![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfold_xCharacters: Beetee, Brutus, Lyme, Enobaria (Gen)
Rating: PG
Warnings: extreme self-indulgence, and a little bad language
Summary: “We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this point, unity is essential to our survival.”
A/N: This ficlet is a prequel to Chemistry for Hungry People, a remix of my post-Mockingjay AU headcanon with
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
lorataprose's District Two 'verse. No character actions, thoughts, or other elements of this story are binding on lorataprose's 'verse.“I need a soldering iron.”
Shutting the door to their small flat, Beetee crosses to the desk where Eibhlin sits, perched over her teardown of the faulty laser rangefinder he gave her two hours ago. She waves a screwdriver over a portion of the circuitboard, attention fixed on the project. “It’s these components; they need to be re-connected.”
It’s a testament to how unnerved she is that Eibhlin hasn’t remembered that Beetee has never owned a rangefinder, has no need for one. He hasn’t had to resort to a distraction task in months, but these last few of days she’s been phasing in and out, wavering between frantic anxiety and total shutdown. He was so proud of the calm focus she maintained throughout the truth and reconciliation hearings; he didn’t imagine there would be anything more stressful than recounting the events of their lives since their reaping in front of a nationwide audience. But now military actions have wound down, President Paylor has been installed, and the hearings are complete, there’s nothing in the Capitol to occupy the Victors, leaving them too much time to contemplate the acute ambiguity of their future. If Eibhlin needs a project to keep the gears of her mind from grinding to destruction, he’ll break every device he owns.
Though that probably won’t be necessary; the Capitol is full of broken things.
“I haven’t seen a hardware store in this neighborhood. We’ll check the Network, or find one of the motor pool teams.” Beetee waits patiently for an acknowledgement.
Eibhlin’s gaze doesn’t wavier from the rangefinder, fist still clutching the screwdriver tight. Gently, Beetee takes her hand in one of his and, with the other, removes the tool. Finally, her eyes lift to meet his.
“Sit with me, dearest.”
Eibhlin removes her anti-static wrist strap and finger stall, and rises to join him on the couch. She tucks her feet up onto the edge of the seat, tugs the hem of her skirt to her ankles, and hugs her knees. “It’s decided?”
“Yes. Consolidation.” There was almost no debate. Between the Quarter Quell, Coin’s plans, and the anti-Victor pogrom in One, it feels as though there’s no safe harbor. It may be that the hearings will serve their purpose and the citizens of Panem will feel some measure of justice can be found in acknowledgement of the truth, without a payment in blood as well. But the Victors were created to be symbols, and using symbols is the most efficient way to make a point.
Eibhlin rests her forehead on her knees. “Where?”
“Two, Four, and Twelve.”
“Twelve?”
“Haymitch feels strongly if Katniss isn’t there, the district won’t be rebuilt. It’s not ideal; we should be much closer to each other. But like Two and Four, it will be easy to disappear, if it comes to it, and there are a lot of natural resources that will ease the next couple of years. We agreed on a minimum of five, with at least three of each weapons-capable.”
“Are you sure... the Tower... is it really..?” She isn’t seeking knowledge; she saw the photos, heard the testimony at the hearings. Her head knows their home is gone; her heart wants him to make it untrue. He wishes it was in his power. He wishes he had been strong enough to protect Wiress. He should have been smart enough to have thought of a way to preempt the Quell entirely. To create a revolution without destruction.
“Yes. It’s gone. Much of the university is gone, too, and a lot of the infrastructure.” When it became clear they were going to lose Three, the Capitol forces destroyed assets they didn’t want the Rebels to gain control of. Some of them, like weapons research and the muttation labs, he hopes they’ll never rebuilt, but others—water reclamation, refrigerated warehouses—need to be restored as soon as possible. Without them, the situation in Three is difficult; with the transportation limitations and winter approaching, it’s going to get worse before it gets better.
But even if Three’s version of the Victors’ Village weren’t in ruins, if he could be sure there’d be enough food and energy to get them through to next spring, he still wouldn’t want to take her there alone, not knowing how they would be received, and unable to protect her. His imagination conjures a dozen different scenarios in which she’s taken from him before his pre-frontal cortex orders his amygdale to shut the fear gates; they need to make this decision rationally or they’ll never be able to live with it.
“The others?”
“Johanna is for Twelve. I think Auden, Isaiah, and Jack will be as well. Current and Clint made clear they want time to consider, but I saw them in a corner with Annie afterward.”
Eibhlin moves her feet to the floor and straightens her back. “No one’s going to Two? That’s not optimal, is it?”
Thirteen Victors from Two survived the Rebellion, and even the oldest among them could probably take out a squad of Peacekeepers single-handed. But merging the all the Villages except for Two sends a powerful message of exclusion. Propos of the Victors working together were a key tool the Rebellion used to build solidarity among the districts. If they appear to go back on that now it will validate the resentment that still pervades the outlying districts. Beetee recalls the visceral hate the Hawthorne boy harbored toward Two; even suggesting their existence as a species hung in the balance couldn’t pull him back to rationality. How many others feel the same way? And if the people of Two believe they’ll never be full citizens of Panem again, it’s all but inviting the next war.
“No,” he agrees, careful to keep his voice neutral. Beetee’s already decided what the right course of action is, but he wants Eibhlin to arrive at same conclusion independently. Nothing would be so reliable a proof of his theorem.
Eibhlin fiddles with the placket of her cardigan as she turns the idea over in her mind. Only a year ago, the suggestion would have been unfathomable. Yet so much has changed in that time, and so much more needs to happen if they—Beetee and Eibhlin, the Victors, Panem—are going to survive.
Seconds compile into minutes, stretching so long Beetee is concerned Eibhlin has gone back to the place her mind’s been retreating to, but just as he’s reaching for her hand, she lifts her focus and he sees the tumblers fall into place. “The hearings... They were important, to establish the truth. But reconciliation may require us to get a bit more... empirical.”
Beetee releases his breath in a rush. He’s spent years contemplating the idea of freedom, but in all that time never imagined how terrifying the actuality could be. The power to make choices is also the responsibility to live with the consequences; his last major decision was to precipitate a revolution, and he wants to see the experiment through to its end.
“We don’t have to abide by the consensus.” Beetee offers one last out, “We could go anywhere.” He doesn’t like the odds of many of their options, but he’s been learning to manipulate those for forty years.
Eibhlin slides a hand to where his rests between them, and threads their fingers together.
“We should go where we’re needed.”
“Just got off the horn with the mayor of Six, who is apparently the new secretary of transportation.” Ronan starts off loudly, signaling it’s time for everyone to sit down and shut up. Brutus breaks off his conversation with Lyme to give his full attention. Despite the fact that there are thirteen of them in a living room that wasn’t intended to hold more than six, the noise level drops almost immediately; everyone’s more than ready to get back to Two.
“Both the tunnel and Eagle’s Pass are still closed. Apparently it’s a lot easier to cut off transportation than it is to re-establish it.” Lyme rolls her eyes and Brutus snorts his agreement. They were in on the strategy sessions; they know how difficult it was to take the District, that bombing the links between Two and the Capitol was probably necessary. But remembering the speed at which the Rebels reached that decision still burns. With other districts, the possible cost in human lives and suffering was hotly debated before infrastructure or outposts were destroyed. When it came to Two, it seemed like they went from zero to bombing in less time than it takes to say ‘fuck you, Capitol lapdogs.’
“In two days, a hovercraft will be made available to take us back to the Village, which has apparently not yet been razed in a fit of righteous glory.” The fact that they’re even joking about this possibility underlines the shitstorm of chaos that’s been released, but Brutus cuts off that line of thought before it can go to unhelpful places. What’s done is done, and he needs to focus on their next problem, not all the crap that’s already passed. He concentrates on the details Ronan is providing on their travel arrangements. Ronan conveys the information quickly, and Brutus and the others are halfway out of their seats when their eldest Victor surprises them with an additional topic.
“Before we go, we have a decision to make. We’ve received a request related to the consolidation plan.” Brutus is stunned, and from the doubtful looks on the faces around him, he’s not the only one. There was general agreement among the Two Victors that consolidating the Villages made strategic sense, given the way Victors were targeted for extermination or manipulation by the Capitol and Coin—and whatever the hell you’d call that shit that went down in One. Brutus isn’t convinced this new government is going to last, and even if it does, that it won’t come calling for them as soon as it needs to take the population’s mind off of whatever they’re dissatisfied with. Flashy show trials and executions of Games collaborators might make some Rebel politician’s ideal distraction. No matter what district they’re from or what they did during the Games or the Rebellion, no Victor deserves that. From this point on, they’re making their own fate, and as a practical matter, that means living where they can protect one another.
But even as the Victors sat around a map of Panem debating the best locations for the consolidated Villages, the Twos were equally certain the plan wouldn’t include any requests to move to their district. Two doesn’t need any additional Victors to meet the minimum established, and though it would be a good choice for Isaiah, Auden and other Victors who are too old or injured to defend themselves—certainly a lot better than Twelve, where they could barely keep the lights on before the Capitol bombed it to a smoldering ruin—it’s still closely associated with the old order. The alliance among the Victors is genuine, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t subject to certain limitations.
Personally, Brutus expected most of the outlying Victors to choose Four: sun, sand, and a beautiful new baby to coo over. One day, Brutus plans to get Finnick drunk enough to explain just how the Fours handwaved the outlying districts into forgetting that the Four was also a Career district, that they benefited just as much as One and Two from their closer relationship with the Capitol, including the privilege to send trained tributes to kill all but the best and luckiest of the non-Careers.
Nero is the first to pull it together enough to ask, “From who?”
Brutus is almost sure he sees an amused glint in Ronan’s eye as he pauses before dropping his bombshell. “District Three.”
Enobaria bursts into uproarious, inappropriate laughter until a look from Nero, her mentor, shuts her down. The rest quietly whisper to each other. Brutus checks in with Lyme, who just shrugs her shoulders. If this is some kind of complicated joke or put-down, neither of them are getting it.
Ronan lets them go on for a few minutes before asking, “Well, thoughts?”
“Did they offer any kind of explanation?” Adessa asks.
“No, and I didn’t request one.” Ronan leans back and stretches his legs out. “The way I figure, designating Two as one of the Villages was an implicit offer, even if we didn’t expect anyone to take us up on it. Couldn’t think of a way of asking why without making them sound unwanted, and I’d rather not do that unless that’s actually the case.”
“It does make a sort of sense,” Nero suggests. “Two is the most technologically advanced of the options.”
Emory nods her agreement. “And has the best medical facilities.” The hospital near the Village is probably the best care they can expect to receive outside the Capitol. “Beetee hasn’t been right since that shock during the escape.”
“Presuming he ever was,” Enobaria snorts. Nero tries to wave her off again, but Enobaria deliberately evades him, turning to the group. “I know you’re all thinking it, even if I’m the only one with the stones to say it: it would be weird. We don’t even let the candidates who aged out into the Village, and now we’re talking about living with people who could not possibly be less like us.”
Claudius and Petra are nodding, and while Brutus respects Enobaria, even understands where she’s coming from, that shit cannot stand. “They’re Victors. That makes them more like us than anyone else.”
“But still, not Career Victors.” Artemisia backs Enobaria’s point. “This is our home; it’s all we have. Ronan, you knew Lumina; do you think they could make the transition?” The ‘without changing the Village’ qualification is unstated but understood.
Ronan stares out at the Capitol skyline as he considers the question. He and Lumina, Three’s first Victor, came out in consecutive years, in the early days when there were so few of them, they had little choice but to get to know each other. Their relationship was probably the closest thing to a Two-Three friendship that ever existed.
“As far as I know, Three never accepted its Victors. Their leaders said what the Capitol required about honor and glory, then cut them out of District life.” The Threes didn’t train, but none of them were default Victors; they entered their Arenas with intentional strategies, all of which involved actively taking out other tributes. Brutus is disappointed but not surprised to hear a non-Career district couldn’t deal with tributes who refused to play the victim. “They mostly kept to themselves,” Ronan continues, “and I expect that won’t change.”
“Can’t say I really know Beetee, despite the number of years we’ve mentored at the same time,” Nero adds, “but he knew enough to make his request to Ronan, even though Ronan hasn’t mentored in twenty years. I’d say that’s a good sign.”
“Let’s take it as a given,” Ronan proposes, “if we agree to permit this move, it will be only after I’ve met with him and explained the way of things, and he agrees he and his girl will be bound by that.”
The requirement appears to reassure most of Brutus’s fellow Victors, even Enobaria, who finally unclenches her fists. “We need to deal with that head-on. It wouldn't work any other way, and I’m not about to give up the last thing they haven’t taken from us.” Whether Enobaria means the Capitol or the Rebels isn’t clear, but Brutus understands the sentiment just the same.
“Even with that understanding, I’d be more comfortable making this decision if I knew why they asked for Two,” Adessa states, and Brutus can see in his fellow Victors’ expressions she isn’t alone in that.
Lyme moves her left hand to grasp her right wrist, tightening over the thick leather cuff she wears to cover the place where her Victor’s tattoo used to be, before the psycho control freaks in Thirteen burned it off. The first of them to join the Rebellion, Lyme would know better than anyone about moving to an alien district and living with people with radically different beliefs. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet, and he wants to know what she thinks.
Brutus tries to catch her eye, but Lyme’s attention is occupied by Claudius, her youngest Victor, the one she took with her when she broke away from them, who has reached his own hand over to cover hers. The boy squeezes the hand covering her wrist and they lock eyes, and something only they understand passes between them. Turning back to the center of the room, she finally speaks.
“I suspect it’s the same motivation that’s behind the consolidation, generally: we can’t trust anyone to act in our best interests, and no matter how this new government shakes out, we can reasonably expect to be a continued target of some faction. If I were a fifty-something egghead with limited defensive capabilities, and I needed to protect myself and a baby Victor with a fresh case of PTSD, I’d do whatever I needed to do to make that happen.” Lyme finishes with a grim smile. “And I can’t think of anyone better to have between me and a threat than us.”
Lyme’s words settle heavily on them, and its several moments before Ronan breaks the silence. “Any other opinions?”
Brutus has taken a lot of flak over the years for having a code of beliefs and the determination to live by them, but whatever his way’s supposed drawbacks, it certainly helps cut through situations other people make needlessly complicated. He folds his arms over his chest and makes an effort to meet as many eyes as he can as he surveys his family. “They’re Victors, and they need us. That’s enough for me.”
