The Hunger Games: Continued

For The Sake Of Crying

Peeta's POV

When Johanna's screams echo in my head like a kaleidoscope of glass and Katniss's eyes seem to catch fire, I'm almost glad the venom surges through me now instead of later. The tears tear through my body, confusion blurring fiction and reality.

I remember Dr. Aurelius's voice like a rope pulling me back:

"The tracker jacker attack from your first games."
"Careers."
"The beach in the Quarter Quell."
"Katniss."
"The bombs that killed Prim."
"Angry."
"Last one. Katniss Everdeen."
"Love."

Love.

Katniss isn't a mutt or a monster. She isn't Snow's weapon. Snow is dead. Katniss is alive. Katniss is strength.

Her voice cuts through my haze. Her hands are everywhere—my face, my hair, my shoulders. It takes me a moment to realize the screaming I hear is my own. My fists clench against my skull until her lips press firmly against mine. For a moment, I can't kiss back. My lips refuse her. But she doesn't move until I give in.

When I finally do, the screaming stops. The fists relax. Her tears are warm on my cheeks. My arms find their way around her.

"You'll be okay today," she whispers. The reunion.

Her comfort is usually for me, but maybe this time it's also for her. I kiss her hand. "I know. And you will be too."

We don't talk about the attack after. We never do. Our tears dry like they never existed, another obstacle crossed, another quiet victory.

⸻

After breakfast, I shower, dress, and try calling Haymitch. No answer. Katniss disappears into her shower, and I head down the street.

The whiskey fumes hit me the second I step inside his house. He's sprawled across the sofa, bottle in hand. I don't hesitate—I upend a jug of cold water over him. He bolts upright, knife in hand before he registers me.

"Oh. Thought it was the girl. You're too nice to pull that stunt," he mutters, lowering the blade.

"Well, I don't think Katniss cares if you show at the reunion, but someone has to. Otherwise I get to explain why you're passed out in your own filth. Get up. Bath. Now."

He groans. "It's not like anyone cares if I'm there."

"I'm sure Effie does," I say, and his mouth quirks despite himself. That gets him moving.

⸻

Katniss' POV

The water runs hot down my back. The shower has always been my refuge—a luxury we never had before the war, a place to disappear. If I need to cry, I do it here.

That's where Peeta finds me, curled in the tub beneath the spray. He panics immediately—pulling me out, wrapping me in a towel, rattling off questions: What happened? Are you cold? Do you want me to help you dress?

It makes me laugh, ridiculous and breathless. "You were crying this morning," I manage. "Then you made breakfast two minutes later. Why is it when you cry, we just move on, but when I cry, you think I'm dying?"

"Because I care."

"I care too," I argue gently. "Sometimes crying is just crying, Peeta. Nothing more. I'm fine."

He exhales, defeated. "Alright."

I pull the book from our bedside drawer, the one filled with names and memories of those we lost. I set it on my lap. "We should take this. Show everyone."

He hesitates. "You sure it won't upset you?"

"I want them to see it."

⸻

Later, in the mirror, I don't recognize myself. Not the Seam girl with snares and arrows. Not the Capitol's girl on fire in jeweled gowns. This version is in-between: hair falling loose in waves, a simple red dress chosen by Delly. Peeta, of course, looks like a painting in his suit. Even Haymitch, after Peeta prodded him with lines like Effie will be disappointed, is passably presentable.

The Justice Building's dining hall feels too much like Command in District 13, but I remind myself this isn't war. These are friends.

Plutarch. Annie with her son. Cressida, Pollux. Effie. Gale. Beetee. Enobaria. Johanna.

I don't know why, but I drift toward Johanna. Her dark hair has pink streaks now, her eyes sharp but no longer menacing. She greets me with a grin.

"Hey, Brainless. Been a while. You've heard about my rehab stint?" she says, swirling her wine.

I nod.

"Don't worry. I've got better drugs now." She tilts her head toward the food table, where Peeta is talking with a tall, pretty man with piercing blue eyes.

"What's his name?" I ask.

"Zeb," she says with a smirk. "If he were a dog, he'd be a husky."

I laugh. "Maybe Peeta's a poodle, then."

Johanna cackles, and for a fleeting moment, it feels almost normal.

Annie joins us. Little Fin darts around the room, nibbling and abandoning finger food. His golden hair and sea-green eyes strike me like a blade—it's Finnick all over again. He taps my knee.

"Katniss," he says shyly. My heart cracks, but I manage a smile.

"I'll be right back, keep an eye on him?" Annie asks, vanishing down the corridor.

I nod too late for her to see. Something about her expression lingers in my chest. Johanna catches it too—she rises, following. I warn her, "Don't make a scene," but she doesn't answer.

Plutarch's heavy steps bring him my way. His grey hair gleams under the lights. The careful look in his eyes tells me I'm about to get the same tired questions—How are you coping? Are you healing?

I brace myself. And then, before he reaches me, a scream tears down the hallway.