Through the foggy glass of the bakery, I see a blonde man kneading a slob of dough on a big wooden table beside the display case. His hair bouncing off his forehead as rubs the dough with his palms. My breath further fogs the glass. With the sleeve of my jacket, I rub the fog off and try to make sure that it's him and not his brothers.
He dusts the table with flour and carefully rolls the dough. After, he divides the dough into eights and shapes them into simple circles. He brushes the top with a yellow mixture which I assume to be egg yolks. He loads the little balls in the tray and pushes it inside the oven.
When I notice the little limp in his gait, I know it's him.
I take one last look at the glass, and study my hazy reflection.
I'm expectedly wet.
Grey eyes stare back at me. My hair, out of its usual braid, crawls on my shoulders and back. My jacket hugs my figure. And of course, my body is shivering.
Suddenly, I am reminded of that day. A day of hunger, rags, and tossed bread.
I shake my head and force myself out of the flashback. I inhale deeply and immediately regret it as the cold invades my lungs. I grumble and curse the rain before I step inside.
Clang!
The bell rings as I push open the door. The air carrying the smell of flour, eggs and butter rushes towards me, racing outside towards the unforgiving rain. My body welcomes the warmth that radiates from the room. And I immediately remove my soaking wet jacket.
Big blue eyes look up to me and I wave my hand lamely. He gives me a small smile and I try to return his smile with a small effort to lift the side of my lips. Smiling and being friendly was never my strong point.
"Katniss," He begins. And there is no hiding the fondness in his voice. The way he says my name as if it's a privilege, even an honor. "Why are you drenched?"
"Because it's bright and sunny outside." I say grimly and he laughs at my sarcasm. He never seems to take offense in my sarcasm like other people would. It's so Peeta.
"Come on them. No reason to stand there and get our floor wet." He jokes and I actually feel my mood brighten.
He takes my jacket and hangs it on the coat rack beside the door which in retrospect, was stupid for me not to do in the first place. He leads me towards the ovens at the back and tries to get me as close as possible without burning my skin. I sigh in relief and try to let the heat get into every part of my body by twisting and turning every so often.
"Katniss, have some tea. It's jasmine." He says and hands me a cup. I gratefully take it and in three gulps, it's empty.
"Thank you," I say and I hand it back to him. He places it on the table and turns back to me.
"Geez, Katniss, you're rich and you can't buy an umbrella." He shakes his head and even presses a finger to his temple for a dramatic effect.
"I have money and I still hunt." I say and suppress the urge to wag a finger to his face.
"Hunting is practical. Not getting an umbrella is impractical." He says matching my gloating tone.
I pout my lips and cross my arms. "Do you have to rain on my parade?"
"I think the rain outside beat me to it." He tilts his head and beams at me, knowing he has won our little game of wit.
I snort and look at him ruefully. He looks back but I notice his gaze wander from my hair and down to my feet. He fakes a cough and asks, "Not that I don't want you here or anything but what made you come here?"
"I- " I begin and remember why I did come. My face flushes a little and think myself stupid for getting embarrassed "…The cheese buns you brought wasn't… enough today."
He raises an eyebrow in a way that reads as confused. "But that's the same number of cheese buns I bring everyday."
I grumble a bit before I mutter, "I was hungry, okay?"
He chuckles and I turn my head away pretending to be angry.
"Well, that's reasonable indeed." He says and takes my hand. By now, I am dry enough not to leave a puddle every time I take a step.
He gently leads me in front of the display case and he scrambles behind the counter.
"Good afternoon, miss. What can I get you today?" He regards me brightly.
"Er, Peeta? What are you doing?"
"It's rare for you to come to the bakery. Might as well treat you as a customer. Just play along." He makes a pushing gesture with his hands.
"Uh-huh?" I say in understanding but not in total agreement. I've never been a "customer" for anything; only a trader.
"We have freshly baked apple and pear pie. Would you care for some?"
I straighten my back and speak like someone who knows what she is doing. "Actually, I came here for those cheesy buns."
"Ah, excellent choice madame. And how many are you going to take?" He asks me very professionally.
"Just give me five?" I say and my voice goes up a little at the end.
He takes a brown paper bag in his left hands and tongs in his right. He ducks to the level of the cheese buns and pick out five of the most golden colored buns.
"There you go miss. Five delectable cheese buns made my moi."
I mechanically hold out my hands and pushes the bag in my hands. My fingers tingle at the contact with the heat from the buns.
"Well, then I guess I should go." I say reluctantly. I rock on the balls of my feet and slowly take a step back.
"Wait." He leans forward "It's still raining cats and dogs outside. It would be wrong for me to let you go out in the pouring rain."
"Is that part of the script?" Frankly, I'm not so sure what's going on.
"I wasn't aware there was a script." He shrugs his shoulders and laughs.
"I can't just stay here. You're working and I'll just distract you." I say.
"What difference does it make? You always distract me whether I'm working or not." He says as if it was a fact.
I sigh in defeat and grab a chair from the corner. I drag it towards the wooden table and sit down on it. With my arms crossed, I lean on the table. "Happy?" I ask.
He simply smiles and says, "You know, I can always take a break and keep you entertained."
I am never one for idle chitchat. For a few seconds I stare at the dough that has been abandoned on the table. I look up to him and find his eager eyes on me.
"Why do you bake?" I ask.
"Well, why do you hunt?"
Sure, answer my question with a question.
I ponder his question briefly. Why do I hunt? I imagine my life without hunting and I see nothing. Or more accurately, me staring at the ceiling from sunrise to sunset.
"Hunting is like a past time for me now. It's the only time I feel really alive and just be myself." I answer honestly.
He looks at me and then into the distance. "Baking reminds me of how I was before the games. It's nice to feel that I'm actually doing something."
I only nod in response because I do see what he means.
"And… I'm reminded that it's not only destruction that I can do. I can still create something that people will help people… live." He looks at his hands thoughtfully before digging it back to the dough.
Our chitchat stops there as each of us become lost in our own thoughts. The preservation of life and not death.
Eventually, I rest my head in my arms and close my eyes. I feel myself drift off into a state of half-consciousness. I'm aware of everything around me and yet I can't find the energy to open my eyes. I hear the sounds of the working oven, the sound of kneading dough, the harsh pitter patter of rain and the smallest movements Peeta makes. A cold and eerie voice from upstairs rouses me.
"Peeta? Peeta!" The voice shouts.
My head swiftly snaps up to the direction of the voice and feel the sharp pain in my neck from the sudden stretch of the muscles in it. A thin but tall lady descends from the rickety old stairs.
"Peeta, are you done with the 12 batches I asked you to make? It's been an hour already, you lazy bum. I-" She stops her rambling as she sees me. A gaunt and sharp face stares at me. Her blonde hair streaked with white is pulled into a tight bun.
It's Peeta's mother.
She studies me up and down and finally her lands on my eyes. The look she gives me is filled with loathing and bizarrely… respect?
"Katniss." Where as Peeta says my name like a caress of a baby, his mother's sounds like a hiss of a snake about the pounce on its prey.
She opens her mouth and I cringe involuntarily. This is the woman who beat a starving girl on the brink of death; the same woman who would hurt her own son. In my eyes, she has no mercy.
I brace myself from whatever cutting words she could possibly throw at me but I never get to hear them because at that moment, a crash is heard at the back. The three of us jump in surprise and look expectantly at the back door.
Fast as lightning, Peeta's mother, wearing a mask of cold fury, rushes towards the source of the crash and opens it ajar.
"You!" She points a bony finger at the person outside. "You filthy little rascal. How many times do I need to tell you not to paw through our trash with your grubby claws you call hands." She spats.
I stand on the tip of my toes and try to see who the victim of the witch is. When Peeta's mother sways to the side, I see a girl looking barely ten holding the hand of a boy that could be his brother.
"Do you want me to call on the peacekeepers?" She flashes her teeth forming a terrifying smile. "Thieves belong inside bars after all."
The siblings back up a little, no more than a yard. Two pairs of huge pleading and terrified grey eyes look at Peeta's mother. The girl's mouth quivers, trying to formulate a word or possibly she's just too cold. Her whole body shivers except for the hand that is gripping her little brother's hand.
A wave of nausea hits me. I feel myself being dragged back to the past, in the girl's shoes. I remember what it was like facing the witch's wrath; how frightening it felt. Strangely, I didn't see the face of the witch. I saw the face of my mother's and Prim's faces pale; dead. That's what scared me the most; what scares me until now.
I cannot move.
"What are you looking at? There's no food for you here. Go, shoo! Shoo!" Peeta's mother sweeps her hand into a wide arc.
But the girl doesn't move, seemingly as frozen as I but for different reasons. And when she doesn't, that's when Peeta's mother hits her. She falls into the concrete. Her brother flinches but otherwise pulls her sister up.
The welt on her face jumps in my vision and I snap into focus.
Why do I sit here doing nothing?
"Stop." I hear myself say weakly. "Stop." That one word bounces inside my mind but does not reach Peeta's mother. She hears nothing but her own poisoned words, like a snake. And you can only kill a snake if you fight back.
I'm about to charge when I feel something block my way. I automatically look down, trying to find what is obstructing me and I'm surprised to see that it's Peeta himself.
"Peeta, I- " My voice comes out as a whimper, even pleading.
"Katniss, I think you should go now." He doesn't look me in the eye.
"But I can't just watch her do this." I hiss. I push myself forward with all my might but he manages to contain me.
I look past him and see her digging her nails on the hands of the girl, plunging her down to the puddle on the floor. She harshly pulls her up only to throw her back down. I give a scream inside.
"It'll only get worse if you butt in! Don't recklessly charge in. Just don't. It will only provoke her and she might very well call the peacekeepers. Who do you think they'll listen to?" He pleads with me but I keep on pushing forward. His hands tighten around me. He won't relent and I can see it in his very stance.
Anger boils through me. "So you're gonna turn me into an audience? Should I just sponsor them now and send a parachute to help them? " The sound of the witch's voice and the cries of pain of the little girl fade into the background.
"This isn't the games Katniss." He says in a steady voice.
"But you're making me feel like it is one! Just watching, feeling helpless!" I shout hysterically, gripping his shirt.
"Katniss," He says.
I open my mouth to shout another barrage of vicious words and it's then that he does look at me. Anger, shame and determination are evident in his eyes making me stop in my tracks. He tilts his head beside my ears and whispers, "I'll handle this. Trust me."
The intensity in his voice calms my anger a little and renders me speechless. I only nod because I do trust him. If it's Peeta, he can calm his mother. I trust him.
I turn around and grab the cheese buns before heading outside. I don't even bother to get my jacket. I hide inside the alleyway beside the bakery and wait for the voices to quiet down.
A resounding crack hangs in the air followed by metal hitting the bricked floor. Then, there's silence.
I glide towards the mouth of the alley and check if the coast is clear. The girl is on fours under the same oak tree that I had rested in. Her brother hugs her at the same time tries to make her stand on her feet. Scrapes and bruises are evident on her body but none on her brother. They paint a pitiful scene. For a brief moment, I wonder if that was how pitiful I looked then.
Feeling the warm bread in my hands, I slowly make my way to her.
First, I'll hand this to her. And if she trusts me enough, maybe I can take her home and have my mother heal her.
I'm only a few meters away when I see Peeta come out of the building carrying an umbrella, rush to the girl. As he walks, I notice the side of his shirt burnt.Why? He pays no attention to the burns though.
He comes to squat in front of the two and tilts the umbrella so he can shelter the both of them from the rain, allowing him to get wet in the process. I see him open his mouth to speak to the girl but I'm too far away to hear. I assume they are the right words because she looks up to him and her brother actually smiles. He hands her a basket filled with bread and offers the umbrella to her brother. The siblings look into each other before they tackle him into a hug and Peeta has to steady himself. Letting go, the boy looks Peeta up in the eye before both of them start running towards the directions of the Seam; opposite to where I am.
Peeta stands up and watches them go, unmindful of the rain that now soaks us both. And even when his back is turn to me, I know that he's smiling. With that, he walks back to the bakery without looking back.
I'm standing there in awe. I feel so proud and utterly happy. I can't help to think he has saved yet another girl; another family.
I hug the paper bag filled with buns close to my chest and feel a comforting warmth spread to my body.
You're a baker.
A/N:
*This has been revised (4/18/2011) *
That came out longer than I expected :)) It's summer vacation and strangely enough, I was too busy to write. Lately, I've been drawing a lot and reading a lot so blame my "artistic" and literary cravings. AND I ACTUALLY WAS ABLE TO FORCE MY TEACHER TO READ THE HUNGER GAMES AND THEN I SAW HIS FB PROFILE PICTURE WAS THE MOCKINGJAY PIN AND I'M LIKE FANGIRLING LIKE YEAH!
*ahem ahem* Please review :3