With a gasping breath she wretches herself awake, fighting against her bonds and kicking at a would-be attacker. Katniss's body is ready to fight off any threat before her mind is capable of fully reaching consciousness. When something touches her upper arm, she doesn't hesitate, she strikes out with her fist and punches her attacker.
"Katniss," someone says with some urgency. "Katniss, please, it's alright, it's over."
Her eyes open with plenty of bewilderment. The voice is familiar, but she doesn't recognize it yet. She's in a bedroom, the gentle mornings light barely trickles through the window. Sitting before her is a troubled looking man. Peeta, with a red welt on his face from her hand.
"Katniss," he murmurs reaching out to touch her hair with a gentle hand. "It's alright, you're at home."
She takes a rattling breath, still too out of sorts to speak. Her eyes flash across the room, but it remains a bedroom in District Twelve. Peeta remains before her, nineteen and scar ridden. There are no Capitol engineered mutts here. No one is at the brink of death.
"Peeta," she sobs, automatically covering her face. Somehow, after everything, she retains the ability to be embarrassed by her tears.
"Shh," he murmurs, gathering her up in an embrace that feels as familiar a childhood memory. As safe as returning home. "You're okay. You're here now."
She hiccups trying to get her breath under control. Surely, snot is running out of her nose like a faucet, ruining his shirt. She focuses on her breathing and slowing her racing heart. Peeta runs a hand up and down her back as she shakes from her sobs.
They're there for a long time, or at least it feels like a long time. She has no way of telling. Peeta holds her tight, which she appreciates. Eventually his murmurs fade into silence and her breathing returns to normal.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks after they've sat in silence for a while, but she shakes her head. He squeezes her tighter to show his acceptance.
The moment is broken when a phone begins to ring somewhere downstairs. Peeta pulls back from her but doesn't let her go. His expression tells her he's just as surprised by the phone call as she is. Their eyes meet in a silent question, and she nods, granting her permission for him to go.
"It's probably nothing," he says as he pulls away from her and stands. "I'll be right back." She watches him jog out the door.
She stares after him for a moment, listening to the metal click of his prosthetic leg as he walks away. Apart from the phones ringing the house is still. She looks towards the window and stands, walking on somewhat shaky legs to pull it open.
There's something strange to her about a bedroom without an open window, used as she is to Peeta's bedtime habits.
The fresh morning air wafts into the room followed by the bird's morning songs. She relaxes, leaning heavily against the window frame, and takes a moment to breathe in and out, one calming breath after another.
"Hello?" Peeta's voice barely reaches her. He must be somewhere at the front of the house. "Oh, hey."
She's curious about who could possibly be calling, so she walks out into the hall, lingering near the staircase.
Peeta doesn't quite laugh, but he sounds amused, "well, excuse me for not feeling sunny at five in the morning."
Whoever's on the other end must say something because Peeta doesn't speak. Katniss strains her neck trying to hear whatever is being said.
"Oh," he whispers, all playfulness suddenly gone. "I'm so sorry. No, Jo, don't— I—"
She slides down the wall to sit. What does Johanna want?
"Of course. I'll be there." He vows, pausing to listen to Johanna say something else, "What do you mean? Yeah, we're going." He pauses for bit longer now. "They have to...Yeah…What—what do you mean?" Another pause. "Well, it's for Annie. It should be what she wants, don't you think?"
From where she is she can hear the tone of Johanna's voice but can't understand what she's saying. She sounds emotional, angry.
Peeta scoffs, "No." he pauses briefly. "Because I don't, I'm bringing her." He pauses again and the sound of Johanna's rage fills the room. "No—You—Because you weren't even there! He—" He pauses for the briefest of moments. "You know what? Fuck off!" He slams the phone.
Katniss jumps slightly in surprise. He slammed the phone hard. She waits to see if something else of interest will occur, but nothing does. After a curious pause she quietly heads down the stairs.
"Where are we going?" she asks once she's made it into the kitchen. Peeta jumps at the sound of her voice and looks at her from where he's standing in front of the wall-mounted phone.
"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "How much did you hear?"
"All of it," she admits and takes a seat at his island. "What happened? Why are you mad at Johanna?"
He sighs and turns around to face her better, leaning against the wall. "Annie wants to have a funeral, for Finnick."
"Oh," she says softly, her heart clenching. "In Four?"
He nods, "Johanna doesn't want you to come."
She's taken aback for a moment before it sinks in.
"She blames me," she breathes and looks down at her hands. Of course. She does, how couldn't Johanna?
"She's being irrational. We're going to the funeral; you're going to the funeral." Peeta steps forward and lays a gentle hand on the back of her head, stroking her there. "Okay? This isn't your fault. We're doing this for Annie anyways, and she could never blame you. She invited you."
She raises her head slightly and meets his gaze, "when is it?"
He shrugs, "it's completely symbolic so they can do it anytime. Jo's never calling me back, so I'll have to call Annie to find out." He crouches down slightly to bring his eyes closer to hers. "Hey, I mean it. This isn't your fault. Finnick loved you. He protected you, that's it."
She frowns to hold back the tears that suddenly fill her eyes and yanks Peeta into a hug. He's unbalanced from his previous position, so he collapses into the island slightly, but he doesn't let go, just strokes her hair.
She squeezes him around the neck, "how are you smuggling me out of the District? I'm banished, remember?"
"I'll figure something out," he mumbles against her hair, tickling her with his warm breath. "We always figure something out."
Despite how often she ends up doing it she doesn't like to cry so she tries to recover as quickly as she can, albeit Peeta's reassurances that she's allowed to be emotional.
Instead, she pulls away from him and walks shakily to the fridge.
"Are you hungry?" she asks in a falsely neutral tone, keeping her eyes averted. "I'll cook."
"You don't have—" he begins but she cuts him off with a shake of her head.
"I haven't cooked in ages, I want to, really," she insists. Peeta doesn't appear convinced, so she ignores him, taking in the contents of his fridge.
"Where's your food?" she frowns. The fridge is emptier than the last time she'd seen it. All he has are the squirrels she brought him earlier that week.
"I don't have any left," he admits sheepishly. "I need to pick up rations today."
"Still," she steps away from the fridge and looks around the countertops. A loaf of bread, jackpot. "You should have something."
When Peeta doesn't answer right away she knows she's right to be suspicious. She pulls out a knife from the drawer and begins to slice the bread.
"Did you give it away?" she asks knowingly. What else, knowing him?
"I'm always with you anyways," he insists. "You have food."
"Peeta," she chances a glance at him, and he seems to be expecting her disapproval. "You need to stop. Take care of yourself. This is too much, even for you."
She turns to the toaster oven and slides the sliced bread inside. Peeta sits silently at the island for a moment, presumably considering her words.
"It would just go to waste," he decides. "Why keep two kitchens when we're both eating out of one?"
She frowns at him, but he's right of course. "Where's the butter?"
He points somewhere behind her, and she turns to find the butter dish sitting on a countertop. She picks it up. "Are you eating lunch? Breakfast? Or are you only eating when we're together?"
"I eat, I'm okay." He insists, jumping to his feet once the toaster oven dings. "I'll get it."
"Hm," she says, already plotting the snares she's going to set and the routes she'll take to gather enough for him. "Alright."
They have a quiet breakfast of toast. Maybe he's right, maybe they don't need two separate houses. If they were together more often, she would know for certain that he's eaten. He doesn't appear unhealthy, she thinks as she considers his shoulders and arms, he seems strong. Regardless, it isn't in her nature to leave her family to fend for themselves.
She's so lost in her thoughts; she doesn't notice when he stands up. It even startles her a little when he picks up their empty plates on his way to the sink, "I'm going to the station. You can stay here if you'd like."
She turns around in her seat to watch him. "I'll come with you."
He smiles at her as he scrubs down their dishes. "Okay, I just need to get changed first."
She looks down at her own clothes. "Do you mind letting me borrow your shower?" She asks, finger combing through her sweaty hair as she unbraids it. "And a hairbrush if you have one?"
He agrees. Once he finishes cleaning up, he climbs up the stairs ahead of her, stopping by a linen closet before striding into his bedroom. He gets her a towel, his comb, and digs out a soft pair of red sweatpants and a t-shirt from the bottom of his dresser.
"Those are from when I was fourteen," he comments when he hands the clothes over. "They're the smallest thing I've got, hopefully it'll fit you."
"I could go get changed at home," she rushes to offer, feeling bad about taking his clothes.
"Oh! Sure, if you want. Sorry, I didn't mean to—" he waves his hands around uselessly, as if he's trying to wipe away his offer from the air in between them.
"No, it's not that, thank you." She interrupts with a small smile. "I'm just going to—" she points towards the bathroom behind her.
"Right, okay." He nods, "go ahead."
She chuckles a little under her breath and shakes her head. He's weird. "Okay, bye." She turns away from him before he puts his foot in his mouth again.
She's standing under the spray of the shower for a moment before it hits her that this is where Peeta showers. She goes red and squeezes her lips together but a laugh bubbles out anyway. What a strange thought.
She doesn't take very long to clean up. When she's done, she squeezes her hair over the drain, feeling a little sad over how much thinner and shorter her hair feels now. A lot of it burned off during the war. She never really cared about it before, but she's always had her hair. Like an arm or her nose, always there.
After she's dried herself off, she picks up the clothes Peeta offered her from where she'd left them folded on the sink. There's a very soft pair of red sweatpants and a simple white t-shirt. She's shaking out the pants, about the step into them, when she catches sight of the words printed along the side of the right leg. Boys Wrestling. District 12.
She runs her fingers along the words, surprised that he still has these pants. She remembers seeing him wearing them, years ago. The entire wrestling team had a pair of pants and a matching sweatshirt. A surprising thing for a sporting team in District Twelve. It wasn't as if their town had a lot of things to look forward to those days, but the wrestling team was a welcome distraction.
She pulls them on, feeling a little awkward about having to go without any underwear for the moment. She ties the drawstring, and they fit alright, although the legs are a little long. She's always been so short.
She puts her bra back on and pulls the t-shirt over her head. It's soft from years of wear and she can't help but run her fingers down its front for a moment. She picks up Peeta's wide tooth comb and wrestles with her hair.
She's still securing the elastic band around the end of her braid, dirty clothes tucked under the crook of her left arm, when she pulls open the bathroom door and steps back into Peeta's bedroom. He's there, making his bed, and looks towards her at the sound of the moving door.
"You're quick," he chuckles but it dies in his throat. "Uh, you look nice."
She frowns looking down at herself. She looks like a little girl wearing her fathers' clothes. "Okay," she says dismissively and walks towards the door. "I'll be downstairs."
"I'll be right down!" He calls after her as she's jogging down the stairs.
He appears at the top of the stairs when she's pulling on her jacket, so she glances up at him. He's wearing a pair of jeans and a flannel, the usual. She smiles at him.
"Yeah?" He asks, reaching for the coat rack.
She shakes her head, "nothing." She sits on the bench by the front door to pull on her boots. He does the same next to her. She glances at his fingers as he's tying his shoes. One knot, two knots.
They step out into the morning air. It's a little chilly, a glorious spring morning. She asks Peeta to wait as she stops by her house to drop off her clothes and let the cat out. After a moment, they're heading down the road in companionable silence.
The train station is already busy when they arrive. Peeta's wearing a watch, so she grabs his wrist to check the time. Barely 6:30.
The train is surrounded by a group of their neighbours all waiting around as train workers unload crates. Matthew and Thom stand near the front of the group, handing out rations and crossing off names on their ever-present clipboard.
Peeta walks away to claim a hand-pulled wagon off to the side of the station. There's a few haphazardly gathered over to the far left of the cement platform. She raises her eyebrows questioningly when he returns.
"Might as well make things easier." He shrugs.
"Morning, kids" Matthew greets once they make it to the front of the group. "Working already?"
"Always am," Peeta replies with a smile. "You got my flour?"
Matthew motions to the side, guiding their attention to two sacks that lay on the ground behind him, "right there."
Katniss stays back as Peeta walks off to pick up the flour. She keeps an eye on him as he bends over, feeling inexplicably fascinated by watching him complete the physical task.
"Everdeen!" Katniss turns around at the sound of her name, her eyes landing on Thom, who stands before her holding two boxes stamped with the Capitols seal, a large one and a small thinner one stacked on top of each other. "Rations and mail," he nods at her as she takes the boxes. She steps away from him, turning back around towards the wagon where Peeta catches her eye once again.
He's flushed, all pink in the face, two bags of flour thrown over his right shoulder. She's seen it a thousand times, their whole lives, really, Peeta and his brothers walking across the market with bags of flour. But there's something about it now that makes her pause.
She steps back, letting him drop the sacks on the wagon first. He huffs, shaking excess flour off the side of his arms and doesn't really notice the weird little smile on her face as he turns and walks off to pick up his own rations. She places her boxes in the wagon.
"Before you go, shifts are posted" Matthew calls out to them, pointing towards a wooden notice board that stands on the other side of the cement platform. "Although, if you're free later we could use a hand with the unloading."
She goes to look just to have something to do while Peeta answers noncommittedly for both of them. She senses Peeta pulling the wagon along a few steps behind her. She squints, reading what must be either Thom's or Matthew's horrendous handwriting. She finds their names listed amongst a collection of others. Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays. They're working afternoons, from 1-5.
"We're going to be busy," Peeta comments from over her right shoulder, she hums in agreement extremely aware of his breathing. He pulls away.
They start walking back to the village. There's a nice breeze. She closes her eyes, breathing in that green scent from the woods with a smile. The air tastes like spring.
"Mm," she sighs, peeking over at Peeta's face, but he isn't paying attention. She closes her eyes again "Sunshine." She sings in a whisper. She glances over at him and he's looking at her in amazement. "Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy."
"I've heard that song before," he says, smiling "I don't remember the words though."
"It's old miners' music," she replies.
"Sunshine on the water looks so lovely. Sunshine almost always makes me cry." She finishes in a soft whisper, thinking of her dad, covered in coal dust, sitting by the front door, enjoying the last of the sunlight that he never got to see enough of.
"Hey, never stop singing." Peeta bumps her with his shoulder. "You've got a great voice."
She shakes her head and looks off towards the mountains with a smile, "what do you know about singing?"
"Enough, I think." He bumps her again and she can tell he's trying to get her to share her smile with him. She looks at him briefly, smile still on her face. "There it is."
She shakes her head but hums the song all the way home.
She takes Dr. Aurelius journal out to Peeta's yard and sits among the dandelions with it. Over Peeta's fence Haymitch's flock of geese congregate, honking into the cool air. She finds a goose feather laying on the grass and places it between the open pages of her notebook.
Singing, she adds to her list.
Behind her, Peeta has the kitchen window open, and she pretends not to notice his watchful gaze, allowing him his private worry due to her own guilt. He's whistling as he moves around in there, and he's infinitely better at that than he is at singing.
She lays back on the grass, pulling up some of the dandelions around her as she watches the clouds. She makes a dandelion chain, singing absentmindedly. She's thinking of Finnick's laugh, thinks she can see the shape of his jaw in the clouds for a moment before it fades away.
There's a louder whistle from the kitchen, so her eyes land on the window. "Have some food, little songbird." Peeta calls, laying a plate on the windowsill before turning away.
She scampers over to pick up the plate he's left her. He's laid out two cheese buns and a cut-up apple. She looks up into the house to thank him, but he's wandered away to another room.
He's not watching me, she thinks in surprise, before she realizes he's doing it on purpose. Trusting her.
She goes back to her patch of grass and thinks of Finnick again. She chews on an apple slice, twirling her pen around with her other hand. She reaches for her notebook and turns to a blank page.
Finnick Odair. Victor, Ally, Friend.
She considers the sentence before she reaches down again and adds the most important adjective to her list: Brother.
Suddenly, her mind is flooded with memories of Finnick, all mostly good. Some are very bad. She sees him deliriously happy on his wedding day. Still gaunt, but in higher spirits, walking around in his underwear in District Thirteen. Smirking at his own joke, holding a trident. Swimming, holding his breath underwater for an impossibly long time and making her worry, despite barely knowing him. She writes it all down, what he did, what he said, how it felt to know him and care about him.
There aren't enough memories, there never could be, but it feels good to remember him, to think of him, outside of her nightmares.
With the idea fresh in her mind, she abandons her beloved cheese buns, picks up the notebook, and rushes into the house. It takes her a moment to locate him, but eventually she follows the scent of paint to the second floor.
"Can you paint me a portrait? Of Finnick?" she gasps into Peeta's studio, grinning. "I have an idea."