Hi everyone :) Just to let you know to save confusion, I posted this a while ago under a different account because I couldn't remember my login details for this account - stupid me! But I'm back into this one now so posting it again. This is from Katniss' point of view, and is my first Hunger Games story so would reeeally appreciate some feedback. Thanks and enjoy, will hopefully be updated soon! Donna xx
Chapter One
Peeta and I grow back together. I suppose it begins on the day he arrives back from the Capitol, finally released from the care of Dr Aurelius. I am more than touched by the primrose bushes he decides to plant for her, but I don't think I really believe he's here that first day. As though I could wake up at any second and find he was all a part of my dreams. Or my nightmares, I can never be sure which.
I have to accept him as real, though, the day after my trip into the woods. Without warning, he arrives in the morning with Greasy Sae, bearing a loaf of warm bread in place of an explanation. He watches, but doesn't question, as I feed my breakfast to Buttercup, tears sliding down my expressionless face throughout the whole meal. Not a word passes between us even as Greasy Sae leaves, my gaze remaining fixed on the spot on the floor from which the cat has long since ambled away. When I finally manage to look up, maybe minutes, maybe hours later, I expect him to have vanished. But he sits next to my mother's knitting basket, absently picking through pieces of wool.
I'm cautious. Peeta has been so many different people since I've known him that I don't trust my ability to read him any more, not one bit. But, knowing that I have to start somewhere, that I want us to be two halves of a whole again, I walk over to where he sits, and I speak first.
"You…" My voice is hoarse, but enough to make him look up. I nod at the length of wool in his hands. "You could tie knots in it. If it would help. Like Finnick."
"It's not like rope, though," Peeta says, "You can't get the knot loose again with wool. It can't be undone."
"Not many things can."
He shakes his head slightly in agreement, and for a long while we don't say anything else. While I've spent days on end alone happy to simply stare into space, Peeta's presence makes me want to busy myself. I collect our plant book from the study, and while I'm there, I search once more through the box which was delivered back here with me. My father's hunting jacket. My parents' wedding photo. Haymitch's spile. Peeta's locket. I run my fingers over its polished surface, before leaving it unmoved in the box and returning to the kitchen.
It was crazy to think it would have somehow appeared in there, that I could possibly have missed it the first time. But in the chaos, my blurred memories of the final hours of the rebellion, I know it could have been lost anywhere. I'll never see it again, but that doesn't stop me from wanting it.
I've been sitting, leafing over and over again through the pages of the book, when I feel his weight tentatively sit down at the other end of the sofa. I don't look up.
"I lost it," I say, "Your pearl."
"Our pearl." Is Peeta's reply.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?" He whispers, but I know he doesn't expect a response. We both know that question has far too many answers. A tear slips over his cheek, and I slowly extend my hand, inwardly begging him to take it. He doesn't disappoint me. He never has.
It's all the physical contact either of us can manage, for now, but it gives me the courage I need.
"Is…" I know it's time for us to start piecing things together. This was never going to be easy. "Is there any part inside of you that still sees me as dangerous, sometimes?"
Peeta considers. "Yes. Is there a part inside of you that's still scared of me?"
"Yes." There's no use in being anything but honest with each other now. We literally have nothing left to lose. "I'm scared because I've stopped knowing you like I used to."
"I'm scared because my mind keeps taking me back there. I can't always hold on to the here and now."
"What is the here and now?" I ask, and for the very first time, his lips turn upward by the tiniest fraction. I wouldn't even notice if it were anyone but him.
"It's this, Katniss. It's what we've got left."
For now, we don't speak any more about things of consequence. We both move along the sofa slightly so we are side by side, but still not touching. We flip through the plant book together, commenting here and there. He occasionally picks up a pencil and makes tiny adjustments to the drawings. Buttercup sets up camp at my feet, his eyes fixed on Peeta, guarding me. But no more than we're guarding ourselves.
Finally, we come to a page and both freeze at the sight of the small, instantly recognisable berries. I see his eyes widening, his pupils dilate, and I shiver at the thought of what horrific falsities the Capitol could have planted in Peeta's head. The real memory of the Nightlock is bad enough without their manipulation. This time, it's Peeta who holds out his hand, but I can't help but be wary of taking it.
But I do, and he squeezes, just like he did the day of the first reaping when we were all but strangers.
"You suggested what we do with the berries," He says slowly, "Because you wanted to save both of us. You weren't trying to kill me. You didn't want me to die."
His eyes ask the question rather than his mouth, and I'm quick to tell him "Real."