4. Papers
It came to him slowly. The want, the desire. The will.
As the rebuilding crew advanced in their constructions, as the bakery they had planned started coming out of the ground, it became obvious.
He wanted to go back to some kind of normalcy. He wasn't a hero, nor a savior.
Peeta Mellark was a baker. A painter. A dreamer.
Dreams had come back with time, when the fears started to disappear, when he and Katniss started sharing a bed again, the two of them being strong enough to repel the nightmares.
At least, most of the time.
It had taken time. Five, ten, or fifteen weeks before they realized they slept better with one another than on their own.
It had been Katniss who took the second step, coming into his room one night. Peeta had heard her screaming, again, watching from his windows the light in her room being turned on, then off. He had seen her crossing the street on bare feet, could see the shine of tears on her cheeks before she walked into his house.
He had waited, watching the stars dancing in the sky until she had reached his bedroom.
He had turned towards her, watching her over his queen sized bed.
"You can't sleep either ?" She had whispered, an echo to his thoughts.
"No. I heard you screaming..."
Katniss had nodded her understanding.
"I'm sorry" she had said, averting her eyes.
"Don't be. It's not your fault." It wasn't. Snow and Coin were to blame for everything they made the both of them go through.
She had shrugged, still not looking at him. Her eyes had kept coming back to the large bed they had shared a few weeks ago.
He hadn't said a word, just slipped under the soft sheets, before opening them for her, leaving her the choice to stay or go.
She had stayed, that night.
And the next one too.
It became their routine. Sleeping at each other's house, fighting the demons, together.
Being able to sleep had made their life more comfortable. Peeta could see the circles under his and Katniss's eyes had finally started to disappear.
It happened one day, as they were walking into town.
Peeta suddenly stopped walking, the sight in front of him catching him by surprise.
A large forklift was parked in front of a building, the two men standing on it screwing a large sign, the white letters spelling "BAKERY" on the very black metal.
"Are you okay?" Katniss's voice was in his ear suddenly.
He could feel her solid presence next to him, the comfort of her hand on his arm, as he tried to gather the strength he needed to move forward.
Sometimes the smallest steps were the hardest.
"I don't know" was all Peeta could answer.
He could feel so much going through his mind. The shock of seeing the old building, just like it had been not so long ago, the same brick walls, the same white paint, the same large windows … Memories he thought were long forgotten started to come back.
The flour in Ty's hair. His father carefully measuring butter. Her mother, checking the invoices. Sam's smile at the first golden cinnamon rolls Peeta had made. The smell of raisins. The taste of yeast. Prim looking at the pastries displayed in the windows, with Katniss behind her.
He felt a blow to his chest, as if all the wind had been taken from his lungs in a second.
"Peeta? Are you okay?" There was worry in her voice now although he was completely unable to answer her.
He couldn't even answer himself.
Everything was coming back.
Every single slap from his mother. Every laugh with his brothers. Every measurement for sourdough bread. Every time Katniss came by. Every name, every face.
It was overwhelming.
The memories weren't shiny at all.
"Are you okay?"
He was. He wasn't.
Each memory was bringing its load of joy or pain, of hurt and laughs.
He closed his eyes.
The images rushed to him, a mix of present, of the past, of the life in District 12, of both Games.
The images rushed to him, a mix of his old life in District 12, of the life he should have had in the Games.
Of the life he wanted back when he was still a child.
He could remember.
"Are you okay?" Katniss's voice echoed in his ears just after he opened his eyes. He looked around, surprised to see the familiar surroundings of his living room. Seeing Katniss, sitting on the old armchair, her legs bent under her.
"What happened?" He could remember going to town, seeing the rebuilding going strongly…
"Oh…." Peeta whispered, the memories of seeing the bakery suddenly coming back. "How am I here? You brought me back?" he asked, doubting Katniss would be strong enough to carry him all the way.
"No. Thom and Haymitch did."
"Oh, okay then… What happened?" he asked again, moving to sit on the couch. His head was throbbing, making him wince.
"You fainted. When you saw the bakery, you just ..zoned out? Then you fainted."
"Wow…" He could remember it, now. The flood of images, that had been too much for his brain to bear. Images from the past, from his childhood, from a life that he thought he had lost forever.
He could feel a tingling in his fingers, surely from the numb state he had been in while unconscious.
"I am sorry, I really don't know what happened…" he said, as his hand reached his hair, the familiar gesture soothing him.
"It's okay. "
"I should go thank Thom and Haymitch… "
"I did it." She just shrugged. "I told them to leave and that I would let them know how you are. Figured you needed a bit of quiet."
"Thank you." He answered.
"It's nothing." In a second, she was up, aiming for the door. "I should go."
"Can you stay?" He asked at the same time she talked.
She hesitated, before she turned back, walking to her seat, just as the rays of the sun finally decided to pierce the clouds, landing on her dark hair.
It was like she was surrounded by a golden aura.
He closed his eyes. He knew he was weakened by his fainting that even though the venom wasn't in his blood anymore, memories of it were.
"Can you please close the curtains?" he asked, shading his eyes with his hands. "I don't.. shiny things…"
He could feel its insidious signature. The tracker-jacker venom. The traces it left in his veins, in his body.
He started gasping, remembering his mantra over and over again, trying to calm his breath.
He knew it was just memories from before, a mechanism his body was trained to follow.
He knew he could fight it, that he was strong enough.
He focused on the words, so difficult to find.
Tried to find the place in his mind where the calm was laying, tried to find the strength to repel the rempant venom.
He almost failed.
A familiar smell hit him, becoming a beacon of light in the dark that surrounded his mind.
Soap, mixed with fresh air, added to something that was so her…
He hung onto the familiarity of it. Onto the freshness that was hitting his nose, the promise of walks in the woods, of talks in the backyards, of laughs watching Haymitch when his geese would have hatched.
Promises of life.
There had never been any scent in his tracker-jacker induced visions.
"Thank you". He whispered after what felt like an eternity, or maybe was it only a few seconds, he couldn't tell.
"No problem."
Katniss was seated on her old armchair again, a look of concern on her face.
"I thought you were cured?"
He just shrugged.
"Nobody knows if I'll ever stop seeing things. Nobody's ever been through that kind of... thing before and survived to tell."
"Torture, Peeta. It was sheer torture." She dared say the word he couldn't pronounce. "And it's all my fault. All because of me."
"It was worth it."
"How can you say that?" He could see her temper rise. Could see the tears in her eyes, too. They were both so broken. "You've been to hell and back! We weren't even supposed to survive the first Games, or the Second ones… and you say it was worth it?"
"Yes." His answer was definite. No hesitation.
He didn't want to elaborate. He was no martyr, didn't have the soul of one. Even if he had suffered enough for more than one lifetime, in the end… it had been worth it. To give Panem a chance at a better life, without a tyrant ruling them. He had suffered, he wouldn't deny it, but it had been worth it.
"You're something else…." Katniss said, rising from her armchair, walking towards the couch. He could see the anger slowly going away from her face, as she leaned down.
He closed his eyes, again, letting her scent soothe his wounds, a balm on the scars he carried within his body.
He almost jumped when he felt her lips on his forehead.
She was gone in a second.
Later, that night, he told her he wanted to have his own bakery.
But not one that looked like his father's. Or at the place his father's bakery was.
He applied for a licence two days later.