STORY SUMMARY: Gale is reaped in the 74th Hunger Games. 3 years later, Prim's name is called in the reaping, but Katniss is now 19, and too old to take her sister's place. How will she cope with her sister's Hunger Games, while haunted by the events three years ago? And how will this bring her closer to a certain baker boy?
A/N: So, here it is, my first Hunger Games fanfic! I have been bouncing around a couple of ideas for a while, but let's see how this one goes! Hope you enjoy.
-C
~~~Chapter 1~~~
The 74th Hunger Games
"Gale Hawthorne."
I remember looking at him across the crowd of people as he stepped forward. I stood frozen as the shock hummed through me.
We both knew it was possible. We both knew the odds weren't in his favour.
He walked to the podium to join the female tribute, a 17-year old girl from the Seam. She stood next to Effie Trinket with red, puffy eyes, tears leaving tracks down her face.
Gale's eyes met mine as he stood on the stage. He didn't cry or look angry. He looked determined. Determined to survive.
Three Years Later, the 77th Hunger Games
I wake with a start. The day of the reaping is here again. My first reaping day with no chance of being chosen as tribute. I turned 19 a few weeks ago. It's a shame I can't savour the freedom.
I still have Prim to worry about.
The days of her sleeping in bed with our mother are gone. She has grown from the small girl with the ducktail, who depended so much on me, into a strong, passionate young woman, who spends every free moment training with our mother to become a healer. But I can't shake the big sister protectiveness. I'll always look out for her.
I turn over to see her already dressed and bustling about the small kitchen, humming quietly to herself. I take a moment to watch her as she moves about getting a simple breakfast ready for us. Prim is wearing a soft blue dress, one I have worn for reaping days in the past, and her lovely blond hair is in a long braid down her back.
I don't often get to see her like this anymore, quietly getting ready for her day. I started work down in the mines a few months ago, and I have an early shift. Usually when I get up it is still dark outside, and I slip out of the house quietly while my mother and Prim are still asleep. But today is reaping day, today we all meet in the town square and leave the dusty coal mines behind us. I'd rather be working than worrying, though. I think all of us in District 12 feel the same way. Nothing good can come on reaping day.
Lost in my thoughts, Prim surprises me when she softly calls my name, beckoning me to join her at the table to eat. She's taken a chunk of cheese from her goat, Lady, and a small loaf of bakery bread and heated it in the oven, melting the cheese. Prim knows how much I love this combination.
"I'll wake Mom in a few minutes," Prim says to me. "I thought it would be nice to have a moment, just the two of us, before the day really begins." She smiles at me and I struggle to return the gesture. I don't understand how my little duck can manage a smile on a day like today.
Prim notices that my face shows more of a grimace than a smile. "It's all right, Katniss, I'll be okay. My name is only in the reaping four times. At least this year, I don't have to worry about you." Now I do manage a real smile on my face as I look down at my 15-year old sister. The person I love most in the world. The little girl - well young woman - who can find happiness on reaping day because I am now safe.
I'll still worry, but I do feel better. I took tesserae every year until I was 18, but I never let Prim add her name in exchange for supplies. Thankfully, we've never needed any tesserae from Prim, not that I would have let her take any, but our family has been doing better the past couple of years. My mother finally worked her way out of the stupor she'd been in since my father's death, and started selling herbal medicines to people in the district, sometimes treating patients too. Prim was able to trade goat cheese for supplies that my mother needed for her work, and once I started down in the mines, we actually had a steady enough income to get by.
As I sit lost in my thoughts again, I hear my mother stirring in her bed. She walks over to us and kisses Prim on the forehead and then leaves the room to wash up. Although our relationship has improved, I still do not like her affections or her touch. Maybe one day I will truly forgive her, but it hasn't happened yet.
Because I don't have to go down into the mines today, I feel like I should take the opportunity to go into the woods and do some hunting. We aren't as desperate for the meat as we once were, but I still enjoy being in the woods and practicing with my bow. And Greasy Sae has yet to turn down a kill, even a wild dog, and I still have a fondness for her soup. But I am reluctant to go, reluctant to leave Prim on reaping day, reluctant to let her out of my sight.
"You should go to the woods today, Katniss," Prim says to me, as if reading my thoughts.
"I'd rather spend the morning with you, little duck." I smile at her, trying not to think about the other reason I am not eager to venture into the woods today. A reason that has to do with a certain dark-haired boy - a man really - who still lingers in my mind after all these years. A man who used to be my best friend, until I lost him to the Hunger Games three years ago.
"You're thinking about Gale, aren't you Katniss?" Prim seems to have gotten very good at reading my thoughts lately. Or maybe my emotions are displayed right across my face, for all to see. "I don't understand why you get so upset thinking about him." I sigh, envying Prim. If only I could see the world with her optimistic disposition, maybe all my smiles could be genuine.
"I don't want to think about him today," I say, and that is that.
We spend the next couple of hours around our small little house in the Seam. Prim entertains her cat Buttercup with a bit of ribbon while I take a bath and dress myself for the reaping. My mother has laid clothes out for me, just as she has for the past few years on reaping day. I don't know why she has bothered today. It's not as if I am in danger. This year, I'll be standing with the adults. This year I won't hold my breath and wait for my name to be called, only Prim's. As I towel off from my bath I look at the skirt and blouse she has set out. They don't look familiar at all, nothing I've seen around the house before, and I realise with a start that my mother has taken the time to make me a new outfit. At this thought, I feel a pang of regret for treating her so distantly, but then I think of the years that went by where I had to take care of both her and Prim, and I feel at least a little justified in my feelings.
After dressing I find my mother and sister waiting for me in the kitchen. I'm surprised that they seem to be waiting to leave, when it's just barely past noon. Usually we don't set out for the town square until one. I quirk my eyebrow at Prim, "I don't want to arrive any earlier than we have to," I say.
Prim's eyes sparkle as she replies, "I want to stop in the bakery before we arrive at the square." I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her. Not again, not today. My little duck seems to have it in her head that one of those Mellark boys has an interest in us, always seems to give her generous trades for her goat's cheese.
Secretly I also wonder about the motives of the boys in that bakery, especially the youngest, Peeta Mellark. He must be roughly the same age as I am, since I remember seeing him in classes at school with the rest of my year. But most of all I have the memory of him tossing me bread. Bread that saved my life, and the life of my family, during our darkest days, months after we lost my father. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. He probably doesn't even remember that day. The day of the boy with the bread.
Because it is reaping day and because I will do anything to keep Prim happy, I decide to indulge her. "All right little duck, lead the way." I take her hand and start out the door. I go a couple of paces and then stop. Prim has turned around to hook her arm with my mother's and the three of us continue walking, linked like a daisy chain. I'm sure this gives Prim great joy, so I go along with her, as she nearly skips her way around the Seam.
We walk awhile in near silence, Prim occasionally humming to herself. I still can't fathom how this child can be so carefree on a day like today. Just before we reach town we come upon a man from the Seam sitting on the ground, clearly in pain. My mother and sister, always the caring type, immediately stop and ask about his condition. It's nothing, he says, an old injury to his leg flaring up. Prim pats his arm and insists she and mother can give him something for the pain. Luckily my mother seems to travel with basic apothecary mixes tucked in a small satchel across her shoulder. I suspect she often encounters others in need and wants to be prepared to help. My mother hands over a small vial and Prim gestures as she explains to the man that he must take only a few drops at a time and spread out the medicine for as long as he can. He moves to stand but Prim tuts him and reminds him that rest is also important so that he may heal. He tries to offer us money but my mother turns him down. She says it is only a small dosage and that she has plenty to spare. I know that this is not quite true. While we have been more stable these past few years, and we have managed to put food on the table for every meal, we still do not have enough to simply be able to give things away. But I say nothing. Today is reaping day, today we truly feel solidarity with the others in our district.
Prim turns to wave at the man, still sitting on the ground, as we begin to walk again. This time there is a no silence as we walk. Instead Prim chatters happily at my mother about their patient, about medicines. I am glad that she can forget about the horrors of the day to come, if only for a little while.
Soon we arrive at the bakery. I don't have reason to visit it very often. Prim goes by sometimes after she gets out of school to trade her cheese for bread, but I usually steer clear of the bakery. All I can think about as I approach it is that day in the rain, when I was so desperate I was hopelessly digging through trash cans. The day of the boy with the bread.
Instead of going to the back entrance, where I assume Prim usually does her trades, she leads us right through the front door of the bakery. A small bell chimes as we enter and we are engulfed in warmth and the smell of fresh bread. A blond head, dusted white with flour, emerges from the back room, and I see the boy - the man - with the bread, smiling as he sees Prim.
"Prim, it's so lovely to see you," he says, and pauses as he notices that Prim is not alone. "You brought your family," he states.
"Hello to you too, Peeta," Prim giggles at him. "You know my sister, Katniss. And this is my mother." As Prim says my name Peeta's eyes flick over to mine. For a second, we stare at each other. My heart beats a little too quickly in my chest and I quickly look away. Does he recognise me? Does he realise who I am? That girl in the rain, all those years ago?
"What brings you here today, Primrose?" Peeta asks, his eyes back to Prim's smiling face.
"I thought it would be a nice treat to get one of those iced cookies I am always dreaming about," Prim says, grinning.
Peeta and Prim take a few minutes to decide on a fair trade. Peeta wants to give her the cookie but Prim refuses, and they finally settle on a small lump of cheese in exchange for a bag of three cookies. I know Prim's goat cheese is delicious, but I feel like she still must have gotten the better end of the deal.
We turn to leave and I can't help but sneak one last glance at the boy with the bread. It's been awhile since I've seen him at school, and with me working in the mines, it's not like I have time to visit the bakery. I let my eyes pass over him, drinking up his tall form - when did he grow that extra few inches? I pass over his broad chest and his powerful, muscular arms. I realise I must be blushing as our eyes meet again. He smiles at me, a little hesitantly, but a genuine smile. And I almost find myself wanting to smile back. But instead I turn away, bustling out of the bakery and towards the town square. Prim and my mother are a few paces ahead of me. Prim notices my blush and smiles mischievously at me, but says nothing.
We move through the crowd in the square. Prim breaks off from us to check in at the registration tables. I remember 3 years ago, in her first reaping, how scared Prim was. Now she is a confident young woman, finding her place in line, and not even flinching when the Capitol attendants take a drop of her blood. I watch her, wondering when it was that she grew up. She turns back to us after checking in and waves, confidently making her way over to stand with the other 15 year olds.
I stand with my mother in the sea of adults around the square. It feels odd to be here and not with the rest of the children. I realise that at 19, I am no longer really a child, but I don't really feel like an adult. My eyes drift over the crowd, returning to check on Prim every once in awhile. After a few minutes I notice Peeta Mellark has left his post at the bakery and is standing in the crowd to my left. I don't let my eyes linger on him, though, because I notice motion on stage as Effie Trinket and the other Capitol officials take their places on the stage. Effie Trinket stands in the centre, near the large podium and the glass balls filled with slips of paper. The mayor of District 12 sits behind her, a little to the right, along with a couple of men I don't know. On the other side of the mayor are two empty chairs, reserved for District Twelve's victors. I am surprised to see the chairs are still empty since it is nearly two, and the reaping is scheduled to begin in a few minutes.
I return my gaze to Prim, her hands tightly grasping her bag of hard-won cookies as she stands with her peers. I wonder how she is feeling and if she is as worried as I am. Every other year since Prim has been in the reaping I have consoled myself with the fact that if her name was somehow called, I could always step forward as a volunteer and take her place. But now that I am 19, and I am standing with the adults, I won't have that opportunity. I shudder and quickly push the thought from my mind. She only has four slips. Four slips in thousands.
The people of my distract all stand quietly as the mayor rises to join Effie Trinket at the podium. As he does every year, he talks about the history of the Hunger Games - a punishment from the Capitol for the war the districts lost. Before returning to his seat he also introduces the victors from our district - or at least tries to, since the seats on the stage are still empty. Not knowing quite what to do about the absence of victors, the mayor backs away from the podium and finds his seat again.
Bubbling, bright Effie Trinket takes over, her gold wig with its tightly wound curls bouncing on top of her painted face. I will never understand Capitol fashion. Effie smiles at the people of District 12, apparently not noticing the stares of hate and contempt she gets in return. I wonder if there are brains underneath that shiny wig of hers. But I squash the thought as she clears her throat and says, as she does every year, "Ladies first!".
Now my heart really is pounding, and the seconds she takes to fish her hand around in the giant glass ball seem like an eternity to me. I hold my breath and wait. Not Prim, not Prim, I think.
But it's too late. Effie has pulled out the slip of paper, and she clearly reads, in her weird Capitol accent, the name that I most feared would fall from her lips, "Primrose Everdeen".