Peeta moves most of his things into my house over the course of the next week or so. It's not really that hard, as he has a lot of stuff here to begin with. He finishes moving his clothes and remaining kitchen stuff in just a few trips. The only important thing that remains in his old home is his painting studio, and that's just because I don't have a spare room for it. The homes in Victor's Village all have three bedrooms upstairs, and I have not touched two out of three of these rooms since returning to 12 after the war. I offered to clean out the room that my mother used so Peeta could convert it into a studio, but he told me he was fine and could just go next door when he wanted to paint. I think he's worried it would be painful for me, but I think I could handle emptying my mother's room. The room just doesn't have very many personal touches; she didn't do much to make it feel like home, but rather just lived in it the way it was set up with the Capitol-supplied furniture.
I know that is not at all true for Prim's room. I remember the way she covered the surfaces in her room with all of her things, wanting to display each new possession in a place of honor because she had so little before. She told me she was so grateful that she didn't want to forget about any of it. I remember her hair ribbons hanging off the mirror, small boxes of nick nacks on her bedside table, her bed covered both by a luxurious Capitol quilt and the ratted homemade blanket we had used back in the Seam. She told me she didn't want to forget that either. Her closet I'm sure still holds her clothes, both old and new, ranging from the tattered skirt she wore to her reaping to the dress that Cinna made her for the celebration in 12 at the end of the Victory Tour. She loved that dress. She loved that room.
I can't go in there, not yet. In many ways I have improved a lot in the process of my recovery, but I have no doubt that entering a space so strongly filled with her presence yet absent of her being would break me.
It feels completely natural and completely right to live with Peeta. For so long now, I've felt that my home is in his arms. Since the first Games, really, there hasn't been a place that I have felt more safe, more comfortable than within his embrace. There was absolutely no point in separating ourselves in any way, as we feel most at home when we are together.
One afternoon about a week after I asked Peeta to move in, the two of us are sitting together on my front porch steps. I'm sitting on a lower step than him and leaning back with my head resting in his lap. He's playing with my hair, and we're both enjoying a really lovely day out. We're reaching the end of August, and the late summer day is hot but not oppressively so. There's a nice breeze that ruffles the leaves on the trees and cools our faces. It's beautiful out, and I feel entirely at peace.
"I love you," I say, looking up at Peeta from his lap. He still gets this goofy smile on his face whenever I say that, as if he can't fully believe it's real, like he's never entirely sure when I say it once if he'll ever hear me say it again, but that he's over the moon when I do. While I love the look on his face and how happy he gets, I also feel a little bit bad that he needs to feel that sense of overjoyed surprise. I've given him so many reasons over the years to not believe that I could ever possibly love him. I want to do everything that I can to help him get to a place where it doesn't surprise him anymore.
"I love you too," Peeta says, leaning down to plant a quick kiss on my lips. "Thank you for letting me share your life with you."
"Thank you for sharing it with me, and for letting me into yours," I say, smiling. I'm not just saying it, I mean it. I don't know what my life would look like today if Peeta hadn't come back to 12, if he hadn't been here for me and embraced me into his life.
For many years, I sort of felt like I didn't need people; I needed Prim, and it helped to have Gale, but that was about it. I didn't even let myself need my mother because of how often she let us down. I certainly avoided relying on anyone else when I could, because I didn't want to owe anyone.
Since the war, I've opened myself up to relying on a lot more people. Since the Games, really. I've needed Peeta and Haymitch and even Effie since the first Games. I started opening myself back up to my mother after the Games, too. I never got to the point of a normal mother-daughter relationship, but it was something. In my time in 13, I relied on people like Prim, Finnick, Gale, and Boggs quite a lot. Now, I rely on Johanna and Annie too, even if I don't see them in person. This sort of openness is new to me, and it takes some adjusting. There are risks, of course, because the more people I depend upon the more vulnerable I am to be hurt. But I'm starting to understand that it's worth it.
We chat and enjoy the day for a half an hour or so, before we're both taken aback by seeing Haymitch walking back to his house carrying some sort of large box. I can't see what's inside of it, but it looks different than the normal crates of liquor he brings home on a regular basis.
"Haymitch!" I call out to him. "What are you doing?"
"Gimme a minute!" he shouts back, not stopping as he heads towards his house. I can see that wherever he's holding is heavy, and he's straining a little bit in his efforts to make it home. I exchange a puzzled look with Peeta as Haymitch stumbles into his house and kicks the door closed behind him.
"I wonder what that's about," he says.
"I don't know," I reply. "He's been kinda weird for the past week or so. I don't know what's up." A couple minutes later, Haymitch comes back outside, walking towards us with a bottle in his hand. He sits down on the step next to me and takes a long swig of his liquor.
"Those damn things are fucking heavy," he says, mostly to himself, as he rubs his arm with his hand.
"What were you bringing over?" I ask, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
"None of your damn business, sweetheart," he says, and I roll my eyes. I don't know what he's keeping from us, but I desperately want to find out. "My arms are fucking sore, though. I should have had you carry the thing, boy. It wouldn't have been so bad for you." He throws a look at Peeta, who meets his gaze with a confident look in his eyes that I absolutely adore.
"I would have been happy to, Haymitch," Peeta says, his voice light and genuine. "Of course, though, then you would have had to tell me what was actually in the box." I laugh as Haymitch glares at Peeta.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Very funny, kid," he mumbles.
"If we guess what it is, will you tell us?" I ask jokingly. Peeta grins at me. Haymitch gets the upper hand on teasing us so much of the time, it's always a welcome change when we can one up him.
"Not in a million years," he says, taking another sip from his bottle before adding, "Now stop being annoying." I'm content with that for now, and return my head to its resting spot in Peeta's lap. It really is nice out today. Even Haymitch's bad mood doesn't get in the way of my enjoying it.
The three of us enjoy a lazy day and spend most of our time outside, taking advantage of the nice weather. When we go inside for dinner, I'm feeling very grateful for just the normalcy of it all. I think I could count on my fingers the number of days before the war where I felt this peaceful, this at ease. I'm not sure there was one between my father's death and recent months. I was always so worried, even when I wasn't even conscious of it. For so long, worrying about getting food on the table, making sure Prim wasn't sick or starving, and figuring out how many slips of paper with my name would be in the Reaping Bowl just dominated my mind. I don't think I even realized how constantly worried I was, because it was just normal. I was tired more than anything else.
It was only with the Games and their aftermath that I became really conscious of my anxieties, because they weren't the concerns I was used to, but rather I had to worry about putting my family at an increased risk. I can certainly say there was not one day between when I volunteered for Prim and when I got back to 12 after the war where I wasn't worried about keeping either myself or my loved ones alive. Maybe, maybe that one day on the roof of the training center with Peeta before the Quell, but that was only because we were making the active choice to accept our own deaths in that moment, and just wanted to enjoy our time with each other for as long as we could.
The best parts of that day have now become the norm, without having to contend with the darkness and the danger, the cruelty and the chaos. Life isn't all easy, and we battle new demons now that so often take the shape of people we've lost. But the days we get to have now help me remember why we fought, why they sacrificed themselves. I feel very lucky.
In the middle of dinner, the phone on my wall rings and Peeta gets up to answer it. He's much more comfortable with phone calls than I am, and he told Johanna and Annie he'd be moving here, so they're the most likely callers.
"Hello?" he asks as he picks up the receiver. "Oh hi Effie! How are you?" He's quiet for a minute as she answers. I look over to Haymitch and see him shifting slightly uncomfortable in his seat.
"I'm doing really well, Effie," Peeta says, clearly in response to a question I can't hear. "I've been feeling completely fine since the hospital. I've been doing some work on the bakery, and I've moved into Katniss's place." He's cut off there, and I can see on his expression that he's trying not to laugh at something Effie's saying on the other end. "I know, I know," he says with a small laugh. "I hope you can forgive me. Do you want to talk to Hay-" Peeta starts, but cuts off when he sees Haymitch shaking his head and waving his hands in dissent. It's normal for Peeta to offer; usually when Effie calls and we're all together we pass the phone around, and typically Haymitch and Effie talk a lot independently too. Whatever fight they go into must have been worse than I thought.
"- Katniss?" Peeta says, changing direction mid-word to avoid saying Haymitch's name. "Do you want to talk to Katniss? Ok, sounds great. I'll give you to her." I get up and take the phone from Peeta.
"Hi Effie," I say.
"Katniss Everdeen," she starts. "You must know it's considered improper for a young man and young woman to live together before they are married, or at least engaged!" Her voice is high pitched and frantic in classic Effie fashion. I can see why Peeta was laughing, it's an absurd thing to care about.
"Sorry Effie, I'm not sure how well those customs hold up here in 12," I joke.
"Nonetheless, I'm glad to hear things are going well in your district," she says.
"They are," I tell her. "Peeta's gotten better every day, and all the rebuilding efforts are coming along. We're hoping to have the new medicine factory up and running before winter."
"That's marvelous!" she says. "I think everything you and Peeta are working on is absolutely commendable. I mean, the two of you both lost so much, and yet you have made your way back to one another, have been able to find love together, and are both trying to help your district recover. It is exactly what we want to see in Panem today."
"Well, thanks Effie," I say a little awkwardly, not entirely sure how to respond to the compliment.
"You know, I'm sure we could put together some sort of wonderful special on the two of you, if you're interested."
"Huh? What do you mean?" I ask, confused.
"Well, everyone would love to know how well their star-crossed lovers are doing. It would be encouraging and comforting, not to mention inspiring to see how much you've both been able to accomplish in the process of your recovery. It would make a great human interest story, as you two are sort of symbols of our new consciousness in Panem."
Absolutely no part of me wants to do this; being used by the government for entertainment and propaganda both in the Capitol and in 13 is not something I have missed at all. I have no interest in going back to anything of this sort. I don't want to be rude to Effie about it, though, because I can tell she genuinely thinks she's presenting an interesting and exciting opportunity. A genuine question does occur to me at her words, though, so I just decide to go with that.
"Do people really still care about us, about me? I mean...the last they saw of me I killed their president, and then everyone was convinced I was insane. That doesn't really seem like the consciousness of Panem."
"Oh my dear, you really do not know the impact you have had on this nation. These people trust you, they believe in you. True, there may be some of the most staunch traditionalists in 13 who disapprove of you after your actions against Coin, but nearly everyone in Panem still see you as the Mockingjay that you are. Nothing you do will change that."
"Oh," I say. "That's...wow." I don't really know how to respond to that, because I'm not entirely sure how I feel. I never really felt like I deserved that kind of admiration, and I certainly don't see why I have it now after so many people died because of me.
"If you don't want to do a show, though, that's perfectly fine," Effie says. "We'll find another way for you to get involved."
"Thanks Effie, I think that's best," I say, although I have no intention of getting involved in any way if I can avoid it. Still, this is showing a lot of understanding and restraint for Effie. She and I chat for a few more minutes before I hang up the phone. I don't mention Haymitch at all, and neither does she.
"So...how is she?" Haymitch asks once I've returned to my seat. He is trying and failing to come across completely casual right now, but it's obvious that something is not normal.
"She seems good. She scolded me for being improper and invited me to do footage for the Capitol, so pretty typical Effie stuff."
"Good, good," Haymitch says, nodding a little absentmindedly. Peeta and I make eye contact, and it's clear we are both thinking the same thing. I have never seen our mentor like this. I think he might be in love with her. The expression is unfamiliar on Haymitch's face, and I can tell it makes him uncomfortable. When he leaves after dinner, I present Peeta with my theory, and he agrees wholeheartedly.
"He's completely fallen for her," Peeta says. "I don't know what sort of fight the two of them got into, but I can only imagine that Haymitch is always feeling inferior to her Capitol standards. It's gotta be hard." I nod, although to be honest I hadn't thought of that. It makes a lot of sense, and I bet he's right. Peeta just gets people's feelings in a way that I have never been able to comprehend.
"We should help him," I say. "I mean, he'll never ever let us do it explicitly, but anything we can do without him noticing to help get them together, or whatever." Peeta grins.
"Yeah, let's do it." He and I spend the rest of the night scheming and plotting. It's honestly really funny and enjoyable, as we bounce far fetched ideas off each other and come up with ridiculous schemes to make them profess their love to each other. As we lay in bed at night, I'm still laughing at Peeta's joking idea to take Haymitch one night when he's passed out drunk and just put him on a train to the Capitol before he's woken up, so they'll be forced to see each other.
It's silly and it's lighthearted and it's fun, and yet it's also something that I want to accomplish. If I have a good quality, it is that I want to protect the people I love and see them as happy as possible. That's always been my driving motivation, and that's still what this is. It's just a real sign of how far we've come that we get to worry about the happy part, rather than just staying alive.
Haymitch always told me "stay alive." Against all odds somehow I did, but only with his help. Hopefully with this I can help him back. Help him live, rather than just stay alive.