grundyscribbling (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
grundyscribbling) wrote2024-08-20 09:23 pm
grundyscribbling) wrote2024-08-20 09:23 pm
Entry tags:
Day 20 - Smoke and Ashes
Title: Smoke and Ashes
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: Hunger Games
Disclaimer: All belongs to Whedon & Collins. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Spike has his own ways of showing he cares. Part of the Paying Tribute series.
Word Count: 1450
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: Hunger Games
Disclaimer: All belongs to Whedon & Collins. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Spike has his own ways of showing he cares. Part of the Paying Tribute series.
Word Count: 1450
Spike lit a cigarette and took a long drag. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em. Since Trinket had yet to figure out who was aiding and abetting the Bastard’s campaign to get her to quit by pinching every pack she stashed around the yard, he had plenty.
Not that he actually smoked much anymore. Filthy habit – and Bit didn’t like the smell. So he only did it rarely, always outside, and out of sight of the ‘kids’.
It would tickle him pink if someone ever invented a time machine so he could go back and tell the Bit in her early days that she’d be calling a girl of not quite 19 ‘kid’. Neither of the Summers girls or their friends had been kids anymore by that age, even if they should have been. Weight of the world and all that.
Katniss Everdeen, underneath all the Games and being caught between two power-hungry opponents had done to her, still was. A damaged, messed up kid who’d seen too much and lost too much.
He was continuing their unofficial therapy sessions in the woods. Girl thought best in motion, not to mention felt safer with a weapon in hand. Far from the first Spike had known like that, but at least the Slayers, from Buffy on, had been in decent mental health.
The Girl on Fire had nightmares more often than not, and Spike wasn’t sure just what the hell the plan had been if he and the Bit hadn’t shown up. Leaning on the Boy and the Bastard, who were more than a bit of a mess themselves, wouldn’t have cut it.
Credit where credit was due, though – Abernathy had gotten the pair of them through two Games and a war in which just about all the power players had been gunning for one or both of them. Man’d never say it, but those two were his kids now.
Spike knew the feeling. As much work as he and the Bit had put in to keep the star-crossed lovers alive, they were family now. And damn well going to get their fairytale ending, even if it was slightly twisted. As happily ever after as they could manage. Maybe eventually even with the proverbial kids and grandkids gathered round.
A strangled curse from the direction of the tool shed indicated that Trinket had discovered the latest theft – and knew she’d get no sympathy from the Bastard. (She probably thought he was the culprit as much as he’d been chortling over her secret stashes disappearing one pack after another.)
Spike ambled out from the trees.
“Problem, Bauble?”
He couldn’t tell if the glare was for the name – the kids had been after him to give her one – or just free-floating mad about the smokes.
Her eyes abruptly narrowed further and she sniffed delicately.
“You’re the one who’s been stealing them!”
“Guilty as charged, luv. But the Bastard has a point, those things’ll kill you, you know.”
“Says the doctor who’s been smoking them all for me,” Trinket huffed. “Did Haymitch put you up to this?”
“The Bastard doesn’t put me up to anything,” Spike snorted. “But he’s clever enough to have guessed what was going on. He knew he wasn’t pinching them, and the Bird and the Boy have safer vices.”
“Spiiike.”
He never would have expected Trinket to be a master of the guilt trip and a world-class whiner, but she was. Though he wasn’t sure just what she was so desperate about. Yes, cigarettes were expensive, particularly given they had to be shipped in to Twelve, but he’s been paying it back in other ways. She had to have noticed that she had more credit than she’d expected at several of the shops in town she liked.
Yes, he’s gone soft in his old age. But he felt bad for her. Punitive fines for her role in the Games had all but bankrupted her, and her Capitol relatives didn’t care to know her anymore. The Bit was also quietly doing what she could to keep Trinket’s head above water and the remaining shreds of her pride intact.
“Euphemia?” he purred.
Her shoulders sagged slightly.
“One cigarette? Please?”
“You’ve managed without for the best part of a week, Bauble. A few more days and you could tell your boytoy you quit.”
“Yes, but…”
She trailed off, looking almost as lost and bedraggled as she had the day she first pitched up in Twelve with a single shabby case, no makeup, and hair so flat and colorless the Bird had needed a minute to recognize her. (She’d then promptly freaked out about what could have Effie in such a state. But freaking out about someone else counted as progress for her.)
“My parents wrote,” she said quietly. “Informing me if I am willing to marry the son of one of my father’s friends, I could perhaps in time be rehabilitated.”
Spike snorted.
“Rehabilitated? Wasn’t aware you were broken. Least, not the way they mean.”
She’d been broken in other ways, and come back to the people she knew would help her put herself back together. She called them a team, but sooner or later she’d get what it really was.
“I… Doctor, why don’t they understand?”
Spike could easily have written a book about the things Cassius Trinket and his vapid society wife didn’t understand. Their youngest daughter would merit a chapter of her own, the Games were worth another. The gulf between the Capitol and the districts, particularly the outlying ones, might not be a chapter, but definitely an appendix.
Instead, he sighed, and led Euphemia Trinket to the swing on the back porch.
“Bauble,” he said gently. “There’s no convincing people of things they don’t want to hear. Your folks were doing great under the old system. As far as they’re concerned, you were doing all right too. And then the world went and changed on them. Your old man’s very much a ‘winners and losers and don’t get caught on the wrong side of that line’ type. He doesn’t see Twelve as winning.”
Or his daughter, for that matter.
That ‘son of a friend’ doubtless had problems of his own – but lack of money wouldn’t be one of them. Disgraced daughter gets married off quietly was an old story, but not one Spike cared to involve any girl he was looking after in.
“If you want to go back, that’s one thing,” he continued.
“No!”
Her reaction was immediate and vehement.
Spike hadn’t expected any less. She had seen the dark things hiding behind the Capitol’s pretty façade better than most. Once she’d started looking at Tributes as kids – as people, actual and whole – instead of walk-on roles in the spectacle of the year, there’d been no looking at the rest of it the same again.
And that was before they’d tortured her to get to the Boy and the Bird. It hadn’t even been about her. The Capitol government had known damn well she didn’t know anything. Abernathy wasn’t a fool, even if he had missed that they’d use her. Everyone had their blind spots, and it was the rare time he’d underestimated Snow’s ruthlessness.
Might actually be a good thing for Snow it was the Bird who’d done for him. Girl always killed clean. It was too much of a habit with her not to. Even in the Games, she’d been damn near clinical in her kills. Spike didn’t actually want to find out, but he suspected the Bastard wouldn’t have been as merciful. Not when it was someone who’d hurt everyone he’d ever cared about.
“I just…” Trinket took a deep, shaky breath.
He waited. All that head doc training said don’t say it for them when they’re on the verge of putting it in their own words.
“Why am I so easy for them to throw away?” she whispered.
“Cause that’s how things are in the Capitol,” he shrugged. “You know that, luv. You’re from there. What do you do with broken things? Things that make you uncomfortable? Things that aren’t shiny and interesting anymore?”
Her lower lip wobbled, and Spike wasn’t sure if he wanted her to finally let the tears out, or if that was better left for the Bastard.
But Trinket surprised him.
“Well,” she said, the tone of her voice belying her watery eyes. “They’re in for a surprise, then, aren’t they? I’m not broken. And we don’t throw things away in Twelve when they’re still useful or we can make them into something pretty with a little work.”
“That’s the spirit, Bauble,” he grinned. “Show us all.”
He patted the pocket of his duster.
“But do it without the smokes.”
Not that he actually smoked much anymore. Filthy habit – and Bit didn’t like the smell. So he only did it rarely, always outside, and out of sight of the ‘kids’.
It would tickle him pink if someone ever invented a time machine so he could go back and tell the Bit in her early days that she’d be calling a girl of not quite 19 ‘kid’. Neither of the Summers girls or their friends had been kids anymore by that age, even if they should have been. Weight of the world and all that.
Katniss Everdeen, underneath all the Games and being caught between two power-hungry opponents had done to her, still was. A damaged, messed up kid who’d seen too much and lost too much.
He was continuing their unofficial therapy sessions in the woods. Girl thought best in motion, not to mention felt safer with a weapon in hand. Far from the first Spike had known like that, but at least the Slayers, from Buffy on, had been in decent mental health.
The Girl on Fire had nightmares more often than not, and Spike wasn’t sure just what the hell the plan had been if he and the Bit hadn’t shown up. Leaning on the Boy and the Bastard, who were more than a bit of a mess themselves, wouldn’t have cut it.
Credit where credit was due, though – Abernathy had gotten the pair of them through two Games and a war in which just about all the power players had been gunning for one or both of them. Man’d never say it, but those two were his kids now.
Spike knew the feeling. As much work as he and the Bit had put in to keep the star-crossed lovers alive, they were family now. And damn well going to get their fairytale ending, even if it was slightly twisted. As happily ever after as they could manage. Maybe eventually even with the proverbial kids and grandkids gathered round.
A strangled curse from the direction of the tool shed indicated that Trinket had discovered the latest theft – and knew she’d get no sympathy from the Bastard. (She probably thought he was the culprit as much as he’d been chortling over her secret stashes disappearing one pack after another.)
Spike ambled out from the trees.
“Problem, Bauble?”
He couldn’t tell if the glare was for the name – the kids had been after him to give her one – or just free-floating mad about the smokes.
Her eyes abruptly narrowed further and she sniffed delicately.
“You’re the one who’s been stealing them!”
“Guilty as charged, luv. But the Bastard has a point, those things’ll kill you, you know.”
“Says the doctor who’s been smoking them all for me,” Trinket huffed. “Did Haymitch put you up to this?”
“The Bastard doesn’t put me up to anything,” Spike snorted. “But he’s clever enough to have guessed what was going on. He knew he wasn’t pinching them, and the Bird and the Boy have safer vices.”
“Spiiike.”
He never would have expected Trinket to be a master of the guilt trip and a world-class whiner, but she was. Though he wasn’t sure just what she was so desperate about. Yes, cigarettes were expensive, particularly given they had to be shipped in to Twelve, but he’s been paying it back in other ways. She had to have noticed that she had more credit than she’d expected at several of the shops in town she liked.
Yes, he’s gone soft in his old age. But he felt bad for her. Punitive fines for her role in the Games had all but bankrupted her, and her Capitol relatives didn’t care to know her anymore. The Bit was also quietly doing what she could to keep Trinket’s head above water and the remaining shreds of her pride intact.
“Euphemia?” he purred.
Her shoulders sagged slightly.
“One cigarette? Please?”
“You’ve managed without for the best part of a week, Bauble. A few more days and you could tell your boytoy you quit.”
“Yes, but…”
She trailed off, looking almost as lost and bedraggled as she had the day she first pitched up in Twelve with a single shabby case, no makeup, and hair so flat and colorless the Bird had needed a minute to recognize her. (She’d then promptly freaked out about what could have Effie in such a state. But freaking out about someone else counted as progress for her.)
“My parents wrote,” she said quietly. “Informing me if I am willing to marry the son of one of my father’s friends, I could perhaps in time be rehabilitated.”
Spike snorted.
“Rehabilitated? Wasn’t aware you were broken. Least, not the way they mean.”
She’d been broken in other ways, and come back to the people she knew would help her put herself back together. She called them a team, but sooner or later she’d get what it really was.
“I… Doctor, why don’t they understand?”
Spike could easily have written a book about the things Cassius Trinket and his vapid society wife didn’t understand. Their youngest daughter would merit a chapter of her own, the Games were worth another. The gulf between the Capitol and the districts, particularly the outlying ones, might not be a chapter, but definitely an appendix.
Instead, he sighed, and led Euphemia Trinket to the swing on the back porch.
“Bauble,” he said gently. “There’s no convincing people of things they don’t want to hear. Your folks were doing great under the old system. As far as they’re concerned, you were doing all right too. And then the world went and changed on them. Your old man’s very much a ‘winners and losers and don’t get caught on the wrong side of that line’ type. He doesn’t see Twelve as winning.”
Or his daughter, for that matter.
That ‘son of a friend’ doubtless had problems of his own – but lack of money wouldn’t be one of them. Disgraced daughter gets married off quietly was an old story, but not one Spike cared to involve any girl he was looking after in.
“If you want to go back, that’s one thing,” he continued.
“No!”
Her reaction was immediate and vehement.
Spike hadn’t expected any less. She had seen the dark things hiding behind the Capitol’s pretty façade better than most. Once she’d started looking at Tributes as kids – as people, actual and whole – instead of walk-on roles in the spectacle of the year, there’d been no looking at the rest of it the same again.
And that was before they’d tortured her to get to the Boy and the Bird. It hadn’t even been about her. The Capitol government had known damn well she didn’t know anything. Abernathy wasn’t a fool, even if he had missed that they’d use her. Everyone had their blind spots, and it was the rare time he’d underestimated Snow’s ruthlessness.
Might actually be a good thing for Snow it was the Bird who’d done for him. Girl always killed clean. It was too much of a habit with her not to. Even in the Games, she’d been damn near clinical in her kills. Spike didn’t actually want to find out, but he suspected the Bastard wouldn’t have been as merciful. Not when it was someone who’d hurt everyone he’d ever cared about.
“I just…” Trinket took a deep, shaky breath.
He waited. All that head doc training said don’t say it for them when they’re on the verge of putting it in their own words.
“Why am I so easy for them to throw away?” she whispered.
“Cause that’s how things are in the Capitol,” he shrugged. “You know that, luv. You’re from there. What do you do with broken things? Things that make you uncomfortable? Things that aren’t shiny and interesting anymore?”
Her lower lip wobbled, and Spike wasn’t sure if he wanted her to finally let the tears out, or if that was better left for the Bastard.
But Trinket surprised him.
“Well,” she said, the tone of her voice belying her watery eyes. “They’re in for a surprise, then, aren’t they? I’m not broken. And we don’t throw things away in Twelve when they’re still useful or we can make them into something pretty with a little work.”
“That’s the spirit, Bauble,” he grinned. “Show us all.”
He patted the pocket of his duster.
“But do it without the smokes.”
no subject
Thank you for the update to Paying Tribute, I’ll take all of this I can get.
no subject
I'm not sure if Effie being Euphemia is canon or fanon at this point, but I go with it either way.