He's back. He's back. The words reverberate in my mind, creating a constant chant of reassurance and disbelief. Could it be true? Had the Capitol allowed a life of such value, not only to me but also to the President himself to slip from their grasp? Prim's words enter my head "Katniss, I don't think President Snow will kill Peeta. If he does, he won't have anyone else you want. He won't have any way to hurt you." How had such a valuable asset been taken?
Beetee had told me the plan, full of traps and triggers. As confusing as it was, isn't the Capitol too hi-tech, too savvy to let something like this happen? It doesn't matter, Katniss, I tell myself. And it doesn't, really because all that matters is that Peeta's back. And for once the words hold truth, substance in them.
"Well come on then," Haymitch says, pulling my arm. Peeta's surrounded by a trio of doctors, examining him, injecting medicine. I am a bit upset my eyes weren't the first ones he saw. He pushes them away out of desire, desperation? Surely, both.
Suddenly my feet move faster than my brain and all I can feel is his arms, the same arms that chased away nightmares and other unspeakable horrors, the same arms keeping me together right now wrap tightly around me. An indefinite amount of time passes, time never counted nor wished to be.
When he finally lets go I register wetness on my face. Had I been crying? Certainly not, for when does the Mockingjay, the leader of our country, cry?
"You're back." Those two words are all I manage to say. A lump has risen in my throat and for some odd reason I'm determined to stare at my feet.
"Katniss," Peeta says, lifting my chin so I can look at him. It is then I realize just how thin and worn he is, how even his smile cannot hide the bags under his eyes.
Unwillingly I do. Professors, philosophers, they all say the eyes are the window to the soul. And now I realize just how true they are as I stare into his blue eyes. They hold questioning, wonder, but most of all concern. Concern for whom? With an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach I realize he's concerned about me. To be honest, wasn't that all Peeta was ever concerned about? My life, my well being. And now he's worried because I can't look him straight in the eye, he's worried because I cried.
"Are you okay?" I feel like laughing and crying all at once. Here, the boy who's been taken by the Capitol, who's had to undergo beating and God knows what, is asking me if I'm alright. Oh, the irony.
"Look who's talking," I mutter. He lets go of my chin and allows me to gaze at the floor again.
"I-I'm just happy you're alive, alright?" To my utmost surprise he laughs. I look up, startled. He pauses a moment before speaking.
"Do you know how many times they told me you were dead?" What? I shake my head no.
"Showed me clips of it too. Always different people, different places. But I knew that you couldn't die more than once, no, that was impossible." Silence hangs in the air and Peeta drifts off in thought.
"I believed it once though. One video, one clip it seemed so real. I could almost taste the blood in the air." Inwardly I shiver, imaging the kind of videos they showed him.
"That must have been horrible," I say in a small voice.
"It was. I believed that you were dead then, after seeing that video. But a small part of me always knew you were alive, out there waiting."
"Then, seeing you alive today," he laughed.
"Happy can't even describe how I was feeling." Peeta shakes his head. We're sitting on the hospital bed now, my feet swinging back and forth like a pendulum. It's quiet, but a strange sort of quiet, the one that enters when there are two people who have nothing to say to each other. What would we say anyway? Us victors, allies, lovers who have gone through so much only to be at a loss for words when they see each other again?
"How…" He pauses, trying to phrase the question correctly.
"How've you been?" he asks. I feel like laughing at the stupidity of his question. How have I been? Well, let me see… I've spent the last months having drugs injected into my arm and being Coin's slave. How's that for a nice couple of months?
Instead I inquire, "Honestly?"
"Honestly." I sigh, twiddling my thumbs as if that will delay my answer.
"Pretty crummy, to be completely honest."
"Me too," Peeta says, and I even surprise myself by smiling.
"I think most people are feeling pretty crummy by now. But they have their Mockingjay back, right?" he adds, a grin plastered on his face. Am I ready to become the Mockingjay again? To allow Coin and her cronies to use me? I'm not so sure. All I'm certain of is that the boy sitting next to me is indeed back.
"I don't know," I sigh.
"All I…all I know is that you're here." It's not like me to say things like this, not like me at all. Even in the cave most lines viewed as sappy or romantic were formulated by the vital need for sponsors. But there is no audience this time, no sponsors needed. Just me, with my lack of sure and right words, stumbling in unknown waters. But in some way I had to say what I knew was true, to affirm that he is real and is sitting next to me. To confirm that this is not some fairytale dream.
"And I always will be," Peeta promises.
"Will you be?" I ask, abruptly concerned and not convinced. If he's not, then where am I? Am I just a piece floating in the ocean someplace, misguided and used?
"Do you remember the one night you banged up your heel? I put you to sleep and right before I left you asked me to stay with you. Do you remember what I said?" he asks.
"Always," I whisper, well recalling that night.
"Always," he echoes.
"Even though you may not see me for a while, even if I die, I'll still stay with you. I'll be there," he points to my heart. I swallow hard, understanding the message.
"Now, where's the old drunk?" Peeta calls out.
I always was a bit disappointed with Katniss and Peeta's reunion in Mockingjay. To be blunt, it was not what I expected. And so, I wrote this. In my head, this would've happened. Reviews are appreciated. :]