Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 53
Primrose
They sedate Katniss after telling her that Peeta has been hijacked and conditioned into fearing that she is life-threatening to him and to the nation.
I pace the halls of the hospital, hands shaking and heart racing. I cannot get Coin's victory speech or the fight cry of the District out of my head.
If any of these people knew the state the evacuated Victors were in, if they knew that the Daughter of the Revolution had almost been lost at the hands of her father, if they knew how their Mockingjay lay indisposed and unresponsive to anyone…well, they would not be chanting.
My feet have grown sore under the weight that I carry on my shoulders. I pause and lean against the earthen wall to catch my labored breath.
Smile and look innocent, Primrose. That's what they've told me every time I have had a camera shoved in my face. In here, in the Capitol… It's never look brave, Primrose. It's never look strong, Primrose. Always look innocent. Always look oblivious to the terror that surrounds me.
It's impossible to look and act innocent when it is no longer how I feel.
As I move closer toward Katniss' door for what feels like the hundredth time, the sounds of Arden's cries grow louder. I quicken my pace and barrel into the room.
Katniss is still out cold, drugged beyond belief into a form of submission that only these people can call cooperation.
My eyes roam to the bassinet, where I expect Arden to be fighting her own battle in order for her cries to be heard.
But she is not in the bassinet. She is nestled the warm embrace of another visitor, who must have snuck in while my back was turned. The woman rocks and sways with the child in an attempt to quell her wailing.
"Mother?"
Her blue eyes, identical to my own, meet mine.
"My sweet Primrose…goodness, I hardly recognize you nowadays," Mother remarks with a teary smile.
Despite the compliment, I shift in discomfort at the attention to my physical appearance. It is true, I have hit a growth spurt since arriving in Thirteen. My hair trails down to the untucked tail on my back. The curves of my body have been shaped by my blossoming womanhood.
But my face looks haggard. My eyes are narrowed with constant suspicion. My shoulders hunch inward. My fingers are dashed with cuts and burns.
In other words, I do not look so innocent anymore.
"Must be your uniform," she adds, soaking in my behavior like a dry sponge.
"Well, it's still me," I tell her, smoothing out the wrinkles in my apron. "The same little girl who used to bring injured animals to your table back at home."
Mother laughs, careful not to rattle the child in her arms. Arden now hiccups and stirs, but at least her crying has ceased. The girl has been handled by so many people in her short existence, it's no wonder she is restless and craving attention. She has no idea who will really stay with her.
"You were always a compassionate one, even when you were so young," my mother comments nostalgically. She is transported to some other time in her memory, eyes glazing over and tears spilling onto her cheeks.
"Just like your father…"
Fresh pain squeezes my eyes shut. In the outkirts of my own memory, I can just about make him out. The scent of coal dust fills my nostrils as he comes through our front door, helmet under his arm and bow slung over his shoulder. Strong, sturdy, with a booming voice and a hearty laugh. I remember thinking he could conquer the world.
I see Mother, gazing at him with blind admiration. Back then, when nothing seemed impossible, she must have thought that he could conquer it all as well.
Until death conquered him and left all of us in its aftermath, without a clue as to what to do next.
"Did I ever tell you the story about the furnace?" Mother says suddenly, jostling me from thoughts of sirens and bodies on stretchers.
I shake my head. That furnace was nothing but an old hunk of junk, according to Katniss who could never quite get it to turn on or radiate heat, for as long as I can remember.
Her smile is small, faint as she gazes down at her grandchild.
"You were about two years old. Your sister was six…just starting her trips out into the woods with your daddy. It was a harsh winter, and the Seam was hit the hardest. Firewood was costly, and families were taking out tesserae left and right. And in our neighborhood, the furnaces were starting to burn out. After a few weeks of winter, our house was one of the few Seam homes left with functioning heat."
She pauses, and I take the moment to take stock of the winters in Twelve. Cold and bitter, desolation in every gust of wind that nipped at your nose. It always felt wrong to wish for the arrival of spring, because springtime would signal Reaping time. But winter was so difficult, so hopeless, that it was hard to think of anything else but making it through to the end of the season.
"Your father would come home from the mines, nearly purple with what was going to become frostbite if he wasn't careful, with a new family each night. He would set them by the fire and feed them off rations of the warm meals I had made. I resisted at first. I selfishly wanted to preserve the heat for him, you, and your sister. But your father had explained to me that in his heart of hearts, this was the right thing to do. And so, he kept bringing the families of the miners he worked with to our fireplace. And he was a wonderful host, Prim. He would sing and joke and entertain the entire time the guests were over. The story that man could weave out of a few words! With all the laughter he brought out in those cold, starving families, it stopped feeling chilly."
Recollections of playing by the fire with Rory Hawthorne invade my thoughts. The Hawthornes must have been my father's most frequent customers. I remember Hazelle's round belly and Mr. Hawthorne's gruff voice a bit more clearly as Mother tells the tale of the man with a beautiful voice and his many winter evening guests.
"People stopped taking out tesserae, and it did not go unnoticed. When Peacekeepers approached him about his activities at work one day, he did not lie, but he bravely stood his ground. He simply told them that he was doing nothing wrong. 'I am doing my job here in the mines as your worker, and I am doing my job by the furnace as a good neighbor to my fellow men without warmth and food'."
The story gets Mother worked up. I know that the mere thought of our father sends her spiraling into oblivion. She has to steady herself against the bassinet, one arm propping the baby against her chest as she takes several deep breaths.
For the sake of finishing the story, she continues. I am glad that she does. With very little knowledge on the man who once filled my life with song, Mother's story brings him back to life in vivid, screaming color. I know it is a rare opportunity to revel in, and I salvage what she gives me while she is offering up this invaluable information.
"Our furnace burned out the next night. I didn't think it was a coincidence, even though your father—always the optimist, he was—tried to convince me otherwise. But that didn't change the fact that we were now going to be cold. And do you know what happened, Primrose?"
I shrug, invested fully and gripping onto every word.
"There was a knock on the door. Your father opened it, and he saw his men from the mines, their wives and their children standing beside them, surrounding our home with candles. 'You brought warmth to us, and now it is our turn to bring it to you', they said. And your father sunk to his knees and cried. All I could do was stand there, hold you girls close, and thank the heavens for bringing such a special man like him into the world. I remember putting you to bed and hoping that you and Katniss would grow up to become just like him."
The tears come like a violent coughing spell. They rise with a burning sensation and spill over without warning.
When my father died, Katniss claims that we lost our mother too. No longer knowing how to function without the man who brought the light into her world, she had lost the will to find her way out of the darkness. She went on living like the dead.
Meanwhile, her little girls grew up. And they grew up to be anything but innocent.
"Well, did you get what you wanted?" I squeak past uncontained sobs, gesturing wildly at whatever it is I have to offer up to her expectations of me.
Without her to watch me, to guide me, to become the person she wanted me to be, I have no idea if what I am measures up to the man in that story.
She smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling with ghosts of smiles past.
"Prim," she whispers breathily through tears of her own. "I got so much more than that."
Her free arm extends, welcoming me into her warm, comforting embrace that I have begun to know as home once again. Mother kisses the top of my head and runs her fingers through my hair, her signature sign of comfort.
From her place in her bed, my sister stirs, warding off the demons in another nightmare that the morphling traps her under. Katniss and I may not have been able to resurrect our father entirely, but she doesn't have to say any more to let me know that she is happy with what she ended up with.
She got us.
A long, bony finger reaches over me to stroke the full cheek of Arden Rose.
"I look at her and can't help but think how lucky you are, Prim. You had your father for seven years. No child deserves to never get to know the man who made them. Especially when he is as good of a man as Peeta was."
I freeze. She speaks about Peeta as if there is nothing that can be done for him, as if he will never be able to overcome his hijacking.
"Will he ever get better, Mama?"
She sighs softly and begins to run those methodical fingers though the tufts of dark hair atop Arden's head.
"He was a good man. And in many respects, he reminds me of your Daddy, too. I want to believe that with one good man watching over him, another good man can find his way."
Her speech is cryptic, filled with spiritual jargon that my impatient mind cannot wrap itself around fast enough. She is a healer, she should know how to fix this. I spent my entire life growing up and watching her bring miracles to people in need. How can the miracles run out now, of all times?
"Tell me what he needs, Mama. Tell me what he needs, and we can make him better again," I insist, wrenching myself from her side and displaying before her once more the daughter that is no longer recognizable to her.
My mother's smile is filled with sadness as she reaches out and wipes the frustrated tears from my cheeks.
"My strong, compassionate, sweet girl…I'm afraid the answer can't be found in any of my herbs."
"Then what is it?" I pry, my voice breaking off at the final word.
She never removes her gaze from where Arden sleeps in her arms as she responds, "He has to remember how good he is again, just like your daddy did that night our furnace broke. Peeta must find his candle."
"Bottles and milk?"
"Check."
"Diapers?"
"Check."
"Blankets?"
"Check."
"Toys? Her doll?"
"Check and check."
"Baby monitors?"
"Hooked up and charging in his compartment."
Katniss squanders the room, picking up odds and ends and stuffing them into a bag as she goes along.
"I just feel like I keep forgetting something," she huffs. I laugh and approach her; she eyes me with annoyance when I set her bag down for her.
"Yeah, you're forgetting to breathe, Katniss," I answer for her, waiting with my hands gripped to the bag before she obeys my command and inhales sharply. "We've triple-checked everything. It's almost ten; you have to be in Command. I'll bring Arden over to Peeta's with the rest of her things."
Katniss looks visibly irritated by the fact that she has to go and prepare for her trip to the Capitol. The thought of leaving her child for a long stretch of time bothers her, scares her…
Because we both know that there are odds to be considered when it comes to war. We both know that there is a chance that she is leaving her daughter and me for good when she steps through those doors and goes to Command.
"Katniss, it's going to be okay. Peeta has been cleared to take care of her. He is ready to take care of her. You know that. And between him, myself, Mother, Madge, Haymitch, Annie, even Johanna...your daughter is in capable hands."
My sister still appears to be uncertain. I know she is thinking about how long that list is, and about how many people she could hurt should she not return from this mission.
I could tell her a million things that she won't want to hear, although she should. About how brave she is, about how much of a hero she is to me, about how much I need her to come home.
But my sister beats me to it.
"Mom told me you're close to getting your official certification in the hospital. You're going to be such an incredible doctor, Prim. When did you become such a brave, strong woman, anyway?"
I smirk, playfully raising my shoulders in mock confusion as I tell her, "I must have had a great role model growing up."
As expected, it garners an eyeroll from her, but at least she's smiling.
"I'll miss you, both of you, a lot," she says, keeping her voice low and quiet to avoid any tears. I bob my head knowingly.
This is one of the hardest things she has ever had to do, and that is saying something, considering her timeline these past two years.
"Next time we see each other, we will be free of him," I say firmly. I speak of the man who changed our lives and the lives of so many before us because I know that if I bring him up, I'll get through to her. I'll remind her why she wants to go and why she has to go.
I reach up and throw my arms around her neck. "Be careful. I love you."
Katniss squeezes me closer, propping her chin on the top of my head and she whispers, "I love you too, Little Duck."
She roams over to where Arden has been propped up on the sofa. With tears in her eyes, my sister bends down and kisses her daughter's cheek. Arden, recognizing the woman who provides everything for her, reaches her chubby arms out to my sister and asks to be held.
Katniss shakes her head miserably. Arden's lower lip juts out, pouting. "No, Sweetie. Mommy has to go now. Be good for your dad and your Aunt Prim, alright?"
The baby begins to cry, her arms reaching out as far as her little body will let her. With a strangled sob, Katniss pulls herself away.
"I love you both," she squeaks through her tears before running out the door.
Arden's cries grow in volume and intensity the moment her mother leaves her sight. I place myself in her role, lifting the child up to rest on my shoulder. Arden's cries cease momentarily at the contact, and I turn my body until she and I can both see the braid that whips against Katniss' back until neither of us can see her anymore.
All of her miseries about her mother leaving are naively assuaged the moment she comes into contact with her father. Arden shrieks with joy when Peeta takes her in his arms.
"There's my big girl! Thanks for bringing her over, Prim," Peeta says with a smile that infectiously spreads to my own lips.
"Of course. Sorry we're late."
He shakes his head and holds up his virtually blank wrist. "The only thing on my schedule today is getting her settled. So, your sister must have left for Command…"
I nod, and I watch as a flash of something incomprehensible crosses his features.
"I guess it's just me and this munchkin, then," he says, his voice trembling as the thought settles. The fact that he is alone in this parenting endeavor must dawn abruptly on him, for he begins to move about the room, spiraling into a frenzied tailspin as he paces. Arden fusses as he rigidly glues her to his chest.
"Just the two of us, just me and my baby…I can handle this, I can handle this. We'll be fine, won't we?"
He is second guessing himself, and if he keeps this up, he could erupt in an episode. I act quickly, rushing over to him and grabbing him by the wrist. He looks startled by the attack, but he relaxes when he notes that it is me who has grabbed him.
"Peeta," I say sharply. "You can do this. You've waited months for this. You're ready."
"Thanks," he replies breathlessly. Embarrassment blossoms in petals of red on his pale cheeks. "Thank you. You're, uh, more than welcome to hang out, if you'd like. Haymitch just bought some really appetizing jerky from the market if you're hungry. And when I say appetizing, I mean disgusting. There are some leftover cookies from a batch I made last night, too. Help yourself."
The notion is so classically Peeta, keeping me fed even without knowing how much it means to me, putting everyone else's needs before his own.
I decide to stay for what ends up being an afternoon of laughs and lighthearted conversation. I assist him with assembling the crib, getting organized, and baby-proofing the compartment, until we are both languidly dozing off on his couch, Arden nestled between us.
"So you're being promoted, huh?" Peeta inquires, slinking an arm around his daughter and pulling her into his lap. He absentmindedly fixates over her as he speaks. "Doctor Everdeen has a nice ring to it."
I smile at the mentioning of my soon-to-be official name here in Thirteen. My certification exam is in just a few weeks. I am more than prepared, according to the Doctors who I have interned with. That doesn't make it any less nerve-wracking, however.
But hearing assurance from Peeta Mellark, Thirteen's medical miracle, gives me a strange confidence.
"Thank you, Peeta."
"It was your idea to reverse the hijacking, wasn't it? And to bring me Madge, and my paints, and eventually Arden…that was all your doing."
I sheepishly look away from where his gaze has fallen on me and tuck a strand of fallen hair behind my ear. "That's real."
Peeta laughs heartily, the curled up child on his chest rattling as he does so.
"Well, then it looks like I should be the one thanking you, Primrose Everdeen. You saved my life. You brought me back to Arden."
I shrug, grateful that the poor lighting in the room can conceal the tide of beet red washing over me. "The reversal wouldn't have worked without you. Your salvation wasn't all my doing. But the work was the least I could do, after all you've done for my family."
The baby sighs contentedly against his sturdy chest, and I see in Arden's peaceful face the look of knowing that the man who holds her will move mountains for her, will conquer the world for her. Peeta subconsciously breaks out into a thousand-watt grin as he stares down in awe at his child.
In this constantly winding tunnel of darkness, she is his candle. She always was.
"Besides," I add, a touch of sadness creeping into my voice as I remember the man my mother once compared Peeta to, "a girl needs her father."
A/N: Hey all! Here's the next installment of GTWK! Finally, a break this weekend means I have time to update! This was just a filler chapter really, but I enjoyed delving into the Everdeens and catching up with Prim after a while. Let me know what you think!
As always, thank you for your reviews, favorites, follows, and kudos with the last chapter! You are all the very best and each and every one of you make my life so much brighter with your feedback and support!
I'll do my best to get to you the next update, which deals with a conversation between two very unlikely allies that happens in the book, but with a GTWK twist! Stay tuned!
- ILoVeWicked
