Sparks
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: It's the Hunger Games, but not. Peeta is jaded, Katniss is open, and everything has changed. Established Everlark and Gadge. AU.
Rating: M for violence, character death, and mild adult themes.
Author: tlyxor1.
Author's Note: The basic premise for this one is that Peeta and Katniss responded differently to their respective circumstances. Also, because I have no patience for love triangles, Gale is actually Katniss' cousin, and yeah, that's about it. Strictly speaking, this is more or less the same intro chapter to every other Hunger Games story you've read, but whatever. Read it anyway ;).
Chapter One
In silence, I watched the sky as it brightens into day, but I can't bring myself to smile. Instead, I hug the familiar leather of my father's jacket close against my chest, make the familiar walk to the district's boundary line, and disappear into the woods beyond. It's risky - especially today - but the woods offer sustenance, and moreover, they offer a brief, fleeting freedom from the reality that awaits me upon my return.
Reaping Day is upon us once again. It marks the start of Panem's annual Hunger Games. Every year, two children between the ages of 12 and 18 are selected from each of the 12 districts, to be pitted against each other in a fight to the death until there is only one person standing - the victor - and eternally immortalised throughout history as one of Panem's strongest. It's allegedly a punishment for the rebellion from generations past, though the only people who buy that are the Capital citizens themselves. To everyone else, it's an annual hell, and I've dreaded it every year since I turned 12.
Today, I think I dread it more than ever. I've always had someone I care about in the reaping, but this year, Primrose, my little sister, is in the draw, and the thought makes me nauseous. She's 12 years old, optimistic and idealistic where I'm pragmatic and cynical, and I don't think I could bear to watch her in the Hunger Games. I'd sooner join them myself, and I dread the thought of ever having to.
With a weary sigh, I retrieve my bow and quiver, and meet Gale at our usual spot. He's my cousin, but we're more allies than anything else, brought together by the same, daily battle. Our fathers had both been lost in the same accident, and ever since, he and I have endeavoured to keep food on our families' tables, clothes on our siblings' backs, and coin in our mothers' pockets. It's a difficult job, but in District 12, most everyone has the same struggle, and I don't complain.
Others, I know, have it far worse. At the very least, I've never had to sell myself, though others aren't so fortunate.
"You're late," Gale says. He offers me a pouch of strawberries, and I accept a handful gratefully. "How's Prim?"
I grimace. When I'd awoken that morning, Primrose had been curled up in our mother's arms, a frown on her face even in sleep. She's petrified, though I don't blame her. I say as much, and Gale nods his agreement. He informs me that his little brother is similarly scared, though we try not to dwell on it. As older siblings, neither of us need to explain the helplessness we feel.
The Reaping, unfortunately, is something we cannot protect them from.
"How many slips have you got?"
I do the maths quickly. A tesserae of grain and oil guarantees extra food for my family, but it comes at a cost. Each tesserae supplement guarantees another slip in the reaping bowl, and the number is cumulative. Combined with the extra slip that is added with every reaping, I've reached 20 slips. It's less than others, though it's more than most, and it isn't comforting in the slightest.
"20," I reply, "How about you?"
"42," Gale answers, tone grim.
I whistle lowly, but as I finish my last strawberry, I offer no comment. He and I both know our deal, and there really is nothing else to say. The odds aren't really in our favour, but Gale and I have an arrangement if it does happen, and there's no use reiterating things we already know. Instead, we get to work, foraging and hunting, and before long, it's late morning, and we're on our way back to District 12.
"The Hob first," I insist. Gale acquiesces, and we make our way to the black market trading hub with our haul on our backs. We've been going for years now, trading our hunt and such for goods and the occasional service (carpentry and what have you), and everyone there knows us by name and face. If they don't, then they know us by reputation as Birch Everdeen and Carter Hawthorne's respective children, and somehow, that makes us untouchable.
I've never found it in myself to ask why.
Greasy Sae stands behind her usual stall. She greets me as she always does, with a bowl of broth and a question about my haul. She doesn't smile, because life's beaten her down, but she's not given up yet, and I admire her for it.
"What's the meat today?"
"Rabbit, of course," Sae answers. She's probably lying, though I don't call her out on it, and I eat without complaint. In the Seam, food's food, and one learns early on to appreciate it, regardless of where its come from.
Afterwards, I trade her a rabbit for a few coins, bid her a good day, and proceed with the rest of my trades. Before long, however, Gale and I are both done at the Hob, and we make our way into town. We'd learned early on that we can get better deals there, and our first stop is at Cray's.
Cray is the head peacekeeper for District 12. Theoretically, his job is to oversee security in the district, to maintain peace by oppression and what have you. District 12 isn't a violent place, however. Mostly, we're all so preoccupied with individual and familial survival, we don't really have the time to think about creating uprisings and riots.
Moreover, we have a population of less than 10 thousand, and we're all uncomfortably aware of the fact that we can, collectively, be wiped off the face of the map with the push of a button. The thought generally inspires pacifist tendencies.
That said, Cray generally spends his time buying teenaged girls, and wild turkey from Gale and I. He's not particularly violent - just a sleaze - but he pays good money, and thus I tolerate him. I pray that I'll never have to sell him other goods, however.
We make another stop at the apothecary. It's run by my mother's brother, and as I trade fresh herbs for some coin, he enquires about my mother, Rosemary. Apparently, he never agreed with his parents' decision to disown her - Mom, that is - but all I know is that he's never visited her, and that doesn't really inspire the warm and fuzzies. Thus, Gale and I don't linger, and instead, we head our separate ways.
Gale is headed to Mayor Undersea's place, to trade strawberries and to visit with the mayor's daughter, Madge. They've been an item for some time, and although I'm friends with them both, I have no real desire to watch them cuddle, and what have you. Instead, I make my way to the only bakery in District 12, approach the back door, and knock briskly.
It's opened by Peeta, and despite myself, I smile. "Hey, you."
"Kit," he greets, a grin of his own on his face. He makes no move to hug me, however. He's covered in flour and traces of dough, and his brothers are watching from the kitchen, playful grins on both their faces. Peeta rolls his eyes at them, and queries, "Here to trade, or here to visit?"
"Here to trade," I reply. "I've got a couple of squirrels."
Peeta nods, excuses himself briefly to collect his father, and a moment later, I can hear his clomping tread up the stairs. His brothers, Bran and Rye, return to their respective tasks, and as they do, I reflect on my relationship with the youngest Mellark.
I've never known my life without Peeta Mellark in it. As children, he'd lived on the fringes of my awareness; a boy in my class, but nothing more. At 12, however, things changed. My father had died, his mother's abuse had worsened, and we'd bonded over our respective problems.
He'd also saved my life.
Years later, he's become my best friend, and my lover, too, though I couldn't say, definitively, when things changed. it's never been talked about - simply understood - without labels, or expectations, and I prefer it that way.
I'm brought from my thoughts by the arrival of Mr Mellark. Peeta looks a lot like him, with the same wide shoulders and warm smile. It's comforting, and I wonder how he could have ever married a harpy like Wednesday Mellark.
He makes the trade without ado, and leaves Peeta to package the bread, and I linger at the door as he does. Rye and Naan, his brothers, are occupied with the baking prep, but Peeta chats with me briefly, and steals a few kisses while he's at it.
"I guess I'll see you at the square," Peeta sighs.
"Naturally," I agree, leave a lingering kiss on his jaw, and tread backwards, "Good luck, bread boy."
"You too, flower girl," he answers. His mother hollers from upstairs, he grimaces, and retreats inside. I race back to the Seam, and I wish I can freeze time itself.
I hate the Hunger Games.