In the morning, we gather around Tigris's television and eat cans of liver pate for breakfast. We catch one of Beetee's updates on the rebellion before the signal is surrendered back to a Capitol reporter, who starkly announces the blocks of the city to be evacuated immediately. It's a little hard to take them seriously through their green corkscrew curls and golden eyelashes, but other than the permanent and semi-permanent alterations to their appearance, the reporter looks kind of normal - no outlandish make-up, no jewelry. This is wartime reporting in a circus. Outside on the street, we can hear the cries of panic from the Capitol refugees, scurrying amongst one another in the streets. I peer through a crack in the curtains. Most look completely lost, wandering aimlessly in their silk pajamas and slippers on their feet. They cling to one another in a throng, fleeing the fighting. It reminds me of the videos I saw of people fleeing the firebombs in 12, and I feel suddenly nauseated and step away from the window.
Tigris heads out onto the street to get a sense of what's going on, and our crew heads back to the basement. I pace back and forth, certainly driving everyone crazy, but one thing keeps looping through my mind.
I kill Snow. I think of Prim's face when her named was reaped. Her duck tail shirt peeking out from her skirt. The sound of my own guttural scream as I volunteered to take her place. I kill Snow. I think of Peeta, sitting on the windowsill of our room in the Tribute Center before our Games, trying to cling to some last bit of who he was. I kill Snow. I think of me and Rue, of whispering together like girls at a slumber party, of teasing and giggling and ultimately, of singing her to sleep. I kill Snow. I think of my father, who never would have been in the mines if it weren't for the fate of where he was born. I kill Snow. I think of Haymitch, drinking away a life too painful to remember and too important to forget. I kill Snow. I think of Peeta, who he was - a painter, a friend, a baker; and who he is now. I think of what Snow took away. His father is dead. His mother is dead. His brothers are dead. I kill Snow. I kill Snow. I kill Snow.
Tigris finally returns in the late afternoon, with hot food and information. As we dig in, she describes the City Circle, packed with refugees trying to find shelter for the night. Peacekeepers are going door to door, placing them in homes - voluntarily or not.
"Tigris, that could be you," says Peeta. I realize he's right. That even this narrow hallway of a shop could be appropriated as numbers swell. The television anchor reports of hysteria in the crowds as the temperature plummets at sunset. They show the picture of a young boy who had been beaten to death after being mistaken for Peeta. His picture looks nothing like Peeta, save for his curly blonde hair.
"We will need to go first thing in the morning," I say. "We don't know how much time we have." The others nod in agreement.
The reporter finally states that the President's Mansion will be open to refugees in the City. My jaw drops in shock, but I close it again when I realize my mouth is gaping.
"Do you think he'd really do that? Show compassion to his people?" I ask.
"I think he has to now, at least for the cameras," Cressida replies, sitting back in her seat. I look at Gale and I can feel his mind clicking, his trapper's instinct taking over.
"It's not compassion. He's using them as a human shield. He knows the rebellion will be in the City Circle by morning. They are nothing more than a sympathetic barrier between himself and the rebels. If anything, he'll cause more collateral damage. If he wanted to protect them, he'd shut down the pods north of the city and move there. If anything, he's just stuffing the Mansion full of innocent people hoping Coin won't have the guts to take it out." Gale's assessment rings truth through the room.
"He knows that won't work. He knows what they did to The Nut." I reply back. Thinking about that day still makes my stomach churn. It was the day I realized I didn't know who Gale was anymore.
"What we did at The Nut," Gale says in response, meeting my eyes dead on. We retreat to the basement for the evening, each piling into our individual fur cocoons. After cuffing him to the stairs, I take the spot next to Peeta. The night is restless. Pollux is still grieving for his brother, and quietly cries himself to sleep. Cressida can't seem to warm up, and she keeps piling more and more furs until I'm certain she'll suffocate. The only one sleeping is Gale, who seems to finally have settled realizing I'm not going to bolt tonight. In the dark I look over at Peeta. He turns his head to me and our eyes lock. I don't think I've looked him in the eye this long since he came back. I think about last night, his conversation with Gale.
"You remembered about the office?" I whisper, with a small smile in the corner of my mouth.
"Yeah, I remember," he says back, his face neutral. He's quiet for a bit, and I can tell something doesn't make sense to him.
"You can just ask - real or not real?" I say.
"It's just really confusing. It seemed like it was more than just for show."
"It wasn't supposed to be more than that, but I think we both… I know I felt something." I'm more breathing than speaking at this point, but I know he hears me.
"But nothing like that happened again? It just felt so intimate, and I have these memories of you with me on the train."
"I was with you on the train, but nothing happened, Peeta. We just slept." I stop and think a moment before I confess, "I can't really sleep without you."
"I don't sleep either." He breaks my gaze and stares toward the far wall. "I haven't slept in months, not really."
I pull myself up and Peeta immediately stiffens, his body defensive. I feel my chest tighten in response, and I reach into my pocket for the tiny keys that unlock his handcuffs. I feel his body pull away from me as I lean over and unlock the handcuffs from the railing of the stairs.
"Katniss, I don't think this is a good idea."
"I do," I say back. I take his hands in mine and unclasp the cuffs from each wrist. The bandages I wrapped around the raw flesh of his wrist earlier that night are a stark white in comparison to the rest of the basement. Peeta rubs each of them as he rolls his hands and tries to get the blood flowing into his fingers again.
"Come here," I say, and lift my fur blanket up for him. Peeta just stares at me as the warm air billows away from my body. "You must be freezing. Your body isn't even really covered, Peeta." He assesses me again. "It's like on the train. It's just you and me and sleep."
Finally, Peeta crawls under the blanket. At first he lays next to me, his body straight and rigid. We don't touch. I breathe under the covers - we begin to warm and his body begins to relax into mine. I lay there, and I wait. I wait for him to come back to me. Both our eyes are wide open. I roll onto my side facing him. He looks down at me, and for a split second, I see the storm in his eyes settle. He lifts the arm closest to me, and I pull myself into him. I rest my head on his chest and listen as his heart slows into that steady, strong pulse that has sung me to sleep so many times before. His hand instinctively begins unweaving my braid, like he used to, and tears threaten to run down my cheeks.
Peeta feels the change in my body and he whispers, "Is this not okay? I shouldn't have touched your hair."
"It's more than okay, Peeta. It's like old times. It's what you used to do."
"And then we'd just sleep?"
"Yeah. And then we'd just sleep." And we do. We both do for the first time in months.
The morning creeps in sooner than I'd hoped. Yesterday I wanted nothing more than this day to come, but lying here, I just want more time. I lost the last few months to being the Mockingjay, and for just one more moment I want to be Katniss. I can't actually tell what time it is - there is no light in the basement - but Tigris said she'd come get us around dawn. I stretch my body a little, and Peeta pulls me in closer. I breathe into his chest and wrap my arms around him.
"Maybe we should put you back," I whisper. "So we don't have mass panic when no one knows where you are."
"Yeah," he agrees and he begins working his way out from our cocoon. "It's so cold out here," he whispers back at me as he works the cuffs back onto his wrists. I latch him in, and then cover him with some furs from our pile.
"I think we have another hour, you should try to sleep some more if you can."
"I don't think I will, but honestly, this is the most rested I've felt in a long time. I feel like my head is clearer." He looks at me with a loving expression that so reminds me of old Peeta that a lump forms in my throat. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Yeah," I smile back at him. "I actually slept."
"No nightmares?"
"You remember my nightmares?" I ask.
"I do. Part way through the night you stirred, and I instinctively prepared myself to comfort you, but you just stayed asleep. It felt so familiar, and then I remembered. I remembered talking to you, stroking your hair, rubbing your back. I remember you curling up in my lap."
"Yeah, that sounds about right."
"Did I get them too? I don't remember that in reverse," he asks.
"You did, but you never woke me up. You once told me your nightmares were always about losing me, and when you woke up with me next to you, that was all you needed," I reply.
"My nightmares are still about losing you."
We look at each other for a moment. I reach out and touch his face. He flinches, just for a second, but then he relaxes into my hand. He twists his head so his lips are on my palm, and he breathes into my hand, "I'm so sorry, Katniss."
I remember why I'm here. In this basement. I kill Snow.
"We should get ready," I say.