Lovers in a Dangerous Time
by FanficAllergy & RoseFyre

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Chapter Twelve: Last Impression

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Last Time in Lovers in a Dangerous Time:

Before I have an opportunity to counter that, my brother skids into the room.

"Finally!" Rory pants, like he's been running. "Do you know how many places I had to look for you?"

"Sixteen?" Prim hazards a guess, turning her teasing from me to my brother.

Rory holds a hand to his chest. "More than that!" He starts to count the places on his fingers.

"Was there a reason you're looking for us?" I interrupt. I don't want to be treated to the Prim-and-Rory show.

A flush spreads across Rory's cheeks as his eyes dart toward Prim. "Um, no reason. And… and… I'm sure Katniss and Peeta are looking for you!"

Ah, I understand. He was worried about Prim. Dropping Prim's hand, I say, "I should probably get going. Thanks for everything."

She smiles up at me. "No problem. What are sisters for?"

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Trigger Warnings: Aftermath of violence.

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I will never get used to how things are done here in Thirteen. Clinical. Punctual. Functional. I would have thought, considering the literal blow Thirteen experienced, they would use the mass funeral for the dead as an opportunity for propaganda—complete with hired mourners to tear at their clothes and scream on cue—Fuck, I'm turning into Plutarch Heavensbee; Peeta will be so proud. But no, Thirteen doesn't seem to consider the potential optics of the Capitol having killed so many—including children—in cold blood. Instead, they're treating it like any other death in Thirteen: perfunctory.

All we get is a simple reading of the decedent's name and their rank or importance in the district. That's it. Nothing else.

The only conciliatory gesture toward pageantry is that same mournful song they used when we got back from District Six, a song whose name I've thankfully forgotten.

I hate that fucking song.

From where she's standing slightly in front of me and Peeta, Katniss grips my right hand as her mother's name is read out. Without even talking about it, Peeta and I took up supportive flanking positions behind our wife with Prim and Rory positioned in front of Katniss. It's almost like we're our own military unit, and in some ways, I suppose we are. And now a part of that unit is missing.

While I wish that there was more to the funeral, part of me is glad that my mother-in-law's death—and in particular Katniss and Prim's grief—isn't being leveraged to foment more rebellion. People's emotions have already been exploited so much in this war; I'm grateful that in this moment we're being allowed to grieve without a thousand cameras watching our every move.

Or, at least, I hope not.

They move on to the next name and then the next, and as much as I hate to admit it, I zone out. There's only so much attention I can give to the proceedings, and I've hit my limit.

Who knows how long later, an elbow jabs into my ribs. "Hey!" I rub my side. "What gives?"

"You can wake up now," Peeta says half-teasing, half-annoyed.

"I wasn't sleeping."

"Suuuuure. Then tell me the last name they read."

He's got me there. I stifle a flinch. "You know I'm not good with names."

He rolls his eyes. "That's a convenient excuse."

"And I wasn't sleeping. My eyes were open and everything," I continue to protest.

"Look, I gotta give it to you, you have managed to figure out the amazing skill of falling asleep with your eyes open, and you'll have to teach it to me sometime, but the funeral is over." Peeta gestures with his chin at the empty microphone. "We can go now."

"Oh thank goodness. My feet are killing me."

"You want to talk about feet?" Katniss says. "I should give you mine! Effie made me wear these things"—she gestures angrily at her shoes with their two inch heels—"because she expected Prim and me to have to go up and say something, so we needed to be, in her words, 'camera ready.' I tried to tell her that isn't how Thirteen funerals go, and I know she's attended them before, so I don't know why she expected this one to be different, but here we are."

I shake my head. "To be fair to Effie, I was just thinking the same thing. That this"—I motion to what's left of the people in attendance—"would've made a good propo."

Peeta nudges my shoulder. "Aw, look, he's learning!"

"Shut up."

"I'm so proud of you! My husband, becoming so politically savvy." He puts his hand over his heart and mimes a swoon.

"Knock it off or I'll punch your block off," I say without any heat.

His startling blue eyes crinkle at the corners. "Aw, you're just saying that so I'll stop."

"Well, yeah." Peeta knows there's no way I would hit him. That's not how we work. We haven't fought using our fists since that one time back at the cave. And I would never ever hit him in anger. This is just our way of teasing sometimes. Falling back on that almost brotherly behavior. This is just how we are, and I treasure the easy camaraderie that Peeta and I have. Even if from the outside, it can appear combative. I love it. Need it. Crave it.

"You know, if you guys can stop with the flirting, I'd like to go back to our…" Katniss trails off.

I know what she meant to say—'our quarters'—but they don't exist anymore. It's been a hard adjustment, moving to smaller and more cramped quarters in the quote 'safe' part of the district.

Where we were before, we had a place for Rain and eventually Ash to sleep in the room next to us. We had a couch and multiple places to store our things. Where we're staying now doesn't even have a double bed, let alone a bed large enough to accommodate all three of us. And there's no space for our children. Rain has been forced to stay in the nursery at night. As for Ash, he was scheduled to start staying with us at night this week. He's six weeks old, which is about the earliest that Thirteen allows the babies to go home with their parents.

He's not coming home this week.

We don't have a home.

I gather Katniss into my arms and hold her close, making sure to leave enough space so that Peeta can join us. He does so quickly, enfolding both of us into his arms. I may be the tallest, but Peeta's the strongest. I could use Peeta's strength right about now. I'm sure Katniss could too.

We stay there for several moments until the sound of someone clearing their throat forces us to separate. I lift my head to see Fulvia watching us.

"I'm—I'm sorry to interrupt," she says, hunching her shoulders timidly. "However, I just got word, and I wanted to be the first to congratulate you!"

"Congratulate us for what?" Peeta's voice is wary.

She blinks. "You don't know?"

"Know what?" Katniss asks.

Another blink. "Why, I can't believe they didn't tell you!"

"Who didn't tell us what?" I ask, more than a little annoyed.

Fulvia stutters for a bit before Peeta puts a hand on her elbow and says, "We're not upset with you. We're just surprised that there's something to congratulate us about since we haven't been anywhere but here. So what did you want to congratulate us about?"

"Marriage." Still blinking rapidly, her fingers clench and unclench on the edge of her jacket. "Um, um, your mother's marriage?"

"My mother?" Peeta asks, taking a step back.

"Uh huh."

"Got married?"

"Uh huh."

"To who?" Left unspoken is 'who would want to marry her?'

But I already know the answer. I clasp Peeta on the shoulder and say, "Congratulations. Finnick Odair is officially your new stepbrother."

"...Oh."

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AN:
Written: 7/13/2024
Revised: 8/6/2024

The title of this chapter comes from the song "Last Impression" by TWO-MIX from the "Gundam Wing: Endless Waltz" soundtrack. I mean, if you haven't seen Gundam Wing it's super fitting for the Hunger Games universe and in particular Mockingjay. It's about colonies revolting against an oppressive government and the symbols and propaganda behind it all. Sound familiar?

As for us, things are going to be sporadic and random. Lark's mother is dying of cancer. (We may have mentioned it in another of our fics.) It is terminal. It's a rare cancer: Small-Cell Bladder Cancer mixed with Regular Bladder Cancer. So there is no known effective treatment for it. Every week it seems like there's a different projection and a different prognosis. This week alone she's got 7 doctor's appointments. So it's been a lot. Lark also had surgery on her back recently because apparently she has no cartilage in her spine. Apparently you need cartilage, who knew? Rose is dealing with all the burnout, some real world events, as well as several of her family members also dying of cancer. Cancer sucks. It sucks hard.

Things that were randomized in this chapter: Nothing.

You can get more information about our original writing at RoseLark Publishing.

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Until next time! Thanks for reading!