Chapter 6: Katniss POV

Not him. Not him. NOT HIM.

Those two words make up the single borderline-coherent thought crossing my mind as Peeta's name is called and he begins making his way down the aisle to the stage. No, no, no… It can't be him.

I'm going to scream. No, I'm going to puke. No, I'm going to rip Effie Trinket's lopsided pink wig off of her stupid head and demand that she performs a redraw. This cannot be happening. Between the two of them, Prim and Peeta only have six slips among thousands. Gale and I have over ten times that. How could it be them?

At least I could spare Prim from the games. I owe Peeta an insurmountable debt, but there's nothing I can do to spare him from the atrocity he will be a part of in the coming weeks. He's too good, too kind, for this. Too hurt already. I can feel the bile rising in my throat when I remember his injury.

My eyes are locked on Peeta's, and his on mine, the entire time he makes his way to the stage. Even when he comes to stand beside me, we're still staring at each other, so unlike all the times throughout the years when I would catch his eyes on me and they would flit away. What I find in those deep blue eyes is a new confidence that is unexpected. Maybe it's because he thinks he is going to die. Maybe it's because I'm the only one who could possibly understand what he is feeling in this moment. In any event, it seems neither of us is willing to break the connection. That is, until Effie's voice rings out again and registers something in my mind.

"Splendid! Now, are there any volunteers?"

Volunteers! I can't spare him, but maybe his brothers can. His eldest brother is too old for the reaping now, but his other brother is in Gale's year, which means he could. Family loyalty only goes so far on Reaping Day, but Peeta is injured and Rye seems to care about him, since he dragged him to the Seam today for treatment.

I unwillingly break my staring contest with Peeta and sweep the the section for eighteen year olds. I spot Rye easily, since he's so large and people seem to have stepped away from him slightly, as if they're in danger being so close to the other eligible Mellark. He meets my eyes the second I find him as I stare at him beseechingly, begging him telepathically do something, save him! For a split second, I see his mouth start to open, but then he looks at Peeta and stops.

My eyes snap over to Peeta once again, just in time to see the hard look in his eyes and the slightest shake of his head as he signals to his brother not to volunteer for him. I admire it, knowing that it would kill me if I had a sibling volunteer for me, but I also hate him for it. When he looks back to me I can tell he can read the accusation in my eyes that screams at him what the hell are you doing?! He doesn't even bat an eyelash at my intense look, just maintains that determined gaze. I look down at his torso to emphasize the injury I know is there to further make my point, but the thought is lost when I see the dandelion in his shirt pocket.

I'm frozen in that moment. The world is completely forgotten as everything in me focuses on that one small flower, my symbol of hope in this hellish world, on the chest of the boy who saved us when I had nothing to offer him, as he stands in the worst possible place to be on Reaping Day. It doesn't belong here. He doesn't belong here. As I shake off the unexpected presence of the dandelion, I realize that doesn't matter as the moment has passed and it's too late. I only become aware that the mayor has finished reading the Treaty of Treason and asked us to shake hands when Peeta extends his hand to me. In an attempt to regain some of the composure I've lost in the last few minutes, I extend my hand in return. I barely have time to process how large and warm his hand is surrounding mine before he pulls me closer with it.

The action shocks me into stillness. Under more normal circumstances, I'd never allow it, but right now I can't bring myself to push away from his warm, comforting presence or the smell of cinnamon and dill that seems to be coming off him in waves.

I'm even more stunned when he leans in so his mouth is beside my ear, blocked from the intrusive view of the cameras and whispers, "You're going to be okay, Katniss. I promise."

Confused and suspicious, I pull away to look at him. How can he say that? Only one person comes out alive. If it's going to be me, then he'll be dead. When I meet his eyes though, they're genuine, strong and determined, but somehow gentle and full of something I can't define. All of it is both reassuring and disconcerting at the same time.

Unable to decide what to make of his actions, I don't realize he's pulled the dandelion out of his shirt and placed it behind my ear. There are so many emotions coursing through me in this moment: confusion, distrust, fear, hope, acceptance, panic at the recognition of those last two. There are so many things I could do in response: throw the dandelion down and stomp on it, hit him, cry, ask him why. I don't get to so any of those things though, because Peeta releases me and turns to follow the peacekeepers to the Justice Building where we will say our goodbyes, leaving me to trail behind.

As we make our way and the emotions of today writhe in my stomach like snakes, I decide I can't think about this. I can't think about Peeta Mellark right now. I need to focus on how to make sure Prim will be taken care of once I am gone and who I can enlist for help.

When I am deposited in my room however, I become aware I have been absently stroking the dandelion behind my ear and my thoughts drift back to him. The symbolism of him helping me with Prim, offering me assurance, and handing me a dandelion of all things is not lost on me. Here is Peeta Mellark once again offering me some form of hope in a hopeless situation, even though the cost will come at his expense.