Work Text:
Breakfast - 07:00, my arm tells me.
I stare at the order. In this miniscule way District 13 is more controlling than the Capitol. At least in District 12 I could decide when to eat. Or what to eat. I could choose whether I wanted to wear black pants or blue ones. I could spend my day baking or painting or daydreaming...
In District 13, all I do is follow orders.
Eat your turnips at this time. Learn this, now. Study the history of nuclear weapons at noon. Prance around with guns around two in the afternoon. Eat the gruel. Don't share. No painting. No, no, take that staircase. While you're at it, do a dance for me, too. And put on this ridiculous hat. Yes, that's it, make yourself look like a fool...
“I hate turnips,” I sigh.
I push the buttered vegetables around my tray. Around me the room is full of loud, good-humored noise. I cannot remember how long I've been sitting here; since seven, I suppose. It feels like longer.
Time always goes so slow here, without her. I close my eyes, recalling another sleepless night. I'm exhausted. When was the last time that I slept? When I do sleep, it is nothing but nightmares. Nightmares of the Hunger Games. There are the screaming birds that follow me. There are the walls, closing around me, throwing myself against them. There is Katniss – always just out of reach, slipping through my fingers... I dream of losing her. As I have since our first arena. Except, now, I wake without her in my arms. I am confronted with reality – I am not just losing her. She is lost. Entirely. To me.
Yet, I strive to be the same Peeta Mellark everyone has always known.
The sounds of the others around me make me feel a little more like myself. Their laughter brings me back among the human. Makes me feel a little less like the broken Victor.
When I raise my head, I see Primrose Everdeen enter the cafeteria.
She has taken to wearing her long blonde hair into a single braid down her back. Like her sister. She walks like Katniss, too; in a way. The mannerism are there. An echo of Katniss.
I do not smile, until I spot Buttercup, prowling up behind her, circling her feet.
“You know,” I say to Prim, “I'm sure if you just close the door after you leave the room, he'll stop following you down here.”
She smiles up at me. Others around the room turn to glance at Buttercup. I'm sure most of them know that the animal isn't supposed to be here. In District 13. Let alone in the cafeteria. But when any of them look up to meet my gaze, they turn away, knowing. Knowing that I'm willing to face the consequences for Prim. To fight it out with President Coin no matter what it's worth. Even for something as ridiculous as a cat.
“I just hate leaving him locked in there all day,” Prim tells me. She takes a seat on my right and the furball leaps up into her lap. Prim looks down at Buttercup with affection. “With mother working in the hospital all the time and me in training, it's just not fair to leave him in there all day.”
As if agreeing, Buttercup lets out a small meow.
“I know the feeling,” I say to both of them. With two fingers I stroke Buttercup from nose to tail and he turns his face into my palm, nose cold. “But I thought the whole reason Coin and I made the deal to move the Everdeen room on the uppermost floors was so that this furball could come and go as he pleases.”
“That's different, though,” argues Prim. I can see her eyes travel to the serving counter, as if it has just occurred to her that she should get her breakfast, but I simply push my tray in front of her.
“How's running around outside compared to inside any different?” I ask her. “If I were him, I'd love to be outside. To get some fresh air would be nice. A delectable mouse or two. Maybe even a pretty feline to keep me company.”
Prim laughs. The sound of it is like a sweet reward. Every time I make them laugh, is another piece of me renewed from the broken side. Only when I can make others happy do I realize the old Peeta Mellark thrives.
“I just mean that it's not the same because down here he gets to be with me. Wouldn't you rather be with your family than all alone and free?” There is a moment of pause after she says that. The air becomes less mirth and more somber. Thoughtfully, she picks up the fork I had pushed away and takes a bite of the turnips. “I would,” she says, quietly.
And I know what she means. Maybe we're free here, in District 13, in some ways. The people of District 12 are free from starvation. The Victors – Haymitch and Beetee and Finnick and me – we're free from the faking. All the children here are free from the Hunger Games as much as the adults are liberated from the Capitol's overbearing government. But I'd rather be chained to Katniss, to the floor, inside a cell, underneath the Capitol, than here and safe.
It is a mature thought. Especially coming from Prim. She's always surprising me with her growth. Katniss would be proud of her. All the nurses tell me Prim is going to be a famous doctor someday. Every chance I get, I encourage her to pursue this career. It helps distract her. Distract her from the loss of District 12, from the loss of Katniss, from the war. I knew the moment I saw that cat, wandering the ruins of District 12, covered in ashes, I needed him. Prim would need him.
Prim is eating away at my breakfast. I wonder where the others are. Finnick and Annie are no doubt together. They have been inseparable since the moment I brought Annie here, the two of them meeting in an entangled mess on the floor. A beautiful, heart touching reunion. It has only been a night since she was rescued; since Gale and I, and the other soldiers, led a rescue mission into District 4. Since we filmed the propo for Coin. The propo probably isn’t even finished being edited yet.
Gale is still in the hospital. His arm needed surgery. I tell myself I will go see him. If only to check on him. He might not say anything to me. I have nothing to say to him; but there are echoes of Katniss in him, too. Qualities the two of them share: their steadiness, their coloring, their righteousness.
I am always searching for reminders of her.
She may be dead; but she is still alive in those she loved. I can still help her, by helping them.
Buttercup nudges my fingers hanging off of the edge of the table, begging to be pet. I oblige him.
“You know,” I say, and Prim raises her head, “do you think he's forgiven me for kidnapping him?”
“Oh, I'm sure he didn't get upset... you only scared him.”
“He could have blinded me!” I tease. “And besides, I scared him? It was Gale who put him in the game bag.”
“Well, that wasn't too nice,” Prim relents, then shrugs. “You should have warned him first. Tried to tell him that you were going to take him back to me. He would have come to you.”
I laugh.
“So I should have just sat down and talked to the cat? That obvious? I should have known. Next time I see a wild mutt attacking me, too, I'll just pull up a chair and invite him into a nice chat about how I would like to live for about fifty more years.”
I pause to consider this, imagining the sight of those mutt dogs from my first Hunger Games, sitting upright, drinking coffee, and having some biscuits on the side.
Prim gives my shoulder a feeble shove.
“You know what I meant,” she says.
“Do I?” I smile cheekily.
Prim surrenders, preferring the gruel on the tray rather than conversation. Due to her inattention, Buttercup climbs into my lap instead. He starts to knead my thigh. I cringe. If I didn’t know better, when he lays his face against his front paws, I would say he looks a bit smug.
“Did you know that cats smile?” I ask Prim.
“Yes,” she says simply. As if it were obvious.
“How come you always know everything before I say it?” I ask.
Prim rolls her eyes at me.
“Peeta!”
We turn. Finnick and Annie approach the table.
Finnick, all grin and gleaming eyes, sits across from me. Annie at his side.
“Good morning,” I say to Annie.
“Morning,” she says, softly.
Finnick gives her a loving squeeze around the waist.
Prim talks with them. I lower my head, petting Buttercup. He starts to purr. I do not hear the conversation, lost in my own thoughts. I find I feel some resentment; towards the couple in front of me. I am happy they have each other. That they are both finally free to love one another. It is just that I am jealous; and not just because they share a romantic love; but because I am alone. It is not just that I return to an empty bed every night. The entire Mellark room is empty. Occupation of one. Just me.
I grieve for my family, just as much as I grieve for the entire District. I grieve for them all; for those that died in the arena. Chaff. Seeder. Mags. Rue. Even those that had tried to kill me: Gloss, Brutus, Cato, Clove. None of them deserved their deaths. At least, not like that. Not the violence. Not broadcasted to the entire nation; for their mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, their children, to see.
“Peeta?” I snap out of my thoughts at the sound of Prim's voice.
Buttercup is startled by my small jump. He leaps out of my lap.
Everyone is watching me.
“Your holo is making noise,” says Prim.
“Oh, right,” I say, hearing the sound for the first time. I've learned to block it out. I raise the face of the holo to eye level to see the message there. “It's just a reminder for the usual morning meeting. At” –I check the painted schedule on my arm– “eight.” I look to Finnick. “Are you coming today?”
“No,” says Finnick. “I'm going to stay with Annie. Maybe go visit Beetee.”
“Okay.” I expected that. The last time Finnick went to Command was when we first arrived here. It's the last thing I expect him to do now, since he got his Annie back.
For a few minutes more they eat and talk. Eventually I leave, bidding them all goodbyes.
The people at the serving counter watch me with narrowed eyes when I walked by without a tray to return and only a small shrug to show. They either think I'm smuggling food out, which is mondo illegal, or they know I gave it away, which I'm not sure how illegal that is, but probably a lot. They are very strict about those kinds of things. District 13 is strict about everything.
On my way to Command, I try to collect myself. To face Coin. Voices can be heard down the hallway. Soldiers and other official people hurry by me. It is always go-go-go with District 13. Never a pause for breath. For beauty. For gratitude. For metaphors. It is all straight-laced, no-nonsense here. So entirely different from the Capitol. Where there is too much of the lavishing, of the beauty, of symbolism.
No one notices me when I enter Command. I take my usual seat. Haymitch nods at me. Gale is there, on his other side. He’s got his arm in a sling. He does not greet me. His face is grim. I am surprised – and not – that he has made it to the morning meeting. He should be recovering. But it is not in his nature to bow out, lay down; to take that time. He has thrived in the practical culture of 13.
The meeting starts. Reports are given about troops in this District or another. We hear about the loss of a hundred soldiers in District 7. The forest is on fire. There was a victory in District 10 recently. District 11 and 9, one agriculture and the other grain, are well under our control. District 4 is still heavy with fighting. They talk about possibly moving on to District 2. A tenuous topic; a dangerous leap.
I, as always, offer to get sent out somewhere. Coin turns to me. Frowns. She asks about more propos. Haymitch reports back that the propo from the District 4 rescue mission will be ready by tomorrow.
“We’ll send you out once we see how well received that one is,” she tells me, dismissing me.
The meeting ends soon after.
Everyone is getting up from their seats when there is a loud shout. We all turn. The man responsible frantically moves whatever has caused him distress onto the main screen. A large one, directly adjacent to the meeting table.
Katniss is there, on screen.
It is a close up of her face. I want to assume, at first, that this is an old clip. Something from our first Game or the Quell. But I can see, plainly, that it is not. She looks different. Her hair is left unbraided, falling around her face and shoulders. There are bright diamonds hanging from her ears. She is stunningly, shockingly, full of life; the combination of the make-up and lighting make her seem luminescent. This cannot be an old clip. Except, how can she be alive? If she is alive – that means she has been this entire time. Months. Months in the Capitol. With Snow. The last time I saw her, Enorbaria had cut her throat. I had seen it. I had seen the blood flooding down her chest. I had seen from the top of the ravine that they had landed into the river. They had sunk; likely drowned. I cannot consul this with what I see on the screen. How could the Capitol have revived her? How dare they –
Everyone is deathly still; stunned. Our martyr is alive. The Mockingjay is alive.
The camera cuts to Caesar Flickerman.
“It's so nice to have you here, Katniss,” says Caesar.
It cuts back to the close up of her. I find myself moving towards the screen. No one stops me, nor moves. I reach the screen. I search her face for a sign; of torture, of change, of some secret message.
I see only her smile; a stiff one, but a much better smile than I would have thought her capable of.
“I’m lucky to be here,” she says to Caesar.
Caesar makes a joke about how Katniss looked when the nation last saw her: a knife to the throat. Then the camera finally pans out. They’re in some type of set. Two yellow chairs facing each other. Cozy. Her dress is a deep maroon; so different from those others she used to wear. Then I realize something.
And the entire room behind me realizes it at the same time.
She’s pregnant.
At first it is just whispers behind me. Then there are bellows being passed around Command.
“You’re about halfway through your second trimester, right?” asks Caesar.
“Yes,” says Katniss.
The sound of her voice makes me finally accept she is alive. And this is all I can focus on.
My fingers are on the screen, resting against her lips. Someone behind me is shouting for me to get out of the way. A baby, someone else says. Can you believe it? asks another. Is this some ploy to confuse us? All of them are talking. They are trading theories. Debating how far President Snow would go.
My fingers slide down, to her stomach.
Had she known?
Was she afraid to tell me?
Or had this taken her by surprise? I cannot imagine – let alone fathom – the turmoil she'd felt; waking up in the Capitol, but also to be confronted with this news. News she had never wanted. That she actively opposed.
What have I done?
"It's getting stronger every day,” says Katniss when Caesar asks her about the child. “I can feel it kicking. Sometimes, just moving in there, stretching maybe.” The smile on her face is like breaking plastic. “It’s probably a little cramped.”
"Oh! That's just fantastic,” Caesar enthuses. “Strong little thing, isn't it?"
Katniss pales. A far off look comes to her eyes, but Caesar is quick to recover. Years of interviewing terrified tributes has paid off.
"But of course, not too strong," says Caesar, grinning. "Can't have it bruising that adorable little bump of yours."
“Adorable?” says Katniss. Her hands are twisting together in her lap, going white with grip, but I only glimpse that for moment before the camera zooms in closer so they're not in shot. “I'm a whale.”
"Nonsense! The moment I saw you I could hardly hold back a sigh of admiration. I'm sure the whole nation would agree," says Caesar. "Can't you just imagine Peeta fawning over her?" he asks, turning to the camera.
I feel a sliver of anger at that. At being mentioned. My hand falls from the screen. I would not be fawning. I would go to her; take her hands and beg her to forgive me, because I know it's the right thing to do.
“He would probably carry her around, don't you think?” jokes Caesar.
Eventually, Caesar moves on from the topic. He assures Katniss that everyone is so glad she didn't miscarry and that the Games gave him a right scare, but were so, so, so thrilling! And then the topic of war comes up. She blows us all away. All cries of confusion and anger, or accusations of falseness, die to silence, listening intently to everything Katniss gets out. Most of it is a lie. It is obviously there, in the tremor of her hands. Other parts, though, I'm unsure. The talk about the result of war and the broken children raised by broken parents... all of it is halting. I'm suddenly thinking of the forest on fire in District 7. Every tree, years and years, generations of them, turning to ash; just like District 12.
I wait for Katniss to address me, or her family, or even just District 13. But she never does. There is no message that we get. Only this ceasefire, the understandings that her and Snow have reached. The understanding that she would like to live? All too soon, Caesar Flickerman is signing them off. The Capitol anthem begins to play, the symbol of the Capitol replacing the image of them in the pale sitting room, and then someone turns off the screen.
No one speaks for a few moments, breathing, waiting it out. Every one of them pondering what they've just seen. I know I should turn. Face the others and all their questions. Except my feet can't seem to lift themselves from the ground, the image of Katniss' face tumbling through my mind. Smiling. Frowning. Thinking. Eyes glinting in a beam of light. The twist of her hands, around each other.
Gale speaks first. He stands. The anger on his face, sharply contrasting his arm in a sling.
“This has to be some sort of trap,” says Gale.
I turn around to face the table of standing officials and they are all looking at him.
“She would never. Even Peeta admitted that he lied around the pregnancy.” He's speaking to President Coin. His eyes are hard and insulted. “They're obviously just trying to confuse us and pull the sympathies of the Districts and Capitol citizens. The more adorable they think she is, the better.”
No one says anything.
We're all watching President Coin's face. She turns to me.
I'm stunned when the whole room pivots with her, every eye on me. Expectant.
“Is it possible?” Haymitch says from his place at the table.
“Is what possible?” I ask.
“The baby!” Haymitch insists. “Is it possible you knocked up the Mockingjay?”
Everyone is watching, waiting. Gale's eyes are burning against my face, waiting for me to say that it's not true. That Katniss would never have sex with anyone, just like she always claimed. That his best friend hadn't betrayed him in some way, by lying for years, by discouraging his affections because of a belief such as this one…
“Maybe,” I say.
They understand immediately, throwing themselves into a frenzy. Haymitch breaks out into laughter. President Coin looks as if she could roll her eyes. Gale is stone cold. The others vary in emotion.
“What do you mean maybe?” Coin presses. “Is it possible for her to be pregnant or not?”
I can feel the heat rise in my face, giving me away more than my words could. The fact that they want me to say I made love with Katniss is not only prying, but rude on both sides. I don't think Katniss would appreciate it, and I wouldn't want to betray her trust, but this is President Coin, and when she wants answers, she'll get them somehow.
“Yes, it's possible,” I say.
“Dismissed,” Coin says flatly. “We'll talk about this at the next meeting.” For a moment she hesitates, then says, “And we'll also discuss her words of treason, too.”
“Treason?” I demand hotly. “You think she said those words because she actually believed them?”
“I said dismissed, Soldier Mellark,” Coin replies. “We will discuss it another time.”
I want to continue, anyway. Haymitch fortunately stops me, grasping my wrist, twisting it painfully.
I turn to him. My old mentor looks over my face, all razor sharp precision, something so unlike him.
“You're the idiot who knocked her up,” he reminds me, as if I should accept some type of punishment.
“I-”
“You deny it?”
“No.”
“Then you knocked her up.”
“It wasn't –”
“Well you did stick it in, didn't you?”
I rebuke at his brashness. “That's not even –”
“Then you knocked her up,” Haymitch repeats, turning from me, end of discussion. “Tell me,” Haymitch raises his voice as he trails toward the door, “was it worth it?”
I hurry after him.
“It's none of your business,” I say.
“You son of a bitch,” I hear as I step from Command into the hallway. Then, I feel a flaring, burning pain in my jaw. Gale's left fist is pulling away from my face, for a second hit. Haymitch catches it for me. Throwing him away from me in an immense feat. Sprawling the furious Gale across the floor.
The punch caused to me to stagger, grasping the doorframe for support. When I try to speak, whether to express how shocked or sorry I am to Gale, it comes out as nothing but a groan. The blood wells up inside my mouth, spilling into the hand I grasp my face with.
The soldiers are quick to take Gale into custody. They drag him down the hall, protesting. He's off to detention. A place I'm more than familiar with. Everyone who stopped to watch the show, shakes their head when they see Gale being dragged away, until he pushes at the soldier's hands and tries to regain some dignity by walking stiffly on his own. With only a glance over his shoulders I know that whatever crossroad we may have found in the past five months has been sabotaged by this one thing.
Haymitch offers me a hand.
“That looks... hm, maybe we should get you to the hospital.”
I nod. Better to see Prim and Mrs. Everdeen now rather than later. Awkward situation at its worst, Prim will actually know how babies are made and Mrs. Everdeen might get angry, though her anger will be easier to face than Gale's.
On the elevator ride down, I find myself thinking about Katniss. About what I just saw.
How alive and healthy and breathing she is.
Yes, I think to myself, remembering Haymitch's question, it was worth it.
More than anything, I want her to know that I am coming. That for the past few months we haven't forgotten her. Now that I know that she is alive – I want her to remember what I told her before we left that arena. If she has no will to live, after the torture or the lies President Snow might tell her, then I want her to remember that I need her. That I love her too much to let go. That when she finds no will to live, I want her to draw that will from me; because I will want her to live, always.
And maybe I'm selfish. Maybe I'm the guy who wants the love of his life to live in her own personal hell for the rest of her life, despite the agony it causes her. I've never been called a selfish person. I've never asked something from someone that's unbearable. I've always tried to give before I take…
But this time, just this one time, in the most crucial time, I will be selfish.
Because yes, it was worth it. Because I want to see this through. I want to see her again.
And maybe, I want to see that child, that she will bear. Our child… even is she resents them. Even if she resents me... because I'm selfish like that.