Sorry this took so long! Little to no free time at the moment and I didn't think I'd have such a good response (': Will try to write quicker for you all in the future (:
I stayed up all night. When it was made clear I wasn't going to leave Peeta, someone brought in a chair so I could sit with him. Carefully, I held his hand through the long hours, memorising the feel of it in my fingers. Not even when I was looking after him in the first games did he feel or look this…breakable.
There weren't any windows, but the clock on the monitor read 5:48AM when someone came in who wasn't a doctor. Gale had come to visit. His eyes were wary as he approached, and I saw them flick to where my hands clasped Peeta's once, twice, and eventually a third time. A cloud settled over his brow. I met his gaze levelly, not moving. As if trying to stay professional, he nodded in greeting.
"Soldier Everdeen." I was slightly bristled by his cold welcome, but then again, I should have predicted it. I replied in kind.
"Soldier Hawthorne." I returned to watching Peeta. He needed me more. The silence stretched out a bit, and I could feel Gale's irritation from where I was sitting. Just get down to business, Gale, I thought. Now is not a good time for a fight. I heard him clear his throat.
"President Coin needs to see you," he said formally, and I noticed him adopting a rather official stance in the edge of my vision. I watched Peeta still, keeping my voice low and my temper cool.
"President Coin has legs," I replied levelly.
"And a very busy schedule, and she needs you to see her in her office," Gale responded, his words emotionless and flat. After a moment's silence, trying to figure out whether my next words will be worth it or not, I decide to throw all caution to the wind.
"Tell President Coin that I am happy to see her, but I'm not leaving Peeta." My voice grew hard and cold. "Not again." Peeta's hand twitched. I tried to calm myself down; I didn't want him waking up. Not to anger or irritation.
"Katniss," Gale said in a tone that obviously he thought brooked no opposition, but I cut him off.
"No, Gale. I left him once before and look what happened. I'm not letting go of him. He deserves at least that." I could feel an edge of desperation creep in. Was I trying to make up for my former failures by attending him? A tiny knot of self-doubt wriggled in the pit of my stomach. The huff of Gale sighing brought me out of that sudden contemplation, and he drew breath as if to add something but instead turned on his heel and stalked out. Without Gale in the room, my anger dissipated slowly, bit by bit.
Gale had a fire in him that matched mine. Both so stubborn, both so resilient. Best friends for years; you'd think we'd be a perfect match. But I remember kissing him and not feeling anything. It was just lips on lips, and after a while, a bit wet. But nothing was really happening, not like when Peeta used to kiss me. Like on the beach.
A warm sensation flushed through my body as I remembered each lingering touch of his lips on me. His hands burning through my clothes; my skin had never been more aware of each sweep of his fingers. My memories flickered to the kiss in the cave, where something had tugged in my navel and a strange yearning had curled into me. My breathing had quickened, my skin glowed and I felt light-headed. Was that the head-wound? Maybe. But maybe not.
The clock on the monitor continued to count into the morning hours as I sat there, trying to figure out why I felt like I was glowing right now. Was that-? I'm not sure of anything, but I think I'm enjoying this. So I let it happen. I linger on the details, the sweetness of his lips, the tentativeness of his caresses.
At 7:00AM on the dot, a doctor walked in silently and visually checked him over. I don't think they wanted to wake him, so after a cursory overview, they shuffled out again, not a word to me. That was fine though. I didn't particularly feel like talking. That was Peeta's job. He spoke for me through the Hunger Games, through the tour of the Districts, he spoke for the Capitol when I spoke for the revolution. If I could, I would take him away and hide him from the world so he wouldn't have to talk for anyone else again, or put himself in danger. I would protect him.
No. I will protect him.
The time ticked upwards. Every now and then, a doctor would come in and check him over visually. He slept easily through it. If it hadn't been for the clock telling me how long I'd spent here, I wouldn't have a clue. A month? A minute? They would have felt the same. I didn't want to let him go, despite the fact that I could feel the enticement of slumber dripping, heavy, on my eyelids. I was hungry as well. Not like I couldn't deal with that. Not like I hadn't been hungry before. The worst bit was the fact that I needed to relieve myself; I was unaccustomed to not being able to do this as and when I wanted. But I wouldn't leave his side until he woke up. I refused to.
Hours passed, moments at a time. I wasn't certain how large a dose Peeta had been given, and so didn't know when he would wake up. I started pretending to tie knots against the skin of Peeta's hand with a few fingers to keep my mind distracted and my fingers busy. After a while though, I could feel the sinking sensation of slowly losing my mind to anxiety that I now associated with the rope, and with tying knots. So I stopped, and instead I held his hand, really focusing on it. Lightly, I traced his fingers, his knuckles, the small ridges of the untreated scabs like sections of sandpaper, the bandages feathery or slightly damp from new blood or fluid, but most of all, I lingered on the skin. Soft and strangely smooth for a baker, it managed to retain its baby-like state through his vicious mother, the laborious work, through the sickening Hunger Games and the horrific, scarring torture.
Keeping his hand clasped gently in one of my own, I let the other wander up his arm slowly. I really felt him; not just the stunned caresses of earlier, but remembering our past. This was a lingering and deliberate action, where I made each motion to keep stored in forever. I was memorising him, memorising why he needed to be kept safe.
And allowing myself to be kept sane, for the present. The skin I came across was warmer than it was before, thankfully. My hand gradually came to rest over his heart, and the sensation of that regular affirmation of life brought a fleeting smile to the very edges of my lips.
Leaning forward, I allowed myself to run my hand up his chest, barely touching some places for fear of nudging the angry wounds and causing him to wake up early. My hand gingerly cupped the side of his neck, my thumb sweeping across the bruised skin. I lingered there, relishing the thrumming of his pulse and the indulgence of feeling him next to me. He was real. Tentatively, my hand smoothed up to his jaw, my fingertips resting lightly against the first dip of shadow under his eye.
Peeta stirred. I froze, my breath baited in anticipation. His lips moved slightly, murmuring something inaudible and breathy. His head turned slowly and pressed my hand closer to his skin, and his nose grazed the side of my palm. He drew in a deep breath, and the ghost of a smile flickered across his mouth. The dryness on my tongue was almost unbearable, but I didn't dare move. Not even to swallow. With a flutter of eyelids, I found myself once again faced by those blue, blue eyes.
But they were different. There was a constant fear there, dimming the light that used to shine so brightly.
For a long, long moment, Peeta's eyes bored into mine. Like he was seeing me for the first time again. Then, unexpectedly, his lips broke into a heartbreaking smile, pure joy radiant in his expression. A few tears had welled up and spilled from his eyes, but he still smiled like his face would split. I realised I was smiling as well, feeling a hot tear slip down my cheek.
"Katniss," he said crackingly, and the sound of his voice brought fresh tears to my eyes.
"Peeta," I whispered in return. He was the one good with words, so I wasn't surprised by my lack of verbose ability.
"You stayed," he said, and my response was just a fervent nod. Haltingly, he brought the hand I was holding up to his lips, and he pressed my skin against his lips.
"I love you," he said simply, and I knew then that he had to say it. Even as he thought I wouldn't reply in kind, he had to say it again to me; he couldn't hold it in. I knew it because I knew how he felt. Because I felt it too. And I wanted him to know. So, I watched his face hungrily, ecstatically, and replied.
"I love you too, Peeta."