Chapter Four

I do make every effort to see Peeta after dinner each night. Sometimes the medical team leaves us alone, and I could get away with staying the whole night if I wished. But, most of the time I'm asked to leave before 22:00 curfew. Meetings with Coin and Plutarch are almost always scheduled after dinner nowadays, telling me how my presence is going to be handled and protected in District 2.

It is now September the 29th. I have to leave in a week and I still haven't told Peeta the plan. I walk to the dining hall with my family after Reflection.

"Oh, Katniss. I wanted to tell you before you go to Command. I saw Peeta before Reflection." says Prim.

"Is he doing okay?" I ask her. "I haven't seen him for two days."

"He seemed alright when I said 'hi' to him. Maybe a little sad. He asked about you, of course. Don't worry, I didn't tell him about District 2. He was working on his milk and bread."

I glare at the thought, "What? I shared chicken soup with him the other night!"

Prim looks rather surprised at my outburst. I check to see if I had startled anyone else before focusing again on my sister.

"He probably showed symptoms of re-feeding syndrome." She guesses. "It's when a starved person is fed too much too soon. If he exhibited any symptoms, they would cut back on his diet. They did that for some 12 kids."

I gaze into my beef stew and set down my thick bread. I put my hands in my lap, squeezing them between my thighs. They felt cold all of a sudden.

"It's my fault. I kept pressuring him."

Prim holds my wrist, "He has so many people telling him what to do right now. Maybe it would be best if you left him to the professionals." She quickly adds, "But, that doesn't mean that you can't visit him till he's recovered, of course!"

I squint at the memory of that night, "He was breathing so shallowly, Prim. I think he felt pain in his chest."

Prim gives me an awkward side-hug. After dinner, I head straight for Command in the hopes that would get it over with faster.

"How long is this going to take?" I ask Plutarch. "I have to see Peeta."

Plutarch chuckles, "Since we busted Mr. Mellark out, it's like pulling teeth to get you to Command all over again."

"I do my duties as the Mockingjay." I say in my defense. "But, you've been ordering me in here for meetings which I stay silent for most of. I'm just the mouthpiece. Remember?"

"Well, sweetheart." says Haymitch from behind me, "I think you still underestimate your value to the revolution."

"It's not wise to sneak up on a Victor, Haymitch." I shoot him a glare.

I take my seat without getting an estimate from Plutarch. The clock strikes 21:30 hours when this meeting is adjourned. Throughout that hour and a half, I thought of nothing but Peeta and what Prim had said. I stewed in my regret and anxiety. My mind was so many miles away that it took Beetee riding over my toe to bring me back to my surroundings.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Katniss." he apologizes after I recoil my foot. "I didn't see your leg hanging out this way -"

I interrupt him, "Can you get Peeta and I access to the hummingbird room?"

"What for?" he asks.

I reply, "He hasn't seen the outdoors in months. His head doctor says it's too polluted aboveground after the Capitol bombed us. The hummingbird room is the next best thing."

He notes my sincerity, "Yes, Ms. Everdeen. I'm down there almost every night. Just tell the security guards that I need you both."

I follow him out the door and we share the elevator. I get off before him since Special Defense is the lowest level but for the dungeons. I hurry to Peeta's room, rushing past healers and doctors. Narrowly avoiding collisions with trolleys. Finally, I arrive breathless and pretty much fall through his door.

Peeta is startled by the noise I make. When he sees that its only me, he catches his breath and lays a hand over his heart.

He breathes, "You always knew how to make an entrance."

"I'm so sorry." I clear my throat. "I just wanted to see you."

"That badly, huh?" Peeta smiles weakly.

Is it just my paranoia, or has his complexion grown paler? I carry a stool over to sit at his bedside.

"Are you sick?" I ask him, furrowing my brows.

Peeta shrugs, "They're cutting back on my sugar intake and upping my phosphorus supplements. I swear, I take more pills than eat food." He stops chuckling when he sees my frown, "Sorry."

I'm having reservations about taking him to the hummingbird room. If he is getting sick, he needs all the strength he has to fight through it.

"I dream about us sneaking away." Peeta tells me. "You don't have to be the Mockingjay anymore. Together, we build a cabin by a lake. The war ends without us. We're still just teenagers. Prim and your mother are our neighbors. You get a hunting dog. I open another Mellark Bakery."

"That sounds amazing." I purse my lips.

I don't allow myself to think of the future. I just focus on Peeta's recovery. Whether he lives or dies will determine my future.

"When are you going to show me the birds?" he asks.

I give a dramatic sigh and rub his hand, "Just waiting for the right moment to make your escape. Beetee is in on it now."

Peeta's face falls, "Can't we go tonight?"

I shake my head, "You need your rest. Prim says I'm to leave you to the professionals from now on."

I did not know he was so looking forward to this. He looks so sad. I'm about to ask him why ... then he gives me the worst news so far.

"They're going to install the feeding tube tomorrow." Peeta tells me quietly.

I lift my head, "... What?" I blink rapidly and shake my head, "But, you're eating every meal now -"

"I don't want to scare you. But I've got re-feeding syndrome. They need to control my intake completely. If I continue on my own, they say that I can get convulsions ... which can lead to a heart attack. " He explains softly, wringing his hands anxiously. "It's out of my hands. Like most things are nowadays.

I close my mouth after realizing it was gaped. I feel so much pity for him and my heart is sinking. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. I wanted Peeta to have as much control over his recovery as possible. And he said that he doesn't want to scare me?

Ugh. Of course he's worrying about me when he should be more worried about himself. I'm leaving soon. I can't predict what's going to happen in 2. Once that feeding tube is down his throat, it will be much harder if not impossible to take him anywhere. I step off from my stool, Peeta watches me with those baleful eyes.

"Take my hand." I hold one out to him. "We're going to the hummingbird room."

Peeta leans heavily on his walker while I trail his IV stand along beside him. His eyes take in the enormity of the underground District 13. Murmuring words like 'amazing' and 'incredible' as we go. I lead him to the elevator.

"It's on the bottom level." I tell him. "Swallow when your ears pop."

In order to go outside, we'd be required to wear an ankle tracker and take a handheld communicator. In the Special Defense level, we need to get through two security check points to reach the hummingbird room. The security guards eye me and Peeta suspiciously. Peeta's heavy breathing don't help our case much. But, eventually they let us through.

Maybe they felt a debt was overdue, Peeta risking his life to warn them about the Capitol's incoming bomber crafts. Peeta gives a breath of awe as we walk up to the large plate-glass window. He puts a hand against it and I stand beside him, watching his reaction. His hollow eyes brighten and his lips stay parted.

"Can we go inside?" he asks me breathlessly.

Its not the kind of breathlessness that comes from exhaustion. It's from disbelief and excitement.

"Of course!" I smile, "Follow me."

Inside is a replication of a meadow. There are real trees and flowering plants like orange blossoms, honeysuckles, columbines, bottlebrushes, and fuchsia. And, of course, there are the hummingbirds. Palm-sized birds with elongated beaks dart all around us, slurping up nectar from their boundless garden.

"Who do I have to kill for a palette and an easel?" Peeta asks.

We smile ecstatically at each other. He mouths 'thank you' to me and I mouth back 'you're welcome'. I watch him take in a lungful of the cool fragrant air. I lift the IV drip stand and carry it along whichever direction he takes his walker in. He runs his hand along the trunk of a tree.

"Well, we can't have a picnic." I say. "But, at least you can pretend you're outside."

"We'll have other opportunities to go outside. I'm sure the bomb fumes will die away by October." Peeta says.

I begrudgingly say, "Sure."

If I come back from District 2 in one piece. He looks at me, catching the tone in my reply.

"I'm sorry. I would've told you two days ago about the feeding tube." He apologizes. "Where have you been? I saw Prim."

I avoid his gaze, "Oh, you know. Just Mockingjay stuff." I try a change of subject, "You'll love it outside. I did this when I got out of here," I twirl before him and he smiles."I hunted squirrels, rabbits, and turkeys. Just like old times. I even brought down a deer once. We had minced venison in our stew."

"Did that taste good?" He asks.

"Sure it did."

Peeta winces, "I need to sit down. I feel like I've walked a mile in snow."

"Here, let me help." I say.

I steady the IV drip with one hand and use my other for Peeta to hang off of while he sinks down to the ground. I may be pessimistic, but he felt no heavier than thirteen-year old Prim would soaking wet.

"Thanks." He grunts, shifting around for the most comfortable position. "This feels so good. I get sore from lying in bed all day. Have you ever been sick? Before the Games?"

I tilt my head, sitting across from him, "I'm sure I have. Maybe not the flu, since my mother was a healer. But I've caught a cold here and there like everybody else. You?"

Peeta shakes his head, "Nothing more serious than the sniffles. I got hurt from ... roughhousing with my brothers."

I know neither of his brothers were the one who was rough with him but I don't outright question the cover-up. No matter, though. The rest of the Mellark family are most likely dead anyway. I won't ever tell him this, but I'm glad his mother is dead. I look at his bruises and scrapes now, comparing to the mark Mrs. Mellark had left on her son.

There's no contest with the Capitol. But, I can't begin to excuse a mother who would abuse her own children. When will I get him to a place where he can't be hurt? Peeta lies on his back in silence for a little while, watching the birds buzz overhead. I hope his mind is far away from any thought of my Mockingjay responsibilities.

"I forgot to tell you the good news." Peeta says. "I've gained four pounds."

"That's great, Peeta!" I say. "You weigh more than I do again."

Peeta laughs. This really is good news for me. He weighs almost 123 pounds. Twenty-one more pounds to go to meet the bare minimum for his height. Maybe the feeding tube isn't such a step backward.

His recovery cannot depend on Peeta's unreliable appetite. I imagine him painting these birds on a canvas in that log cabin he spoke of. I think it would be great to have a hunting dog after the war is over. What a great idea of his -

"Don't you have something to tell me?" He asks.

I'm caught off-guard, "Huh?"

"Something's going on. You've been busier than usual." Peeta accuses, his hoarse voice soft. "There's something that you're not telling me."

I focus on a bird that requires me to hide my face from Peeta, "I don't know what you mean."

Peeta rolls over and props his head on the heel of his hand.

He echoes me, "You can tell me anything. You know that."

I turn to look at him, to deny it. I'm under no threat. I can keep my mouth shut ... theoretically. I thought I've been doing a good job of it for days. But, I crumble beneath the look those blue eyes are giving me.

They are more effective than any Peacekeeper holding the mouth of a gun to my forehead.

"I have to leave 13." I finally confess.

Peeta sits up, swaying his IV stand, "When? Why?"

"Not forever!" I assure him, sitting up and laying my hands on his thigh. "Just until we take control of District 2, then I'll be back by your side -"

"... D-District 2? NO!" Peeta is suddenly on his feet, knocking off my hands.

He goes from calm to hysterical so quickly I must have whiplash.

He cries, "They can't make you go! District 2 is too far up the Capitol's ass! Katniss, Peacekeepers come from there! It's too dangerous! Please, listen to me!" His voice cracks and I hear sobs break his roaring yell at the guards standing behind the window, "I won't let you take her! You hear me?! I won't let you take her away from me again!"

He staggers for the door without his walker. The guards are watching him with alarm, unsure of what to do. One seems somewhat amused by the too-skinny, 5'9", disabled Victor threatening him. Peeta's burst of passionate fury stuns my body and mind. I scramble to my feet once I get the feeling back into them.

"P-Peeta!" I croak, running after him.

His real leg gives way and he slams to the ground with a pained grunt. Knee first, then shoulder, his face last. One arm stretches outward, yanking the IV drip to the ground.

"PEETA!" I give a strangled yell, dropping to my knees beside him.

I help him sit on his heels. He's trembling, with pain and anguish. He's breathing too fast, like he's gulping for air. He manages to get out a word here and there. My name and 'no'.

Tears spilling over, cutting clean tracks through the dirt. I shush him and wipe away the dirt. He grips my wrists a little too tight and keeps his eyes fixed on mine, adding 'please' to his repetitive words whenever he had enough breath to whimper. He's like a lynx kitten, orphaned and alone and terrified. I feel guilty.

I cause his heartbreak. He has not insisted that he go with me. He must know how grave his health status is and that it would be impossible. It would require his entire medical team to accompany him. His special diet and physical therapy is down to 13's science.

Not to mention his psychological scars to boot. Sure, there may be teams of people in District 2 equipped to deal with such a complicated and delicate patient. But I don't know whose side they're on and I only trust the medics here because there are no alternatives. Peeta must believe that I would not let him go with me no more than he would bring me along if our situation were reversed. Waves of sobs roll through him.

Without thinking about it, I start humming notes for him. Then I part my lips to sing the notes for him more clearly. After about a minute, his grip on my wrists begins to lighten. At last, his breathing is evening-out. Just hiccupping because he must have swallowed a lot of air instead of breathing it in.

My last note fades away and I say to Peeta, "They need me, Peeta."

His lips quiver and he shuts his eyes, bowing his head, "... I know."

I reach to fix his IV drip stand and I curl up against his chest, letting him cradle me. I embrace him around his ribs, resting my ear over his heart. I can hear it hammering behind these brittle bones and fragile skin. I run my hand up and down his boney back to soothe him. I feel the wetness of his cheek against my scalp.

I peak open my eyes when I hear a commotion beyond the glass. Then I see Beetee rolling our way. I lift my head from Peeta's chest and he follows my gaze. Us still sitting on the ground, the door opens up. Beetee is flanked by four guards and Peeta's head doctor emerges from behind this angry looking entourage.

"I assumed you had permission to bring Peeta down here." Beetee says.

Peeta's doctor steps in between Peeta and I, "You are not supposed to leave your room, Mr. Mellark."

"I asked her to bring me here." Peeta tells him. "She did nothing wrong. It's my fault -"

"Don't worry about Ms. Everdeen. Let's return you to your room. You have a big day ahead." says the doctor.

"Careful!" I yelp when the guards lift Peeta to his feet and hand him his walker too roughly for my liking.

Peeta has dirt on his trousers and his hospital gown. I can see his spine and ribs through his almost translucent skin.

Peeta's doctor blocked my view of Peeta being led away, "We are careful, Ms. Everdeen. At least, I thought we were. Your visits with Mr. Mellark are going to be chaperoned from now on."

I follow the doctor to the elevator without making eye contact with Beetee. I spend the rest of the night fretting over Peeta's day ahead. I wish I could be in the bed with him. I miss him so terribly and my need to protect is flaring up so much that my heart hurts. My dreams are filled with Peeta crying over a tube protruding from his belly and being depressed.


I skip breakfast entirely. I quickly dress in my grey trousers and neglect to tuck in my grey shirt. I leave our compartment before my mother and sister can even wish me 'good morning'. I take the stairs to the hospital because the elevator would be too slow. I have zero patience this morning. I barely stop in time for the healer blocking Peeta's door.

She tells me, "No visitors are allowed in except in the patient's allotted hours -"

"What's your plan to keep me out?" I ask her.

She shrinks beneath my glare. Finally she steps aside. Wise choice. I wedge my way through the door and meet the head doctor's eye. Our previous relationship of niceties has gone.

"Please, let her stay." Peeta begs weakly, knowing that.

The doctor sighs and turns away from me. I rush to the opposite side of the bed, gazing down at Peeta.

"Good morning, Katniss." Peeta says to me. "I'm glad you're here."

This morning is not that good.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else." I try to smile.

He lifts his hand from his stomach.

I take it, "You're cold!" I cover it with both hands and double over to blow some heat on it. "It's going to be okay."

The healers wash their hands and pull on gloves. I hate how long it takes them to set up the equipment. I don't know who they're waiting for. To my surprise, my mother walks in the door about twenty minutes later.

"You asked my mother to do the honors?" I ask him bemusedly.

"She's the best healer from 12." Peeta smiles up at me, though I can tell that he's putting on a front.

He's nervous. I resume rubbing his hand. My mother and I greet each other. She rolls up her sleeves and washes her hands in the sink. Another healer helps her into rubber gloves and she takes the head doctor's place at Peeta's bedside.

That healer and another push a trolley with a machine on top of it over to my mother. There is also a cup of water with a straw. She picks up the tube and shows it to us. It's slimmer than the straw and very flexible.

"This a nasogastric feeding tube, Peeta." says my mother. "I will insert it up your nostril. It will then travel down your throat to your stomach."

"That ... doesn't sound so bad." his grip tightens.

My mother asks, "Do you have a preference for a nostril?"

Peeta frowns as though that it the least of his concern, "Whichever one you think is best, Mrs. Everdeen."

The healers move into action and I'm forced to let go of Peeta. He is instructed to sit up straight and my mother lathers a layer of lubricant on the end of the tube. I hover over by my mother, trying to find enough space so that Peeta could still see me. Peeta appears to hold his breath as she inserts the tube up his right nostril. I see Peeta grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut.

"You're hurting him -!"

Peeta gasps, "It's only a little uncomfortable. I'm fine, Katniss."

"Give him his water," my mother tells a fellow healer. "Now, Peeta. Swallow when I say."

When it's done, she tapes the tube in place against Peeta's cheek and tucks the rest behind his ear. It was at this point that I notice the tube is not connected to the machine.

"Thank you, Mrs. Everdeen." Peeta coughs.

The tube connecting to the machine is clearer than the tube in Peeta's nose. One healer holds it at the ready while another prepares a syringe.

"Yes. Thank you, healer Everdeen." Says the head doctor. "That was the hard part, Mr. Mellark. We're going to pump some stomach acid out to test the pH level in it and make sure it's in your stomach. Then we'll leave you to rest." He looks at me, "Alone."

My mother stands beside me in front of the one-way window till the ordeal is over. Peeta looks stressed and exhausted.

"Could I have some sleep syrup?" He asks the nearest healer.

I refuse to leave his side till he falls asleep, his hand going limp in mine.


After that stressful day, I'm only allowed to see Peeta at the scheduled time (4:30 p.m. - 5:30 p.m.) and always with at least guard outside the door. All too soon, the day of my departure arrives. I'm standing on the landing pad with Gale, Boggs, my prep crew, Haymitch, and the insects. I'm wearing my Mockingjay outfit. Gale is outfitted with his comunicuff.

Finnick did not come because he couldn't leave Annie's side. I envy them. Such a beautiful and happy couple. If they stay in this underground place forever, they might have a future. Whereas mine with Peeta is so uncertain. Peeta arrives with arm in arm with his head doctor, pulling along his IV drip stand.

I'm amazed at his improvement in just a week. His bruises are almost gone. His scrape on his cheekbone has fresh pink skin. His expression is grim, however. He glances up at Gale and down to me.

To quell any doubts in my devotion to Peeta, I walk right up to him and kiss him. He frees his arm from the doctor and holds me tight. We sway where we stand, digging our noses into each other's cheeks as we kiss deeply. I don't mean this to do this to hurt Gale. Only to reassure Peeta.

"Alright, lovebirds." Haymitch chuckles awkwardly. "There'll be plenty more time for all that later."

The insects come over and introduce themselves to Peeta.

"You can watch your girlfriend on the television," Cressida assures Peeta. "Messalla and I will be filming Katniss every step of the way."

Peeta looks marginally reassured by that.

"Lucky you," I smile for Peeta.

"You'll see so much of her, you'll get sick of it." teases Haymitch.

"Fat chance." Peeta beams at me.

Haymitch turns to Peeta, "Trust me, this is going to be her most uneventful trip yet."

Peeta eyes Haymitch critically, "It better be."

Again, he can't muster being intimidating like he was capable of before. But Haymitch nods anyway and sidesteps away. Peeta holds my hands.

"How are you doing?" I ask him for the upteenth time.

He shrugs with bravado, "Got two more pounds under my belt. Wanna bet how much I'll have when you return?"

"I don't want to pressure you." I say. "Just ... be good. Okay?"

"Says the young woman who kidnapped me to the underground meadow!" Peeta teases.

"Hovercraft 12-21 ready for takeoff." says a voice on the intercom.

I look at Peeta, feeling pain in my own chest.

"See you later." Peeta says sadly.

I can see he's trying to appear strong for me.

I shake my head surreptitiously, "Peeta ..."

There's so many things I need to say to him. To remember to push through the pain in physical therapy, listen to the psychiatrists, let the medics do whatever must be done to keep him stabilized. That I love him.

"It's okay." he says, smiling grimly.

"Climb aboard, Ms. Everdeen." Boggs says to me, corralling me with his hand at my back.

I reach out to grab Peeta's hand. His cold, quivering hand. I must give him my warmth, leave him something to hold onto. Before I'm frozen to the ladder and away I go.

"Wait!" I yelp, plunging my hand into my pocket.

I twist away from Boggs and run back to Peeta. I unfold his hand and place his pearl in the center of his palm.

"No, you should take that with you -" he begins.

"Don't lose it." I cut across him.

I can't bear to kiss him again. If I do, I might never be able to let go. I turn away and run to the ladder. Once inside, I flatten my hand against the window, gazing at him till he becomes a golden spot in a sea of grey and I am swallowed up by the clouds.


Getting shot in District 2, resulting in bruised ribs and the removal of my spleen, is not exactly the way I'd prefer to make Peeta feel confident in being separated from me. I'm sharing a room with Johanna Mason. Who's brilliant idea that was, I do not know. And she keeps stealing my morphling. I wake up to Haymitch at my bedside.

"Does Peeta know?" is the first question I ask.

Haymitch cocks a brow, "Unfortunately, he watched it happen on the television."

I cringe. What am I supposed to tell him next time when I have to leave to battle the Capitol? I look at Haymitch again and notice something. He looks stressed ... and I don't believe its about my ordeal.

I croak, "Wait, why isn't he here?"

Haymitch tells me quietly, "He caught pneumonia, Katniss."