Future of the mockingjay

Chapter thirteen: It's Personal

"So... tell me what happened again?" Haymitch takes a sip of his soup.

I sigh, handing him the glass of water. "We went out to the Hob for drinks, and you got carried away. Next thing we knew, you were out cold."

"Of course," murmurs Peeta from the chair.

The monitors connected to Haymitch beep rhythmically as they monitor his heart. He rolls his eyes. "Why did you guys have to put me in this blasted hospital room?"

"Because, even though you're annoying, you're still our mentor." I pat his hand.

"And it would be sad if you were to die," Peeta adds. I narrow my eyes at him.

"Look at me! I've never been more humiliated in my life!" He gestures at himself. "I'm a grown man stuck in a bed all day wearing a gown and a diaper!"

I giggle. "Maybe this will teach you to be more careful."

He grunts and goes back to his soup, ignoring us. "It's getting late."

"You're welcome for visiting, by the way," Peeta says, irritated.

He shrugs as we leave the room. "It's a pity," Peeta continues in the hall, "that after a week in the hospital, he still hasn't improved his manners."

I laugh, grabbing his hand. "What do you expect? He's Haymitch."

We make our way home and Greasy Sae answers the door immediately. "Oh thank goodness you're home! Those two are about as wild as you can get 'em!"

Peeta and I laugh, handing her a few coins. "Thanks, Greasy Sae."

She hugs us both. "My pleasure, dears. Come by the ol' stall when you get a chance, eh? And you tell that Haymitch to get better, OK? That geezer better get back to his senses."

We say goodnight and then go inside, thankful to be back home. We're relieved to find that Rue and Finnick are fast asleep in their rooms.

"Greasy Sae sure did a good job," I say, cleaning up the dishes. Peeta comes from behind me and wraps his arms around me.

"She sure did."

I kiss him lightly, but I can sense that he's about to ask something; I know him. Sure enough, as soon as we pull away, he leans against the counter and fiddles with a lock of my hair as I try to keep busy with the dishes.

"So, about that night," he starts. "Are you finally going to tell me what's been troubling you?"

"Depends on which night you're referring to," I say, scrubbing extra hard on a bowl.

His voice softens and he gently forces me to look at him. "Katniss." His eyes are like liquid sapphires, except much, much lighter. "I know how you are; we've been married for over twenty years now! And I can tell when you're happy, when you're excited, when you're tired," he puts a hand on my shoulder, "and when you're sad."

"I'm not sad," I say sharply, turning away.

"You're troubled." It wasn't a question.

"Stop trying to figure me out, Peeta!" I burst, raising my voice.

"I'm only concerned about you, sweetheart." He tries to take my hand, and I jerk mine away.

"Well, maybe you should be less concerned."

His eyes flame up. "Katniss, what are you trying to do, huh? You want a fight?"

I'm surprised by his response. I step up so that we're inches away from each other's face. "Are you threatening me, Peeta?"

"You know I never would." His voice is softer. "I just want to help. I can't bear seeing you like this. It would help, if... if you stopped trying to push me away."

"I don't think you understand what I'm going through here!" I yell again.

"Well then, please explain." He waits expectantly.

I take a deep breath to calm myself and say in a strong voice, "What I decide to keep personal, I keep personal." I turned sharply on my heel and stalked out of the kitchen.

The last thing I heard before slamming the bedroom door was the sound of the water coming again as Peeta continues on the dishes.