a/n: i swear this was only meant to be 500 words, but i accidentally grew to 3.4k? i'm still stumped on how that happened, but alas that is how this is. sadly, this isn't my proudest work - and first time actually writing - so go easy on me? for tracee, the koolest kid around. XD oh yeah, it's also nonlinear
tw: mentions of death, alcohol. and mild deceptions of violence, probably some spag

static

She's fifteen when Beetee visits her. It's raining that day, more than usual. It comes down in heavy sheets, blotting out the sun and enveloping the world in a monochromatic gray. Though it doesn't bother her, because she loves everything about the rain, the fresh smell, soothing moisture, and peaceful drumming against the concrete structures. Rain baptizes Three in a way the Capitol can't comprehend. It scours Three's dirt and sins and throws even the familiar, boring skyscrapers into looming monsters.

Rain is something scientists can't quantify, not in her mind.

That day, he comes stumbling out of the blue, lumbering over the slick pavement with labored steps, carrying a boxy radio under his left arm. He's thin, she notes, thinner than someone in Three should be. Hunger is a motivator for good work but can still dull the mind until the only thought is your next meal; that's what the Capitol believes, and Wiress won't argue with that. But his arms and legs are so twiggy his silk shirt hangs from them as it they're a clothes line.

It takes a few more seconds for the truth to dawn on her, and when it does, she gasps in horror. Why would the last year's victor travel to the desolate Sector 3 of City #2? And why would he be grasping that bulky, old-fashioned radio with his life? He can certainly afford the newest technology, but why use that Pre-Dark Days piece of crap?

"Hello?" Beetee asks. The question fights against the rain, but she hears it. She hears a lot of things. "Is anyone here?"

"Yes, I am," she replies and hastily opens the door to the shop. "What can I do for you?"

Surprise crosses the victor's face at the sight of a young girl in front of him. In her ratty clothes she probably looks 13, not her age of 15. "Is your father here?"

Wiress narrows her eyes. Why is she lesser than her father? She's top of her class and a smart cookie. But he is a victor after all and smart-mouthing him will result in social condemnation. "He's in the back. Why do you need him?"

Beetee sets the radio on the counter with a thump. He runs his pale hand through his messy black hair. "This radio only feedbacks static." Wiress nods at the statement. Anything that old has got to feedback a hell a lot of static.

"Yeah, let me look at it." She reaches for the wrench and screwdriver in her pocket. Ancient technology deserves ancient tools.

"Actually," Beetee cuts in, "can your father look at it? I don't want to ruin this."

Wiress bites back her smart reply and unclenches her fists. Taking deep breaths, she smiles tightly. "Sure, I'll go call him."

"Can we- umm- talk about it back there?" Beetee awkwardly runs his hand through his hair again and gestures to the workshop behind them. Wiress chews her lip and nods.

"I'll go get him."

"Thanks," Beetee says, and hesitantly he adds, "What's your name?"

"Wiress." She swallows back the question of why would you care?

"I'm Beetee."

"I know." Wiress turns to call for her father. Beetee fixes his eyes on the ceiling, shuffling his feet softly.

movement

Keep on moving! Her mind screams, echoing Beetee's advice to her. Keep moving or you're dead!

Wiress sprints through the abandoned city, weaving in and out of alleyways and ignoring the footsteps pounding behind her. She's coming for you!

Behind her, the blonde from One races toward her, sword drawn. With each second, she draws closer and closer. She can smell the sweat and pride radiating off Diamond and practically hear her heart racing in excitement. Death is chasing her.

The Gamemaker's won't like this! Part of her brain taunts. All this running isn't exciting.

Will you shut up! Wiress screams back, and even though death nips at her heels, she hides a few tricks up her sleeve. She can't afford distraction.

A left turn at the destroyed bank, down the alleyway there's an avalanche waiting to happen. Legs burning and heart pumping, Wiress urges herself forward. Just a few more feet…

Her leg's on fire. She screams in pain and stumbles forward before spinning around to face Diamond. A malicious grin splits her angelic face in two. "Are you ready to die?" she taunts, "because I'm ready to win."

Fear claws at Wiress' stomach; she tries shoves it down and frantically stumbles backwards, groping the narrow alleyway for the hanging rope.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Diamond scolds."We don't do that, honey." She slashes Wiress' other leg, and Wiress tumbles to the ground, skidding a few feet away from One. She cries out in pain.

"Why don't you just end it?" Wiress asks between spasms, trying to stall while her brain frantically recalls the location of the trap.

"I don't think you'd understand, darling. You may be from Three but that doesn't make you smart." One examines her nails, drawing out the battle. "The Capitol loves blood and a good show, and since you had to do all this goddamn running, they want some blood. And it's my job as victor to do so." She creeps closer to Wiress, sword attached to her arm like a limb extension. Wiress desperately crawls backwards, and her hand hits the wall. She gropes it praying to find the trap as One stalks closer and closer.

Found it! Her mind screams as she grabs the small outcrop. Trailing her fingers beneath it she finds the rope just as Diamond slashes her stomach. It's on fire, so much fire that she;s in hell. So much pain. She screams loud enough to deafen the Capitol. The world's engulfed in red, but in desperation, she yanks the rope with all her might.

The following happens in flashes:

––Diamond's smile fades as bricks and cement fly–-

––blood spits out of her mouth––

––rocks tumble down like rain––

––a chipped brick falls on her stomach––

––a scream––

––nothing.

silk

"Hey, Beetee," Wiress says as Beetee strolls through the doors of her family's shop. He's become a regular the past year, always appearing for fixing technology. Wiress found it strange because he could easily fix them himself. She guessed it was pity that kept him coming. "Whatcha need repaired today?"

"Umm, I don't really need anything." Beetee shrugs and smiles nervously. Wiress raises an eyebrow.

"Really? Nothing?"

"Yeah."

"Then why are you here?" she asks, genuinely curious. "Do you want me to get my father?"

"No, no, I just-" Beetee starts but trails off. Opening his mouth then closing it, he reaches into the simple bag he carries everywhere with him. "I just… want to give you this." He pulls out an azure silk blanket, one so fine it's probably came straight from the Capitol."

Wiress' eyes widen at the spoils of the Capitol and pauses. She doesn't know what to do so she bursts out laughing. Beetee flinches away. "Why are you giving me this? You already paid us."

Beetee scratches his neck. "It's just- I… thought you might like it."

Wiress chuckles. "And since when did you think of me, Beetee Latier?"

Beetee wipes his sweaty palms on his shirt. "Since, well… ummm…."

A sudden realization smacked Wiress in the face. Although the whole District idolizes Beetee as if he's some god, he isn't. He's just a boy. A 17-year-old boy who's alone and scared. A boy who lost his family to a "freak accident." Just a boy. Her heart melts a little at this truth.

"… since you first saw me?" She teases, silencing Beetee's stuttering, and he furiously shakes his head.

"Okay fine," Wiress continues. "So you think I deserve this silk blanket because I'm a wonderful human who's at the top of my classes?"

"You're the most modest human I know."

"Totally."

progress

In Three, the more you progress in studies, the chances of being Reaped digress. It's another way to ensure the smart succeed and the not-smart don't.

The sun shines brightly on Reaping day, and for once, the eternal rain cleared for an azure sky. It's beautiful if you look up, but with fear gripping the District – hands clutching dresses and prays sent to whoever's out there – there is no time to look up. Only look around.

Wiress stands in the crowded 17-year-old section, head staring straight at the obnoxious Capitol escort – Mars Something Something. Apparently, since last year's games, dressing in bright neon colors are a thing. He's decked out in a suit that blinks bright yellow then red then purple then blue then white and all the color in between, and Wiress swears if she had to stare at it another minute, she's going to have a seizure.

Thankfully, that never happens because the mayor climbs to the podium and begins his address he speaks each year. Somehow, he still finds it interesting, so he gestures wildly at the rendition of the war and his vocal tone modulates so many times Wiress swears she's going to choke him. She won't, of course, but girl can dream.

After eons of time, he pauses and nods to the Mars Something Something, and the real part of the Reaping commences.

"As usual, we'll start with the girls," Mars says, dancing over to the glass bowl. Wiress watches the dramatic flourish of his hand as he dips it into the hundreds of slips. His hand brushes through them, and it is silent. The whole District holds its breath for the condemnation of the a female. With a dramatic pause, Mars Something Something pulls out a slip and glides over to the mike. Wiress wants to smack the smile off his face.

"Wiress Anderson."

What? Her mind stops, then races to make sense of the situation. He called my name, it rations, so you're Reaped.

But that's not possible! Another part screams. You're the top of the class, have the brightest future. You can't be Reaped.

But he called your name.

It's a mistake! It has to be. We can't be Reaped. It's a mistake

The Capitol doesn't make mistakes. Her mind shoots back.

"Honey, do you want to come up?" Mars Something Something asks, and Wiress snaps out of her internal debate.

The crowd parts for her, and slowly, she stumbles toward the stage. The walkway feels like miles and miles, and she can't control her shaking. Her legs quiver, her arms shiver, and her heart beats faster than the speed of light.

At the metal steps, she sees him. Beetee's face is contorted into an emotion she can't pinpoint in her shock. A frown, watery eyes, but perked ears. But she can't linger on his face because Mars yanks her hand towards him.

"Very nice to meet you, Ms. Anderson," He says, and the truth is suddenly slapped in her face. She's going to die. She's only seen trees in pictures and knowing the velocity of electricity racing through wires won't help you decapitate someone. She's hopeless.

I'm never going to see Mama and Papa again. At this thought her lip trembles and tears flood her eyes, several spill down her cheek, but she manages to choke back a sob. She's not going to sob in front of the Capitol. That's letting them win, even more than they've already.

Mars watches her from the corner of his eyes, pity evident on his face, but quickly busies himself in calling out the damned boy. She doesn't hear his name. She doesn't notice anything else except the enigmatic emotion plainly on Beetee's face and the bright sun, beating down on their poor souls.

sand

Blood stains the wire, and she can't stand that. Blood reminds her of little Miller, the District Eight boy, the one who One cut open like a pig and strung up his innards for all the arena to see. A warning. Blood forces her back into the arena, the one where pigeons tried to eat her alive, the one where rocks embedded in her stomach, the one where she didn't eat for days, the one where her demons originate. She doesn't like blood.

So when the gold wire Beetee hauled from the Cornucopia's drenched in it, she has to wash it in the basin of the clock. She kneels down on the sand, marveling at how they rub her skin, how they could possibly erode her body but doesn't. A good Gamemaker trap. Wiress cups the salt water in her hands and splashes it onto the wire. As she meticulously scours it, she sings the clock song.

Her father taught it to her before she could walk. He said it was salvaged from before the Dark Days, before the whole world turned into a monster, he said.

"Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck one." Wiress glaces toward one o'clock in the arena, the blood rain. She shudders at the memory of running through it, the vicious liquid choking her, the screams, the drowning in blood, Blight running into the force field,l the- She shakes her head to clear it. Forget about that. Wiress continues singing because the song calms her, stops her arms from shaking and heart racing.

You're insane, her mind taunts. Just as insane as that little Annie girl.

Damn right, Wiress shoots back.

"Oh, not that song again," Johanna complains from behind her, but Wiress ignores her. She's always had a talent for ignoring people, especially self-righteous idiots like Johanna. Yeah you lost your family, but at least you made a point, Wiress snarks while singing. I lost mine because I won.

"Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck two." Wiress stops and suddenly stands up, pointing to the two o'clock section. She hears the others chatting behind her, talking about her theory being right.

Of course it's right, she retorts in her head. I'm no idiot. I survived my games. I was top of my class. I don't have weapons but I have a mind. But she holds her tongue. The Capitol framed her Games as blind luck, just a dumb girl who struck gold, but everyone knows there is no luck in the Capitol, especially the Games. The Games are orchestrated by hundreds of people, every aspect controlled down to when the wind blows. They forgot that, but at least they won't persecute her. She's content with being forgotten in Three.

She smiles at her work. The bloody wire is almost clean now, almost ready for Beetee to blow up the arena. She can't wait to see it, and she almost wishes she were in the Capitol, just to see the Gamemaker's faces at their perfect creation destroyed to nothing but a fiery hell – exactly what it is. She bites back a laugh at the idea. She can't wait.

While she continues singing, she hears the pack debating about the arena. She even hears the swish of the sand as they draw in it, and she smiles. They finally see what she sees.

But her smile fades as a warm pair of arms wrap around her neck and suddenly her body's on fire. It burns like hell, as if someone doused her in gasoline and they lit the match. She's burning more than the Girl on Fire. But black soon rushes up to meet her. The pain stops. The fire stops. The singing stops. Everything stops.

forest

She kisses Beetee only once. It's after her victory speech in Seven, after she delivers her lukewarm speech to a lukewarm crowd. They don't care about her; she didn't kill their children, she didn't do anything except kill the killer. Sure, their children could be standing instead of her, but the District is enured to loss, enured to losing. They don't even mind when she and Beetee slip away to the forest, leaving Mars Something Something to thank Seven for their sacrifice and dine with the mayor. It's something he's good at, eating and lying.

Someone offers to show them the forest, and Wiress nods, dragging Beetee along with her. She needed to get out. Out of the town, out of the District, out of Panem, – hell – out of the world. They walk past the town gate, nodding to the Peacekeeper who doesn't blink an eye. With the presence of two Victors, one can probably bend rules, Wiress notes.

They wander along the beaten path into the dense forest, and in the setting sun, she gasps. The forest is a beauty no camera can capture. The trees are giants from long ago, a time much simpler without Games and the Capitol, just freedom, and birds nest in the swaying arms of these giants, singing songs no human can understand but still treasure. In the distance, Wiress hears a bubbling creek and she can almost picture the fish jumping in the cold water. This is paradise.

Wiress tilts her head to the forest, and their guide nods. "Just don't go too far."

In silence, she and Beetee stroll deeper into the heart of the forest, into the past.

"District Seven is so lucky," she whispers to no one and everyone at the same time.

"Why?" Beetee asks, easing himself onto a rock.

"They have a forest." Wiress sighs. "I wish Three had this."

"Yeah," Beetee agrees and stares at her. The way her brown hair blazes in the setting sun, like a fire. She looks like a goddess in the forest, with her green dress and twinkling eyes. As a silence settles between, he leans toward her, and she toward him. Their lips meet. It's awkward at first then beautiful. Wiresss' heart jumps into her chest, a tidal wave of emotions crashing down on her.

His hand presses against her back, and hers cradles his neck. A warm emotion expands and settles in Wiress' stomach, drowning out the other million. It's something that embodies warm cookies and huddling around the heater and smiling at family. It licks at her stomach and spreads to her whole body until she's on fire with this emotion, not like pain but love. She glows with it.

They stay like that for an eternity, lips locked together, bodies close, until she has to breathe. Pulling away, a blush heats up her cheeks and a smile grows, one she can't control.

They meet each other's eyes but don't say anything. They don't need to because his hand is warm in hers and she tucks the kiss in the folds of her heart until nothing can erase it.

sand ii

The day Wiress dies, Beetee can't sleep. He watches the stars, foolishly hoping that she's up there, but he knows better. There's only this life, no second chances. The stars watch him from millions of light years away. Lonely in the vast emptiness of space.

He tires of counting the stars, so the rest of the night he convinces himself the tears on his face are saltwater and the guilt in his heart isn't there and Wiress died for a good cause. She died for the rebellion. But Beetee isn't so sure if the rebellion is as bright without her smiling face.

forest ii

"Beetee?" Wiress asks, nudging open the door to his bedroom. It's been many years since they last mentored together, and 10 or 15 years since the kiss. But their friendship is still firm. "Beetee, are you in there?"

Beetee lets out a grunt, and Wiress tiptoes inside, noting the mess. Computers half dissected, notebooks tossed over the floor, plans drawn in red ink, a complex system of computers ruling the big desk that stretches from one wall to the other. Wiress almost trips on the stack of books but catches herself. After dancing around the mess, she gently easing herself into a velvet chair and continues, rash from the five drinks she's drunk. "I was wondering, are you ever going to get married?"

She still treasures the kiss in the folds of her heart daily, polishing the memory until it shines like gold. And, although her youth has faded, her admiration for Beetee hasn't. And, though she wouldn't say it, she loves him – just a little.

Beetee spins around from his desk, and she stares at the premature wrinkles in his skin and heavy eye bags. "I don't know. Probably not. It's just- the rebellion is my love. It's worth so much to me... I have no time for love."

Wiress heart deflates at this, but with a small struggle, she keeps her face neutral. "Ohh," she says, "yes the rebellion."

Beetee nods, his eyes sparkling at the thought of such a thing. "Imagine, Wiress, a world with no Games, no Capitol. A world with freedom. A world worth dying for."

"Yes," Wiress agrees. A small part of her sparks at the mention of freedom, probably due to her slurred speech, she argues, "but love can provide freedom."

Beetee chuckles at that. "I don't know about that."

Wiress swallows the disappointment welling up from her gut. She forces on a smile and quietly excuses herself, stumbling over the books and screwdrivers.

As the door clicks, Wiress slips some more into the infinite pit of insanity. Beetee's hand doesn't catch her this time; she's falling.

a/n2: sorry you had to read that, and if you felt any emotion whatsoever, please review!