Disclaimed.
WARNING: Graphic, I guess?
commence
The Games are hard.
Harder than she'd thought they'd be, and maybe that's a little bit to do with the fact that she's about six hundred forty two miles away from where she should be (not that she counted, or anything), and maybe it's got something to do with the fact that she and Cato had decided before the Games started that they'd go in as District partners, nothing more, so she's sleeping alone, every night, and god, it hurts.
She didn't think it would, but it does.
And all she can think, all she can use to justify killing someone's child –that's how she's started seeing them, since Bay; someone's son, someone's daughter, and all she can hope is that she'll never be in their parents' position– is that she's doing this to win, to get home and watch her daughter learn to walk, watch her go to school, and hopefully never have to watch her die.
And, she thinks that's why she can't bring herself to kill the little girl from Eleven.
There's something about her, maybe the fact that her face is still baby-round, or something in the way that she doesn't go for supplies, doesn't go anywhere near the Cornucopia, just runs like a bat out of hell in the other direction. She doesn't kill her, and when she sees her face in the sky a week in –eight days? Maybe more, she's lost count– she feels sick.
By then, she and Cato are the only two left of the original group they'd formed, and she figures that the lovers from Twelve are going to be the focus, so she lets him hold her, and she spreads her hand flat over his chest, and feels his steady heartbeat. She tries not to think about Bay.
And, honestly?
She's really not sure what compelled her to say those things to the Everdeen girl, because she really hates what happened to the little girl from Eleven –Rue was her name, she knows, but she can barely say it because she's a monster, she's killed, what, five kids?
Five families will get a corpse in a pine coffin, and it's because of her, and because of that, she can't think about Bay, can't think about what she's about to do, she just lets the sadistic part of her take over, and she presses her blade against the girl's face.
Her eyes widen in fear, in momentary panic, and the part of her that's still wondering why the hell she enjoyed this so much when she was younger, it's telling her that her daughter will hate her for what she's about to do, that she'll be disgusted, but whatever, because the bloody part of her reminds her that it doesn't matter if her daughter hates her, because she'll be there to be hated.
Then she's being yanked backwards, thrown on her back and then lifted into the air. A dark hand closes around her neck, and she recognizes the giant from Eleven, and he shouts in her face, asking her if she killed the little girl, if she killed her, and god, why can't her voice work?
She squeezes her eyes shut and screams the only name that comes to mind, screams for Cato to come and save her, and if she weren't about to die, weren't about to leave her daughter motherless, she'd laugh at how idiotic she must sound. Bay's happy, cherubic face is all she sees then, and really, was all that bloodshed going to be for nothing?
If she'd known she was going to die anyway, she's not sure she'd have killed all those kids, not sure if she could honestly say she's still the same girl that used to idolize Victors, used to stay up late during school breaks to watch old tapes of the Games.
Eleven slams her into the metal side of the Cornucopia once, twice, three times, and then drops her, and her head feels like it's split in half (is it?) and is that really her blood on the grass?
And all she really wants, she thinks hazily as Cato comes running out of nowhere –oh, where'd the others go? She kind of hopes he kills them. Slowly– is to be home, with her daughter and her–
What is he exactly? Not her boyfriend, because that's juvenile, and not her husband–
The string tied around her ring finger reminds her that they'd planned on it, later, when Bay was old enough to remember.
The father of her child? Not enough.
Her head hurts too much to think anymore, and she instead focuses on what Cato's saying, on him squeezing her hand, on his eyes. She'd really hoped that Bay would have his eyes, 'cause they're kind of gorgeous.
She thinks she hears him use the word love in the same sentence with her name, and she sort of smiles, as much as she can, because they've never said that to each other, and she really wishes that they had.
She squeezes his hand weakly, hoping that the action conveys her response –god, I love you too– and she whispers, "Take care of her," and hopes that he gets the message.
And then she falls asleep, and the last thing she thinks about is that she really wishes that she'd gotten to see her daughter's first steps and she hopes that she starts walking soon, so she can run, far, far away from this goddamn country and these goddamn Games.
XxXxXxX
He can't say that Eleven's torturous death is completely driven by Clove's death. It's a little bit to do with the fact that he's so goddamn angry that he's going to have to raise Bay alone, and she's not going to have her mother, just her father who doesn't know what the fuck to do with a eighteen month old, not on his own, anyway.
He bashes the boy's head in with a rock, the closest he can get to poetic justice, but before that, he carves their names into his skin, draws curling designs down his arms, his legs, over his stomach, up his neck.
Watching his blood run, pooling beneath him as he thrashes, it satisfies the beast within him that's crying out for blood, for the deaths of everyone that stands in the way between him and his daughter, because if she's going to have to be without a mother, he'll be damned if she's going to have to be an orphan as well.
He leaves Eleven's body where he found him, deep in the woods, and starts towards the Cornucopia, and then he hears the mutts. And he thinks, really? Mutts?
He kills two, is bitten by a third, and chased into the center clearing by four. He sees the lovers from Twelve up on the metal structure, facing away, and, god, they're really dumb, not even covering one another's backs.
He climbs the Cornucopia, mostly silently, though he doesn't think they'd notice him even if he yelled, they're so focused on the mutts. He grabs Loverboy, holds him in a headlock, and the look on Fire Girl's face when she turns around to see them?
Priceless.
He's not consciously aware of what he says, just of the blood on his face, that he feels trickling down the side of his head, on his chin. He's aware of Loverboy's racing pulse, aware of the look of terror on Fire Girl's face, and he really hopes that Bay never watches these Games when she's older.
He won't let her, he knows that much, but the cynical side of him is telling him that he's going to die, because really, without Clove, what is he? She anchored him, kept his humanity alive, kept his heart beating when he was sure it would quite, and he's not sure that even Bay can do that, no matter how much he wishes she could.
When Fire Girl notches an arrow, he repositions his hands, digs his bloody fingers into Loverboy's skin and he threatens him like the monster he is.
And, are you joking?
A signal?
Loverboy's tap-tap-tap on the back of his hand doesn't go unnoticed, but wouldn't want to give up now, would we?
Instead, he lets what happens next happen, doesn't try to fight it, because he's not really sure if Bay needs a murderer as a father, anyway.
The arrow pierces his hand and he lets the boy go, and stumbles backwards off the Cornucopia, right down into the waiting jaws of the mutts.
They rip into him, tear away at his flesh, and he looks up, and, oh, holy hell, one has Clove's eyes, and they're boring into him, asking him why he broke his promise to her, why he won't take care of their child, and the mutt's jaws bite into his chest, damn near his heart, and he looks up at the lovers from Twelve, and he whispers a broken, "Please," hoping for death, but expecting this torture instead.
It's only fitting, right?
But Fire Girl has some mercy, and she notches an arrow, and he sort of smiles as he watches it approach him, watches it near his forehead. Time slows, and he thinks about how he and Clove had talked about getting married, later, once Bay was old enough to remember it, and how he hadn't been completely opposed to the idea of more kids, and god, if Clove were here, she'd kick his ass for even thinking about more children, because, "Dammit, Cato, childbirth is a bitch."
Bay's smiling face, those round cheeks of hers, and her dark hair –all Clove, he'd thought when she was born– they flash through his mind, and he thought that when you're dying, it's your life that flashes before your eyes, but his life is stained with blood, and instead, it's Bay's life, and he's glad for that, because all her life's been so far has been good, and he hopes it stays that way.
The arrow touches the skin of his forehead and it all goes black.
fin
Firstly, an announcement; I've officially created a Twitter account specifically for update notifications, news about new stories, sequels, access to deleted scenes, etc., etc., etc. Feel free to follow me at B_Cheerio.
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