Hi my lovely readers. You guys are amazing!
Also- I'm shamelessly plugging my own fics. That should be embarrassing, but note the word "shameless"? I wrote a one-shot about Johanna and Haymitch having a chat while Gale and Katniss have theirs. I'd love if you'd check it out and tell me what you think.
I'm so sad this is coming to an end! This is the last chapter. Thanks for sticking with me! On to the main event!
The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins, not to me, though I do enjoy playing with her characters.
The feast is incredible. For her, it's the best feast she's ever been at because of the absence of tiny stemmed wineglasses and everything they represent. She's circling the room, sampling a bit of everything, while others dance. She finds it amazing that she truly feels affection for these people: for Paylor, who embraces her warmly, for Effie, who kisses her on both cheeks, for Beetee, who's still in his wheelchair but seems to be Johanna's new best friend, and especially for Annie, who comes up holding her infant. Effie coos over the baby, but declines holding him because he might spit up on her sparkling orange outfit (Effie's style, at least, has not changed). Peeta takes Annie up on her offer, cooing at little Finn. He holds the baby with one arm, such a natural with children, letting Finn grasp his index finger with his tiny fist. Despite everything she just said, she must have a look of longing on her face, seeing Peeta with this infant, because Effie pokes her in the stomach and says, "Don't count out having kids just yet!"
Haymitch, lurking in the background, snorts at that, and she agrees with him. But as Effie moves away to chat with someone about their tattoos, Haymitch leans in and whispers in her ear, "He would be a great dad." She nods. He would.
"I can't," she whispers. It feels evil, unnatural, but she is so grateful for her lack of a cycle, for what is essentially infertility. She thinks of how this would be heart-breaking to so many women, especially women who have a man like Peeta, and she thinks again of the cold and calculating truth of her own heart. Haymitch nods and meanders off. She looks at Peeta, who is still holding the baby and chatting with Annie, and she needs to get away. She takes off for the dessert table that has chocolate delicacies on it, starts sampling. She immediately misses Peeta, but assures herself that it's okay; she can go five minutes without him. She doesn't need him, right? She can survive without him?
She's relieved when Gale finds her and drags her onto the dance floor. She's not good at being alone anymore.
It's an hour or so later when Peeta finally catches up with her. She's at a different dessert table, sampling something amazing with caramel and cinnamon, a strange but incredible combination, when she feels a hand on her waist and nose nudging up her neck. He kisses her, gently behind her ear.
"Girl on fire," he whispers. "Do you have any idea what this dress is doing to me?" She ignores him, enchanted with her dessert.
"Nope, don't care," she tells him. "Try this, it's amazing—you need to learn how to make it." She reaches back to feed him the last bite.
"Seriously, it might be my new favorite. Should I get the bakers or—oh," she finishes her sentence in more of a moan, because he's pressed himself against her, tightly, and let her feel exactly what this dress is doing to him. At the same time, he's sucking on her fingers as he eats the dessert, moaning in longing that's disguised as good taste at the caramel square.
"Peeta," she mutters as she pulls her hand away, "Not here." But she's on fire too, longing for him suddenly with an ache that's entirely unbearable.
"There's an office that has no windows and a lock on the door in that hallway," he mutters, pointing with the hand that's on her waist.
"Should we leave together or—"
"It's our stars!" And she wilts a little, because she's never had a short conversation with Plutarch. Peeta pulls her closer against him, and she has to bite her lip to stop from making noises that wouldn't be quite appropriate as she's shaking Plutarch's hand. Peeta relinquishes the grasp on Katniss' waist for a moment to shake Plutarch's hand, but he's holding her tight, either unwilling or unable to let her go.
"Now, Mrs. Mellark" (she groans inwardly) "I told you not to be a stranger and I haven't seen you here once since I got off that hovercraft!"
She barely restrains herself from rolling her eyes. "Well, I haven't seen you either," she reminds him. "District 12 isn't that far away."
He laughs appreciatively, takes a sip of wine. Peeta is still on fire behind her, pulling her against him tightly. As Plutarch starts to go off about their plans for 12 and the other districts, Peeta puts his mouth close to her ear so that no one else can hear him and whispers, "It's the second door on the left. Be there in five minutes or I'll start without you." And he lets go of her and disappears, without a word to Plutarch. Plutarch is cut off in the middle of a spiel about 7. He stares after Peeta, then looks at her. She blushes. What the hell is she supposed to tell him? And…and she has to go, can't handle the aching in her for one more second.
"He's just thirsty," she mutters, blushing again, "and I've…I've got to use the washroom, so you'll have to excuse me too…"
She's trailing off, not meeting his eye as she slinks away, and she expects him to be offended. But the word that halts her exit is, "Fascinating."
She turns, stares at him. "What's fascinating?"
"The two of you," says Plutarch, sipping his wine again. "You deserve even more credit than we give you, which frankly is saying something. I never dreamed a hijacking victim could be in the presence of the subject, much less…"
He trails off, raising his eyebrows at her suggestively. She blushes, of course, but is actually interested in what he's telling her.
"That's…unusual?" she asks. "For him to be able to be around me?"
"It's absolutely unheard of," elaborates Plutarch. "Has never happened in human history. But then…I've never heard of a subject who wants to be around the victim. You two are so in love…"
He trails off, glances around, and comes closer to her. She's worried her five minutes might be up, but she has a feeling she needs to hear this.
"Your love is legendary," Plutarch whispers. "Do yourselves a favor and get married."
He winks at her and strides off, and after a moment, she goes to Peeta, a cloud of confusion.
Get married? Her thoughts whirl with confusion as she sits up on the desk, panting. Peeta's still catching his breath, leaning against her. She's a bit nervous about returning, sure they'll be teased, but they used to pretend to sneak off and do this, so why should it surprise everyone so damn much? Get married?
"Let's not go back," he gasps, his forehead against hers, his breath hot against her mouth. "Let's go home and go to bed." She giggles.
"Home's pretty far away," she reminds him, and he nods, buttons his pants.
"Guess we'd better see this through, then," he sighs. "How much flack do you think we're gonna take?" She shrugs, giggles, and lets him lead her back into the party.
The sheer volume of knowing looks cast their way overwhelms her. Her face is on fire.
"We've been watched for so long," she mutters. "That's why we're here, dammit. Why can't they leave us alone for five minutes?"
He snickers. "Give me some credit- that was more than five minutes."
This, obviously, does nothing to improve her flaming cheeks.
"Ignore them," he tells her, kissing her cheek. "You were telling me about that caramel square before I, uh…distracted you." She giggles and leads him off.
A few hours later, he's been dragged onto the dance floor by Johanna. He's blushing hotly, so she has a pretty good idea of what they're talking about. Plutarch has been occupied by Gale, who seems genuinely interested in what he has to say. She's sitting on the stairs with a glass of wine, swirling it and watching everyone mingle. No one seems put out by her constant dropping out of conversations, and the fact remains that even if she were sane enough to keep up with what they're saying (which she's not), she's only heard two words all night.
Get married? But she doesn't ever want to get married. She won't put anyone else in a lifetime commitment to her. Sometimes it feels like it's too much to be in that situation herself. But…and now she feels Prim's wisdom, the wisdom of a girl who grew up far too young. Her presence is near this place, so close to where she died, and she hears Prim's voice whisper in her ear, "Katniss, he's already committed to you for life. There's nothing you could do that would change that." And instantly, she knows it's true. Nothing could make Peeta leave her now. Their love defies any natural connections: they'd both rather see the other live than live themselves; they're victim and subject choosing to be together; they defied generations of single-victor Games and survived together, hand in hand. Their togetherness is what makes them strong enough to be a threat to Snow, to the Capitol, but it also makes them strong enough to survive anything together, even life. In Prim's wisdom, she realizes, lies the truth that if she were to trust anyone to stay with her for the rest of her life, she should be trusting Peeta far more than she trusts herself. But…married?
"What's wrong with your face?" asks Haymitch, coming up to drop beside her on her stair, a glass of what she thinks is brandy in his hand. He's not as drunk as she thought he'd be by now.
"Nothing's wrong with my face," she retorts. "They redid my make-up after the interview."
"But not after your little tryst in the hallway," he mutters, rolling his eyes. She blushes.
"Doesn't anyone have anything better to talk about than my sex life?" she demands hotly. He snorts.
"Sweetheart, I can't think of anything I'd like discussing less," he mutters. "Unless it's the damage alcohol has on your liver." He's glaring darkly at Effie, who's holding little Finn now, apparently drawn in by his charm.
"All anyone can talk about tonight is how Peeta and I should have babies or how great our love is or that we should…get married." She mutters this last one, partly hoping he won't hear it, but his snort of derision makes it clear that he has.
"Who the hell said that?" he wonders. "Everyone thinks you are married."
"Plutarch said it," she tells him, "and no, everyone does not think we're married." Her eyes slide, almost inadvertently, to Peeta, still on the dance floor. Haymitch sighs.
"Sweetheart, Plutarch only said that because he's dying to throw you a Capitol wedding." He's placating her. She shakes her head, angry that she's even having this conversation.
"Whatever. It doesn't matter." He chuckles at that.
"Right," he agrees sarcastically. "Doesn't matter at all, that's why you're sulking in the corner looking like you swallowed a lemon."
"I always sulk in the corner at parties. I've got the charm of a dead slug," she shoots back, angry. He sniggers.
"Something like that," he agrees. They drink in silence for a minute.
"You don't think we should, do you?" she asks. Because this is almost as true of a test as asking herself. He proved their sameness when they voted for the Capitol Games, when he was with her, his Mockingjay, up until the very end.
"Capitol weddings are gaudy and stupid, and I was never all that fond of having to walk you down the aisle—"
"I'm not asking about a Capitol wedding, Haymitch." As if he didn't already know that. He sighs, finishes his drink.
"When you told the story about the bread…"
He's struggling for words, but she realizes when she looks at him that he's wanted to say this for a long time, has held back out of respect for both of them.
"It just struck me as…interesting that when our District honours marriage with that stupid ceremony, that's how things started with the two of you."
"It was the only thing he remembered, post-hijacking?"
"Yeah. Real," he affirms her. She nods. "It's fascinating that your relationship began with a toasting, of sorts. You've needed each other since that moment, you know. That's when your story began. And…it'd be a fitting conclusion, wouldn't it? You committing to love forever the same way it all started?" He shrugs. "I need another drink, sweetheart." He pats her knee as he gets up.
Her mind is whirling, his words too much all at once. Because they're true, every single one of them. And it's here, on the steps of the banquet hall at the Capitol, just blocks from where she overheard Gale and Peeta's conversation in the first place, blocks from where Prim died, that she finally concedes defeat and accepts the truth that she's been fighting for almost a year. She needs him. Katniss will choose whoever she thinks she can't survive without? She cannot survive without him, never could, even before the Games. And the way her heart feels when her mind finally admits this confirms it beyond any shadow of a doubt. So when Peeta sinks down beside her on the step a moment later, laughing and starting to tell her a story, she cuts him off with a kiss.
"I can't live without you," she tells him. "I never could. I need you."
He nods, looks at her strangely.
"I know," he whispers. "Does this mean that you do?" She nods, feeling tears on her face, dripping onto a smile that's meant just for him, just for this moment that he's waited for for so long.
The End
Your reviews make me so happy- you guys rock. Epilogue to follow.