Chapter 3

Red Strings

Katniss

"Are you okay?" I ask Clint. His cheeks and ears are red and he's biting the inside of his cheek – I wonder if he's more embarrassed or worried about his brother.

"I'm fine," he says evenly. If I didn't know better I'd believe him.

"Dance with me a while?" I ask, knowing it will make him feel better to dance and hold me tight for a while. He nods and smiles and takes my hands. By now the music has picked up again – but that doesn't stop him. We take our place in the line and dance until the fiddler finally stops. We notice, of course, that everyone's sitting down by then except the District 12 survivors and all of Clint's District 10 compatriots – I guess that's one thing we have in common. "District 13 didn't train," he says. We're both breathing heavy and sweating – I know the joke he's going to make before he makes it. "I was hoping to see you all hot and bothered."

"You make that joke about everything, get some new material," I tease him, and I try to say it sharply but I can't stop myself from smiling. I like being with him when it's like this.

"I notice the squad of guards is gone. How many girls was Stark with?" he asks, and even broaching this subject makes me a little nervous but he's calm right now.

"Four."

"I don't get it. Is he hot?" I know better than to answer truthfully – if it was Finnick he was asking about, I'd tell the truth and he'd probably laugh at it. But this is Tony, and honestly his personality really does put me off.

"I don't think so. A lot of girls think so though, I guess." He shrugs. I don't even mind this – it's kind of sad, but I can be there for him and help him as long as he needs.

Everyone starts to disband and we decide we better go pick up his brother – we'll have to find Danvers and ask where he went – and then get on the hovercrafts. He puts a hand on my shoulder and holds me back, and he's got this serious look on his face. This is the part I hate. "I've got something really important to ask you," he starts. My heart hammers against my sternum – I take a moment to desperately hope he's not going to ask what I think he's going to ask, but then he kneels down and takes something from his front pocket and I know better. The huge crowd of people knows too – they gasp in a happy way and everyone freezes in their tracks. The thing he pulls out is a ring – simple and brass, but beautiful in its simple way. Probably his mother's, or else he got it from someone who believes in us so much they gave him a precious family heirloom. In my peripheral vision, I see Prim eagerly making her way through the crowd, trying to see, and Stephen lets her climb on his back so she can see over everyone's heads. I bet she's thrilled her boyfriend (sorry, friend who's a boy) is that strong.

"Will you marry me?" Clint asks, looking very serious, like his life depends on my answer. I wish the room was empty – most of all I wish Cressida wasn't here with her camera crew. Even if we were alone, I don't think I could break his heart – but it'd be a hell of a lot easier to say no without a few dozen witnesses and a camera crew hoping to get some more heartwarming signs of hope among the rebels. I freeze for a long moment, panicked, and wonder if running away is an option. I know of course that it's not and I kneel down by him, stalling and desperately hoping I can fake happiness well enough. "Yes, Clint, yes," I finally say, forcing a hopefully convincing smile and kissing him on the lips. Inevitably it gets passionate – I usually like kissing him but right now I almost can't stand it. My acceptance is met with thunderous applause and cheers. I pull away and I'm sure he wonders why I'm so hesitant, but he puts the ring on my finger – it's already burning. Hopefully he thinks I'm just embarrassed because we have so many witnesses – he hugs me tight. His brother's going to be upset he missed it – of course I'm sure he'll see the video about a million times.

Almost as soon as I'm on my feet Prim finally breaks through and hugs me tight – and then turns around and hugs Clint just as tight. I know she's thrilled at the thought of finally having a brother and the thought of disappointing her is almost as bad as the thought of hurting Clint or letting down everyone who's looking to me and the other Avengers for hope. Mom is there shortly afterwards, and her cheeks are wet. If she knew I never wanted kids or a husband, she'd probably be even happier to think I changed my mind. I scan the crowd for Gale, but he's nowhere to be found. I'm not sure if he'd already left or he saw it and stormed off – I desperately hope for the former.

It takes forever to make our way to the hovercrafts – everyone wants to stop and congratulate us – and I have to keep smiling the whole time, even though all I want to do is tell him it's too soon and that I don't know if I'll ever want the life he wants and now's not exactly the time to worry about it. We've been repairing aircraft and building new ones and training like crazy for a full-on assault and of course the war never really stopped, even though it's at a relative lull now – 3, 4, 8, and 11 are ours and we're making inroads in 5, 7, and 10, which the Capitol wants desperately to change, and various members of the Avengers have been called in to help break up ground assaults and make inroads in different Districts several times. Finnick and Annie's wedding, the wedding of two people who've been in love forever and absolutely deserved it, is supposed to be our last day of peace – a calm before the storm. It's not time for dumb kids to be running around playing house.

We finally get back to base – we have training in the morning and I already know the recently promoted Colonel Hill isn't about to let us sleep in just because of a little thing like a wedding. Or a proposal. I'm hoping I can use that as an excuse to shake Clint for the night while I think about what I'm going to tell him.

Of course, I don't have any such luck. "Will you stay with me tonight?" he asks. I could kick him – he asks me that right in front of my mother. He realizes what he said almost as soon as the words leave his mouth. He quickly adds, "Since there's training tomorrow and we might as well leave together …"

"It's okay, Clint. I trust you both," she says with a little smile. I've stayed the night with him a few times (usually talking him down after nightmares) and she's never acted like she thought something happened. That doesn't help me at the moment – the last thing I want is to spend the next few hours with Clint, but that's exactly what's going to happen.

Clint takes me by the hand – of course – and we head to his quarters. I know the way by heart – I've made my way there in the dark, following a worried Duke, many nights. I find myself hoping that Danvers forgot to get Duke from wherever she put him and he won't find out about it until morning – at the very least he's on a different hovercraft from us.

Duke and Clint share family quarters even though most people in their situation would just share bachelor quarters – they tend to just put two guys or two girls together if they're both single. But then again, given Clint's state of mind, I guess they wanted to give him a little comfort.

He steps in first, and I shut the door behind me, bracing myself because I expect him to attack me with kisses. What happens instead is even worse. The door shuts, and before I can turn to face him, he says it. "You don't want to marry me, do you?" I don't turn to face him, not right away. "Is it because of Gale?" Two months ago, I would have turned on my heel and demanded to know why he would ever think that – but I remember the look on Gale's face the first time Clint came hunting with us, and now I know exactly why.

"No – Gale's got nothing to do with this," I say, and that hurts too. I never thought Gale would react this way to … well I never thought I'd have a boyfriend so I can't say I ever had any idea how Gale would react.

"So it's just … me," he says, and he sounds so defeated. I have to turn and face him now.

"No it's … I just never wanted to get married. And the idea of having kids was always inconceivable." I really hope he'll take the bait and point out the obvious pun, but he doesn't. "Because I always thought the future was just more … of what it was. Starvation and cave-ins and the Games …"
"And … that hasn't changed at all?"
"It has … finally … but forever's a long time."

"Oh," he says softly, looking down at his feet, and suddenly the self-pitying look on his face makes me angry. I stomp my foot and he looks up at me, surprised.

"Oh hell, Clint – this isn't the time. I'm sorry if I'm more worried about everyone else's future than ours. Just give it time …"

"But what if we don't have time?" he asks. "What if one or both of us dies …"
"Then we die. That's what happens. You think it'll be any easier because we were married?" He doesn't answer, just looks back down at his feet and won't say anything, so I soften my tone a little. "Clint – I'm not saying no. I'm saying not right now." He nods, still not looking at me, and I go to put an arm around his shoulder.

"Is this your mother's ring?" I ask, not able to resist any longer.

"Nah. Mama pawned her ring to keep us fed when I was a baby. I got it from Blight – he's a widower you know." I can imagine how hard it was for him to part with his wife's ring, and I wonder how big an insult it would be to give it back to him.

At that moment – Duke comes bursting in. I almost ask him where the fire is, but before I can open my mouth he's across the room and lifting me up in the air and twirling me around. "I always wanted a little sister. I told Mama to take him back when she handed me this one," he says as he sets me down and ruffles Clint's hair – much to Clint's annoyance. But at least he's not going to start crying now.

Well I say that – it looks like Duke's going to do that for him. He takes a long look at me like he's never seen me before and his eyes mist up. He pulls me into a very awkward embrace. "I was hoping for this all along … ever since I saw you in the Games …" he says breathlessly. Fantastic – yet another person who's going to be devastated if I break it off. Of course I already knew that – Duke defends Clint like he's a little boy, anything that hurts his brother is either going to devastate him or set him on the war path. I'm not sure which option worries me more.

"Hey Duke … can you leave us alone for a second?" Clint asks quickly, and I'm so glad for the intervention. Duke lets me go and bear hugs his brother for a second.

"Of course. You kids probably want to be left alone. I've been sleeping like a baby." He gives us a wink and heads off to his bedroom, and we're left standing in the entryway, mortified.

"I guess we should go in and sleep," he says awkwardly, his cheeks bright red. "Since we have training tomorrow."
"Yeah," I say reluctantly, and he opens the door.

His bedroom looks like a train wreck – it always does. I almost immediately find the blanket I sleep on through the bad nights, and I spread it out on the largest clear patch of floor by his bed I can find. He starts taking off his clothes like it's nothing and laughs when I turn my head. "Do you have anything I can borrow?"
"Don't think any of my pants would fit but the shirts should be fine," he says. I sigh and just lay down in my dress. I do take off the shoes though – my feet ache.

"Kat … get in bed with me," he says gently, and scoots over to make room for me. "I promise I'll keep my hands to myself."
"It's not your hands I'm worried about."
"I'll keep everything to myself then, I'll even turn my back," he says, and he sounds sincere. So I sigh and, against my better judgment, climb in next to him. He turns his back like he promised and we lay there, back to back. Part of me wishes it wasn't like this and our arms were around each other, part of me wants to bolt out the door and head on back to my family.

"What do we tell everyone?" he asks. "When they ask when we're getting married."
"We say sometime after the rebellion. Only we make it sound noble … like we're not letting ourselves have the joy until Panem is free from the Capitol's iron grip," I answer. "And then … if we need more time … we tell part of the truth and say we have a lot of things to work out before we can." I've already worked out what I'll say if I can't go through with it once it's all over – but I'm not about to tell him that right now.

"That works," he says, and his voice sounds like he's already almost asleep. He can sleep just about anywhere if he hasn't just had a nightmare – I think it's because that guard that tormented him so much did his best to keep him up all night and he got used to sleeping through everything. If I ever meet this guard, he's going to be begging for an arrow through the eye by the end. I think of that and I reach back to take his hand – the left hand. His prosthetic fingers are always cold at first, but I know from experience they'll warm up with touch. I expect him to – I want him to – make a joke about how now I'm the one not keeping my hands to myself. But he just takes my hand and doesn't say another word.

We lay there in silence for a long time, and I hear the slow, easy breathing that means he's gone to sleep. I slowly take my hand back and climb out of bed, hoping I won't wake him up. Of course, I don't have any such luck – I'm picking up my shoes (I don't mind walking home barefoot) when he stirs.

"Do you have to go, Kat?" he asks.

"I …"
"It's okay," he says, and lays back down, but I hear the heartbreak in his voice. "Good night, sleep tight … sweet dreams about whatever it is you want." I wish I could say something sweet that would put his mind at ease, but nothing comes to my mind even though I desperately want it to. So I just say,

"Sweet dreams, Clint." It sounds so lame, even in my own ears, and I head off without looking him in the eye.

I manage to slip into bed without waking Mom or Prim – small mercies.

It's not always drama with us – most of the time it's the opposite. For the first month or so he was lying there in the bed, all starved and beaten and whipped and guilt-ridden and he still made me laugh. After a month, they started to give him some privileges back – privileges here having the meaning of getting the joy of getting yelled at by Lieutenant Hill early in the morning. I trained with him sometimes, and I watched the way he pushed through the pain and the exhaustion and cracked wise the whole time. I would stay with him sometimes after – usually not because of course I had extra training and propos to make and a host of other responsibilities. But I liked to steal time with him.

One night not long after he left the hospital, there was a knock on the door. Prim answered, assuming it was someone coming to get her or Mom, but it was Duke asking for me. I slammed the bedroom door and threw clothes on so fast you'd think I had some fancy magic like Haymitch. He said Clint was crying for me, and I followed him to their quarters. Clint started frantically wiping his tears away as soon as I came in – he didn't want to cry in front of me. I pretended I hadn't seen the tears fall and that I didn't notice his face was red. I sat in the chair by the bed and talked to him for hours. Not about anything in particular – just whatever crossed my mind – until he went to sleep. Duke stayed up the whole time and walked me back to the room once Clint was asleep. On the way he told me Clint still had nightmares about what that guard told him. Samson thinks that sometimes there was still enough tracker jacker venom in his system after he was intentionally hijacked about Tony that the guard's stories sank in more than they would have and he still has nightmares about it, and when he wakes up he's so unsettled he's not sure if he's been dreaming Stephen, Brandy, and I are alive all this time, and he just needs to see me to convince himself. I'm glad he doesn't have to see all of us – he's still not allowed to see Brandy and Stephen still refuses to see him. It's not as though it's just that – he also has what Samson calls post traumatic stress disorder from being tortured, almost getting eaten by mutts, and being forced to be in the Games at all. He even has it from watching his brother's Games, all though that's buried deep. I make it as easy as I can for him. It's hard because sometimes I think about what he did to Phillip – I see it in my own nightmares all the time – but I know he wasn't in control and if anything, it's more blood on the Capitol's hands. Peeta helps – he brings me coffee on the long nights (I don't know how he knows) and he tells me all the time I'm doing the right thing and I'm an amazing friend, and I drink the coffee and never tell him I don't like it. He says it like he believes it, and that and the good times make it bearable.

I remember I told Phillip I wasn't sure if I was in love with Clint or just wanted to be friends – when I first saw him in the infirmary and kissed him, I thought I'd figured it out pretty quick, but then I realized those were never my only two options. I like him, I'm attracted to him – but I'm not desperately, madly in love with him. But that's not good enough – everyone saw us at the Games and the rebels turned us into these tragic star-crossed lovers when they made him into a martyr and now, the people want us to live happily ever after and they want it now. They don't have time for his flashbacks and our nightmares or for me to grow into being able to look at forever or even for the life or death situations around us. I don't think he minds so much – but it makes me want to run away and it sours a lot of the happy moments I have with him.

"Sweet dreams about whatever it is you want." If I knew that, half my problems would be over.

Actually – I do know.

First thing the next morning, I walk into Fury's office. Well I have to get clearance first, but I get in. "I want to be on the front lines," I tell him. He raises both eyebrows – I know it's not the case, but it makes me feel like he still has both eyes and he can see through the eye patch.

"Oh? We thought, what with you being newly engaged …" I hate it when he does this to me. I can tell from his tone he knows exactly how excited I am about the prospect. But I still have to play along and play nicely for him.

"That's exactly it," I say, to a slightly disapproving look. "I mean – I can't stay here with Clint and be happy when the rest of the country is suffering." The ghost of a smile – I'm performing well enough for him at the moment.

"I'll see what I can do."

Author's Note

As most of you know, the red string of fate is a concept in Japanese culture (and some other Asian cultures, I believe – don't hold me to do that since I'm not a scholar in this area) that two people meant to be together (what Westerners would call "soulmates") are tied together by an invisible red string that will eventually bring them together. It's a very romantic concept and I love it – but unfortunately sometimes when writers try to pull it off in fiction, it backfires horribly and a romance seems forced and trite, where it might have worked if the writers hadn't been over eager to get the couple together as quickly as possible. So much so there's a whole page for it on tvtropes called "Strangled by the Red String." I really hope I haven't done that in my other fiction … but I realized there's very high potential for this kind of thing to happen with reality shows, and with everyone (including my own muses) talking about how Clint and Kat were meant to be together …

And look at the length of this comment. This is why you shouldn't have esoteric chapter titles.

On another note, the reason I have Katniss being more supportive of Clint than of Peeta in the same situation is 1. She was not the target of the hijacking-triggered-aggression, physical or verbal 2. She actually has Peeta on her side encouraging her.