I do not own The Hunger Games.
Raked Leaves
Peeta Mellark loves fall: the crisp, burnt smell in the air, the colors bursting on the trees before the leaves fall slowly to earth, the taste of pumpkin and apples and cranberries. Nights come earlier and turn brisk then downright chilly, so that sleeping with his window open becomes a pleasure and not a necessity. Not like in the long, brutally humid days and nights of summer. He doesn't even mind the crinkling of leaves underfoot as he runs around the district. It's a nice reminder that the pain of getting back in shape after the lazy days of summer won't last long.
His looping route takes him from his house past the high school and the bakery clear through the Meadow, where he does two laps just for good measure. Sometimes he changes it up and makes a circuit of the town center instead before putting his head down and setting a punishing pace for the other side of town. Either way, he always ends up in the same place. Always. In the two years he's been turning around just past his current destination, she's never once been outside.
Not once.
It's a gorgeous day out – not too hot, but still warm enough that he has to pause to take off his shirt after he's got the blood pumping – and it gets him out of the bakery. That's an added plus after the mood his mom's been in lately.
His legs have a nice burn going and he knows Coach will be happy with his getting a jump-start on conditioning for the season. He's really filled out this summer so maybe his wrestling singlet will finally fit the way it should. It's a bummer that he's not taller, like Bram, but at least his shoulder and arms and abs are all proportional now. All that should make winning at least sectionals a cinch.
He really pushes himself that last mile, thanks to AC/DC. The sweat pours off of him into his eyes, down his chest, trickling into waistband of his basketball shorts. He wishes he had cinched the arm band that holds his iPhone a little tighter as it slips a little around his biceps with every thud his feet make on the blacktop. It can't be help, though, and he's not going to stop now. Not when he's right around the corner from her house and the point when he can turn back. He pumps his arms as he sprints and his earbuds pop out, but he doesn't care. He's too busy giving it everything he's got. Just a little more—
SCRIIIIIIIICHHHHHH.
SCRIIIIIIICHHHHHH.
He's surprised by the noise of the rake over his own breathing, scraping like fingernails on a chalkboard across his nerves. It's accompanied by singing as he rounds the last corner. But it's not the sound of the full-bodied soprano that does him in. It's the sight of Katniss Everdeen in a pair of tiny cut-off shorts and a tank top that has seen better days that finally causes his head to snap back and track her as he bolts by.
Which is why he doesn't see the crack in the road partially covered by a raked pile of leaves.
-o—
"Peeta? Peeta?!"
I did not just trip in front of Katniss Everdeen. He catches his breath for a minute with his eyes closed and wonders if he's imagining the light touch of her hands on his arms, his legs. She's not that close to an embarrassing part of his anatomy. But she's closer than she's been in the twelve years he's known her.
"Katniss, I'm fine. Really." He groans as he sits up and rubs his head, intent on avoiding the indignity of his unrequited crush inadvertently stroking his hard-on. The pats stop, which he's grateful for, or else they would probably both be embarrassed. "Let me just get up-" Another groan slips out as he pushes himself to his feet.
"Here." Katniss holds out his t-shirt, which has somehow come untied from around his waist and is coated in bits of dried leaves and dirt that stick to the sweaty fabric. Her frown gets darker, eyebrows crowding her nose. For a second he wonders if it's because, crouched on the ground like she is, she's at eye-level with his dick. She waves at his leg. "You're bleeding."
He glances down in relief. He can handle a little blood. "Thanks. I'll…uh…just put some pressure on it. No worries." He leans down and presses his t-shirt against the previously unnoticed gash. He thinks he hears a quiet curse, which is impossible. Katniss Everdeen doesn't curse. Then again, maybe this entire scene is just a dream.
"You can't use that: it's filthy. You'll end up with a nasty infection, or blood poisoning or something." Her signature scowl firmly in place, she rises from her haunches to her feet in a graceful gesture that distracts him for a second as he ogles her legs. "Come on."
"What?"
She sighs like he's an idiot and she's barely suffering through the conversation. "Come on inside. You need Neosporin and a clean bandage."
Peeta doesn't feel like he's being nosy when he checks out the Everdeen's house. He's curious. After all, he's liked her forever and no one he knows as ever been invited inside. Oh sure, there's Madge. And Gale, of course. But Madge is shy enough that he wouldn't even know how to bring it up in conversation without it being awkward, and Gale would probably kick his ass for even being in Katniss's proximity. So he covertly checks out the living room, with its giant Naugahyde couch. He doesn't spot a TV anywhere, not even above the fireplace. There are books stacked on a lot of the flat surfaces and even overflowing onto the floor. It's a marked difference from his house, where his mother won't allow anything out of place.
They pass a room done up in shades of pink, purple and lavender. He's pretty sure it must be Prim's, especially when he spies a full scale mural of Twilight Sparkle on her wall. My Little Pony is just something he can't picture Katniss being into, but he always figured Prim as more of a Princess Celestia girl. Room ownership is practically confirmed two steps later when they pass another room done up in shakes of green and white. The white canopy bed isn't really Katniss's style, either, but the green ivy that climbs her wallpaper seems like something she'd prefer.
"The bathroom's right here. Let me find a Band-Aid. Why don't you take a seat?" Katniss motions to the obviously hand-hooked Hello Kitty toilet seat cover. He eases himself slowly onto the seat– he's already starting to feel sore from his tumble – and lets Katniss root around in the small space. It's pretty obvious it's the only bathroom in the house and there's girl-stuff strewn everywhere. He wishes he knew if the sugar cookie body lotion was hers or Prim's but he's not about to risk bodily injury by leaning in and taking a test whiff. Katniss slams a bunch of drawers open and shut and smacks a tube of antibiotic ointment, some gauze, and a bandage down on the counter.
"Here you go. I'll leave you to it," she says brusquely as she tugs on her braid.
His mouth goes slack. "You're not going to do it for me?" Instantly, he knows it's the wrong thing to say.
Her mouth tightens as she drops her braid and crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm not your nursemaid." When she sees his surprised expression, she softens. Or maybe, he thinks, it's the sight of his naked chest up close that has her suddenly blushing and flustered. "I'm not a big fan of blood. I'll uh…I'll be outside."
He rubs the back of his neck. "Makes sense. Thanks, Katniss."
She smiles. It's a small one, but it feels like a victory after his oh-so-graceful wipeout.
-o—
"You shouldn't be on that leg." She pauses her raking and calls to him as he walks down her front steps, "It will start bleeding again, if you're not careful."
He shrugs. "I've got to get home somehow." It's not lost on him that they've both put shirts on. Hers looks like a worn, soft flannel and he wonders how it would feel if he touched it.
"You're going to run back? That's got to be five miles away! How come you were so far out here, anyway?"
He ignores her question and the blush that creeps up his neck. "Rye and Bram are at the bakery. The only person who's home is my mom." He doesn't have to say anything more for Katniss to know he'd rather gnaw off his leg than call her. Theirs is not the best relationship. You don't have to be close to Peeta's to know it, either.
Katniss chews her lip thoughtfully. "Maybe I could have Gale give you a ride home? I'm sure he'd do it."
Peeta's not sure about that at all, unless it's for Gale to get him as far away from Katniss as humanly possible. But he can see how that's fair. Gale is Katniss's boyfriend, after all. "Uh, sure. If that would make you feel better. I mean, he'd probably be weirded-out that some strange guy was here with you, alone." He winces. Good going, Mellark. Now you sound like a creepy stalker.
Katniss doesn't even look like she's paying attention as she thinks out loud. "My mom could take you, but she won't be home until six. It will be dark then. Wouldn't you rather I call someone like Delly? Won't she be worried?" Katniss pulls her braid over her shoulder and tugs on the end of it. Her eyes rest on the box of leave bags next to her rake.
"Delly? What's Del got to do with it? Besides, she's at work. It sounds like it's either Gale or hang out here. Maybe I could help you rake? Hold the bag or something? It's the least I can do for you letting me clean up inside I won't stay, though, if it's going to make things weird between you and Gale."
Katniss stares at him for a minute before his implication sinks in. When she finally gets it, she refutes it in a rush, "Oh my….we're not together. Gale and I. We're not…we've never…we're not together." Her face is the color of her red flannel shirt.
"You're not? But I thought…" He exhales a deep breath. "I'm an idiot."
"So, you're welcome to stay. As long as it's not going to make things weird with Delly."
Peeta's eyes snap open at the second mention of his best friend. "Katniss, Delly's not my girlfriend."
"No?"
"No. Never has been. Never will." He shudders. "She's like the sister I never wanted."
Katniss smiles wide enough that Peeta can see the dimple in one cheek. They stare at each other for a full minute.
Her chin dips just a bit when she says, "I'd like the help. Thanks."
-o—
A camaraderie-filled hour later, Katniss's stomach lets out a horrific growl. Peeta just laughs at her mortification. He's been keeping the conversation going, putting her at ease at every turn. It's going to take more than a grumbling stomach to wreck what has turned out to be his best day ever. "Easy there, killer. Is it time for a break? It sure sounds like you could use one."
Katniss looks around the yard and the progress they've made while she waits for her burning cheeks to cool down. "Sure. Yeah. It's probably time to cry off for the day, anyway."
Peeta frowns, seeing their time together come to an end. "You sure? You've still got half the yard to do. And the light isn't totally gone yet."
"We've made good process today. Come on inside. And grab that box of leaf bags, will you? Put them on the porch."
By the time Peeta joins her inside, she's frowning more severely than she has in several hours as she plunks a loaf of Sara Lee white bread and a jar of Concord grape jelly on the counter. She's also mumbling to herself. And, although not really blushing, her color is high.
"Hey, you alright? What's up?" She can't meet his eyes and his stomach plummets.
She lets out a huff of exasperation. "My mom was supposed to go shopping, but she must have…forgotten. Our snack choices are limited." She waves her hand over the bread and jelly. "This is it."
He can't help the relief he feels that she's not pissed at him. He assesses the meager offerings and then side-eyes her while he cracks his knuckles. "This is like a cooking challenge. Stand aside, and let's see what we have to work with."
"Peeta-"
He thinks – hopes – he's making her feel better. So he fixes her with his sternest look, although his eyes haven't stopped twinkling all afternoon. "Katniss, move aside. You may be an eleven on a scale from one to ten when we're outside, but I work in a bakery, remember? This is my arena."
She's right, the ingredients are sparse. But he manages to throw together a filling of canned chicken breast, Neufchatel that's barely in date, hot sauce, butter, a little onion powder, and celery salt of indeterminate age. He makes a face as he toasts the bread slightly to give it more body, then spreads the filling on it for sandwiches and cuts off the crusts. Once that's done, he takes a single-serving oatmeal tub, the kind with a packet of nuts and raisins attached to the top, and adds some butter, a spoonful of flour and sugar, and a squeeze packet of applesauce. He has to root around in the cupboard until he finds the cinnamon to add just a dash. Finally, he spoons it into 2 mounds on the toaster oven sheet pan and throws it in.
Katniss is astounded at her lunch. The whole house smells amazing – like cinnamon and oatmeal cookies and home. Like it used to, before her dad passed away and her mom checked out. "Peeta…how did you do this?"
"I work in a bakery, remember?" He chews his sandwich thoughtfully while they wait for the cookies to cool. "I only wish I had some better bread to work with."
Katniss stares at him for a minute, sandwich dangling from her fingertips before a half-laugh, half-snort escapes her lips. Once it's out there, she can't stop laughing. Pretty soon she has to put her sandwich down or risk dropping it as tears gather in the corner of her eyes. She ends up bent over, gasping for breath as tears streak down her face when she finally tries to explain, "I'm sorry. Really. It's just too much. My little sister gets her first kiss before I do and then you eat dirt outside my front door almost on the same day. Is this…is this a dream? And you? You're captain of the wrestling team and practically class president and everyone likes you. You show up and make me little finger sandwiches and cookies and you're a bread snob and I just… I can't…."
Peeta waits with his hands on his lean hips until her little storm subsides into barely-there hiccups. "Why wouldn't I be a bread snob? I told you, I work in a bakery." He cocks his head to the side, eyes darkening with possibilities as more of what she's said sinks in. "I'm not captain of the wrestling team, nor am I class president. And did you just say you've never been kissed?"
A tremor of silent laughter shakes her body like an aftershock. It helps to hide her nervous gulp. "It's totally normal!" She crumbles some of her oatmeal cookie, refusing to meet his eyes, a familiar scowl on her face. "Kisses don't grow on trees. And it's not like anyone's volunteering to kiss me."
Peeta takes a step toward her, hardly daring to believe his luck. It's a brazen move, but the odds were finally in his favor. "What if I did?"
She looks up, obviously surprised at his proximity. "You'd do that? For me?"
He answers her by gently reaching out to play with the end of her braid. "Just close your eyes and pretend that we're madly in love." She doesn't close her eyes like he asked, but that's alright. Because he's not wasting this chance to lower his lips slowly and gently to hers.