imperfect fit ; an everlark au based off of 'the selection' series

f o r t y - o n e

As I emerge from the stairwell that had ushered me to safety the night before, it's all too apparent that the Southerners had been here. In the short hallway that leads to my room, there's a pile of debris I climb over to get to my door.

Typically, the worst of the mess is gone by the time we're released from the safe room. This time, however, it looks like there had been too much for the staff to get to, and we would have been down there all day. Still, I wish they'd tried a little harder. I spy a group of maids scrubbing away at the giant letters on the far wall.

WE'RE COMING

The line repeats down the hall, sometimes written in mud, other times in paint and one appears to be done in blood. Chills run through me.

As I stand there, my maids dash up to me. "Miss, are you alright?" Tig asks.

I'm startled by their sudden appearance. "Um, yes. Fine." I look back at the words on the wall.

"Come away, miss. We'll get you ready," Stacy insists.

I follow obediently, slightly stunned from everything I saw and too confused to do anything else. They work deliberately, the way they do when they trie to soothe me with the routine of getting dressed. Something about their steady hands- even Annie's- is calming.

By the time I'm ready, Effie comes to escort me outside, where we will be apparently working this morning. The smashed glass and chilling graffiti are easy to forget once I'm out in the sun. Even Peeta and the king are standing at a table with advisors, reviewing piles of documents and making decisions.

Under a tent, the queen reads over papers, pointing out details to a nearby maid. Near her, Esim, Glimmer, and Nina sit at a table discussing plans for their reception. They are so engrossed, it looks like they'd completely forgotten about the rough night.

Delly and I sit on the opposite side of the lawn, under a similar tent, but our work goes slowly. I'm having a hard time getting the image of her and Peeta having a moment out of my head. I watch as she underlines sections in the papers Effie gave us and scribbles notes in the margin.

"I think I might have figured out how to do our flowers," she comments without looking up.

"Oh. Good."

I let my eyes wander over to Peeta. He's trying to look busier than he is. Anyone really watching can see how the queen, who he's now talking to, tries to ignore his comments. I don't understand that. If the queen is worried about Peeta being a good leader, the thing to do is truly instruct him, not keep him from doing anything because she worries her son will make a mistake.

Peeta shuffles some papers and looks up. He catches my eye and waves. As I go to raise my hand, I see Delly enthusiastically wave back from the corner of my eye. I focus on the papers again, fighting a blush.

"Isn't he handsome?" Delly asks.

"Sure."

"I keep imagining how children would look with his hair and my eyes."

"How's your ankle?"

"Oh," she says with a sigh. "It hurts a little, but Doctor Aurelius says I'll be fine by the reception."

"That's good," I say, finally looking up at her. "Wouldn't want you hobbling around when the Italians come." I try to sound friendly, but I can tell she's questioning my tone.

She opens her mouth to speak but then quickly looks away. I follow her gaze and see that Peeta is heading over to the refreshment table the butlers had set up for us.