Last Time in Damaged, Broken, and Unhinged:

Cray regards me for a very long time and I struggle not to squirm under his gaze. Finally, he pulls out a scrap of paper and scribbles on it. "While I don't need a housekeeper, these are all the people I know who could. It'd be between you and them as to what your actual duties will be." I understand what he's saying and not saying.

I take the list, scanning the names. Every single name on it is a Peacekeeper. And at the very end, almost illegible, is Darius's.

My heart sinks.

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Damaged, Broken, and Unhinged
by RoseFyre & FanficAllergy

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Chapter Thirteen: The Impact of Our Decisions

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"In our every deliberation, we must consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations."
― Iroquois Maxim

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I don't sleep well.

That hated white uniform haunts my dreams, turning even the happy memory of hunting with my father in the woods into a nightmare. Every time I manage to get a few winks, Donaldson appears, leering at me. Most of the time, it's just him. But not always. Other Peacekeepers join him. Their voices a cacophony of invectives and invitations.

I repeatedly wake up, my body shaking from sweat and the nightmares. After the third time, I don't even bother trying to go back to bed. I sit in the kitchen, my hands cradling a mug of mint tea like it's a lifeline.

Aven doesn't notice my lack of sleep, but Prim does. "Are you sure you're okay for school?"

"Yes," I tell her. I'm not, really, but I've missed a lot of school - if I miss too much more it'll attract Peacekeeper attention and that's the last thing I want. "I'll be okay. I just didn't get enough sleep last night. It happens sometimes. Thanks for checking." I'm glad to see a bit of the healer in her coming out. It's a nice change from the hardened hunter she's become since my father's death.

She eyes me, but stops arguing, instead feeding our mother while I get myself and Aven dressed.

When I put Darius's necklace on, it feel like a chain. Or maybe more like a noose.

My fingers trace the calico pattern sadly. I've been lying to myself and by extension Darius. Giving us both false hope. Now I just need to find the right words to tell him that without jeopardizing my family in the process.

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Unfortunately before I can even think about what to say, Darius catches up to me on my walk to school with Prim. "Katniss, wait up!"

We stop and turn around to face him. I brace myself for the appearance of that hated white uniform. Life must have it out for me. I'm exhausted. Grumpy. And in no way able to deal with anyone, least of all someone I need to talk to coherently and rationally to avoid pissing him off.

"Is there something wrong?"

Darius stops in front of me, halfway out of breath. "Can we talk?"

I glance at the lightening sky. "Now? I've got school." I need to talk to him. I know I need to talk to him. But part of me wants to put this conversation off. At least to a time when I've had some sleep and have rehearsed what I want to say.

"Then can I walk you?"

My heart sinks. "Sure."

"Just you," he says quickly. "No offense, Prim, but this is a conversation between your sister and me."

It's going to be one of those talks. My heart sinks more, becoming an anchor rooting me to the ground. I'm in trouble and there's nothing I can do to get out of it.

Prim's eyes narrow, assessing. She seems to consider saying no, but I shake my head, telling her it's okay. I need to have a conversation with Darius anyway, and I'd rather my little sister not overhear.

Prim's lips thin, but she says, "I'll see you after school." Her eyes flick to Darius. "If she's late, it's your fault, so you'll need to cover for her."

There's the little sister I know and love, threatening people twice her size. And yet, somehow it seems to work. Darius makes the appropriate noises to soothe my sister and even waves to her as she leaves.

When Prim's out of earshot, we resume our walk. I'm not sure how to say what I need to say, so I don't say anything.

After a minute or so, the silence grows heavy. Suffocating.

Darius must feel it too. "So… I heard from Cray that you're looking for work," he says without any preamble, breaking the awkwardness. His voice is carefully neutral, modulated, as if he's trying to keep all emotion out of it.

"I am," I answer in the same tone.

"Have you given any thought to my offer?"

I try not to flinch under his gaze.

I must not succeed, because he says, "I see you have."

"Darius-"

"No. I get it." His voice is sad, like he's about to cry.

That little catch tears at my heart. I like Darius and maybe in another universe I could love him. But not this one. Not now. It's not his fault. And he needs to know it. I shake my head and pull him off to the side of the path, where we can talk quietly without anyone bothering us. "That's just it. You don't."

"You don't need to lie to me anymore, Katniss. I know you hate me." He sniffs, once, and blinks his eyes rapidly. He's definitely trying not to cry.

I wish I could reassure him. But I can't give him what he wants. Instead, I say, "That's just it. I don't hate you." I stress the last word. "But I do hate this." I motion to his uniform.

"My body?" Darius asks, misunderstanding.

"No," I tell him, shaking my head. "Your uniform. I hate that you're a Peacekeeper. I hate what this uniform makes me feel. What it makes me remember." Once again Donaldson's creepy yellow eyes swim into focus. I push the memories away, but they refuse to budge. "I've tried to forget what happened. The stars know I've tried. But I can't. I see that uniform, and it's not you, and it's not Cray, and it's not Purnia. It's Donaldson." Now I'm the one fighting back tears. "It's always Donaldson."

"But I'm not him." He's confused. I don't blame him; if it weren't happening to me, I'd be confused too.

"And I know you're not." I swipe at my eyes, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. "You're funny and kind and looks-wise you give your big brother a run for his money. But you're still a Peacekeeper."

"I can't change that."

"I know you can't. And I can't change how I feel every time I see the uniform." Unbidden, my arms snake up to wrap around my body.

There's a moment of silence, then he says, "So you're telling me that this whole thing was doomed from the start. That you never were going to pick me."

"I wanted to," I tell him, my voice small. "I tried to. Maybe in another life, I would've. But not this one. Not right now." I reach up and carefully undo the necklace I have hidden underneath my clothing. Taking it off feels like I can breathe again. "I'm sorry."

He takes it and wraps his fingers around the shell. "I wish I'd been brave enough to talk to you sooner. Then maybe none of this would've happened." There's anger and hatred in his voice, but it's directed inward. At himself.

This isn't his fault. It's life.

"My father always said that we can't spend our lives contemplating what if. It only leads to madness and recrimination. We've got to live with the hand that we're dealt, even if it sucks." I force myself to hold out a hand to him. "Especially if it sucks."

He looks up from the necklace, his eyes meeting mine. "My offer's still open. Whatever you want. Whatever you're willing to give. I want you to know that you can come to me, Katniss." He takes my hand and gives a quick squeeze, but drops it just as quickly.

Pulling the arm back, I wrap it back around myself. I need the comfort right now. "I know. But I can't keep stringing you along like this," I say, acknowledging my own culpability in this mess. "It's not fair to you. I like you too much to hurt you worse than I already am."

"You like me?" There's a sliver of hope in his eyes.

Even though I know it's going to hurt us both, I have to quash it. "Yeah. I do. But as a friend, and only as friends."

His lips purse before he nods. "I think I can live with that. But I mean it, Katniss." He reaches out to touch me but thinks better of it. "If you need help, I want you to come to me. And I won't expect anything in return. Friends help each other out, and it's not like I have a whole lot of friends." His hands twitch like he wants to take me in his arms.

Part of me wishes he would. But a bigger part, a smarter part, knows that it would be cruel. "I don't either. I don't want to lose one of the few I've got."

Darius shakes his head. "You've got more friends than you think you do. You're the kind of girl who's hard to forget."

Why do people keep saying that? "I'm just me."

"I know," he says with a sardonic quirk of his lips, "and that's what makes you so special."

oOo

The next day, on the way home from picking Aven up from Hazelle's, I spot Darius patrolling the Seam. He looks the same as ever - white uniform, red hair - but he isn't smiling like normal. And when he sees me, he waves once. A greeting. But doesn't try to do any more than that.

His partner follows his gaze and frowns. Purnia's never been fond of me. But from the expression she's wearing, she knows that I've turned Darius down.

I wish I hadn't had to hurt him like that. But I also know I couldn't keep leading him on. And most of me is at peace with that decision. Yes, Darius would have helped my family. But for me, right now, the price wasn't worth it.

When we get home, Aven tears off his scarf and hat and speeds into the bedroom, hunting for something, I don't know what. Probably Prim's kitten. I hope Buttercup is well-hidden. The kitten has already proven his worth, killing several mice who've tried to take our tesserae grain. I don't want anything to happen to the little orange cat. And that include my baby brother.

I putter around the house, doing chores until Peeta shows up at five o'clock on the dot, as we agreed yesterday. He brought his tesserae over last night after the bakery closed, but we didn't have time to do anything with it. I made him store the bottles of oil and bags of grain in multiple areas so if something happens I don't lose the whole supply.

I admit it, I'm paranoid. Prim and I worked late into the night grinding what we could into flour, which is easier to store. My arms are still aching, but I ignore it. Today, Peeta promised to teach me how to make that sweet and hearty tesserae bread that Aven will actually eat. If I'm honest with myself, I've been looking forward to this more than I should. I blame the bread.

For the first half an hour or so, there isn't much in the way of discussion. Just Peeta walking me through the recipe, making sure I know the steps, as well as the little tricks, to make the bread.

Then comes the kneading. Something that, apparently, I do too much of. Peeta shows me how to tell when I should stop, something he's had lots of practice with. It explains why my bread is denser and chewier than his. And why Aven isn't as fond of it.

Once the entire batch is resting in a couple of bowls with a slightly damp towel over them, I get started on dinner. It isn't much: just tesserae mush seasoned with a rabbit Prim caught. But it's the first bit of protein we've had in a while.

"I talked to my brother," Peeta says. He's leaning against the counter, watching me work.

I'm removing the bones from the rabbit, keeping as much meat as possible, so I don't look up. "Which one? You have two."

"Chet."

I nod. The one who's married to my maternal cousin. "What'd you talk about?"

"Family things. Life. And you." He takes a deep breath and soldiers on. "Chet says he's willing to trade with you, if you come in. But only if he's working the counter alone. If Jacintha or her parents are there, he can't."

"That's better than I expected." I chop up a little bit of rabbit, seasoning it with some salt. "The last time I tried to talk to them, before I went to Cray, they refused to help me." The memory of that evening still sends feelings of despair through me. To cover it, I drop the rabbit bones into a large pot to create a broth, something that my mother might be willing to eat.

"My brother didn't tell me about that."

"I wouldn't have expected him to. I don't remember him being there."

Peeta gives me a look. "Still."

To change the subject, I ask him, "How are things going with you? How's Nata?"

"Things are good. We're good."

There's something in the way he says it that makes me not believe him, but I don't pry. It's not my place. But there's a little voice inside of my head that lets out a small cheer at the thought of Peeta and Nata's relationship being on the skids.

"What about you?" he asks, turning the question back on me. There's definitely something he doesn't want to talk about.

I have a quick moment to decide whether I want to be honest with him or answer like he did, polite but vague. Taking the plunge, I say, "Things are going. I won't say it's been good, but it's been going." I stir the broth thoughtfully. "I told Darius no."

"What?" In one motion, he straightens, starting right at me.

"I told him no. I didn't want to lead him on, you know? Make him think that there was a chance at a relationship when really there wasn't."

"But he was offering to take care of your family. I could've sworn you would've taken it."

"Part of me still thinks I should," I admit. "It was a good offer. And he's told me the offer's still open, but… I don't want it. I mean, how awkward would that be? 'Hi, you know that offer that I turned down a week or two ago? Yeah, I'm totally going to take it now.'" I shake my head. "It's better this way."

Peeta takes a moment to digest my words, before saying, "I'm glad you did what you wanted. The most important thing is that you don't give up." He seems to want to say more but decides against it. "So what's your next step?"

"I have no idea. Prim and I are going to try to see what we can do without me having to…" I trail off, letting him fill in the blanks.

His whole body tenses before he forcibly relaxes. "I understand."

I finish preparing the meal and set it to cook while Peeta keeps watching me.

When the mush is cooking and the bone broth is boiling, he says, "Have I ever told you about when I told my parents I wanted to take over the bakery?"

Grateful for the change of subject, I shake my head, turning to lean against the counter.

"It was a… I think the nicest way to put it is a shit show." He gives me a crooked smile, letting me know that this is going to be a fun story.

I laugh. The tension from before starts to ease.

"Mom was pissed."

"Why?"

"She's a traditionalist, you know? Conservative. Eldest child inherits the business. All marriages are arranged. The bride brings in a good dowry, the woman takes the man's last name. That kind of thing. Dad's more laid back. He wants us boys to be happy."

"And taking over the business would make you happy?" I put the kettle on for some tea.

He nods emphatically, a curl flopping forward onto his forehead from the force. "I love baking. Despite the hours, despite the hot work, I love the magic in turning flour and butter and sugar into bread and cookies and cake." The way he describes it is magical, and I've seen that magic at work here in my own home.

"What about your brothers?"

"Johnny hates the bakery. And frankly, the bakery hates him right back." He leans toward me and says in a conspiratorial tone, "Never eat anything he bakes unless you don't want your teeth anymore. He puts the stones in scones."

It's a horrible joke and I can't help but laugh at it anyway. "I've never had a scone, so it's not like I'd know the difference."

"Oh, trust me, infants fresh from the womb would know the difference."

"What about Chet?" I ask, referring to his oldest brother.

"I think Chet would've been fine with taking over the bakery, if he hadn't fallen in love with Jacintha. That was a fight, getting Mom to agree to arranging that match. But he was willing to fight for it, and Dad helped." His voice goes distant. "Apparently the Mellark boys have a thing for the Eiken girls."

I tilt my head, confused.

Peeta lowers his voice, looking around furtively. "Don't mention this to anyone, but my dad was in love with your mom."

"Really?" I have a hard time believing that. My mother isn't a beauty like Mrs. Undersee and she's always been quiet. Serious. The only thing that made her special in my mind was the way her face would light up like the sun whenever she looked at my father.

"Yup. He told me so himself. He was going to marry her, or at least ask her, but he didn't get there fast enough. Your mom met your dad and, well, that was it."

"She gave up a lot to be with him," I say, looking around our house. "Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it."

"It was. Your mom was happy with your dad. They were in love." He motions to the few photographs we do have. "My parents? They barely tolerate each other."

"Was theirs an arranged marriage?"

"Yeah. It was. And it shows." He shakes his head. "Because Jacintha was the heir to the apothecary, she couldn't marry Chet if he was the heir to the bakery. And, well, she's an only child and Chet isn't, so you can guess what won."

"And your mom was okay with that?" My father always told me to avoid Mrs. Mellark, that she was biased against those of us from the Seam. I know she often yells at her sons and her husband. But I've never heard rumors about her oldest son's marriage, which means she can't have objected too much.

"Me taking over the heirship helped, but it took Mom a while to get used to it. And she likes the discounts she gets at the apothecary, but there are times I think she wishes that Chet had married one of the Cartwrights instead," he says, referring to the fact that the Cartwrights are easily the most prolific Merchant family in the district. Delly's one out of six. Mr. Cartwright was one out of five. If you go back far enough, every Merchant is related to the Cartwrights in some way, shape, or form.

Peeta gets up from the table to check on the dough. He slides the bowls a little closer to the stove and re-covers them. "It's looking good," he says before I can ask. "Definitely better than Chet or Johnny's attempts. I wish I could hire you at the bakery."

My heart leaps, then sinks. He said it wasn't possible. "Why can't you?"

He looks at me, sympathy in his blue eyes. "Mom. We need the help. We desperately need the help, and it'll get worse when Johnny moves in with the Undersees. But no one's good enough for her." Peeta pauses and looks at me, really looks at me. "I don't know why I didn't think of that before."

"Think of what?"

"You're half-Merchant."

"Yeah. The wrong half." I've always considered myself to be Seam, even though my mother was a Merchant. I grew up here, I've lived here my entire life. I'm Seam. I've even got the Seam look.

Peeta shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. You've got skills, and even more, you've got the right pedigree. It doesn't matter that your mom technically broke tradition. She's still a Merchant, and so are you, according to the laws of District Twelve. That means you qualify to get an apprenticeship and even own a shop."

"I do?" I haven't looked too closely into the laws that govern the Merchant class. I haven't needed to. I'm Seam. But Peeta's words open up a whole realm of possibilities I've never considered.

"Yup. I practically memorized those laws when I was arguing with my mom about taking over the bakery, telling her that there was nothing written saying I couldn't inherit." The more he speaks, the more excited he gets. It's sort of cute. Not that I'd ever tell him that. He continues, thankfully ignorant of my internal dialogue. "No, this is an idea. Let me ask around. See what I can come up with."

I struggle not to get my hopes up too much, and I say, "It doesn't hurt to try."

oOo

AN:
Written: 7/27/18
Revised: 8/2/18

So a lot of people have mentioned that, from their perspective, Katniss and Peeta don't have chemistry and they don't feel like Everlark is possible. Here's the thing. Katniss was raped, literally less than two months before. She was forced to sell her virginity to a man old enough to be her father. She's being forced to consider selling herself again, repeatedly. What Katniss needs right now isn't a lover, but a friend - which goes for both Darius and Peeta. So the lack of chemistry is deliberate.

One of us has actually been through a sexual assault, and speaking as someone who's been through that, it takes someone with extreme patience who won't push, who'll let the victim make the decisions about the pace and the boundaries. Peeta didn't understand that initially, and it's why they fought. He's understanding it more now, and you can probably thank Delly for that.

Katniss is interested in Peeta, but because she's been so traumatized, and because she's now having to be so focused on keeping her family alive, romance is a luxury that she can't afford. She does want to spend time with Peeta - including time alone. But she's not yet ready for it to be romantic.

Peeta understands. And he (and we) know that the way to Katniss' heart is through her stomach. Most of their bonding moments in canon have been over food - the burned bread, the dandelion, the food in the cave (shut up and eat your pears), the shellfish in the Quell Arena, the cans of soup in the Capitol… it's a theme.

So trust us. Trust our personal experiences and our scholarly pursuits. We will get there. After all, it's the journey, not the destination, that makes life interesting.

On to the Merchant thing! We headcanon that the Capitol has codified into law the Merchant/Seam divide, as a way of making everyone focus on the wrong enemy. It's de jure segregation. Only those descended from Merchants can own businesses in town, which is part of why the Hob is so illegal, and mostly run by Seam people. It's also why Merchants in canon don't end up in the mines… though that's not necessarily what they tell the few Merchants who try. The Seam can only go to the mines; the Merchants can only work in town. There are backdoor businesses, but nothing official - even Hazelle's laundry business isn't official. The Peacekeepers won't usually bother small businesses like hers, but when the Capitol comes down hard… well, there's a reason no one would bring laundry to Hazelle in Catching Fire.

Katniss, Prim, and Aven, interestingly enough, are half-Merchant, half-Seam. Which means that they have a choice. Whichever they choose, that's what they become. Katniss considers herself the "wrong half" because she's got the Seam look like her father, as well as growing up in the Seam. But in the headcanon we're exploring, it's entirely based on genetics. They have to do more with that blood sample that they have than just make sure it's the right people in the Hunger Games!

Victors are outside of the system. Assuming they have kids who make it to adulthood, those kids can choose which group they want to identify with. Headcanons: we have them.

We've been focused on original writing, but we're not giving this up. But we've put out a couple of books and some stories over the last year, so if you like our writing, check those out!

You can get more information about our original works here:

Website: RoseLarkPublishing

Until next time! Thanks for reading! Let us know what you think!