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Katniss
Boggs is still broadcasting his displeasure as we make our way through the corridors in the detention center. The two-level building is situated only a few blocks from the City Circle and is not at all like I’d feared. The hallways are surprisingly bright, the overhead lights reflecting off the white walls and floors near to the point of being painful. It smells as sanitized as a hospital even though it’s impossible to expect that anything healing ever happens in this place. Behind the regularly spaced doors, Peacekeepers torture, main and kill people on Snow’s orders.
And Peeta’s locked in one of those cells.
The detention center’s also not as highly guarded as I’d expected it to be. The Capitol relies far too much on its technology and since the Rebellion has people who can overcome that technology, it took very little effort to get us into the building. However, you don’t have to be a hunter to know that walking into a trap is always so much easier than getting out. Despite the fact that I don’t trust Coin, I know that she wouldn’t risk Boggs or any of her Capitol spies on a mission that she didn’t think would succeed. Convincing her to risk the Mockingjay was difficult enough and I’m ultimately far more expendable than any of District Thirteen’s highly trained soldiers.
It was Haymitch who’d convinced Coin to let me go, reminding her that having the Mockingjay be a part of her lover’s rescue would make for an excellent propos than the simple knowledge that District Twelve’s Victors had been reunited. That had been enough to send the cogs spinning in Plutarch’s production-oriented mind and I’d been allowed to board the hovercraft bound for the Capitol.
I was meant to stay on board the craft, but knowing that I was so close to Peeta after so long, I simply couldn’t. While I may have been showing signs of stress back in District Thirteen, I wasn’t some weak-willed girl. I’d survived the Games twice and had been providing for my family since I was eleven years old. So when my arguments failed to sway Boggs, I outright told him that I was going. Boggs had tried to get Gale to convince me to stay on the hovercraft, but I didn’t listen to him anymore than I had Boggs. In the end, since we were short on time, he’d conceded. I’m fully aware that there’s going to be hell to pay later, but right now it doesn’t matter.
I want Peeta back. Safe and with me.
Since I don’t want to alienate him completely, I stay in the center of our advancing formation as Boggs instructs, bowstring held taut between my fingers. Since the hovercraft will return in less than half an hour, we’re moving quickly, following the Holo Boggs holds aloft. I don’t know where District Thirteen got the information and, for the most part, I don’t really care so long as it’s accurate. All I know for sure is what the glowing red dots represent. Three smaller ones for Annie, Johanna and Enobaria and a single larger one for Peeta.
Coin had ranked Peeta’s importance in the rescue for her own political reasons. It doesn’t matter to me what Peeta’s rescue would symbolize to the rest of Panem—Capitol and Rebellion alike—I just want Peeta back because he’s Peeta. Because I love him. Because he shouldn’t be forced to suffer because of me.
Boggs’ fist in the air brings us all to a stop at the mouth of two intersecting corridors. From what I can see of the Holo, Peeta’s cell is to the right while the remaining Victors are to the left. There’s no doubt in my mind which way I’m going. I can feel Gale’s eyes on me from a few feet back, but I ignore him completely. I can’t afford to worry about Gale, not when Peeta’s been suffering so much because of what I started when I held out those horrible berries.
I can still see those splatters of blood that stained the stage every time I close my eyes. Still hear the pained grunts they forced from Peeta as the Peacekeepers kicked and beat him. And it terrifies me that I don’t know what’s happened to him in the time between the broadcast feed going dark and this very moment.
I don’t even wait for Boggs to indicate which direction I’m meant to go in before I join the group on the right side of the corridor. There’s no possible way I could even attempt to go the other way if I tried. My feet simply won’t allow me to move further away from Peeta now that he’s so close.
Boggs’ fist becomes three upraised fingers.
Then two.
One.
My fingers clench on the arch of the bow as I dart forward around the corner behind Boggs and the rest. We’re less than a minute from Peeta’s cell—seconds really with the pace Boggs has been setting.
What I’d said to Caesar Flickerman that long ago day after our first Games holds so much more truth now. And while I know I won’t be ale to lock him away from the horrors of the war indefinitely, I can at least not let him out of my sight for a very long time. Not until I’m sure that he won’t be snatched away if I turn my head. I don’t care if reducing my role as the Mockingjay will infuriate Coin. Peeta and I have both done enough for a rebellion that we were signed up for before anyone actually asked us what we wanted.
Unsurprisingly, the door that Peeta’s locked behind is under guard. Two burly Peacekeepers stand on either side of the heavy steel door, riffles held at the ready. I get only a brief glimpse of this before Boggs shoots the one standing on the left. An arrow pierces the neck of the second one a moment later. The look of confusion is still on his face as he slides to the ground.
Klaxon alarms start going off in the direction of the other set of cells. We move quickly, hopeful that the others will do what they can to salvage their end of the mission. As much as I want to see Annie back with Finnick, I know there’s nothing any of us can do for them right now except hope that as many of them make it back to the rooftop as possible.
Over the sound of the alarm I can vaguely make out stomping footsteps headed in our direction while I wait impatiently for Boggs to fit a small device over the locking mechanism on the door. The small click the lock makes as it’s deactivated is almost anti-climactic.
Almost.
Shoving the soldiers aside, I force the door open and burst into the room.
“Peeta,” I moan, my bow falling from my suddenly nerveless fingers to clatter onto the floor.
My shock lasts for only half a moment before I hurry across the dimly lit room to where Peeta’s huddled into the far corner. I drop to my knees when I’m still a few feet away, sliding the rest of the distance until I’m close enough to touch him. Only I don’t. I can’t. Between the blood, bruises and burns that carve such terrible patterns into his skin, I’m not sure where I can actually touch Peeta without the risk of hurting him further.
“Peeta.” His name comes out more like a sob this time as I carefully brush his too-long hair away from his eyes.
Even that gentle touch causes him to flinch and I instantly draw my hand back in case I’ve managed to hurt him further. Only I don’t think I have. His eyelids are fluttering as though he’s only just becoming aware of what’s going on around him. Peeta’s gaze appears hazy as he glances towards the dark corners of the room, searching out any possible threat before they land on me. The almost glazed expression shifts to confusion and before I can even think to say or do anything to comfort him I’m being yanked away.
“What—no! Peeta!” I shout as I’m hauled back into the corridor.
The only reason I don’t fight is because I recognize the familiar drab District Thirteen uniforms. Peeta doesn’t and begins struggling as they lift him off the ground.
“We don’t have time for this,” Boggs hisses as he shoves my bow back into my hands.
Glaring at him, I shake off the hands gripping my upper arms and rush back to Peeta. He’s screaming and writhing, twisting against the hands that are steering him towards the door. Peeta’s eyes are wild as he fights, slowing their progress.
“Peeta!”
His attention snaps forward as I gently place a hand on his cheek. All of the fight drains out of him then and he sags between the two soldiers holding him upright.
“Katniss.”
My name sounds like it’s been wrenched from somewhere deep inside him and he struggles towards me. One of the soldiers releases his arm and then Peeta surges forward, hugging me tight against his chest.
“Shhhh.... It’s okay, Peeta,” I whisper into his ear as he moans unintelligible things against my neck. In the background, I’m dimly aware that the gunfire’s gotten closer. “Come on, Peeta, we have to go.”
It takes two of us to support Peeta as we slowly make our way back towards the staircase. His arm is looped over my shoulder, his fingers clawing between the plates in my armor. He’s panting, his footsteps stumbling as we hurry towards the roof access. Every time that he lurches forward I want to throw my bow away or hand it off to someone else so that I can wrap both arms around him, but the others are all too busy defending us and I won’t throw away Beetee’s work of art.
Peeta’s head drops down onto my shoulder when we stop at a corner. I turn my head and press my face into his hair, taking those few moments just to be close to him. His breath hitches momentarily and he turns his head, his bleary eyes searching out mine.
“Hey,” I whisper, unable to prevent my lips from curling up into a smile.
“Hey,” he whispers back, dropping his forehead against mine as his eyes fall shut.
I want to run my fingers through his hair, touch his cheek and his neck, but with one hand holding my bow and the other supporting Peeta around his waist, I can’t.
We’re already on the ground before I register the soldier on Peeta’s other side shouting for us to get down. I twist us around, putting Peeta between the wall and me. Cinna’s armor will protect me, but Peeta would be far too vulnerable in his worn undershirt and drawstring pants. Peeta begins to tremble as the return gunfire gets closer, his fingers scrabbling at my hips, arms and shoulders. I wrap myself around him, one arm around his waist and the other around his shoulders. My face is pressed into the side of his neck where the smell of fear and pain and hopelessness is almost overwhelming.
I barely manage not to flinch when I hear a bullet slam into the wall far too close to our heads, but Peeta cringes. He also brings his hands up to cover my head. It won’t be any type of protection against bullets, but I touch my lips to his neck to show I appreciate the gesture.
“Move!”
Peeta tries, but he still needs help from me and one of the soldiers to get back up. His left leg is dragging, his strained muscles having difficulty lifting his Capitol-designed prosthetic leg. When I glance over at him, I can see the sheen of sweat that’s broken out along his hairline. The rest of his skin looks damp and clammy. We haven’t gone very far, but after so many weeks of imprisonment, he’s nearly reached the end of his stamina. I tighten my grip at his waist, refusing to let him fall. We’re so close now. Only a few more minutes and we’ll be on the hovercraft heading back to District Thirteen.
It’s not until we’re actually at the entrance to the roof access that I realize the predicament it will create. The only way up to a roof is a narrow ten-step staircase that’s just wide enough for a single person. While the rest of us will be able to fly up those stairs, Peeta’s barely able to stand up without support. He’s stubborn, though, and tenacious. Between the two of us we’ll get him up those stairs even if it takes us longer than Boggs would like.
“You can do this,” I whisper into the shell of Peeta’s ear when it’s his turn to go up. I’m right behind him with my arm wrapped around his waist. “It’s just ten steps.”
Ten steps that it seems to take a lifetime to climb. There’s no railing for him to grab onto, so Peeta leans forward and half-crawls, half-climbs the stairs. His entire body trembles with the effort of it all, the muscles in his arms and back standing out in sharp relief, but he doesn’t stop. He simply keeps going upwards while I stumble behind him, the hand holding my bow braced against the wall and my other hand flat against Peeta’s stomach. I’m trying to provide as much forward momentum as possible while at the same time attempting not to trip over his legs.
The sudden blast of fresh air as we reach the stop of the stairs is a welcome relief even as the world has gone dark now that we’re no longer in those brightly lit hallways. To our left is the open hatchway of our hovercraft, probably no more than thirty feet away. I haul both myself and Peeta up with help from the soldier who emerges from the stairs after me. There’s still gunfire going off behind us and just beyond our hovercraft I can see the vague outline of a second Capitol hovercraft heading towards the detention center.
The gangway rattles and shakes as we rush up the incline. Once we’re surrounded by the solid body of the hovercraft, I start to feel like I can breathe again. I drop my bow and gather Peeta up in my arms, holding him so close that nearly every bit of us is touching from our knees to our foreheads. We stand there for only a few seconds before whatever force was keeping Peeta going deserts him and we begin to crumple to the floor. I hear someone shout for the medic as I carefully guide Peeta down, cradling his upper body against my chest.
“You’re safe now. It’s over. You’re safe,” I whisper against his forehead before leaning down to catch his eyes. Peeta’s blue eyes are brighter than normal, filmed by a glassy sheen of tears. I manage to find his lips, chapped and dry, without looking away from those too blue eyes.
That fire that had burned deep within me when we’d share those desperate last kisses on the beach in the Arena flares up again. There’s an ache to it this time that I can’t even begin to figure out.
“You came,” Peeta breathes against my lips.
I smile and kiss him again, my lips catching the corner of his mouth. “Always.”
Gale
We’ve been in the air for just over an hour now, but it was a very close thing. Our hovercraft took a few hits from the Capitol one during our retreat from the detention center. Luckily, they were all mostly superficial blows and nowhere near as damaging as the ones we managed to inflict on the Capitol’s ship. We won’t be going as fast on the return trip, but at least we’ll get back to District Thirteen. All of us. A few soldiers were hit during the firefight in the detention center and while some will be laid up for a few days, no one was severely injured. Peeta and Johanna are in the worst shape, but that’s what we’d expected. Given what I know of Johanna Mason from watching the Games and listening to Finnick and Katniss, I’m sure she wasn’t a model captive. But at least she’s alive. We don’t know what happened to Enobaria. According to the other team, her cell was empty and opening it is what actually set the alarm off.
“How’s loverboy doing?
I glance over at Jackson as she sits down next to me. She has a bandage taped to her right cheek and one wrapped around the same bicep.
Katniss and Peeta are across from us. From what I’d overheard when one of the other soldiers was patching up the gash on my left hand, none of Peeta’s injuries are too serious. There are a lot of them, though. Just about every inch of him that’s visible has some type of burn or scrape. The medics even had to remove his prosthetic leg because the skin around the seam was so enflamed and swollen. To his credit, though, Peeta has yet to voice even one complaint. Except when the medics tried to separate him and Katniss.
“He’s quiet now,” I tell her, looking briefly at our Mockingjay and her rescued lover. “Still awake, too.”
Peeta hasn’t taken his eyes off Katniss since the medics brought her back when he started to freak out. At least not that I’ve seen. He’s laid out on a bench seat, covered with a thin blanket. Katniss is on the floor next to him, curled as close to him as she can get. Peeta’s fingers are threaded through the ones on her right hand while she lightly strokes his face and brushes his hair back with her right. She’d stripped out of her suit, leaving her in just a small pair of shorts and an undershirt. The hovercraft’s a bit on the cool side, but she doesn’t seem to notice. All of her attention is on Peeta and has been since we first left District Thirteen.
“That’s better than the other two. Boggs had the medics sedate both of them, they were making so much noise.”
I shrug, unable to look away from Katniss and Peeta even though seeing them acting their roles so perfectly is more painful than I’d expected. “It might have been better for Annie if we’d brought Finnick. She’s slightly unhinged on a good day from what I hear.”
“She’ll be fine. Except for locking her up, I don’t think Snow actually did anything to her.” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jackson’s watching Katniss and Peeta, too. It’s hard to look away. “She wouldn’t make quite the same spectacle that loverboy did. Does.”
I follow Jackson’s gaze to where Katniss’ camera crew has taken to filming. Boggs had forbidden them to actually go into the detention center (and unlike Katniss, Boggs’ glare was more than enough to silence them), but I’d seen them as soon as we’d gotten back on the roof. I’m pretty sure they haven’t stopped filming since. Plutarch and Haymitch will be quite pleased with the performance they’re getting. It’s becoming harder and harder to believe that Katniss really doesn’t love him, that she’s just playing a role. She didn’t even notice that I was right there helping her drag Peeta through the corridors or across the roof. She hasn’t even look at me once because I’m not him.
When she lifts their joined hands to her lips and kisses his bruised knuckles, I finally look away. There’s something so much more intimate about that gentle kiss than the one they’d shared just inside the hatchway. Since she’d seen that first Capitol broadcast it’s always been about Peeta. Even when she was insisting that Coin not separate us, Peeta Mellark was right there, hovering in the background of her every decision. Only now that we’ve stolen Snow’s leverage, Peeta’s not in the background anymore. I doubt she’ll be my Catnip again after this.
“Come on,” Jackson says, slapping a hand down on my thigh. “She doesn’t need you to stand guard over her right now. There’s no sense in torturing yourself over things you can’t change.”
Jackson’s trying to be kind and distract me, but she doesn’t realize just how painful that last statement is. Because I’d always believed things wouldn’t change. That it would always just be Katniss and me, hunting and providing for our families. That we’d belong to each other just as we always have. It wasn’t an impossible dream because Katniss has always insisted that she’d never fall in love. Or at least not the kind of love she and Peeta pretended at that first time in the Arena. The kind of love that had nearly broken her when the Capitol had taken Peeta and broadcast his deteriorating state for all to see.
“Sleep now,” I hear Katniss urge Peeta as I cross near them, following after Jackson towards the back of the hovercraft. “You’re safe now and I won’t go anywhere.”
I’m too far away to hear what Peeta says, but when I risk a glance back at them, Katniss has laid her head down on his chest, her eyes closed. Her fingers are still moving softly through his hair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so at peace and can’t help hating the fact that it’s Peeta who’s brought that out in her. It should be me. If I’d just told her what I felt at any point in the months leading up to her first Games, she would probably still be mine.
“Leave them be for a while.”
Cressida looks at me like I’ve sprouted a second head when I stand in front of Pollux who currently has his camera focused on Katniss and Peeta. The harsh lighting in the hovercraft makes the vines on her bald scalp seem that much more real. “Katniss agreed to this when Coin was setting the terms for allowing her to go on this mission.”
“But Peeta didn’t and he really doesn’t need cameras on him right now.”
Pollux lowers the camera before Cressida gives the order, his blue eyes offering up the apology he can’t voice.
Even hours later when we’re nearing District Thirteen, I still haven’t figured out why I was so quick to defend the boy who’s stolen Katniss from me. Rationally, I know that I can’t blame Peeta for everything that’s happened between the three of us—you can’t decide who you love—but my father always told me that love was far from rational. If it was, Katniss’ mother would have married the baker instead of the miner.
At some point while I was in the back of the hovercraft, someone must have taken pity on Katniss and covered her with a blanket. She’s still curled up next to Peeta, sound asleep, looking exactly as she did when I walked away. Their fingers are still twisted together and her right hand is buried in his hair. Katniss is going to be incredibly sore when she finally gets up, but I don’t really think she’ll care.
As I get closer, I notice that Peeta’s free hand is playing with the end of Katniss’ long braid, twisting it through his fingers. His eyes are pale slits, barely open, but he’s awake. There’s a look of such wonder on his face that it gives me pause. I’ve known for a while that nothing Peeta had said to or about Katniss in the Games was a lie, but right now it’s impossible to ignore just how strong those feelings are.
So even though it tears something deep inside me, I silently start to say farewell to those half-formed dreams I’d had of a future with Katniss. She’s not mine, and I don’t think she was ever meant to be. I don’t even think she’ll ever fully be Peeta’s, but she’ll let him into those secret places of herself that no one else will ever see.
Now I just have to figure out what I’m doing to do without her.
Peeta
Antiseptic.
The smell of it burns through my senses before I can register anything else.
It’s all wrong, though. I was gone from there. Free. Katniss had come and taken me far away from Snow and the screaming and the burning and the too bright darkness. She was there, I know it. I tasted her skin and felt her lips and breathed her scent. Katniss was there and she promised she wouldn’t leave.
The light behind my eyelids isn’t the painful brightness from the interrogation rooms. It might not hurt to see if I could actually manage to open my eyes.
Everything is fuzzy. I can’t quite feel my fingers or my toes, even when I try to wiggle them. My head is stuffed full of cotton wool, something the antiseptic isn’t burning away quick enough.
I want Katniss back.
The world lurches around me when I finally manage to blink my eyes open. I can manage only a few seconds of the teetering swirl before I have to close my eyes against the sudden rising nausea in the pit of my stomach. The sharp buzzing in my ears churns it up even more.
The hand on my arm is sudden and jarring.... but it’s the wrong one. It’s not Katniss. The hand’s too big and the calluses are in the wrong spots and it’s just not her.
“No.” I try to pull my arm away from that hand, but it only holds on tighter, squeezing to the point of being painful. “Le’ go.”
There’s a shuffling sound off to my right, so I force my eyes open again and search out the source. It’s all a blur at first, but then I focus and I see the needles. See the medical equipment that I know all too well now. I know which ones are meant to slice through flesh and muscle and which ones send shocks of electricity screaming through nerve endings.
The man in the lab coat is holding a needle. A needle filled with a shocking blue liquid. Too blue. The too red liquid burned like fire. Snow had liked to watch them inject me with it. He’d loved to watch me writhe and scream and beg for them to stop. They never stopped, though. Again and again until he was completely sure that I knew nothing about the Rebellion. Then he ordered them to do it again just to show that he could.
While the man is busy flicking the air out of the needle, I lunge at him. I shove him away and then roll in the other direction. The world’s tilting alarmingly and my stomach’s roiling, but I don’t need to go far. I just have to find a door. I have to find a door and get out. I have to find Katniss. I have to—
The floor comes up far too quickly. I don’t even have time to brace myself before my entire body impacts with the cold tiles. My right shoulder takes the brunt of it, but I push it aside. There’s nothing for me to haul myself up with, so I try to push myself up and end up crawling towards the nearest wall.
There are hands—too many hands—grabbing at my legs and arms, trying to stop me. I twist onto my back, shoving at them and kicking out. Somewhere, in the background, I hear a crash, and some of those hands are gone. The faces above me blur, never completely in focus. The white coats fill most of my vision.
“Peeta!”
The lab coats fade away and there’s only Katniss.
I reach out to her as soon as she’s close enough, grabbing hold of her upper arms. She gathers me close, her fingers moving through my hair and along my cheeks and neck. Her grey eyes are worried and creased in the corners, but there’s no fear.
“It’s okay, Peeta. You’re in the hospital. You’re safe here,” Katniss promises, her thumb running over my bottom lip. “It’s over.”
There’s no lie in her face, no hesitation. A few shorter strands of hair have fallen free of her braid and are ticking my cheeks and neck as she leans over me. My eyes drift shut, blocking out all of the swirling chaos that’s still around the room and stirring the nausea again. Her lips press against my forehead and her scent fills my nose. It’s enough to ground me and calm my still erratically beating heart.
“Stay with me.” I force my eyes open as I make the request, searching out her eyes.
There’s not even a moment’s hesitation before Katniss nods her head. Her mouth is moving, but everything’s becoming fuzzy again and I can’t make out the words. I want to fight it, to stay awake with her, but each time I blink it’s harder to keep my eyes open.
Between one blink and the next I go from being wrapped in Katniss’ arms on the floor to lying on a hospital bed with Katniss holding my hand. It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed in the artificial light, but I don’t think it’s been too long. The same few strands of hair seem to be framing her face, curling against her jaw and ghosting over her collarbones. There are a few more creases in the corner of her eyes, but those fade quickly enough when she sees me looking at her.
The antiseptic smell is still there, but Katniss’ thumb sliding over my knuckles and her fingers brushing through my hair quells the worst of the panic that smell creates. I lift our joined hands to my lips, kissing her thumb then her wrist. Her lips against my forehead are soft and soothing.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Katniss apologizes, her eyes soft and her fingers still moving through my hair. “Haymitch slipped something into my tea and they took me out when I fell asleep.”
“S’okay,” I yawn, shifting about on the bed to try and find a more comfortable position. It’s only as I’m trying to push myself upwards a bit with my heels that I realize I can only get any traction from my right foot. Looking down, the indent my left leg makes under the thin blanket ends just below my knee. “Are they worried I’ll try to make a run for it again?”
Katniss shakes her head, her lips quirking slightly in amusement. “They’re more worried about you getting some kind of infection. The end of your leg’s in bad shape, so they want to keep the prosthetic off for a while.”
We’re both quiet for a little while then. There’s so much I want to ask, so much I need to know about what’s been happening since the Arena exploded. Those first few days are a bit of a blur. I remember Katniss screaming my name and flying through the air with pieces of trees and clumps of dirt ricocheting against my body before I slammed into the ground. I was pretty sure I was dead when I saw the claw lowering down over me. The last thing I think I can clearly remember for a very long time is the too strong smell of roses and blood. After that it was all pain and confusion until they were feeding me lines to say to Caesar Flickerman. Words about rebellions and cease-fires that somehow involved Katniss.
“Well well well if it isn’t the happy couple.”
Haymitch sounds as surly as ever. It’s good to know that there’s at least one thing that can be counted on even with the rest of Panem crumbling down around us.
“There are still plenty of pointy things I can stab you with,” Katniss informs him, her voice deceptively sweet even though I’m certain she’s completely serious. “So if you have any liquids with you, it would be a good idea to leave now.”
“Really, sweetheart, have a little faith,” Haymitch chuckles as he walks further into the room. He stops near the end of my bed, gripping the edge. “Now that loverboy’s out of danger, we figure that you’ll start to remember about those odd little bodily functions like sleeping and eating.”
“What do you want, Haymitch?” she asks instead, not rising to his bait. There’s a small crease forming between her eyes. It fades a bit when I lift her hand to my lips and kiss her thumb again.
“Who says I want anything?”
Haymitch is lying, but whatever the real reason for his visit, he’s not saying. He and Katniss exchange inconsequential barbs for a few minutes until Haymitch hears whatever it is he’s been waiting for. The way he’s staring at both of us, there’s obviously something he’s trying to figure out and he must have found it. What it is, I don’t know, and I don’t really care. Not yet, anyway.
“Enjoy the quiet while you can,” Haymitch calls over his shoulders as he strolls back out of the room. “You can’t hide away forever.”
I stare at the closed door for several long minutes after Haymitch leaves, not quite sure what to make about the whole exchange. There’s still a lot that I don’t know. Things that I hope to find out once my head’s no longer quite so fuzzy and I don’t have difficulty staying awake for more than ten minutes.
“You should get some rest,” Katniss murmurs, squeezing my hand briefly.
I shake my head, trying to deny my need to sleep, but a yawn forces its way past my jaws. Katniss smiles fondly, her hand sliding down from my hair to cup my cheek. Her thumb smoothes lightly just under my eye and I turn my head so I can catch the heel of her palm with my lips.
“You should sleep, too.”
Katniss starts to shake her head. “I’m fine. The drug Haymitch gave me knocked me out for a few hours and—”
“Please?”
“I don’t want to leave,” Katniss protests, pursing her lips once she realizes what she just admitted to.
I shrug and start to shift to the far side of my hospital bed. There are bars up this time to make it harder for me to roll out. “So don’t. There’s enough room for both of us.”
Katniss is hesitant. She glances at the door a few times before lifting the edge of the blanket and carefully climbing into the bed. She moves slowly, very aware of every movement. I want to tell her that it doesn’t matter, that I can stand a few moments of pain if it means I get to hold her again. So far she’s the one who’s been holding me and I’m desperate to have her in my arms again.
“I missed you,” I whisper into her hair as she settles her head on my shoulder. “I dreamed about you every time I fell asleep, but it wasn’t the same.”
“Most of my dreams were nightmares,” Katniss admits, her voice trembling against my collarbone. “Especially after the second interview. When you warned us about the bombs.... I really thought he’d kill you after that.”
I kiss her forehead and hug her more tightly against my side. I want to promise her that Snow won’t hurt us anymore, but we’d both know it would be a lie. That as long as this war is going on none of us is safe. Not us, her mother, Prim, Gale, or anyone else. Katniss told me about my family when we were on the hovercraft and even though I’ll miss them for the rest of my life, at least they’re safe from Snow and whatever’s coming.
Katniss’ fingers ghosting along my side is threatening to lull me into sleep and I’m not ready for that to happen yet. I want to stay awake for a little bit longer just in case I am actually dreaming all of this. In case this is just a hallucination caused by that too blue liquid I remember from earlier.
“You’re here. Real or not real?” I ask, struggling to swallow another yawn.
Katniss shuffles about, lifting herself up on one elbow. She smiles softly, lightly stroking my shoulder and chest with her free hand. “Real.”
“We’re not in the Capitol. Real or not real?”
“Real.” Her eyes are starting to look a bit glassy, but she’s still smiling.
“You love me. Real or not real?”
Katniss leans forward, fitting her lips to mine. The kiss is soft and fills me with warmth all the way to the tips of my toes. I wrap my arms around her waist, holding her tight against my side.
“Real,” she breathes against my lips. I can feel the shape of her smile as she kisses me again. “Very real.”