A/N: Apparently, I can't stop writing this fic.
UPDATE: Fixed the size of the house. Whoops. I was rereading the wrong chapters of CF to try to parse that out.
It takes a lot of restraint for me to not show up at the school or the Hob on Monday afternoon and take a figurative piss on Katniss in front of Gale, but I manage by reminding myself it would just make things worse. For them, of course, but also for me. Gale may or may not realize who Katniss has been sneaking off with, and even if Cray and Purnia don't have a problem with our relationship, Gale knows other people who may. Like the mayor, for instance. So I shelf my pride begrudgingly and wait until our usual Tuesday meeting to get an update on the situation.
When I broach the subject and ask how things are with Gale, Katniss is taciturn as ever.
"Awkward," she grumbles with her signature eye roll.
"He's acting weird, huh?"
"No, not at all," she clarifies. "That's the thing. I had this speech planned out about how I've never planned on marrying or even wanted a boyfriend, but Gale's acting like the whole thing never happened."
"That's almost worse," I say. "How can you deal with it, then?"
"I can't," she replies. "But it's kind of a relief, in a way. I don't want to talk about it. That's even more awkward than not talking about it."
My eyebrows twitch and I mutter, "Well, I guess you've never been one for talking about your feelings."
Katniss narrows her eyes with a smirk. "At least now you admit I have feelings."
"So you tell me," I drawl teasingly, though I can feel myself forcing the smile. "I'm not sure that speech would have worked, anyway. He already thinks you're involved with someone."
"I was just planning on denying it," she shrugs impassively.
My eyes roll of their own volition. Of course she was. But I remind myself that it's for the best and just ask, "Do you think he knows who it is?"
"I have no idea," she admits. "Gale's perceptive, I think, but it's not like he's seen us together much. He probably just assumes I'm seeing someone because I've been running off on my own a lot. Maybe I seem happier, too," she adds with a shrug. "I dunno."
"Are you happier?" I probe, eyebrows high.
"Of course." Katniss stares at me like I just asked if the sky is blue, her whole face as incredulous as her tone. That buoys my spirits and makes me smile.
When we're packing our weapons away and preparing to reluctantly part ways, I remember the other thing I've been wanting to ask her. Biting my lip in thought, I start, "You know how you said we don't see each other enough?"
Katniss blinks down sheepishly. "Mm?"
"I was thinking, I could try to get some more shifts working at the school," I venture. Katniss shows no reaction, so I press on, "I'd have to suck up to Purnia, because she's pissed at me right now, but it could be worth it."
"And you'll, what?" she snorts. Her head tilts sardonically. "Arrest me every day to make out behind your truck? Is that your plan?"
My arms cross over my chest irritably, and I scowl to hide the stab I just felt under my ribs. "I didn't really have a plan, Katniss, I just wanted to see you."
"I know," she sighs, deflating out of her aggressive posture. Her tone is sincere but cautious as she explains, "I want that too, but I don't think it's a good idea. If you were hanging around, I wouldn't be able to act naturally. And people would question the change."
"True," I concur. "Maybe I'll just come to the Hob a little more often."
"You could, but we have to be even more careful there," she cautions. "It's different when you're there with a group or whatever, but there are Hobsters who won't trade with anyone they think is involved with a Peacekeeper. Dirty money. It's a point of pride." Dropping her eyes, she bites her lip and admits, "And, honestly, it's getting harder for me to hide how I feel about you."
Tipping my head, I examine her inquisitively. "How do you feel about me?"
"I… I feel," she answers, but her tone suggests more of a question than a statement. I hope it's just her wording she's unsure of. "I don't usually feel much. Much of anything positive, anyway. But I smile more when you're around, I know that."
"No shit," I snap. "Prim said your face lights up when you talk about me." My tone is a bit harsher than I meant it to be. It may have been an accident, but I've gone so far as to say I love the girl, and that's the best she can do? Sure, she's utterly terrible at expressing her emotions, especially in words, but give me a break.
"Well, there you go," Katniss agrees, studying me curiously. "I have to be careful." Seemingly oblivious to the true source of my irritation, she tries to appease me with, "It doesn't mean I can't see you more. We could meet more in the woods, even just to hang out, not to train. Or I…" Her eyes flit away as she tucks her bangs behind her ear. "I could stay over more."
I can't help shaking my head with a frustrated little snort of amusement. So fucking adorable, so fucking clueless. At least her effort is clear even if her feelings aren't, so I take pity on her and put my insult aside for the moment. "I don't want to take you away from your family any more than I already do," I sigh honestly. "Prim would miss you."
"Prim's fine," Katniss argues, waving me off. "She has way more friends than I do, sometimes sleeps over at their houses too. It's not like she needs me to entertain her." When I don't respond right away, her face falls. "Look, it was just an idea-"
"No, it's okay," I assure her flatly. "It's a good one."
But Katniss's expression doesn't change as I say that, nor as she examines my face. "Why are you mad?" she asks abruptly, a surprising vulnerability undermining the aggression in her tone.
My fingernails find their way to my scalp while I puff out a sigh. "I'm not mad," I lie. "Forget it."
Her exaggerated scoff puts my mannerisms to shame and is accompanied by a blatant eye roll. "Fine," she surrenders, failing to disguise the frustrated edge in her voice. "Whatever." Shouldering her game bag and turning away, she barely bothers calling over her shoulder, "I'll see you Thursday."
Those conversations compound my anxiety over the Gale situation and eat at me into the night and even the next morning. The worst part is, I know they shouldn't. I'm not usually an overthinker unless I'm in one of my downward spirals, but if Katniss can't express herself, I'm left to fill in the blanks on my own. And admittedly, under all my bravado, I don't have the greatest self-esteem.
The trail of thoughts has me pretty pissed off by the end, but at myself now. Because I know I'm being ridiculous. Even if she was withdrawn yesterday, Katniss has said plenty. "You are mine, and I am yours." How much clearer did she need to be? We belong to each other. For someone as possessive as Katniss, that's perhaps the strongest statement she could make.
A soft knock interrupts my scornful introspection. "Johanna?" The voice makes my heart jump. Not the noise of it, but who it belongs to. Already unfortunately wide awake, I cross the floor in seconds and ease the door open with a feigned hesitance.
"Darius, hey," I greet my visitor with a furrowed brow and curious tone. "What's up?"
"I'm just about to go for a workout," he replies genially, nodding to the south. "Do you want to come with?"
"Yeah," I answer immediately, the surprise in my voice completely genuine. "Yeah, I'd like that."
The cynic in me berates myself for my enthusiasm, but I'm glad for the opportunity to put some effort into repairing at least one of my relationships within the force. It wasn't really true, what I said to Katniss about having to suck up. Since our confrontation at her party, Purnia hasn't fucked with my assignments or been at all difficult in terms of being my boss. I wish she would, so we could at least have a good fight and get it all out. And I wish it actually was our work relationship that's bothering me, but truth be told, I miss our usual easy rapport out of uniform. That's something I never would have expected when I got here.
"I was at the Hob last night," the redhead discloses as he stoops to settle the weight bar back in the squat rack. Us working in with each other has always been hilariously awkward because of the height difference, but he's never complained about catering to my size. Before our unfortunate falling out, he never complained about much of anything. How things have changed.
"Ripper still had something left on a Tuesday?" I remark. "That's a first."
"No," he chuckles, wiping his brow as he steps out of the rack. "I was there for the company, not the alcohol." My eyes drop to the plate rack near my feet. If he wanted company, he could have just knocked. Not that he would, these days. "I saw Gale and Katniss," he adds, sliding one of the plates off the bar. His tone suggests there's more to say about it.
"Oh?" I prompt him, a bitter undertone in the question as I wrench the nearest plate from the bar on my side. A flicker in Darius's eyes tells me he caught it.
"What?" When I don't answer, he insists, "Jo, what?"
A heavy sigh pushes through my lips as I clasp my hands behind my head, my eyes squeezing shut. "Stormy finally got the balls to kiss the girl." One eye peeks open to the sight of the boy's jaw dropping open.
"Oh, shit!" he utters in shock, but I can hear the smirk before it shows on his lips, and just about roll my eyes. Darius could never pass up a piece of juicy gossip. Purnia's lucky he and I aren't speaking so much these days.
"'Oh, shit,' is right," I echo firmly.
"Are you gonna kill him?" His tone is facetious, albeit slightly concerned. I'm not sure what it says about me that he's the second person to insinuate that, but it actually makes me laugh.
"No," I assure him through a lingering chuckle. "I'm pissed off, but whatever, he doesn't stand a chance against me."
"You're right, there," he smiles. Shaking the start of a smile from my face, I narrow my eyes good-naturedly. "How did she take it?"
"Badly. But apparently now they're just pretending like it never happened, not talking about their problems, so…"
His face turns thoughtful. "And here I thought maybe she was improving in that regard."
"What do you mean?" I probe absent-mindedly.
"That's what I was about to tell you," he expounds. "She gave me this adorably awkward long-winded apology last night."
That snaps my eyebrows straight up. "For what, exactly?"
"For being an asshole, I believe is how she put it," Darius smirks. I have to duck my head with one of my own. Those are my words. "She said she didn't mean to hurt my feelings or cause trouble between you and me, but she couldn't stand sharing you." Coffee eyes narrow a hair as he continues, "She said she kissed you that day she heard us fighting, and you kissed her back but you still wouldn't break it off with me."
My shoulders shrug all the way up to my ears as I nervously cross my arms over my chest. "I was torn," I weakly offer in my own defense. "It wasn't so easy for me to choose, you know."
"There wasn't a choice, though, was there?" he rebuts cynically. "It was always her." A tense few seconds pass before he shakes his head and returns to the story. "Anyway, she said she misses talking to me like before, and she'd regret it even for that reason, but it bothers her more that I'm mad at you. She felt like she'd turned us against each other."
"Well, she kind of did, didn't she?" I mutter with a caustic edge.
"I didn't really realize it seemed that way until everyone thought it was me who gave you that black eye," he reflects, pensively scratching the stubble under his jaw. "Then when she said it, explicitly apologized for ruining our friendship and making me hate you, I figured I'd really shat the bed. Given everyone the wrong impression." He holds my gaze earnestly. "I don't hate you, Jo. I'm not even all that angry anymore. I just needed space to get over it."
"Needed?" One of my eyebrows peaks hopefully above my cheeky smile. "Past tense?"
There's a hint of a smile on his lips despite his reserved reply, "Let's take it one step at a time, okay?" On that note, he secures the weight collar on his side and nods at the bar. "You're up."
***o***
The low, throaty timbre of Katniss's singing voice fills the air as I approach our meeting spot the next day. It's not the tree song from the first time I overheard her, just some mountain air I've never heard before, but it carries a similarly melancholic tune. Unfortunately, I don't catch many of the words, because a careless foot of mine snaps a twig and announces my presence before I can get too close. The singing ceases abruptly, and she abandons her view of the valley below to twist around and identify the intruder. Her posture doesn't relax all that much as she catches my eye.
"Very nice," I compliment her cautiously.
"Thanks." Repositioning herself on the boulder she's sitting on, she gives me a casual shrug. "I'm out of practice."
"Really?" I dig, an eyebrow cocked. "Prim told me you've been singing more recently."
"Prim seems to have told you a lot," she snaps, eyes flashing. "Maybe I should tell you that she's still scared of the dark and she wet the bed until she was nine."
My gut rattles with a poorly suppressed snicker that Katniss realizes is directed at her rather than Prim, if her glare is any indication. "Okay," I draw out, eyes wide. "Well, I didn't need to know that, but that's great."
Her face only gets more testy as she petulantly crosses her arms. "So only my embarrassing traits are funny?"
"You're more fun to tease," I inform her with a grin. Despite this, I decide not to mention her apology to Darius, as I figure it would just make her shut down even more. Instead, I slink up to her, rest my fingertips on her knees and disarm her with a kiss. It takes a few seconds, but works like a charm. Pulling back just as her fingers graze my face, I propose, "So, do you still want to come over more, like you said?"
"Yeah," she blinks in surprise. "You're okay with that?"
"Totally. I was just…" My insecurities are too embarrassing to admit, so I dismiss that train of thought with a nonchalant wave. "Never mind, it really doesn't matter. It was all in my head."
"Got a lot going on up there?" Katniss teases.
"Like you're one to talk," comes my speedy retort.
Shaking her head, the girl lifts her eyes to the sky. "And yet you say I'm brainless."
When I get back to the barracks later that afternoon, I run into Captain Stark as she's leaving the Commune. A tiny jolt hits my gut, but I keep it from showing on my face. As she brushes by me to enter the adjacent kitchen, I try a little, "Hey, Purnia."
She turns just long enough to make eye contact and nod. "Agent."
The formal term of address is not encouraging, but it encourages me to continue the interaction anyway, because it irritates me. Annoying people who clearly want you to go away until they pay attention to you is a specialty of the youngest child. Changing course, I follow behind her and lean against the entranceway. "Are you coming to the Hob later?"
"Maybe," she muses coolly, grabbing a glass from one of the cupboards. "I haven't really thought about it."
"Well, you should think about it," I contend.
She doesn't pause in the act of opening the nearest fridge when she replies, "I'll keep that in mind." She then spends an inordinate amount of time pretending to look for something or decide what to drink, pointedly ignoring me. Something in me snaps in this moment, and I step forward and slam the fridge door shut, moving into her space and earning myself a stern glare.
"So this is how it's gonna be, huh?" I demand. "Act like everything's totally normal when we're on-duty, then pretend like you don't even know me off the clock?"
"I'm a professional, Agent Mason," she answers evenly. "Unlike many of my subordinates, not to name any names, I'm able to keep my personal life from affecting my work."
A low whistle parts my lips. "Harsh, Purn."
"And this is unexpected?" she retorts. "From the girl who calls me 'the ice queen' behind my back and thinks I don't know about it?" A bit of emotion has now seeped into her expression. I don't know if it's hurt or what, but it catches me off guard and makes me change tactics, get to the heart of the matter.
"Look, I'm sorry, Purnia," I say, dropping my aggressive posture. "About what I said." Now it's her turn to be caught off guard, blinking in the face of the unprecedented apology. "I appreciate how you've gone out of your way to look after me," I admit. "I… I haven't had a lot of people care about me, in my life. I'm not used to it."
My commanding officer recovers enough severity to lift a critical eyebrow. "And that's an excuse to antagonize the people who do?"
A charming grin spreads my lips, and I lean against the fridge with a pompous head tilt. "I antagonize everybody, Captain," I assure her cheekily. "You're nothing special."
Her mouth wavers as she fights off a smirk despite herself, eventually settling in pursed lips. "I don't understand why I'm so fond of you, Mason," she reflects, shaking her head.
Slinking a step closer, I purr, "Well, I tend to have that effect on women." My fingertips trace down her jawline as I forbode, "Jason better watch his back."
Suddenly, my wrist is being wrenched away in an iron grip. "Don't push your luck," she warns me lowly.
"My luck?" I scoff, shaking my hand free. "You're barely talking to me."
"Yes," she snaps. "Trust me, when I'm angry, that's good luck."
A chuckle escapes my lips and I speculate, "I think you're more like me than you realize."
"No," she replies solemnly. "You're the one who's just figuring that out."
A few seconds of curious peering later, I conclude, "So you do know why you're fond of me."
"Among other reasons." Releasing her tense posture in a heavy sigh, she runs a hand through her hair and catches my eye. "I forgive you, Johanna. But don't bring it up ever again, if you don't want to get punched in the face."
The lack of professionalism in that statement is so unlike Purnia that I can't help the way my eyebrows peak. She responds with a dismissive headshake. "You have no idea what you're talking about, okay? So just stop talking."
"That's like telling Darius to stop talking," I chuckle, simply because buffering such a statement with a joke is sometimes the only way I can take it.
"Darius is slightly better at minding his own business," she retorts.
"Bullshit!" I scoff, honestly offended. "Darius is the busiest of the busybodies. Good thing it wasn't him who overheard you. He would have spread it to Tory and the whole barracks would know by now."
A slight tilt of Purnia's head is somehow menacing enough to put me on my heels. "Is that a threat?" she demands with an eerie calmness.
Gulping mutely, I shake my head. "No."
"Good," she asserts. "Because I'm not the only one with secrets around here. At least mine couldn't get me tried as a traitor."
Another impressed whistle pierces the air. "Now that's a threat."
"Not really," she shrugs, deflating noticeably. "I don't want to fight with you, Johanna, okay? You were right, we're friends." Her expression is strangely unguarded as she says this, and I can only blink in surprise. "Despite what you think, I'm not some kind of heartless bitch. I'm doing what I have to do to get by."
"So am I," I claim.
Purnia observes me silently through narrowed eyes for a few seconds before giving me a seemingly satisfied nod. Then she motions for me to step back and opens the fridge again. After pouring herself a cup of orange juice from a carton with her name on it, she takes a casual sip and returns her attention to me. "Like I said before," she warns me gravely, "be careful."
As she takes her leave, I call after her, "I think you said you liked me, too!"
Taking a few backwards steps so she can meet my eye again, she repeats, "Again, don't push your luck." But she's smiling.
***o***
As promised, Katniss and I make an effort to spend more time together over the next little while. We do meet up in the forest a couple times before she hunts on our off days, but I prefer she use that time to practice the skills I've been teaching her, so most of our additional interactions take the form of sleepovers at the barracks every few days or so. Sometimes we sit outside on warmer evenings and enjoy the breeze and sounds of the forest, others we spend entirely indoors cuddling on my bed, talking and kissing. Kissing and talking, as the days pass.
Though I can feel my girlfriend's rising hunger in the catches of her breath and clenching of her fingers in my hair or my shirt, I've noticed she doesn't let her hands wander much. Not even the time when she's lying on top of me and I graze my fingers over her lower back under the hem of her shirt, despite the fact that it makes her lips noticeably more eager. I don't know if she's holding herself back for my benefit or if it's because she's not ready to go any farther, but I don't push, just like I said I wouldn't.
Our sleepovers occur fairly often but aren't exactly regular, so I end up itching for her presence when I don't see her for days at a time. Like I said, she's a drug. My withdrawal symptoms include fidgety hands, lack of mental clarity, and a painful knot in my gut. Two weeks after her unannounced visit during the storm, I lose my mind a little and show up at the Hob on a Saturday. With Katniss's birthday rapidly approaching, I justify this by telling myself I'm here to get her something nice. In reality, I know Katniss is practical and not really materialistic, so she'll probably sell anything I give her unless it's extremely useful or has a lot of sentimental value. If she accepts it at all, that is. But what does it matter when it's all a fantasy anyway? Under the flimsy excuse, I know exactly why I'm here.
My lover's eyes burn into me from afar as I take a cursory tour of a few booths that sell various knickknacks, none of which strike me as even remotely appropriate for a gift for the girl in question. Once I notice her and Gale splitting up to barter for more specific things their families need, as they often do, I approach her under the pretense of craving some fresh meat. It's not really a lie, if taken colloquially.
As Katniss lays out her remaining kills on a table for me to take my pick, I catch her mouth curling smugly. "Couldn't wait to see me?" she teases, eyes on her selection.
"No," I admit outright. "I couldn't."
Her top lip sucks into her teeth through a moment of silence, then she finally looks up. "You just saw me the other day," she says calculatedly. It doesn't go over my head. She's purposely humiliating me by turning our earlier conversation around on me. But I honestly don't care, and I give into it willingly.
"That's not enough," I confess in surrender. Her lips purse as she tries to contain a full-blown smirk, and I lean in a little and whisper, "Do you want to come over? After you drop your stuff off at home?"
"I can't tonight." I make an effort to hide my visceral disappointment behind an exaggerated pout, and Katniss laughs apologetically. "I promised Prim some ghost stories by the fire."
"Because she's not already afraid of the dark," I snort.
"Not if I'm there," she points out. With an affectionate smile, she muses, "I think she likes to be scared and then comforted."
"So she likes the attention," I pose with a quirked eyebrow.
"She's a youngest child," Katniss reminds me sassily. My pout makes a reappearance and she laughs again. Then she seems to catch herself, and sweeps her eyes around covertly. "Better pick something, Agent," she whispers. "Don't want to seem suspicious."
Now sifting through her kills, I take the opportunity to lean a bit closer. With our heads less than a foot apart, I only have to breathe, "I hate this."
"Me too."
When Katniss looks up from pocketing my money, there's a notable strain in her jaw, a longing in her eyes. "I'll stay tomorrow, okay?" she offers. "After training."
"Okay." That single word catches in my chest, and I have to clear my throat, ducking my head in embarrassment. My sheepish eyes catch Katniss chewing her cheek with an intent gaze as they flit back up.
"Meet me out back in ten minutes," she says, just before she clears out. A thrill of anticipation hits my gut. This is probably a very bad idea. But I couldn't refuse even if I wanted to.
It's a warmer evening, and therefore a comfortable if uneasy wait behind the building. When Katniss finally shows, her wanting expression makes it clear that I hadn't miscalculated her intentions. I feel the need to at least pretend to protest with, "Katniss, you said it. We have to be careful."
"This is careful," she husks, then frames my face with her hands and kisses me full on the mouth. Her eyes dart around in search of witnesses, and I guess she finds none because she doesn't stop. "I just couldn't let you go… without a kiss goodbye," she explains between kisses.
It's ill-advised, but I'm too out of my head to stop myself from backing her up against the wall and pinning her there with my body. A little whimper squeaks out in response, and her elbows come up and rest on my shoulders, giving me access to her whole torso. Not that I'm greedy. My hands keep to her hips except for a short foray over her stomach. Hers soon tire of tangling in my hair and move down to twist into my shirt while her breathing slips further out of hand. Strong arms pull me closer, and I can feel her heart battering wildly against my chest. This is the closest I've ever felt Katniss come to losing control, and it's the least opportune situation, go figure. But I understand why, in my mind and in my humming core. If Katniss is anything like me, and I know she is, the danger turns her on.
***o***
Something appears to be eating at Katniss when we meet on Tuesday. It's not like she's intentionally distant with me or anything, but she seems preoccupied. She says very little through the focused session on throwing knives, and she carries herself a little differently. Still with confidence and purpose, but heavier, in a way. I can't help but be a bit concerned, but I doubt she'll tell me what's on her mind if I directly ask her, so I don't.
As I escort her a short distance on her way to meet Gale, Katniss starts humming. Faraway eyes stare ahead and occasionally up as she projects the brief, melancholy tune. When it ends, a faint refrain of some mockingjays greets our ears, and a wistful smile comes over her face.
"You've been singing more sad songs lately," I remark as casually as possible, observing her carefully.
"They help me feel," is all she says. Several paces later, she stops and finally looks at me, really looks at me. Her teeth pull her lip through a long moment of thought, culminating in, "Tomorrow's your other day off, right?"
"Yeah," I answer cautiously, unsure of what she intends to do with that information.
"Meet me at the tree in the morning," she directs me, still a touch absent-minded.
"Like before school?"
"No, more like nine or so," she replies. "I'm playing hooky."
My eyes widen considerably and I query, "You know that can get you in some serious trouble, right?" Not that I'm one to talk. But skipping to train for the Hunger Games is another animal. Between my own experiences and anecdotes from Katniss, I've come to the realization that school in the districts primarily functions to indoctrinate the children with the Capitol's ideals and worldview and to teach them district-specific skills. Anyone who's enrolled in the candidacy program hardly needs any help in either department.
Katniss shrugs, "I'll take my chances. If they come asking, my mom will say she kept me home sick, anyway."
"Okay," I agree uncertainly.
"Bring a lunch," she adds. "We'll be gone until the mid-afternoon."
My curiosity now piqued even further, I have to ask, "Where are we going?"
There's an ominous gravity in her tone as she tells me, "On a field trip."
***o***
The next morning, I slink out of the barracks with shifty eyes, pulling my regulation jacket tighter around me. My thumbs hook under the straps of my backpack as I take a final look back after I let the fence recoil shut behind me. Leaving isn't so bad, because most of my neighbors are on-shift, but getting back in may be tricky. No civilians in the barracks, no unauthorized use of government vehicles, and only standard-issue clothes outside the barracks are about the only three rules it seems are enforced with any regularity around here, and I'm breaking my second of the three. I doubt any of my comrades would officially report me if they saw me coming in in casual slacks, but word gets around, and I don't need to be the subject of any more gossip.
The hollow log Katniss and I stashed our weapons in the day of the hailstorm is the perfect dumping ground for the jacket, and from there I continue on to our tree dressed like, well, nothing. A civilian. Not a Peacekeeper. I know Katniss has reconciled my job with our relationship, or is at the very least ignoring the issue, but I want the chance to spend time with her without the constant reminder of who I am either by virtue of my clothes or our location.
Katniss drops down from her perch in the tree when I arrive, wearing her hunting jacket and game bag but notably no bow or quiver. She has a knife tucked in her belt, and that's about it. So we're not going hunting, which was my working theory up until this point. Before I can ask, Katniss has a question for me.
"Can't you get in trouble for that?" she points out, eyeing up my attire.
"I'll take my chances," I retort with a smug little smirk. She dryly raises an eyebrow, and I argue, "Technically, I could get in trouble for being out here at all. I doubt what I'm wearing while I'm outside the district without permission really matters."
Katniss shrugs and strolls off in what I estimate to be a west-southwest direction. "Your call."
We must hike for about two hours into what appears to be the middle of nowhere, climbing shallow hills and breaking through overgrown greenery. Katniss seems to know where she's going, though, so I don't question it. The sun is high above us by the time the forest thins out and we come upon a small lake nestled in a valley. This is our destination. I know not because of how picturesque it is, but by the shadow that has cast itself over my girlfriend's face. She stops, surveying the water quietly but seeming to be elsewhere. It's only when she finally speaks that I understand.
"I haven't been here in over four years," she murmurs. That timeline is telling, and I take her hand with a reassuring squeeze. She barely returns the gesture before dropping my hand and shrugging her game bag off her shoulder, discarding it at the foot of a tree at the forest's edge. Dropping my rucksack beside her bag, I watch intently as she shoves both hands in her pockets and edges closer to the shore. I follow a few feet behind her, studying her demeanor, stopping when she stops. The way she stares out at the water, I know there must be a thousand thoughts running through her head, but it takes a while for her to express any more of them.
"We used to hunt here," she tells me, eyes still on the scenery. "Ducks, mostly. And their eggs. They nest here in the summer." Shrugging, she surveys the empty shallows. "Might be another month or two before they show."
"So why are we here, then?" I probe gently. Katniss is hardly the type to waste time at all, let alone on the sentimental.
"To sit with my pain," she explains, finally turning to look me in the eye. "To mourn, like you said I should." There's the practicality I'm used to.
Ducking my head for emphasis but still looking her in the eye, I check, "And you're sure you want me here with you?"
"Yes," she replies with little emotion but much confidence. "I'm sure." With that, her fingers slip back between mine.
She leads us along the shore toward a small building nearby. "I used to play house there," she reminisces with a hint of a sad smile. "My dad made me a little broom and everything."
My mouth quirks wryly. "Who knew you were so domesticated?"
"Right?" she chuckles darkly. Nonetheless, her eyes have a playful glint in them as they catch mine again. "Look how that turned out."
"You're wild," I proclaim, "and you always will be."
She nods pensively, looking away. "I hope so."
Katniss doesn't say another word until we reach the little house, if you can call it that, and opens the door. It's even smaller from the inside, a single room of about 12x12 feet. The whole structure is made of concrete, the only notable feature a fireplace up on a raised hearth. A humble collection of wood is stashed in one corner. "Surprised it's still there," she mumbles.
"Who else would use it?" I point out.
"True." She squats and picks up the small broom made of twigs and twine, turns it over in her hands. "He had deft hands, like Gale."
"And how would you know about the deftness of Gale's hands?" I drawl, waggling my eyebrows.
Katniss's eyes narrow. "Because I watch him set snares all the time," she scoffs. "God, Mason, you're such a pervert."
"That's all part of my charm," I inform her with a saucy grin. She doesn't argue.
We stroll a ways along the shore, Katniss pointing out various landmarks. An area in the shallows where they would dig for katniss tubers. A grassy patch where the ducks nested and she would hunt for their eggs. Foundations of various other houses, larger ones, that didn't stand the test of time. A large fallen tree she used to climb and play on when she was a little girl. We clamber onto the mossy bark for nostalgia's sake, though it's not difficult as a full-grown woman. Not the same. The lack of satisfaction is clear in her face.
"The best part was swimming," she reflects as we make our way back to the shack. "Looked forward to it every summer. He taught me when I was really young, like so young I don't even really remember."
"He'd risk taking a toddler out in the woods?" I gape disbelievingly. "Couldn't you both get shot for that?"
"I wanted to go with him," she answers plainly. "I always had a sense of adventure, was never even scared as long as I was with him. My mom said we were kindred spirits from the start." She chews on her lip, eyes distant again. "Like her and Prim."
Tugging on her hand, I pull her to a reluctant stop. "They love you, you know," I declare with a meaningful gaze. "You're not alone."
"I know." She fidgets and drops her eyes to the dirt. "It's not the same. Even Gale doesn't really understand me, but Dad always did." Her eyebrows twitch. "Or at least it felt like it." Her covert snuffle and quick swipe under her nose are the first signs of her impending tears, signs I refrain from remarking on.
"Anyway," she digresses throatily, "we'd swim around after we'd finished our hunting and gathering. When we were all hot and sweaty in the afternoon." Her eyes flicker with another memory that pops a short chuckle out of her. "I remember we'd get back and my mom would pretend not to recognize me because I was so clean. 'Who's this girl you picked up, love?'" she mimics in a squeaky voice. "'Some kid from town? Little Katniss is at least two shades darker.'"
That makes me laugh despite her wistful tone. "So that's why you're darker than Prim?" I tease her. "Because you're a slob?"
"Nah, it's because I'm my father's child," she smirks sadly. "Also, the sunlight. Prim does get pretty tanned in the summer, if she goes outside enough. Darker than your average Townie, anyway. But she's indoors a lot of the time. Not like me."
"Like your mom," I counter, finishing the thought. As Katniss nods her agreement, another thought crosses my mind. Nudging her playfully to cover my unease, I inquire, "Has she ever pretended not to recognize you when you come back from spending the night with me?"
"She's never mentioned it. I don't think she wants to know," Katniss admits flatly. "Obviously I've been somewhere in town, where they have proper bathing facilities. Best to think I've been with Madge. Not with some Townie boy, or worse."
Worse means a Peacekeeper, certainly. Cray, most likely. While he has a habit of taking girls into his house, obviously the average Peacekeeper can't just take some poor Seam girl home to play with. Not without putting her in danger, at least. I can see why Mrs. Everdeen would just rather not ask where her daughter's been all night.
"I guess the Townie boys weren't your mom's type, huh?" I deadpan.
Something halfway between a snort and a sob bursts from Katniss's throat, and she nods vigorously, avoiding my gaze. Hers lands somewhere beyond me, and then her shoulder brushes mine as she pushes past me to whatever has caught her eye. She stoops down and collects something off the ground, tosses it in her hand, testing its weight. A smooth stone, I realize, as she sidearms it into the water. It doesn't bounce once.
"Damn it," she mutters, scouring the ground for another choice stone. This goes on for a short while, Katniss uttering curses at her poor attempts at skipping stones while she tries to deaden her expression. The significance of it is lost on me. Maybe he was good at it. Maybe she was too, at some point. Or maybe he tried to teach her and she never could quite get the hang of it. Perhaps it has no meaning at all and she just needs a distraction from the swell of emotions. She doesn't say, so all I can do is speculate.
It's not long before her form breaks down in frustration and she's just chucking rocks into the lake with increasing fervor. It culminates in her hurling a sizeable rock into the water with a resounding cry of, "Fuck!"
Wild eyes flash to my face as Katniss turns, flushed and panting, seething. Seemingly unsatisfied with what she sees there, she spins back around and marches toward the concrete structure not twenty yards from us. I follow her with concern but don't intervene until she cocks her fist and I realize what she's about to do.
"Whoa!" I shout, springing forward and snagging her arm. "No, don't hit that," I urge her as she levels a death glare at me. "You'll break your hand."
Katniss's nostrils flare as she growls out each syllable of, "Get off of me."
The death and destruction promised in her eyes is all too familiar to me. It's what I felt as I hacked the woods around my house to pieces in fits of anger, between my spells of paralyzation. Aching to relieve the injustice weighing on me, find some way to push back, but being in no position to better my situation. Just as I was never going to be in the Games, Katniss's father is never coming back. She needs to hurt something, and I'd rather it be me than her, so I only strengthen my grip and my resolve as I shake my head.
This is the third time Katniss has taken a swing at me, and the first time I'm prepared for it. My free hand catches hers as it flies my way, then closes around her wrist. Both our arms now crossed up in front of us in a deadlock, her face hardens and she uses all her strength to push me as far as she can. But I retain my hold on her, so she grips my shirt and wrestles me to the ground.
Katniss Everdeen is all about struggle, and that's what she needs right now. I'm more than happy to oblige. It's a heated battle as we grapple in the dirt, gnarling and swearing, but it's controlled at least on my end. My intention is to restrain her but allow enough wiggle room to work out her fury, but perhaps I've taught her too well, because she's so fuelled by rage that I don't even have to let her win. Wrists now pinned above my head, hips anchored by her weight, I raise my eyebrows and await a physical or verbal strike.
But it never comes. All that hits my face is a tear rolling off Katniss's jaw. Another is traversing the trail it blazed down her cheek while more pool in her eyes as her heavy breaths start catching painfully in her throat. When a particularly hard sob crumples her face, she drops it in shame and buries it in my chest, hands releasing mine to slide down and dig into the meat of my shoulders. Choked sobs rattle my ribcage as I slowly bring my arms down to encircle her, but the soothing gesture of my hands rubbing her back only seems to make her more determined to pull herself together.
"It's okay," I murmur. "Cry." My fingers wind into her hair as she continues to fight. "Acknowledge it. That's why we're here, remember?"
Though her fists only clench my shirt tighter, a couple shudders later her core relaxes under my hands and the tears start flowing freely to the sound of the wails muffled in my chest. I trace my fingertips up and down her back, doing my best to ease it out of her, ignoring the lump growing in my throat in response to the flood soaking my shirt. Katniss in pain still isn't something I can handle. I doubt it ever will be.
We stay like that for some time, until her eyes dry up and her breaths resume their normal pattern, though still slightly labored. It's me who sits up, forcing her to as well. Now kneeling astride my lap, she eyes me uncertainly, and I cup her sticky cheeks with both my hands, tilt my face up to place a kiss between her eyebrows.
"Thank you," she whispers shyly.
My thumb grazes the corner of her mouth. "Feeling better?"
"Lighter," she shrugs. "Tired."
"Come on, then." I guide her to her feet and over to the concrete house, where we sit and slump back against the wall facing the water. Her head falls to the side to rest on my shoulder while her hand crawls into my lap to find mine. We never talk and hardly move in the next half hour, listening to the bird calls and watching as the odd fish makes a ripple in the placid surface. The midday sun beams down on us and nearly puts me to sleep with its warmth.
Katniss's lips are what drag me back to full consciousness, grazing over my cheek and migrating to my mouth. My barely responsive lips turn hers up in amusement, the fingertips of her free hand now grazing delicately over my cheekbone. She only seems to get more lost in the lazy kisses as they continue, fingers threading in my hair and eyes fluttering shut, but there's one major distraction holding me back.
"Katniss?"
My words are all but swallowed by her lips, and from her lack of reaction, I almost think she didn't hear me until she absentmindedly hums, "Mm?"
"I'm fucking starving." As her eyes ease open and lips slow to a stop, I momentarily panic and correct myself, "Hungry, I mean." Katniss's light-hearted chuckle, however, allows me to relax again.
"It's okay, I know what you meant." Brushing a loose piece of hair behind my ear, she plants one final kiss on my lips. "There's some jerky in my bag."
Wincing as she gingerly gets to her feet, Katniss pulls on my hand she's still gripping and coaxes me to standing as well. We straighten up slowly, stretching out our aching limbs before we make our way back to where we left our belongings. Her longer legs allow her to arrive a few strides ahead of me and extract her food before I can even unzip my bag.
"Here," she offers, handing me a stick of dried meat wrapped in thin paper. It's unlike her to share, except with her hunting partner, but that's exactly why I don't question the gesture or even consider refusing. Perhaps this is her small way of paying me back for her meals at the barracks, or my hospitality in general. I haven't told her the extra food credits are cutting into my paychecks, though I think she kind of knows and just doesn't want to overtly acknowledge it for the sake of her pride. As my teeth rip away a small stringy chunk, she reflects through her own mouthful, "It's my favorite if I'm going to be in the woods for a while and don't have much food to bring. Takes time to eat." Swallowing, she adds, "It's perfect for hollow days."
My brow crinkles. "What's a hollow day?"
"That's when you stay hungry no matter what you put in your belly," is Katniss's surprisingly casual answer.
I give my head a dismissive shake and inform her, "Your food just isn't rich enough, that's all."
"No shit," she snorts. My face immediately flushes and I duck it into my collar. Fucking idiot.
"Sorry," I mumble sheepishly. "Wasn't thinking."
"I thought that was my job," she deadpans in response.
"You must be rubbing off on me," I hypothesize, rubbing my chin in thought. "We've been spending too much time together."
"Impossible."
That one word breaks my facade, and my eyes dart over to her. She doesn't appear to have been joking, and that actually makes me more uncomfortable. I'm forced to swallow and blink away. "You don't know me that well if you think that," I warn her. I catch her eye again. "I've been told I'm truly insufferable."
A poorly-suppressed grin makes Katniss's mouth waver. "You are."
The salt in the preserved meat dries out my tongue, and that combined with the sweat pouring out of me from the baking heat of the sun makes me down most of my bottle of water before I'm even halfway through the stick.
"You should've told me you were bringing salty food," I complain. "I would've brought more water." Jerking my head toward the lake, I inquire, "That's not drinkable, isn't is?"
Katniss answers with a clueless shrug. "My dad always told me not to, so I never tried. I'd just drink the water he brought and use that to cool off."
As I wipe more beads of sweat from my forehead, my gaze settles on the water again, making me pause halfway through the motion. Actually, that's a great idea. For multiple reasons. Katniss must catch the wheels turning in my head, because her face darkens warningly.
"Johanna, no."
"Johanna, yes." The package of meat lands at the foot of the tree as I break into a grin.
"It's April, you moron!" she protests fruitlessly while I peel the shirt off my back. "Don't let the warm air fool you - the water doesn't warm up until like July. You'll catch your death in there."
"Oh well," I shrug nonchalantly.
Katniss gives her head a resignedly futile shake. "Do you even know how to swim?"
"Kind of." Shimmying my pants down my legs, I explain, "There's a recreation center in the main town in Two, and it has a pool. I took some lessons in case there was a lake in my arena." One of my hands tosses my pants atop the discarded shirt before extending out to Katniss. "Join me."
"No," she states unequivocally.
"And you say you can swim?" I cock my head skeptically. "I'm calling bullshit."
Her smoky eyes narrow with suspicion. "Is this just an excuse to get me out of my clothes?"
My devious smile contrasts with my innocent shrug just before I reach behind my back to unclasp my bra. Katniss struggles to keep her face neutral, but I see the way her eyes still widen a touch despite her efforts, the way her throat bobs subtly as she gulps. Her tongue and teeth run unconsciously over her lips as I slide the straps down my arms and drop it onto the pile. Still, she admonishes me silently with her eyes.
"What?" I ask innocently. "I don't want to walk back in wet underwear." My thumbs hook under the waistband of my one remaining garment, deftly sliding it over my hips. When I look up from kicking it aside, I catch Katniss overtly staring at the areas I've just uncovered. When she finally drags her eyes up to my face and catches my shit-eating grin, she turns bright red.
"What do you say?" Cocking an eyebrow, I lift my hands to shoulder height and cycle them as though I'm doggy paddling. Katniss still staring silently, I toss her a wink and slink toward the lake, continuing to eye her over my shoulder as I offer her the view of my muscled back and ass, which she does not pass up.
The chill shoots up my legs and makes me shudder the second my toes hit the water, but if I back out now I'll never hear the end of it. My strides only get more deliberate the more of my body is submerged and screaming that this is a bad idea, though I do stop just before it hits my ladybits. Partially because I know it's better just to jump in than ease them into the water, and partially to shoot Katniss a smirk over my shoulder. She raises her eyebrows with a nod, silently daring me to continue, and I don't disappoint.
The icy water strikes me like a hundred knives to the ribcage and makes all my sensitive areas constrict painfully when I take a deep breath and plunge in. Much of that air is knocked from my lungs in a reflexive yelp, which is thankfully muffled by the water. When I resurface, I whip my head around to get my bearings and locate Katniss, who I find is still watching me with the same expression.
I'm so cold I can barely breathe, but I suck in enough air to call out, "Come on in, it's not that bad!" The circles I start swimming are meant to be read as out of boredom, but in actuality they're to keep me from freezing my tits off. Taking another breath, I submerge again and kick my way a little deeper so I don't have to feel the grasses at the bottom tickling my toes. It's even colder the farther out I venture, of course.
By the time I've turned a couple somersaults and popped up, Katniss is approaching the lake's edge. This time, it's not the shock of the cold that steals my breath, but the fact that she's clad only in her bra and underwear. My jaw wants to drop as I take in the muscle definition in her thighs, the smooth skin of her stomach and its faint trail of hair leading to places yet to be discovered. She's fucking gorgeous. I want nothing more than to trace my lips, fingers, tongue over her contours, make art on that olive canvas. But I play it cool, eyeing up her remaining attire with distaste. "Pussy."
"Pervert," she retorts, not missing a beat. Inching closer, she toes the water and immediately recoils. "Holy shit!"
"Of course, you're from Twelve," I taunt her, rolling my eyes. "I should have expected you'd be a weakling. You don't know cold until you've done a winter in the mountains."
My girlfriend's features darken in a way that excites every inch of me. "Shut your fucking mouth, Mason."
My voice drops an octave as I snap back, "Make me." And that was precisely what was needed, as evidenced by the fire in her eyes. Katniss Everdeen never backs down from a challenge, especially from someone as competitive as me.
"I think I will," she snarls, stomping out into the lake, now seemingly immune to the temperature. When the water reaches the midpoint of her thighs, she brings her hands together above her head and slices into the water with a shallow dive. She's better than I expected, kicking and wriggling like a fish under the water until she surfaces a few feet from me. Her lower lip is quivering from the cold in a way that I can't help but find enticing, but despite that, she tosses her hands up like it doesn't bother her in the slightest. "See?"
That's not exactly how I meant for her to shut my mouth, but I'll take it. A grin and a wink convey how pleased I am, then I take off for a little paddle. Katniss passes me almost immediately and starts showing off with little underwater twists of her lithe body. Typical. When I catch up with her, she literally swims a circle around me and then heads back the way we came. Expelling a heavy sigh, I follow her back, watching as she dives and turns somersaults, much better and faster than I did. I guess I've finally found an area other than archery in which she could teach me a thing or two. And she's loving it.
We fool around a bit more once we're closer to shore again, laughing and splashing and trying not to admit how cold we are. We must be in a deeper spot than before, because at one point she takes a dive and I lose sight of her. She doesn't surface for at least twenty seconds, and I'm just starting to get worried when I feel the swell of a wave beneath me and she suddenly shoots out of the water not a foot away.
"Surprise?" she asks, eyebrow cocked, trembling lips forced into a grin.
"Damn it," I mutter. "I thought maybe you were dead."
Her ensuing laughter makes her shake just a little, but once the movement has started, she can't control it. Nor the quickness of her breath or the rare pallor of her face.
"I think that's all I can handle," she pants. "It's way too cold out here for me. But by all means, give yourself hypothermia." She's about to turn and swim back to shore, but I snatch her arm before she can make a move.
"I'll keep you warm," I promise her huskily, just as I pull her into my body and press my lips against hers. Her sharp intake of breath only heightens my desire, and I circle my arms around her neck as she tentatively returns the kiss. However, I'm making a conscious effort to keep my hands to myself in spite of our proximity and her state of undress. But when her arms envelop me and her fingers trail down my bare back, I can't help but arch into her, pressing my hard nipples into her upper chest and making us both gasp.
"Hanna," she breathes, so lowly I can barely hear her, eyes closed and head tipped back in want.
"Yeah, brainless?" I whisper back with a teasing grin. Her eyes open into indignant slits, but she only delays a couple seconds before reconnecting our lips. She starts softly, but when my breathing quickens, hers follows suit and her fingers splay over my back and draw me in even closer. Hard buds now poke my ribs through the light padding of her bra, though I probably can't take credit for that physiological reaction. I've been stiff enough to cut glass since I jumped in.
Our kiss grows heated despite the temperature, all sharp breaths and tongue and fervor. She doesn't seem to mind when my legs wrap themselves around her hips. In fact, her right hand starts to roam around the side of my ribcage. She falters, though, when her thumb brushes the swell of my breast.
"It's okay, Katniss," I assure her gently, covering her hand with one of mine. "I want you to touch me."
Her teeth play at her lip, but after another moment's hesitation, she works up the ovaries to complete the journey. I hiss inwardly through my teeth in a mix of pleasure and pain as her fingers brush over my hypersensitive nipple, sending a jolt of arousal straight to my groin. Emboldened and curious, she cups her hand under the heft of the breast and swipes her thumb over the peak again.
"Fuck," I draw out in a moan, arching into her touch.
Her eyes grow wide at this discovery and she brings her other hand around to mirror the first one's actions. Now with both her thumbs exploring the tight nerve bundles, I am truly in danger of losing control. My basest instincts urge me to climb her ribcage and push her head down, make her warm mouth envelop the poor aching buds, but even I can have a little class when necessary, so I claw at her upper back to keep my hands occupied. Her mouth finds its way to my skin, anyway, nuzzling into the crook of my shoulder and working its way up my neck with hot open-mouthed kisses. But when she rolls my nipples between her thumbs and the sides of her forefingers, I can't help my reaction. Can't help the way my head tips back with a needy whine, nor the way my hips jerk, grinding my exposed pussy against her stomach in a desperate search for friction. That's when her thumbs still and her head pulls back just a hair.
Katniss lifts her face and presses her lips into mine again, still breathing heavily through her nose. Her hands don't move, which could be interpreted as either a good or bad sign, as she kisses me with a passion I've rarely seen from her before. It gets to a point where I can't tell if her violent shaking is from desire or the cold, and she's forced to pull away.
"Okay, Johanna, I really need to get out now," she manages between her chattering teeth and heavy puffs of breath. "I'm f-freezing my ass off." I have a sneaking suspicion that it's also because I've just pushed her beyond her comfort zone. Even if her body is ready to go that far, her mind may be lagging behind, and I can appreciate that. But she doesn't say so, and I don't ask.
"Well, we don't want you getting sick again, now do we?" is the question I pose instead. Her head shakes emphatically and mine follows suit with an air of condescension before jerking toward where we came from. "Come on, Everdeen." I flip over and do a lazy backstroke back to shore so it seems I'm less desperate than her to get out of the water. Also maybe to give her more of a view.
When we're on solid ground again, still shuddering in the warm air, I wring out my hair and shake myself dry as best I can, then wipe the residual drips away with my shirt. Glancing over at Katniss as I start to redress, I find she has turned away and is in the midst of unclasping her bra. My eyes linger for just a moment before I force them away as she moves her hands to peel off her wet underwear, chiding myself about showing a little respect. In fact, I now make a point of fully turning my back as well. The moment is over, and I feel like nudity out of context would still make her uncomfortable. As much as I generally enjoy that, I've probably done enough of it for one day.
My shivers start to die once I'm fully clothed again. The shirt is a little damp, but will dry quickly enough in the heat. Katniss, on the other hand, is still visibly quaking and rubbing her arms even with the jacket. Her current lack of undergarments can't be helping.
"Regretting your choice now, Everdeen?" I tease her, nodding at the discarded articles she's just hung from a branch.
"To get in, yes," she retorts pointedly. "That was the dumbest idea you've ever had, Mason. By far."
"But it was fun, wasn't it?"
Her mouth flickers, but she mostly contains her smile. "If you say so."
Still, that hint of a grin is enough to give me one of the full-on variety. I clap her on the shoulder, then scoop up my bag and amble toward the concrete hut. "I'll start a fire."
We open my contribution to lunch once we're huddled sitting on the hearth, still trying to thaw out our chilled bones. Katniss accepts the second can of field rations willingly, even though it's more of a donation than the jerky. In some ways, anyway. She starts out doggedly, but after a few bites, wrinkles her nose. "Hanna?"
"Yeah?"
"This is absolutely disgusting," she declares with a touch of levity.
I chuckle. "Why do you think we're all so eager to buy your game?"
"Your barracks food tastes a lot better," she points out.
"It comes out of a machine, not a can," I explain. "But it's still nothing like a fresh kill."
As much as she complains, she finishes every bite. I'd expect nothing less. Once the empty cans are set aside, I find myself watching her and the way the shadows of firelight play on her skin. It's a little dark inside the structure despite the windows, most of which are busted, but the walls hold in some of the sorely-needed warmth, too. She turns her head and catches me, but I don't avert my eyes and pretend I wasn't looking. I only get more entranced by how the flames dance in her eyes.
Katniss slowly extends a hand and runs the back of it down my jaw, and I lean into her touch. When we lose contact, she hesitates a second but then cups my other cheek and leans forward to gently press a kiss to my lips. I respond in kind to the ginger but intimate gesture, eventually easing my tongue into things. This continues for a few minutes before she pulls back with a wry smile.
"I bet this is the last thing my dad ever thought he'd see here," she muses, glancing around the room.
"He'd be proud of you," I say without thinking. There was no thought needed, anyway.
She dips her head incredulously. "For kissing a Peacekeeper?"
"For growing up," I counter. "As quick as you had to, especially. For keeping everyone alive." I ghost my fingers over her cheek again, earnestly holding her gaze. "And for being brave enough to come say goodbye."
The shadows leave my girlfriend's face as her eyes widen just a touch, roaming my face. Her obvious swallow leads me to believe that she doesn't respond with words because her throat is swelling up, but she does give a grateful nod. Then she hooks her fingertips under my chin to pull us back together, nuzzling my nose before resuming the kissing.
Not much later, I am curled up on the hearth, roasting with my head in her lap. I'm enjoying the moment despite the less than ideal sleeping surface, listening to the crackling of the fire behind us and savoring the earthy smell of woodsmoke as she all but lulls me to sleep with her gentle fingers in my hair. She must think she's succeeded, because she says something I'm not sure she has the guts to say when I'm awake.
"I love you," she whispers, twirling a small lock of hair around and around one of her fingers. "I love you."
My eyelids flutter with surprise, but perhaps the bigger surprise is the subsequent lack of reaction from Katniss. She surely felt that twitch, but just continues her soft touches in the same rhythm. After a couple seconds of silence, though, I hear her take in an apprehensive breath, feel the slightest tremor in her hand. That's when I understand that she wanted me to hear, that she wants me to know how she feels. And that she's taking my lack of words as a bad sign. Didn't I make the same assumption, not too long ago?
In an effort to ease her mind, I cup my hand around her knee and squeeze it gently. To say it's okay, to say I feel the same. I don't feel the need to break the sweet silence following that declaration with an explicit one of my own. She already knows I love her. More importantly, she knows she loves me.
A/N: Thanks to the beta, D7P. It's been a great year of working with you. Happy New Year to all, and best wishes in 2016!