(A/N: It goes without saying, but copyright infringement is not intended. Characters and the main gist of the plot all belong to Suzanne Collins, and We Got Married is a variety show originated in South Korea.
First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS! :) Secondly, I want to thank wolffielover for catching my error about Rue's district. If I have any other big mistakes that don't pertain to the rendition of this story, please notify me, because I'm only human and humans make mistakes on a daily basis! Anyway, I'm ecstatic that you are liking the story! Please read on through and enjoy!)
My hands are restless and indecisive when I clutch the contract. I want to fly through pages and gloss over the demands so that I can ensure the safety of my loved ones. Meeting the requirements and staying within the parameters of the contract are vital, but the penalties for breeching them are daunting themselves. I only read the first category and my eyes glaze over in absolute disbelief that I'm signing up to be a game piece once more.
But when my mother carefully pads into the room, I blink myself back into cool composure. "Is everything all right, Katniss?" she asks.
I tuck the contract underneath my legs and answer, "Yes. President Snow wanted to fill me in on the general agenda for the Tour. It's apparently standard protocol for new victors."
"Oh, that's good." She lets out a sigh, releasing the anxiety that has festered over the past few hours. "Shall I start on your bath?"
I nod and offer a small smile, allowing her to take care of me. Finally. When she runs the water into our pool of a bathtub, I can almost see the brighter energy radiating off her, an aura that floats along with the steam from the hot water.
My mother's more awake than before I left her and Prim for the Games. Although we don't hold the mother-daughter conversations that others gab over, we have our small talks during dinner and when we need to refill the pantry, which is a major advancement considering my mother's been out of it since she lost her husband. I filled in pretty big shoes to begin with, taking care of both her and Prim as if they were both my younger sisters. But as an attempt to repair my relationship with my mother, I let her be the parent figure she's supposed to be, when she can.
I hold my change of clothes close to my chest when my mother informs me of using the new bath oils in the water. After promising to give her some feedback on them, I lock the door behind me and unpack the contract from my shirt and pants. I sink carefully into the unfamiliarly hot water, sensing the smoothness of the oils as they lap onto my skin. Before I dive into the contract, I let my body come to temperature with the bath.
As much as I want my body to relax and be soothed into numbness, I can't stop my thoughts from running around inside my head. First of all, Peeta. How do I expect him to carry all the weight for this relationship? He may have gotten us into this mess of being the golden couple from the Games, but he also got us out alive, with little verbal help on my end. Does he even know about our fate to be married, or is President Snow leaving that up to me as well?
And then there's Gale, whom I have to now keep up his image of being my cousin. We haven't even had the chance to talk about what happened in the woods, where he ambushed me, but this deal has clipped the need to. If there was any chance of Gale and I being anything more, it's been thrown out the window. And his admiration for Peeta is at Ground Zero so I should probably let him find out about my engagement on his own.
Cinna then crosses my mind. No doubt will he design my dress, but just the thought of me in a poofy gown makes me shudder in the hot water. I want to put off that day as long as possible, so I won't tell him yet either.
Only person left to announce my engagement to is Haymitch. He has coached me on what to do romantically while I was in the games, after all. But I can hear him snort at me already, smirking behind his fourth glass of booze, "I don't have to walk you down the aisle, do I, sweetheart?"
For once, I'm glad that my father's not around to witness the horrible state I've positioned myself in. The water sloshes around when I turn my head and stare at the contract. I can't procrastinate on reading it any longer.
Pretend I'm in love with Peeta is the first and foremost obligation listed, otherwise everything I have come into contact with since birth will be obliterated. I gulp and press on.
The bigger picture involves the dress, as I have anticipated, but there is also the matter of the rings…and the proposal. I had a hard enough time pushing myself to be up to par with Peeta's infatuation with me, so my brain almost short circuits. If I don't tell Peeta about the contract, am I expected to propose to him? Or will he eventually propose on his own? Either option stands alone as terrorizing.
That's as far as I get, and it's not much of a dent into the contract. I drone on to make it to the end of the day and sleep until an eager knock raps at my front door in the morning. I assume it's my mother or Prim who will beckon me to get out of bed and prepare for the arrival of my entourage, but it's a different wakeup call.
"Katniss, your eyebrows!" Venia gasps exasperatingly, which makes me tumble out onto the hardwood floor.
I groan in protest when she and the rest of my prep team haul me up to properly give me a body inspection. "What are you all doing here so early?" I ask, still half asleep. The clock on the wall does nothing for me since it's just one spiral blur.
"We had an intuition that we might need a head start," says Octavia, disappointment evident in her tone as she investigates my fingernails, "and we were right. Well, what could we expect, being away for so long, leaving you to your own devices?"
This reunion manages to lift my spirits for a while. Even though I have to apologize for not keeping up with the hairless skin, hair treatments and manicures, being around them seems therapeutic. Familiar faces once again working in a blunder to get me looking back in Capitol shape, for my return to the eyes of the nation as the Victor of the 74th Hunger Games.
As Flavius works goops of hair product into my scalp, I listen to their excitement towards me and Peeta, and how we must share the same feeling, but with regards to being the mentors, to being on the other side of the bloodbath.
"And it's the Quarter Quell!"
The Quarter Quell. The unfortunate anniversary held every twenty-five games, and from what I've heard about them, they're unimaginably more gruesome than the others. And I have to coach an ill-fated tribute to live through one of them. I can't exactly give them my strategy to winning against the odds, especially under "special" circumstances of the Quell, whatever they may be. The only person worthy enough to give advice is Haymitch, since he won the last Quarter Quell.
At last, Cinna makes his entrance and rescues me from the prep team to go over my outfit. I'm able to speak more when I'm with him. Maybe it's because he looks like a normal citizen of the District, aside from the gold eyeliner. Still, I bite my tongue when I want to negotiate the terms for the wedding dress he'll have to make for me. He dresses me in stylish yet simple clothes that I approve of due to their consideration of the cold weather.
A trilling "We're on schedule!" signals me of Effie's arrival. She parades in with a camera crew, and I wonder if it's the one specially assigned for my deal with President Snow. The unsigned contract lying underneath my bedroom pillow reassures me that it isn't. Not yet.
Before I'm herded out into the snow, my mother places the Mockingjay pin in my hands. "For good luck," she says. I wrap my fingers around hers for a few seconds, knowing that the nights she draws me a bath and cooks dinner end here.
Then Effie shoves me into the wide open of the Victors Village, reminding me that this footage will be used in the Tour, and she motions my attention towards a familiar silhouette. President Snow's voice echoes sinisterly in my head: "Convince me.". Might as well get a head start.
The red light on the camera turns on and I'm off, sprinting for Peeta. For all I know there's cameras hid at any angle, so I beam at him from the moment I reunite our lips in a fiery passion to the moment we're rolling in the snow. The way he holds me securely to him make me realize just how well he may take the news of our engagement.
My infatuation lasts until the cameras stop recording on the train, officially starting the Tour. Prim, Octavia, Effie—everyone were witnesses to my love for Peeta. If they're questioned for any suspicion of our relationship, they'll be truthfully oblivious.
Acting so much in love exhausts me, but I sway myself to finally hear Haymitch's take on the deal I made with Snow. So when the train stops for fuel, I exchange a passing glance with him and say out loud how I need some fresh air from being stuck in here for so long. Outside we reconvene and I fill him in on how much deeper I am in with the Capitol, how President Snow paid me a visit just before the Tour. I keep my face void of any emotion when I tell him how everyone I care about is in danger if I don't keep up the act during this trip.
It's like he sobers up a little for this discussion, but only enough so I can take him seriously.
"You're a Victor of the Games, sweetheart," he reminds me. "And with the thing you pulled with Peeta? That's always going to be made a point in every Game to come. Your romance will forever be in question purely because these jokes at the Capitol are interested in stuff like that."
Nothing Haymitch says puts me at ease because everything he's saying I've heard before. I know I'll never have the solitary I so desperately wish for. I know I can't stomach the risk of telling Prim to stop asking me about Peeta, and what I like so much about him. I know I have to force my heart on my sleeve for Peeta until I leave this wretched world.
Haymitch asks if I understand his point because I've been silent for a minute too long.
"I know," I respond flatly, staring blankly at the white snow. "I have to marry him."
But this, for some reason, doesn't faze him. He merely pats around for his flask and, before he takes a swig, grumbles, "How many do you have to have?"
"How many...?" I ask, confused. But I quickly catch on and my heart sinks to my stomach. I know exactly what he is slurring on about...
"I…I…" Breathless, I choke out, "I didn't get to that part yet."
"Katniss?" I hear Peeta's voice and turn around to see his blonde hair and blue eyes. And then I stagger to imagine blondes with my Seam eyes, or brunettes with his blue eyes, tiny and innocent.
As much I don't want to believe that President Snow will do something as cruel as this, I know he has me bearing children somewhere in the contract. Kids. My kids. Kids who might end up in the arena, too. If I somehow find some happy life with Peeta, a satisfactory one at the least, President Snow will take my kids and throw them into the Games. He won't kill me. He'll just kill the life that came from me.
No. No, he can't. He wouldn't.
Feet crunch through the snow and someone pulls my hands from pressing on my stomach. It's Peeta, and he shows much reluctance with his measured movements as he holds out an envelope for me.
It's a letter from President Snow.
(A/N: I worked pretty quickly through this chapter, and it's even longer than the first! I'm too pumped for this story and how it will turn out. I might have followed the plot line too closely in this one…What do you all think? Should I draw back on using the original text as a guideline? Please let me know what you think! This story can only get better with your help! Reviews mean a lot to me! I look forward to the feedback!)