Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games trilogy. The characters and plot belong to Suzanne Collins. In fact, reading the book would actually make this story make more sense as I was not going to replicate everything that happened within those books.
Also warning that domestic abuse and suicide feature heavily within this story. Both of which are serious issues and shouldn't be taken lightly.
I was going down a more Shakespearean route that Ms Collins and the quotes in each chapter title are the Bard's.
In man as well as herbs—grace and rude will
The wind woke Katniss. She blinked awake to darkness and the light rattling of the thin walls from the gusts. Lightening showed a flash of the small room in liquid silver then thunder rumbled. No rain sounded on the roof, a dry storm.
She rolled over in their small bed but Prim was sleeping soundly. Something else had awoken her, brought on the wind. It unsettled her and although it was too early to hunt, she rose and quietly dressed.
Outside the sound of the storm was overpowering and the wind tugged at her hair. As she crossed the Meadow a flash of lightening showed something there; someone huddled amongst the tall grass sobbing quietly. It was so unexpected, so unusual that she crept closer. Another sliver of lightening showed her Peeta Mellark, curled in the grass. He had a knife in his hand.
She moved instinctively. Crouching in front of him she clasped the hand holding the knife. Peeta stiffened and glanced up at her. Katniss gasped. Even in the half light of the storm she could see that he had been beaten, badly. The left side of his face was swollen, his lip was cut and his nose was at an odd angle.
"Peeta, what happened?" she whispered.
Peeta sniffed and glanced away. The fingers on his left hand were misshapen and ungainly. Katniss tentatively touched his wrist above his swollen fingers. Peeta flinched.
"Peeta…" she began softly. He abruptly tilted forward, resting his right cheek against her shoulder. Her arms came around him awkwardly, his entire body was trembling. She didn't know what to do. She was never the one Prim sought for comfort. But this was Peeta. He was her boy with the bread.
She tucked the knife into her belt and gently prised Peeta from the ground. He was quietly compliant, his eyes blank. She took his right hand and led him to the fence. He followed her numbly under the wire and through the trees. The sound of the storm lessened when they entered the forest and Katniss kept a wary eye out for other things that might be sheltering from the storm.
When they reached the lake she left him with his hand submerged in water to find a herb she had seen her mother use. Peeta's quiet was worrisome. She wasn't a healer and already she was regretting not taking him to her mother. When she returned he was sitting in the same place, unaware of his surroundings.
She settled beside him to wash the herbs, brushing his shoulder with hers. Peeta took one deep, shuddering breath.
"She closed the oven on them," he said roughly. "I wasn't fast enough."
Katniss was left struggling with what to say. Instead she busied herself with grinding the herbs, cutting strips from her shirt and then binding his hand and cleaning the cuts on his face.
Afterwards they sat together watching the sun rise over the lake.
"Thank you, Katniss."