Author's Note: This was probably one of my favourite chapter to write. While I love every chapter I've written so far (some more than others - I mean, not everything is a gem) I felt like after an almost 2 month absence between chapters 13 and 14, I was starting to get my groove back. I also really like where this next arc is going and have a plan in mind (not in writing - yet…) of how I'm going to not only wrap this arc up, but continue on with a fourth and final story arc before I finish this story. So welcome to the third act! I really want to keep writing this note because I have so much to say about this story, but I bet by now you're already rolling your eyes at this author's over zealous ramblings and/or are just quickly skimming this and waiting to get on with it (or just ignoring the author's note in which case I don't blame you.)
I'll let you get on with it, I just wanted to quickly say again how much I love your reviews. I love checking to see if anyone has decided to express their love for this story and I have to say nothing makes me feel more flattered then reading them. I appreciate every single review and I love them too. But please, if you're unsatisfied with a chapter or would like to express an opinion about the direction of the story or a character's choice, wether it is critical or positive I will read it and I will consider it. Please feel free to tell me what you think about the chapter itself because I'm telling you now, nothing will make me stop writing this story or give me greater satisfaction.
Anyway! Enough about me! Get reading already!
Peeta felt like submerging himself in the hot water. Through half-lidded eyes he watched as the steam rose from the water and filled the bathroom. It took a lot of effort to keep his now casted leg from entering the hot water he was surrounded by. His painkillers had finally begun to kick in and at that moment he had never felt more relaxed and pain free.
Using his free hand he carefully and gently scooped a palm of hot water in his hand and slowly splashed his shoulders with it, vigilant not to move his left arm which had been temporarily removed from it's sling.
"Careful," Noah cautioned, observing the still healing elbow move a fraction of an inch.
Peeta wiped a wet hand across his face. "I miss when the nurse would give me a sponge bath."
Noah shot him an annoyed smirk, "I'm not exactly enjoying this either," he sighed, moving behind brother and slowly tilting his back. "You haven't been cleaned in four days. You stink."
"I happen to have a very good excuse," Peeta replied with a wide grin. "If it weren't for this fucking cast…"
Upon his arrival home four days earlier, Peeta had been forced to rely on his older brother for everything. In some ways he expected to be looked after in that sense, after all he'd been through it seemed only expected that Noah would look after him, it didn't make him feel like any less of a burden. After all the unnecessary worry and grief he had put the older man through in the past, any act of generosity felt undeserved.
The older brother handed the wash cloth to the younger man as he slowly and carefully raised the broken arm enough to wash without causing pain. "Shouldn't your boyfriend be here doing this?"
Peeta looked at him questioningly, "You're calling Cato my boyfriend?"
"Well, yeah," Noah shrugged in a matter-of-factly way, "What the hell else would I call him?"
"I'm just surprised to hear you talk about him." Peeta smirked, almost blushing, "Does this mean you're still angry at him?"
Noah paused before opening his mouth to answer, crafting his words carefully before he blurted them out, "I'm angry at him for all the shit you two put me through."
"But you're not angry at me?" he replied questioningly.
The older man rolled his eyes as he gently pushed the smaller man's back down to rest on the wall of the bathtub. "You're my brother. I can't stay mad at you."
His words stilled Peeta for a moment who let himself sink down to his shoulders in the steaming hot water, tempted to let himself fall underneath and never resurface. "What about the other thing?" Peeta asked, "Are you mad at me for that?"
Noah shook his head as he stood up and leaned against the sink, he crossed his arms and sighed heavily. "I can't exactly be holding grudges against you in your state," he mumbled with an impassive look on his face that began to resemble disappointment with each passing second. "But I didn't ever expect you to do something like that."
Flashbacks of his night with Finnick began flashing through Peeta's memory. Finnick's hands all over him, the snow, the smell of the man, the feel of his touch, the memory of his kiss, the taste of his lips…
He hung his head, diverting his gaze anywhere else but the striking blue eyes that looked in the direction of his own. They hadn't spoken about the subject since that first night in the hospital. "It wasn't like that," he said quietly, "I mean, it's not what you think. It wasn't-"
"-You don't have to," Noah interrupted with a raise of his hand, "I get it."
Peeta was quiet for a moment as he observed the way his most trusted of confidant's looked anywhere but at him. "Do you? Then why are you silently judging me?"
The bathroom became tense with silence for a few passing moments that felt like a lifetime between the two brothers. One upset that his own actions weren't being justified from the older of the two who wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know that he didn't do anything wrong.
Noah looked at him plainly, "Peeta, what do you want me to say?" he asked, his tone tired and tested, "I'm not going to stand here and tell you that what you did was right just because you're in love with him-"
"-I'm not asking you to," Peeta rebuffed, "I know it was wrong, selfish too, but after all we went through, Finnick felt the way I wanted him to for so long that-"
"-It doesn't make it okay," he added, "Why did you initiate it if you didn't want to be with him? What did it even accomplish besides landing you in the hospital?"
He was right, and even though Peeta didn't want to admit it he simply looked at his brother and shook his head. "I don't know… Nothing I guess…"
Noah kneeled down beside the bathtub and placed a forgiving hand on his brothers shoulder, "Doing a bad thing doesn't make you a bad person, but now you have to do the right thing."
"I can't tell him," Peeta gasped, visibly startled and almost dropping his heavy casted leg into the water. "He doesn't need to know, it will only hurt him. Besides, when he gets angry I don't know how he'll react. What if he takes off again?"
Noah shook his head, "Do you really want to keep this to yourself?"
Peeta attempted a smile but couldn't muster the strength to find anything remotely good about his situation. "He's been good to me every day since he came back. We'll be good again."
With his mind made up, Peeta carefully slumped back in the tub with his mind weighing heavily on his decision.
"Nice," Cato said with a smirk, rattling one of the prescription pain killer bottles that sat by Peeta's bed, "So there are perks to being run over."
Peeta chuckled as he lay in his bed, his arm now safely secured in it's sling and his leg propped up in front of him. His blonde hair still a little damp sat combed and flat on his head, he could smell the soap on his skin. "Yep, that's why I did it."
The taller man took a seat on the bed, leaning in and gently kissing his soft, warm lips. "At least now you're on the mend," he said softly into his lips, smiling brightly, "I don't know what I would have done without you."
Peeta smiled back all the while hating himself for his memory tracing back to the months of abandonment. The question as to what Cato would have done without him had already been answered, the problem was that Peeta's immediate reaction was to still harbor resentment toward the man for the actions he was trying so desperately to atone for, especially given his own illicit behavior a week earlier. He hated himself not only for his own betrayal, but that he still hadn't forgiven Cato's.
"You've got nothing to worry about," Peeta said with a smirk, "Turns out I can take a lot."
Cato nodded as his hand rested softly on Peeta's thigh, rubbing slowly, "Yes you can. But I don't want you're pain tolerance to be tested anymore."
Peeta looked at him puzzled, "What do you mean?" he asked, moving his good hand to rest atop Cato's.
"You've been through so much in the last year," he said as he gently entwined his finger's with Peeta's, "Your parents, all the dumb shit we did, me taking off, and now this. I'm just so fucking sick of watching you get hurt. It's too much."
Peeta felt his throat tighten at the kind words. He himself didn't know what he would do if Cato said or did one more nice thing. The guilt was palpable, intense to the degree that Peeta could literally feel it boiling to the surface.
The man looked at him with such care and love. He could feel the way Cato's hand had begun rubbing the inside of his thigh, his knuckles brushing against his groin. His words made Peeta's heart beat faster while his touch made him feel passionate and erotic, arousing the same sort of sexual desire he had thought he'd reserved for Finnick. The guilt started all over again, like a cycle of emotions. Guilt, followed by something close to love, but not exactly love itself, which led to desire and all the way back to guilt again.
Cato kissed him, only this time it was deeper. His tongue pushed past Peeta's lips gracefully, his bit down on the quivering lip ever so gently, not enough to be painful, but hard enough to evoke sensation.
"God Peeta," he mumbled, breaking their kiss and staring deep into the beautiful blue eyes. His hand moved for his shirt, squeezing tightly, "I need you so much."
Peeta smiled fervidly and pushed away the guilt, letting Finnick's hand travel beneath his shirt and gently caress his milky soft skin with his fingertips.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" Cato asked with genuine concern in his voice, his other hand brushing along the bulky cast while his eyes glared at the broken arm.
Peeta hesitated. He could feel how desperately hard he was, straining to be touched, wanting so badly to be intimate after a week in hospital. The second his thoughts turned to sex, he heard Finnick's gasps and moans in his ear and his throat tightened once again.
"Sorry," Peeta mumbled as they released their grips on each other, "It's just with my arm and leg-"
"-It's okay," Cato assured with a smile, hiding his well masked disappointment and instead lying down next to Peeta. "I can settle for just being here with you."
Peeta smiled and took a hold of the man's shoulder with his good arm, pulling him closer to lay on his chest. He let out a tired yawn as Cato's head rested on him, stroking his fingers through the blonde locks gently.
"Can I ask you a question?" Cato asked quietly, his mind still preoccupied with questions that were still awaiting their own answers.
"What is it?" Peeta replied, burying his face in Cato's thick head of hair and inhaling gently.
The tall man rose from his position, sitting on the edge of the bed with both of his hands in his lap, "We haven't really spoken about your accident, I mean the last thing I wanted to do was force you to talk about while you were still in hospital."
"What do you want to know?" he asked as he began to feel his painkillers take effect and slowly make him drowsy, tempted to close his eyes and let himself be whisked away into sleep.
Cato turned his head to look at him, "Why didn't you tell me Finnick was with you?"
The question immediately pulled Peeta from his half sleep state. His half lidded eyes shot open and he slowly sat up, perhaps a little too fast given the strain he felt in his shoulder. He knew he would have to try his best not to sound guilty. "Did Noah say something to you?" he asked carefully, afraid of what the man knew.
"No," he replied, his brow furrowing in confusion, "He was in your room when I came to see you. I didn't think anything of it until I saw your blood all over his shirt."
He studied Peeta's expressions and body language very carefully, curious of what the man was hiding, if he was hiding anything at all. It was true, he hadn't given the older man's presence any real thought, he'd just assumed that Peeta was spending time with a friend when he was involved in his accident. Given the man's trepidation, a much sinister thought began weaving it's way in his mind.
"Am I missing something, Peeta?" He asked the question in more of an accusatory tone than he had meant to, but with every passing second of silence his blood began to boil. "Answer my question."
"Cato," Peeta sighed apologetically, "I fucked it all up…"
He gave up, unable to keep the secret, unsure if he would have been able to stand by his vow never to reveal the truth, in a way it already felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, his heart broke at the same time.
Peeta could already feel his tears rise to the surface. "I'm so sorry, I didn't plan it-"
"-What?" Cato asked, his tone already increasingly harsh, "What the hell did you do?"
He couldn't find the words to explain his actions. For the second time that night he didn't have a way to verbalize in words how it felt to commit a crime as bad as he had. Noah was right, there was no explaining himself out of it, there was no justification, he'd done a horrible thing.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as he stared up at the taller man he could see was growing more and more anxious and angry the longer he dwelled in silence and vagueness. "Finnick and I were together when you were away… I never told you that before."
Cato stood to his feet, recounting the one night the three of them had spent an evening together while he was blissfully unaware of the history the two of them shared. "What did you do?"
Peeta stared at him, his deep blue eyes quivering with tears. "What do you want me to say?" he asked in a pleading voice.
"I want to hear you say it," he said before exhaling deeply through his nose. "Tell me what the hell you did!"
He swallowed the lump in his throat and thought about how much it would hurt if Cato left him again, how empty and alone he would feel all over again. "We slept together… only once…"
"What?!" Cato yelled, resisting the urge to punch a hole in the wall or cause some sort of damage in an effort to temporarily rid himself of the incredible betrayal and hurt that was taking over his every thought and feeling. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
The dim room suddenly filled with light as the door opened and Noah stood in the frame, instantly noticing the tears in his brothers eyes and the body language of the man who stood over him, filled with anger.
"What's going on in here?" Noah asked sternly, already completely aware of the answer. He and Peeta shared a look for a brief moment before he decided he wasn't going to leave the two men alone.
"Nothing!" Cato grumbled, refusing to look at Peeta as he turned for the door, almost pushing past Noah on his way out.
Peeta felt his mouth dropping open but no words emerged. He didn't want to call after him or stop him. Both men watched as Cato walked down the hallway and turned for the stairs.
Finnick purged the remains of his dinner into the toilet bowl with a loud groan. He spluttered as he felt the bile release from his throat. His nose stuffed and his head spinning he fell back onto the cold tiled floor and hoped someone would put him out of his misery. As the dripping of a faucet filled his ears and a bead of sweat trickled down his brow, he longed for Peeta before once again reminding himself that it wouldn't be like the last time, he had to move on.
In a show of long forgotten strength and sheer force of will, Finnick surprised himself by not drowning his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle or calling up an old friend and scoring some cocaine. No, his illness had been brought on not by destroying his body in an attempt to subdue the heart ache he'd been stuck with for the past week, but with a flu that had developed slowly due to the cold weather and constant snowfall.
As he remained lying on his back in the cold bathroom, Finnick scolded himself for allowing himself pity. He wasn't the one injured with a broken arm and leg, covered from head to toe with bruises and scrapes like Peeta was.
It had killed him not being able to check in and inquire about his condition. That was until Noah had began sending him updates. Text messages that informed him that Peeta required a last minute surgery to repair his torn shoulder and that the surgery had been successful, the young man was recuperating well. Of course the subtext of the texts always remained the same, cleverly inserted in a polite way was a line that would read "He's doing okay, no need to worry." The message was clear, he was not to worry, which he interpreted as a request - by Noah or on Peeta's behalf, he didn't know, to no longer concern himself with the man. He was being taken care of.
There was no need. Finnick knew he would no longer allow his presence to hurt Peeta any more. He could only hope the young man was safe and warm in his home, sipping on eggnog and enjoying gingerbread biscuits made with his own hands. He knew how special Christmas was to Peeta, with it being less that a week away, Finnick could only wish that the man would have a joyous one, surrounded by the people that cared about him.
Of course he knew his own Christmas holiday would be nothing even remotely similar to the one he wished on Peeta. There would be no tree in his apartment, no wreath on his door, no Christmas cards or celebration of any kind to be had.
Finnick quickly shook off the sadness as his mind returned to his current situation. He could feel himself burning up and was too afraid to be far away from a receptacle lest he feel the need to be sick again.
Suddenly, a banging at his door filled his ears, a horrible sound he was all too familiar with. There had been too many unwanted late night visitor's and it rarely led to anything good. There was nothing that made him feel more like an asshole than someone showing up at his door late at night to call him one.
"I've got to find a place with a doorman," he muttered to himself as he somehow found the courage to peel himself off the bathroom floor and take a few wobbly steps to the door.
He knew in the back of his head that someday this day would come. He pulled the door open to reveal Cato standing tall and furious. They both knew what this was about, which was why Finnick simply stood there and allowed the tall man a free shot to the jaw.
It was hard enough to make Finnick stumble back. The taste of blood instantly filled his mouth. His head spun faster than before. In only a second he managed to straighten himself out, despite the terrible fever and the intense pain in his face. He watched as Cato stepped closer, cocking his head and making another fist. He allowed the man one free shot because frankly, he admittedly had it coming, but that was all the slack he was willing to cut.
"He told me everything," Cato grunted as he charged forth and raised his fist to Finnick again. "You're so fucking dead."
Finnick ducked as Cato's fist came colliding with his face. As the taller man stumbled forth Finnick, quick as a cat wrapped his arm around the man's neck, squeezing tightly and crushing the man's wind pipe. It took him a second or two to regain his composure as he continued to squeeze in a head lock, the logical part of his brain just trying to hold him in place to avoid being hit any more while his scorned heart forced him to squeeze tighter. When the man let out a choked gasp loosened his hold without letting him go.
"Stop," he snarled as Cato's strong hands flew up to his face, a fist colliding with this side of his head, he jerked the man onto the ground, suspended over him with one leg at each side of his body, "Are you going to calm down?"
He held the man for a few moments longer until Cato stopped resisting. Breathing sharply he let the man go and watched as he slumped onto the floor, gasping for breath for a few seconds before quickly standing up straight and collecting himself.
"What did Peeta tell you?" Finnick asked between ragged breaths, already knowing the answer but wanting it confirmed all the same.
Cato cocked his head quickly with an audible cracking of his neck, "Everything," he breathed, "You dated, you slept together last week before his accident."
Finnick nodded, quickly wiping away the drops of blood that had begun to fall from his nose with the back of his hand, "It wasn't my intention to hurt anybody, and for that I'm sorry-"
"-Fuck you!" Cato snarled, his fists already clenching again, a vein in his brow pulsing from the blood that rushed to his head, "He's mine! He was always mine! Don't apologize to me and pretend you give a shit!"
"I don't!" Finnick yelled loudly, "Believe me, I don't give a shit about you. Only him. I would do anything for him."
"Yeah?" he added with a sarcastic chuckle, taking a step closer, "Then why do I have him? Why isn't he here with you? Why would he rather end up in a hospital bed than yours?"
It sickened Finnick the way Cato spoke of him like a possession, especially because if he was, he certainly didn't belong to Finnick anymore. He curled his lip in fury, "He doesn't even love you," he said venomously with all the hatred he could muster. "That's why he kissed me, gave himself to me, told me he loved me."
Suddenly Finnick realized it wasn't all about Peeta. It was in the sense that he was the root of the conflict and confrontation. He was the source of Finnick's hatred for Cato, but now his words weren't for Peeta's benefit, they were for his own anger. Now he was using Peeta's love for him against someone who wanted it back so badly.
"I love him back," Finnick admitted wiping the anger from his face, "I don't regret what happened, and no matter what he tells you, he doesn't either."
"Bullshit!" Cato snapped, "He might not love me anymore, but he sure as hell doesn't want anything to do with you anymore either."
Finnick shook his head, "If he really forgave both of us for the many ways we fucked with him, there's only one man he'd want to be with… and it's not you."
Cato's eyes immediately searched for an item he could use as a weapon. They landed on a large ceramic vase on the end table next to the couch. Without warning, he hurled the item at Finnick, narrowly missing him before it crashed into the wall, breaking into hundreds of tiny pieces. He charged at the older man, grabbing him by the chest and hurling him onto the floor. As he raised another fist to strike his face, one of Finnick's found his own and struck hard.
Finnick rolled out from beneath the man's weight as Cato felt the full extent of the blow to his face. He furiously took Cato by the shoulders and stood him up before throwing another punch, feeling the deliriously euphoric satisfaction of his fist colliding hard with the man's flesh.
The moment was only fleeting however as Cato quickly gained the upper hand, taking advantage of his taller stature and relishing the feeling of giving back as good as he got. He struck Finnick twice in the face, first in the chest, sending the man back before charging forth once more and delivering a blow so intense it sent the man to the ground.
As Cato stepped forward, Finnick harshly swung his leg into the man's ankles, causing him to trip down onto the floor into the pieces of broken vase that were littered all over the floor. Cato gasped as he looked up to see one large piece had pierced his right hand, already drawing blood.
Finnick quickly used the moment to straddle the man's frame, pinning him down with his weight, he delivered blow after blow to Cato's face, first striking him in the jaw, then the nose once more.
Cato jerked the man off of him, grabbing him by the collar of the shirt and throwing him so hard off his body that the older man hit the wooden coffee table, breaking off two of the legs.
His face already swollen and bloody, he staggered as he rose and stood over the man bleeding on the floor. Before his anger could wane, he raised his foot and swiftly brought his heel down onto the man's stomach causing a pained grunt to emit from his mouth. He ferociously kicked him in the ribs, hoping to have caused some real damage.
He looked around the room. A broken coffee table, pieces of the vase scattered everywhere and finally at his feet, drops of his own blood landing with an audible sound.
"If I ever see you again… I'll fucking kill you," he warned in a quiet angry voice.
He turned and made his way over to the door, kicking one of the coffee table legs out of his path and listening to the crunch of the vase beneath his shoes as he walked over it. He turned the doorknob, leaving a smear of his own blood on it before pulling it open and slamming it behind him.
Finnick grabbed his side, immediately checking for signs of any damage. He could definitely feel at least two cracked ribs.
"Peeta…" he whispered quietly as he closed his eyes and wished for the man he loved to walk through the door and tell him it would all be okay.
Peeta awoke the next morning, immediately turning his neck, frowning that Cato wasn't in his bed. He sat up carefully and was surprised to see him sitting at the desk, his back turned to the bed.
"Please don't take off again," Peeta begged quietly. "I wish you could know how truly sorry I am…"
Peeta looked at him with a confused look on his face. The look turned from confused to worried as the man turned in the chair and stood up, his face covered with bruises more intense and fresh than Peeta's own.
A cut on his left eyebrow, his nose swollen and red with dried blood in the nostrils. His lower lip was also fat and bruised and his hand was bandaged.
"Wh-What the hell happened?" Peeta gasped, quickly swinging his casted leg off the bed and rising to stand on it without thinking. The pain quickly blossomed in the knee and he fell back onto the bed. Ignoring it, he looked up at Cato with concern and fear in his blue eyes.
"I got pretty fucked up last night," Cato said gruffly, as if it wasn't a big deal. "Got my ass handed to me by a couple of dickheads who I took my anger out on."
Confusion, anger and overall frustration at the curtness of the explanation made Peeta baffled. "Did you hurt anyone?" he gasped, incredulous.
"No." The man sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.
Peeta remembered the root of the events that led to his current situation, briefly forgetting as he observed the wounds scattered all over his lover. He nodded slowly, staring at the empty dark eyes that refused to look back at him.
"I forgive you," Cato muttered, his fat lip curled in anger.
"I'm sorry," Peeta whispered, offering his hand to rest over Cato's before having it yanked away.
"-Don't," Cato hissed, looking at him for a brief moment before turning away again. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."
Peeta nodded, feeling the tears sting again but forcing them down, "Okay," he replied as they sat next to each other in silence.