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I do not own the Hunger Games.
She can't remember falling asleep but she must've, sometime after she set her coffee down and snuggled into him. She had a nightmare about Cinna, but not a bad one, not one where she woke up screaming. She can't remember the details, just knows that she is shivering despite Peeta's heat. Peeta. She lies in the dark, guessing that dawn is maybe half an hour away, and sinks into his warmth, his comfort. This is what she's been craving, lying in bed alone, wondering if she loves him, finally concluding that she does. This is exactly what she needs. No, not needs (she does not need him) but wants, desires. She looks at his hands on her body, has never noticed before how big they are, compared to her tiny frame. She sets her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She wants to kiss him, but he's sleeping off the damage of yesterday, between his hand and the alcohol and her constant destruction.
When she rolls over again, after falling into a groggy half-sleep, he's awake, playing with her hair. She smiles at him, trying so hard not to give in to the contentment, the utter joy inside of her. She cannot need him.
"No nightmares?" he asks, combing through her hair. Of course not, she thinks, not with you here. But she can't tell him that; can't tell him he's the only thing that makes her nights bearable. He's probably the only thing that's making her life bearable. She can't tell him that, can she? Can't make him think she might need him…
She realizes he's still waiting for her answer.
"I had nightmares, but not too bad. They're…they're better when you're here." There, that's all she can offer him: a cowardly portion of the truth, but it's something. His lips are moving on the back of her neck, his body wrapped around hers, and she wants him. She can't want him this bad. It feels like a hunger, the hunger she felt on the beach in the second Games, a hunger of an entirely different kind. She may bean expert on hunger, but she has no idea what to do with this.
"I should go hunt," she tells him and he nods, but doesn't let go. He rolls her onto her back, hovering on top of her, and kisses her, trailing his lips down her neck onto her collarbone.
"Can you bring back a wild turkey?" he asks in between kisses, either oblivious to the way she's clinging to him, gasping in pleasure or ignoring her as some kind of tactic.
"I want to try to make a pot pie my father made, and I think turkey would work well." His teeth find her collarbone, and she makes a sound she's never heard herself make before.
"Oh God…Peeta, what are you doing?" He looks at her in surprise.
"Kissing you. Then I'll paint. Then, when you get home, I'm going to make pot pie with turkey, which may not work as well as my—"
"No," she hisses, angry that he took it so literally, trying not to arch into him as his hands stroke her hips, so perfectly. She has no idea how he makes her feel this way, and though she likes it, she doesn't want to give in to it. She needs to cling to some semblance of her independence, of how capable she would've been at winning the Games without him.
"What are you doing, here, in bed with me, in District 12?"
He gives her a perplexed look.
"Would you rather if I were in bed with you in District 2? 4? 13?"
She groans, rolling her eyes, and starts to pull away from him, but he draws her back, placing kisses on her neck and even her ears as he whispers, "I'm kidding. You're asking me what I'm doing with you, yes?" She nods, loving the feel of his teeth on her earlobe.
"I'm with you because I have no idea what I'd do without you."
She sighs into him, relaxing into his arms, even letting him kiss her, before the full weight of his words takes effect. He feels her pull away, is ever so aware of the constant fluctuations in her mood, this game of push and pull that they play.
"You've paid off all your debts to me," she tells him, trying so hard to make it sound like it's not about love or need. "You've paid them off in full and then some." He shakes his head at her.
"That's not why I'm here," he whispers. "I'm here because I don't know what I'd do without you. You're my whole life, remember?" He smiles at her, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I'm sorry," he says, sincerely. "We just started sleeping in the same bed again, I probably don't need to be kissing you like that yet, do I?"
She smiles at his genuineness; he doesn't hide anything. It's she who's hidden so much, all this time, who is still hiding how she feels and what she's fighting against.
"I…I like it," she tells him, choosing her words carefully. "I just…"
She's cut off by him swinging his legs out of the bed, not in an angry way, but he puts a stop to her speech nonetheless.
"You hunt, I'll paint, and we can talk later. Or not," he amends, seeing the look on her face. "We don't have to talk about it. I don't mind if you keep pulling away, as long as you always come back." He kisses her forehead before he heads downstairs to paint in his pajamas.
She's disoriented, heading to her room to pull on clothes, and she finds herself stuffing the wrong foot in her boot in a daze. He was kissing her, and not just kissing her but touching her, making her feel completely loved. His lips make her tingle, all over, and his hands are so incredible, so warm and so big. She always forgets the steadiness he brings to everything, how much safer everything feels when he's around. He's probably the reason she's regaining her sanity, she realizes, and though she doesn't like this thought, once it's there, there's no displacing it. It's absolutely true. Her world was spinning, completely out of control, everything on fire, burned to ash. He brings a cool, steadying force to everything, makes her feel like the spinning will stop and that maybe something good could come out of the ashes.
She sees movement in the distance and gets excited—the supply train is even bigger than usual, which is great, because she'd hoped someone was going to bring them gardening tools now that summer's in full bloom. She needs more than her hands and the big shovel to give the primrose bushes due diligence.
But as she's heading towards the train, shielding her eyes and wondering if she can still go to the woods, leave the supplies to Peeta and Haymitch, she starts screaming. And then she's bolted back into the house, screaming the name of the only person who can still save her.
I'm sorry for the cliffy! It just had to be done. I'll update soon, promise!