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chapter forty-three
ONE CAGE FOR ANOTHER

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━━━━

It's clear the Navarro's have seen the latest Capitol propo when Ptolemus returns from Command to the compartments. The first giveaway is Erabelle — coloring a picture of a woman who looks a lot like Sage locked away and trapped high up in a tower. While Almanzo and Coretta try to cling onto the positives of Sage clearly still alive to hold their daughter's anger at bay, there's the tick of her oldest brother's jaw at the sight of his baby sister in the hands of President Snow.

Mr. and Mrs. Navarro cling to one another and weep with a bittersweetness. The older man kisses his wife's head with tears in his eyes.

"Our brave girl."

Then Shiloh. Shiloh is quiet. But it's not his usual quiet. This one has something simmering right beneath the surface, and for the first time ever, Ptolemus knows what it looks like when Shiloh is angry. Colt's words in the pasture return.

"And we're angry. We're angry for what they've done to our little sister."

Ptolemus notes that tick in Almanzo's jaw again as he gently scoops his daughter up to put her to bed. Then another glance at Shiloh sitting silently at the edge of his bunk, chin propped on his knuckles and eyes glaring into the floor. Finally, an image conjured by his own imagination of Colt attending those late night rebel meetings.

"They're just better at hiding it than I am."

Ptolemus stares up at the top bunk for hours after Thirteen's official Lights Out, that small flash of Sage in that blinding white dress branded into his memory as he toys with his wedding ring. He can feel what that fleeting glimpse of her alive is doing to him. The hole is still there and still aching, but it isn't so hollow like before. An ember of hope burns as he shifts back and forth between silently crying with relief and crying with agony when the darker thoughts resurface.

What was that obnoxiously high neck of the gown trying to hide? Did her arms look frailer and cheeks hollower, or is that simply his imagination? How many hours did it take her Prep Team to cover the bruises likely coating her flesh? His lips keep forming her name over and over again, salty tears running across in mourning.

She's alive. She's alive, she's alive, she's alive.

But at what cost? He has to stifle a whimper when he remembers that haunted look in her eye. The mattress creaks beneath his weight as he carefully slips out of the Compartment, right hand extended to guide him through the darkness. He wanders down the corridor, still clutching his wedding ring to his chest like a wounded dog.

What was that Sage said during her interview? One simply can't live without the other. He's remembering that every single second that they're apart. She's his heart, and he can feel her hurting, chains made of dread weighing him down.

What can he do? What can he do? What can he do to save her? Just like with the quicksand and in those final moments in the jungle that he couldn't find her, he feels completely and utterly helpless. It's as he passes Compartment 307 — Katniss's Compartment — that guilt forges in his gut.

I'm not doing shit unless Katniss agrees.

But can he think like that anymore? How much time has he wasted by refusing their requests?

He was trying to allow the teen to take her place upon her own choice — a luxury he wasn't given. Besides, what shape is she in to become the face of an entire revolution? What shape are they all in? All of his own rage and mourning that's been swallowing him up this past month has been paralyzing. It's not that he doesn't want The Capitol to fall — he of all people most definitely wants The Capitol to fall. But who would listen to a District Two rebel leader anyway? It would only work if he were alongside The Mockingjay.

A part of him hoped if he held out on his agreement they might try to entice the deal. Perhaps order a rescue for Sage and the other Victors immediately. That is if she were still alive.

But Sage is alive. She's alive and they've been torturing her this entire month while he again did nothing. Plutarch's infuriating yet painfully true words snake themselves right beneath his skin.

Not even if your aid to the revolution could save Sage?

Self-loathing threatens to swallow him whole. He stumbles, right shoulder slamming into a corner he didn't notice between the darkness and the tears staining his vision, and he barely catches himself from falling to the ground. As he staggers, he tries to whirl back around to their Compartment. When he opens the door, Shiloh's shadow is sitting up right on the top bunk, legs dangling over. There's a glint of gold in his hands and a dazzling array of birthstones. His own amethyst almost blends in with the night.

His voice is such a low whisper you almost don't hear it. "She had that same look in her eye from when she got off the train. After her first Games." Ptolemus's eyes well with tears. So he noticed it too. "I thought we lost her then."

A string of his heart has been violently plucked, the vibration so jarring it fills up the hole in his chest for a fleeting moment. He understands what he's insinuating. Even if they get her back, they could still lose her. He hears Shiloh shut the locket with a click before huffing and flopping back into his bed.

"We've got training in the morning," Sage's brother reminds tiredly. Despite the fatigue, there's still that edge of anger. An edge that Ptolemus knows all too well is sharp enough to cut. "Best to get some shut-eye."

The determination in his voice stirs his own. Ptolemus straightens like the soldier he's always been. This time, one with a new and refreshed sense of purpose.

He remembers all those kids indoctrinated into that Academy as a means for survival rebranded as glory — he and his sister included. The brutal deaths those same children were responsible for and tainting their once clean hands with innocent blood. Then their own gruesome murders as they died a lamb's death rather than a hero's. Not to mention the life given to survivors like him that was nothing like the fairytales promised.

Finally, Sage. Sage believed in this. So much so she was willing to lie, fight and die for it.

That last part isn't going to happen though. Not if Ptolemus has anything to do with it.

━━━━

Ptolemus lazily stuffs his arm beneath the contraption on the wall in their Compartment, the cool purple ink spraying across his wrist in various characters. While his right eye is still stitched mostly shut and covered by the medical patch, the other isn't much better, swollen from tears. His doctor said tears are actually great for his health. Keeps the eye from drying out as it heals.

He almost doesn't bother looking at his tattoo until it's time to go to breakfast, which is always sharply 7:00. However, his stare hitches on a shift in his schedule, kitchen duty no longer following. In its place it reads 7:30 — Command.

He didn't anticipate them requesting to see him until the evening like usual. But this is perfect, because his new determination can't wait that long. He can feel adrenaline rushing through him as he slides his tray along the metal shelf, anxiously glancing over his shoulder for Katniss's table. Did she receive a change in schedule too? He can't tell as he watches her and Gale in their own exchange. The man behind him awaiting his turn clears his throat, and Ptolemus snaps out of his haze to walk his tray of hot grain, milk and mashed turnips to the Navarro table.

Sneaky glances bore in the family's direction every now and then. Before, they were mostly directed toward Ptolemus, his former status as a Career from Two — particularly one idolized by The Capitol for his family "legacy" of murdering people — making him quite unpopular here. However, after yesterday's propo with Sage standing alongside President Snow, the Navarro's are also on the receiving end of those looks. Some of them are pity, others resemble suspicion and unease. Mrs. Navarro just keeps her head held high and refuses to indulge. Ptolemus clenches and unclenches his jaw as his knuckles flex when a man at the table next to them glowers at Almanzo.

"Come tú, Mija," Coretta murmurs to Erabelle, rubbing her shoulder lightly. She slides her tray closer to her daughter. "Antes de que haga frio."

Erabelle ignores her mother. Instead, she's just watching the blackened screens in the dining hall with anticipation, waiting for something. For Sage. It almost makes Ptolemus lose his appetite.

7:30 can't come fast enough, and when it finally does, Ptolemus is almost out of breath from rushing through the corridors to Command. When he gets there, he's one of the last to arrive, and no one glances up at his entrance. Instead, the room is starkly silent besides the faint scraping of graphite on paper. His heart sounds too loud in his chest as he glances to where everyone else's intrigued gazes linger.

Katniss, of course. She's writing something, almost manically, pencil and lips moving rapidly.

Ptolemus stiffly lingers before Dalton gestures for him to sit in the seat beside him. They all just watch her silently for twenty minutes. For how much effort it's taking, it doesn't look like much when Ptolemus tries to peek at the paper. It's a list of some sort.

Plutarch coughs ever so discreetly. "About done there?"

Katniss straightens and glances at the clock. "Yeah." She clears her throat. Her gray eyes peer around the room. "Yeah, so this is the deal. I'll be your Mockingjay."

Quite a few release a breath they've been holding longer than the last twenty minutes. Some of them sigh with relief, some of them congratulate. There's even a slap on the back.

Ptolemus inches forward in his seat with interest and anticipation as his own relief courses through him. So he won't have to go against his word. He hates having to go against his own word. She must've had similar revelations about her own loved one last night at the sight of him alive. However, when he glances to President Coin, she just blinks, unimpressed.

"But I have some conditions." Katniss smooths out the list before reading from it. Ptolemus keeps his expression unreadable as he straightens.

Will she ask what he hopes she's going to ask?

"My family gets to keep our cat."

His nostrils flare at the request, and he desperately tries not to huff in annoyance. Perhaps she's working up to it.

Plutarch, Fulvia and Prospero seem to have no problem with such a request, but the ones from Thirteen act as if she's just requested quadruple rations. However, the argument is eventually settled when they address the concerns a pet could entail. She'll be moving to a new compartment with a window aboveground, and should the cat cause any security issues, he'll be shot on sight.

Katniss continues. "I want to hunt. With Gale. Out in the woods."

There's a pause. Ptolemus just glances between the two again. So that's where she learned how to shoot a bow like that. No Academy, no dumb luck, no sudden natural talent the first time she picked one up in The Capitol Training Center. Twelve is the poorest District. Though compared to her counterparts, Katniss hardly looked starved in her Games.

"We won't go far," Gale pipes up. "We'll use our own bows. You can have the meat for the kitchen."

Katniss nods. "It's just... I can't breathe shut up here like a..." Another grimace and soft shake of her head. "I would get better, faster, if... I could hunt."

Ptolemus doesn't see a problem with it. Could add some flavor to the bland food he's tasked to cook in the kitchen with the others. Just when Plutarch begins to explain the drawbacks to it, Coin of all people cuts him off.

"No. Let them." She rattles off the conditions quickly. "Give them two hours a day, deducted from their training time. A quarter-mile radius. With communication units and tracker anklets." A tilt of her head, the silver hair dangling in a perfect diagonal across her shoulders. It's got to be a wig. "What's next?"

"Gale. 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?" President Coin asks very seriously.

Even Ptolemus frowns in bewilderment at that, blinking dumbly at the woman. Why is that where they went with her request?

When he glances to Katniss, she's in shock too, jaw agape. "What?"

"I think we should continue the current romance. A quick defection from Peeta could cause the audience to lose sympathy for her," Plutarch says. "Especially since they think she's pregnant with his child."

Ptolemus snorts wryly and shakes his head, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You could've written headlines better than those Capitol reporters, Mr. Leader of the Underground."

Plutarch side-glances him, but chooses to not respond. That makes Ptolemus want to antagonize him even more. Katniss still can't wipe the stunned expression from her face at the people before her. Coin nods at Plutarch's suggestion and ignores his comment.

"Agreed. So, on-screen, Gale can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that alright?" When Katniss just stares in response, Coin repeats herself, an impatient edge to her tone. "For Gale. Will that be sufficient?"

"We can always work him in as your cousin," Fulvia suggests in a voice that implies she thinks she's helping.

Both Gale and Katniss appear visibly irritated, tones intertwining. "We're not cousins."

"Right," Plutarch agrees. "But we should probably keep that up for appearances' sake on camera." A grin. "Off camera, he's all yours."

Ptolemus hates the familiar sensation of this conversation. It draws up memories of various agents, escorts and his own parents in his ear. Image, image, image. He felt more like a character than a person. His glare bores into Plutarch so deeply there's no way he doesn't feel it scalding his cheek.

"You can take the man out of The Capitol but you can't take The Capitol out of the man, huh?" Ptolemus taunts dryly.

Plutarch's eyes narrow as he straightens. What would it look like for him to explode? The Legacy peers over at a mortified Katniss, her knuckles clenched with anger and a deep scowl on her features. Then Ptolemus juts his chin at the paper. "Anything else on that list you got there?"

She inhales a sharp breath. Despite all her other demands holding a faint tremor to them, this one comes out unwavering. "When the war is over, if we've won, Peeta and the other Victors will be fully pardoned."

Oh thank God.

Everyone, including Gale, tenses. But not Ptolemus. Ptolemus feels himself beginning to grin, rigid shoulders uncoiling. He listens carefully, disbelief intertwined with relief washing through him.

"No form of punishment will be inflicted. Along with Peeta that includes Johanna, Sage, and Annie." He almost breaks into grateful tears, blinking them away and smiling. Then the girl adds the icing on the cake. "You will also rescue them at the soonest opportunity from The Capitol."

It takes everything in him not to leap into the air with joy. Weight starts to lift from his chest, and it's almost easier to breathe. But then his lungs constrict, and his grin twists into a vengeful scowl when Coin pipes up from her end of the table, voice flat like a robot's. "No."

"Yes," Katniss shoots back. "It's not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. Two of them fought to get me out under your orders. Who knows what The Capitol is doing to them?"

Ptolemus can't even think about it despite the dark thoughts looming with their shadows. That haunted look in Sage's eye makes him squirm.

"They'll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit."

"I'm sorry, war criminals?" Ptolemus leans forward with irritated disbelief and his gaze narrowed at the woman. "They're prisoners of war, if anything! Thanks to you!"

For once, Plutarch seems inclined to help as he inhales a breath, turning toward her. "Madame President, if I may —"

"You may not."

There's the loud SLAP! of a palm to the table. "They'll be granted immunity!" Katniss rises from her chair with the volume of her voice. It's strong and vivid and clear as the coals burn in her eyes. "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 responsible for their safety, or you'll find yourself another Mockingjay!"

Plutarch snaps his fingers and points. "There she is! That's her! That's our Mockingjay!"

Ptolemus feels that feeling again when he watched Katniss volunteer for her little sister, or when she decorated that girl from Eleven with flowers as he just stares. It makes him sit taller.

"Right there. With the costume, gunfire in the background, just a hint of smoke," Fulvia adds with awe.

"What do you say, President?" asks Plutarch. "I can also try to pull some strings with my cooperatives once contact is made for a rescue. You should issue an official pardon, given the circumstances. The boy... he's not even of age."

A pause. Katniss doesn't remove her glare, and with the heat of those embers, Coin has no choice but to look away first. She nods. "Alright." Ptolemus expels a breath with relief. Another pointed glance. "But you'd better perform."

The girl from Twelve doesn't flinch. "I'll perform when you've made the announcement."

President Coin glances to her fellow lackeys. "Call a national security assembly during Reflection today," she orders. "I'll make the announcement then. Is there anything left on your list, Katniss?"

She glances down to the paper that's been crumpled by her fist. She flattens it out to read. "Just one more thing. I kill Snow."

He didn't realize he wanted the opportunity until she claimed it for herself. He's always had that desire, that urge, but it just felt like an unrealistic dream that he settled with forgetting about. But now? Now in the middle of a civil war with the downfall of The Capitol perhaps only months away? Ptolemus can't help but imagine President Snow's heart pierced by his sword on a silver platter.

There's a quirk of Coin's lips that is so faint he's sure it's a mirage. "When the time comes, I'll flip you for it."

Katniss eventually nods stiffly. "Alright."

President Coin then excuses herself from the room, and several of her officials file out with her. Dalton still lingers behind in his chair. Fulvia and Plutarch begin whispering about their plans to check in with Finnick's doctors to determine how soon he can begin his own propos as a rebel leader alongside Katniss. When Ptolemus glances to his own schedule, he sees that it's soon time for the first of his chores. Three stares bore into his direction, and he looks up to Plutarch watching him.

The former Gamemaker raises his brows. "I believe you said you wouldn't be doing anything unless she agrees."

Ptolemus mimics him. "Actually I said I'm not doing shit unless she agrees." A cocky tilt of his head. "Too pretentious to curse?"

Fulvia straightens with a sense of superiority. She mocks his tone from earlier. "Can take the Career out of Two but can't take —"

"I'll do it," Ptolemus interjects sharply. More stares in his direction as Katniss and Gale just listen. "I'll do whatever you want me to do now that Sage's safety is part of the deal."

Prospero fumbles for some cordiality between himself and The Legacy as he grins with a pleased grin. "Excellent, my sister and I have some ideas —"

"But —" Ptolemus isn't done yet. His eyes threaten to burst Plutarch into flames. The former Gamemaker just blinks back at him evenly and waits. "If I were you, I wouldn't make a habit of breaking your promises. Especially ones to me. Because me?"

He points to himself with his ringed hand, a menacing sneer cracking at his lips. His words cut like a blade despite his chillingly even tone, such a stark contrast from all that yelling. "I don't let go of grudges, and I still haven't forgotten about the last time, Soldier Heavensbee."

Another irritating quirk to his lips. The man nods like an amused cat at his threat.

"I can see that."

━━━━

They've been announcing the assembly since lunch. Ptolemus has already revealed to Sage's anxious family what the announcement should entail, sharing the content of his meeting in Command. Katniss has agreed to be the Mockingjay. In exchange, Thirteen will rescue the Victors should an opportunity present itself, and upon their rescue or once the war is won, they'll be granted full pardons. Not to mention that he and Finnick will also be expected to stand beside the Mockingjay as much as they are physically able.

"Thank you," Luna Navarro says to him as she squeezes his arm. There's hopeful tears glistening in her eyes. "I know our baby girl will be home soon."

Ptolemus is at another routine checkup for his eye when the directions play over the intercom. Everyone except those with essential jobs are required to attend. He follows a trail of mobile patients lead by several nurses up to a giant room that can easily hold thousands called the Collective. There's a glint of bronze hair only a patient away from him to his left as he scans for Sage's family somewhere in the massive gray crowd. Most of them seem confused or intrigued.

"Do you know why we're here?" a familiar voice asks.

His body tenses at the sound of him so close. Stiffly, he glances to his left side again, the patient between him and Finnick wandering off. At first, he holds his silence, hoping the other Victor wasn't speaking to him. His dazed gaze is boring into his own rapid fingers anyway as he ties and unties his knots. But unfortunately, when Ptolemus doesn't answer, Finnick glances up and stares, confirming he was in fact questioning him.

It's strange looking at Finnick in such a different context than what he's been used to. All he ever was to him was the boy who betrayed and killed his sister, decorated in jewels and paraded around The Capitol with adoration like a prized pet. One that he was forced to see as another reminder that Ally was gone. But now the reminders have shifted to something else, and Ptolemus inhales sharply, glaring in his general direction instead of directly at him.

Directly at his own reflection.

"You missed the meeting in Command," Ptolemus replies stiffly. Rage, his old friend, doesn't feel as powerful anymore, annoyance and discomfort taking its place instead. He tries to remember what Dr. Metis has coached him in their sessions. Perspective. Remember his perspective — while it was personal to you, it wasn't personal to him.

Ally's still dead though, a voice reminds. And instead, he's here.

Finnick just blinks at him blankly with that dazed stare he tends to fashion these days. They say it's from a combination of the electrical shock he received in the Arena and the trauma of his lost loved one to The Capitol. "Meeting?" he repeats.

Ptolemus just glares up at the awaiting balcony and microphone. Then he glances to the clock. Any minute now, please. "It had to do with Katniss," he murmurs tightly, struggling to hide his annoyance. No one seems to be paying any mind to their conversations, the other patients around them too engrossed by their own confusion. "She's agreed to be the Mockingjay."

Those words mean something to Finnick as he straightens, the fog in his sea-green eyes clearing briefly. His lips form a faint 'O' with realization, and just when it seems he might prod Ptolemus for more, another familiar figure sidles up beside him.

"Hey Finnick," Katniss greets. The familiarity between them eases the tension, though the girl still glances at the two men beside each other warily. Ptolemus doesn't even realize his jaw is clenched until it starts to ache. He averts his gaze and listens. "How are you?"

"Ptolemus told me you've agreed to be the Mockingjay," he replies, tone rising in pitch at the end as if it's a question. It irritates him the way he says his name.

It's not his fault, it's not his fault, it's not his fault — let it go. He tries to remember what Dr. Metis said about releasing the anger. Releasing the anger isn't for Finnick, it's for him so that he can heal.

After all, he surely murdered someone's brother or sister in the name of survival in his own Games. There was nothing personal about it. Not true. Enobaria was definitely very personal given it looked like she hurt Sage. Technically she did. Maybe Sterling too, since she couldn't seem to keep Ally's name out of her mouth, but —

Yes, but this was still his sister. Everything about it is personal. If their siblings hated him for their murders too, which they probably do, he knows he deserves it.

Finnick deserves it, the voice insists.

He ignores Katniss's glance in his direction again. Instead, he returns to scanning the crowd for the Navarro's, but it's useless, the sea of heads impossible to sift through.

"I made her promise to give the other Tributes immunity if the rebels win or if we're able to rescue them sooner. In public, so there are plenty of witnesses."

Finnick releases a breath of relief. "Oh. Good. Because I worry about that with Annie." Ptolemus side-glances the two at the girl's name. His jarring conversation about wishes in that dark hospital room haunts him again. His own reflection bores into him as the other Victor continues. "That she'll say something that could be construed as traitorous without knowing it."

Sage's image beside President Snow returns in his memory, and so do the cries of Soldier Bane as he called for all the other Victors' heads. His knuckles tighten at his sides. Katniss must notice, though she probably assumes for different reasons, because she carefully slides herself in between the two men. She nods at Finnick and squeezes his hand.

"Don't worry, I took care of it."

Coin calls the audience to attention, her voice crackling through the microphone. In her usual fashion, she's direct and concise, quick to the point of the meeting. She reveals that Katniss has consented to being the Mockingjay, and while there's some sighs of relief, it's all shortly lived once the President reveals her conditions. Peeta, Johanna, Sage and Annie will be granted full pardon for any damage they do to the rebel cause and will be rescued from The Capitol at the soonest opportunity presented.

There's immediate rumblings of anger and discontent at that, and a muscle in Ptolemus's cheek twitches. While Katniss appears indifferent at the hostile looks shot their way, he struggles to conceal his own irritation, meeting the glares with one of his own like a dare. President Coin pauses for a few moments to allow the unrest to roll through before continuing briskly.

"But in return for this unprecedented request, Soldier Everdeen has promised to devote herself to our cause." All three Victors perk up at these added conditions. Finnick even pauses in tying his knots. Ptolemus's gaze narrows.

"It follows that any deviance from her mission, in either motive or deed, will be viewed as a break in this agreement. The immunity would be terminated and the fate of the four Victors determined by the law of District Thirteen."

Ptolemus hears the message loud and clear. It rings with other messages he's listened to all his life, and suddenly, it feels as if he's escaped one cage to simply be lead right into another. Dance, monkey, dance! Or your loved ones are dead.

Sage is dead if he and the others don't comply in their plans.

"As would her own." President Coin nods curtly, and Katniss seems to realize the weight of her words, brows furrowing. "Thank you."

━━━━

At lunch the next day, Katniss is accompanied by her deglamorized Prep Team at her table next to the Navarro's. From quick glances, Ptolemus can see that they've already prepped and pruned her, though she lacks the unnatural gaudiness of The Capitol. He pokes at his gray fish stew, the consistency making him gag just looking at it. Erabelle, who isn't a picky eater at all, stares at it with a wrinkled nose like it might start wiggling soon. Weirdly enough, their lunch reminds him of Finnick.

Pressure builds in his chest again. After Coin's announcement, he tracked down Dalton, asking him if he could call his wife for another session despite their one from earlier. While Dr. Metis like other Thirteen born citizens isn't one to deviate from her schedule, she did humor him and walk with him down the halls to her next subject of her busy itinerary. That earned him a solid five minutes of a conversation.

"I still don't like him," Ptolemus had said. "Just looking at him makes me —"

"You don't have to like him. Maybe you'll spend the rest of your life finding him arrogant or maybe his jokes aren't funny."

"He killed my sister."

"That too. But, given the conditions —"

"I know, I know. 'Given the conditions of the Games, can we really hold what someone did against them?' I get all that, more than anyone, but it's not easy when it's your sister —"

"Yes, I know you can understand that logically. But emotionally, you're still angry. Rightfully so, the violent death of a loved one at someone else's hand is difficult to cope with. I just wonder whether how much of that anger is actually at Finnick himself, or at the fact that she's gone, and it's just easier to aim all of that at Finnick than a powerful and seemingly untouchable entity like The Capitol."

Ptolemus squirms even now, twelve hours later from their conversation. A part of him wishes he wouldn't have sought her out for it in the first place.

Mostly because he hates how she's mostly right.

"So what are they gonna have you doing?" Shiloh asks, his shoulder nudging Ptolemus's. It's when he does that that he realizes he's just been staring at that stupid fish for who knows how long. Some people are already discarding their trays. Shiloh's stare bores into the adjusted schedule tattooed on his wrist. Next is Special Defense.

He feels Sage's family watching him and waiting, so he clears his throat. "Not sure what exactly. They just want me for some propos to show my support for the cause and Katniss. They're hoping me on their side could sway a loyal Two."

"And to help save Aunt Sage," Erabelle pipes up. Her brown eyes bore into him expectantly. "Right Uncle Tolly?"

Her name makes his heart rattle. He gives her a nod, forcing a hopeful grin. "That's right."

Later, Ptolemus is escorted to Special Defense by Dalton, riding silently down the elevator. It's so far down, levels upon levels racing past them, that he swears they're going to reach the earth's core any second. He feels like he's being buried alive, and he waits for his lungs to suffocate. While the breath does grow tight at the thought of the confined space, his faint claustrophobia haunting him, he manages to make it without a breakdown.

There's various computers, labs, research equipment, and testing ranges. Dalton seems to know where he's going as they pass a glass room with various hummingbirds zipping around real trees. Four guards stand by a hall labeled Special Weaponry.

"Hear that Beetee guy was making you a special sword," Dalton pipes up as they pass. "He's real techy. Makes sense since he's from Three and all."

"Are they expecting me to fight?" Ptolemus asks.

He remembers his training in the yard. Most of it has been in an attempts to beef him up since his muscles atrophied in the hospital. He's gotten a few opportunities to work with a rifle, but not much sparring, his doctor still concerned with his eye's healing process. One wrong punch, or even if some grains of dust sneak their way between the patch and the sliver of an opening, his eye's probably a goner.

Dalton shrugs. "I think it's just for show. But as you're cleared, maybe you'll get a chance to use it for real."

A familiar part of him itches for an opportunity. Another groans at the thought.

They eventually enter a room that's been redesigned into a studio of sorts. It's bustling with movement, Plutarch and other Capitol rebels running around frantically. In the center of the room, Katniss is surrounded by her Prep Team and a familiar figure he almost doesn't recognize without her wig. It's her voice that draws her name.

Effie Trinket — District Twelve's Escort. He didn't even know she was here. She's helping Katniss practice her lines while Prospero and Fulvia war with a smoke machine, both shrieking at a sudden puff of vapor into their faces. Ptolemus would laugh at their misery if his thoughts didn't wander.

Deverra. His own Escort. What's happened to her? Surely she didn't know about the plan. Is she safe in The Capitol, unharmed thanks to her status, perhaps just worried sick about his own? It's likely the same for Eudora and his Prep Team. The Capitol wouldn't hurt them.

Right?

Then his parents. Is it bad this is the first time he's thought of his parents this entire month? They were in The Capitol too. Is that where they still are now? If so, wouldn't they be on Snow's propo, his family always painted as a riveting symbol of the Games and their power?

Hours pass that they spend getting Katniss ready as well as the rest of the set. Ptolemus is half-tempted to take a nap, the others simply ignoring him. Finnick is wandering around the set aimlessly himself. They show Katniss a demo of what they want her to do with a pre-recorded model, and the girl just stares dumbly, raising a brow. Finnick comes up behind her with a grin.

"They'll either want to kiss you, kill you or be you."

Ptolemus barely stifles a groan. He makes it so easy to hate him.

Fulvia starts to paint the scene for Katniss before she takes her place in front of the various screens and holograms. "You've just been in battle, storming The Capitol!" She gestures to the floor dramatically. "Your comrades-in-arms are all lying dead around you —" Katniss glances down to the tile skeptically. Fulvia's voice raises in volume and pitch to add the final riveting detail. "And to rally the living, you turn to the camera and shout out the line!"

"Are you ready?" Prospero asks, adjusting the smoke machine one last time.

Katniss just nods uneasily. Ptolemus folds his arms across his chest as he watches in the booth. Another familiar figure that he's used to seeing stagger and stumble rather than walk strides in to inspect her performance as well.

The lights are lowered, plumes of smoke roll, and Plutarch yells, "Action!"

Katniss hold the bow over her head and draws her voice to an angry holler, the pain on her face not from casualties in war, but from the awkwardness of the entire line. Nevertheless, she says it.

"People of Panem — we fight — we dare — we end our hunger for justice!"

No one says anything. Ptolemus stifles the urge to speak his mind, which wouldn't be very nice, so he just awkwardly scratches at the back of his head, glancing down to his feet. Finnick stares with brows furrowed incredulously. The poor teen's cheeks are flushing, and her bow awkwardly hangs in the air, eventually falling limply to her side.

Finally, Haymitch leans across Plutarch, his sharp laughter echoing between the speakers.

"And that, my friends, is how a revolution dies."

Katniss's eyes darken like a woman mad at the sound of her Mentor's voice. She storms out without a word, dropping her bow with a clatter. Ptolemus swears there's streaks of smoke billowing off her retreating frame. He quirks an interested brow as he glances back to a smug Haymitch, who still clutches his belly from laughing.

"Maybe we'll try again tomorrow," Plutarch suggests lightly.

The next morning, they're all called to Command once more. As Ptolemus and Dalton arrive, he notes there's a few additional faces. President Coin is there of course, along with Plutarch, Fulvia, Prospero, Effie and Katniss's Prep Team. Gale is present, along with a few others from Twelve. He recognizes one as Greasy Sae from kitchen duty. She had made a snarky comment about the lack of creativity around here, and Ptolemus was the only one to laugh.

However, instead of President Coin taking charge of this conversation, or even Plutarch, it's Haymitch Abernathy who stands in front of one of the screens, an electronic pen in his grasp. He looks thinner, and his complexion is almost a yellow hue. It takes Ptolemus a moment to realize that this is him sober.

He first starts the meeting by playing the footage they shot yesterday. It makes Ptolemus cringe even now as he watches it, and Katniss just glares at the table, cheeks flushing pink. Haymitch raises his palms to the table.

"Alright. Would anyone like to argue that this is of use to us in winning the war?" Everyone just blinks silently. Even Fulvia has no defense for her creation.

"That saves time. So, let's all be quiet for a minute. I want everyone think of one incident where Katniss Everdeen genuinely moved you. Not where you were jealous of her hairstyle, or her dress went up in flames or she made a halfway decent shot with an arrow. Not where Peeta was making you like her. I want to hear one moment where she made you feel something real."

No one says a word for a moment. Ptolemus pauses to think. The first one that comes to his mind is her volunteering for her sister. In Two, that would be a great disgrace, likely to cause a bitter rivalry between siblings at stealing the other's chance for glory. But in a District like Twelve? It's a sacrifice.

One of the ones from Twelve pipes up with that example before he can offer it. "When she volunteered to take Prim's place at the Reaping. Because I'm sure she thought she was going to die."

Haymitch nods and turns to write on the screen behind him. "Good. Excellent example. Volunteered for sister at Reaping." He glances around the table. "Somebody else."

Boggs, Coin's number one lackey, is the next one to speak. "When she sang the song. While the little girl died."

"Who didn't get choked up at that, right?" Haymitch agrees.

"I cried when she drugged Peeta so she could go get him medicine and when she kissed him goodbye!" the woman with green skin blurts. She covers her mouth instantly and glances around the room with unease.

"Oh yeah. Drugs Peeta to save his life. Very nice."

"Allying with little Rue," Effie adds, clutching her heart.

Ptolemus clears his throat. "When she mercy-killed Cato from those Mutts."

Katniss stares at him warily, but he just ignores her. It feels weird to say the boy's name, and he remembers their duel in the ring three years ago.

"He just tried to kill her and Peeta, she could've let him suffer, but she didn't." More watch him uneasily, as if they weren't expecting him to offer anything. Not when he's a Career from Two. The silence makes him uncomfortable, so he adds one more thing. "Or when she got all of us to hold hands the night of the Quell interviews. To unite us before they could make a show of dividing us."

Others start to rattle things off. When Katniss tried to carry Mags. Taking care of Wiress when she was in shock. Holding out those berries during the grand finale. There's a brief discussion of all the things it meant to everyone — love for Peeta, refusal to give in under impossible odds, defiance of The Capitol's inhumanity. The list goes on and on until Haymitch runs out of room on the board.

"So, the question is, what do all of these have in common?" he asks, gesturing behind him.

"They were Katniss's," Gale murmurs quietly. "No one told her what to do or say."

Beetee perks up, almost as if a golden light bulb has brightened above his head. "Unscripted, yes!" He then pats Katniss's hand. "So we should just leave you alone, right?"

A few laugh. There's even a crack of a smile from the girl.

"Well, that's all very nice but not very helpful," Fulvia points out. She folds her arms across her chest, and Ptolemus stifles an eyeroll. "Unfortunately, her opportunities for being wonderful are rather limited here in Thirteen. So unless you're suggesting we toss her into the middle of combat —"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting," Haymitch interjects. "Put her out in the field and just keep the cameras rolling."

Gale frowns. "But people think she's pregnant."

"So I suppose no one was going to believe she'd just been in battle to begin with, huh?" Ptolemus's stare bores into Plutarch and his team. "Not to mention that cheesy line and fake smoke."

Fulvia shoots him another glare, cheeks flushing crimson and brightening those silver tattoos Eudora's wife drew.

"We'll spread the word that she lost the baby from the electrical shock in the Arena," Plutarch replies evenly. "Very sad. Very unfortunate."

"Every time we coach her or give her lines, the best we can hope for is okay." Haymitch points to Katniss. "It has to come from her. That's what people are responding to."

Boggs shakes his head. "Even if we're careful, we can't guarantee her safety. She'll be a target for every —"

"I want to go," Katniss insists. The discussion whirling around her pauses. They all just stare at her, especially the ones from Thirteen, mostly surprised by her eagerness after a month of silence. "I'm no help to the rebels here."

President Coin arches a silver brow. "And if you're killed?"

Katniss doesn't even flinch. She just stares at the woman evenly, and from the steadiness of her tone, everyone can hear and feel that she means it.

"Make sure you get it on camera."

Even Ptolemus is stunned by her bravery. He silently commends her on it, half-tempted to ask Haymitch to add that to the board too. After a pause, Coin sighs.

"Fine. But let's take it one step at a time. Find the least dangerous situation that can evoke some spontaneity in you."

President Coin walks around Command, swiping through various District maps and their troop positions. He straightens when she glances at Ten. Most of the fighting seems to have shifted back to the Beef and Dairy Sector, and while Destry has been successful at derailing the railroads, more Peacekeepers are flown in by hovercraft or shipped in by the sea. He wants to ask whether the man and his four horsemen are alive, but she's already moved on to Eight.

"Take her into Eight this afternoon. There was heavy bombing this morning, but the raid seems to have run its course," President Coin finally orders. "I want her armed with a squad of bodyguards. Camera crew on the ground. Haymitch, you'll be airborne and in contact with her. Let's see what happens there. Does anyone have any other comments?"

"Wash her face," Dalton says. Everyone turns to him. "She's still a girl and you made her look thirty-five. Feels wrong. Like something The Capitol would do."

Ptolemus can agree with that. He watches The Capitol rebels squirm at his fair point. Just as Coin is about to leave, Ptolemus feels that itch in him again, knuckles twitching for something to wield. To be useful.

"What about us?" he asks, peering over at the woman. He gestures to Finnick stiffly. "Do you want us at her side for the propo too? Because I'd be interested in going —"

"That's up to your doctors," she interjects coolly before turning to leave once more. The door shuts behind her before he can argue anything else.

Someone clears his throat down the table. "If I may... should your doctors not clear you..." Beetee adjusts his glasses on his head as he peers between the two other Victors. "I've been developing some new weaponry for the both of you." A glance to Finnick. "For you, a trident."

Then a quirk of his lips in Ptolemus's direction. "And for you, a sword."

━━━━

»»————-　♡　————-««

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

Thoughts? Opinions???? How are we feeling about Tolly? Katniss and Tolly or Tolly and Finnick???

I've been trying to handle it all very delicately! In my head, Katniss is still uneasy of him (bro was vicious during the Quell and she def was and is still slightly afraid of him)  but he's definitely done a few things to surprise her, such as his interview during the Quell about his legacy, volunteering for Sage like Peeta did for her, his refusal to do anything until she does, and even his concern mostly for the victors. Not to mention I think because of what Sage did for Peeta it would make sense that she would at least be fairly civil with him. They're def not besties, but there's a respect slowly building there!!

I enjoyed writing this chapter a lot, so please let me know what you think!

I'm so excited for Sage and Tolly to reunite tho. I miss my babies together :( and I miss writing Sage.

I really did not expect to make Ptolemus and Shiloh become closer (had Colt lived I think that would've been a fun dynamic as well) but I've enjoyed it!

Also, I made/found some memes for this story lol

Ptolemus when stumbling upon Katniss mumbling her mantra as she hid behind the pipes while he tried to do his laundry.

Ptolemus during Katniss's first propo attempt

Lol I hope you enjoyed these! Feel free to comment, I love hearing from you and seeing your reactions to different parts of the story!

Word Count: 7848