Hey there, everyone! Happy autumn! I love fall. Pretty colors of the leaves, wonderful crisp air, yummy apple cider. It's a great time of year.
And speaking of fall, this little one shot is kinda inspired by it! That and the SoI - "I Will Wait" by Mumford & Sons (which y'all should listen to to get the feel of this piece). The whole "Babel" album is just great fall music. Truth be told, I had a different one all planned out and halfway written when the idea struck me for this one and I just had to put it down. I would've had it up sooner, but I recently broke my wrist and as anyone can tell you, it's really hard to type long paragraphs with only one hand...
Things to know about this piece: it's an AU. Set in kinda a WWI British era. Least that's the vibe I got. Katniss's family works for Peeta's family, which is how they met and fell in love, obviously. I tried to keep everyone the same in temperment so let me know how I did ok?
Well I came home
Like a stone
And I fell heavy into your arms
These days of dust
Which we've known
Will blow away with this new sun
But I'll kneel down wait for now
And I'll kneel down
Know my ground
And I will wait I will wait for you
And I will wait I will wait for you
So break my step
And relent
Well you forgave and I won't forget
Know what we've seen
And him with less
Now in some way shake the excess
'Cause I will wait I will wait for you
And I will wait I will wait for you
And I will wait I will wait for you
And I will wait I will wait for you
Now I'll be bold
As well as strong
And use my head alongside my heart
So tame my flesh
And fix my eyes
A tethered mind freed from the lies
And I'll kneel down
Wait for now
I'll kneel down
Know my ground
Raise my hands
Paint my spirit gold
And bow my head
Keep my heart slow
'Cause I will wait I will wait for you
And I will wait I will wait for you
And I will wait I will wait for you
And I will wait I will wait for you
Don't forget to add to your Favorites/Alerts! And I'll make a deal with you guys: Ten reviews, and I'll get the next one up before this time next month. Twenty, and I'll do it within two weeks. Thirty? It'll be up by this time next week. Sound good? Hope you enjoy! :]
I Will Wait
She runs up the gravel road as fast as her feet will take her. She's late. She knows she is. She heard the old grandfather clock chime in the parlor while she sorted through the old books. Prim had laughed at her as she tore out the door, teasing her good-naturedly. Mrs. Mellark had hollered after her, threatening to work her all night, but she didn't care. She'd worry about the mountain of chores later. All she knows is she's late.
The postman is still there as she reaches the top of the hill. About to drive off, but still there. She runs harder, determined to catch him. She screams at him to wait. He looks up at her call. She can see his amused smirk, his tired eyes lighting up just a little. There's not much joy in his life, so he takes all he can get. Even if it is a little cruel. But he waits, letting his engine run as she skids to a stop.
She gasps for breath, hands on her knees. She looks at him, wiping her dark hair from her face. Her eyes plead with him, bright with excitement, but scared all the same. Please, they say to him. Please let today be the day.
"Something wrong, Sweetheart?" He asks, his smirk growing a bit. She scowls, still panting in her exhaustion, but now managing to stand upright. Her cheeks are flushed a bright pink, both from her run and from the crisp autumn air. She tries to compose herself by brushing her hands on her trousers. The action does nothing for her appearance, but she feels a tad bit calmer.
"Is there…" her voice trails off. She's afraid of being disappointed again. Afraid of being stupid enough to hope. Afraid of returning back to the house with nothing to show for her foolish act of sprinting for the post. But she takes a deep breath and steadies her gaze.
"Is there anything for an Everdeen?" She asks again.
He looks at her coolly, his grey eyes glinting in the afternoon sun. She feels self-conscious under his gaze, but doesn't flinch. It's a game they play, him trying to make her uncomfortable and her resisting as long as possible. He always ends the game with a slow shake of his head, like he knows how her heart breaks every time she walks back empty handed. Like he pities her for waiting for something that may never come. And she hates him for it. But she waits for him every day at the end of the drive all the same.
But today is different. His smirk softens into an almost smile. He shakes his head, but it's with laughter. The postman reaches into his bag and draws out a single envelope.
"Depends." He drawls, holding up the letter for her to see. "Are you K. Everdeen?"
Her throat is dry and her tongue is lead. She stares at the piece of mail in his hand in disbelief. Because as much as she had dared to hope, as much as she had prayed, a small part of her had never believed it would truly happen. That she would actually get a letter. Her hand reaches out to him, slow and trembling, like a child expecting to be tricked at any moment. He holds out the letter for her to take, his smile genuine now.
"Thank you." She says, her voice coming out as a breathy gasp. The postman simply nods in understanding. He remembers what it feels like to be left waiting.
She watches the truck putter down the road, off to deliver more mail. She knows she's one of the lucky ones today. Receiving news from the front, whether good or otherwise, is better than nothing. Anything is better than being left waiting.
She glances down at the envelope in her hand, at the careful handwriting that spells her name and address. It's his. It is unmistakably his. How many times has she watched his hand make those letters? How many times has he shown her how he can make her name his with just a scratch of his pen? She smiles at the memory and at the comfort just his handwriting brings her. And then her fingers begin to itch to open the letter. To tear open the envelope and devour the words that he wrote to her. So she tucks it into the breast pocket of her coat and begins to run.
Run through the woods to the spot where they agreed. Where she and Johanna and Madge had pledged to go every day after the post came, with or without news. They had been each other's support through the weeks, banishing evil thoughts and giving comfort when newspapers had brought news of despair. They shared their pain so it was only fair they share their joy as well, if they ever found reason to be happy.
Madge was the one who was most often happy. Her Tom had been deployed early and reported simply to the backlines. He wrote often with tales of camp and military life and, of course, words of love. At Madge's request he promised to keep a watch for their loved ones once they had been drafted. After weeks of no word, he had pointed out the front was a big place, but that he had no doubt they were alive. After all, he said, they had all survived growing up with Johanna; compared to that, war was a piece of cake. She and Madge had had a good laugh while Johanna had fumed and muttered about killing Tom herself when he came back.
But Johanna didn't need to have worried, apparently. Gale's letter arrived shortly after Tom's joke. The smile on Johanna's face could have lit up half the village when the postman handed her the letter. Never mind that the letter was short – he was supposed to be on duty, but he had promised her a letter – it was word. It was word that Gale was alive and healthy and of sound mind. And that was all Johanna needed to be the happiest girl in the village of Twelve.
So it had just been her, left to share her friends' joy at their letters. Left to help them craft words of love, disguised as news of home and boring stories of farm and housework, back to their brave men. Left to be comforted because she had yet to hear from her own beloved. Left to wait every day for the postman, only to trudge empty handed to the spot where the three of them met.
But today is different. Today, she has a letter. Today, she finally gets to read her own words of love and devotion, her own stories of the war front, her own window to his personal world without her. Today, she's not left waiting. And that thought spurs her to run faster through the fallen leaves of the woods.
She finally breaks through the brush. They're already there waiting for her. Madge is calm, her hands folded in her lap. Johanna restlessly paces, kicking at a pile of leaves around her. She looks up as she crashes through the woods towards them. She knows she's about to get a scolding for being late. She simply smiles and holds up her letter, effectively dismissing everything Johanna was about to say. Madge excitedly pulls her down to sit on the rock next to her, while Johanna bounces like an excited puppy.
"Come on, Catnip!" Johanna chides, playfully using Gale's nickname for her. She picked it up after he was drafted, determined to still feel like he was there. Madge slaps at their friend's arm, telling her to hush and let her take her time.
She simply stares out at the landscape listening to her friends bicker. Her heart flutters in her chest and something like nervousness takes hold of her. What if it's bad news? What if he's writing to tell her he's being sent off on a dangerous mission, with the odds not in his favor? What if he met someone else while marching through the foreign country? Someone who doesn't growl at him in the mornings and actually listens to what she's told? Her fingers tighten around the paper, crumpling it like the dead leaves around her. Breathe, she commands herself firmly. Just breathe. And before she can scare herself out of it anymore, she opens the envelope and fumbles with the letter inside.
Katniss,
Her eyes devour the word like a drowning man eats hungrily at the sweet air. The comfort his handwriting had brought her was nothing compared to the relief she experiences at reading that single word. Her name, wrapped up in his voice, soars through her mind like one of the planes he was flying.
It seems like only a few days ago I was saying goodbye. I know in truth it has been much, much longer than a few simple days. And for that I am sorry. I'm sorry it's taken me this long to find the words the time to write to you. Believe me, it was not on purpose. My time on the war front has been a busy one, to say the least. I will try and recall it the best I can.
After the train pulled my hand from yours and after I had hung out the window until I could no longer see the mountains of home, Gale and I had gone about the task of settling in. The car we were assigned to had been filled at Thirteen City. We were determined not to look too much like country boys, but even with the social graces our families' positions had provided us, we stuck out like a mockingjay in a flock of sparrows. The boys from Thirteen are a loud bunch but they trust me now, and I them. It's hard to believe we've only been together for four months.
Gale and I were separated at camp, but I trust you've already heard that from him. No doubt Johanna has received many a letter from her loyal man. He was busy scratching away at his first letter while we were on the train. Again, Katniss, I'm sorry I made you wait so long. Per my father's request, I was sorted into a band of boys who desperately wanted to fly. You know I'm perfectly content with keeping my boots firmly on the ground, preferably with my feet still in them, but I didn't tell anyone this. We went through a month of grueling physical training before even seeing anything that even looked like it could fly. In those first four weeks alone, half of our group was dismissed or left. As desperately as I want to return home to you, I know it can't be on the terms of a failure, so I stuck it out and worked for my wings.
Our group of pilots that began at a whole fifty men is now only fifteen. I've gained the rank of Captain and I'm consistently called into action. I hate getting into that cockpit, Katniss. I'm filled with fear every time my name is listed for a mission. They told us during training to forget our fear – it'd only get us killed – but I hold tight to mine. I'm not afraid of dying like some of my brothers, nor am I afraid of heights or flying or of facing our enemy. I'm afraid of never seeing your smile again. I'm afraid of never hearing your laugh again. Of never having you tease me, or scowl at me in the morning, or seeing you work in the house beside your sister. And so my fear drives me to complete my mission, to land my plane safely, to protect my men, because I know if I don't I will be held here longer than my sentence orders. If I let go of my fear, I may never see you again. And I am not willing to let that happen anytime in my life.
I very rarely have time to myself anymore. No more sneaking off to sit by the pond with you. Everything in the military is strictly business. Even sleeping is regulated to a precise amount. The fact that I'm writing this letter makes some of my men uneasy. A solider with free time is never a good thing. Perhaps after I receive your letter I'll make myself sick, so I'll have lots of time to write you letters. Wouldn't you like that? I could write you every day if I was on sick leave. Just say the word, Katniss, and I'll let a plane drive over my foot.
I hope everyone at home is well. Is Prim still growing? If she needs new shoes again, you must tell Father. Is your mother doing well? The autumn air always did bother her. I hope you aren't getting into trouble while I'm gone. You have to keep your nose clean, now that I'm not always there to protect you from Mother. But I know you are. You probably do it anyways, just to spite her. You were always like that.
I miss you. I love you. Write me back soon, okay? I'll keep my promise, as long as you keep yours.
I love you.
I love you, Katniss.
Always yours,
Peeta
"See," Madge says, poking her in the ribs "I told you he wasn't dead."
"Are you sure?" Johanna gags, scrunching her face. "All that sap could drown a fly. Katniss, you know you're in love with a thirteen-year-old girl, right?"
Chuckling, she shakes her head. She's too happy to pay attention to her friend's barb. With a sigh, she looks up at the sky. It's painted a bright blue; the kind only autumn can bring to contrast so well with the colors on the trees. She images Peeta flying through that sky back to her.
He promised to come back to her. She has no doubt he'll keep that promise either. Reaching into her pocket, she plays with the small metal band. She carries it everywhere with her, now that he's gone. It's a small piece of him, something that symbolizes both their promises: his to return, and hers to wait till he does. She doesn't mind waiting. Just so long as there are days like today, with letters and words of love.