As always, thank you to Chelzie for her stellar betaness.
Happy Spring!
They fell against the wall together. They struggled for air, through heat and starlight and dust. In the attic, in the dark, in each other's arms. Over Peeta's shoulder, Kat focused on a scarf hanging from the costume rack, limp and flushed pink. She had just kissed her best friend. The recollection burned her cheeks, because she'd liked it, because it had put Gale's attempt to shame, because it felt like her first real kiss, and because it was the first one where she'd actually wanted more. And more.
She'd been so lost in Peeta's mouth, in every time he'd inched back and then slanted over her again. They'd kissed each other throughout the entire second movement of the symphony and good portion of the third. They'd kissed so thoroughly that her lips still felt restless.
In the times she envisioned being with Peeta, she'd imagined it taking place somewhere beneath the stars, perhaps on the roof where they liked to sit at night or beside the lake. She pictured it to be soft and sweet, quietly romantic. Not the pent-up kiss it actually had been.
His body, his weight. The toe of his shoe was braced over hers. That's how packed together they'd become.
Finally, she found the right words. The necessary ones. "Get off my foot."
Peeta pulled back, arching a golden brow. "So you can run?"
"So my circulation can return to normal."
Resting his forehead against her temple, he went ahead and said something beautifully terrible, as he always did. "I want to live in this moment."
Delight and heartache. Both of them tangled up. "Well, I want my foot back."
He obeyed but kept her trapped. "Katniss, no. I'm not giving you time to avoid this, or to think about this."
"Why?"
"Because you'll talk yourself out of it."
"Out of what?"
He took her face in his hands, thumbing her cheeks. He beamed, his happiness unfolding, spreading like wings in the shadows. "I have so much to say. I missed you so much when I was gone. I . . . even with girls, when I flirted with Annie until Finnick got to her, it didn't feel right. I wanted it to feel right, but it didn't. I couldn't understand why. I just knew that only your letters gave me pleasure. They dulled the ache and made it worse at the same time.
"When I came home and saw you again, I felt an indescribable . . . fullness. You were my home, and I had you there, just within reach. And you were beautiful and daring as ever. And I just wanted you. I've always adored you, but right then, I wanted . . . this. I tried to pretend and go on as usual, but all I've truly wanted was this—"
"You shouldn't."
"Why not? If I'm honest with myself, I've been feeling this way my whole life."
"Peeta, don't confuse things. It—"
"You can't tell me this was nothing. It's never been nothing, Kat. You kissed me back."
"Of course I did. You're handsome and good at it, and I need the practice." When Peeta grinned, she scowled. "I'm not joking."
"I'm scared, too," he admitted.
The words punched through like a fist. Kat clamped her eyes shut and dissolved, letting him gather her into his arms, hating and relishing the comfort. "Say something," he tried, his breath on her neck. "Something real. Please."
"Later," she spoke into his collar. "Talking will ruin things."
He sighed, and that was fine for now, because they needed this respite, this pause before the inevitable happened. Because she knew better. Everything they had, everything they'd built, was already ruined.
Retreating back into the Mellarks' box for the final movement, Kat slumped into her chair and stared dumbly at the orchestra, swaying about in a tide of sound. She sensed Peeta's return to the Cartwrights' box, his blue eyes entreating her to glance his way. But if she let herself look at him, if she allowed it, every emotion cascading through her would be plain on her face. And if that happened, somehow they'd both find a way to cause a scene. They were masters at that.
On the journey home, she pretended to sleep so that Mr. Mellark and Effie wouldn't burden her with questions or chatter. To Kat's relief, she made it back to the house before Peeta did, although they'd agreed—without actually agreeing—to give each other space.
Sleep wasn't going to happen. In bed, she pushed her face into the pillow and pounded her toes into the mattress, resisting the impulse to rush to his room. Instead, she tore off the sheets and went to the next best place. The kitchen.
kpkpkpkpkp
"You did what?" Greasy Sae dropped into a chair at the prepping table, red flags of shock riding up her cheeks. "At the theatre? In public?"
"In private," Katniss corrected, sitting across from her, strangling a mug of warm milk and honey.
"For mercy's sake, child. That's not much better. If anyone saw you—"
"We were in the attic."
The clock struck midnight. The entire house slumbered except for her and Sae, the two of them tucked in, candles twitching between them as she recounted the story aloud. Everything except the bit about lusting after Peeta, the sheen of his lips, the sweep of his tongue. The taste of him.
Finnick Odair was right. She carried a torch for Peeta, a torch so bright she wouldn't be surprised if people living on the moon could see it. Even in this cold, dismally-lit kitchen, he affected her. If she gazed to the right, she would see cupboards filled with the jars of raisins and almonds and grain that Peeta used for baking. If she looked overhead, she'd see the bundles of dried lavender and fresh rosemary that he added to cakes and cookie dough. Kat's head thunked onto the table, where years of meals had seeped into the wood, the permanent smell of lemons and carrots. Of milled flour.
She burst into tears.
"Ah, girl." Sae's hands covered hers around the mug. "It couldn't have been all that bad."
"I don't want things to change. I don't want to lose him."
"Fiddlesticks! I've been serving you since your eleventh year. That's long enough to know when too much hot air has gone to your head. You're permitting fear and stubbornness and drama to cloud your reasoning. Things always change, girl. You find yourself knee-deep before you know what's happened. This isn't the time to tuck tail. You need to talk with him."
Sae rose, came around the table, and knelt beside her. Kat twisted in her seat, wrapping her arms around the woman.
Change took her parents from her. Change took Gale from her. Change took her home from her. Would it take Peeta from her, too?
"There, there." The cook rubbed Katniss's back. "You know better. If there's one person you'll never lose, it's that boy. You've made a thousand mistakes, and he's still here, isn't he?"
Katniss drew back, wiping her eyes. "I can't guess why."
Sae chuckled. "Sometimes our minds take a while to catch up with our hearts."
"That's a platitude," she criticized with a sniffle.
"Very well." Sae tucked a wisp of hair behind Kat's ear. "It's because he's in love with you."
Kat shook her head. "No."
Peeta had desired her as much as she'd desired him, but he's in love with you wasn't possible. They couldn't allow it to be. She may have urgent feelings for him, but that didn't mean his feelings matched her own, no matter that his lips and hands had responded to her. However much Peeta cared for her, however deeply she cared for him, she refused to call it love. Friendship was safer, permanent.
So the next morning, she prepared to face that. From a hanger, she snatched a frock of soft, honeydew cashmere, the color pretty but practical. A subdued, friendly sort of color, the kind meant to call a ceasefire to temptation. The yarn brushed her skin as she dressed herself, not bothering to wait for the maid. She never liked someone else tending to her anyway, as though she were a doll.
The corset was a problem, but she managed. If she could wield a bow, she could tie a few silly strings from behind. She also threaded her own hair into a side braid, opting for a looser style, letting rogue wisps fall around her face. Sae and Effie would have vouched for a proper updo instead, but while demure, it would also seem uptight and formal, and that would be going too far with Peeta.
When Kat headed for the door, she discovered that all her effort had been wasted. Someone with familiar, loopy handwriting had slipped a note beneath the crack.
The bakery needs me unexpectedly this morning. I had to leave, but I'll return in the afternoon. Please be there when I do.
~P
Katniss flopped onto her bed, the note crushed between her fingers as she glared at the ceiling. She'd dressed and then rehearsed for an hour what she would say, but would now have to endure hours of waiting.
Archery was out of the question, since Mr. Mellark had sentenced her to disciplinary probation until he was good and ready to trust her. Yesterday before the symphony, she'd finished drafting a fundraising letter for endangered mockingjays, on behalf of the Young Ladies Committee, so that was done. It was also too early to call on Johanna.
She could write to Gale. As soon as possible, she wanted to settle what happened in the woods, and to apologize on behalf of Deliah and the D12 Post. Still, she'd rather make amends in person. The problem was she couldn't be seen visiting him, not with everyone's eyes on her. That would compound the scandal.
A letter would have to do for now. A few hours hence would be an appropriate time to write and send it.
Until then, there was only one other thing that could successfully occupy her: food. She took a long breakfast with her guardian, then munched on fruit in the solarium while reading a book about plants. At midday, a lunch invitation arrived from Effie, severing Kat's plans to finally write Gale. She groaned, the distinct whiff of Agenda rising from the paper like a fume.
After Effie's carriage pulled up to the Mellarks' townhouse on the hour, they rode to the sort of fashionable eatery where everything on the menu was either unpronounceable or still in possession of its head. They dined in a private room, which made absolutely no sense to Katniss. If they were going to be alone, why not have their meal at Effie's house?
"To be seen but not heard," Effie clarified, unfolding her napkin and snapping it out so hard that Kat twitched. "To maintain a healthy public presence, for your sake. To give our audience the impression of innocence, all the while we discuss something exclusive."
That explained why Effie had chosen this particular room, with its glass walls. People could see Effie and Katniss from their tables, yet the arrangement prevented the nosy spectators from eavesdropping. Life in District 12, carefully plotted. Always a game, always a show.
Exhaustion settled on Katniss's shoulders. Against her very nature, she lost her appetite.
Effie ordered them an unpronounceable, which simply turned out to be pheasant with a savory of caramelized butternut squash, and a smidgen of cream and walnuts. If Peeta were here, Kat would declare that she wanted to try every dessert on the menu, he would tease her to pace herself, and they would pick off of one another's plates. They would serve each other from the platters, knowing without having to ask what the other wanted to taste, knowing the right portion of sweets to serve.
"Sit up straight," Effie instructed. "And smile. And eat. You have the air of the lovelorn, and I have reasons for bringing you here, which cannot be achieved if your face turns purple. I want to see that pheasant gone by the time I finish my tea. And I told you to smile."
"I'm not lovelorn."
"Oh, goodie. Denial. At least you and my grandnephew have been consistent all these years." Before Katniss could inquire what that meant, Effie asked, "Aren't you curious why else I'm being so calculated? This is a delicate matter. Therefore, I'm going to speak delicately."
"By all means. Anything's possible."
"You're in love with Peeta."
Kat's fork clattered onto her plate. Effie tsked. "You see? This racket is another reason why I requested the room. Katniss, do close your mouth. You look like a blowfish."
"I . . . I . . ."
"Mmm-hmm. Quite." Effie resumed cutting into her own dish. "You belong together. I knew it from the moment I saw him holding your soot-covered little hand—you'd been hiding in the chimney when we were introduced, remember? Anyway, since neither of you have come up to snuff, I felt it was due time to stage an intervention—I'm not finished," she stressed when Kat opened her mouth to argue. "I'm not getting any younger; my patience has worn thin. As much as I hoped you'd figure it out for yourselves, it seems I have to do everything in this family. Therefore, Katniss: You love him, he loves you, and I would love to see a litter before I die."
Kat worked to pick her jaw up off the table. "On my birthday, you said Peeta would end up engaged to Deliah."
"Did you believe me?"
"Only until I realized you were overreacting."
"On the contrary. I wasn't overreacting, I was baiting you. I deliberately made that ridiculous prediction so that you would open your eyes. I wanted you to consult your feelings once and for all, I wanted you jealous, and I wanted you to take action. Are you aware that you haven't refuted what I said?"
You're in love with Peeta.
Objections crowded her tongue. But just then, a large figure passing by the translucent wall diverted Kat, who recognized the olive skin, dark hair, and athletic build. "Gale," she said aloud, which despite the wall separating them, somehow flagged his attention. He halted mid-step, glanced sideways at her, and his gray eyes twinkled, relieving her to the tips of her toes. "It's Gale," she repeated stupidly.
"Why don't I find that to our benefit?" Effie remarked.
In the space of a moment, Katniss tallied the moves and countermoves, sensing Gale doing the same. People in the dining hall had taken note of the scene. If Gale walked away, it would give the impression he was ashamed of what they'd done, or that they'd done anything wrong at all. It would also be considered an affront to her and her great aunt, to be cut down.
Based on the harrowed look on Effie's face, the woman agreed. If they merely nodded at him and went about their business, it would seem just as guilty. Keeping a distance might be a wise tactic, but it would also imply discomfort around one another, which would imply something sordid or theatrical had happened between them. But if they acknowledged Gale by welcoming him into the room, it might confirm a more serious attachment than existed.
Kat hated this game, but she played for her family and Gale's sakes. She took the first step by nodding at him and offering a half-smile. That would show she had nothing to fear from him, while offering him the opportunity respond appropriately, gallantly. Gale caught on and nodded back, then tapped his knuckles on the glass.
"Oh, for pity's sake," Effie complained, beckoning him inside.
There. A dance perfected for the spectators.
Gale opened the door and closed it behind him, stationing himself just inside the room, maintaining a formal distance. Unfortunately, that meant this was going to be brief. And sadly necessary, no matter how much Kat wanted to embrace him, to have an honest talk somewhere far from an audience. Somewhere in the forest where they hunted.
Katniss struggled through the introductions. Effie offered Gale a curt inclination of the head.
"I only have a moment," Gale said, by way of apology. "I'm meeting with Mayor Undersee and his daughter. They've shown a fondness for my squirrels."
"Oooh, a delicacy," Effie sang. "I dined on squirrel once and fell deathly ill for three days. One would think the innards of that varmint poisonous, but of course, what else could one expect from such a pointless creature. It's a wonder that they're an enterprise at all."
Katniss glowered. Gale clasped his hands behind his back, narrowing his gaze at Effie. "Perhaps the meat wasn't roasted thoroughly."
"My cook isn't incompetent, young man."
"And I'm not out to poison anyone, my lady."
"Well, bravo, then. You've reassured me."
"I'm at your service."
"I should hope so. Now, if you don't mind, might you two hurry up and address the kiss before our meal's over?"
Gale and Kat gaped at Effie, who simply waited.
"About the Post," Katniss began to apologize.
"Don't." He shook his head. "It's my fault. It was too impulsive. You shouldn't have been put in that position. I should have waited to see how you felt . . ." Gale stared at her intently, wordlessly asking, but whatever emotion tripped across her face made him look sad. "That settles it, I guess. I can also guess why." He tried to smile. "He'd better deserve you."
Katniss's eyes stung. Her life could go on. She could snatch Gale, she could say yes to everything he asked of her, and they would enjoy one another. Gale would stay with her and she would have a good life. A happy life.
But it wouldn't be the life she wanted. He would never be Peeta.
Her sensible mind told her this was an unwise choice. The district would think her crazy for choosing spinsterhood over a flesh and blood suitor, but her heart told her that Gale was meant for someone else.
They drifted into awkwardness. She didn't know what to say other than, "Will you be all right?"
"As long as you'll be," he said.
"Well . . . enjoy your lunch with the Undersees. They're good people, especially Madge—um, Miss Undersee. She's always been nice to me."
Gale's expression warmed. "Yes. She's very nice." He hesitated, inclining his head and lowering his voice. "Are you under house arrest?"
"For a spell."
"And then afterward?"
Katniss's spirits lifted. "If we go, I'll need a companion. My guardian won't budge on that."
"Then I'll see you both in the forest."
She watched him leave. She'd wounded him today. But hope simmered that soon enough, they would be fine; they would find their way back to hunting, and it would no longer be in secret. Perhaps she would invite Johanna to the woods with them. Or Madge instead.
kpkpkpkpkp
By some miracle, Katniss made it back home in one emotional piece. Clouds sailed by the windows, heralding a spring rain possibly by nightfall. She could practically smell the sweet dampness of it.
Peeta would be home any moment. Where should they talk? Was there some neutral ground on which she could trust herself to think—and act—straight? It seemed that every part of this house had suffered the tension between them.
The study. Yes. A place of business, arranged with sturdy leather-bound spines and pages of knowledge, philosophy . . . and stories. Romances and, blast it all, poetry. Oh, well. It would suffice. They hadn't argued in the study yet; it held no strained memories sure to preoccupy them.
Unfortunately, it was occupied. By the unlit hearth, Mr. Mellark twisted in a wingback chair, poking his head around the frame and spotting her on the threshold. With a book resting in his lap, he swiped off his reading glasses and smiled. His stockings and slippers peeked from under the hems of his trousers, endearing him to her.
"I'm disturbing you," she said.
"Never, my dear. Come in."
"I was just waiting for Peeta."
"Still going at each other's throats, are you?"
He didn't know the half of it. They'd definitely been down one another's throats last night, except instead of with sharp words, it had been with their tongues.
Katniss ducked her head so that he wouldn't see the truth. She heard the book close and plop onto the side table. "As it is, my time here is done. It's been a long day, and I could use a rest," he announced, a languid stretch to his voice. "I'll leave you to settle your angst in private."
"What about your book?"
"The characters will still be quarreling when I get back." Mr. Mellark stood, crossed over, and took her hands in his. "I trust that reality won't mirror fiction?"
"I'm not good at talking," Katniss cautioned.
"You are when you're not being told what to say, how to behave, or what to feel. When you open your heart without thinking about it."
"That's also gotten me into trouble."
"True," he chuckled. "You'll both figure it out."
"Will we? Does it get easier to figure out what to say?"
His voice chimed with tenderness. "I saw it in him the very Christmas night you came knocking on our door. I know my son, and I know you. I know my Everlark. I was married once; I know those looks. To that end, I approve."
Katniss's mouth parted. He knew how she felt, yet the man was grinning. The thought made him happy.
Gently, he tugged on her braid and left her to the quiet. The very loud quiet. She stared at the carpet, taking stock of everyone who understood what she and Peeta hadn't, what had been clear to the world except them. She didn't like it. In fact, as dear as all these people were to her, she resented them knowing first, as if she'd lost some hold on what she and Peeta shared, some control over it, some say in what did and didn't happen between them.
This was their friendship, their feelings. Those things belonged to them. No one else.
Something long and fluffy bumped against her calf. Katniss glanced down at the ugliest cat known to man: Buttercup, Sae's pudgy feline. Usually, the tabby was hiding under tables, avoiding humanity and storing up each of its nine lives.
Now, it was raining. The shower pelted the windows, blurring the world outdoors, and for some reason, Buttercup was being nice to Katniss. And for some reason, Katniss wanted to be nice back. Maybe because the cat only materialized when Peeta was around, and it seemed anxious, its patience worn. It had an itch only the boy could scratch and wanted satisfaction in his absence.
Katniss sank to her knees and stroked Buttercup's orange girth. The cat whimpered for good measure, and Kat sighed. "You miss him? I know how you feel." She closed her eyes and whispered, "I love Peeta, too."
"Meow!" The cat slipped through her digits. "Meeeooow!"
Kat's eyes sprang open as she whirled, her gaze following a thrilled Buttercup as it shot across the carpet and wound itself around a pair of masculine legs. Her breath caught, her heart like a bruise in her chest. Kat couldn't look up, but she had to. She forced herself.
Peeta was standing there, watching her.
In his hand was a bouquet of wild flowers, the exposed roots telling her that he'd picked them on the way here. Though he'd clearly forgotten them the instant he entered, because they dangled loosely from his fingers, in danger of slipping to the floor. His stare went to the marrow of her bones, sending fissures streaking through her. A stack of excuses, the list of long enough to wallpaper the house, piled on her lips. It took the utmost restraint for her not to bolt from the room.
His expression couldn't have been more slack with shock. The euphoric kind, the very picture of disbelief and joy. If she didn't do something immediately, he was going to make her repeat herself—more than once.
She stumbled to her feet. "I meant—I only meant it in friendship," she sputtered. "I love you as a friend."
The effect was terrible, that brilliant smile rolling off him, disappearing. "You don't mean that," he said.
"I don't?"
"I mean—yes, you mean it, but . . . the kiss."
"You've kissed plenty of girls."
"It's not the same. They weren't you. Do you honestly think I would have pursued any of them, if I'd thought you would have ever kissed me back?"
"You weren't infatuated back then. You said so yourself. It didn't happen until you came back."
"Jesus, it's not infatuation. I told you: I've been feeling this way forever. I was unaware. If you'd said something, I would have snapped out of it. I know that."
Buttercup wasn't pleased about being ignored. The cat swiped Peeta's pant leg, hiked up its tail, and exited the room with a departing hiss.
Katniss was helpless to stop Peeta approaching her, capturing her cheek in his free hand, burning her with his touch. "I don't regret it," he said, searching her face. "Do you?"
"Yes."
"You're lying."
"This can't happen."
"Why, Kat?"
She shoved his chest. "Because I don't want it to! I don't want you that way! I realized that when I kissed you!"
That wrung a good and pained look from him. He turned, requesting a moment to process what he'd heard.
What she meant to say was, I don't want to want you that way. I don't want to love you. I don't want to hurt you. Yet who was she trying to fool?
And even if this didn't put their friendship at risk, she was a mess, just like Deliah had said. Katniss Everdeen may be his best friend, his family, and his partner-in-crime, but when it came to more, she was wasn't good enough for him. She would rather be alone than pretend she was.
Peeta kept his back to her. "You saw Gale today."
She didn't bother asking how he knew. Besides, he was drawing the wrong conclusion.
"I didn't choose him. But I can't choose you, either," she tried to explain, tried to swallow, tried not to cry, tried with everything she had to keep her distance from him. "It's just . . . Peeta, the more mistakes we make, the more confused I get."
They listened to the rain slapping the windows, little gray pellets sliding down the glass and splashing apart.
Peeta didn't turn back around. Carefully, he set the wildflowers—goldenrods—on top of the book his father had been reading. A scene where people had been fighting, probably over nothing but lies.
"Well, let me know when you figure things out," he said before walking away.
Countdown, my friends: Two more chapters left + epilogue ;)
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