Quell

In. Out. In. Out. Every breath is torture. In. Out. Blood. Roses. In. Out. The smell – the one that haunted me through the entire war – is surrounding me. Inescapable. In. Out. Just keep breathing.

If it weren't for Peeta, standing here next to me, I don't think I could do this. But Plutarch insisted – he thinks we need yet another propo, one last reminder of why the Capitol must never return to power.

The Quells.

In. Out. In. Out. It's okay. I'm safe. Peeta's here. In. Out. I'm safe.

Yet again, I can almost hear Snow's voice. "Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we agreed not to lie to each other."

I wish that would stop replaying in my head, because I can't even lie to myself anymore. Because the truth is that I'm never safe. After everything I've been through – that they have put me through – I know perfectly well that I'll never be truly safe again.

My depressing thoughts are interrupted when President Paylor starts talking to me. "Katniss? Katniss? If you're ready, we need to begin filming."

I force myself to nod. Then I walk with Peeta, Paylor, and the camera crew onto the small stage that had been prepared. I cautiously sit in my designated chair – Peeta is on my right, Paylor on my left. The box – the one I have no desire to associate with but, for some reason, have allowed myself to be anyway – is in front of us, looking deceptively plain and innocent.

We have a few minutes before we appear live on TV, one last time. No, I take that back – more likely Plutarch will force me into many more ridiculous appearances like this one. I almost have the strength to roll my eyes thinking about that – he's seemingly oblivious to my no-longer-so-subtle hints about not liking publicity. Is he really going to make me come out and tell him that there are way too many things I'd rather do with my time… like jumping off a cliff, for example?

A familiar red light blinks, and Paylor begins speaking in a solemn voice. "Greetings, people of Panem. As you know, I'm President Paylor, and I'm here in former President Snow's mansion with Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. We're here to tell you – no, to show you – the monstrosities that would have taken place, had our rebellion failed. As you know, one of Panem's greatest and most horrifying mysteries lies in this box." Paylor pauses. "Today, we're going to go through the Quarter Quell cards. Katniss and Peeta will take turns reading each. We will begin with the first Quarter Quell, to clear up any confusion. Peeta, if you'd like to start…" Paylor trails off.

Peeta, clearly unwilling, grimaces, but he reaches for the card all the same. "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district will hold an election and vote on the tributes who will represent it."

My turn. I swallow hard. "On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district will be required to send twice as many tributes." My thoughts flicker involuntarily to Haymitch. I know he's watching this… I wish I hadn't had to read that out loud.

I know the audience has been waiting for this moment. The first two Quells were known. We've all seen the recaps. But the third… the third Quell is accompanied by the burning question: Did the Capitol lie about it, to take me out of the picture?

I know the answer before Peeta even reaches toward the box. Yes. Yes, they did.

When his hand is a few inches away, he stops, though. "There are two." Peeta's face is calm, but I know him well enough to see the fury that lies beneath the careful mask.

Paylor raises her eyebrows, even though there's no way that she's surprised. "Excuse me? There are two cards in the slot?"

"Yes," Peeta almost growls. "Two. One matches all the others, but the second one looks… newer…" It looks like he's lost the ability to speak.

Paylor reaches for the cards. It looks like she's going to read them, apparently sensing that Peeta can't. "The one that fits in should go first, I think," she says quietly. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that false preparation contributed to their downfall in the war, the Cornucopia, meaning food, weapons, and other supplies, will not be provided for the tributes."

I hate myself for gasping, but I can't hold it back. I don't think it matters, though – no one in the audience will be paying attention to me. They lied. They lied.

Plutarch must be having the time of his life right now.

I always knew, of course. Always. But sitting here, seeing the solid, conclusive evidence that shows how evil they truly were… it's beyond words.

I try not to listen to Paylor reading the next card – the one that destroyed my life – but the cruel words reach me despite my best efforts. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors." Paylor lowers the card, looking a little shocked. "The card is labeled Revised," she murmurs.

For a moment, I can't help but picture my mother. Her youngest daughter… Prim… she died because of this. If the Capitol hadn't faked the Quell, the war never would have happened. She died because of a lie. Tears fill my eyes, like every other time I've thought about my little sister since she… left… and I will them not to spill over. The whole nation is watching me.

I realize that both Peeta and Paylor are staring at me, waiting. I blink rapidly and reluctantly reach for the next card.

"On the hundredth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that the war tore families apart, each tribute will choose one of their parents to accompany them into the arena. There will still only be one victor."

I glance over at Peeta; he's as pale as death. For a moment, I imagine what this choice would be like for him. His mother was a witch; that much I know. Would he choose her, so that he could ensure his father's safety? The witch would probably be able to kill her son without a second thought, to save her own life.

What does it matter, though… they're all dead anyway.

No. That was a mean thought. Bad Katniss.

In spite of everything, I'm barely able to hold back a snort of laughter – yeah, that'd look just great on live TV right now – thinking about the damn head doctor. Really, telling me to scold myself whenever I had a mean or bad thought was just plain moronic. I just end up sounding like Prim talking to Buttercup.

Prim…

Regardless of what just went through my head, Peeta's expression is, frankly, quite frightening as he reaches for the next card. When he reads it, he more or less spits out the words, and I'm afraid that he'll… go mutt if he gets too worked up.

"On the hundred twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that the rebels were unaided by anyone but themselves during the war, there will be no sponsor gifts as an option for the tributes."

I frown. As Quells could go, that doesn't sound like the Capitol at all. They want entertainment, and part of the thrill for many of their citizens is – no, was, I correct myself – the chance that they could influence the outcome of the Games. But I suppose it doesn't matter, it'll never happen. I bet Plutarch is disappointed, though.

Grimly, I think, No worries, Heavensbee. There's plenty more to come.

I realize that I hate this. I hate finding out that the Capitol was even more evil than I thought – not that I didn't know they were evil, obviously. But so many kids would have died in even crueler ways that usual if these Quells had taken place… and even though it's slightly unfair, I hate Plutarch for putting me through this.

Nothing to do, though – we're still live. Resigned to the worst, I reach for another card.

"On the hundred fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that, while there were not enough of them to win the war, the Capitol always had backup troops, the first sixteen tributes to die will be replaced with the youngest of their siblings. Only children will be exempt from the reaping."

Yeah. That sounds more like them.

I don't let myself think about this one. I don't imagine what it would have been like, if I had been born at this time, if I had been reaped. If I'd died in the bloodbath, then Prim… she wouldn't last an hour in the arena.

No. Can't think about her. Not while I'm on live television.

I'm about to crack, though, and I can tell that Peeta isn't much better off. He's normally so calm, so collected on stage, but today he's just not. I can't tell if it's because of the hijacking or just the horror of our situation, but he looks absolutely terrible. His eyes are blank as he reads the description for the seventh Quarter Quell.

"On the hundred seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that none of the rebels are truly safe, people of all ages are subject to the reaping."

I think about what that would be like. To think you're safe, never to be in the reaping again, and then this Quell gets thrown at you. There's no precedent for something like that.

I'm not sure how much more of this I can take – I'm almost at my limit here. It's not going to be long before I run away from this stage screaming bloody murder.

I take the next card and scan it quickly, thinking that maybe it will help to be mentally prepared.

Wrong. On the two hundredth anniversary, the card reads, as a reminder to the rebels that as many young lives were lost as old ones, the ages for the Games will be two through six.

It's just like after I found out that I'd be traveling into the arena for a second time – I'm running before I'm fully aware of it. Running away from Paylor, and Peeta, and the cruel box. The ages for the Games will be two through six. Two through six. Two through six.

I don't know how they'll finish the program without me, and frankly, I don't care. The only thing I care about is getting as far away from there as possible.

Too bad I'm locked in.

When I come to a locked door, just down the hall from where we were being filmed, the only thing I can do is give up. I sink to the floor, head in my hands, and dejectedly realize that I'm crying.

Loud footsteps approach me after a few minutes, and I know without looking that it must be Peeta. Who else can make so much noise while simply walking? He carefully takes a seat next to me and puts an arm around my shoulders.

"Sorry," he says quietly. "I had to make sure Paylor wasn't going to come after us. The rest of the show's being postponed until tomorrow. Paylor said to tell you that if you didn't want to finish it, Johanna and Annie would."

It's another couple of minutes before I can say anything. "Okay. I just can't go back there, Peeta. It's too horrible."

Peeta looks at me, concern in his blue eyes. "Katniss, none of those things – save the first three – will ever happen. You know why? It's because of you. You know that."

I do. But it doesn't make this any easier. "Peeta," I choke out, "that last Quell… those tiny little kids… can you imagine…?"

I can see it, then, how much he's affected by this. His eyes harden, and I feel guilty saying anything because it's clear that he was trying not to think about it. "Yes," he agrees. "It's absolutely horrible, and I hate the Capitol for it just as much as you do. But Katniss, it'll never happen."

To my chagrin, this only makes me cry harder. "It's not just that," I manage to get out. "I was thinking, earlier… about Prim…"

Pain flashes across Peeta's face. He loved my sister, too. I can tell that he's thinking about that third Quell, the one that should have happened, the one that would never have resulted in a war. Peeta knows, too, that she died because of a lie.

"It's absolutely horrible," he repeats. "I can't believe they would do something like that. To the other victors, to us. I can't even begin to imagine why they thought that was necessary. They could have used some other technique… but Katniss – and you're going to hate me for saying this – if I had to do this over, I don't think there are very many things I'd change."

I close my eyes. "No," I say slowly, "I don't hate you. I can even see your point… a little. But that doesn't mean I agree!" I add hastily. "Because really, Peeta, I messed up a lot. People died because of me. So many people. Even everyone in our first Games – Cato, Clove, Thresh, Rue... if I'd just swallowed those berries, the war wouldn't have happened. Prim would still be alive," I finish miserably.

Peeta shakes his head. "No, Katniss – don't you see? This war, as awful as it was, changed everything. Because without it, everything that we just read – and everything that Johanna and Annie are going to read tomorrow – it would have happened, Katniss! Those two-year-olds that made you, the strongest person I know, run away from Paylor and the audience, would have died. But they won't, because we fought for them. And Paylor is a good president. While she's in charge – which will probably be for a good long time – nothing like this will happen again. And I think that goes for everyone, really, because now they can see how horrible it all was. Prim would have wanted this," he adds. "I know it. She was an amazing person, compassionate, kind… and she would have been just as horrified as you to find out about that last Quell. And," Peeta finishes, "never think that you should've swallowed the berries. Never."

I stare at him, captivated. The hijacking didn't take away his talent with words, that's for sure. Unbelievably, he's made me feel better. He's right. Prim would have wanted this.

But that doesn't make her death any better.

I sigh. "I get it, Peeta. But it still seems like too much. And one of the worst things is that my sister might have died because of something my best friend did."

Now he sighs. "I know, Katniss. But remember that whether it was Gale or not, he definitely didn't mean to hurt Prim. Or you."

I give Peeta a small, sad smile. "I know. But I can't help thinking…"

"Yeah," he agrees. "Thinking sucks."

I wipe my eyes clumsily with the back of my hand. The tears have stopped, but the only image in my mind is one of tiny children, two through six, standing in a circle around the golden Cornucopia, preparing to fight to the death… the smallest of them probably not even understanding what that means.

It'll never happen, I say to myself firmly. Never.

We walk back to the filming room, and I apologize to Paylor. "Don't worry about it, Katniss," she assures me. "I almost did the same thing when I saw that card. I'm sure Johanna and Annie will be fine with taking your place tomorrow.

I almost smile at this. More likely that Johanna will yell at me for an hour before running to Beetee and demanding that he design another ax for her, and Annie will zone out completely and say things that no one else understands.

Thinking about all the other victors helps. They know we've done the right thing, and right now, so do I. Prim might have died, but we made sure that there will never be another Hunger Games. No two-year-olds will be forced to kill each other, and no kid will have to choose a parent to accompany them to the arena.

The Games are over. The war is over. And, while at the moment there's nothing resembling peace in my life, I think that I might be able to get to that point… eventually.

So, what did you think? This is my first one-shot, I wrote it because I've always been curious about the Quarter Quells. Then I thought that people in the Capitol probably would be too, so it would be likely that something like this would happen.

This is the first story I've posted, too, and I can't even begin to tell you how much it would mean if I got a lot of reviews. It doesn't really matter if you loved it or if you're offering constructive criticism, just PLEASE REVIEW!

Thanks!

~What the Quell