Secrets and Sequins and Swords.
Summary: The sunsets on what could be your final day, and the secrets I know about your reputation- they could save you, if only I had known them earlier. Kinna, so it's AU. A fairly lengthy drabble, really.
Disclaimer: I never have and never will own THG. This is first HG fanfic, and my first outside of TMV, and I haven't read the books in months... so excuse any OOC-ness, please and thank you. Also; Un-beta'd.
By the way, I do take requests for fics, as long as the pairing isn't too Canon. I don't do well with Canon.
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My fingers twine ever-so-slightly in your wavy hair only a few shades lighter then my own, and feel you relax against the rhythm I begin. Twist. Curl. Straighten. Twist.
The golden sunset reflects and bounces of the straight-edged glass buildings that complete the Capitol, and settles on your pale skin which has stubbornly refused to tan despite all the time on this very roof that we've spent together.
"Cinna?" Your voice breaks the silence.
"Yeah?"
"If I- When I- If I die, is there any way you could-"
"You're not going to die Katniss. I'm not going to let you."
You sit up quickly, and from my position, you are a giant. Powerful. Strong. Mystical in so many ways. Everything that you are, shown in your simple gesture of refusal and anger.
"Really? Is there any way you can guarantee that? There is no way you can sit here and promise me that I am defiantly making my way home to District 12. Not unless we count if I make it in a wooden box."
I sigh, and rub my hands against my face and sit up, because we've had this conversation so many times, and I can never win. Not knowing what I do.
-THG-
"Hello, Haymitch." Plutarch whispers to Haymitch in the silence of the abandoned training room, no longer in use seeing as there's only two days to go. If the Tributes don't know how to defend themselves by now... well. They'll most likely never get the chance.
"Shut up, Plutarch." The drunkard mumbles, battling yet another hangover.
"No, it's important. Tell me; has your female tribute ever shown any... resistance against the regime? Other than her shooting that apple the other day, I mean."
Haymitch looks up quickly, and even from the shadow I occupy in the corner of the room, I can read the conflicting emotions on his face. Pride in Katniss, fear for her life, resignation that another two children are going to be thrown to their deaths in less than 42 hours and he'll have another two families screaming for his.
"I'm not sure what you mean, Gamemaker Plutarch. Have you had too much wine today?" He finally says, his face blank and unreadable and clear.
"No. I leave that to you," the younger man retorts, desperation clouding his face. "You're female. That Katniss girl. Has she ever shown any signs of rebellion? If you want her to survive the bloodbath, you will answer honestly, because her life is in danger and I will know if you're lying."
Haymitch body tenses and the daggers he shoots at Plutarch are far more deadly than any weapon in the room.
"Let's see," he drawls. "She's not only from District 12- the poorest and most ridiculed district in Panem- but she's also from the seam- the rejected, the desperate part of town. Not that you would understand that. Her father died when she was 12 in a mine that he was forced to work in to keep his family alive, and she was made to support her family. Then, less than a week ago, her sister was drawn in the reaping and Katniss became the first ever volunteer from 12 in order to protect her. No, no," he finishes with a sickening smile, "she's perfectly happy to be another slave of your master."
Plutarch stands and begins walking away, seemingly ignore the sly dig at President Snow, and that confuses me- any worker in the Capitol could have Haymitch put to death for anyone of the things he just commented on, really. And Plutarch just... walks away. What? He turns once before he reaches the doorway, and his voice echoes clearly in the almost empty room.
"I'll have you know that I work for a higher authority than the President, Mr. Aberthy. And I was only trying to warn you that Snow wishes Miss Everdeen dead, as he believes her to be a potential threat to his regime. Gamemaker Crane wanted me to tell you, as he wouldn't mind her winning, especially what with what he suspects the boy feels for her. But never mind. Have fun telling her family you destroyed her last chance of survival."
As Haymitch hurriedly follows Plutarch from the room, I sink against the wall, branding the words into my mind.
-THG-
As the fight drains out of you and your body slumps against mine, I lift one of your hands up and kiss it gently, too afraid to really doing anything else. I remember going to Haymitch and telling him what I heard between him and Gamemaker Plutarch, begging him to help you, desperately asking him to help you survive. I shiver slightly, recalling his cold reply- "Cinna. This is your first year, but I've been doing this for 23 years. Katniss is one of the strongest competitors this year, providing she charm enough sponsors. Anything that we could change about her would only decrease her chance of survival. Angst-y Snow or not, that fighting spirit is the only thing keeping her alive. Now back off."
Your body settles into a light slumber, and I take the time to memories every line, every flaw, every freckle, knowing that if President Snow has his way, I won't have many more chances. But I promise myself this- if you get out of that arena alive, I'll run over hill and over dale to find you again. After all, it's not like you return the boy's feelings, right?
I feel the Mockinjay pin in my pocket and I leave it there, thinking about tomorrow. Not yet.
Not now.
Ew, that was terrible. I apologize sincerely. I only uploaded this because it is now the half-term holidays, and I have nothing to keep me away from my laptop (We're in a very committed relationship, FYI).
Review Please?
Chloe xxx