lennon greer ; twelve [1st games]

"There's a chance I won't come back."

"Then why are you going?"

Though she'd promised herself it wouldn't happen, she couldn't help the tear that crept across her cheek as she wrapped her hands into his shirt and pulled him closer to her. She knew the answer, and she hated that how practical it sounded on his lips. But he didn't speak. He just tried to hide the pain in his eyes, the obvious don't you think I'd like to stay safe? Stay here with you? that had plagued their every conversation for the past few days.

"No one would blame you if you stayed."

"I would."

He caught her hand in his own, brought it to his lips.

"Let's just do it now. Before I have to go."

The ring on her finger grew heavy and her breath caught in her throat.

"Wh- now? Here?"

"Why not?"

He kissed her forehead and a million emotions played themselves over within her. Seventeen and married. The daughter of the mayor, for ripred's sake. She was sure people would've already had their fill of gossip because of her as it were, if not for the war. But that was just the thing. They lived in a world where a trip to the market may have turned in to surviving a pack of dart jaguars. They lived in a world where the birds may well have been a plague of plagas, ready to pluck them free of their soft bits. A world where bodies were buried in piles because there weren't enough people to dig holes. Everything was horrible, and dark, and scary, and Len didn't want to apologize for the bit of happiness she'd found in Drew.

"Fair enough."

Even through the war, Mayor Barton Cole's house remained a home. Even as the bricks were overtaken by ivy and weeds. Even as it became necessary to bar the windows on the upper floors and completely board up those on the bottom, and new locks were added weekly to the doors. When they were inside, the Coles were nothing more than a family. There was a lot they didn't talk too much about: the precarious position Barton was in at work, the fact that Lennon's husband hadn't ever returned from his first battle, or the fact that Mrs. Cole was starting to forget things more often. They chose to focus on the positive. That Len's baby was healthy and happy pardon the teething, that they still had each other, that in that moment, they were safe.

On the colder days, smoke wafted from their chimney and, on occasion, the aroma of Mrs. Cole's baked goods was mouth watering. Candles burned in the windowsills at night, and if one were to listen very, very closely, they may have even been able to hear pieces of conversation within.

Len was a princess in a castle, supposedly immune to the harsh dangers of the world that ravaged the streets all around her. And it was true, she never had to fight for what she wanted; it usually had a way of coming to her easily enough on its own. And that was what her parents were content to believe: that she should be grateful for her status, grateful that she'd been one of the fortunate few. And she was, but it didn't mean there was no pain. It didn't mean there was no loss.

Still, over a year later, there wasn't a day she went without thinking of him. She missed him so much, and she knew she was only one of thousands who wept for the dead, but that did nothing to subdue her pain. Drew's death was her loss, and she'd been the only person he had left. The task of ensuring he was remembered lied completely on her frail, workless shoulders.

So, during the day she played her part. She participated in board games and laughed with her mother and listened to her father's stories of old. She made sure little Drew was fed and bathed and cared for. But at night, she cried. And she stared out of those barred windows, and willed him to return to her. Night after night she waited, and he never came. But she never gave up hope.

And it was quiet the day she heard the front gate open.

She looked up from the hand of cards she held, making eye contact with her father, then her mother. They didn't have many visitors. In fact, those days, they never had visitors. Her stomach was already in knots by the time she made it to the front door, Little Drew in her hands. Maybe, she thought, trying to keep her expression as even as possible, Maybe today is the day he returns to me.

A quick glance out of the window, however, was all she needed. There were several of them, all with starched white uniforms and guns at the ready. Peacekeepers.

"Dad-"

Before she was able to give anymore warning, the front door was reduced to splinters in a thunderous applause of sound. Len stumbled backwards, away from the door, as quickly as she could. She burst up the stairs as the peacekeepers filed into the home with their weapons aimed to kill.

"Where is she?!" a man's voice screamed. The anger she detected was enough to send chills down her spine, but it wasn't enough to stop her. She reached the door to the attic and didn't stop. By the time she reached the top of the stairs her breathing was labored and her heart pounded against her chest. Little Drew was beginning to whimper and she tried to keep him calm while simultaneously searching for a place to hide.

The window was the first thing to catch her attention; it was the same window Drew used to sneak through. Were she alone, or maybe if she had more time, she could've made her way through it, climbed down the apple tree that waited on the other side just like he always had. But even if she'd been able to get the bars off, there was no way she would have been able to climb down with the baby in her arms.

There was an old wardrobe in the corner, filled with dresses her mother could no longer fit into. Because of the lack of time and options, she decided it would have to do. She climbed inside and closed the door behind her, terrified to even breathe. It wasn't long before she heard them coming up the stairs.

"Sh, sh, sh," she whispered. She stuck her finger in Drew's mouth just to keep him from crying. Every second, every beat of her heart, seemed to stretch on for miles when they entered the room. The fear in her was enough to make her want to scream, and the adrenaline pumping through her veins told her to run. Or to fight. To do something other than sit there and wait for them to find her, but she didn't. Against that tiny little piece of her that still existed from the days of predator and prey, she stayed in place and hoped for a miracle.

Through a crack in the wardrobe, she watched them. Two of them, both men. Both tall and broad shouldered, both about forty. They ripped sheets apart trying to uncover things, flung tables across the room. Anything that she may have been hiding behind, or under, or within, until one of them came to a stop in front of the wardrobe. It was too big for him to break, and it was built into the wall so he couldn't simply knock it over. He would have to open it.

In the final moments, Len's hand searched for anything she could use as a weapon. Her fingers closed around a stilhetto just as the doors swung open, and she wasted no time bursting forth and jabbing the heel deep into the man's leg.

"Gah!" he screamed, tumbling over. She tried to make a break for the exit, but the other one caught her and slung her against the wall. Little Drew began to cry as the man grabbed at him and tried to pull him away from her.

"No! No!"

"Watson!" the man called, "Get over here now!!"

The other man stumbled over, gritting his teeth as he pried mother away from child.

"Please! Please!"

She groaned from effort until Watson, the one she'd just stabbed, grew impatient. His elbow connected with her left temple and sent her crashing to the ground in a heap.

She blinked at the suddenly blurry world around her. The men were talking, she thought, though it sounded far away. Like she was listening to them through a wall. She was aware that the one who'd elbowed her was now holding Little Drew, that he was carrying him out of the room as other peacekeepers ascended the stairs. She was aware that she wanted it to stop but she couldn't physically make herself do anything.

"My baby..." she said, speech slurred and tired. A few of them hefted her up onto her feet and the last thing she remembered before fainting was seeing was that window, and though she couldn't help herself, she swore she saw him standing on the other side of it.