Author's Note
Disclaimer: I do not claim or wish to claim any of the characters I have mentioned and or portrayed. 'The Hunger Games' trilogy is copyrighted to Suzanne Collins and I have no intention of copyright infringement. This is written strictly for entertainment purposes only. Thank you.
This is my first Everlark fic so I thank you for reading ^^ Sorry if anyone comes out as OOC on the way. Trying to get the feel of the characters.
My God, this chapter is a tad overdue. ._. Not going to be able to upload another for a few days so I made sure to try and make it a tad bit longer than the others. Thank you all for the lovely reviews so far, it's what keeps me motivated and going ;u;
Please review and tell me what you think, whether you like it or not! It helps me write better in the long run.
It was a rare thing to wake up before he did.
At first I have to blink drowsily, expecting to be tucked in the bed, alone, with maybe a quick note that usually said he had work in town as an explanation why. It was a usual habit we both developed; he became a morning person and I became...not a morning person. There were days I didn't move an inch from bed. It wasn't a surprise I was startled to wake up to his sleeping face inches from mine.
I started to wonder if I was dreaming. The soft light that fell through his window – which he loved to leave open, no wonder I needed his warmth – trickled it's way over us, giving Peeta's serene and calm face a heavenly glow. His breath came in a slow, sleep induced rhythm, his chest rising and falling to the tempo, his arm stretched out to hold my head on his forearm. I almost really do think it's a dream to make up all the nightmares, but the throbbing in the back of my head from the still-angry knot says otherwise.
I don't want to move from this spot. This was one of our moments where I wish we could just pause it and lay here for quite a while, comfortable in Peeta's arms, content. Against my own will, I suppressed the longing to fall back asleep and quietly stepped out of bed. Thankfully, he only stirred slightly, but he quickly grew still again and his regular slumber continued. I gave a quick sigh of relief before preparing for the day.
The walk into the slowly stirring district was a short one. Even though Victor's Village is a safe distance from any of the destruction, as ordered by Snow, it didn't take long to step onto the still remaining ashes of the old District 12. I tried to ignore the sand-like padding under my feet as I made my way to the new Hob, game bag in hand, ready for trade.
Greasy Sae immediately laid out the meat as soon as I handed it to her with a soft "Good morning, Katniss," and made a short cluck with her teeth as she approved my kills. "As always, clean kills," She said, and I allowed a small smile to creep onto my face. Even though I'd heard it a thousand times, it always gave me a warm sense of content that Sae still found my hunting skills acceptable, especially on days where I just wanted to curl up in die in a hole but had to hunt for dinner. The smile didn't go unnoticed.
"You're in a good mood today," Sae said, returning my game bag to me, eyebrows arched to form a surprised yet knowing look on her face.
I blinked. "I am?" I say, half asking. I wasn't in any real mood today. At least, not that I know of. Most of the time I'm just miserable except for when I have Peeta as company or the sound of the singing mockingjays in the woods when I hunt. Seeing my smile falter into slight confusion, hers morphed into a sad one and she covered my hand with both of her old and wilted ones.
"Oh, Katniss." She breathes. "You're such a strong woman now."
Her words surprise me. Not even a year ago she would still call me a girl or child, despite myself being sixteen years of age. To call me a woman now when I was almost eighteen still seemed too early for me anyways, too foreign. Calling me strong to go with it almost seemed like a joke.
"But," Sae continued, keeping my attention focused. "Please, don't be too strong. You're only going to break." Finally letting go of my hand and dismissing me, she takes the meat and retreats to her back room, leaving me to my thoughts and her words. Finding nothing else that I need, I turn around and start back. Whatever good mood she might have seen in me was completely gone now.
What did she mean by break? Hadn't I done that already? That was the whole reason I'm now labeled as mentally unstable, after all. I already had broken; I'm just starting to pick up the pieces. The thoughts unsettled me, but I had to put them out of my mind for now. Only then did I realize that I was standing in front of the bakery, a few men from town holding supplies while they looked at me expectantly.
The shop was almost complete. They must have started painting later yesterday, because one entire side was finished with the familiar green we had so often walked past or admired with our noses inches from the glass. I could almost see the delicious baked goods laid out for display, my mouth nearly starting to water at the thought of it all. Peeta was definitely going to be pleased.
"Morning, Katniss!" Thom says, the first words that finally registers with me as I snap out of old memories. "Going hunting today?" He gestures at my bow, slung over my shoulder, with my quiver full of arrows, ready for firing.
I suddenly don't feel like hunting this morning.
"Actually, no," I reply. "I'm here to see if you might want help with any of the work for the bakery."
This comes across as an apparent shock to everyone in the circle, and it's not hard to guess why. For quite a while it was either the forest or my house that were the only two places I ever existed. To hear about me was often. To see me was almost a legendary tale. But ever since I started going into town daily, be it to trade with Greasy Sae or coming with Peeta, it became a regular sight, but now I had blown everyone away by offering help. Katniss, the almighty Mockingjay with the damaged wings, help? I could almost see it flash through their minds, even if for just a second, and it irritated me, but the offer still stood and eventually Thom was forced to give a friendly smile and agree.
I take off my hunting gear, setting them gently against the already-dry painted wall, before slipping off my heavy hunting coat as well. The biting chill that winter still managed to fuse into spring seemed to help keep me focused; a long sleeve shirt was my only defense to battle with the cold, but I didn't mind. Grabbing a paint brush, I set to work right along the others, making light yet firm strokes along the wood.
I found myself thinking of how much time Prim and I had spent staring at the window, longing for the ability to walk into the shop and order one of everything to take home. The warm bread smell was always what drew people in; sometimes people would even make random conversation just to have a reason to stay there and enjoy the lovely smell of bread and the lovely view of sweets, Prim and I being one of them. It wasn't an unpleasant memory. That was something her death couldn't take away from me.
My thoughts strayed to Peeta as I painted. How he sacrificed a hit to the face when we were little, himself against Cato, his complete sanity to the Capitol... all to save me. How he stayed by me to fight back the demons, when he had so many of his own to fend off. The guilt he feels every time he ever has a flashback. The idea that he wanted to do so much for someone so undeserving made me scowl, my brow furrowing as I painted with more force.
"Katniss, are you okay?" Thom's voice, be it suspicious or worried or both, cut a sharp knife through my rising self hatred. I turn to look at him, surprised at his concern, before I realize that I'm shaking. The brush twitches erratically in my hand, the bristles slightly scraping against the wood. I must be colder than I feel; the cold has made me lose feeling in my fingers and is slowly creeping up my whole hand.
I try to swallow. "I'm fine," I say, not sounding convincing by any stretch of the imagination, but any other excuse I plan to make is cut off by a hand closing over mine on the brush, steadying it. Another arm snakes around my waist; his warmth spreading up my back and down my arms. I shivered again, like a bird ruffling it's feathers, but it was no longer because of the cold.
"Bit cold, there?" Peeta asks, almost playfully, and the rustle of clothing tells me he's starting to slip off his jacket.
"Not really," I reply stiffly, tensing as the fabric touches my shoulders. He seems to get the hint and gives a shrug before sticking it back on. Smart boy, he is.
By now Thom and the others have gone back to painting their sections, glancing over to give a wink at us as if to say "Go on, have some fun for us." By Peeta's daily habits at home, I could tell he had always been hard at work around the District. The way he'd always come home a bit later each time, the way he'd move delicately as so not to upset sore muscles, especially on a day where the task was particularly difficult. Getting a day off was something he earned; and by the way he grabs my wrist and hauls me away from the painting in progress, he's eager to use it.
–
"Peeta, where are we going?" I ask, trying not to frown as he flashed me a grin.
"Somewhere," He shrugged, although I knew he was up to something.
We had been trudging through the forest for almost an hour, the trail annoyingly familiar, something I couldn't pinpoint. I had taken my bow with me, hoping for some small game to possibly come along, but Peeta's loud movement made sure well how wrong I was. Even the dullest of rabbit or squirrel knew to stay away from the ruckus caused by the tromping feet of the baker.
If it had been Gale, I would have parted ways a long while ago. Even though the forest was a place of safekeeping for my sanity; it was also to hunt for food that went on the table. To go about in a leisurely stroll was the last thing I wanted. But something about Peeta's spontaneously good mood kept me following after him, my patience miraculously doubling in length the moment I feel like it's almost out. He was almost like a small child wanting to show their mother something they achieved. Taking a deep sigh, I follow, letting him lead me on.
The path is all too familiar. I don't remember taking it, really, or who I took it with, but it was nipping at my memory. Definitely not Gale. The areas we hunted in were far behind us; it was a rare occurrence for us to go adventuring in the forest. We had jobs to do, mouths to feed. We had no time to waste. My irritable mood only grew more as the mention of Gale kept reappearing in my mind; thinking about him only made things worse.
"We're here," Peeta says, grinning wide, his eyes sparking with excitement. He allows me to pass ahead of him and get a good view of it myself. That's when I feel all the color drain from my face and my stomach drops. I knew there was a good reason why it had been making me nervous, how familiar it was.
Before me, with the old cabin still standing faithfully, the water rolling gentle waves amongst the bank, a few reeds poking their way through the shallow waves. Peeta had found the lake. "Oh, Peeta." I say, not hiding the strain in my voice.
He's clearly surprised at my sudden change in behavior; maybe he had done something wrong, or had said something he didn't realize he did, or if I was just tired. "Katniss, are you okay?"
No. I'm not okay. It's not okay. Nothing is ever okay. It wasn't okay before our first Games, it wasn't okay after, it was not okay during the rebellion, and it definitely isn't now. I feel myself starting to shake, more violently than I had this morning. The trembles flow through my whole body, threatening to bring me to my knees, even more so when Peeta rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Katniss?"
"I'm fine." I say quietly under my breath, squeezing my eyes shut tight, biting down on my lip hard enough to draw blood. "I'm not crying." It was rare that I did ever cry. I wasn't about to do it now.
But I am going to and we both know it. Drawing in a shaky breath, I try to suppress a sob, but it doesn't work and I'm left with trying to cover my mouth as my last reserve. I feel his arms wrap around me, his warm embrace, his hand caressing my head with a few soft words that I don't hear.
Somewhere along the way my knees give out and he's forced to pick me up with the apparent decision to take me home. I don't know if I mind or even really care anymore. Slowly, I was going to become just another empty shell like my mother. He'd have to find someone else to live his life with. Maybe he wanted to spend his time trying to save a poor girl who was trapped in the Games with him from herself. He's definitely wasting his time trying to. The thought hits me with full force, shattering what shards I had begun to pick up. I go limp in his arms, just wishing I'd just die, right then and there. It would stop the nightmares, the painful memories, the scars. Tributes were the lucky ones. The Victors suffer much worse.
Peeta tightens his grip on me to the point of hurting, but it's not a flashback. "Stay with me, Katniss," He says with a low voice.
If only.