Songs: "Say" by John Mayer

"Invincible" by Muse

Chapter 10 – The Interview – K

There's blood, blood everywhere. It's seeping from the hole in Rue's stomach, oozing from the arrow wound in Marvel's neck. Marvel. I always know his name in my dreams. Also like most of my other dreams about the Games, everything moves in extreme slow motion. And the blood. There's always so much blood.

Flowers. I need to gather flowers for Rue, before they take her. It's all I can think, but when I try to walk through the trees to the place where I know the flowers are, I slip on the large puddle of blood and fall into it. The red liquid pools around me, hot and thick and slippery, and I can't get my feet under myself to stand. Floundering helplessly in what feels like a river of blood, I know I'll never be able to get the flowers for Rue, and I allow myself to cry because the blood is so thick that I'm sure my tears won't be noticed. Sing to her, I think. At least you can sing to her.

The blood covers me everywhere, my clothes, my face, my hair all soaked in it. I open my mouth, and blood flows in. When I try to sing, all I can do is cough and gag through the gelatinous, metallic tasting goo. Resigned to drown in it, I feel my body go limp and my eyes close.

…the sun will rise,

Here it's safe, here it's warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Who is singing? I still feel the blood, heavy and warm, cloaking me, blinding me. But the voice drifts in again, soft an clear, and its interruption of a usually repetitive dream tells me that I am awake, that the warmth around me is not blood but Peeta's embrace. His soft, broad thumb gently wipes tears from my face as he finishes the song, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you

I open my eyes to find Peeta looking back at me. "What do you dream about that makes you cry?" he asks after a long silence.

"Rue," I utter, my voice hoarse in the early morning. "And blood. Her blood, I think. And Marvel's. I'm drowning in it and I can't sing to Rue…" Before I can help myself, I collapse into sobs and Peeta draws me into him all the more tightly.

"You did all you could for her, Katniss," Peeta says with the soft sternness in his voice I've heard many times before. "You have to know that. Remember, this isn't about what we did. It's about what was done to us, and what we're going to do about it."

He's right, and I know it. Plutarch is due in District 12 this afternoon, and our interview is tomorrow, after the groundbreaking ceremony. If there's ever a time I need to hold it together, this is it.

My breathing slows as Peeta rocks me gently in his arms, and I'm suddenly glad to be awake early. I need this morning to clear my head before facing the next few days. Not too long ago, I would have been all too tempted to find a confined space to hide in on a day like today, after waking up to so much grief.

No, not just grief. To Peeta, his song, his touch, his…love? Is this what it feels like? Although the point of my excursion into the woods this morning is to clear my mind, I find myself testing its strength against such potent ideas as love as I make my way up toward the lake. By the time I arrive at its shore, however, I have regained my resolve, despite my ongoing reservations.

This isn't the first time I've been back to the lake in the past year, but somehow I feel as if it is. Or as if I'm seeing the lake for the first time, at least. Golden shafts of sunlight reflect against the glassy green surface, and the whole clearing sparkles in its radiance, fresh and bright and alive. Before I can give a thought to how cold the water will be, I drop my bag, shed my clothes, and quickly plunge myself beneath its surface. I gasp for breath as soon as my head is above water again, but the icy chill of the lake soon reminds me that I am alive as it tingles invigoratingly around my flesh.

Relishing these last few moments of calm, I swim slowly, back and forth until I am warm, then float on my back until the angle of the sun tells me I must leave my sanctuary and return to the world that faces me.

At lunch, the main topic of discussion is the itinerary for Plutarch's visit. He's arriving by hovercraft in less than an hour, and Peeta and I, along with a few others, are supposed to help him get settled and give him a tour of the district. I can't say that I'm excited about this part, but I feel like I had to agree to do it. President Paylor did ask me specifically, saying it would mean a lot to Plutarch. The groundbreaking ceremony at the medicine factory is scheduled for ten tomorrow morning, and Peeta and I are sitting down for our interview in the afternoon.

Plutarch, like the other few from the Capitol who have had business in District 12, will be staying in one of the Victor's Village houses. When we hear his hovercraft approach, Peeta gives me a pointed look, and I know we are both wishing for this to be over.

"Come on," he says with his most reassuring smile. "We should be there." Peeta takes my hand, but on the way to his front door, I am accosted with all of the doubts I had spent the morning staving off, all the truth that stands blindingly before me. I can't do this.

"Come on," Peeta says softly in my ear. No, I think more forcefully, I can't do this. "We can do this," he repeats, as if he knows what I'm thinking, his lips to my temple as he puts his arms around me. Somehow, when I'm here, when he holds me so close to him that I feel the warmth from Peeta's body as I inhale the air around him, it's as if I'm breathing in his very essence, and words I've heard before sound new again, truer than ever before, and sometimes I allow myself to believe them.

Maybe I can't do this. But maybe we can.

"Katniss! Peeta! So good to see you both again. It's been too long, far too long," gushes Plutarch as he approaches us. I feign a smile and accept Plutarch's hug, which at least seems genuine on his part. Peeta is quick to step in and ask Plutarch about his flight, and I'm thankful when they are soon laughing easily with each other.

I still feel on edge, though, until I see three figures who could only be my prep team, recognizable as always by Venia's gold tattoos. Her hair, now died jet black, is styled in short spikes. Flavius' hair, which is apparently naturally a glossy light brown, has been cut short in a style that reminds me of Cinna. I notice that Flavius still wears makeup, as do the others, but the colors are much more subdued, as are their clothes. Octavia's skin is back to what I assume is its natural shade, a glowing ivory.

"Oh, Katniss!" I hear Octavia squeal, and I break into a real smile when I realize how very happy to see them I am. I don't have to say much; they fill me in on their new goings-on in Denver and their travels as the official prep crew for Plutarch's production team.

It feels good to see them well, and to hear how things are progressing in the Capitol. As usual, their favorite topics are fashion and food.

"We're all getting by on less," comments Flavius wistfully. "Sometimes it seems that we're all becoming so…plain. And there are still dinner parties, sure, but I feel they've lost some of the magic they once had."

"I was just so happy to get back to the Capitol at all, after spending so long in that horrid underground bunker they called a district! And that food!" chimes in Octavia.

It's oddly comforting, the way they sound so like themselves still in spite of all that's happened.

"They talk like that," Venia says under her breath with a tone of amusement. "But they know why things are different. It's easier, I think, to give up having at least two meats with every meal when you know that it means many others can have any at all that day."

I smile at her, unable to find proper gratitude for her sentiment. I remember when I couldn't even think of these three as human, for all their alienating vanity, and now I think I have to count them as friends.

We are soon joined by Brooks, the representative from Paylor's cabinet who is assigned to oversee District 12 until we can hold our own elections, which I've been told will be later this spring. We tour the district together, Brooks narrating for Plutarch the design and development of the infrastructure and buildings that are taking shape around us. Although the camera crews are working and Plutarch talks to Peeta and me some, particularly when we get to the bakery, we're not being filmed yet.

"They're just getting background footage," Plutarch explains, waving at the cameramen. "for underneath my narration, which we'll record later." He leans in close and winks at me. "We're saving you two for tomorrow."

Great, I think. Just as planned. I'm not ready to be on camera yet, anyways. I don't even know if I will be tomorrow. But I know I have to go through with this.

It's late in the afternoon when we return to Victor's Village, and I'm all too happy to be rid of Plutarch for now and return to the safety of Peeta's house, where the fragrant smells of dinner greet me as I enter. Walking into the kitchen, I'm greeted by a face I haven't seen since Peeta and Marko's birthday.

"Haymitch," I say, the surprise evident in my voice. He's come for dinner before, but including Peeta's birthday, I think I've only seen him twice in the past month. Never has a recluse lived so close to others but been so distant. He must have found a reliable source of liquor again, goodness knows from where.

"Nice to see you too, sweetheart," he says. "Or should I not call her that anymore, now that you two are finally an item?" taunts Haymitch, turning to Peeta who just scoffs in return. I hear Mort sigh under his breath as he stands at the kitchen counter, facing away from us.

Dinner passes in an almost awkward quiet, although not silence. Everyone makes a stilted attempt at conversation at some point, and Haymitch is about the noisiest eater I think I've ever seen. I'm not entirely sure why he came to dinner tonight, or if he has a motive at all, until he pulls me aside after saying he should go home.

"I know what you're doing, girlie," he sneers as we stand in the darkness between his house and Peeta's. "There's a reason we never gave you more information than you needed to know. Truth is a dangerous weapon, and I don't think you've got any right to give it up like that. Nobody cares, anyway."

So he knows, does he?

"They should care," I reply. "I care."

"Well whoop-dee-doo, good for you," Haymitch retorts. "What do you hope to accomplish with your little PR stunt, anyway?"

"I just want people to know. So maybe they can understand."

"So you can feel better about yourself, so you can think that people think you're a good person? You think that'll help you sleep better at night? You can't change what people think of you."

"Maybe not," I say, trying not to doubt myself at every turn. "But if they're going to think anything about me, I would rather they form their opinions on actual facts."

"You want facts? You'll be huge for ratings, that's why Plutarch wants you. There's a fact. You want the truth? There's nothing special about you. The two of you were just lucky to come around at the right time, that's all."

I have no idea what he's talking about now, and I don't care. He's drunk anyway. "Good night, Haymitch," I say firmly, turning on my heel and heading back into Peeta's house before I can decipher the slur Haymitch throws after me.

By the time we're back at my house and ready for bed, my mind has been working nonstop, imagining tomorrow's events, running through what I need to say, trying to make sense of anything Haymitch said.

"Big day tomorrow," says Peeta.

I mumble something in reply, knowing that my averted eyes tell Peeta just as much as he could discern if I were looking straight at him. He comes up close to me and puts one hand around my waist, using the other to gently lift my chin so that I'm forced make eye contact. This look in his eyes, the loving concern he's shown so many times before, seems to grow deeper every time, and I find myself increasingly lost in it.

"You've been thinking about it all night. Longer than that. We've got this, okay?"

When I open my mouth, my voice is high and tremulous. "I—I don't know if…"

"You can't think about it too much, Katniss." That calm command is back in Peeta's voice, the tone I heard this morning when we spoke of Rue. "It's the thinking about it that makes it difficult. I've seen those propos you did, though, and when you know what you want to say and you mean it, you can find the words, Katniss. The right words. Words people believe in, because they see how much you believe in them and how hard you're willing to fight for them, because they are more than just words, they are the truth. That strength, that fire, that's who you really are. Never be afraid to be yourself. Never."

I breath Peeta's words in deeply, letting them slowly disseminate through my blood. When he speaks this way, with such conviction and courage, his voice, his words, his thoughts resonate in me in a way I cannot ignore.

"Listen," Peeta continues, softer. "Remind me why we're doing this."

Why are we doing this? This was my idea, after all.

"Because people need to know the truth," I reply. "Because it feels like something I can actually do for people, even if I don't know how it will help."

"The truth always helps, Katniss," Peeta says. He presses his forehead into mine and looks me straight on, his eyes deep and intense.

"Katniss," he says quietly, intimately. His fingertips trace up my back before he wraps his arms around my shoulders. "You are strong-" But before Peeta can finish his thought, his lips find mine.

"-and brave-" Another kiss, a bit longer this time, and his hands run slowly across my shoulders.

"-and smart-" His lips touch my chin before moving down to my throat. The way he kisses me here, and the way it sends a shock through my body, is a sensation I enjoy more every time I feel it.

"-and loving." Peeta brushes his lips lightly on my collarbone before turning his eyes up to meet mine, his expression still smoldering. "And anyone who doesn't see that is a fool. Be yourself, tell the truth, and there is nothing to be afraid of."

"I'm less afraid, when I'm with you," I say.

"I am, too."

Peeta kisses me in the deep and passionate way that completely takes my breath away, filling me with that strange yet irresistible warmth of desire, a feeling I'm still not used to. He continues to kiss me as we shuffle to the bed and fall into it. Sometimes, like that first night or the night of Peeta's birthday, I get caught up in Peeta's passion and allow myself to feel it deeply, allow it to consume me. But tonight, as has happened before, my mind is too preoccupied to enjoy it fully.

Still, I can't say no to Peeta, not out of any sense of obligation, but because I realize now just how much I need him, too. Breathing deeply, I do all that I can to clear my mind of all but these present, and pleasant, sensations. Once again, everything in Peeta's touch reconfirms what I've known for a while now: Peeta will always protect me. I know this not because my instincts and his words tell me so, although both of those are true. I know this because I have seen it time and time again. And I know too that I am his protector, not because I owe him but because I want to be. This, I think, is the most terrifying part of my love for Peeta, that it is based as much in desire as it is in need.

It's true that I really am less afraid, sometimes even fearless, when I am with Peeta, and it is with this knowledge that I finally allow myself to become lost in him again tonight.

Maybe we really can do this.

The next morning dawns gray and chill, and the rain begins before we are done with breakfast. It seems as though the whole district has turned out for the groundbreaking ceremony. Although we still only number in the hundreds, our ranks have been steadily increasing over the past year.

I don't hear most of what is being said about the new factory. The words are muffled by the rain, but more so by the buzzing numbness that has taken the place of my fear. The ceremony is over quickly on account of the weather, and I soon find myself back at my house, where it has been decided that the interview will take place.

Peeta and I bypass the crew rearranging my living room furniture and setting up cameras and lights to the upstairs, where we are met by Venia, Octavia, and Flavius. Thankfully, by the time they are done with me I still feel and look like myself, although the braid in my hair is a fussier pattern than I would normally plait myself. Peeta, too, looks only like a more TV-ready version of himself, and I find calm in the realization that my requests are already being met without my having to say anything.

Mort brings us something for lunch, and Peeta makes me eat enough to calm my stomach. The hot tea, at least, warms me, and for the first time that day I feel like I am truly in my own body.

"Ready?" Peeta asks at the top of the stair landing.

"Ready," I reply, even offering a smile that feels real. He takes my hand as we descend the steps and enter my living room, where Plutarch is already perched on a chair set at an angle to the sofa.

We exchange pleasantries while the crew finishes their final preparations, and before I have time to think about it, the red lights on the cameras tell me we're on. I don't have to think about Plutarch's questions because I already know the answers to them. In our preparations, Peeta and I talked only of the topics we would discuss, deciding deliberately not to rehearse any prewritten script, knowing how awfully I'd done with those in the past.

Today, by some miracle, I am able not to shut out the lights and cameras, but embrace them. I hear the words coming from my mouth, and from Peeta's, telling of our sincere thoughts and motivations during those first games, of a rebellion I hadn't known I had sparked until it was too late, of a staged engagement and feigned pregnancy devised only in desperate attempts to save ourselves. Peeta speaks of his capture and torture at the Capitol's hand. When he apologizes to the nation for the lies he told against his will, I squeeze his hand in silent support, but his tears come anyway. It is my turn then to tell everyone that I killed Coin on purpose, that I had planned it, that I was proud of what I had done. I enumerate all the ways in which she was the same despot with a different face, all the ways which we were now better off as a nation.

"The hell that we've been put through, as individuals and as a nation, I wouldn't wish that on anybody," I find myself saying. I have the feeling that the interview is near an end, and I try to remember if I have said everything I wanted to. Everything I needed to. "But we can recover," I continue. "We are recovering. I can tell you that the only thing that will help us truly get over the disasters we have faced is love. I know this because it is the only thing that has helped me."

I turn toward Peeta to find him looking back at me, and at this moment, with Plutarch out of sight and the equipment in the periphery, I actually do forget that they are all there and talk to Peeta as if we were the only people in the room. "I thought you were my enemy," I say, steadying my breath, "and I wondered how the sweet boy who had saved my life four years earlier could now want me dead. And it took me too long to realize that the only game you were playing in that arena was with the Careers, that you were trying to save me. It took me even longer to realize that I wanted to save you, too. But I know now that I've loved you since those days in the cave, when I was so afraid that you would die, when we both might have died if not for each other. I love you so much, Peeta, and I'm so sorry it took me so long to realize it."

And for the first time since we walked down the stairs an hour earlier, Peeta lets go of my hand, but only to put his arms around me and whisper words into my ear so quietly that the microphones can't pick them up. This whisper is louder to me than the words Plutarch says in closing, and I'm not even aware that the interview is over until the bustle of the crew starting to break down their equipment brings me back to where I am.

Plutarch, who is uncharacteristically quiet, leaves us alone and assists with the packing up around us. Before they go, Plutarch says only that I am the bravest person he has ever met, and I am oddly touched by his sincerity.

"Thank you," I reply softly. "But Plutarch?"

"Yes?"

"I think I'm done with TV interviews." The humor in my own voice surprises me, and I smile.

"We'll see about that," he replies good naturedly.

Plutarch and his company depart before sunset, and Peeta and I spend the rest of the day cloistered in my house, too exhausted to do anything but lie in each others' arms and talk of Allen and Aimee's impending wedding, of Delly and her husband moving back to the district at the end of the month, of the possibility of going to visit my mother soon. For the first time since I can remember, the future holds a tint of promise, and I can feel myself smiling as I fall asleep.