Work Text:
I never thought about him that much before. Peeta. It makes so much sense now. The star-crossed lovers… Peeta must have been playing that angle all along. Why else would the Game makers have made this change? How popular must he have been? For the audience to enjoy it so much that it would jeopardize the success of the games. No thanks to me. All I’ve done is manage not to kill Peeta.
It sees everything that he had done was to protect me. That makes me smile. I lean back and hold my face to the moonlight so the cameras could catch it. I sit straighter in my tree, thinking about what other tributes could have heard me. Foxface? She operates alone under the cover of night. Her strategy was to evade, not attack. If she heard me, then she would not have tried to kill me, but rather hoping someone else would.
Thresh is a distinct threat I’ll admit. But I haven’t seen him. In a while. And even if he did hear me, then I’m too high up for him to reach. That leaves Cato and that girl from 2. They’re the only ones other than Peeta and I that benefit from this new rule. Do I run? No. I think. Let them come. Let them come with their superior advantage. Let them come right into the range of my arrows. But I know they won’t. If they didn’t dare to come to my fire in broad daylight, then they won’t risk a trap at night. Not even if I dared to show my whereabouts.
Sleep now Katniss, I instruct myself. Tomorrow you’ll find him.
I eventually sleep, but I’m extra cautions in the morning. I prepared myself for the day – a big breakfast, securing my pack and readying my weapons – before I descend from my tree.
I walk towards the river where Rue said he would be. When walking I wonder how he survived. Especially after the tracker jacker venom. Could he have a greater resistance? Is that variable what made him survive? Even if the wound from Cato hadn’t killed him, then could the tracker jacker venom have? Even if he survived both of those, then surely, he would have died of thirst. I suppose that’s where I get my assurance that he could be there.
To confuse the others, I create a small fire with greenwood, and I head off towards the stream. I know that I have to find him by myself. He knows I’m looking for him, right?
I don’t take long to reach the Careers’ camp. I’ve been up and down this stretch three times since the tracker jacker incident so not seeing Peeta doesn’t surprise me.
I reach the stream and looking around, I start to feel trapped. It would not be easy to fight Thresh or Cato here. I look around further thinking that I’m on the wrong track entirely when I spy the bloody streak going down the boulder. Hugging the rocks, I try to move slowly in that direction; but no signs of life. I breakdown and whisper his name in a hushed voice. I must have missed him.
My foot has just broken the surface of the water when I hear a voice.
“You come to finish me off, sweetheart?”
~~ ~~
I try to treat his wounds as I catalogue them. Bad bruising, a long burn across his chest and four tracker jacker wounds; not to mention the wound on his leg. I prop him against a boulder as I attempt to heal what I could. I wash all the dirt and mud from his skin and hair, and I have to dig the stingers out of his tracker jacker lumps, which makes him wince, but the second I apply the leaves he relaxes.
While he dries in the sun, I wash his clothes. Then I apply the burn cream to his chest. It’s only then I realize how hot his skin has become. The water and the layers of mud have disguised his fever. I remember my mother buying these pills that reduce your temperature when her home remedies fail. I dig these out of the first aid kit from the boy from district 1.
Again, it’s only when he turns down the groosling that I realise how sick he really is. “Peeta, we need to get some food in you.” I guess it’s true when he says it’ll just come back up, but nevertheless, I manage to get him to eat a few bits of dried apple.
“Thanks. I feel much better, really. Can I sleep now Katniss?” he asks.
“Soon,” I reply. “I just need to look at your leg first.
Trying to be as gentle as I can. I remove his boots, socks and then slowly inch his trousers off him.
Only then do I notice how bad his leg wound is. The wound itself doesn’t seem that long, spanning about a quarter of his thigh, but it is red and infected, with red lines running across his leg. There is also a lot of pus that had filled the wound and had crusted over the top.
It must have been over 10 days since he got injured, and the wound isn’t closing over at all…. I suspect the tracker jacker venom wouldn’t have helped either.
I remember my mother saying something about this. Sepsis, I think. Blood poisoning. Back when the peacekeepers were not as kind, there used to be public whippings for offences. One of the men got whipped for crossing the fence to collect some of the dandelions that grew on the other side. His wounds hadn’t closed and a few days later he died. Prim and my mother were never repulsed about the pus or the blood. I suppose this time Prim would have been more useful in the games than me.
He needs help. Immediate help. I don’t think he’d live without medicine from the capitol. That wonderful life-saving medicine that my mother sometimes uses for the most severe of patients.
I wash the wounds as far as I can and try to dress all his wounds with the leaves. He seems to relax a bit when the leaves are on his tracker jacker lumps.
Next thing. We need shelter.
~~ ~~
It’s been a few days and still no package from Haymitch. I try and hunt as much as I can, but I think I saw Cato skunking around here. Could he have taken it? I know Peeta wouldn’t have gone down without a fight. He needs help and fast.
“Katniss.” I hear a whisper from inside the cave. Peeta.
I rush in and look at his condition. He’s more feverish and sicker. The wound hasn’t also gotten better. Even though the pus is drained almost daily, and I wash and dress the wound frequently. Still the red lines seem deeper, and the wound isn’t closing.
“Hey Peeta,” I whisper back.
Now Peeta doesn’t even have the strength to whisper back. Scared I rush towards him and put a finger on his pulse point. It’s weak and faint. I put my head on his chest listening for a heartbeat. It’s slowing rapidly.
“No.” I whisper to him. “No Peeta. You can’t die”
“Hey, I know I don’t have much longer.” He whispers. It seems to sap all the energy from him.
“No Peeta. Rest. You’ll be fine.” I don’t know who I’m convincing. Him? Or Me.
“Listen Katniss. Remember.” He struggles more with every passing second. His eyes slowly close and he struggles to open them again. “Remember. I love you.”
He closes his eyes, and it looks like he fell asleep. No. Not again. I put my head back on his chest and listen for the tell-tale sound of a beating heart. Nothing.
He’s gone. A second later a cannon fires and That pushes it in for me.
Peeta’s dead.
Even when Prim, I mean Rue dies, I didn’t have time to mourn. Now, I don’t think I have time either. I have to move. I have to survive.
I want to do something for Peeta. Like what I did for Rue, but I don’t think that he would enjoy flowers. Then I remember, he frosted cakes for the bakery. His frosting had saved him earlier. I’m not as good as him, but I can try. I carry him out of the cave and leave to get colours from various rocks. It’s rudimentary, but I think I can do something for him too.
I should be crying. I think. I should be crying, but why aren’t I?
I decorate him with the dark powder from the lumps of rock as black as rock. With the reds and with yellows as bright as his hair.
In the end, he looks like he had fun with colours. Him sleeping in a bright, abstract painting.
Only then do I run. Far away. To a large tree somewhere in the middle of the woods. It’s only then do I breakdown.