Coughing and gagging, I choke the berries out, scrubbing a sleeve across my tongue. I yank Katniss toward the lake and we scoop handfuls of water into our mouths, spitting frantically before crumpling onto the bank. Katniss pulls herself close and wraps her arms around me, scanning my face. "You didn't swallow any?"
I shake my head weakly. "You?"
Her answer is lost in the blast of cheering that sweeps through the previously silent arena. The speakers are playing the audio of the studio crowd. "Go to hell," I growl.
I see two hovercraft appear overhead and they vibrate brightly before merging into one and dropping ladders down to us. I can't lift myself to my feet, but Katniss doesn't even let me try. She hauls me to the ladder and as soon as I place a foot on the rung the current grabs and holds me. We rise into the air and I feel the blood drain from my leg like water leaving a bath. My eyes are frozen to Katniss' braid and the world of the arena in the background closes like a drawstring until only the gleam of sunlight on her hair at the end of a dark tunnel is left of my vision. And then that is gone too and I am lost to the darkness.
I open my eyes and she isn't there. "Katniss!" I scream, leaping up against the wide band restraining my chest. My veins flood instantly with an icy heaviness and I sink back into the dark.
The dull yellow glow resolves itself around my slitted eyelids. A ceiling? A torrent of pain and confusion, and it takes all my strength to tip my head to the side. She isn't there. "Katniss!" The creeping cold in my veins is immediate but this time I fight it, or try to. "Kat….niss…." and the blackness pulls me back under.
A familiar voice is calling me softly, but I don't think I've ever heard it use my actual name. "Peeta," he urges. "Peeta? Katniss is ok, can you hear me?"
At her name, my eyes fly open. "Katniss is fine," Haymitch says hurriedly. "Katniss is ok, she's here, she's safe. Katniss is safe."
I'm able to meet his eyes, gray like hers, and since I'm not panicking the sedative holds off. "Where is she, Haymitch?" I ask desperately.
"She's fine. She's resting. She's safe. You kept her safe." He runs an uncertain hand over my head, much like my father, and the gesture helps me relax. But as I become aware of my surroundings, a small cot in an antiseptic smelling room, empty except for banks of machines, wires and tubes running from them to me, I feel the panic start to rise again. "It's fine, Peeta," Haymitch reassures me in his familiar gruff voice, but with an unfamiliar edge of warmth. "You're both back in the Capitol," he tells me, "but you guys were pretty banged up." As he talks, I start to become aware of the pain, my whole body throbs. I remember the time Jasper and I were challenging each other to scale the outside of buildings back home and I dropped onto my back from a second-story ledge.
"What happened to Katniss?" I ask.
"Just roughed up, hungry, thirsty. Nothing you didn't already know," he soothes. "The doctors here are really good, Peeta." He's looking at me kind of sideways, like he doesn't want to meet my eyes. "They're taking really good care of her. Of both of you."
He must be right. I ache all over and feel scraped raw, but my leg barely hurts anymore. My eyes fall on the bed and it looks funny, somehow. The shape under the covers strikes me as odd. Haymitch follows my gaze and reaches a hand to cover my wrist.
"Peeta," he begins, but I already know. I shake my head and tears fill my eyes. I clench my fists on the bedclothes and squeeze my eyes shut, grimacing as I try and shut out the realization. My whole body begins to tremble and I turn my head away. Letting Haymitch see me cry is more than I can bear.
"They tried everything they could," he whispers. "It was just too damaged from the mutt." The memory of the beast clamped onto my leg, of what happened to my leg happening to Cato's entire body, of the whole terrible experience is too much. A sob wells up from deep in my chest and tears itself loose. My body shakes with the escape of the grief, and Haymitch sits with me as the storm ravages me. He strokes my arm and whispers words of comfort, and they are only comforting because he is one of only two people who understand. Finally, exhaustion and numbness quell the wracking sobs and I cover my eyes with my free arm, but don't let go of my grip on his hand.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
"Never," he growls. "Not to me."
I turn to look at him. He meets my eyes unwaveringly and I see the grief echoed in the gray depths of his gaze. I see that he understands that he bent under its weight, and I see him wishing me the strength to resist. "Thank you," I say steadily.
He nods and finally looks away.
"Does Katniss know?" I ask.
"Not yet," he replies. "She's been pretty out of it, too." He smiles, "I kind of enjoy watching how much trouble she is to her doctors."
I can't help but smile back. Thinking of her makes my stomach flip over and I want so desperately to see her. "Don't tell her," I say. "She'll blame herself, she'll think she made it happen with the tourniquet. Let me tell her," I plead. Haymitch agrees and I ask when I can see her.
He evades my eyes again and clears his throat. "Look, there's something I need to talk to you about." He fidgets and picks at a thread in his jacket. Lifting his eyes to mine finally, I see a deep well of pity there. "I know you think…" he begins, but then cuts himself off.
"Haymitch, what is it?" I ask with rising anxiety.
He shakes his head, as though settling himself on a decision and says roughly, "I know you think the Capitol is full of spoiled sub-humans, and you want as little to do with them as possible. But they also have the best doctors and the most advanced technology. They could make you a prosthetic so real you would hardly even miss your leg."
I'm almost certain that isn't what he started out to say, but it makes sense. I shake my head. "No, I'll pay someone at home to make me something. I'd rather my money go there, help someone who really needs it."
"Peeta," he leans in closer and lowers his voice. "You can't look like you're spurning the Capitol right now. They like to play the role of benevolent savior and they like you to be the grateful victor."
"They can go to hell," I scowl. "I'll take their prize money, because I can use it to help people back home, but grateful is just a little off the mark of how I feel about them. I don't want anything of theirs."
Haymitch shakes his head. "Peeta. You need to think about how it looks if you don't come out beaming with gratitude and happy to be going home, a dazzling victor." He holds my gaze and whispers ominously, "How they might take it out on people you care about if they don't get what they want from you." He looks nervously around the room, as if he said more than he meant to.
As his words sink in, I feel a chill sweep over me. "You're right," I say brightly. "There's nothing back home that could hold a candle to this place. When do we get started?"
Haymitch nods his approval and stands. "I'll tell them right away," he says. "Good job out there, Frosting Freak." With a wink, he's gone.
Almost instantaneously a flock of doctors descends upon my room. They work quickly and efficiently, but it's exhausting and I fade in and out as they take fittings and molds and tests. Eventually a voice at my shoulder rouses me from a near stupor.
"Mr. Mellark? Can you hear me, sir?"
What follows is an agony of pain, frustration, and shame as I struggle to learn to manipulate the fake limb. Haymitch was right though, once I learn to deal with the sensation of being constantly off-kilter, I begin to make quick progress. The prosthetic is metal and plastic, but has a responsive quality to it that compensates for the feeling that I'm kneeling on a flour bin while trying to walk. The doctors compliment me on how quickly I pick it up, but I still feel clumsy and stumble often. I didn't realize how much I'd taken for granted my usual fluidity. I've always been a natural athlete and the grace of movement was just there automatically. Now, I fight each step, my whole body involved in swinging my leg forward, finding balance, trusting to rest my weight on it, and starting again every time.
I refuse to let Katniss see me struggle though. She can't know how difficult it is, can't watch me flail and lurch about. I will conquer this before she takes the blame on herself. If she sees that I'm ok, that it barely hinders me, she'll be less likely to feel responsible. This thought drives me over the next few days to work until exhaustion as often as my body will let me. By the time Portia arrives to dress me for the viewing of the highlights, I can walk with only a cane for support.
Selt, Junius and Lyra had descended upon me earlier with a flutter and crash of tears and hugging. They were full of talk about the Capitol watching us in the arena, how they had never given up on me, and how they had lived through every trial "right there with me." Selt proudly showed off a new tattoo, a leaping flame on the inside of his wrist, that he purchased with his winnings from betting on me. Lyra showed me her new earring, a replica of the mockingjay pin Katniss wore in the arena. The noise and memories and everyone touching and pulling and buffing and scrubbing became overwhelming and I faded into a numb lethargy. Finally, Portia arrived and shooed them all away, bringing me into a quiet room with a small, but hot dinner for the two of us.
"Sorry," she murmurs quietly when I finally begin to thaw out. "They're just so excited for you."
"I know, I'm sorry," I say. "It - it was just so..." I search for words. "So much more." The quiet of the woods, of only having Katniss and I together, feels like a distant memory. I feel a sudden, powerful urge to be done with this. I want to go home with Katniss and walk through the peaceful woods with her. If we're not hunting she won't mind too much if I'm crashingly loud, will she? I smile at the thought and it gives me the strength to shake off the panic that was building up in me.
As we eat, Portia makes small talk and asks innocuous questions designed to be answered with no substance. Something is up, but I can't tell what and Portia is clearly not able to talk to me about it. Thinking back to Haymitch's warning, I try and guess what's going on from clues in what Portia is asking about. After about five minutes of attempting to dissect the most banal conversation in history, I give up and change tactics. "Portia," I ask, "when will I see Katniss?" Surely that's a completely normal question for me to ask.
"Oh, it will be so exciting," she says, her voice lifting, but her face not changing at all. Are they listening to us? "The Gamemakers have planned for your reunion to be televised. You'll see her for the first time at the highlights. Won't that be lovely?" Her eyes seem to convey that it will be lovely whether I think so or not.
"What a great idea," I agree, raising my eyebrows questioningly. "I bet the whole country is looking forward to that, almost as much as I am."
She nods approvingly and laughs, "You just wait, Loverboy." A shudder racks me at the use of the Careers' nickname, and I quickly change the subject.
"So, what am I wearing for my big reunion?" She takes the hint and we begin to talk about my suit and the body polish that's removed all my scars, and how the prep team had despaired over my bedraggled hair in the arena. As the conversation flows over me, I try and piece together the danger Portia seems to fear. Why does the Capitol not want us to meet before the viewing? Portia is very observant, and she didn't seem at all sorry when I flinched at her use of "Loverboy" earlier. What was she trying to tell me? My mind feels like rusty gears trying to squeal back into use after all the drugs, blood loss and trauma.
Katniss and I won as a pair, the first time in history that's happened. We both won because we were willing to die together in the arena rather than one of us take the other's life. The Capitol had hoped for that to be their dramatic finish, maybe the Gamemakers feel like we got the better of them? It's certainly enough to earn their fury. It fits with Haymitch's warning as well. If he and Portia are concerned Katniss and I will flaunt this in the Gamemakers' faces, they needn't have worried. All I want is to get home and start putting ourselves back together. I want to spend time with Katniss without the entire nation watching us. A shiver races up my skin at the thought, and the longing for her feels like a physical thing. I'm ready to finish this. I meet Portia's eyes and wink.