Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He couldn’t stand the omnipresent smell of that place.

Granted, he could understand the need for the pungent, sense-assaulting stench of Clorox that greeted anyone the moment they’d set foot through those unassuming, plain white, heavy metallic security doors.

If there was anything he’d learned to appreciate after nineteen months working there, it was decidedly the benefits of very strong antiseptics in plentiful quantities.

After all, one needed to be prepared for whenever one of the permanent residents decided to strike up their own personal blitzkrieg against whatever nightmares their meds were unable to submerge any given day, and the staff here made good and sure these folks weren’t particularly well equipped for those delirium-induced battles. Far more often than not, bodily functions made for perfectly rational ammo to the mentally unstable.

Yes. He could suffer through the caustic smell of cleansers in this place, he thought with a grimace, waving his identification card under the scanner next to the door leading to the minimum-security ward. There were definitely worse evils to contend with; he’d certainly been a personal witness to a bevy of them in the little over a year he’d worked there- far worse smells, too.

Made him grateful this was technically only his day job. Well… one of them, anyway.

“What is our assignment du jour, my friend?” he sighed with a quirked lip, picking up the tablet with his name off the stack on the windowed ledge of the nurse’s station.

He was resolved not to let his exhaustion from his antecedent shift in the shop color his mood while he was here. The patients picked up on all kinds of negative vibes. He needed to cruise through the next six hours without any incidents, so he could have some semblance of sanity left to get something composed for the weekend.

The bronzed Adonis he’d addressed with a tap to the shoulder, barely moved his lips to mutter out his answer, still flipping through the pages of his own chart. “Looks like nothing new, beyond a fresh arrival from last night,” he paused a moment to gesture with his head toward a dark-haired girl sitting in a corner under intersecting windows, staring at a laptop on a table. She had her knees tucked into her chest as if she was trying to curl into herself entirely and disappear.  

He still didn’t bother taking his eyes off the tablet in front of him as he elaborated in a voice entirely too lazed with humor for the subject matter, “I’d stay away from her, though. She’s here for the long haul- some kind of serious emotional crap. Chart says, she’s a ward of the state ‘cause she stabbed some guy to death. Supposedly, it was in self-defense, but you know half these people can go psycho on you at any given moment…” he now lowered his voice, shifting his eyes around the room in mock suspicion, “and crazy gives these suckers super-human strength.”

Peeta narrowed his eyes at the man’s obscenely twisted sense of humor. One corner of his mouth twitched up into a sneer as he shifted toward their newest charge. Getting introductions out of the way as soon as possible was best. Those were always the most awkward and it was always easier to work with the interned once they were acclimated to their caretakers.

“You’re one seriously disturbed bastard, you know that, Finn? Why do you even work here if you have these incredibly ‘enlightened’ ideals about the mentally ill, anyway?”

The emerald-eyed man let out a maniacal laugh that had most of the occupants in the common area staring wide-eyed and panicked at the pair. He completely ignored them, stating matter-of-factly, “Are you kidding me, Mellark? These people make more sense than most you’ll meet once you walk out of here. Okay, so, yeah, they’ll go ‘chimpanzee strength’ on you when they lose the few marbles they have left… but the eight-five, ninety percent of the time they’re not trying to beat your brains out for stealing their thoughts in their sleep or whatever, they’re the most enlightened people alive, dude. We should all be this nuts.”

Completely at a loss as to how to respond to all whatever that qualified as, Peeta feebly shook his head in an effort to clear the bizarre imagery the man’s words evoked, wrenching his wide-eyed glare away from him and toward the still oblivious dark girl in the corner table. Finnick was on a completely different sphere. They all had to take psyche evaluations and were regularly drug tested to work with these patients, the guy had to pass the tests clean or he wouldn’t still work there. One of lives greatest mysteries had to be how this man managed to remain this off-kilter without the benefit of any artificial chemical embellishment.

“Um, yeah, I’m gonna go over there, now.” Peeta couldn’t help the inadvertent twitch upward of his own lip as he spared a glance back toward his friend and noted he was still wearing that deranged grin. Before he could pull away, however, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and shifted his eyes back to lock with those of the odd older man behind him.

“Seriously, though, Peeta, tread lightly with her. Docs say she’s had it rough. Read her actual med charts. She has no idea who she is. She can’t even speak. As far as they can tell, she can understand all of us just fine, but don’t expect much conversation from her… Oh, and note the part in your file that says she’s ‘temperamental’. I know what you’re going to say: ‘All women are’. But, if what the doctors think about this chick is true… you need to watch your back around her, man.”

Peeta couldn’t help quirk an eyebrow at his friend’s suddenly solemn expression. “Finn, are you actually afraid of this girl? She’s gotta be a buck fifteen the most, soaking wet. You’ve got a hundred pounds on her, easily. Seriously?”

The taller man shifted the elbow he’d been reclining on the window ledge to straighten to his full stature and crossed his arms high across his chest in a near-pout. His words came rushing out in a heated, defensive hiss. “Fear is a healthy defensive mechanism, moron. It’s what makes us higher life forms want to, you know, keep breathing? But, you know what? Since, you want to be a jackass; you can just bite me and strut over there. See if I care when she slits you from ear to ear.”

At that last comment, the soft laughter that erupted from Peeta as he started moving away from the nurse’s station was unavoidable. He took a moment to throw back over his shoulder, “We don’t even give them plastic forks, man. It’ll take her a month to finish the job with a plastic spork.” He quickly looked away so he didn’t have to see the single-handed gesture his friend threw up in response.

As he neared the new girl’s table, he realized how fitting the moniker ‘girl’ actually was. She didn’t appear to be out of her teens yet. He looked down at her chart and skimmed over her date of birth, noting with curiosity that she was, in fact, nineteen.

‘Far too young to be in here,’ he mused inwardly. Then again, a what point was lunacy age appropriate, anyway?

Once he was close enough to see her clearly, he noticed the discoloration of burn scars that painted the olive skin of her hands an odd pinkish color. They also licked up what little skin the hoodie she wore exposed of her neck. He took the opportunity that she was still ignoring his approach to peruse her file again and read that she’d been in some sort of car accident that resulted in a prolonged comatose state, after which, she was committed. The file didn’t specify much else about her condition beyond. Apparently, her physicians didn’t think the underlying cause of her current predicament was something those charged with her day-to-day comfort should be privy to. He wondered briefly what strings Odair had pulled to get a hold of her medical charts.

He let out a short breath and looked up, stopping right in front of her table. He cleared his throat roughly to gain her attention and was startled at the intensity in the piercing steel eyes that shot up from behind the screen of the laptop to meet his in an almost challenging glare.

Quickly regaining his easy manner, he allowed the most disarming smile in his arsenal to split his features. “Hello, my name is Peeta. I know you just got here and I wanted to introduce myself and maybe show you around a bit…”

She cut him off with a roll of her eyes and a huff of air out of a corner of her mouth, quickly typing something into her computer and turning it towards him. It took him a second to realize she meant for him to read whatever it was she’d written in size forty-eight, italic, purple font on her screen.

Doctor?

Peeta’s smile widened, as he looked from the screen to her again, stating casually, “College drop-out, furthest thing from, actually.”

She turned the computer back to herself and he watched as her slim, long, dexterous fingers flew over the keys before she quickly turned the screen back to him.

Loser, then.

“Well, aren’t you judgmental for a mute, psych ward internee?” he huffed out with a genuinely bemused snort. “At least, I don’t have to be locked in my room at night to sleep like a petulant two-year-old.”

A deep ‘V’ creasing her brow, she turned the computer back to herself and typed a single word before turning it back with another huff.

Touché.

He snickered softly to himself, bringing a thumb and forefinger up to rub the bridge of his nose tiredly, while she turned the computer back to type something else. This had to be the strangest conversation he’d ever had with anyone, much less a pretty girl.

'Ah, crap, Mellark. Don’t think of the patients as ‘pretty’. That can’t lead anywhere good.' He really needed to start listening to that little voice in the back of his head more often.

He was broken from his brief reverie when she turned the screen back to him.

So, you’re the warden, huh? Well, I’m not tonging my meds. I went to my last one-on-one with the shrink in maximum two days ago and he said I’m not scheduled for another one until this afternoon with some Dr. Aurelius guy down here. He’s supposed to say if I go to group or not. I brushed my teeth this morning, like the doctors say is supposed to be healthy for my recovery. I haven’t showered yet down here because I’m working up the nerve to do it in that communal petri dish you people call the women’s bathroom. And, I swear if any of you dudes offer to sponge bathe me, I’m kicking you in the balls. I don’t care if they transfer me back to maximum and strap me down. You’re getting kicked in the balls if you try to touch me. And shaving is out of the question down here, ‘cause I’m not shaving in front of any of you freaks and I’m too crazy to be near a razor in private. So, I hope you like fuzzy legs.

She was positively smug when Peeta met her gaze again after reading her little message. She wasn’t quite grinning, but something about that mischievous glint in her silver eyes, spoke volumes of some hidden part of her that yearned to do so.

He unceremoniously plopped himself in a chair opposite her at her table, intertwined his fingers before him and clucked his tongue, stating flippantly, “You can grow moss on your body for all I care. I’m more of a baby-sitter than a warden, really.” At the expected warping of her features into an insulted scowl, he continued with a superior, lopsided grin, “As long as I don’t have to clean your filth along with that of the rest of your friends around here on any given day, I’m going to consider it a notch on my win column. How’s that sound to you, sweetheart?”

With an aggravated grunt, she jerked the screen back around, typing furiously at the keys. When she turned it back, her eyes were burning with such fire; he was hesitant to look away from them to see what she’d written. He wondered briefly if she had any notion, how she affected others with something as innocuous as those penetrating stares.

You’re kind of a jerk. Aren’t you guys supposed to be extra nice to us since we’re all sick in the head or something?

This caused another bout of soft chuckling to erupt from deep within the blonde, which caused the already frazzled teenager to flush deeper with anger in response. He rubbed his face with one hand in a half-hearted effort to subdue it.

“You’re not the worst case I’ve seen in here, by a long shot. But, I suppose we can call it a truce on the grounds of your poor mental health. What do you say? Friends?” He held out his hand to her in invitation.

She stared at it as if it were a dangerous snake, her eyes growing to the size of saucers in panicked surprise at his sudden proposal. After what seemed like an eternity of debating and scrutinizing the proffered appendage, however, she cautiously reached out and clasped her comparatively far smaller hand in his, noting how impossibly warm he was. He was like a radiator.

He gave her hand a soft but firm shake and she felt sturdiness, a rare steadiness, radiate from him that she couldn’t help but find enrapturing. She found herself missing it when they finally mutually released each other’s grasp.

She continued staring down at her tingling hand until the sound of his chair scraping the floor forced her eyes up to meet his now, once again, horizontal form.

He smiled at her, that smile from before that made the dimples on both sides of his mouth prominent. “Well, I’ll be taking my leave of you now. Places to go, people to see. Indiscernible goo to clean. You behave yourself now…”

For some unknown reason, she found it imperative that he know one last thing before he moved away from her table. She waved her hand frantically, making sure she still had his attention, before typing the brief missive onto the screen and turning it to him.

I’m Katniss. It was nice meeting you, Peeta.

With a wink and a smirk, he leaned over the table and spoke to her in a rumbled voice she wasn’t sure was supposed to make her stomach flip quite the way it did. “Oh, I know your name and I’ll be back every now and then to check on you… we’ll see if I can learn anything else about you.”

She watched him walk away, inadvertently letting her eyes wander down the contour of his muscled back, amazed not even the hideous scrubs everyone in that hospital had to wear could entirely hide the definition. She felt the heat of a flush boiling up her neck and quickly looked around to make sure no one had caught her staring.

She caught a brief glance of the other ridiculously good-looking orderly (Honestly, where did they even find the guys they hired to work in this hospital? Abercrombie & Fitch?), who quickly averted his eyes with an infuriatingly knowing smirk. She scowled and looked back down at her computer.

Stupid orderlies.

Stupid Peeta.

Stupid blush.

As she went back to browsing, she absently wondered how long it would take him to make his rounds and come back to talk to her.

‘Cause really, how many crazy people could there possibly be in the minimum-security ward? Did he say he only worked this ward?

God! Was being nuts making her needy?

She really, really hoped not…

She needed that like she needed another hole in her head.

The one they’d put in for the shunt to bring down the swelling was plenty. That still gave her headaches. Then, they gave her meds for the headaches… and the meds made the nightmares come back…

How long did it take someone to finish rounds, anyway?

With a determined set to her jaw, she folded up her laptop and set off to find out. 

Chapter Text

She’s crying.

She’s on her lap, curled into a fetal position… and she won’t stop crying.

She needs to stop. It’s important that she stop. It’s dangerous for her to cry that much. For the life of her, she can’t remember why the tiny girl in her arms crying terrifies her to the point of hysteria, but it does. She needs to make her stop. But, she knows she can’t speak. Something awful will happen if she speaks. She can feel it deep within her. Her voice is dangerous to this child in her arms.

She can’t stand her sobs anymore, though. She has to soothe her, placate her. What’s worse? Leave her in the danger of her own tears or place her in whatever peril her voice may bring? She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know!

Ultimately, as the crying grows unbearable in her ears, her hand reaches up to stroke the spun flax of the little girl’s hair and, unwittingly, she does the unthinkable…

She starts to sing.

Katniss startled awake with a jolt, grasping frantically for the comforter her foggy, sleep-sluggish mind would still need a few seconds to register she’d long kicked to the edge of the bed again during her nightly cavalcade of nonsensical horrors. She lurched her body upward in a panicked frenzy to re-acclimate herself to her surroundings, looking around the darkened room with the small window that was barely letting in enough light to announce dawn.

Taking a few deep breaths to center herself within that realm of reality, she swung her legs around the edge of the bed, propped both elbows onto her knees and let her face fall into her open palms.

It was that same stupid dream again.

‘Only it wasn’t a dream, was it? Not really…’ a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like an amalgam of every head doctor she’d been subjected to since coming up from what they told her had been a fourteen month comatose state, cajoled.

Well, if they weren’t nightmares, they were the best freaking similes her sick mind could possibly conjure, she ventured humorlessly. All her previous doctors hinted and skimmed around what the dreams meant, but no one would outright tell her.

Oh, they had plenty of justifications why they couldn’t just ‘tell’ her, of course.

“The mind is a fragile thing, Katniss. These dreams may be your’s first tentative attempts at repairing the extensive damage it suffered during your accident. We can’t rush your own mind’s healing process.”

Then, there was the pearl her oh-so-empathetic neurologist had offhandedly chucked her way, “The human brain is very complex and we don’t know enough about it to stipulate how the skull fracture and resulting hemorrhaging connect to your memory loss. The damage may well be permanent. However, look on the bright side, you’re a walking miracle. We never expected you to wake up from that coma and here you are. You’re young. You can start your life from here, right?”

“…start life from here…” She was nineteen! She was littered with scars, had no idea who or what she was, past the previous twenty weeks, and the only thing she was completely certain of at the present was that, somehow, her voice was dangerous. And, to make matters even more laughable, she had absolutely no compunction where that notion had even come from.

The doctors had assured her that her vocal chords were one of the few things in perfect working order after whatever it was that landed her in the hospital in the first place. Yes, she’d apparently suffered some pretty severe smoke-inhalation and a collapsed lung, but that hardly justified going mute. Her inability to speak was neurological, the doctors had concluded. Or, more than likely, psychological.

She’d just figured the lazy, uncaring jerks brushed it off as one of those ‘incurable’ or ‘undecipherable’ mental conditions, stemming from the paradox that was the human psyche.

That was until she’d met Dr. A. half a week prior, anyway. This new shrink seemed really bent on getting her out of her own head. He had the off-the-wall notion that human beings- all human beings- were supposed to be capable of speech and he was forcing his radical notions down her throat. Pun intended.

He’d even offered her the forbidden fruit all other therapists had denied her in exchange for her attempting speech therapy: the bastard was willing to tell her about who she was before the accident.

What could she say to that? It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. Did anyone want to go through their lives with a nineteen year hole in there head?

With a resigned huff, she got up off the bed and headed for the small en-suite powder room she was allotted to groom herself in. Maybe, this early in the morning she could still catch a private shower. She wasn’t especially hopeful, though. She’d already learned that Weiress in 12B was not only a schizophrenic, but also an insomniac, and harmless enough on Haldol and clonazepam, the staff allowed her to roam the ward freely to distract herself. Katniss just found it so disturbing how the older woman would stand in the corner stall, arguing with herself while anyone showered. She considered it a kindness to just ignore the woman and continue with her routine. The chick was probably really, really lonely.

She needed to get out of there.

He was so intense when he concentrated. The way he rolled his jaw as he worked was mesmerizing.

It was probably because he ground his teeth, which she somehow knew was not good for him, but she could always suggest he sleep with a mouth guard or something later. She found herself wondering- probably for the millionth time since waking- where, when and how she knew this little tidbit. Things like these drove her nuts constantly. She shook her head quickly to dismiss the off-track thought, though. Right now, she was just going to indulge in the spectacle that was him trying to decipher whatever it was on his Ipad that had him so riveted.

So, she needed more hobbies. She was institutionalized. Sue her.

“You have no idea what the concept of subtlety is, do you?”

She startled out of her impromptu voyeurism session, steel eyes darting up to lock in mortification with amused oceanic green. The athletic orderly casually, noisily, dragged a chair closer to her- the kind of close that meant invading personal space- and sat down as if he owned the entire cafeteria they presently occupied.

“You know, we- the staff, I mean,” he gestured expansively toward where the blonde she’d previously been staring at sat across the room, “we have our own lounge for lunch”, he continued with that infuriating, smug grin plastered on his face. “Yet, he comes down here to mingle amongst the little people. Why do you figure this is, huh, Katniss?”

She shrugged noncommittally, keeping her eyes glued to the screen of her laptop in the hopes he’d ignore the embarrassed blush creeping up her neck, failingly trying to ignore how uncomfortable having him so close was making her. Didn’t this dude have any concept of personal boundaries?

“Oh, I think you do know why he’s down here during his breaks, Everdeen,” he whispered into her ear in a rumbling baritone that made her skin crawl. She was sure he was trying to be alluring, but was totally coming off as creepy to her, at that point. She balled her fists at both sides of the computer to keep one from lunging at his perfectly contoured nose, as he continued in the same, sensual drawl, “I just think you like playing hard to get, don’t you? You like playing the wounded little crazy girl, so the nice baker boy does all the work. You’re a bad girl.”

Lunging up from her chair abruptly, she collected her computer and, with a violent graze of her hip to the vulgar man’s shoulder, traipsed over to where Peeta was sitting. She pointedly ignored the green-eyed man’s mocking laughter as she all but ran across the cafeteria.

The gall of the man…

She was so upset when she reached her destination, not even bothering to sit before setting down her computer to quickly type out her message to the blonde beside her, she didn’t even realize the man was gaping at her and frantically pulling the headphones down, “What… where… what’s going on, Katniss?” he breathed out in a frenzy.

She didn’t acknowledge his apprehension, only finished typing with an abusive tap of the last key and all but shoved her computer in his face.

Your friend is such a creepy jerk!!!

His gaze shifted back to her as she finally sat in the chair she’d been hovering, brows nitting in unbridled confusion. “You’re going to have to be a lot more specific than this, Katniss. I have many friends and most of them are known to act like jerks. I’m a people person, remember? You feel like clueing me in on what crawled up your-”

Before he could finish, she was pulling the computer back and typing furiously again; he felt deep commiseration for those poor, battered keys briefly, watching the indignation dance like flames through the silver flecks in her eyes as she grunted her frustration. God, she was beautiful when she got pissed.

'You really shouldn’t think of her as beau- oh, forget it. Think of her as whatever you want. I give up.’ Huh. He probably should put more effort into his inner-battles. His little voice was a total wuss.

Once again, a screen filling his line of vision abruptly, interrupted his reverie.

The other orderly you’re always hanging out with. The one with the green eyes that looks like every male supermodel cliché, collapsed in on itself to produce one full-of-himself, I’m-too-beautiful-to-exist-amongst-you-normal-people guy...

He broke off reading there to clutch his stomach laughing, catching his breath only enough to gasp out, “Oh, man. If he ever found out this if the way you describe him, he’d be totally flattered.”

Not looking one bit amused, she responded by non-too-gently shoving the laptop into the forearm he rested on the table to get him to focus on the rest of the message.

“Ouch! Okay, okay. You made your point. You’re pissed. I’m reading. Geez!”

He’s so creepy… and insulting… and gross. Tell him to stay away from me. I swear, I’ll report him for improper conduct.

After reading the last line, his eyes shot up to meet hers in blatant shock, his mind working a mile a minute to come up with the right words to exonerate his friend. “Okay, look, if this is about that crap you hear him saying out-of-left-field about all you guys here being nuts and/or possibly being comparably as strong as apes, you have to take some of that with a grain of salt. Yeah, he’s a bit…eccentric. What with being a first year psych intern... and working here... and balancing shifts at the hospital-”

He wasn’t sure if it was the hand she waved frenetically before his face or the horrified expression she wore as she quickly tried to type one-handed that caused him to stop explaining why Finnick was…well, Finnick. But, he figured she had more on her mind and should give her a chance to elaborate.

When she turned the screen back to him, her eyes had the most beseeching, dismayed quality to them he’d seen to date. He was reading what she’d typed out of the sheer morbid curiosity of finding what could bring that vulnerability to the usually stone-hard steel of her eyes.

That creep, that unsettling freak, is going to be a psychiatrist?

Peeta let out a short laugh, running a hand though his ash curls and propping his chin on his knuckle as he answered her matter-of-factly, “Psychologist, actually... and technically, he already is, just not officially until he finishes his internship. Doctors take forever to become doctors, you know.  He plans on working with abused children after that. His wife is an elementary school teacher and pretty much his complete opposite- quiet, demure. You’d like her, I think. You know, since you apparently can’t stand him. She comes around here every once in a while to keep him in check and to keep the patients like Weiress who have no one company for a little while.”

With a visible slump to her shoulders and the confused crease never disappearing from between her brows, Katniss turned the computer back to herself. She tried to ignore the impossibly sweet smile Peeta kept trained on her- which she could easily see out of the corner of her eye- as she worked the keyboard. Then, she turned the screen back to him with what she hoped passed for a contrite expression.

Why? How could that even be? He acts so… I don’t know, like he shouldn’t even be allowed within a hundred feet of a school or something. The things he says…

Peeta allowed his smile to grow lopsided, narrowing his eyes at her in mock accusation. “Hey, I’ve told you before; you’re pretty judgmental for someone who’s a permanent resident in a psych ward. We’ve got to work on making you less superior.” When she brought a hand up to stroke her neck in embarrassment, avoiding her gaze to the table, he let out an amused scoff and continued, “As for the crap Finn says… Well, that’s kind of an enigma. See, he can say what sounds like the most insulting thing you could possibly ever think anyone could think of saying in a social setting. I don’t think the man knows what filters are. But he’s got this knack for saying just the right thing someone needs to hear to get them to do something they really should do. He says, it’s why he got into psychiatry in the first place. Personally? I think he’s just a manipulative prick.”

Here, he stopped speaking (and he was fairly certain breathing), upon hearing the most extraordinary thing, he could remember hearing in recent history.

Katniss Everdeen was laughing.

It was breathy and sounded almost choked, likely because she hadn’t used the muscles associated with this action in well over a year, but her body was shaking and she held a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles that she couldn’t apparently control.

The action was far too brief for Peeta’s liking and broke off into a fit of coughing, which he tried to soothe by offering her his bottled water and a few firm taps to her upper back. That, was until he remembered her ‘no touching’ rule and quickly removed his hand, crimson rushing up his neck into his cheeks.

She noticed his reaction and the resulting blush. Not wanting him to feel awkward about it, she quickly typed a message into the computer and turned it to him.

If the choice is suffocating or you, I choose you, you know.

“Wow! You really know how to make a guy feel special. Nice to know I can perform CPR on you, though.”

The hidden meaning wasn’t lost on her and she narrowed her eyes at him, almost challenging him to say he was only kidding around. He just grinned wider at her expression.

Her stomach dropped.

Was he seriously flirting with her? Was that even allowed here? He wasn’t her doctor or anything, after all…

With shaking fingers she tried to hide from his view, she typed a quick question into the laptop and turned it to him.

Are you hitting on me?

The intensity with which he stared into her eyes as he spoke, with that heart-melting smile etching his features, had her twining her fingers to keep her hands steady.

“You’re a little slow on the uptake, there, sweetheart.”

Swallowing thickly, she wrenched her eyes away from the trance the liquid azure in his had placed her under to type a retort.

Um, how exactly would that work here? Saying I was actually interested… Can you get fired for this?

Peeta analyzed the message on the screen, before locking his eyes on hers again. The smile was gone, replaced by a measured candor that was impossibly even more alluring to her. “I can only get fired for inappropriate advances toward someone deemed incapable of consenting to those advances due to severe mental or emotional distress…that, or inappropriate advances toward a minor, of course. Now, the first, I’d technically need to get clearance from your assisting physician to be okay on, but I’m pretty sure if you can tell I’m into you, you’re not so far gone that you can’t tell me to get lost if you want to. Especially, with what you just told me about Finnick, not five minutes ago.”

He noted she tried to cover a smile into her propped up fists at this as he continued, “And, as for the second, I saw your chart the first day you came in here and I’m three months younger than you. So, if there was any chance whatsoever inappropriate advances could happen toward a minor, it is going to be you doing stuff to me and I don’t see myself complaining about that to the authorities, Miss Everdeen.”

She let out a snort into her hands. He was very good at making a case for himself.

“Now, as for the 'how'… You can’t really pick a better date in a mental hospital than an orderly. We have access to all the utility stairwells, lounge and hidden nooks in this place- no cameras. Then, of course,” he wrenched his eyes away from hers for the first time in the conversation, a note of uncertainty slipping into his voice that sounded so foreign and alien to her, “You have the right as a patient to request private visits with significant others once you’re deemed well enough for them. There’s areas of the compound that aren’t monitored for that, but for obvious security and public safety reasons, visits would be restrictively short.”

When he looked back at her with a furious blush staining his neck, she was typing in her computer again one-handedly, still using the other hand to hide her obvious amusement.

You afraid to be alone with me in a room without surveillance, Mellark. I assure you, my bark is much worse than my bite.

She’d been hoping to hear his witty retort, but instead, the moment he finished reading, he shortened the distance between them, clamping his mouth over hers.

She was so stunned at the sudden action that an inadvertent gasp escaped her, parting the lips that were now flush against his. Taking the opportunity, Peeta deepened the kiss into an exploration of her mouth. It was brazen, he was well aware, but it was what he’d wanted from the day he’d met her. And, if the soft rumble that escaped from deep in her throat when his tongue ran along the ceiling of her mouth was any indication, she wasn’t going to complain about it, either.

When they finally parted for much needed oxygen, him giving one final tugging nip at her lower lip as a promise of more to come in the near future, he kept the hand that had somehow found its way to the nape of her neck in place. He played absently with the few hairs that he’d worked loose from her braid there during their kiss, keeping his forehead reclined to hers as he scorched molten azure into the darkened steel of her eyes. “Who said I gave a crap about cameras?”

“Well, you certainly should care, Mr. Mellark.”

Both teens instantly jerked apart, heads violently pivoting toward the authoritative tenor arising from Doctor Aurelius, who stood directly beside the table flanked by two of the hospital’s security personnel. To say the good doctor looked peeved would have been a colossal understatement.

“Doc, hi… um… hello… I was just… coming to see you to discuss… um… things?” Peeta stuttered feebly.

Katniss managed a weak, twitchy wave in her physician’s direction.

Keeping his expression impassive, the middle-aged psychiatrist turned in the direction of the exit, keeping the cold, commanding intonation to his voice. “Katniss, you have physical therapy in five minutes. Don’t keep Mrs. Atala waiting. Mr. Mellark, you’re with me… now. Your services are needed elsewhere.”

“Um, I’m on break right at the moment, actually…”

One of the security guards actually scoffed. Dr. Aurelius shot the man a warning glare before focusing his narrowing eyes back on the blonde at the table, his voice lowering a decibel. “Did any of what I just said, sound like a request to you, Mr. Mellark? You’re with us, now. Or, these gentlemen can escort you off the premises.”

With those parting words, the doctor turned and exited the cafeteria.

Left no other choice, Peeta quickly got to his feet, gathered his gear and followed with the two guards in tow. He only had time to send a sheepish, “Sorry, I’ll take care of this” at Katniss, before his form disappeared through the doors.

She sat there for a few moments, staring at the door and fervently trying to sort through the cacophony of emotions the past half hour had wrought- everything from rage, to passion to elation to anxiety.

But, overall, she was hopeful… hopeful that Peeta could fix whatever he needed to so he could keep his word and come see her again.

She needed him to come see her again.

Oh, god! Crazy was making her needy…

Crazy sucked.

Chapter Text

“All right, Mr. Mellark, you are going to tell me everything you know about that girl and you are going to tell me, immediately.”

Peeta spared a quick glance at the fuming man sitting at the large, intricately carved mahogany desk in the well-appointed office with dozens of diplomas and certifications, decorating seemingly all available wall space, before half turning to point a thumb back in the direction of the entryway. “Why are the rent-a-cops still out there, Doc? You guys have my psychological profile, if I was capable of doing whatever they’re here to prevent, I don’t think you would’ve hired me in the first place.”

The man sitting behind the desk brought a hand up to rub his eyes wearily. “Quite a few things were overlooked when you were hired here, Mr. Mellark- seeing as your being here is a direct result of the friendship between this hospital’s director and your father. Honestly? It is not my personal opinion that anyone with your familial psychological propensity toward violence should be allowed within a ten-foot radius of any of my patients. Never mind, the fact that your personal criminal record should preclude you from working anywhere confidentiality or personal anonymity is an assumed certainty. Now, how much do you know about her?”

Not bothering with an answer, Peeta stormed forth bringing both palms down on the man’s desk, hard enough to make it shudder. He sneered furiously as he leaned forward and spit venomously, “Juvenile records are confidential. They’re not supposed to have a bearing on what happens for the rest of your freaking life and I dare you compare me to her. I’m nothing like her!”

Dr. Aurelius leaned back to scrutinize the seething teenager, speaking bluntly, “Well, that little outburst certainly made your case for you, didn’t it? Confidential or not, we had to ask the courts for special dispensation to investigate you when Miss Everdeen was assigned to your care. I think you have a very good idea why at this point.” When Peeta’s response was only to cross his arms, maintaining the same angry expression as before, the doctor let out an exasperated breath, “You know, Peeta, compulsive lying is often a coping mechanism in cases of prolonged abuse. It helps victims cope with the stigma.”

The blonde before him let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his wayward curls. “You’re not seriously trying to head-shrink me right now, Doc. I can honestly forego the therapy session on how I’m repressing my anger issues toward my mother for not giving a crap about where the line between discipline and beating your kid black and blue skewed, or how unhealthy it is not to resent my father for never standing up to her on my behalf. I’ve gone nineteen years. I’ll set up an appointment with your secretary if I need your professional evaluation of how thoroughly my parents managed to screw me up, thank you.”

The physician now stood, mirroring Peeta’s leaning stance over his desk from before, unveiled threat lazing every word he uttered, “You think this is a joke, Mellark? Here’s a professional opinion for you: ‘Summary dismissal recommended, on the grounds that subject cannot be trusted to uphold patient confidentiality’. How’s that sound Mr. Mellark? I know why you’re not on any social media and why the entire teaching staff at your high school, somehow, ended up with their homes for sell on Craig’s List your senior year. I know you ‘lost’ your scholarship and had to drop out of college freshman year because your little partners in crime sold you out to save their own necks when the authorities were never able to trace it back to you. Someone with your “skill set” should not be allowed anywhere near the likes of Katniss Everdeen.”

Slumping his shoulders, Peeta let out a slow breath, never losing eye contact with the man before him. He measured his words carefully, “Just because someone has the knowledge to break laws, that doesn’t automatically make them a criminal. It was a stupid senior prank. We didn’t have the money to rent the crane to get the principal’s car on the roof of the school.”

When the older man’s jaw went slightly slack at his exoneration, Peeta gave a small shrug, grinning sheepishly, “I’m paying for it… believe me. But, if I were even remotely guilty of that other stuff you’re implying…” he let out another mirthless scoff, “I think we both know I’ve been on the radar of pretty much every intelligence agency in this country for the past three years, man. If I did that, I’d have a heck of a lot more to contend with than Panem’s Center for Mental Health administration and we both know it. Your threat to fire me on those grounds is total bull.”

Dr. Aurelius slumped back in his chair, defeated. He looked into the eyes of the young man before him searching, beseeching. Finally, he resolved to use a different tactic. In a softer, pleading voice, he tried again, “Mr. Mellark, it is imperative that you tell me everything you know about Miss Everdeen. You see, I need the information to determine how much damage her interactions with you have already caused.”

His brows knitting together in confusion, Peeta stuttered out, “Y-you didn’t give me any info-” then, at the sheer entreaty in the older man’s eyes,  he finally relented, “I don’t know anything about her that can’t be learned through normal legal channels, accessible to the general public. Otherwise, the feds would’ve been all over me by now.”

Visibly relaxing at hearing this, the physician sat up in his chair, gesturing to the young man to sit at the plush chairs before his desk. For once, Peeta actually complied.

“Obviously, we’re not talking about Google, are we, Mr. Mellark? That young woman has been Googling herself non-stop for over two months and, with the help of some well-connected intelligence agencies, we’ve managed to keep her off the trail so far. How were you able to find her?”

Peeta shrugged again, that lopsided smile finding its way onto his august features, “Well there’re far more legal ways of finding someone beyond Google, most people just don’t know the loopholes. There are no monopolies on information databases. That begs the question, though, how does she know what Google is and how to use it, yet she has no idea who she was last year? And, for that matter, how are you rationalizing the expense of her stay here to her. She’s not stupid, by a long shot. She can probably tell this is not some dingy, government-run insane asylum by this point. She has a private room. She has a laptop and a chest full of clothes and shoes. Anything else she asks us for, we give her- no questions asked. Is it any wonder, she keeps trying to figure out who she is? How come she doesn’t know that, but she knows enough to know money doesn’t magically grow on trees? And… why are the feds helping you keep all this from her?”

The psychiatrist narrowed his eyes suspiciously, ruminating what the teenager had just said. The boy knew far more than what was in his patient’s best interests. “The injuries her brain suffered, coupled with the trauma of the incident have resulted in a very erratic and unpredictable form of amnesia. The police have no idea as to the extent of her trauma. They don’t realize it may well be permanent and they are assisting in any way to help us treat her, hoping her memories of that night or the past eight years, can clear up another unresolved case for them. So, you know where her funds stem from, then? Is that why you’ve pursued this relationship with her?”

Eyes blazing furiously, the nineteen-year-old bit back with unrestrained spite, “You assigned her to me, you bastard. I had no idea who she was. So, yeah, I’m into her, her. I couldn’t care less what her rich daddy and manic-depressive, zombie of a mother left for her in that trust fund. I don’t care that that lunatic only managed to get himself fried and stabbed, in whatever order that happened, trying to extort her for it.” His voice now grew almost to a whisper, saddened, as he ran his fingers through his hair again, tugging lightly at it in frustration and diverting his eyes to the wood floor, “I only care about her and her unfathomable loss that day.”

He then looked up to lock eyes with the man before him again, determination blaring brightly in their azure depths. “So, I suggest you tell me exactly why my seeing her will hurt her, because otherwise, Doc, I have every intention of seeing her every chance I get. And I doubt there’s any legal avenue left to you to stop me.”

Sighing deeply, Dr. Aurelius now stood, crossing his arms behind his back as he paced behind his chair to stare out the large picture window. “Do you believe she’s in any kind of mental state to start a relationship with you, Peeta?”

“I think she needs me. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have reached out to me. She doesn’t take well to people in general, does she?” Came the simple remark.

The doctor continued staring out the window, but the blonde could hear the smile in his voice. “No. That she does not.” Peeta heard the man let out another deep breath before he continued in a completely different intonation, something solemn, pain-stricken, “Even before the accident, there is physical evidence of abuse, Peeta. Set fractures, burn scar tissue pre-dating the incident, old cuts. Snow was torturing that girl long before that night- likely to keep her from telling anyone the way he was misusing her and her sister’s funds. The amnesia is a blessing. She just has no idea and we have no safe way of getting her to realize it.”

The physician turned to face the deeply scowling young man, his features haggard with the weight of the task he knew awaited him with this particular patient. “Her sister’s death and her resulting futile attempt to prevent it, sent Katniss into an over yearlong comatose state and left her like this, Peeta. Her mind quite literally shut down because it could not handle the grief of the loss, choosing instead to erase all traces that were Primrose Everdeen from her recollection. Essentially, she can never grieve what she has no inkling she has lost. However, the very fact that she is incapable of speech is proof of her subconscious need to come to terms with what she has lost, at least in part. She must know some of who she was so that she can heal her fractured psyche a bit at a time, any more than that could be triggering, could lapse her into another seizure or worse.”

“Learning how to speak again is of utmost importance for her. I have come to believe she connects silence with safety. If she believes she is safe, she will speak again. The fact that she laughed with you today- and yes, we’ve been monitoring your interactions with her- was an incredible achievement. I believe you can be invaluable in helping her find that safety she needs to find her voice, but she must go slow and she might have set-backs along the way. If you choose to pursue this relationship with her, you cannot tell her anything of her past I do not tell her first. Is that clear?”

Peeta nodded solemnly before asking, “How did they end up with someone like Snow, anyhow?”

Aurelius shrugged, “It was a terrible default of the courts after her father and his partner died in a freak accident. Katniss and her sister were supposed to stay with the Hawthornes, the second partner’s family, if anything were ever to happen to the Everdeens, as they had no other family. When both her father and Mr. Hawthorne lost their lives in the same accident and Mrs. Everdeen was found unfit to care for the girls, the courts ruled that a single widow with four children was not as fit a guardian as the third partner, an elderly, childless married man. Of course, they never planned for the elderly man to slowly poison his wife, and abuse the girls into silence so he could spend their money. Nor did they foresee that, leading them right back to what they now suspect was an intentional sabotage, which lead to the double homicide of Hawthorne and Everdeen. Snow wanted to take sole proprietorship of the company. Katniss and Prim’s trust fund ended up being icing- until Miss Everdeen turned of age, of course.”

“Where was he taking them the night of the accident, Doc?”

It was barely audible, but the psychiatrist understood what the boy was asking as if he’d screamed it into the soundless room.

“Katniss was going to turn eighteen in a month. She wouldn’t be a minor anymore. She’d have legal custody of Prim and full rights to her trust. Without her to tell us what they were doing in the middle of those woods, we can only stipulate, but our best guess is that he was planning some big show of dominance out there, prove that he still had control over her so that she wouldn’t usurp his stranglehold. No one knows what happened that he lost control, ended up with that knife in his liver and that car ended up wrapped around that tree. If the gas tank hadn’t ignited so close to that cabin, no one would ever have found any of them.”

Peeta nodded numbly, rising to his feet. As he reached the door, he heard the doctor call out and he turned back.

“Mr. Mellark, for what it’s worth, I know you’re not like her and I’m glad Abernathy’s a sucker for éclairs.”

The teenager snorted caustically and opened the office door.

“What are you guys doing out here? I totally beat the crap out of the doctor in there, you know.”

“Well, look who still works here? By the way, you’re totally welcome for getting you some crazy chick action.”

Peeta looked up from his clipboard as Finnick shortened his gait to ease up beside him in the hall. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the taller man. “Dude, do I even want to know what you’re talking about?”

“Pft. This is what I get for playing wingman to the oblivious in a loony bin. At least, when I talk to her I get sparks. You, my friend, are as slow as that guy they brought in from that construction site accident.”

Peeta instinctively, brazed his chart under his arm and brought both hands up to rub over his face furiously. “Finn, seriously, it’s so not cool to bring up the guy who’s suffered massive head trauma and thinks he’s five, in casual conversation. One. And, two, what in heaven’s name did you say to Katniss, man? She thinks you drive a windowless van and lure small children into it with the promise of candy and puppies… seriously. She is so freaked out by you.”

The copper-skinned Greek deity doppelganger released a hysterical laugh that ricocheted off the sterile halls, causing some delirious patient in one of the rooms further down the way to echo it. “Seriously? A windowless van?” he finally gasped out between guffaws holding his sides, “Okay, okay. So, maybe I went a little far, trying to scare her into your arms.” He took a deep, steadying breath, attempting to get the snickering fit to ebb. “But, whatever, right? It’s not as if I’m the one who wants a piece of that. Regardless what she thinks, I’m not into little girls and I’m pretty sure Annie’s the jealous type, anyway.” He broke out into renewed giggles at the outraged expression on his friend’s face.

“Chill, Mellark, one hormonal, pregnant female presence is more than I can handle, trust me. I’ll leave the, insane, possibly murderous jail bait in your very capable hands.” Finnick sniffed, sauntering off to his next assignment.

Peeta stared at him wide-eyed, before calling at his back, “Seriously, Finn, whatever you’re on, I want the number to your provider.”

The older man, pivoted on his feet to strike a ridiculously seductive pose, pointing at his head while managing to flex all the muscles in his arms simultaneously. “This is just good ole fashioned Odair, my friend. You gotta be born like this. I got me some blessed genes.”

Peeta couldn’t help it. He was laughing like an idiot as he walked into the next patient’s room, listening to Finnick walk away, singing ‘I’m Too Sexy’ very loudly and completely out of tune.

The man’s stupid was contagious.

Chapter Text

Watcha doing?

Peeta all but jumped out of the stool he'd been occupying in the kitchen, waiting for all the trays to be loaded into the final cart for delivery to the non-ambulatory residents for lunch.

"Suffering a mild cardiac infraction, thanks to you. What're you doing here're anyway? You're scheduled in therapy for another fifteen minutes and this," with an accusing twitch to one eyebrow, he lifted the sticky with the greeting she'd soundlessly slipped over his shoulder to place on his Ipad screen, scaring the literal crap out of him, "is cheating. Use your voice, Katniss."

Her brow creased into a frown in response, but she still moved forward to wrap both arms around his neck, vehemently shaking her head no.

Peeta suppressed the smirk that tugged at the edges of his mouth at her petulance. She was adorable when she was obstinate. "You know you don't get to not use words with me, Katniss. That's not how this works."

Eyebrows further knitting in flustered concentration, she bit down on her lower lip, studying him for a moment, calculating. Then, without warning, one hand that had surreptitiously found itself tangled in the thick curls at the base of his neck gave a harsh tug, forcing his head back and his face upward, giving her the perfect angle at her target. Before she could press her lips to his, however, he maneuvered just left and she ended up landing the kiss to his dimple as a mocking laugh escaped him. She quickly skimmed her lips over the short stretch of skin, trying to capture his lips, but he, once again, thwarted her efforts by jerking to the other side, chortling the entire time.

Finally, she pulled back with a frustrated grunt, attempting to channel all the ill will she harbored at his rejection directly into his mind through their joined gazes. After a thirty second, devoid of blinking, staring contest, she released a moan from deep in her throat, followed by a squeaked, "Fine. I'll speak."

It was really more of an exercise in mouth movements and release of breath, than actual speech. No one who was not directly in front of her and staring pointedly at her mouth, could ever possibly hope to understand what she'd said. However, the smile that angled its way across Peeta's face would've had anyone convinced she'd just given a bloody sermon.

She rolled her eyes dramatically at his show of exuberance, but the scowl lines between her brows disappeared all the same. With some effort and after another deep breath, she answered his question from before, "Mrs. Trinket said I've plateaued in my progress for now, so I could cut out early until I'm, you know… stronger." She said this last word avoiding her gaze to his pad, her expression growing withdrawn.

She hated this feeling, this weakness, resented it.

The nightmares had been growing steadily worse the more Dr. Aurelius told her of her past life. Though he'd purposely only given her crumbs on who'd she once been, just the barebones, really. The dreams were still jumbled, incongruent images, but their frequency and intensity had increased, culminating in what the doctor had referred to as a 'set-back' the previous week… her neurologist had classified is as a seizure, albeit a mild one.

That'd been the day she'd found out she technically still had a mother somewhere, locked up in a place not unlike where she was at the present. Only the person who'd brought her into this world was lost in her own mind- forever. The very notion had caused her to start convulsing. She couldn't remember much of what happened after that until she woke the following morning to the beeping of an EEG monitor (and that of about a half-dozen other machinery, for that matter), with electrodes in her hair, her arm tingling with a pins and needles sensation.

It'd taken three washes to get that odd gelatin goo glue out.

Worse thing was, that single incident, seemed to have everyone second-guessing whether she was too fragile to grapple the treatment they'd started her on sixteen weeks earlier. It was simultaneously frustrating and infuriating. It made her feel like a failure.

She was trying so hard.

She took her ever-changing (and seemingly ever-growing) cocktail of meds without complaint, regardless of how nauseous they made her feel in the mornings, or the nightmares they induced, or the fact that they sometimes made getting out of bed at all seem all but unbearable. She needed this. She wanted the opportunity to prove herself strong enough to gain her life back. And, she didn't care what any condescending, blowhard of a neurologist otherwise implied. This was her life she was fighting to get back.

Noting her change in demeanor and hoping to change the topic- and hopefully brighten her mood- Peeta offered optimistically, "I was just trying to get some work in while I waited for them to finish up here. I was planning to surprise you, but," he shrugged his shoulders with an impish grin, "I got permission to take you out a couple of hours today. Doc says the change in scenery might be good for you, clear your head, give you a chance to get some fresh air, give you a different perspective. I figured I'd show you where I work."

"You're taking me to your family's bakery," she wheezed out in poorly concealed excitement, her gray eyes jutting out almost comically.

Peeta's smile faltered slightly, one of his brows lilting upwards in surprise. "No. Well, if you want to, yeah, we can breeze by there, too. But, I meant my other job. You know, the only other one I actually like going to, besides coming here where I can see you. The bakery… that's… that's sorta complicated."

Once again, unpremeditated, he found his head jerking back as his mouth was assaulted. He could feel her smiling into the kiss as her other arm wrapped around his neck and brought her body flush to his, effectively settling her on his lap upon the stool.

It was all he could do to move his pad out of her way, keeping it in one hand as both his arms came around her securely, the unoccupied hand burying itself in the base of her braid to keep her head steady as their kiss deepened.

Peeta was so caught up in his task of memorizing the exact pitch to that guttural sound Katniss emitted every time the tip of his tongue stroked the back of hers, he completely forgot he wasn't supposed to be doing the lunch rounds alone.

"Yeah. That's a pleasant sight. That's exactly what the health department would love to see if they ever came in here… two teenagers trying to perform tonsillectomies on each other, sans medical equipment… and right in the middle of the crazy house kitchen. That's just plain unsanitary, people."

Too used to his friend's ribbing on his somewhat unorthodox relationship at that point, Peeta didn't bother ending the kiss abruptly, instead brushing his lips languidly, sweetly over Katniss', before turning a superior smirk to the green-eyed man, who clicked his tongue in disgust.

"I always feel like I'm watching child pornography when I look at you two. It's really quite disturbing. I mean, Peeta, dude, you're fine. But Katniss looks like a twelve-year-old boy in that hoodie."

Trying to maneuver her body in Peeta's strong grip so she could level a glare at the man, the ebony retaliated as strongly as she could manage, "Oh, screw you, Finn. You're just jealous 'cause this is the most action you've seen in a month!"

Making an exaggerated spectacle of leaning over, almost to the point of touching her, while cupping his ear, the athletic man quipped sarcastically, "What was that, lunatic? Speak up. I don't speak emphysema or whatever it is you're heaving over here?"

A swift jab just above his diaphragm had him pulling away from the couple, trying to refill his lungs with the air the well-placed hit had displaced as pained laughter still managed to bubble out of him. He crossed both arms over his midsection protectively, continuing to chuckle. "Hey, man, why are you hitting me? You should be beating the crap out of her speech coaches. They've been at 'er for over a month now. She should be past just-caught-fish-gasping-to-be-thrown-back imitations, at this point." He went on to punctuate this by making mocking, exaggerated hacking noises, repeatedly.

In spite of how astronomically, insulting the entire spoof was, Katniss found herself suppressing a snicker into her hand. It was impossible not to laugh when Finnick Odair was in a room, whether it was with him or at him.

"…And that little comment just goes to show your ignorance of grown-up things, little girl. It just so happens that hormones make knocked-up chicks exceptionally randy. I'm doing more than fine in that area, thank you very much. But just for that little slight, I'm thinking I'll go tell Haymitch and your shrink I'm out today and they can send some of their hired muscle to babysit you while Mellark walks you."

Katniss turned a questioning look back at Peeta, whose eyes were shooting icy blue daggers at his friend. He turned a softer, apologetic expression to her, explaining, "Yeah, well, we can't exactly leave by ourselves. I need backup in case you have a repeat of what happened last week. Those aren't really predictable with you. Doc wanted an EMT escort to go with us. Finn helped me bargain us down to just him."

Katniss' shoulders slumped in obvious disappointment, but she could understand the need for the entourage of one. She feigned an annoyed groan all the same, however. God forbid she let the older orderly think she was actually okay with the arrangement.

"Oh, please, honey. Don't pretend you're not flattered to be seen in public with the likes me," the eccentric redhead flicked his fingers across his body theatrically. "You should be paying me for the escort services. Your wealthy butt can certainly afford the fee."

"Finn! Seriously, dude!"

The man's electric green eyes widened in innocence, landing once more on his friend as he grinned sheepishly. "Too far?"

"You think?"

Finnick shrugged flippantly, making his way to one of the already loaded carts. "Whatever. I'll leave you guys to put on your little peep show for the perverts down in security. Meet me down in the parking lot when you're done getting yourselves frustrated." With those parting words, he expertly maneuvered the cart out the double automatic doors.

They watched his form disappear. Then, Katniss turned a semi-concerned frown to the boy whose lap she occupied. "He's going to make this an interesting trip, isn't he?"

Peeta half-smirked in response, the mirth not quite lighting the baby blue of his eyes, "When is anything involving Finnick Odair anything but interesting?"

She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but this certainly was not it.

When Peeta had told her he was a music composer, when he'd shown her the intricate notations he'd spend hours meticulously crafting every free moment he had in the course of his day, this was not what she'd envisioned the sound studio he endlessly spoke to her about would be.

The space had to be easily a thousand square feet, yet it was all just one room, a perfect square. Two black doors on the walls flanking the one that held the entryway were the only indication that the building apparently had a bathroom and, maybe, a closet. Every single other inch of wall space was covered with either what looked like padded felt, speakers, computer screens, servers, sound-mixing equipment and a floating melamine countertop that wrapped around the entire room, a third of the way from the floor, with at least a dozen desk chairs slid under it at different intervals. One large, sixty-six inch monitor near the nondescript door on that side of the room was the only thing that broke the trance the blinking lights on all the dials and equipment seemed to have on the eye.

"Your mouth is still open. But, the way your eyes are bugging out… I'm not sure that's a positive thing."

Katniss snapped her jaws closed, sending an embarrassed look off to her side at Peeta. "Sorry. It's just…" She stopped to gather her thoughts so she could word her statement in a way that would both not be taken as an insult and serve as satisfactory explanation for her underwhelmed reaction. "I know my memory's not the best right now, but I had a picture in my mind of what one of these places should look like and this wasn't it. I expected to see some sound stuff but not all this," she gestured in a sweeping motion across the room, "and I always figured a place like this would have a sound booth or something, you know?" She shrugged her shoulders weekly, feeling somehow inadequate.

Peeta's surprising if quizzical response was a peck to her nose. "You're cute when you're confused and trying so hard to be congenial about it."

When she scowled in even further confusion, he snorted, pulling her toward the one door in the room that didn't have a little man and lady etched on it. He held the door open for her so she could enter the darkened space. The walls were entirely padded with that same felt material and, by the light entering through the open door, she could see there was a stool, a microphone stand with a mic and a podium in the center. She turned a questioning look back to Peeta.

"This is the sound booth. Owner's kind of a minimalist when it comes to actual human interaction in the music that he produces here, as you should probably have gathered from all the tech in this place."

When she leveled a look that clearly communicated 'Yeah… okay...why not?', he rolled his eyes and flipped a switch somewhere near the door.

As soon as the lights came on, so did a monitor on the wall closest the door.

Katniss gasped. She could see everything in the other room as if the monitor were a window. Then, she remembered there was a monitor just like that on the other side of that wall and her fascination grew tenfold. She inched closer to the screen, enraptured by the ingenuity of it.

"People always dig the two-way camera flat-screen thing. They ignore the million-dollar equalizer, but the shiny screen gets them every time. You know that's only about ten grand's worth of equipment and an hour's worth of installation, right?"

Katniss flinched away from the television at the unfamiliar voice, instinctively darting to see who had spoken; next to Peeta stood a lanky, pale man in his late fifties, who extended a hand out to her in greeting. She'd noted someone sitting at the computers at the far end of the room with earphones on when they'd entered. Apparently, this man had been it.

"Katniss, this is Mika Beetee. He owns and runs this place. He's also the evil genius behind all the crap in this room and all over the walls outside," Peeta introduced as the bespectacled man shook hands with his girlfriend.

"Call my gear crap again and you'll no longer be welcome here, Mellark. We have a deadline on the Nightlock thing. You better be here because you have something spectacular for me," the man huffed in mock annoyance, purposely bumping the teenager's shoulder with his arm on his way out of the room.

Peeta pretended to be affronted at the obvious attempt to rile him up, calling after him with a wink at Katniss, "You know that's child abuse, right, old man?"

“It was plausible child abuse when you were an inquisitive fifteen-year-old with a gift for sound modulation and programming, who somehow found my building, in spite of the complete lack of signs or advertising on the façade- a credit to your more clandestine and imbecilic pastimes at the time. Technically, now it’s just me asserting my right to get an annoying hoodlum to stop loitering on my premises. Now give me something I can use for this music festival or get out. I don’t have time for you today- not with this monstrosity looming over me.”

Katniss cringed at the harshness that bled into the older man's voice as she made her way back toward Peeta near the exit of the sound booth. She gave him a commiserating look. "So, like, is he your boss or something here?"

Peeta looked at her with a confused grin, shaking his head vigorously. "God, no. No one actually works for Beetee. We all pay him for the use of the studio- those of us who can, anyway. When we can't, we allow him to keep the royalties on anything of ours he produces out of his label. Most of us just want to get our stuff out there, you know?"

Yes. She did know. She knew the hours he dedicated to his work, the passion. Before she could comment on it or that yearning, aspiring quality his eyes took on as he'd spoken of getting his stuff recognized, their attention was diverted by the sound of someone ruffling through what sounded like a bag full of plastic.

"Why do you have hundreds of flash drives, dude? Do you collect 'em or something?"

They'd all but forgotten Finnick until he all but demanded to be acknowledged with those words. They turned to find him sitting back in one of the chairs near the wash room, feet propped up on the counter, riffling through a cardboard box on his thighs.

"Oh, my god! Who raised you?" Katniss chastised as best she could with her limited voice range in the massive quarters, quickly making her way over to the insubordinate man-child. "You don't go through random strangers' things, Odair? I hope Annie doesn't let you anywhere near that poor kid of yours," she added, wrestling the box away from him and setting it back down on the counter. "Every child deserves a decent upbringing."

Ignoring her entirely with a roll of his eyes, Finnick directed his statement at Peeta who was just wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. "A little help here, Mellark? The psycho is doing the hacking thing she thinks normal people can decipher again…"

Without even thinking, Katniss brought one knee up to make sharp contact with the ridiculously handsome man's propped shin. The moment he reached forward to rub the tender spot, she took the opportunity to lean down and enunciate harshly in his ear so he could make out every single word, "That's not funny, douche. The next one's landing to your balls. You wanna see what crazy can really do to me?"

The man instantly sat back and cupped his groin protectively, shooting a horrified leer at the dark-haired girl. Katniss' responding smile was tinged with both triumph and promise.

The older man found himself wheeling himself a few feet back to gain some separation.

"Oh, to be young, stupid and willing to waste the time others simply do not have." The group turned collectively to regard an impatient-looking Beetee, who stood reclined against his work area with arms crossed over his chest. "If it'll end this little spat, that's trash, young man. Those are the discarded entries from hopefuls who were unwilling or unable to get them to me through SoundCloud. And, believe me, if you had to listen to all those tone-deaf bastards as I had to, you wouldn't blame them for sending they're entries on flashdrives, either. They're wiped clean. You could make yourselves useful and dispose of them for me when you leave."

"As for your unfortunate situation, my dear…" Beetee now focused his eyes on Katniss, before flicking them over to Peeta. "Your boy over here has requested something of me that he believes can help that squeak blossom into a full out voice. Did she bring her computer?"

"Yup," the blonde responded, reaching into his girlfriend's backpack for her laptop. He placed a quick peck to her temple before she could land the nonplussed look she'd been aiming at him, pulling her toward the sound engineer by her hand.

Beetee materialized another flashdrive, seemingly out of thin air, and plugged it into Katniss' USB port. "This is my own program. It's simple enough to use, but it includes a tutorial. I'm also letting you have one of my microphones- plugs right into this port. The hardware's a little outdated, but it should work for what Peeta has in mind."

As the man worked, Peeta elaborated to Katniss what he was doing. "We had the idea to hook you up with some of the same software aspiring artists use to submit samples of their voices to Beetee. You know, so you can record what you sound like, then play it back to yourself in private, without the coaches and stuff around. I figured, having an audience every time you have to speak, can't be helping your confidence when it comes to doing it much. Hopefully, this will help things along."

Indescribably touched by the thoughtfulness of the gesture, the steel-eyed girl all but tackled the blonde against the counter, joining their mouths in a fiercely demanding lip lock.

"Hey! Watch the equipment, you two!"

"Forget them and the equipment. I'm about a minute away from painting my lunch all over it from watching them."

Pulling herself off her boyfriend with a furious blush rushing up her neck, Katniss avoided making eye contact with Beetee as she heaved a disgruntled 'sorry' and elbowed Finnick in the side. Peeta just snickered at her discomfort, not particularly caring what anyone else thought of their public display of affection.

"It's quite all right, young lady. The reprimand was meant more for him, "he sent a pointed look at the male teen nearest him, "not you. He may not appear it, but he's more than capable of sustaining such onslaughts without the need to collide against my sensitive hardware. He and his siblings wrestled extensively in their youth." He now raised an eyebrow at her as he concluded, flatly, "He purposely undercompensated to cop a cheap feel. Poorly repressed teenage hormones are hardly justification for jeopardizing thousands of dollars' worth of custom servers."

An outraged, mortified gasp escaped Katniss as she turned an accusing sneer at Peeta. His only response was that lopsided smirk, accompanied by a one-shouldered shrug. She brought a hand up to rub her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. Maybe by gouging them out, she would divert from her growing embarrassment.

"Okay, Peeta, your girl's set. Now, I know you wouldn't have asked for this unless you have something spectacular for me… give."

Making his way to another workstation with equalizers and turntables, the teenager chortled impishly, "You know I could just pay you for your troubles and save myself all this 'you owe me for my help' bull, old man." All the same, he produced a flashdrive from his jeans pocket and inserted it into the computer. Within moments he had retrieved the file he desired.

"This is a mix. Each piece is actually about three minutes long. There's twelve in total." Once he finished explaining, he hit the 'enter' key on the keyboard. The result was a slow, pulsing beat of electronic house music booming from different speakers throughout the room. As the pulsating rhythm continued and sped up in tempo, another seemingly unrelated song began playing from a separate set of speakers in concert to the first. This second composition had a hip-hop beat to it and, although the songs were completely different, they interplayed with each other in perfect harmony. Within a few moments of the second song's start, the first began fading off to be replaced with a third, this one lazed with the unmistakable riff of a metallic guitar, marking it as a rock staple.

Standing in that studio, listening to the ever changing and intercalating rhythms and beats, Katniss found herself swept up in the sea of emotion the music evoked. It felt so familiar and yet somehow foreign to her. Some part of her felt inexorably drawn to it, yet she had no inkling why. This was how mental disease functioned, she gathered.

"The boy has an amazing gift for what he does, don't you think?" She startled out of her enchanted reverie of ogling Peeta at Beetee's soft bump to her arm. She looked up to the older man, noting he was snickering and gesturing toward Finnick with his head. "Your friend certainly seems to think so, anyway." She turned her eyes on the redhead to find him dancing spastically in the center of the expansive room, eyes shut and completely oblivious to the idiot he was making of himself.

She clutched her stomach and almost fell laughing.

She was wiping at the tears that pooled at her eyes when the engineer continued in her ear. "Peeta's an artist, Katniss. He paints with sound. He can make people feel colors, hear sensation. It's quite extraordinary, really."

Katniss' eyes widened as they locked on the analytical hazel ones belonging to the sound engineer. An affirmation was on the tip of her tongue when he finished quickly with an odd note of finality, "This is the best I've ever heard out of him, maybe out of anyone who's come through here. He's inspired. You affect him more than you'll ever know. You should be very proud of that, young lady."

Struck speechless for once by more than just her psychological and neurological issues, Katniss could do nothing more than gape slack-jawed at the older man as the last of the music ebbed and he moved away toward her boyfriend. She numbly followed him with her eyes.

"I'll take it. I can use everything I can get for the festival. I can't showcase most of it without lyrics, you know that. We can always keep it around until we get a request from the right group." Beetee patted the blonde teen affectionately on the back.

Peeta gave him a grateful smile before looking back at his screen, the expression morphing into a somewhat hesitant half-smirk that looked too much like a cringe for Katniss' taste. When he spoke, that rare reticence that was so unlike him bled into his tenor. For some reason, it made her very uncomfortable whenever he spoke with that lack of confidence. It was just too un-Peeta like in her book.

"Actually, Beetee, I do have something else. I was hoping maybe you could have Glimmer's people sample it? See if they can have her lyricist put words to it for her. It could be the break I need…"

Katniss felt the blood in her veins run cold at the vulnerability in Peeta's expression. She knew who this Glimmer girl was. She'd seen her name come up in her current news searches on Google. She was an up and coming local singer. She wasn't anything exceptional, but she was beautiful and knew how to dance. She was popular enough. She didn't know, however, that Beetee had any connection to her. If he could get Peeta's music to someone like her, he'd be set. No more working two jobs to make ends meet and save to go back to college. The royalties alone could get him through tuition. The connections would get him more clientele. This could get his foot in the door to the industry.

Beetee arched a curious eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. "By all means, Mr. Mellark, please indulge us."

With a swing and click of the mouse in Peeta's right hand, a slow acoustic guitar chord started playing out of three speakers directly beside them. The tempo was mellow and flowing, giving the song an almost melancholic, ethereal quality.

Katniss closed her eyes and allowed herself to be lulled into a different realm as a second acoustic guitar joined the first after around ten seconds. She felt the song pull at her. What it demanded, she did not know. However, whatever it was that it requisitioned, she felt a fierce yearning to acquiesce. Once it ended, she felt oddly bereft.

Beetee let out a slow whistle, pulling his glasses off to clean with the end of his button-down, collared shirt. He kept his gaze on his task as he spoke solemnly. "That piece has to be just about the most amazing thing you've ever composed, Peeta." He then put his glasses back on and stared squarely in the teenager's eyes. "But you're delusional if you think a hack like Glimmer has the range to hit anywhere near any of those notes, son. You practically didn't keep anything below the scale in the entire composition. She breaks a sweat if she has to hit a C. Keep it with me if you'd like. I'll try to find a singer worthy of it, but Glimmer's just not it."

Katniss' chest actually physically hurt, her heart ached, at the crestfallen expression that ghosted over her boyfriend's face before he quickly schooled it away with a smile that reached nowhere near his eyes. "It's okay, old man. Music needs a voice to be complete this day in age. That's the way the game works- not your fault. I just wish I could've been born in seventeenth century Germany. I could've given that cocky bastard Bach a run for his money."

Beetee let out an amused snort. "You still may, Mellark. We find you a singer worthy of that tune…you still may…"

With that, the older man went back to his workstation and put on his earphones to continue his work, only not before shooting back at the retreating group, "Don't forget to get rid of that box of trash for me!"

Katniss doubled back from the exit and picked up the box of discarded memory cards. As she absently folded the lid more securely so that the contents wouldn't spill all over the floor of the car, an obscure memory of her recurring dream flashed in her mind's eye.

She had to stop briefly as the room suddenly spun. Bracing one hand on the counter, she centered herself as the dizzy spell dissipated and she analyzed with a growing mix of terror and wonderment what her mind had allowed her to gleam of her dream. She never remembered any discernible details of her dreams once she woke, only the fear.

But, this time, she remembered a fraction of a second. It was a memory. It had happened. It was real, and it gave her an idea how she could help Peeta… if she could figure out how to pull it off, anyway.

The first of what she needed was in her arms and in her backpack as she walked out of the sound studio to the car. Her own mind had supplied a glimpse of what she might use to accomplish the rest. It had given her a glimpse of a nightmarish memory- just for precious brief moment.

…A nightmarish memory where she had sung.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take much convincing for Dr. Aurelius to green-light the second outing.

Katniss flourished in the two weeks that followed their visit to Beetee’s sound studio.

Whether it was due to her newly acquired ability to gauge her own progress in her speech through the program Peeta had thoughtfully asked the music producer to install in her laptop or her own personal secret motivation to improve in order to carry out her plans, her vocalization was becoming far clearer and stronger. Miss Trinket and her other speech therapists had marveled at the progression.

Other areas of her recovery, however, had exhibited signs of slight deterioration. Her dreams had worsened to the point she couldn’t achieve more than an hour of continuous rest a night. A mild dosage of Zolpidem had to be added to her med cocktail and the rest adjusted to accommodate it. The sleep aid only served to lock her in horrors until morning. She hardly felt refreshed upon waking and the modification of her other medications had altered her appetite and digestion considerably. Dr. Aurelius was working arduously with her neurologist to find an alternative. Narcolepsy and gastritis were hardly other symptoms they needed to contend with at that stage in her recovery.

She’d also suffered a second mild seizure four days after the excursion. This one came in response to the doctor explaining to her how she’d lost her father at the age of eleven. She’d already known she was fatherless. For practical reasons, one of the very first things Dr. Aurelius told her was the source of her income, why she was housed in the best mental health facility in the state and all her needs catered to on a whim. He also told her that the staff was being made aware of this only on a need-to-know basis. She’d instantly questioned if Peeta knew, to which the doctor had answered honestly.

That hadn’t set her off, though. At that time, she was just getting to know the boy and he’d told her of his financial problems in an almost off-handed way. If he’d needed or wanted a handout, she would’ve picked up on it. Peeta just seemed to like hanging out with her in his spare time. She’d liked it, too.

No. What set her off about learning of her father’s death was learning the specific details of how he’d died, with his best friend in a freak accident while spelunking in some abandoned mine shaft in Appalachia. The doctor had described her father as an avid outdoorsman; apparently, she’d been one at some point, too. Having him die that way had felt… wrong. That ‘wrong’ feeling had flowed through her body like an electric shock wave, evolving into uncontrollable shaking…she’d lost track of what happened beyond the shaking. 

In spite of all that, based on her greatly improved speaking skills and her overall positive morale, the doctor believed the stimulation getting out of the hospital provided had proven beneficial. Therefore, two weeks after being allowed to leave Panem’s Center for Mental Health for the first time, here they were, pulling into the parking lot of a quaint, two-story shop in a beautiful paved road boulevard, lined with other whimsical shops and boutiques…

Scouting for a red Cadillac GTS.

“Dude, why are we looking for your mother’s car, again?”

“Finn, shut up and humor me, man.”

Katniss smirked into the back of her hand at the interaction between the two guys in the front seat. They’d bickered the entire drive there- something about the merits of taking the causeway over the bridge at that time of the day to beat out lunch-hour traffic and the ever necessary response of passenger side drivers being three seconds from finding the hard way out of the vehicle.

They were like the weirdest old married couple, ever.

They finally stopped at the curb just behind the shop when Peeta spotted the vehicle in question parked at the back door. He let out a grunt of frustration, pulling out his phone to type in a quick text message.

“Aww! Is wittle Peety avoiding his mommy?”  Came the mocking drawl from tall, athletic and gorgeous.

“Right through the window, without hitting the ‘lower’ button, Finn, I swear… Don’t freaking test me. I told you, it’s complicated.”

They waited about a minute before they saw the back door of the bakery swing open and out of it all but fell two figures, a blonde man and a woman- locked in a fierce embrace, making out as if the other were their only source of air supply.

Peeta brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, huffing out a horrified, “Oh, lord in heaven!”

The redhead in the passenger seat leaned across him to leer at the spectacle and started guffawing, managing a breathless, “Dude! Is that your parents going at it like two rabbits in the middle of the alley?”

Katniss tried failingly to muffle her own giggles as she moved forward to give her boyfriend’s shoulder a commiserating squeeze. She tried her best not to sound too patronizing. “I think they look sweet, Peeta. Most people their age aren’t that, you know… active.”

The teenager rounded to face her with a horrified expression. “Please don’t ever talk about how ‘active’ my parents may or may not be, Katniss.”

“Mellark, dude, your mother is hot. And, not even like, old lady hot, just ‘regular hot’.”

The two teenagers turned a quick disapproving glare at their friend, who waved them off with a head gesture toward the woman who had managed to disentangle herself from her husband and was making her way to her car, waving her hand in goodbye as she went.

Katniss noted she was very petite, barely five four in the high heels she sported. She had a confident strut, lean legs and an athletic build. She was not thin, but not broad like her son or husband and had long dirty blonde hair in well-kept layers. She wore an elegant skirt suit and simple daytime make-up (sans lipstick, after her previous activity), which accentuated her deep purple eyes perfectly. She was beautiful. 

The moment she pulled out of the rear parking lot, Peeta maneuvered around to the front, parking in the ‘Reserved for Management’ slot. 

As they all started pouring out of the car, Finnick couldn’t help getting one more jab in, “Like, seriously, man, how unbelievably smoking is your mother? Are those even still real?”

Katniss sent a worried look at the teenager when he let his forehead drop heavily on the arms he held crossed over the roof of his car after he exited, not comfortable with how he sanguinely allowed the older man to get close to him, chuckling casually at his own joke. She flinched when, in the blink of an eye, Peeta had the taller man pinned to the car with his body in a chokehold. “Finn, buddy, consider this a final warning, okay. Regardless the issues I’ve got with my mom, you say one more word to me about how hot she is? You’re losing teeth.” Then, he gave one final shove for emphasis, before letting go and moving away toward the entrance to the shop.

He reached out a hand to Katniss with a disarming smile, so they could walk in together. She glanced back at Finnick, who was still gasping and rubbing his sore neck with a grimace a few paces behind them, before hesitantly taking it. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

The smile instant fell from his lips and he froze a few feet from the door. The stare he leveled at her made strangely comforting butterflies flutter in her stomach. “I’d rather tear off a limb, than ever hurt you, sweetheart. If I’m ever angry to the point I want to hit something- anything- around you? I’m walking out. You’d better believe that.”

Something about the pain she saw flit in the blue of his eyes as he said that made her feel an unspeakable sadness for him. She found herself leaning in to place a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.

“Nice. He beats me up and you reward him with some tongue action for it? You two have one seriously misogynistic thing going here, you know. Real, Adolph and Eva. ”

They didn’t even bother acknowledging their would-be chaperone as they pulled open the door and entered the bakery.

“Peeta! I’m so sorry about that, kiddo. Your mother just came by to bring lunch and we lost track of time,” exclaimed the man behind the counter who looked like a broader, tack on twenty years, version of the boy who’d just walked in the door.

“Sure you did. Those things happen all the time when such a handsome woman is involved, after all. Who’s to blame you. Hello, I’m Finnick Odair. I work with your son at the mental asylum, where he met the enchanting young woman he’s brought for you to interact with today,” the green-eyed man exclaimed in the fakest, used-car salesman approximation he could manage, leaning forward to shake the man’s hand vigorously.

The baker raised a knowing eyebrow at the odd man before flicking a questioning grin toward his son.

“Finn thinks mom’s… attractive?  And we kinda saw you guys out back, dad. He’s also kind of a jerk,” Peeta snorted helpfully, leaning over the counter with a seditious grin.

“How am I a jerk for pointing out the obvious beauty in a beautiful woman?” Finnick spit out defensively at his friend. Then he turned back to the older blonde behind the counter, adding with genuine sincerity, “I’ll have you know sir, that my wife is expecting our first child as we speak and I honestly can only hope that her breast hold up half as well as those of your wife, after three hardy boys. Those are truly spectacular.”

“Oh my god, Finn, seriously! That is not cool to say about another dude’s mother, man! What did I warn you outside?” Peeta rubbed a hand raggedly down his face before advancing on the older man.

The baker tried to use as an authoritative a voice as he could manage through the snicker he couldn’t avoid, “Peeta, leave your friend be. It isn’t like it’s news to you that Mom’s pretty. Yeah. It isn’t exactly something you want your friend pointing out to you as a member of the male gender and he should definitely know better than to do it, at all. But he’s obviously trying to bait you and falling for it means he wins, doesn’t it?”

“That is an excellent analysis of the situation, Mr. M. You ever take a psych class?” Finn flattered as he leaned over the counter, batting his lashes at the older blonde, inappropriately.

The older man responded with an unaffected smirk, “Nope. I raised three teenage boys, who wanted to rip each other’s throats out over stupid half the time and over girls the other half. You learn to deal.”

With a defeated slump to his shoulders and a glare to his so-called friend, the teenager stopped, instead turning to his girlfriend who stood by the entrance, looking around the store and pretending the argument at the counter wasn’t even transpiring. “Whatever… Dad, this is Katniss. I brought her to meet you and see where I work mornings and stuff…”

The raven-haired girl moved forward self-consciously to shake the imposing man’s hand. He smiled at her congenially. “Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing! I always wanted a girl myself, you know. Peet here was supposed to be it, came out with the wrong plumbing, though. Missus and I’d still be trying for her, but we figured at the time three babies in as many years by two kids who weren’t even old enough to drink was just about our limit.”

Katniss’ eyes went wide at this revelation. She surprised even herself when the inquiry left her lips, “You had all your sons before you were twenty one? That explains why you and your wife don’t look old enough to be Peeta’s parents. Are you even forty yet?”

The baker let out a loud laugh coming out from around the counter to bring a heavily muscled arm around the slight girl’s shoulders. He winked at his son as he shook her in his grasp. “I like this one, Peet. She strokes a man’s ego without even meaning to. She’s a real keeper. And I don’t say this about just anyone, mind you. I mean, I like the girl my boy Flax is marrying just fine. She’s a steady, fine girl. But some of the wretches my middle boy’s managed to wrangle in here… I tell ya… Sometimes I think someone dropped that boy on his soft spot before if healed properly. Best thing that could’ve happened to him is his obscene fickleness. Hopefully, he’ll be thirty by the time he settles on a ‘type’ and gets hitched. I’m just hoping that it doesn’t end up being any of the abominations he’s experimented with and I’ve had to pretend are human.”

Peeta could only manage a condoling chortle at the pleading look Katniss sent him. She wasn’t exactly thrilled with being touched by complete strangers. Even if the stranger was being oddly complimentary.

“Tell you what, Katniss,” the big man continued haughtily, “just for being just about the sweetest thing in here at the present, why don’t you help yourself to whatever you’d like? My boy over there made everything fresh this morning.” He moved to go back around the counter but was halted by his son’s voice.

“I’ll get it for her, dad. I want to show her around, anyway. I’m showing her upstairs too.” He said this part with a pointed look. “Just keep Finn company here a few minutes, okay?”

The man wrapped his large arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes analytically at his son. “Ain’t got a problem with the showing her around down here part, Peeta. This place is yours every bit as much as it’s mine as far as I'm concerned, you know that. Upstairs… that’s an entirely different story. I don’t need any of you repeating my mistakes firsthand, not while I’m right here to prevent you from repeating them, anyway… and not that I don’t love all you little ‘mistakes’ to death, mind you. Although some days I question that love in Rye’s case…”

Peeta snorted an embarrassed laugh, a blush creeping up his neck. “I’m just going to show her around dad, don’t worry.”

The man rolled his eyes unconvinced, but still gestured behind the counter with his head.

Peeta grabbed Katniss’ wrist and led her behind the counter and through a door leading to a large kitchen with three industrial sized ovens and dozens of cooling racks. The moment she stepped through the threshold and before she could get more than a fleeting glance around the impressive baking facility, she was spun around and pressed into a metal prep table. Peeta’s lips were on hers hungrily, teeth nipping at bottom lip and tongue dashing out to gain entry. The kiss was slow and exploring, finally breaking with a mutual gasp when they realized they were far too close to the service area.

“Thank you, I really needed that,” Peeta sighed, leaning away from her so she could get a good look around the kitchen.

“I think we both needed that,” she answered him with an impish grin, “but you’re welcome all the same. So, this is where you work in the mornings? What do you recommend for me, bread boy?”

He laughed at the nickname, heading to a rack of cheese bread and picking up a roll with a piece of wax paper. “Actually, I was pretty much raised here. All three of us were. Dad brought us here whenever we were off from school when we were little, taught us how to bake… Tell me if you like it.”

Katniss pulled off a piece of the roll and popped it in her mouth, her eyes immediately rolling back into her head when the cheese melted on her tongue and the flaky, buttery crust melded into it perfectly on her taste buds. “Oh my god! You made this? Why have you never brought these to me before, you jackass?”

Peeta graced her with a cocky, lopsided grin, eyes shining with mock innocence. “I don’t mix my worlds, Miss Everdeen. This world can never come into contact with that of orderly Peeta’s world. The results could be catastrophic.”

Steel eyes glistening with unbridled threat, the ebony reached out and grabbed hold of his tee shirt collar, pulling him to where he was just about nose to nose with her. Her voice came in a breathy rumble, “I don’t care about this mixing worlds bull you’re feeding me, Mellark. If you don’t give me another one of whatever this is, you’re going to find yourself short a girlfriend real quick, you hear me?”

Absolutely enthralled by both the fire in her eyes and the tenor of her voice, the blonde couldn’t help but tangling his hand in the base of her braid in order to bring her face forth for another slow, bruising kiss. After which she shoved against his chest roughly with the command to get her another cheese roll.

Once she’d finished her treat and he’d shown her the massive industrial walk-in refrigerator, he led her to a staircase at the back of the store, next to the rear door. Upon making it up the stairs, Katniss noted the entire upper area was set up as a loft apartment with a fully equipped bathroom, including a tub and everything. The queen-sized bed was made and everything in the room was tidy and organized. There were intricate paintings hung on the walls, some pencil and some oils. There was a desk with a computer and dozens of cd’s and flashdrives on it, all organized just as neatly as everything else in the room. Stacks of read and unread mail sat nearby on a shelf. Off to a corner, there was a turntable with four massive speakers. Upon finishing her survey of the room, Katnis turned a quirked up eyebrow at her host. “This is where you live?”

With a nonchalant shrug to his shoulders, Peeta ungraciously plopped himself on his bed, crossing his hands behind his head. He smiled up at her, but it didn’t light his eyes and there was a tinge of sadness to his baritone when he answered. “When I lost the scholarship and had to do a six month stint in juvy as part of my plea bargain, mom kicked me out of the house. She hasn’t exactly gotten over it yet. This bakery belonged to my great grandfather and has been paid off since before my dad was born. So, not even dad pays mortgage on it, just taxes and upkeep. He just remodeled it when I had to move in here. It was used for storing bakery junk that was older than him before. He doesn’t charge me rent, but I do pay my part of the utilities and internet, satellite, stuff like that. And I pay for my own car stuff, which is really expensive for a guy my age. I'm also paying Dad back for putting me up in a hotel the three months it took to finish this place. He told me I didn't have to, that it's his job to take care of his kids, but it still feels wrong owing him for that. So, yeah, I’ve pretty much been taking care of myself for the last twenty two months.”

Chewing on her bottom lip in thought, Katniss came to sit at the edge of his bed her back turned to him as she worded her next question carefully. “Why won’t your mother let you move back into your own house? It’s been two years. You were a kid. You made a stupid mistake. She made stupid mistakes when she was a kid herself. I did some quick math downstairs when we were talking to your dad. They couldn’t have been more than teenagers when they had your brother.”

Peeta scoffed humorlessly, coming to wrap his arms around her waist in order to bring her back down with him so that they were lying back to front on the bed.

Noting the precarious position, Katniss spoke up hesitantly, warning clear in her weak voice, “Um, Peeta, isn’t this exactly what your father didn’t want you doing up here with me?”

She felt his chest rumble against her back as he laughed, followed by a kiss to the crown of her head. “There is no door to this place from downstairs, Katniss. I have zero privacy up here, except for when I’m in the bathroom. I’d have to be one sick bastard. Never mind that I’d have to be pretty depraved either way to consider you in any kind of emotional state for that kind of thing in the first place. Why do you think I’ve only ever taken things so far with you? Well, aside from the obvious respect thing, of course.”

Katniss had to stop and analyze this for a moment. He had an excellent point. Considering the fact that she seized at the mere mention of certain things, who knew what that kind of intimacy could do to her in her state? Not to mention, her general discomfort with the position the instant they’d first assumed it gave her a pretty good idea, memory or not, that she was not particular comfortable being that close to a guy, regardless how strongly she felt about this particular guy. Their relationship was in its infancy. For all she knew, she was probably a ‘buy the cow for the milk’ kind of girl. That was definitely what felt the most comfortable at the moment, anyway.

Peeta’s next words, wrestled her out of her musing. “As for Mom…” she felt him release a breath into her hair, “Mom has a short memory for her own mistakes and a very long one for all of ours, that and she wasn’t particularly ready or mature enough to be a mother when she became one, I think. She had a very short fuse and she treated us like inconveniences most of the time- like we got in the way of her and dad’s relationship. You have to understand something, Katniss. My parents are absolutely in love with one another. They have been from the day they laid eyes on each other. And they are…” he paused here and she could feel him moving his hand up, likely to run through his hair the way he did when he was frustrated.

In reality, Peeta was rubbing his hand roughly up and down his face, trying to wipe the image of walking into precariously unlocked rooms or, worse, just his kitchen at the wrong moment, far too many times in his youth. He let out a shaky breath as he continued, “I can’t believe I’m actually saying this. They’re disproportionately sexually compatible.”

Katniss immediately turned fully to raise both eyebrows at him in question. He could only grimace back. “Don’t look at me like that! They are, okay! They had to get married at sixteen when my mom was six weeks along because of it. They had barely graduated high school. My dad gave up a football scholarship and took over the bakery because he knocked her up. It was literally a shotgun wedding, because I’m pretty sure someone in my mom’s side of the family was packing. Stop laughing, Katniss.”

But she couldn’t help it. She buried her face in his shirt in a fruitless attempt to muffle her giggles. “Anyway, you’d figure that would teach them a lesson, but no. They barely waited the quarantine period after my big brother Flax was born before he got her pregnant again. Mind you, this was not the middle ages. This was twenty-two years ago. Every birth control option available on the market now, was pretty much available back then. So, this was just plain stupid negligence on their part. Anyway, Rye’s born and they figure, what the heck, we’re eighteen and have the two fattest baby boys on the planet… let’s try for a girl! That’s sensible teenage logic, right?”

At this point, Katniss was literally gasping into his shirt, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“So they get pregnant again. And low and behold, it turns out they miscalculated slightly, because they end up with a third ridiculously fat baby boy. Seriously, though, I was ten plus pounds. You’ve seen my mother- woman’s like Wonderwoman or something.” His voice grew somber now as he continued, “That wasn’t the end of the story, though. What Dad said downstairs about them stopping at three because they’d realized they were too young? Does anything you saw outside register to you as two people who would rationally have stopped when they were young and stupid? Nah, mom got pregnant again when I was two months old, still trying for that ever-elusive girl- only it was ectopic. When they went in to remove her fallopian tube, they found a tumor on her other ovary. They had to remove it, too. Mom’s been infertile since she was twenty-one. If it weren’t for that, we’d be a freaking dysfunctional football team.”

This quickly stifled Katniss’ giggling and she brought her face up to meet his eyes, a question clear in her creased brows.

Peeta gave her a soft peck where her hairline began and she settled her chin on his chest, watching his azure eyes as he spoke softly. “You probably don’t remember hearing this, but there’s this thing people say about some women, about how they’re women first and mothers second? Well, my mother is 'mother' about sixth or seventh, but always a woman first. She’s always been this amazing, attentive, loving wife to my father, but she was a neglectful, loveless mother to us.”

“So, Dad tried to make up for it, because he loved her, because he loved us, because his unconditional love for her blinded him to her faults… I don’t know. I just know, he was the one who kissed boo-boo’s and made lunches. He was the one at pee-wee football games and PTA functions. And, when we were all little, it didn’t matter. We barely noticed, because we were all boys and we all wanted to be cool like our dad, anyway. But, as we got older and Mom realized we were kinda big and sturdy for our ages – I swear, Katniss, I rounded out at an easy hundred-twenty pounds at nine – she started wailing on us bad for the stupidest things; leaving our shoes on the staircase, landed us black eyes, that sorta thing. We started hiding bruises with long sleeves during the warm months at school. My oldest brother took up wrestling in middle school to release his pent-up rage at her and ended up parlaying it into a scholarship. His never-ending well of motivation made him that good. Rye followed in his footsteps and so did I. Ever wonder where my scholarship came from? Yeah, I had to keep my grades up to maintain it, we all did. But wrestling got us all there.”

Peeta brought a hand up to rub lazy circles on her back, as he finished, bitterly, “And the real irony is: when mom kicked me out, she said it was because of how badly I’d disappointed her when I’d lost my chance to make something of myself through that scholarship. Little does she know the only reason any of her sons wrestled was that we needed some healthy medium to release our overwhelming resentment of her. Our scholarships were just a happy consequence. This is why I want to either get my stuff out there or save up enough to get back to school. I know it shouldn’t matter what she thinks about me, but she’s my mom, you know? I want to prove to her – to everyone, to myself – that I can be successful, even after screwing up the first time around.”

Staring at the earnest longing in his eyes, Katniss could feel the desire to make his aspirations come true bubble to the very surface of her being. She reached forward and stroked his jaw lovingly before placing a soft kiss there, then moved on to place a soft kiss to his temple before coming back to place a lingering, soft kiss to his lower lip.

Growing impatient with the soft ministrations, the teenager released a sound deep in his throat, wrapping an arm around her middle and turning so she was partially beneath him as he quickly connected their mouths in a searching, languid kiss.

“Um, pretty sure this is exactly what I told you not to come up here for, Peeta.”

The teens on the bed quickly disengaged, turning toward the stairway to find a frowning baker and very amused Finnick, just at the entrance to the apartment.

“Uh no, Dad. What you were implying we shouldn’t do up here is biologically impossible to accomplish by two people who are fully clothed, regardless of body positioning or location. I know it’s been a while since your last stint in biology, but I can assure you conception requires a certain level of undress and definitely does not happen through the exchange of saliva. Also, thanks for your faith that I wouldn’t try to bang my neurologically and psychologically unstable girlfriend in a doorless room with no soundproofing. What does that say about your skills as a parent, exactly? You raised me.”

The older blonde stood slack-jawed, gaping as Katniss and Peeta got up off the bed and made their way over. The moment they were within range - to the great surprise of the room’s other two occupants - the man attacked Peeta abruptly, managing to get him in a headlock. He then proceeded to rub noogies into the teenager’s blonde curls, laughing. “You cocky little bastard. You actually left me speechless. You forgot, though. If you’re going to insult someone who’s bigger than you? Don’t let your guard down until your butt’s out of the house.” He then let the boy go with a none-too-gentle slap to his rear-end that reverberated clear throughout the room.

“Come on everyone. I have boxes for you guys to take back to the hospital with you. Haymitch loves my éclairs…”

Katniss tried to choke back the laughter that threatened as she followed her boyfriend down the stairs, when he surreptitious tried to rub his aching left buttock. He shot her a warning glare when they made it to the bottom and a gasp escaped her. When they sat in the car and an audible groan escaped the blonde, she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Her and Finn erupted in unrestrained laughter until they were both weeping.

Peeta was beet red when he floored it out of the bakery parking lot, vociferating over the screeching tires at his passengers, “Screw you guys! I hope you like what’s in the boxes, ‘cause it’s the last you’ll ever see of this place!”

Katniss sat cross-legged on her bed with her laptop on her thighs, Beetee’s program open and the microphone plugged in. She hadn’t been using the program, however. She’d been listening to the enchanting sounds of Peeta’s composition he’d downloaded into her laptop at her behest. Beetee had sent copies of the music to dozens of agents and had yet to contact Peeta with an interested taker. Peeta himself had also posted a sampling of the composition on his YouTube and SoundCloud channel to see if anyone was interested with equally disappointing results. She was starting to think that was probably for the better. It certainly made what she planned more unique if she had no competition.

She unzipped her backpack and pulled out the other items she’d been collecting unassumingly over the past two weeks, knickknacks, really- nothing anyone would correlate to her plan. She’d sneaked a few envelopes in her pack from the nurse’s station when Peeta had shown her there were no cameras in there one day. There were a few of the flash drives from their visit to Beetee’s that she’d saved from the dump. She’d ordered postage stamps the moment she’d learned her mother was interned in another hospital, hoping to write to her and maybe someone there could read her the letters. She had written and printed a few letters to her at the computers in the institution’s library, mostly as a cover for printing the short missives she needed to include with her anonymous gift.

She replaced the items and zipped her bag, looking to her left at the last item she’d needed to make everything work. She smiled to herself at the coincidence. She hadn’t even realized the importance of it until she’d finished the contents and was ready to throw it out. It was funny how everything was falling into place. She gingerly reached for the box of pastries, rubbing her finger over the golden sticker with the address printed in bold black letters on the lid.

Yes. All she needed now was to become stronger. Make sure her voice was worthy of his melody.

Worthy of her gift.

Chapter Text

The morning sun shone brightly through the thick overhead canopy of leaves, newly turning from green to varying shades of golds, oranges and reds.

Katniss inhaled deeply when a still not too cool breeze, wafted through, filling her lungs with the scented essence of the two maples between which she’d wedged herself. The wind seemingly wrung the very smells of the approaching autumn from the surrounding foliage every time it picked up, making the experience of existing within that small, planted haven an epicurean and cathartic nature quest. 

Sure. She could’ve been attempting her subterfuge from the confines of her room. Dr. Aurelius had assured her the private quarters in minimum security were not monitored and were sound proof for both patient privacy and the nightly comfort of those who had to co-inhabit with the rowdier residents. All the rooms were equipped with panic buttons to alert the staff and/or nurses, were any patient to feel the need arise to use them. In fact, one of the things Peeta complained most about was constantly being called into a room to vanquish imaginary villains, a task he inevitably had to delegate to the nursing staff and their handy supply of tranquilizers and anti-psychotics.

However, the moment she had learned through her ever-so-informative orderly boyfriend that one of the un-monitored areas on the compound, designated for the more private conjugal nature visits was a screened outdoor arboretum, she’d immediately requested to visit. After a very peaceful hour long picnic lunch date with Peeta, she’d decided that was the place she would undertake her task.

The park wasn’t very large, maybe six-thousand feet in diameter. But it had narrow, winding pebble paths and a few pumice benches, intertwining through a variety of different trees, flowering shrubs, plants and trickling fountains. It had all obviously been engineered to keep the mentally unstable tranquil while mixing in an element of romance. It also, Katniss had learned during her many ensuing solitary reconnaissance visits over the preceding weeks, connected to the service dock the delivery trucks used… the same dock the mail truck used to make dropoffs and pickups.

She’d learned the postman’s schedule after her first couple of visits. He always arrived in the late morning. Once, she’d even been bold enough to venture whistling over the short fence and waving the man over upon catching his attention. Her voice had been far too weak at that time to manage more without mortifying her.

The ginger had taken the letter addressed to her mother’s hospital with a congenial smile and tucked it into his bag without question; which, in retrospect, she should have found odd, considering she was sneaking it to him past a hole in the screen over a concrete wall in a mental hospital. Then again, he probably figured it a kindness, disseminating a message from a crazed, locked up girl. In any case, Katniss wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Therefore, for all those reasons, there she was, nestled between trees, legs splayed out before her with her laptop on her lap and Beetee’s program running.

Before pushing the enter key to start recording, she plugged in the two flashdrives in the last remaining ports. One would go to Beetee and the other to Peeta. The letters explaining what was to be done with them were already inside their respective envelopes, the addressee and return addressee were listed clearly on nondescript Avery labels anyone could buy at Office Depot and had been printed on different printers in the asylum library at the same time as all her mother’s letters. The return address she’d found through a quick Zillow search. If anyone tried to track down Dandelion Spring to thank for the gift, they’d find a very lovely, very empty, nineteen-forties craftsman with a manicured garden and a white picket fence.

She grinned sinfully to herself, placing her earphones securely over her ears and scrolling through the playlist on her phone to Peeta’s melody. She played it through it its entirety, getting lost as she always did in the throws of emotion the acoustic guitars inevitably evoked, before she hit replay on the phone and enter on the keyboard simultaneously.

She was as ready as she would ever be.

Allowing for what she remembered Peeta telling her was the opening harmony, she began intoning at what in her mind she could remember was the start of the third staff. Her voice seemed raspy as it left her and her throat felt sore from lack of use, but something about allowing the fluid, rhythmic sound flow from deep within the pit of her stomach, felt familiar… connecting… rooting...

As she allowed her mind to lose itself in the symphony and the sounds her own throat emitted as of its own accord, she found herself transported, removed to another place, another time… a place that filled every fiber of her being with loathing…

She’s crying.

She’s on her lap, curled into a fetal position… and she won’t stop crying.

She needs to stop. It’s important that she stop. It’s dangerous for her to cry that much. For the life of her, she can’t remember why the tiny girl in her arms crying terrifies her to the point of hysteria, but it does…

No, wait. She does know why it terrifies her. It’s because he’s in there with them.

He’s driving the car.

She ventures a terrified look from the huddled mass on her lap to the side and sees him. He’s scowling, obviously pissed she can’t control this child in her arms. He takes his eyes off the road for a moment to send a threatening sneer her way. When he speaks, his voice is icier than the snow falling like sheets outside the car’s windows and for which his family was named, “Have you ever known me to make idle threats, Katniss? I said I wanted both you girls quite on this trip.” He brandishes the hunting knife he’d used to get them in the car ominously at the tiny girl in her arms. “Now, you’ve always done such a wonderful job of taking care of little Prim, haven’t you, Katniss? It’d be a shame for me to have to slice up that porcelain face of hers just because you’re so worthless you can’t even manage to keep her quite on one miserable trip, wouldn’t it?”  

Fear seizes her chest at his words, at the sheer apathy and conviction shining in those lifeless pale blue eyes. She needs to make her stop. But, she knows she can’t speak. He might kill her if she speaks and then where will this child be?

She can’t stand her sobs anymore, though. She has to soothe her, placate her. She doesn’t know what’s worse. If she does nothing, the monster beside her will certainly hurt Prim, but speaking out to soothe her might very well also get her killed. Which would be worse for the child? How can she help her? She doesn’t know!

Ultimately, as the crying grows unbearable in her ears, her addled mind ceases to function and, instinctively, her hand reaches up to stroke the spun flax of the little girl’s hair. Following act, unwittingly, she does the unthinkable… she starts to sing.

Almost immediately, she feels the brunt of the blunt end of the knife making sharp contact with her left temple.

It was as if the impact had been tangible.

The moment it happened, Katniss jolted out of the daydream with a gasp, trying frantically to fill her lungs with air that seemed inaccessible to her. Everything around her spun, the greens, reds, oranges, all of it churning into a kaleidoscope of overwhelming sensory information. She brought both hands up to press her fingers firmly to her clenched eyes, hoping the wave of nausea would pass. This had never happened to her before… at least, not in her admittedly limited recollection.

Thankfully, the world stopped spinning and she pulled her hands down, only to release a horrified squeal at finding them completely stained in red. Tentatively, she licked her lips and grimaced at the metallic tang she tasted.

Wiping her hands on her black sweats before reaching for her very orange backpack, she quickly opened the bag, reaching for her compact. The sight that met her made her shoulders slump and her eyes widen in unabashed dread.

Twin trails of bright red blood emanating from her nostrils, traced a gory path down her chin, neck and well into the cleavage of the tanktop she wore under her black hoodie. The only positive seemed to be that it was ebbing. But she had brought nothing out there with her to clean up this kind of mess.

Then, realizing she did have a bottle of water in the backpack she could use to cleanse away at least the gore from her face and neck before the mail carrier arrived, she suddenly remembered why she was out there in the first place. She made a mad grab for the laptop that was still poised on her lap, quickly hitting enter to stop the recording.

She was ambivalent about hitting the enter key and having whatever had recorded during her horrifying lapse replay. She’d had no idea she would react that way. She’d never reacted that way to Peeta’s music before. Then again, she’d never tried singing to it before either, had she?

Figuring waking up in a pile of her own blood with a bevy of new memories to wade through with her shrink twice wouldn’t be the worst thing to have happened to her in recent history, she shrugged and tapped the enter key.

Her jaw went completely slack when she heard her own voice start to resonate from the laptop speakers. It was raw, yes, but not in a way anyone would find reproachable. It sounded haunted, pained, ethereal… just like Peeta’s melody. Best of all, it was complete- plus about ten seconds of awkward silence before a harsh intake of breath.

Katniss had no idea how she’d pulled this off while what was in essence unconsciousness, but she was not about to question any of it. She quickly edited the piece to just the two minutes of her vocals the way Beetee’s tutorial had instructed her, fighting off a massive migraine the entire time. Then, she downloaded the file into the flashdrives, making sure that her hands were meticulously clean of blood when she handled both the drives and the envelopes.

Afterward, she poured water into her palm and cleansed her face and neck thoroughly, using the end of her tank to wipe the residue. She zipped her hoodie as far as it would go and flipped the hood over her head even though it was far too warm for it, trying her best to camouflage any blood she might have missed. It wasn’t as if the ginger would begrudge a lunatic her idiosyncrasies, anyway.

The wait for the mail carrier to arrive was simultaneously eternal and torturous. Although the only thing in her backpack was her laptop- which only weighed five pounds tops- the empty water bottle and a few trinkets, her whole body ached with exhaustion from carrying it. The migraine that had threatened before arrived with a vengeance and she could barely see due to the brightness of the sun.

Worse of all, everything she had daydreamed while she’d been singing… it wasn’t dissipating like other dreams. If anything, the images were becoming clearer, more vibrant as the intensity of her migraine escalated.

She could see the little girl on her lap. She could hear her crying. She could feel the fear.

Finally, the cordial mailman arrived as scheduled and she barely managed to call him over. Something was starting to go wrong with her speech. She was slurring the words. Her tongue was going numb. She thought she saw him smile amiably at her through the haze of twinkling, swirling light her vision was becoming as the aura of her migraine took hold of her visual perception.

The man took the proffered letters without a word, just like last time and she thought maybe he waved goodbye as he moved away toward the service entrance to the building. In her state, she had no way to know. She might as well have imagined it.

Almost stumbling several times when her coordination began to fail her, Katniss made her way out of the arboretum and through the halls of the building, bracing herself one-handedly against the walls to keep her balance. She’d lost all feeling on her left arm, so it hung limply at her side and she had a painful pins and needles sensation working its way through the fingers of that hand.

Try as she may, she could no longer recollect which hallway led to her private quarters, the pain thrumming through her eye sockets, making it feel like her eyeballs would explode at any given moment, simply made the task impossible. Therefore, once she reached the common area, she collapsed on one of the couches and brought both arms to cross over her aching eyes, willing herself to fall asleep so that she could get some reprieve from the pain.

What came was not sleep, however. What came was entirely unsolicited, unwarranted and hit her like a freight train.

She blacked out from the hit!

Where was Prim? Had he hurt Prim? She shifts, her eyes roving over to her right and locking with wide worried cornflower blue ones. She’s still scared. That’s written all over her face, but at least she’s not crying anymore.

Upon realizing she’s awake, the golden-haired girl gives her a timid smile and wraps her arms around her. She sighs and hugs her back. They’re still okay.

They’re still alive.

“That’s the only thing that’s ever going to work with you, isn’t it, Katniss?”

Her blood freezes in her veins when she hears him speak from far too close and, when she turns to face him, she realizes he has leaned over and is pressing the knife into the little girl’s side. “I’ve told you so many times we need each other you and I, but you’ve decided to make a liar out of me. Now, how am I supposed to show you the error of your ways, hmm? The only thing you seem to care about is this wretched little thing. I could burn you. I could break your bones. I could isolate you from the rest of the world. You wouldn’t care. But, if I do what we both know I can do to little Prim, here…”He presses the knifepoint into the soft flesh of the little girl’s side through her sweater and a whimper escapes her.

She doesn’t think. She can’t think. She can’t let him do to Prim what he’s done to her.

Before it truly registers, she shoves the little girl off to her right against the window to free both her hands and grabs furiously for the knife, launching herself at him as far as her seatbelt will allow. Realizing how it inhibits her movement, she unlatches it with one hand and screams an order to the flaxen-haired girl to strap herself in instead.

She can see it in his ruthless eyes. She’s caught him off-guard. He wasn’t prepared for a struggle. He tries to pull back the hand that holds the knife forcefully, but she’s latching on with both of hers and he’s not as young as he used to be. Not thinking straight, he releases the wheel.

And a triumphant sneer splits his white bearded face for a second when he uses both hands to jerk the knife toward his body and away from hers.

Yes. Only it falls a hairsbreadth later when he realizes he’s plunged it right into his side.

She doesn’t know if she would have rejoiced at the knowledge of what he’d done had she known. All she sees is the man who’s made her life a nightmare for seven years slump forward into the waywardly spinning steering wheel, eyes still open in shock.

This is the last thing she registers before the ear-splitting crash, followed by the eighth of a second of weightlessness and flight, before she breaks through the glass headfirst.

Then, there’s darkness…

“Normal… set-backs… days… weeks…”

“No!... refuse… wake… need…”

Was that Peeta? Was he screaming? Was he screaming at Dr. Aurelius? Why would Peeta be screaming at her doctor? Everything sounded as if she was hearing it from underwater. She couldn’t make most of it out. She felt so tired, as if her whole body was dead weight… and she couldn’t open her eyes.

Oh, god! Why couldn’t she open her eyes?

The resounding, continuous beeping of Katniss’ heart monitor, made the two squabbling men in the room rush to her bedside, Dr. Aurelius immediately pressing the panic button that would get the neurologist and nurse.

“What is it Doc?” Peeta questioned frantically, holding one of her hands tightly in his.

“Can’t say for sure until we have Dr. Cray examine her, Peeta, but, this is the first spike in brain and heart function we’ve seen out of her. Honestly, though, if we don’t get her heart rate down soon, she’s going to go into arrest. I’m guessing our girl just woke up and is not particularly liking the effects of the medications we had to use to induce the temporary coma to give her brain time to heal.”

Peeta frowned at the man’s jovial tone. This was his girlfriend who’d inexplicably had a minor brain bleed no one could explain thirteen days ago. What did this guy have to be so happy about?

As the neurologist entered the room and began shining a light into Katniss’ eyes to begin his examination, the blonde voiced his discontent. “I still don’t get why you’re not taking this more seriously, Doc. She could’ve died. I mean, her brain literally shorted out. She could be freaking brain dead.”

The doctor pried his eyes away from his patient to shoot a knowing look at the teenager from under his glasses. “But, she isn’t, is she? This proves that she’s a fighter, yet again. She had a setback, yes. We knew these could happen when we started, Peeta. She accepted the risks. This will help us learn and adjust. Maybe, it’s a sign that we’re moving her too fast in her treatment. Trust me, no one wants a repeat of these last two weeks, but it serves no purpose to be pessimistic about what has happened.”

Before Peeta could retort, the neurologist interjected in a barely interested drawl, “Her pupils are focused and responsive. She’s awake. I’ve taken her off the tranquilizers, so she should be ambulatory if sluggish within the hour. However, knowing her sunny disposition, I doubt she’ll be in a very good mood after her ordeal.” With those parting words, he removed himself from the room.

In four steps, Peeta was at Katniss’ bedside. He placed a soft kiss to her temple, whispering gently in her ear, “You hear that, sweetheart? You’ll be up and kicking in a little bit and I’m right here waiting for you.”

He gently used the pad of his thumb to wipe away the tear that made its way out of the corner of her eye.

Those loving, whispered words had been the only thing Katniss had understood since waking. 

Chapter Text

Her voice was gone.

Again.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t technically, gone gone, but it was definitely… retarded?

Her neurologist and speech therapist would likely have had a field day berating her for referring to her noticeable slur that way, but that’s the way she sounded to herself, anyway. They’d assured her it was temporary- a remnant atrophy caused by the swelling in her brain- and with some intense, focused therapy over the next couple of weeks, she should be speaking perfectly normal.

Nevertheless, forty-three hours prior, when she’d fully woken from her rather catastrophic relapse, gained command over her limbs- which she’d instantly wrapped around Peeta- and attempted to ask what had happened to her; she’d been certain the slow, halting way she’d had to force the words out, marked her as mentally deficient.

So, here she was, still in the hospital, back leaning against Peeta’s broad chest as he sat behind her, propped against the hospital bed headboard with his arms wrapped securely around her middle while Dr. Aurelius looked over his charts in a chair bedside them. This would be her first official ‘debriefing’ of sorts after whatever it was that happened two weeks prior. Technically, it was her normal daily therapy session, but she knew it would be very different that day.

She was different.

The laptop on her lap was certainly testament to that. She sighed deeply as she looked down at it. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the humongous setback she’d had. Was she really back to communicating through her laptop?

Then, there were the myriad of images she had stored in her mind from the day she’d collapsed two weeks before. She needed context to that. She needed to understand what those were in order to understand what had happened to her and hopefully, prevent it from happening in the future.

And, of course, there was Peeta. He’d barely left her side since she’d woken. He’d overseen all the tests and scans they’d run on her over the past two days. He barely spoke beyond providing words of encouragement whenever he thought she needed them. She had no idea why he hadn’t left to his shift in the asylum or the other job in the bakery the whole time. She’d been too weak to ask and he seemed more than happy to just hold her. He hadn’t even wanted to leave the room when her shrink advised her they needed to discuss what might have brought this episode on. He’d just said he wanted to be there in case she needed him.

She did need him… more than he knew.

“Alright, Miss Everdeen, due to your obvious fragile state, we will make this a short visit. Let’s start with the most basic question. How do you feel?”

Katniss wasn’t even paying attention. As the doctor had been speaking, she’d been typing the question that had been eating away at her from the moment she’d awaken. Before the words had all even left his mouth, she was already turning the computer to him.

The doctor shot a quick amused glance over her shoulder at Peeta who gazed back with a concerned crease to his brow, before reading the short inquiry.

Who’s Prim?

Eyes widening in unabridged consternation, the psychiatrist focused on Peeta briefly before bringing a hand up to remove his glasses while pinching the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of the other. He released a long breath.

Realizing the man was stalling, Katniss narrowed her eyes and turned the sneer on the blonde holding her. He seemed to shrink away when she failingly tried to meet his eyes.

Frustrated, she tried the only thing she could think of. Inhaling a deep breath, she exhaled as articulately as she could muster, “W-who i-is P-Prrimmm!”

Dr. Aurelius’ eyes snapped open at her attempt to communicate verbally, his dismay only growing at her obviously increasing agitation, which was made evident when she shrugged Peeta off when he tried to rub her arms to placate her. He had to think of a way to divert her while simultaneously calming her quickly.

“Where did you here that name, Katniss?” The therapist flinched inwardly at the desperate inflection his voice had taken when he’d voiced the inquiry. He needed to maintain a certain modicum of control here.

The question seemed to have the desired effect, however. The teenage girl calmed as her demeanor grew introspective. She was considering her answer. Good. As long as she was thinking, she wasn’t feeling. Her feelings could grow erratic spontaneously when this particular subject was breeched.

Katniss hadn’t expected him to answer her question with another question. She wasn’t sure how much she felt comfortable telling him about what she’d experienced that day in the arboretum. Certainly, she did not want him to know what she’d been doing for Peeta with Beetee’s speech program. But, maybe if she gave him hints, explained the context to the images, he could fill in the blanks with the information she needed. After all, it wasn’t as if she was asking for something she didn’t know, she just needed someone to explain what was real and not real of the images jumbled in her mind.

She turned the computer back to herself and started typing vigorously, nudging her boyfriend back with her shoulder when he tried to snoop. She had a bad feeling he was not telling her something and she hated feeling that way about him.

When she finished, she moved aside so that Peeta could see the screen and firmly commanded a simple “R-read”.

Looking to the doctor sitting next to the bed, which earned him an impatient elbow to the stomach from the girl in his arms- the teenager let out a scoff and began reading aloud: “I was outside, in the arboretum and I started daydreaming; only it felt real, like I was there... like it was real. I was in a car and a little girl with blonde hair was crying in my arms. Her name was Prim. I was trying to make her stop because a mean man named Snow was threatening both of us that he’d hurt us if we weren’t quite. So, I… did something to quiet her that upset Snow and he hit me with the back of a knife, knocking me out. When I woke up, Prim was hugging me and Snow was pressing a knife into her side, telling me he was going to hurt her to keep me in control or something. So, I tried to grab the knife. We struggled. He jerked it away and stabbed himself. Then all I remember is breaking glass and dark. So… Who is Prim? Why was I taking care of her? Why did this dream do this to me?”

The moment he finished reading, Peeta tightened his grip around Katniss and brought his chin to rest on the crook of her neck, placing a soft kiss to her temple as he sent a meaningful look at Dr. Aurelius.

The doctor nodded solemnly at the teenager before focusing an unreadable expression on his patient. His tenor took on a clinical quality they had never witnessed before as he spoke candidly. “I want you to nod yes or no to all the questions I will ask beyond this point, Miss Everdeen. Do you understand?”

A quick nod yes from a very confused teen girl was his response.

Dr. Aurelius now continued in the same detached intonation, “Do you understand that you are in a monitored room at this moment, Miss Everdeen?”

Again a bewildered affirmation.

“Do you understand that you are in a compromised mental and neurological state and the answers to the questions you seek can aggravate your condition?”

Katniss didn’t fully understand why the answer to this had to be ‘yes’. But she knew it did. Whenever she learned something her mind didn’t like, her body reacted horribly. She feebly nodded.

The psychiatrist now crossed one leg over the other and intertwined his fingers over his knee. “Very well, Miss Everdeen all the events you redacted are not dreams. The reason they are so vivid, as you described, is that these are events that took place on the night of April the seventh, approximately twenty months ago.” He paused here to allow the girl’s fragile psyche to assimilate this… to allow time for the inevitable realization.

Katiniss blinked several times as she absorbed her doctor’s words, her mind working to fit what he’d said to the images in her mind.

Yes. It’d been a stormy, snowy night. Snow was taking them somewhere. He’d forced them into the car at knife point. She’d calmed Prim when she started crying… PRIM!

She hadn’t realized she’d screamed the name into the soundless room until she jerked her entire body- in spite of her boyfriend’s hold- toward where her doctor sat, her steel eyes imploring.

The man’s slumped shoulders and crestfallen eyes, gave his answer away long before his words. “Your younger sister did not survive the accident that night, Katniss.”

She wasn’t sure when the screeching sobs, gave way to the uncontrollable shivering, which quickly escalated to full-on convulsions. She was long unconscious and far beyond caring when those hit.

Her baby sister was dead. 

She felt so tired.

She knew she was awake. Her consciousness told her she was no longer in that hazy dreamless, peaceful realm where nothing existed, where she didn’t exist. She wanted to stay there.

But alas, as the memories of how she’d found herself in that wonderful place of nothingness began creeping slowly back to the fore of that consciousness, she found she could no longer keep her tenuous hold on that magical nexus of oblivion. She was being ripped back into reality… thrust back towards her loss… back to her grief.

With a strangled gasp, Katniss’ eyes flew open.

Within a moment, Peeta filled her field of vision, his large hand smoothing the hairs back from her forehead with an impossibly tender touch. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of just how much sleep he’d managed lately. Vaguely, she wondered how long she’d been out that last time.

However, she was far too tired and far too numb to manage anything past the pain and the loss scorching in her chest as she locked hooded eyes with the slightly wearily smiling teen. He seemed about to say something, probably something impossibly soothing and comforting that she simply had no place in her aching heart for at the moment, when she blurted a struggled, huffed, “Y-you…k-knew.” Then, fat tears she had no way to stop from flowing began tracing salty, itchy paths down both sides of her face.

Smoothing both hands across her face frantically, like a madman, as if stopping the tears could somehow prevent the guilt induced moisture pooling behind his own eyes from spilling over, Peeta choked back a sob and leaned over to place a desperate kiss to her forehead, just where her hairline started in the hopes of communicating his regret- his shame.

Eventually, however, he pulled back, realizing he was fighting a losing battle against both her tears and his own and, as the first droplet streaked its way from the corner of his eye, he cupped her face lovingly, voicing as earnestly as he could, “I-I’ve always known, sweetheart. But look what it did to you to know, baby. We couldn’t tell you until you were ready. God, Katniss, I didn’t want to keep anything from you. I never want to keep anything from you. I told you I’m technically a felon. I told you how dysfunctional my crappy family is. But this, sweetheart, this almost killed you. You have to understand. Dr. Aurelius warned me it could really screw you up to tell you and you’re not exactly proving him wrong here, you know. I’m so sorry…” He braced his forehead to hers as he ended his statement, his tears flowing downward to meld with her own.

She brought a shaky hand that still had an iv plunged deep in it to bury in the curls at the nape of his neck and hold him there.

The logical part of her understood everything he’d said. She was not well. From what the doctors explained, her memories of the accident had caused so much stress she’d inadvertently burst a small vein in her already sensitive, newly healing brain, causing a small amount of swelling and a temporary interruption in the neural activity. It had almost killed her. Had she not been in a hospital and being monitored for just that kind of thing at the time, she’d be dead.

Then there was the irrational part of her that was being fed by that hole in her chest, by the grief, by her loss. That part wanted her to be vindictive, to feel rage at the boy she held for keeping this vital piece of information from her, for violating her trust- no matter what the justification.

In the end however, neither of these truly won out. Because regardless how numb, how weary her heart, as she held Peeta close in that hospital room, she could feel the flickering ember deep within her of what she truly felt for him. She could not hold what he’d done against him. How could she?

She loved him.

It turned out she’d only been out for a day again after learning about her sister, but it felt like ages.

She was almost despondent when the officers were led in shortly after she’d woken, escorted by Dr. Aurelius. They’d been detectives, who’d used honeyed words and accolades as they’d explained what a break in their case it was to have her remember the details of what had transpired the night of what they were now officially declaring her sister’s homicide. They’d been almost giddy when they’d announced the tape her psychiatrist had provided now officially exonerated her of murder.

As if she could be bothered to care whether she was guilty of murdering the man who’d caused her sister’s death. She just really didn’t think she’d feel all that heart-broken about it if she had.

Then, they’d started asking more questions, questions about things she didn’t know, things she didn’t want to know, things about how her dad died. When they began asking if she remembered how Corolanius Snow treated her, the memory of being struck in the temple by the blunt end of a knife, came crashing to the forefront of her thoughts. This was followed by an open flood gate of other images: getting burned by a stove… locked in a closet… losing her last baby tooth by having her head smashed into a table… dislocating her shoulder by getting tossed down a short flight of stairs…

The images were suddenly coming so fast, she didn’t even register how she ended up curled in a fetal position in Peeta’s arms, sobbing and whimpering softly.

“That’s it. You have to go… Now!” The edge to the blonde’s voice could’ve cut glass.

“You do understand, Mr. Mellark, any input she can offer would be invaluable in solving her fath-”

“I don’t care! Get out. Snow’s dead. How’s flogging her going to do any justice now, hmm? Who is it going to bring back? All you people care about is resolving your dumbass case. She’s not answering anything else. Get out.”

“Mr. Mellark, we can take you in for interfering in a criminal investigation…”

“Not if I do not deem the patient in well enough a mental state to answer your questions coherently, you can’t,” Dr. Aurelius interjected heatedly. He pointed a stout finger at the shuddering girl in the teenager’s arms, adding with finality, “Does that look like the picture of mental health to you, gentlemen? It is my professional opinion that this interrogation was over the moment the patient showed signs of agitation and, therefore, Mr. Mellark has interfered with nothing beyond two law enforcement officers attempting to overstep the limits of their authority and possibly abuse an obscenely fragile girl into a neurological seizure. The cameras are rolling gentlemen. It’s your call.”

With twin brief glances at the small dark globe in the corner of the ceiling, the two frowning men bid a hasty farewell to the doctor before leaving the room. They barely spared a glance at the couple holding each other on the bed as they exited.

Dr. Aurelius made his way over to his charge and the blonde teen the moment the door closed behind the detectives. He placed a comforting hand on Peeta’s shoulder and gave a light squeeze. “I’ll provide their chief with a copy of the footage of the entire interview and her reaction to being questioned about Snow, along with my professional assessment on everything that occurred here and her mental condition. It should be enough conclusive evidence to preclude her from further involvement in any investigation. They won’t be back. She’s no longer useful to them after this.”

With Katniss a whimpering, shaking mess in his arms, Peeta wasn’t in a state to conclude whether to feel indignant by that statement or just plain relieved.

His only response was to hold his girlfriend closer and nod.

It was another four days of heavy sedation to induce twelve-hour dreamless sleep sessions, intense speech therapy with Miss Trinket and a seemingly endless sequence of tests and brain scans, before her neurologist appeared one rather frigid afternoon with his always-sour demeanor to tell her she would be released to go back to what was now her home at Panem’s Center for Mental Health.

Katniss never thought she’d be happier to hear she was being sent to the loony bin.

Even more shocking still, she’d never been happier to see the disgustingly attractive orderly they sent with the ambulance to collect her. He apparently brought every Mylar balloon that featured some form of insane character- from the Tasmanian Devil to Daffy Duck- along with him. They took up a good quarter of the real estate in her small hospital room and all carried some horribly inappropriate message about ‘Goin’ Nuts’ or ‘Bein’ Batty’. All the same, she wrapped Finnick in a bear hug the moment he emerged from behind the cloud of nonsense, a happy tear sneaking its way down her cheek as she snorted.

Best of all, he came along with a noticeably with-child Annie, who immediately took to the task of getting her in the shower (she hadn’t had the energy for anything beyond allowing the female nurses to sponge bathe her while Peeta went out on dinner runs), after which she clothed her in warm, comfy cord outdoor wear. Annie was sitting behind her on the bed, hard at the task of working all the kinks out of her freshly shampooed hair with a wide gapped comb, when her husband got bored with leaning on the wall with his arms crossed staring.

He walked across the small stretch to where Peeta was sitting on the cushioned armchair next to the women, hard at work on something on his Ipad, as he’d been on and off during the entire time Katniss’d been convalescing in the hospital, and swatted him softly on the shoulder to gain his attention. “So, lover boy, how’d crazy take the good news that you found a song bird to carry you to the Bigtime?”

At hearing this, Katniss snap widened, questioning eyes toward her boyfriend, immediately wincing and releasing a pained "Eek" when the motion caused the comb to catch painfully in her hair.

“Oh, my god! Sorry, Katniss,” Annie huffed in soft commiseration, rubbing soothingly on the spot on her scalp where the hair had pulled. She then shot a glare her husband’s way and added, “That’s none of your business, Finn. You promised to behave. And Katniss is not crazy. What did we talk about using hurtful words?”

Finnick ignored the outraged sneer his friend in the chair was slicing through his face a moment to blow his wife a kiss through the distance between them. “Yeah, babe, I know, I’m not three. But these two know my score. They’re cool.” Then, turning back to Peeta who was still fuming at him and still pointedly ignoring his glare, he added, “Seriously, dude, you haven’t told her yet?”

Before her boyfriend could respond and because noting the way his jaw twitched, she doubted the response would be verbal, Katniss chose this moment to intercede, “W-what.. is h-he… t-talking… a-about… P-peeta?”

“Dude! Now she’s got a stutter? That’s just epic! She’s a never-ending well of retard material!”

“Finnick Odair!” Annie gasped, voice full of both shock and condemnation. The recrimination effectively drawing her husband’s deceptively innocent gaze to her, just as Peeta Charlie-horsed him right to the quadriceps.

“Oh, son of a… Annie! This little bastard hit me!”

The sprite on the bed only scowled in response at the man who was furiously rubbing the sting out of his leg, clucking her tongue as she continued combing the teenaged girl’s hair. “Don’t complain to me after saying that. He should’ve hit you harder. Katniss is not retarded. She has a mild slur. It’s barely noticeable. You’re being insufferable.”

Noticing the little marital spat was sidetracking her previous inquiry, the raven-haired girl tried again. This time turning more slowly and fixing her boyfriend with a determined, questioning glare. “W-what... was F-fin-n-nick... t-talking... ab-bout... you... f-finding a song... b-bird, P-peeta?”

Running his hand through his hair while simultaneously releasing a frustrated breath, Peeta finally tore his eyes away from Finnick and softened them as they locked with hers. A smidge of that uncertainty that was so unbecoming of him bled into his voice, but mostly, he sounded guilty, mixed with what she thought was a little excitement, “After everything you’ve been through, I was waiting for the right moment to tell you.” He paused here to send another nasty look at his so-called friend as he continued, “This wasn’t the ideal place or time to tell you, Katniss. You know, since you were bleeding into your skull and unconscious a fortnight ago and all. But, since Finn can’t keep his stupid mouth shut…”

“About a week after your relapse, I was heading out of work in the hospital and on my way here to see you. I’d pretty much been spending every hour I could here after work, waiting for you to wake up, you see. So, I’m driving here and I get a call from Beetee. He’s delirious, ranting about how he was sifting through the crap that are his normal mail-in submissions, when he found one specifically for my melody. I swear, Katniss, this thing was addressed to Beetee but included a freaking letter telling him he could only credit me for use of it and the best part was- it was completely anonymous. The name the person used is blatantly fake. The return address is some house for sell and she specifically requested not to be reimbursed or even acknowledged. Anyway, the old man is raving nearly incoherently over the phone about how this is the first thing worth listening to he’s heard in a year and how he’s already filtering and cutting it to send to prospects. I’m barely paying attention at this point because, honestly, I’m just worried whether you’re ever opening yours eyes again or not. I just tell him to do whatever he wants to with it.”

“That night, after the nurses here forced me out to get some sleep, I get home, shower, and for the first time in well over a week, I look at my own mail out of some morbid curiosity, I guess. Sure enough, at some point, I had gotten a flashdrive with a letter, too- from some Dandelion Spring chick. The letter said something along the lines of her wanting her vocals to my soliloquy#5 to be copyrighted exclusively by me, that she wanted no acknowledgement and that I shouldn’t try to find her. She only wanted my music to be heard by as many people as possible and she hoped adding her voice to that beautiful melody would help.”

“Of course, I popped that sucker into my computer immediately and, Katniss, you wouldn’t believe this girl’s voice. She didn’t even add any lyrics to it. She just vocalized to the melody, but I swear her voice is a siren song. It’s freaking hypnotizing. It’s that enrapturing. You’d love it.”

At hearing this, Katniss hoped the flattered smile that spread across her face could be played off as enthusiasm for his good tidings. The heated flush rising up her neck to her cheeks was another matter, however. She pulled at her collar and fanned herself in a dramatic show of somehow overheating in the perfectly weather controlled room.

She was a terrible actress.

Good thing for her, the blonde was far too caught up in his redaction to notice. He just went on, each word more enthusiastic then the last, now. “Well, to make a long story short, Beetee received seven tentative offers from agents for me, Katniss. There is actually a demand for me. Artists are willing to give me a shot.”

A hesitant smile spread across her face when Peeta stood from his chair at the end of his statement to come hug her excitedly. Something about what he’d said sounded… off.

She pulled away slightly, trying to keep her voice as chipper as possible when she asked, “W-what… d-does…that…m-mean…t-t-tent-ta-t-tive… o-offer?”

He didn’t seem put off by the question, only shrugged one shoulder, answering casually, “Everyone loves my sound, but no one wants to pay an unknown if he hasn’t proven himself. That demo showed them that the right voice can make my work magnificent, but we got something even better when we sent it out. Cinna, the famous lyricist who writes for half the working singers in the business, heard this girl’s voice and was inspired. He’s written lyrics for her, Katniss- pro bono. He’s willing to do a collab on a single for her with my melody. If it’s a hit, I’ll get all seven contracts. I’ll be set. The advance alone will pay my way into an apartment and my first year’s tuition. Beetee already sent the lyrics out to the agents and I posted them on my sites, because we don’t know how she found me the first go around. We’re all just hoping she’s still feeling charitable and she likes the song, because this could really be huge for me.”

Not knowing what else to do and terrified the dread boiling up from the pit of her stomach might actually manifest on her features, she quickly pressed herself back to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck and taking deep breaths she hoped passed for gasps of excitement instead of hyperventilation.

She could do this.

He needed her to this for him. His dream was so close. She’d brought it so close. She loved him far too much to deny him now.

She just needed to work hard and build up her diction again. So what if the last time she’d tried to sing it’d triggered the worse memory she could possibly imagine and left her almost crippled.

She could wait a few weeks, heal, become strong again.

She really could do this.

After all, her sister was dead. What left lurking in the dark recesses of her mind could possibly be worse than that…

…Right?

Chapter Text

 ‘Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go Now’…

She was in love with a bloody children’s book. And this wasn’t even an advanced children’s book, mind you. This sucker was slated for six to nine-year-olds.

Yep. Crazy sucked. No. Correction… Crazy and slightly mentally handicapped, sucked.

She was quickly learning, however, what sucked even harder was trying to hide her ever-growing collection of grade school children’s books from Finnick. He had enough ammo to use against her. Did he really need her handing him the loaded bazookas?

It was all her slightly off-kilter (and at times she wondered, buzzed) speech therapist’s fault. The woman had presented her with the most unorthodox way to speed up the improvement of her diction imaginable the first session they’d had together upon her arrival back at the mental institution.

She had to read Dr. Seuss books aloud… all of them, it seemed.

She’d read everything from ‘Hop on Pop’ to ‘Horton Hears a Who’ in the past two weeks, collecting the literature after the sessions so that she could record her speech in private on Beetee’s program and monitor her own progress. Of course, this meant piles and piles of infantile books she had to keep hidden from the staff that came in to maintain her room twice a week. Finnick was fooled the first time when she told him that cardboard box in the corner was feminine hygiene stuff, but he’d been eying it mighty suspiciously the last time he’d been in there to collect her laundry.

After all, how many pads and tampons could she conceivably be hoarding in a box that previously housed her forty-two inch TV? Was she hemorrhaging or having her period? The man was obnoxious, not stupid.

Quite the opposite, apparently, since, according to Miss Trinket, the whole using Dr. Seuss books as a diction tool was the copper-haired man’s brain child. Turned out, the weirdo really did have a degree in child psychology and had taken a short course on helping children improve their speech his first year of college. Supposedly, the working theory of the class was learning better communication through learning tongue twisters.

It worked, too. Once she had worked Marvin into that Crunk-Car (she was so totally sure Dr. Seuss was on acid when he thought up these psychedelic vehicles) during her session a week ago, she noticed her stuttering was all but gone. As she gazed down adoringly at the open book in her hands at the freakish little dog-like creature in the purple onesie, featured riding a vehicle out of the fevered dream of a deranged opiate induced dream being pulled by, of course, a purple elephant- she couldn’t help but smile triumphantly.  She still had an annoyingly halting way of speaking, because she had to blurt words out and it felt like she thought about a thousand times faster than she could speak, but the books were providing real, tangible, measurable progress.

Soon, she’d be able to try again. Soon she’d be strong enough. She hadn’t had another episode since leaving the hospital and all her sessions with Dr. Aurelius the previous two weeks had been exhausting and illuminating but not endangering.

Peeta was back at work- at both jobs, unfortunately. He’d taken the bulk of his paid vacation time from the asylum to spend with her while she was recuperating in the hospital, he’d told her when they’d had some time to talk a few days after she’d settled back in her old room here. But, he’d denied his father paying him for the time he hadn’t put in at the mornings in the bakery during that time, so he was strapped and had to dig into his saving to make ends meet that month.

She’d offered to help, but, he’d adamantly refused to accept her money, pointing out how wonderful a guy it made him to accept a penny from his wealthy, psychologically and neurologically fragile girlfriend when she was at her weakest, ‘cause that didn’t reek of gold-digging looser, whatsoever. Her response was to scowl furiously at him for even thinking she’d judge him that way until he’d tweaked her nose and tickled her into a fit of uncontrolled laughter.

Peeta Mellark played dirty, she’d learned that day.

Grasping the book to her chest in a panic when she realized she’d lost track of time in her endeavor, she looked up to note the time on the clock indicated cleaning rounds and quickly looked around for a safe haven to hide it. Just as she heard the doorknob turning, she flung it under her pillow and flung herself violently over it.

She let out a relieved breath when a mop of blonde curls came into view through the threshold.

“Well, I’m glad you’re excited to see me, too. Not quite the reception I was hoping for, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Rolling her eyes dramatically with a smirk, Katniss extended her arms out in invitation to the teenager, not bothering to rise from the bed.

Peeta crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight to one foot, analyzing her with narrowed eyes, before letting out a frustrated, “Oh, that’s just not fair, sweetheart. You know the cameras outside monitor how long I’m in here. I’ve got five minutes. I can’t do five minutes lying down on the same bed with you. This is why I always send Finn to do this room. Give a guy a fighting chance.”

Katniss lifted herself from the bed with a mock annoyed scoff, sauntering over to her boyfriend and draping her arms loosly over his broad shoulders. She allowed a coy smirk to dance at the corner of her mouth as she locked eyes with him innocently. “There… is… nothing… dirty… for… you… to… take… care… of… in… here… You… can… just… g-”

He’d had a good idea where she was heading with here statement, but had been far too fascinated by the way her mouth moved as she struggled to get the words out. Eventually, he decided to put both of them out of their mutual miseries by backing her into the wall just next to her and bridging the small gap between them with a bruising kiss.

He had been denying both of them this kind of intensity since her relapse. He’d been gentle with her, a peck on the cheek or temple here, a butterfly kiss there. He’d wanted her to feel comfortable enough to initiate anything else more heated at her own pace, whenever she was ready. She’d been through so much lately. Any comfort she needed, he was more than willing to extend.

This kiss decidedly went beyond comfort. She was digging her short nails into the base of his neck and her other hand clutched frantically at his upper back as her tongue fought for dominance in his mouth with his… and she was freaking wining. The thrill, the taste, the very essence of having her so dominant and reckless in his arms, was going to make him lose his coherency.

He breathlessly pulled away as she continued trailing kisses down his jaw. He had to swallow thickly at the sensations she was evoking, before breathing out, “You’re going to get me in so much trouble with security if you don’t stop, Katniss. Never mind, the doc.”

Coming back to take his lower lip between her teeth lightly, she let out a muffled whisper without releasing the tender flesh, “Told… you… you… were… afraid… to… be… in… an… unmonitored… room… alone… with… me… Mellark.”

At the rush her words instilled, he cupped the back of her head to brace it as he slammed it hard against the wall with the force of his responding kiss. This time, he took no prisoners when his tongue invaded her mouth and he relished that guttural sound that came from deep in her throat when he claimed his victory by pinning hers down, stroking his over it repeatedly.

He had to forcefully shove away from her when he knew he was cutting it too close for comfort on his time in her quarters, forcing out a husky, “Terrified. You have no idea, no inkling the effect, the power you have over me…” Then, he turned on his heels; adamantly trying to avoid her eyes as he quickly strode for the door and exited the room.

Katniss watched his muscled back a rear leave through hooded eyes as her suddenly wobbly legs didn’t seem strong enough to support her weight and she slid down the wall to sit on the floor. She bit her lower lip through what she imagined was an impossibly stupid, satisfied grin.

A part of her, somewhere deep in the back of her mind, realized she should be worried she’d been that forward with him, that it wasn’t her nature to be that wanton. It was probably a secondary effect of either the brain hemorrhage or the increased dosing in her meds- more likely than not the anti-depressant they’d put her on since learning of Prim- that had caused her to literally jump the poor kid like that. Her neurologist had warned her that those sudden and unexpected changes in personality or behavior should be brought to his attention immediately because they could be a sign of a more serious underlying problem surfacing… well, those and any sudden urges to off herself. Apparently, both were very common amongst teens taking Zoloft. Then, there was the nineteen-year-old in her that wanted to just sit there and relish that tingling; butterfly feeling in her stomach that amazing makeout session had left her with.

Everything about her condition made things so complicated.

Either she was a normal, hormonal teenager or she was forming a brain clot that could potentially kill her.

With a resigned sigh, she got to her feet and was out the door and on her way to find Drs. Cray and Aurelius. It might be nothing, but she had to tell them about the way she’d just reacted to having her boyfriend within three feet of her. She had too much at stake at this point to risk anything happening before she was ready.

Yep. Crazy and slightly mentally handicapped definitely blew.

She wasn’t bothering with anything fancy this time around and she wasn’t doing it outside where she’d have to walk forever if anything went wrong.

No. She was doing this in her room, in the afternoon, during Peeta’s shift. In fact, he was probably off taking care of one of her neighbors at the moment.

Everyone would find out it was her singing anyway after this. Disguising wordless vocals was one thing, but once she had to sing actual lyrics, it would be easy for someone with Peeta’s cognizance for acoustics to recognize it was her singing.

She’d already recorded a short message with instructions to him about her wish for him and Beetee to use the recording and trademark it as a Peeta Mellark production with no mention of her in the copyright. She wanted this to be completely his. She wanted any royalties to go to him. She didn’t need the money. She just wanted him to get his stupid shot and have this done with so maybe, they could move on.

It’d been two months since Beetee had put out the demo of her singing and the agents who wanted to contract Peeta were getting antsy. She could tell in the way he acted when they spent time together that he was worried whoever this mystery girl was that had delivered his salvation before had given up on him. It tore her up to see that light of hope in his azure eyes fading.

She’d gotten about as strong as she was going to get emotionally and psychologically in that last month and a half. She’d managed to come to terms with her sister’s death about as well as anyone could be expected to in that short a time. But, Prim had been gone for almost two years. There was nothing she could do about it and there was something she could do here and now for Peeta. Yes. She was still in agony over it half the time, but she could suck it up for a few minutes to sing a stupid song.

She glanced down briefly at the printed lyrics to Cinna’s “Forever Always” in her hand. It wasn’t the man’s best work. He was obviously going for fetching and schmaltzy when he wrote it- not exactly poetry. It was the kind of thing teenage girls cried over, but forgot quickly. It was the perfect attention-getter. Cinna was obviously some sort of evil genius. She briefly wondered if she’d ever get to meet the man.

Peeta had mentioned to her once a couple of weeks prior on a picnic in the arboretum the he’d marry her in a heartbeat the moment she was released from the institution if she’d have him broke and with no prospects. But, it would really be great if that whole contracts thing happened so he could take care of her properly when they got hitched. She’d snorted and replied offhandedly that she could always just marry him and take care of things until he could get back on his feet. He’d gone really quite after that for a long time, then stated with finality that he’d rather give her up than have her need to take care of him. That’d put a total damper on the rest of their date and they’d called it quits a full half hour earlier than the two hours she’d requested.

So, if this corny little song was what it took to get the man she loved on track to his dreams, that was what he would get.

This time she was prepared for the gore, however. She had a roll of paper towels from the cafeteria next to her and the panic button within easy reach, although she was doing this ten minutes before Peeta was slated to come get her for lunch. She didn’t want to take any chances.

She placed her earphones on and scrolled through the playlist on her phone to Peeta’s melody. She played it through it its entirety as she had so many times before, allowing the music to sway and inspire her as it always did. Then, just as she did the first time, she hit replay on the phone and enter on the keyboard of the laptop on her lap simultaneously.

After the fifteen second opening score had passed, she began intoning the first verse in that same raspy-from-lack-of-use from deep within the pit of her stomach voice she remembered from the first time she’d attempted anything like this…

It happened differently this time, maybe because she was expecting it, maybe because she’d been prepared. But, as she allowed her mind to wander within the melody and the sounds of her own voice, same as she’d done the last time, she found she didn’t feel at first as if she were dreaming so much as if she were looking at mirror images of herself. Everything shimmered as if looking at it reflected in a murky pond that clarified as the vision progressed…

*****

She’d been knocked unconscious again. She had to stop letting this happen to her.

Her head was killing her.

She reached up to rub the place she would find a bruise. When she pulled her hand back it was stained completely red.

*****

Somehow, Katniss found herself reeling back from the vision. The first verse was done and the short intro to the chorus was playing in her ear. She felt dizzy and a little nauseated, but nothing too severe to stop. She looked back down at the lyrics and took a deep, lungful of air before continuing…

It was more abrupt that time. The images were flooding, overwhelming. She smelled smoke…

*****

Something is on fire and the ground is wet. Why is she on the ground?

And where is Prim? Wincing from the effort of sitting up, she looks around. Oh, yes. That idiot stabbed himself and lost control of the car.

The snow’s falling in earnest and she can barely see more than a few feet ahead of her, but when she turns her body just about all the way around, she sees it behind her.

The black Range Rover smashed into a tree almost as thick as the car is wide. How did she manage to fly out the demolished windshield and make it this far away from it?

She stops musing and breathing altogether when she realizes where the smell of smoke that apparently woke her is coming from.

The back of the car is on fire.

*****

She looked around the room to ground herself. The walls were spinning. She was having trouble distinguishing what was real and what was not real. She could still smell smoke. She could still taste the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. As the short riff between the chorus and the next verse played, she quickly ripped a piece of paper towel to dab at her nose. She pulled it back to find it clean. She didn’t understand what was happening. It hadn’t been like this the last time.

She gazed up at the clock and noted the time- five minutes to twelve. Peeta would be there to collect her for lunch soon. She had to finish this…

The jolt back to that dreamscape almost caused the bile to rise to her throat. That’s how intense it was. She couldn’t breathe…

*****

Oh, god! Prim! Her voice was barely coming out in a gasp when she screamed as she was running for the car, her feet sinking into the deep snow.

Her lungs were burning from all the smoke that was surrounding her the closer she got to the car. The wind was whipping it directly in her face. She had to reach her.

Why had she asked her to put that stupid seatbelt on?  

*****

Katniss immediately curled over the side of her bed and emptied the contents of her stomach. She missed the trash can she had near for the paper towels by at least a foot and felt kind of bad that Peeta would have to clean up the mess in a couple of minutes. She felt worse still that the retching would likely register through the recording, but she was sure Beetee could filter that. It’d happened during the lapse between courses, anyway. She could barely sit back up once she was done, however. The nausea was now accompanied by a pounding headache. She knew the final verse by heart, though. Closing her eyes tight and bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose, she wiped at her nose and mouth with the paper towel. Had her eyes been open, she’d noticed it was entirely soaked through with crimson when she pulled it back, as she started intoning the final verse…

 " ‘Cause you said we’d have forever always

The unforeseen turned our sunshine into grays

And I’m left here to heal a heart an’ keep an oath

‘Cause the day you left me here, love, I swear you broke us both

Yes, the day you left me here, I swear you broke us both

…‘Cause you said we’d have forever always…”

She could faintly see Peeta’s worried form hovering over her through the twinkling, swirling lights that were now her visual perception. He looked terrified, it seemed. The last thing she thought she heard him say as her steel eyes rolled into the back of her head was, “Oh, Katniss! What have you done, baby! Get the doctor, Finnick! Now! Oh, God, sweetheart, stay with me! Please!”

But, she was already gone…

***** 

She made it.

She made it to the stupid passenger side of the car and the door is jammed. The accident warped it and she’s too weak with what’s probably blood loss from that stupid head wound and cold to pry it open. Prim’s inside, though. She’s awake. She’s okay. She’s coughing a lot, but she’s okay and that’s all that matters. She’s trying to help her kick the door open from the inside with both her little legs as she pulls the handle and braces with one leg from outside.

But the handle is so hot she’s burning her hands.

Why’s this thing so hot? God!

Then, it sounds like something exploded her eardrum and she’s flying backwards as flames lick at her skin, everywhere her coat exposes. So she rolls around quickly like she learned in school when she was little. As soon as she’s sure the flames on her body are out, she gets back up and turns for the car again.

And she sees her.

She.. she’s banging on the window with both her tiny fists in what looks like horrible agony, fists that are literally aflame. Everything’s aflame. Her little sister’s a human torch.

She starts screaming, a blood-curdling, pitiful wail.

Then everything is darkness.   

Chapter Text

He held her firmly, facing down while she convulsed.

He maintained his index, middle and ring fingers securely in her mouth so she wouldn’t bite off her tongue. Her jaw was reflexively baring down hard enough on them to break the flesh, but if he were bleeding, there’d be no way to know. The life stuff pouring seemingly endlessly from her nostrils made it an impossibility to discern where hers mingled with his.

He needed Finn to get there with the doctor, now!

He wasn’t a nurse. The staff received basic training to deal with minor emergencies and he knew CPR. Heck, he’d even dealt with minor seizures before in his tenure there, but nothing even remotely resembling what the woman in his arms was experiencing, what the woman he loved was experiencing.

‘God, Katniss, what did you do?’ he thought frenetically, recalling how he’d walked in the room not five minutes before to find her singing… singing!

The sound of it had been so shockingly beautiful, so ethereal, he hadn’t even noticed the blood seeping down her face; it’d taken her finishing and collapsing, nearly unconscious, to snap him out of his trance. He’d instantly rushed to her then, just as Finnick was entering to join them for lunch and he’d all but commanded him in a maniacal roar to get the doctor to help her. She’d started shaking moments later and he knew whatever was happening to her was only escalating.

She needed help and she needed it, immediately.

“What happened?” Dr. Aurelius barged into the room, almost barreling into the couple on the bed as he skidded to a stop above them.

Peeta looked from Katniss’ quivering form to the physician, then around the room frantically, hoping an answer would somehow present itself on the walls. “I don’t know, Doc. I came to take her to the cafeteria and found her singing into the laptop. Then she just collapsed in a pool of blood and started having a seizure. Is this what happened last time? I wasn’t here the last time. Is this what a relapse looks like?” Peeta hadn’t heard his voice reach that high a pitch since it’d changed when he’d undergone puberty at thirteen. The panic that lazed it was tangible.

Dr. Aurelius immediately checked Katniss’ pulse and frowned as two EMT’s entered the room with a gurney. He spoke with that odd mix of clinical detachment and genuine concern only he could pull off, “She’s tachycardic, Peeta. We need to transfer her to the ICU in the hospital next door, stat. We won’t be sure what’s happened until we run scans, but we need to stabilize her first. You said she was singing into the computer? Has she ever sang to you before? She’s never done it with me.”

The blonde shook his head numbly, overwhelmed by everything occurring too fast to process and the uncharacteristic pallor to the fragile girl’s normally olive skin as the medical techs gingerly took her from his arms to secure her to the gurney.

“Then, I suggest you scour through that laptop to figure out if what she was doing might have triggered this, Mr. Mellark,” the psychiatrist gestured to the discarded, slightly blood-speckled, computer with his head. “Any odd behaviors on her part needed to be catalogued by either me or Dr. Cray in order to prevent any deterioration of her condition. If she’s been hiding something from us, it might be useful now in determining our course of treatment for this setback.”

Peeta followed his gaze to the laptop still open on the bed and realized Beetee’s speech program was open on the display, still recording. With a furrow to his brow, he quickly hit the enter key to stop the action before looking back at the doctor with a mix of hesitation and guilt. “This is Katniss’ personal laptop, Doc. I-I can’t. It wouldn’t be right…”

With a look of deep commiseration, the therapist put a hand on the teenager’s shoulder, stating with finality, “You’re a hacker, Mr. Mellark. You’ve been one for years. You, yourself, convinced me that does not make you a criminal several weeks back in my office, did you not? Well, this is your first chance to save a life with your gift. If you love her, do this for her.”

With a resigned slump to his shoulders and one last glance at the now still, despondent girl on the gurney the EMT’s were getting ready to wheel out of the room, Peeta reached out, folding the laptop under his arm. With a determined set to his jaw, he got to his feet to follow the doctor out to join Katniss in her journey to the hospital.

He sat staring at the shifting Japanese garden landscapes that were the screensaver on Katniss’ computer without really seeing them.

He’d been sitting in that chair in the surgical ward of Panem General Hospital, his work scrubs still stained with blood- the percentage of which he was still unclear how much was his or Kainiss’- and his hand hastily bandaged, for the previous thirteen hours.

That’s how long the woman he loved had been in that unit. That’s how long she’d been fighting what the assisting nurse and Dr. Aurelius had come out to tell him several times in the course of that last half day, was a very difficult battle for her life.

They hadn’t even bothered analyzing her before sending her into surgery. They figured they’d run portable scans as they’d go, the surgical nurse had first explained to him about twelve hours ago. Time was of the essence with these things, she’d reasoned with him. Every second lost could equate a brain function Katniss might never regain.

He’d just nodded, dumbly, delegating any decision making when it came to what was best for her to Dr. Aurelius. Because, honestly, he had no inkling what course of care would benefit her most in this situation. He just wanted her to wake up, to be okay, to smile again. And, if he was completely honest, he had no claim to her, whatsoever. He should have it. He should’ve made them official, asked her to marry him… something. But he had nothing to offer her and she deserved so much after losing so much, everything in her life to a murderous, greedy lunatic.

She deserved more than him.

That thought led him back to about ten hours prior and he clenched his eyes shut tight to keep the tears from welling up again.

Too distraught and preoccupied with worry over Katniss’ extremely serious condition, he hadn’t even ventured a look at the laptop he’d brought over from the mental institution when Finnick had shown up with a very worried Annie, his dad and- to his extraordinary disbelieve- Beetee. Here was a man renowned for his pallor due to his lack of sun exposure. The fact that he’d ventured out of his fortress of solitude sound studio to be there was near miraculous. Little children in his neighborhood were completely freaked out by him and thought he was a vampire… seriously.

The orderly had shrugged offhandedly, simply stating that he’d gone around collecting all his and ‘Crazy’s' friends when he’d refused to answer his texts, figuring he’d want as much support as he could get, ‘cause he’d seen a lot of weird crap working in that crazy house and what he’d witnessed that day had just about taken the cake.

As always, Peeta ignored Finnick’s insulting nickname for Katniss and accepted the arm the man threw around his shoulders when he came to stand beside him to ask how Katniss was doing in earnest. This was the man who’d gotten Katniss into the care of one of the nation’s leading neurosurgeons within half an hour of a massive aneurism, after all. Who was he to begrudge him a few stupid insults?

“So, what have they told you Peeta? How’s she really holding up?”

He’d just ran a hand through his hair haggardly and shrugged one shoulder, mumbling a noncommittal, “She’s still bleeding into her brain as far as I know, Finn. I’m not a doctor. They come out and tell me what they can every once in a while, but, honestly, I’d rather they stay in there and fix her then come out here and feed me information, man.” The redhead had held both hands up in sign of surrender at the teen’s outburst, then.

He’d taken the hint and actually managed to stay silent for about five minutes after that as they all waited for the next update from the nurse, but since this was Finnick Odair and he had the attention span of a fruit fly…

“Hey! Is that her laptop? Why do you have her laptop, dude? Ugh! Is that her blood all over it?”

He’d quickly summoned all the restraint within every cell in his body, reminding himself that he really did love the man, not to mention probably owing him the life of the woman he loved, before he’d responded curtly, “Doc wants me to check it for hints as to why this happened to Katniss, man. And it’s splattered in her… dude, I had to grab it and go in a rush, okay. My girlfriend is probably freaking dying in there! Hygiene wasn’t exactly a high priority.”

“I can look at it for you, Peeta. What program was she running when you found her? Do you know? You know what? It’s not even that important. It’ll take a second to recover her history…”

At that time, he’d been so relieved when Beetee had volunteered to take over the task of looking over Katniss’ computer, and just plain so exhausted from emotion, he could’ve kissed the man full on the lips for the offer. He’d had no wish to intrude on her personal information. She already knew he’d been in jail for infiltrating and using others’ personal data in less than savory ways. He didn’t need her doubting her ability to trust him. He’d never betray her. He’d never forgive himself.

Now, he wished he’d never let the man anywhere near the machine.

“Oh, looks like the last program she used was my speech program. Should I be flattered?” The music producer had looked at him from beneath his glasses with such a coy glint to his eyes, Peeta’d almost smirked. He’d just rolled his eyes dramatically at the man, however.

“She was recording a song, actually, if you must know. That’s what she was doing when I found her, right before the seizure hit.”

Beetee had raised a curious brow at him with a dip to the corner of his lip at that. “Peeta, have you replayed this? Did you even know this girl could sing, because this is certainly news to me.”

The growing queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach should’ve been his first indication of what was to come. It’d definitely been a prelude to the misery that would follow. “I-I haven’t had a chance yet, everything that’s going on… and, you know, I didn’t want to pry…”

His music producer, his friend, had given him a condoling, pitying look, but the words he’d spoken betrayed nothing but a conviction to do what was in Katniss’ best interest, “If what’s in this recording can help her, Peeta, you’re not doing her any favors by not looking at it. Now, I can let you do this on your own time or I can do this for you. It’s your call. But this could plausibly really help your girl, kid.”

He’d nodded his solemn consent. How could he have known? How could anyone?

Beetee’d hit the replay button on the last MP3 file created and raised the volume as high as it went. Soon, everyone in the surgical ward waiting room heard a few seconds of hollow air before a throat cleared and Katniss’ voice rang from the computer’s speakers:

“This is my declaration as to my wish that this recording be used in conjunction with Peeta Mellark’s soliloquy#5. I hereby pass on any copyrights or rights to loyalties that may arise from the sell or distribution of this recording solely to Peeta Mellark and give him full permission to use this recording at his discretion. I wish no recognition or reimbursement for my role in this recording and wish to remain anonymous. If a name must be listed to the vocals for any kind of legal purpose, I give permission to Peeta Mellark to use my pseudonym, Dandelion Sunset. I do wish to appoint Mika Beetee of Rebellion Records as secondary producer to this recording, so that he may propagate it as widely as possible. And I must make my wish clear that no matter what happens during or after the recording of this track, this song will be used for the purpose I have delineated in this statement. I, Katniss Everdeen, do this being of sound mind and judgment.”

A collective gasp had rumbled through the group congregated there, in that narrow hallway, before it’d been silenced abruptly by the lyrical, entrancing sound of Katniss- his Katniss- giving beautiful life to the words Cinna had written for his melody.

It had been glorious and it had broken him.

Several times during the recording, what clearly sounded like gasping, choking and, at one point, even retching, could be heard. They were never during the actual singing. It was obvious she’d tried to keep her growing distress, her growing pain, from interfering with what she was trying to accomplish… what she’d  blatantly suffered through to accomplish for him.

The singing finished and the chaos immediately ensued on the recording. Peeta’d heard himself screaming frantically at Katniss to stay with him. He’d heard himself order Finn to get the doctor.

Beetee’d mercifully hit the enter button to stop the replay before more could play.

His father had been holding him tightly, whispering comforts into his ear and stroking his hair like he’d done when he was a toddler afraid of the dark. That’d only been fitting, he’d supposed. Nothing could be darker than what was swallowing him up. And he’d been so terrified of it, he’d been physically shaking.

Forget proving anything to Dr. Aurelius. Katniss had suffered two life-threatening relapses and she’d just admitted in that recording to making the flashdrive he’d received right around the time of her first one. She was in surgery at that very moment because she’d chosen to make a second recording.

Peeta wasn’t a neurologist, but the connection was pretty obvious. Her singing was triggering these things and she never would’ve sung if he hadn’t made her feel he needed her to, if she hadn’t felt some stupid, misguided, dangerous obligation to him.

The overwhelming guilt and grief of the revelation had caused the strength to drain from him then and he’d collapse to the floor of the hospital. He’d buried his face in his father’s shirt and allowed the tears of his unfathomable despair to come at their will.

Finn had joined his father on the floor with him, throwing his arms around him and, for once, said nothing, just held him and stroked his back with brotherly affection as he’d sobbed. Even Annie had maneuvered her way through her protruding belly to sit on her husband’s lap and brought her arms around his shoulders.

The only one who’d remained sitting on the benches with a stoic expression, betrayed only by the vacant, despairing glaze to his dark eyes, had been Beetee. He’d waited, staring at the huddle of commiseration on the floor until Peeta’s sobbing had ebbed to subdued sniffles before he’d voiced in a tacit, emotionless monotone, “I’m sending the piece to the agents, Peeta.”

Unsure he’d heard the older man correctly, he’d wrestled his face out of his father’s shirt and turned swollen, red-rimmed eyes to lock with the infuriatingly serene pair of the man on the bench. He’d hated the vulnerability in his voice when he’d spoken and, in hindsight, he wished he could’ve been more forceful, but his turmoil in that moment was just too all-consuming, “W-what… no, you can’t… that’s-”

“Precisely what she wanted,” Beetee’d cut him off with an exasperated breath, removing his glasses to clean on the end of his shirt as he’d continued with a cross between annoyance at having to explain himself and tangible hurt at being the one tasked with that particularly unsavory burden. “She knew… knew from experience, what doing this again could do to her, yet she still chose to do it, Peeta. She made a conscious choice to do something reckless with her health to give this chance to you and she explicitly asked for my help in doing it. You heard it yourself.”

He’d paused there to take a deep breath, probably to settle his frayed nerves and work up the courage to say what he’d said next as he’d pointed adamantly at the doors leading to the surgical unit beyond. “Now, if that young woman in there doesn’t… this could very well be the last thing she ever asked me to do, Mellark. And I’ll be damned, if I don’t follow through with it. You don’t have to take the contracts. They may not even like it. But it won’t be because I didn’t give them the very best I could out of what she did with this- out of what she sacrificed to give to you. I’m going to dub this into the best demo I can make and I’m going to send it out. I’m not letting that child’s efforts go to waste.” With that, he’d produced a flashdrive out of the front pocket of his shirt- Peeta’d never known why the man always had those handy- and proceeded to download the file.

Afterward, he’d stood, face crestfallen as if he’d just defiled a grave- which, in essence, maybe he had- and spoke just as quietly and phlegmatically as before to no one in particular, “Please keep me updated on her status. You know where I can be reached. I will do the same for you.” Then he’d proceeded to walk quickly out of the surgical waiting area without a look back.

His father had stayed with him another two hours after that. But he’d needed to get back to lock up the bakery for the night. He’d kissed him on the forehead and given him a suffocating bear hug with a promise to return in the morning as soon as he could get one of his lazy brothers down there to help with the shop.

Annie and Finn had stuck around another two hours, but it was a school night and hard plastic chairs weren’t exactly accommodating on a seven month pregnant woman. So, they’d bid their farewells, too, recommending he get home and try to get at least a few hours of shuteye. A shower wouldn’t kill him either, Finnick had failingly tried to joke. He’d barely looked up at him from where he slumped in his chair by the wall.

That’d been just about six hours ago and there he sat.

At some point along the way, he’d mustered the courage to browse Katniss' computer history again, hoping against hope that, maybe, something other than the blatantly obvious- something other than him- was killing his girlfriend.

As he’d expected, other than the recordings and the prep work and research she’d done to make them, nothing out of the ordinary or that he hadn’t already discussed with her about her past or her family, headlined in her searches. He couldn’t help but be impressed. She’d taken weeks to put everything together for the first attempt. She’d used everything from their outings to his sound studio to their trip to his dad’s bakery to concoct her plans. He’d feel utterly betrayed if his overwhelming desire for her to live and smile and hold him left room for absolutely nothing else in his heart.

He was startled out of his odd staring contest with a cherry blossom tree on the screen by Dr. Aurelius’ hand landing softly on his shoulder as the man sat next to him.

“You need to go home, now, Peeta. Nothing’s happening tonight that won’t wait a few hour for you to sleep and change.”

The teenager shoved the laptop from his lap to the seat beside him and buried his face in his hands, rubbing them violently up and down. “It’s my fault, Doc. It was the singing. It happened because she was singing to help me. If only I’d never told her of my stupid plans, she’d never gotten it in her head to do this and she’d be fine.”

The psychiatrist ruminated the blonde’s words analytically for a moment, before speaking in that detached, clinical intonation, only it sounded as if he was speaking to himself more than to anyone else, “Of course! That was why she didn’t speak when she first came to us. Somehow, her subconscious always linked her voice to that night, to that traumatic event that so severely damaged her psyche. The fear she felt of speaking was her body’s own protective mechanism against this happening to her again.”

“So, she should never have spoken?” Peeta tried to understand the doctor’s line of reasoning.

“Oh, no. That’s not it at all, Peeta. She had to remember. The nightmares she suffered were her mind attempting to heal itself, her psyche attempting to reconnect the pieces of the scattered puzzle. She was too strong-willed to just… forget. Nevertheless, her body isn’t nearly as strong as she is, I’m afraid. And she rushed the healing process along too quickly with the singing. Apparently, her newly rebuilt psyche was not ready to handle whatever duress that particular action triggered. That action triggered this massive hemorrhage. The human mind is a powerful thing, Peeta. It controls so many things in our bodies. In Katniss’ case, it may have quite literally ruptured her brain.”

At the horrified look on the teenager’s face, the doctor attempted to elaborate in a tone he hoped sounded less bleak, “The neurosurgeon primarily worked on draining the fluid building up in her brain the first few hours, Peeta. They’ve stopped the bleeding. The fact that she had an existing shunt was extremely helpful and sped up the drainage process exponentially, likely saving her. That much fluid could’ve easily shorted out the electrical impulses in her brain, altogether. Next, they worked on making sure messages were being correctly transmitted for her body’s primary functions by minimizing the swelling in her brain, caused by the hemorrhaging. As of right now, she can breathe with minimal assistance from a respirator, swallow and she’s not on bypass, which means, she’s not brain dead. They are currently tracking her retinal movement, which she seems to be responding to rather well. This makes the surgeon hopeful that she is neither blind nor severely brain damaged.”

At Peeta’s relieved outtake of breath, the therapist quickly added, “Peeta, any of these circumstances can change in an instant if she develops a clot or infection and she’s astronomically susceptible to either right now. You need to understand this. They are finishing off with the surgery now, but she will be in the postop ICU for the next four weeks, minimum. She will be in a medically induced coma for at least, three months. No neurologist in their right mind would even consider less after all she’s been through and, even after all that, if she wakes up- which is honestly not a certainty- we have no idea what the neurological and psychological backlash of all this will be.”

Not bothering to hide either the deep concern or the confusion from spreading across his expression, Peeta tentatively ventured with a dry swallow, “So what are you trying to tell me, Doc?”

Dr. Aurelius placed a hand on the teenager’s knee and gave a light squeeze, staring him straight in the eye when he stated with cold finality, “The Katniss Everdeen you knew may never wake up from that coma, Mr. Mellark.”

Chapter Text

Katniss became part of his routine.

That first month she was in the ICU and he had to stare at her through the thick glass into her decontaminated pod-like unit, he’d get off his shift at the asylum and sit by until visiting hours were done at eleven. Then, he’d head home to his little apartment above the bakery, work his four hour shift in the morning there, his six hour shift in the asylum and head back to sit with Katniss again afterward. It became his comforting little cycle.

Ten days into his tenure of vigilance over his comatose girlfriend, he’d started receiving the voicemails and texts from Beetee that his contracts were accepted, plus two more commisions.

 He’d ignored every single one.

It wasn’t until the man himself showed up at the hospital a week before she was due to be transferred to a regular, monitored room, that he dragged himself out of his chair. He hurried out of the ICU to confront the statuesque, lanky man, grabbing him roughly by the collar of his omnipresent button-down shirt and shoving him roughly against the wall. Even though he had to incline his head upward quite a bit to accomplish it, he glared daggers into the man’s dark eyes as he raged, “How dare you show up here. Have you no decency, whatsoever? I thought my silence was answer enough for you.”

Unfazed by the teenager’s uncharacteristic show of force, the sound engineer didn’t bother trying to strong-arm his way out of the boy’s hold. Not that he could even if he wanted to. He knew his own strengths and physicality certainly did not number amongst them. He optioned, instead, for appealing to what he knew to be the blonde’s rather sizeable intellect and ability to think logically. “The pieces they want are already written and composed, Peeta. I stand to make nothing but an increment in reputation from brokering this deal for you, but the money… we both know what this kind of money would mean for you, my friend. This is what you’ve been working toward for half a decade- since you wandered into my studio at fifteen. This is what she wanted for you. Please, let me agree to these on your behalf. Don’t let everything you’ve done, everything she did, fall by the wayside. She wanted this so much for you.”

Taking his hands away from the man’s collar, Peeta allowed the grief and uncertainty to warp his features into an anguished scowl, before he let his forehead fall on the taller man’s shoulder in defeat. “I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore, old man,” he huffed in exasperation.

Beetee brought a hand up to pat the boy’s head lightly, shrugging his unoccupied shoulder. “Then, do what she asked you to, Peeta. You can’t go wrong when you do exactly what the girl asked you to, right?” Came the matter-of-fact answer.

Peeta stared back up at him with large, inquisitive, disbelieving eyes. Could it really be so simple?

He still didn’t know with certainty the answer to that question when he gave his assent to Beetee to sign the contracts with the agents on his behalf, sent him on his way and went back to sit in his chair by the glass in the ICU with Katniss.

The routine continued with little variation after that. At the one-month mark, Katniss was transferred to a private room after showing no signs of complications. She was breathing on her own and, although she still had a feeding tube, she had a normal gag reflex. Her pupils were still responsive to light and all her extremities responded to tactile stimulation.

Peeta’d been in the room during that particular examination and had needed to hold back a smile when the neurologist had ran the stimulator up Katniss’ left foot arch and she had responded with a flinch and a visible frown, even through her unconscious state. She hated having her feet tickled.

That day, his heart had swelled at the realization that some of her- his Katniss- was definitely still in there.

So, he came in everyday after his shift at the mental institution and sat by her bed. He’d always comb her long ebony hair and talked to her about the happenings of his day after shifting her to make sure she wasn’t developing bed sores (this was technically her nurse’s job, but he liked to make sure). Dr. Aurelius had told him it was unclear if those in her state could understand words, but soothing sounds were calming to everyone, so he should talk to her in jovial, calming tones if he felt the inclination. He was a talker. He always felt the inclination.

A few times a month, he’d bring nail clippers and a file to keep her nails short and groomed. Katniss had always complained to him about how annoying it was to have a nail break and have it catch on everything, so she liked having them short for practicality. He wanted to keep them the way she liked them for when she woke up.

Because she had to wake up, there were no alternatives to that that he could conscience.

The three-month mark in that room came and went. He tried to ignore it, but his conversations with her became more pleading. He needed her back.

By the time she’d been there eight weeks, he’d resigned himself  to the reality that this would be his life. It wasn’t a bad life, he mused. Finnick and Annie’s baby had just been born and he’d spent some time away from the hospital to be with him. He was a very cute baby, with Finnick’s laugh and eyes and Annie’s jet-black hair. But, holding the chubby newborn only made him long for what he might never have with the bedridden woman in that hospital. So, he’d been back to comb her hair and make sure she was comfortable and kiss her brow goodnight before he left for home. She was his reality, now.

The call had eventually come during the middle of his shift almost six months after her relapse. He’d rushed right over, only to be told she’d been moved to a private ‘observation room’- whatever that was- for her own safety by some random male nurse he’d never met before and who was not part of her normal rotation. Three seconds before he barreled his way through the arrogant bastard to see his girlfriend, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned brusquely to come face to face with a frowning Dr. Aurelius. “I need you to please come with me, Mr. Mellark.”

The man’s tone garnered no argument and he found himself following obediently to a nondescript office he’d never noticed at the end of the hallway. Dr. Cray was already seated at one of the plush armchairs when he lowered himself to the one next to it. Dr. Aurelius reclined against a simple wooden desk, arms crossed high on his chest as he began speaking in that clinical, authoritative intonation, “Katniss woke up last night, shortly after you left, Mr. Mellark.”

When Peeta nearly jumped out of his chair with excitement, the doctor held out a halting hand, shaking his head solemnly. “She doesn’t remember anything, son. Not who she is, not the past year, not the past twenty years of her life. She’s a blank slate again and, as you can imagine, she’s pretty agitated about it.”

Peeta felt a tangible pain in his chest as the weight of the therapist’s words settled and his heart ripped in half. She didn’t remember.

‘She doesn’t remember you’, that little voice in the back of his head decided to make a reappearance after so many months. He remembered now why he’d submerged it. If it'd been a tangible being, he’d be strangling it.

Venturing a look up from the floor where his eyes had diverted as he’d pondered the information, his eyes locked with those of the psychiatrist in pleading misery, his emotions bleeding into his voice, “So she can’t speak, anymore?”

“Oh, that’s where it gets really odd, kid. She can talk just fine. Managed to tell me off twice so far.” The neurologist off to Peeta’s left chose to interject.

Dr. Aurelius shot the man a reprimanding glare, before turning a softer expression back on the teenager. “What the good doctor here lacks the tact to convey properly, Peeta, is that this new incarnation of her condition has completely new symptoms. She has no memories, but her speech is unaffected. Without further therapy and time to allow other neurosis to present themselves, I have no way to efficiently treat or predict how she will respond to treatment. However, one thing is clear at this time; it is absolutely unethical on our part to allow what triggered this last massive relapse any possible contact with her in her current unstable and severely weakened state. We simply cannot risk her endangering herself again. It is our duty as her doctors to protect her from herself. Do you understand?”

Oh, but he did understand. He understood perfectly and that understanding caused the shattered remnants of his heart, his very being, to plummet to the very bowels of his stomach as he looked on at the man before him in agony.

“You’re asking me to give her up. You’re asking me to pretend I feel nothing for her, to pretend the last year of my life with her didn’t happen.”

The psychiatrist now leaned forth and brought a hand to squeeze the teen’s shoulder in condolence. He allowed the sorrow he felt to crease his brow for the first time, the first sign of his deep commiseration for the boy’s impossible circumstance. “We are not asking Peeta. Unfortunately, we are not even in the luxury of a position to ask this of you. The fact of the matter is you are who you are. To continue your relationship with her, you would have to effectively lie about every single thing you are to her, everything she did for you, every moment of everyday from this moment forth. I know your psychological profile. You are capable of deception on a very skillful level, but not to someone you truly care for and you do not want to lie to her at all, do you? Take the gift she risked everything for and make the life she wanted you to have. This is what she wanted for you. Maybe, she miscalculated and never meant for it to exclude her from the equation, but we must make do the best we can. If you want her to survive, Peeta, you need to let her go.”

Once again, Peeta found himself having to assess too much information too quickly, decide too much, he was unready to decide. He clenched his eyes shut and brought both fists to press roughly to them. Then he brought his fist down violently to slam on either of the arms on the chair, leveling an icy glare at Dr. Aurelius as he rumbled out indignantly, “I want to see her. If I have to give her up, if I can never hold her again. I want one last chance to see her, to hear her voice. I want to see for myself that she’ll be alright if I leave her here.”

“Absolutely not. Lord knows what seeing you mi-”

Dr. Cray found himself being silenced once again by a raised hand from Dr. Aurelius, before the doctor turned stern eyes back to Peeta. “You’ll be monitored at all times, Mr. Mellark. If she becomes agitated at any moment, security will be summoned to escort you out. And I don’t have to tell you that delicacy is advised. She is… temperamental.”

Peeta let out a humorless scoff at this. He was certain “temperamental” didn’t begin to describe whatever it was Katniss was at the moment.

The three men left the office and walked together to different area of the neurological ward. They entered a room that was separated into two separate areas by a wall with a window and a door. Beyond the door, there was what appeared to be a perfectly normal hospital room with a bed and a chair. On the bed lay a very a bored-looking, dark-haired young woman, sitting cross-legged and staring at a laptop with her chin propped on her knuckle.

Peeta’s breath hitched the moment he saw her. She looked perfect, beautiful.

“You have a few minutes to say your peace, Mr. Mellark. After that, it will be in both your best interests for you…”

Dr. Aurelius didn’t need to finish. He knew what he had to do. Picking up a clipboard from a nearby table, he allowed the most disarming smile in his arsenal to split his features even though he knew it didn’t reach his eyes, even though his insides were smoldering ruins.

He was a master at hiding pain. His momma had taught him that.

He turned the knob and walked in the room.

Katniss looked up from her computer at the new arrival, her eyes immediately narrowing as the man with the haphazard ash curls approached. This was a new one.

“Hello, I’m Peeta. I understand you just woke up from a very long rest and will be moving so-”

“So, you a doctor?”

He hadn’t expected the pang of hurt and longing to be quite that palpable at the sound of her voice after six months- not to mention, the fact that this rang way to synanymous to the conversation they’d first had when they’d met and the nostalgia was nearly suffocating- and his smile faltered slightly. But he quickly recovered with a dashing, lopsided grin. “I’m a college dropout, actually, so, the furthest thing from it.”

The glint in her eyes became challenging, but her scowl never decreased. “So, you’re a looser, then.

That one literally knocked the air out of him and he had to cover it up with a scoff. Still, in spite of his insides shredding, he treaded through, the soul-searing smile still on his face, “Well aren’t you judgmental for someone who’s about to be institutionalize in a psych ward? You know, they lock you up at night to sleep in there light a petulant two-year-old.”

Her brow furrowed impossibly further at the prospect of that and he couldn’t help but note how adorable she looked.

“Keep it together, Mellark. She’s off limits for good now.” For once, he felt awful about giving in to his insufferable little voice. He hated that thing.

“You’re kind of a jerk, you know. Shouldn’t you all be like, extra nice to me and all because I’m sick in the head?” After she said this, she instantly went quite, introspective, as if she was analyzing whether what she’d said made sense or not.

Peeta quirked a brow at her and spoke up, breaking her out of her thoughts, “Well, you’re not the worst case I’ve seen in here, by a long shot. But, I suppose we can call it a truce on the grounds of your poor mental health. What do you say? Friends?” He held out his hand to her.

She stared at it as if it were a dangerous snake, her eyes growing large in panicked surprise at his unexpected proposal. After much deliberation and scrutinizing the proffered appendage, however, she cautiously reached out and clasped her comparatively far smaller hand to his, noting how impossibly warm he was.

He gave her hand a soft but firm shake, relishing for one last time in the feel of her, and she felt sturdiness, a rare steadiness, radiate from him that she couldn’t help but find enrapturing and for some strange reason… familiar. It was the first thing she’d found familiar since waking a few hours earlier a she found herself missing it when they finally mutually released each other’s grasp. It’d felt so grounding to be in his grasp.

She continued staring down at her tingling hand until the sound of the door opening caught her attention and she looked up to find him at the threshold. For some unknown reason, she found it imperative that he know one last thing about her before he left, so she found herself blurting out, “Um, I’m Katniss, by the way. Katniss Everdeen. At least, that’s what the doctors here tell me. They’re all pretty much patronizing jerks. Well, except Dr. A. He’s pretty decent. And you’ve treated me like I won’t fall apart if you sneeze too hard near me. That’s pretty cool. Are you coming back to check on me later?”

She was pretty sure she sounded like a pathetically needy psycho, but this guy was hot… and nice and she really wanted him to come back. God! Crazy was making her so needy!

Upon hearing those words, seeing the plea in her steel eyes, Peeta had to restrain every natural instinct within to keep from going to her, taking her in his arms and kissing her until they were both dizzy from oxygen deprivation. Instead, however, he responded with that sloppy half grin and a shrug of one shoulder, “Actually, this is my last day here. I just wanted to see how you were doing before I left, make sure you were alright and everything…”

“Oh, okay,” Katniss could hear the disappointment in her voice and hoped it wasn’t nearly as evident on her face, “You said your name was Peeta?”

He hesitated at the door, desperate to go and desperate to stay, as he answered, flatly, “Yeah, Peeta Mellark.”

“Well, it was very nice to meet you Peeta Mellark. I hope things go well for you wherever it is you’re heading next.”

And that blew the last of his heart into the wind, the remnants of his forced smile fell from his face. He was too exhausted with heartache to maintain the charade any longer. He locked agonized, azure eyes with her questioning grays as he whispered solemnly, “And I hope nothing but the most wonderful things for you, Katniss. Because someone like you deserves all the happiness you can find in this world.”

And with those final words he walked out the door, leaving a very confused girl sitting on that hospital bed.

He didn’t stop once to look back.

Chapter Text

18 Months After Chapter 10 Ended…

Oh, yeah. That wasn’t annoying. Only Delly-freaking-Cartwright would find it adorable to make a screeching toddler her personalized ringtone.

Gather, he thought Phineas was just about the most adorable kid on the planet, too. But his cousin took her obsession with the Odair baby to a whole other stalker level. For the millionth time, as he rushed through the lobby of the visual arts building to get to his car, he wished he’d never introduced the bubbly, strawberry blonde to his friends.

When his phone ‘rang’ (if you could even call the infernal sound that thing was making that) again, just as he was almost to the door, causing a group of girls to turn, giggle and wave coquettishly at him, he rued for just about the billionth time the day he asked Beetee to hire her as his assistant. Why’d he even bother taking his phone off vibrator before leaving campus, again? The girl had no notion how to take a bloody hint.

He huffed out an exasperated breath, stopping six strides before the large double, glassed mahogany entryway. He shifted his laptop to under his left arm, simultaneously dragging the strap of the tote bag with his books further up that arm so he could fumble through his jeans back pocket for his cell. All the while, he could sense the appraising stares from the aforementioned group of coeds out of his periphery.

It was making him increasingly uncomfortable to be gawked at by them. Why couldn’t he get to his stupid phone when he needed to?

It wasn’t as is he hadn’t tried. He had. He was trying to move on with his life. Delly’d tried getting him to meet some of her friends, but it turned out they were all just as… um… pragmatic? as she was, and he didn’t have the energy to deal with that kind of ‘effervescence’ at that stage in his life. Finnick dragged him to parties, introduced him to girls he was pretty sure had been some of his former patients at some point, if the sheer insanity that spewed from their mouths half the time was any indication. Then again, Finn had to be the worst wingman on the face of the earth.

On the other hand, maybe he was just making excuses. Maybe he was just broken. He felt broken. Truth was, he didn’t particularly feel like getting fixed. At least, he didn’t feel like being fixed up. And he definitely didn’t feel like having his butt stared at by these ridiculous little girls. Honestly, could they be a little more obvious? They hadn’t reached out and fondled him yet. That was about all that was left for them to get to at that point.

Finally, with a violent tug that nearly ripped the denim from the back of his pants (that would’ve made for a wonderful spectacle for the group who’d apparently missed the orientation on peer harassment in the corner), he pulled the infuriating smart phone out, just in time to see the ‘missed call’ icon blinking on the screen. He submerged the overwhelming urge to scream out an expletive, barreling through the doors violently while he scrolled down his messages.

Five texts from Delly about two meetings he had scheduled with high profile agents later that afternoon. Apparently, both exceedingly eccentric men were rearranging the rendezvous restaurant over and over and the rambunctious blonde was losing her marbles over it. Then, there were seven missed calls, including that last one, all within the past half hour… two from a number his cell did not recognize and five from Delly… again.

Finally reaching his car, he pressed the button to unlock it and, with little care, immediately unloaded his laptop and bag into the backseat. Right as he was leaning back from depositing the items there, the unmistakable cry of baby Phinny rang through the half-full parking lot and he found himself slamming the door violently.

He allowed his forehead to fall limp on an arm he had splayed over the roof of his car as he brought the phone to his ear and answered in indignant, aggravation, “For the love of all that’s holy, Delilah. You have my freaking schedule, woman. I had three classes this morning. I’m just getting out now. I don’t care if Cato’s guy wants to do sushi. No, I’m not allergic to Yam, whatever the heck that is. And, since I’ve never eaten Thai, I’m guessing I’ll have a fun time figuring out if I’m wrong with that one, won’t I? I’ll be in the studio in fifteen minutes. You can harass me when I get there.”

There was a pause, where he could hear her harsh breathing on the other side, before she rounded in a clipped shrill that made his ear throb, “Listen here, you jerk. I told those two snobs it could be Italian or a steakhouse, because if they wanted the tracks finished by the end of the week, you didn’t need to be laid up on the toilet crapping yourself from all that weird mess they wanted to feed you, just to make themselves feel self-important, or worldly, or that their farts smelled better than everyone else’s, thank you very much. That’s the kind of stupidity I have to deal with when you don’t have the basic decency to take a minute to return a text all morning and you’re fortunate to have me to take care of it for you. So, whatever little mood you’re in, you better suck it up and think of a way to apologize to me on the drive here. You know I like sunflowers. And did you stop for a moment to think that, maybe, if I’m trying to reach you so badly, it might just be because it’s important?”

Peeta rubbed his eyes back and forth on his arm in growing consternation as he answered flatly, "Dell, dude, you and I have very different definitions of ‘important’. I really need to get going-”

“It’s a call from Panem’s Center for Mental Health, you dork,” the girl on the other end cut him off with an edge of urgent nervousness to her voice.

Upon hearing that name, he straightened ramrod, eyes widening. He felt something in his stomach tighten as the girl on the other end of the line elaborated, “Whoever it is, she’d called earlier to ask for your number, saying she was interested in submitting some samples of her work to you. It sounded like total bull to me, but she sounded hot and you need some action in your life, so I gave her your number. I figured it couldn’t hurt, right?”

Petta swallowed thickly, all the moisture in his mouth mysteriously growing absent. He barely registered the fact that his cousin had just admitted to trying to hook him up with whom she believed to be a complete stranger. Was he really getting a call from the hospital after all this time? What could they want with him?

He adamantly tried to keep the conflicting emotions of longing, hope, apprehension, fear and dread at bay. He couldn’t get his hopes up. The disappointment would obliterate him. He had no idea who was calling, after all.

Unaware of the turmoil the man at the other end of the line was experiencing, the young woman continued her redaction unfazed, “But, just as I hung up, I noticed the name on the caller ID. I tried calling right back and, sure enough; it was that mental hospital you told me you used to work at. You know, the one you told me you met that sick girl at you had to leave?” Delly’s voice had gone quieter and condoling as she’d said this, but perked up as she continued, “Well, I wasn’t able to speak with whomever it was that called me when I called back. It seems there’s a bunch of lines to that place. But, here’s the good news, Cuz… she called back here asking to speak to you again.”

He could hear his heartbeat throbbing in his ears. It was a strong pulsating sound. He had to work through it to concentrate on what Delly said next. “That’s why I was trying so hard to get in contact with you, silly. You see, I told her, since you weren’t picking up her calls, I’d patch her through to you and, Peeta? She’s waiting on the line to speak to you. Do you want me to transfer her?”

He couldn’t breathe. He gasped for a second before the ability to communicate verbally was at his disposal again. “Y-yeah,” he barely managed to squeak before roughly clearing his throat and trying again with a far more firm, “Yes, please, Delly. Patch her through. Now.”

He heard the jittery blonde on the other end giggle mirthfully before the line clicked and then, airy silence followed by soft breathing. After about three seconds of that came a sound he’d never thought he’d hear again.

“Peeta? Peeta, is that you?”

She sounded so small, so lost and it was still just about the most beautiful thing he could remember hearing. He blinked his eyes rapidly to stave off the quickly threatening moisture. Still not willing to make more of this call than what it was. She’d relearned his name before he’d left, after all. She could be calling for any number of reasons. He couldn’t allow himself to read more into this than it was. It was just a call… a call a year and a half later…

“Katniss?” He tried to keep his voice from cracking with the avalanche of emotion welling up within, “Is that really you? How have you been doing?” He figured keeping tone conversational, aloof, would be best. He couldn’t be hurt if he wasn’t attached, after all.

“Well, I call bull…” God, if he could seriously strangle that little voice dude in his head!

Her voice sounded a little confused (and, was that hurt he detected?) when she spoke again more quietly, hesitantly, “Um… I’ve been good, I guess. It’s been quiet here, lonely. I think a lot...”

He stayed quite, ruminating her odd, rather evasive response. Then, he took the opportunity the pregnant pause afforded to think of the best way to ask the only thing he really wanted to know, attempting to word it in such a way that it might be construed by her as a natural segue in this bizarre conversation. Finally, he took a deep breath, and released it in a sigh, “So, why were you calling me, Katniss?”

This time, when she answered, there was no hesitation. Her voice was strong, determined and full of unwavering candor, “Because I remember. I remember walks along trails with trees of every size and color. I remember you holding me when I cried and kissing me until I was breathless. I remember laughing at Finn’s stupid jokes. I remember I was willing to die for you, Peeta. And I know it’s probably not fair to tell you, to remind you after all this time, after you’ve done as I asked and made your life without me. But I needed you to know I remember we were supposed to be forever… always.”

It was all Peeta could do to keep his trembling hand from dropping the phone as he dashed in his car and revved the engine, skid marks on the campus parking lot pavement, tracing his manic rush for that mental institution.

…for the only the thing he’d ever really wished for.

FIN