Chapter Text
The syringe feels cool against my skin, hidden in the bandage on my arm.
My body is exhausted, the toll of the arena having set in after one too many injuries, tipping the scale so that pain wins out over adrenaline.
I wish I could just curl up and die, but there is no time for rest.
I have to find Peeta.
I have to get to him before Snow does.
I can’t let them take him back to the Capitol alive.
I hear voices behind a door. Familiar voices. It is slightly ajar.
“Communications are down in Seven, Ten, and Twelve. But Eleven has control of transportation now, so there's at least a hope of them getting some food out.”
Plutarch Heavensbee. I think. Although I've only really spoken with him once. A hoarse voice asks a question.
“No, I'm sorry. There's no way I can get you to Four. But I've given special orders for her retrieval if possible. It's the best I can do, Finnick.”
Finnick. My mind struggles to make sense of the conversation, of the fact that it's taking place between Plutarch Heavensbee and Finnick. Is he so near and dear to the Capitol that he'll be excused of his crimes? Or did he really have no idea what Beetee intended? He croaks out something else. Something heavy with despair.
But then something else happens. Something that makes my mind boggle.
“We’ll figure something out Finnick.” I hear HIS voice.
Peeta!
For one startling second I’m deliriously happy he’s alive and sounds relatively unharmed. But that’s where my understanding stops.
And I’m barreling forward to confirm with my own eyes what my ears told me seconds before.
That Peeta is alive. Even though I can’t for the life of me fathom what Peeta is doing talking with the Head Gamemaker and Finnick, I don’t have it in me to care at this moment. All I want is to see him and touch him and press my ear to his chest to make sure his heart is beating.
And then if I have to, I’ll stop it myself.
To save him from whatever cruel fate Snow has in store for him.
“Don't be stupid Finnick-” says Haymitch.
Says Haymitch!
As I bang through the door and stumble into the room. Haymitch, Plutarch, a very beat-up Finnick, and an exhausted looking Peeta sit around a table laid with a meal no one is eating. Daylight streams in the curved windows, and in the distance I see the top of a forest of trees. We are flying.
“Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?” says Haymitch, the annoyance clear in his voice. But he is inconsequential.
My gaze snaps to Peeta and those familiar blue eyes lock on mine.
Mine. I think. Mine to protect. Mine to save.
But as I careen forward Haymitch steps up and catches my wrists, steadying me. He looks at my hand. “So it's you and a syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans.” I stare at him uncomprehendingly. “Drop it.”
“No!” I scream, eyes flicking around the room to wildly search for peacekeepers who will surely be on their way.
I feel the pressure increase on my right wrist until my hand is forced to open and I release the syringe.
“That’s enough!” Peeta yells, standing up and pushing Haymitch away from me like he weighs nothing.
Our mentor stumbles, swears, but I hardly spare him a thought.
Because Peeta’s arms are around me. His steady, strong arms. I cling to him, my arms and hands, legs, my whole body gripping him as tightly as I can.
I don’t ever want to let go.
“It's ok Katniss. They got us out. The both of us. We’re safe.” Peeta says in a soothing voice as he pets my hair.
I have no idea what he means. Safe? How is that possible?
But then Peeta says they'll explain it to me.
I realize I’m shaking, badly, as Peeta tries to settle me in a chair next to Finnick.
But I refuse. I won’t be parted from him, and he gives up, letting me perch in his lap as a compromise.
Haymitch rolls his eyes at the both of us.
Finnick glances at me once, a pained look in his eyes, and then he lowers his gaze to his lap.
Plutarch puts a bowl of broth in front of me. A roll. Slips a spoon into my hand. “Eat,” he says in a much kinder voice than Haymitch used.
Haymitch sits directly in front of me. “Katniss, I'm going to explain what happened. I don't want you to ask any questions until I'm through. Do you understand?”
I nod my head obediently.
But my attention keeps wandering back to Peeta.
My eyes keep roving over his arms, his shoulders, his chest and face. I can’t quite believe he’s real.
He seems a little surprised by my attention. But soon his hands are gripping me as tightly as mine are gripping him. Like he can’t bring himself to let me go. He blushes when Haymitch tells me to ‘pay attention and stop petting the boy. There are no cameras here.’ I make an obscene gesture at him with one of my fingers.
“There’ll be time for all of that later.” Haymitch promises, amusement in his eyes.
But all I can think is how every moment I have with Peeta now, is like a gift.
I was supposed to die for him. He was going to die trying to protect me.
And now we’re both here and alive.
And apparently there’s a rebellion, and District 13 is real, and they want me, us, to be their rallying cry.
I don’t know what to think and I’m so overwhelmed by the time they are done trying to explain it to me that I just sit there speechless.
“She needs some time to process this.” Peeta says, ever perceptive about me.
Haymitch grunts and stands up from the table.
Finnick just slips out of the room without a word.
Plutarch blusters, wanting to get a definite answer as to our taking up the roles of being the faces of the rebellion. Haymitch drags him away so Peeta and I can ‘talk’. He puts the word in quotation marks and shoots us some kind of look before he leaves.
I close my eyes and slump against Peeta’s chest.
He hugs me to him.
“Are you ok?”
“I’m just tired.” I reply, sighing and snuggling deeper into his embrace until my nose is pressed into the crook of his neck.
He smells like blood, sweat, and Peeta.
“It’s really going to be ok, Katniss. Haymitch says 13 is willing to help us, to fight with us.” Peeta murmurs as he presses his lips into my hair.
“I don’t care about any of that right now. I’m just glad you’re alive.” I reply honestly.
He leans back then, and tilts my head gently so that he can look into my eyes.
“Yeah?” He asks, and there’s that thread of confusion in his voice again, and a tiny glint of disbelief in his eyes. There’s also a question.
And I remember what Haymitch said. About there not being any cameras here.
I know what Peeta’s thinking.
But after the beach, there’s no more question for me.
I never wanted this. I never expected it. We both know I fought like hell to avoid it.
But it happened anyway.
I reach out gently and cup his cheek, the same one the morphling painted before she died.
I think of all the odds we had to defy to make it to this moment. For us to have made it this far. The both of us.
And I decide it's time to stop running.
Slowly, cautiously, I tilt up while at the same time guiding Peeta’s face down.
Our lips meet in the briefest of kisses. Just brush really.
But it is enough.
I can see it in his eyes. Amazement. Joy. Relief. Hunger. All of them combine to make his face break out into a beautiful smile.
Now he knows that what I feel for him is real.