ww2!Preeta that broke Prim’s heart. You have been warned.

CONTINUE READING :)

See the end of the fic for translations.

People don’t really understand the meaning of loss. Sure, someone dying hurts. You can’t speak to them again, hold them, their hair won’t sting you when they twirl in your arms. We had everything, really.

And today, my world is on fire.

——

The ground rocks underneath my bed, and I stretch my fingers under my pillow to find the knife I keep there. I find nothing. I don’t realize it when soft padded feet approach my bed and I’m pulled out of my covers. My mom wrenches me by the wrists to my door and I stumble over fallen cosmetics. I’m not sure what the hell’s going on, but my feet are cold as we stumble down the stairs. Numb even. She opens the door to the cellar and pushes me and my dark haired sister in. She throws down two blankets and a few torches, and locks the door. The lights are off, and I can’t see anything.
A boom shakes me.
Another.
My skin burns. My eyes burn. It’s too hot in here. Katniss makes it worse by turning on one of the torches and making the cot, shoving me onto it and tucking me in. She treats me like a child, even when our lives are at stake.
I hear a gunshot. It’s sound breaks something inside of me. I think the sobs in the room are mine. They could be Katniss’. I’m not sure anymore.
It’s my first time hearing a gunshot. I’m not sure what to make of it.
The house is getting warmer. Katniss murmurs something about fire and Krauts, and I don’t quite understand as she pulls me into a tight hug. I don’t understand. My brain is a buzz and Katniss strokes my hair and her skin is warm, a soft sheen of sweat on her neck and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond. She coos to me, and I realize that she’s holding me because I’m sobbing into her neck. How embarrassing. I think there’s snot coming from my nose and my blonde hair has flown from it’s soft braid and it’s pooling around my shoulders.

Someone’s screaming in the house above us. There’s banging. The sound of an empty body flopping against the door of the cellar.

Katniss rips off her hair tie and shoves it in my mouth, turning off the torch and pushing me into a corner. She puts the unbearably hot wool blanket over me. She’s halfway through pushing boxes to conceal me, as I sob loudly, when another gunshot sounds and the noise up the cellar stairs stop. She stands somewhere, and I can’t see or move or breath or feel and it’s too hot for me to think. Something loud fires from a while away and the noise moves my stomach up into my throat. Boom! I’ve never heard that sound before. I don’t know how to respond to a noise like that. My toes are cold and pressed against my left calf. I fist my fingers in the blanket.

The house above is us rocked and the door is kicked open by a tall man in green. I know, because a reddish light leaks into the thread bare blanket and a spot of green and tan is in the middle of it all. There’s a few lumps of something and Katniss yells at them. The spot of green and tan beside Katniss when I look away and look back.
I can’t move. I’m too still. I don’t want them to see me. Katniss is strangely cooperative with this man, as he binds her hands behind her back with something that sounds painful as it clicks. She’s taken up the stairs and the tall spot approaches my corner.

More features are revealed as the green man gets closer. His face is inches from my blanket when I let out a frightened ‘meep’, and his exhale is cold against my face through the blanket.

Then, the blanket is in his hands and gone, and his black gloves are against my biceps and pulling me flat against his chest. He finds my wrists and tapes them together. Yes, the clicking thing is silver and very painful. He throws me over his shoulder, a hand on my thigh to keep the dress modest. At least he’s not some creep. He avoids the kicking of my feet deftly.

“Careful, little duckling,” He murmurs in a strange accent. “We wouldn’t want to bind your feet, yes?”

I think he sounds like a fucking idiot. I voice this opinion in hesitant, open English. My mother taught me when I was a child. I am no doubt smarter than him, “you are stupide,” I murmur into his ear. He laughs quietly, and his hair smells like soft mints and warm bread, even as his head crashes into my nose and he winces, nearly dropping me. Both of my hands fly to my face, passed the heavy tape and silver clicking thing. There’s blood.

Katniss, when she sees me, stops cooperating with the tall, green brunette who has her pinned against a wall. There’s blood on her cheek and the wall. She fights the boy.

Her cuffs slam into the side of his head and her knee follows through the heavy fabric of her sleeping gown into his groin. I her her stomp on his foot. Her head accidentally hits his nose, because she lets out a yowl when his nose hits the back of her head. She doesn’t seem to care about the bloodly snot from in her hair,  as she launches herself at my captor. He sets me down and pushes me into her arms.

“Careful, liebling,” he murmurs to me, and Katniss checks me.

“God, petit soeur, are you okay?” She murmurs, kissing my head and gathering my hair around my cheeks, touching them. My lips tremble.

“I am okay, mere poule inquiette,” I whisper. Another shower of kisses touch my cheeks and the wounded brunette soldier gets up, his elbows hitting the ground before his knees as he stands. He pins Katniss against the wall again, roping her knees together as well.

“Frau, a man’s crotch is always off limits,” He says, fisting his gloved hand in her hair. “walk, and you’ll not loose your locks.”

I walk with them, my lips trembling. The blonde one’s hands are gentle on my wrists, unlike the soldier on Katniss. His hands leave red marks and tears gather at her eyes.

In fact, my soldier doesn’t even really have his hands on me.
—-
Katniss and I are together, again. The hotel at the end of the town block has been commandeered, used as a prison of types. She’s chained to her bed, though the brunette soldier brought her clothes.
I unfold them to help her get dressed. She scoffs in disgust. “He brought me men’s clothes.”
I shake my head at her. She glares at me.

“Take what we are given, soeur.” She scoffs again, and I help her pull on the baggy pants slide the shirt on over her slim legs. It’s easy enough, the shirt looks like a small dress. There is a belt, thank the gods. I help her belt her clothes on.

Another one of those loud sounds move my stomach. I run to the window in time to see a canon kicking back. That’s what it is.

I pick up the blue slip my captor had given me. There is also a pair of black pants. I suppose he would want me to look like one of his butch German  bitches.
—-
When I wake up, Katniss is gone, and on her bed is the big blonde German. His hat is off, and I see his blonde hair has grown just a bit. He has some stubble, and his eyes are stunningly blue. There are some scars on his slender neck, and his body is somewhat disproportionate.

I shoot backwards, my legs getting confused in the fabric of my knee length dress and my head cracking against the wardrobe. The man is unphased.

“My name is Peeta Mellark. My mother was Greek, before the Fuhur killed her. Would you like me to read to you? Of course you would.”
And he begins to read.
—-
He reads a lot. And too fast. Two days later, I find myself seated between his knees and holding the book. He reads over my shoulders as he works fingers into them. They’re good hands, kneading and pressing and my neck feels like spaghetti. He keeps touching my hair and my ears on “accident”.
As he leaves today, he presses a small square of German candy into my palm, with a twinkle of his eyes.
—-
A day after that, he sneaks in with new clothes for me, and waits outside while I change. He smiles and makes my bed as we speak. he still hasn’t once taken off his leather gloves.
—-
Two days later, I have a violent fever and am sick. I can’t stand for long. He sits me on the bed he normally occupies and tucks me in. I cling to him, unsure. He wipes my brow with water and feeds me chocolate. He reads in a soft voice, this time a love story. He stops sometime before the end and excuses himself with a red face, and stutters. I don’t know what he was saying.
When he leaves, he leaves his green jacket over my shoulder.
—-

I’m still here, two weeks in.
Peeta lives in my room, practically. He reads “To Kill A Mockingjay,” he reads “Catch 22,” he reads “The Illiad,” he reads some trashy novel until he realizes it has sex in it and closes it with a blush.
Peeta’s favorite color is the color of the sunset. He’s just a simple baker at home in Dussledorf. He plays a lot of chess and loves to read. He has many nightmares about the war. A mom, a few siblings, he hates alcohol and loves the sounds of birds in the morning. He likes my eyes.

He’s brought me good clothes and coffee and bread and I think I’m in love with him.
—-
“Primrose?” He murmurs, peering in the door. “Are you decent?”
I murmur in a quiet voice, “Yes, Peeta. I am decent.” He shuffles in the door and closes it. “I’m going to get you out of here,” He murmurs. “you and your troublesome sister.”

I nod. “Is she okay? How is she?”

Peeta replies with his mouth in a line. “Worried. About you,”

I nod more. He tosses slippers at me and I put them on.
—-
The brunette, Gale, comes with us. Peeta claims he’s taking me and my sister to get water from a well. The man believes him when Gale whispers something in German. I’m wearing two gowns and two pairs of socks. I walk funny, but Peeta keeps a heavy arm around me to hide it from the man. He makes it look like he’s hurting me.

Katniss is cuffed. She has a bruise on her neck.
—-

We stop for the night in an abandoned house. Peeta lets me sleep with his jacket. He stands guard at night and Gale watches us. Still doesn’t trust us.

“Primevere,” She murmurs. My name in French? She must not want Gale to know. “Etes-vous en bonne sante?”

I kiss both of her cheeks and nod. “I am healthy.”
She braids my hair before we fall asleep.
I miss my mother.
—-
The next morning Gale brings Peeta clothes. We ditch his military things in the house, stripping off the name plates and burying them outside. My fingernails are caked in dirt as he takes my hand, his thumb worrying away the dirt. Katniss glares at him as she passes.
She still has the cuffs on.
—-
I wake up in the middle of the night, sleeping in a tree, to Katniss and Gale hissing an argument.
“Let me out of these damn things!” She says, hoarsely. “Don’t you trust me?!”

“Not where your sister is concerned, mine Katniss. You love her more than you love yourself, and that’s saying something. I cannot trust you where she is concerned, yet.”

I wonder what this means, but I think he hit her. She makes a small sound and then they’re—- kissing?!

She pushes him away and I fall back asleep after she glares at him. I fall asleep to him grinning at her.
—-
What does a kiss mean?
—-
Gale and Katniss split up with us. I think I cried a bit, but Katniss definitely did. She didn’t want to leave me.
The only problem is, Gale and Peeta cannot travel together. By the looks of Gale’s hair cut and Peeta’s scars, it’s most definitely soldiers.
—-

I ask Peeta what happened to my mother, today. His mouth straightens. “Never you mind,” He murmurs. I nod and believe him for a moment. Things are going to turn right again!
………………………
German country side, three months later, January.

Peeta waits for Gale at this abandoned estate. We make it look our own and live here in a mock dance.
Today, something special happens— Peeta turns twenty!
—-
“Peeta, how do you make a cake? A good one.” I ask him, touching his fingers and threading mine through his. He grins and shakes his head.
“You French women cannot cook!” He exclaims, lifting me by my waist. He twirls me, and I cling to his shoulders. He kisses my nose and grins while setting me on the counter.
“We can cook perfectly fine,” I tease. “At least we can fill a dress. Your German women do not even resemble women!”
He grins and touches my nose. “In that case, I shall teach you how to make a cake. May everything you bake turn to horse piss.”
I giggle slightly. Soldiers do have foul mouths.

He takes out the last of our flour and sugar, and pours it into a bowl. I watch him, still seated on the counter. He takes the steps painfully slow. Taunting me.

I kick over the bowl onto his front. “I do not want a cake anymore,” I say, brattishly. “Come along, Peeta.”

And like always, he follows.
—-

I wake up next to Peeta late at night. Our clothes are strewn about the floor and my body aches in strange places. Hollow aches, even.
Peeta’s fingers snake around my middle and pull my close against him, tucking my head under his chin like a child. “Sleep.” He commands me.

I whipser to him: “But I haven’t done anything for your birthday.”

He smiles, and kisses my neck. His lips reach a tender place on my collar bone and I make a soft sound. “You gave me the best gift I could have hoped for.”

He hums as I sigh and snuggle back into him, my slender legs threading with his own. He presses a warm hand to my back and I nod of with him holding me under the covers.
I never meant for it to get like this.
—-
German country side,  June.
I wake up with Peeta next to me, as always. His fingers knotted on my hair of my shoulders.
I sit up and groan. Next to the bed is a shallow basin. I bring it to my face and Peeta rouses next to me as I cough. He gently holds my hair back.

“It’s okay, meine zwei Madchen… It’ll be okay. Shh..” He murmurs into the skin on my back. My eyes shut tightly, and my stomach is racked with gasps and a little bit of bile leaks down my chin.

He takes the basin from me and sets it aside, pressing my face into my shoulders. I haven’t seen my family in too long and it’s hurting me. I can’t hug him properly anymore.
I stand up, the weight in my stomach killing me. I pat it, and pull on black leggings just under it, and a blue dress over it. I hook my hands under my belly and walk down the stairs.
I shift berries in a strainer and wash them.
Peeta follows me down, and kisses my cheek as he walks passed. Softly, he opens the ice chest and scratches his belly as he gets out the milk.
I sit down and place a hand on my stomach. My little girl kicks and I giggle. The life inside me is ours, not planned and certainly perfectly welcomed. I want to name her Madge. Peeta wants to name her Maysilee. I think we can come to an agreement before she sees us for the first time.

And then I hear that sound. The one that makes my stomach jump, and something whizzes past Peeta and breaks my haphazard house in one shot. Two more sounds and someone shouting in rough German. My kitchen is on fire, my bed, my stairs, my strawberries—
Fire, everywhere.
My world is on fire.
My world is on fire.
—-
My name is Primrose Everdeen. I’m six months pregnant with Peeta Mellark’s baby girl, (I know it’s a girl because she kicks when he calls her his little princess in mangled French), and I’m exactly sixteen years old.
I’ve never seen a motion picture, I’ve never held a camera. My mother is probably dead. My sister is probably too.
I’m standing at the rage of ten yards from two men with two guns. They hold them at chest level, one trained on my belly and the other on Peeta.
“Deserter.” He accuses. Then goes off in German.
Peeta stiffens and he looks terrified. He replies with a single word. The man cocks his gun and murmurs something, and I can barely understand it.
“We have to execute someone. Get on your knees, Soldier Mellark, and cross your hands behind your head.”
I shriek and start to struggle with the man holding me. I feel like I want to puke.
My world is on fire.
Peeta takes off his gloves as he does so, and his shirt. His hands are covered in petty scars from baking burns, and he crosses them behind his head. The man presses the gun against the ground as he loads it with new shots. He enjoys this.

One of the men touch his shoulder. “Coporal Snow… Can we please…” The man is shoved aside.

“Shut up, Haymitch. Go back to your vodka, damned Commie deserter.”

I break free of the man behind me, and run towards Peeta. My boat of a stomach is too small, and I hold it on one hand.
A gun fires, and I don’t know who did it, and I don’t know why there’s pain in my chest, but I look down and my pretty blue blouse is red and purple.
My name is Primrose Everdeen, and my world is no longer on fire.
My world is black.

TRANSLATIONS:

Petite soeur- little sister,

mere poule inquiette, -worried mama hen,

Etes-vous en bonne sante? - Are you healthy?

meine zwei Madchen- my two girls