Chapter 10 – Explorations and Crossing the Line
Peeta doesn't press me about the nightmare, but he should, as would anyone. Instead, he holds me as I sob until my eyes run dry, stroking my braid as I stare blankly across the plane. "We'll be landing soon…" he says. "It's late, though, so we may only be able to find food and crash…"
"Can I stay with you tonight?" I whisper. I know he's smiling. I don't know how I can tell; maybe it's a change in his energy, maybe he just smiles with his whole body, if that's even possible.
"Sure," he whispers back. His fingers find my stitches, tracing the threads once or twice. "How are you feeling?" he asks, poking at my nose playfully.
"Numb," I answer truthfully. I'm physically and emotionally drained and we aren't even in the States yet. Maybe those few days off will be good for me, for us. Time alone, out of uniform with Peeta Mellark. I smile faintly, the joy lighting up my darkness as a candle would in a large cavern.
"I have so many places I want to take you…" I whisper as he unties my hair, running his fingers through the strands. "First, we're stopping off in Philly. The Major may make fun of me, but I know I won't get a good cheesesteak down in North Carolina." I roll over so I'm looking up at him. "We're not going to Pat's or Geno's, they're not as good as they want you to think. Tony Luke's…" I let out a content sigh, "That's where you go." I feel a tear coming to my eye. Embarrassed, I immediately sit up and keep my back to him until I get the next sentence out. "That's where my Dad would take me during the summer when we'd go see the Phillies." I say, wiping my eyes. I never talk about my Dad to anyone. After a deep breath or two, I turn and face him again.
"Can't say I've ever seen more of Philly besides the airport," he says. I remember the hallow, grey building. Even full of people, it always felt empty to me. Maybe it's because it was the last place I saw my Dad alive.
Peeta listens to me ramble about places in Washington and my mother's apartment. "There is one stop I need to make though…" I say, fumbling with my dog tags. I'd have to get new ones with our new division on them once we return to Baghdad.
Before I know it, we've landed in Germany. Peeta insists on carrying my heavy clothes bag due to my ribs and the worsening limp in my injured leg, but I fight him tooth and nail as he tries to take my guns away from me. I know I'll have to give them up on the way back to Philadelphia, but still.
"We're a small facility," a woman who's name I don't catch tells us, "Under two thousand Marines." This building is a lot nicer than Dreamland, cleaner and quieter and no layer of thin, cream colored dust on everything. "Though you've been here before, Sergeant Mellark," she says, looking back at us and winking at him. I narrow my eyes.
Lady, I could give you a nice hole in your head from over a thousand yards, I think before shaking off the angry thought.
"I'm sure you know every private spot here," she continues, snapping her gum. In my mind, I'm tackling her to the ground for the salacious comments directed at my boyfriend. Wait, was he my boyfriend? We never established everything. Ugh!
"Not particularly," he says flatly. "Though I will be showing Sergeant Everdeen the firing range since she has her sniper retest a few days before the trial." The woman opens a door for us. There are two beds - one made, one unmade with the sheets pushed down to the bottom. The clothes strewn about the room tell me I'm invading someone's space.
"For you, Sergeant Everdeen, don't worry about the roommate. She's on leave this weekend so you'll have the space to yourself." Peeta sets my bag down and rests his hand on my shoulder.
I look up into his bright blue eyes. "I'll be back in a few to take you to the range," he says. I nod, smiling a little and he's gone.
"How is someone so messy?" I whisper, sitting down on the bed I'm sure I won't sleep in tonight.
I leave the door open and set my cases down on the bed. The first thing I check is my handgun, nothing much to be messed with there. "I think you're confused," a voice starts. "What are you doing in Wiress' room?" he says as I jump. "Why are you in desert Camo?" I look up to see a man wearing a lab coat and thick glasses.
"I- I'm sorry!" I exclaim, snapping the case closed. "I'm just here for the night! I'm leaving for the States in the morning! For…for the trial!" It doesn't dawn on me that maybe he doesn't know about the killing, but he nods in understanding. "Sergeant Everdeen," I say, holding out my scratched up hand, hoping he takes it and it dissolves our tension.
"Bernard Thompson, or Beetee," he replies, shaking my hand. "Ah yes…the trial. I examined the rifle used in the killing just last night. Beautiful thing, really, though bastardized in brutish hands," he shrugs and walks away without a goodbye. Someone walks by in old fashioned green and browns meant for the forests, giving me the once over before whistling.
"I love a lady in uniform," he croons, leaning on the door frame as I open my sniper rifle case, "I love a lady out of uniform more though, I'm-" I pull out the gun, holding it by the stock, and give him a stern look. "Going to go…" I roll my eyes as he dashes away.
I close the door after I deem my baby passable. I put her away and open up my clothes bag, deciding since maybe I see so many people here in blues, I won't stand out in mine. I pull out the white shirt and blue slacks but something's wrong… they're way too big.
"Peeta…" I groan, stuffing his blues back in the bag after running my thumb over his name tag.
"Yes?" I jump at his voice. There he is, standing in my doorway.
"You gave me your bag. What am I supposed to do with your baggy clothes?" I ask. Then he says something I never expected to hear.
"Take them off, of course," he tells me, as if this is the obvious answer I should have come to the second I realized his clothes were in my room.
"I… umm…" I pick up his bag by the strap and hand it to him. "Here," I stammer. My cheeks are burning which only makes his cheeky grin wider. I grab my rifle and handgun case with one hand, my baby in the other, afraid to leave her alone in the room.
Peeta drops his bag on the floor and unbuttons his jacket. I find my mouth growing dry as his fingers pop each button. I don't know what compels me to do it, but as he removes an article of clothing I mirror him until we're both in our underwear, watching each other's movements like hawks.
His massive hands find my cheeks and his lips are on mine sloppily. We back up until I'm against the door, which he locks with a soft click, but we don't move. His lips are soft but passionate, driven even. I freeze, my hands pressing against the wood door before I cautiously place my hands on his hips. I'm terrified that he can sense how inexperienced I am and will think less of me. It's been years since I've been kissed like this. Actually, Gale never kissed me with such force, such passion. One of Peeta's hands drops from my face and lightly runs down my neck, then touches my collarbones. I'm acutely nervous of his every touch as he reaches my sports bra, my nipples going instantly hard from his touch.
A faint moan escapes my mouth as he massages my chest with a tender firmness that makes me melt. I'm wet…no soaked. I wonder if he knows I've dreamed about this for ages…
I part my lips for his tongue which I feel brushing my teeth before he hikes up one of my legs, resting it on his hip so his erection touches my wetness. Oh god, now he knows I'm putty in his hands. I want those strong calloused hands of his to touch every inch of me.
He pushes in a little so his chest is on mine, adding too much pressure on my bruised ribs, which makes me wail in pain and sink to the floor.
"Katniss! Oh shit!" He's down at my level now, blushing fiercely. "I'm sorry, I got carried away, I shouldn't have-" I put a finger to his lips as I catch my breath, both from the kiss and from the gripping pain.
"Thank you," I whisper. I felt more at ease, uplifted… and happy. I'm still blushing fiercely as he helps me to the ground as I dig out my blues so we can blend in a little better.
"I'm sorry if I came on to strong, it's just that…" I stop him there.
"I've only ever been with one other guy… and that was longer ago than I'm willing to tell you," I blurt out, still in my underwear.
I'm hyperaware of his presence in this room, his chest millimeters form my back. "That's alright, we have some time to ourselves once we get to the States…" His fingers trace my spine as he continues, "I never thought I could be this brave with you in the room in your underwear." He smiles as he wraps his arms around my waist, though I stiffen a little.
"The first time you saw me in Iraq, I was in my bra and pants to make Cato uncomfortable," I remind him quietly as I pull on my undershirt, breaking the spine tingling contact. He mirrors my moves again until I go for the buttons of my shirt, fumbling with my daft fingers.
"Here," he starts in a calm voice as he buttons my shirt for me. I want to pull away, tell him I can do it myself. I could have, but secretly hoping his hand would brush my breast in the process.
I was a perverted sixteen year old all over again.
I'm much hungrier than I thought when we get to dinner, finishing off my food before Peeta even settles in his seat. "People are staring…" I whisper as I use my finger to clean my plate.
"Two Sergeants they've never seen before eating dinner together, the one basically licking her plate clean after using two bottles of hot sauce," he teases. I stick my tongue out, "You'd stare, too. Just wait until you get on the range," he says. I smile and nudge my case with my foot. I had to leave my sniper rifle in the room, seeing as the range here was only about 100 yards, hardly worth the time.
"Maybe it's my face…" I mumble, feeling the burning of my stitches, "I look like a domestic abuse victim." The bruise on my face had since grown green and blended a little better with my olive skin, but I still had stitches going from my eyebrow to my hairline, and two in my lips.
I began playing with my braid, there was something I knew I needed to find out. "Peeta, what are we?" I ask.
He chews and swallows the food he put in his mouth as I asked him this, "Marines?"
I roll my eyes and rub my lips with the tip of my braid. "No… I mean what are we? You and I? What is this," I motion back and forth between him and I.
"What do you want it to be?" he inquires, chugging his soda. I shift uncomfortably, as this is territory I've never ventured into before. His eyes soften, changing from amused to concerned. "I'd like to start dating," he starts, "Once we get back we'd have to be quiet about it, not do anything risky that'll get you sent home." I nod, he's talking about pregnancy.
"I won't be on the base much…"
"That makes it easier to hide. How will you stand it? In a hole for days at a time?" He's done eating but we continue to sit there as the mess hall clears out.
"You adapt," I say. "It depends on how many are in the hole with you. If it's three, you have three eight hour shifts; one sleeping and the other keeping the one on gun company. If there are two, you usually have about four hours of entertainment when they're not trying to sleep. The other eight hours you try to read, or do something else quiet that'll keep you entertained," I smile as he nods.
"Why did you choose to become a sniper?" he asks.
I let out a long dejected sigh, "It was my Dad… He was a sniper, so I'm trying to do him proud." We both smile a little, "Now come on, my boyfriend promised to show me a firing range."
"So you have a boyfriend now? Will I have to fight him for your hand?" I just roll my eyes at his teasing.
"Something's wrong…" I grumble. I'm hitting every target, but where I once hit right at the X in the center, now I'm a little off. I pull out my ear plugs and pull the target back. Everything here is so nice and high tech, no targets propped up against hay bales like where I learned to shoot, or dirt mounds like in Iraq.
"Your stance is too closed," I was so focused on my targets I didn't hear Peeta sneak up on me. "Here," he says, positioning the stock of my rifle at my shoulder and turning me, nudging my feet further apart. Suddenly, I feel his groin press into my backside and want to melt right here.
Dammit! I curse myself. What was this boy doing to me?
"Where'd a baker's son learn to shoot?" I ask as he positions me.
"My brothers and I are really into paintball. As the youngest, it was either get good or come home covered in welts." I smirk a little, "Now try," he says. I miss again, a little worse than before.
"I don't get it… My scope is right, my stance… unless… my concussion, it changed my eyes," I conclude. He makes a face as I look up at him. I use my nail and adjust the scope only slightly before getting back in position. I pull the trigger, this time hitting the target perfectly.
"This… could be bad…" I groan as I put the safety on and set my gun down. "If I don't have twenty-twenty vision they'll fail me!" The realization is like a stone in my stomach.
"You won't fail…" he coos, stroking my arms. "You just need to practice a little more, adjust your scope. You have this, Katniss… I know you do." He kisses the back of my head. I trust him.
Back in his room, we strip from our blues and climb into bed in our underwear. There is a sense of awkwardness as we lay together, neither moving to touch the other. I decide to make the first move in our romantic game of chicken. I drape my leg over his hips so I can get closer, while his strong hand runs along the back of my thigh. I've wanted his touch for so long... I shiver into him.
"I've wanted this for years…" he whispers my thoughts out loud, "It doesn't have to be sex, I just wanted you, in my arms…" He kisses the top of my head. "Because when you're here, I know you're safe…" I watch his lips move before leaning in and kissing him. We're cautious at first and once again I'm hyperaware of his every movement - his hand on my backside, his growing erection, even my own dampness.
"Ugh, we're horny teenagers…" I mumble. He pulls away and laughs, brushing hair from my face.
"I'm sorry… It's just, I've wanted you for so long," he admits, a blush creeping onto his cheeks, "You're in my bed in your underwear, it's kind of like a switch…"
I can't believe what I'm about to say, but it comes out anyway, "I'm not ready for that…" He nods in understanding. "But, there are other things… things that I'm willing to try until we're ready," I hesitate a little before resting my hand on his erection, my cheeks instantly burning as he stifles a moan. It twitches in my hand expectantly.
"I'm sorry… this is kind of uncharted territory for me…" I admit, kicking myself for letting those words escape.
"Here…" he croons, taking his hand from my backside and pulling himself from his boxers, wrapping my hand around his girth. "Like this…" He moves my hand from base to tip slowly before trusting me to do it on my own. I reach the tip, feeling his precum leak out. He stifles a moan, knowing we have to be quiet.
"It's like being sixteen all over again…" he whispers, kissing me lightly as I continue working him. "Being quiet to not let our parents hear," he kisses me again, moaning in my mouth. "That feels amazing…"
My wrist is getting sore, so I know I can't continue much longer. "Sit up," I tell him quietly, unsure of what I'm about to do. He listens to my command, leaning his back against the headboard as I lean down between his legs, enjoying his gasp as I take his length in my mouth. I pull off and flick the tip with my tongue, eliciting a moan before descending on him again, bobbing my head and trailing my tongue against the length of his shaft.
"K-Katniss!" he gasps, bunching the sheets in his hands. He puts a hand on my shoulder but it's too late. I feel his seed spill in my mouth, salty and hot. I pull off and swallow as he bursts out laughing.
"What?" I'm blushing fiercely, wiping my mouth clean.
"Your face… I'm sorry, I tried to stop you," he says, embarrassed. I straddle him, letting the desire I felt for him throughout my teen years take over.
"Don't worry about it… You don't taste half bad." I kiss his forehead, smiling. "We're crossing so many lines…"
"Yup, now let's cross another," he says, his thumbs hooking into the elastic strap of my sports bra, pulling it over my head. I cross my arms over my small chest, keeping it form his view. "Don't you fucking dare," he snaps, "Don't you dare hide yourself from me." I look up at him through my eyelashes as he pins my arms to my side, drinking in my bruised body. I'm toned and have a boyish figure, though my small breasts are eclipsed by his hands.
He lights my body on fire with his hungry gaze and warm hands while massaging my chest. "Turn around and sit between my legs," he whispers in my ear. I move slowly, trying not to agitate my ribs or stitches before resting against his nude form. His hands travel from my breasts to my now moist boy shorts. They're tender but knowing as he traces my dampness. My whimpers are becoming too loud, so he covers my mouth with his hand, cooing in my ear while sneaking his hand in my underwear.
I wince as his finger enters me, pressing my back into his chest while his palm stifles my moans. "When we're in the States, I'm going to make you scream…" he promises, while his damp fingers find my clit, rubbing in small, fast circles until I'm thrashing against him. The fire is released to every inch of my body, my orgasm like a brush fire, coming on quick and unfortunately going just as soon as it came.
He holds me while my breathing and heart rate slow. "Wow…" he whispers, finally removing his hand from my mouth.
"Yeah…" Never in my dreams did I imagine I'd be in bed with a naked Peeta, the taste of his seed fresh on my tongue and his hand slick with my arousal.
No nightmares come as we sleep in a tangle of limbs and sweat, our faces inches from each other's.
Featherlight kisses rouse me from sleep. They're over every inch of my face, tickling me and tempting me to open my eyes and meet Peeta's curious sea blue eyes. "Time to get up," he spanks me lightly, "We have to leave in an hour."
I pout and he pulls me close. "I like waking up next to you… especially when you're not throwing yourself to the floor in a panic." I roll my eyes, pulling on my bra and a pair of sweat shorts from my bag, his eyes burning into my back. Suddenly I'm conscious of every scar, every freckle, every imperfection on my body.
I pull on a t-shirt. "I'm… umm… shower…" I stutter, grabbing my heavy bag full of clothes and toiletries.
"It's right there," he says, pointing to a door I thought was the closet. When I open the door, I find it's a tiny personal bathroom.
"Heaviest bag first, please," the woman asks as I sling my clothes bag onto the scale. "Do you have any firearms in your possession?"
I nod and hand her my permits, pointing down at my three gun cases and Peeta's two. She waves someone over and begins speaking in German.
"You please, come this way," the man says. I take my bags and cases and follow him. This is why we had to get to the airport five hours before our flight…
The man has me open my sniper rifle first, "American cannot take this into country."
"I'm not a private citizen, here," I say, handing him my military ID, passport, and point at my permit. "We're with the United States Marine Corps," he looks confused before Peeta speaks up, his German confident as he hopefully tells the man why I have a weapon on me that's very illegal if I was a private citizen.
"Ah yes, you are… long range shooter?" he asks.
"Sniper, yes…" I kick at the ground a little.
"For trial, before you go back?" I nod slowly as he prints out a tag. "Make sure they are all unloaded and locked," he tells me after the half hour examination of my three weapons and the nearly half hour of Peeta's.
"You have a safe trip," he tells us. We watch as our bags are taken into the back where our weapons will surely be manhandled again. We head to the security checkpoint, surprisingly making it through with little to no hassle.
"Did you call home?" Peeta asks, his arm lazily thrown around my shoulders.
"I… Shit…" I pull my cellphone out of my backpack and turn it on for the first time since leaving for Iraq. One of my mother's stipulations about my deployment was that I get an international chip put in my phone, just in case.
"It's like…" he looks at the clock, "Three there…"
I wave him off dialing Mom's number. "She's a nurse and has been on night shift for the last few months…" It rings twice before she picks up, "Hello? Katniss? Is that you?"
"Yeah, Mom, it's me." I twist my braid around my finger. "Listen, I'm coming home," I start.
"Wait, what? Are you okay?"
"Yeah… you know that Marine who's going on trial next week?"
"Yes…" she pauses. I know she's curious, but I know there's not a lot of time.
"He was one of mine. I'm coming back with someone else from our division for the trial before I go back to Baghdad." I run my hands through my hair, messing up my braid. Even as I say the words, they don't seem real.
"Katniss… The missing Marine….was that you?" she asks.
"Yeah… I… Listen, I'll tell you all about it when I get back to the States," I promise. We had managed to kill three hours in the airport already and our plane would be boarding soon.
"When will you be home?"
"Today, wait, maybe tomorrow? I'm not sure. We have thirteen or more hours on a plane, then we're driving from Philly to DC. I have to come straight there since I can't really walk around public in my BDU's…" I explain.
"Kat, I have to go. Call me when you get into town. I love you," she says, which causes me to pause. My mother and I never say 'I love you'.
"I… love you, too, Mom. See you soon…" I reply and hang up.
"That seemed oddly formal," Peeta remarks and hands me my backpack, which I sling over my shoulder. He wraps his arm around my waist as we hand our boarding passes to the woman at the desk and board the plane.
"My mom and I aren't close…" I tell him after the plane to Munich takes off. "After my Dad went missing and was killed, she shut off. I haven't trusted her since…"
He just nods. "I'm not particularly close to my Mom, either. Things really got worse when I told her I was enlisting," he shrugs. "My old man's proud of me, though, and that's enough…"
We land in Munich before I can blink. We have to rush to our next flight, the plane taking us from Munich to Philadelphia, which I plan on sleeping through. Peeta and I stand in line to board, getting strange looks from our fellow passengers. We must be a sight - me with my stitches; Peeta, the stereotypical image of Marine, tall and muscular with buzzed hair.
I idly read my plane ticket, which states First Class at the top. "Holy shit," I mumble, pointing it out to Peeta.
"Paylor did say us going to the States was by the President's order…" he shrugs as I pop a Vicodin to help me sleep. The intoxicating pill takes affect shortly after takeoff, and I fall asleep with my head resting on his shoulder.
Yet another sleep with no nightmares.
When I rouse later, Peeta is sound asleep, his head on mine. When I sit up, he groans but doesn't wake.
"Is there anything I can get for you?" the flight attendant asks. "Drinks are complimentary." I know better than to drink with the Vicodin still in my system.
"Just some water, please, thanks." She nods and I shiver, checking my watch. It's still on Iraq time, eight hours ahead of DC. The woman returns a moment later, handing me a bottle. "How long until we land?" I ask.
"Just under an hour, we should see land soon," she confirms. I nod, realizing I've managed to sleep away a thirteen hour flight. If only I could have done that when leaving for Iraq, rather than pacing and vomiting three or four times.
I pull Peeta's bag from between his feet and dig through the pockets. Before takeoff, he reminded me that there was a travel toothpaste in his case and that my toothbrush was in my carry-on. He knew if I slept through the flight, I would want to clean myself up before landing.
That boy was psychic.
I waited for the bathroom to vacate, bolting in before anyone else could even try. The plane lurched several times while I was brushing my teeth, making me spatter blue foamy spit on the mirror and counter which I spent the next five minutes cleaning up.
"I hate planes…" I sigh, splashing water on my sleepy face. I redo my braid, checking my reflection one more time, deeming myself presentable enough.
"Hey you…" Peeta yawns as I sit down. He pulls me in for a soft good morning kiss, much like the ones he showered me in before. "Mmmm, minty," he yawns again.
"We're landing soon. So if you want to freshen up, you should do it now." I kiss his nose before he groggily stumbles to the bathroom.
"Good morning, passengers," the flight attendant starts as land comes into view, "We are about to begin our final decent into Philadelphia. At this time, we ask that you put your seat backs and tray tables in their upright and locked position as well as turn off all portable electronic devices. Flight attendants will be around one last time to pick up any trash," she pauses for a second just as Peeta returns to his seat, "And if you didn't notice before, we have two of our men and women in uniform on board today. We would like to extend a thank you to Sgt. Katniss Everdeen and Sgt. Peeta Mellark of the U.S. Marine Corps for their service to our country." We exchange looks; I had seen this done before when I was a child flying from Arlington to where my father was buried to Philadelphia. The plane slowly erupts into a thunderous applause.
I shrink into the seat as Peeta grips my hand. I couldn't escape this tube fast enough…
But instead, I stare at the Sports Complexes neatly packed together as we near Philadelphia. So many memories…
"Welcome to Philadelphia," I say to Peeta as we grab our bags and weapons and stand in line to go through Customs.
"Do you have anything to declare?" the woman asks, comparing my passport to my face and my Military ID. "Nope," I stretch a little, my entire body stiff from the flight. Our guns had already been inspected, though I had to explain yet again why I had a sniper rifle in my possession. The woman was just as easy to talk to as the gentleman in Germany.
"Thank you and God bless." she says, handing us our passports.
Sgt. Katniss M. Everdeen, I sign on the contract for our rental car. "Will you be returning it here or…"
"Erm…" To be honest, I didn't even think about that part, "No, most likely Baltimore-Washington International," I say. The lady snaps her gum, displeased by this.
"Just return it full of gas and in one piece. We don't usually rent to twenty-two year olds, but calls were made," she sighs but I don't really care. I just want out of the airport, see the sun, hear the English speaking people, even with their Philadelphian attitude.
"I hate to immaculate you, Peeta, but I'll drive."
He just rolls his eyes in reply. "Good, I don't drive in Philly or near the beltway," he affirms, loading our bags into the car. When I get into the driver's seat, his hands are on my face immediately, pulling me into a deep kiss. "You're so sexy in your uniform…" he whispers, stroking my cheeks as I start the car.
"Good," I pull away and buckle myself in, "Then you'll never have to see me out of it again!" His jaw drops as I put the car in gear and navigate by memory to I-95.
"When we come back to the States for real…we're going to a Phillies game," I insist, biting into my ketchup slathered cheesesteak. It tastes just as good as I remember. "They'll have the new park up and everything by then," I tell him with a mouthful of food.
"Such a lady," he scoffs, taking a napkin and pressing it to my face instead of putting it in my hand. "And sure, when we have time, I'd love to. We each still have about three years left on our contracts. I'm sure we can make it work so we both have a seventy-two at the same time," I nod and drain my soda. "Also, you cover every other thing you eat in hot sauce… why not a cheesesteak?" he asks.
I look at him, as if injured by his words. "Blasphemy!" I joke before taking the lid off my cup and pouring ice into my mouth. "I missed Coke so much," I say into the cup. Peeta just laughs at me, that warm free laughter that only makes the sunny day even brighter.
"So next stop… the hotel?" he asks, finishing his food.
I shake my head. "No, I have something else I need to do before we get to DC," I whisper, staring off at the Philly skyline. As my father's laughter echoes in my ears, I give him a weak smile.
"Arlington?" he asks as I purchase a bouquet of calla lilies.
I nod slowly, holding them close to my chest and handing him the keys. "Can you drive? It's just down the road. I can tell you where to go from there…" I ask quietly. He nods and gets in the driver's seat as I sniff at the white petals.
"Stop here," I tell him when we've reached the right part. "I… you can stay here if you want…" I mumble, biting at my lip. I want him to come with me, I need him to, but my strange behavior in addition to visiting my father's grave might be a little much.
I jump out of the car, not waiting for his response, and look over the thin, white headstones. Each one has a cross or the branch of the military the person buried under it had served in. Finally, I see it.
Lt. Abraham Everdeen
Persian Gulf War POW
March 21, 1959 – June 19, 1992
I slowly trace my father's birth date and death date with my fingers before digging the leaves from the tube in the ground meant for flowers.
"I'm sorry, Dad…" I whisper, "I feel like we're leaving you behind again. It's destroying Mom, I know it…"
I place the lilies in the black tube before removing the left over leaves and grass trimmings from around the headstone. "Prim's trying to be strong. She's turning eighteen next summer," I tell his headstone, wiping tears from my face. I've grown aware of Peeta's presence, but try to ignore it as I keep talking.
"I'm sorry I can't trust Mom…" I sob, gripping my pants. I feel my stitches tug but I have to ignore it. "I want to, but what if she shuts off again? What if something happens to me? Prim's just a kid… just a kid…" I wrap my arms around my body as the memory of his funeral comes back to me.
I'm ten years old, standing in the early summer rain as my father receives a twenty-one gun salute. My mother appears as blank as a statue, as Prim and I are left to wonder why they were putting our father in the ground…
"Shhh…" Peeta coos, stroking my hair as I sob into his chest. "He's so proud of you," he promises, "I know it, any father would be." I nod without looking at him, my eyes fixed on my father's name. Would I have a stone like this?
I move forward and kiss his headstone. "I'll make you proud, Dad…" I whisper to him before leaving the cemetery without another word or a second glance, knowing it would bring me to tears again. After all, I was so close to ending up here just a few short days ago.
Suddenly, my phone begins ringing. It's my mother. "Hey…" I answer in a quiet voice.
"Are you in DC?" she asks, not bothering to say hello back.
"Yeah, we'll be there in about a half hour, traffic permitting…" I tell her flatly.
"Good. Prim is bouncing off the walls. She's even stepped on that damned cat twice."
"Good, maybe he'll be in hiding when we get there!" I smile a little, taking the keys from Peeta, not trusting him to find my apartment.
When I get off the phone, he kisses my cheek and gives me a smile. "You must think I'm a nut…" I say, wiping the tears from my eyes.
"Well, yeah, but for different reasons," he grins. "But I do think you're a loving daughter who was paying her respects to her father." I nod a little, kissing him lightly.
"I don't deserve you," I tell him quietly, "But I'm going to keep you."
Washington DC is in a constant state of traffic jam. Even though I lived off the beaten path, it still takes about twenty minutes to get home through the stop and go traffic.
"Katniss!" I hear Prim shout as she bolts out the door. I wince as her body collides with mine, "You're here! You're really here!" Her bright grey eyes study my injuries.
"A little worse for wear, but yes, I'm here!" I smile, ruffling her loose blonde hair.
"This is…" I start, but she cuts me off.
"Peeta Mellark. I remember him," she says. Rather than ask, she pulls him in for a tight hug. I plead with her telepathically to not spill every detail of the crush I had on him when we were kids. I look up to see my mother in the doorway, drying her hands on a towel.
"Katniss…" she breathes, finally leaving the house and crossing the yard. "What happened to you?"
"A building fell on me," I confirm. Her jaw drops as her cold hands find my chin, examining my sutures and bruise. "I would have been a goner if this guy right here didn't come save my ass," I say, nudging Peeta.
"Language, Katniss," she scolds before looking at Peeta with tears in her eyes. "Thank you…" she tells him while pulling me into a hug.
Once inside, I bound up the stairs two at a time to my bedroom which is all boxed up, ready for the move. Even though we have to hurry, I steal a moment to flop onto my bed while listening to the conversation downstairs.
"She doesn't go there with anyone…" I hear Mom say amidst the clanking in the kitchen, "Not even Gale." They must be talking about the cemetery visit. I try to ignore it as I shove clothes in my suitcase. I grab jeans, shorts, a few dresses just in case, followed by a few pairs of sandals and heels.
I zip the case shut, praying I didn't forget anything or at least packed things that match…
"Mom, Prim, don't make him uncomfortable," I grunt as the suitcase thumps down the stairs. The three of them are sitting in our humble living room. Peeta admires my dark blue mortarboard from our high school graduation; the tassel with the gold 1999 next to it as well as two pictures - one of me accepting my diploma, the next me standing as students entering the military are recognized.
"It was cloudy that day… but the second the principal said Katniss Marie Everdeen, United States Marine Corps, the clouds broke. I knew it was her Dad," Mom says wistfully.
I roll my eyes. My mother loved this story. It was 'how she knew I'd be safe'.
"Mom, you're going to chase him off," I mutter, setting my bag by the door as she waves me off. On the mantle sat two frames, individual photos of my father and I both dressed in our formal blues. Like father, like daughter…
"Want anything to drink?" I ask Peeta while pulling a soda from the fridge.
"Nah, I'm good," he says. I empty the Coke, and feeling a little too comfortable in my home, I let out a loud belch.
"And that, Sergeant Mellark, is my daughter," my mother sighs.
"Katniss, can you at least pretend to be a woman for five minutes?" Prim asks from the couch. I throw the dishtowel at her before walking over to Peeta and kissing him on the cheek.
"I wouldn't have you any other way," he says, kissing my forehead. Prim groans while I study my mother's shocked expression. I don't usually attach myself to guys, yet here was one in our living room holding me.
"This is a nice surprise…" my mother says, hugging him. "You take care of her, okay? Don't let her do something stupid."
"I promise," he tells her. He can't keep it, but it's enough for her.
"Good luck with the move," I say as we grab my things and head outside. "We're free for the next few days. I'll call you, we'll get together for dinner or something." Mom and Prim nod back as we get in the car.
"Where are we staying?" I ask, pulling the GPS from the dashboard to put in the address.
"The Saint Regis?" He shows me the paper and looks confused by my slack jaw.
"That's not possible…" he balks. "That's like… A really nice hotel, like really nice…"
Sure enough, he's right. "Uh yes, we have the Presidential Suite prepared for the both of you," the desk clerk says upon our arrival. What the actual fuck?
As we enter the room, I notice a single white rose and a note on the dresser. Peeta grabs the handwritten card and begins reading, "For everything you've done for me in the past and for what you're doing for our country now. Snow." He looks back at me, his eyebrows raised. "Personal friend? The President?"
I flop down on the bed. It's a plush, massive king that I could get lost in. "I was part of his personal security detail before Iraq, remember?" I kick off my boots and stare at the crystal chandelier. There's a formal sitting area in the front of the suite with a kitchenette and a dining area. The suite also has two other bedrooms we won't use, along with a bathroom containing a tub big enough for a whole platoon.
"Nice…" I close my eyes, still able to hear the bustle of the streets below us.
"So did I pass?" he asks, flopping down next to me. I crack a curious eye open in response. "Your mom didn't seem to hate me," he observes.
"Are you kidding? Her spinster daughter brought a handsome man home. She loves you!" I sit up, deciding to unpack. I grab my dress blues first, which I'll need to iron.
The sigh of me pulling out a dress grabs Peeta's attention. "I didn't know you could wear skirts," he teases, taking the low cut, silky crimson number from me and measuring it up against himself.
"I can be coerced into wearing them occasionally," I say, tossing it on the hangar and putting it away.
"I'd like to coerce you out of it," he mumbles. I blush and continue working, hoping he can't see me squirm.
"Do you want to go to a bar?" I ask, stripping from my camo pants and donning a tight black skirt. "I know a good one like two blocks from here with really good music. Not the thumping city crap, but jazz."
"Good, here I was thinking you were some city girl now," he jokes, tossing his shirt at me.
"I'll always be a mountain girl," I wink, turning my back to him as I pull my sports bra over my head. I choose a baggy white halter top that exposes most of my back, including my "One Shot, One Kill" tattoo. Once dressed, I let my hair out of its usual braid, running my fingers through the waves.
"You're gorgeous," Peeta tells me, buttoning up a dark red shirt.
"You're not half bad yourself," I smirk, slipping on a low pair of heels and actually applying make-up.
"Damn…" I hand him my ID, money and cell phone since I have no pockets. "Come on, I could use a drink."
He backs me up to the vanity until I find myself sitting on the cold marble, my back up against the mirror. His lips barely brush mine before he pulls himself back, studying my half closed eyes, parted lips and spread legs.
"You're evil…" I whisper.