*deep breath* Okay, here we are at last... This took me months longer than I expected it to and I can only hope it's not a complete disappointment.
The reason it ended up being so delayed is that I decided to expand on it and change the POV around. Originally it was all Katniss' POV, now it's divided between the two of them (Katniss' POV is in italics). In making this change I expanded a lot on Peeta's part and in the middle of doing so, and re-writing what I had previously written from Katniss' POV, I got a really bad case of writer's block. And between work and life I've simply been too exhausted to do any work on this.
I know I've said this before but I'm not happy with the final product here. Usually when that happens I re-work something for a while and then get to the point where I can't be creative about it anymore and so I post it. This is kind of what happened here too, but with only brief re-workings. I was afraid that if I didn't get this up now I might not be able to for another couple of months. I figured better to post it now and just let it be what it is. Also I haven't had time to proof-read so I hope I don't have any embarassing errors in here anywhere.
"Peeta, are you ready?" she calls to me from the downstairs hallway. Her voice sounds casual but I can hear her foot tapping impatiently.
"Just a minute!" I call back.
"A quick minute, I hope!"
I bite back a chuckle at her inability to hide her desire to get going. We have plans to walk into town and have lunch with Delly Cartwright and the new boyfriend she's been over the moon for these past six weeks. I don't really think Katniss is that excited to have a meal with Delly and a man we've never met before but I agreed that we could stop by the marketplace if there was time, so she could pick up a new set of arrowheads. My decision to go to the bathroom before we left was not exactly met by untainted approval.
"I'm coming!" I call out to her as I begin to walk down the stairs, one hand on the bannister. As I get further down the stairs she comes into view and I almost stop for a second, struck by how lovely she looks. Even after a few years together it still takes me by surprise sometimes that this gorgeous woman lets me be hers. She seems particularly pretty right now with the sun streaming in from the window by the door illuminating lighter streaks in her dark hair. She's wearing her hair loose, has a touch of makeup on and I smile at her choice of wardrobe – an orange dress that is almost a touch cold for the season but since we're going to be indoors for the majority of the day it doesn't quite matter. She very rarely wears dresses but I know Delly will appreciate the gesture. After the rebellion it seemed as if sweet, dear Delly regressed a bit, a coping mechanism as valid as any I suppose, and she likes to keep things "girly", as Katniss puts it. When we share a meal with her and one of her boyfriends – this is her fourth in as many years – she prefers it if the boys wear nice shirts and dress pants and the girls wear dresses or at least skirts. I don't know why it matters so much but Katniss grudgingly complies every time, and I love her for that.
"I put your shoes out, and your jacket," says Katniss, reaching for her own warm autumn coat. "You look nice, by the way."
I chuckle and thank her for the tacked-on compliment. As I kneel down to double-knot my shoelaces I hear her foot beginning to tap impatiently again. She's really eager to get her hands on those arrowheads. It amuses me a little that she's so bad at hiding it, though I play along and pretend like I don't notice things like that. She doesn't like it when I can read her like an open book on matters of that ilk.
Straightening my back I grab my scarf and wrap it around my neck, for a brief moment thinking about Portia who made it for me, then I open the door and hold out my arm for Katniss to take.
"Ready to go?"
"Sure."
"Okay then," I chuckle.
With her arm linked with mine we walk out the door and she closes it behind us. We step down to the path leading from the front porch to the road and begin our walk into town. I turn my face up towards the sky and smile at the bright shining sun. It gives just enough warmth for the autumn day to be pleasant, but not enough to warm it up to the point where you might still think it was summer. A few clouds sail by but they are few, far between and thin. Birds are flying across the sky, heading south for the upcoming winter. The threes that line the road into town are all red and yellow and orange, with a few spots of green lingering here and there but not yet any brown. I love this time of year from an aesthetic viewpoint. The trees, in particular. I know I've told Katniss that my favourite colour is orange like the sunset but sometime I wonder if maybe it's more correct to say that it's orange like autumn leaves.
We don't make much small talk as we walk. Katniss seems impatient, yet probably not looking forward to the lunch with Delly and her latest love. I know Katniss finds it a bit tedious trying to get to know a boyfriend who might not be sticking around for very long. I, on the other hand, like to believe that each new guy my friend falls for will be the one she has a lasting relationship with. Delly's sweet disposition and upbeat nature makes it easy sometimes to forget that she carries a great trauma, too, having lived through the bombing of District 12 and losing her parents, at the age of seventeen. I imagine that having to see a close childhood friend in the state I was in in District 13, not to mention trying to bring me out of that and back to my old self, must have taken its toll on her as well, even though she would never admit to it. Her search for a man to share her life with is, in my opinion, undoubtedly rooted in a longing to have a new family, a new person in her life to depend on through thick and thin. Someone who is there all the time, sharing his life with her, and not just seeing her from time to time the way a friend does. I want her to find that man she's been looking for. I want her to have her happiness and security. She deserves it.
As we walk I steal a glance at my own special someone. Katniss' eyes trail from one spot to the next, the expression on her face difficult to read. She looks over at me and catches me looking at her. She smiles, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes, and then her eyes are on the move again. Some part of me wonders if her mind is on the memory of everything that transpired a year ago. Exactly one year ago. Today is my twenty-second birthday, but aside from her wishing me a happy birthday when we got out of bed this morning there's been no mention of it. I'm glad, not to mention relieved. While we did sort everything out last year and we haven't spoken of it since I'm very pleased that this year she has respected my wish not to celebrate the day. It's a day like any other, and that's how I prefer it to be.
As we continue on our walk the road bends slightly to the right, and other people begin to come into view as we approach town. Katniss seems more alert all of a sudden, her eagerness apparent by how her arm tenses a little and she cranes her neck forward, as if she'll get to the marketplace faster if her chin beats the rest of her face there. I chuckle softly.
"Relax, don't worry," I say. "We have plenty of time. Unless the arrowheads are all sold out you'll get your booty."
"I hope so," she says, her voice slightly strained.
We slalom through the crowds of people who are out and about, many of whom are likely doing their weekly shopping. Katniss' arm slips from mine and instead she grabs me by the hand, leading the way through the crowd with her typical determination. She doesn't like being out amongst this many people when she's got errands in mind. It annoys her when people stroll about leisurely and thus end up in her way, and it angers her when people stop in the middle of the street without looking around to see if they'll be in anyone's way. She likes efficiency and doesn't have much love for just strolling around and window-shopping. I've tried to argue that a lot of people like walking around town as a way of getting some sun, some fresh air and some exercise but she argues back that there are plenty of other places where one can accomplish those things without being in everyone else's way.
We make our way through the crowds until we reach the marketplace. I let go of her hand and nod in the direction of the bakery.
"You go ahead and get your arrowheads. I want to stop by and see how things are going."
She smirks at me and raises an eyebrow.
"Don't tell me you still don't trust the hired help?" she teases. We both know that even though I have several employees who are more than capable of running the bakery so that I don't have to be there all day long, six days a week, I have a bit of a hard time completely letting go of the reins.
"You caught me," I pretend to admit. "And just as I was about to lie and say I was just going to pick up some pastries to bring with us to Delly's."
"Don't do that, if you're considering it," she says. "You know Delly's already got a full meal planned and she might feel upstaged."
She kisses me on the cheek and heads off into the marketplace. I remain in place for a few seconds, watching the back of her head as it disappears into the crowd. Then I head over to the bakery and enter through the back door, which leads to a small kitchen where me and my five employees have our meals and take our breaks. I wasn't able to bring myself to having the back door lead to the bakery kitchen itself, feeling the ghosts of my dead family members and the place I grew up in far too strongly, but that left me with only the staff kitchen as the option. Admittedly it is quite an odd choice but my employees all claim they love it, ostensibly because they can open the door and sit on the stop to enjoy their meals on sunny days. I think they're just being nice, or trying to avoid getting on the boss' bad side, but no matter. It is what it is. As I walk inside the room in question there is nobody there, as it is still another hour until the first person takes a lunch break. My mind goes to how me and my brothers used to take turns having lunch, doing it in overlapping shifts so that someone was always manning the storefront and someone always had company for at least part of their break. I unbutton my coat and remove my scarf and try to focus but it's hard to silence the memory of their voices. How many birthdays did I spend working at the bakery all day, sometimes even selling birthday cakes to others, knowing I wouldn't get one for myself? Both my brothers used to sneak aside some form of treat and give it to me that evening when we would gather in my bedroom. I did the same for them on their birthdays. It was the closest we got to celebrating but it was our own small way of defying our mother and showing that we cared about one another.
There are three doors in the small staff kitchen, not counting the one leading outside. One leads to the bakery kitchen, one to a small bathroom. I head for the third, which leads to my office. It's a cramped room with no natural lights. While the bakery was being built Haymitch kept insisting I was a moron for not adding a second story where I could have all these rooms he deemed unnecessary but which I insisted upon. His opinion was that the downstairs should be official bakery business and the upstairs could be room for the staff and for my office. I stubbornly refused to listen, even though I knew all along that it would mean cramped spaces. I wanted my new bakery to differ as much as possible from the one in which I grew up, and even though that bakery had no staff kitchen and the rooms upstairs were our private living quarters I still didn't want a two-story house. Katniss never offered an opinion in these discussions. I suspect that she agreed with Haymitch but understood my reasons for not wanting it that way.
I walk up to the small cherry wood desk, the surface of which I keep neat and tidy at all times, and I take a seat on my comfortable office chair. I came here to check up on how the business is going today but when I walked through the door the melancholy feeling got a hold of me and I want to hide away for a moment. I closed the door behind me walking in so no one knows I'm in here and I will be left alone. My fingers play with the goatee I've been growing for the past few weeks. The glumness takes my mind from the years I spent not making a fuss of my birthday in another house with another bakery which once stood about a mile and a half from where I am sitting right now, and instead onto the way I didn't celebrate my birthday last year. I'm not still upset about what happened. I haven't even thought about it in about eleven months or so. We sorted everything out and moved on with our lives and it became just one of those unfortunate things that happen between two people who love each other and share a life together, which ultimately means very little in the big picture of a happy relationship. I guess it's just the fact that it happened a year ago today, combined with how much I miss my brothers right now, that brings it all to mind.
The thing that comes to the forefront of my mind is not the disappointment I felt when she never showed up, or the humiliation at having gone to all that time and trouble only to be left sitting there alone while the meal went cold. It's the suffocating feeling of not being important enough, or wanted enough, or loved enough. A relic from a childhood with a sometimes abusive mother and a father who allowed it, but mainly a consequence of the hijacking. Most days I know that my girlfriend loves me and that she had so many other, better, less complicated options after the war than to shack up with a traumatized, amputated, mind-raped individual whose mind was still partially wired to think of her as not just the enemy but as not-human. Choosing me was not the convenient choice. I was as far from the default option as could be at that point. Heck, even getting together with Haymitch would have been a more logical option if what she wanted was just to be with somebody, anybody. She knew that being with me meant a struggle, especially at first, because she and I both had a long road towards healing and part of my process was getting over the part of my brain that saw her as the enemy. In fact I wouldn't have blamed her if she'd decided that loving me was not enough at that point to carry us both through it, and she'd have chosen to be on her own until we were further down the road of recovery. But that's not what she did. She welcomed me home, welcomed me into her home, her bed even. I knew she loved me before she made love to me for the first time. There are times when the remains of the hijacking makes me doubt it, forget it even on really bad days, but when my brain is allowed to be my own I never doubt her feelings for me. But the hijacking brought another layer, too. Something that has stuck with me throughout the entire healing process, after "real or not real" became a part of my life. I've come to really despise not real. I accept it as part of life but that doesn't mean I have to like it.
I groan slightly and lean my head back so that it rests on the top of the chair, my eyes looking upward at the ceiling without really seeing it. My one remaining foot touches lightly on the floor and pushes the chair to sway lightly from side to side. Last year while the committee was working the issue of real and not real was on my mind a lot. How I wanted Katniss' actions and her choices to be real instead of not real. In our life in general I want her to do what she wants to do and to be honest about it. And Katniss, being Katniss, almost always is. It's a complicated set of emotions that sometimes collide with what I want in my heart but my desire for real above not real wins out in the end. While last year I wanted her to be home at a reasonable hour, have dinner with me and spend the evening with me I wanted her to do those things because she wanted to. I want that choice to be real. If she had stayed home for my sake even though she would have rather been with the committee then that would be not real. It would be a loving gesture on her part, one I'm sure she'd make for me, but deep down I would be unhappy about it. Because I want to know that when she chooses to spend her time with me it's because she wants to do that more than she wants to do anything else.
And for the most part that is exactly what she does. I have her love and attention in great quantities. In fact, before the committee came to the district and after they had left I can't remember more than a handful of evenings when her choice has been anything else than to be with me, whether we stay at home or we're out doing something else. So therefore I would have felt terrible begrudging her those few weeks of working with the committee, knowing that she enjoyed it and that she was making friends and feeling like she was contributing. I know it in no way diminishes the way she feels about me. But the thought of her sitting at home with me, or taking a walk together, or laying on a blanket on the Meadow watching the sunset, and having her mind be somewhere else and having her on any level wish she was elsewhere or feeling like she's missing out… No, I don't want that. I want an honest no over a dishonest yes, always. I want real over not real.
I missed her a lot during those weeks when the committee was here and I felt heartbroken when she didn't come home on my birthday but I couldn't bring myself to speak up about it because I was afraid of forcing her hand. I knew that if I told her I was lonely and asked her to leave early every evening and come home to spend time with me she would probably acquiesce. The only time I doubted that was that night when I sat all alone and watched the hours of my birthday slowly tick away. But if I had asked her and she had come home to me every evening I would have been tormented by that demon in my mind questioning if this was really where she wanted to be. I just don't like asking things like that of Katniss. I take great comfort in knowing that every moment she spends in my company is of her own choice and that there is nowhere else she'd rather be.
The sound of an oven tin hitting the floor, followed by a yelp and some muffled expletives, startles me and I sit back up straight. My mind returns to the present moment. I wonder what it was that fell onto the floor and presumably got ruined. Hopefully it was an empty tin but if so then the cursing wouldn't have been necessary. I decide to just shrug it off and not go investigate. I can easily afford whatever that was ending up as waste, even if it was something costly. Another startling difference from the bakery I grew up in, where we had to be extremely precise with measurements and such to make sure not a single grain of sugar was wasted or ended up on the counter or the floor.
Having been brought out of my thoughts I look over at the clock on my desk – a dreadfully tacky marble and gold thing that Effie sent me – and conclude that wallowing-time is over for right now. Katniss will no doubt be waiting for me. I get on my feet and begin to button up my coat, hoping I won't run into any of my employees on the way out and be delayed.
I wake up alone in our bed. The faint light of early dawn streams in from a gap in the curtains from the closed windows and through the fluttering curtains of the open window. It's chilly, the temperature outside probably no more than ten degrees, if that. For a few seconds I'm not sure how come I've woken up since I feel absolutely exhausted and in need of at least another eight hours of sleep. Looking over at the alarm clock I see that it's just after six o'clock, which means I haven't slept more than five hours at the most. Then I realize the reason why I'm awake despite my fatigue and lack of sleep. With Peeta having risen the bed gets cold real fast, even when I haven't spent my sleeping hours pressed up against his warm body.
The thought of my beloved makes me wide awake. I sit up and turn my eyes to the bathroom door but there's no light coming from around its edges, meaning he's not in there. I look over to the wooden chair where he usually puts his clothes if he intends to wear them the next day and the chair is empty. I feel an urgent sense of discomfort, fearing that he might have gotten up a while ago and is on his way to the bakery, and this makes me toss the comforter aside and shivering in the cold morning grab a pair of pants from the floor. I find my bra next to the pants and I put both pieces of clothing on and hurry over to the closet to find a sweater. Not bothering with socks I leave the bedroom and tiptoe down the stairs, listening for any sound of my boyfriend. I bite my bottom lip, wondering how he's feeling and if there's going to be hurt in his eyes when they meet mine – if he's still home, that is. If he's not I will have to hurry to the bakery to talk to him but the last thing I want is to talk about this at his place of business, with customers and his employees there.
Then I hear the unmistakable sound of his footsteps, one real foot and one prosthetic creating their own particular duet as he moves about in the kitchen. I can hear him pouring something into a cup and set a kettle or pot down on the counter. I breathe a sigh of relief. At least he's home. Now I can explain to him in private what went on yesterday and why I failed to come home and celebrate him. I can wrap my arms around his neck and look into his eyes and assure him of my feelings for him and ask him to forgive me for whatever hurt I caused him yesterday. We can talk without interruptions, without stress. I can make things right and we can make things good.
The phone rings, startling me. I hear him take a few steps and then I hear his voice, slightly husky in the morning, talking to whoever is on the other line. I hear Peeta say I'm not awake yet, then after a few seconds ask if the caller wants him to go upstairs and wake me. There's another bit of silence and then it sounds like he's repeating back instructions; whoever is calling wants him to go wake me up if I haven't gotten out of bed on my own in twenty minutes. I close my eyes and sigh with dismay. It has to be Petersen calling. He was completely set on all of us, minus Gale of course, heading out into the woods at sunrise to find the trap and take care of it along with any others. I have no intention of doing so. They can manage on their own – they'll have to. I'm staying home today. Right now I have a sinking feeling that my relationship needs my time and attention more than the traps, and that it might be very bad indeed if I choose to go out into the woods instead.
Opening my eyes I steel myself for whatever look will be on Peeta's face when I walk into the kitchen. Knowing him he will forgive and forget once he hears what happened but first he must be told about it and from the way he faked sleep when I got in last night I know he is, or at least was then, upset. I hate seeing him sad or hurt or disappointed. Who wants to see emotions like that reflected on their beloved's face? I am incredibly disappointed myself that my plans for yesterday came to naught but I can handle my own disappointment far better than I can handle his. I want to shield him from things that hurt, not be the cause of them. Especially on a day like his birthday.
My heart is pounding in my chest when I walk into the kitchen, my hands nervously forming fists around my thumbs, then pulling my thumbs back, then forming fists around them again, over and over and my mouth feels dry. I find Peeta over at the counter, spreading butter on a slice of toast, and I feel a pang of sadness. He looks normal and unconcerned to the casual observer but to me, his life partner, he clearly looks upset. There's tension in his shoulders and the look on his face is too normal. I know he spent years growing up learning how to disguise the things that hurt or bothered him, not wanting people to know when he was sad. Part of it was, I'm quite convinced, to keep his mother from getting irritated with him but a large part was also to keep others from knowing about her childrearing techniques. He doesn't like to talk about it, his mother has been a sensitive subject with him for as long as I've known him, but my guess is that is has to do with protecting his pride and his dignity. And to think that today he's trying to disguise that he's upset because of something I did is painful, and it brings a frown to my face.
"Good morning, sweetheart," I say, my voice hoarse and with a faint tremble. The endearment feels out of place given the circumstance, as if I'm playing along with him and trying to act like nothing is out of the ordinary.
Peeta turns his head and looks at me. His eyes reveal nothing.
"Good morning," he says back. He takes a sip from his mug and then sets it down on the countertop. "They called from the committee. They were expecting you fifteen minutes ago but they said to tell you that they're collecting some supplies and won't be heading out for another forty-five minutes, so you don't have to rush."
"I'm not going with them today," I say. Peeta looks at me funny, almost as if he wonders if I've gotten my dates mixed up and think that today is his birthday. Then he shrugs and his eyes leave mine as he picks up his mug again and takes a sip while he puts cheese on his toast. I swallow and leave my spot in the doorway, taking a few steps closer to him. "Peeta I… I'm really sorry about yesterday. Truly, I am. Things just… got out of control."
"Don't worry about it," he says, sounding weary. His brow furrows as he looks from the ham to the thin slices of turkey. He chooses the ham and puts it on his sandwich. He then picks it up and carries his breakfast over to the table. "You know I don't care to celebrate my birthday anyway."
"Yes, but we made plans yesterday and I owe you an explanation for where I was."
"I know where you were," he says calmly, taking a seat at the table. "You were with the committee. I wasn't worried."
"Darling…" I say, my head tilted. Those three sentences say so much more than the sum of their words. I haven't fully realized it until now but unless I'm mistaken Peeta is indeed feeling hurt but it's about more than just the perception of having been stood up on his birthday. Only once has he expressed any displeasure with my involvement with the group, and that time I had gotten in exceptionally late and he had been worried about me. I can't help now but suspect that he's had misgivings but has kept it to himself. I wonder why.
I walk up to the table and pull out my chair, taking a seat opposite him. He swallows a bite and washes it down with another sip of coffee.
"What do you want for breakfast?" he asks, deflecting the issue I want us to talk about. "There's more toast on the counter if you want it."
"Peeta…" I say softly.
"Talking about yesterday can wait," he says. "You need to hurry if you want to eat and shower before you leave."
"I told you, I'm not going out with them today."
He gives me a pointed look.
"Katniss, we both know there's no reason why you shouldn't. We'll talk about last night when you get back home. I'm heading to the bakery after breakfast so you don't need to play hooky to prove a point to me."
"And you shouldn't try to deflect or downplay," I retort, crossing my arms on the table and leaning forward. "Go to the bakery, but not until we've talked."
"Talk about what?" he asks, sounding exhausted and disheartened.
There's a moment's pause during which I study him intently. My guess is that he is hurting but he doesn't want to acknowledge it, doesn't want to give it power over him, and he doesn't want to feel like he's losing face. But the fact that he doesn't seem to think it's worth talking about it worries me.
"I love you," I say spontaneously. To my great relief he smiles.
"I know you do. I love you, too."
"And we do need to talk about this. I'm serious."
"I didn't want to celebrate my birthday in the first place," he says, and it almost feels like an accusation. He seems to realize that and looks a touch sheepish, turning his eyes to his breakfast. "I just wish you would have called. That's all."
"I went out hunting early in the day to bring home quail for dinner," I tell him. "Gale went with me. He stepped in one of the traps that people have placed out there in the woods. A bear trap. It snapped shut on his ankle."
Peeta looks up at me with a worried frown. I hear the sound of his prosthetic foot scraping across the floor. I suppose he, if anybody, knows what it's like to injure your legs real bad.
"How is he?" he asks. "Is he alright?"
I almost break out into a smile. Despite everything, Peeta's kindness and his concern for others, traits that haven't been lost even through all the hell we've lived through, are what define him and what his instinctive first reaction is based on. I honestly wouldn't have blamed him if, for the first few seconds, he disregarded what I had just told him. But that's not him. No matter how hurt or angry or disappointed he was a minute ago my Peeta is now worried about Gale. And I love him so deeply for it. More than he will ever understand.
Since smiling is not an appropriate response right now I keep my expression serious as I nod and assure him that Gale will be fine, even though the truth is I have no way of knowing that for sure at this point. I swallow hard and the memories of yesterday come flooding back and I tell him about it, as much as I can bear to tell. I don't want to talk about the pained look on Gale's face, or the way his foot smelled of blood and after a while of something else I'd rather not think about, or about how my muscles ached after hours of carting a full-grown man through the woods. I tell Peeta the most basic version, just enough so that he will understand that I didn't set him aside or forget about him.
"The entire time I thought of you," I assure him. I reach out and place my hand on top of his, relieved when he lets my hand stay. "You have to know that."
He nods slowly, his face contemplative. I want to know what he's thinking but the silence stretches out between us for over a minute. Then he pulls his hand back and uses it to lift the last piece of toast to his mouth. He chews slowly, his eyes staring at some spot behind me, and after he's swallowed he turns his eyes to me.
"For how long were you out there?"
"I don't know," I tell him. "Hours. Fifty, it felt like."
"What I'm asking is, at what time did you finally make it to the hospital?"
Slowly I move back until I'm sitting with my back against the chair. I get where he's going with this and this is the part where it gets tricky. I can't be sure he'll be so understanding about this. I could have gone straight home to him once Gale was at the hospital but I stayed a while longer. At the time I didn't feel I had any other choice but in the cold light of morning I can't deny that it looks quite different.
"I don't know what the time was," I say. "But it wasn't near midnight. Look, when I got there Gale wasn't with me, I left him at the Meadow and sent people from the hospital to bring him in, but they insisted that I wait until he had arrived. And they insisted I needed fluids, which was probably true, and some overly ambitious nurse jammed a needle in my arm and the next thing I knew I was hooked up to an IV."
"Katniss you don't need to explain," he says wearily, running a hand through his hair.
"I got stuck in a dead-end conversation with Petersen," I continue on. "He had the brilliant idea in his head that we should jet off into the woods at that late hour to go find the damn trap and any others that might be out there, as if the darkness wouldn't just put us all at risk of having our feet stuck in bear traps."
"Katniss," he says, firmer this time, holding his hand up. "It doesn't really matter, does it? You don't have to account for every minute."
I pause and look at him. His handsome, familiar face, the ashen hair that falls in waves over his brow, the eyes that are so gorgeously blue. He only meets my eyes for a moment, turning them instead to his coffee. He stirs it with a spoon, round and round. The clinking sound the spoon creates is the only thing heard for about a minute.
"I called," I then say. He looks up, skeptical. "The hospital didn't have a phone line to call out but the minute I got to the hotel I found a phone and I called."
"Did you call this number?" he asks dryly. "I didn't hear the phone ring and I was home all night."
"I called," I insist mildly, leaning forward again and crossing my arms on the table.
There's another long moment of silence. Peeta then nods, accepting my words.
"Well that's that, then," he says. "Listen, there's no way I can be angry with you for not coming home yesterday under those circumstances." He hasn't used the word "angry" before.
"I wanted to be here, love," I say, again placing my hand on top of his. "More than anything. I really wanted to be with you and make your day special."
He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"What do you say we just put yesterday behind us and move forward instead?" he suggests. "My birthday never was important to me in the first place. You are important, and while I was feeling quite abandoned yesterday I understand now why you weren't here and I don't see a reason to dwell on it. We'll have plenty of other nights to have dinner."
"How's tonight?" I suggest with a soft smile.
"Sure," he says, but he sounds skeptical. He pulls his hand away, rises from his chair and grabs his now empty plate and mug. "Listen, you should get a move on. You can still make it if you eat there and don't shower."
I scowl, watching him bring the dishes over to the sink and put them down there to be washed. He can't honestly think I'm going to go out into the woods with the committee today? Even if he does head off to the bakery once he's shaven and brushed his teeth I still don't feel particularly up for being in the forest after the day I spent there yesterday. I get up and take a few steps towards him. His back is turned to me as he fills the sink up with warm water.
"Peeta for the last time, I'm not going. I didn't get to be with you yesterday and I want to make up for it today. If you need to work I'll hang out at the bakery, maybe help out and man the cash register. I want to be near you."
He throws me a look over his shoulder.
"If there are more of those bear traps out there you need to find them. You know I'm right. I appreciate you wanting to be with me today but I think the time for that is not this day. You and Gale are the only ones who know where that trap is and Gale can't go. The committee will be here for, what? One more week? Two? You and I have all the time in the world to spend the day together." He turns the faucet off and drops some washing-up liquid into the water-filled sink. "The work you're doing is important, to you and to everyone who lives here."
I walk up to him and put my hand on his arm. He's got that far-too-casual air about him again. Something feels infected and I want to stick a needle in it and drain it of whatever is festering in there.
"They can get by without me," I insist.
"Sure didn't seem that way when Petersen called. You shouldn't put yourself on the sidelines on account of me. I love you and I'll still be here when this is over."
"Be honest with me. This is me you're talking to and you don't have to give me the so-called right answer. I want your answer. Does my working with the committee bother you?"
His hands freeze in the middle of scrubbing the coffee pot and he looks so genuinely surprised that I know his answer is the truth.
"No." He resumes scrubbing the pot but he keeps eye contact. "Katniss I am proud of you. You're doing good work. And I'm happy for you. You're clearly enjoying yourself and I love seeing it."
"Then what? Clearly something is troubling you." He snorts and breaks eye contact, then turns his face in the other direction as if he didn't mean to snort like that. "Peeta what is it? I need you to tell me."
He draws a deep breath, letting it out in a huff. I wait in silence as he finishes washing up the few items from his breakfast, lets the water out and grabs a towel to dry his hands. I can practically see his mind running a mile a minute. He puts the towel away, turns to face me and leans back against the counter, his hands grabbing its edges.
"It's not the work with the committee that…"
"Bothers you?" I finish for him when he drifts off. It's a little annoying that he won't acknowledge it by name.
"I just…" He makes a frustrated grunt. "You know, it's… I mean, how many meals have we had together since this project started?"
"I don't know," I say with a shrug of my shoulder.
"Yeah," he says, sounding a bit dejected. He lets go of the counter and slowly walks towards the sitting room. "Look, never mind. It's not worth talking about."
"If it makes you unhappy then it is worth talking about," I argue, slightly irritated. I follow him into the sitting room where he stands with his back to me, his hands on his hips.
"'Unhappy' is a strong word."
"Displeased, then. Or bothered, or frustrated, or whatever word you think is best. Peeta come on, let's talk about this."
Talking about why I didn't show up for his birthday didn't lead to an argument, even though he would have been justified taking it there. But this, this seems to be getting us there. Perhaps that's good. So long as he doesn't try to evade the fight. Peeta doesn't like to argue. At the start of our relationship he was afraid of losing control and drifting into what he called a "hijacked state" so he felt safer withdrawing. I suspect that was only part of the reason, even if it was the largest part. Despite our history together and our years of being in a relationship there are still a lot of things I don't know about this man and I know I won't have all the answers anytime soon.
"Darling," I say, using my preferred endearment for him to hopefully get him to start opening up, "I just want to know what's hurting you so it can be avoided in the future. It's obvious that you're not okay with everything and I don't have a clue which part is upsetting you. Above all I don't understand why you haven't talked to me lately, sat me down and told me what's wrong."
"When would I have done that, Katniss?" he asks, turning around to face me, still with his hands on his hips. He sounds upset, which I actually take as a good thing. I don't like when we fight but sometimes it's cathartic. He's far too skilled at bottling his emotions and I want to smash the neck off that particular bottle. "When? You're never home. I get, what? Half an hour with you each day? The last thing I want to spend that short time on is arguing. Hell, the one time I tried to talk to you the only thing I got for my troubles was you snapping at me. As if that was constructive."
"I had had a very long day and I was eager to come home and be wrapped in your arms and you chose that time to bring it up?" The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them, reflexively. I realize it's a mistake the moment I say it but I can't take it back. Peeta scowls and crosses his arms.
"It was after midnight and I was worried about you!" he angrily retorts. "For all I knew you'd gotten hurt. Not such a far-fetched theory, with what happened yesterday."
"Okay, okay," I say, holding up my hands to try and signal that I don't want to harp on that particular issue. "But still, there were other times you could have mentioned something. How am I supposed to know that something is wrong if you're not telling me?"
His hands are back on his hips and he's moving slowly back and forth in the room. Me, I'm standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorpost, watching every step he takes. Waiting for what he will say and do next. But what comes out of his mouth is not something I would expect from kind, considerate Peeta.
"Should I really have to explain to my girlfriend that I would like to spend time with her every once in a while, have dinner with her more than just sporadically, spend what little time we do spend together talking about something other than the work that takes up most of her waking hours? You haven't noticed until now that I think it sucks that I almost never see you these days?" I bite my bottom lip, trying to absorb the hurtful accusations he just threw at me, but before it can sink in too deep he quickly stops and speaks again. "Gosh, I'm sorry, that was really low of me. Forgive me Katniss, I didn't even mean any of that. I'm just angry right now."
"Maybe you did mean it," I say, my eyes turned to the floor and not to him.
"No, no I didn't. The truth is I don't want to feel petty and wounded or anything like that. I meant it when I said I'm happy for you. This whole thing with the committee has done you good. I just miss you, Katniss. That's all. And I know that once the committee leaves things will return to normal and I think you're going to be sad when they're gone so you should enjoy all of this while it lasts and know that I will still be here when the work is over. I don't want to fight over this when it will work itself out on its own."
"I believe you," I say as I walk closer to him. "I do. But that doesn't mean you didn't mean the other things as well." He makes a frustrated sound and begins to pace again but I reach out my hand and grab his arm, causing him to stop. "I miss you too, you know. And I guess I've been so wrapped up in working with these people and having a good time with them, learning from them, that I forgot that…" I feel my cheeks flush as I acknowledge the somewhat embarrassing truth. "That when I've been sitting at the hotel late into the evening, sharing stories and sharing hunting tips and having a good time, not doing much actual work at that hour of the day, you've been here waiting for me to come home."
He looks at me intently, his eyes revealing that he's thinking intensely about something, looking at me as if he's searching my face for something. Is there something else he's wanting me to say? If so, why doesn't he just come out and ask me about it? I can't read his mind and I can't stand here all morning and make guesses.
Both of us startle when the phone rings. Neither makes a move to go answer it. It's Petersen, no doubt. Maybe if I don't answer he'll think I'm on my way, buying me some more time. But after about five signals Peeta walks past me to go and answer the phone. I take long, slightly faster steps to move past him and I reach the phone first. When I grab it he stops and turns around to slowly walk towards the couch. I keep my eyes on him as I talk to a rather annoyed Petersen.
"You go on ahead," I tell him calmly. I have no intention of letting him know he interrupted an argument between Peeta and myself, or that my emotions are beginning to get the better of me. It's been a difficult thirty-something hours in the feelings department. "I'm not coming out today." The angry response on the other end makes me flinch and hold the phone away from my ear for a few seconds. My eyes are still on Peeta, who is taking a seat on the couch. "Look," I tell Petersen, "I gave you a map of where we found the trap, and Gale can give you more specifics if you need them. I just can't come with you. Not today." His next response is no less angry than the previous but I just roll my eyes at it. "I realize that it's important that we find the trap but I don't think you need me to do it. Considering the day I had yesterday I don't think it's too much to ask that I get a day to rest up and cope with what happened out in the woods. I need to just… stay home and feel Peeta's arms around me. If that's not okay with you then I'm sorry, but you can't order me to come join you. I wish you the best of luck and tomorrow you can tell me how everything went."
I hang up the phone in the middle of his next response and I walk over to the couch. Taking a chance that he won't pull away from me I sit down straddling Peeta's lap, running my hands up and down his arms. He eyes me curiously, making no protest but no reciprocation either.
"I understand if you can't or won't…" I say, "but it would mean so much to me if you stayed at home with me today. Even if I don't deserve it, having barely been home for you at all lately." Memories of Gale's injury and of the torturous hours of moving through the forest at a snail's pace rush back with full emotional impact, along with my devastation of having to abandon my plans for yesterday and of hurting my beloved on his birthday, his silent rejection when I got home last night and everything that's gone on this morning. Tears begin to fall down my face and I begin to shake with sobs. "I'm so tired, Peeta," I manage. "And I'm so sorry. And so very, very disappointed that I didn't get to celebrate with you yesterday. You mean more to me than everything else in the world and I can't stand it when you're sad or feel let down, and when it's because of me it's even worse." I feel his hands land on the small of my back, move slowly further up and press me close. I melt into his embrace, resting my cheek against his collarbone, weeping with exhaustion and devastation. It should have been me comforting Peeta but the roles end up being reversed. His hands rub my back and he presses a kiss to the top of my head. "I'm so sorry about all of this…" I sob.
"Hush…" he says soothingly. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine. Just give me some of your time and I'll be fine. I love you and I know you love me and we'll be okay. We always end up okay. We always will."
I sit there and cry in my beloved's arms until exhaustion takes over. With an aching head I wrap my arms around his neck and move even closer, soaking up every ounce of comfort he is giving me. I close my eyes and it's not long before I fall asleep, comforted and secure that Peeta understands and has forgiven me. Whatever other issues remain, we will sort them out. Because he's right. We'll always be okay.
We meet up outside the marketplace. It's gotten a little bit warmer in the sunlight but Katniss seems to be shivering slightly anyway. I'm willing to bet she regrets not wearing pants and her father's hunting jacket but at least she had time to run her errand.
"See?" I say, nodding at the bag with the carefully wrapped arrowheads, a bag she's clutching hard. "I told you there would be time."
"You were right," she nods. She looks over her shoulder at the large clock at the entrance of the marketplace. "In fact, we have time for one more errand."
"A quick one, I suppose," I say, glancing at the clock as well. "Delly won't say a word if we're late but you know how she gets when she's introducing us to a guy she really likes. She would rather we were early than late."
"One more errand," says Katniss, and her tone won't be argued with.
"Fine," I say, shrugging a shoulder. "What errand is it, exactly?"
I don't get an answer as she's already begun walking. She leads the way and I follow, keeping even step with her as she zig-zags through the crowds and down the streets of District 12's new town. After what must be about five minutes, and just as I'm about to check my watch and suggest we might not have time for this errand after all, she makes another turn and takes me down the road that leads away from the town and runs up to the mayor's house. I frown as she begins to climb the white marble steps that lead up to the large, beautiful house that was completed a mere year and a half ago. Once we're at the top of the stairs I stop, tugging on her arm which makes her pause and turn just as she's about to open the door.
"Katniss what are we doing here?"
"Indulge me?" she pleads in a voice so delicately pleading that it almost renders me speechless.
"Yeah okay," I say, nodding quickly five or six times. I'm not sure what else to say.
She opens the door without knocking and I follow her inside, picking my jaw up from the floor along the way. I've never been inside this house before and I'm staring at the spacious rooms, the ceiling that's at least three meters above my head, the expensive furniture and the beautiful artwork. I'm so preoccupied taking in my surroundings that I'm almost not paying attention where I'm going. Luckily Katniss has me by the hand and leads the way. She knows exactly where she's going, which is good I guess since we're in a hurry, and as I try to keep up with her brisk steps I begin to wonder when she's been here, how often she's been here and why it is that I don't know about it. Is Katniss in some sort of trouble? Before I can think too hard about that we reach the other end of the room and Katniss stops by a pair of luxurious glass doors that lead to a marble patio and a garden. I can't see if there's anybody out there but it's a little unnerving how deserted the place is indoors.
"You might want to tell me what's going on," I say with a concerned scowl.
"Well…" she begins, sounding nervous. She shakes her head and laughs a little. "I spent… so much time thinking about this, over a year, and only now does it occur to me that… that it might not be my best idea. And I'm a little nervous about it."
"Seriously Katniss, I have absolutely no idea what on earth you are talking about."
Her features soften a bit and her hand comes up to caress my cheek.
"It's your birthday today," she says. Her hand stays on my cheek and her eyes don't leave mine for a second. "I had planned something special for you last year and you just can't understand how bitterly disappointed I was when everything went wrong. Ever since then I've been waiting for your next birthday, to hopefully have things go the way I planned."
"Couldn't you just have followed through with your plans a few days after my birthday?" I ask warily. "Katniss I-"
Quickly she silences me with a kiss. I can feel her trembling slightly and the look in her eyes is a strange blend of nervousness and joy. Oh how I wish she would accept that I don't like celebrating my birthday and just leave it all be. Why put us both through things like what happened last year and whatever it is that's making her so on edge right now?
"It has to be today," she insists. "Or at least… at least that's what I had in mind. Not until now, right now, did it occur to me that… that perhaps you may not be happy about it."
"Be happy about what?" I ask, frustrated and not doing all that good a job hiding it. It seems to make her even more nervous and I'm annoyed with myself for making her feel this way but I don't understand the point of this drama. It seems pretty simple to me that we just acknowledge this date every year but don't make a fuss about it. It's such a weird thing for her to be so passionate about.
Her eyes leave mine for a few seconds to look out through the glass doors.
"The mayor is out there in the garden," she says. "You know, you… You've said every year that you don't want any birthday presents from me, that all you want is me. That's what I want to give you." Her eyes turn downward and she takes my hands in hers before looking up at me. "The mayor is expecting us. He's ready to marry us." My mouth falls open but she pays no attention. "It's something I've wanted for quite some time, and… and I hope and believe that you want it, too."
"To be married to you?" I ask in utter disbelief. I'm not entirely sure I'm actually awake right now. This all seems so bizarre. Weren't we on our way to see Delly and her new boyfriend just a couple of minutes ago? "Katniss you know I want that. But how… I…"
"I wanted to do something special," she says, tilting her head slightly. "And I thought… I thought that if our wedding day was on your birthday then maybe you would like that day a bit better… maybe even as much as I do." She swallows and bites her bottom lip again for a second. "It really didn't work out last year so I planned it more carefully this year, trying to make sure nothing would interfere. Not until we arrived here did it occur to me that… well, that you might not actually want this."
"You think I don't want to be your husband?" I ask. I don't know what is more difficult for me to believe – that Katniss planned a wedding for us as a surprise to me or that she might think there is any little part of me that wouldn't want to be married to her.
"No, I… I'm talking about today." She smiles and it's still a nervous smile but she seems a bit more at ease now. "I thought surprising you with a wedding would be an amazing birthday gift but maybe today is number 365 on the list of dates you'd want your wedding day to be."
Looking at her I still can't quite understand that this is real and the honest truth is that she might be right. Do I really want a date that I've never liked to be the day I get married on? But it only takes me a second to think it over. I lean in and give her a firm kiss on the mouth.
"You're actually proposing to me right now?" I mumble against her lips. I chuckle softly and release her hands, sliding mine around her waist. "For real? And you were going to do that last year? That was your plan?"
"Yeah."
"Well you were right. All I've ever wanted, for my birthday or otherwise, is you, and marriage to you is the best birthday present I could ever imagine."
I feel the corners of her lips turn upward in a wide smile and she wraps her arms around my neck, kissing me and then laughing lightly and happily against my lips.
"So you don't mind the date? I haven't been spending fifteen months planning and waiting but doing it all wrong?"
"Katniss frankly I don't care what day I marry you on, just so long as I get to marry you." I pull back a little and rock us both gently from side to side. "But I thought you didn't want marriage."
"Not before the war," she says, raising an eyebrow at me with a smirk. "After that you just assumed and you never asked. So I decided I should take matters into my own hands. So if you want to be my husband as much as I want to be your wife – which is a lot, as you can tell, since I'm actually being sappy right now – then all we have to do is walk out these doors, down into that garden and when we leave we'll go straight home, marriage license in hand, and prepare a toasting."
"The sappiness is my favourite part," I tease her. I feel myself trembling, from joy and excitement but also, truthfully, a little bit from shock. I'm almost afraid to believe that this is real. Katniss' nervousness appears to have vanished but I don't think mine will completely go away until we have actually seen the mayor and had our quick ceremony. The thought even enters my mind that maybe this is all just a dream, that I'm still in bed on the night of my 21st birthday and my mind is trying to make me feel better about having been stood-up. I want that thought gone as fast as possible. "Okay, well…" I pull back and take her hand firmly in mine. My palms are sweaty and my mouth feels dry. "I want my birthday present now."
Katniss laughs and reaches for the doorknob. The doors open outwardly and the sound of tweeting birds and the scent of a few autumn blossoms still in bloom fill the air. I follow as she leads me out on the patio and down the steps, then left towards a small gazebo in front of which the mayor is sitting in a lawn chair next to his wife, both of them reading a paper. Katniss gives my hand a squeeze and I try to comprehend that soon there will be another married couple in this garden.
The clock resting on the mantelpiece shows that midnight is just over thirty minutes away, meaning that my birthday is almost over. It hasn't quite sunk in with me yet that it is also our wedding day, though I can't seem to shake the goofy smile that's been planted on my face ever since we stepped out into the mayor's garden and it sure feels real now that I'm sitting on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace with my arm around Katniss' shoulders. The remaining slices of the bread we toasted together are on a small plate at her feet right next to the cake she demanded that I bake for the occasion. I tried telling her that we'd both be too full from dinner and our toasting bread to want to eat any of it but she insisted and now it sits practically untouched, save for a couple of raspberries she's plucked from the top. We really ought to put it in the refrigerator so it will keep until tomorrow. Haymitch can help us finish it. He came over for a while this afternoon along with Delly, the two of them having been in on Katniss' plans and eager to congratulate us.
I rest my nose against the top of Katniss' head, breathing in the banana scent of her shampoo. My hand comes up and rustles her hair a bit and I kiss her head and close my eyes for a second, revelling in how good this feels. It's hard to believe that I can feel this way tonight when I felt so miserable exactly one year ago. Even though I know that what happened that time was plain bad luck, for everyone involved, it took me a while to forget what it had felt like going to bed that evening. But we came out stronger on the other end and it did no lasting damage and I think maybe I'm even glad us getting married didn't happen last year. Last year she still had the committee in town and work left to be done. Now she's all mine and we can focus on nothing but each other for the next few days. Exactly the kind of birthday gift I love receiving.
"The day is almost over," says Katniss softly, pensively. She leans forward and grabs another raspberry, licks a bit of whipped cream off the side of her finger and then turns to me. I open my mouth and she places the berry on my tongue, framing my face with both her hands as she then leans in for a kiss. "You think you will look forward to this date more from here on out?"
"Oh please, you're not asking that question because you're actually curious about the answer," I say with a teasing scoff. I give her a look, one eyebrow raised. "The more I think about it I actually think you picked my birthday just so you'd make sure your husband would always remember our anniversary."
She makes a face at me and playfully elbows me in the side. She shifts and moves so that she's sitting between my legs, her back against my front, and I wrap my arms around her and rest my cheek against hers. Her hands come up and stroke my arms slowly, up and down. We watch the flickering flames in silence as the clock keeps ticking. Somewhere in the room Buttercup sighs heavily. The minutes go by until the clock reaches midnight and my birthday is over for this year.
Our toasting day has come and gone.
Well that was that. I hope the last third didn't seem as weird as it felt to me and that the middle part wasn't too big of a mess. I thought it was a little bit funny when some people felt about the first two parts that Peeta acted like the "woman" in the relationship since I knew Katniss was planning on proposing to him. In canon Katniss and Peeta do defy stereotypical gender roles to a degree, both in general and vis-a-vis each other, and I like that and wanted to incorporate that into the story.
Anyhow, this story is now officially completed! I hope to hear your comments, and thank you for reading - not to mention waiting for this long for the final part!
/Ronja