8. Roof
There would be tons of things to say about kissing Katniss, Peeta mused one day. In the early hours of the mornings, her kisses were soft, lazy, while the night was for frenzy and heat. When he came back from town, it was a little smooch on the lips, when she left, a peck on the cheek.
It became their routine, one that had him smiling so much, somehow his face hurt.
Happiness had a sweet taste, one he wasn't used to.
It wasn't all rainbows and unicorns, though.
They had learnt that lesson the hard way.
Peeta had agreed to keep the new development in their relationship secret, even if it sometimes was hard for him to not kiss Katniss whenever he wanted. He was glad for the years of training he had while he was younger, for the years he kept asking himself how would it feel to kiss Katniss Everdeen.
Now he knew. He had learnt how to make her moan by kissing her earlobe, how to make her hang onto him when he stole a heated kiss. He also knew she had the same physical effect on him as she did all these years ago, from what he could remember. It was harder to hide it from her than it had been at the bakery. He had stopped counting the mornings he had to wake up to take care of his business before sneaking back into bed.
Thank whoever for baker's hours, a habit he'd never been able to get rid of.
They were taking their relationship one day at a time, now that time wasn't an issue anymore. The Paylor government was rebuilding the country with new egalitarian laws, giving rights to every citizen. They were trying to get in touch with other countries, other human beings spread all over the planet.
At least they tried.
Peeta was taken out of his reverie by the loud bang of the door being slammed shut, closely followed by an unfamiliar stomping. He always teased Katniss for being as silent as Buttercup when she walked, as she had surprised him several times, which led to broken glasses or plates more than once.
Today, though, he could hear her loud and clear.
Which wasn't a good sign.
At all.
He carefully set his mug of tea on the table in front of him, resting his sketchbook next to it. Whatever had happened, he had no clue.
He just had the instinct that a few kisses would not be enough this time.
She appeared in the living-room, cheeks red, braid disheveled, holding a card in her hand.
A card. And an envelope.
"These people! How could they know? How could they do this to me? To us? They're lucky my bow is still in the woods or I would have killed them!"
As soon as the last words left her mouth, Peeta saw her crumple. In a flash he was out of the armchair, taking her in his arms. She slid along his body, as if all her strength had left, as if there was nothing to hold her up.
So he lifted her. He didn't think, just grabbed her legs, hoisting her up until her head was on his shoulder, her torso against his.
"I didn't mean, I don't want them … " She stopped suddenly. "Prim…"
He carefully carried her to the couch, putting her down. He was about to stand up to go get them some tea when her hand caught his arm, her voice reaching his ear.
"Stay," she begged.
"I'll get you some tea..."
The pressure on his arm became stronger, as if she wanted to tug him onto the couch.
"I don't want tea…. Can we … talk?"
His heart sank at the words. Of all the things his brothers told him about dating, there was one thing that they had both agreed on: Nothing good ever came out of the sentence "Can we talk."
He sighed, trying to find a way to delay the inevitable. Katniss wanted to stop this kissing thing they had. Go back to the normalcy of things.
If there had ever been a normalcy in their lives.
He sat down, getting ready for the killing blow.
"I can't anymore, Peeta. It's … too hard."
His heart broke at her words, even if he had expected them. He was glad he was now strong enough to hold back his tears, to not show her how her decision hurt him. He just nodded his agreement, before he gathered his thoughts, standing up.
His throat was hoarse when he started talking.
"I'll sleep on the couch tonight. Tell me if you need help packing."
He closed his eyes, not wanting to see her agreeing. If he didn't acknowledge Katniss was about to leave, maybe he could pretend it wasn't real, for a few more hours. Maybe.
"What are you talking about? You want me to move out?" she asked, her sadness laced with something more, something like anger.
Peeta opened his eyes, surprised at the change in her voice.
"Isn't it what you want, Katniss? You just said you couldn't anymore?" He felt defeated, even a bit angry that she would rub the salt into his wound too.
"I never said I couldn't live with you anymore!" She stood up from the couch too, coming face to face with him.
"Then what do you want?"
"I want to be rid of the press, I want to be rid of my house… How can we start forgetting if everything reminds us of what happened?"
Her words took him by surprise.
Completely.
She didn't want to leave him.
He let the thought sink into his mind, until he could believe it.
"You don't want to leave me? To move out? "
He needed to be sure. Completely sure. He saw her smile, before she shook her head no.
"You're the only thing good I have left in my life, Peeta. I'm not sure I could ever let you walk away."
"What does that mean?"
"Does it have to mean anything?" she answered, with a small smile. Maybe she was right, he thought. They didn't have to label anything for now.
For now, the only thing that mattered was the relief he felt in his body and mind, at the thought they wouldn't be separated, again. Without another thought, he moved forward, engulfing her in a hug that he needed more than he could possibly know.
Joy filled him when he felt her arms sneak around his waist, holding him as close to her as he was, breathing in her familiar smell, taking comfort in the feel of her hair on his skin. She still felt so tiny in his arms, so fragile, there had always been this urge in him to protect her. At all costs.
Hell, it almost cost him his own life.
He bent a little, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair, giving into the temptation of placing a kiss on the top of her head. A light, gentle, simple kiss, that in his mind meant a lot more.
"You're my rock, Peeta." He heard her voice, echoing in his chest, aiming for his heart, whether she had wanted it or not.
The five words pierced him, rendered him speechless. He could feel a warmth spreading inside of him, coming from the center of his chest. Not a scorching fire like the one that left them with scars, no, it was something more muted, more grounded.
Something that would last forever and a day, long after the fireworks had died, something that grounded him into the present, that allowed him to think of a future.
It was overwhelming. He couldn't get closer to her, couldn't hold her tighter without risking hurting her, even though a part of him was quite sure she was made of diamond and thus unbreakable, yet he tried to convey everything he was feeling at that moment.
They stayed wrapped in each other for a while, not caring about the time passing or anything else. Just before she let go of him, though, she placed a light, gentle, simple kiss at the place his heart was.
Her way of saying she would protect him too.
After all, that's what they always did. Protect each other.
He didn't want to get out of the bed. Really didn't. He knew he had to, knew the builders would be waiting for him to give his approval for the tiles he had picked from a catalogue before installing them.
He sighed, as he felt the chill of the air coming from the open window tease his skin, making him want to snuggle under the covers, to go back to sleep. He knew what Katniss would say if she were awake.
To put a damn shirt on. Although he agreed on principle, he knew putting a shirt on would deprive him of several things he particularly enjoyed.
First, the look Katniss always gave him when he took off his shirt, her eyes lingering on the expanse of his chest, following the muscles, making him happy, making him proud. Most importantly, though, it was in mornings his lack of shirt became essential, as the layers of clothes Katniss wore to bed often scrunched up her stomach, leaving patches of skin he was too eager to cover with his body, too happy to be the warmth she needed, too happy to be able to feel her skin directly.
He heard the sound at the same time he felt Katniss jump under his arm. Instinct took over as he moved hastily out of the bed, heading for the windows. He needed to check if there was danger.
He fell heavily on the floor.
"Peeta! Are you okay?" Katniss shouted, making her way around the bed to reach him. "Oh," she let a muffled sound escape,
He nodded, trying to prevent the tears from falling. He felt ashamed, humiliated.
He had forgotten he had taken his leg off before slipping into bed the night before. The shorts he was wearing left his stump in plain sight, in plain view of Katniss's eyes. After almost three years, he was still not used to seeing what had been his leg before, but was now nothing but irritated flesh and bones.
He wasn't ready for her to see it. He wasn't sure she wanted to share that kind of intimacy with him.
He nearly cried when she rushed out of the door, her usually light feet echoing in the stairs that led down. He couldn't believe it had happened. That somehow, he had forgotten his prosthesis. He had thought, maybe naively that it wouldn't happen anymore, that he was past the stage of the ghost limb, past the shame.
How wrong had he been. Why couldn't he have just slept with the prosthesis on, like every other night, despite the pain that he had been feeling for weeks now, despite everything.
He should have endured the pain to avoid making Katniss flee away.
He looked around, trying to find something to hold onto while he put himself up, finally settling on the bed. His arms were shaking as he pulled himself onto the too soft mattress, too ashamed to look up, waiting for the sound the front door would make when she left.
It took a lot of strength to not start crying when he heard the slam.
He shook his head when a sound coming from outside startled him again. This time, though, he was fully awake and realized it had nothing to do with the sound of a gun, or any kind of military thing he had heard before. This noise was almost … alive ?
He had to know. He crept up the mattress, moving towards the bedside table next to which his leg was, his intent focused on putting it back on, checking on that strange sound, before trying to find Katniss, to apologize, over and over.
"It's the geese." He almost fell from the bed again when he heard her voice, as soft and melodic as ever. "I have no idea why they're not in Haymitch's garden anymore, they must have fled?" she said casually, as if she hadn't left him a few minutes ago.
He was ready to answer that no, he had no idea how the geese had found themselves in the street instead of their pen when he turned towards her. His mouth stayed opened, but the words wouldn't come out.
"It's not much, but I will make more. That's all we have left, until I can find a beehive," Katniss said, holding her hands out for him to see better.
She hadn't fled, hadn't left him. No, instead she had gone to her place to grab the balm her mother had sent her a few months ago, that helped soothe the scars the fire left on her. On him too, as she had shared the cream with him.
There was more, on the tray she was holding. Clean towels, a basin with fresh water, clean rags.
How she managed to do all that while he was lamenting, he had no idea.
Yet, she had.
He watched her carefully set the tray on the bed.
"Bloody geese," he finally managed to say, as the animals started honking again, followed by a series of expletives from their old neighbor. "Haymitch seems to have them under control … right ? "
Before she could reply, though, he turned, in search of his leg - he had almost forgotten his stump was on display in front of them.
Her hand on his arm stopped him.
"Let me help you," she said.
"I can get it on my own…" He averted his eyes, wanting nothing more than to grab that damn leg and put it on, to gain a semblance of normalcy.
She was too quick, though.
"Let me help you, Peeta." Her voice was soft and kind, caring, even. Before he could do anything, she grabbed his prosthetic, turning it to look at it carefully, then setting it down out of his reach.
He watched, amazed as she knelt in front of him, carefully taking some balm and applying it directly on his stump. He watched her, speechless, soothingly covering his injury in cream, taking her time to cover every inch of skin.
The touch of her fingers was hypnotic, a caress of sorts, that at any other time he would have found highly erotic. That day, on their bed, in the morning, it was comfort. It was care. It was concern. He didn't dare think about the word that came to his mind, because he couldn't be sure it was appropriate.
Love.
Not the passionate kind of love. Something deeper, that came from the core of his soul, so strong it could tie him to Katniss forever and a day.
"Show me," she demanded, taking him out of his thoughts. She was cleaning her hands on a towel, the balm set aside on the tray.
"Show you what?" He could say he had no clue about what she wanted him to show her.
"How you put it on." She grabbed his leg from its place next to the bedside, looking inside, then taking a rag and cleaning it carefully. "Your leg," she declared, as if he needed more explanation on what she was doing.
Again, the words failed him. Not because of the venom that once ran through his veins, rather because he was still amazed by her behaviour. Without a word, he held his hands out, taking the leg from Katniss, adjusting it on his stump. He tried his best not to wince at the pain it caused him, the fit too small for his now bigger thigh.
"You need a new one," she said simply.
"I don't want to go to the Capitol."
"Then the Capitol doctors will have to come here."
"It's not that simple…" he started.
"It is, Peeta. As simple as a phone call."
"It doesn't hurt that much…"
"Of course, and your leg is nearly bleeding because everything's fine? Don't lie to me, Peeta. I'm sick of people lying to me. We'll call and someone will come."
"There will be too much fuss..."
She shrugged his answer away.
"We'll call Dr. A tonight. If we don't tell Plutarch, Panem won't know. How does it sound?"
"Katniss, you don't have to, I am perfectly fine with this one."
He could feel the intensity of her gaze before she walked to him, bending slightly until he felt her lips on his hair, leaving a small kiss there before she whispered in his ear.
"Did you forget? That's what we do. We protect each other."
He closed his eyes, too afraid to let fall the tears that submerged him.
She called the doctor that night.