There is one moment that feels like an eternity. One moment where it seems time has stopped. One moment in which Peeta's blood splatters from his arm to the ground, and yet he, Haymitch, and I are all utterly still, as if paralyzed by a force none of us can see. Peeta himself seems to be the first to break free from whatever trance this is. He looks up at me and I see his eyes change from black to blue.
"I'm sorry," he says weakly, and then he collapses onto the floor. The sound of his body hitting the ground breaks the spell I've been stuck in, and immediately time seems to change from moving far too slow to flying entirely too fast.
"No!" I shriek, immediately rushing down to him. He's not conscious but he's breathing. "No! Peeta! No!" I'm hitting at his face with my hands, trying to make him open his eyes. It's not a sensible strategy, but I'm beyond sense. I'm hysterical, tears streaming down my face and panic hitting me harder in my chest with each passing moment he doesn't respond.
"Katniss," I hear Haymitch's voice say, although he sounds distant, as if he's worlds away. "Where do you keep your first aid supplies?"
"Kitchen," I choke out, my eyes not leaving Peeta's face, which is growing paler. He's still breathing, he's still breathing, I tell myself, trying not to lose it all. I check his pulse to make sure my eyes aren't tricking me, and I find one, although it is entirely erratic and off. I know this can happen when he flashes, when the bit of tracker jacker venom that will never leave his veins is activated. I don't know how long he can sustain it.
Haymitch bends down next to me holding a kit full of bandages and other supplies. I take them from him in shaky hands. Even in my damaged state, having lived with my mother for so long I know more about wound care than Haymitch does. I place gauze and a bandage on top of the laceration on Peeta's wrist.
"Hold this," I tell Haymitch. "Keep pressure on it." He nods and keeps a steady grip on the bandage. I rifle through the first aid kit, looking for more supplies, until I notice how quickly the gauze is being stained red by his blood.
"No," I whisper. "No no no..." I know what I have to do, although the overwhelmingly horrible sense of deja vu makes it hard for me to stomach. I feel physically sick as I rummage around the kit, looking for the firm black band. When I pull out the tourniquet, I am back in the Arena. He is dying, having been attacked by the mutts. He is dying. I shake my head to clear it and bring myself back to this moment, before applying the tourniquet to his arm and tying it as tightly as I dare. It's hard to tell, but I think the blood flow is lessening.
"We need to take him to the clinic," Haymitch says. I nod, but I can't seem to speak or take my eyes off of Peeta. He's so pale, and even though he isn't conscious his face looks like it's contorted in agony. I'm not sure whether that's from the physical pain of his wound or the leftover mental anguish from the flash.
"Help me get him up," Haymitch says. It takes some effort. Peeta is sturdy and he's entirely dead weight unconscious like this, but eventually with a good amount of grunting and groaning Haymitch and I are able to support him between us, with one of his arms around each of our necks. We start making our way out the door, slowly and awkwardly and somewhat haphazardly.
As we walk out into the summer night, the air is still warm as if nothing has changed, as if our entire world hasn't just shifted. One thought sticks in my mind.
"Haymitch why hasn't he woken up?" I ask, my voice tiny and fearful. I'm not entirely sure if I want to know the answer. If he's lost too much blood...
"I don't know," Haymitch says, grunting as he readjusts Peeta on his shoulder. "I could be wrong, but I don't think it's the blood loss. I think it's the flashing. It can drain him so much, and this one was bad. And of course the blood loss can't be helping. We just need to get him help as soon as possible. I don't know how long he can last like this."
I nod and we keep moving into town and towards the clinic. I am furious at myself for how slowly I'm moving. Peeta is a lot bigger than me, and I'm struggling to carry his weight, even with Haymitch's help. I keep stumbling and having to adjust his grip so I don't drop him.
"Fuck!" I scream out in frustration as I stumble over an uneven stone and Peeta nearly slips off my shoulder. I'm crying, both out of fear and frustration.
"Keep calm, sweetheart," Haymitch says. "We can't lose it, we have to be here for him." I nod and bite my lip to try to quiet the sobbing sounds that are coming out of my mouth.
"Katniss? I - what..." I hear a voice and turn my head to the side to see Thom rushing towards us. His expression is horrified as he takes in the scene: Haymitch and I dragging Peeta unconscious through town, my shirt drenched in Peeta's blood, Haymitch's face already starting to bruise from where Peeta kicked him earlier. It's clear that Thom has no comprehension of what's happening, but he doesn't ask questions.
"The clinic?" he says, and I nod my head frantically. "Let me," he says, and he takes Peeta's arm off from around my neck and wraps it around his own. Thom is tall, and he has the strength that anyone who worked in the mines can't help but garner. He and Haymitch together are able to move Peeta much quicker than we were moving before, and I walk at a fast pace alongside them.
When we reach the clinic, I run up ahead so I can open the door for them. I've never actually been in here before. We enter a waiting room with yellow walls and a receptionist desk. There are chairs all along the walls, but no one's here right now. The woman at the desk was clearly enjoying the lack of a busy evening, as she's flipping through a magazine behind her desk. She looks up when she hears us enter, though, and her expression changes immediately. She presses a button on a little intercom machine and speaks into it.
"Yes we need triage at the main entrance, stat," she says, before getting up and coming over to us. Within seconds, two medical professionals in white scrubs come rushing out with a stretcher. Thom and Haymitch lower Peeta down onto it, and one of the doctors starts getting him situated and taking his vitals.
"Can you tell us what happened to him?" the other asks, looking at me.
"I, he...he cut his wrist," I say. "With a knife, uh...a steak knife." I see surprise and sadness register on Thom's face, but he does his best to mask his emotions and keep this moment as private as possible.
"Doc," Haymitch says. "I don't know if you're aware of his case or not, but the kid here, Peeta Mellark, was hijacked in the Capitol. He just flashed, and so he's had remnants of tracker jacker venom going through his system. I don't know all the details, but I know it's hard on his heart and his brain. You need to get him patched up and stop the bleeding, and you need to contact Dr. Aurelius in the Capitol and discuss if there are any possible effects on his organs or anything from the flashing."
I'm grateful that Haymitch took over the explanation, because now that we've gotten him here I'm starting to lose it. My breathing is getting quicker and I'm shaking and crying more than ever. I couldn't have made it through that whole explanation, but it's crucial that they know it.
"Alright, we'll make sure to check on that," says the doctor, and they start wheeling him back through the door. I move to follow, but the receptionist holds up her hand to stop me.
"I'm sorry miss," she says. "But you'll have to wait out here, at least until they get him stabilized."
"What, why? What do you mean?" I ask, feeling a mix of anger and desperation burgeoning inside me.
"It's standard policy in order to ensure the privacy of the patient. No one is allowed back there at the moment except for doctors and family members. Once he wakes up, he'll be able to grant permission if he wants to."
"What, so he just has to be back there alone and unconscious?" I ask through tears. "He needs to have someone looking out for him, someone he trusts."
"I'm sorry, the only visitors I can allow at this time are family members," she says. I'm far closer to wringing her neck than I'd like to admit, but Haymitch speaks up.
"The kid has no family," he says. "Can you just let us back there?" The woman looks genuinely sorry, but she shakes her head.
"I'm sorry," she says sadly. "There's nothing I can do." I'm genuinely about to charge her. I don't know what I'm going to do exactly, but I'm fuming and I'm beyond reason. As I take my first step towards her though, Haymitch anticipates my movements and grabs my wrist in his hand to stop me.
"Come on sweetheart, going off on that lady won't help him," he says. "Let's just wait out here." He leads me over to the chairs and sits me down in one before taking the seat next to me. Thom stays standing, drumming his fingers nervously against his leg.
As the full reality of the situation sinks in and I start to fully comprehend just how powerless I am in helping him, the sobs take control of my body. I hug my legs into my chest and bury my face in my knees, crying at a truly indecent volume. Haymitch wraps an arm around me.
"He's going to be alright, sweetheart," he says in the most gentle way that he can. "The kid's lived through worse than this. He'll be okay."
"What if the - the venom did something to him that we don't even know?" I get out through sobs. "The blood is one thing, but we have no idea what could go wrong." I can feel Haymitch tense and then sigh. He's nervous too. He loves Peeta. He doesn't want to lose one of his kids.
"He's in great hands, Katniss," Thom says kindly. "I've met these doctors, they all really know what they're doing. They'll make sure to check him out and take good care of him."
"Thank you, boy," Haymitch mutters to him. I can't bring myself to say anything.
"Of course," says Thom. "How about I run and grab you two some stuff? A change of clothes, a drink maybe? You should stay here." I nod and Haymitch thanks him again, and then Thom is off.
Even though he's been nothing but helpful, nothing but kind, I'm glad he's leaving. It's not that I don't like Thom, I like him very much. It's just that there are very few people in this world I'm comfortable being this vulnerable with, and I know I don't have the energy to mask anything right now. I don't have to when it's just Haymitch. I let myself sob as he rubs circles on my arm. It's strangely comforting and paternal.
"Were there any signs throughout the day that something like this might have been coming?" Haymitch asks. I think about that for a minute, before my heart pangs with a horrible sense of guilt. I lift my head to look at him, my eyes wide with realization and sadness.
"Yes," I say quietly. "Oh my God, I didn't even notice. This morning, at the train station, he said he had a weird little mini-flashback, but he said he was totally fine so I didn't think that much of it. And then later when we were working on the book, his hands were shaking and he spilled water. I thought he was just emotional from working. I didn't even realize what that could mean. I don't even know if he realized."
I'm starting to hyperventilate as I notice how many signs I've missed. "Oh my God I've completely failed him. If I'd have noticed at any earlier point throughout the day it probably never would have gotten this bad."
"Don't think like that, sweetheart," Haymitch says, shaking his head. "This isn't your fault."
"It is!" I cry out, feeling nothing but desperation. "I should know what this looks like in him by now, I should have been able to see it! The flashes get worse the longer you let them build, I should have seen this coming and I should have done something about it. He's had the poison flowing in his veins for way too long and it's entirely my fault."
"It's no one's fault, Katniss," he says grimly. "No one but Snow's." I just shake my head and continue crying. He knows there's no point in arguing this with me any further, so we just sit in silence for a bit.
I'm so stupid. I cannot believe I failed him. Normally I can read him so well, how did I miss this? I know he would never have failed me like this. He notices right away when something is wrong with me, even when I don't want him to. I'm so selfish. I was too absorbed in my own reactions to everything to think about his. In every step of our relationship, I have been selfish. Peeta is everything to me, and if I lose him I will lose myself. I know this to be true. I know how I feel about him. I don't know why I've been too selfish to say it.
"Haymitch, what..." I start, my voice small and hoarse. "What if he isn't ok?"
"He'll be ok," he says definitively, refusing to consider any other option.
"I..." I take a deep breath. "I think I love him. I think I love him, Haymitch."
"I know you love him, sweetheart," he says, putting his arm back around me.
"I love him and I never let him know," I say, the tears starting up again as I realize how much pain I've caused him in his life by keeping this from him even when I knew I felt it.
"He knows," Haymitch says gently. "He's known for a long time now." I don't know if I believe Haymitch. He's a lot more perceptive and better at reading people's emotions than he lets on, but I've given Peeta so many reasons to think I don't love him. I'm not sure if Haymitch is right on this.
"I never told him," I say, desperately trying to get him to understand the depth of my mistake. "What if I never get to?" The last part comes out in a whisper, because I am too deeply horrified by the thought of it.
"You'll get to, sweetheart. You'll get to." He starts up the rubbing motion on my arm again and we just sit like this for hours into the night. Neither of us sleep at all. Thom comes back in a bit and brings us changes of clothes, thermoses of tea, and some food. I'm not hungry at all but I sip the tea, and I slip into the bathroom briefly to change out of my current shirt, which is stained in Peeta's blood. Thom leaves without being asked, understanding that we need privacy right now. I appreciate that a lot.
Haymitch and I just sit in silence, holding each other and waiting. The hours tick by on the clock and it feels like an eternity. I'm exhausted, but I don't dare let myself sleep. I don't even think that I could if I wanted to. At around two in the morning, one of the doctors comes back out to see us. Haymitch and I are immediately on our feet.
"He's stable. You can come in and see him now," he says. I feel an immense wave of relief rushing over me.
"He's awake?" I ask.
"No, but he was briefly," says the doctor. As we gather our stuff and follow the doctor down the hall, he continues explaining. "We stitched his incision and stopped the blood flow. He shouldn't see any permanent damage to his arm. In regards to the effects of the venom, he still seems to be having some lingering after effects, although he is coming back to himself. We're keeping him sedated right now in an effort to avoid any further strain on his heart. When we brought him up from sedation after finishing tending to his arm wound, his heart rate rose to an unhealthy level and he was visibly distressed. He called for you, the first thing he said was your name. We're keeping him under sedation while we wait to hear back from Dr. Aurelius as to what drug combinations could help keep him regulated. While he's out his vital signs are steady, which is a good sign. It's just the matter of figuring out how to keep him that way when he's awake."
I'm not convinced as to how good this all is. To me, the idea that Peeta's body is only able to function properly while in a sort of coma doesn't seem very good at all. The doctor doesn't seem worried, though. He seems confident that this can be resolved, and although my time in 13 has led me to have a deep mistrust of doctors, I try my best to believe him and to not let myself panic.
He opens the door into Peeta's room and beckons for us to enter. I scramble in quickly, Haymitch close behind me. Peeta is lying in the bed, his eyes closed. His left arm is bandaged where he cut himself, and his right arm is disturbed by several tubes connected to an IV pole, but otherwise he looks like he could be sleeping as normal. I'm relieved to see that his face is peaceful, rather than the mask of agony it was earlier. I hear the hum of the heart monitor, and am mollified that its beeping is steady rather than erratic. He's ok. He's going to be ok.
I dump the things I'm carrying on the floor in front of the little chair available for guests, and immediately crawl up into Peeta's bed and nestle myself in beside him. I get a look of disapproval from the doctor, but I return it with such a strong and defiant glare that he seems to decide it isn't worth arguing with me. Haymitch settles into the chair and I start stroking Peeta's blonde curls soothingly.
"I know you can't hear me," I whisper to him. "But I just want to tell you that I've got you. I've got you and I am never ever leaving. I'm going to stay with you. Always."
I might be imagining it out of exhaustion, or it may just be the normal shifting and adjustments of his body in sleep, but I swear his hand moves towards mine. I grasp it tightly in my own and kiss his cheek before curling myself up into him even more and finally closing my eyes.