Mockingjay in Peeta's Point of View
Again I am so, so sorry it took so long! Been completely distracted the past few days and then my Internet wouldn't let me post it up yesterday. But here we go!
Also if you have time - check out my new one shot Holding on to Catnip! It's Gale's Point of View, having to watch Katniss in the arena. I will probably be continuing it at some point and do Gale's POV for Catching Fire and Mockingjay!
Chapter Four
The Doctor returns the next day with his syringe, although I find that I don't mind. I even almost welcome the hollow emptiness that the morphling brings. I feel like a toddler, unable to contain my own emotions. The morphling takes all of that away. The television flickers to life, and Katniss is on the screen again, surrounded by trees. I watch her with an indifference, and then she begins to sing.
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where they strung up a man they say murdered three.
She has a very good singing voice, I observe. I also find myself looking for the birds that should be listening, but there are no birds down here in District Thirteen.
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
I start to hum along with Katniss' voice, the words already springing to my mind. I have heard this song before, but sung from a different mouth.
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where the dead man called out for his love to flee.
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
On the screen, there is no other sound but Katniss and her song. I wonder if someone has edited out the sound of wildlife that should accompany the setting, but I know that it's because wherever Katniss had been singing, the birds had stopped to listen. A memory dregs itself up to the surface of my mind.
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free.
Strange things did happen here
No stranger it would be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
The memory becomes clearer along with the final verse of the song, and by the time Katniss has gone quiet, I remember why I know the song. The Doctor is watching me closely, probably noticed that I had known the tune of the song, but not wanting to push me.
"I know that song," I mumble, and the Doctor practically jumps on the words.
"Where from, Peeta?" His pen is already poised against the paper, ready to scribble down whatever I say.
"Mr Everdeen," I mumble, remembering the man who often came to trade with my father.
I had been young, so young that my father was only just letting me help him out in the bakery. The man had come down the street singing a song about a hanging tree, and it had mostly been words that made no sense to a boy of six. My father had told me about Mr Everdeen before, the man who could make the birds stop singing, just so that they could listen to him. When I heard him coming I had rushed to the door, peering out to listen for the birds, to see if it was really true.
I tell this to the doctor, leaving out that I had questioned my father after Mr Everdeen had left. I didn't understand why he would allow to man in the bakery when he had stolen the love of my father's life. Of course, he only smiled down at me and ruffled my hair.
"Nobody will ever understand why people fall in love with the people they do, but it's not something we should blame them for. Besides Peeta, I have a wife and three strong, healthy sons; so life worked out the way is was supposed to, really."
His words had stuck with me, even when I had been too young too understand their meaning. I was sure that I'd never meet a person as kind or loving as my own father, and decided at a young age he was who I wanted to be like.
"Can I have some time to myself?" I mumble to the Doctor, who nods and leaves me alone.
The morphling must have worn off, because there are tears in my eyes and an aching in my heart. My father is dead. He will never be kind or loving to anybody ever again. I'd never really had the time to process or acknowledge this before, but the information has finally sunk in. Gone, all of them gone. I no longer have any family left. I swipe at the tears running down my cheeks. I had always wanted to be as kind as my father, and now the Capitol have taken even that away from me.
I want to drag that kind Peeta up from wherever he is hiding and force him out to the world, but hours pass by and I am still the same.
Over the next few days, doctors are constantly in my room, trying out new things and always attempting to bring me back. I wonder why they bother. Why not just stick me in a cell somewhere and give me up to the nightmares? What use am I to them now? I watch all kinds of different tapes, and most of them leave me feeling confused. It's harder to tell which memories are the real ones; the ones I am shown in District Thirteen, or the ones I had before, supposedly implanted in the Capitol.
One night in my sleep, I dream of a young boy out in the rain with a sore cheek, clutching some burnt bread. He throws some to the squealing pigs by the door and glances through to the warmth, making sure the woman isn't watching. With the coast clear, he throws the remaining loaves farther past the pen, where it lands by a scrawny girl, her face awash with tears and rain. One last longing gaze, and the boy disappears into the building again.
When I wake, I know that this was a memory, not a dream. That the boy was me and the girl was Katniss. I also notice Haymitch sitting at the other side of the room, watching me carefully. How long has he been here whilst I was asleep?
"What are you doing here?" I snap.
"I came to see you," he tells me, and this makes me even more angry.
"Why? To keep more secrets from me?" An expression I don't understand falls across Haymitch's face.
"Is that why you're angry, Peeta?"
"Of course it's why I'm angry! You had this whole plan built out and didn't say anything. You just dropped us in there in the hopes we might do it right!" I pause for a moment. I had said 'us', rather than just me. Haymitch seems to notice it too, but he doesn't comment.
"You seem calmer than when you were first here," he says.
"I am, I think. Sometimes. A lot of the time I'm angry … different."
"Well, I came by to tell you that the doctors are going to start you on a new project. Finnick and Annie are getting married in a few days, and they want you to ice the cake for it. Think you can handle that?" I nod my head.
"Why did you tell me, and not one of the doctors?" Haymitch pauses for a long moment.
"I wanted to see you." He finally says, which I had not been expecting. I thought maybe it was part of my therapy. Slowly bring in the people I had known before my hijacking, and see my reaction.
"Haymitch," I say, just as he's turning to the door. He looks back at me. "I'd like to see Katniss. After the wedding." He regards me for a moment, and then leaves without saying anything.
It's inevitable that I'll have to see her at some point, and what better way than when I'm strapped to the bed with sedative at the ready? The only time I'd seen her had been a shock, and the surprise had triggered all of the anger that I had been infected with. Perhaps if I plan ahead and ready myself for seeing her, the results will be different. Not to mention the doctors keep telling me she isn't a mutt, and I'd like to judge for myself.
That afternoon I am unshackled from the bed, and allowed to walk hesitantly around the room in order to regain my balance and composure. I don't know how long I've been in District Thirteen now, but I've spent most of it strapped to the bed. They've allowed me out of it sometimes, to bathe and change the sheets. Guards are waiting for me outside the door, and they all carry menacing looking guns. I wonder what might happen if they had reason to shoot me; are they loaded with bullets or sedatives?
I'm led to another room down the hall, where they have set up a decorating table for me. The cake stands in the middle, looking plain and begging to be painted. It's covered in a thick icing that I can paint over, so I take up an icing pipe and fill it with a sea coloured icing. There are all kinds of colours waiting for me, and it looks like they've left the decoration plan completely up to me.
Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta; the handsome man and the mad girl from District Four. It makes sense that their cake would be themed on the sea and beach.
I spend the next few days building up the icing of their wedding cake, and I look forward to waking up each morning and being escorted to the decorating room. Working with the icing pipes reminds me of being back at the bakery with my father on a morning, working on the icing of the small cakes. Or creating my memories on canvas in the Victor Village. Working on the cake has a calming effect, and has me concentrating so hard that there's no room for any other thoughts.
I finish it the night before the wedding, and allow myself to feel proud of the work, but a little upset that I have nothing more to keep me focused and calm.
The next evening the doctors come by, with some extra equipment.
"Katniss has agreed to come and see you," the doctor tells me before moving closer. I'm not sure how to feel about this news, or even know what to expect. "So we think it would be best if we just prepare for what might happen." He begins strapping my arms back down, and adds two more straps. I'm not sure if this is necessary, because I've lost a lot of my muscles and strength after the Quarter Quell.
"You mean, in case I lose control," I say, and the doctor looks at me briefly. He doesn't answer, but sets up a sedative that can be injected with the press of a button.
"She won't be here until this evening after the wedding." The doctor leaves after checking everything is secure, and I am left to wait for Katniss to turn up.
She doesn't come for a long while, and I even fall asleep for a few hours. The clock at the other side of the room says midnight when the door opens tentatively, and Katniss walks in. I regard her wearily for a moment, perhaps expecting her to turn into some ravaging creature and tear me in half. She wanders further into the room, stopping a metre or so from my bed and folding her arms over her chest. I wonder if she's also expecting me to attack her. The rage inside me isn't as strong as it was before.
"Hey," she says, breaking the silence.
"Hey." I reply, my eyes roving over her quickly. She seems normal enough, but the Capitol have some very advanced minds and technology.
"Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me."
"Look at you, for starters," I admit. "You're not very big, are you?" People always seem to be raving about the Mockingjay, and have put so much substance in her that I was expecting her to be … taller perhaps. Instead she's a rather short, plain girl. "Or particularly pretty?"
"Well, you've looked better," she shoots back. I find myself laughing at this comment.
"And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I've been through."
"Yeah. We've all been through a lot. And you're the one who was known for being nice. Not me." This irks me, especially after my own thoughts of being kind like my father. "Look, I don't feel so well. Maybe I'll drop by tomorrow." She turns to the door, and I remember the dream that was a memory.
"Katniss. I remember about the bread."
"They showed you the tape of me talking about it," she says, and I frown.
"No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn't the Capitol use it against me?" They'd used just about everything else.
"I made it the day you were rescued," she explains. A pause, before she continues. "So what do you remember?" I think back to the dream, and my voice softens.
"You. In the rain. Digging in our rubbish bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead."
"That's it. That's what happened. The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn't know how." I remember this also, seeing her at school the day after.
"We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then … for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion." Katniss nods along with my retelling. I'd risked a beating from my mother to feed the scrawny girl in the rain. I'd apparently done a lot of things for this girl. "I must have loved you a lot."
"You did," she replies, her voice going weird and ending with a cough.
"And did you love me?" I ask. She doesn't look at me.
"Everyone says I did. Everyone says that's why Snow had you tortured. To break me." It's a good way of avoiding a direct answer.
"That's not an answer." I comment. "I don't know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers."
"I was trying to kill all of you. You had me treed," she defends herself.
"Later, there's a lot of kissing. Didn't seem very genuine on your part," this I had noticed whilst re-watching the tapes. Saw her kissing me, but looking as if her mind was elsewhere. I wonder if I'd noticed this at the time, or if I believed she just wished to kiss me. "Did you like kissing me?"
"Sometimes." She admits to me, then another small pause. "You know people are watching us now?" Obviously the conversation makes her uncomfortable, but I am indifferent to the eyes that I know are always watching me.
"I know. What about Gale?"
"He's not a bad kisser either," she sounds angry at the question. Quite a temper.
"And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?" I can't imagine I would have been fine with her kissing another guy.
"No. It wasn't okay with either of you. But I wasn't asking your permission." I laugh again.
"Well, you're a piece of work, aren't you?" I say.
She turns and storms out of the room without giving me an answer. I sit back in the bed, thinking of the conversation and wondering why I had fallen in love with such a girl.
"Nobody will ever understand why people fall in love with the people they do ..." My father's words come back to haunt me. Maybe one day I'll remember why.