I used to be a sound sleeper. I could sleep through Rye shaking the bunk beds we shared as he climbed up and down the ladder, through my father shuffling along at 4 am to stoke the ovens for the day, sometimes even through my parents' incessant fighting. The Games changed that, among so many other things. Even nights where I'm not awakened by nightmares (my own or Katniss's) I wake up at the slightest disruption. I wake up when she rolls away, when Haymitch's geese honk, when the woods beyond my yard are too loud or too quiet. I've resigned myself to this, in the past two years I can count on my fingers the number of full nights of truly restful sleep I've had. All of them have been with her. I wish she would stay every night but I know better than to press it. She still clings tenaciously to her independence. So mostly I hold back and let her come to me. It's happening more frequently now, perhaps she is beginning to trust me more, or maybe she just recognises how much better we each handle the night when we face it together.
These are the things I'm contemplating, lying awake in the thin light of a waning moon. Katniss is sleeping beside me tonight, her back pressed tightly to my chest, my arm curled around her waist. This was our position of comfort all of those nights on the train. The Capitol had tried to tamper with those memories, but they were among the first that I was able to sort out correctly in my mind by myself, without video evidence or people filling in the correct version for me. The torturers assumed, like Effie and the train attendants had, that something sexual was occurring in that car. They didn't, maybe couldn't, understand that the comfort and bonding we shared was so much deeper than any lurid Capitol fantasy could have been. Our nights in the training centre before the Quell were even more precious to me, lying forehead to forehead, waiting for the dawn. Recovering those memories led to remembering our day on the training centre roof, just the two of us, talking about nothing, playing with Katniss's hair while she slept on my lap, watching the sun set with my arms wrapped around her. That day remains one of my happiest memories, in spite of the circumstances. Getting that memory back had been a turning point in my recovery. I worked so much harder after that, trying to find more beautiful moments in my mind.
Despite my sleeplessness I'm grateful for the simple comfort of her presence; her toes, cold even on this hot summer night, pressed against my leg. I bury my nose in her hair and inhale her scent; pine, lavender, woodsmoke and that unmistakeable sweetness that's all her own.
I'm finally drifting back to sleep when I feel her stiffen, hear soft whimpers. Rapidly she progresses to thrashing in the bed, kicking, arms flailing as she cries out "No! Run!" I kneel over her and grasp her shoulders, shaking firmly and calling her name but she doesn't awaken immediately. Instead she calls my name, frantically, over and over, "Peeta! Peeta!" My heart speeds up as mentally I'm transported back to the jungle arena, where we called and called but never found each other. I'm shaking her in earnest now, an edge of desperation in my voice as I call her name, entreat her to wake up.
When her eyes fly open there are a few moments of near silence while she stares at me, wild-eyed and trembling, caught between nightmare and reality. Then the haze clears from her eyes and she cries out "Peeta!" before sitting upright and throwing her arms around my neck with such force it's all I can do to maintain my balance. She's holding onto me so tightly that I can feel her heart pounding against my chest, her whole body shaking.
"Shhh," I murmur, holding her close, one hand stroking her hair, "It's over, you're safe." At that she pulls back, clutching at my face, my arms, my chest, anywhere her hands find purchase, as if checking me for injuries, perhaps ensuring that I'm whole, that I'm real. It would be comical if not for the expression of terror, of desolation on her face. She keeps saying my name over and over, like a mantra. "Shhh," I try again, "I'm here, we're safe now."
"You're here," she croaks, my face between her trembling hands.
"Always," I whisper. She leans into my chest, wrapping her arms around me and starts to cry; deep, wracking sobs. I'm shaking and getting emotional myself, Katniss almost never cries in front of anyone, even after her worst nightmares she is stoic, and yet here she is falling apart in my arms with my name on her lips. Kissing her hair over and over I rock her gently for a long time while she sobs, until finally she cries herself out. When at last she begins to calm, I carefully lay her down. She immediately moves into my arms, her head on my chest. My arms wrap tightly around her, trying to help her feel safe as we breathe together. My tear-dampened shirt is still clutched tightly in her fist when finally I feel her drop off. Eventually I follow her.
When I wake with the dawn Katniss is still sleeping, curled against me, our bodies pressed together head to toe. I have only a minute to observe how calm and lovely she looks, how gentle her expression in sleep before she stirs.
Her eyes flutter open and she tilts her face up, squinting, to look at me. I smile. Confusion floods her features, and wariness sets into her eyes as she registers our positions, the way she's wrapped around me like a vine, and I think this is where the walls come back up, where she withdraws from me, maybe runs off into the forest again. This dance we do, two steps forward, two steps back, it's tiresome. I brace myself, preparing for her to push me away. Instead, her expression softens, and those incredible quicksilver eyes flood with something like gratitude. I'm surprised. She gives me a tentative half smile and says good morning. I know I'm pushing my luck, but I can't resist leaning down to kiss her forehead. Katniss closes her eyes and sighs contentedly. We lie together for a while longer, listening to the morning birdsong. I'm reluctant to break the spell but she sighs and rolls away.
"Do you have plans today?" she asks. I startle a little, I don't think Katniss has ever asked me that before, not since we've returned anyway.
"I was going to do some baking and bring some bread out to the work crews." This is my regular routine, I bake, I share with Katniss and Haymitch, then I bring the remainder to others who need it. It keeps me grounded, gives me purpose.
"If you're not busy afterwards I'd like to take you somewhere. It's a bit of a hike…" she trails off.
"I'd love to go with you." I don't even care where; I'd follow Katniss to the end of the earth. It takes everything I have not to bounce with excitement like a little kid. I laugh in spite of myself, I'm just so pleased by how the morning is shaping up, "Come on, I'll make you breakfast while I start the bread."
I fry up eggs and sausage, and Katniss eats quietly, watching while I knead the dough that I'd left to rise overnight. I love to lose myself in the feeling of kneading, the way the dough feels in my hands, so familiar and safe and right. She slips away to get ready while I load up the oven, but she promises to return in a couple of hours.
Baking and delivering keeps me busy enough that I can't dwell too much. After I've finished, I return home to shower and dress in cargo pants and comfortable boots. When I come back downstairs Katniss is waiting for me, perched on my kitchen counter. "Ready?" she asks, and when I nod she hops down with cat-like grace, slinging a leather bag over her shoulder. As we exit she hands me a water skin but says nothing else.
I'm not surprised when we head for the fence, a long walk within the district would be a couple of circles along the perimeter, but I am surprised by the transformation in Katniss when we cross that mostly symbolic boundary. She absolutely lights up. I've always thought she was radiant but here in her woods she glows. I am transfixed. She looks back at me with an impish half smile and reaches for my hand. I wonder if she realizes that this is the first time she's ever taken me into the woods with her? The first time she's shared this part of her life with me?
We walk for about 2 hours, pausing now and again to rest or for Katniss to point out plants of interest. She holds my hand the entire time. I know we are going much more slowly than she would alone, she seems to be taking care to choose the surest paths, probably because of my leg. If it was anyone else I would be offended, but it's Katniss, she's not trying to insult me or insinuate anything, she just takes care of the people she cares about. It makes me smile to think that I'm part of that incredibly select group. Finally we crest a hill and spread before us in a verdant green valley is a sparkling blue lake. I gasp, I simply can't help myself, it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Katniss is grinning at my reaction. "You like?" she asks, as if anyone could ever not like such a stunning sight.
"It's amazing!" I can scarcely tear my eyes away; the lake is almost cradled in a bowl of trees, little rocky outcrops here and there. "How did you find this place?"
Her smile falters, just a little, and melancholy flashes in her expressive silver eyes before she looks away over the water. "My father used to bring me here on Sundays. He never brought Prim, or my mother, only me. This was our special place." She turns back to me with a shy smile. "I wanted to share it with you, so it can be your special place too."
I'm overwhelmed that she brought me here, that she is offering to share with me this place that is so sacred to her. Without thinking I envelop her in my arms, nearly crushing her against my chest. She doesn't pull back or resist, she simply wraps her arms around my waist and hugs me back. When I find my voice again I whisper 'Thank you." She laughs sweetly and musically, releasing me and grabbing my hand again.
"Come on!" she entreats, half dragging me down the hill. She's packed a blanket in that bag, and together we spread it in the shade of a large willow tree. There's also a substantial meal tucked in there, for which I'm grateful, the walk has left me famished. Hard boiled eggs, berries, strips of salted duck, a flask of cold tea and some cheese buns left over from the morning before. Simple food but even a Capitol meal couldn't have tasted better. As we eat she speaks animatedly about her trips here as a child; her father teaching her to swim and fish, digging for katniss roots, and shooting water fowl. She is a sight to behold; smiling, laughing, and looking happier and more relaxed than I've ever seen her. As beautiful as the lake is, it can't hold a candle to Katniss who is utterly luminous in her joy. I realize I've been staring when she stops speaking, a slight blush tinting her cheeks. She stands and offers me a hand up. "Let's go swimming."
My jaw drops. "Uh, Katniss, I don't actually know how to swim. I mean, I know you tried to show me, in the Quell, I saw the video, but I don't remember it."
She smiles. "I didn't really try to teach you then anyway, it was just an excuse to get away from the others so we could talk freely." A look of pain clouds her features, but she shakes her head and then smiles again. "I can teach you now, but it's shallow for quite a way out, so we can just wade if you prefer. I'll show you how to float." She bends to unlace her boots and for possibly the first time in my life I am seized with a wave of self-consciousness. My scars, my leg, yes Katniss has seen them before but the arena and the darkness of our bedrooms is different somehow than here in the open on this brilliant sunny day. She's slipped off her shirt, and peeking out from under her camisole I can see part of the patchwork of burn scars that I know criss-cross her back, shoulder and arm. Scars that match my own. It's this that allows me to push past my apprehension and begin to undress. When I look up again Katniss is standing at the water's edge, ripples radiate outward from where her toes just breach the surface. Clad in only a camisole and panties, her long, slender legs lead up to softly rounded hips and a tiny waist. She's no longer the half-starved waif that greeted me on my return to Twelve, though she's still very thin. Eating more regularly and her hours in the woods have transformed her into a strong, lean woman. I bite my cheek hard in an effort to stop the rush of blood downward but it's in vain, she's too beautiful, too perfect and I want her, all of her, even more now than when we were younger.
She turns, looking back at where I sit, frozen and gawking, still half clothed. "Come on slow poke!" she laughs, then runs into the water, diving under when she reaches waist deep.
I peel off my pants, leaving my shorts and undershirt, which I pull down to try to disguise my hard on. The water is blissfully cool in contrast to the summer sun, and quite effective in diminishing the evidence of my arousal. I've never been in a body of water like this before, there was water in the jungle arena of course but it was warm and smelled strange. This water is clean and cool and feels incredible. There is mud squishing up between my toes and tiny fish swimming around. When I stand still they approach me and try to nibble at the hairs of my one real leg. It tickles. I could stand here watching the fish and the shifting reflections of the trees and the clouds on the surface of the lake all day but Katniss has other ideas and soon we're playing like children, chasing each other, splashing each other, laughing like I can't recall ever laughing before.
Turns out I do remember, somewhere deep in my brain, a little of her swimming lesson because I can paddle a bit, but I prefer floating on my back, watching the clouds drift by, completely at peace.
Eventually we drag ourselves out of the water and flop onto the blanket to let the breeze dry us off. I'm so exhausted I can do nothing but lay on my side. Katniss lies next to me, smiling, her forehead pressed to mine, and here in the dappled sunshine it's even more intimate than those training centre nights. Though I'd like to stare into her eyes like this for all eternity my sleepless night and the exertions of the day catch up with me and I drift off to sleep.
I can tell by the position of the sun that more than an hour has passed when I open my eyes again. Katniss is gone, but in her place is one of my sketch pads and a couple of pencils. She's scrawled a note along the bottom of the first blank page: 'Gone fishing, back soon.' I'm flooded with love and gratitude that she thought of bringing these for me. I pull on my clothes, then immediately set to work.
When Katniss returns with several fish, I've finished sketching an outline of the area. I haven't included much detail, my aim is only to record the shape and major elements to assist me when I paint the scene, but Katniss sighs appreciatively when she looks at the rough drawing anyway.
"You draw so beautifully Peeta." She kneels beside me, reaching a finger to gently trace the pencil lines. I thank her for bringing my sketchpad, for bringing me to the lake, for sharing such a perfect day with me. She smiles, and before I can really register what's happening she leans in and kisses me, her lips brushing against mine, light as a whisper. "You're welcome," is all she says, then busies herself packing up our makeshift picnic while my heart pounds loudly enough that I'm sure she can hear it.
Though the walk back is long I feel like I'm floating. Katniss again holds my hand, and while she's quieter than on the walk to the lake it's a content kind of quiet. Things are changing between us, I can feel it. Ever since that night during Delly's visit there's been a subtle shift. We've never spoken about it, about that night, about this thing that is growing between us, but she looks at me differently now. I'm afraid to say anything, afraid that if I acknowledge it she'll be gone, and I don't think I could survive that again.