The snow comes early this year. It's been chilly for a few weeks, with frost on the ground each morning, but during daytime the sun has warmed everything up and it's been around ten degrees centigrade. When I wake up from a nightmare in the dead of night and go to the window I first think that I'm still dreaming when I see the white flakes falling. Going to the window is my standard move after a nightmare, feeling at least a little bit comforted by the sight of Haymitch's and Peeta's houses, reminding me that I'm not as alone as I sometimes feel. But when I see the snow falling down hard I feel isolated, almost trapped. It takes me hours to fall back asleep that night, which in turn means that I don't wake up until it's past ten o'clock, which hasn't happened in months.
Once I'm up I look out the window again and find that the whole world seems covered in snow. It seems to be at least a decimetre or two deep, obscuring the grass, the road and the pebbled paths that lead up to each house. The houses seem almost like islands in the middle of all this white. Neither Haymitch nor Peeta appears to have set foot outside judging by how the snow looks untouched around their houses.
I head downstairs after putting on clothes warm enough for winter. I don't need to go hunting but I long to be out in the woods to enjoy the beauty of the glistening snow and the tranquillity I hope I will find there. I shove my feet into my old boots and put on a scarf, coat and gloves made by Cinna. I can't seem to find a hat that belongs to me but in a drawer I find one that belongs to my mother. It's dove blue and warm and when I put it on I'm able to pull it down over my ears with no problem. I cast only a brief glance at myself in the mirror and then I head out the door.
I trudge through the snow to get out on the road, not bothering to shovel a path. For all I know there will be more snow anyway and besides, I've never been bothered by walking in deep snow. Few people even had snow shovels in the Seam so I've never seen much use for them since moving to the Victors' Village. Before the war all such things were taken care of Capitol people anyway.
I haven't taken many steps in the direction of the woods when I catch a noise. I turn to see Peeta wearing a rather thin coat considering the weather, standing right below his front porch with a shovel in his hand. Apparently he has other ideas than me when it comes to the necessity of shovelling snow.
Feeling uncharacteristically light-hearted I forget about my intentions to go to the woods and begin to walk in his direction. It feels good to see another living soul that isn't Buttercup and being reminded that it's just a bit of snow and it won't isolate me from the only people I have left in my life.
"Watch your step!"
Peeta's voice surprises me. He hasn't looked up to see me coming and I didn't think he would hear my soft steps over the sound of the shovelling. I stop when I hear his warning and look down at the ground, trying to locate the cause of his cautioning.
"It rained last night, before it began to snow" says Peeta, glancing up at me. "The rain froze to ice underneath the snow."
What he's saying makes sense, though not entirely. It's true that ice underneath a layer of snow makes for really slippery footing. Most people who fell and broke bones and sought my mother's help back before the war had slipped on ice underneath snow. But if there really is ice underneath here I ought to have felt it.
"Are you sure?" I say. "Didn't seem slippery when I left my house."
He takes a pause from his shovelling and looks over at my house.
"Judging by your tracks it seems you walked across the grass, not the path. The grass won't be half as slippery."
"You have good eyesight" I remark.
He shrugs and sends another shovel full of snow flying out on his lawn.
"I wouldn't be much of a painter if I didn't."
"I guess" I say with a hint of a smile.
"You off to the woods?" he asks.
"Yes. I thought I'd go enjoy the first real day of winter out there."
He gives me a look.
"You'll be sick to death of winter long before it ends."
"Probably" I admit, taking a few careful steps in his direction. "But now that winter doesn't mean being freezing cold and starving I can enjoy its beauty."
He smiles.
"I've always wished I could capture snow in a painting. It's so beautiful how it glistens and sparkles on the ground. And while I don't care much for frost in and of itself I love the way it looks on the branch of a tree. Being able to capture a forest on a clear winter's day would really be an achievement."
"You'll manage it, some day" I offer, fully confident that he will.
"In my eighties, perhaps" he mutters. By now he's made it about two yards and is just two feet away from where I'm standing. "Aren't you going to clear the path to your door?"
I look over at my house and shrug.
"I don't mind walking through a foot or two of snow."
"A foot or two?" he questions.
"I think you'll find you're the only one out here who bothers shovelling snow" I say teasingly. "I doubt Haymitch will bother with it."
"No, knowing Haymitch he will wait until I get fed up sinking down to my knees in snow just to give him his breakfast bread every morning. I can hear him already, throwing me some comment on how if it bothers me so much then I can deal with it. Even though I know he hates wading through snow himself."
"You're probably right" I chuckle.
"Yeah, well joke's on him" says Peeta, stopping to brush a strand of hair from his face. "He needs to get out of the house more. Get some actual fresh air for a change. If he wants bread this winter he'll have to come to me."
"Listen to you, sounding all strict" I say with another small chuckle.
"Like I said, he needs to get out more."
"What about me?" I ask. "Will I have to come to your door to get breakfast, too? Or can I have mine delivered?" In my mind I start picturing the three of us having breakfast together every morning, like old times, and a warm feeling runs through me.
"Shame on you for expecting the guy with the prosthetic leg to wade through the snow to bring breakfast to you" he says in a jestingly chastising tone.
"Well what do you say both Haymitch and I show up at your door to get our bread and to cook whatever I've killed for dinner?" I suggest, my tone light but the question quite sincere. I like the idea of spending long winter days cooped up with Haymitch and Peeta in a house that smells of freshly baked bread and, let's face it, is much more like a real home than mine or Haymitch's houses.
"Do the dishes afterward and you might just have yourself a deal" he answers with a raised eyebrow.
"Haymitch can do the dishes."
By now we're standing right in front of one another. It's good to see him like this, looking healthy and recovered from his traumas. His cheeks are rosy from the cold, fresh air, his eyes seem an almost unnatural shade of blue and he's got snow here and there in his hair, glistening as much there as down on the ground. I don't think I would mind standing here for a minute or two and watch the boy they broke so badly looking so alive and youthful and innocent.
"You realize you're in my way, right?" he teases.
"Or you can put the shovel down and just walk in my footsteps the last bit" I reply.
"You'd still need to move for that to happen, though" he smirks.
"Eager to get rid of me?" I tease.
"Not necessarily. Though if you want to hang around I'd rather you moved to stand beside the mailbox, like a good lawn ornament."
"Hey!" I yelp, giving him a playful smack on the shoulder, enjoying the sound of his carefree laughter. "Okay, okay, I'll move."
I turn around a little too fast and lose my footing. Instinctively I reach out and grab his arm to steady myself.
"Whoa!" he says. "Careful now!"
But it's too late. We both begin to slip on the ice underneath the thin layer of snow left from Peeta's shovelling. I hear the shovel drop to the ground and I grab on to Peeta with both hands out of pure reflex and for a brief second it seems like we might be able to stay on our feet. Then we've fallen over in the snow, me landing on top of him, both of us laughing like carefree children.
"Did you hurt yourself?" I ask through my laughter.
"Only my pride" he laughs back. "Ow, and my tailbone I think. A little."
The closeness of his body, even through the layers of my winter clothing, brings a warmness to me. I'm reminded of another time we slipped and fell like this in the snow, in what seems like a whole lifetime ago. That time there were cameras, there was the threat of Snow hanging over our heads and there was the uncertainty of my feelings. I don't feel that uncertainty anymore as I look at him, his face so close to mine. My laughter subsides and I can think of nothing but how it ended the last time we were in this predicament. It feels like an odd chance of a do-over, a chance to get to re-live that kiss for nobody else but for us. And I wonder what it would be like to kiss him now. Would it be like those kisses on the beach? I don't let myself think about those kisses often but in this moment it seems like it's the only thing on my mind.
"Are you okay?" asks Peeta, brow furrowed with concern.
"Yeah" I exhale.
"You're not getting up."
The moment is gone as quickly as it came. He doesn't feel the way I do. He doesn't want to kiss. I'm not even sure I want to anymore either, equally frightened of what it would mean if a kiss now would feel like the ones on the beach and of what it would mean if it didn't. All the same I can't seem to get off him just yet.
"Do you remember…?" I ask him. "When we were in the snow like this? When we were leaving for the Victory Tour?"
"Vaguely" he says. Then he makes a displeased face. "It's one of those memories I can't really reach. They twisted it in my mind and I don't know what is real and what is their spin on it. It's not a good memory in any case."
Reluctantly I lift my body off of his, defeated by his reply. It takes me by surprise to learn that he doesn't consider that a good memory and it makes me feel a lot sadder than it probably should. I focus on looking down on my outfit as I brush the snow off of it. I take a step to the side so that I'm standing on the lawn and I am no longer in the way. Peeta rises beside me and grabs the shovel.
"I try not to think back" he says, sounding a bit closed off now. "I want to make new memories instead. Ones I know are real and mine."
"Still" I say, brushing myself as if there's more snow there. "We had some good memories, too."
He takes a short pause from his shovelling.
"They're not so good in my head." He continues what he was doing, sending a heap of snow flying onto the pile beside the path on the opposite side of where I'm standing. "I don't like thinking about it."
I feel completely deflated. All the warm, happy feelings inside of me when I headed out to enjoy the beauty of the first snow in the woods, and the strange excitement I felt when Peeta and I were on the ground mere seconds ago, have gone away.
"Peeta…" I hear myself saying. "There were good moments. I don't want you to forget or ignore them."
He shrugs.
"Like I said, I would rather make new memories." Yet another shovel-full of snow goes flying out over his lawn. "Sometimes that's what keeps me going, you know? The thought that the best memories I will have in my life have not yet happened."
"You'll get good and happy memories" I say. "Just… Don't let them take away the good ones from the past. I'd be more than happy to help you reclaim them."
"Thanks, but…" A cringe flashes over his face for a brief second. "I think they'll come back to me easier without your help. At least until I've recovered more. As much as I despise it I haven't fully learned yet to ignore that voice in my head that tells me to be wary of the things you say about the past."
His revelation feels like a punch in the stomach. I wrap my arms around myself, feeling a growing sadness aching inside. I had no idea that he still had that much wariness regarding me. I know he desperately wants to overcome it and I know he doesn't hate me anymore but it feels like such a big hurdle. I want him to come back to me, the way he was before, trusting me like he used to. Whatever the nature of our relationship will be I want it to be genuine and complete and not tainted by the past.
"You should get going if you want a chance to see all your favourite spots in the woods before darkness falls" says Peeta. Nothing in his voice hints to what we were just talking about and the change makes me falter for a moment.
"Oh… Actually I'm not so sure I want to go out there anymore. One tumble in the snow was enough for me today, I think." I look at him as he wipes his brow with the back of his mitten-clad hand. "What about you? What are you up to for the rest of the day?"
"Heading into town" he says. "I noticed a few weeks ago that my winter coat is looking rather… worse for wear, to put it mildly. I've been meaning to get another one but I thought I had more time before the snow would fall." He pauses and sticks the shovel in the ground, resting his forearms on the handle. "To be fully honest with you… I've been avoiding getting a new one because I wanted to hold on to the one Portia made. I know how much love and concern she put into everything she made for me."
I don't know how to respond. Funny, I never thought about Peeta feeling close to Portia the way I felt to Cinna. In the end we both got our designers killed, and we both had to watch their demise from just a few feet away, powerless to save them. I look down at my own clothes and know I want them to last for as long as possible, as if Cinna still lingers on as long as I wear his clothes.
"I can understand that…" I tell Peeta. "I'm sorry it got ruined."
"It's not Portia's fault" he says, though I didn't think it was. "The morning I left for the Quell reaping I must have left a window open. Looks like a rat chewed on it."
"You have other clothes that she made, right?" I say, not knowing what else to say.
The hint of a smile appears on his face.
"Mostly suits and dress shirts… But there are a few other items that I'm being very careful with nowadays. And three very comfortable sets of pyjamas."
It never occurred to me that Portia would make Peeta pyjamas. Cinna didn't make anything like that for me, though Octavia mentioned that he had been tasked to make me something to wear for my wedding night. Thinking about it makes me blush.
"I should get going" I say, feeling suddenly awkward being near Peeta.
"If you're not going to the woods maybe you can go wake Haymitch?"
"Gee, doesn't that sound like fun?"
"Just be careful that you don't slip and fall again" says Peeta, offering me a friendly smile. "Don't think you can get me to come to your door with bread every day this winter just because you fell and broke your hip."
"My hip?" I echo. "What am I, eighty?"
He chuckles and shrugs. I give a small wave and then I walk off in the direction of my own house. On my way there I do as Peeta asked and stop by Haymitch's house to wake him up, naturally getting no thanks at all from our old mentor for providing this service. I let him grumble and growl and gripe while I put a kettle on the stove to make him some tea, giving him almost none of my attention. I usually don't when he's in this kind of mood but today it's more than just drowning out his discontent. My mind keeps going back to that moment when Peeta and I were lying on the ground together, just like when the Victory Tour began.
I wonder again what it would have felt like to kiss him today.
I feel a bit strange when I go over to Peeta's to have dinner that evening. I wonder if he's going to say anything about what happened earlier in the day or if things will be weird between us. Imagine my surprise when I walk through the door and am immediately greeted by the sound of Peeta and Haymitch laughing. I quickly hang up my coat and kick off my shoes and walk to the kitchen where I find the two of them already working on dinner. Peeta is stirring something in a big pot and Haymitch is chopping bell peppers.
"Sweetheart, you're late" says Haymitch in a fairly cheerful tone. "Thanks to your tardiness Peeta forced me to help out with dinner."
"God help us all" smirks Peeta. He lifts the large wooden spoon full of red sauce from the pot, grabs a teaspoon and scrapes some of the sauce off. He puts the teaspoon in his mouth and a look of concentration passes over his face when he tastes it. "More pepper. It needs more pepper."
"Alright already, I'm working on it" says Haymitch in a playfully nagging tone, chopping a yellow bell pepper with gusto.
"Pepper as in spice, not vegetable" chuckles Peeta. "Katniss grab the pepper from the kitchen island, would you?"
Still confused by the merry mood I grab the jar and hand it to him. He adds what seems like an awful lot of pepper and then puts it back on the spice rack where it belongs. Haymitch grabs a handful of chopped up bell peppers and tosses them in the pot while Peeta eyes through the other spices on the rack trying to decide what else to add to the mix.
"What are you boys making?" I ask, not entirely able to hide my surprise.
"I have no idea" says Peeta. "Haymitch is improvising. I hope you're not hungry."
"Careful" says Haymitch. "I've got a knife in my hand."
"You often do but I'm faster than you."
"Did you both nab from the extra stash of morphling?" I ask while I take a seat by the kitchen island. Both Peeta and I were given a few doses of the drug to use in emergencies, since our wounds haven't fully healed yet.
"What, we can't be in a good mood?" asks Haymitch. He grabs the wooden spoon from Peeta, scoops up some sauce and shoves it in his mouth, ignoring Peeta's protests. "Ugh! Too much pepper."
"You can't eat straight off this spoon!" Peeta objects. "No, don't put it back in the pot now!" He takes it from Haymitch at the last second. "That's it, you're on a cooking time out. Go set the table instead."
"Who made you boss of the kitchen?" snorts Haymitch.
"It's my kitchen."
The good-natured bickering continues, though Haymitch is not allowed near the food again until it's ready to be served. After dinner Haymitch challenges Peeta to a game of chess and I volunteer to do the dishes while they take out the chess board and duke it out at the kitchen table. Haymitch has tried to get me to play him a few times but I always say no. I was taught how to play when I was younger but I never had the patience for it. The concept of forming a strategy of attack did draw my interest but it just takes too long to play. I get bored just watching Haymitch and Peeta.
When I'm finished with the dishes I pull out a chair at the end of the table and take a seat anyway, entertaining myself by pointing out various strategic moves, or at least moves I perceive to be strategic, which seems to annoy both Haymitch and Peeta. I pretend not to notice, finding more amusement in messing with them than I do in watching the game itself unfold at a snail's pace. After about an hour they decide to put the game on hold for now, neither one of them seeming to be anywhere near victory. Haymitch carefully lifts the board and carries it over to a side table, putting eliminated pieces in a wooden box.
"Time to head on home" he says.
"Katniss, would you mind sticking around for a minute?" asks Peeta as we both rise from our seats. "There's something I want to show you."
"Sure" I say, my curiosity woken.
We follow Haymitch to the front hall and bid our goodnights as he heads out into the darkness. There's a strangely pleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach at staying behind and watching Haymitch leave – not because I mind his company but because something about it reminds me of the togetherness Peeta and I enjoyed in the brief period of time around the Quarter Quell. When the door has closed behind Haymitch and Peeta has locked it he turns to me and gives me a friendly smile that makes me feel even better inside.
"So what did you want to show me?" I ask.
"Come" he says, leading the way to his sitting room, talking while we walk. "I know we said it would wait until later but I had a fit of inspiration today when I got back home, and honestly it was my first real inspiration to draw anything at all other than depressing stuff since, well, before the hijacking I guess." He walks over to the mantelpiece and picks up a sketchbook. "It's just a sketch, the real thing will of course be on canvas, but it's an outline of sorts and I would love to hear what you think of it. It's probably not very accurate but it will look better once I can study the actual thing more closely. At least you'll get an idea of what it might end up looking like, in terms of composition and such."
He walks up to me and hands me the sketchbook. I look down at the paper and see a primrose flower sketched in delicate details, beautifully shaded and just the kind of thing I had in mind. It doesn't look exactly like a real primrose but he's gotten the general shape of it down and I know that once he can study an actual flower he will be able to recreate it in detail. I open my mouth to tell him I think it's beautiful but instead a sob comes out and I sink down on the couch behind me. Primrose. I've been trying so hard not to think about her, not to let grief consume me, and I was the one who wanted this picture in the first place. Yet seeing the flower she was named for lovingly captured on paper by Peeta's hand makes me miss her terribly and does not at all make me remember fondly the way I thought it would. Instead it hurts. It hurts beyond words to realize once again that I will never get to see her again, or hold her again, or hear her voice.
I can barely see through my tears but I feel the sketchpad being gently taken from my hands and then Peeta's arm is around my shoulders and he's sitting beside me on the couch. In the midst of my sorrow I feel terrible that this is my reaction to something I asked him to do, and which he thought would make me happy.
"I'm sorry" I gasp through my sobs. "It's not… It's lovely, I just…"
"Hush, hush now…" he says gently. "You must miss her so much."
Hearing him put it into words pushes me to the point where I know I won't be able to pull myself together until I've allowed myself to let go and cry. I'm not even bothered anymore that I'm letting this weakness show in front of him. His arm stays around my shoulders and he pulls me close, offering his shoulder to cry on. I lean against his broad chest, feeling comforted in the middle of my pain through his sheer closeness, and he lets me cry without saying a word, which I think is just what I need. Peeta is good with words but I can't imagine that any words in the world could comfort me in this moment so his silence feels like balm to my soul, like he still understands me even after everything they did to take him away from me.
To my own surprise I don't cry for very long. A few minutes of intense sobbing and then the immediate grief subsides a bit, bringing me back to my senses. I don't sit up straight at once, as I perhaps should. Peeta's presence feels so right and just to be back in his embrace, a place I never thought I'd be again, feels better than I can describe. I want to stay like this for as long as he'll allow me but I don't want to overstay my welcome in his arms. I sniffle and sit back up again, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.
"Peeta the drawing is wonderful" I say. "Maybe a little too good" I add with a little chuckle, despite my sadness.
"I'm glad you like it" he answers gently. His hand has moved from my shoulder and is rubbing my back in a soothing way.
"It's exactly what I had in mind" I say, trying to smile a bit while I try to dry my face from all the tears.
"Do you need anything?" he asks. "Can I get you anything?"
I realize all of a sudden just how exhausted I am. It's been a long day following a night with little sleep and the emotional overload mere moments ago seems to have drained me of my last energy. A hot bath would be nice but most of all I just want a chance to compose myself and gather some more energy.
"Actually, would it be alright if I laid down for a while?" I ask. "Just for fifteen minutes, or so. I could use a little more energy before I head out there."
"Of course" says Peeta. His hand leaves my back and he rises to his feet. "There are no bed sheets in the downstairs guestroom but I always keep bedspreads on the beds and there should be some decorative pillows and a blanket or two. You could lie down there for a moment."
"Thank you" I say, feeling a touch wobbly as I rise to my feet.
"Come, I'll show you the way."
I don't need directions, his house is just like mine only mirror-imaged, but I don't voice an objection. I let him lead me to the bedroom on the downstairs floor and gratefully I lie down on the bed with my head on the pillow Peeta grabs from an armchair.
"I'll only be a few minutes" I promise.
"It's alright" he assures me. "Do you want some water?"
"Sure, that would be great."
He leaves the room and heads for the kitchen, leaving the door open so that I can hear him moving around. I curl up on my side in a foetal position, wondering to myself if I actually will be able to get off this bed and put my coat and boots on and walk the short distance back to my own house. My whole body feels so heavy and every movement seems draining.
Peeta comes back after about a minute, carrying a large glass of water. He's added three ice cubes and a thin cucumber slice and I smile a little at the memory of how they used to have large pitchers of ice water in the bakery, also with thin slices of cucumber in them. Some things seem to be ingrained in his memory still, regardless of what they did to him in the Capitol.
"Here you go" he says, kneeling by the bed to get in level with me.
I lift myself up on my elbow and take the glass in my hand, taking a few sips of the cool water. Out of nowhere tears begin to well up in my eyes again and I think about having to go back to my empty house in just a short while. It's been a while now since I've felt taken care of; Greasy Sae stopped coming by when I began to get my life in order again and she started working on building a new shop for herself. The simple gesture of bringing me a glass of water brings to mind all the little things my mother and my sister used to do for me, and the things I used to do for them.
"Hey…" says Peeta gently, his fingers reaching up to wipe away the new tears but I know there will only be more to follow.
"I just feel so alone" I admit to him in a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability. "In that big house, just me and the cat, no Mother, no Prim…" My voice breaks when I say her name and I'm back to sobbing.
"I know" says Peeta. "I know how lonely and empty it must be. Prim, she had a way of filling up a room with her presence, didn't she?"
I nod and hold out the glass for him to take before I accidentally drop it on the ground or something. I don't think I can handle heading back to that house tonight. I will have to go to Haymitch and have his company until the sun begins to rise and the loneliness will feel a little less palpable.
Then Peeta rises to his feet and moves over to the foot of the bed. From there he climbs up and comes to lay down right behind me, tentatively wrapping an arm around my waist, perhaps unsure if I will allow the breech of personal space. My tears keep coming but for a short moment I feel an unexpected warmth and – almost – joy. I remember so well those nights on the train when he held me like this during the night, even if he doesn't remember or chooses not to remember. It's like having another little piece of the real him back and it means more to me than he can ever know.
I move my hand down and rest it on top of his to show that I allow and as a matter of fact welcome this intimacy between us. He pulls back a little but only to grab the blanket he put on the bed for me, which I didn't bother wrapping over myself. He pulls the blanket over us and it makes me realize I am shivering and he probably thinks I'm cold. He then moves closer to me and it feels just like old times and it makes it even harder to face the reality that I have to get up and leave in less than fifteen minutes and head back home to a lonely house and an even lonelier bed.
I close my eyes and continue to cry silently. Peeta's face comes to rest just beside my neck, making me feel every exhale, and I imagine that I can feel or hear his steady heartbeat the way I always could when I let his chest serve as my pillow. Slowly my tears subside and I begin to feel relaxed and even comfortable. Peeta stays silent, offering me his comfort without interfering with my grief. I open my eyes to check what time it is but can't seem to locate a clock from the position I'm lying in, and I'm damn sure not going to move an inch unless I know the fifteen minutes I asked for are up. I feel my eyelids grow heavy and I allow myself just a brief moment of closing them again. I can't remember the last time I felt at peace like this and I want to enjoy it for whatever few moments are left. The thought brings on new tears and I bury my face in the pillow.
I wake up in the middle of the night, but not from a nightmare. In fact I don't know what it was that woke me but it doesn't make a difference. Even though the room is in darkness and it's unfamiliar to me I instantly know where I am, and who I'm with. I must have cried myself to sleep and Peeta let me sleep on, curled up safe in his embrace. He's still here with me, the "puh"-like sound he makes in his sleep with every exhale blowing a puff of air at my neck each time.
Despite the difficult ending to the day I feel genuine happiness. I had almost forgotten what a luxurious feeling it is to sleep in his embrace and how good it feels to not be alone in the night. Reason tells me that this night is an exception and that I can't expect to get to fall asleep with him like this every night like I would want to if I could but for tonight I am going to enjoy it to its fullest.
With a smile on my lips I close my eyes and drift off to sleep again, for the first time in a long time without fear of what I might see in my dreams.
