Fighting Fire with Fire
A/N: Hey guys! It's C.K. Don't really know where I'm going with this story - if I continue, it will probably be about five chapters or so. Make sure to leave a review if you want me to continue!…Onward!
Interesting theory, Plurtach. But I don't really know if that would be possible to even pass - too brutal, too Snow-like -
"Katniss?"
My fingers halt their rhythmic clacking on the keyboard, and I close the computer in front of me - a present from Plurtach, who insists everyone involved with the new government keep in touch with him through email.
"Yeah, Peet?" I say, sighing. It has been a long day - made even longer with Peeta's constant (though unintentional) interruptions of my work. It isn't his fault, really - he was packing to go to some big conference down in Thirteen, and is not the best at remembering where he puts his things. Then again, I am not the best at remembering either, but usually between the two of us we can recall where we placed it.
"The hover plane is leaving in thirty minutes," he says, smiling, "Just wanted to have a last goodbye kiss."
I smile too, even though I'm tired and this really isn't the time for kissing, and get up out of my chair. My back hurts from sitting there so long, and I don't want anything more than to just go outside so I can get away from work and computers and lost items.
I give him a quick peck on the lips, wrapping my arms around his neck and hugging him tight. "I'll miss you," I say quietly.
"I'll miss you more," he states, and my heart hurts because I know this is not false.
The truth is, Peeta and I have grown further apart after the ending of the Rebellion, not closer. With everyone gone and just us two, it had felt right to be together at the time. We were the one thing we had that hadn't disappeared. But I don't want a family and a home life, cooking meals every day and staying home with the kids, while Peeta does. We're just not compatible. Friends, but not lovers. There is no spark anymore, and we both know it. We just choose to ignore it, to go on living our life in the same repetitive motions, always seeming to miss each other. It's just easier this way.
"Have a good time, okay?" I say, affectionately smoothing his mussed hair back down onto his head.
He rolls his eyes, grinning. "Like that will happen. I just wish you could come."
But we both know that I have to much work here, at home. Rebuilding District Twelve is not an easy task, not like anyone ever pretended it was. It has been five years since it burned down, and there is still so much work to do. But my home means more to me than a conference about District Three's water supply, and I don't care who knows. I am not the Mockingjay anymore, nor do I pretend to be. Sure, I want to help repair our broken government, to get things on the right track. But somehow, the past has come to mean more than the future, and District Twelve is what I need right now.
Peeta gives me one long, last look, a ghost of a smile still on his lips, then picks up his bags and walks out into the soft evening sun.
I sigh as the door slams shut, sitting down on our couch and closing my eyes. I really should finish that email I was sending to Plurtach, but I'm too tired to care. I have worked hard enough - heck, I have worked my whole life. I deserve to rest sometimes.
Before I can debate this any further, I find myself dozing off, drifting toward the point where even if I wanted to get up and finish the email, I wouldn't be able to. Warm, comforting sleep envelopes me, and I greet it with opened arms. I have my first nightmare in weeks, much to my dismay. I have never had many dreams ever since the Rebellion ended, but when I do, they are nightmares. Horrible, terrifying nightmares, full of the faces of people I loved. Snippets of the Games flash in my mind. I see myself in The Arena once more, crying over Rue's dead body. Watching as Thresh smashes Clove's head in with a rock. Hearing Cato's piteous cries all through the night as the mutts rip and tear at his flesh. Sometimes the things after the Games are even more gruesome - the Rebellion. President Snow, reeking of the smell of blood and roses. Finnick's face as the mutts advanced on him. And worst of all: watching as the bomb explodes, enveloping Prim in a bright orange starburst before she even knew what was happening, burned forever in my brain.
The scariest thing, though, is that all of them have happened at some point in my life. All of them are real.
When I wake up, it is to the sound of screaming - my own. I'm shouting Prim's name, over and over, and it takes me a few seconds to stop. I'm sweating and shaking, my fingers clenched so hard in the fabric of the chair that they almost rip through. The dream is already fading, but I can still recall it. It is one of my reoccurring dreams, one that I have had many times in the years since the Rebellion.
Prim stands at the edge of a cliff, dressed in her blue Reaping dress, her feet bare and toes clenching the edges of the ground. In front of her is only mist, shrouding everything in front of the cliff in shades of grey and white. Mist curls around her feet, tendrils caressing up her legs. It makes it impossible to see the bottom of the cliff.
It is eerily quiet, no animal sounds in the bushes, or birds chirping above. Even Prim is silent, though I can see her chest rise and fall steadily with each breath she inhales. We stand there for a long time, just looking into the mist. I try to discern something - anything - to no avail.
"A beautiful view, isn't it, Katniss?" she finally remarks, staring dreamily over the cliff, as if she is seeing something I'm not.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
She looks confused, but still at ease. "Can't you see it?" she asks, staring at me as if I am a small child that doesn't know the ways of the world yet. Prim points to the horizon.
And when I turn to look back, the mist has been removed. In its place is fire, fire burning everywhere.
I shriek, scrambling back. Prim laughs lightly.
"It won't hurt you," she explains. "Not if you stay here."
Suddenly, a voice calls out from the fire, and I am able to just make out a figure standing right at the bottom of the cliff, engulfed in flames. With a start, I realize it is Gale.
"Jump!" he yells up to us. "Jump, Prim!"
By now, I am panicking. Why is Gale down there? Why is he on fire?
Prim turns to look at me, blue eyes relaxed and serene.
"Bye, Katniss," she says. "Take good care of Buttercup."
And with that, she jumps into the flames.
The ringing of the doorbell snaps me out of my reverie, and I scramble off of the couch. I take my time walking over to the door. It is probably just Peeta, coming back for another forgotten item.
Giving a heavy sigh, I yank open the door.
But standing in front of me is not Peeta.
Instead, Gale Hawthorne stands casually at my doorstep.
"Hey, Catnip," he says quietly, a smile on his face. "Long time no see."
Sorry if that was a bit awkward - I'm still trying to figure this out. If you liked it, or liked it enough to favorite, review!
