We are discharged later that week. As our whole crew packs to head back to 12, my mother stops by our room and lingers in the doorway. She doesn't say anything, but our eyes meet and she gives me a small smile. I know she is home here, but it's time for me to go home too. She wordlessly ducks back out again, and I don't even think anyone else noticed her over the din of the noisy room. It felt final. I need to move on.
Johanna is trying to steal things from the hospital - pillows, bags of saline, socks with non-slip grips on the bottom… Gale tries to confiscate the items, and she smashes him with a pillow. He grabs another from my bed, and they beat each other with the pillows while the rest of us press ourselves against the wall to avoid becoming collateral damage. Johanna gives a particularly hard swing, and her pillow bursts in an explosion of feathers, which hang in the air around them for a moment like a cloud of down.
"Let's get out of here," Gale says and grabs her hand. We all scurry out from the room in a hurry. Effie, of all people, simply cannot control her laughter and is snickering under her breath as we sneak past the nurses' station. I'd expect her to be mortified, but she looks at me with a helpless grin when I try to shoosh her. The nurses give her an odd look, and I shove her into the elevator. The rest of our group crowds in, and we hear a groan from down the hall as the hospital staff enters our room. The elevator doors close and we all join Effie.
Our trip back to 12 is via train. We eat dinner in the dining car, and it's odd being here with more than just Effie, Haymitch, Peeta, and me. I spent hours on this train wondering about my family back in 12. About whether Gale was hunting. About whether Prim was doing her homework. About whether Madge was eating lunch alone. For once, the train doesn't feel isolating. My family is actually here with me.
I worry about Haymitch drinking after everything that happened with Mitchell's wife, but he's managed to maintain his sobriety thus far. I have no doubt Effie is a big part of that. I remember watching them on the train during the first Games. I knew people in the Capitol dressed strangely, I saw them on TV and Effie came every year, but seeing her up close in person was bizarre. She looked like slightly grotesque up close. Every bit of her was manipulated to look a certain way. Even her eyelashes were dyed. Her skin was powdered to look almost white, and made the eccentric shades on her lips and eyes pop. The intricacies of her clothes, the spike of her heel, the way she preened like a grosbeak in a puddle after a rainstorm. While I'd seen Haymitch around District 12 my whole life, I'd never been able to fully appreciate the depths of his alcoholism until the train ride after the Reaping. His clothing reeked of booze and vomit. His speech slurred. His palms and nose were bright red, and he had tiny blood vessels on the skin of his arm that crawled across him like spider webs. He was unsteady on his feet, and often shook his hands as if he was trying to ring feeling back into them. Seeing them now, together, him whispering something in her ear, and Effie smiling shyly and batting at his leg… they recovered together. This is why we fought the war.
My eyes shift to Gale and Johanna. Johanna's hair has grown in, and she's actually let it run almost down to her shoulders. She keeps it blunt and choppy. Her smile reaches her eyes now, whereas for months it was more of a facade that graced her lips and stayed glued there as if it were painted on a doll. Gale and Peeta laugh together about something, and I spy Gale's hand weaved in Johanna's under the table. He is absolutely enamored with her. He talks about her all the time when they are apart, and when she's around he's clinging to her as if he's afraid she'll slip away like sand through his fingers. I may be to blame for that complex, but Johanna isn't going anywhere. She spends hours with me in the woods, talking about the trees and home, but then she'll inhale the air of the woods, lay in the decaying birch leaves of the forest floor, and tell me she's never felt more alive than she has here in 12. She and Gale fight and rage and love. While his fire wasn't what I needed, it certainly matched Johanna's. Their relationship is passionate and fierce, but in the quiet of the late night, she tells me they talk for hours - about the future, the past, who they want to become. Lately, they've been talking about kids. Johanna wants to chase them around the yard. Teach them to climb trees. Gale wants birthday candles and full bellies. This is why we fought the war.
Delly laughs and claps her hands at Haymitch impersonating a nurse. This has become a thing our little group does - reenacting funny moments so we can live them again and again. We savor these happy reveries. I think she will move out of Victor's Village soon. Things are getting serious between her and the watermelon farmer, whom I have met a number of times and find slightly unremarkable, except that he adores Delly. His name evades me, as it does almost every time I try to remember it. Regardless, she thinks he's charming. His manners are pristine and he is a natural in the kitchen. I once found them necking on her porch, and Delly's face turned a deep red before I started whistling and pretending like I saw nothing. Even though she lost her whole family, Delly's found another one here. This is why we fought the war.
My eyes fall on Peeta. He's burned and scarred. His bakery is a memory, as is his family. He has grown so much from the boy who fought to save me in the Games. That was ready to sacrifice himself for a girl whom he'd only admired from afar. Who reveled in the joy of simply holding my hand, and never pushed me for something he knew I couldn't give. Who, despite it all, clung to a bit of the innocence from the boy with the bread, despite two arenas and a war. He's come back to me completely. He occasionally will have flashbacks, where he grips the back of a chair and rides it out until he collapses on the floor, but I'm right beside him, singing soothing melodies in his ear and rubbing his back. On nights where I wake screaming for my sister, his arms are there to comfort me. Gale is right. Maybe falling in love with Peeta wasn't my choice, but living my life with him is. This is why we fought the war.
"Hey, you're awfully quiet," Peeta comments, laying his hand on my knee. I smile softly at him. "I'm just tired. I'm ready for bed."
"Okay, let's do it," Peeta says. We rise from the table, and the family cajoles us and gives us a hard time. Peeta takes my hand and we head down the hall to our room. When he opens the door, memories flush back to me. The Victory Tour. Peeta wandering the halls of the train, hearing my screams, and rushing into my room. Pulling me back from a haze of sleeping pills that prevented me from waking myself from my nightmares. This room was the first place where I really let him in. No cameras. No show. Just Peeta and me, finding comfort in our friendship behind closed doors.
I remember one distinct night on the tour. The preceding hours had been particularly difficult. We had spent the day in District 1. I killed both their tributes - Glimmer by dropping a tracker jacker nest on her in her sleep, and Marvel by shooting him in the throat. Their families cheered for me. I knew the Career districts would be different, but they truly believed I was a champion to be celebrated. I watched as Glimmer's younger sister, who was practically a spitting image of the girl in the Arena, applauded and bounced up and down when I took the stage. Her hair was knotted in a braid similar to that I wore in the Games. I felt dizzy and sick. Peeta did the speeches, we kissed and played at being in love. When we got on the train I slammed the door to my room behind me.
I hear Peeta knocking quietly.
"I just need a minute," I sob out, but I'm having trouble keeping my breath steady, and soon I open the door. I'm nearly hyperventilating, and Peeta rushes inside.
"Hey," he says, and takes my hands in his.
"They were cheering me!" I sob. My chest is heaving uncontrollably, and my heart is racing.
"I know, I know." He wraps me in his arms and I hiccough and shake. I can't seem to gain control back. I'm disoriented and I don't feel like I'm getting any air. I wheeze and my chest is burning. "Okay, here's what we're gonna do. Come here." Peeta takes my hand and leads me to the far corner of the room. He sits on the floor with his back against the wall. He spreads his legs and pats his hand on the floor between them. "Sit here," he instructs, and I drop down between his legs. "Now, lean your back into my chest, okay?" I lean back until I feel him pressed against me. I'm shaking and things are starting to spin. I can't breathe. "Feel my chest? Let's breathe together, okay? I breathe, you breathe. Ready?" I nod my head. "In." I feel his chest expand and press into my back. He wraps one arm around my waist, pulling me into him, and he grasps my hand with the other. "Out." I hear him exhale slowly, and I feel his chest collapse against my back. "In." This time I try to breathe with him. My lungs fight me, but I force myself to inhale until his chest stops expanding. I can't take in anymore air. "Out." I purse my lips like his and blow the air from my lungs. "In." We breathe. "Out." We breathe. "In." We breathe. "Out." We breathe. I start to regain control.
After a while, I relax my body into his. He stops giving instructions, and he feels me breathe against him. Peeta rests his forehead on my back. "I love feeling you breathe," he exhales into me. I can feel his hot breath through my thin tee shirt. "It just keeps me so calm. Feeling you alive next to me." Normally these declarations make me uncomfortable, but I know what he means. It's not just about love - it's an affirmation I'm alive.
"I like listening to your heart beat when we sleep at night. It's like a lullaby," I confess. I can't see his face, but he slowly strokes his thumb against my hip. It's comforting, and sweet.
"That was the last one. No more families to face," he says.
"No more families," I confirm, more for myself than anything. Peeta presses a kiss on my back. He's taking a risk. He knows it. We are just friends. But I decide to accept it as a friendly kiss. I take his hand, and we climb into bed for the night.
"I have the most acute memories from the train," Peeta confesses to me. "For a long time it confused me, because I had these recollections of spending my nights here with you, and the Capitol couldn't hijack them. They had no film to distort, and we didn't talk much so there wasn't a lot of audio, either. I'd struggle to reconcile these images of you trying to kill me with calm nights on the train. Running my hands through your hair. Smelling your shampoo. The feel of your face against my chest. I think it was the one thing that kept me tethered to reality, despite what they did."
I just smile. "Effie hated it," I say. "She thought it was improper, and rumors were flying all over the train. We told her we'd be more discrete, but we didn't bother." He laughs. "Bed?" I ask, exhausted from the day.
"Bed," Peeta nods.
While I didn't intend on this being anything more than sleep, laying here in the dark, it's the first moment of privacy we've had since the shooting. The air is practically humming around us. Peeta tucks a finger under my chin and pulls my mouth to his. It's gentle and sweet, a good night kiss, but the feeling of his mouth on mine sends my body into a frenzy. My mind races back to the woods. Watching him sputter blood onto the ground and walk away from me. When I thought the last thing I'd ever see was Peeta leaving me. I almost lost him again. I've almost lost him so many times, and now I need him closer. I need to feel him everywhere. I hook my leg around his knees and pull myself on top of him. "Katniss," he moans into my mouth as I kiss every bit of skin I can see. "We need to be quiet, these walls are paper thin," he breathes into me.
I'm tugging his shirt over his head and he's rocking his hips into mine. I feel him press against me and I moan. His reaction is palpable. I feel heat release from his body like a wave. I tangle my fingers in his hair and my mouth is everywhere. He just keeps rocking and groaning quietly, and I'm already chasing the edge. He can see I'm excited, and intensifies the motion. I feel him hard against me, and I push myself into him. I whimper in his ear and it sets him off. He tugs at my underwear and I nod feverishly. His hand plummets inside. He bites his lip when he realizes how wet I am. He caresses me with one hand while he slips his fingers from his other inside me. I'm rocking with him and kissing his face, his neck, his shoulders. He hooks his fingers deeper into me and I'm overcome. I cry out and Peeta covers my mouth with his. I bite my lip to keep quiet, and my body shakes as I come down. Peeta is looking at me like I'm the most incredible thing he's ever seen.
I can't get enough of him. I dance my mouth over his nipple and he groans when he realizes I'm not stopping. His hands pull at my hair and his skin tastes like salt. I run my mouth all over his chest, down his stomach. My own stomach flips as I dare myself lower, and Peeta props himself on his elbows as I slide his boxers away. "Katniss, what are you…" He loses the words as I take him into my mouth. Sounds gurgle from his throat as I slide my lips up and down him. I try to mimic what I've done with my hands, and when I swirl my mouth at his tip I feel his entire body tremble. "I can't… I can't…" He's losing control and I love it. I pull myself on top of him, push my underwear to the side, and plunge him inside me.
Waves flush over my body as the intensity mounts again. Peeta is rocking, and I drive him deeper into me. I see his eyes roll and he grabs onto me desperately. His hands dig into my back and he buries his face in my chest. I force his eyes to meet mine. I want him with me. Here. By my side. Always. His eyes are frantic and full of wonder, like he still can't believe I've given myself to him. He gave himself to me a long time ago, and I am making up for lost time. After all the loss, the fighting, the manipulation, the death, the starvation, the gluttony, the irony and hurt and pain… I know why I survived. I know why I am here. And I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure this boy knows that I'm not going anywhere. This is why we fought the war.
I clench my muscles around him, and Peeta's body goes tight. He buries his mouth on my shoulder and moans into me. It hurls me over the precipice and I cry out. His hand shoots over my mouth. We rock until I'm whimpering in the last throes of pleasure, and Peeta collapses back onto the bed.
After a while, he confides, "I can't tell you how many nights we spent on this train when I wanted to do that. When you'd wake, screaming and sweating and thrashing, and I'd just want to crash my mouth onto yours and make you forget." He chuckles for a moment, but it's not a real laugh. There are just too many emotions in our bed, and not enough words to express them. "I always thought I'd die before I knew you like this. And that if and when we finally did do something, it would be hurried and driven by a moment of despair. Not like this. Not when we have all the time in the world and you choose to be with me anyway."
I place soft, short kisses all over his face. He closes his eyes and his golden eyelashes flutter as my lips meet his. "It's you and me against the world, and it always will be." A grin overtakes his face, and he can't seem to wipe it off long enough to kiss me back.
"Let's go home." I say. And there's no longer a question. Our home. Our family. Our life.