Chapter Six

I circle the sponge gently round my shoulder, bruised from training. Sitting in the tub with my sopping hair down my back, my mind was far away from the troubles my body brought me. Peeta will be assigned his new living quarters tomorrow. He could still use some extra pounds in my opinion, though he's no longer emaciated.

Not quite the stocky, muscular build I knew him for. Still has jutting cheekbones and sharp jaw line. But he is no longer skeletal at long last. Slender. The nightmarish weeks of being hooked to a feeding machine were over.

He has defeated the infection which caused pneumonia and he is no longer required to be under 24/7 medical surveillance. I wonder what that means for us. Our time together has been so limited till now, everything being on a schedule.

If only we had not been caught in the Butterfly Room. I carefully avoid rupturing the blisters I've developed on my feet while I scrub them clean. I need new shoes for running. My old hunting shoes would have fallen to pieces by now. I still don't know if Peeta will join me in training.

I haven't told him that I'll be going to the Capitol or even that I moved out of my family's compartment to room with Johanna. Old habits die hard. Somehow, I doubt he'll be fit for combat. Even if he does not qualify, at least he'll finally be able to spend time outdoors. Mascara runs down my cheeks, but I am certainly not crying.

I have Peeta, Gale, my sister, and our mother. Even Haymitch and my prep team on top of everything. Snow has no one to torture me with now. Effie is too pro-Capitol to be suspected of treason. He must know that my determination to see all his blood pour from his mouth has mounted tenfold, knowing what he had done to Peeta.

To me. To my country. It's eleven o'clock before I climb out of the tub into the frigid washroom air, gasping. I wrap a towel around my torso and twist the water from my long hair. I braid it down my back as I leave the bathroom.

"You look different." Johanna comments knowingly from her bed.

She does not bathe like she used to. She was tortured with water in the Capitol. So, I have the bathtub all to myself.

I shrug, "I don't know what you mean."

I pat myself dry and use that towel to wrap my hair with. I change into my white nightgown. It's an ankle-length shapeless dress with long sleeves and buttons up between my breasts. Standard-issue, unisex pajamas for District 13.

Johanna continues, "Peeta's leaving the hospital. You must feel happy."

"Relieved." I counter. "I'm way too jaded to let myself feel happy."

Also, I am sore. With my rib injury, I find it hard to keep up with the worst-off in training.

"Well, don't stop humming on my account." Johanna scoffed then added flatly, "You're actually good."

I wasn't aware that I had been humming. I must squash this happiness before it can hurt me. I climb into my bed. I'm too anxious to see Peeta at breakfast tomorrow. My brain refuses to shut down.

It takes a long while for my eyes to grow heavy. In fact, by morning I wonder if they ever did. But like trying to cradle water with my hands, I catch glimpses of a dream I had. Sharing a bed with Peeta. I stroke the bed cover and grip it, imagining his heat radiating onto me.

Cuddling together under these blankets. Cressida had pointed out the probability of that happening to me before I considered it myself. She asked my permission - though she did not need it - to film us candidly. Not in bed, of course. Being confident that we'll never be parted again.

It only later occurs to me now that my mother may object. I never asked how she felt about Peeta. I'm sure she sees him as a victim of the Capitol as much as we all have been. I would assume that part of her resents him, because I was shackled to his mouth whether I liked it or not. But now that I do know that I love him ... It makes sense that I never asked her.

Our relationship has improved a lot but we don't exactly talk about our feelings. I guess I'm still resentful, distrusting. Anyway, I'm awake before the clock strikes six. I change into my daytime uniform and take some time re-braiding my hair in the bathroom. I rinse my face and bite my lips together.

There's not much a Victor can do to look presentable in District 13. Johanna mocks what she considers to be a futile attempt to pretty up for Peeta. I threaten to leave without her to get her to shut-up. For the time being, I'm her guide around District 13. I drop her off at the Cafeteria and head to the hospital to pick up Peeta.

While I wait for him, his doctor has a private word with me.

"I know I don't have to say anything." says the doctor. "But, keep an eye on him for us. Cases like his can still be two steps forward, one step back. Unlike Johanna, he does not have someone to share a compartment with."

I fight not to blush as the implication behind what must be a casual remark on his part.

"He'll be fine." I tell him. "Peeta can take care of himself. He's a survivor."

When I see Peeta, I notice he's taking his pad of paper and pen. I'm pleased to know that they were not confiscated. Still, he stores them in an old pillowcase. He thanks his medical team and promises to not let their hard work be for nothing.

When I enter his compartment later that day, I see that Peeta's in his washroom judging by the light glowing around the doorframe. I push it open and find his blue eyes wide in the reflection of the mirror. He has his shirt rolled above his nipples, analyzing his ribs in his reflection. He rolls it back down at my intrusion.

"I didn't know you could come in." Peeta says, looking scared. "I thought you'd need a code or something."

"No." I answer. "The locks are controlled by someone else in District 13. Maybe the hospital has their own set. And Coin. But, we're just regular people."

Peeta clears his throat and eventually says, without looking at me, "... Oh."

It's plain to see that gives him quiet. I walk up behind him while he's arranging his cosmetics on the sink. No blades for shaving, only an electric shaver. A bar of soap still wrapped in plastic. I notice that there is a squat cylinder plastic tube labeled Wipe Bath Tissues.

I think I've seen them in the hospital before. I glance out of the corner of my eye at the bath tub with the toilet set next to it. I touch Peeta's back and trail my fingers to his front, embracing him from behind. I can feel his heartbeat.

"He can't touch you here." I whisper.

Peeta sighs, "Only you can."

I'm not sure what he means by that. I catch his eye in the reflection.

"Were you going to leave me without saying 'goodbye'?" Peeta asks.

I frown, "Peeta -?"

"When you were keeping District 2 a secret from me." he clarifies. "Were you going to sneak off without telling me? That I wouldn't find out?"

Peeta turns and my arms drop back to my sides.

My frown deepens, "No. I was waiting for the right moment."

"No more secrets." Peeta states. "I'll go first. Boggs tells me that I am not fit for battle."

"I know." I say, agreeing with Boggs. "Your leg. And you've lost a lot of muscle -"

"But, he says that I can join the training sessions. Like you and Gale. Johanna and Finnick."

Peeta is no match for Gale. I don't need him competing with a man who has been in training for months. Whereas he has been almost entirely bedridden since he was rescued and tortured in the intervening time before that and our second Games.

"You're far worse off than the three of us." I remind him, crossing my arms, "And departure is three weeks away. If the Assessment Board doesn't -"

"Do you want me to stay behind?!" He asks, hurt.

I narrow my eyes, frowning, and gape up at Peeta. What am I supposed to say to that? That I can't bear being parted from him again? That we're stronger together? Something sappy like that?

I'm withering beneath his pain.

"No! I want you by my side! You know that!" I assure him vehemently. "But I don't want you to die because ... because you can't carry a gun or something." I finish lamely.

I don't want you to die because of me. Maybe we wouldn't have to wait till reaching the Capitol. Could he have a heart attack running the track, lifting weights, in combat drills? I glance away, imaging him lying lifelessly on a matt. I just got him back.

"They took my family away from me, Katniss." Peeta says darkly, glaring somewhere I am not. "My friends. My home."

He pulls his shirt up over his head, unveiling his scars. Most were long and slender white ridges across his pale skin, telltale wiping marks. Others were lumpy, circular burns. He was still so pale. I run my finger along one, feeling my fingertip burn.

"It's time that Snow was at the wrong end of a weapon." I finally say.

Peeta nods, "The President may have just created the worst Mutts in Hunger Games history. And he doesn't even realize it."

And so Peeta was following behind me to the track at 7:30 a.m.. As usual, we first jog around the trail with guns. If they are heavy to start with, they're like lead by the end of the exercise. Gale is among the first to finish in his accelerated phase of training group. He barely breaks a sweat.

He is in the best shape he has ever been in his life. I hope Peeta is not comparing himself to Gale. But I catch him watching Gale follow his group back inside. In my group of fourteen to fifteen year olds, I trail behind to encourage Peeta.

"Doesn't look like physical therapy did much for you, huh?" I ask him.

We're barely jogging and I can see Soldier York eyeing us from far away. Doubting Peeta's fitness like me.

Peeta pants back breathlessly, "That was just so my muscles wouldn't completely atrophy and to prevent bed sores, Katniss."

I sympathize with him, "Rest if you need to -!"

"The last thing ... I need ... is rest!" He says with a steadier voice.

He demonstrated to me the definition of 'willpower'. I watch his jutting cheekbones flush and his snowy skin sheen with sweat. He grits his teeth, that muscle in his jaw pulsing. His shirt sticks to his body like paper mache. He's moaning with agony but still he keeps going.

I'm no longer slowing down for him.

But once we cross the finish point, Peeta drops his gun and vomits. The rest of our group cringes, then a few clap. Johanna watches him in an odd way, like she's suddenly far away. Likely, she's heard the sound of him puking while they were held captive. Peeta almost drops to his knees but I catch him.

"Katniss!" He gasps, wiping his lips with the curve of his hand.

I press down on his lower back, "Sit down. Sit down, Peeta. You shouldn't have pushed yourself so hard -"

"Good work, Soldier Mellark." says Soldier York approvingly. "Alright, troop. Stretch and meet me inside the gym."

Peeta manages to straighten himself up and he makes a shaky attempt at a salute. He pushes himself through the stretches and barely has the breath left in him for the strengthening exercises that follow. I can't help but recall when he could throw weights around the gym during our first Games. Intimidating the Careers and me, to be honest. Fist to fist combat was never my forte.

Now, however, I look like a professional next to Peeta but I don't say it. Johanna does. Her insults may be inspirational to me, but they diminish his spirit. He is ordered by our trainer, Soldier York, to sit out the five-mile run. With reluctance, I take off alongside Johanna without him.

Leaving him sagging on the ground at Soldier York's feet. I want us to kill Snow together. But, part of me does want to keep him here where he's out of harm's way. Perhaps today will be the dose of reality we both need to see sense.

"I'm not giving up." Peeta assures me at lunch.

Both of our statuses have been updated to Military. Therefore, our caloric intakes have changed. A nutty bread and cheese sandwich, roasted beef, a cup of cubed fruits with nuts, and a cup of milk to wash it all down. This was a hearty jump from my previous lunches of just one or the other.

I give him a smile, "It was only your first day, Peeta. I bailed out after the first mile on mine." I pick a cube of fruit, "You know, you really impressed me today."

Peeta smiled, "I vomited gloriously, huh?"

I narrow my eyes at him good-naturedly, "After everything you've been through. So much pain. You fought through it."

Peeta won't take the credit, "I've had a lot of inspiration."

I glance down for a moment and before I can look back up, he kisses me. With renewed determination, he joins me for the afternoon training session. We ignore the stares from the rest of our group. Now, I have to help both Johanna and Peeta. First off, I teach Peeta how to assemble a gun and help Johanna with parts she can't keep herself still long enough to fit.

We all ignore Cressida and her film crew. Surely they'll edit out me helping my friends cheat as that is a serious offence. If they want all the living Victors in combat, they'll have no other choice. Then we're all off to the shooting range. After dinner that day (beef and vegetable stew over pasta with cheese and water), the Victors and I are summoned to Production to watch a new propo.

It's mainly of the Victors training. This was a very polished version of the day. No Peeta retching up his breakfast. As hoped, none of my cheating indiscretions. Together we watch Peeta surge on the track with his gun swinging in his grasp.

The propo concludes with Peeta hoisting a dumbbell high over his head from our second Games, triumphant music cheering him on. The last clip is of Peeta clenching his jaw, making the muscle flex there again.

... BE READY ...

Peeta turns to Cressida, "You made me look almost like a real soldier."

Cressida claps him on the shoulder, "Thank you, but I can't take the credit."

She gives him a small bow to which Finnick claps heartily, "Way to go, Peeta!"

Peeta glows at the support from the fellow Victors. Johanna punches him lightly in the shoulder. I am just amazed that Peeta's still standing. He's clearly exhausted but touched by their compliments.

"Now I only have to do it all over again." He chuckles woefully.

Johanna tilts her head, "And again. And again -"

I frown at her and take Peeta by the hand, "Thank you all again. But we need our rest."

We walk dirty hand in dirty hand back to his assigned living quarters. He has a limp to his gate. His thigh must be sore from running on his prosthetic leg.

"Did you get enough to eat?" I ask him.

Peeta nods, "They warned me that eating normally after the feeding tube wouldn't be pleasant. To be honest, I don't feel much like eating anything at all. So I force it all down. Anything to avoid those nasty supplemental shakes."

I understand that Peeta wants to return to normalcy. I've known that for a while and wanted that for him. That's why I brought him all the paper and that pen so that he could at least draw.

"As long as they approve, I guess I shouldn't be worried."

He gazes down at me, "But you will anyway. You're a worry wart."

I resist shoving him, "Takes one to know one."

"Sleep well, Peeta." I say in farewell.

Peeta replies, "I remember your room number. If I get scared, I'll -"

"You won't." I assure him.

"What if you miss me?" He grins drowsily. "I know I will miss you."

I narrow one eye, "I think you'll survive one night."

We chuckle and go quiet when a group of people pass us by. We press our lips together till we're alone again. His lip feel so warm and soft stroking mine. We grow closer and closer till we're in each other's arms. I don't remember when I stepped over his threshold nor the door closing me inside with him.

We dig our noses into each other's cheeks. He has one hand at my waist and the other cupping the back of my head. I feel at his stomach, which is slightly but delightfully distended with his plentiful supper. It makes me smile against his lips.

Peeta's calf, metal and flesh, make contact with the foot of his bed and he sinks down. I'm now standing between his legs and we do not stop kissing. Suddenly, I find my fingers are unbuttoning down his grey flannel shirt. He only stops stroking me to wriggle out of it. I finally catch my breath.

Something catches my eye on the bedspread. It's one of his drawings, this one depicting his family bakery. He posed his brothers and parents on the porch looking distinctly happier than I've imagined. With care I pick it up to examine it closer.

"How do you do this?" I ask, amazed. "It's almost like a photograph."

His hands are so talented and his heart so big. No wonder I fit so well inside it. He watches me prop it by his bedside lamp. How I feel about his abusive mother is irrelevant. Peeta would not have included her if he did not feel distinctly differently about her.

Peeta grins, "I taught myself. I assure you it didn't happen overnight. My first was a snowman. It was so terrible." He laughs. "Just a stack of three misshapen circles."

"I'm sure it was cute." I smirk, returning to stand before him, "So, where were we ... Soldier Mellark?"

"How about you remind me, Soldier Everdeen?"

We laugh and resume kissing. He scoots further back and I climb into his lap, each leg folded on either side of his waist. It occurs to me that I am roughly twenty pounds lighter than him now.

"Are you comfortable?" I ask him. "I can move -"

"Don't you dare move." He whispers back, grinning.

That makes me smile. Our breaths are taken deep and easy but my heart is pounding. I feel that stirring sensation within me, just like I had on that artificial shore the Capitol called a beach. Gazing at him, I lean back and begin to unbutton my shirt. Then Peeta stops me.

"Are you sure?" he asks. "In District 13? I want this to be perfect for you. At home -"

I take his hands in mine, "Peeta, I have a new home now."

I touch the spot over his heart then I take his hand again ... bringing it up towards my breast. This is something I have not allowed Gale to do. Then came the knock at his door.

"Peeta?" came my mother's voice. "I'm looking for Katniss. It's almost curfew."

I growl and Peeta sighs, "I think I can guarantee I won't be having any nightmares tonight, Katniss."

Unwillingly, I dismount his lap, "I'm coming, mom."

Peeta pulls his shirt back on and I forget to button mine back up to my neck. It's only a couple of buttons, but my mother notices right away. I watch her eyes glance from mine down to those empty slots. She can't even see my cleavage. Even though she does not say anything about it, it's clear that she assumes she had just interrupted something far from innocent.

And it makes me feel vindictively good. A rebel I have become at last.

Writer's Note: I was hoping I would get this fic done before the final movie released. But, I'm sure many of us will ship Everlark for the rest of our lives. Book-wise, we're in Chapter 17 of Mockingjay.