But, You're Dead? [Clovniss]

The Third Time, A Month After The War

The third time it happens, it's a month after the war ended.

Pristine, white snow blankets every road and building, piled up high on the sides of well-worn paths. It is nearly as if someone pressed pause on a movie, and everything was frozen and silent. It is peaceful, but bitterly cold.

A disgruntled postman knocks on the door three times in a row, pulling the edges of his coat tighter around his body. He casts a weary look behind him, breath forming a cloud of cold to puff into the air. The man turns back to the door when Katniss slowly opens it, forcing a smile at the woman.

"Good day, Miss Everdeen. Have a few letters for ya here." The postman reaches into his bag and withdraws a large hand of envelopes, a rubber band keeping them all together. "Have a nice day, Miss Everdeen. Weather is no good for anyone right now." He tips his hat before hurrying down the path.

Katniss stares down at the envelopes in her hand, shutting the door with an echoing slam. Feeling tired, she retires to the living room and perches herself on the couch, examining every letter and its sender carefully.

'Mother, Plutarch, stupid fan mail, wrong address, Johanna, Annie, Cressida, Gale and ... her.' She picks out the fan mail and does not hesitate to throw them into the roaring fire, looking away while the edges curl up as they burn. The letter from Clove is opened first, Katniss tracing the heavy indents of a pen and the blood smeared across the page, obscuring some words.

'Nice job, the last few weeks. Keep it up, Fire Girl. Stay vigilante though, the people who want you dead have sent assassins to aid the mercenaries after you. Landed two three days ago, staying in the Dark Inn St.' The writing cuts of abruptly, the rest of the page nearly torn completely in half.

Katniss checks the envelope for more pages, feeling strangely desperate, but finds nothing. 'No, no, no. Where's the rest? Where is it?' She forces herself to stop, carefully placing Clove's letter down. 'No, Katniss. This isn't real. Clove is dead, you watched her die. Just like how you watched Rue die. Watched Prim die.'

Katniss slumps, hot tears etching a trail down her face. A heart-breaking sob falls from her mouth, but her sadness quickly changes to anger. She surges to her feet, grabs the mug sitting on her coffee table and hurls it across the room with all her strength. She screams and throws more items, letting her emotions out for the first time in too long.

Hours later, her hands are bloodied messes and shards of glass litter the ground. An extravagant mirror smashed by her fists, lies by the marble fireplace.

A gentle knock on the front door rouses Katniss from her darkening thoughts. She rises to her feet and nearly drags herself to the door, unlocking it with tired hands and pulling it open with some difficulty. Words freeze in her throat, and she stares dumbly at the sight in front of her.

She is leaning against the gate, one hand tucked into her trouser and the other holding a gun. Blood drips from her face to splatter across her blue hoodie, several stray drops landing on her green combats. A small stream of blood runs down her forearm, pooling around the crease of her palm and the gun.

Behind her, stands a nineteen-year-old that Katniss recognises all too well. The teenager is dressed in a dark grey sweater and black camo combats, a ragged hole ripping through the sweater's right shoulder, and a bloodied gun in her hand. Katniss recognises her as Hunter Fenton, younger sister of Titus Fenton, the crazed cannibal. She had volunteered for the games after his death and won with brutal efficiency.

Katniss slams the door shut and hurriedly locks it, racing up the stairs to barricade herself into her room.

Hunter Fenton had been executed on live television, two months after the Quarter Quell. A Peacekeeper had put a bullet in her skull the day after being publicly tortured and whipped for three hours. Every single citizen of the districts and the Capitol had watched it happen.

With her bow in her hands and an incendiary arrow notched, Katniss watches the dead pair from her window. She forces herself to breathe calmly, careful to remain out of their sight but still able to watch them.

"She thinks we're dead. That she's finally lost the plot and hallucinating people she watched die." Hunter states, reholstering her gun at her hip. "Maybe she's right. We did die, after all." She smiles darkly, eyes flicking to stare at Clove.

Clove remains ever silent, dark eyes trained on the house. The gun remains by her side, blood now etching a path down the barrel of the weapon.

Hunter reaches up to press a scarred hand to her right shoulder, grunting when her hands comes away, sticky with blood. "C'mon stalker, need help with the bullet. You and your knives will get it out no problem."

Katniss watches with bated breath as the duo turn and disappear, a few droplets of blood on the ground the only indication of someone at the gate. The archer stays awake half the night before collapsing into her bed, her bow and the largest knife she owns in arm's reach.

The fourth time it happens, it is three months after the war ended.