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Were there Capitol hover planes speeding in to blow them out of the sky? As they travelled over District 12, (M/N) watched anxiously for signs of an attack, but nothing pursued them. After several minutes, when he heard an exchange between Kan and the pilot confirming that the airspace was clear, he began to relax a little.
Shoto nodded at the howls coming from (M/N)'s game bag. "Now I know why you had to go back."
"If there was even a chance of his recovery." (M/N) put the bag on a seat, where Buttercup began a low, deep-throated growl. "Oh, shut up," (M/N) told the bag as he sunk into the cushioned window seat across from it.
Shoto sat next to him. "Pretty bad down there?"
"Couldn't be much worse," (M/N) answered. He looked in Shoto's eyes and saw his own grief reflected there. Their hands found each other, holding fast to a part of 12 that Nezu had somehow failed to destroy. They sat in silence for the rest of the trip to 13, which only took about forty-five minutes. A mere week's journey on foot. Toru and Itsuka, the District 8 refugees who (M/N) encountered in the woods last winter, weren't so far from their destination after all. They apparently didn't make it, though. When (M/N) asked about them in 13, no one seemed to know who he was talking about. Died in the woods, it seemed.
From the air, 13 looked about as cheerful as 12. The rubble wasn't smoking, the way the Capitol showed it on television, but there was next to no life above ground. In the seventy-five years since the Dark Days - when 13 was said to have been obliterated in the war between the Capitol and the districts - almost all new construction had been beneath the earth's surface. There was already a substantial underground facility there, developed over centuries to be either a secret refuge for government leaders in the time of war or a last resort for humanity if life above became unlivable. Most important for the people of 13, it was the centre of the Capitol's nuclear weapons development programme.
During the Dark Days, the rebels in 13 took control from the government forces, trained their nuclear missiles on the Capitol and then struck a bargain: they would play dead in exchange for being left alone. The Capitol had another nuclear arsenal out west, but it couldn't attack 13 without certain retaliation. It was forced to accept 13's deal. The Capitol demolished the visible remains of the district and cut off all access from the outside. Perhaps the Capitol's leaders thought that, without help, 13 would die off on its own. It almost did a few times, but it always managed to pull through due to strict sharing of resources, strenuous discipline and constant vigilance against any further attacks from the Capitol.
Now the citizens lived almost exclusively underground. They were allowed outside for exercise and sunlight but only at very specific times in their schedule. They couldn't miss their schedule - (M/N) included. Every morning, he had to stick his right arm in this contraption in the wall. It tattooed the smooth inside of his forearm with his schedule for the day in purple ink. 7:00 - Breakfast. 7:30 - Kitchen Duties. 8:30 - Education Centre, Room 17. And so on. The ink was indelible until 22:00 - Bathing. That was when whatever kept it water resistant broke down and the whole schedule rinsed away. The lights out at 22:30 signalled that everyone not on the night shift should be in bed.
At first, when (M/N) was so ill in the hospital, he could forgo being imprinted. But once he moved into Compartment 307 with his mother and sister, he was expected to get with the programme. Except for showing up for meals, though, he pretty much ignored the words on his arm. He just went back to their compartment or wandered around 13 or fell asleep somewhere hidden. An abandoned air duct. Behind the water pipes in the laundry. There was a storeroom in the Education Centre that was great because no one ever seemed to need school supplies. They were so frugal with things here, waste was practically a criminal activity. Fortunately, the people of 12 had never been wasteful. But (M/N) once saw a girl crumple up a sheet of paper with just a couple of words written on it and he would have thought she had murdered someone from the looks she got. One of (M/N)'s few pleasures in 13 was watching the handful of pampered Capitol "rebels" squirming as they tried to fit in.
(M/N) didn't know how long he would be able to get away with his complete disregard for the clockwork precision of attendance required by his hosts. Right now, they left him alone because he was classified as mentally disoriented - it said so right on his plastic medical bracelet - and everyone had to tolerate his ramblings. But that couldn't last forever. Neither could their patience with the Mockingjay issue.
From the landing pad, Shoto and (M/N) walked down a series of stairways to Compartment 307. They could take the lift, but it reminded (M/N) too much of the one that lifted him into the arena. He was having a hard time adjusting to being underground so much. But after the surreal encounter with the rose, for the first time the descent made him feel safe.
(M/N) hesitated at the door marked 307, anticipating the questions from his family. "What am I going to tell them about Twelve?" (M/N) asked Shoto.
"I doubt they'll ask for details. They saw it burn. They'll mostly be worried about how you're handling it." Shoto touched his cheek. "Like I am."
(M/N) pressed his face against his hand for a moment. "I'll survive."
Then (M/N) took a deep breath and opened the door. His mother and sister were home for 18:00 - Reflection, a half hour downtime before dinner. He saw the concern on their faces as they tried to gauge his emotional state. Before anyone could ask anything, he emptied his game bag and it became 18:00 - Cat Adoration. Eri just sat on the floor weeping and rocking Buttercup, who interrupted his purring only for an occasional hiss at (M/N). He gave (M/N) a particularly smug look when she tied the blue ribbon around his neck.
(M/N)'s mother hugged the wedding photo tightly against her chest and then placed it, along with the book of plants, on their government-issued chest of drawers. (M/N) hung his father's jacket on the back of a chair. For a moment, the place almost seemed like home. So (M/N) guessed the trip to 12 wasn't a complete waste.
They were heading down to the dining hall for 18:30 - Dinner when Shoto's communicuff began to beep. It looked like an oversized watch, but it received print messages. Being granted a communifcuff was a special privilege that was reserved for those important to the cause, a status Shoto achieved by his rescue of the citizens of 12.
"They need the two of us in Command," he said.
Trailing a few steps behind Shoto, (M/N) tried to collect himself before he was thrown into what was sure to be another relentless Mockingjay session. He lingered in the doorway of Command, the high-tech meeting/war council room complete with computerised talking walls, electronic maps showing the troop movements in various districts, and a giant rectangular table with control panels (M/N) was not supposed to touch. No one noticed him, though, because they were all gathered at a television screen at the far end of the room that aired the Capitol broadcast around the clock. (M/N) was thinking he might be able to slip away when he noticed Kan, whose frame had been blocking the television, caught sight of (M/N) and waved urgently for him to join them.
(M/N) reluctantly moved forward, trying to imagine how it could be of interest to him. It was always the same. War footage. Propaganda. Replaying the bombings of District 12. An ominous message from President Nezu. So it was almost entertaining to see Toshinori, the eternal host of the Hunger Games, with his sparkling suit, preparing to give an interview. Until the camera pulled back and (M/N) saw that his guest was Katsuki.
A sound escaped (M/N). The same combination of gasp and groan that came from being submerged in water, deprived of oxygen to the point of pain. He pushed people aside until he was right in front of Katsuki, his hand resting on the screen. (M/N) searched his eyes for any sign of hurt, any reflection of the agony of torture. There was nothing. Katsuki looked healthy to the point of robustness. His skin was glowing, flawless, in that full-body-polish way. His manner was composed, serious. (M/N) couldn't reconcile that image with the battered, bleeding boy who haunted his dreams.
Toshinori settled himself more comfortably in the chair across from Katsuki and gave him a long look. "So... Katsuki... Welcome back."
"I bet you thought you'd done your last interview with me," Katsuki said.
"I confess, I did," Toshinori said. "The night before the Quarter Quell... Well, who ever thought we'd see you again?"
"It wasn't part of my plan, that's for sure," Katsuki said with a frown.
Toshinori leaned in a little. "I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that (M/N) (L/N) and your child could survive."
"That was it. Clear and simple." Katsuki's fingers traced the upholstered pattern on the arm of the chair. "But other people had plans as well."
Yes, other people had plans, (M/N) thought. Had Katsuki guessed, then, how the rebels used them both as pawns? How (M/N)'s rescue was arranged from the beginning? And finally, how their mentor, Shota Aizawa, betrayed them both for a cause he pretended to have no interest in?
In the silence that followed, (M/N) noticed the lines that had formed between Katsuki's eyebrows. He had guessed or had been told. But the Capitol had not killed or even punished him. For right now, that exceeded (M/N)'s wildest hopes. (M/N) drank in his wholeness, the soundness of his body and mind. It ran through him like the morphling they gave him in the hospital, dulling the pain of the last few weeks.
"Why don't you tell us about that last night in the arena?" Toshinori suggested. "Help us sort a few things out."
Katsuki nodded but took his time speaking. "That last night... to tell you about that last night... Well, first of all, you have to imagine how it felt in the arena. It was like being an insect trapped under a bowl filled with steaming air. And all around you, jungle... green and alive and ticking. That giant clock ticking away your life. Every hour promising some new horror. You have to imagine that in the past two days, sixteen people have died - some of them defending you. At the rate things are going, the last eight will be dead by morning. Save one. The Victor. And your plan is that it won't be you."
(M/N)'s body broke out in a sweat at the memory. His hand slid down the screen and stopped limply at his side. Katsuki didn't need a brush to paint images from the Games. He worked just as well in words.
"Once you're in the arena, the rest of the world becomes very distant," he continued. "All the people and things you loved or cared about almost cease to exist. The pink sky and the monsters in the jungle and the tributes who want your blood become your final reality, the only one that ever mattered. As bad as it makes you feel, you're going to have to do some killing, because in the arena, you only get one wish. And it's very costly."
"It costs your life," Toshinori said.
"Oh, no. It costs a lot more than your life. To murder innocent people?" Katsuki said. "It costs everything you are."
"Everything you are..." Toshinori repeated quietly.
A hush had fallen over the room, and (M/N) could feel it spreading across Panem. A nation leaning in towards its screens. Because no one had ever talked about what it was like in the arena before.
Katsuki went on. "So you hold on to your wish. And that last night, yes, my wish was to save (M/N). But even without knowing about the rebels, it didn't feel right. Everything was too complicated. I found myself regretting I hadn't run off with him earlier in the day, as he had suggested. But there was no getting out of it at that point."
"You were too caught up in Tenya's plan to electrify the salt lake," Toshinori said.
"Too busy playing allies with the others. I should have never let them separate us!" Katsuki burst out. "That's when I lost him."
"When you stayed behind at the lightning tree, and he and Neito took the coil of wire down to the water," Toshinori clarified.
"I didn't want to!" Katsuki flushed in agitation. "But I couldn't argue with Tenya without indicating we were about to break away from the alliance. When that wire was cut, everything just went insane. I can only remember bits and pieces. Trying to find him. Watching Kuzo kill Yamada. Killing Kuzo myself. I know he was calling my name. Then the lightning bolt hit the tree, and the force field around the arena... blew out."
"(M/N) blew it out, Katsuki," Toshinori said. "You've seen the footage."
"He didn't know what he was doing. None of us could follow Tenya's plan. You can see him trying to figure out what to do with that wire," Katsuki snapped back.
"All right. It just looks suspicious," Toshinori said. "As if he was part of the rebels' plan all along."
Katsuki was on his feet, leaning into Toshinori's face, hands locked on the arms of his interviewer's chair. "Really? And was it part of his plan for Neito to nearly kill him? For that electric shock to paralyse him? To trigger the bombing?" He was yelling now. "He didn't know! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!"
Toshinori placed his hand on Katsuki's chest in a gesture that was both self-protective and a calming gesture. "Ok, Katsuki, I believe you."
Katsuki withdrew from Toshinori, pulling back his hands, running them through his hair. He slumped back in his chair, distraught.
Toshinori waited a moment, studying Katsuki. "What about your mentor, Shota Aizawa?"
Katsuki's face hardened. "I don't know what Shota knew."
"Could he have been part of the conspiracy?" Toshinori asked.
"He never mentioned it," Katsuki said.
Toshinori pressed on. "What does your heart tell you?"
"That I shouldn't have trusted him," Katsuki said. "That's all."
(M/N) hadn't seen Shota since he attacked him on the hovercraft. He knew it would have been bad for his mentor here. District 13 strictly forbade any production or consumption of intoxicating beverages, and even the rubbing alcohol in the hospital was being kept under lock and key. Finally, Shota was being forced into sobriety, with no secret stashes or home-brewed concoctions to ease his transition. They had him in seclusion until he was dried out, as he wasn't deemed fit for public display. It must be excruciating, but (M/N) lost all his sympathy for Shota when he realised how he had deceived them. (M/N) hoped he was watching the Capitol broadcast now, so he could see that Katsuki had cast him off as well.
Toshinori patted Katsuki's shoulder. "We can stop now if you want."
"Was there more to discuss?" Katsuki said wryly.
"I was going to ask your thoughts on the war, but if you're too upset..." Toshinori began.
"I'm fine." Katsuki took a deep breath and looked straight at the camera. "I want everyone watching - whether you're on the Capitol or rebel side - to stop for just a moment and think about what this war could mean. For human beings. We almost went extinct fighting one another before. Now our numbers are even fewer. Our conditions more tenuous. Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely? In the hopes that - what? Some decent species will inherit the smoking remains of the earth?"
"I don't really... I'm not sure I'm following..." Toshinori said.
"We can't fight one another," Katsuki said. "There won't be enough of us left to keep going. If everybody doesn't lay down their weapons - and I mean, as in very soon - it's all over, anyway."
"So... you're calling for a cease-fire?" Toshinori asked.
"Yes. I'm calling for a cease-fire," Katsuki said tiredly. "I'm done. That's all."
Toshinori turned to the camera. "All right. I think that wraps it up. So back to our regularly scheduled programming."
Music played them out, and then there was a woman reading a list of expected shortages in the Capitol - fresh fruit, solar batteries, soap. (M/N) knew everyone would be waiting for his reaction to the interview. But there was no way he could process it all so quickly - the joy of seeing Katsuki alive and unharmed, his defence of (M/N)'s innocence in collaborating with the rebels, and his undeniable complicity with the Capitol now that he had called for a ceasefire. Oh, he made it sound as if he were condemning both sides of the war. But at this point, with only minor victories for the rebels, a ceasefire could only result in a return to their previous status. Or worse.
Behind (M/N), he could hear the accusations against Katsuki building. The words traitor, liar and enemy bounced off the walls. Since (M/N) could neither join the rebels' outrage nor counter it, he decided the best thing to do was clear out. As he reached the door, Kaina's voice rose above the others. "You have not been dismissed, Soldier (L/N)."
One of Kaina's men put a hand on his arm. It wasn't an aggressive move, really, but after the arena, he reacted defensively to any touch. He jerked his arm free and took off running down the halls. Behind him, there was the sound of a scuffle, but he didn't stop. His mind did a quick inventory of his odd little hiding places, and he wound up in the supply room, curled up against a crate of chalk.
"You're alive," (M/N) whispered. Katsuki was alive. And a traitor. But at the moment (M/N) didn't care. Not what he said, or who he said it for, only that he was still capable of speech.
After a while, the door opened and someone slipped in. Shoto slid down beside (M/N), his nose trickling blood.
"What happened?" (M/N) asked.
"I got in Mashirao's way," Shoto answered with a shrug.
(M/N) used his sleeve to wipe the blood from Shoto's nose. "Which one is he?"
"Oh, you know. Kaina's right-hand lackey. The one who tried to stop you." He pushed (M/N)'s hand away. "Stop. You'll bleed me to death."
The trickle had turned to a steady stream. (M/N) gave up on the first-aid attempts. "You fought with Mashirao?"
"No, just blocked the doorway when he tried to follow you. His elbow caught me in the nose," Shoto said.
"They'll probably punish you," (M/N) said.
"Already have." Shoto held up his wrist. "Kaina took back my communicuff."
(M/N) bit his lip, trying to remain serious. But it seemed so ridiculous. "I'm sorry, Soldier Shoto Todoroki."
"Don't be, Soldier (M/N) (L/N)." He smiled. "I felt like a jerk walking around with it anyway. I think it was quite the demotion."
This was one of the few good things about 13. Getting Shoto back. With the pressure of the Capitol's arranged marriage between (M/N) and Katsuki gone, they had managed to regain their friendship. Shoto didn't push it any further - try to kiss him or talk about love. Either (M/N) had been too sick, or Shoto was willing to give him some space, or just knew it was too cruel with Katsuki in the hands of the Capitol. Whatever the case, (M/N) had someone to tell his secrets to again.
"Who are these people?" (M/N) said.
"They're us. If we'd had nukes instead of a few lumps of coal," Shoto answered.
"I like to think Twelve wouldn't have abandoned the rest of the rebels back in the Dark Days," (M/N) said.
"We might have. If it was that, surrender, or start a nuclear war," Shoto said. "In a way, it's remarkable they survived at all."
Maybe it was because (M/N) still had the ashes of his own district on his shoes, but for the first time, he gave the people of 13 something he had withheld from them: credit. For staying alive against all odds. Their early years must have been terrible, huddled in the chambers beneath the ground after their city was bombed to dust. Population decimated, no possible ally to turn to for aid. Over the past seventy-five years, they had learned to be self-sufficient, turned their citizens into an army, and built a new society with no help from anyone. They would be even more powerful if that pox epidemic had not flattened their birthrate and made them so desperate for a new gene pool and breeders. Maybe they were militaristic, overly programmed and somewhat lacking in a sense of humour. They were here. And willing to take on the Capitol.
"Still, it took them long enough to show up," (M/N) said.
"It wasn't simple. They had to build up a rebel base in the Capitol, get some sort of underground organised in the districts," Shoto said. "Then they needed someone to set the whole thing in motion. They needed you."
"They needed Katsuki, too, but they seem to have forgotten that," (M/N) said.
Shoto's expression darkened. "Katsuki might have done a lot of damage tonight. Most of the rebels will dismiss what he said immediately, of course. But there are districts where the resistance is shakier. The ceasefire was clearly President Nezu's idea. But it seemed so reasonable coming out of Katsuki's mouth."
(M/N) was afraid of Shoto's answer, but he asked anyway. "Why do you think he said it?"
"He might have been tortured. Or persuaded. My guess is he made some kind of deal to protect you. He'd put forth the idea of the ceasefire if Nezu let him present you as a confused boy who had no idea what was going on when he was taken prisoner by the rebels. This way, if the districts lose, there's still a chance of leniency for you. If you play it right." (M/N) looked perplexed and Shoto delivered the next line very slowly. "(M/N)... he's trying to keep you alive."
To keep me alive? And then (M/N) understood. The Games were still on. They had left the arena, but since he and Katsuki weren't killed, Katsuki's last wish to preserve (M/N)'s life still stood. His idea was to have (M/N) lay low, remain safe and imprisoned, while the war played out. Then neither side would really have cause to kill (M/N). And Katsuki? If the rebels won, maybe they would both be allowed to live - if (M/N) played right - to watch the Games go on...
Images flashed through (M/N)'s mind: the spear piercing Wendy's body in the arena, Shoto hanging senseless from the whipping post, the corpse-littered wasteland of his home. And for what? For what? As his blood turned hot, he remembered other things. His first glimpse of an uprising in District 8. The victors locked hand in hand the night before the Quarter Quell. And how it was no accident, him shooting that arrow into the force field in the arena. How badly he wanted to lodge it deep in the heart of his enemy.
(M/N) sprung up, upsetting a box of a hundred pencils, sending them scattering around the floor.
"What is it?" Shoto asked.
"There can't be a ceasefire." (M/N) leaned down, fumbling as he shoved the sticks of dark grey graphite into the box. "We can't go back."
"I know." Shoto swept up a handful of pencils and tapped them on the floor into perfect alignment.
"Whatever reason Katsuki had for saying those things, he's wrong." The sticks wouldn't go in the box and (M/N) snapped several in frustration.
"I know. Give it here. You're breaking them to bits." He pulled the box from (M/N)'s hands and refilled it with swift, concise motions.
"He doesn't know what they did to Twelve. If he could've seen what was on the ground-" (M/N) started.
"(M/N), I'm not arguing. If I could hit a button and kill every living soul working for the Capitol, I would do it. Without hesitation." He slid the last pencil into the box and flipped the lid closed. "The question is, what are you going to do?"
It turned out the question that had been eating away at (M/N) only ever had one possible answer. But it took Katsuki's ploy for him to recognise it.
What am I going to do?
(M/N) took a deep breath. His arms raised slightly - as if recalling the wings Keigo gave him - then came to rest at his sides.
"I'm going to be the Mockingjay."
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