A/N – Another slow update, sorry folks. I know when I first started the updates were coming pretty much every day, but I simply don't have time at the moment to write every single day! I will do my best to keep them to once a week though, as these last two have been. Please R & R!
Time has been behaving oddly ever since watching my father and the other tributes being presented to the Capitol, Portia and Cinna's outfits making them look like glowing embers. Dad was sharing a carriage with Ava, his arm around her shoulder as he offered her moral support. Mrs Undersee got no such support from Rafe Cronin. Her knuckles were visibly white as she clutched on to the carriage for dear life.
Since then the few hours I have been able to spend with dad have passed by in the blink of an eye, while his time going from station to station in training has dragged by, as if the world itself has stopped. During these long hours I have waited with baited breath for another summons from Briar. The anxiety of waiting and not knowing is hellish. So far nothing but I am sure it will just be a matter of time.
Katniss has stuck to her promise of taking things slowly again. During our down time we walk together, we talk, and she'll hold my hand if I offer it to her first. She hasn't invited herself into my rooms at night, and my sleeping patterns have been suffering as a result. I haven't told her what Briar expected of me and Finnick. I don't think I could stand the look of mixed horror and sympathy. At least I was able to relay to her that she was unlikely to end up in the same situation as me. She demanded to know why and how I knew this, but I asked her to drop it, and as yet she hasn't mentioned it again.
Dad has been in training now for the last couple of days. He promises that he has been following my advice to stick to the survival stations, to learn about edible plants (which was so very nearly my own downfall,) and to keep himself to himself. Today the tributes are having their private sessions with the gamemakers. The atmosphere is nervous and expectant. It is over our lunchtime meal that he drops the bombshell.
"There's a boy from District Five," he says suddenly without looking up from his meal. "Only twelve years old. Reminds me of you." He tears a piece of bread and uses it to mop up the remains of his stew. "I'm going to help him win."
The silence between us could be cut with a knife. We are eating at a separate table, a small way away from the others, and I look around to make sure he hasn't been overheard. "Dad, you can't-"
"I can do whatever I want. He's just a boy, Peet. He's scared, and I'm going to help him."
"But, dad-"
"No. I've made my decision. There's nothing more to be said on the matter. I just thought you should know. I wonder if we can get some more of that apple tart we had last night."
"Don't change the subject, dad, you-"
He finally looks up at me. "Peeta, listen to me. That little boy just wants to get home to his mum and dad. He doesn't have a chance without help, and if I'm not going to do it, who will?"
"Fuck, dad-"
"Language," he says warningly.
"Sorry," I mumble. "But, dad -please don't interrupt," I say as my father opens his mouth to speak again, "I can't just watch you die. Please…."
He smiles at me sadly. "You were willing to die, weren't you? It was so obvious to everyone watching last year. It was heartbreaking for me to watch."
"Then you know how I feel now then!"
"And you know how I feel too." He looks around to check we aren't being listened to. "I won't let them change me, Peet." He leans back in his chair and folds his arms. "If you want to help me help him, it's up to you, but you won't change my mind."
It is very clear that as far as he is concerned the conversation is over. I am not finished yet, however. "You have a family too, you know," I say quietly.
He shakes his head. "I have three grown up sons and a wife who hasn't loved me for years. You boys don't need me anymore. You're all quite capable of looking out for yourselves. And she certainly doesn't need me. I've made my mind up, Peet. I'm going to do my damndest to protect that little boy." The silence between us begins to drag, until dad breaks it, speaking in a voice that could almost be described as cheerful, although I know it is entirely forced. "So, what can I expect this afternoon? Any advice?"
I shrug. "Try and show them something they haven't seen. Which seeing as you'll be almost last in, is going to be difficult."
The child tributes have been with the gamemakers all morning. The adults will be going in after lunch. Hopefully having a break in the day will stop the gamemakers from being so disinterested in the afternoon tributes. It was bad enough being last for myself and Katniss last year, but coming at the end of nearly fifty other tributes, Mrs Undersee and dad hardly have a chance.
"Well," says dad, "I'm sure I'll think of something. Chin up, son." He stands up and walks past me, ruffling my hair as he goes, the way he always has since I was a child. The physical contact breaks my heart, but I notice Rafe Cronin watching us and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how difficult this is for me. He already has a smug look on his face, and I'm sure he must have impressed the gamemakers somehow, but I have no desire to find out exactly what he has done.
Time this afternoon slows down to an impossible standstill. I keep checking the clock expecting a half hour, or at the very least a quarter hour to have passed, and each time only a few minutes have dragged by. When I am seated all I want to do is stand, walk, pace, do anything to keep myself occupied but as soon as I am up I am overcome with exhaustion and collapse in to the nearest seat.
Katniss has been watching my distress, and wordlessly she takes my hand in her own and leads me away from this waiting area. I am incapable of resisting, and don't care where she takes me; anything is better than this.
She stops walking when we are in a deserted corridor of the training centre before turning to me and placing her hands on my chest. "I'm sorry this is happening to you. I'm here. If you need me, I'm here."
I try to answer her but at first my voice catches in my throat. "I know," I eventually manage to choke out.
"How is he?" she asks.
I close my eyes and wrap my arms around her, pulling her close to me. "He's saying he won't save himself."
"I thought he might."
I open my eyes and loosen my hold on her. "What do you mean?"
"You're his son, Peeta. You had to get that noble streak from somewhere, and, no offence, it certainly wasn't from your mother." I pull her closer again. "Let me guess," she says, her voice sending vibrations through my chest. "He wants to team up with that blond kid from Five?"
"How'd you-?"
"During the recap of the Reapings, when his name was drawn out. I saw your dad tear up. It's pretty obvious why, Peeta. He looks like a miniature you."
"How didn't I see-?"
"I think your mind has been elsewhere. Understandably."
I feel the familiar pricking behind my eyes and rapidly try to blink away the tears. "I don't want him to die," I say.
"I know," she answers simply.
I bury my face into the crook of her neck and inhale her scent; a heady mix of woodsmoke and cut grass, that no amount of Capitol soaps or lotions can truly hide. Her hands work their way up my back and I wish with every fibre of my being that we could just be, just for one day, normal. That we could be back home, that the Capitol didn't hold such sway over the lives of everyone in general, and us in particular. I wonder what it would have been like if neither mine, Prim's or my father's names had ever come out of those damn Reaping balls. I would have continued to watch her from afar, as she grew closer and closer to Gale, maybe one day I would have taken a wife I didn't really love, but we would all have been safe. Free.
Free… but miserable. In an alternate world of relative safety, I would have watched Katniss fall in love with another man. It would have destroyed me just as surely as my current existence is. Maybe true happiness is not something that is written in my destiny, in this or any other world.
No. Finnick told me I didn't deserve this miserable existence. Katniss said she wished this wasn't happening to me. They're right. I am due some happiness, dammit. I just need to…to forget everything, just for a while. I tighten my grip on her, and plant gentle kisses on the exposed skin of her neck. She sighs into me and stretches her neck further so there is more skin for me to kiss. "Peeta…" she breathes, her voice barely even a whisper. I cup her face in my hand and tilt her towards me while capturing her lips in my own. Her lips part gently in response and her hands work their way into my hair, holding me steady. She lightly grazes her teeth over my bottom lip and despite all my reservations about wanting to take it slowly my arousal burns within in me as my cock hardens. She feels so impossibly soft and warm against me and I want more than nothing else to be a part of that warmth, to claim it for my own, and to lose myself within her.
Our kisses become deeper, more passionate and more desperate. She pushes on my chest, manoeuvring me backwards until I am pinned to the wall, where she pulls my shirt from the waistband of my trousers and slips her hand inside to brush across my stomach. My own hands drop to her waist for a moment, before I find the courage to drop them even lower, squeezing her perfect buttocks, and eliciting a throaty moan from her. I want her now; I want to feel every inch of her body against mine, I want to hear her screaming my name and urging me on, I want to watch her come and I want her to bring me to release. I want to feel her lips on me, around me. I want nothing else in the world but this woman.
"Peeta! Katniss!" comes the familiar screech of Effie, breaking the wondrous spell we have cast over ourselves, and I inwardly curse the day that bloody woman was born. "I've been looking all over for you!"
Katniss slowly pulls away from me but she holds my gaze. Her pupils are dilated, her cheeks flushed, her lips pink and swollen. Disappointment is etched in every line of her face, mirroring my own bitter sense of sadness at our interruption. Effie's voice drifts in from outside our bubble, ordering us back, that the tributes will be finished with their private sessions any moment. I can't tear my eyes away from Katniss' perfect face. Our breathing is laboured and every nerve on my body is on fire. I don't want to go back to the real world. For one brief moment reality had been suspended and it was blissful. Katniss stands on her tiptoes, and gently tips my head forward, planting a fluttering kiss on my forehead before pulling away from my arms. Taking my hand in her own, we make the trek back towards the waiting area.
We are all sat together, watching the announcements of the final scores. I try to pay more attention to the other tributes than I did when they were first displayed to the Capitol. Up until now I have been trying to delay the reality of what they are up against, but if I am going to help my dad I need to start facing this head on.
The typical nines and tens for all of District One. None of them look especially threatening, but with those scores they cannot be underestimated. Tens for all of District Two, except the adult male, who has scored an eleven. Easy to see why. He is a hulking brute of a man with a hard, pitiless face. He wouldn't have had to do much to attract the favour of the gamemakers. Average scores for District Three. Average to high for District Four. And then I catch my first real glimpse of this boy from District Five and my heart stops. He could easily be my younger brother. Blond curls frame piercing blue eyes. He is only twelve and is small for his age. The announcer declares his name as Yohan Fairbain, followed by his pitiful score of five, the lowest score yet.
I look at dad; he is purposely avoiding my eyes but I can see the tears behind his own gaze coupled with his determination to follow through with his idea to protect this child.
It's all I can do to hold in my own shuddering sigh, and I am barely aware of the scores of the rest of the tributes. I see why dad wants to protect this boy, I really do, but how is it going to be possible, and at the same time how can he expect me to watch him die?
I have clearly been lost in my own thoughts, as Katniss nudges me and brings me back to the present. The District Twelve scores are being announced. Rafe Cronin scores a ten. As Effie claps a hand on his shoulder and enthuses about how wonderful it is, he flashes me a smirk, and I know precisely what he is thinking. If nothing else goes in the favour of my father or myself, I pray that Cronin doesn't get to dad first. I couldn't bear it. Next up is Ava Herriot who has managed a seven, which she seems relieved with. "I didn't think they were watching me at all," she breathes as Katniss hugs her. My father next. My heart leaps to my throat as his picture comes up on the screen. He has scored an eight. Not bad at all. I let out a breath I didn't realise I was holding as dad flings an arm around my shoulders. Just Mrs Undersee to go. A sharp intake of breath as her score flashes up on the screen. A four, the lowest score of all forty eight tributes.
A terse silence follows; after the success of our other tributes, the four that Mrs Undersee has earned feels like a stab to the stomach. Effie, oblivious as always to the feelings of everyone around her, breaks the silence with, "A ten, Rafe! Maybe District Twelve will have another winner this year!" Anger bubbles up inside me and I need to get away before I smack her. As I storm away I hear her indignation followed by Haymitch's voice say warningly, "Leave it, Trinkett."
I leave the Training Centre and head outside. The carnival atmosphere has returned to the Capitol, as the first day of the Games draws ever nearer. Fireworks are going off all over the city and in the distance music is playing. Celebratory shouts can be heard as the first round of betting is sure to have commenced.
I lean back against the cool stone wall of the Training Centre and take several deep, steadying breaths. The noise of the city won't allow me to think clearly. After a few moments the Centre door opens and Katniss joins me in my contemplation of the denizens of the Capitol.
"Your dad wanted to come after you, but they won't allow him outside," she says while reaching down to hold my hand. I swallow down the lump that has appeared in my throat. "And you shouldn't take what Effie says to heart, you know that." I nod my head but don't speak. "Do you want to be alone?" she asks.
"I don't even know any more," I answer with a sigh.
"Sit with me," she says, dropping to the hard floor, leaning back against the wall. I do as she asks and lean my head down on her shoulder. She strokes the side of my cheek and says, "For better or worse, it'll be over soon. I know that's no comfort but…."
She stops speaking, the implications of what she is saying hanging in the air over us. Tomorrow we will coach the tributes on their interviews, and the following day they will be in the Arena. As Katniss says, it will all be over soon.
Her touch on my face is soft and warm, and I close my eyes, draping my arm over her waist. "Can we just live in this moment?" I ask her quietly. I don't want time to keep marching onwards. I want it to stop and to just spend eternity in her embrace.
The temperature begins to drop, a chill wind penetrating our thin clothes, but I don't want to be the one to break apart from her. Eventually Haymitch appears towering over us. "Come on, you lovebirds. Inside."
In silence we stand, shivering slightly, and we follow Haymitch back inside. We reach my room first, and Katniss kisses me goodnight. "Stay with me," I whisper to her, and she nods her understanding.
We crawl under the sheets together, and I spoon her back, the warmth of her delicate frame my only source of comfort. I make no demands of her other than her presence and I feel myself drifting off to sleep for the first time since we returned to the Capitol.