Fandom: The Hunger Games
Characters: Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, Madge Undersee, Gale Hawthorne, Haymitch Abernathy.
Pairings: Katniss&Peeta.
Setting: AU within the THG book-verse.
Author's Note: this story was inspired by a prompt on promptsinpanem's AU week - day 7 (it consisted of making an AU by changing an event within the verse). I ended up choosing the prompt "Prim doesn't get reaped". This is my AU. Make yourself comfortable, and hopefully the writing is good!
Ps. my tumblr is peetaspearlx in case any of you wants to stop by
we are the reckless; we are the wild youth
001.
She stands in the crowd, looks at the Justice Hall, and focuses on Effie Trinket's pink hair with balled fists; sends a prayer into the sky.
Not me, Not me, Not me, she repeats in her head as a mantra, her pulse beats to the syllables as well, trying to bend fate like the willows that surrender at the shore of the lake.
Effie opens the slip of paper, she sees the glint of her purple nails and she narrows her eyes. Not me, Not me, Not me, Not me.
Fate bends, it's not her name. The house that will shut the boards and the windows tonight to enclose their grief will not be hers.
She watches as Madge Undersee's pristine white shoes climb up the steps, a testament to the fact that not even the strong ones can withstand the fall. Her throat constricts; she looks at Prim and sighs because she's safe at least for another year.
It's not over yet.
She sighs as the boys' slips of paper are ruffled; she swears the wind carries the sound of the paper all the way to her ears. She looks for Gale with the corner of her eyes; doesn't dare to fully look his way in case she might curse his luck somehow. Destiny was already kind to her today; what if she already owes it too much and Gale's life ends up her debt.
She stares at the sun until she can't see anymore; rough sunlight falling on her face furiously. She feels the collective sigh of the crowd, senses how the oxygen is sucked around her; draws in a breath herself hoping she doesn't know the name that's going to be read; hoping she doesn't know the boy's body as an extension of herself.
When the name is read, she sighs. She finally dares to look at Gale in the eyes, half smile perched upon his lips; impossible not to smile in response.
But she casts a stare at the boy at the platform, holding Madge's hand at Effie's request, and she blames the gods and feels ungrateful because she did know the name.
Every debt must be paid somehow; especially in this world where young lives are the currency the government accepts. She figures Peeta Mellark's life as payment is an unkindness, remembers an episode she can't forget no matter how much time beats at her door.
She's certain he remembers too; his eyes lock on hers before turning around; with Effie leading him past doors the sun blocks from her view.
The crowd slowly dissipates, children cling to their parents; parents cling to their kids. Everything's done in a clipped way, trying to keep their joy concealed; whispering congratulations on going unscathed for another year.
She searches for Gale's silhouette, but he finds her first. His arms wrap around her; and her body unfolds in his. We're okay, she says and her voice is so childlike, so full of disbelief, a voice she'd allow only to him. She notices her arms were shaking only when they stop at the contact with the skin above his neck; and she dares a smile to the I know his breath blows on her right cheek.
They disentangle themselves rhythmically; an ancient dance perfected as the years have passed: arms loosen around her waist; a foot takes a step back, fingers ghost over calloused palms for half a second longer than they should; lungs breathe, they exhale.
It's no surprise when both heads turn to the Justice Hall at the same time.
At unison their glee fades, the illusion of safety shatters and breaks; leaves sharp pieces on the floor. She can't think of a year when both tributes have been somewhat privileged; as privileged as you could get in District 12. The son of a baker, the Mayor's daughter; the odds playing against those who didn't need to play games of hunger; bargaining for scraps. She knows this year's reaping will unsettle the whole town, and she sees it in the way Gale's shoulders tense like the string of her bow while he stares at the structure; she feels it in the roaring whispers of the people walking by.
She feels it in the way her breathing catches remembering blue eyes on a rainy night.
You should go say goodbye, he says interrupting their gloom signaling to the building in an offhanded manner. She's confused for a moment; and it spreads across her face like wildfire; altering her composure, setting a familiar scowl upon her eyebrows. She was your friend, he continues and she catches herself remembering he doesn't know, has no way of knowing why a blonde boy, a slap and burned bread creep upon her conscience; that he means she should say goodbye to Madge, send her to her death with more than the encounter with the strawberries earlier that day. She sighs and nods her assent, relaxing the muscles on her face a little.
She tries, but she can't shake the thought it's her debt the baker's son's sacrifice will pay.
She goes to Madge's chamber first.
She turns the handle on the door; and she sees Madge by the window, staring at the sun outside. She regrets going in the second the lock falls into place, but she walks up to her noiselessly anyway; tries to convince herself Madge would've done the same had the roles been reversed.
She feels a rush of relief when she sees Madge's face and notices she's not weepy, or teary; just tapping her fingers in the wood with her right hand; clutching something in the pocket of her dress with the other.
She takes a seat in one of the velvety chairs near the window; passes her hand through the fabric back and forth; back and forth; trying to find words to say to this girl that has coexisted with her in silence for God knows how long. The need for words soon vanishes, Madge turns around and her voice acquires a slight manic need as she speaks could you put this on me, please?
Madge presses a golden pin to her hand, clutches at it like a sick person in agony bites a stick when her mother has nothing useful to give for the pain. She looks at the pin momentarily, stares at the bird taking flight through an arrow; thinks of how much money this pin would be worth in bread, cheese, meat and medicine. She attaches the pin to her dress anyway, the light dances off it contrasting with the white dress she chose to wear.
My mother would like it on me, Madge speaks almost inaudibly, voice breaking slightly; and she vaguely remembers the Mayor's wife; only knows she's sicker more times than she's healthy, and she pities Madge for reasons that have little to do with her death in the weeks to pass.
She has never been good with words, and their dynamic was never based on them either, so she surprises herself when she hugs her friend goodbye and leaves without another glance before she has a chance to break at all.
She runs down the hall and searches for fresh air in the inside garden of the Justice Hall. She inhales; then vomits on top of the gardenias. It's the first year the reaping of tributes has hit close to home like this, so she retches and heaves just one time, collects herself and walks back in again.
She likes her debts paid, to give her businesses closure.
Her faces closes off; one tribute down, one more to go.
She marches determinedly into the room and only stops when his astonishment almost knocks a lamp over the marble floor. He catches the porcelain in his hands swiftly in a display of quick reflexes she thinks would come in handy in the forest; submerged inside some woods. She furrows her eyebrows deeply, thinking of arenas and if maybe catching things will be useful once he's out there on his own.
He sets the lamp aside and she looks at him then, really looks at things about him as if searching for a treasure without an accurate map. She gazes upon his shoulders; sees the contours of his neck, the slope the muscle makes before it bends with his clavicle. She navigates his arms and sees the thickness of the veins protruding on them and she mentally compares them to Gale's. Where Gale's body is slender and lean, Peeta's body is built, solid and strong, product of wrestling and hard work carrying things at his father's place.
She dares a quick glance down to his legs; tries to assess their performance, when her concentration is interrupted Why are you here?
You helped me once, the statement is supposed to be kind, convey how much he helped, but instead the words come out choppy; bitten and sounding like an accusation more than anything else.
He quirks his head and his eyelashes vanish in the light, his hair is so blonde it looks like gold and luxuries that do not help save lives, do not bring food to the table no matter how much you will them to try.
If I hadn't, you would've died. He offers the sentence as a defense, but there's a gentle resignation in his voice, barely audible, and she feels the notes lodge inside her, fears for the lamb going to the slaughter. Mostly, she can't believe she won't settle the score; that he will die leaving red numbers written in blood on her checking account.
She remembers the hunger, the freezing cold and thinks of the sound of the rain; shudders like it's now and not more than five years since. She thinks about dandelions and plants and survival and the will to fight, the sheer impulse to live, and wishes she could ignite something inside him, make him collect what he's owed. She looks at her hands but they're empty, just like that girl 6 years ago she's got nothing but means to her own ends.
But she's not eleven. She's the same fatherless girl from the Seam; but she can take care of herself, doesn't need the pity or the alms a poor district has to give. She's not eleven and she's not hungry or cold or dying; but he is, even if he's not shaking, or blue at the lips.
She decides it then, Peeta Mellark will come back, and the score will be set.
Listen, she mouths with urgency, tries to pick the words she'll say before men in white take her out of the room. You came in second in the wrestling championship our school had last year. His eyes narrow, she doesn't stop. You have broad shoulders, and you're strong, which means you have a chance in hand to hand combat.
Katniss – he starts to shake his head, she can see the resolve to die in his eyes, recognizes it because it's what was reflected in his own eyes before he saved her from an icy hell.
She ignores her name upon his tongue, raises her voice almost to a yell, You have a way with words. I've seen you deal with clients at the bakery, and you're kind. Use that.
I have no chance of coming back, he yells above her voice, water in his eyes for reasons she attributes to fear because if not, then she doesn't understand.
She looks deep into his eyes, puts both hands on both sides of him and squeezes for good measure, imprinting her next words on him.
Yes, you do. Just try.
He looks at her palms on both his arms, and she slides one to his fingers, brings his open hand to her lips.
She closes her eyes, doesn't open them until the Peacekeepers finish taking her outside and looks right at the sun instead.
She goes straight to the meadow afterwards; plucks a single dandelion from the ground and blows on it, watches as the seeds scatter and blend with the wind.
Miles from her, when the seeds settle into the ground they grow as weeds of hope for her, but mostly just for him.
there are more chapters that are going to be uploaded within the following days.
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