Hello again, long time no reading. Well, this is my version of the missing moments in the last chapter of Mockingjay. I know, there are so many oneshots out there about this, but well... I wanted my own version. By the way, there was no beata reader involved this time. I tried to get one. I asked about 5 people on and not one responded. I'm a bit angry about that. Anyway... l hope you still enjoy and it's not that bad. (And still looking for someone to beta this oneshot)
Tanja
I'm looking at Buttercup how he sinks his teeth into the beacon and gulps it down like he will never ever get something to eat again. When he is done, his tongue licks over his pink nose and he starts to clean himself up. I tear my eyes off him and on my plate. It's empty and it's ridiculous to stare at it, so I look up at Greasy Sae and Peeta. They talk about what's going on in town. How people clean everything up and start to rebuild. I saw them, gathering the ashes… the bones.
"What are you thinking, Katniss," Peeta asks. I'm blinking. I didn't really listen to them and both look at me questioningly. His blue eyes hit me with full force. His forehead is in tiny wrinkles; he's waiting for my answer.
"What did you say?"
Greasy Sea's lip tightens. They are in a thin line, but just for a second and her features relax again.
"I want to rebuild the bakery," Peeta says calmly.
There lies confidence and hope in his voice. I envy him for it. "Well, that's good. We need a bakery around here," I say and feel a deep black nothing rising inside of me. But just for a second, then it's gone. I try to smile, it feels like a cramp, but Peeta smiles back. Once again I have a feeling he tries to safe me.
Greasy Sae wants to clean the dishes, but Peeta stops her. "We can do that," he offers and takes the fork out of my hand. I didn't notice I had picked it up again.
"Well, until later," she says and leaves.
We are alone now. Peeta gathers the dishes and puts them into the sink. The water runs, the soap creates white foam. I'm sitting in my chair; I don't know what to do. I feel conscious.
"You're helping me," he asks, tuning to me.
"Yeah, sure," and I snap out of my thoughts. We stand side by side, close to the sink and Peeta hands me a plate. I feel the warmth of his body right next to me. Our elbows touch and I can sense that he lingers just for a second. It's just an occasional contact, but I savor the moment, as brief as it is. Our work doesn't take long.
"What are you up to, today," I ask so suddenly that I have the feeling I shoot every word at him like an arrow. He hesitates for a moment. Then say's "I want to look at the bakery. Well, what's left of it, actually."
One of Peeta's hands grabs the rim of the sink. His knuckles are white. His other hand runs through his hair and then relaxes.
"I would like to accompany you. I need to go that direction anyway, when I want to hunt," I say and try a casual tone.
Peeta looks at me and studies every inch of my face. He just knows that it's not my usual route into the woods. But the only words he says are "Sure, I would like that."
Peeta is waiting for me until I get my fathers hunting jacket, bow and arrows. We step outside Victor's Village. My eyes are on the primroses in my garden, he planted. I sigh and for a short moment his hand is on my shoulder. Comforting me. But he takes it back, unsure. I would have liked it staying there. Now that he is back, I just realize how much I've missed him. Who would have thought, that I would ever think anything like that in association with Peeta Mellark.
We walk silently. It isn't a long walk but the silence doubles the way, so is seems. Sometimes our fingers brush against each other. It's actually not necessary to walk that close, but no one takes a step back. It's early but the town is already bustling. People cleaning up, shovels dig into the ash and putting it in wheelbarrows. Bones get sorted out, carried with huge care to a cart and sit there, waiting to get buried in the meadow. I admire those people for their bravery, for their strength.
When we come closer to the bakery, Peeta speeds up and suddenly comes to a stop where the threshold was supposed to be. His eyes take the scenery in. Everything is destroyed to the grounds. Even the oven is a melted clot of metal. The force of the bombing and the fire just gets to my mind. I don't know if I should turn away, giving him some privacy in this moment. I don't know if Peeta wants to be alone in his farewell to the past, and his family, and home. I look sideways up to him. His eyes glaze over and a single tear runs down his cheek. Am I allowed to see that? And suddenly I feel burning in my eyes, my vision gets blurred and I can feel how tears streak down my face, too.
The noise around us gets banned from this situation and my fingers brush the back of Peetas hand. His hand moves cautiously, both the backs of our hands touch now and our fingertips link. It's a soft touch, but it gives us strength.
"I want it to look the same," he says suddenly and keeps me from sinking too much into the feeling of grief. With a sudden move he rubs over his eyes with the hem of his sleeve and looks at me, handing me a white handkerchief. It's made of cotton and smells like cinnamon. I take it with my free hand, because I don't want to break the contact and dab my eyes and cheeks. Peetas warm fingers, linked with my own, force me to selfish thoughts.
"You can do that," I say encouragingly "but today… just come with me."
Peeta raises his eyebrows questioningly at me. "I can't accompany you, when you want to hunt."
"Then I won't hunt today", I say a little bit too fiery, because Peeta winces. Yes, I'm a selfish person. I want Peeta near me as long as I can have him. When he says yes, I feel relieved; now I can get over it that our fingers don't touch anymore. I will have Peeta around me for several hours now.
Slowly we cross the remains of the Seam, leave the remains of fence behind us and enter the woods.
"You're here for the first time," I notice, but he shakes his head. I'm stunned. Peeta, the boy from the bakery had already set foot in the woods.
"How…" I try, but Peeta only smiles. "It was on a dare, with my brothers."
"You have never told me," a accuse him.
"Well, I tell you now."
I leave it at that and take him to the place where Gale and I once met. Like days before. I'm exhausted when I reach the rock and sink gratefully down. Today, it doesn't seem so huge with Peeta next to me. He fills that spot to my great expectations very well. We look at the woods, how it comes to live. Spring, recurring hope. Colors.
"Will you paint again," I ask him after a long pause of silence and wish he would.
"Probably," he answers and looks up to the sun. The rays get caught up in his lashes, the ones you almost never see. The memory comes back to me. The day I recognized them the first time. We worked on the plant book. We worked on memories of wisdom, to never forget useful knowledge. Memories are so precious. Especially when they leave a good feeling behind. I want to hold them, never get lost in those awful and hurtful memories. Eat up by nightmares and fear. And suddenly I know what I need to do. I need an assignment, a task, a purpose apart from hunting. Just this morning I envied Peeta, that he had found something to do. He wants to rebuild the bakery and what am I supposed to do? What is my purpose?
I want a book full of memories, I want to keep all those precious moments in that book and never loose them. Not after what I have already lost.
"You need to paint again," I tell him and look, what I believe, intently. I place my hand on his. "Please." Again there is this familiar feeling. I explain my idea with the book and he agrees. His hand wiggles out under mine and I sense how frustration slowly crawls up my back, but then he takes my hand firmly in his and I'm calm again.
The way back is still exhausting, but this time it is not necessary to drive me home in a cart. Peeta is next to me and we manage it, like always. We didn't notice how much time had passed, when Greasy Sae meets us in front of my house. "Dinner time," she says and lets herself in, getting busy in the kitchen. Peeta hesitates, but I grab his hand and take him with me. While Sae prepares our dinner, she tells us some gossip.
"And imagine, I saw Haymitch today with a flock of small geese behind him. I'm sure they were geese."
Peeta and I look disbelievingly. "You sure?"
"Yes."
"The liquor must be empty," Peeta says and grins, like I haven't seen in ages. There is something coming up my throat, it's like a snort and I'm grinning, too. It's an uncommon feeling, but somehow nice.
Dinner with Peeta is a good variation, though it's exhausting after all these months of loneliness. Buttercup shows up and claims his part. I feed him voluntarily and ruffle his fur. When Sae is gone, Peeta and I change to the living room on the sofa. I take the plant book out and we look at the pages. Talk about our new project and how we can get paper and paint. I want photographs, if possible. I want this book come to life and as honorably as possible, and I know Peeta will support me.
It's late and I can't stifle my yawn again. Peeta gets off the sofa. "You are tired, Katniss. You need to sleep."
I want him to stay. I want to tell him that he can't leave me. That he can make my nightmares go away. That I don't want to dream of the dead, that visit me so often in my dreams. But though we had this closeness today, I feel not at ease.
"Yes." Is all I can finally say and I hope that my desperation, having him near me tonight, isn't written all over my face.
Peeta takes my hand, holding it close to his lips. It's a delicate touch. "Good night", he whispers and goes. I feel a vivid tingle on my skin, where his lips touched. Minutes pass and it's still there. Peeta Mellark!
Somewhere from a corner, Buttercup shows up.
"Did you see that?" I ask him and point over to Peetas house. I'm in complete turmoil, because of a simple delicate kiss on the back of my hand from Peeta Mellark. Sleeping seems impossible now. Buttercup looks at me bored, turns around and climbs up the stairs. Guess he wants me to go to bed, too. But I can't, not now. I decide to take a shower, let the hot water do its work and easy my aching muscles. I don't know how long I stand there, my skin is fiery red and I finally get out. I dry myself off carefully and look at the unopened pots for my skin. My mother told me to use them. The nurse in her got the better of her for a moment, when we talked on the phone. I open them; they actually smell nice. I was careless with my skin in the last months, but now I cream every inch of my body with great care. My Prep-Team would be ecstatic. I sit on the rim of the bathtub, when I look out the window. There is light in Peetas bathroom, too. He didn't care closing the curtains. I can see him. There is a towel around his waist, but his chest is bare. I can see his scars, even from this distance. The pattern. They look like mine. Patchwork.
Suddenly I have the feeling I'm an intruder. It's a private moment and I look away. I guess Peeta wouldn't mind if I saw him like that. Well, he clearly didn't mind when we were in the first Games. But that was before the Capitol, before the hijack, before the bombs. And now? Would he turn away, if he would see me like this? I open the towel and study my appearance in the mirror. I don't know.
Buttercup already lies on the pillow, when I come to my bedroom. I get dressed in my nightclothes and climb under the covers. I don't know how he can bear it to sleep here every night. Witnessing my nightmares, my tears, my trashing and my cry. But he is here. They are both here.
Days pass and we build a routine. Peeta and I eat together, sometimes with Haymitch. I accompany Peeta to town and look how the walls of the bakery rise. Other houses get rebuild and you can feel hope and confidence in those people coming back to 12. Sometimes Peeta comes with me to the woods, but just when I really don't want to hunt. He really tries to be quiet, but it's just not working. The snares will do for those days. And Haymitch. Something happened to him, too. He sometimes sleeps at night now, but the knife is still in his hand. This habit will never leave him again, he witnessed too much of the Old Panem.
After my weekly phone call with Dr Aurelius arrives a huge box with parchment and paint on the next train. A plan already formed in my head. Our families will fill the first pages. Peeta shares his memories about his family with my and I write them down in my best script. For every person a photograph, if we have one or a drawing by Peeta. Every line by Peeta is a promise to live well. For him and me.
We spend a lot of time together, like then. Touching one another is a common feeling now. Normal.
It's already evening and I sit next to Peeta on the sofa, watching him draw. Sometimes he looks up and his blue eyes warm me up. Every time I savor that feeling. I feel well and safe, and I fall asleep.
I wake up with a scream and don't know where I am. A blanket is wrapped around me and I try to free myself. Everything comes clear and I recognize my living room. I'm alone. Peeta left after he had put a blanket over me. Suddenly I don't want to be alone anymore. I want to feel safe again. I look at a clock. After three a.m. I don't know when I fell asleep; I just know I don't want to be alone again. Without hesitation I leave my house, cross the street and climb up the stairs to his house. At the front door I stop. I don't know if I should knock. Then I decide not to and turn the knob. It's unlocked. Somehow I'm surprised. After everything that happened, but suddenly I have a feeling it wasn't locked because of me. Maybe Peeta had known or hoped, that I would come. I find my way in the dark up the stairs, to his bedroom. I pause at the closed door. I don't want to surprise him, I don't know how he will react if I just storm in there. Maybe he would attack me. So I knock softly and whisper his name. It doesn't take long and the door bursts open. At first he is confused, then he makes a funny little jump backwards and relaxes.
"Katniss?" Nonetheless his voice is full of sleepiness.
"You were gone!" My voice sound accusing, almost like a small child.
"Well, you…" he is lost for words.
Peeta Mellark speechless, that's a first. But just for a moment. "Nightmare," he asks and I nod. He takes another step back, motioning me to come in. After he closed the door, I step up to him and wrap my arms around his waist. Burying my face in his chest. He tenses up for just a second, but then his arms are back around me, pressing me to him. I can't believe how I've missed that feeling, my face on his chest. I can feel his torso moving, breathing. Can hear his heart beating. He let's go of me and lends me to the bed. I throw my shoes off and hesitate for a second. We slept together so many times already. I take off my pants and shirt and climb in my underwear under the covers. Peeta is next to me, his arms around me once again. Protecting me. I feel safe.
"You want to tell me," he offers and I feel his breath on my neck. Goosebumps erupt on my body. Peeta thinks I'm freezing and pulls me closer to his body. I'm starting slowly; I don't know how he will react. There are memories in my dreams that we share. I'm not keen to trigger a flashback. I can't see Peetas face, but I feel him occasionally tensing up.
"Tell me, when it's too much," I prompt, but he just starts caressing my shoulder and arm. Eventually we fell asleep and the nightmares don't come back that night.
There is a new routine for Peeta and me in the next few weeks. We start to spend the nights together again. We protect each other of nightmares and comfort if they sometimes win, but not for long.
Spring is almost over, summer is on the move in District 12 and the intensity of the colors is amazing. Just now we realize what veil of dirt the coal put upon us. All those years.
The sun is rising, but Peeta is next to me. It's Sunday and he doesn't go into the bakery today. Normally I would be long gone into the woods, but today I couldn't tear my eyes away. Peetas face is relaxed. He is breathing deeply. He looks better, healthier. The emaciated boy that was allowed to leave the capitol months ago is gone.
I caress his skin and softly trace his jaw line with the tip of my index finger. I can't help myself. His lips twitch and his head turns to me. His blue eyes beam at me.
"You have been awake," I complain.
"The whole time," he says and smiles mischievously. "But you can continue." And he closes his eyes again, but his face stays. There he is, the Peeta Mellark of the past. Just with these words, I know that all his feelings for me are still there. All this months he was disciplined and waited. Maybe he had to recover them himself, but they were there. Deep down inside. We stay like that for a while now, me tracing his face. He's enjoying it. He remembers me of a cat in the sun. Soaking up every ray of warming sunlight. Peeta turns to me completely and his knee touches mine.
"That was nice," he says and again I'm stunned by his honesty. I can't do otherwise. I need to get closer. I'm pressed to his body now, I guess just a sheet of paper would fit between us. Our noses almost touch. We stare at each other. Sometimes blinking. There are birds singing, I can hear it through the open window. Peeta snuggles even closer. His nose caressing along mine. This gesture holds so many words in it that I will never manage to speak aloud.
And suddenly it's there. A flame. It's small, but it's there, burning. I press my lips softly on his. I want to lay all my feelings into that kiss, what I can never say. Peeta is kissing me back. His free hand is in my hair, holding me close to him. Memories of a cave and a beach spring to life. My arms wrap around him and our kiss loses its innocence. It feels like we need to undo the last months of loneliness.
I don't know how, but when we finally need to breath, Peeta is on top of me. He looks surprised down at me.
"I'm to heavy," he says and wants to roll off.
"No, please stay," I say and wrap my legs around him. It is an intimate pose, we are in. But we are alone. I want him near me, exactly like that.
Peeta looks at me and smiles "You love me, real or not."
I look up and caress his cheek again. "Real."