This story was written as part of the Christmas Fic Exchange at .com as a gift for the wonderful starkist.
His arms are around my neck.
I can't breathe. I'm gasping for air, my throat burning and my eyes stinging. Black dots begin to dance in front of my eyes and I can feel my knees failing beneath me, but I really don't care. His arms are around me and he can squeeze the life right out of me if he wants to.
Because he's here. He's back. He's alive. He's safe. He's here.
Peeta.
Peeta, in the flesh, in District 13, in my arms. Peeta. My Peeta. I think I might be whispering his name under my breath, but as his arms loosen around me, a spluttering cough erupts from my chest and silences the sound. I clutch on to him tighter.
We stand there unmoving, arms wrapped around each other – my arms encircle his waist while his shaking hands grip my shoulders tightly – for who knows how long. The purple ink on my skin glares up at me accusingly, but schedules don't matter. Time doesn't matter. He's here. Peeta is here.
I must have said his name aloud, because now he's pulling back, his hands moving up to gently grasp my face. I look up and get my first good look at him. His skin is mottled with bruises and cuts, but his face is ashen, his eyes are slightly unfocused and wild as they pour over every inch of me. He's so pale. He looks like he's just seen a ghost. He slowly traces my cheekbones with swollen fingers and suddenly I'm aware of just how badly his hands are trembling.
"Peeta?"
My voice sounds tinny and distant. His mouth opens and closes a few times, but no sound comes out. His chest starts to heave and tears begin to trickle down his sunken cheeks. A moan escapes his lips and panic roils within my heart. He should be happy. He should be smiling and relieved and peppering me with kisses. Instead his face contorts and agonised sobs rack his body.
Relief, fear, joy and rage fight a war within me. He's here. He's safe. He's alive.
He's hurt.
What did Snow do to him?
I can feel the water running down my own face as I press our bodies closer together, arms and legs tangled as we hold onto one another for dear life. Rivulets of saltwater collide and mix irreversibly. I take a deep breath and drink him in.
Peeta. My Peeta.
I have him back. And I will never let him out of my sight again.
The walls are spotless. Clinical white tile. Stain resistant. (Don't. Don't think. Count the tiles.) 1, 2, 3...
"Well?"
7, 8, 9...
"Mr Mellark."
14, 15, 16...
"I'll only ask you one more time, Mr Mellark."
30, 31, 32... (He won't get anything. Not now, not ever. Even if there was something to give.)
He sighs. "Very well, Mr Mellark..."
He smiles. (Spitting venom and lies and death and her and her and oh god where is she.)
He nods. One of the others reaches up to the box on the spotless white wall (48, 49, 50) and presses the small grey button. Static buzzes in and floods the room (63, 64, 65). Silence hangs heavily over them all (80, 81, 82) until finally - a whimper (96, 97, 9-
And the blood in his veins turns to ice.
The sound grows, transforms, curls into cries and wails and screams screams screams and wraps itself around his throat and squeezes squeezes squeezes.
"Katniss?"
The word rips from his heart as he's gasping and twisting, struggling against the restraints, flesh tearing and eyes stinging and -
"YOU DON'T LAY A FINGER ON HER."
He just smiles.
"Well Mr Mellark, that's entirely up to you now, isn't it?"
Peeta has been back for two weeks now, and I haven't left his side once. There's a constant stream of nurses and doctors flowing through his small room every day, but they quickly learned to work around an extra body in the bed and no longer bother to ask me to leave. The answer was always the same. When my mother and Prim come in every morning to change the dressings on his worst wounds, my stomach turns violently and I look away quickly, but I never let go of his hand. I don't think he'd let me even if I wanted to.
That first day, he was shaking so hard and weeping so deeply I thought that he must have been in terrible pain. Terrified, I went to call a nurse to help him, but the moment my arms left his body he erupted in panic. Haymitch had to hold him down while my mother injected a needle full of sedative into his thigh. They laid him down and I crawled up onto the bed and nestled myself beside him. I fell asleep with my head pressed against his heaving chest, my heart equal parts overjoyed and terrified.
I woke up to his face staring down at me. Peeta watching me sleep was not a new experience by far, but the way he was looking at me was. His eyes didn't fill with love and awe like they used to, the corners of his mouth were turned down and his brows furrowed. He looked down at me in pure disbelief, as if he couldn't possibly believe I was actually there.
"Katniss?" he whispered, the way he still does sometimes. It mostly happens at night now; he will wake from a nightmare and need assurance that I'm still there, that I'm still okay. But sometimes during the day, when he gets locked away somewhere behind those blue eyes, he'll turn to me in shock and ask, "Katniss? Is this real?"
"Real," I tell him every time.
That second day, we didn't leave his hospital bed. I fed us both mouthfuls of a clear broth and cubes of nearly-stale bread. Neither of us said it, but I knew it took us both back to a place far away, a cold cave sheltering us from the pouring rain. I shivered and pulled him closer to me. For hours we lay together and breathed each other in. We took turns listening to the other's heartbeat, our bodies tangled together as a constant reminder that we were both alive and safe and together again.
On the third day, I awoke to a smile. "Katniss," he said. For the first time there wasn't a question mark. As we fell asleep that night, I felt his fingers ghost over my face, but I kept my eyes tightly closed. He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead and I fought hard to hold back the tears that pricked at my eyelids.
On the fourth day, he asked the question. "Why are we in Thirteen?" My heart sank as I realised, he didn't know. I stammered and stuttered as I concocted an answer.
"Be- because they...they rescued us, Peeta," I told him, "They saved us. They took - they took me from the Arena and you... you from..." I trailed off and looked away guiltily as he considered my words. I knew I would have to tell him eventually, but not yet. Not yet. But then...
"But how did Prim and your mother get here? And Gale? Did they bring my family over too? Can I see them?"
My heart shattered.
I think he knew before I opened my mouth. I think he knew the second the tears began to stream down my cheeks.
I held him for hours as the sobs wracked his body. We cried together for our District, for our home. For our friends. For his family.
Late that night, after exhaustion had claimed him, I ran my fingers through his matted curls and made a whispered promise. "I know they can never be replaced. But... but I'll be your family, Peeta."
On the fifth day, he began to tell me a little of what Snow had done to him in the Capitol. I had stupidly asked and instantly regretted it. We spent the afternoon weeping together and as we lay down to sleep, I kissed him gently on the cheek. He inhaled sharply and the grip around my wrist tightened, but in the dark I could just make out the corners of his mouth turn up slowly.
On the sixth day, we left his room for the first time. He leaned heavily on me as we slowly walked the halls of the ward. We passed a small room with half a dozen machines hooked up to the small figure unconscious on the bed. Finnick sat beside them, a hand reaching up to grasp Annie's wrist gently. He gave us a small nod and a tired smile before turning back to watch her chest rise and fall.
When we returned to our room, Delly Cartwright was waiting nervously outside. Her hands stilled their wringing as she saw us coming, a smile flooding her features. Peeta froze and let out a startled gasp, his knuckles turning white as they squeezed my hand tight. Their tearful embrace was complicated by Peeta's refusal to let me go and I found myself caught up in an awkward three-way hug. Neither of them seemed to mind, though, and the rest of the day was spent crying and laughing and hugging. Delly left late that night with great reluctance and promised to see us again soon. Peeta slept soundly through the night.
On the seventh day, we kissed properly for the first time since the beach, a lifetime ago. It was gentle and tender, Peeta hesitating an inch above my lips before I pulled him down to meet me. It was quiet and lingering and secret. There were no cameras, no audiences, no words. It felt nothing like any of our previous kisses. I instantly wanted more.
On the tenth day, we kissed again.
And on the eleventh.
And on the twelfth.
And on the thirteenth.
Today, a nurse came in early to remove the many lines connecting his veins to the rotating bags of fluid that sit above us. He is finally being discharged from the hospital. We're going to go make a new home.
He's hooked up to wires, so many wires, connecting him to the two machines that sit on the gleaming silver table (stain resistant).
"Do you know what this is, Mr Mellark?"
He doesn't know, he doesn't care, he can't care. The only thing that matters is keeping him in this room and not the next one over.
"It's very simple. I will ask you a question. You will respond. This machine will determine whether or not you have answered truthfully. If you are honest with me, that machine will deliver you an electric shock."
What? The absurdity of it forces a humourless bark from his throat. "Not much of an incentive."
But here comes that smile, all white teeth and black death.
"No? If you tell me the truth, you receive a shock. But if you lie to me, Mr Mellark, if you respond dishonestly...She gets the shock."
Peeta was assigned to Compartment 409 with Finnick. But Finnick spends day and night in the hospital wing, insistent that he will be there when Annie finally wakes. Until then, he refuses to leave. Technically, I still reside in Compartment E and my schedule gets sent there every morning. But that means nothing to me anymore as Peeta and I spend most of our time locked away in 409. His schedule is always full of therapy sessions and checkups, and I go with him to them all. When we feel like it. Otherwise we stay in bed all day, talking or sleeping or kissing or just being. Being together. Nothing else matters.
Prim and Gale cross my mind daily, but I know that they are both okay. I see Prim in the hospital in her apprentice uniform when Peeta and I walk through and she looks so grown up, so busy and important and happy. My little duck has become a young woman who saves lives. I couldn't be prouder of her. A few days ago, she and my mother joined us in our compartment during Reflection. My mother sat there quietly, smiling to herself. Prim chattered away happily and Peeta exhausted himself keeping up with her.
I see Gale in the dining hall. He sits with his family and sneaks Posy bites of his food. I haven't had a chance to talk to him since the rescue, to thank him. He put his life on the line for Peeta. For me. I notice the Communicuff on his wrist is constantly spitting out messages these days. As he rushes past our table on the way to Command each day I offer him what I hope is a grateful and reassuring smile. The way he nods every day gives me hope that he understands.
Whenever we feel up to making the trek to see the head doctor, it's a challenge to sneak past Command unnoticed. If we're lucky, we can escape without Plutarch running after us blathering on about a special propo he has been writing, a 'Star-Crossed Lovers Reunion' piece. We don't get lucky very often. Thankfully, Peeta can open his mouth and effortlessly brush him off with ease. Lately, though, we haven't bothered even attempting the walk.
So far Coin has let us be, a fact that continues to surprise both Haymitch and me. He comes by every few days and spends a few hours in 409 with us. He and Peeta will talk or play chess or we will all just sit there in silence, but it's never unwelcome. We're slowly finding a rhythm and figuring out how we all feel about each other. Despite everything, I feel myself growing closer to Haymitch. Our love for Peeta and relief at his return has bonded us forever, and I can never forget all that he has done for me as my mentor. Even in the Quell, I know he was only acting in what he thought was my best interest. Which makes his wariness over Coin's non-action that more concerning.
The times ahead are uncertain, but Peeta is here with me. Together, we can face anything.
"I promise..."
Breath comes out in ragged sighs, chest heaving and heart pounding. Every limb, every muscle, every cell hurts but he will not leave her.
"I promise, Katniss. I'm going to stay with you."
Slumped against the sticky, rust-coloured wall, he's no longer sure if his voice is a whisper or a shout.
"Always."
Swollen eyes strain in the darkness as a nearby sound breaks the silence. (Not silence, never silence. The sound of her a constant companion. Weeping, moaning, sobbing, screaming. 1, 2, 3...)
Suddenly there is an open door and a stream of light and a flash of movement and an open door and a looming presence and a rustling key and an open door. Legs fly out and a body slams down. Hands scramble around until they triumph over cool metal.
He grasps the keys tightly and slowly forces his body up from the ground. Flesh and bone scream but -
(I'm coming, Katniss.)
One step, two. The open door is right there. Three steps, four.
(Katniss.)
But then a burst of pressure upon his neck and a whoosh and a flood of cool liquid and –
Coin's silence didn't last long. One morning, a uniformed messenger turned up at our door. (Neither Peeta nor I had bothered to get our schedules printed in over a week.)
Coin had ordered me to Command. Only me. Peeta was to stay behind.
Not a chance.
We walked to Command together and were stopped at the door, the guards refusing Peeta entry. I was making my mind up whether to fight the arrogant soldiers, or to turn around and head straight back to 409 when Boggs walked over and guided us both in.
The room was unusually empty – just us, Boggs, and Coin. She wasted no time getting down to business.
"It is time for you to resume your duties, Soldier Everdeen. I have allowed you a grace period to adjust to your fiance's return, but you have taken advantage of my generosity. It is time for you to fulfil your commitment."
Peeta and I had already discussed it. We had decided that if it would help the districts, if it would help stop Snow from hurting one more innocent person, then I should become the Mockingjay again. But Peeta would too. He was always the one with the golden words and surely, if one Star-Crossed lover could stir the nation, then imagine what two could do. Plutarch would be overjoyed.
I told Coin as much and she scoffed. "Mr Mellark is nowhere near well enough to leave the district yet. In fact, I have been informed that he has attended less than one third of his assigned recovery sessions. I am of the opinion that it will benefit you both to spend some time apart, Soldier Everdeen."
I felt the rage roiling within me and could sense the same happening in Peeta. He began to argue but I squeezed his hand and opened my mouth.
"When Peeta is well enough to join me, I will do whatever you want me to. Until then, I will not leave him," I ground out. "I will not leave him."
And we turned and walked out.
That night, Haymitch came by to tell us that Coin had grudgingly agreed to 'support our proposal.' Apparently, he, Boggs, and Plutarch had backed me up and argued on our behalf. This news filled me with a newfound respect for them all.
Our confrontation with Coin was three days ago. This morning during breakfast I watched as Gale was called to Command urgently. I wondered if he had fought Coin for us too.
Peeta and I are lying together on the bed, and he is telling me a funny story about Delly's younger brother and their pig when there comes a sharp knock at the door. We glance at each other warily; we weren't expecting visitors tonight. Peeta slowly gets up and walks toward the door. He opens the door and stands staring at the visitor for a long moment before nodding and gesturing to welcome him in.
It's Gale.
I sit up instantly and look between the two of them. My boys. The two people in the world I can truly be myself with. The two people who know me more than any other. The two people who love me.
They're standing in the middle of the compartment awkwardly and I have no idea what to do or say. Luckily Peeta, who always knows the right thing to say, clears his throat and announces that he is going to shower.
Gale and I stare at each other silently for a few moments before I rush towards him with my arms outstretched. His arms encircle me and I feel my racing heart calm in his embrace.
"I missed you."
"Me too."
I can feel tears begin to prick at my eyes so I clear my throat and lead us over to the small table in the corner of the room. We sit and the conversation flows instantly, like we were sitting at our old rock ledge in the woods. We talk about light-hearted things, about how well Peeta is recovering, something cute that Posy said, how happy our mothers are here, how bad the food is. There's a natural lull in the conversation after about half an hour and I decide to seize the opportunity.
"Gale? Thank you. For - for everything," I tell him. For saving Peeta. For saving my family. For saving me.
His hand reaches out and grasps mine before he blurts out loudly, "I'm going to Two."
What? I stare at him as he shakes his head and mutters under his breath.
"I'm going to Two. To fight. This war needs to end, Katniss. People are dying and I can't just sit here and do nothing. I need to do this."
Betrayal flashes across my face. Is that what he thinks of me? That I'm ignoring the plight of the districts and thinking only of myself? (Am I?) I pull my hand out of his grasp and look away.
His mouth drops and he shakes his head furiously. "That's not what I meant, Katniss! This is the right thing for me to do, but you..." He sighs. "You made the right choice, Katniss. This is where you need to be right now." He looks towards the bathroom and somewhere in the back of my mind I realise it's been far too long for a shower.
"He needs you, Catnip. And you...you need him."
I don't say anything.
"You love him."
I still don't say anything.
He nods and offers me a tight smile. "I love you, Catnip. You're my best friend and you always will be. But I...understand. I...I've come to peace, no, I've decided...I..." He struggles to find the right words and I wrap my fingers around his trembling hand.
"You two need to be together. You need to stay here right now. But I need to go. I saw my people burn and I need to go." He pauses, waiting for my reaction, but thoughts are racing through my head and my mouth refuses to move.
"Don't worry too much though."He forces a crooked grin. "Plutarch says it's a tough nut to crack, but we can do it. I'll be back soon, Catnip. I promise."
"I. Don't. Know."
The same question. For hours. The same answer. For hours. The same venom-laced grin. For ever.
"This is your last opportunity to cooperate, Mr Mellark."
Silence.
(27, 28, 29, Katniss, 30, 31, 32, Katniss, 33, 34, 35)
Finally the smile shatters, puffy lips rearranging themselves into a thin, grim line. A nod of the head and the speaker buzzes to life.
His heart sinks. (No. No no no no no.)
"Okay!" Okay. "Stop! But - " But he really doesn't know. He doesn't know anything, and he is certain that they know that. So why -
It hits him and his struggling heart sinks further. This is a game to them. This is entertainment. This is the 76th Hunger Games.
What was it that he once said? He wasn't going to be just a p-
(59, 60, 61)
(Katniss)
(No.)
(Please understand.)
Silence.
And then.
The most beautiful sound he has ever heard drifts in and begins to dance above his head. She is singing about a tree, about midnight, about a lover. He closes his eyes and holds his breath, locking her away deep in his heart where no one can touch her. The song continues on for a few rapturous moments before she cuts off suddenly and the room plunges back into silence.
(Katniss? Katniss? 1, 2, 3)
It starts softly. A familiar whimper. (No. Oh please no.) A mechanical buzzing rises and drowns her out momentarily, but here it comes. Here it comes. Ebbing and flowing, an ocean of sound crests and rushes at him head-on.
He's weeping and gnashing his teeth and the room is filling with screams, not all of them emerging from the speaker.
"Me! Stop! Not her! ME!"
It's all he can get out but he knows he understands because puffy lips curve downward and the venomous tongue tuts.
"You know that's not how this works, Mr Mellark."
The wave breaks over him and the current drags him away, pulling him towards a place he knows he will never escape from.
His eyes burn as she cries. His throat is raw as she screams. His wrists bleed as she struggles. His heart breaks as she does.
It keeps going, it keeps coming, it keeps growing. He can't take much more. (She can't take much more.)
Stop, he pleads. No, he begs. Katniss, he cries.
A shrill crescendo of pain assaults his ears and he can't. He just can't. But then -
Silence.
All that remains is the violent thump of his heart and the gasping of his heaving chest.
(Katniss?)
(Is it over for today?)
(Katniss?)
A deep voice booms out from the box. "Prisoner unable to withstand questioning." A pause. "Everdeen is dead."
And as the waning tide pulls him swiftly towards an unnavigable shore, Peeta Mellark dies too.
He didn't come back soon.
He didn't.
He won't.
Gale.
The news comes through at midnight. Rory knocks at our door and collapses into my arms. He chokes out the story and something snaps within me.
Peeta comforts the boy as I explode with rage. They both have to physically restrain me from storming right up to Command to attack Coin myself.
It crashes over me. Gale. And I'm done. I'm out.
Snow took Peeta from me. Coin took Gale from me. Neither of them has my loyalty anymore.
I'm out of this war. This is no longer my fight. I am no longer their Mockingjay. I will be nobody's plaything, a piece in nobody's game. Gale didn't see it, but we were all just tributes in the 76th Games.
Not anymore.
I have Peeta. He has me. And we're done with the Games.
Katniss. No. Scream. Stop. Katniss.
Your hands. Katniss. Your hands, Mr Mellark. I don't know. Stop.
Stain resistant. Count. No. Katniss. No. Katniss. No.
Stop.
Black. Katniss. Stop. Your hands. Stop. Black. Smoke.
Smoke?
No.
Black.
Choking. Smoke? Gas. Door. Light. Always. Keys. Katniss. No.
Gas. Door. Light. Guard? No. G? G.
Gale. Gale? Katniss? No. Katniss. No. No. No. No.
Your hands, Mr Mellark.
Gale. No.
Gas.
Katniss.
Black.
A lifetime ago, a handsome man told a young girl that if she saw something sweet, she'd better grab it quick. These words echo through my mind as I watch Finnick across the dining hall, his face about to split in two from the beaming smile that has spread across it. Annie sits beside him, their hands entwined as always. Together. Grab it quick. And don't let go. Words to live by.
Peeta sits beside me, his hands moving animatedly as he tells a story about his eldest brother to a giggling Prim. My eyes linger on his profile and I have to sit on my hands to stop them from running through his blonde curls. He turns mid-sentence and smiles at me, the special smile he reserves only for me. My heart leaps and my eyes quickly duck down to my tray. I stare down at the remaining piece of food on my plate and an idea slowly comes to me. Something sweet. I look up at Peeta. Grab it quick. Down at the plate. A smile slowly works its way across my face as I sneak the food to my pocket in what I hope is a subtle manner.
We finish our dinner and walk towards the exit doors. My heart begins to pound within my chest. This shift's dining hall guards are notoriously good at picking out hidden food. But we walk through the doorway unhindered and I let out a sigh of relief. Peeta looks at me quizzically but I just shake my head and he takes my hand as we walk briskly past the hallway that leads to Command.
I still haven't yet told Coin that I'm done with her war. I haven't seen her since the news about Gale. Gale. Thinking about him still wrenches my heart, leaving me doubled over in physical pain. Peeta will hold me and rub my back and press soft kisses down my neck until it passes. Then we sit together and he makes me talk about him. About Gale. About the times we shared, what I loved about him, all the memories good and bad. We do the same for his family. For Madge. For Rue and Mags and Wiress. For all those we have lost. We weep and laugh and remember them as they would want to be. We promise to live well to make their deaths count.
As Peeta and I see it, we've already won our war. We've been torn apart so many times, but now we grow back together. During the day, we explore the halls of 13. During the night, we explore each other.
We have no idea what the future holds. But whatever may come, we will go into it as we do everything else – together. Live or die, we will be together. And that's enough for us.
It's hours later as we get ready for bed that I remember the contraband in my pocket. I pull it out and turn the small loaf of bread over in my fingers. I smile.
"Peeta? Do you think we could make a fire?"
The walls are grey. Paint. But no stains. Why no stains?
People walk by, rush around, they talk, they poke, they stick needles, shine lights, shake their heads.
Where? Who? Why?
Doesn't matter.
(Katniss.)
No pain, no tears. Numb, dead.
Thirteen? Doesn't exist.
Doesn't matter.
Haymitch? (Katniss.) Concern on his face, relief on his face, guilt on his face. Words flying by, but they don't matter.
"Rescue." Too late. Why bother? Already dead.
(Katniss.)
(Katniss.)
(Katniss.)
Door. Haymitch keeps glancing towards it. Who's coming? What's coming?
Doesn't matter.
Look around. Table with a tray. Tray full of needles. Needle full of air and finish the job.
Haymitch is saying words again. Pointing to the door. It opens and-
(Katniss.)
Not real. Not real, not real, not real.
Dead, dead, dead.
Your hands, Mr Mellark.
(Katniss?)
Heart stops beating, head stops thinking, eyes stop seeing. Can't trust them. Lies. Not real. Dead. (Katniss?)
But she looks so real.
(Real?)
Crying and smiling and running towards.
Real? Katniss? Real?
Doesn't matter.
Arms reach out.
Thanks to my beta, for-prim. Title comes from the song by the same name by Mumford and Sons.