One of my longer one-shots. I may or may not decide to continue this, I'm very indecisive. But right now, I think I like it how it is.
I'm in the middle of thinking up another part of Simple Reunions for those of you who've asked for that, so stay tuned(:
This is set in Catching Fire, after the Victory Tour but before the rebellions become really bad and Cray is replaced. So much goes on at the beginning of that book, that I wanted to add a little bit of peace to it, if it only lasts for a little while. I tried my hardest to keep them in character, and I completely made up stuff about Peeta's family, so that may be off too, and I apologize in advance for that. But I hope this meets your standards and that you like it(:
I welcome every review, anonymous or not, and I love all those story and author alerts so keep them coming!(:
I awake in a cold sweat, not for the first time, but this one was as bad as it gets; maybe even worse. My eyes shoot open and I recognize that I'm no longer in the arena. I'm safe in my home in the Victor's Village, a ceiling over my head to protect me from the chill of the whistling wind outside. The temperature has surely dropped below freezing tonight and I wish for nothing more but the winter to be done and over with. But I'm still sweating; scared silly and I feel the hot searing tears burn their way across my skin as the screams die in my throat. Prim and my mother have long since learned that despite my cries in the night, there is nothing wrong, just another dream, and have stopped coming in to make sure there is no intruder, animal or otherwise.
I force myself out of bed and I don't know what to do. I think maybe a shower would calm me. But as I sink into the steaming water I can't get the images out of my head; everything I experienced in the Games, but from a third party perspective, as if I were a hidden camera. I see the boy with whom I grappled for the orange pack before he was murdered, I see Peeta joining the Careers, I see Glimmer's swollen distorted limbs, ugly and purple and oozing, I see Peeta telling me to run and then Cato attacking him, leaving him to bleed to death. Then I see myself, alone, scared, hurt, finally finding Rue and teaming up with her. I see myself blow up the Careers pyramid of supplies and then I see the boy from one, sending that spear into Rue's stomach and the arrow I sent into his neck. I relive that whole scene in every single detail, right up to the lullaby I sing her to sleep with and the flowers I use to defy the Capitol in some small, somewhat insignificant way. She haunts my dreams almost every night. And then I see myself, desperately looking for Peeta. It seems no different than what actually happened. But this time, I can't save him. The blood poisoning spreads, his fever won't break, and he won't let me leave him alone in the cave to get the medicine. I watch him lie there and die under my hands; watch the life drain out from him and the light in his eyes dim until they're hollow and empty. That's usually when I wake up screaming.
I force myself out of the tub, knowing no amount of hot water is going to help me. And as selfish as it is, I dress up in a thick nightgown woven of the same kitten-soft wool Cinna made my coat out of for the start of the Victory Tour and my thick socks. I creep silently down the stairs to the front door; years of practicing my hunter's tread in the woods make this a piece of cake, and slip into the night. It takes mere minutes for me to make it to Peeta's, but I'm already chilled to the bone. The snow has long since melted, granting my toes the reprieve to not be soaked through, but still frozen none the less.
I know which window on the second story belongs to his bedroom. I know that his brothers won't leave him alone about this for the rest of his life if they find us. But right now, all I care about is making for certain that my dream wasn't reality; I need to make absolutely certain that he is alive and safe and breathing. I fit my feet easily into the trellis the witch has put up on his side of the house, the thick vines making it even easier for me to scale. As I come to his window I pause, wondering if I should knock softly and ask permission. But I figure, I've already come this far, and we've been through so much in the last few months, that I know he won't mind my breaking and entering. I can still feel the hot and steady flow of tears on my cheeks as I force my fingers under the window pane and lift it silently up. I try to lift myself inside as silently as possible but the cold has made my toes numb and my foot slips and I fall through his window onto his floor with thump only muted by the thick carpet beneath me.
I see his bright blue eyes shoot open in the darkness and instantly he's by my side, pulling me to my feet and into his arms. I muffle a sob that bubbles out of my throat by hiding my face in his neck and he pulls me over to his bed, lying beside me as he tucks the thick blankets around the both of us. I stick my feet between his legs to warm them as he uses friction to rub life back into my hands, all the while wiping my tears and brushing his hands through my hair and just holding me. I grip his shirt tightly in my hand and try to steady myself as I listen to his heart beat and feel the solid steady thump of pure life against my cheeks. Eventually the sobs melt into silent tears and he must be satisfied that the circulation has returned to my hands because both of his arms are a solid steady weight around my waist. I loosen my death grip on his shirt and my hands move up to his face; his soft blue eyes meet my own grey ones, still leaking tears. We just stare at each other as my heart rate slowly calms to a healthy pace.
I don't know how much time has passed when he speaks. "Want to tell me about it?" he whispers.
I speak in terse short sentences; trying to describe my dream without spurring on the sobs again. But as I near the end, I can't hold back the tears or the sobs that crawl out from a place deep in my chest that I determine to be where my heart must live. I manage to get the last word out around the strangled noises I try to suppress and he's holding me against his chest again, murmuring sweetly in my ear.
"It's alright, Katniss, shh, it's okay, I'm here, I'm alive, you saved me remember? I'm here because of you," his soft whisper stems the flow of tears and I press myself even closer to him.
"I'm sorry," I whisper into his neck, "I'm so, so sorry."
He asks me why but I can do nothing but repeat the apology over and over again until I finally drift off into a dreamless sleep, comforted by his strong arms and steady heart beat.
I'm roused again sometime later by a soft murmur and I realize it isn't Peeta's voice, because I feel him asleep beneath my cheek, but one of his brothers'. It's barely dawn and I think they must be headed to the bakery. I don't know if it's Nick or Basil's; the twins' voices are every bit identical and it's creepy. They're nice enough though, and treat me just fine. Even his mother has learnt to tolerate me. I hear a soft laugh of approval and Nick or Basil whispers, "Good job, little bro," before the door closes softly and the soft assuring thrum of Peeta's heart lulls me back to sleep.
The sun is up in full and shining brightly through the window the next time I wake. I feel Peeta's arms tighten around me reflexively and know he must be awake. I'm scared to face him though, unsure of what my actions last night will mean to him and unwilling to hurt him. So I keep my eyes closed and shift slightly, hoping he'll think I'm still sleeping. I snuggle into his side a little more when his laugh startles me.
"You've always been a terrible actress, Katniss, you know that, right?" he asks quietly, and I pull away a little bit to look at him defiantly.
His blue eyes are light and easy, the sunlight glints in his golden hair and his lips curl up into a smile as he looks down at me, ruffles my hair. "You look cute with bed head," he comments easily and I can't remember the last time things seemed so simple between us.
I know I should say something, offer him something in return for last night. But no words I can come up with are good enough, so I just let the corners of my mouth drift up softly and fit myself back into his side and listen to his breathing and watch the sun rise higher in the sky. We're both quiet until the growling of our stomachs can no longer be ignored. He sits us up and takes my hand and leads me downstairs. His house is empty; all his family members have gone to town to run their successful little bakery. We don't talk much and it's not really needed. We move around the kitchen effortlessly. I'm mincing up venison steaks they'd bought from Rooba and tossing them into a pot of boiling water along with a pinch of this spice and a handful of that herb.
Prim stops by with a fresh jar of goat cheese from Lady and a crystal vase full of wildflowers for Mrs. Mellark, who, like everyone else in town, just adores her. She replaces the vase of half wilted flowers on the windowsill with the fresh ones and then hops up on the counter beside Peeta, who's kneading a hearty looking loaf of bread with nuts and raisins and dried fruit.
"So where were you this morning, Katniss?" she asks innocently in her sweet soprano, "When mother and I woke up, you were gone."
"Oh, I woke up early so I went for a walk," I wave off her statement, but feel the need to add a simple explanation, "Nightmares."
She nods acceptingly and bites into an apple. "Well, I'm going to milk Lady now, Buttercup's hungry, I just wanted to drop off the cheese and flowers for Peeta's mom and say hello," she says, placing a kiss on Peeta's cheek as he hands her a fresh cheese bun and hops off the counter. She pauses at the door and turns, adding quietly, "I love you, Katniss."
She never passes up an opportunity to say that to me now and I cross the kitchen and place a kiss to her temple. I touch my forehead to hers; she's nearly as tall as me now, and smile. "I love you, too, little duck; better tuck in that tail," I laugh, putting my arms around her to tuck in the tail of her shirt. She laughs, too, kisses my nose and skips off with Buttercup at her heels.
Peeta and I return to our work and snack on the cheese buns spread with Prim's goat cheese and crisp apples. As we work side by side, moving with ease around each other and the kitchen, I wonder idly if this would be a bad life after all. The Capitol will surely stamp out any form of rebellion and when things finally simmer down will demand my marriage to Peeta. I think of Haymitch's words. You could do a lot worse, you know. And I know I could. I love Gale and I would never want to hurt him, but I can't help but think that he deserves something more than me. I can't give the necessary kind of love to him or to Peeta that it takes for marriage. Gale wants kids and a wife and a home, and I'm not capable of giving him that. The sooner he realizes this, the better. He needs to move on from me, because I can't give him the right kind of happy.
I watch Peeta. He surely deserves better than me, tons better. But he's chosen this course, honestly. I know he loves me with everything that he has, and I wonder if he'd be happy enough with just me. Surely with all that we've been through he couldn't possibly think about having children. He'd be the best father, I think. I know I can't give him that, though, not as long as there are the Games. But we seem happy enough, in this moment. And how could marriage be much different? More nights spent together, happy kisses, the more intimate sharing of our lives. I know I can be happy with Peeta. Happiness with him is as easy as breathing; it just comes naturally. I'm still debating on whether or not I could do this, finally settle things and make everyone happy when there's a knock on the back door. We both stop what we're doing and Peeta goes to open the door.
"Hey, little bro, give me a hand would ya?" one of the twins says, dumping a large bag into Peeta's arms and picking up one that had been set on the ground, and addresses me politely with a sly smile and slight dip of his head as he passes me, "Miss Katniss." I laugh as Peeta sighs loudly at his brother and together they haul in the bags while I hold the door open for them, picking up the last bag on the ground outside. I notice that the sun is fading fast and wonder where the day has gotten to. As Peeta's brother starts reloading the pantry with all the things they were running low on, his sleeve rises up his arm and I know by the small white heart shaped scar on the inside of his wrist that it's Nick.
When he's finished he dips his filthy hand in the broth of my stew and I smack him away, but he still sticks it in his mouth and grins at me. "Delicious, as always, Miss Everdeen," he comments happily, and even from his seat on the stool he's taller than me.
"Go wash up, Nick," I say with a roll of my eyes, turning my back to him and adding, "And keep your grubby hands OUT of my stew."
I feel his annoyance behind me as he leans against the counter and says way too innocently, "Did you sleep well last night?" And I know now that it was he who had come to wake Peeta, but stopped upon seeing us. I drop the fat chunk of venison fat into the stew with a large plop but don't turn around.
Peeta laughs, unaware and trying to wave it off as nothing, and I hear Nick leave the room and go up the stairs to bathe, leaving a smug air behind him. Mr. and Mrs. Mellark arrive next with armfuls of freshly baked bread to be delivered to other friends and families, including my own and Haymitch of course. With all of Peeta's winnings from the Games, Mrs. Mellark has become more lenient, lowering their prices dramatically and giving rolls to especially hungry looking townsfolk. She's become nicer. Mr. Mellark greets me with a smile and a pat on the back and I find that I don't even have to try to be nice to his wife. It comes easier now, and I try to put my ego aside when I think she's actually coming around to like me somewhat.
"Where's Basil?" I ask cheerily, leaning against the counter beside Peeta as the stew warms up. His arm rests behind me and I lean into him slightly, adding more to the argument still going on in my head over my relationship with him.
"Probably off with Maylee," she answers easily, naming Basil's girlfriend and sniffing the air, "The stew smells delicious, Katniss, you've really outdone yourself."
"Oh, it was nothing, really, but thank you," I smile graciously and I feel Peeta bump his hip against mine ever so slightly.
It was Effie, really, who pushed me to get on better terms with Peeta's family, the in-laws; better for the press, she'd said. But I really didn't mind. As I came to know more about my boy with the bread I became increasingly more interested in his family. I came to know them each in different ways. His father wasn't much of a talker but liked to teach, and had me baking all sorts of different loaves like I'd been doing it my whole life. Unlike the other talents Effie had tried out on me for the Victory Tour, baking seemed to come easily to me. Peeta's mother was a different story, hard pressed on keeping me shut out of every part of her life she could keep me from. But upon seeing her son's distress and I'm sure much behind-closed-doors pleading, she finally tried to make an effort to be nice to me. It came much easier than I thought it would. We're very much alike, really, which should seem odd but really it's not. But we still don't talk much. She admires my strength and determination. I admire her fierce protection of her family. Mostly I help with whatever she needs me to do; laundry, dirty dishes, dusting. It's easy work and fills up empty time. When we do talk it's about mutual friends and people we know from town, injured people she knows my mother to be caring for or just gossip. I'm not much of the type for gossip, but I make an effort.
Peeta's brothers are different, easy to talk to and quite charming like himself. They're easily closer to seven feet tall than six and thin, but muscular. They're always wearing smiles and while Basil has been in a steady relationship with his girlfriend since they were fourteen, Nick is the type to flirt around and bat his incredibly long lashes. Nick's heart shaped scar came from one of his more 'serious' relationships. He and the girl had fashioned a small heart out of an iron scrap they found and burned the shape into their skin. But that relationship ended almost as quickly as the searing pain set it. Unlike Peeta, they've both got thick dark locks and the color of their eyes reminds me of the fountain of melted chocolate they'd served us at the Capitol with an array of fruits and other delicacies. They treat me like the little sister they never had, poking my ribs and teasing me and tugging at the end of my braid. Peeta always groans at the twins' antics, but I don't mind it. I always wanted older brothers to protect me, take care of me for once.
Nick finally shows up and I watch from a slight distance as the family serves up plates and interacts in their own unique way. I realize I've grown to truly care and love this family, dysfunctional as they may be, but whose family isn't? I feel the smile spread across my face and Peeta comes up beside me.
"Are you going to join us tonight?" he wonders, offering me a plate full of food. I've had dinner here several times, enjoying the happy banter and feeling the happiness in the room; but I shake my head and the corners of my lips pull up slightly as I watch his face fall; always so eager to keep me around.
"No, I haven't been home today, and I think my mother's invited Haymitch and Sae for dinner," I answer honestly, shoving off from beside the counter.
"Well thank you for the stew, Katniss, and thank Prim for the cheese and flowers," Mrs. Mellark says, and puts on an easy smile. I realize I've come to not only tolerate her, but maybe even…like her. I smile back.
"It was no trouble at all," I reply easily, "And I'll tell her."
The twins are too busy stuffing their mouths full of bread and stew to say goodbye, so I laugh and flick both of their ears before dancing out of reach of their long arms. They eye me with identical masks of annoyance, but I can see the smiles they try to suppress. Peeta walks me to the door and tries to continue on to walk me to my house but I stop him.
"Stay and eat with your family," I say, and before he can protest, I surprise us both and get on my toes to kiss his cheek, "Thank you for last night."
"Anytime, Katniss, you know that," he replies softly, and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear that had fallen in my face, "Sweet dreams."
I have to laugh at that, and he joins in, because we both know there are no such things as sweet dreams anymore. He squeezes my hand and then I'm making the short journey back to my house. The moonlight shines down silvery and beautiful, uninhibited by clouds or fog or mist. In that short walk home, thinking back on my day - and night - with Peeta, I decide that if he were to ask me to marry him, I wouldn't say no. Because a life with him was far more than I could ever ask for. A soft smile is on my face as I enter the kitchen of my home.
Haymitch is there and Greasy Sae and one of her grandchildren, Atele, I think is her name. We have an easy dinner and carry on the conversation into the night in the living room. Greasy Sae bids her thanks and scoops up a sleeping Atele from beside the fire where she was curled up with Prim and Buttercup. Haymitch stumbles home, slightly less drunk than when he arrived. I tuck Prim into bed and kiss her nose, then sing her to sleep with that same sweet lullaby I sang to Rue. Then I allow my mother to tuck me in and she kisses my forehead and tells me she loves me. And for the first time in a very long time, when I have not Peeta or sleep syrup at my advantage, I sleep free of dreams.
Review pretty please?(: