Lovers in a Dangerous Time
by FanficAllergy & RoseFyre
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Chapter Eight: Candle on the Water
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Last Time in Lovers in a Dangerous Time:
A few minutes later, the door to the workroom opens and Bart Ashley skids in.
Peeta straightens, suddenly on edge. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Your wife's in labor," the man pants.
I start to sit up.
"Don't you even think about moving!" Trinket snaps. She turns to Ashley. "Tell Katniss that her husbands will be with her in an hour."
"Like hell we will!" I sit up, the goop cracking and flaking from my chest.
Trinket moans. "Babies have the worst timing!"
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My son looks like an old man. Wrinkled, bald, and cranky as fuck. I'm not exaggerating. My son reminds me of Old Mr. McIntyre, the Seam's longest living denizen and the the only person who remembered life before the Hunger Games. When he wasn't drinking Ripper's liquor, he used to sit out on the porch and scream at the passing kids for walking too loud. Ash is like that.
Where Rain didn't cry, Ash more than makes up for it. Caterwauling something fierce at the tiniest provocation. He'll only eat from the left breast, not the right. And heaven forbid if you don't do what he wants when he wants. He's a right pain in the ass. A pure Hawthorne to his core.
It's a damn good thing we didn't wait that hour Trinket wanted. By the time Peeta and I got to the infirmary, Katniss was already fully dilated and needed to push. We took over from a wild-eyed Haymitch. I'm guessing she was meeting with the old mentor when she went into labor. The man looked like he was about to faint or vomit or both. He practically bolted from the room when he saw us. I can't wait until he has children… assuming Trinket is willing to ruin her figure for kids. Not my problem.
Less than an hour after we got there, our son was born. Ashton Mellark. My son. My biological son. The one Katniss and Peeta were so insistent on.
But staring down at him, I feel the same love and devotion I did holding Rain. Thirteen might be hung up on the genetics, but my heart knows the truth. They're mine. Both of them. And the same will be true of any other children Katniss has. Fuck, she could give birth to President Snow's spawn and I'd probably still love the sprog. Hell, I know I would, no 'if' about it.
Ash wails and shifts in my arms, his little body wriggling like a worm, all wrapped up in his swaddling.
"Is he hungry?" Peeta's voice drifts over from where he's curled up next to a sleeping Katniss.
I juggle him so he's resting on my shoulder. "Considering he ate less than an hour ago, I don't think so. He even burped," I say before my husband can ask.
Peeta makes a face. "Is he wet?"
I check. "Nope."
Ash fusses a little more and I shift him in my arms so that he's now resting his head against my chest, where he can hear my heartbeat. Our son quiets from wails to whimpers, pursing his little bow lips together and sucking at the air.
Finally, I've hit on the right position.
The door to Katniss's room opens, and Peeta's brother and the Mayor's daughter step through. "I heard I had another nephew," Mellark says in a loud tone of voice.
Ash immediately screws up his face and lets out a loud cry.
Swearing internally, I glare at my brother-in-law. "Has no one taught you not to wake a sleeping baby?"
He scoffs. "Considering who my mother is? No."
"Point," I concede with a barely suppressed shudder. I still have no idea how a woman like that managed to spawn someone as perfect as my boy. I fix Mellark with a look. "Okay, so here's a tip. Don't wake a sleeping baby."
Mellark rolls his eyes while Undersee covers her mouth to conceal her giggles.
"Don't wake a sleeping mother either," my wife grumbles from her bed. She pushes herself upright as Peeta rearranges her pillows so she won't fall. "Especially one who's just pushed a human out of her crotch in front of a room of strangers."
"Sorry," Undersee says quickly, stepping in before Mellark can say anything. "We just… wanted to congratulate you, and… and hopefully see the baby."
The girl must be really flustered, and a part of me feels bad for snapping. But another, larger, part of me is focused on trying to calm our son.
While Peeta steps in, playing peacemaker with our visitors, I do a little peacemaking of my own. Under my breath, I start to hum a lullaby, the same lullaby my mother used to sing to all of us kids. I might not be as good of a singer as my wife, but unlike my husband I can actually carry a tune. All of us Hawthornes can.
The music seems to calm Ash, and he stares up at me, blinking, as if he's trying to figure out how to make the same sounds I am. I wonder if he'll be a singer one day. Considering who his ma is, I wouldn't be surprised. I can't wait to find out.
Ash's eyes slip closed, and I turn my attention back to the newcomers. The two of them are watching me with identical expressions of yearning on their faces, and I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't do a little family planning of their own someday soon. Good. The kids could use some cousins their own age, and I'm not about to encourage my brother and sister-in-law to do the providing.
"Do you think I could hold him?" Undersee asks, taking a half-step forward.
"He'll probably start crying." It's not a warning, merely informational. Some people can't stand holding crying babies, and from the brief time I've had with my son, I already know he's going to be a cryer. "He doesn't mean anything by it. Some babies just like to cry."
A little smirk flits across Undersee's lips. "He can't be any worse than his Uncle Rye."
"Hey!" Mellark's voice is indignant. But without any underlying anger or hurt. This has to be their form of flirting.
Smiling, I hand Ash over to Madge. Damn, I like the girl. In another life, I could see myself falling for her. My gaze drifts over to where Katniss and Peeta are curled up together.
But not this one.
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Five days later, Katniss still hasn't left the infirmary. Not because of any complications with her or the baby, but because the docs here are overly cautious.
Ash is a stubborn kid. Stubborn enough that he's decided to hold his breath if he doesn't get his diaper changed fast enough. And it's only this morning that the docs figured out why he was mysteriously passing out after hollering his little his head off. Seriously, I'm going to enjoy sharing all of these tales with all of his friends later. Seems fitting punishment for all of the torture he's put us through and will put us through.
So here we are, waiting for the docs to let us go.
Of course, Ash is screaming. And to give Katniss a little bit of quiet time, I carry our son out of the room, trying to get him to calm down. I've already done the typical things: checked his diaper, made sure he's not hungry, sung to him, placed him in his favorite position. The kid's just annoyed and making sure everyone knows it.
While I'm out in the hallway, I spot my husband's mother. A nurse is wrapping a bandage around her side. "Now, just don't run into any more ovens."
She rolls her eyes. "I work in the kitchens."
The nurse winces. "Try to avoid them?" He finishes with the bandage and helps her lower her shirt over it. "You're good to go," he says, absently patting the same side he just bandaged.
"Thank you," Mrs. Mellark bites out.
Part of me wants to back away before she sees me.
But another part - the part that sounds like my boy - reasons that she's still my husband's mother and my children's grandmother. Peeta wants to get along with her. I can't just kick her out of their lives without giving her a chance. For Peet's sake.
Instead, crying baby and all, I make my way over to her. It's busy here, busier than normal, and the din of the Infirmary covers my approach.
Mrs. Mellark rises to leave, freezing mid-stand when she spots me. A flood of emotions race across her face, but the only one I can identify with any certainty is fear. She's afraid. Of me.
That gives me pause.
Her face settles into a careful mask of condescension and aloofness, but for the first time I know it's a mask. I realize that Peeta's ability to hide his emotions is because of this woman. Not just because of how she treated him, but because she taught him the motions.
And just like my husband's, her mask is a defense mechanism.
"What do you want?" she snaps when I'm close enough.
"This war to be over," I answer without any heat. "But barring that, I wanted to see if you wanted to meet your grandchildren."
She blinks at me as if I've just grown a second head and that head is President Snow. Her mask slips away and an expression that I can only call 'want' settles onto her face.
Without thinking about it too much, I shift Ash in my arms and hold him out to her. "Don't be offended by him crying. He doesn't hate you. He's just always crying."
"Like his father," she murmurs, taking my son into her arms, and for a moment I'm confused. "Peeta used to cry all the time." She shifts Ash so he's laying directly over her heart. "You had to hold him just right."
And just like that, Ash stops his caterwauling. He stares up at Mrs. Mellark with a look on his face that I can't describe. It's full of wonder and hope, and to my surprise, Mrs. Mellark's face mirrors it. "He likes me."
So many insults flit across my brain. So many slights. I want to say that he'd be the only one, but something stays my tongue. Probably the sleep deprivation. Instead I say, "He knows his grandmother."
"What's his name?"
"Ashton Mellark. Ash."
She nods. "It's a good name. It looks like he's got Peeta's eyes, too."
I don't say anything to contradict her. She doesn't need to know that the blue eyes Ash sports come from his maternal grandmother… assuming he keeps them, he's only five days old. They could turn gray.
Let her keep the illusion. If this is the olive branch that leads to peace in the Mellark family, so be it. Just like Rain is my son, Ash is Peeta's. Fuck genetics and Thirteen's obsession with who's the 'real' father. We know the truth. He's ours.
Ash burrows deeper into Mrs. Mellark's chest, letting out a contented sigh.
"He's just like his father," Mrs. Mellark repeats. "Peeta always used to fall asleep like this."
"He likes you. Congratulations, you're the first person he likes."
A soft, almost self-mocking, smile flits across her lips. "How ironic. All I ever wanted was for someone to love me first. No one ever did. Even Peeta preferred Matz to me. And Matz… he never loved me. He always loved her. I knew it. The whole district knew it. Except her." Her lips purse.
I don't know who she's talking about, but something inside me tells me it'd be a bad idea to break her out of her reverie now.
She continues, staring down at Ash, whose eyes flutter closed as he begins to fall asleep. "The odds have never been in my favor. Who would predict that that woman's spawn would present me with the one person who loves me first?" She strokes a finger down Ash's cheek. "But here you are. Fate has a sick sense of humor."
Fuck yes. Fate has a sick sense of humor. This is something we can both agree on. "You're telling me." I reach out to take my son. The moment I do, his eyes pop open and he starts fussing. I try bouncing him even though I know it won't do anything. "We may have to hire you to soothe the baby. I'm sure the nursery techs would appreciate a little help."
"Nursery techs?" She takes her grandson back and he immediately quiets.
I explain how infant care works in District Thirteen, noting the disapproving expression on my mother-in-law's face.
"How… barbaric," she says after I finish my explanation.
"I agree."
"Children belong with their parents."
"I agree." I also know protesting won't change Thirteen, but it's nice to get agreement, even from someone I don't like.
"Why, I have a half a mind to-"
There's a loud commotion from the entrance to the Infirmary. I glance up, wondering what it is, and see a crowd of disheveled people being ushered into the waiting area. They're scruffy, the men with beards as long as what Peeta and I sported before we came to Thirteen. Their hair is tangled and matted, and their clothes are torn and stained. I can only imagine what they smell like. Men, women, children. All of them tanned or burnt, with sun-streaked hair and gaunt faces. Some of them have obvious injuries - burns, cuts, arms in slings. I'm sure there are more, many more, I don't see.
They look like they've gone through hell, and when I hear the words "District Four," I realize that they have.
Also at the words "District Four," I immediately think of Finnick, and I hope someone's notified him. Knowing Thirteen, I'm sure they have. Not because it's the kind thing to do, but because he's the only person who can verify the survivors' identities.
I get my answer a few moments later when the man himself crashes through the entryway, calling out, "Annie! Da! Frederic! Katrina! Charley! Mags!" He repeats the names in varying orders, trying desperately to be heard over the din of crying children and desperate people.
Finally, a young woman calls out, "Finnick? Is that you? Finnick!"
The change that comes over the Victor from Four is almost electric. A tension that I didn't realize was inside him slides away as relief pours through his body. "Annie," his voice catches on the name. "Stars above! Annie!"
Finnick pushes his way through the crowd, as does a pretty auburn-haired woman.
When they find each other, there's no hesitation. She leaps into his arms, wrapping her whole body around him, her mouth seeking his with unerring accuracy. He pulls her close, drinking in the kiss like he hasn't had water for days. There are tears streaming from both of their eyes, and the eyes of several of the onlookers.
At the reminder, I tear my gaze away, trying to give them a moment of privacy at their reunion. Instead I follow the path the woman took to a large knot of about seven or eight people, including men, women, and children, pushing their way toward the enjoined couple.
As I watch, Finnick's joy seems to multiply, and I can't help but smile at the older man's infectious grin - the same grin I've seen several times on the Victor from Four's face. The real grin. Not the Capitol mask. These people are Finnick's loved ones. His family. The woman he loves. The reason he was willing to whore himself in the Capitol and the reason he was willing to fight for change, no matter the sacrifice.
I know how that feels. Being away from Katniss and Rain while we were in Six was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, and Finnick's had it worse. The guy deserves a little bit of happiness.
I want to take Ash back into Katniss's room, not just so that he can get out of this commotion, but so Finnick and his family can have a little bit of privacy, even if it's just me removing myself from the throng.
But something stays my feet.
The woman, Annie. Her hands are clenched against Finnick's chest, her knuckles white. His shirt trembles faintly, telling me in no uncertain terms that she's shaking. Her head's tilted forward, her hair obscuring her face. If I had to guess, there'd be more tears in her eyes, but not the good kind. There's something about her distress which tickles my memory.
And then it hits me. Annie. Annie Cresta. The Victor from the 70th Hunger Games. The one who went insane. The one who volunteered to save Finnick Odair's sister that year. The one who survived by treading water for days on end while all around her the other tributes died. That Annie Cresta. Finnick's Annie.
A worm of dread slithers up my spine.
As if he can sense my disquiet, Ash lets out a loud cry from Mrs. Mellark's arms.
The sound captures Finnick's attention. His head swivels to find the source. His gaze meets mine. A flicker of understanding flashes over his face and he nudges the older man next to him and points.
A few moments later, my mother-in-law and I are surrounded by the District Four refugees.
There's a hasty round of introductions, and I'm not quite sure I can keep all of the names straight. A few are familiar, Katrina for one - for seven years, someone volunteered to save her life. She's one of the few unlucky sods to have her name drawn every single year. Annie Cresta's the only one of those volunteers to make it out of the Games alive. Alive, but not sane.
But most of the people Finnick introduces me to are strangers. Handsome strangers underneath the scraggle, but strangers nonetheless.
When he's done, his gaze lingers on a group of adults and the children surrounding them. He frowns and looks around. Someone's missing. His eyes meet his sister's, but she shakes her head. He closes his eyes for a moment. Mourning.
When he opens them, the mask is back, flirtatious smile and all. He's Finnick Odair, beloved of the Capitol, not just plain old Finnick. I'll have to talk to him about it later.
He pulls me off to the side. "Congrats on the baby." His eyes flick to my mother-in-law and the mask drops a bit. When he turns back to me, his eyes are pleading. "Please tell me Katniss is still here and has a room."
"She does, but why?"
"Can-" he glances over to Annie. Her hands are clenched tight, so tightly that I can see little beads of red peeking out from her palms. "Can my family wait in your room?"
"You mean Annie."
Finnick just nods, his eyes worried. "She doesn't do well in crowds. None of us do."
He doesn't have to explain what he means; I've seen it myself with Haymitch. There's a certain tenseness and expectation of attack from each of the Victors when they're in a large group of people. The number of times I've seen Haymitch clench his fists and pull in his elbows tight to his body so as not to strike out at someone who accidentally brushes into him or approaches him from behind is approaching probably triple digits. And I haven't known Haymitch that long.
Finnick does the same thing, he's just better at hiding it. Of course, as the Capitol's darling, he's had a lot more practice.
Making a snap decision and hoping I don't regret it later, I nod. "Yeah. You can wait in Katniss's room. Just don't wake the baby."
Finnick gives me a look.
"He's a crier." I glance over at my mother-in-law where she's chatting amiably with Finnick's father. "Seems like the only place he's willing to sleep is against Peeta's ma's chest."
He winces. "That's awkward." He knows about our ongoing struggle with her. Hell, he's seen it. Everyone has.
"Tell me about it."
I lead them to the room and do my best to communicate with my spouses what's happened without saying anything out loud.
As usual, Peeta gets it. Katniss, on the other hand…
"Why has my room suddenly turned into a party?"
"It's a long story, and I'll let Finnick tell it to you." I know it's a cop-out, but damn it, he got me into this mess, he can use that glib tongue of his to get me out.
So Finnick launches into what he's figured out has happened, with his siblings jumping in with the details when he isn't sure. Turns out that his family saw the writing on the wall and hopped on one of Four's fishing trawlers, along with several other high value targets - Annie's family, Mags's family, anyone even associated with Four's Victors, and even a few Victors themselves.
They knew Four wasn't safe anymore, and as it turned out they were right.
That didn't mean that the voyage was easy. For all of Four's fishermen's skills, there isn't a lot to eat in the open ocean and even less to drink. They had to steer away from the coastline for fear of being spotted. Their supplies ran out, and their desalinator frequently broke down. And when their engine ran out of fuel, they jury-rigged a set of makeshift sails and kept going.
One night, those over the age of sixty collectively came to a decision. The following morning, the boat was lighter by ten people, including Mags, Finnick and Annie's mentor.
Mr. Odair speaks up. "If we hadn't been rescued when we were, those of us over forty five were going to sacrifice ourselves next." He glances at his children and grandchildren. "It's the kids that matter. The Quell taught us that."
Finnick's face goes hard. "The Quell taught us a lot of things." He doesn't expand on what he said, just tightens his arms around Annie as if she's his lifeline and he's hers.
"So now what?" Katniss asks after the explanation is over.
"We keep doing what we're doing," Finnick answers. "Fighting back any way we can."
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AN:
Written: 7/13/18
Revised: 7/17/18
The title of this chapter comes from a song from the 1970s "Pete's Dragon" and is sung by Helen Reddy. It was the breakaway pop hit of the film and is one of the few non-cringeworthy parts of the movie. The rest of the movie? Well… if you're under 10 it's tolerable… but even FanficAllergy wasn't that fond of it growing up. (RoseFyre hasn't seen it… which is unsurprising if you know her.) The song is about being a lighthouse and a beacon for someone who is lost at sea or lost on the road of life. Which really fits several people in this chapter… just not our trio.
Annie is okay! Or, well, as okay as Annie ever is. So we've answered the question in Smooth Criminal. Which if you know the song, you know that the song's Annie wasn't actually okay. But in our story she is. Thank you dice for not destroying Finnick. Unfortunately, Mags didn't make it. Sorry Mags, we figured she'd sacrificed herself since she did in canon, and frankly there were too many mouths to feed and too few supplies.
Can you guess what Finnick's siblings are named after? Yes, there is a theme.
Ash's behaviour is based on FanficAllergy. Or at least in part. The whole holding their breath thing until they passed out because they were angry about something? Yeah. FanficAllergy did that. She wasn't as cranky as Ash, though. Or at least her parents haven't divulged that fact yet and knowing them, the would.
Things we randomized:
- Ash's gender/coloring/weight
- Who survived Four's destruction and who survived to get to District Thirteen
- Finnick's Family composition and makeup. Did you know that in this universe he has a twin? He does!
You can get more information about our original writing here:
Website: RoseLarkPublishing
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