I break into the clearing and Rue is lying there, trapped in a net, a spear buried deep in her gut. The gore around the wound makes me want to vomit, but when she speaks her voice is surprisingly soft.
"Why did you let me die?" Rue asks me. "I trusted you. Why didn't you protect me? Why did you abandon me?"
I want to respond to her, I want to tell her I tried my best, I want to tell her how sorry I am, but words don't form in my throat. I just stand there silently as sweet little Rue continues to upbraid me for her death.
"You left me. You let me die. You get banquets and dinners and awards and one of the biggest houses in District 12 and more money than any five merchants and it's all because you let me die. You let me die. You let me die. You let me die. You let me die…"
And suddenly it's not sweet little Rue laying in that net anymore, now it's a wolf-like mutt with dark fur and Rue's big, brown eyes, standing almost upright on its powerful hind legs, and somehow it's still repeating "You let me die, you let me die, you let me die…" as it angrily tears through the netting and leaps at me, and still all I can do is stand silent as the mass of angry teeth and razor claws descends upon me-
I jerk awake screaming. It doesn't take me long to quiet the scream, it seems I've even managed to avoid waking Mom or Prim this time, but I sit up in bed gasping for breath for several minutes.
A part of me wants to blame my dream about Rue on Mr. Mellark bringing her up at dinner, but I know the nightmare would have come anyway, whether it involved Rue or not. I dread the night now. Ever since the Games, every night brings nightmares. Sometimes they're about people I watched die, or other horrors I witnessed. Sometimes they're about me dying in the arena. Sometimes they're about Peeta dying.
Peeta.
I look out my bedroom window, and I can see that Peeta's light is on. I know he gets nightmares as well, we managed to exchange that information in one of the quick conversations we managed to sneak in between camera shots. Does he dream the same things I do? Do his dreams bother him as badly as mine bother me?
Since I don't dare go back to sleep anyway, I throw the covers off and head downstairs. Before I'm even aware that I've made the decision my feet have already carried me half-way to Peeta's house. The very first night without Effie and I'm already sneaking out. I didn't even bother with a jacket or shoes, I'm just standing on the side of the road in my nightgown. This doesn't overly concern me, though, since there are only five people living in Victor's Village and we're all family.
When I get to Peeta's door I can hear movement inside, he's obviously awake and doing something. I knock on the door. "Peeta," I call quietly, "It's me."
It takes a few moments for Peeta to open the door. He's dressed only in sleep pants and he has flour on his hands from whatever he's been baking. It's the first time I've seen him shirtless when he wasn't starving and half dead. I'm sure there are other boys in the district who are stronger, who have more defined muscles, who are taller, but something about Peeta is just perfect to me. He's breathtaking, for want of a better term.
"I've always liked this dream," he says as he smiles and gestures me inside, bringing me back to reality.
"What dream is that?" I ask, entering.
"The one where you show up at my house in the middle of the night without any clothes," he answers smoothly.
"Mmm, sounds nice," I agree. What the hell? Am I flirting? First kissing, now flirting? I don't flirt. But then again, I don't date either, but here I am sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet up with the boy I love. Who's shirtless. And gorgeous.
I really need to get my mind settled. "Much nicer than the dream that sent me over here," I say. "I'm guessing it's much nicer than the dream that has you up baking in the middle of the night, too."
He lets his smile fall. "Yeah," he says. "So what can I do for you?"
"I saw your light was on so I just came over," I say. "I figured it was better than sitting alone afraid to go back to sleep."
"You'd rather sit at my house afraid to go back to sleep?" Peeta asks.
"Absolutely," I answer sincerely.
Peeta smiles and leads me into the kitchen. "Well, if you plan on being hungry later, I'll have rolls in about an hour."
"I'll try to work it into my schedule," I say, smiling again despite myself. I swear, the effect this boy has on me…
Time passes easily with Peeta. We talk, still getting used to the idea that we can just sit together and speak privately whenever we want to. We kiss, though neither of us seems quite willing to go much beyond that. We stare at each other and time disappears, until the kitchen timer interrupts us. Peeta bakes. I eat. Soon it's hours later, we're both yawning again and the sun still isn't even thinking of peeking over the horizon yet.
"I suppose we'll have to go back to sleep at some point," I say around another yawn.
Peeta stands. "Come on, I'll walk you home."
I don't know if this is a new realization or if I've suddenly found the reason I came over here in the first place, but as soon as Peeta mentions it, the idea of leaving and facing the rest of the night alone is unthinkable. "Actually, do you think I could just stay here?"
"Of course you can stay here if you want," Peeta says with a bemused look. "You know how many extra rooms these houses have."
"Peeta, I wasn't asking to sleep in a guest room," I say. I stand to face him, but then falter, suddenly nervous. "Do you really want to sleep alone tonight?"
"No," Peeta says. His face is tight, all signs of amusement gone. "I… No."
I finally close the step between us and lean up to give him a soft kiss. "Let's go to bed, Peeta."
He reaches out and takes my hand in his. We look into each other's eyes for just another moment before heading for the stairs. We'll face the nightmares the same way we ultimately faced their cause.
Together.
…..
I wake with a start. Where am I? Am I in the arena? No, this is a bed, but it's not my bedroom. It looks eerily similar to it, though. Is someone trying to trick me?
It's then that I realize that I'm being restrained. I pull against the restraints, only to discover I'm being held in place not by something, but by someone. Someone with strong, powerful arms is trying to corral my movements, making me struggle all the harder. I have to break free, I have to run away, I have to find Peeta.
Peeta! My body freezes in the sudden onrush of last night's memories. It's only then that I hear the voice that I realize has been trying to break through my panic for a while. "Shhh, it's okay, you're safe, it's not real, it's just a dream, you're not in danger…"
Finally my whole body goes limp. I turn around to face Peeta and cling to him desperately. I let no tears flow, though I feel almost like I'm sobbing. We stay like this for several minutes.
"Another nightmare?" Peeta asks once I've calmed.
"No. I just… I woke up and I didn't know where I was, for a moment." I take several deep breaths to try to steady myself. "I'm sorry I woke you."
"Actually, I was already up for a few minutes. I was contemplating how to get up without disturbing you."
Eventually my nerves settle and we fall into a comfortable silence. Neither of us makes any attempt to leave, we simply lay there and hold each other. Eventually we begin exchanging the occasional soft kiss or murmur of affection. I can feel myself relaxing, truly relaxing, in some ways for the first time since Reaping Day. I feel so comfortable here with Peeta. Peaceful. Content. Such a contrast to the exaggerated public displays we've been putting on for the last month. I need more of this in my life, I think.
Eventually we're interrupted by an insistent knocking on his front door. We both look at each other questioningly.
"Expecting anyone?" I ask.
"No, not at this hour," he says.
"It can't be Effie, she went home yesterday," I offer.
"It's not Haymitch, he wouldn't be knocking," Peeta says.
"Or awake, this early in his hangover," I say.
"Maybe he's not hungover yet. Maybe he's still just drunk," Peeta suggests.
"He still wouldn't be knocking," I say.
It's clear neither one of us wants to get out of bed. Finally I say, "It's your house, you go answer it." Peeta gives me a look, so I add, "I didn't bring any clothes over here, all I have is my nightgown." Unable to argue with this, Peeta reluctantly gets out of bed, throws on a shirt to go with his sleep pants, and goes to answer the door. I try to listen, curious as to who it could be.
"Peeta!" I recognize Prim's voice immediately. I also recognize the panic that fills it. Did something happen to Mom? To Gale? I jump out of bed and start racing down the stairs as I hear her continue. "Peeta, have you seen Katniss? We got up this morning and she was gone! I don't think she went hunting, none of her hunting clothes are missing. I don't think any of her clothes are missing, at least not anything she would wear willingly. It's been hours and there's no sign of her. We don't know what could have happened to her!"
Oh no. This is going to be awkward. It would be better if I at least had clothes to wear. For a moment I consider hiding upstairs, but then I decide I can't just leave Peeta in that position, so I go the rest of the way downstairs and walk over towards the door. Prim doesn't notice me for a moment as she's still animatedly explaining my disappearance to Peeta, but then she stops dead in the middle of a sentence with her mouth hanging open. I'm not sure what to say, so I start with "Hey, little duck." Getting no response, I continue, "I couldn't sleep, so I came over here to spend the night." Now she's glaring at me, like she's my 12-year-old mother. "Just to spend the night! Nothing else happened!"
Prim is still glaring at me. Finally Peeta breaks the silence. "Prim, Katniss didn't bring any clothes over here with her last night. You think you could go get her something to wear?" This does nothing to tame the glare she's giving me, but she nods and leaves. Peeta closes the door. "Well. That went well."
"I'm sorry I left you in the lurch like that. I didn't realize they'd react so strongly."
"It's okay. It's your first night not under surveillance and you vanished overnight. If I didn't know where you were I'd be concerned too."
"I'm always concerned when I don't know where you are," I find myself saying before I can stop myself, giving voice to the anxiety I've been feeling ever since we got out of the arena. The panic I felt when Peeta disappeared in the woods, when we were separated on the hovercraft, I feel a milder version of it all the time now, every second I'm not with him. As if a pack of mutts might burst in while his prep team is dressing him, or Cato might be waiting for him in the pantry. I'm sure it helps fuel my nightmares.
I expect Peeta to chuckle at my admission, or gently tease me for my overprotectiveness. But when I look to Peeta's eyes, instead of mirth I see recognition as he quietly says, "Me, too."
I don't really have anything else to say to that, so I wrap my arms around him and give him a long kiss. I realize that one reason why moments like laying in bed this morning, like sitting on the porch last night, like standing here holding each other in the entrance hall, one reason why they're so calm and peaceful is because in that moment I know exactly where Peeta is. I know that he's safe. And apparently Peeta feels the same way about me. All the more reason why we should spend more time together.
Finally Peeta says, "Why don't you go back upstairs and grab a shower, I'll start breakfast and leave your clothes in my room when Prim gets back."
"Okay," I say, and give him one more quick kiss before heading back upstairs.
Showers are the one Capitolized luxury of our Victor's Village homes that I have unabashedly embraced. Bathing in the Seam meant boiling water on the stove, the bucket of boiling water added to the tub of cold to provide a lukewarm bath. I never could have imagined how soothing it is to stand under unending streams of hot water pouring over me. These houses may be too big, the furniture too fancy, the decoration too extravagant, and nine of them stand immaculate and empty while only a few miles away Seam families struggle to feed themselves and heat their homes. But I make no apologies for how much I enjoy the showers.
After my shower I can hear Prim and Peeta speaking downstairs. I see Prim has brought me an outfit from my Capitol-supplied wardrobe: a flower-printed dress of the type I used to mock girls from town for wearing, and shoes that came from a factory in Eight instead of from the Cartwright's shop or a trader at the Hob. Nothing as fancy as what I had to wear to the Victory events, but still more than I would normally wear myself. I can only assume that my mother had a hand in choosing this outfit; she had had a talk with me the other day about how I now had a status to live up to and should dress appropriately, which apparently to her meant dumping my father's leather jacket and my comfortable, worn-in boots in favor of new, fancy garments from the Capitol. She had left the room before I could counter that I was a Victor because I killed children, not because of how I dressed.
Sure enough, after I dress and go down to the kitchen, I find Peeta having breakfast with not just Prim, but also my mother. I hadn't heard her speaking at all before I came down. They all look up when I enter the room, but no one says anything until Peeta cuts the tension with, "Honey, we have guests!" Between the merriment in Peeta's eyes and the sharp look he gets from my mother, it takes everything I have to keep from bursting out laughing myself. I give him a peck on the cheek as I sit down next to him.
"So," my mother starts, "You spent the night here last night?"
"Yeah," I answer, "I'm sorry I worried you. I couldn't sleep. You know how I get nightmares now. We both do. I could see that Peeta was up too, so I just came over." I pause and eat my food for a few minutes. My mother looks like she's struggling to phrase her next question, and I speak before she does. "Actually, I'm thinking I'll just sleep over here from now on."
Peeta hides his shock at my declaration admirably well. Still, I think Prim can tell it came out of the blue for him. My mother is oblivious, as she gulps down her mouthful of food like she was about to choke on it. But when she speaks, she's remarkably subdued. "Do you really think that's… appropriate?"
"I think it's the only way either of us can get a decent night's sleep," I say. And since I really don't want to have a long discussion about it, I toss in, "As coping mechanisms go, I'd rank it ahead of Haymitch's drinking."
My mother looks at me for almost a full minute. "Prim says you told her that all you did here last night was sleep."
I can't believe I'm having this conversation. And I can't believe I'm having this conversation in front of Peeta. And Prim! But I don't want to let my mother know I'm embarrassed. The whole point of this is to get her to see me as capable of making my own life decisions, not a timid little girl. So I try to remain casual. "Well, that's not all we did," I say. I can see her eyes widen before I continue. "We talked for a while, we ate, Peeta made rolls. But you're not asking about any of that, are you?"
She pauses for a moment, clearly choosing her words carefully. "Is sleeping all you plan to do in the future?"
Hopefully Peeta can continue his straight-faced routine for the rest of the meal. "No, not really."
I think Peeta's caught on to my strategy because he's having a far easier time not reacting to me now. Prim, on the other hand, is blushing furiously, and my mother looks like her eyes are about to bug out of her head. I finish my bite of food and continue. "I'm not saying anything's going to happen the second we finish cleaning the breakfast dishes or anything. We're not trying to rush into anything just for the sake of rushing it. But we're also not going to delay anything just for the sake of delaying it. If something happens, it happens."
"Don't you think you're a bit young for all of this?" my mother asks. She thinks I'm too young to have a relationship with Peeta, of course she thinks I'm too young to move in with him. But she doesn't have Effie and her army of Capitolites to enforce her whims anymore.
"Not anymore," I say, my implication clear.
My mother's still not buying it, though. "Just because you won the Hunger Games doesn't mean you're grown up," she says.
I sort of hate to do this to her, but I have to drive the point home. "I disagree. I think I'm plenty grown enough to start living my life." I pause for a moment but continue before she can interrupt. "Do you realize I've killed four people?" I can hear a little gasp from Prim, but I'm focused on my mother. "Four people are dead because I killed them. I dropped a tracker jacker nest on the Careers' campsite, waited for two of them to be stung so many times that they died, then went back and pried the weapons from their stiff, dead fingers. I shot a boy from District One whose name I don't even know, killed him as easily as I would a rabbit in the woods. With the bow I pried from the stiff, dead fingers of his district partner. Then I shot that boy Cato, I shot him and left him to be mutilated by a herd of mutts. I spent an entire night listening to his screams of agony and the sounds of his flesh being torn from his body, before I finally killed him as a mercy, because somehow after all of that he still wasn't dead. That's four people who are dead by my hand. Clearly I'm not too young to kill. How can you sit there and tell me I'm too young to love?"
My mother says nothing for a while. She looks like she's going to be sick. Hearing a short description of one tiny bit of the horror I've lived through is enough to make any sane person sick. Finally, in what I'm taking as a victory in this battle of wills, she asks, "Have you given any thought to… precautions?"
It's amusing to me how uncomfortable my mother seems when she asks this, considering she's a healer. "They gave us shots before the Games. Neither one of us is having kids for the next five years."
The table is quiet as we all return to eating. Finally my mother says, "Katniss, you know I only want what's best for you."
Where was this whole 'wanting what's best for me' attitude when I was eleven and starving? I want to ask her, but this isn't really the time to bring that up again. "I know that," I tell her instead. "And I appreciate that, I do. But I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm sorry for upsetting you before, but that was my life. And believe me, living it was much more upsetting. I know I'm only sixteen, but I have lived through things that only two other people in this District can even imagine. I've fought for my life, and not as a metaphor like fighting an illness or fighting starvation, but literally fighting against a trained killer bent on killing me. I've fought for my life, and I've fought for Peeta's life. I've watched people die by my hand. I watched a little girl die in my arms because I failed to protect her and she reminded me so much of Prim that it hurt to look at her. I watched a girl smile at me as she prepared to carve me up like a dead squirrel, then get her head crushed by a rock. And now, after all of that, I'm home, and I get to live, and I'm not going to put any part of my life on hold just because you think my age hasn't reached a high enough number."
No one says anything. I've probably gone too far, I know. Nobody can really understand the effect of the Games who wasn't in them. That's what I was just saying to Gale last night. But I at least need my mother to understand that she doesn't understand.
Whether she does or she doesn't, she seems to have given up on the argument, as we eat the rest of our meal in silence.
…..
"Marvel."
Mom and Prim have gone home. Even after they left, the tense atmosphere remained. I expected that Peeta would want to have some sort of discussion about my inviting myself to move into his house. I didn't think Peeta would reject the idea, exactly, but I still thought he wouldn't be thrilled about my announcing it to my mother without even discussing it with him first. I did regret springing it on him like that, it felt a little too close to how he ambushed me with his declaration of love in front of all of Panem. But somehow neither of us can find words to speak, and the heavy silence that had drowned the end of breakfast remains around us. Peeta and I have been silently cleaning up after breakfast for about ten minutes when, without even pausing what he's doing or looking up at me, he speaks this single word. I stare at him for a moment, almost too confused to form a response. "What?" I finally ask him.
Peeta looks up to stare out the window, but still doesn't look at me. "The boy from District One. The one who killed Rue. His name was Marvel."
"Oh." Of course Peeta would know this, he spent days with the Career pack. He might have known Marvel pretty well. Shared meals with him. Slept next to him. Traded watch shifts with him. Chatted around the campfire. Shared stories of home. Dreams of what they'd do if they won. Marvel was his ally in the arena before I was. It's a testament to how little we discuss the Games that I could still not know his name.
"What about the District Four girl?" I ask after a while.
"Tanyah," Peeta answers quietly.
Marvel and Tanyah. It had never occurred to me that I didn't even know the names of half of the people I killed in the arena. But now I do. Now I know the names of Marvel and Tanyah. What I don't know is if knowing their names makes me feel better, or worse.
…..
Katniss's relationship with her mother in this story is very interesting to me. I didn't plan at all for it to take the direction it did. Much like Gale I sometimes fear that I've reduced her to just another Everlark antagonist, or even worse the same misunderstanding parent figure that appears in nearly every story about teenagers. But when I took the description from Catching Fire of how she started taking care of Katniss after the Games, and added in the increased emotional maturity and independence that Katniss has in this AU, what I ended up with was this conflict.
On a more personal note, I really want to thank everybody for the support and appreciation this story has gotten so far. This story is kind of my baby, it's the first piece of HG fanfic I ever wrote, the first HG story I wanted to tell, so it's great to see so many people enjoying it. I just hope you don't all hate me when I get to the end of what I have written so far and update times become subject to the whims of me finding time to write! :)
Next chapter: Moving day! Complete with sexual objectification, more mother-daughter conflict, and cookies.
Preview quote from Chapter 4:
"Both of you stop talking about my ass!"
