Author's Note: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! They are greatly, greatly appreciated. Feel free to include constructive criticism and/or suggestions as well! I'm always open to new ideas. :) I'm super busy right now, but am working on Chapter 2 as we speak, so that should be up sometime in the next week.
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It is the old Katniss's favorite kind of day. Early spring. The woods awakening after the long winter. But the spurt of energy that began with the primroses fades away. By the time I make it back to the fence, I'm so sick and dizzy, Thom has to give me a ride home in the dead people's cart. Help me to the sofa in the living room, where I watch the dust motes spin in the thin shafts of the afternoon light.
My head snaps around at the hiss, but it takes awhile to believe he's real. How could he have gotten here? I take in the claw marks from some wild animal, the back paw he holds slightly above the ground, the prominent bones in his face. He's come on foot, then, all the way from 13. Maybe they kicked him out or maybe he just couldn't stand it there without her, so he came looking.
"It was the waste of a trip. She's not here," I tell him. Buttercup hisses again. "She's not here. You can hiss all you like. You won't find Prim." At her name, he perks up. Raises his flattened ears. Begins to meow hopefully. "Get out!" He dodges the pillow I throw at him. "Go away! There's nothing left for you here!" I start to shake, furious with him. "She's not coming back! She's never ever coming back here again!" I grab another pillow and get to my feet to improve my aim. Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. "She's dead." I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. "She dead, you stupid cat. She's dead." A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair.
Buttercup begins to wail as well. No matter what I do, he won't go. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious. But he must understand. He must know the unthinkable has happened and to survive will require previously unthinkable acts. Because hours later, when I come to in my bed, he's there in the moonlight. Crouched beside me, yellow eyes alert, guarding me from the night.
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It takes me a minute to realize that Buttercup isn't the only visitor in my bedroom. Someone else is there too. A large form slouched in the easy chair by the window. I scream, groping blindly for a weapon, certain that one of Coin's flunkies has shown up to finish me off, when suddenly the form bolts to its feet and I realize it's Peeta.
He knocks the chair over, stumbles, and careens into my desk, sending a lamp crashing to the floor. "Katniss! What's happening? Where are you? Katniss!" I've got my mouth open, about to lay into into him for scaring me so badly, when I realize how truly panicked he is. I must have woken him with my scream. The whole scene might be downright comic if you didn't know why we were both so high-strung.
"Peeta, it's ok," I tell him, keeping my voice as steady and soothing as possible, considering that my own heart is still racing. "It's ok, we're safe. We're in 12. I'm here."
He turns toward me, relaxing a little at the sound of my voice but still disoriented in the gloom. "Katniss?"
I reach a hand out for his and he grasps it like a lifeline. "Here, Peeta. I'm right here." I lead him to the bed, swinging my own legs over the edge to sit beside him as his breathing slows and his eyes adjust to the dark.
"Why are you in my bedroom?" I ask, when he finally seems to know where he is again.
"I came over after dinner to bring you some cookies and see what you thought of the flowers. But you were asleep on the floor in the living room, so I carried you upstairs. You were thrashing around a lot, and I thought I'd sit with you awhile. Make sure you were all right. I guess I fell asleep. I'm sorry I scared you." He doesn't look at me while he speaks.
My stomach twists. There was a time when Peeta wouldn't have thought twice about climbing in beside me to quiet my nightmares. Still, he carried me to bed. It's something. "It's ok.," I tell him. "I just didn't know who you were, at first."
He chuckles softly, without much humor. "I knew exactly who you were. I'd know that scream anywhere. I just didn't know where. I thought..." He trails off, but he knows he doesn't need to say what comes next. We both know what he thought. He thought we were back in the arena.
I don't have anything to say to that, so we just sit quietly for a while. Side by side in the dark. Finally, when the silence stretches on too long, I say, "Buttercup came home today." I glance around, but the cat has disappeared. Probably hightailed it when the screaming started, the chicken.
"I saw him," Peeta says. "He was laying at your feet when I found you on the floor. Took a swipe at me when I picked you up."
I don't know if it's the idea that this crotchety cat and I are all each other have left in the world, or if it's the suspicion that Buttercup is looking out for me now because he knows it's what Prim would have wanted, or what, but this does me in. I break down into helpless, keening sobs. "She's gone, Peeta. She's gone. It was all for nothing. I volunteered to keep her safe, and she's gone. They're all gone."
Because it's not just Prim. No, having only one death on my head would be too easy. There is also funny, smiling Darius, who stepped in to save Gale. Sweet old Mags, who volunteered for Annie and then gave her life for me and Peeta. Wonderful Cinna, whose faith in me gave the strength I needed to go on. Brave, beautiful Finnick, who suffered so much, and who was a true friend when I needed one most. Boggs, who used his dying breath to help me. Jackson, Homes, Messalla, Castor, and the Leegs, who followed me into hell. Peeta's own family. And more. So many more. The evidence lies all around us in the decimated remains of our district. Yes, Snow is dead. The Capitol overthrown. The Hunger Games no more. But at what price?
Peeta turns and wraps me in his arms, but I thrash against him, beating my fists against his chest so hard I know it must hurt. "Why did you stop me? Why didn't you let me die? There's nothing left for me now. They've taken everything. You should have just let me die." I know it's probably cruel, saying I have nothing left when he's here with his arms around me. Reminding him of everything he's lost. Of everything he's suffered on my account. But I'm in too much pain to care.
He just pulls me closer and leans down to rest his head against mine, allowing me to work my anger and grief out against his broad chest. Slowly, this burst of hysterical energy starts to fade, and I feel myself beginning to slump in his arms. As my eyelids begin to close, he lays me gently back down on the bed and pulls a blanket over me.
I am drifting back into blessed oblivion when he leans over and places a gentle kiss near my temple. "I'm sorry," he whispers into my hair. It's so soft I'm not sure he even means me to hear it. "I'm sorry, Katniss. I couldn't. If you died, I wouldn't have anything left either." Then I feel his weight leave the bed. His footsteps cross the floor, and he's gone.