So I know the picture is of a right foot, which is inaccurate. But that's how I picture Peeta's leg, so I'm sticking with that one. I think my biggest focus on the story is going to be showing how Peeta might have dealt with the struggle of everything after the Games. I really don't like the idea of recapping the full series from him point of view. Once I get past the main things I want to focus on, I might just hit a few special moments here and there. For now, we will just see where it goes.

Beyond Repair

By: Her Voice

I'm not sure how long it takes for my vision to clear. The lights are incredibly bright and they only highlight how artificial this all seems. I wave to the audience as I step out on stage, the volume only growing louder as I do. I see Caeser on the stage, really wondering just how long I was out for— he looks like he hadn't changed his clothing since the interview.

If it wasn't for the piece of metal on the end of my knee, I might have thought the whole thing had been a dream.

My eyes seem to easily filter out the bright lights, bringing everything back into clear focus. And the audiences increased celebration forces my head to turn to the opposite side of the stage.

Each time I've seen her on this stage, in this surreal setting of the Capitol, Katniss has stolen my breath. Even in the simple pale blue dress of Reaping Day, I can see how beautiful she truly is. But with everything we have been through, seeing her now is the most important moment in my life.

She is mine and I am hers, and nothing else seems to matter.

I get a brief moment to take in how perfectly healed is she before she runs towards me. The impulsive girl doesn't even give me a chance to really look at her. I know that I'm nervous, because I don't know if my body will cooperate. But she doesn't give me any time to think on that, which is probably for the best. If she had given me a chance to think, I would have stopped her, afraid to fall to the floor. I don't even have time to spread my legs apart to help absorb the blow.

I rock back slightly as she launches herself into my arms, holding her close to my body with one arm while using the other to press my cane as hard into the ground as possible. When I am sure we aren't going to tumble to the floor, I wrap my other arm around her. Even with the sudden shift of my weight, the shoes seem to be doing their job to keep me anchored. I allow myself to appreciate this moment, as it should be.

Even with the Capitol's intense bathing system, Katniss still manages to smell so distinctly of home. It has been days since we have been in the woods, albeit Capitol built. But unlike the Arena, there is no burnt edge to the smell that clung to her body the past few days. She smells so clean, and it's the smell of her that tells me this is reality. Moments spent in the haze of medication and the only thing they had in common was the lack of smell.

Maybe it was due to being in the sterile walls of the medical unit.

The dusky floral notes invade my mind and my head drops to her hair, breathing her in deeply. Everything else fades. We are not on the stage, cameras pointed at us with all of Panem watching. We are back in the cave, where nothing else but surviving seemed to matter. There is no rancid smell of infected issue, nor am I seeing everything under a fevered blur. It's easy to hold onto her now, when we both finally feel whole. It doesn't take me long to press a kiss to her temple.

She angles her head up to mine and the storm of grey overwhelms me. I can't read her eyes, but I do feel the desperation that matches my own. I drop my head to hers, my lips finding hers like magnets.

I don't know what's more intoxicating — the electricity behind the touch or the taste of sweet bread on her tongue. Our kisses are innocent, but I hope she can feel the relief I try to pour into them. She is whole and alive and in my arms. It's not until I feel a polite tap on my shoulder that I even remember who is watching.

I don't want the interruption. I push Caeser away, allowing my hand to fall back to Katniss. My hands are lost in her hair, loose at her shoulders. This is the first time I've ever seen her with her hair down, and it's fantastic. I take a moment to study the lines of her face, much like I did in the cave. My fingers itch to trace the curves of her cheeks, to make this exact view of her a permanent sketch on paper.

Katniss leans into to kiss me, as if she needs this as much as I do. The roar of the audience intensifies when I kiss her back. This is our moment.

I could spent the rest of my life memorizing her face. I continue to kiss her, to lose myself in her gaze, in her lips. We have fought too hard to be together, to live, to not enjoy it now. I do not need the money they will give, or the house or the freedom. All I need for the rest of my days is her.

As much as I want to continue, the moment is broken by Haymitch, who all but shoves us towards the plush red love seat that replaces the usual throne. I settle into it, glad to have the pressure off my new limb. Maybe if I had a few more days to get used to it, the short amount of time I spent on the stump wouldn't have been so painful. But after what must be less than 20 minutes, I don't think I can stand on it for much longer. It's nice to be able to get off of it without making the limb obvious.

I place the back of my arm on the furniture, allowing Katniss to get comfortable next to me. But just when I think she is settled, she kicks off her shoes and tucks her legs underneath her, allowing her head to fall to my shoulder. I press one more kiss to her temple before focusing on the crowd, on Caeser.

He is the not the only person who is as elated that we are both alive as we are; the whole crowd can't get enough of the two of us. It takes him a few minutes to calm the crowd down, and I know that being as affectionate as I want to be won't help. Still, I slip my other hand into hers, giving her one more anchor to hold onto.

Caeser welcomes the audience to the recap, starting off by speaking to just how incredible these Games really were. He's vague, keeping the audience hooked on the love story for a long as he can. I'm glad that he's not going to ask us questions, because I'm almost sure that I'm not ready to talk about it. It's still so fresh.

And reliving it isn't going to make that any better.

I have no interest in seeing this, and by how tense Katniss is in my arms, I am sure that she doesn't want to watch it either. She grabs my other hand and I squeeze her shoulders. Just like in the Games, we are in this together.

I watch because doing the opposite is not an option. There are screens everywhere, and I won't close my eyes to this. I won't let her watch it alone. I can feel her stiffen at the interviews, wondering what exactly is going through her mind as she hears that I have cared for her as long as I have. I kiss her cheek and the crowd eats it up.

This is a different experience, watching the Games from angles we didn't know existed. I can finally appreciate everything she did to survive. She is skilled, nimble as she climbs trees and kills game. I watch her cautiously as she learns exactly how I fought just as hard to keep her alive. Her eyes darken slightly when she watches me stay up all night to keep her safe. And her cheeks flush when she drops a tracker jacker nest onto us. I want to whisper something in her ear, but it seems unimportant.

I don't want her to watch the battle with Cato and I, but there is no way for me to pull her eyes away from the screens. Even I'm impressed with how well I am able to hold my own. Cato is well trained, as is expected from a Career. But I'm driven with a need to protect Katniss in any way that I can, and that at least helps me keep him distracted long enough to help Katniss put distance between herself and the Career Pack. They spend too much time highlighting my camouflaging, far more time than I need to see on screen. But the effect is impressive.

For the first time, I watch the explosion, the one that took her hearing. I watch the brilliant way she plans the demise of the food pile. And I'm able to hold her close when Rue dies. I can see, in the way that she mourned the girl, just how important she was. How much was she like Prim, her delicate little sister? And how much worse was Katniss's loss because of it? I didn't know that Katniss fulfilled the little girls' dying wish. She starts to sing and my eyes close. I haven't heard her really sing in more than a decade. Her voice has taken a far richer tone than the sweet melodic bells of childhood.

I was initially worried that much of Katniss's actions had been for the Games, some ploy to really keep the audience on her side. But the simple act of singing a child into her last moments on Earth are so wholly her that almost love her more than I thought I did.

I feel her tense up beside me, and I'm wondering if something was left out. I make a mental note to ask her about it later.

This recap has given me a view of the Games which I never expect to get. I watch her honest reaction when the rules change. My eyes are focused on the screen, taking in the desperation in her search, the relief that washes over her face when she finally finds me covered in mud. I may have refused to process what I was seeing, but now I am like the rest of the nation— unable to tear my eyes from the screen. The haze of fever is gone, filling in the pieces of the moments in the cave. I can tell that Katniss is embarrassed by reliving all of this, but I'm grateful for the chance to watch it.

It helps me mourn Rue along side her, and to appreciate Thrush for his sacrifice in the little girl's honor.

But what really hooks my attention is the final moments with the berries. I was so sure that I had eaten one, that I had died. That was the last memory I had. But that wasn't where it ended. No, we rinsed our mouths out in the lake, waiting for the hover to take us back to safety. The tourniquet that had been on my leg long gone, I watch as I lose a substantial amount of blood. I finally see what really happened. And with the rest of the nation, I watch as Katniss is fighting to get behind the glass as doctors pump on my chest, as they get my heart beating again.

I'm able to hold back any tears that threaten to fall, not wanting to focus on that. I want to focus on the fact that I am alive. And that I get to keep Katniss with me.

The only explanation for the missing moments in my memory seems to be the medication I was on. It must have had some sort of amnesiac effect. I'm mad that the moment is lost, but thankful that there is footage to put the pieces together. I don't even have a lot of time to process this new information before President Snow is joining us on stage with the anthem bringing him in.

I stand, offering Katniss a hand up from the couch. There is no hesitation in the touch, like she is glad for the anchor. There is a brief flashback to the chariots, when we grip hands and don't let go, before she knew the truth. We are both in disbelief, I think, that this is the real outcome. We haven't even really had time to process this.

Well, maybe Katniss has. My mind has generally been elsewhere.

I am having trouble reading the man in front of me with his one crown. And it seems the crowd is having the same reaction. But with a twist of magic, the crown separates into two. The audience's cries are renewed as he first places the thin ring of gold onto my brow before moving to Katniss. I can't help but watch, studying her face closely.

I've spent years secretly watching her face. It's never been something I've openly done, and each time she has caught my gaze, I flush with embarrassment. But there have been plenty of times where I've been allowed to look at her freely. I feel like I've learned the unguarded curves of her face. And I know, by watching her now, that there is something more going on here.

I do not know what it is, but Katniss is hiding something.

My face stays happy because I know that is the only option at this point. Because even knowing Katniss's expressions as I do, it could have been so much worse.

Either of us could be alone on this stage.

Our hands stay locked together as we smile for the cameras, waving to the cheering crowd. The reverence given to us now is much different than the last time we stood together in front of a Capitol audience. The last time, we were on fire, outshining all the other Victors as we rode towards the Capitol. Now, we are bright with both our love for each other and surviving. We have fought hard and these people feel like they are a part of our triumph.

It's sickening.

My hand stays anchored to hers as we wave to the crowd. I am almost sure that we will be left alone after this, that we will be able to at least go back to the Training Center to rest. But no, we are led by Effie to a car, where we are taken to the President's Mansion for a celebratory feast.

There is so much I want to say to Katniss, so much we need to talk about. But we are never given a moment alone. Even in the back of the car, Effie is a continuous plethora of information. She cannot contain her joy in our victory. And in her eyes, why should she? Most Escorts only get one Victor to share the excitement. But she gets two.

I barely have enough time to think about it before we are parade around once more.

There are so many people who are insistent on meeting us that I'm not even able to appreciate the room we are in, let alone the food being served. At one point, someone shoves a roll into my hand. But my throat is so dry from talking for the two of us that I don't eat it. Handing off to someone else turns me into their hero once more.

The only reassuring thing about this night has been Katniss's hand in my own. Her grip is like a vice at times, when the conversation becomes too much. But how can I let go when she is the only thing keeping me upright? A simple squeeze of her hand in mind makes me forget the pain in my leg. The way her body curls into mine when people get close gives me purpose. If nothing else, we are all the other has. Little more is more important than that.

By the time we are back in the car, I am exhausted. My hand is almost frozen in hers, stiff against the moisture of our skin. But still, I am hesitant to let her go. We need to talk, to have a moment alone with no cameras watching as we do. I can tell that she is anxious to talk without prying eyes.

But I am not in the mood for the conversation we need to have.

I can hardly think, not with the horrendous throb that extends into a limb that is no longer there. What makes the pain worse is that there is nothing I can do to help the blood flow, which would help with the stiffness. I try to flex the toes on the opposite foot, but it doesn't help. Even trying to bend the knee to its full range of motion is impossible. I'm irritated at the pain, but I can hide it until I'm alone. She doesn't need to see that from me, not yet anyway.

The moment we are out of the car, Portia pulls me towards her. She can tell that I am tired and with an excuse of some final fitting, she helps me to my room for the night.

The limb does not come off fast enough. If I was in a worse mood, I might have thrown it across the large room. I don't even have the stamina for that. I set it on the floor next to my bed, pulling off the silicone sleeve that is supposed to help keep the prosthetic from rubbing me raw. The entire remaining leg is red and hot, angry from extensive overuse. I barely have the energy to slather on the cream that was left to ease the pain before I collapse into bed. I am not awake more than a few minutes before I succumb to exhaustion.