Chapter two is finally here! It's long, loooong overdue. I wrote the first chapter of this fic, and I'm finally continuing it. Thank you to everyone who has patiently waited for this update. I hope the long length at least partially makes up for it!
Huge thanks to feeding_geese/bigbigbigday006 and notanislander for their help with this!
I wake, tangled up in my sheets. At first, I'm not sure what time of day it is-morning or night, until it dawns on me that I'm not sitting in total darkness. The sun has at least come up. But I can't say if it's actually morning, or maybe I've slept all the way into the afternoon. I was so tired by the time I got home last night, that as I crawled into bed and slipped into sleep, the last thought I remember having was that I felt as though I could sleep for three days straight.
Maybe I did.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand, and see that it's only 8 in the morning. It's probably safe to say that I haven't slept through more than one day. No, as I become acclimated to waking life, I realize there's no way Greasy Sae would allow me to sleep that long. Probably she'd be afraid I'd finally succeeded in offing myself, and wake me up just to make sure I was still alive. Speaking of, she should be here soon. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and pull on a robe before heading downstairs.
I hear the sound of the front door unlocking just as I reach the kitchen. As the door opens, I smooth my hair, which is probably in quite a state after last night, and brace myself for the morning's greetings. A second later, Greasy Sae's toothy smile lights up the room, with her granddaughter following closely at her heels. I wait, but no one else follows.
Peeta isn't here.
"It's just the two of you?" I blurt out, without even considering if it's a good idea. I haven't given them so much of a greeting, aside from a curt nod of the head.
But Greasy Sae doesn't look the least bit surprised by my question. "There was no answer when I knocked at Peeta's door this morning," she says.
I nod, and try to focus on the groceries she's unpacking on my kitchen counter. Eggs and bacon, and lard for cooking. All things we never had access to before the war, except maybe on very rare, special occasions. But now that the Capitol has fallen, they must be shipping them out to the districts.
I wonder- where is he?
That wasn't what I was wondering. I was about to ask how they transport the eggs. But now that the thought has broken through, it's all I can do to keep from thinking about it. Why didn't Peeta come over this morning? Why didn't he answer the door? My stomach sinks as I realize what the implications are. It means that either he didn't want to see me, or he's fallen into one of his episodes. Or both.
"Katniss?" Greasy Sae's voice cuts through my thoughts, bringing me back to this room again. She's looking at me with concerned eyes. I can't stand being looked at like that. "What?" I snap, a little more harshly than I intended. But if my tone offended Greasy Sae, she does a good job of masking it.
"I asked if you would like a helping of eggs."
"Oh… sure," I say, my voice flat. She scoops the yellowish goop onto my plate. I just pick at it, wondering where she learned to cook like this, since I can't remember her ever serving eggs at the Hob. Who knows, though? My memory seems to have a lot of holes in it lately.
I'm just about to finally take a bite, when a noise makes my ears perk up. It can't be the door, could it? No… no, I'm not imagining it. Somebody is turning my doorknob, and entering the house. My head snaps in the direction as familiar heavy footsteps start down the hallways. When he finally enters the room, something heavy seems to lift from my entire being.
"Peeta, you made it," Greasy Sae says cheerfully. "Would you like some breakfast?"
"Sure," he says with a glance in my direction as he takes a seat opposite me. "Yeah. I made it."
"I stopped by your house earlier, but you didn't answer," Sae continues. "Everything all right?"
"Yeah. Just… I went to check on Haymitch."
For a minute, only the sound of the food cooking fills the air. "Oh?" Sae asks, before the silence goes on too long. "How is he? I've barely seen him since he's returned home."
Peeta just shakes his head. "He's… Haymitch," is all he says.
That seems like quite a statement for Peeta to make, all things considered. "Are you sure you can remember what Haymitch is like?" Then I cringe, because even I can hear how insulting, how defensive my tone comes across. Even if I didn't mean for it to.
"Yeah," Peeta says simply, and stares down at his food. He won't raise his eyes to meet mine, and he doesn't say anything else. I want to say something more, but I'm not sure what, and besides, I'm not entirely comfortable with the thought of saying in front of Greasy Sae. I'm reminded of all those times in the arena, when all I wanted was to draw the curtains shut on what should be a private moment, meant only for Peeta and me. I guess it doesn't matter who my audience is, whether it's one or two people, or the entire nation of Panem. Some things just aren't meant to be shared.
We just sit there like that, in awkward silence, for the remainder of breakfast. I keep willing Greasy Sae to take her granddaughter and just leave already. But instead, she takes her time, cleaning up the dishes, putting things away, even sweeping the floor and wiping down the counters. She doesn't usually take this long! Does she? I don't think so. I don't remember her ever taking this long before, anyway. It figures she'd choose to do so right now.
"Well, I better get going," Peeta finally says after some time. I turn to stare at him, wanting to scream, wanting to demand that he stay while everyone else leaves. I'm actually tempted to do this. Not that it would be the first time I've had an outburst. Would anyone even be surprised at this point? But I manage to keep it together while I watch Peeta scoot out of his chair, and without a second glance at me, nod goodbye to Greasy Sae and let himself out my front door.
"Well, we better get going too, I guess," Greasy Sae says. Finally! It took her long enough. Only why did she have to wait until after Peeta left?! I missed my opportunity because of her! I try to calm myself. She's been doing me a favor by coming over here to look after me. I should be grateful. Except I never wanted it. I had wanted to die, to be freed from this life. But I'm still here. And I need answers.
I realize the answers lie across the way, inside two houses of Victor's Village. But do I have what it takes to go over there? No, I don't think I do. So after Greasy Sae and her granddaughter finally bid me goodbye, I just settle down in my usual spot in my chair, and stare off into space. Eventually, I hear Buttercup creep into the room. To my surprise, he jumps up into my lap, and I begin stroking his fur absently. It's amazing how some things change, I think to myself. If only she could see us now.
The thought hits me like a brick wall. Suddenly, I feel as though I'm about to hyperventilate. If I don't do something, I will. I push Buttercup off my lap and leap to my feet, pacing around the room and trying desperately to push those thoughts away. I can't- I just can't think about it. But I can't help it-the images force their way into my mind. Not just memories of that day, but other ones. Worse ones, gruesome images that make me want to scream, they're so horrible.
I can only think of one thing that might make the thoughts come to a halt. It's too early, but I'll do anything to make this nightmare end. It's bad enough to have to deal with them at night, when I'm asleep, but during the day as well? I have to make them stop. I stumble over to the kitchen, where I know there were a few bottles hidden away from when we stocked up after Ripper was forced out of business. Even that memory is too painful to bear. With shaking hands, I pull the doors to the cabinet open, and twist open the bottle. Shove it up to my lips and force myself to take a sip. I cringe as it goes down my throat, just as hot as the last time I tried the stuff.
It burns. How does Haymitch manage?Even still, I find myself taking another sip, and another, until I can feel it beginning to work. I don't want to get as drunk as I did last time; just enough to make this awful attack go away. It works. As awful as this stuff is, I can feel the anxiety begin to dull. So does the world around it. That's enough. Somewhere in my jumbled mind, I recall how awful I felt the next morning, back when I tried it when the Quarter Quell was announced. The vomiting. The furious headache. I'm trying to make the misery go away, not invite a whole new set of problems. Slowly, carefully, I twist the cap back on the bottle and scoot it away from me. I already know I drank more than I meant to. The room spins around me. I just need to sit down for a minute. Yes, just for a minute. Holding onto furniture, walls, or anything solid, I pull myself to the sofa where I fell asleep a few nights prior, and lower myself down.
Katniss.
My eyes barely open a crack. Everything is blurry. "Katniss," he says again, only it doesn't make sense. He's not here. He stayed behind in the Capitol while I was exiled back to 12.
With a groan, I manage to open my eyes completely, and the world comes painfully back into focus. I wasn't hallucinating Peeta's voice, he's actually here, kneeling before me, peering into my face with a look of deep concern. I remember now, how he came home. For whatever reason, my brain froze in the memory of his absence while I was sleeping, but he's here now.
"What time is it?" I murmur, stretching my arms over my head. I also remember.
"Noon," he tells me as he rises to his feet and frowns down at me.
"Noon?" I ask, surprised.
"Yeah," he says. "How long have you been asleep?"
"I don't know," I admit. "I- " And it takes me another moment before I remember the way I passed out this morning after drinking the white liquor I had stashed away for Haymitch all those months ago, before the bombing, before the Quell. When Prim was still here. And so was my mother. But my headache is threatening to return, so I just shake my head. "I guess I fell asleep after breakfast."
"You've been drinking," he says, and it's not a question, but an observation, and I can tell it's no use to argue it with him.
"Maybe I have," I shrug, looking down at the floor. I feel defensive.
"After breakfast?" He asks. His blue eyes roam over me, taking in every bit of me, studying me. I shift in his gaze, feeling uncomfortable.
"Why not?" I spit out, angry. "What else is there for me to do now, Peeta?" And there it is. The truth. Because now that I have served my use as the Mockingjay, have failed to keep the districts from rebelling for Snow, refused to die like a good little tribute is supposed to, and have even failed the sister who my entire existence revolved around protecting, what purpose is there in my living now?
Peeta doesn't even respond at first, instead just staring at me for a long time. Then he sinks down into the overstuffed chair across from me, and buries his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Katniss," his muffled voice, obstructed by his hands, says to me. Now it's my turn to sit and stare in silence. This wasn't the direction I expected this to go in, and now I'm not really sure what is going on.
At last, he straightens, and lifts those blue eyes of his up to look into mine. He offers me a sad smile. "I can't really judge you too much," he tells me. "When I was in the hospital after the bomb… sometimes I thought I was a little too attached to the morphling."
I let out a short bark of a laugh. Peeta raises an eyebrow at this. "Join the club," I say. Then, of course, I have to tell him about Johanna back in 13, and how even I was hooked onto it both when I was being held in the training center, and after being shot when I was in 2. I stop before I tell him about the memory that resurfaced under that haze of morphling, though.
Peeta just shakes his head. "Dr. Aurelius, he's the one who helped me get beyond it. Helped me learn new ways to cope, healthier ways. Have you answered his calls yet?"
I'm silent.
"I know it's uncomfortable," he continues. "But… he helped me a lot. That's why I think you should give him a shot." When I still don't answer, he just climbs to his feet with a sigh, and starts for the door.
"I talked to him yesterday." It comes out in a rush of jumbled words.
Peeta stops in his tracks, and turns around to face me, an eyebrow raised. "What was that?"
Now I sigh. "I said… I talked to him yesterday."
"Oh." He stands there awkwardly, probably searching for the right thing to do next. "That's… good. That's great. He really helped me a lot."
"Yeah," I nod half-heartedly.
"Well… see you, Katniss." And he's gone. He sure seems to come and go. I wonder what it is he does, anyway? What's Peeta even really like now, after everything he's been through? I have to say, I expected something different. I'm not sure what it was that I was expecting, exactly. Something a lot more like how he was back in 13, I guess. More hijacked episodes. But he seems mellow. Nothing like that tortured boy I knew underground. I think back to when I first saw him a couple days ago. The first thing I noticed was how his eyes had lost that clouded, tortured look. It makes me wonder, really wonder for the first time, what it was he was doing all that time in the Capitol, before he came back here.
Maybe he's right. If he was able to make such a remarkable change in Peeta, then maybe Dr. Aurelius can help me. But that thought, the very idea of ever coming back from this… this shell that I've become, seems laughably impossible. Surely I'm beyond help at this point. That's why they sent me here. Because there's nothing anyone can do for me. Better to discard me to the destroyed district, where no one will have to deal with me.
Except Peeta.
Not Haymitch, though, apparently. I guess he's too busy dealing with his own demons. He's better off without me now, anyway. Maybe Haymitch can go find some kind of happiness of his own, now that this is all over. If he can ever put the bottle down long enough to even do that. I wrap a blanket tightly around my shoulders, and settle back against the backrest of the sofa. What would Haymitch's life be like, if he let himself move on from here? Would he find himself a wife, and settle down to have children? No. Somehow, I know that isn't in the cards for him. Just like I know there's no way I'll ever have kids, especially after all I've gone through, I know Haymitch will be the same way. He's known too much loss. Just like me.
For a long time, I just sit there in silence, staring off into space as I watch the dust motes spiraling in the air around me. I have a throbbing headache now from the liquor, but somehow it doesn't seem important enough to do anything about. Peeta wasted his time, I think. I'm no good coming home to. Since he's recovering so much better, then he would be better off someplace where he could thrive. He shouldn't be quarantined in 12 with me. Haymitch too, for that matter. He was given the lovely little task of watching over me now that we're home, but I know what that really means. He's my guardian. Because not even my own mother wants anything to do with me anymore. That's how much I ruin other people's lives. He should leave, too, with Peeta, and maybe it's not too late for them both to find something better for themselves. Something away from me.
The shrill ring of the phone interrupts my thoughts. At first, I just sit there, willing whoever is on the other end to hang up. But I suspect I know who it is. And Peeta's parting words eat away at me until finally I give in, and move from my spot to answer.
"Hello," I mumble into the receiver.
"Katniss. Hello," Dr. Aurelius's low voice crackles through the line, confirming my suspicion.
"Hi," I mutter back.
There's a brief pause. "How are you doing today, Katniss?" His tone is kind. Nothing about it suggests pity or comes across as patronizing.
"Okay," I say back in a flat voice. Even I'm not convinced by it.
Another pause. "That's good," he says. A third pause, only this one goes on for an exceeding amount of time. Finally, he speaks again. "Well, Katniss… is there anything you'd like to talk about today?"
Like what? The fact that everyone I know would be better off if I wasn't in their lives? He'd have a field day with that. "Not really," I tell him.
A beat. Then he asks, "Well, what do you like best about being back in 12?"
"I don't know," I snap back without thinking. What… what on earth kind of a question is that?
"I suppose you like being back home where things are familiar," he says.
"I guess."
"And you must like having your friends and neighbors around you again."
"Sure." That's a joke. Outside of Prim and my mother, I had exactly three friends.
On and on it goes like this, with Dr. Aurelius asking me little questions that don't quite probe too deeply, and then answering them for me when I refuse to cooperate.
"All right, Katniss," he says at last, with an air of finality to his voice. "I'll call again in a couple of days."
"Whaa- " I'm surprised to hear there's going to be a lapse of a few days, considering he's called every day so far. I glance at the calendar on the wall, trying to place when two days from now will be, and realize that today is Friday. This catches me off guard-it's Friday, really? I didn't even realize that it was. Now that I think about it, I haven't paid any attention to the days of the week at all. All I really know is that it's the first half of April.
"Have a good weekend," Dr. Aurelius tells me. "But don't hesitate to call me if you need to," he adds.
"Okay," I mumble, and hang up the phone. Then I just sit there, losing track of time again, until I hear a knock at the door. My eyes dart to the clock-it isn't quite time for Greasy Sae to arrive for the next meal, so I don't know who this is. Better not to do anything then, I decide.
"Katniss," I hear Peeta's muffled voice come from the other side. Oh. I guess I'd better answer. I climb to my feet, and shuffle over to the door, fixing Peeta with a blank stare as I open it. "Hey," I mutter.
"Hey," he says back. He tries to act nonchalant, but I can tell he's looking me over, examining me for anymore signs that I've been drinking, or anything else I may or may not be doing. "Um, I wanted to work on something, and wanted to know if it would be alright if I worked on it over here. It's kind of lonely over at my house," he says, and gives me an unconvincing smile.
"Okay," I nod, and move to the side to let him through.
He stops in the middle of the foyer and looks around like he's trying to figure something out. Then he turns around, his blue eyes looking quizzical. "Um, where do you want me to work?" he asks.
"Oh," I mumble as I shut the door tight. So that's what he was trying to figure out. "Um, where ever you want, I guess. I think you have the same layout in your house. Just work where you would work."
"Okay," he nods, and moves for the study.
"Not there!" It comes out so quickly, I barely have time to register that I said it at all. Peeta stops, and turns to search my face. I can tell he wants to ask me why, but I can't have that. I can't explain about that time President Snow sat in there and, in one brief meeting, took my life away from me forever. Or at least, what little there was left of it, after putting me through the Games.
Peeta decides not to push it. "Okay," he says slowly, and nods his head. "Then I'll work somewhere else."
"Yeah. That'd be good," I agree. Then, because I feel bad, I offer the kitchen table as a work place.
"Sure," he smiles. "That might be the best place for my little project, anyways."
I follow him down the hallway, curiosity getting the better of me. "What are you working on?"
"Just ideas right now, really," he says. "Dr. Aurelius said he thought it would be good for me to have a project."
"Ideas for what?" I ask.
He gives a rueful smile. "What to do with the rest of my life. Now that the Capitol is done with me."
I frown, knowing the feeling all too well. "Nothing! There's nothing left for either of us to do!" I want to shout back at him, feeling my insides twist in anger. But for whatever reason, I can't find it within me to voice this thought to him. So instead, I just watch him quietly as he settles down at the table, opening a notebook that he brought with him and placing it carefully before him. What's he going to do? What is he planning to put in it? I glance up at him, expecting to find him deep in concentration, and instead find his blue eyes trained on me as though he's trying to figure something out.
"What?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "Nothing," he mutters.
For a very long moment, we just sit there, staring at each other. I look at Peeta's eyes, really, truly study them. This is the first time I've looked at them since he returned. Since before he returned. My memory is so cloudy that all I really remember about that day with the primroses was that they looked more normal than they had since I lost him in the Quell arena. Now that I'm closer, I can have a better look. Yes, they look far more like that Peeta, the Peeta from before the hijacking. The same gentleness that used to be there has returned. Only now it's mixed with something else. Pain. Weariness. Confusion? What exactly is going on in his mind right now? My mind starts to form some sort of thought, some hypothesis. Then it's gone, before it even has a chance to fully form.
"Katniss," he says again, stronger this time; louder. His voice cuts through my thoughts and brings me out of the memories of humid jungle trees and dark, cramped underground passages, and brings me back to the present. I can't help blinking-somehow, the light in here seems brighter than it did while I was lost in thought. My eyes, though still locked on his, come back to focus on the real Peeta who sits before me. I raise my eyebrows, questioning. What's on his mind?
"Um," he begins, knitting his brows together thoughtfully. "Are you, um, just going to sit there and watch?"'
"What?" I ask, more than a little confused since that wasn't what I expected out of him at all.
"Just, well… " he looks past me, trying to put together what he's trying to say. "I mean, I know it's your house, and I kind of invited myself over," he stammers. "But, I don't know if I can really work if you're just, you know, watching me…."
"What?" I snap back, feeling peeved.
"I'm sorry," he offers. He does look truly apologetic, but at this point I don't really care.
"It's my kitchen," I say snidely to him.
"I- I realize that," he says carefully. He purses his lips and looks thoughtful. I just glare at him, making sure it's the most heated gaze I can manage. Which is quite a bit.
He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "Maybe I should just go back home," he mutters.
I don't answer right away. I'm still not done glaring at him. But that's when I see his nostrils flare, and in an instant something twists inside me. Fear. Guilt. He's going to have an attack, I think to myself as I tense up, not sure what to do. I make a quick assessment of my exits if he tries anything. Then I wonder if there would really even be any reason to bother. I'd deserve it if he killed me. He would be better off without me anyway. The whole world would.
Feeling gutted, I back down from my hostile stance. "No. You're right," I admit, pushing back in my chair and rising to my feet. I busy myself in the kitchen, moving things around and picking them up, but I'm not really doing much of anything. Periodically, I check over my shoulder to see how Peeta is doing. At first, he just sat there watching me, which seems a little ironic given his previous complaints. But maybe he didn't know what to make of my sudden change in mood. But after a couple minutes, his head bows over his notebook, and I see him start to work.
Curious, I attempt straining my neck to see over his shoulder. But I can't tell what he's working on, other than a few blurry lines. I give up, wondering if Peeta himself really even knows what he's working on yet.
He stays, drawing away in his notebook, until Greasy Sae shows up for dinner. Than he shoves it away and offers to help her cook. Then dinner is served, and the next thing I know, my house is empty once more.
But the next morning, he comes over again, looking sheepish as he asks if it's okay to let him work here again. I allow it. This repeats several days in a row. At first, I try to find a way to be busy, so he won't think I'm staring. After a while, though, I just give up. Putting up such a front takes too much energy, and what does Peeta care anyway, as long as I'm not watching him? So I just sit on the sofa in the other room, indulging in my own favorite way to pass the days since returning to 12. Staring into nothingness. Wondering why I'm even still alive.
One day, Peeta drops his pencil suddenly, and tosses his head back, giving out an exasperated sigh. I watch him, curious, a little worried, until finally he lifts his head back up and looks over at me. "I need to go for a walk," he says.
I nod. He gets up, walks to the front hallway. But I don't hear the sound of the door opening, or his heavy tread as it disappears down the porch steps. Instead, after a minute of pure silence, I hear him slowly shuffle back into the room where I'm sitting.
"Would you mind going?" He asks, looking a little nervous. I drop my eyes, thinking about it. I'm tired. I don't have much energy to go anywhere. But somewhere deep inside of me, I can tell that Peeta isn't just asking for the sake of having company. This is another walk he needs my help with. So I muster up the energy to move, to put my boots on and follow him outside, and down the trail that leads us out of Victor's Village.
We're silent at first, as we head down the road that used to take us to the town square. I'm still feeling a little dizzy, though being outside in the fresh air is perking me up a little bit. Not that I would ever admit that out loud.
After a while, Peeta finally speaks. "I'm thinking of opening the bakery again," he tells me.
I look over at him, curious, waiting for further explanation.
He just shrugs his shoulders. "It's all I really know how to do. Even in 13, baking was the first memory that was easiest for me to recover."
We walk a little further in complete silence. I don't ask any questions, but eventually he continues with his explanation. "It's harder than I thought it would be, though," he tells me. He turns and looks at me at last, waiting for my opinion.
"Why is it hard?" I ask. My voice sounds so small out here, without the walls to reflect the sound.
He turns away from me again, looking down the road, his hands stuffed in his pockets despite the warm, humid air. "I'm not sure," he tells me. "For starters, I guess it's because I've never built a bakery before."
That's true. Peeta was born into his family's bakery. That building had been standing there for decades. It was probably there before any of our parents were even born. I imagine it would be hard to build a new one from scratch, especially if you've never done anything like that before. But somehow, I suspect that isn't the only reason it's been hard for Peeta to make plans to rebuild.
He confirms my thought after another long stretch of silence. "And it's hard to think about the memories," he tells me.
"I know," I hear myself mumble. Because I definitely understand how painful it is to recall those things which we'll never get back, gone forever, existing only in our memories. And even then, they won't last. Sometimes I find I can't remember certain details, like the last morning Prim and I spent together before I left with Star Squad for the Capitol. When this happens, I begin to panic. Those thoughts are so precious, and losing them would be like losing her, and everyone else all over again.
I'm so lost in my thoughts, that I barely notice when Peeta stops, tripping over a piece of rubble lying in the middle of my path. The abrupt interruption irritates me, and I kick the debris hard out of my way as I stand up. I'm ready to admonish Peeta for not warning me or something, when I notice he's barely paying attention to me, his eyes locked on something that lies ahead of us. Turning, I realize we're right in the heart of what used to be the center of town. Ahead of us lies all the remains of District 12.
They've made progress since I first returned to 12. Or rather, since I first walked through the district, since there was a whole lost time between my return and that walk that I'm still not sure the length of. It looks cleaner, though there is still plenty for the crews to pick up. I wonder if they've focused more on rescuing the bodies of the fallen citizens, and that's why more hasn't been done to clear the remains of the buildings. I was so out of it, I didn't even notice if the hole in the Meadow has been covered yet. Or maybe we didn't even walk past it. Maybe Peeta took us a completely different way this time. I really don't know.
It seems like ages before either one of us moves. We both remain frozen in our spots, just staring out over the scene, each of us taking it in. It's never easy being here. Even with our walk out here weeks prior, it stirred up emotions in both of us. I'm still recovering. And I think Peeta is, too. So what reason could he possibly have for bringing us here again? I want to ask him this, but the question won't come out. So instead, I simply wait for his lead.
When it comes, he steps forward lightly, carefully working his way through the remains of our old life. I follow reluctantly, having half a mind to just wait here while Peeta looks for whatever it is he's searching for out here. But I know he needs my help, even if I can't figure out what help that may be. I'm not even sure it was a good idea, bringing me out here with him. I can't do much. I'm too much of a wreck myself.
We pick our way over the debris, trying not to look too closely at whatever it is under our feet. I hope it's only building remains at this point, but who could be sure? It seems impossible that they already got everyone out of here by now. But it's such a grotesque thought, I push it away as soon as it surfaces. If I'm going to do this with Peeta, I can't think about these things right now.
He finally stops, right where I suspect he would. At the leftover rubble of the bakery. "What do you hope to find?" I want to ask him, but still the words won't come. I'm not sure he even knows. All he does is stand and stares. I try to keep as still as possible, not wanting to disturb whatever is going through his mind. And also not wanting to disturb the ghosts that lie all around us. I want to disappear completely into the scenery. If I did, would it somehow amend for the fact that I killed every last soul who breathed their last on this spot?
Peeta slowly lowers to his knees, and picks at something lying just beneath him. He turns it over in his scarred hands, inspecting it for who knows what.
"What are you doing?" I finally blurt out. My voice sounds so harsh against the quiet reverence that seems to belie this place. I cringe, hearing it bounce around, echoing off the few walls that still remain standing.
Peeta turns and gives me a cold look. In his eyes, I see something that puts me on edge, something that reminds me of those times in 13 when he accused me of not even being human. Then it's gone. He doesn't give me an answer, though. Just stares a second longer, then turns back to his search. He creeps forward, picking items up here and there and looking them over. Most of what he picks up is unidentifiable, charred and turned black after the bombs set them on fire. But I don't dare question him again. I'm not even sure it's safe for me to be here by this point. But I still don't leave.
It's on the far end of the bakery, on what would have been its entrance, that he finally finds success. I watch as he pulls out a long piece of board, that actually seems relatively intact despite the destruction it's gone through. Peeta excitedly lays it down on a pile that comes up to this waist, and with the sleeve of his shirt, begins to brush it off. Then he snatches his arm away quickly, almost as if whatever it is he's found has burned him.
What could it be? I doubt anything here would still be hot from the fire and the bombs. No, judging by the way he's staring at it now, it's something else that's caused Peeta to react to it like this.
He looks lost; I'm starting to get worried. So, despite my better judgement, I begin to carefully work my way over to him, being careful to tread as quietly as I can over the loose debris that used to make up the bakery. I come right up next to him, being sure to approach him from a vantage point where he'll be sure to see me approach, because I can't take any chances. But even despite this, he doesn't make any sound, any movement, give any indication that he knows I'm there at all.
I'm not sure what I should do. Or if I should even do anything at all. While I stand there, trying to figure it out, my eyes drop to the piece of board that Peeta is so transfixed on. I can see that something is written on it, and it looks familiar. Is that- I strain my neck, trying to get a better view. Yes, it is.
It's the sign from the Mellarks' bakery.
It made it through somehow. I'm not sure how, but it did. In clear letters, it still plainly reads 'Mellark Family Bakery.' It's barely burned at all. It's amazing that it survived, especially considering the whole rest of the building did not.
"Is-" I begin, my voice croaking. My throat is dry. I clear it and speak louder. "Is that the sign from… ?"
Peeta slowly looks up at me. And that's when I know I'm in trouble. That cold look in his eyes-I know it too well, and it isn't just grief over his lost family. He is the hunter, and his prey is me. And there's no one here to help. I don't even have my bow with me, if I really needed it. Could I even shoot him at this point, even if I had to?
"This is your fault." His voice is low. Deadly. Made of steel, and every bit as cold.
I just stand there, frozen in my spot. I don't even know what to tell him. Do I deny it? Do I tell him yes, it is my fault that they died, and everyone else in 12 too, even if I personally didn't drop the bombs that did this to them?
"Peeta… " It comes out in a whisper. Pleading, for mercy I know I don't deserve.
"It's your fault!" And now it comes out as a roar. He moves towards me, and without a second thought, I'm in flight, moving as fast as I possibly can over the junkyard that is our old home, tripping over things in my way and then picking myself up as fast as I possibly can so I'm moving again. Something warm trickles down my leg, and I'm fairly certain I've cut myself and am now bleeding. But I don't dare stop to examine it. On and on I go, not even thinking about what I'm doing, where I'm going. My legs are taking me where I need to go, and all I can do is trust them.
Eventually the debris and clearings give way to trees, and finally I begin to feel safe. I've made it to my woods, and while I know there's nothing to stop him from coming after me, I at least have the advantage over him out here. He never came out here when the district was still standing. He'd be lost in a second. But I don't stop running until I'm deep in the woods, and feel certain he'll never find me here.
Hidden under a thick layer of trees, I come to a stop, and allow myself to collapse onto the forest floor. I curl into a ball, and allow whatever emotions are coming to work their way out of me. Now that I'm no longer moving, I realize how little business I had running like that at all. I'm still far too weak, and now my heart races not just from the fear, but from over exertion as well. Really, it's amazing I made it this far without stopping. The adrenaline must have fueled me.
It takes some time, but the tears finally come. Then I start hyperventilating. It's too much. Too much! Why did he come back?! And why did they send me back, too? They should have just executed me after I killed Coin. I deserve it. I've manage to get most of the people I've ever met killed, and ruined the lives of everyone who is left. They should have killed me when they had the chance.
Or maybe that's what's happening now. Maybe that's why they let Peeta come back here. To finish the job off. It's not like it's all that strange of an idea. Isn't it exactly what Coin intended when she sent him to join the Star Squad?
Don't be ridiculous, a small voice in my mind argues. He's had therapy since then, and besides, there are far more effective ways to kill me if that's what they had in mind. But I'm so angry, so sad, so miserable, that all I can do is cling to the thought that this is my punishment for hurting everyone I've ever loved. By siccing one of them on me.
On and on and on this goes. The tears don't seem to end. I begin wailing, screaming, pounding the ground in rage. Every last horrible emotion that's built up in the last year and a half, the last two years, finally comes out. I thought I was an empty shell, that there was nothing left inside for me to even feel. But was I ever wrong.
Why? Why did Peeta's episode set me off this way? I knew it had to be coming, was even expecting it. So why am I reacting this violently now that it's happened? I don't know. I'm not sure I'll ever know. So here, once again, the forest becomes my solace. The only place I can be myself.
When at last I have nothing more inside me, waiting to come out, I lie on my side and breathe deeply. It's so peaceful here, now that I'm not disturbing the silence. Maybe I will just stay here forever. Maybe I can meld with the leaves and the plants covering the forest floor, and never have to go back to civilization again. It would be better that way. Yes, I think I will just stay here forever.
I know that isn't really an option, though. Because as the sun sets, and I can see the light growing dimmer, I know I have to leave. The wild dogs and other animals will come out, and I don't have anything to protect myself. I doubt I have the strength to climb a tree. I need to go home. As much as I don't want to, I know that I have to.
Carefully, I climb to my feet. I have to go slow, because after exerting myself so much from my crying, I've spent a lot of energy and feel a little dizzy. If I move too fast, I feel like I might fall back down. Once I am on my feet again, I start slowly. It'd help if I had something to eat. I realize I haven't eaten since breakfast this morning.
What time is it? Judging by the way the light hits the earth, it must be around 4. I know Greasy Sae won't have been by yet. I didn't run that far into the woods, so it shouldn't take me too long to get home, either. If I time it right, maybe I can get there just as she arrives.
But I don't want to do that. Going home means finding out what happened to Peeta. Now that I'm starting to feel like myself again, I begin to feel guilty for just taking off like I did. But what was I supposed to do? At the time, running felt like my only option. But somehow, I know that wasn't true.
I start to wonder where he is, what's happened to him. Did he make it home? Is he safe? Or is he still milling about the remnants of the old town square? It scares me to even think about it… but I know I have to go check if he's still there.
The remaining walk through the woods is silent. And I don't encounter much of anyone once I do reach the outskirts of what used to be 12. I see a worker here and there, still working on clearing out the mess. I pass by the Meadow, which is still wide open. So they're still digging out what they can find of the bodies. I'm careful to avert my eyes before I catch sight of what's inside.
Peeta isn't at the town square when I get there. He isn't anywhere. I check the perimeter of the area, just to be sure. Nothing.
I don't know what else to do now, besides go home. Hopefully, Peeta went home himself. Do I knock on the door to his house, find out? I have to get something to eat first, if I'm going to do that. Besides, what if he's still in the middle of his episode, and I need to get away quickly? Yes, returning home is the right choice. I'm only too relieved when I reach my own front steps, and let myself in through the front door, locking it tightly after me. Then I settle in on my couch, and wait. Greasy Sae won't have come by yet; I've beat her here.
That's fine. The walk home took a lot out of me, anyway.
I lie down in my usual spot, preparing to get some rest before she arrives and I have to help prepare dinner. But not even five minutes later, there's a knock on my front door. She's early?
But it's not Greasy Sae standing there with her granddaughter when I go to open the door. It's one of the last people I expected to see standing there, with his frown on his face as it takes me in. I haven't seen him in weeks. Not since the first day I returned to 12. I wasn't even sure he was still alive.
It's Haymitch.
Immediately, I feel defensive. "What?" I snap at him.
He raises an eyebrow. "That's a fine greeting after not seeing each other for some time."
"Yeah, well, who's fault is that?" I shoot back. He has some nerve saying this to me.
He seems to concede, because he doesn't press the point any further. "I have something you've been looking for," he tells me instead.
Now it's my turn to raise an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What's that?"
"A certain someone I think you left to fend for himself when he needed your help," he says, crossly
If I was defensive before, it's nothing to how I feel now. Haymitch isn't being fair. He knows what Peeta can be like when he enters an episode, how dangerous he can be to me in particular. He was there! He was there all those times in 13 when Peeta, or the hijacked version of him, was threatening my life.
At the same time, though, I feel relieved to know Peeta made it back safely, and evidently safe in Haymitch's care. "Where is he?" I ask, still sounding angry. But I don't have the energy to do much more fighting. So I decide to focus on Peeta instead.
"He's at his house," Haymitch tells me. "He's asleep."
Without another word, I shut the door to my house behind me, and push past Haymitch, down the stairs of the front porch, and cut across the lawns over to Peeta's house. Haymitch follows. The door to Peeta's house isn't locked when I get there; of course it isn't, if Haymitch was the last person to leave, how would he have locked it? Besides, there's no one here to steal anything, anyways. So I let myself into the quiet house, and head towards the staircase.
It's only after I climb the stairs that I stop, because I realize I'm not sure which one is Peeta's room. I've been to his house before, but always stayed downstairs when I'd come over. The floorplan to his house is exactly the same as it is mine, and Haymitch's, because actually all the houses in Victor's Village are exactly the same. So I can only assume he would take the master bedroom, just as my mother and Prim had insisted I do in my own house.
It's on quiet feet that I creep down the hall to what I know to be the master suite. As silently as I can, I gently push the door open and peer in. I was right, this is Peeta's room. And there he is, asleep in his bed. Though judging by the way he thrashes around, it's not a very restful sleep. It actually catches me off guard to see him like this. I think back to that time on the train during the Victory Tour, when I asked him why I never knew when he was having a nightmare. He told me then that he always came to, paralyzed with fear. It makes me wonder what's happened now. Is it the tracker jacker venom that caused the change? Or… it's almost too much to think.
Is this what he's like when I'm not there to calm him down?
For a second, I'm overwhelmed by the urge to crawl in with him, to wrap my arms around him, just as he did for me all those times before. Then the whole thing-the memories, the way my brain becomes confused by this thought given everything that's happened today, in the last year-makes me feel dizzy. I have to lean against the frame of the door to steady myself until I feel strong enough to stand again.
When I make it back downstairs, Haymitch is waiting for me. He motions me to the living room. I want to stay standing, to keep some sort of leverage with whatever Haymitch is about to unleash on me, because I can tell he's mad. But I'm so weak still, I have to sit down.
"What, Haymitch?" I snap at him, because I really just want to get this over with.
He just frowns at me. "You know that boy came back here for you, right?" He asks, cutting right to the chase.
I don't respond, instead fixating on a spot on the carpet directly in front of me.
Haymitch, not one to let things go, continues. "You just left him out there to fend for himself!" His voice is rising, but I can tell he's trying not to get too loud. He doesn't want to wake Peeta.
But his words get me. I was already feeling defensive, but this pushes me over the edge. "He wanted to hurt me!" I snarl back at him.
"You don't know that! When Thom found him, he was just milling around, confused," Haymitch says.
"You know he's been programmed to kill me!" I almost scream, barely catching myself from being too loud, not really sure if I even care if I do.
To my utter surprise, Haymitch actually relents. "I do know," he admits. He sighs, and settles down on a chair across from me. He leans back, and I can tell he wishes he had a bottle right now. I wonder when the last time he had a drink was. An hour ago? Half an hour ago? I have no delusions that he's been hiding himself away in that house of his, drinking himself to oblivion. But can I really blame him?
"You're right to be concerned," he tells me. "What happened to him is still unknown in a lot of ways. But, girl, you have to understand how much therapy that boy has been through. Aurelius wouldn't even let him leave his facility until he felt satisfied he could manage in public without going off on a murderous rampage every time something set him off!"
I do realize this. Well, most of it, anyway, though maybe not the finer details. But Peeta basically told me as much his first morning back, when I caught him planting the primrose bushes.
"He needs us now, sweetheart," Haymitch says. "You and me both."
"Well that's awfully noble of you. And where were you, exactly, when I came home and you abandoned me in that house for a month?" Maybe it's too harsh, but I just can't help the anger rising up in me now. I've been an empty shell of a person since those bombs took my sister's life-they may as well have taken mine that day. Everyone has left me now. Even my own mother. And Haymitch just sat there in his house, getting drunk.
I can see the anger in his face at the sting of my words. But he manages to keep his anger down. "I'm here now, aren't I?" he asks gruffly.
I just cross my arms, and look away.
"All right… you're right," he admits.
Looking back, I take him in, really examining him for the first time since I've seen him today. Since I've returned to 12, even. His face is puffy, there are bags and dark circles under his eyes. His belly has grown again. I can tell I'm right about the drinking. It makes me wonder what state his house really is in. I remember how awful it was before I convinced him to let Hazelle clean it for pay. But there is no Hazelle now, which means his house is probably something rivaling those days from before.
"Look… Katniss… " Haymitch starts out, and it's clear whatever it is he's about to say is the kind of heartfelt thing that's always made him uncomfortable. "You and the kid have both been given a second chance here. And a lot of people died for you to have that chance. Don't let their deaths be in vain." I just stare at him as he climbs to his feet, losing balance as he does so, and catching himself on the armrest of his chair. He stumbles back to the door, pulling it open. He looks over his shoulder on the way out. "You two need each other."
With that, the door closes behind him, and I'm left alone in the silence of Peeta's house. Haymitch's words turn over in my head as I try to let them sink in. I'm not sure what to do now. Should I stay here, wait for Peeta to wake up? Or should I go home to my own house? Surely Greasy Sae will be here soon, if she hasn't stopped by already. Should I find her, tell her that we're having dinner at Peeta's house tonight? Since I can't decide, I just stay put instead.
In the silence, I watch as the light grows dimmer. Dust motes dance in the fading light. It's my only form of entertainment, since I have no plan. I've just about decided to get up, and go check Peeta's kitchen, when there's a knock at the door. I pause, wondering who it is, and if I should even answer the door, since this isn't my house. I must take too long trying to decide, because a knock comes a second time, this time much louder.
I decide to answer it. Even if it's not my house, Peeta isn't awake to get the door. And I guess I'm now his designated caregiver, though just the thought of that is enough to make me want to laugh. But not quite.
Greasy Sae stands at the door with her granddaughter. I shouldn't be surprised to see her, but for some reason I am. I guess Haymitch told her where we were, or she just figured out on her own that this would be the next place to look when it turned out neither of us were at my house.
"I ran into Haymitch out on the path," she explains. So it was him who told her. "He told me where to find you."
I nod, moving over to let her in. This probably means she knows what's happened. "Peeta's upstairs," I tell her as they pass through the door.
Greasy Sae nods, and a serious look crosses her face. I was right about her knowing. But she does a good job keeping her concern in check. "Best to let him sleep for now," she says. "We can always rouse him with some of this stew I'll be cooking you tonight."
Despite everything, I can't help allowing myself a grin. Something about Greasy Sae's stew brings back happy memories of my home before the Games, and before the war. For a brief second, I'm the old me again, coming in to trade at the Hob after a hunt, or maybe even briefly after school. Then it's gone, and I'm the broken girl with no family once more.
I follow her into the kitchen, but I don't make any pretense of even trying to help her with the cooking. Instead, I plant myself down at Peeta's kitchen table, and preoccupy myself with watching over her granddaughter. Peeta's house doesn't have the yarn for knitting that my house does, so it's better that I try to keep her out of trouble. If Greasy Sae has any objections to this, she doesn't say so.
There's silence as she works, and for a long while the only sounds are the splatters of her stew simmering, and the noises her granddaughter makes while she plays. After a while, though, I notice her taking a few sideways glances at me. Finally, she speaks.
"He's going to be okay, you know, honey."
I look up at her, at a loss for words.
"He just needs his sleep," she continues, matter-of-fact, as though there were no possible way it could turn out any other way. As if Peeta had befallen a horrible cold he needed to sleep off, instead of being hijacked and tortured at the hands of the Capitol.
"Maybe not," I mutter.
She shakes her head. "He will."
"But how can you be sure?" I counter, pulling myself up straight to watch her.
"That boy is tougher than he looks," she tells me. "You both are. He survived the Games, didn't he?"
I sit back in my chair. "Yeah," I admit.
"And everything they did to him during the war. I know it was bad, honey, but you don't realize how much therapy he's been through since yo- since Coin died."
Well that's interesting. I notice that she stopped herself from admitting I murdered President Coin. But that isn't what gets my attention. What does is that comment she made, the one about the therapy she knows Peeta has gone through. How does she know that? Something inside me suspects I was right about my earlier theory of her being on someone's payroll. How else could you explain her knowing about this? Her having access to this information?
"How do you know about that?" I ask. "About Peeta, I mean." Obviously she saw me assassinate Coin on live television, along with the rest of the country.
She doesn't even bat an eyelash. "You know they've given me instructions to watch over you two, girl," she says in that no-nonsense tone she can take up. "I have to report to that Plutarch fellow weekly."
Ugh. It figures it would be him.
We settle down for dinner. Barely another word is uttered between us. I keep my eyes mostly on my plate, picking at my meal after I've eaten the little I can stomach. Greasy Sae attends to her granddaughter. Until I glance up, and find her eyes glued to a place somewhere behind me.
I freeze. Without turning, I'm pretty sure I already know what she's looking at. Or rather, who she's looking at.
"You're up," she says brightly. She pushes the chair back and rises, crossing over behind me. I finally dare to turn around. Memories flash back to that time in the 13 cafeteria, when the guards let him eat his lunch with us, and he accused me of all kinds of things. Is he going to do that now? I'm not sure what I would do if he did.
But when I finally turn to face him, it's not the sullen Peeta from that day months ago that I find standing there. Instead, he just looks confused, like he's trying to understand why we're all eating dinner at his table, while he was asleep upstairs.
Greasy Sae gently places one hand on his back, and uses her other one to grasp his arm. She leads him carefully over to the table, making comments about how hungry he must be, and how she'll fix him up a plate right away. She sits him next to me, which I'm not at all sure is a good idea, but he doesn't seem like he's about to attack or anything, so I relax a little.
As she places him in his chair, then goes to get his dinner, I can feel his blue eyes on me. It takes me a minute to work up the courage before I slowly turn and meet them. I don't see any anger, fear, or distrust reflected in them. That's a relief right there. But I can tell he's piecing things together.
"I had an episode," he says at last. I can't tell if it's a question or a statement, so I just nod and look back at my food.
There's a beat of silence. "Katniss," he gasps my name, and I can tell the memories from earlier are hitting him. Without another word, he jumps to his feet.
"Peeta?" Greasy Sae asks, turning around to see what all the commotion is.
"I can't be near her!" He practically yells. My stomach twists; so the episode hasn't ended after all. Or maybe he's just realizing the truth at last.
"What do you mean?" she asks him in a steady voice. I can tell she's trying to keep her calm so as not to upset him further, but it doesn't work. Peeta is out the door before we can stop him.
For a minute, we just stand there in his wake, looking at each other. Then, without even a second though, I'm on my feet too, following him into the living room. I'm prepared to climb his stairs to his room, or even head outside to follow him to, I don't know, maybe the site of the old bakery. But instead I find him no further than his living room, sitting on the edge of a chair with his head buried in his hands.
"Peeta?" I whisper it at first, then clear my throat and speak louder. "Peeta?"
He looks up at me, horrified. "You should go." he tells me, his voice low and broken.
Haymitch's conversation comes back to me in this moment. The part where he told me that Peeta needs us. Peeta needs me.
"I'm just going to hurt you," he says. "Real or not real?"
I'm quiet as I mull it over in my mind. This is a question that has no real answer, because I don't know what he might do in the future. He might. Then again, Haymitch told me Aurelius wouldn't even let him leave until he was sure it would be safe.
"Not… not real," I tell him. It may well be a lie, but somehow I know it's what he needs me to say.
So, just to prove it, I sit down, right next to him, and wrap my arms around him.