Chapter Five

A/N: Dear Readers, I have a horrible confession to make :( (please don't hate me!) I wrote myself into a bit of a corner and have had to go back and make some changes to this story. I had to take out the Destruction of 12. I didn't want the consequences of that to fall on Prim, and I couldn't explain it any other way as is, so, I've taken that out. Twelve is still intact at this point in my story. I've also added a sweet gale and Katniss cuddle scene in CH 2 because I wanted to get Gale in sooner. And I went way back in "Into the Woods" and added a scene in Ch. 3 where we see Prim challenging Katniss and showing that she's grown up some. If you want to go back and read those, you can, but it not, all you really need to know is that Prim is not the simple, sweet child Katniss still thinks she is. And that Twelve is still intact at this point in time.

Sorry for my irresponsible writing. It won't happen again!

And a very Merry Christmas to you all!

"Come on, Ms. Everdeen."

I don't acknowledge the voice talking to me.

"You've got to get out of bed today."

What's the point? Not like anything matters any more….

"Come on now, miss. We're going to move on one, two, three…"

I feel the orderly's hands grab me and try to move me, expecting me to help. I don't.

"Come now, you're going to have to help me."

No, I don't have to do anything.

"Let's work together now."

I'll never help you do anything, I think, as I will myself to be as heavy as a stone and stay in bed.

"Come on, Ms. Everdeen, you can't stay in the bed forever."

You wanna bet?

"Okay…Let's try this again."

This idiot just won't give up.

"One…two…and…three…we're moving!" He's says brightly, hopefully.

But we're not moving.

"Do you want me to kill you?" I glare at the man trying to help me. "Because I will. I'll kill you."

The man's hands fall away from me and he quickly hides them as he takes a step back, looking afraid, but his tone retains its pep. "Well…okay then…I'll just go find more help."

You do that, I think. I'll kill them too…

It's not long before a team of stronger looking men come in to my room.

"Get your hands off of me! I'll kill you! I'll kill you all!"

But I'm no match for them. They hold me down and inject me with something that makes my limbs go limp. I'm suddenly lifted out of my hospital bed and put into a wheel chair and sunny nurse is pushing me.

"Now, see, Ms. Everdeen, that's wasn't so bad, was it?" His voice is happy again.

"I'll still kill you," I try to say, but I can barely move my lips. Or you can kill me…not like I care anymore. I guess that's what they're probably going to do as the man wheels me out of the room. I don't blame them after everything I've threated to do to them the past few days.

"Well, if it isn't the queen of sunshine herself!"

Haymitch is waiting for me in the hall. I will kill you, I think as I see him, my eyes narrowed. He chuckles, undoubtedly knowing what I'm thinking as I've threatened him with this already a hundred times.

"She's in a bit of a sour mood today," the nurse-man says to Haymitch.

"So it's a good day then?" He laughs again, ignoring me completely.

"I'll kill you." I mutter as I struggle to get out of my chair, but I'm too weak.

"So you keep telling me," he says dismissively as he pushes me down the hallway. After several moments of silence, he finally asks, "so, you curious about where we're going?"

"No."

"Alright then;" he's indifferent.

He finally leads me a metal door. There's a solider at the entrance who salutes Haymitch and opens the door for us. I roll my eyes as he pushes me in the room.

As he turns me in, I see a large, business type table lined with several seats, three of which are filled. The first is occupied by a man I don't recognize. He's a bit older, though he takes care of himself well, probably from the Capitol since he's a bit portly. He holds himself like he's important. Next to him is a slender, gray haired woman I know to be President Coin. And next to her is Gale. He's dressed in his solider uniform. He glances up at me furtively as I come in. I glare at them all contemptuously.

"Ms. Everdeen," the unknown man gets up and extends his hand to me. I look at it like he's initiating an unknown gesture. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Haymitch laughs. "Careful Plutarch, she might bite you."

Plutarch looks from me to Haymitch, trying to gauge if Haymitch's joking. My scowl tells him he isn't, so he sits back down.

"My name is Plutarch Heavensbee, and I'm the head Game-maker this year." He pauses to see if I react, but I don't even look up at him as my fingers twitch at the table. I'll kill you, I think. "You know, Katniss, we met once before." He's trying to be friendly.

No, I don't know, and I don't care.

"I was sitting at the table during your private training sessions, when you shot the pig. I'm the man who fell backwards," he says this jovially. I don't understand why. "You nearly got me." He laughs good naturedly.

"Too bad I didn't."

They all pretend to ignore my comment. "Thank you for joining us, Katniss," President Coin begins.

I breathe a short laugh. She says it like I had a choice.

"Let's begin, shall we?" Coin continues, organizing the papers in front of her and looking to the men to see if they are ready. She seems to think that acting as if everything is normal will make it so. But normal and I haven't been getting along too well recently.

"Yes, I think that's a good idea," Plutarch agrees. Gale and Haymitch nod. "Okay," he continues, "we need to get started with the propos," he turns to me, explaining, "propos are propaganda segments," I don't look up or acknowledge that I care. He clears his throat, "right, well Beetee's been working hard on opening up lines of communication to get to the Districts, and he's almost ready, so that means we need to get ready too." He looks to each of us. Everyone except for me nods in agreement. "Our intelligence indicates that several of the Districts are ready to rebel," the President nods to confirm his statement, "But their disjointed, and they need our help." Everyone nods and looks serious. "I've written up a few drafts of the propos I think our best, they're included in the papers for you," he gestures to the packers in front of us. Only the President opens hers to look, "and I'd like to get moving on this early next week." His eyes dart to me as he says this. When I don't respond, he clears his throat. "How does that sound to you, Katniss?"

Everyone looks to me but I don't meet their eyes. I flip though his pages but don't read anything and then slide the documents back to him. "Seems like a fine plan," I say indifferently.

I can feel the air shift in the room as everyone takes a deep breath. "You do? Well, then, that's great!" Plutarch's voice sounds lighter, brighter. "When would you like to start filming?"

"What makes you think I'm going to help you?" I sound like he's making a preposterous assumption.

He coughs again. "Katniss, isn't that what you came here to do?"

"No." Gale looks slightly horrified but mostly disappointed as I say this. Haymitch is amused and I hear him chuckle quietly. President Coin looks concerned, though I don't know if her concern is for me or the success of her rebellion, probably the latter. And Plutarch, he looks interested. I can see him studying me, carefully watching everything I say and do. It's clear why he's the game-maker. He looks at everything like it's a puzzle he's going to figure out—including me.

"Ms. Everdeen," it's the president speaking now, "we've done a lot for you because we believed that you were here to join us."

"I never asked you to do anything for me."

"You can't really think that matters, do you?" If anyone else had said this, it would have sounded like a threat, but she states it like it was a mere fact. Her meaning is not lost on me, however.

"If you recall, Katniss," Haymitch breaks back in, "you did agree to help the rebellion."

"I never agreed to leave my sister! If I'd been there, I never would have let her-"

"And maybe that's a good thing!" Haymitch cuts in, anger cracking in his voice. "She's doing what she wants to do—she's happy, she's eager, she's willing, enthusiastic, and I can't tell you what I nice change of pace that is, truly. You should really try it sometime instead of being a constant pain in everyone's ass." He glares at me relentlessly, but then he shakes his head and his tone loses its fire. "The girl goes on and on about how proud you'd be of her."

"I'm not." I spit.

"I've gathered," Haymitch shifts and looks at me square in the eyes, "but maybe, just maybe, that's on you, and not us." He leans back having made his point.

Of course, I've thought about this—I could be proud of my sister, excited she has her own agency, happy she wants to join this fight, but I'm not. I'm not because the reason that she wants to do this is because of me, because of what she saw me do in the Games, because of who she thinks I am in the Games.

And that's all a lie.

A lie that Haymitch helped create. A lie that Thirteen wants to propagate. And a lie that Gale wants to advocate.

It's a lie I can't forgive any of them for. And a lie I can't be a part of anymore.

"Come on, Catnip, these people are with us," Gale tries to plead with me. He's been trying to plead with me a lot the past few days. I'm sick of it.

"With us?" I nearly choke on the laugh that forces itself up my throat, and the resulting noise sounds like a snarl. "Who's 'us'? There's no us. There's just me and these idiots who are trying to get my sister killed!"

"Katniss," he has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He clearly disagrees with my assessment. "That's not fair."

"So?" I can't imagine anything less important to me than what's fair.

"Katniss, please," Gale begins, trying to sound reasonable.

"Oh shut up, Gale." I snap at him venomously, unable to stomach another one of his "let's make the best of this," speeches, which he's been pleading to me almost daily. I think he honestly believes this will all work out—starting the rebellion, getting Prim back. And who knows? Maybe it will. I believe there's an honest chance they might get her out—these people seem to know what they're doing. But getting Prim out doesn't mean I'll get her back. Since Gale's never been in the Games, he doesn't understand—he doesn't understand that everyone who goes to the Games is destroyed whether or not they're killed. I watched a little bit of my little sister die each day as I watched the coverage of the Games—as she learned to lie, as she learned to manipulate, and, especially, as she learned to like it. Prim's already gone. And I don't care about anything anymore.

"And they're not getting her killed," Gale continues, "Prim's perfectly—"

"Don't you dare mention her name!" I scream. "Don't you dare…you traitor."

"Traitor?" It's Haymitch this time. "He's the traitor?"

"Yes! He's happy she's there!"

"I don't think happy's the right word," Gale tries to interject.

"I don't care what the right word is! You'd have probably served her up to your precious rebellion yourself if you hadn't been out in the woods distracting me—"

"Again," he inserts, this time his tone is close to dangerous, "not the right word. I'd use helping, saving or protecting, guarding even, but distracting?" He eyes me sharply, clearly annoyed. "And," he adds, though his voice waivers now, which it only does when he's saying something uncertain, "I'm pretty sure you were having a good time out there."

I know what he's trying to do—trying to gauge our relationship and see what remains between us. I've got bad news for him. Right now, it's nothing good.

I laugh at Gale. He looks both confused and hurt. "Of course you think that," I dismiss him, "you got everything you ever wanted, Gale!"

"Oh, I did?" He looks incredulous. "How?"

"You always wanted to run away in the woods! And you always wanted to be a part of the rebellion!"

"Yep, you got me, Catnip, I'm just living the dream over here." He tosses the pencil he was holding in his hand on the table.

"Yeah, this is it—living underground, working a job that nearly gets me killed every day, constantly worrying if the people I care about are okay…" he's mocking me and I know it. "I mean, what more could I possible want?"

His derisive tone only fuels me further. "I remember you said it the day before the Reaping! If you had it your way, Prim would have gone into last year's Hunger Games too!"

"So you think I want Prim there?"

"Yes!" I scream. "You'd let Prim die!" I'm losing it—I know, but I also don't care.

"If I wanted Prim dead, you know," Gale throws the pencil down he'd been holding and rubs his face in his hands for a second as he tries to compose himself, "I'd have just let her starve while you were in the Games rather than working so hard to be able to feed her and your mother, nearly killing myself working extra shifts, barely sleeping, and sacrificing resources my own family could have used…"

I'm reminded that Gale cares for Prim too, but it's not enough to stop my assault. I scream at him thoughtlessly and recklessly. I scream at Haymitch and the president and Plutarch. Words and insults are falling out of my mouth and I blame them all for everything bad that's ever happened to me—the President for allowing the Capitol to continue its tyranny when Thirteen's been here all along, Plutarch for being a part of it, Haymitch for starting a rebellion that involved my sister and Gale for going along with all of it. I don't know what I'm saying when someone finally interrupts my tirade.

"I've had about enough of this," Haymitch says with a heavy seriousness I don't notice. He scoots out of his chair and walks over to me. "Katniss," he commands, "we need to have a chat, you and me."

I look up at him and am about to say something insolent when I feel him grab me by the scruff of my neck and yank me violently. "Oww!" I cry both in shock and in pain.

"Haymitch, you're hurting her!" Gale says. He's concerned, and it confuses me.

"That's kind of the point," Haymitch grunts as he easily, too easily I realize as I'm reminded of Haymitch's true strength, pushes Gale back down and forces me out of my chair and half carries me, half drags me from the room. My legs shake and struggle to hold my weight, still too weak to walk.

I fall to the floor in the hall when he releases me, feeling what will certainly turn into bruises sting around my neck. I struggle to pull myself up against the wall, holding onto a window sill for stability and look shakily and uncertainly at Haymitch recalling in horror half the things I just said.