Summary: Peeta Mellark knew he was doing the right thing. Quitting - leaving her - was only natural. Being a personal assistant to the archeress was never a dream of his, so why wait any longer to end it? He could move on and forget about her.
But what do you say to the woman whose only regret, was having you leave?
Peeta's pov
I'm going to murder her.
One day.
One day, years after I've quit, I'll silence that pretty little mouth of hers.
No-one would suspect me and I'd be free from her disrespect.
For the third time today, I grumble "Katniss", under my breath. A warning to myself as I once again count to ten to quell the annoyance within me. I know better than to raise my voice. She's so attuned to sound you could cough three blocks away and she'd hear the water droplets hit the counter - or at least that's how it feels.
The only reaction I seem to get from her is the infamous scowl or the "looking twice in my direction as if to check if I had the audacity to disrupt her peace". To be honest, that's led to more than our fair share of fights, and I say 'our' because she hates taking responsibility for anything. She's never to blame. Whenever her face would scrunch up or her eyes would turn to slits I'd bite my tongue like an admonished child would, to refrain from saying all the impolite things I've wanted to over the years.
The lady in question makes a growl behind her second bowl of fish stew and wild greens. She swirls the spoon, scraping it along the sides of the bowl as she does. "You heard me the first time. Cancel it. Soon."
Of course, I know she's right. I hear everything the first time around but I know it rattles her to have to repeat herself.
It seems selfish, to care about someone yet want to ignore their requests - well demands in her case.
She hums lowly at my lack of response and glances up at me. She forces a fake smile but it drops within seconds. "I don't care what you have to tell them. I want them off my back. Come up with something and get it done now".
Standing at the opposite end of the table, I put my hand behind my back and lift my middle finger. A silent protest. Or it would be if she didn't conveniently have a mirror behind me and a few inches off to my left.
She ignores my slight, in the same way, that I ignored her tone of voice. I know from experience that she just wanted me to do as I was told. It was an order, not a discussion. That's how it always is.
I just need to deal with it.
When I'd first began working for the two-time national archer of the year, I'd dreaded having to do her dirty work. It wasn't because it was hard work, it's well known that I'm capable of convincing people to bet on her and support her throughout her games, and yet, there were some things I've never enjoyed. Mainly haggling with people, including those far poorer than her, for the money they wasted betting against her. I'd reject interviews on her behalf, prepare training sessions weeks in advance only to find out she'd trained whilst I was asleep and I've been covered in questionable bodily fluids because I'd work up a sweat in the kitchen as the cook of the house only to finish by sorting through her laundry basket to see what dirty clothing would be cleaned tonight.
But the thing I detested more than anything else was canceling on people. It's just not in my nature. I've always thought it was rude considering that she's always physically capable and available to attend the events and meetings. Besides, why make a promise if you already know you don't plan on carrying it through? It's not as if these things are a mystery to her, she could easily say no from the start and no-one would bat an eyelash. Then again she's never been particularly fond of her fans, and as long as they're hers and not mine then really she's the only one rejecting them.
Freaking Katniss. She swallows a mouthful, oblivious to the problem she's just given me. After all the trouble we've - I've - gone through trying to set this up I have to now explain to her agent why we're canceling again. All because she couldn't be bothered to give her time to sign a few photos and sell some merchandise at the sporting goods store. Not only that but she'd been offered a commission for her time, something I could only dream of since she never gives me a cut of her profits.
I drop my shoulders and take a deep inhale. "Maybe we could figure something out? Reschedule if we have to? You did promise them-".
Her spoon hits the top of her stew with a gentle smack, and she stares at me blankly. "I don't care, Peeta. Have Haymitch cancel if you won't". She resumes shoveling spoonfuls into her mouth and whilst chewing she says "Or is that too much of a problem for you?".
Close your mouth woman.
I think over her offer. I could call Haymitch and tell him to cancel it but that'd only annoy me more. That drunk mess couldn't care less what she does. He gave up trying to get her to do her duties months ago. Unfortunately for me, I'm usually the one who ends up getting blamed. I didn't plan enough in advance. I didn't communicate with the team. I didn't smack Katniss over the head every time she changed her mind. Granted I added that last one myself but still... she's gonna push me too far one day.
My leg aches the longer I stand.
She has a point though. She shouldn't have to care about disrupting anyone's day. After all, that's what she pays me for - and Gale. When I'd first started working for her I was good-natured every day. Nowadays it seems that I only voluntarily smile when the two of them put money in my wallet.
She licks the back of her spoon, unbothered that I'm still watching her. Eating seems to be the only thing that distracts her anyway.
See I don't think she even appreciates how much time and patience I give her whenever she needs it. Anytime, day or night, for two years I've been here for her. Even when she's had a bad day and messed up in some of her training sessions and lost potential sponsors, I'd still been the one to praise her and ensure she had a warm bath to slip into before bed.
It didn't fix any of our issues but the water helped soothe her tired muscles, and it at least shut her up for a few hours. Sometimes I'd lie and tell her she needed to recover more but it was really so I could keep her off my back. Not that she'd ever listened. A sprained wrist here or there never stopped the woman. She'd just get me to help out more. Never a please or thankyou. I'd just hear my name being called at obscene hours of the day. I know one day she won't be so lucky though.
I've tried to be nice considering that she's a hard worker. She'd keep focused on her skills and deep down I know she's scared. She'd never admit it but I know she'd be lost without her bow and arrow. It was like an extension of herself. Sometimes I used to wish that she'd just talk to me about it. I know if I was in her position and I injured my wrist or my eyesight was failing me, I'd be panicking. If I could never draw again I don't know what I'd do.
Regardless she's too old to be this cranky. She's like a worse version of my older brothers. Sometimes I'd tell myself that they only existed to see how much it would take for me to kill one of them.
Nevertheless, they taught me to be patient, watch my mouth, and to duck if a fist went flying.
She's just lucky that I have a small infatuation with her, one so tiny I'd never bring it up. Otherwise, I would've ended this mess years ago. Then again, practically everyone had a thing for the Everdeen's. When they knew about them, that is. There was just something different about them. Maybe it was their no-nonsense attitude or the way they commanded the attention of a room, either way, I'd never felt odd for just being another person who paid attention to her.
She glances at me, her grey eyes as innocent as if she was looking at a cat or a goat.
I force a smile, "Not a problem at all".
She tuts and rolls her eyes as she leans back in the chair and throws her arms out to stretch. "They'll get over it. It's not a big deal".
Of course, it's not, but she's used to getting her way. The stubborn creature.
Despite what everyone thinks she isn't that intimidating. Sure, she's threatened to stab me with a butter knife more than a few times but she's rarely ever lost her temper. She usually just leaves. Not the healthiest approach but it's her life so who am I to judge.
I nod and rub my hands together.
Not too long now.
I've been wanting to quit for a while now.
Every time I've checked my stash of savings I've gotten more and more excited.
Last month, I'd added up all I'd earned, and with the extra cash from Gale, my long hours and saving tricks finally paid off. My goal was to have a year's salary saved up, and with my next pay-check I'll be a few hundred over it. Finally.
I'd love to celebrate it, even if it was with Katniss and Gale and Haymitch. I'd known them long enough so a little farewell would be nice, but that was the problem.
I haven't told Katniss I'm quitting yet. I haven't even tried to hint at it.
"Why are you making that face?" she inquires.
I stall and try to think on my feet. "My leg hurts".
Believable enough.
"You're leaning on it fine".
Or not.
"Something you wanna tell me? Or do you just plan to stare at me all day?".
Neither option sounds very good.
"Ahh, no. Sorry".
She raises an eyebrow and I realize she's wondering why I'm still standing here.
To be honest, it's being told what to do that I've grown to hate. Maybe that's why I've wanted to work for myself for so long. Just a nice little job that could keep me fed for a day or two and let me rest easy. I'm tired of relying on other people. A sober mother, a brother who'd teach me to cook, a family that didn't crumble as each day became the next. None of that was real. None of it is worth thinking about.
Sure I'm scared of leaving. At least a little bit. Maybe she would go at me with a knife but I'm easy enough to replace.
The chair screeches against the floor as Katniss gets to her feet, the empty bowl in hand.
"What's for dessert?" she asks, no longer caring about the fact that I still haven't moved. She purposefully goes around the table so that she doesn't have to pass by me.
Just say it.
Real quick.
She's so distracted by the next meal that she won't even care.
But what's the rush?
I weigh up the two options in my mind.
I could get it over with now but I'm still here tonight. Do I really want the awkwardness of having to stay afterward?
I remember when I'd first met Katniss she'd only been interested in knowing if I knew how to cook. I don't know why it matters so much. Anyone can throw a few things together and call it a meal.
She hadn't shaken my hand, or asked me to sit down, hell I think she even forgot my name for the first few days. But I suppose that was as good a red flag as I was going to get. The massive, open kitchen just fooled me into staying. I'd never been able to afford such a thing, with multiple ovens and meters of counter space. It wasn't cramped like back at home. I didn't have to start up a fire any time I wanted to bake.
I'd gone through three interviews before meeting her. Oddly enough it was a long process, considering that she didn't seem to care about any of my personal attributes, and yet a few great references and a few years working on market stalls to convince fools to spend their money got me a callback. Because I definitely didn't have an ounce of knowledge about her or archery before I applied.
I suppose I should've asked around. I'd never been someone's assistant before so I didn't really know what I was getting into but I always tried to be optimistic. There was no way a petite thing like her was going to bring me down, and with good pay, I'd have done nearly anything. I still would.
It was only when she'd been showing me around that I'd gotten a peek at her toned arms. It seemed like whatever strength she had she was hiding beneath an oversized shirt and trousers. I'm not sure why. Most people would be proud of working out and show off but even in photographs you'd find her fully clothed - sometimes even excessively covered up. Whether it was modesty or shyness I'm not sure, but having been around her for longer I think it's something she does to appear frail. Confuse the competition. I'd never say that though. She hates being called weak.
During our first conversation, she'd cut straight to the point. "I have at least two portions of every meal. Will that be a problem?".
I remember being taken aback. First of all because if she did eat so much compared to how I'd grown up then how was she still so small, but then I'd reasoned that maybe her training drained her of all her energy. Making food was never a problem. I'd always longed to make large meals as it was a luxury I'd never had before. Unfortunately, that also meant that I was a confused mess when I made her first breakfast. There were so many ingredients I'd never heard of and so much food that I didn't understand what to do with it all. In all honesty, I'd sneaked a bite or two where I could but when I realized she didn't care I'd sneak a spare pear or slice of bread for when I went home. I felt guilty yes but what was I supposed to do? Waste it?
So I'd lied and told her "Not at all Miss". I'd cook for hoards of people if it meant I didn't have to work three jobs for a pittance of what I'd make here.
I remember she questioned whether I was sure or not, which was odd considering I'm usually a good liar.
"Fruit or dairy miss?", I'd suggested, alluding to her breakfast. I'd learned to plant the seed in someone's head years ago. Anything to try and diminish the doubt in their head. Now, granted at the time I didn't know just how many different fruit and types of cheese existed but my response seemed to satisfy her.
"I don't leave to eat", she'd stated. "And I hate cooking, I've never been good at it and I'd rather not poison myself. I want multiple servings made for each meal. Doesn't matter if I eat it or not, but I'll always try. I'd rather it not go to waste", she said, whispering the last part. "I'll take drinks too. There's some er, I don't know some contraptions in the kitchen. I'm supposed to have some smoothies, just a bunch of fruit mixed together but I'm sure you can figure it out on your own".
She'd crossed her arms over her chest, making her look even smaller, but her steely eyes hadn't dropped from mine. I'm sure she thought she'd looked intimidating but she seemed more like a sullen child to me.
"There's a computer upstairs, Haymitch can tell you how to use it if you don't know. I get emails sometimes so you'll have to respond to those for me and sometimes they chuck a few letters on the doorstep so you can read those for me. You don't need to tell me what they say, I couldn't care less. There's people that show up in cars weekly, I don't like going outside so they'll probably try and get some photos from you. Just keep them out of my hair".
"Uh", she'd waved her arm around rattling off more tasks to the never-ending list of duties her assistant would have. "Laundry, planning. Sometimes uh, I have a friend. He likes to stay around. You can let him in if he visits, I'm sure you'll be able to spot him. He knows where my room is if he needs me, and he likes food too so... if you make him something I guess he'll pay you".
"Did you um, have any questions?".
I'd shook my head at the time, even though I didn't know half of the words she was saying. A computer? What's an email? Surely letters are private. I know my mother used to smack me over the head whenever I tried to sneak a peek at hers.
I remember staring at her, she was pretty. Not conventionally so, even where I came from people usually preferred women with blonde hair and blue eyes. A fuller figure meant they could afford to eat well. Lighter hair made it seem like they washed more, and they could afford to bathe in clean water every other day because if they were covered in any dirt or filth it would be more obvious than on someone with darker hair.
"You don't talk much, do you?", she'd asked. I found it funny at the time since I've always been able to speak for hours. I quite enjoyed it actually. The silence just made everything seems so isolating and cold to me, but she didn't seem like the type to want friendly conversation, and if a paycheck meant being as silent as a mouse then I would be the best damn rodent she'd ever seen. I suppose she liked her first impression of me because I got the job.
Since then it feels as if it's all gone downhill.
She didn't appreciate the first few times when I'd stopped calling her "miss". She hates change and although I know more than I'd ever need to about her, it's always come from other sources or my own prying. She's never seemed to want to talk about herself. She never volunteered a smile or asked me about my day. It's like I'm a stranger to her but I know what underwear she wears and how many times she's hidden in the bathroom to avoid being photographed walking by her window. As annoying as she is I care about her. I care about most people, I don't see why anyone wouldn't. So even though I can't stand her some days, I see her most of the week and I've even stayed a few nights, so naturally, I want the best for her.
For the past few years that was my second priority, behind being my own boss of course.
Her bowl clatters against the other dishes in the sink and she grabs a glass from the cupboard before turning on the tap. The streaming water fills the silence.
Dessert? What do I make her for dessert?
I glance around at the blank walls. I've always found it slightly odd that she doesn't have any pictures of her family or friends. Even the boy who visits here and there. She'd rather mount her bow on the wall than think about life outside of archery.
I think about what she'd like to eat but I know it's always the same things. Cooking is the only time she takes my opinion into consideration, everything else is her decision and her decision is final. That kind of indifference just makes me want to leave more. At least on the market people cared about what I said.
Why do I still put it off?
She clearly only puts up with me for help.
I just need to tell her.
I've turned hundreds of people away for her, it's the same thing. Just her face I have to look at. And she's the one without a say.
The thought brings a smile to my lips.
I'll be fine.
The water stops running.
I'll be fine.
She takes a long sip from her glass.
I'll be fine.
What are the odds she'll throw that at me?
I was never her friend, she'll have no problem replacing me.
I'll be fine.
There's never going to be a perfect moment. I couldn't do it after training because she's tired and after eating she's at least content. I suppose I could have told her on more than one occasion before she went to bed but I'd feel guilty if she lost any sleep just because my timing sucks. Maybe I should sweeten it with a compliment. I could mention how much I admire her hard work and determination, and body. Minus the last part. That'd be weird coming from a stranger, and there's plenty of people out there who has similar features.
A pretty face and a strong attitude aren't going to help me in life.
What was the worst that could happen?
My business could fail within the first month or two of leaving here?
She could say I couldn't quit? As if. I was going.
I could probably convince one of her sponsors to buy a drawing or two if it came down to it.
I inhale deeply and lean against the countertop behind me. "Katniss, I have something I need to talk to you about".
Her eyes light up briefly.
"And it's not dessert".
Authors note ~ Hi! (Loosely based off of -The Wall of Winnipeg and Me) I don't own the characters, the rightful owners do etc. You know how it is. I just felt like writing after I responded to a tumblr prompt so here's the first chapter of a new fic whilst I work on updating older ones. I hope you enjoyed it. Apologies for any mistakes. As always I appreciate any reviews. Thanks for reading! :)