Lovers in a Dangerous Time
by FanficAllergy & RoseFyre
oOo
Chapter One: Don't Stop Believin'
oOo
Last Time in We Didn't Start The Fire:
No one cheers. But one by one, led by the contingent from District Twelve, the troops hold up their hands in the old three-fingered salute.
The time for preparation is over.
The time for battle has begun.
oOo
The acrid smell of gunpowder assaults my nostrils. All around me is the sound of gunfire. From off in the distance I hear the deeper booms of the heavy artillery pounding away at the Peacekeeper defenses. The air is filled with a perpetual haze of eye-stinging fog. I can taste the acrid mix of sulfur, sweat, and shit with every breath I take. It's stomach churning combination.
The element of surprise is gone. Now it's a battle slogging from street to street amidst the factories and warehouses of District Six.
And here I am, stuck smack dab in the middle of it.
My eyes alight on a child's toy. A little blue train flecked with red. Its paint is scorched and peeled. I lean down to examine it closer.
A heavy weight slams into my back, driving me to the ground.
I spit dirt, jabbing my elbow back and scrabbling for the knife at my belt. I'm not going to let my attacker take me without a fight!
"Damn it, Hawthorne!" a familiar voice hisses into my ear. "Calm your tits!"
"Ashley?" I say, my brain placing the familiar sound of my bodyguard's voice. He'd been assigned to guard Peet's and my backs, much to my annoyance. "Any particular reason you had me eatin' dirt?"
"There's a sniper's nest 'bout two blocks over." My stomach clenches at the words. "Caught a flash of the scope outta the corner of my eye. Figured you'd like to get home to that wife of yours."
A rush of emotion threatens to overwhelm me. Due to my inattention, I'd almost bought it. "Thanks," I say before I realize it's only me and Ashley on the ground. Fear for my husband races through me. "Peeta! Damn it, Peet, where the fuck are you?"
"I'm hiding in the doorway to your left," my boy hollers back. "If you turned your head, you'd see me, rather than bellowing everything to the enemy and who knows what."
I flush at my husband's tone. I should've known better, but, fuck, the guy makes me lose all sense. He's worse than Katniss. He's got no sense of self-preservation and a noble streak longer than my dick. If we're not careful, one of these days he's gonna do something stupidly chivalrous and self-sacrificing, maybe throw himself on a grenade to protect the rest of the group, or worse, take a bullet for me. I don't think I could live with that.
I admit it, I don't do well when people I love are in danger. Never have. And falling in love with both Peeta and Katniss, neither of whom seem to have a bone of self-preservation in 'em, I swear is going to make me go prematurely gray. I make a mental note when I get back to Thirteen to check and see if I haven't gotten a few white hairs already.
But we gotta get out of this pickle first. I scuttle forward on my stomach until I find a bit of cover. "Right. So. We've got a sniper," I say to my bodyguard. "Any chance we could, uh, get one of the big guns to take the bolthole out?"
Bart Ashley checks his radio. "Possibly. Problem is, we got no way to call for reinforcements. 'Sides, you're not even supposed to be on the front lines. You know the General'll have my ass if he finds out I let you come within a hair's breadth of getting ventilated."
"Sorry, Bart!" Peeta calls from his position. "You can blame the whole thing on me. I just couldn't let anything happen to the kid, you know?"
I scan the area until I locate Peeta. Cradled in his arms is a scrawny child no older than four. There's nothing indicating gender and the face and hair are so covered with grime and soot I can't tell much else either.
"So anybody got any ideas how we're supposed to get outta here?" I ask.
My husband lets out a bark of laughter. "I got us into this mess, you're supposed to get us out."
"Damn it, Peet, that's not how it works!"
"Well, we can always try to make a run for it," Peeta suggests.
To my left, our bodyguard snorts. "That's a great way to get yourself shot in the back. So no."
I glance around, taking in our surroundings. "Is that door open, Peet?"
I see my husband try the handle. "Nope. But gimme a bit." He fiddles at his waist, pulling out his handgun.
"Oh for fuck's sakes! Don't do that!" Ashley exclaims. "How in the hell do you... just kick the door, moron! What have you been doing, watching too many Capitol movies?"
I can't stop the smile that spreads across my lips. "That's Peet for you."
"Hey! It helped us out back in the cave!" Peeta argues, referring to the various traps he helped assemble.
Ashley's had enough. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we're not back at your cave! We're in the middle of a fucking warzone!"
"Sorry." Peeta's flushed. I don't know if it's from the stress or Ashley's rebuke.
I lean over to the man and mutter, "Are you feelin' okay, man? You're normally a lot quieter than this."
"That's because right now I'm saddled with a couple morons who happen to have giant flashing targets painted on their backs who seem to have forgotten all of their training and lost all of their sense, and my wife's pregnant! With twins! I'm allowed to be a little high strung!" the man explodes.
"You have a wife?" Peeta asks.
"She's pregnant?" I add.
"With twins?"
"I didn't know you were married!"
Ashley glares at us both. "Yes. I am married. To a wonderful woman who doesn't take any shit. And we're about to start a family. And if you don't mind, I'd like to be alive to enjoy it!"
"Right. Sorry," Peeta apologizes again. He shifts the child in his arms. "Um, Gale, you think you can come over here and kick the door in? I'm not sure I'd be able to do it with juggling this kid and dodging bullets at the same time."
"No," Ashley stops me as I start to get up. "You stay there. I'll kick the door down."
And he does, splintering the door frame with the force of his blow.
We dart inside and take a moment to take stock of the situation.
"So," Peeta asks, "do either of you have any idea where we are or where we're supposed to be going?" He sets the child down and hunkers down beside them, offering the kid a strip of jerky.
"Yes," I say, squatting down with my back to one of the interior walls. I pull out a map and take a moment to orient myself. "We're about five blocks over from where we lost Bristel," I say, pointing at a small street crossing. "And we need to get here." I point at the gates. The loss of the pretty Seam girl hit us all hard. But we don't have time to mourn.
"How far is that?"
"About five blocks."
"Wait, that doesn't make any sense?" Peeta says.
"We went the wrong way." I shoot my husband a wry look. "Or, correction. You went the wrong way and we followed."
"That's what you get for making me take point. But hey." He motions to the child next to him. "I saved the kid. That's gotta count for something."
"It does," Bart interjects with a sigh, "but only if you manage to get the kid out of the war zone and to safety. Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades."
"Good to know."
Now that we're out of the line of fire, the three of us develop a plan to get us and the child to safety. Early on the first day, we'd set up a refugee camp outside of the war zone so Six's civilians would be out of the line of fire. It's near the medical camps where my mother-in-law is based.
That was an unhappy surprise, finding out that Mrs. Everdeen had been dispatched to Six as well. I know she's trained to be a combat medic, but we assumed she wouldn't see any action until after our second child is born. But war has a way of messing with everyone's plans.
Especially ours.
After setting off a distraction charge, we make our way towards the relative safety of the refugee camp, with me in front, Peeta in the middle, carrying the child, and Ashley covering our rear. It's slow going, and for extra safety precautions we stay low, darting from tenuous cover to tenuous cover.
All around us is the cacophony of war. Grenades exploding, guns firing, people screaming, men and women dying.
It's hell. Worse than any nightmare. And there's no way for me to wake up.
oOo
"Thanks for stoppin' by," a young man slurs. His dark skin is made even darker by the third degree burns covering his body. I can't tell if he's one of the lucky ones or not. The Capitol firebombed the refugee camp, annihilated so many innocent civilians. Those who weren't burned to a crisp are covered in burns. Blistering oozing burns.
I don't know if the Capitol meant to attack the civilians' camp or the hospital. They were right next to each other. But it doesn't matter. Their disregard for human life has been pounded in.
Peeta's off someplace, letting Cressida film him giving a stirring speech.
Me, I just wanted a few moments to see what the Capitol'd done without the pressure of doing it on camera. I'm angry. A low simmering rage I'm well-acquainted with. It's how I felt back in Twelve when I used to release my anger in shouted rants in the middle of the woods. Back then, I couldn't do anything other than scream. Here, at least, I can be useful. Do something to stick it to the Capitol.
The man I've been talking to flits off into a morphling induced sleep, and I move on to the next person, a little girl with bandages wrapped around her head. She's out cold, so other than looking down at her sadly, there isn't much I can do. I curse President Snow and everyone else responsible for this atrocity.
It was Mrs. Everdeen's idea to have Peeta and me tour the recovery tent. She figured it would boost morale in her patients to see the Mockingjays walking amongst them. I'm not sure how much good we're doing, but if she says it'll help, I'll do it. It's better than becoming consumed with rage and revenge. I've been there before. It led to me making some decisions I'm not proud of and I refuse to be the same man I was when I left Twelve, ready to kill an innocent man because he stood between me and my goal. I still have nightmares about making a different choice. It's on nights like those that I hold Peeta tighter in my arms. I came so close to losing him. I'm not going to let my anger cost me something so dear again.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I move on to the next bed and jolt in surprise. Peeta's brother, Rye, is sleeping there.
"What are you doing here, Mellark?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.
The man opens his eyes and gives me a flat look. "What does it look like I'm doing, Hawthorne?"
"I meant, what happened?"
"Got hit in the leg with a tracer round taking Six's hovercraft yards."
I glance down at his covered legs and notice that the blankets are uneven. I lift my head to see Rye studying me. "I'm sorry," I blurt out.
"That seems to be what everyone says when they find out." His voice is dry. "Doesn't make it better."
I struggle to keep myself from apologizing again. That's the last thing he needs. If it were me, I'd get pissed if people kept saying 'sorry' to me all the time.
Peet should be here. Should see his brother. I need to find him. "I'll be right back."
Rye snorts. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."
I want to snark back. The guy's trying to push my buttons and he's almost succeeding. But Peeta weaned me off that a long time ago. It'll take more than Rye being a smartass for me to rise to his bait. Instead, I hurry off to find my husband and prepare myself for the worst.
Peeta's going to blame himself. Hell, I blame myself. But Peet's gonna take it so much worse. He's like Katniss. He thinks everything's his responsibility, and this is going to eat at him. Hell, it eats at me.
Halfway across the tent, I manage to find him talking to some people who look vaguely familiar. There's a toddler in the bed and a couple kids scattered around. A heavily pregnant young woman is sitting next to the bed, holding the toddler's hand. Cressida is filming them.
I slip in, leaning down to whisper in Peeta's ear. "I need you to come with me."
My husband looks at me, his brow furrowed.
I shake my head, glancing at everybody watching us. This isn't the right place.
Peeta understands. He turns back to the group. "If you'll excuse me." He nods at the woman. "I'm sure Henry would've been happy to know his family made it."
Henry. The name triggers a memory. The tribute from District Six. Now I recognize them. This must be what's left of the man's family. I'm glad they made it. They deserved to make it.
We hurry down the aisle, moving quickly towards somewhere I can break the news to Peeta. I'm about to tell him when I register the sound of footsteps behind us. That damned camera crew! I turn back, struggling to keep my annoyance off of my face, and meet Cressida's eyes. "If you don't mind, maybe you can go film someplace else." Damn, forgot to watch my tone. Oh well.
The woman frowns.
"Please," I say before she has a chance to ask any questions. My eyes flick to my husband and then back to the director. Peeta deserves to do this off camera. Grief should be private, and we've already had so much of our personal lives paraded about and flaunted on the cameras for all of Panem. It's starting to feel like our lives aren't our own anymore.
Cressida catches on. She nods at me and heads down the aisle away from us.
Peeta turns to me. "Alright, now I'm worried."
I pull him off to one side and lower my voice. "I found Rye."
All the color drains from my husband's face.
"Shit, no! He's alive. It's just… he's hurt." I keep swearing internally at my mistake. I wanted to tell Peeta in the right way and now I've cocked it all up.
Peeta swallows. "How hurt?"
"Well, he's still an annoying ass, if that makes you feel any better."
"How hurt, Gale?" he presses.
I can't put it off any longer. I pull him into my arms and murmur, "He's lost a leg."
"But he's not dead." My boy takes several deep steadying breaths.
"Not as of five minutes ago." I tighten my arms around him.
"Fine," Peeta says, pulling back. "I can deal with not dead. I don't have that much family left, I don't want to lose any of it." His eyes meet mine.
I rest my head on his forehead. I know exactly how he feels.
After our moment, we move on. But Peeta's words remind me I haven't seen Rory yet.
My brother's probably finding pretty shiny things to bring back to Prim or running errands for someone or other. The kid's smart, he knows to keep himself out of trouble.
At least I hope he does.
We reach Rye's bedside and I note my brother-in-law's attitude hasn't improved any. "Where've you been?" he snaps.
"Which one of us are you asking?" I ask.
"Both of you. What were you doin', Peet? Kissing babies and telling mothers everything'll be alright once they join up with the revolution?" The words are bitter.
"Kind of," Peeta answers, his tone carefully neutral. "You know I'm supposed to be encouraging people to rebel against the Capitol."
"And look what it gets 'em," Rye snaps, gesturing angrily at his missing leg. "If they're not broken, then they're killed."
"I didn't- you didn't have- I didn't want- you didn't need to join-" My normally eloquent spouse has been reduced to stuttering like the teenage boy he is.
"You can't lay this all on Peet," I say, laying a hand on my husband's shoulder. "It is not his fault."
"No. You're right. It isn't." Rye glares at me. "It's yours."
"I'm the one who shot off your leg? Pretty sure I'm not that bad of a shot." I'm not going to be his scapegoat.
"That's not what I meant."
I know that's not what he meant. He blames me for kidnapping Peeta in the first place. For being the one Thirteen wanted. All of that's true. But I'm not the one who put Rye in that bed. He needs to remember who the real enemy is and it sure as shit ain't me. "Look, you can be an asshole to me all you want. I don't care," I tell him, meeting his eyes and staring him down. "But I'm not the one who got you into this and you damn well better take responsibility for your own fucking choices. You want someone to get pissed off at? 'Cause I hear President Snow's lobbyin' hard for that honor." I think about the bombed refugee camp. "Or, if you're looking for someone a little closer to home, you might want to take a good close look in the mirror. Because if I recall, you volunteered, even signed up for special advanced training. I don't know about you, but my instructors didn't sugarcoat that many of us were gonna get wounded or die in this war. And I'm damned sure yours didn't either."
Rye drops his eyes.
"Gale…" Peeta says, his eyes flicking nervously over to his brother.
I shake my head. Rye's looking for someone to blame. I get that. But I'm not about to let my husband lose what little family he has left. I can take Rye's anger. Peeta can't. And if it means my brother-in-law hates me? So be it. It's not like I'm terribly fond of Peeta's family anyways. At least we don't have to worry about his damned mother. I'm not sure I could handle that bitch.
Peeta seems to understand what I'm trying to do because he reaches up and clasps my hand. I squeeze his fingers.
"So… I hope you won't be too mad at me if I say I'm glad you're not dead," Peeta says awkwardly.
"Yeah, well, I kinda wish I was," Rye mutters, still refusing to meet Peeta's gaze.
"Why?" Peeta blurts out. "What about Madge? What about me? You think we'd be better off if you were dead?"
"Yes!"
"Well you're wrong!" my husband snaps back. "I don't care if you've got one leg or three! So long as my brother's alive, I'm happy! Do you think Madge is gonna care?"
"What do you think?" Rye snarls, lifting his head to glare at the both of us.
"I think she'll say that you can have limping contests." Peeta counters. He takes a steadying breath to calm himself down. "Do you care that most of her calf is gone?"
"Of course I don't!"
"So what makes you think she's gonna care about your leg?"
Rye flushes. "It's just… different."
This is going nowhere. "Do you really think Thirteen's not gonna give you a prosthetic? You're the Mockingjay's brother. You'll probably get a leg that could kick President Snow's ass on its own. All you'll need to do is just stand there and let it get to work." I'm trying to lighten the mood.
It seems to work. A trace of a smile crosses Peeta's lips and Rye's eyes flicker briefly in amusement.
"The doc did say something about getting a replacement," he concedes.
"See? Thirteen might be hardasses, but they're not gonna leave you hanging."
"Gale! Peeta! Where are you?" Rory's voice yells over the surrounding din.
I roll my eyes. "Are all little brothers annoying idiots?" I ask, sharing a glance with Rye.
My brother-in-law grins. "Yup."
"Hey!"
"What? It's true. Just 'cause you're not as bad as some doesn't mean you're not an annoying jerk." I squeeze Peeta's hand to let him know I don't mean it. That I love him even if he is an idiot sometimes.
"Dammit Gale, where are you?" Speaking of annoying idiots.
I sigh and turn around, spotting my brother near the entrance to the recovery tent. I struggle not to flush in embarrassment. Every eye in the place is on me.
Dammit, Rory!
Resigned, I raise my hand and wave it over my head.
My brother scampers over, looking for all the world like an overgrown puppy. "There you are! Found you!"
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Yes. And thank you so much for shouting my name so loud that even Katniss heard you back in Thirteen."
Rory winces. "Sorry. Mrs. Everdeen said you were here."
"And you didn't think that in a hospital it might be a good idea to keep your voice down?"
"Um, no?"
I shake my head. "You're lucky Mrs. Everdeen didn't tan your hide for disturbing her patients."
"So what were you bellowing about anyways?" Rye interrupts.
"It's not any of your business," Rory says huffily.
"Yes, thank you, Rory, for making an already tense family situation even tenser," Peeta says, rolling his eyes. Damn him! If anyone deserves to roll their eyes at Rory, it's me. "All we need now is to break out in spontaneous dance and we might have West Side Story on our hands."
"Is that another one of your movies?" I ask.
"Of course it was," Rye says. "Finnick Odair was in it. You think he'd miss seeing any movie that featured Finnick Odair? I swear my little brother had quite the crush on him."
I clench my jaw, feeling the black tentacles of jealousy clutching at me. I really don't like Finnick Odair. Every time I hear his name, my dislike of him grows. I want to smash my fist into his perfectly even teeth. There's something about the man that just rubs me the wrong way. And I admit it, I used to think Peeta's little obsession was funny, but that was before the amazingly perfect Finnick Odair arrived in person.
Tamping down on my emotions, I turn back to my brother. "Just spit it out, Rory."
"Fine. The General wants to see you. Both of you. And you're not invited," he snipes at Rye.
"Not like I was planning on going," Rye sneers.
And that's my cue to get the hell out of here. "Come on," I say, heading towards the exit. I realize Peeta's hand is still clasped in mine and I let it go suddenly. "Sorry."
"About what?" He gives me a confused look. "I didn't mind. I like holding your hand."
"Yeah, but it's just awkward in here."
Peeta doesn't say anything, but I can see the hurt welling up in his eyes.
Dammit. That's not what I meant. But if I say anything now, I'll make it even worse. Instead we keep walking, the silence between us growing.
Fuck.
This isn't what I wanted at all.
General Glenn's command tent is maybe fifty feet away when I pause to make sure Rory's still with us. My little brother's been known to be distracted by shiny objects, much like a crow.
To my complete and utter lack of surprise, Rory's crouched down, poking at something partially buried in the dirt.
Before I can even open my mouth to say anything, a deafening explosion whips through the air. Something heavy slams into my back and my mouth fills with dirt. I scramble to get up, spitting mud. Whatever's laying on top of me is heavy and I feel warm wetness seeping through my clothes. I'm pretty sure I know what it is.
I shift slightly, struggling to get whatever's on top of me off. I wince in pain as I move, but I don't think anything's broken. The weight slides off of me with a familiar grunt.
My eyes widen and I realize just what, or rather who, it is.
"Peeta!"
oOo
AN:
Written: 3/7/16
Revised: 3/14/16
Revised 2: 4/6/16
The title of this chapter comes from the song by Journey. This song is iconic and very much associated with Michigan… South Detroit anyone? (Which amusingly isn't really an actual neighborhood or town… but we'll let that go.)
The title of this arc - Lovers in a Dangerous Time - comes from the song by Barenaked Ladies. Both the title and the lyrics worked perfectly for our characters and their experiences in the upcoming revolution.
Welcome to Gale. Gale is very different from both Katniss and Peeta in how he thinks and he's about as far from Snow and Cinna as you can get. So yeah. Getting into his head is going to be fun. He's a dude. And well, we're both kind of penis-challenged. He's also still got some prejudices and a chip on his shoulder.
The big thing to remember is that he isn't as angry as canon-Gale, and thanks to Peeta mostly he's starting to see the world in shades of gray. He's more like the Gale in the very first chapter of the Hunger Games, the one who Katniss describes in canon as: "Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected. On other days, deep in the woods, I've listened to him rant about how the tesserae are just another tool to cause misery in our district. A way to plant hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another. "It's to the Capitol's advantage to have us divided among ourselves.""
This Gale hasn't been ruined by the war, by seeing his best friend and crush Reaped and forced to participate in a death match. He's still angry, but now he knows who to direct his anger at.
...Most of the time.
Things We Randomized:
- Who, if anyone, died (Bristel)
- If Henry's wife was pregnant and how many children he had - and if they all survived
- Rye's injury
- Bart Ashley's family information (married, whom to, any kids, how many)
Thanks for reading! Let us know what you think!