claudius appear on the screen, holding large cups of coffee.

“Well wasn’t that something!” says Caesar, dramatically wiping a tear from his eyes.

“You have a soft spot for District 12,” says Cladius, jovially.

“Caesar laughs. “You know me! I love a tragedy.”

Peeta looks away. Beside him, Effie is worrying her lower lip. But when she sees him looking, she stops and points.

“Looks like we’re popular.”

A group of Sponsors are standing beside their booth, cards in their hands. Effie leaps up, collecting them and thanking each member of the assembled group by name.

“Oh Proxy you’re too kind. Violaina, you know I love you. Ah! Jakyal, how nice to see you.”

Peeta doesn’t know what he would do without Effie. Gritting his teeth, he stands up and smiles, joining her in thanking the Sponsors.

As he smiles and laughs, his mind is a thousand miles away. Even if Mags and Haymitch had known each other, jumping in front of him was a big move—unless Mags knew that Katniss had to stay alive and that without Haymitch, the likelihood of her trusting anyone was minimal. 

Why else would Johanna bring along the two people Katniss had wanted on her team? Why else would Finnick restart her heart?

It isn’t just Plutarch and Haymitch, Peeta realizes. If this plan, whatever it is, hopes to make a difference, at least half of the Tributes have to know. But if they do know, what have they been told? 

His eyes wander the screens before him, looking at the various Tributes. Then his head turns again, looking at the Mentors filling the room. How many of them know? How many people in the Districts know? 

Plutarch is not a stupid man. Peeta knows this. He may not be able to form a solid opinion of the man, but he isn’t an idiot. He has to speak to him again.

Belatedly, he wonders what President Snow thought of the song, the very same one his Tribute had sung so many years ago. 

On cue, an Avox approaches him, holding a note. Peeta is sick of thick white envelopes, but as he grabs it, the sickly-sweet smell hits him, and he feels his stomach turn to lead. 

It looks like he will figure out the answer to his question himself. 

Chapter Text

The President’s mansion is just as grand as Peeta remembers. The sun still hasn’t risen when he steps out of the sleek car he had taken from the Mentor’s building. The Avox in the driver’s seat hadn’t looked at him the entire time, so Peeta had kept his eyes trained on the windows. He really hasn’t seen much of the Capitol beyond the grand buildings that house the Tributes. He supposes he went through some of it in the chariots, but he flew by so fast he couldn’t get a good look. Well, and he was distracted by Katniss holding his hand. 

He sighs, standing at the bottom of the grand staircase up to the mansion. It’s white marble, hard and unrelenting, in the sunlight it must shine, but in the darkness it just looks gray. He starts making his way up the stairs, limping slightly. His prosthetic is the best money can buy, but nothing can reduce the pain that springs up in what remains of his leg. He’s had doctors suggesting morphling, which he had stubbornly denied. He had seen too often what it did to miners looking for a little relief. 

Sweat beads on his neck as he reaches the top. Maybe it’s good he isn’t in the arena. How well would he fight if he could barely walk up some stairs? 

The doors swing open before he can put his hand out to knock, and he steps inside. More white marble covers the floor and walls. A plush carpet runs along the center, with grand portraits and mahogany furniture filling the gaps. Along the wall to his left are a few chairs made out of dark wood, and a girl with blonde hair sits in one of them.

“Prim?”

She looks up at his words, and her nervous face breaks into a smile. Jumping up, she puts her arms around him. His body is frozen in surprise, but he forces his arms up and around her.

“What are you doing here?” he says.

“I’m supposed to do an interview. With Caesar,” she says, leading him back to the chairs. “They’re bringing the families to the Capitol this year. Mom couldn’t get away; there was a bad explosion in the mines.”

Peeta understands the unspoken words. Katniss’s mother didn’t want to come. She couldn’t handle it.

“But what are you doing here?” he asks again, his hand on her shoulder. The fear in her eyes returns as she responds.

“I don’t know. They told me I had to stop here before the interview. I had wondered why the train was so early.”

Before Peeta can continue his questions, an Avox walks up to them. She has ginger hair and pale skin, and gestures for them to follow. They do, and Peeta keeps his arm around Prim’s shoulders.

He doesn’t like this; there is no reason for the sister of one of the Tributes to be in the President’s mansion. They aren’t even down to the top eight yet. 

But Prim isn’t just anyone’s sister.

They are led through winding hallways, passing a grand library and dining room, before they stop. The Avox opens a door at the end of a hallway, then turns on her heel and disappears down a flight of stairs. Peeta steps through first, putting Prim behind him in what he hopes is not an obvious way.

As he had suspected, they had been led to Snow’s office. The man himself sits behind an intricately carved desk, in a high-backed chair with plush cushions. The scent of roses that constantly surrounds him fills the room. 

He smiles as they enter, but it’s not a comforting look. More akin to a viper about to pounce on its prey.

“Mr. Mellark, Primrose,” he has a little blood on the corner of his lip. “Sit, please.”

It’s not a suggestion. There are two hardback chairs in front of the desk. Peeta takes the one further from the door. 

“I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to speak with you before your interview,” says Snow. Prim nods, her back straight and her shoulders tense, keeping eye contact with the President. Peeta feels very strongly the desire to step between them. 

“You know, of course, you will be the only family member representing 12. That is a big job.”

He speaks to her like she is five years old, but the glint in his eye lends menace to his words.

“Are you nervous?”

Prim looks confused, but her voice doesn’t falter when she speaks.

“No.”

“That is good. You are very popular, you know.”

Nothing about this conversation is particularly meaningful, but Peeta feels on edge. He feels like he’s standing in a very high place, unable to move. 

Prim nods. Peeta can see that she is biting the inside of her cheek.

“Well, I just wanted to wish you luck,” Snow pauses, quirking up the corner of his lips in a half smile. “And to give you this.”

He reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a small box, wrapped in silver paper. His arm stretches over the table to hand it to Prim, and Peeta imagines himself slapping it away. His arm tenses, and Snow’s eyes flash in his direction. 

Prim takes the box, looking at Peeta, eyes wide.

“Open it,” says Snow, another terrifying smile on his lips. 

Hands shaking slightly, Prim began to tear the paper off the box. Peeta realizes he was holding his breath. Prim’s pale hands pull out a small velvet jewelry box, which she opens, revealing a silver necklace. 

She lifts it by the chain, and the charm flashes in the light. 

“It’s a primrose,” says Snow. “Not my favorite flower, but lovely nonetheless.”

Prim’s mouth opens, and nothing comes out for a moment.

“Th-thank you,” she says, eventually. “It’s beautiful.”

“Put it on.”

It takes all of Peeta’s willpower not to rip the necklace out of Prim’s hand and throw it out the window. He feels a muscle in his face start to twitch as Prim unclasps the necklace and puts it around her neck.

She struggles to reclasp it.

“Do you need help?” Snow asks.

Before the President can lift a hand, Peeta reaches out.

“I got it,” he says through gritted teeth. He takes the necklace out of Prim’s hands, which are shaking slightly. The metal clasp and chain feel normal, but he doesn’t know enough about jewelry to understand how this necklace poses a threat. He closes the necklace and touches the back of her neck slightly. 

“It looks lovely on you,” says Snow, the glint in his eye sending shivers down Peeta’s spine.

Prim looks like she wants to bolt, and the unreasonable half of Peeta’s brain wants her to. 

“Well. That was all. You may go.”

She stands, and Peeta tries to do the same, but Snow raises a hand.

“Not you, Mr. Mellark, we still have much to discuss.”

Peeta stands anyway and sees a flash of anger in Snow’s face.

“I’m just saying goodbye.”

He reaches out to hug Prim, and she pushes her face into his chest. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, but he doesn’t really believe it.

She walks out the door, and Peeta returns to his seat. Snow is looking at him, expectant, but Peeta refuses to break the silence.

Snow brought Prim here for one reason. To show that he could. To show Peeta that he has the power to do whatever he wants to whoever he wants, including him.

Snow looks at Peeta, and Peeta stares back. It’s a stupid hill to die on in the grand scheme of things, but Peeta’s determined. He will not speak first.  

They stay like that for a long moment. Peeta can see Snow’s anger building, and eventually, he breaks.

“I enjoyed your songbirds’ performance.”

It takes Peeta a moment to figure out what he means. He’s never thought of Katniss as a songbird, and much less his.

“She’s not mine,” he says. Snow huffs a laugh.

“That’s always how it goes, doesn’t it? They perch on your shoulder, bewitch you with their song, then fly away. Never to be heard from again.”

Peeta suddenly thinks of the girl he had seen in the video. Lucy Gray, and the possessive way Snow had looked at her. 

“If she flies away, that’s her choice.”

Peeta isn’t entirely sure he’s got a good grasp on Snow’s metaphor, but he doesn’t really care. The President can use all the flowery language he wants, but Peeta knows in the end, it’s all about control. Control of the Capitol, control of the Districts, control of Prim, control of Peeta, and most importantly, control of Katniss.

Snow laughs softly, shaking his head.

“Did she tell you of our little…deal?”

“She did.”

“Well then, Mr. Mellark, Peeta. May I call you Peeta?”

Peeta wonders what Snow would do if he said no.

“You may.”

Snow shifts in his seat, tension momentarily appearing between his brows. Peeta knows about the rumors of poison, and he’s no doctor, but he knows antidotes only work so well. Relentless consumption of poison can’t be too kind to Snow’s organs. 

“Consider the deal back on.”

Peeta narrows his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Convince me. Convince me of your love.”

The unspoken words hang in the air. Convince me of your love, or I kill … who? Prim? Gale? Peeta’s family?

He doesn’t want to know the answer.

“How am I supposed to do that when she’s in the arena, and I’m here?”

“That’s for you to figure out.”

When Peeta was eight, his brother told him that when people were vague, it meant they knew less than they wanted you to think. This advice was directed at the bullying Peeta was receiving from a boy in town regarding his mother’s fidelity or lack thereof. But Peeta felt the advice was relevant here as well.

“In that case, may I return to watching the Games?”

Snow looks at him, his pale blue eyes boring into Peeta’s. Absently, Peeta realizes he rarely sees the older man blink. For a moment, Peeta thinks Snow isn’t going to let him leave, but then the President waves a hand. Dismissing him like he would a servant, not that Peeta minds, he’s willing to do anything to get out of this mansion. The sickly sweet smell radiating from Snow is starting to give him a headache.

Peeta stands and walks slowly out of the room. The same Avox from before meets him at the door. Peeta is thankful for her presence; otherwise, he would surely get lost in this house. Plus, he supposes Snow doesn’t want him rifling through his cabinets. 

Returning to the entryway, he is greeted by the presence of another unexpected person. 

“Hello Mr. Mellark,” says Plurarch Heavensbee, waving at him. 

Does he ever sleep? Peeta wonders.

He waves back, but doesn’t know what to do. He knows that officially, their previous meeting never happened, and he cannot ask any of the questions burning in him, especially not in the President’s house. He decides to go with a casually friendly approach.

“I’m surprised they let you out of the control room.”

Plutarch laughs. “Not for long! But duty calls.”

‘Duty’ or scheming with Snow for the best way to kill Katniss while also trying to save her.

Peeta doesn’t understand this man and doesn’t think he ever will.

“See you around, Mr. Mellark!” says Plutarch as he walks toward Snow’s office. “Oh, and say hello to Cinna for me.”

Peeta blinks. It’s an odd thing for Plutarch to say, considering there is no reason for him to know Cinna, but Plutarch is an odd man. Peeta doesn’t reply; instead, he pushes open the door and takes a deep breath of the fresh air. The sun has risen since he last stood on these stairs, and his guess was correct; they shine brightly in the early morning light. 

He makes his way down the steps back to the car, which hasn’t moved. The second he sits in it, the driver pulls out onto the road. The Capitol is awake now, and Peeta watches people walk down the streets. Children go to school, cafes and restaurants open their doors, while the wealthiest of them all wander through the streets chatting loudly about the Games. 

He makes it back to the Mentor’s auditorium before it’s too busy. Effie and Portia sit in their booth, engaged in conversation. Portia looks nervous, waving her hands as she talks.

Peeta slides in beside them.

“What’s going on?”

“I haven’t seen Cinna since before the Games started!” Portia bursts out. She’s biting her nails, and she has bags under her eyes. “I went to his apartment, but the door’s locked, and his doorman says he hasn’t seen him either.”

Effie rubs Portia’s back good-naturedly. 

“I’m sure he’s alright, probably just out enjoying the festivities.”

This calms Portia slightly, but Peeta isn’t convinced. Plutarch’s mention of Cinna had seemed very out of place in Snow’s entryway, but now, looking at Portia’s anxious face, Peeta wonders if it had been a warning.

The version of Katniss that had become the symbol of rebellion was one Cinna had created. ‘The Girl on Fire’ had been his idea, and Snow almost certainly knew that. Kidnapping or killing Cinna would be the sort of thing people close to Katniss would notice, and others wouldn’t think twice about. Sure, Cinna had become popular after the 74th Games, but popularity in the Capitol wasn’t a sure thing, and people could fade away in the blink of an eye. 

Peeta doesn’t say any of this to Effie or Portia; they wouldn’t understand, and he doesn’t want to explain his relationship with Plutarch.

“What did President Snow have to say?” says Effie, turning to him. She had been very excited about the note, which reminded Peeta that Snow was akin to a celebrity to Capitol citizens. 

“He decided to bring Prim to the Capitol to interview her. I saw her in his mansion.”

Peeta hopes this is enough explanation. He was gone for a rather long time to just be greeting Prim. But Effie seems to take him at his word.

“Oh!” says Effie. “That’s great! She was so popular last year, people love her here.”

Peeta doesn’t like the way Prim is being carted around, and he’s sure Katniss wouldn’t either. But he also knows that each time the Capitol sees her, it becomes harder and harder for her to disappear. He wonders if they’re going to interview Gale again, Katniss’s ‘cousin’ hadn’t been very chatty last year. 

Tributes all around the arena are still sleeping, so the main screen switches back to Caesar. 

“Hello, and welcome to day two of the 75th Hunger Games! It’s been a busy first day with the loss of eight Tributes.” 

He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye.

“But we still had a pretty good show!”

A montage plays, the Cornucopia bloodbath, Katniss getting her heart restarted, some of the Careers fighting a huge creature in the pitch darkness, a massive wave crashing over the beach and Cornucopia – Peeta had somehow missed that – and finally, Katniss and Haymitch singing to Mags.

“There is surely much to come today! We’ve got a couple of groups forming.”

Images of Katniss, Haymitch, Finnick, Johanna, Beetee, and Wiress flash up on the screen beside photos of the Careers. 

“But before we dive back into the action, we have a little treat.”

The camera view widens, and next to Caesar, sits Prim.

Effie points at her. Peeta isn’t really sure why; there isn’t an eye in the room that isn’t looking at Prim. 

“Primrose Everdeen! Lovely to see you again.”

“You too, Caesar,” she says, smiling. She’s still wearing the necklace Snow gave her, its glints in the light. 

She’s good at this, talking and laughing with Caesar. There’s a reason the people of 12 kept her fed and safe while Katniss was in the Games. People like Prim.

She talks a little about her life back in 12, working with her mother’s patients and going to school. Caesar compliments her necklace, and she thanks him, but doesn’t say where she got it. Her little act of rebellion, Peeta hopes Snow doesn’t punish her for it.

Eventually, they get around to Katniss.

“So,” says Caesar, conspiratorially. “That song yesterday, that was something else.”

Prim nods. Caesar keeps looking at her; he wants more than that.

“Is that a song your sister sings a lot? Haymitch knew it too.”

Prim sighs, and Peeta sees her steeling herself. She doesn’t want to talk; people are taught not to talk about the music of District 12. Especially not the kinds of songs the Everdeens sing. But Prim isn’t stupid; she knows her job is to perform.

“It’s a mourning song,” she says. “In District 12. We sing it at funerals.”

“I see,” says Caesar, clearly making an attempt to look sad, but his face refuses to move, so he just looks slightly congested. “So they sang it for Mags.”

Caesar clearly wants more, and Prim gives it to him.

“The first time I heard it was at our father’s funeral. The people who sang it said it took them a bit to remember the words. Apparently, our father was the person who sang it at everybody else’s funerals.”

“Well that is lovely. Did he teach it to Katniss?”

Prim shook her head.

“I don’t think so. But Katniss is good at that sort of thing, she only needs to hear a song once to know it. Our father was the same.”

“Amazing!” says Caesar, with a little more excitement than the somber moment needs. “Well I teared up at it for sure.”

He turns to face the camera again, and it tightens on him.

“For those of you who missed it, Mags Flanagan of District 4 died last night, saving Haymitch Abernathy of District 12. He and Katniss sang a song to her, which we are going to play for you.”

Once again, Katniss and Haymitch kneel next to Mags was on the screen. 

“They didn’t have Prim on for that long,” Peeta says to Effie.

“I’m sure they’ll have her back,” she says, waving a hand. “Once we’re down to the final eight, I’m sure they won’t be able to get enough of her.”

Effie seems to take for granted that Katniss will make it to the final eight. Peeta doesn’t doubt her strength, but he does doubt Snow’s willingness to let her live. The same man who brought a girl all the way from District 12 to be on screen for five minutes just to prove he could is unlikely to let Katniss win without a fight.

But, on the flipside. If Plutarch wanted to get Tributes like Finnick and Johanna on his side, he had to have promised them something. At the minimum, he must have told them they will live. Which means his plan is to disrupt the Games somehow. But for the life of him, Peeta can’t imagine how he would do it. 

He needs to speak with Plutarch again, to get the man alone in a place where he can actually ask him the questions he wants to ask. 

Peeta deserves answers, and he’s going to get them.