Heya guys. :DD Hope your Valentine's Day was AMAZING! I normally hate chocolate, but just for grins I ate some. And now I feel like I'm going to vomit. Whoop-dee-do… I didn't have the nerve to up and ask my good guy friend if he'd be my Valentine, so I hope you people were more successful than me. :DD
To Brooke Ross, who doesn't seem to have an account so I couldn't reply: All I can say is: *wink*. Did you actually think I'd NOT do that? Hehehe of course they will. I have big plans for that, actually. But it'll be in quite a few chapters. Like… More than ten. That doesn't sound like a lot, but… :DD This chapter goes out to you. 3 3 3
Okay, so like two chapters ago I got a review saying that you were curious, since there has been a lot of talk about Katniss' surgery. Well, I have the memory of a 90-year-old man, so I wasn't sure if I replied to that. If I didn't, I will say this: It starts at about Chapter 79 of the first story, and goes on from there until 111. I'm pretty sure it's fine if you didn't read before that, because it explains itself pretty well.
If anyone has any questions about the last story or anything, don't hesitate to ask. Like I said, I exult in my inner old man. His name is Greg.
oOo
I was curious. One minute I was walking out of the Judges' office, the next I was practically being dragged across the floor to the kitchens. Peeta's motives weren't clear, whether he was going to buy extra food, steal it, or make it himself, I didn't know. All I did, however, was that he seems to have forgotten I got out of the hospital not three days ago, and gallivanting across the whole of the Refuge Quarter wore me out faster than I could run.
By the time the kitchen doors were in sight, I had to stop him.
"Peeta," I panted, muscles in my legs quivering, blacks dots in front of my eyes. "Please. We need to stop for a minute. I'm going to pass out."
Peeta stopped in his tracks and let me lean on him. His light eyebrows were apologetic. "Sorry, Katniss. Are you okay?"
I'm peachy, thanks for asking. As if on cue, my legs buckled under me. A small wave of vertigo swept over once, and by the time it was done, Peeta had laid me on the ground.
"I'm so sorry, Katniss… I'm so dumb…" He murmured, putting a dry hand to my forehead. "We should go back to the room."
"No, no." I said quickly, inhaling sharply when I tried standing. "Let's go to the kitchen and do whatever we were going to do."
His wiry arms wrapped gently around me, one around my waist and the other in between my shoulder blades. When we both stood up together, I was leaning heavily against him. My shaky legs just did not want to work.
"We should take a short pause before continuing on to the kitchen." Peeta concluded, refusing to remove his arms from around me. "You look pale."
"I'm fine!" I insisted, wanting him to stop looking at me as though I just smacked him across the face. "Honestly. Let's go."
Inwardly thankful I knew that the door in front of us was, indeed, the kitchen; I kept sturdy hold on his shoulder and led the way.
When we got the tall metal door, Peeta knocked thrice, causing a metallic noise to echo on the other side. We were greeted by a young man—maybe 30 years old at the most—whose face looked nearly pained from smiling all the time.
"Ah, young Peeta!" The man, whose accent was purely unique, shook Peeta's hand enthusiastically. "Long time, no see. You've been busy, I take it? And who's this?" Shining black eyes flickered over to me and held for a second. Then the man's thin black eyebrows shot into his hairline, accompanied by an even wider grin. "If it isn't our Girl on Fire herself. My, you've become quite the lady."
I blinked, unsure whether to pin the man's attitude as flirtatious or flamboyant. It was certainly weird.
"My name is Gerhard Krueger." Chef Krueger held out his hand and I uncertainly shook it. "Call me whatever you like."
When he didn't let go of my hand after a brief moment of shaking, I casually took my hand from his and mumbled, "Katniss."
"But of course." Chef Krueger then pulled his eyes away from me and addressed both Peeta and I. "What can I do for you two today?"
Thankfully, Peeta detected my awkwardness and stepped forward. "I was hoping to do a little baking. Maybe show Katniss how. We missed lunch."
"Of course!" The Chef stepped aside and let us into a small room.
This room was obviously not the kitchen itself; there were two sinks on one side, coat hooks on either side of the sinks, and on the other side was another assortment of coat hangers, but these were fully occupied by hanging hats, aprons, and plastic gloves. Directly in front of us was a set of double doors, presumably leading to the actually kitchen.
It was apparent Peeta knew just what to do, because he first led me to the coat racks, arm still around my shoulders. Unsure about anything, I just followed him and did what he did.
Peeta pulled two identical off-white aprons from the racks and, after tying his expertly at the neck and waist, helped me with mine. I was so confused, because there were so many little ties and such, but Peeta knew what to do. He brushed the hair away from my neck and tied two of the little cord thingies together, and then reached around my waist to tie the other two.
Finally, with a grin, he pulled down two different hats from the hook. One was a tall pleated one that looked absolutely ridiculous. The other was plastic, and just designed for keeping the hair out of your face. Peeta held them out to me. "Take your pick."
I looked at him like he was mad, but didn't say anything as I took the smaller hat and clumsily put it on.
"Good choice." Peeta did the same with another.
After washing our hands thoroughly in the sink, Peeta led me through the double doors into a massive room.
On one side, there were messy file cabinets, shelves of imperishable items, and a long colorless counter stretched the rest of the length. Above part of the counter was a large, glassless window with a scale and a notepad resting on its sill. Game must be dropped off there, I thought, and surveyed the rest of the room.
About a dozen-and-a-half people were scuffling around the room, stirring things, resetting loud timers, poking half-done bread with a funny look on. None of them I recognized.
It was apparent that the giant room was divided into different types of meal-preparing. The baking, things that need pots and stovetops, and—to my disgust—in the corner farthest from everything else was an area above a large basin, where stripped animals were hanging over. Pink flesh shone dully in the fluorescent lighting, but half of the meat had a gray tint to it. Ugh. I eat that stuff?
Peeta put a hand gently on my back and steered my towards the bakery section, the fridge of frozen dough to be specific.
"How hungry are you?" He asked, wiggling his fingers at the countless pastry ingredients. "We could whip up a batch of cookies in ten minutes. But if you're patient, I could teach you how to make bread."
I considered. Food right now versus baking lessons from the baker himself. "I want to learn to make bread." The decision was already made for me, apparently.
A memory flashed behind my eyes, and I was carried back to my room in the hospital. It was the day before my supposedly life-changing surgery, and Peeta, after drugging me, had set up a picnic for us. We had been talking about how the only way to get good food around here is to buy it illegally. Funny conversations we have…
"Don't worry." Peeta smiled at me slightly and picked at his meat. "When we get back home, you'll hunt for us every day, and we'll eat rabbit stew for dinner, and fill ourselves with berries and goat cheese for breakfast." His eyes closed, absorbed in the thought. "And I'll teach you how to make bread, though you'll be terrible at it. And for lunch we will have your half-burnt bread that tastes like cardboard along with some goat cheese." His eyes peeked open. "The cheese will be better than the bread."
Stifling a laugh, I glanced up at Peeta. "Let's hope it doesn't taste like cardboard."
Peeta's eyes twinkled with the memory. "Not if I help."
It was surprisingly easy to forget how hungry I was, when Peeta was behind me, hands on mine, teaching me how to knead bread dough. I was awful at it, of course, and he was constantly correcting me. It was an hour before the dough was kneaded enough to be put in the pan. Peeta made a point of saying—several times—that it only takes him fifteen minutes to knead. Of course, I ignored him and proceeded to stuff the lumpy mass into a clear pan.
When it was crammed inside, I glanced up at Peeta for praise.
He blinked once at the pan. "Very nice. Maybe it won't taste like cardboard after all."
Somewhere behind us, I could hear Chef Krueger scolding another baker. "Stanton!" He was saying. "You're supposed to bake the dough, not eat it, Schwein!"
Ignoring the bickering chefs, I smirked and smacked Peeta lightly in the shoulder, then resumed a normal face. "So how long does bread normally take to bake?"
He took a second to contemplate. "It could take up to a day for the bread to rise. So I don't know. I don't often take bread back home the same day I bake it."
All that work for nothing? I sighed. "Well, what now? I'm still hungry."
To my surprise, Peeta's face split into a mischievous grin, and he glanced around. "This is when we steal some cookies."
I couldn't help but cringe slightly. My past experiences have taught me never to steal. Mostly because of what I had been told in the first Game about District 11. Of how when a little boy stole a pair of night goggles he got killed.
We didn't know how strict District 13 was of their thievery policies, and I was not keen to find out the hard way.
Face still contorted with the memory, I mumbled, "I can make it to dinner."
I did, and when it was 6:45, Peeta pointed it out.
"We should be going." He glanced up at the clock, then back down at me with a smile. "You still hungry?"
"Starving." To add emphasis, I put my hand on my stomach and groaned.
Hand in hand, we walked from Sector B to the cafeteria, where we sat with my family, as usual. Primrose was too busy fretting about her cat to notice we had sat down.
"…and the last time I saw him was weeks ago. He could have starved from not eating, or gotten himself locked up in an empty room and had died trying to get out! The poor thing is probably somewh—"
"Primrose." Mother intervened in Prim's worried rant. "Eat your dinner. Buttercup is just fine."
Prim didn't argue with her mother, but while her mouth was stuffed with grainy bread, she muttered, "How do you know?"
Peeta and I ate, our mouths too full to talk at all. The food was as dry as ever, but when it settled down in my stomach, I leaned back, content.
"Hey, Katniss?" Prim pushed away her tray and put her elbows on the table. "How come the only thing you and Peeta ever do is stay in your room?"
Mother looked like she was about to say something, but thought better of it, eyeing her youngest daughter with a look that clearly stated: that was rude.
Honestly, I wasn't quite sure, so I answered off the top of my head. "Because I'm still healing."
My little sister looked understanding. "Oh. 'Cause I thought—"
Suddenly, a loud blast echoed all across the lunchroom, making me jump. As if on instinct, Mothers' arm went around Prim, Peeta's around me. From somewhere on the ceiling, a loudspeaker crackled. I didn't even know District 13 had a loudspeaker.
I was pressed closer to Peeta's side when the voice of a middle-aged woman came, loud and static-y, blaring from the ceiling.
"Good afternoon, residents of District 13. I am President Coin, head of this District. We have just been put on a high alert, tipped off by Thyme Gades, the secret agent we had placed in charge of spying for District 13. For the time being, we know nothing other than that the Capitol has indeed planned an invasion on us. The alert has been set to red, and I urge everyone to stay on their guard until it has been set back down to green. It is wise at this point to abandon what you are doing at this point and get some rest. This may be the beginning of a war. All heads of departments and Officials, please report to my office for an emergency meeting. Have a good night"
And with a second pop of static, everything went silent. But that only lasted a few seconds.
At once, everyone in the refectory stood up and began talking loudly to the people around them. Some calling out names behind them as they walked out, others summoning their children to follow them.
Peeta immediately stood, hauling me up with him. Mother and Prim did the same, with worried looks in their eyes.
"We should be going." My mother walked around to the other side of the table and wrapped both me and Peeta into a quick hug. "Stay safe, you two. Love you."
"I love you, too." I didn't hesitate at all to reciprocate the words and hug Mother back.
Peeta, on the other hand, didn't know what to say. He just awkwardly put his arms around us, too, and stood there. Needless to say, he never had a mother to love him.
We parted soon after, Mother and Prim to go to their room, and Peeta and me to go to ours. His arm would not leave my waist, and I couldn't help but notice his eyes tended to flit around cautiously a lot more. After we made it to our room, Peeta made an extra effort to close and lock our door.
When the doorknob clicked satisfyingly, he surprised me by turning back around and wrapped his arms around me. Of course, I reacted as I always did and returned the fearful embrace. Peeta's breath was loud and uneven in my hair, and he pressed me closer.
"I can't lose you again." His voice was nothing but a scared whisper in my ear, like a child to his mother in a storm. It was piteous and low, something I had barely ever heard in his voice.
My hands crept up to cup the sides of Peeta's face and I drew him in for a gentle kiss. I guess my motives were to muffle the pain, to make him feel a little better, but when he drew away after only a brief second of contact, his dry blue eyes locked onto mine. There were no tears threatening to fall down either of his cheeks, nor wetness already on his face.
"Come on," I said quietly, and slipped my hand into his.
Walking backwards, I pulled him gently to bed and crawled under the covers. With a permanently tear-jerking face on, he followed and folded me into his arms. We laid back on the pillows together, my face buried in his neck.
It was during times like this when I wish the mood would be happier. I wished Peeta would break the depressing mood by cracking one of his "horny-men" jokes, or commenting on my smell. But, no.
He just pulled me onto his chest—literally; I was completely on top of him— and continuously swept his finger across a stray bit of hair that kept falling in my face. But one time, he didn't stop when the hair was brushed off. Peeta traced the line of my throat, and curved his hand back up to where the side of my face was pressed against his neck.
Everything was silent, and I waited as his fingertip outlined my jaw, and then trailed up to graze against my cheekbone. When his finger curled down and parted my lips gently, I waited for him to come to me.
The kiss was sweet and painful, lasting only about five seconds. Though I couldn't break away. Not yet.
It was as if Peeta's ache was passed through our chests the moment our lips met. The feeling settled, tepid and distressed in the pit of my heart. I didn't want to feel this. I didn't want him to feel this. We tend to completely overreact when taking note of a warning. The same thing happened before my surgery. In fact, too many tears had been shed the days before my operation.
I pulled away from Peeta and put my hands on his chest, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Peeta, we-we can't do this. Not again. We're… being melodramatic. We don't even know what'll happen. This is…this is silly."
"Maybe you don't understand what I do." Peeta's voice was painted with hurt, forcing me to look up at him.
I probably didn't. Peeta certainly thought outside of the box when it comes to situations like these. Though, I didn't like the way his eyes were drilling into mine.
"Katniss, they are coming. And they're after only one thing."
My mouth dried up. "And what would that be?" My voice came out only as a small whisper, though I had a pretty good idea what it was.
His eyes were sorrowful, almost as if he pitied me. "The Girl on Fire."
oOo
Dun dun duuuunnn! I know you guys were like "no more fluff, we want action!" and all that stuff, but I couldn't resist, you know? I hadn't put in a good fluff scene since my last story, and to be honest the one is this chapter didn't even compare to the other ones. Seriously. But anyways, sorry if you didn't like it. In fact, if you don't like fluff, you might want to leave the story now—there'll be plenty more chapters to come, way worse than this one. Be warned.
Okay, so you know how people make tributes to Katniss and Peeta, and put them to songs and upload them to YouTube? Well, I did that and it's amazing (or so I think). Here is the link:
.com/watch?v=xSMWcEUIP8U
If you guys could watch that (It's only like 2 ½ minutes long) and comment or something, I would be so happy. In fact, you can do that instead of reviewing. If you want. But I thought I just might share it with you people.