Arranged marriage
“They said you’re my wife,” says the boy strapped to the bed.
“I told them that, for your immunity. Confirmed it. Or whatever. They had me sign the paperwork. Make it official.”
He considers his own pale, bruised knuckles. “Smart,” he finally assesses. “Thank you.”
“They said you’re aggressive,” she says, shifting her weight, aware that they are monitoring this interaction closely. “You don’t seem aggressive to me.”
Peeta makes a noise in his throat, something between a cough and an agitated groan. “No one will tell me anything. Not even what happened to me. I mean, I know I was tortured.” He gives an acerbic laugh that makes him wince. Ribs, probably. “I think they were experimenting on me. Needles.” His eyes go out of focus for a moment, then he stirs. “I don’t like doctors,” he says. “When I woke up, I guess I lashed out.”
Then that’s why she wasn’t allowed to visit him at first. Was the reasoning that he’d be a danger to her, or that she’d break down, seeing him as he is now: skeletal, battered, with a cold, brittle edge to his voice?
“And now?” she says, taking a step closer. “That you’ve been awake?”
He shakes his head. His mouth trembles. “I still don’t know what to think. I’m not a threat. Not to you. But it’s all the same. The Capitol. Thirteen. Beds. Restraints. Even the lights are the same. You’re the same. The same as when I dream of you — and I — ”
Katniss moves on instinct, climbing into the hospital bed, straddling his waist, and fumbling to undo the restraints. He stares up at her, his mouth parting in shock. She knows people are probably panicking behind the observation glass, but she doesn’t care. Haymitch can do damage control. He owes her that.
“It’s not all the same,” she says, freeing Peeta’s wrists, trying to ignore the pinprick scars all up and down his skin. “I’m here.” She wraps herself around him as the door opens and doctors come in, her arms around his welted back and her legs pinning him beneath her.
Peeta makes a pitiful sound, like a small boy frightened of a storm. “Katniss.” It’s like he’s just realized she’s real. His arms lock around her like a vise.
“Miss Everdeen,” comes the chastisement. “You can’t — ”
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do with my own husband,” she snaps. “He’s fine. He’s safe.”
And later, they will have to untangle the safety net of lies they’ve woven to protect each other, but it’s enough for now that, after some dithering and checking of vitals, someone tells her, “Okay, Mrs. Mellark” and leaves them in peace.


















