Now, I'm not saying that I've got this all under control. Not in the least. I'd only gone in to the Games with two things in mind; die my way, and save her. Never did I think about what came after – it wasn't a thought I could afford to have. Not then.
But now, as I sit on this swing, legs (leg) brushing the sand below and carrying me high up into the sky, I no longer have the luxury of thinking about little things. Now I think about Snow. About the Capitol. About dying for real.
And an awful lot about losing Katniss. I can't help it, not really.
I haven't slept that much since I stopped by the bakery.
Okay, in all honesty, I haven't slept at all. I like to think that it's mostly because of my ribs, but that's another thing I'm not too honest about. I still dream about the Games. Every night. And I know that the dreams won't stop no matter how much I paint or how much time I spend baking. They're not going away.
I swing higher, letting the cold air seep into my body. There's a brushing of snow on the ground signaling the start of the winter months. I try not to think about how much I hate the winter.
I kick off, lunging forward into the air, my body taunt in anticipation of the fall. When my feet (foot) touch down, it's more of a graceful tumble when my knees (knee) hits the frozen ground and jerks into my chest. I lose my breath and it's like falling and I relish the feeling. Rolling onto my back I let the snow soak my coat as I look up into the clouded night sky.
Tomorrow my prep team will be here. Portia, one friend I'm not sure if I've lost, will come to dress me up for the show. And then I'll be on the train heading to the Districts with the threat of the Capitol looming over me.
We'll be back to where it all started – in front of the cameras, dressed up for their entertainment, playing to their whims to keep them all happy. When we come home, we'll have another few months before we're the ones leading kids off to slaughter.
And then the cycle will repeat. Year in and year out, until we die.
Somehow, I'm not really looking forward to the rest of my life anymore. Not truly. Not if all it consists of is miserable relationships, sleepless nights and terror gripping me every time I close my eyes. All alone.
I breathe in, holding in the scream that lingers in my throat. It's cold out here and I know I should go home but everything hurts and the numbing feeling is keeping me company.
I get up anyways, pulling myself together. I have a bad feeling about this Tour, deep in my gut and I can't shake it.
All I can think of now is that at least I don't have to do it alone.
Haymitch was right – Katniss and I had a lot to work on. Ever since the thing with my father she'd been even more distant than before - this morning was no exception. Our chilly exchange in Haymitch's kitchen had been awkward and painful. Afterwards I'd returned to the warmth of my sheets trying to take cover prior to everyone getting here.
I'm loitering in my bed now, not sleeping, when I hear the doors closing and the shouts filling the yard. That'll be my team, coming to doll me up. I hear the knock on the door but I don't move – they'll find me one way or another. It's rude, but maybe that's just who I am now.
"Peeta!" There they are.
I listen as they shout around downstairs, banging their cases against the walls.
"Peeta, dear, where are you?" Its Portia shouting now, I can hear her heels on the staircase. It doesn't take her long from there to find my room, push her way in and sit down on the edge of my bed. She doesn't say anything, instead choosing to swing her legs up and join me against the headboard.
"Hi," It's measly but I've never needed many words around this woman. She just seems to intuitively understand. Her fingers brush through my unruly hair as she looks me over. I feel the pause in her movement as her eyes settle on my cheek, then the slowly fading marks on my chest.
"Oh, Peeta. I thought last time was bad – what happened?" Her words are as soft as her fingers as they ghost over me.
"Same old, same old. It's nothing," I reply, reaching to the side of my bed where I've propped my fake leg. Sighing, she places her palm against me and pushes me back, her quick hands taking the metal from me.
"I thought you said that if you ever made it out you'd show her a thing or two…" Her hands work faster than even mine can as she attaches it to my body. It's no wonder that she's quick – she was the one that designed the damn thing.
I remember the first time we'd actually talked during the Games. She'd told me about how she'd gone into designing for the mechanics and the 'new wave' of kinetics styles. Cinna had picked her up then, brought her into his fold in the Games, and they'd been inseparable since. I'd been impressed then; only to be more incredibly shocked afterward when she'd explained all of the specifics about my new leg when I'd woken up.
This woman was so much more than meets the eye.
"I don't need a lecture, please," I swing to the side of the bed then, dropping my legs to the ground.
"Hey, wait!" She calls as I move quickly towards the bathroom, aching for just one more minute to myself. I don't expect her fingers on my arm, stopping me. "Where's the Peeta we know? What are these bags under his eyes? What's wrong?"
I don't like the sound of her voice or the way she almost sounds as though she is trying to comfort me. I feet guilty. Resting my head against the wall, I let my shoulders relax from the tension I'd been holding.
"I don't want to go back, Portia. I'm tired of this." Her hand rests gently against my spine, feeding me the comfort I so dearly long for.
"It'll be over before you know it. And then you can come back here and get that happy ending you wanted." She was saying the words, but even I can tell that she doubted them too. There are no happy endings for Victors, unless you're Finnick Odair and your happy ending is of a different sort. Only I couldn't get those either – Snow had made sure of it.
Turning towards her, I put on my smile, my mask. She can see right through it but it doesn't matter.
"Yeah…" I pause, shoving everything down from where it sits so cautiously under the surface. "Where do we start today?" Her grin matches mine and I feel steady again. It was going to be okay.
"Let's check your bruising, shall we?"
I don't know how Katniss stands the hours that she endures with her prep team. Despite the efficiency and speed that mine works, it's still difficult to keep track of the conversation while feigning interest. I guess I just don't care for the latest Capitol trends or who's sleeping with whom. And I really don't want to talk about the Quell.
When we wrap a little over an hour later, I'm cleaned and polished and ready for the show. My bruises are nearly gone, hidden under a coat of thick makeup, and my skin looks fresh and of the baby soft variety that I came home with. I've even taken the time to make my smile reach my eyes, locking away the terrors and looking forward to when I'll get to see Katniss for more than just a functional conversation.
When Effie arrives with in bright orange I can't help but fear the tarnished feeling I now have towards my favourite colour.
"Darling! You look amazing! How have you been? Oh, it doesn't matter, come, come! We're going to shoot your Talent bits now and then we'll be off just on schedule!" Her voice grates on my nerves but Portia grips my arm tightly, reminding me to put on the show they expect.
Displaying my paintings for the cameras is more than a little difficult. I hear the gasps and whispers of my prep team behind me and I try to force it away. I talk about the scenes, about how they don't leave your memories so you're forced to do something with them. I try to keep my words in balance, away from any of the treasonous thoughts that I have.
When I see Portia nod over the cameraman's shoulder, I know I've hit each mark. They wrap up the shoot and then I'm pulled out again to change into my 'travelling attire'.
"It's warm, Peeta, stop fidgeting with it!" Portia nearly shouts as she adjusts the waistband in on my pants. She's frustrated that I've lost weight and she'll have to mend most of my outfits during the trip.
"It might be warm, but it's a little much, don't you think? I'll only be outside for twenty minutes; I'm not dog sledding across the plains." I couldn't picture the plains myself, pulling the phrasing from my memories of history class, but it did seem similar to the furry getup she was putting on me. I felt the final stitch go in and saw her hands toss up in the air.
"Fine! We're done for now. I'm going to go get the team on the train, Effie will be back for you, alright?" I nod, looking at her carefully. I don't know if I should say anymore or ask for any more comfort. I shouldn't – I need to get it together. She sees it in my eyes anyways. "It'll be fine, I'll be there the whole way, right?"
She pats my cheek gently and presses a kiss to my forehead.
"I know. I'm just worried about how Katniss will be." It slips out before I can bite my tongue.
"Just use your head." And then she's gone.
Minutes later, Effie is back in my kitchen, explaining how the first shot is going to go and that I'm to wait five minutes before exiting my house. When she disappears to "wrangle Katniss" (her words, not mine), I'm given my last few moments of privacy before it all starts again.
I pull in a breath, my fingers gripping the stair railing. Straightening up, I run my hands down my sides, avoiding my carefully styled hair, and slip on my gloves.
I'm ready for this now. It's just a show. I can give them a show. I can be strong enough for us both on this Tour.
Stepping outside, I walk carefully across the slippery snow towards Katniss. She looks so soft and warm in her fur outfit that I try not to miss the non-Capitol Katniss, the one with the clean face and the unaltered appearance.
When she starts to run towards me, I can't help that my heart picks up a beat. She's different here. She looks excited to see me. I don't understand the change but I'm not going to argue with it – I'll take what I can get.
I can't help but stagger back and fall when she collides with me, pressing her lips to mine for a kiss. It feels right, I know it, to be here with her at this moment. I want to never let her go as we lay here in the snow, fur catching everywhere and her lipstick rubbing off on me.
I try not to think that it's exactly what the cameras want from us.
"Cut! Great shot everyone!" I hear the cameraman call out. We separate but she doesn't go far, wrapping her gloved hand up in mine.
We make our way to the station, our words few and far between, before we're split up again for our goodbye shots with our families and friends.
I almost collapse with shock when I see my father and brothers at the station. I go to them, wrapping them up in a hug as they encircle me. I try to drown out the reporter behind us who can't help but remark that this is a far different scene to the welcoming home I received after the Games.
"You take care, alright?" Matz says. I nod, clapping him on the shoulder.
"I will. The Tour isn't that long – I'll see you all when I come home." Cob nods and steps back an inch or two. I try not to let it get to me, he must not forgive me for pushing my mother out.
"Be safe, Peeta." It's my father then who almost has a warning in his tone. I smile broader, not letting my discomfort at his words show.
"See you soon." I turn to approach the train, only to be enveloped into another giant hug from Delly. I'd half expected her to be stuck in the shop under house arrest.
"You didn't think you could get away without seeing me first, did you?" She says into my ear. I pull her in close and resist swinging her around like I used to before the Games. That would send the wrong idea, I'm sure. Instead I rest my head against hers for a moment, pulling out all of the strength that Delly gives me.
"I'm so glad you could make it." My voice is tight, but I try not to let the tension show in my face.
"Me too. Take care of her, won't you?" She motions over to Katniss and I turn, watching her say goodbye to her sister and mother. I feel my chest get tight and I turn back to Delly.
"Always." With that, I'm pulled onto the train by a frantic Effie who's railing off about train schedules.
Dinner that night is full of excited chatter from everyone except, obviously, Haymitch, Katniss and I. They fill the air with words so that we don't have to, apart from the odd comment here and there. As usual, the food is unreal in scale. I try to pace myself while sneaking small glances towards Katniss.
Since boarding the train, she's dropped away again. I'm not really surprised with it, but I can't help but be disappointed. She's clearly still distant but there's not much I can do right now to change that.
Later, when I'm dressed for bed, I can't help but lay awake in my cabin. I think about what lies ahead and the impending Quarter Quell announcement.
How many kids will I take to slaughter? What's the trick this time?
It makes my stomach hurt and I have to force my dinner to stay put.
I'm not sure what time it is when I feel the train coming to a stop. It's not unusual for a pause, especially when refueling, so I take the opportunity to escape down the train to the half-open compartment on the end.
Walking the aisles, I catch a sight out of one of the windows. When I take a second look, I'm surprised to see two figures hunched over in the cold, waiting out on the ground.
I'm not stupid. Never have been. That's probably why I'm not really shocked to see Katniss and Haymitch having a pow wow off-train during a normal refueling stop. It churns my gut as I try not to think about what they're talking about.
I turn away, heading again towards my original destination. I refuse to let the bitterness that I'm feeling take over as I collapse into one of the cold chairs for the rest of the night.
There is a slight perk to having a lazy prep team – people let you sleep in for longer. Which doesn't really make much a difference if you don't sleep but it does give you more time to sit in the quiet instead of surrounded by people who are constantly talking.
When they do come for me later that morning, it's for the same treatments that they applied prior to the Games. My face is coated with a thick paste that they say is meant to prevent facial growth, my bruises are coated with a cooling cream to help them disappear faster. This includes the one on my chest which they assume will likely be visible should we choose to swim in District 4.
I don't see myself swimming anytime soon but I try to smile through its icy application anyways.
Afterwards, they style me up and make me presentable for lunch. The outfit Portia assigns to me is again soft on my skin and I'm thankful for the now-proper fit to my pants. I'm even impressed that they resist catching on my metal leg unlike so many other pairs I own.
Sitting with the others at the table, the mood is only slightly more subdued than it was the night before. I look up from my soup when Katniss finally joins us, her Capitol make up now in full swing. She doesn't look happy – instead she looks drawn and tired.
I wish I could go to her then, wrap her up and tell her it'll be alright. But I don't, instead turning back to my meal to eat in silence.
Just as I'm about to dig into the bow of fresh fruit I feel the train coming to an unexpected stop as Effie is informed of a repair that's required. I'm expecting her slew of frustrated remarks, that's typical Effie, but I'm not expecting Katniss to fire back at her for it.
I feel my mouth hanging open slightly in shock at her outburst and make the obvious effort to close it. The tension in the room is palpable and everyone looks uncomfortable. I watch as she lifts to her feet and takes off out of the room.
My eyes flick quickly to Haymitch who nods at me, his face serious with concern.
Before I really realize it, I'm out of my seat and following her quick departure down the train. I feel the breeze coming from the door before I see it, swung open and exposing the balmy air to me. I watch her fleeing down the edge of the tracks and then collapsing onto the ground.
In that moment, I see that Katniss and I are very much alike. We're both struggling to make sense of this post-Games world, only to have it constantly shift below us. She's struggling to stay afloat, just as I am, and it makes me hurt inside that I've spent so much time trying to make it better for me when I should have been helping her.
"I'm not in the mood for a lecture." She spits as my footsteps pull me closer. I didn't need the bite of her words to push at me.
"I'll try to keep it brief," I snap in reply. Instantly I see her slight recoil and I'm not sure if it's because she's surprised it's me or if she just can't stand to be in my presence unless necessary.
"I thought you were Haymitch." I nod, but she doesn't see it, her head is focused on the grass at her feet.
"No, he's still working on that muffin." I lean back, levering my leg up into a more comfortable position. "Bad day, huh?"
"It's nothing." It's a short response and instantly I can see that it's not nothing. I feel guilty. I should have been there for her all these months despite the way she brushed me off. I figure now is as good a time as any to apologize so I go for it:
"Look, Katniss, I've been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it wasn't fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I'm sorry." My words have stunned her, clearly, but I think I'm the one even more surprised when she apologizes to me too.
We go on, back and forth for a moment, finding an even ground to get our footing on for the rest of the Tour. When I ask again what's bothering her, she pushes it aside. I let it go, shelving it for now and instead turning the conversation towards more neutral subjects.
"You know, everyone's always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven't seen them." She states. I have a hard time believing she hasn't seen them, but then I remember that we haven't really been friendly for the last while and she wouldn't have had the chance to see them.
"Well, I've got a whole train car full." I reply and then stand, offering her my hand. "Come on."
Back on the train, she sidelines to apologize to Effie for her manners before following me down to the storage car. When I open the door to the room I almost hear her heart stop as her eyes wander over the images before her. I hold my breath, knowing that her opinion could make or break me, especially given the fact that many of these images showcase her directly.
I try not to be embarrassed of that fact. Try to, being the operative term.
Her words of condemnation strike me like a slap and I try not to take offense. Instantly I want to shove her out but I don't. I can't. I know why she hates them. It's the same reason I do.
But I also know that's why they must be painted.
"I see them every night." I loathe to admit it, but it is the reason why they're so clear. I'd turned to painting in the last few months as an escape from my all too vivid memories that haunted me when I slept. Surely she must understand that.
"Me too." She confirms. "Does it help? To paint them out?"
"I don't know. I think I'm a little less afraid of going to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am." That's a lie. I don't sleep. But I don't want to admit that weakness. "But they haven't gone anywhere." And that's true. A fine line of truth.
She reminds me that Haymitch too has nightmares and I'm already more than aware after having suffered from a knife flung through my arm after one. I'm not hopeful enough to think that we'll ever really be free of them, but I don't say it out loud.
We've reached a comfortable banter here. Our recognition of each other's nightmares has put us on an even playing field and I've managed to quell my anxiety momentarily.
As the train starts up again, I'm more than happy to join her in the last car where I spent the night prior. We watch together as District 11 spans out behind us, the land spreading on forever. I can't help the pressure that fills me again with discomfort as the fence rises up around us. Its guard towers and constant hum of electricity renew the gut feeling I had about this Tour and its ominous shadow.
"That's something different," I manage, sucking in air to keep my head from going fuzzy. I can tell without words that she notices it too. I can see her shoulders tense out of the corner of my eye but I try not to stare.
I try to lighten the feeling, dissipate it, by asking rhetorical questions to fill the dead air. The silence lingers between us until Effie beckons us to our prep teams. I watch her walk ahead of me up the train and I can't help but think about what might be coming our way. I know that I'll do anything to protect her – that hasn't changed – but suddenly it feels like this is more than anything I can stop.
I don't think that this is something a simple baker can fix, let alone a pathetic Victor who barely sleeps and is missing a leg. My own brain is not making this situation any better and I hate it. I thought this was all supposed to be easier.
AN: Thanks for all the reviews, alerts and favourites! You're all quick things. One, please insert all non-ownership stuff here - it's hard to write alongside original content without infringing some of the dialogue. I'll try to keep the repetition low. Two, do you have any idea how difficult it is to edit a 4k word chapter on a Blackberry in the middle of a forest with only a broken down ATV and a roll of toilet paper? No? Try to never find out.