Chapter Three

Was love supposed to make you feel weightless? It scares me, this warmth and security. I'm so used to having these things yanked from my clawing fingers. I try to recover the weightiness of uncertainty but I see Peeta's face in my mind's eye and I'm floating back up to the clouds again. Kissing Peeta without coercion or ultereor motive was ... happy.

I could really pay attention to his technique and the feel of his skin against mine. His face beaming at me whenever I pulled away for a new or better angle. I felt so peaceful that I fell asleep. When I awoke, I found Peeta sitting off the side of his bed with his pad of paper and pen. I wonder what he might be illustrating.

His abuse dealt by the Capitol?

More memories from our two Games?

His missing/dead older brothers and parents?

I just doubted that he has any hope left inside him to draw anything like a sunset. Anything happy. Curiosity was getting the better of me.

I stir and he told me, "Don't move. I'm almost done."

Confused by my drowsiness, I didn't question his odd response. I settled back down, feeling half-awake. It took me a second to realize that I had no memory of what I'd dreamt about. With Peeta by my side, the nightmares were kept at bay. When he unveils his creation for me, I should not have felt so surprised.

I propped myself up on my elbow for a better look. It was a sketch of me sleeping. How did he manage to create such lifelike shadows and contouring of my bone structure with a mere pen? The details are breathtaking. He made me look beautiful.

My scars, sun burnt skin, and hair damaged by acid was totally absent. Just an innocent seventeen year old Katniss Everdeen without a care in the world. Hair long, straight, and raven. Glowing olive skin, indicated by the light shadow by the pen. My eyes flick from his to the sketch and back.

"So ... do you like it?" Peeta asked me softly.

The last time he showed me his art, I hated what he depicted. They were superb paintings. However, they were memories from our first Games. This ... This was different. New. Even though he drew me healthy and strong like my prep team paints me for Propos, it somehow feels different with Peeta.

I covered my mouth with my hand, "Peeta ... I can't find the words."

I really can't even at the best of times. He had rendered me speechless.

"Is it a bad word?" He cringed cute-fully.

"Definitely not." I assured him.

He beamed, "That's good enough for me."

I smile while remembering his smile and I wonder if its fixed to my face while I walk to my family's compartment. My muscles are so unaccustomed to such an expression. I wonder if I look insane. District 13 is empty but for the night duty guards I pass. Gale is thankfully not among them.

They see the direction I'm headed in and don't say a word. But, they follow to make sure I make it there. The items I brought back with me from District 12 helped give the illusion of 'home' in our third bunker. A framed photo of my parents' wedding and the medical and edible plants journal Peeta helped me fill was set on top of our dresser. Buttercup is napping on top of it, Prim's blue ribbon clearly visible against his coat.

Beside that journal is Cinna's sketchbook bound in black leather. My game bag is hanging of the bed frame. There are ceramic jars and glass bottles from our Victors Village kitchen. My father's game jacket hangs off a chair, where my mother is seated to read a book. Prim has fallen asleep on their bed with Buttercup curled up between her legs.

"How is Peeta?" My mother asks, closing the book with her finger marking the place she left and setting the flashlight near Prim's feet.

This has to be a rhetorical question. She may not be a member of Peeta's assigned medical team, but she is a nurse in the District 13 hospital. She must be able to watch his progress from the window beside the door. I then wonder how she knows that I was with Peeta and not in one of my hiding places. I'm sure that I drew the curtains closed over that one-way window.

I just shake my head and shrug.

"His doctor said that its too dangerous for Peeta to go outside. But ... what if I took him down to the hummingbird room in Special Defense? It's better than nothing." I ask her.

"I don't see why not. But that's one of the lowest levels." My mother reminds me. "He might not be strong enough to cope with the journey. It might tire him out."

After kissing him for who knows how long - neither one of us had been keeping track - I think his stamina is up to the challenge. I don't say this to my mother, however.

I only say, "Maybe not."

I then change into my nightgown and settle down for sleep.

At seven o'clock, we rise for breakfast. Prim feeds Buttercup a metal dish of fish and chicken. She talks with a fellow nursing student outside our door for a while. I'm glad she seems to be making new friends here. We then dress in our grey pants and tuck in our grey shirts.

My mother helps me braid my hair down my back. It's so damaged from the acid fog, a lot of short strands hang loosely over the bald spots. The three of us take turns washing our faces in the bathroom sink and then make our way to the cafeteria.

Prim has a knowing smile on her lips and I question it, "What? Why are you smiling at me like that?"

She only shrugs, "Nothing."

I roll my eyes playfully and poke her in the side, "Like I believe that."

She giggles, "Stop! That tickles!"

I glance at him but persist with her, "Come on. Why are you so smiley?" I then suspect something, "Is there a classmate that's got their eye on you?"

"Warmer. Well, not really. But you've got the subject right." Prim relents and whispers, "There's a rumor going around the hospital. Johanna Mason saw you kissing Peeta. For a long time."

That explains why our mother knew I had been with Peeta past curfew. Or maybe that was what the student had been telling Prim about outside our compartment.

My cheeks start burning - embarrassing - before I can deny it, "You shouldn't believe everything Johanna says."

Prim shrugs, "I found it pretty believable."

Her expression falters when she sees my face fall.

"I'm just afraid to say it out loud, Prim. But I'm ... I'm so," I shake my head as if tired, "so devoted to Peeta. It's such a hopeless notion. But, a warm one too." I frown, "Does that make any sense?"

Prim pauses for a moment then takes my hand, "It does to me."

We get our schedules printed on the inside of our forearms. I see that I'm expected in Command after breakfast. Other than that, my schedule is the same as it has been since Peeta was rescued. Sleep, eat a lot, drink plenty of water, train hard. Repeat.

I worry that they have the date set to send me to District 2. It's hard to believe that not so long ago, I'd take any opportunity to get me out of this hole. With Peeta in treatment and within my grasp, I cannot think of anything less tempting. I join my mother and sister at our assigned table with the Hawthornes. Prim talks to Gale's five year old sister about Buttercup while my mother reads her novel.

Gale sinks down onto the seat next to mine, the only one left open. Even his District 13 diet has been altered again, in preparation to do battle. He does not stop his sister from picking at his breakfast. He's grown so much in muscle, I think the guards around the room are hesitant to put a stop to this. Or maybe she's just too adorable for their strict ways.

"What does your schedule look like today, Soldier Hawthorne?" I ask Gale after scraping my bowl of hot grain clean, which I had mixed with the sliced apple.

Gale replies, "They need me in Command."

"Me, too." I move my wrist so that he can read it if he wants to.

We've grown apart over the last few months. I don't want to push him away. But, he'll have to accept that I've chosen Peeta. It shouldn't have to be like this with us. That without my romance, I'm worth nothing to him. We walk together to Command nonetheless, out of step.

Plutarch and Haymitch are among the attendants. I sit next to Finnick, whom looks lost without Annie by his side. Gale takes a seat furthest from me but I try not to feel offended. I have too much on my mind to wonder what's going on in his, even if I'm nostalgic for our past.

I guess I can't have my cake and eat it as well. Coin enters the room last and sits across from me and Finnick.

The president says to the room at large, "Commander Lyme has sent word that District 2 is ready for that last push. We are going to take the Nut." Her grey eyes focus on mine, "You won't have much to contribute on that part, Ms. Everdeen. However, your presence is required to keep inspiring and pushing the rebel half, as the Mockingjay." She so easily turned back to everyone, "Departure is set for October 7th."

How did this become something I do not want?

The 75th Hunger Games was held in the middle of July. By September, Peeta had been held captive in the Capitol for 5-6 weeks. He lost weight rapidly with their food-poisoning torture and starvation. September is coming to a close. I know Peeta is not capable of gaining twenty pounds by the time I have to depart - any less than that would be insufficient.

And he's too fragile to make the journey. Before I can stop it, nightmarish scenarios swim past my mind's eye. I see Peeta calling out for me in a panic attack. Becoming sick and asking my mother and Prim where I am. I should be with him.

Always.

Lastly, I see him lying in a pine box with his hands folded over his sunken stomach. His pale skin waxen and colorless. Lost his battle to recover. Finnick nudges my knee and I remember that I have eyes watching me. Those images of Peeta fade away as I look at the television screens behind Coin. Footage showing how far we've come in this rebellion.

There's no other word for it.

I'm torn.

It was pointless giving so much thought to it. I don't make my own choices anymore. At least, not officially. I don't have much control over my own destiny anymore than I can control Peeta's. Choosing to hunt illegally rather than enlist in prostitution, volunteering in Prim's place, and saving Peeta.

Becoming the Mockingjay. Those have been my decisions. Since then, I'm given whiplash. Pulled this way and that. Makeup hiding my scars, my imperfections.

Spurning on the rebels against the Capitol with my presence and words. All orchestrated by Coin. It was Coin's choice that I'll have to be parted from Peeta come October 7th. In a few nights, I'm stealing Peeta away down to the hummingbird room. I'm so done with asking for permission for everything.

But, I can't tell Peeta that I'm leaving him so soon. I'm so lost in my own thoughts that I bump right into one of the nurses on Peeta's medical team.

"I don't know what you said to him, Ms. Everdeen." says the nurse, a dark skinned man with hard brown eyes and short wiry black hair.

"What? What's wrong? Did something happen to Peeta - " I panic.

"He finished his breakfast."

I stammer, "H-His breakfast?"

"Gone!" confirmed the nurse, grinning with relief.

I feel at the left side of my chest, "You gave me a heart attack."

The nurse walks off at the beeping of his communicuff without saying 'goodbye'. But, I don't care. Peeta ate his breakfast. All of it! It can't have been much but I'm thrilled.

My kisses must have put him in a greater mood than he has been in for the last month and a half.

I enter Peeta's hospital room and he greets me just as cheerfully, "Is this going to be our new routine? You coming to me after dinner every night?"

I smile broadly, "As long as I'm welcome."

I can't bear to tell him that I'll have to leave in a few weeks. Part of me wonders if it will inspire him to focus on his recovery. Then the other part of me reminds myself of what Prim told me a few nights ago. That Peeta's recovery must be slow and gentle.

"You still don't know the affect you can have on people." Peeta says.

I climb in beside him on his bed and he puts his thin arm around me. I remember when he was stocky with muscle. How heavy it felt on my shoulders. How good the weight of him felt to me.

"I heard the good news," I prompt him.

Peeta chuckles, his voice still sounding low and hoarse from vomiting, "I thought it might make you happy."

"You were right," I reply, rewarding him with a kiss.

I lay on my back and he half-rolls on top of me, kissing all the while. He does feel heavy but not nearly as much as he should. It's only the weight of his bones and organs, not muscle. We wait for his supper to be delivered. When we part and he rolls off me, I tell him about moving around District 13.

I prop my head up on the heel of my hand, gazing down at him. Peeta rests his hands on his chest, drinking in my every word with his beautiful eyes. He has retained those long, thick lashes.

"First, we were down in Compartment 307. Then we were in Compartment E on the topmost level. It had a window two feet wide and eight inches high. We left it open so that Buttercup could go outside. But, after the bombings, we were moved to Compartment 2212. No window, so Prim's box training him."

Peeta wrinkles his nose, "That must smell."

"We clean it out daily." I wrinkle my nose back at him.

At that moment, there's a knock on his door and a cook delivers his dinner. I don't bother moving off the bed. If Prim is right about the rumor, the cook shouldn't be so surprised to see Peeta and I entwined. Besides, I've been down here like clockwork every night. I ought to have learnt the cook's name by now.

I can smell the garlic from under the top. It is good for treating viruses as well as fungal and bacterial infections. The cook sets the tray down on a high metal table that's attached to the bed. I pull it over us and we sit up. Peeta thanks the cook before she departs.

"Let's see what I've got in store tonight." He grins for me.

He takes the lids off and I am happier with what we find. It appears to be chicken soup and there is a few circles of bread on the side. The evergreen herb floating in the dark broth, thyme, also has medicinal properties. Shards of dried sage had been added to help soothe his battered throat. Chopped celery stalks, diced onion, squares of carrots, strings of chicken, leafy greens.

I can smell salt and pepper in there as well. Instead of the bread we're served in the cafeteria, these are soft fluffy biscuits. It all looks so tempting ... but Peeta hasn't moved.

"They're taking you off the smoothies and nuts?" I ask him.

Peeta nods, "They say that the dairy in the smoothie will agitate my throat after I screwed it up again so badly. Make it all thick and stuff."

"Would it make you feel better if I took a bite first?" I ask him.

Peeta shakes his head and sighs, "I've got to trust these people. Besides, if it were poisoned, I'd take the first bite to save you."

I look at him seriously, "If I had even an inkling that they'd hurt you, Peeta, I'd knock this stuff right onto the floor."

I motion wiping my hand through the air. Peeta scoffs, smirking. He takes a bite and is silent for a moment, swishing it around in his mouth. Then he serves me a portion in the lid of his dish. I taste butter and lemon juice.

The fluffy biscuits are to kill for.

I dip them in the soup, "You're certainly getting the royal treatment here, Peeta. We don't get served stuff this good in the cafeteria."

"So, what is it like in the 'outside world'?" Peeta asks, mixed with curiosity and a touch of sarcasm. "I often wonder. For when I get out of here."

For if you get out of here, my brain hears.

"I'm not going to lie. The breakfast is pretty bland. It's hot grain with a cup of fruit or vegetables and a glass of milk." I describe to Peeta. "Lunch is heartier. Some sort of stew." I purse my lips, " Beggars can't be choosers, right? At least we can count on eating three meals a day now."

Peeta tries dipping a biscuit after seeing me do it. His cheekbones still jut out and his cheeks are still shadowy as he chews thoroughly. He eats so slowly, his stomach will tell him that he's full before he has made half a dent in his supper. But, if this makes him more comfortable, so be it.

"What would you eat right now if you could have anything in the world?" He asks me after some silence.

I have to think for a moment. My favorite dish from the Capitol was dried plums over rice. But now that I'm buried dozens upon dozens of feet below the Earth's surface, I can only think of my home. Home, which has been burnt to ash and we can never return to. My mind goes to Peeta's family bakery.

"A carrot cake baked by you." I grin. "With your beautiful orange flowers. How about you?"

After his confession, I understand that he does not miss food one bit. He just shakes his head and I don't press him to make a decision. It's asking too much right now. I search for a change of subject.

"Your head doctor says that we have to wait to outside." I inform Peeta. "But, I have another idea."

His disappointment is fleeting, "What is it?"

"There's a room down in the Special Defense level. I went there with Gale and Beetee." I explain. "They're studying the flying technique of hummingbirds in there. It's the most beautiful place in District 13. I've got to show it to you."

"Definitely." Peeta smiles. "When do we go?"

I give him a mischievous grin, "I haven't asked for permission. I don't want to give them the chance to find some excuse to keep you here. My mother thinks it's too far of a walk but ... Whatever. It's fine. We just have to wait till the coast is clear."

Peeta reflects my grin, "I'd follow the Mockingjay into the jaws of death."

I narrow my eyes at him, shaking my head reprovingly. I tell him more about the hummingbird room while we settle down facing each other, sharing the single pillow. We hold hands and I stroke his with my thumb. My voice trails away as his eyelids grow heavy. I move my hand from his to stroke his hair. He sighs, nestling his thin face deeper into the pillow. I smile, remembering how he did this for me.

"Remember when we were on the roof of the Training Center?" I recall to him. "Our first picnic? You stroked my hair and let me sleep on your lap. You made me feel ... safe."

Peeta furrows his brows, opening his eyes and swallowing hard, "For all we knew, we were going to be dead the next day."

"That just makes it more remarkable, I think." I say.

All of a sudden, he starts breathing quicker. I look at him with alarm in my heart. Peeta shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. I don't know what's going on.

I grasp his sharp shoulder, "Peeta -?!"

Peeta sits up and stifles a cough. I sit up with him, watching him with wide eyes closely.

He presses his fist over his heart, "It's just a tickle in the back of my throat. I'm fine."

But I can see the water welling in his eyes. He might reopen his charred throat. While Peeta massages his chest, I hand him his water cup. Instead of reaching for it as I expect, Peeta just parts his lips ajar. His fingers are still pressing around on his chest.

I close the distance and he takes a generous gulp. Some dribbles down his sharp chin and he chuckles, catching it with his boney hands. That laughter seems to stop whatever was making him breath so shallowly. I apologize, taking up his bed sheet to dry his mouth while he wipes his hands on his hospital gown.

"What was that?" I whisper. "Was that the start of another panic attack?"

Peeta is indecisive, "I can't tell. Maybe we shouldn't talk about the Games for a while."

"No problem," I say.

But, I didn't mean to bring up our Games. I only meant to recall a memory with him that was a good one. It's just impossible to find one without the Capitol as the backdrop. I watch him struggle to relax, running my hands up and down his back while he hides his face in his hands. I push the table away.

I despair over the thought of leaving him for District 2. If this is how he reacts to a mere mention of our history, I know now how he'll react to our parting. No doubt it will remind him too much of when we were separated in the second Arena. I kiss the back of his neck, burying my face in his blond curls. Then he closes one hand on mine that's hooked on his shoulder.

"I love you so much, Katniss." He breathes.

I don't hesitate to whisper back, "I love you, too."

A teardrop falls down my cheek and plops down from my chin to his nightgown, darkening the white cloth gray as the clouds that hang over our future.