Summary: More teenage Jim/Bones fluff—companion to The Hunger Games and First Kiss. Hunger Games AU. (Mockingjay comes out in a week and a half!) Sort of songficcy.
Genre: Suspense/Romance
Rated: T to be safe
Disclaimer: I own neither Star Trek nor the Hunger Games, but love them both dearly...same goes for the song.
Tomorrow
I can't sleep. It's too cold, too dark. Every little sound I hear makes me jump.
My grandparents are a floor below in the apothecary, asleep. I sleep in the cramped space above the shop where, according to my grandfather, all the heat goes at night. Up. Into the sky.
Sometimes I believe him—in the summer when it's stifling hot and I have to either strip to the bones or take a blanket to the bench behind the bakery to get any sleep—but tonight of all nights, I don't. I can't.
There's a chill in the air that flits about, creeping beneath the myriad blankets tossed upon me in my grandparents' generosity—or perhaps desperation. I shiver.
There's a song stuck in my head, one I heard on Old Ace Miller's radio. Something old. A hopeful song. A happy song. A terrible one.
The sun'll come out…tomorrow…
On any other night I wouldn't have given a damn but tonight it makes me want to scream in terror. Not tomorrow. Please. Don't let tomorrow come.
Bet your bottom dollar…
My chest constricts in fear. I turn over, away from the hole in the roof that serves as my only light. Not tomorrow. Please. Any day but tomorrow.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow, you're only a day away…
I want this to be a dream. A terrible, awful dream. But it isn't.
Tomorrow is the day of the reaping.
Tomorrow, a boy and a girl from our district will be chosen for the games.
Tomorrow, two innocent people will be sentenced to death.
I might be one of them.
A sudden creaking noise comes from the ladder below, and my heart jumps.
The trap door eases open as I turn to it, and a familiar figure comes into view—sandy blond hair, ice blue eyes, and a finger to his lips. Jim.
"Shh," he murmurs, "It's me."
He climbs into the tiny room, easing the trap door shut and pulling off his gloves, then his boots.
We are silent, as we have been on this night year after year, since he turned eleven and I twelve.
We've been lucky, these past five years. Maybe we'll be lucky again.
Jim unzips his jacket and slides quietly into the small bed beside me. I flip over to face him.
He curls an arm around my waist, pulling me close. I do the same.
Our lips meet, and it's by the way that his are quivering that I know he is just as scared as I am.
Our feet, wrapped in thick woolen socks for nights such as these, brush together.
I pull him closer to me and part my lips, letting him in, letting myself forget the horrible truth waiting for us on the eastern horizon. If it weren't for him, I'd never make it through these nights.
Yes. The sun will come out tomorrow…but at least Jim and I can have tonight first.
FIN