February 28th, 2012
A/N: I apologize immensely for the long time between updates. I hit a kind of rut in the road and was having difficulty navigating this plot to its next level. It's quite the balancing act the more characters that are tossed into the mix. Thanks ever so much to Howlynn for suggesting this little plot band-aid. And thank you all to my reviewers for your comments. I absolutely thrive on them!
I thought telling Gale would leave me with a sense of peace and calm. That not having to contain the secret would bring relief. Yet, I still feel an anxious restlessness inside. Gale's presence and attention offers a good distraction for a while. But then he surrenders to an afternoon nap, and I find myself pacing back and forth, left with nothing to keep the worry at bay.
Before my mind is fully caught up to the idea, my hands find the back door handle and push it wide. The blast of cold air tells me I forgot my coat, but I'm already ten feet away and moving forward. I realize where I'm going after another few minutes of blindly following this compulsive need to move, my feet trained towards Peeta's front door like a heat-seeking missile.
When I knock, another gust of wind hits me full force and I wince just as he answers the door.
"Katniss?" Peeta asks, concerned no doubt by the ugly grimace I must be wearing. "You okay?"
I don't even wait for the invitation inside, brushing past him and diving for the overwhelming warm interior of his house. He closes the door behind me and the relative serenity of his home is at once rejuvenating and disconcerting. How does he stay here by himself? It must be lonely.
Peeta's looking at me expectantly when I turn to face him and suddenly, I'm only too aware of my barging in and overt rudeness.
"I'm sorry, Peeta," I say. I rub my frozen hands together before tucking them into my armpits, cold and uncomfortable. His patience feels pressing and I grope wildly for another coherent thought. "I just forgot to thank you for the cheesebuns this morning."
Peeta smiles slightly.
"No, you didn't."
"'I didn't?"
"No, you did…" Peeta frowns, his hand pulling at the back of his neck. "… thank me." He looks away, awkwardly, the thoughts on his face frustratingly clear, yet unreadable. I open my mouth to coax what he's thinking out of him, but he beats me to it. "You didn't even eat any."
I can hear the hurt in his voice.
"I wanted to… I just…" My hands fall to my sides with an audible slap. "Morning sickness."
He studies me, nodding once before retreating to his kitchen. Though he hasn't said to follow, I do anyway, hoping that I'm interpreting the wordlessness correctly. Peeta rummages through some cabinets and pulls two mugs out, placing them on the counter so the ceramic and granite ring out harshly. Uncertainly, I watch him dutifully fill a kettle with water and place it on the stovetop.
"You can sit," he says.
I dive forward, rushing to complete his request. Somehow I feel better with a directive. I flounder when forced to improvise.
The stovetops in the Victors' mansions are state of the art and soon the kettle is whistling that the water is boilingly hot. Carefully, Peeta removes it from the burner, fills our mugs, and places a steaming brew before me. The steam wafting up smells of tartness and spring.
I think that maybe I'm supposed to say something, when Peeta sits across from me in silence. But he traces an invisible pattern on the table before sighing heavily.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"Why are you sorry?" I ask, confused.
"I should've come to stand with you," he says. I frown, not understanding. "At the mines. I should've waited with you."
"No, Peeta. Don't be ridiculous," I say. "I should be the one apologizing for leaving you and Haymitch in the cold. I just heard the sirens and…"
My throat closes involuntarily, not letting me finish that thought. Even though, I know that Gale is safe above ground, the very memory of the sheer panic and terror I felt still threatens me with overwhelming grief.
"You really love him, don't you?"
I drop his stare and nod feebly. Peeta sighs audibly, and when I tentatively glance back up, his eyes are on me.
"All of this would be much easier if I had died like I was supposed to."
His blue eyes watch my reaction with a strange mix of sadness and devotion. He looks tired, disheartened even. The guilt I feel flares with sudden anger at him for saying something like that.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap.
"In the arena," he says. "I could've swallowed those berries and let you be the lone victor. Then you and Gale could've had your happy ending without me constantly in the way."
"You're not in the way…"
"Yes, Katniss, I am!" Peeta's fist slams into the table and I jump. I would expect that frustrated gesture from Gale, but not gentle Peeta. He stands and paces a few steps before turning back to face me. "But I don't have to be anymore."
"Peeta, I…"
I am at a complete loss for words. The outburst has caught me off guard and anything that crosses my mind seems trite or insincere. Peeta shakes his head at my gaping, kneeling before me and grabbing my hands in his.
"No, Katniss," he says. "I've been thinking and the best chance you and Gale have is if I can give you a head start. Maybe distract them long enough to come after me instead."
My head is shaking too, but to deny his plan. Surely he can see the insanity of it. The pointlessness.
"Peeta, if we separate, the Capitol will come down on the one who stays behind. Regardless of who leaves first," I say. "I'm sorry Gale and I didn't realize the danger we were putting you in."
The wounded look on his face is so absolute, it breaks me inside. How horrible am I for stringing him along, forcing him to play the doting admirer while I play make-believe behind his back? It makes me rethink the next words that come to mind. Because in some ways, by pleading what I am about to, I continue to play my hurtful deck against him.
"You have to come with us," I say. My hands close around his in a probably inappropriate intimacy. He latches on like a lifeline though. "I want you to come with us."
The adoring gaze softens the brightness dancing in his blue eyes and I really wish he wouldn't look at me that way, because it makes the guilt twist in my heart for using that to my advantage. However, I cannot let Peeta sacrifice himself so carelessly for my sake. I still owe him immensely. It's beginning to appear that I will never be able to pay him back.
"Please promise me you won't do something stupid." My voice hitches a little at the end, the desperation evident in its trembling tone.
Peeta grimaces a little and my heart suddenly speeds up.
"What?"
"I'd steer clear of Haymitch then…"
Of course, the first thing I do after leaving Peeta's house is walk straight to our mentor's front door. I don't even bother knocking and march straight into his kitchen. Except Haymitch is nowhere to be found.
"Haymitch!" I yell.
"In here, sweetheart."
The crispness on the ending word alerts me to the lack of alcohol in his system. Part of me thinks that I should abandon this mission and come back at a later time. A sober Haymitch is ironically a lot harder to deal with than an intoxicated one. But, it's no use now. He already knows I'm here.
He's sprawled out on the couch, his booted feet haphazardly resting on the end table where they hang over the armrest. They're dangerously close to sending the lone lamp on its surface crashing to the floor when he swings them up, and beckons me to follow him outside.
"How's your Seam rat?"
The derogatory comment is meant exactly to get a visceral reaction out of me and I can't help but give him what he's seeking.
"His name is Gale," I say, my teeth gnashing angrily.
Haymitch sits up and pretends to contemplate this as if it were of great importance. Something he had not yet realized and was just ruminating on and seeing how well the concept was when swallowed.
"I'm very impressed that you took my advice," he snarls. "Glad you found someone better."
His words are razor sharp and my intense rage deflates like a balloon releasing all its pent-up air. I can't fight dirty when he's this pissed off with me.
"Say what you want to say to me, Haymitch."
"You have got to get your head in the game, sweetheart." He jabs his finger at me with every word, as if physically poking them at me might make then stick more permanently. "This running off to see your cousin…"
"Gale's not my…"
Haymitch's glare silences me instantly.
"…and leaving your fiancé behind like a discarded toy… It's unbecoming."
I scowl at him, confused and irritated by his rather lofty speech. If anything, it's unbecoming of him to dictact what behaviors define decorum and appropriateness.
"People talk, rumors spread…"
Cold, frustrated, and emotionally exhausted, I plant my feet and refuse to go any further.
"Haymitch!" I yell. He snaps his head to me. "What is going on?"
I am a little afraid to see this irrational perplexing behavior from him when he's sober. It is not as easy to let it roll of my back when I don't have alcohol to blame.
"Have you not figured it out?"
I stare blankly at him. Clearly the answer is no.
"Did you even stop to think why your love-sick puppy dog was not obediently waiting by your side at the mines?"
I blanch, the realization that I have missed something of great importance hitting me like a ton of bricks.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand," I say.
"Of course you don't."
Haymitch scowls at me and then launches into a tirade.
"I could only follow one of you and forgive me for choosing the shorter distance of the two. That boy ran to his house and started going on about making it easier on you. Rooting through his bathroom like a madman. It was only when he grabbed the painkillers that I realized what he was trying to do. I was up most of the night watching him like some he was in some hospital ward. Didn't let him take anything but the boy damn near broke my arm trying to get the pills back."
"Peeta?" I ask.
"Oh so you do remember his name!" Haymitch scoffs. "Any idea how close you came to losing them both?"
My silence is my answer.
Haymitch steps forward, his voice softer, lower.
"I will get you out of this pregnancy predicament. But you have got to start helping me out too. Understand?"
I bite my lip, nodding, feeling like a child after a dressing down. The grimace on Peeta's face replays in my head and I suddenly understand the expression when I had just asked him not to try anything rash.
"We need a game plan."
Haymitch frowns, looking off towards the Seam.
"Think you can get Gale to your old house for a little chit chat?"
~Fin