Over the next couple of weeks, work on the medicine factory continues. I consult with Senda about what medicines would be most useful for us to make, and with Thom on what sorts of plant life we have accessible here in 12. It feels odd to be treated as an authority on plant life and anything related to healing; I objectively know less than my mother, less than Prim did. Still, I've been feeling so idle for so long, I'm glad to be able to help in some way.
I'm actually somewhat busy, which is new for me. I only have meetings two or three times a week, but the only routine I've had since returning to 12 has been the one that Peeta, Haymitch, and I decided to make ourselves. I still have a vast dislike for any schedules with real rigidity, as they remind me too much of my time in 13 or on the Victory Tour, but I feel nice in this sort of middle ground, where I have something to keep me on track but not too much to be overwhelming.
The actual medical clinic that Senda is working on is coming along too. It should be ready within a month or so, and I can't even imagine the way having this will be completely transformative to life in 12. In fact, these sorts of clinics will be transformative all across Panem. None of the districts, even the Career districts, had adequate medical care. Of course the poorer districts like us were the worst off, in 12 my mother was the only healer able to do anything, but no one has had access like this before.
I come home one evening after a particularly long but productive planning session, tired but happy. Unsurprisingly, when I walk through the doors of my house I see Peeta preparing dinner at my stove. He belongs as much in my house as his own, maybe even more.
"Hey," I tell him, kissing his cheek as he grinds some pepper into the pot on the stove.
"Hi," he says, smiling a little. "How was the meeting?"
"Really good," I tell him, filling him in on the progress we're making.
Although I keep talking to him, I also watch him closely as he finishes up cooking dinner. Something feels a little bit off with him, I can see it. I can't place what it is exactly. He's acting normally - cooking dinner, making conversation, listening intently to what I have to say. It's just a feeling. I know him well enough to be able to tell when something's bothering him.
He places the food on the table and I sit down with him. We make conversation as we start to eat, talking about my work today and how noisy Haymitch's geese are right now. When I make eye contact with him, though, I see a sadness that is completely out of place in the beautiful blue of his eyes.
"Peeta, are you alright?" I ask him, interrupting somewhat in the middle of the conversation. He takes a deep breath.
"Yeah, I'm ok. I'm fine. I just...I flashed earlier today," he says, looking down at his hands. I open my mouth to speak but before I do he starts again.
"I really am alright, it wasn't that bad of one. I'm just frustrated, I guess. I want to get past this, and I just feel sort of stuck. It happened this morning, and I was planning on going out into town and volunteering with some rebuilding stuff, and then I just couldn't. It took me an hour or so to come down from it all, and then I was exhausted, and I just feel so...useless. I haven't been able to do anything to help here."
"Peeta, you've done so much," I say, taking his hand on top of the table.
"How?" he asks, skeptically.
"Well, on the simplest possible level, you've helped virtually every single vendor at the market by buying from them. That makes a lot more of a difference than it seems like. But your emotional help for me is unparalleled. I wouldn't be a whole person right now if it wasn't for you, and I'm not just saying that. And you've done so much to help other people heal too, not just me, but Haymitch and Delly and Johanna as well."
Normally I would be hesitant to admit so openly how much I depend on him, but he absolutely needs to know how much he's done. I know how much self-loathing he feels when he flashes, and I understand the feeling of uselessness that comes when you're bogged down by grief. Those feelings coalescing must be overwhelming for him. I'm telling the truth though; he's done so much. He's done everything for me.
He gives me a sad little half smile. I can tell that he appreciates my words, but that they haven't fully convinced him.
"I appreciate that, Katniss," he says, squeezing my hand. "I just wish I could do a little more to have more of a positive impact on 12, that's all."
He laughs dryly before adding "and I wish I could get the Capitol out of my damned head. That would help, too." I chuckle quietly, making circles on his hand with my thumb.
"Peeta, you could have gotten me, you know," I tell him, my voice soft. He looks at me, a slightly confused expression on his face.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"After you flashed. You must have felt awful, you shouldn't have been alone. You could have gotten me, or sent Haymitch after me if you were too tired to get to me. I want to be here for you."
"Katniss, you were busy all day doing important work, I wasn't gonna interfere with that. Besides, I can hurt you when I flash, you shouldn't be there." I roll my eyes at him.
"Oh, like you wouldn't drop everything if I had even a moderately bad nightmare and didn't want to be alone. And please, Peeta, we've got to get past this thing about you hurting me. You don't hurt me, you help me. I'm not afraid, and I want to help you too."
He smiles again, more genuinely this time, before kissing me briefly.
"Thank you," he mutters into my lips. I would be perfectly happy to continue the kiss, but he moves away and starts to clean up dinner. He seems a little bit better having gotten it all off his chest, and we have a nice night together playing cards on the floor in front of the coffee table.
Eventually we head upstairs and I change into pajamas while Peeta takes a shower. I sit on my window seat while I wait for him to get out of the shower. The world looks nice right now, even in the dark. The early summer days have been warm and all the plant life is flourishing. Now in the dark, I see stars that I don't think I once could identify through all the coal dust in the air. I find the sky very captivating, I'm not sure why. Something about the openness is exciting to me.
I hear the water stop running and turn around to see Peeta coming out of the bathroom.
If the sky was captivating, wet, shirtless Peeta clad only in the towel around his waist is a whole other level. I am enthralled by every inch of him: the way his wet curls pile on his head, the droplets of water that drip down the plane of his chest, the muscles on his abdomen that form a V shape that I know continues down below the line of his towel.
I am heavily tempted to just rip the towel off of him and take him in my hands, but I'm also caught by the look in his eyes, the expression on his face. It's this deeply cute little expression of inspiration, curiosity, excitement, just tinged with a little hesitation and confusion. He has an idea, he just isn't sure if he should act on it.
"What?" I ask him, smiling a little.
"I think...I think I want to rebuild the bakery," he tells me. I'm a little surprised. The bakery is still such a painful place for him, representing so many painful memories.
"Are you sure?" I ask a bit tentatively. I want to make sure he's thought this through, but I also don't want to dissuade him. If this is what he wants, then I'm all in.
"Yeah, I think I am," he says. He slips back into the bathroom to put on his boxers, but leaves the door ajar so we can keep talking.
"I just was thinking that this is a way I could help," he calls to me. "I can make sure everyone is fed. I mean, I know people won't take things for free, but I don't need money so I can sell things at a good price. And then I can make sure my family's recipes keep going, and keep making people happy. I was also thinking I could learn some other district's recipes too, like the District 11 bread you got for Rue, or the one from District 4 to honor Finnick, things like that."
I smile at him. He's bubbling with ideas in the way that only baking does to Peeta. I realize that he's been feeling the way I was for a very long time; he's craving a purpose. This will give it to him, and I'm happy for him for that. I know the rebuilding team has left the bakery alone, wanting to leave it up to Peeta as to what to do with it. I'm more than happy to start work on it with him.
Peeta comes back out of the bathroom, wiping the last few drops of water away from his prosthetic with a towel. He looks at me with a sort of expectant expression on his face.
"What do you think?" he asks.
"I think," I start. "That you are a wonderful person, and this is a wonderful idea. And I think that I am going to be here to help you every step of the way." His mouth spreads into an incredible grin, and I place my lips on his.
When I wake up the next morning, Peeta has already left bed. By the cool feel of his pillow, I think he's been up for a long time. I pad downstairs and am not surprised to find him at the stove baking, but I am a bit surprised at the quantity he's already been able to produce. On the counter there's a tray of muffins, a loaf of sourdough bread, and a platter of cinnamon rolls. He's checking the oven, so he must have something else going in there too.
"How long have you been up?" I ask with a laugh. He turns around and his face lights up when he sees me. I think he was too focussed to notice me right when I came down.
"I couldn't help it, I was excited," he says sheepishly. "I woke up a little after 5." I gape at him, but he puts his hands up to plead innocence.
"That's when I would wake up back when I used to work in the bakery, we had to open early! It just felt right." I just laugh at him and roll my eyes, but I find his enthusiasm incredibly endearing. I sit down at the counter stool and steal one of the cinnamon rolls off the tray. It's obscenely delicious.
"Oh my God," I say, licking some of the icing from my fingers. "This goes on the menu." He smirks at me with that same satisfied smile. I want to give him grief about it, but usually when it comes out I'm benefitting from the situation, so I say nothing.
"So, what's the plan for today?" I ask him.
"Well, I think I want to keep test running some recipes. I've started with some classics, things I've been making for years, but I also want to try out some new things. I can't get everything made in one day, but I just figured might as well roll with the wave of inspiration. And then I think I'll start making some lists of what supplies I need to order. You know, building materials, ovens, trays and pans, all that stuff."
"That sounds great," I say. "Frankly, a day of testing your recipes sounds pretty ideal. Even Haymitch might be willing to do you a favor if the whole favor involves eating baked goods." He laughs at my joke, but then stops and looks up at me.
"Do you have anything you need to do today? Any meetings for the medicine factory?" he asks. I shake my head.
"Nope. All I need to do is be here with you." He kisses me deeply and I wrap my arms around his neck. I'm hoping to continue the kiss, but the oven dings and Peeta is called back to his work.
Peeta spends most of the day baking, and I deeply enjoy the hours spent tasting all of his delicious creations. Once we're both so stuffed that we can't possibly taste another thing, we switch gears and start making lists of all the supplies he's going to need. We also make plans to go down to the site of the bakery tomorrow morning to take stock of what quantities will be needed for building materials, if there are any specific types or styles of things he wants, stuff like that.
By the time we call it for the night, Peeta is exhausted but deeply happy. We collapse on the couch together, my head resting in his lap.
"Thank you for today," he says, playing with my hair in his lap.
"Of course, Peeta," I tell him. "I had a great time today too." He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. He's silent for a brief moment before he speaks again.
"I love you, Katniss." I stiffen a little bit, sitting up and lifting my head so I can look at him. I need to know if I heard him right. I haven't heard him say those words since his hijacking.
"I love you," he says again, very softly this time. "You don't have to say it back, and you don't have to feel the same way. I completely understand if it takes longer, or if it just isn't...I mean, I completely understand. I just had to say it. I wanted you to know."
I'm speechless. I don't fully know what to say, I don't fully know what I feel. Somewhere within me, it registers that I should be panicking, running. I recognize that this sort of declaration would have made me freeze up or flee not all that long ago. I would have panicked.
I'm not running now. I don't know exactly what to do in response, but I'm not running. I think Peeta recognizes that, or at least I hope he does.
"Thank you," I whisper. It's all I can get out, and it isn't right. There are things I want to say that I can't formulate, can't seem to fit in my mouth. But it's something. Peeta smiles at me and I smile back, and when my lips meet his it feels right. I'm not running.
I'm not running.