A/N: Thank you for all your kind words and support. I'm glad you're still enjoying the story. I'm sorry it's taken me a while to get this chapter out.
Thank you to Amanda, Lamia and Rae. I love you guys, thank you for pre-reading and being so supportive.
Love and thanks to Bookgeek80 for betaing.
I hope you enjoy reading.
Need
Peeta slept on my couch Sunday evening. He slept there again on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. He spent most of his time in my house, so sleeping here didn't seem strange or ridiculous. It was comforting to me, having someone else in the house, and not having to listen through the walls for signs of life. I didn't tell him this. We didn't talk about his sleepovers or his presence in my house. We didn't talk about the night I cried over Gale as I held his hand, and I knew this unspoken agreement was for my benefit. There were times when he would start, or open his mouth as if to say something, but changed his mind at the last moment. So we continued, spending most of our time together without actually mentioning the reasons why.
I felt guilty that he spent his nights on the couch. I'd heard him stirring, walking around at all hours, so I knew that he wasn't getting enough sleep. I knew in the back of my mind I should clear out a room for him to stay in. But as long as I'd been back in Twelve, I hadn't ventured into the other two rooms in my house. I couldn't even bring myself to do it for Peeta. It seemed ridiculous to be afraid of opening a door and stepping inside a space I'd been in countless times. The doctor assured me that the anxiety was normal, that everything would take time. It was frustrating, but if there was something I had too much of, it was time. I could wait.
"I'm making breakfast." I heard Peeta say from the kitchen. I shook my head and smiled to myself. I had no idea how this had happened. It seemed so natural for us to behave this way, but at the same time, I was still wary. I couldn't shift the hesitancy to believe everything was fine and looking up. In my life, things didn't suddenly look up. There was always a catch. I cast one last look at the couch, and decided Peeta really shouldn't sleep there anymore. He needed to actually rest rather than wander my house at night.
"You don't have to sleep here if you're uncomfortable," I told him as I walked into the kitchen.
Peeta snapped his head up at my sudden entrance. I froze just inside the door, staring at him as he stood facing me, clutching a knife in his hand. My body tensed, not sure if I should run or stay put. I didn't have to make the decision. Almost instantly, Peeta dropped the knife, both of us watching as it clattered onto the work surface.
"Sorry," he muttered, his face red and eyes downcast. I moved quickly over to him, sorting out the plates and food while he composed himself. I couldn't help but watch him out of the corner of my eye as he sliced the bread.
"So, you don't want me sleeping on your couch?" he asked, handing me two slices. I could tell he was trying to keep the conversation light, but the tone of his voice betrayed him. I hated the hurt I heard there, how I'd managed to create it even though I was trying to help him. I only wanted him to sleep well, not to insult him.
"It's not that. You just keep getting up during the night. I know its not comfortable sleeping there, so don't feel like you have to," I explained, hoping to sound a little less cruel.
"I don't walk around because I'm uncomfortable. I'm just not sleeping. I haven't for a while."
"What do you mean not sleeping?" I questioned, thrown off by his completely casual tone.
"Well, I sleep for short periods of time. I have to, but other than that, I stay up."
I stared at him in shock as he ate his breakfast as if nothing were wrong. I'd known there was something going on with him for weeks. I'd worried about it, but never pressed it any further. I tried to remember the last time I was certain he'd slept properly. Apart from when we fell asleep on the couch, I couldn't remember. And I hadn't noticed until it was right in front of my face.
"Peeta, why didn't you tell me? I have sleeping pills, I could have..."
"No." his voice was harsh and final. "No, I don't want anything like that!"
I felt the anger at his response well up inside me, so I closed my eyes and fought it back. I opened my eyes and tried to think of something to say, but the phone rang before I had a chance to reply. I walked away, knowing it had to be my mother calling.
"Katniss?" she asked, her voice seeming so close despite the distance. I smiled at her need to still ask if she were speaking to me. There was no one else who would pick up the phone, and no other number she used.
"Yes, it's me," I answered.
Her voice changed with the confirmation, and for a while it was easy. I talked to my mother more now than I probably had when we lived together. I missed her, in a way. I'd spent all my life wishing she were stronger, wishing she would get out of my way and let me do what I had to. Now, I wanted her here. I wanted her worrying about me and using her medical skills in an effortless and brilliant way. I understood her. I understood what it was like to shut down now. I'd held it against her as a child, hated how she'd been so consumed in her own grief that she couldn't look after her own children. Now I knew what it was like to be numb and to just exist because there was no other alternative. I didn't blame her now that I'd experienced how hard it was to stop, and to care about anything anymore. Even people who mattered to me couldn't prevent it from happening.
"Katniss, there's a set of vials in my room. They're in the chest of draws near the door, bottom shelf. Can you put them on the next train? I need one of them for a patient."
Her voice registered in my mind, the words being absorbed themselves without any meaning. The familiar numbness I'd thought I'd seen the last of returned, seeping through muscles and bone, from head to toe.
"Yes, of course," I said, although I didn't recognise my voice. My mother didn't seem to notice the change, continuing our conversation and ending it soon after. The dial tone filled my ears after she hung up, the receiver still clutched in my hand. I didn't want to let go. If I let go, I'd have to go upstairs and get the box.
"Katniss? What are you doing?"
As usual, Peeta arrived at the exact moment when I didn't want him to. I needed to hang on to the last moments before setting foot in the room. But Peeta wouldn't let me. He appeared beside me, leaving me for a moment before he gently took the phone from my hands. I let him. I knew I wouldn't be able to let go by myself. But once he placed the receiver down, I turned on my heel and marched away.
"Where are you going?" he asked. I paused. I needed him to leave me. To let me function by myself and not depend on him. I hated that he'd seen me cry, how he'd had to deal with me when he could barely function himself. I'd spent my whole life only having myself to rely on. Why should that change now?
"I need to get something for my mother. From her room."
There was a beat of silence before Peeta asked "Do you need me to come with you."
"No. I'm fine," I said, not allowing him to reply before I climbed the stairs.
#~#~#
I stood outside the door, as if waiting for something to hinder or help me. The more I stared at the door, the further away it seemed to be. The wood was chipped in certain places, worn in others and almost untouched in a few. I reached out, my fingers ghosting over the surface. A thin layer of dust attached itself to them, and I dropped my arm. My fingers burned, the pressure of the door to my mother's room attaching itself to them. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to clear it. This wasn't my sister's room. My mother was still alive; there was no reason to feel this way about her room. Yet I still did. It was a room I didn't want to set foot into, even though she had asked me herself for a tiny favour.
"I can go in, if you like."
I started, spinning round and gasping in shock. Peeta winced, staying put at the opposite end of the corridor.
"Sorry," he whispered, his voice carrying far despite its quietness. I turned away before answering.
"No, I need to do it." I still didn't move though. The door still seemed far away, but when I reached out again, my fingers met wood almost instantly. My hand froze, and my muscles stuck where they were. I wanted to open the door. I wanted to go in, get this over with and run back out again. But my body wouldn't move. I heard Peeta coming up behind me, his footsteps the only sound. I felt his presence rather than saw him as he moved to stand next to me.
"Are you sure?" he asked, allowing me to back down if I needed to. I nodded, and time seemed to drag while my limbs stayed still. Then, Peeta lifted his arm slowly, moving it closer to me. I watched as he cautiously moved his hand, intertwining our fingers so his hand was curled around the back of mine. I felt him inhale once before he moved our hands forward, placing them on top of the door handle. My fingers moved, and together we curled our hands around it, and pushed.
The door opened without much resistance. The room smelled like my mother. It didn't make sense that it would, considering how long it had been since she'd used it. But it was all my senses could interpret. Her scent, her presence was all over the room, each inconsequential item bringing a slew of memories as my eyes fell upon it. Her brush still on the bedside table, the same one she had used to brush my hair when I was so young. The ratty curtains she'd brought with her from our old home, an action I'd never really understood until now. There were too many memories we could forget without meaning to. Reminders of any kind were essential.
Peeta didn't let go of my hand once the door was open. Instead he twisted it over until he held my hand in his, gently pulling me to stand just inside of the room. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, my breathing echoing around the room. Peeta slowly walked to stand in front of me, taking away the overwhelming sense the room gave me. I stared back at him, at the face of the person I knew so well, looking at something easier than the room.
"Where is it, Katniss?" he asked, keeping eye contact with me as he spoke.
I swallowed loudly. My voice was raspy and shaking as I answered. "Bottom drawer over there." I lifted my arm and pointed to the chest of drawers, but didn't move my eyes from his face. "There should be six small glass bottles in a red metal box," I recited.
Peeta nodded. "Okay. I'm going to go get them, I'll be right back," he said, sensing that this was as far as I'd be able to go.
I nodded mechanically in reply, pushing down the panic I felt when Peeta disappeared from my vision. My body felt frozen as my eyes were automatically assaulted with memory. I closed them, focusing on the noise of Peeta searching for the box over everything else.
"I've got them Katniss," he called, but I didn't move. I didn't know what would happen if I opened my eyes, so I kept them closed. Peeta didn't say anything else after he retrived the box, but I heard his footsteps grow faint as he left the room. My pulse sped up at his retreat, but he didn't go far. My heart continued to race as I heard him approach me again.
"It's okay," he promised as he took my hand in his and moved in front of me once more. Only then did I open my eyes. He smiled, and I felt trapped. I couldn't look away, and I didn't want to move. He smiled as if we were normal people, on a normal day doing something mundane. He smiled as if there was nothing to worry about. He smiled as if we'd never been to the Games. I wished I could smile like that.
"Let's go," he encouraged, taking my hand and leading me out of the room as if I were a child. My hand felt strange in his, too cold and too warm at the same time. Peeta didn't let go of my hand as we left my mother's room, and he shut the door behind him. The finality of the click of the door closing seemed to echo through my head, the sound appearing as lines across my vision. My legs crumpled beneath me as my vision disappeared. I hit the wall hard with my shoulder as I slumped to the side, but felt Peeta right me a moment later.
"I'm fine," I said before he could ask, hating how my voice was more of a gasp than anything else. Peeta didn't say anything, but stood by me, holding me up as the moment of dizziness passed.
"You need to eat something," Peeta announced, and I smiled at his determination that food be the cure for everything.
"Maybe," I answered, closing my eyes then opening them once more to make sure my vision was completely clear.
I pushed myself off the wall slowly, allowing Peeta to stay by my side, steadying me more with his presence than his hand on my shoulder.
"Why don't we go somewhere to eat?" he said suddenly as we made our way towards the stairs.
I laughed, the sound hollow and sharp in the silence.
"There's not exactly any restaurants here anymore."
My words held more bite than I meant them to, and I regretted it when Peeta's face fell completely. He'd done nothing but support me this morning, and I'd just been either a burden or insulting. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't how I should treat him, not after everything.
"Sorry. What did you mean?" I asked, hoping that I hadn't completely ruined whatever his plans were.
Peeta fell silent as we made our way down the stairs, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. The small pressure caused a knee jerk reaction in me. I wanted to shake him off, tell him that I could walk down my stairs. But I didn't, I allowed it, wanted it even. It felt comforting, good to have someone watching over me, caring due to something other than duty. I wasn't sure I liked that feeling. Depending on someone had never appealed before, so why would it now?
We reached the bottom of the stairs, and Peeta released me, a strange, almost cold feeling sweeping up my arm as he did. He stood in front of me and smiled, brightly and brilliantly as if my previous comments had never been uttered.
"Let me show you."
#~#~#
I chewed the last of my bread with a smile on my face, watching the trees move from the rooftop. Being high up felt natural, safer somehow. Even though I'd spent time in trees and off the ground during The Games, up high and overlooking everything still gave me a sense of security and peace. Peeta lay on the rooftop near me, his eyes closed, his face younger than I remembered.
"Catching up on sleep?" I asked as I turned away from the trees.
"No, I couldn't fall asleep up here. I'd be too afraid I'd fall off."
I stared at him in silence, watching as his body twitched and moved of its own accord. He was tired, exhausted even, I could tell from his pose. Yet he was forcing himself away, not even trying to relax.
"Nightmares?" I guessed, knowing the reason for my own troubles in the night.
Peeta opened his eyes at the sound of my voice. Something in his gaze almost made me recoil, it reminding me of his none to friendly greeting at the hospital in Thirteen. I remembered then, how I didn't really know or understand him. I didn't know what he'd been through, and he'd never tried to explain. What happened in between the time in the arena and the rescue mission was a mystery, and I was glad. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to feel what made his eyes take that hue, what made him too afraid to close them. I couldn't add another thing to the list of horrors, but in that moment, I almost asked.
"You can't stay awake though," I said, preventing myself from asking things I wasn't prepared to deal with. "You need to find a way to... get rid of the nightmares I guess."
I knew it was a ridiculous statement. My own sleep was disjointed at best, so I could hardly offer any help or suggestions. It was in this silence that he stated, "I never had nightmares with you."
I knew he didn't. I knew my own dreams only faded away when he was near. I didn't understand what it meant though, and that was frightening. I was scared, and it had taken me until now to admit it. But I needed to sleep. I needed Peeta to sleep too. I needed him to heal and start to try functioning again. I just needed him.
"Then you can stay with me," I stated, not looking at him as I spoke. He was silent in reply, but I felt him hesitantly place his hand over my own. I froze, my heart pounding, not sure if this was a step too far into something I couldn't control or predict. But almost without my consent, my hand turned over slowly, until his fingers curled around mine. It came as a surprise when I realised this was okay. More than okay, it was what I needed.
