A.N. end : )

Chapter 7

It had been a month since Katniss slipped into her catatonic state, and every day felt like a slow grind. They'd put the feeding tube back in, and I refused to assist with it. The whole thing gnawed at me. Summer had started to settle in, the heat pressing in through the hospital walls, making the place feel more stifling than usual. I ditched the tighter fitting shirts for my regular scrub top—lighter, cooler, but even that didn't help with how trapped I felt.

The routine was maddening. Delly had both Katniss and Cara, while I was stuck caring for the same man I'd been assigned to for weeks. It made no sense why they hadn't just moved me off this unit. Delly probably had something to do with that. She wouldn't admit it, but I knew she argued to keep me close by. But it didn't matter. I wasn't helping with Katniss. I couldn't even look at her without that tight knot of frustration growing in my chest.

Everyone else seemed to move on, carrying out their tasks, organizing their patients, adjusting to the flow. Meanwhile, I was suffocating in my own head. I walked into one of the other nurses' rooms, knocking harder than I needed to. Anything to keep busy, anything to avoid thinking about Katniss, lying there like a ghost of herself.

"Hey, Naomi," I said cheerfully. "Would you like some help?" she beckons me in with her head and says thanks. We clean up her patient, and as she rolls him to me to clean him and change the sheets, I had a thought pop into my head. "Did Katniss ever talk about me to you?"

Naomi looked up with just her eyes and went back to looking at what she was doing. "She did. She mentioned that you guys went to school together and that you were pretty popular. She said something about you wrestling?"

I snorted and pushed her patient onto his other side so she could hold him and I could clean this side and fix the sheets. "Yeah, my brother and I were on the same team. We were pretty good, but my brother was always number one. Couldn't ever get passed a drop move he always did and it always got him a win." I finished cleaning and realized that it had been years since I talked to someone about my brothers.

"His name is Rye, right?" she asks gripping the sheet as I did the same and we pulled up the patient in bed. I nodded.

"Yeah, Rye was the middle one, and my older brother was Zachary. Zach didn't do wrestling though. He was the brainiac," I further explained, remembering the day that Zach told our parents that he didn't want to work in the bakery when he turned 18, and he wanted to instead petition the mayor to be moved to the Capitol and work there in the labs. He loved to know how things worked, why things worked, and he really wanted to find cures to diseases that could be available for the Districts. I partially think that's why I leaned more towards the medical field eventually, in honor of him wanting to be part of something bigger than himself.

Naomi smiled at my stories of Rye and Zach. My heart felt heavy for them though, and I didn't know it then but I would go home that night and cry for my families presence.

It had been almost two months since I had gone into Katniss's room, and I noticed there was a visitor in there. I could smell him before I saw him.

Haymitch.

I leaned on the door frame, careful to not make myself known and I listened in on their conversation.

"Sweetheart you need to snap the hell out of this, you're scaring me, you're scaring Effie, Johanna has been asking for you to write her back for weeks. I don't know how much longer I can keep this charade that you're on a hunting trip," he begged sitting across from her on her bed. "You can't get bad like you did when we got back from 13. You need to wake up, move aound, eat, drink - hell punch me if you want!"

It was eerie seeing Katniss motionless, as though she were a lifeless statue rather than a person. The stillness of her presence contrasted sharply with Haymitch's restless energy. I couldn't help but think that even if she reached over and punched him, it would be an improvement and at least provide some levity to the situation.

I knocked softly on the door before stepping in with my hands tucked into my pockets. Leaning against the door frame, I watched as Haymitch's gaze flicked between me and Katniss, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded, his voice sharp as he gestured toward Katniss. I sighed, choosing my words with care to avoid pushing Katniss further into her shell.

"There was… an incident. The patient next door didn't make it," I said slowly, my voice laden with the weight of the news. Haymitch's expression softened into a frown as he absorbed the information.

"Darius. Damn, sweetheart, I'm sorry about him. I know he was a friend of yours," he said gently, placing his hand on Katniss's. "But you need to pull yourself out of this. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. He was ready to go."

There was something about Haymitch's words that struck a chord with me—they carried a weight of sincerity that was almost paternal. His tone, though far from sober, felt genuine and unfiltered. I watched the mentor and the Mockingjay, both visibly broken yet remaining a source of support for each other. Haymitch's reminder that Darius was ready to go and that it wasn't anyone's fault resonated deeply. I found myself reflecting on the relentless efforts I had put into saving him, feeling a pang of guilt for perhaps having held onto hope a bit too tightly. It was a sobering realization that sometimes, peace is the ultimate release, even if it's a painful truth to accept.

"He… he just made me think of…of her," Katniss mumbled, her lips barely moving, pushing out her voice which was raspy and tired. "Pri-" she stopped, closing her eyes tight as she bit her lip before she continued. "She - took care of him. She talked all the time in 13 about how she was making improvements with Darius. It was like saying goodbye to another piece that reminded me of her."

Haymitch and I didn't respond, we just looked to each other. I wasn't supposed to be in here, but I couldn't get myself to leave. Instead, I came to Katniss's side and squat so she could look me in the face. I grasped her limp hand which tensed at my touch then relaxed. Rubbing my thumb along her knuckles, I looked her in the eyes and smiled softly.

"Katniss, did I ever tell you about the first time her and I spoke?" she shook her head slowly. "When we got to 13, I was grieving for my family. I wanted something to do that was productive and something that helped both me and someone else. I was sitting in the cafeteria eating when someone actually started choking on their food. I got up and ran to them, knowing how to do the Heimlich maneuver since we had to know it in order to be in food business, and when - I think it was a biscuit piece, shot out of them it had hit Prim in the arm. I thought she was going to lose her mind at me. Instead, she came to help me sit them back up and get them settled to go to the infirmary. When we were walking back, she had looked at me and said she 'had no idea biscuits were so dangerous'. We laughed and that's when she asked about my medical experience. Telling her I had none, she invited me to come to one of the training sessions she was scheduled to so she could become a doctor. If it wasn't for her I would of never been here. She showed me a lot of great things. She did a lot of great things too. She is the reason why my bedside manner is the way it is. I miss her, too."

Katniss had relaxed into my touch finally and the pained look on her face softened. She sat up and placed her hand on my cheek. "Thank you, Peeta."

I reached my other hand to her back and rubbed it roughly, as if we were buddies, but as she looked to me again, my movements turned softer. I rubbed her back slowly and Haymitch squeezed her calf and made his way to leave the room.

"I'm gonna head on home, Duck and Quack need to eat."

I looked to him and smirked. "That's fine, go feed your children," I said, trying to stifle a laugh. Katniss pushed out a sharp breath through her nose, and I took it as a sign of amusement. Haymitch backed out of the room flinging a middle finger gesture at me. I paused the rubbing motions of both my hands and tilted my head to look at her feeding tube. I placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head up a bit, making sure it was secure still.

Looking to my side, I noticed that her tube feed was running low, and without second thought I began to replace it for Delly. While I was dumping the contents into the bag, Katniss followed the line with her eyes and then looked to me.

"Peeta, can you make me cheese buns again when I get this stupid thing out?" she asked more bold than I had heard her spoke in ages. I grinned and continued to dump the contents into the bag, blowing a raspberry with my mouth as I did. She furrowed her brows bit I could see a twitch of a smile in the corners of her mouth, and it made my chest tighten.

After I finished setting that back up for Delly, I crossed back to Katniss. "Absolutely. Maybe I can whip up something sweet for you, too. Have you ever had chocolate covered strawberries?" She stared a bit blankly at me, then blinked after what seemed like a few minutes.

"Katniss?" I prodded gently.

She blinked again and nodded. "Yeah, sorry. When I was a tribute. One night we were having dinner and Effie offered me some. Cinna, my stylist, insisted I try one. The chocolate was okay, it honestly tasted like plastic." She explained, fiddling with her blanket.

Damn. I had made her think of her Games. I hated when I did that or when anyone did that. She deserved to forget those experiences, but that's how history repeats itself: we forget. In an effort to make her smile, I joked, "How do you know what plastic tastes like?" She swatted my arm and laughed. "But, okay, how about I make you the Mellark's version and you tell me if ours taste like plastic, too?" Katniss pulled the blanket more around her and agreed to the task.

Before I left her room, I tucked a piece of hair back behind her hear. Katniss looked up at me and then back down at her hands. I couldn't see her blush but her ears were turning red. I held my breath until I left the room. Mentally kicking myself over and over. So much for staying away from her.

Another few weeks passed, and with the help of a remarkably patient psychiatrist, Katniss finally started taking her meds again and agreed to try eating. One morning, we removed her feeding tube, and I brought her a tray with some soup—and, with a bit of mischief, a cheese bun. When she saw it, her eyes lit up, and I couldn't help but wink at her.

The day finally arrived when Katniss was ready to leave the hospital. She was still weak and needed extra support, so Greasy Sae, who ran a food stall at The Hob, generously offered to help out at her home, just as she had when Katniss first returned to District 12. We expressed our gratitude, and as Katniss was wheeled out—something I regrettably couldn't do myself due to a busy schedule—she passed by my room. I was in the middle of taking off my dirty gloves and disposing of them. She gave me a gentle wave, and I returned it with a smile, despite my hands being occupied with grabbing the trash bag.

I was just about to clock out, waiting for my relief to arrive. The gentleman I'd been caring for had been deteriorating, and since he was a DNR, we decided to proceed with withdrawal of care after discussing it with his family. It had been a quieter day now that there wasn't a patient in between Delly and me, so we were back to our usual 2:1 ratio.

Since Katniss left, I had cut back on picking up extra shifts. Instead, I had saved up the additional money and was seriously considering reopening the bakery. Baking had become a form of therapy for me, especially after spending so much time doing it for Katniss. My therapist had advised me on coping strategies, distinguishing between healthy and unhealthy ones. Baking was a healthy outlet, while overworking for financial compensation, in an attempt to make up for not being able to save my family, was unhealthy. So, I continued to find balance, working out, baking, and maintaining a routine that helped me stay grounded.

I decided today would be the day to shake up my workout routine, so I veered off my usual path. Instead of sticking to Merchant Circle and Town Square, I aimed for the hilly terrain of Victors Village and the sprawling Meadow. As I sprinted past the rows of stately homes in Victors Village, a striking scene unfolded before me: Katniss was on her knees, meticulously tending to her garden in the cool, early morning light. The whole area seemed to be bathed in a tranquil blue hue, a soft filter that lent an almost ethereal calmness to the surroundings.

I made an effort to keep my presence unannounced, maintaining my steady pace as I jogged past the fence that enclosed her garden. Her concentration was evident, lost in the peaceful rhythm of her work. But as my footsteps drew nearer, she looked up, her attention captured by the sound.

"Peeta!" Her voice rang out, clear and warm. She gave a small, hesitant wave, and I slowed to a stop, making my way up the gentle slope toward the fence. As I peered through the bars, I couldn't help but notice the sight of her. Her cheeks were flushed from the morning exertion, and her bare feet, caked in dirt, were a testament to her hard work.

"Well, hi there. You're looking significantly better!" I called out, gesturing to her with a broad smile. Her face brightened, a shy smile spreading as she glanced down at her feet, revealing them coated in earthy soil.

"Yeah, I, um, I decided I wanted to start a garden," she said, her gaze shifting back to the verdant patch she was nurturing. "I'm growing herbs and vegetables for myself, and I thought I'd have enough to share with people in town, too." She looked at her garden with a sense of pride, the vibrant greens and emerging sprouts a stark contrast to the early morning blue.

I could feel my heart warm at the sight. Of course, Katniss was finding a way to give back, even in her own quiet, steadfast way. Despite my past criticisms, it was clear that her love language was indeed acts of service. She had always been one to share what she had, like the game she'd contribute to Greasy Sae's soups and stews at The Hob—a never-ending cycle of kindness that spoke volumes.

I took a step closer, my eyes scanning her garden. Memories of my own family's garden flashed in my mind—the rows of vegetables, the careful spacing between plants. Noticing some of the piles were either too close together or overly saturated, I offered her a piece of advice.

"Make sure you space those out a bit," I suggested, pointing to a cluster of plants. "If they're too close, they might not thrive as well." Katniss turned her head to follow my finger, biting her lip as she took in the advice. She glanced back at me and nodded, a hint of relief in her eyes.

"I've never done this before, so I was really guessing," she admitted, a touch of uncertainty in her voice. I gave her a reassuring smile and shrugged.

"Everyone starts somewhere," I said, my tone light. Her worry lines softened, and a genuine smile spread across her face, transforming her expression.

"Peeta," she said, gripping the bars of the fence and leaning in slightly. I felt a sudden shyness, instinctively taking a small step back and swiping my leg as if to brush off a bug, which I then realized I went for my fake leg.

Nice, genius.

"Would you—um, would you like to come over for dinner tonight?"

My heart seemed to freeze in my chest. I was on the brink of collapsing right there in front of Katniss's fence. Her gaze shifted as she noticed my hesitation, and she shook her head slightly.

"You don't have to say yes," she said, her voice steady but carrying an edge of seriousness. "I just wanted to… to thank you for the support you gave me while I was in the hospital. You were a big help."

I feigned contemplation, glancing at my watch and then towards the meadow, buying myself a moment to steady my racing heart. I needed to make sure I didn't sound too jittery when I responded. She watched me, her eyes flicking between me and the garden, before she released her grip on the fence.

"Really, it's okay," she said, beginning to turn away. "No hard feelings."

Dammit, I'd taken too long. I watched her walk back to her garden, picking up her tools and gloves with a resolute air.

"How's 6:30?" I blurted out, the words coming out louder than intended. My nerves were on edge, and though saying 'yes' to Katniss Everdeen was usually a breeze for me, this was different. The request felt too personal, too... intimate. It was like trying to wrestle with a concept I wasn't quite ready to grapple with. I could sense her discomfort too, her stepping beyond familiar boundaries. She wasn't exactly known for being social with guys, at least not in the way I hoped she might be with me. I still wondered if there was something lingering between her and Gale, but I kept that thought locked away, fearing it might be true.

Katniss looked up at me, her smile wide and genuine, and for a moment, it felt like the world narrowed to just the two of us. "That sounds great. How does squirrel stew sound?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with a warmth that was almost too much to bear.

My mouth watered at the thought, a nostalgic comfort, and I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. "That sounds great," I echoed, my voice sounding a little too eager. "I'll bring some bread over, too."

That night around 5, I found myself pacing nervously. I had only been in Victor Village a few times to check on Haymitch or drag him from his house to bring him to the hospital so we could get him rehydrated by something that isn't brown or that comes in a square glass bottle. I knew all the houses were mirror copies of each other, but I highly doubted that Katniss's house was going to smell like vomit, alcohol and old food- a distinctive trio of smells that clung to Haymitch's place.

I stripped off my clothes and hopped into the shower, scrubbing away the grime of the day and washing my hair with more care than usual. When I stepped out, I wrapped a towel around my waist and surveyed myself in the mirror. I ran my fingers over my face, checking for any blemishes or stray gray hairs. At 20, acne still made occasional appearances, and I wanted to make sure nothing marred my appearance. I gently shaved off the faint stubble that had gathered, leaving my skin feeling smooth and clean.

I applied deodorant and added a light spritz of cologne, but then I hesitated. Was I overdoing it? Was she going to notice that I was trying too hard? This wasn't a date, right? I stood there, caught in a moment of indecision. I couldn't take another shower to wash off the cologne, and I had already styled my hair to my liking. I sighed, wrestling with my nerves. If she noticed, then so be it. If she didn't like it, I'd just have to learn from it and never repeat the effort.

I dried myself off further and when I pulled my towel away it exposed my now hardening length.

"Oh hell no, not tonight, we are not doing this tonight." I blushed, covering myself and squeezing my eyes shut, willing it to go away with mental images of gory patients. When that didn't work – since the gruesome memories had long lost their shock value - I tried ignoring it. But the more I thought about Katniss and this dinner, the more I started to throb. Well, I guess it would be better to get this out of the way so it doesn't happen during dinner.

Caving, and tossing my towel off and onto my carpeted floor, I laid back on my bed and gripped myself. I had waited too long, the heat from both my hand and my dick clashing, melting into an overdrive of sensation. I was never the guy who would brag about himself in this way – I didn't see the point. My friends would all compare their lengths and girths, I would just laugh as I listened in. But, I would say I was a decent size in length and girth, enough to need one and a half hands at most.

I started slow, squeezing the base then lightening up at my tip, capitalizing on the sensitivity around it. Precum leaked out slowly, coating the tip and making it even more slippery and sensitive. My eyes fluttered shut as the rhythm started to come to me. I then picked up the pace intermittently, mimicking the one fantasy I could not get out of my head:

I had imagined Katniss squatting over me, her creamy thighs open for my touch and riding my cock while I held her hips to help her bounce. My hips would raise up to meet hers, our slapping skin echoing in the room, driving us to go faster. Her hands going in her hair and touching her breasts while moaning my name. I kept stroking and tightening my grip towards the tip and my hips started bucking into my grip even more. As I continued to move, my thoughts of Katniss grew more and more vivid. I could smell her wood scented hair, feel her small hands on my chest, the tightness of her being mimicked by my hand.

It wasn't until I imagined her throwing her hair to the side and looking at me in the eyes with her lust filled gray pools, whispering, "Cum for me, Peeta," that I finally released onto my stomach. Waves of pleasure crashed over and over as I suppressed a groan by biting my lip. I laid there silently, trying to control my heaving chest as I reached over to my box of tissues and wiped myself clean. If I had any ability to get hard again tonight, it would be a miracle; the intensity of my orgasm had left me spent, and if I didn't have such an important date tonight, I would have passed out to dream up more.

As I buttoned up the white shirt and adjusted the beige cargo shorts, I noticed a small satisfaction in the fact that my socks were actually white for once—clean, crisp, and not covered in cats or Christmas lights. Rolling up my sleeves, I strapped my watch, letting out a slow, steadying breath as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. It felt like I was preparing for something more than dinner. My hair was neat, my shirt pressed. Everything about me looked like I had tried, but not too hard.

I stepped into the kitchen and grabbed the two loaves of bread I had baked earlier: one plain for the squirrel stew, and the other a loaf of raisin-nut bread. I stood there for a moment, holding them both in my hands, when a familiar, bittersweet memory tugged at the edges of my mind. The last time I made raisin-nut bread had been for my family, long before everything was torn apart. It was my father's favorite, and I used to sneak slices to my brothers when we weren't supposed to have any sweets. Now, the smell of it filled the air again, a quiet reminder of simpler days.

I paused, realizing yet another unconscious significance behind why I'd made this particular bread tonight

When I was eleven, I heard my mother's shrill voice echo through the house, full of anger as she hurled empty bottles out the door, threatening to call the Peacekeepers. She cursed at some "Seam brat" rummaging through our trash. The venom in her voice twisted my stomach, and when she muttered something about putting rat poison in the trash cans to "get rid of the vermin," my father's face darkened, his lips pressing into a tight line. I was drying a tray by the sink when I glanced outside. My mother's voice droned on in the background, but my eyes caught a dark figure crawling under our apple tree. As I squinted, my breath caught in my chest—it was her.

Katniss. The girl who used to wear her hair in two braids, not just one. The girl whose voice could silence the world, whose presence made the birds hush, as if they knew they couldn't compete. The girl I'd been in love with since I was five years old. And now she was out there, crouched low, rummaging through our garbage.

My mother's words about poison still hung in the air, making me seethe with anger. I knew if she saw Katniss, there'd be more than just threats. So, I took my time with that tray, scrubbing slower than I ever had. The edges of my heart warred between wanting to protect her and knowing the risks of defying my mother.

"Peet, can you hurry along with that tray, please?" My father's voice broke through my thoughts. I didn't answer, didn't move. I was too busy keeping an eye on the window, on Katniss. "Peet," he said again, more firmly this time. "Hurry up before this bread gets burned."

I handed the tray to my father as slowly as possible, knowing he'd just shove it into the oven to dry, like always. But I barely had time to turn before I felt the sharp crack of my mother's rolling pin across my back. The force knocked the air out of me, and I crashed into the baker's rack behind me, knocking two loaves into the fire.

The pain was sharp, radiating from my shoulder where she'd hit me. I winced, waiting for the next blow, but before she could swing again, my father stepped in, grabbing the rolling pin from her hand. His face was tight, the rare moment when he actually stood up to her. He didn't do it often—fear of my mother ran deep in our house—but today, something had snapped.

I scrambled to the fire, pulling the loaves out, but they were already charred. My mother yanked me up by the elbow, dragging me outside. The slap that landed on my face was as sharp as the hit to my back. "No one wants burned bread, Peeta!" she shrieked. "Throw it to the pigs and get upstairs. No dinner for you."

I tore off the burnt end of one loaf and tossed it toward the pigpen, but I wasn't really aiming for the pigs. I could see her, Katniss, still watching from the tree. My heart ached. I glanced back at the house. My mother was inside, fuming. My father was kneading dough, his back turned. I hesitated only a moment before I threw the loaves toward her, hoping she'd catch them.

Then I hurried back inside, offering a half-hearted apology to my father. I felt a pang of guilt. The loaves I burned were our best—pricier, harder to make.. But my father looked up towards the stairs where my mother retreated to, to the window and back to me.

"Did she get it?" he asked quietly. I gasped, not realizing he knew what I was doing. I looked out the window and saw Katniss grab the bread and stuff it into her shirt, running towards the Seam. I nodded and he sighed. "Good."

I had realized I had been standing in my kitchen for too long when I noticed the clock on the oven said it was 6:20. Damn, I daydreamed again. I was going to be a little bit late, now. Hopefully Katniss was not prudent about being on time. I wrapped up the loaves in parchment paper to seal in the warmth and reached into the fridge for my small surprise for Katniss, and made my way towards Victors Village.

I'm going to unashamedly admit that I had to ask my boyfriend for advice on how to write *this* chapter lol. Kinda lacking the anatomy there.

I was so so happy I figured a way to incorporate the story that started it all from when they were 11! I am really trying to pull in canon stuff into here to make it make sense (also so I dont have to think as hard lol) but thats backfiring. Also I had no idea what to name Peeta's older brother - I've read some stories where his name is Bannock and truthfully I hate that name so I changed it lol. I did keep Rye as his brothers name, even though its not truly canon that it's his brothers name and rather Peeta's first son's name... I dunno wouldn't it be sweet if it was canon that he named his son after the brother he was closest with? The line from his mother in this chapter I also got from watching a BOS clip from YouTube, where you can actually hear the woman playing Peeta's mother speaking before she whacks him, I'm really trying to pull from all angles here, ya'll.

I kinda enjoyed writing Katniss a bit more bolder than she would have been at 17/18. Character growth is so fun to play with since it's up for so much interpretation! I really do think that after being in the hospital for so long and being waited on since she couldn't fully take care of herself forced her to appreciate the gestures and push herself to continue the acts of service (my bf is super big on love languages) to show appreciation. I know it might seem weird that you don't get as much emotional background from either character since we dont know what life was like if Peeta hadnt been Reaped, but I promise that will come later! Realistically though, Katniss didn't have any emotional background until they were 16/17, so Peeta's always been a step ahead. But we'll get to what happened in 13 later. She had to know him at least a bit...right? ;) idk we'll see lol

Sorry for such a long note! Its like 4 am and im editing more chapters before I pass out. Please leave a review, follow and/or like the story! Kinda had the idea that I won't post a chapter until I get a certain amount of reviews... we'll seeeeee 3