A/N:
This story picks up right where my first story, The Reading of the Card, left off. For those of you who haven't read it yet, it is basically an alternate ending for Catching Fire which begins (not coincidentally) at the reading of the card before the Quarter Quell. I haven't been able to think of a good title for this new story yet; hopefully one will spring into my head later, and I'll change it accordingly. I will be a lot busier in a couple of weeks and won't have time to update as often as before, but I'll do what I can. Enjoy! And of course, I welcome any type of constructive feedback :) Thanks for reading.
Chapter 1:
Returning from the Capitol on the train, exactly one week to the day after Peeta's and my wedding, I focus my gaze out the window, watching the fields of District 11 pass by in blurs the colors of wheat and tobacco. Peeta is sitting beside me, holding my hand, while gently twisting my newly acquired wedding band around my finger- a habit he has seemingly picked up in the short time since we've been married. I manage a brief smile- the gesture is comforting. Since we're getting ready to face our family and friends from District 12 for the first time since things irrevocably changed the day of our wedding (and, well, the night of our wedding, and for an entirely different reason earlier today), I can use the comfort. But I don't look away from the glass; I find that I don't think I can even meet Peeta's eyes, as supportive and unassuming as they may be, without either flushing a deep shade of crimson or bursting into tears on his shoulder.
In the past week, Peeta and I did nothing different from what most ordinary married couples do on their honeymoons. We didn't do anything illegal, or immoral, or, for that matter, anything that didn't seem to be completely accepted or even encouraged by the Capitol. Though, to be fair, we might have done a little more of it than your average newlyweds. Peeta and I were in the fairly unique position of not having any reason at all, aside from occasionally wanting to see sunset views from the roof, to leave the twelfth floor of the Training Center tower. We weren't on vacation, there was nothing to sightsee, and we wanted to stay as sheltered from President Snow and the rest of the Capitol citizens as possible. We sought out reassurance from the Capitol's horrific actions during the Quell in each other's arms- and after the love that we made on our wedding night, holding each other close would never be the same again. Not with how amazing and comfortable he felt. Not with how curious we both were.
But what came as a surprise, at least to me, was that during the week, not once were Peeta and I interrupted- not for meals, not for announcements, not for TV appearances. Not a peep by President Snow, Effie, or the prep teams. We would emerge after long nights in the honeymoon suite to find a scrumptious breakfast (or even last night's dinner) laid out on the twelfth floor eating area- complete with high-tech covers presumably invented at the Capitol to keep the food piping hot. So the Capitol wanted to keep us nourished, but not in any way interfere with what we were doing. The only thing I could realistically conclude was that they were subtly encouraging us to conceive a child.
I take a deep breath, stomach suddenly feeling a little queasy, and I know it isn't from the train motion. Despite my adamant insistence that I never wanted to have kids, I could very well be pregnant right now. The lavish gifts bestowed upon us by the Capitol for our wedding and wedding night didn't include any means to protect ourselves from that kind of thing happening, and neither of us were experienced enough to know where to seek it out at the Capitol. And once things started, the logical part of my brain that would scream that we were making a mistake would get overwhelmingly deafened, and then temporarily abandoned altogether, by the rest of me crying out in pleasure. Not an uncommon occurrence, I suppose. Hard to imagine anyone born in District 12 in these times was a well-planned and thought-out move by their parents- the Capitol presence was too scary, the conditions were too rough, and as a District we were too poor. More likely, kids were born at least partly because their parents didn't want to forget that love existed at all. After everything we witnessed during the Quell, I suppose I couldn't really fault them for that.
The only thing we heard out of the Capitol was when Peacekeepers arrived the morning of our departure, ready to escort us to the train station. They respectfully requested that we wait in the Training Center for President Snow to drop by and give us his best wishes. When he arrived, he looked pleased, in his usual snake-like way, quickly rousing our suspicion that he was up to no good. He surveyed Peeta and me approvingly.
"I hope that you two had an enjoyable honeymoon, and that the suite was to your liking," he began, a little twinkle in his eye. Reflexively, I shuddered.
"I simply wanted to remind you that your presence is expected on Prim's Victory Tour, slated to begin in approximately six months," he continued. "It will be extended from previous tours, as the tours for the Quell require at least an extra day of celebrations in each of the districts. As previous Victors, as Panem's favorite couple, and as people who want to keep the rest of your extended District 12 families happy and healthy-" I shivered involuntarily as my blood ran cold at his words, "-I expect your full cooperation. Though I had toiled about canceling the tour altogether, with the events that unfolded at the Quell…"
Snow's eye twinkle vanished as our minds all drifted back to the events of the last couple of weeks. Attempted penetration of the arena by rebels in Districts 3, 4, and 8; open rebellion in several other Districts; public hangings. How could he think that a Victory Tour is appropriate? How could we go into District 8, where Jack and Mouseface, despite having survived the Quell up to that point, had been so brutally executed for their District's aggression, and celebrate it so glaringly? Impossible.
My thoughts were disrupted as President Snow spoke again. "What I finally concluded," he said, voice stronger now, "is that the People of Panem desperately need something to celebrate, something to bring them together in a positive way. We have to stop the rebellious fire from catching, we need to distract them, give them something else to focus on besides fighting. Not like last year," he added bitterly, pointedly glaring at Peeta and me, momentarily dropping his cheerful façade. "The challenge is comparable, but will be infinitely more difficult; to contain this fire you're going to have to do a whole lot better than a marriage proposal." He paused, then added, "But you're at an advantage from last year. You're both in the know, and you can inform Prim and Haymitch. You have both experience and time to prepare. Be creative. I'll grant you the freedom to decide what you'll say- at least at first. You can speak freely at the Victory Tour stop in District 11, and if you succeed than I won't interfere at the next stop. If you mess up- you will read what we write for you, or face severe consequences." I shivered again. "You have six months," he said finally, "until you see me again, to come up with something that will help us. After all the Capitol has done for you, it is the very least you can do in return. Good luck."
My suspicions of Snow's intentions were immediately confirmed when he leaned close to me and whispered into my ear, "And I do rather hope that you might look a little….different….the next time that I see you."
Or maybe the Capitol was not-so-subtly encouraging us to conceive a child.
Peeta gently massages the back of my neck with his other hand, jerking my thoughts back to the present. For now we are heading home, but things are going to be nerve-wracking. The stress I felt on the Victory Tour last year will not only be magnified- it will be prolonged for over half a year as we prepare to try to achieve the impossible. We've been out of the loop for the past week, so we haven't received any updates from Haymitch or anyone else about the state of the rebelling districts- whether Districts 7 and 11 were able to regain any control of their town squares; whether Districts 3, 4, and 8 have begun to recover from the Capitol's retaliation; even whether District 12 has planned any sort of uprising. But to me, halting any sort of rebellion at this point will be like trying to stop the spread of a raging forest blaze with a fire extinguisher.
On a less serious note, our homecoming is just going to be plain awkward. Though a married couple, we are still only seventeen- with my mother insisting just a few months ago that I wasn't even allowed to have a boyfriend. Would I even be able to look her in the eye without feeling like I let her down in some way? What if Prim has questions- would I even be able to talk to her openly and honestly? I cringe as I think of what my reaction were to be if by chance I came face-to-face with Gale.
As we approach the outskirts of District 12, we notice that, at least at first glance from the train, District 12 hasn't changed much from when we had last seen it. The square is still filled with Peacekeepers; the whipping post and gallows still remain set up in the corner; the townspeople have left it deserted. But I couldn't feel more different.