regenerated | and then she'd say, 'it's okay, i got lost on the way, but i'm a supergirl and supergirls don't cry'

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and then she'd say, 'it's okay, i got lost on the way, but i'm a supergirl and supergirls don't cry'

Up until now, everything's been easy. As strange as it might be for most people to imagine, Claire Bennet's leap off the Compound has been the best thing that's happened to her yet on Tabula Rasa. Maybe it isn't the healthiest— after all, where the leap from the Compound was supposed to help her shed that mask, come face to face with all that fate's laid on her, now it's only granted a wish that she's held tightly to for months. All of a sudden, it's the lies that have become truth. She no longer has to think about the ideas her mind's brushed over in past months, wondering if invincibility comes with everlasting life, if wrinkles will never make it to her face, caused by smiles or frowns. The prospect itself is still one that chills her to the bone, lingering in the shadows of her thought, Claire realizing better than anyone else that there will come a day when she returns to the United States, when being a cheerleader is no longer an option, when her dad will come and take her into his arms, family man that he is. She'll have to search for Peter, for Nathan, for anything remaining of the two of them. But for now, one choice has been switched for another, and it feels pretty good.

She's probably driven the people at the clinic mad. Claire keeps on trying to pull off her bandages, keeps on running gentle hands over her injuries, relishing the way that the pain is different each time. This process is healing. Not reversing, not erasing all trace of what's happened, but instead an imperfect process that leaves her slightly fractured, slightly weak, all of the things that a girl her age is supposed to be. The bruises that she sees all over her skin might be about the most beautiful thing she's seen and felt in a long time, her eyes wide with amazement at the human body, that imperfect state of being and how it adapts. It's almost hard to keep the lie in place, with the way her lips spread into a smile at the slightest provocation, how laughs catch in her throat now because her lung hasn't healed enough to be used at full force.

But she can't hide on her own forever. Can't use fatigue as an excuse when all the doctors can see that her eyes are practically dancing. It's time for visiting hours. This is what she's been dreading.

Because somehow, she doesn't think that most people will believe her if she tells them this is the happiest she's been in almost a year. And honestly, she's not even sure if she should.

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It took a lot to get Peeta angry, but it wasn't impossible. His anger was rooted in some of the usual places, but he had always managed to keep it under control. Of course controlled anger was dangerous, but it was better than lashing out at everything. The moment that he had heard about what happened to Claire, the fact that she had done it to herself he had felt the anger rising up in him. It was frustration more than anything. A desire to go back and time to stop her, to catch her. To show her that she didn't need to be invincible to feel alive.

Walking into the kitchen he was holding a small box of buns. They were cinnamon rolls, one of his favourites. He had debated about whether or not to bring anything, but in the end he couldn't visit her empty handed.

Standing at the foot of her bed, his face in a line as he stared at her face he lifted up the box to show her. "I brought you something. To make you feel better." His voice was soft, stern as he wondered why but didn't voice it. He couldn't start out with the anger. That wouldn't get him anywhere.

The smell wafted into the clinic before Peeta appeared. That was how she knew. Claire knew a number of the people on the island were phenomenal bakers, but among her best friends, there was only one who would think to do that first. In those several seconds, with sugar teasing at her nose, Claire was able to prepare herself for Peeta's entrance, the disappointment that he was sure would be in his eyes. He was one of the few that Claire had told about her ability, the way that she could heal from every tear, every burn, every broken bone, and nothing had changed between them for it. That afternoon they spent by the trampoline was still firmly lodged in her memory, the way he hadn't shied from running his fingers along the curve of her cheek, the way his eyes had lingered on the curls of her hair. Maybe that made this more of a betrayal than anything else, to know that Peeta had trusted her, only to have Claire throw that trust aside entirely.

She took a deep breath to steel her nerves, before offering a soft smile as he came in.

"That... smells amazing," she sighed, resting her cheek heavily against the pillow. "You spoil me."

Now that he was here, looking at her in the bed Peeta felt some of his anger ebb away, slowly being replaced by worry. It was confusing, his forehead showing the worry just as it crossed his mind. It was hard not to be concerned. Something had driven her to do this, to act out in such a way. He wanted to know what it was, but somehow asking felt like a huge trespass. She had already shared so much with him and he didn't want to use that knowledge against her.

Moving closer, he set the box on the table next to the bed before stepping back. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he shrugged. "Comfort food. A good thing to have when you're in the hospital."

A pause as he stared at her. "You scared the crap out of me Claire. I can't believe that you did that." There was no blame in his voice, just bewilderment and concerned. He was mad, heck he was even mad at her, but he didn't want to make it worse.

The way that his expression kept on changing scared Claire, just a little. The way that he stepped back from her, stuffing his hands into his pockets, hands that had once held hers and brushed her hair back, regularly held her own— it wasn't at all what they did, how their dynamic worked. She shouldn't have been so naive, she knew that. People were bound to be affected by something like this, a girl throwing herself off a building. Were bad to be mad, scared, and everything else in between. It just made the flush of shame rise more heatedly to her cheeks, wishing she could take it all back, inner turmoil better than the spill of concern that was quickly spreading around her.

"Well, if it means anything," she said quietly, looking away, her hands balling into fists on the sheets. "I didn't think that it would stick. The injuries. The books never said what I could do was magic, it was just the next step for humans, you know? So I thought, I thought maybe what I could do was the one thing that would stick."

Carefully, she glanced back toward Peeta, her gaze never quite sticking. "Are you mad?"

The problem was that he wanted to touch her. He wanted to sit on the edge of her bed and ask her why. Wanted to bring her comfort and assuage his own fears that this would happen again. This time Claire had been lucky and Peeta was afraid that a repeat performance wouldn't end so nicely. Pulling a hand from his pocket, he rubbed his forehead as if to wipe away the lines there.

"I figured," he said softly letting his hand fall back to his side. Staring at her, he took a careful step closer. "A little. I think I might be more mad at myself for not being there to help you. I'm worried more than anything."

Claire wasn't sure what it was about Peeta that made him so shrewd. There were times when she thought that perhaps watching so many people trapped in a cage, forced to whittle their own number down in order to escape at all, had exposed human nature to Peeta, down to the very bone. But Claire couldn't help thinking, as increasingly cynical as she was becoming in those days, that human nature probably wasn't have as appealing as one would hope for. That knowing what really made people tick and why they behaved in the selfish way they did probably would have depressed more than encouraged. And Peeta didn't seem the former, as he took a step closer. There was no shying from Claire, no tired chastising.

He was blaming himself, and Claire's lips parted with the surprise of it, before she began shaking her head, feeling the tears at the corners of her eyes again.

"God, it's not your fault in any way, Peeta, I didn't... didn't really tell anyone that I was having trouble," Claire explained, taking a deep and shuddering breath. "It felt like one of those things that I had to battle out alone, even if I know that's not really true. If it's anyone's fault, it's just mine. I had choices, I just made the wrong ones."

The Arena had taught Peeta many things. It was different being in the thick of it, not just once but twice that changed him in a way that years of watching it on television hadn't. The distance was lacking and he know that people could easily be stripped down to their natures in such situations. Good and evil had no place in life or death situations. There was simply living or dead.

He wasn't proud of what he had done, would never be proud. He would've died for Katniss both times. Dying for those that he loved was simply who he was, there was nothing much to it. It was simply the sort of person that he was.

Still, he wasn't about to give up. Not yet. "I would've listened," he said, concern on his face as he awkwardly sat on the end of her bed. "I won't say that it wasn't stupid, because it was. But I know what it's like to have trouble. I still struggle with all that I've seen, all that I've done or failed to do. I would've tried to help. Really."

"I don't doubt that," she breathed in return, a soft sigh on her lips. Something about his expression seemed tight, carefully controlled, different than the ease and quiet with which Peeta usually held himself, and it had the effect of making Claire's stomach turn in leaps as she looked at him, hoping he knew that she was doing her best to pay him the attention he deserved. "I know that you would have listened. You've listened more than... almost anyone I've met here. I just wasn't in a place where I felt like I could talk to anyone,w illing or not. And I know, I know it was a mistake, but I was trying my best to make it look like everything was normal for me, so if anyone didn't notice, it's not their fault. Sometimes these things just sneak up on you."

Licking her lips, Claire sat up a touch, her hand stretching slightly over her sheets, though she didn't reach the rest of the way for his hand. Not quite yet. "Would it be better if I promised to talk to you from now on? About these things? I don't want you to be mad. Or to start worrying nonstop about me."

Pressing his lips together, Peeta looked down at his hands for a moment considering them. His hands had done a lot, were good for many things. He had killed with those hands, had baked bread and painted. He had comforted someone as they had died with those hands. They were reminders that something good could also go wrong. No, this wasn't what he wanted to think about, how he could've saved Claire with this hands. How he wanted to hold her with them.

"Yeah," he agreed with a slight nod looking up from his hands to her face and then to the hand she had stretched out. Carefully he reached out and laid his hand over hers. "I'll be fine. I just don't like people dying or nearly dying. But I don't think anyone does."

He had lost too many people already. He didn't want to have to deal with another one. "I'd like that. I just don't want you to forget that I care about you. That I know what it is like."

"I know that this must make me sound so, so selfish," Claire prefaced, her hand shifting slightly under Peeta's, turning until they faced one another, palm to palm. "But I know. I know that people care about me, and I know how much it sucks when people die, when people... when you don't know what's happened to them. Yet I still jumped, because I needed, as weird as it sounds, to do something for myself. Not that I wanted to get hurt, but jumping like that used to really ground who I was to myself."

The words sounded thin and hollow even to her own ears, so Claire looked away again with a soft exhale.

"I told you about my ability, that I could heal, and it was so good to have someone hear that and not judge me for it. Not think that I was just some kind of alien. But what you don't know is how much trouble that's kind of gotten me into, over the years. And when we had those weekends, where people went home? I went home. It reminded me of so much that I was starting to forget."

Peeta knew what she was talking about when she had referred to those weekends. He hadn't gone along, but had heard enough through the grapevine to know that Katniss had. Home did not exist for him anymore. His family was gone, the life that he knew had been obliterated. It was all too much; the very idea of seeing it again made his stomach twist into a painful knot.

"I don't think it's selfish," he said, not entirely certain that he actually believed it. There was a selfishness to it that he couldn't deny. It instantly forgot about those who cared about her, but at the same time he got it. How often had he dreamed of finding a way to connect with those around him. "I wish I could forget, but at the same time I don't want to. There were so many of us, that even if winning didn't feel like a victory. I used to dream about my leg, about those days where I thought I was going to die. I still do, but it gets muddled. Sometimes you just need to remember to know why you're still alive."

Before she managed anything else, Claire nodded. She couldn't say that her world was very much like Peeta's, even when it was at its worst. At least the evil hadn't spread or festered, hadn't gotten to the point where everyone simply accepted it as being. Freedoms threatened to be curtailed, with the way that abilities would have to be regulated, the general populace likely to react negatively upon finding out that some of their number had supernatural powers— but it was a far cry from putting children in an arena to battle it out to the death for sport. Claire couldn't imagine her world returning to such a state, didn't want to imagine it, didn't want Peeta to return to it.

But in his words, Claire found understanding. Needing to remember why she was still alive. It sounded so melodramatic, but life had been... something to take for granted in recent months, something that wouldn't fade, wouldn't disappear. And now that she had it back, the way that it was always intended, she needed to redefine everything. Look at life through a new perspective. Or maybe the old one.

"No, it's still selfish," Claire sighed softly, eyes sliding to a close. "It's selfish, but it's also over, and I'm not curious enough to do it again. For better or worse, I think I've learned my lesson. That it's okay to live, even if it's in a cage."

It had been the only world that he had ever known. This place was different in so many ways. People seemed to genuinely want to help one another, to care and support each other. There was nothing left for him in Panem, just the knowledge of what he had lost and what he wanted to be better.

There were only three of them here, only two survivors of such an awful public spectacle. If Peeta didn't remember them, didn't say their names before he went to sleep then who would?

"Good," he said with a nod, almost tempted to say that she wasn't living in a cage, but who was he to talk? Every day he wondered what was out there that he wasn't seeing. "Though if there is a next time, I am definitely going to be there to catch you. I promise that."

It was such a simple statement, and yet the words immediately struck Claire somewhere inside her chest. For a girl who kept on falling, falling, kept on hitting the ground time and time again, the notion that someone could catch her, help her brace for that impact, was surprisingly new. Of course, it was meant metaphorically, but that didn't stop Claire's breath from catching, if only for a second.

She smiled, eyes downcast, suddenly feeling guiltier than ever. Maybe once she was out of the clinic, she could start making it up to everyone.

"Hopefully there won't be a next time, but if there is, I'll keep that in mind," she replied quietly, wiggling her toes under her sheets.

The funny thing was that he hadn't even given the words that he said much thought. It was absolutely true, something that came straight from his heart. He hated to lose people, to be unable to help them. Katniss' stubbornness when it came to lose she loved wasn't a trait singular to her; he often found himself reacting the same way. After all that they had lost, it wasn't unreasonable that they were resisting losing any more.

"Yeah. I hope so too," he agreed with a nod of his head, before suddenly moving forward and picking the box off of the beside table. Looking to see if there were any doctors around to yell at him, he opened the box. Tearing off a piece of cinnamon roll, he held it out to her. "They're better when they're hot. I mean, they're not cold right now, but I figured you could use something sweet right now."

Although it wasn't with an entirely clear conscience, Claire took the piece of the cinnamon roll, smiling faintly as she inhaled as deeply as she could, taking in the faintly spiced smell. Maybe it was just better for the discussion to end right there, for them to return to the natural order of things. She popped the piece into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully and closing her eyes.

"You're right," she said after swallowing, reaching out for a glass of water to slowly sip at. "That is absolutely amazing, and definitely better when they're hot. Stay and share one with me?"

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and then she'd say, 'it's okay, i got lost on the way, but i'm a supergirl and supergirls don't cry'

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