Soli Deo gloria

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the Hunger Games. Here's a little AU, everyone. Hope you like!

Katniss's point of view

August 24th, 1940

Dear Katniss

Hey. It's been a while since my last letter. I'm sorry about that. Things can get so hectic on the front lines. We've been traveling through — a lot, bordering — and heading on down to —. Oh, they're going to cut out the names, aren't they? Sorry. Only got one piece of paper.

It's been all right here. As dirty as can be expected, I've been doing well with my buddies, Mitchell and the two Leegs and Jackson. Boggs is ragging us on a lot. That's fine, though, not that I like it.

The food's pretty bad and scarce, and life's messy. That's expected, though, right, Catnip? Prim would shriek if she saw me. I'm always covered in mud, always tired. I've gotten a lot of guard duty. I'd say it's not a dangerous job, but any job in the army is dangerous, Catnip.

Say hi to Prim for me. I'm sending a letter also to Mother. Hug the boys and Posy for me.

See you as soon as I can, Catnip

Gale

This was written over four months ago.

The mail service is so slow here. But that's to be expected. I didn't expect that Gale's next letter would be from so long ago, but I'm not surprised. Enemy lines are harsh, and with everyone running around, it's hard to make sure the soldiers' letters get sent to their proper recipients in good time.

The last letters from my father are on the wooden cabinet, next to the old radio. They're faded, yellowed, wrinkled from my mother's hands clutching them to her chest as she leans back in her rocking chair and sinks into her own world. She's withdrawn from that, thank goodness; a couple of months ago. I find the burden in my chest about finding her unprepared for a blackout to lessen, now that I know she's able to get Prim to the bomb shelter when a siren blares.

The last letter is the most wrinkled. The last evidence of my father's life. He died, as Private Everdeen, in a bombing. I don't even know where. I was never told. I don't even know if my mother was told.

But that was nearly a year ago.

Bombing. Bomb. Blackout. Air raid siren. Suddenly there is noise pounding in my ears, and I look up from my seat, Gale's letter still in my hand, and look out the window. Everything is dark outside; the air is pumped full of the alarm, blaring all over London, calling for all the lights to go out and for all the people to get to their bomb shelters.

"Katniss!" I hear. Prim, my little sister, four years my junior, is racing into the room, her homespun dress rattling about her; her shoes hit the floor with thuds; her hands clutch a very disgusting, angry looking cat.

"Prim, come on," I say, instantly rising from my seat. I grab the stacks of letters and catch her hand and we start running through the house; I can hear her anxious pants as we run down the stairs. The stairs has a window pane, half shaded, that reveals to me the outside. We live in the poorer slums of London, and there is so many bombs dropped around here every night. Each day, we wake up to see what part of the city has been newly decimated. I wonder now if it'll be our part as I draw the curtain back and then tug on Prim's hand. "Come on. We need to get to the bomb shelter."

"Is Mother going to be there? What if she's in the house? Katniss—" Prim says.

Her voice is drowned out by the sound of bombs falling.

We're downstairs in an instant. The place is so bare. We have sold many of our things just to keep the house. Good. Nothing to grab and keep as we race to the bomb shelter. Nothing worth missing if it's blown up.

"She'll be in the bomb shelter, Prim," I say. My voice has a soothing tone. Prim is so young and so easily frightened. I need to keep calm to keep her calm.

The cat, Buttercup, lets out an impatient meow. He's half sliding out of Prim's one arm, which is trembling around his chest. I don't care. Serves the old thing right. He can just sit there and do nothing but be carried around as a burden as we run for our lives through our small garden, which is surrounded by black gates and garbage.

I wrench the door to the shelter open and we fall inside.

I knew it. My mother is here. She looks ghostly from the brightness of the torch she has in her hands. At her feet are supplies she has stored in here. Blankets. Coal. Lanterns. A couple boxes of crackers. Not very much food, though. Rations have gotten tougher since it's winter. January. But even two boxes of crackers are more to be happy for.

"Katniss. Prim," my mother says. She joins Prim on the bed. Prim puts Buttercup down, to his relief, and starts sobbing against my mother's shoulder. Mother puts her arm around her and rubs her shoulder.

I stand by the door and look at the wood. I can feel the vibrations of the bombs. I can hear them detonate. The siren is almost lost in the fight for the crowd of sound in my ears. I close my eyes and try to think what has been bombed now. The bakery? The school? The grocery store? A church? The market? Lots of people's houses. A lot of those.

"Katniss, come sit down," Mother says. I know she wants me to lie down on one of the cots and fall asleep. When I watch the door, I make her nervous.

"Katniss, I want to talk to you about something," she persists.

"What is it?" I say. I stare at the door as hard as I can.

She sighs. Hesitates for a moment. Buttercup scratches the door. If Prim wasn't crying, I might have kicked him. Mother intakes breathe. "I know we have talked about this, but I was thinking, Katniss, that the bombs have gotten worse."

Another denotation. I nod. "I agree."

"Then you'll understand when I say it's time to . . . to send Prim away, to the country," Mother says.

I whirl around. "To the country? By herself?"

"Katniss . . . she doesn't have to go by herself. You . . . can go with her."

I don't want to go to the country. It'll be even more open for bombs to come. Mother says the bombs don't come to the country. I barely believe her. I want to be here where there's a shelter to flee to. Somewhere to keep Prim safe.

"Katniss, so many of the other children have already gone to the country. It's better than staying here and avoiding bombs all the time." Mother's voice is firm, but hesitant. Like I'm a bomb that can go off at any time and she's trying to disable me.

I turn away from the door. Prim's face is streaked with tears. But she has stopped crying. She's watching me, searching my face for an answer.

I match Mother's eyes. She's got hopeful eyes, but they're so cloudy. A blue that's swirled with a cloud of fog.

"I have talked with Hazelle. It'll also be Posy, Vick and Rory going out," Mother says, her voice laced with pleading. "I don't feel right, sending the four of them on their own, to navigate through the countryside. Katniss . . ."

I catch Prim staring at me then. Scared eyes. Hopeful eyes. Wondering eyes. She gives a little sniff, and this digs into me. And I know.

"Fine," I say. My voice is a combination of biting and finality.

But Mother nods, and I go to sit next to Prim. I nearly grab her from my mother's grasp as I hold her against my chest, my hand pressed against her head. My embrace eventually causes her trembling to stop. She inhales deeply and sounds much better, almost tired, as if to fall asleep.

She does, eventually. And it's only Mother and I, and that wretched cat, left to listen to the sound of the bombs destroying our town, weakening my resolve as I hold Prim close. Yes. Maybe it is better in the country.

"Prim, do you have everything?" I say. She is wearing a very dark outfit, her blonde hair in braids, her arms holding an annoyed ball of fur and a little bag that was once used for storing business papers at an office. She looks so small and pale in her dark clothing.

"I do," she says.

"Good," I say, buttoning up my coat. A whistle is sounded, filling my ears with the sound of the train beside me. Smoke and fog curling around, making all the people around the station look like shadows in a mist. Many of them are welcoming soldiers home, all with some sort of medical discharge, or waving and hugging and kissing goodbye men who have enlisted. The amount of tears and sobbing on the platform is spine-tingling.

My mother stands beside us, wearing a jacket that is threadbare. She tries not to look cold, though, as she bends down to Prim's height and straightens her jacket. Tries to comfort her with a weak smile.

"You're going to be just fine in the country, Prim. You and your sister; Mr. Abernathy will take care of you both," Mother says, her voice soft.

"And Posy and Vick and Rory?" Prim asks, looking behind our mother to the little group of children listening respectfully to their mother. Mrs. Hawthorne, Hazelle, looks weary but strong as she squats down to Posy's height and fixes her hat. Rory and Vick look down at her, their backs straight, trying to appear strong in front of their mother.

Gale's siblings look so much like him. I'm grateful that they're going to the country too. They're next-door neighbors; I'm used to protecting them and watching over them, almost like they're brothers and sisters of my own.

I turn back to Mother as she says, "Mr. Abernathy says the more the merrier."

I highly doubt this old family friend of my mother's is going to be pleased with more the merrier, but my mother's lying words seem to put Prim at ease. She gives my mother a rueful smile. My mother kisses her gently on the cheek and then stands up, looking at me.

"I'll take care of her," I say.

"I know you will." My mother has a hopeful face. But I can't give in to her hope. She hopes we'll be safe. She hopes I can forgive her for withdrawing all those months ago.

But when you're the one dragging your little sister to the bomb shelter, holding and comforting her as she soaks your dress with her tears, while she just sits there, staring off into space like all the answers can be found before her, it's hard to forgive. Part of me wants to forgive her. The other half wants to protect Prim from her.

"Please write to me," Mother says, her voice desperate. "I'm going to be volunteering with the nurses in the local area, to help Mrs. Paylor with the bomb victims. I want to hear from you both. Please."

I stare at her. I can't promise anything. But Prim looks at me. Prim is my weakness. She makes me nod and say, "I will."

Mother's face cracks a little; I can see the glassy tears in her eyes.

But there's the train's whistle. A conductor yelling, "All aboard to Sussex!"

"That's the call," Mother says. She hastily kisses our cheeks again, hugs us tightly. I tentatively wrap my arms around her, thinking carefully of the bags balanced in my hands that I don't want stolen. We have no trunks; too expensive.

Hazelle brings the children to us, and we head to the landing to head in. Rory gets in first after Hazelle kisses him, and he pulls in Vick, his little head held high, and then helps Prim, who turns and waves fiercely at my mother. She waves back.

Posy's withholding tears as she clings to Hazelle, saying, "I don't want to leave you, Mummy."

Only four-years-old and being separated from her mother. Hazelle whispers, "It's to keep you safe, Posy," and she kisses her and then hands her off to me. I hold her against my hip as she leans her head against my shoulder. Too tired to sit up. Too sad to speak anymore.

"Goodbye, Katniss," Hazelle says, standing back with my mother. She's so much taller than she is; Mother is so frail.

"Goodbye, Hazelle," I say. The conductor calls out for the last time and I turn and step onto the stairs, holding all my things carefully. In the car, I turn back just as the whistle blows again, and I stare at the two lonely faces on the platform. The sound of the engine and the smell of the coal fills the air as the wheels starts turning and churning their way down the tracks, making a chug-chug-chug-chug noise.

"Mummy," Posy says just as we disappear out of the station and through into the country.

I feel like the oldest girl on this train. Sixteen-years-old amongst so many whimpering children under ten. The conductor starts to organize them, taking tickets and checking bags and getting the children situated. I take care of my party to lighten his load. But I don't trust him. I have to keep them all within the line of my eyes. Nothing's going to separate us.

We take up two benches in the back. I sit against the back wall one, Prim leaning against my shoulder, Posy sleeping against my arm. Our bags are hauled up by Rory and Vick, who are helped by the conductor. The two boys then go and sit in the row in front of us, pointing out many things in the countryside.

I've never been in a train before. It's a strange experience; my bones rattle as the carriage shifts back and forth, the wheels charging it forward. Outside, everything is green, but with a mist of grey. Not unlike London. It's probably covering the entirety of England. It's been like that ever since this war began.

I remember when Dad went to war. Barely on the force for three months before being blown up. He was in the same company with Gale's father.

The hours loll by. We have to stop a few times. I get out the lunch. Applies. Small sandwiches. We drink water from the train. There's not much food, but I tell the children of the country, where there'll be more food and animals and places to have fun in with no fear of bombs. This settles them down, and all three Hawthornes are asleep soon enough. Prim sits up and watches out the window, her hand half clenched against the glass. Buttercup meows.

I go to take him to the people's restroom. I don't dare ask for a bag and convince him to use that. Cats are unreasonable. Paper bags are rare.

I don't know for sure if there'll be more food and animals in the country. I got a gist of it from Haymitch's telegram. But his telegram can be taken many ways. It's short, wrinkled, and in my bag. My mother tucked it in when we were packing up and leaving, passing through the bomb-ridden city to the train station. I had read it beforehand, and I read it again when I bring Buttercup back.

Haymitch's sentencing is very quick. Curt.

Fine stop I have room stop Send all five of them stop Fine, and the cat stop I'll send my housekeeper to get them at the station stop

-Haymitch

I have no idea what to expect from this man. My mother didn't elaborate. She just said she knew him, for he had been with one of her best friends. She didn't mention the friend being at his house. He must be alone. I wondered why, but I shook it off.

How rich is he to have a housekeeper?

The train station comes into view within a couple of hours from leaving the station. The children pop up, renewed with energy, and chatter as I get the luggage down. The train comes to a stop.

"Kids, come on. Everyone take your bags," I say. The bags are dispersed. Especially Rory looks weighed down, carrying the majority of his younger siblings' luggage. But his shoulders are straight. Tall. Proud. He'd try to carry them all if he could.

We get onto the platform, blending in with the rest of the people, all wearing dark, heavy clothing. I can smell snow in the air. I can feel the coldness of Prim's hand, and of Posy's, through their fingerless gloves.

I look around the platform, and suddenly I realize that I want to strangle our new caretaker.

Haymitch Abernathy has told me nothing about what his housekeeper looks like. I have no idea what her name is, what clothes I should expect her to wear, what age she should be. Nothing. Because that man is not helpful.

Suddenly I get a feeling of what Haymitch Abernathy is: A hard human who doesn't want us at all. If he wants us, he would not have made such a mistake in our coming to his house.

I sigh deeply, angrily, and I hear Prim's voice. "Katniss, who are we looking for?"

"Haymitch Abernathy's housekeeper. She should be here."

I try to find someone in the crowd, someone looking for a large group of children. What I see is someone I am instantly repulsed by. I feel like throwing up, especially when she catches sight of us and squeals and runs to greet us.

She has an enormous blonde wig. She has makeup and smells like smoke, like she smokes cigarettes in her spare time. Her eyes are done up; her clothes are bright compared to the dullness. I feel, from paintings and photos, that she is stuck in the 20s'.

"Children! Little darlings!" she says, coming and hugging us all quickly. She straightens, clasps her hands in front of her, and turns to a young man who is entirely too handsome. Bronze hair, chiseled features, tall, beautiful. I stare at him and feel nothing. He must have girls falling head over heels for him. But to me he looks arrogant.

"Aren't they just beautiful, Finnick?" the housekeeper says. Her accent is so squeaky. Chirpy. Posh. And what kind of a name is Finnick?

"Oh, yes. If you decide that, yes, Effie," Finnick says. He grins at me. I frown coldly at him and draw the girls closer.

Effie turns to us and says happily, "Hello, children. I am Miss Effie Trinket, Haymitch Abernathy's housekeeper. I'm here to take you home." She places a white hand against Finnick's broad shoulder. "This is our driver. He works for Mr. Abernathy as well. His name is Finnick Odair."

"Hello, chill'uns," Finnick says. His grin never leaves his face. It's eerie. His voice rings with a sound that takes me a second to get. Welsh. He's from Wales. But his dialect is different. "We're gonna have a good time, aren't we?"

The kids don't say anything.

Effie bends down and looks each one of us in the eye. "You're Posy, aren't you?" she says to Prim.

"Prim. That's Posy," my little sister says, pointing to Posy at my side.

Effie smiles, embarrassed, and says, "May I take your hand?"

Posy shakes her head. I feel triumphant.

Effie straightens and clasps her hands once more. She reminds me of a clown. So much makeup. She must have gotten it from some black market or something. "Finnick, take their bags."

The boys and Finnick take the bags and Effie points excitedly across the station. "Come along, children. The wagon is just across the station. We must hurry to get home for dinner. So much to do, so little time, we really must stay on schedule! I do hate being late. It's horrible. Remember that, dear children. No being late!" Effie rambles as our strange party goes through the station. We attract more attention because of Effie. But I keep my head forward, ignore Finnick's laughing face at my side, hold tight to the two girls' hands in mine. I won't let them go, and despite how strange and dangerous this place is starting to turn, I won't let them go.

I may start regretting this decision to come to the country when we get to the wagon and Effie says, climbing into the front seat, "Just another hour until home, children!"

Home. No. A house. The home of Haymitch Abernathy, who I have a feeling I will not like. And if I don't like him, he's not going to like me.

January 14th, 1941

Dear Gale

It's been a while since I got a letter from you. I was relieved to get one from you. It's from August. And the army, of course, had cut those names out. I know. I hope you had a good Christmas at least, despite the mud and danger.

Prim is doing well. Still cheerful.

The bombs have gotten worst, and so, Gale, Mother is sending myself and Prim to the country. I'll ask her to forward your next letter to my new address. I'll be in Sussex.

I have to go help Prim with her packing. We're taking that irritable cat on the train. I hope it goes well.

Your friend

Katniss

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