It's Reaping Day.
PPOV
The day of the Reaping dawns hot and steamy, as if summer arrived overnight. I can tell Katniss is awake already even though she's trying to hide it. Neither of us want to say out loud what we both know is true. One of us is going to be reaped today.
Of course, theoretically Haymitch has just as big of a chance of being reaped as Katniss and I do. He's just as much of a Victor as we are, but I'm convinced that President Snow has rigged the Reaping to choose either Katniss or me, since we're the ones he blames for the discontent in the districts. Haymitch is probably just an old drunk to him, but Katniss and I are instigators that need to be punished.
For the last couple of weeks Katniss and I have pretended, or tried to pretend, that one of us wasn't about to be shipped off to another fight to the death. We let up on our training a little. We ate our meals together, we went hunting, we baked, we visited our families and tried not to make it seem like we were visiting to say goodbye. I painted while she watched. Madge and Rye had their wedding and toasting, for which I baked their cake and bread. We tried as hard as we could to be as normal as possible, but it was always hanging over us. Taunting us. Reminding us that our lives were never really ours.
We spent most of last night making love, trying desperately to forget the impending doom arriving with the morning. After each time we would cling to each other, whispering soothing words and desperate promises, until the grief would become too much and we would start again.
Did I sleep at all? I don't know. Katniss finally succumbed to exhaustion around 3 or 4 am, but I seem to remember being in some halfway land between dreams and waking, knowing I should probably sleep but not wanting to close my eyes, for fear that Katniss might be snatched away from me before I could wake up.
I tighten my arm around her waist and pull her closer, if that's even possible. I don't know what's worse; the possibility that I will be reaped and torn away from her, or the possibility of her being reaped and me being forced to watch her in the arena, unable to be with her. I can feel my heart start to pound and my throat feels like it's closing up. It can't be her. I don't think I could bear to watch her in there without me to protect her.
Katniss stirs and rolls over in my arms, burying her face into my chest. I kiss the top of her head but say nothing.
"Not enough time," I hear her say, muffled up against my body. "We didn't have enough time. I wanted to take you back to the lake, and I wanted to finish the Plant Book, and I wanted to see Prim grow up and get married, and..." her voice trails off as I crush her to me.
"Shhh," I say, trying to sound more comforting than I feel. I wrack my brain for something else to say and come up empty. "The prep teams will be here soon," I say instead.
As if on cue there's a loud knock on the front door. At least they have the decency to wait a couple of minutes and not just barge into the house this time. Even so, Katniss and I barely have enough time to get dressed before my prep team bursts into the room, followed closely by Octavia and Flavius. The sight of us together causes at least two of them to start to cry so hard they have to be ushered out.
"I'm sorry," Octavia says to me, tears streaming down her face as well. "They're...we're... all just so upset."
I nod. "We're going to be prepped together this morning," I say firmly, leaving no room for argument. Octavia blinks and nods.
Getting us ready proves a little difficult as Katniss refuses to let go of my hand for most of the process, but they manage to get us washed and dressed, surprisingly, in the clothes that we wore for our wedding and toasting. I'm not exactly sure what Cinna and Portia are thinking by doing this. Everyone in District 12 will recognize our clothes as toasting outfits. Are they trying to send some sort of message to the people?
There's food and tea spread out on the kitchen table when we come downstairs but neither of us are hungry, so we just sit silently, holding hands, until Peacekeeper Thread arrives to escort us to the Square.
The Square is silent, with families standing together instead of the children being roped off by age this time. I know my family is in there somewhere, along with Mrs. Everdeen and Prim. There's a Peacekeeper every four feet or so, rifle in hand, facing the crowd as if they are daring someone to say something wrong or step out of line.
Haymitch is already there waiting in a small, roped-off U-shape when we arrive, having been prepped and escorted on his own. His eyes are narrow and his face impassive. He knows that he's not the one in danger right now. Katniss's face is impassive too, but there's a tremble in her hand that's holding tightly to mine.
I hear Effie's footsteps clicking up the steps of the Justice Building, her metallic gold wig shining in the sunlight.
"Welcome, welcome," she begins, her voice lacking her usual pep. "Welcome to the Reaping for the Third Quarter Quell. As you know, one previous Hunger Games Victor will be reaped this year for the honor of representing District 12 in the Quarter Quell." As she looks over to where we are standing, I think I see her eyes wet with tears.
Effie walks over to the round, glass reaping bowl containing only three slips of paper. She snags one and walks slowly back to the microphone. I start pleading in my head; please don't be Katniss, please don't let it be Katniss, please, please, please...
Effie takes a deep breath, opens the paper, and reads the name loud and clear.
"The name of the tribute from District 12 is..." and she pauses.
Please not her, please not her, please not her.
"Katniss Everdeen."
I stumble backwards like I've been hit in the chest. Please no. Not her.
No, no, no, no. I feel like the wind's been knocked out of me.
"No!"
I don't realize I'm screaming until I feel Katniss's hand on my cheek and her lips closing over mine quickly before Peacekeeper Thread grabs her roughly by her shoulders and yanks her away from me. I'm barely able to catch her hand and squeeze it before it too is ripped away from me and she's marched up the concrete stairs.
"No!" I scream again, and I feel Haymitch wrap his arms around me, pinning my arms down and trying to hold me in place, keeping me from running out of this pen and up those stairs to her. To my love, my wife, my Katniss, who I swore to always protect. Who I swore to always keep safe. Who I don't think I can live without.
"Let me go!" I scream, struggling against Haymitch who's trying desperately to hold onto me. "Take me instead! She's my wife, you can't have her!"
All of a sudden my vision goes black for a second as a Peacekeeper hits me on the back of my head with the butt of his rifle. The blow knocks me hard onto my knees, with Haymitch falling down beside me.
"No, this can't be happening. It was supposed to be me!" I say, tears starting to flow freely down my face. "It was supposed to be me!"
"You can't do anything about it right now, Boy," Haymitch rasps to me. "And if you want to get out of here alive you'll stop making a scene." There's now four Peacekeepers surrounding us, their rifles pointing right at me, almost daring me to make another wrong move.
I look up and can barely make out the crowd giving Katniss the traditional District 12 three-fingered salute. Then Thread takes her by the shoulders again and turns her towards the Justice Building.
"I get to say goodbye!" I hear Katniss say.
"New procedure, we're going straight to the train," I can hear Thread respond in his horrible, gruff voice.
"Katniss!" I hear Prim calling from the crowd. She sounds almost as desperate as me.
"Katniss! I love you!" I yell out through my tears. There's barely enough time for her to turn around and mouth the words back to me before the door closes behind her.
I'm not sure how long I've remained here, beaten down to my knees by the physical blow from the Peacekeeper and the emotional blow of watching my love being forcibly taken from me. I'm only vaguely aware of the Square slowly emptying around me, the Peacekeepers urging everyone back to their homes with their rifles and harsh words. Haymitch finally lets go of me when the Peacekeeper who hit me orders him back to his house. I feel the barrel of the Peacekeeper's rifle poking me in the back.
"Go on back to your home now," he says gruffly. "The Reaping is over."
I just stare up at him, my eyes still swimming with tears. How can he order me to just go home, like nothing has happened? When he knows my Katniss won't be there with me?
"We'll take him home," I hear a voice say behind me.
I look over to see Rye and Madge stop next to me, both of them carrying rucksacks. "Peeta invited us to stay with him for a while, so we'll make sure he gets home okay."
The Peacekeeper finally nods and backs up. Rye grabs me under my arm and helps me up to my feet.
"C'mon Peeta," he says quietly. "Let's get you home."
Numbly, I allow Rye to guide me back to our house. We get inside and he pushes me onto the couch, pulling my shoes off. "You don't have to stay here," I finally say. "It's too much trouble. You have to be at the bakery."
"The bakery's closed for the rest of the day," he says firmly. "And too bad, but until Katniss comes home, you're going to be stuck with us. Madge and I aren't going to leave you alone. We can help you get through this."
I just stare at him again, and he stares right back at me. "Why?" I finally say.
His face hardens. "Because," he says. "Because you're my brother, and, because no one should have to go through this again, you least of all."
"What about Mrs. Everdeen? And Prim?" I ask. "Who's going to take care of them?"
"Gale told me that Rory was going to check on them a few times a day, make sure they are doing okay," he replies. "And Hazelle will be at Haymitch's house every day too like she usually is, so she'll be nearby. Don't worry about them, Peet. They're being looked after. I'm just concerned about you right now."
And it's all I can do to not break down sobbing again.
"Okay," I finally whisper. "Okay."
Rye nods. "Okay then, that's settled. Now tell me which room Madge and I can stay in and I'll go unpack while she gets us something to eat."
"The second door on the left upstairs should work for you guys," I say quietly. "There's a bathroom in there too."
"Sounds great," Rye says, pulling both of their rucksacks over his shoulders and heading up the stairs. I can hear his clomping footsteps against the ceiling as he unpacks. Is that what I sound like when I walk? No wonder Katniss can hear me coming a mile away.
Madge is able to coax some bread and fruit into me at lunchtime, and afterwards I try to paint for a while, but I find myself just staring at the empty canvas. The only image I can conjure right now is of Katniss's hand being ripped away from mine, but it's still too painful for me to paint it.
That night, as I methodically get ready for bed, I sit down to detach my prosthetic and my gaze falls on the little clay jar of my leg cream sitting on the bedside table. Every single day, no matter where we were or what else was going on, Katniss has rubbed that cream into my leg, helping to keep my skin healthy and ease the soreness that comes from having a prosthetic limb. Every single day since her mother first made it for me. But tonight she can't, because she's already halfway to the Capitol by now.
Tears are welling in my eyes as I reach for the jar, scooping a little of the cream into my hand and rubbing the end of my stump. My fingers don't work nearly as well as hers though, and once I'm done my leg doesn't feel any better at all.
"I can't do this," I whisper to myself. "I can't do this without you." I look around the room. Her hairbrush is still sitting on the dresser, waiting for me to brush out her hair. Through the partially open closet door I can see her father's hunting jacket hanging on a hook. Even the room still smells like her hair, that almost intoxicating combination of pine and lavender and vanilla. I start to inhale deeply, trying to breathe it in as much as possible, but after a few breaths it almost seems like the scent is choking me and I start gasping.
"I can't, I can't!" I gasp out, my breaths coming faster and faster with my heart thumping in my chest and then I'm doubled over with the room spinning around me. The last thing I remember before everything goes black is hitting the wood floor.
Thank you so much for all of the feedback and kind reviews! What I'll probably do is wrap up this fic around the end of the Quell, similarly to the Catching Fire book, and then start a new one for Mockingjay. :)