Disclaimer: I own nothing
This belongs to GreenWool. Everything HG related I write does. Without her none of it would exist.
The first time was during the victory tour and totally by chance.
By the time the train arrived he was in his element: handsome, charming, gracious. There was a throng of people waiting to meet them and as he stepped off the train, Katniss in his arms, he didn't flinch. Not when her body turned to stone as he touched her, not when Haymitch belched in his ear on the ride to the square, not when Effie screeched endlessly about being on time.
Although finally, with his largest smile and in his cheeriest voice he said, "What are they going to do if we're late? Shoot us?"
Everyone was silent then. He didn't stop smiling.
The crowds in Four were charged and dangerous; the cheering sounded more like oncoming thunder than rounds of applause. He kept looking, expecting lightning to strike. Then he turned to Katniss and realized it was her. She was the lightning and these dark and angry people where the thunder in her wake. What did that make him, he thought? The rain?
The speech rolled off his tongue like silver beads of mercury. The crowd cheered as he raised Katniss' arm in the air; with their arms up they made an uneven W. That's right, his face said, because we're winners. But when the crowd pushed forward to swarm the stage, he couldn't remember what it was they had won.
When they walked off the stage, Katniss reached over to him and whispered something about dinner in his ear. He felt her hesitate and then nuzzle his neck gently right as a camera flashed at them. Only then did he have to fight the flinch, fight the urge to push her far far away from him. He didn't. Instead he imagined a paintbrush loaded with blue, white and yellow paint smearing sky across an empty canvas and his smile reached his eyes. Yes, Katniss. Dinner at seven.
Every day she looked thinner and paler. Her prep team did well, hiding the circles under her eyes and Cinna was doing textile acrobats with swaths and drapery to hide her shrinking waist line. On camera she was still stunning. But he can count her vertebrae when they danced and that seemed criminal considering the amount of food thrown at them each day. President Snow demanded an impossible love story, the people wanted some kind of rebel leader, but no one seemed to actually see her, tired and pushing herself to the edges of her existence. He was determined to guard her, feed her, and make sure she slept. Keep her alive.
But it wasn't without personal cost. The decay he felt seemed to bubble up in him like toxic waste. He'd started to feel it on his skin, in his mouth, seeping from his eyeballs. For so long, loving Katniss was the one thing that was right, the thing that made his existence worthwhile. And now, daily he made a mockery of it, dragged it through the sewers. It made it hard to look at himself in the mirror. He considered every day any manner of ways to keep his self-hatred at bay long enough to make it through this tour and then...And then what? What happened after this was over?
And oh how he lied. He had always been a good liar, it aided his survival at home, but now it was becoming so frequent he had to remind himself there were times to tell the truth. Like at night when he was holding a shaking Katniss and she asked if he was scared. He had almost said no. But he knew he should never lie to her. If they started lying to each other, then he knew his sanity would unravel.
But during the day he ignored the lies and tried to bury the loathing. He hid the candles and lighters, took the light bulbs out of the lamps, and focused on pumping the sewage in his soul further below the surface so he could focus on being calm and alert. He felt like Katniss was a target on all sides and since he was unable to accomplish the one fucking task he had, and die to keep her alive, he focused on protecting her to the best of his capabilities.
However by the time they reached the gala he was struggling.
Katniss was dressed in mist and water, courtesy of Cinna. He was suited up in black and grey. Next her, solid and strong, he looked like the rock for her wave to crash on. But right when they entered, a young girl ran up to him and handed him a shell. He didn't know if it was the color of her eyes or the length of her hair but suddenly he saw the girl from Eight. The one he had euthanized and then held while she bled to death. His vision swam and for a moment he was sure blood was dripping down the child's neck, but then Katniss brushed his arm and he snapped back into the focus. The girl was fine and he was going crazy. He tried to concentrate on the feel of Katniss' spine under his hand, but then he had to let her dance with people he didn't trust. And suddenly he was surrounded by men and women who pawed on him, and told him he was hilarious and gorgeous and whispered things in his ear that made his skin crawl. He wanted to be charming and gregarious, but he was worried he was a moment away from vomiting all over the floor.
That's when he heard it.
A boom. Like a cannon far far away.
In that moment, the floor seemed made of water. It was Haymitch that caught him, yanked him up by the shoulder.
"Easy with the champagne, lover boy," he said smugly. But when he looked at Peeta's face he became reticent, pushing him forward and out of one of the gilded glass doors.
"Catch your breath," he muttered quietly. Peeta stood over a rail, his head leaning forward. He didn't vomit, but it took a moment for his head to stop spinning. And the booming, it was still there.
"What is that sound?" he whispered, looking up at Haymitch. "It sounds like more cannons. There can't be more cannons, right?"
Understanding dawned on Haymitch's face and he grabbed Peeta's elbow. They were surrounded by partygoers, milling around like bees in a hive, and Haymitch quickly exaggerated his drunken antics so people wouldn't watch them. It never ceased to amaze Peeta how people ignored someone who looked like they needed help.
It took them ten minutes to get through the crowd to the back of the gala hall where the banquet was being held. The sound got louder and clearer until they were standing on a deck, ten feet off the ground, looking over what Peeta thought must be heaven.
"It's just the ocean," grumbled Haymitch. "You get ten minutes, so be fast. If you're missing longer than that I'm not gonna be able to stop the Peacekeepers from showing up with guns. Get it out of your system, then get back here."
Peeta stared forward unblinking and didn't even look back at Haymitch. "Get Katniss," he ordered.
But Haymitch shook his head. "Nope. Can't have both of you gone. Remember, ten minutes. Don't worry about the girl, I'll watch her."
And then he was gone.
It took Peeta three seconds to haul himself over the edge of the rail and hit the sand.
The ocean in all its glory spread out before him in waves of black ink. The wind was high and made his hair askew almost immediately. He saw birds dipping and swooping on the surface of the water, occasionally shrieking before wheeling away. They weren't melodious like the birds in Twelve, but something about their call tugged at him deeply. And the boom, the sound that was too much like the canons announcing death in the games, was all encompassing here. Loud and imposing, it seemed to threaten their ridiculous gala while the birds laughed shrilly at how they were all nothing but a carnival of homemade horrors.
It told him to look and see and smell.
This was reality.
He'd never seen something without an end before.
Shoes and socks removed, he wandered through the sand like a child in a mythical world. Dirt never felt as clean as the earth beneath his feet. And it sparkled! In the moon's glow, the sand shimmered like Katniss' dress. Now that he was close to it, the waves were too melodious to sound like canons. They gurgled and slurped and hissed in between the great crashes and he wanted - needed - to get closer to that sound. And then his feet were in water so cold it burned and the ocean was so loud that finally, finally, he couldn't hear his own thoughts and he imagined maybe the salt water can wash away some of the slime that was oozing out of his pores.
It was all so big and loud and infinite, and he was so very very small. Maybe he'd found a place that can drown out his problems, a body of water big enough to wash away his sins? The very idea of ever being clean again made him laugh, but he couldn't hear it over the water.
It was so comforting not to be able to hear his own voice.
He imagined for a moment, the water rising up and drowning them all, like when the Gamekeepers released the dam in Annie Cresta's arena. He wondered, if the ocean just decided to rise up and swallow them, what exactly could anyone do? How could anyone feel powerful next to something like this? How could anyone feel significant?
He knew if he went into the water he'd drown, and his time was running out anyway. He imagined being able to swim and what it would feel like to churn through those icy waters and never look back. He wondered if Katniss knew how to …
And for the first time since his name was drawn from the Reaping bowl he was glad she wasn't with him.
He was sure she could swim, or if she couldn't, she'd be able to figure it out. And then she'd see this endlessness and dart so far away he'd lose her forever. She'd never look back. Never conserve energy for the trip home. He imagined himself left behind with his lies and Haymitch's vomit. His chest seemed to collapse in on itself as he imagined her floating away on the back of the waves.
In the end they were taken on an official tour of the beach. They were dressed in white and told to hold hands as they walked with the water barely washing over their feet, a crowd of photographers shoving cameras at them and hordes of people watching. They weren't allowed to get into the water. Even then Katniss stared out at the sea longingly, and Peeta felt a stab of guilt at how glad he was she couldn't be him on the beach that night.
What kind of person was he, if upon finding the chance to offer her freedom, he didn't?
He stared at the sea, looking for answers, but the waves offered no reply.