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English
Series:
Part 16 of One Night Stands (aka One-Shot Collection)
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Published:
2020-12-31
Updated:
2023-04-10
Words:
2,920
Chapters:
3/?
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28
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228
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Confessions

Summary:

Cross-posting from Tumblr, based on an Anon Prompt: "You're in a coma, and I confess my feelings, only for you to wake up."

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

“Hey, ” I tell Peeta, sliding down into the chair the doctor placed next to his bed for me. It’s what I do every night at this time; visiting him in the hospital wing before heading back to my room and another sleepless night is my new routine since his rescue from the Capitol.

My greeting earns me no response from Peeta. I wasn’t expecting one either, because he’s been in a coma since the night he and the other Victors arrived in Thirteen. Peeta launched himself at me, and his fingertips were grazing my neck when the guards restrained him, knocking him onto the floor. 

Peeta hit his head so hard on the concrete floor the medical staff told us he was lucky his skull didn’t crack. 

Oh, that Peeta- always so fortunate, isn’t he? I’m sure that’s what he was telling himself while Snow was torturing him for the last eight weeks. 

According to Johanna, they kept each other pretty good company from their adjoining cell rooms with their matching screams. She made sure to tell me that detail the first time I ran into her after her release into the general population- she told me she hated me in almost the next breath, which is fitting because I hate myself too. Now the two of us share a room. It seems appropriate- at least we understand each other.

Peeta was lucky the way I was lucky myself, managing to convince Coin not to try Peeta and the other victors as war criminals. All that cost me was my promise to behave in front of the cameras- whenever I couldn’t manage to find a good enough hiding spot, that was. I don’t know that I’ve held up my end of the bargain with Coin. I don’t know what that means for the promises she made me in return. I’ll find out soon enough.

I take Peeta’s hand in mine. His skin is warm, but the muscles beneath are limp, reminding me how far away he still is. I rub my fingertips along the ridges of his knuckles and between his fingers, acquainting myself with him in a way I never had the chance to do when he was awake but wanted to so many times. So much of the person Peeta is is tied up in his hands. 

I wonder if he’ll ever touch me again with them. The doctors are optimistic that he’ll wake up on his own soon, but what then? The last time he reached for me, he was going for my throat.

Prim says the Capitol hijacked Peeta’s memories, according to Thirteen’s medical team. They conditioned him to associate anything to do with me with fear. 

In a way, it seems like they did Peeta a favor- he should be afraid of me. Everywhere I go, everything I touch leads to destruction. Peeta would have been better off if he’d figured that out on his own and written me off. At least he’d still have his mind.

And now, what’s left of him? I know he doesn’t love me anymore. I can hardly stand to be in the same room with him now, aware that he no longer does. Yet here I sit. 

Then again, I’ve also spent my fair share of time deemed Mentally Unstable by the doctors here. It takes one to know one, I guess.

I study his face. Once Peeta’s awake, I’ll have to stay away from him, so I take this opportunity while I can. The bruises he arrived with have mostly faded, but there are still some beneath his eyes and a few visible from the medical gown’s neckline. His hair was shorn almost to the scalp, but short hair is emerging again. He’s emaciated, a far cry from the healthy, strong Peeta from the Quell arena, but at least he’s here. 

“I’m sorry,” I hear myself say as my eyes rake over him. 

I have so little control over myself these days. The words I don’t typically know how to say just seem to fall out of my mouth. 

“I’m sorry they did this to you. It was because of me- it’s my fault that all of this happened. In the arena, I guess I finally gave Snow what he commanded. I had to convince him that I loved you. It worked. And, he used it to break you.” I wipe my eyes and nose on the sleeve of my jumpsuit. “If it’s any consolation, he broke me too.”

Because I can, still, I turn Peeta’s hand over and press it against my cheek to feel the warmth from his body. My eyes close, and for a minute, I can pretend that he forgives me. 

As I’m holding his hand there, a tremor begins, the first sign of life since I’ve started visiting him. I drop his hand in shock, guiltily like I’ve done something wrong. 

Maybe I have.

Peeta’s eyes are open, barely; the blue is startling against his pale face. He studies me- his expression is blank, but at least he doesn’t seem afraid. “Katniss-” he begins. His voice creaks from disuse.

I shake my head, and he stops trying to talk. He doesn’t need to do that now, and I don’t want to hear his words, honestly. I don’t want to cry in front of him. 

There are so many more things I should say to Peeta, but my throat stops up. “I’ll get a doctor,” I do manage to say as I stand up on shaky legs. 

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

My bedside chair hasn’t stopped clattering against the floor when Peeta sits up quickly, leans across his hospital bed, and captures my arm. He catches me by surprise with his surprisingly firm grip. He’s halted any chance of making a quick escape from his room. 

For someone who’s been in a coma, he moves fast. Perhaps my grief has made me stupidly slow. Either way, he has me trapped.

Neither of us speaks. Instead, we warily assess each other, and I wonder how many things I said while I thought he was unconscious, he actually heard. At least he doesn’t look frightened or crazy, I realize. He’s breathing hard, eyes boring into mine like he’s trying to penetrate my mind. Confused, I’d say. Not homicidal. That’s a start.

Uncomfortable with his frank gaze, with no clue as to what he’s thinking, I try to shake his grip. I'm too close. It's too much contact. Though he resists at first, he finally releases my arm. I tell myself not to rub the spot where his fingers dug into my skin. Everything feels like it’s burning---my face, my stomach. My heart is on fire.

“Why did you run?”

"The doctor needs to see you---"

"Katniss," he says tiredly.

I don't want to go into all this with him right now, but he won't stop looking at me, and I don't feel like I can leave now. "The last time you were awake, you tried to choke me," I whisper. "The night you and Johanna, and Annie were rescued."

He frowns. "I don't remember that."

"I do. I was there for the whole thing. Hard to forget."

Things are awkward as Peeta settles back on his pillows gingerly. He’s just now aware of all the machines he's hooked up to. Tubes that monitored his breathing and fed medicines to him when he was comatose. "Are they alright?" he asks once he’s settled amongst the machinery.

"Jo and Annie?"

His fingers are curled lightly into the palms of his hands. I wonder if it's intentional if he's trying to keep from looking at his hands and recalling what he doesn't remember trying to do to me. "Yeah. Jo is bunking with me, actually. We have a lot in common---she hates me too."

"You're always so dramatic," he sighs, shifting on the bed.

I frown at him. I am not dramatic. "Yeah, yeah. Annie is with Finnick. As in, she won't go anywhere without him. They're pretty much attached at the hip."

For a minute, I'm wistful, jealous of Annie and Finnick and their love. Anyone looking at them can see it. No one asks their angle; no one assumes it's all for show.

We fall silent again until he sighs loudly. "Sit down, would you? You're making me nervous, glowering over there like you’re dying to escape the room. I'm not going to eat you alive."

For some reason, I do what he asks. Maybe because this has to happen eventually with him. Perhaps it's stubbornness that I'm too spiteful to show him fear. Or it could just be a death wish. I can’t allow myself to dwell on the way I missed him while he was in the Capitol, then unconscious in this hospital bed. That’s more heartbreak than I can process. It's probably not the smartest thing I've ever done, but I sit beside him when he scoots to the side of the hospital bed. If he hadn't lost so much weight, we wouldn't fit without me sitting in his lap.

We sit hip to hip, staring straight ahead, neither acknowledging the other at first. Peeta is so different now. He used to know exactly what to say or not say in any situation. Slowly I begin to acclimate to his proximity, and it's okay. I'm nervous thinking about his first reaction to our reunion.

"I'm starting to remember what happened that night," Peeta admits. In his lap, he clenches and unclenches his fists.

"You're not going to do it again, are you?" I ask, only kidding a little.

He relaxes his hands and turns to me, eyes roaming my face. "No. I don't want to choke you," he reassures me.

"Well, that's a start."

He laughs weakly. "Yeah. I guess so. I was afraid that night of you. In my head, you were you, but not really. You were shiny. Shimmering around the edges, like none of the lines of your face would stay where they should. I thought you were going to kill me."

"What about now?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not afraid of you now."

I don't say the same. I wish I could.

We lie together quietly, too tired and raw to talk. Peeta slumps against the bed like talking to me took all his energy. I find myself turning to his side and laying my head on his chest.

Eventually, our breathing evens out, and he soothingly runs a hand down my braid. Beneath my ear, his steady heartbeat picks up.

"I can hear your heartbeat- why is it going so fast all of a sudden?" I want to ask, knowing I can’t deal with any answer he’d give me. So I’ll selfishly take the comfort of his arms and leave his response for another day.

 

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

An interesting couple of weeks have passed since Peeta woke from a weeks-long coma. The doctors kept him in the hospital for most of that time, running scans, drawing blood, and doing tests to assess what damage was done to his mind and body. There is much to watch out for between his torture at the hands of the Capitol, not to mention his recently-acquired injury, a hard knock to the head—it bounced off the floor when soldiers tackled him to stop him from choking me. His aggressiveness seems over, other than some irritability, and frankly, I can't blame him for that. I don't spend much of my day with him to know, so what I learn is gleaned in pieces. Considering everything he's been through, he's not doing too bad. I just don't know what to say to him now.

With Peeta safe and out of immediate danger, needing a distraction from my thoughts, I've fallen back into the scheduled life of a soldier in training. Directions are printed on our arms every morning here. Wake up, have breakfast, train, rest, lunch, afternoon class, afternoon training, etc. In between, I try not to think about the death and destruction unleashed around us. The mental and physical acrobatics leave me with little time, precisely what I need right now. Spare time is awful when you're trying your best to keep your sanity and avoid confronting your feelings simultaneously.

Evenings are reserved for visiting Peeta. Others come to see him too. Johanna, Annie and Finnick, Prim, Haymitch, my mother. Even Gale.  Oh, and Delly Cartwright. I think she's the one who told him about his family. She lost hers in the bombing as well. I'm glad I didn't have to tell him myself.

Life in Thirteen, while relatively safe since the night of the air raids, has fallen into drudgery. Grey walls, grey uniforms, grey food, grey moods. But tonight, we underground moles have something to break up the monotony. Finnick and Annie are getting married. I sit in the crowded cafeteria with my mother and Prim, watching the happy couple recite vows to respect, love, and cherish each other for the rest of their lives.

In the corner of the room, there's a designated celebration area. A woman from back home is pulling her family’s fiddle she saved from the bombing from its case and tuning the strings. Without her or the fiddle, there wouldn’t be dancing. Another small thing to be thankful for. The crowning jewel amid the sparse decorations a place like Thirteen can offer is a beautiful cake Peeta decorated for Finnick and Annie.

"What do you think of it?" Peeta asks, appearing at my side out of nowhere as I study the turquoise waves, dolphins, and copper-headed mermen. He catches me off guard, but I'm so awed by his artistry that I don't have to consider what to say.

"It's wonderful," I tell him sincerely, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Gorgeous," I add, gesturing to the seashell cluster on the top layer.

"I worked on it most of the week, and I'm still not completely happy with it," Peeta admits, turning toward me. He looks the healthiest I've seen since his rescue. His hair has grown out enough that it's curling again; the purple streaks beneath his eyes have faded away, leaving the brightness of his blue eyes and smile to draw my attention.

"Don't say that. It's perfect."

I swallow nervously when his gaze locks on mine and realize I've been staring at him while my mind wanders. He is so close to the old Peeta tonight that my heart aches for what we had in the Quarter Quell arena before everything went to hell. The way I kissed him, the way I knew I'd give up on living if he was taken away from me.

He's looking at me intently. When one corner of his mouth turns up in a questioning smile, a swelling warmth trickles out from my heart and careens through my veins to each of my extremities until every nerve hums. Peeta is here, alive. While our minds aren’t screwed together right, and neither of us may live to see the war’s end, that doesn’t matter. For now, we're here together. We made it out alive, and that has to mean something.

"Where are we going?" he asks, his voice low. I reach for his hand and thread my fingers through his. He frowns, perplexed, until I tug on his hand and walk away, leading him out of the room.

"I don't know. Not here," I say, ignoring the glances people give us. Gale is nowhere to be found, not that he would stop me now. I don't want to hurt him, but I can't pretend there's any chance of me ever wanting him the way I want Peeta.

"Away from the audience," Peeta murmurs. He sounds a little in awe. "Is this real? If not, please don't wake me up."

That's the old him I love morphed into the person he is now. Older, wiser. Still funny.

We stop at the end of the hallway, where one of the overhead lights is burnt out, leaving a shadowed corner perfect for two. We're alone, but I want to take no chances.

I take his other hand in my free one. "It's real," I admit.

"We've never---"

"I know." My voice shakes at the end of my admission. "I wanted to be alone with you. Everyone, they've seen enough, judged enough. I want this to be ours."

"Want what to be ours?"

"I don't know exactly, but I really want you to kiss me right now."

He smiles widely and laughs, his eyes crinkling up in the corners. I don't know if he's in disbelief or excited or what, but I return it. He doesn't keep me waiting. My lids have already dropped before he presses the softest kiss on my lips. His arms wrap around my waist as I lean into him, two hearts bent on the same quest---to be closer, as close as we can get. When my hand inches beneath his shirt to feel the warmth of his body, he gasps at my cold fingers. "Where have you been all night, in an icebox?"

Instead of denying my whereabouts, I pull him closer, kissing him deeply, then pulling away to trail more down the cord of his neck. I brush my nose against his skin, taking in that Peeta smell that makes me feel like I'm home.

Whatever happens in the upcoming days, whether we're thrown into the middle of another fight or not, at least we have tonight.

 

Notes:

this is a one-shot, for now, but I may add more if inspiration strikes. Thanks for reading!