Where I Love You

Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, Mockingjay, and all plots and characters. Suzanne Collins owns the ideas in said books, and the song in this one-shot. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins. I do not own anything. No copyright intended.

I don't know where I am anymore. I'm somewhere between the second and the third signal fires, however, I can't find the rendezvous point. When I consider that and the catastrophic, inexplicable explosions, the whole situation has me terrified. I allow myself to consider that possibly Katniss blew up the Career's food supply, explaining the explosions, however I don't allow myself to consider that she may have died in the blast, the cannon shot lost in the subsequent explosions. I don't allow myself to consider that maybe one, or both, of our faces may appear in the sky tonight. I don't allow myself to consider death, never going home, never seeing my mother or my father, or my five little brothers and sisters again.

The only thing that decreases my terror is that the Career's are surely at their camp currently, looking at the demolition that Katniss has surely caused. I can only hope that Katniss will escape, but they will stay for a while, giving Katniss and I time to rendezvous. I know that both Katniss and I cannot win, however, the chances of either of us winning are so remote that I refuske to think about it.

There isn't much to worry about amongst the other tributes. Thresh, he could not go home and face the district after he had killed me, unless we are the last two in the Games. That is certainly impossible, unless the other tributes simultaneously destroy each other, and I don't want to think about it. Katniss is my ally, the Careers are preoccupied, and Peeta, if he knew that Katniss and I were allies, I doubt he would kill me. More likely, he would leave me be. If he really loves Katniss, which he surely does, he would leave me be.

And so, that's why I stroll through the woods, inexplicably terrified of my competition, although there isn't much to worry about. I'm surely forgetting tributes, however if they are so insignificant that I cannot name them, they are obviously not a distinct threat at this point. Of course, any one of them could kill me instantly, and just might, they probably can't catch me. And if they can't catch you, Rue, I remind myself, then they can't kill you. My mother's parting words for me, the same ones I uttered during the interview, the quote I am probably known for. I wonder if it made my mother happy that I reitterated her advice, or if it made her sad, put the whole thing into perspective. She must know, in her heart, that I cannot win.

My mother! What I wouldn't give to see her again, even for one slight moment. And my father, who taught me my four-note run, who taught me about mockingjays, and my siblings! My baby brothers, Thistle, who must eat the most out of all of us, and Annatto, who shares my passion for singing although, in nearly everything else, we are complete opposites. Hyacinth, the oldest of the children I left behind. I wonder how she's faring without me, as the oldest sibling. I can only hope that she holds that job for eternity, that she will never be sent into the Games, for who would be there to protect her? If she were twelve, if she were reaped, I would, without hesitation, volunteer for her, as I would for Briar and sweet baby Linnea, if the age difference between Linnea and I wasn't so large a gap that by the time she is twelve, I would be out of reaping age.

In thinking about my family, I've wandered even further off course than I already was, and am now hopelessly lost. I want to sit down, I want to cry, I want to be out of the situation, out of the Games. Even death would be almost preferable to this torture. Almost, but not quite.

I squeeze my eyes shut momentarily, and in that split second I am yanked up into the air. I gasp, but don't scream, the suprise is too fresh, the sensation too new, and I don't know what to think about what just happened, or even why. My eyelids flutter open, and I realize that I am a good distance from the ground, hopelessly entangled in a web of dirty netting. I claw at it frantically, trying to find a quick route to escape, but my attempts do not prevail. And suddenly, I'm back on the ground. Relief turns to fear and agony when I realize that I am still tangled in the net, and not only that, but I have landed directly on my tailbone and the pain is agonizing.

But I can't die! I can't die, because back at home are my five siblings who desperately want their big sister back home with them, my mother, who must miss dressing me up in the neat little outfits she kept from when she was my age, or possibly younger, my father, who surely misses his little girl, and the rest of District Eleven, were people must miss my end-of-day notes.

I open my mouth to sing them aloud, and it's only after I see the mockingjays perched on the branches above me, hear them repeat my song, that I remember it's the signal I agreed on with Katniss. If she hears it, she'll think I'm safe. No matter. Possibly, the tune will give her a hint upon my whereabouts, which is what we both need, especially me.

"Katniss!" I screech, and follow the single word with a high pitched scream. I need her help. She's my ally, but she may or may not be previously injured. I don't know if she's going to come for me now, I don't know if she'll be forced to leave me to die alone.

But I've hardly given any thought to my actual death when a boy crashes through the underbrush.

He has a flushed face, indicating he has been running for a while. His lips are pursed in confusion, his green eyes narrowed. His shaggy, brown hair is tangled and matted and he's reaching up to push it out of his eyes. He's tall, very tall, and very muscular. One of what I've learned to call the Careers, which makes no sense, if they are all back at their camp, trying their hardest to put their heads together and strategize against Katniss, against the girl who destroyed their camp, and along with it, some of their chances of winning the Games.

It doesn't matter where they're supposed to be. The fact remains that the boy, Marvel, the one who smiled sadly at me in training and watched me do the edible plants test, the one who congratulated me on my training score and my interview outfit, well, Marvel is here. The fear of him is so immediate and sickening that I want to die, which is rather ironic seeing as death is where I'm headed.

"Katniss!" I screech again, and the boy from District One lowers his spear, his face pale and his eyes wild. He looks petrified, and I can't, for the life of me, figure out exactly why. He's got his victim all wrapped up in a net, and I'm unarmed.

"Hush, Rue. I'm not going to hurt you. I'll let you go..." the sound of Katniss' boots cut him off, and he repositions his spear to throw, not at me, but at her. The whole horrible thing hits me, it's her who he's scared of. It's Katniss Everdeen, the one who destroyed his camp, dropped a tracker-jacker nest on him, killed his district-mate, how could he not be terrified?

But as she crashes through the bush, bow and arrow at the ready, he repositions his aim again, and the spear leaves his hand.

I watch as Katniss' arrow leaves her bow at the same time, catching Marvel in the neck, and he crumples to his knees. It's sickening to watch him, the boy who was so kind to me, probably pitied me, being a tiny, young girl. It's sickening to watch him die.

"Are there any more? Are there any more?" Katniss shouts, and it's only when I try to answer her that I know something's wrong. My voice is breathy and light, and far too quiet, and it sounds nothing like my own. I put my hands to my throat and cough loudly, trying to clear it, and the pain that rips through my abdomen is so intense that I have to stop. It hits me then. I am dying. I was hit by Marvel's spear, and I am dying.

My eyes water, and I shake my head, no, at Katniss, although I'm not thinking straight and can't remember why I had to say no anyways. I don't know what she asked me. However, I do know that I'm lucky, luckier than the tributes who died a gruesome death at Cato's hand, because if I'm not coughing, or talking, then there is no pain, just a spear. Just my death. Just these Games.

Katniss kneels beside me, and clutches my hand. Her touch is warm, and it reminds me of my mother. My mother! My family! They are watching me die. I can only hope that they know that I loved them, only hope that they know that I really wanted to come back.

"You blew up the food?" I force myself to say, although talking hurts and reminds me of my death, how brutal it is, how in a couple seconds I will be blank to the world, hauled up in a hovercraft, and sent in a cold wooden box back to my district.

"Every last bit," she says, and she smiles. Katniss reminds me of my mother in every way possible, except for the hair. Even the kind look in her eyes is that same, and her touch, her tone of voice, her vocabulary.

"You have to win," I say, because she really does. How can she lose, now? After all this, how can such a kind, sweet young lady, one who allied with me, a wisp of a tribute, and saved her sister from death, how can anybody kill Katniss Everdeen.

"I'm going to. Going to win for both of us now," she responds, and I want to smile, but I can't bring myself to. I know that my life is up, that these are my final moments. I think about all I wanted to accomplish, becoming a doctor in District Eleven, saving those poor children who die every day, and then I think of my last request.

"Sing," I say, ever so quietly. It's not even painful anymore, and that's when I know my time is up. But when Katniss sings, a soft, clear voice that reminds me of my mother, again, I know that my last moments will be some of my best.

Deep in the meadow, under the willow, a bed of grass, a soft green pillow, she starts, and I feel my eyes closing. Her voice continues.

Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes, and when again they open, the sun will rise.

I do as she says, and try my hardest to believe the words of the song. Maybe it's true, I tell myself, and I do slightly believe it. Maybe when I open my eyes, I'll be in a better place.

Here it's safe, here it's warm, here the daisies guard you from every harm, Katniss is crying now, but she does continue into the second verse. I'm grateful. To take my mind off dying, I try to imagine this place that Katniss has sung about. A magical meadow, with green grass and daisies. I can picture it in my head, and it's not the meadow I forage in back home. There's no starvation, no Game, no Peacekeepers, no Capitol. Nothing but the meadow, and I, and my family, and then I picture Katniss too.

I am so lost in thought that the rest of the song flies by. Here is the place where I love you, Katniss sings softly, her voice in danger of breaking, tears streaming down her face. I feel the world slowly fading away, my senses of hearing, touch, and smell diminishing. The last thing I hear is the canon shot, signifying my death, and behind my closed eyelids, I can still see the meadow. I hope that's where I'm going.

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