savior
"I'm afraid, Katniss."
Through the fatigue and grog, Katniss is somehow able to recognize a familiar warmth slide in against her. She groans softly and wipes at her eyes, trying to make sense of the crying child at her side. "Prim?" Her voice is hoarse, laced with exhaustion. "Prim, what's wrong?"
Prim, the small mass hiding beneath blankets (curled up in a way that makes Katniss think she is escaping much more than the night's chill), gives a shuddery sob just as diminutive as herself. Katniss sighs; she does not need to know why her sister is crying. Of course, there is no other explanation than the Games.
"It's okay, Prim," she says, the worst of lies she can offer. She smoothes back Prim's hair, stroking it methodically, and hums a little. Sleep dares take her away, but her sister's tiny cries keep hold on consciousness. "Come here." Her arms wrap around the small girl, envelop her almost completely. Prim is so little, so, so little.
Katniss feels like her guardian, her sole protector. Somewhere, she feels even more than that, almost as though she is needed by Prim in a way neither she nor the child can explain; and likewise, she needs Prim, too. She needs Prim so badly she can feel it in her bones, rattling her existence, drawing her forward.
"Shh, it's okay, now," she whispers, her breath warm against the top of Prim's head. She needs her with a fire that one could not possibly extinguish, needs her now and forever and she will never let go of this –
"Katniss, you're hurting me a little…"
Katniss relaxes her hold on Prim a bit, surprised that she had been gripping the girl so. "I'm sorry." Her voice is shaky and confused, almost tentative as it breaks the silence of the room. She wants to apologize a million times for causing harm to her little one, her precious little Prim.
She stares out into the darkness and wonders if her heartbeat will ever slow with Prim nestled up to her like this. She wonders if she will ever gain a wink of sleep while the notion of this having deeper meaning than it should burning at her mind, gnawing away until she becomes insane.
And yet, through it all she feels like a savior, albeit one with too much love to offer - caressing a bit too fondly, speaking slightly too endearing, but in the end it is much better than never loving, caressing or speaking at all.
