Chapter 10

~Katniss~

A few weeks passed, and Peeta was finally released from the hospital. The stump of his leg had healed and he was getting fitted for a prosthetic leg. He would start physical therapy with it soon and we hoped that eventually he would be able to get back to the ocean.

I had done my best to put a brave face on for Peeta, as I knew he was restless and impatient to be done with his recovery, but it was getting more and more difficult to play the positive, happy girlfriend all the time.

I knew his recovery was hard on him even though he didn't complain. He had been seeing a counsellor to help him deal with the trauma he had endured, but he never confided in me whether he was struggling with the whole ordeal or not. Judging by the way he fidgeted in his hospital bed, the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep and the occasional shortness with the doctors and nurses, I assumed he was, though. I wanted to ask him about it, let him know that he could talk to me too if he needed, as I was struggling with nightmares myself, but I could never figure out how to ask him.

I was worried about him, but just kept hoping that once he was out of the hospital he would get better. At first, Mr. Mellark wanted Peeta to stay with him and Cecelia while he adjusted to his prosthetic leg, but I insisted that I would help him. It would be easier for me since I was still on summer vacation anyway. Mr. Mellark finally agreed and I spent the entire morning prior to Peeta's release getting his apartment ready for him. I made sure he had a clear pathway to all the rooms, put the new shower seat in the bathtub and set up a comfortable spot for him on the couch since I figured he'd spend quite a bit of time there for the first few days.

While I wheeled him out of the hospital, he seemed uncharacteristically quiet. But I was too afraid to ask him if he was okay...too afraid of the answer. One of the nurses and I got him into the SUV and then I was driving him home.

He still wasn't speaking, and I could no longer bear the silence so I finally asked, "You glad to be going home?"

"Yeah," he replied, but didn't add anything else.

"I'll take you to your appointment to get your prosthetic leg tomorrow, if you want," I volunteered, trying to keep the mood light.

"That's fine."

Discouraged by his short answers, I didn't say anything else the rest of the way home. Once we got there, I unloaded his crutches from the trunk of the car and helped him climb the stairs to his apartment. He was sweating and panting heavily when he plopped down onto his couch. While he was still lean, he'd lost some of the muscle tone he'd gained from surfing.

I hurried to the kitchen to get him some water as he sat there catching his breath. He smiled slightly in gratitude for the glass of water I handed him and then took a long drink. When he was done I asked, "Are you comfortable?"

"As well as I can be," he responded, shifting a bit to put his one leg up on the coffee table.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" I queried hopefully.

He shook his head, reaching for the remote to the TV. "No, you've done enough, Katniss."

I looked down, trying not to feel so defeated, but I didn't feel like I'd done nearly enough. The past few weeks, my mind had been riddled with guilt. He'd lost his leg because of me...to protect me. I knew he'd said the day of the attack that he'd do it again if he had to, but every night, in addition to being plagued with nightmares of the incident, I thought of all the things I could have done to prevent him from being attacked.

It wasn't fair that he'd lost his leg. That he might not ever surf again. That he would forever have this reminder of the terror of that day. That every time he entered the ocean he would now have this fear lurking in the back of his mind, like a shark in the depths.

The rest of the night, Peeta and I just watched TV. We didn't talk. We didn't cuddle. We weren't even touching. We just sat there, mindlessly binging a show.

I made sure he got in his bed safely and was comfortable before I left to sleep in my own apartment, making sure my cell phone was turned all the way up on my nightstand in case he needed something and called in the middle of the night. I doubted he would, though. He was acting so aloof and closed-off.

The next few days went by in similar fashion. Not much talking, barely any touching and always this awkward tension between us. I started to wonder if he was actually holding a grudge against me. Maybe he didn't even realize that he was, but I couldn't shake the thought once it entered my mind.

He got his new prosthetic leg and I took him in regularly for physical therapy so he could get used to it. Once we got home, though, he would immediately go into the bathroom and take it off because he was sore. I told him that he didn't need to hide away from me to remove it. That there was nothing to be embarrassed about, but he did anyway. You would have thought we'd never seen each other naked before. Never kissed or shared our secrets.

He continued to see a counsellor once a week, but just as before, he wouldn't open up to me about what they talked about.

Finally, one night I just couldn't handle it anymore. I was helping him get into bed when he made some comment about how he didn't need my help to get around anymore. He said it in a neutral tone, but all the guilt, confusion and anger I'd been holding in snapped.

"Fine, Peeta! I won't help you anymore! I'll stop checking on you and stop spending time with you! It clearly doesn't matter to you anyway! You can just go stay with your dad!"

He was looking at me with a bit of a startled expression but I continued.

"If you're mad at me, just fucking say it! It's my fault you lost your leg! My fault you can't surf anymore! I already hate myself for it! You won't talk to me or kiss me or even touch me, so you must hate me too!"

I didn't realize until I was done yelling that tears were streaming down my face in hot, salty rivulets. Shame and humiliation flooded through me with a rush and I turned away, stomping toward his bedroom door to leave.

"Katniss," he said pleadingly. "Please stay with me."

I stopped and took a breath before slowly turning around to find that he was crying too. My anger and shame melted away, and my heart clenched to see his evident pain. Clarity descended on me like a cool rain and I knew I'd been wrong. He didn't hate me. Of course, he didn't hate me. He was struggling, that was all. I'd let my own guilt and frustrations blind me.

In two strides I reached his bed and crawled under the covers beside him. Being careful not to bump the stump of his leg, I cuddled up next to him, putting my head on his chest and listening to his steady heartbeat. We laid there for a few minutes, silently soaking in each other's presence and the contact we'd so desperately missed.

Finally, he said, "I'm so sorry I made you feel like I was mad at you. Or that I hated you."

I shook my head as I turned to look at him, but he wouldn't meet my eyes.

"I shouldn't have said that, Peeta. I know you don't hate me," I replied, placing my hand gently on his cheek to turn his face toward mine.

"I could never hate you, Katniss," he said, his blue eyes swimming in tears. "And I don't regret what I did for you. I just...I'm just really struggling."

"I know," I whispered, wrapping my arms around his torso in an attempt to comfort him. "I just wish you would open up to me. Talk to me about how you're feeling."

"It's just hard," he replied. "I already feel like I have to relive that moment when I go to counselling and I don't want to relive it when I get home."

"I'm not expecting you to relive it," I told him. "I just want you to tell me what you're struggling with. I want to help you."

I paused for a moment before I quietly added, "I'm struggling too."

"You are?" he asked, incredulously.

I nodded. "I have nightmares about what happened. Almost every night."

I felt a few tears escape again at my admission.

"God, Katniss, I'm so sorry. I had no idea," he said, brushing away the tears from my cheeks.

"It's okay. I know you're dealing with a lot and I want to be there for you. I think it will help me heal too."

He nodded in understanding.

"Okay," he said. "I promise I'll be more open with you from now on."

"Okay," I replied, going to kiss his cheek gently, but he turned his head and planted a warm, firm kiss on my lips instead.

When we pulled apart, I put my head back on his chest and after a few blissful moments, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

~Peeta~

From that night on, things were much better between Katniss and me. I wouldn't go so far as to say they were the same as they were before the attack, but once the fog of my trauma and the uncertainty over having a prosthetic leg cleared, I started to feel like we were young and in love again.

My stamina improved and I was able to stand for longer periods of time, so we started cooking and baking together like we used to do in the cafe. More than once, we'd ended up smearing food on each other in a playful argument.

I still hadn't ventured out past the apartment yet; I was admittedly afraid of how I would react upon seeing the ocean for the first time since the attack. But we'd met with Finnick in the cafe a few times on days where I knew Annie was working.

Katniss had joined in on my plan to set them up and, the first time we met with Finnick, she introduced the two to each other and then proceeded to tell Annie how heroic Finnick had been, helping her get me out of the ocean.

Our plan had worked and the two had now been on four dates. Seeing them in their new relationship, the flirting, timid kisses and shy laughter, seemed to ignite something new between Katniss and me.

She still hadn't seen the stump of my leg, being too embarrassed about it on my part, despite her insistence that there was nothing to be ashamed of. And, of course, there was my constant insecurity about how things would be for us in bed now. Sometimes I couldn't help the frustration I felt over losing my leg the morning after we made love for the first time.

We kissed often now, but I never let things get past that and Katniss never pushed for more. I think she knew I was nervous about being intimate, so she waited patiently, like she had before.

But upon seeing Finnick and Annie's kindling romance, I began to feel the familiar urges. To see Katniss bare before me, worship her breasts, move inside her and bring her to release. I got the feeling Katniss was feeling it too when I woke up with my morning arousal one day and caught Katniss staring at the tent it made in my sweatpants.

I quickly rose from the bed - or at least as quickly as possible with crutches - and made my way into the bathroom, where I shut the door behind me and stripped in preparation for a cold shower.

I had just stepped into the shower, holding myself steady against the wall, when I heard the door burst open and then the shower curtain parted.

I was about to protest in alarm, but my words got stuck in my throat when I saw Katniss was standing bare before me, her long, messy waves cascading over her shoulders, her pert nipples peeking through the dark strands. The smoldering look in her stormy silver eyes immediately told me that nothing I said was going to stop her.

She stepped into the onslaught of water, turning the faucet to a hotter temperature. Then, she turned to me, put her hands on my shoulders and pressed down, urging me to sit on the shower seat. I obeyed, completely mesmerized by the way the water ran in rivulets around her breasts. I had a sudden urge to lap up all the drops.

Once I was situated on the shower seat, my erection standing at full attention, she stepped over me and lowered herself onto me. At the sensation of me filling her up, we threw our heads back and released loud gasps into the steamy air.

After we collected ourselves, we leaned back toward each other and our lips met in a fiery frenzy as she started moving herself up and down. After a few moments, I lowered my head to her breasts, lapping up the water there and taking a dusky peak into my mouth, rolling it around on my tongue and sucking so hard I knew I would leave bruises. But I was so lost in her, needing her as if she were oxygen, that I couldn't bring myself to stop. And by the noises she was making, I didn't think she wanted me to stop either.

My hands moved to her hips, guiding her to the pace I needed as I was finding it hard to find leverage with just one leg to meet her thrusts and push up into her. She quickly figured out the rhythm I wanted and began pounding onto me so hard that it only took a few more times before I was gasping desperately, "Katniss, Katniss, I'm - stop - I can't…"

But she didn't seem to care, and she pounded onto me one more time before I reached my climax, the tension leaving my belly and releasing within her. I didn't even realize she had been so close to her climax too until I felt her clench around me and she let out a loud moan against my neck.

We stayed in that position for a little while, the effects of our climaxes still reverberating since we hadn't been together this way in so long. When she finally raised her head from my shoulder to look at me, she smiled brilliantly, a hint of amusement playing in her eyes.

"And you thought you wouldn't be any good at this with only one leg," she quipped.

"Well, I didn't do much of the work," I admitted, smiling sheepishly.

"You provided everything I needed," she replied, giving me a deep kiss and I felt myself starting to reawaken inside of her. She must have felt it too, because her kiss gained more heat and desperation.

I spent a good portion of the rest of the day figuring out all the ways I could still make love to her with only one leg.

ONE YEAR LATER

"Hurry up, Peet!" Finnick called as he and Annie ran ahead of me. I had told Katniss she could go ahead too, but, of course, she wouldn't listen. Even though I'd been surfing several times now with my prosthetic leg, I knew she still worried about me.

When we reached the water, we laid down on our new surfboards that Dad and Cecelia had bought us since we'd lost ours to the ocean the day of the attack, and paddled out into the surf, trying to catch up with Finnick and Annie. The water, warmed by the July sun, felt better than it ever had. The sun was high and the sky was clear and brilliantly blue. Once we reached the pair, we wasted no time in catching waves.

Of course, relearning to surf had been quite a challenge. Balancing was entirely different with a prosthetic leg and the flexibility was another obstacle I had to overcome, and I'll admit that there were several times I grew so frustrated that I considered giving up. But with a lot of persistent support from Katniss, Finnick, Annie and even Haymitch, I had finally started getting the hang of it again.

As I rode out a wave, I couldn't help but laugh as I saw Finnick flail off of his board and then break the surface again with a broad grin on his face. Annie shook her head at me as she swam toward another wave with Katniss. It felt so good to be here with them.

The first time I had been in the ocean since the attack, I expected to feel terrified or some level of fear. I had never considered the dark depths below me before and found that, while I was definitely aware of them now, I didn't feel afraid. Maybe that was more of a choice I had made - to not feel afraid.

I loved the ocean. Loved surfing. It had become a part of who I was. The shark attack had caused me to lose a leg, I didn't want it to be the reason or an excuse to lose anything else, especially my passion for surfing.

There were nights that Katniss and I both still had nightmares over the attack, but since she had moved in with me, we were able to calm and comfort each other.

Katniss definitely had a reason to be afraid of the ocean too, but I think she had made a choice similar to mine - to not be afraid of the ocean. There were miles and miles of uncharted depths, but if we allowed fear to hold us back, how would we justify being brave in the face of anything ever again?

So we overcame the fear. Together.

Epilogue

I sat on my surfboard, letting the gentle waves roll beneath me, watching proudly as Katniss surfed next to her, riding out the wave and maintaining her balance perfectly just as her mother had taught her.

It made me reminiscent of when I had first taught Katniss to surf. And now she was teaching our eight year-old daughter. She was basically a miniature version of Katniss with her tan complexion, dark hair pulled back into a braid and lithe frame. The only physical quality that revealed she was mine were her blue eyes. Even her agile surfing skills were from her mother.

Our four year-old son, sitting on my surfboard with me, tugged irritatedly at the lifejacket he was wearing, jealous that he couldn't be out there with his big sister. I tried to soothe him, but, while he looked more like me, he had inherited his mother's stubborn and impatient disposition and wanted none of my nonsense.

After Katniss had ridden out the wave, she noticed his little tantrum and looked at me sympathetically. I smiled sheepishly and she and our daughter paddled over to us.

"Can you surf with me now, Dad?" our daughter asked, her smile as impossible to refuse as her mother's.

I looked at our son on my surfboard. "Only if Little Man will let me."

Katniss chuckled and said she'd take him while I had a turn surfing. So, after we'd transferred him over to Katniss's board, I splashed our daughter playfully and swam out ahead of her, pretending to struggle as she easily caught up to me in our pretend race.

As she and I took turns catching waves, it was hard to believe that fifteen years prior, I had almost lost my life here. And that I'd thought I wouldn't be able to surf again. Even after fifteen years, there were times when I still wasn't used to having a prosthetic leg. And times when we were young parents and our daughter was a baby that I expressed my frustrations over it.

But when we signed her up for surf camp after she expressed interest in it, she had come home the first day talking about how everyone wanted to be her friend because her dad was "the surfer with the cool leg" and she wanted to "surf as good as him." After that, I stopped complaining about it because I realized that my daughter didn't see it as disability, but rather something that made me unique so I should start looking at it that way too. Katniss may or may not have cried when she heard our daughter say that, but she would never admit to it.

People that had been around Manhattan Beach for awhile knew who I was and how it had happened. So, when they would stop by the cafe that I had redesigned and remodelled after graduating with my degree in architecture, they would ask me lots of questions, one of their favorites being, "Aren't you afraid to let your children in the water?"

My answer was always, "Absolutely not," because Katniss and I had made that choice to not live in fear. Instead, we chose to enjoy every moment, appreciate the good things we had or witnessed people doing and never take things for granted. Of course, sometimes we fell short of living that way, but we did our best and made sure to instill those same values in our children.

Being out in the ocean now, the sun smiling brilliantly and the powerful waves cresting around me, while Katniss held our son and we watched our daughter surf boldly and fearlessly, I realized that it had all been worth it.

I hope you all enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Much love to you all!