the next will never come (part 16/?, hunger games, r)
the next will never come
"It means I'm done. It means I'm free. It means I'll live."
katniss/peeta, katniss/gale, au, r. katniss makes it through her final reaping. part 16 of ?
Gale goes home soon after we eat, resting his hand on my waist and pressing a kiss to my cheek as he says goodbye. His movements speak of something more intimate than friendship, but it's nothing like the way he'd say goodbye to me just two or three days ago. I don't know what it means. I don't ask.
I offer Prim the cheese danish that's left, but she turns it away. "I'm not hungry," she says flatly. I lower myself gingerly on the edge of the bed, plate in hand.
"You sure? They're really good."
"I'm sure," she says, and rolls away from me onto her side, facing the window that opens onto the pen where we keep her goat, Lady.
Mother returns from her house call in the evening, just as the sun is drifting below the horizon, streaking the sky with orange and purple. "How's your sister?" she asks quietly, setting her medicine bag by the front door.
I'm not sure what to tell her, because the truth is, I don't know. Ho shoul someone be the day after the person they love was killed in the Hunger Games? She's not wailing and crying, but she's not totally blank, either - just somewhere in between. "Okay, I guess. She's not eating."
Mother hums in disappointment. "Well, that's normal." As she turns to the kitchen sink to wash her hands, a coil of resentment tightens in my chest. Of cours she' think that. But before I can respond, she speaks again. "Mrs. Farren told me that the...that they are scheduled to come back from the Capitol tomorrow."
She means Astrid and Olli: their bodies. I feel a pang when I think of Olli's parents, who have been waiting to bury their boy for weeks. The Capitol always sends both tributes back on the same train after the Games, no matter how far apart they died; evidently they don't think it's worth making more than one trip.
I glance towards the bedroom. "Do you think Prim will want to go?" Many families wait at the train station to accept the coffins themselves, so they can prepare the bodies for the memorial service that takes place a day or two later, and say their own, private goodbyes. But Prim isn't family.
Mother shakes her head slightly. "You'd know better than I would," she says with a shrug, wiping her hands on a ratty, aging kitchen towel.
It's true. I would know better - because she hasn't even made an attempt to talk with Prim since those first awful moments we spent trying to calm her down. "Right," I snort derisively. "Because her ow mothe obviously wouldn't know how she feels."
She turns to face me then, looking stricken. "Katniss."
It occurs to me, not for the first time, how pale my mother's eyes are - not a deep blue like Peeta's, or a bright blue like Prim's. Just a pale, faded blue, like an old shirt that's been washed too many times, masking an ache that's had a hold on her for years. I stare back impassively, waiting for her to yell, or scold me, or do anything, really.
But she doesn't do any of those things. She just looks at me, the hurt plain and open on her face. And suddenly the emotions welling up in me - anger, guilt, shame - are too much. Just…too much.
"I'm going for a walk," I spit out, and the front door has slammed behind me before she can even open her mouth to protest.
My footsteps crunch aggressively on the gravel road that runs past our house. At first, my instincts had led me towards the Hawthornes' house. But I still don't know where Gale and I stand, and I'm still so upset with my own family that I don't think it's the right time to hash that out.
Instead I head towards the center of town, a rare trip for me at nighttime. Since electricity is so unreliable in District 12, most of the shops in town close with the sunset. And since funds were so unreliable in my house, I almost never had reason to visit the shops for anything but a trade, anyway.
As I expect, the center of town is quiet and empty. A few dim pools of light dot the ground, lit by kerosene streetlamps. I find a bench next to the sweet shop and sit, breathing in deep. The air is warm and a little damp. It might rain tonight.
The buildings in town are much nicer than those in the Seam, some of them even what you'd call pretty - the government officials who come on business every now and then can't be expected to look at eyesore everywher they go in District 12, of course. But as pleasant as it is to sit here, alone with my thoughts, the squirming feeling that I don't belong never quite goes away.
If I look to my left, I can see the bakery, where a little glow of yellow light is just barely visible from the kitchen in back. Peeta and Brody are probably in there right now, prepping for tomorrow's business.
Peeta. His name floods my thoughts with confusion. We barely know one another - and yet there's some kind of connection between us that I can't shake. All along I've thought it was just the gratitude, the sense o owin that I've always felt towards him, ever since he threw me the bread. But after everything that's happened over the past few days, I'm terrified that it's becoming something else entirely.
"Katniss?" A soft, feminine voice breaks open the silence behind me. I snap my head around and see that it's Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter, approaching me hesitantly. A paper bag is clutched in her delicate, pale hands.
We were friends in school, Madge and I, or as close to friends as you can be when you rarely speak with one another. We were partners in class, and sat together at lunch, but our tentative friendship never really took hold beyond the school grounds. As our graduation approached, we drifted apart, knowing that we wouldn't have much in common once our classes ended - at least not beyond our brief conversations when Gale and I would show up at her back door with strawberries to sell.
I haven't even seen her since the day of the Reaping, when we'd exchanged quick, silent nods in the line where we stood waiting to have our fingers pricked before we were herded like cattle into the town square.
"Hi Madge," I say, watching as she steps carefully toward me.
"What are you doing out here?" she asks, stopping just in front of me. She looks the same as she always did in school: golden hair falling in wispy waves to her shoulders, a modest, well-made blouse fitted over her well-fed frame. Madge was always the very picture of Merchant success, but somehow I could never hate her for it. She had about as much choice growing up the daughter of the mayor as I did growing up the daughter of a coal miner.
When I don't answer, she sits on the bench beside me, careful to keep a few inches between us. "I'm very sorry about your sister's girlfriend," she says, her voice lowered. "I really thought she might win. I could tell from Prim's interview that she cared about her very much."
"Thank you," I say quietly, touched by what seems to be her genuine concern. Her paper bag stirs my curiosity. "What are you out here for? I thought all the shops closed at night."
Madge looks away. "The…well. We have an agreement with the couple who run the apothecary. If my mom's having a bad spell, we can come by any time."
"Oh. I'm sorry," I tell her sincerely. Everyone knows that the mayor's wife spends her days bedridden, wracked with pain from some kind of chronic illness, but no one knows exactly what's wrong with her. Madge clearly doesn't want to talk about it, anyway, so I change the subject.
"Strawberries are in season, I'm sorry we haven't been bringing them by lately," I say. Madge frowns a little, turning back to me.
"What do you mean?"
"You know. The strawberries we used to bring by? Your dad would buy them from me and Gale?" It's been a while since the last time we sold strawberries to the mayor, but surely Madge's memory isn' tha bad.
"But - I mean, Gale's been bringing them every week."
That's news to me. Gale's been selling strawberries to the Undersees behind my back Not behind my back, I tell myself quickly I haven't even been out in the woods with him in weeks But in all the times that we've talked about his hunting, he's never mentioned that the mayor's house is still on his Sunday morning route. And something about that irks me.
"Oh," I finally say. "I didn't realize."
"I heard you're working at the bakery?" she says abruptly, clearly sensing my discomfort. Unfortunately, she chose the wrong topic if she wanted the conversation to get any less awkward.
"I was," I say shortly. "Not anymore."
Madge seems to realize that she's struck a nerve, and she sits up straighter, crinkling the paper bag reflexively in her hand. "Oh. Well, I should get this stuff home to my mom," she says, standing. "It was really nice to see you, Katniss." She pauses. "You should come by some time, if you want. We could have tea, or something."
"Yeah, maybe," I say, managing a smile. I know as I say it that it's not going to happen; the mayor might be willing to overlook my poaching for fresh strawberries, but I can't imagine he'd approve of his daughter inviting a criminal into his home. "Have a good night."
"Good night," she echoes, and sets off for her house with a little wave. She looks back over her shoulder at me just as she reaches the bend in the road towards home, and I wave back.
My encounter with Madge did nothing to improve my mood, but it did redirect my sour thoughts away from my mother, at least momentarily. She's sitting on the couch when I arrive home, bathed in candlelight, mending a pair of pants that I'd torn in the woods a few weeks ago.
"Hi," I say quietly, leaning against the doorway into the living room.
She glances up at me briefly, her expression neutral, before returning her attention to her needlework. "Hi."
"I'm sorry about what I said earlier," I say before I can second-guess myself. "Maybe…I wasn't being fair."
Mother doesn't respond for a long time. I guess she's not ready to forgive me - fine. But as I move to walk away, her voice stops me.
"No, it was fair," she says evenly, her eyes still focused on her needle as she weaves it through the seam of the pants. "That's what made it so hard to hear."
I hesitate in the doorway. "I quit my job," I blurt out.
My admission is enough to pull her eyes away from her mending. "Why?"
"Because…I don't think I'm meant for it. I'm not - I don't know. I'm messing things up more than I'm helping." Even as I say it, I realize my reasoning doesn't make much sense. "It's hard to explain."
"Was Mr. Mellark going to fire you?" she presses. "Was he not happy with your work?"
"No," I admit quietly. "He said I was doing really well."
Mother shakes her head in disappointment, turning back to the pants in her lap. "Well, your decisions are your own, Katniss. But remember that they affect the rest of us, too."
"You think I don't know that?" I demand, my anger flaring up again. So much for making amends. "Seriously? I've spent half my life keeping us afloat, no thanks to you."
Mother doesn't respond, the purse of her lips the only acknowledgment that she's heard me. Her non-reaction only infuriates me more. "Okay. You're just going to sit there? That's fine. I hope you're happy when I die in a goddam mining ccident."
That gets her attention. Her eyes flash dangerously with a look I'm not sure I've ever seen from her before. "Don't you dare use that tone with me."
"I'll use any damn tone I want -"
"Why are you yelling?" Prim's voice interrupts me. I'm shocked to see her standing behind me, looking worn and mussed from sleep, her nightshirt twisted uncomfortably around her torso. It's the first time I've seen her out of bed in days.
I struggle to moderate my voice, but it still rings out loud and unstable. "Because I quit my job, an sh has a problem with it."
"Why did you quit your job?" Prim asks softly, her brow furrowed in concern. "Katniss?"
"Because…I just…I did." All my reasons seem to fall apart here in front of Prim, who's in pain, who's relying o m to be the strong one. The provider. The protector.
I can't be those things for her if I'm constantly worried about hunting enough game, gathering enough food, earning enough money. And if doend up in the mines, she'll never make it through a day without wondering if her sister will actually come home that night.
Prim is fourteen. She's lost too many people already.
I have to go back to the bakery.
"It means I'm done. It means I'm free. It means I'll live."
katniss/peeta, katniss/gale, au, r. katniss makes it through her final reaping. part 16 of ?
Gale goes home soon after we eat, resting his hand on my waist and pressing a kiss to my cheek as he says goodbye. His movements speak of something more intimate than friendship, but it's nothing like the way he'd say goodbye to me just two or three days ago. I don't know what it means. I don't ask.
I offer Prim the cheese danish that's left, but she turns it away. "I'm not hungry," she says flatly. I lower myself gingerly on the edge of the bed, plate in hand.
"You sure? They're really good."
"I'm sure," she says, and rolls away from me onto her side, facing the window that opens onto the pen where we keep her goat, Lady.
Mother returns from her house call in the evening, just as the sun is drifting below the horizon, streaking the sky with orange and purple. "How's your sister?" she asks quietly, setting her medicine bag by the front door.
I'm not sure what to tell her, because the truth is, I don't know. Ho shoul someone be the day after the person they love was killed in the Hunger Games? She's not wailing and crying, but she's not totally blank, either - just somewhere in between. "Okay, I guess. She's not eating."
Mother hums in disappointment. "Well, that's normal." As she turns to the kitchen sink to wash her hands, a coil of resentment tightens in my chest. Of cours she' think that. But before I can respond, she speaks again. "Mrs. Farren told me that the...that they are scheduled to come back from the Capitol tomorrow."
She means Astrid and Olli: their bodies. I feel a pang when I think of Olli's parents, who have been waiting to bury their boy for weeks. The Capitol always sends both tributes back on the same train after the Games, no matter how far apart they died; evidently they don't think it's worth making more than one trip.
I glance towards the bedroom. "Do you think Prim will want to go?" Many families wait at the train station to accept the coffins themselves, so they can prepare the bodies for the memorial service that takes place a day or two later, and say their own, private goodbyes. But Prim isn't family.
Mother shakes her head slightly. "You'd know better than I would," she says with a shrug, wiping her hands on a ratty, aging kitchen towel.
It's true. I would know better - because she hasn't even made an attempt to talk with Prim since those first awful moments we spent trying to calm her down. "Right," I snort derisively. "Because her ow mothe obviously wouldn't know how she feels."
She turns to face me then, looking stricken. "Katniss."
It occurs to me, not for the first time, how pale my mother's eyes are - not a deep blue like Peeta's, or a bright blue like Prim's. Just a pale, faded blue, like an old shirt that's been washed too many times, masking an ache that's had a hold on her for years. I stare back impassively, waiting for her to yell, or scold me, or do anything, really.
But she doesn't do any of those things. She just looks at me, the hurt plain and open on her face. And suddenly the emotions welling up in me - anger, guilt, shame - are too much. Just…too much.
"I'm going for a walk," I spit out, and the front door has slammed behind me before she can even open her mouth to protest.
My footsteps crunch aggressively on the gravel road that runs past our house. At first, my instincts had led me towards the Hawthornes' house. But I still don't know where Gale and I stand, and I'm still so upset with my own family that I don't think it's the right time to hash that out.
Instead I head towards the center of town, a rare trip for me at nighttime. Since electricity is so unreliable in District 12, most of the shops in town close with the sunset. And since funds were so unreliable in my house, I almost never had reason to visit the shops for anything but a trade, anyway.
As I expect, the center of town is quiet and empty. A few dim pools of light dot the ground, lit by kerosene streetlamps. I find a bench next to the sweet shop and sit, breathing in deep. The air is warm and a little damp. It might rain tonight.
The buildings in town are much nicer than those in the Seam, some of them even what you'd call pretty - the government officials who come on business every now and then can't be expected to look at eyesore everywher they go in District 12, of course. But as pleasant as it is to sit here, alone with my thoughts, the squirming feeling that I don't belong never quite goes away.
If I look to my left, I can see the bakery, where a little glow of yellow light is just barely visible from the kitchen in back. Peeta and Brody are probably in there right now, prepping for tomorrow's business.
Peeta. His name floods my thoughts with confusion. We barely know one another - and yet there's some kind of connection between us that I can't shake. All along I've thought it was just the gratitude, the sense o owin that I've always felt towards him, ever since he threw me the bread. But after everything that's happened over the past few days, I'm terrified that it's becoming something else entirely.
"Katniss?" A soft, feminine voice breaks open the silence behind me. I snap my head around and see that it's Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter, approaching me hesitantly. A paper bag is clutched in her delicate, pale hands.
We were friends in school, Madge and I, or as close to friends as you can be when you rarely speak with one another. We were partners in class, and sat together at lunch, but our tentative friendship never really took hold beyond the school grounds. As our graduation approached, we drifted apart, knowing that we wouldn't have much in common once our classes ended - at least not beyond our brief conversations when Gale and I would show up at her back door with strawberries to sell.
I haven't even seen her since the day of the Reaping, when we'd exchanged quick, silent nods in the line where we stood waiting to have our fingers pricked before we were herded like cattle into the town square.
"Hi Madge," I say, watching as she steps carefully toward me.
"What are you doing out here?" she asks, stopping just in front of me. She looks the same as she always did in school: golden hair falling in wispy waves to her shoulders, a modest, well-made blouse fitted over her well-fed frame. Madge was always the very picture of Merchant success, but somehow I could never hate her for it. She had about as much choice growing up the daughter of the mayor as I did growing up the daughter of a coal miner.
When I don't answer, she sits on the bench beside me, careful to keep a few inches between us. "I'm very sorry about your sister's girlfriend," she says, her voice lowered. "I really thought she might win. I could tell from Prim's interview that she cared about her very much."
"Thank you," I say quietly, touched by what seems to be her genuine concern. Her paper bag stirs my curiosity. "What are you out here for? I thought all the shops closed at night."
Madge looks away. "The…well. We have an agreement with the couple who run the apothecary. If my mom's having a bad spell, we can come by any time."
"Oh. I'm sorry," I tell her sincerely. Everyone knows that the mayor's wife spends her days bedridden, wracked with pain from some kind of chronic illness, but no one knows exactly what's wrong with her. Madge clearly doesn't want to talk about it, anyway, so I change the subject.
"Strawberries are in season, I'm sorry we haven't been bringing them by lately," I say. Madge frowns a little, turning back to me.
"What do you mean?"
"You know. The strawberries we used to bring by? Your dad would buy them from me and Gale?" It's been a while since the last time we sold strawberries to the mayor, but surely Madge's memory isn' tha bad.
"But - I mean, Gale's been bringing them every week."
That's news to me. Gale's been selling strawberries to the Undersees behind my back Not behind my back, I tell myself quickly I haven't even been out in the woods with him in weeks But in all the times that we've talked about his hunting, he's never mentioned that the mayor's house is still on his Sunday morning route. And something about that irks me.
"Oh," I finally say. "I didn't realize."
"I heard you're working at the bakery?" she says abruptly, clearly sensing my discomfort. Unfortunately, she chose the wrong topic if she wanted the conversation to get any less awkward.
"I was," I say shortly. "Not anymore."
Madge seems to realize that she's struck a nerve, and she sits up straighter, crinkling the paper bag reflexively in her hand. "Oh. Well, I should get this stuff home to my mom," she says, standing. "It was really nice to see you, Katniss." She pauses. "You should come by some time, if you want. We could have tea, or something."
"Yeah, maybe," I say, managing a smile. I know as I say it that it's not going to happen; the mayor might be willing to overlook my poaching for fresh strawberries, but I can't imagine he'd approve of his daughter inviting a criminal into his home. "Have a good night."
"Good night," she echoes, and sets off for her house with a little wave. She looks back over her shoulder at me just as she reaches the bend in the road towards home, and I wave back.
My encounter with Madge did nothing to improve my mood, but it did redirect my sour thoughts away from my mother, at least momentarily. She's sitting on the couch when I arrive home, bathed in candlelight, mending a pair of pants that I'd torn in the woods a few weeks ago.
"Hi," I say quietly, leaning against the doorway into the living room.
She glances up at me briefly, her expression neutral, before returning her attention to her needlework. "Hi."
"I'm sorry about what I said earlier," I say before I can second-guess myself. "Maybe…I wasn't being fair."
Mother doesn't respond for a long time. I guess she's not ready to forgive me - fine. But as I move to walk away, her voice stops me.
"No, it was fair," she says evenly, her eyes still focused on her needle as she weaves it through the seam of the pants. "That's what made it so hard to hear."
I hesitate in the doorway. "I quit my job," I blurt out.
My admission is enough to pull her eyes away from her mending. "Why?"
"Because…I don't think I'm meant for it. I'm not - I don't know. I'm messing things up more than I'm helping." Even as I say it, I realize my reasoning doesn't make much sense. "It's hard to explain."
"Was Mr. Mellark going to fire you?" she presses. "Was he not happy with your work?"
"No," I admit quietly. "He said I was doing really well."
Mother shakes her head in disappointment, turning back to the pants in her lap. "Well, your decisions are your own, Katniss. But remember that they affect the rest of us, too."
"You think I don't know that?" I demand, my anger flaring up again. So much for making amends. "Seriously? I've spent half my life keeping us afloat, no thanks to you."
Mother doesn't respond, the purse of her lips the only acknowledgment that she's heard me. Her non-reaction only infuriates me more. "Okay. You're just going to sit there? That's fine. I hope you're happy when I die in a goddam mining ccident."
That gets her attention. Her eyes flash dangerously with a look I'm not sure I've ever seen from her before. "Don't you dare use that tone with me."
"I'll use any damn tone I want -"
"Why are you yelling?" Prim's voice interrupts me. I'm shocked to see her standing behind me, looking worn and mussed from sleep, her nightshirt twisted uncomfortably around her torso. It's the first time I've seen her out of bed in days.
I struggle to moderate my voice, but it still rings out loud and unstable. "Because I quit my job, an sh has a problem with it."
"Why did you quit your job?" Prim asks softly, her brow furrowed in concern. "Katniss?"
"Because…I just…I did." All my reasons seem to fall apart here in front of Prim, who's in pain, who's relying o m to be the strong one. The provider. The protector.
I can't be those things for her if I'm constantly worried about hunting enough game, gathering enough food, earning enough money. And if doend up in the mines, she'll never make it through a day without wondering if her sister will actually come home that night.
Prim is fourteen. She's lost too many people already.
I have to go back to the bakery.