Yes, I know the teal cloak is from the movie :)
Chapter Text
Cold. Bright. Too Cold. Too Bright.
Shivering, I instinctively reach to pull up the collar of my hunting jacket but when fingers reach the collar they brush soft fur instead of the worn leather. Looking down I find a silk teal cloak that's lined around the collar, the cuffs with delicate fur dyed to match the garment. It's familiar to me, but I can't place why, but what I do know is my fingertips feel like they are on fire where they brushed against the fur! "Ah!" I gasp, shaking blistered fingertips in the air. Heat intensifies at my neck, and even where my ears brush up against the collar start tingling. With the uninjured hand, I begin working at the button that seems to be holding this damn coat to my body, but as the uninjured hand is also my non-dominant hand, I'm struggling to make progress. My wrists have begun to burn now as well, so move to just raking at closure blindly. I've just about worked the button loose when the air cracked with a strained and tortured scream. "KATNISS!" My clothing worries, in spite of the burning, evaporate instantly. My head snaps up and towards the scream but I'm unprepared for the overwhelming brightness that floods my senses. Instinctively my face tries to shelter into my shoulder, but the fur of the collar brushes my cheek and I recoil. My eyes, squeezed tightly shut, take what feels like forever to slowly inch open and when they do, I'm astounded and confused to find that illumination isn't from a light source, but from color, bright neon color. Surrounding me, on nearly every surface, buildings, roads, signs are vibrant and nearly shimmering shades of pink, yellow, green, and orange. And my breath catches, I would know this garish collection of buildings anywhere, this is the Capital of Panem.
A whisper blows on the wind and down the garish streets, "More like a sunset." It's a voice I almost as well as my own. "Peeta!" I scream. As panic builds so does the burning sensation on my skin. It started small, but it now snakes up my arms and down my chest. I groan as I spin in circles looking for any sign of where the voices came from. There is nothing here, the area is silent as a tomb. No birds, no people, just silence, at least until it not. The cry snaps in the air like a hammer hitting a nail. "Katniss!" she screams. "PRIM!" I shriek in response. I'm in a dead run in the direction of the cry before I can even consider what is going on. Running in an ankle-length cloak slows my sprint as it wraps around my legs and restricting my movements. New patches of skin ignite under the shroud, but panic wins out and I hike the long garment up and into my arms to free my stride. Peeta's agonized screech bounces down an alley just ahead of me, "Help me Katniss! Please!" he begs. "Where are you?" I beg bolting down the alley. I wind down one empty street after another searching for my sister and my fellow victor and only come to a stop when my feet hit the cobblestones of the city center square. Across the large open and empty expanse, the president's mansion looms large and intimidating. I know instinctively that I've reached my destination. I quickly duck behind a building and slump against the wall, trying to slow my heavy breathing. With a deep breath, I steal my nerves and I peek around the corner of the building. Behind a large ornate gate is a perfectly manicured and sprawling lawn in the foreground of the foreboding mansion. In the middle of the green is a small garden of white roses and nestled amongst them a large steel platform. I recognize it at once. It's exactly like the ones that lifted me into both of my arenas.
Surveying the vacant square a warily, I cautiously begin crossing the square towards the lawn. I've only taken a few steps when the pedestal grinds to life. My first instinct is to run back to my hiding spot, but with Peeta and Prim possibly in danger, I push on. I'm halfway across the square when the "tribute" finally appears from the ground. It's Peeta and he is strapped to a hospital bed. I know immediately that the person on the plate is not the Peeta that was sent back to Thirteen to kill me, but my Peeta. The Peeta with the bread. The Peeta in the Cave. The Peeta with the pearl. Peeta my friend. "PEETA!" his name comes out in a strangled cry. His eyes shoot to mine and they are afraid, frantic. My heart jumps into my throat and my cautiousness of moments ago is forgotten as I sprint out across the square.
"Katniss...Katniss...please! I need help!" Prim's scream echoes to the right. My feet slip on the cobblestones as I come to a halt and my eyes swing in the direction of the scream. About 100 yards from me Prim kneels next to a little girl in a lemon yellow coat her hands pressing to a wound but her eyes aren't on her task, they are instead lifted skyward. I don't need to look to know what she's staring at, I know what's coming. Fear and horror pulse through me just as deeply anguished cry tears from Peeta's throat. The utter despair in the scream pulls my eyes back in his direction and to the vignette in the yard. Peeta has been joined by the one and only President Snow and in Snow's hand is a syringe full of neon green tracker jacket venom poised to be plunged into Peeta's bicep. My heart is nearly bursting out of my chest as I look between Peeta and Prim. Bombs and a snake are my choices. President Snow locks his eyes with mine, grins then shakes his head. "You can't save either of them," he hisses and in one smooth motion jabs the needle into Peeta's arm and depresses the tracker-jacker venom into his vein. I gasp and my stomach turns, threatening to spill its contents onto the cobblestones. "No!" I plead but it's too late. One look at Peeta's face tells me what I already know, he's gone. The pleading blue eyes have been replaced with a murderous glare. He artfully strings together a litany of hateful words for just me as he strains against the bed restraints, desperate to kill me.
Tears spill unhindered from my eyes as my heart breaks into pieces. Around the painful lump in my throat I lecture myself, "Peeta's gone, save Prim,", but even as the words tumble from my lips somewhere deep in my soul that my old Peeta has been gone for a long time and that I can't save Prim either because this isn't real. My brain feels as if it short-circuiting as reality and nightmares war with each other for purchase in my consciousness. Despite the futility of my actions, I stumble towards Prim, but even as I move, she seems frozen in a moment. Her long blonde braid is over one shoulder, she's kneeling amongst the broken bloody bodies of Capitol children, her face still turned up to the sky. I know what comes next, and I can't stop it, but I try anyway, I have to try or my soul would die. "Prim! RUN PRIM!" I screech as I run as fast as my legs can carry me. I never get any closer, she just moves further from me with each step. The teal and fur that has enrobed me goes from figurative fire to literal fire against my skin. Flames lick and climb up my body but I don't stop trying to reach my sister, to stop the inviable. "Prim... Prim please... please run" I desperately plead, but even as the words leave my mouth, I see a little gray parachute land gently on the ground directly in front of her. Everything goes red, orange, and yellow and Prim's form is now only fire. Hot, scorching, killing fire. I open my mouth to call out to her but the fire of my robes fills my mouth stealing my breath, my words, my soul. I am fully ablaze, agony of body and spirit melting into one sensation. Collapsing to the ground, I know my death is certain and close. With my last moment of consciousness, I hear President Snow's laugh on the hot wind, "Ladies and gentleman... Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire..."
A crack and boom rattle my entire house, shaking me out my death nightmare. I shoot straight up in bed, eyes wide and searching the darkness for fire. Tears roll hot and desperate down my face as I try to grasp to my fragile reality. My right hand frantically reaches out across the expanse of the bed for Peeta, but my fingertips only find cold and rumpled sheets. I'm alone. There are no arms for me to find refuge in; no steady heartbeat to ground me. Peeta's asleep three houses away, probably fighting his own nightmares of me as a mutt.
My room is cold, I didn't build a fire before bed and the rain has brought with it a damp chill. In just a long t-shirt, I shiver because all of my blankets are down tangled around my ankles. Shaking, I wrestle the quilt and sheets up over my legs to my chin before sinking back against the pillow. Every muscle in my body is tense, ready for fight or flight. I close my eyes and I try to focus on the soothing sound of rain tapping against the bedroom window, but it's no use, my brain will not let go of the image of my sister turning to ash. Tears roll down my face as the familiar ache of loss and desperation claim me. There is a flash, then the whole room shutters as lightning hits the ground somewhere nearby. My delicate hold on reality slips away and terror takes over. Before my brain can even register what I'm doing, I'm out of bed, dashing down the stairs and out of the house. I sprint barefooted and barely dressed down the stone pathway that links all the homes in Victor's Village. It's not until the icy rain has fully saturated my body that I start to come back to the present. My feet stutter to a stop and my teeth begin to chatter. "Go home you fool," my brain lectures. I've nearly convinced my feet to follow the demand of my head when lightning strikes directly over my head. Any control I had begun to regain is easily overcome with primal fear. My feet slip and slide on the rain-slicked stones, but I scramble all the same down the path and up Peeta's walkway. As I clamor up the slick stone steps, I lose my footing and go down hard on my hands and knees. Pain shoots through my right knee and down my leg, but I'm not bleeding so I curse under my breath and limp, albeit cautiously, up to the landing. It's only when my hand touches the cool, wet metal of the doorknob that I finally stop. I stare down at my hand and will it to turn the knob, peace is but steps away, but I can't do it. My arm goes limp and falls uselessly to my side. Slumping to the ground a sob rises in my chest as my forehead presses into the door. I desperately want to go inside. No, it's not just want it's a need. I need to slip into Peeta's bed and press myself into his comforting embrace as I have done so many carelessly times before. I need to be warmed by him, made to feel safe by him, but my need isn't based in reality. What it is, is proof of my selfishness. It's proof that I'm willing to take what I need from Peeta, as I've always done, never considering his feeling, his needs, or his tenuous grasp on sanity.
Peeta must be the priority, his's needs must come first, I owe that to him. He saved my life when he chose to come home to Twelve, I would have died without him here to help me put myself back together. He had done it slowly, coaxing me back to life, but only as fast I could handle. He patiently endured silent breakfasts until they morphed into silent walks. He brought new life to mine with our garden, a place where we both cared for primroses had he planted for me to morn Prim. He waited for stilled words to eventually evolved into comfortable conversations. By the winter he had worked his way into most of my evenings. The memory book had been the linchpin in bringing me to where I am now. Nights drawing and writing and crying together by candlelight. He gave us time, time that has knitted into new people, that has created a new relationship. One where we're informed by our losses, our games, our pain. Peeta's selfless patience and determination to keep me alive didn't come without great personal sacrifice. He lives with violent and vulgar pain because of me. He hasn't been physically dangerous since his return, instead the violence he experiences is internal. His triggers can vary with the exception of physical contact with me; touching overwhelms him and sends him sparling quickly, so we touch very little. Outside of an accidental brush of a hand or unavoidable contact, we've kept a safe distance apart. My eye's slide shut at the thought. My need for comfort is selfish, he endures regular pain to make sure I stay alive. I'm weak.
Bringing fingertips up, I rub slow circles in the raindrops that mingle with my tears on the door that separates me from my desires. I sit on the stoop in the rain wallowing in self-pity for I don't know how long until a light from inside cascades through the sidelight of the door and across the stoop. I freeze, my pathetic sobs trapped in my throat. Sitting up straight, my muscles tense and ready to flee. My hunter's senses aren't needed to identify Peeta's heavy approaching footfalls. I momentarily consider staying here, waiting to see if he opens the door and finds me, but guilt will not allow it so I reluctantly choose Peeta's needs over my own. Jumping to my feet, I move on stiff but quick legs down the front stairs and take cover in the bushes that line the walk and the front of the house. I wait on pins and needles to see if he will make an appearance or if I overreacted. I don't have to wait long. The heavy front door soon opens, letting warm light cascade down the stairs and towards me. I press further into an ornamental spruce and watch as he steps out into the downpour for a look around. I stop breathing altogether when his eyes sweep over my hiding place, but he quickly looks away. He seems to gives the yard one last curious look, before turning and heading back inside, the door slamming behind him. I stay crouched and shivering in the bushes long after he's turned out the light in the hallway, I want to be certain he won't return to see me dirty and limp on a sore knee back to my house. It takes a bit of effort to detangle myself from the branches, but I eventually come tumbling out. I wrap my arms around my middle, a gesture meant to block out the cold as much as it is to hold in my want. I make my way home. The rain stopped while I was hiding and now the sun has begun to push its way into the valleys around me. Pausing on my own stoop, I bask for a long moment in the oranges of the coming sunrise and thinking only of Peeta.