Author's Note
Apologies for the late update. Some unfortunate family circumstances demanded my attention. Also, there is a small piece of narration that is partially lifted from The Hunger Games; again, I'm sure you all will recognize it, and again I'm picky about my Ps and Qs :) As always, many thanks for reading!
"Oh, not again…" my mother breathes as she sidles up next to us.
My temper flares. "What, did you expect me to break her neck?" I snap, even though I know deep down that it's just a general statement of concern, that she doesn't blame me. But I do.
She fixes me with a withering glare and I check my attitude as she tries to pry Posy's fingers from my collar so she can take her from me and hold her herself. My sister relents and clings to our mother, but she doesn't seem to derive any additional comfort from it. I pin Vick against my leg because the last thing I need is a second meltdown while Mom rocks Posy back and forth and sings softly into her ear, which has absolutely no effect on the howling sobs that continue to shake her tiny body. I spare a glance for Rory and Prim; he rests a comforting hand on her shoulder and steps forward to place himself between us so it's harder for her to see the trembling ball of misery in Mom's arms. Maybe he is smarter around her than I give him credit for. Mrs. Everdeen seems oblivious to the scene, and for once I'm grateful for the perpetual haze she hides behind.
At least the small disaster at hand means that I'm missing the bloodbath. I'm not usually a "bright-side" kind of person. But right now I'm desperate.
Suddenly someone shoulders roughly past me, and I have to fight the reflex to throw an elbow. It's a good thing I manage not to, because the person who appears there is Madge. With a peacekeeper in tow.
It doesn't do anything for the ire that's burning away at my insides. I look back and forth between her and the uniform – I recognize Darius from the Hob – as I try to put the pieces together. Only a moment ago, we'd almost been allies. Why is she trying to get us in trouble? "What the hell is this?" I growl through clenched teeth.
She looks at me as if I'm the stupidest life form that she has ever encountered. "I'm getting her out of here," she says as she points at my mother and sister.
Here I am, a step behind everyone again. "What?"
"Gale, none of you are allowed to leave, but he's going to let me…." She says the words as if they pain her, but she doesn't flinch under my stare.
"She's pulling rank on me, Hawthorne," Darius says with a grin. "Official business and all."
Madge at least has the humility to roll her eyes a little in embarrassment at this, which helps take the edge off the anger at the fact that she's allowed to do this while we are not. But it still doesn't quite go away.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" My mother hisses before she shoves me out of the way. "Go with Miss Madge, okay honey? We'll be there soon." She hands Posy over, and then pats Madge's cheek affectionately. "Thank you, dear, you're a lifesaver."
Madge smiles back at her, tells her to find them at the Mayor's home, and then her eyes meet mine for a second before she turns to go; somehow, underneath the bright sky blue, they look profoundly hurt. And for some reason I don't enjoy it nearly as much as I thought I would.
….
Posy calms down a tiny bit once she figures out that we are leaving the square, but only until I'm about two paces away from her family. When she realizes that none of them are coming with us she resumes crying with gusto.
"But I want Ga-a-ale!" she sobs, drawing his name into several extra syllables. I look back over my shoulder just in time to watch his heart break.
I am certain that the only thing that keeps him from coming after us is Vick, who tugs at Gale's sleeve and says something quietly to get his attention. Gale looks down at him and nods slowly with effort, but his tear-rimmed silver eyes never completely leave us. His mother pats him on the shoulder and offers a sad smile.
"He can't come yet, Posy," I say gently, trying to keep my voice even. I'm sure that if I start to cry myself it won't help matters. "But he won't be long. He wouldn't leave you."
"C'mon," says Darius, nudging me toward the edge of the crowd. "Let's get the little lady out of here before people start to ask questions."
I know he could get in trouble for this because there are very strict rules about mandatory events, so I don't question him. I'm still working on not hating myself for using the I'm the Mayor's daughter angle because I'd always promised myself I would never do it. But when I'd found Darius – one of the most lenient of all the peacekeepers stationed here in Twelve – and he had wavered on helping me, the thought of poor little Posy and her panicked family made the decision for me. I can't let everyone with a crying child leave, he'd said, even though it was clear that he wished he could. So I countered by telling him I'd take her myself. It's me, everyone will think it has something to do with my Dad….
Once we get to the edge of the square, I set Posy down so she can walk on her own. She is still crying, but it has slowed down enough that it's punctuated by rough hiccups. "Come on," I say with forced cheer as she laces her fingers with mine. "Let's go do something fun." When we round a corner away from the crowd, I thank Darius for indulging me.
"I know it's the Games and all, but it's a bit much for the little kids. I wish they'd make an exception for them," he says, and I'm surprised to hear something so close to treason come from a Peacekeeper's mouth.
"Well, I owe you one," I answer, and it makes me think of Gale again.
"Come to think of it," he says as he thoughtfully taps a finger against grinning lips, "you kind of do."
I laugh at him. "Tread carefully, Darius," I warn, but I don't really mean it. For all his posturing, I know he's harmless. "I've got a four-year-old over here that's all ears right now."
Darius snorts as if wounded, but when he speaks there is no ill-will in his tone. Only a note of mischief. "I always tread carefully in the presence of a lady."
….
I watch the rest of the bloodbath, but I don't really see any of it. Like the way a leaf sticks on the surface of a pond without ever going under. The blood, the horror, the screams – none of it sinks in. All I can think about is my distraught, helpless little sister crying for me – not for Mom, or Rory, or Vick, but me – and not being allowed to go with her. But Madge could. I want so much to be angry at her for it, but each time I try, I fall back to something less comfortable. I decide to call it gratitude. It's not an easy thing for me to feel toward the Mayor's daughter, especially because it keeps happening. But I still resent the circumstances that let her go and made me stay. For the first time, I admit that Madge isn't the one I'm angry at. That maybe….
"Is Katniss still okay?" Vick asks hopefully. He's often less stubborn than Posy is, so it hasn't been difficult to keep him from watching the screens. But he's asked the question every two minutes.
"Yep. She's doing great Vick." In truth, they haven't shown her since she ran into the woods, which is good. It means that nothing interesting has happened to her.
"I knew she would," he says matter-of-factly. It makes me smile.
After about an hour of gore, one of the packs of Career tributes manages to hack their competition to pieces, and they start to inventory their supplies. I'm surprised to see Peeta Mellark among them. When it becomes clear that they are choosing to cooperate for the time being (rather than turn on each other) Claudius Templesmith announces that the bloodbath is over. Peacekeepers start making rounds to dismiss the crowd, and I look around for a convenient way out. I know I won't find one, but I'm getting used to this hope concept.
I see a pair of reporters and a cameraman bearing down on us (or Prim, more likely) and hope that the kids remember what I coached them to say if they are asked any questions. Thank God Posy isn't with us. She has the attention span of a hummingbird for things that aren't one of her own ideas. Rory leans in to whisper urgently to Prim; when her eyes flicker back and forth between all of us I know he's telling her to play along. She nods emphatically just before a woman with obnoxious orange hair sweeps in front of her and demands her attention.
"So wonderful to see you again, Primrose," she says with just a little too much sugar. I watch her closely, because something about her tone has my hackles up. "Everyone wants to know what you thought of the beginning of the Hunger Games today."
She tilts the microphone toward Prim's face, and I have to give my brother credit – he doesn't budge. Prim lets her polite smile fade into something more serious, and she looks too old for her years. "It was very exciting – I admit I was a little nervous, too, but it was quite a show."
"Your sister famously scored an eleven in training, and everyone expected more of a show from her at the Cornucopia, but we didn't see much of Katniss today, did we? What's your take on that?"
There is an awkward pause as Prim's wide eyes look a little wet, Rory's spine stiffens, and a line forms between Mrs. Everdeen's eyebrows as she wakes up a bit more. Prim's lips part but she hesitates another moment. My brother takes a breath like he's going to intervene. Because I seriously doubt that the result could be pretty, I slide up behind him and knot one hand in the back of his shirt to make my point. Shut it before you even open it. Besides, if someone is going to tear the Capitol bitch apart for calling Katniss Everdeen a coward, it's going to be me.
"She's smart, that's why. It's called strategy," I say flatly.
The reporter forgets Prim for a moment as she looks me up and down once, twice. Her smile melts into something that is less mean but turns my stomach.
"And who are you?" she asks suggestively.
This is not the first time a woman has used this tone of voice with me, but it is the first time it's made me regret eating breakfast. As much as I feel nauseated, I manage to continue scowling at her. "Katniss is my cousin," I say.
"Oh, I see." She turns fully toward me now, shifts her weight, cocks a hip. When she speaks again, her tone has lost the patronizing note that she used with Prim and now sounds interested, which is almost worse because she seems to have entirely missed the hostility radiating from my every pore. "You're saying this is her strategy."
"She's nobody's fool," I shoot back, even though I'm not entirely confident on that. She did, after all, almost get herself killed. At my recommendation. But for now, I force the thought away. That isn't what she needs at the moment. "Odds were against her at the Cornucopia. Odds were better in the woods. May the odds be ever in your favor, that's what you always say, right? You'll get your show, but it'll be on her time." And I turn abruptly and drag Rory along before my mouth gets any further ahead of me.
….
Once I finally manage to shoo Darius away, it occurs to me that I have absolutely no idea what to do with a four-year-old girl. I have no siblings, no cousins, no experience to speak of. When I try to think of what I wanted to do when I was four, I draw a blank. Lucky for me, Posy is a pretty strong personality and has absolutely no problem telling me how we are going to spend our time until her family comes to retrieve her. When she sees the rows of daylilies in the front yard, she asks immediately to pick some and to see the rest of the flower garden. I help her choose three yellow and four pink lily blooms (the extra pink one I tie into her ponytail at her request), and walk her around to the back yard to show her a patch of posies. She squeals in delight, so of course I let her take some of them also, and one naturally joins the lily in her hair because her name is Posy, after all. The daisies amaze her because they are bigger than the ones she says she picks in the meadow and more like the ones that Gale sometimes brings her from the forest and she has never seen so many in one place and she has to have some of those, too, to make a necklace. I decide she's too cute for me to tell her no, I couldn't get a word in edgewise to do it even if I wanted to, and the activity is keeping the crying at bay. It's been a while since I've given Mr. Aarons a headache anyway.
She wants to sit on the front porch so she can watch for her family, and once we are settled there she decides that she'd rather I construct the daisy necklace. It's been a very long time since I've done it, and she has little patience for my ugly knots at first; once I get the hang of it she insists that I remake the first few, and proceeds to tell me how I'm doing it wrong. After several attempts fail to meet her standards, I suggest she do it herself to show me and to trick her into finishing the project on her own.
"Like this," she says as her tiny fingers twist a stem into a loop, which she knots with surprising dexterity to the next blossom in the chain.
"Oh, okay.…"
"I'll show you another one." She repeats the motions, and it's clear the first one was no fluke; for a preschooler, she's remarkably good at this.
"Wow. That's really good, Posy!"
"Here," she says, holding the strand of flowers up in my face close enough to make my eyes cross. "You do it now."
So much for that. I'm clearly in over my head. I can finesse a Capitol reporter into divulging the secret plans for this year's arena, but I can't manipulate a toddler into completing her own flower necklace. Go figure.
Posy twirls in circles with her lily bouquet (with frequent pauses to evaluate my work) while I finish her daisy chain. It takes me a long time to finish, but once it is complete, I get her to hold still long enough to loop it around her neck. She looks down at it and smiles broadly, elated, and seems to forget all the little mistakes I made. "It's perfect!" she squeaks, and throws her arms around me so hard it crushes the flowers and nearly knocks me over. "Thank you!" I immediately forgive her exacting criticism.
I laugh at her when she starts to spin in circles again, but she stops mid-pivot at the sound of a familiar voice.
"Hey, chickadee." Gale trots down the sidewalk, his mother and brothers close behind.
"Gale!" Posy sprints at him and flings herself through the air; he catches her with such ease that it is clear that this is a familiar ritual. I envy them this moment as he squeezes her tightly, and asks her if she behaved herself.
"Yes!" she says as she leans back a little, as if slightly insulted by the question. "Look what Miss Madge made for me." She waves a few links of her necklace at him.
"That was awfully nice of her." Deep down I know he'd rather not have to say that, but he does it so convincingly I almost believe he means it.
"These are for Mom," she chirps, waving her now-battered fistful of lilies.
"Well, go give 'em to her, then!" He plops her on the ground and she darts to Hazelle, who mouths a heartfelt thank you to me before scooping up her daughter.
I get up from my seat on the porch step when Gale turns to me, an arc of daisy pollen smeared into his shirt and still smiling faintly. "Katniss?" I ask hesitantly as I walk toward him. I almost don't want to hear the answer to the question, but I can't stand not to.
"No news is good news," he says, and I breathe easily again. I hadn't quite realized I was holding my breath. Then he turns suddenly serious. "She okay?"
"She was fine," I say, and I start to laugh. "Almost didn't want to give her back."
"Hey Mom," he says over his shoulder, "quick, she said she'll keep her!"
Hazelle frowns and smiles at the same time, then looks to me. "That's the one I'd rather you keep," she says, pointing at Gale. "Taking years off my life, I swear it." I wonder if she knows how willing I'd be to do her the favor as she herds her children back down the sidewalk to go home.
"I walked away before I got in trouble," he calls after her, defensive. I look at him quizzically, and he explains simply, "Gave the media team hell. Politely."
I start to laugh again. "I wish I could have seen that."
He smiles – really smiles - at the fact that I approve, and it's beautiful. I completely lose my place in our conversation. The smile fades some, and he pins me again with that hard stare, but for once there is no malice in it. "Thank you, for today. I don't know if I can pay this one back."
I shrug. "There's nothing that needs repaid."
I get that half-smile again and a faint nod before he goes. It'll be another good night of crying. I feel despicably selfish about it, with Katniss still fighting for her life, but I know it will happen anyway. A running tab of debt. It's the closest we'll get to love.
...
Another aside to Howlynn: ! ? ! ? But I guess the cliffhanger last chapter wasn't really all that mysterious... ;)
