I was at least able to convince him to hold off on the walk until the weather passed. I tried to get him to put it off until the morning, but he would not be dissuaded. That attribute was just one of the things I admired about him. Once he set his mind to something, he was determined to see it through. Even his affections for me would not sway him.
Once the rain stopped and the ominous clouds that had gathered overhead dispersed, he pulled on a sweater and I slid into my father's hunting jacket. Stuffing our feet into boots, we barely even bothered to shut the front door behind us. Few others had returned to District Twelve. Though the reasons upon relocation were surely personal for each person, I had the feeling the most common reason matched my mother's. Hurt and pain and suffering seeped into the ground and the parts of buildings that remained in District Twelve. The mass grave out by the Meadow was a stark and sullen reminder to all of what we had lost, and for most it was too much to face.
I didn't blame them. If anything, I envied them. I wished I could leave this place behind and move on with my life. If I thought I could have, I would have. But I knew that no amount of distance would ever be able to mend my broken heart. I had witnessed and been a party to too much already in my short life, and there was nowhere in Panem I could go that I could escape that simple realty. So in a way, I was grateful that Haymitch had brought me home and stayed himself, and I would be forever thankful that Peeta had joined us. We would never escape the horrors of the past few years, but hopefully we would at least find a way to manage them together, however broken we felt.
All the thoughts that the walk brought up did little to better my mood. When Peeta hesitantly took my hand in his as we silently walked, I did not pull away. The burns covering my body would have been an embarrassment if I had cared, but Peeta had already seen much darker things inside of me. My physical appearance hardly seemed to matter, at least around him. Instead of slipping my hand into the pocket of my jacket, I pulled our joined hands to my side, so that he could feel the touch of my skin better. As we approached town, I wanted to root him in reality and comfort him as much as possible.
It shocked me that, since his return, he had attempted little more. With the miracle that seemed to be his recovery at the hands of Dr. Aurelius, which was staggering considering my own lack of progress with the man, I expected a discussion about what we were if nothing else. I wasn't ready for it, but I expected it nonetheless. After all, his first act after returning to District Twelve was to plant flowers at my house in a heartwarming gesture, even if I didn't fully appreciate it at the time. But it had been a week, and he had not spoken a word about where we ought to go from there. I greatly appreciated it, but also greatly feared that it still lingered, unspoken and loitering just around the corner. I knew the time would eventually have to come, but if he was content with holding my hand, I was not going to say anything for the time being.
His grip on mine tightened as we moved deeper into town. In the quiet that always followed a rain shower, I could hear the hitch in his breathing and the elevated quickness to his breaths. I gave his hand a squeeze as we continued on until there was nowhere else to go.
I had walked through town a few times when I was feeling deeply depressed and angry and had even stopped by the bakery a time or two when my thoughts inevitably turned to Peeta and what he was doing. I had seen the damage and thus I knew what to expect. But standing there with him, it felt different. It was a thousand times worse because it was a hundred times more personal. It wasn't just the place where we bought our bread or where I sold game to the baker. It was Peeta's home, and the memory of his family. And it struck me deep and true.
I wanted to pull him away and shield him from all of it, but I knew it was no use. He needed to see it and to come to terms with it for himself. I had done the same when I went back to our family's house, and I had no right to try to deprive him of the same moment. Yet I still yearned to; after all, we protected each other. That's simply what we did, and letting him stand there and soak in the realization of the truth seemed to be the opposite of what I ought to do.
It was odd, how preserved the rubble seemed. It had been months, perhaps even a year or more - I tried not to keep track - since the attack, and yet it looked as if it could have happened the previous day. Even the air had that quality to it - the kind that you inhaled and it smelled of ash. The whole town smelled like the mines used to, though they had been closed upon our return from the Capitol.
It took a moment for the realization to hit Peeta, but I could tell the precise moment. When the truth settled upon him, he sank to his knees amongst the charred remains that had been blasted into the pathway. He let out a sound I had never heard from him before, a horrible, pathetic wail of despair. His head sank into his hands as he bent over, and I could hear him start up a mantra to remind himself of who he was, of what was real.
Watching him fall apart, it felt as if my heart was being ripped from my chest. After our first Games, all I wanted to do was find a way to save him. He, of all people, deserved that. And yet I couldn't even spare him from this moment. Collapsing next to him, I hesitantly brought my hands to his shoulders. Being together was still new to us since his return and after everything that had transpired due to his hijacking. I still didn't know how far his limits stretched when it came to me. I was terrified to push him too far, afraid I would somehow undo all the progress he had made with his work in the Capitol.
I tried to call him name, to bring him back to the moment, but the word refused to leave my lips. His shoulders shook beneath my own unsteady hands, and he emitted the sound again. It was even more heart wrenching the second time. It was the same sound that Buttercup made whenever he curled up and called for Prim, who we both knew wouldn't answer.
"I'm sorry," I told him, the words scratching my suddenly dry throat. Cautiously, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pulling him against me as I sank into him. "I'm so, so sorry." I knew the words wouldn't help. They never made a dent in the blackness of my heart when others spoke them to me. But I had nothing else to say. There was no reason for their death, apart from the ruthlessness that had been Snow. There was no sense of justice now, even after everything that had been accomplished. They were simply gone, and nothing I could say would change that fact.
The fight left him in a singular moment. His body went slack against mine, and I teetered in my hunch until I fell back onto my butt. Refusing to release my hold, I pulled him back with me. It only served to make his sobs push through him harder as he turned into my embrace. While Snow used Peeta as a tool against me in the Capitol, I grew used to seeing Peeta broken. And while he struggled against the programming and the damage inflicted upon him, I watched him break all over again, time and time again. But seeing him this way was the most painful of all, because I knew I would be useless in bringing him comfort.
I had always been, and would always be, the harbinger of bad. I couldn't bring comfort or help heal him. I couldn't make the loss of his family, of his entire world, any better. All I could think of in that moment was what he had said to me on the beach in the clock arena. He had handed me the locket, which he had planned even before we returned to Snow's Games, and told me that I had people to fight for, to live for. And he had said he had no one left that needed him. What he hadn't said was that he had needed them, and now they were gone. And for the first time, it was real for him.
Tucking my cheek against his temple, I closed my eyes and held him tight. If I opened my mouth and tried to comfort him, I knew I would only make it worse. But I would sit there, and I wouldn't let him go until he felt well enough to pull away.
So we sat. The sky slowly darkened above us, but we didn't move an inch. Afternoon gave way to evening which turned to nightfall before Peeta finally stirred. When he moved, it was swift and with purpose. He rose to his knees as I hastened to remove my hold quickly enough, brushed off the legs of his pants, and extended a hand to me to help me to my feet. I took it, if only to give him something to do.
Again, I felt as if I should say something. Anything. But nothing came to mind. "Let's go home," he said, his tone firm with the decision in his words. As he moved to release my hand, I tightened my hold. I had this irrational fear that if I let go of him in that moment, he would somehow manage to collapse completely into himself like a dying star. I wouldn't let that happen.
"Are you sure?" I asked. Though night had fallen, I could still make out the differences between the black of the night and the black of the charred remains of his bakery.
"Come on, Katniss," he responded. He let me hold on to his hand as he took a few steps towards me and then a few more past me, back towards the Victors' Village. "I'll cook us up some dinner. You must be hungry."
He didn't look back as I turned to follow him. I kept waiting for him to pause and glance back over his shoulder. His eyes stayed trained ahead all the way to my front door. I almost missed his whispered, "Thank you," as he held open the front door for me when we reached my house and went inside.