Sight
The landscape whizzes by as he stares out the window. Dr. Aurelius released him yesterday, and he wasted no time leaving the Capitol. He bought the first ticket he could, found a seat, and kept his vision set straight out the window. He's not sure how much time has passed, he's not even sure if he's slept, but he sits up at attention as the hills of his home begin to come into view. Home. District 12. He's been focused on this moment from the time he went into the hospital until now. His sights have always been set on home.
She sits and stares ahead at the fire, watching as it dies down. Sae comes in the next day, banks it up, and lights it anew. Katniss continues to stare at it, not diverting her sight to the right or the left.
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He gets off the train, and looks around. The rubble is still there, the destruction of his home all around. He speaks to one of the former miners, who points out where his family is buried. He quickly averts his eyes, "Another time, thanks." And he heads toward the Village.
Sae tells her it's a fine day out. But she doesn't want to look. "I don't have my bow." She says as she closes her eyes. It's easier to keep the world at bay if she can't see it moving on without her.
"Look down the hall." The older woman says. She finishes her chores for the morning and leaves, looking back at the girl who meant so much to so many. They would hardly recognize her now.
Eventually she gets up to look. She sees it there, just waiting for someone to pick it up. But that is as far as she looks.
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The first time he sees her he thinks of ashes. He's been digging up a little garden as it were, next to the house. Planting the primroses that remind him so much of the innocent girl caught in the crossfire. He hopes Katniss doesn't mind this bold gesture.
He turns to see her standing there, looking at him with fear, anger, curiosity. She's just a burned out pile of ashes that's been blown around, then swept up and left. He sees the sunken eyes that show fear and shock. He sees the burned body that has eaten only enough to survive. He sees matted hair that hasn't been washed in days, weeks, months?
Most would see despair in her, but he sees beauty in those ashes. He sees the girl he knew, and he sees what she could be again. She still doesn't realize the effect she has. She just needs a little vision of her own.
She stomps out on to the front porch, and sees him there. She'd know that back anywhere, know those muscles and that posture. "You're back" she says bluntly. No use wasting energy on emotions like shock or anger, surprise or joy.
When she first sees him, she thinks of a plant. One that has been planted in fertile soil and is finally beginning to grow into its own stable stalk. She wants to be like him. She wants to know that growth is possible. But she's afraid that she's already burned out what little growth she's had. So she turns and looks away, because to continue to stare would hurt too much.
She turns around without a glance and and slams the door. Some things are just too hard to face.
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He stops by at breakfast the next day. Greasy Sae invited him, assured him that whatever looks the girl gives him, he's wanted there. He's definitely wanted. "Haven't seen her this active since she came back. I don't know what it is about you boy, but one look at you and she's a different girl."
When he sees her again, at that breakfast, he thinks of that mythical bird he read about while he was in treatment in the Capitol. What was it called again? Oh, yes, a phoenix. She's beginning to rise from her ashes. She's cleaner, and looks a little less haunted. Still sad, but trying with all of her might to pull herself back together.
He sees that cat; the one Prim loved so much. He watches her feed the bacon to it, which makes him smile. No way would she have treated that cat so well before…
He thinks it's good that the cat is there with Katniss. Together they can grow back, stronger than they were before.
When she sees him again, she thinks of bread rising. He's brought a loaf with him, of course. She looks at that loaf of bread, stares at it intently. How perfect it is. She can see the steam rising from it as he slices it and places it on the table.
He's like a loaf of bread, she thinks. How patient the baker needs to be in order for the raw dough to turn into the golden loaf. He's still that raw dough though. He's still rising, not ready to be that golden loaf just yet.
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The days pass and turn into weeks, the weeks turn into months. He watches her, like he did when they were in school together, eyes flitting away as soon as she looks in his general direction. He doesn't want her to know he's staring, but he can't stop watching either. He sees her grow, rise from the ashes. It's slow and painful at times, days on end where he doesn't see her because she can't seem to get out of bed. But those days he does see her, it's almost as if she dusting off the ashes one, by one.
He asks her to walk around the village, "Not far, just around the neighbourhood," he says. They look at the leaves, so green against the blue sky. He shows her how the primroses have taken root and grow, for her. He points out the mountains in the distance, how beautiful they look, purple and brown against the clear blue sky. Each day they walk, and he sees her strength returning. The far off look in her eye becomes more focused. One day she begins pointing things out to him.
"Do you see that there?" She asks. "That leaf, don't touch those. Poison ivy."
"I know what poison ivy looks like Katniss," he smiles at her gently.
"Oh. Sorry. I was…" And her voice trails off, because she's not really sure what it was she was trying to do. Maybe find a way to be useful again?
"No! Sorry! I didn't mean it like that." He tries to placate her, noticing how she starts to shrink back into herself again. She's just now beginning to open up, he doesn't want to stifle that.
She's surprised to see him day after day. She knows he's watching her, it's like she can feel it or something. She wonders why he would keep coming back to the scene of this crime, her life. She's glad though. She still likes to look at him, even if he doesn't know it. She loves to study his face, still the same, even if the scars might have altered it slightly. She doesn't think they have though, she still sees the blueness of his eyes, the blonde eyelashes, so long she wonders if they get tangled. She looks at his hands, so strong and yet so gentle. Hands that can lift 100 pound bags of flour, yet can craft a small flower out of sugar.
She remembers her plant book, another time she remembers looking at him, studying him. "I want to make a memory book," she bursts out one day. Those were probably the first words she's spoken to him in hours.
"Sure Katniss," he says, a bit shocked at the forcefulness of her voice.
"It'll be like my family plant book. I've already talked to Dr. Aurelius. He's sending me parchment to do it. I'm going to write the words. Will you do the pictures?" She says all of this so fast and emotionless.
"That would be nice. I think that would be really nice," he replies quietly.
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The woods are teeming with life. He's amazed at how lush the forest grows back after such destruction. He has some new paints, and now that Katniss has brought up this so called 'memory book', he thinks a little practice is in order. So he sits on the edge of the forest, and trains his eye. He sees a bush so full of white blossoms, it looks like it just might burst. He spends the better part of an afternoon studying that bush and sketching it. He stays up all night painting it.
Her bedroom window overlooks the edge of the forest. On those days, those dark days where she finds it hard to move her body, she sits and stares out that window. Even the view of the woods provides her some little therapy. As she stares she sees him sitting there. She wonders what he's doing, but can't be bothered to ask. So she watches him, like before. As a hunter she knows to observe, take note of her surroundings. She sees him stare, then write something down, stare some more, then erase, only to write some more. No. Not writing, drawing. He's drawing something. She smiles softly, pleased he's drawing again. He seems to be recovering. That makes one of them.
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He sees the mountains in the distance, and allows himself a moment to wonder. "What's over there? How far do they go?" But he soon looks away. His mother used to tell him stories when he was a boy. Stories to keep good boys inside the fence. Old memories die hard he reasons.
She looks at the mountains, sees the fog rising and she imagines all of the fires that used to be. She imagines the fog and the purple of the hills, they are the remnants of a time long gone. And she wonders what she always has, "How far do they go?" But she no longer wants to find out. She's seen too much of the world, she's content to stay here, no matter how many ghosts live here too.
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One day, they venture to the lake. Katniss wants to show Peeta this important piece to her past, and he is more than happy to oblige. When they get there, Katniss begins to strip off her outer clothes, revealing a soft shift that covers the upper half of her body, while her underwear serves as a covering to her bottom. When dry, they are modest enough. But then she goes into the water and he sees how the fabric clings to her curves. He swallows instinctively. She's so beautiful as she rises out of the water and walks toward him. "Aren't you going to join me in the water?"
"N-no…" he stumbles. "I'm, um.. I'm fine here." He says, fumbling over the words. Suddenly, his mouth no longer works. But, he knows other parts of his body are working just fine, and he licks his lips.
He sees how the shift, now wet, is a bit translucent. Not only does it cling to her curves, but it showcases her breasts perfectly. Her nipples are hardened because of the cold water. As she stands there, it's all he can do to not stare.
She turns and walks a bit down shore. He follows her with his gaze, seeing how her panties just barely cover her ass. He wants so badly to reach out and touch it, but he controls himself and just stares. Could anyone else have such a perfect body? Shit. He's going to need to have some "alone time" before bed tonight, he's sure of it.
Katniss sees him staring at her. She wonders if he likes what he sees, or if her scars repulse him. Of course, she sees his scars, and they don't repulse her. If anything, they intrigue her. They add to his mature look. He no longer looks like the boy she met after the reaping of the 74th games. He looks like a man who has seen the hardest of hardships, yet continues to see the beauty in the world.
But she knows he's staring at her. And then she sees the look, and that's how she knows he isn't repulsed. She sees how his eyes travel over her body. She likes this feeling, that she's attractive to him, so she works it for all she's worth, smirking as she walks away down the shore.
She's also been looking at him. She sees how his body has begun to fill out his clothes like they didn't when he first returned. She sees how his muscles are beginning to grow. She also sees what else is beginning to grow. She knows how it all works, her mother is a healer after all. This side of human nature has always embarrassed her, but for some reason, right now, it doesn't. Instead, she's emboldened by it. At night, their soft kisses have begun to take on a bit of that hunger she first felt in the cave, and on the beach. She knows where they are leading. And seeing him, here, like this, she knows it won't be long before she and he will need to satisfy that hunger.
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As he sits in bed one night, reading a book, he looks up to see her come through the bathroom door. She has a look of determination on her face. She's wearing the same top she's worn to bed multiple nights before, but instead of shorts, she's only wearing a small pair of panties.
He sees her legs, how toned they are. He can't NOT look at her legs. They're all he can see. They've gained more muscle in the last few months, and though she's small, they look a million miles long right now. Like they reach right up to her neck.
He imagines them wrapped around his waist, and mentally shakes his head. He wants her so badly, but he knows the first move must be up to her. He's pretty sure she's thinking of it too, though. He knows those kisses are getting hungrier, they don't satisfy either of them like they used to.
As she gets ready in the bathroom, she steals her nerves. Tonight is the night. She can no longer wait for him to make the first move. It's time for someone else to take charge, and she supposes since he won't do it, she must be the one.
She takes a deep breath and looks at herself in the mirror. She doesn't see anything special, but for some reason, he does. She knows he watches her. She knows he stares at her when he thinks she's not looking. She knows, however crazy it may seem, she knows he wants her. And she wants him.
She loves to look at his arms, especially when he's kneading dough. How the muscles bulge and them relax. She imagines his hands on her body like that. She wants to see his groin react to her, the way hers does to him. Sometimes she gets wet just thinking about him looking at her.
She picks up her brush and runs it through her hair. Other nights she might put it back up in a braid, to keep it out of the way. But tonight she's leaving it down. He loves to look at it like that, and she will do what she can to fulfill any fantasy of his tonight.
As she walks through the door he thinks, "She still doesn't know the effect she has."
But, by the look of his shorts, she's got a pretty good idea.