A/N: I'm beginning to wonder if you guys are still enjoying these or if they just make you laugh at the ridiculousness. Enjoy. -Taryn

07: Rain

She wouldn't move.

It was not so much as that she refused, it was that she didn't think she had any other place to be. Nothing save the very spot she laid on seemed important. There was nothing compelling her elsewhere and no one who could sway her determination.

Katniss, quite simply, couldn't–wouldn't–pull herself up from the floor of her shower.

She lay there, half curled up around herself, arms hugging loosely to her knees, hair just stains of black ink that withered and slithered against the white, polished plastic, flowing with the rivulets of water that washed over her olive toned flesh. Sometimes her eyes would be open, though they were better off closed, because she didn't see anything, and she only heard the rhythmic beat of the rain falling over her.

Many had tried to sway her. First, since neither Peeta nor Haymitch dared enter the bathroom, in fear of offending her or getting themselves in a sticky situation, they made a desperate call; Effie. She raved at Katniss, about proper living and the amount of time a real lady should spend in a shower. When things got desperate, Effie even poked her head inside the shower, peering around the glass door. But as much as everyone knew Katniss cared for manners and etiquette, she didn't even blink, nor stir at Effie's encouragements, or flurried, frustrated lectures.

Their calls got a little more desperate. Johanna wasn't very enthused about the situation, it being water that Katniss clung to and so she narrowed her eyes at Peeta as they stood outside the bathroom door and he filled her in on what was going on. "You mean to tell me that lazy, no good, friend of mine is just laying there, underneath the shower, and I'm the one that can get her out?" Johanna voiced, suspiciously. "Is this some sort of test to get over my fear of water? Because I'm already through with that." She peered into the bathroom, where the sound of the rushing, pitter-patter could be heard. "How do I win? Do I just jump in there with her? Or do I have to do something a little more extreme, to prove to you that, really, I'm not afraid?"

Once she was set straight by Peeta, about it really being the stubborn Katniss, inconveniently in the shower, hiding from the world, and refusing to get up, Jo plopped herself down on the floor next to the glass door and stared at the Mockingjay very steadily, for what seemed a rather long time.

Then she said, "There's nothing I can do, to get you out, is there?"

Katniss' previously vacant, non-focused eyes flickered and centered on the woman for a heartbeat. She made a noise, that was neither a hum nor grunt, but it was something. Afterward, her eyes closed and her arms contorted slightly, tightening her knees to her breasts.

Johanna shrugged at the concerned Peeta waiting downstairs and was out of the district by that night.

Haymitch complained all the next day at Peeta, who stood outside the door, slumped against the wood, hand protectively hovering over the handle. "No," Peeta said, more than once, "I'm not gonna let you in there."

"And why not?" Haymitch demanded, slurring. A little more than drunk. "If I don't physically drag her out of there, who will? She sure as hell won't do it. It's been four days and she hasn't eaten a thing that Effie or Johanna brought her."

"You're not going to just go in there and rip her out," Peeta said, wavering a little in his worry about the food. Then he hardened himself, he was doing the right thing. "It's not just a physical thing, Haymitch. You can't just pull her out of the shower, because mentally she'll still want to be there, and will be there, to her. I want Katniss back, not the girl you hauled across the tiles, dressed, and forced food into her mouth."

"Then that's too bad," Haymitch snapped and more than staggered his way down the stairs, fumbling twice before he managed to slam the door efficiently. He didn't come back.

On the sixth day, Peeta had been making Greasy Sae bring Katniss food, though usually the old woman would shake her head sadly, bringing out mostly untouched plates, except for a nibble there, or a half bite here. He started to flip through other people he knew that could come; Annie, her mother.. but the list ended there. He knew that Annie wouldn't–couldn't–come, and her help, if there was any at all, would be feeble. Bringing her mother might only make Katniss want to stay in there longer.

He thought of Gale, but decided he would rather let Haymitch have a go at her first.

When the seventh day came and went and he could not think of one other person who might have had an influence on Katniss, he knew it was his turn to go. His reluctance to go before a week had passed sprouted from general respect and gentlemen rule, as well as a pit of paranoia. Peeta had thought that Katniss chose that specific hiding spot, because it would deter him, most of all. Perhaps she figured the bed wasn't a good place to hide, because Peeta could get to her there, as well as the couch or forest, and so she was reduced to the shower; something she must have figured Peeta would at least stall before jumping into. Peeta couldn't decide if she was trying to send a message, without triggering his.. darker moments, and that she feared him so much, that she could not simply speak out about her wish to separate.

Part of him knew they were ridiculous and frivolous theories, but all the same, his wish for her to better and for her well-being, was higher than his own concerns or insecurities. He had hesitated, merely in concern for her wishes, her modesty, for seven days, so when he woke up on the eighth, he walked straight to that bathroom door, opened it, and slipped inside, with no amount of vacillation.

"Katniss," he started, closing the door behind himself, "I made you breakfast."

She didn't stir, eye closed, the water falling like rain steadily over her.

"Katniss," Peeta tempted, walking forward, eyes only for her face. "I.." but he had nothing to say. What? Well, if you get up now, I'm sure.. what? What was it Katniss wanted? Nothing. Nothing, save to lay in that shower, undisturbed.

There was only what he wanted; for her to get up.

"Katniss," Peeta murmured, reaching the shower and sinking to his knees in front of the glass, to be level with her. "Katniss, I need you, please. Get up."

She was listening, at least, because he saw her fists tighten.

"I can't sleep alone."

"I need you, Katniss."

"Get up, for me."

"Get up for yourself.. eat something."

Peeta sighed when she gave no further sign of hearing him. He situated himself crossed-legged on the tiles and fixated his eyes on her closed lids. "You don't have to get out.." he whispered, "but will you at least talk to me, or look at me.. or move?"

In response Katniss made a noise, and her eyes opened momentarily to stare up at Peeta, whose face broke into a timid smile, an encouragement. Unfortunately, she merely gave her shoulders a shrug of complaint and rolled over in a lumberously slow way, her back to him.

Peeta stared at the few freckles that danced down from her shoulders for several silence moments.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, voice barely loud enough to be heard above the hiss of the shower. He lifted a hand and laid it against the glass, and for a moment he felt a memory sink its claws through his mind and he was pulled into another time, another place. Around him he heard others, like Beetee and Johanna, and he saw the forest, and he saw Katniss' distressed face just in front of his, alive and flushed and breathless as she pressed her hand against his, but he couldn't feel her hand–something was between them.

Just as quickly the memory came, it was gone. He searched his mind frantically for anything shiny or of bad thoughts, but there was none; not now, at least. Which only furthered his feelings of leaving.

"Katniss.. do you want me to leave?"

"Forever?" came a small, hoarse croak, and Peeta's heart leapt into his throat.

"Forever," he confirmed.

There was silence again, as he wondered what her face was showing. Her shoulders were tense, and she shifted around a bit, before she spoke again, "Don't leave."

"Will you get out?" he asked her, relief flooding his voice.

…"No."

"Then why should I stay? If I'm suppose to stand back and watch you starve yourself, then I won't stay. I can't. I can't sit around and wonder if you're ever going to speak again, or if your eyes will open, or.." he broke off in his rant when Katniss made a sharp sound.

It was only when she shifted an arm and pulled a hand over her face, that he realized she was sobbing.

Panic sank its teeth into his heart, at the sound, at the sight of her shaking shoulders. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her cry. They'd been living together for months, shared beds and nightmares, but he'd yet to see her cry... and no matter how hard he searched his mind, no memory that was safe, consisted of her tears.

He found himself pressing himself closer to the shower, wanting to touch her and soothe her.

"Katniss, what's the matter? Why.. was it something I said? I'm sorry."

She merely gave a few jerking shakes of her head, hair slapping against her back and the shower floor.

"Can.. I.." Peeta started, uncertain of how to phrase..

Katniss made a gasp of sorts, letting her hand fall away from her face, as she nodded, bobbing her head in a sloppy, incoherent order. Peeta didn't hesitate. He pulled the shower open and crawled inside, uncaring of his clothes, as he reached for her and ran his hand through her tangled, dripping hair.

"Katniss!" he exclaimed. "This water's freezing!" He gathered her to him, shuddering at the icy rain that fell over him, devouring his dry clothes and he didn't allow the fact that she was naked, pressed into his chest, sitting in his lap, wet and willing, perturb him.

He stroked her hair and ran the other hand up and down her bare back, as she buried her face into the collar of his shirt. She was still limp, no life in her except for the wretched sobs that shook her whole form. "I'm sorry," she breathed through the shaking, and he realized she was shivering, too, cold lips pressing into the hot sink of his neck, moving as she spoke, "Don't leave... please.."

"I promise," he said, pressing his cheek into her hair, he pulled her tighter into him, "I won't leave."

"Stay here, with me," she said.

"Always."

And it seemed that brought some energy back to her, because her hands suddenly moved, lifting to his stomach and side, twisting her shaking, pale fingers into the wet fabric of his shirt, until he felt the bite of her fingernails. Katniss pushed her face deeper into his collarbone and whisked her eyes shut, eyelashes tickling his goose-flesh covered skin. "Right, here."

Peeta thought about it, already beginning to grow uncomfortable in the cold and the wet. "I'll stay.." he started, thinking, trying to step carefully, "..I'd stay, as long as it took for you to find it in yourself to get out.. you know I would.. but.." Katniss deflated against him. "But, I like eating, and taking my medicine and sleeping in a bed."

"You hate medicine," she whispered, starting to control her sobbing, but still shivering. She drew him closer, using her hands, and turned her face so that her lips touched his jaw, in an icy kiss, as a plea.

Peeta leaned into the back wall of the shower, attempting to pull his chest away from her bare breasts, and hoping to pry distance between their stomachs, staunched together. He closed his eyes as his face tipped back, and the water blinded him. Katniss merely curled closer, and pulled him deeper into her.

"Stay," she whispered. "Stay with me. Here."

He felt as though she was trying to pull him into her pit of despair. She wanted a companion in her pain, in her immobility. Katniss wanted to lay in the shower forever, underneath the rain of ice, and all he had managed to do was convince her she didn't want to do it alone. Peeta knew he couldn't give in, no matter how much he loved holding her in his arms, or how nice, yet strange, it was to hear her beg him to stay with her. If he stayed, she might succeed in pulling him into a bad place, that he didn't want to be, and influence him in a direction that recovery frowned upon. Next thing he would know, it might just be him and Katniss, that Haymitch dragged out the shower by an arm or fistful of hair.

He couldn't condone to this bad habit, and become a part of it. Perhaps that's why it was so tempting to accept to it; the fact that he wasn't allowed, and that it veered off the doctor's specific day-to-day schedule.

Peeta knew that he couldn't stay, and, she wouldn't move.

Peeta loosened his hold on her, and dropped his face forward, twisting away from her. It tore at his heart to do it, to see her grey eyes land on his face as he withdrew from her, hurt and dull, as she sank into the shower floor again, reaching for her knees.

Almost on a split regret, his hand shot out again and caught one of her wrists and he pulled it to his lips.

"Stay with me," he said, for once. "Come with me, stay with me.."

Katniss wavered, eyes uncertain, lost. She didn't seem herself, didn't look like herself, pale and skin softened by the water. They focused on his piercing gaze, as though she didn't understand what he was asking her, then they dropped to her hand, knuckles pressed into his lips, feeling his hot breath. They closed slowly, tightly, unbearably. "Where?"

"With me, everywhere."

She didn't understand, her head didn't grasp his plea, his compromise, his need. "Where?" she said, voice a little stronger, a little irritated, agitated by the fact that he wasn't answering her directly.

Peeta felt a smile ghost across his face, happy to hear that, to know Katniss was still in there, somewhere. Her eyes flew open when she felt the tug of his lips against her skin; they narrowed some, wondering why he was smiling. "Where?" she snapped softly.

His smile widened, and her hand turned into a fist against his face, ripping from his hold, folding itself protectively against her chest with the other. She hadn't understood that was him asking her never to leave him, that he wanted her to be his forever, she couldn't see, couldn't understand the underlining sentiment, so he decided to leave it out, and answer her in the way she wanted; literally, logically and straight forward. "Come to the bedroom, so we can dry you off and dress you and then come to me into the kitchen, and I'll make you hot chocolate and fresh, hot cheese buns.."

"I don't.." she faltered.

"You don't?"

"I don't think I can," she whispered, screwing her eyes shut, and preparing to turn over, to put her back to him, but he caught her gently by the shoulder.

"That's what I'm here for," Peeta said. "To help you when you need it. To do the things you can't."

Katniss said and did nothing, stiff underneath his hand, and he realized this was her, submitting, allowing it. That silent, unmoving behavior was her pleading him for his help, and Peeta had never hesitated to help her before.

"Come on," he whispered, leaning forward momentarily, to gather her against his chest and ghost his lips over her cheek, "let's get you into something dry."

The moment he stood and walked across the bathroom, Katniss turned into him, arms slinging around his neck, and clinging. "Real or not real.." she started... "we were young, in school, still, and it was raining... and you picked up my papers.."

Peeta was baffled, running through memories of rain. "Real.. I think.."

"And you had soft hands," she sighed.

"I did?"

Katniss hummed in response, and Peeta didn't care if that was true or not, he was just glad he'd finally pulled Katniss from her stupor, that she was speaking and moving and that he wasn't ever going to hesitate ever again.