Chapter 19

Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of the chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. Today's episode is particularly bad. He sinks his fingers into his hands up to the point where I expect him to start bleeding, only to release them before any real damage could be done. A drop of sweat slides down the right side of his face and I wipe it off with a piece of cloth. Before, when Peeta used to hide from me while he went through horrifying pain, I thought he did it because he didn't care whether I was by his side. Only now I see he did it to protect me from the venom that was still strong enough in his bloodstream to corrupt his sight of me into something unimaginable. A different mutt, every time. The one time he told me to leave the room still dances in my memory. "Get out, Katniss. Now! Before I..." And he closed the door on me before I could even hesitate. Keeping me from the dangerous horrors the venom had just conjured up. Now, with the therapy, Peeta has learned to separate the shiny version of me who threatens him with a knife from the reality where I'm only cutting bread slices so we can make toast. "I don't believe you present a physical threat to Katniss during your flashbacks anymore. She should still use caution, one can never be too sure considering how your brain was affected. But you have done well, Peeta," Dr. Aurelius tells him over the phone. And I swear I've never seen Peeta look this relieved.

I'd be lying if I said the doctor's opinion didn't lift a weight off my shoulders too, even just partially. Even if there was only one time when I believed Peeta could really kill me. The sight of his hands locked around my throat still makes me uneasy. But even during the mission, when I was certain Coin had sent me with the intention of having Peeta wipe me off the map, I could sense his true self hiding underneath that confused shell. The last time I kissed him was proof of it. I didn't need to protect myself from Peeta, because he was learning to protect me from every danger in the world again.

I lead Peeta to the sofa and bring him a glass of water. It's raining, though it's nothing like the storms we'd had recently. This is warm soft rain meant to provide the soil with an opportunity to kiss summer goodbye, before the leaves turn yellow and make a crunchy carpet on the ground. I listen to every drop, particularly the sound of the water hitting a tin bucket we'd forgotten outside the window after we collected carrots and a few heads of cabbage from the garden. He drinks the water, one sip at a time, seemingly recollecting his thoughts. Trying to make sense of what was real and what wasn't. We still play the game when doubt trickles into his head, and after I take his hand and graze it in circles with my fingers, he asks me if I could help him sort something out. As I expected.

"Katniss, in the Quarter Quell arena, on the beach, I gave you that locket with pictures of your mother, Prim, and Gale. Do you know why I did it?" he asks. He's taken my hand in his, now being the one to graze his fingers up and down my palm. I thought he was going to ask me if something was real, but I now see there's a deeper question bothering him.

"You were trying to protect me," I tell him. "You wanted to convince me out of saving your life by arguing that other people needed me, that I could have a future without you."

"That's what I thought," he says, though I sense he's not done yet. His eyes don't look as sad as much as they look pensive, as if he's considering every little bit he can remember from that day. "Did it work? What I said?"

"Not for a second," I say. What I had thought was a wish to save him, because I owed him as much, had already transformed into something larger than a sense of fairness or my agreement with Haymitch. If Peeta died, I would not have willed myself to be crowned a victor. There was no way I could have returned to District 12 without him. Even his torture in the Capitol, when, for his sake, I thought it was better he was dead, could not convince me I could move on without Peeta by my side. The shallow kisses Gale and I shared only added to my pre-judgement, of which I become more certain with every rising sun. I could never fix the shattered pieces of a life without Peeta.

"I thought so. I remember trying to use our baby. Well, our imaginary baby. Not to sway the sponsors, but to remind you of a family you could have someday." Peeta takes a deep breath, considering his own words. "My love for you seemed so selfless," he reckons, his voice empty and confused.

"It was," I agree. Suddenly disturbed by his use of the past tense. I'm bothered by where this conversation might go, worried that somehow he'll reach the conclusion that it wasn't worth it. That it wasn't the venom speaking when he told me I wasn't particularly pretty. That I really was a piece of work for playing him. For letting my confusion act in disregard for his feelings. And Gale's.

I untangle our hands. Thinking of my interactions with Peeta in 13 makes me hate myself, and they almost make me hate him too. Prim was the one to warn me of how poorly I was dealing with Peeta's state, how it wasn't his fault he was transformed into a weapon against me. Not a weapon designed to kill me, as Coin had thought. But a more powerful one meant to disarm me. Make me fall apart for having to lose Peeta's love to finally realize how much I yearned for it.

"Are you okay?" Peeta asks me, concerned. I'm not. I feel terrible. A paradoxical mess. Trading courage for revenge. Friendship for resent. Misunderstanding affection for debt. How unfairly I treated Peeta only makes me wonder why he's still here. Am I deserving of redemption? Can I finally learn to see myself the way Peeta once saw me? Better yet, can I truly be the things he thought I were?

"Katniss," he interrupts my thoughts. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I just wanted to thank you." Thank me? Didn't I just go over in my head about how I lied and betrayed him? "You look startled," he continues. "I have to thank you for not letting me convince you in the arena. Somehow I know that whatever pushed you to keep me alive then is what persuaded you to keep me alive later, in the mission. When I was a threat to myself and others. You could have killed me and I would've understood. I would've even forgiven you. But I'm glad you chose to save me again."

"I'm glad we always save each other," I correct him. "Because I wouldn't have forgiven myself."

"Well, isn't it wonderful?" He smiles, his tone of voice more cheerful now. "We didn't agree about it back then, in the arena, but we agree about it now. Sometimes I think we must thank Haymitch for making us contradictory promises he obviously can't keep."

It's funny how little comments by Peeta can break through the dark heavy clouds hanging over me. Making me feel better about myself, about the things I've done and haven't done. Showering me with a new perspective. I see how he and Prim were similar in some ways. She could make me see something more clearly, think outside of my stubborn self, and cheer me up on gloomy days. Peeta seems to have the same effect on me. I don't know what happens to people after we die, but a part of me wishes she could see me now. She'd smile at the sight of me trying to reconstruct my life, shunning destructive thoughts away, and allowing myself to seek this pleasing sensation I only feel when Peeta is around. I even think it could be happiness, as absurd as this may sound after all we've been through.

I draw closer to Peeta and rest my head on his shoulder. He brings his arm around me, holding me tight, as we cherish the closeness. Like the times before, I wait for a sign. A sound, a word, a gesture. Anything that tells me we're ready to resume what we had started. Be the lovers of District 12, no longer star-crossed. But nothing. Peeta seems perfectly satisfied with holding my hand and caressing my arm. He traces one of my scars, twirling his fingers around it. Letting me know they don't repulse him. For all I know, he's just as proud of my burns as he is of his. But if my burnt appearance is not to blame for his refusal to kiss me, then what is?

I go to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. My hair has grown longer to the point it stays put in its braid. I have dark circles under my eyes, but they have been there for a long time, even before the Quell. Something only my prep team was able to disguise. I did laundry the other day, so my clothes are clean too, though there's a smudge of dirt on my pants from my trip to the woods this morning. I try to see what Peeta used to see all the times he told me I was beautiful, hoping that if I find it, I can enhance it. Remind him. But whatever it was, I can't find it.

Peeta knocks on the bathroom door, telling me we're going to be late for Haymitch's. We try to have dinner with him at least once a week. It helps us check on him, but it's not the only reason we do it. Haymitch is our family now and, no matter how hard he tries to irritate us with words and the strong aroma of vomit and white liquor, we enjoy his company. He brings us a feeling of normalcy, even if we were joined by circumstances anything but normal.

I wash my face and walk out to find that Peeta's already waiting for me outside. "Sorry, I had to come out for fresh air," he says. "It's very warm inside, I have to stop baking on warm days. The heat stays locked in forever."

"Soon you won't have to bake here at all," I tell him. His bakery plans are going well and they're supposed to build the foundation within the next week. My reminder does the trick to get Peeta in a very good mood, a requirement for our dinners with Haymitch. They tend to begin with Peeta and I doing all the cooking and end with us in the kitchen again, doing all the cleaning. Tonight's no different. Except that Haymitch is more talkative than usual, memories sparked by Peeta's mention of the intensive special programming on Hunger Games victors Plutarch has run recently.

"You see, sweetheart. Chaff really didn't know what he was doing. Probably too drunk to tell, anyway." Haymitch tells us about a Victors' party held before the 72nd Hunger Games. Somehow it ended with Chaff setting a swimming pool on fire. Peeta gives me a witty look, as if letting me know how grateful he is that we never had to attend any of those. It's not like the victors chose to have them, it was part of their job to attend certain Capitol functions. But it looks to me like they tried to do the best they could to enjoy themselves. Even if an endless supply of liquor was required to do so.

It's a night of reminiscing for Haymitch and we let him. It's not often that Haymitch finds the strength and willpower to open up about his life, especially considering almost every single person in the stories tonight is dead. Victors, prep team members, avoxes. The stories have an unexpected effect on me. I feel resilient, ready to rise from destruction to honour our losses. I'm no longer a Mockingjay, but a creature from ancient fables my father used to tell. A phoenix, a bird that burns at the end of its life only to be reborn from ashes. Newer, younger, stronger.

I look around the table. It's fallen silent. Haymitch has passed out from liquor and sadness. Bittersweet misery stamped on his tired face. Peeta has taken the knife off his hands, and slowly continues the ritual of carving the top of the table. I want to tell him everything thing I've withheld. But I'm not as good with words as he is. I hope he knows I'm sorry. That it pains me to recognize my mistakes, my stubbornness, my refusal to let him in. The kisses given to someone else, which were only meant for him. Somehow I think he understands. Maybe he's even aware that I'm thankful for him too. Not just because he saved my life many times before, but on account of the way he continues to save me everyday.

That is why, when Peeta leads me back to his house at the end of the night, I follow with no hesitation. He tells me good night after I lie down on his bed. The only place where I can safely fall asleep.

A/N: Three more chapters to go. But I have a little surprise in store too, Peeta's POV related. Just hold on. I'm so happy with the amount of reviews and hits lately, you guys are awesome and have helped me so much! The reviews not only let me know you're reading but also that you're enjoying it (and what I have to work better on). I try to reply to all the reviews, though it's been impossible lately without proper internet. But know I read all of them and take them to heart. You should be sure that I'm smiling every time I read them.

Also, on a different note... I'm curious to know how you found out about this fanfiction. I know many of you just browsed through , but any other sources?