Better Left Unsaid
I'm sorry to everyone who has waited patiently for me to update other stories: Life just got away from me, and between work and a move and such, this is the first time I've bothered writing in a long time.
This is a one shot (it's all I have time for) But I'd love to hear some opinions on it. The premise is that Peeta and Prim were never drawn, and Peeta never did work up the courage to talk to Katniss. Years down the road Peeta is walking his first born to school and remembers the conversation with his father on the first day of school, and realizes he has a decision to make.
Warning: ANGST! Lots of angst.
Disclaimer: If I were Suzanne Collins I'd have time to write a lot more. I'd also be rich. As clearly neither of these things is true, please don't come after me.
Peeta flinched at the loud crash a floor below him, smiling a little in spite of himself at the tiny "Oops" that followed it. It wasn't Rye's fault, he reasoned, that he'd inherited his father's clumsiness: And even if he hadn't, he was bound to be more clumsy today, with as nervous as he had been for weeks about his first day at school.
Peeta thought back briefly to his own first day at school, but stopped himself before he could think too much: It was better this way.
"Don't forget to take your lunch," His wife, Delly, reminded their son, holding out a bag that Peeta knew would contain a crusty day-old roll, an apple and a cookie. At least he had a wife, Peeta knew, who also valued their children as much as he did and would do what she could to ensure their safety and happiness. Unlike his father, Peeta was not stuck trying to talk Delly into acts of kindness, like sneaking a cookie into a lunch bag to ease their son's first-day nerves. Delly's acts of kindness were her own, like his often were, and needed no encouragement.
"Are you ready?" Peeta asked his son, trying to keep his own emotions in check. If Rye saw him waver, his son would get upset, and with how anxious he already was that was the last thing any of them needed.
Sure enough, Rye saw the set of his father's jaw and pressed his own lips together firmly, nodding as certainly as a round-faced little boy of five could.
The walk to the school was a long one, filled with older children both dragging their feet to return to the classroom, and parents feeling the need, like he had, to maintain tradition and escort the new children on their first day. Delly had agreed to maintain the bakery for the few minutes this task would take, and Peeta was more grateful to her for that than he'd even had the words to say: His own father had walked all of his sons to school on their first day, and since he had passed away last year, any traditions involving his father had become more priceless and valuable.
Rye remained quiet, his eyed determinedly focused on his bright red sneakers below, his chubby little hands gripping the straps of his book bag in a white-knuckle grip. Peeta looked over at his son, wanting more than anything in the world to ease his nerves, but unsure of what to say that could possibly help.
"I was nervous too, on my first day," He reassured Rye, his voice hushed so that only his son could hear him. "I had such bad butterflies in my stomach that I almost threw up breakfast, and my dad had to beg me to get me to leave the house. You're doing a much better job of this than I did."
"What made you feel better?" Rye asked him plaintively, his big blue eyes wide and slightly wet with a sheen of unshed tears. Peeta tried to remember what his father had done to help him feel better, and as if summoned by the thought, there she was.
Katniss Everdeen, or Hawthorne as she was now called, hadn't lost any of her beauty to age: In fact, if he didn't know better, Peeta would swear that the years had only made her face more lovely. Her shining grey eyes were focused on the school in front of them, her hand wrapped around that of a little girl with equally dusky skin and much shorter, curlier braids in her hair. The little girl smiled up at her mother, revealing a missing front tooth, and Peeta opened own mouth to say something to Rye, only to close it again quickly.
Some things were better left unsaid. It was better this way, he reassured himself.
"I made friends, I met people: School stopped being somewhere scary, and became somewhere I got to see my friends. You know, that's how your mom and met for the first time, as friends when we sat together in our first year at school."
"Really?" Rye asked, his lips threatening a smile, and Peeta pulled his eyes firmly away from the woman they'd latched onto to focus solely on his son.
"Really," He assured the boy, leaning down to give him a hug. "Just don't be afraid to talk to anyone and everyone, the way your mother does. You never know who might be willing to be your friend."
Relieved that his nerves seemed to have abated, Peeta leaned down to hug his son, then watched as the boy walked up to the brick building, waiting until his little blond head disappeared behind the doors before turning to go back to the bakery, resolutely ignoring all the other parents dropping off their off spring, including the woman with the braid. It was better this way, he reminded himself.
There were orders to fill, and before Peeta knew it his son's first day at school had come and gone, and Rye was bounding in the back door with all the energy that only one at his age could muster.
"Did you have a good first day," He heard Delly ask their son as he rung up a purchase of bread for Mrs. Winston and her husband.
"It was great! I made new friends with Lilly and Daisy and they're friends with Violet, who I don't really like but I let her sit with us, and Thornton and I had lunch together and he threatened to beat up Jacob when he was mean to me, and..." Peeta missed about half the words his son was spewing, splitting his attention between the next customer and his son's endless dialogue until he heard Rye say, "And I didn't even tell you the best part! There was music class, and this girl, Ivy, she stood up in front of everyone and sang the Valley song, and Mom- It was beautiful."
Peeta froze, his eyes far away on a day from a long time ago, when a little girl in a red plaid dress with two braids had sung the same tune, and he had been similarly entranced. He listened, that sinking feeling in his stomach not subsiding, even as he reminded himself that he'd known Ivy Hawthorne was the same age as Rye, and that every class always sang the Valley song.
Rye clambered up the stairs to the loft to change into his play clothes, and Delly sighed as she hung up his book bag and surveyed the cookies still on display in the front. "It sounds like young love, doesn't it?" She asked Peeta wistfully, oblivious to the rock settling in her husband's stomach.
"Yes, it does," Peeta choked out, returning to the cash register up front to focus on anything and everything else.
Some things were better left unsaid... And apparently, some things didn't have to be said at all, and history would still repeat itself.