꧁ chapter three ꧂
tea time

A SHOT RANG OUT. Loud, so loud...

A shot broke the silence, its echo rocketing all up the house walls. Loud, so loud...

For some, the silence had felt tense. Others had found it exciting and thrilling.

For still others - for a small group of people, to be precise - it had been a sad silence.

And for one little black-haired girl, it had been an eerie, terrifying silence. The worst silence the little girl had ever experienced.

After the shot, the silence returned. It was only a few seconds long, but felt like an eternity - at least for the girl it did.

The little black-haired girl felt weightless, snatched away from reality. At the same time, there was a twinge in her chest, as painful as if someone had plunged a knife into her heart or as if the world was trying to crush her.

The silence lasted far too long, and yet it could never last too long.

The little girl's heart was beating far too fast, as if it was about to explode. At the same time, she was plagued by the feeling that her heart had suddenly stopped. For how could her heart continue to beat, how could she continue to live, after this one, but by no means meaningless, shot?

Life would never be the same.

And then the silence was broken by a dull thud. It was a disgusting sound. Not because of the sound itself, but because of the image that came with it - a frightening and horrendous image.

No little girl should have had to look at that image.

But this girl had to. She, precisely she, had to. The image had been made for her to watch. The shot had been fired for her to listen. All this was a warning. To her. To another, small group of people. To everyone. But especially to her.

Everything felt cold and dark. And there, in the middle of the tribune, lay the body of a woman.

The little black-haired girl did not cry, did not scream. She did not even move when the woman's head tilted to the side so that the girl had a clear view of her face.

A red circle adorned the woman's forehead. There had to be a bullet stuck somewhere inside the skull now.

But it was not the red circle, not the blood flowing from it, that frightened the little girl so much....

No, it was the woman's eyes; full of fear, yet empty. But above all... dead.

—✺—

Gala bolted upright in bed, her heart beating wildly and her pulse hammering through her veins. Her breath came in harsh pants as she clutched her chest with her hand, applying pressure and trying to calm herself down.

Her gaze jerked left and right, unsuccessfully trying to make out anything in the dark room.

Her hands were shaking like crazy. She was awake, but her body didn't seem to have grasped that yet. Gala couldn't help but replay the nightmare, over and over again in her mind.

The shot. The girl. The woman. The woman's eyes.

Gala felt goose bumps rising up on her arms as she recalled how real it had felt. All her dreams always felt so real.

It was terrible.

„God," she whispered to herself, the sound of her breath catching in the back of her throat.

Gala reached blindly to her right, her fingers clutching the small tin on her bedside table. She needed the pills to be able to fall asleep again. They would produce a deep, dreamless sleep. Dreamless nights were not restful ones, but anything was better than the nightmares that haunted her every now and then at night.

The bad dreams did not follow a pattern. Gala did not know what factors triggered them. It couldn't be stress, because she experienced stress every day. It had to be little things in her everyday life, but she didn't know which ones and she didn't want to think about it too much.

There were weeks when she slept consistently well. And then there were consecutive nights when Gala was plagued by these horrible images.

The only thing that could give her even a little peace was the sleeping pills. That's why they lay ready on her bedside table every night, in case her nightmares returned.

Gala swallowed a pill, taking a sip of water from the bottle that also sat on her bedside table every night, and counted to ten in her head. The latter action helped her to relax.

She ran her hands over her face, through her hair, sighing heavily.

There was one more thing that could help her fall asleep. Gala grabbed the small remote control lying on the foot of her bed and pointed it at the opposite, dark wall. Immediately, the room brightened as the image of a forest appeared instead of the bare wall. At the same time, the imitation of rain drops could be heard falling to the floor - the speakers in every corner of her bedroom provided the perfect illusion. The sounds of rain had always had a calming effect on her nerves.

She lay back in bed, pulled the covers up to under the tip of her nose and watched the forest, the rustling leaves, the falling rain. It took a few minutes before she could close her eyes again. And a few more minutes until the sounds of the rain faded into the background and she finally fell into the expected dreamless sleep.

—✺—

Gala waited impatiently for Finnick's arrival. Roslin Crane, who sat to her right, must have been fed up with waiting too: she snorted loudly, throwing her head back.

"That obnoxious boy!" she exclaimed, grumbling. "He's getting on my last nerve!"

"I agree, Roslin," Gala said absent-mindedly as she squinted out the window with sharp eyes. If Finnick didn't walk out of his apartment building at any moment, then Gala would have to break into his flat and single-handedly drag him out by his hair and haul him into the car.

"I've had enough! He's wasting my valuable time, that unreliable-" Running out of words due to her rage and then screeching in frustration because of it, she yanked open the car door to her side and got out. Roslin marched up to the front door and, with a sour look on her face, rang the doorbell so often and with such force that Gala feared it would break.

"She's angry," Gwin noted, glancing outside.

"Yeah." Gala nodded.

"And you're exhausted," Harma remarked. "Or are you sick?" She covered her nose and mouth in alarm to protect herself from germs that were firstly imaginary and secondly, even if they weren't, would never be stopped by the mere act of covering her nose with her palm, not when they'd all been sitting in the cramped car together for over an hour now.

Gala sighed at the memory of last night. "I am not ill. Just overtired. I haven't slept well and I haven't slept much."

Had her colleagues not been Harma and Gwin, she might have expected to be asked the reason for her insomnia, but as it was, it was Gwin and Harma who were sitting opposite her, and unfortunately, they lacked empathy and sensitivity.

They did care about Gala's well-being - Gala knew that they saw her not only as a colleague but also as a friend - but they simply did not know what it meant to be seriously worried about someone. And so they did not feel the need to make sure that their friends were all right. They simply assumed that was the case.

And therefore Harma ignored her words with ease and afterwards reported excitedly: "I didn't sleep a wink tonight either. I was, how shall I put it...distracted."

Gwin slapped her hand over her mouth, her cheeks turning rosy.

"Oh my God! You didn't tell me anything!" She moved closer to Harma, giggling loudly as she continued: "Who distracted you and thus deprived you of all sleep?"

"I've already told you both about Olympia, didn't I?"

Gwin wiggled her eyebrows. "How exciting! The hot blonde with the deep green eyes? You've already told us about her, yes."

"Very good. So, Olympia spontaneously sent me a message yesterday and asked me if I would like to go out with her. But well, I told her that I have to go to work in the morning and that I should go to bed early accordingly." She paused dramatically, as she always did when telling a story. "And then she asked if she could keep me company in my bed. How could I have said no to that? So, one thing led to another and in the end... well, ist was hot! And wild!"

"Tell. Me. More!", Gwin shrieked.

Gala only half-listened to Harma's narration, partly because she wasn't really interested in the most intimate details of her sex life, and partly because she was too busy watching Roslin scream into the intercom of Finnick Odair's apartment building. Gala didn't understand the exact words, but since Roslin's mood hadn't changed since she left the car, Gala strongly assumed that it was a stream of insults and curses pouring out of her mouth.

"Olympia is truly a goddess!" They both giggled at the unintended pun. "No, but seriously, not only is she beautiful like a goddess, but she's just as talented with her fingers and tongue, if you know what I mean."

"Oh God, Harma! I am so happy for you! You're positively glowing. A proper orgasm can melt a woman's heart. Don't you think so, Gala?"

Gala had expect to no longer be part of the conversation, considering that once Gwin and Harma switched into gossip mode, they usually forgot what was going on around them and who they were in a room - or in this case car - with.

"I guess you're not wrong, although there's more to it than - well, look at that! Here he comes at last, the Capitol Darling."

The two well-known gossips followed Gala's gaze, which was directed towards the open front door from which Finnick strolled out. He took his own sweet time, nodded calmly to Roslin in greeting, as if she hadn't just shouted at him over the intercom, and strode slowly towards the car. It made Roslin furious and Gala couldn't suppress the urge to roll her eyes either. He was far too cocky for his own good - one day Roslin would put together another particularly revealing outfit for him as mere revenge for his smug manner, Gala was sure of it.

"Good morning, Finnick!", Gwin greeted him cheerfully as he opened the car door and sat down next to Gala.

"Good morning to you too, honey", Finnick greeted in return.

Gala watched him with a furrowed brow, her arms folded in front of her chest. When Finnick turned to her, grinning innocently at her, she responded with silence.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"You're late."

Finnick just hummed. His eyes lingered on her hair. "Hey, there it is again, your normal hairstyle. You can't imagine how weird it was for me to see you without those cute twin loops yesterday."

Gala took no stock in his flattery. "Why are you-" She looked down at her communicuff. "twenty-five minutes late?"

Before Finnick could answer, the car door next to him was yanked open. Roslin stuck her head into the car first. She pointed accusingly at Finnick and shouted, "How dare you be late? What will the President think of us now that we are late? Have you no respect? The president is waiting for us!"

"I may be twenty-five minutes late, but we will not be late arriving at President Snow's office. Gala always charges more than three quarters of an hour for bad traffic downtown when we are on our way to President Snow. And as luck would have it, I was watching the news this morning and we don't have to worry about that - the streets are unusually empty. So we'll be there on time, as usual."

Gala usually planned everything down to the smallest second. They never arrived late or early for an appointment, but appointments with the President were the exception. She didn't want to risk being late for his office. That would be unspeakably stupid. And so she cleared a certain amount of time before the appointment that would ensure that they would not be late, no matter what highly unlikely disasters or surprises might be in store for them.

But the fact that Finnick had simply acted against her instructions bothered Gala. And it also bothered her that he had kept them all waiting with a clear conscience, on purpose even.

Had he done it out of pure defiance? Because he was angry with her for hiding the fact that he would be mentoring again at the next games.

She had thought him cleverer.

But honestly... she knew he was cleverer than that. And definitely not ignorant enough to keep President Snow waiting.

Accordingly, it had to be something else that had held him up for so long...

"I hope so for your sake, dearest Finnick! Because if I make a bad impression on the president because of you, I'll kill you with my bare hands. And believe me, I would make it extra painful."

Gala did no doubt that.

"Thank you, Roslin, for this very... pictorial description of my hopefully non-occurring death." He ran his hand over the back of his neck, then changed the subject. "And what were you ladies chatting about just now?"

Finnick gave Gwin and Harma a charming smile, a dimple appeared in his cheek, but only in his right.

Gwin blushed and looked down nervously at her lap, Harma was at a loss for words. They did not want to repeat in front of any man the words that had recently passed their lips without shyness. Especially not in front of Finnick Odair.

"Well, so - we - I - well -"

Roslin seemed deeply confused. "What nonsense are you even talking about? Jesus, Harma, you better express yourself in a refined manner if you want us to understand you."

"We were talking about Gala!" The aforementioned looked at Gwin, puzzled, as she pointed her finger at her. "She hasn't slept much and is very tired now. Right, Gala?"

"Yes, that's right," Gala replied hesitantly.

"Were you working late as usual? On those tiresome reports, right?", Finnick asked.

If Gala remembered correctly, he had often seen her writing a report when they were travelling by express train at night. He was always awake at night. And she preferred to work rather than sleep. There were no walls on the train onto which rainy forests could be projected. And there were no loudspeakers in her compartment through which rain sounds could be played. Sometimes he would go to the kitchen to get something to drink and then he would walk past the communal dining room and see her working. They wouldn't talk to each other, but they would be very aware of each other's presence.

Gwin let out a strange giggle, noticeably relieved because no one seemed interested in their previous conversation anymore. "You're really funny, Gala! I mean, you actually enjoy reading all these statistics and boring reports too, don't you?"

Gala raised a brow. "Not really."

Gwin stopped laughing. "Oh. But you enjoy writing the reports then, don't you?"

"No." Gala looked out of the window. They had pulled up to a main road and indeed there was hardly any traffic. So Finnick had been right. Good for him - this way he wasn't going to die a slow and agonising death at Roslin's hand.

"Oh", Gwin repeated.

Gala would have preferred not to be at the centre of this conversation. But ultimately she decided to be gracious to Gwin and replied, "It's part of my job though. It has to be done."

Gwin's smile returned. "I see! Well, not everyone is as lucky as I am to get their dream job. But at least you are very successful. And already at the age of 22!"

Nodding, Gala said, "I am very grateful for my job."

First, she felt him lean back against the backrest, then she felt Finnick's gaze on her.

"What would be your dream job, if you don't mind me asking?"

"This is my dream job. Even if there are little things I don't like about the job."

Finnick didn't seem to believe a word she said. He scoffed, visibly unconvinced: "Nonsense. No child wants to be a trustee. No way."

Gala briefly considered contradicting him again, but then some memories from her early childhood came back, memories she had completely forgotten about. Memories of how she had helped her Aunt Miriel to set Cousin Gylbert's arm after he had once again fallen out of the highest tree. Of how she had comforted Cousin Megga after the latter had got a paper cut. Of how she had cleaned Cousin Megga's paper cut-wound and put a plaster on it.

Maybe she was just too tired today to contradict him. Or maybe she was letting her memories get the better of her. In the end, all that mattered was that Gala slowly admitted: "I wanted to be a doctor when I was very little. I wanted to help people, wanted to make the world a better place."

"That's so cute!" exclaimed Harma.

"And quite naive, too," Roslin muttered. Her occasional comments were the only proof that she ever followed their conversations. She was no different from Gala in that respect - except that Gala's comments were usually a little less malicious.

Gala shrugged her shoulders. "That was ages ago."

"And what happened? What happened that made you change your mind?", she heard Finnick ask.

Her gaze snapped up to meet his eyes. He was peering at her intensely, as if to read her mind. Good thing Gala wasn't so easy to read. She was always careful never to reveal too much or give away anything that might make her uncomfortable or cause her problems at a later stage.

She answered calmly, but with caution: "I realised that I am not the right person to make the world a better place. I'm not cut out for it."

She held his gaze as she asked: "What about you? What was your dream job as a little kid?"

"I also wanted to become a doctor. For the same reasons as you, actually."

Gala was surprised, and at the same time she was not.

It was hard to imagine, on the one hand, how the Finnick of today, Victor since he was just 14, had ever wanted to be a doctor. He had been in the arena. He had done things that Gala would never associate with a doctor. Even though he had done them for the sake of survival.

On the other hand, now that Gala looked into the face of her counterpart, she could imagine how a much younger version of the handsome man of today, untouched by what had happened in the arena, had believed in saving people's lives. A small and sweet child, with high hopes. Not unlike Gala had been at the tender age of five.

"What happened that made you change your mind?" Gala tilted her head as she imitated his words from earlier.

She saw, if only for a very brief second, a thoughtful glint in Finnick's eyes before he replied, imitating her words in return: "I realised I wasn't cut out for it too."

—✺—

Finnick and Gala did not speak to each other as they stood together in the lift waiting to arrive at the right floor

On the way to President Snow's office, their thoughts were always elsewhere, everywhere, but not with the other person. Both of them then had their own problems to focus on and so they paid little attention to each other.

It didn't bother either of them. They were already used to each other's silence at such moments.

But today Gala seemed to want to deviate from the routine. And no one was more surprised by this than herself. Although Finnick did look quite taken aback too when Gala finally asked, "Why were you late? You're never late?"

"The news said that the traffic-" He broke off when she gave him a meaningful look.

"Don't insult me by thinking I'm stupid enough to buy this terrible lie."

"I didn't mean to insult you." He raised a brow.

"Then learn to lie better."

"What an interesting prompt", he stated. "You know I can be a terrific liar."

"Your voice may be good at lying. Your voice is persuasive, but your words are transparent. Your voice cannot always sugarcoat your poor choice of words."

For a while he said nothing. He was giving the matter some further thought, Gala was sure of it. And he really did, just a little differently than Gala had initially expected...

That much she realised when he said: "With you, it's exactly the other way round, sweetheart."

Gala looked up at him, but then she heard the familiar beep. The lift doors opened and Finnick stepped out without another word.

—✺—

Finnick's appointments with President Snow always took place right before Gala's appointments. And as always, he looked tense as he left the president's office. He hardly noticed her, staring into the distance with an inscrutable expression on his face. But no detail escaped Gala's watchful eye - a muscle worked in his jaw, which meant he was upset, although he hid it well.

He always was upset when he stepped out of this office. Sometimes his eyes betrayed him, other times it was a clenched fist or a furrowed brow. Gala did not know what was discussed within these four walls when the president and Finnick talked privately, but she could guess.

There were things Finnick was... told to do... at parties like tonight. And Gala was pretty sure that Finnick had again been given precise instructions about who he should spend the night with.

A year ago, when Gala had started this job, she had had no idea about the deals between President Snow and Finnick Odair.

But over the past year, Gala had grown wiser. She was not ignorant enough not to realise that Finnick's one night stands were not quite as innocent affairs as she had suspected. There was much more to Finnick's reputation, much more to each Victor's reputation than meets the eye.

Their lives were no longer their own.

They lived only to please the Capitol, to entertain its residents. The Victors were a means to an end, to keep the citizens happy and accordingly controllable.

And this is where Gala came in, or rather the trustees: they also had their purpose. Namely, to keep an eye on the Victors, to support them in their public appearances, so that they might cause the greatest possible satisfaction among the spectators, the Capitol residents.

It was all about entertainment and marketing. That was Gala's job.

And Finnick's job was to be charming, to look good and to listen to Gala's advice in order to maximise his popularity.

However, there was also a part of Finnick's job that Gala, for once, did not supervise, that she did not even have much information about - that was the part that involved Finnick's one night stands...

The only one who supervised Finnick's one night stands was President Snow.

Gala was not curious to know more about the exact terms and arrangements.

It was better not to pry and to remain silent.

It was better to focus on her own job and not on Finnick's.

It was better for her conscience to do so. It was for her own good...

Gala waited until President Snow's assistant had announced her presence to first knock on the door and then enter the office.

It was a large room, brightly lit because of the large windows. The walls were painted white, almost plain, but the president's desk was made of pure gold - its magnificent colour reflected in the sunlight. The whole piece of furniture looked so noble, with all the carved decorations, that Gala believed the wealth of an entire country could have flown into the production of this one desk.

Gala cleared her throat, indicating a bow. "Good morning, Mr President."

"Ms Montelago, we haven't seen each other for a while, have we?"

"It's been a month, yes."

"Oh! Where are my manners? Please sit down, my dear." Gala hurried to sit down opposite the President. He was pouring himself a cup of tea. "Would you like a cup of tea too?" he asked her as he curled his thin lips up in a sharp smile. Gala returned the smile immediately, as one was expected to do when talking to President Snow.

She could not refuse the offer. They both knew that. Nevertheless, she nodded gratefully. "Yes, please. Thank you, Mr President."

Gala raised the cup to her lips as President Snow watched her intently. He did not touch his own cup, waiting for her to take a sip first.

The liquid had barely touched her lips when her eyes widened. Her lips, her mouth, her throat - everything was burning, because the tea was much too hot. It was scalding her tongue in a way that made Gala want to scream in pain, but one look at Snow's face was enough to know that he would not let her get away with such behaviour; he expected her not to let on how much her throat hurt, how uncomfortable it was to feel the scalding liquid flooding down her oesophagus right into her stomach.

Gala made no sound, she froze, clenching her teeth to distract herself from the pain. She didn't cry either. A hot tea did not deserve her tears. Neither did the president.

"Is everything all right, Ms Montelago? Do you not like the tea?"

He folded his hands over each other and looked at her so earnestly, as if he was not aware of the pain she was going through.

"No," Gala said. Her tongue felt heavy and it hurt to speak. "The tea is fine."

"Go ahead then, Ms Montelago. Drink." His gaze was hard, his posture stern.

Gala hesitated for a second, if only a brief one. Then she took another sip. And another. She concentrated on maintaining eye contact with the president. Although her fingers tightened slightly around the cup, she hid her discomfort well. With each sip, her tongue felt a little more numb, but her throat ached all the more for it.

At some point she had finished her cup. However, she didn't even manage to feel relieved, it took too much strength not to scream or cry. She lacked the energy to feel anything other than pain.

Gala put her cup down and remained silent. Her hands sank into her lap.

"How was the tea, my dear?"

"Very tasty." Her voice sounded scratchy, her words strange even to her own ears.

"I think it's a little too hot for me." He smiled. "I would offer you my cup, but unfortunately I have important things to discuss with you and I'm afraid the tea would distract you too much from them."

She clenched her fists so hard that her knuckles went white, and her fingernails dug into her palms leaving crescent shaped marks.

President Snow tapped his chin. "You arrived here later than usual today. Why the late departure?"

"We were on time," Gala said instead of answering the question. "We always are."

"Of course. I just wonder if you still have Mr Odair under your control. Because if you are having trouble instilling obedience in him, then I will have to reconsider your position as his trustee. Perhaps a reshuffle would be beneficial to all concerned."

"I can understand your doubts, Mr President. However, I can assure you that I have everything under control."

He was silent for a second, then a cold smile spread across his lips.

"I'm glad to hear that, Ma Montelago. After all, you have been one of my most loyal employees so far... despite your questionable family background."

Gala gasped and immediately forced herself to keep her composure.

Shaking his head, Snow opened a file on his desk. "The interview yesterday didn't go quite as planned, I suppose. Mr Odair stalled a bit, didn't he? How could this happen?"

"Caesar Flickerman has not kept to our agreement and has gone against my demand not to address the upcoming games."

Gala cleared her throat because her voice sounded so terribly scratchy. But she didn't have nervousness to thank for that, only her scalded throat.

She then added: "I made it very clear to him that questions about the games could only be asked during the games season. When the ratings are higher. It is a waste to ask these highly anticipated questions when only a few viewers are watching the live stream. We use up these questions, which as follows, leads to a lack of interest in the live shows during the season, as I-"

He interrupted her, in a cold and calculating voice he spoke: "It sounds to me as if you want to spare your Victor from unpleasant questions. Is that your first priority? The well-being of your Victor and not that of the Capitol?"

"That's not true," she replied firmly. "Mr Odair's welfare is only important to me if it affects the welfare of the Capitol."

"Good, never forget that." He nodded towards the door, satisfied with the outcome of the conversation. "That's all, Ms Montelago."

"Thank you very much for your time, Mr President. It was an honour, as always."

Gala bowed her farewell and just as her hand grasped the doorknob, she heard him say: "Do not worry about Caesar Flickerman. He will never ignore orders again. I will take care of it myself, Mrs Montelago."

Why did these words sound like a threat? Not only addressed at Caesar Flickerman, but also at Gala...

She swallowed hard before opening the door and finally leaving the office.

—✺—

Just because you're from the Capitol doesn't make you fearless. Gala obviously has her fears, and it is only natural that she is afraid of Snow. The power of a dictator is always scary. Argh, I hate him!!!

Anyway, thanks for reading! Any comments are very much appreciated! I'd love some feedback. <3

love, farrah

—✺—

I feel I must give a brief warning for you readers:

Disclaimer: This is a hunger games fanfiction. So there will be violence, graphic imagery, mental disorders, explicit language, prostitution, and or sexual themes included. Please read with caution if you are sensitive to these issues.