Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.
The dough has become three loaves of bread. "One for Haymitch," Peeta tells me as he gets out a bag to put them in. He starts wrapping up the bread while I get a tall glass out of the nearby cupboard and then fill it with water from the refrigerator. I drink too fast and the cold water hurts all the way down. But at least it's a distraction from my overactive mind. As the day wears on, I can't help thinking of the fact that I'll have to sleep again tonight and there isn't a doubt in my mind that the nightmares will return.
I shake my head a little and put my glass in the sink. "Ready?" I ask Peeta. He nods, shifting the bag of bread to one arm and reaching out for me with the other. I'm not sure if he expects me to step closer, so that it can wrap around me, or if I'm just supposed to take his hand. I elect the latter.
We walk to Haymitch's house and I hit the front door hard with the heel of my hand. As usual, there's no answer. I twist the knob and push, then step inside can't help wincing. How can he live like this? I glance over at Peeta, but he just gives a little shrug and then crosses the room to the kitchen. I follow.
Haymitch sits slumped in a chair, bottle in hand. "Heard of knocking?" he asks.
"I pounded," I say.
Haymitch doesn't seem to register my response. "I mean, what if I'd been…unclothed?"
"In the kitchen?" I ask, tilting my head with skepticism.
"That's why I made sure to come in here before you," Peeta says, turning to me with a smile. I don't even want to ask if they have a reason for talking like this. I choose to think it's a joke. "We brought bread," Peeta says, getting out a plate and knife. He cuts off a heel and hands it to Haymitch, who takes a bite. "Katniss helped make it this time," Peeta says with a smile, while he and I each take a seat at the table.
Haymitch chews and swallows the bread. "It's terrible," he says flatly.
One side of my mouth raises in a little smirk.
"Hey, I supervised," Peeta says, still smiling.
"What have you been up to lately?" Haymitch asks. I wonder if he's still supposed to be keeping tabs on us, or at least on me.
"Nothing," I say quickly. I can't help it, our day to day life seems so uneventful compared to what we've had to live through in the past, that it feels like we have been doing nothing. I don't even think about how my response will sound to Peeta, until I see his smile fade.
He looks away from me and over at Haymitch. "You remember Katniss' family's plant book?"
"Nope," Haymitch says, taking a swig from his bottle. I'm not sure if he's ever seen the plant book, and wonder why Peeta would mention it so casually. Maybe Peeta told him about it at some point, when we were working on it before the Quell.
"Well, we've been making something like that. I've drawn pictures of our families and Finnick and Cinna, and the others who are gone," Peeta explains, "and Katniss writes things about them."
"That sounds nice," Haymitch says, staring down at his bottle and picking at the label.
My eyebrows raise at his seemingly sincere words. I suppose the book must be nice, if even Haymitch is willing to admit it. "You should help." I hear the words, but it's not until I see both Peeta and Haymitch look at me that I realize I'm the one who's spoken them. "I mean, if there's anyone we don't have yet, who you think should be remembered…" I let my voice trail off, wondering what exactly I mean. I realize I don't know anything about Haymitch's family. I don't even know how they died. But I feel like he should contribute something, if he wants to.
Haymitch looks back down at his bottle and appears to be lost in thought. Then his gaze raises to mine again and he says, "I can think of forty-six people."
Of course. The tributes he mentored before Peeta and me. A couple might have relatives left to mourn them, but most have surely been forgotten by everyone but Haymitch. All those dead children, they deserve to be remembered too. I try to think, and am able to picture some faces from the years before Peeta and I were the tributes. I nod my head. "Whatever you can remember about them."
He presses his lips together for a moment, then says, "I'll think about it."
Peeta makes sure Haymitch eats some more bread and then we stand up to leave. "Come over some time," I say with a shrug of one shoulder. "I mean, in the next couple of days."
Haymitch nods, glancing up at me for a second. I look over at Peeta, who's smiling and reaching his hand out toward me. I take it and we leave the house together.
"That was a good idea," Peeta says, as we walk down the steps of Haymitch's porch, "asking him to help."
"I just thought -" I say quickly, but stop myself. Why do I sound so defensive? Peeta told me it was a good idea, but I'm responding as if he's criticized me. "Thanks," I mumble, and he gives my hand a squeeze.
While we walk the short distance to my house, I think of when we were in the elevator of the Training Center, before the Quell. Peeta was laughing over the way Finnick, Johanna and Chaff were teasing me because of my purity. That day I became defensive to the point of anger. And that lead to my refusing to let him into my room and wasting some nights when we could have been together before he was taken away from me.
What was it that we said to each other? "You're so… pure."
"I am not!"
"I mean, for the Capitol, you're pure. For me, you're perfect."
I think that's how it went, and when he apologized later on, I remember Peeta telling me that he thought I would laugh with him about the whole thing. Why didn't I? Looking back on it, it seems so trivial. Why did I take myself so seriously? I completely ignored the most important thing Peeta said that day: "For me, you're perfect."
When we reach the top of my porch, I glance over at him and can't help feeling embarrassed that I was ever angry at him. All he's ever done is love me, except when he was hijacked, but that wasn't even his fault.
I see his lighthearted expression morph into one of concern. "Something wrong?" he asks.
I realize that I'm frowning so I force myself to smile a little, and shake my head, before I turn toward the door. I'm twisting the knob when I hear Peeta say, from beside me, "You have mail."
I glance over and see that his hand is in my mailbox. When he pulls it out, he's holding an oversized white envelope. I take in the sight of it and say, "From my mother?" because she's the only one I can think of who might send me a letter. Peeta looks down at it and smiles, then shakes his head. When I reach my hand out he gives me the envelope. My eyebrows raise as I stare down at the return address. "Annie," I say.
As I settle in on the couch in the living room, Peeta goes into the kitchen. I slide my finger under the flap of the envelope and tear it open, then pull out a few sheets of paper and unfold them. A photograph falls into my lap and pick it up, examining it closely
Peeta returns from the kitchen and sets some sliced bread and two glasses of water on the coffee table, then sits down beside me. I glance at the back of the photograph and see that the baby has been named after his father, Finnick. Also written are his date of birth and when this photo was taken. I'm not sure what the date is today, but I think he must be about a month old now. I turn the photo toward Peeta, and he reaches out and takes it from me.
"Wow," he says, staring at it with wide eyes. "Did you know?"
I shake my head and reach for my glass of water, taking a long drink before saying softly, "I wonder if Finnick knew."
I glace over at Peeta again and see that he's smiling at the picture. His eyes flicker up to mine for a second and he says, "I don't know, I guess it depends." I try to do the math in my head, and conclude that Annie probably wouldn't have known, or been able to tell Finnick, before Squad 451 left Thirteen. I'm not sure if that makes the whole thing more sad, or if it's for the best. "He looks just like Finnick," says Peeta.
I feel myself smirking a little. "I've never understood it when people say babies look just like their parents. Kids, maybe, but…" I lean over to see the picture again. "I don't think that looks like Finnick."
Peeta grins, glancing up at me. "You know what I mean," he says, "he has his coloring, he looks like Finnick in baby form."
"I guess," I allow, watching Peeta continue to examine the photo.
"He would have been so happy," he muses.
"Yeah," I say awkwardly.
"We should put this in the book," Peeta says, setting the photo on the coffee table.
I nod and then look over the sheets of paper. "There's a letter from Johanna and one from Annie." I decide to read Johanna's first, because it's shorter. "Dear brainless," I say.
Peeta laughs. "She didn't really write that."
"No," I confirm, smiling at him just a little. My eyes return to the page and travel over it. Gale's name jumps out at me, near the bottom of the page, so I decide to paraphrase the letter for Peeta, rather than read it to him. "She says hello to you," I say, "and hopes we're both doing well." I can't help thinking it's funny, the polite things that everyone is expected to put in letters. I can't picture Johanna saying something like that in person. "She's been traveling around a lot and says it's nice seeing how all the Districts are adjusting to the new non-tyrannical system of rule…she went to Two recently."
It's here that I stop narrating and read a bit silently to myself, Gale insisted that I find a way to tell you this. I didn't want to, but he made me promise. If it makes you angry, blame him, not me. He recently met one of the scientists who developed the hijacking process that was used on Peeta. The man told Gale that they did some experiments with it and had every reason to believe that the process was irreversible. He said that, as far as they could tell, recovery is impossible.
I can't resist glancing up at Peeta, who's looking at the picture of Annie's baby again. The words in the letter sink in, but they don't mean anything to me. Impossible? Peeta does the impossible all the time. He loves unconditionally, and forgives without hesitation, without doubt. When he was just a child, he found a way to save my life, and Prim's. He survived the Hunger Games without letting the Gamemakers turn him into some monster he's not. He can overcome the hijacking. I know he already has. I know he would never hurt me again.
Either the man who Gale spoke with was mistaken, or he only meant that complete recovery is unlikely to happen. The flashbacks still occur, and those seem to be a result of the hijacking, but they haven't caused him to turn against me again. Nothing could.
I look back down at the letter and read the last paragraph, then tell Peeta about it. "She says she and Annie got permission to visit here, if we want to see them. She's going to be at Annie's for a couple of weeks, so I can write to them both there."
Peeta nods. "I'd like to see them, and the baby."
"Me too. I'll write to them soon." I set Johanna's letter aside and begin to read Annie's; again I paraphrase it for Peeta. "She says that she hopes we're doing well, and that she and the baby are having fun getting to know each other," I say. "And she says thanks for being Finnick's allies during Quell and taking him to the water, so that…so that she could have a little more time with him." I pause and swallow hard, trying not to remember the last glimpse I caught of Finnick. Peeta and I may have helped him in the Quell, but I failed him later on. Fleetingly, I wish I'd thought of Finnick more and tried to protect him. After he saved Peeta during the Quell, I realized that I would never stop owing him, for the rest of my life. I glance up at Peeta and will myself not to cry. If Finnick hadn't known what to do…
I give my head a little shake, in an attempt to clear it. I remind myself that there was nothing I could do for him. I would have helped Finnick if I could. I look back down at the letter. "And she says thanks to you for decorating their wedding cake, and me for supplying her dress. We helped make the best day of her life even more special."
I notice that Annie has an intricate, elegant script, and her letter is more wordy than Johanna's. I suppose, being from one of the wealthier districts, Annie is probably more well-educated than the rest of us. I find myself wondering how she came to be in the Games. The Career districts often have volunteers, but I can't believe Annie would have willingly stepped forward to participate. I conclude that there must not have been anyone who wanted to volunteer that year. If memory serves, District Four never seemed to be quite as enthusiastic about the Games as One and Two usually were.
My eyes travel over the remainder of the letter and I decide not to share the rest of it with Peeta. It ends with, My one consolation is my lack of regrets. I know that I made the most of the time I had with Finnick. I will love and miss him for the rest of my life, but I will always have my memories of how happy we made each other, and I have our son. All we can do now is focus on what remains, and remember that we haven't lost everything.
I'm not sure if the 'we' Annie's referring to is she and the baby or she and I. It doesn't matter, I guess. I know she's right. It feels strange to think that, just because things could be worse, we should feel fortunate. But in a way, it helps. What if Peeta hadn't recovered from the hijacking? What if he'd died in the Capitol when the bombs went off? I do know that I haven't lost everything. I know that I should try to focus on what I have. Of course, I miss Prim every day, but the pain is fading. I don't cry as often as I used to.
"That's it?" Peeta asks.
"More or less," I say with a shrug, folding up the letter and sliding it back into the envelope, along with Johanna's. Peeta nods. He either believes me or knows that if I'm keeping something from him, I have every right to. The letters were addressed to me, after all.
When we get into my bed that night, I don't want to go to sleep. I lie on my side, facing Peeta. He glances over at me and, sensing that I have no intention of scooting toward him, turns onto his side so we're facing each other. "Are you okay?" he asks.
I nod, and he tentatively reaches out, draping his arm over my waist, and gives me a small smile. "I wish I could have done something for Finnick," I say.
"So do I," Peeta says, then clarifies, "I mean, I wish I could have done something. After what he did for me." I remember when we were in Thirteen, when Peeta was still hijacked and he said that he didn't owe Finnick anything, because Finnick only saved him because of me and the rebellion. It's nice to hear that his attitude has changed.
"You weren't in any condition to be helping anyone else," I remind him. Peeta doesn't have anything to say to this. I suppose he agrees. After a period of silence, I speak again. "We spent time together in Thirteen. Me and Finnick. I went hunting with him and we watched television together." We watched you together…
Peeta's eyes are trained on me, waiting to hear more.
"He was the only person who understood how it felt…" I explain, "how I felt." I smile a little, remembering Finnick in that ridiculous golden net costume, and the way he behaved the first time I spoke to him. "I never would have thought he and I would have anything in common, but we did. Because of you and Annie."
When I see Peeta smile, I wonder if what I've just said implies that I cared about him in the same way that Finnick loved Annie. But I didn't, I don't think. I remember seeing Finnick and Annie's reunion in Thirteen and thinking of how no one could doubt their love, while I was filled with doubts and confusion over my own feelings. But I also remember how excited I felt when I was told that I was about to see Peeta, that he was alive and right down the hall. I felt lightheaded and giddy and now I can't help thinking that maybe, if he hadn't been hijacked, the same thing could have happened between us. We might have been happy beyond comprehension, we might have kissed and hugged and refused to let go of each other.
I start to feel angry that Snow denied me of that, but then I remember that I didn't even deserve a happy reunion like Finnick and Annie's. I had plenty of chances to be happy with Peeta before the Quell, but I didn't want to. The prospect of losing him was the only thing that ever seemed to make me realize how important he was to me.
It doesn't help to feel upset over this, I remind myself, it's over, it's all over.
"I didn't have any nightmares last night," I blurt out, in hopes of distracting myself.
I'm not sure if the expression Peeta reacts with is one of understanding or disappointment. Maybe a little of both. What I've just told him serves to explain the way I acted today, and I bet he correctly assumes that tomorrow will be different. "And you want to quit while you're ahead? Quit sleeping?"
I smile just a little. "Something like that."
Peeta's hand slides up and runs through my hair. "I know they're bad," he says, "but that's what I'm here for, right?" He's smiling, but I don't like what he's implying.
I avert my eyes from his and stare down at the bed in between us. "Not just that," I say, slowly leaning up on my elbow.
"I know," Peeta says, "I just meant -"
But I interrupt him by pressing my lips to his, just briefly, before I lie my head back down on my pillow. He's smiling again, and now I scoot closer to him, pressing my face into his chest and reciprocating when he encircles me with his arms. "What do you have nightmares about?" I ask.
He hesitates, and it seems like he doesn't want to answer. "I still have ones about losing you."
I assume he has other ones, too, and just doesn't want to talk about them. I don't blame him. There are some nightmares I wouldn't want to tell anyone about. "And you're okay when you wake up and I'm here?"
"Right," he says, pressing his lips against my forehead. I feel glad that, since he never wakes me up to comfort him, just being here helps him a little. Soon enough, Peeta shifts onto his back and we assume our usual sleeping position. I eventually start to feel tired and am able to drift off.
I wake up with a scream, this time from a nightmare about the mutts that killed Finnick. They were chasing me and hissing my name. While I ran, I watched people rushing past me in the opposite direction, toward the mutts. But I was powerless to stop them, I couldn't even stop running. I heard their screams behind me as the mutts devoured them, and was unable to refrain from looking over my shoulder to see the mangled bodies that were left in my wake.
I jolt away from Peeta and onto my back, hiding my face in my hands and struggling to breathe. It only takes him a moment to wake up enough to comfort me. One of his arms slides behind my neck and the other gently smoothes my hair back. "It's all right, Katniss," he says softly. "You're safe. Shh," I feel his lips on the backs of my hands, which still cover my face. "You're all right, it's over," he continues.
I slowly lower my hands and, still crying, wind them around his neck to pull him closer. I whisper his name.
"I'm here," he says, leaning over me and tightening his hold on me.
I slide my hands down to clutch at the back of his shirt, frantically pulling it toward me. We're as close as we can get, but it isn't enough. I still feel scared, I still find it hard to believe he's really here. For some reason, he was one of the ones in my dream, who ran past me and was killed by the mutts. Peeta continues to murmur consoling words, but it's not helping enough. Impulsively, I decide that I need to feel something else so that I won't feel scared. I firmly draw his face toward mine until our lips meet. For a second, he's too surprised to respond, but then I feel his mouth pushing against mine gently, as if he's afraid of hurting me. I don't want him to be careful, I want him to distract me. I try to make up for his gentleness, and convince him that it's not appreciated, by pressing my lips against his so hard that my teeth dig into them and it starts to hurt.
I think I'm hurting Peeta too, because he pulls away and, even in the dark, I can see confusion on his face. "Katniss," he says, continuing to stroke my hair.
I know that Peeta is the last person I should ever feel embarrassed around, but somehow I do. "I'm sorry," I say, turning my face away from him.
He kisses my cheek and then I feel his lips brush against my skin as he says, "You don't have to be sorry, I just don't think..." he lets his voice trail off, but I know what he was going to say. He doesn't think that's the right way to make me feel better, and he may be right. Also, I bet he doesn't want to be a distraction that I frantically clutch at while I'm obviously upset. When we kiss, he probably wants it to be for another reason. Not to get food, not to appease anyone, not to distract me.
He gently presses his hand against my cheek until I'm facing him again. I can feel myself recovering now. My heart isn't racing, my breathing is normal. I'm surprised when Peeta leans down and presses his lips into mine. This time it's nice, and somehow even more comforting than before. I try to remember this; that it's all right to kiss him in order to gain comfort and as a distraction, but only after I've calmed down a bit.
I'm still tired, and he must be too, because we're both okay with stopping after a minute or so. He gives me a sweet smile and then leans away from me and onto his back. I turn onto my side and his arms wrap around me again. I'm still upset over the nightmare, and keep thinking about those mutts, but I also remember Annie's letter. At least I haven't lost everything. Having Peeta here helps a lot.