3. Decisions
It became easy, settling into a routine.
Breakfast at her place, dinner at his. Lunch wherever they wanted, together or not.
He had tried to paint as much as he could, following Dr. Aurelius's advice to take the images out of his head, to move forward, to put his past as far away from him as possible. He tried so hard to find the sensations again, to draw something.
He never told the good doctor he hadn't been able to draw a single thing.
Rebuilding the district was a bigger endeavour than what Peeta would have thought. As it turned out, life was still hard in the remains of former D12 - and the appeal of living next to the Mockingjay only lasted for a few months before newcomers started to pack their things to leave for more welcoming suns.
A lot of survivors of the bombings decided to not come back either, rather trying their luck somewhere else, leaving the place almost empty.
Peeta sighed as he grabbed a large basket from his kitchen's counter. He had spent a good amount of the night baking, to try to keep the nightmares at bay, to be able to keep a grasp on reality. He hadn't had an episode in six months, and intended to keep it that way, finding relief in the once familiar motions of kneading dough, finding comfort in the smell of the yeast.
He didn't have the skills he used to, couldn't remember all the recipes the bakery used to make, couldn't put his hands on the old cookbook containing all his family's traditions.
It was hard to not be able to remember.
He was glad he could still bake bread, though. Some kinds. Sourdough. White bread. Nut and apple filled. He totally relied on muscle memory for them, trusting his instincts, trusting himself.
The breeze hit him as he stepped out. Nothing like the cold they had experienced the previous weeks, as if spring had really decided to let go of the frozen cape that had covered the town before. There was something in the air that smelled like … spring. He caught a glimpse of curtains moving in Katniss's house, noticing the windows were slightly ajar. He couldn't help but think of her - of the progress she had made, day after day. She had started to heal, he realized, just as he did in the Capitol.
He also knew the healing would take time.
He sighed, feeling the weight of the basket on his arm. He just hoped the crew would enjoy the bread. Now if they could have a bit of meat to go with it … that was something he talked to Katniss about, but she wasn't ready to go back hunting.
She had tried to explain with her words, with so many tears in her eyes too that she couldn't bring herself to take another life, that it hurt too much. She had tried, of course, but the damage from both Hunger Games and a war weren't healed yet. A simple bleeding cut on his finger one evening had her in shock for a few minutes before she was able to realize he wasn't bleeding to death and would be okay.
She needed help. He wished she would call Dr. Aurelius like she said she would. But that was another step she had to take - one she wasn't ready for at the moment.
Peeta walked down the set of stairs that brought him onto the street, decided to find the crew wherever the guys were working that day.
The walk to the new town center was short. To Peeta's surprise, there wasn't any noise coming from the areas where the work was being done these days. He walked towards where he could hear some voices talking. Maybe the workers were on a break, after all?
He was relieved to see he had been right, that the men and women were gathered together, discussing.
As Peeta came closer, he noticed they stopped talking as soon as he reached them. He immediately felt a tension building.
"Hey guys… Care to tell me what's happening?" Peeta asked, trying to hide his uneasiness at the situation in front of him. Somehow, he knew it had something to do with him. He couldn't think of what he had done, or what he had said that would draw such a reaction. He started fidgeting on his feet, wondering who would talk.
If someone would talk.
One after the other, the heads turned towards Thom. Peeta guessed that as the lanky man was the one in charge, the task of telling him the bad news fell on his shoulders.
Thom sighed, before taking a step forward, placing himself directly in front of Peeta.
"It's .. well, we have plans, you see?" Thom started, as his uneasiness showed. Peeta nodded. " We're supposed to, well… , it's hard..." Thom looked around at the faces of his crew. "I don't know how to phrase it, Peeta."
"Then, just say it, maybe? Did I do something wrong?"
Thom shook his head.
"No … it's just… " He grabbed a large piece of paper from the back pockets of his used pants, opening them carefully.
On the paper, Peeta could see the detailed map of the new town, organized around the main street they were currently on, with buildings everywhere.
"See, we're here. We've rebuilt this block and this one," Thom pointed at the drawings on the paper. "And today we've received an update with the new block. We are supposed to start with…." He put the papers down, looking straight at Peeta. "We're supposed to start the bakery."
"The bakery? A baker is coming?" Peeta asked. He didn't know whether he was relieved by the news or not. All he knew was his heart was thumping harder in his chest. Blood was pumping in his head.
As if the answer to this question was the most important one.
Maybe it was.
"I don't know." Thom admitted. "We haven't heard about any bakers. And the bakery, on the map… it has your … it has your name on it."
"My name?" How could it even be possible? He hadn't asked for any building. He didn't want to have a bakery.
Didn't he ?
It was suddenly too much.
Too soon.
Peeta just put his basket down, muttered a few words before hurrying back to his house. He couldn't think of a bakery bearing his name, bearing his family's name.
He was the last of the Mellarks.
Maybe the last one ever.
He wasn't even sure he wanted to be a baker.
How could he? He had barely healed from all the pain and violence life had thrown at him repeatedly, with barely a glimpse of happiness.
As he reached his house, he could feel the tears threatening to fall, again.
It seemed his life could be summarized in a few words.
Tears, pain, sorrow.
Katniss. A small voice inside him whispered.
He closed the door, locking it behind him.
The pain was tearing his heart, his soul in two.
Pain at the thought of his father and brothers, all of them laughing in the back of the bakery as Little Peeta tried to make a perfect cookie. Pain at the old scars, invisible on his skin, which left such deep marks on his soul. Pain at the new scars, so visible, the last remnants of the war. Pain at the dreams he had to let go of, of a peaceful, happy life, full of laughs, of love, of children.
The tears were falling down freely.
Somewhere inside him, anger was also rising. How could someone decide to build a bakery, bearing his name, without even asking him?
Peeta knew he needed to calm down and think. He wasn't expecting an episode - the treatment he had undergone in the Capitol made sure of that - but he needed something to get rid of the turmoil of emotions he was experimenting.
He turned suddenly towards, fisting his hand so tight it almost hurt, before letting his body take control - his fist ended up going through the glass on the door, shattering it into hundreds of little pieces. A cry, born out of years of pain, years of anger echoed in the silent house.
Pain took over the anger as soon as the adrenaline started to fade away.
"Dammit!" Peeta shouted, while taking a look at his damaged hand. Shards of glass remained in his flesh, blood was dripping on the ground.
He had made a mess.
But he was feeling slightly better.
The Dark was everywhere. Threatening to eat him alive. The whispers of the snake were echoing in his head. Katniss. Katnissssss. They hissed, again and again. Blood was falling on him. Blood was falling from him.
Blood was everywhere.
He was only blood.
Fire exploded. He was dying.
Peeta woke up, startled, opening his eyes to make sure it had only been a nightmare. He needed to be certain he wasn't in his cell somewhere in the Capitol, waiting for another wave of torture.
"Did I wake you?" The voice whispered.
He almost jumped out of fear. He felt his heart racing, felt his body react to the threat. He couldn't place where he was anymore. Panic was threatening to overcome him.
Maybe he was in the Capitol, after all, in a new kind of torture.
The air from the open window passed over his head, cooling him like a balm. He wasn't in a cell. He was in a room.
"Who's there?" he asked, as he tried to contain the fear. He remembered the words from the therapists, urging him to take deep breaths, deep deep breaths.
He wished he could.
He saw a silhouette moving, rising from the old armchair that sat lazily in the corner of his bedroom, before it headed straight towards him.
"Just me."
Another breath of air made long dark hair shiver in the cool of the night, bringing a familiar scent to his senses.
"Katniss?"
"Who else?"
She sounded really surprised, as if .. as if she had expected him to realize immediately she was there.
"You were expecting someone, maybe?" she asked. He could hear her voice faltering, as if she wasn't sure she was welcome.
"I'm just .. surprised, I guess?" Peeta realized his breathing had slowed down, that the remains of his nightmares were starting to fade.
"You didn't show up for dinner." Katniss said. She had never been one for useless words. "So I came to bring you something to eat… and I saw the glass… "
He could see her moving forward towards the bed, closer to him.
Realization fell upon him suddenly.
"You thought I had an episode…" he finished the sentence. "You came anyways?"
A memory hit him. A corridor in the Capitol. The first time she had braved an episode to help him.
Katniss nodded. She started fidgeting on her feet, before she turned, heading for the door.
"Thank you…" Peeta said, before she could get out of the bedroom. "I… had a nightmare."
She froze.
He could hear her screams almost every night. Admitting and talking about them was another story. But she had never asked if he had any.
"You didn't scream..." she whispered.
Once upon another life, his nightmares had been about losing her, of witnessing her die at the hands of the Capitol, in a thousand different ways. Today they were about losing himself. How things change.
"There was blood…." she said. "All over the kitchen floor. I was worried something had happened…. or someone had come."
Old habits die hard, Peeta thought.
"Yeah, I kind of… "He sighed, feeling an uneasiness that led his right hand to fly towards his head, raking it through his hair. He winced as the still fresh scars hurt. "I kind of threw my fist through the glass…"
"Why?"
Peeta shrugged before he answered.
"I was mad…"
He saw Katniss's silhouette turning to face him.
"Mad? Peeta Mellark can get mad?" He wasn't certain whether she was mocking him or not.
"Everybody can get mad, Katniss. I'm far from being flawless."
"Why were you mad?"
He shrugged, again. He wasn't sure she wanted to hear about what had happened. Hell, he wasn't sure he would want to hear about what had happened.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.. " Katniss said.
Before he could reply, she started walking towards the bed. In the rays of the moonlight, Peeta could see her face, lines of concern etched all over. She didn't ask anything. She just carefully took his right hand.
He let her.
"Peeta! Did you clean your hand? Did you take the glass shards out?"
He tried to brush her concerns away with a simple gesture of his left hand. She still held his right in her smaller ones.
He wasn't complaining. Her palms were warm. Soft. Secure.
"Did you disinfect your hand?" she asked, again. He could hear the concern in her voice.
"No. Just rinsed it."
"Dammit Peeta! " She finally let go of his hand, hurrying towards the door. For a second, he thought she was leaving, retreating to the safety of her own place.
When she passed the door without a single look, then headed towards the bathroom, something warm started to spread in his chest.
She was back a few minutes later, carrying the first aid bag that he should have used. She turned on the lights then, without asking, climbed onto the queen sized bed before she started searching for gauze and disinfectant.
She took his hand, once more, quickly putting some lotion on it. He instantly felt the cold of the iodine, followed by the stingy sensation of the disinfectant.
But Katniss wasn't done yet. She pulled out the tweezers, removing the small shards of glass that remained in his skin one after the other, carefully. When she was satisfied with her work, she grabbed a couple of band-aids, placing them on his injured hand.
He really didn't want her to let go of him yet. Her presence was calming, soothing. He also knew she'd be gone as soon as she was certain he was safe.
"They have plans to rebuild a bakery." He started talking. His gaze fell on the window, slightly ajar the way he liked it. "They have plans to rebuild a bakery! And can you guess what they want to call it? Ding, two points for the lady. Mellarks! They didn't even ask me if I was okay with that. They didn't ask if I wanted to be a baker! They didn't ask anything… they just…" He shook his head, eyes lost in the pattern the curtains were making in the wind, his anger waning.
"They should have asked you." Katniss confirmed. "We can go tomorrow and tell them that you don't want the bakery to have your name."
Peeta nodded, before something caught in his brain. Suddenly the curtains held no more interest. He turned to look at her.
"We?" he whispered, not quite sure he had heard correctly. Even though he was sure he had heard correctly.
"Yes. We'll go there and just tell Thom he can build a bakery, but without your name on it. You don't have to be a baker if you don't want to."
We, again Peeta thought. Something was stirring inside of him, something… unexpected. Something he hadn't fully embraced since he'd been released from Dr. Aurelius's custody.
He could be a baker if he wanted to.
Or he could NOT be a baker if he wanted to.
He had the choice.
The freedom to choose his life.
To simply stay in his house, spending his life painting or trying to paint, having meals with Katniss. He could travel the country, or remain here, laughing at Haymitch's ramblings or playing chess with him.
He could do whatever he wanted.
"Peeta?" Katniss's voice was laced with concern, he realized at the same time he noticed her hand on his arm. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"I was …. I was thinking... I think."
"You were thinking, you think?"
"Har, har. You're hilarious."
"Nothing bad?" Her voice softened suddenly, but he could hear the concern laced within.
"Nothing bad," he confirmed, at the same time he saw her hiding a yawn. "You must be tired …."
She nodded before she started talking.
"I should go home…."
Raindrops started hitting the windows. The loud sounds of a storm coming from the hills - they always came from the hills.
"Or you could stay here. No need to get drenched."
He almost regretted his words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He had spoken out of habit, habit of when they were having dinner or lunch, and the weather had turned to rain. He hadn't thought he would let them out in the middle of the night.
He really didn't expect her answer.
"Like these nights in the train?" she asked in a whisper. Her eyes were on her hands like she didn't dare to look at him. He could almost believe there was a tiny bit of hope in her words. Almost.
Did he want to have her sleeping next to him like those nights on the train so many so long ago ? His heart shouted a resounding Yes, but his brain… he wasn't so sure it would be wise to allow her so close to him. What if she had a nightmare and that triggered an episode ?
Even if the good Dr. A had been adamant he wouldn't have another one as they were somehow able to remove all the tracker jacker venom from his blood (Peeta didn't ask how, too scared of the answer) he couldn't be completely sure he wouldn't react poorly.
As he opened his mouth to tell Katniss it wasn't really safe for her to be in the same bed he was, that he had guest bedrooms, the sound of the thunder echoed in the bedroom. He immediately saw her eyes widening, then closing as the lightning struck, somewhere.
She shivered.
He felt her tense immediately.
He understood. He wondered how many years would pass before any of them could see a storm without thinking about the second arena.
The answer to her question was obvious.
"Like those nights on the train,." he confirmed.
Just like those nights on the train, they fell asleep together.
He woke up alone. He wasn't surprised.
The storm had cleared the sky. The quiet night had cleared his mind.
His bed still smelled like her.