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He wishes for death that night. Thinks it quietly while he awaits them to come back. They’ve hit him so many times in his chest that he can feel the air struggling to reach his lungs. He’s certain there is a concussion, as there had been when he first arrived. The 12 buckets of water (one for each district, or one for each hour, he’s not sure) have left him soaked and frozen. It’s all he can do to wish for death.
He’s wished this before, but never like this. He wished for it to get her home each time, to make certain her safety was guaranteed. This time, he’s selfish. He had privately vowed to her, when he’d first arrived, that he would do whatever it took to get back to her. That he wouldn’t let Snow have his death like this. But now, he knows it’s inevitable. The pain in his chest is too heavy and his head pounds but simultaneously feels uncharacteristically empty. Not empty enough for him to speak to her once more, though. To try and reach for her across the distance. Hoping that she’ll hear. Understand.
I’m sorry, Katniss. I’m so sorry. He thinks this all. Hoping she’ll know. I love you. I’m sorry. I’ve never blamed you. It was always for you. Always. Even now at the end.
He closes his eyes.
-
Finnick has silently begun to weep beside her, and she wants to take his hand, but she’s too distracted with the rope and her own despair. She is a bad friend. She will make it up to him.
How much longer can they wait like this? This torture that has gone on for hours now. There was supposed to be an update, a signal, something to tell them that they were headed back to thirteen. Nothing had arrived and Beetee had looked at her solemnly when he had told her that he hadn’t heard. Does he know the sinking feeling of losing someone even though they’re not actually dead? Had the Capital ever taken someone he loved?
She hadn’t seen Haymitch in quite some time, although she wasn’t sure that she really wanted to.
But he steps into the room anyway. “They’re back. We’re wanted in the hospital.” She want to ask him a thousand questions. “That’s all I know.”
Finnick begins to act strangely again. She takes his hand and gently guides him to the hospital, although she selfishly moves much faster than he can probably handle at the moment. He stumbles and trips. She wants to scream at him for some unknown reason. He’s here, Finnick! Here’s with me and I want to see him. She’s here, too. You’ll want to see her. She thinks to herself.
By the time they finally reach the overwhelming automatic door to the hospital, she thinks it must’ve been hours. It’s not, it’s only been mere minutes, and she can tell by the sheer chaos that has erupted in the hospital. It’s clear that the rescued victors have caused quite a stir.
They are side swiped by a gurney carrying a shriveled, small girl with a bald head and multiple wounds bleeding and brusies blooming. Only, it’s not a small little girl. It’s Johanna Mason. Her scabs are oozing and her head is shiny. She had known the rebel secrets. It is clear she had paid for it.
She spots Gale through a glass window that looks into one of the rooms. He is shirtless and wears a grimace that is clearly associated with the pain he feels from the nurse plucking shards out of his back. She turns to step towards him when a nurse shuts me out of the room.
“Finnick!” She is suddenly aware that she has lost her grip on his hand when the high squeal of a voice jolts her. It has come from the corner. She sees Finnick turn in her peripheral vision. He straightens himself just in time to entangle himself with a girl of flaming red hair. They are so entertwined when they crash to the floor that she can’t tell where he begins and she ends. A pang of jealousy hits her. How could anyone seeing this deny their love?
“Katniss?” Prim whispers. She has no idea where Prim has come from. “He’s at the end of the hall.”
Katniss sucks in a deep breath before Prim continues, “I think it might be bad. I tried to go in, to offer him a familiar face until you got here, but they shut me out. Only sent in the most experienced doctors.”
What? How could they not let Prim, smart and sweet and so full of knowledge and passion, in to see Peeta, whom she aligns with so closely? She doesn’t even spare Prim a glance when she takes off down the hall. She is a bad sister, too. She will make it up to her.
Haymitch is sprinting, too, but not as fast as she is able to. Why have they put him in the furthest room, with no windows, if not to make him hard to find? It almost seems as if Boggs is standing guard in front of the door. She shakes her head at him; tears welling up in her eyes.
“Katniss. He’s not in good shape,” Boggs has never danced his way around the point with her. “His ribs are broken. Something with his lungs.” It breaks her to hear this. She should’ve expected this, brutal injuries, but the reality of it sinks in. The feeling is crushing on her chest. Katniss runs to him, sprinting for the door, and for a brief second, Boggs tries to stop her. When they make eye contact, it’s almost as if he can read the desperation in her eyes. He lets her go, even though she knows it was his job to keep her out.
She pushes open the door and realizes that if she thought the hospital was chaos, this room is in ruin. The nurses sprint around and doctors shout orders. One fits a mask over a head of blonde hair. That becomes all she can focus on; the shaggy blonde hair. He is standing tall, taller than ever before.
Suddenly, as if the stars align, the doctors clear out from around the table and head to a piece of equipment in the corner. Some medical device Katniss recognizes from the Capital, when they stole Peeta from her on the hovercraft and began their procedure to save him.
She is stunned. Frozen in place. How does she do this? How does she let him forgive her for all that has happened to Him because of her?
He stands directly beside the exam table, on the side farthest from her, almost like the nurses beside him have pulled him up. There is a doctor in front of him, looking at his abdomen, while the nurse beside him holds the tattered shirt he wears up for the doctor to view. Peeta’s head is turned slightly to the side and she can sense the anguish as he released a shaky breath. His arms are held above his head, and he looks so uncomfortable that she almost screams at the entire room to leave and let him be. However, she would never do that because she knows this is solely for his benefit. She will not clear the room and leave him to suffer when these individuals could help to ease his pain. It seems as if though no one has noticed the door that has swung open behind her and Haymitch.
Tears stream her face as she takes him in; what she can see of him. He is still tall and stands over the nurses and even the doctor. His hair is still blonde and especially curly, with bright blonde rings swinging over the side profile of his eyes. Katniss tries to ignore the slight tinge of red of the ends of his curls at his temples, and the dried blood that rests on the skin below. And to herself, in the back of her mind, she still thinks he is so beautiful despite the obvious damage. There is a trail of bruises that dots his jawline, and the back of his neck seems to carry multiple lacerations that seem to be healing poorly. He is thin, so much thinner than he had been in those precious moments before the second games, and Katniss knows that she will somehow find a way to ensure he gets any meal he might want. She will hunt 100 rabbits if it means he will eat healthily enough to gain back the muscle he had worked so hard for.
She swallows a sob, feels it clawing out of her throat again immediately after. Somehow, she finds her voice. “Peeta,” she says aloud. Her eye fill with tears. “Peeta,” she says again, louder, clearer.
His body goes rigid, his breaths somehow becoming more shallow than they had been before. His eyes, which had been closed (from what she could tell) to brace the contact from the doctor’s hands, fly open immediately. The nurse who holds his shirt up for the Doctor attempts to continue her hold on him, as if she could ignore Katniss’ presence. Peeta shakes her off quickly and swallows a big breath. Then, he turns around fully and finds her immediately. Like she knew he would. He takes another large breath and Katniss can see the rise and fall of his chest, and she uses that chance to remind herself that this is real.
“…’Niss,” he whispers her name so quietly that she almost cannot believe it to be true. To hear his voice, oh, god, how she wanted to hear his voice, meant that Snow hadn’t taken it from him. If nothing else, she knew that he would still be able to offer the world the kindness that seeps through his words. It’s enough to send her over the edge.
Immediately, she takes off to run for him. She wasn’t aware of how large the room truly is, it seems, because she notices that Peeta races around the end of the table as the Doctor yells for him to take it easy and to stop. They all seem to gape at him when he rips the mask off. She has enough time to take note of his limp, his left leg of course, and his arms extending before she is embraced by him and he wraps his arms around her shoulders. Hers instinctively go around his waist.
She can hear him breathing so heavy, and Katniss thinks back to what Boggs had said outside the door, and the rattle that comes from his lungs scares her. The gasp that she lets out is almost deafening when combined with that sound.
Peeta’s hands are in her hair, on her head. He’s pressing the side of her face into his chest. Her ear lands just below his heart. It’s almost as if he is pressing her against him harder, harder, until they are one and nothing or no one or no flying, screaming birds or giant tidal waves or glistening lightening trees can seperate them again. Her hands rest on his back and she can fill a tear in the thin shirt she wears, so her fingers work their way into the shirt to touch his skin. Her hands find jagged and raised skin that has prickled with goosebumps at the feel of her touch. She hadn’t realized, but somehow they had backed themselves into a corner, and her back pressed against the cool stone wall. Is he shielding her? Does he know that he is safe?
“Katniss,” he says again and she feels the lightest of touches to her forehead. It’s his lips. How she missed the most subtle hints of affection he always gave. How could she have taken them for granted before? She won’t ever again, she knows, because she also knows what it feels like to live without them, “Katniss.” He whispers her names over and over like a prayer.
“Please,” she says, and finds the strength in her to lift her head just slightly, lifting up onto her toes to press her lips closer to his ear, so that she can speak directly to him, “oh god. You’re here.”
“You can’t let go. Please-you can’t…you have to hold onto me,” she says. She needs his reassurance now more than ever, as she thinks back to the mentally disoriented bracelet she was forced to wear. Has her brain made all of his up? Is she sleeping? Is the waking hour going to take him away again?
There’s a rumbling motion in his chest, and katniss thinks he is trying to laugh, but it’s covered by the crackling noises that are being made in his lungs. “I couldn’t. Never again,” he says, “I’ve got you. I don’t want to let go.” Every word he says is strained. Suddenly, she feels very selfish, because if he is real, then how unfair of her to make him reassure her, when he has just survived months of Capital torture and is very clearly recovering from the brink of death. He cards his fingers through her hair and once again pushes her head down onto his chest. After all, it is her spot. Where she finds the most peace in the entire world. “I’ve got you.”
She reaches around his back once again and tries to hold him tighter. It feels so strange, that he is so skinny. His usual build is big and thick. She doesn’t care though, of course not. All she cares about is the fact that he’s here. She is sure that he will gain all of his weight back in no time. She has already planned her special trips to the woods to get him the protein he will need. “Peeta,” she whispers again.
“Kat-my katniss,” he says, and his voice is becoming increasingly more shaky, “please-please let me look at you. I haven’t seen you for so long.”
She lifts her head at his request, because she will never deny him anything again. If he wants to look at her, so be it. If he wants her to sing, she will. If he wants her to stay by his side for the rest of their lives, never separated again; well, she would have no objections. He has suffered enough pain in one lifetime. The smallest of luxuries will be his from now on, if Katniss has any say over it (and she does).
When they make eye contact, he sucks in his deepest breath yet. His face is relatively fine, save for the bruises that dot his jaw and the blood that is dried across it. There is a cut that runs from the top of his hairline, across his forehead, and tapers off at his eyebrow. It’s fresh, probably just a few hours old. Knowing that it won’t hurt him to touch his face, her hands come up to cup it. One of his hands goes to the back of her head, while the other latches itself onto her hip.
To her own surprise, she speaks first. “I missed you so much,” her own breath is shaking but it’s because she hasn’t stopped crying this entire time, “so much more than you could know.” And her mind flashes back to those nights where she lay with the pearl pressed to her lips, images of Peeta in her bed or looking down at her head in his lap or his smile as Haymitch mocks Effie playing through her mind. This is so much better.
“I missed you,” he whispers, his hands caressing the back of her head, “I’ve missed you for so long.”
They stare at each other for a few beats more before her eyes flicker down to his lips, and as if he knows, he leans in to kiss her. She sobs once more, even though she doesn’t mean to, and tells herself that she must kiss him quickly, because his lungs and ribs and the pain that is evident in his chest. However, he seems to refuse to seperate and so then so does she.
When he does pull away, he presses his forehead to hers and his breath is quick, without rhythm, and he closes his eyes to fight through the aching in his chest. The hand that was on her waist goes up to clutch his chest.
“Mr. Mellark,” starts the doctor. Katniss knows her to be in charge of the medical unit, “We’re going to have to ask that you lie down. It’s obvious that you’ll need oxygen to ensure safe breathing techniques.”
The panic rises in Peeta’s eyes instantly. He begins to shake his head back and forth, side to side. “N-no. I need her,” he says very quietly, clearly losing the ability to speak at his regular volume, or even a whisper at that. “Please, she has to stay. Please.”
Katniss stands on her toes again to look at the doctor over Peeta’s shoulder. It’s almost as if Katniss can see the pity form in her face. “Of course. She can stay. We’ll work around.” And Peeta almost relaxes, his eyes shut once again. Except, the snap open when he realizes that Katniss hasn’t agreed yet.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says to him, and presses a kiss to his slightly exposed collarbone. “I’ll stay. Always.”
Slowly, he allows Katniss to escort him back to the bed. He lies down, with the help of her and one of the nurses. They fit an oxygen cannula over his face and place it under his nose. He does not let go of her hand. She is forced to sit by his side on the hospital bed, where she slowly strokes the hair out of his face. It is long now, the golden curls more full than she has ever seen them. His forehead is hot. Is he feverish? Katniss is no healer, but she knows that the way his eyes continue to roll back into his head is not a good sign. He’s almost delirious, able to pull himself back out of the hollows of unconsciousness. “Please Katniss,” he starts, his breath still so hollow and like he just cannot get enough oxygen in, “I don’t want to sleep. I want to stay with you.” He grabs the hand that is not stroking his face. He keeps shaking his head back and forth, almost like he can’t find anything to focus on. The noises and the people distracting him.
“I’m right here,” she whispers to him, locking her eyes onto his and smiling at him. “You’re not alone. They can’t have you anymore.” He slows, just then, and leans into her hand as it makes its way down to his cheek. It’s so reminiscent of the time that she did exactly this to him, holding him in place so that he could lull her to sleep while her ankle healed.
There is a shuffle on the other side of the large room and she remembers Haymitch. Slowly, he makes his way beside the bed. He stands opposite of Katniss, and she watches him slowly place his hand on Peeta’s arm (mindful of the IV that had been placed at some point). Peeta only watches Katniss.
“My boy,” Haymitch says, and his eyes glint with what must be tears. Katniss knows what it was like for her to wake up after the second arena without Peeta. She had never thought about how difficult it must have been for Haymitch to willingly leave the Capital without Peeta.
Peeta looks over at Haymitch just then, managing to focus his eyes and head as he does, “Haymitch.” He whispers once again, the pacing of his breath having slowed just a little. He somehow brings his hand up to also place on Haymitch’s arm, “Thank you,” he says aloud, “she’s safe.”
It’s clear that he’s doing all he can to fight sleep at this point. Haymitch shakes his head and laughs gently, and Katniss waits for his snide remark to come. However, Haymitch just smiles at Peeta and says, “she is.”
Peeta becomes more defiant of sleep, and his eyelids blinks seem to grow longer and longer. He is quieting when Katniss and Haymitch hear him say, “it’s all I ever wanted.”
“I know,” says Haymitch, smiling and looking to Katniss now, “I know boy. You should rest. So you can be with her all you want.” And with that, always a man of such few words, Haymitch squeezes Peeta’s arm gently and moves to stand. Katniss knows that he won’t leave the room, however. And so he waits in the corner. Peeta’s full attention goes back to Katniss.
“He’s right,” she says, leaning down closer to him and going back to stroking his cheek, “you should rest.” She heard whispers of surgery and procedures, therapy and recovery, from the team of doctors and nurses. She knows that he will need his full strength to face these next few challenges. She will spend as much time with him as he needs to recover.
“But I can’t-you can’t go,” he says, closing his eyes. They have yet to reopen, “I just got you back.” She smiles at this. At his silly thoughts. How could she ever leave him? Never. Not now.
“I’m with you,” she whispers, leaning fully down to kiss his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”
“I have no complaints,” and it’s such a Peeta thing to say that she laughs, a wet, giant laugh. “You’ll stay?” he says, almost as if he doesn’t believe that she would. How can he not see that she had waited for this moment, to hold him again, since the moment he was taken.
At that, she lies down beside him, and he instinctively moves closer to her. She, as gently as possible, adjusts so that she lies on her side. She lies above him, and she gently urges his head to rest on her chest. All those times that he spent holding her, consoling her, and now is her time to do the same for him.
“I’ll stay,” she says to him, running her fingers through his bloody blonde hair, “I’ll stay.”
And she can tell he is asleep, and she is almost grateful, because she needs to test the words out before she says them next. She needs to hear herself say it before he does, so that she knows it’s okay to admit to him her biggest, most poorly kept secret. So that he can know there are no cameras and no propos and no fake romance to play up. Only the real fire, the deep coursing flames that create a hunger in her that she can only know as love.
“I love you,” she says atop his head. Peeta sleeps on, continually unaware of her words, “always.”
She’ll stay right here.
-
When he wakes again, he is warm. He hasn’t been warm in so long. His face is pressed against something, and it takes him a moment to gain his bearings back. His arm is encircled around something to, and it takes even longer for him to remember that he is being held.
Oh, he thinks, Katniss. She’s here. He lifts his head and looks upwards, and she is sleeping against him, her lips parted. So he is dead or he isn’t; he doesn’t care either way. Because If he’s alive, Katniss is here, and if he’s dead, Katniss is here. He’ll go wherever she is, as selfish as it is, and he’ll hold her and never let anyone separate them again. He is almost angry at Johanna, his cellmate, for thinking that she could seperate them, but he remembers that they’ve already had this conversation before, and the time for anger has passed.
“You’re okay,” he says aloud, although Katniss is asleep. He needs the reassurance himself as he moves his hand to her cheek, “you’re okay.”
He looks behind her briefly, and a nurse is preparing some sort of report, and the doctor that awoke him is chatting to another about the surgery he will need. He doesn’t care, though. Nothing matters anymore but her.
“I love you,” he whispers to her, although he supposes it’s for himself more than anything. She sleeps on, of course, unaware of his words. He can be a little bit selfish. He’s earned it. He knows, watching her sleep on above him. He’s not going to let her out of his sight again. His biggest mistake is behind him, because he lost her and he spent months trapped in a freezing cell with lighters for burning and needles for poking and guards made for punching and kicking. But it’s okay now, he’s here and so is she.
He’ll stay right here.