Disclaimer: Consider The Hunger Games disclaimed.
Dedicated to Mad (chasingafterstarlight), for her fanfiction anniversary. Happy anniversary, Mad! Congrats on 2 years on this site and 8 amazing months on NGF :) I'm sorry this isn't as good as the original fic (which, for those of you who don't know, was lost in a virus attack on my laptop), but I hope you like it, anyway!
Fear, she imagines, must be the blackest, darkest emotion out there. Even more than hate, she thinks, because at least hate has an opposite, has something to balance it out. At least with hate, you know that there's still love in the world, that there's still a way to defeat it.
But what is there to combat fear?
It's like a snake, she dreams; a sneaky, slippery snake that twists around your heart and mind, that curls and winds and squeezes until you can't breathe for worry. It refuses to let go until you're consumed with darkness and terror and everything bad in the world, until you can't think or eat or sleep or do anything except fear.
Ever since the reaping, Prim wakes up at night in a cold sweat, scared and shivering, and fears.
-:-
The first day of the 75th Hunger Games, Prim finds herself seated between her mother and Rory at the Hawthornes' house, crammed in the room with the TV along with all the other Hawthornes, all watching anxiously to see how Katniss will fare in the bloodbath.
Prim grips her mother's hand so hard, she thinks it might break. But it's hard to care when she's watching people die in front of her, when she might – maybe – possibly – see – Katniss –
On her other side, Rory's hand worms its way into her fist and squeezes gently. "Don't think so loud," he whispers, and Prim swallows the traitorous thought before it can burst out of her, suddenly buoyed by Rory's quiet warmth beside her.
And when she sees that plain, singular shot of Katniss trekking through the forest, hunting for water and food, stained with dirt and blood and desperation but still so beautifully alive, Prim almost breaks Rory's hand in her delight, instead of her mother's.
After that, though, reality comes crashing back down. The mothers disappear to scrounge a meal together for the kids; the back door slams as Gale stalks outside; Vick and Posy are shuffled to a different room so they won't ask too many questions, and Prim and Rory are left alone with the crush of silence in the room.
Gently, he shifts his hand in hers, startling her away from her nightmarish daydreams. "Prim?" he asks softly. "Are you…do you feel okay?"
Her breath hitches when she tries to swallow. "Yes," she tries, but her head shakes of its own accord. "No."
"It'll be all right," Rory promises, lifting his free hand to brush a tangled lock of hair out of her face. "We'll be fine."
Sitting there, in the quiet buzz of the house, Prim almost believes him.
-:-
Peeta's father comes over one day when Prim's visiting the Hawthornes, and he brings with him ingredients to make a loaf of bread. With a kind smile, he leads all the children – Prim, Rory, Vick, and Posy – into the Hawthornes' tiny kitchen and teaches them all how to make a loaf of bread.
It's not fine cuisine by any measure, but Prim can't imagine a happier loaf of bread than one lovingly shaped by inexperienced hands.
"Having fun?" grins Rory, nudging her shoulder with his as they knead the dough.
Prim smiles, just a little, and it's not entirely genuine yet, but she's getting there. "Lots," she replies, reaching over and sprinkling some flour onto his dark hair.
Rory looks caught between being amused and exasperated. "You're as bad as Vick and Posy," he informs her, lightly dabbing her cheek with a streak of flour. "Well, almost," he adds, looking at his two younger siblings giggling happily as they spatter dough and flour over the kitchen while Mr. Mellark cleans up quickly after them.
"Well, they seem to be enjoying themselves," Prim says, mock-defensively, and rubs at her cheek. "Aren't you?"
Rory stands perfectly still as she brushes his bangs out of his face with flour-covered hands and flashes her a smile that sets butterflies spinning in her stomach. "I am," he admits softly, his hand finding hers somewhere between the dough and the flour.
Prim smiles again, and it might be real this time because his fingers are twining in hers and his grin is ohsobright and maybe, just maybe, they'll be okay.
-:-
But she still wakes up shivering in the dead of the night, fear threatening to overwhelm her, choke her, kill her, and not even the sweetest smiles and warmest bread in the world can defeat it.
A/N: Please don't favorite without reviewing; I'd really appreciate it if you took the time to review since you already took the time to read this far :)