#our bit of catching a big fish then spinning around really fast near someone and going “Hitting you hitting you hitting you hitting you”

[masterrainb0w]

I likea da fish

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only For A Moment Ch. 46

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Canon violence, blood, trauma, feels

A/N: SURPRISE! Remember how I was like there are two more chapters (making this the final one)? Remember how I’m a liar? Yeah. Good times.  There is one chapter after this that will put a bow on this long and winding part one of OFAM. 

I’m deep in my feelings. I hope you all enjoy it. 

And, of course, shout out to @wonderlandmind4​ for being my beta and supporting my bullshit. (God read everything she does it’s wonderful.)

Tags are open!

When Steve offers to drive to the rendezvous with Sharon Carter you aren’t inclined to argue. You’d passed out the night before but it was nowhere near enough. 

In the back of the Beetle, you curl up next to Bucky, not that there was much choice. He tucks you under his arm and the sound of his steady heart paired with the motion of the car lull you back to dreamless sleep. You don’t stir until you hear Steve’s door creak open. 

Bucky shifts a bit next to you, clearly uncomfortable in the cramped space, trying not to jam his knees into Sam’s back as Steve had to him the night before. Glowering a bit at Sam for clearly ignoring his situation. 

He looks in the rearview mirror at Sam, “Can you move your seat up?” His tone measured, clearly trying to sound polite despite his annoyance. 

“No,” Sam says completely deadpan, not even bothering to meet Bucky’s stern gaze in the mirror. 

Silence lingers. Bucky attempts to shift just a little closer to you though there’s nowhere to go. You look between the two men and a laugh bubbles up. You try to contain it but Sam’s expression pushes you over the edge and you cackle, the sound filling the car. 

“You are the smallest person here so I don’t want to hear a thing from you.” His tone is serious but you catch the faintest glimmer of a smile in the mirror. 

Your laughter fades into an uncomfortable grimace as soon as Agent Carter turns her gaze to the three of you. With a tight smile on your lips, you lift your hand in a weak wave.  

“A wave, really?” Sam throws a sideways glance your way. 

“Just trying to be polite.”

“From what I hear you beat her ass yesterday. I think polite is out the window.” Sam gets out to help Steve with the gear. 

“Why’d you attack her?” Bucky asks. 

“She was going for you.” 

“Not like she didn’t have a good reason to.”

“Yeah, well-” you shrug- “I also headbutted the Black Widow so I’m down two for two on my girl power points.” He chuckles pressing a kiss to your temple. 

With the car stuffed with bodies and gear, Steve steers you toward the airport. The closer you get the heavier the silence, each person wrapped in their own fears and concerns. 

In an attempt to calm your racing thoughts you lean your ear back against Bucky’s chest, counting the steady beats. It doesn’t do much but remind you just what you’ll do, what you’ll sacrifice, to protect this heart. 

The moment Steve parks, you feel your stomach flip. Your gaze flits to Bucky’s only to see him looking down at you too. Sam and Steve step out but the two of you linger for a moment, knowing it may be the last time you have alone. 

“We’re gonna get through this. Together,” he says it like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. You try to take a deep breath and nod. 

“We should-” 

“Yeah,” he cuts you off. 

You reach forward to push the driver’s seat up. He pulls you back kissing you deeply. Breathless his lips hover above yours. Your heart skitters, the intensity in his gaze sending chills down your spine. 

Though you both want this moment to stretch, to last forever, you know it can’t. Begrudgingly he pulls back, allowing you enough room to extricate yourself from the cramped quarters. 

As you get out you catch the gaze of someone you recognize from Avenger’s coverage to be Clint Barton. He looks from you to Bucky, eyebrow cocked up in a knowing gaze. Feeling like a kid who’s been caught making out behind the bleachers you quickly turn away, rounding the car to stand beside Bucky as the five of them continue to chat. 

He slides his hand in your’s giving it a squeeze before interrupting, “We should get moving.”

Before anyone can respond a voice crackles over the airport intercom. As the announcer repeats the evacuation notice you glance up at Bucky, the muscle in his jaw twitching. 

“Stark,” Sam and Steve echo. 

“You’re not wearing that?” Clint nods to Cap, a smirk on his face. Steve shakes his head and pops open the trunk, stuffed with their contraband gear. 

“Let’s find someplace to get our bearings,” Steve says as he hands Sam his wings. 

You all hunker down in what seems to be a large custodian closet. There’s just enough space for you all but no extra room for modesty, not that it matters much to you. 

Geared up, everyone makes quick introductions, to both each other and who or rather what you’re all facing. The details out of the way Steve begins to layout a plan of attack as best he can, given the limited information available.

“We’ll split,” Steve says. “Bucky, you and Sam head into the terminal. If Stark and the others are here they’ll have the jet. Find it.” Bucky slides you a sidelong glance, drawing you closer, but doesn’t protest. 

“Wanda, you and Clint stick together and be my distance support. Scott, Y/N, you’re with me. They don’t know what either of you can do so the element of surprise will be useful if it comes to that.” 

Steve looks at everyone, every inch the leader, “Ready?” Nods from all, “Let’s make this as quick and clean as possible. No one needs to get hurt.” 

Before you head to follow Steve Bucky pulls you to him suddenly, his kiss fleeting and a touch desperate. His mouth opens as if to say something but he shakes his head. Lifting your hand to his lips he kisses your knuckles. As soon as he releases your hand you turn on your heel and sprint to catch up with Steve, too afraid that if you stop or look back that you’ll lose your nerve. 

From your position behind a storage container, you can clearly hear every word that falls from Tony Stark’s pompous mouth. Somehow each syllable makes you angrier than the last. You know Steve is just stalling but you have to actually hold your tongue between your teeth to keep from telling him to fuck himself.

A voice that sounds far too young to be here hits your ears and you almost peek out. Bigger fish, Y/N, you coach yourself. 

Finally, Sam’s voice comes through the comms, “We found it.” 

“Alright, guys,” Steve says. 

This was your go. The tension in your muscles release, and you spring to the top of the container and over to Steve, your feet never once touching the ground. 

“Who the hell?” The guy you assume is James Rhodes says. His body language showing the surprise you can’t see on his face. 

You couldn’t blame him. Lang, lands by you and Steve, handing him his shield, now back to his normal size in a matter of seconds. It was impressive and a little jarring to even you. 

To her credit, Romanoff doesn’t look the least bit phased. She gives Lang a once over, clearly trying to assess him. When her appraising stare falls to you, you’re a bit surprised to see more admiration than anger in her expression considering your last encounter. 

Stark, however, wastes no time. He heads for Wanda and Clint while Rhodes clocks Bucky and Sam’s position. 

You’re ready to move on Rhodes when King T’Challa growls, “Barnes is mine!” 

“The hell he is!” You wrap your power around his torso as he sprints for the terminal, tugging him back hard, as Steve launches his shield at T’Challa’s back. 

“Cover Rhodes,” Steve says as he pursues T’Challa. 

There isn’t time to argue though you want to. You can better handle someone with air proficiency and Steve is better suited for the ground. Still...

“Got it,” you grudgingly acknowledge turning to face Rhodes as he pulls out an oversized stun baton. Could he have picked a weapon you hated more?

“Look, I don’t know who you are but… I really suggest you stand down,” he says. 

“Thanks for the suggestion,” you say, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. 

Ensnaring the baton in your grasp you pull it from him. Simultaneously you land another invisible blow directly to the middle of his chest that sends him spinning back. The baton comes straight into your waiting palm just before he rights himself. 

“What the hell?!” He exclaims once more as you brandish his own weapon. 

“This thing is hefty-” you give it a once over- “overcompensating?” 

“Real funny,” he quips before shooting straight for you. 

He’s fast, but a big target is easy for you to get a feel of. Thrusting your power before you like a net, he slams into it. The reverberations of the impact thrum through your brain, pain sizzling at the edges of your vision. 

Pushing the discomfort aside you lift yourself from the ground, propelling yourself up and over him by stepping on his helmet. Pulling your power back he tumbles forward, you lasso his ankles, slamming him to the ground as you land behind him. 

The instant he moves to turn you swing the baton with all your force, landing it in his shoulder. Between the impact and the electricity, it manages to short the suit--at least for now. 

You’re going to have to tell Bucky he was right. All those hours of training did pay off. Damn. 

“Uh… can we get some assistance,” Sam’s voice pipes up in the comms. “We’re a little… tied up.”

“Heading your way,” you respond, sprinting toward the terminal. 

You try, you really do, to not laugh when you see them. Despite your best efforts and the absolute shit show of this entire situation you fail. The two of them are stuck to the ground with the same substance that spider kid had shot at Steve. 

“Really boys? You let a 12-year-old get the drop on you?”

Bucky stands, brushing the webbing off his arms. “He may be a kid but he stopped my left hook like it was nothing.” Your brows raise in surprise. “Who the hell would bring a kid into this?” Bucky’s expression is black with rage. 

“Stark,” is all Sam says in response. 

The three of you hustle from the terminal, running full tilt to catch up with the others. You coalesce and for a moment it actually feels like you’re going to make it to the jet, like just maybe this is going to work. That fleeting hope is severed when a beam from somewhere above you blasts a literal line into the tarmac. 

You stumble back a bit into Bucky’s arms. He presses you tight against him as you both look up to see someone straight out of science fiction--Vision, Steve called him. 

Even with the quite literal line drawn you all know there is no turning back now. There is too much at risk if you do. 

Bucky’s arms tighten almost imperceptibly before releasing you, gesturing for you to take Wanda’s side. You do so, the two of you exchanging a meaningful glance. 

“What’d we do Cap?” Sam asks, though his tone says he knows the answer as well as the rest of you. 

“We fight,” Steve replies joylessly. 

Everything that follows happens so fast. 

You and Wanda fall into a fast rhythm, tag-teaming the aerial targets by lobbing projectiles in an attempt to ground them. While your aim is excellent her force far outweighs yours. 

“I’ll hold you land the hit,” you call to her. She nods. You grip the kid mid-swing and she slams a piece of debris into him knocking him down. “Damn you’re good!”

“You’re not too bad either,” she grins. 

Before you turn your focus to Rhodes you glance around to spot Bucky. He’s going hard blow for blow with T’Challa. 

Wanda and you exchange a glance. She nods and you split. 

Running at a dead sprint you try to catch T’Challa’s next blow before it finds it’s target, but you’re too slow. He lands a kick that sends Bucky careening into a stack of crates with a sickening crack. 

T’Challa stalks forward, blocking your view of Bucky’s collapsed body, with claws out. There is no time to consider if Bucky is even conscious. He’ll kill him, is the only thought you have. 

Sending your power out to T’Challa, you’re surprised to only find purchase on the surface, unable to sink under his suit to do any internal harm. It doesn’t matter though. 

Mustering a level of force that sends shivers through your body you hurl him away from Bucky. T’Challa rights himself in the air landing gracefully, claws sparking against the concrete, as you place yourself between Bucky’s unconscious form and him. 

“You,” he growls. The word barely hits your ear before he charges. 

His attacks are painfully quick with a fluidity you’ve never encountered. Even Bucky wasn’t this good. He lands several blows but your power reacts instinctively, cushioning them enough that you aren’t brought down. Soon you are able to hone in on his rhythm, managing several good moments of contact yourself. 

“This isn’t about you!” 

“It is if it’s about him,” you spit back. 

He roars in frustration, his leg swinging to kick your feet from under you. It’s the slightest bit less refined than his other moves, nowhere near sloppy but it’s enough that you’re able to clock it quickly. You kick away from the ground, landing behind him. 

This gives you the advantage you need. You manage a well-placed blow to the backs of his knees and he falls forward. Winding your power around his middle you squeeze tight enough to hear a small gasp and force him away. 

You only glance behind you for a breath, just wanting to see if Bucky was ok. The relief from seeing him get to his feet doesn’t have the chance to sink in. Turning back all to the fight before you all you register is a block blur before searing pain tears through your chest. 

“Y/N!” Bucky screams. 

But you don’t make a sound. Your eyes are fixed on the splashes of red spattering the concrete as you hit your knees, still not registering that it’s yours despite the pain. A shaking hand rises to your chest, coming away covered in blood from four deep gouges.  

A feral sound draws your eyes up to see Bucky attacking T’Challa with a ferocity you’ve never seen. Still, he holds Bucky back until you see a red cloud grab hold of him, throwing him away. 

“Doll!” Bucky calls out, running to your side. He grabs your shoulders, jostling the wounds on your chest. 

Now you scream. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. 

“I’ve got her,” Wanda’s voice from behind you. It’s strange to be moved like this by a force that’s not your own. Wanda’s power—red, warm, tingling like static—gently moves you, resting your back against the crates Bucky had been thrown against a moment before. 

“Y/N’s down,” Bucky says in a tight voice. 

“I’m ok,” you say through clenched teeth. “Go.” Wanda gives you one last look before listening. Unsurprisingly Bucky doesn’t budge. “Bucky-”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, unable to take his eyes from the wounds in your chest.

His hands hover awkwardly over you, unsure where to touch you to avoid causing more pain. He settles on resting a tentative hand on your thigh. When he finally looks you in the face his expression is something you’ve never seen—a terrifying combination of utter fear and abject rage. 

“Holy shit,” Steve breathes as he crouches next to you both. 

“’ Tis but a scratch,” you say attempting to sit up straighter. Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Seriously, I’m going to be fine.” And you suspected you weren’t lying, the blood had already slowed some even if it hurt like hell. 

“How’re we gonna get her to the jet?” Steve asks. You’re a little touched by the deep concern in his tone. 

“We aren’t,” Sam says over the comms. 

“What?!” Bucky bellows so loud you flinch. 

“There’s no way all of us are getting out of here,” Sam responds. 

“As much as I hate to admit that Wilson’s right-”

“He is right,” you cut off the rest of Clint’s words covering Bucky’s hand with yours. “You two have to go.”

“No,” his voice shakes. 

“We’ve got her back,” Sam reassures. 

“Absolutely,” Clint says backing him. 

“Don’t ask me to do this,” Bucky choaks out. 

With a shaking blood-stained hand, you push a strand of hair from his eyes. “This is bigger than us.” 

“Dammit,” he says through clenched teeth. “Fine. Ok.” 

“Alright, Lang,” Steve confers over the comms, having been laying out a plan while you convinced Bucky. “On your mark.” 

“Help me up,” you ask Bucky.

“You really should-”

“I’d rather be on my feet.” Begrudgingly, he helps you stand on shaky legs. 

Leaning into Bucky for support, you watch in wonder as Lang becomes the size of a jet. An awestruck laugh bubbles up before you can stop it, moving the muscles in your chest causing you to hiss in pain. 

“Y/N?” Bucky asks, tone frantic. You pat his chest reassuringly. 

“Guess that’s the signal,” Steve throws a look at you both. 

Bucky’s eyes are desperate, still, you say, “Go.”

He takes your face in his hands, kissing you deeply before pulling back. “I love you.” 

“I love all of you.”

“Remember your promise.” It’s not a question. 

You nod, “Don’t make me keep it and I won’t make you.” 

“Deal,” he says with a sad smile. 

“We gotta go,” Steve says. 

Bucky backs away from you slowly before turning to run. The wounds in your chest nothing compared to the hurt of watching him go. 

Your fight isn’t done. Cradling your left arm across your chest, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure on the wound you start to make your way forward.

“Nope,” Clint drops down in front of you. “Sit your ass down.” 

“I-” He cuts you off with a look and you lean against the crates until he’s satisfied. It only lasts until you see the blast from Vision sending debris tumbling to block Bucky and Steve’s entry to the jet. 

You hardly breathe as you run, pain searing through your chest, clouding your vision. Wanda catches everything giving them enough space to get through before Rhodes hits her with something sending her to her knees. 

Anger swells within you, momentarily taking place of the pain. You heave Rhodes away from Wanda before collapsing yourself. Clint rushes to your side, holding you up. 

“What did I say?” 

“I’m a bad listener.” 

“Clearly.” He positions himself behind you so you’re able to lean into him. 

The jet bursts from the hanger and you feel yourself relax. They can do this, they can fix this. Steve will bring him back. 

“What now?” You ask Clint.

“We wait.” 

-

None of you fight back when military police descend on the airstrip knowing this is what you signed up for by staying. Medical whisks Rhodes away and sees to the kid in the spider suit while you sit on the tarmac bleeding, breathing through the pain. 

“Anyone, gonna get to her?!” Sam berates the officers. 

“It’s fine Sam.”

“It’s not. You’ve lost a lot of blood, Y/N.” He looks around, “Hey! Come on!” 

“That’s enough,” one of them remarks before grabbing Sam’s arms and forcefully cuffing them behind his back. 

Hands come from behind you as well, grabbing your forearms and wrenching your arms behind you. You can’t hold in the scream as the motion pulls the gashes across your chest open wide, fresh blood seeping into your ruined shirt. 

A chorus of anger rises from your ragtag team, though the words are lost in the onslaught of pain. That is until someone kneels in front of you, pressing a clean towel to your chest. 

“Thank… you,” you manage, trying to gulp in air. 

“You’re welcome,” a woman’s voice says. “Maybe don’t head butt me this time.” You look up to see Romanoff. 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Your eyes squeeze shut as your body sways from blood loss. 

She steadies you, pressing the towel tighter against your chest. “What is Barnes to you that he’s worth this.”

You look up into her vivid green eyes, mind clear suddenly. “Everything.”

She stares for a moment to see if there’s more before her brows raise. “Oh… Oh.” Natasha looks back as a jet lands, a few official-looking men stepping off. 

“Can we get medical over here? She needs to be seen to,” Natasha says as they approach. 

“She’ll be seen on the jet,” an older gentleman says in a grave tone. 

“Secretary Ross,” Natasha places herself between you and the man. 

“This the only injury on this side?”

“Side? This isn’t a war, Secretary.” 

“Isn’t it?” He steps around her, looking down at you. You unflinchingly meet his gaze. 

“Secretary, with all due respect, this woman needs-”

“Wilson, I suggest you shut your mouth unless you intend to tell me where Barnes and Rogers are heading.” The Secretary gives everyone a once over, “Load them up.” 

Everyone but you is locked into their seat on the jet. As you climb in altitude your head swims and you fold forward. 

“Sit back,” Clint says gently. “You want to keep your heart elevated.”

You force yourself back, head thudding painfully into the metal of the chair behind you. 

Secretary Ross enters, a med-tech behind him pushing a cart. He stands stoically, looking down at every person in the room. The tech approaches you, irrigation bottle in hand. 

“Come on,” Sam grumbles. “Can’t you at least see her in a med bay?”

“She’s lucky she’s being seen at all,” Ross says in a chilling tone. 

He watches as the tech soaks the towel, removing it from your chest, despite the ache you refuse to make a noise. You’d had enough interactions with men like this Ross character to know that you never show them an ounce of fear or weakness. 

The tech studies your wounds for a moment hands working swiftly to attach a blood pressure monitor to your wrist. He looks at the reading, brows creasing in disapproval.  

“Blood type?” He asks. 

“AB.” He takes a note before turning a more focused gaze to the gashes. 

“We’re going to have to cut the shirt off, likely fibers in the wound.” He turns to the cart and shuffles around, when he turns back there’s a needle in his hand. The blood pressure monitor on your wrist begins to beep as your heart ticks up, the increased blood flow making your chest throb. 

“What is that?” You ask, hating the way your voice trembles slightly. Flashes of countless needles being forced into your veins fill your mind. 

“Morphine.” He reaches for your arm and you pull back as far into the chair as possible. 

“No.”

“Ma’am,” he sighs out clearly annoyed. “You’re gonna need sutures-”

“I don’t need drugs. I’ll be-”

“I don’t think you understand how much this is going to-”

“I’ve had worse,” you say matter of factly. 

“Give her the damn sedative,” Ross demands. 

“She said no,” Wanda says. Ross turns an indignant gaze her way. 

The tech moves to try and administer it again but you latch your power onto the syringe in his hand, crushing it. He stares, confused and a little scared at the liquid dripping down his arm. 

“Maximoff,” Ross starts but then pauses. Slowly he turns back to look at the shattered remains, seeming to realize that Wanda’s signature red glow didn’t accompany that action. 

His cold stare lands on you. “Just get her cleaned up Aarons.” 

“Yessir.”

Ross storms off, pausing at the exit, “I will deal with all of you on the Raft.” 

Aarons pulls two small folding stools from the cart and guides you into one with surprising gentleness. With your back facing the others he cuts open your shirt. You hear him let out a puff of breath as he sees the scars there. 

You have to hand it to him, Aarons works quickly, truly trying to not cause more discomfort than necessary. His eyes search yours on occasion, especially in moments he expects you to grimace or show pain. 

He finishes bandaging you up and guides you back to the chair. “Sorry,” he says, motioning for you to place your arms in a position to be manacled. You say nothing, simply do as you’re told. 

“You’ll need a transfusion. I’ll try to get to that before we land.”

“Thanks,” you say. He nods and leaves. 

They do not get to it. Not that it matters much. You know your body will heal, whatever Hydra had filled you with would ensure that. Your heart though… 

Already the distance and uncertainty weigh heavily. Every few minutes you have to talk yourself down, silently coaching yourself that he will be ok, he must be ok. They will succeed. But if they didn’t… Well, your broken heart would be the least of the world’s concerns then. 

As soon as they land on The Raft you’re shuffled out with the rest. Until now you didn’t understand what The Raft was—a prison, a floating prison for the worst the world had to offer. When you’d agreed that some of you would have to hold back you’d assumed they’d put you all somewhere but never this. 

They march you all down a long corridor, opening into a large space where several other corridors branch off. Everyone else is led to the right while they jostle you to the left. Terror makes alarms sound in your mind but your expression stays impassive.

“Where are you taking her?!” Sam calls out. “Hey, wait!” There’s a thud, you look back to see Sam doubled over, his eyes look up and meet your own. You shake your head no as they lead you away. 

He means well, but you have a feeling he’s never been a prisoner before. You on the other hand… you were a seasoned pro—captivity almost felt like an old, unwelcome, friend. The key was to give them nothing. Not fear, not anger, not even respect. The key was to become… nothing. 

Comply. 

Survive. 

You’re left in a cold room, cuffed to a metal chair--still with nothing more covering your torso than bandages and a blood-stained sports bra--for an indiscriminate amount of time. 

You don’t move, barely flick your eyes around the space, just stare forward. Because you don’t need to move to know your surroundings. 

Sending your power out you find the small pinhole cameras embedded in the metal walls, you feel just beyond those walls other rooms. You push it a bit further, into the corridor, to get a feel for the activity happening around you, and keep your focus there so you will know when someone is entering.

Is it muscle memory that keeps you stiff, upright, expression impassive? You’re bone-tired and should be fighting sleep in this quiet space, body demanding shut down. But no. You’re alert, ready at any moment for anything.

You aren’t startled when the door behind you opens, don’t even turn to look back. It’s not until Ross sits in a chair across the metal table from you that you realize you’d been bracing your body for a blow or the crackling feeling of a shock baton. 

He doesn’t say anything, studying you with a cold appraising glare. After a time he nods to unseen eyes and images fill the wall behind him. 

At first these photos of a woman going about mundane daily tasks—waiting for a train her hair in a messy bun, head thrown back in a laugh with friends around her, standing on a street corner impossibly balancing bags of food and four drinks, sitting on a bench looking out at the water—mean nothing to you. Just still life images. 

Clarity careens into you like a freight train. It takes effort to keep your impassive mask in place as you stare. That woman… that was you. 

How did you not immediately see yourself? How could you not see Nix, a portion of his Cheshire-like grin captured on the edge of one image? How did you not recognize the bright pink of Marcus’ hair in another? How?

Suddenly they’re gone. You want to beg them to bring them back, let you see just the smallest glimpses of the people you lost, the person you were. But you don’t. You sit, like a statue, as a video begins to play. 

A woman with long thick curls hanging around her face stares down an unseen person with a look that could strip paint— That’s me, you remind yourself. The audio is a bit crackly but you can make out the sound of your own voice well enough.

“I suggest you back off, mother fucker,” this past you growls. 

The camera becomes a blur, the sounds of scuffling and fabric obscuring a mic are all that can be heard for a time until—

A loud thud and a groan ring clear, the image clears revealing you staring down at your hands and back at the man. You look horrified and confused, a bit of blood trickling from a busted lip. 

Memory cracks through you like lightning. This was only a few weeks before they took a wrecking ball to your entire life. You’d run home and Nix had been furious that you refused to go to the cops until you told him what you did, how your ability lashed out. There was no more arguing after that, he understood the necessity of this secret. 

Nix helped you get cleaned up, ordered pizza, and braided your hair while you both watched old movies into the wee hours. You could almost feel his sure fingers finding their way through your curls, weaving them together in tight plaits.

Ross’ voice pulls you back from the void of loss threatening to engulf you, “When Ms. Romanoff released Hydra’s files to the public we took special interest in cases like yours. Of course, we assumed that you’d been put down… Reaper.” 

That fucking name. The code Hydra gave you. You hate that you flinch just a bit from it. Hate the burn of bile in your throat. 

“Or do you prefer Sara Madison?” The name you’d taken at 16 when you started a new life. “Or is it Y/N Y/L/N?” The name you’d been born with. New images flash onto the wall behind him. These faces you recognize instantly. 

“I’m sure they’d all say, Reaper, is far more appropriate.” 

It takes everything to fight the nausea, to keep the tremors at bay. Don’t give him the satisfaction, you tell yourself. 

“Nineteen confirmed kills. Given your methods, I don’t doubt there are more.” He opens a folder and lays out several more faces you know. “Heart attack, brain aneurysm, stroke—nothing suspicious about natural death.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “It’s a masterclass, truly.”

Such a good attack dog, that Hydra bastard’s voice rings in your head. 

“All of this is enough for us to try you on everything from first-degree murder to treason. I can assure you that it will not end well for you.” He moves his hands into his lap, “But, we’d be willing to reconsider legal action if you’d simply tell us where Barnes and Rogers are.” 

You almost laugh. Instead, you just raise a brow, continuing to stare straight at him. The quick flash of anger in Ross’ eyes fills you with satisfaction. 

He takes a deep breath, his own composure falling back in place, and stands, circling behind you. A heavy hand lands on your left shoulder, fingers reaching around to the tops of the freshly stitched wounds there. Slowly but steadily he applies pressure to them, pain exploding. You grind your teeth, fighting the scream. 

“I should also inform you,” Ross growls into your ear, “that for all rights and purposes you don’t exist. A trial would be a formality.” His grip tightens suddenly and you can’t hold back the hiss of pain.

“Personally,” his other hand grabs your hair, forcing your head back to look up at him, “I would rather not waste taxpayer dollars on trying things like you and Barnes. If you push me, I’m sure I can find creative ways to extract the information we need.” 

You can’t fully place why your face fills with a smirk or why it grows into a full smile. Maybe you’re delirious with pain and exhaustion because the smile breaks out into a belly laugh. It hurts your chest but you can’t stop. Ross’ backhand cracking across your face doesn’t even stop it. Peals of laughter pour from you. 

“Lock her up,” he barks to someone behind you. 

Rough hands grab you, dragging you from the room. You’re still smirking when they unceremoniously toss you into a cell. 

Stumbling forward you barely catch yourself before crashing into the wall. You rest your forehead against the cool metal until your knees refuse to hold you any longer. Turning you lean against the wall and slide down it. 

Across from your cell you can just see the edge of Wanda’s. She’s staring into your cell intently, arms bound in a goddamn straight jacket. Anger flairs in you—she couldn’t be more than 20 for fuck’s sake. 

She gestures to her chest with her chin then nods at you. Glancing down you notice that blood has soaked through the bandages there. You give her a weak smile and a thumbs up. She rolls her eyes and a true smile lifts the corners of your mouth. 

Muffled sounds outside the cell wake you. Honestly, you hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep on the hard floor. 

It takes a moment for your eyes to focus in on what they’re seeing—Wanda fighting back against guards trying to take her somewhere. She can’t use her ability without her hands you realize. Still, she kicks and thrashes, anything to slow them. 

You stand legs wobbling a bit, and approach the glass and metal door to your cell, letting your anger rise with each step. Taking as deep a breath as you can manage you push a wave of your power out. Unfortunately, it catches Wanda’s footing too but it’s enough to get their attention. 

Startled eyes slide around the room, unsure of where to focus their anger. One of the men stand and you immediately throw him back. Another does the same and you toss him aside, truly surprised at the amount of force you’re able to muster. 

This continues on for a minute before a flurry of new guards, led by Ross, pour into the cellblock. 

“What the hell is-” You grab Ross before he can finish and slam him against the wall hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. He stares at you, hatred dripping from him. 

“Leave her alone. She doesn’t know shit.” 

Ross clears his throat, “You ready to talk?”

You shrug, “Thought you wanted to get creative.” Ross nods at you and they open your cell, dragging you out.

“No!” Wanda yells as they push her back into her cell. 

“It’s ok,” you tell her over your shoulder. 

While you didn’t doubt that the US Government could be very imaginative you did doubt they were true masters like Hydra. And if they were…you could take it, you already had before. All you needed to do was keep Ross distracted enough that he stayed off of Wanda and the others. 

It was the least you owed them.

Tag List:

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[johnnypovolny]

Lima (A big disorganized hodgepodge of memories...)

-I bought a surfboard! The other day I successfully paddled all the way out in the weaker current near the dock (which is still scary because you have to avoid getting pushed under the pylons of the restaurant) and into the large break way out offshore and catching like a 10-12 foot wave, easily the biggest wave I’ve ever surfed, so that was super exciting. It’s also just beautiful watching the fish jump and the cormorants dive for small fry, the sunset behind the islands off the coast, and the evening swarm of paragliders on the cliffs of the Malecon.

-I’m starting to make friends: I have a group of guys I met at the outdoor workout equipment in the Malecon who train together (and the group is growing). Our whatsapp group chat is nicknamed Los Hermanos Sudados (the sweaty brothers), which i think is hilarious (mostly because it was my idea). The guy I’m closest with (Jhon, a personal trainer from Venezuela) invited me to the beach with his wife and some friends last weekend and afterward we had dinner on the open air patio at their house and played cards. I also spend a lot of time with my neighbors Andres and Ricky, and have been on a couple of fun dates with girls I met at the surfing beach.

- A lot of the fancy/expensive restaurants that are on the 50 best list (Astrid Y Gaston, Osso)  are very good but in my opinion not worth the big tab or the hype. The really impressive food for me has been at the more economical places like the dumpling tacos at Bao, fresh fruit, chupe, and ceviche in the Mercado Surquillo, lomo saltado in the menu del dia places, and the sandwiches and juices (pina or mango and grenadilla) at El Enano and El Chinito. Though my pumpkin risotto and pollo saltado at Tanta was incredible: that’s probably been my favorite higher-end meal.

-People here love grey Scottish terriers. I’m not sure if this dog is like a fashion or status symbol but they seem to be everywhere (like Subarus in Portland.)

-I live about 2 blocks from Parque Kennedy (the unofficial heart of Miraflores) and there are always people walking, buskers (watched an amazing group of 4 female singers kiling a harmony), street vendors selling sandwiches and anticuchos, and of course the wild cats (yeah, cats) that live in the park and are cared for by the people of the city. The city has a really live energy in general. There’s a bustle that makes it feel a little bit like if New York City was a surf town. So far, there’s literally nothing I don’t like about this town. The food is incredible, the prices are cheap, my apartment is amazing, the weather (and the women) are gorgeous, the sea is close by, and the people here are the most friendly I’ve met in my travels since Thailand. Everyone is helpful, kind, and extremely open to being friends right away (and the old ladies in the market call me “papito” and “mi amor”, which I find extremely adorable and welcoming). And in addition, I just really feel connected to the place I’m living, which is really fun- for the first time in my travels I have like my own place to live, walk past and greet the same people multiple days in a row (like the lady who sells arroz con leche, I need to learn her name). The one thing I haven’t really done much of is explore the nightlife, so I’m excited to make that happen soon!

-One evening, Fernanda (a friend from my surf beach) and I went to Malabar, the 38th best restaurant in Latin America. It’s a concept started by a chef called Pedro Miguel Schiaffino that focuses on recreating dishes from around the world using ingredients from the amazon and on avoiding preservatives, dyes, etc to create totally natural dishes. FINALLY, a high end restaurant that was worth the price tag! To me the fun of the meal was the contrast: in types and strengths of flavors (explosive strength from produce, subtle aromatics from herbs, etc), textures, and even temperatures. We had 6 things: Tika Masalu: a “banana ceviche”, raw sweet banana topped with cherry tomatoes, an aromatic herb that had a little bit of a thai/vietnamese food vibe, salty dried banana leafs that reminded me of nori, and a bright yellow sweet sauce. Jamon de Paiche: a cured “ham” made from the paiche, which is a giant amazonian river fish that gets to be between 7 and 15 feet long as an adult. Pato in Aji Negro: a braised or roasted leg of duck and a strip of rare seared duck meat with blackberries, more tiny herbs, a rich brown reduction, and some sort of crunchy roasted and crushed nut that also seemed like it would be really good in a desert with chocolate and caramel. Cocolon: AMAZING. A salty, savory, intensely flavorful stew of rice then fried in a large patty so the outside got crispy, served with shrimp, this sort of pork jerky, fried banana, and a “chorizo” (again made from paiche), and a drizzled in reduction/gravy made from the accompaniments. This is what I’ve always wished paella would taste like: something more approaching jambalaya. in terms of flavor intensity, but savory instead of spicy. Chocolate dessert (can’t remember the name) : A dense pastry of some sort of crumbly rust topped in a squishy white sweet filling (maybe coconut based?) and topped with a dome of dark chocolate but done with almost the squishy, pleasantly resistant texture of marshmallow. On the side was a crunchy roast nut that tasted kind of like caramel corn. This was one of my favorite contrasts of the night: the gooey chocolate-marshmallow texture with the crunch of the nuts. Coco y Pina: a coconut shell served with a sort of creamy, sweet flan made from coconut. The flan was served piping hot with a citrusy, bright, and freezing cold dollop of pineapple ice cream on the top and a drizzle of some sort of thin, sweet, brown sauce (might have just been simple syrup made from brown sugar). The contrast of this was insane also, hot, creamy flan and cold, tart ice cream. I also had a very passable old fashioned, which after months of not drinking any good whiskey was so welcome. Fer had a really cool drink made from gin with citrus  juices, some sort of salty ingredient derived from cacao, and aromatic herbs in it, served tall: really complex and delicious. It was also really nice to have company, someone to agree with me and debate with me on the food, share the experience, and swap stories and chat together while we enjoyed. 5 STARS FOR DINNER AT MALABAR. 

-My buddy Joanie that I met doing the salt flats tour in Bolivia came into town this week and we met up to go to the Parque de Las Aguas with some of the people from her hostel. The park is this huge greenspace with tons of different fountains, including a traditional circular one with arcing jets and a parthenon-esque backdrop, a tunnel of jets you can walk through, and a huge row of vertical jets that are lit up in rainbow colors and then every hour perform a show where videos of peruvian people and destinations are projected onto a curtain of fine mist, the jets performed dances of color change and movement, and lazer lights are used to create 3D animals and shapes in the curtain of water. We had a really good time walking around exploring (and in the harrowing cab ride on the way there, where we were nearly compressed between two buses merging towards each other), then afterward we got some mexican food near parque Kennedy. Super nice to see my friend again! 

-Went surfing on Saturday and got two of the best waves of my life, back to back: they were still green when I caught them (fast moving swell that hasn’t crested and broken yet) so I got the amazing feeling of riding down the steep face from the top as the wave as it broke and then turning to chase unbroken portions of the face, pushing down with my weight to stay on the wave as it got less strong and then feeling following waves catch up and pick my speed up again. I rode probably 150 meters on each one and it felt so amazing- I finally felt like a real surfer for the first time. I love that “aha” moment in sports, music, etc- when you’ve been putting time and effort into something really difficult and you get the first glimpses of what it feels like to actually succeed. Amazing. After my session, Fernanda and I went to go watch the Neon Night, a night time surfing championship, lit up by the huge on the water at Playa Roquitas. We got there in time to watch the women’s and then the men’s finals. SO COOL. The guys especially were insane to watch: they absolutely charge along the face of the waves, stomping over and over to gain speed, and the curving up to leap off the top of the cresting wave and spin 3’s and even 5’s, impossibly landing and riding out in the whitewater. There was stage set up with a neon background and huge spotlights going into the sky and we watched a local band from Chorrillos (pretty well known based on the number of people singing along) perform a sort of rock-reggae-latin blend that I really enjoyed (I don’t like pure reggae very much but this was enough of a mix that it was really enjoyable and fit the tone of the event really well).

-Andres taught me to cook lomo saltado: cube the meat and rub with salt, pepper, and cumin. Add to a pot with sliced onion, tomato, soy sauce, and a splash of pisco or beer, stew down! Make rice and fry potato wedges and eat everything together!

-Got a couple more really good waves recently- I’m starting to be able to occasionally catch a wave as it crests and really drop into it from the top, which is a crazy sensation- I went one day when the waves were huge (we got a safety advisory text from the city of Lima civil defense service to stay off the beach because of abnormally large waves and all the surfers were like “nahhhh.. We’re getting in”). Caught a wave that like fell out from under me and it was amazing! 

-Hung out with Sam and Erin a couple times when they were in town: once we got lunch in Mercado Surquillo and then in the evening met up with them and Fernanda to go out for many different beers and play ride the bus. Another time met up with them and their friends Kirsten and Nick to have beers at Nuevo Mundo, drink more beers at their hostel, and go to Chifa Hou Wha all together for a big chinese food extravaganza. I like all four of those Kiwis- they’re immensely open, interesting, and lovely people. I especially love to talk to Sam- he’s one of those people who just has tons of information and cool stories about the things he’s passionate about, and we have a ton of interests in common.

-Had a day of surfing where I met an older guy named Pablo, who’s a farmer and has a duck hatchery and almost got robbed on the highway one time. Caught some amazing waves including one where i was like pumping and riding along the face all the way to the end of the right break, screaming and hollering the whole time and afterwards he was impressed that I’ve only been surfing for a few months because I’m already standing up quickly! It was a day where I felt really in control and felt all the practice I’ve done paying off!

-OSKAKA: This is the best restaurant in Lima. I went solo the first time and had an amazing experience: an amazing drink with this sort of crushed pink sorbet on the top, steak and quail egg nigiri, shrimp nigiri with parmesan, ceviche made from smoked tuna and crispy sweet potato and these little balls of something that looked like salmon roe but green and with a yuzu ponzu sauce that will haunt me for the rest of my life, incredible slow cooked ribs, mixed seafood sauteed in spicy japanese butter served in shells on a bed of rocks interspersed salt on fire (yes, on fire), and so many other good things. I liked it so much that Sammya and I went back like a week later and had about 8 more things. Some highlights that I hadn’t tried before were a salmon and shrimp roll with this citrusy, creamy white sauce poured all over it that was insane and a spicy whitefish nigiri. I also had this drink that was like a rum old fashioned and came served out of a barrel over a ball of cacao ice (super tasty but not too different, just really loved the presentation). I had the same server (Leslie) both times, who was fantastic, and sat at the sushi bar where you can watch all the prep happening, so it’s like dinner and a show. Both times I went here, I left feeling that for once I got my money’s worth at a high end restaurant. 

-I watched Peru play a Copa America game on a big screen set up in the street next to parque kennedy and loved that experience- it’s fun to experience this part of the world has for the sport. I also watched a few games (including a Colombia match) at El Parcero- it’s a Colombian bar so when they scored things went WILD and the sassy lady next to me kept pouring me tequila shots from their bottle service

-Close to the end of the trip, Andres invited me to this event in Chorrillos called The Toro Fest. Earlier in the day, for which I didn’t make it in time, there was bullfighting (Ricky participated and almost got stabbed with a horn). Then in the evening when I arrived (with Andrea, a really cool, down to earth girl I met and danced with when I went out to the bars in Barranco with an American friend named Nate), there was this competition happening in a little ring surrounded by crowded plywood bandstands lit by a string of warm yellow bulbs hanging along the top railing. First was singers, then drummers, then dancers. Basically people from the crowd would sign up and on your turn you had to go in, chug a beer, and then perform in the thing you’d signed up for. After watching you the crowd would be asked “Se queda o se va?” (“Should they stay or should they go?”) and roar its judgement. It was really fun- there was a guy with a huge afro who played the cajon like crazy and then a pair of dancers where the guy was a professional and was such a good lead got paired with a really talented girl who could follow super well, so they looked completely choreographed after never having danced together before. Andrea and I drank some beers and had a blast watching everyone- I wanted to join the singing competition but it was ending when we arrived. After the competition, everyone headed over to the main stage where we got to watch a live salsa band (apparently a super well known peruvian group)- a huge group of latino guys of various ages with horns and percussion in jean jackets, led by this high-energy black singer with a shaved head. They were awesome- It felt so much more electric dancing to a live group, we danced a ton and had a blast!

Overall- I really loved this city. I maybe stayed a little too long, but it was a lovely place of food, friendship, and adventure. 

[j-c-bird]

When No One Knows Your Name (Part 2/2)

There are many noises in the world that drive people crazy. Maybe it’s repeated clicking of a pen, or the beeping of a car’s horn, or even a dog constantly barking at nothing all night long. There is one sound, however, that is by far the worst. No other noise brings so many negative emotions in an instant. That sound is an alarm going off in the morning.

With a groan, I roll out of bed. Across the room sits my blaring alarm, far enough I can’t hit the snooze button from the warmth of my mattress. My parents truly are cruel for coming up with that one as a solution for my inability to wake in time. Grumbling, I halfway trip to the offending device and turn it off. The sound still rings in my ears. My alarm is the only thing needed to rouse the entire house.

Groggily I reach over and grab my phone. There’s already a message waiting for me from Julie. I’m not surprised. She always texts me early in the morning, right before her swim practice.

You better get to school on time today Trinity. Don’t forget to bring your camera. You owe me a photoshoot.

I roll my eyes but still smile. I do owe her a photoshoot. Especially since the rest of yearbook just so happens to always ‘forget’ about Julie being on the swim team. Really though it’s just Lorene forcing Rosie to make sure never to take pictures of Julie. I don’t know why she hates my friend so much, but she does.

Ok. Be ready for it after school. I shoot back.

Yawning, I head into the bathroom. My hair is a mess, looking more like a brown nest than the ponytail I left it in last night. With a wince I start working on brushing out the tangles. Eventually I find the hair tie, and subsequently have to rip out my own hair to get it. This is the last time I wear it up to bed.

Heading back to my room I look over my clothing options for the day. There isn’t much, I need to do laundry this evening. Lifting up a shirt in the mirror, I turn slightly as to yell over my shoulder.

“Hey Mom! Do I look better in blue or red!”

“Blue! Red clashes with the green in your eyes!” She screams right back. The dog barks at both of us for being loud. She likes to sleep. I smile, and pull on the shirt. With that I return to the bathroom to put on makeup. I need to get some more foundation soon. The bottle is almost out.

“Trinity!” Mom calls, “Come on! We’re going to be late!”

“Coming!” I holler, grabbing a scarf on my way out.

------

Letting out a yelp, I spring from my seat as paint is splattered all over the girl who was sitting next to me. The green coats her hair in half formed clumps, and already the entire class is laughing at her.

“Jay! I can’t believe you. Just look at the mess you made of yourself,” The black haired girl across from us purrs. Lorene. The paint covered girl doesn’t react to the taunt, instead she gets up and trudges out of the room. The teacher doesn’t stop her, instead he glares out at the classroom.

“Alright. Who threw paint at Miss Ayers?” He grumbles out. No one steps up. I think it was Lorene and Rosie, but I was working on my paper and didn’t see. Some part of me feels slightly bad for it. I know that those two torment that girl all the time in this class. Maybe if I’d kept better watch, I could have stopped them.

“No one? Ok then. Everyone grab a sponge. Until someone confesses, everyone is going to clean. I want this room spotless before the bell rings,” The teacher orders, before following the prints of paint out into the hall. The entire class groans, and some people even throw jabs at Lorene, but no one decides to turn her in. Everyone knows what happens when you make yourself one of her targets.

I pick up a sponge, and start working on cleaning the chairs. The one the girl sat in, I think they said her name was Jay, takes some scrubbing. The paint is already drying. I can’t imagine how it would feel to have this in my hair and all over my clothes. That prank was cruel, even for Lorene and Rosie. I hope the girl is alright.

------

“And so everyone had to clean. I was almost late to third period because of those two,” I complain, rather loudly, to Julie as we get our food. She listens intently, a look of disgust spreading across her face. Can’t say I blame her. Those two are nasty.

“Someone should really put those two in their place. I’ve seen that girl. She never hurt anyone,” Julie grumbles, gripping an apple tightly in her hand. I nod in agreement before getting into line to pay. Our conversation soon drifts over to the subject of this afternoon. I’m going to get some good shots of Julie to put in the yearbook. Thankfully the teacher in charge decides if something makes it into the official book, not Rosie.

We finally make it out into the cafeteria. It’s already packed, despite the fact that a good hundred people are still getting lunch. Honestly, I don’t know how the staff keeps up with everything. Maybe I should volunteer to help them out some time soon. It would at least get me out of Spanish for a few days.

The trays click softly against the table as we sit down. Julie talks louder now that we’re out here. People are laughing and yelling, almost everyone is on their phones. That’s weird. Reaching out to grab someone walking by, I end up cutting off Julie to get the kid’s attention.

“Hey. What is everyone looking at?” I ask, eyebrows furrowed together. The kid grins at us before handing over his phone, on it a video waiting to be played. The format is that of the school website.

Julie leans over to look at the phone, adjusting her glasses. I tilt it slightly in her direction before pressing play. If there is sound, I can’t hear it over the commotion in the room, but the image is crystal clear. It’s a video of what happened in art this morning. Every bit of it. I feel gross watching it, and so I shove the phone back into its owner’s hands.

“Who posted that!” I hiss, my stomach twisting. The kid just laughs at my reaction before showing me the profile that put it up. Rosie. Lorene must have told her to record it. The monsters. Julie is twisting her hair, like she normally does when she’s upset. The blonde strands fray under her fingers.

Standing up, I scan the cafeteria for the distinct red hair of Rosie. She’s across the room, laughing with some guys. Lorene is nowhere near. She’s probably out eating in town. That doesn’t stop me from stalking over to the ginger, blood boiling.

People part in front of me, apparently the look on my face spells murder. I can feel Julie trailing behind me anxiously. Finally I make it over to the table Rosie is sitting at. She raises an eyebrow at me, looking to the world like a queen on a throne. It’s almost ironic considering it’s her ‘friend’ who really rules this school.

“Rosie what the hell! It’s bad enough you humiliated that poor girl in front of the class, did you really have to show the whole school too!”

Rosie just rolls her eyes, slipping down from her perch on top of the table. She tucks her hair behind her ears and pulls out her phone. Holding it out, she shows me the video again.

“Oh come on Trinity,” She draws out her vowels slightly, “Just watch it. That was funny and you know it. Don’t be a party pooper.”

I can feel the heat rushing to my face, but a hand tugs on my wrist right before I say something. Turning, I see Julie. She shakes her head at me and motions for us to leave. She looks scared. Instantly my rage leaves. I almost forgot just how much they attack her too.

Biting my lip, I give her a nod. Julie lets out a sigh of relief before starting to pull me away. I can hear Rosie laugh from her spot behind us.

“That’s right. Listen to the geek like usual,” She calls over to us. The boys around her join her in making fun of Julie. My friend’s face turns red. It takes effort not to turn around and sock her in the face.

------

I watch the dark figure cutting through the water with awe. I had walked into the pool area to take photos of Julie, but got a free view of the swimmer instead. Ronnie Spears, captain of the boys swim team and the most attractive male in school.

“He’s like a fish…. If fish were hot,” I whisper, wide eyed, to Julie. Julie just nods in agreement from her spot besides me. We continue to ogle at the boy until he finishes his laps. The black curls of his hair are all wetted down, but I can’t help but feel my eyes drifting down to his chocolate colored chest.

Suddenly the door slams open. I jump and spin around, only to find Lorene and Rosie striding inside. I have to force myself not to scowl as they make their way past us.

“Move it. Official yearbook business here. Oh Trin, you should just get you and your little camera out of the pool. You’re not needed right now,” Lorene trills, patting my hair slightly. I bat her fingers away and stand my ground.

“Excuse me Lorene but I am a part of yearbook. You aren’t though. What are you doing here?” I snap. Lorene scoffs at me, waving her hand in my face, as she scans the room. She freezes and her eyes narrow as she spots someone in the corner. It’s the girl from the art room. She’s sitting on the bench and drawing something, glancing up at Ronnie from time to time.

I can practically feel the teritorial anger radiating from Lorene. Never mind the fact that she isn’t even dating Ronnie. When she has her eyes on someone, she doesn’t give up. Lorene stalks over to the poor girl in the corner.

“Well what is this?” She asks, loud enough everyone in the room can hear, ”Are you drawing the swim boys? What are you, a pervert”

Jay is helpless as Lorene’s manicured hand snatches away the sketchbook. Lorene flips through a few of the pages, making sounds of disgust the whole time, before slamming it shut.

“All of these are awful,” She declares before tossing the book backwards. Jay tries to rush forward to catch it, but she’s not fast enough. All of her sketches fall straight into the pool, before sinking like a stone.

“Oops,” Lorene purrs, Rosie laughing at her side, “Well at least it’s not that big of a loss.”

Even across the room I can see the tears falling from Jay’s eyes as she sits on her knees next to the edge. Julie hurries past me and kneels down next to the girl. She slips into the water and swims down to the bottom, fishing the book from the water. Julie emerges with a gasp, and puts the pages on the tile.

“I’m sorry. It looks like most of the pages are ruined,” Julie says to her as she pulls herself out of the pool. Jay barely reacts to her words, instead she tries to open her sketch book. The paper falls apart under her fingers. The tears fall faster now. I take a step towards the two, but Lorene is already behind them.

“Aw the poor little freak. Are you upset? Why don’t you go cry to mommy,” She mocks, flicking the back of Jay’s head. The entire room watches in stunned silence as Lorene continues to rip the poor girl apart.

“Mommy! Daddy! I’m too pathetic to even stand up for myself!” Rosie whines in what I assume is a poor imitation of Jay’s voice. I don’t really know though. I can’t actually remember a time when she spoke aloud, at least not in front of me.

“Hey!” A voice yells. Everyone’s head snaps over to see Ronnie heading over to them. He looks angry. Only now do I realize how large he is, and when he’s pissed it almost makes him look scary. Lorene takes a step back as he gets between them and Jay.

“Leave her alone. I don’t know what the hell you think justifies this, but you’re disgusting. Now get out of here or I’ll call in coach,” He growls straight into Lorene’s face. She tries to stutter out some sort of excuse, but the look Ronnie gives her seem to change her mind. I watch numbly as she scrambles across the room, Rosie close behind her.

Ronnie turns around and his face softens as he looks down at Julie and Jay. He kneels down and picks up the ruined sketchbook, offering it to Jay. She just stares at him with awe.

“Here. You’re name is Jenny, right? I heard your parents call you that,” He smiles at her. Jay, Jenny, whichever is her name, on the other hand doesn’t send one back. Instead her face crumples into a strange bitter expression. She mutters something, but not even Ronnie hears is. He leans a little closer to her.

“What was that?” He asks, voice soft. Jenny’s hand’s curl into fists at her sides, I can almost swear some kind of smoke is coming from the ground under her. It looks…. Purple?

“I said. That’s not my name,” She snarls, the amount of rage coming from the girl is surprising. Ronnie goes to say something, maybe apologize, but before he does Jenny stands up. The second she is on her feet, the doors slam shut right before Lorene and Rosie make it out of them.

“No,” Jenny hisses. Her voice sounds distorted, like someone overlayed another one on top of hers. She’s shaking with fury and smoke is definitely rising from under her feet. Julie starts to back away from her, but as soon as she starts moving Jenny’s gaze snaps to my friend. Her eyes…. They’re glowing.

Julie barely has time to take one step away before she is suddenly thrown through the air, colliding with the wall on the other side of the pool with a loud crack. I scream for my friend, and scramble over for her. I’m not the only one who screamed. Lorene and Rosie are desperately trying to pry open the doors, calling for help.

I drop to the floor next to my friend. Blood leaks out of a split in her head at an alarming rate, and her arm is twisted at an awful angle. Julie’s eyes are closed, and her breathing is shallow. I rip my scarf from my neck before pressing the fabric into the cut. Crimson bleeds through faster than I’d like.

“Julie. Jules. Please. Open your eyes,” I whisper desperately to her, pulling my friend halfway into my lap. She doesn’t respond. My vision swims and my throat seems to close up, but I don’t stop talking. She needs to be ok. She needs to be.

A deep laugh has me looking up from the prone form of Julie. Across the pool, right next to Jenny, stands a man. He wasn’t there a minute ago, and his entire body swirls with purple smoke. He’s petting Jenny’s head, like someone praising their dog.

Ronnie is still near them, but not for long. He is also thrown aside, this time to the wall closest to her. It doesn’t hurt him as much as it hurt Julie. Some part of me twists at that. Why did Julie have to be injured, and not him.

Lorene and Rosie are trying to get into the locker room now, but those doors are also sealed shut. We’re trapped in here. Jenny smiles slightly, before stepping down and into the pool. Instead of sinking though, she stands on the liquid. Her grin grows as she makes her way into the center.

“For years I sat there and never bothered to fight back. Well now it’s different. Now I can make you pay.” Jenny’s voice echoes throughout the whole room. Lorene and Rosie are cowering in the corner, Ronnie is trying to edge over to us, and the man is standing at the edge of the water. He looks like a proud father, but when his eyes glaze over me I shudder. Something is wrong with him.

Ronnie makes it to us while Jenny remains occupied with the other two. He puts his finger to Julie’s neck, and seems relieved with what he finds. She must still have a pulse. He slips the scarf out of my hand and takes over the job of keeping pressure on the cut. I wonder why until I notice how much I’m shaking.

“I’m sorry! I really am!” Rosie yanks away from Lorene, “I was just doing all of that stuff because of Lorene! You gotta believe me Jay! I-”

“That is not my name!” Jenny screams. The entire building shakes, and the water in the pool starts to lift. Rosie tries to scramble back, but the liquid whips towards her. In seconds the redhead is engulfed. Rosie claws at her throat. Jenny is…. She’s drowning her!

In a moment of pure adrenalin, I stand up and yell. Instantly Jenny’s concentration is shattered as she turns to look at me. In the corner of my eye I can see Rosie fall to the ground, coughing. I have a much bigger problem now though. Already I can see the liquid edging towards me. My limbs shake as I look into the girl’s eyes. They’re still glowing with a pale, sickly purple.

“I…. I know you’re upset. And I know they deserve to be hurt…. But this isn’t right,” My voice quivers, but I take a step towards her. Ronnie tries to stop me, but I send him a quick look. If she gets angry again….

“You don’t really want to do this,” I murmur, just loud enough for Jenny to hear me. She snarls, raising up on a small platform of water.

“What do you know. You’re not their favorite toy,” She hisses. Her hair is starting to float, and the smoke starts to drift towards me. Yet, I still take a step forward.

“I know I’m not. But I also know that you don’t really want to do this,” I reach out a hand, “Just…. Come to me. Please.”

Jenny stills for a moment, face scrunched up with confusion. I leave my arm outstretched, fingers reaching for her. I keep my eyes on her face, even as the water slowly lowers back into the pool. My heart pounds in my chest. A knot is caught in my throat, but I don’t move.

It seems like an eternity before Jenny takes a step towards me, the glowing flickering out of existence. She’s shaking, but I reach a little farther. Just a little closer. The world seems to stand still as she slowly walks towards me.

Her feet touch solid ground. Jenny’s eyes are fixed on my hand, even as she reaches out to take it. Behind her, I can see the man scowl. He explodes into a puff of smoke, before he, now only purple mist, starts rushing across the pool. He’s going to hit her, and I have a feeling it would end badly if he does. Thinking fast, I rush forward and snag Jenny’s hand. She yelps as I yank her into a hug, both of us falling to the floor.

The mist passes straight over us and collides with the wall, dispersing. I let out a sigh of relief before turning my attention to the girl in my arms. She’s quivering, and already I can see the tears forming in her eyes.

“I…. I just…. I don’t want to be Jay, and I don’t want to be Jenny…. I want to be me,” She whispers. I tug her closer, allowing her to bury her head in my shoulder and sob. Stroking the back of her head, I murmur soft comforts to her.

On her back sits a necklace. It almost looks like it was all twisted around whenever she went…. Crazy is the nice word for it I guess. Still being mindful of her, I reach down and lift it up. It’s a small golden heart with the letters JA carved into it.

“Your necklace is very pretty…. What does it mean?” I ask softly, spinning the chain around her neck to get it back where it belongs. She lifts her head up, still sniffling slightly.

“Its…. Its my initials…. Jane Ayers….,” Jane mutters. I give her a small smile, setting the charm back onto her chest.

“Jane. I like it,” I put my arms back around her. Jane leans back into me, laying her head on my shoulder. Her hands move from where they sat on my back, and settle onto the side of my head.

“Thank you….” She whispers in my ear. I rub a hand up her spine in a soothing fashion.

“You’re welc-”

------

I’m careful to catch Trinity in my arms as she passes out. Shifting her into a better position, I look up at the man sitting in front of me. Rozzan is handsome again, no longer looking like an old man. The demon smiles at me, reaching out his arms. I squeeze Trinity in one more soft hug, before handing her over to him.

He curls her against his chest, cradling her soft form close. She looks peaceful, almost happy, in her sleep. Seems I did the spell correctly. I grin before looking up at the demon’s face.

“Is that all you wanted dear? Well you should have just said so,” He purrs softly, leaning down to peck my forehead softly. I can feel his power jolt through me at the contact. It’s a good thing I broke Rozzan from his prison, otherwise I would still be weak. I reach over and brush some hair out of Trinity’s face. If he was still trapped, I wouldn’t have gotten her either.

“Now Jane, love. You need to finish what you started,” He mutters into my ear, tone turning malicious. My smile only grows as I turn to the boy and girl nearby. Finish indeed. Tugging back on the magic, I raise my hands to complete the job.

END

~~~~~~

(Once again, this is my writing. Please don’t use it. Check the prompts and starters tag if you want something you can use.)

[readbookywooks]

7. A leather bag filled with food and a flask of hot tea. A pair of fur-lined gloves that Cinna left behind. Three twigs, broken from the naked trees, lying in the snow, pointing in the direction I will travel. This is what I leave for Gale at our usual meeting place on the first Sunday after the Harvest Festival. I have continued on through the cold, misty woods, breaking a path that will be unfamiliar to Gale but is simple for my feet to find. It leads to the lake. I no longer trust that our regular rendezvous spot offers privacy, and I'll need that and more to spill my guts to Gale today. But will he even come? If he doesn't, I'll have no choice but to risk going to his house in the dead of night. There are things he has to know... things I need him to help me figure out... Once the implications of what I was seeing on Mayor Undersee's television hit me, I made for the door and started down the hall. Just in time, too, because the mayor came up the steps moments later. I gave him a wave. "Looking for Madge?" he said in a friendly tone. "Yes. I want to show her my dress," I said. "Well, you know where to find her." Just then, another round of beeping came from his study. His face turned grave. "Excuse me," he said. He went into his study and closed the door tightly. I waited in the hall until I had composed myself. Reminded myself I must act naturally. Then I found Madge in her room, sitting at her dressing table, brushing out her wavy blond hair before a mirror. She was in the same pretty white dress she'd worn on reaping day. She saw my reflection behind her and smiled. "Look at you. Like you came right off the streets of the Capitol." I stepped in closer. My fingers touched the mockingjay. "Even my pin now. Mockingjays are all the rage in the Capitol, thanks to you. Are you sure you don't want it back?" I asked. "Don't be silly, it was a gift," said Madge. She tied back her hair in a festive gold ribbon. "Where did you get it, anyway?" I asked. "It was my aunt's," she said. "But I think it's been in the family a long time." "It's a funny choice, a mockingjay," I said. "I mean, because of what happened in the rebellion. With the jabber-jays backfiring on the Capitol and all." The jabberjays were muttations, genetically enhanced male birds created by the Capitol as weapons to spy on rebels in the districts. They could remember and repeat long passages of human speech, so they were sent into rebel areas to capture our words and return them to the Capitol. The rebels caught on and turned them against the Capitol by sending them home loaded with lies. When this was discovered, the jabberjays were left to die. In a few years, they became extinct in the wild, but not before they had mated with female mockingbirds, creating an entirely new species. "But mockingjays were never a weapon," said Madge. "They're just songbirds. Right?" "Yeah, I guess so," I said. But it's not true. A mockingbird is just a songbird. A mockingjay is a creature the Capitol never intended to exist. They hadn't counted on the highly controlled jabberjay having the brains to adapt to the wild, to pass on its genetic code, to thrive in a new form. They hadn't anticipated its will to live. Now, as I trudge through the snow, I see the mockingjays hopping about on branches as they pick up on other birds' melodies, replicate them, and then transform them into something new. As always, they remind me of Rue. I think of the dream I had the last night on the train, where I followed her in mockingjay form. I wish I could have stayed asleep just a bit longer and found out where she was trying to take me. It's a hike to the lake, no question. If he decides to follow me at all, Gale's going to be put out by this excessive use of energy that could be better spent in hunting. He was conspicuously absent from the dinner at the mayor's house, although the rest of his family came. Hazelle said he was home sick, which was an obvious lie. I couldn't find him at the Harvest Festival, either. Vick told me he was out hunting. That was probably true. After a couple of hours, I reach an old house near the edge of the lake. Maybe "house" is too big a word for it. It's only one room, about twelve feet square. My father thought that a long time ago there were a lot of buildings - you can still see some of the foundations - and people came to them to play and fish in the lake. This house outlasted the others because it's made of concrete. Floor, roof, ceiling. Only one of four glass windows remains, wavy and yellowed by time. There's no plumbing and no electricity, but the fireplace still works and there's a woodpile in the corner that my father and I collected years ago. I start a small fire, counting on the mist to obscure any telltale smoke. While the fire catches, I sweep out the snow that has accumulated under the empty windows, using a twig broom my father made me when I was about eight and I played house here. Then I sit on the tiny concrete hearth, thawing out by the fire and waiting for Gale. It's a surprisingly short time before he appears. A bow slung over his shoulder, a dead wild turkey he must have encountered along the way hanging from his belt. He stands in the doorway as if considering whether or not to enter. He holds the unopened leather bag of food, the flask, Cinna's gloves. Gifts he will not accept because of his anger at me. I know exactly how he feels. Didn't I do the same thing to my mother? I look in his eyes. His temper can't quite mask the hurt, the sense of betrayal he feels at my engagement to Peeta. This will be my last chance, this meeting today, to not lose Gale forever. I could take hours trying to explain, and even then have him refuse me. Instead I go straight to the heart of my defense. "President Snow personally threatened to have you killed," I say. Gale raises his eyebrows slightly, but there's no real show of fear or astonishment. "Anyone else?" "Well, he didn't actually give me a copy of the list. But it's a good guess it includes both our families," I say. It's enough to bring him to the fire. He crouches before the hearth and warms himself. "Unless what?" "Unless nothing, now," I say. Obviously this requires more of an explanation, but I have no idea where to start, so I just sit there staring gloomily into the fire. After about a minute of this, Gale breaks the silence. "Well, thanks for the heads-up." I turn to him, ready to snap, but I catch the glint in his eye. I hate myself for smiling. This is not a funny moment, but I guess it's a lot to drop on someone. We're all going to be obliterated no matter what. "I do have a plan, you know." "Yeah, I bet it's a stunner," he says. He tosses the gloves on my lap. "Here. I don't want your fiance's old gloves." "He's not my fiance. That's just part of the act. And these aren't his gloves. They were Cinna's," I say. "Give them back, then," he says. He pulls on the gloves, flexes his fingers, and nods in approval. "At least I'll die in comfort." "That's optimistic. Of course, you don't know what's happened," I say. "Let's have it," he says. I decide to begin with the night Peeta and I were crowned victors of the Hunger Games, and Haymitch warned me of the Capitol's fury. I tell him about the uneasiness that dogged me even once I was back home, President Snow's visit to my house, the murders in District 11, the tension in the crowds, the last-ditch effort of the engagement, the president's indication that it hadn't been enough, my certainty that I'll have to pay. Gale never interrupts. While I talk, he tucks the gloves in his pocket and occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast. I watch his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Capitol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. Hands that have the power to mine coal but the precision to set a delicate snare. Hands I trust. I pause to take a drink of tea from the flask before I tell him about my homecoming. "Well, you really made a mess of things," he says. "I'm not even done," I tell him. "I've heard enough for the moment. Let's skip ahead to this plan of yours," he says. I take a deep breath. "We run away." "What?" he asks. This has actually caught him off guard. "We take to the woods and make a run for it," I say. His face is impossible to read. Will he laugh at me, dismiss this as foolishness? I rise in agitation, preparing for an argument. "You said yourself you thought that we could do it! That morning of the reaping. You said - " He steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale's neck to brace myself. He's laughing, happy. "Hey!" I protest, but I'm laughing, too. Gale sets me down but doesn't release his hold on me. "Okay, let's run away," he says. "Really? You don't think I'm mad? You'll go with me?" Some of the crushing weight begins to lift as it transfers to Gale's shoulders. "I do think you're mad and I'll still go with you," he says. He means it. Not only means it but welcomes it. "We can do it. I know we can. Let's get out of here and never come back!" "You're sure?" I say. "Because it's going to be hard, with the kids and all. I don't want to get five miles into the woods and have you - " "I'm sure. I'm completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure." He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. His skin, his whole being, radiates heat from being so near the fire, and I close my eyes, soaking in his warmth. I breathe in the smell of snow-dampened leather and smoke and apples, the smell of all those wintry days we shared before the Games. I don't try to move away. Why should I, anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. "I love you." That's why. I never see these things coming. They happen too fast. One second you're proposing an escape plan and the next... you're expected to deal with something like this. I come up with what must be the worst possible response. "I know." It sounds terrible. Like I assume he couldn't help loving me but that I don't feel anything in return. Gale starts to draw away, but I grab hold of him. "I know! And you... you know what you are to me." It's not enough. He breaks my grip. "Gale, I can't think about anyone that way now. All I can think about, every day, every waking minute since they drew Prim's name at the reaping, is how afraid I am. And there doesn't seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe, maybe I could be different. I don't know." I can see him swallowing his disappointment. "So, we'll go. We'll find out." He turns back to the fire, where the chestnuts are beginning to burn. He flips them out onto the hearth. "My mother's going to take some convincing." I guess he's still going, anyway. But the happiness has fled, leaving an all-too-familiar strain in its place. "Mine, too. I'll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won't survive the alternative." "She'll understand. I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won't say no to you," says Gale. "I hope not." The temperature in the house seems to have dropped twenty degrees in a matter of seconds. "Haymitch will be the real challenge." "Haymitch?" Gale abandons the chestnuts. "You're not asking him to come with us?" "I have to, Gale. I can't leave him and Peeta because they'd - " His scowl cuts me off. "What?" "I'm sorry. I didn't realize how large our party was," he snaps at me. "They'd torture them to death, trying to find out where I was," I say. "What about Peeta's family? They'll never come. In fact, they probably couldn't wait to inform on us. Which I'm sure he's smart enough to realize. What if he decides to stay?" he asks. I try to sound indifferent, but my voice cracks. "Then he stays." "You'd leave him behind?" Gale asks. "To save Prim and my mother, yes," I answer. "I mean, no! I'll get him to come." "And me, would you leave me?" Gale's expression is rock hard now. "Just if, for instance, I can't convince my mother to drag three young kids into the wilderness in winter." "Hazelle won't refuse. She'll see sense," I say. "Suppose she doesn't, Katniss. What then?" he demands. "Then you have to force her, Gale. Do you think I'm making this stuff up?" My voice is rising in anger as well. "No. I don't know. Maybe the president's just manipulating you. I mean, he's throwing your wedding. You saw how the Capitol crowd reacted. I don't think he can afford to kill you. Or Peeta. How's he going to get out of that one?" says Gale. "Well, with an uprising in District Eight, I doubt he's spending much time choosing my wedding cake!" I shout. The instant the words are out of my mouth I want to reclaim them. Their effect on Gale is immediate - the flush on his cheeks, the brightness of his gray eyes. "There's an uprising in Eight?" he says in a hushed voice. I try to backpedal. To defuse him, as I tried to defuse the districts. "I don't know if it's really an uprising. There's unrest. People in the streets - " I say. Gale grabs my shoulders. "What did you see?" "Nothing! In person. I just heard something." As usual, it's too little, too late. I give up and tell him. "I saw something on the mayor's television. I wasn't supposed to. There was a crowd, and fires, and the Peacekeepers were gunning people down but they were fighting back. ..." I bite my lip and struggle to continue describing the scene. Instead I say aloud the words that have been eating me up inside. "And it's my fault, Gale. Because of what I did in the arena. If I had just killed myself with those berries, none of this would've happened. Peeta could have come home and lived, and everyone else would have been safe, too." "Safe to do what?" he says in a gentler tone. "Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven't hurt people - you've given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it. There's already been talk in the mines. People who want to fight. Don't you see? It's happening! It's finally happening! If there's an uprising in District Eight, why not here? Why not everywhere? This could be it, the thing we've been - " "Stop it! You don't know what you're saying. The Peacekeepers outside of Twelve, they're not like Darius, or even Cray! The lives of district people - they mean less than nothing to them!" I say. "That's why we have to join the fight!" he answers harshly. "No! We have to leave here before they kill us and a lot of other people, too!" I'm yelling again, but I can't understand why he's doing this. Why doesn't he see what's so undeniable? Gale pushes me roughly away from him. "You leave, then. I'd never go in a million years." "You were happy enough to go before. I don't see how an uprising in District Eight does anything but make it more important that we leave. You're just mad about - " No, I can't throw Peeta in his face. "What about your family?" "What about the other families, Katniss? The ones who can't run away? Don't you see? It can't be about just saving us anymore. Not if the rebellion's begun!" Gale shakes his head, not hiding his disgust with me. "You could do so much." He throws Cinna's gloves at my feet. "I changed my mind. I don't want anything they made in the Capitol." And he's gone. I look down at the gloves. Anything they made in the Capitol? Was that directed at me? Does he think I am now just another product of the Capitol and therefore something untouchable? The unfairness of it all fills me with rage. But it's mixed up with fear over what kind of crazy thing he might do next. I sink down next to the fire, desperate for comfort, to work out my next move. I calm myself by thinking that rebellions don't happen in a day. Gale can't talk to the miners until tomorrow. If I can get to Hazelle before then, she might straighten him out. But I can't go now. If he's there, he'll lock me out. Maybe tonight, after everyone else is asleep ... Hazelle often works late into the night finishing up laundry. I could go then, tap at the window, tell her the situation so she'll keep Gale from doing anything foolish. My conversation with President Snow in the study comes back to me. "My advisors were concerned you would be difficult, but you're not planning on being difficult at all, are you?" "No." "That's what I told them. I said any girl who goes to such lengths to preserve her life isn't going to be interested in throwing it away with both hands." I think of how hard Hazelle has worked to keep that family alive. Surely she'll be on my side in this matter. Or won't she? It must be getting on toward noon now and the days are so short. No point in being in the woods after dark if you don't have to. I stamp out the remains of my little fire, clear up the scraps of food, and tuck Cinna's gloves in my belt. I guess I'll hang on to them for a while. In case Gale has a change of heart. I think of the look on his face when he flung them to the ground. How repelled he was by them, by me ... I trudge through the woods and reach my old house while there's still light. My conversation with Gale was an obvious setback, but I'm still determined to carry on with my plan to escape District 12. I decide to find Peeta next. In a strange way, since he's seen some of what I've seen on the tour, he may be an easier sell than Gale was. I run into him as he's leaving the Victor's Village. "Been hunting?" he asks. You can see he doesn't think it's a good idea. "Not really. Going to town?" I ask. "Yes. I'm supposed to eat dinner with my family," he says. "Well, I can at least walk you in." The road from the Victor's Village to the square gets little use. It's a safe enough place to talk. But I can't seem to get the words out. Proposing it to Gale was such a disaster. I gnaw on my chapped lips. The square gets closer with every step. I may not have an opportunity again soon. I take a deep breath and let the words rush out. "Peeta, if I asked you to run away from the district with me, would you?" Peeta takes my arm, bringing me to a stop. He doesn't need to check my face to see if I'm serious. "Depends on why you're asking." "President Snow wasn't convinced by me. There's an uprising in District Eight. We have to get out," I say. "By 'we' do you mean just you and me? No. Who else would be going?" he asks. "My family. Yours, if they want to come. Haymitch, maybe," I say. "What about Gale?" he says. "I don't know. He might have other plans," I say. Peeta shakes his head and gives me a rueful smile. "I bet he does. Sure, Katniss, I'll go." I feel a slight twinge of hope. "You will?" "Yeah. But I don't think for a minute you will," he says. I jerk my arm away. "Then you don't know me. Be ready. It could be any time." I take off walking and he follows a pace or two behind. "Katniss," Peeta says. I don't slow down. If he thinks it's a bad idea, I don't want to know, because it's the only one I have. "Katniss, hold up." I kick a dirty, frozen chunk of snow off the path and let him catch up. The coal dust makes everything look especially ugly. "I really will go, if you want me to. I just think we better talk it through with Haymitch. Make sure we won't be making things worse for everyone." He raises his head. "What's that?" I lift my chin. I've been so consumed with my own worries, I haven't noticed the strange noise coming from the square. A whistling, the sound of an impact, the intake of breath from a crowd. "Come on," Peeta says, his face suddenly hard. I don't know why. I can't place the sound, even guess at the situation. But it means something bad to him. When we reach the square, it's clear something's happening, but the crowd's too thick to see. Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I'm halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. "Get down. Get out of here!" He's whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence. "What?" I say, trying to force my way back up. "Go home, Katniss! I'll be there in a minute, I swear!" he says. Whatever it is, it's terrible. I yank away from his hand and begin to push my way through the crowd. People see me, recognize my face, and then look panicked. Hands shove me back. Voices hiss. "Get out of here, girl." "Only make it worse." "What do you want to do? Get him killed?" But at this point, my heart is beating so fast and fierce I hardly hear them. I only know that whatever waits in the middle of the square is meant for me. When I finally break through to the cleared space, I see I am right. And Peeta was right. And those voices were right, too. Gale's wrists are bound to a wooden post. The wild turkey he shot earlier hangs above him, the nail driven through its neck. His jacket's been cast aside on the ground, his shirt torn away. He slumps unconscious on his knees, held up only by the ropes at his wrists. What used to be his back is a raw, bloody slab of meat. Standing behind him is a man I've never seen, but I recognize his uniform. It's the one designated for our Head Peacekeeper. This isn't old Cray, though. This is a tall, muscular man with sharp creases in his pants. The pieces of the picture do not quite come together until I see his arm raise the whip.