A/N: Ok, I feel like I need to say this again, so THANK YOU to everyone who has followed, favourited, or reviewed on this fanfic, its super encouraging. When I first uploaded, I was just doing this for me, because I wanted to see what might have happened if things were different in Catching Fire. I never expected anyone to like it, so thank you! Moving on, here is the third chapter!
Chapter 3
Katniss POV:
The next few weeks continue in a sort of blissful, dream like state. We go and see Prim, my mother and Haymitch. I hunt, he bakes. I'm able to have a real honeymoon with Peeta, something I never dreamed possible.
All too soon, though, the real world comes crashing in. The Quarter Quell announcement. I am reminded that I will have to mentor two poor kids. It might even be someone I know. I will have to watch one, if not bot, of them die. Peeta and I have over my family and Haymitch, who is, of course, drunk. We all get settled into the couches, and the show starts.
Caesar Flickerman is drabbling on about how amazing the Quarter Quell will be, and how lucky Peeta and I are to be mentoring during the Quarter Quell for our first time. Yes Caesar, just what everyone in Panem wants. To have the privilege of watching children die first hand, and being responsible for two of those children's lives.
President Snow comes on right then, and I start listening. He reminds us all of the Dark Days that gave birth to the Hunger Games. When the law was laid out, it said that every 25 years the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell, to keep fresh the reminder of the lives lost. There would be a special rule that would make these Games unique. On the 25th anniversary, as a reminder that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, the each district would have to vote for the two tributes to take part in the Games. I can't even imagine how horrible you would feel, being chosen by your friends, neighbours, to go into an Arena where you would likely be killed. For the 50th anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for every one Capitol citizen, the districts had to send twice as many tributes. Facing 47 as opposed to 23. And yet Haymitch won that year.
"I had a friend that went that year," says my mother, distantly, "Maysilee Donner. Her parents owned the sweet shop. They gave me her songbird after. A canary." Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Haymitch stiffens at this. I wonder what happened.
"We now celebrate our third Quarter Quell," says President Snow. He opens the yellowed envelope marked 75. "On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder that no one stood up for the victims of the rebellion, no one can volunteer for the selected tributes."
This is no big deal for district 12. No one volunteers here. In the Career districts it is not uncommon, actually quite regular. If this would have happened last year, Prim would have had to fight in that Arena. I grip her hand, thankful that, by some miracle, she is here, and she is safe. Her name is only in there twice. But last year it was in once. Only one time! And she got chosen. I will not be able to protect her this year. No one will.
XxX
Two weeks before the reaping, Haymitch announces that Peeta and I have to start meeting with him to discuss strategy, and basic mentoring stuff.
We insist that it be at our house. I refuse to go into that rats nest more than absolutely necessary.
He walks into our house, for once, detached from his bottle.
He sits down. "Ok, first things first. As soon as you see the tributes, you have to start thinking of angles. Ways to play the Capitol audience. If you have a particularly attractive tribute, the sexy, desirable, heartthrob angle is recommended. They get a lot of sponsors, just look at Finnick Odair. If you have a daunting tribute, strong, well play that to your advantage. Or, if you have an agile tribute, not all that strong looking, but maybe able to throw a knife, something like that, you could pull a Johanna Mason. She won her Games by pretending to be meek, wimpy. The Careers didn't see her as a priority, so after most of the tributes were killed off for her, all she had to do was make a couple kills, and she won. 12-13 year olds, generally use the, innocent, little kid angle. The capitolites feel bad for them, and sponsor them. And finally, something that works for most kinds of tributes is angry, mad, and fierce. It's not used often, so it sets them apart. Most of the tributes try to make the Capitol like them, appeal to them somehow. So this surprises the Capitol when they don't smile, wave, try to get them to like them. Being different holds their attention, and that can lead to sponsors."
I try to process all of that.
He doesn't give me time though, as he moves onto dealing with sponsors, how to decide who to give the items to, what to give, and how to know what's happening 24/7. It'll be easier now, because we can all take shifts, me, Peeta and Haymitch. We decide that I will take the morning, 5 a.m. to 1 p.m., Peeta will take 1 p.m. to 9 p.m. and Haymitch will take 9 p.m. to 5 a.m.
XxX
It's an exhausting week, but by Sunday, Haymitch deems us ready to mentor. I haven't had time to hunt lately, after lunch I decide to go. I take my game bag, grab my father's hunting jacket, pull on my hunting boots and I'm out the door.
I sprint through town to the fence and climb under. I take a deep breath, lungs filling with that familiar, woodsy scent. I have missed this. I walk to the log where I store my bow and arrows, and pull them out.
I loose myself in the familiar routine, and subconsciously, my feet take me to my meeting place with Gale. It's been a long time since I had thought about Gale.
"Hey, Catnip," he says, as if on cue.
I freeze. The last time I saw him, he kissed me. And now I am married to Peeta. Yeah, not awkward at all.
"Hey Gale," I say, somewhat shakily.
"Where've you been? I haven't seen you since you got back," he says sounding hurt, though he tries to disguise it.
"Oh, um, well, uh, you know… mentoring stuff," I stutter, lamely.
"Mentoring stuff," he repeats, his tone disbelieving.
"Yeah, Haymitch has been working us hard, training us."
He nods. I can tell he still doesn't believe me, but he lets it go.
"So. Your engaged," he deadpans.
"No, actually I'm- I-I mean yes." I was about to say, 'No actually I'm married'. Smart, Katniss.
He thankfully either doesn't notice or doesn't think it's important.
We talk for a while, at ease, and I can pretend that we are the same people who met years ago in the woods. I can pretend that he didn't kiss me, that I didn't go to the Games, that he doesn't care that Peeta and I are married. We talk for what seems like hours.
Suddenly, he leans in. I can tell what's about to happen, and when his lips are just millimetres away, I ball my hand up into a fist, and thrust as hard as I can into his jaw.
"What the heck, Katniss! Why'd you punch me?" he asks, rubbing his jaw. If I weren't so mad, I would be very satisfied by the already red bump on his jaw.
"Don't kiss me!"
"Why not?"
"Because only Peeta's allowed to!"
That must've been the wrong thing to say, because his eyes light up with a blazing fire that I've only ever seen when he's ranting about the Capitol.
"What does he have to do with this? Just because you're pretending to be engaged to him doesn't mean you can't kiss other people. It's only a show!"
That was the wrong thing to say right now. My eyes light up, just like his. I want him to hurt. I should feel bad about this thought, but I don't. What right does he have to make assumptions like that!
"IT'S NOT A SHOW!" I scream at the top of my lungs.
He gets that hurt look on his face. I should feel bad. I should want to make him feel better.
I don't.
Instead, I relish it.
I am disturbed by this, but unable to deny it. While I am distracted, Gale lunges at me, and pulls my face roughly to his. I kick and punch and squirm all I can, but he doesn't let go.
When he finally does, he asks, "Now tell me you still love Peeta more than me."
"Of course I do!" I scream.
I can see he won't let up, that he will keep going. As he comes at me, I knee him in the groin.
As he hunches over, I punch him in the face, the same place as last time. When he's down, I kick him. I want to keep going, but if I do, I'm afraid that I won't stop. So instead I run.
I don't know where I'm going, but I know that I'm going away from Gale, and that's a good thing, right?
XxX
I don't know how far I've ran, or for how long when I realize that it's dark. And I should be going back. Peeta will be worried.
I look around. I know which way I came, and how to get back. Though I wasn't paying attention, my hunting senses made sure that I can find my way back. I just don't know how long it will take.
A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter! I personally had a lot of fun writing Katniss beating up Gale. I recently watched Mockingjay Part II, and I got mad all over again about how Gale made the bombs that killed Prim (I know this technically wasn't proven, but who else could it have been?) and for just leaving Katniss and going to District 2. And that may have leaked into my writing. Oops! Anyways, please comment, I get so excited when I see them! Thanks!
~Maddy