Uh, this is a fanfiction, which means that I am a fan writing a fiction based on an already published work, namely, The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. Please feel free to hurl rotten tomatoes at the screen if you do not like this. It's your computer. Hopefully, you will not be faced with that decision.
The moment we step into the woods, her face relaxes and a smile flits across her face. I love that part. It's as if all of her cares fall off and the real Katniss appears. The Katniss only I know exists.
"You're smiling again," I remark, "we should plant a forest in your house, so that you'll always be smiling." A scowl quickly replaces the smile on her face. I laugh and take off to where we stashed our hunting equipment.
I'm removing the rabbit from my third snare when she freezes. "What's up Catnip?"
"Shhh," she puts a finger to her lips. I can tell she's listening to something. Something I can't hear. I never had the same acuity of hearing as her. I usually attribute it to hearing loss thanks to my large family. "It's the mockingjays," she explains. I stop and listen carefully. I still can't hear anything. She clarifies. "They're not singing anymore."
I'm confused by this statement. Why does it matter if the birds aren't singing? Maybe some wild animals are coming near us. A shadow falls over her face, and I follow her gaze up.
A Capitol hovercraft.
"Come on," I spring into action, "we need to get out of sight." I push my way into the nearest clump of trees and bushes, holding the branches aside for her. It takes me a moment to realize that she isn't following me. "Katniss?" I peer back out.
"Katniss!"
She hasn't moved. She is staring up at the underside of the hovercraft with a look of fear and horror frozen on her face. I yell her name again. She doesn't hear me. The next second, a metal claw descends from the craft and snatches her up.
I'm too late.
She's gone.
The mockingjays start singing.
I pick up a rock and hurl it at the nearest bird. It falls to the ground with a thud, as the others fly away, startled. Her bow is still lying where she dropped it. The downed mockingjay on the ground beside it. I pick up the bow as the full realization of what has just happened hits me.
The Capitol has the Mockingjay.
The rebellion has failed.
I never told her that I loved her.
"Katniss."
A voice groans her name softly nearby. I open my eyes, as the dream disappears. The room is dark, but my eyes quickly accommodate to the light. I look over to where Katniss lies, snuggled in between layers of furs. Her face is relaxed, much like when we are in the woods. I can't help but wonder if she always looks like that in her sleep. Peeta knows, I think darkly.
The hairs on the back of my neck bristle. I turn around to meet his eyes. He nods her direction. "No nightmares."
"Yeah," I reply, "just not for us, eh?" The pained look that crosses his face is all the answer I need. Goodness knows what kind of nightmares haunt his sleep. He grabs onto the support, to which he is handcuffed, and pulls himself up into a sitting position.
"Most of the time, it's not worth even trying. I just wake up more confused than ever."
I wonder if he's trying to have a conversation with me, or if talking is just his way of coping with the situation. I strongly suspect the latter. I'm not really in the mood for soul searching, but neither am I ready to submit myself to whatever awaits me in my dreams.
I drag my pile of furs over and join him, leaning up against the stairs. I've never thought much about Peeta, not even as a rival. What Katniss and I had was special, unique. It was always us. I guess I didn't realize how much I loved her until the Reaping. Kids just don't fall in love in District 12. We can't afford to let ourselves. It's hard enough to watch school friends be sent off to die year after year without love complicating things. Yet somehow, in our four years of knowing each other, I fell for her. And everyone knew it. Well, except for her. I never told her. I guess that's why it hurt so much when he proclaimed his love for her on national television. The baker's son, who had never once even spoken to her.
"I don't understand," Peeta mutters bitterly, "why don't you just kill me? I'm just a liability, putting everyone in more danger than we already are in."
Seriously? That's what he's been sitting here thinking about? If I wasn't in the mood for soul searching before, I'm definitely not in the mood for Suicidal Peeta. I ignore the question. "Want some water?" I pull out my canteen and pour some into his mouth.
It seems like only yesterday that life was so simple. Katniss and I in the woods, hunting, spouting off anti-Capitol rhetoric where no one could hear us. Peeta doing… well, whatever bakers do, completely out of the picture. I knew that the Games would change her, but I hadn't expected Peeta's contribution. Even though we still do everything we did before, a piece of what we had has been left permanently in those arenas.
"Thanks for the water," Peeta says.
"No problem." Suddenly, I feel like I have to give some excuse for my actions. "I wake up ten times a night anyway." Wow, that sounded stupid, but I guess it's true.
"To make sure Katniss is still here?"
"Something like that." It's really weird to think that the person sitting beside me has the same feelings and concerns for her. Well, how can I say that? Katniss and I spent every day together for four years putting food on our starving families' plates, looking out for each other, while Peeta watched her for eleven years never talking to her, then announced that he was in love with her, fought Careers, even tried to commit suicide for her… What am I even thinking? How can I even compare our relationships with Katniss? Those are two different worlds. Our woods. Their arena. I will never know the Katniss of the arena. Not completely at least. But that is who she is now. It will always be a part of her. A part I will never know what to do with.
"That was funny, what Tigris said." Peeta breaks my thoughts. "About no one knowing what to do with her."
"Well, we never have." I laugh. He joins in. the irony is too rich. The two of us, so different, united by our love for this girl who is so busy turning the world upside down, that she has no clue about how much we care.
"She loves you, you know," Peeta says softly. "She as good as told me after they whipped you."
I want to laugh, but he looks so serious, so I refrain. "Don't believe it," I tell him instead. "The way she kissed you in the Quarter Quell…" It's hard to forget. It replays in my dreams nearly every night. The first time I was ever jealous of the baker's son. "Well, she never kissed me like that." All the other times, in the cave, at the interview, the Victory tour. I knew she was coming back for me. On that beach, things changed.
"It was just part of the show." I can hear the doubt creep into his words as he says them. Undoubtedly, that memory was tainted with the tracker jacker poison. How else could he think that it wasn't real?
"No, you won her over. Gave up everything for her. Maybe that's the only way to convince her you love her." Things start to click in my head. What if I had been reaped instead of him? Would I have done what he did for her? Of course. I'd do anything to protect her. I definitely wouldn't have had any qualms about killing Cato that first day at the Cornucopia. But would that have been enough? Peeta's words were his weapon of choice. And it turns out that words have been some of the most powerful weapons in this Rebellion. I think of all those propos we shot. Finnick. But I still feel like I failed her by not being there. "I should have volunteered to take your place in the first Games. Protected her then."
"You couldn't," he states matter-of-factly. "She'd never have forgiven you. You had to take care of her family. They matter more to her than her life." Of course he's right. We had no idea that the Games would turn out the way they did. We both could have been killed. We both could still be killed.
"Well," I reply, "it won't be an issue much longer. I think it's unlikely all three of us will be alive at the end of the war. And if we are, I guess it's Katniss's problem. Who to choose." I suddenly feel really tired. I really don't like thinking about dying. How does Peeta do it? There's no way I'm asking him that question. The yawn I've been fighting back wins. "We should get some sleep."
"Yeah," he agrees, catching my yawn. He slides back down onto his back, his handcuffs scratching the wooden support in the process. "I wonder how she'll make up her mind."
I'm already half under the furs when he says it. She already has. She just doesn't know it yet. I think to myself, but I know I can't bring myself to say it out loud. It's too much. "Oh, that I do know," so does Peeta for that matter. "Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without."