We return to the train as soon as the party is over with. As far as we're concerned, our departure from the Capitol cannot come soon enough.
Haymitch boards the train first, knowing that the reporters cannot care less about capturing him on film. Portia and the rest of the prep team follow him. I can't help but note the slight wobble in the footsteps of Cloud and Matisse, and shudder as I remember all of the drunken party goers we've encountered tonight. Effie walks in front of us, every once and while throwing a smile and a wave over her shoulder for the cameras. Despite my initial dislike, I find myself a bit embarrassed for her at the sight of her bright orange lipstick that has smeared itself on her front teeth.
Peeta and I are the last ones left with the crowd. We stand on the platform for a moment after everyone else has boarded, hand in hand, posing for the cameras. We share one last kiss for the citizens of the Capitol, and then rush into the train car as quickly as possible. Even with the doors shut securely behind us, I refuse to let go of his hand.
Haymitch is waiting outside of Peeta's compartment, and the three of us all share a look. The train will undoubtedly have to make a stop at some point during the night to refuel. We all know this will be our only real chance to speak. Peeta nods to his mentor, and we move into the room, both knowing that any attempts to sleep before then will be futile.
We take longer showers than necessary.
Peeta does so in order to rid his body of the feel of all of those Capitol citizen hands on him. I merely try to forget the sensation of Snow's eyes on my father's pin, of Snow's eyes on anything that belongs to me at all. I don't even hesitate when I add Peeta to this mental list.
It's a few hours later that we feel the train start to slow. Peeta and I look at each and immediately slip our boots onto our feet. The two of us, along with Haymitch, are at the doors, ready to depart as soon as it's safe to do so.
The small refueling station, along with the moon overhead, provides our little spot, just beyond the last car of the train, with very little light. I can't decide if this is something to be thankful for, or not. The air is cold and though we can't see each other's faces properly, our breath that hangs in the air in front of our mouths is perfectly visible. I wrap the blanket Peeta insisted I bring from the train around my shoulders tightly as I look to the older man beside me to begin sharing what he knows.
I note the way that Haymitch's hands have a slight shake to them from the years of alcohol abuse. The look in his eyes as he explains the plans that President Snow evidently has for Peeta is haunted, with an added hint of fury. He loses focus and, for a moment, goes on a tirade; damning the Capitol and everyone that resides in it. He's not looking at either of us as he begins to mumble to himself.
I step forward to reach for his shoulder, to bring him back to the topic at hand, and smell the faint hint of the white liquor he's so fond of. It's a smell that's been noticeably absent for the majority of the tour. When my fingers come in contact with the sleeve of his shirt, his head snaps up. As he looks at me, I'm shocked to see that the light from the moon reflects unshed tears in his eyes. At least, I think that they're tears. For all I know, they're just glassy from his current state of inebriation. The lines etched on his face are weary and worn from years of giving bad news, of watching children die, and of nightmares gone uncomforted.
For a very brief moment, I find myself feeling sorry for the man in front of me. However, the feeling is short-lived when I remember that he could have forewarned us to all of this happening. We could have been better prepared had he chosen to share what he knew before it was too late. I remove my hand and take a step back. He seems to understand my inner turmoil, and continues to talk.
Peeta is quiet the entire time that Haymitch speaks. Too quiet, really. I note the way that he's taken a step back, almost as if separating himself from us as soon as possible. Almost as if he's accepting his fate and trying to make it easier.
I move closer to him and interrupt Haymitch's words.
"You don't have to worry about all of that, Peeta. It's not going to happen. I won't let it happen."
He takes another step away from us and is quiet for a moment longer. Finally, he lets out a slow, shaky breath and says something that both saddens and infuriates me all at once. His voice is low, and I'm not entirely positive that it was something we were meant to hear.
"It would have been better if I'd just died in there."
After I get over the shock of what he's just said, I'm in his face in an instant. My hands are gripping his arms so tightly that my knuckles have turned white.
"Don't you dare say that!"
"But it's true, Katniss!" He pulls his arms out of my grip so roughly that I stumble back a few steps. "You know that it's true! If it weren't for me, Rue wouldn't be dead! That man in 11 wouldn't be dead! I wouldn't be in this mess right now… wondering what price I'll go for when auctioned off!"
I'm unable to look in his eyes, my gaze instead resting on the uneven rising and falling of his shoulders. His breathing is heavy, and I can tell that won't be changing anytime soon. He takes a hesitant step closer to me, and I force myself to look up at his face. He brings his hands out in front of his body, carefully taking mine into them.
"If I hadn't made it home, then you wouldn't be stuck where you are, either… If I had died in the arena, your life would be so much easier! You could be getting on with your life! You wouldn't have to worry about what's going to happen to you, or about your mother and Prim's safety!"
It's not until Peeta's hands comes up to his cheek and I feel a stinging in my right palm that I realize I've just slapped him. I stand there, looking back and forth between Peeta and Haymitch. My mouth hangs open in shock. The anger I feel inside causes a heat to trickle up from my neck, and I'm sure that it reddens it, as well as my cheeks and ears. I hear a commotion behind me and turn to see that the attendants have finished their jobs and are calling for us to re-board.
I turn on my heel and stalk back to the train without another word, or looking back. I do not return to the room that I share with Peeta, and instead slip into a compartment filled with sofas and armchairs. The train starts to move again, and I settle down on a sofa that rests beside a large window. Bringing my knees to my chin, I sit and watch the scenery pass by.
I try not to focus on the fact that I've just physically assaulted my best friend. I also attempt not to think about the conversation that I didn't get to have with Haymitch about exactly how Snow knew what he did about my father. I try not to linger on either of these things, but fail miserably.
There's still so much to be said.
It could be minutes, or maybe hours, that have passed, but when I hear someone enter the car, the tell-tale sound of his prosthetic leg lets me know that Peeta has managed to track me down. I listen as he lowers himself into the armchair that's positioned against the wall that my back is to. We sit in silence for a few moments before I finally decide to speak.
"I'd say that I'm sorry, but I'm not."
I hear a scoff from behind me, but still don't turn around. I pull my legs closer to my body and stiffen when I hear him get out of his seat. He sits in front of me, his good leg mirroring the position of mine, while the other is stretched out along the front of the sofa. I keep my eyes out the window as I go on.
"I'm really not. You deserved it."
"Did I?" I nod my reply, still not looking at him. "Mind explaining to me why?"
"Because…. Because out of everything that has gone through my mind since you were named Victor… even with having to worry about myself, and Prim, and my mother, even after all of that, I have never once thought that my life would be easier if you had died." I finally raise my eyes to look at his face. "If you hadn't made it back, Peeta… If you had died in there, I'm almost positive that a part of me would have died with you."
I turn my eyes back to the window, not trusting myself to hold it together much longer. Peeta doesn't say anything as he grabs my shoulders and pulls me against his chest. The position is uncomfortable, and I can't move my arm that's pinned between us, but I don't mention it. After a minute, or two, he releases a long breath just above the top of my head, ruffling my hair slightly.
"Did you really have to hit me, though?" His voice is light, and I know that my actions have been forgiven. I pull away and turn to where I can face him. His smile is trying so desperately not to seem forced.
"Yeah, well you're lucky that's all I did."
Silence falls between us once again, but I can tell by the way that he keeps fidgeting with a loose thread near the bottom of his t-shirt that he has something else that he wants to say. I wait for a few minutes, giving him plenty of time to spit it out, but he doesn't. Finally, the constant movements of his fingers getting to be more nerve-wracking than endearing, I place my hand over his.
"Peeta, whatever it is you need to say, just say it."
He drops his gaze from mine, and if I didn't know any better, I would say that he looks nervous. No, he definitely does. And seeing Peeta nervous makes me feel the same way.
"It's just… Haymitch…," he pauses and then starts to speak again, his voice much lower. "Haymitch thinks that there might be a way around this whole thing."
He doesn't have to clarify what he means by 'this whole thing', and I lean forward, ready to hear the suggestion. The next sentence from his mouth comes out in such a rush that I almost don't catch it all.
"He thinks that we should get married."
"What?" I ask, even though I understand the reasoning behind it perfectly.
Surely, if Peeta is married then Snow won't be able to turn him into the Capitol's next prostitute. The media and the people of Panem will have no doubt of our love and loyalty to one another, and it would be very uncouth to have a married man in the same position as Finnick Odair. Surely, even President Snow wouldn't stoop that low.
Peeta looks down at his hands starts to pick at the skin around a fingernail.
"I told him that I didn't know if it was the best idea. I know… I know how you feel about marriage, and I could never ask you to-," he stops speaking when I put a hand underneath his chin, and force him to look at me.
"No… No, you should do it."
I swallow hard and keep my eyes on his. He's right, of course. I've never wanted marriage, or kids, or any of the things that go along with them. I could never bring children into the world that we live in, knowing that after twelve short years of life that they would be eligible for something as horrible as the Games.
I try to tell myself that the choice I'm making is an easy one. That I would gladly make the same decision if I were in this same situation with someone else that I cared for. Of course, the list of people that I care for is remarkably short, and if you were to replace Peeta with Gale, I can't be sure that I would be as easily agreeable.
The very thought confuses me in a way that I can't even begin to explain. I start to talk again just so I can escape my thoughts.
"You should ask me day after tomorrow, during the Victory Rally in front of the district."
"Are… are you sure, Katniss?"
"You could do a hell of a lot worse, sweetheart."
The gruff voice from the doorway startles us both. Haymitch rests against one side of the doorframe and inclines his head toward the two of us.
I let a small smile slip onto my lips as I reach for Peeta's hands and nod.
When we arrive back in District 12, there is a small crowd of people waiting at the train station to welcome us home. My family, along with Peeta's, the Undersees, Cartwrights, and several others are there to meet us. The Hawthorne's are noticeably absent, and I attempt to ignore the slight hurt that I feel.
My mother and Prim both rush to meet me on the platform, and I can feel both of their eyes on me as they do a visual once-over to make sure that I'm okay. I do the same for both of them. I feel a sense of relief as I see that they're both just fine. My mother kisses my cheek and Prim's arms are wrapped around my waist tightly.
I look just a few feet away to where Peeta and his family are having a similar reunion. Well, everyone aside from his mother, that is. She is, as usual, standing several feet away, her hands clasped in front of her, a polite smile on her face for the sake of the cameras. Our eyes meet briefly and her smile slips for an instant, pulling the corners of her lips downward.
Prim pushes passed me and almost knocks Peeta over with the hug that she throws around his legs. This brings a smile to my face as I remember how similar this scene is to that one that played out when he returned home a little over six months ago.
So much has changed since then, though.
As if this thought needs solidifying, Chord and Leif wrap me in 'welcome home' hugs just as they've done their brother. Mr. Mellark gently places a large hand on my shoulder and offers me a warm smile. The thought that I'll soon be calling them my brothers and father passes through my mind and I start to feel queasy.
Peeta's hand easily finds mine, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. I lean up to kiss his cheek and he surprises me by turning his face at the last second. My lips meet with his, and I feel a smile stretch out over his mouth. I pull back just far enough for him to see my smirk before I lean back into him once more.
I press my cheek against Peeta's chest once we separate, trying my best to hide my blush. I don't look up again until I can feel the rumbling of his laughter deep in his chest. As I look up at him skeptically, he just shakes his head and points to a spot off to our left.
"I think that's the first time he's ever had a welcoming committee," Peeta says softly.
I look over in the direction that he's indicated and smile.
Across the platform Prim is pulling Haymitch by the hand, chattering about something as he adjusts his duffle bag up onto his shoulder. The smile on his face is small, but it's genuine. He looks over to where we stand and nods his head slightly. The corner of my mouth quirks upward, and I can't help but love my little sister even more.
After our dinner at the Mayor's house last night, Peeta and I were both more than happy to be back at home. Of course, Peeta, being the far too polite person that he is, insisted that Effie, Portia, and his prep team stay the night there as well. So what should have been our quiet, relaxing first night back home was neither of those things.
Effie, of course, insisted that we watch every bit of the media's coverage of the tour that we'd missed this afternoon while dining with the Undersees. So we sat there, all crowded into the living room, and watched the footage of our homecoming. Effie prattled on about how she wished that they would focus more on her left, and not her right side. About how shocked she was that the cameras had captured Haymitch actually sober for once. And, of course, about how she would almost kill to see me stand up straight just once.
Peeta and I rolled our eyes, and kept our thoughts on her commentary to ourselves. It wasn't until later in the night, after we had decided bed sounded like a wonderful idea and I was already underneath the covers, that he excused himself. He let me know that he was going to inform Effie, along with the others, of his plan for tomorrow.
I could hear the District 12 escort's excited yelps coming from downstairs as clear as day.
When we got up this morning, I was immediately ushered out of the house, and into Haymitch's. I haven't seen Peeta all day, but my mother and Prim, after visiting him for lunch, have assured me that he's just fine.
I can tell by their faces that they've been clued into what's going to transpire this afternoon at the rally. We don't talk about it, but I'm sure that they know I'm aware it's going to happen. My mother watches me much closer than usual, as if trying to gauge my level of anticipation. Prim just smiles even more than usual.
As I'm being plucked and polished by Peeta's prep team, with Portia at the helm, I'm taken back to the conversation I had with Haymitch earlier today. Having something to concentrate on makes it easier to deal with the pain of being made beautiful, it seems.
With my mother and Prim sent to check up on Peeta, I drag Haymitch into his backyard, demanding answers. Knowing that I wouldn't let up until I had some sort of explanation, he doesn't fight me. Knowing my appreciation for bluntness, his words are straight to the point.
"The year that your father died, the mine explosion here in 12 wasn't the only 'accident' across the districts. Your dad, along with a few others, Mitchell Hawthorne included, were among fifty plus rebellion leaders that died that year. Wildfires in District 7, a fishing boat capsize in 4, along with a random grain silo collapse in 9."
I stand there, allowing his words to sink in for a few moments.
My father was a rebellion leader.
This is, of course, news to me. I was still so young when he was alive, though. It would have been easy for me to be kept in the dark. The way that I had idolized him would have made it simple, really.
I remember that I used to scare my mother to death with some of the things that would come out of my mouth about the Capitol when I was younger. They were mostly things that I'd overheard my father saying to his friends, and I had believed every word out that he spoke without question.
With this new knowledge, those words seem to make even more sense to me now.
I remember the first time that my father took me to the lake. I couldn't help but think it odd at the time that a place so isolated, outside the boundaries of any of the districts, could seem so alive. At first I thought it was just the birds, and the wind, and the fresh air that made it so. That wasn't all, though. Thinking back to the small, stone house that stands on its shore leads me to vaguely recall how the smell of pipe tobacco and burnt wood always seemed to linger in the air back then.
My father didn't smoke, and we rarely lit fires in the small fireplace.
It's obvious to me now that I was the not only one that accompanied my father to this place. I feel the tiniest prick of anger inside of me at the fact that there were others that knew of the place I had always deemed the most special to me. The place that I'd thought I had shared with my father, and my father alone.
The anger diminishes quickly when I realize that those other people are dead now, for the very same reason that he is.
"The rebellion never really died out, Sweetheart. Not when 13 was bombed 75 years ago, and not when your father died five years ago. They've just been waiting for the right moment… And when Peeta came along, he was just so… so good. Such an undeniably good kid. He's a perfect reminder of what we all should be fighting for. And not only that, but…" he hesitates, and as the pause stretches out I wonder if he'll stop speaking all together. "Your father's pin that you gave him to wear… Well, your father was well-liked, well-remembered. To everyone watching, that mockingjay symbolized a lot more than just a boy's promise to make it home to his girl."
"So… you knew?" My voice is quiet, and I barely recognize it as it leaves my mouth.
Haymitch pauses, and I watch as he pulls the flask out from his jacket's inner pocket. He lifts it to his lips and shuts his eyes tightly. After he takes a few more pulls, he finally answers me.
"If you're asking me whether or not I knew all of this was going to happen, then no… I had no idea."
We both know that this is not exactly what I'm asking him, but I can tell this is the only answer that I'm going to get for now.
The sound of Portia clearing her throat brings me back to the present, and I blink a few times before I turn to face her.
She stands between my body and the mirror, much like she had five months ago when I'd gone on a tirade of how no one was more protective of Peeta than me. I'll admit, I haven't taken the time that I probably should have to get to know her during the tour. Still, the gentle smile that's on her face as she surveys her work lets me know that she harbors no ill feelings toward me. At least, I hope that's what it means.
She takes a step back and allows me to see myself for the first time since the long, drawn out process of getting me ready began. I take an involuntary step forward, in shock over what I see.
I'm more than happy to discover that despite what had seemed like layer upon layer of makeup being slathered on my face, I still look remarkably like myself. Even the freckles lightly dusted across my nose and cheeks from hours spent in the woods show through, and I find myself smiling at them. My eyes have been given a smoky effect, but it's not overwhelming. My hair is pulled back into an intricate braid that resembles the way my mother has always fixed it for the reapings.
My eyes are drawn down to the dress. The bodice is form-fitting, with a lower cut neckline than I would normally feel comfortable in, but the ivory-colored lace that lines the deep, wide-set v provides just the right amount of coverage to satisfy my modesty. Tiny, cap sleeves cover my shoulders, with the ivory lace lining them as well. The skirt flares out at the hips, and comes to an end a few inches below my knees. When I turn to see the back, I note that the soft, warm orange color seems to glow as the skirt flutters around my legs. I don't get to focus on this fact for very long, however. Whereas the front of the dress is rather plain, the back is virtually non-existent. In fact, almost my entire back is bare, and I wonder at her choice, given that there's still snow on the ground outside.
I do not question her, though. She places a hand on my arm and I turn to face her.
"That's for Peeta," she smiles, and I still don't understand. "You'll be wearing a wrap for the ceremonies, of course."
I don't know what to say, so I simply nod and turn back to the mirror.
"It's his favorite color," I murmur as I swish the skirt back and forth around my knees.
"He really does love you, you know."
Her words stop me mid-swish and I smooth out the skirt without looking up at her. Surely she's not been let in our ruse. She must just be trying to set the mood for the proposal later. I swallow hard and look back at the mirror, but her eyes are trained on mine.
"I know." I smile, but it looks nervous, even to me. "I love him, too."
"I mean it, Katniss. Peeta is in love with you. Please… Just remember that tonight."
And with that, she is back to business. I'm confused and tongue-tied as she takes out a cosmetic puff of some sort and quickly blots at my collar bone with a light, shimmery substance. Even if I knew what to say in response to her words, the set of her jaw as she works lets me know that she doesn't want to hear it. She holds a wrap that I had failed to noticed until now out to me, and we head outside to enter the car that waits to take us to the square.
It seems like no time has passed at all before I find myself standing at the side of the stage outside of the Justice Building. I listen as Mayor Undersee gives a speech in Peeta's honor, and find myself clapping along with the audience.
I pay close attention to Peeta's words as he says kinder things about our district and the Capitol than I know I'd ever be able to choke out.
He thanks his family, seated in the front row. He thanks his mentor, and Haymitch stands from the chair behind him, clapping a hand on the shoulder of the young man in front of him. He thanks Portia and his prep team, who wave from their seats off to the side. When he thanks Effie, Haymitch has to physically restrain her from heading to the microphone to say a little speech of her own.
The slight pause that he takes after he finishes with Effie's thank you leaves a nervous feeling in my stomach.
He then starts to go on about how the entire time he was in the arena; there was one person that he thought of more than anything else. He says my name, and it sounds so reverent as it falls from his lips that I can feel my heart rate pick up speed. He talks about how it was the thought that I was back here, home, awaiting his return that kept him going.
When he calls for me to join him on stage, my legs start to shake, but I find that they're moving toward him regardless. He smiles as soon as he sees me, and I can feel my stomach do a little flip as I beam back at him. I'm all too aware of the audience that we have as he wraps his arms around me, but still kiss him as if no one is watching.
Peeta takes both of my hands in his, and I know that this is it. He turns to face me, no longer looking out over the crowd.
"Katniss Everdeen, I just want to say 'thank you'. Thank you for always being there for me, for being the best friend that I could ever ask for. Thank you for giving me something to live for, something worth coming home to."
He pauses, and I'm surprised to find that my eyes have started to tear up. He lets go of one hand and brushes a stray tear from my cheek. My eyes flutter closed at his touch and I lean forward to kiss the corner of his mouth.
He turns to face the people of District 12, along with the cameras, once more.
"I'd like to take a moment to explain to everyone just how this started."
I'm confused and not sure exactly where Peeta is going with this.
"I was five years old and it was my first day of school. I remember my father standing with me, waiting for the day to get started. I was nervous because I didn't know anyone, and he was trying to make me feel better. He pointed to a little girl across the school yard. I can still remember the red, plaid dress that she wore, and how her hair was in two braids down her back. He told me how he had known her mother, and how she had married a man who had a voice so beautiful that when he sang, even the birds stopped to listen."
Peeta looks over at me now, and I'm almost embarrassed by how much his speech is affecting me. He knows that talk of my father is bound to get to me, and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.
I know now that what I'm doing is the right thing. I've known that all along, really, but it feels different now. The mere mention of my dad makes me think of what Haymitch said earlier. Peeta really is a reminder of what everyone should be fighting for.
He is a perfect example of what my father would be fighting for if he were still alive today. Even if he weren't my best friend, and even if I didn't care for him the way that I do, that would be reason enough.
"Now, of course, I didn't believe him. I mean, who has a voice that beautiful? Later in the day, though, at the music assembly, our teacher asked if anyone knew the valley song. The little girl with the braids immediately shot her hand up into the air. The teacher stood her up on her chair, and I swear, when she sang, every bird outside of the windows fell silent… And that… That's when I knew that I was a goner."
I know that this is a staged proposal. That Peeta has to make it sound convincing. I was prepared for his carefully arranged words to bring out my already practiced reaction, but not for this. His eyes bore into mine as the beating of my heart becomes louder in my ears.
If I think back, I can just barely recall the day he's talking about. I vaguely remember the dress he's described. Prim wore it on her first day of school as well. I no longer know the words to the valley song, and have no memory of ever singing the song for anyone aside from my father. How Peeta can remember the day in such detail astounds me.
"If the Games taught me anything, it's that life is short, and the amount of time that we have is never guaranteed. Now, I know that we're young, but I also know that I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you."
When he drops down onto one knee, Portia's words from earlier come to mind.
"I mean it, Katniss. Peeta is in love with you. Please… Just remember that tonight."
When I look down at my best friend, his hands gripping mine tightly, I can see in his eyes that she is right. The way he looks up at me now is the same way that my father looked at my mother. I'm surprised to find that the tears running down my face are not practiced or artificial.
"I love you, Katniss Everdeen. More than you know. Will you marry me?"
The shock on my face is evident when he pulls a ring from his jacket pocket. I remember something about this tradition, practiced centuries ago, and still observed in the Capitol. When and where he got it is a mystery to me, especially considering this plan was only put into place a short time ago.
I'm unable to find my voice, and nod my head vigorously in response. He slips the ring onto my finger and looks up at me. When he moves to stand up again, I can tell by the look of discomfort that quickly crosses his face that his prosthetic leg is not cooperating.
Unable to stand it anymore, I drop to my knees in front of him. I just barely hear the sharp intake of breath that he takes in response to my action before my lips are on his. I cradle his face in my palms, and hear him gasp as his cold hands make their way inside my wrap, splaying across the expanse of my bare back.
I pull him closer to me, more than happy to get lost in the moment for now. In fact, it's not until we pull away for breath that I remember the audience. Their cheers and applause rings loudly in my ears, and the blush on my face is genuine as Peeta and I rise together and face them. I hold my hand up, thrusting the ring out for the Capitol cameras to see, and let out a squeal that I hope is more girlish than frightening.
When I throw my arms around Peeta once more, I meet Haymitch's eyes over his shoulder. He nods his head in approval as he claps slowly. I can't help but think back to his words on the train the night we left the Capitol.
He had said that I could do a hell of a lot worse.
In this moment, I can't help but think to myself that I'm not sure there's anyone better.
Author's Note: Thank you guys so much for your continued support of this story! Reviews are greatly appreciated. :) My next update may not be until next week, but I can't say for sure. Mass Effect 3 will probably be taking over my life for a few days. ;)
Also, I've been trying to post this chapter for the last couple of days, but this site wouldn't let me upload anything. I apologize for not getting it up sooner.