Disclaimer: I own nothing
AN: This chapter was incredibly frustrating to write and I apologize in advance. It is for the tremendous GreenWool, but she is not responsible for the quality.
As he stood on his podium, the ocean stretched around him on all sides, reflecting light in his eyes and making him disoriented. There was nothing comforting about the deceptively still waters licking his feet. He looked out at the unbearably calm ocean, and remembered the untamable passionate beast he saw in Four. Of course, in the arena, the ocean would be quiet and submissive. Snow probably loved the idea of controlling the sea.
Around him other victors were positioning themselves, presumably to dive into the water.
Convenient, if you knew how to swim. Which he didn't.
He was locked in a death trap. Again.
Katniss, he was sure, didn't have this problem. She would likely be leaping towards the shore the moment the gong sounded, while he was stuck on a metal plate without a clue of what to do. Unless of course, someone swam over and tried to kill him, in which case he'd be dead in the water.
In that moment he hated his life.
Something exploded and he watched as a tribute walked off the podium before the countdown ended. The sudden death jolted him back to reality. He realized he could feel sorry for himself later; right now he needed to figure out how to get to wherever the rest of the arena was and find Katniss. The Cornucopia appeared in front of him, almost suspended, with spokes around it leading out to the tributes. The spokes divided to end in the metal plates the tributes were standing on; the woman from Ten was next to him. He looked down to see what he was wearing. Was there anything he could do with the belt? The countdown ended and the woman dove into the water. Great. Was he the only one who couldn't swim?
Carefully he sat down on the podium and eased his legs into the water.
The drop was fast and terrifying. He was stunned by how quickly his body sank and his head dropped underwater. The moment when his air was cut off and his vision blurred was the scariest thing he had felt in ages. Memories of flailing in a bathtub flashed past him and were gone, as hands still on the podium, he forced himself up gasping. When his vision cleared and he blearily saw tributes dying at the Cornucopia, he realized Katniss could be there and he had no way to protect her. Again, with his inability to complete one fucking task. He wondered if he was deluding himself by thinking he could be of any use to her. If she was in the thick of battle and he was stuck in the middle of the ocean, how exactly was he being helpful? He imagined his mother watching this, laughing hysterically.
He pulled himself out of the water onto the podium and looked around again. He thought he saw an arrow flying through the air and and then a dark head. Katniss. Finnick, it seemed, was next to her and a moment later he saw what could be his trident thrust forward.
Well at least someone was there for her, he thought bitterly.
The battle at the Cornucopia seemed to be dying down and he still stood there on his little metal plate shuffling his feet listlessly. Standing there was so humiliating. He wondered if he could ease into the water and inch along the spokes until he reached the Cornucopia. Possibly, but once he was there, he still had no way to actually reach the shore. He began to worry, like he always did when Katniss wasn't directly in his line of vision. She was so strong. So resourceful. But still human and capable of being injured, back stabbed or killed. He needed to be there, be sure she was alright. But as he stood on his podium feeling more and more helpless, he wondered if he wasn't just a liability to her. He considered for a moment the possibility that she'd just leave him out there. She would have in the first arena. How embarrassing would that have been, he thought. He would have had to shuffle on this plate until he finally got fed up and tried to swim. Then he would have drowned and that would have been the end of it. A day in the life of Peeta Mellark.
What did he have to lose? Maybe he should just…
He was about to try sliding into the water again when he saw someone who must be Finnick dive in the waves and start swimming towards him.
Great, he observed irritably. Someone was coming to his rescue.
Or to kill him.
As this possibility jumped to his mind he realized he was completely unarmed. Excellent. Against one of the most popular victors in recent memory, he had nothing but his weight and his bare hands. The podium was metal and if he was knocked into the water his best shot would be to try and slam Finnick's head into the plate. If the carnage around the Cornucopia was any indication, it appeared dead bodies floated. Worst case scenario, if he were to kill Finnick quickly maybe he could use the body for buoyancy. Without warning, his vision began to swim. He wondered when it had become so easy to envision killing someone. He looked out at the figure he believed to be Katniss standing on the beach alone. With frigid awareness, he realized, yes, if Finnick stood between him and Katniss, he would kill him. He accepted that reality with equal parts calm and disgust, but buried the meaning of it deep inside for a day when he could indulge in self reflection.
Back to the task at hand, he analyzed his opponent. Finnick was taller than he was, so his best bet was getting behind him and locking him in a rear naked choke. Then he figured he could use the inevitable flailing to knock the man's head against the plate. He was ready when Finnick appeared about five feet away, the victor smiling amiably like they were at a party and not about to try and kill each other.
"You're turning red out there, my man, you should get into the water," said Finnick conversationally.
Peeta's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure you'll put me there soon enough. Let's cut the chit chat and get this over with."
Finnick threw his head back with a peal of laughter.
"Not here to kill you, just to reunite you and your dearly beloved."
"Right, I'm sure you are. If we're gonna do this I'm not going to make it easy for you, so make a move," he said dismissively. He couldn't get into much of a stance on the little metal plate. He considered just diving into the water at Finnick but he figured that would end poorly.
"My friend, I'd like to live today and the best way to do that is to have Ms Everdeen's arrows covering me. But she requires you as part of that deal, so as much as I like gazing up at your glowing body, consider getting in the water and letting me get you back to the person you're interested in."
Then he raised his arm and showed off the bracelet Haymitch was wearing earlier, now dangling off his wrist. Goddamn Haymitch. How typical for him to make some kind of alliance without telling them. Katniss didn't know, did she?
"Whaddya say, Golden Boy? Katniss is waiting."
He locked eyes with Finnick, his face hard and angry in the glinting sun. Slowly he lowered himself into the water and a moment later Finnick was there letting him ease onto his back. With no hesitation he slid his arm around Finnick's neck, the inside of his elbow pressing into the victor's wide pipe. With his wrist trapped tightly in the crook of his other elbow he pulled back only slightly, just enough to make Finnick uncomfortable.
"Try anything and I'll take you down with me," he growled.
Finnick laughed robustly. "You're a might less charming in real life Peeta. You and Katniss are a prickly pair aren't you? Come on, let's get you back to Ms Everdeen, before she shoots me in the water."
It didn't take long to reach the shore and he had never been so happy to see solid ground. He looked back only once to see the ocean rolling haplessly against to the sand. How had he ever found any comfort there?
It seemed his role in these games was to hold people while they died.
After extending the neck wound on the girl from Eight, he rocked her gently while she bled all over him, her eyes wide with terror. He had whispered to her while she had sputtered and gurgled, telling her to close her eyes, that she was safe and no one could hurt her again. In minutes she had stopped twitching and then the cannon had sounded.
He liked to think he accepted the first corpse on his hands with dignity.
Now he was in the salt water holding the dying body of the Morphling from Six, who was also bleeding all over him. He was telling her about his paint box at home so she would look at him and not the gaping hole in her chest. He tried to paint pictures with his words and give her colors like the flowers he had painted all over her face in the training room. She had whispered to him that she just wanted pretty colors in her life again, while he camouflaged her in psychedelic plumes. As he spoke to her he tried to distract himself from the feeling of her body dying by thinking about the sea. He didn't know what it made him feel, this mutt of Snow's creation. On the first day he thought it would be his grave, then after the toxic gas it was his salvation. Now he felt the sting of the water in the cuts that littered his body while the ocean became a funeral pyre for the woman in his arms.
How did he get here? What penance did he have to pay to never be here again?
The scene around him was enchanting and horrific, like the arena was purposely made to take beautiful things and make them distorted and ugly. He looked out at the gently rocking waves, and let stuttering anger wash over him. Then his gaze fell back to the Morphling and he just felt cold. There was a life that was slipping away from him and it was more important than the riddles of the sea. He watched her gaunt face smile up at him, her bony fingers dripping in blood, smearing something on his face. She looked like a living skull.
And then like a dead one.
Her limbs went limp and her hand fell away from Katniss who scrambled to get on the shore. But he held onto her a little longer, then gently let her body float out on the waves, lighter now, from the liters of blood that had left her body. He watched as she floated away on the waves to be retrieved by a hovercraft. A cannon boomed in the distance.
The waves rose, curled and fell like a hand waving good bye.