Author's Note: Hi there! So this is the first chapter of my AU Everlark fic – I hope you enjoy it! This will be written in both Katniss's and Peeta's POV at various points, but this chapter is pure Everdeen! Please review! :)
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Katniss
I had no idea at the time that a typical, somewhat sunny, somewhat cloudy Monday morning was the beginning of the week that would throw my well-crafted life into pandemonium.
Yes, I said well-crafted and that is the best adjective I can think of to describe my life from the end of the rebellion up to this point.
My name is Katniss Everdeen.
I am 33 years of age, although I could probably pass for 29 if I dabbed a bit of extra concealer under my eyes in a morning, 27 at a push if I wore my long, dark hair in any style other than a slicked back ponytail that does nothing to hide the frown lines beginning to form between my brows.
My home is District 2. I came from District 12 once, but what can be described in summary as 'bad things' happened there and their ghosts haunted me until I decided to leave them once and for all. I now live and work in District 2, at a prestigious University specialising in the development of industrial management and data systems. I don't know the first thing about industrial management or data systems, but it appears I'm very good with organisation and strategy, and when you're the programme manager for one of the biggest data systems pilot research studies in all of Panem, PODSII, you don't actually need to understand the substance all that much. I leave that to the brains, like Beetee.
I used to have a Sister, a Mother, a Father, and a Best Friend. I don't have those people anymore. I have my duplex apartment overlooking the lake and District Park, a mere 10 minute commute from the University, and a pager.
I was in the Hunger Games when I was younger. I was reaped a second time into the Third Quarter Quell. I was the Mockingjay in the rebellion. I was once in love with a boy but I never told him that. It worked out for the best, I'm sure of it. I imagine you wonder why I don't expand on these relatively major events, namely because I'm not sure I could rustle the details from the depths of my memory. These are the 'bad things' I just told you about. I don't like thinking about them all too often.
Most people would probably describe me as a workaholic, and I guess I can see why. I've been sat at my desk here (it's a gorgeous desk in a gorgeous office – all minimalist and advanced – and yes, I do have my own office. I find I work best in solitude) since just before 7 this morning and I probably won't leave until past 7 this evening. Most mornings I start at this time, sometimes though I start earlier, with the help of a strong cup of steaming coffee. These earlier starts are normally when I've had a restless night plagued with flashbacks and nightmares beforehand. I find that getting myself on to the first tram of the morning when it's still dark and silent outside is therapeutic and calming.
"Ms Everdeen, your 10 o'clock appointment is here" calls my secretary from the doorway to my office and I start suddenly, snapped out of my daydream. I mentally kick myself in the foot. I was in the process of organising paperwork for my 10 o'clock when I drifted off, and the man I am meeting just happens to be one of the major private funders of my programme. I smile at my secretary.
"Thank you Sarah, please can you ask him if he would like a drink and let him know that I'll be out shortly?" I sneak a look at the small clock in the bottom right hand corner of my computer screen. 9.55. Brilliant – 5 minutes is more than enough to get these statistics together.
In truth I never really saw my life turning out like this at any point, even before the rebellion. Office jobs were few and far between in my district, and even if they were in abundance the thought of being confined within 4 walls for 8 hours a day would have driven the old Katniss mad. I would have probably been happy living a peasant lifestyle just for the ability to spend my time in the forests, hunting squirrels and game with G…with gusto and just being 'out there'. I suppose having been 'out there' in two Games arenas really changes your perspectives on things…I haven't even touched a bow and arrow in over 15 years.
I stand up from my chair and smooth down the front of my grey knee-length pencil skirt, reaching behind me and 'tucking in the tail' of my fitted white blouse as I used to do for someone else. I find it was tucked in already. Old habits certainly do die hard.
"Mr Felspar," I say brightly, holding out my hand to the middle-aged investor who rises from his own chair in response to my greeting. I take his hand and shake it firmly, initiating the proceedings with control as I wish to conduct them, a wide, sincere smile never leaving my face. "Have you been offered a drink?"
"Yes, I have, thank you Ms Everdeen," he replies, gesturing to the cup of coffee in one hand. I look down – our posh mugs with the University crest and that tell-tale smell of freshly ground coffee lovingly percolated by a secretary who, at times, I love as though she were my own flesh and blood. I shoot a conspiratorial wink at Sarah as I usher Mr Felspar into my office and she grins back with a matching wink. "Now, Mr Felspar, let's talk business…"
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I kick off my black court shoes as I step through the door of my apartment after a particularly successful day. I glance at my watch, 8.30pm. A little later than I was hoping for but generally as long as I'm home before 9 I'm happy with myself. I hang up my coat and pad through to my bedroom wearily, scratching the head of the old cat who really should be dead by now according to the laws of nature, who is currently sprawled out over the comforter on the end of my bed, obviously having had a particularly hard day of doing shit all but sleep and eat.
"Hey, Buttercup."
The cat opens a murky yellow eye and meets my eyeline lazily, giving an attempt at half a purr before closing the eye again, obviously having decided that as I wasn't bearing any kind of meaty gift I wasn't worth the effort this evening. I make a gentle 'tsk' with my tongue and reach down to stroke the yellow-y, ginger-y fluff. Buttercup and I have this bizarre relationship – sour at first due to my attempt to kill him in a bucket but then after we both lost everything we developed this camaraderie and now…as much as I hate to admit it I would be lost without this cat.
"Shall we go and see what's for dinner?" I make conversation, though I answered the question in my own mind before I asked it. 'Pasta for one' I think ruefully, though I would never complain. The fact that I can make myself dinner is a far cry from where I used to be. I open my refrigerator and pull out a bottle of juice, snapping it open and taking a long drink as my eyes flitter over the various ready-made TV dinners lining the shelves. Pop, pop, ping. Just how I like it.
"Looks like I'm on beef cannelloni tonight boy, and you are on grade A cat food," I say to the cat who has followed me into the kitchen at the promise of dinner. Tipping cat biscuits into a bowl, I put it down on the hardwood floor before popping my own black tray of nutrition-less crap in the microwave.
My apartment matches my meals. Small but big enough for me and the cat, functional, minimalist like my office. Everything is clean, shiny silver surfaces everywhere, modern trappings of convenience lining the walls to make my already privileged life that bit easier. It helps that I have very few possessions with which to clutter the place up. It isn't a palace by any means, but it's my flat. I wouldn't call it home. Home implies some kind of heartiness, something comfortable, somewhere safe. I don't feel any of these things here, but then that isn't the fault of the apartment. I haven't felt 'home' since before the Reaping all those years ago.
At the first thought of the past I shake my head as a dog would clear his ears of water and switch on the television set built in to the spotless white wall to catch up with the day's news. This is one of the reasons I work so hard and for so many hours, I find it difficult to think about much else when I'm preoccupied with my job.
The comforting sound of Panem News 24 fills the apartment and I instantly feel myself move out of my own head. Living alone can get tough when the memories threaten to come back, but there's not much I can do about it other than make sure there is noise in the apartment and that I'm busy. To this end I settle myself cross-legged on my light grey L-shaped couch and pull my briefcase across to my lap. I pull out my laptop and press it on, staring out of the ceiling to floor window opposite me.
The park looks beautiful at sunset. This is one of the reasons, in fact the main reason, that I pay what is probably a ridiculous amount for this small apartment. The densely packed trees break here and there to signpost a path snaking through the vegetation, paths that I run on whenever I get a spare hour. Going for a run in the morning would be great, but there's easily a 50% chance that I will flush that resolution down the toilet on waking up tomorrow. The soft, burnt orange sunset glimmers on the surface of the lake, so strong that it casts a dim light in to the room, the shimmering ochre seizing my attention and refusing to let up until a series of sharp beeps from the computer in her lap alerts me to several e-mails that had just landed in my inbox.
'Schedule – tomorrow, Tuesday 2nd May – Sarah Squire'
I smiled to myself. Sarah knows me well enough to know that an e-mail sent at this time of night would be picked up in time to run me through my schedule for the next day. As usual I don't know whether to be impressed by how observant she is or saddened by the state of my own life. I bet Sarah has sent this e-mail and then will get on with her evening for herself, she won't be working until the moment she goes to sleep.
Sarah insists on sending through these e-mails every evening, although those detailed breakdowns of each appointment in my diary leave any room for further clarification. No wonder her references were so gushing when I employed her...
Hi Katniss,
Please find below your schedule for tomorrow – quite an open one tomorrow, so you should find time to work on that report that's due in at the end of the week! I've also left Thursday completely open, as requested.
9am – meeting with external consultant for PODSII – Tomas didn't pass on any information before he went on leave I'm sorry so I don't even know the person's name! All I know is that they'll be here at 9.
12pm – executive lunch with Vice Chancellor.
3pm – PODSII team meeting – I have attached a brief plenary here, but it's more of a catch-up with the team and you don't need to prepare anything in advance.
Have a good evening, see you in the morning.
Sarah.
Oh, the exec lunch. I'd forgotten about that, I realise with a slight face-palm moment. A meeting with the Vice Chancellor of the University, Chief Accountant, Research Support Manager and a couple of other senior management bods all involved in PODSII. It's something that I would feel a bit nervous about ordinarily, but it just so happens that my meeting with Mr Felspar today had really hammered out any remaining hiccups with the set-up of PODSII and I'd come away with some significant extra funding secured that I couldn't wait to brag about. Mr Felspar was a notorious tight-ass, and getting extra funds out of his statistical analysis corporation is like drawing blood from a stone. I can almost imagine the face of Elsie Temper, the Research Support Manager for my department, when I tell her that that projected minuscule, inconsequential overspend that she'd thrown up such a fuss about last week was no longer an issue.
I focus again on my first appointment, 9am, external consultant..? My brows knit together for a moment in contemplation before I remember with a breathy 'oh', of course, the project management consultant that we'd brought on board last week. I say we, I mean my Deputy-Manager Tomas who manages casual recruitment matters. As Tomas conveniently decided this week would be a good one to take as annual leave I am stuck meeting this person whose name I don't even know. With a small 'tut' I hear an impatient beep from the microwave and realise that my cannelloni has been waiting for me for the past 15 minutes. Oops. I'll eat this, draft a few e-mails, perhaps knock up something for the team meeting tomorrow and get some much needed shut-eye.
As though in agreement with my thoughts, Buttercup jumps up on to the arm of my sofa, gives her left paw a lazy lick before mewling gently and flopping to her belly, eyes closed. The picture of relaxation.
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It's 5.34am and I'm on the first tram out to the University. Last night was a bad night for the terrors and I feel physically and emotionally exhausted, just the state I wanted to go into today in. I felt relatively good when I went to bed, too, I'd written a decent team brief to deliver this afternoon and a few points that I wanted to raise at the PODSII exec lunch, it had been a productive evening. Even the cannelloni had been better than I expected. So I was surprised when I'd woken twice during the night, the first time to the horror of my sister screaming in agony, flames twisting across her body, distorting her skin until she looked like a melted wax sculpture, small hands reaching out to me desperately, seeking help she would never get. A tall boy with bronze hair cackles evilly in the background, enjoying the torture. The second nightmare was less graphic but no less terrifying. I was stood in a meadow with a stocky boy with mussy, curly blond hair. He's got his back to me, the breeze is playing through his hair and he's so beautiful I can barely breathe. Then he looks at me, those blue eyes burn into mine and suddenly I'm writhing in agony in the grass, clutching at my chest, trying to stop the burning, oh the burning...then it's over, and I wake up, soaked in sweat all twisted up in my bedsheets.
I stifle a yawn with the back of my hand. I'm currently dressed in my poshest knee-length navy crepe shift dress that cost me a week's salary when I first started working in the department. I even shaved my legs in preparation for the lunch this afternoon, wearing my black stilettos that make a satisfying, attention-grabbing 'click'ing noise when I walk down a corridor. From the neck down I look smart, from the neck up I need some serious work. Luckily I have almost 4 hours until my first meeting...wow, that's a depressing thought.
I swipe myself in to the building and instantly a smile cracks my face as I see the doorman at the desk.
"Hey, Otis."
"Why Miss Everdeen!" greets Otis, an ageing security guard who takes the night shifts, regularly meeting me at this time of the morning. "Another early start, child?"
"Unfortunately so, lots to do and not enough hours in the day! How are you? How's Lavinia's bronchitis?" I ask, enquiring about Otis's wife whose illness has been getting progressively worse the past few times I've spoken to him. Despite only knowing him for a couple of years, only seeing him in passing, I've grown attached to him and his family. Otis's face falls slightly before he catches himself and shrugs slightly.
"Same as ever, I'm afraid. She's in the hospital today, in fact, just a regular check-up. Thanks for asking. When she's feeling a bit brighter she'll make you another batch of sugar cookies, I know how you like them!" I laugh, nodding my head eagerly. I'd been waiting for this. Lavinia's sugar cookies are something else entirely.
"If I can put in a request can I go for a batch of the little woodland creature ones? Especially the little rabbits, I love the little rabbits." Otis laughs and claps his hands together, nodding vigorously.
"Of course, of course! She'll be more than happy to oblige, I'm sure."
"Oh, well that has most certainly brightened my day and given me something to look forward to. You look after yourself, Otis, and wish Lavinia the best from me. Hope her hospital appointment goes well."
I squeeze Otis's shoulder with a smile before making my way over to the lifts, pressing the button for the 6th floor and looking at my tired face in the unforgiving mirror. I hate lift mirrors. There's something about the lighting that just makes everything look a million times worse. Those flyaway hairs look almost silver in this luminescence, and I look beyond washed out with deep shadows under my eyes betraying my exhaustion. I sigh deeply and make my way out of the lift to my office, sitting behind my desk and pulling out my make-up case. Time to get to work.
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"Good morning, Katniss!"
I jump and look up from my computer screen, looking over at the door where Sarah is stood with a freshly made cup of something hot. As she comes toward me I can smell the rich aroma of coffee, beautiful, freshly ground, piping hot coffee. I moan slightly and reach out both hands toward her imploringly, opening and closing my hands as a child would when beckoning for something. Sarah smiles and hands the cup across the desk. I take a deep slurp, I don't care that I actually slurp, it's completely worth it. I smack my lips together and nod appreciatively.
"God, you are good, Sarah. I knew I was drawn to you in interviews for a reason! Maybe we ought to make coffee making part of future interviews...in any case, what time is it?"
"It's 10 to 9, your 9am is already here, I just thought I'd better give you some time and some caffeine to prepare you."
"You are very thoughtful, and completely right," I set the coffee cup down and pick up a compact mirror. I've managed to make myself look like I got a decent amount of sleep last night. As much as I hate wearing make-up, the one thing I found out as soon as I started working here was that make-up was a pre-requisite. Double standards would have seriously rankled the old Katniss, but here it's just par for the course. New Katniss spends $50 on a pot of cover-up.
"I'll send him in," says Sarah with a smile, walking out of the office and I stand up, smoothing down the front of my dress and examining the toe of my shoe with a sinking feeling. The black leather was unmistakeably scuffed – when did that happen? I'm sure that wasn't there this morning...I curse under my breath. I'm so caught up that I don't hear the footsteps enter the room until I hear a sharp intake of breath. My head snaps up rapidly and I involuntarily step backwards, the backs of my legs hitting the edge of my desk as my hand flies up to cover my mouth.
A pair of bright blue eyes stare back at me, equally as wide and as shocked as my own.
"P...Peeta?"