CHAPTER 15: A Heart to Heart

Peeta felt awkward, sitting in the dining room of Haymitch's home in the Victor's Village. He couldn't physically get comfortable. He found himself continuously repositioning himself on his chair, like he just didn't fit or something.

Haymitch had been taking better care of the place since they had returned after the rebellion, though not much. It still smelled, was dingy and dusty, but it was nothing like it used to be - like it was after their first Games, when Peeta made a habit out of bringing Haymitch bread every day to ensure that there was something in the house to eat that wasn't canned.

They had never talked much. It only took a few grumbles from Haymitch and a few attempts at conversation from Peeta to teach them that they couldn't communicate like Katniss and Haymitch could. There would never be any secret language between them, but there was no doubt in Peeta's mind that he loved Haymitch.

The Capitol had never confused him about Haymitch the way they did about Katniss. He had returned from his Hijacking angry at Haymitch, but not confused. He supposed his love for Haymitch was different than his love for Katniss had been - but it was no less unconditional.

He wondered if Haymitch loved him, the way he knew that he loved Katniss. He had watched Haymitch choose her twice during the Games, but both times it had more to do with everything else than it did with actually choosing between Katniss and Peeta. That was Haymitch as the mentor for the District 12 Tributes - smart, calculating, ruthless, and not like he was in the other aspects of his life.

It was more than just saving her life though; Haymitch had tried to be steady and strong for Katniss in 13 after Peeta came back hijacked. Peeta could see Haymitch's fondness of Katniss in the looks he gave her when she was injured, or when he was annoyed that she had done something so... her.

Peeta wondered if Haymitch ever loved him just for being so himself? Did that feeling go away when he ceased to be himself the way he was? When he was hijacked? The doctors told him he would never be the same again... Did that mean Haymitch had at one time loved him, but couldn't anymore, because he was too damaged? And was it the same with Katniss?

As Peeta adjusted his position for what felt like the hundredth time, he decided maybe the trouble with his comfort stemmed from his artificial leg. He had never quite gotten used to it. He lifted it up onto his other leg, crossing them in the cocky style that was one of Caesar Flickerman's signature poses. This did seem to help his lower body; now if he could just figure out what to do with his arms. He struck a few curious poses, first resting his hands on the table, flat, then crossing his arms, and then pulling at a thread that was unraveling at the bottom of his pant leg. Finally, his fidgeting drove Haymitch to break the silence that had been the state of things since Peeta had arrived.

"Alright," Haymitch, who had been content to stare at Peeta through glossy eyes from the other side of the table until exactly this moment, sneered. "Peeta, it's not that it's not..." he searched his vocabulary for a sarcastic enough word "Marvelous to see you and all. It's pretty much my favorite thing," he hiccupped; "When you and Katniss just drop by unannounced..." he gestured limply.

"I know Haymitch." Peeta stopped him, because even though Haymitch was just being Haymitch, today his cutting sarcasm was a bit too much. Haymitch stopped, respectfully. "You want to know why I'm here."

Haymitch gave Peeta a long look over his coffee, which he was enjoying in the fashion to which he was accustomed - spiked. Peeta, instead of collecting his thoughts to start his conversation with Haymitch, found his mind wandering. He wondered if Haymitch would ever stop drinking. They were free from the Capitol, from the Games, from Snow; from Coin... would Haymitch ever stop having pain to drink away?

"Peeta." Haymitch attempted to sound patient, but Peeta knew him too well for his undertone of annoyance to go unnoticed. So Peeta began, without collecting his thoughts, without taking time to construct one of his perfected Peeta conversational epiphanies, without even really knowing what he was about to say in the slightest.

"Katniss and I- we..." he stopped. He somehow kept forgetting that, in the aftermath of his hijacking, it was easy to get tongue-tied. "Uhm. We went to her father's lake. The lake that she and her father visited when she was young. Where they took the refugees after the firebombing of 12, and I started thinking about-"

"Woah, Peeta... it's a little early for that kind of talk isn't it?" Haymitch sniped quietly. He was avoiding Peeta's eyes, staring instead at a thin beam of sunlight that was streaming through a crack in the dark curtains. Dust was drifting through the sunlight, glowing white and disrupting the darkness - which seemed the only company Haymitch was comfortable consistently keeping. "I like a little breakfast when my existentialism."

Peeta had been waiting for an opportunity to present Haymitch with the rolls he had brought, and that seemed like as good a cue as any. He had set a bag of them on the floor by the chair, and took a moment to collect them and take a breath.

The rolls were a type of sweet bread made using grated lemon and orange rind. He had had the bread in the Capitol on the Victory Tour. The rolls were glazed and sticky, and tasted fresh and tangy. The scene alone was enough to make Peeta's mouth water, and Haymitch's too, he noticed as he set the bag on the table.

Haymitch tore open the bag, efficiently, if a little uncoordinated, and bit into one of the rolls. While his mouth was busy chewing, Peeta barreled on, "Something changed between us and... I've been sleeping at her house since then."

Haymitch raised an eyebrow and stuffed another bite of the roll into his mouth. Peeta took a moment to formulate the words to express what he felt, to clarify what he wanted to say. He looked down at his hands and gripped the table, and released it, and gripped it, and released it, methodically.

"I'm falling in love with her."

Haymitch choked.

"But, I don't think it will ever be how it was before, and I don't even think that she-"

Haymitch was still performing a mixture of a coughing, chewing, choking, Heimlich on himself, but all it took was him raising his hand, palm out to signal for Peeta to stop. Peeta stopped. Haymitch managed to swallow after a few more swigs of his spirited coffee. He set it down gingerly, matching the bottom of the mug up perfectly with an old water spot. Haymitch's eyes were trained on the water spot when he began.

"After the Quarter Quell, when Katniss woke up on the hovercraft... She was wandering around with a syringe. She was looking for you, so she could kill you, rather than let the Capitol torture you to death."

A slew of images hit Peeta all at once: the scary, shiny images of Katniss hunting him down in the first arena, the glistening, soft girl he saw splashing in the lake, and the burned, pathetic creature hunched against the wall in the Capitol, singing what she believed to be her Mockingjay swan song. His brain processed these images, and consolidated them to match the scene Haymitch described.

A muttation Katniss stalking the hovercraft, a taste for his blood the only thing keeping her tired feet shuffling from room to room. Breathing her hot breath, trying to sniff Peeta out and finish him off. Suddenly, another image, a benevolent Katniss, bathed in river mist, collapsing to her knees and pulling mud and debris from Peeta's face as he teased her, "Come to finish me off, sweetheart?"

"What?" Haymitch's eyes snapped up from his water spot, despite himself. Peeta had apparently said this out loud. He tried to recover, but it was too late, the trembling had set it. Desperately, he held onto the table with all the strength he could muster, and choked out, "Katniss wanted to kill me, real or not real?"

Haymitch breezed over his question, "When she figured out... that we had left you behind, she nearly clawed my eyes out." He traced a thin scar that started just above his eyebrow and ran in a jagged line down to his chin.

"Did she get you with the syringe?"

"Of course not. We made her drop it... when we explained to her what had happened... that we had... that the Capitol had you," Haymitch was back to counting dust particles in the air. "She went after me with nothing but her fingernails. It took Finnick and a few others to pull her off of me."

Peeta's imagination constructed images of a wild and feral Katniss, complete with talons and dripping sharp teeth crouched on top of Haymitch, tearing his eyes out, and his stomach turned. "Not real." Peeta whispered. After all, Haymitch still had his eyes.

Haymitch finally made eye contact with Peeta, his grey, Seam eyes, so like Katniss's, and so full of pain that would never fully heal. "I said," Haymitch licked his lips. He had released his grip on his coffee, which Peeta found his own eyes dropping to study, "Terrible things to her. Screamed at her. Told her that she would have never gone along with the plan, and she only wanted to save you to defy the Capitol, and she never loved you. I told her she was selfish, and stupid, and she didn't understand."

Peeta's stomach did another flip. So Katniss hadn't ever loved him. He raised his eyes to meet Haymitch's. Haymitch held his gaze, with some difficulty, and continued, "The whole time, she was screaming back... how she did love you, and how you were the brave one, the good one. She screamed herself raw that we should have saved you."

Peeta was becoming confused rather quickly. He couldn't understand what Haymitch was trying to tell him, or why? He tried to stay focused, to keep the images flashing before his eyes from clouding his mind, and halting his perception. He knew Haymitch must have a point, and he just had to hold on to hear it. He gripped the table harder; white knuckled, and planted both feet flat on the floor - if he could only stop shaking.

"She spent the next few weeks banging her head on her hospital table trying to kill herself, drugged, slipping in and out of consciousness, and the whole time... screaming for you."

Peeta felt a stab of guilt, which twisted in his stomach. Of course, she just wanted him to come save her.

"Everyone gave up talking to her. It became clear that without you to protect, she had lost the will to live. It was the only thing that kept her hanging on in that second arena."

Peeta felt hollow, and he ached all over. Maybe it was a mistake to come to Haymitch with matters of the heart. There was a long silence. Haymitch tried a few times to drink his coffee, but gave up, and went back to lining the cup up with the water spot on the table. Just as Peeta was deciding that maybe Haymitch had spoken his peace, Haymitch took a deep breath that seemed like it could be a lead up to more conversation.

"My point, Peeta... is that killing for someone... dying for someone... that's not the kind of love you can sustain. You kids need... something to live for. You know what it's like to die for something... for someone. Both of you. It's a miracle you're still here."

That was it, why Haymitch would never stop drinking his pain away. He had nothing to live for. Peeta realized, the reason he was making progress against his hijacked mind, the reason Katniss had been singing more lately. "Maybe," Peeta's mind struggled to connect the dots, "We don't want it to be... like it was before. Maybe it could be better."

"Right. It could be better." Haymitch said, in a hollow echo of Peeta's words. "If you make it better."

And that was it. It was in their hands now. They could swear up and down that they would kill, would die to protect the other one, but that wasn't what it was about anymore. They could make their lives... their love better. If Katniss loved him back.

"Do you think she... do you think that Katniss loves me?"

"I think she's literally crazy about you," Haymitch laughed, "Love, well that's a different thing entirely." Haymitch observed the somber look that came over Peeta's face and sighed again. "Peeta, listen very carefully to what I'm about to say, I may never be this sober again."

Peeta's eyes flashed up, attentive.

"Did Katniss fake some kisses? You bet she did. Did you strangle her and bruise her windpipe? Yep. That happened too. Did she kiss that Hawthorne boy? She sure did, but I don't see him anywhere around here, do you?" Peeta sat, eyes wide and uttered out that no, he hadn't seen Gale in years, "You and Katniss are the only people in the world who ever question whether or not you love one another. Everyone else sees it, knows it, feels it, experiences it, and quite frankly," He leaned in, with a slightly crazed look in his eyes, "it's a little nauseating."

They were silent again. Haymitch made to tip his flask over his coffee.

"What should I do, Haymitch?"

"Well," he began, abandoning his coffee altogether and drinking directly from the flask, "First off, I'd say, stop asking me what to do."

Peeta breathes deeply and strangely, misses his father and his brothers. Though Peeta's dad may not have saved him from his mother's rolling pin every time, he would give anything to have his dad here today, to give him advice. Or Leffsa, his strong and quiet older brother, whose only weakness was a beautiful merchant girl, even Ciab, who did more chasing than actual romancing would certainly have some advice.

"Leffsa would have told me. Or my dad. But they're..." The words caught in Peeta's throat, but flowed easily out of Haymitch's:

"They're dead, bub. Now all you got is me and the girl, and we're neither of us really any fun to be with, but if you love Katniss, try telling her."

"I don't know if she's ready for that," Peeta reflected quietly.

"Then show her. Do something. I don't know!" Haymitch's patience was waning. From his squinting and scowling it was becoming plain that every second he spent talking to Peeta was a second he spent not getting drunk, and that this was simply unacceptable.

"But-" Peeta wasn't sure what would have come out of his mouth next, since Haymitch cut him off with a string of sputtering profanities. Peeta had thought Haymitch to be either still drunk, hung-over, or somewhere in between - but if this was true, Peeta never wanted to upset Haymitch sober. He was on his feet shoo-ing Peeta out the door in a split second, before he could voice his protest.

He barely managed to mumble a "thank you" before the door was slammed in his face.

Peeta turned his back to the door, and took a deep breath. It was fall, and the leaves had turned almost a month ago. Soon they would die, and fall to the ground, carpeting District 12. Peeta liked fall because of the long sunsets, but it was always hard for Katniss. Too much death and too many memories.

He ruminated over what Haymitch had said as he made his way the ½ mile to the Square, where they had rebuilt some of the shops. District 12 was certainly a still work in progress, and still required a lot of help from the Capitol, but he liked the new shops - a general store that sold groceries, a hardware store, and a small boutique where people could buy clothes and get alterations and tailoring done.

In the grocery store, he bought mulling spices and a few gallons of apple cider. He and his family made mulled cider to sell in the bakery every fall, and, though his mother would have beaten them blue for it, every single one of the Mellark boys - his father included - were guilty of stealing sips here or there.

As he was leaving the shop, the keeper, a soft spoken, silver haired woman who was originally from District 11 stopped Peeta to show him a small corner shelf lined with specialty flours that had shipped in from the Capitol. She knew he was the last surviving Baker in the District and pressed him, "The Capitol bread is fine and all, I just think that there is nothing like fresh-baked homemade bread. You wouldn't consider re-opening your family's shop?"

"I wouldn't know where to start." Peeta laughed, and with that, he was off, back toward the Victor's Village, and Katniss's home that they now shared. It had been several weeks since he had started staying there, and between he and Katniss both sneaking small loads of his belongings into her home, his own house had become all but obsolete.

The funny thing was that they hadn't talked about it. Even though he would catch her eye when she came in with a shirt of his or she would cock an eyebrow at him arriving with an armload of paints, the agreement seemed to be unspoken. They had never discussed the idea of him moving in, it had just sort of happened, naturally. A small smile crossed Peeta's lips and he shifted his armload of groceries.

The summer had been rejuvenating for both of them, but as the days grew cooler, Katniss's nightmares seemed to worsen. Peeta knew this, because his bedroom was just downstairs from hers. At night, he would drift off, only to be roused by Katniss's shrieks and cries. He would lie awake all night listening, his entire body aching, screaming to go to her, but he wasn't certain that it would be safe... that it would be right. Besides, she had her sister's cat, Buttercup, to watch over her, and Peeta was sure that after all that had happened, he would be about as useful to fend off her nightmares as he was.

The long nights were starting to take their toll on both of them. In summer, Katniss woke up earlier than Peeta nearly every day, but now that it was fall, some days she was sleeping in until noon or even after, her body trying its best to fight the impending exhaustion. Peeta, on the other hand, seemed to be getting up earlier and earlier. The dampness in the air made his leg hurt, and it was hard to sleep.

Today, when he arrived home, he knew that Katniss would still be asleep. He thought that waking up to the scent of mulling cider may cheer her up some. It did. Peeta was greeted by a smile when Katniss made her way to the kitchen in the mid-afternoon. They spent the day mulling and jarring a few batches of cider, and Peeta mentioned to Katniss the idea of purchasing some of the different flours from the shop and playing around with a few bread recipes from his parents' shop.

Katniss sipped at cider and participated in the conversation fairly enthusiastically. She smiled as she talked with Peeta about the ambitious idea of re-opening the bakery, but it was impossible not to miss the way her smile lines deepened the bags under eyes, and the effort it took to light up their vacant expression. He was considering bringing it up, but besides her being so tired, the day was overall pleasant, and so it never came up. He was also glad she didn't inquire too much about his morning. For some reason, the idea of telling her he went to Haymitch for a heart to heart was embarrassing.

That night, as he drifted to sleep in the guest bed, he thought that maybe Katniss might sleep through the night. The entire house was saturated with the calming smells of cinnamon, vanilla, nutmeg, cloves, and apples. It had been a relaxing day, and she had been so tired. Surely her exhaustion would win out, and she would get one night of uninterrupted rest. This of course, was too much to ask for.

Around 2:00 in the morning, the screaming began. It started out as a moan, a low, growling, pained sound that, in his half asleep state, Peeta had a hard time recognizing as human. He even thought it might have been Buttercup. As the sound began to grow and change into sobs and screams, he knew it was Katniss. She was calling out the names of her loved ones who were dead, and shrieking other nonsense about parachutes, mutts, mines, and all the while, her voice so filled with agony.

Peeta dug his fingers into the mattress, gripping tight, and shut his eyes tightly, trying to fight the urge to go to her. But why? Why shouldn't he just try? Maybe it would be like the train on the Victory Tour so long ago. Maybe he could help her, protect her, and fend off her nightmares... just for one night. What could it hurt?

Haymitch's words came back to him, "Then show her. Do something. I don't know!"

Is this what he meant? Do something. If he went to Katniss now, would she take it as an act of love? Or would she attack him, or he her? As Peeta was struggling through an assessment of the possible consequences of staying in bed or going to Katniss, something happened that melted every shred of resolve had been holding onto.

In a frightened voice, shaking with tears, she called out for him, "PEETA! Peeta, where are you?"

Her voice was so urgent; Peeta's body reacted before his mind could. He leapt to his feet and bolted up the stairs, surprised by his own reflexes. He threw open the door to Katniss's room and moved to her.

The sound of his entrance, of course, woke her. "Peeta?" she whispered hoarsely to the darkness. Peeta was standing, a foot from the bed, unsure of how to proceed now that his feet has brought him here.

"I'm here."

"I- it was... you were..." she was trembling all over, and her voice was unsteady and confused. Peeta reached out a tentative hand and stroked her cheek as lightly and as carefully as he could manage. Her hands wrapped around his, and she gripped him so hard, that he could feel her nails actually digging into his flesh.

He froze momentarily, expected to go mutt any second, for the room to turn shiny and unfamiliar. Instead, Katniss began to pull him down to her. She scooted over on the bed so that Peeta could sit. He gingerly sat and allowed Katniss to position herself so that she was wrapped underneath one of his arms, head in his lap, arms draped across his legs. She was still trembling uncontrollably.

After about 10 minutes of silence, and stillness, he began to stroke her hair and softly say, "Katniss, it's alright. It's going to be okay." She wasn't inconsolable, she asked a few real or not real questions about how certain people had died, but she accepted his answers, and was snuggled so tightly against him, as if she was trying to become part of him.

He collected her carefully, and lay down in the bed so that he could wrap both arms around her. He even kissed her, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, and her hands - not her lips. Then, he took her face in his hands and looked into her wide, grey eyes. They were hard to make out in the dark, but she didn't look afraid, or angry. She looked tired.

"I'll stay here all night. I'll be right here okay?" He promised her. She nodded her head and buried her face in his chest. He took deep, steady breaths, and she breathed along with him, until finally, she fell back asleep. Peeta brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, and stared at her face for a long time. He could see in her sleeping face every form of Katniss he had ever known, from 5-year old to fire mutt, and he loved them all. Peeta didn't get any sleep that night, but he kept her nightmares away.

After that night, Peeta stopped sleeping in the guest bedroom.