Author's Note: This story will progress forward day by day until otherwise stated. I'm going to alternate between Katniss and Peeta's perspectives every other chapter. Please enjoy.
I wake up to her lips brushing lightly over my cheek.
She's fully dressed with her bow clutched in her hand and her game bag hanging from her belt. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," she says, pushing my hair back off of my forehead. It's getting a bit long.
"It's okay," I mumble, sitting up slowly. The sun is just peaking over the horizon, pinkish light streaming in through the open window. "Should start baking anyway." For some reason the image of Katniss, who likes to believe herself to be tough as nails, softened in the rosy light is incredibly striking, even to my sleep-addled mind.
She just nods and gives me a small smile before leaving the room. The bed is still warm from where she was sleeping, and I grin. I didn't think she would ever reciprocate my feelings after our Hunger Games, and I had convinced myself that I was fine living like we were. But this is so much better.
I make the bed and head downstairs. Our houses are exactly the same, and I wonder if we should just live in one together. Katniss might not be ready for that step though. Was she even ready for the step we did take? I don't know, honestly. I don't even know if I was ready. We are both still tormented by horrible dreams that have been blissfully absent the past two nights, but I know that it won't last.
Heading over to my house, I see Haymitch still sprawled out on his porch, the geese roaming all over the Victor's Village. Katniss is right, we do need to make some sort of fence. My kitchen is set up specifically for baking, and I get started immediately. I've been delivering loaves to the families in the District for a month now. It had been Dr. Aurelius' suggestion, and the baking has helped me relax quite a bit.
The trackerjacker venom will never completely leave my system. It is a hard reality to face, but there isn't anything that can be done. What the Capitol injected in me was specifically designed for permanent hijacking, so I'll be haunted by shiny memories for the rest of my life. There have been attacks and violent moments, but Katniss is patient and helps me find reality with the 'real or not real' game. I try not to ask a lot, because I know the wounds are still fresh for her too, but she's the only one who can answer some questions. Haymitch helps a little - when he's sober, anyway.
As the amount of families in the District grow, it is getting more difficult to keep up with fresh bread every morning. I know they don't expect it, but seeing the look in their eyes when they have the warm loaves in their hands makes it all worth while. I know that I'll have to reopen the bakery to keep up my production, especially since more people are returning every week on the train. But it's difficult. Shells of firebombed buildings still line every street, and just the thought of the destroyed bakery makes my chest feel cold.
I've been there once, right after coming back to the District. There was hardly anything left. I was in a hijacked rage for a full day afterward. Haymitch had to lock me in my basement because all I wanted to do was strangle Katniss for destroying everything. I never told her about this particular episode. I know she still blames herself, and it isn't fair. It was the Capitol. It was always the Capitol.
I have six loaves of bread by mid morning. I cut them in half and wrap them in cloth, piling them all in a large basket. It smells heavenly and I almost regret that I have to waste one on Haymitch, but if we didn't feed him he probably wouldn't eat.
He's still on his porch, of course, but now he's awake. His yellowed eyes watch the geese with a disgruntled expression, and the idea containing them reenters my mind. "Hey," I call, and he greets me with a grunt. "Katniss and I are going to build a pen for the geese."
"Good. Damned things are driving me crazy."
I roll my eyes. "You like things that drive you crazy," I say, thrusting the warm bread into his hands.
He opens it and rips the bread apart, shoveling it into his mouth in large chunks. "Explains why I still deal with you two," he grumbles.
"Watch out. I have Effie Trinket's phone number. Bet I could convince her to visit you," I threaten, laughing at the pure fear in my old mentor's eyes.
"The girl and her evil are rubbing off on you." This makes me laugh even harder and makes Haymitch pop the top off of a fresh bottle of white liquor.
"We'll be around later," I tell him, and he stands as I leave. Probably to go chase the geese again. I don't know why he does it, considering they haven't left once since they arrived.
The bread is still warm when I reach the first house. Greasy Sae gives me a big smile as she hands the loaf to her granddaughter. "How is Katniss?" she asks.
"Good," I tell her, and this time I actually mean it. "She hasn't had a bad day in a week and a half."
She nods, a wide smile on her wrinkled face. I can never repay Greasy Sae enough for taking care of Katniss while I was still in the Capitol, though I know she doesn't expect anything. The people that have come back to District 12 don't see her as the Mockingjay – they see her as Katniss Everdeen, the grumpy hunter girl that needs to be looked after every now and then. We are just their young neighbors and I could never be grateful enough for their kindness.
I make my rounds, assuring people that I don't need anything in return for the bread, when I stumble upon Thom. He is always bustling around the District, trying to organize the rebuilding. I think President Paylor has put him in charge, at least for now. "How's it going?" I ask.
"Pretty good." Thom wipes the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand, already working with a small group of other men to move some of the debris. "We've just gotten word that some machinery will be delivered from District 2 this weekend. You know, to help with the clean up. We can't build new with all the old pieces still lying around."
"I actually wanted to talk to you about that." I tell him about my desire to rebuild the bakery, and he is all for the idea. We makes plans to get together tomorrow to work on a building plan, and I make my way to the wreckage that I've been avoiding for these past months. There is hardly anything left. I take a deep breath, fighting off the shiny memories that are pushing into my mind. While I search for anything salvageable, I think about concrete things: Haymitch chasing his geese, the look on Greasy Sae's granddaughter's face when I gave her a cookie last week, Buttercup chasing a mouse in my living room, the feeling of Katniss' body beneath mine.
I find an old pan, a cracked tea kettle, my oldest brother's harmonica, and my father's favorite cookie tin. Putting these things in my now empty bread basket, I make my way quickly back to the Victor's Village, feeling a storm of threatening emotions welling up in my chest. Haymitch apparently saw me, because I see him jogging over to my house out of the corner of my eye.
The basket hits the table hard and I grip the kitchen counter, pressing my eyelids closed. Everything is alternating between shiny and dull, and I can't tell the difference anymore. Then Katniss is there, her face contorted with rage, setting fire to the bakery. I see my father's face in the window as the building is blown to pieces, and Katniss is cackling, laughing at the blood running from the disaster, and it's all her fault, the mutt-
"Hey!" Haymitch yells, and I look up at him. He helped her. He chose the mutt over me and now everyone is dead. "Get in the basement, before she gets back!"
He grabs my collar with a surprising amount of strength and tosses me through the door and slams it shut. I know deep down that he is right, and I need to ride out the attack. The door lock clicks and I reach into my pocket. Dr. Aurelius sent the pills after my first major attack after coming back. They calm me, keeping me from hurting anyone else and myself while I'm lost in shiny memories. I still like to be in the basement though, just in case.
I dry swallow the pills and make my way down the stairs, sitting in the ragged arm chair that Katniss helped me put down here last month. She doesn't like that I lock myself in, but she also understands that I could never live with myself if I tried to kill her again.
The burning bakery is still etched into my eyelids, but I know that it isn't real. I hear their screams, see the skin melting from my mother's face, see my brother's bodies burned to a crisp, and I cry and scream, and even though it's shiny and false, it doesn't go away. I still see her there, the girl on fire, her body alight in glorious flames that do nothing but enhance the shadows on her face, and try to keep real thoughts of her in my mind. It is a struggle, but the flames eventually go away, allowing my mind to go blank.
I don't know how much time has passed when I finally become aware of reality again. "Peeta?" someone calls from the stairs. "Are you okay now?"
It's Katniss. I stand, my leg a bit stiff from being curled up on the chair, and make my way up the stairs. "Yeah, I'm okay now," I tell her, and she unlocks the door without hesitation.
Her eyes are wide and she pulls me into her arms quickly. "Thom told me that you went to the bakery. I was worried."
My hands rest on her hips lightly, and I press my forehead into her shoulder. She smells like pine and fresh air, and I let my eyes close and just concentrate on her. My Katniss. Not a mutt. Not a bloodthirsty murderer.
"I want to build a new one," I say after a moment.
She nods and lets me be silent for a moment before pulling back to look at my face. "I think that's a good idea," she says. "You need a bigger place if you want to keep baking bread for everyone. And you'll need to start charging. They don't want charity."
"I know, but I don't need anything."
Katniss shrugs and spreads out her animal cleaning station. She has a squirrel and a grouse today, already skinned and plucked bare. "They need to feel like real people again, though."
I can understand this. Sometimes I still don't feel like a real person, especially on days like today when I let the trackerjacker venom get the best of me. Her hand runs along my shoulders lightly before she takes her knife to her game, breaking them up into usable chunks. "My prices will be low," I say, pulling the untouched bread basket toward me. "And I'll give away cookies."
"As long as you charge them for something."
Her hands move confidently with the meat, and it's fascinating and a little horrifying that she's so at ease with the blade in her hand. I feel the shiny version of her trying to crawl back into my mind, but I push it away and focus on the things I recovered from the bakery. Katniss doesn't ask questions as I lovingly rinse each item in the sink. The pan can still be used, so I put it in the cupboard. The kettle is too cracked to hold any liquid, but I set it on the stove next to the kettle I use every day. The harmonica doesn't work anymore, but it is still in one piece and I put it on the mantle in the living room.
The cookie tin is next. It's a relic from my childhood that I had nearly forgotten. My father always had free cookies for the children in the tin before my mother cracked down on the budget when I started secondary school. It used to sit on the counter, a simple circular container with a delicate floral design on the sides. Father told me in secret that it had been a gift from Katniss' mother, when they were still friends. I put it up on the windowsill and decide that it will go in my new bakery, too.
"Hey, scoot over," Katniss says, bumping her hip against mine to make room at the sink. I turn on the hot water for her and watch her scrub away the blood and gore, knowing that the game is now sitting immaculately butchered on the table. We pack up the meat and put it in the refrigerator to cook later and head over to Haymitch's house.
"I regret thinking about this," Katniss grumbles, and I chuckle. Haymitch is sitting in the center of the road, the whole flock of geese sitting around him. They honk and quickly scatter as we approach.
"You in your right mind now, boy?" he asks around the bottle at his mouth.
"Yeah. Thanks for helping me."
He just burps in reply. Katniss sighs and we each grab an arm and drag him to the side of his house. "This is where we're gonna build the pen," she tells him, and he nods in agreement.
"We'll order the supplies and work on it after the next train," I add, though Haymitch is starting to drift toward the porch.
We follow him and he plops down on the couch, picking up another bottle of liquor. The geese surge back to the yard and start settling around his house, and the strange relationship between Haymitch and the birds boggles my mind. "We'll bring over dinner later," I say, grabbing Katniss' arm and going back to her house.
"I don't want to help him," she complains, crossing her arms as I look up Effie's phone number. A month ago I put up a list of phone numbers on the wall, though Katniss never uses her phone without me forcing the receiver into her hands.
"We need to get those geese under control," I tell her, and she knows that I'm right. I push the long string of numbers that connects me to the Capitol.
"Hello!" a chirpy voice answers.
"Hey, Effie."
"Peeta!" she squeals. "What can I do for you, dear?"
I grin at Katniss and she rolls her eyes. Effie has been a huge help to me, able to put in orders to be sent here from the Capitol. Otherwise I'd have to use a magazine ordering system that would take weeks to get anything delivered. Effie has certain things sent every week, like baking supplies and liquor for Haymitch, and I just need to call and she'll add anything I can imagine to the list. Charged to my bottomless bank account, of course. "Can you send me one hundred feet of chicken wire?"
"Chicken... wire?"
"Just trust me."
I hear some clicking on the other side and I can practically see the look of confusion on Effie's face as she types 'chicken wire' into her electronic catalog. "Oh! There is such a thing! And it's not made out of chickens!"
Her genuine amazement at the wire makes me smile. "I'm building a pen. Haymitch is collecting geese."
"Oh, how unsanitary," she huffs. Effie is quiet for a moment before continuing, her voice soft. "Is he doing okay?"
"Still stuck at the bottom of a bottle," I tell her, looking over to where Katniss is eating an apple in the kitchen. "I don't think that will ever change."
"He's going to kill himself with that liquor."
It's the most serious I've ever heard Effie, and it's a little heartbreaking. "I know. But he has no other way to live."
"Maybe I'll visit sometime."
"Honestly, he'd probably like it. I've heard him arguing with his geese when he doesn't think anyone is listening. I think he misses you."
Her laugh is like electric wind chimes, lilting and a bit unnatural. She misses him, too. "Sure, sure," she sighs. "I've ordered the wire, it'll be on the Saturday train with the usual things. Can I get you anything else, dear?"
"Not right now. How is everything going in the Capitol?"
"Oh, it's so stressful!" she bursts. "President Paylor is facing some resistance from Capitol residents. I admit, our lifestyles have changed, but it's for the good of the country!" At that moment I'm incredibly proud of how far Effie has come since our Reaping. "I mean, I haven't had a new wig in a month! How torturous is that? But it's all worth it!"
I roll my eyes but can't help smiling. "Well, I appreciate your help, Effie."
"You're doing okay, Peeta?" she ask, her voice concerned.
"Yes. Better than ever," I tell her, and it's true. Katniss quirks her eyebrow and I smile.
"Good! Well, call if you ever need any little thing!"
"Thanks, Effie. You really should come visit sometime."
"I'll work on it! Bye, dear!"
"Bye Effie."
I walk back over to Katniss, wrapping my arms around her waist. "I know that you spent time with her while you were still in the Capitol, but you don't have to talk to her so... familiarly."
The tone of her voice and the twitching of her eyes reveals everything, and I chuckle. "Katniss Everdeen, are you jealous?"
Her face lights up in a pretty pink and she sputters. "I am not jealous of Effie flipping Trinket!" she declares, crossing her arms.
It's so adorable that I can't help but kiss her. Her lips are chapped and thin, but her kisses are what kept me alive in the Games. Even when she never meant to, she gave me hope and a reason to keep going, no matter the cost. She still has no idea about the effect she has on people.
Her mouth opens to me, and a lazy peel of heat travels down my spine. My hands move up her body, passing over her ribs and the sides of her breasts, causing her to gasp. Her reactions always drive me forward, because it's so rare to see Katniss enjoy herself. My lips leave hers and I move my face to her neck, pressing my mouth against the delicate skin. She is covered with burns, peeling skin, and scars, but she has always been beautiful to me.
She throws her arms around my neck and hops up on to the kitchen counter, wrapping her legs around my waist. It's very bold of her and I know what she wants me to do. Katniss has always been a woman of action, and I don't need her words to know what she is communicating. My hands slip down her back and cup her bottom, pulling her closer.
I'm still a bit embarrassed at how quickly she gets me excited, but she smirks with satisfaction as she feels me hard against her thigh. Her confidence spurs me forward and I pull her shirt off and start fumbling with her bra again. I'm going to understand how these stupid things work someday. She takes pity on me again and unclasps it, and I toss the garment to the side, my mouth automatically finding one of her nipples.
Katniss moans and her fingers dig into my hair, pulling me closer. I love the feeling of her hands shaking against the back of my head as I swirl my tongue around lightly. She nearly slips off of the counter as she gasps, jerking her hips forward. I catch her and cart her off to the living room, plopping her down on the couch.
She is splayed out in her unladylike way, legs akimbo and a blush reaching down her neck and across her collarbones, and she is radiant. I wish that I could paint a picture of this moment, but I think Katniss would probably skewer me with her arrows if I did. So I take a mental picture and dive on to her, my lips on her ribs as I pull off her pants. She is snickering, because Katniss Everdeen never giggles, and I tug off her underwear. I'm kneeling on the ground in front of her, her legs resting on either side of my body, and seeing her looking so free makes my heart leap into my throat.
My hands snake up her thighs and she moans. I lick my lips lightly before I bring them to her, and she cries out in pleasure. I silently thank my brothers and their perverted minds, because otherwise I'd be incredibly lost as to what to do at this point. My tongue flicks over her most sensitive spot and her hips arch up against my mouth.
"Peeta..." she groans, grabbing at my shoulders, and I know what she wants. I tug off my shirt while she unbuttons my pants, and I kick the rest of my clothes off. We are both naked and I'm amazed at how many times I've found myself in this position over the past three days. Sometimes it's easy to forget that although we're survivors of the war and mentally damaged, we're also horny teenagers.
I get on my knees and pull her to the edge of the couch, sinking into her quickly. She gasps and her hands find my wrists, holding them against her hips as I rock into her slowly. Her eyes are hungry and begging me to go faster, but I can already feel myself getting close. I really hope my stamina will increase as time goes by, though I know that she really doesn't mind.
"Don't hold back," she practically growls, unable to muster her usual scowl. Instead she chews on her lip and pushes her hips forward, and I press a kiss to her sternum and pick up the pace. I adjust her hips to a higher angle and she gasps loudly, her hands flying out and grabbing on to the couch. Her eyes roll back slightly and I feel her hips shaking. "Peeta," she breathes, and I can tell that she's close. I move a hand down between us, brushing my thumb against her, and she reacts so strongly that after only a few more seconds she is falling apart in my hands, her cries pushing me to the edge.
I fall on her chest, panting as my heart tries to slow itself down to a normal pace. Her hands are in my hair, combing through it slowly, and I smile against her skin. A pang shoots through my left leg and I quickly pull myself up on to the couch. "You okay?" she breathes, her eyes wide.
"I'm okay. Leg hurts," I reply, and she nods. I'm fairly used to my false leg now, but sometimes extra stress can make it hurt a bit. Her hand moves to rest on my thigh, and I flinch. No one besides a doctor has touched it before, but I let her fingertips dance across the seam that separates my flesh from the cool plastic. The motion is calming and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.
"It's amazing," she mutters. "Capitol technology is good for some things, I guess."
"Hopefully it'll have more practical uses in the near future," I reply, watching the sky light up with my favorite color of orange. She curls up to my side and drapes her legs across my lap, and I run my fingers along her thigh. Her skin is still smooth and hairless, and I wonder if the Capitol did to her what they did to me – a long lasting hair removal treatment. Portia told me that I wouldn't grow facial hair until I was twenty-five. I guess it saves time on shaving, but the choice of having a beard until then has been taken away from me. The Capitol will continue to haunt us, even though the Games are over.
The moment is interrupted by a loud grumbling coming from her stomach. She looks at me sheepishly and I laugh. "Let's have some dinner," I say, and she nods her head in agreement.
We dress and I head back to my house while she goes to collect Haymitch. The squirrel is already cut thinly, so I heat up a pan and fry them for a moment, tossing together a quick salad on the side. I'm slicing bread when the two most important people in my life come fumbling through the door, cursing at one another in hushed tones. They wear the exact same scowl and with their Seam looks, they look like they could be related.
"Thought you were bringing me dinner," Haymitch grumbles, plopping down at the table and crossing his arms. Apparently Katniss wouldn't let him bring his alcohol and he's even more grumpy than usual.
"I'm surprised that you even remember us visiting, you drunk," Katniss hisses.
"Oh, calling me a drunk! How hurtful."
She scowls and sits across from Haymitch, her eyes shooting daggers into his forehead. Of course, he just ignores her and stares at the squirrel cooking in the pain. The silence is a bit oppressive, so I decide to try to start a conversation. "I've ordered some wire," I tell Haymitch, turning the squirrel over in the pan. "With some wooden stakes from town, we should be able to make a great pen for the geese."
Haymitch just scoffs. "They'll figure out how to get out. Smart birds. They'd have probably survived the Games."
"If we build you this pen and I find a single bird in our yards, I'll be cooking it for dinner," Katniss says in a tone that speaks to her determination.
Their mentor raises his eyebrow, and Peeta knows that Haymitch isn't stupid. He knows that she is serious. "Fuckin' annoying girl," he mutters, his hand twitching to be around the bottle that Katniss made him leave on his porch.
I plate up the squirrel and the salad, putting a loaf of bread in the middle of the table. The meal is quiet and I've given up on talking. The two of them are so much alike, both people of action and of few words. It makes a talkative person like me a bit crazy sometimes. And Katniss wonders why I like talking to Effie.
As soon as his plate is clean, Haymitch stomps off to his porch without a 'thank you'. Not that I expected one. Katniss, however, shows her gratitude through a kiss on the cheek and by doing up the dishes. I watch her scrub the pan for a moment before moving into the living room. An easel is set up by the window, and I quietly begin mixing paint and let my mind drift back to this morning. I see Katniss, her choppy braid tossed over her shoulder, her hunting jacket rumbled, bathed in soft light and pink hues.
She blooms across the canvas, her smile sleepy and subtly affectionate. The gray of her eyes is hard to mix, and I've encountered issues in the past trying to create the perfect color. I layer color over color until I have it as close to accurate as I can manage.
I'm not sure how much time passes before I realize that Katniss is standing behind me. "Is that how you see me?" she asks. It's a question that I've heard before, since she can never believe that she is as beautiful in real life as she is in my paintings. She's more than I can capture on a canvas, and I can't explain to her how there is something so ineffable about her and that no painting can do her justice. But she has never been able to see herself properly.
"Yes," I answer simply.
She nods and kisses the top of my head, sitting on the couch and turning on the television. I continue painting while she finds the news.
"-District 7!" a familiar voice blares, and I turn to see Johanna Mason on the screen. "The lumber industry is becoming safer for it's workers, and we hope to have the paper mill up and running to full capacity by next week."
"She looks good," Katniss says, and I agree. Her hair has grown out to her ears and her eyes are as sharp as ever. It looks like she opted for a skin cleansing after the war, because she is free of scars or burns. She looks healthy and confident, like she should look.
"District 7 should be proud to have such an amazing representative!" the reporter declares, causing Johanna's smile to widen. "So, Ms. Mason, what have you been doing in your own life?"
"I've been dividing my time between District 7, traveling, government meetings, and District 4."
"Why District 4?" the reporter asks. I have a feeling I know why, but Johanna would never say her name on television.
"I'm working with the fishing industry to make it more efficient and worker friendly, like I am with the lumber industry in District 7," she answers, and I can see the glee in her eyes. She loves having her secrets, just like Katniss and myself.
"I wonder how Annie is doing with the baby?" Katniss asks.
"We should call."
"Yeah."
"There you have it folks!" the reporter says. "Live, from District 7, Miranilla Casstala out!"
"Thanks, Miranilla!" a news caster says from a desk in a garishly decorated studio. He begins talking about some fashion trend involving feathers, so I turn back to my painting and tune the television out, focusing on the wood grain of Katniss' hunting bow.
We stay like this for an hour. Katniss quickly gets bored of the news and turns to a show about the wildlife of District 6, and I hear strange animal calls every now and again. When the program goes off I turn to find her asleep, draped over the arm of the couch. I put down my paints and yawn, deciding that it's time for bed.
I clean my brushes thoroughly in the kitchen sink before collecting Katniss in my arms and making my way upstairs. She wakes up on the way and teases me for a fleck of pink paint on my cheek.
Our clothes have become split between our two houses, and she changes into shorts and a tank top, her usual pajamas. I take off my pants and climb into bed, my arms wide to accept Katniss as she climbs in soon after. She so tired that she falls asleep quickly, and I watch her for so long that her eyelids begin twitching with dreams and she begins drooling on my shoulder. I hope that her dreams are good ones as I look out the window and watch the stars twinkle until I drift off to sleep.
