Hello, happy readers! This is a new project I'm working on, inspired by the book/musical Les Miserables. I'm currently involved in a local production of the show and got inspired. If you're familiar with Victor Hugo's amazing body of work, then you should be able to recognize many of the Hunger Games characters for their Les Mis parallels. The main difference is that there are a number of gender swaps. Those who would be male in the show are female in this fic and vice versa in almost every case.

Also, if you've read my main fic, Random Reality Shifts, then you'll recognize the use of certain names and a couple of original characters.

I hope you enjoy.

Pya looked out the window of her new home as the morning dawned over her town- as of yesterday, it was officially her town. She had won the mayoral election in a landslide, wrestling power from the merchants for the first time in generations. The merchants were known for using their wealth to pay for votes, but Pya was well known throughout the District and had used her influence as the town's healer to encourage the entire Seam to vote in its largest turnout in the District's history. In less than 24 hours, she had already managed to reaccess the town's meager budget, meet with the former mayor's advisory council, order necessary safety upgrades to the only school house in town, and still take the time to see patients, all while moving her two children into the official mayor's residence right in the center of the square.

She smiled as she thought of her girls. They were the reason she'd done this in the first place. Katniss, barely six, and Primrose, about to turn three, had saved her life when she'd lost her husband. Her initial response had been to retreat into her depression and despair, to stop trying to live and await the inevitable fate, in which her family joined her husband in death. But it was not to be. After a few days of staring into the void, a knock had come to the door. An official from the school stood upon the threshold with a peacekeeper who had threatened to arrest her and take her children away if they continued to come to school unwashed and without lunch. The peacekeeper hadn't actually said much, but the few words he spoke made his intentions very clear: shape up as a parent, or never see your girls again. She couldn't allow that. They would go to the group home, or worse- her late husband's horrible father would be awarded custody. Suddenly the same despair that had made her more than content with letting her children starve to death alongside her became the same fire that made her cling to her sanity. In life or death, they were still a family, and damn it, they were gonna stay that way. It had been just under a year, since she'd lost her husband and she had never been so glad to be alive.

She reached out and opened the window before her, taking in a deep breath of the morning air, listening to the sounds of the town as it awoke. She hadn't heard the start of day bustle in years, not since before her marriage when she was merchant herself. Now here she was, standing above it all. From below she could hear people calling to one another as they opened their stores.

Mixing with the coal that always hung in the air, she could smell the snow that was coming, that would be upon them within days. She made a mental note to fortify all shelters before the true cold arrived.

As she shut the window, she looked down to see a man she didn't know passing by, pulling by the hand, a young boy who couldn't be any older than Katniss. The man glanced up at her and smiled kindly, encouraging her to do the same. She watched him until he and the boy were out of sight then closed the window, feeling a shiver up her spine. Strangers were a very rare occurrence. Once, perhaps twice in the last ten years had she seen someone that she couldn't name on sight. At the very least she should have recognized the child, considering she'd been present for the births of most of the children in town, but aside from a strong resemblance the man he walked beside, she'd never seen him before.

Seconds later, both were driven from her mind when the timid knock of a small hand fell upon her door. She opened the large white double doors and looked lovingly down at her daughters who were still in their nightclothes, uttering as single word that made them both gasp with delight.

"Pancakes!"

Once the girls had been shipped off to school, Pya was given a tour of parts of the town in which she had never ventured before. They took her into the crumbling homeless shelters and group homes for children, into the small hospital and around a tent city that had sprung up over the course of a fortnight.

"The poor are a growing problem," said her guide, a young peacekeeper with dark skin and a perpetual sneer, "every day they encroach further upon the good people this town and threaten to take it over. Theft and prostitution run rampant. It won't be long before murders occur."

Pya stopped and turned to her guide, "Is this your first winter in 12?"

He nodded once, "It is Ma'am."

She noted his use of the word "Ma'am," finding it odd that a man from a better place than herself would bother with the term of respect. She could only assume that his had either been a very proper upbringing, or an extremely strict one. Based on how he carried himself, the latter seemed more likely.

"You don't have to worry about the poor," she assured him, "At least not these."

"Why is that?"

"Because half of them will be dead by the spring. The winters here are harsh and most of these people are already half starved. They won't make it."

As she'd expected, he seemed satisfied with her reply and moved on.

"What you might worry about," she added, "is figuring out where the poor keep coming from. A few families lost their homes, but not this many."

"Ma'am?"

"I saw a stranger this morning, Captain. I'd like to know where he came from."

The peacekeeper went pale, "What did this stranger look like?'

"It was hard to see from my window," she said, "but he was perhaps six feet tall. He had sandy colored hair coming out of his cap and very, very blue eyes."

"Was he alone?"

Pya didn't miss the hungry look in the peacekeeper's eyes as he awaited an answer.

"No," she said carefully, "He had a young boy with him. Likely his son. Why, do you know him?"

"Yes Ma'am," he said automatically, "He's a deserter from his assigned home."

"Assigned home?" she asked confused, "Is he from another District?"

"No, Ma'am." In his desperation to avoid the topic, the peacekeeper walked ahead, leading her to one of the coal refineries and showing her around, introducing her to the various shift leaders on the property. Safety concerns in the coal factories were high on her list of priorities and she wanted a first hand look at the dangers her people were facing every day. It was not a pretty sight. Half the machines were falling apart. Rusted gears commonly fell out of alignment, conveyor belts would snap and often were hastily sewn back together because there was no one who knew how to fix them and no replacement was coming. Fires were common and hard to put out. At one point the gears jammed and the only person with hands small enough to unclog the mess was a six year old girl whose parents also worked in the factory. As the little girl cleared the jam, Pya knew that it was only a matter of time before her hand slipped and she lost one of her tiny fingers to the machines.

There were more factories to see, but after the first, Pya felt the overwhelming need to go home and hug her children. She returned to her office to make a list for the peacekeeper to take care of, including looking into repairmen from the surrounding Districts for the factories, and hiring construction workers to begin the repairs on the school. She'd expected him to complain, to tell her that it wasn't his job, and that he was only there for her protection detail. Nothing more.

Instead, he took the list from her and turned to leave.

Before he could reach the door, she called, "Thank you, Aldred."

He gave a curt nod, then exited to room to go about his assigned duties.

Pya went home to find her girls in their playroom, still marveling over their new treasures. Most of the toys hadn't even left the chest in the corner. Katniss and Primrose were so timid about things that were new and clean- perhaps because they'd always had so few untarnished possessions that they worried they would be scolded if the toys became broken or dirty in any way. It didn't help that the nanny was eyeing both girls with suspicion every time they got too close to the toy box. Pya sent the nanny home, then walked over to the wooden chest, and with one of her shiny new boots, kicked it onto its side, scattering stuffed animals and games into every corner of the room.

"Let's play," she said with a smile.

Prim was in bed immediately after dinner, still clutching a doll in her arms. Katniss on the other hand was still too excited about her new life to be able to lay down for more than a few minutes. Pya sat her older daughter on the couch and put a big bowl of ice cream into her tiny hands, then pulled a blanket over them both.

"Mom," the girl asked, looking up at Pya with large, hopeful eyes, "Are we gonna stay here a long time?"

Katniss had always been regarded as a slightly unsettling child by those who didn't know her and her eyes had so much to do with her reputation. Even at such a young age, she had a habit of looking at people in a way that was so calculating and intuitive. She could size others up from the moment she saw them and very often Pya and her husband had not been immune to such searching stares.

"I hope so," said Pya being as truthful as she could, "if the people in town like me as mayor, then we'll get to stay here for a very long time."

"What about our old house?"

"Its still ours, but we don't have to live there."

"Who's gonna live there then?" asked Katniss in confused.

Before she could reply there was a loud knock on the front door. Well wishers and District officials had been calling on the house all night causing her to wonder if she would ever get the chance to sleep with all the constant welcoming committees hanging around.

To her surprise, on the other side of the door, was not the neighbors she was expecting.

The stranger from that morning stood looking ashen, holding his son in his arms. His sandy hair was going everywhere and his eyes were wide and panicked as he clutched the limp child to his chest.

"Are you the healer?" he asked in a low husky voice.

"Yes," she replied warily.

"Can you help him," he begged, "Can you help my boy?"

Pya reached out, placing a hand on the child's forehead and another up on his neck, searching for the sluggish pulse under his grey tinged skin. He was ice beneath her fingers.

"Bring him in," she ordered, "Right now."

The man raced past her while she shut the door behind him. She passed him heading towards Katniss who gazed unsurely at her as she flew down the hall. She crouched down to her daughter who recoiled at the sight of the strange man.

"Katniss, sweetheart," she said taking her daughter by the shoulders, "run down the hall and get the blanket off my bed. Bring it to me."

She led the man through the dining room to the fireplace in the kitchen asking questions about the boy's condition.

"How long has he been out?"

"He fell asleep about twenty minutes ago and hasn't woken up since."

"How was he acting before he went out? Any confusion or lack of coordination?"

"He kept forgetting where we were going. He fell off the street and landed in a puddle."

Pya almost stopped in the middle of the hall, but kept her feet moving towards the kitchen.

"Strip him down to his undershorts," she told the man as she put another log on the fire, "Everything wet needs to go."

Katniss arrived with the large comforter from Pya's bed.

"Thank you dear," said Pya, as she turned on the stove, "Bring it to the man by the fire then go to bed."

"But mom!"

"Go!" snapped Pya.

As her mother heated up a pot of broth on the stove. Katniss went to the man who cradled his son by the fireplace and gave him the blanket that dragged behind her. He thanked her as he took the comforter and wrapped it around the boy who was now trembling as the feeling returned to his body.

"Why won't he wake up?" asked Katniss.

"He's very cold," replied the man, as he ran his hands up and down his son's arms trying to warm him. Katniss reached out to brush hair from the boy's head, feeling the icy skin under her fingertips. She gasped, "You're right."

"Katniss!" her mother barked, "Go to bed!"

The man smiled kindly through the fear in his eyes, "You should listen to your mother."

"Ok," she said in a small voice, before leaning down to plant a kiss on the boy's cheek. As she pulled away, she could see his face scrunch and a high pitched groan came from his throat. She brushed her fingers through his blond hair again, then darted down the hall and into her room.

Pya leaned over the counter and saw the man rocking his son who still shook from the cold.

"Get under with him," she told him turning away from the stove.

He spun around to face her, his hair glowing bright red in the firelight, "Sorry?"

"Take your shirt off," she reiterated, "and get under the blanket with him. He needs skin contact; body heat."

He didn't hesitate. Pya came around the counter holding a bowl of warm broth just as the man's shirt hit the floor at his side. The sight of his strong back and wide shoulders caused an unexpected flush of heat through her face that she knew had nothing to do with the fire. She helped him wrap the blanket around himself and his son then sat beside them. She took one of the boy's feet in between her palms and rubbed the icy skin to get the circulation flowing again.

"Your daughter's sweet," the man told her, "I like her name."

Pya smiled unconsciously, "What's yours?"

He turned to meet her soft eyes, "I'm Artos. And this strapping young lad," he looked down at the boy, "is Peeta. I promise, he's much more strapping when he's awake."

"I can imagine," she agreed with a laugh, reaching for the other frozen foot, "Poor kid. How far did you travel to get here?"

Artos turned to Pya, hesitating briefly.

"I won't turn you in," she promised.

"Turn me in?" he asked, "You run this town, don't you?"

"Only since yesterday," she admitted, "I just want to know where you came from."

Artos didn't reply. He wrapped his arms tighter around his son and stared into the fire.

Pya returned her hands to the child's forehead and neck, pleased that he was making progress. Again, he whined in his sleep, but didn't open his eyes.

"Can you least tell me what you're doing here?" she asked.

He looked down at his son with a devotion that Pya understood only too well.

"My wife," said Artos softly, "We had to get away from her."

He turned to her to find confusion on her face. He explained.

"I have three sons," he told her quietly, "but times have gotten tough. Food and work don't come easy and we were down to our last handful of bread. A few days ago, I returned home to find that my wife had sold our middle child into the service of a couple who run an inn. She sold six years of our boy's life for barely enough money to live on for six months." His mouth curled downward in bitter disgust, "Peeta's too young for any sort of useful labor, but eventually, she'd do the same to him and I couldn't let her."

"Where's your oldest?" Pya asked.

"Still with her," he said grimly.

"Is he safe there?" she asked, watching as his stiff anger dissolved into a grimace of sorrow. Without thinking, she reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I'm sorry."

Pya had to wonder what she would do in his position. Could she leave one of her girls to save the other? Give up Katniss to an uncertain fate to save Prim? Then she remembered that she'd already had to make that decision. After her husband had died, her father-in-law had been at her door the following day, demanding that she turn over Primrose to his custody, threatening that if she didn't relinquish one daughter that he would take both. He had no real interest in Katniss, already deeming her too wild, too uncivilized. Perhaps he'd simply been the victim of her piercing stare and didn't appreciate the idea of being judged by a six year old- but all the same, he'd sworn to take her too.

Pya would be lying if she didn't admit that it was tempting. How much easier would it be to support one child as opposed to two, especially when Prim would be better provided for by her well-to-do grandfather. She would want for nothing, never miss a meal, never worry about her future, but still Pya couldn't do it. It wasn't pride, it was fear of her father-in-law, fear that Prim wouldn't be able to survive his ridiculous standards of what a proper person- especially a proper woman- should be. The six ex-wives he'd thrown out into the street were enough to prove that.

Not long after Pya had been threatened by the school, she'd gone down to the courthouse where she filed a report with the current head peacekeeper. She told him the details of her situation and was surprised at the quick resolution. Cray was known for his hard bargaining and, frankly, uncouth sense of "justice." Pya hadn't expected to leave the place with her decency in tact. Luckily Cray was open to other forms of payment and a few coins slipped into his hand had the same effect. In the end, her triumph over a very wealthy merchant had helped in her mayoral candidacy and her eventual win. A lot of luck- both bad and good- had gotten her family to where it was, her fate being changed on an almost daily basis. She wondered what sort of luck Artos would bring.

"Where are you staying?" she asked him, taking up the child's frozen feet again.

"There's a shelter up the way. We'd be there already but-"

"Its a good thing you're not there," she assured him, "They set a curfew which you are long past. They wouldn't have let you out to get to me. I have space. You and your boy can stay here for the night."

"Ma'am-"

"If you attempt to leave this house tonight, I'll have you arrested," she said pleasantly. Her eyes narrowed playfully, "I can do it, you know."

He looked ready to argue, but seemed to think better of it.

"Yes, I suppose you can," he conceded, "I wouldn't want to spit upon your generosity, Madam Mayor."

"That's what I thought," she reached down to adjust the blanket around the boy and smiled widely.

"Welcome back," she said to Peeta who had awoken at some point during their conversation. He didn't hear her. She ran her fingers lightly around his hairline, but still he didn't respond to her in the slightest. His eyes were open, but fixed on a point off to the side. Pya followed his line of sight, right into the eyes of her own daughter who was standing in the entrance to the hallway a few feet away. Katniss was staring hard, but not in her usual searching fashion. This look was more confusion than curiosity, as though she'd already scanned him and found that she didn't know what he was. Something about this boy had her stumped and she was looking inward for what exactly that meant. Pya wanted to reprimand her, to tell her once again, to go to bed, but she was intrigued by her daughter's behavior and for a long moment she forgot to breathe.

Artos was so focused on his son's opened eyes that he noticed nothing that went on around him until Pya spoke.

"Come here, Katniss," she said, holding out her hand. She watched her daughter approach cautiously, taking each step with more hesitation than the one before. Pya lifted the bowl of broth and put it in Katniss's hands saying, "Sweetheart, this is Peeta. I want you to make sure that he swallows every sip of this soup, while I take his dad upstairs to the extra bedroom. Can you do that?"

Katniss nodded and took the bowl, then plopped down crosslegged on the floor before the fire.

Pya looked up at Artos, "Will you come with me?"

"Of course," Artos nodded. He removed the blanket from around himself, then wrapped it around his son until every inch of the boy was covered in layers of fabric. He dug through the top until he found Peeta whose arms flailed clumsily in his quest for the surface. He pulled the fabric down just enough to free Peeta's face, then kissed him on top of the head, "I'll be right back."

He grabbed his shirt from the floor and threw it over his head as he followed Pya from the room. Together they ascended the staircase. Every few steps, Artos would turn his head back to find Katniss shoveling soup into his son's mouth while chattering in a long unbroken line. Even if Peeta wanted to reply, she never gave him the chance.

"Is she always that talkative?" Artos asked, once they reached the first landing.

"Never," Pya replied.

She showed him the guest room where she turned down the bed then found him some fresh towels.

"Sorry the room is small," she said, "but it should be comfortable enough."

"I'm sure it will be," he replied.

"Have you eaten today?"

He shook his head.

"I'll keep the broth on the stove for you. Have as much as you like. In fact, have whatever you like down there. We have plenty to go around."

"The broth will be fine," Artos said stiffly, looking around at the guest room that was so luxurious, he was certain that he'd never set foot in a room this nice . The mattress on the bed looked plush and the down comforter looked warm and inviting. The top of the headboard was gilded. The furniture was made of a beautiful, dark wood, carved intricately with patterns of fleur-de-lys, and roses. Under his torn shoes, Artos could feel the give of the soft carpet. The room had a its own fireplace and on top of the mantle was a pair of candle holders made of solid silver.

"You want me to stay in here?" he asked, casting his eyes at the surrounding extravagance, "There's no need for this. We can sleep down by the fireplace."

Pya looked up at him from where she was smoothing down the sheets with her hands, "This house has seven bedrooms. We may as well get use out of a couple of them."

She handed him a towel and showed him where the bathroom was, then returned down the stairs to where Katniss sat beside Peeta who was drowsing where he sat. Apparently she'd finally been exhausted of words and the two sat in sleepy silence in front of the fireplace.

Pya checked the clothes that hung over the fireplace grate and found them dry. She put them over one shoulder, then hoisted the boy over the other and carried him up the stairs. He was asleep before they reached the top.

An hour before dawn, while the moon still shone bright through his window, Peeta was awoken by a hand shaking his shoulder.

"Come on," he heard his dad say softly, "it's time to go."

Peeta sat at the edge of the mattress while his dad slipped socks onto his feet, followed by his shoes.

"Why can't we stay?" Peeta asked softly.

"Sorry, buddy," said Artos, as he took his son by the hand, "I wish we could, but we don't belong here."

They crept down the stairs, listening for any other sounds of life in the house, but all was quiet. Suddenly Artos stopped, causing Peeta to run into his back. As his forehead impacted with his father's spine, Peeta could hear the faint clinking of metal upon metal in Artos' pocket. He watched his dad freeze once more, searching the halls for anyone who might have woken up, but the house was still.

Artos reached for the door and pulled, then lead Peeta out into the darkened street.

I'm keeping this in the M rating for future chapters. Smut and violence to come later in the story. :)

Review if you like it.

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