I spend my time in District 8 sitting in corners and avoiding people, trying to process the news we've just been given: three other Districts have fallen.
While 13 only had control over the more "remote" Districts – 8, 9, 10, 11 and 12 – it seems as though Beetee, Peeta's Quarter Quell ally from 3, had been working on wiring the media lines for months. Having grown up in District 3, he is incredibly clever when it comes to all things technology-related. That, and the problem solving skills he acquired during the Games, more or less made him capable of becoming a professional hacker for the rebellion.
Thirteen was essentially able to 'black out' Districts 3, 5 and 6, thereby gaining their complete control. Even though Beetee had been working on this for months, luck would have it that he and his team were finally able to break through while we were on our rescue mission to District 4. But the high traffic of Thirteen's soldiers to the newly fallen Districts is preventing our small rescue team from returning back to 13 as planned.
So I am stuck here, sitting in corners and too shell-shocked from our semi-botched rescue mission to do much of anything.
The new information is, no doubt, incredible news. My outburst in 4 had cast a dark shadow over the members of our rescue squad but the news of the recently fallen Districts has lifted everyone's spirits. Instead of filling me with purpose, like it does the rest of the team, it makes me anxious.
All I want to do is go back.
Eight was one of my least favorite Districts during the Victory Tour. Eight manufactured textiles and all Peeta and I were exposed to during our time here were the various factories – the buildings so closely packed and piled high on top of each other that sometimes it was hard to remember where 'outside' and 'inside' began and ended.
The rebellion has not helped make this place more enjoyable or beautiful. Everything seems grey, even the colorful fabrics that I find littering the streets. The population looks downtrodden and weary. Children are too thin.
As much as I hate it, I realize what seeing me does to these people. For some reason, they've grown attached to me. I've been stopped many times by complete strangers who thank me for my 'help' during the rebellion efforts. Children have hugged my knees and men and women alike shake my hand – some going so far as to pull me into bone-crushing hugs. Cressida and her crew film all of this, jumping at the opportunity to get 'useful' footage, because I'm sure Coin will refuse to use whatever was filmed on the mission as I was blatantly breaking rules and putting the entire operation in jeopardy.
I really don't like being here. But the people of District 8 are so weak yet so strong at the same time, driven forward by some gritty resolve, that seeing them makes me feel like I am doing something beneficial. At least in my own way.
But whatever positive feelings I have are almost always washed away quickly by loathing and hatred. Seeing the charred buildings and the worn out public makes me furious. It fills me with such an all-encompassing rage that I don't realize my knuckles have turned white until I lose feeling in my fingers. Snow did this, and all of this destruction and depression reminds me of him. I see him everywhere in this District, in the dejected faces of the women and men who have lost everything but their hope.
I realized a long time ago that Snow is without a doubt the only person I would take pleasure in murdering, but being here seems to keep it pushed to the forefront of my mind to the point where it is the only thing I can think about. I don't know what that says about me. Of course he would love how I've changed for the worse. He'd love to see me curled up in the corner, like I am right now, angry and yearning for the arms of the boy he tried to take away. How gleeful he must have been when I turned catatonic after Quell, so confident in his plans that he didn't even bother to check on me.
So confident in his empire that he didn't realize it had slipped through his fingers until it was too late.
I want to rip him limb from limb for what he's done. I want him to pay. The country deserves that much.
So I sit in my corner, missing home, being anxious and hating Snow.
I'm not wanted anywhere at this point. I've made it abundantly clear that I don't trust my squad and they've made it even clearer that the feeling is mutual. They took away my weapon on the hovercraft immediately after we started the trip to 8. I pretend that having nothing to defend myself with doesn't bother me but as everyone knows, I am a terrible actress. At least they took away Jackson's weapon as well. I haven't seen or heard of him since landing in this District, but the feeling of his gun pressed against my head has not left my mind.
Cressida assured me that he isn't allowed near me anymore. I still refuse to close my eyes at night, in case he plans on sneaking up on me.
Gale was sent directly into surgery once we touched down in 8. I paced outside of the small hospital until one of the doctors forced me away and out of the building. In an attempt to quell my building anxiety, I visited with Annie Cresta, which only seemed to upset me more. Annie, with her vibrant green eyes and long and unkempt dark hair, is absolutely beautiful. But Peeta was correct – she isn't right. The few times I've tried to talk to her it's as though she isn't present. Annie will stare at her fingers and whisper to herself. She speaks so low that I'm unable to hear most of what she says. Only a few times have I been able to make out the words and they are almost always 'Finnick'. I wish I could do something more than just sit by her. I've tried holding her hand a few times but Annie cringed at the contact…so now we just sit together in corners.
We've become quite the pair to our squad: the two crazy girls.
They allowed me to speak to Haymitch a few hours after landing in 8 but our conversation was brief. He yelled at me for acting so stupidly – for pulling my weapon on my own squad and actually shooting one of them – and I couldn't explain my behavior in a way he would understand. I didn't know how to tell him that everything about this mission reminded me of the Games and that I was terrified and felt threatened.
So I remained silent during his verbal beat-down.
My only question was about Peeta. I know I don't need to ask about Prim. She has Rory and Mother and the Hawthornes. Even Delly and Madge. I don't worry about Prim because I know that she is safe. But I haven't stopped worrying about Peeta since I stepped onto the hovercraft in 13.
"He's fine now," Haymitch had said.
He's fine now. But I can't help but think that means he wasn't fine before. That he was something other than fine. That he was hurting or having an episode. I tried to keep my voice steady on the phone when I spoke to Haymitch, asking him to go into detail, but he wouldn't tell me anything else.
It makes me feel physically ill that, if Peeta was sick, I wasn't there to comfort him. It's the only thing I do right, I realize: comfort Peeta. All I want is to be back in 13 doing just that, even though I can see now how important my role as Mockingjay is.
I don't care though, I've always known I was selfish.
So when the cameras are off, and I'm not pretending to be strong for the people of District 8, I sit in corners with Annie Cresta and worry.
I am allowed to visit Gale in the hospital one day after his surgery. I haven't slept – even though the District 8 officials provided us with cots and blankets – so when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror in Gale's hospital room I'm not surprised that I look more like an animal than a human.
Gale lies in his bed, leg propped up and bandaged thickly. They were able to save it – thank God – so even though my squad members think I'm foolish and unstable I can't quite believe them. My plan worked, Gale was saved.
I sit down gingerly on the uncomfortable looking chair beside the bed. Gale had been dozing but when he hears me sit his eyes pull open.
"How are you feeling," I ask, careful to keep my voice quiet. Gale grimaces and glances down at his leg.
"Weird. I've never had painkillers before," he muses. His eyes are glassy and the easy smile he wears tells me that he is most definitely experiencing the side effects that accompany taking morphling. "How are you feeling?"
I look down at my hand – the worst of my injuries. I tripped and cut it on broken glass while running back to the hovercraft but District 8 was able to stitch it up easily. They also gave me a special cream to apply to the enormous gunshot bruise on my stomach. My physical injuries are nothing and I tell him as much with a flick of my wrist.
It's my emotional injuries, the ones inside, which are most painful. But I can't tell him that, and I don't want to. He must know, though. Everyone does. I just don't feel comfortable sharing them with anyone other than Peeta.
"Thank you for coming back for me, Katniss."
I shift on the uncomfortable chair next to his bed. I'm not so sure he would thank me so easily if he weren't high off of the Capitol's most renowned drugs. Really, I'm not even sure how District 8 got their hands on such items considering 13 has had control over this District for months and hasn't had access to Capital supplies.
"I had to," I respond, voice hard.
Why does no one understand this? The confused looks and grimaces I've been met with since the fated rescue mission have been haunting me, making me feel as though I've made some dumb mistake. Still, I can't consider it a mistake when a friend's life was involved. Is involved. I've experienced too much death to act as though someone's life is a trivial matter. They treat me as some sort of pariah, which I guess is well warranted. I wouldn't trust me if I were them either. I've known from the start that I'm crazy.
I shouldn't have shot Boggs, I know. But in that moment, I was back in the Games and he was an obstacle preventing me from reuniting with an ally. I did what I had to do. Even so, I'm too much of a coward to apologize, even though I know he is in the next room over.
"I know," Gale sighs. I shouldn't be surprised that he isn't pursuing the issue. Although the effects of morphling always made me uneasy – I've heard about the addicts – I'm more than grateful they are making Gale more carefree than usual.
For a while we sit in silence and I listen to the beat of his heart monitor. I don't have a change of clothes and my Mockingjay suit is uncomfortable and itchy. I really need to shower.
"Have you heard about the other Districts?" I ask, not knowing what else to talk about. Honestly, I don't even know why I brought it up. It's doubtful that he'll remember this conversation in a few hours and there is no way anyone told him about this new development while the doctors were cutting open his leg, so his answer surprises me.
"Yeah," he says and I watch his expression, stunned.
Gale looks back at me with sad eyes and it's in this moment that I realize how little I know about what has been transpiring underground in District 13. I wish I knew more, had any knowledge about this other than the bare bones that the District 13 remote officials have supplied, but I hadn't been paying enough attention. I don't know how all of this happened. How 13 became so powerful and how the Capitol so easily lost control. I didn't realize because I'd been too caught up in my own head.
I can barely cope with my 'duties' of filming propos and acting as Mockingjay because the emotional backlash of mine and Peeta's Games has nearly paralyzed me. Following the details of the rebellion would have left my already fragile mind in complete shambles. It's all too much. Even now, in the midst of all this positive change, I want to be under the covers of Peeta's bed, in his arms, forgetting everything.
"It's been brewing for a while," Gale adds quietly, the morphling slurring his words. "But you know that, though. It's been planned for a long time, Catnip."
I glance up at him again. I hadn't realized I'd been staring at the bandaging on his leg.
"But to plan it all so carefully?" I whisper, trying to wrap my brain around it all for the first time. "I just…I didn't realize that Coin…"
I don't even know what to say. I'd underestimated the woman, that's for sure. I'd been in such a grief-induced haze after the Quell, and then a state of absolute shock for the longest time in 13, that I couldn't comprehend most of what was happening. I followed orders, all the while clutching onto Peeta like they would drag him away from me again at any minute.
"She's smart," Gale says. "A lot more ruthless and calculating than you'd think, so she gets the job done," he murmurs, eyes barely open. I want to say something more but my tongue is tied up. "It's almost over now," Gale adds quietly and I try to nod.
Over.
Thirteen has control over the majority of Panem at this point. Even better, they have control over technology, energy and transportation. This is incredibly news.
It will be over soon. And then everything will be worth the trouble. I nod again, even after Gale has already closed his eyes. Maybe it's for my benefit, to try and convince myself that all of this – the Games and the Quell and the rebellion – is worth all the pain and heartbreak that it's caused.
I'm just leaving the hospital, head down and eyes trained on my feet, when I almost collide with someone.
"Katniss Everdeen?" the voice – a woman – asks.
I tilt my head up and meet her eyes, upset that I'll have to put on the whole Mockingjay act when I'm already so tired, but this woman isn't a civilian. She is about my height with dark brown eyes and even darker hair. "I'm Commander Paylor. I'm one of the leading rebel officials in District 8."
"Nice to meet you," I say, before cringing. It's quite possible this woman could have been one of the hundreds of people I was introduced to during the Victory Tour. Luckily Commander Paylor doesn't seem to be insulted by my phrasing, so I continue on as Mockingjay. "Thank you for letting us stop here. I…know it wasn't planned but… my friend was hurt."
It's the first I've spoken to anyone about my behavior on the hovercraft, if you discount my brief exchange with Haymitch. I don't speak to my squad members. In fact, I stay as far away from them as I can. I'm forever haunted by Jackson's threatening voice and hard expression, of Boggs' tranquilizer inching towards me.
I steer clear of almost everyone except for Annie, itching to get back to somewhere I feel safe.
But I want this woman to know that I am thankful for her hospitality. I am thankful.
"That wasn't smart of you," she responds, raising her eyebrows. It's not a reprimand. In fact, she seems almost amused by it, which confuses me greatly.
"That's what people are telling me," I murmur, already trying to get back to my corner with Annie Cresta. I can't do this right now – talk about my behavior. I shouldn't have even brought it up because now I can feel the sticky tendrils of an impending anxiety attack licking at my skin. It's just all too much.
And Peeta isn't here to pick up the pieces when I break down, which makes me feel even worse, for a variety of reasons.
"I'm sure Coin is going to blow a gasket when you get back," Paylor says, smiling. I don't return it. I haven't let myself think about the punishments that will surely be awaiting me but now that she brings up Coin – someone I've been too scared to even think about all that much– I feel like I might vomit. "But I don't think you should even be doing this stuff to begin with."
I look to her, confused. Doesn't everyone expect me to do this? To follow through with the rebellion I stirred? Everyone else seems to be pleased. It's my duty, after all.
"I had a cousin who survived the Games," Paylor continues. The tone of her voice doesn't change – all business and authoritative, like she's reciting the agenda for the District's next staging meeting. "He was 17 and he came back a completely different person. He couldn't hold a knife at dinner without breaking into a cold sweat. He mentored twice before taking his own life."
My limbs lock when I hear this. She can't possibly know how the Games change a person. How they twist and turn them until a broken shell is all that remains. How you're never truly free of them, even if you survive.
My mind goes to Peeta and I miss him so much in this moment that I feel actual pain in my chest. I can't comprehend what I would have become if he didn't come back from the Games with me. If I didn't have him to chase away the nightmares. If I didn't have him brighten this dismal, horrible world. To make me feel like I could be whole again, one day.
I'd like to think I wouldn't have taken my own life but really, if Peeta wasn't there to ground me, I'm not so sure.
And then he was Reaped again and everything wonderful that somehow found a way to exist after the Games dissolved into nothing.
And then he wasn't there. He died and I…
"Coin is a good leader," Paylor continues, drawing me out of my dark thoughts. Can she see they way I've begun to shake? How my lips have paled and how I've broken out into a cold sweat, just like her cousin? "But she will never be able to understand our desire for freedom."
It takes me a moment to catch up to her words but when I do, my mouth opens and then closes like a fish. What is she saying? That Alma Coin can't understand a Victor's need for freedom? Or that Alma Coin can't understand Panem's need for freedom? She can't understand either, I realize abruptly. She was never subjected to the Games and she has never lived in Panem. She's watched from the sidelines, intent on fighting a battle she has no real attachment to.
She's never gone hungry.
"She is making this possible for us, though," I whisper. What is the Paylor woman getting at? I don't like Coin but at least I can respect that she is fighting this war for the right reasons, even if she may not understand it like we do.
She is fighting for the right reasons, isn't she?
"Of course, she is," Paylor says, nodding her head, dark eyes flashing. "Though if you ask me, you shouldn't be here, in 8. She shouldn't have a seventeen-year-old Hunger Games survivor fighting her battles for her. You're not even of age." Paylor's voice is even but she makes no effort to keep it low and soft. Apparently she doesn't care who hears her. Maybe she's told this to people before – Coin herself, maybe. "This exploitation is exactly what we're fighting against."
"I…I volunteered for this mission," I stammer, suddenly worried. Maybe it's a reaction to always having to sensor my words for fear that the Capital might be listening and ready to pounce.
"You volunteered for the Games, too, if I'm not mistaken," Paylor shoots back and she must see the way her words affect me because her face, which had remained hard during our whole conversation, softens just the tiniest bit.
"I apologize. I just want all of this to end," she explains.
"Me too," I murmur back.
It's almost over.
The next night we return to District 13. I had spent the remainder of my time in 8 sitting in corners with Annie Cresta, alternating between thinking about my conversations with Gale and Paylor, and thinking about Peeta. Thinking about the rebellion and the war just made me confused. Thinking about Peeta made my heart hurt.
He's fine now.
When our hovercraft lands, and is transported through the maze of underground tunnels, I begin to feel jittery, knowing that Prim and Peeta are so close by. So when the doors open and we're let out onto the hangar, I walk with purpose, gripping Annie's arm lightly and leading her along next to me, ready to bring her to Finnick so I can finally be rid of this mission once and for all. Boggs and Gale are still on the hovercraft, most likely being strapped into wheelchairs. I think Jackson might be with them, which was really only another reason I made a beeline toward the exit. I thought about waiting for Gale but I just couldn't, knowing how close my family is.
Annie and I have barely made it through the large metals doors to the brightly lit entrance hallway when I see a flash of bronze and she is ripped from me. I would protest if I didn't know absolutely that it was Finnick. I twist to see them clutching one another tightly before sinking to the floor in a heap. Annie, who has been weeping on and off the last few days, bursts into tears immediately.
I feel sick, knowing I can't watch anymore but somehow unable to look away. Finnick is whispering something into her hair and a moment later, Annie turns to touch their mouths together.
I turn away. It's too familiar, so I sneak around the corner.
Though I know without a doubt that Finnick will want to see me – and thank me for doing this – I know more than anything that they need this time alone right now. Without prying eyes watching them. Besides, there are people I need to see myself before the panic and anxiety that have be building slowly these past few days boil over.
I can hear Cressida calling my name as I round the corner but I'm done. I'm done with the cameras and the speeches and the costumes and being a Mockingjay right now. I've done it the past few days without complaint but right now I can't do it.
Walking becomes running. I realize I have no idea where I'm going and the thought makes me want to cry because all I want to do is find Prim and Peeta but even that small task is too much to ask here. I know this District saved me – I understand that, I do – but I can't help but hate them in this moment, as I'm running wildly through corridors looking for the people I love.
I zigzag around corners and through doors, cursing myself and Coin and Snow in the process. I can feel the tears pooling in my eyes after fifteen minutes of aimless, hurried wandering so when I turn down a brightly lit hallway and almost collide with a long, blonde braid, it's by some sort of miracle.
"Prim," I shout, dropping to my knees and hugging her tightly to me. She's not so much shorter than me anymore so the position is awkward but I don't care at all. She's safe, though I knew she would be. Thirteen may seem like a prison but it's safe.
Prim clutches at my back and I let out the shattered breath I'd been holding onto since I stepped onto the hovercraft days ago. Prim pulls away, and I notice immediately that she looks exhausted, more so than I've ever seen.
"Are you OK?" I ask, touching her cheek.
"Of course, Katniss," she says in a fragile voice, hugging me. I nod into her hair. She must know that I'm not. I'm not OK. But she doesn't need to ask. Somehow, despite how much I've changed, she knows me better than anyone – even Peeta.
"Where is he?" I whisper, choked.
At my words her eyes, which had been soft and warm a moment earlier, harden to slits and her mouth sets down into a frown. My blood turns to ice under my skin but Prim sees my expression and speaks again before I have time to properly freak out.
"He's fine, Katniss, I didn't leave him," she reassures.
He's fine now, Haymitch had said. I can't believe it until I see it, though. I need to see that he's fine. To touch him and hold his face in my hands and feel that he's fine. That my leaving on this mission didn't break him, which is something I've feared deep down since our blowout in the hospital after his episode.
Prim squeezes my hand and smiles. It's strange to see her trying to comfort me when she's clearly so angry about something else. I'm very worried all of a sudden, wondering what could possibly make her so angry. I want to ask her so many questions. I want to thank her – or say something – but my mouth won't move. I want to tell her that I made it back like I said I would.
"He's with Haymitch and Mother. They…they have the film crew with them," she explains. My stomach drops and I can feel my face twist into something that must be some combination of anger and heartbreak and frustration and sadness. "I wouldn't have left him, Katniss but he wanted me to go ahead and – "
"It's OK, Prim," I get out through clenched teeth.
Just once, I wish they would leave us alone. To not make a spectacle of our relationship wherever we go. Once. But it's impossible given our situation. I know that District 13 is using us for a far more reputable cause than the Capitol was but they are still using us. And it still doesn't mask the hurt I feel. I wonder just how much they'll be able to squeeze out of us before there's nothing left to use and one of us snaps completely.
"Just...where?" I whisper, fighting off tears that have gathered in the corners of my eyes, caused by anger or sadness – I don't know.
Prim leads me around the corner and down a few hallways, holding tightly to my hand. There are many things I want to say to my sister right now. She doesn't mention my outburst or Gale, though I know she must know about them. She must understand I cannot talk about that right now.
I know that Prim knows. She's so much like Peeta – genuine and understanding and knowing and good. Unlike me.
"Thank you, Prim," I tell her in a barely-there whisper as we round another corner. She squeezes my hand again.
"He'll be OK, once he sees you," she says back, and I'm shocked momentarily by the fortitude I see in here eyes. In the way she straightens her shoulders and walks ahead of me.
I follow faster.
Prim pushes open a door and we walk into a large holding room I've never been in before. I see the camera crew Prim was talking about set up in the corner. The red blinking of the camera winks at me, almost mockingly. I scan the place quickly and see my Mother and Haymitch sitting on a bench pushed up against one of the walls. Haymitch meets my eyes and places his hand on the shoulder of the boy sitting next to him, who is slumped forward with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. At Haymitch's touch, Peeta's head snaps forward and we lock eyes.
I would already be in his arms by now if I weren't hyper aware of the camera that's filming us. It makes me so furious so that I can't go to him – touch his cheek and run my fingers through his hair and kiss him senseless. They'd take it and use it – that one thing we're both still sure of in this world. I'm so tired of being manufactured and so is Peeta, apparently, because he stands slowly, looking just about as conflicted as I feel.
For a moment we just stare at one another, unsure of how to proceed with all the cameras around. Peeta never looks away. His blue eyes are watery and he rubs at them hastily before he takes a step forward. We are both so cognizant of keeping our affection minimal to nonexistent in front of the cameras that the people around us make us freeze up instinctually. Peeta doesn't want to overstep the boundaries we created; I can see it in the torn apart look in his eyes. We both know not to move. Our agreement to hide our feelings in front of the cameras has been our saving grace, but it's never been more difficult to uphold than in this moment.
Because he needs me.
And I've missed him. And I need him so much. I've been worried sick about him. All I've wanted to do these past few days was see him and touch him and hold on to him and never let go. So his name escapes my lips anyway. It's a sigh, if anything.
"Peeta."
My fingers twitch out and I make a tiny noise in the back of my throat before he surges forward, cutting across the room to meet me by the door. Peeta wraps his arms around me, turning his body and pressing me into the wall to my right. All the fight leaves me when our bodies collide and I melt into his embrace.
"Hi," he says weakly, pulling back to touch my cheeks, my nose, my mouth. "Hi. Hi." The more he says it, the more fragile his voice becomes. With one arm, I hold him to me, physically unable to stay away from him anymore. I reach up and brush the bangs out of his eyes, lingering there. I want to kiss him so badly it hurts but I won't give the cameras that. I can see them trying to peek their way over Peeta's shoulder but he shifts his body in an effort to shield us – me – more completely. I can feel the heat radiating off the skin of his chest even through his shirt. He's so solid.
"Hi," I reply, voice quivering. The way he's staring at me now reminds me of the way he stared at me after I told him I loved him for the first time – intense and unbelieving and relieved and worried and full of something I can only describe as love. But there's something else in the desperate look he's pinning me with – fear.
Did I break you? I ask myself. He looks so exhausted.
Unable to help myself, I lean up and press a kiss to the base of his throat, running my hands up his chest and then over his shoulders before squeezing him tightly to me.
I've broken our rule. I don't care.
Does he know how much I missed him? How much I need him? How much I love him?
In his arms, I can think of nothing else.
He breathes out. Then in again. And then out. I feel the air hit the top of my head right before I feel his lips hit the same spot. He's holding back, I can feel it in the strain of the muscles in his shoulders and back. I'm holding back too, desperate to keep this thing between us as private as possible and failing in the process.
"I missed you," he murmurs into my hair, so quietly I'm positive I'm the only one who heard it. "I love you."
My heart lurches in my chest. I want to say it back to him. I need to. But these damn cameras continue to peek over Peeta's shoulder and I don't trust my voice to remain quiet or controlled like his. I don't want my special words – words for only him– to be captured and broadcasted across the nation, abusing everything we have. It's so similar to the Tour that I want to be sick.
Instead, I touch my palm to his chest – to where I feel his heart beating steadily under his shirt. I leave it there for a few moments before I trace the shape of a heart – once, twice, three times. I know he will understand. He's Peeta, after all.
He sighs quietly above me.
I don't want to move. I want to stay right here, with my face in his neck and his arms around me – one circling my waist and the other cradling my head against his chest. He's blocking me from the camera behind him, which I'm infinitely grateful for. That way they can't see the tears that leak out of my eyes. When I close them it's almost as if there's no one around us – like we're finally alone. Like the thing I've been craving for days has finally happened. I find myself thinking that maybe if we stay this way, the cameras will get bored and leave us be.
That's never the case, though.
"Peeta," says a member of the camera crew. I don't recognize the voice and I refuse to lift my head to see who is addressing us. "Katniss," they continue.
I flinch at the sound of my name and Peeta's arms encase me tighter. He presses a feather-light kiss to my forehead before pulling away. I force myself to make my face an impassive mask and follow Peeta as he takes my hand and leads us towards the back of the room. I look at the ground, refusing to acknowledge the camera that is following closely behind us. I grab onto Prim's hand in the process, dragging her along as well.
Peeta pulls us both closer to his side. We pass Haymitch, who falls into step beside us and pats my shoulder lightly. I lift my head the tiniest bit and give Haymitch the only thing I can offer him at this point: a tight smile. I should thank him for watching over Peeta, too. But I know he'd deny doing anything. Plus that would involve looking up or speaking in front of the camera, which I'm confident I won't be able to do.
I see Mother here, too. It's sad that our relationship hasn't strengthened in all this time. I don't need her anymore. I stopped needing her years ago – when she disappeared after father's death. And though now I can understand how that could happen, our relationship was so broken to begin with that I don't think it will ever resolve itself.
She touches my back as Peeta leads me away.
We're about to leave the room through a back door I hadn't noticed before when I hear someone call my name behind us.
"Soldier Everdeen."
I freeze at President Coin's voice but don't turn around. I can't yet. Though I knew this would be coming, I'm not ready for her inquisition. I can't talk to her about the mission and my disregard for the rules. I can't talk about shooting Boggs or running off into the night to find Gale. I can't do that yet. I don't want to be punished yet.
My heart rate starts to quicken and I pull Prim closer. Peeta tenses beside me.
"You and Mr. Mellark are wanted in Command," she continues when I don't turn around. She sounds frustrated. "Your indiscretions on the mission need to be discussed and we have some things regarding the recent developments in 3, 5 and 6 we want to discuss with you. As Mockingjays, this is your duty."
When Peeta feels me stiffen he turns around and moves to pull me behind him completely, but I squeeze his hand before pulling away slightly. This isn't his fault and I shouldn't drag him into this mess. I lift my head, hoping in vain that my tears from before have dried, and am met with President Coin's pallid stare. I'm surprised by how close she is, her beady eyes studying mine closely. She moves forward, reaching out her arm, and I shrink backward.
"Soldier Everdeen – "
"DON'T TOUCH HER," Peeta roars, throwing his arms out to the side and flattening all of us – me, Prim and Haymitch – against the wall. Coin's face slackens. I glance up at Peeta, whose normally gentle face has contorted into a livid scowl. His face and neck have darkened considerably and his lip curls up, baring his teeth like one of the wild dogs that once treed me in the District Twelve woods.
He looks scary. Dangerous, even. For someone who is usually so mild-mannered, this is a horrifying change. It's easy to forget he survived the Games not once, but twice. He has killed, he has harmed, and right now those things are obvious. I've seen Peeta angry before but those times were nothing, nothing compared to this.
I look quickly at Haymitch but it seems that he is equally as shocked to see this kind of behavior out of Peeta as I am. I can't move out from behind him, he's pressed us so tightly to the wall. I'd be impressed with his strength if I weren't so suddenly terrified of what he was going to do to the President of District 13.
"Peeta," I whisper, snaking my arm around his waist to rest on his stomach. He doesn't move. In fact, he backs us farther into the wall, squeezing the air out of my lungs. When he starts to tremble, I become acutely concerned that he'll fall into another episode and I can't have that right now. Not on camera. Not after I've waited days to see him again. Not after he's waited days to see me. He'd never forgive himself. The thought fills me with such grief that I do the one thing we promised we would never do to each other again. I lie.
"You're gonna hurt me," I whisper quietly.
He would never hurt me. Never. I've never been more positive of anything but I need to distract him before he does something stupid like attack President Coin.
"No," Peeta shouts, horrified. He backs away immediately, turning around and throwing his hands away from us. His face is a tortured mask and in this lighting, the purple bags under his eyes look grotesque. Peeta begins to move away even farther but I don't let him. I grab onto his forearm to pull him back, meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispers, dismayed, reaching out to touch my face before drawing his hand back. He looks to Prim and his face crumples. "I'm so sorry."
I grip his arm tighter and pull myself closer to his side, the camera light blinking in my periphery. I grit my teeth, trying to forget that, though we've tried to keep ourselves together and not divulge the secrets of our relationship, we've failed.
Prim takes Peeta's hand, looking concerned.
"President Coin," Haymitch says before I can even think of how to proceed. "Can we revisit this in the morning? The stress of the mission is clearly too much. The girl is exhausted and the boy needs to calm down."
I stare at Coin from around Peeta's torso and see her eyes flash in anger. I can tell she doesn't like being undermined, and in any other situation she might have ignored Haymitch completely. But it's so very obvious that Peeta needs to calm down that she can't argue. It makes her livid, obviously. But she composes herself quickly and backs away from us.
"First thing," she says with eerie calm, before walking out of the room, and I listen as the clicking sounds of her heels disappear. The cameras don't follow her, which I think is extremely unwise given Peeta's currently state of mind – he's still shaking, still radiating fury.
Haymitch grabs Peeta by the arm and pushes him – and me –through the door. To be honest, I'm surprised when Peeta doesn't throw a punch in Haymitch's direction. I run my hand up and down his arm in what I sincerely hope is a comforting gesture. We walk silently through 13 – through doors and down hallways – until we reach his compartment.
When the door closes behind the four of us, Peeta lets go of my hand, walks straight towards the table in the corner, picks up a lamp and hurls it across the room. The sound of it shattering against the wall makes Prim jump beside me. Peeta flips the coffee table over and moves towards another lamp when I finally let go of Prim's hand and hurry towards him.
"Peeta," I say. At my voice he turns around. His eyes look crazed and his face and neck are blotched red in anger. I'm not scared of him, though. This isn't him. This is what the Capitol chewed up and spit back out. I hate them for it. I hate Snow for this.
Peeta doesn't say anything, he's absolutely silent, which is unnerving. He just stares, eyes almost black in anger. For a moment I wonder if it's meant to be directed at me. If he's angry that I left him here. That I rescued Gale instead of saving myself. If he suddenly hates me for it. For everything.
Even so, it would never change how I feel about him. Peeta pauses and I reach up and touch my hand to his cheek, praying that he will understand why I did everything that I've done. At my touch, he relaxes. "Stay with me, Peeta."
With that, he collapses completely, sliding down the wall and pulling me with him. I crawl onto his lap, completely uncaring of Haymitch and Prim, who I know are still in the room and probably unable to tear their eyes from the sight in front of them.
"Katniss," Peeta says, struggling to get the words out. "They wouldn't tell me anything. They wouldn't…" I press my face into his neck, holding tightly to him. The way he's forcing out the words, his voice catching on every one, is killing me. "I was so worried. I was so…and I had no idea if you were alright."
I pull back and run my fingers over his distraught face before pressing my forehead against his. His eyes are wide and red-rimmed. I want to cry. Is this what he was like while I was in 4? Did he have an episode? I don't know the answer, but I can't dwell on it. I need to do the one thing I know how: comfort him.
"Are you OK?" he asks, whispering, bringing his hands to my face and touching me as though I'll break at any moment. "Please, are you? Tell me you're OK. Tell me you're –"
"I'm OK," I assert, grabbing his hands and placing them above my heart. We do this sometimes, after our most terrible nightmares – touching our hands to each other's chests to make sure our hearts are, indeed, still beating. Sometimes it's the only way to calm each other down. Peeta quiets once he feels the steady thumping beneath his fingers. Although it seems that's not enough. Only after he slowly leans forward and presses his ear against me does he calm down completely. "I'm OK. I'm here now," I whisper, threading my fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry," I whisper over and over, pressing my lips to the top of his head, soothed somewhat by the sweetness that lingers in the golden strands.
Peeta exhales, hugging me tighter. I want to tell him that it will be over soon, that all of this will be over, but I find myself swallowing down a sob at the realization that this will never truly be over.
These shattered bits of us – the parts that have us clinging to one another – will always remain.
I tilt my face and see Haymitch by the door, running his hands over his face. Prim is staring at me, wide-eyed. She's seen Peeta break down, yes, but not like this. And she's never seen me comfort him. They both haven't, so we must be quite the sight – tangled together on the floor. We're so notoriously private that any display of affection is almost bizarre.
If only the cameras could catch this, I think bitterly. But then I realize that no one would want to see this. It's why I always died a little on the inside when the citizens of District 8 asked me about Peeta. Seeing the two of us like this wouldn't empower anyone because this part of our relationship, the broken part, has always been swept under the rug.
I think Prim and Haymitch understand this. At least they must be able to understand this now. Maybe they'll even be able to understand, even if it's the smallest bit, how I felt when I thought he died.
I feel my face pinch and Prim gives me a watery smile that I try to return before she pulls Haymitch by the hands and out the door.
"Tomorrow morning," he says quietly, before the door closes behind them.
Peeta either doesn't notice that they've left or doesn't care. I continue to play with his hair before growing tired and placing my head against his shoulder. It can't be particularly comfortable for him the way I'm straddling his waist and sitting on his thighs but he makes no sign of moving.
"I got so angry," he says after a while, murmuring the words into neck. "When she touched you… I snapped."
I pull back a little and frame his face with my palms. His eyes are closed.
"She can't touch you anymore," he continues. "No one can touch you anymore. It'll kill me. I can't let them use you anymore, I can't – " he stops himself, taking a deep breath before opening his eyes and staring at me. "I cannot lose you, Katniss."
His eyes bore into mine and it scares me sometimes, how easily he strips away my layers.
But his words have made my muscles lock in place painfully. My stomach has lodged itself in my throat and all I can think of is watching him die in my living room. All I can think of is the gut wrenching feeling of knowing I'd never see him again. Of the clawing loneliness in the weeks, and months, that followed that no one could fix.
"I lost you."
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them and I regret them almost immediately. I sniffle and wipe at my eyes, I didn't realize I was crying. Peeta's face falls and his mouth hangs open. I mean to comfort him but instead I bring my hands to my face in a half-baked effort to hide myself, and my tears.
"Oh, Katniss," he whispers, pulling me closer until my head lands on his chest, right above his heart. I wonder if he did it on purpose. "I'm sorry," he chokes out. I cling to him, trying to compose myself. "I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have…"
I didn't lose him, he's right here. Yet I can't stop thinking about the time when I was convinced he was gone. He says he can't lose me and all I can think of is how I thought I had lost him.
Peeta must not know what to say, so he drops a hand from my face and reaches into his pocket, pulling out the blue sea glass that I'd made him promise to hold onto for me. He brings it up and presses it into my cheek. With his other hand, he pushes the hair out of my face.
"I'm sorry I left you," I blurt out. "I'm sorry for getting angry with you. I'm sorry for avoiding you before I left. I'm sorry I'm not good at feelings."
The look in his tortured blue eyes has me spilling forth apologies that were a long time coming.
"I'm sorry," I repeat as Peeta flattens his fingers along my neck.
We stare at each other for a moment until, as if by some invisible string, our faces pull together until our lips meet. I press into him, framing his cheeks between my hands. Peeta opens his mouth just enough to pull my lower lip gently between his own.
I sigh, finally able to do something I've wanted to since I got back here. We're alone.
He kisses me, nibbling softly on my lips as I breathe him in, but after only a few moments, he pulls away.
"I understand. It's okay," he whispers. His bangs are falling into his eyes and his cheeks are still a little pink from earlier. Other than that, in this moment, he is calm.
"I was scared," I confess, tugging on the bottom of his hair before meeting his eyes again. If I sound like a child, I wouldn't be surprised. Peeta captures my hand and presses it against his cheek.
"Me too," he says, eyes burning into mine.
I don't realize that I'm kissing him until I feel his tongue flick against my lips. He doesn't need to say anything else. In fact, I don't think I can handle it if he did. Peeta's hands frame my face and I inch closer to him, rubbing against the soft material of his pants. In the quiet of the room, the only sounds are those of our mouths breaking apart and then connecting again. He is pouring everything into this kiss and I try to match him.
I run my hands down his chest as his tangle in my hair. When he pulls away from me to breathe, I rock my hips forward.
"Is this uncomfortable for you?" he asks breathlessly, touching the sleeve of my suit. He doesn't mean anything by it, I can tell because of the genuine concern in his voice. But like always, I've gone from zero to sixty in seconds and all I can think of his him.
"Yeah," I whisper, grinding into him again, closing my eyes at the feel of him – hard – hitting my crotch. Peeta's hands falter at the zipper on my back and he gets distracted when I start to suck on the skin of his neck. Maybe it's not so great that we don't talk things through; that we default to falling apart together whenever we go through something emotional and traumatic. But I think it's OK. We've been apart too long. We are not a normal couple and this is what we both need.
I love him so much.
"I need a shower," I gasp into his skin as his hands land on my backside. I flick my eyes to his and the heat in his gaze turns into one of confusion – maybe even disappointment. He nods, though. I can see him try to shake the lusty cloud from his eyes but I don't want that.
"Come with me?" I whisper, crawling off his lap unceremoniously.
Peeta blinks and I watch as the awareness hits.
"I…yes," he stammers before struggling to rise to his feet after me. I walk straight into the bathroom, turn on the shower and finish zipping myself out of the Mockingjay suit, having difficulty peeling the tight material from my limbs. When it drops to the floor, followed shortly by my bra and underwear, I turn to face Peeta, who is standing in a daze at the door to the bathroom, watching me undress. I'm not usually so bold in front of him but I want him so much that it's making me brave.
It's only when I see him staring at the giant purple bruise on my stomach that I realize no one probably told him about my run in with the those Capitol soldiers and the bullet that struck me in the abdomen.
"What happened?" he asks quietly, finally meeting my eyes. The change in his demeanor is staggering. You wouldn't even know I'm naked, the way he's staring at me right now. All I see reflecting back at me in those dark blue pools is concern.
"Does it matter right now?" I whisper back, covering my chest and turning my back to him, because my confidence has evaporated and right now I'm more embarrassed than anything. I don't know what I was thinking before. Maybe this was a bad idea.
Idiot, I think to myself. I'm about to grab a towel and leave the bathroom when I feel Peeta's chest press against my back.
"It matters," he says, breath on my neck, "because the thought of anything harming you terrifies me." His hands run over my stomach lightly, tracing the bruise, and Peeta begins to kiss his way down my neck. "You must know that."
I swallow and nod, sinking back into him. The way his fingers are tracing my skin has me squirming. Peeta moves his hands up to my chest and covers my hands with his own, pulling them down and away from breasts.
"And don't you dare hide your body from me now. Do you have any clue what it does to me?"
I struggle to find the right words for him, and when Peeta trails his fingers lightly over my skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake, all words escape me completely.
Twisting in his arms, I grip the edge of his shirt and pull it swiftly over his head before scrambling at the zipper on his pants.
My hands are shaking.
When his clothes are in a pile on the floor, I grab him by the arm and all but push him into the steam-filled shower. He's barely closed the flimsy screen door behind us before I yank his face down to mine and capture his lips in a heated kiss.
We fall against the tile and Peeta almost slips on his prosthetic. This can't be particularly safe for him but the way the warm water is pelting my flesh, and the way I can feel his naked body pressed against my own, is making me too dizzy with desire to care.
Peeta pulls his mouth away from mine with a groan, and when I run my hands down the expanse of his chest, his head falls back on his neck.
He opens his mouth, letting the water wash down over his face, creating tiny streams that trace over his nose and down his jaw. This hair is wet and slicked back, looking more brown than blonde.
You're so handsome, is the only logical thought my brain can put together in this moment and I don't realize I've said it out loud until I see Peeta's eyes open. His mouth hangs open a bit and the grip he has on my waist tightens spastically.
I can't look away from his face. I can't move my hands from his marred shoulder and the deep scar on his hip.
Peeta's eyes travel down my body slowly, burning holes in my skin, and when he meets my eyes again, the fire I see looking back at me nearly floors me. Peeta inches forward, pressing his wet body into mine and I wrap myself around him, desperate to feel him everywhere. He presses his lips to my shoulder, along my neck and the shadowy place underneath my jaw.
"You're the most beautiful girl in the world, Katniss," he says, before licking his way into my mouth. "I'm so lucky."
I can't believe how dumb I was to push him away after our fight. He's been battered and bruised and the thought of me going on a war mission made him panic but I made him out to be the enemy. I'm so dumb. And for some reason he still loves me.
I am the lucky one.
I kiss him back with an aggressive, feral need I've only felt a few times in my life, though he's always been the cause. My fingers knot in his soaking strands and when I bit down on his bottom lip, and feel his erection twitch against my stomach, I grin before snaking my hand between our bodies and gripping him tightly in my palm.
"Nngh," he groans into my mouth. Peeta's hands are everywhere – the backs of my thighs, along my neck, trailing over my nipples and slipping between my legs – always moving and leaving a trail of feverish need in their wake. It's almost hard to keep up and I find myself wondering if I'll ever be able to make him feel as though he's bursting out of his skin, like he does to me.
It's the reason I drop to my knees and run my tongue swiftly along the underside of him.
"K-k-katniss," he stutters. I don't listen, choosing instead to run my nails along his thigh with one hand before gripping the base of his erection with the other. We've never done this. That is, I've never done this. Whenever we're together things are quick and to the point. That's what District 13's schedule will do to a couple. There is very little room or time to be together. So when Rye leaves early for breakfast, or there is a fifteen-minute break in our day, Peeta and I rush each other to completion, with sloppy kisses and frantic movements, before someone can interrupt us. I've tried using my mouth on him before but Peeta is always so selflessly concerned that he won't have time to do the same to me that he pushes me away.
But that won't happen tonight.
Peeta towers over me, effectively blocking any water that might get in my eyes from the shower above, while he runs his shaky fingers through my hair. I'm grateful, because I find that I thoroughly enjoy staring up at him while I suck him into my mouth. It's like he's waging an internal battle with himself, fighting to keep his eyes open and on me.
He feels so soft, and it's more my own fascination than concrete knowledge that has me laving him with my tongue. His noises tell me if I'm doing it right, or doing something right, so I run my lips over him, and my tongue grazes his tip. Peeta twitches and releases a breathy moan that radiates off of the walls of the shower.
"You're gonna make me come," he grits out. I pull him out of my mouth long enough to say, 'good', before taking him in again and quickening my pace. I have absolutely nothing to compare this to, but when Peeta's hips buck forward lightly and the grip he has on my hair tightens, I know that he's close.
He's holding back so much, I can feel it, and he's so scared to hurt me. Though he could never. Not in a million years.
He cries out, twitching inside my mouth, before his head hits the shower wall with a dull 'thud'.
My heart hammers in my chest and I rest my head on his thigh for a moment, surprised by my sudden bought of confidence. I blame it on him.
When I feel Peeta pulling at my arm, I stand on shaky legs, dripping wet everywhere. He leans against the wall of the shower before thrusting out an arm to steady me. I'm throbbing in every place imaginable, and it seems that doing what I just did for Peeta really only amplified the burn I feel building deep in the pit of my stomach.
"Oh God," he whispers, pulling me to him and planting a long kiss on my lips. His arm snakes around my back and I fall into him, pressing every inch of myself against him. Peeta reaches behind him and shuts off the water before scooping me into his arms and carrying me out of the shower.
When he slips a little on his prosthetic, and we fall against the wall, he pulls me tighter against his chest and laughs.
We leave a trail of water in our wake, and when Peeta tosses me onto the bed, my wet hair makes a 'smacking' sound against the pillow. He settles his hips between my legs, and though he's not hard again yet, feeling him there makes me shout out. Peeta places tiny kisses along the edge of my bruise, looking up into my face with surprisingly mournful eyes, given what we are doing.
He feels bad, and he wants to know what happened, but now is not the time for that. Instead, I push my fingers through his soaking hair and I wait for him to finish paying attention to my bruise before flipping us over.
My hair slaps his chest and he makes a tiny 'oomph' sound when I press his shoulders back into the pillows.
"My turn," I say, crawling over before attacking his mouth with my own. We're both still so wet from the shower so I slip easily on top of him as we kiss. I lean down, moaning lightly when the tips of my breasts brush his chest. It has me tightening my legs around him and rubbing myself firmly into his stomach as I clutch at his shoulders.
It's hard to keep my eyes open but I do it anyway, to watch him. Peeta's eyes are drooping and he doesn't know whether to look at my face or down to wear I'm connecting with the skin of his abdomen.
Peeta curses quietly when my nails dig into the skin of his chest, and I rock my hips forward roughly. Hearing those words out of his mouth really does something to me, knowing how polite and mannered he usually is.
His hands pull down on my hips, almost as if he's trying to help me, and my head falls to the pillow over his shoulder. I'm soaking, and my hips are moving rapidly against him, trying to ease the build that's been climbing steadily ever since we fell onto this mattress. Ever since we started kissing on the floor in the living room, really.
I'm so close, so close, so when Peeta flips us over and hovers over me, infuriatingly far away, I bark out a protest. My face must look comical – I don't actually think I've ever scowled during sex before.
Peeta kisses me regardless, easing his body down onto mine and pushing us tightly against the mattress. His lips travel down my neck and across my collarbone. Peeta licks at me teasingly, never quite capturing the tips of my breasts in his mouth the way he knows I like.
"Peeta," I moan, frustrated, pulling at his hair and wrapping my legs around his waist. He hums approvingly in response and I feel him smile against my chest before he sucks a nipple into my mouth, bringing his hand up to tease the other. My eyes screw shut and I buck my hips to meet his erratically.
He's ready again, and the fact that he refuses to do anything about it is maddening. He takes his time, running his mouth along my chest.
"I'm…I need you," I tell him hoarsely, finally, and he shifts us so that he's pressing against my entrance.
Finally, finally.
In my delirium, I laugh a little. But when he doesn't press into me like I expect, I'm confused. And then I feel him slip against me, running his flesh alongside mine in the most tantalizing way that for a second, the grip I have on his shoulders slackens and my arms slip from around him.
"Peeta," I sigh, growing woozy at the way his skin slides through mine, slipping against the bud of nerves that typically has me gasping his name.
"Yes?" he asks, voice rough and heady. I grip his backside, pulling him closer, closer, closer. "Did you have something you wanted to tell me?"
He's teasing me, and as if to illustrate the point, he slides a finger between us and strokes me gently. I'm not sure how he has the capacity to be playful right now, considering he almost had an episode an hour ago, but he's always surprised me. Does he want me to beg for it? I'm so wound up that I'm sure the moment he fills me I will shatter. But I'm past the point of pride right now. I turn my head to find his eyes, which I see have been watching me the whole time, pupils wide and brows pressed together.
"Please," I whimper, and I'd be embarrassed by how much it sounds like a sob if I weren't positive that this is the best type of torture I've ever experienced. He leans down to kiss me then, tangling his tongue messily with my own.
"Cause you asked nicely," he nearly growls, and then I feel him press into me, slow. I'm out of my mind. I want him so badly that I think I might cry, so when Peeta starts to move in time to the pressing and circling of his fingers I gasp loudly.
"You're so close. I can feel you…" he whispers into my neck, his gentle thrusting picking up speed. There's nothing I could even think of to say to that so I grip his back roughly. Peeta hooks one of my legs over his elbow and presses it up and into my chest.
I come almost immediately, my body curling into him, my shoulders rocketing off the mattress. In an effort to stifle my scream, I clamp my mouth down on the skin of his shoulder. Peeta shouts along with me, his hips beginning to move rapidly, and I hold onto him senselessly. His head drops down onto my chest, his hair tickling my chin. The arm that's bracing him rests next to my face, and it's the only thing I can reach with my mouth, so I run my lips along his bicep as he finishes and flops down on top of me.
For a while we remain connected – until Peeta rolls off of me and throws his arm over his eyes. With the other, he grasps for my hand and pulls it onto his chest. His heart is beating a mile a minute and I grin tiredly at the gesture.
We he finally meets my eyes, I match his goofy smile. His face is pink from the exertion and I can't tell if the water droplets that coat his face and chest are leftover from the shower or just newly formed sweat. He's so damn handsome.
When he sees me shiver, Peeta leans down and picks up the blanket that had fallen of the bed. He throws it over us, tucking it around me like a cocoon, and pulling me close. I get comfortable, finding my spot on his chest, careful to kiss along his bad shoulder, because despite how ugly he thinks it is, I love him for it.
I'm just about to fall asleep when I see the bite mark.
"Peeta!" I gasp, hesitantly touching the spot. He looks down before laughing, his hands coming to rest on my back.
"You horrible girl," he says, grinning widely. It might be ridiculous, especially given out situation, but seeing him newly hurt has me trembling.
"I'm so sorry," I say, running my finger along the plump bite mark carefully. I avoided his bad shoulder but the thought that I hurt him makes me nauseous.
"I'm not," he grins. "I like it." I look at him, confused. Upon seeing my stricken face, Peeta leans down and whispers conspiratorially. "It's the most fun I've had while acquiring an injury."
"You've turned me into an animal," I say, frowning at the mark on his shoulder. Peeta doesn't say anything but when I look back up at him he's smiling wolfishly.
"Well then…I think I must say that I've just become an advocate for bestiality," he grins, tugging me close and trailing his hands over my bottom. When I scowl at him he tries to hide his smile, but it only really grows bigger. "Sorry. Ok, we'll never do that again," he affirms with a curt nod of his head. He laughs when my scowl deepens even more. Probably because I'm trying so hard not to let it show how much I love it when he touches my backside.
For a few moments we are silent and our breathing grows slow and heavy. We're both so tired that honestly, I'm surprised we mustered up enough energy to do what we just did.
"In my perfect world, we'd do that every night. And then again every morning," Peeta says quietly. When I tilt my head to look up at him he's staring at the ceiling with a distant smile on his face.
"Oh? What else would we do in your perfect world?" I ask teasingly, snuggling in closer to his side. It's cold in this room, and being completely drenched from our shower has left me freezing. But Peeta is like a living, breathing furnace so it really only takes a few moments for his body heat to warm me. Peeta pauses to place gentle kisses all along my face, lingering on my lips, before answering. He runs his fingers through my wet hair, which will no doubt be a mess tomorrow.
"Well…you would be living with me. Above the bakery," he says. I stiffen a bit before collecting myself. The bakery doesn't exist anymore, he knows that. I watch his eyes, noting the way they shine in the dark. He's sharing a secret with me in this moment. The secret of a life we could have had if things had gone differently for us. I shift in his arms to look at his face more clearly, which still holds that same distant expression. "And we'd do what we just did every morning before you go into the woods and I have to go downstairs to warm up the ovens," he finishes. He looks so cautious, so shy. He is still so much that same, sweet boy who threw me the bread over six years ago. And I can't help but be so unconditionally in love with him that it leaves me breathless.
"I don't know. That sounds tiring," I tease, momentarily ignoring the pain of a lost future and smiling at the thought of Peeta, with his tousled hair and sleepy eyes shuffling around the bakery while I pull on my hunting boots pretending not to watch him. I'd have any future, I realize, as long as he's in it.
"Yes, I suppose we'd be tired a lot, then. But I'd suffer through my drowsiness," he smiles, glancing down to watch me. The light from the bathroom bounces off his teeth.
"Me too," I agree softly, smiling like an idiot.
"And I'd have cheese buns and peanut butter sandwiches and hot chocolate waiting for you once you got back," he promises, pressing a kiss to the tip of my nose.
"You'd spoil me too much," I mutter, closing my eyes, but not before I touch his jaw softly, watching the way the bones move under his skin.
"Of course I'd spoil you too much!" he exclaims loudly, as if the mere thought of me not being spoiled is an insult to his existence. I hide my laugh in his chest.
"Well then I'd have to spoil you, too," I whine after I've composed myself, pretending to be annoyed by the fact. God, Peeta is so easy to please that finding difficulty in 'spoiling' him is the most absurd idea of the century.
"No, I'd be perfectly happy spoiling you day in and day out, with nothing in return, as long as you were mine to spoil," he says softly leaning down to nuzzle the side of my face like a puppy.
"I'm yours if you're mine," I whisper back, splaying my fingers out over his chest, feeling his heart beat underneath my palm. It's the most either of us has said to the other about commitment, which is so silly considering all we've been through. I've never doubted his commitment to me and I hope he's never doubted my commitment to him. I'd do anything for him.
Peeta looks at me like I've just handed him the moon.
"Always," he whispers, kissing my forehead. I lay my head down on his chest and close my eyes. Peeta's breathing starts to even out and I wonder if he's finally allowing himself to sleep. God knows he hasn't since I left. I haven't either.
"I'd think about that world a lot after the Quell," he murmurs. "When you were in 12 and I was here."
I freeze.
He can't have just brought up that time. Not after this night. Not when we're lying together, naked and cocooned together in a blanket. I don't want this night ruined but if he goes on, trying to discuss the dark time after the Quell, I will ruin it. I'm not ready to talk about that, and I'm not sure I ever will be ready. The memories are just too painful.
"Sometimes it made being lonely easier…when you were so far away…to get lost in that dream," he concludes.
I stiffen, because that's not what it was like for me. Thinking of a perfect world with Peeta did nothing to ease my heartbreak because I thought he was never going to come back. Peeta knew I was alive but I was convinced he was dead. He was gone, and thinking about kissing him and loving him dredged up so much pain because I knew I would never, ever, be able to do it again.
"S'wrong?" he asks quietly, pulling my chin up to meet his eyes. It's too late, I've ruined it – I can see it in the devastating way his expression changes.
"It's not…" I say, looking for the right words and trying to stop my tears, because apparently I've begun to cry. I don't want to do this now. I don't want to talk about this, even though it's long overdue. There are a million words for what I went through, and maybe I'll be able to tell him one day what it was like. I need to. But I don't want to ruin this night. Not when this day has already been so difficult and not when the words I need for him to hear will fill him with guilt when it isn't his fault. That belongs to Snow.
"I just…I love you, is all," I whisper, staring into his eyes. We're centimeters apart. "I love you, Peeta. I love you."
It's the truth. In basic terms - with those words - I've told him everything. Explained everything.
"I love you, too. You're everything," he responds.
When I wake up and I don't feel Peeta next to me, I begin to panic, opening my eyes blearily, and searching across the bed for his body. It's a habit, I guess, and it makes me feel stupid when I hear him come through the door from the living room.
"Shhh. I'm right here," he says softly as he comes over to me, kissing my forehead, and then my mouth. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."
He's wearing clothes, which is disappointing, and he chuckles when I take the collar of his shirt in my fingers and frown.
"Why're you up?" I ask, voice hoarse.
"Haymitch is here."
Oh. Though last night we were able to get lost in our own little world, this morning I must face the consequences of what happened on the mission. Peeta must know this too, because the easy smile he wore when he kissed me good morning is gone. Silently, he hands me some clothes and I throw them on before attempting to braid my hair quickly. It's so tangled that the braid probably looks more like a hornets nest than anything.
Peeta and I walk into the living room and find Haymitch sitting on the couch. He's staring at the broken lamp, which we didn't bother to clean up last night. When he sees us, Haymitch gestures for us to take a seat and I'm grateful that he doesn't comment on my hair, or Peeta's for that matter.
"We've got things we need to talk about sweetheart. About that mission," he says once I've sat down. He doesn't bother sugar coating anything, probably because he knows I prefer it that way. "You know you messed up. I can see it in your face. But that's not why I'm here."
I look at him, confused. Then why is he here? Peeta takes my hand between his own.
"Coin has some news she wants to tell you but I don't think a conference room is where it should happen, given what you two have been through," Haymitch explains, watching us closely. Does he also think we're both completely unstable? Of course I wouldn't blame him, but for some reason I would have expected him to understand more so than anyone else. The unreadable expression on Haymitch's face gives me nothing. "I don't want you blindsided. And I don't want the boy to fall into another one of his episodes."
Peeta tenses next to me.
"What is it, Haymitch?" he asks.
"District 13 plans on invading the Capital. Very soon. Coin wants all the Victors there."
This news makes me head swim with so many different emotions that my vision goes spotty. Peeta's grip on my hand has become vice-like and it takes me a few seconds to respond.
"What do you mean?" I ask, voice low.
"She wants all the Victors there. Thirteen is taking down the Capitol."
My stomach feels like it's turned to lead. Coin wants us there. She wants us to go back to the Capitol, a place that will always signify fear and worry and death in all of our minds. A place so detestable that the mere thought of it makes my vision go red.
"No. They won't – we won't go. Katniss won't go," Peeta stutters, gripping my hand and looking to me for confirmation. I stare back, searching for words that won't come.
"Sweetheart," Haymitch says, trying to gain my attention. "She knows you'll be hesitant."
I don't want to go. I really don't, and Haymitch can see that. I'm terrified of that place, more so than any where else. I think it's why he looks so upset when he says his next words – because he knows they are the ones that will break me.
"She thinks you'll want to see Snow one last time."
A/N: YOU GUYS. I am so, so, so, so sorry for the obscenely long wait for this chapter. I would also like to apologize to the people I lied to last weekend when I said I would update by last Sunday. Though I had every intention of updating sooner, real life has pretty much been roundhouse kicking me in the face consistently for a solid 2 months. I hope this long-ass chapter made up for it in teeniest way. It took forever to edit and even then, there are probably mistakes.
Anyway, I would like to take a moment to thank everyone who has followed/favorited/reviewed. I can't really believe the attention this story has received. Over 500 favorites, 850 follows, 1000 reviews and 200,000 hits. That is INSANE and pretty much a dream for me. So thank you very much!
There are only a few more chapters left in this story (followed by an epilogue). And though I can't promise that the next update will be immediate, I can promise that there will be an update and that I will finish this story, even if it's slow moving. So thanks a million for being sympathetic to my real life.
About this chapter: you all probably have a million questions, and they will be answered in the chapters to come. I promise. I think there are some people who are worried because Katniss and Peeta's relationship seems strained but please remember that it's all done purposefully. Because, I mean, you can't possibly think that things would be all smiles and butterflies for them. They have issues communicating and they avoid talking about difficult things but I think that's understandable give that they're seventeen, survivors of a death match and in the middle of a war. But everything will come together in the end, fear not!
As always, hearing what you guys think about this story is basically the reason I started/keep writing it so please let me know what you think in a review or PM.
Until next time :)