When one gives thanks in a most unusual manner.
For the Monthly Oneshot Challenge at Caesar's Palace. I have no beta, so please, review with constructive criticism. Flames feed the pet balrog.
Saying I love you
Is not the words I want to hear from you
It's not that I want you
Not to say, but if you only knew
How easy it would be to show me how you feel
More than words is all you have to do to make it real
Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me
'Cause I'd already know – "More Than Words"
There was a crisp tang to the air surrounding Katniss that warned her that the first snow of the season would soon be upon her. Lately, she'd taken to doing as much daydreaming as hunting most mornings when she was out in the woods, especially with all of the changes at home. She couldn't afford to dawdle though; instead, she was eager to bring home some venison to her loved ones. It was the least she could do, after all. Rubbing at the ache in her breasts, she took careful aim and brought down the buck that had been in her sights.
Katniss was never good with words, not when they were personal anyway. Her public appearances during the Games, and her role as the Mockingjay, well, those were different. They served a purpose (keeping her alive and inciting revolution), but to her, in the grand scheme of her life, there were unimportant, ephemeral. It was hard to say things that others found so easy early on in life, those little nicities that keep civilized society running smoothly – the white lie, an apology, thanks, verbal expressions of love, those were hard and anyway, the Capitol had taught her that words were meaningless. It was your actions that matter. Here, in the wintery stillness, she was able to just be, to cherish the life she now had, and continue to do those things that told them how she felt – like that buck. She'd overheard him saying that he missed the taste of venison sausage in the mornings. This was something she could do, especially after all they had done for her. Hauling the buck home in the early hours of the morning, she was eagerly awaiting being with her family for breakfast. Slowly, quietly, she leaves the buck in the new shed built out back for dressing meat, and tiptoes inside, for once being first in the kitchen. She takes the loaf that Peeta started the night before, puts it in the oven, and begins to brew Haymitch's coffee.
All too suddenly, a wail pierces the air, increasing the pain in her breasts. Haymitch appears in the kitchen with baby Prim in his arms. "She's been sucking the hell out of my finger, and I'm not makin' what she's wantin', sweetheart," he tells her as he hands the baby over. Soon, Katniss is nursing the baby while Haymitch sets the table and Peeta pulls the bread from the over and starts the rest of breakfast. The scent of the coffee, rich and dark, the aroma of freshly baked bread that escapes as the loaf is sliced, these things, combined with the contended coos of the baby create an air of domesticity that she never would have believed herself capable of wanting. She informs the men that she has a gift for them in the shed, and that she'll be making venison steaks for dinner. The twin expressions of joy are so full of gratitude that a tear escapes.
This is how they express their love and gratitude for each other. None of them trust words, for they have all been injured by them. Instead, in the small day to day actions, they tell one another over and over again "I love you," in a perfectly brewed cup of tea, handed over when the drinker was ready for a second cup. They express their thanks for sharing their lives by doing laundry, even though it isn't their turn. They say, "this is forever," in the changing of diapers and bringing the baby to Katniss so she doesn't have to get out of bed. And at night, when caresses are shared, lips are tasted, and scars and gently soothed with a touch, the myriad of emotions that encompass a loving, full life are shared so openly and honestly that more than words, it is these moments that truly say, "Thank you for being in my life."