Work Text:
The morning of the reaping, Peyton wakes up early.
She steals out of the house, tiptoeing so that she won’t wake up her father. The sun is just beginning to rise, casting a soft rosy light over the ocean in distance.
This has been a tradition of her and Brooke’s, ever since they were eligible for the first reaping at age twelve. Five years, they’ve been doing this. The morning before, they sit on the beach, when it’s early enough that hardly anyone else is up. Sometimes they talk, gossiping about past victors and who has the most entries like it’s just another normal day, and other times, they’re silent, sitting on the shore, arms around each other, trying not to worry about the lottery and fate.
It’s only a ten minute walk to the shore. One of the benefits of living in District Four (besides being one of the wealthier districts) is that they’re never far from the water. Peyton’s father builds boats for the district, so she’s practically grown up on the ocean.
Brooke is already there, clutching a bag of cinnamon rolls from Karen’s bakery. Her normally cheerful face is slightly downcast as Peyton approaches, though as she spots her best friend, she breaks into a wide smile.
“P. Sawyer!” She yells, waving. “I was worried you weren’t coming!”
“B. Davis!” Peyton yells back. “Are you crazy? I’d never break tradition.”
She plunks down next to Brooke, who’s stretched out on a blanket, grabs one of the cinnamon rolls.
They’re quiet for a few moments, eating. It’s shaping up to be a brilliantly sunny day, the sort of day that would be perfect for spending hours and hours by the water. The sun is glittering off the waves now. In the distance, Peyton can see the outlines of fishermen’s boats. At the nearby pier, workers are arriving, beginning to cast their nets.
“So.” Brooke polishes off the last of her cinnamon roll, licks powdered sugar from her fingers. “Another year.”
“Another year,” Peyton echoes.
She knows that it could be worse. In Panem, things could always be worse. District Four is wealthy, due to their proximity to the sea. She’s thankful they don’t live in one of the poorer districts, where food is scare, the black market thrives, and victors in the games are slim. They aren’t District One or Two, but they’ve had winners in recent years, people who have lived to tell the tale, but are never the same when they come back. The most recent champion, from two years ago, had been a tall boy named Jake. Peyton had been good friends with him before, but now he keeps to himself, isolating himself in his new home at Victor’s Village.
“Do you think,” Brooke asks then, “that if I ah, charmed the Capitol officials, they’d remove my name from the lottery?”
Peyton just gives her a look, shakes her head.
“You’d better not. I’m not going to visit my best friend in a Capitol jail cell.”
“Oh come on, P. Sawyer.” Brooke shoves her arm. “I was joking. Trying to add some kind of humor to this horrible day.”
Peyton is tempted to say that all the humor in the world wouldn’t make this day better. She hates it. Despite the calm of the ocean, and sitting with Brooke, she won’t feel secure until the lottery is over, until she knows that her and Brooke are safe. Even then, she won’t feel completely fine. The district will be altered, someone’s life will either be over or destroyed in an entirely different way. This has been the way, every year, for as long as she can remember, and she despises it. She despises the Capitol for the games, despises them even more for what they did to her mother. As a child, her father had told her that she’d died in a boating accident. Peyton had learned the truth a few years ago—that she’d been executed by Capitol officials after they’d found out she’d been involved in a resistance movement.
In a way, Peyton almost hopes her name will be chosen, so she can get revenge on the Capitol, in some way. She’s not sure how, but sometimes at night, she sits awake, thinking. Revenge for her mother, for Jake, for all the tributes that have perished. For making her feel like this every year, making her terrified that every year could be her last one with her best friend.
“We could just run away,” Brooke says slowly. “We’ve stolen your dad’s boats before.”
For a moment, Peyton considers it. It’s true. She’s known how to sail a boat since she was five. They could take a boat, be miles and miles away by the lottery. Peyton and Brooke, Capitol Outlaws.
Where would we go, in the end?
“They’d find us,” she says, still watching the waves, not completely looking at Brooke. “They always do.”
“We’d beat them, be one step ahead,” Brooke says firmly.
Peyton turns to look at her friend then. Brooke’s eyes have a steely glint in them. People often underestimate Brooke, dismiss her as vapid and spoiled because she’s the mayor’s daughter. She’s far from it though, has a grit and resolve that emerges in the right circumstances.
“We should be getting back,” she replies, putting her arm around Brooke. “If…”
She bites her lip.
“
It’s okay, P. Sawyer.” Brooke says, the glint gone, her voice cheerful and bubbly once more. At her next statement however, it becomes slightly more sardonic—
“After all, the odds are ever in our favor.”
—
Of course, the whole town has turned out for the reaping. Peyton sits with her father, who keeps reaching out and holding her hand. She’s dressed in her best clothes—a pale blue silk dress. Nearby, Brooke is with her parents, wearing a tight red dress that prominently displays her cleavage. She’d even put on glittery gold eye makeup (a luxury now, and Peyton’s pretty sure she’s obtained it by slightly questionable means), keeps smirking at Capitol officials, that glint in her eye emerging again.
She beams and waves when she spots Peyton though, makes a heart with her hands.
—
The officials take to the stage soon enough, and make the typical long droning speeches about the glory of Panem. Then, past victors are announced. Whitey Durham, the oldest surviving champion, who carries himself with a quiet dignity, despite the horrors he’s suffered. Jake is there, staring straight ahead, unsmiling.
There’s also Dan Scott, one of the most infamous District Four winners. His victory had been over fifteen years ago, but people still discuss the Draconian methods he used to be named champion. He smirks when his name is announced, eyes cold. His sons, Lucas and Nathan, are also in the crowd today. Apparently, Nathan’s name has only been entered once, but Lucas, being Dan’s illegitimate son, and of a poorer family, has his name in the lottery over twenty times.
Then, it’s time.
—
“Ladies first,” trills one of the Capitol officials, who’s wearing one of the most ridiculous hats Peyton has ever seen. It’s electric pink, and has bright green replicas of the Eiffel Tower and the L’Arc de Triomphe nestled on the crown.
She reaches in to the bowl, pulls out a slip of paper with her pink, claw-like nails.
There’s a beat of silence. Tension builds.
“Peyton Sawyer,” the woman calls, in an even more honeyed tone.
Peyton’s heart stops. Her father is gripping her hand so tight, she’s afraid it’s going to break. Yet at the same time, this could be her chance. Her chance to avenge her mother, to—
“
I volunteer!”
Brooke is running towards the stage, her voice hysterical. She’s crying, gold eye makeup running down her face now, but—
“I volunteer!” She screams again.
Before Peyton can protest, the abominable woman from the Capitol is accepting her nomination, with “well come up here, dear!” like she’s inviting Brooke to a damn tea party, not a gladiatorial, fight to the death battle.
Peyton knows not to challenge it. She would after all, do the same thing for Brooke. At age twelve, she’d even made that vow to herself, that if Brooke’s name was ever called, she’d volunteer in her place, and she has a feeling Brooke did too.
She’s numb for the rest of the reaping, doesn’t even pay attention to the male tribute that’s called. All she notices, is that when Brooke is lead away, she’s no longer hysterical. She’s wiped off her makeup completely, and is standing tall, her face resolute. Peyton knows then that Brooke will somehow be fine, that she may be Brooke Davis, the mayor’s daughter, that loves all things material, but will also destroy anyone who tries to challenge her.
—-
A few weeks later, Brooke Davis is crowned champion of The Hunger Games.
—-
A few weeks after that, Brooke arrives back home, greeted with fanfare and parades. Peyton practically jumps into her arms when she sees her, doesn’t let go for a full five minutes.
“You’re an idiot,” she whispers to Brooke. “I thought—“
“You thought what, P. Sawyer? I told you. The odds are always in our favor.”
—
They try to go back to their normal lives, sitting on the beach and gossiping. Peyton knows better than to ask Brooke about the games. She’d seen enough on the televisions, and sometimes, a dark shadow crosses her friend’s face. The male champion, Lucas Scott, had been poisoned at her hand. She’d entered into an alliance with him, and then, discovering he was going to betray her, had slipped him berries from the woods. Suffice to say, Brooke and Peyton aren’t allowed in Karen’s bakery any longer.
All Brooke had said about the matter was that you can’t come back from something like that.
“We have to do something,” Brooke says suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” Brooke rolls her eyes. “We can’t let the Capitol win. We have to finish what other people started. Finish what your mom started.”
Peyton doesn’t say anything for a moment.
“I saw things that still give me nightmares.” Brooke’s voice is quiet. “The Capitol controls everything. It’s despicable. I knew it before, but…”
Peyton is still silent. She doesn't need Brooke to tell her it’s despicable, or that they need to finish what her mother started. She thinks of all the times she’s laid awake, trying to remember her mother, and knows she’s already made up her mind.
“I’m in.” She says, firmly.
They’ll be more careful than her mother was. Besides, unrest is growing again. There are more and more mutters of rebellion.
Brooke grins, looking truly happy for the first time she’s been home.
“P. Sawyer and B. Davis,” she announces, putting her arm around Peyton. “Partners in crime, and enemies of the Capitol.”
Peyton laughs.
“They won’t know what hit them,” she agrees, looking out at the waves.