The MATRIX: The One

5 - Katniss' bedside manner needs work

Katniss POV

"You know I never complain about a clean hijacking," Finnick says by way of greeting. "But you broke protocol in a big way."

I look up from the still figure laid out on medical bay pallet, from the pale hand I'm steadfastly warming between both of mine. "Fuck protocol."

Finnick's frown darkens from unhappy to fearsome. "I mean it, Katniss. If you ever take off on your own like that again, I can guarantee that the District Twelve will be the last ship you ever set foot on."

He's deadly serious. No one goes off on their own in the Matrix. We don't have many rules, but that's the biggest one. I just don't think there's much point to it. The kinds of things that are bad for one of us are equally bad for two of us. Having an extra person along for the ride only guarantees that you'll hear someone else's screams before you die.

Fuck, I'm chipper today.

"Katniss," Finnick scolds.

I give in with a sigh and reluctant nod. "Fine."

"Okay." He steps further into the room, setting the tray he's carrying down on a nearby counter. "So now that that's out of the way: why him?"

I counter. "Why me?"

Finnick shifts guiltily. "You know why."

I shake my head ruefully. "Well, there's your answer."

His expression is thoughtful as he peers at Peeta, giving the plugs along each thin, pale arm a close inspection. "Looks like infection in this one."

My stomach twists and rolls. "I know." I'd given him an injection of antibiotics. I hope he doesn't need to have any of the plugs lanced. If he does, I'll have to leave him to Johanna's tender mercies. I can force myself to handle a little – very little – blood but I draw the line at pus. "We'll have to start him on muscle therapy today."

Finnick nods. Not that the decision rests solely with him – neither of us are fully-trained medics like Johanna. He nods because he still has something to say and hasn't quite decided how to say it yet. We both study our new passenger, from the top of his bald head to his white, bony feet. The towel draped over the sunken flesh between his too-prominent hipbones is more for my comfort than anyone else's. On a ship this size, there isn't much in the way of privacy. Finnick is indifferent about nudity. Johanna tries to shock everyone with hers. Beetee often forgets to put pants on when he's coding in updates. And then there's Gale and Rory, who share the same opinion as everyone born and raised in Zion… which pretty much amounts to "less is more."

"So, you know this guy. Peeta."

I nod. "It's thanks to him you had something to hijack."

"Hm?" He squints at our patient with renewed focus. "This is the kid?"

"Yes."

"Well… damn."

Again, silence falls. Between us, Peeta's face twitches with either a random muscle spasm or in response to a dream.

"I suppose if Haymitch told you to get him out, it was for a good reason," Finnick deduces.

I manage a casual shrug. I can't tell Finnick the truth. Not yet.

"Anyway. Brought you dinner." He gestures to the bowl of goop on the counter.

"Thanks." I don't even try to sound enthusiastic.

After another moment of silence, he stretches until his back pops. His yawn is obnoxiously vocal. "Well, since you're obviously busy, I guess I'll cover your shift."

Now I feel even more guilty.

Finnick laughs. "Don't worry about it, Everdeen."

I glare until he saunters out of the room. The breath I'd been hoarding tickles its way up from deep within me—

"Oh! Almost forgot to mention!" Finnick pokes his head around the corner and grins. I almost choke on nothing but air. His eyes sparkle. Damn it, he can be such an ass. "Since he's your hijack, why don't you handle his training? The first part of it, anyway."

"What? Me? Do the talking part?"

"Sure! He trusts you, so why not? Don't think you can manage it?"

"Piss off," I grumble.

Laughing, he does.

I'm finally allowed to let out the breath I'd been hoarding. When I reach out to pet Peeta's brow, he lets out a sigh to mirror mine. "Shit." I speak in a whisper. I can't afford to wake him before he's ready; he needs all the rest he can get. "We've got a lot to do when you wake up."

A muscle near his right eye twitches.

"I hope Haymitch is wrong. I hope it doesn't have to be you."

Peeta has no answers for me, not that I'd been expecting them. I lay my head down on my arms and close my eyes.

Sometime later, a gentle tug upon my hair causes me to open them.

"Sorry," a familiar voice rasps. "It's just so…" He gives me a lopsided smile, twirling his fingers weakly in the locks. The band must have slipped off at some point. My hair is spilling out of its braid and crawling over his forearm.

"It's fine. How do you feel?"

"My eyes hurt."

That's to be expected. "Let me know if you want a blindfold."

"Can't we turn the lights down?"

I shake my head. "Your skin needs the exposure."

"Vitamin D?"

I shrug. It's not really my field. "Something like that. Are you hungry?"

"Um... maybe?" He squints. "Why is it so loud in here?"

"Your ears are still adjusting. What you're hearing is the vibration of the engines."

"Where are we?"

"Aboard a ship."

"On the ocean?"

"Um, no. We're in a hovercraft."

He gapes at me.

"They're real," I assure him. "I'll give you a tour later."

"Okay."

Peeta's eyes are as piercingly blue as ever. So sharp they cut me until I bleed.

I reach for the untouched bowl of gruel and give it a stir. The stuff never congeals, never clumps, never separates. There's no point in stirring it, but I do anyway. Habit, I guess.

I clear my throat.

He speaks before I do. "Why can't I move?"

"You're just bursting with questions, aren't you?"

"Weren't you? When you did this? Or… is there something wrong with me?"

"No, there's nothing wrong with you. Here. Open up." He complies as I spoon a dollop of the tasteless stuff between his lips. "Slowly," I warn him, catching an escaping dribble with the edge of the spoon.

"Shit, this is embarrassing." He coughs as it slides down his throat. He winces. A familiar sensation clashes with untrained muscles. "I swear I know how to eat. Feed myself, even."

"Actually, you don't," I grumble before I can stop myself.

"What do you mean?"

I set the bowl aside on an exasperated huff. "If I tell you why, will you promise to stay calm?"

His eyes widen. "You're scaring me, Katniss."

"I don't mean to, but the truth is scary."

"Hold my hand?" His request is so shy I can't even imagine turning him down.

"Okay." I fold his fingers between mine. "Um, do you remember when I asked you if you ever felt like you were dreaming and couldn't wake up?"

"Yeah…"

"You were."

He gives me a blank look.

"You were dreaming, Peeta. Your whole life. You've been dreaming your life away."

"How is that even possible?"

I pull one hand away and shake my long, loose sleeve up to my elbow, then turn my wrist up, showing him the black plug on my forearm.

"What is that?"

"You have them, too," I whisper, lifting his emaciated arm so he can see it for himself.

"Holy shit. What—?"

"It's for feeding you intravenously. While you're asleep. You dream you're eating – I dunno, pizza or chow mien, whatever – but really it's an IV. It's all an illusion, part of an interactive program called 'The Matrix.'"

He hasn't blinked for a solid minute. I figure I might as well hit him with the rest of it, with the final proof that the world he's known for the past twenty years is wrong. I move down to the foot of his bed and reach for his right foot. His toes wiggle in response to my touch.

"You feel that?"

He nods. "Of course I—"

I reach for his left foot. "How about this?"

He gasps. Gawps. Stutters. "Wh—wh—what is…?"

I cup his heel and then trail my fingers up his bare shin.

He shudders. "Help me up. I need to see—"

Returning to the head of the bed, I carefully slide an arm beneath his shoulders – so thin compared to the ones I'd braced myself against just yesterday – and lift him up, supporting his head against my shoulder. And when he looks down—

"Shit. Shit-shit-shit! Katniss…?"

"I'm here. You're all right." I stroke my fingers over his bald head. "The subway… your leg… it was all part of the dream. It wasn't real."

"Not real?"

I shake my head.

He slides a hand down toward his legs. He doesn't have the strength to reach far, but he seems satisfied that this is his body, that what he's seeing can be felt, can be trusted. "I'm so thin… weak… I used to haul these sacks of flour. Huge ones. Fifty— a hundred pounds. It was so easy—"

"You dreamed it was easy, Peeta. There were no sacks of flour."

"So… but… that means there's no bakery?"

I confirm this with a nod.

"My life… my whole life… none of it was real?"

I hesitate, and in doing so I realize I have to tell him all of it. "The people are real. They're all plugged into the Matrix together, interacting with each other."

"Why? Who would do something like this?" Tears flood his eyes, clog his throat, stir the snot in his sinuses.

"I promise I'll answer all of your questions, but not now. Please just trust me. You're safe. You're alive. This is real." I grab his hand again and he turns toward my neck, burying his face against my skin. I hold him close and rub his shoulder.

As he sobs weakly in my arms, I damn Finnick for making me do this part. This is his job. He's the captain of the stupid ship. He's the one who sets up the hijackings. He's the one with the Mary-fucking-sunshine bedside manner. Peeta deserves better than an awkward, painful, fumbling explanation that makes him sob. Damn it, he deserves better than all of this.

For those of you who haven't seen "The Matrix", don't worry. There is more explanation coming up. (I'm not gonna hit you with it all at once.)

For those of you who have seen "The Matrix", yes, I've kept Zion just as it is. I thought of naming it "the Capitol" but that just has too many negative connotations, I think. For me, the Matrix = the Capitol. I did rename the ship, though. The Nebuchadnezzer is now District Twelve.

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