Chapter 12: Try It Again
Peeta stabs a mushroom out of a bowl of freshly gathered greens. I keep my head down and skewer a crouton to finish off the salad kebob I've made on my fork.
The sounds of crunching and forks clinking fill the room as I wait for him to tell me about the filling he put in that anniversary cake and he waits for me to tell him about the quail I saw in my short excursion into the woods today. We listen to each other chew until the front door is hurled loudly open.
"It's not Tuesday," I grumble without needing to look up. There's only one person that attacks my door with all the finesse of a fervently breaking freight train.
"How do you do, Miss Everdeen? Haymitch says with mock courtesy. "How are you this fine evening?"
I suddenly wish I had a bucket of ice water.
Despite his warm welcome, Haymitch pulls up a chair at the head of the table, and with a smug look watches Peeta and I pick silently at our dinners.
"I haven't seen you two in a few days and thought I'd make sure you hadn't killed each other," he offers when no one else starts. "Any bodies I need to take care of?" He looks directly at me when he says this.
I'm not sure if it's a joke, really.
"You two behaving yourselves?" he continues. "Anything I need to know about?"
"We're just peachy," I mumble, wondering when this interrogation will end.
"Too peachy, I hear," he mutters under his breath.
Peeta pushes a basket of bread toward our uncharacteristically concerned mentor and asks about his day. When it's clear that Haymitch came over for a meal, Peeta passes him a serving bowl full of salad. No stew tonight. With me outside in the heat and Peeta in the kitchen baking, we decided on a cold dinner. Sae was happy for the night off.
Haymitch looks at the salad like it's Sae's mystery meat surprise and he's just figured out that the mystery meat is an old shoe. "Rabbit food?" Partially chewed breadcrumbs fall out of his gaping mouth. It's not what he was expecting. He stares at me like I can magically produce Southern Fried Squirrel. When I don't respond, he snatches up another piece of bread, casting a dirty look in Peeta's direction.
Peeta pushes a piece of chard around his plate, alternating glances between Haymitch and me. It seems like there's something he wants to say, but because of either Haymitch or me, he's not saying it.
Haymitch picks all of the onions out of salad to eat with his bread. I smirk at Peeta. He grins back. Haymitch clears his throat and my scowl comes back.
"It's nice to see you tonight," Peeta tells our mentor. "I'm sorry there isn't any stew for you. What can we have ready for you next time? Katniss what did you get in the woods today?"
"I didn't find any liquor trees if that's what you're asking." That's all I offer and rather than get sucked into another round of Delightful Dinner Conversation with Haymitch, I put my bowl in the sink and make my way to the couch. Last time the conversation centered around the lack of available spirits, with Peeta arguing the cons for Haymitch making his own moonshine still. That's an explosion waiting to happen.
"You let me know, sweetheart." It almost sounds like Haymitch is suppressing a laugh.
Peeta asks Haymitch about the news and rebuilding in other districts. Haymitch grunts through one word responses. "You don't have to play host. I can take my foliage to go," he finally says. "Go on. She's waiting on you," Haymitch urges Peeta barely loud enough for me to discern
Unfortunately, my absence makes it easier for them to talk about me. And Haymitch advising Peeta about me incenses me—mostly because he's right. That's exactly what I'm doing, waiting on Peeta to come sit next to me, flip on the news and resume the quiet little routine that we built. I would prefer Haymitch to be back in his filthy house adding to his pile of dirty dishes, not doling out what I can only assume is relationship advice.
"She's tired," Peeta replies.
"Tired of waiting on you. Go on over there. Don't mind me." I'm not sure, but it sounds like he adds, "you never have."
Haymitch's chair creaks as he replaces it under the table. "I'll leave you two alone." I peek over the crouch to see him take the last of the bread. "Since when have you two ever minded a crowd?" he shakes his head at no one in particular.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he calls from the door.
With that, we're alone again.
"Maybe we shouldn't do anything he would do," Peeta laughs as he cleans up the dinner dishes. That's definitely something Haymitch wouldn't do.
When the soapy sink is drained Peeta looks down at me with a crooked cheek-over-exerting smirk. It's quiet again. And maybe it's what Haymitch insinuated when he said he'd leave us alone, but all I can think of is being tangled up with Peeta again. Stupid Haymitch.
"Can I sit here?" Peeta motions to the cushion my feet are propped on.
"No," I practically yawn.
He arches an eyebrow and I let him think I'm being cruel a second before I sit up and offer him the spot where my head was. As soon as he sits, I resume my position. He sighs and reclines his head back on the cushion. I hope he doesn't have big plans on discussing that cake he was so excited about making, because I have big plans for napping.
"Were you really waiting on me?" he asks like he already knows the answer.
"No."
"Didn't seem like it anyway," he runs a hand over the space between my shoulder blades.
My breathing deepens as the quiet minutes pass. I'm a few heartbeats away from sleep.
"I think this is so cute," he muses to himself. "How you fall asleep like this. You'd think you don't sleep at night."
I let him think I'm sleeping. My guard is completely down. It's been coming down more and more around him. It's strange how this happened, and perfectly expected at the same time: how I trust him again, fall asleep with him around. Gradually, the accusatory looks have been replaced by sly smiles. We're not the same as we were a year ago, or even when he first came back. We're not the Capitol-created lovers our survival once mandated. He can't love me anymore and that's strangely freeing. I don't have his lofty expectations to live up to. I don't have to play at feelings I'm not ready to have. So I can just lay here and enjoy a warm hand on my lower back.
"Peeta," I give away that I'm partially awake while he trails a finger around the curve if my ear. I try to hide the chills that have extended down my arms.
"Hi," he feigns straightening a strand of hair that's fallen out of my braid. "I wanted to make sure I thanked you for taking care of me last night." He pets my back. "It was so kind of you."
"Um hmm," I mumble like it was no big deal to stay with him, to see him that broken. As much as I try to brush what he's saying off, I can't. There's something I need to know. "Peeta," I turn over so I can see his expression. "Are your flashbacks always that bad?" I have a million more questions. How often do they come? What am I supposed to do? What does he normally do?
"No." I try to look him in the eye when he says this but from this angle, it's more like looking him in the nostril. "That was definitely the worst one since I came back. The storms seem to set them off. But you were perfect."
I ignore the compliment. I've been around healers enough to know that breaking down into sobbing fits isn't proper protocol. "What did you do last time?" I steer the conversation back to him. It's not the first time we've had a storm.
Peeta's cheeks round up like he does when he's going to laugh. "I took a bunch of sleeping medicine and slept on the couch until the storm passed."
That sounds a little too much like Haymitch for my liking. I'd rather not have that happen again, not while I'm around. I'm the reason he has these episodes, so it makes sense that I take care of him. "Will you be okay tonight?" I place the query purposefully between the other questions, with just enough weight to sound casual.
"I'm sure I will be," he says, trying to look confident.
"Oh." That wasn't the answer I was searching for. But it's what I should have expected.
"Are you sure?" I try again.
"The same as any other night."
"Because if you need to," I trail off. Do I finish the thought? Leave it open?
The steady click of the ceiling fan is the only sound as I mull it over. Peeta doesn't break the silence like I want him to.
"Stay." That imperative is my whole speech as I brush his hand, not sure if I should grasp it tight or leave it alone. One word. It's all that needs to be said. It means stay with me. Five minutes. Five hours. All night. Let me keep an eye on you in case you're sick again tonight.
He entwines his fingers with mine. "Okay," he whispers.
"Peeta," I shove at him. "Wake up."
"Umph," he grunts, obviously sleeping soundly.
His arm weighs heavily on my rib cage and his head is on my shoulder. I'm partially pinned by his weight and the mass of throw pillows and blankets that ended up on the living room floor. I wiggle my way out. "I'm going out," I tell him. "I'll come get you at lunch time, okay?"
He rolls over. "Morning." He doesn't even bother to blink his shut eyes. He's usually an early riser but I can't blame him for wanting a few more minutes of sleep. I didn't really want to get up myself.
The floor isn't really my first choice for sleeping arrangements, but last night I was too tired to do more than scoot the coffee table out of the way and yank a nearby pillow on the floor. Peeta followed suit and we ended up camped on the floor. There were no mutts or explosions. No one woke at midnight screaming. We slept and today I'm rested. And after two abbreviated days hunting, I have some catching up to do.
As I'm tugging on my boots, I remember to leave Peeta a note telling him where I've gone. I can't find a scrap of paper. I have a black marker, but nothing to write with. Peeta's splayed across a few pillows with one arm tossed out wide. "Meet me for lunch?" I write in true District 13 style. He won't be able to miss that.
The sun warms my nose and shoulders as I lead a boy in a backpack around the briars and brambles of the woods. Dressed in long sleeves and many pocketed pants, he beams the whole was to the spot where I've seen some wild dill grows. He gathers while I scout out some basil that I'm not sure I've seen recently.
"Lunch?" He rests a hand on my arm, distracting me from my search for fragrant leaves.
I'd forgotten. I dropped my morning game off with Sae when I went to meet him so I guess we'll have to find something.
Peeta opens his backpack and pulls out two sandwiches. A picnic. Of course.
The sandwich I should have expected, but the crumbly white cake is a complete surprise.
"What's the occasion?" I ask while taking a bite. I'm sure it must be leftover from yesterday.
"No reason. I thought you'd like the frosting."
I stick a finger in the sticky topping. Cream cheese. Apparently, I'm just as predictable as he is.
Eating cake in the woods. It's not something I'd ever pictured myself doing. But it's pleasant enough that for a few minutes I let myself forget what got us here. Peeta leans back next to me, staring at the clouds. "I can see why you like it out here so much."
It's a different sort of quiet than the Village. The insects hum, the birds' call, chipmunks dart into the bushes. Dr. Aurelius calls it nature therapy. It's the one area I know I'm making progress in.
I watch Peeta as he lounges on a blanket of plush green grass. He looks so content, relaxed. A light breeze blows the hair off the pink waves of burns on his forehead.
Kneeling, I lean in and trace the swirls with the tips on my fingers. I touch where his eyebrows are growing back in. His eyes are closed and a sleepy half smile curls on his lips. He snaps his eyes open and I freeze.
"I—," I start to explain, suddenly terrified that I did something wrong. You looked so peaceful, I want to tell him.
"It's okay," he shushes me, placing one hand on the side of my cheek, pulling me closer. His hand trembles as he traces my jaw. I could back up, move my head farther away from his but I don't. The pads of his fingers graze my lips.
Is it okay? I plead with my eyes. Am I terrified or is it something else entirely? Why am I still leaning into him? He drags his fingers away from my lips. It's as if I can feel it in my toes. Before I have a second to object, his mouth is on my mine. It's both soft and urgent at the same time. The pressure builds in my chest and worry that I can't breathe. I'm dizzy and wonder if the woods are spinning or if my concussion is to blame. I peak one eye open and the trees around us seem stationary enough. It must be a dream then, one that tastes like cream cheese cake frosting.
He pulls away. Not ready for this part of the dream to end, I tug his lips back toward me for a few more seconds of not feeling numb.
"Real or not real?" he asks when we collapse back on the grass.
"I'm not sure," I sigh, running my tongue over what's left of the sugar on my lips. Dreams don't usually have a taste, but what would I know about normal dreams anyway?
His kisses find me again—tiny tickles on my scarred hands, the inside of my elbow, my shoulder, my neck, my ear. With closed eyes I allow it and think back on some of the other times, but I keep coming back to how much I wanted him to return to me so many months ago. "I missed you." It's more of a squeak than a confession. It's the first time I've said it, and when I say it I know that I've missed him more than those few months last year. He sighs something into my ear that's more breath than words and squeezes my hand.
What was supposed to be a lunchtime outing for gathering herbs for Peeta's baking has turned into an afternoon I hadn't expected. Of course, Peeta always will be more than a friend.
"I wondered about this," Peeta reflects. He's lying on his back, his lashes blinking up at the robin's egg blue sky.
"Really?" I lean up on my side to get a better look at him.
"The way you kissed me on the mission," he begins, and shifts so he's looking at me. "I had to try it again."
"That was so long ago," I say without thinking. I shouldn't be puzzled, though. He waited 11 years to talk to me. But that was the old Peeta, who despite everything I've been seeing more of as time goes on.
"I didn't want to lose you again." He tucks a stray hair behind my ear.
It's something I'm all too familiar with and there's nothing I can say to match that. So I don't say anything, and do my best to prevent any more heartfelt declarations. My lips remember his, their softness, his habits, the way he lingers on my lower lip.
Peea scoots back from me shaking.
Not this. A cold chill runs through me. An audible "no" falls out of my open mouth. Can Peeta have a moment's peace?
He holds his arm out in front of him telling me to keep my distance. "Give me a second," he says through gritted teeth. "I think it will pass. It's just a lot of memories coming back."
Peeta sits on the grass, his eyes tightly shut in an expression of pain and intense concentration.
I trust his judgment and keep my distance. I wander a few feet away and resume my gathering quest from earlier. While I don't find any basil, I do happen upon a fragrant patch of yellow and white flowers. These tiny blooms weren't in either arena and don't grow in the concrete-filled Capitol so probably don't have anything to do with tainted memories. I quietly walk up to Peeta and offer him a handful. He's still shaking slightly, but not clenched like he's having an actual flashback.
"You okay?" I ask cautiously.
His nod isn't entirely convincing.
"I brought you something." I don't know if he needs a distraction or not, but since he doesn't shoo me away, it's worth a try. I pinch the end off one of the tiny trumpets for him. "Here."
Peeta hesitantly takes the small yellow flower. I don't think the vines grew in town, because he doesn't know quite what to do with the flower. I remember eating one whole when I was little before I knew what I was supposed to do.
"Honeysuckle," I say. He laughs when I show him what to do with it. We split the handful of sweet nectar-filled flowers I've picked. Before long Peeta looks more relaxed, cheerful even.
"Katniss, you constantly surprise me," he says.
"Sometimes I like surprises," I muse, planting my head on his shoulder.
And in a grassy clearing in the woods, I realize that I'm not falling for him again. I fell a long time ago, and am just now pulling myself back up from the hole I've been in without him.
We bask in the sun not really saying anything in particular. The sun is lower in the sky than when we left, but I make no effort to get up or leave. There's nowhere else I'd rather be.
Peeta finds a dandelion and takes his time blowing the tiny white parachutes all around us. The fuzzy seeds adorn my braid and I just laugh.
Eventually it's time to leave and Peeta takes my hand and helps me up. I lead us out of our grassy haven and into town.
The streets seem busier than before, barely though, as people return to the town. Peeta nods at passersby and I wish the sweet shop were already rebuilt so I could pick up a piece of chocolate or a strawberry flavored candy.
Between the sunshine, the daydreams of candy and the familiar hand that holds mine I feel so very far from the starving girl held in confinement in the training room.
Peeta stops at his parents' bakery and lays down some flowers he picked on our way back. I let him kneel there for as long as it takes. I put my hand on his shoulder. "We'll rebuild," he says.
I give Peeta the tiniest kiss on the check. And because I'm thinking of his family and his bakery I don't see it first.
End part one.
