As the train stumbles to a halt, Peeta jumps from his seat and begins rummaging through the overhead compartment, retrieving the elusive box and placing it delicately on the table. He checks the contents, taking extra care for me not to see. I pull a face and he smirks to himself before lifting the box and leaving the carriage.
"Fine!" I yell after him. "I'll get the bags."
With the help of an overly-friendly attendant, I manage to get our bags onto the platform. Peeta is nowhere to be found. And I'm left to struggle with the bags with my hair falling over my face annoyingly. Sighing deeply, I heave Peeta's bag onto my shoulder and flip my hair behind me. Next to Peeta, standing in the middle of the platform is an old man with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that magnify his eyes slightly. Wrinkles meet at the corners of his lips but they don't hide the smile. Compared to Peeta, he's so small but he's always been like that. I didn't think anyone was meeting us so I'm surprised to see...
"Beetee!"
Dropping Peeta's bag - much to my amusement – I sprint towards the pair, a smile creeping wider on my face with every pace. I crash into him, most likely knocking the air from his lungs, and hug Beetee tightly. He fits neatly into my arms and I can't help but feel happy around him. Probably because he's got such a positive outlook on life. It radiates off him.
"Katniss, you have to let me breathe," Beetee gasps in a choked voice. I immediately release him and smile innocently. Peeta just laughs which I counter with a scowl before remembering that I dropped his bag. I've never been a good actress. Beetee just smiles and kisses my cheek. "Be kind to the back please sweetheart." Only now do I realise the mahogany walking stick that he clutches to with his right hand. It's beautifully designed. His fingers flex and my attention is drawn to the handle of the stick.
A mockingjay. Perfectly sculpted in the mahogany with red and gold flecks catching the moonlight. Through Beetee's thin, pale fingers, I notice a set of wings and realise the bird must be in flight.
"It's beautiful," I murmur and slowly I come back to reality, pulling my gaze from the wooden bird. "Peeta, go get the bags." And with a less enthusiastic, he hands the cake to Beetee, even though I offer, and fetches our bags. It annoys me to see him carry them with such ease. He finds a trolley and wheels the luggage towards us, taking the box from Beetee and adding it to the top of the pile. Together we leave the platform and enter the station.
The bright lights blind me temporarily as my eyes adjust to the new setting. When the white fades, I blink hard and my eyes focus on a pair of twins, no bigger than a metre, standing in a golden dress for the girl, who has a braid like my signature look, and a golden suit for the boy. Both have platinum blond hair and are overflowing with large bouquets of flowers. Their smiles brighten when we stop in front of them and they hold the flowers out for Peeta and me.
With a brief glance at Peeta, who's smiling at me, I bend down to the little girl and relieve her of the bouquet. "Thank you," I say kindly. "I love your hair." I touch her braid and she giggles. Once upon a time, I was terrible at all the attention, which is difficult when you're as famous as me. But Peeta helped. The little girl takes me off guard with a hug but I've learnt to accept these gestures. As she pulls away, I'm bombarded with the little boy, his arms tight around my neck. "It's lovely to meet you both," I say, brushing the little boy's hair from his face.
"Do you guys want to see a surprise?" Peeta asks excitedly and I know I'm not included. The twins giggle and are shown the secretive cake. I straighten up and realise Beetee is missing. Stroking the petals of one of the several flowers and trying to ignore the whispered conversation Peeta is sharing with the twins of District 4, I search for Beetee but the situation isn't busy this late at night and it doesn't take me long to conclude he must have nipped to the toilet.
I turn back to Peeta and the twins, finding Peeta carefully hiding the cake once more and the children standing politely, almost like statues, their small fingers entangled with each other. A small smile can't help but crawl to my lips. Moments like these make me forget all previous statements and have children.
But that means trusting the Capitol.
After whispering to one another and pausing to giggle and share mischievous stares, the golden-haired boy and girl, with their symmetrical features and ever growing smiles, look at Peeta and me welcomingly. Peeta captures my hand in his and I try not to shoot him a sarcastic smirk – I'm still hot-tempered by his behaviour. In perfect, rehearsed unison, the twins chime, "Welcome to District 4." Their voices harmonise with one another, the girl's rising like the boy's at the same moments. They rock on the balls of their feet and the little girl's smile falters. Her face contorts into one familiar to my childhood. In an instant, she resembles Prim, who used to stay up late defiantly even though she was clearly exhausted. The girl stifles the yawn and I'm reminded of the lateness of the hour.
Crouching down, I balance myself and the twins approach me, both expressions topped with faultless smiles. "Thank you so much for the flowers. They are beautiful." My hand instantly moves to graze the petals once more. "I think you should get some sleep." The girl's face contorts again but she makes no attempt to hide her yawning, her mouth stretching into a perfect 'O'.
"Beetee's back," Peeta remarks, tapping me gently. I kiss the twins cheeks goodbye and smile as they turn a blushing red. Only after they move onto Peeta do I straighten up.
"Where did you get to?"
"I fetched the driver for assistance." The old man gestured to the sleeked back, brown haired, young man wearing a midnight blue suit. Out of courtesy, I nod to him and he dips his head in response, moving towards the trolley.
"Watch out for the cake," Peeta exclaims, hopping to his feet in a flash. The twins bounce backwards in synchronisation as Peeta hurries to direct the driver in the correct way on how to transport his precious cargo. I can't help but laugh. To anyone else, his behaviour would seem crazy; mentally unstable probably. The laughs don't cease and Peeta just sends me a scowl, hooking Beetee into fits of laughter.
As the driver begins to head towards the exit, Beetee hooks his arm into mine and leads me out of the station. I try to squeeze out a goodbye to the twins but I'm too busy laughing to myself. Sleep deprivation has some nasty consequences. Peeta's still fretting over the cake and even the driver finds it funny. We near the exit and I wave my flowers back the twins who are smiling and waving where we left them.
Leaving the station, flashbulbs electrify the air between us and photographers narrow in like spiders to a trapped fly. My grip on Beetee tightens as he manoeuvres me towards the car. I smile for a few flashes but for the most, I duck my head, wishing my hair would hide me. Ringing through my ears, their shouts for my attention and annoying questions are deafening and although I think I can hear Peeta responding with vague answers, I keep my lips sealed.
We're directed to the blacked out car where the driver is loading out luggage. First helping Beetee into the front seat, I climb into the back, closing the door on the photographers. Soon after, Peeta joins me, followed by the young driver. With a roar of the engine, we leave the photographers in the dust, bright lights blazing to catch one last photo.
District 4 is one of my favourite districts, ever since the Victory Tour so many years ago. The long stretches of sandy beaches elongate as far as eyes see, beams of moonlight glistening off the individual grains of pearly white sand. Oceanic shaded waves silently crash, sending bursts of foam into the air. In the distance, I spot clusters of boats, sails buffering in the sea breeze, hulls bobbing slowly. The car steers away from the coast and we flicker past houses. Many are draped with fishing nets or sporting some kind of trident – the weapon being plastered on doors or crossed with another trident to make an 'X' above porches.
As we cruise closer to Victor's Village, the houses grow grand and elegant. Between the large stone structures that put the Justice Building to extreme shame, I can see glimpses of the beach. We're close. Soon we pull into a gated block. The Victor's Village here is much bigger, home to more victors in comparison to the limited in District 12 that were awarded to those who acted courageously in the rebellion.
Eighteen houses along, the car crawls to a stop and the driver climbs out to open my door. I murmur a 'thank you' before the driver scurries to the trunk and I go and help Beetee. Already I can hear Peeta antagonising over his cake. We leave him to be alone with the driver and I support Beetee up the stone steps. I knock and wait but there's nothing. Thrumming his walking stick against the stone step, Beetee gets impatient and storms into the house and down the hall, me in his wake.
I'm led down a darken hall that's familiar and yet it's been at least a year since I last stepped on the wooden floorboards. Beetee's walking stick drums steadily and as my eyes adjust, I follow the thumps to the kitchen. "Annie?" I call out and I hear chatter in front of us. Using his stick, Beetee pushes a door wide open and immediately I'm blinded by light. I quickly focus on the kitchen and smile wide when I see Annie Odair resting her knife on the counter and bounding towards me. "Annie!" I squeal and I embrace her body, squeezing just as hard as she is.
Behind me, the footsteps of Peeta echo through the hall and Annie screeches in my ear, "Peeta!" before releasing me and reaching out to squeeze the lungs out of his body. She halts with her arms stretching forward, noticing the cake and decides not to hug yet. Years have probably taught her how precious a cake is to Peeta. Instead she leads him out of a door on the other side of the kitchen.
Laughing to myself, I help Beetee boil some water and he hobbles over to a chair at the mahogany table in the middle of the room while I continue making tea for everyone. Annie and Peeta quickly return and being the gentleman I married, he takes over Annie's work of slicing raw chicken into cubes while I pour tea for them all, slipping into a seat next to Annie.
"How are things?" I ask, blowing my tea before sipping it. Bloody hell! As if the steam wasn't warning enough. As I hurry for a glass of water in the hope of saving my burning tongue, everyone just laughs and I know blood is rushing to my cheeks impulsively. "What was I ... Oh yes! Everything good?"
"It's well," Annie sighs, pouring cold milk into my tea to cool it. "He's doing well at school. Top of his classes in most. But I know he's struggling."
The knife in Peeta's hand slams down harder than previous slices. My eyes flicker to him but he has his back turned to me. Without his face, he's impossible to read. But his shoulders are tense and his whole body is rigid. "We should visit more often. I should have been there for him. Does he realise he can call whenever?"
"Of course he knows. But I'm afraid he's too much like his father. Stubborn to the core," Beetee says idly, twirling a spoon with sugar through his tea slowly. He catches my eye and smiles reassuringly. I can tell Peeta wishes to be a father figure, seeing as I refuse to give him a child of his own. And over the years, we've grown to love. That's why hearing someone you love is hurting, makes everything much harder.
It takes a few breaths before Peeta begins slicing silently again. But his body is still tense.
From the ceiling above, creaks echo through the house and I smile, knowing the cause. Annie rises from her chair and Peeta sets his knife down, both ready to leave. "I'll go. Hopefully knowing we are here means he'll sleep sooner." Both Annie and I laugh and Beetee shakes his head. We know it won't happen that way. With a last gulp of my cooling tea, I smile to a worried looking Peeta and climb the stairs, tracing steps I've made before.
I climb the stairs and head to the second door on the right at the top. My footsteps aren't quiet and I hear thundering stamps before the squeak of springs sounds under the new weight. Smiling to myself, I knock gently on the door and poke my head inside slightly. I know he's awake but there's nothing like a bit of dramatic effect. Although it's been a while, the room hasn't changed. Tridents are still mounted on the walls and his bed is curtained by fishing nets, truly patriotic to the district.
The covers rustle and a head of bronze hair flourishes from within along with beady green eyes that pierce through the semi-darkness. I open the door more, flooding more light into the room and suddenly the covers are thrust back and a lanky teenager rushes towards me. His body bombards me with such force, I have to take a step back to balance myself. My arms are as tight around him as his are around me and as my head rests on his shoulder, I realise how much he's grown.
"I've missed you Finn," I mumble but I think it's lost in his clothing because there's no reply.
When he lets go, Finn dashes to the lamp by his bed and we're thrust into bright, blue light. I make my way to his bed and automatically correct his covers before sitting down at the foot. He quickly joins me, a smile stretching wide across his face. For the first time in too long, I notice the changes that have made themselves prominent in my absence.
His untidy bronze hair, slightly darker than his father's, sweeps to one side with the majority pointing upwards. Under the blue hue, his skin seems darker, more tanned. I remember more of his classes at school are spent outside now because of his age; he's to learn the district talents. He's much taller since my last visit. Many limbs jerk out at awkward angles as he tries to desperately stay within my embrace. Finn's much like his father in some aspects. But in others, he's the complete opposite.
If memory serves me well and I does - I'm not that old - Finn is shy and quiet. Nothing like the bold and lively, infamous Finnick Odair who tugged on the heartstrings of the majority of the female population from the Capitol. Finn has acquired many of Annie's traits. He hates the spotlight. He loves the sunset and would often sneak out to catch a glimpse of it; that was until he was given a new room where the descending sun could be viewed from his window sill. He embodies everything good and pure from both Annie and Finnick and for that, I hug him a bit tighter before letting go.
"Finn, I would love to catch up with you." I brush a strand of hair from his face and he smiles brightly at me, replicating the genuine smile of his father. "But it's late and we both need some sleep. I just came up to let you know we were here."
His face drops but he quickly attempts to compose himself. "Is Peeta downstairs?" I can see his beautiful green eyes burn ablaze so I nod and tell him that Peeta is helping his mother. He accepts that he should sleep but doesn't quite give in. All of a sudden I'm pulled in for a rib-cracking hug.
I bury my face in his hair and realise: I don't have this kind of love. Yes I have love. Nobody loves me more than Peeta. And I know our extended family loves me too. But I will never receive the love for a mother. I didn't give it to mine and I have intention, despite Peeta's best efforts, to have any maternal feelings. The world is too unpredictable and I dare not bring an innocent life into a time bomb waiting for the next dictator.
But that doesn't mean I don't wish.
Before I know it, tears are building up in the corners of my eyes. I emerge from Finn's hair and look up to the ceiling as the salty droplets threaten to fall. They sting my eyes and as I blink hard, I admit defeat and teardrops fall across my cheeks. I tilt my head back to Finn and kiss his hair, hurrying myself to get out of the room, away from the love. I mumble "goodnight" to him and as he leans from my embrace, I wipe my eyes and leave the room, resisting the urge to turn around.
As soon as I close Finn's door, I open another and I'm in the bathroom. Falling to the floor in anger and emotion, I sob hard and curl up into a ball, kicking the door close but not locking it. I'm not sure how long I'm there for. Time is lost to me just like the tears that stream continuously like a tap. My sobs crack and my breathing hitches but I remain curled. After time, footsteps climb the stairs and echo as they stop at Finn's room. I know they are his but I make no movement. At this point, I don't think I can move.
The next thing I remember is Peeta's arms cradling me to his chest. I feel his hot breath on my face. I hear his voice but it comes from a distance and the words are hard to make out. The last memory is his eyes, piercing me with worry as I try to find myself and answer him. But I'm succumbed to sleep before.
I hope you enjoyed this. It's extra-long because of a special day! Can you figure out what is up with Katniss? And yes, it's Finn's birthday. But if my storyline is correct, that won't be celebrated for another two chapters. Confused? Wait and see!
Oh yeah
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! I'M SEVENTEEN!