Chapter Text
Epilogue
On the morning of Reaping Day, Peeta is still asleep when I wake up. As I listen to the steady rise and fall of his breathing, I can’t help but feel a small, selfish twinge in my heart. Surely I need him as much as Panem does.
He looks so different from the boy whose name was called on that other Reaping Day. Taller now. The familiar lines of his body are those of a man, not a boy. Blonde stubble lines his jaw. His burn marks, like mine, are fading but still visible. Less one leg below the knee, I think sadly. Less two parents and two brothers.
He wakes and gives me a slow, sweet smile.
“Good morning,” I whisper.
He nuzzles my neck. “I’m going to miss waking up next to you.”
My eyes rest on the new suits hanging in the closet. If I’m honest with myself, I know that Peeta’s presence is the most important painkiller in my fragile new life. Withdrawal is going to hurt. As if reading my thoughts, Peeta adds gently, “We’ll manage.”
“Well, at least we should spoil ourselves this morning,” I say.
“Yes,” he murmurs as he pulls me deep into his arms. “I need to store up a month’s worth of kisses.”
After lunch, I change into a summer dress the color of fresh leaves. One of Cinna’s. I try to put my hair up, but it comes out lopsided and I brush it out in frustration. Peeta notices and offers to give it a go. I lean back and close my eyes, enjoying the feel of his hands in my hair. Store this up too, something inside me whispers. When I open my eyes, I laugh out loud. Under Peeta’s loving hands, my hair has become an utter travesty.
“Where’s Flavius when you need him?” Peeta exclaims with a mock sigh before he disappears to fetch Haymitch. I shake out our poor attempts at hairdressing and make a neat braid.
Delly Cartwright and her little brother, Jessup, join us for the walk to the square. They look bright and fresh in their holiday best. Delly lights up, her eyes big with admiration. “Oh Katniss, you look so beautiful! Peeta isn’t going to want to leave.”
“Well, of course I don’t want to leave,” Peeta says. “But it’s only for a few months a year anyhow, when you add it all up.”
I wish I could go with him, but for me the Capitol will always be a place of nightmares. Besides, I can’t miss a whole month of high summer. Leevy was the first to ask me to take her beyond the fence. Soon Ripper’s son started tagging along. Now Thom and some of the others come when they can. At first it was frustrating, but week by week they're getting quieter as they walk, more alert as they listen. Only yesterday, Ripper’s boy surprised me by spotting some fiddleferns, which he’d remembered from my family’s book.
When we get to the square, it looks half empty even though almost everyone is there. There was talk of rebuilding the square smaller, or even of rebuilding it in the Victor’s Village, but in the end Ripper put up her construction yard along one side, the Larch family built their store in one of the original corners, and no one talked of rebuilding any other way.
People smile at the sight of us holding hands, tell us how nice we look. The square has a holiday mood with bright banners strung between buildings so you can see the outlines of what the full square will someday look like.
As two o’clock nears, we gather before the makeshift stage. Two chairs, a podium, and two familiar glass bowls sent by the Capitol. Effie Trinket, now blindingly blonde, sits in one chair, making determined conversation with Mayor Thom. We no longer have a town clock, so it’s a good thing Effie is here.
Peeta asked for her specifically. She signals to the cameras and walks Thom to the podium before returning to her seat.
Thom’s deep voice had rolled out confidently enough at his own election, but today Effie and the cameras have unnerved him. He looks over our meager gathering and coughs uncomfortably. “Well, let’s get started then.”
Thom welcomes us on this fine day and reads the history of Panem from a script Effie brought with her.
Despite his halting delivery, we're fascinated by the differences in this version of the story: how Panem descended into oppression, the heroic struggle of the Dark Days, three painful generations of Hunger Games, and finally, at long last, the rebellion that broke through.
Thom rolls to the end of the history and pauses. Behind him, Effie gets up from her chair, but she sits down hurriedly when Thom keeps talking. “After the reading of the history, we used to introduce the victors,” he says almost shyly. He says that it seems appropriate to recognize the heroes of this last year. I feel myself freeze. Thom, what are you doing? Beside me, Peeta is subtly shaking his head. This wasn’t part of the plan. Thom doesn’t look at us.
He pulls out some dog-eared notes and plows in. “Haymitch Abernathy,” he says. We start to clap politely but Thom talks right over us. “Haymitch Abernathy, who got us our reconstruction budget. Tannity Aines, who carried water. Elsie Aines, who calmed the children. Rosalie Aines, who sang for us. Poplar Alincourt, who carried her brother. Danner Alincourt, who grows up brave. Creeker Allison, who buried the dead…” One by one, Thom is making a roll call of everyone who came back. Shame and relief flood through me. And something else; these are my neighbors. While I disappeared into grief, they lifted bodies and rebuilt homes. Without fanfare or applause, Thom continues until he’s done, and then he sits down so abruptly that Effie is caught off guard.
Effie pops to the podium as if drawn by a magnet. In her pink suit and pointy shoes, she's clearly out of place. We are, for a fact, the only district being presided over by our usual escort today. She hesitates and looks straight at me. I discover that my face is wet though I don’t remember crying. For a flicker of a moment, Effie looks like she might not manage, but she rallies.
“Happy Reaping Day!” she begins brightly. “I’m so very, very glad to see everyone again.” Someone behind me snickers. Effie warbles about what a beautiful day it is, how brave District 12 is, what a great honor it is to be here and so historic!
“We’re here to send two speakers to the Capitol, so let’s get right to it! Do we have any volunteers?”
Ripper’s voice rings out clearly: “I volunteer.”
Peeta lets the camera follow Ripper to the stage before he calls out firmly, “I volunteer.” He kisses my cheek and heads for the stage. As I watch him make his way alone, I realize that never, not once, have I stood in an audience while Peeta was onstage. Suddenly, I’m desperately glad to have Delly beside me.
Delly grabs my hand and whispers something about how exciting this is. I nod and smile back brightly even though I am afraid I might vomit.
Effie asks if there are any more volunteers; just one more would really juice up the action. She can’t help but look at me, and I keep my face neutral for the cameras. We were only expecting Peeta and Ripper, so Effie gets on with the program.
They each stand behind a reaping bowl, and we do a thing that we have never imagined. I’m in the first section Effie calls to form up and sign in. Greasy Sae pulls me to the front, and Effie shoves two slips of paper into my hand. She whispers in my ear to set a brisk pace and pushes me firmly toward the waiting candidates. Behind me, I hear her chirping to leave five steps and then follow, walk lively everyone!
I smile pleasantly for the cameras and cross the stage. “Please vote for me,” Peeta says mischievously. I examine the two slips in my hand. Both are marked. I hardly have a choice.
“Good luck in the election,” I tell him.
“Thanks,” he says lightly, but his eyes say something that makes me lean in for a quick kiss. People behind me whistle and whoop and Peeta holds me longer than intended.
I move to Ripper before things get out of hand. She thanks me for my vote, and I tell her that I’ll keep an eye on Comfort while she’s in the Capitol. She nods in thanks. “He adores those woods, he does. Fresh air’s done him a world of good.”
Greasy Sae gets a roar from the crowd when she kisses Peeta on the lips too. “What?” she protests. “I thought that was the rule!” I grab her arm in mock anger, and she chucks her other vote into Ripper’s bowl as we hustle offstage.
One by one, people cast their votes. The other districts have too many people to do it this way, and maybe in future years we won’t do it this way either, but today people bring their children and wave at the cameras.
Effie beams as she announces the results, and this time the crowd applauds wildly. For Peeta. For Ripper. For District 12. Are the tears in Effie’s eyes genuine? Spontaneously, she reaches out and kisses Peeta on the cheek. Then, as if afraid of playing favorites, she awkwardly embraces Ripper too. Effie clearly has no idea how to hug someone who has lost an arm. “Congratulations, District 12!”
As the new anthem plays, I reach for Delly’s hand. On my other side, Leevy’s father surprises me by taking my hand. I look around and see hands linking up and down the rows. We are so small in number now that I recognize almost every face in the crowd. There has never been a reaping like this.
That night, we go to Delly’s house for dinner and the send-off party. Technically, it’s still Peeta’s house I guess, but Delly and her brother have turned it into a guesthouse. Between the house, the garden, and the chickens, they’re doing okay. Effie and the Capitol camera crews are staying here, and they join us for a feast that Greasy Sae must have spent all day cooking. Delly beams when Effie compliments her garden tomatoes, and none of us can get enough of the roast duck. For dessert, Peeta brings out a strawberry shortcake rich with fresh cream. I notice the glint of pride in Greasy Sae’s eye as she watches the Capitol people reach for seconds, and I have to agree that we don’t do so badly here in little District 12.
After dinner, so many well-wishers arrive that we have to move the television to the front yard and sit on the grass. The air is soft with humidity, but the day’s heat has started to drain away in the twilight.
Neighbors run home for extra mugs and glasses, and Delly ladles out cool water with crushed mint leaves. I’m glad, for Peeta’s sake, that his last day at home is full of laughter.
The recap starts in the Capitol, which is having its first Reaping Day ever. I wonder who pushed it through to give the Capitol its own mayor and speakers. For Cinna’s sake, I’m terribly glad. I almost ask Haymitch how he thinks it happened, but he’s absorbed in the show. The Capitol citizens look lost and terrified, as if they're afraid that the whole thing will turn into a deadly prank. Effie whispers that all of the people standing for election were brave, brave fighters in the underground. Several are Avoxes.
As the coverage moves from district to district, I see that we were the only district without a real contest. The other districts must have voted in advance because the winners are announced from an envelope after each volunteer is introduced. To my surprise, two of the volunteers in District 2 are from families I stayed with, though only one is chosen. Beetee wins by a landslide in District 3. District 4 has twelve volunteers trying not to get in each other’s way, and I notice that Ripper and Peeta are very far from being the only volunteers who have lost parts of their bodies. A middle-aged woman in a wheelchair wins in District 8. In 9, one of the speakers looks a lot like their strikingly handsome mayor. I briefly wonder if they are related. In District 11, I gasp as I recognize a tall, muscular young woman.
Peeta squeezes my hand as he recognizes her too. The voiceover confirms that she is Thresh’s older sister. Our house cheers when she wins handily.
Finally, it’s time for District 12, and we immediately see how different we are. How small our gathering looks in comparison to the rest of Panem. The announcers remark on it and say stupid things about how brave we are to rebuild. As if we had a choice.
We’re the only district where every single person casts a ballot by hand; the only district that can’t scrape up enough volunteers to make the election competitive.
For some reason, the recap lingers on us almost as long as the entire rest of the show put together. Thom’s roll call. Peeta and Ripper volunteering. The announcers fairly swoon when I cast my vote and kiss Peeta. They exclaim how wonderful it is to see me doing well. Thankfully, Greasy Sae takes it away, and I think that we’ll skip to the end, but the cameras stay glued to District 12 as every single person crosses the stage. Somebody has added a stirring soundtrack, and the announcers coo over the children who smile and wave.
“Why are they spending so much time on us?” I wonder out loud. “By the time we voted, we all knew who it would be.”
In response, Haymitch wonders out loud if I would miss the point as badly if I had a bow and arrow in my hands. But he says it nicely; even Haymitch is in a good mood tonight. Buttercup is a contented heap of yellow in Peeta’s lap, and one of the cameramen is lying on the grass just gazing at the sky. Maybe he’s never seen real stars before, being from the Capitol.
I almost expect the program to finish when the show continues on to District 13. They stand in front of their Justice Building, probably the first time the entire population of District 13 has ever been scheduled for 15:00 – Sunlight at the same time. Our crowd leans forward trying to make out District 12 people in the mass of gray uniforms, but I don’t recognize any of the close-ups.
As people say their farewells and drift home, Effie scoots us out the door. The car will come for Peeta and his bags right after everyone else loads up. We walk home hand in hand, the first time we’ve been alone since going to the square this afternoon. Although I know today is supposed to be a happy day, all I can think about is him up on stage and me in the audience.
“Come with me,” he says suddenly. “Just for a few days.”
I freeze. “I can’t.”
“Just come for the welcome party. Plutarch is going to get you on camera sooner or later, and the longer you wait, the more drama will build up.”
I know he’s right, but I shake my head mutely. I never want to set foot in the Capitol again for the rest of my life. “Anyway,” I add, “they told me to stay in District 12 until further notice, remember? Paylor isn’t going to want an assassin showing up at her party.”
Peeta shrugs away my objection. “I think we can take care of that. Rumors have been flying about President Coin. People don’t know what to think. In fact, that’s a good reason for you to go.”
“Who cares what people think,” I mutter. We are standing in the bedroom now, and all Peeta needs to do is pick up his bag and go downstairs to the waiting car. I can see now how exhausted he really is, how hollow the day has left him. This is the face he shows to me alone. He gives so much. The wounds inside of me might reopen at any time. We hold each other silently, not wanting to let go.
Finally Peeta says quietly, “I don’t want to go in alone.”
“That’s not fair,” I tell him.
“No, it’s not,” he agrees. I put my toothbrush into his bag.
If Effie and Ripper are surprised when I squeeze into the car, they don’t show it. I’ve packed exactly one dress. Peeta squeezes my hand as we drive to the tribute train yet again. I take a deep breath and remind myself that everything is different now. The nightmare is over and a new country is being born.