Chapter Fourteen

KATNISS

"Peeta!" I exclaim causing my mother to jump out of her chair. My open hand reaches for his hand that still holds mines. I know I felt it. The way his hand feels in mines, I have held it for years, and I know him, almost as if I had known him my whole life. She looks at me as I rush towards him to see if his eyes were open. Looking at him there, it looks as if nothing has happened, his eyes continue to be closed, his breathing continues to be controlled, and even the beeping sound of the machines didn't change, everything looks the same. Turning back to look at my mom, her face has changed from a smile to back to automatic mode.

"Mom, I felt it," I say. "I felt his hand tighten around mines."

She reaches in and grabs a small flashlight. Walking over to Peeta she opens one of his eyelids and flashes the light from left to right. Walking over to the other she does the same to the other eye. The brightness from the flashlight is so bright that I can tell that it is not an ordinary flashlight. Grabbing his wrist she begins to count softly. Then finally taking out the stethoscope she places it underneath his shirt, more than likely checking the breathing sounds. She hurries herself to the machines and check the numbers that of course mean nothing to me, but she clearly understands them.

"Katniss," she says with a tone that I recognize. She doesn't believe me, she thinks that I made it up because of something that I wanted.

"Mom," I say back in a harsher tone. "I know what I felt. I am not imagining it."

"I know," she says. "Sometimes though the body does have spasms. The smallest twitch can just be the body reacting.

"Reacting to what?" I tell her trying to get her to see my reasoning. I may have not known anything back then, about Peeta's condition, about what my mother knew and even the complicated medical terms, but now after years of this, I am pretty sure that I know what I am talking about. "The twitch would react from a signal of the nervous system, right? Well where does the signal come from? Do a test, do something, please Mom, I know he is there, I know he is coming back."

"Okay,…" a deep sigh comes from her. She should know that just like my father, I am as persistent or stubborn as a mule. "Get that cup over there," she says pointing to the nightstand. There in the where a purple cup sits. It isn't meant for drinking, at least I don't think it is, because of it larger top and tapered bottom. Probably it is a flower vase. Looking at it in my hands, it is meant to be held with two hands, and with it being metal it is light. "Fill it up with ice and a little bit of water and bring it over here."

She moves over a table of sort from the wall and tells me to place the cup on the table. Once that is done she grabs one of Peeta's hand and motions to me.

"Now when I tell you," she says. "I want you to place his hands in the cup of cold ice. I will check to see if there is any reaction."

She grabs her flashlight again and as she stands at the head of the bed, she opens one of his eyes and nods at me. Grabbing his left hand I slip it into the cold ice. The cool air that comes off the cup is enough to cause goose bumps all up my arms. I look at her with a sense hope, even if it is a small one. I think inside my head, pleading for a sign, for any sign that would show her that I am not crazy, that I did feel him there.

Turning towards me, she lets out the smallest smile that she can give me. It is enough. She sees something and probably that is why I feel as if I can breathe again. Hope, no matter how small will always be enough to keep you going.

She walks over to the nearby phone and picks it up, tell the person on the other side of the phone that she is requesting a MRI. As she is speaking she covers the phone and very nicely tells me.

"You might want to take his hand out of the cold water now," she says with a smile. "Don't think he is enjoying it all that much."

I look over and see the redness from the hand, and remove it quickly. Kissing it softly, I place both my hands in his rubbing feeling back into it. I can't help but smile, and although his eyes are not open, I know that he is there. It was exactly the same feeling I had when I saw him on the Capitol videos. Through the madness, through the pain, I could see, I could feel, that he was still there.

"I know you are there," I whisper close to his ears. "I know you can hear me. Please remember that we have always kept ours promises, and you promised me that we would have a tomorrow together. Now you fight, and you come back to me, come back to your family."

I could feel people rushing into the room as I stand back and let them take Peeta back for more tests. Leaving me there, the whole room empty but the two chairs and a nightstand, my mother comes to me and tells me that it would be better if I went back to her home to get freshen up and that she would call me when they had the results. At first I wanted to protest, that I wanted to be next to him throughout the test, but I know that it would be too hard to see, to imagine him having to go through another battery of tests.

"You cannot go on forever, you need to rest," she says seriously. "You will be the first one that I call with anything."

"I don't know if I could rest," I say.

"Katniss," she says. "You don't have to trust the doctors, you don't have to trust the exams, or even what they say, but trust me. He is there, I saw what you saw. Whatever you did, whatever it was that you said, it worked but really I need you to try…"

She places a hand on my cheek. It is still weird to see her acting so motherly, sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure that I am truly not imagining it.

"Mom," I say trying to convey my uneasiness.

"I know," she says trying to reassure. It is that understanding that out of anyone here, she could understand what I am going through, or what I went through. She had lost the love of her life. Her love for him was something that as a child I couldn't understand. I thought it would be easy, or if not I couldn't trust myself to love anyone.

"You want to know how I did it," she says which at the moment I don't know what she is talking about. "After losing the one person that I loved so much that it hurt my heart to even think about it now, the only way that I came back, was when you volunteered. The one person who was exactly like him, I was losing, and I couldn't lose you, not you."

She looks down the hallway trying to hold in the emotion.

"You told me to, no…you made me promise that I would be there for your sister, that I would fight through it," she says grabbing both of my hands. "Now it is your turn. He is in there fighting, so I need you to remember that you have children and you have to promise the same thing. That you will fight."

I mouth the word okay, unable to find the strength to even speak. She gives me one more long embrace before turning and walking back towards the elevator. I see her hand come up to her face and then back down. Like me she has a very hard time showing emotions, and in that we are the same. I don't think that there would be any one in our family that wouldn't at least feel something. We are so conditioned by a government that no longer exist to hide the emotions that bind us together. My mother for so long has hid her love for my father, the stories that allow me to understand her, and for her to finally understand me.

The waiting room is filled with people that I do not know, with new people who are waiting for news of their loved ones. How did I make it so long without breaking? I feel as if any small thing could take me over the edge. I keep my head down, as I do not want to attract any attention, I honestly do not want to talk to anyone. Just a couple of feet till I reach the door. I count the steps until I am outside. There was one thing that the private floor in the Medical wing was that hardly anyone had access to it, no one gawking in the doors, or cameras to shy away from. Now that I am the lobby I can see the crowds of people. It has been years since a camera been shoved in my face and I aim to keep that way. Just four more steps, and I am outside. My hand reaches for the knob and as I turn it the door swings open and I the sun catches me by surprise. It is enough to cause my eyes to shut for a second. I can still hear the people and the waves, but cannot see anything as my eyes adjust to the sunlight. It has been a couple of days since I have been outside.

The familiar gravel brings a sense of comfort to me. As my eyes finally come to focus I can see that people are just walking by with no one looking at me. That is without the exception of the man to my right. The pungent smell is enough to turn my face in the opposite direction.

"God," I say. "Don't you ever take a bath?"

"What?" he says. "And let my wonderful odor vanish?"

It was something he always did to get people to stay away from him. He actually did it on purpose. Make it as uncomfortable to be around him as possible. This made everyone, every camera simply just walk right by him. The only ones that actually can stomach it of course is us. He is after all the ones we owe our lives to.

"Well there are no more cameras," I say. "Who are you trying to repel? Sea life?"

He lets out a laugh that can only be considered as a snarl. I hear the liquid swishing from side to side, and I know that either he is drunk or about to get drunk. One of the few rules that we made him promise when the children were born. If he gets drunk, he would have broken two of the most important.

"You know," I say. "I am thinking about going to my mother's house, to see my children. You might as well come with. Don't want you making a scene here."

Crunch, crunch, crunch. His steps have gotten slower and well no one talks about it, but we are all getting older. Turning around to see him, I see the greys have almost won out his browns. Effie once told him that he would look a lot more presentable if he would consider getting his hair colored. Of course his response was a very loud, very obnoxious, with the smell of death…fart. I think that was the last time Effie ever mentioned it. Peeta and I always had a secret little joke, on if Haymitch and Effie would ever finally get together.

"This of course isn't for me," he says. "Not with the umm…rules."

He hands me the bottle of white liquor. Looking at it, I see the seal is not broken and the weight is just about right. I grab it without a second thought, placing it underneath my arm. I look at him, and can see the obvious worry look on his face, hidden on top on the scowling that he has perfected throughout the years. The small children in District Twelve call Haymitch the boogie man, and him yelling at them doesn't help the matter.

"Thanks I guess," I say jiggling the bottle. "My mother can always use it to strip paint off the walls."

"Figured that is what you would use it for," he says sarcastically. It would be the easiest thing to do. To solve all my problems the way Haymitch does. To drink it away until I cannot even remember what it was that I was thinking about. Would one bottle be enough though, to erase the feelings of insecurity, the feelings of loneliness? I can still remember the only other time that I drank from a bottle. It was the only time I think that Peeta actually was disappointed in me, or at least that is what I felt.

We walk towards the main road. I have to slow down on purpose to let him keep up with my pace. The fact that he is here, means a lot to me, but of course I would never tell him, and he would never want me to say it. The more we grow older the more we don't talk, we just know.

"So sweetheart," he says with the same tone that he had always given me. At first I hated that little pet name he gave me, but now after all these years, it doesn't bother me anymore. "How is our prize possession?"

"He is fine," I say. "Still sleeping."

"Odd thing," he says. "I came by an hour earlier, and no one would give me any information. They even asked me to leave. Someone actually gave me this."

He jingles his hand with coins. I can't help but laugh at it, the mental picture of Haymitch walking into the lobby, and everyone thinking that he is a homeless person. Probably lasted a couple of minutes before he was escorted outside. I wonder if they even knew that he was the Victor of the second quarter quell.

The trip is a lot longer than usual with Haymitch stopping every five minutes to complain. I think that he is stopping because of the humidity. It is a lot warmer here in District Four than it is back in our District. I can see his struggle to breath, from the age and of course the excessive drinking. He has cut back just a little, and I had asked him to talk to someone about the nightmares, but he is too prideful and too much of an old fashion to ever ask for help.

"Hot out," I say stopping to look around. There are some people walking around. Looking back I see the Medical center and somewhere one of those windows, is a room where Peeta is right now. It is as if he realizes what I am thinking about, because Haymitch grumbles something about being hungry. I of course ignore the comment, and looking at him, I complain if he is ready to move on.

"Well if you are hungry, don't you think we should get moving?" I say. "And yes for the eighth time, your shoe laces are tied."

"What's got your braid in a knot," he says finally calling me out on my attitude. I honestly wished that I was alone right now, not really looking to talk to anyone about what is going on. The only one that I could or would share this with, is the one that I can't. "Almost as if someone died or got left behind."

"Still not funny," I say. "Don't think it will ever be funny. They don't know what is wrong with him, why he won't wake up."

"Listen up," he says sharply. "We have been through too much crap, given up too much of ourselves, for this to be the end. So stop feeling sorry for yourself, grow a pair and realize that he is still much more stronger than either one of us. Anyone else would have died long time ago."

A good swift kick in the butt. That is what Haymitch was always good for. He never held anything back, and sober he was even worst. I feel like just knocking him out, but I know that he is the only one that could get through me, could get me to realize that I have to be strong, because he is strong.

"Think about it," he says. "Everything he has gone through, I think something kept him from dying, although you never saw it, I knew it from the first day he told me. It just took some convincing with you."

I nod. Looking down at the bottle, I can see that Peeta wouldn't want me to crumble, he wouldn't want me to try and forget. He would want me to fight, just like my mother told me to. It would be something that he would do. His hope wouldn't be a dot on a foggy mirror, but the entire mirror would be his. He was so certain back then that I would make it. He fought so hard to keep me alive, in both the Games and even in the War, although he may not believe it, him surviving was only to protect me, to keep me alive.

Now it is my turn to be strong for him.

"Thank you for coming," I say as we walk towards the house.