A Whispered Promise

by TamSibling

Katniss!Peeta Post MJ story, before the epilogue. Katniss finds out she's allowed to go home, but where is the boy with the bread? Will she ever see him again?

A Whispered Promise

Pairing: Katniss/Peeta

Rating: G

Spoilers: All of The Hunger Games series

A/N: I've never written in this fandom before and to be honest I didn't think I would. But over the past month or two I've become obsessed with Katniss/Peeta fanfic and just felt I needed to write something. So, this is my offering to the Everlark faithful. I certainly hope you enjoy it.

Takes place following Mockingjay, starting when Katniss is still in the Capitol, awaiting her fate. Just an angsty, slightly fluffy one-shot for fun.

Please let me know if you like!

Thanks,

~TamSibling

0000000

I wake screaming.

I don't fully understand how I have any voice left. It's been this way since they brought me here, back to the training center. I lie in bed, curled into the smallest ball imaginable staring at the blank wall, trying not to think, not to see, not to remember. Eventually my body, traitor that it is, gives out and my eyes close and I fall asleep.

And then I wake screaming. Screaming for Prim, screaming for Peeta … just screaming.

My throat is raw. How can I still be screaming?

Trays of food come and go untouched by me. Someone, a nurse, a doctor, comes by at least once a day, sits across from me, watching me. They used to ask questions but don't bother anymore. It's been weeks since I've used my voice for anything but screaming.

Finally, one morning, I awake screaming and paralyzed. I can't move. My skin is soaked with sweat, my hair stuck to my forehead, the paper-thin nightgown plastered to my still healing skin. I try to sit up, to scramble away from the pictures seared into my mind: the silver parachutes glinting in the light, the thousands of fireballs that erupt around them; the flames that engulf my baby sister in seconds.

But I can't move. I pull and tug at the restraints around my wrists and ankles and I feel my tender skin break. Panting, disoriented, I do my best to focus on the room and I finally see the IV hooked up to my arm, the straps that are keeping me tied down.

I start to cry, silent tears this time. I still don't understand why they bother. My sham of a trial should be over, shouldn't it? Why can't they just let me die?

I wish I could die.

Once more my body betrays me and I lose consciousness thinking all the while that it should be me in the ground and not my beautiful Prim.

OOOOOO

"Katniss?"

I hear the voice but I don't recognize it. I keep my breathing even, keep my eyes closed, hoping they'll just go away.

"Katniss, my name is Dr. Aurelis. I'm just going to sit with you for a while. If you don't mind?"

I don't mind, I don't even care. I'm not sure how long the doctor sits there that first day; I don't even bother to open my eyes. Eventually I fall asleep again and eventually when I awaken, the doctor is back.

This time I study him, watching, observing, trying to determine his weak spot. I am a hunter after all; he is just my newest prey.

My hands and feet are still tied to the bed, the hateful IV continues to pump nutrients into my arm. I watch the clear liquid inch its way through the tubing, I feel the burn of the medicine enter my blood.

"Why?"

My voice is beyond hoarse, it's barely audible. I'm actually a little stunned I spoke out loud.

"Did you have a question, Katniss?"

The doctor doesn't move from his chair, just rests the book he's reading on his chest, removing his glasses. I have his attention now and I don't want it.

But something compels me to ask again, "Why?"

"Why what?"

My eyes drift back to the IV, but I don't actually verbalize my thoughts. Apparently, I don't have to.

"Katniss, you may want to die, you may even feel you deserve to die, but I can assure you, no one wants that."

I snort, it's a pitiful sound. "No, of course not. They just want to kill me in front of a crowd. It's entertainment, right?"

"Is that what you think is going to happen?" the doctor asks.

I shrug and the movement makes all of the still-healing scars along my back sting. I barely notice.

"It's true your fate is being decided now, but I don't believe for one instant that anyone wants you to suffer for another moment."

"Then they should kill me," I mutter, closing my eyes so I don't have to look at him anymore. The only way to end my suffering is to end my life; I know that now. Every minute I'm here, breathing, while Prim isn't, is another minute too long. Every minute I'm here, relatively whole, while Peeta is fighting to remember who he is, is a minute too long. Every minute.

Every. Single. One. Is a minute too long.

The next time I'm awake the room is empty. The IV is gone and the restraints are gone and I feel the tiniest bit of relief. Maybe now they'll leave me to die. I curl up again in the middle of the bed, pulling my knees into my chest. I start to count the minutes wondering how many I have left.

I just want to die.

OOOOOOOO

It's Effie who eventually raises me from bed, chirping about the room like a demented version of the bird she resembles in her blue-feathered dress and matching wig. It is only through her ministrations that I find myself standing, moving toward the shower, giving myself a cursory cleaning and slipping into some non-descript clothes that look more like something from my district than anything I've seen in the Capitol.

By the time I emerge from the bathroom, Effie is gone and Haymitch has taken her place. I can smell the stench of liquor on him from across the room. He doesn't greet me and I return the favor, choosing to head back to the bed, now stripped of any sheets or pillows and resume my fetal position in the middle of it.

"Oh no you don't, sweetheart." Before I'm even aware of what's he doing, he slides his arms under my form and scoops me up, dumping me on my feet and leaving me no choice but to stand.

"You're going home, Katniss."

I blink. Surely I don't understand. The only thing I'd thought I'd ever see after this room was a firing squad. I blink again.

"You'll be restricted to stay in 12 until the day you die, but they're letting you go home, Katniss. You can go home and live a life."

I snort at him, my eyes boring into his as an unspoken challenge. He takes it. "Sure, I know, I'm one to talk, but look you've got a shot here, girl. You've got a chance."

Prim is gone, my mother has all but abandoned me, and Peeta … I have nothing.

Maybe I said the words out loud or maybe Haymitch just read something in my expression, because he says, "You still got me, sweetheart."

I wonder how much good a drunk can do for a former rebel symbol who has been destroyed a million times over before she ever turned eighteen.

"Peeta?" I have to ask. I have to know if there's any chance for my boy with the bread.

The sadness in Haymitch's eyes answers my question. "It's too soon to tell, Katniss. He's still recovering."

Recovering from me, from the nightmare images that Snow had forced into his brain, the warped memories he'd twisted and turned into something ugly just to turn Peeta against me. I wonder if Snow ever considered just letting me do the job myself? Surely I've made myself the monster he always imagined, the one he forces Peeta to remember. Surely, inciting a rebellion, being responsible for the deaths of thousands, for Prim is horrid enough to turn Peeta against me. Snow needn't have tried so hard.

"Come on, sweetheart. There's a train waiting for us."

His warm arm across my shoulders guides me from the room and I don't look back.

000000000

The train is the same as the one we took on the Victory Tour. Same lushly appointed rooms, same dining and parlor cars. The food isn't quite as elaborate, but that doesn't bother me. I'm not going to eat anyway.

Haymitch is halfway through his second bottle before we even reach the Capitol's outer limits. I leave him to slobber on himself and retreat to my compartment. The minute I open the door, I can't step in that room. It's too familiar, too reminiscent of the nights Peeta held me on the Tour, when the nightmares were too much. The bed, so warm and comfortable, the height of Capitol extravagance, is a my own personal torture device.

Sliding the door closed, I start to wander. I reach the interchange between cars, and palm open the door. Nothing is locked to me, not the Mockingjay, not the Victor of the 74th Hunger Games and the 3rd Quarter Quell. I step into the open doorway and stare at the tracks rushing by, a blur of gray, black and brown. It only takes a little jump to make it to the next car, but it can just as easily one step that takes me under. For some reason, I take the hop and make my way into the next car.

I pause just inside the doorway, waiting for the chill of the night to dissipate as I stare at the contents. It's a storage car apparently, but it's the smell that overwhelms me, the smell of paint. Tarps stained with different pigments cover a dozen flat surfaces throughout the car. Tentatively, I reach my hand toward the closest one and pull the tarp away.

I inhale sharply at the beautiful art that waits for me. It's the meadow, my meadow at home, overrun with dandelions, the colors so bright it hurts my eyes to look at it. It's Peeta's work, I know that, there is no mistaking his sure strokes or the way he mixes colors.

Pulling the top edge of the canvas from the wall, I uncover another painting leaning behind it. This one is the Mellark's bakery, soft pastels and muted colors giving it a dream-like quality. The detail of a few artistically decorated cakes in the window makes me smile. The expression feels foreign on my face.

I look to the next and my stomach drops away. It's the arena, the monkeys chasing us, Peeta and I while a wave of acid rain falls in the distance. The painting is beautifully ugly: reds, blacks and navy blues make up a majority of the canvas. My reaction to the scene is visceral and I'm afraid I'll be sick. But there's nothing in my stomach to expel.

Moving to the other side of the car, I remove another tarp and am confronted with another nightmare image, this one a muttation with Rue's face. Under the next is grisly image of Glimmer, her face a swollen and mutated mess from the tracker jacker venom.

I'm struggling to breathe as these last images bring the horror back to the forefront of my mind. This is all there is, all there will ever be. All I will ever remember is the horror, the fear, the sheer helplessness of being Snow's pawn and knowing that no matter what I did, the people I loved the most would suffer.

With a shaking hand, I reach for the last tarp and then I sink to my knees. That's when the tears come. One hand grasping the tarp, the other covering my mouth to stifle my sobs, I stare at the beautiful image, painted with such care and gentleness I can barely comprehend it.

It's me, sitting on the beach our last night in the Quarter Quell. The scene has been changed, I sit alone, even though I well remember Peeta beside me, remember the excitement and joy I'd felt as we'd shared those few heady kisses. Here though it's just me, painted in profile with the moon reflecting off the water and illuminating my features. I look ethereal, as though I might disappear with the moonlight, evaporate like a wandering mist. But it is so beautiful, I am so beautiful. Is this how Peeta sees me? Is there a chance he doesn't only remember the mutt version that Snow invented?

Is it possible?

Unnerved by the image, I can't stare at it any longer, so I turn instead, back to my meadow and curl up in front of it, draping the tarp over my small body, breathing in the familiar scent of paint, burying myself in the sense memory of Peeta.

And I sleep.

0000000

Prim's burned body is at my feet, Snow's blood stained corpse beside her. I try to step back, horrified, but I can't move. I am hemmed in on all sides by bodies: Rue, Thresh, Cato, Johanna, Finnick, Cinna … dead bodies as far as I can see. All of the dead I am responsible for.

"You did this, Katniss." The voice is familiar in a gut-wrenching way. It's the evil, violent hiss of Peeta, not my Peeta, but hijacked Peeta and I turn to meet his furious blue-eyed gaze, his hands already raised to curl around my throat.

"No! Peeta, please!"

"Katniss."

I awake on a sound halfway between a sob and a scream. Sitting up quickly, it takes me a minute too long to process my surroundings. The train, the storage car, Peeta's paintings, Peeta …

He's there, real and whole in front of me. It was his voice that had awoken me from my nightmare. Without even considering the consequences, I reach up and cradle his face in my hands, the tips of my fingers tracing over his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, down his cheek and across his lips. He let's me, making no move to distance himself even though the last time we were this close things spiraled out of control quickly.

But in the dim light of the storage car I can see his blue eyes, clear and bright like I remember. This is my Peeta, at least for the moment.

Leaning forward, I keep my hands on his cheeks as I rest my forehead to his. "What are you doing here?" I breathe, afraid to speak too loudly and awake from what must be a dream.

"I've been cleared to go back to 12." His voice is a hushed whisper, but I can hear the tension in it. He holds his arms at his sides, hands clenched into fists so hard, I can see his knuckles turning white. "I didn't think they'd be stupid enough to put us on the same train."

Frowning, I lean back, registering his annoyance. Suddenly, I feel very foolish. He might be clearer than he has been in months, but he still believes I am a monster. Maybe he always will.

Dropping my hands to my lap, I stare at them in silence trying to work up the courage to leave. Even hating me, Peeta's presence is a soothing balm to my ragged spirit. "I'm sorry," I murmur finally, getting ready to stand. "I shouldn't be here."

I'm on my feet and turned toward the door when I feel the lightest of touches on my arm. I stop, not meeting Peeta's gaze. I'm afraid his rejection will break me.

"Katniss, I'm sorry." His apology is so tortured I don't even know how to respond.

Turning quickly, I ignore my fear and go with my instincts, throwing my arms around his neck and holding tight. "It's okay, Peeta. I'm the one who's sorry. It's my fault."

He shudders a heavy breath, his head buried against my shoulder, but his arms stay at his sides and I can feel the tension mounting in his body. I run my fingers through his curls. His hair is shorter than it used to be, the ends singed off in the fire just like mine, but it's still soft, it still feels like Peeta.

He sighs again and let's out a pained, "Katniss."

I don't know what Peeta's asking of me, but if it's to let him go, I know the answer will always be no. "Peeta, please," I implore him, brushing my lips against his temple, against the shell of his ear, his cheek, his forehead. "Stay with me," I murmur, hoping he remembers.

Peeta's entire body shakes as he releases one final sigh and then leans far enough away from me to capture my lips with his. It's a tentative kiss at first and I know he's scared, scared he'll snap and hurt me. But I'm not, I can't be; this is Peeta.

Forcing myself to be bold, I lightly run my tongue along the seam of his lips, coaxing him into deepening the kiss. With a soft sigh from the back of his throat, he finally does and once our mouths are open and our tongues meet everything changes. His arms, no longer idle at his sides, slide around my waist, one hand moving up my back and into my hair, holding my head in place so he can truly kiss me breathless. The other hand steadies me at the small of my back, gently stroking the skin that's revealed between my shirt and waistband of my pants.

Even when I know I have to breathe, I don't want to stop kissing him. It feels so good to be close to Peeta like this. Panting heavily, we break apart and I pepper his cheeks and forehead with kisses as he rests his forehead against my shoulder and gathers his breath.

He doesn't let me go and I take that as a victory.

"Peeta," I whisper again, wanting—needing—to see his blue eyes looking at me.

When he finally lifts them to my face, I feel a wide smile grace my features, a smile I had never thought I'd smile again. I see Peeta there, in those eyes and I know that we can survive this, whatever is next, whatever is left of the horrors we've seen, we'll make it. Because we're together.

"Stay with me?" I ask again, brushing his lips with mine, before tucking my head just under his chin.

His body releases one last sigh and then his lips are against my forehead as he whispers the promise into my skin.

"Always."