Thom/Delly, "Fireworks" (PG-13ish, CF/MJ spoilers)
Chars: Thom/Delly
Title: Fireworks (not quite by Katy Perry)
Rating: PG-13ish
Spoilers: CF/MJ
The country hadn't quite figured out a name for the holiday yet. Victory Day called back the Victor’s Ball and the annual Victor’s Social with sponsors and the Victory Tour and all the things victors had endured so out of respect to them, that had been vetoed. Freedom Day seemed maybe a little too trite. Independence Day was the frontrunner, though after finding out that was what the old Americans had called their holiday of declaring freedom from an oppressor, with opinions split between that being fitting and it being unoriginal.
In any case, it was no longer the anniversary of the day the districts had been forced to sign the Treaty of the Treason, the day that every year brought Reaping Day. The treaty formally ending the war and taking back the Treaty of the Treason had been signed last July 4th, so whatever the holiday was called, it was about winning, about being free.
Delly would have been nineteen this year anyway and safe from the reaping ball, and it was a funny feeling to realize that. Thom glanced down at her-it was a long way down for him, and put his arm around her shoulders. “I hear there’s barbecue today,” he said cheerfully. Almost two years now after the firebombing, people had finally come back and what had risen out of the ashes of District Twelve was something entirely new.
She knew regularly eating meat, and not wild game at that, was still something of a novelty to him in a way it hadn’t been to her. “Then let’s get you some of it,” she said, jokingly poking him in the stomach.
They grabbed plates heaped high with barbecued pork-anyone with sense knew that the sauce ought never to have tomatoes, though the people from District Eleven jokingly rumbled about that, and fresh pickles and bread still warm from the oven. Sitting there eating her food as dusk fell and the lanterns were lit, then joining the dancers taking a turn and twirl around the square to the sound of the musicians-Haymitch Abernathy taking a turn at the fiddle-she felt curiously content.
They used to have colored fireworks at celebrations, so the legend went, and she’d never seen them herself. After all, the Capitol had banned them entirely, not wanting people to have their hands on explosives without it being controlled. But this year, some of the miners who’d handled the blasting powder had teamed up with some of the immigrants from Three who knew their chemistry, and they’d promised a fireworks show. Thom had been one of the people who helped develop it, so she knew he was particularly eager for her to see it.
The gasps when the first rocket went up and burst in the sky in a shower of red and white sparks were audible, and suddenly all the quiet conversations and chatter fell silent and everyone simply watched. For those who’d lived through the firebombs, it called back a few memories, but in a way this was a defiant freedom.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said, reaching over and taking his hand. He looked over and grinned boyishly at her. He was learning a lot from the scientists, so it seemed, and she’d seen he had a keen eye for rocks and trees and all sorts of natural things. It had probably served him well in the mines; had he worked there longer he might have been one of those that managed to make it to some higher position, using his brains rather than just a pickaxe. “Now don’t you go burning anything down,” she warned. That would be about the worst ending possible, given how the whole district had burned two summers ago.
“Don’t worry, Dell, we’ve got it well under control here. The sparks all die out long before they hit the ground. There should be a blue one soon-those were really tough to figure out. It’s still a pale blue. Maybe we’ll get it better next year.” He leaned over and brushed his fingers over her cheek. “Blue like your eyes, huh?”
She thought, This is what freedom is like. Good food and not worrying when you’ll ever see it again, being loud and happy as you like and not having to worry at all about tomorrow. Watching fireworks exploding into something so beautiful rather than the only explosions around here being in the mines or firebombs. She only wished her parents were here to see it, or Thom’s. But the two of them had survived and that was worth celebrating.
Back at their house later that night, hearing the creak of the bedsprings and holding him close as he moved over her, moved inside her, kissing her desperately like she was as necessary to him as air, she thought that this was freedom too. Loving him, not worrying he’d die down in the mines or that people would shun her for loving a good man who happened to be Seam. That whole notion made the whole thing just that bit wilder and sweeter and that pushed her over the edge quick enough, gasping and clutching at him, every sensation suddenly electric. She laughed, breathless, and told him, “Think you just made me see fireworks again there, Thom.”
“So let’s see if I can’t do it at least one more time before we call it a night,” he murmured in her ear with an answering laugh.
Title: Fireworks (not quite by Katy Perry)
Rating: PG-13ish
Spoilers: CF/MJ
The country hadn't quite figured out a name for the holiday yet. Victory Day called back the Victor’s Ball and the annual Victor’s Social with sponsors and the Victory Tour and all the things victors had endured so out of respect to them, that had been vetoed. Freedom Day seemed maybe a little too trite. Independence Day was the frontrunner, though after finding out that was what the old Americans had called their holiday of declaring freedom from an oppressor, with opinions split between that being fitting and it being unoriginal.
In any case, it was no longer the anniversary of the day the districts had been forced to sign the Treaty of the Treason, the day that every year brought Reaping Day. The treaty formally ending the war and taking back the Treaty of the Treason had been signed last July 4th, so whatever the holiday was called, it was about winning, about being free.
Delly would have been nineteen this year anyway and safe from the reaping ball, and it was a funny feeling to realize that. Thom glanced down at her-it was a long way down for him, and put his arm around her shoulders. “I hear there’s barbecue today,” he said cheerfully. Almost two years now after the firebombing, people had finally come back and what had risen out of the ashes of District Twelve was something entirely new.
She knew regularly eating meat, and not wild game at that, was still something of a novelty to him in a way it hadn’t been to her. “Then let’s get you some of it,” she said, jokingly poking him in the stomach.
They grabbed plates heaped high with barbecued pork-anyone with sense knew that the sauce ought never to have tomatoes, though the people from District Eleven jokingly rumbled about that, and fresh pickles and bread still warm from the oven. Sitting there eating her food as dusk fell and the lanterns were lit, then joining the dancers taking a turn and twirl around the square to the sound of the musicians-Haymitch Abernathy taking a turn at the fiddle-she felt curiously content.
They used to have colored fireworks at celebrations, so the legend went, and she’d never seen them herself. After all, the Capitol had banned them entirely, not wanting people to have their hands on explosives without it being controlled. But this year, some of the miners who’d handled the blasting powder had teamed up with some of the immigrants from Three who knew their chemistry, and they’d promised a fireworks show. Thom had been one of the people who helped develop it, so she knew he was particularly eager for her to see it.
The gasps when the first rocket went up and burst in the sky in a shower of red and white sparks were audible, and suddenly all the quiet conversations and chatter fell silent and everyone simply watched. For those who’d lived through the firebombs, it called back a few memories, but in a way this was a defiant freedom.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said, reaching over and taking his hand. He looked over and grinned boyishly at her. He was learning a lot from the scientists, so it seemed, and she’d seen he had a keen eye for rocks and trees and all sorts of natural things. It had probably served him well in the mines; had he worked there longer he might have been one of those that managed to make it to some higher position, using his brains rather than just a pickaxe. “Now don’t you go burning anything down,” she warned. That would be about the worst ending possible, given how the whole district had burned two summers ago.
“Don’t worry, Dell, we’ve got it well under control here. The sparks all die out long before they hit the ground. There should be a blue one soon-those were really tough to figure out. It’s still a pale blue. Maybe we’ll get it better next year.” He leaned over and brushed his fingers over her cheek. “Blue like your eyes, huh?”
She thought, This is what freedom is like. Good food and not worrying when you’ll ever see it again, being loud and happy as you like and not having to worry at all about tomorrow. Watching fireworks exploding into something so beautiful rather than the only explosions around here being in the mines or firebombs. She only wished her parents were here to see it, or Thom’s. But the two of them had survived and that was worth celebrating.
Back at their house later that night, hearing the creak of the bedsprings and holding him close as he moved over her, moved inside her, kissing her desperately like she was as necessary to him as air, she thought that this was freedom too. Loving him, not worrying he’d die down in the mines or that people would shun her for loving a good man who happened to be Seam. That whole notion made the whole thing just that bit wilder and sweeter and that pushed her over the edge quick enough, gasping and clutching at him, every sensation suddenly electric. She laughed, breathless, and told him, “Think you just made me see fireworks again there, Thom.”
“So let’s see if I can’t do it at least one more time before we call it a night,” he murmured in her ear with an answering laugh.