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I’ve sometimes wondered what it might have been like to have a sister instead of brothers - wonder if my mother would have been different with a girl in the house, how the dynamic would have changed between the siblings or if my father might have been more engaged. The closest I got was Delly, but since we mostly hung out at her place as mine was so volatile, it was more like I was her brother not she my sister if that makes any sense at all.
Joanna Mason is about as much like Delly as a serene lake is like a forest fire but for some reason she feels even more like a sister to me. A sister who I’ve seen naked a lot, so I guess that’s not normal but as a Hunger Games tribute, what’s normal anyway? The way she provokes, teases and pushes buttons for no apparent reason feels a bit like the way my brothers used to treat me before the reaping, but with a uniquely feminine edge.
It’s early, and my mind is going in about a million directions when she saunters towards me with a woven bowl of tree water by the water’s edge.
“Lover Boy” is all I get in greeting as she hands over the water.
“Thanks, Joanna”
“So…what were you and brainless up to last night on watch - anything interesting?” I can feel the blush creep up my neck as the memories from last night flood into my brain, erasing every worry and fear with a tingling remnant of desire.
Fuck. I must look absolutely gormless. I try to fix my expression into something more aloof and say “what are you on about, Joanna?” my serious tone somewhat overridden by the crack in my voice from embarrassment.
“Oh, nothing - just seemed like Katniss was having a very…nice dream when I went by on my water run…”
“I…what?” I shake my head and stare at her wide eyed. What is she talking about?
“Yeah…” she raises her eyebrows, goading me with her expression before breaking into a bad Katniss impression “mmm…Peeta…”
Now, there is no way I’m not beet red. Don’t think about it Peeta, don’t think about it I chide myself trying not to allow my mind to wander into what could possibly be going through Katniss’ subconscious and why. I’ve heard her talk in her sleep before, mostly from the nightmares, begging for mercy or shuttering with fear, but there was a few times on the train, times I had closely committed to memory, when she had let the most seductive sighs free in her sleep as she pressed her body against mine or when I would run my fingers through her hair. Those sighs had been the fodder for many of my own dreams. But after the talk and that kiss last night, my mind is reeling.
I’m rarely at a loss for words but this is so unexpected I can’t think of anything to cover my perfect mix of extreme embarrassment and desire. “I…uhhh….” I clear my throat. “I….”
“I’m going to wash up…” I finish weakly before walking waist high into the water and making a show of splashing the water into my hair and onto my shoulders, and wishing it was a cold shower. I can hear Joanna cackling as she swishes back up the beach. Well, I’m never going to live that down…
— — —
I’ve taken to wrapping my knuckles on the side of the hospital bed frame. Whether I’m restrained or not this is an easy way to ground myself.
Knock knock, knock knock, knock knock -I tap out on the metal rails, my swollen knuckles aching painfully with each tap, the pain and the steady beat bringing me back to my reality as I try to make sense of the thoughts swirling in my head. The feelings that have somehow automatically risen up from this mornings visit that I can’t understand.
Primrose Everdeen had been one of his primary care givers for the past few months, always a calming and pleasant presence that had truly helped to get through the treatments. But today, I had noticed something was different from the moment she came in. Her eyes were puffy, and despite her attempt at a smile I could see a tremble in her hands.
“What’s wrong?” Is all I had to say, before a tear escaped from the side of her left eye.
“It’s Katniss, they’ve sent her to the Capitol to fight.” She choked out. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…you don’t need to be worrying about…”
But I don’t really hear her last words trailing off. Something inside me has clenched painfully. Fear, I name it, like the good little patient I am. It’s not uncommon at the sound of her name. An inate and programmed terror that jumps forward everytime I see her, or think of her. But this is something different, I realize as I try to release the tension in my body, breathing deeply. This fear is not of her, but for her. I feel - afraid for her. Protective of her.
“I don’t…?” I start to question, but I can’t calm the sensation like I can banish the hi-jacked response. I’m stuck.
Prim looks at me with such pleading in her eyes that I’m caught off guard.
“Please get better, Peeta. She really needs you…” and she finally lets out a little sob before quickly turning to leave.
Another nurse, someone from 13, I think, comes in a minute later to perform my check up and I’m left reeling with the emotions of the last 10 minutes. Then, a more chaotic presence barges through my door.
“Lover boy…” she drawls dramatically before plopping down on the end of my bed.
“Please don’t call me that.” I ask, my voice low and tense.
She only raises her arms in surrender in answer and gets up again poking at the IV bags hanging from my bed.
“Got any of the good stuff?”
Morphling, she must mean. “Not anymore”
“Hm.”
The silence that falls is uncomfortable, especially since the last time I saw her, her careless words chucked me back at least a week of progress.
“Anything else?” I ask.
She ignores me. “So - did ya hear the big news? The Mockingjay has flown the dungeon!” She wiggles her fingers dramatically at the word Mockingjay and looks supremely annoyed. “Little Miss Perfect always at the center of the action!”
“Yup.” Is all I can manage, because for some reason I feel nauseated and my body is beginning to tense up again.
“That’s it? You really don’t care?” She says, eyebrows raised.
“I…I don’t know” is all I can answer, because it’s the truth.
“Hm.” She says again. “That’s a shame…”
“Joanna, what do you want?” I ask - feeling weary of this day and its emotional requisites.
“I dunno. Just - thought you’d care. Your girlfriend’s pretty fucked up, ya know.”
“She’s not my girlfriend, Joanna.”
“Okay” she rolls her eyes “you may not be lover boy anymore - but she’s definitely lover girl…”
“What does that mean?”
“Can’t tell if this is just your normal level of clueless or this is torture related” she muses. “Katniss. She’s a little batty. She brought me this in the hospital - who does that?”
She hands me a carefully tied bundle of some kind of evergreen that smells like a forest.
“Apparently Katniss does.” I say, with a twinge of emotion. It’s so simple and so thoughtful. But how do I reconcile this with the girl in my head, deceptive and deadly. I don’t want to ask her what this gift has to do with Katniss and I, but thankfully it doesn’t take long for Joanna to tell me.
“She’s carting around that pearl you gave her, on the beach you know?” I don’t know, can’t remember, but I don’t want to interrupt her “holds onto it for dear life - when she sleeps, when she was training. Took it with her to the capitol.”
“Okay.” I say, not sure how I’m supposed to react to this. Katniss kept something I gave her, it’s precious to her I try to catalogue in my muddled brain.
Clearly this response is disappointing to her. She just stares, a look of mild confusion and more than mild frustration in her eyes.
Something flashes in my mind. Something I had painfully separated in that underground cell because the sound of her screams was ripping through my like a dull serrated knife and I couldn’t take it any longer - Sister. She’s looking at me like a sibling, family. Disappointed, frustrated - but because she knows there’s something more for me. Something better.
“Whatever…” she says, storming out of the room unceremoniously.
And I actually feel myself smile in spite of myself. And when she comes back, every day or every other day - she’s made it her mission to tell me how annoying Katniss’ nightmares about me were when they were sharing a room, how she watched me on the training field and on and on - little things to try to poke and prod me into my old self. And despite everything - I think it’s working. One day, after I’m allowed up and around I stop her mid-Sentance with a hug, earning my a vicious squirm from her, an exasperated sigh and a quick exit from my room muttering “weirdo…”