Chapter 32
Peeta was back in treatment room 4 in accident and emerg, only this time instead of perching cool and confident on a stool, Katniss was sitting beside him on the gurney, clutching his hand.
They'd been nearly silent since one of the other doctors, Cressy, he thought her name was, insisted he be looked at. Peeta just wanted to go home, to shower away the grime and terror of the night, and to hold Katniss until he forgot everything except how perfect her little body felt pressed against his, the thunder of her heartbeat in time with his own. This woman he loved.
Instead, he was staining the white paper sheet with the soot that covered him head to toe, an oxygen mask over his face and a little monitor with a red light clipped to his finger.
He was surprised, a little, that Katniss wasn't doing the examination. She wasn't the type to sit by quietly and let other people do the work, it wasn't in her nature. Maybe it'd be unethical to treat him, now that they were… well, whatever they were? He wasn't sure, though he doubted that if it were it'd keep her from examining him, if she was of a mind to do so. But she made no move to check the monitors, hadn't unstrung the stethoscope from around her neck, or even checked him for new burns. She'd simply held his hand and leaned against him. Offering him comfort instead of clinical care.
The privacy curtain was open wide, exposing them to the hustle and bustle of doctors and nurses dashing by. Many of them smiled and waved as they passed, a couple had even paused to express relief that the men had gotten out, and congratulate him on a job well done. Congratulations he reckoned he didn't deserve. They'd only been doing their jobs. The entire brigade was extremely dedicated and well trained. They knew what was needed and they did it. The volunteer fire service was built on teamwork, strategy, trust, hard work and a sense of purpose. It might look chaotic, but fire fighting was extremely calm, methodical, structured, fact-based work. Even in hellish circumstances.
Especially in hellish circumstances.
Beside him, Katniss sucked in a sharp gasp, and he turned to look down at her. She was wide eyed, staring almost unblinking. He followed her line of sight. A television screen flashed over the nurses station, just barely visible from where they waited. The 24 hour news network was reporting, as they had near constantly for weeks, on the bushfires. But the video they were playing looked mighty familiar. Peeta watched with dawning horror.
The flashover, the one he'd just survived. Filmed from inside his truck, by the looks. How had they gotten that so quickly?
It must have been Maysi beside him filming, Peeta could see flashes of his own shoulder in the shot, watch himself struggling with the fire blanket. On the screen, it looked utterly horrifying, a haze of red, sparks flying everywhere, the whole cabin engulfed. There was no sound, but he knew what they'd been saying, fear in their voices, hopelessness in their hearts. He had no idea how they'd made it through, why any of them were still alive, and relatively unscathed to boot. They shouldn't have, not based on what the video was showing. He could only call it a miracle.
Or a second chance.
Pressed against him, Katniss was shaking. Tears coursed down her cheeks. "That's you," she whispered, silver eyes huge and glassy in her shock-paled face. He could only nod. "I almost lost you."
Katniss was crying. His Katniss, the strongest person he'd ever met. She was crying.
For him.
He wanted to tell her that would never happen, that she'd never lose him. But it wasn't a promise he could make. Life was unpredictable, there were no guarantees. He could only promise to love her, to make every minute they had together count.
He pushed off the oxygen mask and gathered her in his arms, awkwardly with the tubes and wires. "I'm all right," he rasped. "We're here now."
Katniss clung to him, silent tears wetting his neck but said nothing else.
o-o-o
They took an Uber back to his place, both too shaky to drive.
With the adrenaline of the day gone, Peeta was exhausted, utterly knackered, and bloody sore to boot. But mostly his heart was dented. Katniss was with him, but he didn't know what that meant. She'd told him she loved him, but had said nothing else since.
"I need to shower," he said when they entered his home. Katniss merely nodded. But instead of releasing him, she led him up the stairs.
He'd left his gear with one of the brigade admins who'd come to the hospital to collect all of the PPE, but the cargo pants he'd worn were stiff with sweat and grime, the t-shirt itchy and stinking. He peeled off his clothing, unsure of her intentions but too worn out to question.
She sat on the closed toilet lid while he washed away the day. He pressed his forehead to the cool tile and let the water pound against his sore muscles. She said nothing, but every time he glanced through the glass door she was watching him.
Only when he was towelling off did she finally break her silence. "Can we talk?" she asked, her voice small. He should have been afraid, nothing good ever came from a conversation that started with can we talk. But he wasn't. He needed her words, whatever they might be. He needed to hear her fears, all of the reasons it wouldn't work between them.
Then he'd tear her arguments apart. Then he'd talk her into trying to make the life they deserved together.
He wrapped the towel around his waist and took Katniss's outstretched hand, letting her lead him to the bedroom.
Just glancing at the bed made his dick twitch hopefully. Memories of the things they'd done in this room. Sex was always easy between them, they were explosive together. And he wanted that, needed that.
But he needed more.
He needed to know she was staying. He wanted always.
He sat up against the bedhead, a pillow tucked behind him, and waited.
o-o-o