The two or so weeks between Plutarch's visit and when we're set to leave for the Capitol are strange and anxiety-ridden. We all try to live our lives as normal, and to some degree find success, but the fear of what's to come never fully leaves. Haymitch blacks out most days, which was once normal, but hadn't been for a time as he'd been trying to improve himself for Effie. Peeta and I spend hours upon hours in our respective places of comfort - him in the bakery and me in the woods - but always find ourselves in desperate need of holding each other by the time evening comes around.
My nightmares have gotten worse again, which isn't surprising, I guess, considering what we're heading into. At least once a night, if not more, I wake up screaming and crying, and Peeta holds me and tries to calm me down. They're mostly about Prim, but also Finnick and Boggs and everyone else we lost in the Capitol. Everyone else who's places of death I'm about to pass by and have to pretend to smile over.
Peeta's trying his best to be here for me in every possible way, and I love him for it, but it's hard for him too. He's been generally on edge, sometimes locking himself in our room alone because he's worried he might flash. He's only actually flashed once during these two weeks, which I take to be a victory all things considered, but he's still mad at himself about it. It really wasn't that bad; we were in the living room and he just went stiff and had to clutch the back of a chair, muttering his mantra of familiar works to try to bring himself back. He hurt his hands a little bit with how hard he was digging them into the chair, but no real damage was done. He collapsed onto the ground afterwards with exhaustion and sadness, and I just spent the night down there with him, holding him and rocking him and telling him how much I love him.
On our last night in 12 before the trip, Peeta and I are packing bags. I don't think we'll really need that much; the train ride each way won't be more than a couple of days, and I have no doubt that once we reach the Capitol we won't have much choice in what we wear, at least not when we appear in public. I'm throwing a random assortment of shirts and pants into my bag haphazardly while Peeta folds all of his clothes and places them in his bag neatly. It's the stupidest thing for me to be bothered by, but in my vulnerable and distressed state, I find it ridiculous that Peeta is bothering to be neat and pack his clothes carefully. I know in reality that it's just out of habit, but it feels right now like he's giving too much respect to this charade we're being forced to perform.
"I just don't know how you can stand it!" I burst out, thrusting a sleep shirt into my bag with a huff. "How are you being thoughtful about this whole thing when all of it is just cruel?!" Peeta's face registers a little bit of confusion, but he pushes it away quickly.
"I can't stand it, Katniss," he says softly, pausing his packing to look me in the eye. "Not one part of me can stand it. But I'm just trying to do what I'd normally do, if I was going on some sort of trip I'd actually want to go on, to pretend I have some sort of control over it." I sigh. He's right and he makes perfect sense, and I have absolutely no reason to be mad at him whatsoever. In fact, I think out of all the people in the world he is the person I am least mad at, and I'm pretty mad at the whole world right now.
"You're right," I say. "I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm still scared. I've been trying to convince myself it'll be fine, or that at the very least it will be short, but I just don't know if I can do it. I don't want to go." My voice gets very quiet and small on the last sentence, and I feel like a child. I'm pathetic. Frankly, as much as I hate every aspect of Plutarch's being for using us and manipulating us into doing this, there is also such a larger part of myself that I hate for being affected so much by it. I should be strong enough for this not to be that big of a deal, but I'm not. I am very very weak.
"I know," Peeta says softly, wrapping his arms around me. "I know. I'm with you, and I feel the same way about all of it." I allow myself to fall into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face in the fabric of his shirt. I'm steadied a bit by his warmth and by the familiar smell of him. It brings me out of myself enough to at least be able to make a crucial point clear.
"Peeta," I say, swallowing and trying to clear the lump in my throat. "I know you're going to be there for me, and I appreciate that so much. There isn't one doubt in my mind that I'll need you and you'll be there for me. But I know you'll need me too, and I need you to promise that you won't be afraid to ask for my help because you're worried about upsetting me. I don't want you to feel like a burden. I want to be there for you." In addition to worrying about myself in all this mess, I'm also worried about Peeta. I'm not worried that he could hurt me during a flash, honestly that's the lowest concern on my mind. I'm worried he'll put himself through hell because he'll be so focussed on taking care of me that he won't take care of himself. I don't want him to do that.
Peeta tilts his head down to me and smiles softly. He brushes the hair out of my face and moves my head so my eyes meet his.
"I won't," he whispers. "I promise." He places his lips on mine, gently and tenderly. I am somehow immensely comforted by just the feel of him, in a way that only Peeta has ever had the power to do to me.
The two of us finish our packing quickly and get into bed soon after. We don't say much, but we hold each other for hours. It's what we did on the Victory Tour. It's what works. Peeta falls asleep after a few hours, his hand still knotted in my hair. I don't sleep, not really. I'm not panicking yet, but only because I'm in Peeta's arms. He's getting more sleep tonight than he has in weeks, as I've been screaming my head off most nights, so I try to stay awake and let him rest. Sleep won't bring rest for me tonight anyways, so I might as well let him be.
I nod off despite myself, maybe around 5 am. I know that I dream but I don't remember it. When I wake up in the morning I can feel a leftover sense of panic and anxiety. I stretch my hand out to the side but don't find Peeta, which isn't shocking. He's been waking up early to stress bake since we found out about this trip. Honestly, I was probably barely asleep last night by the time he woke up.
I force myself up and out of bed and throw on some clothes, not paying much attention to what I'm wearing as long as it's comfortable. After I finish getting ready, I grab my bag and head downstairs. Unsurprisingly, I find Peeta in the kitchen with coffee and freshly baked cinnamon rolls.
"Morning," he says. He's smiling but I can tell he's nervous. I'm sure I look similarly.
"Hi," I say quietly, grabbing a cinnamon roll off the tray and taking a bite.
"Ready for a 'big big big day'?" he asks jokingly, and I roll my eyes at the reference to Effie.
"Well, as ready as I'm gonna be," I say, shrugging. "What time do we need to be on the train?" I have made zero effort in memorizing schedules or preparing myself for this trip in any way beyond what is absolute necessity. It's my stupid, stubborn form of dissent. Peeta's too good and polite for it, though.
"About 20 minutes from now, so we should head out soon," he says, and I nod. "I figured we'll stop by Haymitch's first, there's no way he's awake." I nod again and the two of us head out soon after. When we reach Haymitch's house I pound loudly on his door.
"Haymitch!" I call, but receive no answer. "Should we go in?" I ask.
"I guess so," Peeta says, and I push open the door. I groan when I take a step inside. A lot of the progress Haymitch had made has been reversed since we found out we had to go back to the Capitol. The furniture is all still in its right place and I guess it's relatively cleaner than it was before, but the scattered dishes and rancid smells have returned in full force. As we walk in I spot Haymitch passed out in the usual seat at his kitchen table.
"Haymitch!" I call again, kicking his shin with the toe of my boot. He lets out some sort of strangled groan and looks up at me, murder in his eyes.
"Whatdyou want?" he says, slurring.
"It's time to leave. The train will be here soon," I say, annoyed. While not particularly surprising, it's always a little disappointing to find Haymitch like this, especially since he'd been doing well for a while. Plus, I don't like having to baby him. It tires me out and I don't have a lot of energy to spare right now as it is.
"Eh, fuck the train," Haymitch mumbles, rolling over to try and take a sip from the bottle in his hand only to grow disappointed when he realizes it's empty.
"And I take you haven't packed, either," I say, ignoring his comment and instead focusing on his disheveled appearance. He snorts at me.
"I'll go throw something together," Peeta offers, heading upstairs towards Haymitch's bedroom. Now I'm alone with the older man and I'm thoroughly annoyed with him.
"Hey," I say sharply, causing him to look up at me. "You need to cut this shit out, at least for a couple days. I need you and Peeta needs you. You're our mentor or our guardians or whatever the hell you want to call yourself, act like it."
"Always great to hear kind words from you, sweetheart," Haymitch says snarkily. I'm angry now.
"I'm serious!" I say. "You don't get to just ride this out by drinking yourself into oblivion, because like it or not we're lucid and we need you." My anger at Haymitch is almost entirely misdirected, but it needs to come out somewhere and he's both annoying me and scaring me. I don't want to lose him like this again, and I need him more than I would care to admit.
"You and the boy are more than welcome to join me in oblivion," Haymitch says. "That's probably the easier option. Name one good reason that I should be lucid instead of you just being drunk too."
"I can think of one," Peeta says from the stairs, heading towards us with a bag for Haymitch in his hands.
"Oh yeah?" Haymitch challenges, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah," Peeta says cooly and confidently. "Effie's going to be pissed as hell at you if the first time she sees you in months you're like this." Haymitch doesn't have a good response to this because there isn't one. Peeta is unequivocally right. Effie will understand if Haymitch needs to drink to get through this, but if he's a messy, mean drunk who's too out of it to help us, she will be livid. I'm not sure if she would be able to forgive him this time.
"Fine," says Haymitch, grabbing the bag roughly out of Peeta's hands. The three of us leave Haymitch's house and walk to the train station in relative silence.
We head onto the train, and it's disconcertingly familiar. It's not the exact same train that we once rode to the Games - I'm sure that was destroyed in the war along with most of the infrastructure - but it's close. The layout is virtually the same, just the finishes aren't quite so unnecessarily fancy, which is honestly good. That money should be going someplace else, I'm glad it isn't here anymore.
I turn to Peeta, wanting to make sure the familiarity of our environment isn't triggering some sort of shiny memory for him, but he seems ok so far. Subconsciously, I head towards the compartment in the same spot as the one I used to stay in when going to and from the Games or the Victory Tour. Peeta follows me in and we both set our bags down inside as the train begins to pull away from District 12.
"How are you doing?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over my hand, which is joined in his.
"I don't know," I say, truthfully. "I think ok right now, considering." It's strange. I thought I'd panic the minute I got on the train, but I don't feel that bad yet. I'm uncomfortable, but that isn't that unusual for me. I think my brain is sort of numbing itself right now in order to protect me from whatever massive expenditure it will be going through once we actually reach the Capitol.
"Good," Peeta says, kissing my forehead. He turns and goes to unpack his bags into the drawers while I sit on the bed and chat with him. It's a habit of his I've never understood; he always unpacked on the Victory Tour too. I really don't know why he bothers, especially considering we'll only be on this train for about two nights, but he always likes things neat. I just shove my bag in a corner and fish things out of it as needed.
When he finishes up, we decide to head to the lounge car. It's weird to see the land flying by outside the windows. I haven't left 12 since I've been back after the war, and I think if I wasn't going to the Capitol it might feel strangely freeing and exhilarating. Right now it's just full of contradictions.
Haymitch is in the lounge car when we arrive, holding a piece of paper up in front of his face. He looks slightly more lucid now that he's woken up a bit more and had coffee, though he's still in desperate need of a shower.
"What's that?" Peeta asks, and he and I take seats on the couch near Haymitch.
"Itinerary," Haymitch says. "One of the attendants gave it to me, apparently Plutarch made sure they promised to give it to us."
"Well, what are we in for?" I ask.
"We arrive the day after tomorrow, afternoon-ish I would guess. It's not too bad of a first day, they've got us doing some sort of panel about our lives and experiences after the war." I groan inwardly at that. Having to speak in public sounds like hell for me. The boys here are much better at it than I - it's easy for Peeta and Haymitch is actually decently skilled at it too. I'm alway a mess at that.
"Then the next day is where it all goes shitty," Haymitch says. "They're interviewing us in small groups and then they want us in some government meetings. I'm sure it's just for the effect. That night there's a ceremony and a party we have to go to. It seems like we'll be doing shit for them the whole day. Then on the last day there's some luncheon before we can get the hell out of there." I let myself groan audibly this time. This sounds awful. I am immensely grateful that Peeta was able to at least negotiate the length of it down to just the three days.
"Is our train stopping in 7 and 4 to get Johanna and Annie?" Peeta asks. As I had suspected, Plutarch had made the same argument to them as he made to us. Annie was overwhelmed and confused when we spoke to her about it, crying a little throughout the whole conversation. Johanna was just nothing but livid.
"Yeah," Haymitch says, looking down at the sheet. "Yeah, it says we'll be in 7 tomorrow morning and 4 sometime that evening, and then the next morning we stop at 2 before getting to the Capitol."
"2?" I ask. "Who's in two?" Haymitch sighs and then looks up from the paper to make eye contact with me.
"Gale and Beetee." I feel my mind start to reel. I assumed Beetee was coming amongst all the Victors, but I genuinely hadn't thought about Gale. I should have, I realize, because Plutarch did mention the former Star Squad members. Besides me and Peeta, the only ones who are alive are just Gale, Cressida, and Pollux, and the latter two are already in the Capitol. I don't know how I'm going to handle seeing Gale again. I've only spoken to him that one time after the election, otherwise we've had no contact since the war ended. I'm scared and angry and overwhelmed. It's going to be near impossible to even look at him, and to have to do it in the place, on the day, where his creation killed Prim? I think it might kill me. I think I might kill him.
I feel myself start shaking and Peeta wraps his arms around me.
"It's ok, Katniss," he whispers into my hair. I shake my head.
"No, it-it's not," I mumble. "I...I don't want to see him. I - Prim," I squeak out, hyperventilating a little bit. God, I'm pathetic. I'm not even in the Capital yet, he's not even here yet, and I'm already a wreck. I don't like myself like this. It's been awhile since I've been this bad; I'm not the most stable person at the best of times, but I hate how much I've regressed just from this one situation. I don't want to let myself fall apart, but I don't know exactly what to do to stop it. I'm tired from lack of sleep and it isn't helping me. I feel like I could come completely undone at any moment.
"I'm here, I've got you," Peeta says, tightening the grip of his arms around me. I take deep breaths and attempt to calm the fast pace of my beating heart. I try to remind myself that I'm not alone this time. When I fell apart after the war, I didn't have Peeta like this. No one can fix everything, but he does his best to get damn close. I sniffle and sigh, pulling my head back to look him in the eyes. His face shows deep concern and pity, and I'd like to be annoyed but honestly I'm acting pretty pitiful right now. I rub my eyes with my sleeve and he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
"What can I do to make this better?" Peeta asks genuinely. I can see it in his eyes that he really means it; he doesn't know how to help but he will do anything within his power to do so. I don't know how much he really can do, because none of this is his fault and he doesn't have the power to change any of it. Still, I know myself, and I know that his presence with me is more helpful than most anything else.
"Just be here with me," I say, sniffling again.
"Of course," Peeta says, nodding, before pulling me back onto the sofa so I'm seated leaning up against his chest. I hear Haymitch shift next to us, and I feel a little embarrassed having broken down in front of him like this, even though there isn't really any point in it. He's seen me at my lowest times, at my most dysfunctional moments. As much as I hate being vulnerable in front of people, that ship has long since sailed for the men in this room with me.
I sigh and attempt to settle myself comfortably into Peeta's lap. He undoes my braid and runs his fingers through my hair, and it's soothing in a way completely disproportionate with the simplicity of the act itself. Haymitch flips between TV channels until he finds something he can tolerate, and I feel myself starting to slip back and forth between sleep and wakefulness. Between my lack of sleep and elevated anxiety, I'm exhausted. The sound of the TV manages to drown out some of the thoughts moving around my head, and Peeta's arms are the home for me that they always have been. I let myself drift off.
When I wake up Peeta's asleep, his head lolling over onto his shoulder. I look around and see Haymitch is still in his same spot from before, but now he's nursing a glass of amber liquid.
"How long have I been asleep?" I mumble.
"Couple hours," Haymitch says. "The boy knocked out maybe a half an hour after you." I nod and we sit in silence for a moment. I feel a little bit better after getting some sleep, even just a few hours. I just don't know what to do to prepare myself. I want to guard myself while also helping Peeta and all of my other friends. I don't know how to do it.
"Well, we're headed to the Capitol. Wanna be a mentor again?" I ask wryly. Haymitch snorts a little.
"Just do the bare minimum so they don't ask you to do anything over again. This time around there's no risk to not being perfect, but the smoother things go the less time we have to hear some Capitol moron giving us instructions."
"You better be careful Haymitch, your girlfriend won't like hearing you say that," I joke. He rolls his eyes at me.
"Yeah yeah," he says, before falling silent for another minute. "And don't be stupid in that way only you can be," he adds.
"And which way are you referring to, exactly?" I asked, my tone part joking and part annoyed. I don't think there's a limit to the number of occasions on which Haymitch has thought I acted stupidly.
"Just fucking talk, sweetheart," he says. I raise an eyebrow at him, a little confused. "You're gonna wanna hide or run or whatever, but when you feel like you're gonna freak just talk to the boy. Talk to me, if you have to. I don't want to be pulling you out of any storage closets this weekend." I'm a bit surprised that Haymitch chose to broach the topic of emotions like this, but I nod nonetheless. He's right. I don't want to let myself do that either.
Haymitch and I just sit together in silence as Peeta sleeps for about an hour or so. When he gets up we eat lunch and then try to occupy ourselves for the rest of the day. It's a strange sort of day, where nothing bad happens yet there's a constant sense of anxiety about what's to come. I stay in the shower for far too long, watching my finger get pruny as the hot water rushes over me. Peeta has already filled about a quarter of a sketchbook that was empty when we left this morning. He and I don't really leave each other's presence, though, and it helps, at least a little.
When night falls, I'm anxious. There is no way I can sleep without something terrible haunting my mind tonight. Peeta can definitely feel my anxiety as I lie against his chest. My muscles are tense and my heart is beating far too fast for lying in bed.
"Look at me," Peeta says, and I look up to meet his gaze. "I've got you. Anything and everything you need, I'm with you. Always." I give him a small smile and kiss his lips gently.
"Same goes for you," I say. "You have me, for anything you need. Always." He plants a kiss on my hair before lying back onto his pillow. I wrap my body around him so we are as close as possible, and I can tell it helps both of us.
I think back to all of the other times Peeta and I have held each other like this on the train, trying to get sleep and fight the horrors from both the past and the future. Strangely, as terrifying as those times were, something about the disparity between then and now helps bring some reason and rationality back to me. I am scared of what this trip will hold; there is just no way for me to deny that. But we've been through worse. Peeta and I have been able to survive together, time and time again. It's what we do when we're together. This time should be no different.