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chapter forty-five
A GAME OF CAT AND MOUSE

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tw:
mention of torture, mention of abuse

━━━━

He can barely stop crying, and when he does, it's replaced by insatiable and destructive rage. There's no Academy for him to run to and unleash the chaos beating against his ribs, so all he can do is pace the halls, chest heaving and knuckles clenching. He tugs at the collar of his jumpsuit as if he's suffocating like Sage was in that dress. There were so many dreadful stories written along her face and in her eyes — no amount of makeup capable of concealing it all.

Tears blur his gaze as he stumbles through the corridor, replaying her own that fell when she flinched at whoever was behind that camera. Her torturer, probably. One misplaced word, look or breath, and surely she'll pay more than she already is. He doesn't have to hear her screams for his own torturer — his mind — to gladly recreate them with a distressing realism that makes him choke.

Ptolemus is crouched in a corner and balancing on his toes, fingers tangled into his grown out buzz. That hole in his chest beats like a tumor rather than a heart as he collapses into himself. He can't get it out of his head. The hollowness to her cheeks, to her voice, to her eyes. The price she's paying for trying to save Katniss and Peeta in that Arena. The price she's paying for her role in the revolution.

The price she's paying for saving him.

Another sob wheezes out of his chest. This one's packed with more than grief, it's engulfed by guilt. Sage did all of that for him, and every day, she's paying for it in God knows however many ways. It threatens to drown him even when he's buried deep in the earth with no water in sight. He crumples into the corner now, spine pressed into the wall. He's never felt so powerless in his entire life — which is saying something, given his entire destiny has been written for him before he was born.

Ptolemus isn't sure how long he spends withering away in that corner. All he knows is enough time has passed that the retching sobs have been subdued into shallow breaths as he stares tiredly at his wedding ring. If he closes his eyes and concentrates enough, he can still feel the ghostly sensation of her slipping it onto his finger. Her vows are like a lullaby in his mind.

"You've always kept me safe." The self-loathing starts to rise up again, and he inhales a shaky breath, grimacing at his failure. "And as your wife, I vow to take care of you just like you've taken care of me."

And so she did. Sage did exactly that, upholding her promise as Ptolemus is reminded of the cost every single day in this limbo without her. He recalls Sage's trembling frame in that interview, playing with her wedding ring. And he's sharply reminded of his own vow.

"I vow to protect your heart as long my own will beat."

That's what wakes him up. The sound of his own heartbeat. Slowly drawing him out of the fog of his raw anguish and misery, and thudding rhythmically in his chest just like when he first woke from his coma. His heart is still beating, and therefore —

Ptolemus staggers out of the corner, right hand grazing the wall to help steady himself. There's still tears in his eyes and a wheeze to his lungs, but his muscles and bones are solid. Forced to stand and walk, propelling him forward as he navigates the winding corridors of Thirteen with a sense of purpose. It isn't rage that draws him to Plutarch's Compartment, though by the wary expression on the man's features he seems to fear so. No. This is something so much more powerful.

Unconditional, raw, and boundless love for her. After all, he has a vow to keep.

Plutarch quirks his brows warily, lips parting in the shape of a question that never comes out. Ptolemus just holds his curious gaze steadily with a tone even steadier.

"Get your cameras ready."

━━━━

They film and prep the Propo for the entire night. Not only do they utilize Ptolemus's words as he sits beneath the spotlight, but they manage to scrounge up some old clips of his family from over the years of reporting to support his claims. He narrates certain interviews, adding a glimpse of the behind the scenes.

"See that, right there?" He points to his sister's right eye, slightly swollen but no coloring to show thanks to Eudora's handiwork. "That was for missing her target once out of twenty arrows. Nero Pierce couldn't have a daughter that missed."

Another gesture to his swollen lip in another clip. "It took my Prep Team two hours to cover it up. Ally tried to get him off me, but he was too strong for her even after all that Academy training. That one was for stuttering in an interview after Enobaria's Games. My mother told me it would teach me to be more careful with my words. I was nine."

Then he gets to the part about Ally and her Games. How his parents never said her name again after her failure and disgrace to the family. How his mother didn't even shed a tear once. How his father broke her picture at the Victors Parade in Two, earning them a spot on the front page after Ptolemus punched him back for only the second time. How it made their pressure on him not to crack even more relentless.

"She volunteered because she had no choice. It was her destiny written by my family and by The Capitol. My sister's destiny was to either be murdered in the Games, or become a murderer herself." He looks right into the camera when he speaks. Right into the watching eyes of Two. "That doesn't sound like glory to me."

He keeps talking and talking. They give him coffee and water to ensure every valuable word makes it into the Propo. Once it's finally done, it's almost five in the morning. When Cressida offers for him to watch the final cut, Plutarch wanting it released as soon as possible, he declines. He's never enjoyed watching himself on camera. As he exits, Plutarch gives him a pat on the back, making him flinch. The man's lips quirk into a satisfied smile as he nods.

"I think it's safe to say our standings in Two will gain more ground after this."

"How about your standings on rescuing the Victors?" Ptolemus asks pointedly, holding his gaze just like he's holding him to his word.

Plutarch hardly flinches, a knowing and light spark to his eye. He's absolutely insufferable. "All about opportunity, Mr. Pierce. I hope it comes soon, just as much as you do."

He heaves himself into bed with only an hour and a half to spare before he's expected to bathe and arrive to the dining hall for breakfast. He's absolutely exhausted, eye aching and body fatigued. Yet Ptolemus can't draw himself into slumber as he stares longingly at his wedding ring along his empty hand. He wishes he could hold hers.

Breakfast is the usual hot grain and glass of milk with blueberries. Ptolemus doesn't bother attempting discretion as he pours his portion of the fruit onto a silent and scowling Erabelle's tray. Coretta bids him a grateful and tired nod. After The Capitol's Propo last night, it seems no one in the Navarro family had a good night sleep. They all sit stiffly and quietly in the dining hall, trying their best to ignore the stares and hateful glances, keeping their heads held high. But Mrs. Navarro and Mr. Navarro both have swollen eyes from tears, Almanzo's got that tick to his jaw again as he keeps his daughter close to his hip, Coretta's hand trembles as she scoops her oatmeal, and Shiloh is glaring at his milk to the point it's remarkable it isn't boiling.

All of them flinch except Ptolemus when the television screens in the cafeteria illuminate. Sage's father's eyes brim with tears again, and Erabelle whimpers into her father's side, tiny fist wrapped around his jumpsuit. Nobody breathes because nobody can as they brace for the worst. Everyone straightens when they hear his voice. He just stares down at his half-eaten oatmeal.

"My name is Ptolemus Pierce. I'm hoping this will be my last interview ever."

Plutarch wasn't kidding when he said he wanted this presented as soon as possible.

Multiple heads turn in his direction, including the Navarro family. Erabelle isn't cowering anymore, and Shiloh straightens beside him to watch.

"But before we get started, I want everyone in the Districts, especially in my home District Two, to know that I'm with the Mockingjay. Not as a prisoner nor against my will, like my wife is being held captive in The Capitol. I'm with the Mockingjay because I of all people know and understand what it is The Capitol does to us — even the ones who are 'favored.'"

Then the cut of the Legacy's genesis as Petra Pierce (who was Petra Griffin then) killed her final victim with her sword in the Fortieth Games. Nero's murder of her best friend and eventual victory a year later. Their forced marriage after five years once The Capitol grew bored with their toys. Next comes the children they didn't want — Alessandra and himself. Ptolemus notes the tears in his stare and the break of his voice as he recounts his sister's death in the footage. Mrs. Navarro reaches across the table and squeezes his hand.

"It meant nothing. She fought and died for a Legacy that meant nothing."

Ptolemus doesn't watch his Propo directly. Instead, he sits very still and very quietly, only staring in the general direction of the closest television. He hears the shift of his tone from something raw and vulnerable to something wise and strong.

"That's what The Capitol does though — they let us fight and die for nothing. Especially to us from District Two. They feed us just a little bit more than the others, they let us have our Academies to give us an illusion of power and choice, and they use us for soldiers and program us how to fight for them. Whether it be as Peacekeepers or in the Hunger Games. They tell us our purpose from the moment we're born, and they rewrite us as warriors rather than lambs to the slaughter like the rest of the Districts in hopes that we won't wake up."

"In hopes that we won't realize we're lambs too." More clips of District Two's fallen, particularly the brutal deaths at the hands of the Gamemakers and the Mutts. Ptolemus winces when they've included his sister, and decides to look away again as he listens to himself continue.

"I see it in the kids that come into that Academy thinking they're training for glory when really they're training for survival. I hear it in our war cry on Reaping Day as a child chooses not just death of the body but death of the soul and their innocence while they murder other children. Then their terror in the Arena when a Mutt tears them apart, or as the Gamemakers orchestrate a brutal death that makes them unrecognizable for their funeral. You can see it as they're about to die — that realization as they come to terms with the fact none of this is what they thought it was. Then if they do make it, if they do survive, they have to survive the impossible."

"The life of a Victor — which again, is nothing like they thought it was." There's a pause, and this is the part he remembers that he almost became too lost in the memories to continue speaking. A version of himself from only a few hours ago clears his throat and peers directly into the camera. Directly into his own eyes. His voice is a distant whisper. "It's nothing like I thought it was."

Even though he's safe in Thirteen, it doesn't keep the memories from haunting him. The day of his crowning when he finally thought his parents would be proud of him, his father might pat him on the back or his mother might kiss his cheek. Eudora just had more work to do to cover up a scratch from when Nero threw a glass at his head for letting that boy from Four go. Ptolemus was sharply reminded that the crown he trained and killed for was hollow, and so was he. Born to be a weapon, just like the swords he wielded. One that's finally shattered.

There's more sneaky glances from others in the cafeteria that he ignores.

"I saw it in my father's brutal temper. In my mother's cold detachment. In Ally's eyes the night before her Reaping as she held my hand and cried that she hoped she'd die so she'd never have to live it. And I felt it every day as I was forced to walk a life that was never mine to begin with."

What could he have been? What could he have been if Snow hadn't written his Fate? His mind keeps wandering to his and Sage's wish. The farmhouse, his hands creating and hers healing, even that pasture bathed in starlight. It could be theirs.

It will be theirs. Because Ptolemus will write it so, turning Fate's hands into his own again.

She just has to come home.

"The Capitol writes our stories, they pull the strings, and they paint it in a way that makes us believe this is what we wanted — this was our choice — this was our purpose — this was our destiny. To be their laborers. To be their soldiers. To be their warriors. To be their murderers."

On the screen, Ptolemus shakes his head, straightening in his seat, the spotlight shifting shadows over his eye. The scar's furious red is slowly fading to pink. He looks right into the camera again, and this time, Ptolemus doesn't avoid watching himself.

"And I don't want The Capitol's meaningless Legacy to be my purpose. So I'm asking you, my brothers and sisters of District Two, what do you really want? Do you want The Capitol to continue to write your story, blurring the lines as they please, or are you ready to finally stand up for yourself and make your life yours?"

"Because I am. I'm standing up for myself. For my sister. For those kids that I trained — for the ones that died and the ones that survived and have to live with what they've done."

He pats his heart twice with his wedding ring hand. If Sage is seeing this, he hopes she understands his message.

"I'm standing up for you."

Footage of him, Finnick, and Katniss closely cropped to hide Thirteen's secrets but showing enough to clearly display the message. Ptolemus recognizes it as from one of the security cameras in the training yard from the day she took them hunting.

"I'm standing with The Mockingjay."

Steely black coats the screen. But then the words burn onto the screen, this time resembling the bright fiery red of hot iron rods. Katniss's pin looms between the two phrases.

STAND UP FOR YOURSELF

STAND WITH THE MOCKINGJAY

The silence in the room is so jarring it almost crackles in his ears, as if even the Universe can't bear for it to be so quiet. Ptolemus averts his stare from the screens and from the gazes flickering in his direction. Instead, he just resumes scraping at his hot grain. Well, it's actually cold now, making it even more unbearable.

Mrs. Navarro's hand finds his again. She gives it a squeeze, and he can feel the Navarro's waiting for him to look, so he lifts his stare stiffly.

Mr. Navarro holds his gaze steady with a sincerity as real as the sun's warmth. "We're proud of you."

Tears prick his eyes before he can even understand the weight of his words. He clears his throat and clenches his jaw to hold them at bay, but it's too late, because there's something vulnerable and raw already quivering inside him. It's the same as utilizing a muscle that hasn't been used in a long time, breaking down to heal stronger again. Ptolemus thinks he musters a respectful nod. He isn't sure.

They play his Propo multiple times throughout the day. Ptolemus zones it out for the most part, only hoping that with each showing there's some progress in the Districts against The Capitol. Particularly District Two. According to Dalton, Katniss, Gale and the Propo Team have journeyed to what's left of Twelve again to film. While training in Special Defense with Beetee and Finnick, the former mentions the war's standings.

"Three, Ten and Eleven have been successful in cutting off The Capitol. I hear there's been some ground and contact made with rebels in Two. Led by two former Victors — Lyme and Corbel."

Lyme doesn't surprise him. She's always been visibly uncomfortable walking around that Academy and even in The Capitol when she was his Mentor with Brutus. But at first, Corbel does. If you would've asked him a year ago if the oldest living Victor of Two and the leader of The Academy was involved in a revolution, Ptolemus would've laughed in your face. However, after the announcement of the Quell, there was a shift. Instead of saying to the Victors their infamous saying proclaiming glory or death, he had said what they say in all the other Districts. At the time, Ptolemus thought that meant he was giving up.

But it seems Corbel is far away from giving up, and so are the rebels in Two. In fact, they're just getting started. Ptolemus's mind wanders to Gunnar, his best friend. He thought they'd already said goodbye for what would be forever. Except now, instead of him wondering if Ptolemus would live, it's the other way around. After all, he knows what side Gunnar would choose.

He just hopes it hasn't gotten him killed.

The next day at dinner, Dalton fetches Ptolemus for a meeting in Command. A crowd of officers loom around the table, and he notices their hateful glares have been replaced with begrudging indifference at his entrance. Various screens are propped up and ready to go at each chair with Capitol feed. The sight of it makes him nauseous, his mind creating a gruesome image of a public execution, the barrel of a gun pressed to Sage's head. He stifles a shiver and reminds himself their angle with her is mercy. Mercy, mercy, mercy.

Maybe they've just executed her privately then.

There's two empty seats on Finnick's right. Dalton takes the one furthest, forcing Ptolemus to sit right beside the man. It doesn't annoy him as much as he thought it would. Just feels... strange. Neither of them say a word to one another, only offering faint nods of acknowledgment. Shortly after, Katniss and Boggs file in, and her eyes hitch on Ptolemus and Finnick. She drops into the seat on the Victor from Four's other side.

"What's going on? Aren't we seeing the Twelve propos?" Katniss asks, glancing between Plutarch and the other two Victors.

The former Gamemaker shakes his head. "Oh no. I mean, possibly. I don't know exactly what footage Beetee plans to use, could be that, could be Ptolemus's or the We Remembers again."

Her coal eyes glance over to The Legacy, holding a bit longer than they should. One look and Ptolemus knows she's seen it. Probably at breakfast yesterday, or the other twenty times they've shown it.

"Beetee thinks he's found a way to break into the feed nationwide," Finnick says. "So that our propos will air in The Capitol, too. He's down working on it in Special Defense now. There's live programming tonight. Snow's making an appearance or something."

Ptolemus feels himself grow pale, and his fists clench the arms of his chair again. A new image of Sage with a noose around her neck instead, choking her like that dress. He clears his throat and closes his eyes to usher it away.

"I think it's starting," Finnick says lightly.

Sure enough, the anthem starts to play. Ptolemus doesn't want to open his eyes, too afraid to be greeted by his worst fears, but the curiosity gets the best of him.

Snow's snakelike gaze bores back into his, and he imagines what they'd look like as the life drains out of them. He greets the nation behind his podium with Peeta and Sage seated on two elevated chairs off to one side in front of a projected map. Neither of them look good. Ptolemus can't breathe as a distressed moan rumbles through his throat, the kind one makes right before they break into an inconsolable sob.

They're going to kill her. That's what this has to be. A public execution after their ploy for mercy failed and after Ptolemus's Propo caused rumblings in The Capitol's only loyal District. Did he do this? Did he get her killed? He drops his face into his hands as he feels the tears coming on again.

Katniss voices his thoughts. "They're worse."

Finnick latches onto her hand to keep her from unravelling. His other gently squeezes Ptolemus's trembling shoulder, and he straightens sharply, yanking himself out of his own misery before he can drown. He watches Sage closely and desperately as he aches to reach for her.

Sage is stiff, as if she's holding her breath, haunted eyes boring into the distance. Another high collared dress with sleeves and a long skirt this time. Was the makeup not enough to cover up whatever they've done? Peeta's prosthetic taps out an irregular beat against the metal rung of his chair, and a sweat has broken across his forehead and upper lip. Where Sage appears haunted, Peeta presents an angry but unfocused look to his eyes.

He leaves Sage's side and comes up to the podium to discuss a cease-fire again. There's an edge of frustration to his tone, and he highlights the damage done to key infrastructure in various Districts. With each example, the map lights up to show the destruction. A broken dam in Seven. Slaughterhouses in Ten blown to bits while livestock run loose and cause stampedes. A derailed train with a pool of toxic waste spilling from the tank cars. A granary collapsing after a fire.

He's mid-sentence when he's interrupted by the image of Katniss standing in the rubble of a Twelve. Ptolemus thinks one melted heap of metal resembles an oven. Plutarch jumps to his feet with exhileration.

"He did it! Beetee did it!"

The Capitol fights to display Peeta again. He's clearly seen Katniss on the monitor, because there's a distracted look to his eye. He tries to continue, but then there's a clip of Finnick talking about Rue. Peeta's flustered frame returns momentarily before an all out broadcast battle begins as now Ptolemus's Propo about his family plays. Sage flinches.

The Capitol tech-masters try to fend Beetee off, but the man's too good. Clip after clip after clip ensues and glitches their program. The room starts to cheer. But just like on that Reaping stage as he listens to Two's ravenous roar for victory, Ptolemus doesn't feel victorious. He feels dread. When Katniss, Finnick and himself lock gazes, he knows they feel it too.

Everything they do is only going to hurt them.

They get their seal back up, and at first, there's no audio. The silence scratches against Ptolemus's insides and makes him squirm, inching forward in his seat desperately for another glimpse of Sage. Is she alright?

Then Snow, Peeta and her return, frantic exchanges from their set echoing in the background. She's playing with her wedding ring again. The President continues with his speech about the rebels trying to disrupt the dissemination of information they find incriminating, but both truth and justice will reign. Then he asks Peeta if, given tonight's demonstration, he has any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen.

At the mention of her name, Peeta's face contorts into a grimace of sorts. That strange look to his eye remains.

"Katniss... how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in The Capitol. Not in the Districts. And you... in Thirteen..." There's tears in his eyes. He inhales sharply, as if he can't get enough air into his lungs, and Ptolemus straightens uneasily. "Dead by morning!"

Off camera, Snow orders, "End it!"

Beetee fights for more control. Peeta tries to continue speaking at the podium. Footsteps pound. Ptolemus stands from his chair the same time that he sees Sage leap from hers with a frantic look to her eye. The camera is smacked down into the white tile. He hears Peeta's cry of pain and Sage's screech. "Leave him alone!"

Then blood splatters along the tiles.

Ptolemus can't move. He's locked inside his body, his bones the bars of the cage and his shock the relentless lock and key. He can't let it out, the grief and terror, and they build up inside him and threaten to knock him dead where he stands. For whatever reason, he looks over at Katniss. She's shaking like a leaf, and the two stare back at each other with a gut-wrenching knowing. The static of the screens roars in his ear, scratching and clawing at him. He can't take it anymore.

His fist jerks before he can stop it at the closest one. Glass shatters, and the fiery and bloody sting of his knuckles barely frees him from the paralyzing terror so that he can at least speak and move. No one's noticed him as he slumps back into his chair sobbing. Instead, they're all in an uproar, trying to decipher Peeta's message. Someone next to him is trying to wrap his mutilated knuckles and cursing at him. He thinks it's Dalton.

Haymitch Abernathy's voice booms over the rest. "Shut up!" Everyone glances to him in his corner. Ptolemus barely pulls himself out of his stupor. "It's not some big mystery! The boy's telling us we're about to be attacked. Here. In Thirteen."

"How would he have that information?"

"Why should we trust him?"

"How do you know?"

Haymitch growls with frustration. "They're beating him bloody while we speak."

Ptolemus flinches and stares at the man with teary eyes. Are they doing the same to Sage for trying to protect him? He remembers how she darted in front of Peeta in the Arena, and that answers his question. Another whimper of pain escapes him.

"What more do you need?" Haymitch demands. "Katniss, help me out here!"

Katniss jerks out of her own standing coma, lips fumbling for words. She hasn't screamed, but her voice is hoarse as if she has. "Haymitch's right. I don't know where Peeta got the information. Or if it's true. But he believes it is. And they're —"

Her breath hitches. She can't say it. Ptolemus doesn't blame her. Even if it wasn't The Capitol's initial plan for this broadcast, did they just watch his and Sage's execution?

"You don't know him," Haymitch directs pointedly to Coin. "We do. Get your people ready."

She doesn't seem worried in the slightest. Merely perplexed, as if given a riddle or puzzle to solve. She taps the control board lightly in front of her, and Ptolemus clenches his jaw with impatience. He glowers at the shattered screen in front of his seat where Sage once was. Instead of the pixels of blood on the tile, his own coats the shards, his knuckles throbbing at his side. When he glances down to it fleetingly, it seems Dalton was successful in wrapping it with a handkerchief. The man from Ten gives him a glare made of worry more than it is of anger.

"Of course, we have prepared for such a scenario," Coin starts evenly. "Although we have decades of support for the assumption that further direct attacks on Thirteen would be counterproductive to The Capitol's cause. Nuclear missiles would release radiation into the atmosphere, with incalculable environmental results. Even routine bombing could badly damage our military compound, which we know they hope to regain. And of course, they invite a counterstrike. It is conceivable that, given our current alliance with the rebels, those would be viewed as acceptable risks."

Haymitch raises his brows at her wryly. "You think so?"

If she notices the edge hidden within his tone, she ignores it. "I do. At any rate, we're overdue for a Level Five security drill. Let's proceed with the lockdown."

She types nimbly on her keyboard to authorize her decision. The moment she raises her head, it begins.

The piercing sirens flood the room and the rest of the corridors of Thirteen, and Ptolemus can't help but flinch. The sound is terrifying. Yet the ones from Thirteen don't appear to be in any kind of frenzy, simply eerily calm. Boggs and Dalton lead him, Finnick and Katniss out of Command down the hall, through a doorway and onto a wide stairway where streams of citizens have already begun to file downward.

"What about Sage's family?" Ptolemus thinks to ask, ready to turn around. He felt his lips move, but he can't even hear himself.

Dalton keeps him moving. He thinks he says, "They'll be down. We'll meet them there."

No one speaks, no one screams, no one cries. Just down, down, down they all go. Ptolemus clings to the rung of the stairwell as he tries to keep up in the dim lighting, the siren echoing with Sage's screech constantly disrupting his concentration. He almost trips and falls into the person in front of him. The dim lighting and his eye doesn't help with the flights of stairs. Finnick latches onto his bicep and steadies him to continue.

At some point, he feels his ears pop. It doesn't seem like there's ever going to be an end to their descent. Fortunately, the deeper they go, the less shrill the sirens become. People start to peel off to the marked doorways, but Dalton and Boggs direct the three Victors to continue downward. The flight of stairs end at the edge of an enormous cavern. They wave their schedules in front of a scanner to show that they're all accounted for.

The bunker is partly made of stone and earth, bunk beds arranged in a massive array that seems to go on forever. There's a kitchen, bathrooms, a first-aid station as well. White signs with letters or numbers are placed methodically throughout the cavern. Dalton escorts Ptolemus to one that matches his assigned quarters with the Navarro's. While Katniss and Finnick don't live on the same level, they're only two rows away and in sight.

He hopes to see Sage's family already there, and for once, his wishes are granted. Erabelle is crying into her mother's side and still holding her ears, while Almanzo nervously paces, running his fingers through his ragged hair. Shiloh sits on the edge of his bunk sullenly, and Mr. and Mrs. Navarro are already passing out some kind of pack to each family member. Her mother notes his arrival, and all the Navarro's features' flood with relief.

"We thought you would beat us here," Santiago explains. "Being in Command and all. We were worried when you didn't."

"Here." Luna offers him his pack. "This is for you." When Ptolemus stiffly takes it, raw and shredded knuckles aching, her gaze flickers down to his wound. "Oh cariño. Let's get that properly looked at."

He lets her lead him to a first aid station where various nurses have already taken their place. One of them recognizes Luna from her own shifts in the hospital and greets her warmly. She's about to inspect Ptolemus's hand when Sage's mother insists she can do it, and surprisingly, they allow her, a nervous glance sent in his direction.

It's when the woman passes her the supplies with a shaky hand that he realizes who she is in the shadows. He can still hear her shriek as the needle intended to end his life punctured her palm instead. Guilt coils in his gut like a snake, and his lips part for an apology. She turns away to greet another patient before any sound can come out.

Sage's mother leads him to a sink next to the first aid station, where another nurse oversees to ensure she doesn't use too much water. When she unravels Dalton's attempt at a bandage with the blood-soaked handkerchief, she exhales a soft sigh through her nose, but doesn't say a word. Ptolemus grinds his teeth together when the water stings and the crimson runs. There's a few glittering fragments of glass tangled into his skin that she carefully and meticulously picks out.

Once it seems she's gotten it all, she inspects the wound beneath a light again. There's some swelling to his knuckles as well as the gashes. He waits for her to ask what he did, but she never does. She wraps it gingerly, touch as light as a feather. It reminds him of Sage in that jungle, and he starts to cry silently. He can't get her screech and that blood splatter out of his head.

He wants to ask Mrs. Navarro if she saw the broadcast too, but he knows better when he sees that haunted look to her eye too. This one's the kind a mother holds when she's witnessed her children suffer more than they ever should. She gives him a kind and encouraging smile before guiding him back to their bunks.

Erabelle has stopped holding her ears, but she's still crying. Ptolemus notes that the Navarros must have been close enough to their Compartment to grab some belongings, because Sage's quilt is draped along a mattress. He thinks about curling into it and weeping too. Instead, he hands it to Erabelle. Shiloh grabbed his deck of cards, but rather than playing, he just shuffles them over and over mindlessly.

Almanzo surprisingly appears the most disheveled of them all, still pacing even when his wife quietly begs him to sit and rest. He stops in front of Ptolemus, wild and frantic gaze boring into his. Almanzo grips his shoulders, but it feels like it's more for him than anyone else.

"What did Command say? Have they said anything?" he breathes. The cracks continue to chip away at the oldest brother's demeanor, and you can finally hear how scared he is. How scared he's always been. "Are they going to get them out soon?"

They. The Victors. Sage. Are they going to get them out soon? Ptolemus wonders the same thing. That mounting ache is coming back as he remembers how deteriorated Sage and Peeta looked. They were worse, and they're probably even worse now. Will Thirteen rescue them before it's too late?

"Yes," he lies. He hopes it isn't a lie. Almanzo's bottom lip quivers and his eyes swim with tears.

Ptolemus squeezes his shoulder before heaving himself onto a bunk beside Shiloh with defeat. The same time that he does, the doors close with finality, and the sirens cease. Coin's voice replaces them quickly, congratulating and thanking Thirteen's citizens on a job well done with their evacuation. She informs them that this is in fact not a drill, that Peeta Mellark's warning leads them to believe they are about to be attacked by The Capitol.

Erabelle shrieks when the first bomb hits, ducking underneath Sage's blanket. Coretta and Almanzo quickly sandwich her between them to offer the best comfort they can manage while terrified themselves. Ptolemus stiffly straightens as he feels the jarring vibrations rattle the world around him and his bones inside. He's never felt anything like it. There's no cracks or signs of impact in the walls or ceiling. Just the feelings. The feelings of doom.

Lights go out and blaring darkness envelopes them. There's the sound of babies and children crying and a few ragged breaths of disbelief. Then a hum of a generator as the darkness is lit dully in an aching yellow glow that still requires you to squint. He grips the cold metal bar of his bunk with his good hand.

"It's probably a bunker missile," Shiloh murmurs quietly. Ptolemus remembers the term from his classes and nods.

Designed to penetrate the ground, only going off once they've gotten deep enough.

President Coin's voice fills the air again minutes later. There's a new shade of grimness to her tone as the lights flicker. "Apparently, Peeta Mellark's information was sound and we owe him a great debt of gratitude. Sensors indicate the first missile was not nuclear, but very powerful. We expect more will follow. For the duration of the attack, citizens are to stay in their assigned areas unless otherwise notified."

Great debt of gratitude, huh? Ptolemus scoffs and shakes his head, rubbing at the burning skin around his good eye from all the crying.

How about rescuing the Victors if we live through this?

Eventually, they're allowed to use the bathroom and brush their teeth in small groups before bed. Ptolemus glances over to the row with Katniss and Finnick. She's with her sister, and he's tying his knots. When it's time for sleeping arrangements, Coretta and Erabelle pair off to a bed, and Mr. and Mrs. Navarro squeeze into the one below. Almanzo's about to sleep on the floor when Ptolemus insists he can have his.

"I don't sleep much anyway," the Legacy mentions lightly, forcing a small grin. He gestures to the empty mattress beneath Shiloh's. "Go ahead."

Almanzo looks like he might argue, but his own fatigue catches up to him, weary eyes blinking heavily. He grabs his lone pillow and offers it to Ptolemus. "At least take this."

Erabelle crawls out of her bed briefly to return Sage's blanket. Ptolemus takes it gratefully, setting up his sleeping arrangements along the floor. When he peers around, it seems a few others must do the same too. He doesn't try to sleep as he merely wraps her blanket around himself and stares quietly into the darkness. When he inhales for her scent, it's barely there, and he clings to the fabric tighter. As if it's Sage, and if he doesn't let go, she won't be gone. He won't lose her.

But he aleady has.

Over the course of the next three days in the bunker, four more missiles hit. One while he and Erabelle were sharing their halves of the blue crayon to draw an imaginary picture on the floor. Another while Shiloh and him just shuffled cards with no intentions to play a game. Then again in the empty night, and finally another on the third morning.

Ptolemus follows Erabelle over to Katniss and Finnick's row on the third night, where the girl from Twelve plays that silly laser game with her cat again. It's gained a lot of innocent attention, a source of entertainment in such a grim and gloomy environment. Erabelle asks Katniss's sister if she can pet him, and the girl nods. Ptolemus grins softly at the way her eyes light up and an innocent giggle escapes her when the cat purs into her hand.

"Thanks," he says to Katniss quietly. "She needed that."

"He has his moments," the teen responds, shooting a begrudging look to the ragged cat.

She looks at Ptolemus like she wants to say something more, probably about Sage and Peeta, but never does. Neither of them really need to say anything. They both know what's happening to their loved ones, and they're both breaking for it. A brief glance to his bandaged fist, before she resumes playing her game with the cat as he desperately reaches for the laser on the wall. Ptolemus's gaze shifts down toward Finnick a few bunks down the row, tying his knots over and over in the dim safety light above his head.

He's made his way over before he can stop himself. Finnick doesn't look up to note his frame awkwardly looming near his bunk, so he clears his throat, staring at his knots.

"Does that help?"

The moment the man lifts his head is the moment Ptolemus regrets coming over here. He's about to turn around to retrieve Erabelle when Finnick blinks at him dumbly. Then he nods, offering the rope lightly. "Want to try?"

No. Say no.

Yes, another voice encourages. Recognition ripples down his spine when it sounds like Ally.

Ptolemus just stares at the rope stiffly for a moment. He feels that feeling again, of his sister looming over him, gently reaching into his heart and closed fist and begging him to let go. With her guidance, he slowly latches onto the rope, and when Finnick scoots over subtly in his bunk, Ptolemus sits beside him. He just stares at the knots he's already made before trying to add his own. His knuckles ache with the movement.

"What'd they say about your hand?" Finnick asks.

"Isn't broken." A grimace as he tugs. He tries to avoid looking at him. Perhaps he should've sat on the other side, his blindness in his right eye saving him from it. "Just cut up and bruised. The swelling's already gone down."

"That's good."

"Mhm."

Uncomfortable silence ensues for some time, both of them mostly ignoring the other. It's what they've attempted to do over the last few weeks when in one another's company. Ptolemus tries to tie the knot he remembers Sage tied during their wedding. Her fingers were so steady then, unlike in that last broadcast, ghosts living in her eyes. It's just been Peeta and Sage on Snow's broadcasts lately. Johanna on that one clip, but...

"So what do you think?" Ptolemus finally asks, voice dragging against his windpipe. His throat starts to close in on him, so he ties the wedding knot tighter. To not let go. "Do you think they're dead, or...?" His words drift into nothing as the droplets of blood stain his vision, trying not to grimace.

Finnick straightens. "Guess you meant it when you said no small talk." Neither of them laugh. Everything feels too grim and dim to laugh, just like the room they've been rotting in for the last three days. Finnick shakes his head with brows furrowed as he stares into the distance. "You came all the way over here to ask me that?"

He shrugs, continuing tie that knot again, this time tighter now that he has a clue about what he's doing. "Can't ask anyone else. Sage's family is in shambles — they can't afford to think like that right now. Neither can Katniss. And you, well... I just remember what you said in the hospital that night."

"When you were going to strangle me?"

"Yeah."

"Hm." Finnick glances over at Ptolemus's knots. Then he sighs tiredly through his nose, voice barely above a whisper. "Well... I don't think they're dead. If Snow kills them, especially Peeta, they have nothing left to hang over our heads. No more ways to control us anymore."

Ptolemus knows he's right. He's just trying to decide whether it's something that should bring him relief — knowing there's a chance Sage is still alive, or misery — knowing he'll keep torturing her not just as punishment for her but also himself. A sour taste washes through the inside of his mouth.

Eventually, Ptolemus sighs. "I hated what you said. In the hospital. Not because it was disturbing, which it was, but because... I agreed with you." Some bitterness oozes from his tone. "Which I didn't think was possible, but..."

Finnick nods knowingly. His voice is sullen and hollow. "There are worse things than death."

They glance to each other briefly, and even though it's only brief, they both can see it. Everything they've ever endured because of The Capitol. The life of a Victor.

"Loving Sage is the first freedom I've ever known," Ptolemus admits quietly. He stares back at their wedding knot, grazing it with his fingertips. It doesn't feel the same without her. "She was the first real choice I made in my life that felt like it was mine. That felt like it really mattered."

His brows raise as he clears his throat. It's starting to close in on him. "Is that what it was like for you? With Annie?"

Finnick takes some time to respond as he ponders the idea. Eventually, he musters a nod, fingers trembling. "Yes. Except she was a choice that crept up on me. I didn't realize I made it until..." He never finishes the sentence.

Ptolemus hands him back his rope soundlessly. For a while, the two just sit in silence, wallowing in their own aches. Aches of the same wound. And even though they both agree there are things worse than death, Ptolemus can't help but feel a little selfish. Selfish as he hopes and prays there's a chance where he and Sage are reunited in this lifetime.

After twenty-fours of radio silence, no new missiles or impact, President Coin finally announces that everyone can leave the bunker. Old quarters have been destroyed by the bombings, and everyone must follow the exact directions to new Compartments. Ptolemus helps the Navarros gather their belongings as they prepare to file obediently toward the door. He doesn't get very far before Boggs signals for him to join Katniss, Gale and Finnick. His stomach churns, but he doesn't ask any questions yet.

Out the door, up the stairs and down the hall to one of the elevators, they arrive to Special Defense. Boggs guides them to a room that's practically identical to Command. Plutarch, Haymitch, Cressida and everybody else are already sitting around the table with bags under their eyes. Most of them grasp steaming cups of coffee in their hands, and the familiar scent wafts tauntingly through Ptolemus's nose.

President Coin doesn't waste a second to return to business. "We need all of you suited up and aboveground. You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen's military unit remains not only functional but dominant, and most important, that the Mockingjay is still alive. Any questions?"

"Can we have a coffee?" Finnick asks.

Once more cups are passed out, Ptolemus doesn't waste a second to swirl some cream and sugar in his. Katniss glares at hers distastefully, but with some coaxing and doctoring of the drink from Finnick, she gives it a try. After everyone finishes their cups, Katniss is sent to suit up as the Mockingjay. Ten minutes later, they embark up to the surface. The fresh air hits Ptolemus right in the face, and he finds his lungs desperately heaving it in, almost sighing with relief. The trap door they've climbed through has brought them to the woods rather than the training yard.

"What day is it?" Katniss asks, running her hands through the changing leaves overhead.

"September starts next week," Boggs replies.

September. That means Sage has been captured for nearly six weeks, and it's been six weeks since Ptolemus held her. Each day that passes feels more like a century.

They continue to walk, and as they do, debris litters the forest floor. There's one crater, thirty yards wide and so deep Ptolemus can't tell how far it goes. Boggs answers his thoughts grimly. "Anyone on the first ten levels would likely have been killed."

"Can you rebuild it?" Gale asks.

"Not anytime soon. That one didn't get much. A few backup generators and a poultry farm. We'll just seal it off."

Trees disappear, and they enter the area inside the fence. More craters show, some of the rubble new and some old from the first bombings all those years ago.

"How much of an edge did the boy's warning give you?" Haymitch asks.

"About ten minutes before our own systems would've detected the missiles."

Katniss clears her throat. "But it did help, right?"

"Absolutely." Boggs nods. "Civilian evacuation was completed. Seconds count when you're under attack. Ten minutes meant lives saved."

Cressida takes them to film in front of the old Justice Building. Standing in front of it is surreal as Ptolemus just stares. After seeing it on that old footage for years, radioactive and smoldering, he never thought he'd witness it in a different condition, especially in person. The closer they get, the more Ptolemus notes something on the ground. At first, he thinks it's the autumn leaves strewn about from the trees. But they've barely changed.

"Don't touch!" Katniss suddenly yells. Everyone freezes in place. Ptolemus squints at what he thinks is pink and red roses. His suspicions are confirmed when he wafts that sickeningly sweet smell, almost gagging. "They're for me."

Katniss explains that Snow has left her roses to taunt her before. These ones match the flowers that decorated the set where Peeta and her performed their post-Victory interview. After further inspection, they appear harmless, and after a crew in special suits collects them they're carted away. The girl's olive skin still appears unnervingly pale, and the longer Ptolemus stares, the more he notices she's trembling.

"You alright?" he asks, clearing his throat. He'd be lying if he weren't uneasy himself as that scent lingers.

She shakes and nods her head at the same time, heaving in a breath through her rapidly rising and falling chest. She's squinting and trying to find the cameras as she whirls around. "So, what exactly do you need from me again?"

"Just a few quick lines that show you're alive and still fighting," Cressida informs.

"Okay." Katniss assumes her position in front of the camera. She just stares and stares for some time before snapping herself out of it enough to shake her head. "I'm sorry, I've got nothing."

"You feeling okay?" Cressida walks up to her and blots her face with a handkerchief. "How about we do the old Q-and-A thing?"

"Yeah. That would help, I think." She crosses her arms and glances over at Finnick and Ptolemus. Finnick musters a shaky thumbs-up himself, and Ptolemus nods steadily.

Cressida's back in position now. "So, Katniss. You've survived The Capitol bombing of Thirteen. How did it compare with what you experienced on the ground in Eight?"

"We were so far underground this time, there was no real danger. Thirteen's alive and well and so am —" Her voice suddenly hitches into a dry and squeaking sound. Ptolemus recognizes it from one of his own interviews. The first one after Ally died.

"Try the line again," Cressida coaches patiently. "Thirteen's alive and well and so am I."

Katniss inhales a breath that sounds more like a choke, as if there's an invisible hand around her throat. "Thirteen's alive and so —"

The camera crew exchanges uneasy looks.

"Katniss, just this one line and you're done today. I promise." Cressida offers her a kind smile. "Thirteen's alive and well and so am I."

The teen tries to swing her arms loosely, taking a few unsteady strides aimlessly. She looks green. Her lips part for the line, and she chokes on a sob. She's practically inconsolable as her chest heaves.

"Cut."

"What's wrong with her?" Plutarch mumbles under his breath.

"She's figured out how Snow's using Peeta," Finnick says, staring at the girl with sad empathy.

Ptolemus's gaze narrows at the former Gamemaker. "I think that's enough today."

Katniss reaches out for Haymitch, sputtering something that sounds like his name, and he's there in a heartbeat. He holds her and pats her back, murmuring comforts gently. He helps her to sit on a broken marble pillar with his arm around her. She can't stop sobbing.

"I can't do this anymore," she wheezes.

"I know."

She struggles to get the words out. "All I can think of is — what he's going to do Peeta — because I'm the Mockingjay!"

Haymitch's arm tightens around her. Ptolemus notices Plutarch and Boggs exchange a soundless nod. One of the medics starts toward Katniss with a needle as she continues to sputter about what they've been doing to Peeta and how it's her fault.

Ptolemus starts forward to intercept with a snarl. "Whoa, hey, what are you —"

Boggs crosses into his path before he can stop the needle from slipping into Katniss's flesh. Finnick, who's closer, staggers frantically to latch onto the medic with a wild look to his eye. Chaos breaks loose as Haymitch holds onto a slumped and sedated Katniss. Finnick starts yelling and hyperventilating.

"She's seventeen, what's the matter with you people?! You can't expect her to do this — you can't expect anyone to do this!"

Finnick's almost hysterical as he continues to yell for Katniss, for Peeta, for the other Victors. Ptolemus shoves Boggs and lunges at the sight of another needle with wide eyes. "Shit, shit, shi— " Soon, the Victor from Four's hysteria is silenced too, and as his body slumps the medic catches him, gently laying him on the ground. Ptolemus just gapes in furious bewilderment at the two incapicated Victors. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

The eyes peer over at him next, waiting. Waiting for one wrong move. There's the glint of another needle in the medic's fist as he watches a panting Ptolemus warily. A muscle in his cheek twitches, and he shoots an icy and warning glare.

"Take another step and it'll be you on the ground. You got that?" He snaps. No one moves. Then another glance at Finnick and Katniss unconscious. He stifles the urge to spit as he glowers at Plutarch. "You're no better than Snow, ya know that? Using her like he's using Peeta."

Plutarch's pride appears wounded at that, but he doesn't try to refute it. He doesn't break his glare from the man as a solemn Gale scoops up Katniss, and Boggs heaves Finnick over his shoulder. Haymitch rubs at his eyes tiredly, a glint of remorse in his stare. The disheartened team returns underground, and Ptolemus makes sure to keep a good distance from the medic, checking over his shoulder multiple times. When they're back inside, Katniss and Finnick are taken to the hospital to sleep off their sedative.

They still haven't woken up hours later when Ptolemus is called back to the New Command again. The chairs that Katniss and Finnick should be sitting in are empty. The attendance to this meeting is the usual at first glance. But the further his eyes scan down the table, the more he notes some unfamiliar faces next to Gale. And finally, one at the very end that is actually very familiar.

"Shiloh?" Ptolemus gapes dumbly. He shakes his head, stumbling to lower himself into his chair as he stares at Sage's brother. "What are you doing here?"

Before he can speak, the meeting begins, Coin clearing her throat. Shiloh averts his gaze, and his stomach churns.

"I've called you all here to inform that with careful planning and discussion, as well as Plutarch's own preparation with his cooperatives, I have decided to authorize a rescue mission for the Victors in The Capitol," Coin reveals. "The rescue will be lead by Boggs, a team of seven total, volunteer only."

Ptolemus's body reacts to the words before he can grasp them, as they almost sound too good to be true. His spine straightens, fresh air breathes into his lungs, and the fog around him almost clears. Something more zealous than the District Two crowd overpowers him as he blurts the words. "I'm in. When do we leave?"

When they all blink at him silently, his words hanging in the air, he's convinced he was just hallucinating what Coin said before. Wishful thinking. He just blinks breathlessly back, not ready to sink into disappointment.

Boggs clears his throat. "The volunteers have already been chosen." Then he nods to the group of unfamiliar faces.

Ptolemus counts down the row. Shiloh would be the seventh. He straightens with grim realization.

"Take eight then," the Legacy insists. "Nothing wrong with some insurance."

Plutarch shakes his head. "We need you here. You and Finnick are going to do a Propo. A distraction while they extract the Victors from the Tribute Center."

"We need to get moving," Boggs murmurs to Coin. She nods, permitting to leave. At his cue, the other volunteers, Gale and Shiloh included, stand to file out. It's when he does that that Ptolemus notes the black soldier's uniform Sage's brother wears now. The Legacy gapes and stands from his chair quickly, latching onto his shoulder to stop him.

"Whoa, hey." Shiloh sighs impatiently to face him. Ptolemus shakes his head in bewilderment. "What're you doing man? Do your folks know —"

"No, they don't," Shiloh interjects sharply. He glances down the hall longingly at the other soldiers. The Rescue Team. "I ask for my Mama's sake you keep it quiet for now."

He takes another step to leave. It's when he's out the doorway that Ptolemus remembers Mrs. Navarro's cries for her son in that condo kitchen, and Sage's wails for her brother. Not to mention her family's own worry and sorrow with her captured in The Capitol now too. Even Almanzo's ragged demeanor after the most recent Propo.

What would it do to them? What would it do to them to lose another of their own?

Ptolemus staggers in front of him again, fist latching onto the collar of his uniform. "No. No, you're not going. I'll go, you stay here with your family." He shakes his head at him. "I'm her husband, and they need you —"

"Sage needs me," Shiloh shoots back evenly. The sharpness of his tone is startling. Not as startling as the tears in his eyes though. Now he's the one shaking his head at a still Ptolemus.

"I didn't do anything. I didn't do anything to save my little brother." He shakes his head and inhales a shaky breath. But he means every word, and Ptolemus doesn't understand how he missed the signs. "I won't do the same for my little sister."

Before he can say anything or react, Shiloh jerks out of his grip to start down the corridor again with the rest of his team. Ptolemus knows it's useless as his shoulders slump in defeat. It's what Sage's brother says next that straightens them again like the soldier he's always been.

"Now go back in there. We've both got jobs to do to bring her home."

━━━━

»»————-　♡　————-««

Ahh thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!! Feel free to comment, I love hearing from you!!!

Another long one I'm sorry!! I really wanted to try to fit the rescue in this chapter (because I'm so ready for them to be reunited) but it was just getting so long. Good news, it's next chapter and I'm working on it as we speak! I want to make sure it's done perfectly and satisfyingly since we've been waiting for this moment for so long!!

Thoughts? Opinions? Worries? Favorite parts? I love hearing from you!!

Finnick and Tolly? Tolly's Propo? Shiloh on the rescue team? Tolly, Katniss and Finnick? Ahhh I hope you enjoyed it and it came off the way I was aiming for. You know me, always worrying about keeping canon canon.

But I also made a gif of Finnick and Tolly I've been meaning to share for a while now, as well as some more incorrect quotes!

NEXT CHAPTER IS REUNION IM SO HAPPY AND READY AHHHHHH

Katniss when Sage said Tolly is a big teddy bear:
"Is the big teddy bear in the room with us?"

Word Count: 9945