Mortality

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Suzanne Collins. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Note: This story focuses on the love triangle between Peeta, Katniss and Gale. Information about characters and situations has been pulled from Catching Fire and Mockingjay so if you've read those two books you may understand some of the references a little more. However, in saying that, I've tried to keep in mind that some readers may have only read The Hunger Games. For that reason, the present story is set after The Hunger Games and any references made about the other two books will be – hopefully – elaborated on in enough detail so that everybody can understand. Spoilers (especially major ones) are very minimal… if at all present. Don't want to ruin the other two books for those who haven't read them (you should read them though, by the way!)

Ships: Personally I'm a Gale fan myself (although I love both). But for those of you out there who are Peeta fans (there are a lot, I know) don't worry because my crazy sister who co-writes this with me is a Peeta fan. So we'll have equal amount of time for the boys.

That's enough out of me. Hope you enjoy the story.

There is nothing in this world is infinite. No one thing can outlast the general order of life. There'd be no surviving natural selection should you be the organism with the unfavourable trait. The dinosaurs were decimated after all in one giant sweep. And evolution will not slow down for the lethargic mouse. No, for the presence of infinity would mean no mortality. And mortality, my friends, is how the world works.

Chapter One: The Reading of the Card

Rue's four-note tune floated out of the mockingjay's mouth effortlessly, as if it had been born to sing the melody. I know that I should feel relieved, knowing that she is safe, but I don't. I've been here before. Too many times before. So instead of acknowledging the bird's song, I begin to run towards the clearing, already knowing where I need to go.

The soles of my shoes barely touch the cold dirt before they are back in the air, I am running that fast. A sense of urgency grips me suddenly and I know where it springs from; the memory of that day in the arena. I know what is coming. It's almost impossible to shake the feeling of dread that promises to consume me, so instead I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other hoping that this will be over quickly. Hoping that I am not plagued by this nightmare of a memory any longer than necessary.

I push past the tree branches that threaten to impede my progress, and as I do a flock of mockingjay's whiz by my ear. The song that they carry, however, is silenced by the piercing sound of Rue screaming.

"Kitniss! Katniss!" Her high-pitch cry seems to reverberate around the arena. Distantly I wonder if Peeta, wherever he is, can hear her too.

"Rue!" I call back desperately, although I already know that I will be too late. "Rue!"

As I break through the clearing her eyes lock with mine. I cannot hear what she is saying but I do not need to. From memory, she is screaming my name. It seems to take forever for the spear to find her body. Slowly, slowly, it pierces through the air – a silent blade – until I cannot take anymore and I scream for Peeta to wake me up.

But he doesn't. He can't. We are no longer in the arena together. No longer sleeping side by side helping each other through our nightmares. He is in his house in the Victors Village battling his own mid-night terrors.

"Help me Peeta!" I try one last time.

Nothing.

The spear enters her small body and I cry out in grief. Blood begins to pool around her quickly, gushing out like water from a tap. She looks at me with her big, brown eyes willing me forward. Not to save her but to be with her. To comfort her. She already knows that she is going to die. It's inevitable. I take two steps before I realise that the dream has changed. There is no boy from District 1 to shoot down, nor is Rue entangled in the net. In fact, suddenly there is no Rue at all.

Instead, lying on the dirty floor of the arena is Prim.

I cry out in alarm and run forward, hating myself for being so slow to reach her. When I do I manage to catch only a few words of her murmurings.

"... your fault."

I shake my head not believing what she is saying.

"... your fault." She begins to chant. "... your fault." Her blonde hair is now damp and red with blood.

"No..." I manage to choke out, my throat tight with tears. "Please Prim. Don't."

But Prim doesn't say anymore. Her body convulses twice before she goes still. Dead.

"Prim!" I shout. "Prim!"

Her eyes are still open and locked on to mine. Even in death they are judgmental and unforgiving.

I scream.

Cold hands shake me out of the depths of my darkness. It takes me a while before I adjust to the brightness of my room but when I do I find myself looking up into Peeta's worried face.

"Catnipp, you alright?"

No, not Peeta's... Gale's. I don't know whether I feel slightly relieved or disappointed.

'Catnipp?" Gale shakes me again.

It's hard to find my voice with the memory of Prim's death in the back of my mind. 'It was just a dream' I keep telling myself, but the memory fails to dissipate.

"She may need some water. I'll go get some." The instant I hear her voice I immediately relax. Prim. She is the perfect epitome of innocence. I am not naive enough to believe that the hunger games last year did not change her, however. In fact, it changed everybody. But somehow Prim managed to maintain her purity of self. A complete juxtaposition of me.

I'm unsure whether she is still in the room so I look up at Gale and ask, "Is she gone?" I'm surprised to hear that my voice sounds hoarse, as if I had been screaming for hours. Maybe I had.

I feel the warmth as Gale scoops my hands into his. They are rough from years of hunting but they are also gentle and strong. Just like Gale himself. "Yeah. She'll be back soon though." The tone of his voice is calm and tender, but underneath the softness I can detect his urgency to help me resolve my issues. To fix me. To prove himself to be my ultimate protector. To demonstrate that his love for me is, well, over and above Peeta's.

I sigh.

"Another nightmare?" Gale prods. "You seem to be having them a lot lately." If his hands weren't holding mine so tight I'm sure that they would be running through his hair. It's a new-found habit that must have started while I was in the arena.

"Yeah, another nightmare." I say, already knowing that it will not be an adequate enough response for him. He'll want more. He always does.

"Was it about Rue?" His eyes bore into mine, willing to understand and explore what haunts me.

I flinch. I cannot help it. Talking about Rue with Gale never resolves any issues for me. He doesn't get it, and he knows it. He just can't understand how I'm feeling or what is going on inside my head. He can't relate. He wasn't in the arena. Peeta was. And it kills him. Like it kills me.

It's the one thing we can't talk about. The arena. Oh... and Peeta.

"Did Prim make an appearance again?" I nod in reply, not trusting myself to say anything more. Gale knows all about my dreams and what transpires within them. But I don't tell him, Peeta does.

"It's okay, we don't have to talk about it." He says so nonchalantly, like it doesn't tear him up inside. But I can tell that it does. You don't have to be his best friend to realise it. I think that's why Peeta told him about my dreams in the first place. To try and help Gale understand. To try and bridge the relationship gap that was building between him and me the first six months after returning from the hunger games. Well, that's my theory anyway. I've heard Gale say otherwise to Primrose. He's under the opinion that Peeta was, well is, trying to undermine him. As if Peeta is saying 'you don't have her... I do.' I don't believe that, however.

Gale releases my hands and puts them back down gently on the bed. Prim has re-entered the room.

"I have some water for you, sis." She says. I take the glass from her hand and down the water in an instant. I close my eyes for a second, revelling in the cooling sensation as the clear liquid slides down my throat. Healing. It's exactly what I needed. Trust Prim to know it.

When I open my eyes I only just manage to catch Gale as he exits the room. His tee-shirt is taught across his broad shoulders and his movements are stiff as if his whole body is tense. He's about to explode. I can tell. He'll probably go for a run to cool off. Either that or go hunting. Maybe both.

In my peripheral vision I can see Prim following my eyes to the doorway. "You said his name, you know." She tells me.

My eyes snap back to hers. "Who? Gale's?"

"No, Peeta's."

I put the empty glass down on the bed-side coffee-table a little harder than I initially intended. It smashes as it comes into contact with the wood and ricochets into a thousand tiny pieces across the floor. Prim goes to scoop up the broken shards.

I shake my head. "Leave it Prim. I'll do it." I swing my legs to one side of the bed and stand up, mindful to side-step any broken pieces of glass. The thought of seeing Prim cut her hand on the glass sends shivers through me. I push the image of her lying bloody on the cold floor of the arena to the back of my mind. As she grows up I won't be able to protect her from a broken heart or some of the disappointments that responsibility brings. But I can protect her from this.

Prim goes to the cupboard and hands me the dust pan and broom. I take it from her. She doesn't ask me about my dream. Instead she sits on the edge of the beds and starts telling me about what she has planned for the day.

"Mum needs some more medical supplies. We used them all up last night on the Mason boy who got burned down in the mine. So I'm thinking of grabbing some bandages, burn cream and antiseptic from Mrs Nickleson's." I think she could tell that I wasn't really listening because the next thing she says is, "Haymitch also asked me to go and get some alcohol for him down at the Hob."

My head shoots up, what little pieces of the remaining glass instantly forgotten. "What?" I demand, instantly furious. "How dare he ask that of you!"

Prim just sits there grinning at me like a cheshire cat as if she found my sudden outburst incredibly humorous. Well, she obviously did.

I go back to scooping the broken shards of glass into the dust pan, hiding the small smile that is playing on my lips. "So he didn't ask you then I gather?" I ask after a few moments of silence.

Prim laughs. It's so good to hear the sound. "Of course not Katniss! He knows that he would have to deal with you if he did. Then mother, Gale, Peeta, Rory... there would be a lot of people lining up to take his alcohol away in punishment."

The instant my eyebrows raise she knows that she said something she shouldn't have. "Rory, eh?"

She blushes. So innocent.

"So how long has this been going on for?"

"We're - "

"Friends." My mother interrupts her as she walks into the room. She's holding a steaming hot bowl in her hand. "I made you some rhubarb porridge." She hands me the bowl.

"What about Prim?" I ask, taking the porcelain from her.

"I've already had some." Prim replies, smiling at me. She looks so beautiful when she smiles like that. Her blue eyes sparkle and I can only imagine how many sponsors she would have acquired had I not volunteered to go into the arena. She would have put the prep team Flavius, Venus and Octavia out of a job because she needs no make up to stand out. That's for sure.

I lift the steel spoon and shovel some porridge into my mouth. It tastes delicious. My mother's cooking skills have certainly improved with all of the new ingredients sent to us from the Capital. A gift for being the Victor of the hunger games.

I can vaguely hear Prim and my mother having a conversation but I only make out the words "antiseptic", "tweezers", and "radishes". I'm not really listening.

The next thing I know Prim has left the room and my mother is standing there giving me a look that is clearly saying something but I have no idea what.

She sighs. "You know, Primrose looks up to you so much."

Her comment takes me by surprise. I don't know what to say.

"She wants you to teach her how to hunt."

"What?" I blanch. Prim... hunt? I've spent years hunting so that she wouldn't have to. "Why?" I ask.

My mother shrugs her delicate shoulders. It's clear where Prim gets her slenderness from. "She already asked Gale." When it is clear that a response from me isn't forthcoming she continues, "He said that she has to ask you."

I let out a breath I hadn't realise I'd been holding. "I thought she enjoyed helping you with the medicinal stuff?"

'Yes she does. And she will continue to do that. But she's insistent."

"And what do you think?" I ask. Without even realising it I've put my hands on my hips and have taken up a defensive stance. What am I expecting? For my mother and me to disagree on this? Will she want me to take Prim hunting? Do I want to take Prim hunting? The answer comes to me immediately. No.

"I think you'll make the right decision... whatever that is," She shrugs as if it's no big deal. But it's a lie. I can tell. The movement is jerky and forced. "This is your area of expertise, not mine." I'm surprised. For the first time it's like she is acknowledging that we almost share mothering responsibilities when it comes to Prim. Perhaps it was me volunteering to go into the arena that first woke her up to this fact. Whatever it was, I'm happy for it, because it's true.

"I don't think I will," I admit. "She's too innocent for it."

"She's not as innocent as you think, Katniss." She says while brushing the hair back from my eyes. The motherly contact still comes as a surprise. It's been happening a lot since I returned from the arena, almost as if she's trying to make up for lost time. It still feels strange to me. "Seeing you in the arena changed her." She looks at me... no, through me... as if remembering all the things that I had done. Hunting. Killing to survive. I wonder if she is remembering back to when I used to be innocent. It feels like a lifetime ago.

I take an automatic step backwards. Her hand drops back down and rests limp at her side.

She must have guessed what I was thinking because the next thing she says is, "I don't mean it like that. You did what you had to do to survive. You did good things in that arena too, don't forget." I know what she's talking about. Saving Peeta. "What I mean is that Primrose sees the way Gale looks at you. She wants Rory to look at her like that too."

I laugh. I cannot help it. So this was about puppy love? Prim is the most beautiful person I know... both in body and mind... and she wants to be like me? It seems ridiculous. Nonsensical. Almost crazy. "I'm sure Rory will like Prim for who she is, not who she wants to pretend to be." I say.

My mother just looks at me. "It's hard to compete with the mockingjay, you know." She says. And before I have the opportunity to ask what she means by that she quickly changes the subject. "The Quarter Quell Reading of the Card is on the television tonight at 7:30pm. They announced it this morning. I've invited Peeta, Hamish and Gale and his family to join us both for the announcement and dinner." She takes the emptied bowl from my hand and goes to leave the room. I watch as she hesitates in the doorway, as if she wants to say something more, but she seems to decide against it because in the next moment I'm alone.

I don't know how long I stood there, in the room by myself, after she left. I don't even remember what I had been thinking about. But it wasn't long before it was late afternoon and the voices of Peeta and Haymitch could be heard coming from downstairs. Was it dinner time already?

I quickly get changed into a simple blue dress – one that Cinna had designed for the Victor Tour a few months back - and look in the mirror. I look... tired, I think.

I feel it too.

"Katniss! Come pour me a drink." Haymitch's rough voice calling me downstairs breaks me out of my thoughts. He has had one too many already by the sounds of it. The slurring of his words is always a good indication. I roll my eyes, spray on a little perfume, and then exit the room.

As I walk down the stairs I cannot help but feel as if I'm in one of those horrible Capital teen-movies where the girl goes to something called a prom and her date is gawking at her from the bottom of the stairwell as if she's the most beautiful thing in the world. Gale and I have always laughed during those moments, both at the ridiculous movie and at Prim's romantic-filled, tear-glistened eyes, thinking that it would never happen in real life. And if it did, how terribly awkward it would be. But here I am, walking down the stairs with Haymitch telling Peeta that he'd "better shut his mouth before he starts drooling". And I don't feel awkward at all. I feel, well, beautiful.

He is wearing black suit pants with a blue cotton tee-shirt and his blonde hair is slightly damp as if he recently came out of a shower. He looks... nice.

"We match." He says as I reach the bottom, taking my hand to steady me.

It takes me a moment before I realise that he's talking about my blue dress. I smile at him. "We do."

Just then my mother walks into the foyer and exclaims happily, "Oh Peeta, you didn't have to do that." I have no idea what she's talking about until I see the baked loaf of bread sitting in his hands. "Your father did such a good job raising you. So polite." She takes the bread from him.

"Well I couldn't come empty handed, Mrs Everdeen."

My mother's reply of "I told you to call me -" was drowned out by Haymitch's exclamation of "...and that's why I brought the alcohol." My mother was never granted the opportunity to scowl at him, however, because just then there was a knock on the door. The Hawthorne family had arrived.

I let go of Peeta's hand. There is a flash of hurt and something else that I cannot pinpoint -anger? Disappointment? - in his eyes but the next second it is gone. As if it had never been there at all.

Posy was the first one through the front door followed by Vick, Rory, their mother and then, finally, Gale. He must have gone hunting during the day because he has his hunting trousers on and his forage bag is still slung over his shoulder. In his right hand dangles two dead rabbits and a squirrel. Their throats have been slashed. He trapped them.

"Gale went hunt!" says posy, pointing at Gale's haul. She beams up at me proudly. Her missing two front teeth make her look even younger than four. "Look." She points again.

"I can see that." I tell her. "He's very good, isn't he?" She nods back at me enthusiastically.

"The best!" She says.

Behind me I can just make out Haymich telling Peeta, "Two rabbits, one squirrel and his very own adorable cheerleader. Sure as hell beats a loaf of bread."

I can't quite catch Peeta's reply. Maybe there was none.

Dinner was somewhat subdued. We all sat around the dinner table making small talk while eating the stuffed-turkey my mother spent all day preparing and filling ourselves with potato mash on the side.

"What is the nut in the stuffing, Jenny? It's wonderful." Mrs Hawthorne asks my mother, filling a silence that has somehow managed to stretch long past five minutes.

"Walnut." My mother replies. "I can give you the recipe if you'd like."

"Yes please."

Another silence. This time it stretches well past ten minutes.

"Enough of this." Haymitch says, knocking over his whiskey bottle as he waves his hands in the air drawing everyone's attention. "Nobody wants to bring it up, so let the drunk do it and get it over with." Everyone knows that he's not exactly drunk at the moment. Well, not drunk for Haymitch. But nobody corrects him because he has finally brought up the conversation that nobody wanted to start but everyone wanted to talk about. No, needed to talk about.

The Quarter Quell announcement. The reading of the card.

"It's the seventy-fifth anniversary of the hunger games this year which means that it's going to be the third Quarter Quell."

'Qwarter -" Posy begins, but Haymitch interrupts her, clearly not in the mood for disruption.

"Yes a Quarter Quell," He continues. "This means that this year's hunger games are going to have something additional about them. Something special which will make them more interesting for the Capital. In the First Quarter Quell the districts had to vote who they sent into the arena. The second Quarter Quell had double the tributes. This year, well, who knows? "

"They might make it two girl tributes or two boys instead of having one of each." Says Rory. "Or maybe each of the two tributes from each district will be tied together to make fighting and hiding more difficult. Or maybe..." Clearly he has been thinking about it. A lot. And why wouldn't he? He's eligible for these games whereas myself, Peeta– being previous Victors – and Gale – now being nineteen and considered too old – will no longer have our names in the bowl. "Maybe they'll make sure there's no survivor." When everyone turns to look at him he rushes to explain, "You know, because well, there were two survivors last year and all." He gives me an apologetic glance.

The thought sends shivers through us all. No survivors. That would be horrible. Even more so because Peeta and myself, along with Haymitch, will be mentoring the District 12 tributes this year. Would they punish the tributes this year because of my rebellion last year with the berries?

A sudden thought strikes me. Maybe they won't be punishing the other tributes... maybe they'll be punishing me. "Or they could send former Victors back into the arena." I say. "To punish us." I look at Peeta.

He doesn't seem too alarmed, but maybe that's because these are all hypothetical possibilities. Not concrete. Not final. "It's a possibility." He says.

But when the Quarter Quell announcement is on and the reading of the card begins we find out that neither of our suggestions were correct.

We watch on the television screen as President Snow removes an envelope clearly marked with a 75. This is it. Peeta squeezes my hand. He and Haymitch are by my side, my mother is on the couch with Prim, and Gale has Posy on his lap with the rest of his family around him. I can tell that he is nervous for Rory and Vick just like I am for Prim. He looks at me and I give him a nervous smile. He doesn't smile in return.

"This year," President Snow begins to read from a small square piece of paper. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary of the hunger games there will be two changes. The first pertains to the relationship between the mentors and their tributes." I can just imagine the excitement in the Capital with the revelation that there will be two changes. "Between the hours of 10am and 2pm mentors will be able to communicate with their tributes via head-set radios." He pauses for greater effect. I'm sure that the people in the Capital are clapping. "The second is that the upper age limit has been extended another two years. This means that we will potentially have even stronger tributes in this year's pool."

"Mummy... what does tat mean?" I hear Posy ask once the hunger games announcement has finished and the television screen turns black.

"It means," Gale's voice is tight. "That I am now eligible again for the hunger games."

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