The MATRIX: The One

17 - Katniss says goodbye

Katniss POV

This moment has been eight years in coming, and yet as I kneel here in the lush grass, as the sunlight pours over me, warming my hair and skin, as the sound of the wind playing with the leaves whispers soothingly, it feels as if only a few days have passed since that horrible morning in the subway tunnel, the morning everything had changed.

"He's really gone."

Prim's murmur pries my eyes open and her sniffle tightens my arm around her shoulders. "Yes," I answer. "He is."

I stare at the engraving on the stone, trying not to flinch at the sight of our father's name staring back, unchanging and unignorable. There is no body six feet under. There is no body at all. I still haven't told Prim. She doesn't need to know the details yet. I've been keeping her sedated aboard the District Twelve, only letting her "wake up" in the Construct. I can protect her here. Finally. I have so much to make up for.

Once we get to Zion and she sees the city, explanations will be necessary, but not here. Not now. Not yet. They'll explain everything at the academy. Better than I can. And, honestly, it would kill me to have to be the one to tell her the truth about how and why our father had died. Finn and Jo don't agree, but at least they're not interfering, so that's something.

She laments, "I still don't remember the funeral."

There hadn't been one. That is another secret I am protecting her from.

The truth is that my sister only remembers the first eight years of her life. The agent had taken the rest. In her mind, she's still a child. I want her to stay that way for as long as possible. I wish someone had made that effort for me. "It was a long time ago," I temporize.

"Will I ever remember?"

I guide her head to my shoulder and press a kiss to her braided hair. It's been so long since I've been able to do this. I'll have to wait even longer to do it again away from this place. It's only been a few days since we'd found each other again and it'll take years for her hair to grow out. It's a small thing – a detail, really – that the machines have taken from her. One day, she'll take it back. That's the only way to beat them: live a better life than the one they'd offered.

"The important thing," I answer, "is that you remember him. You can, can't you? You remember the lullabies he used to sing to us?"

She nods.

"And the sock puppets we used to make?"

"Yes."

"And how he could never say no to a peanut butter sandwich?"

She squeaks softly. I rock her back and forth, a song rising up in my throat. She hums it with me, tears boiling over her lashes and spilling down her pale cheeks. I wait until she falls asleep in my arms before I speak.

"Gale? Rory? She's ready to go back to her room."

From one instant to the next, she disappears. Aboard the District Twelve, my friends and crew members are carrying her back to her room. Johanna will give her a sedative if she needs it and I'll be there soon to watch over her, but for right now... right now… I sit beside a grave meant to belong to my father. I have never felt more alone or more insignificant.

Before my empty arms cause my listless spirit to drift away, before my mind retreats back to my body aboard a hovercraft lurking in the ruins of the world, a warm hand on my shoulder grounds me.

"Are you ready for a hug yet?" Peeta asks.

I take a moment. Two. Three…

"Yes."

And just like that, Peeta crouches down behind me, wraps himself around me, warms me. My heart flushes with heat which seeps outward toward the pressure his body gently exerts upon mine. I tilt my head toward his jaw. He tilts his head against mine, breathes out, holds me tighter.

He observes lightly, "It's a nice program, er, place. Peaceful."

"Rory's design."

"Really? Where's the vibrating bed?"

He wins a helpless laugh from me. "I think he has a crush on my little sister."

"Well. I hope he's prepared to go the distance. How long before you let Prim date?"

"Oh… about ten, twenty years."

He chuckles. I smile. Peeta can always pull a smile from me.

And then, unexpectedly: "I brought a motorcycle." His voice tickles as it slides into my ear. "Just in case you wanted to take ride."

I keep my eyes closed. "Why would you think I'd want to go anywhere with you?" I tease.

"Oh, I dunno. Wishful thinking, I guess. Our last date got interrupted."

"By a car accident, an agent, and you almost dying?"

"Uh, no. I was thinking of the Lisbon program."

Ah yes, I remember our interruption now: a mugger on the winding streets of old town. "Was that a date?"

"Again. Wishful thinking."

I shake my head.

"If we manage to avoid muggers, agents, and near-death experiences, there might be a kiss in it for you at the end of the outing," he teases.

I laugh again. "How can I refuse such a juicy carrot."

"Hm… I've never heard it called that before. And, in all honesty, I don't think I'm quite ready for you to handle my carrot. Juicy or otherwise."

This laugh is longer, deeper, bursting up from my belly. "Oh, Peeta," I eventually sigh. "When you are ready, I call dibs."

"Dibs, huh?"

I nod. I can't believe I'm flirting heavily with Peeta in a cemetery while we're knotted around each other and kneeling before my father's fictional gravestone. A more bitter, cynical, and mistrustful version of myself would have shoved Peeta away, scolded him, turned away from him… except that I remember the way my father would smile at him whenever Peeta would tip coins into our guitar case. His grey eyes had shone with pride and sadness in equal measures. My father had liked Peeta, and he wouldn't want me to be alone. I don't think he'd be disappointed that my companion is the boy from the subway whose dollar and fifty cents had helped us buy bread.

I fill my lungs with a cleansing breath. "Let's go," I tell him, nodding back toward the entrance to the graveyard.

"You got it."

He clumsily pushes himself to his feet, bumping my shoulder and mashing his nose into my hair. I'm pretty sure the move is deliberate. He's such a puppy sometimes, especially when he can tell that I'm one serious moment away from a meltdown.

Yes, he means to be a klutz. In contrast to his playful fumbling, Peeta smoothly pulls me to my feet, delicately drapes his leather jacket around my shoulders and, softly interlacing our fingers, he walks me down the path to the gates.

I don't know anything about motorcycles, but this machine looks very sleek and fast. Dangerous. Like a pure black hornet.

"Have you ever driven one of these things?"

He taps his temple. "Rory hooked me up," he cockily confides, squeezing yet another smile from me.

"I still want a helmet."

He chuckles, tugging me closer and kissing my cheek. "I have two helmets. In fact, you can choose which one you want." He gestures to them. One hangs off of each handle. A dark evergreen and a soft golden-orange."

"Hm. Orange, I guess. That way I don't have to look at it."

He winces. "You wound me. Orange is a great color." But he hands over the helmet in question.

I slip my arms into his jacket sleeves, buckle the chin strap, and then climb onto the seat behind him. He reaches for the ignition and—

"Is that a smurf keychain?"

"Painter Smurf," he confirms proudly. "So… where to?"

I lean my helmet-covered head between his shoulders and wind my arms around his waist. I remember the last time I'd leaned against him like this: we'd been aboard the subway train, surrounded by a pool of cooling blood, shivering with waning adrenaline and violence-numbed nerves.

"Peeta?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

His hand covers mine. His thumb rubs over my fingers, back and forth. He doesn't answer. He doesn't argue. Instead, he promises, "Anytime, Katniss. Anything."

I sigh and hug him tighter. "Let's just drive. Let's not go back until we have to." And there is so much – too much – to go back to.

The Matrix is still out there. I'd saved my sister, but there are so many people still trapped inside. I can't save them all, but I have to try, don't I? Finnick was right: I'm the One. The future is waiting for me – for all us. A very real future. I'm not ready for the real. The real me. The real world. The real… everything.

Not yet. Please.

I burrow against Peeta's back and hold on for as long as I can. I tell myself nothing can force me to let go, but I know I'm lying. I know I must let go. It is only a matter of time.

THE END

NOTES: I really hope you all enjoyed the story. I'll love you forever if you take a moment to leave a comment and let me know. I'll build you a shrine if you tell me what your favorite things/moments were. I'll be inspired to write more if you flail and squee and gush and enthuse. So, yeah. That's how we roll 'round these parts.