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savvylark · 6 years

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Radiant-

An Everlark Drabble. This is how I imagine Katniss realizing she is truly happy post-mockingjay, after she’s had time to grieve, somewhat recover and find a new normal. @everlarkedalways had an ask about Katniss being truly happy, and I just so happened to be writing this. Also orgasms are good for your skin, sceptical? Look it up. ;)

In canon “growing back together” so Rated: E for smut. The amazing, talented @katnissdoesnotfollowback beta’d this, thank you! 😘😘

Frothy mint swirled in her mouth as Katniss swept her toothbrush over her teeth. Her gaze found the reflection in the mirror and she couldn’t fight the smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. Reflecting back, a woman who almost looked like a stranger. Katniss finished up her task and rinsed her toothbrush but took a moment to inspect what she saw in the mirror. Her gray eyes seemed to gleam in an ethereal way, an unbridled happiness she hadn’t known since she was a girl.

Smiles came easier to Katniss these day. The apples of her cheeks were fuller and healthier than when her cheekbones were sharp, visible from hunger. Her olive skin seemed to glow. Katniss didn’t have a terrible complexion, although the scars of her past would always remain. And blemishes would frequently come and go. This clear almost radiant skin was new. Katniss had to admit that she felt beautiful.

Katniss brushed out her long, glossy black locks and wondered if anything was different that could be attributed to her clearer complexion.

Katniss heard her mom’s voice in her mind recite questions she habitually asked her patients about changes in diet or habits. She searched her mind, recalling anything new as of late.

Her face grew warm and she tried to stifle her grin while her mind flooded with whispers and images of all the recent changes she had experienced. All of which Peeta Mellark was entirely to blame.

“You have the look of love about you, child.” Greasy Sea had remarked as she held Katniss in an embrace after dinner one evening two weeks ago. The sleeves of her favorite sweater bunched at Katniss’s elbows as she reciprocated the wise Seam woman’s affection.

Social dinners had become a habit in her Victor’s Village house. How could she possibly begin to thank someone who had been there for her when Katniss was so broken and alone? Making Greasy Sea and her granddaughter dinner once a week was a start. The woman had become the mother figure Katniss needed after the war. Sea had held Katniss’s face in her hands and offered a gentle reminder that it was safe to admit that the former Mockingjay wanted a life with Peeta.

All the heartache was in the past and they had grown together, beautifully. Friend. Victor. Enemy. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. The star-crossed victors had come to an impasse, they had grown past friends. Not yet lover’s. Katniss wasn’t terrified anymore but the fear of losing Peeta again after admitting she needed him still lingered.

That night, Greasy Sae’s words had nudged Katniss off the precipice. And when she asked Peeta to stay, for probably the hundredth time, she had a new intent. Her walls were coming down.

Weaving her hair into her usual braid, Katniss beamed back at her reflection. Strange bits of happiness. She bites her lip and and her eyes soften. The words Effie spoke to her on the train so many nights ago come to her mind could explain her glowing completion and maybe the shimmering silvery look in her once dull gray eyes.

Katniss had tried to sneak out of Peeta’s room unnoticed, but she was caught by Effie. “Well, I never! Honestly Katniss, have some decency, sharing a bed with a boy! It’s just not proper. Although… it’s a highly praised beauty secret,” Effie had paused and tilted the back of her hand over her mouth, whispering as if quoting a capitolite magazine secret. “A woman with regular well executed orgasms has a glow about her, and it works wonders for the skin. Having sex improves blood circulation, which helps to pump oxygen to your skin and make it brighter. It also helps to eliminate toxins and can actually make your lips a little fuller.”

At the time Katniss scowled at the district escort and blushed at the implication of what she was doing with Peeta in bed.

But Katniss’s response to the memory of Effie Trinket’s words was entirely different. Because the evidence is all over her face. She didn’t blush. She felt no shame, bit her lip to hold back a mischievous smile and tried to get a hold of her heavy breathing, toying with the tail of her braid.

Finally Katniss gave in to the urge to revel in the memory of Peeta’s hands and lips just the night before. Like two weeks ago and so many nights since, once she felt the hunger like on the beach in the Quarter Quell, Katniss let it overtake her.

“Oh Peeta!” She had gasped as his hot lips found the bud of her nipple, the things Peeta could do with his mouth and tongue blew Katniss’s mind. She arched into him as he sucked and nipped. His grip on her back pushed her closer while his free hand toyed with the lace of her panties. Katniss moaned as Peeta cupped the front of her and rubbed in lazy circles. When his thick fingers dipped under the lace and through her folds. She gasped and her eyes slid shut. Katniss felt Peeta’s wet kisses trickle down her belly while his fingers teased her hood with just the right amount of pressure until she was writhing and begging for more. When his kisses journeyed along her hip bone and inner thigh he took her breath away. Just when he reached the spot that ached to be touched, Peeta spat a curse. “You’re so wet, Katniss.”

Peeta dove in with more pressure, and Katniss hummed. His fingers were suddenly replaced by his mouth. She yelped at the first swipe of Peeta’s tongue and nervously turned away from him, clamping her legs shut.

She was nervous, and surprised by how arousing this new experience felt.

Breathing in deeply Katniss took a minute to regain her composure. She sighed, her heart was still racing. Peeta’s hooded blue eyes and shy, boyish smile softened her resistance and he carefully read her face. Slowly and gently Peeta glided his rugged hands up her thighs.

Hands that had been through over a decade of baking, two hunger games, a war, severe torture, and burns that resembled her own from the City Circle. These hands protected her, held her through her worst nightmares. These hands that Katniss thought would never want to hold her, hug her, and love her again after his hijacking, were now opening her up and loving her in the most intimate ways. He opened her legs and gently caressed up and down the inner thigh, stoking the fire. Katniss grew more wet and more vulnerable. He kissed her hip bone and nipped the sensitive skin lower and lower, then his hot breath fanned over her most intimate parts.

“Katniss,” his voice low and husky, obliterating her hesitation, increasing her need. “I want to try something new, I’ll stop if you don’t want to. I just– I want to make you feel good. Do you trust me?”

She kissed his palm, her response a word that meant so much to both of them, “Always.”

Before she had finished her answer, Peeta lips and tongue were eagerly lapping her so intimately, taking great care to unravel her. She bit her lip and writhed. She struggled to stay quiet until Peeta told her, with glistening lips, that he didn’t what her to hold back. He wanted to hear every noise. Unhuman whines and groans escaped her mouth as fireworks sparked behind her eyelids. An electric current of pleasure ran from the source through her belly and out every limb, leaving Katniss, a panting, sated, exhausted mess.

She caught sight of Peeta’s face through hooded eyelids and he was grinning like the cat who ate the canary. He wiped his mouth and took her in his arms. She buried her face in his neck and wrapped her wobbly legs on either side of his hips as her breathing evened out.

“I love you.” Peeta whispered and Katniss felt hear heart soar out of her chest. Her lips greedily claimed his with an envigored passion.

Within minutes, their kisses grew heated. Katniss whipped off Peeta’s underwear, a barrier was put in place, and their bodies slid together. They were one. Katniss felt so full, so whole with Peeta inside her, she used her thighs and thrust her hips the create the delicious friction they both craved. She relished in the look on Peeta’s face when his jaw dropped and eyes rolled back. Whenever they made love like this she felt powerful and vulnerable at the same time.

Encouraged by Peeta’s reaction, as the hunger continued to build she chased after that feeling again. The new incredible feeling, satisfied hunger, the immense bliss. She craved it. Katniss lifted one of her legs higher to take him in deeper, she felt him hit a spot deep inside her that made her moan and caused her thighs to quiver.

She heard Peeta growl. He bit into her shoulder, and his breathing grew ragged. His response seemed to spur on her chase. She clenched Peeta inside her, the rhythm of her thrusts broke and grew lazy. She felt his thick fingers rub the nub inside her, sending a tidal wave of lighting and pleasure to wash over her. Wave after wave, she paid no attention to the sounds she made, as Peeta groaned and grunted her name in ecstasy and tightened his arm around her.

“What are you smiling about?” Peeta asked. Katniss jumped, so lost in her illicit memory that she didn’t hear his heavy footsteps.

Peeta’s eyebrows shot up as he flashed her a brilliant smile. His warm strong arms embraced her. Arms that were her only refuge from the cruel world for so long. Peeta’s warm lips brush her cheek. Her heart thumped faster in her chest.

“You, I guess.”

In response to her answer Peeta scooped her up in his arms as if she were a feather and flung her on their bed. Katniss laughed until she was cut off by his plump, delicious lips. Peeta’s addictive kisses consumed her. So intertwined, she wasn’t sure where she began and he ended. When she felt the hunger overtake her like a raging fire, Katniss happily surrendered again.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #savvylark writes #thg fanfiction #growing back together #smut

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everlark-your-own-adventure · 7 years

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Powder Keg - Ch 7

Welcome back to the adventure we’re all everlarking together! Fallen behind in the story? Here are the previous chapters:

Chapter 1 /// Chapter 2 /// Chapter 3 /// Chapter 4 /// Chapter 5 /// Chapter 6

Last week found our darlings rescued from old Hans cave and Katniss transported for medical care. More revelations ensued, and you, everlarkers, voted for her to accept Peeta’s offer to rebuild their friendship on a foundation of honesty and trust.

This week, the lovely and talented @notanislander continues our adventure. As always, you have 48 hours to vote, until noon, Wednesday, December the 20th. Remember, vote in the comments or reblogs, not in the tags! And as always, share with your friends, more voices = more fun! Ready? Here we go… grab your favourite warm beverage and settle in for our weekly trip to Mt. Mockingjay…

Trust. It's something that doesn't come easily to me. When my father died, my mother went into a severe depression, something she struggles with to this day. In my head, I know she is doing the best she can, but in my heart, I am still that ten- or eleven-year-old girl wishing her mother would talk to her, even look at her.

It’s something I didn’t have with Peeta three years ago. If I had trusted him, I might have given him a chance to explain the situation. I might have stopped to listen when he told me about Bristel’s brother. But I didn’t. I did what I always do - I ran. I thought it was easier to keep my heart locked up tight and I almost convinced myself of that too. Right up until the cave. That’s when I realized something. My life has been a shadow since I walked away from Peeta three years ago. Sure I had Prim, and I had Gale, but what else did I have? A life? No. A future to look forward to? No. I just existed.

I’m sentenced to a week of “bed rest” by both my mother and the Emergency Room doctor. Peeta behaves so nicely. Every morning, he stops by our house on his way to the ski lodge with fresh baked cheese buns in hand. I’m surprised he remembers how much I love them, and they taste just as good as ever.

He carries me downstairs everyday, but never stays too long since he needs to get to work. He comes by in the evenings too, freshly showered and so happy to help my mother out with any small thing. He even helps Prim with her English term paper on To Kill a Mockingbird. And he always saves time to just talk with me. Sometimes he’ll bring his sketchbook over and we’ll sit quietly while he makes sketches of the resort, my house, trees, whatever he’s thinking about. “It helps calm me down after a full day at the lodge,” he tells me. “I like people, but sometimes it gets a bit much, you know? So this helps refocus me.” We might even watch a movie on Netflix, and then, just before he heads home, he carries me up to my room.

By the end of the week, I’m going stir-crazy. I need to get out, start making money again. No matter how my mother argues, I know we need the money and being off for a week just before the holidays certainly isn’t helping our situation, which was dire to begin with.

“Katniss, stop!” my mother chastises. “I have an interview at the drop-in clinic tomorrow. They need another nurse and I think this will be a good fit.” My mother’s eternal optimism is tempered only by my eternal pessimism, which were both brought about by her depression. I know full well what can happen if my mother gets too much bad news, so I am always prepared for the worst. Luckily, it seems Prim is oblivious to it all.

“Katniss,” she whispers later, when we are alone in our shared room, “This job is going to workout for mom. I really think it is.” It seems Prim has inherited the sunny side as well.

“I hope so little duck. Because missing this week without pay is not helping one bit.” I snap back; angry at myself, angry at the Lodge, angry at pretty much everyone.

Everyone, that is, except Peeta, which is both a change and a revelation to me all at once. I’ve been so angry with him for three years, that to not be angry now takes me aback. Why am I not angry at him? In some ways, my anger would be justified. I mean, he did distract me and cause me to fall. Didn’t he? Or did I imagine that? I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure of a lot, to be honest.

Having barely survived the torturous week of bed rest, I am finally able to be back at the lodge. When Peeta heard I was going back to work, he insisted that he would pick me up every morning and drive me back home in the evenings. I told him he didn’t need to, that my mother could do it, but he just smiled and told me it was no problem. So I gave up and accepted his kindness. “Isn’t this nice? Just you and me in the truck? Kind of like old times!” he says with a smile.

“Yeah, old times,” I smile back, hoping he isn’t thinking of how those ‘old times’ ended up. I am hoping for a very different ending this time around.

I’ve almost come to accept the fact that I’ll be working in the snack bar all winter to make up for the lost wages I was getting as a ski instructor. I wasn’t a great instructor, but at least I was earning something more than minimum wage. I am trying really hard to not feel sorry for myself right now, but it isn’t easy.

I look out the window and watch Peeta and Gale work with the group of elementary students, the very ones who caused me to sprain my knee in the first place. Their teacher, Madge, is flirting with Gale, which is intriguing because I thought she had a thing for Peeta. “Hmmm, watching from the window might not be such a bad thing altogether,” I say quietly to myself.

I’m lost in speculation when Johanna says from behind me, “What’s so interesting out there, Brainless?”

“Geez Jo!” I jump at her voice, and take a big breath to calm down. “Not much. Unless you count that teacher, Madge, who was flirting with Peeta, but now seems to have turned her attention full on to Gale.” I tell her, a bit of conspiracy in my tone.

“Oh really? Do tell?” Jo does love to have her own bit of gossip, especially when it involves instructors and clients. “She’s just his type too,” she says knowingly. “Look at him smile at her. I smell a bit of a romance blooming!”

We share a laugh at Gale’s expense, knowing full well that the look on Gale’s face means exactly what Jo is insinuating. He loves the attention he’s getting from Ms. Undersee as much as Ms. Undersee loves giving it.

It comes as no surprise then, that as the kids are getting back on the bus after their final lesson, I spy Gale tapping what I assume is his number into Madge’s phone. It does come as a surprise when I see Peeta laughing at Gale as the bus pulls away and they begin to make their way to the lodge. Gale good naturedly punches Peeta in the arm. When did these two become such good friends? A lot seems to have happened since I was off. Should I be worried? Somehow I think I should.

“Katniss!” Gale bellows, coming into the snack bar. “It’s good to see you up and about! Care for a race later on today?”

I look at him, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

“Oh, now you’re backing off,” he taunts. “How many times have you told me you could beat me skiing down the mountain, even if you had a broken leg? Now’s your chance to test that theory!”

Gale seems too happy. He and that Madge lady are definitely getting together. “Oh, I’d do it, but you’d lose and then you’d go home crying to your mommy. She’d call up my mom for picking on you, and then I’d get in trouble for skiing on this knee,” I tell him with a grin. “Or would you call up Ms. Undersee to complain instead?”

That gets him. He narrows his eyes at me and scowls, “Who told you?”

“Uh, uh, uh! A girl never reveals her sources. But tell me Gale, was Peeta jealous? Because she was flirting awfully hard with him until YOU came along!” I laugh.

“Hey Everdeen! Leave me out of this!” Peeta calls, stomping into the lodge and making his way to the snack counter. “I don’t know what you said, but I heard my name, and I know from that tone of voice it wasn’t anything good!”

The lodge patrons are taking in all of this good natured ribbing and I can see their smiles. It’s then I realize that people enjoy seeing and being a part of a team that genuinely like each other. I guess it really is contagious.

“Ms. Everdeen!” I look down to see Maggie, one of the younger children I taught before my accident. “May I have another hot chocolate? Here’s the money for it!”

“Sure, Miss Maggie,” I smile.

As I prepare her drink, she says, “I can’t wait until you’re back teaching skiing again. You were my favorite instructor! You never made me do the hard stuff until I was ready!”

I’m not sure how to respond to this. I look to Peeta, who is watching the entire exchange. He just smiles at me. The young girl’s mother comes up behind her and says, “We do miss you Katniss. You are the only instructor Maggie talks about,” and she hands me a $20 bill. “Keep the change, Katniss. You deserve it.” And she and Maggie walk away, leaving me with my mouth open.

“Better close your mouth before the flies get in,” Jo says to me. Then she heads back into the office, laughing all the way.

The days go by, and it seems like no time has passed when I have my three week follow-up appointment. Peeta offers to take me in, since my mother now has full-time work at the clinic. “I would take the time off,” she says, but Peeta interrupts her.

“It’s no problem for me, Mrs. Everdeen. I already have the day off, and Katniss and I would be spending it together anyway.”

Which is true. We do seem to spend everyday together. And most evenings too.

My mother concedes, and after Peeta goes home that night she makes sure to stop in my room. “Katniss, I really like that boy. I hope you do too, because I would hate to see both of you so heartbroken again.”

“I do like him, Mom,” I say with a shy smile. I don’t know if I’ve ever talked boys with my mother. I think I should feel awkward, but I am glad to have a chance to talk this whole thing through with someone. “But we’re just friends right now. We’re working on making our friendship stronger.”

“That’s good dear, but I can tell by the way he looks at you that he thinks of you as much more than that.” I blush at this, but don’t interrupt her. “Don’t waste your life waiting for me and Prim, OK? Take a chance on love. I may not be the best example, but it really is worth it. I wouldn’t trade the years I had with your father for anything. Please think about this,” she advises me. And I do.

I fall asleep to thoughts of Peeta - not Peeta my friend, but Peeta my lover. I have pushed these types of ideas out of my mind for three years. Now, I am openly inviting them in again. And just like that, it hits me. I love Peeta Mellark. I love him. He’s coming to pick me up to take me to the doctor tomorrow, and I am pretty sure the doctor is going to give me a clean bill of health. Which means I can drive my own car again. I won’t be as shut in as I was. Peeta won’t need to stop by and see me anymore. He won’t have an excuse. I’ll be driving myself to and from Mt. Mockingjay every day.

So what do I do? Do I take that risk to tell Peeta my feelings? Or do I hold them in, hoping he speaks first? What if my mother is wrong? What if he doesn’t feel the same way about me? Or what if he does, but thinks I don’t, so he stops coming by or stopping to see me? Do I tell him or not? What do I do?

#EYOA #powder keg

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readbookywooks · 8 years

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11 What will break me? This is the question that consumes me over the next three days as we wait to be released from our prison of safety. What will break me into a million pieces so that I am beyond repair, beyond usefulness? I mention it to no one, but it devours my waking hours and weaves itself throughout my nightmares. Four more bunker missiles fall over this period, all massive, all very damaging, but there's no urgency to the attack. The bombs are spread out over the long hours so that just when you think the raid is over, another blast sends shock waves through your guts. It feels more designed to keep us in lockdown than to decimate 13. Cripple the district, yes. Give the people plenty to do to get the place running again. But destroy it? No. Coin was right on that point. You don't destroy what you want to acquire in the future. I assume what they really want, in the short term, is to stop the Airtime Assaults and keep me off the televisions of Panem. We receive next to no information about what is happening. Our screens never come on, and we get only brief audio updates from Coin about the nature of the bombs. Certainly, the war is still being waged, but as to its status, we're in the dark. Inside the bunker, cooperation is the order of the day. We adhere to a strict schedule for meals and bathing, exercise and sleep. Small periods of socialization are granted to alleviate the tedium. Our space becomes very popular because both children and adults have a fascination with Buttercup. He attains celebrity status with his evening game of Crazy Cat. I created this by accident a few years ago, during a winter blackout. You simply wiggle a flashlight beam around on the floor, and Buttercup tries to catch it. I'm petty enough to enjoy it because I think it makes him look stupid. Inexplicably, everyone here thinks he's clever and delightful. I'm even issued a special set of batteries - an enormous waste - to be used for this purpose. The citizens of 13 are truly starved for entertainment. It's on the third night, during our game, that I answer the question eating away at me. Crazy Cat becomes a metaphor for my situation. I am Buttercup. Peeta, the thing I want so badly to secure, is the light. As long as Buttercup feels he has the chance of catching the elusive light under his paws, he's bristling with aggression. (That's how I've been since I left the arena, with Peeta alive.) When the light goes out completely, Buttercup's temporarily distraught and confused, but he recovers and moves on to other things. (That's what would happen if Peeta died.) But the one thing that sends Buttercup into a tailspin is when I leave the light on but put it hopelessly out of his reach, high on the wall, beyond even his jumping skills. He paces below the wall, wails, and can't be comforted or distracted. He's useless until I shut the light off. (That's what Snow is trying to do to me now, only I don't know what form his game takes.) Maybe this realization on my part is all Snow needs. Thinking that Peeta was in his possession and being tortured for rebel information was bad. But thinking that he's being tortured specifically to incapacitate me is unendurable. And it's under the weight of this revelation that I truly begin to break. After Crazy Cat, we're directed to bed. The power's been coming and going; sometimes the lamps burn at full brightness, other times we squint at one another in the brownouts. At bedtime they turn the lamps to near darkness and activate safety lights in each space. Prim, who's decided the walls will hold up, snuggles with Buttercup on the lower bunk. My mother's on the upper. I offer to take a bunk, but they make me keep to the floor mattress since I flail around so much when I'm sleeping. I'm not flailing now, as my muscles are rigid with the tension of holding myself together. The pain over my heart returns, and from it I imagine tiny fissures spreading out into my body. Through my torso, down my arms and legs, over my face, leaving it crisscrossed with cracks. One good jolt of a bunker missile and I could shatter into strange, razor-sharp shards. When the restless, wiggling majority has settled into sleep, I carefully extricate myself from my blanket and tiptoe through the cavern until I find Finnick, feeling for some unspecified reason that he will understand. He sits under the safety light in his space, knotting his rope, not even pretending to rest. As I whisper my discovery of Snow's plan to break me, it dawns on me. This strategy is very old news to Finnick. It's what broke him. "This is what they're doing to you with Annie, isn't it?" I ask. "Well, they didn't arrest her because they thought she'd be a wealth of rebel information," he says. "They know I'd never have risked telling her anything like that. For her own protection." "Oh, Finnick. I'm so sorry," I say. "No, I'm sorry. That I didn't warn you somehow," he tells me. Suddenly, a memory surfaces. I'm strapped to my bed, mad with rage and grief after the rescue. Finnick is trying to console me about Peeta. "They'll figure out he doesn't know anything pretty fast. And they won't kill him if they think they can use him against you." "You did warn me, though. On the hovercraft. Only when you said they'd use Peeta against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow," I say. "I shouldn't have said even that. It was too late for it to be of any help to you. Since I hadn't warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should've shut up about how Snow operates." Finnick yanks on the end of his rope, and an intricate knot becomes a straight line again. "It's just that I didn't understand when I met you. After your first Games, I thought the whole romance was an act on your part. We all expected you'd continue that strategy. But it wasn't until Peeta hit the force field and nearly died that I - " Finnick hesitates. I think back to the arena. How I sobbed when Finnick revived Peeta. The quizzical look on Finnick's face. The way he excused my behavior, blaming it on my pretend pregnancy. "That you what?" "That I knew I'd misjudged you. That you do love him. I'm not saying in what way. Maybe you don't know yourself. But anyone paying attention could see how much you care about him," he says gently. Anyone? On Snow's visit before the Victory Tour, he challenged me to erase any doubts of my love for Peeta. "Convince me," Snow said. It seems, under that hot pink sky with Peeta's life in limbo, I finally did. And in doing so, I gave him the weapon he needed to break me. Finnick and I sit for a long time in silence, watching the knots bloom and vanish, before I can ask, "How do you bear it?" Finnick looks at me in disbelief. "I don't, Katniss! Obviously, I don't. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking." Something in my expression stops him. "Better not to give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart." Well, he must know. I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into one piece. "The more you can distract yourself, the better," he says. "First thing tomorrow, we'll get you your own rope. Until then, take mine." I spend the rest of the night on my mattress obsessively making knots, holding them up for Buttercup's inspection. If one looks suspicious, he swipes it out of the air and bites it a few times to make sure it's dead. By morning, my fingers are sore, but I'm still holding on. With twenty-four hours of quiet behind us, Coin finally announces we can leave the bunker. Our old quarters have been destroyed by the bombings. Everyone must follow exact directions to their new compartments. We clean our spaces, as directed, and file obediently toward the door. Before I'm halfway there, Boggs appears and pulls me from the line. He signals for Gale and Finnick to join us. People move aside to let us by. Some even smile at me since the Crazy Cat game seems to have made me more lovable. Out the door, up the stairs, down the hall to one of those multidirectional elevators, and finally we arrive at Special Defense. Nothing along our route has been damaged, but we are still very deep. Boggs ushers us into a room virtually identical to Command. Coin, Plutarch, Haymitch, Cressida, and everybody else around the table looks exhausted. Someone has finally broken out the coffee - although I'm sure it's viewed only as an emergency stimulant - and Plutarch has both hands wrapped tightly around his cup as if at any moment it might be taken away. There's no small talk. "We need all four of you suited up and aboveground," says the president. "You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen's military unit remains not only functional but dominant, and, most important, that the Mockingjay is still alive. Any questions?" "Can we have a coffee?" asks Finnick. Steaming cups are handed out. I stare distastefully at the shiny black liquid, never having been much of a fan of the stuff, but thinking it might help me stay on my feet. Finnick sloshes some cream in my cup and reaches into the sugar bowl. "Want a sugar cube?" he asks in his old seductive voice. That's how we met, with Finnick offering me sugar. Surrounded by horses and chariots, costumed and painted for the crowds, before we were allies. Before I had any idea what made him tick. The memory actually coaxes a smile out of me. "Here, it improves the taste," he says in his real voice, plunking three cubes in my cup. As I turn to go suit up as the Mockingjay, I catch Gale watching me and Finnick unhappily. What now? Does he actually think something's going on between us? Maybe he saw me go to Finnick's last night. I would've passed the Hawthornes' space to get there. I guess that probably rubbed him the wrong way. Me seeking out Finnick's company instead of his. Well, fine. I've got rope burn on my fingers, I can barely hold my eyes open, and a camera crew's waiting for me to do something brilliant. And Snow's got Peeta. Gale can think whatever he wants. In my new Remake Room in Special Defense, my prep team slaps me into my Mockingjay suit, arranges my hair, and applies minimal makeup before my coffee's even cooled. In ten minutes, the cast and crew of the next propos are making the circuitous trek to the outside. I slurp my coffee as we travel, finding that the cream and sugar greatly enhance its flavor. As I knock back the dregs that have settled to the bottom of the cup, I feel a slight buzz start to run through my veins. After climbing a final ladder, Boggs hits a lever that opens a trapdoor. Fresh air rushes in. I take big gulps and for the first time allow myself to feel how much I hated the bunker. We emerge into the woods, and my hands run through the leaves overhead. Some are just starting to turn. "What day is it?" I ask no one in particular. Boggs tells me September begins next week. September. That means Snow has had Peeta in his clutches for five, maybe six weeks. I examine a leaf on my palm and see I'm shaking. I can't will myself to stop. I blame the coffee and try to focus on slowing my breathing, which is far too rapid for my pace. Debris begins to litter the forest floor. We come to our first crater, thirty yards wide and I can't tell how deep. Very. Boggs says anyone on the first ten levels would likely have been killed. We skirt the pit and continue on. "Can you rebuild it?" Gale asks. "Not anytime soon. That one didn't get much. A few backup generators and a poultry farm," says Boggs. "We'll just seal it off." The trees disappear as we enter the area inside the fence. The craters are ringed with a mixture of old and new rubble. Before the bombing, very little of the current 13 was aboveground. A few guard stations. The training area. About a foot of the top floor of our building - where Buttercup's window jutted out - with several feet of steel on top of it. Even that was never meant to withstand more than a superficial attack. "How much of an edge did the boy's warning give you?" asks Haymitch. "About ten minutes before our own systems would've detected the missiles," says Boggs. "But it did help, right?" I ask. I can't bear it if he says no. "Absolutely," Boggs replies. "Civilian evacuation was completed. Seconds count when you're under attack. Ten minutes meant lives saved." Prim, I think. And Gale. They were in the bunker only a couple of minutes before the first missile hit. Peeta might have saved them. Add their names to the list of things I can never stop owing him for. Cressida has the idea to film me in front of the ruins of the old Justice Building, which is something of a joke since the Capitol's been using it as a backdrop for fake news broadcasts for years, to show that the district no longer existed. Now, with the recent attack, the Justice Building sits about ten yards away from the edge of a new crater. As we approach what used to be the grand entrance, Gale points out something and the whole party slows down. I don't know what the problem is at first and then I see the ground strewn with fresh pink and red roses. "Don't touch them!" I yell. "They're for me!" The sickeningly sweet smell hits my nose, and my heart begins to hammer against my chest. So I didn't imagine it. The rose on my dresser. Before me lies Snow's second delivery. Long-stemmed pink and red beauties, the very flowers that decorated the set where Peeta and I performed our post-victory interview. Flowers not meant for one, but for a pair of lovers. I explain to the others as best I can. Upon inspection, they appear to be harmless, if genetically enhanced, flowers. Two dozen roses. Slightly wilted. Most likely dropped after the last bombing. A crew in special suits collects them and carts them away. I feel certain they will find nothing extraordinary in them, though. Snow knows exactly what he's doing to me. It's like having Cinna beaten to a pulp while I watch from my tribute tube. Designed to unhinge me. Like then, I try to rally and fight back. But as Cressida gets Castor and Pollux in place, I feel my anxiety building. I'm so tired, so wired, and so unable to keep my mind on anything but Peeta since I've seen the roses. The coffee was a huge mistake. What I didn't need was a stimulant. My body visibly shakes and I can't seem to catch my breath. After days in the bunker, I'm squinting no matter what direction I turn, and the light hurts. Even in the cool breeze, sweat trickles down my face. "So, what exactly do you need from me again?" I ask. "Just a few quick lines that show you're alive and still fighting," says Cressida. "Okay." I take my position and then I'm staring into the red light. Staring. Staring. "I'm sorry, I've got nothing." Cressida walks up to me. "You feeling okay?" I nod. She pulls a small cloth from her pocket and blots my face. "How about we do the old Q-and-A thing?" "Yeah. That would help, I think." I cross my arms to hide the shaking. Glance at Finnick, who gives me a thumbs-up. But he's looking pretty shaky himself. Cressida's back in position now. "So, Katniss. You've survived the Capitol bombing of Thirteen. How did it compare with what you experienced on the ground in Eight?" "We were so far underground this time, there was no real danger. Thirteen's alive and well and so am - " My voice cuts off in a dry, squeaking sound. "Try the line again," says Cressida. "'Thirteen's alive and well and so am I.'" I take a breath, trying to force air down into my diaphragm. "Thirteen's alive and so - " No, that's wrong. I swear I can still smell those roses. "Katniss, just this one line and you're done today. I promise," says Cressida. "'Thirteen's alive and well and so am I.'" I swing my arms to loosen myself up. Place my fists on my hips. Then drop them to my sides. Saliva's filling my mouth at a ridiculous rate and I feel vomit at the back of my throat. I swallow hard and open my lips so I can get the stupid line out and go hide in the woods and - that's when I start crying. It's impossible to be the Mockingjay. Impossible to complete even this one sentence. Because now I know that everything I say will be directly taken out on Peeta. Result in his torture. But not his death, no, nothing so merciful as that. Snow will ensure that his life is much worse than death. "Cut," I hear Cressida say quietly. "What's wrong with her?" Plutarch says under his breath. "She's figured out how Snow's using Peeta," says Finnick. There's something like a collective sigh of regret from the semicircle of people spread out before me. Because I know this now. Because there will never be a way for me to not know this again. Because, beyond the military disadvantage losing a Mockingjay entails, I am broken. Several sets of arms would embrace me. But in the end, the only person I truly want to comfort me is Haymitch, because he loves Peeta, too. I reach out for him and say something like his name and he's there, holding me and patting my back. "It's okay. It'll be okay, sweetheart." He sits me on a length of broken marble pillar and keeps an arm around me while I sob. "I can't do this anymore," I say. "I know," he says. "All I can think of is - what he's going to do to Peeta - because I'm the Mockingjay!" I get out. "I know." Haymitch's arm tightens around me. "Did you see? How weird he acted? What are they - doing to him?" I'm gasping for air between sobs, but I manage one last phrase. "It's my fault!" And then I cross some line into hysteria and there's a needle in my arm and the world slips away. It must be strong, whatever they shot into me, because it's a full day before I come to. My sleep wasn't peaceful, though. I have the sense of emerging from a world of dark, haunted places where I traveled alone. Haymitch sits in the chair by my bed, his skin waxen, his eyes bloodshot. I remember about Peeta and start to tremble again. Haymitch reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. "It's all right. We're going to try to get Peeta out." "What?" That makes no sense. "Plutarch's sending in a rescue team. He has people on the inside. He thinks we can get Peeta back alive," he says. "Why didn't we before?" I say. "Because it's costly. But everyone agrees this is the thing to do. It's the same choice we made in the arena. To do whatever it takes to keep you going. We can't lose the Mockingjay now. And you can't perform unless you know Snow can't take it out on Peeta." Haymitch offers me a cup. "Here, drink something." I slowly sit up and take a sip of water. "What do you mean, costly?" He shrugs. "Covers will be blown. People may die. But keep in mind that they're dying every day. And it's not just Peeta; we're getting Annie out for Finnick, too." "Where is he?" I ask. "Behind that screen, sleeping his sedative off. He lost it right after we knocked you out," says Haymitch. I smile a little, feel a bit less weak. "Yeah, it was a really excellent shoot. You two cracked up and Boggs left to arrange the mission to get Peeta. We're officially in reruns." "Well, if Boggs is leading it, that's a plus," I say. "Oh, he's on top of it. It was volunteer only, but he pretended not to notice me waving my hand in the air," says Haymitch. "See? He's already demonstrated good judgment." Something's wrong. Haymitch's trying a little too hard to cheer me up. It's not really his style. "So who else volunteered?" "I think there were seven altogether," he says evasively. I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Who else, Haymitch?" I insist. Haymitch finally drops the good-natured act. "You know who else, Katniss. You know who stepped up first." Of course I do. Gale.

#Mockingjay

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