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Disclaimer: I don't own THG in any way.
The days leading up to our trip go by in a blur. Peeta hunts, I bake. Simple as that. In the mornings, I get up early and head off into the woods. It's not quite the same without Gale, but I think I've found a new rhythm, a serenity of my own. I breathe in the woodsy air and tred silently over fallen leaves and mossy rocks.
Sometimes I think I see Gale. Catch a glimpse of dark hair, or a flash of a black leather jacket. But no. It always turns out to be a squirrel or some other animal passing by. I learn that Peeta spends his mornings baking. He bakes anything and everything, from delicately frosted cookies to loaves of hearty garlic bread. And of course, cheese buns. I can never seem to get enough of those.
He fills my kitchen with the buttery aroma of fresh baked goods. It actually sort of improves my mood whenever I walk in. For lunch, we have whatever he's baked in the morning, usually with a cup of mint or chamomile tea. Talk about unimportant things and laugh a little. Other days, we are silent. We are both healing.
In the afternoons, he paints while I either watch him or take a nap. Watching Peeta paint is mesmerizing. When he paints, his eyebrows furrow slightly in concentration. His paintbrush seems to move as an extension of his fingers. They stroke the white canvas, dab, and stroke streaks of color here and there. He looks relaxed, happy, even. It's during these afternoons that I can almost believe he was never a part of the Games. That he's still the boy with the bread, the kind, sweet baker who'd never been touched by the Capitol.
And he paints everything. The arena, Buttercup, my father's hunting jacket, even me. It takes him a long time to convince me, but eventually I agree to model for him, though somewhat reluctantly. I sit on a comfortable oak chair facing him while he paints. It takes him days. Of course, I'm itching to see the painting, but he makes me wait until he's finished. A surprise, he says. The truth is, none of the surprises I've had in the past were particularly pleasant. Such as having my sister reaped, then taking place in the Games myself. Losing friends and family. But I don't tell him this.
For dinner, he makes stew, casserole, or whatever else he can create with the game I catch every day. The meals are insanely good, and my appetite starts coming back in a matter of days. As a result, I start to fatten up. Day by day, my ribs show a little less, and my cheeks even turn a rosy pink. When I look in the mirror, the scars are still there, as they always will be, but I no longer look pale, skinny, and half-dead.
Peeta starts looking healthier, too, I notice. He seems to get a little leaner, even buff. And at night, we sleep together. Him with his arms around me, just like those nights on the train. This is probably our most intimate time. It's nothing sexual or romantic, but it feels good all the same. When I wake up screaming and drenched in sweat from a nightmare, he'll whisper soothing words and stroke my hair until I calm down.
Then we get up and go to the kitchen for a mug of hot chocolate or warm milk. I tell him about the details of my nightmare, and he listens. He lets me rant and rage and babble. Once I'm done, I always feel better. Like somehow the visions have been poured out of me and into the open.
And when Peeta wakes me up with wide eyes and a frantic expression, I put my arms around him and trace patterns on his chest. We've promised each other to stop hiding. Hiding from nightmares, feelings, and each other. We do our best to be there for the other, instead of pushing away our worst fears and deepest memories. We still need a lot more practice, but we're getting there.
Finally, on the weekend before we set off, we start packing. Neither of us wants to bring too much stuff, so we just pack the basics, some summer clothes and toiletries. The weather in Twelve is actually still mostly chilly, since it's the beginning of July, but apparently it's full heat in Four already. I debate for a while over whether or not to bring my bow and arrow, and decide against it in the end. I don't think they have many, if any, forests in Four.
I've even arranged for Greasy Sae to take in Buttercup while we're away, although I doubt he'll stay in the house. Peeta calls Effie and a train is immediately booked to pick us up on Sunday night. One of the perks of being a victor, I guess. By the time we arrive in Four, it'll be Monday morning.
We're both tired, but excited, and at last, we board the train on Sunday night.
There are no passengers apart from the two of us, which gives us the freedom to roam and explore the train as much as we like. So we wander through lavish dining cars and entertainment rooms, pausing by the kitchen to order some midnight snacks. The waitor brings us a plate stacked high with colorful round cookies and small pastry puffs. We eat while lounging comfortably on velvet seats and watch a movie together.
The whole thing is so relaxing and nice that I think I can almost understand why some Careers would willingly go into the Games just for this kind of lifestyle. Almost, but not quite.
By the time we're settled in bed, I'm exhausted and fall asleep practically right away. And for once, I sleep without nightmares.
I wake up to sunlight streaming in from the window, and find Peeta is up already. He's sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, doodling absentmindedly on a sketchpad, dressed in a checkered orange shirt and a pair of jeans. "Morning," he says lightly, giving me a smile.
"Morning," I answer, rubbing my eyes. "Are we there yet?" He grins. "See for yourself." He gestures towards the window. I drag myself out of bed and peer at the glass, letting out a small gasp. We're definitely in District Four. At the moment, we're speeding past a blur of blue sky and rocky shore. I can see the ocean below us, an enormous strip of foaming azure. It's beautiful.
On our Victory Tour, I don't really remember enjoying this view. All I could think about was the fact that the tributes from the mourning families were dead because I was alive. Nothing else made much of an impression in my mind. But now, under complete different circumstances, I find myself more than taken by the stunning landscape.
"You should paint this," I blurt to Peeta. He's quiet for a moment, studying the view. "Yeah, I think I will," he agrees. "You can be the first one to see it." He adds after a moment. "I'm honored," I tell him. Things seem to be going well enough between us, and not for the first time in the past week, I feel a sliver of hope, that maybe we can recover enough to really grow back together. Give our star-crossed love a fresh start, maybe. I'd always wondered what it would be like to fall in love the natural way, without the Games and the complications. Would we still have fallen in love, or would we have married different people and eventually grown old separately?
I can never think of an answer to that question. Instead, I go to the bathroom to take a quick shower and change into a clean outfit. I do my hair in the usual braid down my back, feeling wide awake and hungry now.
Breakfast is amazing, of course. I order a stack of waffles topped with whipped cream and fresh strawberries. It even comes with about three different types of honey. Peeta has a mushroom omelet with some tomatoes and bacon on the side. Then there's orange juice, hot chocolate, milk, coffee, and a dozen types of tea to choose from. We stuff ourselves until we can't hold another bite.
About an hour later, the train starts to slow down, pulling into what must be the District Four station. We already have our bags gathered by then, and thank the dark-haired Avox who helps us carry our luggage to the platform, before stepping off the train.
It feels good to be on solid ground again. I breathe in the salty air, savor the feeling of the refreshing breeze on my face. We search the crowd around us for a few minutes, looking for Finnick and Annie. We're a little early.
Peeta spots them first. "There they are," he says, sounding relieved as he waves. The next thing I know, I'm hugging Finnick and Peeta is shaking Annie's hand. Finnick steps back to wink at me. "Katniss," he greets, using his seductive tone. "I've missed you oh so terribly." I roll my eyes. "Finnick," I say, batting my eyelashes. We laugh while Finnick bumps Peeta's fist and I finally get to hug Annie. It's a bit awkward, but she doesn't seem to mind. She gives me a smile. "Hey," she says quietly. I like Annie. I'd gotten to know her a little before her wedding, but I realize I still don't know much about her.
She has long, wavy, dark brown hair and bright green eyes not unlike Finnick's, just perhaps a shade paler. She's slim with a light complexion. She's beautiful in a natural way, and it's evident to tell she's the type of person you can trust, the kind who can easily make you feel relaxed in her presence. Personalitywise, she's as different from Finnick as two people can get. But I can see why they love each other. It's in their eyes. Both of them have this sparkle whenever they look at the other. I can tell they're genuinely happy, and that thought makes me think of Peeta somehow.
"Glad to see you, Annie," I tell her honestly. She smiles shyly. Finnick and Peeta are apparently engaged in a discussion about some kind of bread which is currently trending in District Four. This should be a pretty damn good stay.
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