Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is the property of the wonderful Suzanne Collins.
A/N: I shall save my blabbing for the end.
The Beauty of Nightmares
They glare at me with vicious eyes narrowed, watching me intently. They gnash and knead their brilliant white fangs together as they mind their prey. I can only imagine how I must look to them, how easily captured and weak I must seem after being battered for days in the Arena. After seeing innocence die.
They've stopped their progression up the Cornucopia for the time being. Their gangly wolfish bodies must have found it difficult to claw their ways up its smooth sides, but the piercing scraping they created still rings in my ears.
A single mutt makes a jump for my leg and I stagger back from it in time. One lets out a feral growl when it sees I've escaped them again. I'm not the only Tribute left here. There are others out there to make a meal of. I haven't heard the cannons; I haven't been named Victor of The 74th Annual Hunger Games.
I absently reach for my bow behind me, but only find contact with the slippery metal of the Cornucopia. I must've dropped it as I was running. My hand is, instead, slathered in something I could only say is warm.
And that is when the rusty, iron like smell reaches my nose. I pull my hand away quickly only to bring it up to eye level. My hands may be dirty, but you can't ever forget the way fresh blood looks on your skin. The Cornucopia is bathed in it along with the moon's florescent glow. It shines sickly in the moonlight and my mind works to place who it belongs to.
There wasn't anyone here and I don't recall anyone being with me.
"Peeta." I whisper in sudden realization. It comes back to me now and I remember him trailing behind me, his injury slowing him down.
"Peeta!" I shout frantically. A part of me berates myself for forgetting him while the other nearly flings me over the side of the Cornucopia as I look for him. Had I been so caught up in my own survival that I had abandoned him? Had he been mauled just feet from where I was sitting? How romantic that must be, one half of District 12's star crossed lovers drifts off unconscious while the other's flesh is ripped from his bones.
I steady myself at the edge and I peer over at the ground below me. My stomach churns painfully in anticipation of what I could see. My eyes dart across the grass and between the tightly packed cluster of mutts, I ready my body to evade their teeth if I have to, but I find nothing.
The feeling in my stomach begins to lessen and relief washes through me. It isn't his blood on my hands or on the metal beside me.
Suddenly, I hear it and I wonder how I have managed to miss it. I hear what sounds like meat being pulled from bone, muscles and tendons tearing. Even though a portion of my body is slung over in clear view of them, in easy reach, the mutts do nothing. While some watch my every move, others seem to busy with something that lies in the darkness.
Something I can't see…
One catches my eye and it grinds its teeth together.
Teeth that are painted in blood and mash what looks like a human hand between its jaws.
Simultaneously, my body and the scream in my throat go stiff. I'm only aware of the mutt's eyes on me and my racing pulse.
In my peripheral vision, I notice a shock of blond in the dark just as the muttation lunges at me.
oOo
I'm immediately aware that I'm alive when I open my eyes, but my body lays paralyzed, unmoving as I stare out into the darkness of my bedroom. I can feel the beads of sweat roll from my forehead and my heart thunders painfully in my chest. I take a breath to steady myself as I state some facts that will calm me down.
The Games are over and I'm in District 12. I'm at my new home in the Victor's Village not in the Arena.
Peeta is a short walk down the stairs and across the square away. He's probably sleeping himself. Safely laying beneath his blankets and not beneath the mutts as they tear at him.
I close my eyes and shake away the feelings of dread and sadness that the nightmares fill me with. The disgusting feeling in my stomach won't go away. It makes me want to vomit.
It was much too real this time and the images take over my mind again as I choke back something between a scream and a sob.
Nightmares with Peeta in them are more on the rare side, but when I do have them they are the most vivid and lucid.
Without much thought, I sling the blanket off and my feet find the ground seconds later. I go through the motions without much thought. I slip on a pair of soft black slipper like shoes that Effie brought over from the Capitol, grab my jacket from where it rests at the foot of my bed, and pad softly to my door and then down the hallway. I stay as silent as possible as I tread down the stairs, careful not to wake my mother and Prim.
They don't know of my midnight adventures outside, but I think Prim knows of the nightmares. Sometimes I fall back asleep after one and awake in the morning to Prim asleep beside me. She never speaks of them and neither do I.
My destination has changed to tonight and once I'm outside I know I'll make a line straight to his house. These dreams have never affected me this badly and though Peeta isn't very warm with me as of late I need some reassurance, just this once, that he's okay. I definitely won't make a habit of going to him.
I wonder for a moment if I'll have to break in or scale the building to his window. As always its wide open, not even the slightly chilly weather makes him close it. It's something I've come to notice over the past few weeks during my walks.
I turn the knob on the oak door and it clicks open effortlessly. Evidently, he doesn't lock his house up either. He's either incredibly trusting or incredibly stupid. Then again, the only residents of the Victor's Village are people he trusts.
His house is colder than mine. Any heat has risen and escaped through his window. I realize that it's my first time here, visiting him. Maybe he's not the only one giving the cold shoulder. His house smells nicer too like flour and frosting and it makes my mouth water a bit. There's another smell that I guess is paint coming from the living area and I scrunch my nose at its potency.
Just as I did in my own house, I walk silently to the stairs and ascend them quietly. There isn't a need to wake Peeta. I just need to reaffirm that he's safe before returning home to my own bed.
I find his bedroom quickly as it's the only door ajar. The moonlight streams in through the window and illuminates the mass of blankets on his bed. I can see the tufts of dirty blond peeking from beneath the fabric, but I can't see any movement, nothing to signify breathing and once I see that my heart starts racing again. I'm struck by the idea that my dream has come true, that Peeta, somehow, has become the victim of the Capitol. I fear what I may find if I peel back the blanket. A cold corpse that was once a warm boy who became my safety net in the Arena.
I take measured and deliberate steps toward him, more dread filling me with each one and when I reach him I grasp the velvet comforter and brace myself for what I may see.
Once I pull it away, I shut my eyes. I reprimand myself for my cowardice and I open them slowly and I sigh.
Why must he be such a shallow breather?
I huff in annoyance, peeved. I know my anger is unnecessary. It isn't his fault after all. He doesn't know that he stars in my nightmares sometimes and when he does they are the worst. So he sleeps here in the house across from mine, with his mouth slightly open and flour in his hair, dreamlessly.
At least his sleep seems dreamless and I wonder if he to wakes in the night with images of the Arena and death fresh in his mind. Out of what I guess is force of habit born in the arena, I reach out and lightly touch my fingers to his forehead. I'm barely aware of what I'm doing until I make contact with his skin. I'm searching for signs of fever, signs of the ailment that nearly took his life in the arena.
The skin beneath my fingers has a normal temperature, his skin is not sweaty and pale, and there are no shivers racking his body. I tell myself he's fine and there is no need for me to stand by and safeguard him for the night. There are no Careers lurking outside the door waiting to end us and there is no infection coursing through his blood.
I'm not needed and I begin to soundlessly exit the room when I step on something fluffy and slightly skeletal. An angry yowling hiss meets my ears. My eyes barely find its source before the mangy furball of a cat bounds out of the open window.
Why is Buttercup in Peeta's house?
I don't have much time to ponder it before the owner of said house decides to stir.
"Katniss?"
Looks like I've been busted.
Before he can say anymore, I hurriedly point to the window and explain myself.
"I came to get Buttercup." I say, trying to mask the obvious lie in my tone. But Peeta is Peeta and he can see right through me.
Besides, with recent events, I'm certainly not the best actress…
I keep my back to him as he speaks, cowardly refusing to look at him.
"You hate him, Katniss." He states and I turn to fire a retort when the look on his features stops me. He's sitting up now, his blanket tossed to the foot of his bed and he looks at me with clear blue eyes in shadow, like he knows all my secrets.
And wordlessly he beckons me to sit beside him and I do. My body moves on its own volition and I realize that a part of me has missed this closeness.
"Nightmares?" he guesses while confirming my suspicions and I merely nod.
I look up at him and I notice the bags beneath his eyes for the first time. He looks tired here under the light of the moon.
Suddenly, he lies himself back on his bed and pats the area beside him.
"Want to talk about it?" He says tiredly with a sad half smile.
"I'm not the best talker." I say and he knows this. I'm more a girl of action. In fact its my actions that have gotten us in the predicament we're all in and they are also responsible for the walls that have sprung up between me a certain people.
Peeta doesn't answer and I choose to lie down beside him, putting just enough distance between us.
A/N:
Please read.
Hello, wonderful THG fandom! I love you guys. Anyway, I have been wanting to write something for Katniss and Peeta for ages now and I've finally got some thoughts spinning in my brain. They are one of my OTPs… This isn't complete as I wanted to stop it here and make it into a two shot. Not much happens, but I was nervous about keeping Kitty-Kat in character… The title is subject to change..
If there are any errors, I'll take notice and fix them when I can. It's nearing midnight where I am. And if any of my Bleach readers see this AN, I'll be picking my stories back up next month. *hugs*
I usually write for the Bleach manga fandom and this is my first try elsewhere so I'd absolutely LOVE if you'd give me some feedback on whether I should continue and how I did.
:D Thank you, lovelies!
S.B