It's the noises that I identify with first as I gain consciousness. I can hear the soft sounds of beeping machines and the whirr of something mechanical over the soft murmuring of voices; it's exactly what I woke up to after my Hunger Games but my head is too cloudy for me to start panicking yet. Slowly I begin to feel, though. My mouth is dry and my head aches terribly. In the back of my mind, I think this is probably what it's like for Haymitch when he wakes after a long night of drinking. The room vibrates a little, jostling my body slightly and I groan as my head pounds.
"Katniss."
It's Prim. Her voice sounds thousands of miles away, though. I reach out in search of her with heavy arms, still unable to open my eyes.
"Katniss, it's OK now. You're safe," Prim says, her voice becoming clearer with each passing second. I blink my eyes open only to shut them closed immediately after. Too bright.
"Finnick said you would be uncomfortable for a few minutes after the sedative wore off but it's nothing to worry about," Prim explains. I can feel her hand on my face smoothing away the hair on my forehead.
It takes a few moments until everything comes back to me.
The camera crew and the arrows. Haymitch's warning. Mother and Prim in the basement. Rye and Finnick Odair.
The bombs.
The beeping to my right increases in frequency and I push at the cot I must be lying on, struggling to keep my eyes open long enough to see where I am.
A room, though I can't see the entirety of it because of a thin curtain that's been pulled in front of my cot. There are an inordinate amount of machines, one of which I'm plugged into.
"Prim," I gasp, before I make a series of unintelligible sounds. My mind isn't connecting with my mouth, which only makes me more distressed. I push up into a sitting position and everything around me comes spinning dizzily into view. The fluorescent lights bounce off the unyielding metal of the walls sharply, forcing me to shut my eyes again.
"Katniss, calm down, it's OK," Prim soothes, though her voice trembles slightly. Terror courses through me as I begin to remember the flashing lights and quacking ground of District 12 before whatever it was Finnick shot into me pulled me under.
"The bombs, Prim," I cry, though it doesn't sound like more than a harsh whisper. "Where's mother? We have to go back. Haymitch. And the Hawthornes and Madge," I sputter, slurring my words together. "The bombs, Prim I—"
"They're OK Katniss," Prim says quietly. She's trying to calm me, obviously because she keeps glancing at the machine to my right which won't stop beeping. I look down at my chest and see a small wire taped to the area right above my heart. Horrified, I move to peel it off my chest but Prim grabs my hands. "You can't. This is to make sure you don't get too worked up. Please, you need to trust me."
The look of absolute dismay on my face must have her backtracking.
"Mother is around the corner tending to Peeta's brother. Haymitch, the Hawthornes and Madge are all fine. I heard on the radio that they're on a hovercraft, too. I made Finnick check for me."
At the sound of his name my heart rate picks up again and I clutch Prim's arm to the point where it must be painful for her. I shake my head violently despite the way it aches. She can't trust Finnick, he's lying.
"Finnick!" Prim calls, an edge to her voice.
"No, Prim you can't listen to him, he's a liar. He was telling lies before he took us," I explain wildly.
"Peeta's in District 13, Katniss. He's alive."
Liar.
My head is throbbing painfully and I tentatively bring a hand up to my temple only to be met with some heavily padded gauzing. The beeping to my right increases even more and once Finnick comes around the thin curtain, it goes on furiously, setting off some sort of alarm to my left. I scramble as far away from him as I can until I'm met with the cold metal of the wall behind me.
"Katniss, please calm down. Your heart rate is too fast," Prim says softly, touching my cheek. My vision, which has been cloudy at best, finally focuses. Prim seems to be unharmed and it's the only thing keeping me from attacking Finnick, who is standing across from me and smiling stupidly.
"I see you've succumbed to the world of the wakeful," he says with a grin. I clutch Prim's arm and pull her towards me.
"Where am I?" I mean for it to come out as more of an accusation but my head hurts so much that I more or less croak the words.
"You, my friend, are en route to District 13. We're on a hovercraft. Unfortunately we had to take a little round-a-bout route—Capitol soldiers were on to us—so we are a tad behind schedule. As we were leaving the house the Capitol forces had already started to arrive. They dropped a bomb at the entrance to your Victor's Village, which explains your head." Finnick winces visibly. "I'm really sorry about that, by the way. Shrapnel was coming from all different directions. Not that I think he'd 100% blame me, but I was kind of hoping to deliver you back to Peeta unscathed. Now they're going to want to keep you overnight in the hospital and—"
"Peeta's dead," I spit and the more I speak, the more hysterical I become. "Don't lie to me anymore. And District 13 was destroyed decades ago. Where are you taking us?" The end of my sentence comes out as a screech and Prim cringes next to me.
"He's not lying Katniss," Prim tries to console me. "They've been communicating with District 13 the whole time we've been on the hovercraft."
I can only gape at her.
"I'm beginning to really get the sense that you have been left completely in the dark about all of this," Finnick says seriously and I look back at him, bewildered. He studies me intently and in the harsh lighting I can make out a series of thin, white scars on his cheek.
"Should I start from the beginning, then?" When I don't respond, Finnick nods and starts to speak.
"I'll give you the quick version. There has been a rebellion in the works for years and as it timed out, was able to come to," he pauses, thinking of the right word, "fruition," he continues with a motioning of his hands, "during the 75th Quarter Quell. The few rebels that existed were able to remain under the radar until last year, when you and Peeta threw everyone for a loop. That's about when President Snow and his advisors started to smoke people out."
Prim pats my arm in a comforting gesture but I can't seem to stop scowling at Finnick.
"Needless to say, those of us who were more…suspicious…than others were Reaped, including good old Lover Boy."
My stomach flips uncomfortably. There's no way that Finnick is telling the truth now. Peeta didn't know any more about the rebellion than I did. There's no way.
"Now, wait a second, I can see the wheels turning in your head. Peeta had no idea that any sort of rebel activity was happening until myself, and a few other trusted Victors, convinced him once we were already in training. Long story short, there was a rescue mission and it worked. Do you remember the cave-in?"
As a response, I give Finnick a look so nasty he looks slightly taken aback. How on earth could I forget the cave-in? The cave-in marked the beginning of the end of my life.
"Well, that was planned the whole time. The Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee, is a major player in the rebellion and was able to smuggle us out to District 13. You'd be surprised how little the Capitol cares about dead Tributes. No one even bothered to check for our bodies."
Finnick finishes talking but I'm still trying to catch up. I met Plutarch Heavensbee during the Victory Tour and he didn't seem like a rebel at all. And how could the Tributes have communicated with each other in the Capitol? The thought is absolutely ridiculous. Effie said that Peeta was buried in the Capitol. And Peeta was already so sick…
"But he…" I stammer. "His shoulder. And that spear," I sputter, dredging up wounds so old and festering that the mere mention of Peeta's Quell injuries makes me feel like I might vomit.
"Listen," Finnick says and his easy smile disappears completely, replaced with a look so ghostly I can finally see through the façade he puts up. "We didn't know what exactly we were going to find in the arena and I still can't live with myself because of what Peeta did that last minute," he says quietly. "I'm not going to sit here and lie to you. Peeta…" Finnick says, trailing off, a far off look clouding his eyes. He seems to think about what he wants to say for a while and I let him. I don't know how to tell him that I think all of this is ridiculous; my head hurts and I'm still a little woozy.
Finnick's gaze meets mine again and the look he gives me is so serious it makes him appear 10 years older than he is.
"Peeta was in a coma for three and a half weeks after we were rescued. His heart almost gave out six separate times and there were a few very dark days when we honestly had no idea if he was going to make it or not. The wound to his shoulder was a lot worse than the medics thought and both him and Jo were so thoroughly poisoned by the time we were rescued that..." Finnick's voice dies somewhere in the middle of his sentence. I watch him as he closes his eyes and shakes his head lightly. Dread begins to pool somewhere in my stomach, making its way into my lungs and up my throat like an oily snake. Finnick turns to face me again, resolute.
"The stab wound to his side was so deep that they had to remove one of his kidneys. Even after he woke from his coma, he couldn't leave his bed for another two weeks. He doesn't rest because he can't. He exhausts himself with physical therapy. We've all been through hell and back but Peeta's had it worse than any of us this time around."
My breath catches in my throat and I try to control my breathing. Peeta's always had it worse than anyone.
"But I'm telling you this, because despite everything, he's fought to stay alive and he is waiting for you."
I stare a Finnick, unblinking.
"But it does," he said. I had just told him I loved him and I was disgusted with myself for distracting him from training. He didn't care. "It gives me something to fight for."
Prim squeezes my hand and I turn to see that she's smiling softly.
"You know, he wanted to come here himself but was deemed 'too emotionally involved'. You can probably guess he wasn't pleased about that—he broke some things," Finnick continues with a rueful smirk. "I'm surprised they let me come get you, considering the amount of pent up sexual energy there is between us."
I glower at Finnick but he only laughs loudly, the sound shaking off the metallic walls.
"Ah, there is it! Now we're back to normal," he beams. "If you think I'm bad, just wait until you meet Jo! You are going to hate her." Finnick turns to Prim who is smiling so large I can see all of her teeth. "It's going to be wonderful."
There is a moment of silence where all I can do is try desperately not to let my thoughts take me away to a place where Peeta might be alive. It's too much, it's all too much.
"Katniss, Peeta's brother is on this hovercraft. He…" Prim starts, looking a Finnick pleadingly.
"Big brother was nicked in the shoulder by some errant gunfire. He's fine," Finnick finishes.
"He jumped in front of me, Katniss," Prim whispers. I take hold of her hand, too drained to say anything. Another Mellark saves another Everdeen girl. When will it stop? I'm too distracted by the information Finnick sent my way 10 minutes earlier to grasp just how grateful I feel, how Rye Mellark has suddenly gained my respect and trust. It's all in the back of my mind.
"He's awake, you know," Finnick adds. "I saw your mother redressing his bandages. You can go talk to him."
Prim looks to me, guilt clouding over her features.
"Go, Prim," I say quietly, my mind running circles. "I'll be fine." Prim gives my hand a quick squeeze before she disappears behind the corner. I slip down on the wall and rest my head on the thin pillow of the bench, curling my legs into my chest. Finnick doesn't leave. In fact, he seems to make himself comfortable in the chair Prim was previously sitting in. I don't trust this place enough to close my eyes, even though my lids feel heavy.
"I understand that you don't trust me yet," Finnick says quietly and I turn my head to look at him.
"Peeta trusted you in the arena," I respond without thinking. I'm not lying, that much is clear. Peeta trusted Finnick in the arena with his life. He had to and as much as I want to completely discount whatever Finnick says to me, the fact that Peeta trusted him nips at me.
Finnick nods, words failing him for a moment, as he looks at the opposite wall.
"I owe him my life. It's why I insisted I headline the mission to save you even though I'm not technically cleared to do so."
"What?" I ask, surprised.
"Yeah. I broke some rules to be on this mission. Peeta…didn't trust that they would come back with you until I promised him I would see to it myself."
"People don't realize how stubborn he can be," I nearly whisper, remembering all the times on the Victory Tour he wouldn't let them separate us. He was so insistent about it that it began to irritate even me. "I guess I should thank you for saving me, then."
Finnick smiles again and he runs a hand through his tousled hair.
"He's become my best friend. Besides Jo, obviously. It just kind of happens when you spend nearly 5 months together," Finnick explains and though I want to look away from him, I can't. "I know him. It's like you can tell he's not really there with us sometimes. He's haunted. If you're there, though, I know he'll come back."
I shut my eyes forcefully and try not to get my hopes up for something so impossible. I can't help it though, especially with the way Finnick is speaking, talking about Peeta as if he really is in District 13 waiting for me.
"Finnick?" I ask, my voice so small I think it might disappear. He turns to look at me quickly, surely thrown off by my change in tone. Through the sliver of curtain I can see Prim kneeling besides another cot. It must be Rye.
"I won't believe you unless I see him," I whisper. I can't let myself believe him right now. If I do, if I let myself hope for something I've wanted for so long to be true, and I'm disappointed…I think it would kill me.
Even as I think it, I know I'm being absurd. My hopes are up. I really hope Peeta is waiting for me.
At my words Finnick turns around and smiles so widely I think it might actually be painful for him.
"I know you won't, Girl on Fire," he says with a nudge to my foot. "Unlike your boy, people can pretty easily grasp how stubborn you can be."
Finnick talks to me quietly the rest of the time we're in the hovercraft. He explains how the rebel forces in each district knew that District 13 existed, but up until a few days ago, none of them knew that any of the Victors survived the Quell.
Apparently Gale knew about District 13 and that can only mean that Madge knew as well. I don't know if Haymitch knew or not but they lied to me either way. I wonder exactly when Gale found out that Peeta was alive but I was so depressed and absent that I can't pinpoint an exact time or place. I'm too confused to be angry at him yet, though I know when I see him next I'll probably scratch out his eyes.
I don't know what to say to Finnick about all of this, it's a lot of information to be presented with, so I just watch my mother as she tends to Rye through the sliver of curtain. The closer we get to our destination, the more preoccupied I become, too nervous about the possibility of Peeta being alive to think about anything else, which includes the entirety of District 13 itself, something I haven't even concerned myself with.
We land in a blur. There are no windows in the hovercraft so I can't see where we are exactly. When I ask Finnick, he tells me that District 13 is completely underground. The idea is preposterous but so is everything else Finnick has been telling. I can only scoff at him.
When the doors of the hovercraft open, Finnick and a soldier I've been told is called 'Boggs' escort me into an enormous hangar and lead me towards a heavy metal door at the far side of the giant room.
"Miss Everdeen, we need to take you to the hospital. The wound on your head needs to be treated and you're likely dehydrated," Boggs tells me. I'm shaking my head before he finishes his sentence, searching for Finnick amongst the commotion of the landed hovercraft.
"No, you take me to Peeta," I order, though I'm looking at Finnick the whole time. "Peeta Mellark," I continue, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I need to see him."
"Miss, I have orders to take you directly to the hospital," the soldier continues. My head pounds and my hands start to shake despite the fact that I'm clutching them together. Prim holds my arm and I hear mother speaking to Rye in back of me softly.
"Katniss, Peeta will probably be waiting at the door to the launch pad," Finnick explains, trying to mollify me. "He was there when we left and I highly doubt he's left the spot." My eyes whip around the hangar and I bring Prim to my side.
"They can't take me anywhere until I see him," I explain anxiously, realizing that the entire time I spent not getting my hopes up about Peeta was in vain.
Our small squad is eerily silent as we walk towards the large metal doors at the end of the tunnel and with each step I take the more overwhelmed I become. It's all too much. Not six hours ago I was in my kitchen with mother and Prim and now I'm in the otherwise destroyed District 13.
To see Peeta.
The man named Boggs talks into his earpiece before pressing a series of buttons to the right of the metal doors. They slide open unceremoniously and I'm ushered after Finnick into a brightly lit hallway, followed closely by Prim and Boggs.
"Honey, we're home!" Finnick calls loudly, as I try to take in the expanse of white walls and shiny tiled floors before me.
My heart is silent in my chest when I hear him.
"Katniss."
My entire body turns at his voice and then, just across the hall, he's there. My hands fly to my mouth and are completely unsuccessful in containing the whimper that spills forth.
Peeta stands tall about twenty feet from where I'm frozen at the door, his blonde hair sticking up in every direction. I feel Prim let go of my hand at the same time I see Peeta drop a knotted piece of rope.
Then he is striding towards me.
I yank my arm from Boggs' light grasp and start down the hallway, pressing my lips together in a straight, determined line. It takes no more than 5 seconds before I collide with his chest and we stumble into the wall. My arms tremble as throw them around his neck and he responds by holding me tightly around my middle.
He is here and he is alive and I think I might hyperventilate. My fingers dig into his back, and through his thin cotton clothing I can feel the heat radiate off of him in waves.
He's so warm. He's always been so warm.
My nose presses into his covered collarbone and I feel Peeta release a series of very shaky breathes against my neck. It makes my hair stand on end and I can feel goosebumps start to pimple my skin.
I don't know what it is exactly—maybe it's the combination of his smell and the way he feels pressing against me—but I'm filled with such an all-consuming relief, one so overwhelming, that I grow faint.
He's here and I'm holding him.
This is the time I should say something but I'm so dizzy with emotion that I'm surprised I haven't passed out yet. A sort of strangled noise fills the hallway and I realize too late that it's come from me. Peeta's arms loosen around my waist but I hug him tighter, completely unwilling to let go. I'll never do it again.
"I've dreamt about what I would say to you when I saw you again," Peeta whispers into my neck, pulling me impossibly closer. "I've thought about it for four straight months."
I shut my eyes tightly against his voice. I don't think he has a clue what it does to me, especially because I thought I'd never hear it again. Peeta pulls his face away just far enough to look at me and I get my first proper look at him. He's been sick, that much is obvious. He's paler than I've ever seen him and the faint purple bags under his eyes do nothing to hide how tired he is. His eyes, though, are exactly the same and I'm lost in them.
"I can't," he murmurs, as his fingers press into my waist. "There are no words for what I feel right now."
There are thousands of words for what I feel right now but there's no combination that could do it justice, even if my mouth was working and I could actually speak them. I sweep my fingers over his face and search for something to say to him. But it's my actions that have always spoken louder than my words, so I just decide to crush my lips to his.
It's a frantic kiss at first, both of us intent on devouring each other and completely ignorant to our audience down the hall. His lips are chapped and there's a light dusting of stubble along his chin and jaw line. I think my breathe might be stale as well but I'm positive I've never felt anything as wonderful as kissing him in this moment. We're frenzied in out movements and Peeta's hand moves the base of my neck, knotting itself in my tangled braid. As the seconds tick by, the rush dissipates and our mouths begin to move against one another more slowly, each shift of our lips deliberate and deep. I try desperately to communicate how I feel in this moment—with just a kiss—but Peeta has always been good at that. He's doing it now.
His hand moves to cup my jaw and when I feel his tongue slip against mine my knees almost buckle. Neither of us plan on ending the kiss, that much is clear, so when the need for air is too incessant we relent to resting our mouths against each other, lips brushing, as we breathe the other in. When I feel the corner of Peeta's mouth rise I speak almost immediately. I wonder if he remembers.
"Don't smile. I can't kiss you if you're smiling."
Peeta lets out a laugh so choked I think it might actually be a sob. It takes him a moment to compose himself, but eventually he sweeps his lips along my face until I feel him smile enormously into my cheek.
"I'm trying," he barely whispers. "Really, I'm trying not to."
I can't think of anything to say in response so I pull his lips to mine once more, reveling in the feel and taste of him. I thought this would never happen again and suddenly the memories of the last few months seep out of me. I don't want to cry but it's inevitable, I know. Peeta must sense it too because he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine.
"I love you so much," he murmurs, placing his palms on my cheeks and brushing his thumb along my nose. I can't look away from his eyes. It's as though I've forgotten how blue they are, even though the sea glass in my pocket is a constant reminder. I inhale deeply, something I thought would ground me but just ends up opening a vault of feelings so painful I can't breathe. I need to tell him how much I love him. How it's all I've been able to think about since I can't remember when. Instead I blurt out how it devastated me.
"You died," I choke. Peeta breathes heavily onto my face and I rest my hands on his cheeks, curling my thumbs under his jaw. His hair tickles my fingers, something that simultaneously comforts and destroys me. "I saw you…you…and it was months. Oh god, I really thought…" I trail off, beginning to lose control.
"I'm so sorry," he says and I feel his hands begin to shake on my cheeks. "Katniss, I'm so sorry for what happened and for the way it did."
It's ridiculous for him to be apologizing when I know deep down it's not his fault at all. I should probably be apologizing to him, considering the amount of pain he's been through, brought along by me. But because I'm a terrible person, and I'm not thinking properly, I make him promise me something I'm not sure he can keep.
"You can't ever do that to me," I whisper like a petulant child, heaving my words forth so as to keep the tears at bay. Peeta catches one on his thumb, anyway. He searches my eyes, looking heartbroken, as the words leave me, like it was just as bad for him as it was for me. "Promise me. You can't do that to me again, I won't survive it next time."
I can hear a series of footsteps moving toward us from down the hall so my hands move to grip Peeta's forearms tightly. He shifts one of his hands down to rest on the side of my neck and I watch while his eyes turn glassy as he speaks again. Peeta shakes his head.
"Never again. I promise you."
Finnick walks hurriedly towards us and I feel Peeta press his lips to the side of his face, just below my bandage.
"Boggs is about ready to call Coin himself if you don't follow him to the hospi—"
Somewhere in the middle of Finnick's sentence Peeta throws an arm around his shoulder and brings him to us in a strange three-person hug. It takes him a few seconds, but Finnick hugs Peeta back, all the while hesitantly patting my shoulder.
"Thank you," Peeta whispers fiercely. His face is pressed against my cheek and the words are said into my ear but I know without a doubt that he is talking to Finnick. He's thanking him for bringing me back.
"Anytime," Finnick answers softly before pulling away. "I'm serious about Boggs, though."
Peeta won't let go of me, even as Finnick urges him to start moving down the hall.
"I'm coming then," he says to Finnick, releasing me but in the process, snaking an arm around my waist. Finnick gives him a look but Peeta presses on. "I don't care about the damn visitation hours. They'll have to drag me away."
I shift impossibly closer to Peeta and grip his hand tightly in mine. They will not separate us again. I just got him back.
"Peeta, man, I know. Okay? Let's deal with it when we get there? Boggs looks like he is going to have a stroke, alright?"
Peeta glances down the hall to a very tense-looking Boggs and nods. Finnick leads us down the hall and Peeta twines the fingers of his free hand with mine before bringing them to his mouth.
"I don't think you'll ever me able to get rid of me again," he says with a smile before placing a light kiss on my knuckles. I smile back at him, the first time I've done so in months. True to his form, Peeta lightens the situation in a way I'm confident no one else would be able to. It's the way his eyes crinkle and his mouth lifts higher than the other that comfort me, even if we're in District 13 and I have no idea what is happening. It's something no one else can do quite like Peeta.
I stare up at him, unable to look away while we walk down the hall.
"Good," I respond.
District 13's hospital is no where near as advanced as what the Capitol has to offer but the facilities are still so much more than what I'm used to in District 12 that it's overwhelming nonetheless. I'm set to stay in the clinic overnight, which happens to be the same place Rye is being treated for his bullet wound. Prim sits with me while the District 13 nurses tend to my head and set me up with an IV drip. She assures me the whole time that it's routine but I know the only reason I'm allowing it is because Peeta assured the same thing.
Watching Prim and Peeta's reunion, as she cried onto his shoulder was one of the most crushing things I've ever witnessed. I don't know what she said to him but it was enough to make Peeta tear up. He never cries.
Haymitch strides into the hospital while Peeta is speaking with Rye on the other side of the room, signaling to me that everyone else is back. He tries to talk to me but I want nothing to do with him and I tell him as much. Haymitch looks slightly furious but it's something I'm used to seeing out of him.
"And you can tell Gale that I don't want to talk to him, either. Apparently none of you thought it was that important before, I don't see why now would be any different," I tell him coldly. I'm impressed with myself that I haven't tried attacking Haymitch yet, but I attribute it to exhaustion and my pounding headache. Haymitch huffs and is about to retaliate when Peeta comes back to my bed. Try as I might to be angry at Haymitch, I cannot help but notice the way he hugs Peeta or the way Peeta's voice cracks when he thanks him. For what, I don't know.
"I didn't do anything, boy. Ask the girl," Haymitch responds gruffly. He doesn't look at us as he leaves.
Peeta takes Prim's place when she leaves for the night. He sits in an uncomfortable chair at the side of my bed and takes my hand carefully in his, running his fingers over my knuckles before glancing up at me, smiling softly.
"You weren't with your brother very long," I say quietly, curling my fingers into his palm. I'd much rather have him up here with me but the nurses still aren't pleased that Peeta is staying and one of them is checking my IV. Peeta speaks as he continues playing with my fingers but his eyes are trained on my face.
"Rye said, and I quote, 'Don't be an ass, Peet. If you're honestly going to sit here with me while I'm hoped up on meds instead of sucking face with your girlfriend, who thought you were dead for almost four months, you don't deserve a dick.'"
He smiles at the last part but I can't seem to return it. Finding out Peeta is alive after months of thinking he was dead is the most overpowering emotion I've ever felt. I can feel my throat start to close up and I swallow drily, watching as the nurse walks away from my bed.
"Peeta," I whisper. He moves closer to me at that, gripping my hand gently in his. I can't believe that I forgot how big and warm his hands are. The realization has me fighting back tears.
"Please can you come here?"
My voice is high and tight and I can feel my face pinch as I try to keep from crying. Peeta doesn't need to be asked twice, he knows exactly what I mean. I scoot over as he climbs into the tiny hospital bed and once he's made sure he won't fall out, he scoops me up and hugs me close.
That's when I lose it.
I haven't been known for being particularly stable these past few months, but I honestly don't care that I'm crying right now. I cry for Peeta and I cry for myself. I cry because I thought he'd never be able to hold me again. I cry because he is so warm and he smells like sugar and vanilla and Peeta and because he's whispering lovely things into my hair. I cry because I missed him and I cry because I love him and I cry because this whole time I thought he was gone.
"You don't know," I hiccup, once my sobs have died down enough for me to speak. "You don't know how much I need you."
I had alternated between pressing my face into his chest and his neck while I wept so after a while I finally brave a look at his face. His eyes are watery with unshed tears and they look enormous in his face. His cheeks are sunken in and the harsh lighting of the hospital makes the bags under his eyes even more pronounced.
"Maybe I never told you enough," I whisper as he starts to open his mouth in a reply. "I never told you how much I love you," I explain, bringing my hand to his face, "which is a lot. I am…I love you so much."
I rest my head on the pillow so I can look at him, continuing to stroke his cheek with my thumb. Peeta looks completely unable to form words so I continue, not sure where my sudden verbal confidence is coming from.
"I think I realized it even more after you left…I was lost."
Peeta shifts closer to me, wrapping an arm over my stomach. He presses kisses into my hair as he speaks.
"You saved me, Katniss," he says, voice low. I feel it reverberate off his chest and into my side where we're pressed together. "In the arena—in training even—all I had to do was think of you. You were reason alone not to give up. Remember when you made me promise not to?"
I nod, turning my face on the pillow, and our noses touch. Neither of us move away.
"And then afterwards, when I was in the hospital here, your promise kept me from giving up again."
My face contorts when I remember Finnick's explanation of Peeta's wounds. Of how sick he was and of how they almost lost him so many different times.
I slide my hand down his neck to where the collar of his shirt begins. Peeta's eyes don't leave mine as I pull away the fabric, revealing a small fraction of the scarred mess that is his shoulder. The flesh is pink and puckered, ridged and gnarled. I'm hesitant to touch it—I don't want to hurt him—but touch him anyway. I can feel Peeta swallow as I run my fingers over the scarred skin. It's more extensive than what I can see.
I put his collar back carefully and then move down to where his shirt meets his pants, lifting up the material until I can see the clean, sharp scar on his hip. This mark isn't as ugly as the one on his shoulder but I can tell by the way the skin dips that it was more damaging.
"Do they hurt?" I ask, feeling as though I might cry again.
"Not with you here," Peeta responds and I give him a small, strangled laugh because there's literally nothing else I can do.
"Finnick told me," I swallow thickly, "that you were really hurt."
Peeta doesn't respond immediately, choosing instead to kiss me on my cheek, my nose, my lips. He fingers my braid when he pulls away, rooting me with his stare.
"I was."
"Will you be okay?" I ask, my voice the tiniest I've ever heard it. I can't even look at him when I ask, suddenly terrified of the answer.
"No one thought so," he says. "But I've been proving everyone wrong since Day 1. The doctors say I'll be fine now, so long as I keep up with my physical therapy and don't lose my other kidney," he laughs.
Peeta smiles when I scowl.
"So I'm back to the drawing board with trying to coax a smile out of you, is that it?" Peeta asks, tracing the outline of my upper lip.
"I don't think you joking about your injuries is funny. That's not funny to me. It's never been funny to me." I hug him tighter, for no reason other than because I can now.
"I know, but sometimes you really just have to laugh about it. Or the pain and bitterness will eat you alive."
I sigh and weave our fingers together.
"You're so much better at this than I am."
"I don't know about that," Peeta says quietly, looking distant but pulling my closer, mindful of the IV in my arm.
"They didn't tell me," I say suddenly. "No one told me about District 13 and no one told me that you were alive. I'm so happy you're alive."
I start to breathe heavily again. Saying the words aloud, telling him how happy I am, is harder than it seems.
"I'm sorry," he says. "President Coin wouldn't let us broadcast our survival to the districts until a few days ago so there's no way that anyone knew before that. It was all very secretive."
Peeta doesn't look away during the whole explanation but his brow furrows slightly.
"What is this place?" I ask, trying to smooth away the wrinkles on his forehead.
"District 13, run by a woman named Coin. You can guess she's the one who has cultivated the rebellion."
I let my hand fall to his throat.
"I'm so confused by everything," I whisper. "And District 12…" I trail off, finally realizing how it must be destroyed.
Peeta begins to shake.
"I know. But please, not tonight. Believe me, I will tell you everything, I promise. We can talk about it tomorrow, I won't keep you in the dark. But I don't think your hospital bed is the best place. And I don't want to think about District 12 now," he finishes sadly.
Peeta runs his hand up and down my side, leaning in even closer and resting his chin on the top of my head. I'll let it to go for now. I'm tired and I'm too happy here with Peeta, only to become more confused by what he has to say about District 13. I honestly can't even think about 12.
"Can I kiss you?" Peeta asks after a few moments. "I kind of need to kiss you right now, I can't think about anything else."
I don't even respond, just tilt my face to him until I feel his lips on mine again. He kisses me slowly, running his tongue along the seam of my lips before I capture it with my own. I place my hand on his chest and feel his heart beat frantically underneath my fingers. I whine when he pulls away but he only laughs lightly, fidgeting on the bed to get more comfortable.
"Take your leg off," I tell him quietly.
Peeta doesn't say anything so I look up at him. He stares off to the opposite side of the room, swallowing thickly.
"You haven't taken it off, have you?" I ask, running my hand down his leg to where metal meets flesh. It takes a while for him to respond.
"It's…I don't feel safe, otherwise. I can't sleep. And without you…"
Peeta speaks in a quiet rush and I move my hand back up to his face, running my fingers underneath his eyes, knowing how much it calms him.
"Well I'm here to protect you, now. I'll make you feel safe."
Because I love you.
At this, Peeta starts to cry almost immediately and I can't tell if I said the right or the wrong thing. I must look horrified so Peeta smiles even though he continues crying, which is strange thing to see, because seeing him cry makes me heartsick.
"That's my job for you, though," he says after his tears start to come slower. He's being illogical, he must know that.
"We can both do it, you know. We can both protect each other," I affirm, kissing his nose. When I pull away Peeta grabs my face gently, holding my gaze.
"I guess it's what we do, right? We're friends."
I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it, brought back to our days on the Victory Tour when I tried so hard to keep our relationship platonic. I failed with flying colors and the look in Peeta's eyes lets me know that he thinks the same. I play along anyway.
"Yes, good friends."