Katniss
Taking the last piece of bacon from the butcher paper on the counter, I turn and gingerly drop it into a cast-iron skillet. As the meat hits the hot surface of the pan I'm rewarded with a satisfying snap and pop. With a set of tongs, I push the sizzling meat around the pan and ponder the visit from my old friend and the fate of the country.
Gale's in twelve and he's brought the outside world that I've been ignoring for the past year to my literal doorstep. I can hardly believe that he was in my house less than half an hour ago. I haven't seen so much as a photo of Gale since the morning of Snow's execution. I've heard, via the town rumor mill, that he's been on television and in the newspaper, that his military career had taken off, that he's living in Two, but I mostly try to avoid the subject of Gale Hawthorne altogether. That's not to say I haven't been tempted to tune in once or twice when I'd gotten wind that he would be on the news, but it was just morbid curiosity that drove that desire. What I wanted to know is if he had moved on from that day of bombs, the day that took Prim from the world. But I knew that a two-dimensional image couldn't tell what I really wanted to know, so the only option I felt I had left was to not think of him at all. I packed up all my memories, thoughts, and feelings about our relationship and shove them into a box in the darkest and dusty recesses of my mind. It wasn't as hard to ignore his existence as you'd think when all you want to do is stop living yourself. It's gotten a little harder since my heart has started the mending process. I've found that I occasionally trip over my old memories while out in the woods or when I walk past the spot the Hob used to stand, but I'm pretty good at avoiding things that make me uncomfortable.
My avoidance has been working well too, that is until I opened my front door this morning. With Gale standing in my foyer my tidy little box of hidden memories has been upturned and each one seems to be demanding my attention. It's the days we spent together hunting in the woods, and the sound of our laughter rebounding off the trees. It's the two of us sitting shoulder to shoulder in the Hob eating the 'soup of the day' and making deals on our kills. They are happy memories by district standards, but it doesn't take long for them to be replaced with those of Battles and stolen kisses...and bombs, death, and hateful words. The soured memories mix with Gale's words from this morning "And she would like Katniss to attend as the Mockingjay." The Capitol. The Mockingjay. Gale. Prim. Unshed tears burn my eyes and my hands begin to shake. The tongs slip from my trembling fingers and into the pan of breakfast meat. I lean forward, palms on each side of the burner, and grip the warm metal tightly, as the waves of grief mixed with anxiety wash over me. How I held in while he was here, I don't know, probably a mix of anger and Peeta's steadfastness I'd wager. I'm not sure how long I've stood here staring blindly at our burning breakfast, all I know is I only come too when Peeta is back at my side.
"Katniss, are you alright?" he asks, clearly concerned.
My eyes snap up and lock with his worried ones. Behind him is ragged-looking Haymitch also looking concerned. I absently nod my head in the affirmative, "Yes...yes...I think so," I manage to get out.
Haymitch shakes his head in disbelief. "Yeah, you look just peachy," he quips, clearly unconvinced. "Take her over and sit her down boy," he says giving Peeta's shoulder a gentle push. Peeta does as directed and with great gentleness, he leads me to and deposits me in a kitchen chair closest to the stove before going to the faucet to fill a glass with water.
Meanwhile, Haymitch has retrieved my tongs and is digging around in the frying pan. "Sweetheart, why would you do this bacon? What did it ever do to you?" he moans, scrapping at what I can only assume is burned breakfast meat. I shrug numbly, normally this would rile me but not today. No today I have too many other issues fighting for my attention.
Squatting down in front of me, Peeta hands me the glass of water. The gentle look in his gentle blue eyes, helps my heart rate starts to return to normal. "You, sure you're alright?" he asks.
"Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed is all," I offer.
Peeta gives me a look that says he's not buying my explanation, but he just sighs and shakes his head at me. "Drink your water," he responds with a small grin before straightening up and going to the cabinet for dishes.
Haymitch crosses to the table and unceremoniously drops a plate of overly crisp bacon to the surface. "The cat only gets the burned bits," he grumbles giving me a half-hearted glare. Turning on unsteady feet, he retrieves the bowl of scrambled eggs I left warming in the oven and the pot of coffee I brewed from the stovetop and puts them on the table as well. Plopping down into the chair across from me, he starts piling eggs on his plate, "So," he drawls, "I heard tall, dark, and brooding managed to find his way back home this morning."
"I don't think he considers 12 his home anymore," I grunt back quietly.
"Yeah, yeah, semantics." Haymitch dismisses with a wave of his fork.
Joining Haymitch on the opposite side of the table from me, Peeta fills his plate, then scoops a spoonful of eggs on to mine. "Eat something" he instructs, handing me a fork.
I take it and begin poking at the eggs with the tines. Reaching across the table, Haymitch picks up the coffee pot and quickly fills the mug in front of him. Taking a careful sip, he looks over the brim of the cup at me for a long minute. "So..." he sighs, "Paylor's bring democracy back into style huh? Can't say I'm surprised,'" he says taking another sip.
Peeta who has been quietly picking at his breakfast adds, "Yeah, and they want to use the Mockingjay as the figurehead of their movement. Hum...why does that sound familiar to me..." he says laying a finger alongside his mouth in faux contemplation before continuing, "Oh that's right, they did it already and called her the leader of the rebellion!" he nearly shouts tossing his fork down on the table.
"You're surprised, by this?" Haymitch counters.
Peeta's eyes narrow, "Your not?"
Haymitch laughs and reaches for a piece of bacon. "No, I'm not" he chuckles, shaking his head. "I will say it's sooner than I thought it would be. I figured it would take at least a couple of years before some folks would get over the whole 'killing of the rebel leader' thing, and I certainly never expected they'd send the ex to do the convincing, but I figured they would come looking for her someday," he states.
Peeta tilts his head to the side in consideration. "Because...she doesn't know...the effect she can have," he says slowly. Suddenly his eyes snap up to Haymitch's "I said this to you in the first games? Real or not real?" he asks, his voice urgent. Peeta's words bring me back to our first to a breakfast table in the Capitol during training and then to a memory that is so clear I can almost smell the mildew of Tigress's dank cellar. When I go to speak my voice is joined with Haymitch's, "Real," we say in unison.
Peeta looks across the table at me and I see a look of relief mixed with exhilaration crosses his face. He gets this look whenever he recovers a real memory. In spite of the anxiety, I can't help but smile a little. I'm always happy when he wins even the smallest battle against what Snow did to him.
Haymitch clears his throat loudly. "If you two are done making eyes at each other, we do have Capitol business to discuss," he quips, refilling his mug.
Peeta rolls his eyes. "So, you think she should do it, be the Mockingjay again?" Peeta asks ignoring the "making eyes at each other" comment altogether.
Haymitch shrugs, "I didn't say that. I said I just knew they would come looking for her someday. Guess someday is today," he mumbles.
My irritation has begun to grow at their self-contained banter, "If it's not too much trouble, could you please stop talking about me like I'm not in the room?" I demand.
Peeta's face falls, but as usual, Haymitch is unaffected. "You're right Katniss, sorry about that," Peeta apologizes.
"So what's it gonna be Mockingjay? Are we packing our bags for the Capitol or sending the ex-boyfriend back with a "fuck you" for President Paylor?" Haymitch asks.
"First, stop calling him that! Gale is not my ex," I growl at Haymitch, "Secondly, please do not put this whole decision on me. Going back there, being...being the Mockingjay again is a difficult enough decision. I need the two of you to decide for yourselves if you can handle going back. Please, don't make me choose for you," I plead, as the tears begin falling from my eyes.
Peeta buries his face in his hands at my tears.
Haymitch sighs and takes a long drink from his coffee before speaking, "Do you want to go Katniss?" he asks. I know by the use of my first name that he is no longer joking around, that he truly wants to hear my thoughts. I swipe at my eyes and compose myself. "I'm leaning towards yes," I answer my voice wavering. "I don't want to go, I want to leave the Mockingjay buried in the past and the Capitol too, but if I don't go and things fall apart, then the deaths of the people we loved, of all those who died fighting will have been wasted. If I have to pick between being the Mockingjay or failing the memory of...of Prim," I choke out, "I choose the Mockingjay," I say, tears once again falling down my face.
Haymitch noisily pushes away from the table and gathers me up into a warm embrace. I'm startled, shows of emotion that aren't buried in sarcasm are out of character for him, but I go to him willingly. Tucking my head under his chin, I press my ear to the spot just over his heart and weep. "I'm with you Mockingjay," Haymitch whispers gently into my hair. Without pulling away from the warm hold Haymitch has on me, I manage to glance over at Peeta, who has lowered his hands and is watching us intently. When our eyes meet, I see understanding in them. When he nods his head and I have his answer. I sniff and swallow hard, "Are you sure?" I croak out.
Peeta's lips form a small sad smile, "Katniss, the Capitol isn't where my demons live," he says softly. "I go where you go. After all, we protect each other, right?"
This makes me smile through my tears, "Yeah, that's what you and I do," I say in return.
Peeta's sad smile turns genuine at my remark. My tears subside and Haymitch pulls me away from his chest but keeps his hands locked on my upper arms. Dropping his head, he levels his gray Seam eyes with mine, "Katniss, this time, can be different than before, you know that right?" he asks.
I look at him a bit confused, "What do you mean?" I ask.
"I mean that you have all the power this time, you can set rules, boundaries, places they can't go," he answers.
"Like I did with Coin? Really? Because that went SO well?" I return, unconvinced of his logic.
Haymitch rolls his eyes, "Wait, what part of your list of demands didn't you get in that situation?" he asks, his eyes flicking to Peeta. "Yeah, she tried to have you killed later, but the actual list of demands, did she deliver?" He asks.
I think about it for a second and begin to see what he means and possibilities begin to form. "Conditions on my involvement," I say more to myself than to Haymitch.
"I'm sayin' that you can be clear about what you will and won't do before you even get there," Haymitch says. "From what I've seen, I think Paylor is a fair woman, but she's still a politician. You layout the parameters now and you won't be forced into situations you'd rather not be in later," he explains.
"He's right Katniss," Peeta agrees when I don't respond right away. "You should put something in writing, send it with Gale. I'd even require a written confirmation of your conditions."
Extracting myself from Haymitch's grip, I go to the small desk that holds my phone to grab a notepad and pencil. "We all have a say, the list isn't just for me," I state taking my seat again.
Haymitch takes my lead and returns to his chair. "Great idea, sweetheart," he says, the tenderness he showed only minutes before disappearing to make way for the more surly persona I've grown to know and love. "Me, I'm a simple creature," he muses, poking at his eggs with a fork, "A fully stocked bar and a never-ending supply of ice and I should be all set," he says shoveling eggs into his mouth.
I snort and look to Peeta who has his chair tilted back on two legs and is looking at me expectantly.
"You want me to go first?" I ask rhetorically.
Dropping the front legs of the chair back to the ground, Peeta reaches across the table and takes the pad and pencil from me. "I'll take notes," he says, giving me a wink. This gesture, mixed with his easy smile helps ratchet down the anxiety to a tolerable level.
"Fine," I mumble. Looking up at the ceiling I let my mind wander over the possibilities. "The first thing that comes to mind is no propos. I mean, I know I can't stop cameras from filming me when I'm in public, but I don't want to be forced into doing propos or staged interviews. If they want sound bites they are going to have to catch them in public settings." I say but then after a moment of consideration, I continue with, "Also, since cameras will inevitably, I want Cressida and Pollux to lead the teams that will be closest to me. I'll be less nervous around them since I know them already." I state.
Haymitch slaps the table in amusement. "Plutarch's going to have kittens!" he laughs. "Ah, I just wish I could be there when they tell him."
I give Haymitch an unconcerned shrug and move on to the next item on my agenda, "I want Effie as our Capitol liaison if they are planning on such a thing." I say quickly, then pause for Haymitch and Peeta's reaction.
"Ah, you're going with the "devil you know" mentality. I can see the advantage in that. And as much as that woman drives me to drink...well...drink more, she does have a knack of keeping you two on a schedule," Haymitch says.
"And Effie's used to the challenges you bring to...well everything," Peeta says his eyebrows raised in amusement.
Haymitch waves him off and looks at me. "What else Mockingjay?" he asks.
I find butterflies nervously making laps in my stomach at the next item that I have in mind. "I...I don't want them to...to..." I stammer searching for words that won't sting. "I don't want them referring to me...I mean us," I say, hesitantly looking up into Peeta's eyes, "as the star-crossed lovers. I know we can't stop the tabloids but we can stop the media professionally covering us," I finally get out. To Peeta's credit, if he is upset by my proclamation he doesn't show it, the only thing I see in his face is kindness and support.
Haymitch, however, lets out a deep belly laugh. "You can't un-ring a bell Sweetheart!" he guffaws.
"It's not as if I'm planning on making a public declaration that the whole thing was a sham Haymitch," I grumble, but I immediately I regret my choice of words when I see Peeta's face flinch ever so slightly. The flash of hurt I see turns in the pit of my stomach souring my breakfast. Time and many other things have happened to us both since we were reaped nearly 3 years ago, but the lies I told during that first game still sting. I wonder if what Snow did to him made it worse, but quickly realize that it doesn't matter, I'm still the one at fault. It was my lies they used to build Peeta's personal prison. Swallowing down a bit of bile, I attempt to dull the sharpness of my words, "I just feel like they should stay out of our personal lives. If they want to know my feelings about supply issues or wages for the construction crews or what I think we should do about local elections, I'll be happy to give my opinion, but my personal relationship with Peeta is just that...personal." I say my voice catching around the last word. When I dare to glance in Peeta's direction, I find his head down and his hand working to write out my request on the paper. I swallow my guilt and clear my throat. "What about you," I ask Peeta softly. When he glances up, a blonde curl falls across his forehead into his eyes, and for the briefest of seconds, I see a flash of the boy I was reaped with. The off-handed words I just spewed, along with the memory of my old, but potent, lies turn my stomach. He must see the turmoil on my face because his brow furrows a bit, but then he does a very Peeta thing, he just shakes his head and gives me a wink. Without a word, he tells me that he does not hold my words, new or old, against me. I'm relieved; relieved something else, but its feeling can't identify. The encounter over the sweater this morning passes through my mind, but it ends quickly when Haymitch obnoxiously clears his throat pulling Peeta and me from our silent exchange.
"Yeah, you'll be able to play down the whole relationship thing, no problem," he mocks sarcastically.
If I could shoot daggers with my eyes Haymitch would be dead right now. He enjoys poking fun at Peeta and I's history because he knows he can get a rise out of me, but as usual, Peeta steps in to mediate. "I agree with Katniss," he says pulling Haymitch's taunting face in his direction. "We aren't going to the Capitol to provide people with entertainment, we will be there to support our government," he states.
"That is not going to stop the reporters and the gossip networks," Haymitch says and takes a sip from his mug. Immediately his face screws up in a sour expression and he spits it back into the cup. "Blah! Cold," he grouses.
Grabbing the coffee pot from the table Peeta stands, "We have to acknowledge that people will be curious about...us..." he says going to sink and begins to make a fresh pot of coffee, "but we have the right to privacy now. Plus, whatever people believe about us can't be changed with proclamation anyway," he says setting the coffee pot on the stove and turning on the fire under it.
Haymitch shakes his head, "You two are trying to trap a storm in a jar."
Peeta sits back down at the table and picks up the pencil, "Maybe, but it's one of her requirements for attending, and frankly, it's...one of mine as well." he adds.
My head snaps up in surprise. "Really?" I ask.
"Yeah, really," he says with a nod. "You're right, they need to back off and give us our space. We're not circus animals meant to perform for them anymore."
His words lift a weight off my shoulders. I was afraid he would misinterpret my intentions. As much as I want to avoid being forced into the Capitol mold of what we should be to appease them, I also want to protect that period of our lives as well. It all meant so much more than just pretending to be two love-crazed teens. That was the backdrop to our lives, but it was when Peeta and I become connected, true partners. That means too much to me to allow it to become a part of an agenda again.
Reaching across the table I take the pad from him and hold out my hand for the pencil, "What else do you want?" I ask, officially closing the star-cross lovers topic.
Peeta smirks and casually puts the pencil behind his ear. "You know Katniss, I think I can manage to put down my own demands," he teases, "and you know why?" he asks, a smile playing on the corner of his lips.
Silently I thank Peeta for trying to lighten the mood of the room. With some effort, I level my gaze at him and try to look annoyed because I do know what he's about to say, as it's his standard these days for anything about him that surprises me, or when he simply is being stubborn. "Because, thanks to the generosity of the Capitol, you were taught to what...write?" I ask playfully.
Peeta laughs good-naturedly, "Well, I was going to say, "to take notes,", but yours works too," he says grabbing the pad from in front of me.
"Could you two flirt later, I have a lot on my to-do list today," Haymitch grumbles.
I shoot him a look but decide to not rise to his ribbing when I see that the pains of sobering up have started to creep across his features. Scooting back from the table, I go over to the stove and grab the now percolating coffee pot, then move to a cabinet next to sink for a bottle of brandy Peeta keeps here for cooking. Filling his mug about halfway with coffee, I set the liquor bottle down with a thump. "Have a drink Haymitch, you're being a bigger ass than usual," I grumble. He looks up at me with a mixture of gratitude and sadness that hurts my heart. I don't say anything, I just give his shoulder a squeeze and return to my seat.
"So, do you have anything to add," I ask Peeta, pushing the conversation forward.
Peeta looks over at Haymitch and back to me. "Yeah, I wrote it down," he says holding the pad up so I can see he's added to it.
I give him a quizzical look and he shrugs. "It's nothing big," he says dismissively. "Just asked to have a kitchen and baking supply are available to me, just in case I need them. I can pack drawing pads and pencils but not a stove after all."
For the second time in the last minute, my heart hurts. I know this need is directly related to the rage he still fights. Not trusting my voice, I simply bob my head in understanding.
"Anything else we want to add," Peeta asks.
I look to Haymitch and raise an eyebrow, "Liquor, really that's all you want?" I ask.
He smiles at me and dumps a bit more of the Brandy into his coffee, "I would request to not waken before noon, but there is no way Effie's goin' for that." he says. When he sees my annoyed expression, he adds, "Listen, Sweetheart, there is very little they can throw at me that I haven't already been subjected to after spending 25 years in the Capitol. I do agree with you about the interviews and propos, but I think that requirement should be for all of us not just you Mockingjay, they could exclude you but use Peeta, me, or our team as a loophole. Other than that, I have nothing that requires special attention."
"You're sure?" I ask.
He gives me one of his rare genuine smiles, "I'm sure," he says.
I turn my attention back to Peeta, but before I can speak, he's shaking his head at me, "I don't have anything else to add. I made the changes Haymitch suggested, added all of our names" he says, handing me the notepad for review.
Peeta, in his beautiful fluid script, has neatly penned all the items we have discussed. In addition, he added at the bottom of the list has requested a written confirmation within two weeks. My eyes flow over the list over and over again as I silently ruminate on each requirement, trying to envision how it will be received and if anything else can be added. Taking a deep breath, I release it slowly and finally look up at the two men sitting across from me. "Let's sign it," I say with a finality I don't necessarily feel.
Peeta holds the pencil out to me, "You first."
I sign quickly and pass the notebook and pencil to Peeta. While he and Haymitch add their signatures, I stand up and got to the desk for an envelope. When I turn back to the table, I see Haymitch, my bottle of Brandy tucked under his arm, making his way for the door. "Haymitch, you're leaving?" I ask.
He stops and glances back at me, "I told you, lots on my to-do list today. Plus it doesn't take the three of us to call Soldier Moody," he says.
"Based on the bars I saw on his jacket this morning I think it's Captain Moody now," Peeta quips.
I roll my eyes at the two of them, then wave Haymitch off. "Don't forget to feed the geese," I remind him.
"Yep, on that to-do list," he mutters, then disappears out the door.
Handing Peeta the envelope I retrieved from the desk, I start making my way around the table collecting the breakfast dishes. "You know it's a good thing geese are self-reliant because I suspect Haymitch will be looking for his to-do list at the bottom of my bottle of Brandy," I say.
Peeta chuckles. "Yeah, you're probably right. I'll make sure to put out some food for them this afternoon," he says sliding our list into the envelope.
Dropping the dishes I've collected onto the counter I plug the sink, add a bit of soap and turn on the tap. Peeta soon joins me, depositing the dirty skillet and coffee pot next to the dishes. Sliding plates into the warm soapy water, I start the mindless job of the morning wash-up. Silently Peeta props the envelope containing our list on the window sill before pulling open a drawer and grabbing a dishtowel. This is our routine on mornings I don't hunt. Peeta and I make breakfast, we trade insults with Haymitch, then Peeta and I stand at the sink washing and drying before we go about our day of painting, baking, gardening, perhaps taking a walk into town to meet the train or to deliver bread, and then working on our memory book. This is the flow of our days, but as I stand here with my hands in the soapy water staring at the envelope addressed to President Paylor I know it's all about to change.
"Peeta, we're really going to do this!" I proclaim softly, my eyes glued to the letter.
Dropping the towel on the counter, he turns to face me. "Katniss," he says his tone imploring me to look at him.
Dragging my eyes from the envelope, I pull my hands from the sink and dry them on the discarded towel. I'm taken aback by the hint of worry I see creasing his eyes.
"I...I don't know how to say this so I'm just going to say it," he stammers. "I don't want you to go," he says plainly.
My mouth falls open in surprise. "You don't...but...didn't you, I mean I thought you..." I sputter, my tongue tripping over my thoughts.
"No, I...I mean yes. Yes, I understand your reasoning and I think, I think it's...well, it's what I knew you would do. You're Katniss Everdeen. You've always been willing to take the weight of the world onto your shoulders, and I've always thought you're amazing for it," he says softly. Taking a half step closer to me he continues, his voice low. "Honestly, my reasons for not wanting you to go are completely selfish. In the last year, you have worked so hard to embrace your grief and to ..." he pauses, searching for words, "to start living again." he finally manages to say, taking another small hesitant step towards me. "I don't want this to make you go away again," he confesses in a low voice.
Every muscle in my body is suddenly on high alert. My instinct is to flee whenever Peeta comes this close and it's kicked in on high gear. In spite of the warning bells ring in my head, I find myself rooted to the floor looking up into the clear blue pools of his eyes. They look clear enough to swim in, a vision that my traitorous mind uses to pushes dozens of different memories of me looking into them while in his arms through my brain. Blinking, I try to pull myself together and focus on his concerns. I can't trust my voice at the moment, so I manage a small nod to show him I understand his concerns, that I have the same ones.
He sighs and a sad smile crosses his face. "But then there's Prim. And Finnick, and Castor, Wiress, Boggs, Messalla, Portia, Darius, Cinna, all of the victors and the list goes on and on and on and I know..." he pauses and takes a breath, "I know, that it's the right choice... to ensure all those sacrifices matter. I can't be selfish, not this time," he says.
It takes every fiber of my being to not reach out and touch him. "For them," I manage to whisper.
He nods his head, "Yes, for them and for Panem, but also for you," he says in a quiet voice. "After the games, the war, Prim, you were broken and it was terrifying to watch and not be able to help," he confesses, tears wetting his eyes, "but that is about me and not you. You were broken but you didn't let it defeat you. Piece by piece you have slowly put a life back together for yourself and while it may not look exactly like it did before, it's yours. I guess I just have to remember you're stronger than you look," he says giving me a small smile.
A tear slides silently down my cheek. Peeta and his words, at times I almost forget how damaged he is, but only almost. "I'm not so strong," I say, "I'm just angry and good with a bow."
He bursts out in laughter. "Well, I can't argue with facts," he chuckles, "but it's far from who you are in total Katniss Everdeen".
"If only I could feel as confident as you make me sound, then this whole thing would be a lot less petrifying," I say.
The corner of his lips pull up into a soft smile as he slowly lifts his hand to my face and gently plucks a wayward strand of hair from in front of my eyes and gently drops it behind my ear. I feel a shiver begin to run up by spin and immediately scold myself for being ridiculous. His gestures isn't a particularly intimate one, it is, however, the second time today that he has touched me without a real purpose. I'm not hurt, there wasn't a general need in the gestures and they weren't reflexive like with the primrose yesterday. This touch, like the one with the sweater, was intentional, even stranger yet, he seems...fine with the interaction. Taking a quick inventory of his face and posture, I see none of the physical signs that I've become accustomed to when an episode is about to take him, instead I only see clear blue eyes looking back at me.
It's not until Buttercup appears at my feet and begins to meow that the moment between us is broken. I look down and silently thank and cure the cat at the same time.
Scooping the large cat into his arms, Peeta gives his right ear a thorough scratching, "Hey there ugly," he says.
Giving myself a mental shake, I give Peeta my best smirk. "Prim would have had your head for calling him that," I tell him reaching up to scratch Buttercup's other ear.
"What?! It's a term of affection," Peeta counters, turning to the table. "I have something for you," he tells the cat as he sets him on the tabletop. Grabbing his napkin from breakfast he reveals a perfectly cooked piece of bacon.
"You're lucky Haymitch was distracted and Peeta is nice Fuzzball, or you would getting the burnt bits in the pan," I tell the feline.
Peeta grins down at Buttercup as he breaks off a large chunk of bacon and sets it on the table in front of him. Without looking up, he steers us back to the topic of the morning. "So, uh, do you want me to call over to the Justice Building?" he asks.
The question is an obvious one, but it sends my thoughts into a whirlwind. With all the talk about the Capitol and Mockingjay, I had put Gale to the back of my mind, but now I have to face the fact that he's here. In Twelve. He was in my house, in my very presence no more than an hour ago, the reality is hard for my brain to absorb. In brief moments over the last year, when I have allowed him to consciously pass through my mind, I've always imagined him in a dank dark base like Thirteen which oddly gave me comfort. I don't know if was the knowledge that he was physically far away or the image of him in the dank darkness that brought me a sense of peace, as vengeful as that may be. Now he's here, in town, in the Seam, surrounded by the mountains…by our woods, it makes me feel a bit sick to my stomach.
"Katniss?" Peeta asks, concern in voice.
Taking a deep breath, I try to give him a reassuring look. "I will take it to him," I manage to get out.
Peeta's eyes go wide with surprise. "Katniss, that isn't necessary," he blurts out.
"Yes, it is," I say reluctantly.
He shakes his head. "I don't understand. Based on this morning I figured you weren't exactly happy to see him," he says.
"I'm..honestly, I don't know how I feel about it," I confess.
I feel Peeta's eyes boring into me, trying to make sense of my statements.
I run my hands over my hair and try to put words to my jumbled thoughts. "I need to figure out if I can forgive him," I say quietly.
He takes a long deep breath and lets it out. He's not thrilled. "He isn't due your forgiveness," he says evenly.
This time it's me who takes the small step towards him. "I know that. And it's not about him, it's about me. I've spent over a year avoiding even the thought of him...but now he's here, and I'm apparently going to the Capitol again, where I have no doubt he will be, perhaps I should stop avoiding..."
"Him," Peeta interrupts, nearly spitting the word out.
He's upset, I can see the tension in his shoulders. I shake my head and lock my eyes with his, silently begging him to understand, "No not him. Me," I say softly.
His shoulders relax a little and he nods reluctantly. "You're sure?" he asks.
"Nope, not sure at all. But as you pointed out just a moment ago, I've been putting my life back together and this is something I need to face so I can get past it," I say my voice wavering.
Peeta pulls his eyes from mine and looks down at the cat, feeding him the last chunk of bacon. "Do you want me to go with you?" he asks without looking up.
This brings a smile to my face, "You don't have to protect me from this."
"It's what we do," he returns, looking up from the cat.
"I know where to find you if I need to have Gale beaten up," I grin, trying to lighten the mood.
Peeta laughs out loud. "I could take him too," he says, squaring his shoulders and pushing out his chest.
I roll my eyes at his macho vibrato and walk over to grab the envelope where he set it on the window sill. Running my fingers along the sharp edge, I work to summons up the courage I need to find out how I really feel about Gale Hawthorn. With a raised chin I force my feet forward towards the front door but pause briefly when I reach Peeta. "You'll be here when I get home?" I ask softly.
"Yes," is all he says, but with just this one word I know, if this ends up being a disaster, he'll be here to catch me if I fall. With this knowledge, I give him a weak smile of gratitude and head off for the Justice Building.