crack_van | If The Quiet Was Not Better by thereprieve (PG-13)

Fandom: THE HUNGER GAMES
Pairing: none really
Length: 6k
Author on LJ:

thereprieve
Author Website: her ff.net page
Why this must be read:

This fandom has a fair number of fics that specifically ask "what if the 74th Hunger Games had gone differently?" There are all kinds of really good takes on the question, and I probably will come back to at least one other one before the month is up, but I wanted to get this one recced if no other, because it manages to flesh out two characters who are almost entire opposites and yet bring them to the same place, in some ways. It allows the characters to speak for themselves, while also providing insight into how the reader of the series feels about things. It's just really damn smart.

I crawl out to check on Thresh and Cato. Thresh has discovered an all-weather tent in his feast pack and is setting it up. Cato lies against the rocks. I turn him on his side and take a piece of my soaked shirt to clean his face of blood. He moans and I startle. I remember sitting in a tree above him, listening to them talk about killing me, taunting them with my nearness. Never would I have thought I would be tending his wounds. I spare no excessive care brushing over his bruising cheeks.

By the morning it is clear what the Gamemakers’ strategy is. They will not let the rain up until we starve or kill each other. Two near-dead tributes and two sleeping peacefully do not make for good television.

I awake to Peeta’s somewhat steadier breathing and to Cato’s quiet cries on my other side. I do not pretend to know what he felt for Clove, or what she felt for him. His sobs are mostly silent, but his shoulders shake as he lies, curled in a ball, knees tucked tight to his chest. White-blonde hair falls in his eyes. I realize, he is just a child, another child; we all of us are children. I ignore him, for both our sakes. I peak my head outside. Thresh sits outside in the rain, widdling a stick. At first I think he is fashioning a new weapon, but then I realize he is making arrows. I smile despite myself, cock my head.

“As long as it rains, we won’t be able to hunt. The animals will be burrowed away.” He raises the arrow to check it’s true, at least I think that is what he does. He points it in the air like he might be spearing the camera lens.

“So we wait.” He turns and grins at me, a slow pull of lips gives rise to apple cheeks. I can’t help but return his smile.

If The Quiet Was Not Better