When the initial chaos has died down – taking around thirty minutes, I estimate, and added time to escort out the six or seven Capitol women who fainted – Caesar tries to draw back our attention to the interview. Peeta and I vaguely answer his questions but never, not once, does our gaze leave the other's face. On Peeta's face, an endless grin and a few tears that I kiss away, earning an "aaww" from the audience and crew alike. It would take one thing, and one thing only, to separate my eyes from his, now.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm getting an announcement that we're about to have a very special guest here on the show tonight…"
The smell of blood and oh-so-sweet roses fills my nostrils. The smell is so pungent I want to retch.
Blood… and roses.
"…Welcome to the show, President Snow!"
The Capitol audience are clapping, but I don't hear it. I can't even see them anymore. Not even Peeta can claim my attention as I turn my head – why does everything feel so slow? – and lock eyes with the one man who can destroy my entire being at the click of his fingers.
"Congratulations," he's saying, and he's shaking hands with Peeta. We're standing, now? I have just enough time to wonder how that happened when he's turning to me. His arms are outstretched. I can't back off, Peeta's arm is around my waist. I have no choice but to step forwards and accept the hug of the man who, given the chance, would probably have me executed simply because of all the trouble I have caused him.
"Was it enough?" I find myself wondering, and am shocked when I realise that I have said it aloud. He tenses. I feel him slip something into my hand as we both pull away but do not dare look at it. Peeta's arm is back around my waist. I keep up the easy, comedic banter between us – something about asking my mother for permission – but all the while I cannot help the uneasy shivers that creep up my spine. Why didn't he just nod, or shake his head? That would have done, surely. The little piece of paper in my hand has done nothing but scare me.
When it is time for us to go I fix a smile upon my face and follow Peeta obediently off the stage. I think I was expecting privacy but of course, we are given none – two people whose entire relationship has been nationally broadcast can never expect privacy, the only luxury I would quite happily sell my soul to obtain. Especially now, with President Snow's message in one hand and Peeta in the other. As I look at him, and he is smiling at me, I can't figure out what I want more; to read the note or to be alone with the boy with the bread.
My fiancé.
I don't even get the time to reflect on how those words make me feel when we are converged upon by a squealing mass of stylists – Peeta's prep team is a little more conserved than mine, but this does nothing to stop them from all jumping at us, demanding hugs and air kisses and recognition for their tears. "I haven't stopped crying once since you stepped out on that stage," Octavia sobs, hugging me.
"I knew it! Didn't I say I knew it?" Flavius gushes, pumping Peeta's hand up and down.
When we have got rid of them, we have yet more people to face – Haymitch shakes Peeta's hand and hugs me and doesn't say much, but I can tell by the smile on his face – sincere, this time, rather than cynical – that he is at least a little pleased for us. Then Effie, who is in floods and is insisting that "she always knew we were pearls" (what this has to do with anything I have no idea). Portia and Cinna are hugging us, and when Cinna does he whispers in my ear, asking me if I've "figured it out yet". I pull away to frown at him but he simply mouths "give it time". I am whisked away, still clutching Peeta's hand, overwhelmed by pervasive confusion.
We are not given any time alone in the car, where Effie wastes no time in babbling constantly about wedding dresses and – oh! Wouldn't it be lovely if Cinna could design it for me? There could even be mockingjays at the wedding, don't you think, Portia? We are not given any time alone in the flat, where our prep teams dive into preparing us for the party at President Snow's, moaning about having had to separate us – "you look so cute together". We are certainly not given any time alone together at the party, where we are endlessly besieged by people who want things of us – pictures, kisses, handshakes, invites to the wedding or simply recognition – when all we want from them is a little time alone.
We gain some respite when Peeta leads me to the dancefloor, but we are still the subject of such constant examination that we dare not really talk. My hands explore his face, his chest, his arms, as he sways me gently to the music, his arms clamped firmly around my waist. When I am content with my wanderings I simply lean into his chest and let Peeta do all the work. One of his hands wander up into my hair and he asks me if I am happy. I nod, my throat suddenly restricted for some reason, and lean up to kiss him.
I am happy. I can't possibly hope to explain it, but I am. Why am I happy? I shouldn't be. I have no right to be. Marriage is a serious business, I know, and not to be trifled with. It shouldn't be approached uncertainly, with one of the party uncertain as to whether they want this. It certainly shouldn't take place between two people who were pushed together not out of fate or a mutual desire to be together but out of a need to survive.
What will my mother say?
What will Gale, who I had always told I would never get married, think when he sees the footage of Peeta and I embracing so openly after his proposal? Gale knows me better than anyone. He would have seen the joy in my eyes – the joy I did not, for some reason, even have to think about creating. It was natural. An instinctual response. My instincts have always saved me in the past, but now it feels like they might be the death of me.
Gale. My mother. Peeta. I don't love Peeta. Do I? I can't do. I never have. Cared about him, certainly. Craved his body. But never loved him.
So why, thinking about marrying him, am I so happy that I cannot even speak?
I feel sick. Must be the seafood. At least, this is what I manage to splutter out to a startled Peeta as I tear myself from his arms and sprint for the bathroom. I barely make it when I am sick, the foul smelling, burning bile forcing its way up my throat as I clutch the toilet bowl in an effort not to fall face first into it. I am vaguely aware of a pair of hands gathering my hair so that I do not get sick in it. I feel the hands comb through it, braiding my hair much in the same way that my mother does. Once I am done I see them pass me a glass of water and I have to sip at it before I can thank the anonymous carer with a voice hoarse from the acid torture it has just endured. "Thank you," I whisper. My hands are shaking.
"You're welcome," replies President Snow.
In an instant I am on my feet, my back against the wall. My eyes, I know, must be wide as saucers. I am glancing at the door, at the window that lines one whole wall of the bathroom, looking for a way out. The President takes this in and chuckles. "My dear, I'm not here to hurt you. I merely didn't see you at our meeting and assumed you were otherwise engaged." His eyes flicker in distaste to the toilet. "Which was a correct assumption, in a way. Did my seafood not please you?"
I cannot answer him. I am frowning. Our meeting? I think of the little piece of paper that I had left, in my confusion, on the floor of the bathroom at the flat. Oops. "I don't have any complaints about the rest of the food," I say, trying to imitate his casual tone but failing when all that comes out is a harsh growl. I clear my throat, but to no avail. "The oysters are a little slippery for my taste."
He smiles. I can't help but wonder at that smile – it's not the evil, menacing one that I remember from Victor's Village. It's… weary. And almost a little sad. He notices my confused gaze and sighs, shaking his head. "My child, you have no idea." He shakes his head again. "No idea at all."
About what?
"About the effect you can have," he continues at a murmur, turning to gaze out of the window that gives a perfect snapshot view of the glittering city below – so different, so much shinier than the view from my bedroom at home. Something about his speech makes me uneasy – he is copying something Peeta said, I think. A long time ago. But there were no cameras, then – so how can he know? I am contemplating this when he speaks again. And what he says next makes my stomach drop so far that I am almost certain that if I had any food inside me I might be sick again. "In answer to your question, Katniss, no, it wasn't enough."
I have to think about this for a second before it hits me.
It wasn't enough.
They're still going to rebel.
Prim, Gale, my mother, Peeta, Haymitch... I have failed them. Failed everyone in the Districts.
But… I'd been so sure. No one could have doubted us. We were the perfect couple, on and off screen. I thought I'd convinced everyone.
It comes to me now, why I'd been so happy when Peeta proposed: because not only had I succeeded in convincing the whole of Panem, I had succeeded in convincing myself.
And now it was all meaningless.
"You did an admirable job, Katniss," Snow is saying. He sounds far away. "But it just wasn't enough. My advice to you now is just to… just to enjoy the time you have left with Peeta."
He sounds so absurdly sad. It's almost like… almost like I convinced him, as well. Those were his instructions, after all, as he sat opposite me in my home the day that the Victory Tour began. I should be proud. All I can muster up is an inescapable sadness.
"It was all for nothing," I hear myself say. It as if someone else is saying it, though, and I can't control the tears that are breaking free for the first time all day. "Being with Peeta, making him happy, getting engaged… all for nothing."
I hear him sigh through my haze of desperate despair. One of his hands – the hands that had been braiding my hair, absurdly – pats me on the shoulder. "I don't think it was for nothing, Katniss," he murmurs. "Do you?"
And then he is gone, leaving me to stuff my fists into my mouth so that the sobs do not escape.
-x-
"Katniss?"
Knocking. Frantic knocking. Then Peeta, panicked, "she's not answering, Haymitch" and then they're battering the door with their shoulders. I watch it all unfold with a vague sort of wonder. When they finally manage to get the door open Peeta is by my side instantly and Haymitch is nursing his arm. He must have jarred it trying to get the door open. "Katniss?" Peeta is frantic, waving his hands in front of my eyes, trying to engage my attention. All I can do is keep my eyes on his. "Are you hurt? Did you fall?" I shake my head.
"I'm fine, Peeta," I manage to say. We are both shocked at how weak my voice sounds. "It's just… bad reaction to the food." He doesn't look convinced. Still, he nods, and bends down to pick me up, cradling me like a child in his arms. I begin to protest – it's fine, I can walk – but he is already in fast discussion with Haymitch, arranging to meet Effie at the train station. He carries me to the door of the bathroom and then has to let me go – we both know, of course, that if I allow Peeta to carry me out of this door an entire crowd of our new Capitol "friends" will swarm, desperate for the gossip. He keeps a firm hand on my waist, though, for which I am grateful. God bless Peeta Mellark, who will stay with me forever and a day if that is what it takes. I clutch at his other hand and stumble through the crowd.
We do not say goodbye to anyone. I know that if Effie were there, she'd protest, but she is not here. I can't bring myself to care about a little broken social protocol, anyway.
As Peeta guides me into the car I realise that, for the first time in days, we are completely and utterly alone together. When he shuts the door behind him I fold myself into his arms completely, resting my head on his chest. My heart flutters when his arms snake around me to hold me so tightly that I am, for a moment, given the illusion of total security. I let my eyes close as he strokes my hair and feel myself become more relaxed than I have been in weeks.
"What happened?" Peeta whispers. Immediately, I am tense again. "We don't have to talk about it here," he murmurs, but I can tell from his tone that he is desperate to know what happened. This could be difficult: do I let him know what really happened in that bathroom? Why I ran away to throw up my dinner? I can't – then, of course, he'd know. Know that this wasn't really our engagement party. If I told him what Snow had said in the bathroom, he'd know it was our grand send off before we are either disposed of or torn apart, judging by Snow's little speech.
Just… enjoy the time you have left with Peeta.
Peeta is waiting. I am panicking. What can I tell him, if not that? That Snow just wanted to congratulate me on how well my acting skills have come on? Oh no, Peeta, you didn't think I was really in love with you, did you? Of course not. I was just playing.
Again.
I lift my head off his chest and smile sadly at him as he stares uneasily down at me. "Just… just had a couple of flashbacks, that's all. Of the arena."
It sounds so tinny and fake to me that I am surprised when Peeta's face forms a sympathetic grimace. He leans down to kiss me on the forehead, and I know that I am off the hook.
Not forever, a little voice at the back of my head whines at me. You can't lie to him forever, Katniss. What happens when you're getting married and he tells you he loves you, and you can't say it back?
I think it over, visualising it. Peeta stands before me in a clean shirt, black trousers. There's other people there but they fade into the background as I stare at him. He smiles at me. Mouths it. I love you.
I snap out of my daydream and find myself wide eyed and stunned when I realise that I want to say it back.
"Katniss? We're here."
I sit bolt upright, looking blearily out of the windows and rubbing my eyes. We're pulling up alongside the train. I glance at it, suddenly uncertain – do I want to get back on it, knowing that it will take me home and to the assorted issues that that might bring? Peeta nudges me, holds out his hand. I take it and he smiles at me as he helps me out of the car and onto the train, draping his jacket over my shoulders. That smile is the reason that I vow not to think about it, anymore. Not tonight.
Tonight I will fall into Peeta's bed and enjoy him until the sun comes up.
Tomorrow is a new day.
-x-
AN: Thank you guys so much for the amazing responses for the last chapter! Thought I'd reward you with a quick new chapter.
Apologies to maryclumsykatherine – sorry! It'll all sort itself out!
And ElvenComparison, YES, that is exactly what I was trying to convey! I don't know if I sometimes miss bits of Katniss' thoughts out so let me know what you think about her decision making process in this chapter :)
Thank you everyone!