Peeta
The front door bangs closed, and Katniss and I stand rooted to the floor staring at it. "So," I draw out, "...Gale."
"Yeah, Gale." She returns softly.
Peaking at her out of the corner of my eye, I do a quick examination to determine what might be going on in her head. The combination of Gale's sudden appearance, Katniss's unresolved issues with him, and the news that the Capitol wants to pull the Mockingjay out of mothballs has me worried. This is the kind of thing that could throw her back months in her healing process. Over the past 6 months, she has been making small but incremental steps in her grieving process, seeing her setback now would be devastating, not only for her, but for me as well. It's selfish to think of myself at this moment I know, but I'm in the practice of not lying to myself these days. Moving my weight from one leg to the other, I fidget as my thoughts spiral down a rabbit hole of memories until it lands on the day, I planted the primroses. The image that I conjured up is of her standing in the yard, sunlight unhiding what she tried to keep hidden. Unwashed, hair matted and the look of unyielding, deep, piercing agony in her eyes, she was on the brink of death. My stomach clenches. I can't bear the thought of her going back to that broken person. Watching her suffer like that again would defiantly break me.
The clock on the fireplace mantle tolls the hour in soft chimes pulling me back to the present. Shoving the tortured image and the dread away, I focus on the best way to acknowledge the elephant in the room. After a couple of false starts, I finally decided to begin with the loudest of thought tumbling around in my head.
"Katniss, you don't have to do this. You would be totally justified in telling them to go to hell." I offer gently.
This brings her gray eyes to mine. "We," she says implicitly.
"We?"
"Yes, we. I meant what I said to Gale. I won't do this without you and Haymitch being on board."
I start shaking my head, "Katniss..."
"This isn't just about me. You and Haymitch...you'll be under just as much scrutiny as me if we go to the Capitol," she lets out a deep sigh, "The Capitol…wow that's just as bad as the Mockingjay thing," she says, looking a little green. "Look, either way, if we can't agree as a team then I won't be going," she says resolutely.
I'm astonished. I thought for sure the very idea of returning would at the very least disgust her. My own fear, of course, is it will cause her to revert back to staring silently at the fireplace for days at a time, so the fact that she's remotely open to it completely blows my mind. "Do...do you want to do it?" I ask, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
She shrugs her shoulders and lets out a long breath. "Want to? Hell, no," she snorts rubbing her hands over her eyes. "But what if it's the right thing to do?"
I tilt my head and look closely at her, she seems unsettled, but not frantic, in fact, she's uncannily calm in the face of what we have just learned actually. My gut tightens again. "I should fetch Haymitch then," I suggest. She nods in agreement.
"I'll start some breakfast." she responds, turning on her heels and heads for the kitchen.
I stand staring after her retreating form for a second before following. I find her at the table standing in front of the basket of eggs and the large bowl I pulled out for breakfast earlier. Taking an egg in hand she attempts to crack it along the rim of the bowl but is foiled when the long sleeve of her sweater falls to cover her hand. Blowing out a little sound of irritation, she mindlessly pushes the sleeve up her arm to her elbow. I'm biting back a smile when it suddenly occurs to me that it's my sweater she is wearing. When did she take that? I wonder. As I ponder her thieving ways, the sleeve inches back down her arm and slide once again cover her hand. She gives an irritated grunt shoving at it for a second time, but this almost causes her to drop an egg. Now I can't contain the low chuckle that escapes, but I try to covering it with a cough.
Her head snaps up and she pins me with a glare. "They're just eggs Peeta! I CAN make scrambled eggs," she spouts defiantly.
This turns the chuckle into an all-out laugh. Over the past year, Haymitch and I have come to a consensus that while Katniss has many talents, none of them can be found in the kitchen. Strangely this one small inadequacy seems to irritate her deeply, so of course Haymitch goes out of his way to find ways to needle her about it regularly.
She bristles, "Do you want to do it?" she hisses, holding the egg out to me in a sweater-covered hand.
I bite back the laugh and walk over to the table. "I'm sure you're completely capable of making scrambled eggs Katniss." I appease through a smile. Reaching over the table I take the opening of the sleeve from where it lies around her knuckles and give it a few quick turns, making it into a cuff. "You know, I'm thinking kitchen work might be easier if you work in one of my tee shirts instead of this," I say offhandedly as I turn the second sleeve into a cuff as well. Silence follows and I suddenly hear the implication of my off-handed comment. Heat rushes to my face. "I mean...something without long sleeves...ya know...so they don't get in the way," I stammer awkwardly." You are an idiot; I berate myself. Gathering courage, I venture a glance up at her and I'm surprised to find her with a shy look on her face.
"I found it on the back of the rocker this morning and I was col and it looked warm…" she trails off in way of explanation. "I'm feeling fine now though, so you can have it back," she adds quickly and moves as to take the garment off.
I have the ridiculous feeling of rejection, which is preposterous since she basically stole from me, but I also defiantly don't want it back. I want her to keep it, it looks right on her. I clear my throat and shake my head as I move quickly around the table towards the door. "No…Katniss you don't have to do that," I stammer, hastily pulling open the door. I should have stopped talking here, but as I cross the threshold to the porch words keep flowing out of my mouth without my cognizant permission, "You look good in it…you should keep it." Even as the words fall from my lips my muscles freeze up. Why, oh why, did I say that! Am I bent on making things weird between us? I hazard a glance at her, sure that I will find her stripping the garment from her back, but she hasn't moved, instead, I find a look of relief on her face. She reaches for another egg and offers me a simple soft, "Thanks," before commencing with cracking the egg against the side of the bowl.
I'm stunned. Katniss rarely takes something without a fair trade, so I'm exactly not sure how to react. Perhaps it's just the shock of the morning and tomorrow I will find the gift folded neatly on my front stoop, but I can't help but feel that something has shifted slightly between us. I grapple with a rush of thoughts as I blindly push my way through the door. "Be back soon," I manage to get out before pulling the door closed behind me.
As I make my way across the damp grass, I consider what just took place in the kitchen. Katniss and I's relationship has been a bit like spring here in the mountains. It's slow and a bit unpredictable but advancing every day all the same. I would imagine to those on the outside looking in on any given day, the changes might not even be perceivable, but a larger review of our history shows the evolution. We have gone from being barely acquittances to a one-sided love affair, to district partners, faux fiancés, and even Capitol-created enemies, but we've never been friends, not really. After our games, most of our interactions were right down awkward, colored by her discomfort of my infatuation and the pressures of satisfying Snow in order to save those we loved and ourselves. It's hard to develop a real friendship amidst that kind of chaos. I'm not saying that we didn't care for each other, our willingness to die for one another shows we had a deep connection. The last year has changed that though. Surprisingly, the changes that matter most came in the small moments, not the large ones. It started with the countless silent meals spent together. Then like a thaw of after a long winter, life slowly emerged. We weed our garden together sometimes talking but often in companionable silence, we take care of Haymitch and often spend long nights creating our memory book…now this. Her acceptance of a small, even trivial, gift, means something. We are, for the first time, more than a connection forged in the crucible of the games or nights on a train in a comforting embrace; we are…"Real friends," I mutter aloud. The thought is a bit of a jolt, and I can't help but laugh. "It's about time," I snort.
Still chucking, I drop down onto Haymitch's steps and gaze at the bright blue sky. My heart is lighter than it's been in months which is in juxtaposition to the events of this morning. The two thoughts war for a moment, but when the word "friends," falls from my smiling lips a second time, I know that in spite of Gale and his news, that this revelation will win the day. A loud honk startles me, and I look down to find a gray monster of a goose at my feet. I quirk an eyebrow at the beast. "How'd you get out?" I ask, looking into one of its beady eyes. The goose shakes its tail and leans down to peck at one of my boots. Pushing off the steps, I go over to the shed to inspect the haphazard pen Haymitch constructed to shelter his recently found pets. As I approach, the birds who haven't yet escaped, begin honking and flapping their wings in anticipation of breakfast. I'm rummaging around the shed when I hear Haymitch's back door open and his heavy footsteps on the porch.
"What the hell are you doing?!" he growls.
Grabbing the feed bucket, I step out onto the grass. "Well, I was going to feed your geese, but…" I say holding the empty feed pail upside down to show the state I've found it in.
"You're waking the whole damn neighborhood," he grumbles.
First off, Katniss and I are your only neighborhoods and we're always up by this time of the day. Secondly, these are YOUR geese that I'm attempting to ensure they do not starve to death, so say thank you, " I smirk. Haymitch's eyes narrow grumpily at me. "Lastly, it generally takes an act of god or Effie Trinket to get you up before noon, or are you out of liquor again?" I ask impishly.
Haymitch huffs and snatches the bucket from my hand. "The feed should be on today's train. I've been given 'em vegetables until it gets here," he grouses, tossing the bucket into the shed and slamming the door. I step back and hide a smile. As hard as he wants to pretend to put out, he really does seem to like these damn birds.
I clear my throat, "So…I was on my way over to wake you anyway…" I start.
Haymitch looks at me out of the corner of his eye as he wrangles the self-freed bird back into the pen.
"We had a surprise visitor this morning," I continue.
He nods and bends down to reattach a length of chicken wire that has come loose from a stump. "Yep, I heard," he mumbles, twisting the thin wire around a rusty nail.
I shake my head, "Wait...what?" I ask, confused.
"Effie called this morning, told me to expect a visit today from "Soldier District 12"" he mutters.
"An act of god or Effie Trinket, can I call it or what?" I snigger, turning to look at the birds. "Did she tell you why he was coming?"
He shakes his head, "She was persistent that it be a surprise. I reminded her that calling me to tell me to expect a surprise kinda ruined the whole surprise factor, but she wouldn't give in," he says.
"Well, it's a doozy," I say turning to face him. "They want us in the Capitol in a month, Mockingjay in tow," I tell him, the words souring my mood and making my feelings of moments ago seem frivolous.
Haymitch nods solemnly. "Based on the exceptionally high pitch whine of her voice I was guessin' it was something like that. How's sweetheart handlin' the news?"
I shrug, "She didn't go running from the room in a fit of panic if that's what you're asking?"
"That's not all I'm askin'," he says, turning and heading off across the yard towards Katniss' house. We walk a few steps in silence, before he asks, "Did he cause a scene?" He asks, pausing at the bottom of the back steps.
I shake my head, "No. He doesn't like me…and he hates you, but no, he was…" I pause, looking for the right word, "professional with her," I finally say. "Oh, and I almost punched him," I smirk
He considers my answer for a long moment before sighing and turning for the stairs. "Ata boy," he smirks and barges his way into the kitchen.