Summary: A multi-chapter story concerning a broken Katniss at the end of Mockingjay struggling to hold onto herself, and seeking comfort in the only one left that can offer it: Peeta. Problem is, Peeta still isn't quite recovered from the horrid conditioning of the Capitol and is confused by his memories and feelings. Rated M for future dirty scenes!
It's been a bad night, the worst night in a long time since I've been returned to my home in the Seam; if you could even call it a home anymore. With so many of us gone now, the ashen state of the district itself, and the downtrodden spirit of those fighting the memories to rebuild, this place no longer evokes the old comfort of familiarity, of a people trying to scrape by together as a disjointed family. Coping quickly, pressing forward, those are things that are expected of humanity in times of crisis. But how much can a single person expect to handle? How many times must one break in their lifetime, have loved ones ripped from them prematurely, before the fragile line is snapped?
I wake up shuddering violently despite the lukewarm spring night, a noticeable sheen of sweat coating my still-new patchwork skin. I've been tossing, maybe even flailing, because the thin blanket I had curled under is haphazardly strewn on the floor. Buttercup has even retreated from his usual guard post on my windowsill, his lamp-like golden eyes peering cautiously from beneath a small desk on the right side of the room.
"Traitor," I manage to choke out as I sit up and rest my head in my shaking hands. My fingertips notice a damp residue of tears has trickled down the sides of my cheeks and I struggle to recall the nightmare that woke me. My mind is imageless, which is a strange first for me, but nothing can shake the intense feeling of terror and heartbreaking sorrow that fills me. Even as I sit cross-legged and mostly awakened on my bed, I'm choking back sobs with no just cause. It's nights like these that are the hardest to cope with living on my own.
I manage to drag myself to the bathroom, refusing to look into the mirror but splashing my face with cool water. Leaning back against the wall with a towel held shakily to my face, the sobs refuse to quell and I slip to the floor in a pathetic heap, shivering and letting my mind flood with these terrifying emotions.
Dr. Aurelius warned me about these nights, that after experiencing so much loss and witnessing the cruelties of warfare for so long, nightmares would surely manifest. Hell, I've been having nightmares since my father died, but since my involvement with the first Games they've only been multiplying in severity. It was more manageable in the hospital, administering drugs as necessary to help me cope with the memories, the new skin steadily healing over my old burn scars. But I can't be hospitalized forever, and once I made a sufficient clinical improvement they transported me back here to 12 under the impression that he would continue treating me from home.
But I was merely numbed in the hospital, the drugs and the escape of the memories left me blind to the possibilities of the nightmares returning with such a vengeance, leaving me effectively incapacitated and unable to sufficiently recover. But what do I do now that my brokenness has escalated into this... hysteria? This utter weakness that's hit me so hard that I can barely cope with a simple routine in a warless life. What I have truly become in comparison to what I once was is so utterly depressing I can barely comprehend it at my best moments these days.
Comfort. Security. What's left to offer such precious feelings anymore? My father's hunting jacket is hung on the coat rack downstairs by the door. I picture it in my mind and I'm crawling for the stairs now in a delirium of terror, recalling how I wore it the first few nights I came back to 12. Once I reach the ground floor, I shudder at the change in temperature. Greasy Sae must've only left an hour or so ago because the embers in the fireplace are still crackling heat into the room, and the moon hasn't risen very high in the sky yet. Using the railing I'm able to walk my way slowly over to the garment and I drape myself in the leathery, woodsy smell of it before slipping into a chair by the fire. Curling my legs up into the seat, I attempt a full breath and hiccup slightly, wrapping my arms around my knees and rocking gently there as a fresh bath of tears roll off my cheeks. The feelings from the nightmare are culled by maybe a fifth of their initial intensity, only enough to control the heaving sobs that wracked my body upstairs. But the tears continue to fall and I'm only whimpering softly to myself now, trying to think of some other way to cope with these emotions.
I look into the fireplace embers absently and notice from the corner of my eye a light in the house next door. Not Haymitch's house, but Peeta's. The thought of Peeta these days brings mixed emotions. Our oldest memories are vivid enough still, for me. But his enormous setback with the tracker jacker venom has all but destroyed any hope for us to ever return to the sort of relationship we once had. He's surely made an improvement from the bloodthirsty hate he initially felt, but it just hasn't ever felt right since his capture by the Capitol.
Even still, the memories of the cave in the first Games, the Victory Tour when I would allow him to share my bed, all of it floods my distraught mind. Does he remember these things after all the Capitol's hateful conditioning? The security of sleeping next to Peeta was some unthinkable luxury back in those times, something I couldn't remember feeling since my family was whole. The mere thought of curling up beneath his protective arms brings on a whole new wave of tears and a threatening hiccup deep within my chest, but only from the thought of possible relief, however temporary, from this seemingly never ending pain.
It's then that I feel my body standing on its own and reaching for the door. The movements are fueled by some desire deep within, a desire of self-preservation that I have to attempt no matter how much in my heart I feel it will fail.