Chapter Text
The train to District 2 is cold. Coriolanus Snow, despite the name, does not prefer winter temperatures – too many bad memories of war, of having to go days without heating because they can’t afford to buy oil or firewood. It’s not winter yet, but fall is peeking through the nights getting shorter and the morning dew still lingering on the way to breakfast.
“At least the barracks will be heated,” Coriolanus thinks, and tries to push away the thoughts that threaten to come up whenever he thinks of Two, and of what he’s leaving behind. The changing landscape as the train rolls towards the border between Twelve and Three doesn’t help: Lucy Gray’s big brown eyes stare at him in his mind, “Why didn’t you say goodbye?”, and another pleading look bores into his conscience: Sejanus. A pang of guilt, a bitter taste in his mouth. He can still hear the click of the remote, the inhuman parody of Sejanus’ voice coming out of the jabberjay. Why did he send it? Why didn’t he delete it, make the bird disappear? He remembers, of course. The sharp premonition of something bad happening, Sejanus’ actions being found out, something worse stemming from it. ‘I was saving myself,’ he thinks, ‘I was saving him . His dad will buy him out. Before something worse happens.’ He pushes down the doubt that refuses to subside. What if he got his only friend killed?
Bright lights are blinding him when he steps off the train after what feels like a week. ‘Funny, I didn’t know the District Two train station was so similar to the one in the Capitol,” he begins to think before he can orient himself and stops in the middle of the train steps. The peacekeeper behind him gives him an annoyed shove and Coriolanus stumbles onto the platform. The city buildings shining through the glass ceiling and the large Panem crest on the wall leave no doubt.
“This is the Capitol!”
“Very observant, Snow,” says a peacekeeping officer walking towards him on the platform, “Follow me. You’re being expected.”
Coriolanus feels sick with the mix of emotions coursing through him. The thought of being home again, getting to go home – the uncertainty of not knowing why they took him here instead to Two. He needs to pull himself together. Whatever it is, he should be ready. Needs to be sharp, as always. Alert. Ready to react to any situation that they are throwing him into.
He wastes no breath asking the officer where they’re going. The chances he would get an answer are next to nonexistent anyway. He gets put in a grey military truck, not facing the windscreen, so there’s no way to deduce their destination except through the rumbling turns and infrequent stops at (he presumes) red lights. At their sixth stop the officer gets out of the front and opens the back door.
“Out,” he instructs. They can’t have gone too far, they’re still within a 15 minute radius from the train station. ‘Calm down,’ the voice in his head tells him, ‘Look around. Use your brain.’
For the second time today he stops dead in his tracks.
“Keep moving,” the officer snarls.
The long flight of steps they are moving towards is unmistakable, and the cold grey letters on the side of the building only confirms what Coriolanus already knows: Department of War. There’s only one person here that he could be taken to.
“Mr. Snow,” Dr. Gaul’s voice echoes through the laboratory. Coriolanus has to remind himself to keep his head high, not to flinch away.
“Welcome back to the Capitol,” the professor grins, her eyes gleaming in a way that makes him feel like prey in front of one of her mutant snakes, “Did you enjoy your trip to the Districts? You were certainly productive down there.”
The way Dr. Gaul emphasizes each consonant brings a cold shiver down Coriolanus’ back. If he’s here, instead of in District 2, this can only mean one thing. His fate is in her hands.
He still hasn’t spoken, and as he opens his mouth, Dr. Gaul raises a red leather-gloved hand to quiet him immediately.
“Yes, I’ve received your little… recording. Very resourceful. I wonder only what you thought I should make of it. What should happen to your friend as a consequence.”
She must have noticed the panic shooting through his body, because she laughs in a way that only someone who invents killing machines for a living can laugh.
“Of course, his father – and our institute’s most charitable donour – had some thoughts about that as well. Fortunately for your little friend, and for you, I imagine, his involvement with the District Twelve rebels cannot be proven by anything but his own pre post erous boasting. Therefore, the opportunity has been taken to make a small donation to the Department of War and get him back into the Capitol and under supervision. For his own good, and the good of Panem.”
Coriolanus lets out a breath he was not aware he was holding. Sejanus is safe. Safe. Dr. Gaul grins again, this time with less malice than he detected a few minutes ago, but he knows better than to believe in her goodwill.
“But that brings me back to you, Mr. Snow. I don’t have to tell you that if Sejanus Plinth had been found guilty of supplying the rebels with anything substantial, he would have been hung. So that means you sent that message to me, leaving your friend’s destiny in the hands of fate and Lady Luck, all to get my attention.” He doesn’t move, just returns her gaze and hopes she cannot see the anxiety starting to build again. She spreads her arms, gesturing to the grand laboratory.
“So there is nothing left for me but to congratulate you, Mr. Snow. Welcome to the University. You will begin your studies directly under me this fall semester, starting in two weeks.”
His heart sinks as he shakes his head.
“I can’t pay the tuition, Professor,” he presses out, willing his voice to stay as clear and emotionless as possible.
“I am aware of your family’s… particular situation. Thankfully, I know someone who might have a solution to this problem.” She gestures to one of her assistants and the girl scurries off to a separate room, returning with a man in tow, a man that Coriolanus has not seen since the night he got Sejanus out of the arena.
Strabo Plinth. He nods at Coriolanus with a stern look in his eyes. Dr. Gaul claps her gloved hands together and looks immensely pleased with herself.
“I’ll leave the two of you to discuss.” She vanishes around the corner with her assistants in tow.
Strabo Plinth, in an impeccable and expensive-looking suit, looks down on Coriolanus despite the both of them being about the same height. He carries a walking stick emblazoned with the Plinth logo, evoking the illusion of an old family heirloom, even though it is most certainly a new, custom-made item.
“Coriolanus Snow,” he begins, “I have come to present you with a proposition. A simple deal: I will take over your tuition payments and provide you with enough financial support during the time of your studies to live comfortably.”
“And what do you receive in turn?” Coriolanus tries not to sound resigned already. He knows the Plinths have enough money to rival the richest families in the Capitol, but the University tuition is not insignificant. Surely he cannot be acting out of altruistic motives. And if he knows that Coriolanus sent the jabberjay to Dr. Gaul…
“You will marry my son.”
Coriolanus’ carefully trained neutral expression slips. Confusion must be easily readable in his face, because Strabo Plinth continues:
“Think about it. This could be mutually beneficial. Your family, while well-established in Capitol society, has been in a unique financial situation since the war. And my family has more than enough funds, but is still looked upon as an outsider within the social and political sphere. Joining forces, so to speak, would serve to alleviate both issues.”
The plethora of thoughts spinning through his mind at once makes Coriolanus’ heart miss a beat. Political marriages are not unheard of within the Capitol. And being able to pay the tuition, to get food on the table for his family, to start his ascension within the academic and political elite of Panem… It had been his plan, his dream, ever since he stood in front of Grandma’am as a child, learning of his father’s death. But to marry? And to marry Sejanus, no less, who had barely been a friend most of his life, who was a man, and who was betrayed by him. Which brings him a little ways back towards the resignation he felt before, because no way would Sejanus agree to marry him. Not after what happened.
“I’m certain Sejanus will have something to say about this.”
“Oh, he had plenty to say,” Strabo Plinth scoffs, “But nothing of importance. You see, buying my son out of his latest predicament came with conditions of its own. He could have destroyed everything his mother and I built just because he felt the need to act rash – driven by unguided self-righteousness – and to support some lone rebels who are all, of course, strung up by now.” Plinth takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. Coriolanus can see the rage bubbling behind the surface of his composed posture.
“So Sejanus will accept the spouse I choose for him, and make peace with the arrangement, or he can find out if it is the displeasure of the Capitol or my own which is worse… and yes, if you decline – which is well within your right, of course – I will see to it that someone else takes on the role. Surely there are some eligible sons or daughters within reach that would aid our position, even if they may not be a Snow,” he adds, answering Coriolanus’ unspoken question.
“I see,” Coriolanus nods. The thought of some posh Capitol poppet at Sejanus’ side, someone who can’t keep up with his mind, someone who wasn’t him … Everything inside of Coriolanus revolts against the thought. He pushes down the question why it affects him so much – and with it the anxiety that once again resurfaces when he realizes he has made this decision. Now or never.
“If I accept,” he begins cautiously, not missing the way in which Plinth already seems to relax at these words – under more pressure than he would like to let on, it seems – “ If I accept, you will pay for my cousin’s way into fashion design school. And for her and my grandmother to move back into our family home.”
Strabo Plinth’s mouth forms a thin line, but he does not protest.
“Fine, but let me make myself clear, Mr. Snow. You will not only marry my son. You will keep him in line, and you will protect him. Most of all, you will keep him happy.” Plinth stares at Coriolanus, the angry tension returning to his jaw. “If Sejanus breaks out of this arrangement, our deal is off.” He would have to go back to the military. Bid his ambitions good-bye. Like he thought he had until an hour ago. Already it seems impossible again.
“So,” Strabo Plinth leans forward on his walking stick as if he actually needed it for support. Coriolanus wonders if he does, if he is less healthy than he lets on.
“Do we have a deal?”
The world stops turning for a moment. Coriolanus stares at the hand extended towards him. Takes a breath, and another. Then he meets the firm grasp of his opponent.
“We do.”
Plinth nods and squeezes his hand firmer than necessary.
“Then I will see you soon. I’ll send a courier with the details of the civil ceremony. It should be held soon, before my son thinks to find the next bad choice to make.”
With that he brushes past Coriolanus and leaves the laboratory.
Coriolanus feels like he might fall over. Steels himself. The same old mantra. ‘Pull yourself together.’ Control, control, control.
A shaky breath leaves his body, but he turns towards the exit in fast, steady steps.
He needs to talk to Sejanus.