A/N: Thanks for reading. :) All credit for the main HG story goes to Suzanne Collins of course.
Tentatively I test out a few chords on the aged, yellowed keys of the upright. Bear smiles encouragingly and takes the further of the chairs, nodding for me to take the closer chair. My mind is racing through the possibilities, all the songs I know by heart. I finally settle on an ancient composition in A minor, one that I have been learning pieces of for many years, one that I have returned to again and again. My fingers begin with the light, enticing notes that open the piece.
I learned this first section long ago, and the sounds from the piano feel like an old friend. I can still remember struggling with the left hand arpeggios, when I was first learning it. I get lost in the music, the notes flowing from my fingers. As I begin the second theme, more memories of sitting at the piano in my old home trickle into my thoughts.
I'm completely absorbed in playing. I have never mastered the entire piece; much of it is still beyond my capabilities as a pianist. The piano is only slightly out of tune, better than I expected, except for a couple of sour notes that make me pause. One of the accidentals is completely soundless. None of that matters. Memories of my home and my family flood my mind as I play through the false notes, loop back through the familiar first section. I slow down as I approach the end of the song as I've always played it. It's not until the last few notes have resonated through the empty room that I realize I have tears streaking my cheeks. Suddenly self-conscious, I wipe them away with the back of my hand.
I feel Bear's warm hand on my arm. "Hey! You okay?" he asks.
"Sorry!" I squeak. He slides his chair up to mine and wraps him arms around me. I let his warmth envelope me and take hold of his arm, something to hold on to in the here and now.
His lips brush against my ear and press into my hair. "Thinking of home?" he asks me gently. I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. "It was ... beautiful."
"Thanks," I sigh.
"I mean it. You're really good, you know."
I smile at the compliment, but roll my eyes at the same time. He doesn't have any basis for comparison. Anything would probably sounds good to him. And with the tuning issues on the piano, it couldn't have sounded that good. The song doesn't mean anything to him. "I'm alright," I demur.
He brushes my hair over my right shoulder and kisses my neck. The corner of my mouth twists up more at the warm shivers the touch of his lips sends through my sensitive skin. Reflexively I tilt my head in, blocking his next kiss. Tilting his mouth up to my ear, he murmurs, "You want to keep playing?"
I hadn't meant to put a stop to the kissing, but I answer truthfully. "Kind of," I sigh. "I don't think I should though. I didn't realize … the memories."
After a pause Bear breaks the silence. He loosens his grip on my waist and answers, "It's got to be late. We should probably get home anyway." He doesn't sound happy at the idea, and I'm surprised he suggests it - a minute ago he definitely wasn't thinking about how late it is. Neither was I. Reluctantly I agree.
I'm not sure about what just happened. I would have been happy kissing Bear all night, but instead we're walking out into the darkened street. It was amazing to play again – but I hadn't thought to expect the rush of memories that accompanied the music, the images of my old life. I didn't think I could deal with more of that so quickly. I can come back to play another time, when I'm more mentally prepared for those memories.
A glance at his face suggests he's feeling as deflated as I am. It's no wonder, considering he just saw me go from elated at seeing a piano to crying after playing it. I feel like something's wrong with me. I'm always crying on his shoulder, he's got to be so sick of it. All my random crying can't be attractive. I want to apologize but I don't really want to bring it up again. A small part of me wishes we'd never found the piano, just because it was such a change from the rest of our night ... maybe we would have just found more empty classrooms. We'd probably still be there, having found each other's lips too tempting in some secluded corner of the school building.
Back in the apartment, Bear crashes onto the couch. Tentatively I sit beside him. "Thanks for tonight. It was really fun – before my little breakdown," I tell him. "I'm sorry I ..."
"No, it's fine," he cuts me off, looking down at his hands. "I get it."
I loop my hand around the nape of his neck and slide my fingers into his hair with a sneaky smile. "Our date was a lot of fun," I repeat. "Maybe we can pick up where we left off?" I lean over and brush my lips over his mouth and jaw teasingly before kissing him.
Tonight, when his hands slide under the hem of my shirt, I sit up and pull it off over my head. My heart races as his fingers trace across my skin, following the shoulder strap and freeing the clasp at my back. As we tangle together on the couch, I feel the still-strange pressure of his arousal through our layers of clothing, but he doesn't move to take things any further. His touch is seared into my mind, fervent kisses tempered by gentle caresses.
I meet Naiya at her place the afternoon before the next supply train comes through. We get through all of our spreadsheets pretty quickly – things have been running pretty smoothly for us recently. Soon Naiya is on the topic of the war. "I am just so worried for Rose. And the others, too, honey. But you know she's still my little girl and it is just so hard for me to think about her out there in the middle of everything we see in the broadcasts. It all seems to run together these days don't you think? How can we even tell if they're making any progress? I don't care if it's hoards of peacekeepers or empty streets with all those nasty booby traps, I just don't like it. And must they always show the victors? Sure, we all know them. I know they're the face of the rebellion but still … I'm sorry Maddie I shouldn't go on like this. I know you're worried about your friends too. What would we do without those communicuffs? I hate to think of all the other families, who don't get any word. It must be nerve wracking not knowing anything, don't you think?"
I agree with a nod, but Naiya and I both know that our communicuffs bring their own worries – waiting each day for those messages. There have been a couple of times when we haven't gotten a message, and the fear that something had happened was almost too much. Before they left, Spinner was insistent that we had to remember, if we didn't get messages it didn't necessarily mean anything. There were plenty of reasons they might not be able to communicate with us and we shouldn't assume the worst. We all knew he was right but that didn't make it any easier when a message didn't come through.
The first time it happened, I think Naiya and I had both been a wreck. After a long night, Bear had sent me to bed, but I'd been devastated in the morning when there was still no word. But even though I had had Bear to keep me sane and Naiya had been dealing with it alone, by the time she and I were together the next day, still waiting for a message, she was the one who wound up comforting me. I can still remember her going on and on about how we couldn't rely on those messages and we had to have faith that they would come home. I don't know how she did it but somehow she calmed me down. That night, we'd had another message, and I knew she had been right. From then on, I'd thought of her any time a message had failed to come.
Tonight, Bear knows I might stay with Naiya for awhile after we're done with work. We're getting into the habit of having dinner together and watching the broadcasts, when we have these meetings. Lately the propos have been showing Katniss, Finnick and Gale, along with some others, shooting on the empty streets of the Capitol. It still seems like we have the momentum in the war. But it's hard watching them, fighting a seemingly abandoned city. Naiya has a tendency to talk through the broadcasts anyway so at least that's a distraction. I'm helping her with the dishes when the usual broadcast is interrupted by a feed from the Capitol. We both hear the anthem before we see anything, and a look of worry passes between us. We haven't seen a broadcast from the Capitol in over a week. Whatever they're broadcasting can't be good. We sit in front of the screen and clasp our hands together, bracing ourselves for bad news.
As the anthem ends, the screen shows a Capitol reporter on a rooftop somewhere in the Capitol, surrounded by Peacekeepers. A city block is burning in the background. At first I'm relieved, because a burning building in the Capitol doesn't seem like it could be anything that bad for the rebels. We can see firefighters spraying thick streams of water, trying to quell the flames. Then the reporter announces that she is live on the scene to report the death of the so-called Mockingjay, Katniss Everdeen. In fact, the reporter announces the death of her whole squad – naming Katniss, Peeta, Finnick, Gale and someone else, a name I don't know.
"Oh for all that is good in Panem," Naiya whispers shakily. Our hands stay linked, our eyes can't be torn from the screen. The breath has been stolen from me.
They show footage of their last minutes alive. Katniss, crouched beside another member of their squad. Gale. Peeta. It's a chaotic scene and I can't make sense of what's going on. Someone calls for retreat but a geyser of some kind of dark liquid is filling the street and blocking them in. Gale and another soldier shooting. An explosion. Some kind of scuffle among the squad. One of them goes sailing through the air and before we know it, is trapped in some kind of net-like trap. Gale is shooting at the trap as the others pull each other into the building, Peeta struggling against two others. None of it makes any sense to me. They show Peacekeepers line the roof across from the building the rebels took refuge in. They launch bombs into the building, and a series of explosions level it to dust and rubble.
As Naiya and I sit in shock, there's a montage of Katniss becoming the Mockingjay, and then back to Capitol reporters who repeat the Capitol report of Katniss' death. They show pictures of some of the others, including Peeta and Gale. At some point they introduce an announcement from President Snow. Hate fills me as we hear the President congratulating his Peacekeepers, for so effectively removing the leaders of the rebels. I choke back tears as he calls Katniss nothing but an unstable girl who likes to shoot arrows.
The bleak anguish at the death of my friends, the hot anger at Snow's evil, both are swallowed by fear at the sound of a fist pounding at the door.
A/N: Madge was playing Beethoven's Bagatelle No. 25 - also known as Fur Elise. (And an "accidental" is one of the black keys on a piano).