Chapter 13

This is the first time I can see the scars on Peeta's torso. They are more widespread than mine, though the pink skin stuff seems to have worked better on him than on me. He looks more bruised and less like a piece of patchwork. It's even less noticeable when I consider how strong he still is. Even though the fact that he's standing in the water, partly exposed to me, tells me there's nothing wrong in my own patched skin, I remove my shoes but keep everything else on. He didn't mind me seeing him in our first games, he obviously doesn't mind now. Not me. It seems I'm not afraid of dying, only closeness. So I keep my layers on.

The water is cold, but the appropriate temperature for a hot day. I walk towards Peeta while he moves around on his axis, jumping every now and then, so childlike. I dive in from behind him and emerge several feet away.

"Now you're bragging. Remind me how that's supposed to help me learn?" He shouts.

"Just pretend you're wearing the floating belt and make your way here," I shout back. He doesn't move and though I can't see his face very well from here, I can tell he's rolling his eyes at me. I swim back and ask him to meet me halfway. It's not very deep where I am and I can easily catch him if he starts sinking.

"Okay," he says timidly. He moves one arm after the other and I can only imagine how hard this must be with the prosthetic, though I know he can do this. Peeta can do so much. "Look, I'm not touching the ground and I'm not sinking either." And just like that he loses his focus and sinks down. I swim rapidly towards him and catch him before he swallows any water.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "can we take a break before continuing?"

"Of course, is it your leg?" I ask concerned.

"Not the prosthetic, the other one. It's cramping."

I swim towards shallow ground, dragging him with my left arm, until he can walk out by himself. We get out of the water and sit on a towel I brought in my bag. I squeeze the water from my braid while Peeta shakes his head from side to side, sprinkling every water drop from his hair onto me.

"Can you set up the food on the towel?" I ask him, giving him my hunting bag, while I get up.

"Where are you going? Can I come?"

"Just wait here and make sure the birds don't eat our bread," I tell him and walk away. I find some blackberries and even a few small strawberries in the bush that supplied me with strawberries for Madge and the Mayor. When I return, I ask Peeta to remind me to include her family in the book. She was my friend, even though it took me long to figure that out.

"I wish I could hunt with you," he says.

"Why? I barely hunt lately. Still trying to find my away back here. Too many memories."

"Exactly," he tells me. His eyes on the ground. "Memories of Gale, I suppose."

"No, not him," I lie. "Mostly my father and my childhood. We had to grow up so fast."

"I don't mind. I never felt much like a child, too many grown up thoughts in my head. When my mother would tell me to bake something, I'd do it thinking of the day I'd be the one running the bakery. I watched my father do accounting every now and then, and, sometimes, he would let me stay up late with him while he made a list of supplies." He sighs. I think every conversation we'll have for the rest of our lives will be like this. A mix of nostalgia, pain, and now I know, acceptance.

"I think I was eight when I told him I was going to marry you. He laughed and asked me how I knew that. I said I was going to learn how to sing and you'd fall in love with me just like your mother fell for your father." He takes a deep breath and tucks some hair away from his eyes. "I guess that plan was doomed from the beginning, I can't sing for my life."

"I never heard you sing," I say, declining to comment on everything else he said.

"Oh, there's a reason why," he jokes and takes a bite out of the cheese. "I mean, I had to have at least one flaw."

"You're sounding like Finnick," I tell him, well-aware that bringing a lost friend in this conversation might be a bad idea, but Peeta still takes it in good humour.

"He couldn't sing either. Proof that no one's perfect. Except, maybe, you." He stutters the last words and the idea that Peeta may be flirting with me scares me a little, even though, deep inside, I've longed to hear such things again. Especially now, when I look like this, a fire mutt. I decide he's kidding again and focus on my berries to prevent myself from blushing. It's a wasted effort, because I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. I know he noticed it, though he just smiles and looks away into the sun, finally setting. He closes his eyes and keeps them closed for a good minute until he says, "I should come out here to paint, I think that'd be good for me."

"You should," I agree.

"Will you come with me?" he asks me. I nod.

"Sounds like a plan," he gets up and runs to the water again, still making sure to stay in the shallow part. "Are you coming?" I run after and join him in the lake. I dive and he floats around. Two children who grew up too fast.

The next day we come back again, this time with Peeta's canvas and painting supplies. With each stroke the woods come to life and the lake's surface reflects the beautiful sunlight breaking through the clouds. We repeat this routine religiously for a week. Somedays he paints while I hunt, though I'm reluctant to leave him alone until he reminds me he survived the Hunger Games. I leave him a knife, just in case.

Our daily ritual is interrupted by more rain, the type that doesn't leave until every inch of earth has satisfied its thirst. Peeta comes over with bread anyway, and then teaches Greasy Sae's granddaughter how to paint while she's busy in the kitchen.

"She doesn't have much company," she says about the girl, "that's why she loves coming here. But I have a feeling you don't need me as much anymore." While Greasy Sae would come over everyday after I returned to District 12, now she has limited her visits to once or twice a week. Making sure there's food in the fridge, clean clothes in the closet, and that I'm not falling apart.

"I guess things are a little better, but you can still come anytime," I tell her, watching Peeta patiently explain the difference in brush strokes. He'll be a good father someday, I think, and my mind travels to our pretend baby before the Quell. Somehow, it seems like a lifetime ago. Perhaps, it was.

Bang, I hear. Haymitch pounds the front door and walks into the kitchen, exasperated, and takes a seat. "I can't take this anymore," he says and takes a sip of a small silver flask.

Peeta walks over. "What can't you take anymore? Don't tell me the geese..."

"Oh, the geese are fine. The geese are superb. The geese know to behave the way every human being should: as if they're not there." He takes a deep breath. I open my mouth to ask him what's really going on, and partly to protest by arguing that banging my door goes against his own theory of human behaviour, when I meet Peeta's eyes, telling me to keep quiet.

"Why don't we go for a walk, Haymitch?" Peeta suggests.

"I don't want a walk. I want her to stop being so incredibly annoying, or to be whatever she wants to be far away from here. That double-crosser."

"Okay, what exactly is the problem here?" The idea of Peeta and Haymitch hiding things from me again is the only incredibly annoying thing in the room right now.

"Effie." Peeta says and then mouths, "I'll explain later," while he drags Haymitch over to his house.

Greasy Sae, seemingly unbothered by the commotion, finishes the laundry and tells me she'll be back by the end of the week. I don't mind her coming over, though sometimes I feel she's obliged to do it. In any case, whatever Dr. Aurelius is paying her must be handy for her. It's late afternoon and Peeta hasn't come back, so I walk over to his house. Haymitch is asleep on the sofa, one leg on the floor, the other on top of green velvet cushions. Peeta's on the armchair, taking notes on his recipe book when he sees me. He places his index finger in front of his mouth, signalling to keep quiet, and ushers me upstairs. In a few seconds I'm standing in Peeta Mellark's bedroom, utterly uncomfortable, though he's been in mine so many times I've lost count. He takes a seat on his bed, and unlike my bedroom, he doesn't have a spare chair. I wobble on my feet, deciding whether to stand or follow him, until he motions for me to sit beside him.

"So what does Effie have to do with Haymitch's crazy state?" I ask him.

"It's a long story, so I'll try to make it short. Basically, Plutarch wanted to produce a special on the rebuilding of District 12. Yes, I know, there's not much rebuilding yet, but it's Plutarch. Who knows what he's actually thinking? Anyway, he wanted the three of us to feature in it, especially since we're the district that still has the most victors left. Of course, Haymitch protested. The deal was we'd be left alone, but then again, it's Plutarch." He almost whispers, still afraid Haymitch will be suddenly awaken by his words.

"I still don't get it," I say.

"I'm not there yet, patience, grasshopper." He smiles and the light from the window reflected in his eyes leaves me slightly mesmerized. I shake it off and continue to listen. "The other side of the story consists of Effie and Haymitch becoming, how do I put this? Friends. For the lack of a better word. I guess distance makes the heart grow fonder? Whatever it is, they didn't seem to hate each other as much after the rebellion. I swear to you that, when you were still recovering, I saw the two of them having dinner together. And by together I really mean together, just the two of them, in that maze of a mansion that was Snow's house. Now, if you put the two stories together, you realize that..." He waits for me to finish. I don't know if I'm still distracted by his eyes, because it takes me a few seconds to actually clue in to what happened.

"Plutarch is trying to send Effie to do his dirty work," I guess.

"Exactly. Do you know how many times I heard the word betrayal before Haymitch finally passed out? I'm still quite sure I don't have the whole picture of what those two were up to, because, let me tell you, it was intense. I thought he was going to break things."

"So the wine, the other night."

"I suspect she was trying to sway him over, and based on something he murmured as he fell asleep, even come over here with the crew. I don't know, Katniss. He's really upset. I haven't seen him this upset in a long time."

Me neither. It takes very little to tick Haymitch off, but a lot more to mess with his mind. Particularly given how much the Capitol messed up with it already.

"Haymitch and Effie... who would have seen that coming?" I say.

"Nobody, and obviously you still haven't. If he finds out we had this conversation, he'll kill me," he warns me.

"The both of you are always keeping secrets from me," I complain, my voice registering a hint of irritation.

"Just the matters of the heart," he winks and is out the door, leaving me alone on his bed, unsure of what to take from the complexity that his words imply.

A/N: As promised, I tried to get Chapter 13 out to you guys a bit faster. I think this fanfiction will have about 20 chapters, so we're almost there. Thank you for taking on this journey with me, you are all great and I love your reviews.