I stayed in my room after Katniss confessed her façade in the Games to me, unwilling to speak to anyone. Most of the day I spent lying in bed, my arms behind my head as I stared blankly at the ceiling. I wanted to get up, but the luxurious solitude of my cabin reminded me of my room in the training center where, as our interviews progressed, I could still imagine that Katniss was actually interested in me. I closed my eyes and listened to the wind beating against the windows, thinking of how we must be approaching home, even though it was only midday yesterday when I watched the colorful peaks of the shining Capitol buildings disappear behind the mountain summit.
Effie confirmed my suspicions with a series of rapid knocks on the door, her sharp voice entering before I could bother to rise. "Peeta," she chirped. It was amazing; I never knew you could hear a fake smile. "We will be arriving in District 12 shortly and—oh," she paused, seemingly startled by my opening the door, and smoothed her skirt as if she weren't already perfectly presentable. Her eyes glanced over me, evaluating my attire, and a frown flickered across her face for a second, but she decided against whatever comment she was planning to make. "We will be arriving in about twenty minutes, so please join us to prepare for your homecoming."
"Of course," I nod, "I'll find some appropriate clothing."
She smiles enthusiastically and raises a manicured hand to adjust her wig. "We'll see—"
"Thanks for the warning," I say and close the door slowly, glad to think that I might soon be free of her for, at least, several months. Unfortunately, now, I need to join her with Katniss and Haymitch and I can't think of any people I want to see less. The knowledge that we're preparing to face more cameras, to continue this illusion of Katniss and I, is just a bonus bout of torture before they have new tributes for next year's Games.
A few minutes later, I silently step into their meeting room, and everyone looks at me with uncomfortable silence. Katniss sits with her legs pressed against her chest, her arms wrapped around them to protect herself; from this conversation, this company, this world, I don't know. For a moment, my resolve to be distant dissolves, and I want to reach for her hand again, but the look in her eyes tell me she is a world away, and she was only mine for show.
"Well then," Effie interrupts the heavy silence, and I do my best to pay attention to her. Beside me, Katniss sits, her expression unwavering through Effie's lecture. Effie rattles off her Capitol-required instructions, and then Haymitch began his instructions, but I can hardly distract myself from the thoughts of him communicating with Katniss, of their grand manipulation.
"I think," Haymitch mutters, hefting himself up from the couch, "that we've lost our audience, Miss Trinket." She looks at him, lips pursed with the desire to show contempt, but the instant Haymitch touches her arm she jumps up, smoothing her clothing once again as if District 12 were contagious, and the two of them proceeded out of the car, leaving Katniss and I alone, probably for the first time ever.
I turn my head away from her, but I'm not sure where to look. Uneasiness courses through me as if I'm sitting in a room I'm prohibited to enter. The train begins to slow as we enter the district; we're only a few minutes from the station now. "Peeta" Katniss breathes, and I turn my face to her before even consciously considering any other response. Instantly her grey eyes transfix mine, and my mind struggles to regain control.
I want to tell her that I understand, explain to her that I know what her behavior meant, why she did. I want to thank her for saving both us, of tell her that I forgive her. That I expect nothing more when the time comes for the cameras to leave District 12. "Maybe we should again," I turn my hand over, not quite reaching her, "just for our victorious reunion," is all I manage.
Her eyes glance at my hand, and she has this look like she meant to say something to me and my faltering sentence seems to have made her forget what it was. "I—" she starts, her fingers delicately touching my exposed wrist, but she gives up on the sentence and then her lips are pressing against mine. I want to question her, I know that there will never be an opportunity to discuss this, but all the same there is nothing worth interrupting this to ask. I wrap my arms her to pull her against my chest, her legs falling away from her own chest so I feel the warm of her small body against mine. I smile against her lips as the train pulls to a stop, and, as a result, we pull apart. The roar of our district welcoming us home echoes through the compartments and reminds us of the outside world.
Katniss said nothing more when she withdrew, and I straightened up, both of us preparing to debark the train. I held my hand out again and she squeezed it gently before lacing her fingers through mine. The doors slid open and we stepped onto the platform, the picture of teamwork we had presented ourselves to be in the Capitol's parade. Smiles plastered on our faces, we raised our clasped hands in victory, blinded by the storm of cameras and deafened by the thunderous applause.
