The doorknob turned smoothly in his hand, and he pushed it open, careful not to jostle the cake he held in one hand, nor drop the bright bunch of daffodils tucked under his arm. It wasn't much, he knew, but it was the best he could - he'd barely managed to scrape inside the door at the florist before closing time as it was. He was exhausted, his days at the bakery seemed to be getting longer and all he really wanted right now was a cold beer and Katniss wrapped around him, naked.

And seeing as right now he had a fat chance in hell of getting the second, he was going to settle for the first. After he saw the patient, of course.

Placing the cake and flowers on the wide butcher-block table that took up most of their kitchen, he stopped and listened, waited to see if he could hear her. He'd gotten used to coming home to hear her grumbling at the cat, or yelling at the tv, at some woman who was spending $20,000 on a wedding dress. But there was silence throughout the house, and he breathed a sigh of relief. If she was asleep, maybe he still had time to reheat the leftovers from last night and crack open a beer before-

"Peeta?" The voice that called was low, and husky from sleep. And grumpy. Very grumpy.

Katniss with a cold was a headache.

Katniss with a broken leg was a nightmare.

"Yeah, Kat, I'm home. I'll be up in a minute," he called back to her, turning to the fridge and pulling out the container of food. He opened the door on the microwave - he hated reheating food, absolutely hated it - and, popping the lid on the container slightly, shoved it in, closing the door and setting the timer. He walked towards the stairs, then pivoted, yanking open the fridge again and grabbing a Sam Adams.

Dammit, he was going to need it if she was in a bad mood.

Peeta climbed the stairs, skipping the one that always squeaked under his weight, and took a pull on the beer, letting the cool amber liquid slide down his throat. It had been as hot as hell in the bakery today, and the ice water he'd chugged constantly had done nothing but make him piss like a racehorse. This was much more satisfying.

He turned the corner into their bedroom and leant against its frame, lazily crossing one foot in front of the other. He watched as his wife struggled to pull herself upright, her plastered leg stretched out in front of her, her hair a tangled mess around her face. The scowl was broad across her face, the sigh she released deep and bordering on comical in its expulsion. Even as he felt the waves of frustration emanating off of her, he couldn't help but smile.

Katniss may have been annoying when she was frustrated, but she was still cute.

"Hey," he said softly. She glanced up, and huffed out a breath, leaning against the headboard.

"Ugh, Peeta, I am so sick of this," she complained, slapping her arm on the top of the cast. Which she realised was a bad idea the minute the lance of pain would have shot up her leg, and he watched her grimace.

"Katniss, it's been a week," he reminded her. "You still have to have that cast on for at least another 6."

"Then I'll be even more sick of it by then," she retorted, and reached up to push the long, knotted ebony strands out of her eyes. He crossed the room and settled on the bed beside her, his legs stretched out alongside hers.

"You don't have to stay up here all day, you know. Just because you've got a broken leg doesn't mean you have to stay in bed all the time."

"I know that," she snapped. "The last thing I want is to be in bed all day. But…."

"But what?"

Her hands fell in her lap, her fingers twisting together. Her words were quiet as she spoke. "My pain meds make me sleepy, and sluggish. I just want to lie here. I don't want to do anything. I feel lazy. And I'm slow. I can't move like I normally can, not with those stupid crutches. I'm useless."

He hated the sound of helplessness in her voice, hated how her medication was making her feel. She'd put up a fight at first, hadn't wanted to take them, had thrown the pill bottle out the window in defiance. But the break had been a bad one, and she'd cried through the first night, in a way he'd never heard before. It took a morning of cajoling and a promise of cheese buns on demand to get her to agree to take them, but she still wasn't completely happy about it.

Peeta placed his beer on his bedside table, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close to his side. "You're not useless, or lazy, or slow. Yes, things might be a little awkward for you for the next few weeks, and you won't be able to lead a hike any time soon. But you'll get used to it - you'll be doing everything you normally do in no time. I promise." He brushed his other hand along the thigh of her uninjured leg. "Plus, we agreed that if you didn't like how the meds made you feel, you would stop them."

"Well….they help," she acquiesced, shrugging.

"Then keep taking them."

"But I can 't do anything. I'm like one of those animals that does nothing!" Katniss whined, and he smiled to himself. This was more like it. This was the Katniss he'd gotten used to this week.

"Then, baby, I don't know what I can do. I can help you downstairs if you like, we can watch something on Netflix. Eat the leftovers from last night."

"But I want to go out into the woods!"

He sighed, tracing circles lazily on the olive skin revealed by the cropped cotton shorts she wore. "Then you shouldn't have fallen out of that tree," he reminded her.

"Because I did it intentionally and all," she scoffed.

"Fair point," he conceded. "But we're not going to go out into the woods, not now. The sun is already starting to set, and the last thing we need to do is fumble around finding our way home in the dark." He raised an eyebrow at her as she opened her mouth to argue with him, and she shut it again with an annoyed click of her teeth. "Tomorrow, ok? We'll go out tomorrow, when the bakery is closed."

"It's Sunday already?" she groaned. "Where did the week go?"

"It went in a haze of Say Yes to the Dress and those other reality shows I always found you watching."

"There was nothing else on," Katniss blushed, looking away, and he snorted.

"If you say so," he agreed, picking up the bottle and raising it to his lips. He swallowed the liquid thirstily, and caught Katniss staring at him out of the corner of his eye. "What?" he asked, lowering the bottle.

"Nothing," she replied, but he knew that voice.

"What, Katniss?" he repeated. She fidgeted, curling her finger into the bottom of the tank she was wearing.

"You take far better care of me than I do you," she finally sighed. "I just get shitty with you all the time. Even now I'm acting shitty at you."

"Who's to say I'm not shitty with you?" he quipped, but his grin belied his words. "Kat, I love you, ok? Remember when we said "In sickness and in health"? We both said it, and meant it. We show it in different ways. I'm just a little better at it than you are."

She snorted and stuck out her tongue at him; his hand shot out and captured her chin in his grasp, his fingers cupping it's rounded edge. "Don't make promises you can't keep," he told her with a quick grin, and he pressed a quick kiss to her lips as he began to rise off the bed, placing the now empty bottle on the table again. "I'm going to go down and get dinner - I'm pretty sure it's heated and cooled down again by now. I'll heat it again and bring it back up-" the words caught in his throat as she tugged on his arm, sending him tumbling onto the bed beside her. She hadn't lost any of her strength in her arms, he mused to himself as he propped himself up on his elbow.

"I'm not hungry for food, Peeta Mellark," she told him, a wicked spark in her eye that hadn't been there a minute ago. "And my mouth isn't broken." She placed a finger on her lips, tapping against it gently. "Now get over here and kiss me properly. I'm pretty sure that's going to be the kind of medicine I need."

Maybe this week wasn't going to be as bad as he'd first thought.