Chapter Twenty Nine: Sedated

I spew the berries from my mouth, wiping my tongue with the end of my shirt to make sure no juice remains. Peeta pulls me to the lake where we both flush our mouths with water and then collapse in the ground.

"You didn't swallow any?" I ask him.

He shakes his head. "You?"

"Guess I'd be dead by now if I did," I say. I can see his lips moving in reply, but I can't hear him over the roar of the crowd in the Capitol that they're playing live over the speakers.

The hovercraft materializes overhead and two ladders drop, only there's no way I'm letting go of Peeta. I keep one arm around him as I help him up, and we each place a foot on the first rung of the ladder. The electric current freezes us in place, and this time I'm glad because I'm not really sure Peeta can hang on for the whole ride. And since my eyes were looking down, I can see that while our muscles are immobile, nothing is preventing the blood from draining out of Peeta's leg. Sure enough, the minute the door closes behind us and the current stops, he slumps to the floor unconscious.

Doctors in sterile white, masked and gloved, already prepped to operate, go into action. Peeta's so pale and still on a silver table, tubes and wires springing out of him every which way, and for a moment I forget we're out of the Games and I see the doctors as just one more threat, one more pack of mutts designed to kill him. Petrified, I lunge for him, but I'm caught and thrust back into another room, and a glass door seals between us.

I slump down on the floor, my face against the door. Through the glass, I see the doctors working feverishly on Peeta, their brows creased in concentration. I see the flow of liquids, pumping through the tubes, watch a wall of dials and lights that mean nothing to me. I'm not sure, but I think his heart stops twice.

It's like being home again, when they bring in the hopelessly mangled person from the mine explosion, or the woman in her third day of labor, or the famished child struggling against pneumonia and my mother and Prim, they wear that same look on their faces. Now is the time to run away to the woods, to hide in the trees until the patient is long gone and in another part of the Seam the hammers make the coffin. But I'm held here both by the hovercraft walls and the same force that holds the loved ones of the dying. How often I've seen them, ringed around our kitchen table and I thought, Why don't they leave? Why do they stay to watch?

And now I know. It's because you have no choice. I startle when I catch someone staring at me from only a few inches away and then realize it's my own face reflecting back in the glass. Wild eyes, hollow cheeks, my hair in a tangled mat. Rabid. Feral. Mad. No wonder everyone is keeping a safe distance from me.

The next thing I know we've landed back on the roof of the Training Center and they're taking Peeta but leaving me behind the door. I start hurling myself against the glass, shrieking and I think I just catch a glimpse of pink hair - it must be Effie, it has to be Effie coming to my rescue - when the needle jabs me from behind.

When I wake, I'm afraid to move at first. The entire ceiling glows with a soft yellow light allowing me to see that I'm in a room containing just my bed. No doors, no windows are visible. The air smells of something sharp and antiseptic. My right arm has several tubes that extend into the wall behind me. I'm naked, but the bedclothes arc soothing against my skin. I tentatively lift my left hand above the cover. Not only has it been scrubbed clean, the nails are filed in perfect ovals, the scars from the burns are less prominent. I touch my cheek, my lips, the puckered scar above my eyebrow, and am just running my fingers through my silken hair when I freeze. Apprehensively I ruffle the hair by my left ear. No, it wasn't an illusion. I can hear again. I try and sit up, but some sort of wide restraining band around my waist keeps me from rising more than a few inches. The physical confinement makes me panic and I'm trying to pull myself up and wriggle my hips through the band when a portion of the wall slides open and in steps Finnick carrying a tray. The sight of him calms me and I stop trying to escape. I want to ask him a million questions, but I don't know where to start.

He puts the tray in front of me and helps me sit up. I'm suddenly very aware that I'm naked and I pull the blanket closer around me. He sits in the chair next to the bed, he looks nervous.

"Did something change Finnick?" I ask him, nervous of his answer.

"What do you mean?" he looks confused

"Did something change? Were you lying about your feelings because you thought I was going to die?"

His face doesn't change, "No, if anything I was holding back because I thought you might die. Were you?"

I shake my head and smile, "Then what are you waiting for?" He still looks confused, this isn't the charming, cocky Finnick I left behind, "Are you going to just sit there or come over here and kiss me." I ask him, surprised by my confidence.

He grins at me and I catch a glimpse of carefree Finnick, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Thats when I know something is wrong. He doesn't say anything though, but he does walk over and kiss me.

When his lips touch mine, and I can feel myself relax, the tension easing out of my shoulders. When he pulls back I can tell something is wrong.

"Is Peeta okay?" I ask almost panic. That's it, it has to be it. Why else would he look that way?

To my relief he says, "Yes, Peeta is fine. They fixed him up just like they did you."

"Then what is it Finnick?" I run my fingers up the side of his face and through his hair. I think the medicine must be making me brave.

"I just- I can't let myself believe your really okay. I feel like I could wake up from a dream and you'll be gone again." He cups my face with both of his hands. It's completely different from the way Peeta did it in the arena. My cheeks tingle from his touch.

"I'm not going anywhere Finnick. Except maybe home to district 12." Shouldn't he be home too? "How are you here? Not that I'm not glad to see you that is."

"I was in the Capitol when you won. Technically, I'm not supposed to be here, but I snuck in." He smirks. The corner of his mouth pulling up, and he winks at me.

"Why are you in the Capitol?" I ask him curiously.

"Well.. thats a story for another day. And really, I hope you never have to find out. I don't have much time, in fact I have to go, I only had a 5 minute window." He leans over to kiss me again.

"Will I see you again soon?" I ask suddenly afraid I won't see him until the games next year.

"I'll make sure of it." He promises. He kisses me and when he starts to pull away I pull him back. I expect him to pull back again but he doesn't. He gives in deepening the kiss. When we finally break for air I see there are tears in his eyes.

"What's going on Finn?" I ask him concerned.

He shakes his head, "Watching you in the arena... I..." he shakes his head again, "I just... I'm so glad your here Katniss."

"Me too."

"I wish I had more time right now but I have to go."

"It's okay. We have plenty of time now." I tell him reassuringly.

"Yes we do." he says kissing me quickly and leaving. It hurts to see him leave, especially not knowing when I will be able to see him again.

Something was going on with him. I'm not sure what it is and for some reason he couldn't tell me, at least not here. If there is anything I have to say about it I plan on finding out soon.

There's usually a lag of a few days between the end of the competition and the presentation of the victor so that they can put the starving, wounded, mess of a person back together again. Somewhere, Cinna and Portia will be creating our wardrobes for the public appearances. Haymitch and Effie will be arranging the banquet for our sponsors, reviewing the questions for our final interviews. Back home, District 12 is probably in chaos as they try and organize the homecoming celebrations for Peeta and me, given that the last one was close to thirty years ago.

Home! Prim and my mother! Gale! Even the thought of Prim's scruffy old cat makes me smile. Soon I will be home!

I want to get out of this bed. To see Peeta and Cinna, to find out more about what's been going on. And why shouldn't I? I feel fine. But as I start to work my way out of the band, I feel a cold liquid seeping into my vein from one of the tubes and almost immediately lose consciousness.

This happens on and off for an indeterminate amount of time. My waking, eating, and, even though I resist the impulse to try and escape the bed, being knocked out again. I seem to be in a strange, continual twilight. Only a few things register. Did I hear a man's voice yelling? Not in the Capitol accent, but in the rougher cadences of home. And I can't help having a vague, comforting feeling that someone is looking out for me.

Then finally, the time arrives when I come to and there's nothing plugged into my right arm. The restraint around my middle has been removed and I am free to move about. I start to sit up but am arrested by the sight of my hands. The skin's perfection, smooth and glowing. Not only are the scars from the arena gone, but those accumulated over years of hunting have vanished without a trace. My forehead feels like satin, and when I try to find the burn on my calf, there's nothing. I slip my legs out of bed, nervous about how they will bear my weight and find them strong and steady. Lying at the foot of the bed is an outfit that makes me flinch.

It's what all of us tributes wore in the arena. I stare at it as if it had teeth until I remember that, of course, this is what I will wear to greet my team.

I'm dressed in less than a minute and fidgeting in front of the wall where I know there's a door even if I can't see it when suddenly it slides open. I step into a wide, deserted hall that appears to have no other doors on it. But it must. And behind one of them must be Peeta.

Now that I'm conscious and moving, I'm growing more and more anxious about him. He must be all right or Finnick wouldn't have said so. Or did I just imagine seeing Finnick? I haven't see anyone else.

"Peeta!" I call out, since there's no one to ask. I hear my name in response, but it's not his voice. It's a voice that provokes first irritation and then eagerness. Effie. I turn and see them all waiting in a big chamber at the end of the hall - Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna. My feet take off without hesitation. Maybe a victor should show more restraint, more superiority, especially when she knows this will be on tape, but I don't care. I run for them and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch's arms first.

When he whispers in my ear, "Nice job, sweetheart," it doesn't sound sarcastic. Effie's somewhat teary. Cinna just hugs me tight and doesn't say anything. Then I notice Portia is absent and get a bad feeling. "Where's Portia? Is she with Peeta? He is all right, isn't he? I mean, he's alive?" I blurt out.

"He's fine. Only they want to do your reunion live on air at the ceremony," says Haymitch.

"Oh. That's all," I say.

"Go on with Cinna. He has to get you ready," says Haymitch.

Cinna takes me to the prep team where they ready me. When I finish Cinna comes in with what appears to be an unassuming yellow dress across his arms.

"Have you given up the whole 'girl on fire' thing?" I ask.

"You tell me," he says, and slips it over my head. I immediately notice the padding over my breasts, adding curves that hunger has stolen from my body. My hands go to my chest and I frown.

"I know," says Cinna before I can object. "But the Game-makers wanted to alter you surgically. Haymitch had a huge fight with them over it. This was the compromise." He stops me before I can look at my reflection. "Wait, don't forget the shoes." Venia helps me into a pair of flat leather sandals and I turn to the mirror.

I am still the "girl on fire." The sheer fabric softly glows. Even the slight movement in the air sends a ripple up my body. By comparison, the chariot costume seems garish, the interview dress too contrived. In this dress, I give the illusion of wearing candlelight.

"What do you think?" asks Cinna.

"I think it's the best yet," I say. When I manage to pull my eyes away from the flickering fabric, I'm in for something of a shock. My hair's loose, held back by a simple hairband. The makeup rounds and fills out the sharp angles of my face. A clear polish coats my nails.

I look, very simply, like a girl. A young one. Fourteen at the most. Innocent. Harmless. Yes, it is shocking that Cinna has pulled this off when you remember I've just won the Games. This is a very calculated look. Nothing Cinna designs is arbitrary. I bite my lip trying to figure out his motivation.

"I thought it'd be something more . . . sophisticated-looking," I say.

"I thought Peeta would like this better," he answers carefully.

Peeta? Why would Peeta care? No, it's not about Peeta. It's about the Capitol and the Gamemakers and the audience. Although I do not yet understand Cinna's design, it's a reminder the Games are not quite finished. And beneath his benign reply, I sense a warning. Of something he can't even mention in front of his own team.

I'm brought back to Haymitch's word from what feels like so long ago, "Let's just say once you survive the games, and I say survive because nobody wins, they never end."