Rated T for language
The nurse was wrong. Despite all the determination and willingness I had to start moving around again, it had taken a little over two days for my body to recover enough to do the simplest of tasks. Tasks such as picking up the plastic cutlery they provided me to eat meals of grey gloop.
The meals themselves weren't so bad, I have definitely eaten worse during my life in the Seam; it was just that they merely lacked the flavour of absolutely anything. If water had a grey, chewable form, I would assume that was what they were feeding me.
Prim had come in with the nurse assigned to my treatment during the early hours of the morning to reassure me about everything concerning the new district we were in.
She talked to me about the delicious food offered in the large cafeteria when I asked about how well and often they were letting her eat. She also seemed determined to not bring up any heavy subjects, such as the condition of the other victors, or any news about what's going on outside my clean, chemical-smelling room.
"They want you to get better, not worry about things you can't change," she had said after I asked for anything regarding Peeta's situation. I knew my sister was just restating phrases someone else had told her but she did seem genuinely upset that she couldn't provide any answers so eventually I stopped asking.
That had been half a day ago, and no-one else had come to check in on me. I heard Finnick outside at one point, joining Gale in yet again another argument with my door guard. It gave me an annoying sense of déjà vu but I was also thoroughly relived to know that Finnick seemed to suffer no lasting damage from the arena's traps.
Haymitch hasn't made any appearance since I dismissed him two days ago. I was still mad at my mentor for reasons I couldn't quite fathom. Without a doubt he would have rescued Peeta from the arena if he had the choice, I knew this, but I needed an outlet for my anger over the uncontrollable situation and there wasn't anyone else around at all I could direct it to.
No-one I could get my weak hands on at least.
Propped up against the pillows behind me I begin to mull over all the information I have. Peeta is gone and except for Finnick I don't know what's happened to the other victors. My family is safe but my district is destroyed.
I shut my eyes at the thought, feeling solely responsible for its destruction. I feel it so heavily that I can almost picture the arrow I shot out of the arena's force-field hitting a huge, red button labelled "Bomb District 12".
As hard as I try to keep my thoughts calm the silence of the room always forces the images of the arena back into my mind. The feeling of my racing heart pumping adrenaline into my system; trying to escape the onslaught of beasts and tricks the Gamemakers threw at me and my allies. It's a feeling that I will never forget, something that will haunt me until my, possibly near, death.
Before I can sink further into thoughts of the arena and death, the door opens, and my personal nurse slides in pushing a metal cart with plastic cups and syringes neatly lined up upon it.
'More metal,' I think bitterly without amusement as the nurse makes her way towards me.
"Evening, dear," the elderly nurse pips with a bright smile. "Sorry I couldn't be here a little earlier, but you know a nurse's work is never done."
I'm grateful to see the friendly face of the district Thirteen nurse. Being locked up in this room by myself is beginning to take its toll on me.
The gleaming nametag attached to the front of the nurse's uniform sways with her movements, but I don't bother reading what's written on it. Becoming familiar with the people of Thirteen isn't something I'm interested in doing. While I've been told the people of this district were nothing but friendly and hospitable, I can't help but feel resentment for the thriving citizens of this place who have never had to feel the fear of a reaping, the fear of losing a family member to starvation or the guilt of watching others die from the malnutrition they've fought so hard to ward off.
"Now," the nurse continues, "I was told to increase your dosage of Propofol to help the transition off the morphine, but that seems a little excessive to me. The sedatives should really be lowered considering the amount of time your body has been comatose." The nurse starts uncapping the tips off the syringes as she gathers the tubes hanging near the side of my head.
"Comatose?" I question, watching the nurse with suspicion. Counting backwards in my head I conclude that I've been in this hospital room for a little over three days, maybe four, and I've been conscious for most of that time.
"Yes, dear. After a body remains unconscious for over three days we consider that person to be in a coma," she remarks, furrowing her brow. "They never told you?"
"No, they don't seem to want to tell me anything about what's happening outside this damn room, and apparently I'm learning they won't even tell me anything about myself!" I explode, my voice strong but a little raspy from dehydration and disuse.
The nurse seems to pick up on my condition as she moves to the bathroom, hidden in the corner, with a plastic cup in hand. From my position I can easily hear the faucet being turned on.
"So it's been, what, almost a week since the arena?"
The nurse comes back into view, holding the cup of water shakily. She hands it over to me and I take it with steady hands, drinking a few sips while looking at the woman expectantly.
"It's been almost a month since you were picked up," the nurse replies, looking behind her at the clock hanging on the wall. I choke a little on the water I'd been in the middle of swallowing.
A month! An entire month of wasted time, a month of Peeta being in the Capitol, a month of Prim fending for herself. Well, at least Gale was there for her, making me feel more debt to my hunting partner.
How could I have been out for almost a month? From the argument Gale and Haymitch had two days ago I believed I was only unconscious for several hours, a day at most. I'm tempted to not believe the nurse but there's no reason she would lie to me.
Why didn't Haymitch tell me how long I was out for? That bastard. He thought what I really needed to know before anything was my home's bombing? It seems so pointless now, I can't help anyone in this condition, and all the information has done is add to my stress and guilt. Now with the news I've been out for nearly a month I feel myself become overwhelmed with anger.
"I'm surprised they didn't tell you," the nurse continues, not noticing my increasing ire, "I'm not sure if I was supposed to say anything but it's not like that's something you'd never learn about. And I feel it's professional courtesy to explain why we're using certain kinds of drugs on a patient."
Looking away from the clock back to me the nurse goes to grab the tubes again but I shoot my hand out, weakly encasing her wrist before she can.
"No more drugs."
I've already spent too much time being immobile and useless. If I was going to get better, so that I can finally get out of here and attend the official meetings I know have to be going on, I would need to be drug free.
The nurse glances back up at the clock and shakes her head.
"I'm really sorry, miss, but I don't have permission to go against orders," she moves her wrist out of my reach and starts to inject the sedative into the drip. "It's really for your own good, it will help. You must be in so much pain."
But I wasn't in any pain physically at the moment, I feel fine. A little weak perhaps, but I'm not about to gain my muscle and strength back by being sedated every day.
"You're going against orders by lowering the other drug. You don't have to do this," I say, relaxing back onto my pillow and closing my eyes in the hope that the nurse would simply leave but she finishes injecting the liquid without a word. I can come up with a plan afterwards, right now I need some privacy.
"Actually, I'm pretty sleepy now. Would you mind-" I trail off a few seconds later. The nurse gathers her metal cart and supplies without saying a word and makes for the door as quickly as her aging body would let her.
"Of course. I'll be back to check up on you before nightfall," and with that she leaves.
'I can't believe she bought that,' I think with a glance towards the clock that reads almost four. Still, it's bought me at least two hours to get everything I need to do in order. Considering I'm in an underground facility, as Haymitch called it, they probably wouldn't even know when nightfall was. It's a safe bet the nurse would either make her way back to my room in two or three hours. Four at most.
Gathering the tiny plastic line attached to my inner elbow I slowly pull out the needle, still wet with whatever fluids were pumping down. Just looking at it makes me feel incredibly queasy knowing it was in my bloodstream. I'm much more favourable to herbs, roots, and the occasional gouging of meat to cure illnesses; syringes, pills and other non-natural substances were just a more invasive way of getting the job done.
Trying to not throw up at the sight of the pinpoint speck of blood dotting my arm, from where the needle had been, I rest against my pillow. The motion slowly eases my dizziness caused by the removal of the tube.
I grab at the crook of my arm and shift to lean on my side, curling into a fetal position. There are two clips attached to the tops of my fingertips that are easily removed with a yank.
Shifting my legs over the edge of the bed I fumble to place my feet steadily on the tiled floor and stand. The thin bed sheet falls in a pool around my feet as I grab the I.V. stand next to me for support. I'm only dressed in a shift that reaches my knees, but at least it covers me completely.
Walking to the door proves to be more difficult than I thought it'd be. For someone with usually great finesse it's frustrating to falter with such a simple task and I can't help but imagine a deer trying to cross a lake of ice.
It also doesn't help that there's an unknown amount of drugs slowing me down in my system. I slowly, and somewhat clumsily, make my way to the door of my hospital room. Resting against the metal frame I try to hear anything happening outside. If there were no guards I assume Gale or Prim might've come in to see me, and if there are guards they'd probably force me back into bed. Without my full strength and speed I know I don't have much chance against what I assume were muscled brutes, but I can't just stay in this room and wait around while there are things to be done.
I have to take the risk. Resting my hand on the long, vertical handle I pull slightly. The door is heavy but it cracks open a few centimeters, enough to let in the light of the hallway outside. A loud siren goes off almost immediately, startling me so heavily that I release the door handle and jump backwards, the fast movement leaving me a little disoriented.
A pair of voices speak out from behind the door and I lean my head against the frame to listen in.
"C'mon, Hawthorne. Grub time," the disembodied voice remarks to, who I assume is, Gale. It's heart-warming to know my friend is still looking out for me. Within seconds two sets of footprints begin to echo away from my position and it seems there's nothing outside my door now.
With a sigh of relief I start to turn the handle again and push it open far enough to fit my head out. At least I know now the siren wasn't because of my escape attempt, but perhaps a signal for dinner. Still, with the amount of effort that seemed to go into keeping me visitor-less and ignorant I'm still expecting some sort of trap outside. But there's nothing.
A long, narrow white corridor stretches in both directions, lined with doors I presume to be other hospital rooms. Wasting no time I push the rest of the door open and slide through, letting it close behind me without concern.
The footsteps of Gale and the guard had gone left, so I decide to head in the opposite direction. The less people I come into contact with the better.
It takes me an embarrassing amount of time to reach the end of the hallway; I would need to spend every spare minute I have on building my leg muscles back but it wasn't something to focus on now. Now I need to find out what's going on.
There has to be a room containing information – the mayor's house had piles of secrets lying around, and this place has to be at least thirty times that size.
Set firm in my mission to gather intel I take a right on whim and open the first door I see. It's a supply closet full of mops and brooms. The second door I open is the same, and the third is simply full of unused clocks. Not bothering to open anymore I begin to make my way forward to search for a new section to explore.
The walls turn from a white to a grey and the corridors become less narrow – it assures me that I'm on the right path to something. I'm not entirely sure what I'm hoping to find, but any amount of time spent away from the drugs in my room can only be good. If I'm really lucky I may even run into the person giving the orders to sedate me, just so I can give them a piece of my mind, but I've encountered no-one yet.
'They're probably all on the same feeding schedule,' I think, remembering the comment Gale made about being pets.
Feeling exhausted from all the walking, though it's only been twenty minutes at most, I take a seat on the bottom of a flight of stairs and close my eyes. The stairs are rough and uncomfortable, made from harsh concrete but I've never needed a nap more than I need one right now.
Relaxing further into the staircase I let my mind wander. Being idle never brought about good thoughts but it wasn't something I could help at the moment.
My thoughts turn to my district's survivors and whether they were being held here too. They would have to be put to good use, I suppose. A place like this wouldn't just take in refugees without having any use for them.
I think about my sister and my mother. My mother couldn't get away with lying in a bed all day, or getting overtaken by her depressive thoughts in a place like this. Hopefully both of them could find use by helping with minor wounds of the citizens or baby deliveries – if that was even something that occurred here. Prim would enjoy it at least.
I sigh, trying to recall anything I enjoy myself. Archery was something I truly adored as a child, but when my father died it became a tool of survival instead. It brought death, but also kept life. It wasn't something I could honestly say I enjoyed for pleasure. It wasn't like Peeta with his breads and cakes.
He baked for his survival in a way as well, thought I think it was more comfort than necessity, but he could still thoroughly relish baking when all the work was over.
My thoughts were going back to Peeta. I shake my head, trying to not think about him because my mind always circles around to conjure up horrible images of him being tortured by Snow. All the visions involve an amount of blood and bone that I instantly become uncomfortable with and the thoughts were always accompanied with his painful screams.
Standing up off the stairs to start my search for information again I try to rid my thoughts of Peeta's inevitable torture. But I can't. I can hear his yells so clearly they start to echo in my mind. I clasp my palms roughly against my ears to try to drown out the sound and it works. There is mostly silence.
Slowly releasing the hold on my ears I take a step forward but stop when I hear it again. Peeta's yells.
'These aren't just from my imagination!' I think with a gasp, turning to face the staircase. The top of it was closed off with a chain and sign that read "Authorized Personnel Only" but I can distinctly hear him from that direction. I can hear Peeta yelling up there, I wasn't imagining it at all! Had he been rescued during my time in care and no-body bothered to inform me?
I take my first step up the twenty or so stepped staircase before a shout draws my attention behind me.
"Hey, you. Miss!" a man in a pressed black and gold uniform yells, jogging down the corridor towards me. I take another step up, and then two, quickening my pace. In my slowed state the uniformed man easily catches up to me and encases my wrist with bruising force.
"Citizens were not permitted to leave the dining hall yet and they are definitely not allowed up here." He stops to properly examine my attire before his eyes widen slightly and his grip on my wrist tightens. He must have recognised me.
"Miss Everdeen, you should not be here," he starts, tugging on my wrist and making me stumble backwards on the stairs as I begin to tug away from him.
Peeta is up there and now that I concentrate on it I can hear his distinct tone as clear as day. There's no way this trained canary is going to stop me. Not after everything I've been through.
"Peeta is up there," I try to reason, flexing my other hand in anticipation of things getting violent.
"Your husband is not in this district yet," he counters. I know he doesn't really believe Peeta to be my husband, otherwise he would have addressed me as Mrs. Mellark. No, he was simply trying to placate her into obedience and I tamper my increasing anger at the thought.
Surprising both myself and the guard I swing my free hand around in a tight fist, catching him hard in the nose. The shock of the impact leaves him reeling, tripping down the two stairs and onto his side. I waste no more time on him as I dart up the rest of the staircase as fast as y body lets me and slip under the chain at the top.
I try to follow the sounds of Peeta's voice. He was still yelling, or arguing, making it easy to track his location down the deserted path. His yells don't seem to be from pain, just anger, and my heart skips a few beats when I hear it's my name he's shouting.
He's yelling out for me and they wouldn't allow me to leave my room to even see him.
I can hear the guard racing up the flight of stairs somewhere behind me, but I'm too close to give up now. My heart races at an uncomfortable level as I begin to sprint the rest of the passage before stopping in front of a door. Leaning forward to place an ear against it I can now clearly hear Peeta in the room behind. I place a shaky hand on the doorknob as I pull away from the door slightly.
"—her to me this goddamn second or you get nothing!"
I've wasted too much time already. Flinging the thankfully unlocked door open I barge into the room, which is occupied with five unfamiliar faces. The door shuts itself behind me but I take no notice of it or the strangers. I'm too enamoured with the projection in front of me.
There he is… kind of. On a large, fuzzy screen, with static distorting the image, is the face of my blond ally. His face is almost unrecognisable with the amount of anger in it; anger and hatred. I've never seen him so enraged and full of fire before but I've never been so happy to see it.
He's alive, and not just that, he looks to be almost thriving. I had expected perhaps a gaunt, starved man weak from the cruel things Snow would have undoubtedly put him through, but it looks like he might have gained weight.
He's alive. He's… okay.
Tears start to well in the corners of my eyes as I stare unashamedly at his image on the screen. I bring my hand up the smother the half-sob, half-laugh that I can feel building in my throat. He notices my arrival and his face immediately softens as he takes in my appearance. For a split second all the anger he seems to be filled with evaporates, leaving the kind boy I know him to be.
"Katniss," he breathes softly.
I know he's not really in the room; still, I can't help but lift my hand off my mouth and extend it towards the screen, hoping to feel any part of him. The static crackles on the tips of my fingers as I open my mouth to say his name back.
The door bursts open behind me suddenly and I feel my body propel forward in a tackle towards the ground. There's several surprised shouts within the room of strangers, but Peeta's furious yell of my name is the loudest and most prominent one. It's the last thing I hear before my head hits the hard ground and stars burst in a bright white behind my eyes, before fading into black.
Peeta…
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