GROWING TOGETHER
Post-Mockingjay; Katniss and Peeta back in District 12, as they piece together their lives.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.
CHAPTER FIVE:
Two weeks have passed and we have fallen into this routine. We spend some days apart, conducting our own business and doing what we normally do to move on. Other days, he doesn't leave. Instead, we have breakfast together and find ourselves working on the book until sunset, when it doesn't make sense for him to leave again. But every night, he holds me in his arms. Not every night is terror-free, but I'm always relieved to wake up and find him holding me. More often than not, he smiles at me and I return the favor. Our lives are a little brighter to have been able to share our nights together. I worry that something will happen to make him leave me alone again, but it's a thought that I can't let sit for too long. It's not worth the burden.
Soon, my house starts to smell of bread and pastries. On the off chance that I wake up alone in bed and fearing the worst, I'm relaxed by the aroma of baking goods coming from the kitchen. Cheesy buns line available counter space and I suggest bringing some over to Haymitch, but to no avail. We think he may have shut us out altogether.
I'm happy, but never completely so. I live in lingering fear that something will shatter the illusion and bring me back to my senses. This is the closest I have been to sustained contentment. Every now and then, Peeta and I will exchange glances and we'll look into each other's eyes for an unmeasured amount of time. And then something will bring us back to ourselves, and I'm left fighting for explanations again.
One day that Peeta is not at my house, I turn on the television set. I'm never compelled to do so, and even on this day, I can't think of a need. But my mind is weary and I've grown so used to working on the book with Peeta that doing anything without him almost feels counterproductive. So I turn to the television.
I'm standing up so that when the face appears on the screen, I topple over onto the sofa. I'm lucky to have avoided landing in a heap on the floor.
Gale.
We've barely scratched three months and Gale already looks like he has aged three years. I never knew the nature of the fancy job that Greasy Sae informed of, but it looks like he's taken a position overlooking the reformation of Peacekeepers and the reconstruction of Panem altogether.
"Our hope is to dispatch squads at a time to the districts that need assistance first and foremost, namely those closest to the Capitol that suffered most toward the end of the war," he says as part of his interview.
I mute the television so that only Gale's lips are moving but never making sound, and I get a chance to really look at him.
His hair is longer but groomed nicely, and his face has the appearance of someone hardened by their profession. All in all, he looks like he has settled nicely in this new life of his. But it's still something that catches me off-guard.
I wonder who he's been keeping up with now. Has some other girl caught his attention? If so, are they happy together? Does she give him a sense of purpose? Would she disapprove if he ever went hunting? Now that he's a government official, I can't imagine that coming by food is a problem anymore.
But most importantly, I hope he's happy. His happiness would bring peace to my mind.
As I ruminate over Gale's new life even more, I feel a growing sense of loneliness opening up inside me. It would have been too easy to hate him after everything that happened. Instead, I was thankful for his distance and refusal to return home. So why does his appearance on the television take such a toll on me?
When things took a turn for the worse after my father died, I had Gale. He was my rock. He saved me from the depths my mother fell into and taught me much of what I know today. In the process, he conditioned me to believe that there could always be one good thing to come even from the darkest situations.
What would he say to me now, if he saw that I was still groping in the dark for that one good thing?
Hunting hasn't been the same without him. Then again, not much has been the same in District 12. But I knew that especially about hunting from the beginning. The forest is somehow larger and more isolating at the same time. In the thicket of trees, the only place where I used to feel like myself, I am only going through the motions and hunting for survival more than emotional necessity.
But was it always because of Gale? Or was it because of the company that could lift me from the confines of having to care for a family on my own? If I were to take a good, hard look at my life right now, I don't know that I would hesitate to say that Peeta has managed to lift me from the darkness. As much as we are both still floundering, he has this undeniable effect on me.
I miss the woods as they used to be. Without them, I can't be certain if I'm the best version of myself that I can muster. So I come to this conclusion that loneliness has, once again, robbed the very essence of something that was once so comforting and freeing. And as such, I've decided.
I'm bringing Peeta with me the next time I go hunting.
Twigs snap and break beneath Peeta's feet, and I wonder how I ever forgot his rough tread from the first Hunger Games. We've been in the forest 20 minutes and I have yet to see any game.
"Sorry," he says sheepishly from behind me as another stick cracks – more like explodes – from under him.
It takes an incredible amount of restraint to keep from shooting him through the foot with an arrow. But I remember how much he's helped me, and how much I still need to help him. And not a lot of progress can be made on an impaled foot.
"It's fine," I say evenly, although my desire to hunt is waning by the minute. I'm starting to understand how much I am a creature of habit; isolation has become somewhat of a specialty of mine.
Then again, it's not like he wanted to be here in the first place. I had to force him when I showed up on his doorstep, practically begging for company. I gave him some line about how it might help clear his mind, but in reality, this was more for me. So I really can't complain.
"Maybe I should just head back," Peeta says when we arrive at a clearing. But he seems transfixed by his surroundings, like he's seeing the forest for the first time. And then it occurs to me that maybe it is.
"Don't head back," I say encouragingly. "We're having fun, aren't we?"
"I don't have anything to hunt with. I don't even know how to hunt!" he says petulantly, like a small child. And I have to suppress a laugh.
But it's true. Peeta grew up a baker's son. And as a blond-haired, blue-eyed member of a well-off merchant family, hunting was never really a required skill. Yet I don't resent him for it. After all, we've ended up in the same place now, haven't we? Lost and confused, trying to make sense of everything that's happened since the day Effie Trinket came to District 12 for our fateful Reaping.
"You could always throw flour at a squirrel," I suggest, and Peeta has to give that several moments to settle before he realizes I'm only joking.
He half-chuckles and says, "Katniss, look. There's a reason that you're the hunter between us. It's not like you're scaring everything off with your stomping. Just let me go back and I'll bake us something."
But I'm stubborn and I shake my head. I didn't bring Peeta out here only so I could be left alone again. I think for a moment and decide that if we're going to be friends – and I mean really be friends, since the fear of having to kill him in the Games is no longer over my head – he has to be able to hunt. Or at least know what it means to hunt. Because if he doesn't understand that, then I fear he won't ever understand me completely.
I hand him the bow and an arrow from my sheath. He looks at me like I've gone crazy. And maybe I have.
"No!" he responds after a beat. "You can't do that! What if something happens? What if I don't remember myself and I turn it on you?"
I shake my head again, because that's not what he's worried about.
"Take it," I say firmly. "I'll help you. That's what I'm here for, remember?"
Something happens when he looks at me, his blue eyes on my gray. It's like he's searching me for something, like he's wondering why I'm offering to do anything for him at all. And there's a familiar stirring somewhere deep inside me. It's only for a few seconds and it's nothing particularly strong. But for whatever reason, looking at Peeta in this moment makes it worth noting.
As soon as the feeling has subsided, I push the bow and arrow closer to him. And it's like I've worn him down when he reaches out and takes them from me. He holds them separately at his sides, his arms like limp noodles.
"Okay, so what now?"
"Well first, let's be quiet," I whisper, and his eyes look at me intently to let me know that he's listening. "There's no point teaching you if the only game to hunt is a tree."
He nods and I gently position myself behind him. I guide his arms so that he's holding the bow and the arrow in their proper position. Since there's nothing to shoot just yet, I help familiarize him with what's in his hand. We pivot together in silence, aiming from one target to the next. Just as he's getting a feel for this new weaponry, I'm reacquainting myself with Peeta's feel. It's different when we're sleeping and I happen to wake up in his embrace. But here, especially with him in my arms, it's something else entirely. There haven't been moments outside of bedtime that we've held each other close.
My attention is drawn to a noise I hear somewhere to my left. Peeta must have heard it too because I feel his body tense up as his head looks in its direction.
"Do you think that's something to shoot?" he whispers. But even at this low volume, there's a strange excitement in his voice.
"I do," I reply, and I pivot with him to the left. This time, the arrow is on alert, prepared for a target. "Maybe it's a rabbit, or a squirrel."
But Peeta doesn't even have time to respond when I have my answer. I see it, the squirrel scurrying up a tree several yards from us. If I had full control of the bow and arrow, we would already have meat. But as it is, I have to quickly guide Peeta's aim at the squirrel that threatens to disappear into the leaves above.
Once I'm sure that we have meticulous aim, I ask him, "Ready?"
Without hesitation, he replies, "Yes."
We take a deep breath as I help him release the arrow. It doesn't hit quite where I'm used to – the eye – but I think to myself that he'll improve as time goes on. By the time we get our third and last squirrel of the day, he's closer to my aim than he's ever been. He tells me he'd like to come with me again next time, and I'm relieved that he's so willing.
Later that night, when we've finished eating and we're just lying in bed from fullness, I ask him what his plans are for tomorrow.
"Nothing, probably," he says. "I'll probably bake bread to bring into the square. But I can do that at my house."
Looking at the ceiling, I respond, "You can just do that here. Most of your things are here anyway." I convince myself that my reasoning is one of convenience.
"But I'm here all the time. I didn't even go home once today. You're probably tired of me. I know I would be."
"I'm not," I say. "You can bake here tomorrow. And I'll even come into the square with you. I'm sure there are things I need. Stay."
Peeta doesn't respond. But when I look over at him, he's smiling at me.
AN: Sorry for the delay! It's been a really busy week, and I finally got to post this today! Hope you guy enjoy this, too! Feedback is always wonderful - your reviews seriously keep me going!
