Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games and do not wish to make any sort of profit from this story. I only wish that it is enjoyed by other fans of the book who seek plausible outcomes for the post story closure to Peeta and Katniss' relationship. 1) How Gale re-enters her life, 2) who her mother's confessions, 3) Peeta's fate, 4) and an obscure character, a prominent figure from Panem who played a major role in the rebellion is revealed.
Drowning
I swim up to the surface, with breath held, every muscle in my body aching, burning from exertion. The light is a blur obscured by my liquid surrounding. My lungs are about to burst from the pressure, so I exhale to release what air is left within me, and I let out a scream that remains muffled as I ascend towards the sun's undulating rays. I break to the surface and gasp for air only to find that I can't suck any back into my lungs. Then suddenly darkness again overshadows me. I fight, but it has my arms. I swing my head violently from side to side to try and break free. In the darkness, I feel my end will finally be in a watery grave. Soon, I am immobilized by something I can't see holding my head still, as I sink down into the abyss. I open my mouth to take in the water to quicken my fate, but it is met instead with such a tender sensation—soft yet warm and tastes of, it tastes of chocolate? It breathed into me, and breathed into me again with such a heat, I am instantly awakened from the nightmare I was sure was going to take me this time.
I find Peeta's lips on mine, and the only water that I was immersed in were profuse trails of tears that dripped into my hair every time I heaved. My very own sobbing became audible to me, my hands tightly clutching Peeta's started to ache, yet his kisses worked wonders on my wrought muscles.
Soon I was back in our room, the night quiet, and rescued once again the very same way I rescued him the day we changed the course of Panem in the tunnel, the day I wished never had to happen the way it did. Although a new order would emerge, my very reason for my fight for survival all those years, the reason I became a victor was blown apart into nothing before my eyes. She meant everything to me, my little sister, and now I am haunted by a deep vacuous hole which Peeta constantly has to haul me out of. I have found in Peeta to be the only one who can bring the promise of a new future with such compelling proof in his positive outlook on life despite so much loss that I grasp it under the wings of his tender embrace. It's ironic that I never really took flight as the Mockingjay. With him, holding him, I feel I can see the world from above the ground and be in a place where nothing can touch me. I fear ever letting go. So I do what I have to do to feel alive again
I am immediately stirred by his sodden kisses, dousing me, hoping this time it will smother smoke-clouded memories of the nightmare. Peeta knows it's a gamble with the outcome of his intimate efforts, but welcomes whatever my response may be. I may be lulled back into calmness and he'll simply keep me in a tight cuddle. But tonight the ravenous hunger has reemerged as I meet his kisses with urgent cravings to taste his salty, sweetness, and the fading flavor of the last beverage he consumed tonight—his favorite cup of hot chocolate to close a rainy evening—to grease my lips with, to acquire the flavor of his palette with mine. He obliges me allowing me to feast on him in the dark. I take in his musky smell, on my lips and scarred skin.
When his muscles begin to grow taut from having to restrain his responding desire to subdue me, it only enflames my insides, and I go into a frenzy. I have him, and he has me in a way that keeps me yearning with the assured expectation of fulfillment then ultimately, insatiability. In the throes of passion, it's only he and I who exist in this twilight world, connecting in all levels and realms of consciousness.
The sun rises and lights up our room. We're still awake from building up our energy reserves from the arduous activity that took us into the wee morning, hours earlier. Just as I imagined, I now get to bask in his manly aroma getting a whiff of his blond hair that is still damp from perspiration.
"You want to talk about your dream?" he asked in the safety of the light that surrounds us and which has illuminated the pensive expression on my face.
"I was drowning again," I say as I'm swept with tides of conflicting emotions brought on by memories of the last arena, my secret pond, and Johanna. Then I realized something.
"What is it?" Peeta asked noticing my revelation in my gray eyes.
"Do you think the reason I'm afraid—in my nightmares, I mean—is because I still have loved ones to lose?" I ask, recalling what Johanna said to me in the arena.
He sighs and turns on his back looking up at our ceiling. I know he's thinking of his family.
Then he answers, "I think what's important is that we don't think about what could be lost, but focus on every moment of giving all you can to the ones you love."
He turns to look at me and continues, as he caresses my chin, "If I allow myself a second to think about losing you, life wouldn't have purpose or meaning anymore. You're a constant fixture in my mind, and you're here in the flesh. So why should I waste my time worrying when I can enjoy it." We chuckle at the literal context, and entwine our legs together under the sheets.
"You're not afraid Katniss. You're aware. Too aware, and that's from being a skilled hunter. But we're not being hunted anymore, no more Hunger Games or Peacekeepers where we have to look over our backs at the slightest misstep. The hunter in you has this built-in instinct to anticipate any type of movement, detect warning signs. All that training keeps you always guarded. Maybe you need to be convinced that you need to let your guard down and allow someone to protect you, to be the one watching out for you."
"I guess then, I'm not ready to give that up," I flatly reply, and find myself suddenly exhausted.
I shut my eyes to politely gesture that we're not going over this again. Peeta has hinted at marriage numerous times before, since things between us developed into a physically intimate one. I wish I could see it his way, that marriage will make everything brighter in our lives, but all I ever end up feeling is that deep despair of having lost a part of me just by truly calling it my own. I swore I would never marry because I remember what it did to my mother, how that true love shared between my father and her was no longer there. It was as if thieves came one night and stole from our house, taking off with her soul. I hated her because I couldn't understand why she gave up on us, until Prim died. I didn't handle her loss any different than she did my father's. I had laid in bed, my grafted wounds peeling off me, starved, unbathed for months. If Peeta became my husband and died, I wouldn't want to know what the world would be like without him, I'd follow him, just like he would follow me when he didn't hesitate in our attempt to defy President Snow with the nightlock at our first Hunger Games.
In a flash, he gets off the bed, showers and slams the bedroom door shut on his way out. When he returns, it's late in the evening and that's when he drops it on me, but I try my hardest not to react the way my insides did. Screaming in agony.
He says, "I finally agreed to go with Thom."
He waits for me to say something, but I just nod and go back to playing with the cold food on my plate, while my mind races for the right things to say. And of course in then end, as always, I don't.
"We leave on Saturday," he says, putting chunks of meat in his mouth to keep him from blowing up. The room feels stuffy.
"You are a victor, I'm sure you'd make them feel safer being out there with them in the wilderness," I say.
Look, Katniss, if you don't want me to go I'll tell them it isn't a good idea right now."
"No. Go. It's fine. I'll be fine. I think you need this," I say and I try to be reassuring by reaching out for his hand, but I can't look him in the eye without bursting into tears. I try to convince myself that he does needs this. They're all young men who never really had a childhood, or the opportunity to feel the freeness in the forest like my father, Gale and I did.
"You're not hurt that they're doing this without you guiding them?" Peeta asks.
"I'm worried, but I saw the technology they were given to track wild animals and a sound device that keeps them away. My bow and arrow is completely useless compared to all the hunting gear that's been developed, thanks to the inspiration of Hunger Games weaponry." I say, finding some dark humor to lighten to mood.
We make love again that night, and when I think he has fallen asleep, I allow myself to feel how much I might miss him. I instantly feel a pang of longing, and that's when the floodgates of my tears break open. I try to hold it in but every time I inhale my runny nose gives me away. Peeta is awakened , and I shut my eyes tightly to block him out, hoping he'll just cradle me back to sleep, but he won't stop shaking me until I respond. I turn around and wrap my arms around his neck tightly so he doesn't see my face.
"You're missing her again?" he asks, into my hair. I simply nod. If I tell him the truth, he definitely will change his plans to go with the boys, and I wouldn't be happy being the reason he misses out on so much of the joy and happiness he deserves. He already feels a million miles away from me.