A/N: Hey:) I was kinda bored and…this one-shot came to me and I needed to write it.
This is the scene from the first book on the roof in Peeta's POV. I just…always loved this scene. It's my favorite.
Waring: 1) English is not my mother tongue, so I'm sure here are a few grammar and spelling errors.
2) This is not a bunch of fluffy thoughts about Katniss. Just wanted to say that:)
Soo…I've never read one of those before, so any similarities are pure coincidence.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.
After I had talked to Portia I went to my room. Climbed into bed. Only to realize there was no way I would be able to find sleep tonight.
That's how I ended up here, on the roof. The wind is ruffling my hair and cooling me. I see the people on the streets. They are celebrating. Celebrating that they are about to see a bloody slaughter tomorrow. That they are going to see the main event of the year. The Hunger Games. They are going to see the tributes die.
I smile, a smile without any humor. How fitting to call them tributes. A tribute describes something given to someone. That's what they are. Children given to the Capitol.
I think of the tributes as 'them', yes. Not as 'us'. Even though I am a tribute myself. Technically. But I refuse to see myself as a real tribute. I'm not a gift. I won't give myself to them. I'm a human being, a man, someone with a mind, someone with feelings.
The light is radiating from the city below me. Not only from the buildings but from the people, too. It seems as though something is wrong with those light. It's as if they are too gaudy. Too gaudy to be real. They're human made. Fake.
Just like they want the tributes to be. They are nature made as long as they live in the districts, as long as they belong to themselves.
But as soon as they are picked from the reaping ball they don't belong to themselves anymore. They, their lives, belong to the Capitol. To another human being. Another human being that wants them to become a monster, a killing machine. Not what they really are.
And that's what I don't want. Why I am not a real tribute. I won't let them turn me into something else.
"You should be getting some sleep."
I'm startled to hear her voice. She really is quiet when she walks. I haven't heard her arriving.
Even though I know she's standing right behind me, I don't turn around. Why should I? I know who she is and she knows who I am. She won't do anything to me. Not yet.
"I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all." That's not really true, but I decide to tell her that. She knows the real reason anyway.
"Are they in costumes?" I squint to make them out. I haven't really paid attention to that. Not that it matters.
"Who could tell? With all the crazy clothes they wear here. Couldn't sleep either?" I decide to stop the small talk about the Capitol. I don't want to talk about those people. They disgust me.
"Couldn't turn my mind off." Yeah, I know that feeling. I'm sure every tribute in this training center does.
"Thinking about your family?" That is the most important thing to her. I know it. That's why she volunteered for her sister. That's one of the things that makes me love her. It would only make sense if she was thinking about them now.
"No". It surprises me, but I don't let it show. I hear guilt in her voice. Only a trace of it, but it's there. I don't know why though. What thought could make her feel guilty? "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course."
I look at her, for the first time. The light shows me her face. Her gray eyes. I see worry in them. And fear. She fears tomorrow, what it brings. The Games. Just as I do.
"I really am sorry about your hands." She tells me. My hands. Bandaged, because she shoved me into that urn. I had forgotten about them.
"It doesn't matter, Katniss. I've never been a contender in these games anyway."
That's true. Even if I wasn't here with her and about to sacrifice myself for her, even if my surviving didn't mean her death, I wouldn't stand a chance. Not with my attitude.
"That's no way to be thinking." She doesn't know what I'm thinking, she doesn't know I don't care about surviving. She doesn't know what I really care about.
"Why not? It's true. My best hope is not disgrace myself and…" I trail off. How does one say this? How can I make her understand?
"And what?" She urges me to go on. And I want to tell her. I want her to know what I think. So that maybe, someday, she will understand. That she remembers me and what I believe. What is right.
"I don't know how to say it exactly. Only…I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" From the confusion her face shows I can tell it doesn't. Not to her, at least.
So I decide to explain a bit better. "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not."
Yes, those are the words. I don't want to end up being a killing machine, like the tribute from District two. In a way, this boy has always been owned by the Capitol. His district made him train for their Games. They made him want to be a tribute.
"Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" That's a question I asked myself when my name was picked. But as soon as I did, I also knew the answer.
"No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight."
But that's not everything I know.
"Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to…to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games."
Yes. There must be a way. One way is to protect Katniss, to sacrifice myself for her. The other way is the way I can't seem to find.
Is it thinking in a special way? Is it doing something small? Something great? Something that will change their mind? Is it unity? Unity between human beings, children, forced to kill each other? What can I do to show them I don't play their rules? So that maybe they remember me and start thinking.
"But you're not. None of us are. That's how the Games work." Practically, she's right. But…
"Ok, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me. Don't you see?" She doesn't understand. Maybe I shouldn't even have told her. But…she has to understand. Someday. Just because someone must know. Someone must tell others.
"A little. Only…no offense, but who cares, Peeta?"
"I do. I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" It's making me angry. She, how she doesn't understand. Doesn't understand there's nothing else left to care about. That she will be a piece in their Games if she doesn't.
My eyes are locked with hers, demanding answer, waiting to see if she can give one to me.
But I know she doesn't when she steps back. "Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive."
Only that I don't want to stay alive. I smile at her, sad, mocking. Mocking because she uses Haymitch's words. Meant for her.
"Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart."
It hurts her, I see it, but what does it matter now? It's probably better. If she hates me, she won't mourn me. My death won't hurt her.
"Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve." Makes two of us.
"Wouldn't surprise me if you do. Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"
I don't really mean those words. It's anger that makes me say them. Not at her, not really. It's at the Capitol. But she's here and she and her clouded view upset me. How can't she see?
"Count on it." Are her last words before she storms off.
I stare after her. Katniss Everdeen. The girl on fire. The girl that will win the 74th Hunger Games. The girl that will understand some day. The girl that has to understand some day. Understand and tell other people. So that maybe, some day, she can be free from the Capitol and away from any harm.
Free. Safe. And happy.
Ok...I hope I didn't screw up. Peeta's POV is really hard to write. Yeah, I hope he's in-character...
Thanks for reading and reviews are greatly appreciated:D