It's been forever since I wrote fan fiction, but reading the Hunger Games books made me go return to the dark side! In fact, I haven't officially even finished reading Mockingjay, just browsed through the last pages (I'm very, very bad!), so if I write something that's slightly AU, that' s probably why. At this rate I'll finish the book in a day or two, though, so hopefully it won't be too bad.
This story takes place at the very end of Mockingjay, just before the epilogue. There is obviously a story waiting to be told there. I just wanted to do my own take on how Peeta and Katniss grow back together after everything they've been through.
The rating could very well go up in later chapters, we'll see.
I love reviews!
How do you mend someone who's broken?
I don't know.
How, then, do you mend two?
We cling to each other every night. Sometimes we get some sleep, other nights are too filled with nightmares, mine or his or both. This night is one of them. The nightmares are his this time. I know I'm in them, because he keeps screaming my name. He usually does. I've tried to make him tell me about the nightmares, hoping it will help chase the shadows away – but he refuses to talk about them. Am I a threat in his dreams, or am I the one being threatened?
I think I have my answer without being told.
One of the first nights we shared a bed after his return from the Capitol, he nearly killed me. I tried to wake him from his nightmare, and I suddenly found myself being pinned to the bed, Peeta sitting on top of me, choking me. His eyes were glazed over, foggy, distant. My hands pinned down, unable to scream for help, I tried kicking him in the back, finding enough strength and oxygen for just a few failed attempts before I started fading away.
When I came to a few minutes later, gasping for air, my throat raw and hurting, Peeta was sitting in the shower, crying, naked. I stumbled into the bathroom, following the sound of the running shower, too hazy from my recent unconsciousness to consider perhaps running for help instead of going after him, considering he'd just nearly killed me. I sank down on my knees next to him, holding him, crying with him.
We sat there in the shower all night.
After, it took three days before he agreed to share a bed with me again. We both knew we couldn't stay apart, neither of us could get any sleep alone. I could tell he was terrified of hurting me again, but never has. Is that progress? I don't know what else to call it.
His body is slick from sweat, thrashing around between the tangled sheets. "Peeta! Peeta!" As he opens is eyes, for a split second I see the wild fear and aggression from that night not so long ago. But then he sees me, really sees me – and then closes his eyes, and clings to me, crushing me so hard to him it hurts. I have bruises all over my body from these nights, but I hold on to him.
I know he has bruises and scratches from holding me through my nightmares, too.
After a while, I manage to make him lie down on his back, stroking his hear, his bare chest, whispering comforting words into his ear. I lie down with my head on his chest, hearing his heart rate slow down gradually.
When his heart rate is finally nearly down to normal, after what seems like forever, he raises his hand to my face, gently lifting my chin up to meet his eyes.
"Thanks, Katniss", he whispers.
"You're welcome."
We don't talk the rest of the night. There's nothing to say. We don't sleep, either. We just cling to each other, trying to hang on. We're broken. And this is the only way to survive that we know of.
