"We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt." - Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay (Chapter 27)
Chapter 1: Peeta hunts. I bake.
The small turkey swings lifelessly from my hand as I walk back to my house. A few people give a small nod as I pass. One even gives me a curt hello. My bow is slung across my shoulder, and my steps are methodical as they approach the path that leads to Victor's Village.
Peeta is there crouched in front of the small garden he has planted for me. The primroses are in full bloom, and they look beautiful, but I could only stare at them for a few seconds before my chest tightens and I have to tear my eyes away. He's been taking care of the garden since the start, and oftentimes I find fresh cut flowers in a small vase inside my house.
The smell of freshly baked bread hits my nose and saliva rushes to my mouth. Thoughts of warm bread and turkey stew dance in my head, making my stomach rumble. I decide to invite Peeta over for dinner. Again.
He accepts. He always accepts. We call Haymitch over too, but he doesn't answer. He's probably passed out again waiting for the next train to arrive. The train that will bring him more liquor. The geese he's supposed to take care of are scattered all over Victor's Village, and one of them has even made a home on my front step. Lucky for it, food is not an issue for me nowadays or it would have ended up as dinner already.
"How was hunting, today?" Peeta makes small talk as we eat supper.
"Good for me. Not so much for the turkey," I say. He grins at me and I feel unexpected warmth travel up my cheeks. I'm not much of a joker, but sometimes I get these bursts of, well, I guess you could call it inspiration. Haymitch keeps telling me to get a sense of humor, so I'm trying it out for a change.
Hunting has been good. Great, even. I'm no longer afraid of being executed for hunting outside my district. I love being myself out there. Sometimes though, I can't help but feel lonely.
"You can tell me," Peeta says, as he dunks a piece of bread in his stew.
"Tell you what?"
"What's bothering you."
"Who says anything's bothering me?"
"Your face does."
I scowl at him. "And you just know from looking at my face?"
He shrugs. "I told you I pay attention."
A sigh escapes my throat. Peeta is like this, he always tries to get me to talk. I have to admit, it does help sometimes. So, I decide to tell him. After all, who else can I talk to here?
"Sometimes I feel... well, lonely when I hunt."
He looks at me but doesn't answer. It then hits me that he probably thinks I miss Gale. Gale and I have grown apart since Prim's death. I do miss him occasionally, but I can't forget what happened to Prim. And I can't bring myself to forgive him for it.
"I meant I miss having a hunting partner," I clarify, even though I don't have to explain it to him. Still, I don't want any misunderstanding between us.
Peeta doesn't look jealous or angry. He nods, as if he understands.
Of course he does.
"Take me with you."
"What?" My fork clatters on the table and I gape at him.
"You need a hunting partner. I'm willing to learn," Peeta says.
Could this actually work?
I guess I'll never know until I try.
The next day, Peeta and I head out in search of wild game. He is eager to learn and listens to everything I say, and for a minute I begin to think that this might actually work. When we get to my hunting grounds though, his footsteps are so loud behind me he might as well have been wearing a megaphone. On his feet.
Taking Peeta hunting was a bad idea. I should have known this. I should have remembered the time we went hunting (or tried to) during the first games. I scowl at him and he pauses, his leg ready to stomp on some extremely crunchy dead leaves.
"What?" he whispers. He sets his foot, the artificial one, so carefully down on the leaves but it still makes a loud crunching noise.
I sigh inwardly. Well, at least he tried.
"You're scaring the turkeys away!" I scold him.
He folds his arms and gives me an incredulous look. "What did you want me to do? Sit here and not move?"
Actually, that's not a bad idea. "Yes."
Peeta pouts but sits down on a pile of dead wood. We stay like that for a few minutes – me, standing there with my bow and arrow at the ready, him sitting like a statue while his eyes scanned the surroundings.
At least no one's trying to kill us here right now.
A deer appears out of nowhere and I put a finger across my lips to signal Peeta not to make a sound. He nods but his eyes widen and he points excitedly at the deer. I step closer to it but it gets startled by something and starts running away. I bolt after it, my legs working hard, and I hear Peeta right behind me.
When it stops, I'm a few feet away. I inch closer to it step by step, my eyes trained on the animal. Just as I'm about to fire my arrow my leg goes through the ground and the arrow releases skyward, and I find myself in excruciating pain from my left leg. My leg has found a hole in the ground, most likely from the bombings, and a massive rock has rolled over and settled on top of my leg. I push at the rock but it doesn't budge. Instead it digs deeper into my leg. I decide to finally call for help.
"Peeta!"
He is beside me in a few minutes.
"Are you okay, Katniss?"
"I've been worse."
He inspects the pile of rocks and starts hauling them off me one by one. Sometimes I forget how strong he is. The rock I couldn't budge moves easily for him, and he pulls me out of the ground in one heave. I hobble around for a bit, testing my weight on my leg. He sees me wince in pain and before I could say anything, he lifts me up and carries me in his arms.
"I'm fine," I protest, a little embarrassed to get help from him.
"I know." Is all he says, but he carries me all the way back to my house. I don't struggle against his arms, because I don't remember the last time someone carried me like this. His hold is firm yet gentle, and his skin gives off a scent that reminds me of the forest. His eyes are focused on the road ahead, which is a relief because I don't realize until later that I've been staring at him the entire time. We get a few stares from onlookers but he ignores them and keeps walking until we get inside and he sets me down gently on the couch.
Amid my protests, he examines my leg and applies some healing salve on it, and immediately it starts feeling better. Capitol medicine is something else, I have to say.
"It's still swollen though, so you'll have to take it easy until the swelling goes down," he explains to me.
His touch is so gentle, and for a moment I'm reminded of Prim. He and Prim would have gotten along well, I think. They are both gentle and kind. My eyes fill with unshed tears and I turn my head away from Peeta.
"Sorry I wasn't much of a hunting partner." Peeta's apology takes me by surprise. I start to shake my head but he interrupts me. "Hey Katniss, since you shouldn't go hunting tomorrow, how about you stay and help me bake?"
Huh? Did I hear him right?
"I'm not sure that's a great idea," I begin. "I'm not much of a baker, to be honest."
He flashes me that boyish grin that I know so well. "I'll teach you."
…
The next day Peeta is in my kitchen and he's got a whole arsenal of baking supplies spread out on the kitchen table. He begins to instruct me on what to do, how to mix, and I can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.
We work side by side as I'm throwing ingredients into a huge glass bowl, but his proximity is distracting me. His skin gives off the smell of pine and fresh cut grass, and my mind replays the way I felt when he carried me back to my house yesterday. I close my eyes and breathe in his scent.
Suddenly, Peeta grabs my arm, his face plastered with a look of pure horror.
My heart leaps to my throat. Is he having another episode? I consider grabbing the communication pad they gave us and calling Haymitch over. Hopefully he's not too drunk to rush here in case I need help.
I've handled Peeta lots of times when he's had an episode. But he hasn't had one in days, no, weeks maybe. When he has an episode and I try to help him, he shakes his head and asks me to stay back. He's been trying to control himself. Still, my mind runs through different ways to help Peeta get back to reality. The kitchen has lots of dangerous things that he could potentially kill me with. I think about running, but I don't want to leave Peeta alone. Besides, I won't get far with my swollen leg.
What he says next surprises me so much it freezes me in place.
"You just put a handful of salt into that batter. Real or not real?"
Oh.
My eyes travel to the bowl. The batter is thick but I can see blobs of salt slowly sinking in. Did I really put that much in there? I was too busy daydreaming I wasn't paying attention.
The answer is written all over my face but out of habit I say it anyway. "Real."
Uh oh. This isn't good. He's hyperventilating. I've never seen him so... scared? This was worse than that time we were being chased by mutts. Or that time we almost got shredded by angry monkeys.
"Does it matter?" I try to give him a flirty grin but I'm sure I look like I'm taunting him. "It should end up the same, right?"
This isn't my first time baking. I've made bread lots of times with the tesserae I got for my extra entry into The Hunger Games. But what we got to work with then were of extremely low quality and of very meagre quantity. Since President Paylor took over, we haven't lacked much for food, especially Peeta and I. Things I never even knew existed, or considered a luxury, are now at my grasp. Different types of flour, sugar and even butter are now available to us. These are foreign to me. But Peeta is used to working with these ingredients.
"Baking is an exact science," Peeta explains. "You can't just throw things in a bowl and hope for the best!" His eyebrows are touching so closely it looks like he only has one.
One thing I now know for sure: Peeta takes baking very seriously.
Was he watching me the whole time? Of course he was. "It will still taste great." I insist, as I mix it around with my wooden spoon. It smells good. So what if I put some salt in it? Isn't salt supposed to give it flavor? Mine would just be extremely flavorful.
A few minutes later Haymitch drops by, right in time to see me take my bread out of the oven. It doesn't look as great as Peeta's - mine is all bumpy and looks like someone sat on it, but I still hold it up proudly. It looks and smells better than any tesserae bread I've ever made. The smell of fresh bread makes Haymitch's mouth water, and he sits on the chair in front of my steaming bread.
"Do you want some?" My smile is so wide Haymitch blinks twice to make sure it's me and not a mutt.
Peeta is standing at the end of the table with his arms crossed in front of his chest. The look he's giving me tells me he's not sharing my enthusiasm for my bread. I'll show him I can bake. This will taste good. I give Haymitch a generous slice and he bites into it ravenously.
"Ptoooie!" He spits it out after two seconds. He turns to Peeta and wags his finger accusingly. "Peeta, I must say, you've lost your touch. This tastes like the tears of all the tributes combined!"
Peeta's eyes go wide, then he starts guffawing. He's laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. I've never seen him laugh like that, and I'd probably feel happy if he wasn't laughing at my expense.
I turn to glare at Haymitch, who is still staring at Peeta.
"Oh come on. It can't be that bad." I take a bite out of my bread. The moment it hits my taste buds an explosion of salt comes out, and I have to force myself to swallow it, just to save my pride. It's terrible. I try not to show them how terrible it is by making exaggerated chewing noises. "Mmmm..." I say, mouth full.
Haymitch raises an eyebrow at me. "Look sweetheart, you can drop the act. We know how it tastes. You don't have to pretend for Peeta's sake." As if he'd forgotten already, he pops another piece into his mouth. He chews it for a few seconds, as if remembering something. "It's like..." He spits it out again, right on my table. "It's like a block of salt met a wall of salt and got married."
"Okay, okay, I get it." I frown at him. Peeta is still beside himself laughing. The urge to chuck my salt bread at him tugs at the corner of my mind.
Haymitch looks at Peeta, then at me, then back at Peeta. Then at me again. "Wait a minute..." His eyes go wide. "Katniss made this bread, didn't she?" Then he starts laughing maniacally along with Peeta.
"I just need more practice," I say defensively. "I'm sure I could do better next time. This is Peeta's territory after all. Besides, it's not like Peeta can do what I do."
"What is that? Scowl a lot?" Haymitch teases.
"Hunt," I say, raising my chin up proudly.
"I can hunt," Peeta says.
"Sure. What are you going to do? Chuck bread at a turkey?"
He scratches his chin as if considering it. "That could work." Then he smirks at me. "As long as it's your bread I'm hurling at it."
No way. Did he just insult my baking?
"Tell you what," I say, feeling a challenge coming. (Not that I'm competitive or anything.) "Why don't we try something new for a week?"
Peeta grins. "Go on."
"You hunt. And I'll bake. And for a week you can eat only what you hunt and I'll eat only what I bake."
Haymitch leans back on his chair and chuckles. "Now we're talking!" he says, and claps a few times. We don't have much in the form of entertainment at Victor's Village so this seems to really amuse him. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he says, in his best Caesar Flickerman voice. "Welcome back to The Hunger Games!"
…
I've seen Peeta bake lots of times. He throws a few cups of flour in a bowl, then some water, then some salt (this time, I am very stingy with the salt), then some butter. Maybe some sugar.
I fail several times. One of them came out so hard it knocked Haymitch out when I threw it at him for laughing at me. Though he could have been drunk too, since he found that bottle of bourbon someone left for Peeta. That's one thing. We've started getting mail at District 12. It's mostly for Peeta though. He gets tons of these love letters, gifts, and proposals from all over Panem. Sometimes I get mail from girls who ask me if I could let go of Peeta. The nerve. Peeta isn't my property. He could go to whoever he wants.
(But he better not, just saying. I'm still a pretty good shot with a bow. Something I have no problem reminding him from time to time.)
Peeta comes back empty handed, his hair a mess, and scratches cover his arms. I feel a little pang of guilt, and consider putting some herbs on his scratches.
"Got into a fight?" I try to sound as casual as possible.
He nods.
"What was it? Wild dog? Feral cat?"
"Squirrel. A really mean one," he says, and I bite my lip to keep myself from laughing.
He sits down at the table and starts drawing something. It looks like a trap.
He's building a trap?
Then his stomach gives a loud grumble and his eyes soften as he looks at me. "Katniss?"
"Yes? Are you hungry?" I ask. You can give up if you want.
"That was your stomach, Katniss. Any luck with baking?"
I dare not take a bite of my latest endeavor in front of Peeta. Last time I did, I almost chipped a tooth. Were there any dentists in District 12? It was hard to say. People had started moving back and are trying to rebuild. I should ask Haymitch if he knows of any dentists around.
I never thought I'd miss the low quality, meager rations of the tesserae. At least I know I can make that. I did try to make bread with just flour and oil, and it was okay. But once you got used to Capitol food (and flavor), it's hard to go back to tesserae bread. Besides, Haymitch said tesserae bread doesn't count.
One day when Peeta is out getting supplies, I sneak into his house and check out his trap. I know he's been building one as I've seen the plans. It's a cage with a spring mechanism, but I see a few flaws in his design and discreetly fix it. Competition or not, I can't let Peeta starve.
The following day Peeta comes back whistling happily and chucks a couple of fish on the sink. He proceeds to clean the fish and then heads outside to roast it.
As soon as he steps outside I slump on the chair. I've been eating my failed attempts for days. It's edible, but I want to succeed at this.
And then I see it.
On top of the table there's a note. A recipe. In Peeta's handwriting. And then under a huge piece of cloth lay several bowls of varying sizes filled with ingredients. Pre-measured ingredients! He even labeled (and numbered) each one. I follow his recipe to a T and soon enough I find myself devouring the best, heartiest bread I have ever eaten.
Peeta walks back in as I finish the first slice and we exchange knowing glances. He places the roasted fish on the table, and I cut a few more slices of bread. Together we eat the fruits of our labor.
"You did good, Everdeen," he says to me, and I beam back at him.
"You too, Mellark." I say.
...
*Author's note:
This first chapter is dedicated to my friend Mandy, who loves The Hunger Games almost as much as I do (maybe even more). I hope this made you smile today, and I can't wait for your Everlark stories.
To the rest: thank you for reading this! Please leave a review! I hope you enjoyed it! Take care!