Here's another Hunger Games fic. It goes through the whole series, dedicating a color to each 'major' scene as told by Peeta. This was also a product of salanderjade and I's conversations. I thank you for reading and I ask you to please leave a review.
I don't own the Hunger Games.
'Peeta crouches down on the other side of her and strokes her hair. When he begins to speak in a soft voice, it seems almost nonsensical, but the words aren't for me.
"With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby's skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water." '
-Suzanne Collins, Catching Fire
To Paint a Rainbow
Silver, gunmetal, slate, cloud, dove, pepper. Grey.
I remember the first time I saw here, the first legitimate time I really saw her. Not the time I saw her singing in class, dressed in her little red dress. Not the day I fell in love with her, not when all the other children looked at her in awe for the beauty of her voice.
I remember when I saw her, and her hair was plastered against her skull. I can still see the gaunt cheekbones sticking out of her face. I wondered silently to myself if she was crying, but the water coursing over her face could simply have been the rain.
My mother had hissed at her, called her something worse than an animal, and in my short fit of rage, I burnt the bread that was supposed to be for the mayor.
My blood was boiling in a way I hadn't previously thought possible. I could feel my fingers shaking, and my jaw grinding. She was calling that girl useless, she was calling my Katniss worthless.
So in that instant, I let the baking bread rest against the searing metal sides of the oven, waiting a few heartbeats for the dough to burn. And when it did, the kitchen filling up with the smell, she turned on me, sky blue eyes narrowed into slits.
She screamed my name, and I didn't even cringe when her palm came in contact with my cheek. I let her hit me, and scream at me to throw the bread out to the pigs. I obeyed until my feet hit the wet planks of the porch.
My eyes found hers, and I saw the way starvation had taken ahold of her, and I tossed the bread out to her. Begging with God that it would be enough that they could get through another day.
I could see shock register on her pale face, her skin looking ashen and bleached. But then her grey eyes flickered up to mine, and something like admiration played behind them.
That was the first time I honestly saw her. And that was the moment I knew I would never have my heart back.
x. o. x. o.
Honey, golden, sunshine, buttercup, blond, canary. Yellow.
I felt my heart in my throat as soon as I heard her name. Primrose Everdeen. That was her sister, her pretty, delicate fragile little sister. And I knew the second the name left Ms. Trinket's mouth that Katniss would be entering the Games.
She kept her family alive for far too long to let her precious sister die in the arena. I wanted to reach out to her, to tell her she would be fine, that she could make it.
But that other boy was there. The one she hunted with, the one she spent so much of her time with. And I knew, even if I had stepped forth, she would have looked at me like a stranger.
I was the boy who gave her bread that one time. The dark haired hunter was the one who helped her feed her family all the other times. I wasn't anything compared to that other man.
Peeta Mellark.
I almost didn't catch the last few syllables of my name. It rang around the silent array of people, and my heart started to fall back to my chest.
That's me. I'm Peeta Mellark.
Once the thought crossed my mind my feet were already carrying me to her. To my rightful place beside her. And I knew, somewhere in my guts, that this was the only chance I had to show her that I was so much more than a one time show. That I could protect her, that I could be the one to bring her back home.
That even though that hunter had been her best friend for years, I could be the best thing that ever happened to her.
And I was determined to prove it.
x. o. x. o.
Carmine, crimson, burning, flame, maroon, scarlet. Fire.
Her hand was clutching mine, cutting off circulation to the tips of my fingers. But I didn't care. She was there beside me. Flaming and burning in our odd black suits. We were on display for the Capitol. For these freaks that cheer when children die.
I smiled at them, for her future was in their hands and mine in turn. I needed them, I needed their gifts, and if smiling and waving at them as if this were a simple parade was enough, then I'd ride this chariot every day. I'd light myself on fire every day, because that was so much easier.
The Girl on Fire.
It was such a true statement. It was Katniss, through and through. It described her. She could illicit action with a look, with a word, with her presence. She was combustible, and everything around her was doused in her radiation.
The fire coming from our costumes lit up the faces of that odd menagerie of colors. They watched her as if this was simply a circus, and Katniss was the ring leader. She was the spark that was lighting the tinder that was Panem. And these people? They didn't even see it.
Her soft fingers tightened more around mine, and I wondered if my hand would break. But I could see the look in her grey eyes, the look that said she was scared, but amazed, and I gave her a squeeze back. I was drowning in her radiation, taken right there with the unknown presence she carried. And I couldn't help but smile even wider. She was beside me, after all. She was alive, and that's what counted.
x. o. x. o.
Cherry, poppy, blood, brick, copper, garnet. Red.
The first time I caught fire, we were in the cave. She had just come back with medication from the Cornucopia, which saved me from blood poisoning. She had a cut above her eyebrow, blood leaking out and running over her skin.
She kissed me, and I felt myself catch. Like dried out straw soaked with gasoline. I caught fire, and I knew it would never burn out.
Her lips touched mine, our breath mixing in invisible clouds. I'm not going to play innocent and say I had never kissed a girl before. There were a few, Delly and her friend. A black haired girl from my gym class. I was curious about the way it felt, and they seemed to be too. But with them, it was just delicate skin pressed together. They didn't lite anything, did cause the colors in the world to swirl together.
But Katniss did. The colors melted and renewed before my pale lashes. They mixed into a twisted rainbow, almost wicked in intensity, but then they calmed. Simply brighter than before, more defined, more precise. And I wondered, if I kissed her long enough, and watched the colors swirl, if painting a rainbow would be any easier.
I peeked out at her, and saw from the way her eyes opened and how dilated her pupils were, I could tell she saw it too. The odd rainbow of colors bursting behind our lashes.
I was about to kiss her again, just let our lips brush together. Maybe for the chance to study colors, maybe just because I had a weird starving chasm in my chest, I can't really say.
But her head started to bleed furiously, and I pulled away from her. Gently taking her and laying her down, gathering whatever I could to try and staunch the flow of sticky red that was traveling down her face.
The red was at an odd contrast with her olive toned skin, but she was beautiful. I felt my eyes trace around the contours of her jaw, and the curve of her cherry lips, and I knew that if we got out of this alive, if we could survive that I had to kiss her again. Even if the next time would be the last.
x. o. x. o.
Lavender, lilac, amethyst, orchid, periwinkle, violet. Purple.
I felt my heart twist sickeningly. There was blood streaming from my leg, coating my jeans in crimson. There was a mix of metallic and sweat in the air, tanging against my tongue in an unpleasant way. Cato was dead a few yards off, an arrow through his heart in a last ditch effort at mercy.
I swallowed and looked at the girl in front of me, and I knew she was as shocked as I was. They changed the rules back. They were trying to force us to kill one another.
Truly, the star-crossed lovers from poor District 12.
They wanted me to go for her throat, try and fight her off with my bare hands. The Gamesmakers wanted a show to be remembered. But as I watched her, and noted again the line of her jaw, and the tapering of her wrists, I knew I would never be able to harm a hair on her head.
How was bread supposed to hurt an arrow?
I looked at the ground then, the red was pooling against the grass, staining it in my scarlet. "Do it," I said. My voice was weak, and I knew even if she just waited another few seconds, I would be dead anyway.
I saw her shake her head from the corner of my eye, and heard a soft no come from her lips. If she just let me kiss her one more time, I would be fine with dying. I did my job, I saved her, I gave her everything I could. I just wanted her to kiss me, to see those beautiful colors dance again, and to die with her being the last thing I saw.
I had a family, but not one that truly needed me. I didn't have a girl to go home to, the only girl I wanted had to make it back to her family. To her hunter boy. I didn't want to be in the way of that.
I was about to start a whole speech, professing the fact that I had never lied to her. I really did love her and cherish her and that had I the chance, I would have made her the happiest girl alive. I would have baked her bread every day, woke her up with soft kisses and light smiles. I would have drawn her likeness any time I could. I would have painted her the forest she so desperately loved.
The words were a flood on the tip of my tongue but with shaking hands and trembling pale fingers, she held out a slightly crushed pile of berries. They were purple, and plum colored liquid leaked across her palm. The contrast was again beautiful, the indigo with her olive skin, but I held my hand out instinctively. Whatever she wanted I would do it for her.
Realization had dawned on me, they were the berries that killed Foxface.
"Together," she whispered, I nodded and took her free hand in mind and tucked her palm as safely as I could against my skin. She was warm, and it was a welcome relief on my cold fingers. The blood loss was starting to affect me.
With a final look, she brought the berries to her lips, and I did too. Mirroring her. In that last instant, when the berries were about to fall on our tongues, there was a booming voice that drowned through the arena. The victory tune started to play, and we let the fruit fall from our mouths.
They had their winners.
x. o. x. o.
Aqua, cerulean, sky, cobalt, turquoise, sapphire. Blue.
I could hear her screaming.
It practically echoed off the walls of the train, and bounced through the corridors. It rang through my skull and broke my heart.
The first time I heard her, I didn't know what to do. It sounded like someone was stabbing her, ripping her throat out, or simply burning her alive. I went to her door that first night, listened for a few seconds and heard sobs after the noises.
I could imagine tears like crystals falling from her ash eyes, leaving tracks down her skin and tumbling into the blankets around her. I rested against the doorway that night, determined that I'd go in and talk to her if she would wake again.
But she didn't, and I woke up in dusty air, Haymitch's foot knocking gently against my side. He watched me a moment, expression slightly blurred from the weak sunlight streaming behind him, but I understood anyways. I drug myself off the floor and headed to my bedroom for a quick shower before starting the day.
That night the screaming was different. It was louder and seemed to hit a fragile part of my heart. I went to her door again, but the shrieks didn't stop like they did the night before. They continued and I let my fingers grasp the cool metal of the knob. Entering I could see her curled into a ball, twisted and tangled in her comforter.
I vaguely heard the door shut softly behind me as I stepped closer to her. "Katniss," I hadn't been in this position before. Comforting someone who was as broken as I was. I mumbled her name a few more times and rested on the mattress beside her.
Finally, after another handful of moments, her grey eyes opened wide in the dim light. She murmured my name, and her arms wrapped around me, reaching blindly for someone to hold onto. I don't think she meant to, but she was warm, and she rested her head against my chest, and I couldn't help but lace my own arms around her waist.
Katniss pressed closer against me, and I felt dampness seep through my shirt, and her trembling vibrated through my skin. I offered her what I could, mainly just my body heat and the even heartbeat in my chest. After an eternity I felt her tense arms relax, her breathing start to even, and I knew she was probably asleep.
I repositioned us, so that I could try and sleep too. Her head rested on my chest, a hand up under her chin, right above the hollow that held my heart. I swallowed, with a quickened pulse, and placed a kiss into her hair.
This was our first contact since the forced kisses, since winning the Games. And once a few more nights passed, it became common place for me to travel the short distance to her bed in the dark shadows. It felt right for her to be clutching me, and some far part of me gloated over the thought but I quickly quashed it.
It was probably the first time I slept calmly since the Games as well, and the only thing I could thank for this comfort was the fact that Katniss was plagued by nightmares. And that was the new dynamic to our relationship.
x. o. x. o.
Ivory, alabaster, bleach, flour, milk, snow. White.
I thought proposing would be more difficult. Like I would stutter, or get flustered… just something. But it was relatively easy, odd considering it was in front of the entire population of Panem.
If had been for us, just for the two of us, it would have been much more personal, with just the two of us. Maybe just being together, her watching me while I painted. It would have been casual, because I know she would have wanted it to be so.
But I got down on my knee, and pulled out a ring. I never told her, but it really was my mother's engagement ring.
She blushed, I wasn't sure if it was because she knew this was being broadcast, or if she really was surprised.
I knew it wasn't real, that none of it was real. And I tried to convince myself of that fact every time workers strolled by delivering a huge box to the Everdeen house. They were full of white dresses, with taffeta, ruffles, silk, and corsets. I tried to tell myself it wasn't real, but every single time they passed a smile would capture my face and my heart beat a little faster. Because at some point soon, she would be my wife.
I understood it was for the Capitol, it was so that Snow wouldn't kill her family. So that he wouldn't kill mine. I knew it was her way of protecting Gale, her hunter. I knew it wasn't real.
But there was always a part of me that hoped. Whether just in the Games, or when I threw Katniss the piece of burnt bread. I still wonder, sometimes, whether that was a truth about human nature. That we send our children to kill each other so that we can indulge in the fleeting relief that hope brings us.
We're simple creatures, who devise ways of destruction to have that moment of hope.
More boxes came; there was talk of what flowers to pick. They almost suggested that we order a cake, but I decided to just make it myself. I couldn't help but imagine her dark hair against the stark white of her dress. The contrast, the beauty of dark and light. I could see her small set of curves being hugged by some sort of delicate fabric, one that would complement her in a way that jeans and t-shirts couldn't.
Cinna stopped by, smiled and congratulations in order. He asked what I wanted, requested I described what I saw her in on our big day. He knew it wasn't real, he knew it was a lie. But he asked anyway, and for some reason, I knew he knew it was more to me than a simple ceremony. That to me, somewhere in my heart, it was real.
He showed me sketches, and different fabric samples. He told me to touch each swath, claiming that I would be the only other person to be intimate with it. I couldn't help but grin a little at that.
Even if this were true to her, Katniss had a sort of complex about phobia. And I knew that even if she said yes on her own terms, that intimacy was out of the question.
There was no way to end the dreams though. The ones that made me see her so happy and healthy. There were a few where she kissed me and let the straps of a white dress fall delicately from her shoulders. But whatever marriage dreams there were, they were a small blessing, a small present she inadvertently gave me. Because they were a welcome relief from the nightmares, a break from the constant flow of fear and anxiety that plagued me when she wasn't around.
Her dark hair was piled in odd curls in some, wisps falling and framing her cheeks, her dove eyes alight and gleaming with happy tears. Other times the brown tresses were bound in a simple braid over her shoulder, white flowers mixed in. But anyway she looked, whatever fabric they put on her, any make-up they coated on her skin, she was always Katniss. She caused a sensation to bubble deep in my chest, one that went past my very core, and reached a string that seemed to hold me together.
And for those few weeks, those relatively un-stressful weeks, I was happy.
It wasn't real, and it wasn't truly for me. But sometimes… I'd let myself believe it was.
x. o. x. o.
Apricot, carrot, coral, peach, copper, tangerine. Orange.
I could see the sun dipping low in the horizon, and orange was painted across the sky in deep strokes, with different levels of yellow and red mixing together. There were a few pink clouds dotting the stratosphere, and purple was sneaking in and inking the edges.
It was beautiful, and I was itching to have a paintbrush in my hand, with a canvas in my lap. But when I looked down, I saw her.
She had been practicing knot tying, showing me different ways, using different bits of vine and a spare rope. She showed me, going through different steps and explaining all the ways we could use them in the arena. I nodded when appropriate, but I really wasn't paying attention.
I was simply appreciating her. Her warmth and the way her hair cascaded over the ground. I let my fingers run through it, claiming to be trying the knots she illustrated, but I really just wanted to touch her.
The tresses were soft, and dark. I couldn't help but wrap them around my fingers, again noting the contrast of her against me. Her grey eyes to my blue. Olive skin to bone white, and brown hair to ashy blond.
We were exact opposites, in so many ways. Baker to hunter. Good with words compared to quick to act. We were entirely different, and maybe that's why I loved her, maybe that's why she had a hard time opening up to me. But the way she was sitting with me, resting comfortably against me, I felt that odd feeling again. The thing that tugged at the very center of my being.
"I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now and live in it forever." I spoke softly, hands unmoving in her hair.
She seemed to think that over for a moment, "Why?" her voice was low, her eyes flickered up to me and the secure contentedness that had swam there was curious.
"I'm just happy," I mumbled, fingers moving again. "I just want to stay happy."
She seemed to understand it and the only thing she could say was "Okay."
I grinned to myself, sometimes I couldn't tell if she was dense or just was never committed to the art of words. "So you'll allow it?"
She grinned at me, and I felt my heart give a start. "Yes, I'll allow it."
I could feel the love amplify, and all I wanted to do was kiss her but I refrained. I didn't need an awkward tension in the air between us. But the experience left me remembering why orange was my favorite color.
x. o. x. o.
Ink, charcoal, dusk, obsidian, shadows, starless. Black.
Everything was twisting and shadows seemed to dance off the stark white walls. The woman who was injecting me had fangs and blue wings. I could see into her soul and I didn't like it.
She left after inserting the needle into my arm, and I was left alone again. To scream and tug at the restraints on my wrists and ankles. There was a gigantic white screen across the wall from me, it had a constant flow of video. Of Katniss during the Games. The few shots they had of her in District 12, the ones from our Victory tour.
They were playing her and playing her. The song she sang after Rue died, the way she screamed for me the minute they changed the rules.
It was a welcoming distraction. To watch her, always so vivacious and alive. It took my mind off of the pain they inflicted on me, and I started to depend on that video.
They only took me from the room to use me in an interview, to have me speak out about the rebellion. But soon, I was kept solely in the room, and no one but the fanged, blue-winged woman visited me.
The injections didn't hurt at first, simply calmed me. It felt like morphling, twisting and dancing around in my veins. With Katniss on the screen and the drug in my blood I almost felt good. It was the humane way to treat a captive.
But within days, the serum started to burn. It ran and stung as if they were ripping my skin from my muscle, skinning me alive. I had to look down continually to make sure I wasn't left completely naked hanging by my wrists against the wall.
Days seemed to morph into night without warning. The only sense of time was the video playing in front of me, and very quickly I started to resent it. It made my blood burn, that was the reason I was in pain.
She was the reason I was in pain. There she was, singing to that damn girl, coddling her even after death, and she left me in there to rot. To be injected and tortured with venom. She was supposed to be my fiancée, she was supposed to be the one who cared about me. But she was parading around the entire nation, commanding people to fight against the Capitol. She left me to die in that stark white room.
And I hated her for it.
She was disgusting, she was ugly. She was everything I despised. I wanted to choke her, to tear her throat out with my bare hands. I wanted to see the life leave her eyes, watch as she wreathed beneath my strength.
I wanted Katniss Everdeen dead. I wanted the Girl on Fire to be burnt down to ashes. And I was determined to be the one to do it.
x. o. x. o.
Forest, grass, rejuvenation, viridian, willow, meadow. Green.
It was hard, at first. Being around her. Especially when all I could think about were ways to snap her neck. I desperately wanted to feel the cartilage crack underneath my fingers; I felt that it would bring back everything I lost. My parents, my brothers, my home. I remembered a little girl in a red dress, and I wanted her to be brought back to me too.
It took weeks to convince me that that little girl, with hair braided in two separate pieces, dressed in that crimson dress, was Katniss. That the girl I wanted back was the one I was hell bent on destroying. It broke my heart at first. That little girl, I loved her. I remembered being young and feeling my heart being stolen from her.
But something was blocking the fact that that girl was Katniss. It almost killed me to accept it, but after I did, everything seemed easier.
The glossy memories turned out to be the ones that were fake, the ones the Capitol screwed with. It helped me base myself in what was real, and what wasn't.
I didn't see her for a long time, but then Coin sent me to join her sharp shooters team. I was leery at first. Unsure if they would all be safe. If I really was fixed, or if I would break again and try and kill her.
But she spoke to me the one night, when I asked what her favorite color was. "You're favorite color its… green?" I ask unsure. There was something foggy there that wouldn't let me capture the thought.
She looked at me surprised, grey eyes wide. I thought I detected a clouding of unshed tears but I pushed that thought to the back of my mind. It made me think of innocent children, and someone who needed protected. She was Katniss, she was dangerous. The Girl on Fire, she could burn me within seconds.
"That's right." She seemed to think for a moment. "And yours is orange."
I looked at her confused for a moment, the glassy fog was growing. "Orange?"
She nodded at me. "Not bright orange. Like the sunset. At least that's what you told me once."
I mumbled a soft thank you as I watched her for a moment, still trying futilely to latch onto the correct memory, one that wasn't clouded. Katniss seemed to struggle with herself for a few heartbeats, her brows furrowing. When I finally think she won't speak again, she opens her lips and words rush out.
"You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces."
I was about to open my mouth, to make sure I heard her correctly, to see if she knew anything else that seemed too far away for me to reach. But she jumped up then, and escaped from me back into her quarters.
I tried to contemplate the information she leaked. The fact that I liked the windows open to the idea that I still had to tie my shoes like a seven year old. But I couldn't hold onto them, and the only thing I found myself concentrating on was the fact that her favorite color was green.
It threw me for more than just the fact that she knew so much about me. But because no one truly evil could like a color that represented life.
x. o. x. o.
Mauve, indigo, mulberry, plum, pomegranate, burgundy. Red Wine.
It took years before we reached any sort of normal. Weeks were spent just being in each other's company. She would watch me paint, I would hold her when she cried. We would still have days, where I had to clutch the backs of our kitchen chairs. When she would look at me with scared iron eyes, and wait until the moment passed.
Sometimes she couldn't get out of bed. She would lay there, with tears silently leaking down her face. I would pull her close to my chest, enveloping her in warmth and safety.
"Peeta," she spoke softly, cuddling closer to me. "I just can't today."
And I understood. Nothing was easy anymore. Everything was a process, everything had its time and place. But when the process was mourning, it took forever.
I nodded, kissing her temple gently. "Okay," it was simple; neither of us needed anything else that was complicated. "We can just stay in bed until the sun burns out." The words seemed to make her smile, and within moments she was fast asleep against my chest.
She woke screaming again, the veins in her neck were pulled taunt. She tried to sit up, but I held onto her, startled but by now, after years, I knew how to handle her.
"Katniss," I said her name a few more times, and the blank look in her eyes receded, left only with a dull ache that swam behind the grey mask. I kissed her as delicately as I could, for I knew too much pressure would cause the glass doll in my arms to break.
But when she responded that fire lit again, and I was left feeling the gapping chasm in the hollows of my chest. I tried to pull away from her, but she crept closer, keeping her lips pressed against mine. And soon I found my tongue licking against hers, her slender fingers were grazing across the planes of my stomach and I couldn't help but feel something change.
Moments passed, colors swirled, and I found myself taking in all of her olive skin, every scar and every part of mutilated flesh. She smiled at me with a warm blush on her cheeks, but I kissed her again.
I whispered promises to her that I was determined to keep. I could feel her skin warm mine, the way her breath fanned unevenly over my flesh, she was trembling and I did all I could to make it easy for her. She whimpered at first, but the moment passed and she met my mouth again.
After it was over, she was still wrapped close to me, tight against my chest, and I opened my mouth. "You love me," I mumbled, I didn't want the fringes of the gloss to wash over this memory. I refused to let the Capitol ruin this for me too. "Real or not real?"
I watched her think for a moment, and I felt sick to my stomach, afraid that even after everything we've been through she still didn't feel the same. "Real," she said tenderly, and she met my mouth again, and let me explore her body once more.
x. o. x. o.
Petal, blush, fuchsia, rose, love, salmon. Pink.
I looked down at the small creature in my arms. There was a small tuft of dark hair on her tiny head, petite fingers were curled together, and her wide eyes opened to reveal an electrifying blue.
I felt my heart leave me for the second time in my life, and I knew that my world just tore open again. Everything would be different now. I looked down to my wife, and saw her smile. It was rare, and usually fleeting, but the small bundle I gently placed into her arms lit her eyes from the inside, and I knew she was truly happy.
She held the child, our child, closer to her. Cradling her against her chest. I couldn't help but feel proud. This little thing was a part of each of us, a part of Katniss that I wouldn't ever lose. I grinned at my small, but extended family, and leaned closer to my wife's damp head, placing a kiss into her hair.
"I love you," I mumble low in my throat. My daughter looked at me with identical eyes and I couldn't help but feel pride well in my chest. "I love both of you."
Katniss grinned and nodded, mute in a way that was rare. She looked at the pink swath of cloth and placed a kiss on the creature's head before looking up at me and meeting my lips. "Peeta," she sounded raw from the labor's painful screams. "I never thought I could be this happy." I grin once more, placing my hand on hers, helping support our daughter.
"I know."