A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to update. The real world required some attention. Thank you to everyone who has Reviewed, Followed, or Faved this. Your support is extremely appreciated.
Chapter 8
After that night, something changed between us. It was if Katniss were allowing herself, for once, to accept and kindle her emotions. For so long she had denied herself the possibility, the hope, of knowing love. Even if we weren't friends before the reaping, I had watched her long enough to understand a few things about her. She had kept everyone at arm's length, save Gale.
Oh, how jealous I used to be of him, imagining the conversations they must have shared, the quiet laughs, the bond forged by depending upon each other for so much. In my mind I always imagined their shared kissed and whispers of affection for each other. Many a night I had lain awake, sleep evading me, as I pictured them in their throes of passion. As much as I've always wanted to ask her about their relationship, I've come to see how they were never anything but friends. I know that Gale had admitted to loving her, but in my meager opinion he is a damn fool. I could never abandon Katniss, not for anything in the world, even if she never were to love me back. The fact that he left her proves to me without a shadow of a doubt that if he ever did truly love her, she couldn't be enough. Apparently glory and fame are more important. I've secretly always thought that Katniss is too strong and independent for his tastes; too hard to control.
If anything at all could said to have been gained from these last few years, it is that Katniss can finally know a world in which she has choices over her life. With this understanding she has became more open and affectionate. Each day brings us closer and more in tune with the other. For the first time since the 74th games I begin to truly believe she could someday love me as deeply as I love her.
True to her word, Katniss accompanied me everyday to the bakery. In the beginning it was only to design a layout and choose the building supplies and equipment we'll need to run it. Thom asked me if I wanted to rebuild upon the old site, but I chose a new location closer to the center of the Square. I was afraid that too many memories would haunt me, and besides, we all deserve a fresh start.
Several weeks in, with the construction mostly finished, I impulsively decide to stroll along the new buildings and lanes. Suddenly I find myself standing in front of my old home. The construction crew has finished pulling apart the charred beams and felled debris leaving a barren, blackened space, but in my mind it is as if nothing has happened. I can still see the deceiving facade that belies a friendly warmth; the light brown bricks, some almost a dark cream, others the color of toast, topped by a sturdy, shingled roof, the wooden sign hanging above the wide glass door advertising 'Mellark & Sons Bakery' and even the planter boxes hanging along the bottom of the picture windows brimming with cheerful pansies and peonies. Outward appearances were always so important to my mother. The whole wold had to believe we were the perfect family. My mind drifts to my family, especially my mother.
She had been a hard, domineering woman hell bent on ruling our whole lives. I can count on one hand the times she gave me a kind word, a compliment or even a simple thanks. Instead I feared her, shying away from her presence, and avoiding any contact. On the days I could not steer clear of her I never spoke, moving softly from station to station, completing my work silently. Even then she would still find something to berate me about.
As memories are wont to do, my mind wanders to that fateful day when Katniss and I were eleven. I had seen her through the large front windows of the bakery, slowly trudging through the torrential rain and mud, searching for something. I surreptitiously eased the oven's timer back on the last two loaves I was baking that afternoon. I thought that my mother had retired for the day as she had already lectured me about the closing tasks and my ineptitude in doing them. But I knew if my father were to discover me he wouldn't mind my sharing some burned bread with someone needier than us.
As soon as the loaves were slightly burnt, really no more that a dark toasting, I eased them out of the oven. I had actually planned on wrapping them in a thick towel and taking them out to Katniss. My mother, as fate would have it, reappeared in the door way.
"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" She screamed.
My heart lurched to my stomach, sweat beading over my skin. The skin on my scalp pulled back tightly.
"I, uh, um..." I croaked out.
"You stupid ass! Now how are we supposed to sell this?" She demanded, gesturing wildly at the dark loaves. "Who the hell is going to buy this? You can't even do one damn thing right! Eleven fucking years old and I have to watch you like a baby."
Movement outside the bakery caught her eye and she narrowed in on Katniss.
"You little fuck." she spat out at me. Her hand swung out and her wedding rings caught my face sharply. I could feel the scratches burning. My eyes clenched shut, involuntarily. Without warning a thick, searing pain tore through my cheek, atop the bone. I vaguely feared it was broken. Tears sprang up immediately as I crumpled gracelessly to the floor under the momentum of the blow. She threw the rolling pin into the sink, the loud clang of it reverberating off the porcelain then echoing through the room.
"Throw them to the damn hogs, or so help you! And then clean this shit up NOW!" She pivoted on her heel and was gone.
I lay there a few seconds, struggling to suck in oxygen to my burning lungs. When she didn't return I gingerly eased up off the floor and meekly gathered the bread. I inched out the door into the torrential rain and along the house to the hog's pens, listening for the tell-tale sound of a window or door scraping open. Quickly I pinched off a small piece from the first loaf and thew it to the stinking animals then lobbed the loaves toward Katniss as hard as I could, terrified that they wouldn't reach her or my mother would one. Her small, emaciated faced looked over at me, gratitude washing over her, then relief. I tried smiling at her but my nerve ran out and I scrambled for the door.
I watched her from the window, hunkered down so that only the top of my head showed. My eyes followed her as she scooped them out of the rain, jammed them down her shirt and took off running.
I knew it wasn't much, but I knew that I had somehow helped her. A bitter feeling of inadequacy washed over me as I realized that she needed more than I could give.
The angry rumble of thunder shook me out of my reverie and I hurriedly toweled up the puddle that had pooled at my feet, not needing another reason for my mother's wrath.
The feelings of helplessness, fear and shame from that long ago incident forces another memory into my mind, one that occurred during my time as the Capitol's prisoner. I had been strung up for hours that particular day, my hands shackled and then chained to a large, rusty loop bolted in the ceiling so long that my hands and arms had long since gone numb. I was too exhausted to hold my weight for long periods of time, so I alternated between excruciatingly bearing my weight on my weak wrists then trying to pull up to a standing position. My thin body trembled and I felt light headed from the ever present hollowness of my empty stomach. I swear I think we had more to eat in the arenas then what they had given me.
Before me was a large screen that looped various scenes of Katniss and I. Here we were in the cave, kissing; another she and I were laying together in her bed on the train. Intimate images and candid brief moments flashed by incessantly. A hulking figure hidden among black robes snaked out from behind me to plunge a syringe of clear fluid in my arm. I could see it empty out but the jab of the needle was painless. Suddenly the burn of the tracker jacker venom stung through my veins as if hot magma had replaced the blood in my entire body. Involuntarily my frame began to twist and writhe against the metal bonds, my head flinging from side to side in utter agony. A scream tore from my vocal cords straining them so badly that before long I had lost my voice. Strong hands held my head from behind forcing me to watch the screen. When I refused by clenching my eyes shut, the hooded figure stepped in front of me to push metal clips around my lids, holding my eyes wide. Quickly, intermingling with the visions of Katniss and I were shots and clips of those God awful Mutts from the first game, the ones with human eyes that tore Cato into shreds. Their clips began playing slower and longer until they took the form of Katniss. She merged, her grey orbs peering menacingly from a Mutt's face. Suddenly the unimaginable agony of a whip began slashing through my bare back. It was more than I could bear and thankfully I succumbed to oblivion.
A booming thud brings me back to reality with a start. My heart beats roughly in my chest, radiating rings of pain. My whole body jerks and thick, anxious sweat oozes from my pores. The brightness of the mid day sun begins fading into darkness. Panic threatens to overtake me as I realize that another attack is closing in.
I take off running for my house. If only I can barricade myself inside I'll be all right. The thoughts of what can happen if I give into this now, out in broad daylight, pushes me harder. My bad leg screams in agony as I drive faster, limping harshly. Suddenly I can make out the archway of Victor's Village.
If anyone is witnessing my jerky gallop they don't try to intervene, thankfully. Just as I hone in on my door I realize Katniss is leaving her's. While her eyes take in my harried appearance and fast gait, terror and familiarity wash over her. She abandons her bag and takes off running toward me.
"NO!" I scream at her, waving her away. "GO, just GO!"
As I lunge through the door, the attack threatening to overtake me right now, she catches me in her surprisingly strong arms.
"You have to go," I squeak out.
"I'm not leaving you alone in this." She she kicks the door behind her close, then pulls me down to the cold stone floor. I begin spasming and jerking in her arms, my eyes losing focus as the shiny, hateful memories win out.
I can hear her sobbing out my name, but I can't pull myself out of the attack to answer her. I can only let the memories run their course. Finally, my muscles release their painful clench and I go limp, pulling in ragged breaths to sate my burning lungs. The tears begin to flow in earnest and I cling to her for dear life.
She sooths my brow with her warm touch, then my face and hair while her other hand traces circles and patterns against my back. She weeps right along with me.
After a particularly intense night of deep, hungry kisses and roaming hands, I lay in bed holding Katniss to my chest possessively. I believe, that over these past months that's she's finally opened up to me completely. The only thing is, we've been through some pretty horrific things in our short lives and I still secretly wonder if what Katniss feels for me isn't more akin to that bond it forged; whether she truly loves me or is afraid of being alone. She's never been good at talking about her feelings; being a wordsmith was always my forte. Her actions are what show me how she's evolving and growing. Several times now I've tried to admit my feelings for her, but I always lose my courage. I just don't think I'm ready for the heartbreak of knowing if it's not the same for her.
Chapter 9
Finally, it's the grand opening of 'Mellark's Bakery'. I tried, in vain, to convince Katniss that I wanted to name it something that encompassed both of us, but she wouldn't have it any other way.
She's come a long way since I first began working with her in the kitchen. Usually, at the end of the day the only thing she had accomplished in cooking was her fingertips. She would trudge out of the kitchen, more often than not covered in flour, a weight of defeat hanging from her shoulders. But in the end, she got the hang of it, as I knew she would.
Now she's just as capable as I am in most of the basics: breads, muffins, rolls and the like. But it's still up to me to decorate the cakes and ice the cupcakes. We both agreed, for the sake of profit, she'd just stay away from that area. I smile inwardly as I remember the last cake she tried to decorate, I thought it had looked more like a lumpy rock than anything.
Our first day was fast and tiring. It seemed that the entirety of District 12 had passed through our doors. Finally, when it was time to close and lock up, we were exhausted. I smiled wearily at her, as she began loading up the few unbought baked goods, mostly loaves of plain bread, to take home. I counted down the cash register and tucked the money away in the wall safe. Having that much cash was a bit intimidating. We really have no banking system here in 12 and I'm not entirely sure how to handle this much money. My parents, or rather my mother, was always in charge of our finances before. I finally decide that, for now, the best place for it is in the safe. I feel rather unprepared for not thinking of this detail until now. Before the week is out, I'll be sure to have a lare safe installed at home.
Katniss and I both share in the cleaning; she sweeps and scrubs down the counters while I wash the pans and tins. A few quick swipes of the glass cases and doors leave them shining. We look around, both searching for a detail missed and amazed that this place is ours. For that is what it truly is: ours. I made Katniss partner, fifty-fifty.
She was hesitant at first when I showed her the deed. She tried to persuade me not to do this, that it should be only mine. But she's my partner, has been for almost two years now, through thick and thin. I told her as much and she finally relented. The only thing she wouldn't budge on was the name.
That evening, as the sun was just beginning it's slow descent behind our far-off hazy mountains, we walk home hand in hand, content over a job well done. Our conversation is sparse, but not necessary. Periodically she looks up at me with a small smile splayed upon her lips. I squeeze her hand tight.
"Are you happy, Peeta?," she asks abruptly in the dusky air, bringing me out of my thoughts.
"More than I've ever been in my entire life." I respond truthfully.
I stop walking and she looks back at me quizzically. "Are you happy, Katniss? Truly?" I hold my breath, bated.
"Very much so." She toys with her bottom lip, her teeth worrying it unconsciously. I raise an eyebrow at her, asking her to continue.
"I mean, sure, it's not the life I always imagined," she begins, and my stomach drops. "And there are a few things I'd change, but yes, I'm happy. And mostly I'm happy because you're here with me. I can't imagine my life without you in it." She tugs my hand forward, indicating she wants to continue walking.
My mouth opens even before I'm aware of what I'm doing. "What about Gale?" He's been looming at the back of my mind for a while now.
She doesn't speak for several seconds, her teeth worrying on her lip again, her face briefly falling. "What Gale and I had, what we were, was never anything but platonic, at least for me. I think he thought he was in love with the idea of me. I sometimes wonder if he ever truly knew me at all.
"There were times when he would be so shocked by my words or actions. He'd look at me with this unbelieving, disappointed face and I'd think to myself: 'we've been friends for almost five years and sometimes I don't even know you.' Gale could only truly love one thing: the fight. Even if I did love him, I'd only ever come in a lukewarm second in his heart.
'"Can I tell you a secret?" she continued, glancing over at me.
"Of course." I stammered, still processing her words.
"I'm glad he's gone. In the end, I doubt we could ever find our way back to what we were. And it'd be too hard to even try." She sighed, a tiny audible gasp, and then it seemed as if her shoulders lifted from letting go of a heavy burden.
My heart is singing. I don't know if she loves me, but now I do know she doesn't love him. That even were he to come back tomorrow, I don't have to worry about what would happen.
I clutch her small hand tighter in mine and pull her in close to drape my arm around her shoulders, then plant a kiss on the top of her head. She loops her arm around my waist and we walk home in happy silence.
