Intricate Strokes, Delicate Precision

Option A

By: KaKaVegeGurl

Author's Note:

Holy crow, lotsa writing to be done.

I'll admit, I've been slacking a lot. I'm werking mostly on stuff fer my website, considering that it's highly likely the rest of the chapters fer Opt C and D will be up on there, instead of here. Iuno, that's rly still undecided.

But there IS something special in store fer ppl that visit my site.

Two things before we start off this story:

The first is... I'm like... 16 pages deep into my original story, yeah, not even kidding.

The second is that I reached my anniversary here on FF dot net over the two week break. June 3rd, '03. Eight friggin years. Eight years on FF dot net. Yeah. That's insane. XP

Alright now that we've addressed those things, feel free to read, enjoy, and cringe. Thank you all fer being avid readers! Continue on and have a nice steaming cup of yaoi!

~KaKaVegeGurl (A)

Question of the Week:

-Current Week: In my original story, you want me to address difficult topics such as teen pregnancy and loss of limb. Name one, or a few, that yer interested in seeing in my story.

-My Answer to the Last One: "Like a paper doll." - Prolly a trademark term I picked up from reading Pendragon, where he used it in an odd and incorrect way (soldiers dropping from the roof like little paper dolls)? I use it in the correct way.

Side Notes:

If you could only see the way she loves me

Then maybe you would understand

Why I feel this way about our love

And what I must do

If you could only see how blue her eyes can be when she says

When she says she loves me

Well you got your reasons

And you got your lies

And you got your manipulations

They cut me down to size

Chapter 1 - Sacrifice

Katniss Everdeen.

That's who this entire story is ending with.

She's the girl that I've loved as completely and honestly as possible; all of my life.

The girl that was on fire, the Mockingjay, the Capitol's tool.

She and I, together, won the Hunger Games twice; more-or-less. Through fight and struggle, through loss of limb, through the souring of emotions. And the revelation of deceit.

She's the girl that I've fought for, time and time again, trial and blood, death and forfeit. She's the only thing that I continue to live for now.

That's Katniss Everdeen.

With her long black hair, trademarked and owned by her alone, the braid down her back. The mesmerizing eyes, the soft lips, the sallow skin, the starvation from lack of money for food.

Her character built by lose of father, lack of a real mother, and absence of government guidance or care.

And I couldn't help but to fall completely and utterly in love with her.

It was something out of my control.

No five year old boy has such an epiphany. None, but me.

Watching her sing to the class, noting the birds falling silent to listen, enjoying her constant vigilance, her strength, her courage. There's not a girl alive that deserves the title of 'woman' more then her.

She has fought for her family, never thinking of herself. Approached the Capitol to stand in place for her younger sister. She's fought death for me.

Selfless, sacrificing. The constant victim.

The bird, trapped.

And now it's come down to the only thing that I can do to protect her from those that would have her killed.

It's my turn to be vigilant and courageous. But to do it alone.

The first thing I regret, is getting caught, naturally. But it's far too late at this point to deny that I'm stuck here where I am, in the face of every enemy standing in my way, without a shred of alliance or help. And it's impossible to save me.

The only thing that I can do is continue to protect Katniss in any way that I can.

I don't do it hesitantly. I would never pause, or take a time out, to decide which is more important. Self preservation, or the girl that I love?

There's only one answer to that.

Because my life is meaningless without what's driven me to this point.

What is life without love?

Hesitant, pausing, timed out. Still.

The fist connects with my jaw, not as still as loveless life, and I feel the back left corner of the chair I'm in slam against my skin for the umpteenth time. It's been repetitive over the past thirty minutes, and there's going to be a bruise there when it's done.

Peacekeeper Fields watches from the door with his arms crossed, observing the beating like a dog watching a bird struggle with it's broken wing, and only stands straight up when the next fist manages to make me bite down on my tongue.

"Wait."

I taste the copper spill of blood in my mouth and am tempted to close it and allow the wound to remain to myself. But the second I do, clutch my jaw shut, it starts filling with the warm, disgusting liquid.

In an attempt not to make a complete mess over my chest, I swallow the blood down, grimace at it, and struggle not to gag at the disgust of what I've just done.

Fields and the other Peacekeeper turn to look at me, in the middle of their chat, with raised brows.

"Is there a problem?" Fields asks sharply, hands behind his back as he moves closer to examine me properly.

I keep my mouth shut as a response and turn away.

"Peeta?" Fields says in a warning tone, "Is there a problem?"

I can only guess that I've made a sound while swallowing the disgusting liquid down, so when he threatens me to answer, getting into my face with his sour smelling breath, I turn to stare into his cold eyes and spit out the new mix of blood and saliva over his features.

Fields reels back in surprise and disgust, wiping at his face as my mix of filth dribbles down over his nose, his lips and chin. And instead of his fist connecting with me, like I expect it to, his boot does.

The underside of his heel is flung upward and I'm out again with the neck snap, the jaw crack, and the gasp from me as the blood between my teeth is splattered onto the floor at my side.

"Is it really so hard?"

I shake my head, but I'm positive what I mean to get out is something along the lines of 'hard, no. But it is not possible'. But my mouth is immovable. Inoperable. Broken, possibly. If the pain is indication, something is most definitely broken.

Fields sighs and wipes the blood out of my other eye, the one I can't open, "We just want you to answer a few questions for us, Peeta. It's that simple. The people of Panem never have to know. And Katniss doesn't either."

I glare up at him now, with both eyes, and he just smiles.

"We could cut out your tongue," he suggests, "Make you an Avox. Or cut off your balls, you might miss those."

I roll my eyes and look away. The threat is so pointless, weightless, I know he's just trying to startle me into an answer. But I'm not as cellophane encompassed as his threats are.

"Now, now, Peeta," Fields walks around to my other side, trying to get me to look at him directly, "You're grown enough, surely you know that acting like a spoiled brat is only going to get you killed."

I don't answer him mostly because I can't. And if I could, I'd just spit more blood in his face; my mouth is full of it.

He frowns when I don't even bother to try and respond, "Fine. We'll do this the hard way, then."

The doctor that's been standing at the door behind him, kit in hand, moves to me as well now and lifts up my chin from my right shoulder.

"Three?" He asks, glasses sliding a little down his crooked nose, and Fields nods.

My eyes watch his shaking fingers, old, wrinkled fingers, wrought with time and knowledge as they fold open the kit against his forearm and pluck out the third instrument in a line of tools.

I can't stop the obvious fear from showing over my face as my breathing speeds up, because I can't help but remember what happened last time.

This one is different though from the one that mentally damaged my hands. One end is curled up like a pig's tail, the cup of metal against it is like a deep spoon, and the base is twisted together. Innocent unless you know that it's going to completely compromise me. And there's going to be a worse effect to it, I think, then the last one.

Fields leaves the room with a turn of his long black boots and the doctor, who stares down at me pitifully, puts a set of yellow plugs into his ears.

He reaches out with the tool and watches me close. But the sound of the instrument, to my best knowledge, is normally so subtle until pressed against my face. So I'm wondering why he's doing this.

It's obvious enough when he flicks it. He doesn't want to be deafened by my screams.

The sound, unlike anything else, feels like it's ripping my spine open, like it tears the very flesh and muscle, bone and cartilage into pieces. Like it's eating me alive.

My mouth, saliva filling it, opens in pain because I can't hold it closed anymore. Tears spring to my eyes. My fingers tingle on the tips with an odd, painful numbness. I can even feel the sharp sting, pulling up my thigh, through my groin, lacing around my intestines and finally the sick bubbles forth. I can't control the clutching of my stomach as I relive everything I've eaten from the day before.

I can't move at all as my muscles clinch, my arms lock up and start shaking violently out of my control. Every time I try to fight them down it feels like my bones are shattering in the protest. The screaming turns my puke red eventually. And, in time, I've crawled to a corner and screamed there, trying to put my arm to my mouth to stop it. Trying not to give Snow the satisfaction. But I can't.

I don't have that much control. I don't have any control.

Someone is stabbing underneath my ribs with the legs of a splintered, wooden chair and is twisting it around in the organs. Someone's using their long nails to rip down the threads of my muscles, ripping the nerves in my teeth, digging in behind my eyes with a hot poker.

There's no way to sleep with this pain shooting through me, but to fall unconscious once again. And then I lurch forth from the dark, sheer agony pumping me awake, keeping me alert as my body throbs.

It's obvious after some time, that I'm not going to get through this in any easy way. Moving my legs hurts, moving my arms hurts, blinking, wincing, screaming hurts. And the only thing that stops me is when my body finally locks me up from the shock and my heart gives out.

Life rushes back into me and I'm spluttering awake, mouth full of blood, some of it dried against my teeth, terror pulsing through me, pain screaming from my sides and back, and I snap my eyes open to see where I am.

I turn over on my side and gag at the coagulated blood, spit it out, try to stop the vomit and stomach acid that follows, but fail to.

"Session fifteen, Katniss Everdeen," I hear a voice from somewhere around, but the only thing I see is black, "The mutt, having exceeded all expectations, begins movement into the rebellion of District thirteen with District Twelve Mentor, Haymitch Abernathy. The mutt, out of our range, will rest down until the retrieval of one Peeta Mellark."

Mutt?

I turn to the left, see a blur and feel a prickling sting and look down to watch the bead of blood form over the center of the back of my hand, and then the image blossoms in front of me. The black takes form in a scene of my life.

She's cutting me from the mud, washing my boxers in the stream, and staring at my manhood with a flushed face, then she's helping me into my clothes and I'm kissing her for the first time.

She helps me up and then we're in the cave and she's saying all of these sweet things, promises, Katniss. I smile, I can't help but smile. Because, Snow, if you think that showing me Katniss is going to make my heart hurt, you're mistaken.

"You're mistaken, Snow."

I don't even realize that I've said it out loud until the end of the words, when my throat burns, gurgling with copper and acid.

More of her words fill my ears. "I love you," she's saying often. Sweet nothings. And this isn't bad. I miss her, but I know she's safe.

"Gale kissed me," she admits in a whisper and this one only manages to bother me so much, but is beaten out when she continues, "You don't have much competition anywhere."

Strong, strength, pride. But the old swirling words rise back up and swell.

"Mutt, session seventeen, Katniss..."

"You don't!" She's raising her voice to me, her mouth in a frown, disappointed, and the feeling inside of me is changing, "You're not competition."

"You're worthless," she hisses as an uncontrolled feeling of being cornered fills me. The room goes black again. Darkness blinding the ability to understand which direction I should move, whether I'm standing on the wall or roof.

I struggle to get up onto my feet, fight against the bones splintering and breaking, and feel the ground shuddering below me. I've got enough control, holding out my arms, legs shaking violently. But I'm floored when something snaps at my ear, some kind of...

Anger. It's instant, I feel... Attacked. I can't even explain why, but when I see her screaming at me, it twists something inside and I'm being threatened.

"You're not competition! You're nothing."

"Can we just be friends?"

I turn, startled, and I know she's here, she has to be somewhere around me, I can feel it.

"Katniss!" My throat, angered and wounded, still seems to be raising blood to my lips. I ignore it and look around.

Lies, I struggle to tell myself, these have to be lies.

Katniss isn't a mutt, Katniss isn't using me.

"Session fifteen, Katniss Everdeen, mutt."

"Session one, Katniss Everdeen," the voice says, "Instructed into District Twelve."

"No!" I shout, raising my fists out and moving to the nearest wall, "Shut up!" I kick at it, turn to grab the next one and something moves in front of me, startles me back to the center of the room.

"You don't know the lies I've been telling you, Peeta," her voice says to me.

"Katniss–"

"You'll fall for anything I say. Because you're weak, you're a fool."

I throw my body at the door, slam my fist into it, "You can try, you can keep trying. I'm not going to fall for it."

"You'll fall for anything I say."

The scene in front of me changes. It's Gale, obviously, he's kissing her. And she's obviously kissing back.

"Get close to Peeta Mellark, see what you can get out of him."

I stop, muscles tensing, and the voice whispers out to me like long, stretching, snake fingers caressing the terror inside of me.

"He's such a fool, this will be easy."

Doubt, this is possible. I have been in love with her since the beginning. It's possible to lie to someone. Rage, this is outrageous. How could she keep something like this from me? How could she say these things. Concern,Why would she say that? What has she done?

No, no. She's not like that.

"She's not like that!" I scream, hands covering my ears, "I can't, I can't hear this. She's not like that."

The tears burn down my cheeks, my knee gives out and the fake one pulls me down as I lose the balance and control I've been struggling with. I'm curling into a ball, flush against the floor, and sobbing with my face pressed to the cold, hard ground.

"She's not like that, she's not like that. I swear she's not."

Gale, staring, and Katniss kissing him, her fingers running down his chest and wrapping around his waist like she's done to me so many times before.

I have to shut my eyes to get away, but I can't. There's something keeping them open. When I reach up to feel for what's keeping them wide, there's nothing. But I can't close them at all. The muscles are out of my control. Their locked, eyes wide and staring.

"I can't see this!" I scream, loud, howling out in pain, "I can't see! I can't see this!"

Her eyes, so full of hate, stare at me, burning deep through me as she kisses him.

"Katniss," I murmur, heart lurching in pain, blood pounding as I reach out to stop her, "Stop kissing him."

I move to the wall for comfort, move as close to her eyes as I can possibly be, but they glare still, and that doesn't matter anymore. It's still her. And she's not angry at me, she can't be angry at me because I didn't do anything wrong, and the last time I saw her she was... She was happy. She was happy with me.

She loves me. She's angry at Snow.

This is all lies.

Finally, everything is black again, and I don't have to hear the lies anymore.

"You are a sick liar," I hiss between my teeth when the blackness fades away and I'm awake again. Awake, aware, and in serious pain. And he smiles down at me.

"I wish I was, Peeta," Snow says, laying a simple young, red rose down at my side, "I really wish I was."

I sit up, arms shaking in shock, feel the tell tale prickle of a needle in my arm and snatch his hand, the doctor, surprised, puts his free one to my ear. Not so free.

Expecting pain of some sort, I'm unusually, unreasonably enraged, and the fury licks harshly at my insides as the red spills over my vision.

Snow leaves the room as I get to my feet, the doctor as well, and they lock the large, heavy door behind them.

"Peeta."

She's there on the wall, again, that... Katniss. Glaring, hating me.

I shake my head as the steps of the two men down the hall vanish from range.

"What took you so long?"

"Where are you?" I ask, turning around, furious, angry and I see her there now. Long black hair in the braid down her back and I move to her.

"Peeta," and she's smiling, harshly. I can't decide what to do, how to respond. Cry? Scream? I want to hurt her, want to touch her, want to press my lips against hers.

She smiles. That smile.

"Peeta, come here."

I move, step slowly, as she stretches out her arms in welcome.

"Come here, so that I can kill you."

Horror fills me, covering my blood in ice, and she starts to move to me. I shove her back, shove her from me.

I try to get away from her but her eyes are digging into me every which way I turn.

"Leave me alone!" I scream, "Don't touch me."

"Peeta," she's... disappointed, I think. She stretches out her arms again.

"Don't touch me," the anger, slamming against my head, whirls around again and I point out to her as I back away, "You stay away from me, you bitch."

Ending Notes:

*Vanish to Option B*

~KaKaVegeGurl