Always

Drowning

"You can take him home." The words escape Dr. Hodgens lips and I hug him before he can change his mind.

Over the past six weeks, Peeta has been kept in be hospital and was only allowed out once. The flashback he had took him straight back to the hospital bed and he's been there since.

"His physical problems have healed nicely, but the ribs might take a few more weeks." He looks over the chart he's holding in his hand and takes off his glasses. "Katniss, while Peeta might be healed physically, he is still unsteady mentally."

"But you think he's stable enough to go home, right?" I ask and he clears his throat.

"Honestly, no I don't." He pauses and I hold my breath. "But there is nothing else I can do for him. Katniss, in order for him to heal he has to get rid of the anger inside of him. He needs to start over. His head is filled with distorted memories and pain." I know what he's referring to. . . flashbacks. "The man you fell in love with is under all of the hatred and revenge plotting, you just have to dig around to find him. Don't give up on him."

I nod my head and take a relieved breath. "So can I take him home now?"

"He's all yours." He motions to Peeta that is coming out of the hospital room in grey pants and a grey button down shirt. "Be careful." He whispers and I turn to look at him.

"He's my husband, not a monster."

I don't reach for Peeta's hand when he gets close to me, I know better than to try and do that. Affection is not something I can show Peeta. I push the button for the elevator and Peeta and I wait in silence. Although I'm trying to quell my anxiety, it's quickly becoming impossible. Peeta will be with me all day, every day, from now on. I shouldn't be scared. I shouldn't be nervous. I mean, it's Peeta.

And yet, it's not.

How will our new, muddled dynamic effect our lives? I'll no longer have my room—our room—to retreat to when Peeta's new quirks overwhelm me. The space is no longer entirely my own. For the first time in months, I will not be sleeping alone . . . and the thought is equally terrifying and thrilling.

The elevator doors open and I'm relieved to see that its depths are empty. Together, we step into the elevator. Wordlessly, I punch the button for our floor and step back to lean against the elevator walls. I close my eyes and shift my weight a little, but it doesn't relieve the pain in my ankles. Peeta's senses, sharper than ever, notices and questions me. "What?"

I sigh. "Your child keeps getting bigger. My ankles swell. My feet hurt. My back hurts." Suddenly, I feel a sharp kick, and wince slightly. "And he kicks like he's going to be a fighter."

I can't quite read the look on Peeta's face at my admission. It's a mixture of sadness, guilt, interest, and anxiety. But, more than anything, he looks worried. In an attempt to soothe him, I give him a genuine smile. "It's fine. Nothing I can't handle. It reassures me, if anything. It means that things are going just as they're supposed to."

My answer doesn't seem to mollify Peeta completely, but whatever emotion that remains he forces out of his mind like he so often does nowadays. He doesn't smile, he doesn't frown. His face never shows emotion and if it does he quickly gets rid of it. I want to call him out on it. I want to tell him that he can't simply shove his captivity, his torture, to the back of his mind and try to move on with his life like it didn't happen. He has to face it and accept how much it changed him.

But I know when to push him . . . and now isn't the time.

Suddenly, the elevator pauses to allow another passenger to step on. Initially, I'm not too worried as the doors begin to open . . . but the moment the passenger is revealed to be Gale, my heartbeat immediately quickens.