Sorry for the awful formatting. I posted this from work without realizing just how badly it had transferred over. Sometimes does not like Pages. Thanks Knife, for pointing it out!

Beyond Repair

By: Her Voice

I'm incredibly surprised with how truly refreshed I feel when I wake up. Maybe it's a combination of a familiar bed and safety, or maybe it's because of how late we were up last night. But even with the knowledge of another long day spent on my new appendage, I'm looking forward to today. It's going to be painful. We are going to have to talk about the Games and our feelings, which Katniss has obviously never been very good at. But after that, it's home.

Home.

I've never even thought of that possibility. I said all my goodbyes, counting on never seeing the dusty streets of Twelve again. I knew that I was going to die because I would not be able to kill Katniss. That left dying as the only option, and I hate to say that I was okay with it.

Honestly, it's not like my family needs me.

I wasn't profitable at the bakery until my mother discovered that I was fairly good with icing. Her opinion was that anyone could be taught a recipe and could bake. I was replaceable, until my father suggested that I started putting small decorations on the cookies. Then, she realized that I was marketable. I could bring in more money to the business.

Even then, I just decorated things. It was something, she had told me before I left for the Games, that she could do without. That she would be fine to do without. Because Twelve would finally have a Victor and she would have one less mouth to feed.

I knew my father and brothers would have a harder time with the loss. My brothers might have been older, but my mom was abusive to all of us. It was something that bonded us together from a young age. I think my father was envious of that, too. Of the fact that we could turn to each other when he had to do it alone.

My brothers and I protected each other as best we could. For the most part, we were able to stay out of her way. Mom didn't like the idea of a bakery— that was Dad's baby. Add to that the fact that my mother always felt like my father settled for her: my mother went into the marriage bitter and never recovered. If my father hadn't been about to inherit the bakery, she never would have married him.

She wasn't a romantic. Children might have been mouths to feed, but they were also free labor.

I know my mom doesn't like the Everdeens. And I'm almost positive that she hates that she as to see the woman my father would have rather married as often as she does. So I'm sure that she won't be too thrilled that not only did I do everything in my power to save Katniss, I'm coming home with her.

But I won't have to live in her home. I won't have to put up with her anger, or her fits of jealousy when my father shows someone else other than her attention. I won't have to make excuses for why I have bruises to my friends. Or be forced to keep it to one meal because there is too much work to do and not enough to go around. Winning the Games doesn't just mean peace for me. It will give my brothers a refuge.

I don't know how they will react when I get home. I really have no idea what to expect. But I get to go home. And that's a new prospect for me.

The air has been cleared. There are no more secrets now, not on my end. Katniss is well aware of how I feel, and although it is new for her, she cares for me too. The idea of no longer being alone elates me. Because as messed up as the situation is, we are in this together.

I'm anxious to see her, to finally get to talk to her after days of nothing. I want an un-televised conversation, where we don't have to be guarded.

I've slept as long as I can. I don't know what to expect when I throw back my covers, but it was not a well healed leg. There are no welts or reddening on the leg. It does not look like the inflamed, angry flesh of last night. The cream must have been more than just a cream.

Someone has been in my room, placing the leg upright next to the bed. They've also appeared to wash out the silicone sleeve, it resting on the nightstand. A small breakfast has been left on the table with a large pot of what I only can assume is hot chocolate.

But I don't want to eat alone. I want company. And I want Katniss.

I struggle with the prosthetic for a few moments, but like the rest of the day, it seemed to slip into place. There are loose fitting pants at the foot of the bed with a soft cotton shirt. I'm too embarrassed to leave the fake foot exposed, but I don't have the confidence to put on just socks. Portia thought of everything, putting a pair of sturdy slippers next to the bed.

I try to turn the lock, but it's been barred from the outside.

It's frustrating, but I know that I don't have a choice. Pounding the door down isn't going to solve anything. After the interview, we will be on the train for Twelve. I can last that long, at least.

It's almost noon before I hear the door unlock and watch as my prep team bursts into the room. They are animated, unable to stop talking about the party from the night before. They shove me into the large bathroom, but because I've already put on my leg, they settle for washing my hair for me. I really don't mind the attention, allowing myself to zone out with their animated conversation.

I could stare at them for days, trying to memorize the bright colors of their outfits, wondering if I can copy the striking tones with icing. They all have different questions, and I can barely keep up with them to answer each one. They can tell I'm anxious to get out of there, so they work quickly. They lather shampoos in my hair and creams on my face. My hair is styled into something I could never hope to replicate, far more structured than I like.

Portia joins us with a pressed pair of red pants and a simple white dress shirt. I can't say that I know the look they are going for, but it's not my place to ask. Portia has done nothing but make sure that I am the perfect compliment to Katniss. Just like Katniss and I, her and Cinna are a team. With so many people on our side, how could we not succeed from this point on?

I'm in the same sturdy boots as the night before, but this time I know that I will be sitting and hopefully won't need them. I'm already up on my feet when Haymitch comes into the room. I don't want to be separated from her any longer. After everything that's happened, I can't help but feel anxious that I haven't seen her. "Locked door, huh?" I finally ask him, wondering why he felt the need to do it. Even before the Games, we weren't blocked from each other. This was new, and I'm not sure that I like it.

He must have picked up on the bitterness in my voice, because he rolls his eyes at me, "You guys have the rest of your lives for that happily ever after crap. Both of you looked like you could use a night apart." There is something about the way he is staring at me. I want to ask more, to question the odd look on his face. But I refrain. Whatever his reasoning is, it must be good.

He's the Mentor. He understand everything about this better than we ever could. So I trust that he had a reason for it and deal with it.

As much as I ask her not to, Portia insists on putting a little makeup on my face. I don't get much of a say, and the longer I fight, the longer it is until I see Katniss. I let her put the finishing touches on my look before I step into the main room, relieved to see that Katniss is already there. I'm in such a hurry to see here that I've forgotten the slim silver cane from the night before.

My heart lightens at the sight of her. She looks young, far younger than any of her previous outfits. And the white dress she is in screams innocence. I don't have time to think about the reason behind it, because the look on her face is so worrisome. Her eyes are deepened by concern, but I'm almost certain it is because the spotlight is going to be on her for the next few hours. Katniss does not do well when the attention is centered on her. She must know that I will do all I can to make this as painless as I can.

While everyone is busy with the final touches, I'm able to pull her away. Even if the moment will be brief, I will take what I can get. I smile at the relief in her eyes, hoping she can see the same feeling mirrored in my own. "I hardly get to see you. Haymitch seems bent on keeping us apart." I am tempted to mention the locked door, but I don't.

Her face is too amusing, the way she almost glares at our mentor with a curt nod. "Yes, he's gotten very responsible lately." So she has noticed, too.

Well, at least we know he's capable of it.

I brush a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Well, there's just this and we go home." I grin a little, "Then he can't watch us all the time." I want to do something to lighten the mood, to help ease her into the next few hours. But there is something bothering her, something she won't share. Well, I can't expect her to open up to me completely. She's been dealing with things on her own for years. It is going to take time for her to realize that she is no longer alone.

We are in this together, after all.

Caeser is pulling us towards the couch with his voice and we have no choice but to do as he says. I settle onto the couch, feeling stiff, knowing that something more is going on. But I can't place my finger on it. Maybe it's just the fact that Katniss hates the whole interview process. But the Master of Ceremonies insists that we get cozy.

She doesn't hesitate as she kicks off the pink shoes Cinna has put her in and tucks back into me. It feels natural for me to put my arm around her, to give her whatever comfort I can offer her in this. My hand falls gently onto her shoulder, and I'm perfectly happy for the first time in a while. For me, this feels easy. There is no complicated reveal, with nothing on the line. This is just about us, just about what happened.

I don't hesitate with Caeser, falling right back into the banter we are used to. I don't mind that Katniss chooses to stay quiet, because I'm able to fill in the silence with ease.

For the most part, I like Caeser. His job might be incredibly morbid, but he's good at it. He's been doing it for so long that it is second nature to him. How he can find everyone's finest qualities in such a short amount of time is beyond me. Maybe he talks to the Mentors, or maybe he's just so incredibly observant that he doesn't have to. He gets so little information, it would seem, and yet he gives everyone equal footing.

We laugh and banter. The bond we've made is superficial, it would seem, but it feels natural. A part of me expects Katniss to be disinterested in the whole thing. But she is surprisingly interactive. No, she doesn't do much talking. But she's more than just there. She's holding my hand, giving it a squeeze if the topic gets tough. Her eyes often meet mine, the look holding such affection that I am thrilled.

Katniss surprises me when she does talk. Her words are few, but they show that she is there. I can tell when she is ready to be done talking, because I pick up the conversation as much as I can. "Well, Peeta, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?" I give Katniss a smile, focusing back on Caeser.

"From the moment I laid eyes on her." I say in earnest, pleased to see Katniss's cheeks blush. I don't know whether it is from my answer or because the attention is about to shift to her.

Caeser's eyes are locked on hers, the sparkling of the blue almost overwhelming. "But Katniss, what a ride for you! I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him. When exactly do you realize that you were in love with him?" The question has me interested, too.

I didn't get to watch it from the same view as the rest of the world. I've always been an open book, since the moment I revealed my feelings in front of Caeser the first time. From then on, it wasn't something I was going to hide. It was out, so why try to make it less than it was?

I did carry some guilt for bombarding her with the news. It honestly wasn't something I planned on ever telling anyone. She didn't even know much about me, other than that I was the baker's son. I planned on never having to deal with her feelings towards me, and that was selfish. But Haymitch told me that it was a good idea, and if I wanted to gain help for the two of us, telling the world was our best option.

It would blow them out of the water.

And I was doubting that she had feelings at all. With as little time we got to spend together since the end, it was easy to do.

I watch her intently, knowing that she does not want to be on the spot like this. She laughs softly, her hands suddenly interesting. "Oh, that's a tough one." I don't know what I'm expecting her to say. I don't really expect her to have an answer at all.

"Well, I know when it hit me. The night when you shouted out his name from that tree!"

She looks happy for the reminder, settling into my shoulder as she relaxes a bit. "Yes, I guess that was it. I mean," she glances over at me, "until that point, I just tried not to think about what my feelings might be, honestly, because it was so confusing and it only made things worse if I actually cared about him. But then, in the tree, everything changed." I smile softly, blending the images of the recap in my mind.

I see her covering her mouth shortly after calling out my name. That could be the moment I realized it, too.

"Why do you think that was?" Caeser asked.

Her hands become interesting again, like she doesn't want to have to see our reactions. "Maybe… because for the first time," she hesitates, emotions never a topic she wants to discuss it would seem. She pauses for a moment, "there was a chance I could keep him." If I was holding my breath, I let it out.

As I'm sure the rest of Panem did as well.

Suddenly, the gentle touch on her shoulder is not enough. I rest my head into her temple, nuzzling her with open affection. I don't care about Caeser's reaction. The world around us disappears and it's just the two of us. I grin a little, "So now that's you've got me, what are you going to do with me?" I want to lighten the moment, because I can tell that it would make it easier for her.

I don't expect her to turn to me, the stormy grey of her eyes holding mine in a way only she could. With all seriousness, she says, "Put you somewhere you can't get hurt." I smile, unable to stop the kiss that followed. I keep it short, because we have other things we need to talk about. But it is reassuring. Exactly what I needed.

Caeser takes the opportunity to highlight our injuries, speaking about each moments as if we didn't live them. I'm praying that he doesn't make any comments regarding my leg. I feel like it is my secret, like something I only have to tell those I choose. It couldn't possibly be public knowledge, not with as little time as we've spent on the screen. But he asks me how the new leg is working, and I know that this is no longer my choice.

"New leg?" Her eyes meet mine for a moment before she is shifting to lift the leg of my pants. Exposing the metal and plastic limb for all the world to see. My choice would have been to show her privately, but again, that's stolen from me, too. "Oh no…"

Caeser at least looks slightly guilty as he gently meets her gaze. "No one told you?"

I try to make it seem like it's not a big deal, like it's not as life altering as it really is. "I haven't had the chance." I shrug, too concerned about Katniss's reaction to care about trying to explain myself to the Nation. My eyes are on her with no idea what is gong on in her mind. I wanted it to happen so differently. To let her know that I am happy to be alive and that I will be okay. To hold her hand and show her what was fixed.

Another thing stolen. Added to the list of insignificant things that I can't let matter to me.

But the guilt is so apparent on her face that I want to hold her close. "It's my fault. Because I used that tourniquet."

My eyes roll a little, just for her. She is not used to the sarcastic side of me, but I show it now because it's a part of me, too. "Yes, it's your fault I'm alive." My arms are tight around her, begging her to not blame herself for it.

Caeser can sense her distress and reinforces my words. "He's right. He'd have bled to death for sure without it." But she's long past caring what others think. She buries her head into my shirt and my focus shifts back to her. I rest my head on top of hers, saying nothing at first. She'll get used to the idea, just like I will. And we will move on from it.

I would let her stay all day, but we have to continue with the interview. I'm gentle as help her join us back, my hands on her shoulder. I'm light as a feather with my tugs, hoping to draw a smile from her. She's hesitant, but she eventually comes back out. I make sure that any further questions won't really be focused back on her. I can protect her from that, at least.

But I can't answer what was going through her head with the berries. And that's an obvious point that needs to be talked about. It was the whole reason we were both here, together. I wasn't in her head, even though I had already sentenced myself to death when I let her remove the arrow from the tourniquet in my leg. I knew that if she couldn't kill me, I would bleed out and it wouldn't matter either way.

Caeser is gentle when he asks her to explain what was going on in her mind.

She's quiet for a moment, and I can tell that she isn't ready to talk about it. But she doesn't have a choice, not with his direct line of questioning. She's never been eloquent with words, so her short reply isn't surprising.

But it's the most meaningful thing I've heard come from her lips. My eyes are on hers when I tell Caeser that I've got nothing to add. She's my focus, pulling her in for one more kiss before our host is signing off for the day. I'm laughing with Katniss, because it's over. Haymitch seems beyond content with how it went. He simply claps me on the back before moving to Katniss, pulling her in for a comforting hug.

The reality of it all is sinking in, and the whole room seems to break down in various stages of joy. Some are crying, either because it was a beautiful moment or because they are sad to see us go. Others are laughing, sharing jokes with one another. But the absolute happiness in the room is palpable.

This time, leaving Katniss is a little easier, because I know that we will be back together on the train shortly. I go back to my room, to collect what little things I've acquired over the past few days. A bag has been pack with clothing provided by Portia to get me through the first few days back home.

And she has promised to fill my closet with clothing befitting a Victor.

Katniss takes a little longer to join the rest of us out in the living room. There are more hugs, private goodbyes to the people we need to say goodbye to. Haymitch will be with us, but we thank our prep team, who won't be following us to the train station. As silly as they seem, their part in keeping us alive deserves some recognition.

Hand in hand, Katniss and I sit silently in the car on our way to the station. As much as there is to say, I don't think I'm ready to break the peace. My thumb is gentle as it draws delicate patterns across her perfect skin. I am anxious for this to be all over. I want to talk to her alone, to be able to speak freely without worrying about others. There will be obstacles, but after everything we've been through, they seem unimportant.

I really have no idea how we get on the train. I remember plenty of flashes and screaming. But I don't remember actually getting onto it. I'm a little mad because I would have liked to have remembered what I told Effie, or Portia. But I am sure I said the right thing. And in a few months, we will see them again on the Victory Tour.

It's easy to tug Katniss towards the observation car, where we can better take in our final moments in the Capitol. People are still watching, and we can hear the cheering. But I think for both of us, we are anxious to leave. The moment we pass through the dark tunnel, revealing the daylight of new found freedom, she relaxes. Her shoulders drop into something far more comfortable. She looks at me for a moment, our eyes connecting. For the first time, her face doesn't appear to be covered in a mask of indifference. I smile, and she smiles back.

We walk hand in hand back to the dining cart, saying nothing.

The air feels light in the cabin, like we are all floating from the joy of it. Conversation hovers on light topics, nothing that might make either of us skittish. No one speaks of the Games. No one mentions my leg.

There is mandatory viewing, and even Victors returning on the train are required to watch. The interview starts, and it doesn't take long before Katniss excuses herself to change out of the white dress.

She's not gone long. But when she returned, slipping into the seat beside me, I can tell that something has changed. Her body is a little stiffer, taking her longer to get comfortable against me. I try not to think about it, but I can't help but wonder what's wrong.

The train stops for fuel, and we finally get a moment alone. I tug her out into the open air, thinking that it might help her relax. We walk the tracks, where pretty pink and white flowers dot the ground below us. I think of the white dress she was in, and can't help myself in picking the little flowers, giving them to her with a smile. Something flashes across her eyes, but whatever she is thinking, she keeps silent. "What's wrong?" I asked, concerned.

She looks like she wants to say more, but the 'nothing' that comes from her lips is halfhearted. I don't know why there has been a shift, but its there.

Haymitch comes behind us, his face unreadable as he lays a hand on each of our shoulders. "Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay." He claps us on the back once more and we watch him leave.

And I'm confused.

"What's he mean?" I ask, really having no idea what he could have meant by that statement. Keep it up? Keep what up?

Her cheeks flush from embarrassment, and her eyes are unable to meet mine. "It's the Capitol They didn't like out stunt with the berries." She says it before she can change her mind, before she can come up with something else.

I still don't understand. "What? What are you talking about?" My hand is still in hers, our backs to the train as we talk.

"It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days, so I didn't make it worse."

I'm slow on the uptake, but I'm starting to follow exactly what she is saying. "Coaching you? But not me." My voice takes an edge that I don't expect. Maybe it's because I thought we were a team. Or maybe it's because I can sense things crumbling around me. Whatever it is, my head is starting to ache along with my leg.

She at least looks guilty as she speaks, "He knew you were smart enough to get it right."

I want to look away, to pretend that I'm hearing things wrongs. But it's falling together, finally making sense to me. "I didn't know there was anything to get right." My throat feels thick as I swallow, the next question spilling out of me before I can lose my courage. "So, what you're saying is, these last few days and then I guess… back in the arena… that was just some strategy you two worked out?" I can feel things building in me, anger bubbling over the top like boiling water.

I wait for her to deny it, to tell me that it's a lie. But she never does. "No. I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?" Which, to me, means that she could talk to him after the fact. And that Haymitch was willing to weave the story. Without telling me.

"But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" She tucks her lip in between her teeth and I drop her hand, feeling used. "Katniss?"

Used and so incredibly stupid.

She steps backwards, and it's clear what happened. But I need to hear her say it. "It was all for the Games, how you acted." It's not a question.

She's staring down at the flowers, which seem to be the silliest thing I've done so far. "Not all of it"

"Then how much?" I want to laugh, because my mind is beginning to betray me. I'm beginning to wonder how much of the cave was just in my mind. "No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" I can feel my heart breaking as I watch her struggling to explain.

She doesn't look at me when she says, "I don't know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get." I stare at her, expecting her to explain more of her feelings. And when she doesn't, I get angry. Because being mad is easier than the pain.

"Well, let me know what you work it out." I retreat to the train, wanting nothing more than to run into the safety of my room. But my leg won't cooperate enough to run, and I won't give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me break. Haymitch tries to grab my shoulder once I'm on the train, but I'm strong enough, fueled by anger, to break the hold.

Everything is automated, so I don't get the release from slamming the door to the small space that is mine. There is nothing to break, everything bolted down to keep it from shifting. I want to rip the blankets, to tear through the small closet of items. I want to break windows, my hand with it. Because maybe real pain will dull the crushing feeling in my heart.

I skip dinner, not ready to see either of them. Sleep eludes me. Every time I think I've shut down my brain enough to sleep, I'm haunted by the idea of her. I spend half the night angry and the other half miserable. I keep hoping that she will knock on the door, demanding to explain what happened, to help me through her thought process. But the only ones who try to pull me out of my room are Haymitch and Effie.

She is what I had to look forward to when I got home, and now that's gone, too.

There really is nothing left for me in Twelve.

The next morning, I wake up before everyone else, sneaking my meal into my room so I can continue to lick my wounds. I feel empty, like everything I had thought during the Games had been a lie. And the used feeling that surrounds me is so foreign that it makes me bitter. I don't have time to replay things in my mind, like I want to. Instead, I feel the train slowing down, the rumble of the crowd outside growing with each moment.

Effie won't let me hide any longer, pulling me out of my room to be dressed for the camera. I don't look at her as I step out on the platform, watching as things start to crumble around me.

I vaguely remember what she said about the berries. That they had been seen as rebellious. That Snow hadn't been happy about it. My wits are about me enough to know that we have to keep our story straight, at least for now. Haymitch had said that we need to keep it up until the cameras are gone. I can do my part, even if it breaks me. This whole thing was about keeping her alive, and even though I am empty, I hold onto that.

She stands beside me, and I can tell that she is as lost as I am. For a while, I don't look at her. Because I don't know if I can. But I know that we have to do this. I want to cry, but I don't. Instead, I distance myself from my emotions, knowing I can think about them later. I hold my hand out to her, knowing that I can hold it together long enough to make it through this day. Her eyes meet mine, uncertain. "One more time? For the audience?" Even to me, my voice is hollow, devoid of any of its pervious emotions.

I feel her hand slip into mine, squeezing it tightly. The flashes start before we are even to the platform. I smile, I wave. I try to avoid the familiar faces in the crowd, least of all those who might make Katniss break our hold.

Her hand keeps me grounded.

But I know the moment I let go, I will fall.