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The sound of the stream and birdsong was all that filled the arena, now a white noise as Peeta waited to die under his camouflage. He was vaguely aware he was thirsty but nothing matched the agony of his leg, the all consuming pain that leaves him in a stupor. Brain foggy, waiting, just waiting, for it to kill him. Vaguely, he was aware of a new sound and instinctively he focused on the noise. Somewhere, a little far off, someone said something in a harsh voice, something he couldn’t just make out. He heard the figure moving closer to him, boots against rock. It was only as those boots hit water that something clicks and he realized what was said, “Peeta”, his name. And only one person would be calling out for him now. Katniss.
“You here to finish me off, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice more rough and biting than he meant on account of the thirst and sickness wracking his body. Then again, he doesn’t know exactly why she’s here. Through his time training with her he realized she’s hard to predict. He could be right. Regardless, he can’t help feeling relief. At the very least, she’s alive. That’s enough. He hears boots shift in the water and knows she is looking for him, but waits for her response.
“Peeta?” comes her whisper, “Where are you?” He doesn’t know why he hesitates to answer. “Peeta?” He hears as her footsteps get closer and realize she’s dangerously close.
“Well, don’t step on me.” He hears as she quickly moves backwards, likely startled by his proximity. Then he opens his eyes, the mud clumped together making the motion unpleasant. And for the first time since the tracker jackers he sees her. Katniss. She looks exhausted. Not necessarily from lack of sleep, but from how much the Games have worn on her. Instantly, he wishes he could take away that exhaustion, take away the pain lining her face. What has she gone through since their last interaction? And yet, she’s beautiful. God, she’s beautiful. She gasps at the sight of him, hidden in the mud, and he laughs at the look of shock on her face.
“Close your eyes again,” she demands, her eyes still wide as they take in his disguise. He does as he’s told. At least the mud isn’t in danger of getting in his eyes anymore.
“I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off,” she says, her voice seeming closer. He smiles at the thought, the idea that decorating cakes is an advantage in the games seems humorous, even if it ended up being true. He had no way of knowing just how accurate his camouflage was, simply painting what he knew with what he had and hoping that it was good enough and no one looked too closely so he could avoid unwanted attention. Guess it ended up being good enough.
“Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying.”
“You’re not going to die,” Katniss says quickly, firmly.
“Says who?”
“Says me. We’re on the same team now, you know.” He opens his eyes again, taking in Katniss. There is that look, that determined look when she sets her mind on something. Maybe she’s more willing to fight for him than he thought. Something flickers in his chest, something he hasn’t felt since the reaping. Hope.
“So, I heard. Nice of you to find what’s left of me.” Katniss silently pulls out her water bottle and he lifts his head a little to let her give him a drink. The water is cool and refreshing against his parched throat.
“Did Cato cut you?”
“Left leg. Up high.”
“Let’s get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you’ve got,”
“Lean down a minute first,” he says as a thought crosses his mind, “Need to tell you something.” She obliges and he whispers softly so the capitol may not overhear, a message just for Katniss and Katniss alone. “Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.” He smiles as Katniss jerks backwards and starts laughing. He liked when she laughed. When she smiled. At least he can make her laugh.
“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” She said in a way where he knew she didn’t take him seriously. Just a joke. But he keeps smiling. He never expected her to feel the same way but any sense of embarrassment or shyness disappeared as he lay dying. No better moment to be bold, he has nothing to lose. That’s when Katniss starts to try to move him toward the water. He tried to help her, he really did, but no matter how much he tried to move he couldn’t manage it without pain rendering him useless. She takes his arms and starts to drag him but the mud seems to hold onto him, and he can’t help but cry out as more pain shoots through him. By the time she’s yanked him free from the mud he lies there shaking and crying, trying desperately to focus on breathing and pain overtakes him. He felt like every nerve was on fire. In some small part of his mind he thought that maybe it would have been better if Katniss was there to kill him. He knows her hunting well, if she shot him the kill would be almost instant. Even if it did hurt, nothing could match the pain he was feeling now.
“Look, Peeta, I’m going to roll you into the stream. It’s very shallow here, okay?” He can barely make out what she's saying as he struggles to focus on anything but his leg, but he can tell that Katniss is trying to speak gently and that helps a little.
“Excellent,” He manages to say through gritted teeth.
“On three. One, two, three!” Peeta can’t help but scream as Katniss tries to roll him toward the stream and stops shortly after. Thank god.
“Okay, change of plans. I’m not going to put you all the way in,”
“No more rolling?” He asks, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice.
“That’s all done. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?” That he can do. His eyes trails the forest as Katniss pours water over his body. The mud and plants slowly break away, coolness washing over his hot body. It feels nice, being free of it. Katniss unzips his jacket and his eyes move from the forest to her. She seems not to take notice, focused on the task at hand as she unbuttons his shirt and eases him out of it before cutting his undershirt from where it's plastered to his wounds. She’s careful, gentle. She helps him prop himself up against a boulder and then begins washing the filth from his hair. Everything seems to stop as he relishes in the touch, so gentle and kind when his past week has been filled with such cruelty and pain. Suddenly, he realizes how much he’s craved comfort and touch these last few days. The last time he had been treated like this was when his dad hugged him goodbye after the reaping. His mom had hugged him too, but her touch was like fire, burning deeper than that of the ovens. Not loveless, that was the wrong word, but conditional. And after was her biting words about Katniss. He couldn’t blame her though, not now, when Katniss is doing so well and he’s dying. But Katniss’ touch felt nothing like that, it was warm and comforting, he couldn’t help but lean into it, to crave more.
She stops washing his hair and skin, beginning to poke at the tracker jacker stings. It takes him a second to realize she’s removing the stingers, wincing as each other is pulled from where it’s embedded. Then she pops some leaves into her mouth, applying them to the stings. The sound of relief is involuntary as he feels the pain leach away immediately. He wondered if that was something she learned as the apothecary’s daughter. Maybe he was in good hands after all. She grabs a small container from her bag, some kind of medicine, and spreads it against his chest, alleviating some of the remaining pain that rested there. He wanted her hand to stay there but she pulled back to his disappointment, rustling through a first-aid kit for some pills. She instructs him to swallow them and he obliges.
“You must be hungry.”
“Not really. It’s funny I haven’t been hungry for days,” despite this, Katniss continues to pull a wild bird from her bag. Peeta couldn’t think of anything less appealing to eat.
“Peeta, we need to get some food in you,” she insists.
“It’ll just come right back up,” yet Katniss is persistent and he allows her to feed him a few bits of dried apple. It goes down rough, hurting his throat.
“Thanks. I’m much better, really. Can I sleep now, Katniss?”
“Soon, I need to look at your leg first.” Carefully, she removes his boots, socks, then pants. Instantly, disgust spreads across her face, though she makes an effort to hide it. It’s a bit amusing, watching her at a loss for words, trying so hard to appear brave despite the quiet horror on her face. He doesn’t want to look at it himself, he’s seen enough of that damage these last few days.
“Pretty awful, huh?”
“So-so.” She lies, but the initial shock seems to have worn off. “You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines.” He has actually, a few times he’s seen wounded people walking or being carried towards the seams. Once, there was a boy who was in rather bad shape. He recognized him from around the school and, worried, he followed at a distance to see where they were taking him. The boy went into the house and shortly after he saw Katniss rushing out of the house and towards the fence. He watched her all the way to the tree line where she disappeared amongst the foliage.
“First thing is to clean it well.” She begins to pour water over it and Peeta bites his lip to avoid making any noise. She then begins treating another tracker jacker stings and some burns before pulling back, looking at the slash in his leg with a look of uncertainty.
“Why don’t we give it some air and then…”
“And then you’ll patch it up?” Katniss did not meet his eyes.
“That’s right,” she said confidently, “In the meantime, you eat these,” and handed him some dried pear halves. He simply holds them, not really wanting to eat. He knew he should but the mere thought was uncomfortable. Katniss continues to move about, washing his clothes, digging back through the first-aid kit. He liked watching her. It’s the first time he could while so close. He watched her at school but always from afar, scared to meet her eyes. Now she was taking care of him.
“We’re going to have to experiment some,” Katniss says, looking up from the kit. Hopefully she’ll have stayed around her mom long enough to have picked something up to help. She starts with the leaves that relieved the tracker jacker stings, pressing them into the wound as he hissed in pain at the pressure. Pus began to ooze from the cut, trailing down his legs in a sick green trail. Anyone would be nauseated by the sight and Katniss definitely was. He could tell she was trying hard to look unbothered but she looked ready to flee at the sight.
“Katniss?” He says to get her attention, her stunning Seam grey eyes meeting him. “How about that kiss?” he mouths as he makes a “charming” face at her and her face cracks into a grin as she bursts out laughing at the ridiculous joke.
“Something wrong?” he asks innocently, hiding the grin pulling at his lips.
“I… I’m no good at this. I’m not my mother. I’ve no idea what I’m doing and I hate pus. Euh!” She groans, speaking quicker as the care of her words and tone disappears, being more true to how she feels than she had her whole interaction thus far. Peeta smiles. That’s my girl. Katniss lets out another longer groan as she rinses the leaves from his wound and begins applying the second. He didn’t expect the apothecary’s daughter and a hunter to be so easily bothered by wounds.
“How do you hunt?” He asks, amused and genuinely curious as he watches Katniss with careful eyes. He’s always wondered about her hunting, what the hours beyond the fence are like. He’s heard stories of wild dogs, of dangers that mark it as a place to fear. He assumes her father taught her, her mother doesn’t look like one to ever venture that far. But what did it really look like? He’s tried to imagine it many times, tried to imagine accompanying her, but he fears he wasn’t meant for that world.
“Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this,” came Katniss’ reply, “Although for all I know, I am killing you.”
“Can you speed it up a little?”
“No. Shut up and eat your pears,” Peeta smiles a little, enjoying the banter. His smile falters and turns into a grimace as she applies more leaves, the pain washing over him in waves.
“What next, Dr. Everdeen?”
“Maybe I’ll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?” She does as she says, spreading the burn ointment over the wound before wrapping it in white cotton. Peeta hopes that it does help but he can’t tell, the pain is almost blinding and it’s all he can do to focus on Katniss. She’s looking at him and curiously her gaze falls on his shorts. Oh? She pulls out a backpack and offers it to him,
“Here, cover yourself with this and I’ll wash your shorts.” Oh that’s all.
“Oh, I don’t care if you see me.” He really doesn’t, too far into the games and too in pain to be embarrassed by such a thing. No matter what he’s dressed in he’ll look the same; a dying pathetic district 12 boy with no chance at survival. The only way anyone would look at him in this state is either pity or disgust, both of which Katniss has already shown.
“You’re just like the rest of my family. I care, all right?” She says, turning away from him. He works on shimmying the shorts off himself, sucking in a breath as the fabric grazes his wound before throwing them into the stream. Katniss retrieves them and begins beating them between two rocks.
“You know, you’re kind of squeamish for such a lethal person. I wish I’d let you give Haymitch a shower after all.” Giving Haymitch a shower was an incredibly unpleasant experience, especially given that Haymitch ended up not remembering the kindness at all. But he couldn’t let the capitols people do it. Because he would hate it if it were him.
“What’s he sent you so far?”
“Not a thing.” He pauses. She didn’t ask if he’s been sent something but what he’s been sent. He knows the answer before he asks, “Why, did you get something?”
“Burn medicine,” Katniss admits and Peeta scoffs a little, “Oh, and some bread.”
“I always knew you were his favorite.”
“Please, he can’t stand being in the same room with me.”
“Because you’re just alike,” Peeta mutters back. Katniss doesn’t respond. It’s something he noticed soon after meeting Haymitch, they were both wiry, easily irritable, stubborn, and not easy to talk to despite how he tried. And Haymitch seemed to care for her in some way though he wasn’t able to figure out why. The biggest hint he had gotten was during the drunken shower in which after Haymitch let it slip that Katniss reminded him of someone, but who? He hadn’t gotten the chance to ask as Haymitch’s head hit his pillow and he quickly fell asleep. Without Katniss talking to him he can feel himself dozing off, lulled by the sounds of the stream and the sounds of Katniss moving about. Some small part of him wants to ask her to sing. He hasn’t heard her sing in awhile. But he remained quiet and let sleep drag him into unconsciousness.
Birdsong filled the air and Peeta looked up towards the tree he was sitting under. A mockingjay chirped its song, a familiar sound to it, something he had heard before. A humming joined the birds tune, creating a beautiful song as Katniss began to sing.
“Down in the valley, valley so low,
Late in the evening, hear the train blow.
The train, love, hear the train blow.
Late in the evening, hear the train blow.”
Peeta remembers when he first heard Katniss sing this at school. It was beautiful then but hearing her voice now was beyond beautiful. The mockingjay had stopped singing, listening with Peeta who is now slowly rocking side to side in tune with the music, letting it flow through him.
“Go build me a mansion, build it so high,
So I can see my true love go by.
See him go by, love, see him go by.
So I can see my true love go by.”
Katniss sits down next to Peeta, she’s wearing her hair is a delicate braid, her hunting jacket a bit big for her, a remembrance of her father, pulling her game bag around her body so he can see the rabbits and squirrels she had hunted.
“Go write a letter, send it by mail.
Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail.
Capitol jail, love, to the Capitol jail.
Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail.”
Katniss began to make a fire, stacking firewood and setting it ablaze. The fire had a strange shiny quality to it, like it was almost synthetic, but Peeta paid it no mind as they began roasting a rabbit.
“Roses are red, love; violets are blue.
Birds in the heavens know I love you.
Know I love you, oh, know I love you,
Birds in the heavens know I love you.”
As Katniss’ song dissipates the Mockingjay picks up its song and Peeta reaches into his own bag to reveal to her fresh pears. She takes one graciously and they begin eating. The pear is soft and sweet and Peeta couldn’t think of a more perfect afternoon.
“It’s gorgeous out here,” he says. Katniss smiles,
“It really is.” The Mockingjay had finished her song whistling a quick four note melody that Peeta is sure he’s heard before but can’t place before taking off, a few leaves falling down into Peeta’s hair. Before he can pick the leaves out himself, Katniss’ hands are in his hair and he leans into the touch. Having picked the leaves out, Katniss leaves over and kisses on the cheek. Then she’s kissing him on the lips. Peeta wishes he could stay in this moment forever.
“Peeta, we’ve got to go now.” Says Katniss’ voice. It’s closer, more sound, more real. Peeta opens his eyes and Katniss is staring back at him, her braid is loose and shorter, her skin dirty, and her eyes burdened by loss and struggle. He’s not in a meadow with her sharing dinner but back in the Games, sitting on harsh rock listening to the stream gurgle by.
“Go? Go where?”
“Away from here. Downstream maybe. Somewhere we can hide you until you’re stronger.” She helps him dress, seeming too worried about looking at him without his undershorts now. He knew he should be worried too but all he could feel was weak and tired. Katniss pulls him upright and pain shoots down his leg so quickly it takes everything in him not to fall. Katniss tries to steady him,
“Come on. You can do this.” The next few moments are filled with agony as they walk downstream, black spots flood his vision and he’s vaguely aware that he must be screaming so he bites hard on his lips. The taste of blood fills his mouth as he breaks skin in the effort to remain quiet. Katniss has him sit down and pushes his head between his knees. He focuses on breathing as Katniss pats his back. His vision is still spinning so he closes his eyes. They don’t do anything for awhile but too soon Katniss has him on his feet again and enter a small cave off the side of the stream. He’s shivering and panting by the time she unrolls a sleeping back and she helps him slip into it, feeding him a few pills and having him drink water. When she offers him fruit the image of his dream, sharing pears underneath that tree, comes to mind but he declines, feeling too weak and sick to eat anything.
Katniss walks back outside, dragging in vines that she tries to place carefully along the mouth of the cave to disguise it. She does this for a bit before she tears it down in frustration, unhappy with the result.
“Katniss,” he speaks, his voice soft and weak. Immediately, she turns her attention to him, crossing the save to sit by him. She is brushing the hair back from his eyes, a sweet and gentle action that makes his heart swell a little, “Thanks for finding me.” He was dying, he knew that. There was no winning the games for him. But, after all these years, he had Katniss. So maybe, in some small way, it was worth it to get close to the Girl on Fire. At least he wouldn’t die alone. At least he would die cared for and humanized. He would die without ever letting the Games change him.
“You would have found me if you could,” Katniss says, pressing her hand to his forehead to test his temperature.
“Yes. Look, if I don’t make it back-”
“Don’t talk like that.” Katniss all but snaps, “I didn’t drain all that pus for nothing,”
“I know. But just in case I don’t-”
“No, Peeta. I don’t even want to discuss it.” Katniss presses her fingers to his lips to keep him from speaking.
“But I-” Peeta insists but not before Katniss' lips are on his. It was like nothing he had ever felt, every inch of him zoned in on the kiss. Energy seemed to thrum under his skin as he kissed back, soft and gentle and slow, scared that she’d pull away. It was warm and comforting, it was his dream come to life in a way much grander than he ever imagined. It was everything. She breaks away and Peeta immediately misses the kiss, wishing she would lean back in but instead she pulls the sleeping bag up around him.
“You’re not going to die. I forbid it. All right?”
“All right,” he whispers back. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance at winning the Games and spending the rest of his days with Katniss. Maybe the dream of the meadow wasn’t as unattainable as he once thought.