I bet on losing dogs
I always want you when I'm finally fine
How you'd be over me looking in my eyes when I come.
I've hated being below ground for as long as I can remember. Our class trips to the mines left me nervous and sweaty, even before my father died. My time in Thirteen had been tainted by the fact that there'd been so many layers of thick concrete between me and the earth.
Now in the Capitol, where we are being forced to hide and navigate the underground tunnels like a group of disease-ridden rats. Being here in these tunnels is only driving me more and more to the brink of pure insanity.
My only solace during this time was my hidden mantra. To kill Snow. To watch him bleed and fade away slowly and painfully. For Rue, for Thresh, for Cinna, and Darius. For Peeta.
For how he has irrevocably and permanently changed my Peeta.
I was born to breathe the fresh air, to feel the earth on my feet. No wonder Pollux was reliving his trauma of being trapped here, I couldn't think of anything worse. The last day has been a truly hectic one, with Boggs, poor Boggs, having his legs blown clean off. And now Mitchell — having been shoved into a deadly pod by a hijacked, rabid Peeta.
Nobody seems to blame Peeta, and Finnick spent a good deal of time pleading his case, but I know that Peeta blames himself immensely, and as I think of this. Of how he is punishing himself, it reminds me of the old Peeta, the one who took every single death so personally. I still remember the terror on his face when I told him that Foxface washiskill.
I'm on my night watch, and I'm now forcing myself to eat some of the canned potato and bean stew. It's somehow both incredibly wet and oddly dry. I swallow chunk after chunk and imagine it's anything else. Pollux is one of my main concerns. I hate watching how much the tunnels affect him, he's been rocking himself for about five minutes now.
"Would you like to check out some stuff on the Holo with me?" I ask him, lightly tapping him on the shoulder so he will know that I'm talking to him. He opens his eyes, and the worry in them reminds me of myself. No doubt I have looked this feral several times in the past year.
I hold out the Holo, and he takes it. He seems to know how to work it at least a little bit better than me, and I ache to be able to talk to him about this, to have him explain to me how it all functions.
Jackson, the only other person who also probably knows how to work the Holo, is currently not speaking to me, she was clearly not happy with Boggs' decision to leave the crazy, revenge-driven seventeen-year-old in charge of their most valued navigation system.
To Pollux's credit, he shows me the best he can, and we discover more and more traps closer to the centre of the Capitol. It's all so overwhelming, how big these tunnels truly are — that I give up after ten minutes of doing this. I hand Pollux the device, leaving him to his mappings, glad that it seems to provide a decent enough distraction for him.
I lean against the damp wall and survey the crew, most of these people I barely know, and most of them will not make it out of these tunnels alive.
I can't help it, but my eyes are drawn almost instantly to Peeta. He's lying down on the wet floor, his head resting by my feet. I sneak a look at his raw wrists, if I could've let myself, I could rub them and soothe his pain. But I hold back, he doesn't love like that anymore, and that would be inappropriate.
He looks pained, his blonde brows furrowed. He's looking down at his wrists with concentration. A wave of concern fills me as I watch him, the ever-present need to protect him is still there, even after everything.
"Have you eaten?" I ask and watch as he snaps out of his stupor, bending his head to look at me.
He looks soft, his blue eyes sad again. And he shakes his head to indicate he hasn't. I presume he has been punishing himself too much to even consider his hunger.
I sigh and shake my head back, indicating to him my disapproval of this. I reach for a can of chicken and rice soup. I consider it for a moment before removing the lid myself. I don't fully trust this self-punishing Peeta not to take extreme actions with a sharp piece of metal.
I nudge him slightly with my foot and shake the can, and he sits up, his wrists still together. I watch him silently wince as they rub against the cuffs. I hand him the can and watch him practically chug it. I blame myself for not considering his hunger sooner.
As he eats, I think about Snow again, about all of the things he has taken and all of the people I will miss. A tall, red-headed boy with a cheeky smile and a ragged Peacekeeper uniform comes to mind.
"Peeta," I say and his gaze switches to me, putting down the empty tin on the floor.
"When you asked about what happened to Darius and Lavinia, and Boggs told you it was real, you said you thought so. Because there was nothing shiny about it… What did you mean?"
Peeta looks at me with some shock, clearly, he hadn't expected me to be so blunt. Or maybe he hadn't expected me to listen so attentively to his conversation.
"Oh. I don't know exactly how to explain it," he tells me, bending his head back down and digging his wrist slightly into the cuff. "In the beginning, everything was just complete confusion. Now I can sort certain things out. I think there's a pattern emerging."
He sighs and I know he aches to run his hands through his dishevelled curls, but as he strains his hands up in the cuffs, I can see that he knows he won't be able to reach.
"The memories they altered with the tracker jacker venom have this… strange quality about them. Like, like they're too intense or the images aren't stable." he continues, shutting his eyes to try and picture them.
"You remember what it was like when we were stung?" he asks, opening his eyes and meeting mine. They are less sad now, and more determined.
"Trees shattered. There were giant coloured butterflies. I feel in a pit of orange bubbles," I laugh emptily, fidgeting with my braid. "Shiny orange bubbles."
He laughs with me and meets my eyes again. "Right. But nothing about Darius or Lavina was like that. I don't think they'd given me any venom yet," he says with a shake of his head.
I nod and consider him for a moment, and wonder if he hates me for forcing him to talk about his worst memories, "Well, that's good isn't it? If you can separate the two, then you can figure out what's true."
He shakes his head again, a coy smirk on his face, "Yes, I guess. But if I could grow wings, I could fly. Only people can't grow wings," he says, his dry sarcasm returning after such a long time.
"Real or not real?" he asks, and I entertain him even though I know he knows the answer.
"Real," I say. "But people don't need wings to survive."
He nods and shifts, turning to face me. He looks suddenly severe as he gazes into my face. He's trying to solve me like a puzzle again.
"Mockingjays do." he says, picking up the soup can and handing it to me. Our hands brush and I feel what I've always felt with Peeta, that little spark of excitement whenever his skin brushes against mine.
My breath halters, and as I pick up the can I look into his eyes, the purple rings from lack of sleep remind me that he should be resting. "There's still time, you should sleep."
He doesn't agree, or argue but lies back down slowly. He's closer to my feet now, and I want to be able to lie down with him. For him to wrap those arms around me and tell me that it's all okay. That everything's going to be okay.
As I watch him watch me, I suddenly can't help myself, and I reach down slowly. Moving so gently, treating him like that wild, skittish animal again. I press my cold hand to his forehead, gently brushing back the stray curls that have fallen over his face. He freezes, closing his eyes for a moment and I stop my hand for a moment.
But he opens his eyes again, and they are unclouded and as blue as ever. I start to breathe easily again and move my hand gently. The endearment of thebabyrests just behind my lips, and I watch as Peeta's cheeks flush.
In a moment of pure weakness, my fingers brush from his forehead to his cheek, feeling his still soft skin that is tainted by some blonde stubble, and I smile as my fingers find his lips. I press my finger to the contours of his bottom lip, and he kisses my finger lightly.
As I pull away, my stomach flips and that wonderful feeling of fire igniting returns for the first time in forever. He opens his eyes and questions me.
"You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real?"
"Real," I say instantly, pausing before I finally say exactly what I'm thinking for once.
"Because that's what you and I do. Protect one another."
He nods and closes his eyes, and I sit back, pressing the finger he'd kissed to my lips, placing my kiss in its place.
.。• *。 。.。• *。 。.。
As I look out into the blue of the water that laps around the Cornucopia, and I think of my lake in District Twelve.
The lake was the closest thing I ever got to a beach like this. The grainy sand in the Arena is no match for the soft mossy banks and mud that line my lake in Twelve. As I look into what seems like endless miles of water, I think of how my lake could probably fit about ten times into the ocean that surrounds the Cornucopia.
I look to my right, studying Peeta's profile for a long moment. He's attentively watching the jungle behind us, and I know I should be watching the water ahead just in case any Careers intend to make their move, but I can't bring myself to tear away my gaze from his face.
He's sunburnt, and the few freckles that he has have sprung to life, tracing his jawline like delicate kisses from the sun. I know that on the other side of his face, there are the faint remains of the blisters from the gas, but as I look at him from this angle, I can just imagine that this is what he looks like after a sunny day at the lake.
We've never spoken about what we've done together. How we've made love on the train, in our rooms at the training centre and on the rooftop. But now I ache to be able to talk freely about it, to know what he thinks about it, and if he can feel those same sparks that I do.
Our hips are pressed against each other, the damp sticky suits we are wearing rub together and just the feeling of this familiar pressure of his body on mine soothes me.
As I watch Peeta, a small smile appears on his face, and he turns to me, his eyes squinting slightly due to the low sun that frames the sky of the Arena. For once, I don't tear my gaze away from him, instead, I mirror his shy smile with my own.
He looks pleased with this, and the sight is so warming that I can't help myself as I lean my head on his shoulder, indulgently breathing in the salty scent of his skin.
Even though the Arena is the last place I will ever be alive, I can't entirely hate it. The presence of the Capitol and all of the cameras allows me to touch Peeta freely. There is a certain amount of freedom in kissing and accepting Peeta's kisses. And this time around, it doesn't feel so fake.
As Peeta grasps my hands, intertwining his fingers with mine, I sigh into his shoulder, gently kissing the skin that the wetsuit doesn't cover. He shivers slightly, and I close my eyes and think of what he looks like when he comes, the way his eyes roll back, the way his mouth parts slowly.
I feel my core throb at these thoughts, feeling so suddenly ashamed of thinking of such things when I'm on the verge of death. When my only thoughts should be on protecting Peeta, not making love to him.
"Katniss," Peeta whispers softly, his voice thick and deep. It reminds me immediately of how he sounds at night, how he sounds when his head is between my thighs.
"It's no use pretending we don't know what the other one is trying to do."
I tense, and breathe out slowly, raising my head to look up at him. His hair has gone spectacularly blonde in the sun, his curls slightly sweaty with perspiration. I sigh and think of the cameras. Oh, how I wish for even a moment alone with Peeta without the blasted cameras. And I just know that this will be a scene that the entirety of Panem will be tuned into.
I look desperately into Peeta's eyes, and he continues, "I don't know what kind of deal you think you've made with Haymitch, but you should know he made me promises as well."
I know this, and he knows I know this, and I curse Haymitch and pray that he keeps my promise. Because I am ready to die so that Peeta can live. I have prepared myself for this inevitably.
He sighs, and drags his free hand through those sun-bleached curls, "So, I think we can assume he was lying to one of us."
"Why are you saying this now?" I ask him, and I grip his hand tighter, worried that he's going to let it go.
"Because I don't want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die and I live, there's no life for me at all back in District 'remy whole life," he says, sealing these words with another kiss atop my head, and my heart pangs as I try and remember every detail of his face.
"I would never be happy again," he finalises as he pulls his lips from my head. "It's different for you. I'm not saying it wouldn't be hard. But there are other people who'd make your life worth living."
I open my mouth to protest as Peeta lets go of my hand, reaching to take his necklace, his gold token from his neck. I let my mouth close as I watched him hold out the necklace, his thumb stroking the Mockingjay symbol engraved on the gold. I think he's reminding me of my duty to the people of Panem, and I want to sneer.
But I see just how wrong I was as his thumb finds a small latch, and he pops open the necklace, I feel like an idiot before for not knowing that it was a locket.
He places the locket carefully in my hands and my thumbs graze the pictures. On one side is my mother and Prim, a rare photo that I captured one day on my father's old camera. And on the other Gale, my pretend cousin. The picture is also one I took, and Gale is smiling softly.
My chest constricts, and I blame myself for thinking that Peeta would ever go along with my plan, for thinking that Peeta. Kind, generous, loving Peeta, would never not sacrifice himself for one second.
"Your family needs you, Katniss," Peeta says, and the small mournful smile on his face is what makes me tear up.
He taps the photo of Gale one last time, and I know exactly what he is trying to say. Pick Gale, marry Gale. He can be your family, your future one day. I imagine my life, sharing my life with Gale and all of his fury, but it doesn't feel right.
"No one really needs me," Peeta says, and there is no self-pity in his voice. No indication of any bitterness, and I know that Peeta means this — which is what makes it hurt all the more.
I try to imagine my life without Peeta, without him a couple of houses down from mine. I try to picture returning home without him. I imagine living in Victor's Village without him.
A life without Peeta is one without laughter, without cheese buns and paintings. Without safety and solace.
Nobody else knows me as well as he does, I realise.
I watch him as he watches me, how could he think like this? How dare he think that nobody needs him? I need him. I need his arms and his kisses and everything else. I need him to make fun of Haymitch with me. I need him to give my little sister flowers he's picked from his garden. I need his bread, and his warmth, and his kindness.
I realise how broken I will be if I live without Peeta, and I need him to know this.
"I do," I say with a sudden seriousness, "I need you."
Peeta sighs and looks down at the sand, his eyes are welling with tears and I reach out and brush a curl from his face.
"I need you Peeta, more than you could ever know. And I'm sorry I've never said that before," I add, unable to keep myself from doing so. He needs to know before he does something ridiculous like sacrificing himself for me.
The look in his eyes is unlike anything I've seen before as he looks up at me. The blue of them has darkened slightly, and as my hand cups his check, he raises his own hand and places it over mine, sighing as he closes his eyes and leans against my touch.
"I love you Katniss. Please let me do this," he begs, opening his eyes. Love. That's what I see tucked away in his blue iris'.
I have no idea how to reply, I wish that I could express myself as easily as Peeta does, but all I can do is just lean forward and capture my lips with his. I want to show him with my kiss how much I truly care for him.
In last year's Games, the kisses I gave Peeta had been shy and close-mouthed, merely just a duty I was fulfilling to survive. But now, as Peeta sighs against my lips, and his big hands find their way into my hair, undoing my braid to allow my dark hair to cascade down my back, I know that this is different.
Some part of me knows that my mother and Prim must be watching and that I have to rein myself in. But another part of me wants this, I've missed our nights together, tangled up between Capitol bedsheets.
I deepen the kiss almost instantly, my tongue winding around Peetas with practice and precision. He groans softly against my lips, and I can't stop my hands from tugging at his hair, the curls are still so delightfully soft.
I try to compare the way I feel with Peeta with anything else, but I fall short. Nobody has made me feel this way before, no kiss has ever compared. Gale's kiss in the woods was short, but nothing compared to Peeta's. He had demanded a kiss from me, whereas Peeta always allowed me to take the lead, and I always showed him with my tongue where exactly I wanted him to be.
"Katniss," Peeta groans against my lips, and I pull away, just enough so that I can rest my forehead on his. I'm shamefully wet, and the familiar throb of arousal has reared its unwelcome head again.
I gasp as his hands skim my sides, running his fingers up and down the sensitive skin. I can see out of the corner of my eye that he's hard, and I'm glad that he's positioned himself so that I'm the only one who can see.
"If we were alone, I would take you in my mouth," I whisper in his ear, quiet enough that nobody, including those fucking cameras, can hear me.
"Kat…" Peeta sighs, and I watch him twitch under the thin fabric of his wetsuit.
"I wouldn't let you come though, you could only do that once you're inside me," I continue, the cloud of arousal is making me dizzy. This is crazy, what I'm doing is insane.
"Katniss you're going to kill me," Peeta whines as I lick the shell of his ear, unable to stop myself.
"You make me so hard Katniss," Peeta whispers back, his hands gripping my waist possessively as I pull my mouth away from his ear. I grin and kiss his lips innocently, my hands thrown around his neck.
We spend some more time kissing, and Peeta's hands keep roaming across my back. We both ache for him to be able to grasp my breasts. I moan as I push my hard nipples into his chest. I've somehow ended up in his lap, my hands back in his hair as he kisses me.
Without warning, the crack of the lightning storm stops our wandering hands. We both jump as we watch the bolt hit the tree, and I jerk out of Peeta's lap suddenly. He shifts uncomfortably in the sand as he tries to hide his erection, and I am thankful that my own hunger is not as visible as Peeta's.
The lightning wakes Finnick up from his fitful sleep, and he jolts awake with a sharp gasp. Peeta slowly removes his hands from me as Finnick gets up and approaches us.
"I can't sleep anymore," he says, his nose scrunched as he watches the water. "One of you should rest."
My hands are still gripping Peeta's neck, and Finnick notices this with a small victorious grin. "Or both of you. I can watch alone."
I wish for the luxury of being able to sleep in Peeta's arms, but I know that he will not accept this. "It's too dangerous," Peeta insists, and I let go of him, snapping out of the dreamlike state the arousal has taken me to.
"I'm not tired. You lie down Katniss," Peeta says, sitting up stiffly on his prosthetic and grabbing my hand, leading me over to the area where the others are sleeping.
He has the locket in his hand and he wraps it around my neck, patting it down with a determined look. A look that tells me that he hasn't changed his mind.
I sit down on the makeshift bed and watch as Peeta hovers over me, planting a kiss on my hair and placing a hand on my stomach. I remember then that I'm supposed to be pregnant, and I try to make my face react as he does this.
"You're going to make a great mother, you know," he says and he kisses me. I watch him walk back over and sit with Finnick. And I allow myself to dream of a place where there are no Games, where I can tell Peeta that I love him.
A place where his baby can grow and love and learn without fear.
.。• *。 。.。• *。 。.。
The crowds cheer. The sounds of their screaming remind me of being in a fire chariot, of grasping onto Peeta's hand and holding on for dear life. However, the crowds don't cheer for me anymore, they cheer for my bow. They cheer for Snow's death.
I'm numb as I walk the path, my Mockingjay outfit is loose on my skinny frame. My body is woefully out of practice. Prim has been dead for weeks, and I feel like a part of me has died alongside her.
I reach the mark on the ground that indicates where I am supposed to stand, and I receive another cheer as I reach into my quiver and retrieve the single arrow that rests there.
My grip on the arrow loosens as they bring out the former President Snow, and the voices shriek and wail as he's tied to a post. His frail, old body is manoeuvred roughly by the guards, and I stand and observe him for a moment. How could a man so small cause so much pain and suffering?
He's a mere ten yards away from me, and Coin speaks on the platform above, her hair is shiny, and her uniform is pressed neatly. I feel ill as I reminisce on Snow's words to me earlier.
"Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other."
Bile rises in my throat as I secure the arrow. I've done this exact motion so many times that my arms are carried by pure muscle memory. My eyes are sharp as I stare defiantly into the President's eyes, the dried blood around his mouth frames his smirking lips. He knows.
He always knows, and I have no ideahowexactly he knows what I plan to do. I think of my mission ever since I lost Peeta in the Quell. Kill Snow, take back the pain.
As I stretch the bow, I feel the skin grafts from my burns stretch unnaturally on my shoulders, the permanent reminders of the fire that took away Prim. That turned me into this Fire Mutt.
Snow laughs, and I wish I could hear it, but the cheers and excited roars of the crowd overpower it.
I stretch further and shift my arrow upwards, to the direct path to President Coin's heart, and I release the string. I blink and the arrow is lodged into her skin, and she collapses from the platform, lifeless and dead.
I breathe out for the first time in seventeen years.
Snow's laughter reaches my ears then, it's loud and crackly and I stand stunned as spurts of blood escape his mouth. The crowds stream into the area, blocking the bloody President from my view and leaving me with the harsh reality of what I've just done.
I breathe shakily and mentally check off step one of my plan. Grey uniformed guards approach me and I think of what's to come. Trials and executions, the sight of my mother, alone without me or Prim.
I see the guards getting closer and I drop my bow, determined to make the second part of my plan come to fruition.
"Good night," I whisper into the screams, and I suddenly wish that there was someone around to hear me.
I raise my left arm, determined to rip that little pill of death from my sleeve. I won't even know I'm gone before it passes my lips. I won't know any more pain or love or loss. Only nothing.
As my mouth travels to the pill I am startled to find that my teeth sink into soft flesh. I throw my head back and my eyes meet blue. So impossibly blue.
Peeta looks betrayed, and his hand, which is bloody from my mark — is firmly positioned over the night lock pill. Unmoving.
"Let me go!" I snarl, attempting to wrestle from out of his grasp, but Peeta is strong. He always has been, and not just physically.
"I can't," he says desperately, securing his fingers even tighter against me. I thrash and scream until the guards come over and take me away.
Peeta and I watch as the little violet pill flies free from my pocket, getting crushed underneath the boot of one of the grey guards. I'm suddenly quiet as I watch the powder dissipate, and watch the relief fill Peeta's eyes.
I can't.
It rings over and over again in my ears. I never even considered Peeta. He surely would've been better off without me. He doesn't need me anymore. He doesn't love me as he once did.
As I thrash and kick and bite I realise I am being sedated by a large needle. As the world fades to black I am overcome with memories of blue eyes and dead children. Of fire and my little sister's last word.
Katniss…
…
"Katniss?"
I'm awake. Drenched in sweat and kicking off cotton bedsheets.
"Katniss, it was just a nightmare, it's okay. You're okay," Peeta soothes, and his arms are around me again, his fingers smoothing my drenched brow. We're in our bed, and once I realise this I calm down. I stop thrashing and I stop biting.
"S-sorry," I say, my throat is scratchy from screaming. Peeta shushes my apologies, and I lean against his chest, revelling in the bare skin that meets my cheek. He's only just allowed himself to sleep shirtless, and every time I remember it my cheeks heat wonderfully.
"Which one was it?" He asks, his hands curl around my sides, his thumb running over the burn on my arm.
"Coin's assassination," I answer, shuddering as I remember my dream of reliving that cursed day. The day when I finally ended the Hunger Games. It has been over four years since that day yet it is still as fresh in my memory as ever.
Peeta kisses the top of my head and hums in response. My heart is still thumping, I can practically feel the taste of his blood on my tongue from where I bit him that day.
I grasp his hand and hold it in front of me. Peeta's hands are so much bigger than mine, his long fingers are now used to hold mine. He lets me skim the callouses from years of baking. He lets me trace the burns that roughen his skin.
"I never thanked you," I whisper, kissing his fingers one by one. "For saving me that day."
Peeta's hand stills, and he turns, his eyes meeting mine.
"That's what we do, Kat. We protect each other," he answers, leaning forward and capturing his lips with mine.
Our comfort within each other had been hard fought. After that day, the one that repeats in my dreams and haunts my sleep. I was shipped to District Twelve and left to rot. And that I did, for months I rotted as Greasy Sae watched over me, and then one day Peeta was there.
Peeta had come back and had planted a garden.
I didn't know what to say to him for weeks, but I let Greasy Sae brush and untangle my hair. Let her cut my feral nails and bathe me.
Every morning Peeta would arrive with bread, and every morning I would stare at him, until one morning I spoke, and once I did, I never wanted to stop.
Years later we still have nightmares. Peeta's episodes are few and far between, and I try my best not to lose myself in the madness.
One day, a simple normal day; we were sitting in the back room of the rebuilt bakery, and I looked at Peeta, and I knew. The boy who tasted like sunsets and looked like home had never disappeared, he had always been there, and he had always loved me.
So I kissed him. Deep and long.
The next night when we had tentatively made love for the first time since before the Quell, he asked. "You love me. Real or not real?"
I didn't even hesitate as I answered, "Real."
Now, as we lie together in our bed, in our house. I relish the fact that he can hold me on nights like these.
"I couldn't let you die that day, not after everything," Peeta continued once our lips pulled apart.
I leaned my forehead on his and inhaled deeply, somehow expecting to smell blood or roses or the smoke from the fire. Instead, I smelt cinnamon and dill, and the sunset.
"Thank you."
I kiss Peeta once again, and my fingers wind around the back of his head and into his curls. I know him inside and out. I know that he's going to groan and buck his hips as I kiss down his neck. I know that he's going to come in my mouth when he grips my hair and rolls his eyes back.
I know that every night, without fail — he will let me take his prosthesis off, he will let me undo the latches and kiss the stump left behind. I know that the first thing he will do when he wakes up is kiss me.
Most importantly, I know that when he's ready, and when he asks me to be his wife. When he asks me to toast with him, I know I will sayyes.
Because I was wrong, I didn't bet on the wrong dog. I bet on the man who will love me and plant me a garden when I'm upset.
I bet on Peeta Mellark, the boy with the scars that match mine but a smile that dazzles me every single time I look at it.
I bet on the love of my life.
I'll be there on their side
I'm losing by their side..
Will you let me, baby, lose
On losing dogs…