Deleted Scenes: Sound the Bugle

(Angst brought to you by Dreamer. It's been written for MONTHS but now that we know who is dead, we can final reveal it!)

Sound the Bugle
Calliope Fortier, keyboardist/organist for Midnight’s Muse
Night of the Party

Calliope stumbled along through the dark streets of the city, clinging to the arm of her closest friend and pressing into her side.  On Kat’s other arm was Jillianne Jansing, the younger sister of Wolf.  Calliope didn’t know the young woman, but Jillianne had spent the night at the side of Elliot Russo, the boy from Six, and the fear she had for him was evident in her eyes.

Calliope couldn’t be more grateful for Kat tonight.  The party had started out to be the night of her dreams.  Performing on stage was always exhilarating, giving Calliope rushes of adrenaline she never felt anywhere else.  She got to carry out what she and her friends had called “The plan with Thack, the band manager”.  She did feel bad about it, especially since Thack had been so terrified he had wet his pants.  He was such a good sport about it though, and took it all in stride.  Then, he took the stage again, this time singing “Accidentally in Love”, dedicating it to her.  Announcing to the entire party that he wanted to be with her.  As he sang, Calliope had twirled around with Kat, laughing joyfully as her heart soared.  Thack was so modest and shy, so to declare his feelings around so many people and sing her such an adorable song was such a brave thing to do.  After that, Calliope had given him the peonies she had bought him, and they had shared a kiss that was straight out of a fairytale. 

Unlike a fairytale, though, the party didn’t have a happy ending.  How could the best night of her life turn into one of the worst so quickly? It came as a shock to everyone when Numitor had yelled those traitorous words, words Capitol-born Calliope wasn’t sure she disagreed with. Everything happened so fast from that point forward. 

This is what happens when you play with fire.  The words echoed in Calliope’s mind, filling her with grief.  Yes, Numitor had played with fire, but Phil?  Phil was innocent.  Yet peacekeepers covered his head with a bag and shot him.  Right in front of everyone.  Right in front of her.  Right in front of his friends.  If Calliope wasn’t standing right next to Kat, she would have fallen to the floor.  Instead, she collapsed into Kat’s arms. Phil was her friend.  More than that, she had loved him like a brother, despite having no shortage of brothers of her own.  Suddenly, he was gone, roughly kicked off the stage like a bag of trash. 


What happened next was a blur to Calliope, as she was sobbing too hard to even stand properly, let alone think clearly.  She did remember Kat wanting to stay with Wolf to help, but Wolf refused, begging her to take Calliope and Jillianne and get out of there.  Calliope suspected Kat’s dedication to keeping her and Jillianne safe was the only reason Kat hadn’t been stubborn and refused to leave. 

Kat had literally carried her out of there.  It couldn’t have been easy, as Calliope had a few good inches on the five foot tall Kat.  Now, the initial shock had worn off, and Calliope was not totally dependent on Kat to move forward.  Calliope froze, stopping the other two women beside her. 

“Pri,” she whispered, feeling guilty she hadn’t even thought about her older brother until now.  Surely, the government had announced the death of the beloved lead singer of Upward Voyager, the love of her brother’s life.  Pri may have been only dating Phil for about six months now, but he was absolutely smitten with him, and Calliope had been sure Phil would be her brother-in-law one day.  She wanted that more than anything.  Though not loud, Pri’s love for Phil was obvious to anyone who saw him look at him.  Pri would be... devastated… broken beyond repair.  Tears sprang into Calliope’s eyes.  “I need to go to him.” 

Calliope let go of Kat’s arm and rushed forward, frantically digging in her purse for her phone.  Upon finding it, she immediately tapped Pri’s name in her contacts and put the phone to her ear. 

“Calliope, wait!” Kat called after her.  Calliope spun around to face her. 

“I have to go, Kat!  Pri’s all alone!  He… he’s going to need me.” 

“If you think I’m letting you go anywhere without me, you’re sure as hell mistaken,” Kat snapped, reacting out of stress rather than anger. She sped up, catching up to Calliope and taking her arm again.  “Let’s go.” 

The phone rang and rang.  Pri’s voice spoke in Calliope’s ear, but it was far too cheerful to be anything but a recording.  “Please, Pri,” Calliope said softly after hearing the beep of her brother’s voicemail.  “Answer the phone.  I know you’re home.  I’m coming to you.” 

Of course Pri wouldn’t answer the phone.  Why would he, after the news that just hit?  It didn’t make Calliope worry any less.  The party was about a mile from where Pri lived, but it might as well have been ten miles away with how anxious Calliope was to get there.  Finally, the trio arrived.  When Pri had moved here, he had given Calliope a spare key to use whenever she wanted, whether she needed to get away from their emotionally abusive mother or if she just wanted to hang out.  She quickly found the right key on her keychain and unlocked the door.

“Do you two mind waiting in the kitchen?  I don’t think Pri is going to want so many people around while he’s… grieving.”  Pri was a private person, and Calliope knew he wouldn’t be comfortable with a girl who lowkey scared him and a stranger, the sister of a man who scared him even more, seeing him so vulnerable.  She couldn’t let Kat, and Jillianne for that matter, wait outside in the dark.  Kat may have been older than Calliope and was determined to be her protector as such, but Calliope was also determined. From the day Kat told her the story of what the peacekeepers did to her, Calliope vowed to make sure Kat was never violated and hurt like that again. 

Jillianne shook her head at Calliope’s question, but Kat hesitated.  “Alright,” she said finally, “but if you need me, you know where I’ll be.” 

“Thank you,” Calliope replied softly, hugging her friend.  Then she took a deep breath, preparing herself to face the hardest thing she’s ever done.  “Pri?  Where are you?”

Her brother didn’t reply with words, but a loud sob over the sound of the tv screen in his living room at the back of the house told her exactly where he was.  Calliope dropped her purse on the floor and ran to her brother. 

Pri was on the floor, slumped against the couch, his body heaving with sobs as he gasped to breathe.  His face was twisted in agony, and his cheeks were streaked with black tears from his normally perfect eyeliner running away from his eyes. 

Calliope dropped to her knees next to him, pulling her big brother into her lap as tears poured from their eyes.  “C-Callie…” Pri gasped, using a nickname that hadn’t been all that often since she was little, other than the most sensitive of moments....  “Ph-Phil… he…” Another sob broke out of Pri’s quivering body.  How long had he been like this? 

“I know, Pri,” Calliope said softly, trying but failing to regain her composure for him.  “Sh, don’t talk.  Just breathe.”

Calliope glanced at the hologram, squeezing her eyes shut as the words “breaking news” scrolled at the bottom of the screen, with a newscaster speaking to the nation tearfully, probably for dramatic effect.  Sickened, she reached up for the remote that lay abandoned on the couch and turned off the screen.  Calliope cradled Pri in her lap, just as he’d held her many times before, leaning her head against his and stroking his soft, dark brown hair as she listened to his anguished sobs.

“Why?” Pri whimpered, passed the point of processing his loss where he wasn’t able to speak, but not able to say much between sobs.  “Why Phil?  Wh-why my music?”

Calliope could only shake her head.  She didn’t have words for him.  She wished she had an answer for why the peacekeepers took their anger at Numitor out on Phil, of all people, but she didn’t.  There was one thing she did know; somehow, someway, those men would pay for stealing the life of her friend and smashing her brother’s happiness. 

The siblings sat on the floor, though Calliope wasn’t sure for how long.  Pri couldn’t stay here, though, not on the floor of his living room.  Calliope needed to care for him, but she couldn’t do it on her own.  Slowly, Calliope shifted Pri’s head so he was supported by the couch instead of her body.  “Pri, Kat and Jill-... Kat and a friend are here.  We are going to help you get upstairs.  I’ll be right back.” 

Pri had stopped sobbing, too exhausted to continue.  He was still shaking, though, violently, and his head hung as he gave his sister a slight nod.  Calliope carefully got to her feet and returned to the kitchen, where she found Kat pacing across the room while Jillianne sat staring off into space in a chair. 

“Kat,” Calliope said quiet, voice even.  “I need your help getting Pri to his room.  Do… do you mind?”

“Of course I don’t.”  Kat turned to Jillianne.  “Are you alright waiting here?”

Jillianne nodded.  “I’ll be fine,” she said quietly. 

Calliope lead Kat back to the living room.  Pri hadn’t moved from where she had left him, his eyes still on the floor.  He didn’t even look up at Calliope and Kat entered the room.  Kat avoided looking at him, and Calliope couldn’t really blame her.  She didn’t know Pri well, since Pri was too intimidated to interact with her much, especially when Calliope wasn’t with them.  Calliope didn’t know what she would say to a broken man she barely knew, either. 

“Pri? Can we help you up?”  Calliope asked gently.  When her brother nodded, Calliope went to one side of him and Kat went to the other, and together the two of them helped Pri to his feet.  With Calliope and Kat supporting Pri, the trio slowly made their way to the staircase and then to Pri’s room.  Still shaking and crying, Pri practically fell onto his bed, immediately curling up into a fetal position and shattering Calliope’s heart again. 

“Thank you, Kat.” Calliope said softly. 

Kat nodded.  “I’ll give you two privacy.  Come get me if you need anything,” she said and retreated back downstairs. 

“I’ll be right back,” Calliope told Pri.  She went down the hall to his bathroom, searching the cabinets until she found some makeup remover and clean towels.  She then returned to Pri’s room, gently washing away the smeared eyeliner before cleaning his face with the towel.

“Th...thank you,” Pri whispered, looking Calliope in the eye.  His tears were silent now, but still falling steadily.  His entire body still quaked and he periodically took a gasp for air. 

Calliope had never felt so helpless.  She was the younger sibling.  Normally, if one of them needed comforting, the roles were reversed.  Pri had admitted to her that he always felt comforted just being in Phil’s presence, and after a bad day or an anxiety attack, Phil would pay piano and sing for him.  Pri said his worries would instantly dissipate when Phil played the piano.  Calliope feared nothing would calm him down other than Phil, but now that was impossible.  She could try her best, though. 

Calliope wasn’t the lead singer in her band, or even a primary singer at all.  Her voice was too soft and tender for metal.  She enjoyed singing, though.  Her voice was not Phil’s, not by any stretch of the imagination, but Pri would never be able to hear his voice again. The voice of his sister was not an acceptable substitute, no one’s voice would be, but Calliope had to try to comfort Pri anyway.  One song in particular came to mind.  When Disney movies had made a reemergence into Panem, she and Pri had watched them all.  One song in particular had always stuck with her ever since their brother, Heimdall, died.  The song had helped guide her through the darkest of days.  Maybe it could guide Pri, too.  Taking a deep breath, Calliope began to sing.

“Night. And the spirit of life -”

Calliope was cut off by a mournful wail from Pri.  His head lifted ever so slightly to glare at her, his greenish hazel eyes full of agony, like her voice was torture.  “Stop.   Please.  Do not sing.”  Pri hissed the last word like it was poison before his head dropped back onto his pillow.  He began sobbing again, as uncontrollably as before. 

Calliope couldn’t help but recoil.  She knew Pri was grieving, but his words still stung.  Music was one of Pri’s passions.  Before he started experiencing migraines, his dream was to play cello in an orchestra.  His migraines were often triggered by noise, however, which made sitting in the middle of an orchestra to perform on a regular basis impossible.  His new goal was to become a playwright, as theater, especially musicals, was another major passion of his, one Calliope shared with him.  Could it be that not only had Phil died, but Pri’s love of music and everything that connected the two lovers’ souls had died with him?  Calliope hoped not.  If it had, she knew her brother would be losing a big chunk of himself.  She already wasn’t sure how much of him would be lost as it was. 


“I’ll be back in a bit,” Calliope said before slipping out of the room, she headed to the stairs, only to see Kat at the bottom.

“Hey Calliope,” Kat said as Calliope descended the stairs.  “We need to go.  Stellan told me he’d meet us after the dust settled, and he’ll be looking at my house, not here.  Will you come with us?” 

Calliope stared at her for a few seconds in confusion before realizing that Stellan was Wolf.  “Oh, right.”  She bit her lip.  “I have to stay.  Pri needs me.” 

Kat frowned.  “Right, I understand that.  But who’s going to be here for you?” 

Calliope sighed.  “Kat, I appreciate all you’ve done for me.  I do, but I’ll be fine.  I can’t leave him.” 

Kat hesitated, before finally laying a hand on her shoulder.  “Alright, but call me in the morning.  Or if you need me, call me. Promise?” 

Kat’s eyes were concerned and protective, and Calliope just wanted to melt into her friend’s arms and never let go.  If she broke down, though, who would be there for Pri? Calliope could not abandon her brother like that.  “I promise,” she told Kat. 

After a final hug, Kat and Jillianne were gone, leaving Pri’s house quiet and lonely.  Calliope went to the guest room she used whenever she slept over and pulled out a silk nightgown from the dresser full of her clothes.  She took time to use the bathroom and remove her own makeup and earrings.  Then she filled a glass with water before returning to Pri’s room. 

Pri was still awake when she entered.  His cries had lessened to silent tears again, but they were still present.  He tilted his head toward the doorway when he heard her come in.  “I...I’m s-sorry,” Pri said, his voice raspy. 

Calliope set the water on the nightstand and sat in the armchair next to his bed.  “Don’t worry about it.  Can I get you anything else?” 

Pri shook his head.  “Just… don’t leave me again?” 

“I won’t.  I promise.”

Pri drifted off to sleep out of pure exhaustion just after one in the morning.  His sleep was restless, and every hour or two, he’d wake up, screaming and crying for Phil.  Each time, Calliope lept from her chair and hugged him tightly before he’d pass out again. 

Calliope didn’t sleep a wink that night.  The longer she was awake, the more she relieved the horrors of the night, and the angrier she became.  She didn’t want to blame Numitor, because he was just a kid, only a year younger than herself. She knew he was not the one who directly pulled the trigger that cost Phil his life.  No, he was the wrong person to blame, the wrong person to direct her anger towards. 

If there was one thing about Calliope Fortier, it was that she used the deaths of her loved ones as motivation for all her future actions.  She would not stand by and let this senseless murder of her honorary brother go unpunished. 

“I don’t know how, Phil, but I’m going to make them pay,” Calliope whispered into the darkness.  “I will have revenge.  For you, and for Pri.”

Deleted Scenes: Just One Chance

Just One Chance

“Ceru, my mom!”

Owen...

“Go…. go!”

Camellia….

“Just make it as far as you can, we won’t think any less of you when you’re gone..”

His own father…

Ceru leaned heavily against the sink, giving a quiet sob of despair as each word pressed into his head like a weight. He took a deep breath then, biting down on his lip and trying to stop his crying, before he finally settled to staring blankly into the mirror at his own tear-stained face. He had felt like everything had fallen into place when he won. He felt like he was lucky. He felt like he was given a chance to start again.

But as he stared into his reflection, he felt like he was looking at a stranger. He felt different… but not in the way he wanted. He had done a lot of thinking lately, as he was falling asleep, and when he woke up from the terrible dreams he had been having. Ceru didn’t feel lucky anymore. Nothing felt right.. It all felt wrong. Like he wasn’t supposed to be here. Why should he be? When he didn’t really have anyone waiting for him.

Owen.. he should’ve been with his mom. He should’ve been the one to help her not him.

Camellia should’ve won for her brother, for her parents. She should’ve gone home, not him.

Ceru was going to go home and he wasn’t even sure if anything would change. He would have to look at Camellia’s family… and he knew he didn’t kill her, but he was the reason she was dead. Camellia, the one who had helped him learn to dance because he couldn’t. The one he looked up to and admired so much because she spoke out and she wasn’t afraid of what others thought of her. Camellia who had treated her like a person. She was dead because of him. He didn’t even get to thank her properly… he left her... What kind of a person was he?

The Gallens were going to hate him… he hated him...

Ceru swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the edge of the sink as he took a deep breath. Helen had taught him that shortly after he had gotten back and he started to process everything. It worked when she was there... but it wasn’t really working now.. He couldn’t think about the trees and the flowers and home… He thought about Camellia.. He wished he could see her one more time.. He wished he never left her.

Then there was Owen and Lonan. His friends… his friends he met in a deathmatch but bonded so quickly with. Ceru always wanted to know what it was like to have brothers.. But he never wanted to know what it was like to have to lose them to the Games. And now he felt like he did. He gave Owen a fair shot.. He did… but then he killed him. He killed Owen… his friend…

Why did he do that? Owen had his mother! Ceru’s family had already written him off. Owen was supposed to go home to her and he ripped him away from her. He was a monster.. He killed him… he shouldn’t be here..

Mrs O’Connor had already gone through so much. And now she lost her son too because of him. She was going to hate him...

His knees suddenly felt like jello, his head spinning like a top as he sank to the ground, running a hand through his hair and taking another deep breath, the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

Ceru’s throat closed up as he tried to take another deep breath, he didn’t realize how quick and shallow they had become as he thought over each and every face that had gone into that arena with him who was now dead. They all gave him a chance… a chance to live. But for what? What if no one listened to him… what if they still wouldn’t listen. He could try and try and try but no one had to listen to him… they probably didn’t want to. He wasn’t that compelling was he? He didn’t have lovable family members the Capitol would root for too, or someone who was once in the Games before him. It was just him. It was always him.

Him trying to take on a world that was deaf to his own needs and his own opinions. He didn’t understand why he was allowed to be here. All he had ever wanted was to win so that he could show everyone that he could, that he was still entitled to live in a world that wasn’t made for him. That every little deaf girl and boy did belong and deserved a fighting chance. But now that he had actually done it.. He was afraid.. He was riddled with guilt, he felt like he had no place in winning. God he was so selfish… was he selfish?

Since Owen wasn’t alive.. The answer was yes. He missed Owen… so much. He would have to face his mother… Camellia’s family.

Ceru quickly hugged his knees to his chest, his shoulders scrunching up as he squeezed his eyes shut, the tears finally slipping from his eyes as he tried to calm his own trembling form. He didn’t expect this. He thought that after he won he’d feel good all the time. He’d feel happy.. But maybe it didn’t work like that..

Would he ever be able to move on from what he did to Owen and Camellia..? He didn’t know.. And that’s what scared him… He wanted so much to make a difference, he never wanted anyone to feel the way he did. But how could he know if he would?

Slowly, Ceru brought a hand up to brush the tears from his eyes and face, sniffling quietly as he settled against the wall and finally took a slow but shaky breath. The taste of copper flooded his mouth and a dull pain spread across his lip. He quickly stopped biting down on it and brought a hand up to his lip, pulling it away and staring at the red that stained his fingers. He grimaced then went back to hugging his knees close to his chest.

Ceru didn’t understand why he was alive.. He didn’t want to think that it was just because he got lucky. That it was because he was selfish and killed his own friend who just wanted to get home to his mom because.. because he wanted so desperately to be heard. He wanted to believe that he won for something. And for a while after he won… he did think that… part of him still did. He won for a reason.. He just didn’t know what that reason was anymore..

But maybe if he started talking.. once he got out there and started to advocate.. he would understand… he would make a difference. He prayed that he would make a difference…

He refused to believe that 23 had died for nothing. He wouldn’t allow it.

Deleted Scenes: Too Late For Goodbyes

(This angst brought to you by VR. Thanks VR!)

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Blaise could be studying right now.

Tock.

He didn’t fully recognize the boy on the TV screen.

Tick.

He could’ve done something, talked Coda out of it, played the mediator between his family the way he had always done before. Told his brother he loved him. Changed Coda’s future.

Tock.

His roommate’s old alarm clock wasn’t particularly loud, but easily drowned out all other noise in the room. Blaise was too shocked to speak, to move to do anything. The clock’s familiarity was the one thing keeping him grounded.

The top right corner of his glasses has a large smudge. Blaise didn’t bother to clean them. There was no time for distractions, all eyes had to be on that young boy. With a lime green bowtie, shaggy black hair, and a fake leg.

This was not the Coda he knew.

Tick.

Tock.

He thought of textbooks sitting on his desk. His notes needed revising. His shelves needed dusting. He had forgotten to eat lunch. There was a fantasy novel on his bed, that he needed to give back to one of his friends.

Tick.

“Dude.” His roommate, Claus, finally spoke, breaking the vow of silence. “You’re pale.”

Tock.

Coda, Blaise wanted to say. The word caught in his throat and lingered on his tongue. He couldn’t bring himself to spit it out.

Tick.

“They’re taking spins,” Eva mused, curling up closer to Claus. “Maybe Coda will get lucky.”

Tock.

Coda? Lucky? After that boy almost tried to kill him?

Coda picked up a moss green token; Blaise remembered it had once belonged to a Career, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. All that mattered was lime green. Coda.

“Blaise?” Claus asked in an unusually soft voice. “Are you okay?”
Blaise said nothing. His mouth was dry.
Coda spun again. Another Career token. A bow and some arrows.

Blaise was getting worried now. He tried to think of something else, something to bring him hope. All his studies. The novel he had just finished reading. A phone, and...god damn it! When was the last time he called his family? He spoke to his brother?

Coda reached for the gold token. Finally, Blaise’s voice cracked.

“Don’t do it.”

The wheel began to spin.

Tick.

Tock.

The sight displayed on the TV screen made Blaise want to scream. Gold, gold light everywhere. Coda couldn’t move. Coda couldn’t get up. Coda, rapidly bleeding out, cursed by the hands of cruel fate, to be the bringer of his own death.

Blaise jumped to his feet and his chair fell to the side, slamming the floor hard.

Tick.

Maybe...if he tried hard enough...if he was delusional enough to believe...he could reach into the cold electronic box and pull his brother free…

Tock.

The cannon fired.

Normally, on any other day, Blaise would be calm, serious and rational. He would’ve accepted the situation at hand. He would’ve moved on to more important things that required his attention.

This was no normal day.

Blaise grabbed the remote, ripping it straight from Eva’s hands. With a single click, the screen went black, with Blaise’s reflection staring back at him.

“What are you doing!?” Claus asked.
“Both of you, out. Now.”
“But you can’t just turn it off! They’ll be announcing the Victor and-”

“I don’t care,” Blaise hissed. “Leave me alone!”

Tick.

Claus and Eva grabbed their jackets, keys, and left.

Tock.

The phone began to ring.

Tick.

Blaise couldn’t bring himself to pick up. Or continue with the Games, knowing that those two other kids would never have given a shit that his brother had just died. Why would he root for either of them? They weren’t Coda. He would never see his brother again.

Tock.

There was only one thing left to do and that was to throw himself into his studies.

Tick.

Blaise picked up his chair and sat down at his desk. He opened up a textbook, pulled out some paper, and began to scrawl down notes. The phone continued to ring, finally overpowering that clock, until the person on the other end simply gave up.

Tock.

Deleted Scenes: Memento Mori

(More angst written by Legend. Thanks again!)

TW: self-harm

Eight could have been a statue. He hardly moved or breathed and sat wound up tighter than a piano string.
 “It’s down to two. Those are good odds. Hang on,” he mumbled under his breath.  Owen and Ceru walked into the final arena, filled with screens and a massive roulette spanning the room.  Redd looked to V, who looked equally concerned over their coworker.
The moment Owen started projectile vomiting Red wondered if perhaps it would be best to say something.  Something to soften the blow he could feel was coming. But the wild desperation hanging over the dark bags below Eight’s eyes made him hesitate.  Desperation that surged into something too hopeful for his own good when Ceru lightly tapped Owen’s shoulder with his sword.  
“Eight, have you made your choice?” Red asked softly.  “This is the last chance you’ll get.”
Eight waited to hear Ceru’s bet before speaking in a low voice. “I’m putting my trust in him.”  Red could practically see the gears turning in Eight’s head, the calculations, weights and balances that lead to that decision.
Owen called out a high bet.  No one in that room was the praying sort, but Red sent a prayer up for good measure in case some entity was listening.  Not that it seemed to matter, as the bet fell just short of the roulette’s spin. Eight’s stricken face as Owen’s score shot to 19 broke Red’s heart in two.  It was over no matter what the kid did.  Owen cried out for another bet.
“You have to take that bet,” Eight hoarsely whispered. “You don’t stand a chance if you don’t…” The reality of the situation was starting to hit Eight. Ceru talked him out of it. A sense of finality settled over the room.  A brief scuffle and it was over.
Red didn’t know what to expect from Eight when Owen fell.  An anguished cry, a mumbled denial of what was happening, even a scream were in the realm of what he expected. The way Eight fell apart was like watching a video of a building collapse with the sound muted.  His back trembled with repressed sobs, and his shoulders fell slack.  Tears started running down his face uncontrollably.  And all the while he was completely silent.  Red put a hand on Eight’s back, but the action seemed to topple him.  And yet Eight couldn’t look away when Owen begged Ceru to take care of his mother, held his friend’s hand and gave it one last squeeze before moving no more.
Eight laughed, loud, bitter, and ugly. “It didn’t matter, did it? Just the whims of fate at its purest, right? Tugged around by nothing but luck. What the hell is the point of my research anyways? What time traveling rebel would come to fix a timeline as fucked as ours is? Who gives a shit?” Eight was standing rigid and manic.
“Be careful what you say-“ Red tried to stop Eight but it was useless.
“We’re supposed to protect.  Keep the peace.” Eight stated with quiet intensity, his fists balled at his sides. “If that were really true, tell me why we just watched a friend kill a friend on national TV. Tell me why we had to watch something so unfair and cruel. Why would anyone good or sane let that happen?”
“It’s not the first time that’s—“ V tried to interject to no avail.
“Oh I’m well aware it’s happened before.  But not like this.  Not. Like this,” Eight snarled darkly. His chest spasmed with sobs in between each sentence.   “Tell me why it came down to someone who fought every step of the way to stay with his mother and keep her alive on a shoestring budget and someone who’s been neglected by the system and forced to function within it.  Why the fuck did any of this happen in the first place?”
“Eight!” Red barked.  “Stop! I understand you’re upset, but it’s not like you were close with that guy.  You met him once.  You understand, don’t you?  You need to stop.” Red winced a little at the harshness of what he was saying but it was a necessity.  Their boss wouldn’t see it in a kind light if Eight had to take off time to grieve someone he met once.  And their boss would do worse than fire him if they heard what he was saying now.
Eight was flooded with his own pathetic memories.  The way Owen, despite being scared shitless charmed the pants off of Eight.  The phone calls Eight made to Queen, arranging funneling part of his paycheck to Owen through Queen without him realizing.  The money he had set aside for two years to try to spare Owen at his auction, but instead getting reaped.  Always helping and observing just out of view like a helpful creep.  Too scared to get any closer to him like a coward.
The chance to talk to him gone like dust in the wind.
“Someone I only met once,” Eight’s voice broke.  “You’re right.” He was laughing again.  It chilled Red and V to the bone.  Eight shuffled out of the lounge and back toward his office.  Red and V were at a loss for words.
Eight walked into his office, shut every curtain and locked the door.  He just couldn’t stop the torrent of tears.  But if he had to endure it alone just to keep his godforsaken job, so be it.  He would need it to stay afloat trying to steady himself in the coming days…not that he felt he would be okay for a long time.
It was stupid to feel like this over someone he had met once. It was beyond stupid to feel absolutely devastated over someone no matter how kind or how much they were beaten down by life.  No matter how much he wanted to be someone in Owen’s life, he didn’t have the audacity to when he was alive, and now…
Eight put his head in his arms on his desk and submerged his head in grief, still trembling as uncontrollably as he had for the last few days. A pathetic, grieving, creep and coward.  That’s all he was.  The kind of person who gets paralyzed by indecision.  The kind of person who won’t take a risk.
But what difference did it make when the person who risked it all was dead and he was still here?
When a dark, sultry voice at the back of his mind made the suggestion, he smashed the glass case on his desk, picked up a shard, and started to carve into his very skin.
Memento Mori.

Deleted Scenes: The Hardest Thing (Part 2)

The hardest thing, Part 2

Some of the mentors said that watching the final eight interviews was calming. It was reassuring, as it meant their tributes had gotten that far, and had a shot at Victory. They saw it as a new motivation, just as their tributes did: a new motivation to get home. They enjoyed seeing the people they had been pulling so many late nights for.

But to Gian Mariani, it was the worst part of the entire process. Seeing the desperate faces of those that were waiting on their beloved to come home was too much for Gian. The faces were burned into his brain, their wide eyes forever a part of his brain… And if he would let them down, he would never forget. It was like he was on his Victory Tour all over again: forced to see the pain in the eyes of families that would forever be one person smaller. As different as the situations were in every District he’d visited, the expressions on the faces of the people he saw were the same.

The other mentors watched quietly as the displays were shown, each face looking more desperate than the last. Gian barely paid attention to the first group: he briefly saw the determination on Pluto’s face as Remus’s girlfriend spoke. The display of Owen’s mother caused a stir among the mentors, many of whom talked amongst themselves. Kelly didn’t talk to anyone, but something changed in her face.

Harleigh’s interviews were just another few people to get through to the others, but for Gian, they were more people that depended on him. Watching the family members, who looked so much like Harleigh, talk about how much they loved her, made Gian want to vomit from the anxiety.

Riggs had known Gian long enough to pick up on his anxiety. The past few days since losing Elliot had been hard on him, but after taking the day or two like he’d promised, Riggs knew he had to be back by his boyfriend’s side. Being cooped up in a room, alone, was hard on him, and the last thing he needed right now was to be isolated. He needed to move, he needed to do something, but seeing the uneasiness in Gian’s eyes broke his heart. He wished he could save Gian from the pain he experienced himself when Elliot died, but only Harleigh’s victory would be able to do that.

“She could make it home to them,” Riggs said softly.

“That’s my only choice,” Gian said quietly, looking into the desperate eyes of her twin brother before the channel switched to the next tribute’s family. He couldn’t stand the thought of letting them down. The last time he’d felt like this, he’d brought back a Victor… That had to be reassuring, right?

Gian sighed as the rest of the interviews went by without any issues. The mentors’ faces varied: some looking nervous, some determined, and some, like Helen, both.

Gian took a deep breath, his trembling hands bringing his coffee mug to his lips as he took a desperate sip of the liquid, hoping that it would give him the energy he needed to continue being there. Having Riggs there helped tremendously: they were now two mentors caring for one tribute, and Amani was happy to go out on the floor and help as well. He had gotten some rest at least… But he couldn’t help but worry.

The last interview for Lonan ended, and finally the program was over. However, his heart caught in his throat when he saw the Mandatory Viewing seal spread across his television, accompanied by the excited voice of Viola.

“It appears our final 8 have been invited to a very special feast! Stay tuned to see it all unfold, after this commercial break!”

Gian stared at the television, the only part of his body moving was his shaking hands. “No…” he said, looking desperately up at Riggs, hoping he would say that they’d heard wrong, it was just a mistake, this really wasn’t about to happen…

Riggs’s heart sank. Harleigh was one of the youngest remaining, along with the boy from Eight. He refused to write Harleigh off yet though. There was still hope. “This doesn’t mean anything,” Riggs said, taking Gian’s hand and squeezing it. “She’s smart. She outwitted Arden, after all. She can get out of this, hopefully even without getting hurt.”

That was all Gian could hope. He swallowed a lump in his throat as the annoyingly catching jingle for Cleanier Toothpaste played. There was nothing left for Gian to do.

When the screen showed the Capitol seal again, he realized there was nothing for Harleigh to do either.

The tributes stood on their pedestals from the Bloodbath, where Harleigh was sandwiched between Lonan and the empty red pedestal that was to be for Celestia. The tributes were notified of her death before the proceedings started. Gian watched in horror as her competitors were brought up, one by one, to spin the wheel. Each one to go, he tried to create a scenario for Harleigh to get away from it. She could manage with no water. She could land a hit on Owen and escape…

Until it was her turn.

Gian watched the room plunge into an uneasy dim haze in front of him, eyes widening as the announcement was made.

“From the moment of the mines’ deactivation until sunrise tomorrow, Harleigh will be injected with a sleep-inducing anaesthetic. Side effects may vary.”

“No!” Gian said, just as his tribute said it on the screen. He tried and tried to rationalize what was about to happen to her, but in his heart of hearts, he knew…

The chance of her escaping from thiswas slim.

“That’s… that’s not fair…” Riggs said slowly, his eyes widen as he glanced at Gian in alarm. “Why is that even an option for her to spin?! Someone’s going to go after her! Remus, or... “ He trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. How could Lux do this? Riggs had thought he was a decent guy, after what he did during his games with the flowers in honor of Syca and the other tributes… but this? How was it fair for Harleigh to have her chance at winning the games stolen from her all because of sheer luck?!

“There’s nothing I can do,” Gian said, too dejected to be embarrassed at his voice cracking. All he could do was watch.

The last spins were taken, the spoils were raised from the ground, and the timer began to count down. Gian’s eyes couldn’t leave the face of the young woman he’d put so much of himself into as she started to haze over.

“Stumble away.” There was nothing she could do. All of the fire in her eyes had long-since disappeared.

The timer hit zero. While the main screen was displaying a fight between Camellia and Remus, Gian’s eyes were glued to the feed he had of Harleigh. She stayed on her pedestal, starting to sway as if she was trying to keep her balance. He could her groans and grunts in the fight happening around her. Harleigh lost her balance, toppling off of her pedestal and hitting the floor. Her face was contorted with shock, like a toddler who had just forgotten how to walk.

“Please…” Gian said, but instead of reacting, Harleigh squeezed her arms shut and started to giggle. The giggle suddenly turned to a loud cackle, that sent chills down Gian’s spine. This was certainly no time to be laughing. “Go!” he couldn’t help yelling at the screen, as Pluto let out a despairing, “NO!!!” on the other side of the room. He heard the quiet sounds of Helen sobbing into Anakyn’s shoulder, as another shrieking laugh from Harleigh filled the room. The camera switched to Lonan and Coda negotiating, but Gian was still watching Harleigh.

“Kick his ass kid!” Tartan cheered, laughing with a clap, but Coda ran away, to his chagrin.

Harleigh continued to sit on her pedestal, her head bobbing as if she were about to sleep, letting out another laugh as Lonan ran towards her, weapon raised. Gian felt pain in his chest as his weapon went cleanly through her body, causing her to yell at the pain, a sound that hurt Gian’s ears, before the noises stopped suddenly. Lonan took Camellia’s supplies and ran, heading out the door.

“No!” Helen cried, the sound muffled by her face being buried in Ani’s shoulder. “Please,” she sobbed, but it was too late, and Camellia took the pill. With a scream, she grabbed her chest, and screamed one more time before Camellia released a last shaking breath and went still. Helen was inconsolable, Pluto was yelling at Camellia and Cerulean on the screen, just barely able to keep away the tears... Gian just felt numb.

Riggs arms snaked around Gian’s waist, pulling him close. He had no idea what to say in the moment, when all he could feel was hopelessness and anger. She didn’t even have a chance to run or fight, or even have any idea what was happening. “We did all we could for them. But it’s not enough when the arena decides to screw her over.”

He just wanted to go home. But that wasn’t an option. They had to stay until they announced a Victor… “I want to go home…” he said again, hands shaking. Demetrius had just coaxed Pluto to leave the room, bringing the mentor area back into silence, only broken by the soft sounds of Helen’s sobs. He admired her for feeling comfortable enough to cry in front of so many people. He supposed nobody was judging her. They were one in the same here. “I want to go home.”

Riggs sighed. “Me too. Let’s at least get out of this room and take a walk?” He couldn’t be here anymore, surrounded by heartache. He knew it wasn’t good for Gian either, to be holding in his pain in front of the others. He wasn’t fooling Riggs; Gian was hurting, and Riggs couldn’t bear knowing there was nothing he could do, just like there was nothing Gian could do to mend his heart just a few days ago.

He could barely manage anything but a feeble nod. He stood up slowly, leaning on Riggs for support as his legs shook. On the way out the door, Ceru’s mentor Maud put a hand lightly on his shoulder. “I’m sorry Gian.” He gave her a polite nod, lips quivering with tears that were too prideful to be shed here, as he and Riggs walked out the door.

Riggs led Gian outside, trying to get out of the stuffiness of this damn building that held so much agony and into the sunlight and fresh air. There was a fountain nearby, with coins scattered around in a pool of water, dropping in by hopeful children making wishes. Riggs longed to be a child again, innocent and wishing to grow up to be something cool, like an astronaut or a fireman. Now though, his only wish was for all this pain to end. Gently, Riggs helped Gian sit on the edge of the fountain before settling next to him and pulling him into his arms in a tight, protective hug.

It was there, close to Riggs’s chest, that the tears began to flow, tears that had been waiting and building for so damn long… Gian grabbed Riggs’s shirt tightly and let them streak his cheeks, flowing freely. The faces appeared in front of him: her family, the families of the people he’d killed… Sometimes he wondered if Halreigh was actually the lucky one. “No more…” he gasped out in between his tears. He didn’t think he could take any more. But he couldn’t say anything except for, “No more…”
Gian didn’t need to say anything else. Riggs knew exactly how he felt. Mentoring tributes, getting attached, watching them die, having his heart torn apart and watching the same thing happen to his love just days later? It was all too much for Riggs. He shook his head as his eyes became teary, running his hand gently through Gian’s dark hair and being uncharacteristically quiet, unable to find the words he needed to make everything okay. Things were not okay, not for either of them.

He clung tightly to Riggs, the one good thing that had ever been allowed to happen to him since his Victory, all those years ago. Four years later, and he couldn’t forget their faces. He saw the faces of the people he’d failed around his District, his home. Nowhere was safe for him anymore. Nowhere except for here, in Riggs’s arms. And who knew how much longer that might be safe?

Thundering footsteps filled his ears, and a blur passed by with maroon hair that had to have been Wolf, a small sniffle filling Gian’s ear as he went past. It was hard on everyone. How did any of them have the guts to keep going? Gian clung to Riggs’s shirt and cried quietly, away from prying eyes, away from assholes like Tartan. Why did it have to be her? It just wasn’t fair…

There was so much for him to say, and yet he didn’t have to say a single word. He was with someone that deeply understood the pain he was feeling. Which made the whole thing even sadder… Not being able to protect him from the same pain Gian was feeling. It was just a cycle, that went on over and over again, of helplessness, trying to be something more, failing again, made helpless again, and there was no end in sight…

“We’ll be okay…” Riggs told him, partly to reassure himself as well as his love. He wasn’t too sure about that, though. They would be okay eventually, yes, but what about next year? The year after? How many times would they build their hopes up again and again for them to be torn down again? And this was when they had each other for support when all else seemed lost. Where would Gian be if June hadn’t been there, and Nerio had killed him in that arena? Riggs didn’t like thinking about it. Imagining his Gian grieving alone hurt too much.

“Some...D...ay…” he couldn’t believe it. But he could hope. If he didn’t have hope, he would have given up a long time ago. His hope was sitting beside him. He was all Gian had left… His voice broke and spoke no more. He grabbed onto Riggs like his life depended on it…

Because it did.

Deleted Scenes: Crack One Open

He had his head in his hands. So much was suddenly overwhelming him in that moment. He had been trying to forget what was coming… Trying to keep her happy and safe in his mind… Because that was all he ever wanted for her.

But no. She was going to go into the Arena, just as he had, and fight for herself. And he had no idea what Lux was planning for her. Malloy put his guitar gently on the ground and buried his face in his hands. What the hell could he even do?

“Todd?”

It sounded so foreign coming from that mouth.

“What do you want?” he asked, looking at the figure in the door.

“Can… I come in?”

“When have you ever asked permission before?” Malloy sighed and reached over, hugging his pillow.

“So… You ready for the big gig tomorrow?”

“Trap, I’m really not in the mood for whatever you’re trying to pull on me.” He wasn’t going to cry in front of him. “Can you just get to the punchline and save us both the trouble?”

Instead of his usual leaning against the wall, Trap sat on the hard floor, criss cross applesauce, looking up at Malloy on his bed with curious eyes that he couldn’t really read.

Is he sick?

“Are you, um… Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” Malloy took a shaking breath.

“...Right.”

Malloy peered out from the pillow at the boy, who was still looking up at him in that weird little curious way. What a fucking weirdo.

“What do you want Trap?” He just needed to be outright. Whatever he was going to steal, or whatever long-winded joke he was going to tell, or whatever intrusive questions he had for Malloy about his life back home, or bragging about some record he set back home… Malloy had heard it all. He just needed a damn moment.

“Want a drink?”

Malloy felt his face scrunch in confusion. “What?”

Trap held up a bottle to show him. “I dunno. You just seem like you could use a drink.”

“Where the hell did you get that?!” Malloy asked, in shock that he somehow managed to come across alcohol of all things.

“I made a… Deal with Lux. Hoping for some special occasion to crack one open, but I think you need it more.”

“Oh… Thanks.” He didn’t consider himself a drinker, but right now anything to take the edge off was welcome to him. He took the bottle from Trap, suddenly suspicious that it was a joke.

“Hey, um…” He glanced down at where his fellow survivor was still sitting awkwardly on the floor. “I thought I’d go ahead and crack one open for me too, if that’s okay.”

“They’re yours, you do what you want with it.” Malloy took a swig of the burning liquid. He’d forgotten that warm feeling in his throat.

“I mean, here? Is that okay?”

“You’re such a fucking weirdo,” Malloy said, this time out loud. “...but if you really want to stay, I won’t kick you out.” Trap was still looking at him with this weird puppy expression. Malloy reached over and awkwardly patted the foot of his bed. “You can… Sit here if you want.”

“Oh… Okay.” Trap got up and did as he was told.

“So what made you think I’m so in need of a drink?” Todd asked, as both of them took a swig.

“I don’t know…” Trap said awkwardly. “I mean, you’ve been dragged through the wringer. And I don’t know how to make people feel better, but alcohol seems to have a good track record.”

Malloy couldn’t help but give a small smile at that. “Yeah, I guess it does.” They had an awkward silence as they both drank, neither of them knowing what to say. “I… Thanks for this. Sometimes I feel like Montessori is just trying to put on a show for me out of pity. And Wolf, well, sorry is practically every other word from his mouth.” He never thought he’d be saying this, but… “So thanks. Somehow, this makes me feel better.”

“You might just be tipsy.”

“How much of a lightweight do you think I am?” he quirked an eyebrow at Trap, who gave a small smile and shrugged.

“...Seriously, though. You’re the first person who hasn’t walked in here like she’s already dead. Maybe it’s because you can’t feel pity in your… Weird, feral, Trap heart. I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong: this is the weirdest interaction I’ve had in a really long time: but it was kind of you to do this. It is a friendly gesture.”

“Oh.” he scratched the back of his neck. “Um, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, but... I don’t know, I know you don’t like me, so I didn’t want to make our relationship even worse considering we’re going to be out there performing together tomorrow. Wolf told me that this has always been your dream. I don’t want to do anything to make it worse.”

Malloy frowned a little. “They already destroyed it.” he sighed and took a long sip.

“She seems like a really strong girl. Volunteering takes guts, you know.”

“Yeah,” he smiled a little bit. “She’s so strong and brave.” his eyes filled with tears.

“Hey, I-I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It’s okay,” Malloy shrugged him off and blinked the tears away. “I just…” his voice broke and he couldn’t speak anymore.

“So, what’s your plan for the big reveal?”

“Wh-What?”

“You know, when you take her to the apartment Wolf’s been on about and tell her who you really are? Surely you’re going to throw in the razzle dazzle for her, right?”

“I’m not going to tell her.” He took another drink. There was no way she would trust him.

“Come on man, you’re not serious, are you? She’s gotta know. You’ve been talking about her from the moment you woke up. You can’t just let her slip away like that.”

“What good is it going to do? She’ll never believe me. Like I can even get her to trust me enough to go with me to a place that’s boarded and shuddered.”

He was quiet. “Listen man, I know that I’m definitely not the person to take any sort of romantic advice from whatsoever-”

“Agreed.”

“Okay well you didn’t have to say that to my face like that.” He pouted, and Malloy smiled a little bit. He was still Trap alright. “Anyways, what I’m saying is… Well, you’ll regret it forever if you don’t at least try. She should know how you’ve been thinking of ‘er all the time, and writing all those little songs about her, and all that junk that I will never understand…” he took another long drink. “You never know what will happen in that Arena. But at least you’ll know that you did everything you could to give her one last special night before it happens.”

Malloy couldn’t hold back his tears. Tears of fear, and worry about her… Dammit…

“Oh God, I’ve made it worse.”

Malloy shook his head, a small sob escaping his lips. “I’m just…” he sobbed again. “I’m just scared.”

He felt a soft touch on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make you think like that. You know what’s best. Honestly, you and Montessori are my first friends, so I’m sure I’m not a very good one.”

“You’ll get used to it.” He squeezed more tears out of his eyes and sniffled as his breathing calmed slightly. “I just don’t think I can do it, that’s all. Too many things can go wrong.”

“That’s true. But that’s always true in life. Hell, this whole drinks thing could have gone terribly wrong too. But I guess you have to ask yourself if the good outcome outweighs the bad ones.”

Malloy found it in him to smile. “You mean making me feel better was worth the risk of enduring a beating with my pillow?”

Trap laughed a little bit. “Yeah, I guess so. I was thinking more along the lines of smothering though.”

“Geez, you’re such a sick bastard sometimes.”

“Born and raised.” He smiled, but took a long drink.

“Well, I’m… Glad that you decided to do it anyways.” Maybe that was the alcohol talking. The two boys exchanged sad and awkward smiles as they drank.

“While I’m here, I came up with this great way to get Tessa. And all we need is four jars of peanut butter.”

“Oh, so now that we’re drinking together, I’m suddenly your accomplice.”

“Is that not the next step towards friendship?”

Malloy looked at him, trying to gauge if he was actually serious. He started laughing, and Malloy awkwardly laughed along with him. What a fucking nut.

Malloy was actually finding himself disappointed when his bottle was empty: maybe for the warm feeling of the drink, maybe for the feeling of company that wasn’t stepping on eggshells around him.

“Well, I guess that means I should be going.”

“I guess so. Thanks again. And… Good night, Trap.”

“Good night to you too.” He got up and walked out of the room, before pausing in the doorway. “And, hey Todd.”

“Hm?”

“I… Really hope she’s going to be okay. You know, you deserve a little happiness, for all the shit you put up with.”

More tears sprouted in his eyes.

“Thanks. I… I hope so too.”

~.~.

When it set in her eyes, he knew there was nothing anyone could have done to stop her. There was something that changed in her face: he saw it once before, at the reaping: and he knew exactly what she was going to do.

That didn’t stop the exclamation from coming out of his mouth, as if that would stop her. “No!”

A great boom sounded, and the confetti cannon blew, causing Remus to freeze and Camellia’s eyes burned with fire as she charged forward at the Career. Malloy watched the determination quickly turn to worry as she realized she was not proficient enough with the warhammer to hold back a Career. Malloy could see where this was going, but something in him hoped that just this one time, justice would prevail from the fight.

In front of him was the picture of every nightmare he’d ever had. The woman he loved so much, her body glistening with blood that poured out of deep-set wounds from another, and there was nothing that Malloy could have done to stop it from happening to her. How many times had he dreamt he would watch her die?! He never thought he would actually have to live through it.

The only positive for his going into the Arena was that he wouldn’t have to watch her suffer the same. The only thing he wanted when he died was to not have to be tortured by watching the girls he loved so much in so much pain.

And yet, here he was.

The audience could see what Camellia couldn’t: Ceru standing over Remus, axe raised, quickly sending it down on him with a loud crack. Malloy winced, but he couldn’t look away.

The look in Camellia’s eyes was one he’d never seen before. She had broken.

“Go,” she choked out, and then she said it louder (as if it mattered), “Go!”

Ceru’s face was full of pain, but he turned around and went. One by one, the tributes cleared out of the room, until only Camellia remained. She clawed at the ground, trying to get her body off of the floor, but Malloy saw in her face that she was in pain. Seeing her in pain made his heart hurt. And knowing that Jo was out there, not knowing anything they’d been through in the past days… He promised to take care of her, but what could he actually do!?

Camellia crashed down to the ground again, tears streaking out of her eyes as she lay resigned on the floor.

In his dreams, he clawed at the screens, screaming, but no sound escaped his lips.

Here, he was frozen in horror. He watched the fear cross her face. He couldn’t move. He watched her gasp and struggle for air, he didn’t move.

Suddenly, something changed in her face. One more change, as she pulled out the pill she had been keeping in her pocket. Malloy couldn’t even find it in himself to yell and tell her no. He had no idea what that was: Lux was stuck in the Complex, and Wolf was extremely busy. He had no idea what was in that pill.

Camellia gave the world one last defiant once-over before putting the pill in her mouth and swallowing it dry. Within moments, she was screaming, grabbing her chest and crying in pain. Pain that Malloy could feel in his own heart. She cried, screamed, agonized, until she went completely still. A cannon boomed, the bodies were retrieved. He couldn’t move.

“Todd…?” It was the pity in his usually callous, cold voice that finally broke Malloy.

Numitor fumbled with the remote, hurriedly muting and then turning off the television, sending the room into a deep silence, only broken by his quiet cries.

She was dead. She was really dead. No… This couldn’t be… His breath picked up, his eyes became wet… He buried his fingernails in his stomach, trying to will it to not be real… Please be a dream…

“Hey, don’t-”

“SHUT UP!”

Numitor sunk back, away from him. Usually he was gentle, but dammit, he was so damn sick of being gentle all the time. He had just lost the one person he loved so much, after all of this. It was damn sick. It was fucking cruel!

He took handfuls of the couch in his fists. “Get out. Both of you. Get OUT!” It was a common area, but he couldn’t move. Trap and Numitor both made haste to get out of there, as was intelligent of them. He wasn’t about to tell anyone twice.

She was gone. After everything, she was gone. He had just gotten her back. He really thought she was going to walk out of the Arena. He should have known better. She wasn’t like them. She wasn’t a killer.

He couldn’t control the howling sob that escaped him, his fingers burying deeper into his sides. He wasn’t able to save her. He wasn’t able to protect her. And if he couldn’t, then what was the damn point?! The Capitol had taken everything from him. He hated the bastards. He hated the whole lot of them. He hated that he was one of them. The green tinge of his skin disgusted him. He dragged his fingers across it, trying to make it go away, again and again. He was part of what killed her. He was part of what took her away from him… He couldn’t stop blaming himself.

The crescent-shaped welts on  his stomach, the red lines that zipped across, complaining with pain, they weren’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough. None of it would bring her back. None of it would eliminate his guilt that somehow, he was the one that was still on this planet, and she wasn’t. He would have taken her place in a heartbeat. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything to help her. She had blindly trusted him, and now she’d paid the price for it.

His eyes suddenly filled with water, more and more water that just kept on pouring out, he couldn’t control it.

Joelle…

Oh God, Jo. She didn’t know. She was out there, all by herself, watching it alone, surrounded by people that will not understand the pain she had to endure time and time again. How badly he wanted to be there with her. Hell, how badly he wanted to have her. He promised Camellia he would protect her. But what the hell could he do? He had no power to do it. He didn’t even know if Wolf would allow it to happen. He was already barred from stepping foot in District Seven by Wolf. He had to have known that he couldn’t control himself around those strong, brilliant women he’d spent the happiest days of his life with. Wolf knew he couldn’t stand to see them in pain. Wolf knew he would go to them. It was for the best.

But Jo was alone now, and worse, she was in danger. She was in danger because of Camellia, because of any suspicions from Wolf, or even Out of Spite… She was in danger from herself.

His heart was washed over with a new hurt. He couldn’t stand that thought. Dammit… He wanted to run, run from here, run all the way to District Seven, five hundred miles or more, he would do fucking anything to be in her arms.

But he couldn’t.

He was just as powerless to help Jo as he was to help Camellia… And she was dead now…

Malloy curled up into a fetal position on the couch, holding his knees to his chest, trying to stop his entire body from quivering.

How am I going to do any of this alone? He didn’t know. He didn’t know how. He was just going to fail Camellia in death just as he did in life. He couldn’t do what he promised.

He closed his eyes, trying to control the tears that fell out of them, when he felt a warm weight spread across his body.

“We’re going to get her.” Trap gave his sweaty hair a little ruffle.

Montessori put a glass of water on the table, leaning down to give Malloy a soft kiss on the cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly.

“Wolf’s on his way,” Numitor said in a hushed voice, rubbing his leg through the blanket.

Malloy couldn’t answer any of them and kept his eyes closed as more water drenched his face.

“We’re going back to our posts,” Montessori said quietly, and he heard the sound of small footsteps leaving the room again.

“Get some sleep, buddy. We’ll handle the rest.” He heard Trap’s footsteps leave the area, and he was once again alone.

Was he ever really alone? For better or worse, Malloy was stuck here with these people.

He put the soft blanket to his face, sitting up to take a slow sip of water. He may have lost his Flower…
But there were people here that had his back, and by extension, Jo’s.

We will keep her safe… he thought to himself. It was the only thing keeping him going now.

I won’t break my promise.

Deleted Scenes: Will He or Won't He?

(This connection to 36 was brought to you by Legend. Thanks Legend!)

“Eight, you’re kinda scaring me here…when was the last time you slept?”
“Sleep is for the weak,” he snarled, his usual cool composure nowhere to be found.  “Get out, Red.”
Agent Red swallowed.  His coworker’s sanity had been…well in tatters may have been generous.  Ever since the 127th Games had started, he just hadn’t been himself at all.  At first Red chalked it up as concern for someone who had been a dead lead in Eight’s investigation, but as time went on the man was losing his grip on himself and reality.  On Eight’s messy desk was folders upon binders upon loose documents, and a glass box with a broken silver pocket watch encased within it. A variety of jackets hung across one wall of the office, and a massive cork board spanned the back wall.  The cork board seemed unable to converge on any one point and instead was a confusing mess of lines and pictures from a few years ago to upwards of a hundred years ago. Eight was currently frantically digging through one of his many filing cabinets and snatched a folder with “36” written on it in bright, red ink.  The folder was full to bursting.
He flipped through documents with the speed of someone who knew exactly what he was looking for. “I fucking knew it,” he hissed.
“Knew what?” Red knew he probably shouldn’t ask, but his concern was too great at this point not to.  Eight slammed the paper down for Red to read.  It was a breakdown of all weapons used and who used them in the 36th Games.
“Atticus fucking Hollow used a butcher’s cleaver in his games!” Eight laughed, borderline hysterical.  What was it about studying this stuff drove him to madness? Red wondered.  “Lady Luck sure loves to toy with me,” he spat.
“I’m sure that’s a feeling the other tributes can relate to, you know,” Red offered mildly.  Even more so than Eight’s mental state, Red was worried that Eight ran out so close to the finale. The games were compulsory viewing, and if it came out he missed the finale to do…whatever it was he was piecing together, Red was worried for his friend’s job security.  They were agents of the Capitol, but they were subject to the same laws as everyone else.  “Um…don’t you think watching the finale will help your investigation?”
“If I’m right about what I’m thinking, I need to get it to the Capitol immediately that Owen O’Connor is an enemy of the state and cannot walk out of that Arena alive,” Agent Eight affixed Agent Red in his gaze, his already bright eyes manic.  His 5 o’clock shadow that did not suit his face at all was suddenly much more pronounced.  “Here, I’ll explain it to you,” he said quickly before Red had a chance to say: “But we need to get back to the finale, Eight.”
“My predecessors and I have identified three of the members of the Ace of Spades.” Eight pulled out a folder with a lot of pictures, clearly meant to summarize his findings neatly. “Atticus Hollow, 36th Games. Ezekiel Bond, 42nd Games.  Katarina Icaria, their ringleader, Head Gamemaker for the 100th Games.  But I found they each had a coded title. Atticus, the Ace of Spades. Ezekiel, the Ace of Clubs. Katarina, the Ace of Hearts.” He whipped his hand to the corkboard behind him.  “But there are four card suites! So where is the Ace of Diamonds?”  There was a series of pictures with names and Games labels underneath, but nothing looked too concrete.  “We don’t know!”
“But wasn’t their project about going to the past, not the future?  Why would it make sense to target now?” Red couldn’t help but ask.  He mentally kicked himself.  Why was he encouraging him?
“That’s what we thought. But then Owen comes along.”  The crazy started creeping back into his voice.  “He looks like the spitting image to be Hollow’s kid.  His eyes are just like his, like all those time travelling scumwads,”  Red remembered an explanation before about time travelling interacting with some kind of substance in their eyes they found records of in the ashes of Katarina’s research files. “Owen said he never knew his dad.  Fine enough.  Maybe it was just a coincidence.  But Owen also has a trampstamp of all four card suites.”
“Um,” Red coughed to mask the snorting laugh.  He simultaneously wanted to know how Eight managed to find that one out and didn’t.  “Why…is that relevant-“
Eight pulled another folder off his desk and this one was filled to the brim with pictures.  “Atticus had a spade tattoo on his right shoulder. Ezekiel on the left. Katarina on her ankle.  They all had one.  It isn’t that farfetched to think Owen might have added the other suites to mask it.”
Red sighed.  His friend really was losing it. “Alright but surely there’s records Owen’s existed here for however long he’s been alive.”
“Yes, but the official government forms and paperwork are dubious at best.  They look forged.”  Again, another folder, again, more document copies.
Red squinted at them.  “I…it looks like a kid made these.  You remember his mom had dementia right?  He probably was trying to stay out of foster care.”
Eight groaned.  “I’m too many cups of coffee in and running on too few hours of sleep for that to make sense, man.  Just let me explain and you can decide yourself.”  Red could only groan.
“Didn’t you see how naturally Owen was swinging that cleaver? Another commonality: all the Spades are extremely proficient in a variety of weapon and martial arts.  I thought Owen had about average weapon skills for an outer district tribute, but then he swings that cleaver around like he’s always used one!” Eight was definitely running on too much caffeine and too little sleep. Owen’s experimental swings weren’t exactly the pinnacle of good career form.
“Eight, I think you need to just rest.”
“I’m not done yet!” he said fiercely.  “You don’t understand Red. It’s been mandated that someone have a full understanding of this organization at all times for a reason.  This is the prime time for them to strike!  The country is on the edge of war.  The civil unrest is unreal. All it would take is a little push!  Come on, Red, even you would acknowledge that much.” Red knew all too well, as everyone in the complex was working overtime trying to squash that civil unrest.  Technically Eight was supposed to as well, but they gave him desk work so he could watch the games and help sponsor if he wanted to given the circumstances.
“I’m not even sure this organization of yours was ever real, Eight.” Especially since earlier in the Games Eight was on a kick about Tempest La Rossa’s Barbara Manatee doll having a Spade’s pocketwatch inside.  For whatever reason.  “Come on, maybe the finale will help ease your fears. If Owen dies there’ll be no need for all of…this.” He gestured vaguely at the entire room.
“It was-is-real.  Don’t you forget that, Red.” Eight growled, but the edge in his voice was gone and his shoulders slumped.
“Eight,” Red tried to ask as gently as possible, “If you’re so worried about Owen being a danger, why did you pull so many strings to sponsor him?”
He put his head in his hands. His voice came out in a broken whisper. “Because I so desperately want to prove myself wrong.  I want him to come home and live the life he deserves.  I don’t want him to be caught up in any of this.  I just want to be wrong.  I’ll do anything to prove it.” Red was struck by the contrast of how deeply Eight had researched everything and how honestly he wanted to prove the kid’s innocence. “Anything.”
“I don’t think anyone else knows this stuff as well as you do, Eight. I’ll trust your judgement…but only after you’ve had a full night’s rest.  And you don’t want to miss the finale.”  With Eight looking less crazed, only nervousness and sadness lingered. It had been a very long time since someone in their workplace personally knew someone in the Games. Even longer since they had been personally invested in them.  But Eight looked ready to snap in two now.
“I don’t know what to do, Red,” Eight’s voice broke into a whisper.  “It’s never been like this before. I don’t say something because I can’t be sure, Owen seems to die but gets away like the rest of the Spades and the turmoil only increases. I don’t say something, Owen lives, and he does something to topple the whole Capitol. I say something, Owen dies, and the country still stands but a sweet guy who deserves so much better than that dies by my hand.  I don’t want this choice. I don’t want to kill him on a hunch.  But if my inaction means the end of the Capitol…I…I don’t have a choice.  It would be all my fault. I can’t take chances.”
“What about Owen lives, and he’s normal and gets to enjoy his life?” Red suggested.  “Why isn’t that an option?”
“Because life isn’t fucking fair and that arena thrives on chance,” Eight snapped.  His eyes were red.  Whether it was from lack of sleep or tears or both, Red had no idea. “Tell me what those odds are that it turns out like that, Red.”
“According to the Games Betting HQ, it’s not that far fetched.” Red didn’t actually know what the odds looked like at the moment but wasn’t about to plunge Eight into further desperation.
“If I could get inside one of these fucking Spades’ heads I would know just how likely that is.” Red couldn’t tell if Eight was bitter or wistful or curious or a little bit of all three. “I can’t handle this pressure, Red. Do I tell them to kill him or not?”
“I can’t tell you that, Eight.” Despair surged into his eyes.  Eight really was trying to shoulder the whole country.  He was barely 20.
“It’s not fair. But it could happen. He could live and it wouldn’t cause the country to fall apart. Anything’s possible,” Red took a step towards Eight and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re stressed and exhausted, Eight. I don’t think it would hurt you or the country to wait before going to the central government. But as someone who cares about him, don’t you want to see his Games through, for better or worse?”
“I…yeah. You’re right.”  Eight wobbled to his feet and turned off his desk lamp.  “I’ll see it through, then make a decision.”
“After you sleep.”
“After I sleep.”
“…you coming, Eight?”
“I…I need a minute.  I need to prepare myself so I don’t…so I don’t look like a complete fool in a few minutes,” Eight’s voice cracked.
“Hey, hey, Red hurry it up with Eight, the finale’s about to start!!” Agent V called from down the hallway.
“I don’t think you’re gonna get that chance, Eight.  Wipe your tears up and let’s go.”
“I wasn’t crying!” he sniffled.
“Yeah, yeah, it was just raining in your office, right over your head,” Eight sighed.  “Or no, was it a pipe leak over the doorway? Should I call maintenance?”
“Shut up,” Eight laughed weakly and stepped into the light.  Sure enough, he just looked sleep deprived at the moment.  “If…if he dies will you-“
“Yes, I’ll buy you ice cream and be your emotional support, let’s go already you big wuss.” 
Eight started walking alongside him down the hallway, shaking like a leaf. “That’s not what I was going to say but I won’t refuse free ice cream.”  Red walked into the employee lounge. Eight froze in the doorway, eyes glued to the TV. Owen covered in blood.
Agent V turned around on the couch to look at their stricken, younger coworker. “Relax, it’s not his blood, it was Lonan’s. He’s not hurt.”
Eight let go of the breath he was holding and sat down next to V. They glanced back to Red.  “It’s gonna be a long night, huh?”
“It’s gonna be a long night,” Red sighed heavily.  “No matter how this goes.”
“I brought a tissue box and snacks,” V offered.
Eight wordlessly took the box of tissues and clutched it like it was the only thing tethering him to this world.