Over the next few days or so, Peeta and I fall back into the comfortable routine we've long held in 12. He works at the bakery each day, completing Delly's wedding cake two days after we saw her. It's utterly beautiful, with three tiers frosted in a pale pink and delicate carnations made of sugar and icing on each layer. Delly just sobs when she sees it, wrapping her arms around Peeta and thanking him profusely. He and I both laugh at her exuberance, but still find ourselves thoroughly warmed by her joy.
I go out and hunt when I can, although with the weather as cold and snowy as it is, it isn't always possible. Even if the woods are untenable, I like to get out whenever I can, if for nothing else than at least to walk around town and look at the rebuilding progress. It's really remarkable to me how much has been done in a relatively short amount of time, and it makes me incredibly proud of everyone here in 12. I can't help but feel a sense of beaming pride when I see just how much life is present in 12. I don't know if there's really any other way to describe it; families are together and happy, children play without fear, people are able to set up businesses that interest them. There are still challenges, as would be expected in a time of rebuilding. Not everything is easy. But people here are able to build lives that they will be happy to live. That's never been true before.
One afternoon in mid-December, I get back to Victor's Village after a stroll around town. Peeta is working at the bakery, and I popped in to say hi to him and Albie while I was exploring. The snow is heavy on the ground today and hunting would be fruitless, and not worth the potential risk of a fall on the snow and uneven terrain. I head inside, stopping on the porch briefly to hit my boots together and knock off the snow that has been caked into their soles. Heading inside, I'm met with a very comfortable feeling of warmth, both because of the heat of the house, and because of my sense of home.
I move around the house doing simple tasks, cleaning up the kitchen and straightening out our things, and the normalcy of it all is so remarkable to me. Even though I don't particularly like cleaning, and feel no need to keep things as neat as Peeta generally does, there is something sort of comforting about being able to just focus on these simple tasks. I feel a sense of agency in being able to just take care of these simple things and help improve our life in small little ways. I know Peeta finds comfort in this even more than I do, as he's always trying to make sure everything at home is taken care of for me. It's one of the many ways in which he shows his love, and I can't help but adore it.
When I finish tidying up a bit, I flop down on the couch. Peeta won't be back for a few more hours, and I'm not totally sure what I want to do to occupy myself until then, as my go-to options are precluded by the winter weather. As I lay down, thinking, I notice the memory book in its spot on our shelf. We haven't added to it since we got home from 4, so it's been a while since I've looked at it. It's rare that Peeta or I look at it without the other one there, just because it's somewhat of an emotionally exhausting experience, and we like having each other there for support. Something in me feels compelled to look, though, so tentatively I get up and take the book in my hands. Heading back to the couch, I sit down and open it gently, picking a page at random.
When I look down, I feel a pang in my heart as I see the name written on the page: Madge.
My eyes scan the page that Peeta and I made for her months ago, featuring stories from me about her kindness and bravery when she said goodbye to me before the first Games, her willingness to accept relative social isolation and sit with me at lunch, her generosity when she brought Gale the morphling after the whipping, and her simple love of strawberries. Next to the stories is a beautiful portrait drawn by Peeta, which manages to capture Madge's features perfectly even though it was done without reference. I sigh as I look over it, feeling a sense of guilt and grief set in.
I miss Madge. I miss everyone featured in this book, really. I feel as if I was never fully given the opportunity to get to know her as much as she deserved, and I can't help but wonder about how close we might have been if given the opportunity of time. My mind wanders to how nice it would be to have a female friend and peer to talk to about things. I especially would have relied on someone like her earlier in my relationship with Peeta, when I was struggling more with allowing myself to lean into my feelings and be honest with him. I still think someone like that would benefit me. Johanna's come close, and I love her deeply, but between her brash nature, general confidence level, and experience in regards to men, sometimes her suggestions are a little beyond my capabilities.
I study Madge for a bit longer before turning the page, and remembering that we situated Madge's page right before that of her aunt, Maysilee Donner. The stories on this page are scrawled in Haymitch's messy handwriting, but the picture still bears Peeta's signature grace and attention to detail. I can't help but think about just how much she looks like Madge.
It's strange a bit, looking at Maysilee, because I feel like I owe her so much, even though I never met the woman. My deference to her is twofold; for one thing, she helped Haymitch survive in such a massive field in their Quell, as they were able to surpass seemingly insurmountable odds together, at least for a time. If he hadn't won the Quell, and future tributes from 12 were left to face the Games without a single mentor to help with advice or sponsorship, there's no way Peeta or I would have survived. As much as he can frustrate me at times, there is simply so much that has happened over these past few years that I never would have survived without Haymitch, and Maysilee played a hand in his ability to be here today.
Even more than that, though, I feel a strange sort of kinship and debt to her, and to Madge, really, because of the gift of the mockingjay pin. In the first Games it was just nice for me to have something to remind me of home, a small comfort that allowed me to remember who I was fighting to see again. After that, though, when the pin took on a life of its own as the symbol of the rebellion, I felt as if remembering the history of it, connecting it to Maysilee's loss and the sacrifices made for years and years by the people of 12, helped me stay grounded. It helped remind me of the reasons why I would continue to fight, even when I felt horribly manipulated and used by people like Coin in 13. Remembering Maysilee's legacy helped me maintain some sort of agency, when both the pin and myself were turned into symbols by others.
Thinking about Maysilee makes me think about Haymitch, and I decide I want to go see him. Placing the book gently back on the shelf, I peak out my back door, and am surprised to see him sitting outside on his back porch, despite the freezing weather. He's staring out at the snow, sipping a mug of something while looking out at his geese in their little coop. I put my jacket back on, grab a blanket to wrap around my shoulders and a mug of hot tea to warm my hands, lace my boots, and head out to join him.
"Mind if I sit?" I ask when I reach his porch, indicating the free chair with a nod of my head.
"Go ahead, sweetheart," he says. I sit down and drape the blanket around my shoulders, closing it snugly over my front to protect against the biting air.
"What inspired you to sit outside right now?" I ask before taking a sip of tea to try to stop my teeth from chattering. "It's freezing."
"Dunno," he offers. "Felt right. Wanted to check on the geese, I guess. What inspired you to join me?"
"Dunno," I supply back, although that's not fully true. I don't know if it'll be too much for Haymitch to talk about Maysilee, even though that is what's on my mind. Haymitch rolls his eyes at me.
"You're a shit liar, sweetheart," he says, sipping from his mug. "But whatever, do what you want."
"What's in there?" I ask, pointing to his mug in an effort to change the subject.
"Hot apple cider," he says. I raise my eyebrow disbelievingly. "Mixed with liquor," he concedes. I shrug. It's good for Haymitch I guess, relatively speaking. He's not going to black out from that, and that's at least something of a win.
"So, what, you just felt compelled to come out and sit in the snow with an old man?" he asks me. "Seems unlikely to me." I sigh.
"Can I ask you a question, Haymitch?"
"Sure."
"You might not like it," I warn him.
"That's never seemed to stop you before, sweetheart," he says. I roll my eyes, but take a deep breath, readying myself to speak.
"In your Games..." I start. I can see a bit of surprise register on his face, as this is clearly not the path he was expecting me to go down, but he recovers quickly. "How did you, uh...what was it like for you, when Maysilee died, right after you guys had broken off the alliance?" Haymitch pauses for a minute before answering me, taking another swig of his drink.
"Well, I don't think it was that different from how you felt when Rue died," Haymitch offers. He's right, of course, yet for some reason there's something more that I want from him, but I'm not even sure what.
"Were you -" I start, but he cuts me off before I even really know what question I was going to ask.
"There was a hell of a lot of guilt, because if I hadn't been ok with us going our separate ways, she might not have died right when she did," he says. "It's pointless, really, because if it came down to the two of us things would have just been worse. I know that in the end, I wouldn't have been willing to sacrifice myself for her, so it's better that it didn't come to that. But still, I felt pretty awful."
"I can't imagine," I murmur.
"Yes you can," Haymitch says. "You don't have to, in fact, because you've lived it. Like I said, it's not that different from what happened with Rue. It's the risk of making alliances in the Games. They don't tend to end well. Frankly, it's what I was damn worried would end up happening with you and Peeta in your first Games." I look up at him, catching his eye before he continues.
"I was fucking terrified that boy was gonna die on you. Even though you didn't feel whatever shit you were supposed to be feeling then, I knew you and I knew that wouldn't end well. I was trying to get both of you out, once that became possible, but the boy and I both were determined that you were coming out of that Arena alive, and I knew you wouldn't be able to get past it if you lost him. I knew somehow, even that early on, that losing one of you meant losing both of you."
I think on what he said, and as much as I would have denied it at the time, he's right. The minute Peeta and I partnered up in the Arena, we were tied together, and I wouldn't have been able to let him go. What I did with the berries proves it; it might not have been out of love in the way we tried to sell it off to everyone, but the fact of the matter is I was not willing to live and have Peeta die. I wasn't willing to do it then, and I wasn't willing to do it when I was in 13 and he was in the Capitol. I know it would have been the same for him too if the situation had been the other way around. It's only intensified more and more with each passing year; we depend on each other thoroughly and completely. I feel like it should scare me. This sort of dependency is something I guarded myself against for years. For some reason though, with him, the good outweighs the bad, and the hope he's always been able to bring me negates the fear.
"What is it?" Haymitch asks, taking me out of my head.
"What?" I ask him back, unsure of what he's talking about. He smirks at me.
"You've got some sort of dumbass expression on your face," he tells me, still smiling in a thoroughly obnoxious way.
"I do?" I ask, genuinely surprised. He laughs at me.
"It's fucking exhausting being around people who are as obsessed with each other as you and the boy are," he grumbles. "It seeps into every damn thing you do. You two are goddamn insufferable." I give him a little sideways look. Haymitch is talking as if he's annoyed, but I know him and I know he's faking it. Honestly, I can see it on his face.
"Shut up," I tease, leaning over to knock my shoulder against his. "You know you wouldn't last a day without us." He snorts.
"Oh please. I lasted plenty of days before you two came along to annoy me."
"Yeah, and look how well those years worked out for you!" We both laugh at this. I like that Haymitch and I have bonded to a point where we're able to be a little mean to each other without any real issue. It's a fitting sort of friendship for both of us.
We sit in a pleasant sort of silence for a bit and sip our respective drinks. It's that nice type of quiet where there isn't any tension or discomfort, but rather when everything that needs to be said has been said, and two people can just enjoy the process of existing.
"You love that boy," Haymitch says after a while.
"Is that a statement or a question?" I ask. He laughs a little at that.
"I think it's a statement," he admits.
"I think so too," I say with a smile. Haymitch smiles back in a way so unusually warm for him that it makes my smile widen.
"You love Effie," I say, my smile big and my voice a little teasing. He opens his mouth to interrupt but I don't let him. "Don't try to argue with me, I've heard you say it. It's a statement, not a question."
"It's a statement, not a question," Haymitch concedes. The pleasant silence returns between the two of us, and lasts until it's just too cold for me to want to stay out any longer.
"It's freezing, I'm gonna go inside," I tell Haymitch. "You should too. You're not doing anyone any favors if you freeze to death." He chuckles a little at that.
"Sounds good, sweetheart," he says. "See you later." I gather my things and head back inside. Still shivering from my time out on the porch, I sit down right in front of the fire and keep the blanket wrapped around myself. The warmth of the flames on my frozen cheeks feels nice. I just sit there contentedly for a while, until I hear the door open and see Peeta walk in. He gives me a warm, wide smile as he takes off his jacket and boots by the door.
"Hey love," he says, coming to join me by the fire and giving me a quick kiss on the lips. "How are you?"
"Good," I say. "Cold, but good. Haymitch somehow got me sitting outside with him." Peeta laughs a little at this and huddles closer to me. I lift the blanket so he can cuddle under it with me, and he gladly does so. "How was work?" I ask him.
"Really good," he replies. "I've been working on a toasting cake for a couple from 9, and I think it's turning out really well. And Albie's new cookies recipe was a hit, we'll definitely be making more of them." I smile at this, remembering the enthusiasm and joy that radiated from Albie as he rambled on about his ideas to me earlier today.
"I bet he was pleased," I offer, and Peeta laughs.
"That would be an understatement." He plants a little kiss on my nose and I giggle in that way only he can get out of me. When he pulls back slightly, I can see that he's looking into my eyes, and he has a sort of thoughtful look on his face. He tucks a strand of hair that had come loose from my braid behind my ear.
"What?" I ask softly. He shakes his head lightly.
"Don't know," he says, the corners of his lips curling up into a little simple. "Nothing, and everything. I'm just ridiculously in love with you, that's all."
"Well good, because I'm pretty damn in love with you, and I think it would be a little awkward if we weren't on the same page," I tease. "Haymitch says it makes us insufferable." Peeta laughs at this, and I find myself unable to resist crawling into his lap and kissing him. The blanket falls off our shoulders and onto the ground as I move to straddle him. I kiss him intensely and passionately and he responds in kind. I have no intention on stopping, but Peeta starts laughing a little, and it forces me to pull away.
"What?" I ask, annoyed.
"He might be right," he says, chuckling.
"Huh?"
"Haymitch. He might be right that we're a little insufferable, but it's worth it." I grin but try to master myself and feign annoyance.
"I cannot believe you're thinking about Haymitch right now," I scold, and Peeta laughs again before I shut him up by putting my lips on his. I take his bottom lip between my own and nip and suck at it lightly, which makes him groan in a way that starts a fire burning deep within me. I hastily try to unbutton and remove Peeta's flannel shirt, my fingers seeming not to possess their usual deftness in my hurry. Taking pity on me and my fumbling, Peeta removes the shirt himself, as well as taking off his undershirt. I remove my sweater quickly and he brings his hands up to my back, pulling me down on top of him as he lays down against the blanket covered floor. I run my hands up and down the hardened planes of his chest and abs, trying to memorize the feel of his muscles, his burns, his scars - just every single part of him. I don't want to ever risk forgetting one aspect of what it is like to love Peeta Mellark. I need to commit it all to memory.
I'm so focused on learning every inch of him that I'm distracted as he removes my bra, but the feeling of his hands cupping my breasts and teasing my nipples brings me out of my reverie. I gasp a little at the pleasurable sensation, and Peeta continues his movements while kissing a trail from behind my ear down and around my jawline. He lingers at a spot near my pulse point, nipping at me slightly in a way I'm almost sure will leave a mark. Whenever he and I mark each other like this, I feel like I should be embarrassed at the fact that a sign of our private moments has become public, but I find I can never really bring myself to care. For once I am able to be open about loving him without such an overwhelming sense of fear, and I do not want to waste the opportunity.
Peeta flips me over in an easy movement, laying me down gently so that my back rests on the blanketed floor and his form hovers above me. I tilt my head up to meet his lips in a kiss, which he returns for several moments, before parting to leave a trail of kisses down to the valley in between my breasts. When he shifts to the side and takes a nipple into his mouth, I let out a breathy curse. I can see that stupid, coy smile in his eyes, and it makes me want to reach down his pants and take his evidently growing arousal in my hands, but unfortunately he's a little out of reach. I can't bring myself to want to change my position, though, as he moves his focus to my other nipple and I feel a sense of renewed pleasure surging through my body. When he eventually removes his mouth, I let out a little frustrated whine, and he laughs somewhat cockily
"Don't worry," he says, looking up at me with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I'm nowhere near finished with you." He lowers his head back down to my abdomen and continues trailing his kisses lower and lower, before pausing to quickly remove me of my pants and underwear. Then, within an instant, his head is between my thighs. He hooks my legs over his shoulders as he drags a finger through my folds tantalizingly slowly, drenching his finger with my arousal and making me squirm in desperation for more contact.
"Peeta," I moan, but it seems that he's in one of those moods where he likes to take his time teasing me and is in no rush. We both like to do this with each other sometimes, and the mix of agony and pleasure being on the receiving end is similarly intoxicating to the rush of holding the power. I know I certainly enjoy both, no matter how frustrated I get when he decides to tease me ever so slowly.
Peeta seems to acquiesce at least slightly to my cry, though, because he lowers his mouth down onto my center. I throw my head back at the contact, moaning as he laps at the arousal between my legs as if it's the best thing he's ever tasted. He slips his tongue inside me and explores painfully slowly, and I find myself notting my hands in his hair and pulling at his curls with an intensity that cannot possibly be comfortable for him. He's undeterred, though, and as he moves his attention to that little bundle of nerves I know I'm close to coming undone. He lavs it with his tongue first, before sucking it entirely into his mouth.
"Oh!" I breathe, overwhelmed with the waves of pleasure he is sending through my body. Within minutes, I feel myself reaching my release, unable to do anything but moan out his name as my senses are overrun with ecstasy. He takes his time dragging his tongue through my folds another time or two, seeming determined to lap up every last bit of my orgasm.
"Would you just get up here? I want to kiss you," I demand after a while. Peeta laughs at this and plants his mouth firmly on mine. It's always a little disconcerting when I can taste myself on his lips, but I can't say I don't like it. As the kiss intensifies, I try to reach down to remove his pants. Peeta, however, still in control, seems to have other plans, and he lifts my form, turning me around and placing me on all fours in front of the fire. My muscles seem pliant with pleasure and I have no problem following where he leads me, as long as it leads to him being inside of me. As I hear the clink of his belt unbuckling, I'm fairly confident that we are headed in the right direction.
Sure enough, in a matter of moments I feel his tip press between my folds from behind me. I moan at the sensation of him filling me, and lean further into my forearms so my back arches. Peeta is gripping my waist tightly, his fingers digging into my hips and keeping a strong hold on me. He's thrusting into me at a fast pace with intensity, and the overwhelming pleasure just edged with a little bit of pain feels almost like a drug. I cannot think of anything else except for the feeling of him inside me, and I do not know why on earth I would want to.
"Fuck, I'm so glad that you're mine," he mutters his voice breathy and strained as he continues his movements within me. I can't formulate the words to speak, but I let out a pleased hum of approval at his words. This seems to encourage him, as he snakes an arm around me to squeeze one breast, and then the other, massaging both swells in turn. I cry out at the sensation, and find that I feel myself building again with everything he's doing to me. When he moves his hand down from my breasts to start rubbing my clit, I feel certain that I'll finish again if he keeps this up.
"Oh, don't stop," I moan, and he absolutely does not, only increasing the intensity of his thrusts and the speed of his fingers circling my most sensitive point. As his thrusts grow more frenzied and erratic, I know that he's close, but I am too. I can feel him exhaling on my neck and I can tell that he's making an effort to control his breathing and maintain control to hold out a little longer for me. Between the feeling of him inside me and the ministrations of his fingers, though, it doesn't take long. I gasp loudly and let out a strangled cry of pleasure as I fall from the precipice for the second time, sinking down onto the ground in a whirl of pleasure. I hear Peeta groan out my name and feel him fill me as he finishes inside of me.
He collapses down next to me soon after, both of us a mess of sweat and matted hair, laying on the crumpled up blanket by the fire. I can feel that my face is still flushed from my orgasm, and I'm covered in marks from Peeta's lips and hands. My hair is a mess from the time on the floor, and looking over at his rumpled curls I see that they are in a similar state. I'm sure my pulling at them couldn't have helped. Our clothes are strewn and scattered everywhere. I'm not sure if we've ever looked worse, but I know I've never felt better.