It takes a few hours, but Peeta finally comes to. His breathing tube is removed. The nurses have set up cots for everyone in the waiting room across the hall, and our family files out after many embraces and soft words. We can hear them laughing, the stress of the last few days dissipating. It sounds like Johanna has squirted toothpaste in Delly's hair, and Delly, ever the optimist, is trying to enumerate on the many benefits of mint on hair vitality while Effie frets at it with a wet paper towel. They close the door, and finally it's just me and Peeta.
"Hey stranger," he says hoarsely. He has to wear an oxygen mask on his face until his right lung is fully recovered, but I can see him smile underneath it.
"Hey," I say back. My voice sounds like gravel. Peeta strokes my hand with his. I'm still so mad that he left me, but I understand why he did what he did. I probably would have bled out before anyone found me. I think Peeta thought he was dead either way, but he wasn't about to let me drift away in a forest. If the situation were reversed, I would have run for help, too.
"You just had to go get a matching bullet hole, huh?" he chokes out, with a lopsided grin. "Saw mine and just got jealous?"
"We are a matching set," I whisper. He wants to know how I am. "Well, my mom says it's going to take some physical therapy to get me walking again, but all the nerve damage was repaired, so I'll recover eventually. It's just reteaching the pathways what they do," I explain. I'm not sure what to tell him about the rest. I just decide to get it over with. "She also said that the bullet cut through my uterus and I lost an ovary. They don't know what that means if I ever want to…" I just get quiet. I bat a tear away from my eye and try to turn my face. I don't want Peeta to see me crying over this.
"Hey," he says, squeezing my hand. "It will be alright. Even if you can't… you know… if you ever wanted to be a mom, we could always adopt."
"I've been thinking we may need to adopt Johanna," I joke, and he smiles at me. "What's this we business, anyway? What vested interest do you have in my womb?" I keep it light.
"Katniss," he says, leaning into me, "I have a very vested interest in your womb." He kisses me gently, then falls back to his bed, panting. He replaces the oxygen mask. The whole movement was exhausting, and soon he is drifting back to sleep, leaving me with my thoughts.
I know I don't want kids now. But I'm not so sure I don't want kids ever. I could see Peeta, maybe a decade down the road, trying to knead bread in his bakery with a rugrat sitting on his foot, begging for a ride on his false leg. Peeta pretending to shake her off, and the girl hanging on for dear life as he rattles her until they both fall to the floor, dizzy and laughing. I could see him tickle her belly, and I can hear her chortle as her grey eyes lock on his. Not today, but maybe someday… I drift off, too.
The next morning, the first visitor in our room is Annie. Her auburn hair curls delicately around her shoulders, and she smiles quietly at us. I ask about her baby, but she's left him home. She thinks the hospital is too full of germs. I agree, and ask if she can break me out. She laughs, and shows us pictures of her son, Finn. He looks so much like Finnick it makes my chest ache. Annie and Peeta talk. They've shared a special bond since their time in the Capitol. When Johanna sneaks in, the three of them are thick as thieves. I decide to nap.
A while later, I hear my mom come into the room. Peeta has dozed off, and I keep my eyes closed. She and Annie are conversing. They laugh and speak in shorthand. It's obvious they are very close. I want to feel happy for them - two widows, finding solace and love in friendship, much like I have with my makeshift family. Instead though, I feel envy. My mom decided not to be with me, yet here she is, a surrogate mother to another Victor wounded by the war. She's moved on from the burned up daughter with her husband's eyes. Bile rises in my throat and I swallow it bitterly. My mother leaves and I let my breath calm me. When I open my eyes a while later, I observe the small, intricate braid that frames Annie's face. I hadn't noticed it before. I recognize the work my mom's nimble fingers. I try not to resent her. Finnick wouldn't want that. I wish Gale were here. He'd understand.
Annie is so gentle and sweet, it's hard to stay angry with her for long. I don't even know how she manages to breathe after what she's been through. She is incredibly brave. It is obvious it's her son that drives her forward, whom she doesn't ever stop talking about. She truly seems happy when describing his favorite food, or the way his lips purse in his sleep, like Finnick's used to. They go to the beach nearly every day, and Finn is natural in the water. He stays in until his lips turn purple and Annie has to haul him out by the arm, his chin chattering.
I meet with doctors and begin a physical therapy regimen. My family refuses to leave 4 until I do, so they end up crashing with Annie. Peeta grows stronger every day. It takes me about two weeks before I can walk, and almost a month to do so without support. Johanna attends every therapy session and pushes me through. After I struggled through my first session, she a made a joke that Peeta and I should join a traveling freakshow. Come see the scarred couple with only one working leg between them! I laugh. Having her coach me through therapy reminds me of our training in 13, and I think about how far she's come. The doctors say it may be months before I'm back to running in the woods. That's okay. I think the woods and I need a break for a little while.
One night, Annie takes the family out to experience "the real 4." She tells them about a local spot where they play music, and you can eat salty seafood and drink salty liquor and dance until your skin is covered in a salty sweat. It sounds wonderful, but Peeta and I are grateful for some alone time. I crawl in his bed, leaving mine vacant, as it has been most nights. The bed is tiny, and our bodies press together, but I revel in every inch of his skin I can feel against mine. It's early, but I'm ready for this long day to be over. My therapists really pushed me today, and my legs have been quivering most of the evening. I'm tired of this place. The smell. The food. My mother. I'm ready to go home, so I'm throwing every effort into the therapy. Effie comments how much better I'm doing than when I tried to walk in heels the first time, and I scowl. She smiles right back.
Peeta strokes my hair and we watch the sun set through the hospital window. We have a beautiful view of the ocean, which actually seems like a cruel reminder that the world outside is stunning and I'm in here.
"How well do you remember the roof?" I ask. Peeta smiles.
"Bits and pieces. I remember feeling… safe. And happy. But I don't remember a lot of the details," he says. Each time Peeta tells me he doesn't remember something, it's like a tiny devastation in my heart. I try not to show it, but I can tell he feels the same way. "Tell me about it?" he asks.
"Well, it was the morning before the interviews. Effie and Haymitch had given us the day off," I say.
"Why would they do that?" he asks.
"Oh, they were livid about our performance in front of the Gamemakers." I pause for a moment. "When you told me you painted Rue… that you held them accountable, if only for that one fleeting moment… I never looked at you the same." I can't believe I'm saying any of this. I hate stuff like this, but this last month has been awful and I know it will make him feel better. "I already knew I was going die for you in the Arena. I wanted to save you more than anything. Even though I knew my death would destroy my family, I didn't care. I couldn't think about anything else. I just said goodbye to it all, and took your hand. Anyway, when you told me you painted Rue… something in me just… lit. I think that's when I knew. It's not when I admitted it to myself, but that's when I knew."
"Knew what?" he asks.
"That we could never be just friends." I say. He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses my palm through a grin. I clear my throat. "That next day on the roof, I just let myself be with you. It was like this tiny slice of paradise in the midst of chaos. We had a picnic. You sketched. We played a game with the force field. We watched the sun set." I look out the window again.
"I wish I could freeze that moment in time," he breathes, and I smile. I lean forward and lightly sweep my lips across his. I feel his hands on my waist, and he shifts my body on top of his. I moan quietly in his ear as he kisses my jaw. My hands linger at the hem of his shirt, my fingers sweeping the skin of his stomach.
"Ahem," a man clears his throat and enters our room unceremoniously. When I see his face, I pick up a plastic pitcher of water from the tray next to our bed and throw it at his head. It splashes at his feet and he wipes the front of his shirt. I am seething.
"Get. Out." I growl.
"It's lovely to see you too, Miss Everdeen," Plutarch replies.