fic: last chance saloon
last chance saloon
thg ; katniss, peeta, haymitch ; pg-13.
the thing with fire is this: it burns out.
catching fire au - the revolution has failed before it has even really started, and taken gale, prim and the others down with it. haymitch, katniss and peeta somehow make it out of district twelve together and alive, and the three of them make a run for it with katniss’ bow and a job-lot of liquor.
tragedy, he perceived, belonged to the ancient time.
george orwell ; 1984
the thing with fire is this:
it burns out.
By the lake, the mockingjay’s are singing a song of death. She catches Haymitch’s eye, begins to sing, closing her eyes as the birds fall into silence.
‘How did you find this place?’ Peeta’s kicked off his shoes to submerge his feet in the water. His prosthetic looks oddly redundant when he wiggles the toes of his right foot. It almost makes her want to laugh. Which seems kind of inappropriate, given the context.
Her tongue twists, ‘Hunting.’ She replies, too quickly.
‘You always were a terrible liar.’ Haymitch says. She considers the truth in the statement, but glares at him anyway.
‘I’m gonna go find some food. You two,’ she pauses, gesturing to the small concrete house, ‘make yourselves comfortable.’
The thorns have grown high this summer, slowing her progress and scratching deep into her skin, and it’s dark by the time she returns to the lake. In her absence the boys have set a fire, and the light from the embers casts Haymitch’s body into harsh shadow.
Although she does not announce her presence, he senses it anyway, raises a bloodied finger to his lips, ‘Peeta’s asleep.’ He says, exchanging the bottle of clear liquid at his side for a turkey to pluck.
She strips out of her muddied clothes and settles beside him. ‘How long do you think we have? Before they realise we’re not…?’ She screws her eyes shut and takes a heavy swig of liquor. It burns the roof of her mouth
‘I’ve been thinking about that, and I reckon we’ve got a few weeks before Snow figures it out.’ His eyes flicker back towards the District, all smoke and cinders, ‘Maybe more. We don’t know how bad things went down in the other districts.’ They appraise one another in the fading fire light. In the darkness, she thinks, he looks almost like Gale. She swallows hard when he speaks, ‘You look like shit, sweetheart. Go to bed.’
When she stands, her hand finds his shoulder. ‘Sleep well, Katniss.’
It hurts more than it should, and she finds tears pooling in her eyes. ‘Shout if you need anything.’
She dreams of Gale, we could do it, you know, he tells her and she laughs in a voice that isn’t her own, we wouldn’t get five miles. But that was then and this is now, and she is here and Gale is there, buried under feet of soot and ash.
Mockingjay’s hail the morning. She eyes the two men uncertainly, eyes flicking back towards the burning remnants of their home. Except it never was her home. Her home was always here, in the woods, the tiny concrete building by the lake. She thinks of Prim, for a moment, letting the grief shadow across her face.
‘Are you ok, Katniss?’ A distant voice, too weary to be Peeta’s, asks. Who the mouths belong to doesn’t matter, she reasons, as long as the stomach’s they lead to are full and the eyes behind them bright. They are just another family to protect. More mouths to feed.
So she smiles, and Gale tells her she only really smile in the woods and it hurts. ‘’Course. Never better.’
A hot summer passes above them. She spends the balmiest days stripped to her underwear in the lake. Peeta is distrustful of the water, but she teaches Haymitch to swim a handful of strokes. She observes how naturally it comes to him, the ripple his strong shoulders make in the water, the elegant curve his legs make as he pushes off the exposed bark of a willow tree.
‘Are you sure Finnick never taught you?’ She calls from the shallows, laughing when he attempts a somersault. She doesn’t notice Peeta’s sour expression. Or rather, she choose to ignore it.
Somehow, Peeta still manages to become a problem. She’s not sure if it’s because she loves him or she hates him or what, and she's well beyond caring, but there are days when she lingers between sleeping and awake, when she wishes she’d left him behind to burn with the rest of them. It would easier, she tells herself, to survive when you have no-one to pin you down. This is not true, of course. It would be easier if she still had Prim to look after and Gale to look after her. But she has died enough deaths already without adding Peeta and Haymitch to the toll. She signed up for this, after all.
‘I still love you, you know.’ Peeta says in the warm light of evening, his eyes fixed on Haymitch’s silhouette as it traverses the lake. It is only now she realises that he’s barely glanced at her for weeks.
She takes a slow bite of squirrel, and forces a smile he won’t buy for a second. ‘I know.’ The pause stretches awkwardly. ‘I think I’m going to go to bed. Night.’
She joins Haymitch by the fire once she’s sure Peeta’s out for the count. It’s funny, how easy it is to slip into a routine. Wake. Hunt. Eat. Doze. Drink. Rinse and repeat.
‘Come on then,’ the older man’s smirk is crooked, ‘let’s have it, what did you do to the poor boy this time?’
She shoots him a look. ‘I didn’t do anything.’ It sounds whiny coming from her mouth, and she kind of hates herself for it.
‘Has it ever occurred to you that that’s what annoyed him?’
Her back is turned to him, slightly, and she hopes he can’t see the ghost of indignation that passes across her face before she settles on the defensive. ‘You don’t know anything about our relationship.’
It falls on drunken ears, of course, and Haymitch heaves a heavy sigh, ‘Sweetheart, I manufactured your relationship.’
She slaps him, then, full round the face and he laughs. ‘You know, if I was twenty years younger…’
It is her turn to laugh, her frown easing into a bark that echoes around the lake and causes the owls to scatter. ‘Pervert.’
‘Takes one to know one, sweetheart.’
Do not forget: they are living on borrowed time - there is no surprise to what happens next. They wake to footsteps, the smell of blood and white roses, cryptic instructions in Capitol accents. She can feel Haymitch’s gaze on her when she reaches into the pocket of her father’s jacket. Gale’s voice echoes in her head, you and i, we could make it. Fat chance of that, she had thought. She had been right, it would seem, but she’s too proud to clutch at a victory from the breast of a dead man.
‘Will it hurt?’ Peeta asks, his eyes fixed on the dark fruit in her fist. His voice is both innocent and weary, an interesting contradiction in terms, perhaps, if Katniss had time to concern herself with such things.
She shrugs, but her shoulders are shaking. ‘I’ve never died before.’
‘Together, then?’ Haymitch’s voice cracks, slightly, and his free hand grabs for hers.
She nods, and the mockingjay’s begin to sing.
the thing with smoke is this:
without it, there's no fire.
end.
thg ; katniss, peeta, haymitch ; pg-13.
the thing with fire is this: it burns out.
catching fire au - the revolution has failed before it has even really started, and taken gale, prim and the others down with it. haymitch, katniss and peeta somehow make it out of district twelve together and alive, and the three of them make a run for it with katniss’ bow and a job-lot of liquor.
tragedy, he perceived, belonged to the ancient time.
george orwell ; 1984
the thing with fire is this:
it burns out.
By the lake, the mockingjay’s are singing a song of death. She catches Haymitch’s eye, begins to sing, closing her eyes as the birds fall into silence.
‘How did you find this place?’ Peeta’s kicked off his shoes to submerge his feet in the water. His prosthetic looks oddly redundant when he wiggles the toes of his right foot. It almost makes her want to laugh. Which seems kind of inappropriate, given the context.
Her tongue twists, ‘Hunting.’ She replies, too quickly.
‘You always were a terrible liar.’ Haymitch says. She considers the truth in the statement, but glares at him anyway.
‘I’m gonna go find some food. You two,’ she pauses, gesturing to the small concrete house, ‘make yourselves comfortable.’
The thorns have grown high this summer, slowing her progress and scratching deep into her skin, and it’s dark by the time she returns to the lake. In her absence the boys have set a fire, and the light from the embers casts Haymitch’s body into harsh shadow.
Although she does not announce her presence, he senses it anyway, raises a bloodied finger to his lips, ‘Peeta’s asleep.’ He says, exchanging the bottle of clear liquid at his side for a turkey to pluck.
She strips out of her muddied clothes and settles beside him. ‘How long do you think we have? Before they realise we’re not…?’ She screws her eyes shut and takes a heavy swig of liquor. It burns the roof of her mouth
‘I’ve been thinking about that, and I reckon we’ve got a few weeks before Snow figures it out.’ His eyes flicker back towards the District, all smoke and cinders, ‘Maybe more. We don’t know how bad things went down in the other districts.’ They appraise one another in the fading fire light. In the darkness, she thinks, he looks almost like Gale. She swallows hard when he speaks, ‘You look like shit, sweetheart. Go to bed.’
When she stands, her hand finds his shoulder. ‘Sleep well, Katniss.’
It hurts more than it should, and she finds tears pooling in her eyes. ‘Shout if you need anything.’
She dreams of Gale, we could do it, you know, he tells her and she laughs in a voice that isn’t her own, we wouldn’t get five miles. But that was then and this is now, and she is here and Gale is there, buried under feet of soot and ash.
Mockingjay’s hail the morning. She eyes the two men uncertainly, eyes flicking back towards the burning remnants of their home. Except it never was her home. Her home was always here, in the woods, the tiny concrete building by the lake. She thinks of Prim, for a moment, letting the grief shadow across her face.
‘Are you ok, Katniss?’ A distant voice, too weary to be Peeta’s, asks. Who the mouths belong to doesn’t matter, she reasons, as long as the stomach’s they lead to are full and the eyes behind them bright. They are just another family to protect. More mouths to feed.
So she smiles, and Gale tells her she only really smile in the woods and it hurts. ‘’Course. Never better.’
A hot summer passes above them. She spends the balmiest days stripped to her underwear in the lake. Peeta is distrustful of the water, but she teaches Haymitch to swim a handful of strokes. She observes how naturally it comes to him, the ripple his strong shoulders make in the water, the elegant curve his legs make as he pushes off the exposed bark of a willow tree.
‘Are you sure Finnick never taught you?’ She calls from the shallows, laughing when he attempts a somersault. She doesn’t notice Peeta’s sour expression. Or rather, she choose to ignore it.
Somehow, Peeta still manages to become a problem. She’s not sure if it’s because she loves him or she hates him or what, and she's well beyond caring, but there are days when she lingers between sleeping and awake, when she wishes she’d left him behind to burn with the rest of them. It would easier, she tells herself, to survive when you have no-one to pin you down. This is not true, of course. It would be easier if she still had Prim to look after and Gale to look after her. But she has died enough deaths already without adding Peeta and Haymitch to the toll. She signed up for this, after all.
‘I still love you, you know.’ Peeta says in the warm light of evening, his eyes fixed on Haymitch’s silhouette as it traverses the lake. It is only now she realises that he’s barely glanced at her for weeks.
She takes a slow bite of squirrel, and forces a smile he won’t buy for a second. ‘I know.’ The pause stretches awkwardly. ‘I think I’m going to go to bed. Night.’
She joins Haymitch by the fire once she’s sure Peeta’s out for the count. It’s funny, how easy it is to slip into a routine. Wake. Hunt. Eat. Doze. Drink. Rinse and repeat.
‘Come on then,’ the older man’s smirk is crooked, ‘let’s have it, what did you do to the poor boy this time?’
She shoots him a look. ‘I didn’t do anything.’ It sounds whiny coming from her mouth, and she kind of hates herself for it.
‘Has it ever occurred to you that that’s what annoyed him?’
Her back is turned to him, slightly, and she hopes he can’t see the ghost of indignation that passes across her face before she settles on the defensive. ‘You don’t know anything about our relationship.’
It falls on drunken ears, of course, and Haymitch heaves a heavy sigh, ‘Sweetheart, I manufactured your relationship.’
She slaps him, then, full round the face and he laughs. ‘You know, if I was twenty years younger…’
It is her turn to laugh, her frown easing into a bark that echoes around the lake and causes the owls to scatter. ‘Pervert.’
‘Takes one to know one, sweetheart.’
Do not forget: they are living on borrowed time - there is no surprise to what happens next. They wake to footsteps, the smell of blood and white roses, cryptic instructions in Capitol accents. She can feel Haymitch’s gaze on her when she reaches into the pocket of her father’s jacket. Gale’s voice echoes in her head, you and i, we could make it. Fat chance of that, she had thought. She had been right, it would seem, but she’s too proud to clutch at a victory from the breast of a dead man.
‘Will it hurt?’ Peeta asks, his eyes fixed on the dark fruit in her fist. His voice is both innocent and weary, an interesting contradiction in terms, perhaps, if Katniss had time to concern herself with such things.
She shrugs, but her shoulders are shaking. ‘I’ve never died before.’
‘Together, then?’ Haymitch’s voice cracks, slightly, and his free hand grabs for hers.
She nods, and the mockingjay’s begin to sing.
the thing with smoke is this:
without it, there's no fire.
end.