real or not real?

What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.

‘What are you trying to do? Provoke him into an attack?’ he asks me. 'Of course not. I just want him to leave me alone,’ I say. 'Well, he can’t. Not after what the Capitol put him through,” says Haymitch. “Look, Coin may have sent him there hoping he’d kill you, but Peeta doesn’t know that. He doesn’t understand what’s happened to him. So you can’t blame him—’ 'I don’t!’ I say. 'You do! You’re punishing him over and over for things that are out of his control. Now, I’m not saying you shouldn’t have a fully loaded weapon next to you round the clock. But I think it’s time you flipped this little scenario around in your head. If you’d been taken by the Capitol, and hijacked, and then tried to kill Peeta, is this the way he would be treating you?’ demands Haymitch. I fall silent. It isn’t. It isn’t how he would be treating me at all. He would be trying to get me back at any cost. Not shutting me out, abandoning me, greeting me with hostility at every turn. 'You and me, we made a deal to try and save him. Remember?’ Haymitch says. When I don’t respond, he disconnects after a curt 'Try and remember.’

‘Always.’ In the twilight of morphling, Peeta whispers the word and I go searching for him. It’s a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges, and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, catch the scent of cinnamon, of dill. Once I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers. When I finally begin to surface into the sterile hospital room in 13, I remember. I was under the influence of sleep syrup. My heel had been injured after I’d climbed out on a branch over the electric fence and dropped back into 12. Peeta had put me to bed and I had asked him to stay with me as I was drifting off. He had whispered something I couldn’t quite catch. But some part of my brain had trapped his single word of reply and let it swim up through my dreams to taunt me now. 'Always.’

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone. But he is. And I can’t help him.

I stare at Peeta in disbelief as the truth sinks in. They never intended to let us both live. This has all been devised by the Gamemakers to guarantee the most dramatic showdown in history. And like a fool, I bought into it. ‘If you think about it, it’s not that surprising,’ he says softly. I watch as he painfully makes it to his feet. Then he’s moving toward me, as if in slow motion, his hand is pulling the knife from his belt — Before I am even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded with the arrow pointed straight at his heart. Peeta raises his eyebrows and I see the knife has already left his hand on its way to the lake where it splashes in the water. I drop my weapons and take a step back, my face burning in what can only be shame. 'No,’ he says. 'Do it.’ Peeta limps toward me and thrusts the weapons back in my hands. 'I can’t,’ I say. 'I won’t.’

I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever.

‘Ally.’ Peeta says the word slowly, tasting it. 'Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancée. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.’ He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. 'The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.’

I also become a little fixated on his eyelashes, which ordinarily you don’t notice much because they’re so blond. But up close, in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they’re a light golden color and so long I don’t see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks.

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. ‘There’s still time. You should sleep.’ Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn’t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It’s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena. 'You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,’ he whispers. 'Real,’ I answer. It seems to require more explanation. 'Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.’ After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

'Peeta?' I say softly. I brush the damp blond strands of hair back from his forehead, find the pulse drumming against my fingers at his neck. His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. 'Careful,' he says weakly. 'There's a force field up ahead.'

It's a long shot, it's suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. 'Don't let him take you from me.' Peeta's panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. 'No. I don't want to…' I clench his hands to the point of pain. 'Stay with me.' His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. 'Always,' he murmurs.

I’m glad now I have Peeta to clutch for balance. He is so steady, solid as a rock.

'So, you're supposed to give us advice,' I say to Haymitch. 'Here's some advice. Stay alive,' says Haymitch, and then bursts out laughing. I exchange a look with Peeta before I remember I'm having nothing more to do with him. I'm surprised to see the hardness in his eyes. He generally seems so mild.'That's very funny,' says Peeta. Suddenly he lashes out at the glass in Haymitch's hand. It shatters on the floor, sending the blood red liquid running toward the back of the train. 'Only not to us.'

Within minutes of pressing the handful of chewed-up green stuff into the wound, pus begins running down the side of his leg. I tell myself this is a good thing and bite the inside of my cheek hard because my breakfast is threatening to make a reappearance. 'Katniss?' Peeta says. I meet his eyes, knowing my face must be some shade of green. He mouths the words. 'How about that kiss?' I burst out laughing because the whole thing is so revolting I can’t stand it.

I walk to the approximate site of the bakery Peeta's family owned. Nothing much left but the melted lump of the oven. Peeta's parents, his two older brothers—none of them made it to 13. Fewer than a dozen of what passed for District 12's well-to-do escaped the fire. Peeta would have nothing to come home to, anyway. Except me…

It's amazing, really, how long I have survived the cameras. The credit for that, of course, goes to Peeta. Alone, I can't be the Mockingjay.

Brutal, bloody Cato who can snap a neck with a twist of his arm, who had the power to overcome Thresh, who has had it out for me since the beginning. He probably has had a special hatred for me ever since I outscored him in training. A boy like Peeta would simply shrug that off. But I have a feeling it drove Cato to distraction.