A Million Pieces - Hunger Games (Catching Fire & Mockingjay)

Chapter 40

I take my sleeping bag outside, close to the heater. Caspian lies a few feet to my left and Finnick is behind me, hidden in the shadows. Peeta is on my right in his own sleeping bag. My shift is from eight to midnight, and I spend the first few hours with Peeta's head in my lap, drawing patterns on his arms and trying to coax him to sleep with murmurs of reassurance. In the last hour or so, it's clear he's wide awake, so he sits up next to me and shows me a piece of rope that Finnick slipped him earlier. We pass the rope back and forth; I teach him knots and braids and he does his best to focus and copy me. It leaves our fingers red, but we barely notice between the concentration it takes to knot the rope and our whispered conversation, trying to recall our time in the Capitol before the Games. When Katniss crawls out of her tent at midnight and takes her place next to the heater, it's clear no one is actually asleep. The whole squad seems to be holding its breath.

"You're going to be okay, Peeta," I whisper. "Pick a memory now, so you can come back to it if you need to. She isn't your enemy." He nods anxiously. I squeeze his arm and make my way back to Caspian's side. Until now, we've slept with a cautious two feet between us, but tonight I bring my sleeping bag so close that we're nose to nose.

"Okay?" he says silently.

"Let's see," I mouth back, and I turn around so that my back is against his chest and my eyes are on Peeta. For the next hour or so, I drift into and out of consciousness. It's Katniss's voice that wakes me fully.

"I always thought of you as... an ally," she's saying to Peeta. I glance behind me at Caspian to see if I've missed anything important. He just tilts his head towards Peeta as an indication to listen.

"Ally," Peeta says slowly. "Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancée. Target. Mutt. Neighbour. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I'll add that to the list of words I use to try to figure you out. The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up."

Finnick's voice comes before mine can. "Then you should ask, Peeta. That's what Annie does." I feel like his comment is directed at me too, that he's saying I should open up more as well.

"Ask who? Who can I trust?" Peeta asks.

To my surprise, Jackson answers, "Us for starters. We're your squad."

"You're my guards," says Peeta.

"That, too," she admits. "But you saved a lot of lives in Thirteen. It's not the kind of thing we forget."

"What you went through in the Capitol, Peeta..." It's Caspian's voice, coming from behind me. "No one should be allowed to resent you for suffering."

It's silent for a long time. Then Peeta looks at Katniss. "Your favourite colour... it's green?"

"That's right," says Katniss quietly. "And yours is orange. Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset. At least, that's what you told me once."

"Oh," Peeta breathes. "Thank you."

"You're a painter," Katniss continues, her voice less soft. "You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces." She dives into her tent before anyone can react.

It suddenly hits me how close Katniss and Peeta really are, how well they know each other. That their intimacy isn't just forced by the Games and the lover act, but by genuine affection. At least, that's how it used to be. Now, Peeta buries his head in his hands and starts whispering to himself. I think of going to him, but Caspian hesitantly puts his arm on my waist, so instead I shuffle back and let myself rest. The last thing I see before sleep claims me is Peeta lifting his legs out of his sleeping bag to knot his shoelaces again.