#kellona

Rolling over and throwing his arm over his eyes, Keller used his other hand to wave at the blinds, slamming them shut with a piece of simple wandless magic. Over the course of several centuries, he’d found honing his skills to be one of the best uses of his time – wandless magic was now a mere obstacle, rather than a challenge, and for the majority of spells, Keller no longer needed his wand, yet he still opted to use it for the sake of it. There were some habits that he didn’t want to break, and holding his pear wand made him feel connected to being human again. When darkness reigned inside his apartment, he drifted off to sleep and dreamt of waves and rocks, of sands and sun, and he found that the picturesque scene was only punctured by the pounding headache he had. It meant he was becoming sober – something he always tried to refrain from – and swung himself up and out of bed. His apartment was a mess of clothes, empty bottles, and books; it smelled strongly of cigarettes and spilled whiskey, and was almost always pitch black with a few stray candles levitating in the corners. Keller had his habits – just like everyone else – but he also had a general lack of concern for his own life; he had decided about two centuries ago that if he was going to live forever, then he would live that life in the easiest way possible: drunk and with his eyes closed. He hadn’t been sober for longer than a day in around a century, a century which was now one blissful blur to Keller: television and computers and mobiles were all completely foreign to him, though he had mastered the use of a bank account and card, and he grabbed his wallet now and stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans while pulling on a shirt. He was out of alcohol and needed some supplies – food, potion ingredients – so a run to the Alley would be in order.

Keller never felt more alienated than when among his own people – or what had been his own people. Apparating to Diagon Alley and walking among the witches and wizards still toting pointed caps and dressed in robes sent Keller back centuries to a time when he had been but a boy gathering supplies for his studies at Hogwarts. When he walked with friends, careless and free; when he had laughed and eaten ice cream, or when he had walked with parcels of books under his arms, ready for the new year and excited about what he’d learn. Each memory was dull with age now, like looking through a grimy window and seeing only the outlines of people, shadows passing through a dark room. People passing by him now didn’t look at him twice – dressed in casual muggle clothes, Keller fitted in with other scores of wizards who had adapted to modern life and ditched robes. He stalked forward, keeping his head down lest anyone actually see his face and recognise him from textbooks they’d read: he was, after all, supposed to be dead – he was supposed to have disappeared and died when the experiment with the Elixir had gone wrong. But as he walked and breathed and thought, Keller knew that he was alive – he lived in defiance of a truth that Flamel had created, whether for his own benefit or not, Keller had never thought to ask. He exchanged muggle money for galleons at Gringotts and walked quickly to the stores he needed, pausing only in front of the bookstore: he wanted to go in, and with more than enough money sitting in his pocket, he pushed through the door and into the store that hadn’t changed much in the last few centuries.

New arrivals stood front and centre, but Keller only gave them a passing glance – they were currently surrounded on all sides by people, and Keller was not in the mood to socialise. He passed straight toward the long aisles at the back of the store, coming eventually to one of his favourite sections: muggle literature. He could have easily gone to a muggle bookstore, and normally, that’s exactly what he did, but out of habit, he couldn’t help but look. With eyes scanning the shelves, Keller took a swig from a flask of whiskey, putting it back into his pocket just as a girl came around the corner, not quite looking at him so much as she was looking at the books. Keller immediately moved over to allow her personal space to browse the titles, and without giving her any more thought, he started reading the titles, lips moving as he read them silently.

“Are you excited for the new term?” came a small voice unexpectedly, and Keller tore his eyes painfully away from the books to the girl who stood beside him. She looked pink in the cheeks, like talking to him was a great effort for her, but she looked from the books on the shelves to those in her hands and then briefly to Keller, then back away. Keller himself was confused – what did she mean by ‘new term’?  His confusion must have shown on his face, because she turned a brighter shade of red. “School term, I mean,” she murmured, looking away from him and grabbing a book off the shelf at random to distract herself.

Keller hadn’t thought of attending school in some time, and the suggestion that he would be going threw him. He caught sight of his reflection in the shop window: messy hair, and a perpetual youthful look stared right back. His eyes were old – or so they seemed to him – and rimmed with red; he was pale, perhaps even sickly-looking, but even Keller couldn’t deny that it would have been an easy mistake to make. “I-…” His voice was rough with disuse. “I don’t go to Hogwarts,” he said, deadpan, and without any attempt at charm or kindness. Keller felt an odd pang of something like self-loathing at that, and he looked to the girl – or was she a woman?

She was small – her head came to just under his chin – and her hair was a fair brown, falling in waves and curls down past her shoulders. Her eyes were of the kind that were ageless; she might have been eighteen or thirty and Keller would never have known the difference. They were a bright, lively blue that pulled in Keller’s attention, and he was strongly reminded of a summer’s day sky that he’d seen when he had been a boy. But the question of her age was left unanswered: she had the anxious, shy demeanour of a girl, but her body – her presence – told him she was a woman.

“Oh,” she said, biting her lip. “Another school, then…?”

“I graduated,” he said dismissively, waving it away. He didn’t want to talk about himself – he wanted to find out more about this small woman who had approached a stranger in the muggle section of a bookstore. “Are you-…? Are you going to Hogwarts, then?”

She let out a small laugh, her eyes creasing as she did so, and shook her head. “I graduated a few years ago. Gryffindor alumni,” she said, and thereby answering Keller’s question of her age.

“Ravenclaw alumni,” he returned, with a bow of his head, and he suddenly remembered that his face was plastered in a History of Magic textbook that is prescribed to Hogwarts students, and he quickly turned away. Keller cursed to himself silently – how could he be so foolish and careless? Why had he let the prospect of someone’s attention sweep away his common sense? Was he that desperate for someone to talk to him? Keller knew that if he was found to be alive, the Ministry would take him out – or at least, take him in and make sure that his blood was used for research, or to even fuel research for others to become immortal. A cold shiver ran through Keller, and he tried to focus on the titles of the books.

“Uhm-… so… do you work here in Diagon Alley?” asked the woman in a polite voice, and Keller shook his head, even though she could only see the back of his head. “For the Ministry, then?”

“I have to go,” he said abruptly, all without looking at her. “You should read this if you haven’t already,” he murmured, pressing the book he had been holding into her hands and turning on his heel, leaving the woman holding a copy of The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.

+

Time in the passing months seemed to drag until Keller was sure that at least another century had gone by, but when he went out for supplies next (cigarettes, alcohol, food), he found that it had only been three months and two days since he’d been to Diagon Alley. Three months and two days since he’d seen that girl – but how many times had he thought of her? Memorised the exact curl of her hair, or the precise colour blue that her eyes were? Of course, he wasn’t as foolish as to let it affect him: he got drunk and slept and stayed in the dark of his apartment like every other day, but he dreamed, and he found himself thinking – at the height of his drunkness – that she had been beautiful; she was small and petite and the kind of girl that he would have gone for centuries ago when he’d been normal. He would have courted her: written her a letter expressing his intentions, tried to spend time with her in a social setting, danced with her at a ball. Keller knew that social customs had changed: these days, dates were common, as were sex and everything in between, but he thought that this girl, this woman who blushed and loved books, deserved more respect than that. Keller always drank more to try to blur the image of her face like so many of the other girls he’d seen across the years – how many had there been that captured his attention? He wasn’t a robot, despite what he thought of himself – he had attraction and lust and a desire for a companion; but he’d never acted on the feelings – he’d never considered that anyone would believe him about the immortality accident, nor did he think that anyone would stick around long after they found out. But there was something about this girl, in the way her image stuck behind his eyes like you’d been staring at the sun for too long: she stayed longer in his mind than any other girl had, and that made her unique.

Even though Keller was intrigued by her, he knew nothing about her – he didn’t know her name, her job, or even what books she liked. Their meeting had been by chance, and even if he did have a temporary lapse in judgement and decide to find her, he wouldn’t know where to start. Whenever those thoughts entered his head, he always drank a little more, pushing away the thoughts; he couldn’t be as selfish as to want to pull someone else into the mess that he’d created, no matter how much he felt drawn to her. He unconsciously looked for her everywhere he went: he tried to see her eyes in the blur of the crowd, hoping for even just another glimpse of her face to glean from her the answer to the question that had plagued him since she first spoke. Why? Why had she spoken to him? Why did she care who he was, why he was there, what he was doing? Why had she said anything at all when for centuries no one had bothered to ask about him? It was an anomaly: she was different, and Keller’s curiosity was piqued by her.

+

Six months and fourteen days after seeing her in Diagon Alley, Keller had officially given her up. His life – as long as it was – was not going to be spent chasing a woman, thinking about her and wondering where she was, and if she’d ever read the book that he recommended to her. Numbing himself with alcohol and cigarettes was a tried and true method, and Keller leaned heavily on that crutch now, hoping to forget that she ever existed so that he could get on with his own. Thrown out of a pub, Keller tumbled around on the cobblestones of muggle London, spitting out blood and laughing. It was his ritual that, every year, he go out and get extremely wasted in a pub or club for his birthday – giving him human contact, and something to think about until the next one. Most of his birthdays ended in a brawl, where Keller’s bitterness spilled out and affected those in the immediate area. Intoxicated patrons would yell at him until a champion stepped forward, and then he brawl was on. It usually ended the same way: Keller getting beaten to a pulp and thrown out into the street. He had always been useless without magic – his physical body was not impressive or strong, and now that he was permanently locked into a body of a young man, he doubted he’d ever build the stature and muscle of an adult man. Just as he was wiping his mouth and seeing the red on the back of his hand under the streetlamp, he heard soft footsteps hurrying toward him.

“Oh Merlin, are you alright? I saw someone fall-…”

“I didn’t fall,” he snapped, spitting again. “I was thrown.” Keller realised that he was already over socialising for his birthday – he wanted nothing more than to hole up in his dark apartment with a bottle of whiskey, a packet of cigarettes, and waste away another year. Moving to his hands and knees, Keller pushed himself up and found that a hand was on his arm, assisting him. The touch almost burned him, and Keller yanked his arm back savagely, staring at the person in shock – he hadn’t been touched in years – centuries, even. No one touched him like that – he simply didn’t allow it. His eyes were wide and flashing with anger until he saw the owner of the hand was none other than the girl from six months ago in Diagon Alley. The place where her hand had been was now vibrating with warmth, and Keller did his best to forget about it in light of the fact that she was here – she was really here. He wasn’t sure if she even recognised him; their acquaintance had been brief, and for someone who was so very much alive, his quick appearance in the scheme of life may not have warranted a place in her long term memory. “Sorry,” he said quickly, the word falling stunted from his lips. “I just-.. I don’t like being touched.”

The girl was still staring at him, and she realised it a moment later and shook her head, her curls shaking loose from under a beanie. “It’s fine, I shouldn’t have assumed and violated your personal space.”

“No, I’m sorry, really,” he found himself saying, “most people would be thankful for someone’s assistance, and I was inconceivably rude.”

The girl bit her lip and rocked on her toes for a minute, not sure if she wanted to keep the apologising game going before she simply nodded. “It’s okay,” she said.

Silence then fell between them as they stood in the middle of the quiet street, Keller’s blood on the cobblestones between them. The most pressing thing on Keller’s mind was finding out whether she remembered him – he had no reason to suspect that she did, given the fact that he was not a memorable person, nor had she spoken to him long enough to warrant it – but the not knowing of it all tugged at something in Keller’s brain until he eventually blurted out, “I should go,” and he turned on the spot and started walking away. It was unchivalrous to leave a woman out at night on her own, given the state of the world that they were living in, but Keller had done some reading a year ago in a book he’d picked up from the library that stated something called ‘feminism’ was gripping women the world over and they wanted to take care of themselves. Keller thought he was doing the right thing – he felt good for adjusting to society so easily, until he heard the soft pad of footsteps behind him.

“Sorry, but-… do you remember me?” asked the girl, and when Keller turned to look at her, she was staring at him curiously, blushing slightly even in the cold night air. “It’s just-… I saw you, in Diagon Alley once, and we spoke and…?”

“No-.. yes-… I mean-…” Keller sounded like an idiot, and he cleared his throat, tasting the blood from his mouth and frowning. “Yes, I remember you.”

The girl brightened immediately and smiled before opening her purse and producing a book from within. “I’ve been hoping to run into you ever since that day,” she said excitedly, and she took a step forward, holding out the book. “You recommended me a book before you left, and I read it – it was beautiful, and now, I wanted to return the favour.”

Keller hand reached out to meet her own, and he took the book from her grasp. He was dubious that she could offer him any book that hadn’t read before, but he stared down at the cover, reading the title. “What genre of book is it?” he asked, mouthing the words ‘The Chronicles of Narnia’ to himself. Who was C.S Lewis?

“Fantasy,” she said, smiling. “I know it’s in rather stark contrast to the novel you gave me, but on the off chance you haven’t already read the Narnia series-…”

“I haven’t,” he said, frowning. “But I do love fantasy.” He was surprised by her kindness and forethought, as well as dedication to generosity. Had she really been carrying around the book since that day in the hope of seeing him? Nothing in her face caused Keller to doubt what she said, but the sheer kindness of such an action unsettled him. No one was that kind, at least not to him. Why did she even care what books he had and hadn’t read? Why had she even chosen to accept his book recommendation in the first place? Keller was frowning again, realising he was not drunk enough to deal with this, but he didn’t hand the book back. In a selfish part of his heart, he wanted to keep it and read it – he wanted to see what she saw when she read the book. “Thank you,” he said, looking from the book in his hands and up to her, to see her still standing there, as though she had all day for him. “I-…” Keller’s mouth gave an odd twitch, as though it wanted to smile. “I’m Keller.”

He didn’t know why he told her his real name – it was foolish, and could get him killed – but it slipped out before he could stop himself, and now she knew. She had his face and his name, and it would be one book away before he was revealed and his life to be over. But if his name meant anything to her, she didn’t show it, and instead smiled back, ducking her head as she blushed. “Fiona,” she said, looking up at him and tucking her hair behind her ear. He turned the name over in his mind and decided that it suited her well.

“Well, Fiona,” he said, testing the name out on his tongue, “after I read it, how am I going to return it to you?”

She smiled and shook her head, the curls bouncing in the glow of the street lamp. “It’s yours,” she said, clutching her bag in excitement. “I hope you like it.”

Again, the nicety of her threw Keller, though he was getting used to it slowly. It was as though she didn’t exist when she was around him, because she was so busy looking at him, talking to him, giving him things, responding to him. She was her own radiant person, and Keller wished that she’d talk more about herself – her thoughts and fears and experiences. His eyes scanned her for any sign of these, but she dressed simply, even with a slight hint of wealth behind the material. He knew that he shouldn’t want to, but he did: he wanted to get to know her, and he would have traded in his immortality in a second to be able to do. Who was this girl that had such life and vibrancy in her eyes, carried books for people, and talked to strangers with a blush in her cheek? In all of Keller’s life and travels, he’d never met someone like her – or at least, he’d never allowed himself to. It was as though Fiona was the flower in the crack of the sidewalk, pushing herself through the rough façade and bringing life with her. She was the flower, he was the asphalt.

“I-…” Keller looked down at the hardbacked book again. “I’m sure I will. Thank you – this-.. this is incredibly kind.”

She flushed, her smile attempting to be suppressed but failing. “It’s okay,” she said, and Keller longed to study her for a century – to note every emotion as it passed across her face; to be so intimate with her personality that he came to predict her reactions before they even flickered on her face, only to realise that there were more to discover. She was interesting: she was the burst of sun in Keller’s storm-grey world. “Uh-.. I hope you don’t think I’m.. I’m incredibly easy or… a floozy for doing this,” she said, her voice quick and nervous, “because I never do this.. ever.. but-… can I give you my number?”

Keller’s head snapped up to her. “Sorry?”

“My-… my number?”

Nothing connected in Keller’s mind at all. “Your-… age? You want to tell me your age?” he guessed, frowning at her deeply.

“Oh!” she gasped, her face turning visibly red in the dim light of the night. “I’m so sorry, sometimes I forget that I’m a witch and not a muggle like I’ve been living for the last few years…” Fiona genuinely looked distraught with herself as Keller watched her. “I meant my phone number… for my mobile telephone. Do you have a telephone?” Keller shook his head – he’d read a few books talking about it, but he had never personally owned one; there had never been a point. “That’s a shame. Do you have an owl that can deliver mail? I-… I can give you my address?”

Keller didn’t have an owl, but he knew where to find one for a knut. “That would be best,” he said with a shaky smile. “I’d… I’d really like to owl you – about the book, once I’m done,” he said, feeing for all the world like he was seventeen again and talking to his highschool sweetheart. But he was a man now – a 673 year old man, who had lived and seen more than anyone in the city combined, and he shouldn’t have felt as nervous or flustered as he did. Yet, Fiona brought it out in him: she made him feel young, inexperienced, and almost bursting with emotion that he could hardly contain it or keep the smile off his face as she scribbled down her address on a scrap of paper and handed it to him.

“That sounds lovely,” she said, smiling and putting away her pen. “Maybe we.. we could talk about it over uh-… over coffee sometime?”

Nodding, Keller realised belatedly that this could be seen as the modern concept of a date – but he had already agreed, and now he couldn’t back out. He was moving far too fast with Fiona: things were starting to slip out of his control. He’d showed her his face, his name, revealed his patterns of behaviour (bookstore, pub, alcohol), as well as just accepted a date for a future occasion for them to meet. Keller’s life had been built upon trusting no one unless he wanted to end up some laboratory experiment, and yet, the moment Fiona walked into his life, his defences were down. How had she managed that? How had she reduced him to a gibberish, teenaged mess in just two meetings?

“I’m sorry, that-.. that was so forward, I shouldn’t have said that-…” she was saying once Keller didn’t reply to her offer of coffee, and he quickly cut her off.

“No! No, really-.. that sounds great, sorry-… it was just-.. uhm-… unexpected, but-.. I’d love to, really.” Keller gave her his best smile, hating himself inside for allowing her still have an effect on him. “I’ll owl you.”

“Okay!” she said, enthusiastic. “That-.. that sounds-…”

“Yeah-… I’ll uhm-… I’ll owl you-…” Keller wanted to clamp his mouth shut but now it was just running away from him, repeating the same words.

“Great!” she said, smiling, as if she hadn’t noticed. “I-.. I can’t wait to read it.”

“I can’t wait to write it,” he found himself saying, and at that point he was just embarrassed for himself. “Uhm-… I really have to go, I was just-…”

“No! Of course, sorry, I’ve delayed you for so long…”

“No, really, it was a pleasure to see you again,” he said, and he held up the book. “And thank you again for Narnia.”

“I hope you like it,” she was saying as she backed away, her destination in the opposite direction.

“I’ll be sure to tell you my thoughts over coffee sometime,” Keller said, and the mention of their impending date made Fiona grin, and she turned around, smothering her smile.  “Goodnight, Fiona!” he called after her.

“Goodnight, Keller,” she called over her shoulder, and soon the darkness swallowed her up.

It was Keller’s turn next, and he swallowed thickly, looking around at everyone in the circle. He was nervous – he had been dating Fiona for a few months, and even though she knew this was a game, he didn’t know how comfortable he’d be with taking one of his friends into the closet. But, he couldn’t back out now: everyone in the circle was chanting his name, and Keller spun the bottle, watching it twist around and around and around.

“I personally hope it’s me,” Nolan professed, his blue eyes watching the bottle keenly. “That snog earlier was just a taste of what’s to come, Murphy,” he said, winking at Keller and wiggling his eyebrows.

Keller laughed, and punched Nolan in the shoulder. “You wish,” he muttered, turning his eyes back to the bottle as it began to slow  - and for a moment, Keller’s heart leapt as the bottle seemed to slow in Nolan’s direction. But it passed by him, and to Keller, and then eventually inched to a stop. Everyone’s eyes followed the path of the bottle: Fiona.

“Fuck that!” yelled Nolan, who threw his hands up angrily. “That’s fucking unbelievable. You two can snog anytime!”

Keller stood up, beaming, and held out his hand to Fiona, who was blushing furiously. “Rules are rules, Nolan,” Keller said with a shrug, and he felt someone’s empty paper cup hit him while the rest of the group booed, echoing Nolan’s sentiment. “Better luck next time, ladies and gents.” With a mock bow to the group and more boos, Keller led Fiona into closet. Just as he closed the door, Nolan yelled out – “Seven minutes, you two, then I want another shot at Murphy!”

In the darkness of the broom closet, which was not very large at all, Keller already had his hands beside Fiona’s head against the wall, pressing her back against it with his hips against hers. All he could hear was the sound of their breathing, harsh and loud in the small space as they simply stood there, until Fiona’s hands rose to his chest, gripping onto the front of his shirt.

“We have seven minutes,” Keller said, feeling the firewhiskey course through his bloodstream, making him feel bold and brilliant and alive. His breathing was shallow now that he was in such close to proximity to Fiona in such a confined space, and he could smell her perfume and the firewhiskey on her breath and the faint undertones of her shampoo and the embers of the fire still clinging to their clothes. Keller dropped one of his hands to her neck, thumb running the line of her neck as he looked at her through the dim light. “Or-… we now have six minutes and forty seconds, as of right now. By the time I finish speaking, we’ll have six minutes and ten seconds. For two of those remaining minutes, I’m going to kiss you,” he said, lowering his voice down to a whisper as he ghosted his lips along her jaw and down her neck, pressing a kiss there just once. “After that, we’ll have four minutes and ten seconds,” he whispered, breath hot against her neck as he straightened, cupping her face with his hand, and allowing his thumb to brush against her lower lip. “And what we’ll do in those four minutes and ten seconds will be up to you.”

There was no time to waste as the internal clock that Keller had started began to tick down, and he crashed their lips together, immediately feeling Fiona open up under him compliantly. They’d both had more than a little firewhiskey, both at the bonfire party outside and just now in the common room; it had settled in the pit of their stomachs, warm and pleasant and kindling nicely as they moved together. Keller felt Fiona’s hands rise to his shoulders, sliding up into his hair and gripping onto the long strands as he deepened the kiss, his own hand moving into her hair to tilt her head ever so slightly. There was no chance of oxygen or thought creeping into their kiss – they were completely lost to the other, and Keller could help the way his hips rocked against hers, the action laced with desperation and urgency that had nothing to do with the ticking clock that had settled over this moment. Keller always wanted Fiona: it wasn’t a question anymore, it was a certainty – a constant in and of itself. Fiona’s own hips pushed back until they were both grinding against the other, and Keller eventually had to break the kiss and gasp for air, but without pausing for it, he pressed his lips down her neck, biting gently at the skin there.

Four minutes and forty-three seconds left.

His name fell off Fiona’s lips, and Keller felt her hand go to the top of his jeans as his own hand went to her hip, but he shook his head, pulling away from her neck. “There isn’t time,” he whispered urgently, pulling her hand back from his belt and biting his lip, looking at Fiona’s own and how much more red they had grown in the last two minutes alone. Keller wished that there was time: he wanted an hour – two – in order to properly make Fiona feel good, to allow their bodies to come together like they both so desperately craved, but he had to choose one path and act on it quickly.

Four minutes and thirty-one seconds left.

His mind struggled under the haze of firewhiskey and lust that blanketed it until he allowed his body to act for him, and he brought their lips back together and let go of forethought. The clock was ticking down: they had four minutes and seven seconds left in the closet and to themselves, and Keller intended to use it all, right until the last millisecond dropped. His hand moved from her hip and down the inside of her thigh, long fingers moving with intent until he brushed against the outside of her underwear. Fiona was the one to break their kiss now, her breathing laboured as she felt Keller’s fingertips brushed against her clothed clit, and her hips moved of their own accord, urging his fingers on. Keller smiled against her neck, her head angled to give him better access as he kissed her there before pressing a harsher mark against her skin, eager to see what it looked like in proper lighting.  Moving his fingers beneath the material until he could feel that she was already wet, Keller wasted no time before using two fingers to circle against her clit.

“Keller--” she choked out, sounding breathless, and her hand tightened in his hair and pulling on the strands, which she knew that he liked and only made him bite a little harder against her skin, teeth grazing her and claiming her as his own.

Three minutes and thirty-eight seconds left.

Keller moved his fingers faster against her clit, feeling her hips start to rock down against his hand, trying to get the most out of the situation as she could. “Fuck,” Keller whispered against her neck, kissing a trail up her neck and to her jaw, feeling how desperately Fiona wanted to cum as her breathing was ragged in his ear. Shifting his fingers from her clit and down to her entrance, Keller didn’t pause as he pressed two inside of her, and Fiona’s hands tightened further in his hair.

“Keller--” she said again, this time it came out as more of a moan, and Keller started to slowly thrust his fingers inside of her, feeling breathless himself at how tight she was around him.

“I know,” he whispered, nodding, mouth slack and eyes unfocused as he looked down at her.

Two minutes and fifty-four seconds left.

Fiona looked torn in her indecision between wanting more and enjoying what she already had, and her eyes were wide and unseeing as she looked back at Keller. She looked beautiful with her kiss-reddened lips and blue eyes that picked up the light in the dark space, and Keller brought their lips back together, shutting his eyes and focusing his energy on making her feel good. There was now even less time—

Two minutes and ten seconds left.

-- and Keller knew that any minute now, Nolan would be hammering on the door and demanding that they spin the bottle again, and the moment would be lost. They had to be quick – and as much as it hurt to rush something as perfect as that moment, Keller had no choice. It was called seven minutes in heaven for a reason, and if Keller could take Fiona there and back in the given time, then he would consider that a success. He increased the pace of his fingers inside of her, hearing her gasp out and feeling her body react, hips rocking down against his fingers faster now, and her hand drop to his shirt and cling there desperately. Keller brought his lips back to her neck, pressing another kiss below the mark he’d already made as he felt Fiona tighten around him again, and her fingers to pull painfully at his hair.

One minute and thirty-nine seconds left.

“Oh God, Keller--” she gasped, urgent and desperate and somewhat lost in whatever she was feeling, and Keller could only work her faster as she orgasmed, body riding through the waves of pleasure until her hips stilled and all that was left was the rapid rise and fall of their chests against the others’.

One minute and twelve seconds left.

Keller kissed her again, and she returned it deeply, hands in his hair and pulling him ever closer, trying to give back as much as he had given, until there was a sharp hammering on the door. “Hey!” someone yelled through it. “Time’s up, you two!”

“We have fifty-two seconds left -- sod off!” Keller returned with a groan, and he bit his lip and looked down at Fiona, pulling out of her and smiling coyly. She looked completely exhilarated – the orgasm was chasing the alcohol through her body until she was left in some kind of state between pleasure and bliss, and Keller wouldn’t have pulled her out of there for all the world. “Okay?” he asked, searching her wide eyes and flushed cheeks, smiling tentatively.

Fiona nodded quickly, straightening her dress and smiling back up at him. “Okay,” she said, leaning up on her toes to kiss him again, hand on the side of his jaw before it disappeared – right as the door flew open with a bang and Nolan stood there, hands on his hips.

“You two disgust me, now get out here and join the circle,” he demanded. “For your sake, I hope you have some energy left for me,” he added to Keller before he stalked back to the semi-circle, where the firewhiskey bottle was still being passed around, and Keller received it welcomingly. Taking a sip and passing it on to Fiona, he smiled as she still looked completely flustered and relaxed, all at once.

Prim: My character says their final goodbyes to your character before they are sent to the Capitol. Regular AU.

They stood side by side, their hands entwined, as though either one of their names had already been called, and they were to part forever. But the Reaping had barely begun: people were still milling around, lining up in messy rows while the younger kids still loitered aimlessly, and Keller watched them all, hoping it wouldn’t be them. He could still hear the echoes of their laughter on the shores of the beaches only a day ago; he saw their smiles, now wiped clean off their faces, broad and wide and full of the joy of chasing the waves back and forth along the sand. As much as Keller didn’t want it to be him, he didn’t want it to be them more. There was a strong squeeze to his hand, and Keller pulled his eyes from the front of the crowd to the girl standing nervously beside him. Fiona looked back, her eyes – the colour of the ocean on a clear day – were now clouded with worry and fear; her face was drawn, as though she were already somehow retreating from the moment her name was called, and Keller could only squeeze her hand back. “You’re going to be fine,” he whispered seriously, trying to comfort her, but knowing that if she wasn’t going to worry for herself, she’d worry about him. They were both in the Reaping this year, just like the several years past, and each had passed in the same way: they held hands tightly, reassuring one another that it wouldn’t be them – surely their luck couldn’t be that bad. Keller had to believe that it wouldn’t be Fiona, simply because the alternative meant her leaving, and dying, away from home.

The microphone was switched on, and a low static filled the oval-shape centre of District 4 where the children waited in the middle, while parents and grandparents nervously tittered on the outskirts, watching. Keller and Fiona’s grip on the other tightened, and neither could turn to the front as the promotional propaganda Capitol video played – they looked only at the other, eyes searching. Keller tried to look at her and remember the moments they’d shared in that year alone; the triumph of teaching Fiona how to weave a successful net, or the Winter weekend they’d spent in her parent’s villa down the beach where only the rich spent their Summers, meaning they’d had the whole place to themselves. Keller could remember her smile stretching across her face, the exact opposite of the anxious frown she now wore. He remembered the feeling of them running through the reeds on the shore, running until they were ragged and them collapsing on the grass, laughing and kissing until the sun set, and then she’d move into his arms, as though he had the ability to keep her safe from the very darkness that was descending. But Keller knew he was helpless to protect her now if her name was called, and as the Capitol representative called out the name of a girl a few years younger than Keller, they both let out a collective sigh of relief. Keller kissed her cheek. “See?” he told her, grinning nervously, simply glad that she was safe. Everything else was bearable if she was alive and spared from the Games, and now they just waited on his own emergence from danger and they could have another beautiful summer together.

Fiona’s eyes widened after a moment, and Keller had been so caught up in imagining what they’d do when this was all over that he hadn’t heard the name of the male tribute. The Capitol man up the front repeated the name, a tinge of annoyance there. “Keller Murphy,” he said, speaking loudly into the microphone, and this time Keller heard it – he heard it perfectly. The grip that Fiona had on his hand intensified when Keller took an almost involuntary step forward, and she seemed to be refusing to let him go. The crowd was turning now, looking at him with fear painted on their faces – they could only imagine what Keller must be feeling as he turned back to Fiona, his face blanched of colour and emotion. “I-…” His voice seemed to cling to his throat, unable to leave. “I have to go, Fiona,” he whispered, staring into nothingness as he tried to unlock his fingers from hers in order to walk to the front, running more on autopilot than anything else.

“No!” she pleaded, wrapping her other hand around his wrist, holding him in place. She shook her head furiously, face wet with tears and her voice little more than a broken sob. “Please—! Keller, no.”

The Distract centre was quiet, and Fiona’s cries rang out sharply, even if they were merely whispered pleas. Keller swallowed thickly and regained a little of himself, enough to pull her close and press a kiss to her forehead, serving as all the words he couldn’t say in that moment. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispered, and this time, with the promise of a future between them, Fiona let go reluctantly, allowing Keller to walk to the front. The ceremony passed quickly in a blur of announcements, fake smiles, and white Peacekeeper uniforms until Keller was ushered backstage and into a waiting room, carved out of wood and polished til it shone. He instinctively moved toward the window, looking out through the glass and eyes immediately finding the sight of the ocean in the distance, and in that moment, he could breathe again. The ocean was home – it would tether him, no matter where he was, and he stared at the rolling waves until the door behind him opened and his family rushed in. His little brother and sister were all tears, and Keller hugged them both twice in turn, whispering instructions to them and making them promise to fulfil them until he turned to his mother, seeing her holding back tears for the sake of her children. Keller clasped her tightly, still smelling the ocean on her hair, and he pulled back, smiling sadly. “You’re going to be fine,” he told her, nodding. “Oliver knows the tides now, and Abbey’s just as good at weaving as I am.”

His mother let out a choked sob, shaking her head and pressing her hand to her face. “It’s not the nets I’m-… that I’m worried about,” she whispered, looking up at him with tears streaking down her face, but Keller didn’t want her to break down, so he hugged her again just before a Peacekeeper came and pulled them out, his mother wishing him the best of luck before she disappeared out of sight.

Keller turned back to the window and the ocean beyond, and he tried to let himself go along with it, as if he could simply drift out to sea and never be seen again. He thought that he might like that, but it would be lonely – and he had others to think of now. As he waited for his last visitor, he realised that the shock was still fresh in his mind, and the reality of what he was about to face hadn’t set in: he hadn’t digested the reality that in only a matter of days he would be dropped into an arena where twenty-three other kids were going to try to kill him. But Keller also understood that he couldn’t comprehend that – not yet, anyway; he needed this time to be strong for others, and his own would come eventually. The door behind him opened, and Keller didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Fiona – her presence was as familiar to him as the ocean was, but he turned all the same, watching her as she watched him in turn. She looked completely devastated, and Keller could only open his arms to her as she walked and then ran the distance to rest herself in them. He held her tight, enfolding her there as if he could take her with him to the arena; to press the memory of her very existence into his mind for the times when he wasn’t sure he would even make it out again.

“We’re going to be okay,” Keller said, voice muffled where it was buried in her shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

He felt her shake her head and the tears were damp on his shirt that he wore, the best that he owned. “What if you’re not?” she asked, her voice an emotional, broken mess against his chest. “Then I won’t be fine.”

“Hey,” he said soothingly, pulling away and resting his forehead against hers. “You will be fine,” he repeated, looking into her eyes, “no matter what happens to me.”

Fiona’s eyes whelmed with tears again, and when she blinked, they fell down her cheeks, racing one another. “No I won’t,” she whispered, “not without you.”

Keller didn’t want to spend their last remaining moments together trying to convince her of a fact that she would soon learn for herself, so he leaned forward, closing the gap between them, and kissed her. With his eyes closed, the images from before danced in the darkness, and Keller prayed they’d stay with him in the arena: the moments of love, the moments of being together and growing together; the moments Fiona would rest her head on his chest and the feeling of knowing someone so well – of being at one and at peace – was so overwhelming that he could have said “I love you” until the air died in his lungs and it wouldn’t do the feeling justice. Keller’s hand cupped her face, deepening the kiss for just a moment, before he pulled back, opening his eyes to see that her tears had stopped. Her own hand rose now, trembling only slightly, to lay against the side of his face, fingertips just gently in his sea-salted hair, and Keller gave her a smile.

“The sea will bring me home,” he told her, turning his face to the left so that he kissed her wrist chastely. “And does the sea ever let us down?”

Fiona shook her head just as the door opened loudly, and a Peacekeeper announced that their time was up. Looking panicked against, Fiona’s hands clung to his shirt, and their lips found one another’s for the last time – or what they both thought might be the last time – before they parted, looking desperately at the other. Now that the time had come, Keller couldn’t do it – he couldn’t let her go – by the Peacekeeper was leading her out, and Keller stood rooted to the spot, unable to do anything. “I love you!” he called, just as she reached the doorway, and he saw her turn around in the last second, her eyes wide, simultaneously jugging fear and sadness and hope, and she repeated it, calling her love back, and they were the last three words that Keller heard before he left District 4, perhaps forever.

Peeta – confess their love in the interview/arena. In this AU, Fiona was reaped, and Keller is her mentor.

The days without Fiona were long and hard, and the only thing keeping Keller with the energy to get out of bed in the morning was the possibility that today might be her last in the arena, and he could see her again. The television never turned off in Keller’s suite; he kept it on the Games, waking up at odd hours from a heart-pounding nightmare to see a flash of Fiona sleeping in a tree or see her taking a drink of water from a small puddle. They weren’t enough to satisfy the ache that had established itself in his chest from the moment she’d left him, but it was enough for the moment – to know that she was alive was all he needed to get dressed and begin working at the sponsors. He’d had to do terrible things to send her bread, and even worse things to send her medicine for the infected wound on her shoulder – and Keller still felt dirty all over from it. No amount of scrubbing in the shower could seem to wash it away; it clung to his skin like blood – the lengths he’d go to for Fiona were never-ending, because he loved her. It was that thought that made him press his head against the cool tile of the shower, eyes screwed shut. He loved her more than the word could convey, and seeing her in there running for her life or dying slowly from a wound was unbearable, and Keller would have done it all over again – and more – if it meant giving her a better chance at winning and coming back to him.

Each day was the same, except for that one: that day, he was set to sit an interview along with other mentors and comment on the progress of the remaining tributes who were still fighting. It was basically a last ditch effort before the finale, pitching their tributes’ odds against the others to win support and money, and Keller was going to do whatever he could to make sure Fiona got what she needed in the arena. The studio where Caesar Flickerman would talk to him was already brimming with Capitol citizens dressed in their best and brightest, lining up to fill in the seats of the audience, while Keller was directed to a dressing room. It was an unfortunate side effect of being a Victor and a Mentor that he had to be groomed as he was – they washed and brushed his hair, and Keller stared distastefully at the flat, lifeless mop they’d created before some kind of gel was applied, and they returned it to his natural dishevelled state, making him question the entire process when the end result was the same. He was given a suit to wear and Keller pulled it on, feeling once more like the fake he was dressed in such clothes, but when he turned to look in the mirror, he looked anything but. The image took Keller back two years to a time when he’d just won the Games himself, and he’d had to wear something similar during his final interview with Caesar, who congratulated him on killing others. Keller felt sick with himself, but he pushed those thoughts from his mind – memory lane would not serve him well tonight, because this night was not about him: it was about Fiona.

It was her he thought of as he was led from the dressing room and straight to the stage, where he was the last Mentor to be interviewed, given that only Careers remained in the Games now. Keller had only a second to gather himself before his name was announced, and lights shone on his spot. Instinctively, the carefully cultivated persona that the Capitol had instilled in him came out, and Keller’s smile was automatic and he waved to the crowd, hearing their screams and feeling nothing. He shook hands with Caesar, clapping him on the back before waving to the crowd again and sitting down. The noise took a moment to die down, and Keller shared a glance and a laugh with Caesar, who shook his head good humouredly.

“It seems that your fans remain as loyal as ever, Keller,” began Caesar, eyes alight. “What’s life been like since winning the Hunger Games two years ago?”

Keller allowed himself to think for a split second. “A rollercoaster,” Keller said honestly. “It’s been nice to sit down and rest since the Victory Tour ended, though.”

“What’s the Victor’s Village like in District 4?”

“It’s beautiful,” Keller breathed with a smile, knowing that he had to kiss the Capitol’s ass if he wanted to put Fiona in the best light. “I’d like to thank the Capitol for such a lovely spot and such beautiful homes – they’re right next to the ocean. You couldn’t ask for a more peaceful spot in the whole of Panem.”

“After the bloodbath you gave us, I’d think you deserved some peace. Right, folks?” and Caesar turned to the crowd, who all laughed and clapped and whistled at Keller, congratulating him once again for killing a dozen tributes with his own hands. He didn’t feel at all proud, but he smiled, waving to them in thanks, feeling sick with himself. “Now, we should probably talk about your remaining tribute this year.”

“Yes,” Keller said, glad to get onto a topic that was more enjoyable. “Fiona has done an amazing job so far.”

“That she has,” Caesar oozed, nodding, “but it’s a shame about her partner, Julian?”

“He done his best as well,” he replied, looking down, feeling a pang in his chest at the loss of the boy, who had only been thirteen. “He was extremely brave to face down that pack of Careers – it just shows the kind of strength and courage that people from District 4 have within them.”

The crowd burst into applause once again, and Caesar rode it out with a nod. “Fiona has proven herself thus far as exactly that – strong and brave.” Caesar allowed for another applause, and Keller smiled out at the crowd, hoping that whoever out there liked her were rich and were willing to put money down for their favourite. “Tell us – what else do you think Fiona has up her sleeve? What is her secret weapon that will crown her Victor this year?”

Keller had a thousands answers, but which one would win her support? Which answer would touch the hearts of rich Capitol citizens everywhere and make them give her money, just to see her live? Keller looked down at his hands, white-knuckled and thin, before he looked back up at Caesar, and he said with a seriousness and a sincerity that seemed to surprise Caesar, “She has something worth fighting for.”

“Oh?” asked Caesar, rolling with the direction of the conversation like a good host.

“Love,” Keller said simply, allowing a tiny flicker of a smile to form on the corners of his mouth, “just like I did. Love is what allowed me to win, so why not Fiona too?”

Caesar allowed the moment to hang while the crowd tittered, voice rises in a babble of excitement and joy. “Dare I ask who it is that our Fiona loves?” asked Caesar, even though he was smart enough to piece Keller’s words together – but for the sake of his audience, he had to ask.

Keller allowed the moment to draw out, looking back down at his hands again, hoping that he had done the right thing by saying all of this. He needed supporters, and he needed money. “Me, and I love her,” Keller said eventually, looking earnestly across at Caesar and watching as the hosts’ face lit up. The crowd went absolutely wild – people jumped up from their seats, screaming and cheering and shouting out things to Keller that got lost in the noise of it all. It seemed to go on forever until Caesar raised a hand and quieted them.

“How did you two meet?”

The smile on Keller’s face was completely natural now, and he told Caesar – and the Capitol – about meeting Fiona on the beach when they were younger, before they even understood what a Reaping was. They’d grown up together, despite how different their families were, and Keller could only manage to trail off when he spoke of being Reaped, and needing to leave Fiona. “I never imagined that she’d be Reaped, and that our love would be at risk yet again,” he said, shaking his head sadly, and he looked to the crowd to see many of the women crying, dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs. “But we’re strong, and I know that whatever happens, I’ll always love her, and she’ll always love me. That’s something no one can take from us, no matter the outcome of the Games.”

Thunderous applause, cries, and tears were shed as Caesar thanked Keller for his time and ended the show. Keller was free to go once the lights went out, and he shed the suit and gratefully pulled on his regular clothes, which were still high class and expensive, but more comfortable and worn. The moment he emerged from the studio, he was mobbed by supporters and requests – benefactors wanting to lay down their money to see Keller and Fiona reunited, and even if Keller knew he was extorting them, he didn’t mind accepting their offers – not if it would bring her back to him alive.

Cato - mercy kill. | AU of AU. In this AU, Keller and Fiona were reaped together.

May the odds be ever in your favour.

It was almost a mantra in Keller’s head as he ran, winding his way through the abandoned buildings of the arena. Behind him ran Fiona, their hands linked desperately, but she was slow – slower than Keller – and he had to keep slowing down to make sure he didn’t trip her over. They’d been in the arena for six days – or had it been seven? – and there was no end in sight. Ten tributes still remained, meaning that Keller and Fiona had to keep running, lest they get caught by bigger, stronger careers. The abandoned city arena had done them no favours, thrusting both of them out of their element, but they’d made do – they’d set up nests across the arena where they’d scouted good vantage points and access to fresh water. Routing among them at random, Keller made sure that they weren’t trackable by other tributes – but was it enough? Would it ever be enough? Glancing over his shoulder, Keller saw Fiona’s red, exhausted face following after him faithfully. She trusted him to get them both through this; she trusted him to get her out alive, and Keller knew that whatever happened, it was on him. “Not much further,” he called over his shoulder, trying to encourage her. Her energy in the last few days had waned from lack of sleep, water and food, yet somehow Keller felt as strong and wiry as ever, trained on days and weeks of lack of food back in District 4. Fiona found it harder, but she was doing her best, and Keller led them on.

May the odds be ever in your favour.

What a joke, he thought, stopping them both in an abandoned building, where they squatted on burning thighs against the concrete wall and caught their breath. The odds were certainly not in their favour that year, not when she’d been Reaped from District 4 to fight to the death. Keller had loved Fiona all his life – for as long as he could remember, she had been there, the girl with the eyes the colour of the ocean. And, as hard as it had once been to admit to himself, she loved him in return – what she saw in him, he didn’t know, but he knew that he had her faith and trust and love, and he held onto that. Which was why he’d volunteered to be a tribute, causing an uproar from the crowd – he’d volunteered to enter the Games in order to make sure Fiona came back out alive, at whatever cost. She’d looked hurt, angry, furious, even – she hadn’t looked at him for the first leg of their train journey, but something had clicked inside of her, and after that, she couldn’t stop looking at him. Keller despised the Capitol, the Games, and everything about the odds that had forced Fiona to enter the arena to begin with.

Keller looked at her now as they rested for a moment in the abandoned, rubble-strewn building. Her eyes were wide and full of alarm, the kind that meant she was wired and listening for any sound of approach. But Keller knew that if they were being hunted down, there would be no warning before death came: it would be swift and merciless, yet he couldn’t break that to Fiona and burn her strength to the ground completely. “Hey,” he whispered, drawing her attention to his face, and once her eyes locked on his, she seemed to release a little of the tension. “You okay?” he asked, and as stupid as the question would seem when posed to someone in a death arena, Keller trusted that Fiona would know what he meant.

She nodded. “I’m fine. Should we keep going?”

He didn’t want to move, but he told her to wait there just a moment before he ducked around the corner to hide behind a stack of wood, surveying the landscape. There was no movement, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t lying in wait – but that was a chance they’d have to take, he realised. Nightfall was coming, and if they wanted food and water and shelter, they’d need to reach their northernmost nest soon. Keller returned to Fiona, taking her hand. “We run. Don’t stop for anything. Take the outskirts until you reach the fallen clock tower, then run straight,” he instructed, watching as she internalised all the information before nodding. “Let’s go.”

Despite how small she was, Fiona could run quickly when she needed to, and as they emerged from the rubble, Keller didn’t have to ask her to hurry – she took it upon herself, running stride for stride beside him. Keller let her lead them on while he now ran behind her, keep watching; his eyes were trained for movement while he held the knife in his hand, ready to swing should someone leap out of the darkness of the ruins that surrounded him. But there was nothing, not as far as he could see, and he trained his gaze back forward, noticing that Fiona had gained some ground on him. Keller picked up his pace, but just as he did, he saw something almost glint by the fading light at foot-level, right in the path where Fiona was running.  Keller barely had time to choke out her name in a warning before Fiona ran right into the trip wire, triggering an explosion that rocked the whole arena. All he saw was flame and all he heard was white noise before he was on his back with no recollection of how he’d gotten there.

Turning onto his side and eventually his hands and knees, Keller felt the stiffness and soreness in all his limbs – bruises were undoubtedly forming on all the places that had hit the ground harshly, and he took stock of them all. Ultimately, he realised he wasn’t hurt too badly – until he remembered that it wasn’t his own safety and wellbeing that he should have been concerned with. Grabbing his knife from where he’d dropped it, Keller took off running in the direction where he’d last seen Fiona. All around him was destruction and rubble – stones and timber on fire dotted the landscape, and Keller knew that whoever had rigged that trap were smart and cunning and had undoubtedly tracked their hideouts over the last few days.

“Fiona!” he called, not caring who found him now – he needed to find Fiona first; she took priority over his own safety. “Fiona!” Keller voice broke as he saw something up ahead – something small and blackened, but rounded, like a person, and he was running before he even thought he should. He skidded to a stop, knees scraping the ground as he dropped by her side and saw that it was Fiona – it was his Fiona. Her skin had been burned until it hardly remained at all; it peeled away, like wax from a candle, and Keller could feel the tears prick behind his eyes as they roamed over her body, assessing the damage. Her face was burned on one side, her hair burned away and down to the scalp while her flesh was a charred mess of blood and rawness that made Keller inwardly recoil despite himself. But one of her eyes was open, seeming to see without seeing at all, and Keller hovered over her, reaching out with his hand to touch the unharmed side of her face. “Fiona?” he repeated, voice shaking, not sure whether she could hear him or if she was already dead.

Her eye turned to look at him, focusing with some effort at the sound of his voice, and Keller choked back a sob at the recognition that adorned her face. It was the same happiness and joy that she wore when they met every morning in District 4 – the way her eyes would light up and a smile would spread across her face, her cheeks would flush and she’d bow her head, in an effort to hide it all. Keller could imagine that look on her face now as she looked up at him, unable to do more than that. There was a kind of gurgle sound that came from her throat, as though she’d tried to speak but found herself incapable, and Keller shook his head, not noticing the tears that dropped from his eyes and to the charred mass of her tribute uniform. “Don’t try to speak,” he whispered, and he found her hand, seeing that it was bleeding but not burned, and linked their fingers together. “You’re going to be okay,” he continued, nodding once, as if to convince himself. “I’m sure some medication will be right along, any minute now.” As if in hope, Keller raised his eyes skyward, seeing the grey plumes of smoke drifting upward – but there were no parachutes descending toward him. They were alone in this.

Looking back down at Fiona, he could see her good eye was crying, most likely from the pain, and Keller allowed himself to glance down at her body, the majority of which was just a mess of burned skin and blood, blackened by the heat of the explosion. Keller didn’t know what to do – he didn’t know what he could do. His free hand rose, shakily, as if to help her in some way or stop the bleeding, but where did he begin? Where did he begin to patch up the person he loved the most? Keller couldn’t, and his hand hung in the air, unable to do anything more. Fiona was looking at him desperately, despairingly, and Keller could almost hear what she was thinking. Their knowledge of the other had been constructed over days and weeks and months spent in one another’s company, and he could feel now that she was in pain, and it needed to stop. He could feel how hard her heart was working to keep clinging on, and Keller knew that he could help in one way – he could take away her pain. Despite how much the idea hurt him, he suppressed it: he thought only of what he had to do to help Fiona, and he moved his hand to find the knife he’d dropped, wiping his tears with the back of his hand as he did so.

When the cool metal was in his palm, he looked back to Fiona. She looked scared, but overriding that was the pain; Keller couldn’t imagine how excruciating it must have felt. Like your whole body was on fire constantly, or as if it were peeling away with the very breeze, and all Keller could tell himself was that he would end that where no other solution remained. His eyes found Fiona’s, full of fear of his own. “I love you,” he said, voice quiet, but strong nonetheless, “so much. More than-… more than-..” He couldn’t think of anything to compare his feelings to, and he looked away, feeling his heart clench before looking back. “Do you remember that day we spent on the shores? And we made that promise?” Keller said, waiting for her to agree, and she managed a jerky nod of her head. “I want you to think of that day and that promise,” he continued, kneeling over her, pressing his lips to her mouth, the smallest of kisses that would be their last. “Because I will love you always,” he told her, pulling back to see her mouth the words back to him, but her attempt died on the always as Keller drove the knife into her heart, not stopping until the hilt was the only part visible. It was quick, and her eyes faded and closed in an instant, her promise fulfilled and Keller’s never to be the same.

He looked from the place where the knife had pierced her body to her face, which had gone slack in death, and he found that he couldn’t stop staring – not when the cannon boomed overhead and not when the hovercraft could be heard in the distance. He watched as her body was lifted away from him, and he had the mad idea that perhaps she’d be alright; perhaps she’d reach a doctor, who would undo what he’d done. Keller watched her body disappear inside the hovercraft before that too disappeared, and he was left watching the skies, gaze distant and remote – a thousand yards wasn’t far enough. What stirred him wasn’t the cold that fell overnight or the blood drying and flaking on his hands; it wasn’t the feeling of his bruises purpling or the thirst that pitched high in his throat; it was the sight of figures in the distance converging on him, and the complete lack of will he had left in him to fight, considering there was no one left to fight for. He thought of the ocean; he thought of Fiona; and he thought of their promise of an always and a forever as he allowed the figures to approach and extract from him their one step closer to achieving victory.

Rue - my character dies trying to help yours & they spend their last moments together. | AU of AU. In this AU, Keller and Fiona had been Reaped together, but almost as soon as the Games started, Fiona’s sanity abandoned her, leaving Keller to care for the two of them.

“You know, this fish isn’t too bad.” Keller smiled across at Fiona, who was picking at the white meat of a fish that he’d caught and they’d cooked on a small fire. “Good,” he said, nodding at her progress with the food. “You need the protein.” His eyes fell to the cuts and scrapes that adorned her bare arms and face – they’d been to hell and back in the arena, and they were so close to the end, and they needed to push on to get there. Fiona had proved that she was stronger than anyone expected her to be – she’d defended herself, and shown that she was a capable fighter if the situation called for it. They’d made a good team so far, and that made Keller smile too, despite the situation. “What should we do with these?” he asked, pointing to the skeletons of the fish they’d just eaten, and this time it was Fiona’s turn to smile.

“One second,” she told him, and taking her knife, she disappeared into the forest a few paces, returning with sticks and vines. Sitting herself back on the sand, and took the fish skeletons and, with deft, nimble fingers, strung them up on the sticks, like a children’s pantomime. Keller found himself smiling at her work, and Fiona strung them all up until there five all together before then dug them into the ground.

“It reminds me of home,” Keller said quietly, looking at the fish and then at Fiona. “Thank you.”

She only nodded, looking at the fish sadly, as though she too were lost in some memory of her own that Keller couldn’t quite place. The sound of the waves breaking further down the shore provided the backdrop for their mental images, and Keller thought of his family and the early mornings of throwing nets out into the water; he thought of the days with Fiona in the sun or exploring the wetlands of District 4, and he thought of how far they’d come. He didn’t know what the future would hold, but he knew above all else that they both weren’t going back to District 4: they’d never again spend a day on the beach or lying on the reeds, talking quietly and hiding from the Peacekeepers, and Keller looked across at Fiona now, wondering why she’d been so hesitant to talk about it during the arena. Was she ashamed of their relationship? Did she not want to use whatever tool they had to get out alive?

Keller reached across and linked their hands together, watching as she emerged from her memory and looked down at where their fingers were entwined. Her brow furrowed before looking up at Keller, eyes searching. “We shouldn’t,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“Why?”

Fiona looked away, out to the ocean.

“C’mon,” he said suddenly, picking himself up before pulling Fiona with him. The sun was still high enough that they could see what they were doing, and he pulled her toward the water, an almost magnetic draw that he’d felt the moment he’d entered the arena, resonating with the feeling he got back at home. Fiona resisted, but only until Keller turned to her, eyes pleading. “Please?”

Relenting, Fiona followed Keller down the sandy slope until they splashed into the water up to their thighs, letting the waves rock them gently. Keller never stopped scanning the shores for signs of other tributes, but considering there were only three left, he knew that the chances of them finding Keller and Fiona in this small space were minimal. Two were wounded, possibly with infections, and the third was a big brute of a Career with little to no brains or forethought. Keller felt confident as he stood in the water with Fiona, letting his hands move to her waist and pull her closer. This was what home felt like, he decided: the waves and Fiona were all he needed. But he needed to pull Fiona back from wherever she’d disappeared to when the Games had started. Keller had watched her retreat within herself as the bloodbath began, pulling away from him, from reality, from sanity, and he couldn’t leave without first knowing that she’d be okay. His hands shifted to the small of her back, and Fiona’s head rested on his chest, allowing their bodies to mold together like they used to.

“We’re going to be okay,” he said, carefully not making that a promise. “We just have to wait them out, and soon enough they’ll kill each other and themselves, and we’ll be good – we can go home.”

Fiona pulled back and looked up at him, the same concern making her eyes cloud with worry. “Home?”

Nodding, Keller leaned down and kissed her forehead, feeling a tiny part of himself lighten that she was responding. “Home,” he confirmed.

With the thought of District 4 filling both their heads, Keller held her as the waves pushed past them, beating down on the sand before rolling back again. He needed her to wake up – he needed her to be present and strong, and he thought that perhaps the water had something to do with it; she just needed to feel a connection to something that was so strong that she couldn’t deny it – something she couldn’t push past and bury in the back of her mind like everything else. Keller swayed them slowly in time with the to and fro of the ocean, just like he had when they were home and the sun was setting. He let his head rest atop hers until they were almost one person: one being that moved and felt as a single entity, and that was something the Games could never take from them.

But there was someone who could: someone with that power. Keller and Fiona had been standing in the water, so entwined with the other, that they didn’t see the tribute from District 2 step out of the forest line. They didn’t see him notch an arrow to his bow. And they didn’t see him release it – all they saw was the blood that spilled down Keller’s chest from where the arrow had gone straight through from his back. The arrow head dripped blood and there was a sickening moment where Keller looked down at it and Fiona stared, hands fluttering uselessly, before Keller’s knees buckled beneath him, plunging his body into the water. Slipping beneath the surface, Keller was surrounded by swirls of red as his blood mingled with the salt water, but he was beyond feeling pain – the arrow had severed his spinal cord, meaning his hands and legs were useless to push him up for air. But Fiona was there, her hands strong and full of fear, as she heaved him up the shore until he was lying on his back, staring up at the sky as the water’s tides washed around him. He couldn’t feel anything; there was nothing in his body or arms – a kind of ringing numbness that worried him, and if he turned his head to see that the arrow’s piercing was leaking blood, pounding forth in waves, just like those around him.

Keller let out a choked sob and tipped his head back, looking at the sky and seeing the clouds marching overhead until a pair of eyes filled his field of vision: Fiona. Panic was fresh on her face, as were the tears, as she pressed both her hands to the wound on his chest, murmuring something desperately. It took Keller a moment to focus on what she was saying, and the effort was immense – he already felt as though he were drowning and sinking to the bottom of an ocean.

“It’s okay,” she was saying, talking either to herself or him, Keller didn’t know. “All okay, this is-… this is-… we’ll  go home, you’ll see-…”

Keller felt his heart clench – he had tried to help her, bring her back, only in time for her to lose him, and if he could have raised his hand to stop her fruitless attempts to staunch the bleeding, he would have. “Fiona,” he whispered, catching her eye after a moment. “Stop, please.”

The pressure on his chest lessened just a little as she looked from her blood soaked hands to him, and in that second, she understood: she knew it wasn’t going to work, and she knew that he wasn’t going to make it home like they’d planned. Her white knuckled fingers shook as they moved to his face, cupping him desperately, and she held him for just a second before leaning down and kissing him once. Keller could taste the salt from the sea on her lips, reminding him so much of home, and he kissed back, tasting of death to the living. Fiona’s hand smoothed back his hair, her wide, blue eyes searching and memorising his face while her fingers raked through the strands, just like she’d always done. Keller didn’t know if she was back or if she understood what was happening, but he was glad that she was alive – she would survive these Games, even if it cost her the rest of her sanity.

His voice was always in her head. She could never escape it even if she tried and she would never. He would tell her over and over again that she would live until she believed it. Fiona never would and yet he would try anyway as if he were already in the mentor booth attempting to keep her alive. Fiona thought cynically that he had one more day to wait and it only brought back to her the reason she was perched on the ledge of the roof watching the citizens of the Capitol revel in their brilliance. Tomorrow, she would be their sport. Tomorrow, so many children would die so that she may live. Tomorrow, she could be one of those children who must die to help along another. That would be the only way his voice would be ripped from her mind. She had to be ripped away from him. And that was what pained her far more than the idea of dying. He would be forced to watch and know he was powerless to stop it.

“may the odds be ever in your favor”

It was his turn to be cynical. He had been slipping in and out of fits of uncontrollable rage directed at the Capitol since her name had been reaped. The first had come when he had tried to see her after her family had come to mourn her. A Peacekeeper had been taken down before two others restrained him and they both fearfully thought that he would be banned from mentoring. It was his first time after all. Perhaps he could not handle pressure, they would say. By some stroke of luck, they were saved that early parting because of a simple question: who else would take his place? The handful of mentors from their district were so tired, so worn, so through with watching their tributes fall one by one, year after year. He would remain to see her all the way through. The second fit was the morning of training. The escort could not stop speaking of how lucky she and her district partner were to have a new mentor to guide them. The odds were in their favor, she said. He had slammed his fists against the table and left the room. It was only when she had gone to tell him they were leaving that he spoke what he could not say at the table. The odds were not in their favor. Had they been, her name would have never been drawn and this would not be their lives.

“You should be asleep.”

Thin arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her in close, lips resting softly on her neck and for a moment, it was as if they were back at home. The explosion of a firework provided itself as a stark reminder of where they were and Fiona could not help, but think the noise resembled that of a cannon. Her cannon. “I’m going to die tomorrow.”

“You are not going to die tomorrow,” Keller said sharply, but Fiona could feel him stiffen. He had thought about it before that much was certain. It was an unescapable thought. Fiona knew it from experience for his Games had been a particular kind of torture. She remembered moments where she clawed and scratched and screamed at the screen as if it could save him, make him turn around, keep him alive. Her parents would beg her to stop and the neighborhood thought her insane, but she had gotten him back. He had returned in one piece to her and for a few short months they were happy. One white slip of paper took it all away. The situation had reversed and it was she who would be trying to stay alive for him and he would be doing his best to keep her alive, but they both knew the odds and they both knew how unpredictable the Games could be. If the Gamemakers decided they did not want her alive anymore, her life was over. It was a sickness in her mind that came at night –she envisioned the ways she could die in the arena and went as far as to wonder which would be the quickest and painless for her sake and his. She would go as far as to call herself disturbed and the Games had not even begun, but she knew Keller must have thought about it, too. Perhaps his visions of it were not so clear and pronounced, but it must always be at the back of his mind.

“How do you know that?” Fiona turned in his arms so that she could face him, see his eyes and memorize their every hue and hidden emotion for it could be the last time she was able to read him like this. They had always had an unspoken connection. It existed when they first met in the small school of District Four and it grew into a love that Fiona could neither define nor place words to. It should have been the kind of love that defied all struggle and obstacle and it almost had. Had they not thought it was over when Keller had been reaped? She did not even make him promise to come home to her when they said goodbye because it would sound too much like a lie. Somehow, a miracle was granted to them. He had won so they had won until they were not winning anymore. They could not survive this. Neither said as such, but how could they? The world was not that kind, even to a love such as theirs. Fiona had once thought their lives were the stuff of fairytales only to find it was that of a profound tragedy that was nearing its ending.

After a few long moments of neither one of them speaking, only staring into each other’s eyes and wishing they could be taken off this earth, Fiona was prepared to resign herself to bed and her fate. She took Keller’s silence as his affirmation that nothing could be done. She would try her best to live for him, but it seemed to inevitable. A tear slipped down her cheek and Keller was quick to catch it, brush a thumb across her cheek and holding his hand there. “I will do whatever it takes to keep you alive. I promise.”

“No…you can’t promise…there are no such things as promises here.” Fiona wanted so desperately to believe him and in many ways, she did. There was no doubt that he would perform any action or service he could to buy her support and send her any aid he could. But saying the words, speaking a promise when nothing could ever be guaranteed when it came to the Games, made his words sound like lies.

“I promise.”

His eyes were now filled with fire, burning into Fiona the feelings of determination, desperation, passion, and defiance that were alive in Keller’s soul. Fiona did not know how long that fire could last her when she was thrust into an arena of cold hearts and minds, but she believed in his promise and she believed in him. His lips touched hers, softly at first and with great passion as they both yearned for more. The kiss was made of the same fire, desperation taking hold of them. As Keller’s arms wrapped tightly and possessively around her back, her arms slipped around his neck and locked there. Separation by anyone else would not be possible, but both knew they would have to part eventually. The sun was hours away from rising.

He had a promise to keep. She had a battle to survive.

…

The glare of the sun was blinding and Fiona had to shield her eyes to keep from feeling as if her head was about to exploding. Her legs quivered, protesting the run that was about to occur. Her eyes wandered down to the metal platform and her mind thought back to the dreams that kept her up at night, the visions of death that plagued her and made her body and mind feel ill. Never had her dreams imagined her taking a false step off the plate, but her mind now overwhelmed her with the idea of how simple it would be. One step and it would be over. It only took another moment for Fiona to cast out such a morbid and terrifying fantasy. All her dreams had always been visions of how the other tributes or the Capitol could taunt her. Never had she thought it was worth ending her life on her own terms. Perhaps for some it was poetic, but for Fiona it was not a possibility.

“stay alive”

The voice was late to save her until Fiona realized that was not what he was referring to. The clock had begun its countdown, reaching the final ten seconds before many of the tributes had time to breathe. Her eyes moved away from the metal below her to the metal that dotted the field in front of her. Knives and swords glittered in the harsh sun, arrows waited for someone to string the bow, and the packs enticed most of all. In them held the difference between life and death, the food and water and protection against the elements that the Capitol did not give out as willingly as they did swords and knives. There was a small pack sitting in front of Fiona, so tempting and so within her reach that Fiona considering for a moment diving into the bloodbath and letting fate decide if the odds would be in her favor.

Stay alive.

He did not need to remind her this time. Her own guilty conscious reminded her of her only deceivingly simple goal. Already it had felt as if she betrayed him by momentarily considering the platform as a means to reach her end and she would through herself into the fray knowing that she would not come out. The bloodbath was for the trained and the foolish. Fiona was neither one.

The automated voice hit three, two, one, zero. Tributes ran one way. Fiona ran the other.

…

Do not draw attention to yourself. Keep your head straight. Never scream. That was all her body wanted to do. She wanted to scream and alert someone to where she was and what was happening to her. But this was not District Four. She could not scream and expect her father to come running to kiss a scraped knee or her mother to gently scold her that proper ladies did not cry over such small wounds. If she screamed, the only people that would come would be tributes that hoped to make her wounds deeper and the blood flow faster. All she had was an arrow in her shoulder, a flesh wound.

The girl was persistent, her footsteps never far behind Fiona’s. She was not a career or a trained killer and yet she stalked Fiona as if killing was all she knew. The arrow had been a mistake on her part. She had not expected Fiona to move as quickly as she did. Had she not and the arrow would have gone cleanly through her chest. Her heart would have stopped beating. That was how Fiona knew she was still alive. Her heart hammered against her chest as she desperately tore through branches and allowed them to tear at her skin. It stung, but the pain was dull compared to the searing pain in her shoulder. The trees were her allies, her only means of escape and she had to play by the rules they set out for her. Only until her foot slammed against a root and forced her to the ground did Fiona believe such things.

Her head throbbed and the arrow dug deeper into her shoulder, finally eliciting a cry. It took only moments for the girl to reach her, hardly taking in the scene before she was on Fiona. For a split second, Fiona did not react, but only watched, paralyzed with the fear and wonder of how this girl planned on killing her. The simple arrow to the heart would have ended it quickly, but the girl’s hands went to her neck, drawing at the strength she had left after running after her to strangle Fiona. Had Fiona been able to watch from the outside, perhaps she would have found it to be a hilarious joke. The girl could not be very much larger than she was and yet she thought she had enough strength and Fiona had enough weakness to end her life the way only a career was thought able to do. But it did not feel like a joke from where Fiona was lying. Her lungs fought for the little air they had left and one of Fiona’s hands pulled at the girl, prying at the iron grip the girl had on her neck. Looking up at the girl, there was only desperation in her eyes. Desperation to finish the job or to get the kill over as quickly as possible, Fiona was not sure. The eyes were not full of desperation for very much longer.

The knife the girl did not know was there was plunged into her side with the same amount of force that was being exerted on Fiona’s neck. The fingers grew slack, her eyes took on a look of shock and horror, and Fiona only saw the small trickle of blood the stained her pale face before the girl toppled off of her, shaking and hugging her knees to her chest in her final moment. The cannon told Fiona it was over, but she could not tear her eyes away from the girl who tried to kill her.

Nothing. That was what she felt. It was an emptiness that consumed her and bled her dry. She did not wish to justify herself, she did not need to feel remorse, and she did not want to scream anymore. She just felt nothing. It was an out of body experience until all that she had done came flooding back to her when Fiona thought of the knife, her only weapon and proven greatest defense. It was still in the girl and she would be forced to retrieve it if she wanted to survive. That was the punch line to the great joke that had been this small and frail girl trying to strangle her. It would have been so funny to watch her struggle and now Fiona had to remove the knife she had imbedded into her side because the girl could not find the will to do what Fiona had done. She had killed.

Dragging herself over to the body, she gently unwrapped her arms that were hugging her body close. The limpness of her limbs and the blood that soaked them made her stomach turn and Fiona had to look away when she finally saw the handle of the knife. She did not want it anymore, the knowledge that it was soaked in the blood that was still pouring from the girl’s abdomen proving too much for Fiona to contemplate. It was instinct versus emotion and emotion would always win for Fiona. She had already taken the life of a girl who only wanted to return to her family and the one she loved. She could not bring herself to disgrace her more by taking the knife for such selfish purposes.

Crawling away from the body, Fiona rested her body against a nearby tree, finally able to breathe properly away from the metallic smell of blood that hung in the air. Fiona moved her head back and her back arched with it only to have her shoulder scream in protest. The arrow was still lodged deeply in her shoulder, one final piece that she had to free herself of to allow her mind to shut out all that had occurred. A quivering hand brushed against the thin wood and fearfully took hold of it. The pain would be immense and the anticipation of it only made her hesitant. With a final deep breath, Fiona brought her other hand up and tore the arrow from her body. The pain was blinding and her ears were filled with screams that had to be her own, but they sounded foreign and distant. Fiona could not breathe or think or speak. She could let the pain swallow her whole until she wanted to beg for death.

“you’re okay, you’re okay”

The words were eerily familiar. They held the same gentle and soothing tone that Fiona used every night when the nightmares became too much for him. He would wake up in the middle of the night, cold sweat running down his body and screams echoing across the walls. On those nights, it always seemed like he thought he was still in the arena. He remembered the faces, the names, and the every one of them that had to die for him. All Fiona could do was whisper to him where he was and who he was with, holding on to him tightly and hoping it was enough to bring him back to her. On most nights, it was. He would apologize when it was not needed and he would tell her to go back to sleep when she knew that he would not follow. Those nights were simple. It was on the nights his mind was still halfway between the arena and their home that tore away at her heart. He would whisper broken fragments of sentences and words, telling her and whoever he was picturing that he did not deserve to be there. He deserved to die in the arena. Fiona heard them so often that she thought she would have built immunity. But they chilled her to the bone every time.

This was the pain that kept him up at night. The face of the girl whose body was still lying beside her was of the same kind that haunted his dreams. She finally understood it all and she finally understood that it could never be healed. The words brought some comfort because they were from him, but it would never erase the images she had seen and the pain she had felt. How would they survive if she escaped here in one piece? How could they comfort each other when they both knew that no amount of words could bring them peace?

“you’ll be fine”

“How?” Fiona asked the sky and a sob escaped her trembling lips. Not even the wind served as a reply to her impossible question. As selfish as it was, she wished that he was beside her. She wished his arms could slip around her waist as they always did. They fit so perfectly together even when he grown far too skinny and not even coaxing food into him could return him to full health. It seemed that would be one less worry they would have. She would be just as small after a few more days in this prison. Fiona tried to imagine what she would say or do if he could materialize beside her and found that no words came to mind. What could she tell him? How could she explain herself? That was the beauty of him, of them. They never had to explain. He would understand the how and the why. No one else would. She wondered how victors in the past could have left the arena and gone on living with knowing to unload their burdens to.  Fiona could not even comprehend that select breed of loneliness and she could not let Keller bear it any longer. “I almost died on you,” she whispered, the words she was finally able to whisper to the ground so dark and despairing, but the only thing that needed to be said. She did not have to explicitly say it, but the promise was there. It would never come that close again.

…

Her wound still pained her after three days of resting and avoiding any imminent danger. It reached the point where Fiona found it difficult to walk and running was not an option. If any tribute happened upon her, she would be less difficult to catch than a wounded faun. It was only a small one and yet it was slowly draining the life out of her. Fiona had learned enough from the books he would always lend to her to know the wound was infected. She had not learned enough to know when the wound would finally kill her. It would be a few more dies, she surmised and that knowledge was what grounded her to a small cave. Fiona was not accepting death, but actively avoiding it. If she stayed out of the woods, she was farther away from hunting ground. It proved to be both a good and bad idea. She most likely did avoid an early death, but her wound only seemed grow worse as she stayed in isolation. Fiona could not bring herself to look at the flaming red skin anymore and she had subconsciously begun counting down the days.

On a bright morning, a small beeping drew Fiona from her fitful sleep. Her dream had brought her back to District Four, only there was no happiness to be found. She was still in solitude for Keller had not survived his Games and that was a more terrifying idea than Fiona not surviving hers. The beeping persisted and did not allow Fiona to fall back asleep. Forcing herself to rise, Fiona looked out by the cave entrance to see a parachute and a small capsule lying under it. Opening it greedily, Fiona found a small vial that she assumed was Capitol medicine to cure her infection. As she prepared to open it, her movement caused a small slip of paper to fall to the ground. Ignoring the medicine for a moment, Fiona leaned down and picked up the paper.  

I love you.

The words were simple, but Fiona treasured that small message revived her more than any amount of medicine could.

…

It was everywhere. It was painted on her knife, it was smeared on her face, and it was being drained from her abdomen. The blood was everywhere and Fiona had no way of stopping it. When she finally staggered into the cave that she had made her small home, her whole shirt was painted in red. The pain was so immense that Fiona was not sure where she was walking. One hand unwrapped from her side to feel around the walls, coming into contact with the cold stone. The contrast between the heat of her hand that was slick with blood and the stone was immediately apparent and a shiver ran down her spine. Even that small reaction sent a fresh wave of pain throughout her body, causing her to cry out. Even as she allowed herself to finally cry, the release of emotions only made her feel more pain in both her body and her mind. Crying in despair was the first step to acknowledgement. Her life was pouring out of her and there was nothing she could do.

An unjustifiable and unexplained anger bubbled inside of her. Where was he? How could he stand by and watch as she screamed in agony? He had made a promise to her. She had protested that he could not dare say such things as he could never make his words come true, but he had promised her all the same. He had given her hope and that was the cruelest thing he could have done. Fiona had been ready to believe that she would die in the arena. It would pain her to leave him, but what other choice did she have? Fiona had never been strong, skilled, or prepared to kill anyone. Dying would be simple and quick. Hope was only torment. But it was too late now. She had allowed herself to believe she could survive and now she broken and bleeding because of it. Only to find that he had abandoned her.

“You promised!” The scream echoed through the cave, the words repeating several times before Fiona finally collapsed to the ground. Her body was quickly losing blood and strength and Fiona was no longer certain of her fate. It was then that Fiona fully became aware of how terrified she was to die. It was all she had thought about since the moment she was chosen as a tribute and yet it never seemed final to her. There was always hope that she would survive and make it out of the arena. Death was ever loaming, but it had not caught her yet. When finally faced with death, Fiona wished to will it away.

She tried to imagine his arms around her as she had when first faced with death in the arena. Fiona wanted to hear his voice tell her that she would be fine and feel the small circles he would draw in her side. Her eyes clamped shut and she tried to relieve the memories only to find she could not. All she could feel was the cold earth beneath her and all she could hear was the rain beating against the ground outside. Neither could help her hold on. Her vision began to fade and Fiona could feel all her remaining energy leaving her body. She was being willed to sleep and the fear that she would not wake up was not enough to overcome the pain. Just as she slipped into unconsciousness, two final words were whispered into the dark. “You promised.”

…

It all came in pieces after that. She remembered blood, so much of it hers and so much of it not. She remembered pouring rain, chilling her to the bone and keeping her awake. She remembered moments where she thought she could not take much more agony and moments that with utter clarity she thought of how close she was to escaping. There were moments of hatred, despair, resignation, and insanity. She blamed him for abandoning her and she pitied him for having to watch her falling apart in front of him. Those moments she thought she could hate him or followed closely by the moments she never loved him more. A small part of her knew that she was on the brink of madness, but that part of her kept itself constantly locked away, fearful of succumbing to the hallucinations the blood loss had forced on her. The last things she remembered were steel and a gong. Then clarity was lost completely.

She woke up again to find a metal object coming in direct contact with her face. Her first reaction was to scream and that was exactly what she did. Her arms came up defensively, knocking the instrument out of the person’s hand and preparing to defend herself further. Her eyes looked wildly around the room to see not trees or stone walls, but clean white walls and three young Capitol citizens surrounding her, looking alarmed. Breathing heavily, Fiona looked between the three citizens and the door, unsure of what to do. “Where am I?”

“In the Capitol.”

At first, Fiona could only look at them in disbelief. For if she was in the Capitol, it could only mean that she survived and was out of the arena, but that idea seemed impossible to her. When no one spoke, Fiona finally had to ask. “I-…I won?” The prep team looked at her in disbelief as if shocked that she did not remember her own triumph. She must have put on quite a show and all the memories had been washed away. Fiona was unsure if it was a blessing or a curse. Would she be thankful she could not remember the extent of which she had gone to in order to survive or will it only lead to horrible flashbacks that seem so unreal she could not believe they happened? Fiona realized all at once it would not matter. She would be reliving her Games tonight and see it all unfold from the Capitol’s eyes. Fiona sank back in the chair and the prep team seemed to take that as a sign she was ready to resume work. The annoyance they felt with her was clear on their faces when Fiona blocked the instruments once again. “I want to see him. I want to see my mentor.”

Two exchanged a knowing look between them and Fiona became terrified that somehow their closest guarded secret had slipped. Their life together would be made a Capitol affair before it was even allowed to begin. “You victors and your mentors. You are always so quick to start celebrating. You’ll see him tonight after the big interview.” The last words were said in a high pitch squeal, but Fiona was able to tune the Capitol woman out. It was a great relief to know the secret had remained hidden throughout the whole Games, even when she was screaming and crying hysterically and could not remember if she had ever called out his name. She must have whispered at least once to remind herself of what it sounded like and what it meant to her.

Fiona slipped back into a state of semi-consciousness as she allowed the team to gloss and shine until she sparkled like the victor they wanted. No more was the young district girl with modesty and innocence and no more was the tribute with sunken eyes and jutting bones. Such a girl would not be suited for the status of victor. She had to be presented to the Capitol as a mark of strength and resilience all with a smile on her face and life in her eyes. That was what she remembered so clearly after Keller had won his Games. Smiling in District Four had become contagious and Fiona could not keep the smile off her face at the knowledge that in a few short days he would be home. The interview marked the highest point of joy for everyone in Four and they all remained transfixed on their screens to watch their shiny new victor take the stage. Fiona’s smile did not fade when a boy Fiona did not recognize came on stage, but it did fade when she saw, but it disappeared when she looked into his eyes. Once full of knowledge and empathy, all Fiona saw was emptiness. The excitement for Keller to come home disappeared when she finally realized that it would not be Keller coming home. He would resemble Keller, but so much had been taken away from him and Fiona could never give it all back to him.

Now she had to face how fully changed she was and Fiona found that she did not fear at as she should. It helped that her mind still was not present even as her stylist placed her in a dress of bright blue and told her how radiant she was. They whisked her off for touch ups and congratulatory meetings and Fiona must have been smiling for all of them for no one ever stopped to ask if she was feeling well. There were so many faces and they all wanted to shake her hand, but Fiona knew they were not interested in the person behind the makeup and the dress. They were interested in the image. That was the only thing Fiona had to sell tonight and that was what kept her standing and unfearful of stepping on to the stage. When the lights finally did turn on and she was allowed to speak, words flowed out of her mouth without Fiona even sure of what she was saying. But the audience clapped, Caesar complimented at every turn, and Fiona once again thought that she must have given them quite a show.

“Now Fiona, you were on the brink of death several times. What kept you going?”

It was that question that cleared her mind and wiped the false smile off her face. It had been so easy to continue to let the interview speed by her in a blur of bright colors and loud noises, but that question could not be given anything less than it deserved and it deserved the full and honest truth. It would be the last time Fiona ever said anything authentic to the Capitol and to the cameras. Tomorrow, she would have cemented herself as another victor with a pretty face and a lethal game. Tonight, she still had one last thing to say to the Capitol. “I did it for him.”

“By him do you mean your tribute partner, Benjy Williams? How tragic that his mind had to go so quickly. The poor boy nearly killed you in his madness…”

“No.” The audience stopped their careless chattering, shocked that anyone would interrupt Caesar and so abruptly. “I did it for my mentor. I did it for Keller Murphy.” They were incapable of reacting sufficiently to that information because they did not understand and they would never understand. Perhaps some would guess the true nature of their relationships and others would only think it was the close relationship shared between mentor and tributes. Fiona did not care how they deciphered it. They just needed to know who kept her alive. It was not their promise of glory and everlasting admiration and worship. It was him.

After a few more parting questions and compliments, the circus finally ended. The lights dimmed and Caesar shook her hand one last time with the promise that they would see each other on the Victory Tour. Fiona was sickened by the thought, but let her mind drift elsewhere as she walked off the stage, brushing past prep teams that wanted to remove her make-up and the lingering Capitol citizens who wanted her picture. Fiona had to escape it all before the smile on her face became permanent and she forgot herself completely.

The ride up to the District Four floor of the Training Center was painfully long and silent, leaving Fiona with only her thoughts for company and she was through living inside her mind. The final ring of the elevator signaling she had arrived brought a wave of apprehension. She had no idea what lay beyond the doors, but the elevator provided her no time to hesitate. Once the elevator doors fully opened, Fiona was face to face with Keller, still dressed in the suit he must have worn to the interview. Fiona wanted to ask why he had not come backstage. She wanted to ask him all the questions that had followed her in the arena, but she looked at him, just as desperate to escape as she was, there was nothing left to say. There were no more smiles or cameras here. Only two people who now finally understood the other completely.

They met in the middle, Keller’s arms wrapping tightly around her waist and her arms nearly suffocating him as they looped around his neck. Her hands grasped at strands of hair, finding any way to hold on to him, and he buried his face into her shoulder, lightly kissing the skin there. They did not speak or move for what felt like hours, but it was Keller who finally broke the silence. “I am so sorry.” Fiona opened her mouth immediately to tell him that he never needed to explain himself to her. He had done everything that he could have done and that was enough for her. But the words were trapped in her throat and Fiona found all she could do was cry. Tears wet her cheeks and Keller’s neck as all the emotions that she had been feeling over the course of the day came pouring out of her. Happiness, sadness, hope, and pain all mingled together and all Fiona could do was keep her tight hold on him and wait for the tears to pass. The sobs turned to soft whimpers until only a few remaining tears trickled down her face. Her last feeling was acceptance. She had won the Hunger Games and she had killed people to do it. She was standing with the only person who she could ever share that experience with and it would not always be easy and there would be days she will not be able to look at herself or him, but they would survive together.