So, I feel I should probably say some stuff about this story before I go confusing ya'll... It's partially inspired by the wonderful halfhope and her fic I Do, which I'm sure, many of you have read and, yeah, I'm a big fan. I myself am also going to do partial Catching Fire Re-write. I dunno, depending on where this goes/the general response to it, I may or may not go into Mockingjay as well. Or alternatively, I may just be like, fuck this shit and go back to lurking.

Yeh. Uh, I guess pairings that will be featured; Heavy Katniss/Peeta & Madge/Gale, Finnick/Annie, and slight Prim/Rory, Katniss/Gale. And Haymitch, lots and lots of Haymitch. Just because I can.

SO BASCIALLY, Everything is the same/proceed as normal, until the Quarter Quell is announced. Which is where we get into the eeeky-freeky alternate dimension series-fuckery territory. Wooo. Yeah. So.

Without further ado...

Changing Fire

I

The Seventy-fifth Anniversary

….

POV; Katniss

"As we now honour our third Quarter Quell," The President announces with his hands hovering over the box full of yellow envelopes. Next to me I feel Prim shift in her seat to press closer into my side. Whatever comes out of that box will effect her more than all of us, and now, having won my own games, I'm prohibited from volunteering again.

Watching Snow, I see in his profile the outline of his grotesque lips and the rose at his lapel, standing out in stark contrast to his trim expensive suit. It takes all my willpower not to gag as my memory conjures up the smell, sickly sweet and artificial, as though it still clings to the house, like a persistent disease, despite the fact that months that have passed since his last visit. His threat against Gale's life hangs over my head, implicit in that threat is the promise to hurt others should I fail.

Which I have.

Involuntarily my arms tighten around Prim as pale fingers slip into the box and withdraw an envelope clearly marked 75. There are dozens of them there; centuries of Hunger Games.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary," President Snow announces in his silken voice, "As a reminder to the rebels that even the most successful among them cannot overcome the might of the Capitol, the tributes this Quarter Quell will be only reaped from a pool of the wealthiest families in the districts."

Mother gasps and her fingers squeeze my shoulder, I barely notice it. My insides feel frozen and my lungs non-functional as I contemplate the very real possibility of Prim being reaped again.

Because who is wealthier than the family of District 12's shiny new victor?

...

POV; Gale

They're airing it just as I walk through the door, covered in coal dust and my back is fucking killing me. Right now there's nothing more I want to do than live out the fantasy that has been the only thing sustaining me through today, by hunting down Peeta- cheesy buns -Mellark and ringing his pale ass neck.

But when Posy comes rushing up to me, looking at me with that face, the one where she's smiling and laughing so hard I surprised she doesn't hurt herself. As though the highlight of her day is me walking through that door and all murderous thoughts are pushed aside – for the moment – as I scoop her up in my arms.

"G-Gale! Pu'me d-down!" She shrieks in-between giggles when I flip her over and carry her on my shoulder into the living room. She weighs practically nothing. Her body is thin, thinner than a four year olds should be and the information causes something inside me twists painfully. Because it's my job to look after her. My job to make sure she doesn't starve. And I can't. "Put you down huh?" I say forcing cheer into my voice, letting go of her legs just briefly so she slides a little down my back. She squeals and laughs until I set her down properly.

"You never drop her," Vick complains with a sulky look, "Just once, I'd like to see you drop her."

"I'll drop you," I lunge forward to cuff him gently upside the head, which the little shit dodges with a gap toothed grin and then trips, over nothing, and falls on his ass. Which he seems to find hilarious. The Kid lost two teeth yesterday.

When he ran into the door.

As blind as a bat, I swear.

"Special Broadcast tonight," Ma tells me as I set my helmet down on the dresser. In other-words; Wedding news. I grunt something unintelligible, trying without success to massage a feeling other than pain into my shoulders. Work was no picnic before I got my back whipped to ribbons, but now it's near on unbearable.

I say nothing about it though and ignore Ma's concerned gaze, partially because no one likes a whiny bitch, but also because there's not all that much anyone can do about it.

No point in burdening her with my problems.

Sure enough, a quick glance at the television shows a picture of Katniss in a dress, the sound of the Capitol crowd going nuts in the background. Great. There isn't a number big enough to count the the list of things I would rather be doing than watching this shit.

Sticking my head in a vat of boiling oil for example.

But if I'm going to be miserable, I might as well do it in comfort.

"Move it or loose it kid," I say, nudging Rory out of possibly the most comfortable chair ever made, a thread bare old recliner that is older than I am.

"I was here first," He complains, wiggling around like he's trying to physically infuse his body to the upholstery.

"Actually, technically speaking, I was." I reply, reaching down to grab his collar and haul him out of it as he yaps at me. Complaining to Ma. Wuss. Depositing him in a heap on the floor I drop into the chair. The springs screech under my weight and the whole frame of the thing shudders. The loose spring presses into my back at just the right place. Ah. Yeah. That hits the spot.

Rory is looking at me like I just drowned a litter of kittens and made him watch. Man. "It's my chair." I snap irritably, because I hate it when he looks at me like that.

"It's Dad's chair." He corrects and then stalks over and plonks himself down on the other side of the room.

"Not like he's around to claim it." I mutter under my breath and then flinch as Ma wacks me upside the head.

"Be nice," She warns with that stern 'fuck with me at your own risk' look that she's perfected over the last nineteen years.

I open my mouth, but the lecture on having sympathy for the poor bastard who works 12 hours a day dies in my mouth when she raises The Spoon in her hand threateningly.

"Alright, alright. Sorry, won't happen again." I huff as insincerely as possibly, holding up an arm in case she does intend to go through with the threat.

The woman hits harder than I do.

Posy then starts tugging at my sleeve as she claws her way into her lap, curling up against my chest.

"Don't be m-m-mad, Gale." She murmurs with that little stutter of hers, "D-don't like it when you g-g-get mad."

Which makes me far more remorseful than Ma beating the shit out of me with The Spoon ever could.

"Sorry Baby," I murmur and plant a kiss on her head.

"Sucker," Rory coughs into his hand.

"Thin Ice, Kid" I reply as calmly as possible. Since I'm still ready to kill the rat for taking out that Tesserae behind my back.

He gives me the finger. Yeah, he thinks he's tough shit when Ma's back is turned.

But I'm prevented from retaliating when the word 'Tributes' float up from our little television and commands my attention. I frown, because the games are months away.

"They're probably reading the card." Ma says, and then at my nonplussed look adds, "For the Quell."

Oh right. Yeah. The fucking Quarter Quell. My gaze darts to Rory who stares at the television intently. Something in my gut clenches. Whatever sick twist they put on the games this year, he could face it.

And the thought scares the shit out of me.

I listen as President Snow the man who threatened to have me killed personally. Which can only mean I'm doing something right. - How many people here can say that the President himself wants them dead? Possible only one. Catnip. And the thought nearly chokes me with rage – recounts the last three Quells. Which makes me glad that I lived through none of them.

Ma would have though, Dad too.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary-" The President drawls, his hand dipping in to pull out an envelope, and every muscle in my body tenses to the point where it's painful, "- As a reminder to the rebels that even the most successful among them cannot overcome the might of the Capitol, the tributes this Quarter Quell will be reaped from a pool of the wealthiest families in the districts."

I let out a long breath through my nose. Some good luck at last.

And for the first time in my life, I'm glad we're poor.

…

POV; Madge

"Cocoa Miss Margaret?" Hannah asks as she bustles through the door holding a tray. A round woman of sixty five with curly grey hair atop a face like a rotten apple, all soft with wrinkles and a home knitted blue shawl around her shoulders; there is word to describe Hannah other than than Grandmotherly. It's almost comical actually, she looks like she should live in a gingerbread house, you know, sans the cannibalism and witchery.

"Yes, thank you." I say putting down my book, since the strawberry industry around here has sort of dried up I've been forced to assuage my sweet tooth with chocolate and various other threats that shoot straight to my thighs, and don't even get me started on my hips. One day my arteries are just going to explode.

A delicious travesty, but a travesty none the less.

I smile up at her, smoothing out the blanket over my knees as she places the tray with the mug of steaming liquid culinary gold and those cute little marshmallows that we can sometimes get in from the Capitol. Yum.

"Special broadcast on tonight Miss," She says, motioning for me to lean forward so she can fluff my pillows. No can quite fluff pillows like Hannah, it's a gift.

"The President is going to read the card," I reply, reaching over for the remote to my television to flick through the channels to the appropriate one. "For the Quell."

"Ah, so he is. I guess that would be why the Missus is-" She jerks a stubby thumb to the floor upstairs.

Comatose and lying in a puddle of her own tears and saliva you mean? I want to say but don't.

Though there must be something in my face that reflects my internal bitching session because, Hannah, who is normally at a loath to break the line of appropriate employer/employee conduct leans over and smooths back my hair in a tender way. "Never mind it now Miss." She says kindly. "You're Pap should be home soon. Said he'd be home for the broadcast didn't he?"

Doubtful. Something always comes up, some earth shattering emergency in the mines perhaps, the incorrect wages have been distributed, the tesserae grain has come in spoiled, or one thousand other miscellaneous things that happen to be more important than whatever is it he promised to be here for.

My birthday, three years running, for instance.

I make some vague noise that could pass for agreement to her statement as she bustles her way back out the door.

I wallow a little then, in my own self-pity which is soon beat out by a slight inferiority complex when they start showing pictures of Katniss in the dresses designed for her wedding. She looks beautiful in all of them, the Capitol gets to vote on everything, of course. I like the fourth one myself, the one with the pearls. But the others are just lovely. Nearly an hour and a half passes and then Caesar Flickermans demonic face is telling Panem to stay tuned for the other 'big event'.

Passing over my earlier bitterness, I am glad Mother is not able to watch this.

And then President is on the stage, a boy in white holding up a box as he draws out this years envelope, which reads;

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the most successful among them cannot overcome the might of the Capitol, the tributes this Quarter Quell will be reaped from a pool of the wealthiest families in the districts."

I stare at the television for several long moments as I wait for my heart to remember it's job and start beating again, at which point I take a sip of my cocoa.

It has gone cold.

Darn.

….

An; I wonder who will be going into the Quell. ^_^ Oh. And I make Gale swear. I know he doesn't in the books, but in my mind he does. And aw.

I borrowed a few phrases from the actual book. So all that you recognise, © the mighty S.C

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