#can you tell that I actually put thought into the filigree/borders this time -+-‘

[illusivejam]

My Courier, The Lucky Devil of the Mojave, Lazarus.

They initially had no interest in their past, the ongoing war between the 3 factions, or even what they would do after killing Benny. They just want to settle the score.

Laz is very impulsive and doesn’t (can’t) really think about consequences too well. They get a bit better at forethought later in the game, but they mostly learn to rely on their companions to reign them in (mostly Arcade, Boone, and Veronica. Cass and Raul get a kick out of seeing Laz almost blow themselves up. Lily, bless her heart, genuinely doesn’t see the harm). They have an uncanny sense of luck, and can usually walk out of very dangerous situations physically unscathed (usually. Sometimes your luck just runs out.)

[jlalafics]

“A Babysitter’s Life”-A THG Alternate

I’m trying something a little different. Actually…really different.

For some reference, this story takes place about seven-ish years after the Rebellion, putting Katniss and Peeta in about their mid-twenties. Consider a Post-Rebellion Alternate where Rue was not picked for the 74th Hunger Games. All other deaths, however, have occurred.

_____________ 

Summary: “It’s my lauded life to take care of you Mellarks.”

In need of something new, Rue takes a job in District 12 for the Victors of the 74th Hunger Games.

This is my first time on a train. Actually, it is my first time anywhere.

Underneath me, I feel every track as we head towards my destination—District 12. Outside, a forest envelops our rickety train and I take a deep breath when a whiff of pine hits my nostrils. Already, I am getting accustomed to something new; our trees are mostly fruit-filled, smaller but plentiful and sweet-smelling. The forest around me is encompassing, filled with the rustic scent of undisturbed life.

My mother tells me this is the opportunity of a lifetime. It is a chance to see another District; meet some new people and to really learn what skills I have. I can tell, however, that my mother is more anxious to see me settled in somewhere…anywhere, really.

I think that she’s just tired of finding me laid up in another wheat field staring up at the sky.

The train begins to slow down as we reach our last stop and my new home.

It is still early and my train had very little passengers; there’s a handful of people waiting for their loved ones—and one boy.

He is grey-eyed and olive skinned with thick, inky hair brushed back from his sharp face. The boy leans against a post and when our eyes meet, I know that he has come for me.

Steeling myself, I stand up when the train comes to a halt and make my way out.

The boy is already in front of me when I step down onto the platform.

He lifts a strong brow at me. “Rue Andrews?”

“Yes,” I confirm.

“Rory Hawthorne,” the boy replies. “I’m to take you to the Mellarks.”

Rory reaches for my lone bag and I whip it away. “No need. I got it.”

He guffaws, a small grin on his lips as he holds his hands up in surrender. “Just trying to be polite.”

“I’m sorry,” I say as we head off the platform into what I’m guessing is the main part of District 12. “I’m not used to—”

“People trying to be polite?” he responds.

I let out a snort. “It’s just very early…” Something niggles at my memory and I look to him, trying to remember where I may have seen him. A poster drifts into my thoughts… “Why do you look familiar?”

Rory gives me a long look. “Maybe you’ve heard of my brother—Gale?”

Oh yes—Gale Hawthorne.

Part of the Star Squad during the Rebellion and currently the sweetheart of District 2. His wedding to some businessman’s daughter was splashed all over the papers and the Capitol’s main channel. My mind recalls a picture of Gale with his family and I briefly remember an image of Rory in a fitted suit.

I turn to him. “You look better in your regular clothes.”

Rory colors. “Yeah…Alice, Gale’s wife, wanted us to wear those monkey suits.” He meets my eyes. “So, how did you fall into the job of glorified babysitter for the Mellarks?”

“My mom was visiting her sister in District 4 and met Mrs. Everdeen,” I explain. “She was telling my mom about how Katniss is expecting another child and has to limit her activities because this pregnancy is a little more difficult. Also, that their daughter needs someone to run around with while Peeta is at their bakery. So, my mom volunteered for me.”

I also jumped at the chance. I needed something new.

Rory nods in understanding. “It can get stifling sometimes.”

“Don’t I know it,” I reply as we reach the end of town and toward a border fence. “So, your family was close to Katniss’, right?”

“Yes. Katniss and Gale used to go hunting together,” Rory recalls. “He was in love with her at some point…but she chose Peeta. It was the right choice, in my opinion.”

“Oh…so you also knew Pr—”

“I knew Prim,” Rory finishes hurriedly. “We grew up together and when we were in hiding in District 13, we took care of each other. Then, she joined the medical team—” He stops, his expression heavy. “We’re here.”

I stare up at an iron archway, leading to the cul-de-sac of grand houses. “Victors’ Village.”

“Yup,” Rory replies wryly. “Population: Four and a three-fourth people. I guess with you—five and three-fourths.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Thanks for the math lesson.”

We reach the first house on the right. There’s a well-tended garden in front and a pathway leading up to the house created with…primroses.

Rory follows my gaze as we approach the front door.

“Peeta planted them when he came back from the Capitol.”

“For Katniss,” I muse. “That’s romantic.”

A laugh comes from in front of us.

“I don’t think we had romance on our minds…we were just trying to keep ourselves from attacking one another.”

I look up to find a very pregnant Katniss Mellark standing in the open doorway.

++++++

Katniss Mellark looks surprisingly young.

While we are just a few good years apart in age, Katniss’ smooth complexion and clear greys could easily fool someone into thinking we are school-age friends instead of employer and employee. I have a hard time registering that the woman in front of me was once a seventeen-year-old who, in one action, started a revolution.

“Thanks for picking Rue up,” she tells Rory. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” he tells her easily. “I got to walk a cute, intelligent girl to your house. That’s reward enough.”

I turn to him. “I appreciate the intelligent. I hate the cute.” Reaching into my pocket, I hand him a few bills. “Here. Buy yourself a thesaurus and come up with some better adjectives.”

“I like you already,” Katniss says with a smirk before looking to Rory. “Stop by the bakery. Peeta has a few things that he needs help with.”

“You got it,” Rory replies. Stepping onto the porch, he gives me a wink. “I’m glad you’re here. See you around.”

He turns and saunters off before I can reply.

“Rory is a real charmer,” Katniss remarks as she closes the door.

“He’s a little much,” I tell her.

She laughs and then looks me over. “So, what made you decide to leave the lush orchards of District 11?”

“I don’t know.” I look around the entryway—painted a cool blue—before glancing to each side where the living room and den are. “There was just a yearning, I guess. A chance to do something new.” Turning, I meet her eyes. “Isn’t that what you fought for? A chance for the generations after you to live fully?”

“At the time, I was just trying to stay alive,” she says, somewhat shyly.

Her hands go to her belly; she’s entering her seventh month, from what I can tell. I’m the oldest of six and by the time Charlene—the last of my siblings—was born, I knew without my mom telling me that she was in labor.

“Well, it worked out in our favor. Thank goodness for that.” Katniss’ mouth opens just a bit as if to reply before it firmly closes. “Sorry. I’ve been told that I speak with absolutely no filter at times and it can throw people off.”

“You remind me a lot of Johanna,” she tells me.

“Johanna Mason?” I think for a moment. “She seemed a bit blunt during her interviews and I was never good at axe-wielding.”

“Talk to Johanna for five minutes and you might want an axe of your own.”

We both laugh and I can see the tension melt off her. I can also see that she is exhausted, her hands imperceptibly going to her lower back.

“Why don’t we go to the kitchen and you can tell me more about my duties?” I say gently.

Katniss nods, letting out a small breath. “Right down the hall towards the back.”

We head past the stairs and make a turn into the open archway where the kitchen is. It’s homey; peach wallpaper with a delicate filigree pattern and dark wood. A table stands adjacent to the backdoor heading to the yard and I lead Katniss to a chair, pulling it out for her.

“You’re perceptive,” she remarks. “Aster will like you.”

“Where’s your tea?” I ask and Katniss nods towards the cupboard next to me. I go to the cupboard and find the chamomile easily. “I like the name. Totally makes sense.”

Katniss gazes at me curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Aster—it means star.” The kettle is already filled on their stovetop so I just turn the flame on. “You know, because you and Peeta were ‘The Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12’.”

“Damn, I never thought of that,” she tells me with a smile. “She was born in September and that’s her birth month flower; we just kind of stuck with a theme.”

“If this one is a boy, are you going to give him some sort of bread name?” I tease as I search the cabinets for a mug. Their kitchen is organized well enough for me to find them in one of the upper cupboards.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind a flower name for a boy,” a jovial voice says behind me.

Peeta Mellark looks quite different compared to the propos footage from the Rebellion.

Back then, he was gaunt; his blue eyes somewhat blank as Katniss stood at the forefront of the cameras. It was a little disheartening as he had so much charm during his Caesar Flickerman interview.

Besides Thresh, my mom favored him.

Putting memories of my past behind me, I watch as he greets Katniss, dipping his head to meet hers in a sweet kiss.

“Hello, my love,” he greets her tenderly.

In return, Katniss reaches to run a hand through his dirty-blond locks.

Present Peeta Mellark is, by far, my favorite.

“Rue, right?” He gives me a bright grin and I nod. “You’ve got Rory singing your praises.”

“It doesn’t seem all that hard to impress Rory,” I say wryly. Pouring the boiled water into the mug I find, I dip in the tea bag and place the cup in front of Katniss. “That tea bag would probably impress him.”

Peeta laughs warmly. “You’re going to fit in just fine here.”

++++++

Aster Mellark wakes up from her mid-afternoon nap.

By then, I have already set myself up in the room next to hers and I can hear her slight wail as she pulls herself from her slumber.

Without thought, I go into the nursery and find her in her daybed, staring up at the hanging mobile of the planets. The room is painted a sage green with the opposite wall being a beautiful mural of a meadow.

Going to the bed, I sit at the edge looking down at the toddler. “Hi Aster. I’m Rue.”

Aster has the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen. They are large and almond-shaped with thick lashes framing her gorgeous orbs. Her hair is raven black and thick; it hits her shoulders and I think of the many hairstyles that I can do with such locks.

When she’s a grown-up, Katniss and Peeta will have their work cut out for them.

“Woo,” she repeats my name. Aster holds her arms out to me and I can’t help but reach for her.

I love the ‘little one’ smell and mourned each time one of my brothers or sisters outgrew that innocent scent of babydom.

Standing up, I give her a smile. “Are you hungry?”

“My wuv,” she says simply.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

Aster points outside. “My wuv! My wuv!”

“Your parents might need to fill me in,” I tell her as I carry her down the stairs, heading for the den.

Katniss and Peeta sit on the sofa, her head on his shoulder and his hand on her belly, as they talk to one another quietly. I almost hate to break up the intimacy of the moment, but Aster is already scrambling down my body and heading towards her parents.

She waves her hands out at Katniss, who picks her up. “My wuv, my wuv.”

Katniss turns to her husband. “Now she will never call me Mama.”

I think back on Peeta’s greeting and I bite back the need to coo—I am not sentimental.

But the thought of Aster imitating her father is just too much for me.

Next thing you know, I’ll be singing love songs and reading sonnets.

++++++

The next few days are pretty much routine.

I wake up first to get dressed and ready before Aster wakes up. I am lucky because I get the hallway bathroom to myself. Katniss and Peeta have their own in the master bedroom.

After that, Aster usually wakes up and I bring her downstairs to make her breakfast and some toast for Katniss. Morning sickness did not go away after that first trimester and she remains nauseous mostly in the morning, though there is an occasional afternoon disappearance into the commode.

Peeta, who wakes up at the crack of dawn to heat the ovens, comes back to deliver a fresh loaf of bread to check in on his wife and Aster. I make sure that he brings his lunch to the bakery before he takes off with a final kiss to his family and a friendly wave for me.

I can tell that he is assured that his two ladies are safe with me. We share one goal; to make sure they are cared for.

Eventually, I meet Haymitch Abernathy. He is a bear of a man, but his dark eyes soften when Aster rushes into his arms.

“Nice to meet you,” he says gruffly. “You know…if it wasn’t going to be them, I was rooting for Thresh.”

“Yes, I know.” My eyes go to the rough ground. “Thresh was that kind of guy, though—kind enough to save Katniss from Clove. Had a bit of a crush on him back in 11, but he never saw me as anything but the little sister type.” I look up to see Haymitch still gazing at me, his eyes full of empathy. “Kind of broke my heart when he—”

Haymitch puts a hand to my shoulder. “Well, it’s a damn shame because you grew up very lovely.”

“For some reason, I feel like you don’t give compliments too frequently,” I say with a smile. “Thanks.”

I think I can find myself caring for Haymitch as much as I’m beginning to care for the Mellarks.

“Get out!”

A shout comes from the house and immediately Haymitch gives Aster back to me.

“Wait here,” he commands. “Do not come in until I say it’s okay.”

There’s nothing I can do but nod in agreement.

++++++

It’s a full hour before Haymitch emerges from the house—he looks exhausted.

“Katniss is asking for Aster,” he says.

“What happened?” I cradle Aster who has long fallen asleep against me.

We head towards the house and I can’t help but feel a little apprehensive. The house looks as it normally does in the evening; warm yellow light seeping through handmade curtains and quiet as a mouse. However, there is a sinking feeling hitting my core as we walk up the steps.

“Once in a while,” Haymitch starts. “Peeta has these…episodes. Usually triggered by stress or in this case, a memory of the old bakery. They’re infrequent but when they hit, they hit hard. Katniss, in her condition, isn’t able to handle it so their old mentor is in charge.”

“Thank you,” I tell him. “Not many mentors would care to help.”

“I like ‘em,” he says offhandedly.

A smile grows on my lips. “You more than like them.”

Haymitch opens the front door for me. “Well, just don’t tell them that.”

After telling him goodnight and promising to update him later, I close the door behind me. I go to the den first; Katniss is lying down on the couch, her eyes closed.

When my steps creak against the floor, she opens her eyes and sits up carefully, her hands resting on her belly. Every day, I see her little one growing even more. Her grey eyes are weary and lined with tears, but she reaches for Aster immediately.

I place her in Katniss’ arms. “Are you okay?”

“He came across an old rolling pin of his father’s,” she explains quietly. “Mr. Mellark was always such a nice man, but he wasn’t without his faults. He never defended Peeta or his brothers from their mother.”

I nod in understanding. “I’m guessing she wasn’t the mothering type.”

“Far from it. Peeta wanted to understand their relationship,” Katniss continues. “It’s just with being a father or a mother, it’s hard to understand how anyone could not love their child. Mrs. Mellark didn’t love her kids and Mr. Mellark couldn’t muster enough love to defend them.”

“But Peeta still loves them, anyway?”

Katniss smiles, her eyes faraway. “That’s just the way Peeta is. He can’t help but love—even if you treat him badly. I’ve been one of those.”

“It was hard to see that through the camera’s view,” I remark. “But for some reason, from the beginning, I thought it was real.”

“Maybe it was.” Katniss shrugs, her eyes full of tears. “I was just too young and stupid to see it. Peeta…he always knew—and that’s what I fell in love with. That damn hope of his.”

“It’s a good way to be,” I reply. “Do you need anything?”

“Can you just check on him?” she asks quietly. “Peeta never wants me to see him after one of these episodes.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” However, I’m not sure if I’m wrong or not. “I’ll go make sure he’s okay and let him know that you’re down here.”

Katniss nods, before closing her eyes and cradling Aster even closer.

Going upstairs, I turn the opposite way of my room and toward the double doors. In the few weeks that I’ve been here, I have never been in the master bedroom as there was no need. However, I can’t help but worry about what state I’ll find Peeta in. Katniss has tiptoed around the torture tactics of the Capitol, but obviously it has damaged Peeta in some way.

Carefully, I knock.

“Come in,” Peeta says dully.

I let out a breath before turning the doorknob and stepping in.

I don’t close the door—just in case.

“I told Katniss I’d check on you,” I start as I walk into the room.

Peeta is laying on the bed, turned away from me, in a fetal position and I can hear him sniffle.

“I don’t know why…I acted horribly towards her.”

I stay where I am, but I feel like whatever happened has ebbed and now I’m facing a shell of a person.

“Katniss loves you,” I reply. “You know that, or you wouldn’t be feeling so bad.”

He laughs gruffly. “That’s true…I’ve always loved her, you know. Since we were kids.”

“I know.” Who doesn’t remember their time in the cave? My mom only let me watch it because it was featured on the screen at our town square. More than one woman swooned over Peeta’s sweet story of Katniss and the Valley song. “And that’s how I know that you never really mean to hurt her.”

“You have more faith in me than I do at the moment,” he tells me.

Peeta finally turns to me and I can see that his hands are bandaged. There is a small bit of blood on his lower lip while his blues are red-rimmed with regret.

“I do. I have faith that you love your family more than anything,” I say. “More than your parents may have loved you. Aster and the new baby will never feel that they weren’t adored because you and Katniss would rather die than let that happen.”

He nods in agreement. “I’ll go check on them…after I clean up.”

“I agree. You look like crap.”

Peeta guffaws. “Get to sleep, Rue. You’re done playing therapist for the day.”

I grin. “It’s my lauded life to take care of you Mellarks.”

“You’re doing a good job.”

I tell him goodnight, closing the door behind me. I listen briefly behind it, just to make sure that he’s alright and leave only when I hear him getting out of bed.

In my room, I remind myself to call my mother. She is a stoic woman—not quite as affectionate as others—but I can tell that she loves her children fiercely. She wouldn’t be working her butt off from dawn till dusk if she didn’t.

After I change and settle down, I still feel restless. It must be the adrenaline of everything that has happened in the last few hours. Also, I hate to admit, but I do worry about the Mellarks. Despite everything, Katniss and Peeta are still young adults just trying to make their way. They’re still learning how to be parents to Aster and their soon-to-be-arriving baby.

My mother tells me that she and my father made all sorts of mistakes with me, but it made them work as a team and made them stronger.

I hope it’s the same for Katniss and Peeta.

My stomach growls and I realize that I haven’t eaten dinner. There’s always a little something in the fridge so I’m quickly on my feet and out the door. It’s as I head down the stairs that I hear something; it’s coming from the den where I left Katniss.

“I’m so sorry, love.” It’s Peeta. “Sometimes, I don’t how you put up with me. Part of me thinks that I’m never going to be fixed.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” Katniss tells him. “You can’t repair what’s a part of you…a part of us. This damage from the rebellion and the Games, it’s not going to go away. But we can’t let it take over us. Every day, we just try and live as best we can. We fought so hard to get here.”

I hear the smile in Peeta’s voice. “When did you become the optimist?”

Katniss snorts. “All these stupid hormones have made me soft. As soon as this one is out, I’m going into the woods and shooting something.”

“I look forward to it,” Peeta tells her.

They laugh quietly and it fills me with happiness.

For all is well in our little home.

++++++

“So, everything is alright?”

I walk along the edge of the forest with Rory on a rare day to myself. It has been two months since I’ve come to District 12 and I feel like it’s become part of my skin. I know every creak of the Mellark house or the exact cry that Aster makes whenever she wants the blue spoon and not the pink one. I know the right amount of time it takes to make Katniss’ favorite tea and when a homemade loaf made by Peeta has been proofed enough.

I can even feel the seasons change; this autumn is tense. Baby Mellark is almost here—and sometimes I feel I’ll know the exact moment that he or she is ready to come.

“Yes, it’s been quiet since the incident,” I tell Rory as we walk into the woods just beyond the border of District 12. “How were they when they were younger? Before the Games?”

“I didn’t know Peeta all too much,” Rory says as he kicks a stone in his path. “He was always a good guy…like his Dad. I’ve known Katniss since I was a kid because she spent so much time with Gale. She was serious and stubborn like him; they were peas in a pod. In the end, they were too much alike. My mother always knew that they weren’t meant for each other, but Gale was insistent that she was his.”

“And the Games changed that?”

“Katniss learned to care for someone outside her circle,” he tells me. “She didn’t have to take care of Peeta, but there was something about Peeta that just made him special…and it killed Gale. I mean, any idiot watching the Games could see that kiss was real.”

“Is it silly that I always wanted a kiss like that one in the cave?” I admit. “Not the ‘fearing for my life’ aspect of it, but that ‘I’m seeing something wonderful right in front of my face and I can’t let him go’ part.” I smile dryly. “So far, none of my kisses have been like that.”

“Mine were.” Rory stops, his eyes looking out ahead. “Back in District 13, Prim and I…” His fists clench. “Maybe it was because we weren’t sure what was going to happen from one day to the next…but they felt real.”

“I didn’t know Prim.” My hands instinctively go to his to stop him from breaking skin. “But from what you’ve told me and what Katniss tells me whenever she can muster up the courage to, Prim was not the kind of person who would just kiss someone and not mean it.”

“What if it never happens again?” he asks.

I shake my head. “One day it will and if all else fails, I’ll give it a go.”

Rory grins at me. “You’ll take me on?”

“I never said that,” I say. “I’m just realistic. I don’t think that I’ll ever have a kiss like Katniss and Peeta’s from the cave. Love doesn’t come in spades.”

“You sound just like Katniss,” Rory teases. “She was always saying she never wanted kids, especially when the Capitol was up and killing them for show. And she was still adamant after it was all over—took Peeta years to convince to her to have Aster.” We stop and Rory helps me onto a rock overlooking the wide meadow before us. “My mom was there the day Aster was born. She told me as soon as she was in Katniss’ arms, that resistance…that fear…just melted from her eyes.”

“And you think one kiss will change my mind about love?”

Rory grins at me. “I don’t know—but it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t give a try.”

++++++

“Hi Mama!” I call out into the phone receiver. It’s been forever since I’ve heard from her; my mother has been working tirelessly since returning from District 4. She is a supervisor in one of the orchard fields and it leaves her little time to catch up with me here in 12. “How is it going?”

“Same old, same old,” she replies. “We really miss you out here. I mean, Casey has been doing just fine taking care of the rest of the brood, but he can’t make the roast and potatoes the way the younger ones want it!”

Casey is seventeen and should be focusing on school. Instead he takes care of my younger siblings and takes a night shift at one of our production factories. As beautiful as it is in District 11, it doesn’t come without hard work.

“They shouldn’t be so picky,” I admonish.

“How are Katniss and Peeta? Their little ones?” Mom asks curiously.

I bite back the need to roll my eyes; I am sure that she’s been telling everyone that her oldest is living in the Mellark home, reaping the benefits of some Victors.

It is quite far from that.

Over time, I have come to realize that the rewards don’t necessarily balance out the punishment of winning the Games. Wonderful as Katniss and Peeta are, they work hard to create a semblance of normalcy for themselves and Aster.

It can be a trial for both, but I have seen them work through moments of gripping table edges or counters, biting back tears at memories, and having nightmares that leave them both trembling in cold sweats.

And I am here to take Aster in my room when needed or bring one of them a glass of water or cup of tea after a hard day.

In some ways, it’s important to me that they live as normally as they can—because they’ve fought so hard.

“It’s just fine. Katniss and Peeta are just a run-of-the-mill couple with a different kind of love story,” I tell her. “Aster, their daughter, is just precious. It’s almost time for the next one to come so we’re just waiting.”

“That sounds great,” my mother replies. There’s a long pause. “Sweetheart, Troy has been asking about you.”

I grip the receiver at the sound of his name. “Oh yeah?”

“He’s been asking if you’re coming home,” she continued carefully. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but you’ve been connected since birth. His mother and I practically worked in the orchard side by side when we were having you both—”

“What are you saying, Mama?” I ask abruptly.

“In about a month, a job will open up here in 11,” she tells me. “We miss you. I’m not trying to pressure you—I just want you to think on it.” There’s a sigh and I’m not sure if it’s coming from me or Mom. “And, this whole thing with Troy—you have to make a decision, either way.”

“I know,” I reply. “I have to go. Aster is going to wake up from her nap soon.”

“Alright, Rue.” There’s resignation in her tone. “Talk soon. I love you.”

“Love you too, Mama.” I hang up, biting back the need to sob or scream into the receiver.

I lied. Aster is already awake, sitting on the porch with her parents.

I feel bad for lying, but I’m not ready to face what I’ve left behind.

Stepping out onto the porch, I find Peeta and Katniss sitting on the swing seat. Across the way, Aster is sitting on Haymitch’s lap as he plays a game of chess with Rory.

I sit down on the steps of the porch, leading to the courtyard. The sun is just beginning to set and I close my eyes to take in that last bit of orange warmth.

“You okay there?” Katniss asks. “Did your phone call go alright?”

“Yes.” I let out a breath. “Just going through something similarly like the whole Gale situation, if you know what I mean.”

“So, you ran here,” Peeta says.

It isn’t a question and we both know it.

“I needed a change.” I turn to them. “Troy has been my friend since birth; our mothers worked side by side while we were in their stomachs. So, I guess he always thought I belonged to him.” I open my eyes, finding Rory looking to me, curiosity in his gaze. “I just want to belong to me. I’m not ready to just…give in.”

“Woo!” Aster toddles over to me, perching herself in my lap. “Sing.”

“Sing? What am I—your own personal songbird?” I tickle her and she giggles. “Well, if I’m going to be someone’s songbird, I would love to be yours.” Aster settles against me and I take in that wonderful smell of youth before deciding on a song—one that I heard when I was a child whenever my father came home from work, when my mother still danced.

“Something in your eyes, makes me want to lose myself

Makes me want to lose myself, in your arms…”

I’m not much of a singer, but Aster nestles herself against me contently. Haymitch and Rory have paused their game to listen and though it should scare me, I feel light singing this song.

It reminds me of better times.

“If you knew how lonely my life has been

And how long I've been so alone

And if you knew how I wanted someone to come along

And change my life the way you've done…”

“You’re dancing with me, Katniss.” Peeta helps her stand carefully. “I don’t want our last dance to have been at Snow’s Ball.”

Katniss doesn’t argue instead letting him lead her into the courtyard to dance along the fireflies.

As I watch them, they look lightyears away, wrapped up in nothing but each other.

“It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me

It feels like I'm all the way back where I come from

It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me

It feels like I'm all the way back where I belong…”

I close my eyes once more, rocking Aster against me. I fall into memories of warm fall nights and the smell of coffee on the stove. I can’t even make a pot sometimes without wanting to burst into tears. It just evokes memories of a man who would drink coffee to stay up so he and my mother could have a conversation to themselves sans their six children.

“But I'm alright, 'cause I have you here with me

And I can almost see, through the dark there is light…”

I open my eyes just as Katniss embraces Peeta and for a moment, I don’t see them.

I see my mother and father dancing to their wedding song.

“Well, if you knew how much this moment means to me

And how long I've waited for your touch

And if you knew how happy you are making me

I never thought that I'd love anyone so much…”

I always told myself that I wouldn’t settle for anything less than what they have. Seeing Katniss and Peeta with one another strengthens that resolve, nothing less than having someone look at me the way that they look at one another.

Like they’ve found home in one another.

I finish my song, and everyone applauds softly as Aster has fallen asleep in my arms.

“You’re crying.” I didn’t even notice that Rory has found himself on the porch steps. He reaches forward to brush away the stray tear that managed to hit my cheek. “I never pegged you as the sentimental type.”

“My parents used to dance to that song every night after us kids went to bed,” I find myself admitting. “If I close my eyes, I can still picture them as I peeked behind my door. Then Dad was gone, and the music just stopped.”

“Makes you wonder if love like that could even last forever,” he says. “Or are we all just destined to muddle through half-lives and half-loves.”

“Half-lives and half-loves.” I find myself almost laughing…or weeping. “If there was ever a more appropriate word for how my life is currently going.”

“No.” Rory shakes his head, gazing into my eyes until my skin tingles. “Someone like you could never do anything but live fully and love fully. You’re just afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid because you already know everything that you need to be happy.”

++++++

The arrival of the fourth Mellark comes when the first leaf of autumn hits the ground. I am sitting in the kitchen with Katniss having a cup of tea; her stomach has reached its limit at this point and so has she.

“So, this…Troy…” She takes a sip and sighs in contentment. “What made you run away?”

I try to gather my words before responding, “I think he only really saw me as a woman when others started to notice.” I smile crisply. “It bothered me, too—this ownership he thought he had—like I was just waiting for him to decide that he wanted me. Love shouldn’t be an obligation; it should be an honor. In the end, all I want is for someone to look at me the way my father looked at my mother. Like Peeta looks at you.”

“I understand,” Katniss replies gently. “Sometimes, when you feel the world is falling apart around you, you tend to keep who and what you know close to you. Because it’s just too scary to see what might be on the other side—” She suddenly grimaces before letting out a breath. “Just some stretching pain, nothing to worry about.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “No, I think it’s more.” I help her up. “I’m going to help you up to bed and then call Peeta.”

“You sure?” she asks doubtfully. “It didn’t feel this way with Aster.” Another gasp escapes her mouth. “Oh, that felt different.”

“My mother had six children,” I tell her. “No two births will feel ever feel the same.”

Together, we make our way upstairs and into the master bedroom. I go to her wardrobe, taking out a nightgown and handing it to her.

“Aster is still down for her nap,” I inform her as I turn and give her privacy. “I’ll check on her, call Peeta and Mrs. Hawthorne then come back. Is there anything you need while I’m downstairs?”

Katniss shakes her head as she gets into bed. “No, I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll make you a sandwich and bring up some water,” I tell her. “You’ll need your strength.”

She smiles gratefully. “You think of everything.”

++++++

Peeta and Mrs.Hawthorne arrive quickly. After a quick exam, it seems that Katniss has a long while to go. We all continue throughout the day as normal; Peeta bakes in the kitchen knowing that we will need sustenance throughout the next few days. Mrs. Hawthorne sits at Katniss’ side knitting a swaddle blanket for the little one while I care for Aster.

Aster comes to visit her mother a few hours into the labor. She jumps onto the bed and nestles at her mother’s side.

“Hello wuv,” she says, her bright blue staring up at her mother.

“I’m bringing you a little brother or sister,” Katniss informs her as she lets out a small exhale. “Will you be good for Daddy and Rue?”

Aster nods, her blue eyes solemn. “Yes, wuv.”

There’s a knock and Peeta emerges from behind the bedroom door. He places a kiss on his wife’s forehead and gives her a bright smile.

“How are you doing, love?” he asks.

“Oh, you know the usual—trying to push your child into the world,” Katniss answers with a small grin.

“Rory and Posy are downstairs,” Peeta tells us before holding his arms out to Aster. “Why don’t you come downstairs with me so you can have dinner?”

“I’ll take her,” Mrs. Hawthorne offers. “I want to check in with the kids, anyway.” Going to Peeta, she offers her arms to Aster. “Come on honey, let’s go.”

“Thanks Hazelle,” Peeta tells her gratefully.

“No problem.” Mrs. Hawthorne holds Aster protectively. “I sure miss them at this age.”

They disappear into the hallway, leaving me with the couple.

Peeta looks to his wife. “How are you really feeling?”

“Like someone is grabbing my lady parts and just twisting away.” Katniss grimaces. “Here comes another one…”

I immediately go to support her back. “Breathe out slowly.”

Katniss clenches her teeth. “Oh, this feels intense.” She looks between Peeta and me. “Someone distract me.”

“Well, we got a new custom cake order—”

“No! Peeta, I love you, but I can’t get excited about frosting the way you want me to,” she tells him.

“I left District 11 because Troy proposed to me.”

Peeta and Katniss turn to me in shock.

“Besides my Mom, you’re the only other people who know,” I continue quietly. “I sometimes go to lay out in a field near my home…it’s my spot. One day, Troy was there and before I could even think, he was down on his knee.”

“Then what?” Katniss asks.

I shake my head. “All I could think is…get the hell out of my field.” I look between the couple. “Is that bad of me?”

Peeta shakes his head. “What was your other option? Just say yes to save his pride? No offense, but from what you’ve been telling Katniss, it doesn’t seem like a match made out of love—but out of obligation.”

“I just feel bad because…I don’t want you to think that I came here to run away—even if it sounds like it,” I explain. “The truth is that I never felt like I was more home than when I came to District 12. When I came to stay with you three…almost four, I started to feel like myself.”

Katniss takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. “You do belong here.”

Peeta covers her hand and grins at me. “This is your home now—if you want it to be.”

I tried to hold my back my tears, but my thank you still sounds a bit watery.

++++++

“Okay, Katniss…push!”

Mrs. Hawthorne stands at the edge of the bed, ready and waiting for the newest Mellark to arrive.

Night came and went as we can now see dawn coming in through the bedroom window. I put Aster down to sleep many hours ago while Posy, who volunteered to stay the night, stayed in the bed adjacent to her. I then took a quick nap when—at around three in the morning—Peeta roused me because Katniss was requesting my presence.

Currently, I am holding one of her legs while Peeta holds the other.

“I can’t…I’m too tired…” Katniss is exhausted and delirious…tears and sweat intermingling her flushed face. She looks to Peeta. “I’m sorry…”

Peeta shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You are tired and you’ve had no rest. I am a rotten husband getting you into this situation.”

Katniss nods. “You kind of are!” Her face crumbles. “I want Prim.”

We all go silent at her admission.

Because as much as we want to give her comfort, there is no way to get her sister back.

Tears fill my eyes thinking of the many occasions that I have wished for my own father. I think of all the important moments that he won’t be there for: my wedding…the birth of my children—

“You can pretend I’m Prim,” I tell her softly. “Close your eyes and just imagine that you’re gripping her hand…” Katniss looks to me, smoky eyes filled, before doing what I say. “And, just imagine what she would tell you at this very moment.”

“She would say to suck it up. There are more important things to do right now,” Katniss says.

I move closer to her ear. “Suck it up. There are more important things to do right now.”

Katniss nods, eyes still closed. “Okay, I think I’m ready to push again.”

“At the count of three,” Mrs. Hawthorne begins. “One…two…three!”

Katniss bears down and it is a long, tense-filled moment as we wait to see if there is any progress—

A shrill cry breaks the moment.

“It’s a boy.” Mrs. Hawthorne grins before taking the little one and putting him on Katniss’ chest. “Looks like he’s got a little gold on him.”

Katniss lets out a content sigh, her eyes on the sticky, little thing currently laying on her. “Hello there.”

“We have a son,” Peeta says in a thick voice. He gives Katniss a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, love.”

“Always.” Katniss then turns to me. “Thank you.”

“It’s my job,” I tell her before wiping the tears from my eyes.

++++++

Stepping out into the hallway, I am surprised to discover Rory coming up the stairs.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is hoarse with exhaustion and I lean against the wall to keep my body up.

“I slept downstairs in the den,” he explains sheepishly. “So, the baby is here?”

“A boy.” I smile to myself. “Beautiful like the rest of his family and golden-haired like Pr—” I stop, struggling to suppress the emotion churning inside of me. “Why did you stay?”

Rory goes scarlet. “I stayed…for you.”

I shake my head. “You stayed because you were helping Prim’s family. I’m nothing but a glorified babysitter. Remember?”

I turn away so he won’t see me cry over the dumbest reason in the world—I don’t want to be Prim’s substitute.

Suddenly, Rory crosses the space between us and pulls me into his arms.

“I came here for you.” His hand reaches gently into the tangle that is my hair. “The person who cared for Prim—who loved her—was still just a boy. He will always love her in some way, but he had to grow up.”

“And now?” I ask into his chest.

A wisp of a kiss brushes against my forehead. “The man holding you stayed for you.”

I hold him closer to me, never wanting to leave this feeling of belonging—of home.

“Thank you for staying.”

For now, this is the closest I can get to ‘I love you’.

++++++

“Careful now,” I instruct Aster as I help her hold her little brother. “He’s still very fragile.”

“Ohh…baby,” Aster says in awe. The newborn in her arms let out a yawn and she giggles. “Hello wuv!”

“I guess you’ve been dethroned,” I tell Katniss with a laugh as I settle into the chair next to the bed. “Maybe she’ll start calling you Mama now.”

“I’ll gladly relinquish the title,” she replies, looking at the children by her side. “They look like they’re going to be a handful.”

“Aster is a spitfire in herself!” I look to the little girl who I’ve come to love like one of my own siblings. “But she’ll protect her little brother—like you protected Prim.”

Katniss meets my eyes. “Listen, Peeta told me what you did before I had the baby. I was tired and I say things that I don’t mean. When I had Aster, I asked to see my dad…”

“It’s really not a problem,” I say in what I hope is a light voice.

“It is, because you’re not Prim…she’s gone,” she says in a tight voice. “And because we all care for you, not just as some replacement Prim—but because you’re you.” Katniss places her hand over mine. “Peeta and I hope you will stay for the long haul. Aster needs you…so does Oak.”

“I still can’t believe you named him that,” I tell her.

I jokingly told her and Peeta weeks ago that since they’re into flower names for girls, they should look into tree names for boy.

When they asked for an example, I gave them Oak—my father’s middle name.

“It sounded right,” Katniss responds with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, the point is we need you.”

I settle back for a moment, taking in her words, before finally answering.

“May I make a phone call?”

Katniss’ mouth widens in a grin. “Take all the time you need.”

I leave the room, heading down the stairs and go into the kitchen first to place the kettle onto the stove to heat some water and then take Katniss’ favorite cup out of the cabinet. Making sure that Peeta’s lunch is packed, I then head into the den where the telephone is.

Taking a deep breath, I reach for the receiver and dial.

The call is answered immediately.

“Hello Mama.”

++++++

We walk around the forest, steps steady as we head towards an unknown destination.

“So, you’re staying?” Rory says, his eyes ahead.

I nod, letting the smile rise on my lips. “I’m staying.”

He reaches, his hand taking mine, our fingers intertwining with ease. It feels right. “Now what?”

I stop and Rory follows suit turning to me.

My hand reaches to the nape of his neck, pulling him close enough so that I can push onto my tiptoes to press my lips to his. He pulls me closer and I sink into him, losing myself as we fall deep into the kiss.

Moments…hours later, we finally separate, breathless and grinning.

I take his hand once more.

“How about you show me the rest of our home?”

FIN.

  This is different, but I enjoyed writing it.

I hoped you enjoyed reading it.

 Song: “Feels Like Home”- Chantal Kreviazuk

Thank you again if you even got through this. Aster and Oak really appreciate it.

Please feel free to message me with any questions, comments, or requests.

 Until the next story,

JLaLa

[buttsonthebeach]

What would have happened if Ashara died at Clermont? Since I love angst.

Welllllllllllllllllll…. you asked for it…..

@dadrunkwriting

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots currently open as of 6/21/19)

WARNING: character death. One brief graphic image of violence. Heavily inspired by Game of Thrones because that’s the conversation we were having that led to this prompt. Dear god I would never actually write this universe.

Pairing: Solavellan, post-Trespasser. Set during Reckoning.

Rating: Mature for violence, war, death.

**************************************************

Dorian was sick to his stomach as he approached the lines of the invading Elvhen army where they were arrayed on the edge of the Planascene Forest, having crossed the Waking Sea fresh off their conquest of Orlais. He was sicker to his stomach than he had been since that day he discovered what his father intended - the blood ritual, the life spent screaming on the inside. He’d thought himself impervious to this kind of soul-deep dread since then. Not that he had not felt fear in all the years since - the Maker knew he had - but it was not this fear. The kind of fear that only arose when your whole world tilted on its axis, when you realized you had been very, very wrong about something you had considered a fundamental part of the universe. Like a father’s love. The goodness within all people. The inherent justice of the world.

Like when you knew that you were walking towards a shimmering gold pavilion surrounded by arcane warriors, many of them ancient Elvhen, the first practitioners of the art - like when your magic could sense a terrifying well of power within the tent, deeper than the sky at night, when you knew who that power belonged to - like when you knew the woman sitting in the center of that tent, preparing to demand the surrender or death of every dignitary that surrounded him, was the woman you’d considered your sister for more than twenty years.

Like when you knew what that woman had lost - what had brought her to this moment.

“Shit,” Varric said beside him, the viscount’s circlet heavy on his wrinkled forehead. “Shit, shit, shit.”

On Dorian’s other side, he heard Claudia murmuring a quiet prayer to Andraste. He was confident that Sebastian Vael, prince of Starkhaven, was doing the same. The other magisters behind him were putting up barriers, as if that would matter. As if they had not all heard what she had done to Orlais. As if they had not heard what she had commanded the Dread Wolf to do in her behalf. As if any of them stood a chance, if she wanted them dead.

But she can’t, Dorian said to himself, his own form of prayer. She can’t, she can’t, she can’t. I know her. She won’t do this. She won’t force our hands. Not even after what she has lost. She is good, she is just, she is kind. Even grief can’t change that.

But he was a politician, and he knew that you didn’t cross the sea with an army at your back, just to turn around and go peacefully home, and so the sickness in his stomach did not subside.

They entered the pavilion and there she was, on a raised dais. Ellana Lavellan, High Commander of the Elvhen Republic of Enasan, Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor, the Dread Wolf’s Wife, whatever else it was that people were calling her now. The sickness did stop once Dorian looked at her - really looked at her - because he could see from the look in her eyes that this was already over. They had already lost.

Ellana’s eyes had always been piercing - those pale grey circles set in the midst of that dark red-brown skin - but they did not even look like her eyes anymore. They were hard as stone, filled with an anger that made a chill run down Dorian’s spine, with a grief that made his throat close up. She’d always held herself proudly, had always kept her chin high, but now she sat on that throne like a queen, because she knew that she had already won. Because she had nothing left to lose now.

She was wearing armor, of course. A fantastic piece that covered her from chin down in silverite, except for her left arm, which was wrapped in black cloth, likely the dress that she wore beneath the armor, all of it covered in intricate filigree, prominently featuring the three trees of her country. Elvhenan, the Dales, Enasan.

You have the Dales back. You have all of Orlais. Let that be enough.

A herald was introducing her, but Dorian paid no mind. The titles did not matter. He looked Ellana straight in the eye, willing her to see him to acknowledge him not as another magister who had answered her summons but as a friend who had fallen into the same awful, black mourning that she had when the news from Clermont came.

All of them dead. Every last elf in that Maker-forsaken border town, the victims of political unrest in the Orlesian Empire, victims of a deliberate plot to villify their people, and the whole country of Enasan.

Including the mage who’d been with them.

Even just thinking of it made his heart clench, made him remember the moment he’d first heard the news all over again. Not her, not her, anyone but her.

I loved her too, he wanted to shout. I loved her as if she was my own flesh and blood, as if she wasn’t just my niece in my heart. But this? This?

“If there is anyone who would address our High Commander, now is the time,” the herald said.

Dorian stepped forward. He could not let anyone else speak. They would not know what to say.

“Ellana,” he said, and her eyes snapped to him, and now that he was even closer he could see how deep the fury and the grief went, how dark the circles around them were, how little she had been sleeping.

“Your grace,” the herald countered, correcting him.

I hate it when they call me that , she’d said once to him, at Skyhold, so many years ago.

“Ellana,” he began again. “Everyone who has come here today has come to mourn what you have lost. To protest the injustices that Orlais visited upon your country. The plot that they wove against Enasan was the lowest form of treachery and what it cost - what it took from you - it is an unimaginable price. But must every other person in Thedas - even those who condemned de Pelletier and Villiers and their conspirators from the beginning - is it really justice to ask that we pay the price, too?”

Ellana’s expression did not change while he spoke. When she spoke, her voice was cool and calm.

“That is why I do not ask it of you, Magister Pavus. I have invited all of you here today to accept your unconditional surrender. Agree to those terms, and not a single drop of blood will be shed.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd behind him. They would not hold for long.

“You are asking that every country and city-state in northern Thedas submit to your rule,” he said, stalling.

“Yes.”

“Is that truly justice?”

Ellana laughed at that, an icy, broken sound. “No. It is not. But there is no justice left in this world, Magister Pavus. There are only those who have power, and those who don’t. We have seen over and over again what happens to those who don’t have power. For centuries, my people have been the ones without it. That ends here, now, today. I will make sure of it.”

The murmurs were louder.

“We are prepared to make larger concessions than have ever been made in the history of Thedas,” Dorian said, feeling sicker now, ever sicker. “The Tevene delegation has secured the Archon’s promise to -”

Ellana waved her hand. “I am not interested in promises. I trust no one but myself to see to the safety of my people. No one.”

Dorian felt those words where she wanted him to feel them. How many times had she congratulated him on his fight for elven rights in Tevinter? How many times had she asked for his advice when faced with a political challenge at home?

You are not enough anymore, she said.

“And what will be the consequence, if we do not bend the knee?” Sebastian Vael, the first voice to break out of the clamor.

Ellana smiled another smile that was all ice. “You’ll burn.”

That was when Solas stepped up behind her, visible now in his golden armor, the wolf pelt draped over it, his eyes as hollow and angry and tired and sad as his wife’s, radiating all of that power. The power to unmake a world. To burn them all, if she gave the command.

“This isn’t what Ashara would have wanted.”

Claudia, stepping up beside him, Dorian’s heart leaping up into his throat. The woman who was his own daughter in all but name. So much reconstructed family here - almost-sisters and almost-daughters and it was all so fragile. She needed to get back. To stay back. The power simmering off of Solas, the anger and desperation and loss in Ellana’s eyes -

“This isn’t what she would have wanted, and you know it. Ashara would never have -”

“She is not here to offer her opinion anymore, is she?” Ellana, rising, her black skirts swirling, her armor glittering, Solas stepping closer to her, eyes narrowing, the crackle of his power -

“You cannot do this to her memory -” Claudia tried to go on, ignoring the other diplomats, ignoring Dorian’s hand on her arm. How she’d cried when the news arrived, how she was nearly crying now, thinking of the friend she had lost. The look in her eyes when she’d come back from telling Lucius what had happened. What he had lost forever.

“When they have sent your only daughter’s head to you in a box you can tell me what I can and cannot do.”

Solas raised his staff and slammed it into the dais, and a crack of magical energy went out, stinging fingers of electricity. A warning that shocked everyone into silence more than Ellana’s words. Ellana was trembling. He’d never seen her look so weak, so old, so lost. Solas put his hand on her shoulder. She regained herself. Smoothed her skirts and returned to her regal posture.

“You have heard our terms. Honor them, or don’t. Either way, we will see to it that our people are no longer the ones crushed beneath others’ heels. Either way, we win.”

Solas’s power was still crackling through the air when she sat back on her throne, back straight. A stranger in his best friend’s skin.

“You are dismissed,” her herald said.

They all turned to go. Dorian looked back, expecting the image to have changed, expecting to see the woman he knew sitting there. But she was still gone, gone, gone. There was only a madwoman in her place.

[some-kind-of-starlight]

The Carousel Kingdom, Chapter One- How The Rollercoaster Starts

Virgil Parma just wanted to have a nice day at the fair with his friend Patton- but the universe had other plans. It all begins with a little red carousel- and, like a carousel, the story spins onward.

Word Count: 1,930 (which, despite it only being chapter one, makes this the longest story I’ve ever written!) Characters: Virgil, Patton, random OC who runs a bakery with their girlfriend Warnings: brief description of heights, overthinking, mention of a cliff (please tell me if I need to add anything else!) Pairings: Eventual Prinxiety & Logicality, platonic Moxiety for this chapter

Enjoy!

Virgil Parma liked constants.

The purple lamp, always sitting on his nightstand. The clock on his wall, always five minutes behind. The mug in the kitchen, always left out for the next morning.

It was the little things, grounding him and reminding him that his world wasn't going to be flipped upside-down on a whim.

Well. As he thought.

It's not what he would have expected, at least, as he heard a familiar knock at the front door.

Rushing from his bedroom to open it, he was met with the smiling face of his friend Patton Coeur- and, not a second later, two slips of paper being shoved in his face.

"Virgil!" Patton exclaimed excitedly. "Are you ready to go to the fair? I brought the tickets," he wove the paper around," and some snacks!" he said, bouncing the bag on his shoulder to show his point. "So all you need to bring is yourself! And, uh, maybe a water bottle. We don't want you getting dehydrated!"

Virgil leaned off the doorframe and made a movement back towards his bedroom. "Yeah, Pat, just let me grab my bag." He darted to his room and grabbed the backpack off his chair, giving it a quick check to affirm everything was inside, then started back to the door.

"I, uh," Virgil started, making his way back to Patton, "actually packed some snacks and stuff too. And I thought it'd probably be a good idea to bring something to calm me down just in case, so..." he held up a plastic fidget cube. Patton nodded approvingly.

"Good idea, Virge! And the water bottles?"

"Already in here," Virgil stated, tapping his bag softly.

"Great! Then if you're ready, let's go!"

Virgil stepped out the door and pushed it softly closed, locking it and linking arms with Patton as he turned around.

The two walked and chatted amiably, Patton talking about the bakery their old friends had started- "They have the best muffins, Virge, and everyone is so nice! I was thinking about applying for a job there later in the summer, it seems like it'd be a good place to work!", as well as recounting a book he'd been reading about emotional intelligence.

Virgil nodded along, giving positive affirmations and mentioning the song he'd been working on lately- "I think it's going pretty well, there's a couple lyrics I could probably fix, but it's doing pretty good for the most part. It probably won't be much longer before you can hear it." Patton smiled proudly at him, gently bumping Virgil's shoulder and telling him he couldn't wait.

After fifteen minutes or so, the pair reached the entrance to the fair. It wasn't very big, but it looked packed with activity- and the place felt homely, in a way, with the rolling fields beneath them and the familiar rides glinting in the summer sun.

Patton stepped up to the booth at the gate and placed the two tickets on the counter, gently tapping it as he did so. The person inside quickly turned from the computer they sat at, smiling when they saw him.

"Patton! Good to see you here!", they said as they took the tickets and scanned them with the computer. "Good to see you too, Amicus!" Patton replied. "How's Token of Confection doing?"

Amicus withdrew two wristbands from a nearby drawer before turning back to Patton. "Good! Amelie figured out a new chocolate sugar cookie recipe the other day, you've got to check it out next time you stop by!" Amicus turned to Virgil. "How's it going, Virgil? Been a while since I last saw you!"

"It's going pretty alright," Virgil supposed. "Guess you're doing pretty well too? You seem happy."

"Can you hold out your wrist for a second?" Amicus interrupted, holding up a wristband. "Great! Yeah, I'm doing good! Amelie and I are happy together and we've been working on getting our baking business rolling." Amicus tucked the bracelet around Virgil's wrist and motioned for Patton to hold up his own.

"I'd love to be there now, but my mom wanted me to run the ticket booth for the first couple days. I'll be back at Token of Confection soon enough though! Can't wait to be back in the kitchen with Amelie. I promised her I'd bring her some cotton candy, she wants to try to figure out how to incorporate it into some sugar cookies." Amicus smiled fondly as they sealed the wristband around Patton's arm. "She's so creative. I'm glad we found each other."

"And we're glad you're happy!" Patton beamed at them as he withdrew his arm. "Are we all set?"

"You are! Have a good day!" Amicus gave a quick wave before turning back to the computer behind them.

"Nice to see that they're doing well," Virgil mentioned as they entered the fairgrounds. "I can see why you'd want to work at a place called Token of Confection. That name is right up your alley."

"Isn't it? I was so excited when I found out that's what they were calling it. It's such a cute name!"

"It is. So," Virgil said suddenly, "what should we do first?"

"Oh! Uh, how about we go on the ferris wheel?" Patton pointed at the ride in question. "We can get a good view of the park and then decide from there!"

"Smart idea, Pat, sounds good to me. Let's go!"

It was a short walk to the ferris wheel, and luckily the line wasn't too long. Patton and Virgil didn't have to stand around much before they found themselves seated in a car and the ferris wheel beginning to turn.

"Oh, Virgil, look!" Patton motioned to the ground below. "They've got one of those teacup rides! Ooh, and a slide! We should go on that first, it looks like it's closer to here."

Virgil gave him an affirmative thumbs-up before peering out of the car himself. As they rose off the ground, he could see the slide and teacups Patton had mentioned, excited people racing about between the rides. Out a little further, he could see the peaceful rolling fields around them, houses dotting the horizon line. They were like two opposite worlds. And in between them...

Well.

That was odd.

On the edge of the cliff that the fairgrounds sat upon was a small carousel. It was a good ways away from the fair itself, still only a few seconds' walking distance, but obviously not meant to be a part of the festivities. Its faded red tent was torn in several places- and badly enough that Virgil could tell from so far up.

It was... strange, to say the least.

"Virgil!" The sudden outburst from Patton interrupted his thoughts. "What's got you fascinated over there, spot something cool?

"There's this weird carousel over there, set away from everything else. Do you see it?" Virgil did his best to point out the little red tent to his friend. Patton squinted as he followed his finger to the carousel.

"Oh! There it is! It's so cute and tiny!"

Virgil laughed. "Yeah, I guess it is. I hadn't thought about it that way. Kinda weird that it's set apart from the fair, though, isn't it?"

"It looks kinda old, maybe it stopped working and they had to move it aside."

Virgil shrugged. "That'd make sense. Still, I think I'm gonna go check it out when we're back on the ground."

"I'll come with you! Maybe we'll find something interesting!"

"Interesting" was one way to put it, Virgil thought.

Now that the pair was standing in front of the carousel, they could see all the intricacies they had missed from the ferris wheel. Golden filigree bordered the tent, as well as the base, and the poles were the same shining color. Though the tent was faded and damaged, flecks of glitter still glinted in the fabric, and the underside of the canopy was dyed a beautiful midnight black. After a bit more scouring, Virgil even noticed a golden carousel ring sitting in a slot inside the frame of the tent.

But perhaps the most intriguing things were the intricate painting in the center pole and the frontmost carousel horse. The center pole was decorated by a beautiful painting of a castle, surrounded by beautiful skies that wrapped seamlessly around it. Fluffy clouds floated by gently in the background. Virgil was tempted to reach out and touch them.

The horse, on the other hand, was intriguing for different reasons. It was the most detailed out of the horses on the carousel- intricate roses were carved into its flowing hair, and a bright ribbon of fabric was draped from the saddle. Virgil swore you could see threads etched into the wood if you looked close enough. The poles that were supposed to carry the horse seemed loose, as if a hole was cut out of the pole and the horse haphazardly shoved between, rather than going through the wooden carving.

And, perhaps the most odd thing- while the others looked worn and dull, this one looked almost new. A fine layer of dust coated it, but Virgil had given it a quick swipe with his hand and the paint had looked crisp and bright underneath.

All of it just made Virgil more confused. He leaned against the carousel pole and hit his head against it lightly with a soft thunk.

A soft hand fell upon his shoulder and Virgil jumped before realizing it was just Patton.

"Hey, Pat."

"Hey, Virge. You doing alright? I saw you bonking your head on the pole I was getting kinda worried." Patton gently lifted his head off the pole as he spoke. Virgil only tightened his grip on it.

"It's just so strange, Patton. This random carousel is just here, with one weirdly-new looking horse," he clapped his hand gently against the pole for emphasis, "away from the fair it's assumably supposed to be at. And it doesn't." *thunk.* "make." *thunk.* "sense." *thunk.*

Patton gently guided his hands off the pole and gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. "I know, V. It is weird. But sometimes weird things happen, and they don't need some big, cosmic explanation- you just saw them in a weird place at a weird time. Someone was probably trying to replace the horses and realized they didn't know how, or they didn't have time to finish before the fair opened."

Virgil nodded. As much as the explanation didn't satisfy him, as much as he wished it would- he supposed he had to walk away eventually. And Patton's reason was a better reason than none.

Virgil sighed, wearily, and made to take a step back- but before he did so, he brushed the dirt gently off of the horse's forehead and rested his own upon it. A tribute to a mystery unsolved or a mystery nonexistent- he didn't know which. He supposed it didn't matter.

Virgil stepped away, linking his arm with Patton's as they turned back to the fair. But before they could take a step, a bright light shone in the corners of their eyes.

They turned around just in time to see the carousel horse glow, in a second turning into a jumble of light, tumbling off the carousel and coming to rest at their feet. And in the blink of an eye the light was gone again, fading away to reveal- not something, really- but a someone.

Their eyes snapped open and fearful gold irises met Virgil's own.

And in that moment, Virgil's world was flipped upside-down.

[coffeeandtin]

Streets We Call the Zoo

In response to the “I wish you would write a fic where...” post, anon requested a fic where The Seven visit the city. This one went through a lot of incarnations. Some were super angsty, and some were bordering on crack. The character groupings changed about fifty times, and there were a few times I started this and thought: “Nope, I hate it,” then deleted everything. What we ended up with, though, is something that kind of starts and stops in medias res. Not so much a story, as it is a few scenes interwoven with one another: Faraday is politically correct in his own way, Vasquez gets a job offer; and Jack, Billy and Goodnight meet with an old acquaintance of Goody’s. Title is from the song by The Scorpions. (Oh,and if you ever want to feel really angry, look up “human zoos.”)

“Hey, Red.”

Red Harvest turned at the mention of his name, or at least the English incarnation thereof. It was Faraday. Red raised an eyebrow by way of a greeting, and Faraday joined him at his side.

“Enjoying your time in the city?” Faraday asked, gesturing to their surroundings with a liquor bottle that he seemed to have conjured from nothing. The amber liquid within sloshed.

Red looked around at the buildings that crowded his lines of sight. No doubt their construction required ingenuity, but Red found no inspiration in the high, immovable structures.

“Didn’t you have a poker game?” Red asked, giving no real reply.

Faraday clucked his tongue before he struck a match and lit a cigarette, declining to give an answer of his own.

“You look…crestfallen,” Red said.

“You,” Faraday said, exhaling smoke that he attempted not to choke on because of Red’s observation, “have been spending too much time around Goodnight.”

There was a flicker of a smile on Red Harvest’s face, and Faraday realized something that he supposed already knew: Red Harvest, stoic warrior, smiled more than most people would give him credit for.

“Smartass.”

           Vasquez recognized the practicality of shaving, but willingly allowing a blade to be put to his throat was not something he had thought to prepare himself for upon entering the city. Just a precaution, Sam had said; though Vasquez was puzzled as to why he couldn’t just shave himself. As the barber used the razor to remove the lather, along with Vasquez’s beard, the outlaw glanced at Sam, who was reclined in the chair next to his, perfectly at ease and smiling at Vasquez’s apparent misgivings.

           “Vittorio hasn’t done anyone in yet,” Sam assured him.

           “Good to know,” Vasquez said, taking pains not to move his mouth more than necessary.

           There was a quiet smile on the old, Italian man’s face. He worked quickly and efficiently, humming a little tune all the while. No sooner had Vasquez relaxed than the barber completed his task and handed Vasquez a mirror. The reflective surface was impressively, brightly clean; its handle filigreed. Vasquez felt the new smoothness of his face, and smiled at his reflection despite himself.

           He stood and handed the mirror back.

           “You look younger,” Vittorio commented.

           More innocent? Less like a wanted man? Vasquez wondered.

           Vittorio looked from Vasquez to Sam. The clandestine glance that the barber and warrant officer shared did not go unnoticed by Vasquez. Sam nodded, answering an unspoken question.

           “I have it on good authority,” Vittorio said, all jocularity returning to him, “that our mutual acquaintance left town just this morning.”

           “Grazi,” Sam said, as he shook Vittorio’s hand and gave him a sum that far exceeded the cost of two shaves.

           “Naw, that boy never did have the sense God gave paste,” Goodnight said as he slapped his knee and laughed at the story their host had just told them.

           Billy found himself smiling as he placed his cup back on its saucer. He, Goodnight and Jack sat in the parlor, sharing in a pot of tea with Madame Ophelia; or, as she preferred to be called by friends: Gloria.

           “No, no he didn’t,” Gloria agreed, straightening her posture and folding her hands on the dark skirt of her dress. She smiled a comely smile.

Her voice had more than a touch of the South, and she was theatrical. Billy had decided that he liked Gloria the instant he’d met her.

“Any friend of Goodnight’s is certainly a friend of mine,” the illusionist had said upon their first meeting.

She turned her attention to Jack.

“Mr. Horne, I must beg your forgiveness,” Gloria said when she noticed Jack’s cup was sitting empty. “I’ve been a lacking hostess. Can I offer you more tea?”

Jack looked from Gloria, to his tea cup, then back to Gloria as though he were surprised he was being addressed.

“That’d be nice, ma’am,” he said. “And there’s nothing to forgive.”

Gloria stood and poured more tea for Jack, who gave her his profuse thanks. She replenished everyone’s dessert plates and then stood behind Jack, placing a hand on his shoulder and telling him that if their time in the city allowed it, he would have to see one of her shows.

“I would insist on providing the tickets, of course,” she said with a fond squeeze of Jack’s shoulder.

Billy and Goodnight shared a furtive smile.

             Faraday had been politely asked to leave the game of poker he’d entered. Politely, he scoffed as he lit another cigarette. No guns, not even an insult; just the statement that cheating would not be tolerated, and the well-mannered suggestion that perhaps he ought to remove himself from the game. There were plenty of impolite things Faraday had looked forward to doing upon arriving in the city; but here he was, walking along aimlessly with Red Harvest. Faraday was becoming certain that Red would pace the entire city for the duration of The Seven’s stay.

           Red paused at an art vendor and regarded a painting of a ship on the ocean. Nice boat, but it’s a little drab for my tastes, Faraday thought as he wondered what Red’s assessment of the painting was. He was about to ask when he caught sight of a man across the street who was looking intently at Red. No fear. Curiosity, maybe. Above all, Faraday recognized the look of someone looking to exploit another. The man apparently took Faraday’s notice as an invitation to join them.

“Hello! I’m Paulson. James Paulson,” the man said, all good cheer and smiles. “Does your man speak English?”

           Hackles raised, Faraday narrowed his gaze at the man, and made no reply.

“I wonder,” the man said, “If you could relay to your…companion that I may have a job for him.”

           Mousy hair, a well-tailored, cream colored suit; and an accent that, as far as Faraday could tell, was purely an affectation. Joshua looked at the newcomer, and could not remember ever disliking someone so immediately. He took an exaggerated drag on his cigarette and wondered if he pretended not to hear the man, if he would go away. No such luck. The man continued to look at Faraday expectantly, then began to repeat himself.

           He blathered about anthropological exhibits and social trends. Faraday exhaled and blew smoke in the direction of the man who was either too stupid, or too persistent to care. Hell, maybe it was both.

           “He could be a performer; an actor, as it were,” Paulson continued as he blinked the smoke from his eyes, and continued smiling.

           Faraday found his hands wandering toward where Ethel and Maria would usually have been situated, but he reminded himself that his ladies would have to wait to be picked up on his way out of town. Vexed, Faraday was certain that was the right word. He cast a glance over at Red Harvest, who looked back at him, brows upraised, as though he were awaiting a translation Joshua damn well knew he didn’t need.      

           “He ain’t interested,” Faraday said.

           “An interesting idea,” Vasquez said as he followed Sam into a restaurant called Liza’s. “But there’s still a bounty on my head.”

           “Matters less than you might think,” Sam said, setting his hat on a corner table by the bar, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

           Vasquez followed suit as he observed his surroundings. The restaurant was small, but well-lit and meticulously cared for. There were few patrons, but in the middle of the day, he supposed that was to be expected.

           “No particular hurry,” Sam said. “Take time and think about it.”

Vasquez ran a thumb over his smooth jawline and nodded, feeling more sullen than he probably ought to have.

“You would be a good boss,” Vasquez considered aloud, finding that he had to force joviality into his voice.            

“Naw,” Sam said, shaking his head as though Vasquez had gravely misunderstood him. “Partner.”

777

           “How did you meet?” Jack asked, looking from Gloria, to Goodnight, then back again when there was a lull in conversation.

           Goodnight and Gloria were nearly perfect reflections of one another when they set down their cups and smiled while looking at their laps. Perhaps, Billy thought, the telling of the story of a gala and horribly misjudged drink placement was inevitable in new company. Just as well, he could stand to hear it again.

           “Well,” Goodnight began, looking to Gloria.

           With a nod, Gloria encouraged him to continue.

           “We actually grew up in the same town,” Goodnight said. “She was this great beauty-”

           “Was, Mr. Robicheaux?” Gloria asked, feigning offense.

           Goodnight paused with his teacup half way to his mouth when he realized his faux pas. Billy smiled at this, and Gloria (lovely, lovely Gloria whose golden hair was only beginning to fade to white at her temples) allowed Goodnight to flounder for only a moment before continuing the conversational tack.

           “We did grow up in the same town. And believe it or not, Goodnight was said to be quite the charmer.”

           There was laughter, but after it subsided the two southerners became more somber. Jack and Billy followed suit.

           “My family moved.”

           “We didn’t see each other again until the second year of the war.”

           Gloria gazed down at the tabletop.

           “You were a Confederate sharpshooter,” Gloria said.

           “And you were a Billy Yank spy,” Goodnight finished.

           “I was, indeed.”

           This was not the story of the gala that Billy remembered.

           There was no tone of betrayal in Goodnight’s voice, and there was no inflection of pride in Gloria’s. The former soldier and the former spy sat side by side, reflecting on their past selves. The silence might have become uncomfortable if Gloria hadn’t broken it.

           “Never got anything out of you, though,” she said.

           “And I never told anyone your secret.”

           “No, you didn’t.”

           “Always meant to ask you why,” Goodnight said. “Don’t suppose there’s any harm in asking now.”

           Gloria finished her tea, and pondered her answer a moment before replying.

           “No, no harm,” she said before lapsing into silence long enough that Billy began to wonder if she was going to answer.

“I wish I could say it was because of some sense of altruism on my part,” she began again. “But that wouldn’t be entirely true. No, there was some money to be had; but most of all I liked the danger that came along with it. Even just the thought of danger, really. Didn’t matter much to me if it was for Johnny Reb or Billy Yank.”

           The company of four sat in silence, and the parlor became a place of the past as they each retreated into their own private histories. Gloria tapped her fingers on her chin, something her mother had always declared unbecoming. Jack nibbled the remainder of a madeleine. Goodnight stared at the opposite wall, and Billy’s fingertips worried at the hem of the tablecloth.

           “What time is your show tonight?” Jack asked.

           “He’s not some performing animal,” Faraday said to Paulson.

           Faraday’s words were becoming heated, Red Harvest realized. The man could be petty, and rude, and overeager to pick fights, but it was rare that Red heard genuine anger color Faraday’s words.

           Paulson ran a hand over his goatee, and began to say something else, but Faraday cut him off.

           “I’ve seen exhibits like yours. I wasn’t impressed.”

           “I just-”

           Faraday rounded on the man.

           “I don’t think you get it.” There was venom in Faraday’s voice. “I said-”

           Red Harvest chose that moment to step in, lest there was actual trouble.

           “He’s right,” Red said. “I’m not interested.”

           Paulson’s eyes went wide, and his mouth fell open a fraction of an inch.

           “C’mon, Josh,” Red said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.

The contact was uncharacteristic of Red, and it seemed to bring Faraday back to himself. It wasn’t until Red and Faraday left, with their backs to Paulson, and turned a corner onto another street, that the two shared a smile.

           There was something underneath the layers of civility. A scent, a sound. Or perhaps it was the absence of something. Red Harvest couldn’t put a finger on it. That elusive something made him long that much more for the plains. He followed Faraday onto the porch of a nameless bar, and stood next to him whenever Faraday propped himself up against the wall and lit a cigarette. The Irishman was still stewing about something. Red didn’t ask. He figured Faraday would tell him if he wanted to.

           “This trip’s been a bust,” Faraday said, then pulled a face, indicating that that wasn’t exactly what he meant to say. “I mean…Hell, Red. I’ve seen that sort of thing before…like what that jackass was talkin’ about.”

           Faraday shook his head before continuing.

           “Never really thought anything of it back then, I guess.”

           Red nodded his understanding. Since Rose Creek, they’d all changed in some way, or another; Faraday wasn’t an exception.

Liquor was doing nothing to quell the apprehension Vasquez was trying to hide. Sam had always been fair to him. Nothing would change between himself and the bounty hunter if he accepted the partnership. Probably wouldn’t change if I didn’t, either. The thought did bring him some consolation.

“Like I said,” Sam told him. “There’s no hurry. I have a meeting here with the proprietor. You should get something to eat; go see the city.”

Always working, huh? Vasquez thought as he moved his heads slowly from side to side.

He began to say something. He wasn’t sure what –certainly not a definitive answer, but he found that Sam’s attention was drawn by movement behind the bar. Vasquez followed Sam’s gaze to the woman who stood there, talking to the bartender.

Her long, dark curls were tied loosely behind her. Vasquez couldn’t guess her age, (a little younger than Sam, maybe?) but he could see no flaw in her dark skin; and though there was a stern set to her jaw, her mouth (in Vasquez’s less than humble opinion) was made for smiling. He wondered if that was Liza.

“Time for that meeting,” Sam said as he stood and pushed in his chair, excusing himself.

“With Liza?” Vasquez asked, jesting and cracking a grin.

“With Liza,” Sam said with a nod.

Sam’s expression was curt, but humor of some sort played reservedly behind Sam’s eyes before he turned and walked over to the bar.

When the woman –Liza –caught sight of Sam, she confirmed Vasquez’s theory. Her smile was bright and warm. And Sam Chisolm was its sole recipient. Sam took her hand and brushed a thumb over her knuckles. The two strolled out of sight, and Vasquez watched them go, wondering how long he should wait before picking his jaw up from the floor.