Peeta and I sleep for a very long time that night. It's a weird night of sleep because we both manage to pass out as the sky is just barely darkened outside, but then wake at various points, sometimes alone, sometimes together. My head still has some of the foggy feeling that it's had for the past 24 hours or so; I almost don't feel like I'm fully conscious, even when I am awake. I remember waking up at one point and seeing Peeta awake next to me, whispering softly to Haymitch, who was standing in the doorway. At that point I didn't feel much at all, just exhaustion and confusion, and I wanted them all to be quiet so I could go back to sleep.
Another time I woke up gripped by panic, clearly surfacing from some nightmare I couldn't even remember. It was different from my normal nightmares, I think, because usually I scream or thrash or cry when something of this magnitude happens, but I don't think I did. I think my body still felt trapped in the paralyzing numbness from the previous day. Whatever the case may be, Peeta slept soundly beside me, his blonde hair mussed on his forehead and his face finally relaxed in sleep. Even though I know he would have wanted me to, I refused to wake him up. He does too much for me all the time, but especially as I've been struggling these past few days. The exhaustion has to have caught up to him, and I will not deny him a chance to rest. He deserves that and so much more.
When I next blink my eyes open, it's light out. I don't move my body from staring at the ceiling, but I can hear Peeta's heavy breathing next to me and know that he is still asleep. My body feels odd. Last night felt so long. Really, this whole time has felt so long. The idea that I entered Prim's room only the night before last, that Peeta helped me into the bath that allowed me to begin coming out of myself just last night, feels so wrong to me, even though I know it is true. I feel like I've aged a disproportionate amount in these two days. Or, actually, maybe I feel younger. I haven't been able to take care of myself, but rather have needed to be fretted over like a child. I don't really know how I feel. I feel better than I did yesterday morning, I think, but I still don't feel like me yet.
I feel my stomach rumble and realize that this is the first time my body has registered hunger in over 24 hours. Peeta tried to get me to eat so many times yesterday, giving a final attempt after I spoke to him for the first time in the evening, but I had no interest. All I wanted to do was sleep. I still don't really want to eat, not in my head at least, but my body seems determined otherwise.
Again I contemplate waking Peeta, knowing he would want me to, but one glance at his sleeping face stops any thought of it. He looks so much younger in sleep, the lines of exhaustion fading and his scars less noticeable, no pain from shiny memories marring the beautiful blue of his eyes. Just in moments like this, he looks like the boy with the bread, or the scared teenager who shook my hand on the Reaping stage. He doesn't look like a man who has undergone unendurable pain. I can't disturb this moment of peace, not when it's so rare and precious.
Running my hand lightly over the hair pressed to his forehead once, I then turn and roll out of bed, trying my best not to disturb him. My muscles still feel stiff as I begin to pad out of the room and down the stairs. I'm moving very slowly, having not done so at all in such a long time. Still, I can't deny it does feel better to be moving. I feel less trapped this way. It's better.
When I reach the living room, I am surprised to see Haymitch stretched out across the couch. I can't remember what time I saw him and Peeta talking last night, but I just assumed he would have gone home. He lives so close by anyways, it's not like Peeta couldn't have gotten him if something went wrong. Part of me hates that he felt obligated to stay for me, but another part - a more selfish part, perhaps - can't help but feel warmed and comforted knowing that, if nothing else, I at least have these two men here for me.
I don't really process that I've been staring at Haymitch this whole time, but it seems that the intensity of my gaze is rousing him, because I see him starting to wake up. He rubs his eyes and groans a bit, before looking up and noticing me standing awkwardly at the foot of the stairs.
"Good morning, sweetheart," he says through a yawn. "I'm glad you're able to be up and about this morning. Your boy still asleep?" I nod, not quite sure if my vocal cords are capable of speech this morning or not. He nods back in understanding and sits up, taking a moment to stretch out a bit. I'm sure he can't have had the most comfortable night, and I feel the guilt creeping in again.
"You didn't have to stay," I say hoarsely, my voice quiet and gravely. He rolls his eyes at me as he stands.
"Shut up," he says bluntly. "You know how this works at this point, or at least you damn well should. We're all here for each other's down days. No guilt, no dumbass apologies. It's a waste of time."
"He's right," I hear Peeta's voice say from behind me, and I turn to see him coming down the stairs. When he reaches me he wraps me in his arms, and I don't recoil. I don't feel normal yet, far from it, but I feel enough of myself back to know that there is no place in this world where I feel safer than in Peeta's arms. As he holds me, I am further reminded of just how true that sentiment is.
"Are you alright?" he murmurs into my hair. "Sleep okay?" I make a muffled noise of assent. He moves back at one point as if to let me go, but I do not pull away. He seems to understand and just wraps me tighter in his arms. I can feel him smiling against me. I can also hear Haymitch muttering to himself in annoyance as he moves around the kitchen, presumably in search of coffee.
Eventually we pull apart, and I can see that the smile is still plastered on Peeta's face. It's different than his typical smile, though. It's not so much a smile of joy as is it relief. He sees some bit of life in me, and while it may not be perfect, it's certainly better than I was. He's always been the optimist between the two of us, so it comes as no surprise that he's seizing whatever good he can find and holding onto it. I think that must be how he stays hopeful.
"Let me get you something to eat," Peeta says. I nod, still not feeling up to saying much, and take a seat at the counter in the kitchen. Haymitch, having made his coffee, takes the stool next to me, while Peeta pulls things out of the cabinets as he works. He seems to understand that I won't be up for much, as he opts to give me toast with various spreads, and puts on a pot of hot water for tea. He knows that I don't eat when things get bad like this, so I always have to pace myself when I start again. It's been a while since I've been this bad, but he hasn't forgotten. He's too good, really in every way.
"By the way," Peeta says as he hands me a mug of tea. "Happy new year." This causes me to hesitate, and I cough a little as I take a sip of tea.
"What?" I ask, looking up at him from behind my mug.
"Last night was the end of the year," he clarifies. I look to Haymitch and he nods in affirmation.
"Oh," I say, setting the cup down and staring at my hands. I'm not sure how I feel about that exactly. I really lost myself this time, to the extent that I managed to completely lose track of when it was. I feel guilty that I did that, and also guilty that the people I love had to spend time when they should have been celebrating taking care of me and worrying about me. Haymitch seems to read these concerns on my face, because he shakes his head at me before speaking.
"Don't even think about trying to apologize, because it's not like we would have done anything anyways," he says. "I'm pretty sure all I've done on any new year's in living memory is get drunk out of my mind, so it's probably best for all of us that you stopped me. Effie would certainly thank you if she was here." I give a small smile at his attempt to make light, and I find that it doesn't feel wrong to have it on my face. It stays there for the most part throughout breakfast.
Peeta, Haymitch, and I eat together, and Peeta and Haymitch talk while I mostly sit back and listen. I don't really say much, but in a way this feels normal. It reminds me of how things were in the early months after Peeta got back from the Capitol, before we grew closer together again. I was still reeling from the loss of Prim, and the mere act of getting out of bed was exhausting, let alone talking to anyone or making any real efforts in my life. Still, I felt safe and comforted by listening to these two men talk about everything and nothing, and just knowing that there were people who understood. People who had felt the same sorts of pain that I had, and who cared about me enough to help me get through it. I still feel that way today, and it gives me hope. It reminds me that if I got out of this once, I can do it again. I think I forget that too much.
After we eat, Haymitch readies himself to leave. He grabs his jacket from where he had dropped it on the living room floor by the couch he slept on, and then turns to Peeta and me.
"I'm heading back to mine," he says. "But both of you, don't be fucking stupid. You," he points at me, plastering a serious look on his face. "Don't clam up and go all silent on us if you think you need help. Just fucking ask for it. And you," he rounds on Peeta. "Don't get so deep into the savior act that you end up needing saving yourself, because that doesn't do any of us any goddamn good. Just get me if you need me, okay?"
"Okay, Haymitch," Peeta says, though there is a bit of a laugh in his tone. He looks at me and we exchange grins. I know we are both thinking the same thing. Haymitch tries so hard to be intimidating and come across as if he's our authority figure, but all he has done in his little lecture is remind us just how much he cares about us. He's trying to appear authoritative and domineering, and ends up achieving the exact opposite effect.
"What are you both smiling at?" he asks with a little bit of a scowl.
"Oh, just how much of an old softie you are," Peeta says lightly, and I laugh. I truly, genuinely laugh, and it is the first time I've done so in several days. And it feels great. I continue laughing as Haymitch gives Peeta the finger and leaves in a huff, and I feel by heart warm by the look of joy on Peeta's face as he sees my laughter.
"I don't think there's anything in this world more beautiful than you when you're laughing," he says softly. I roll my eyes, and his smile only grows.
"There we go, that's more like the Katniss Everdeen I know and love," he says with a chuckle. I can't help but laugh a bit more at this, and he joins me. When our laughter stops, it is a comfortable silence. I don't feel frozen or trapped right now; the silence isn't weighing down on me and keeping me stuck in my pain. I can just...be. After a while, Peeta takes my hand. His warmth is as comforting to me as it always has been. I look up at him and give him a small smile.
"Do you think you'd feel up to walking around town today?" Peeta asks me tentatively. "A good amount of the snow has melted, so it's not too bad out." His tone is light but I can tell he's nervous. I know he's using this as a sort of litmus test to gauge how well or poorly I'm doing. Truthfully, I'm not entirely sure what I am or am not up to doing right now, but I don't think I will ever be fully sure until I'm trying.
"Okay," I say, nodding, and Peeta beams at me.
"Great!" he says, entirely too excited for my simple agreement. His obvious joy is endearing, as much as I'd love to be able to just roll my eyes and ignore it. "If you want you can go upstairs and change, and we can go wherever you're ready." I nod and head upstairs as quickly as my body will allow. When I return in clothes more appropriate for the weather, I slip on my hunting jacket, boots, and a scarf Annie knitted and sent to me before heading out with Peeta.
It's actually a really nice day out considering how much of a blizzard we were experiencing just a matter of days ago. It's still very cold, but the sky is blue rather than the sort of oppressive grey it had been as of late. Snow remains strewn across the ground, though there is nowhere near as much as there was the last time I ventured outside. The wind bites at my cheeks and I readjust my scarf in an effort to block the chill from becoming too much.
"Here," Peeta says, wrapping his own scarf around my neck so I am thoroughly covered.
"You didn't have to do that," I say, giving him that look that I always give him when he does something for me at his own expense.
"Don't worry about it," he says, taking my hand in his and swinging them together a bit as we walk. I actually find myself giggling, which is so far from where I was yesterday I almost don't believe it's real.
Peeta and I make our way into town at a leisurely pace. I don't have all of my energy or stamina back yet, but it does feel like to be out. Fresh air and movement are helping me break down the bars that have been holding me inside my head. While we walk, Peeta talks to me and I listen. He makes comments about things in town as we pass, remarking on how far the rebuilding efforts have come. It is genuinely impressive; for a district that was entirely leveled just over a year ago, it now looks almost...whole. And in addition to rebuilding old structures, there are so many things we never had before, too. It's not just the medicine factory or the medical clinic; there are also now a variety of shops and stores, a full apothecary, places to eat or purchase food, and more. The life in the district is entirely new, and entirely welcome.
As we continue our path through town, Peeta also fills me in on the things I missed while I was lost inside myself. He sort of takes me through that time from his perspective, which is surprisingly helpful. It makes it all feel more tangible, and somehow less threatening.
"It was coming down so hard that first night, I could barely get home," he tells me. "I thought for a bit that I might get snowed in at the bakery, but I decided to take my chances. I didn't want to spend the night without you. Still, though, it took a long time to get back to Victor's Village trudging through the snow. I knew something was wrong pretty quickly when I was calling your name and couldn't find you. Normally I would try not to panic, because you could be with Haymitch or out hunting or something, but with snow like this I knew you had to be home, just not responsive. That was sort of how you were when I found you in Prim's room."
"That sounds about right," I say, nodding. Peeta pauses in his steps and turns to me.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," he says. "If I'd managed to get home earlier, I might have been able to help it not get as bad."
"Peeta you don't owe me any kind of apology," I tell him, squeezing his hand tighter in my own. "You had no way of knowing that the day was going to progress like it did for me. You couldn't have known, because I didn't even know. Once you were here, you did everything in your capacity to help, and I wouldn't have gotten back if it weren't for you. You don't need to feel guilty for not somehow predicting when my bad days come, and I don't want you to live your life in a way where you are so centered on protecting me that nothing else matters. There is no doubt in my mind that you will be here when I need you; you've proven that time and time again. I know you'll take care of me. So don't feel guilty for living, too."
Peeta doesn't speak right away, and I look up at his face. This is the most I've spoken consecutively since entering Prim's room, and I'm frankly a little exhausted. I'm expecting Peeta to say something but he just looks at me. It makes me slightly antsy.
"What?" I ask, but he doesn't respond because then he's pulling me into a kiss. It's soft, gentle, and relatively brief, as I know he doesn't want to risk exceeding whatever I'm comfortable with. But I can feel love so deeply in the touch of his lips on mine, and the sensation is more liberating and exhilarating than I could possibly imagine.
"I love you," he says softly when he pulls away.
"I love you too," I say even more quietly, a small smile on my face.
We take a long and winding loop through the homes in town as we circuitously make our way back in the direction of Victor's Village. As we travel through a neighborhood in which modest sized homes have been rebuilt, Peeta and I come across two children playing in the snow in the front yard of one of the houses. There's a boy, who I would guess is just young enough to have never had his name in a Reaping bowl, and a younger girl who I think is maybe five or six. They are packing snowballs and throwing them at each other, attempting to dodge the other's throws and hide behind whatever bushes or fencing they can.
This was never really something I saw in the old 12, mostly because no one had the time or energy to play, but what is even more surprising to me is the sounds of joyous laughter emanating from the pair. These two children have never had to worry about matters of life or death, and they shouldn't have to. They should be able to engage in whatever play battles they want to, without their thoughts drifting to the Games or war. I'd imagine the boy is old enough to have some memories of the Games, and certainly the Rebellion, but he may be young enough that the full severity of their impact didn't entirely register. The girl may not remember them at all. Their lives are peaceful, and generally untainted by tragedy. There will be more like them in the future.
The young girl attempts to throw a snowball while crouching down on her side behind a bush, and her aim goes way off. It arcs through the air and ends up hitting Peeta on the arm. It actually would have been a great hit, had he been the intended target. While the girl just seems slightly embarrassed and disappointed that she missed her brother, the boy's face grows very nervous at the thought of possibly having angered an adult.
"Sorry, mister!" he calls, jogging over towards Peeta and I and bringing his sister with him. "She didn't mean to hit you, she's just learning how to throw." The girl, picking up on her brother's anxiety, now stands very close to him and stares nervously down at her boots. Peeta crouches down to be closer to level with the pair.
"That's okay," he says kindly. "You don't need to worry one bit. Actually, you've got a great arm on you! You should keep practicing, because I think you're a natural." The little girl's face brightens at the compliment, and her brother smiles in relief.
"Thank you," he says to Peeta, and then the two run off hand in hand to resume their game. Peeta and I continue on our way home, but I find myself glancing back at the pair more often than I should. I look between the two children and Peeta, who doesn't really notice my focus, but rather walks with a contented smile on his face. All I can think about is that he made those children very happy, and with so much ease.
Images of a future can't help but enter my mind, a future where Peeta tosses snowballs with a little girl with a blonde braid and grey eyes. It's a future that scares me still, undoubtedly so. This version of the future still brings far more feelings of panic and anxiety to my chest than it does joy or excitement. But for maybe the first time in my life, I can see how such a future could unfold.
I hold this possibility with me alongside the fear, trying to remind myself that it is okay to live in the in betweens, the uncertainties. I really should know by now that life is not certain. While more often than not I dislike not knowing what the future holds, I should also feel lucky that I can't predict everything. Because I never would have predicted the world we live in today. I am so deeply glad to be wrong.