Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Coriolanus, I need to talk to you. Please.”

Strabo Plinth isn't the kind of man who pleads. He is the kind of man who slips checks from his deep pockets when it’s necessary, and well, if you are Sejanus’s father, it’s necessary quite frequently. He is the kind of man who pulls strings no one can see even if his lineage has been never accepted. He is the kind of man who Coriolanus Snow would respect if he wasn’t from the district.

But now, for the first time, he pleads.

What is it all about? This question hadn’t left Coriolanus since the morning when Tigris handed him the phone during breakfast.

In the back of his mind, Coriolanus Snow already has one answer, but he tries not to let this thought get to his mind. Panic wouldn’t lead him anywhere; experience had taught him about this in the most brutal way possible. Last time when he panicked the gun fired before he thought. Sometimes he almost regretted it.

Instead of it, he stares blankly at the panorama of the Capitol through the window of the limousine. Even after short holidays, as Volumnia keeps calling it, in District 12, he learned to appreciate the place he was living in. It has been a year, but still, for him, each street, each building, was a testament to the life he’d nearly left behind because of his own vulnerability. Here was civilization – there was a wilderness in the districts.

But as he is getting close to the Plinth’s mansion, he can’t ignore the betrayal of his own hands. They are trembling. Interactions with Strabo have always been the same — a mix of anxiety and awkwardness. Even when Strabo congratulated him on the scholarship with something on his face that was supposed to reflect a smile, shaking Coriolanus’s hand briefly, it was awkward and it has always been like this. Maybe Strabo wants to deprive him of his scholarship. How long could he pay off Sejanus’s life? After all, it’s been a year. Sejanus’s life isn’t worth that much. Or maybe it is? Coriolanus sometimes wonders if his own father would pay a penny for him if he behaved so recklessly.

But he wouldn’t plead then.

Sejanus. Since coming back from District 12 their interactions started being not so different from the ones with Strabo’s.

“So I heard that you’re now in the Citadel. Spending your time there a lot,” Sejanus pointed out in the corridor, his bag loosely hanging at his arm. His voice was nothing like usual; there was no sympathy in it, only bitterness.

Coriolanus shrugged. “I got a job offer.” He changed the topic quickly. “And how are you doing?”

“Not bad,” Sejanus replied. “You were scared of her.”

“Of whom?” Coriolanus asked.

“Gaul. You told me you were happy she was out of our lives,” Sejanus said slowly, fixing his gaze on him, but Coriolanus only looked at his own shoes. Finally, this view wasn’t that awful.

“Fear has big eyes, Sejanus,” he replied, forcing a smile, feeling utterly worn down by this bitterness. What was it supposed to be? Where was this Sejanus, so kind, so sympathetic, so naive? But also so duplicitous, Coriolanus reminded himself about all the lies Sejanus said looking directly at his eyes. “I have to go.”

“Of course.”

Wasn’t it all that Coriolanus ever wanted? To Sejanus finally, leave him alone? Somehow it didn’t feel right. He should be the one distant and looking away when Sejanus was desperately searching for the table in the canteen, no otherwise. Somehow words spoken to Mrs. Plinth one day weren’t so far from the truth; Sejanus really found other friends at the University, Coriolanus didn’t see him even once eating alone. No, Sejanus was always eating, surrounded by people who looked strange, but they didn’t look like they were sitting with him as a punishment.

Mrs. Plinth. Ma Plinth. He almost hears her words. Why didn’t you visit us, Coriolanus?

Swallowing hard, Coriolanus gets out of the car and he runs his fingers through his hair. His stomach churns painfully. He could deny this visit. He didn’t owe Strabo Plinth anything. This scholarship? It was like nothing for all these sacrifices. He deserved it, he earned it, he worked for it.

Like usual, after a few knocks, an Avox in a maid’s outfit opens the door and leads him to a drawing room, indicating he should sit. Nothing has changed. Fine furniture, thick carpets, embroidered tapestries. Some tacky painting on the wall. Coriolanus stares at it blankly. The serene countryside — farmers working, ships sailing, a wide, open sky. Who even paints such things, and why? But it looks calming. At least, at the University, there aren’t any classes as pointless as trying to read this. The Plinths probably bought it because it was expensive, like the way they buy their ridiculously aristocratic clothes.

And still, no address at Corso.

Avox comes back to him soon and guides him to a familiar library. No shadow of Ma Plinth at home. No shadow of Sejanus. The whole Plinths’ house is filled with silence which now feels oppressive. Besides their steps, only the ticking of the clock somewhere in the house is audible. No scent of cooked food, the air is heavy with the smell of dust, like no one had cleaned here for some time. Quite unusual.

Mr. Plinth stands next to the window, backward. He slowly turns to him, and their gazes meet, but Coriolanus hasn’t ever seen him in such a state. His face remains stern, like usual, but he looks like he cried a moment ago.

Coriolanus tries to wear his most society smile, pretending he doesn’t notice anything odd. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Coriolanus. Please, take a seat,” Strabo gestures to the leather chair near the fireplace. “You’re probably wondering why I called you?”

Strabo Plinth has always been a specific man.

"Sir, it’s always a pleasure to visit. But I admit, I'm curious — what’s the reason for this sudden invitation?"

Strabo sighs loudly and says this sentence Coriolanus doesn’t want to hear. “It’s about Sejanus.”

Of course, it couldn’t be about anything else. Still, Coriolanus stays silent, waiting, watching Strabo with feigned patience.

“He has big troubles,” he adds.

Tell me something, Coriolanus thinks, new. When he didn’t have troubles. Just pay for him, as usual.

“What do you mean, sir?” He continues this courtesy.

Strabo comes closer, but he still doesn’t sit. In this light his face grows weary, he looks like he gets older about ten years since Coriolanus last saw him, a few days ago in the corridor at the University. "I wouldn't be asking if I had any other choice, Coriolanus. You must know that. If you refuse, I... I don't know what else to do."

“Sir, but what is it all about?” Coriolanus asks more firmly, but his voice still remains calm.

“Dr. Gaul wants to execute Sejanus,” now Strabo’s voice breaks, and chills run through Coriolanus’s body.

Execute?

“Why?” Coriolanus asks.

“I thought he was doing better. I really thought he was doing better. But his new friends… Well, it appears rebels are not only in District 12,” Strabo says, drumming his fingers against the back of a chair. “They were planning to disturb the opening of the Hunger Games. Rescue tributes. But, well, not all of them. There was a snitch,” Strabo says, observing Coriolanus.

And what, Coriolanus wants to say, I’m supposed to do with it? If Sejanus wants to die, wants to die so desperately, let him die finally. Why does everybody insist on rescuing him all the time? Lifetime of bad decisions is catching up to him.

“Sir,” how to say it politely? “Could you suggest Dr. Gaul… I’m sure she needs a lot of equipment in Citadel. Recently our microscope broke down,” Coriolanus says.

Strabo only shakes his head with resignation.

“I tried, Coriolanus. She doesn’t want to even listen to me. She told me if I couldn’t teach him anything for twenty years, then no money would convince her. He is a traitor and he needs to be hanged,” the last few words Strabo pronounces nearly above the whisper, in the way Coriolanus shivers. He saw executions in District 12. The sound of broken necks. Pathetic screams. It would be quite uncomfortable to look at his – what? friend? fellow classmate? fellow companion of misfortune? – ending his life like that. “All my life I tried to rescue him. Protect him. And I… I failed.”

Maybe you should stop, Coriolanus thinks mercilessly, but aren’t family bonds the most important? The blood in the veins? Grandma’am could be irritating, but she is still his grandmother, and he would do anything for her, any day. But Coriolanus shares no blood with Sejanus.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” Coriolanus says, and he really means it. “Sejanus is my… My friend, always has been,” he says, though he doesn’t know why he plays along in front of Strabo. Maybe he is one of not many people who never believed in it. “But I’m afraid, I don’t understand what you expect from me.”

Strabo peers at him, visibly ashamed. “Could you talk with Dr. Gaul, Coriolanus?” Pleading, again.

Talk with Dr. Gaul. Coriolanus almost chuckles. As if he would ever talk with her about anything. He was scared of her and he still is. And why wouldn’t he be? Only Sejanus is foolish enough not to fear Dr. Gaul. One visit to the Citadel, with the sickly sweet smell of rot lingering in the air, is enough — if you know what’s causing it. One look at the mutts, those creatures that should never exist, is enough. Even Volumnia’s face is enough — unpredictable, always looking like she is on the verge of laughter, but in reality, she is ready to kill anybody who dares to oppose, even a little. This woman is not only cruel; she is a complete lunatic. Nothing had changed in Coriolanus’s perception since the day he met her.

But she is powerful.

“Sir, I’m afraid you overestimate my power. Dr. Gaul accepted me for an internship, but I’m mainly cleaning her laboratory. She wants to give me a chance in the following Hunger Games, but I’m not anyone influential. If you didn’t convince her, I don’t think, I would be able to do it,” Coriolanus replies.

“My wife hasn’t stood up from the bed for five days,” Strabo says, like it could change anything. “I wouldn’t ask you about it if I wasn’t so hopeless.”

He is hopeless. Strabo Plinth is completely hopeless. Coriolanus for a moment even wonders how it is. The man who bought his way to the Capitol. To the elites. Now he isn’t able to do anything and he is asking Coriolanus for help.

They are staring at each other in silence, and Coriolanus doesn’t even know what he can say.

"I will… reward you. Generously." Strabo’s voice shakes as he stumbles to his desk, grabbing a sheet of paper. His hands tremble as he scribbles something down before thrusting the note at Coriolanus. Coriolanus stares at the number. One million. Enough to solve every problem he has.

“Sir, you can’t be serious…” he replies. Earlier, he would be very grateful for such generosity. Well, his financial situation is better, but still far from perfect. He can pay studies, but cabbage soup lands on his table more often than he wishes. Grandma needs professional care, last time she almost got lost in the Capitol’s street once he was at the University, and Tigris at work. And Dr. Gaul doesn’t pay him a lot. Taxes are expensive.

“I am. Just talk with her, and money is yours, Coriolanus,” Strabo insists. “I don’t expect anything else. Only talk.”

Sejanus. Poor Sejanus. So self-destructive his whole life. Who would blame the flame that finally burned the moth?

“You know, Sejanus, I’m your friend. More than a friend. You’re the closest thing I’ll ever have to a brother. And there are special rules for family. If you need help . . . I mean, if you get into something you can’t handle . . . I’m here.”

What empty, stupid words, what empty, foolish promise.

The prickle of tears stung Coriolanus’s eyes, a sensation so foreign to him that he quickly blinks it away, disgusted with himself to his core. By now, he should know better than to be vulnerable — it never brought anything good.

But this wayward hair falling into Sejanus’s big, brown eyes, this faint smile, these gumdrops that he wanted to offer everybody, and nobody wanted to accept it from him. He’s always been like this — ready to give everything to anyone willing to offer him even a little. Like Coriolanus did.

“Sir… I…” Coriolanus Snow doesn’t stutter, so why he is doing it now. “I wish I could do something, but Dr. Gaul really doesn’t like questioning her decisions,” he says quietly. Doesn’t like it, he snorts internally. She let Clemensia put hand into the tank of the snakes, very aware of what they would do to her for something a way less serious.

“You’re her favorite student, Coriolanus. She always praises you. Your potential to be Gamemaker, the youngest in history,” Strabo says. “But I… I understand if you don’t want to do it. Maybe I was stupid even thinking about asking you about it.”

Now he would tear up the check, Coriolanus thinks for a moment or two.

“Sir, maybe you could suggest… Sejanus is… He has always been a little bit… He took a lot of sedatives. Maybe you can suggest to Dr. Gaul he has some kind of problems,” Coriolanus says carefully.

Mental asylum. To this place, Sejanus Plinth has probably always belonged. A room without door handles, a white jacket. Maybe then he won't hurt himself and anyone around him.

“I suggested a lot of measures, even Sejanus becoming… An Avox. She doesn’t want to hear about anything,” Strabo says with resignation, he turns to the window.

One million for one talk. It’s a bargain, really. A little risk, but the reward is worth it. After all, what’s a conversation with Gaul when everything he needs is within reach? Anyway, it would also be cruel not to try at least. Not to try when this fool followed him to District 12.

“How much time do we have?” Coriolanus asks.

“Dr. Gaul wants to announce it tomorrow to the public. Then it would be too late,” Strabo replies.

“Where is Sejanus now?”

“In the jail.”

“Sir… Let me think about it,” Coriolanus replies. Maybe he would discuss it with Tigris, though she became a little bit more distant recently.

“Naturally,” Strabo says quietly.

This time he shakes Coriolanus’s hand.

As Avox leads him towards the door, Coriolanus follows the empty corridor. Perhaps Strabo made a mistake. Maybe he should leave Sejanus in the District 12, though he was no soldier, despite his shooting skills. So much wasted potential.

Coriolanus’s heart nearly stops when he hears the door to the single room creak open.

“Coriolanus? Is it really you?” a strangled voice, hoarse from crying.

“Good morning, Mrs. Plinth.” He can't bring himself to meet her eyes, but out of the corner of his gaze, he notices her disheveled hair, the nightgown she's wearing, and the puffiness of her face. But he doesn’t have to look at her. Soon, Coriolanus feels how she throws herself at his neck, her face, wet from crying, wiped somewhere on his shirt.

“Coriolanus… I haven’t seen you for months…”

“I was busy,” Coriolanus replies blankly, even as a small pang of guilt twists in his chest. It is a lie, but he is used to lying like nothing else, so why does he even feel it? And now he even thinks how it’s a stupid thing to say, to say it now, like it would be important to anyone, to the mother who can lose her only son.

“Would you help us? You always rescued him, you always did… This last time, Coriolanus?” she whispers, clutching at his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her from collapsing on the floor.

For a moment Coriolanus starts thinking it’s Plinths’ manipulation - he is trapped like a mouse in a maze that thinks it has some way out, but there is none.

But no, Mrs. Plinth is too good-natured for that. Too simple.

He finds his hand moving to stroke her back, instinctively. He isn’t used to touching, not so personal one, but maybe it would calm her down. How much power he holds over these people.

Power. Always power. It is what moves the world, what makes the Capitol breathe, what keeps him alive. And it was always just out of reach. But with one million dollars – it is a different talk.

“I will do everything in my power,” he says, barely moving his lips.

Coriolanus almost believes it.

Standing at the gates of the Citadel, Coriolanus feels nauseous. The visits never get easier, only slightly more bearable; his stomach no longer churns as violently, but a strange feeling at the end of his throat remains. It’s better not to eat too much before coming here. You will survive this, Coriolanus repeats to himself every time, survive this day and the next, and with each one, he tells himself, he is a step closer to his goal. To become the president of Panem.

Coriolanus didn’t find Tigris at home. Maybe after all it’s better not to worry her. She doesn’t like his job. “You became different since you’re working for this woman.” Like she wasn’t kissing the ass of Fabricia herself.

And he doesn’t become different. Maybe she stopped being so naive.

As usual, at the Peacekeepers' stations, he is thoroughly searched and his things are scanned.

“Card,” the Peacekeeper says, though Coriolanus has already shown this a hundred of times. Never enough security.

Following a long, gray corridor, he suddenly feels the weight of the thing he is supposed to do – it is surreal. The elevator doors part too quickly, and he steps into the changing room next to the entrance to the laboratory. Before putting a white apron on himself, he disinfects his hands, only now noticing how raw and bitten his cuticles are.

He walks slowly through the lab, passing glass cases, he had learned not to stare at them if it wasn’t necessary. Maybe Sejanus is lucky, it was better to die than become one of Dr. Gaul’s creatures.

He finds her in the usual place – peering into a large terrarium, full of colorful snakes. In the left, gloved hand she holds a pack with small mice. Feeding time. Sometimes Coriolanus suspects she is doing it on purpose.

What did happen to him last time when he risked his life for someone from the district? Coriolanus wipes his sweaty palms against his trousers before Gaul notices.

“Good morning, Dr. Gaul,” he says as she turns to him, grinning widely.

“You always have the best timing, Mr. Snow,” she says. “But to what do I owe this pleasure? Not even the Capitol’s brightest star is that devoted to his work to come here on Sunday.”

It is pointless to delay it.

“Dr. Gaul, please forgive me for my audacity,” he says, hiding his trembling hands in the pocket of his apron, “but… I overheard…”

“What did you overhear, Mr. Snow?” Now her full attention is focused on him as she puts down the box of squeaking mice, not paying attention to the fact that one of them escapes to the floor.

Only her sight could kill someone. Coriolanus feels like his whole body is shaking.

“About the execution of Sejanus,” he says quietly.

“Oh, well, young Plinth. That’s correct. But finally, it has to come to him, hasn’t it? Not reaped, not died at the arena, not died in District 12,” she hums. “I was lenient for too long, but every woman has a weakness for trinkets. Even if it’s for these,” she glances at the equipment in her laboratory.

Coriolanus swallows hard but forces a polite smile. Still, he can stop here. He just asked about the execution, nothing extraordinary. “I understand, Dr. Gaul, but in reality... I’ve spent a lot of time with Sejanus Plinth. He isn’t a real threat. I even think... he has some mental instability.” He raises his eyes to her, though her expression remains as inscrutable as ever. Satyria Clicke had been easy; all it took was a well-placed compliment, good preparation for her lessons. But Gaul? She is impossible to impress. And anyway, what kind of compliment could you give someone like her?

“Mr. Snow, did you grow such a fragile heart in the district? That you are so worried about young Plinth’s fate? There is no need for these plays here, no need to impress his father,” she replies indifferently, turning again to the terrarium and throwing the mouse straight down the snake's throat.

Coriolanus holds his breath.

“So how much did old Strabo offer you, Mr. Snow? To have such audacity?”

“It’s not about…”

“Mr. Snow, I told you not to lie to me,” she says, her voice now sounding warning.

“He… he offered me some recompense for this favor, but why not just put Sejanus into a mental institution, Dr. Gaul? It would also be more profitable for the laboratory – Strabo would finance some equipment.”

Volumnia chuckles.

“There,” he continues, undeterred, though it was already too late – what a stupid idea it had been – “he wouldn’t do anything foolish anymore.”

“Defending a traitor? Unbelievable. Don’t let me think I wasted over a year on you, Mr. Snow,” she says.

It is the end. She will feed these snakes with my body, Coriolanus thinks bitterly.

“I’m not… I’m not defending him, Dr. Gaul, I just…”

“So what are you doing?”

Coriolanus remains silent, trying to organize thoughts in his head. Cold sweat breaks out on his body. What is he doing? Actually, it’s a very good question. Excellent one. What even made him do it? Money? Tearful face of Ma Plinth? Rush of adrenaline? It was doomed to failure from the start.

“But as you know, I enjoy games.” She grins, her eyes flickering to him. “You see, some of them end quickly,” she says, holding up a wriggling mouse before dropping it into the tank of golden snakes. The mouse barely has time to squeal before it’s swallowed whole. “But others…” She snatches up the escaped mouse by its tail like a real predator. “Others try to run,” she muses, slowly lowering it into the tank, where the snakes coil eagerly. “It always believes it can escape. It runs, scurries, fights – never realizing its fate was sealed the moment it was born.”

This metaphor is extremely understandable even to him.

“What do you mean, Dr. Gaul?” he asks politely anyway. Maybe she would spare Sejanus’s life, even if for a while, until he decides again to do something stupid. These ten minutes of discomfort would be worth it.

“I mean,” she turns to him, locking her gaze onto his, “Mr. Plinth will be a free man. Are you happy, Mr. Snow?”

He knows better than to feel relief. He forces a smile, but his throat feels so tight that he isn’t sure if he can speak without his voice shaking.

“I think happy is an exaggeration. I hope that this time he learned something and wouldn’t ever try to commit treason again,” he replies coldly.

But when Coriolanus hears the next sentence, his hair stands on end.

“Your role in this, Mr. Snow.”

Whatever she means it’s nothing good. Whatever she means it would be better not to hear it at all. Coriolanus swallows hard.

“My role?” he repeats weakly.

“Yours, yours, Mr. Snow. If you’re so invested in defending Sejanus Plinth, why don’t you take responsibility for him? Let’s play a little game. Prove me wrong. Prove that a year from now, Mr. Plinth will become an exemplary citizen of the Capitol. And you, Mr. Snow will be his teacher. And his guardian,” she adds, her smile widening. “You’ll guide him, mold him. After all, who better to shape him into an exemplary citizen than the Capitol’s golden boy himself?”

Coriolanus’s heart beat so fast it almost felt like it would explode out of his chest. Teacher? Guardian? No, Gaul couldn’t be serious — she wouldn’t be that cruel. Not for him. This had to be another one of her twisted lessons, just like that trip to District 12.

She comes closer. “And of course, you will be responsible for his every move. If he slips up, well... let's just say I'll hold you accountable, Mr. Snow.”