A/n: Since you were all asking so nicely, here's chapter three ;) Originally meant to be just the start of a much longer chapter, but then the word count got a little out of control , so in the end I had to split them up. If this one seems a little eventless… I'll make up for it in the next! Really excited about that one, so I might just go ahead and post it tomorrow...
Here, I'm sort trying to build up an atmosphere, explain who I imagine Katniss to be in this story. A lot of you seem to have already guessed where this is headed, as far as I can tell from the reviews. Thanks a million for those, by the way, I do love every single one, and I try my best to remember to reply!
Now, what do you think will happen next?
Two more days pass in a tired haze of school and hunting. Summer seems to have come early this year; with the steadily rising temperature, animals keep hidden in their dens and plants wither, and food grows almost as scarce in the woods as it is in the District. The day after the Opening Ceremony, Katniss had spent every minute of daylight scavenging the forest floor for edible plants and for hidey-holes where small animals might have crawled in, even climbed the trees in search for bird eggs to steal. She had come home with a pouch full of strawberries - the last ones in the patch - and a single haggard rabbit, which she had known would fill up maybe three or four of the seven hungry bellies that she had to feed. Thankfully, there had still been some left from the night before, and none of them had to go hungry that night.
Still, the guilt is eating her from inside, the harsh nagging feeling of not being enough refuses to leave her alone. She had promised Gale to look after his family in his absence, and so far, it seems to her that she's doing a lousy job of it. Thus, this morning, the fifth since he was shipped off to the Capitol, Katniss had gone to the Justice Building, lined up with a dozen other kids, most of them bony creatures clad in only rags, and collected a sack of the meagre grain that she can only access by volunteering her name more times for the reaping next year. When she had come, slightly late for school and straining her muscles to carry the heavy, woven bag, her mother had stared at her with strange horror in her eyes.
"You shouldn't have," she had said in an unusually thick voice, lined with a new kind of fear that Katniss had never heard before, despite her years of hunting and breaking all sorts of laws.
"I had to," she had answered sternly, challenging her mother with steady eyes. So far, she has seemed to approve of Katniss supporting their family with grain and meat, and at least in the first few years after the death of her husband, done very little herself to reinforce their income. So why would she suddenly start to act all motherly now? Rationally, just because Gale was forced to be tribute this year, that doesn't mean Katniss is in any greater risk for next year's Reaping than she already was. But it would seem that way, of course. Loss has affected them all with heightened anxiety. She had carried over half the bag of grain to Hazelle's house, and gotten a similar look of disapproval there.
"Don't worry about me," Katniss had assured the other woman, who had been looking at the thin but essential foodstuff with a mixture of relief and hatred. "It'll be fine. The important thing is not to let the kids go hungry, right?"
To her great unease, Hazelle had then met her eyes with her light grey, all-knowing ones, and seen right through her the way her son always would, but even worse.
"The important thing is not to worry yourself to death, Katniss," she had told her evenly, obviously talking from own experience. "Remember that. All your efforts will be in vain, if they hurt you more than they do others good."
A mother's good advice, the kind she had rarely gotten from her own, and not something to be disregarded easily, so she had nodded her head and smiled a tight-lipped little smile to ensure she'd heard them.
But Katniss wakes up every morning and goes to bed each night with the constant churning of stress in her stomach, and there are no calming words in the world that can change that. She is driven constantly on and on by a sense of purpose that makes her strong, and by a soaring, fluttering feeling of hope that swells in her chest whenever she lets herself think that soon, Gale will be home again, and then everything will finally be like it was always supposed to. On the long walks through the woods, to the water sources where she knows she will find at least something small to shoot, the memory of his gentle caress over her arms, his warm lips on hers, is on a loop, playing over and over again in her mind. Soon, other pictures turn up to keep it company, glimpses of a possible future that she has never envisioned before, but which she now can't keep from popping up. In her mind, it will always be the two of them together, but maybe, after he is home again and now that everything has changed, they will be not just best friends, but much more. The details are blurry, as she won't really let herself linger on them, but all in all, thoughts of the future are suddenly hopelessly blurred with thoughts of strong embrace to hold her, of another heart beating in tune with hers.
As long as it keeps her going, keeps her optimistic even though she knows what is about to happen on television before long, she allows herself the indulgence of these thoughts. She may have become weak, she thinks, but these are times that call for desperate measures.
Meanwhile, the person occupying her thoughts spends his days in a vast, circular room in the Capitol Training Centre, acquiring whatever skills he can before the Games begin. They show short clips of it on TV in two evenings after the initial parade, and Gale appears in them quite a bit, as apparently he's quickly become the Capitol's favourite tribute, with his looks and headstrong ways. Katniss and her family watch the broadcasting along with the Hawthornes each night at their house, just like the first evening. They see Gale in short excerpts, practising spear-throwing and wielding close-combat weapons, while the commentators remark that he seems inexperienced with fighting, but clever enough to figure out the basics. They would still bet on him in a fight, they say, against most of the other tributes. Most of them, that is. Katniss tries not to let her thought linger on the biggest threats among the children in the Training Centre. The two tributes from District 2 look like they could eat other children for breakfast, or at least kill without a second thought. Pure machines, trained all their lives for this moment. And there's a huge, imposing guy from Eleven, who could probably give Gale a good run for his money. Katniss instantly distrusts him.
She notices that her best friend steers clear of everything that she knows he's actually good at, most prominently archery and traps. It's no doubt a calculated tactic, not letting the other tributes in on his talents, but she worries a little that is will make him seem weak in the eyes of the sponsors. Unlike that huge guy from 11, Gale is not exceptionally strong, but more of a lean built, not exactly intimidating by showing off his good knowledge of plants and tracking. What she can't figure out at all, is why he and Madge are by each other's side every single minute of training, at least what they can see on TV. Have they formed some sort of alliance just because they're from the same district? Have they suddenly become such good friends that they want to cooperate in these preparations? From Gale's point of view, it doesn't make sense - there's most likely nothing Madge can teach him that will help him here. As far as Katniss can tell, the girl's got manners and she's got looks, but what else? It's not exactly an alliance to comfort her of his enhanced chances. But then again, she reminds herself that she has to trust him. Gale must have a plan, he's much too shrewd not to, much too strategic and practical in his thinking to leave anything to chance.
The next day, she has to be up extra early to go hunting in the morning. Today marks the start of her second last year in school, and by now, she is considered old enough to learn the specifics of the District industry. Katniss hates the coal mines more than anything in the world, so she's determined to find some other way of supporting herself and her family once school is finished. Despite everything, work in the mines is something you sign up for voluntarily, even if for most people from the Seam, it's the only option. One day, it might be for her too, but she's terrified of dying deep down in the dark, meeting the same destiny as her father once did. All kids in school have to go through the motions of education about mining, either way. In the final year, those who know they'll have no choice but to sign up once they've graduated can apply for a special training program, where they are assigned to a crew and begin work a few days a week, without the salary. Katniss runs into two of Gale's friends, who are both enrolled in that training year, at lunch outside the school cafeteria.
"Hi," says one of them, whose name she can't remember, stopping to talk to her even though they've never exchanged words ever before, just know each other by the look.
"Um, hi," she replies, unsure if she wants to talk to these two, but thinking it might be okay, since they're not looking at her with uncalled for pity, like the rest of the kids in school. She realises that they must be worried too, which makes her feel a lot better about them.
"Katniss, right?" the boy, who she now recalls might be called Thom, asks her.
She nods, still sceptic about their intentions.
"Well, we just wanted to let you know that, you know, you're not alone in this. We're on his side, too, and I think most of the District is determined to see him home. You know, among the miner, there's talk of…"
Katniss listens more intently, and bends her head forward to hear better what the boy is saying, as he has lowered his voice cautiously. But his friend, taller and with deeper lines of worry on his face, shoves an elbow into his side, and gives a minute shake of his head, his eyes darting around the corridor nervously. Then he focuses on her again, and speaks up in the other boy's place.
"What we're saying is, if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask." Seeing her distrustful frown, he goes on: "We may not have much, just like anyone here, but we'll do anything we can. Okay?"
She looks back and forth between the two young men, both seemingly hard working and tough already, just like she and Gale, and decides to make a careful assessment that they're not lying, or trying to mess with her.
"All right," she says, nodding once again. "Thanks." Without further ado, she walks past them into the cafeteria, with her hard heel of bread made of ground grains that she's got for lunch, and sits down at the end of a bench by herself.
After a long and tiring afternoon, during which she has to sit through a five-hour introduction on the practical details of tunnelling underground, she drags her tired legs over to Hazelle's house just in time for the broadcasting of the pre-game scores. Each tribute has had an individual performance in front of the Gamemakers, and has been given a score between one and twelve, depending on their perceived chances of survival. It's completely perverse, but Katniss can't help but feeling excited about the announcements. If Gale has thought of some clever plan to impress the judges, she will know from his score, and then she's hoping she might just feel a little less tense about the whole situation, at least for now.
By eight o'clock sharp, she has calmed her belly with a bowl of hot grain and vegetable broth, and is sitting in her usual spot on the floor in front of the sofa, eyes transfixed on the TV-screen. The four other kids in the room are debating the outcome, but Katniss almost wants to tell them to shut up already. Their careless talking rubs her the wrong way, and she's still not sure whether or not little Posy has grasped at all why her brother has gone away, or that he may never come home again. But they're just kids, and she's so happy that none of them seem to want for food - not yet - so she leaves them be. When the first picture, the blond girl from One, appears on screen, she gratefully allows Prim to grip her hand tightly, and squeezes it back.
Seeing the tributes one by one like this is almost worse than either the reaping or the parade, since the number flashing beneath it says more than you'd really want to know about their abilities to stay alive. A one, and they'll be dead within a matter of days. An eight, and chances are high they'll kill someone you care about. No matter how hard Katniss tries to stare, remember and reflect, all the faces and numbers quickly turn into a single blur of fear and pity. There's a boy from Three and a girl from Eleven who both look to be no older than twelve, and at seeing them, Katniss looks over her shoulder at Rory's thin figure, catching his eye to say look at them, that would have been you. It would have been disastrous.
Finally, the face popping into view before them is familiar. Madge looks serene and regal in her newly taken picture, juts her chin out confidently and smiles a pretty smile, despite the fact that she must know her chances are slim in the Games. In training, she has only showed any skills in healing wounds, plus a certain agility in dodging hits. So when the number six flashes under her face, it's impressive enough to surprise them.
"I wonder what she did," muses Prim, but the rest of them can only shake their heads and wonder, too.
Then the girl's picture fades away to be replaced with one of her district partner. Gale is portrayed slightly from the side in a flattering angle, his lips stretched into a grin and his eyes alight. More than anything, he looks like someone you'd want to know, would want to laugh with, and Katniss wonders, amused, what possessed him to be so friendly in a place where he most likely hates everyone. His normal, rather angsty and angry self is nowhere to be found in that picture, which makes him seem charming, kind of flirty even, like he would sometimes act in school around girls when he thought she wasn't watching. It also makes him seem different from the Gale she knows so well, as if the Capitol has already begun transforming him into someone they want him to be. But a few seconds later, her troubled thoughts are interrupted at once, when his score shows up.
Eleven. In bold, black letters, the second highest possible scoring blazes on the screen, impossible to ignore. A strange mixture of jubilant feelings and lack of surprise fills her up, and her only reaction is a low mumbled yes and a knowing smile, while the other people in the room erupt in triumphant shouts. She hears a comment from the TV along the lines of on fire, indeed, and sends a silent thanks to Gale, all the way across the nation to where he is, for not letting her down this time either. She swears all over again that she won't, either, and resolves to make an extra effort with hunting tomorrow, to find them some proper food again before the really dreadful form of entertainment begins in front of their helpless eyes. I goes without saying that once he's shut up inside the Arena, their lives will be infinitely more difficult, under the constant pressure of wondering if he'll still be alive next minute, or not.
For now, there are strawberries and mint tea enough for everyone, and even Katniss takes a little break from worrying to enjoy the momentary respite. She lets herself laugh along with the rest of them when Hazelle goes on to tell stories of Gale as a little kid, constantly making life difficult for her and her husband with ingenious pranks, too stubborn and independent for his own good already back then.
"I hate thunder," sighs Prim, inclining her eyes towards the dark, looming skies overhead. Katniss only grunts indifferently in response, keeping her eyes on the gravel road in front of them to check where Prim puts her feet. She's always rather liked thunderstorms herself, never feared them. The intense grey of the sky, right before letting loose the rumbling, electric forces of nature, looks just like how she remember the colour of her father's eyes. Like her own ones, she supposes. She finds herself thinking that in contrast, Gale's eyes are a light grey, more like the soft cloudy cover above during a persistent rainfall.
Jeez, since when does she go around wasting brain capacity on analysing the colour of eyes? Even if they're his, and they're her favourite thing to look at in all the world… No, she forces her brain to comply; her favourite sight in the entire world is most definitely food on the table. Nothing else.
Katniss blows a strand of hair come loose out of her eyes, heaves the bundle under her left arm a little higher up. Her right one is gripping one of the handles of a heavy earthenware pot full of stew that her mother has spent the afternoon cooking. Hazelle had called over early in the morning, saying she had gotten a chance to work a couple of extra hours this evening, asking if they could possibly return the favour of making dinner for both families. Over the past week, they have all started to cooperate like one big family instead of two separate entities, for convenience and support. Possibly, her mother had known that Katniss would want to be there for Gale's younger siblings all through this time, and decided to put her whole heart into it as well. As for Prim, well, she didn't even seem to reflect on the matter, but is rather just doing what is right, like always.
The last couple of days, since the announcement of the tribute scoring, had passed without incidents. By putting in an extra load of effort, Katniss had come home with enough catches from the forest that it fed them all and got their households a restocking of supplies that they badly needed, like salt and cooking oil. Relieved, Katniss had slept better that night than she had since Gale was taken away, even if she was extremely embarrassed to say she had imagined him there with her in bed; his long body folded perfectly around her. She had woken up clutching her pillow for dear life, before throwing it across the room, disgusted with her own lack of self-discipline. What had the stress of this past week done with her? And how will she continue to deteriorate over the next few weeks - starting tomorrow with the actual Games? Damn him, she thinks for maybe the thousandth time in just seven days, for making this so much harder for her than it would have otherwise been, by infecting her brain with the soft, distracting fever of kisses and aching.
Yes, tomorrow it all begins, but tonight there's still the last preparation to be broadcasted out to the entire nation; the grand finale that is individual interviews with each tribute. In honour of the occasion, the weather seems to have decided to finally break its unrelenting tension that's been heavy in the air all week, and cumulate in a grand clash of thunder and lightning. Katniss really wishes it would, since the heat preceding a giant bout of bad weather has been hanging like a dense rug over her head for far too long, made her unfocused and set as well her as the forest animals on edge. Hunting has been almost all about searching for prey, and it's been exhausting.
Just as Katniss and Prim carries their dinner over the threshold to the Hawthornes' home, they can hear the distant roar of thunder beginning to roll in over Twelve. It's still early evening, the schools and mines closed early for the day, but already unnaturally dark outside. Prim shudders, and quickly skips the last couple of steps fully into the house, across the small room to curl up tight between Rory and his sister on the couch. Katniss lingers for a moment in the doorway to hold up the door for her mother, who's equally anxious with the bad weather, to pass in.
She stares up at the dark skies, caught in between the tense darkness outside and the warmth and bright lights inside, can feel the little hairs on her arms stand up from static electricity, and the wind pick up to blow the scent of dirt and smoke into her nostrils. It's ominous weather, really, as if nature is trying to tell her there are bad times ahead. She already knows that, though, so she only tries her best to shake the feeling, closes the door tightly to shut out the storm, and walks over to join her mother and Hazelle in the kitchen. However, she can't shake the queasy feeling that something is about to go terribly wrong.
If only she knew.