A/N: Welcome back all my amazing readers! Here is Chapter 6 for you guys, and I wanted to let you guys know that the next chapter (possibly 2) might be a little slower to post. I have taken a few prompts from the Everlark Fic Exchange and I need to get to work on those! BUT, the good news is that I picked prompts that I can also use for AWO.
Another Way Out
Chapter 6 – Hindsight's twenty-twenty
| Effie |
"Hello darling, where's Peeta?" A frown immediately appears on my face the moment I walk into the meal car when I see my dear Katniss sulking all alone at the table.
"His room," she snaps, refusing to make eye contact and crossing her arms over her chest. With pursed lips I give her a nod just as she turns her back to me.
Hmmm. Perhaps I can rectify this tension between my dear children; I think when an idea comes to mind. Quickly, I exit the compartment and make a quick stop by my room to collect the package I brought with me. With the package clutched firmly in my hand, I head to the other side of the train and give Peeta's door a light tap. There is no response, so I knock again, but this time I crack the door open and poke my head inside.
Peeta's stands erect at his easel with his back facing the door, a paintbrush in his hand. "Peeta dear, am I interrupting?" He jumps, startled by the interruption and turns to face me.
"Effie, hey, I uh . . . I didn't hear you, I'm sorry."
"Oh, pish-posh, there is no need for apologies," unsure as to what has gotten into me, I help myself to a spot on the edge of his bed. "What are you painting?" My curiosity overtakes me and he moves to the side, allowing the portrait to come into view.
"Oh, my heavens!" I exclaim, gawking wide eyed at the portrait. Using my free hand to cover my gaping mouth, I ask, "What in Panem inspired you to paint that?" Looking back at me in the painting is a little boy, somewhere around ten years of age. But that is not what has me so . . . shocked. No, it is the little boy's blackened eye and busted lip that sends a chill up my spine. And for some reason, I know without a doubt, the little boy in the portrait is Peeta; albeit, a much younger version of himself.
"I uh . . . I didn't plan on painting this," with flushed cheeks he shrugs his shoulders; clearly embarrassed. "I was um . . . I guess I was a little mad, so at first I just started throwing paint onto the canvas, and then, it just . . . it just was," he explains, slightly abashed.
Realization dawns on me as to how poorly I reacted from the sight of his portrait, so I offer him an apology, "Oh . . . I reacted rather foolishly, please forgive me. It's just . . . it isn't what I expected. I think— I think I expected to see a picture of Katniss or something of the sort. No matter how brazen my response was, it is beautiful nonetheless, as are all of your artistic creations." His cheeks flush from the compliment, much in the same manner Katniss would have responded. However, the genuine smile he offers only serves to warm my heart.
"Thanks Effie."
I stand, slowly extending my hand out and scrunch my nose up to study the painting further, almost as if I am afraid of it. No, it is not the portrait itself I fear, but rather that my heart aches for this little boy. And then I begin to notice other things in the painting; the miniscule details. There is a teacher standing at her chalkboard in front of her classroom full of children. And then I see her; Katniss as a young girl. Her hair is in her usual braid as she sits next to a beautiful girl with golden-blonde ringlets and amazing blue eyes. That's when I realize she is the subject of this painting, and not the abused little boy staring back at me. "Is this . . . is this you?" I ask him even though I already know the answer.
"Yeah, it was, um . . . after I gave Katniss the bread— this was actually one of the best days of my life," I narrow my eyes at him when he says this, my eyes full of wonder.
"Why ever would this— you're going to need to explain young man, you've got me feeling rather addled."
"It was the beginning of mine and Katniss'— and Madge's friendship. You see, I was always too chicken to approach Katniss, but after that happened . . . well, I was still too chicken, but I wrote her a note on a piece of paper and asked her friend Madge to give it to her. I asked her to meet me after school and— oh Effie, I was terrified she'd say no . . . but she did. She was waiting for me under the oak tree at school and she let me walk her home. We talked the entire way, and it was probably the best twenty minutes of my life," he explains, his eyes glowing with pure excitement from the memory.
I cannot help but smile as he reminisces about the birth of his friendship with the girl who holds his heart. I never thought children at such a young age had the capability to know what love was. I would always find myself scoffing when I would hear our tributes in the past claim to have been in love. But Katniss and Peeta— there is no doubt in my mind that they love each other and are in love with one another. They share a unique bond, and I can only hope to one day find someone to love me with a mere fraction of the love they share.
"If you will pardon my intrusiveness, I have noticed a great deal of tension between you and Katniss recently . . . is there anything I can do to help?" Peeta looks around the room, and I know he is worried about the "bugs." To ease his mind, I reach into my purse and retrieve the coin Haymitch asked me to hold, knowing the interference properties it possesses.
Recognition flits across his eyes at the sight of the golden coin. He must know what it does and waits a moment before he speaks, "Well . . . Effie, I— you probably already know this, but I've loved Katniss for as long as I can remember. And . . . and, don't get me wrong, I want nothing more than to marry her, but I don't— I can't— not like this. Not under their terms."
Their meaning the Capitol.
"So, do it under your terms. You know," I begin, hoping he will understand the hidden message, "there is nothing more magical than a moonlit walk along the sandy beaches of District 4. Perhaps, sometime during our visit there, the two of you can get away and make it your own. Just the two of you," I finish with a wink.
"Oh! I almost forgot!" I exclaim, quickly changing the subject and proceed to offer Peeta the wrapped package I brought with me.
"What's this?" he asks with a quizzical scrunch of his forehead, hesitantly accepting the package.
"Just open it," I beg him with the cheesiest grin on my face. Oh, I do so hope he likes it, I silently think as he begins to tear ever so gently at the wrapping encasing the gift. Once he has ripped off a good portion of the packaging; enough to reveal what lies beneath, his entire being begins to emanate a brilliant light, which only adds to my excitement.
"H-how did you know this was one of my favorite paintings?" He inquires, his mood much changed since I first entered the room.
"I didn't, I just saw the brilliant yellows, reds and oranges and thought of you. Plus, I know you have exceptional tastes and would appreciate such an immaculate work of art. I know it is perhaps an odd choice, but, but—"
"I love it Effie, thank you so much!" He beams, clobbering me with a hug.
"Well, yes, yes; think of it as an early birthday present. As I will not see you when it is your actual birthday," I concoct an excuse to justify his gift, but the truth is, I just wanted to give him something. After all that he has been through, after all the abuse and trauma he has endured at the hands of his own mother, I just— wanted to do something kind for him.
"There is another, much smaller one in there too," I tell him, and then he begins to dig around in search for it, reminding me of a young child on a Holiday morning.
"Oh, Effie!" he exclaims, his eyes lighting up with pure joy. "You shouldn't have— I, I love it. I um . . . when we get back to 12, if you want to stop by my house, I can pay you back for these—"
"Nonsense! Peeta, have you never received a gift?" I interject, "NO! Please do not answer that, I do not wish to know. Peeta, these are gifts, and gifts are not meant to be reimbursed," I say in an attempt to reassure him.
"The first one, I believe it is called, "The Scream," by a man that went by the name of, Edvard Munch, and the second one, Starry Night, by Vincent Van Gogh. Of course, these are not the actual paintings."
"I know, I know, I just— I can't believe you found them! I remember seeing both of these paintings once, in a textbook when I was in my third year at school, and— I always wondered what the artist was thinking . . . or feeling . . . or what inspired the paintings . . . the color choices. These have been my favorite ever since I can remember. These, and the Mona Lisa. Actually . . . I think I remember reading somewhere that the original paintings are on display in a museum in the Capitol. That someone actually saved them from before the Dark Days."
It saddens my heart that a copy of a portrait that is so plenty in the Capitol brings him such sheer elation. Starry Night can be found in just about any store in Capitol Square; actually, most likely in every one of them.
"How would you like to see the real thing?" I ask him, unsure of where the inspiration for the suggestion came from.
"Seriously, are you . . . for real?"
"Peeta!" I exclaim, feigning shock, "A proper, sophisticated woman such as myself is always serious. In the summer, when you and Katniss return to the Capitol for the games; well, mentors are allowed to roam the city," I tell him as if that should explain everything. "I shall take you to visit the Capitol's official Museum of Historically Famous Artwork."
"Oh Effie, that would be amazing, thank you so much. And Katniss . . . she can come too, right?"
"Of course, she can, if she wishes. Though, I do not see Katniss as the type of girl who appreciates art."
"Well no. Not particularly. I remember this one time she asked me why people bothered to keep art— something about not being able to eat it," Peeta says with a smile, pausing as if he's remembering something, "but I want her to see it anyway."
"Okay, then it's settled. Well, I must be going, an Escort's job is never done!" I say, standing up and heading to the door.
"Oh, and Peeta—" Not wanting to forget about the last gift, I turn back around, "There is another smaller package tucked behind the smaller painting. It contains a few pills. They are for Katniss," I lean in to give Peeta a hug and move my mouth next to his ear. "Preventative measures for a special occasion; do not take more than one pill every twenty-eight days," I whisper to him, hoping he understands the reference. His forehead wrinkles with confusion, but after a moment he seems to understand what it means. But not without his face turning a deep shade of pink as the realization dawns on him.
I stand up and walk over to the painting of the little boy and my heart aches for him. Children should be loved and not beaten.
"I think . . . I'm going to give it to my mother when we get home," he blurts out, which causes me to spit out a giggle, much to my embarrassment.
I force myself to regain my composure and meet his eyes seriously, all joking banter pushed to the side, "Peeta, there is something else . . ." I begin, my words getting caught in my throat. Had this been me from five years ago, I would not be caught dead uttering these words, much less casually visiting a tribute— victor in their compartment. "I'm not sure if this eases any of your pain, but I would be more than happy— no, I would be honored to call you my son— any day of the week," I finish with a smile. I am not expecting it when he almost topples me with yet another hug.
"Thank you, Effie; for all of this— for everything," he says as I exit the room, leaving my heart feeling heavy and full of love.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0
| Katniss |
Everything is the same; every day is the same as we travel from district to district. Eyes forward, shoulders back, hands connected as we read only the words written on the cards the Capitol provided us with. I can only hope the people in the districts see through the lies and know we do not mean the words that come out of our mouths. Bored with the monotony somewhere between Districts 8 and 9, I suggested we just personalize it; even just a little, which resulted in Haymitch chugging an entire bottle of spirits, followed by a twenty-minute speech on the dangers of doing so.
"Would you like to see your little sister when you get home? You know, face to face and not in some damn photograph?" Were the only words I needed to hear to shut me up. I do not doubt that Haymitch knows what he is talking about and his response makes me wonder if something like that happened to him. Keeping Haymitch's warning in mind, and as much as it kills us, for the remaining of our tour, Peeta and I walk the straight and narrow.
Peeta and I are borderline deliriously in love with each other when the cameras are rolling. It's a whole nother ball game once they stop though. There has been tension between us since the day Effie mentioned marriage. But it's like the giant elephant in the room that no one allows themselves to talk about. And it's getting on my nerves. It isn't until we leave District 9 that I'm sick of this charade and I vow to myself that I will confront him.
We are on the outskirts of District 4 when I look into the mirror and gasp at the beautiful girl gazing back at me. As I stare at the girl who looks exactly like me, yet nothing at all like myself, I get sucked into a memory.
From the moment we left District 11 and only when the cameras were rolling, Peeta was the perfect, romantic, love-sick 'boyfriend.' But the moment the cameras come to a stop, something in him changes. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is tension between us, and I do not like it. Someway, somehow, I have to repair whatever damage has been done.
It isn't until we make our grand departure from District 8 that I finally get the nerve. "Peeta, what's going on? Why are you mad at me?" I asked him that night as we crawled into bed and slipped under the covers. It took me a little longer than I intended to build up the courage to finally confront him, but the important thing is that I did it.
"It's nothing Katniss, you should try to get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow," he tries to placate me, which only serves to frustrate me all the more.
'Dammit Peeta, stop doing that and tell me what's wrong. Is it . . . is it because of what Effie said?' I ask, knowing full well it's the cause of the tension between us, while switching to our other method of communication since the spoken one doesn't seem to be working.
'Katniss, I'm tired, can't we just go to sleep?' Peeta's voice echoes in my head.
'Then when? Are you just going to ignore me until we get home?' I meet his eyes, pleading with him to just talk to me.
'I'm sorry, come here. I know it's not your fault,' he silently conveys, opening his arms with an invitation for me.
"Is it . . . do you not want to marry me?" I try to mask the feeling of rejection, but my tears are on the verge of spilling over. Dammit, I shouldn't have spoken those words aloud.
"You know that's not it; marrying you, it's all I've ever wanted. But I know it's not what you want, and I want it to be real. I thought . . . I thought we would . . . that I would have more time—" my head snaps up to meet his eyes; is this why he's been so distant these last few days? Because he thinks I don't want this? I wriggle my body around to face him, so he can be privy to all the emotion in my eyes.
"Peeta, I . . . I never thought I would want to marry anyone. Ever. But Peeta, please tell me you know that I love you," I plead with him; the thought of him being in pain because of me hurts more than I ever imagined it could. He hasto know how much I love him; he just has to.
"Of course, I know you love me Katniss, but—"
'Peeta, I do— I do want to marry you, just not for the Capitol. I want it to be ours, I don't want to share it with Snow and his minion of followers. I may have never wanted marriage, but I do know that I never want to live a life without you in it. When— when we weren't together after we came home, I— it—' I pause; the memory of being without him still so painful; all the while, not sure how to phrase it just right. And then I realize I just need to spit it out.
"What made you change your mind?" Peeta takes advantage of my slight hesitation, still staring deep into my eyes.
I snuggle back into his arms, resting my head on his chest before I silently continue, 'Being without you for those sixteen days after we came home was torture— the pain was agonizing— which was when I realized I needed you and . . . I never want to live like that again . . . I just can't . . . I don't even want to imagine a life without you. But . . . to call you my 'boyfriend' or even my 'husband', it just seems wrong. Like . . . like it's not enough or something, it's just not a strong enough word for what we are to each other.'
Peeta's face comes into view as he twists a lock of my hair around his finger and nods in understanding. And then, the biggest shit-eating grin appears on his face, "Do you mean it?" He asks so hopefully that the joy in his face causes those butterflies to start flying around in my stomach.
All I can do is nod, so that is what I do.
"Okay, okay, I can work with that," he smiles, pulling me closer to him and planting a kiss on my lips.
"You don't have to wear this dress if you don't want to, I have a backup just in case you decided—" Cinna begins, pulling me out of my memory from the other night. I'm thankful he interrupted when he did, otherwise, I am quite certain my face would be some shade of crimson from the embarrassment. Peeta and I made up that night, and boy, did we make up.
I redirect my focus back to Cinna and the outfit he has dressed me in is. The only word I can think of to describe it is . . . breathtaking. It is exquisite in every way, and after staring at myself in the mirror, I realize what he has done. What he and Portia have been doing all along.
This dress screams unity between my district and District 4. It is a deep blue full-length dress with sea green and ivory swirls, matching the ocean perfectly. Embedded into it are tiny seashell sequins trimming the charcoal edges. It is the perfect combination of 12 and 4. And then there is the train. Cinna has cut the fabric, so it moves like the ocean does. It is a combination of blues, greens, and teals, and an assortment of those same genres of colors that I do not have a name for. It is edged with white satin that curls up, mimicking the crest of a wave.
"Cinna, it's . . . it's beautiful; no, it's perfect. I— I can't not wear it," I tell him, wrapping my arms around his neck.
"Let's see how it looks with a smile," he says with a grin, his message clear. Smile for the cameras.
"Are you nervous?" Peeta appears at my side once Portia is done with him. I turn around to see him and my mouth falls open with astonishment. If I thought my dress was beautiful, it has nothing on Peeta's "costume". It is a replica of my dress, just in masculine form. It hugs him in all the right places, defining his already muscular arms, which sends a warmth flowing through me . . . all the way to my core. I find myself squirming in place just to quell that feeling.
"Oh, this? You like it? Portia said I didn't have to wear it, but I mean . . . look at it; I couldn't not wear it," he gleams, and I can't help but smile at the familiarity of his words. And then, he closes the distance between us, wrapping his arm around me as he takes his place by my side.
I nod, 'It's our first career district,' I tell him in response to his previous question.
The train gradually begins to slow until eventually, it comes to a complete stop. We empty onto the tracks and my ears are immediately inundated with the whooshing sound of the ocean. The waves come and go, talking to you like some sort of constant you didn't know you needed. I take a deep breath to ready myself; in preparation of facing the people of District 4 when my nostrils are flooded with the fragrance of sea salt, and I actually find it pleasant. If it weren't for the circumstances, I think I might actually like it here.
Just like in all the other districts, the mayor presents us, followed by our speeches, but I can't hear myself from the roar of the people. When the peacekeepers move in to quiet the unruly crowd, they press back instead of retreating.
For a while, I have felt something boiling in the air. Like a rolling pot on the brink of spilling over. And to my surprise, 4 is no different. It is in this moment that I know, without a doubt, that there was nothing either I or Peeta could have said or done to change this. No show of love will turn the tide.
And then I wonder . . . could it have anything to do with our outfits? The show of unity between our district and theirs. It isn't completely unfathomable; these people have never seen such an outright display of respect and solidarity between districts; ever. No, the Capitol works too hard to keep us divided, and no one has ever thought to express it in the way Peeta and I have, or well, our stylists.
By the time the banquet rolls around, I am starving. My mouth waters at the sight of all the delectable food. But when I stab my fork into some sort of multi-legged sea creature and the prongs don't even puncture its impenetrable armor, I am sadly disappointed; and still just as hungry— if not more so.
"I'll bring Peeta right back, dear," Effie shrills over the bustle of chatter. She scoops him away before I even have time to protest. With my plate in hand, I make a few more attempts to stab what someone told me was called crab legs, when a man appears next to me.
"Here, let me show you," the man steals my plate and pokes his fork into a crevice of the crab's leg, running it along the edge, until finally, he frees the meat from the shell. Then he hands the plate back to me.
"Here you go. It tastes so much better if you dip it in the sauce," when I look up to meet his eyes, I am taken aback by their beauty. As the blue is blue in Peeta's eyes, this man's eyes are the green of green. Sparkling and stunning, almost iridescent. And although he is not my type, I cannot deny that he is beautiful. He has the perfect, chiseled chin which compliments his very masculine features. His hair is darker than Peeta's, probably from being in the sun, and his green eyes match the sea perfectly. Still, he has nothing on Peeta.
"Finnick. Finnick Odair, it's a pleasure Miss Everdeen," I instantly recognize his name as the victor of the 65th Hunger Games, and very well-liked by the ladies in the Capitol. I think . . . I think I remember hearing that he was the youngest tribute to win the games in a few decades. And . . . and— something about a trident, which doesn't surprise me since, well, he is from District 4. And then, I wonder if he has Snow's ear, and if there is anything I could say to him that he would pass along that could keep us all safe.
"How about a dance?"
"Um . . . Peeta's coming back any minute now."
"Oh, one dance won't hurt, right Lexie?" The hair on the back of my neck stands up when he calls me by the name only my father uses.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0
| Madge |
"I've finally got you cornered where you can't run away," with my back pressed firmly against the trunk of the tree I am perched in, I look up from my book to see the most intense pair of grey eyes staring back at me. My stomach flutters excitedly from the sight of his smile; and I have to remind myself that I'm still mad at him.
"Gale," devoid of any emotion, I allow his name to escape my lips.
"Come on Madge; don't be like that," his eyes sparkle with his flirtatious banter.
"Don't be like what?" I groan, as if his presence alone is enough to irritate me. In actuality, I have missed him so much.
"Madge, I . . . I didn't mean it like that, I uh, I'm sorry," the words escape his lips as if he's reading from one of Katniss and Peeta's cards. Lacking any sentiment; nothing but empty words.
"What are you sorry for?"
"Um . . ." He pauses, his words coming up empty.
"Gale, you can't 'just' be sorry. Why don't you try again when you know what you are apologizing for," giving him an icy stare, I spit the words out venomously and then stick my nose back in my book. At the moment, Gale's ego is the last thing on my mind.
"I'm an asshole, a dick head. Please Madge; I just . . . when Vick said he saw Rye Mellark walking into your house . . . I don't know, I just got so angry. I . . . I don't want anyone— any other guy touching you. The thought of him putting his hands on you . . . I . . . I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat."
"So, you were jealous?" I speculate, lifting my brow with curiosity. Although I knew this all along, I find amusement in the fact that he will actually admit it.
"No— no, I'm not . . . it's—" Okay, so maybe he's not going to admit it.
"So then, you don't trust me?"
"I never said that."
"It was implied."
"How do you figure that?"
"Gale, have I ever once told you that I don't want you hanging out with Katniss?" This banter we're doing isn't working. I have to find another way to get through to this stubborn, idiot of a man I love.
"No," he says skeptically.
"And how would it make you feel if I did— No, don't answer that, because I would never do something like that. Because I know that Katniss is your friend. Your best friend and I trust you. No matter how jealous I am of yours and Katniss' relationship, I would never dictate who you can be friends with. All I want is that same respect."
"Madge, I'm—"
"Let me finish Gale," I stop him, holding my hand up as I continue on, "Me, Katniss and Peeta have been friends for a long time. Rye is Peeta's brother, and also my friend. No matter how much I love you, I will not let you adjudicate who I can or cannot be friends with. And this 'divide' between Town and Seam has got to stop. We are all people Gale. Yes, there are many people; kids and adults alike from Town who are stuck up, egocentric people with an inferiority complex. But I could just as easily say the same thing about people from the Seam."
I pause for a moment to sort the words in my head, "I'm pretty sure you don't know this, but there are so many people from Town who are just like you and me. Sure, they might have a little more than we do, but that doesn't mean they don't struggle, that they don't suffer. That they aren't victims of famine and poverty; they just don't like to share that information with everyone. That there are plenty of nights when they go to bed hungry just so their kids don't have to. You shouldn't judge someone based on the location of where they live without knowing them first. Think about—"
My words are cut off when Gale slams his mouth against mine, my resolve melting away when his tongue glides into my parted lips. All the while, I never release my grip on my book; no, it's just too important.
"I love you Madge, will you forgive me?" He whispers into my mouth as he comes up for air. And then he wraps his arms around me, burrowing his head in the crook of my neck, pulling my body close so that we soak up each other's body heat. "I'm gonna screw up Madge, I'm gonna screw up a lot. It's who I am. Just . . . please don't ever leave me for good. You're— you're everything."
How can I deny him anything when his words melt me like snow on a hot summer day?
0 – 0 – 0 – 0
| Prim |
"Dad, this is the third time in the last hour that you've had to sit down to rest. Are you sure you're okay?" I ask my dad, the worry overtaking my face.
"Yeah, I'm okay Primrose. Just didn't sleep well last night," he says, unconvincingly. I might be young, but I am no dummy. Having worked by my mother's side as a healer since I was old enough to read, I know when something is wrong; and something is definitely wrong with my dad.
Dad has always been in good shape, he had to be to work in the mines. After the explosion that caused his injury was the only time he wasn't in good shape, and it was only because he was unconscious for most of that time. He doesn't drink or smoke, and he stays active. So, to see him fatigued and short of breath after such little strenuous activity is concerning.
"Maybe I should get Mom, she's just next door—"
"No, no. I don't want to worry your mother. Come on, let's finish this up. Katniss and Peeta will be so surprised when they get home."
Surprised, yes, they will definitely be surprised. Whether it's the good kind, or the bad kind, I haven't decided yet. Knowing my sister, it will most likely be the bad kind. Just after my sister and Peeta left on the train for the Victory Tour, Dad had the brilliant idea of converting one of Peeta's bedrooms into a nursery of sorts. Well, he claims it's an office, but one glance in this room, and it easily screams, BABY! Sure, there is a desk in the corner of the room, but occupying the majority of the space in the room is a matching rocking chair and crib; carved from the wood of a tree he and Bing chopped down a few days ago.
"Why don't you grab me some water and I'll be as good as new?" Dad suggests. I hesitantly nod and zip down to the kitchen, filling a glass with some water from the tap. When I return, Dad is back on his feet, paintbrush in hand; as if nothing were amiss.
"Are you sure you're okay Dad? You look kind of pale."
"I'm fine Primrose, stop being such a worry-wart," he jokes around, trying to make light of the situation and then pokes me in my side.
"Fine, if you say so," I nod in assent, reaching for a paintbrush. Dad and I continue painting the room until every surface on each of the four walls in this room is covered in the soft, pale yellow colored paint; very baby if you ask me.
"What district are they in today?" Dad asks just as the sun is setting. Mandatory viewing begins shortly, so we finish cleaning up our mess and make our way downstairs to head back home.
"4," I answer him.
"They'll be back soon, Primmie; they'll be home before we know it."
"Oh, hey guys, I didn't know you were here—" Bing sniffs at the air, his face twisting with confusion, "Is that paint I smell?"
"Yes, sorry about that. I'm not sure why, but Dad has been in a hurry to finish the crib and the rocker— which, by the way he finished it today. And THEN he had the brilliant idea to paint the room! We opened the windows to air it out, so the smell will fade soon. At least, I hope so, anyway," I tell Bing apologetically.
"If it's too bad, you and Rye can crash over at our place," Dad suggests once we reach the door.
"I think it'll be okay, but thank you for the offer Primrose," Bing says. Judging by his flour coated apron, he must have just recently finished his shift at the bakery and is only now getting home. He's been staying in Peeta's house since he and Katniss left, and then, just the other day, Rye showed up too.
Not that I'm complaining, he always seems to have the uncanny ability to lessen the tension in any room. He's always good for a laugh too; between his pension for telling jokes and playing pranks; I just can't ever picture him being sad.
"Primrose, if you'll head home so your mother doesn't worry, and I'll meet you shortly. I need to catch up with this ole' fool," Dad jokingly says, playfully socking his fist into Bing's arm.
"Okay, sure. But . . . don't be long, you know how mom gets," I remind him, giving him a warning glance. He supplies me with a reassuring smile, then kisses the top of my forehead before I slip out the door.
In hindsight, if I knew that would be the last real interaction I would ever have with my Dad, I would have never left.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0
| Haymitch |
"Dammit, where'd the hell'd those damn kids run off to now?" I just saw sweetheart with Finnick a minute ago; she looked like a deer in headlights when he was showing her how to peel the crab legs. Then I walked over to the bar to refill my flask and as soon as I turned around, they were gone. Both of them.
"I believe they excused themselves to the washroom," Effie confirms, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.
"Wait a minute— BOTH of them?" I exclaim, my nostrils flaring with rage.
"Yes Haymitch, every so often, one's bladder must be relieved— otherwise," Effie says in that damn condescending tone of hers.
"Awe, hell naw. Dammit, Finnick, I told you to wait!" I huff, grabbing my coat and making my way out the door.
"Stay here and man the crowd," I instruct Effie, slipping away before she has the opportunity to object. I make my way through the maze of twists and turns until I reach the door, punching the code in on the keypad to let me in. Standing next to the table in the center of the room are my kids, who are surrounded by the mayor of 4, Mags, Finnick, Annie, and a few others I do not recognize. Adding to my ire is a hologram of Plutarch, appearing as if he is standing on the center table.
"You two; out here. NOW!" I demand, glaring daggers at Finnick.
"What the hell do you think you're doing with my kids?" I scoff, never removing Finnick from my line of sight. Annie has one arm looped through his protectively, while her other hand fidgets with a short piece of rope.
The ferocity in my voice is enough for my kids not to question me as they huddle near the door while I let Finnick and Plutarch have it.
"Dammit Finnick, I told you to wait. They're not ready."
"You knew about this Haymitch?" Sweetheart admonishes, crossing her arms over her chest indignantly.
"Now Haymitch, I know you are probably a bit unhappy, but did you see the crowd? They got through to them, they were—" Plutarch says much too cheerful for my liking.
"What did you tell them?" I interpose.
"Not much, they just arrived. I just . . . we just told them that we are on their side. And that we wish to invite them to the inside," Plutarch explains, refusing to meet my eyes as he twiddles his thumbs.
"Hell no! You're pushing them for your own agenda; how does that make you any better than her? They're kids god-dammit!"
"We want to join," Sweetheart's voice booms from behind me; and then I turn around to face her, the anger still prevalent in my features.
"So, what . . . you two are just going to run away, and what . . . leave your family in 12 to reap the repercussions of your actions? What about your sister? Your parents?"
That seems to do the trick because she immediately backs down.
"Come on. We're leaving."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0
| Gale |
The night after my apology to Madge, I whisk her off into the woods like I had planned on doing the night we had our fight. For some reason I'm nervous, and I think it's because it's the first time we've really spoken since the day Catnip left and I walked in on her with the President.
"Are you okay Madge?" I ask her, our fingers entwined as we swing them back and forth on our trek to the fence.
"Yes. I mean, no— I don't know, Gale. Honestly, I don't know what I am feeling right now other than complete and utter outrage. It's like . . . like there is this fire burning inside of me with a hatred so intensely deep to kill that man. I never thought I could hate someone, but him; I hate him with every fiber of my being." With each word that escapes her lips, her shoulders tense until her body is almost rigid.
But I don't stop her, "If I knew they wouldn't punish you guys, I swear Gale, I swear I would kill him with my bare hands." I lift the wires of the fence up so that Madge can pass through. She ducks and slips under it with ease, which causes the corners of my lips to turn up. I just never thought of Madge Undersee, privileged daughter of the mayor as the lawbreaking type, much less as someone willing to get her hands dirty. Shows just how wrong I was.
"Madge, promise me you will not repeat a word of that to anyone. I mean anyone," I plead with her and then find myself smirking at the irony of the situation; it's usually me going off on a tangent about the Capitol and Catnip telling me to cool it. Yes, what a strange feeling to be on the other side.
She rolls her eyes at me as I meet her on the other side of the fence. Almost as soon as all the cameras were gone, the power in 12 was severed and hasn't been restored since. It doesn't bother me in the least. Actually, I prefer it that way.
"I'm angry Gale, not stupid," Madge decrees with a hint of sass, rolling her eyes at me again. I love it when she gets all fired up and angry . . . for some reason it makes me want to shut her up . . . with my lips.
"I know, just . . . be careful," I all but beg her. Other than my family– and maybe Catnip, Madge is probably the most important person in my life. Actually, if I'm being totally honest with myself, I think Madge has climbed right up there with my family. I don't know what I would do if something happened to her. I just . . . I can't— I don't even want to imagine it.
"Wow, the stars are so beautiful out here," she chimes, smiling as she arches her neck to admire the night sky. It's then, that I notice how her eyes mimic the stars in their sparkle, which causes the corners of my lips to turn up once more. I wonder if she knows how beautiful she is, or how the moonlight only serves to amplify her radiance.
I have shoveled a section of snow from the ground and spread a blanket out for us to lie on. It is too dangerous to risk building a fire out here in the forbidden section of the woods. Thankfully, I managed to locate a spare blanket, which should keep us warm enough. Sharing our body heat will have to pick up the remainder of the slack.
"They really are," agreeing, I settle in on the blanket and open my arms for Madge to join me. She falls into my arms and rests her head on my chest. I kiss the top of her head, soaking up the scent of her strawberry scented shampoo that Katniss made for her.
"Thank you, Gale, for bringing me out here. I know the other day wasn't easy on you, so—"
"Shush. Don't you know I would do anything for you?" I quickly redirect the topic, not wanting to talk about Catnip, Peeta, or my 'cousin' status. She expels a little giggle and for some reason, it sends a warmth radiating throughout my body. I love the sound of her laughter, I think to myself, smiling at the fact that I'm sitting here with this beautiful girl in my arms.
I inhale another deep breath, filling my nostrils with Madge as I prepare my next words, "Madge, I wasn't going to say anything to you because I wasn't sure how you'd respond. But—"
"What changed?"
"Huh? What— Can you just be quiet for ten seconds?" I poke her side playfully, causing her to squirm into me a little more. She makes a motion of zipping her lips up and nods her head. Gone is playful Madge, replaced with her all too serious blue eyes staring back at me with her full attention.
"Madge, there's been talk in the mines. People are unhappy with the way things are. I mean, they've been unhappy for a long time, but ever since Catnip returned home—"
"And Peeta," I can't help but roll my eyes at the sound of his name; it's almost like a reflex. Baker boy still isn't my favorite person in the world, although I'm not sure why.
"Yes, and Peeta. Well, ever since they won, since they came home— let me take that back; ever since I started working in the mines, I have heard chatter from some of the men. Katniss and Peeta have given them hope that things could change. That, if a pair of kids from 12 could make it out of the games alive– I mean hell, they went in there thinking only one of them could come home. They didn't have a plan or anything and they still got out. So, if two kids can do that, then what could an entire district do with a plan? There's talk about a strike. They want to make a statement." Madge's eyes are locked on mine, absorbing my every word. When she realizes I have paused to give her time to react, she squirms for a second before she speaks.
"When you say, the men, approximately how many are you talking about? A vast majority or just a handful?"
Her question befuddles me, and I take a second to think about what I remember. "I guess . . . I'd probably say just a handful. Most of the guys are too scared."
Madge sits up and grabs both of my hands, fear glazing over her eyes. "You can't let them do it Gale. Promise me you will talk them out of it. Promise me Gale, promise you'll try. They'll listen to you; please Gale, they can't— you guys can't go through with it."
"Why would I want to do that? I'm with them," I snap at her, narrowing my eyes and snatching my hands back, but not before giving her a fierce scowl. Maybe I misjudged her, I think, confused by her response.
"Gale, it's not that, it's . . . um . . . how do I put this," she pauses for a second, pressing her finger up to her chin. "Unless everyone is willing to do it . . . Gale, it won't work unless there is one-hundred percent participation."
"What are you talking about?" I snap, but I don't really care what she has to say; my mind is already made up, we're doing this.
"Think about it, Gale. If say, ten guys out of fifty go on strike, how easy would it be to replace them? If only ten of you refuse to play their game, the Capitol could just cause some kind of unfortunate accident to get their point across. On the other hand, if everyone is on board, now, that would make it far more difficult for the Capitol to take control of. Do you get me so far?"
When I first heard the guys talking about the strike, I was completely on board with their plan. It sounded like such a good idea. But now, after hearing Madge's theory, I think . . . maybe she has a point.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0
| Peeta |
"Where are we going?" Katniss asks me as I lead her to the beach. Going back to the dinner was the last thing I expected after Haymitch caught us with the others in that secret room. But he insisted our presence was required, otherwise, I'm pretty sure he would have locked us in our rooms for the night. When Effie turned to me with an inconspicuous wink, I knew she was telling me it was time to execute my plan.
"To the beach," I tell Katniss with a mischievous grin.
"But I thought we weren't allowed."
"Effie's giving us an hour."
"Oh, so now you're scheming with Effie?" Katniss grins, following me to the beach.
After Effie cornered me in my room a few days ago, I confessed the reason of all the tension between me and Katniss. That, of course I wanted to marry her, just not under the Capitol's terms. Out of nowhere, Effie mentioned there being something magical about walking along the sandy beach under a moonlit night. To any of the Capitol goon's listening in, it sounded like nothing more than an escort making a statement or a slight suggestion, complimenting the beauties of District 4. But I can read between the lines. And although we have been given clear instructions not to go anywhere without guards, Effie promised she'd help me figure something out. However, that was before Haymitch dragged us back from the meeting with the rebels.
The rebels. I'm not even sure what to make of everything Katniss and I learned before Haymitch interrupted the meeting. But now is not the time to try and make sense of all of that; now is the time for me and Katniss to finally get some time alone. Sure, more than a handful of times we've gotten caught sneaking off together, but none of that was real; we were trying to get caugh. THIS is real.
"Come on, take your shoes off and toss them over there," I tell Katniss, taking my own shoes off and tossing them on the steps that lead down to the beach. Walking on the lopsided surface of the sand feels strange with my prosthesis, but after a few strides I get used to the uneven ground.
The constant sound of waves crashing into the shore and then drifting back to sea is rather soothing. When I look out to the vast ocean to see the mirroring image of the moon's reflection, I think Effie was right and it's more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. I wish I had my sketch book; I would love to capture this moment.
Katniss takes her shoes off and tosses them with mine. I reach for her hand, guiding her to where the water meets the sand. We walk along the shore, the waves crashing onto our feet and it feels so good. Refreshing.
"This is beautiful," Katniss says in awe as she looks up at the moon.
"It is. I wish we had a beach in 12."
"Yeah, that would be nice . . . but we have the lake," Katniss reminds me. She lets go of my hand and bends down to pick something up. "This is pretty, I think it's called a seashell," she says, admiring the tiny shell.
"It is pretty— but not as pretty as you," even in the cover of night, I can still see the blush that rises to her cheeks. "Kind of looks like the ones on your dress."
Katniss looks up to meet my eyes, a look of concern staining her features, "I can't believe Cinna and Portia . . . they're pretty brilliant, huh?"
We walk alongside each other for a few minutes, enjoying the sensation of the cool water splashing against our feet. "Is it weird that even though I only have one real foot, it still feels like I can feel the water on both of my feet?"
"Yeah, that is kind of strange; I wonder why that is?"
"I don't know, probably something to do with my brain," I say.
Stop thinking about your feet and focus, Peeta, I shake my head, scolding myself. A few strides later I stop walking and wait for Katniss to realize she's left me behind. While I'm waiting, I reach into my pocket for the tiny little box I have carried around with me since the night Dylan gave it to me. I don't pull it out though, not yet. Instead, I keep my hand submerged in my pocket, gripping the tiny box; awaiting the perfect moment.
"Peeta, what are you—" Katniss asks, turning around when she notices my absence.
"Come here," I tell her and take a seat a few steps back from the waves. She joins me on the dry sand, and then I encircle my arm around her, pulling her in closer.
"It looks just like home— the stars, I mean," she says with her neck arched back as she gazes into the sky.
"Oh look! There's the Hunter," she says with so much excitement and points up to the collection of stars. I look up, searching the sky for the familiar constellation until I locate the three stars that make up his belt; and then find the ones on the far side of them.
"They match your eyes," I tell her nervously, inhaling a courageous breath. Our time is probably running short, so I decide it's now or never. And it can't be never, leaving only now.
"Katniss,"
"Mmm hmmm," she responds, relaxed in my arms.
"I love you," I tell her, figuring that's as good as any place to start. It feels slightly awkward; having one hand hidden in the pocket of my pants and the other wrapped around Katniss, but the little box in my pocket is giving me the necessary courage I need to do this.
"I love you Peeta," oblivious to my anxiety, she reciprocates my words, nuzzling even further into me. Savoring this moment, I kiss the top of her head, inhaling her scent as I pull her even closer into my arms, if that is even possible.
"Katniss, I— I have loved you since before I even knew what love is, and I think I'll love you long after I'm gone from this world. Me and you; we have been through hell and back— literally and . . . and I cannot think of another person in this entire, screwed up world I'd rather have by my side than you. You are my rock, you ground me . . . words cannot even begin to describe all that you mean to me. You— you are everything to me—" My entire body trembles as I pull my hand out of my pocket, and the little box along with it just as Katniss catches sight of it.
"Peeta— what—"
"Katniss, I love everything about you. Even the things that drive me crazy, I love those things too. There isn't a single thing I would ever want you to change about yourself; you . . . you are an image of perfection. This was never how I pictured doing this— and trust me, I've pictured it a thousand times over; but life has thrown us so many curve balls, and I suspect we will get a few more before it's all said and done. But Katniss, it . . . it hurts when you're not with me, and I want . . . no, I need you to be mine, in every imaginable way, so . . . um . . ." I hold the box in front of her and open it up.
"Will you . . . will you marry me? Will you allow me to marry you? Will you allow me to remain by your side through everything, the inside out's and upside down's? I promise to be the best husband, to always listen to you and to always put you first. I want to spend my life taking care of you and your family; feeding you, loving you, and everything that goes along with it."
"Peeta, I—"
"Please— let me finish," I beg her and she nods for me to continue. Wrapping my arms around her, I pull her to my chest and rest my chin on top of her head. I can't risk these next few words being overheard.
'Katniss, I want us to have our own toasting, out of the Capitol's eyes. I don't know when, or where, I just know that I want to spend my life with you . . . I want to be a part of your family. And— and I don't want to do it in the Capitol, or for the Capitol, but for us. I want to marry you— not because it's the best way to preserve our lives, and the lives of our families, but because I love you and can't imagine a life without you.'
I pull back and press my lips to hers, "I love you so damn much, Katniss Everdeen," I tell her when we finally come up for air.
She pulls back to meet my eyes, her bottom lip quivering as the tears glisten in her beautiful grey eyes. I know her tears are tears of happiness because the smile on her face exudes radiance as it stretches from ear to ear. That and the fact that she is vigorously shaking her head up and down.
"Yes Peeta, yes, YES! I'll allow it! Yes, yes, yes; a thousand times yes!" She cries through her tears, wrapping her arms around my neck and connecting our lips. Then, I take the ring out of the box and the light of the moon shines on the little emerald at just the right angle, catching her eye.
"Peeta, where did you— how did you— did it— was it my dad?" Stumbling over her words, she holds her shaky hand out to me, eagerly awaiting me to embellish her bare finger.
Slowly, I slide the tiny, jeweled ring onto her fourth finger, and it's a perfect fit.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0
| Dylan |
"Hey man; you okay?" Bing acknowledges once Primrose is out the door.
"No, I don't think so." I also do not think it is an accident that my symptoms just spontaneously appeared the day after Katniss and Peeta's 'show of sympathy' in 11. But I keep that bit to myself.
"What's wrong? Here, let's have a seat," Bing leads us to the kitchen table and pours us each a glass of water.
"I don't know, headache, dizziness, blurred vision; nausea, and sensitivity to light," I say as I think back on the last week, ever since the showing of the kids in 11 to try and pinpoint what actions could have determined my fate. And then it hits me.
"It was the morning after Katniss and Peeta left District 11. I was making my way into town. I stopped by the hardware store for some supplies to get started on the office I wanted to surprise the kids with." Bing already knows about that, having helped me with a majority of it. "After I left the store, Cray approached me—"
"You mean, the Head Peacekeeper?"
I nod, gulping down some water. "Yeah, he congratulated me, said our kids were a hell of a pair of kids and then offered me a cup of coffee. He must have . . . it had to have been him, he must have put something in my coffee. I never drink coffee, so I wouldn't know the difference in the taste if he poisoned it. At first, I thought it was the caffeine, but it's been at least a week and the symptoms are only intensifying." I should have been suspicious that our Head Peacekeeper was offering me anything . . . for free. What is that saying Ric used to say . . . Hindsight is twenty – twenty.
"Dylan, I know you don't want to hear this, but I think you should tell Lilly. Maybe she can figure out what he gave you and give you some kind of antidote."
"If . . . if the President ordered him to do it, and I am almost certain he did, nothing short of the miracle cures found in the Capitol is going to fix me. And at this point, I can barely see a thing. Everything is fuzzy."
Bing's eyes narrow in confusion, "I'm a little lost Dylan, why would the President want to get rid of you?"
There is no way around this, so I tell him everything about the day the kids left for the Victory Tour. How the President visited them and basically ordered them to do whatever they could to calm the districts while they are on this tour; and failure to do so would result in detrimental consequences. I'm just thankful it's me and not Primrose— or Lilly.
"So, you think it's because of what happened in 11? But it didn't seem that bad—"
"Well, we don't know what happened after the feed was cut— and come on Bing; both of our kids showed genuine remorse for a pair of tributes. Peeta offered that money, then Katniss— she was almost in tears during her apology, and then she sang. It was bad. No matter how you look at it, they were once again, defying the Capitol. Unwillingly, yes, but defying them all the same."
"Shit. Damn. Dylan, why didn't you tell me sooner, I could have helped you guys with the room more than I did," he says, and even with impaired vision, I see the guilt clouding his features.
"It wasn't this bad then. It only got really bad yesterday. Today is worse."
"Shit man. What can I do?" I turn to face the man who I know never got over my wife and plead with him.
"Promise you'll take care of my family," I say evenly, and he nods in understanding. He knows I do not mean to physically care for my wife, but that I want him to be there for Lil, emotionally. As much as it pains me, I know he will love her when I no longer can.
"Of course, of course, that goes without saying though," okay, so perhaps he doesn't 'get it'.
"No Bing, that's not what I mean. Katniss is a survivor, a fighter, and she has Peeta. Primrose is self-sufficient too. It's Lilly who I worry about the most. Promise me you will take care of her; don't . . . don't let her mourn me forever. Don't let her get submerged in the deep depression she went through when I was injured in the mines." I know it won't be bad like the last time, because they will have money. But still—"
"Dylan . . . I . . . you . . . um . . ."
"It's okay Bing, I know you still love her—"
"It's not like—"
"I know," I tell him, placing my hand atop his. "Just promise me, okay? Promise me you'll look after all my girls."
"You have my word Dylan; but . . . I still think you should tell Lilly. There might be something—"
"NO!" I shout, feeling a sudden anger. "I'm sorry— no," retreating my tone, I follow the words up apologetically; I know he's just trying to help. "And, and you can't tell them it was because of what our kids did in 11. Just let them think it's . . . whatever this is," I insist, knowing they would be so guilt ridden if they learned the truth.
"O— okay Dylan, I . . . you have my word," he says dejectedly, his features full of sorrow. I reach into my pocket and pull out the coin, flipping it over and over in my hand.
"There's something else Bing," I begin, explaining how this coin works. "When the time comes Bing, I don't know when, or how it's going to happen— or . . . or if it will even happen, but if and when the time comes, I need you to be ready. Get my family— yours too, to the safety of District 13. And once you guys get there, I need you to swear to me that you won't let Coin use Katniss— or Peeta for her own selfish gain."
"Coin— what?" Bing stutters with confusion. Perhaps I didn't tell him about her.
"Coin— she's the leader of 13."
"Okay, right— right," he says as the memory resurfaces.
"When I went to 13 before the games, someone approached me— privately, and informed me of their suspicions . . . that 13's leader . . . her intentions weren't as pure as she claimed. And after meeting the woman— I . . . I just wouldn't put it past her to . . . to use them. Promise me you won't let that happen." I leave out the fact that it was Katniss' stylist who sought me out in 13.
"Also, anyone who I trust completely and is with the rebels— they know the name to call Katniss— Lexie. Hearing that name . . . will tell her that she can put her trust in them. But Bing, only share that if you trust them completely . . . with your LIFE, do you understand?"
"Yes, yes. But . . . I'm confused, why would we go to 13?"
"I don't know that it will come to that, but . . . just— if it does, please Bing, please look out for Katniss. She is the one Coin wants— needs; and I wouldn't doubt that after seeing Peeta, she probably wants him too," I tell him, thinking about Peeta's impeccable gift with words.
"I . . . I promise Dylan, you have my word," he says with a heavy heart. With all my ducks in a row, I stand up from my chair and extend my hand out to him; surprised when he wraps his arms around me with a hug.
"I'll see you around," I say, wondering if I actually will and make my way out the door and to my house. Except, I don't make it across the next yard when I lose my footing; and then everything goes black.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0
| Peeta |
"PEETA!" I bolt up from an uneasy sleep when I hear Katniss screaming my name to find her kicking and thrashing next to me. I reach over to grab her hands, hoping to calm her down, only to receive her fist in my eye.
"SHIT, FUCK," I yell out from the pain, which seems to do the trick in waking her up.
"Oh my God, Peeta, I'm so sorry, I . . . I didn't mean—"
"It's okay Katniss, come here," I tell her and pull her into my arms. She has not had nightmares this intense since the early weeks of arriving home from the games. Since the start of the tour, even my nightmares seemed to have taken a turn for the worse. It seems the closer to the Capitol we get, the more aggressive our nightmares become.
After we left District 4, we cruised through District 3 in a haze. Katniss grew anxious, claiming to have a feeling in the pit of her stomach that something was wrong. I tried my best to reassure her, but judging by her current nightmare, it was a failed attempt.
"Peeta, I'm scared," once Katniss has calmed down enough, she whispers to me in the night.
"I know, me too. But . . . but it's going to be okay, we're going to make it through this. And before we know it, we'll be home," I tell her hopefully, yet, for some reason, I find myself doubting my own words.
I lean over and plant a kiss to the top of her head and then she pulls me to her lips. I take advantage of this time we have alone and deepen the kiss.
Eventually, she retreats and seeks comfort by resting her head against my chest. I rub circles on her back until I feel her breathing deepen as the words escape her lips, "Stay with me."
As if I would ever go anywhere, I think and then tell her, "Always," though, I think she has already fallen asleep.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0
| Katniss |
We have back-to-back appearances in Districts 2 and 1 since they are literally right next to each other. My anxiety grows with each passing second as we approach the Capitol. Somewhere between Districts 5 and 3, I have had this nagging feeling that something was wrong. Like something bad has happened and I can't help but worry that it has to do with my family. Every day my fear and anxiety overwhelms me when I think that President Snow might have done something to one of our family members; in retaliation for us not following through with his demands.
Shortly after Peeta's beautiful proposal on the beach to me, Effie informed us that one of her informants got word to her that Caesar Flickerman intends to offer Peeta a job as his co-host, making him a permanent resident of the Capitol. When we asked her how to stop it, she gave us a sorrow filled expression, suggesting that Peeta propose during our live interview with Caesar. That the citizens of the Capitol wouldn't see kindly to splitting up a husband and wife. So, that's the plan. Peeta will propose to me on live television, for all the world to see.
I am so angry; this is not how it was supposed to happen. We were supposed to go home and tell our family over dinner. Prim would squeal, jump up and down, clobbering Peeta with hugs and kisses and tell him how thrilled she was to finally have an older brother. I do not have any doubt that is how it would happen, Prim has always loved Peeta. On more than one occasion she has asked me when I'm marrying him.
Mom and Dad would be happy too; even before Peeta and I were together they considered him family. And Peeta's dad would be there— with his brother Rye, but not Graham, or his witch of a mother. Our families weren't supposed to find out on television. And what about Madge and Gale? I always tell Madge everything; she's going to be so disappointed that she wasn't the first to know. Ugh, I wish I had one of those books that Madge has; then at least I could tell her in writing.
Wait a minute! That's it; I'll ask Haymitch privately if we can use his book to talk to our families.
I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves. I take pleasure in the fact that the freaks in the Capitol are left out in the cold. They do not know that Peeta and I are already engaged. Only Effie, Cinna and Portia are aware of it though. It was actually Portia who spotted the ring adorning my finger and helped me to shield it from the reporters.
It saddens me that I can't wear the beautiful ring Peeta gave me, the ring that once belonged to my mother; at least not yet. Once we get home, I can wear it for all the district to see, until then, I have it strung on a necklace of Portia's, hidden inside my shirt.
"Think of it this way, now you can wear it close to your heart," Portia said; being the optimist she is when she noticed the dark cloud hovering above me as I removed the ring from my finger.
"Where are we going?" Peeta asks Effie as she guides us down the streets of the Capitol.
"It's called a Pawn Shop. It's where the citizens of the Capitol bring their unwanted treasures to sell for coins."
"Oh, okay. Um . . . why?" I ask, afraid of being separated and gripping onto Peeta's arm as we follow Effie.
"Well, if this was intended to be your actual engagement ring, we would go to the jewelry store. But seeing as you already have one; very near and dear to your heart," Effie says with a wink, "Just think of it as a stand in. Because it is considered poor fortune to wear any ring, or dress for that matter that has previously belonged to another. The only exception being if it has been passed down in your family." Effie explains to us, and then, suddenly I'm curious about all of her knowledge about trends and traditions, and history, for that matter.
When we enter the store, Effie immediately seeks out the salesman and they measure my finger to find out my size.
'Who knew fingers came in actual sizes,' Peeta smirks from beside me.
I don't want to, but I can't help but find myself fascinated and intrigued as I look around at all the stuff in the shop. There is so much junk in here. Household appliances, electronic devices, all the way to tiny little trinkets. As I am thinking about what it would be like to take even a handful of this stuff home to 12, something catches my eye.
"Peeta! Look!" I exclaim, leading him over to the object luring me in the corner of the store. It is a piano. Not a giant one like in the mayor's house, but like a miniature sized one.
"Effie, Effie, I want to buy this. How do I buy something?" I call out to Effie with so much excitement. I almost think she's going to scold me about my manners when she looks over to me. But instead, she gives me a genuine, curious smile. It's true I have more money than I know what to do with, but I don't have a clue as to how to access it to make a purchase in this Capitol store.
"Can you play?" She questions with a lift of her brow.
"No, I can't. But my friend Madge; she's AMAZING, and I'm not even exaggerating. She would just love this, please Effie . . . I— I'll beg if you want me to."
"No need for that darling," Effie turns back to the salesman and points, "I shall take that too," she says in her sophisticated Capitol accent.
'Madge is going to be thrilled, she can play anytime she wants to now,' Peeta tells me when we are on our way back to the training center. I know Madge has been thrilled with the piano lesson she's been giving the mayor's daughter, but Madge's music is like my woods. And I know that being able to play whenever she wants to is . . . I just can't wait to see the expression on her face when we give this to her.
I wasn't too thrilled to learn that we will be going back to our old suite, up on the twelfth floor. The same place they stuck us just before sending us off to the slaughter.
As Peeta, Effie and I head back to the training center, I notice something. After the first one that caught my eye, I chalked it up to nothing more than a coincidence, but after passing the tenth one, I know that is not the case.
My mockingjay is everywhere. On jewelry, sewn into shirts, on hair pins and belt buckles. I see it in almost every window of every store we pass by. A giant emblem of my mockingjay covers the window to a store called, "Tattoo Parlor." And then . . . suddenly, I'm not nearly as frustrated about our families finding out about the engagement through Peeta's live proposal. Slowly, the corners of my lips curve up when I think about Snow being reminded of us at every twist and turn.
'Madge would love to see this too,' I tell Peeta, pointing at another mockingjay.
'Is that—' Peeta begins, pressing his nose against the glass to get a closer look.
As it turns out, it is not just my mockingjay that adorns the streets of the Capitol, but my mockingjay, in addition to an emblem of a jabberjay— apparently the symbol associated with Peeta.
Peeta and I are separated as our prep teams and stylist prepare us for the big night with Caesar.
"Wow, I bet Peeta's going to love this dress," I remark, admiring myself in the mirror once Cinna gives me the signal.
"Don't think, know," Cinna surmises. I wonder if he and Portia know about what Peeta is planning on doing tonight. I think that they do because Cinna has bedazzled me in another one of his immaculate creations, in one of Peeta's favorite shades of sunset orange.
"This is Peeta's favorite color— did you know that?"
"Of course, I know everything," he quips jovially.
I narrow my eyes at him in mock contempt and say, "And just how exactly?"
"Portia told me. If you like this dress, then I can't wait for you to see what Peeta's wearing!" Cinna tells me and it gets the wheels in my head turning.
"What exactly are you guys up to?"
"Not up to anything Katniss, I promise. Now pay attention. As soon as they clear the stage of your talent, that's your cue."
Right. Our talent. I'm sure Peeta's talent blew the minds of the audience, but I wonder how they would react if they knew my talent was a fake. I don't have time to think about it when I see a group of people wheeling a cart of Peeta's canvases off the stage. And shortly after that, another group of people hauling off a cart of 'my' designs.
Finally, I am whisked onto the stage. Peeta and Caesar do their jovial back and forth banter, and the audience eats it up. It's probably why he wanted Peeta as his co-host. No, Snow just wanted to separate us, I tell myself, tensing up from the thought.
"So, Katniss, Peeta, any plans for your future?" Caesar asks us as we near the end of the interview, and I know it is the perfect cue for Peeta to seize the moment.
"Well, I'm so glad you mentioned it Caesar. You see, there is something I wanted to ask Katniss tonight and I wanted so badly to share it with you guys." How does he always know the right thing to say to have them eating from his hands? I silently ask myself, while forcing a smile onto my face.
Just as I suspected, Peeta gets down on one knee and proposes to me; something he didn't do for the 'real proposal,' not that I mind. This proposal is nothing like the real thing, which I am eternally grateful for. He leaves out all the sweet things he said to me the other night on the beach and simply says, "Katniss, for so long I have loved you and for so long I patiently waited for you to return the feelings. Now that I've got you, I want to keep you. Will you do me the honor of allowing me to be your husband, from now, until the end of time?" He looks into the camera with a bright smile and says, "But only if it's okay with you, Mr. and Mrs. Everdeen, and of course, you too, Prim," and the crowd goes mad from his choice of words.
With tears in my eyes, (and for some reason, I find myself surprised that the tears are real, but it's Peeta, so what did I expect?) and a smile stretching to my ears, I eagerly nod my head and say yes, wrapping my arms around Peeta's neck and kissing his lips.
'I love you Katniss Alexandria Everdeen,' Peeta tells me through the screams and whistles of the audience. He's letting me know his words are for me and me alone.
'How do you do this Peeta Cerulean Mellark; how do you manage to turn a moment I have been dreading— loathing, into something beautiful?'
'I never should have told you my middle name,' is the only answer he gives me and then— his body tenses in my arms. When I look up to meet his eyes, the love has vanished, leaving pure, unadulterated anger in its wake. I turn my head to see what's got him looking so murderous when my eyes land on him. President Snow.
President Snow makes his entrance onto the stage, smiling and waving at the audience.
'Does he normally make an appearance?' I ask Peeta, because truth be told, I've never paid enough attention to know.
'I . . . I don't know, I don't think so,' Peeta conveys with a fake smile on his face as President Snow shakes his hand.
"What do you two say to a Capitol wedding? We can throw it right here," Snow shouts to the crowd, to which they follow up with more screams and cheers of excitement.
Caesar says something, but I can't hear it over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
"Oh, we'll probably need to get permission from Katniss' parents first,"
As we're waving goodbye and exiting the stage, I meet Snow's eyes and ask him what my mouth cannot. 'Did we do it, did we convince you, did we convince the districts? Did we calm things down?' I already know the answer before he gives me an imperceptible shake of his head. Then, he shakes my hand and leans in as if he plans to give me a hug and whispers into my ear, "My condolences to your family."
By the time my head snaps up from the realization of his words, he is gone.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0
| Rye |
It was several days after my encounter with Madge before she passed me a note in class; an invitation to meet her in the woods, just beyond the fence. I already knew what her plan was; she was hoping I would chicken out and not show up; since most kids from town— hell, most of the people in 12 are too scared to sneak off into the forbidden section of the district. Did she forget who my mother is? I silently scoff to myself. With a witch for a mother, there isn't much left to fear.
The only reason I kept my meeting with her was to get information. After Madge went AWOL on me, I finally confronted my father and demanded answers. I was tired of being left in the dark. If my brother— or — my family is in danger, I think— that gives me the right to know what the hell is going on.
Madge didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, but I get the feeling she knows more than what she revealed. And . . . she seems to know a hell of a lot. The one thing both she and dad reiterated several times over was the importance of keeping everything a secret; especially from Mother and Graham— and well, the rest of 12.
"So, you're telling me there's rebels everywhere. In almost every single district? That the faces we see on the television— like Finnick Odair and the other's in 4— they're actually a part of this uh, thing?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying Rye, but you can't—"
"I know, I know, I can't tell anyone. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," I reassure her.
"Damn! This is nuts," I exclaim, running my fingers through my hair and taking a seat on a giant rock. "And Haymitch— he's not really the drunken asshat, waste of space he appears to be?"
"Well . . . I mean, he is drunk . . . most of the time, but not so drunk he doesn't know what's going on. He's actually really smart."
"So um . . . what does all this mean? Like . . . what happens next? What's the next step?"
"I don't know, I've been trying to figure that out—"
"MADGE! MADGE!" Madge snaps her head to the sound of her name being called and we see little Primrose Everdeen ducking under the fence.
"Hold on Rye," Madge says and takes off in the other direction.
"What's wrong Prim?" Madge questions the little girl.
"It's— it's my dad Madge, something's wrong. Is there— do you know how to get in touch with Katniss? Please Madge, please— Mom doesn't— I don't think he's going to make it until she gets home."
Madge turns to face me, her eyes full of sorrow and says, "I'm sorry Rye, I need to go—"
I nod, understanding the urgency and decide to see if I can be of use. "I . . . I'm coming too," I tell the girls and fall in line with them. Peeta would kick my ass into next week if he found out I didn't help the Everdeen's if I was able to. Together, the three of us race back to Victor's Village, just in time for me to see my dad carrying Mr. Everdeen into the house.
A/N: ))) Hangs head down in shame ((( I'm sorry for Mr. Everdeen's fate, but it has to happen in order for other things I have planned to happen.
The constellation Katniss and Peeta are seeing, which they call "The Hunter" is in fact a real constellation: Orion's Belt, (and my favorite constellation.) I'm not sure if it can actually be seen in both District's 12 and 4 at the same time of the year, but it's fanfiction, so yeah… I do know that Orion's Belt is part of the winter night sky. If you want to see a picture, check out my Tumblr page, or look on A03 (I have a collage posted of that, and a few other images.)
I hope you guys enjoy the chapter and don't hate me too much for Mr. Everdeen. If you have a minute, please drop me a line.