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Buttercup's eyes reflected the faint glow of the safety light over the door as he laid in the crook of Eri's arm, back on the job, protecting her from the night. She snuggled closer to their mother. Asleep, they looked just as they did the morning of the reaping that landed (M/N) in his first Games. Right before Eri woke up in need of comfort. (M/N) had a bed to himself because no one could sleep with him anyway, with the nightmares and the thrashing around.
After tossing and turning for hours, he finally accepted that it would be a wakeful night. Under Buttercup's watchful eye, (M/N) tiptoed across the cold tiled floor to the dresser.
The middle drawer contained his government-issued clothes. Everyone wore the same grey trousers and shirt, the shirt tucked in at the waist. Underneath the clothes, (M/N) kept the few items he had on him when he was lifted from the arena. His mockingjay pin. Katsuki's token, the gold locket with photos of his mother and Eri and Shoto inside, and the pearl Katsuki gave him a few hours before he blew out the force field. District 13 confiscated his tube of skin ointment for use in the hospital, and his bow and arrows because only guards had clearance to carry weapons. They were in safekeeping in the armoury.
(M/N) felt around the drawer, sliding his fingers inside until they closed around the pearl. He sat back on his bed cross-legged and found himself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against his lips. For some reason, it was soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself.
"(M/N)?" Eri whispered. She was awake, looking at him through the darkness. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep." It was automatic. Shutting Eri and his mother out of things to shield them.
Careful not to rouse their mother, Eri eased herself from the bed, scooped up Buttercup and sat beside (M/N). She touched the hand that had curled around the pearl. "You're cold." Taking a spare blanket from the foot of the bed, she wrapped it around all three of them, eveloping (M/N) in her warmth and Buttercup's furry heat as well. "You could tell me, you know. I'm good at keeping secrets. Even from mum."
She was really gone, then. The little girl with the back of her shirt sticking out like a duck tail, the one who needed help reaching the dishes, and who begged to see the frosted cakes in the bakery window. Time and tragedy had forced her to grow too quickly, at least for (M/N)'s taste, into a young woman who stitched bleeding wounds and knew their mother could only hear so much.
"Tomorrow morning, I'm going to agree to be the Mockingjay," (M/N) told her.
"Because you want to or because you feel forced into it?" she asked.
He laughed a little. "Both, I guess. No, I want to. I have to, if it will help the rebels defeat Nezu." He squeezed the pearl tightly in his fist. "It's just... Katsuki. I'm afraid if we do win, the rebels will execute him as a traitor."
Eri seemed to think it over. "(M/N), I don't think you understand how important you are to the cause. Important people usually get what they want. If you want to keep Katsuki safe from the rebels, you can."
(M/N) guessed he was important. They went through a lot of trouble to rescue him. They took him to 12. "You mean... I could demand that they give Katsuki immunity? And they'd have to agree to it?"
"I think you could demand almost anything and they'd have to agree to it." Eri wrinkled her brow. "Only how do you know they would keep their word?"
(M/N) remembered all the lies Shota told him and Katsuki to get them to do what he wanted. What was to keep the rebels from backing out on the deal? A verbal promise behind closed doors, even a statement written on paper - those could easily evaporate after the war. Their existence or validity denied. Any witnesses in Command would be worthless. In fact, they would probably be the ones writing Katsuki's death warrant. (M/N) would need a much larger pool of witnesses. He would need everyone he could get.
"It will have to be public," (M/N) said. "I'll make Kaina announce it in front of the entire population of Thirteen."
Eri smiled. "Oh, that's good. It's not a guarantee, but it will be much harder for them to back out of their promise.
(M/N) felt the kind of relief that followed an actual solution. "I should wake you up more often."
"I wish you would," Eri said. "Try and sleep now, all right?" And (M/N) did.
~
In the morning, he saw that 7:00 - Breakfast was directly followed by 7:30 - Command, which was fine since he might as well start the ball rolling. At the dining hall, he flashed his schedule, which included some kind of ID number, in front of a sensor. As he slid his tray along the metal shelf before the vats of food, he saw breakfast was its usual dependable self - a bowl of hot grain, a cup of milk and a small scoop of vegetables. Today, mashed turnips. All of it came from 13's underground farms. (M/N) sat at the table assigned to his family and the Todorokis and some other refugees, and shovelled his food down, wishing for seconds, but there were never seconds here. They had nutrition down to a science. Everyone left with enough calories to take them to the next meal, no more, no less. Serving size was based on your age, height, body type, health and amount of physical labour required by your schedule. The people from 12 were already getting slightly larger portions than the natives of 13 were in an effort to bring them up to weight. (M/N) guessed bony soldiers tired too quickly. It was working, though. In just a month, they were starting to look healthier, particularly the kids.
Shoto set his tray beside (M/N) and (M/N) tried not to stare at his turnips too pathetically, because he really wanted more, and Shoto was already too quick to slip him food. Even though (M/N) turned his attention to neatly folding his napkin, a spoonful of turnips dropped into his bowl.
"You've got to stop that," (M/N) said. But since he was already scooping up the stuff, it wasn't too convincing. "Really. It's probably illegal or something." They had very strict rules about food. If you didn't finish something and wanted to save it for later, you couldn't take it from the dining hall. In the early days, there was some incident of food hoarding. For a couple of people like Shoto and (M/N), who had been in charge of their families' food supply for years, it didn't sit well. They knew how to be hungry, but not how to be told how to handle what provisions they had. In some ways, District 13 was even more controlling than the Capitol.
"What can they do? They've already taken my communifcuff," Shoto said.
As (M/N) scraped his bowl clean, he had an inspiration. "Hey, maybe I should make that a condition of being the Mockingjay."
"That I can feed you turnips?" Shoto said.
"No, that we can hunt." That got his attention. "We'd have to give everything to the kitchen. But still, we could..." (M/N) didn't have to finish because Shoto knew. They could be above ground. Out in the woods. They could be themselves again.
"Do it," he said. "Now's the time. You could ask for the moon and they'd have to find some way to get it."
Shoto didn't know that he was already asking for the moon by demanding they spared Katsuki's life. Before he could decide whether or not to tell Shoto, a bell signalled the end of their eating shift. The thought of facing Kaina alone made (M/N) nervous. "What are you scheduled for?"
Shoto checked his arm. "Nuclear History class. Where, by the way, your absence has been noted."
"I have to go to Command. Come with me?" (M/N) asked.
"All right. But they might throw me out after yesterday." As they went to drop off their trays, Shoto said, "You know, you better put Buttercup on your list of demands, too. I don't think the concept of useless pets is well known here."
"Oh, they'll find him a job. Tattoo it on his paw every morning," (M/N) said. But he made a mental note to include him for Eri's sake.
By the time they got to Command, Kaina, Kan and all their people had already assembled. The sight of Shoto raised some eyebrows, but no one threw him out. (M/N)'s mental notes had become too jumbled, so he asked for a piece of paper and a pencil right off. His apparent interest in the proceedings - the first he had ever shown since he had been here - took them by surprise. Several looks were exchanged. They probably had some extra-special lecture planned for him. But instead, Kaina personally handed him the supplies, and everyone waited in silence while he sat at the table and scrawled out his list. Buttercup. Hunting. Katsuki's immunity. Announced in public.
This was it. Probably his only chance to bargain. Think. What else do you want? (M/N) felt him, standing at his shoulder. Shoto, he added to the list. He didn't think he would be able to do this without Shoto.
The headache was coming on and his thoughts began to tangle. He shut his eyes and started to recite silently.
My name is (M/N) (L/N). I am eighteen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me. Katsuki was taken prisoner. He is alive. He is a traitor but alive. I have to keep him alive...
The list. It seemed too small. He should try to think bigger, beyond their current situation where he was of the utmost importance, to the future where he may be worth nothing. Shouldn't he be asking for more? For his family? For the remainder of his people? His skin itched with the ashes of the dead. He felt the sickening impact of the skull against his shoe. The scent of blood and roses stung his nose.
The pencil moved across the page on its own. He opened his eyes and saw the wobbly letters. I KILL NEZU. If he was captured, (M/N) wanted that privilege.
Kan gave a discreet cough. "About done there?"
(M/N) glanced up and noticed the clock. He had been sitting there for twenty minutes. Denki wasn't the only one with attention problems.
"Yeah," (M/N) said. His voice sounded hoarse, so he cleared his throat. "Yeah, so this is the deal. I'll be your Mockingjay."
He waited so they could make their sounds of relief, congratulate, slap one another on the back. Kaina stayed as impassive as ever, watching him, unimpressed.
"But I have some conditions." He smoothed out the list and began. "My family gets to keep our cat." His tiniest request set off an argument. The Capitol rebels saw this as a non-issue - of course he could keep his pet - while those from 13 spelled out what extreme difficulties it presented. Finally it was worked out that they would be moved to the top level, which had the luxury of a twenty centimetre window above ground. Buttercup could come and go to do his business. He would be expected to feed himself. If he missed curfew, he would be locked out. If he caused any security problems, he would be shot immediately.
That sounded fine. Not so different from how Buttercup had been living since they left. Except for the shooting part. If he looked too thin, (M/N) could slip him a few entrails, provided his next request was allowed.
"I want to hunt. With Shoto. Out in the woods," (M/N) said. That made everyone pause.
"We won't go far. We'll use our own bows. You can have the meat for the kitchen," Shoto added.
(M/N) hurried on before they could say no. "It's just... I can't breathe locked up here like a... I would get better, faster, if... I could hunt."
Kan began to explain the drawbacks - the dangers, the extra security, the risk of injury - but Kaina cut him off. "No. Let them. Give them two hours a day, deducted from their training time. A quarter-mile radius. With communication units and tracker anklets. What's next?"
(M/N) skimmed his list. "Shoto. I'll need him with me to do this."
"With you how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?" Kaina asked.
She hadn't said that with any particular malice - quite the contrary, her words were very matter-of-fact. But (M/N)'s mouth still dropped open in shock. "What?"
"I think we should continue the current romance. A quick defection from Katsuki could cause the audience to lose sympathy for (M/N)," Kan said. "Especially since they think he has Katsuki's child."
"Agreed. So on-screen, Shoto can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that all right?" Kaina said. (M/N) just stared at her. She repeated herself impatiently. "For Shoto. Will that be sufficient?"
"We can always work him in as your cousin."
"We're not cousins," Shoto and (M/N) said together.
"Right, but we should probably keep that up for appearances' sake on camera," Kan said. "Off camera, he's all yours. Anything else?"
(M/N) was rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that he could so readily dispose of Katsuki, that he was in love with Shoto, that the whole thing had been an act. His cheeks began to burn. The very notion that he was devoting any thought to who he wanted presented as his lover, given their current circumstances, was demeaning. He let his anger propel him into his greatest demand. "When the war is over, if we've won, Katsuki will be pardoned."
Dead silence. (M/N) felt Shoto's body tense. He probably should have told him before, but (M/N) wasn't sure how he would respond. Not when it involved Katsuki.
"No form of punishment will be inflicted," (M/N) continued. A new thought occurred to him. "The same goes for the other captured tributes, Neito and Illona." Frankly, (M/N) didn't care about Illona, the vicious District 2 tribute. In fact, he disliked her, but it seemed wrong to leave her out.
"No," Kaina said flatly.
"Yes," (M/N) shot back. "It's not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. Who knows what the Capitol's doing to them?"
"They'll be tried with the other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit," she said.
"They'll be granted immunity!" (M/N) felt himself rising from his chair, his voice full and resonant. "You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government accountable for their safety, or you'll find yourself another Mockingjay!"
(M/N)'s words hung in the air for a long moment.
"That's him!" Kan's assistant hissed. "Right there. With the costume, gunfire in the background, just a hint of smoke."
"Yes, that's what we want," Kan said under his breath.
(M/N) wanted to glare at them, but he felt it would be a mistake to turn his attention away from Kaina. He could see her tallying the cost of his ultimatum, weighing it against his possible worth.
"What do you say, President?" Kan asked. "You could issue an official pardon, given the circumstances."
"All right," Kaina said finally. "But you'd better perform."
"I'll perform when you've made the announcement," (M/N) said.
"Call a national security assembly during Reflection today," she ordered. "I'll make the announcement then. Is there anything left on your list, (M/N)?"
(M/N)'s paper was crumpled into a ball in his right fist. He flattened the sheet against the table and read the rickety letters. "Just one more thing. I kill Nezu."
For the first time ever, (M/N) saw a hint of a smile on the president's lips. "When the time comes, I'll flip you for it."
Maybe she was right. (M/N) certainly didn't have a sole claim against Nezu's life. And he could probably count on her getting the job done. "Fair enough."
Kaina's eyes flickered to her arm, the clock. She, too, had a schedule to adhere to. "I'll leave him in your hands, then, Kan." She exited the room, followed by her team, leaving only Kan, his assistant, Shoto, and (M/N).
"Excellent. Excellent." Kan sunk down, elbows on the table, rubbing his eyes. "You know what I miss? More than anything? Coffee. I ask you, would it be so unthinkable to have something to wash down the gruel and turnips?"
"We didn't think it would be quite so rigid here," his assistant said as she massaged Kan's shoulders. "Not in the higher ranks."
"Or at least there'd be the option of a little side action," Kan said. "I mean, even Twelve had a black market, right?'
"Yeah, the Hob," Shoto said. "It's where we traded."
"There, you see? And look how moral you two are! Virtually incorruptible." Kan sighed. "Oh, well, wars don't last forever. So, glad to have you on the team." He reached a hand out to the side, where his assistant was already extending a large sketchbook bound in black leather. "You know in general what we're asking of you, (M/N). I'm aware you have mixed feelings about participating. I hope this will help."
Kan slid the sketchbook across to (M/N). For a moment, (M/N) looked at it suspiciously. Then curiosity got the better of him. He opened the cover to find a picture of himself, standing straight and strong, in a black uniform. Only one person could have designed the outfit, at first glance, utterly utilitarian, at second a work of art. The swoop of the helmet, the slight fullness of the sleeves that allowed the white folds under the arms to show. In his hands, (M/N) was again a mockingjay.
"Keigo," he whispered.
"Yes. He made me promise not to show you this book until you'd decided to be the Mockingjay on your own. Believe me, I was very tempted," Kan said. "Go on. Flip through."
(M/N) turned the pages slowly, seeing each detail of the uniform. The carefully tailored layers of body armour, the hidden weapons in the boots and belt, the special reinforcements over his heart. On the final page, under a sketch of his mockingjay pin, Keigo had written, I'm still betting on you.
"When did he..." (M/N)'s voice failed him.
"Let's see. Well, after the Quarter Quell announcement. A few weeks before the Games, maybe? There are not only the sketches. We have your uniforms. Oh, and Tenya's got something really special waiting for you down in the armoury. I won't spoil it by hinting," Kan said.
"You're going to be the best-dressed rebel in history," Shoto said with a smile. Suddenly, (M/N) realised his friend had been holding out on him. Like Keigo, Shoto wanted him to make this decision all along.
"Our plan is to launch an Airtime Assault," Kan said. "To make a series of what we call propos - which is short for 'propaganda shots' - featuring you, and broadcast them to the entire population of Panem."
"How? The Capitol has sole control of the broadcasts," Shoto said.
"But we have Tenya. About ten years ago, he essentially redesigned the underground network that transmits all the programming. He thinks there's a reasonable chance it can be done. Of course, we'll need something to air. So, (M/N), the studio awaits your pleasure." Kan turned to his assistant, and she took that as a sign to speak.
"Kan and I have been talking about how on earth we can pull this off. We think that it might be best to build you, our rebel leader, from the outside... in. That is to say, let's find the most stunning Mockingjay look possible, and then work your personality up to deserving it!" she said brightly.
"You already have his uniform," Shoto said.
"Yes, but is he scarred and bloody? Is he glowing with the fire of rebellion? Just how grimy can we make him without disgusting people? At any rate, he has to be something. I mean, obviously this" - she moved in on (M/N) quickly, framing his face with her hands - "won't cut it." (M/N) jerked his head back reflexively but she was already busy gathering her things. "So, with that in mind, we have another little surprise for you. Come, come."
She gave them a wave, and Shoto and (M/N) followed her and Kan out into the hall.
"So well intended, and yet so insulting," Shoto whispered in (M/N)'s ear.
"Welcome to the Capitol," (M/N) mouthed back. But her words had no effect on him. He wrapped his arms tightly around the sketchbook and allowed himself to feel hopeful. This had to be the right decision. If Keigo wanted it.
They boarded a lift, and Kan checked his notes. "Let's see. It's Compartment Three-Nine-Oh-Eight." He pressed a button marked 39, but nothing happened.
"You must have to key it," his assistant said.
Kan pulled a key attached to a thin chain from under his shirt and inserted it into a slot (M/N) hadn't noticed before. The doors slid shut. "Ah, there we are."
The lift descended ten, twenty, thirty-plus levels, further down than (M/N) even knew District 13 went. It opened a wide white corridor lined with red doors, which looked almost decorative compared to the grey ones on the upper floors. Each was plainly marked with a number. 3901, 3902, 3903...
As they stepped out, (M/N) glanced behind him to watch the lift close and saw a metallic grate slide into place over the regular doors. When he turned, a guard had materialised from one of the rooms at the far end of the corridor. A door swung silently shut behind him as he strode towards them.
Kan moved to meet him, raising a hand in greeting, and the rest of them followed behind him. Something felt very wrong down here. It was more than the reinforced lift, or the claustrophobia of being so far underground, or the caustic smell of antiseptic. One look at Shoto's face and (M/N) could tell he sensed it as well.
"Good morning, we were just looking for-" Kan began.
"You have the wrong floor," the guard said abruptly.
"Really?" Kan double-checked his notes. "I've got Three-Nine-Oh-Eight written right here. I wonder if you could just give a call up to-"
"I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave now. Assignment discrepancies can be addressed at the Head Office," the guard said.
It was right ahead of them. Compartment 3908. Just a few steps away. The door - in fact, all the doors - seemed incomplete. No knobs. They must swing free on hinges like the one the guard appeared through.
"Where is that again?" Kan's assistant asked.
"You'll find the Head Office on Level Seven," the guard said, extending his arms to corral them back to the lift.
From behind door 3908 came a sound. Just a tiny whimper. Like something a scared dog might make to avoid being struck, only all too human and familiar. (M/N)'s eyes met Shoto's for just a moment, but it was long enough for two people who operated the way they did. (M/N) let Keigo's sketchbook fall at the guard's feet with a loud bang. A second after he leaned down to retrieve it, Shoto leaned down, too, intentionally bumping heads. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, catching the guard's arms as if to steady himself, turning him slightly away from (M/N).
That was his chance. (M/N) darted around the distracted guard, pushed open the door marked 3908, and found them. Half-naked, bruised, and shackled to the wall.
His prep team.
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