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The Games were finally over.
They had been over for quite some time now, but this was the first time Peeta actually believed in it.
The fancy sheets and white walls didn’t offer any true sense of security. At any moment now, he could still be sent back to the game, forced to pick weapons, forced to think about how best to kill someone… never again.
He still couldn’t believe he was alive. That he, of all those contestants, made it alive.
Bread making — and cooking in general — was his only talent. Completely unfit for such a harsh, brutal reality. Coming from the district of the corpses, as others liked to mock it, and yet he was alive.
Of course Katniss made it. He never had any doubt. She was a warrior. Always had been — she’d always provided for her family, knew how to hunt, knew how to protect. One of the many things he admired about her. No, now he could be honest: loved about her.
His only fear was that now she’d learned how to kill as well.
The first days after the end were a blur between dreams and times he was awake at the hospital. Strangers hovered over him, talked over, mumbled, touched him, it was all too much, too scary- and he knew they’d put him to sleep when he made it obvious how awake, how afraid he was.
He wasn’t even sure if Haymitch had actually been there or if it was only a dream. But one thing he was certain about: she hadn’t come yet.
Even in his dreams, she didn’t appear.
It was long past the time he got embarrassed every time he jumped every single time the door opened — searching for those grey eyes he’d never been able to read (he thought he could once, how stupid of him) — only to be greeted by some nameless staff.
After a few short questions about his well-being and “Do you think you are ready for an interview yet?” — to which the answer was always “no” — always the same, just like how he’d always ask where Katniss was.
The nurses would then, as routine, increase the dosage of his medication while ignoring the soft pleas of the boy who only wanted to know about his district partner.
“She is resting, as you should.” Was always his only answer before he drifted back to sleep.
Eventually, she started appearing in his dreams.
There, everything seemed so much easier, so much softer. He would go back home with Katniss and be greeted as heroes – not that he really cared about that title, really – while their families would happily move to live in the Victors area, together with Haymitch.
His mother and brothers would continue to be pests, but the thought of living near Katniss and seeing her every day made his heart swell with happiness. She wouldn’t have to hunt anymore to survive. Her little sister could finally be safe and sound, protected and eating well. He’d make sure she’d get the best possible bread (the ones reserved for customers).
Peeta knew his father would be delighted as well, considering how much he loved Katniss’s family. Sometimes Peeta wondered if he even loved them more than his own. As he himself could barely remember any good times with his mother and brothers, he felt like he already knew the answer. His father agreed with the path traced in his life, immutable like for all of them, but that didn’t mean he would have to. No, he wouldn’t, of that he was sure.
Surviving this game meant he had the power to change his life.
He’d make sure to make the best use of it.
In the deepest dreams, his mind brought him dangerous scenarios. Scenes of daily life: living nearby each other, eventually living together — just imagine waking up next to Katniss, he felt shivers — being able to just sit down and talk, finally get to know each other, have Primrose learn how to bake bread and eat the sweetest candies they could afford.
Neither family would have to worry about money, so he would be able to spend more time away from the bakery – not that he didn’t like the bakery, and now with money, his siblings would scurry off elsewhere. And most importantly: Katniss would be free. She would never have to hunt again, unless it was for a hobby. She could finally enjoy her days and do only what she enjoyed. Spend precious time with her mother and sister. And Gale. Just being able to see Katniss enjoy life and be calm made him want to cry.
The image that couldn’t leave his mind after those dreams was always the same: Katniss smiling – actually smiling - carefree and without a single worry in the world. He would do anything to see that.
But soon enough, the dream would end and the sharp pain in his leg – while he felt pain through all limbs of his body, his leg’s was definitely the worst – quickly brought him back to reality. It was already routine: wake up sweating with his body contorting itself as much as possible, in a failed attempt to make the pain go away, usually out of breath. Sometimes outright screaming. Whenever he could control himself, he never called for help.
He didn’t need more unknown drugs injected into his body by the Capitol. Not a single inch of the place could be trusted, and much less the people in it, but he always did his best to appear agreeable and kind. He knew how easily that opened doors for him — not that it mattered much in the Games.
But he was now free of that hell that could only be created by human beings.
The Games. Only the thought of that made him shiver and feel nauseated. All of those children, children that didn’t deserve to die the way they did – not even Cato – and all happened for the entertainment of the Capitol. Everything made him sick.
From the moment he’d been reaped, he never expected to become a Victor. The idea hadn’t even once crossed his mind. For all he knew, he would probably be one of the first to go. After all, what could a baker’s son possibly do in an arena filled with weapons and people who actually knew how to fight? He was sure he would die, but that didn’t matter.
Only two things mattered: the first was to show the Capitol they didn’t, in any way, own him and he would not play by their rules and the second was her. Katniss could and would win, he was sure of that. Her hunting abilities and her intelligence would surely put her above anyone else, even the Careers. But she would probably be alone in the arena and the Careers always joined in tight groups – until the end, when they’d turn against each other and kill viciously – and that was a chance he could not let her take.
Peeta would never let Katniss die, even if he had to sacrifice his own life.
Haymitch had the perfect plan and it didn’t need any convincing for Peeta to accept it. After all, how easy would it be to pretend you’re in love when you are actually in love? He would protect Katniss by any means possible, even if she could probably do it all alone. When he began to lose all hope of ever being found, (almost) resolute in dying alone, being completely useless, she found him. She always did.
Those moments in the cave were special, he was sure about that. He always felt something for Katniss. Truly, he had loved her ever since childhood. He felt so many things during those days: happiness being with her, fear and anger when he discovered she had sneaked out to bring him the stupid antidote and overall, just a strong sense of nostalgia, even if they never had spent more than a few minutes together.
She reminded him of home, of safety and of everything he loved.
When the time came for only one of them to live — he always knew they shouldn’t have trusted the Capitol — he threw his only weapon away without a single doubt. She was going to survive and that’s all that mattered. Peeta remembered how calm he had been at that time.
Being killed by her was by far the best death he could’ve earned in the games: it’d be swift and painless, by someone he loved.
But she quickly thought of a different strategy and it worked. It worked and now they were safe.
Or at least he hoped for her.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening and soft steps into the room. His heart quickly started to beat faster as he turned to face the person and he realized… It was Effie. Maintaining his usual polite smile, he knew others liked was now part of routine, even if he felt his heart sink. The next news quickly brought his mood up and he couldn’t stop the excitement in his voice while he asked continuously.
“When? When will I be able to see her? When??”
The answer was the same day’s interview, which would be sent to all districts. Peeta should probably be worried; he should probably start thinking about a new strategy, but all he could do then was smile happily while receiving his instructions and the clothes he’d later use in the day.
The preparations were monotonous mainly due to the fact that he was alone – or most of the time with Effie, which is the same thing. Haymitch greets him once and is gone in seconds, before he can get a question in. His ‘mentor’ seemed a bit worried, but quickly shrugged it off, saying, “It’s your day. She’s there. Enjoy it.”
And in a sequence of blurs of not really important events, he is finally up on the stage, facing an almost infinite crowd while Caesar Flickerman starts talking with him, always so excited and happy to be there. Peeta wonders how he does it.
His focus is blurred, his sight messy, but everything turns into color when she arrives. Katniss is wearing the most beautiful dress he had ever seen — it was even better than the first one she used for interviews — and, as she envelops her arms around him, any and every ability to think stopped as he leaned in to kiss her. She also seemed worried, too tense, like during the games. But it was probably the crowd’s eyes on them. Peeta hopes that’s the case.
For a moment, he had been scared. Was everything just an act, just a way to get out of the games?
As they deepen the kiss and outright ignore Caesar, he realizes it can’t be that. It’s perfect, too perfect, and Peeta is too much of an optimist to think this is going to end badly.
They are going home together, going to live right next to each other and everything will be all right. Their pain is over, even if many children will still suffer as they did, and he hates that thought.
He wishes he could end the Games and be truly free of them. But that’s too much optimism even for someone like Peeta. Bordering on delusion.
The Games, their Games, were finally over.
Or so he thought.