Based upon Prompt 22 of the Everlark Fanfic Exchange. Anonymous suggested, 'Canon Divergent fic where the Quarter Quell never happens and Katniss and Peeta have to continue living their lives in front of the Capitol.'
(rating mature in anticipation of things to come xoxo)
The silence of the barren home resounds around me. My hands, having nothing better to do, swirl the last dregs of tea leaves about in the long-chilled mug. The musty shack lets the dust thickly frost abandoned washbins and counters. The table where Prim once laid out my Reaping Day breakfast has warped, from an unattended leak in the ceiling. I should take better care of this place, I know. If anything were to happen to me, my mother and sister will need to move back here. A shudder runs through me, at the thought. It was proven to be more of a possibility than anyone had let us know, during our Victory Speech in District Two several months ago. The memory of shots ringing out, of Peeta slumping to the cobblestone floor haunt my already troubled dreams. The sob choked out of my chest, my panic and tears doing nothing to allay his injury. Faintest, shallow breaths escaping his lips before Peacekeepers dragged me away from him. Peeta still has the scars on his chest and arms, bitter reminders as achingly hard for me to see as his offset leg. The fear of loss, of all my work to keep him safe, him, the kindest boy I know being in vain. The memory of Snow's approving nod, during our feast at his mansion, comes full-forced now, kicks at me to drown in my punishment until all I can do is stop myself from crying out.
Watching the water stains, as if they might sprout to life any moment, and offer a solution, I try to remind myself of the girl I was when I lived here. Secure, in the stability, in the monotony of my life, in the assurance that we were only better off than near-corpses. How strange it is, to long for that. To long for the threat of starvation, rather than a life filled with unattainable expectations and a mansion filled with cameras. A mansion where I am expected to move in with a boy I don't love, cannot love. But also cannot lose.
They're renovating the one just next door to our current one, Capitol votes deciding the colors of each room and the design of each cabinet and sofa. I am to start a family with him, live out the rest of our lives together, smiling annually for our devoted fans. And then, when the children are old enough, made to atone for my crimes against the President. He never said it in so many words, but I know, and so does Peeta. Why else make us have children, other than to punish their parents? That's what the Games are about, after all.
It seems a lifetime ago, that I snuck out of here to get in some hunting. A lifetime since my world turned upside down. The Reaping, the pin, the interview, the confession, the kisses, the berries, the Tour, the nights on the train, the shooting, the proposal, the meeting with Snow, the mentoring… the list becomes overwhelming. Who was I? Who was the Girl on Fire? I don't think I can be her anymore. I don't even know how.
Would the old me leave all of these others behind, like I'd suggested that morning so long ago? It was always a daydream, a distant thought. I don't think I'd ever actually have gone through with it.
I never would have thought I would use Peeta to get home. Yet here we are.
Our group would be too large. Gale refuses to leave, now. Or he did the last time we got the chance to talk in private. He says we— no, I have a duty to the people who are suffering. I can't do it without his help. I can't make it in the woods without him. I can't leave Peeta, not now, and Peeta… Peeta will never leave everyone behind to suffer. He and Gale have that much in common. The hand of the Capitol presses down here, harder than before. They made have remade my cheek, but I can still practically feel the sting of the whip against my face. We had been miserable, but invisibly so. We've reminded the Capitol of our District, Peeta and I. Now come the consequences.
Despite the warmth of the summer day, some part of me feels cold, frozen to the spot. I'm meant to be home, in an hour, to be plucked and pruned until the white straightjacket swallows me whole. It isn't a real straightjacket, of course.
It's my wedding dress. The one I'd modeled just after the end of this year's Games. The one anyone in my District would find absolutely revolting. Maybe Madge or another prominent Merchant girl might have dreamed of some elaborate toasting, but mostly, weddings in my district are a quiet affair. This dress, though, is a monstrosity. Cinna partly designed it, and so it isn't as awful as I tend to think. But it's ridiculously extravagant.
It probably costs about a lifetime's worth of game.
I would prefer if we could've put the money towards our tributes this year.
The ones Peeta and I had been forced to handpick for the Quell.
The ones who were targeted and hacked to death by a Career from District Two.
Bile makes me gulp heavily, wishing I had something stronger to add to my drink.
A yowl startles me, and I push back the chair in my rush to stand. Buttercup has made his own way in, still as unhappy with our new home as I am. I have fewer fresh game to offer him, even today. But he hasn't hissed in a few weeks at me. It's something. Peeta's temporarily move into our spare bedroom has thrown our morning routines off, too, though Peeta seems to be in the cat's good graces. Peeta says he isn't needed at home. I know he's worried about me, trying to sneak off to the woods again, considering my injury this past winter. It's a dangerous pursuit. I can't say I blame him for his concern.
There's a power generator in the Seam now, to electrify the fence constantly. They arrested ten families to get the space for it, a whipping for each adult, televised. Peeta and I were forced by Thread to make a speech in front of the Justice Building, to condemn the supposed 'disloyalty' of our own people. I felt sick through it, the words ash on my tongue. Peeta's grip on my hand had been so tight, I thought we both would crack. The families were subsequently evicted. My mother and Prim tended their wounds. Only a handful of people in the Seam will even look at me now, if and when I pass through.
Added trenches and reinforced concrete have been added to the fencing, to boot. There's still a small section, further north, that has a bit of a soft spot. I haven't risked it more than twice in the past month. Each time, Peeta has been furious with me. I'm sure I'll hear about it, which is part of why I hesitate to head straight back to Victor's Village. He has probably figured it out by now, in my absence. He would've awoken to an empty bed, his warmth coaxing me from the nightmares that still haunt me each evening. Add to the images from our Games, Peeta's lifeless body on the cobblestone of District Two, riddled with bullets, the brutal killings of our tributes in the Quell, and now the bloodied backs of our own citizens following their 'light' punishments… I wonder if the blood will ever leave my hands.
The woods, once my only escape, can only offer me sanctuary through a gauntlet.
Vick Hawthorne's been ill. He needs some of the herbs we can't get inside the barricade. Once upon a time, the Hob might have had something, and I could trade for it. But no black markets have dared set up shop. Gale would never have asked me to go in his place, would've done it himself if he'd been able, only Vick's fever had worsened late in the night. Hazelle wasn't meant to sneak her son to my mother so long past curfew. It was a good thing she had, though. Vick had a seizure on our kitchen table.
With Gale having moved out of her house, unable to make the slightest move without being questioned by Thread, Hazelle had to risk it. The surveillance has followed Gale out of the Hawthorne's shack, left his family in relative peace. It also left them with a distanced breadwinner. Limited protection. Even Gale's Sunday morning respites became impossible shortly after the Quarter Quell. They have doubled the demand each worker must fulfill. When he comes out from the pit, he looks like a walking corpse. Can barely string coherent sentences together. The anger still fills his eyes, and his words when he cares to speak to me.
My hands shake. I try to still them. Buttercup abruptly attacks my leg, trying to bite at my knee. Hissing as his nails hook through the fabric of my trousers, I struggle to grasp the cat by the scruff. He dodges me and I give up, feigning a kick before watching him run out the door. Finally moving from my space in the home, I bolt the door behind me.
I toss the used leaves into the bush outside the front steps, tucking the mug into my game bag, before heading home. I try to avoid thoughts of how familiar this morning feels, equal parts avoiding all the ways in which it is changed from barely a year ago. The physical, charred remains of the Hob weigh on my mind, though it has been razed, turned into a Peacekeeper check-point. Gale nearly died, twice over, now. The guilt lodges in my throat, making it impossible for me to even look at him. The burning disappointment from him doesn't help, either. I pause as I make my way towards Victor's Village, watching miners emerge from their shifts. I squint, trying to pick Gale out from the crowd, but give up after a time. He's made it clear how he feels, what he expects from me.
He doesn't understand how much has changed.
My sore legs pad on.
I have an eery suspicion, as I approach the Village, and purposely slow my steps. Will the President be in our house? Will he have gone through that trouble again? Forcing myself to face the possibility, I muddle on through the rain-sodden path.
I slide my feet out of my hunting boots, hanging my jacket and game bag on the coat-hangs. I find my mother working on our lunch of lamb stew, already smelling delicious and making my stomach rumble. Peeta, I find, is playing chess with Haymitch, only perhaps two or three moves in to their game. I try to make as little noise as possible, but a creak in the floorboards gives me away. Blue eyes meet mine, before quickly returning to the chessboard.
"Hey." Spotted, I edge into the room, skirting along the wall and settling next to the fire.
"Hey." Peeta motions to the coffee table. "There's some cheesebuns, fresh from the ovens."
"Thank you," I reply, breaking off a piece of one. Steam drifts up and the scent brings a smile to my lips. The rich morsel against my tongue makes me close my eyes, relishing in the taste of the delicacy.
Peeta heads to the bakery each morning, bringing a batch back often before mid-morning. He knows they are my favorite. I don't know how I could ever get used to the luxury. Or used to his kindness.
I open my eyes to find him watching me, and we exchange a smile. The guilt blooms from nowhere, even as I keep a steady gaze. The eternity of his kindness, and my inability to ever repay him in kind. My inability to make this real. I've made it real enough for the President. It's not real in my heart.
I've felt it, though, flicker like a warm spark. The night after he was shot, it became a warm fire. When I went to the hospital, saw him pale against white hospital sheets. I held him, so glad to feel his arms slowly wrapping around me, to press my face against the crook of his neck. To hear him whisper my name. His reassurance that he was all right.
Haymitch purposely flicks Peeta's king down, and I'm released from the gaze of my fiancé. Peeta chuckles, while Haymitch curses, saying the moves Peeta's making are illegal. Peeta takes it in good stride, but I can see his eyes on me every so often.
Prim calls us to dinner. I wipe my hands off, pretending to not have been eating dessert first. Haymitch heads back to his house, saying he's got his own lunch. I know his will be at the bottom of a bottle, but neither Peeta nor I comment on it.
"How was your walk?" Peeta inquires, taking my hand as we head for the kitchen.
I avoid his eyes, knowing that he knows. "Fine."
Peeta doesn't add to it. He doesn't need to.
"Vick needed herbs." I defend, against an unsaid criticism.
"Katniss." He stops, hand tightening to keep me from walking away. I meet his gaze, and his disappointment now rivals that of Gale. "Please. It's dangerous."
"I know," I acknowledge. "But I can't-"
"When I woke up, you weren't there." His voice breaks and my stomach slowly begins to knot, the guilt building like a lead weight. I know, I know why he needs to see that I'm safe. His nightmares are what he paints with vivid horror, the gore and the terrifying events of our Games. Being separated from me, though, not knowing where I am, not knowing whether I am safe or not, is a different form of torture for him. "I'm not trying to keep you prisoner here. But it's not safe, for you."
He isn't just talking about the dangers of trying to sneak through the barricade, isn't just speaking of the new Head Peacekeeper, isn't just talking about Snow. He's talking about what we've noticed, even here, in our District. The suspicious looks, the notes or half-heard discussions. Madge told me, in quiet confidence, that someone at school spoke of how Peeta and I should both be dead. I don't go anymore, since Victors don't typically attend school even if they aren't eighteen. But there are whispers, of how much better our deaths would make life here. How much better it would be if we had never survived in the first place. And if some are saying it, within hearing range of my friends, there have to be more saying things even worse out of their earshot.
"I'm sorry." I want to add that it won't happen again, I suppose that would satisfy him even though he would know it to be a lie. I can't make a promise like that, not with the way things are. I'm trying to be honest. "I had to."
Peeta drops my hand, running through his hair. He looks like he wants to say more, but Prim interrupts us.
The prep team will be here in a half hour. The train, once we have boarded, will take us straight to the Capitol. I'm almost glad for the stink of the chemicals, and the freakish makeup designs they have in store for us.
The Capitol does own us, after all, even if we don't belong there.
Peeta and I, now, we don't belong anywhere.
Even if Cinna and Portia refuse to permit facial alterations.
Peeta's arm encircles mine. I press closer to him than before, as we enter the President's mansion. Tomorrow afternoon will be the extravagant, hours-long ceremony, here, in the President's own courtyard. The decorations and festivities are out of our hands. Our families have not even been invited. This is an event for the Capitolites, not for us.
For today, though, the only obligation is to smile and wave at all of the citizens in the Capitol who fawn on us.
The only obligation is to pretend we aren't pretending.
Shoes tap against marble floors, a deadly silence allowing the sounds to echo as we go. This isn't the first time we've been lead upstairs, to the President's private office. We were here before the Quarter Quell. Then there had been other Victors. Now, it's just me and Peeta. I glance at him, and we both pause as we make our way down the hall. We stop outside the doorway, a guard holding his earpiece before halting us with a sharp shake of his head.
Peeta leans in, breathing softly against my ear. "Together?"
As he leans back, I try to keep myself from doing something ridiculous, like crying. Peeta, my Boy with the Bread, the boy who continues to save my life over and over again. My partner.
He'll be my husband by this time tomorrow. And, then…
"Together," I confirm with a nod.
The President's private detail opens the doors, motioning for us to enter.
"Mr. and Mrs. Mellark." The President's voice carries, decidedly friendly despite the lack of say we have on the matter. "Welcome back."
The slight, though not a deep one, hits me at the thought of Peeta's mother. I'm not Katniss Everdeen. I'm just Mrs. Mellark, now, or will be. As we approach the desk, the odor of roses and blood hits me; as always, in the President's presence. They are planted in a vase at the corner of his desk, and another pure, white rose is clipped to President Snow's lapel.
"Please, be seated."
We obey. The chairs here are much like the straight-backed, carved wooden chairs in my home office. Made for someone taller than me. The heels of my feet, due to the pointed stilettos just barely touch the ground. My eyes are drawn up to the massive Presidential seal, installed just above Snow's head. The President takes a seat himself, folding his hands on the desk before him. I hear the doors click shut behind us. Through the glass windows at either side behind him, I can see the decorations still being installed. Crews of men and women in Avox uniforms hang off of ladders, or coil flowers and lights about the pillars and greenery.
"So wonderful to have our favorite Victors back with us. And for such a joyous occasion."
"Thank you for having us, sir," Peeta replies.
The President smiles at Peeta, before turning to me. The too-wide smile mocks me, the penetrating gaze of his beady eyes making me want to shudder.
"Tell me, Mrs. Mellark, are you excited to finally marry the love of your life?"
I don't reply at first, the words stuck in the back of my throat. Mrs. Mellark, another loss of identity. The Girl on Fire, the Star-Crossed Lover. Someone else's property.
I maintain eye contact, before opening my lips.
"Of course, sir."
Snake-like eyes narrow slightly, before he leans back in his seat. His gaze flits between the two of us, and the strain of this overview causes my muscles to tighten in anticipation. My hand itches to reach out to Peeta, to gain comfort just from our partnership, our solidarity. But I don't dare take my eyes off of Snow. Fear keeps me from making even the slightest move.
"I have a problem, my dears."
The words make my grit my teeth. I recall the last time a discussion of the President's 'problems' had led him to come to my home, to invade what little sanctuary I falsely felt I had gained.
"Sir?" I keep my eyes trained on the man across from me, avoid looking at Peeta.
"You see, you have both played your parts splendidly." The President pauses, his eyes locked on mine. "So well, in fact, I can be assured that this particular ceremony will not be a means of… disruption."
"That's what you wanted, isn't it?" Peeta interjects. I quickly look at him, trying to warn him without words to keep quiet. I can't allow Snow to have any reason to target Peeta, not after everything we've been through.
"Yes." The President retrieves a holo device, sliding it forward. "I assume you both are familiar with this device?"
We both nod, having seen them a handful of times, typically in the hands of Head Peacekeeper Thread. When he is reading out a sentence for a district criminal.
"Let me explain how tomorrow night will go, then."
I stare in disbelief, my eyes widening, chest tightening as President Snow explains how the consummation of our wedding is expected to be completed tomorrow night. He explains how the sponsors, who gladly assisted in our Victory, look forward to the continuation of our story. The continuation of the Mellark family line.
"After all," he repeats the threat he made months ago. "We never have seen the child of not one but two Victors."
Peeta and I both stare in disbelief, as the President leans back, smiling as he allows his words to sink in.
We knew this, I tell myself. I look at Peeta, see his fists clenching. I think of the Victory Tour, when he had begun to smash lamps and other items.
"We'll do it, sir."
The President raises a brow, and Peeta looks about ready to object.
"We'll consummate the marriage tomorrow night."
"Of course." The President taps the holo, before sliding it forward. "I trust you know how to record, as well as watch?"
The music swells, as the light turns to me. The crowd rises, delighted gasps as I begin to march forward. One step, two step…you can do this, I tell myself. I think of Prim, I think of my mother. I think of Peeta's brothers, of Delly and Madge and Gale and their families.
I can, I can, I can. I repeat the mantra to myself, tell myself I must. It gets me down the aisle, gets me past the hands that reach out, brush across my arm and dress train.
I am at the base of the stairs, passing one step, two then three. Peeta's hand reaches out, takes mine and holds it, tightly. A lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow properly, the lights from the camera all but blind me to everything except Peeta. The Justice is speaking, getting raucous laughter and applause, and the occasional whistle, but I don't hear the words the man says. He's some Justice of the Peace or some other baloney title, here in the Capitol, and afraid of panicking, I keep my eyes my fiancé. Soon to be my husband. The speeches go on and on, songs interspersing with professions of our devotion to one another. It seems to never end.
"Peeta Mellark, do you take Katniss Everdeen to be your lawful and wedded wife?" the Justice asks. "To love and to cherish, to honor and obey, from this day forward?"
"I do," Peeta replies. His blue eyes are locked on mine, watery, as if he has been crying, or drinking.
"Katniss Everdeen, do you take Peeta Mellark to be your lawful and wedded husband?" the Justice's robes swish as he turns to me. "To love and to cherish, to honor and obey, from this day forward?"
I gulp heavily before speaking, forcing a smile. "I do."
"Are there any reasons, to why these two should not be wed?" The Justice asks. A chorus of, 'Let them kiss!' breaks out from the audience. I force a laugh, and even Peeta's smile looks strained. "By the power vested in me, I declare you Mr. and Mrs. Peeta Mellark, husband and wife. Let nothing break the bond which love has made."
And with that, we seal our fate.
"You may now kiss the bride!"
I try to make my tears recede, or at the least, to make them look of genuine happiness. Applause erupt from the oblivious audience. The only relief is when Peeta's lips meet mine, and his arms hold me, tightly, as all of the lights and cameras flicker off.
The reception passes in a blur. My eyes sting as I try to hold myself together, smile and be gracious. The car ride to the prearranged hotel, still, provides nothing but tension, as pedestrians stop the car, tap on the windows, demand we kiss for them.
My lips feel numb from Peeta's kisses, not for his pressure but the incessant demand they be passionate. When the doors finally close, I collapse against the back wall of the hotel elevator. His hands find my own, and he leads me through the penthouse. It's larger than the one in the training center, and snacks and drinks line all of the tables, little notes about marriage popped in here and there. Bouquets of white roses fill the spaces where platters of food are missing, and I grimace, trying to ignore them. Peeta pauses, for a moment, before pointing to the liquor cabinet. Feeling too tired, and too close to tears, I simply look away.
"I think it'll help." He studies me carefully.
I shrug, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment before walking towards our room.
Peeta gathers all the bottles that he can carry before following me.
"Mrs. Mellark?" he asks, softly. He holds out a bottle of some amber-colored whiskey. "Do you take this bottle?"
A small smile finds its way to my lips, and I take the bottle, unscrewing the cap as Peeta pops opened a bottle of his own.
We clink the bottles against one another, before setting the holo device on the bedside table.
Thankyou for reading! Hope this isn't too dark(ish) or too short for the Anon who requested it! I'm probably going to make this into a longer fic because man I was getting really into this prompt and this is only a small portion of what I blabbered out!
also, Odesta may make an appearance in later chapters because I am awful :,)
(also also, the title is a WIP and may change) xoxo