Count to Five

I must be perfect. For the next three days, I will be utterly perfect for the gamemakers. Try and repair the damage Berg has caused. It will not mend fully, Berg has crossed every line I can think of.

I can make it a little better, but not for Berg. He has set his own trap. I cannot fall into it. That's selfish, utterly and abhorrently so. He did it for me, defended me against a man he knew terrified me to my core. I'm planning to repay him by jumping ship, let him sink alone.

But my siblings must be safe.

I untangle myself as soon as I feel able to move. He grumbles but rolls over. I don't disturb him yet, I shower again, dry my hair and spend far too long arranging it so several sections of my ponytail are in perfect small plaits and a few strands hang loose to frame my face. It's past eight now, I should wake Berg.

It's a mammoth task, and although I try desperately to straighten my thoughts enough to thank him for what he did, he doesn't allow it. He shakes me off, and we go about not talking about things as usual. Eventually, Berg stumbles back to his room, saying he's going back to sleep for at least an hour. I want to argue this, but the fact he seems prepared to go to training at all is a victory. He deserves another hour in bed. He deserves much more than I could ever offer.

I dress, pat some makeup on my face and head to Opa. She's at the table but looks harassed, her plate only a third full. I don't even get to open my mouth before she starts, a woeful tale on how dreadful she felt for poor Atticus. He shouldn't have come, she highlights that point several times, she was just doing her job not allowing him in. She had to do her job, even if the poor man was just here before he was so worried about me.

It takes all of the self-control I have not to throw the mug in my hand at her face. Goodwill towards her flickers and dies. She's so worried she may have offended him she's written a gushing apology, including me in it. That's one tiny silver lining, she seems to have said exactly the nonsense I would have spouted. She may just have gotten me out of trouble. That doesn't make my grip loosen and I dig my nails into my other palm until she finally stops. Several controlled breaths later I play my part, “Would you be able to pass on just how sorry I am not to have seen him. And for Berg, he didn't mean it, he struggles with the games and he's just so overprotective that he was ...”

“Of course.” She smooths her hair, I go on for a bit longer, let her soak it all up. She's glowing when I finish my thanks to her afterwards, assure her she did the right thing and there's no chance that Atticus could blame her. This returns Opa's appetite and she's soon cramming bread and fruit into her plumped up mouth.

I've never thought of her as ugly, but right now she's a gargoyle.

I make myself eat again, remembering something Andressa had said my first time as a tribute. She was adamant that no matter how scared we felt, Fabien and myself, regardless of the knots in our stomachs, we eat. We had to pack as much into our bodies as possible, food was so scarce in the arena. This had been aimed more at me, I was a rake when I was fifteen, and an ounce of additional fat may buy me another day of life if I was on the verge of starving. I take her advice again, five years later.

Nine o'clock passes, and I keep catching myself glancing down the hallway, by quarter past I make an excuse and head to his room.

He has cocooned himself completely within the quilt. I say his name gently a few times and there's no movement. He's not asleep. I slowly tiptoe over, perching on the edge of the bed and prodding what I assume is his shoulder. A muffled expletive greets me. “You're late, come on.” The cover shifts, but my weight stops it from going as he wishes and instead he flips it over, exposing his face. “Changed my mind.”

“You can't change your mind, you need to go to training.” He grimaces, goes to retreat under the fabric but I snatch at it. “Why not? You were up for it earlier.”

“I've just been thinking.” He sinks further into the mattress and relinquishes his grip. “I've really fucked myself over, haven't I?” All I can manage is a gape, I ramble on about how he had told me not to worry, how Opa was doing her best to sort it all. I am rewarded with a slap of a laugh.

“Doesn't matter, Atticus is probably paying off half the others to make me their first target.” He yawns, an utter contradiction to how tense he is and cuts my speech off, “Give me ten minutes.” The cover is torn from me and buries him. “Ten minutes, we get up, we have a lovely day.” Guilt is a noose and I spend the long minutes waiting, pretending that I am not on the verge of tears and he isn't curled in the foetal position. Gradually he emerges, plasters on a still expression. We will continue this pretence as if nothing has changed. It will be another thing that should have been spoken about and will follow us both to our graves.

I lunge at him, my arms meeting around his middle. He takes a few seconds, the shock evident but then returns the hug. It is the most I can do, the best wordless way to show him how I feel. His arms are too heavy, too hot, and I want out quickly but force myself to stay a little longer, let Berg break it. He does, glances at his knees and says something I miss. I still don't quite buy the next smile but it's better, and I leave him to shower, preparing myself for having to appease Opa who will be frantic that we may be late.

Amongst everything else, I have not mentioned Finnick to him. It will have to wait. Opa will do her bit, I must do mine. I must be perfect. The smile comes easily, and Opa buys it hook, line and sinker as she always does.

We leave the apartment late, which horrifies Opa but still doesn't stop her from springing on her tip toes to try and kiss both of our cheeks. I allow this, do not wipe my cheek for fear of giving Berg far too much entertainment. He dodges and considering Opa is little taller than I am she doesn't try again, but instead sighs and deflates, assuring him that she is very much on our side and does he not realise that? He almost looks a little bashful, but as he is not teasing me I swallow it.

It makes no difference that we were not on time, there are only thirteen other people here. Berg makes a point of this, as though it wasn't obvious he would rather be anywhere but here. It doesn't matter. I'm acting as soon as we enter, spend time with a mixture of people, make it seems like my options are open and everything Gloss says is hilarious. It's more exhausting than actually putting the effort in on the stations.

By lunch I am desperate for some respite, and Finnick has shot me a few looks I can no longer ignore. I ensure I was hovering around the shelter station when the bell rings for lunch. Finnick is in the middle of an exquisitely plaited wall. “Afternoon” I chime, tucking hair behind my ear. “Having fun so far?” Finnick's usual purr is on point and he walks with me to the dining hall, keeping up mindless chatter. There are a few more interesting things mixed in, he wants us to spend the afternoon together. This is to speak, that's evident. I throw a smile up at the gamemakers before we enter the other room.

Lunch passes easily, Chaff insists that rather than the small desk like layout the room had we form a large table. Some people are not happy about this, Katniss scowls and tries to cover it up by grabbing some food. Wiress just looks terrified.

Berg isn't back. I purse my lips but stop a frown. Alit, from Five, had come down drunk and promptly thrown up all over the floor by the sword station. It had been cleaned, just a hint of chemical remaining in the air but Berg had assured the Capitol attendants he could manage him and had vanished. There was a good chance he wasn't coming back.

Finnick pulls out my chair for me, earning us a few looks. He is flirty, I do it back, lean in, fiddle with my hair, glance through my eyelashes. There will be a reason for this play. He's making our alliance a talking point, after all, who could think otherwise? Unless the two of us wore matching friendship bracelets it's the most obvious sign.

It isn't likely to win District Twelve over. Peeta had been on the knife throwing station at the same time as I had earlier, but barely a word passed between us. It would be a far better use of an afternoon to spend a little time with Finnick and then aim to 'catch' either Peeta or Katniss elsewhere.

Katniss has to be the one who wins this. Those words come easy, still tainted with spite. Die for Katniss Everdeen, or die anyway. That was what my choices came down too.

If this was a normal year, as Finnick said to look at it, they would be the smart choice. Had Johanna and I not said exactly the same yesterday? An alliance with Twelve would bring Capitol favour, a higher likeliness of gifts. You can never trust an alliance anyway, at some point it will break. This can happen organically, some catastrophe sends you scattering, or it can be manufactured. The only alliance that had ever survived the arena had been theirs, Katniss and Peeta. That was down to them both knowing how to play the game, he had made her interesting in his interview with Caesar, she had played up the romance angle Haymitch was striving for.

We hadn't been in an alliance with District Twelve, so I had only heard bits through Berg after a drinking session and what I could gather elsewhere. That meant they were both smart, even if they didn't outwardly appear it. It was something I knew well, part of the character I had developed, and one of Berg's only real suggestions, other than humiliating myself by tripping into my interview, to look endearing, was to appear vacant. Be a pretty little doll who loved her family and was just fascinated by everything the Capitol offered. They'd made me practise my smile for a good hour until he had been happy with it.

I pull myself back into the present. There was no point focusing on that, couple of weeks that character would be dead with me. I only had to last until then. In the meantime I had to get Twelve to ally with me, and then let Katniss Everdeen be the victor.

I snatch peeks at her over lunch, she doesn't enter much of the conversation although Peeta is debating types of bread with Seeder. Smiling at her certainly isn't going to work, she had been by herself last year, maybe that was still her plan. She and Peeta may want to play this alone. And now, if they decide they want Finnick they are aware we're a package. Triple, I correct myself. Finnick wants Mags. It would be kinder, for them both as they care so deeply about one another to separate. That way Finnick does not die saving Mags, or Mags dies without fear of him seeing it. It will ruin him. But, I know that will not happen. We will try to win over two seventeen year olds with a woman in her early eighties. I blow away a strand of hair that has fallen to my mouth, Peeta makes eye contact and smiles. I return it, less of a beam than I had give him the day before.

Peeta was our way in. Win him over, win Katniss over. They will be together at the very least, even if they neglect to chose allies the two will remain a pair. Katniss seems impenetrable, she will not buy what I am selling. Will he? It was one thing to flirt at the Opening Ceremony, but he was engaged, as far as anyone was concerned. If he had any real feelings for Katniss there was no chance that approach would be successful. Peeta seemed nice though, watching him earlier and now. His gestures are open, his interest in the extraordinarily dull conversation Beetee has entered him in. Nice wasn't going to do him any favours in the long term, most people around the table probably had the same low option of his abilities I did.

It was no doubt nothing compared to what they thought about me. Finnick nudges me gently, and I realise I'm spinning fruit on my fork. The klaxon is sounding indicating the end of lunch. Of course, Finnick wants to speak first.

“What do you fancy?” I ask, refusing to pluck my hand from his grasp as he helps me up. Mags mumbles something to him I completely miss. “Well, Mags is going on the fishing hook station.” That is the last place I want to be, there is rarely little chance for fishing in the arena and it's an area they must both be so comfortable in it would just be a waste of time. Some of this shows on my face, and with utmost charm he disregards Mags, who doesn't seem to mind and smiles at me, patting my shoulder as she moves past. Finnick's eyebrows lift slightly, but he keeps whatever he wants to say to himself.

We end up on edible plants, and although the trainer tries her luck and flutters her three inch long eyelashes at Finnick she soon grows bored and wander off to arrange some berries. “How was your evening then?” Finnick breezes, pulling piles of edible berries and plants he recognises to himself. I mimic this, pulling some sorrel towards me. He isn't looking at me, fiddling with some type of seaweed. He doesn't know, surely not, about Atticus. Then again, I'd become fairly sure Finnick knew everything there was to know about the Capitol, it came across that way. I don't bite, regardless of what he may be aware of, now is not the place. I might be over stretching, perhaps he means Berg. I scan around again on cue, still no sign.

“We didn't get a chance to discuss anything.” I keep it brief, Finnick will understand.

He nods, “What about you?” Will I go along with this mad idea, am I willing to put my life in his hands until the time comes to let Katniss win? I return his nod, and he glows, apparently delighted. “Good.” It's a bit try hard but I keep my mouth shut on that and pretend to be focusing intensely on organising the greenery in front of me. “Our way in is Peeta right?” He breathes out a 'probably' popping a blood red berry between his teeth.

I let myself scan the area, Peeta is with Chaff on the swords, being walked through simple steps. Chaff drops his weapon and laughs in a boom that echoes through the area. Finnick is watching too, but it's not them. His eyes are stuck firmly on Cecelia who has Katniss stood beside her on the bug station. We wait, make small talk until people change stations. Katniss wanders for a while but ends up with Gloss and Cashmere. I spot a chance and leave Finnick, ensuring I happen to be arriving at the tree climbing station at the same time as Peeta. It's an odd choice for him, his mechanical lower leg is sure to make it more difficult for him, perhaps that is the point.

I don't bother with the flirting angle I may do with others. If I take him at face value he is in love with Katniss Everdeen. That is how I will act, friendly to an acceptable point. We greet each other and the trainer interrupts before we can get much further, I don't think this is a popular station. I remember it from my first set of games, it was quiet, tucked away in one corner with tree's that rose to the ropes across the ceiling. It had become a place to discuss tactics, alliances. The last time District Twelve and Ten had an alliance in the arena.

Fabien hadn't been sold to start with, Andressa had advised against it, Berg too drunk to have an opinion. Rowan had been tiny, so underfed it hurt to look at him, barely thirteen and thrust into a situation which would end with him dead, no doubt. He'd been so pitiful, he was smaller than all of my brothers, sicklier looking than Jem at his worst. How could I not want to help him? It had taken a whole evening of arguing before I'd convinced Fabien. To be honest he had never been truly with me, Rowan was an additional problem, a burden. Rowan was another item on a very long list of things I did not enjoy thinking about.

Peeta may remember this, it would work in my favour if so. I feel dirty thinking that but it's true.
Finally the trainer seems finished, and offers for me to go first. Peeta waves a hand and steps back. It isn't too tricky there are plenty of trees at home I had grown up climbing. We do a few rounds, the tree changes, branches shift and retract to make it more difficult. It seems too real, the smell of the bark, the buds creeping from the tips of twigs. It's the same way they create the arena, this perfectly real and yet utterly controllable place. I allow myself to show off, jump the last eight feet or so. Peeta glances from me back to the very sparse wood, “I don't think this was my best idea.”

“Give it a go,” I urge, “it doesn't matter if you find it difficult.” He lifts a brow, I have spoken as I would have to my brother. In this setting it tastes sour in my mouth. Peeta stares back at the tree, and I can tell he is biting the inside of his lip. There's one last glance at me before he nods, more to himself than for my benefit and I watch him have several goes. He isn't good, misjudging his mechanical leg, fearing to put enough weight on it, not moving it as he does his other knee. I suppose time would help, although there is little left of that now. He half falls down, allowing me to help him back up. I hear the creak of the gears. “Definitely not my best idea.”

“You did fine,” I lie, “It must still be really odd,” I gesture down when he looks at me quizzically. His chuckle is good natured, “You may have a point. I never expected a robot leg.” There's no need for a response and I cannot think of anything that isn't either too patronising or too flirty. I settle for a smile, “Would you like to try something else?” I have him in my clutches now, cannot let him slip away if possible. This is my best chance, Peeta is the way to Katniss. He has to want me as an ally, or at least put in a good word.

He agrees easily, and we banter back a forth a moment before we settle on the hammock station. Katniss, Gloss and Cashmere have just vacated it. Cashmere pauses, and the four of us, for Katniss is long gone, chat a little. I like both of the siblings from District Two, but they will go the route expected. Team up with Brutus and Enobaria, slaughter as many as possible within the first hour of the games and then hunt down the rest.

They could try. I will not allow myself to become another victim of a career pack.

Brother and sister leave, and whilst stringing up a truly appalling hammock. It's not something I've done before and Peeta is as lost as I am, although worse at knots. I learn a little about the bakers son. It doesn't help, it makes me like him. Liking him was not part of the plan, Peeta wasn't the one who had to make it out of this. He would protect Katniss though, no doubt. That may make our job harder, Peeta was not a killer, he was not ferocious. He had survived through dumb luck and a bit of cunning until Katniss had come along. I remembered that bit, I was in the lounge, finally trusted enough to be a proper mentor. Andressa had been unhappy but I was under the impression it wasn't presented as a choice.

If Peeta died Katniss would go off immediately. Or, perhaps worse from Finnick's point of view, she may get herself killed keeping him safe. The first was more likely, I had plenty of thoughts about their romance and the validity of it. Especially on her side.

I keep with Peeta until the klaxon goes at the end of the day. I'd done my best to make him like me, made sure I wasn't pushing and at points it was so easy. Speaking to someone close to my age, he asked about District Ten, the weather he had enjoyed so briefly on the Victory Tour. We speak about hobbies, he paints and I sing. His mother is apparently a fan of a couple of the larger scale shows I'd been forced in too. It's a bit more of a struggle to keep my smile at that point but I manage. I ask him about the bakery, the snow in District Twelve, the proposal. I watch his reaction closely at this point, he plays it off well, but there's a tightness that appears around his eyes and he fidgets more.
When we finish at the knotting station, which ended up mainly being me helping Peeta, there's a far more interesting spectacle. Katniss has finished making fishing hooks with Mags, something I'm sure Finnick has set up. She makes her way to the archery station.

She's astounding. Last years games have given me no impression as to how talented she is.

I'm not sure if this should make me happier, all it has done is added to the knot in my gut. Katniss is deadlier than feared, and if this doesn't work out and they go at it alone I could end up riddled with arrows before taking a breath. Not just that. When she's done, panting slightly whilst the trainer swoons, everyone in the room is staring at her. Haymitch will be indebted with alliance offers now.
By the time I'm back in the apartment, no sign of Berg although Opa demands every detail of my day, my palms are slick with sweat. This isn't going to work, Finnick is a fool. And wider plans of a rebellion against the Capitol, even more laughable. Doomed before it starts, in the hands of a seventeen year old.

When Opa finally shuts up, and I've barely taken in a word she's said, I head to my room, soak myself in the shower and go through several wash cycles. My mind is still scrambled, I try to push it back. Regardless of everything else, possible or impossible, I will die in the arena.
Maybe Berg has the right idea, he seems to enjoy being drunk, might as well make the most of our last few days alive. All I want to do is sleep, and I keep my bedroom door slightly open so that I can hear the main area. There is a tiny chance Atticus will come back. I should ask Opa if she had heard anything, where that stands.

I give up, lay on my bed and force happier times into my head. It doesn't take too long until they're tainted by the Capitol. Dinner is coming, and for Opa that's always a reason to be dressed up. We may have company, our stylists or prep teams usually. Have to be in character. I pick something out, slap on some make-up and tug my hair back so it looks presentable. By the time I have persuaded myself to break free of my tiny sanctuary we definitely do. I can hear several people down the hallway, familiar voices but not threatening ones.

One is still missing, and no doubt he is in his room stinking drunk. I storm past the door, change my mind and head back, fingers wrapped around the handle. Opa calls, I tell her I will just be a moment. When she totters into view she scowls. “He has been in there since lunchtime.” Her face is thunderous, and she forces it away as soon as she realises. It's odd, her charade dropped for a moment. Is mine as obvious? If so, it is imperative I change this.

“I'm going to try.” I speak gently, although she is back to her normal self and instead worries about putting back the first course. I offer for them to go on without us, after all, we won't be long. She debates this, but her ever-present hunger wins as usual and she goes back to our guests.

I push the door open, it takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust, and I close it behind me quickly so the smell doesn't escape. It's dark, barely lit by a lamp in the far corner. It also reeks of sick. There's a huddle half on the bed which takes on the form of my supposed partner. I poke it, careful to step around a particularly dark looking patch of carpet.

This is bad, he reacts, and I manage to untangle him but he is beyond drunk. I'd only seen him like this once before, and Andressa had dealt with him in this very room, ushering me away. I hadn't wanted to be ushered away, I was oddly desperate for human company after the evening I had spent away from them both. I remember her being worried though, there was drunk and there was dangerous drunk. There are some fuzzier versions of a similar memory, my father in Berg's place. Sian dealt with him mostly as well. Neither of them are here to help me, and I know full well there's a chance he could choke on his sick in this state. I need to get him cleaned up, try and empty his stomach and fill it with water and something to ease the inevitable hangover.

I drag him into the bathroom, although I have no chance of getting him in the tub. I try several times, but he's much too heavy for me and all I achieve is sick smeared up my arms. I need help for this bit at the least. I dare not go for Opa, she'd be no use as it was and I don't trust any of the others. Word of this spreads and Berg becomes even more of a laughing stock, and not in good humour.

I clean my arms, hoping I don't smell as bad as I probably do and slip out, gesturing to the male avox who is waiting beside the beverages. I hate to do it to him, but he is my only bet. Ari sidles up beside me as I am whispering desperately to him, I fall silent instantly and she glances between the two of us. You are only supposed to give direct orders to an avox, they are criminals who deserve this punishment. Thom used to say they were the lucky ones, some avox end up working underground and must buy their way out.

I don't know if it changes crime to crime, whatever this man did I'm sure did not warrant the mutilation.

“I thought Berg was joining us.” Ari chimes, sipping delicately on the wine, “He's not feeling very well.” My voice sounds strained even to myself, she lifts a brow, looks at the avox again. “Opa will pitch a fit if he goes with you.” I swallow insults, cruel words. “Is he bad?” She manages to speak before I am able. I nod, we're caught, little point pretending elsewise, “Healer sick or...” She spins her wrist so the liquid in her glass swirls. My face is her answer and she passes her wine to the man. “I'll help.” My arguments, still in lowered tones go unheard and she starts down to his room without me. This is an even more unlikely turn of events, she wants to help me deal with him, that's far below her, servant work. I don't sense an ulterior motive but there must be, no-one who works in a business that murders children is kind, I'd learnt that long ago, regardless of how they come across.

Ari swears when she enters the room, but lets me take charge without further complaint. She helps me lift him into the bathtub and vanishes to strip the bedding. I strip and wash Berg as best I can, he mutters something I don't understand ever so often but he's not aware enough to be embarrassed. I can manage that for both of us. He vomits again and I rinse it off. There's probably more to be brought up so I encourage this, order the vile pink liquid the Capitol citizens use to make them throw up so they can continue eating at grand events. This works plenty, although the bathroom reeks so bad it is nearly unbearable.

Finally, that seems to have stopped, Ari peeks her head around the door, tells me the bed is made and she has placed a mixture of medication at his bedside with a jug of water.

There's no chance to thank her before she vanishes and I'm not sure if I even can. Nothing about her seems quite right. She is almost like a normal person, and they do not exist in this city. She must manage some excuse as we're not disturbed and I kick off my shoes, vomit is stuck to my trousers and will stain the fabric. I work on keeping Berg warm and slowly get a couple of glasses of water and most of the pills down him. He's more coherent now, and with a lot of effort he stands and I half drag him back to his fresh bed, tug some shorts up his legs and tuck him in so he's propped up.

At least my father has the decency to get into this state out of the house, we normally had the after effects, the next day when any little word could send him into a fierce temper and you had to tiptoe around. I don't find myself cross at Berg if anything I want to cry. He's pathetic, he has given up on himself and is hiding from the future in bottles of spirits. It's cowardly, and he should be better than this.

His snoring fills the room after a while, we have long since missed dinner, but I lock his door just in case Opa plans to berate us and lay on the edge of the bed. If anything happens, at least I am here.