Alone in my room, I cradle my head in my hands. I haven't been out since the disastrous dinner three nights ago. My head throbs constantly and I can't focus my eyes for long periods of time. My chest is a deep, hollow ache of emptiness and loss. Aurelius hovers anxiously and I can't even muster the energy to resent him.
Cilla stands at quiet attention outside my room. I'm sure Lef and Dils have filled her in on how I became a complete raving lunatic in front of the entire district, arguing with myself as though I were two totally separate people. I cringe away from the memory. Coin's plan to make the citizens more comfortable around me imploded spectacularly, yet, strangely, when she looked in on me yesterday, she seemed nothing but pleased. A spark of curiosity pushes its way through the misery.
"Cilla," I call. She sticks her head around the door immediately, her pleasure at me waking from my stupor of depression lighting her honest face.
"Yes?"
"Can you walk with me down to the restroom?" I ask. I need to talk to her, but not in front of the mirror. She looks rightfully puzzled.
"Really? Do you want me to call Dils?"
"No, I don't need anyone to go in if it's empty. I just want you with me in the hall, if you don't mind?" I give her the half-smile I know she finds impossible to resist. I've learned manipulation from the best of them.
We start down the hallway, mercifully empty. After a moment, when I'm sure we won't be overheard, I pause and turn to Cilla. She watches me with alert readiness.
"Cilla," I begin in a cautiously low voice. "What do you think of President Coin as a leader?"
Her eyes light immediately with the eagerness of a zealot. "She's saved us," she replies glowingly. "If not for her, we never would have made it this far. She's saved us," she repeats. Her tone is natural enough, but the words have a rehearsed quality to them, like she's heard them repeated for ages.
"She seems really capable," I agree, nodding along. "She has to make some tough decisions, I would imagine?" I prompt gently.
Cilla's bright eyes dim ever so slightly. "Well," she hedges uncomfortably. "Sometimes, the good of the many outweighs the good of the few." Snow's party line. "Sometimes choices have to be made to protect us, to keep us safe. She's saved us," she replies determinedly.
"I can see that," I say soothingly. "You guys have survived against incredible odds. She must really be a strong leader."
Cilla nods vehemently, pleased to be back on safer ground. "We should get you back," she says briskly. "Let's get going."
Back in my room, I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at my reflection in the mirror, studying the stranger glowering back at me. Someone used by the Capitol, used by Katniss, used by the rebels, used by Snow. Now, it would seem, I'm to be used by Coin. weak useless impotent puppet My jaw clenches as I sit straighter. I pull my shoulders back and watch as the blue flame lights deep within my eyes. My father's eyes.
Turning away from the glass, I pull my sketchbook to me. I fight the throb in my head away, flipping to an empty page. My pencil flies in strong, confident strokes. Forcing down the ache behind my eyes, I pull forward every memory I can scrape together, every corner and shadow. The Hob, the main street, the Seam, the Justice Building. The mine, the fence, the trees beyond. I sketch District 12 in the best detail I can, the memories coming thick and fast. Working late into the night, it takes me hours, even a simple bird's eye drawing, but I want to capture every facet of my home. I want to honor the people who lived there with me. The people who lived their lives under the heel of the boot that eventually crushed them merely because it could. I try to remember where I came from, even if I can't remember who I am. I want to remember that anyone I actually owe any allegiance to is gone, so that I never let anyone use me again.
The next morning after breakfast Cilla knocks lightly, waiting for my invitation before swinging the door open.
"Finnick Odair is here and would like to see you," she reports, concern radiating off her.
"It's ok," I answer truthfully. "He can come in."
I tuck my sketchbook away under the mattress, standing to meet Finnick as he comes around the door, his sea green eyes registering surprise to see me dressed and standing. I smirk wryly.
"Hello, Peeta," he drawls, stopping just close enough for me to reach him.
"Finnick. Did they send you to reconnoiter since I'm not sobbing into my porridge today?"
His lips quirk slightly and he nods, acknowledging what I already guessed. "You know it. How are you? You seem…better."
I snort a bitter laugh. "Well, I'm only speaking for one right now, so I guess that's better. You?"
His bright smile flickers cynically. "I'm well, thanks. If you actually care."
I flush, dropping my eyes. "I'm sorry about what I said," I tell him sincerely. "That was out of line. And you've been nothing but courteous to me, regardless of why you have been."
He watches me steadily, not replying for a long time. Then, he seems to decide it isn't worth debating and shrugs lightly. "Apology accepted. Thank you. In fact, I brought you something I thought might help a little."
From a pocket of his jumpsuit, he pulls a short length of worn rope and holds it out to me.
"When they had Annie, I was out of my mind. I didn't know what was happening and could only imagine the worst. You can't swim here, and there isn't room to really walk even, so I kept my hands busy, and it quieted my mind a little. I tied knots."
I run the piece of rope through my fingers, the softness speaking to how he must have been working at it. I meet his eyes steadily. It must have been terrible for him, knowing what Snow is capable of, and knowing Annie was at his mercy. "Thank you, Finnick. I appreciate it. Especially after I was horrible to you. Thank you."
Finnick shrugs, a particularly elegant gesture, "That's what made me think of it. You really need something to occupy yourself. You're going to eat yourself from the inside out if you don't get something to do soon. What do you think you'd like to do around here?"
It's my turn to shrug. "I don't know. I'm good in the kitchen, but they seem to have all the help they need. I thought maybe down here, in the hospital, but no one is going to want me around them after the other day. Maybe they'll hand me a broom." I envision my future stretching before me, nothing but the whisper echoing in empty corridors as I push a broom over the cold floors, armed guards shuffling along behind me.
I laugh suddenly at the melancholy picture. Something about mighty and falling. "Can you show me some tricky ones?" I ask, holding the rope toward Finnick.
He eyes me warily, my abrupt guffaw having caught him off guard, but he nods. "For a price. Will you make me a sketch of Annie? A smallish one I can carry with me?"
I roll my eyes in fake mockery, but really, it settles the thrum in my chest to know there is happiness blooming in the world. Like a bright flower after a cold winter, hope returns.
The next day, Cilla taps a quick warning on the door, but before I can reply, Coin sweeps into the room, Boggs conspicuous by his absence. Her ice blue gaze is pinned to me, gauging and judging as always how I can best be of use to her.
"Good morning, Peeta," she offers perfunctorily. "I'm told you are frustrated in looking for a way to be useful to the district?"
"Good morning," I reply smoothly. "Should I be surprised that you've already thought of a use to put me to?"
Her gaze sharpens almost imperceptibly. I try to look innocuous, the last thing I want is for her to start thinking she has underestimated my wellness. An ill-informed enemy is always a better option. The sizzle of suspicion pitches the whisper into a roar and I clench my fists behind my back, fighting to remain impassive.
"I have," she replies after a quick moment of consideration. "Annie and Finnick were kind enough to share their wedding with the nation, and we have footage of Johanna and the Mockingjay training for combat. But the nation is clamoring for news of you, Peeta. They want to know you are recovered, that you are ready to fight."
"Do they?" I ask. "I feel like the only the message they've heard from me has been to stop the fighting. What do they think changed my mind?" I watch her stutter for a moment, letting her dangle in uncertainty before stepping in. "Not that it matters. Showing the citizens that I'm battle-ready will boost morale for our side and terrify the others. It's a great idea, President Coin." Her eyes flicker ever so slightly, and I worry I may have overdone it, but she's so used to being fawned over, the warning flag slides right by her.
"Excellent," she says briskly. "I'll have your guards accompany you to training first thing in the morning. You are doing a great thing for the rebellion, Peeta."
"I'm just glad to be of any service at all, President Coin," I reply modestly. "Will I be training with Commander Boggs?"
Her gaze flicks to the mirror, confirming my suspicions. He thinks this is a bad idea. "He's training the forces preparing for a current mission," she covers smoothly. "You'll be under Soldier Deen, we're starting you off rather slowly. Until you're healthier, of course."
"That's very considerate, thank you. I guess I better rest up today."
With a curt nod, she spins on her heel and exits without another word. I feel like spitting on the floor to get the syrupy flattery out of my mouth. I'm a little concerned at how easily this kind of slippery manipulation seems to come to me, but for now, I only concentrate on the opportunity that just walked into my hands. Coin is going to help me get my body strong, let me out where preparations are being made, maybe let me near enough to hear plans. I'm going to start making plans of my own.
The next morning, Lef and Dils are openly apprehensive as I prepare for a day of training. Cilla watches anxiously from her post at the door, adding her voice to the concern.
"That strap goes under your arm. Do you really think pretending you're fighting is the best way to keep yourself under control?"
"I'm fine," I assure them for the hundredth time, finally seeing how the buckle works. "We're just doing workouts, not storming enemy bases. The scariest thing is going to be how quickly I collapse from exhaustion. What does this thing even do?"
Dils shows me how the hook cinches across my chest, snugging it tight. "You have the arm piece upside down, that's why it's hitting your wrist. Maybe they'll just let you train in getting dressed for the first few days."
"Maybe you can be my first target practice," I shoot back, but grin at the excellent jab. "Look, you guys are the best. Thank you for looking out for me, but - " my breath catches in the middle of the brushoff. I think these are actually the only three people in the world who honestly care about my well-being. Humbled, I choke on the lump in my throat, unable to speak. I reach out and squeeze Dils' arm, smiling at how easily I can touch another person now, knowing that I really do trust these three who were set to guard me against harming others, but have helped me heal myself.
"You guys are the best," I repeat softly. "I'll be careful, and I'll tell you right away if I need help. I promise." I meet their eyes steadily, making the promise to each of them.
Lef meets my gaze, nodding solemnly in a return promise. "Let's go," he says, voice gruff, and we all smile sheepishly at the heavy moment. I wink at Cilla on our way out and she watches with obvious worry as we move down the hall toward the stairs. This time, the ascent makes me giddy with anticipation. This time, we're actually going outside.
My legs tremble slightly at the idea. I haven't been under the open sky for months. My lungs yearn for the clean air, my skin aches for the warmth of the sun. I'm almost sprinting up the stairs, but my eager lungs are also far out of practice and I have to slow immediately. My legs begin to tremble for a completely different reason and I pause, almost at the top. I don't want to meet my commander sweating and wheezing. Lef and Dils grin at each other, reassured I won't have the strength to harm anyone even if I do lose control of myself.
"Shut up," I gasp, and their smiles widen while they wait. When I can breathe normally, Dils punches the keycode to open the door and I throw my arm up against the glare of the morning sun blazing overhead.
We move outside into a large, contained area, walls on all sides, but the enormous, wide open sky sails endlessly overhead. The scent of the surrounding trees fills my nose, along with the cool freshness of air that hasn't been breathed by a thousand pairs of lungs before my own. A dizzying swirl of birdsong, people talking, and just the general rustle of outside bangs through my skull, the whisper answering with furious screeching and hate. I start to feel a tipping vertigo, the ground swinging and tilting beneath my feet.
Lef and Dils are strong hands at my side until I regain my balance. It takes a minute to get myself together, but I have no patience to wait. I want to look at everything, to drink in the fresh newness and the bright warmth.
"Soldier Mellark?" The rough voice is right at my elbow and I turn to see a tall, wiry woman with a doubtful stare sizing me up.
"Soldier Deen?" I ask in return, pulling my body to attention, but unable to drag my eyes from the deep, rich blueness of the sky.
"We're over here," she gestures to a group of young soldiers who are running through basic calisthenics together. Dils subtly shoves me to follow her and my feet move automatically, but I still can't tear my eyes away from the sky. It's endless.
I eventually find a rhythm where I can participate in what's asked of me while watching the world furtively, instead of gaping like a lobotomy patient. The whisper squeals incessantly but the unbridled joy of being outside, coupled with actually using my muscles to stretch and work drowns it to the point where I can function with only minor attention focused on quieting it. I wonder if I can actually start to remember what being happy feels like.
Just as the thought rolls through my mind, my eyes fall on another training group across the yard. Johanna stands next to Katniss who is glaring at me with naked fury. Every line of her vibrates her anger across the small distance. I smile to myself as I turn away, back to the sweet ache of muscles pushed hard and lungs pulling for clean, fresh air. Back to my view of distant treetops, nodding in a slight breeze as it sweeps across the vast, open sky. Katniss Everdeen means nothing to me.