Remade (After Mockingjay Story)

Chapter 4 - Always

Peeta

Katniss' family book is full of tips about many different herbs. In the beginning there are rough sketches with neat handwriting, I assume that it most likely belongs to Katniss' father, because it's different from the writing in later pages of the book. The most recent ones were done by Katniss, with pictures I drew myself.
Even though I told her that I wasn't very tired, it turns out I was lying, I'm exhausted. Maybe I'm just too afraid to go to sleep.
I set the book onto the side table next to the couch and stand up. I'm tired of being afraid.

I glance into Katniss' bedroom before settling into the one down the hall. She looks peaceful, sleeping soundly on the soft cushions. I'm reminded of when I watched her sleep in a cave when the rain was pouring down hard outside. Back then we were trapped in a highly controlled arena, being hunted by other humans who wanted to kill us. She looked so safe back then as she does now, I knew she was safe because I was with her, and I wouldn't let anything happen to her, even with a sliced up infected leg.
I leave the door open, and ignore the shadows all around the room by staring at the second pillow in my bed.

Just as I'm drifting off, a loud, devastated scream bounces off the walls and pierces my hearing. I'm startled into an upright position, then I look at the door that leads to the hallway, where the continuous screaming seems to be coming from. My groggy mind connects the dots and I'm out the door, bursting into Katniss' room to find her upright in her bed with both hands in her face, where she screams into them with pure terror. For a moment I notice that she might be screaming an actual word, more specifically, a name. I run over to the side of the bed, tugging away her hands from her tear-streaked face. One look in her eyes tells me she's trapped in a world full of ruthless mutts and dead sisters. She's repeating something under her breathe, the same name she'd been screaming, Prim.

"Katniss!" I say as her arms struggle against my grip on her shaking wrists.
When I briefly wrestle away her hands, I lean in for the same type of comforting hug she'd given me only hours before. How crazily ironic it is that we're here again, only the roles are switched this time. I hold her close, never having a single thought about letting go. To my unusual surprise, she hugs back, nestling her face against my chest, finding refuge in my arms. I can feel her rapid heartbeat beating against my skin, and I try to soothe her rugged breathes by gently rubbing my hand back and forth across her upper back until the sobbing calms. My chin lightly rests on her head, where I can smell the faint scent of shampoo.

"I'm here, Katniss," I say to her soothingly. "You're okay, you're safe. "

Just when I thought she was calmed down, her breathe spasms into a series of hysterical cries. When it doesn't settle down, I move my hands to her shoulders so that my face is directly across from hers. Her cheeks are soaked with tears, she can't even look at me with her eyes squeezed shut.

"Katniss."

No response, her eyes stay closed and she utters out more sobs.

"Katniss!" I repeat, "Katniss. Stay with me."

After a couple violent sniffles, she opens her red-rimmed eyes and gazes at me with them.

"Always." She whispers.

I wipe away the sticky tears and briefly stroke her cheek with my fingers. I thoughtfully kiss her on the forehead, then my face drifts down so my own forehead can rest against it. I'm hoping she knows I am here for her, she's not alone. My eyes close momentarily, and when they open again her eyes are still on me, the grey irises looking as if they were searching for something. Then for a moment, they aren't, they searched and now they've found. As my head rests against hers, she unexpectedly inches forward her lips and presses them against mine.

It's brief, gentle, but so mysterious and questionable. I kiss her back, helpless to the hopeless desire and need that I'd also felt in the cave and on the beach. Her kiss in some way tells me how much she wants me here, or how much I mean to her exactly, but it confuses me as they did back then because she's never actually told me about it before. I know she feels our connection, but if she accepts it or not, I don't know. A kiss should be the right kind of answer, but you never know with Katniss. There's never been a straight answer from her, so I'm solely in the dark.

She nuzzles into my chest again, and I lay back with one arm around her and the other resting on my stomach. Her hand slides up and grasps it, so that our hands are holding affectionately. I stare at them in the several puzzled moments at follow. Her breathing is steady, but not paced, so I know she's still awake. I stare at her head resting on my upper chest. I realize that our relationship was never easy to label, it was always complicated to figure out, for everyone else and for the two of us ourselves.

Back then there were complex situations, life-threatening expenses, and distracting responsibilities, but there isn't anymore.
I remember the game Jackson made up for me in hopes to make hard things much more simple. Where simple questions got simple answers.

"You love me," I whisper. "Real or not real?"

For a second I'm afraid she really is asleep, that I'm stupidly talking to myself, but after a short pause, she whispers back,

"Real."