Piece by piece

Katniss gives me a peck on the cheek and walks out the door before another day of hunting. Leaving me alone with my thoughts. I can hardly fathom let alone describe what my life is now. It's the end of summer and the wind chimes loudly through the window. It sounds ceremonial and almost aware of how much more appreciated it is now after the rebellion. Before, I was jealous of the wind for boasting its freedom to come and go and escape and dance and just be. I don't feel like the wind now. The commotion of bad days filled with muttations and nightmares doesn't allow me such a privilege. But I do feel as if the wind could just carry me through. I'm no longer trapped in an arena, or white walls surrounding the poisoning of my mind. I am home.

I could have never predicted every event of the past two years. Death, blood, and pain were things the venom enhanced, while it slowly erased laugher and feelings of goodness. Perhaps it isn't all that surprising that the part of my life that belongs to Katniss is still the hardest to understand. I love her, but not the childish love I fostered silently through my young years. What I feel is stronger, because it's been tested and replaced to the point we all thought was of no return. Yet, it lingered. And it was slowly awakened by the need to protect her, by her voice, and finally, her kisses.

I inadvertently take my fingers to my lips, only to shake myself out of my daydreaming seconds later. No, I couldn't have predicted any of this. But I'm glad my hopes to be where we are today were not in vain.

The quick knock on the door interrupts my thinking. I wipe my hands on a tea towel and head over to open it. It's useless, my guest is well-aware I never lock it and he walks right in. To think of it, it's quite out-of-character for Haymitch to even knock, though I suppose his more recent interactions with Effie may have led to some behavioral change. Manners! I can hear her voice in my head. I want to tease Haymitch about it, but he starts talking before I can open my mouth.

"Mockingjay in here?" he asks.

"Katniss is hunting, but she'll be back later."

"I see." He pauses and looks around the room. "I thought I'd knock anyway, just in case."

"Just in case what?" I ask him. The idea that his knock is actually about my relationship with Katniss dawning on me.

"Well, I've had enough of the kissy-kissy thing in the games. Don't need anymore of that now." He smirks at me and takes a seat at the kitchen table. His eyes roam the cabinets and I know what he's looking for. Anticipating this, I hid the liquor last night. Haymitch is here to help. If he gets drunk, he'll only get in the way.

"It's not like Katniss and I spend all day kissing," I tell him. His comment had made blood rush to my cheeks and I feel uncomfortable. Haymitch is the closest thing I have to a father now, but discussing my romantic relationship with Katniss usually sparks the kind of comments I'd hear from my brothers instead. I guess I'll just have to get used to it, having no one else left to talk to about it.

"Probably not, but it wouldn't hurt you to close the windows every now and then. I live within walking distance, remember? And seeing distance, and hearing distance..." he laughs, obviously getting a kick out of teasing me. I roll my eyes at him. It has no effect on quieting him down, since he chuckles again. He can go on for a long time, especially when sober. It's when Haymitch feels the most like taking his misery out on other people through sarcasm and remarks that are only funny to himself.

"Fine, Haymitch. Did you come all the way here to laugh at me or to paint?" I interrupt his grin.

"I'd rather laugh at you, but it's not an option, is it?"

"No, you offered to help and we have to finish it before it rains again."

"I still don't recall offering to help, but all right. A drink would go in handy, though. It enhances my artistic abilities." He moves his hands up and down in a painting motion.

"I don't know, it will slow you down." I try to argue it out, but I already know it's no use. "One drink. That's all."

"Yeah, yeah. Since you and Katniss started playing house, you've become stricter when it comes to providing refreshments for your guests. The wife doesn't approve of liquor in the house?" He jokes once more and this time I shoot him a stern look, letting him know it's enough. He nods and proceeds to fumble through the cabinets for a bottle of alcohol.

"It's not here, I'll go get it," I say, making my way to the basement. The room is dark and I make a mental note to order a set of spare light bulbs, because the only working lamp seems to be flickering away. I find the box of bottles I ordered from Greasy Sae for Haymitch-related emergencies. Since they're mostly about Haymitch being too obnoxious, too grumpy, or too depressed, I have resorted to the stash quite often and will have to reorder before the month is over. When I reappear in the kitchen, Haymitch is gone. I'm positive he gave up and went home, when I hear him through the back door. I pour a glass for him and walk out. The sun has broken through the clouds, even if momentarily, getting us a better chance to finish the job today. I hand him the drink and tend to the buckets of paint lying on the floor. Most of the paint is plain white, which is what we're using on the exterior walls. A smaller bucket carries a tone of orange for the window and door trims. Katniss picked the color from a catalogue I requested from District 2 and I am quite pleased with it.

"You know that I tease you, but I'm happy for you," Haymitch says. "For the both of you." I nod in agreement, even as doubt begins trickling into my mind. It's hard to understand how Haymitch can be happy for the both of us, if I don't really know what Katniss and I are. Sure, I am happy too. I couldn't dream of how wonderful the last few weeks have been, after all we went through. Still, I'm unsure. As much as Dr. Aurelius tells me I've had an excellent recovery, part of me is afraid everything can fall apart in the blink of an eye. Pieces of my memory I was able to put together can just as easily crumble to the floor. Katniss can take a turn for the worse again, or just decide that she doesn't love me. I don't even know if she does. It seems to me that the closer together we've recently grown, the less we seem to talk. Her lips are always there to stop mine from forming a word.

Haymitch and I paint in silence, each involved with our own thoughts. Years of drinking have taken away the steadiness of his hands, making his brush strokes clumsy and uneven. As the day wears on and the bottle on the table gets emptier, Haymitch becomes more concerned with watching the sky than the task at hand. I finally take over his wall and only glance back at him a few times to make sure he's all right. At some point, he takes to carving a tree trunk in the backyard as if it's his own dining table. Finally, I switch to the orange paint and finish the last of the window trims. My arms and neck are sore from the work, so I put the paint aside and usher Haymitch into the house for some food. Although I haven't baked any bread today, there are a few loaves leftover from the last batch and I make us toast and sausages. Most of it is for Haymitch, because I suspect this is the only meal he'll have today. I take a bite or two, saving room for the quiche I hope to make for dinner tonight.

I decide to shower before baking and now seems to be an opportune moment. Haymitch has fallen asleep on the sofa and his snoring fills the room. I walk upstairs and feel a slight pinch on my left leg. All the movement required when painting the walls must have strained the place where my leg meets the prosthetic, but I only realized it now. I reckon it's best to have a bath rather than a shower, so I remove the prosthetic and let the water run until the bathtub is full. I had no idea I was this tired, but now that I think of it, it's no wonder my eyes are heavy. Katniss had a bad nightmare last night and I couldn't sleep afterwards. I'm not entirely sure I wanted to stay awake to keep an eye on her or to keep an eye on myself. I think I'll never let go of the fear of a sudden flashback that could lead to me hurting her. She tells me it won't happen. My eyes don't have the deranged glow they used to have when they rescued me from the Capitol. I suppose it's true, but I prefer to keep guard through some nights. I promised to keep her safe then, I'll continue to do it now. Of all the things I fought hard to remember, this is the memory I keep the closest to me.

I grab a towel from the hook on the wall, readjust my prosthetic, and pick a set of clean clothes. They'll be covered in flour in minutes, but they still smell nicer than what I'd been wearing earlier. Haymitch is still asleep when I get downstairs, but now he's so silent I can't help but come closer to check if he's still breathing. I lower my head to his and immediately realize it's a mistake. Yes, he's breathing. But he also reeks of alcohol.

Katniss should be home anytime now, so I find the quiche recipe I wrote down from a television show the other day and set the ingredients aside. I also get extra flour to bake a few loaves of bread for Haymitch to take home. I strongly suspect he comes over so often because he refuses to keep a decent stock of food in his house.

I let the dough for the bread rest and start on the quiche. I put it in the oven and am almost done cleaning the kitchen when I hear Katniss' footsteps outside. I remember this same sound a few times after I had returned to the district. I had locked myself in the house, tormented by venom and odd memories of muttations and shiny figures. I wanted to keep locked in to ensure I wouldn't hurt her, even if another part of me insisted it was the other way around. I should stay in the house because it was the only place where Katniss Everdeen couldn't attack me and shred me to pieces. Although my nightmares still bear some resemblance to those days, I'm glad to have a better grip on reality now. I can hear her footsteps and ready myself to welcome her home, instead of running upstairs in fear that she wasn't walking by to check on me but to brutally kill me.

She opens the door and I awkwardly wipe my hands on a piece of towel and walk over to meet her.

"Katniss, what do you think?" I stop her when she gets to the kitchen. I want to know what she thinks of the paint job, but she looks beautiful and I hug her and kiss her before she has a chance to answer me. There's something about the way she looks when she comes back from the woods. Like new life has just been breathed into her. I touch her cheek and she takes my hand in hers before curving her mouth into a smile.

"I think it looks great. I assume you did the trims yourself. It looks too well-done to have been Haymitch's work," she tells me and I immediately hear Haymitch's steps behind her.

"What a way to hurt a man's feelings, sweetheart." Haymitch reaches us and hands me a glass. My first instinct is to deny him a refill, but Katniss just got home and I want him on his best behavior. Even if that requires him getting drunker.

"Sorry, Haymitch," she says. I wait for her to say something else, since Katniss has taken to teasing Haymitch as much as he likes teasing me, but she doesn't say another word. She simply stares at me for a while before taking a seat.

"Not a problem. It just hurts to hear the truth after the big-shot painter over here decided to re-do the wall I had been working on. What can I say? I warned you. I don't paint, I drink." He guzzles down the contents of his glass, only to scowl at me when I gesture that the bar is closed for the night and take the empty bottle away from his hands.

"No more, Haymitch. Our deal, remember? Besides, you don't want a hangover tomorrow," I say while checking the quiche in the oven. I've never made this before and I just realized that if it doesn't turn out okay, I have no backup plans for dinner. Please work, I think, almost as if ordering the quiche to bake properly.

"What's tomorrow?" Katniss asks me.

"Nothing." Haymitch interjects and frowns even harder in my direction. "How about some discretion, baker boy?"

"Sorry. You just don't want a hangover. Period." I correct myself and wink at Katniss as soon as Haymitch turns away to look for hidden liquor. Katniss knows now that this is Effie related and I'm not allowed to say another word. As much as I want to tell her about Haymitch's secret date, I'd rather avoid his rage.

"Peeta, my boy, are you burying the bottles now? I could swear you had more," Haymitch mumbles, clearly disappointed. The liquor in his system must have clouded his memory that I keep the bottles in the basement. "What time is it? I think Sae's shop is still open. Time for an emergency purchase." He runs out the door to prevent either of us from stopping him, but not before he looks from Katniss to me and grins at the both of us. I think the smile has something to do with what he told me earlier, about being happy for us. I think I'm happy for us too.

I follow him and lock the door, suddenly self-conscious about my private life with Katniss after his comments this morning. The bell from the oven lets me know the quiche is ready. I carefully remove it from the heat and let it rest on the counter to cool down. Katniss has moved to the living room, so I wash my hands and follow her. Before I get a chance to sit down, she stands up and kisses me. And then again. This side of Katniss is something I never really expected, but it's been a pleasant surprise.

"Are you hungry?" I ask her, finally letting go of her clasp to come up for air. She says she's hungry, though she makes no effort to move to the kitchen for food. I stare at her for a while, trying to read her face. It's like she's hiding something. It isn't like she'd hide things from me in the arena, when her heart wasn't completely in it. This is different. It's almost as if she has a secret she wants to share with me, but I'm not quite ready to find out. Puzzled, I decide to get the dining table ready and Katniss follows after me. She takes over the cutlery and I bring the quiche over together with a bottle of cold water.

"It's bacon and asparagus," I point out. "My dad never attempted quiche, even though he wanted to. But my mother would always stop him by arguing that the eggs would be better spent on cake or bread. I've been meaning to try it since we saw the recipe on TV last week."

"It smells delicious. I bet it tastes the same," she says, offering me a compliment. I smile at her, though she probably has no idea how much her opinion about my baking means to me.

"I hope so," I tell her and hand her a plate with a slice of the quiche. I put a piece on my plate too, but can't get myself to try it before she does.

"Oh my, Peeta. This is great! But what am I saying? You never make mistakes when it comes to baking." She says and smiles at me, making me warm as blood rushes to my cheeks. Sometimes I don't know if it's the fact that some memories will be lost forever, or Katniss really has changed towards me. Little things she says have the power to change my day for better or for worse. Lately, they always change it for the better. Even if her comment takes me back to years ago, when I did use to make many mistakes while baking. "Well, I used to burn bread a lot," I say.

"I only know about that one time," she says shyly. "I'm sorry your mother hit you for it."

"It's okay," I tell her. "It wasn't the first time I took a beating for burning bread. And after what happened that day, it definitely wasn't the last." I realize what I just implied. It may be news to her, or maybe she always knew. I'm not sure. One way or another, I feel it's time to voice it.

"What do you mean by after what happened?" she probes me.

"I knew what was happening, Katniss. Ever since the mine explosion. You became thinner, and even your sister seemed quieter and weaker when you walked home from school. Before that day, I had tried to sneak in some of my breakfast toast for you. But I never had the courage to approach you during classes. And after them, you were always the first one to walk out and all I could do was watch you leave. Then I saw you through the window. I couldn't stand it anymore. I didn't even think twice about it," I finally admit and wait for her reaction.

She complements my last sentence instead. "You burnt the bread knowing your mother would hit you for it."

"Yes. But apparently, all the guts it took me to burn them immediately vanished when I went outside. I had to toss them to you."

"I told you that's okay, Peeta."

"I know. But I still burned some bread every now and then. Carefully timing it so they were still good enough inside, just in case I could use them for you. Though you never needed them. Months later you were hunting. And then I could see you and Gale trading in town. That's when I graduated as a baker. She never hit me again."

I pause to consider what I just said and I suppose she's doing the same. The first time Katniss sold my father a squirrel I knew she'd found her own way to feed herself. My father paid her with two small loaves of bread and a cookie that my mother never found out about. She would've killed him. The cookie was for "the little one", I heard him whisper in reference to Prim. He was a good man and I miss him dearly. Still, that day I knew there was no point in burning bread in hopes to feed Katniss again. She could get fresh bread now. I was happy for her, even if the presence of Gale around her bothered me a little. No, why lie to myself? I'm certain it bothered me a lot. I wonder what he's doing now in District 2. I haven't told anyone this, but I hope he never comes back. Although now most of my nightmares are venom induced, some are still about losing Katniss. And Gale stars in a few of them. I hope some day I can assure myself these fears are nothing but products of my unconscious mind.

If only I knew if she loved me back. When I was in therapy in the Capitol, Dr. Aurelius went over tapes of the arenas with me again. All the nice and sweet things Katniss told me still sounded half-hearted. At the same time I was learning to remember that I loved her, I gained a low resentment for the lies she said to keep us alive. Even the way she kisses me now and holds me tight at night can't help me figure out what she meant and what she didn't in the past. No, I don't resent her anymore. I said worst things to keep her alive too. I just wish I knew if she loves me now. Wholeheartedly.

I work through my quiche and take another thin slice, suddenly afraid that our conversation may have pushed Katniss away from me. That's what I get for talking too much. She finishes her dinner before me and drinks her water in silence, almost as if in a rush. As soon as I'm done, she asks me if I want to go upstairs.

"I'm not really sleepy, though," I tell her nonchalantly. Or at least I hope I sounded that way, and not nervous and afraid she could slip through my fingers at any second now. She's watching me and I look away into my own glass of water. I think she forgets how intimidating she looks sometimes. Poised and mysterious. I think I'll never get a hold of what she's thinking at any moment in time. I still feel her eyes at me and I finally look back. There's a hint of a smile on the corner of her mouth that makes me finally relax. She takes my hands and looks at me from top to bottom before her gaze avoids mine.

"Let's go, anyway," she says in a split second. Katniss lets go of my hand and pours herself another glass of water. She drinks it so fast I'm afraid she'll choke, but she's fine as she takes my hand again and leads me up the stairway. I have no idea what's going through her mind and it may just as well drive me crazy. It's like the secret she was withholding before, only more urgent this time. I'm so curious I forget the dough I had prepared for baking later tonight. There are more important things in my mind.

She walks us into my room, which is also hers now. Her clothes tucked in the chest of drawers are evidence of it. I take a few more steps and close the door behind us. I barely have time to face her again when she presses me against the door and wraps her arms around my neck before taking a long and deep breath.

"What's going on, Katniss?" I look at her and ask. I'm starting to worry there's something wrong. The way she's holding onto me is almost as if she's afraid of something.

"Nothing, I told you. I just really missed you today," she says. She has her fingers on the back of my neck and she plays with my hair. It makes me feel relaxed and relieved nothing bad happened. I just want to see her happy, even if I still have to get adjusted to the random versions of Katniss I witness everyday. Lately, her actions and words don't exactly match up any memory of her I've worked hard to retrieve. There are many facts that I don't remember. Some days are completely blank in my mind. But I know Katniss. It took me blood and tears to figure her out again. Still, I have no idea what's gotten into her. She's more... loving? Whatever it is, I think I like it.

"Well, I missed you too. But when winter comes, you won't have to hunt. We can spend more time together then. There won't be much to do, but we'll get by," I tell her, circling my fingers on the small of her back. I didn't even realize I was doing it, and when her shirt lifts up a bit and exposes her skin, I freeze. All I can do is quickly remove my hands from her back and place them on her hips, though that feels risky too. I'm beating myself for doing it, afraid she'll start to pull away when she does the opposite. She presses harder and kisses me again. This time she doesn't let me go and I give in to it. Her kisses are sweet and passionate and I feel as though I could stay here forever. Pressed against this door and kissing the one person I love.

She keeps on kissing me and I kiss her back. Somehow, I'm not afraid of going too far. She's letting me know it's okay to take her kisses all for myself. At one point, she actually bites my lip. It doesn't hurt much, but the pulsating pinch makes me check if I'm bleeding. I'm not, but she looks worried and slightly embarrassed. I can't wrap my head around what's happening to her, even though her eagerness to be with me makes me feel warm and secure.

"Calm down, Katniss. I'm not going anywhere," I tell her and readjust myself against the door before I lose my balance. The door is hard against my back, but it's not like I could move anywhere. Katniss has placed herself in front of me in such a way that I couldn't possibly move. Not that I feel like leaving anyway. This is the closest we've been since the kisses at the beach in the arena and I want to hold on to it as much as possible.

"Yes, you should stay right here," Katniss replies to my comment and rests her head on my shoulder.

"Something's on your mind," I say. "I can tell. Do you want to talk to me about it?"

"No, I don't want to talk," she mutters into my neck and her warm breath sends shivers down my spine. I lose myself in the sensation before getting back to my senses and the matter at hand.

"Are you sure? It might help." I take my fingers to her hair and undo her braid. I'm happy she's letting her hair grow again, because fiddling with her braid must be one of my favorite things. Maybe because no one else gets to do it. It reminds me that I can actually have her all to myself now. When the braid is undone, I run my fingers through her hair again to free the last strands of hair and to feel how smooth it is against my skin. She removes her head from my shoulder and looks at me. A serious expression on her face, but one she seems to be working hard to keep on.

"No, Peeta. Talking won't help," she says, staring at me with such conviction I'm sure she can see right into my soul.

"So what will?" I ask, now definitely worried that something is bothering her. Whatever it is, I hope I can do something to relieve it. I couldn't bear to lose her again. Or worse, to watch her lose herself. I stroke her face gently to let her know I'm here and patiently wait for her to answer. Instead of talking back to me, she pulls away by an inch or two. I look into her eyes but she doesn't hold my gaze, seemingly preoccupied with something else. Her hands are on my shirt collar and she moves them to one of the buttons. I swallow a lump in my throat when I realize what she's doing. Slowly but with steady hands, Katniss undoes the first button. Then, the second and the third. I am frozen and completely unable to decipher what's happening. Actually, I think I know what's happening. I just can't process it. Katniss stops and looks at me. I reckon she expects me to say something, but I can't conjure up the words. My mouth is dry and the palms of my hands are suddenly sweaty. She smiles at me and takes my arms to let me know I can hold her again. My blood is rushing everywhere making my skin warm to the touch. I swallow another lump and my mouth begins to form a word. "Katniss..." is all I can muster into a whisper that registers both a question and a deep desire.

She looks out the window and I follow her eyes. The sun is low on the horizon and the further it sinks, the darker the room gets. The faint light lets me make out Katniss' face and the contour of her slim body. I give into temptation and run my hand down her waist and rest it on her thigh. So afraid and so hopeful. I hope she's aware of what she's doing to me. A drop of sweat drips from my neck down my back. I'm burning.

In one movement, Katniss informs me she knows. She traces her fingers down my collarbone and I feel chills everywhere when she repeats the same trajectory with her lips. When she gets to the edge of my half-open shirt, she tugs on it. It's a signal, I think. But the tone of surprise in her actions still leaves me unsure. I kiss her again and ask her a question with my eyes, begging that she'll understand me. So she kisses me again and moves her wet lips to my ear before whispering, "It's the only thing I'm certain I want." I barely have time to register what's about to happen when she removes my shirt. Nodding at me before pulling my body into bed with hers.

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to publish it. I know I promised it while I was still writing In Between The Lines but I got caught up in life. Anyway, I hope you liked it. If it's not too much to ask, please review. And if you used to read In Between The Lines but never reviewed it, I'd love if you could take the time to go and review over there. Even the shortest of comments means a lot to writers over here. We don't get paid to write and we do it out of love for the stories, so reviews are the biggest rewards for us.

Oh, and yes. I'm well aware many of you expect me to take a crack at the Epilogue. I'm still considering it carefully, since I know it's been done so well so many times. But if you subscribe to me in your author alerts, you'll know.