Rain would only be a temporary fix,
And there's just no place right now
For cute ironies like that anymore…
When I was a kid, I looked for colour everywhere. In the girls' hair ribbons at school. In the bottles of herbs and medicines at the apothecary. In all the sweets and candies at the market that we could never afford. Rye used to complain that our district was dull and lifeless and I had made it my mission to prove him wrong. Father said it was the artist in me. Mother had called me foolish for caring at all. But today, as I push one foot in front of the other and hold onto Katniss' hand for dear life, I start to think that maybe Rye was right all along – there's no colour here anywhere.
Even the clouds overhead are grey, threatening rain and making Effie look nervously up at the sky every few minutes. It's not the weather that bothers me, though. It's everything else. All the buildings that we pass – new, old, in every state of reconstruction and disrepair – are simply sepia-toned blurs. Unfinished structures that loom over us or dilapidated carcasses of homes who's bones crunch under our feet, all of them feel unfamiliar and confusing. Most of the shabby shops I'd come to think of as cornerstones of my youth have been razed entirely and anything built in their place is too new, too barren to hold any life. The only thing that reminds me that this is where I grew up is the fine layer of coal dust over everything, so seeped into the history of Twelve that I doubt it'll ever leave.
"Hey, you okay?" Katniss whispers in my ear. She tugs my hand gently and I rip my eyes away from the mountain of bricks that used to be the school. I look into her face and try to match her thin smile.
"Yeah, I'm good," I promise, but my other hand dives into the pocket of my jeans, grasping for the bottle of medication I brought along as a safety measure. The pills rarely stop a flashback, but if I take enough of them when I feel one coming on, they'll make me weak enough to stop me from really hurting someone. Or, so Dr. Aurelius says.
The good doctor was thrilled to hear about our plan for today. I called him early this morning, definitely long before his office hours, but he let me rant and ramble and pour my anxieties into the receiver anyway.
"Peeta," he said, once my brain had exhausted all the very visceral and violent situations that might occur once we left the safety of the village, "I think you should go."
There had been a pause, one so long I thought that maybe the connection had dropped.
"That's it?" I finally asked, exasperated. "No advice? No warnings?"
I could almost feel him smiling through the phone line's static.
"Yes, that's it," he told me. "Only you can decide when you're ready to face your traumas. No one else can make that decision for you, not even me, though I will say that I think it might be quite beneficial for your healing journey. Seeing that kind of destruction will be difficult, and painful, but you're more brave than you ever give yourself credit for. Very few people could have walked right into an active war zone after the horrors you'd already faced, but you agreed to go without hesitation."
"That was different," I argued. "Coin told me I had to. She said it was important for the effort, that moral was dwindling. I wanted to help."
I did not tell him that Coin's insistence had only a very small part to play in why I went. I did not tell him that the hijacked part of my brain had leapt at the chance to get closer to its singular goal of killing Katniss. I did not tell him that the larger, more pressing urge to go to war came from such a deep sense of self-loathing that the prospect of a likely death was more tempting than I'd like to admit.
"Of course," Aurelius said, "and because it's in your nature to do all you can for others, you went, knowing there was a very good chance that it would be incredibly dangerous, even fatal, for you personally." He paused, weighing his words carefully. "Forgive me for being so bold Peeta, but perhaps it might be time to extend that compassion towards yourself."
"What good will that do if I end up hurting someone?" I asked him, trying not to raise my voice. Distorted visions of my breakdown from yesterday bounced around my head, the raw fear of not being able to warn anyone off coming up as bile in my throat. I combatted it by twirling the phone cord around my finger, watching Katniss' shadow pace back and forth against the wall as she waited for me in the kitchen. She'd given me space to voice my concerns to the doctor, but I could tell that she was growing antsy, wondering what was taking me so long. I thought about just telling her to go on ahead, that I could catch up with her and the others, but almost instantly I knew it was a moot point. She'd never agree, not after last night, especially if she knew just what kind of fragile place my mind was locked in. She'd picked up on it I'm sure, but I tried to keep the morning as light as I could. Asked benign questions about what she wanted for breakfast and whether she thought we ought to bring jackets. Pretended the shaking in my fingers was only due to a restless night's sleep. Kept a neutral face while my brain ran constant reruns of tossing Mitchell into the wired net that killed him. Caught any hint that I was terrified of doing something similar to her in my teeth and swallowed it back down. My efforts worked, enough for Katniss to refrain from digging into my behavior with anything more than a few pointed looks, but I was feeling so immensely guilty for keeping the truth from her that I was having a hard time keeping the façade up.
"I don't think you'll hurt anyone," Aurelius said, cutting right into my thoughts. "If I thought that was the case, I would advise against it. On the contrary, I think you might find this to be an opportunity for growth. You've spoken at length about your fears, and they are all very understandable, but tell me, have you given any thought as to what might happen if things go right?"
As far as I could see, the best outcome I could hope for was a flashback that left me paralyzed with fear, and therefore non-threatening to those around me. Anything better than that was beyond my scope of optimism. The doctor, apparently, had better vision than I did.
"Peeta," he continued, undeterred by my silence, "what do you wish to get out of this experience? Let's say, for the sake of argument, that there won't be any flashbacks today. What happens then?"
' Then' was not something I'd yet considered. If Aurelius was right, and I was able to sift through the ashes of my childhood home without drowning in them in the process, what would I do after? Declare the day a success and run back to Victor's Village? Hide myself away again until the ceremony? That didn't seem fair – not to Katniss, who had been so resilient against her own fears and so painstakingly patient with me. Not to the rest of the citizens of Twelve, who were still breaking their backs working through the wreckage to make our district livable again. Not to myself either really, once I thought about it.
"I'd like to be able to help," I whispered in a choked voice. "I'd like to start rebuilding."
"I think that's a wonderful idea," Aurelius said, so genuinely that I knew it wasn't just to placate me. "From what I understand, there's still much work to do to restore your district. If you're up to it, I imagine the workers will welcome an extra set of hands with open arms, especially yours. Is there an area in particular you'd like to work in? I can make some calls."
In a small voice, I told him that the calls wouldn't be necessary. That there was already a particular area that was being held for me, waiting for my permission to be touched. I told him about the bakery, and how it was now mine alone, and about the budding curiosity that had been building inside of me since last night when I realised the potential of what I could do with it now.
I could hear a pencil scribbling away in the background as I spoke, and Aurelius latched on to my idea with the thrill only a psychiatrist with a patient on the verge of a breakthrough knows. We talked a bit more about the bakery, what I might want to do or not do with it, what therapeutic tools I had in my arsenal to help me take the first step in that direction. The more we discussed it, the more I realized just how much I'd been yearning for something like this. A project. A change of pace. Something new and bright and shiny in none of the usual wrong ways. I realized that beyond just trying to remember who I was, beyond patching together and reinventing my relationship with Katniss, beyond simply surviving, what I was missing in my life was a purpose.
I was smiling by the end of my talk with the doctor. I thanked him for his encouragement and apologized for the wake up call, and he laughed me off and sent me onward with well wishes and the kind of praise that made my cheeks burn.
"I don't tell you nearly often enough how very proud I am of you, Peeta," he said. "And while it's against my code of ethics to disclose anything any of my other patients may have told me, I feel no guilt in telling you that I'm not the only one who is."
My eyes lingered again on the pacing shadow in the kitchen. I wanted to hang up right then and scoop it's owner up in my arms, tell her all about my brand new excitement. I held off, long enough not to seem impolite to Aurelius, but I think even he knew where I wanted to be at that moment.
"My professional opinion is that you're more than capable of handling this particular battle," He said warmly. "Please call me tomorrow and tell me all about it. Now, go. Before Ms. Everdeen decides I'm holding you hostage."
That was one piece of advice I needed no convincing to follow. I heard Katniss gasp as I slammed the receiver back on it's holster, and she met me in the hallway with concern painted in her face.
"Is everything okay?" she asked, that familiar crease at home between her eyebrows. "I can tell Effie to go without us. I'll tell her I'm not feeling well, or-"
"Everything's fine, Katniss," I assured her quickly. "Better than fine, actually. Sorry I took so long, but I'm ready now. Let's go."
And so, armed with my bottle of pills, the soothing warmth of Katniss' hand, and a barely formed semblance of a plan, I left the comfort and safety of the house and took my first confident steps into the unknown.
Unfortunately, confidence is a fickle thing. By the time we met up with the others at the gate marking the end of Victor's Village, it had trickled out through my pores along with the sweat running down my back. Effie, distracted by the incoming clouds and our less-than-punctual arrival, teetered down the gravel path in her high shoes as quickly as she could, none the wiser to my apprehension. Haymitch gave me a long searching look, but if he thought something might be off, he at least had the good grace to keep it to himself. He let his eyes linger on his tributes' linked fingers, then turned his back on us and shuffled off after Effie without a word.
Katniss looked at me sideways, giving me permission to go at my own pace, and I led us down the path with a grateful squeeze. She never let go of my hand, not when I stopped dead with a sharp intake of breath at the ruins of the market, or when I couldn't help myself from asking uncomfortable questions about who used to live in the houses we were walking on top of and where they were now. I started muttering under my breath about what was real and what wasn't when the shadows in the alleyways started to creep silently behind us, but Katniss didn't shy away then, either. She holds fast still, brushing blowing strands of hair out of her face as I fist the pill bottle in my pocket and grind my teeth.
"Where is everyone?" I ask. I'd thought the construction crews would be out in full force with the ceremony so close, but we haven't passed a single soul all morning.
"It's Saturday," Haymitch calls from up ahead. "New labour laws, no work on weekends." He looks around for Effie, who's trudging on to her destination determinedly, before grumbling, "we're probably the only people dumb enough to be up this early."
I only nod, trying not to look disappointed. As happy as I am to hear that working conditions have gotten far better under the new rule, I was looking forward to seeing the crews in town. I was hoping their presence would serve as a reminder that things are moving forward. Without them around, the square feels lonely and abandoned, like the four of us are really the only ones left.
"The bakery is, um, just around the corner," Katniss says, pointing with her thumb to a makeshift tent covering wheelbarrows and shovels and other discarded building supplies.
"I know," I say quietly. No matter how different the square might look now, I've walked this cobbled street too many times to forget it, even in it's current state. The rocks under my feet still feel familiar as I take small steps towards the edge of it. Dread bubbles in my throat as I force myself to round the bend, bracing for the inevitable fallout from whatever I'm about to see. Katniss lets her fingers slip out from mine, trailing behind me just close enough that I can still feel her breath on the back of my neck. I wonder if her heart is pounding as hard as mine is, preparing for a flashback or a fight. Focusing on the sting of my fingernails digging into my palms, I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and hold my breath, giving myself one last moment of reprieve before I finally allow myself to see it. The world turns on it's axis as I sway on the spot, but when my eyes flutter open, it slams to a stop as I take in…nothing.
Or, it may as well be nothing. Before me lies a vacant lot, sunk three feet into the dusty earth. Twisted pieces of charred metal, what I assume must be the remainders of our giant ovens, are the only recognizable landmarks, though even they are half-melted and wildly distorted. Besides those steel gravestones, there is nothing but ash and crumbled brick. Nothing discernable to mark this place as my own personal tragedy, different from the other sunken lots on this street. Nothing that made this place my home remains: not the chipped tea set my mother dusted religiously but never let us use. Not the ancient chess set with missing pieces my brothers and I would fight over on cold, boring nights beside the fire. Not my father's precious family cook books that sat so proudly on our mantle. Nothing. Everything my family had scraped together to create a life here is gone. This space is empty, and so am I.
But empty isn't quite the right word, not for me. Once the shock wears itself down a little, I wait for the emotions to come pouring in, but they're as absent as my family's possessions. I expected fear, rage, that aching sadness that shook me to my core in the meadow, but all of those feelings are held at bay, kept from crashing over me by an impenetrable net of numbness.
A warm hand squeezes my shoulder as Katniss comes to stand beside me, surveying the remnants of my life. She trails her fingertips, feather-light, down my arm until they meet my own and interlock. She gazes at me, quiet curiosity in her eyes, and I know she's waiting, too. For the sadness. For the anger. For what we know must come next. And yet, the net holds. There is no electrical current warning, no cold sweat trailing down my back. The venom has decided to stay dormant, and when I turn back to the site of the bakery, a slow smile creeps across my face. Because, for the first time in what feels like a life-time, I am allowed to think of what happens next. The net slips, only for a moment, but only allows one surprising emotion through: hope.
"Well, it has potential," I say lightly. Katniss' eyes widen, then immediately narrow. She's clearly confused at my reaction, and that just causes my smile to grow wider.
"See that area?" I ask, pointing to a space of scorched earth glittering with glass shards, "that could be the new display case. I'll fill it with new items every week. After you taste test them, of course."
She swallows, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead. I see her mind working, deciding if I've fully lost it, but she lets me continue anyway.
"And over there?" I jump down into the crevice, ash bursting in clouds over my feet. "That's where the tables and chairs will go. Maybe a loveseat or a couch, too."
Katniss follows me down, hopping lightly into the lot. She turns herself in a slow semi-circle, and I wonder if she sees at all what I'm trying to show her when she points to the far side of the imaginary display case.
"A machine to make coffee?" she asks tentatively, looking at me shyly.
" And hot chocolate," I affirm, and we both grin.
"Back here will be the kitchen, of course," I say, gesturing to the far line of the property.
"Of course," Katniss nods, "But with a huge window and double doors to make the heat bearable."
This continues – our game of What This Will Be - for over an hour. Katniss is an enthusiastic participant, encouraging my ideas and making suggestions that make them even better. She doesn't question how or when I'll start this monumental project. Instead, she speaks and acts like this was why we came here all along. We keep at it for so long that Haymitch and Effie have doubled back from the town square to check on us. They find us animatedly discussing a hand-painted mural (Katniss' suggestion) that will wrap around the whole wall behind the registers.
"We leave you children alone for five minutes," Effie calls down to us, "and here you are, playing in dirt. Honestly." She rolls her eyes, but they sparkle while she chides us.
"Effie, are you blind?" Katniss retorts, faking an aghast expression. "It's not dirt, it's Peeta's Bakery!"
She raises her hands around her, gesturing proudly at the empty lot like we're standing in the middle of an art exhibit, and we both giggle like children. Her response to my wild idea makes it feel so much more substantial, so much more like a real possibility, and I want to pull her close and whisper how much it means to me in her ear. Effie looks at us like we've gone mad, but Haymitch just chuckles, shaking his head.
"Princess here got her full look of the square," he says, while Effie bobs her head cheerily beside him. "We're headin' back for lunch. You two comin', or are you still busy playin' make-believe?"
Haymitch's comment irks me, though I should know better than to expect anything less from him. I'll just have to prove that this is far more than 'make-believe' to Katniss and I. If I had it my way, I'd stay here all day, possibly all week if it meant I could get a head start on making our game a reality. Now that I've put it into words, I'm eager to begin, more eager than I thought I'd be.
I open my mouth to tell them we'll be home later, while at the same time Katniss calls, "No, we're finished. I'm starving." I watch her pull herself gracefully out of the lot, pretending that the hope swirling around in my chest isn't suddenly thinner, less solid than it was a second ago. I start to worry that maybe Haymitch is right, that this is all just a game, something far too ambitious to ever be real. But then Katniss turns to me, offering her hand to help me up the ledge, and says, "The front door should be orange."
I blink at her and she follows with, "Like a sunset," a blush lightly dusting her cheeks. I nod slowly, my heart feeling like it's about to burst. I can't think of anything more perfect.
"We can come back on Monday and ask Thom when he can put a crew together. He'll have the foundation up by next week, knowing him."
That's all she says before she follows Haymitch and Effie down the road, but it's all she has to. If Katniss believes in this project, believes in me, then that's all the motivation I need to keep the hope inside me alive.
I linger at the edge of the lot, letting the others traipse down the road without me. Katniss stops to wait, but I wave her onwards with a call that I'll catch up in a minute. I wish I'd thought to bring my sketchbook to put our ideas down on paper, but then again, if you'd have asked me this morning if I'd needed it I would have laughed. I suppose all I really needed was my imagination though, because as I stare down at the last remainders of my family's legacy I watch our musings come to life before my eyes. I don't feel the unseasonably cold weather, the first drops of rain. My cheeks and chest are warm, like I can feel the heat from the kitchen and excited bodies crowding the counter top stuffed with fresh pastries and cookies. It doesn't smell like smoke and charred wood, the tantalizing scent of fresh bread and rich hot chocolate wafts through the air instead. I don't see twisted metal or chunks of iron poking through the wreckage, I see brand new ovens and a cozy sitting area for customers to relax. And everywhere I look, colour bursts in bright pallets, washing away the ash and making this place feel like home.
Not even the lonely wind whistling through town makes a dent in my spirits. My imagination swallows it with a soundtrack of chattering voices, the murmur of customers choosing their coffee and treats, soft music setting the scene underneath everything. It sounds like pure joy. As if to prove the point, my mind then conjures up the happiest notes it can think of: child's laughter, in all its glory. It bounces off the alleyways and reverberates back into my core, more real and clear than all the other voices in my head put together.
Grinning wide like a maniac now, I salute this lot filled with promises and turn to catch up with the others. I'm a fair distance behind the rest of the group, but the laughter comes with me as I jog along the cracked street, growing louder the closer I get to them. I turn the corner, wondering if maybe I have gone a little mad, and stop dead mid-stride. The question of my sanity becomes more urgent when I see her, the little girl in a paisley dress, arms wrapped tight around Katniss' middle.
For one hazy moment, I'm convinced my mind has outdone itself and continued on with its fantasies about the future, not content to leave them behind at the site of the bakery. I blink through the rain that's finally started in earnest, utterly unsure if this is real or another shiny illusion. The wild dark hair, the skinny arms and knobby knees, the olive skin brushed bronze by the summer sun – all these features are far too familiar to be a coincidence. The little girl is a spitting image of Katniss at that age, so much so that the only explanation I can think of as to her appearance is that she's not real at all. She can't be anything but a personification of my most beloved fantasies, the ones where dancing children call for their parents with outstretched arms, and we scoop them up and kiss their cheeks and twirl them around. When the logical side of my brain finally catches up to its foolhardy other half, I decide I must be dreaming.
My feet propel me forward of their own accord, and I startle and wrench my eyes away from the girl still clinging to Katniss when my elbow bumps into Haymitch. All of us have halted, stopped in our tracks by this unprecedented surprise. This at least lets me know that I'm not the only one who sees her (and stops me from having to play the embarrassing Real or Not Real game), but it doesn't make this scene any less confusing. If she's not a figment of my imagination, if she's someone else's very real child, where did she come from and why is she alone?
It's immediately clear from one look at their faces that no one else has the answer. Effie looks on with amused curiosity and Haymitch has an eyebrow cocked, arms crossed in that guarded way he has that doesn't let up for anyone, no matter their size. But it's Katniss, as always, who I watch for a reaction.
Her back is ram-rod straight, in direct contrast to her slackened jaw. She doesn't even look down at the girl pressing into her chest, she's too busy scanning the horizon with wide eyes to see if anyone else is about to show themselves. She says nothing, seemingly as lost for words as I am, but her expression speaks volumes: while I see fantasies of our future, Katniss looks like she's just been embraced by a ghost.
Now that I'm caught up to them, I'm close enough to see the details that make my illusion theory seem foolish. The girl's hair is more of a chestnut brown, not the raven-hued strands I know inherently our children would have. She's taller than Katniss ever could have been at that age, but the twig-thin limbs are still the same. Her eyes are bright gray, a different shade entirely than Katniss' molten steel, and somehow that realization breaks the fantasy apart at once. Still though, there's a familiarity between the two of them that's impossible to ignore, and it's made all the more prominent when the girl looks up and beams at Katniss like she's known her all her life.
"Katniss! Katniss, it is you!" She cries. "I told them you'd be here! I told them!"
Katniss blinks and stares down at her. She slowly returns the girl's hug and shakes her head, face still fixed in shock. When she speaks, she nearly whispers. "What are you doing here?"
There's no way that this child is a stranger. Katniss' eyes are wide with surprise, but there's a tenderness in them reserved for the lucky few she holds close to her heart. Something tugs at my mind, screams at me that there's a very important relationship between the two of them and that I should definitely know the distinction, but no memory follows.
"We came for the ceremony," the girl explains, displaying her gap-toothed smile. Warning bells go off in my head at this. Murky memories of a mumbled conversation around the kitchen table from weeks ago try to take form, but they fizzle out before any clarity can be sowed from them. My brain is just too strung out to grab hold of anything today.
"We were supposed to wait 'til then to come see you," she shrugs, "but I missed you so much!" The girl squeezes her arms around Katniss again, who looks shaken at the prospect that anyone might miss her at all.
"When you weren't home, I ran all the way here from your house!" she continues proudly. "Your new house, I mean. We went to the old ones first, but they were mostly gone."
Her tiny face grows solemn for a moment. It doesn't last long, but before her smile returns, the dimmest of light bulbs goes off in my head. The old house. In the Seam. So this must be one of Katniss' old neighbors. The daughter of someone she traded with, maybe. Certainly someone who knew her long before the Games. I do my best to dig up any recollection I might have, a memory of anyone other than Prim who Katniss would have looked at so fondly, but come up frustratingly short.
"You shouldn't have come out here alone," Katniss scolds, "You'll catch a cold in this weather." She shakes off her shock, her face immediately taking on that motherly expression she used to wear so often. She whips her jacket off and throws it over the girl's damp shoulders. The action is so natural, so second-nature that my heart pangs with thoughts of how often she must have done the same to Prim.
The girl scoffs but accepts the jacket. She steps back and places tiny fists on her hips, making her look older than her five or six years.
"You sound just like Mama and the boys," she groans. "Everybody forgets that I'm a big girl, now."
"Speakin' of, Kiddo," Haymitch cuts in, "where's the rest of your clan hidin' out? Should probably get you back to 'em before they start a search party."
She doesn't answer right away. She gives Haymitch a once-over, apparently deciding whether or not to trust this grizzly old man (not that anyone could blame her), before her eyes go wide and she points her finger at his chest.
"You're Haymish!" she exclaims. "I know you. You were in Thirteen. And you were a Mentor. You helped the tributes before..." She cocks her head and then lets out a shrieking laugh. "You fell off the stage on Katniss' reaping day!"
Effie purses her lips, like she's nervous that she may also be associated with that blunder, while Katniss snorts openly. Haymitch rolls his eyes and mutters something about his reputation preceding him.
"How do you remember that, huh?" Katniss asks the girl. "You were barely four years old!"
"It was funny," she shrugs, and then she turns from Haymitch to fix me with a quizzical stare.
"Hi Peeta," she says, in a much shyer voice than she spoke to Haymitch with, and suddenly I can barely look at her. I was locked away in a hospital room for most of my time in Thirteen, so she must recognize me from the Games. It's not out of the ordinary for strangers to know me by name – many people, adults and children alike, would stop me in the Capitol streets or try to visit my room in the hospital while I was recovering. The celebrity status I'd acquired as a Victor only intensified after the war, much to my dismay. I'm terrified to know how much a child might remember about any of it. I swallow, praying that she doesn't associate my face with any number of violent televised acts I've committed. My throat is so dry I can only manage a small wave in her direction, but she beams at me and waves back so I give her a tentative smile. There's an awkward pause that I'm sure I'm supposed to fill now, but before I can ask her anything about herself (her name, where she's from, anything that might help me figure out who she is), my eyes drift up to Katniss' face and her expression keeps my mouth clamped shut.
She stares over the girl's head at me, and I get a sinking feeling in my chest when I clock the worry in her face. Does she think a flashback is still immanent? Is she worried I'll hurt someone or say something terrible? She looks away before I can even attempt to explain with my eyes how unlikely that is, but the seed of doubt she's planted grows alarmingly fast in my stomach.
"Haymitch is right," she says suddenly, effectively shutting down any chance of me starting a conversation. "Your mother's probably sent the boys all over town looking for you. Do you know where she is?"
"Probably at the village," the kid shrugs. "We're staying in one of the empty Victors' houses. Our old one's still there, but I think it made her sad."
Katniss' mouth makes a thin line and opens for a moment, but she swallows down whatever she was about to say. Instead, she nods and decides we'll take her there with us and starts walking in that direction before anyone can object.
Effie, unable to contain her displeasure with the rain any longer, marches ahead to the salvation of indoors. The girl, gripping Katniss' hand like she's afraid to let go, skips along between them. Still unnerved by the way Katniss watched me like I was seconds away from lunging out and attacking someone, I stay several paces back, letting the distance between us grow more and more with my shuffling feet. Haymitch hangs back with me too, and when we're too far behind to be overheard, he drops a heavy hand on my shoulder.
"You doin' okay, Kid?" he asks in an undertone. I don't miss the way his eyes flick back and forth between the girls and I.
"Just fine," I grumble. I'm starting to hope we find this girl's family sooner rather than later, if it means everyone will stop treating me like a fuse about to blow. "I'm not going to hurt her, I promise. I just spent all afternoon standing in the exact place my whole family died and didn't come close to a flashback. I don't think a child is going to change that."
Haymitch hums and I kick at some loose gravel, feeling sorry for myself. Today in the lot felt like a breakthrough for me, but it seems like it's put everyone else more on edge than ever. Miserably, I wonder if this is how things will be forever. If I will always be watched carefully, not quite trusted. If I will always feel like the odd one out.
I lament on this, feeling worse every minute, until we're nearly back at the village. We're about to pass the iron gate leading to our row of houses when Haymitch suddenly lets out a low whistle. We both stop, and I'm about to growl an exasperated 'What?' when he pins me with that knowing glare.
"You don't have any idea who that girl up there is, do you?" He asks, tilting his head.
"Sure I do," I lie, because I'm tired of feeling like I don't know anything. That nagging feeling that I should know her creeps up my neck again.
"That so?"
"Alright, I don't know her," I sigh in agitation after a beat, embarrassment in being caught in the lie making my cheeks heat up. "I figured she was Katniss' old neighbor or something. Sounds like she used to live in the Seam."
Haymitch laughs without humor, his lips taking on more of a grimace than a smile.
"Huh. Well, neighbor is technically right," he says cryptically.
"What does that even mean?" I whisper furiously back before he can elaborate, glancing ahead of us to make sure we're not within earshot. "Actually, you know what? It doesn't matter. Whether I knew her before or not, I told you, I'm not going to hurt her. She's just a kid! If I thought I was dangerous at all right now, I'd be knocking myself out with the pills in my pocket already. I don't know why you and Katniss think I'm about to rip her throat out, but if it makes you feel better, I'll wait right here until she's gone!"
I'm breathing heavily and I can feel a vein straining against my neck. Vaguely, I'm aware that this look does not support my argument, but being treated like a monster moments after proving to myself that I might not be one hurts. I seethe up at Haymitch, who looks a little taken aback, until he manages to soften his expression to one that looks alarmingly like sympathy.
"Kid, it ain't the little one we're worried about," he says, leaning in, "it's who she's more than likely here with. That girl is-"
"Posy Lenore Hawthorne! Where in the world have you been?" a woman's steely voice cuts through Haymitch's explanation like a knife, and when the full impact of her words hit me, they sting like one, too.
Too late, far too late, my muddled brain finally connects all the pieces. The striking resemblance. The nagging familiarity. Katniss' worry, not because of me but because of who might be out looking for a lost little girl. All the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and my hands are suddenly numb. I know exactly who Posy is, and more importantly, who she's related to.
The woman marches swiftly towards us. I recognize her immediately as Posy's mother, Hazelle, and I'm glad it's her who's found us. Her eyes are locked on her daughter and she seems to have no time for anyone else, which suits me just fine, as I'm suddenly busy studying every square inch of the village for any other uninvited guests. She pauses halfway between our group and the gates, her hands on her hips, and even Haymitch looks a little weary at her stern expression.
"What did I say about running off?" she asks, and the warning in her voices causes Posy to shrink back into Katniss' side.
"But Mama-" she starts, but is quickly cut off by a callused hand in the air.
"No excuses," she scolds. "You had your brothers and I scared half to death! They're roaming all over the district lookin' for you. I said to stay put and I meant it. Get inside. Now."
Posy's bottom lip juts out in a trembling pout, and I would've found it adorable if I wasn't so caught up on the aforementioned roaming brothers. She reluctantly lets go of Katniss, who bends down to whisper something in her ear that makes her giggle, before turning back to wave goodbye to the rest of us. She shuffles up the road past her mother and with one last guilty look over her shoulder, trails off towards one of the empty Victor mansions.
The moment she's out of eye sight, Katniss' shoulders tense. She watches Hazelle wearily, trapped between the woman and our own houses. Instinctively, I close the gap between us in three quick steps, and in doing so become aware that she's shaking like a leaf.
"Hazelle," she says softly. Her eyes can't seem to stay fixed on the visitor, darting all around the area in search of someone else who might be close instead.
"Katniss," Hazelle responds in kind, but her voice is warm and her hard face softens. "Don't be silly girl, get over here."
She opens her arms and, to her credit, Katniss doesn't hesitate before walking into them. They embrace tightly, and I see the relief painted on both their features.
When they pull back, Hazelle glances up at the rest of us and smiles.
"Haymitch," she calls, walking over to rest her hand on his arm. "You surprise me, upright at this hour. Been keepin' up with your chores without me around?"
Haymitch laughs her off good-naturedly. Both of them know the only time his place was ever clean before this week was when he'd hired Hazelle as a house cleaner on Katniss' insistence. Effie must know this too, because she shudders and wretches comically.
"I managed to get it halfway decent again," she says, "but I have no idea how you managed for as long as you did. And with your own little ones to look after, too! You don't get nearly enough credit for adopting a whole grown man. You better have paid her well, Abernathy!"
Hazelle rears her head back and laughs loudly at this before schooling her face into a polite, if not appraising smile for Effie's concerns. Her smile turns sly as she looks at Haymitch again, who looks pointedly away and shuffles slightly away from Effie's side. I'm still grinning at the exchange when I realise that the attention has now focused on me.
"Peeta, you look well," Hazelle tells me kindly. "It's good to see you here."
I swallow a lump in my throat and tell her I feel the same. I've always liked Hazelle. She and I crossed paths often enough during the isolating months after the first games, when Katniss refused to acknowledge me and Haymitch was rarely coherent enough to. She made good company, never treating me any differently for being a Victor and always offering me a cup of tea when I'd come looking for Haymitch at his place. It was a little awkward at first, with her knowing all about the Star-Crossed Lovers lie, but she was always good about avoiding sensitive topics – except for once. It was a few weeks after Gale had been whipped nearly to death. He was already back in the mines, but Haymitch had kept Hazelle on his payroll regardless. I bumped into her on my way out of the village one morning as she was leaving and joined her on her walk home. We'd both watched Katniss leaving the Hob, alone and weighed down by guilt-provoked purchases in her game bag. I must have slowed my pace enough for Hazelle to notice, because she shook her head and sighed.
"I never thanked you," she'd said in a low voice, "for helping Gale. I'd expect it of Katniss, it's just what she does. But you didn't have to, and you got involved anyway." She'd stopped me before I could argue the point, and dropped her voice an octave lower. "You're a good man with a good heart, Peeta. What the Capitol is makin' you kids do is cruel, but whatever the outcome is of it, that girl there is a lucky one."
Then she'd hurried off into the Seam without a backwards glance. Looking at her today, I wonder if she still feels the same way.
"I'm sorry about Posy," Hazelle tells us. "I told her not to go out looking for you. I wanted to come by your place first, give you all a heads up that we'd be invading your space for a few days, but that girl's growing up to be even more wild than her brothers."
She laughs in exasperation and Katniss smiles weakly.
"It's fine," she says. "I was just surprised. She's so big now."
"They're all growing like bean sprouts," Hazelle exclaims. She juts her chin out and nods at some place behind us. "Just look at 'em."
Katniss' back is an iron pole again. She twitches her neck just slightly in that direction and I follow suit, feeling just as stiff as she looks.
Two young boys are shuffling up the road behind us, so quietly I'm not surprised at all that we couldn't hear them coming. Both of them have the awkward, gangly gait of teenagers, and my posture loosens up when I mark them as the other Hawthorne brothers. Their names come to me as they saunter up to us – the slightly taller one must be Rory, the younger one Vick. The former raises his arms and shrugs as they approach.
"Couldn't find her anywhere, 'Ma!" he calls. "Thought the rain might've drove her back."
"It's alright!" Hazelle calls back. "Katniss and her friends found her, thank goodness. I sent her straight in."
Both brothers pull up short at that. Rory's eyes roam over our group before he says anything, lingering longer on me than the rest. I shift uncomfortably but hold his stare, trying to convey with my smile that I don't present any danger. He drops his gaze first and nods to our group in greeting. He barely looks at Katniss.
Vick, on the other hand, seems to have no qualms over his safety around me or anyone else here. He grins widely and stomps up the path, holding his hand out for a shake from Haymitch and I and bowing ridiculously to Effie and Katniss.
"Don't mind him," Rory mumbles. "He's been acting up ever since we moved to District Two." He punctuates his last words with an eye roll.
"People only take you seriously there if you act important," Vick replies, puffing his chest. "You're just sour 'cause you don't have any friends in Two. You'd have made at least one if you had any sense to listen to Gale like I did."
Everyone bristles. Katniss' mouth presses into a firm line and Haymitch clears his throat conspicuously. Even Effie looks a little nervous at the mention of the eldest Hawthorne brother.
"Enough, Vick," Hazelle snaps. Her eyes dart to Katniss, lightning quick, before she shoos the boys off to their quarters with orders to make sure their little sister stays put. Vick, none the wiser to the anxiety Gale's name alone can cause some of us, stomps haughtily off to the house. Rory shuffles off after him, hands in his pockets, offering a solemn goodbye as he goes.
"Well, now that that's done and dealt with…" Haymitch shrugs, looking around conspicuously. I wonder if he's eyeing the treeline for another form to appear like Katniss and I are.
"Yes, thank you again for helpin' Posy home," Hazelle says. "The boys are probably starving. Haven't had a chance to get anything on the table since we got here, what with all the excitement. I should be headin' in now to get something started."
"Of course," Katniss says, smiling. "Rory's probably about to eat the table itself."
"You're right on that," Hazelle agrees. "Nothing's changed in that respect. Better go make sure there's no teeth marks in it already. See you all for the ceremony."
She turns to leave, when Effie suddenly pipes up with what I'm sure she imagines is a wonderful idea.
"Oh, but we were just about to head in for lunch, too!" She exclaims, studiously ignoring Haymitch's subtle head shake. "Why don't you and your children join us? You must be exhausted from the trip!"
Hazelle looks startled at the invite. She's already backing up the lane, and I'm not sure if I'm imagining it, but her eyes seem to be sweeping the roads and treeline behind us.
"Oh no, that's too many extra mouths to feed on short notice," she says. "I've already picked up some things, anyhow. Can't let any food go to waste!"
"Really, it's no trouble!" Effie argues, always the pinnacle of politeness. "Isn't that right, Katniss?"
"Oh…Well," Katniss starts, looking panicked. I recognize her immediate tone shift, the one she uses when she's about to attempt a lie. "We'd love to, Hazelle, but we have to…um…"
"But we have to call Katniss' mother," I jump in. "She's asked us to check in with her every Saturday afternoon and she gets nervous if we don't call her on time."
Katniss sneaks a grateful glance my way while I put on what I hope is a remorseful face. I don't want to seem rude, but it's clear that Katniss is at her limit with social interaction and her glances to the trees are becoming a constant stare.
"Ah, good kids," Hazelle beams. She doesn't seem at all put out by the excuse. If anything, I think I see her relax a little. "Wish her well for me, would you?"
"Of course," Katniss agrees, "we'll see you all soon."
"Absolutely," Hazelle says, turning back to the lane up to their lodgings. "Ya'll take care, now."
We watch her go for a moment before starting up the path to our own houses. Katniss breathes a sigh of relief, and I think I can guess why. Other than Vick's taunting, there was no mention of Hazelle's oldest son. Is it possible that Gale stayed in Two for the ceremony? Surely, Hazelle would have warned us, warned Katniss at least, if he was here? There's no way to tell how much she knows about the state of their friendship, but the anxious way she stopped her sons from speaking more about him must have meant something.
We let Haymitch and Effie go ahead of us as they argue all the way over whether or not it was rude not to insist harder that the Hawthornes join us for lunch.
"Are you alright?" I ask her. A silent nod is my only answer.
"I'll make lunch," I supply. "What would you like?"
"I'm not very hungry," she says. "I'm tired, though. I think I'm going to have a nap."
I almost ask if she wants me to join her, even though our shared bed routine only ever occurs during night hours, but I wonder if she'd find that inappropriate right now. The rest of our walk to the house remains wordless. Effie's hand is on the door knob when Katniss gasps.
"My jacket," she sighs, turning back around to face the other Victor's houses. "I gave it to Posy. I should go get it in case… in case we don't see them again."
Her father's jacket. The one she's worn nearly every day since he passed. The one that would be an unmistakable mark to Gale that she'd been with his family if he were to see it. I wonder if that's what she's afraid of.
"I'll go with you," I tell her. When she doesn't object, I know her fears are truly eating at her. We leave Haymitch and Effie to their own devices, walking slowly down the lane to the only other house with lights on.
"Thank you," Katniss says suddenly, quiet enough for only me to hear.
Thank me for what?" I ask as we trudge down the path.
"For making up an afternoon call with my mother," she grins at me. Then her smile fades as she adds, "For getting us out of there. I didn't know if…"
She falters and fades off, and I can see the guilt taking over as she tries to justify her fears.
"It's okay," I console her. "I understand, you don't have to explain."
"I still don't know if I want to see him," she whispers rapidly anyway. "Seeing Hazelle and the kids, it just feels like nothing's changed. But I know it has. Everything's changed, and I don't know if I'm ready for…"
She sniffs and turns away, having all but confirmed that she's assumes Gale is here with his family, too.
"You don't have to do anything you're not ready for," I remind her gently. "Never, for anyone."
She smiles gently and leans in to rest her head on my shoulder.
"I know," she sighs, "but thanks for the reminder. And for being here."
Without thinking, I wrap my arms around her and pull her to my chest. She embraces me back and I feel her subtly wiping her eyes on my shirt front before she pulls away again, but her arms stay linked around my waist. Gently, I press my lips to her hair, hoping that my encouragement can be felt through our contact. She squeezes me once and steps away, but her hand finds mine as soon as she does.
We're still linked at our fingers when we reach the Hawthorne's house, and Katniss breathes deep before we jog up the steps together. She hesitates, and I wonder if she wants me to let go of her before she knocks. I start to pull away but she holds on tighter, shaking her head almost pleadingly. I give her an encouraging smile and point at the door with both our hands. She almost laughs at the gesture, but it's cut short before it passes her lips.
I hear the rustling a few moments after she does, coming from the forest edge just past this row of houses. Katniss reacts first, spinning in that direction, and I'm almost certain her hand twitches in search of an arrow. I'm also almost certain that I know exactly who is appearing from behind the trees, so much so that I don't need to turn to see him. His voice, deep and rough and tinged with shock, is more than enough to get the venom flowing.
"Hey Catnip."
Notes:Well, hello strangers! I am alive! Is anyone still out there?
I'm so sorry for the lack of updates for ... months. That was awful of me, but I promise, if you're still in, I'm still in!