BBB Wave 3: The Cameras Watch the Accidents and Stars You Hate Part 1/3
Title: The Cameras Watch the Accidents and Stars You Hate
Bands: MCR
Pairings: Frank/Gerard, Alicia/Vicky-T, Pete/Patrick
Word count: 23397
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Character death, graphic violence. Fairly dark.
Summary: After winning the Hunger Games, life was supposed to go back to normal for Gerard, Frank and their mentor Alicia. But they've made too many enemies in the Capitol, and it looks like they might be lucky to keep any sort of life at all.
Author's Notes: All my thanks to jokerindisguise who made the most fantastic mix for this fic, which you can find here
I have to also give a massive thanks to forbiddensatan who betaed this for me and put up with my incessant whinging like a champ.
This is a sequel to my Wave One fic, The Boy With The Bread. A fusion of Catching Fire.
Part Two
Part Three
Alicia didn’t like Frank Iero all that much. She respected him; admired his skill and his resilience, but most of the time, he got on her nerves. He got on her nerves when he handed over the white liquor he bought her with a pinched, judgmental look on his face. He got on her nerves when he avoided Gerard for days because he apparently didn’t know how to cope with his own crush. And he definitely got on her nerves when he chose to wake her up with the aid of a bucket of cold water.
“What the fuck!” she gasped. “You couldn’t just tap my shoulder?”
“I did. You didn’t wake up.” Frank shrugged. “You’ll have to bathe, anyway, before we leave.” He cast a look over Alicia’s grimy clothes, and she sneered at him.
“Where’s Gerard this morning?” Alicia asked sweetly. Frank scowled, and said, “He said he’d be here soon. Who knows. He’ll probably fritter the entire day away, like he’s frittered away the last four months. You know we had a chance to get out of here, to go somewhere else, but it’s too late now. We won’t get a private second to ourselves between now and the next Games.”
Alicia rolled her eyes. The boy was so dramatic. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “There will still be time, after the Victory Tour. There’ll be months. And maybe Gerard has his reasons for wanting to stay.” She would bet Gerard had his reasons. That one was too idealistic to know what was good for him.
At that moment, Gerard came walking down the hallway, calling ahead of himself. “You’re exactly right Alicia, I’ve been saying that all along. We’re not out of time yet.” He stepped into the kitchen and went straight to the sink, where he rinsed out a glass and filled it from the bottle on the table.
“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Frank asked sourly.
“Yes,” Gerard answered firmly. Alicia rolled her eyes, bored with this argument which they’d already had at least a dozen times.
“Have you been out hunting, Frank?” she asked, noticing his game bag for the first time.
“Got some rabbits,” he confirmed.
“How long were you out?” Gerard asked Frank.
“A while,” Frank answered evasively.
“A while? Has your mom even seen you since last night? She’ll be flipping out.”
Alicia doubted that was true. Frank’s mother knew that he was capable of looking after himself; she’d been relying on his ability to do just that for a lot of years. She didn’t worry about him half as much as Gerard did.
“She’ll be fine,” Frank insisted. “Mikey’s with her. She’s showing him how to make her special burn salve, or something. She probably hasn’t even noticed I’m gone.”
And maybe Frank had never quite forgiven his mother for that, either.
“Still,” Gerard insisted, “You’d better go, unless you want to get caught on camera carrying those rabbits.” Hunting outside the District fence was forbidden and carried a severe penalty, although it was never really enforced. But the Peacekeepers might make an exception for Frank, who had made some very powerful enemies in the Capitol by securing victory in last year’s Hunger Games, not just for himself, but Gerard as well.
Frank accepted Gerard’s reasoning with a scowl, and he left to go to his own home on the opposite side from Alicia’s. Gerard waited until the door closed behind him before turning to Alicia. “Do you mind if I borrow a bottle to take home?”
**********
Gerard drank a third of the bottle he got from Alicia and hid the rest in his bedside table, because his parents hated his drinking almost as much as Frank did. He was about to go for a bath so that his stylists might not actually faint when they saw him, but his plans were thwarted when Mikey crept up to his room, looking like something had scared the life out of him.
“Gerard,” he whispered. “Gerard, you won’t believe... I was at Frank’s house, and this massive car pulled up outside. The door opened, and President Korse got out.”
“Don’t be stupid, Mikey,” Gerard said dismissively, because there was no way the president would ever come all the way out to District 12.
“I’m not!” Mikey insisted. “I’m serious! I saw him! His big stupid bald head and his white coat and...”
“Mikey,” Gerard said, “This isn’t a joke, is it? Because it’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking! He came into Frank’s house. Linda nearly passed out. He didn’t see me, because I was in the back room and then I sneaked out the back door when Linda took him into the study.”
“But... why is he here?” Gerard wondered. “Is it something to do with Frank?”
It was a stupid question. It had to be something to do with Frank; he’d gone to Frank’s house, hadn’t he? Mikey didn’t reply, just watched Gerard with wide, anxious eyes.
Gerard went to the front window of their ridiculously oversized house and looked out, trying to stay concealed behind the curtain. He couldn’t see Frank’s house, but he could see the street. There was a car parked out there, an official government car, the only kind they had in District 12. If the President actually came to District 12 for some unknowable reason, he’d use one of those to get around.
The street was empty, but as Gerard watched several people began walking towards the car from the direction of Frank’s house. Two of them were dressed in what looked like Peacekeeper uniforms, although the Peacekeeper uniforms Gerard was used to seeing were cheaply made and poorly fitting, and these... weren’t. The third was a woman in a stylish but sedate outfit, carrying some kind of hi-tech notebook. Then Gerard saw the fourth person, and his jaw dropped. It was President Korse. Gerard recognised him from TV. He’d seen him when he’d gone to the Games the year before as well, but never up close.
Gerard froze where he stood as the group of people got into the car and it slowly drove away, weaving around the poorly maintained street to avoid potholes. He waited until the car was out of sight, then turned back to see Mikey.
“That was President Korse!” he whispered.
“I told you!” Mikey exclaimed, not bothering to lower his voice.
“Oh, fuck,” Gerard breathed. “Frank. I have to make sure he’s okay.”
He heard Mikey say that he was sure Frank was fine, and then start to say something else, but by that point Gerard was out the front door and running down the street, his breath puffing out in little clouds of mist in front of him. He reached Frank’s door and knocked twice before letting himself inside.
Frank and his mother were standing in the kitchen, looking completely unharmed. “Frank, you’re alright!”
“Hey, Gerard, yeah, we’re fine,” Frank said firmly. “I guess you saw Korse too, huh, since he always visits the victors before they tour?” Frank tilted his head ever so slightly towards his mother, and Gerard played along.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, trying for casual. “How about that, huh? The President, in our house and everything.” Gerard forced a sickly grin onto his face.
Frank nodded. “Mom, I’m going to walk Gerard home,” he said. “He needs to start getting ready for the tour.” He took Gerard by the wrist and led him out of the house.
Outside Gerard looked over at Frank and said, “What did Korse really want?”
Frank looked up and down the street furtively before answering. “To make sure I don’t step out of line. He said people are all stirred up, he said there could be uprisings.”
“Uprisings!” Gerard said.
“Shhh! Yeah, he said that, and he said that I need to settle everything down by convincing people that... you know...”
“That you were so desperately, madly in love with me that you would have preferred to die than live without me?” Gerard asked sweetly.
Frank grimaced and shook his head. “Idiot,” he muttered. Since the Games, he and Gerard had become... not a couple, exactly. Everyone assumed they were, of course, but mostly they just hung out together a lot. They had a sort of understanding. Gerard didn’t talk about being in love with Frank, and Frank didn’t talk about not being in love with Gerard. Between the two of them, they acted like they were dating, but without the dates. They did go on dates, but those were for show. They weren’t real. The real stuff happened in private, and it involved the two of them being more than just friends, but not exactly lovers. It was complicated.
They reached the front of Gerard’s house, and he and Frank exchanged a long glance. “Mom wants me to wash up before everyone gets here,” Frank said mournfully.
“Might be a good idea,” said Gerard. “You’re all muddy from hunting.”
Frank glared at him. “You are not in a position to criticise anyone else’s hygiene, Gerard,” he said.
“Fine!” Gerard snapped. “I’ll have a bath too, if it’ll make you happy.”
“If you’re sure you won’t melt, then it would probably be best for everyone involved,” Frank retorted. He smirked cheekily and walked away before Gerard could think of a really good comeback.
“Oh, yeah, well... so’s your face!” he shouted to Frank’s retreating back.
When he went inside, he found that his mother had already drawn him a bath, probably because she didn’t trust him to do it for himself. It wasn’t that Gerard didn’t like being clean, it was just that he tended to get distracted by more interesting things. He went to his room to get clean clothes and found the new brush he’d made from fine horsehair. He hadn’t had a chance to use it yet, but he suddenly remembered the sight of Korse standing next to the government car, and thought about how he would get the image onto canvas. He was just about to take his new brush down to the cellar to try it out when his mother appeared in the doorway.
“Go wash up before the water gets cold,” she said. That was one of the nicest things about the new house; hot running water.
“I’m going to,” Gerard said. “In a minute. I just want to try...”
“Now,” his mother insisted, plucking the brush out of his hand. Thus thwarted, Gerard went along to have his bath and ensure that Patrick wasn’t appalled at the sight of him.
It was another hour before Gerard heard the sound of cars pulling up outside. He had a moment of panic where he worried that Korse was coming back to finish Frank off, but he knew that was illogical. It was just Pete and Patrick, and a camera crew, come to make sure Frank had appropriate clothes to wear for the Victory Tour and that Gerard had at least washed the paint out of his hair, and that the whole of Panem got a chance to see them get dressed up.
Gerard went out the front door. The cameras were already rolling. He tried to ignore them and focus on Pete, who was coming his way and wearing a bigger smile than ever, if that were possible.
“Gerard!” he cried. “I couldn’t be more excited! Are you excited?”
“Very,” Gerard lied.
“Me too! I’ve never gotten to do one of these before! It’s going to be so much fun!”
Not for the first time, Gerard wondered if there was something exceptionally wrong with Pete Wentz. Surely normal people didn’t react like this to the chance to celebrate the death of twenty-two children. But maybe that sort of thing was normal in the Capitol.
Frank came out of his house then, and Gerard braced himself with a deep breath. This was the hard part, where they had to pretend for the cameras that they were madly in love. The pretending part wasn’t hard for Gerard; he wasn’t pretending, after all, but knowing that Frank was pretending - that sucked. And knowing that Korse was going to be watching and judging how convincing they were didn’t help.
Frank saw Gerard and put an expression on his face of complete joy. It looked fake to Gerard. He’d never seen Frank look as happy as that, not and mean it. But he thought it would probably fool people who didn’t know them. Frank raced down the footpath towards him, and Gerard went to meet him. They ran into one another’s arms, and Gerard pulled Frank in for a kiss, not because he wanted to, but because he thought it would hide his face for a minute or two. One of the cameramen had followed him, however, and was filming them both from a couple of feet away. It was very disconcerting.
“Frank! Gerard!” It was Patrick’s voice, and Gerard stepped away from Frank with mingled feelings of relief and disappointment. He hoped that to the viewers it looked like the two of them would happily stay in one another’s embrace for the entire day.
Patrick waved with his right hand. His left hand clutched a bulging suitcase, and two attendants behind him were carrying even more luggage.
“Is Patrick planning to stay here for a month?” Frank asked.
“I think those are for us,” Gerard said nervously.
“Hi, you two,” Patrick said once he got within speaking distance. “You’re both looking a lot better than when I saw you last.”
Gerard smiled and nodded. It was true. He and Frank had both recovered from the Games, and they’d both been eating a lot better since then than they ever had before.
“I don’t know if I’d say that!” Pete exclaimed. “Just look at what they’re wearing!” He cast a dismissive glance over Gerard’s shirt, which was covered in chalk dust and ink, and Frank’s pants, which were still muddy.
Patrick and Gerard exchanged a long-suffering glance, and then Patrick nodded. “He’s got a point,” he said. “We’d better get you two dressed.”
For the Hunger Games, the year before, Patrick had created the most spectacular and dazzling costumes. The clothes he’d made for the Victory Tour were a lot more practical, the sorts of things that a person could wear for an entire day without severely inconveniencing themselves. After pulling a dozen garments from various suitcases and trunks, Patrick decided that Gerard should wear a pair of dark blue pants with a soft blue shirt, and a dark coat which was double-breasted and thigh length, with flames embroidered around the cuffs. Patrick left Gerard to dress and went to sort out Frank’s outfit.
Gerard liked the clothes, once he had them on. The coat was beautiful, soft and light but so warm. He ran his hands over the material, marvelling at the way it felt. In District 12, they didn’t have the technology to make fabric as fine as this.
Gerard wandered out of the guest room in Frank’s house and went down to the kitchen. Frank’s mom was there with Pete, who was telling her all about how tedious the train ride had been.
“Gerard!” she said as he stepped into the room, with a definite note of relief in her voice. “You look wonderful.”
“Thanks,” Gerard answered. “I have to ask Patrick if we get to keep these clothes after the Tour. I can’t believe....” His words trailed off as Frank came down the hallway and entered the kitchen. He was wearing black pants and boots, with a red shirt over them and a black vest over that. Patrick had taken the time to do Frank’s hair and makeup as well, and as Gerard had learned to expect from Patrick, it didn’t make Frank look strange or fake, it just made him look even more like himself. He took Gerard’s breath away.
“Hey,” Frank said, his gaze directed somewhere at the floor near Gerard’s feet.
Gerard opened his mouth and closed it without saying anything. Frank didn’t want to hear Gerard gushing about how great he looked. Besides, Frank was dealing with his mother cooing over him and telling him how handsome he was, and Frank looked quite pained at even that much attention. It was best if Gerard kept back.
Things happened quickly after that. Gerard had spent the previous couple of days half-heartedly throwing random items of clothing into a suitcase, but it turned out that Patrick had brought enough clothes to outfit both Gerard and Frank for the entire Tour. When Patrick saw what Gerard had packed, he diplomatically suggested leaving it at home. Gerard was happy to do so, if it meant he didn’t have to pack anything else.
They were driven to the train station, which seemed like the most extreme decadence to Gerard, who was used to walking everywhere. He and Frank walked along the platform hand in hand, trailed by their parents and Mikey who had come along to say goodbye.
The train was there waiting, and they spent about five minutes getting all their luggage on board, and another thirty to record their arrival and farewells to the satisfaction of the camera crew. By the time Gerard boarded the train and it started to move, he was exhausted and dreading the two weeks ahead of him. In the past few months he’d forgotten what it was like, being watched so closely every second of the day.
It was mid-afternoon by the time they left District 12. They travelled for two hours through endless fields and orchards before finally arriving at the station for District 11.
District 11 was a huge district. Gerard had always known that, but seeing it was something else. They disembarked from the train into a fairly large town, but it was clearly only a small part of the entire district. They had passed quite a few smaller towns and villages on their way, and they’d only crossed half the district.
They were given the finest rooms in the town’s best inn. They were pretty plain, really; Gerard knew that after seeing the sorts of wonders they had in the Capitol, but it was still the sort of luxury that the average District 11 citizen would never see.
Patrick got Gerard and Frank to change into new outfits, which just struck Gerard as wasteful, but he trusted Patrick’s judgment and didn’t argue. After that, they were summoned to the feast.
The Victory Tour always took place six months after the last Game and before the next. The losing districts were each made to honour the victors with feasts and other celebrations. It was the Capitol’s way of keeping the horror of the Games fresh in the minds of the people, and keeping the districts divided against one another by forcing them to honour a victor who, in many cases, had killed one or two of their own. Gerard had been dreading the tour for this reason, but he couldn’t let any sign of that show. He and Frank had to convince everyone that they were nothing but deliriously happy to be together.
At the feast, there were endless toasts delivered by men and women who spoke of celebration but whose smiles rang false. Gerard had no appetite, but he didn’t want to appear ungrateful for the feast that had been laid out and managed to choke most of his meal down. He was glad to escape back to the inn at last and lie down for a few hours of sleep.
The next morning, there was a presentation in their honour. The entire town would be there; in particular, the families of the tributes from the previous year’s Games. Gerard wasn’t exactly looking forward to it, but he knew Frank was dreading it more than he could comprehend. During the Games, Frank had teamed up with one of the District 11 tributes for a short while. He didn’t talk about it much, but Jamia’s death had affected him deeply. And the other tribute, Spencer, had helped them as well, sparing Frank’s life when he could have killed him, out of a sense of obligation. Gerard knew that Frank felt more guilt for those two deaths than any others.
Personally, Gerard was dreading District 4, the home of the first tribute he’d killed. But that was far enough off that he didn’t have to worry about it yet. He wasn’t looking forward to reaching District 9 for the same reason, although the District 9 girl he’d killed had been dying already and it didn’t haunt him quite as much.
Patrick had put together a showy outfit for Gerard to wear. He wished that it was something a bit less flamboyant; he felt like he was flaunting his newfound wealth in front of the entire district. Frank had told him that he’d learned from Jamia that the district was run differently to 12; that the Peacekeepers were harsher and the rules stricter. He would be glad to leave. He took out the flask he'd brought with him from District 12 and took a swig, feeling relief as his anxiety dulled.
The presentation took place in the main square. Gerard had seen it on TV; the Reaping took place here each year. A huge crowd of people were gathered and watched as Gerard and Frank climbed up onto the platform, Alicia following behind them.
They were introduced to the mayor of the town, who delivered a speech congratulating Frank and Gerard on their victory and offering them gifts, including a finely woven rug with a floral pattern, a chest carved intricately from wood, and a large basket filled with a variety of fruit, most of which Gerard had only seen before on his last trip to the Capitol. These were the finest and most valuable gifts that District 11 could offer. Gerard and Frank took them, knowing that the speech and the gifts were not being given freely, but offered at the behest of the Capitol, under threat of punishment.
Gerard exchanged a glance with Frank. They were expected to give a speech of thanks in return, and before leaving, Gerard had talked to Frank about it, but Frank had been reluctant to discuss it. Gerard had written a speech on his own, knowing that the District 11 visit would be particularly difficult for Frank. He stepped forward and tried to remember how he had meant to start.
"Thank you," he said awkwardly. "Thank you, District 11, for your generosity." He looked out across the expanse of faces watching him, and nearly forgot the rest. "Frank and I are in your debt." At the front of the crowd, right near the stage, a small area had been set aside for Spencer and Jamia's families. He could see a man who he thought might be Spencer's father; he had the same chin and the same eyes. He was standing with a woman who must have been Spencer's mother, and two girls who looked just under reaping age. Gerard thought the others had to be Jamia’s family. They were all short and dark haired, like she had been. Looking at them caused Gerard's throat to dry up.
"I didn't know Spencer well," he said shakily. "But I respected him. He was someone who did what was right, no matter what. I... admired him for it." He looked over at Spencer's parents, and the two girls. They stared back at him expressionlessly. Gerard felt terrible; his words weren't enough, but he didn't have anything better. There was nothing he could say that would make Spencer not dead. And Jamia...
He couldn't look at her family as he continued. "Jamia was someone special - she was always brave, always so determined. It was only for a short time, but I'm glad I had the chance to know her."
When Gerard had originally written his speech, he had planned on adding more. He had toyed with the idea of announcing, publicly, that he and Frank were going to give a portion of their winnings to Spencer and Jamia's families. He knew Frank wouldn't mind, and if he did it in front of enough viewers he even had a chance of forcing the Capitol to go along with it. But that had changed when Frank had told him about the visit from President Korse. Now wasn't the time to do anything that might encourage ideas of rebellion or defiance. Gerard had actually toned down his speech significantly, removing any reference to the loss or grief experienced by the tributes' families. In the end, he felt bound by the scrutiny of the Capitol, unable to say or do anything meaningful. It seemed like the crowd watching felt the same way. He shifted uncomfortably under the accusing stares of Jamia's and Spencer's family. He hadn't said enough, but there was nothing he could add. The officials who had been standing to the side motioned to Gerard and Frank to leave the stage, but to Gerard's surprise, Frank stepped forward and said, "Wait!"
"Jamia and Spencer..." he said shakily. "They should have been... we should have been friends. We could have been friends. We were supposed to fight them, but I couldn't. I couldn't... I'm sorry. Sorry I couldn't help them..."
Fear nearly stopped Gerard's heart from beating. What was Frank doing? He was the one Korse had visited, he was the one who had warned Gerard. If there was one thing they shouldn't be doing, it was giving any suggestion that the Hunger Games were anything other than wonderful. Gerard put one hand to the pocket of his coat, feeling the weight of his flask inside, being reassured by it although he couldn't take it out to drink.
The crowd stood in silence for a minute. Frank had fallen silent, like a clockwork toy which had wound down. The officials once again encouraged Frank and Gerard to start heading away from the stage, and Gerard moved to cooperate, but as he did so he saw movement in the corner of his eye. Someone in the crowd was moving towards the front. Gerard turned his head to see better, and saw a young man of about his own age, making his way through the crowd. The side of his face was marked with colour. Gerard squinted and realised that it was a bird, a mockingjay painted on the young man's face. His heart started to race. The man paused not far away, raised the middle three fingers of his left hand to his mouth, and then raising the hand into the air, the palm facing the stage. And then he whistled.
The notes were familiar, although it took Gerard a second to place them. Then he remembered it was the melody he and Frank had used to signal one another during the Games. After, Frank had told him he’d learned it from Jamia. For the signal to be repeated here was barely a step away from outright rebellion. Other people in the crowd were copying the salute. The officials urged Frank and Gerard to hurry, putting a hand on Frank's shoulder as he seemed reluctant to move.
They left the stage and the officials herded them back towards the car, but Frank stopped in his tracks. "Wait," he said again.
"Get in the car," one of the officials ordered.
Frank looked ready to protest. From the direction of the stage, they could hear a murmur of voices. They heard a few short, heated but indistinct phrases, and then a brief silence which was followed by a single gunshot.
Gerard jerked at the sound. His eyes met Frank's, who looked pale and shocked. He was trembling, and bracing himself like he was getting ready to run back to the stage. But the officials were standing right there, and they were physically pushing Frank and Gerard now, and one of them had a hand on the gun holstered at his side, which Gerard hadn't even noticed until he'd heard that shot...
They got into the car, silently. Pete was already inside, his eyes wide. "Did you hear that? What was it?" he demanded.
Gerard glanced over to Alicia, who shook her head silently. Gerard was sure she hadn't seen the boy with the bird on his face, but she wasn't stupid. She had to know something bad had happened. But she was right, they couldn't tell Pete about it.
"Fireworks," Patrick said. "I heard someone say they were going to send us off with fireworks."
"Oh!" Pete looked quite put out. "I wish they'd done that earlier, we didn't get a chance to see."
"Ah, well, I'm sure it wasn't anything special," Patrick said dismissively, avoiding Gerard's gaze. "It's only District 11, after all."
Pete immediately perked up. "You're right," he said. "I wonder what they're going to do in District 10?"
************
Alicia didn't have to see exactly what had happened to figure it out. She knew what the Capitol's Peacekeepers were capable of, and Frank and Gerard's expressions helped her make the leap. She was relieved that Patrick had been able to divert Pete's attention; someone had to do it but she knew she didn't have the patience to deal with him. She couldn't wait to get out of District 11. She couldn't wait for the whole tour to be over so they could return home.
She hadn't been on a Victory Tour, not since her own which she barely remembered. She'd never really considered what it would be like. She hadn't expected it to be like this. What kind of person would enjoy such a grisly promenade? Maybe this was the sort of thing they considered fun in District 1, but Alicia didn't consider reliving being forced to kill other children to be a good time. She knew Frank was fretting about getting to the last few districts, and facing the families and friends of tributes he'd personally killed. He wouldn't admit it, but she could tell.
Gerard had actually talked to her a bit, about how he felt, how he dreaded their visit to District 4. She'd always got along a bit better with Gerard, ever since his Reaping. He was annoyingly optimistic, but it was better than Frank, who thought himself too jaded to be shocked by anything but was laughably wrong in his self-perception.
So, yes, she'd talked to Gerard, the last time he'd come to beg a bottle of liquor from her. Alicia supposed she should have refused to give it to him, or should have felt guilty about doing so, but that would have been hypocritical. After what Gerard had seen and done, she could give him the courtesy of letting him make his own decisions.
Frank seemed to regret his last-minute speech at District 11, and he was much more subdued in the other districts. Alicia couldn't say for sure whether the show of defiance in District 11 had actually been inspired by Frank’s words, but the citizens of the other districts were a lot quieter too.
When they reached District 7, they were taken directly from the train to a large hall in the middle of the main town. It wasn’t the square where they usually held the Reapings; Alicia had seen that on TV. She’d never seen this place before. To get there, their car wound through the streets and seemed to double back on itself a few times. It couldn’t possibly be the fastest way to get where they were going. At one point, they passed a few houses that were showing damage from a fire. Maybe that was the problem, maybe there had been a fire which had damaged the town square and the roads so that they had to take this winding route to somewhere else. Or maybe they were being taken this way so as not to see the damage. Alicia could see Gerard opening his mouth to ask about the burned buildings, and kicked him in the shin.
They were greeted by the mayor and District 7’s past victors. By now, the speeches were familiar and predictable, and Alicia distracted herself by looking around the room. The crowd wasn’t as big as they had seen in other districts; only so many people could fit inside the hall, but they were being filmed, so she was sure that the rest of the district was being made to watch the presentation anyway. Alicia looked across the stage and her eyes met one of the district’s victors, Victoria Asher. Vicky-T, she was called by Capitol TV presenters. Alicia wasn’t sure why. When Vicky noticed her gaze, she glanced over towards the stupid wooden... something Alicia couldn’t identify, which was being offered to Frank and Gerard as a gift, and looked back to Alicia with an eyebrow raised in mockery. Alicia let herself smile back, just a little.
She didn’t know Vicky well, or anything. She didn’t really know any of the other victors. She saw them once a year, and sometimes on television in between Games, but that was it. She didn’t want to know them any better than that. There was no way it could turn out well; the mentors of different districts were adversaries and always would be. So Alicia returned Vicky’s smile, but offered nothing more.
After the speeches, though, Vicky sought Alicia out at the feast. This, too, had become dull and predictable, the food becoming a chore to get past rather than a delicacy to be savoured. Even the liquor was not to Alicia’s taste, being too sweet, too dainty, not strong enough, or something. Perhaps the problem was that Alicia had run out of her preferred drink a couple of days ago, and now had to make do with whatever was available. She made do, but she didn’t have to like it. She could see Gerard across the room, apparently much happier with the alcohol situation than she was. Alicia reminded herself to talk to Gerard about not indulging too much. It wasn’t safe.
“Great party,” Vicky remarked, the barest hint of sarcasm in her voice.
Even the poorest Capitol party was much fancier than this, and Alicia had been to plenty of those. She wondered what Vicky was getting at. “It’s not bad,” she replied in a neutral tone.
“Shame about the change of venue,” Vicky added. “I heard they had to change all the plans at the last minute.”
“I noticed,” Alicia said, her mind racing. Was Vicky alluding to what had happened in the square? She hadn’t hoped to get any information about that at all. “On the way here, I saw... was there a fire?”
“Oh, yes,” Vicky said, lowering her voice. “Terrible thing. Right in the square. And at the mayor’s house. And the head Peacekeepers. Shocking thing to happen, really.”
Alicia nodded, trying to keep her face free of expression. Had there been an actual uprising, right here in District 7? It must have happened in the last day or two, or they would have done a better job concealing the damage. Alicia looked over at Vicky from the corner of her eye. There were no obvious signs - no bandaged up injuries or anything like that. She looked a little weary, with shadows under her eyes almost completely hidden by make-up, but that wasn’t proof that she was part of some resistance group. If there had been an uprising here, the Capitol had probably killed everyone involved, anyway.
“It sounds awful,” Alicia said, because she needed to say something and she had no idea why Vicky was telling her all this anyway. Vicky snorted and tossed her dark hair over one shoulder.
“Yeah,” she drawled. “Awful. It’s been fun, but I think I should go mingle now, or people will talk.”
She walked off, managing to adopt a gait which was both predatory and somehow intriguing. Alicia wondered what had just happened. Did Vicky-T just insult her? Or was she trying to get Alicia involved in some kind of plot? Alicia just didn’t have enough information to figure it all out. Not when the cost of trusting the wrong person could be so great.
They left District 7 early the next morning, and Districts 6 and 5 went by without incident. Although Alicia looked for it, there was no sign anywhere of uprisings or anything out of the ordinary happening. And shortly afterwards, she got distracted from thinking about it because Gerard was absolutely not coping with the idea that they were just about to reach District 4.
“He volunteered, and he was trying to kill you, and you were just trying to survive. So don’t blame yourself,” Alicia said firmly. She wondered if the words would help Gerard. They’d never helped her, when her mentor had told her the same thing, but she didn’t have anything better. She looked over at Frank, who seemed lost in his own world. Sometimes she felt like shaking Frank and telling him to notice what he had.
“If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else,” Frank said suddenly, showing that he had been paying attention after all. “Bert, or Spencer, or me, maybe.” He drifted off again, his gaze turning towards the window once more. Gerard nodded and clenched his fists.
“It’s just that he knew all the careers, and then I spent all that time with them,” Gerard mused. “But they didn’t seem to be mad, or anything, about the fact that I killed him. They just kind of accepted it. But they should have been mad, shouldn’t they? If he was really their friend.”
“No such thing as friends in the arena,” Alicia said, and avoided looking at Gerard and Frank and thinking about how that hadn’t turned out to be true for them.
Frank had to give the speech this time, while Gerard huddled behind him looking miserable. Alicia stood at his side watchfully, because this was a wealthy district, they trained for the Games here, and they probably weren’t too thrilled about two District 12 nobodies winning last year.
District 4 was quite well off compared to the districts they’d visited already, so the festivities were a lot more elaborate and took up more time. During some kind of performance - a dance that they were made to watch - one of the District’s victors made his way towards Alicia from the other side of the room.
“Enjoying the show?” he asked, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially into her ear.
“Back off, Beckett,” Alicia hissed.
“They’ve really outdone themselves this year. Of course, the Games were so spectacular last year, I think they wanted to really stand out.”
“What do you want?”
Beckett looked over to where Frank and Gerard stood, holding hands. His mouth quirked into a half smile. “How are the two lovebirds getting along?”
Alicia felt uneasy. “What do you mean?”
Beckett didn’t look at her, his eyes still fixed on Gerard and Frank as his expression became more serious. “Lots of people taking an interest,” he said. “Everyone wants to know about the District 12 victors. They’re so in love, so alive. So determined.”
Alicia nodded slowly, nerves making her palms sweaty. “What have you heard, Beckett?”
Finally, he looked at her, his eyes grave in his ridiculously pretty face. “Just what I said. Everyone wants to know every single thing about them. They should look forward to being watched every minute of every day. People love a happy ending.” Beckett wandered off to talk to someone else, and once again Alicia was left to wonder what she could do to make Frank and Gerard... mostly Frank... appear more in love.
She realised that she was starting to care about the two idiots and tried to shake herself out of it. She’d learned her lesson about that. It was better to be alone, and safe from loss or hurt. Frank and Gerard would have to worry about their own problems.
When they finally reached the Capitol a few days later, Alicia was well and truly ready to be heading back to District 12. But there was just one last night to get through, and she knew she would manage. After years and years of annual trips to the Capitol for the Games, Alicia was used to the extravagant food, but the Victory Feast laid out was still more elaborate than anything she had experienced before. She ate her fill quickly and found a corner of the room where she could sit without being disturbed.
The Capitol citizens attending the party were still eating, piling plate after plate with food and taking emetics in between so they could keep eating. Alicia had seen it before, but this was on a much bigger scale, and she felt repulsed. She could see Patrick sitting at one table, Pete next to him and talking his ear off. As she watched, Patrick looked up and caught her eye. He blushed and looked away, and Alicia felt a little bad. There must have been some condemnation in her expression that Patrick had noticed. He was the only person from the Capitol she’d ever met who actually seemed to realise how the Capitol lifestyle appeared to people from the districts. As she watched, Pete put one hand over Patrick’s, holding out some item of food for him to try, and Patrick blushed even redder.
Alicia smirked a little and looked away so that she wouldn’t be caught staring.
**********
It took another day for the train to get them all back home, and once they arrived and were truly alone for the first time in two weeks, Alicia wasted no time getting Gerard and Frank to somewhere they could talk privately.
Okay, so it was just the kitchen of her house, but they should be able to talk safely enough, as long as they kept their voices down. As a precaution, Alicia turned the television on, relieved that it blinked to life at the touch of a button and that the electricity was apparently running.
“You boys might be in trouble,” she murmured over the sound of the television. “I don’t think the whole ‘madly in love’ act is working.” Beckett wasn’t the only one to mention it, just the most blatant. They really did have a problem.
Gerard looked crestfallen, and Frank looked mutinous. “We’ve been trying,” he insisted. “What do they want us to do, get married on live television?”
“Maybe,” said Alicia. “Or something. You all saw the same things I did. There have been uprisings in some of the other districts.”
Frank nodded at that, but didn’t look happy. “I ran into Korse at the party in the Capitol,” he said. “He... well, I don’t think he’s satisfied.”
Gerard shook his head. “Asshole,” he said. “It’s not our fault people are uprising. They’re doing it because they’re unhappy. It would have happened eventually, with or without us.”
“Maybe,” said Alicia. “But whether or not that’s true, you’re the ones who are going to wear it if things don’t settle down.”
Frank took this opportunity to press the same idea forward that he’d been pushing ever since they’d returned from the Games last year. “I told you we should leave,” he said. “The three of us, and my mom, and Bob, and your parents and Mikey, Gee. It’s the only way to make sure we’re all safe.”
“How would we survive?”
“Me and Bob can hunt. We can teach the rest of you.”
“They’d find us. There’s no safe place to go.”
“If we get far enough...”
“No.” Gerard shook his head, waving his hands in a gesture of denial. “That’s not even... I don’t think we should leave.” He stopped and looked from Alicia to Frank, his expression serious. “I’d feel like we were abandoning everyone here. I think we should stay. People need us.”
“Need us for what?” Alicia asked, raising the volume on the television slightly. It sounded like Gerard was about to suggest something that he couldn’t take back. It made Alicia nervous. The Capitol was far too powerful for a small group of nobodies like them to resist. Gerard had to know that.
Gerard gave her a long look, but he didn’t actually say it. “We’re giving people hope,” is all he would say. “They need hope. We have to stay.”
**********
Instead of hope, what District 12 received was an entirely new Peacekeeper force. The Peacekeepers they’d had before were assholes, sure, but once the new group arrived they all learned just how much worse it could be. People were arrested for stupid, petty shit. Patrols went around the town constantly, intimidating people and getting in the way. And on their third day in town, they burned the Hob to the ground.
It was purely luck that no one was killed. A few people were injured, a few more arrested for illegal trading. Trading continued, of course, the Peacekeepers couldn’t shut it down completely, but without a central place to do business and law enforcement no longer turning a blind eye, it was much harder.
The worst part was that the price of liquor went through the roof, and the stuff that was available was much lower in quality than what Alicia was used to. Gerard turned out to be really useful, managing to keep them both in pretty good supply. Better than they needed, really, and Alicia started to think that she might need to talk to Gerard about not overdoing it. She changed that ‘might’ to a ‘definitely’ the day that Gerard slipped off one of her kitchen chairs and couldn’t get up again. She hauled him up by his collar and was just about to start her lecture when she heard a commotion of voices from the street.
Alicia dragged Gerard with her out of the house. There was a small crowd outside Frank’s house. Frank was there, and a cut on his face slowly oozed blood. With him were Ray and two people Alicia didn’t know. The four of them were holding up Bob, who was unconscious and seemed to be hurt.
“What happened?” Alicia asked.
“Can you get the door?” Frank asked, instead of answering. Alicia opened it, and the group carried Bob inside. Alicia noticed that they were leaving a trail of blood droplets where they passed. She followed them inside with a feeling of dread.
“It was a wild turkey,” she heard Frank say when she reached the kitchen. “They said he was poaching, and they did this. By the time I got there...”
While Frank related the story, his mother had got Bob stretched out on the kitchen table on his stomach. With a kitchen knife she slit his shirt open and tossed the rags to the side. They weren’t worth keeping.
Bob’s back was a bloody mess. Mrs. Iero snapped orders and the others in the kitchen jumped into action, running to fetch bandages and snow and whatever else. Alicia stood like a fool, feeling useless as Mrs. Iero started cleaning Bob up. Mikey was there too; Alicia hadn’t noticed him until he stepped up to the other side of the table with a cloth, mopping up blood.
“Mikey,” Alicia heard Gerard mumble. “What’re you doing here?” She’d forgotten that Gerard was with her.
Frank hadn’t noticed Gerard until he spoke. “Gee,” he said, “Are you drunk?”
“Just...” Gerard shook his head slightly, looking confused. “A bit. Mikey... Mikey shouldn’t be seeing this.”
“I’m fine, Gee,” said Mikey, applying some kind of concoction that Mrs. Iero had created to Bob’s wounds. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Just... get out, Gerard.” Frank pushed his hair back roughly with one hand. “I can’t deal with you right now. Alicia, can you get him out of here?”
Alicia nodded. Finally, something she would be able to do. She took Gerard’s arm and led him firmly out of the house, ignoring his protests.
“That’s my little brother,” Gerard slurred. “That’s my Mikey. He’s too young to see things like that.”
“We’re all too young, Gerard,” Alicia said wearily. “Mikey’s doing okay.”
Gerard didn’t answer, and Alicia thought he’d listened to her. When she looked, however, she realised he’d fallen asleep.
*********
Frank was really pissed about Gerard’s drinking after that. He talked to Gerard and somehow got him to agree to cut back. Alicia doubted whether Gerard could keep his word, but to her surprise he managed for a while.
A week or so after the thing with Bob, there was an announcement that there would be a special presentation on television that evening. Throughout District 12, the news was received with a good deal of apprehension. The chances of this being good news were slim.
“Maybe it’s got something to do with the Quarter Quell,” Gerard mused, and Alicia thought he was probably right.
The next Hunger Games would be the seventy-fifth. Every twenty-five years, the rules of the game were altered in some way to keep things interesting, and they called it a Quarter Quell. Alicia still remembered the last one. She couldn’t help but do so. That was the year she became victor.
The TV presentation opened with Brian Schechter greeting the audience with his usual flair. “Hello viewers, and welcome. I hope you are all looking forward to this year’s Hunger Games as much as I am! And of course, this is a special year; it is the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell.”
“I was right,” Gerard said, but he didn’t sound pleased. He mostly sounded despondent.
“We’ll go now to join Head Gamemaker Travis McCoy as he prepares to announce the setup for this year’s Hunger Games.”
The screen cut to a huge stage in a hall which held a huge audience. McCoy stood there, with a small ornate box on the podium in front of him. Alicia recognised him from the feast in the Capitol. She tried to read his expression, but it was as blank as a pane of glass.
”Seventy-five years ago, when the Hunger Games were created, the first Gamemakers gave the order that every quarter of a century, the rules for that year’s Game would be slightly modified,” McCoy said. “Two such events have already passed. For the first Quarter Quell, each district voted on the tributes that were to be sent. And for the Second Quarter Quell, four tributes were Reaped from each district rather than the usual two. The rules for the Third Quarter Quell are contained in this chest, and I will announce them now.” McCoy indicated the chest in front of him, and then with a dramatic gesture he lifted the gilded lid. He removed an envelope and closed the box. He broke the envelope’s seal and removed a slip of paper. He read it, then raised his eyes to the camera again to say, “In the Third Quarter Quell, tributes will be chosen from among the victors of each district.”
“What,” said Gerard.
“The fuck?” Frank asked.
Alicia kept quiet. She didn’t need McCoy to say it again. It was only Frank and Gerard’s optimism, their will to deny that even more could go wrong for them, that was causing them to protest the announcement. There was no changing it, no escaping it. Two of them would be going back into the arena.
McCoy was saying some other things, and then the program cut to some other Capitol personalities talking what the Games this year might be like. Alicia didn’t pay any attention to it. She couldn’t give a fuck which well known victors would be Reaped and who would win. Her mind seemed to have just frozen up and only began working again when Frank said, “I’ve got to get out of here.”
Frank raced out of the house without another word, and Alicia and Gerard didn’t move to stop him. Gerard seemed to be as stunned as Alicia felt.
“What,” he repeated. “What the fuck should we do?”
Alicia looked around her filthy kitchen miserably. “Let’s drink until we’re unconscious.”
“Oh,” said Gerard. “Hell, yes. Let’s do that.”
Bands: MCR
Pairings: Frank/Gerard, Alicia/Vicky-T, Pete/Patrick
Word count: 23397
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Character death, graphic violence. Fairly dark.
Summary: After winning the Hunger Games, life was supposed to go back to normal for Gerard, Frank and their mentor Alicia. But they've made too many enemies in the Capitol, and it looks like they might be lucky to keep any sort of life at all.
Author's Notes: All my thanks to jokerindisguise who made the most fantastic mix for this fic, which you can find here
I have to also give a massive thanks to forbiddensatan who betaed this for me and put up with my incessant whinging like a champ.
This is a sequel to my Wave One fic, The Boy With The Bread. A fusion of Catching Fire.
Part Two
Part Three
Alicia didn’t like Frank Iero all that much. She respected him; admired his skill and his resilience, but most of the time, he got on her nerves. He got on her nerves when he handed over the white liquor he bought her with a pinched, judgmental look on his face. He got on her nerves when he avoided Gerard for days because he apparently didn’t know how to cope with his own crush. And he definitely got on her nerves when he chose to wake her up with the aid of a bucket of cold water.
“What the fuck!” she gasped. “You couldn’t just tap my shoulder?”
“I did. You didn’t wake up.” Frank shrugged. “You’ll have to bathe, anyway, before we leave.” He cast a look over Alicia’s grimy clothes, and she sneered at him.
“Where’s Gerard this morning?” Alicia asked sweetly. Frank scowled, and said, “He said he’d be here soon. Who knows. He’ll probably fritter the entire day away, like he’s frittered away the last four months. You know we had a chance to get out of here, to go somewhere else, but it’s too late now. We won’t get a private second to ourselves between now and the next Games.”
Alicia rolled her eyes. The boy was so dramatic. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “There will still be time, after the Victory Tour. There’ll be months. And maybe Gerard has his reasons for wanting to stay.” She would bet Gerard had his reasons. That one was too idealistic to know what was good for him.
At that moment, Gerard came walking down the hallway, calling ahead of himself. “You’re exactly right Alicia, I’ve been saying that all along. We’re not out of time yet.” He stepped into the kitchen and went straight to the sink, where he rinsed out a glass and filled it from the bottle on the table.
“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Frank asked sourly.
“Yes,” Gerard answered firmly. Alicia rolled her eyes, bored with this argument which they’d already had at least a dozen times.
“Have you been out hunting, Frank?” she asked, noticing his game bag for the first time.
“Got some rabbits,” he confirmed.
“How long were you out?” Gerard asked Frank.
“A while,” Frank answered evasively.
“A while? Has your mom even seen you since last night? She’ll be flipping out.”
Alicia doubted that was true. Frank’s mother knew that he was capable of looking after himself; she’d been relying on his ability to do just that for a lot of years. She didn’t worry about him half as much as Gerard did.
“She’ll be fine,” Frank insisted. “Mikey’s with her. She’s showing him how to make her special burn salve, or something. She probably hasn’t even noticed I’m gone.”
And maybe Frank had never quite forgiven his mother for that, either.
“Still,” Gerard insisted, “You’d better go, unless you want to get caught on camera carrying those rabbits.” Hunting outside the District fence was forbidden and carried a severe penalty, although it was never really enforced. But the Peacekeepers might make an exception for Frank, who had made some very powerful enemies in the Capitol by securing victory in last year’s Hunger Games, not just for himself, but Gerard as well.
Frank accepted Gerard’s reasoning with a scowl, and he left to go to his own home on the opposite side from Alicia’s. Gerard waited until the door closed behind him before turning to Alicia. “Do you mind if I borrow a bottle to take home?”
**********
Gerard drank a third of the bottle he got from Alicia and hid the rest in his bedside table, because his parents hated his drinking almost as much as Frank did. He was about to go for a bath so that his stylists might not actually faint when they saw him, but his plans were thwarted when Mikey crept up to his room, looking like something had scared the life out of him.
“Gerard,” he whispered. “Gerard, you won’t believe... I was at Frank’s house, and this massive car pulled up outside. The door opened, and President Korse got out.”
“Don’t be stupid, Mikey,” Gerard said dismissively, because there was no way the president would ever come all the way out to District 12.
“I’m not!” Mikey insisted. “I’m serious! I saw him! His big stupid bald head and his white coat and...”
“Mikey,” Gerard said, “This isn’t a joke, is it? Because it’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking! He came into Frank’s house. Linda nearly passed out. He didn’t see me, because I was in the back room and then I sneaked out the back door when Linda took him into the study.”
“But... why is he here?” Gerard wondered. “Is it something to do with Frank?”
It was a stupid question. It had to be something to do with Frank; he’d gone to Frank’s house, hadn’t he? Mikey didn’t reply, just watched Gerard with wide, anxious eyes.
Gerard went to the front window of their ridiculously oversized house and looked out, trying to stay concealed behind the curtain. He couldn’t see Frank’s house, but he could see the street. There was a car parked out there, an official government car, the only kind they had in District 12. If the President actually came to District 12 for some unknowable reason, he’d use one of those to get around.
The street was empty, but as Gerard watched several people began walking towards the car from the direction of Frank’s house. Two of them were dressed in what looked like Peacekeeper uniforms, although the Peacekeeper uniforms Gerard was used to seeing were cheaply made and poorly fitting, and these... weren’t. The third was a woman in a stylish but sedate outfit, carrying some kind of hi-tech notebook. Then Gerard saw the fourth person, and his jaw dropped. It was President Korse. Gerard recognised him from TV. He’d seen him when he’d gone to the Games the year before as well, but never up close.
Gerard froze where he stood as the group of people got into the car and it slowly drove away, weaving around the poorly maintained street to avoid potholes. He waited until the car was out of sight, then turned back to see Mikey.
“That was President Korse!” he whispered.
“I told you!” Mikey exclaimed, not bothering to lower his voice.
“Oh, fuck,” Gerard breathed. “Frank. I have to make sure he’s okay.”
He heard Mikey say that he was sure Frank was fine, and then start to say something else, but by that point Gerard was out the front door and running down the street, his breath puffing out in little clouds of mist in front of him. He reached Frank’s door and knocked twice before letting himself inside.
Frank and his mother were standing in the kitchen, looking completely unharmed. “Frank, you’re alright!”
“Hey, Gerard, yeah, we’re fine,” Frank said firmly. “I guess you saw Korse too, huh, since he always visits the victors before they tour?” Frank tilted his head ever so slightly towards his mother, and Gerard played along.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, trying for casual. “How about that, huh? The President, in our house and everything.” Gerard forced a sickly grin onto his face.
Frank nodded. “Mom, I’m going to walk Gerard home,” he said. “He needs to start getting ready for the tour.” He took Gerard by the wrist and led him out of the house.
Outside Gerard looked over at Frank and said, “What did Korse really want?”
Frank looked up and down the street furtively before answering. “To make sure I don’t step out of line. He said people are all stirred up, he said there could be uprisings.”
“Uprisings!” Gerard said.
“Shhh! Yeah, he said that, and he said that I need to settle everything down by convincing people that... you know...”
“That you were so desperately, madly in love with me that you would have preferred to die than live without me?” Gerard asked sweetly.
Frank grimaced and shook his head. “Idiot,” he muttered. Since the Games, he and Gerard had become... not a couple, exactly. Everyone assumed they were, of course, but mostly they just hung out together a lot. They had a sort of understanding. Gerard didn’t talk about being in love with Frank, and Frank didn’t talk about not being in love with Gerard. Between the two of them, they acted like they were dating, but without the dates. They did go on dates, but those were for show. They weren’t real. The real stuff happened in private, and it involved the two of them being more than just friends, but not exactly lovers. It was complicated.
They reached the front of Gerard’s house, and he and Frank exchanged a long glance. “Mom wants me to wash up before everyone gets here,” Frank said mournfully.
“Might be a good idea,” said Gerard. “You’re all muddy from hunting.”
Frank glared at him. “You are not in a position to criticise anyone else’s hygiene, Gerard,” he said.
“Fine!” Gerard snapped. “I’ll have a bath too, if it’ll make you happy.”
“If you’re sure you won’t melt, then it would probably be best for everyone involved,” Frank retorted. He smirked cheekily and walked away before Gerard could think of a really good comeback.
“Oh, yeah, well... so’s your face!” he shouted to Frank’s retreating back.
When he went inside, he found that his mother had already drawn him a bath, probably because she didn’t trust him to do it for himself. It wasn’t that Gerard didn’t like being clean, it was just that he tended to get distracted by more interesting things. He went to his room to get clean clothes and found the new brush he’d made from fine horsehair. He hadn’t had a chance to use it yet, but he suddenly remembered the sight of Korse standing next to the government car, and thought about how he would get the image onto canvas. He was just about to take his new brush down to the cellar to try it out when his mother appeared in the doorway.
“Go wash up before the water gets cold,” she said. That was one of the nicest things about the new house; hot running water.
“I’m going to,” Gerard said. “In a minute. I just want to try...”
“Now,” his mother insisted, plucking the brush out of his hand. Thus thwarted, Gerard went along to have his bath and ensure that Patrick wasn’t appalled at the sight of him.
It was another hour before Gerard heard the sound of cars pulling up outside. He had a moment of panic where he worried that Korse was coming back to finish Frank off, but he knew that was illogical. It was just Pete and Patrick, and a camera crew, come to make sure Frank had appropriate clothes to wear for the Victory Tour and that Gerard had at least washed the paint out of his hair, and that the whole of Panem got a chance to see them get dressed up.
Gerard went out the front door. The cameras were already rolling. He tried to ignore them and focus on Pete, who was coming his way and wearing a bigger smile than ever, if that were possible.
“Gerard!” he cried. “I couldn’t be more excited! Are you excited?”
“Very,” Gerard lied.
“Me too! I’ve never gotten to do one of these before! It’s going to be so much fun!”
Not for the first time, Gerard wondered if there was something exceptionally wrong with Pete Wentz. Surely normal people didn’t react like this to the chance to celebrate the death of twenty-two children. But maybe that sort of thing was normal in the Capitol.
Frank came out of his house then, and Gerard braced himself with a deep breath. This was the hard part, where they had to pretend for the cameras that they were madly in love. The pretending part wasn’t hard for Gerard; he wasn’t pretending, after all, but knowing that Frank was pretending - that sucked. And knowing that Korse was going to be watching and judging how convincing they were didn’t help.
Frank saw Gerard and put an expression on his face of complete joy. It looked fake to Gerard. He’d never seen Frank look as happy as that, not and mean it. But he thought it would probably fool people who didn’t know them. Frank raced down the footpath towards him, and Gerard went to meet him. They ran into one another’s arms, and Gerard pulled Frank in for a kiss, not because he wanted to, but because he thought it would hide his face for a minute or two. One of the cameramen had followed him, however, and was filming them both from a couple of feet away. It was very disconcerting.
“Frank! Gerard!” It was Patrick’s voice, and Gerard stepped away from Frank with mingled feelings of relief and disappointment. He hoped that to the viewers it looked like the two of them would happily stay in one another’s embrace for the entire day.
Patrick waved with his right hand. His left hand clutched a bulging suitcase, and two attendants behind him were carrying even more luggage.
“Is Patrick planning to stay here for a month?” Frank asked.
“I think those are for us,” Gerard said nervously.
“Hi, you two,” Patrick said once he got within speaking distance. “You’re both looking a lot better than when I saw you last.”
Gerard smiled and nodded. It was true. He and Frank had both recovered from the Games, and they’d both been eating a lot better since then than they ever had before.
“I don’t know if I’d say that!” Pete exclaimed. “Just look at what they’re wearing!” He cast a dismissive glance over Gerard’s shirt, which was covered in chalk dust and ink, and Frank’s pants, which were still muddy.
Patrick and Gerard exchanged a long-suffering glance, and then Patrick nodded. “He’s got a point,” he said. “We’d better get you two dressed.”
For the Hunger Games, the year before, Patrick had created the most spectacular and dazzling costumes. The clothes he’d made for the Victory Tour were a lot more practical, the sorts of things that a person could wear for an entire day without severely inconveniencing themselves. After pulling a dozen garments from various suitcases and trunks, Patrick decided that Gerard should wear a pair of dark blue pants with a soft blue shirt, and a dark coat which was double-breasted and thigh length, with flames embroidered around the cuffs. Patrick left Gerard to dress and went to sort out Frank’s outfit.
Gerard liked the clothes, once he had them on. The coat was beautiful, soft and light but so warm. He ran his hands over the material, marvelling at the way it felt. In District 12, they didn’t have the technology to make fabric as fine as this.
Gerard wandered out of the guest room in Frank’s house and went down to the kitchen. Frank’s mom was there with Pete, who was telling her all about how tedious the train ride had been.
“Gerard!” she said as he stepped into the room, with a definite note of relief in her voice. “You look wonderful.”
“Thanks,” Gerard answered. “I have to ask Patrick if we get to keep these clothes after the Tour. I can’t believe....” His words trailed off as Frank came down the hallway and entered the kitchen. He was wearing black pants and boots, with a red shirt over them and a black vest over that. Patrick had taken the time to do Frank’s hair and makeup as well, and as Gerard had learned to expect from Patrick, it didn’t make Frank look strange or fake, it just made him look even more like himself. He took Gerard’s breath away.
“Hey,” Frank said, his gaze directed somewhere at the floor near Gerard’s feet.
Gerard opened his mouth and closed it without saying anything. Frank didn’t want to hear Gerard gushing about how great he looked. Besides, Frank was dealing with his mother cooing over him and telling him how handsome he was, and Frank looked quite pained at even that much attention. It was best if Gerard kept back.
Things happened quickly after that. Gerard had spent the previous couple of days half-heartedly throwing random items of clothing into a suitcase, but it turned out that Patrick had brought enough clothes to outfit both Gerard and Frank for the entire Tour. When Patrick saw what Gerard had packed, he diplomatically suggested leaving it at home. Gerard was happy to do so, if it meant he didn’t have to pack anything else.
They were driven to the train station, which seemed like the most extreme decadence to Gerard, who was used to walking everywhere. He and Frank walked along the platform hand in hand, trailed by their parents and Mikey who had come along to say goodbye.
The train was there waiting, and they spent about five minutes getting all their luggage on board, and another thirty to record their arrival and farewells to the satisfaction of the camera crew. By the time Gerard boarded the train and it started to move, he was exhausted and dreading the two weeks ahead of him. In the past few months he’d forgotten what it was like, being watched so closely every second of the day.
It was mid-afternoon by the time they left District 12. They travelled for two hours through endless fields and orchards before finally arriving at the station for District 11.
District 11 was a huge district. Gerard had always known that, but seeing it was something else. They disembarked from the train into a fairly large town, but it was clearly only a small part of the entire district. They had passed quite a few smaller towns and villages on their way, and they’d only crossed half the district.
They were given the finest rooms in the town’s best inn. They were pretty plain, really; Gerard knew that after seeing the sorts of wonders they had in the Capitol, but it was still the sort of luxury that the average District 11 citizen would never see.
Patrick got Gerard and Frank to change into new outfits, which just struck Gerard as wasteful, but he trusted Patrick’s judgment and didn’t argue. After that, they were summoned to the feast.
The Victory Tour always took place six months after the last Game and before the next. The losing districts were each made to honour the victors with feasts and other celebrations. It was the Capitol’s way of keeping the horror of the Games fresh in the minds of the people, and keeping the districts divided against one another by forcing them to honour a victor who, in many cases, had killed one or two of their own. Gerard had been dreading the tour for this reason, but he couldn’t let any sign of that show. He and Frank had to convince everyone that they were nothing but deliriously happy to be together.
At the feast, there were endless toasts delivered by men and women who spoke of celebration but whose smiles rang false. Gerard had no appetite, but he didn’t want to appear ungrateful for the feast that had been laid out and managed to choke most of his meal down. He was glad to escape back to the inn at last and lie down for a few hours of sleep.
The next morning, there was a presentation in their honour. The entire town would be there; in particular, the families of the tributes from the previous year’s Games. Gerard wasn’t exactly looking forward to it, but he knew Frank was dreading it more than he could comprehend. During the Games, Frank had teamed up with one of the District 11 tributes for a short while. He didn’t talk about it much, but Jamia’s death had affected him deeply. And the other tribute, Spencer, had helped them as well, sparing Frank’s life when he could have killed him, out of a sense of obligation. Gerard knew that Frank felt more guilt for those two deaths than any others.
Personally, Gerard was dreading District 4, the home of the first tribute he’d killed. But that was far enough off that he didn’t have to worry about it yet. He wasn’t looking forward to reaching District 9 for the same reason, although the District 9 girl he’d killed had been dying already and it didn’t haunt him quite as much.
Patrick had put together a showy outfit for Gerard to wear. He wished that it was something a bit less flamboyant; he felt like he was flaunting his newfound wealth in front of the entire district. Frank had told him that he’d learned from Jamia that the district was run differently to 12; that the Peacekeepers were harsher and the rules stricter. He would be glad to leave. He took out the flask he'd brought with him from District 12 and took a swig, feeling relief as his anxiety dulled.
The presentation took place in the main square. Gerard had seen it on TV; the Reaping took place here each year. A huge crowd of people were gathered and watched as Gerard and Frank climbed up onto the platform, Alicia following behind them.
They were introduced to the mayor of the town, who delivered a speech congratulating Frank and Gerard on their victory and offering them gifts, including a finely woven rug with a floral pattern, a chest carved intricately from wood, and a large basket filled with a variety of fruit, most of which Gerard had only seen before on his last trip to the Capitol. These were the finest and most valuable gifts that District 11 could offer. Gerard and Frank took them, knowing that the speech and the gifts were not being given freely, but offered at the behest of the Capitol, under threat of punishment.
Gerard exchanged a glance with Frank. They were expected to give a speech of thanks in return, and before leaving, Gerard had talked to Frank about it, but Frank had been reluctant to discuss it. Gerard had written a speech on his own, knowing that the District 11 visit would be particularly difficult for Frank. He stepped forward and tried to remember how he had meant to start.
"Thank you," he said awkwardly. "Thank you, District 11, for your generosity." He looked out across the expanse of faces watching him, and nearly forgot the rest. "Frank and I are in your debt." At the front of the crowd, right near the stage, a small area had been set aside for Spencer and Jamia's families. He could see a man who he thought might be Spencer's father; he had the same chin and the same eyes. He was standing with a woman who must have been Spencer's mother, and two girls who looked just under reaping age. Gerard thought the others had to be Jamia’s family. They were all short and dark haired, like she had been. Looking at them caused Gerard's throat to dry up.
"I didn't know Spencer well," he said shakily. "But I respected him. He was someone who did what was right, no matter what. I... admired him for it." He looked over at Spencer's parents, and the two girls. They stared back at him expressionlessly. Gerard felt terrible; his words weren't enough, but he didn't have anything better. There was nothing he could say that would make Spencer not dead. And Jamia...
He couldn't look at her family as he continued. "Jamia was someone special - she was always brave, always so determined. It was only for a short time, but I'm glad I had the chance to know her."
When Gerard had originally written his speech, he had planned on adding more. He had toyed with the idea of announcing, publicly, that he and Frank were going to give a portion of their winnings to Spencer and Jamia's families. He knew Frank wouldn't mind, and if he did it in front of enough viewers he even had a chance of forcing the Capitol to go along with it. But that had changed when Frank had told him about the visit from President Korse. Now wasn't the time to do anything that might encourage ideas of rebellion or defiance. Gerard had actually toned down his speech significantly, removing any reference to the loss or grief experienced by the tributes' families. In the end, he felt bound by the scrutiny of the Capitol, unable to say or do anything meaningful. It seemed like the crowd watching felt the same way. He shifted uncomfortably under the accusing stares of Jamia's and Spencer's family. He hadn't said enough, but there was nothing he could add. The officials who had been standing to the side motioned to Gerard and Frank to leave the stage, but to Gerard's surprise, Frank stepped forward and said, "Wait!"
"Jamia and Spencer..." he said shakily. "They should have been... we should have been friends. We could have been friends. We were supposed to fight them, but I couldn't. I couldn't... I'm sorry. Sorry I couldn't help them..."
Fear nearly stopped Gerard's heart from beating. What was Frank doing? He was the one Korse had visited, he was the one who had warned Gerard. If there was one thing they shouldn't be doing, it was giving any suggestion that the Hunger Games were anything other than wonderful. Gerard put one hand to the pocket of his coat, feeling the weight of his flask inside, being reassured by it although he couldn't take it out to drink.
The crowd stood in silence for a minute. Frank had fallen silent, like a clockwork toy which had wound down. The officials once again encouraged Frank and Gerard to start heading away from the stage, and Gerard moved to cooperate, but as he did so he saw movement in the corner of his eye. Someone in the crowd was moving towards the front. Gerard turned his head to see better, and saw a young man of about his own age, making his way through the crowd. The side of his face was marked with colour. Gerard squinted and realised that it was a bird, a mockingjay painted on the young man's face. His heart started to race. The man paused not far away, raised the middle three fingers of his left hand to his mouth, and then raising the hand into the air, the palm facing the stage. And then he whistled.
The notes were familiar, although it took Gerard a second to place them. Then he remembered it was the melody he and Frank had used to signal one another during the Games. After, Frank had told him he’d learned it from Jamia. For the signal to be repeated here was barely a step away from outright rebellion. Other people in the crowd were copying the salute. The officials urged Frank and Gerard to hurry, putting a hand on Frank's shoulder as he seemed reluctant to move.
They left the stage and the officials herded them back towards the car, but Frank stopped in his tracks. "Wait," he said again.
"Get in the car," one of the officials ordered.
Frank looked ready to protest. From the direction of the stage, they could hear a murmur of voices. They heard a few short, heated but indistinct phrases, and then a brief silence which was followed by a single gunshot.
Gerard jerked at the sound. His eyes met Frank's, who looked pale and shocked. He was trembling, and bracing himself like he was getting ready to run back to the stage. But the officials were standing right there, and they were physically pushing Frank and Gerard now, and one of them had a hand on the gun holstered at his side, which Gerard hadn't even noticed until he'd heard that shot...
They got into the car, silently. Pete was already inside, his eyes wide. "Did you hear that? What was it?" he demanded.
Gerard glanced over to Alicia, who shook her head silently. Gerard was sure she hadn't seen the boy with the bird on his face, but she wasn't stupid. She had to know something bad had happened. But she was right, they couldn't tell Pete about it.
"Fireworks," Patrick said. "I heard someone say they were going to send us off with fireworks."
"Oh!" Pete looked quite put out. "I wish they'd done that earlier, we didn't get a chance to see."
"Ah, well, I'm sure it wasn't anything special," Patrick said dismissively, avoiding Gerard's gaze. "It's only District 11, after all."
Pete immediately perked up. "You're right," he said. "I wonder what they're going to do in District 10?"
************
Alicia didn't have to see exactly what had happened to figure it out. She knew what the Capitol's Peacekeepers were capable of, and Frank and Gerard's expressions helped her make the leap. She was relieved that Patrick had been able to divert Pete's attention; someone had to do it but she knew she didn't have the patience to deal with him. She couldn't wait to get out of District 11. She couldn't wait for the whole tour to be over so they could return home.
She hadn't been on a Victory Tour, not since her own which she barely remembered. She'd never really considered what it would be like. She hadn't expected it to be like this. What kind of person would enjoy such a grisly promenade? Maybe this was the sort of thing they considered fun in District 1, but Alicia didn't consider reliving being forced to kill other children to be a good time. She knew Frank was fretting about getting to the last few districts, and facing the families and friends of tributes he'd personally killed. He wouldn't admit it, but she could tell.
Gerard had actually talked to her a bit, about how he felt, how he dreaded their visit to District 4. She'd always got along a bit better with Gerard, ever since his Reaping. He was annoyingly optimistic, but it was better than Frank, who thought himself too jaded to be shocked by anything but was laughably wrong in his self-perception.
So, yes, she'd talked to Gerard, the last time he'd come to beg a bottle of liquor from her. Alicia supposed she should have refused to give it to him, or should have felt guilty about doing so, but that would have been hypocritical. After what Gerard had seen and done, she could give him the courtesy of letting him make his own decisions.
Frank seemed to regret his last-minute speech at District 11, and he was much more subdued in the other districts. Alicia couldn't say for sure whether the show of defiance in District 11 had actually been inspired by Frank’s words, but the citizens of the other districts were a lot quieter too.
When they reached District 7, they were taken directly from the train to a large hall in the middle of the main town. It wasn’t the square where they usually held the Reapings; Alicia had seen that on TV. She’d never seen this place before. To get there, their car wound through the streets and seemed to double back on itself a few times. It couldn’t possibly be the fastest way to get where they were going. At one point, they passed a few houses that were showing damage from a fire. Maybe that was the problem, maybe there had been a fire which had damaged the town square and the roads so that they had to take this winding route to somewhere else. Or maybe they were being taken this way so as not to see the damage. Alicia could see Gerard opening his mouth to ask about the burned buildings, and kicked him in the shin.
They were greeted by the mayor and District 7’s past victors. By now, the speeches were familiar and predictable, and Alicia distracted herself by looking around the room. The crowd wasn’t as big as they had seen in other districts; only so many people could fit inside the hall, but they were being filmed, so she was sure that the rest of the district was being made to watch the presentation anyway. Alicia looked across the stage and her eyes met one of the district’s victors, Victoria Asher. Vicky-T, she was called by Capitol TV presenters. Alicia wasn’t sure why. When Vicky noticed her gaze, she glanced over towards the stupid wooden... something Alicia couldn’t identify, which was being offered to Frank and Gerard as a gift, and looked back to Alicia with an eyebrow raised in mockery. Alicia let herself smile back, just a little.
She didn’t know Vicky well, or anything. She didn’t really know any of the other victors. She saw them once a year, and sometimes on television in between Games, but that was it. She didn’t want to know them any better than that. There was no way it could turn out well; the mentors of different districts were adversaries and always would be. So Alicia returned Vicky’s smile, but offered nothing more.
After the speeches, though, Vicky sought Alicia out at the feast. This, too, had become dull and predictable, the food becoming a chore to get past rather than a delicacy to be savoured. Even the liquor was not to Alicia’s taste, being too sweet, too dainty, not strong enough, or something. Perhaps the problem was that Alicia had run out of her preferred drink a couple of days ago, and now had to make do with whatever was available. She made do, but she didn’t have to like it. She could see Gerard across the room, apparently much happier with the alcohol situation than she was. Alicia reminded herself to talk to Gerard about not indulging too much. It wasn’t safe.
“Great party,” Vicky remarked, the barest hint of sarcasm in her voice.
Even the poorest Capitol party was much fancier than this, and Alicia had been to plenty of those. She wondered what Vicky was getting at. “It’s not bad,” she replied in a neutral tone.
“Shame about the change of venue,” Vicky added. “I heard they had to change all the plans at the last minute.”
“I noticed,” Alicia said, her mind racing. Was Vicky alluding to what had happened in the square? She hadn’t hoped to get any information about that at all. “On the way here, I saw... was there a fire?”
“Oh, yes,” Vicky said, lowering her voice. “Terrible thing. Right in the square. And at the mayor’s house. And the head Peacekeepers. Shocking thing to happen, really.”
Alicia nodded, trying to keep her face free of expression. Had there been an actual uprising, right here in District 7? It must have happened in the last day or two, or they would have done a better job concealing the damage. Alicia looked over at Vicky from the corner of her eye. There were no obvious signs - no bandaged up injuries or anything like that. She looked a little weary, with shadows under her eyes almost completely hidden by make-up, but that wasn’t proof that she was part of some resistance group. If there had been an uprising here, the Capitol had probably killed everyone involved, anyway.
“It sounds awful,” Alicia said, because she needed to say something and she had no idea why Vicky was telling her all this anyway. Vicky snorted and tossed her dark hair over one shoulder.
“Yeah,” she drawled. “Awful. It’s been fun, but I think I should go mingle now, or people will talk.”
She walked off, managing to adopt a gait which was both predatory and somehow intriguing. Alicia wondered what had just happened. Did Vicky-T just insult her? Or was she trying to get Alicia involved in some kind of plot? Alicia just didn’t have enough information to figure it all out. Not when the cost of trusting the wrong person could be so great.
They left District 7 early the next morning, and Districts 6 and 5 went by without incident. Although Alicia looked for it, there was no sign anywhere of uprisings or anything out of the ordinary happening. And shortly afterwards, she got distracted from thinking about it because Gerard was absolutely not coping with the idea that they were just about to reach District 4.
“He volunteered, and he was trying to kill you, and you were just trying to survive. So don’t blame yourself,” Alicia said firmly. She wondered if the words would help Gerard. They’d never helped her, when her mentor had told her the same thing, but she didn’t have anything better. She looked over at Frank, who seemed lost in his own world. Sometimes she felt like shaking Frank and telling him to notice what he had.
“If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else,” Frank said suddenly, showing that he had been paying attention after all. “Bert, or Spencer, or me, maybe.” He drifted off again, his gaze turning towards the window once more. Gerard nodded and clenched his fists.
“It’s just that he knew all the careers, and then I spent all that time with them,” Gerard mused. “But they didn’t seem to be mad, or anything, about the fact that I killed him. They just kind of accepted it. But they should have been mad, shouldn’t they? If he was really their friend.”
“No such thing as friends in the arena,” Alicia said, and avoided looking at Gerard and Frank and thinking about how that hadn’t turned out to be true for them.
Frank had to give the speech this time, while Gerard huddled behind him looking miserable. Alicia stood at his side watchfully, because this was a wealthy district, they trained for the Games here, and they probably weren’t too thrilled about two District 12 nobodies winning last year.
District 4 was quite well off compared to the districts they’d visited already, so the festivities were a lot more elaborate and took up more time. During some kind of performance - a dance that they were made to watch - one of the District’s victors made his way towards Alicia from the other side of the room.
“Enjoying the show?” he asked, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially into her ear.
“Back off, Beckett,” Alicia hissed.
“They’ve really outdone themselves this year. Of course, the Games were so spectacular last year, I think they wanted to really stand out.”
“What do you want?”
Beckett looked over to where Frank and Gerard stood, holding hands. His mouth quirked into a half smile. “How are the two lovebirds getting along?”
Alicia felt uneasy. “What do you mean?”
Beckett didn’t look at her, his eyes still fixed on Gerard and Frank as his expression became more serious. “Lots of people taking an interest,” he said. “Everyone wants to know about the District 12 victors. They’re so in love, so alive. So determined.”
Alicia nodded slowly, nerves making her palms sweaty. “What have you heard, Beckett?”
Finally, he looked at her, his eyes grave in his ridiculously pretty face. “Just what I said. Everyone wants to know every single thing about them. They should look forward to being watched every minute of every day. People love a happy ending.” Beckett wandered off to talk to someone else, and once again Alicia was left to wonder what she could do to make Frank and Gerard... mostly Frank... appear more in love.
She realised that she was starting to care about the two idiots and tried to shake herself out of it. She’d learned her lesson about that. It was better to be alone, and safe from loss or hurt. Frank and Gerard would have to worry about their own problems.
When they finally reached the Capitol a few days later, Alicia was well and truly ready to be heading back to District 12. But there was just one last night to get through, and she knew she would manage. After years and years of annual trips to the Capitol for the Games, Alicia was used to the extravagant food, but the Victory Feast laid out was still more elaborate than anything she had experienced before. She ate her fill quickly and found a corner of the room where she could sit without being disturbed.
The Capitol citizens attending the party were still eating, piling plate after plate with food and taking emetics in between so they could keep eating. Alicia had seen it before, but this was on a much bigger scale, and she felt repulsed. She could see Patrick sitting at one table, Pete next to him and talking his ear off. As she watched, Patrick looked up and caught her eye. He blushed and looked away, and Alicia felt a little bad. There must have been some condemnation in her expression that Patrick had noticed. He was the only person from the Capitol she’d ever met who actually seemed to realise how the Capitol lifestyle appeared to people from the districts. As she watched, Pete put one hand over Patrick’s, holding out some item of food for him to try, and Patrick blushed even redder.
Alicia smirked a little and looked away so that she wouldn’t be caught staring.
**********
It took another day for the train to get them all back home, and once they arrived and were truly alone for the first time in two weeks, Alicia wasted no time getting Gerard and Frank to somewhere they could talk privately.
Okay, so it was just the kitchen of her house, but they should be able to talk safely enough, as long as they kept their voices down. As a precaution, Alicia turned the television on, relieved that it blinked to life at the touch of a button and that the electricity was apparently running.
“You boys might be in trouble,” she murmured over the sound of the television. “I don’t think the whole ‘madly in love’ act is working.” Beckett wasn’t the only one to mention it, just the most blatant. They really did have a problem.
Gerard looked crestfallen, and Frank looked mutinous. “We’ve been trying,” he insisted. “What do they want us to do, get married on live television?”
“Maybe,” said Alicia. “Or something. You all saw the same things I did. There have been uprisings in some of the other districts.”
Frank nodded at that, but didn’t look happy. “I ran into Korse at the party in the Capitol,” he said. “He... well, I don’t think he’s satisfied.”
Gerard shook his head. “Asshole,” he said. “It’s not our fault people are uprising. They’re doing it because they’re unhappy. It would have happened eventually, with or without us.”
“Maybe,” said Alicia. “But whether or not that’s true, you’re the ones who are going to wear it if things don’t settle down.”
Frank took this opportunity to press the same idea forward that he’d been pushing ever since they’d returned from the Games last year. “I told you we should leave,” he said. “The three of us, and my mom, and Bob, and your parents and Mikey, Gee. It’s the only way to make sure we’re all safe.”
“How would we survive?”
“Me and Bob can hunt. We can teach the rest of you.”
“They’d find us. There’s no safe place to go.”
“If we get far enough...”
“No.” Gerard shook his head, waving his hands in a gesture of denial. “That’s not even... I don’t think we should leave.” He stopped and looked from Alicia to Frank, his expression serious. “I’d feel like we were abandoning everyone here. I think we should stay. People need us.”
“Need us for what?” Alicia asked, raising the volume on the television slightly. It sounded like Gerard was about to suggest something that he couldn’t take back. It made Alicia nervous. The Capitol was far too powerful for a small group of nobodies like them to resist. Gerard had to know that.
Gerard gave her a long look, but he didn’t actually say it. “We’re giving people hope,” is all he would say. “They need hope. We have to stay.”
**********
Instead of hope, what District 12 received was an entirely new Peacekeeper force. The Peacekeepers they’d had before were assholes, sure, but once the new group arrived they all learned just how much worse it could be. People were arrested for stupid, petty shit. Patrols went around the town constantly, intimidating people and getting in the way. And on their third day in town, they burned the Hob to the ground.
It was purely luck that no one was killed. A few people were injured, a few more arrested for illegal trading. Trading continued, of course, the Peacekeepers couldn’t shut it down completely, but without a central place to do business and law enforcement no longer turning a blind eye, it was much harder.
The worst part was that the price of liquor went through the roof, and the stuff that was available was much lower in quality than what Alicia was used to. Gerard turned out to be really useful, managing to keep them both in pretty good supply. Better than they needed, really, and Alicia started to think that she might need to talk to Gerard about not overdoing it. She changed that ‘might’ to a ‘definitely’ the day that Gerard slipped off one of her kitchen chairs and couldn’t get up again. She hauled him up by his collar and was just about to start her lecture when she heard a commotion of voices from the street.
Alicia dragged Gerard with her out of the house. There was a small crowd outside Frank’s house. Frank was there, and a cut on his face slowly oozed blood. With him were Ray and two people Alicia didn’t know. The four of them were holding up Bob, who was unconscious and seemed to be hurt.
“What happened?” Alicia asked.
“Can you get the door?” Frank asked, instead of answering. Alicia opened it, and the group carried Bob inside. Alicia noticed that they were leaving a trail of blood droplets where they passed. She followed them inside with a feeling of dread.
“It was a wild turkey,” she heard Frank say when she reached the kitchen. “They said he was poaching, and they did this. By the time I got there...”
While Frank related the story, his mother had got Bob stretched out on the kitchen table on his stomach. With a kitchen knife she slit his shirt open and tossed the rags to the side. They weren’t worth keeping.
Bob’s back was a bloody mess. Mrs. Iero snapped orders and the others in the kitchen jumped into action, running to fetch bandages and snow and whatever else. Alicia stood like a fool, feeling useless as Mrs. Iero started cleaning Bob up. Mikey was there too; Alicia hadn’t noticed him until he stepped up to the other side of the table with a cloth, mopping up blood.
“Mikey,” Alicia heard Gerard mumble. “What’re you doing here?” She’d forgotten that Gerard was with her.
Frank hadn’t noticed Gerard until he spoke. “Gee,” he said, “Are you drunk?”
“Just...” Gerard shook his head slightly, looking confused. “A bit. Mikey... Mikey shouldn’t be seeing this.”
“I’m fine, Gee,” said Mikey, applying some kind of concoction that Mrs. Iero had created to Bob’s wounds. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Just... get out, Gerard.” Frank pushed his hair back roughly with one hand. “I can’t deal with you right now. Alicia, can you get him out of here?”
Alicia nodded. Finally, something she would be able to do. She took Gerard’s arm and led him firmly out of the house, ignoring his protests.
“That’s my little brother,” Gerard slurred. “That’s my Mikey. He’s too young to see things like that.”
“We’re all too young, Gerard,” Alicia said wearily. “Mikey’s doing okay.”
Gerard didn’t answer, and Alicia thought he’d listened to her. When she looked, however, she realised he’d fallen asleep.
*********
Frank was really pissed about Gerard’s drinking after that. He talked to Gerard and somehow got him to agree to cut back. Alicia doubted whether Gerard could keep his word, but to her surprise he managed for a while.
A week or so after the thing with Bob, there was an announcement that there would be a special presentation on television that evening. Throughout District 12, the news was received with a good deal of apprehension. The chances of this being good news were slim.
“Maybe it’s got something to do with the Quarter Quell,” Gerard mused, and Alicia thought he was probably right.
The next Hunger Games would be the seventy-fifth. Every twenty-five years, the rules of the game were altered in some way to keep things interesting, and they called it a Quarter Quell. Alicia still remembered the last one. She couldn’t help but do so. That was the year she became victor.
The TV presentation opened with Brian Schechter greeting the audience with his usual flair. “Hello viewers, and welcome. I hope you are all looking forward to this year’s Hunger Games as much as I am! And of course, this is a special year; it is the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell.”
“I was right,” Gerard said, but he didn’t sound pleased. He mostly sounded despondent.
“We’ll go now to join Head Gamemaker Travis McCoy as he prepares to announce the setup for this year’s Hunger Games.”
The screen cut to a huge stage in a hall which held a huge audience. McCoy stood there, with a small ornate box on the podium in front of him. Alicia recognised him from the feast in the Capitol. She tried to read his expression, but it was as blank as a pane of glass.
”Seventy-five years ago, when the Hunger Games were created, the first Gamemakers gave the order that every quarter of a century, the rules for that year’s Game would be slightly modified,” McCoy said. “Two such events have already passed. For the first Quarter Quell, each district voted on the tributes that were to be sent. And for the Second Quarter Quell, four tributes were Reaped from each district rather than the usual two. The rules for the Third Quarter Quell are contained in this chest, and I will announce them now.” McCoy indicated the chest in front of him, and then with a dramatic gesture he lifted the gilded lid. He removed an envelope and closed the box. He broke the envelope’s seal and removed a slip of paper. He read it, then raised his eyes to the camera again to say, “In the Third Quarter Quell, tributes will be chosen from among the victors of each district.”
“What,” said Gerard.
“The fuck?” Frank asked.
Alicia kept quiet. She didn’t need McCoy to say it again. It was only Frank and Gerard’s optimism, their will to deny that even more could go wrong for them, that was causing them to protest the announcement. There was no changing it, no escaping it. Two of them would be going back into the arena.
McCoy was saying some other things, and then the program cut to some other Capitol personalities talking what the Games this year might be like. Alicia didn’t pay any attention to it. She couldn’t give a fuck which well known victors would be Reaped and who would win. Her mind seemed to have just frozen up and only began working again when Frank said, “I’ve got to get out of here.”
Frank raced out of the house without another word, and Alicia and Gerard didn’t move to stop him. Gerard seemed to be as stunned as Alicia felt.
“What,” he repeated. “What the fuck should we do?”
Alicia looked around her filthy kitchen miserably. “Let’s drink until we’re unconscious.”
“Oh,” said Gerard. “Hell, yes. Let’s do that.”