#okay today i’ll cry about haymitch

[notsocooljess]

“So don’t feed the nightmares. Don’t let yourself panic. Don’t give the Capitol that. They’ve taken enough already.”

such great lines that have made me infinitely more excited for this book. what is haymitch referring to here? just the passing of his father? his right to a fair future as a child of the seam? or did something more specific happen before this book starts that we’ll come to learn?

[katnissmellarkkk]

how about Katniss’s birthday before the Quell — do we hear much about that? if anything? if not, what about Peeta taking a timeout from his trainer persona to bring her something like a cake? 🥺

I’m always a little insecure when I do post prompts because I don’t know if it’s exactly like the prompt but I actually think it’s like 99 percent close? Which is like, amazing for me because I always twist prompts a little 🤏🏻 and I don’t think I did here! Anyways! I finally wrote this soooo. Well actually I wrote most of it a while back but I finished it and cleaned it up. But anyways, yay! I hope you and everyone else who blesses me by reading enjoy this! It’s short — at least for me. I don’t know the exact word count but … probably too long for a drabble but a short oneshot. Okay anyways, if I keep talking the AN’s going to be longer than the oneshot.

Since the morning after the Quell was announced, I’ve done my best to not cry again about my given fate. Going back into the arena a second time—this time with all experienced killers, who have been friends for decades, no less—was daunting, but one morning of weeping is about all I could afford.

Not that I truly had time to wallow in my own misery. Peeta had me and Haymitch on a tight regimen. Every day he pushes us further, every day he orders us to cut the breaks between circuits shorter, to keep on running, to not lose our momentum, to hit the target again and again and again. And again.

It’s even gotten to the point, as of late, that Peeta’s mother, the witch herself, has forbidden our usage of her precious flour sacks as weights, claiming she still needs the ingredients to keep the bakery running and we’ve already wasted enough.

Her son is rather put out with her — to put it lightly — but for perhaps the first time ever, I’m grateful to the sour woman. Last year, when I cited Peeta’s ability to toss a sack of flour over his shoulder, I didn’t recognize what a true feat it really was. Even after two weeks of attempting to lift the stupid, heavy objects, it still took all of my strength to even get the stupid things off the ground.

Haymitch and me so much as shared a conspicuous smirk when told we no longer have to endure that particular activity.

Of course, Peeta still insists on heavy lifting to gain muscle, trying to find a substitute for the flour sacks in way of buckets filled with gigantic rocks and overfilled water jugs. This doesn’t seem to be of much strain to him or Haymitch — and therefore, not of much help to their training — but I can visibly see the difference in my arms day to day. Having never done much lifting in the past, since it’s hardly necessary for hunting or trapping, it’s particularly fascinating to me, watching my biceps grow larger as Peeta’s insistent training plan marches on.

But Peeta still feels the need to push himself further. Perhaps even more so than me — or our now very sober mentor — he feels the urge to always put additional strain on himself, more and more with every day that passes on by.

And as of today, his dissatisfaction with the lack of heavy weights available for his training finally reached a head when he casually pitched the idea of using me as a weight.

At first, I thought he was kidding. For a solid minute, I just stared at him, waiting for the punchline.

It was only after I glanced at Haymitch’s uncharacteristically earnest face that I realized there was no joke in the matter. I debated refusing for a moment before I sighed, resigning myself to becoming a human leverage.

It took over an hour of Peeta lifting me over his head, of being swung up in his arms, being whirled over his shoulder or seesawed up and down, for me to realize this was actually a nice break for me from the rigorous training. By the day’s end, I’m perfectly content to let my fake fiancé bench press me, throw me up like the sack of flour he covets so badly and whatever else he deems necessary.

It was only later on the walk home, right after Peeta said he needed to stop by the bakery to see his father, that Haymitch predicted the true reason for my day of leisure.

“I suppose that was the boy’s birthday present to you.”

My head whips upwards towards him, shocked. No one has mentioned the date at all as of late. The acknowledgement of the sparse time left until the games is weighing heavy on us all. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. “Because I do,” is all he says finally, as he turns in the direction of his own house now. Just as he reaches his door though, he murmurs, “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” before heading inside.

Ever since the announcement that I’m doomed to be reaped again, my mother and Prim have done just about everything to make things seem okay around the house. Beyond that even. They’ve dedicated themselves to always appearing cheerful, to always having dinner ready for me, to always having a remedy for healing my achy muscles or advice for putting on more weight.

But if they’re usually chipper, tonight they’re downright ecstatic when I cross the threshold. And the reason is all too obvious.

This is likely going to be the last birthday we spend together. And not just of mine, but any of ours.

It strikes me unexpectedly that I’ll never see my own sister grow up, I’ll never see her into adulthood, I’ll never be able to watch her become the talented healer, the wise beyond her years young woman, the nurturing mother she’s doubtlessly destined to be.

And I almost get choked up at the thought. My resolve to not break down into tears like the morning after the president’s announcement nearly crumbles. But I hold it together somehow. By some inexplicable strength deep inside, I hold myself together.

My mother did her best to recreate the lamb stew dish from the Capitol I loved the best and I practically lick my plate. Not just to make her feel good but because all this training has exponentially increased my appetite.

Prim tells me all about school and Lady and a funny man she healed this afternoon, who had a proclivity for telling jokes while she stitched his bleeding arm.

She’s just getting into a pretty fabric she saw in town today when a loud knock interrupts us. My mother glances at me meaningfully, as if urging me to go get the door.

I shoot her a puzzled look, as I’m the least personable member of this family and surely, no one is here to visit me.

“Go on,” she says though, nodding towards the entryway. “Go see who’s there.”

I stand from the table and hesitantly humor her, unsure the entire walk there what could be awaiting me on the other side.

The answer dawns on me as the most obvious thing in the world, as soon as I turn the knob.

And see Peeta standing on my porch. He’s still in the same white shirt he wore earlier, still damp with sweat from the heat outside and the added exertion of lifting my body weight countless times.

But that’s not all I notice. Right off the bat I see that he’s holding something delicate in his hands. I blink once before recognizing what it is.

A birthday cake.

A birthday cake that has been meticulously frosted into a deep pine green. My favorite color, as he knows.

I realize after a moment that my name is cursively splayed across the top in white icing.

“Peeta,” I open my mouth to say something, to say just about anything, but much to my dismay, nothing comes out and I’m stuck fumbling like an idiot in the doorway.

He gives me a tight smile though and it’s the first smile he’s really showed me in weeks, and as he gently pushes the cake into my hands, it strikes me just how much I’ve missed the sight. “Happy birthday, Katniss,” he whispers, his baby blues lingering on my face only for one beat before he quickly turns to make an escape.

Before I can think it through, I’m calling after him. “Peeta, wait!”

Very slowly, he swivels around to face me. “Yeah?”

I freeze, dumbfounded. I don’t actually know what I wish to say now that I have his attention. That I miss him even though I don’t know how I really feel for him? That I plan to trade my life for his in only a few weeks time and all his work and effort to prepare me for the games is useless because it’s him I intend to come back home? That I hate his trainer persona so much and I wish he’d go back to just being my friend again?

That I really miss it when he acted like friend?

Instead all that comes out is a choked invite. “Come in,” I urge, and the plea in my tone is palpable. “Please come in and share this with us.”

He thinks about the proposition for a long moment, leaving me still standing there like an idiot, holding a cake too big to fit in my hands. Finally though, he graciously relents to my request. “Okay,” he murmurs and I swear I see something akin to excitement in his eyes.

And I wonder in the back of my mind how many nights Peeta spends alone, eating these delicious desserts by himself in his too grand dining room.? I wonder if, deep down, he secretly wanted to join me and my family for cake? If he misses our attempt at friendship too?

He generously takes the cake back into his hold, having the advantage of strength over me. Lifting bread-trays and flour sacks all his life made him reasonably strong before our first games. The current training regimen him and I — and Haymitch too — are currently doing has made him remarkably strong.

“Thank you,” I whisper again as he brushes past me in the doorway, as he enters my home and heads in direction of the dining room where Prim will doubtlessly be overjoyed at the sight of the sweet treat.

“You’re welcome, Katniss,” he says again, and flashes me one more smile. This time it’s less shy and with teeth. “Happy birthday.”

Yes, I think to myself as I shut the door behind us. Happy seventeenth birthday to me.

[hockeysweetheart]

Peeta, Who spends much of the night roaming the train, Hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then climbs into bed to told me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But everynight I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guiarding against dangers that can descend at any moment. Nothing else Happens, but our arrangement quickly becomes a subject of gossip on the train.

When Effie brings it up to me , I think, Good. Maybe it will get back to President Snow. I tell her we’ll make an effort to be more discreet, but we don’t.

When I open my eyes, it's early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta's arm. I don't remember him coming in last night. I turn, being careful not to disturb him, but he's already awake. "No nightmares," he says. "What?" I ask. "You didn't have any nightmares last night," he says. He's right. For the first time in ages I've slept through the night. "I had a dream, though," I say, thinking back. "I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice." "Where did she take you?" he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. "I don't know. We never arrived," I say. "But I felt happy." "Well, you slept like you were happy," he says. "Peeta, how come I never know when you're having a nightmare?" I say. "I don't know. I don't think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror," he says. "You should wake me," I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down. "It's not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you," he says. "I'm okay once I realize you're here." Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhand way, and it's like being hit in the gut. He's only answering my question honestly. He's not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I've been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don't know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed. Which is ironic since we're officially engaged now. "Be worse when we're home and I'm sleeping alone again," he says. That's right, we're almost home.

My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I'm so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of the sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don't want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can't quite form, I know I'm not allowed to ask that. "Don't go yet. Not until I fall asleep," I say. Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. "Almost thought you'd changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner." I'm foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I'd made a run for it, maybe with Gale. "No, I'd have told you," I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today. I want to tell him about Twill and Bonnie and the uprising and the fantasy of District 13, but it's not safe to and I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. "Stay with me." As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don't quite catch it.

Peeta would lose it if he knew I was thinking any of this, so I only say, "So what should we do with our last few days?"

"I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you," Peeta replies.

"Come on, then," I say, pulling him into my room.

It feels like such a luxury, sleeping with Peeta again. I didn't realize until now how starved I've been for human closeness. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness. I wish I hadn't wasted the last couple of nights shutting him out. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth, and when I open my eyes again, daylight's streaming through the windows.

"No nightmares," he says.

"No nightmares," I confirm. "You?"

"None. I'd forgotten what a real night's sleep feels like," he says.

We lie there for a while, in no rush to begin the day. Tomorrow night will be the televised interview, so today Effie and Haymitch should be coaching us. More high heels and sarcastic comments, I think. But then the redheaded Avox girl comes in with a note from Effie saying that, given our recent tour, both she and Haymitch have agreed we can handle ourselves adequately in public. The coaching sessions have been canceled.

"Really?" says Peeta, taking the note from my hand and examining it. "Do you know what this means? We'll have the whole day to ourselves."

"It's too bad we can't go somewhere," I say wistfully.

"Who says we can't?" he asks.

The roof. We order a bunch of food, grab some blankets, and head up to the roof for a picnic. A daylong picnic in the flower garden that tinkles with wind chimes. We eat. We lie in the sun. I snap off hanging vines and use my newfound knowledge from training to practice knots and weave nets. Peeta sketches me. We make up a game with the force field that surrounds the roof - one of us throws an apple into it and the other person has to catch it.

No one bothers us. By late afternoon, I lie with my head on Peeta's lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he's practicing his knots. After a while, his hands go still. "What?" I ask.

"I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever," he says.

Usually this sort of comment, the kind that hints of his undying love for me, makes me feel guilty and awful. But I feel so warm and relaxed and beyond worrying about a future I'll never have, I just let the word slip out. "Okay."

I can hear the smile in his voice. "Then you'll allow it?"

"I'll allow it," I say.

His fingers go back to my hair and I doze off, but he rouses me to see the sunset. It's a spectacular yellow and orange blaze behind the skyline of the Capitol. "I didn't think you'd want to miss it," he says.

"Thanks," I say. Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don't want to miss any of them.

We don't go and join the others for dinner, and no one summons us.

"I'm glad. I'm tired of making everyone around me so miserable," says Peeta. "Everybody crying. Or Haymitch ..." He doesn't need to go on.

We stay on the roof until bedtime and then quietly slip down to my room without encountering anyone.

The next morning, we're roused by my prep team. The sight of Peeta and me sleeping together is too much for Octavia, because she bursts into tears right away. "You remember what Cinna told us," Venia says fiercely. Octavia nods and goes out sobbing.

We walk down the hallway. Peeta wants to stop by his room to shower off the makeup and meet me in a few minutes, but I won't let him. I'm certain that if a door shuts between us, it will lock and I'll have to spend the night without him. Besides, I have a shower in my room. I refuse to let go of his hand. Do we sleep? I don't know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we'll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest. Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. "See you soon," he says.

You love me real or not real. Real

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Something undefinable

(During the 73rd Hunger Games, the Training Center goes into lockdown. Haymitch and Effie, on the verge of a relationship, get stuck together in the penthouse. ❤️💥☀️ — Cinna’s presence in this fic is off-canon, but I adore him so much I just want more of him, you know.)

***

Effie limped from the elevator to the penthouse, regretting her decision to break in a new pair of shoes on day 1 of the Games. The boy from 12 had died quickly, but the girl survived 10 hours before being killed. Effie’s hopes for a victor were dashed. Then there was the press to contend with. She highlighted what she could of the accomplishments of her tributes and conveyed gratitude to the sponsors that she and Haymitch had garnered for the girl. Their support gave her more time in the arena but ultimately didn’t change her fate.

It was a long day to be stuck in uncomfortable footwear.

Even though the sun was setting and her tributes were dead, Effie’s day wasn’t over. As long as deals were being made, she wanted to witness the action and show a favorable presence. How else would she hope to secure an escort position in an inlying district? Not likely with a win from 12, since in 73 years that had only happened twice.

The doors to the penthouse opened, and she hobbled into the living room where Haymitch was sitting side-by-side with the bar cart. His coat, vest, and tie were lying in a pile on the rug. A few buttons of his shirt were unfastened, as were his cuffs. He rolled his sleeves up and opened a bottle of liquor, having already finished the dregs of a first.

“I had to talk to the press alone thanks to YOU, Haymitch!” She chastised him as she eased onto the sofa. The shoes cut into her heels, and she bit her lip to stifle a grimace.

“When the kids stop being alive, my mentor job is done. If you wanna talk to the press, then fine. Those kids will still be just as dead when you’re through.”

Effie winced at the truth and winced again as she unstrapped her shoes and worked them off her feet. The shoes fell to the rug, and she rubbed her strained muscles and tender skin through her stockings.

As amused as Haymitch was with facets of Effie’s vanity, he didn’t like seeing her in pain. “Are you okay?”

She let go of her feet and sat up as if posture alone could keep up a facade. Sometimes it worked, but not today. “It’s just... I’ll be...” Her expression shifted to tears as she shook her head ‘no.’

Haymitch was quite comfortable in his chair, with his feet up on a cluster of coffee tables and a bottle of gin in his hands. He’d planned to drink there until he fell asleep. If Effie had been having a breakdown NEAR him, then he might not have had to move. But, damn it; this girl, who he liked now much more than he didn’t, was at the FAR end of a long couch, and she was failing at trying not to cry.

He rose slowly from the chair, bringing the bottle with him. He sauntered along the curve of the sofa and sat on the coffee table in front of Effie. Setting the gin beside him, he drew her feet onto his lap.

She leaned back against the couch cushions as he worked his thumbs over her stockings. “What are you doing?” she questioned.

“Today sucked, honey. I’m trying to help you feel less like shit.”

She brushed her knuckles along her face to clear the tears, then closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of his hands on her. Long turquoise eyelashes pressed to her cheeks. “I can’t stay,” she said unconvincingly. “I’m changing shoes, then going back down.”

“It’s over.”

“Not for everyone. If I make connections, I may eventually be able to escort tributes with better odds in their favor.”

Haymitch paused, then kept massaging. “In a different district.”

She looked at him. “I didn’t expect to get so attached to the children. Then they keep dying, and... I...”

“What? Grew a conscience?”

“Haymitch! That’s not fair. I’ve always known what’s expected; I just didn’t expect the way I’d feel about the same outcome over and over again.”

An alarm sounded, and the doors bolted shut. Effie sat upright, and he let go of her feet.

“Lockdown,” he said casually.

“Of course it’s a lockdown! And if I was downstairs, then I’d know what was happening!” Effie hurried on tender feet to the doors. As she approached, the sensor didn’t trigger them to open.

Haymitch watched her try unsuccessfully to force them. “Or if you were downstairs, then you might be on the periphery of peacekeeper bullets.”

The last lockdown of the Training Center during the Games happened after malfunctioning sensors in a tribute’s clothing rapidly overheated, and he spontaneously combusted on live feed. Snow requested a meeting with the stylist. She fled, then hid in the building when peacekeepers blocked the exits. They had to search for her room by room. Nobody saw her after that.

Effie returned to the living room. “There’s no space for error here. None! How can people who are not detail oriented work under these conditions? Sometimes even I can hardly breathe.”

“You want to breathe? Then take off your corset, sweetheart. It’s not like we’re going anywhere.” He swallowed some gin.

“I was speaking metaphorically!”

“And I’m speaking about actual breathing, which in your case certainly couldn’t hurt.” He held the bottle out to her.

“Fine!” She took a drink. After handing him the bottle, she reached behind her back, unzipped her dress, and loosened laces. Then she reached within, unhooked clasps, pulled her corset out through the back of her dress, and tossed the purple thing on the sofa. She zipped her dress part way up again, just enough, finishing as quickly as she started. “There! I’m breathing. Are you satisfied?”

The whole thing was like a magic trick that Haymitch watched without blinking. In the absence of the corset, he could make out the natural shape of her breasts within her dress. He imagined they’d fit in his mouth like ripe plums. He tried to shake the thought. Satisfied?? That’s definitely not the feeling.

“And my feet are killing me!”

“Sit down and have another drink,” he offered.

She acquiesced, taking the bottle, sinking into the sofa, and propping her feet in his lap again. “You know, there ARE drinking glasses.” With a flourish, she pointed at the bar cart.

Haymitch smirked, “You wanna go get one?” He idly traced the seam of her stockings up her calves.

Something undefinable shifted.

She put the bottle to her lips, suddenly aware that his mouth had been there before hers. They passed it back and forth a few times in silence. The bottle was like a vector for a kiss, for as many kisses as she’d wanted from him, for years, but didn’t plan to take yet.

He traced the seam back down to her heels. She winced again as he touched her there.

“Blisters?”

Glancing at her heels, Effie gasped more at the sight of the runs in her stockings than the rips in her skin.

“Damn!”

“Do you want these off?” he touched an inch above her knee, and waited for her answer.

Yes. She wanted his hands on her thighs. “Yes... but I’m not going to have sex with you.” She whispered it to herself more than to him.

“Honey, I’m not offering.”

“I’m just being perfectly clear.”

He slid his hand up her thigh to the garters, which he unclassped without struggle. She looked surprised.

“It’s not my first time,” he said.

“Nor mine.”

After inching down the stocking, he repeated it all with her other leg. He couldn’t remember ever being so turned on taking off somebody’s clothes.

She handed him the gin in lieu of exchanging flavors with her tongue. He reached for the bottle, but she didn’t let go. She dropped her feet to the floor and urged him to the sofa beside her.

He went willingly. At his turn with the gin, he set the bottle on the table. “What do you want, Effie?”

“I want what’s happening here.”

He traced along her rib cage, hesitated, then circled each of her breasts. So soft. You’re so damn soft. “And what exactly is happening?”

She sighed, “Can I just...” She unhooked the fourth button of his shirt, and he froze.

“I ain’t so pretty without a shirt.”

“I’ve wondered about your body more than anything in my life.” It was a big confession. “And I want to see you.”

“How about a trade?... My shirt for your wig.”

Effie froze this time. “I already took off my corset, and you took off my stockings. How much do you want from me?”

Everything. “Remind me why we’re not going to have sex.”

“Because you told me, ‘Not now. Not like this.’”

“When did I say that?”

“Years ago.”

He remembered the night vaguely.

“WHY did you say that?” she asked.

He could tell her that they’d been drinking or that it was too soon, but what would be the point in half-truths. “I liked you too much. ...I still like you too much.”

“And that’s precisely why this is happening...” She pulled a dozen hairpins and set those on the table. Then she laid the wig beside her corset. She pulled out a dozen more pins, and her hair fell below her ears in messy blonde crimps.

“God... you’re beautiful.” He ran his fingers through her hair and along her scalp, holding back from kissing her. If he kissed her, then he’d be gone.

She unhooked the rest of his buttons and slipped the shirt off his shoulders without asking. He could stop her if he wanted. And maybe part of him wanted to, but he shrugged the shirt off anyway.

She held her breath, tracing each scar on his chest and stomach. She’d wanted this for so long. She’d wanted him just like this. Tears pooled in her eyes, and he misunderstood.

“It’s too much.” he said.

Effie knew she was in love with him, and she was equally annoyed with him for being so obtuse about it.

“It is NOT too much.” She curled against him, drawing her knees into his lap, kissing a scar just above his collarbone, and pressing her palm to the largest one across his stomach. “I’ll kiss every scar.”

“When?” He slipped his hand inside the back of her dress, still partly unzipped, while drawing the zipper down with the other.

“When your answer to the question about why we’re not having sex is NOT because you like me too much.”

“I didn’t say it like that.”

“Not exactly. But you meant it like that.”

He wanted to drown all his fears in that bottle of gin and just fuck her. They’d wave away the Avoxes lurking in the corners, and he’d fuck her on this black leather sofa where children who were dead now had sat just this morning. In the horror of his life, he needed something good. He needed her.

He was about to say it when the alarm sounded again. Claudius Templesmith popped up on every screen in the Training Center, including the one in front of them, announcing the end of the lockdown and a resuming of regular programming and procedures.

The door slid open, and the prep team streamed in on a river of stories about a runaway Gamemaker, being locked together in an elevator, and Flavius threatening to piss in a corner if the lockdown hadn’t ended when it did. As the tale was being told, the hairstylist ran to the nearest bathroom.

Effie disengaged herself from Haymitch with a mix of disappointment about being interrupted and overwhelming chagrin about their relative state of undress, especially hers. How could I have been so careless? She scrambled to collect her wig, corset, stockings, and shoes. “If you’ll all excuse me.” She left the hairpins on the table as she hurried to her room with her dress unzipped.

Haymitch was buzzed from the gin and from being with Effie. He slipped his shirt on, realized it was inside out, took it off and tried again. The second attempt was successful.

“I’m sorry we interrupted your party,” Cinna dropped onto the sofa, “Your lockdown appears to have been more enjoyable than ours.”

“She came up to change her shoes. Then she decided to change... other things. You know. Women. ...DO you know women?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then maybe you can explain them to me.”

“Cinna, he definitely needs help,” Venia whispered, “You might want to start with a lesson about the idiocy inherent in NOT following the woman he’s in love with when she leaves a room in a state of mortification.”

“Hey! Nobody’s an idiot, and nobody’s in love,” Haymitch protested.

Octavia chimed in, “Scratch what she said. First he needs a lesson in how to recognize when he’s in love.”

“It’s not happening. IN LOVE is a dangerous place to be, and it’s just not happening!” The seriousness of Haymitch’s tone ended the discussion.

“It’s been a long day. I’m going to grab a beer and see what food is in the kitchen before taking off.” The rest of the team followed Cinna’s lead.

Haymitch eventually gathered up the hairpins and dragged himself from the couch to search for Effie. He found her curled up in bed. Her makeup was off, along with everything else except a silk robe. She was the sun going to sleep.

He set the hairpins on her nightstand. She didn’t object to him lying down beside her and telling her a story.

“When I was growing up, there was a meadow in the Seam. In summer, the flowers turned to skeletons and the sun burned the grasses gold.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “...It was the first place I had sex. The day before the Reaping.”

Effie caressed the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“I loved that girl,” he said.

“I know.”

“That’s why she died. ...Because I loved her.”

Effie stroked his temples, holding back tears.

“When I say ‘I like you too much’...” His voice trailed off because he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t acknowledge anything like it. “...I can’t do this, Effie. I can’t fuck around with you and pretend it’s nothing. And that’s how it would have to be. That’s the only way it could be.”

She threaded their fingers together, taking comfort in the fresh memory of his hands on her body and her hands on him.

She’d waited 23 years for him. She could wait a little longer.

[jlalafics]

Hello, you're an amazing writer! I truly enjoyed all of your stories! Recently I really liked the Two Kids universe. I don't know if you planned to write more of it but if you did i'd be really happy to read it :) Maybe after the birth of toastbabiy number 2 and the Hayhanna baby too ( i have a soft spot for this ship), when the kids are still babies or toddlers ( or even children)... Thank you for all the great stories you make! (sorry for my english, it's not my first langage ;)

First off, thank you so much for the compliment! I’m flattered and I’m so glad that you enjoyed Two Kids and the follow-up.

Since I’m kind of loving this universe at the moment, I thought I’d finish it off with a little follow-up.

I hope you enjoy! Happy Reading!

Summary: In which Katniss and Peeta become the mentors. A follow-up to “Two Kids” and this story.

“Diaper.”

Peeta reaches over to the basket holding the diapers before tossing one at me. I catch it easily before looking down at Abner or Abie—our four-month-old—and give him a bright smile. Abie wriggles on his changing table, but I easily slip the diaper under his used one, wipe him, then switch out the soiled diaper for a clean one.

Wrapping the dirty diaper, I toss it to Peeta who catches it with ease before throwing it into the wastebasket.

“Daddy!”

Jack, our three year old, is awake.

“His plate is already on the table. Remember—”

“Toast cut into squares, no crust, and jelly on every corner,” Peeta finishes for me.

He grabs the cloth wrap on the nursery’s dresser and helps me wrap it on my center as I finish dressing Abie. I crisscross the ends as I put Abie into position before placing him into the pocket of the wrap. Peeta tightens the wrap to create support under our son’s legs before tying the ends at my waist.

I give Peeta a grateful smile and lean to give him a kiss—

“Daddy!”

“I owe you,” he says before rushing out the door.

“As soon as we get downstairs, I’ll feed you,” I tell Abie. “Which boob do you want today? Left, or right?”

“Right is my particular favorite.” Peeta walks into the room with Jack in his arms. “Jack wanted to say good morning to Abie.”

Jack, sweet boy he is, presses a kiss to the top of his little brother’s head. “Abie…”

I take in this moment of calmness; this is what Peeta and I fought for and what others died for.

These small pockets of life where it is just perfect.

Then, a shrill cry from across the way breaks through the peace of our household.

Peeta and I look to one another.

Lulu is awake.

++++++

We step into the Abernathy home, walking over a pile of clothes at the front door as we follow the crying. There’s an overwhelming smell of powder in the air and, as we move forward, one of Haymitch’s geese dashes pass us.

I walk into the sitting room and find Johanna rocking Lulu in her arms, hair askew…and topless. Peeta covers Jack’s eyes before turning away.

I approach her carefully. “Johanna?”

She looks up at us, stare full of exhaustion. “Lulu’s not eating! I keep trying, but she just won’t latch.” Her mouth begins to tremble. “What if she hates the taste of my milk?”

I join her on the couch. “I’m sure that your milk is just fine. Where is Haymitch?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes remain on the wailing baby. “Probably snuck out in the middle of the night. I don’t blame him.”

Haymitch suddenly stumbles in and for a moment, I think he’s drunk.

He’s not. He’s just exhausted.

“Spilled baby powder last night, Lulu almost fell off the table…so many diapers…had to clean up the nursery…”

Sitting on the couch, Haymitch sits back, practically falling asleep against me.

Standing up, I go to Peeta. “They need help.”

Named after Johanna’s mother, Louisa—or Lulu as she is affectionately known—is just shy of two months old. She was born on a winter evening sporting Haymitch’s thick dark locks and Johanna’s penetrating eyes—a perfect combination.

Haymitch and Johanna insisted on not needing anyone to help them, both so use to taking care of themselves. However, they’ve both failed to realize that they are no longer solo, they are now a couple—at least, I think they are—and parents.

“But they said that they didn’t need our help,” Peeta responds.

“Yeah, that flew out the window when we both got a good look at Johanna’s breasts,” I tell him, and he colors. “Don’t act like you didn’t see them. I’m not mad—they’re hard not to look at.”

Peeta looks to me. “I do prefer your breasts.”

“I know you do, but we’re going off topic.” I turn to the two on the couch; Johanna is currently letting Lulu suck on her finger like a pacifier, looking dazed. Haymitch has slid down to the floor, his head on couch seat. “They have to learn to be a team.”

“When did you become Effie?” Peeta jokes.

“Someone has to be,” I reply resolutely. “You handle Haymitch. I’ll take Johanna.”

“Deal,” Peeta responds. He puts Jack down and smiles at our son. “Why don’t we help Haymitch and Johanna clean up? Then make them lunch?”

Jack pumps his fist excitedly. “Yeah!”

“First mission—let’s find a broom.”

Peeta takes Jack’s hand and they head to the back of the house in search of cleaning supplies.

After making sure Abie is okay, he is resting contentedly against my chest, I go to Johanna.

“Johanna…” She turns to me. “What happened to your shirt?”

“Milk soaked through and there are no clean clothes,” she explains. “Lulu hates my boobs; she keeps turning her head.” Her eyes fill and it twists my inside seeing her in despair. “I’m a bad mother.”

“You’re a new mother,” I tell her gently. “Why don’t we go upstairs and find you a shirt? Lulu seems to be calming down.”

“That’s a trick.” Johanna stands, wobbling slightly. “She pretends to be quiet, but as soon as my defenses are down and I’m about to sleep—she pounces!” Her eyes go to the girl staring up at her with Haymitch’s greys. “She really is my kid.”

++++++

The nursery is a wreck, despite Haymitch’s claim of cleaning up; Johanna explains that Lulu has gotten wriggly during diaper changes. In an attempt to diaper her without her falling off the table, Haymitch somehow spilled powder everywhere. Haymitch’s large footprints in the powder are tracked all over the floor.

“Peeta can teach him how to diaper her quickly,” I assure her.

Going to Johanna, who is sitting in the rocking chair, I take Lulu into my arms and cradle her next to Abie, who is snoozing contentedly in his sac. She seems to ease in my son’s calmness, settling in my arms.

I show Johanna how to slip a clean diaper under Lulu’s dirty one before cleaning her up and closing the diaper. I easily pull the dirty diaper out from under the baby then close it before throwing it in their wastebasket.

It takes less than a minute.

“I never get it done that fast,” Johanna says miserably. “I’m always afraid that it’s too tight or too loose. I don’t know why I can’t seem to get this right.”

“You’re going to make mistakes.” I place Lulu back in her arms. “But you learn from them. In the end, Lulu will only feel the love that you have for her.”

“I hope so, because I’m feel like I’m fucking up.” Her words come out in a tight whisper. “Sometimes, I think that this was all a big mistake.” She looks to me. “Is that wrong to say?”

“No.” I give her a smile. “We all have days like that.” Lulu begins to fuss, and I can see her lips pursing. “She’s hungry.” I grab a nearby pillow and place it on Johanna’s lap. “Use this to support Lulu so you can work on positioning her.”

Johanna nods, placing Lulu lengthwise on the cushion. She moves the semi-clean shirt off and adjusts Lulu’s head, close to her breast.

“Use your other hand and guide your nipple near her lips,” I instruct.

Johanna follows what I say, and I breathe a sigh of relief when Lulu quickly takes hold and begins to suckle.

“She’s eating,” Johanna exhales in happiness, relaxing into her seat. “Thank goodness.” She closes her eyes. “I was wrong. I do need help.”

“It took awhile to learn that I wasn’t alone,” I tell her. “In time, you’ll see that it becomes less scary to let people inside.”

Johanna opens her eyes, full of unshed tears. “Thank you.”

“I know you’re hormonal and will probably deny that you even said that later on.” I smile watching her caressing Lulu’s hair tenderly. “But I appreciate it.”

While Johanna continues feeding, I clean up what I can and then restock diapers and wipes in their appropriate places. Then, at my insistence, I tell Johanna to take a shower after I take Lulu.

“I’ll sit here,” I assure her. “Go while she’s in her food coma.”

When she is gone, I look at Lulu in her bassinet and smile seeing the best of both Haymitch and Johanna.

This one is going to be a warrior.

“You’re a lucky girl, Lulu.”

++++++

“So, you have the stew for tonight,” Peeta tells me. “Tomorrow, I can come by and show you how to make a roast and I’ll bring rolls. Also, I can make lactation cookies for Johanna. Just remember to keep her hydrated.”

I feel my head spinning at Peeta’s words. After showing me how to quickly diaper my child, the boy—man—wrote out a menu for the week and a list of groceries I am to get. Johanna and I cannot live on canned food alone, especially when he tells me how a good diet will help in Lulu’s feedings.

It is not easy for me when it comes to changes; I lived on schedules for awhile because they helped me from not thinking about the past. Before Katniss and Peeta, I lived on alcohol and drowning my pain in drunken slumbers.

However, that was when it was just me.

Now, there are three of us—and I can’t help but feel like I’m fucking it all up.

Johanna looks tired. Still beautiful, but tired, nonetheless. I feel helpless when I see her struggle with our Lulu, but I am also just as clueless.

However, for them, I will do what it takes—even if it means cooking lessons with the boy with the bread.

“I got it,” I assure him. Peeta nods, going back to checking on the stew. “I think I’m messing up.”

Peeta turns to me. “You’re not. You two are just finding your rhythm. We’re all survivalists. Maybe not me; I always seem to need Katniss in one way or another. I do know that it does take awhile to become a team—to stop being a you and becoming an us.”

Jack rushes back into the room, sitting on my lap and gives me a bright smile. “Goosey’s fed.”

“Thank you for helping, Jack,” I say and kiss the top of his head. “You’re going to have to help me out. I’m still learning to be a good dad.”

“You were always a good dad, Haymitch,” Peeta tells me. “After all, you practically raised me and Katniss.”

I manage to chuckle. “I’m not sure if it that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

I’ll never admit that they are a good thing. They happened when I needed them the most.

However, Johanna and Lulu—they are the best things in my life.

++++++

“I may not always love you

But long as there are stars above you

You never need to doubt it

I'll make you so sure about it

God only knows what I'd be without you…”

 Lulu stares up at me with those large doe eyes and something squeezes in my chest. Before Abie and Lulu, I always kind of scoffed seeing the way Katniss’ eyes lit up whenever she was around Jack.

But now, seeing Lulu looking at me, trying to smile as I sing causes something to stir inside.

It’s this hopeless devotion to her—and I gladly allow myself to love her. Love her enough for the family that was never able to meet her, both on my side and Haymitch’s.

“I didn’t know you were a singer.”

I find Haymitch leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and grinning at us.

“I’m not, but it seems to calm her down,” I tell him.

“Lunch is ready,” he informs me. “You need to eat.”

“I know, but I’m not ready to leave her just yet.”

Haymitch joins us, looking down at this little ham of a girl. “Wow. We made her.”

I chuckle. “Pretty cool of us.”

“We have to be better for her,” he says suddenly. “Better than we were for ourselves.”

“Yes. I agree.” Lulu’s eyes begin to flutter. “There are no Hunger Games and I’m not in the Capitol whoring my way through Snow’s elite. Sometimes I forget—or just become afraid that it will happen again.”

Haymitch puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.

“We wouldn’t let that happen,” he assures me. “All of Victors, the ones that are alive, will never let anything like that happen. If it did, I would protect you and Lulu.”

“We will protect each other.”

Haymitch’s eyes warm at my words and in one breath, he kisses me gently.

“I almost forgot what that felt like,” I say as we pull apart.

He smirks. “You should be kissed more often.”

“That’s how Lulu happened.”

“True.” He rests back against the wall behind us. “We’re going to get through all this. One day, she’s going to be running circles around us and we’re going to miss her just like this.”

“Hopefully, I get my body back by then,” I snort. “I feel like I’m nothing but tits and milk.”

Haymitch eyes my chest. “Not like I don’t appreciate a full pair, but you just look uncomfortable.”

“Nobody informed me about the wonders of a breast pump. Katniss is having her mother send one here. Maybe then I won’t feel like my primary function is milk machine and I can actually get some rest.”

For a moment, we sit in content silence. Never in my life did I think I would be a mother. However, Lulu is here, real and a fresh as can be, smelling like hope and freedom. She is all things that are good about me, the parts of me that I never even thought I had.

And, she’s all mine.

My hand fits into Haymitch’s and he gives me a gentle smile.

He is mine.

“You know what the most annoying part about all of this?” Haymitch says suddenly and I raise a brow in question. “We’re getting advice from Katniss and Peeta.”

“Yeah, that’s really irritating,” I retort. “The worst part is that most of their advice is valid.”

Haymitch snorts. “Maybe for them. We’ll come up with our own ways.”

I yawn, resting back against him. “In time.”

Soon, we sleep.

++++++

Peeta turns to me, Abie is his arms.

“I don’t think we need to check on them.”

Jack rushes up to Haymitch’s door, knocking loudly. “Hay-me! Jo!”

“It’s too late now.” I join our son on the porch. “Jack has already created all kind of ruckus.”

However, I am surprised when no one comes to the door. Twisting the knob, the door opens easily; not surprising as we’ve never bothered to lock our doors.

“Hello?” I call out.

The sitting room is still in pristine condition from earlier. Peeta sets off into the kitchen to look in.

“No one is there,” he tells me.

Jack rushes up the stairs in search of Haymitch and Johanna and I scramble up behind him; he’s only started to master stairs. He toddles to the nursery, peeking in, before running the opposite way to Haymitch’s room.

“Mama, yook!” He points into the open doorway of Haymitch’s room.

“Please don’t be naked…” I whisper, crossing my fingers, before joining him and taking a breath before looking in.

Johanna and Haymitch are fast asleep, in-between them is a snoozing Lulu, arms up over her head.

I struggle to hide my laugh as Haymitch is sleeping the exact same way.

Picking Jack up, I put my index finger to my lips.

“It’s nap time for them so we have to be very quiet.”

Jack nods in agreement, wrapping his arms around my neck.

We go down the stairs, finding Peeta and Abie waiting for us.

I give them both a smile. “They’re asleep.”

Together, we head out the front door and head down the steps toward our home.

Peeta lets out a sigh of relief. “Maybe now we can get a decent night’s sleep.”

Then, Abie lets out a wail.

 FIN.

Lulu’s actual name, Louisa, means “renowned warrior” while Abner (Abie) means “father of light”. Their names feel appropriate for having Victor parents.

Song:

“God Only Knows”—The Beach Boys

[happy-tree-friends-imagines]

You Can Do Anything - (THG) Haymitch X Me

Hey guys <3 I know I’ve been really absent lately and have spent a lot of time away with no real explanation… but hopefully this short self-insert will help clear things up!

Enjoy~

...

“Checking it again?” Haymitch asked, watching the girl open her email for the millionth time today.

The girl hummed in reply, confirming his question. All that could be heard now was the click-clack of her fingers typing on the keyboard and the occasional deeper click of her mouse against something on the screen.

“Nothing,” she murmured. “I’ll have to check again later.”

Haymitch allowed himself a laugh at that. “Later? Doll, you said that not two minutes ago and you’re already at it again!”

“I have to keep checking. I could miss it and end up replying a week later! What kind of a client would I be if I did that?”

“Hey,” Haymitch held up his hands in defence, “I never said anything like that. I’m just suggesting that you leave that computer alone for a bit and relax a second.”

Sky rolled her eyes, already opening up another tab from her email again.

“Don’t you do it,” he warned, narrowing his eyes at the girl in a playful manner.

Sky kept eye contact with him as her hands moved over the mouse.

“Don’t do it.”

The mouse glided across the desk top effortlessly.

“Don’t you dare-”

Click.

Haymitch lunged at the girl, pushing the mouse away from her fingertips with one hand, using the other to keep her trapped in her seat, unable to move inorder to reach either the mouse or the computer again. She struggled against his light hold, attempting to doge over his body, grasping for the mouse once more.

“Haymitch!” she whined. “Give it back!”

“Not a chance, doll,” he grinned at her angry pout.

It was such a dramatic look that she almost looked as if she was actually angry. Almost. If it wasn’t for the giggle bubbling up from her chest, Haymitch would have almost felt bad for restricting her computer privileges.

Pushing against the roller chair a bit more and Haymitch had successfully pushed the girl about two feet away from her precious computer. “That’s enough for today,” he spoke, reaching for the power button.

“Wait! Just one more time, let me check it one more time,” Sky called desperately, already reaching for the computer again.

“Nope, uh-uh,” Haymitch denied her.

“Just a quick peak?” Sky attempted a bargain. “One last time, I promise, and then we’ll go do something else.”

“Hmm,” Haymitch pretended to think for a moment, a teasing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t think so,” and with that, he pressed down on the power button and the entire computer shut down.

The sound that left Sky’s mouth was anything but human. “No!” she cried, pushing Haymitch out of the way and jamming her finger over the power button.

“No, no, no, no, no!” she muttered, clicking the mouse rapidly as the slow computer restarted.

The blonde man sighed, blowing a stray strand of hair out of his face as Sky rushed past him again. The screen turned white and a loading bar appeared. It would turn back on but it would likely take half an hour at least depending on the updates it decided to take up at the moment.

“No!” Sky exclaimed again, falling back from her chair and collapsing onto her messily made bed.

On the other side of the room, the computer started a timer showing the estimated time the restart would take. As of now, it showed over thirty minutes.

Haymitch gave a short, exasperated laugh as he stood over the now moping girl. “So much for getting ya out of this house.” He sat on the edge of the bed, messing a hand into Sky’s hair as she lay face down into her pillow.

She groaned into it as he lazily threw her hair out of her face, leaning closer in order to peer into her one open eye. She looked more than a bit annoyed at his attempts to get her away from her computer.

“Aw, come on Sky. Please don’t be mad,” Haymitch pleaded, preparing his apology in the back of his mind.

He put his hands on either side of her face, cupping her cheeks in his hands as he gently pulled her face up to face his. He smiled at her lovingly and then that smile dropped into a frown. There were tears in her eyes.

“Sky?” he questioned.

“What if I’m not what they’re looking for?” she whispered as the tears pooled in her bright blue eyes. “What if they don’t like what I wrote?”

The first tears that fell were warm on Haymitch’s knuckles, missing her cheeks completely. The man instantly felt the worry and the sadness building in the cavity of his chest where his heart lay at the sight.

“Honey, don’t be ridiculous. You don’t know what they’ll think of it-”

“That’s why I keep checking!”

“Okay, okay, I know,” Haymitch smiled sadly at her. “I know this is scary but you just sent that query today. You can’t know immediately what they’ll think.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” the girl admitted, feeling small in his arms. “What if they don’t like it? Haymitch, I’ve been working my whole life for this moment, it’s been all I’ve ever wanted and now, I just don’t know what to do.”

Haymitch’s smile brightened at her words, holding her to him. “Well, hang on now, there’s nothing wrong with being scared or worried about this! It is scary and you have every right to be feeling however you want, scared, excited, nervous, all three? You can go through all the emotions for all I care!” He attempted to laugh it off but the look on Sky’s face told him she wasn’t amused at the moment.

“Doll, I of all people know how hard you’ve worked for this. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling about this, but believe me when I say that constantly checking your email all day will not help,” he chuckled at her flushed cheeks, becoming embarrassed. “But let me say this: no matter what happens with this letter, I know you won’t give up. You gotta keep trying no matter what. The first person you submit to won’t always be the one that will like your writing but I promise that someone out there will love it! You just gotta keep trying, doll.”

Haymitch pulled away from their embrace, hands moving to cup her face once more. Her eyes were red from the short cry but she couldn’t look any less hopeful, reassured by his words. His grin was contagious and slowly, she felt her own lips tugging up in a smile.

“And you know what?” he asked her, sparking a familiar light in her eyes that he couldn’t help but to love.

She relaxed into his touch as he gently pulled her face towards his, closing her eyes as his lips pressed lovingly against her forehead.

“You can do anything,” he whispered as he pushed their foreheads together, eyes locked together in an understanding.

“Thank you for believing in me,” she whispered back, finally connecting their lips in a short kiss.

“‘Course,” Haymitch smiled into the kiss. “‘N don’t you forget it.”

“You can do anything~”

[dracoisalooker76]

My Heart is Heavy - Part 3

Happy Bachelor Monday! I wanted to get this out before the finale tonight so Katniss and Peeta’s journey is entirely their own. You can read the previous parts of this Everlark Bachelor!AU at the links below:

Part 1

Part 2

...

Peeta supposes there are much worse things in life than being stuck in Portugal, forced to film, while nurturing a broken heart, but it’s unfathomable that anything could feel worse in this moment.

Once Katniss left to go home, his contract maintained that he would need to stay for the remainder of the shoot. While the crew did damage control, trying to figure out how to salvage a finale when the verdict becomes clear the episode before, Peeta was given a momentary reprieve from the camera. He cried a lot. He ran more than he has ever run in his life - on the treadmill, on the city streets, on the beach. But he also knew what was coming. They could only delay Glimmer’s filming for so long before she got suspicious, so he took it into his own hands. With just Cressida behind him for crew, he sat each of the women down and informed them of what happened. Neither took it well. Cashmere sobbed and Glimmer begged him for a chance, saying that he needed to move on from Katniss and why not with her?

In comparison to how horrible the night Katniss left made him feel, their break ups were relatively easy. It made him feel nauseous doing it, but he knew he couldn’t pursue anything with either of them. What he had told Katniss was the truth - he knew he would be going home from this with her or with no one.

He had just naively assumed it wouldn’t be the latter.

Unfortunately, due to contractual obligations, he has to remain in Portugal to do more filming while the girls are allowed to go home. They want everything they could possibly need before they send him back to the US. So he walks the beach. He paces with an empty ring box that will be used for promo purposes.

That one hurts. Cressida knows it hurts him and as soon as it’s finished, she guides him back to the hotel and away from prying eyes. Local teenagers have begun to realize who he is and have been caught trying to sneak a peak and the last thing he needs is to have gawky-eyed teens asking him why he can’t stop crying.

He and Cressida sit across from one another at the little kitchenette in his hotel suite in silence. There is nothing she can do or say to help him and he doesn’t want her to speak. He has gotten over his initial anger with her and the crew for bringing Haymitch, now with a clearer head agreeing that Katniss would have left no matter what. In some ways he is glad they brought Haymitch, glad that he helped coach Katniss on how she needed to leave, because the sooner it happened the sooner he can heal.

Cressida reaches across the table. “We all wanted this to work for you,” she says. “You’re one of our favorites.”

He doesn’t even bother faking a grin. “Thanks.”

He knows he’s a fan favorite, that he was chosen after an abysmal Bachelor season before his. Cato was a fiend and the fans hated his schemes and slimey ways with the women. He knows it left the producers scrambling during the following Bachelorette season to find someone wholesome that the crowd could root for rather than hate watch. So when he came on the show claiming the desire to find love and fans were livid when he got the boot as a top five contender before Hometowns, Caesar approached him about the position.

After having been on The Bachelorette, he knew the chances of finding his soulmate were slim but not impossible. So he signed on. What could it hurt?

Except, you know, his heart.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out. He was given it back last night, after producers had kept it through almost the entirety of filming, to call Rye. His brother had to sign and send an NDA before Peeta could call. But they didn’t take it back last night after the call, something he had been surprised about but didn’t bring to their attention. Having it, even if he wasn’t really using it, felt like some small bit of normalcy.

He lifts his iPhone and his eyes widen at the name lit up on his screen. Primrose Everdeen.

The one other time the producers allowed him to have his phone was in order to get Prim’s number while he was visiting Katniss’s family. It was a whole big production of them trying to find it in their bags of things and then handing it to him, setting up their cameras, making him re-ask for her number, and then immediately taking it back per Bachelor rules.

But why is Prim calling him now?

He sets it down on the table and Cressida’s eyes also widen. She motions for him to pick it up and put it on speaker, leaving the table to grab her camera.

Once Cressida gets a quick shot of Prim’s name on the screen, Peeta presses the speaker button.

“Hey, Prim. I have to put you on speaker. Is that okay?”

“Oh my God, are you still in Portugal? I’m so sorry! This call must be so expensive for you. And it’s probably so late. How far ahead are you? Oh, nevermind. I’m so sorry!” she rambles. “I can wait. Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

“No, Prim, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” he says. “So, let’s start again. Hey, Prim. What’s up?”

She giggles. “Hey.” Then her voice goes serious again. “So, um, I just wanted to call to apologize. It’s my fault that you got your heart broken.”

He frowns. The Everdeen girls are the most confusing humans he’s ever met.

“What do you mean?”

She sighs on the other end. “I’m the one that submitted Katniss’s application.”

He leans his head on his hand. Well, things are starting to make a little more sense.

“But, I did it for good reasons,” she insists. “You see, I love The Bachelor. I watch every season and I just knew you’d get picked and I thought you would be so good for Katniss. Like, she deserves someone nice and...to be honest, I didn’t expect you to pick her. I expected her to go home pretty quickly actually. She can be kind of prickly.”

He can’t help but chuckle.

“But then she didn’t and honestly I was shocked - we all were - that she was going to bring you home. Like, she doesn’t do that. When a guy loves her, she just completely ignores them and tosses them to the curb because of her stupid convictions. So I was kind of nervous for you.” She sighs again. “But, then I saw you guys together and obviously I haven’t seen you with everyone else, but I know my sister. I’ve never seen her that happy before.”

He shakes his head. Great, that doesn’t exactly make him feel any better. It almost hurts worse knowing that Katniss does share strong feelings for him and still left.

“You do know that she left me, right?” he asks. “I tried to get her to stay and she wouldn’t do it.”

“Yeah, she told me,” Prim says. “She told me everything. And I’m sorry, whoever is listening to this, I swear I won’t tell anyone. I already signed that agreement thingy. Don’t get my sister in trouble.”

Cressida chuckles. Prim is literally a sweetheart. At least some of this is definitely going to be aired.

“You’re okay, Prim,” Cressida says.

There’s a slight pause.

“Peeta?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you love my sister?”

He nods his head and his voice cracks as he answers. “Yeah.”

“Well, this may be a lot to ask, but...she loves you. I know she does. But you’re gonna have to be patient with her if you really want it. Our parents really did a number on her, but I think if you’re patient with her, Katniss can get there with you.”

His heart pounds. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up because this is Prim, not Katniss, and it could be entirely a misjudgment. But he wants to believe it so badly.

“You really think that?” he asks. He can hear his voice tremble.

The answer is almost instantaneous. “Yes. I don’t think it will be easy, but...if Katniss lets anyone be her person, it’s going to be you.”

“Prim, she’s already gone.”

“You know where we live,” she says. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

His mouth is dry at Prim’s suggestion. Does she really think that he still has a shot? Katniss always spoke so highly of her sister that he has a hard time believing that she would say something like this if she didn’t think it was true. She wants her sister to be happy. She wouldn’t tell Peeta to try one more time if she didn’t think it was what Katniss wanted.

He and Prim hang up and he runs his hands over his face. He doesn’t know what to do. He knows what he wants to do but he is so scared of getting to Katniss and being rejected again. He can’t get his hopes back up only to have them crash down for a second time.

“So, what are you going to do?” Cressida asks.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I can’t get hurt again. I can’t.”

“Maybe if you go in with no expectations?” she suggests. She shrugs. “You can talk it out and it might not get you a relationship but maybe it will give you some closure.”

“Maybe,” he says. “I’ll think about it.”

He has a few more days in Portugal anyway. It’ll give him a chance to decide what is best for his heart.

…

Prim knocks on the door before she enters, sticking her head in first before pushing the whole door open. She leans against the door frame and crosses her arms, giving Katniss a face that looks too much like pity. So, Katniss turns away and toward the window. She wraps her arms around the pillow a little tighter and clenches her eyes shut.

“If Haymitch sent you up here, tell him to go to Hell.”

“Katniss,” Prim sighs.

She can hear Prim’s footsteps across the floor until she feels the light weight of her sister sitting on the mattress.

“Did you do anything today?”

Prim already knows the answer. Katniss is sure that the whole reason she came up was because Haymitch told her what Katniss has been in bed all day.

Prim moves off the bed and when Katniss opens her eyes, her sister, who at seventeen seems more mature than half the girls Katniss met in the Bachelor mansion (including, at times, herself), is kneeling in front of her on the ground, her chin resting on the bed so their faces are so close Katniss can’t lie to her. Katniss is a terrible liar anyway, but all of her emotions are written on her blotchy face.

“Why does it hurt so much?” she asks Prim. “I broke up with him.”

“Just because you left doesn’t mean you don’t love him, that you don’t miss him,” Prim says. She reaches forward and puts her hand over Katniss’s and squeezes.

“I can’t believe I let myself do this,” she mumbles, her throat lodging with more tears. She can’t stop crying. She hasn’t cried since her father died and now all the pent-up tears can’t stop. “I let myself get attached.”

“But it felt good, didn’t it?” Prim asks. “You sure looked happy when you were around him.”

She was happy. But was that happiness worth this heartache? She isn’t sure.

The night she broke up with Peeta, she and Haymitch spent the night at a hotel next to the airport since their flight flew out early the next morning. She was so upset, she made herself sick to her stomach. Haymitch held her hair back and then carried her to the bed and let her sob. When they landed, Prim was waiting for them and even though she had been calm on the flight, the second she saw Prim the waterworks started again. Haymitch drove with the two girls in the back. She cried herself to sleep and woke up with Prim in her bed and Haymitch snoring in the old butterfly chair in the corner of her room.

A few days of that went by before Haymitch started to get frustrated with her. Prim continued to coddle her but Haymitch switched to tough love. This morning, when she didn’t move, he dragged her down the hall and all but threw her into the shower. Yesterday he threatened to bring her to the emergency room to get a feeding tube put in if she didn’t eat anything.

She stubbornly kept her mouth closed. He stuffed a burned Eggo waffle in her mouth, just buttered with no syrup to help it slide down.

“Well, look at me now, Prim,” she says, hastily wiping her face. “Do I look happy now?”

“Your heart is broken. Of course not.” Prim clasps her hands together on the bed and rests her chin on top of them. “You could call him.”

She shakes her head. “He’s still in Portugal.”

“He has his phone.”

Katniss raises an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

Prim clenches her teeth together, her cheeks tinted pink. “I...don’t.”

Katniss sits up and narrows her eyes. She and Prim don’t share a lot of traits. Where Katniss is dark, Prim is light. Where Katniss is grounded, Prim is ethereal. The only things they share, which are two traits they got from their father, are that they’re both short and they’re both terrible liars.

“Primrose Everdeen, what did you do?” she hisses.

Prim holds her hands up. “I just wanted to apologize, you know, because I feel like part of this is my fault. You know, Jo and I made your application and I just wanted to say I was sorry.”

“Oh my god, you did not,” Katniss says, throwing her hands in the air. “So you basically rubbed it in his face? How none of this was real? Prim!”

“No, I didn’t!” Prim exclaims. “I swear! I never made it seem like it wasn’t real.”

“Prim, this is real life. This isn’t one of those teen dramas where you can call him and everything turns to sunshine and roses!” Katniss exclaims. “I broke his heart. I led him on. I never told him that you submitted the application. I lied to him and you made it worse!”

Katniss falls back into her pillows, covering her face in her hands. She hears Prim stand up and storm to the door. She drops her hands to see what Prim is doing. Her sister gets to the doorway and turns around, arms crossed and glaring.

“No, Katniss. I don’t think I made it worse,” Prim says. “You are miserable and he sounds just as miserable as you. So I called and told him that I was sorry but I also told him that you love him. Yeah, you may not want to but you do and you would save yourself and Peeta a whole lot of hurting if you’d just realize that love isn’t what’s going to break you. It’s being apart that is breaking you right now.”

She spins on her heel and storms down the hall, her footsteps heavy on the stairs as she goes back down. Probably to complain to Haymitch about her.

Katniss slides into the pillows and closes her eyes tightly. Maybe when she wakes up this will all just be a bad dream.

Prim is right in a way. She is miserable. Her heart is completely broken by her own doing. It’s like she said in the exit interview while they drove away that night in Portugal - “I broke two hearts tonight.” She never wanted to love someone to the point where she could be this broken, but she got there anyway. She loves Peeta and it absolutely terrifies her that it happened so quickly and without her control.

Can she fall out of it? Will she just rot like this, like her mother did, or can she move on? Can she live her life without Peeta in it and forget what it felt like when he was around? She misses him so much. His laughter. His spirit. His kindness. She could probably move on. She pushed Gale completely out of her life and did just fine. She would survive. Once her heart heals, she would be okay.

The real question is, does she want to forget about Peeta Mellark?

She glances at her phone, which she hasn’t really touched since she returned. Even if she wanted to reach out to Peeta for whatever reason - which she can’t, she broke his heart and it’s not her place to go crawling back - she doesn’t have any way to contact him without telling Prim she’s doing it and she doesn’t want to get Prim’s hopes up. The only way she could do it herself would be to DM him through Instagram or Twitter and she is sure she’d just get lost in the sea of girls messaging him because he is the Bachelor.  

But she sort of left him under the impression that she didn’t want him to contact her. Peeta even said it was up to her. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. Would he come rushing back to her if she told him it was okay? She doesn’t know. Maybe he is completely over her. Maybe he proposed to Glimmer or Cashmere.

She stands and picks up her phone, opening her Instagram app. She finds Peeta quickly. He’s verified and his picture is his Bachelor portrait - probably something in his contract. This is impulsive, something she may very well come to regret in the morning, but her fingers type even when her brain tells her to stop.

Hi Peeta. I want to say I’m so sorry again for what happened in Portugal. Prim told me she called you and told you that I love you. I do. But I also come with a lot of baggage that I didn’t share during our time on set, stuff that makes it so hard for me accept the feelings I have for you. I was not trying to manipulate you to move myself further or anything like that. It is just so hard for me to be vulnerable with other people. I understand that you’re probably mad at me, and you may not even reply to this, but if you would like to talk or anything please let me know. I would really like to have another less emotional conversation with you that can

She stops and erases the last sentence. That sounds horrible. It sounds scripted. She can’t write that. Instead, she types:

I’m willing to be open with you.

She presses send before she can second guess herself.

…

One Month Later

Peeta steps off the jet bridge and into the terminal, immediately searching out an open seat. His ears still haven’t popped and he knows he has an extra pack of gum in his backpack. He ruffles through the front pocket, trying not to let everything fall out. Cressida told him it was a bad idea to try and pack everything for his trip in one carry-on, but he didn’t listen.

This is a busy week for him. He was on Ellen two days ago and then he immediately flew to New York. He was on The View this morning and his segment with Stephen Colbert will air this evening. He has two days here, one of which will include filming a few additional segments for the finale, before he has to be back on a plane to LA for the Monday night season premiere of The Bachelor.

It’s going to be a whirlwind, but this weekend is going to make it all worth it.

He finds the gum and mutters a Thank God under his breath as he crams one of the pieces as far back as it will go, chewing with his left molars to get his ear to pop. Once he has gotten into a chewing rhythm and everything sounds less like he’s underwater, he throws his backpack over his shoulders and turns around.

And is immediately met by two teenage girls.

“Peeta?” one of them asks.

They stand in front of him, eyes wide, both with their phones out. He needs to get out of here before people put two-and-two together about where he is. He can’t ruin his season before it even airs - Caesar would kill him - but he can’t not say hello. They look about sixteen or seventeen and he’s a sucker for kids. He’s not going to crush their spirit.

“Hey, girls, how are you?”

“OMG, we’re like, your biggest fans,” one of the girls says.

“Yeah, like, we were hoping you would win on The Bachelorette, but I’m so glad you didn’t because I’m so excited you’re the bachelor,” the other rambles.

“Can we get a selfie?” the first girl asks.

Cressida, who walked off the flight unscathed, meets his eye across the boarding area and taps her watch. He knows. He only has a matter of time before someone sees him a causes a true scene. Caesar is probably going to kill him for this and Reality Steve will use this in a few months as evidence for Peeta spoiling the season, but he can’t say no to the girls. They seem pretty harmless. So, he makes up a little white lie.

“If it’s quick. I have a tight connection I have to make.”

The girls nod and quickly get into position. They smile for the camera and he notices other people have started to look. Oh, no, he’s definitely gonna get caught.

They smile and snap the photo, the girls’ grins so bright in the screen. They thank him profusely.

“I hope they casted some great girls for you,” one of the girls says.

He nods. “There are thirty lovely ladies. I can assure you.”

The other smirks. “Are you engaged?”

He shrugs. “I guess you’ll just have to watch the season to see. It was nice meeting you, but I really have to go catch my flight.”

They let him go and he walks toward Cressida, who in the time it took for him to take the selfie managed to grab a baseball hat from the souvenir stand. She hands it to him and he stuffs his trademark blond curls in the light blue cap, hoping now he’ll blend in rather than be a beacon to anyone who somewhat follows The Bachelor franchise.

She has her phone out and sighs. “Well, you have officially been tagged at RDU,” she says, holding out the phone. She managed to find the girls’ Instagram accounts and, low and behold, there is Peeta’s shining face. “I sure am glad your season is pretty predictable in who you pick and that the main drama is how it all works out.”

“Do you really think people are going to realize that I’m visiting Katniss?”

“First comment: OMG DO YOU THINK THAT MEANS HE PICKS THE NC GIRL?” She shrugs. “I dunno. You tell me.”

He looks over her shoulder and points at the screen.

“There, the poster responded. I dunno he said he had a connection so he’s not stopping for her if he did.” He gives a small smirk. “There, Caesar can’t kill me now. I at least tried to cover it up.”

She shakes her head. “Let’s just get you out of here before people see us leaving.”

He isn’t a big celebrity, but he feels like it as airport security guides him and Cressida through a back door. A transport car with black tinted windows is waiting for him. As soon as he gets in, he takes off the baby blue cap and sets it on the seat beside him.

He hasn’t see Katniss in person since she left Portugal. He debated back and forth about whether he was ready to put his heart back on the line like Prim suggested, ultimately deciding not to do anything until he touched back down in the US with filming wrapped. He went about checking all his social media that had been neglected during his journey and nearly missed Katniss’s DM as he was quickly deleting random junk. The fact that she had reached out to him first gave him the courage to message her back.

Rye wasn’t too convinced that Katniss wasn’t just trying to get back into his good graces to pilot herself to Instagram stardom and sponsorships, but Peeta knew how little Katniss posted online and how out of touch she was for a 23-year-old in today’s social media age. It didn’t sound like her to want to be the spokeswoman for something like Fab Fit Fun or hair vitamins and her message had sounded sincere. So the two started out with messaging through Instagram before moving on to text messages. Then phone calls and FaceTime.

Despite the fact that it’s only been a little over a month since he wrapped filming, he has spent more than twice as much time communicating with her than he did during the two months they were on set together. She is someone he feels comfortable sharing even the worst details of his life with, things he had kept quiet on set. The steadiness he feels with Katniss allowed him to open up completely, telling her more about the dynamics of his family on a call that lasted so long his phone actually overheated and shut off. He told her that he was the child that was supposed to save his parents’ marriage, born ten and thirteen years after his older brothers. He tells her about how neither of his parents made it a secret they wanted a girl. How his oldest brother left the family when Peeta was eight, cutting himself off completely, and how his father married a woman twenty years his junior and started a whole new family - the boy, the girl, the Labrador retriever and the white picket fence.

He tells her about Rye’s party animal ways and how his mother’s verbal abuse got to be so bad that Rye hid him in the dorms, registered him for school with a fake address and how his older brother walked him to the elementary school down the road every morning before going to class himself. He told her how his prepubescent years were spent being raised by coeds who thought he was cute until someone had to stay behind to watch him while the rest went to the clubs. Because Rye was the life of the party with a wicked charming smile, he somehow managed to convince someone to always stay behind, and so little Peeta spent most weekend nights sitting with one of Rye’s friends, watching Disney movies if it was a responsible friend or learning about the hierarchy of cheap beer from others.

It’s all part of why he submitted an application to The Bachelorette. He wants nothing more in the world than to find someone who loves him as much as he loves her. He wants a partnership as much as passion. Granted, finding that on a reality show might not have been where most people would expect, but he thought anything was worth a try. After being bounced from person to person, place to place, never really finding his niche, he just wanted someone to love him back.

As they shared stories back and forth, being open about their pasts and where they see their future, he learned so much about Katniss. She’s witty and sarcastic in a way that couldn’t shine through with five or six crew members trailing behind them with cameras. She could probably survive in the wilderness but can barely figure out new technology. Prim is in charge of her social media now that she is contractually obligated to keep it up during the airing of the show. He saw her maternal side on the show, but he now knows she’s also fiercely loyal and an amazing singer and someone who can make him laugh.

She is also less confusing. She told him her story on why she is scared of relationships. Her parents had one of those soulmates love stories, where her mother actually stopped talking to her family who didn’t approve of the boy that would become Katniss’s father. Katniss never realized how much her family struggled as she was growing up because she was surrounded by so much love and attention. Her father encourage her and Prim in ways Peeta hopes he can do for his children. And then her father died right before her eleventh birthday and her mother broke down and turned to drugs to ease the pain. When Katniss told the story it nearly broke his heart.

“So, my mom would do her drugs in this park downtown, where all the addicts hung out together, and then one day she started bringing it home. A couple months later, Prim and I came home from school and she had OD’d. I called an ambulance and we went with her. An ER doc called CPS and Prim and I were separated for seventy-four days in different foster homes. I don’t know how, but by some luck Haymitch got Prim as a foster kid, she told him about me, and the rest was history. He adopted us as soon as my mom relinquished her rights and I told myself that I would never do what she did. I would never allow myself to love someone so much that I lost myself when I lost them. I guess I just figured that if I didn’t love anyone like that at all, then I’d always be safe. I just didn’t realize what I was missing by cutting it out of my life completely.”

It wasn’t long after that they decided to be unofficially official, a funny term just for them as they waited for the season to play before they could be out in the open. But it didn’t stop them from wanting to actually see one another. FaceTime is great but it just isn’t the same as being together. So when Peeta casually mentioned to Cressida what was going on behind the scenes, she talked to Caesar. With the caveat that they film some scenes they could edit into the finale, they would make sure Peeta got to Katniss before the season premiere, pushing dates and appearances specifically for them.

So that’s how he ended up in North Carolina a few days before the season premiere, in the back of a familiar transport vehicle.

They pull off the highway and into a quiet neighborhood that Peeta remembers from his visit to Katniss’s hometown back in November. Caesar wants it to appear like Peeta left Portugal and went straight to Katniss, so he has a little monologue in the car and they’ll shoot him walking up to her door to knock on it. They’ll end the episode there and everything will be revealed on the live ‘After the Final Rose’ episode, a compromise that Peeta and Katniss agreed to do. Neither wanted the cameras around for their first meeting. They’ll film some shots together tomorrow that Cressida mentioned for some sort of montage, but today is just for them.

They pull up in front of Katniss’s house and a flood of memories rush to him. He and Prim hit it off well, but he’s pretty sure Haymitch isn’t exactly his biggest fan. He takes a deep breath and takes the rose off the seat beside him. He will hold it as he walks to her door and knocks, but then during a fake scene tomorrow he’ll have his ‘final rose ceremony’ in a location that Cressida sent some intern to explore.

He knocks on the door and then Cressida calls cut. He holds the rose out to her to take and then the crew starts to pack up. Once they’re back in the car, on their way to the hotel, he knocks again. That’s Katniss’s signal that the cameras are gone.

His heart beats out of his chest. The first time he ever saw Katniss she was dressed in a long gown, walking out of a limo toward him at the Bachelor Mansion. He could tell she was nervous that night, her voice shook, and he tried to take the lead so her nerves wouldn’t show too much on camera. Honestly, her first impression wasn’t a stellar one. He has seen bits of how they’re editing it and Katniss won’t make a big impact on the first night unless someone is really analyzing it.

But that was Katniss the Contestant. Katniss opens the door now with a big grin on her face and that’s really the only thing he can register before she has her arms around him. She’s up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck and he lifts her up, her legs circling his waist, holding on so tightly like she doesn’t want to let go.

She puts her forehead on his. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says back.

“How was your flight?”

“It was fine. Got me here.” He doesn’t know if he should kiss her. It would be so easy to do but he doesn’t want to rush anything. He wants to show her that he is fine taking things as slow as she wants them to go. “So, what are we up to tonight?”

“I’m not use to being the one to create the date card,” she teases. Then she slides down his body, gesturing for him to follow her. “So, Haymitch and Prim are out. It’s just us.”

His eyebrows raise. “Really?”

She nods, leading him into the kitchen. “Yeah. They went to a movie and then they’re gonna do dinner out so it gives us some time alone.” She turns back and winces. “I, uh, I tried to cook.”

“You never told me you were a chef.”

She shakes her head. “Not exactly,” she says. He looks over her shoulder and sees the remains of something on a pan in the sink, though he can’t tell what it was originally. “Prim says they can bring something back later but we could always order a pizza.”

He chuckles. “That’s up to you. You’re usually hungry so we can do pizza.”

“Yeah, I’m starving,” she says.

She tells him to sit down on the couch in the living area that’s open to the kitchen and he watches her order the pizza once they decide on the toppings. She drops her phone and comes to join him.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” she says.

He lets his hand fall to her knee and she curls into his side. “Yeah, it feels good.”

Her eyes keep darting from his hand to his face, from his eyes to his lips.

“What is it?” he asks.

She tugs her bottom lip into her mouth, almost looking embarrassed. Then she looks up at him with wide eyes.

“I kind of want to kiss you right now.”

He feels like his face might break in half the way his grin stretches. “So why haven’t you?”

“I dunno. Can I?” She blushes. “Look, I haven’t done this before. You’re gonna have to be real patient with me.”

“Alright, just so you know,” he says, leaning in close. “I’m your boyfriend, so feel free to kiss me anytime you want.”

She leans forward and gives him a feather light kiss, so short that he barely feels her do it. Their eyes meet and he reaches forward, taking her face in both his hands as they meet again. They’ve kissed plenty of times before, sometimes for long stretches of time on their one-on-one moments during the show, but this kiss is the start of something new. With nothing to interrupt them but themselves and no one watching through camera viewfinders or TV screens, this is a moment just for them.

They only break apart when the doorbell rings. Katniss sits in Peeta’s lap and slowly slides her hands out from under his shirt. They share a smile and Katniss leaves one last peck on his lips before climbing off him and fixing her braid.

“I’ll get that,” she says. “Then we can pick up where we left off?”

He nods. Yes, they can, because they have all the time in the world.

...

And there we go, an HEA for Bachelor!Peeta and Katniss. 

Hope you enjoyed! Maybe I’ll dabble in this universe again if the spirit takes me. This was fun.

[ellanainthetardis]

It’s time for a second chapter! I hope you enjoy it as much as you did the first one! Thank you for your support!

{ff] or [ao3]

2.

If it was a prank, it wasn’t one that had been made public yet.

Katniss had been waiting for the laughter and the mocking comments ever since she had put a foot at the school that morning but so far, nobody had said anything. First period had been boring like Math always was and she felt like she was suffocating. Her whole body felt too tight for her, coiled. Her skin was tingling with an odd sixth sense that told her doom was impending.

“Hey.”

She almost jumped out of her skin and slammed the boy who had startled her right against the row of lockers.

Gale stared at her with wide eyes. Either at the unexpected violence or because she had lifted him up a few inches in the air without breaking a sweat.

She dropped him and stepped back with wide eyes of her own.

“Okay…” her best friend said slowly. “Wanna explain?”

She licked her lips and averted her eyes, hiding behind the curtain of her hair. She usually tied it up in an utilitarian braid but, that day, she had felt the need for some additional cover. “Sorry. I’m jumpy today.”

“Right.” Gale frowned. “So… Your sister texted my brother and Rory texted me. The word on the street is that you are being weird since last night…”

“Prim should mind her business.” Katniss grumbled. “I’m fine.”

She headed down the corridor toward her next class, not entirely surprised when Gale followed her.

“She’s just worried about you.” he pointed out. “And it’s not like you to be so jumpy you pin me to a locker, Catnip. Did something happen?”

She hesitated. She told Gale everything. Or almost everything, at least. Gale understood her like nobody else ever would. His father was dead too and he, too, was struggling to help his mother raise his two brothers and his baby sister. Like her, he hadn’t always been on the good side of the law and he was the one who had actually taught her how to poach in the woods. And, to top it off, he was also on the archery team. Gale Hawthorne was her best friend and she was sure that if she told him about the weird night she had had, he would find an explanation that was a little more rational than vampires are a real thing.

Before she could say anymore, the bell rang and she made a face because she couldn’t afford to be late again. If she got kicked out of school, social services would poke their nose in her mother’s business again and Katniss had barely managed to convince them Aster was fit to take care of her and Prim last time.

“I’ll tell you later.” she promised.

“You better.” He smiled. “See you at practice.”

She rushed to the History classroom and almost flung herself at her usual seat but students were still chatting between themselves despite her late entrance. There were excited whispers around and she caught words like “retired” and “surprise” and “new teacher” floating around. She didn’t pay it any attention, she fished her old battered phone from her bag and groaned when she realized she had forgotten to charge it again.

It wasn’t a fancy model like all the smartphones all the wealthy kids had. It was a very basic model. All it could do was call and send text. It still had actual keys instead of a touch screen. It suited her needs just fine though. She only used it for emergencies. She had nobody to call and nobody to text beside Gale who she saw every day at school and who didn’t live that far away from her home that she couldn’t make the trip in ten minutes if she really needed something.

Because she was busy laboriously tapping a text to Prim asking her not to disclose her private business to any Hawthorne boy, she missed the new teacher’s arrival. She didn’t, however, miss the hush that fell on the classroom or the characteristic squeaky sound of the pen on the whiteboard.

The man’s back was to the room. He was wearing a blue suit as far as she could tell and his handwriting was atrocious.

She was too busy trying to decipher his name to look at him yet.

Haymitch Abernathy

The feeling of dread was back and, when she finally looked at the man, she wasn’t entirely surprised to find the stranger from the previous night smirking right at her.

“Let’s cut to the chase…” He was addressing the class but it felt as if he was talking to her specifically and she found herself scowling. She didn’t like getting played like this. “You don’t want to be here and I hate teaching so we’re in good company. Let’s try to make our time together bearable. You don’t bother me, I don’t bother you. Seems fair?”

It earned him a few laughs.

Katniss just glared.

For someone who claimed to hate teaching, he wasn’t a terrible teacher. He seemed to know his subject at least. That wasn’t always a given with teachers in a town as small and as poor as the Seam.

Still, she was the first one to rush out of the room when the bell rang.

The day dragged on. She was a little afraid Abernathy would try to corner her somewhere but, true to his statement, he didn’t seem willing to bother her. She supposed that meant she should go to him first. Fat chance of that.

She didn’t need his help because none of it was true.

When Gale asked her again at practice what had bothered her so much that morning, she told him it was nothing and, this time, she meant it. She went back to the woods with him after school and they managed to catch a few squirrels.

They didn’t meet any weird people.

Nothing odd happened.

She blamed hunger for the whole thing and vowed not to hunt on an empty stomach again.

She was almost happy when she went to school the next day – as happy as you could be when the fridge and the cupboards were empty and bills were piling on the wobbly table. She was relieved it had all been in her head, truth be told. It was the only reason she didn’t immediately scowl and turned Mellark away when he casually asked if she wanted what was left of his chocolate cake because he had packed too much.

It wasn’t the first time he had cornered her in the Biology classroom before the lesson started with offers of food. Prim loved chocolate cake and she was in a good mood so she thanked him and made sure it was carefully wrapped in the paper napkin before placing it in her bag. He looked surprised and a little hopeful and he must have taken that as a tacit permission to sit because next thing she knew, he was on the stool next to hers.

That was Madge’s seat and Katniss looked at the classroom’s door with panic, hoping the blond girl would hurry and show up. Madge wasn’t really a friend because they didn’t hang out outside of school but they had been Biology partners since forever and they had eaten lunch together a few times. Madge was alright. She knew how to deal with Madge.

She didn’t know how to deal with Peeta Mellark who was king of the jocks and captain of the wrestling team.

To be fair, Mellark had always been nice to her. They had been in the same class for as long as she could remember and he was a shy kid despite his popularity. She didn’t think he had a mean bone in his body. But he was rich and they didn’t belong in the same world and Katniss was naturally weary of anyone who didn’t have to sweat and bleed to get their next meal.

Today, he looked unusually gloomy.

And, now that she was paying attention, so did the rest of the popular clique. Was Glimmer crying?

“What’s wrong?” she asked, nodding at his friends who all looked a mix of worried and depressed. That was as unusual as it got. They were always happy, shallow and haughty.

“You didn’t hear?” he said, sounding sad too. “Cato and Clove disappeared.”

The name of the girl she had set on fire was like a stab in the chest. She had done her best to repress the whole thing, not to think about why Clove hadn’t been around since that night. Her absence didn’t fit with the rational explanations she had settled on.

“Three days ago.” he continued when she didn’t say anything. “The police think they ran away together but… It’s just not like them. And they didn’t take any clothes or anything… It’s so weird…”

“Right. Weird.” she repeated flatly.

He forced a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I just hope they’re alright…”

“Yeah.” she said and she wondered if she imagined how strangled it sounded.

“Your partner’s here… I’ll…” He pointed out to his usual seat, a little hesitant and she nodded, already catching Madge’s eyes who was doing her own brand of hesitation at finding her seat taken. “Katniss?” He placed her hand on her wrist and she automatically snatched it away. He looked hurt for a second but then it was gone and his face was entirely too serious. “I know you often go to the woods on your own… Be careful, alright? I heard weird things are happening over there.”

“Thanks for the cake.” she mumbled.

Well, she thought, ignoring Madge’s awkward questions about what Peeta Mellark wanted with her… Shit.

°O°O°O°O°

Haymitch wasn’t surprised to find the girl on his classroom’s threshold at the end of the day.

He considered her as she studied him, dislike written all over her face. She didn’t look like much, his new Slayer… She was underweight. Underfed, he corrected himself. Her features were striking and she could have been pretty if she hadn’t looked so famished, her skin was olive brown, her long black hair was tied back in a braid – which was good because he hated having to tell girls to tie their fucking hair up because it wouldn’t help to be pretty once they were dead… Her eyes were grey, a shade lighter than his. For as small and thin as she was, she looked strong though and that, he decided, was good.

“Thought we had an agreement, sweetheart. Don’t bother me, I won’t bother you.” he mocked.  

She didn’t answer. She kept watching him with wariness and disgust and maybe a little bit of fear. All of which was fair as far as he was concerned.

He started packing up. Books in the bag, homework tossed in the desk drawer for him to grade later or never, the flask he had resisted the urge of touching for most of the day back in his pocket… Fuck but he hated teaching. He couldn’t believe he was back to doing that.

He didn’t pay her attention because it wasn’t how it was going to be. He didn’t dance to her tune, she danced to his. At least, that was how it was supposed to work anyway.

He could already tell this one would be difficult.

Wouldn’t save her in the long run though.

“There’s a boy missing.” she said eventually, when it became clear he wouldn’t speak first.

She stepped inside the classroom and closed the door behind her. She didn’t wander closer though, she stayed within reach of the door and as far away from the desk he was standing at as she could. Skittish, he noted.

“And?” he asked in a bored tone.

She didn’t like that.

He wondered if the scowl was her natural expression or if it was especially for him.

“And he’s Clove’s boyfriend.” she added as if it was obvious and he was being obtuse on purpose. “The girl who chewed on your neck.”

He touched the wound by reflex. It was healing without problems but it would leave a scar. By his last count, it was his fourth vampire bite.

“And?” he insisted, dragging the question out.

“And maybe he’s… like her.” she snapped. “You have to do something.”

He burst out laughing. A rough bitter laugh that made her even more weary of him, he could tell. That or he was starting to piss her off.

“I don’t have to do shit.” he countered. “I’m not the Slayer.”

She glared. “The Chosen One thing is bullshit.”

“Don’t need to convince me of that, trust me.” he snorted. “But if you think the vampire thing is bullshit, you don’t need me, then, yeah? Can’t have it both ways, sweetheart.” He watched her for a second and then leaned against the side of the desk, folding his arms in front of his chest. “Tell me, if you weren’t out looking for vampires, what were you doing with a bow in the woods at night?”

“I was hunting.” she answered as if it that made the least bit of sense in that day and age.

Though, if the looks of her was anything to go by, it actually made some sense.

“Hungry?” he asked, coming to a split decision. “There’s a diner not too far away. Good food.”

“I’ve got archery practice.” she countered.

At least, it’s not a cheerleader this time, he mused.

“Your call.” He shrugged. “Let’s hope your missing boy doesn’t chew on anyone tonight…”

He left the classroom without looking back.

He was out of the building by the time she caught up with him, her bow and quiver slung over one shoulder and her school bag over the other one.

“You’re an asshole.” she commented. “People could die. You don’t care at all?”

“People die all the time.” he replied. “You’re gonna die.”

She flinched and he might have felt a tiny bit sorry if that part of him had still been operational. But it wasn’t. He had turned it off a long time ago. He couldn’t, wouldn’t care. She would die. They all did. There was nothing he could do about it and he didn’t believe in lying to his charges. If they listened to him, they might live that little bit longer. If not…

Somehow, he didn’t think Katniss Everdeen would be the kind of Slayers who listened.

“Asshole.” she repeated under her breath.

Despite himself, he smirked. At least, she had spunk. He hated it when they were meek and compliant. Watcher-raised slayers were always like that. Obedient. Good soldiers but no personalities, no room for adaptation. Eventually, that got them killed. He had refused to take up a Potential when he had been asked. He specialized in rogue slayers.

The Council of Watchers – or, as he had once heard William The Bloody say The Council of Wankers – made a point of collecting girls who could be called and placing them in a Watcher’s care as young as possible. It wasn’t a fail-proof system though. Potentials hoped and prayed to be chosen but for a hundred of them, only one was picked, and sometimes, the girl who was called hadn’t been detected or found in time to be brought up properly. The Council called it a rogue, he called it a victor.

He worked well enough with them.

Better than with the brainwashed ones, in any case.

The diner was nothing to sing about. It was decrepit, like almost everything else in this town, and there was grease everywhere – he had never found out if that was why the owner had named it Greasy Sae’s – but the food was decent and it hadn’t changed since the last time he had been there, decades ago. Anywhere else at that time of day, the place would have been crowded with teenagers but it was mostly deserted except for a few patrons sitting at the counter.

Either there was another newer place to get burgers somewhere he hadn’t found yet or people knew not to linger outside after dark. Slayers were called where they were most needed so he would bet on the latter.

Some Watchers actually brought their Potentials to hot zones in hope that it would trick fate into turning them into the Slayer. Usually, it only meant more dead girls before they even reached puberty.

And if they weren’t chosen by the time they turned eighteen they were either hired to work for the Council as operatives or researchers or tossed on the streets without the means to do anything of themselves. You couldn’t raise a kid without getting attached, of course, but that wasn’t well seen by the higher ups and it wasn’t advised to keep in touch with a Potential who wasn’t a Potential anymore. Things had to be professional, after all. Detached. Neutral. For tweed, Queen and country. Fucking British.

“Katniss?” one of the waitresses asked uncertainly, once they had grabbed one of the booths in the corner. The discreet ones.

It occurred to him that it might look weird for a forty year-old teacher to be seen at a diner with a sixteen year-old student. Rumors would be rampant if he wasn’t careful.

“Hello, Hazelle.” the kid answered in a casual voice. Either because she didn’t get why her friend looked worried to see her with a much older man or because she didn’t care at all. “Can I have two cheeseburgers with fries to go? He’s paying.”

She added the last part both defensively and aggressively. The defensiveness was for the waitress and to the implication she didn’t have the means to pay. The aggressiveness was for his sake, he figured, to let him know she was in charge.

It amused him. She amused him. She barely reached his shoulder and she looked like a draft could knock her over but she was so full of anger that he started thinking maybe she had what it took.

It was a dangerous road, of course. It led to hope. And hope led to heartbreak.

He turned his most charming smile toward the waitress – a smile that hopefully said I am not a pervert  who preys on little girls – and the woman relaxed a little but not by much. “What she said plus two cheeseburgers and fries for us to eat here, please. And a beer. You want something to drink?”

She looked taken aback by the lack of resistance on the bill front and, if possible, even more cautious than before. “Coke.”

And the weariness triggered the waitress’ warning bells again.

He would need to teach her to be a little more covert.

“Is Sae around?” he asked casually, because he knew the familiar name would go a long way into making himself look like less of a stranger.

“No, she’s rarely in anymore.” the waitress frowned. “You know her?”

“Yeah, for a long time. I was born here, actually. Went away, came back a few years later, went away again…” He outstretched a hand in introduction. “Name’s Haymitch. I’m the new History teacher at Seam High. And I ain’t trying to seduce the kid or something… I’m a family friend. Came to help.”

“Ah.” she exclaimed in a deep relieved breath with a guilty look for Katniss. “That makes sense with Aster’s troubles…” He had meant tutoring because that was his usual cover story and now he was intrigued. What kind of troubles? She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Haymitch. I’m Hazelle Hawthorne. My oldest son is taking History. Gale?”

He winced. “Only my second day, sorry… I don’t know all the kids yet.”

“No problem.” She laughed. “It’s probably a good thing you didn’t notice him. Let me know if he gives you troubles.”

She left to place their order and he waited until he was sure she couldn’t overhear before turning his attention back to Katniss who was studying him as if she couldn’t believe him.

“You lied to her.” she accused.

“Want me to get up on the table and shout to the world that you’re the Slayer and I’m your Watcher?” he snorted. “That would go down well.”

“Maybe we should.” she retorted “Those things the other night… They could have killed us.”

“They’re demons.” he clarified. “Subclass but demons. And, yeah, they could have killed us. But you go shout around about vampires and you’re gonna find yourself locked up in a loony bin before you can say Slayer.” He shook his head. “Rule number two is… the whole thing is secret.”

“What’s rule number one?” she countered.

“Survive.” he deadpanned.

He chose the word on purpose. Not don’t die or stay alive but survive. It was different. Surviving was harder.

She pondered that a moment and then sulked a little. “I meant you lied about being from around here.”

It was his turn to ponder that for a moment. He decided on the truth because… why not? “Didn’t lie. I left for good a while ago though.” Hazelle came back with their drinks and he waited until after she had assured them their orders were coming before addressing Katniss again. “What’s with the food? You’re stocking up or you’re feeding an army?”

She took a sip of her soda and at the way she closed her eyes for a fraction of second after the first taste, he simply knew it was a luxury she hadn’t afforded herself in a long time. It wasn’t that surprising, he supposed, given the worn out clothes and the malnourished look.

He didn’t expect a straight answer so he wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t get one.

“This Slayer thing…” she ventured after a moment. “It’s like a job?”

“More like a calling.” He waved his hand in the air a little angrily. “You can say no to a job, you can’t say no to destiny when it comes knocking.”

“I meant: does it pay?” she clarified.

Again, he found himself laughing. And that surprised him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed before that day.

Johanna maybe.

Katniss was the first one who had ever asked that though.

“You could stop laughing every time I ask a question, you know.” she sulked, sliding down her seat and folding her arms in front of her chest like a petulant child.

Ah, fuck. She was one of those he was going to like. He could already tell.

That was bad.

“If you need money we can work something out.” he offered because he had too much of it anyway. Watchers were well paid. To keep their mouth shut and follow orders, mostly.

“I don’t take charity.” she snarled. “If it ain’t paid, I’m not interested. I need a job, not a calling.”  

“Then why don’t you already have one?” he asked, honestly curious. Poaching in the woods couldn’t keep her fed.

“Because people know I’ve been arrested for stealing before.” she grumbled. “They won’t hire me.”

She had a past with the police. That might become a problem. Slayers often found themselves in the middle of troubles. He would have to make sure she never got caught.

Hazelle came back with their food and he thanked her while Katniss pounced on the burger. She tried not to be obvious about it but it was glaring to him. He wondered when she had last eaten a proper meal.

He tried another angle. “Why do you need the money?”

He told himself he was getting to know her because it would help him prepare her for the mission. Not because he cared for her as a person.

She was already dead and he needed to remember that.

They were always already dead when they came to him. They just didn’t know it yet.

Half the cheeseburger was gone already and she washed it out with two greedy gulps of soda.

He had yet to touch his beer or the food.

“My sister. I take care of her.” she explained a little reluctantly.

That explained the burgers to go.

“Your parents don’t?” he probed carefully.

The Council hadn’t told him much about her. They never did. Slayers who activated in the wild were always a bit of mysteries – unplanned elements. They had given him a name, a place – and how fucking thrilled he had been to find himself back there – and a school picture that was two years out of date.

“My dad’s dead.” she snapped. Barked. As if he should have known or guessed or… “Mom’s… Mom never got over it. I take care of Prim.”

It would make it easier in a way. Parents could be difficult to reason with.

Still…

One parent dead and the other out of the picture, a sibling to support…

Too familiar.

He dipped one of the French fries in his glass of beer, ignoring her disgusted glance, before popping it in his mouth. “I can help with the money.”

She glared. “I don’t…”

“It’s not charity.” he cut her off. “I’m your Watcher.”

She watched him dip another fry in his beer. She was eating more slowly now, either because she felt sick from having gulped so much down or because she wanted to savor it.

“Because I’m the Chosen One.” she scoffed. “That still sounds crazy.”

“I know.” he offered because he did. It never got any less weird.

“I’m not special.” she insisted.

“I know.” he repeated. Another Watcher might have claimed she was special, that she was chosen, and destiny and prophecy and honor, yada yada yada… The truth of it was the girls were always ordinary girls up until the previous one died. It didn’t help to sugarcoat it.

“Well, thanks.” she remarked. She sounded less hostile and he felt his lips twitch so he busied himself by taking a bite of his cheeseburger. He wouldn’t care. Not this time. She munched on a fry, watching him. “What’s a Watcher?”

“A mentor.” he explained. “When a Slayer dies and another is activated the Council sends her a Watcher. Sometimes it’s the same person, sometimes not. Depends of the new Slayer’s needs.” He took a mouthful of beer. It tasted better with the fries. “I’m gonna train you: teach you to fight, teach you about demons, teach you how to use different weapons… That kind of things. Also, you’re gonna love that part… I’m gonna tell you where to go and what to do and you’re gonna report to me. Basically, I’m your boss.”

She snorted.

Yeah… He hadn’t thought it would be that easy either.

“Is Watcher a job or were you called by  fate too?” she mocked.

“A bit of both.” he chuckled bitterly. “But I’m being paid so I’m gonna say it’s a job. You should eat before it gets cold.”

She tossed him an odd look but finished her cheeseburger. Then, of course, she asked the question he knew had been coming from the start of the conversation. “How many Slayers did you know?”

He took another sip of beer, if only to make sure his voice would still be steady when he would speak. “Know? Seven. But I trained five if that’s what you want to know. I started when I was nineteen and I’m forty now so I’m gonna let you do the math as far as a Slayer’s life expectancy goes…”

She was staring at him but he didn’t look at her, he focused on eating his fries.

“So… The last Slayer… The one before me… You trained her?” she asked in a tone that wanted to be steady and was anything but.

“No.” he denied. “Last one was somewhere in Africa, I think. The one before her was mine, though. She was in Los Angeles. Nice weather, nasty demons. A Selkie drowned her. It was a mercy, really. She had gone mad.”

Annie had been too soft for this life.

He had never understood why she had been called in the first place. Too soft. He had known it from the start. One horror too many and she had started slipping into trances he couldn’t shake her out of. The Council had figured it out eventually, had sent a Watcher in training to assist him – a spy – the joke had been on them when instead of turning her in, Finnick had fallen in love with the broken girl. They had managed to keep her alive for a few months longer between the two of them.

Then, of course, she had followed that Selkie into the ocean and they had never known if the demon had tricked her or if she had just wanted it all to end.

‘Death is my gift’ she had whispered to him more than once and he hadn’t understood, not until he had found her floating body, not until he had been forced to restrain a yelling Finnick…

“Annie Cresta.” he added as an afterthought.

Her name figured in the Chronicles, of course, but he doubted anyone would read the journal he had kept about her. First because he had been told more than once than his records were awful and then because she hadn’t been one of the great ones. She had lasted a year. It wasn’t bad, more than most recently, but she hadn’t done anything noteworthy. She had just lost her sanity.

Girls and girls and girls sent to the slaughterhouse…

“How long will I last?” Katniss asked.

The question slapped him back to the present and he forced himself to focus, to ignore the burning need to take a sip of the hard liquor hiding in his pocket. He couldn’t afford to get drunk when he had a Slayer to mentor.

He had no good answer to offer though and the longer he remained silent the clearer it became that the silence was the answer.

She wasn’t the first one to ask him that. He could remember another girl, with honey blond hair and bright blue eyes asking him the very same thing in that very same dinner. In hindsight, he should have brought Katniss elsewhere.

“I have a sister.” she hissed between her teeth. Her eyes were shiny but the tears never made it through. “I’m all she has. I can’t…”

“If it comes down to that, when it comes down to that… I’ll make sure the kid’s taken care of.” he promised. That was the only thing he could do. He couldn’t promise to save her, but the sister he could see to. “I had a younger brother. I know what that’s like.”

Their eyes met and something passed between them, then.

An understanding.

They weren’t so much different when it came down to it, it seemed.

[everlarkstories]

Hunting

I’ve had this idea of Katniss and Peeta sharing interests for a really long time. I’m also planning to write the baking part. I hope you enjoy it! ♥

We’re sitting around the kitchen table, eating a sandwich with some peanut butter and jelly. It’s almost noon and we’re talking about the weather. ‘’It’s really sunny today. Such a beautiful day of spring,’’ he says, looking from the window to my eyes. ‘’Yeah, I think I’ll go hunting today. Our stock of meat is getting low again.’’ His smile vanishes and he turns his eyes away from me. I know he doesn’t like it when I go hunting because then he’ll be alone for a couple of hours. Sometimes he goes visit Haymitch, but since he’s asleep during most of the day he’s not much of a company.

I always feel bad when I’m heading to the woods, leaving him behind. The last couple of weeks I didn’t even go hunting, just to save me another discussion about it. I went to town to buy meat but it just doesn’t feel right. Eight years ago I was almost starving to death, and hunting was the only way to keep me and my family alive.

My family… The death of Prim still haunts me and I can never forgive Gale for what he has done. Even though he didn’t do it on purpose, he was the one who came with the plan. He didn’t know it himself, that they were planning to drop the bombs just like that, but if he just didn’t come up with the plan at all none of it would’ve happened. I haven’t spoken to him since that day, and I’m not in the mood to do it in the near future. Or ever at all. I also haven’t heard much of my mom lately. She stayed in the Capitol because it was too emotional for her to come back to Twelve. I can understand. If I had a chance to leave my old life behind and start a new one somewhere else, I’d also do it.

If it wasn’t for Peeta. I can’t leave him, and I won’t ever again. We’ve been through so much together. He’s the only one who truly understands me. Well, beside Haymitch, but it’s different with Peeta. I can’t really explain, only that I have this kind of connection with him that I never had with anyone else. Not even with Gale. I’m wondering what he’s doing today. Yes, I’m still mad at him, but I don’t hate him. I also wonder what would’ve happened if we just ran into the woods on that day of the reaping. Would we have made it somewhere safe? Maybe even ending up in Thirteen? And what would’ve happened to Peeta? He definitely would be going into the arena, but would he still be alive? Probably not. It hurts to think about it, so I decide to continue our conversation.

‘’If you don’t want me to go, that’s fine,’’ I say to him. He looks up again. His blue eyes have this gloss over them, like he’s about to cry. ‘’No, you can go. I just wish I could join you.’’ I’ve never thought about this, taking Peeta with me. Mostly because it didn’t go so well in the arena, him stepping on every single branch on his path. The cracking sounds could be heard within a radius of half a mile, chasing all the animals away. But maybe it’s different now, since he’s not having trouble with his leg anymore. I’m really glad he managed to walk properly on his artificial leg. Maybe it’s good to take him with me, so I decide to give it a try.

‘’You can come with me if you like. I’ve never shown you how I really hunt before.’’ His smile is coming back now. ‘’I’ve seen you hunt a couple of times back in the are…’’ He cuts off his sentence. I know he regrets saying it. We try to talk as little as possible about what happened in the arena or in the Capitol. To cheer him up a bit I start talking again and pretend I didn’t hear it. ‘’But you haven’t see me hunt here in the woods. It’s beautiful there. Have you even ever been to the woods before?’’ His smile vanishes again. Did I say something wrong? I hope I didn’t.

After a few seconds of silence he sighs and starts talking. ‘’No. My mom didn’t want me to go near the fence. She didn’t even want me to go near the Seam. So most of the time I stayed in town. The first time for me in the woods was actually in the Games.’’ There it is again, the face of regret. ‘’It’s okay, Peeta. Better to let it out than keep it in.’’ He gives me a weak smile. I take his hand and hold it for a moment. A couple of minutes later I get up from the chair. ‘’Let’s put on some woods-proof clothes.’’ He stares at me in a way that gives me the impression he doesn’t understand what I mean, so I decide to be a bit more clearly. ‘’Peeta, are you coming with me or do you prefer to sit there all day?’’ He shakes his head slightly while he gets up and follows me.

We’re on our way to the woods when I’m thinking about something. Wouldn’t it be nice to teach Peeta how to shoot? Then he can come with me more often. I decide to not tell him this yet. I want this to be a surprise.

We pass the place where the fence of our District once was. How many days I got to this exact same place, struggling to get on the other side of the fence, always checking if the power was still off. And now it’s gone. I lead Peeta to a tree with one of my father’s bows and arrows in it. ‘’This has been here the whole time? Weren’t you afraid someone would find it and take it away?’’ He couldn’t believe it. ‘’Yes. And no. Who would go into the woods just for fun? Taking the bow with me into Twelve was way too dangerous, so this was the safest place to keep it.’’ I love the way Peeta can ask these kinds of questions. Sometimes he’s so interested about even the simplest things. I’m really wondering what his reaction will be if I tell him I’m going to teach him how to shoot. While we’re walking to a more open area, I start telling him my idea.

‘’Hey, have you ever shoot before?’’ His face turns to me and I can see that he’s surprised. ‘’No, why?’’ This is my chance. ‘’Okay, then I’m going to teach you how to do it.’’ His face is full of excitement, but at the same time some sort of panic too. ‘’I … I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m not really good at aiming and…’’ Excuses, like always. ‘’Well, I’m going to teach you anyway, if you like it or not.’’ I kiss him on his cheek and his panic disappears. ‘’Stand right here, legs spread out, just like that. Here, take the bow.’’ He does exactly what I’m saying him to do. ‘’You’ve seen me shoot before, right? Okay, try to tighten the bow like you’re aiming on a bird or something.’’ He turns his upper body and pulls the cord with his fingers towards him. I can see he’s shaking. ‘’Wait, let me help you.’’ I’m standing right behind him. My hands on his, trying to show him how to do it. ‘’See? Okay, now the hardest part. Aiming.’’ I let go of his hands and walk to his other side. His eyes are focused on me. ‘’To aim at your target, your eyes have to be straight in line with the arrow. The tip shows you where the arrow will hit.’’ He’s listening very closely to me. Another thing I like about him. I point out at a wild turkey. ‘’Try to hit that one. It’s okay if you miss. It took me a while before I got the hang of it.’’ He focuses on the wild turkey. He stands steady and stays quiet. The only thing I can hear is his breathing. He tightens the cord again and aims for the animal, just like I told him. He lets go of the cord and watched the arrow fly through the air. It hits the animal in its chest. Peeta’s mouth was open of amazement. I put my hand on his shoulder and smile. ‘’That’s amazing! Good first shot,’’ I tell him. I walk towards the wild turkey to get the arrow back and put the animal in my game bag. ‘’I know what we’re going to have for dinner this evening,’’ I say. Peeta’s still standing on the exact same place, smiling like an idiot. My idiot, who just shot his first wild turkey.

We’re walking back to the house. Peeta is still pepped about the turkey. ‘’Did you see how I just did that? With only one arrow!’’ I’m smiling but I’m not really listening to what he is saying. Instead I’m focusing on his face. I really enjoy seeing him like this. Not thinking about all the bad things that happened in the past three years. Just being happy. ‘’So what do you think?’’ he asks. ‘’I’m sorry, what?’’ I didn’t know what he was talking about. ‘’Like I said, you learned me how to shoot, so tomorrow I’ll teach you how to bake one of my delicious breads.’’ I’m in shock. He’s kidding, right? I can’t bake. I tried to when I was younger, but the bread wouldn’t rice and it was still wet on the inside. ‘’I…’’ He cuts me off. ‘’Please Katniss, let me do this.’’ He holds my gaze until I answer. ‘’Okay, but don’t expect me to bake the bread every morning.’’ He starts to laugh. ‘’Oh no, not every morning, only six times a week.’’ I’m not smiling at all. This is still a ridiculous idea. ‘’I’m just kidding, Katniss. You may bake the bread yourself anytime you like. But I understand that I’m the master and that you can never stand up to my baking skills.’’ He’s teasing me, and I hate it when he does that. Well, not really hate it, but still. I can’t keep my face straight so I start laughing too. We’re such idiots. And I love it.

[royal-writer]

hey @ angst queen: suffer

Day 1

She held her breath. Painfully aware of his own as it paused; drawing an ominous silence in the warm room. Her heart made a quiet stutter in prayer and then, by the grace of all the gods, he breathed in again. Faintly; a snorted rush against her neck.

Her hand squeezed his gently.

He was fine.

Another pause of his breath, and she held her own. Willing her air into him; fearful of the sharp ache it brought into her lungs to continue holding back an instinct to draw in oxygen until he did.

Her eyes burned with the tears she refused to shed.

Everything was fine.

Day 3

There seemed to be more turmoil in his eyes than usual. Staring up at the face looking upon him, trying to make sense of it.

She could tell that their words were going unheard. Not that they seemed to notice; continuing on a feverish rant even as Amon contemplated in silent wonder. No amount of her glances, trying to somehow place the name in his mind, seemed to help.

“Thank you, Nortan,” she interrupted. “Would you mind uhm, fetching that item you said you’d like to show us?”

“Ahh- yes- it’s right downstairs my apologies Lady Essätha, I do tend to ramble,” the man laughed, adjusting his glasses. “I’ll be right back-”

A nod. Hardly a glance; a smile placed on her face that felt hollow.

She reached out to gently slide her hand across Amon’s shoulder. Watching the frown appear as he looked to the man departing, dragging his gaze back to hers until it melted away into a smile.

That same shine in his dark eyes she loved. The sense of recognition she knew so well; warmth and love and gentleness.

For the first time in her life, it didn’t bring her hope like it used to.

She could see the slope that she tried to force herself to deny. The downhill slide; the thinness, the frailty. The way he stared into space and at people more and more with a vague lack of understanding. The dying sense of appetite and the stretches of exhaustion and sleep increasing.

His hand reached up for hers, taking it from his shoulder to his lips to press a kiss along the back of her hand.

Everything was fine.

Day 4

“I’m okay.”

Her voice cracked. She could see the way the housemaiden looked at her in the corner of her eye. Crestfallen, her own eyes down on the broken glass cup on the floor only to glance up. A mask over her face; trying to pretend she didn’t see the way Amon leaned so heavily against the wall as he’d slipped and nearly fell before catching himself.

He was still using it for balance as he turned into the bedroom. Hand pressed to the wall, feet shuffling.

“I’ll clean it up, miss-”

“I can do it.”

“I insist.”

Her teeth dragged across her lip, watching the young lady as she rounded the corner to fetch a pan. After a moment, Essätha’s eyes flickered across the hallway, until she stepped over to place her hand against the ledge of a window and lean into it. Images of what she’d just seen dancing behind her eyes; her hands shaking.

Everything was fine.

Day 6

The dark circles under his eyes looked darker than normal. Especially this close.

She tried to turn her head away, but his hands held her steady. Fingers stroking the tears on her face, murmuring softly as he kissed her nose. Words she couldn’t make out at first. Words lost in the rapid, aching breathes she tried to take in and the thunder of her heart.

“Do not cry my darling Essätha. My beautiful Essätha.”

The coos of his voice were still so delicate. So soft and warm and compelling; finger moving to drag through the lines of her black hair now lined with the few and far between strands of silver. Brighter and far more glossy than the blinding white hues of his own. The deep aged lines in his face compared to hers; laugh lines, lines of joy, lines of crows feet from squinting with laughter for so many years etched into their features so similar but his so much more magnified.

“What can I do to take those tears away?” Amon sighed, kissing her cheek gently. “Whatever I can do, I’ll do it for you.”

She swallowed, trying to pull away. She hated those words; she hated them so much. God damn him; god damn it she knew he meant them but what if he couldn’t give her what she wanted, what she asked for and longed for?

He couldn’t guarantee time any more than anyone else.

His strength returned so suddenly that Essätha let out a strangled squeak of surprise as he held to her face to stop her retreat. Not roughly, but quick; with the firmness leaving nearly as swiftly. Waiting, ever patient until she turned her eyes back to his.

Feather-light kisses brushed the tears from her eyes, and then to her mouth lightly before he settled his forehead against hers. Looking into her gaze, so softly and filled with adoration.

“I can’t stand it when you cry.”

For his sake, she tried on a smile. It felt plastic against her face.

Giving a tisk, he tried tugging at the corners of her lips gently with his thumbs.

“That’s not a real smile,” he scolded.

Her expression grew softer at his stupid attempts. Despite herself, she actually did find a ghost of a small smile pulling at her lips. And it stayed there as he smiled too; leaning in to press another kiss against hers. His rough, somewhat scraggly beard and chapped lips and all.

And it was just as perfect and beautiful as ever other he’d ever given her.

Everything was fine.

Everything was perfect.

Day 7

Everyone was pressed around. Sullen, red, swollen, puffy eyes everywhere you looked.

Essätha’s were dry.

There was a sigh, just on the other side of the bed. Her fingers clutched to Amon’s; feeling his return the gesture as his eyelids fluttered open and shut.

Boots stepped around the side of the bed. She didn’t so much as tear her eyes away from her beloved’s as the doctor stepped closer, leaning down so she could hear him whisper: “The anesthetic should help with any suffering. I’m… Sorry.”

A hand touched her shoulder. If she wasn’t so compelled to who was in front of her, she might have turned to slap that hand.

It retracted, and she could hear the backdrop of the doctor speaking to one of the staff members.

Amon’s eyes cracked open slowly. A foggy haze over the storm of dark blue she was so used to.

He looked over to her. Recognition, concern. His fingers shaking as they squeezed hers.

“What’s going on?”

The somewhat panicked slur of his words drew across her ears. Splitting; making a lump form in her throat.

“Nothing, my beloved,” she spoke gently; full of love and sweetness as she reached across to brush stray pale hair from his face. “Just close your eyes and rest for me, alright? I’m here.”

For a moment, he appeared puzzled. A slight look around the room, like he couldn’t see anyone else, before looking back to her. A slurred grumble; jumbles of words she couldn’t make out before he nestled his head back into the pillow and released a sigh so heart-achingly tired.

The rambling of the doctor ceased behind her. After a few more moments, she could hear their footsteps move to the door and then, they were gone.

Other than the shuffle of shoes, the snuffles, the tick of the clock, the room was quiet.

And then Amon would take a strangled, harsh breath and it was not.

“Essätha?”

“Yes, m’lord Amon?”

“It’s rather cold in here,” he muttered, opening his eyes and then shutting them gradually. “Would you… mind?”

Without a second thought, she slid onto the edge of the bed. A few choked noises escaped some of the nearby house assistants. Most promptly looked away; a few moving away from the bed as she laid out against her side near his.

A single, shaky sigh escaped him.

“Better?”

Silence. Her chest ached. She couldn’t breath. She couldn’t breath, and her heart clenched and the tightness in her throat trapped her; held her, overwhelmed her to dizzying proportions it hurt-

The hand holding hers squeezed tightly.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful today, Essätha?” Slurred; hardly a whisper.

“Yes dear. As you do every day.”

“Good… Good… I don’t want to… forget that… I forget… I forget… a lot…”

Pressing closer against his side, Essätha placed a kiss to his hand, squeezing firmly as his fingers began to grow lax.

“I love you, Amon,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

A grunt. His breath hitching; leaving him slowly, ending in a rattle that made her sink her teeth painfully into her lip as her eyes brimmed with tears.

“I love…”

His hand went limp, jaw slack as a final exhale slowly moved past his lips.

She waited. Slowly, agonizingly, patiently. Hoping. Just once more, please, just once more…

But nothing came.

She pressed a soft kiss against his still-warm lips.

Everything was…

Day 9

Adela, Sulhadur, Ravamora, Cackle, and Penimra arrived. With Abernathy, Haymitch, and Faerith having passed over the years; and Ilamin too far off to come in a timely manner, it was all that remained of their age old group of heroes. The same legends people told stories about now a crumbling, old mess already being written into history books.

They made it in a rush from all across the region.

They made it, along with dozens of other faces. Most Essätha knew, then many she didn’t.

Her face was stoic through it all.

Everything simply was.

Day 10 – part 1

She could hear the hissed whispers of the woman behind her. Terrible gossips that they were.

“She’s not even crying.”

“I bet she’s happy he’s gone. She’s a yuan-ti, you know. She’s been waiting for this day to take his house and money.”

“She probably killed him herself.”

“Clearly has no heart.”

Through the procession, she remained cold and silent. Fingers laced in front of her lap, holding the unused handkerchief.

“… And by the light of Pelor, may he be brought peace and…”

The sermons words rang through the room. Looking upon them; so many red-eyed faces and people blowing noses so loudly and splotchy cheeks. So many tears spilling over the edge. The room awash in a shroud of black and Essätha; veiled in the darkness she knew once so well, wearing it the best of all in a stunning gown, netted veil pinned in her hair with a fake black flower, and empty eyes.

Everything looked lovely.

Day 10- part 2

She recalled nothing of the day with vivid recollection. She did not eat a bite as dinner was served at the lavishly set up banquet. She did not speak a word unless directly spoken to and even then in deadened, to-the-point remarks. She did not interact; did not allow herself a moment outside of perfectly poised and clasped hands with haunted eyes staring out at the world.

She did not utter even a cry as Amon’s casket was brought to the sanctity of the family crypt. Properly blessed by the priest many times over; blessed further by his closest friends and family as per Essätha’s request, and then left to the silence and dark of the earthen black as they departed.

So many hands to shake. So many eyes to meet. So many hugs she did not feel and so many kind words and tearful things that were like daggers to her heart.

She watched them all leave. One by one, then in droves. Leaving the Illiad manor quiet, with only a few people people outside of her old party of explorers staying for the night.

Everything was deathly silent.

Day 10/11- part 3

The clock softly chimed at 2 a.m.

Climbing out of bed, Essätha looked around the dark room. Her eyes sunken in with fatigue. Sleep out of reach like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

She placed her feet down on the floor and grabbed her shoes to slip on. The same flat black one’s she’d worn at the funeral. Still in the same dress she hadn’t the energy to switch out of.

Quietly, she moved out of the room. Down the hall, carefully scaling down the stairs. Through the kitchen, slipping around the wait staff’s rooms where they slept. Or, should be sleeping; she could hear some muffled sobbing from more than one room.

Moving through the courtyard was like a bizarre dream. The scent of flowers she’d planted; the moon hanging above with wisps of low-level clouds trying and failing to block her luminous light. It reflected on the sculpted statues and over the still water beautifully. Captured in essence upon the greenery in a pale glow.

Essätha yanked the veil that had managed to get wrapped up in her tangled hair off. It dropped on the ground, crushed from her cruel fingertips.

Down the cellar stairs, a sense of deja vu.

The beginning of things.

The ending of others.

She could have sworn they’d closed the crypt earlier. Not that it mattered, she followed where her feet lead her, knowing where she wanted to go. Eyeing the various walls. Such distant memories of skeletons lunging; so many newer ones of days spent paying respects to people she didn’t know with Amon and then the day he’d told her that this too would one day be his final resting place…

She washed the memory down with a shudder.

Her feet dragged, nearly tripping. Moving further and further into the consuming blackness with a keen sense of knowing and a sharp scope of sight. No need to feel around, stopping at the latest sarcophagus added to those already neatly paralleled.

Essätha looked upon it. Expensively carved stone, bordered with extravagantly detailed gold and silver trim in varying patterns. An inscription in elvish and common flowing elegantly around the box; soft-spoken momentum's as to who he was as a man, as a fighter, as a savior. Gemstones adorned through the patterns in stunning arrays.

She scoffed quietly.

“How could you do this to me?”

A step closer, drawing her hand over the top of the sarcophagus.

Her knees unbent suddenly; falling to the ground hard. The pain of the earth was so distant as it sank into her knees and shins; tearing into her dress, beading blood up from small scrapes and abrasions.

“How could you just leave me like this?” she accused, her voice wavering with emotion that threatened to spill over.

“What am I supposed to do without you? How am I… How am I supposed go on?”

Her voice cracked, bowing her head until her forehead rested against the stone whilst fingers clutched the lid.

“I don’t want this damn house,” she choked, tears forming in her eyes suddenly. “I don’t want it; I don’t want your fucking money, I don’t their sympathies, I don’t want any of it please! Please- Please you promised you would love me, you promised you would stay! Please, please, please.”

“All I ever wanted was you. All I ever needed was you. I love you, I love you, please- please Amon, please I- I don’t want to be alone. I don’t care about anything else, I don’t care just please… please… please I’ll do anything…”

Stinging, hot tears streaked down her face. Falling on her dress, colliding with the ground to stir up brief swirls of dirt. She inhaled through her mouth. Ragged breathes; nose stuffy, choking for air.

“Please take anything else. Anything else but him; I tried so hard… I tried so hard to be better, to be worth what he should have, to be a better person, to be a better me. Just another day; just one more day please, please, please… Take anything else. Take everything else but him, please… Please he can have my time; he can share my last breath he can have anything just please… please… take anything else...”

Her voice wobbled, cracking and breaking every other syllable. Harsh, painful sobbing breaking through her demeanor as she slumped against the cold, unforgiving stone.

She knew Death would not listen. Death did not care. And Death knew better.

One more day would be a lie. She would ask for another. And then another. And then another; begging, pleading, fighting with every last ounce of herself for one more, every time.

One more would not be enough.

One second would not be enough.

Nothing was enough to fill the aching void. Nothing would otherwise permanently stop the hurt, the brokenness. The hand she held to her chest, trying to keep the remains of her shattered heart from spilling out on the floor.

“Give him back to me,” she wept, loud and sharp and painful like a knife in her chest. “Give him back, he was my everything. Please. Please.”

Essätha rasped, hardly able to catch her breath. The lump in her throat too tight; threatening her silence.

“I love him. I love him bring him back to me; bring him back I’ll do anything I’ll do whatever you ask. I’ll never be selfish again, I’ll never ask for anything else I swear. Please… please…”

Uneven, shaky breathes rasped out of her lungs as she unhinged completely, resting all of her weight into the stone. Every inch of her was shaking violently, unaware of the yellow tinges of light that began to wash into the room and slowly advance upon her.

“Please… please… please…”

A hand touched her shoulder and she jerked, blinking through the blur of tears to see Ravamora’s pitying face. Then Penimra’s; hand tightly clutching a torch with a teary-eyed Adela and Sulhadur hovering just behind and Cackle on the other side of Rava, giving a cooing brr of sorrow.

They all knelt down; one by one, wrapping themselves tightly around her in arms and legs as she collapsed between them and the sarcophagi. Unable to breathe, unable to see, letting out choked noises and pleas that went unheard.

She hoped the remnants of her soul would simply shatter, and she could cease. It would be easier to deal with that then this pain.

Nothing was fine.

Nothing would ever be fine again.

Day 12

The last of the visitors departed. Giving a kiss on the cheek, a hand to hold, a hug to the party-goers she knew so well who declared each that they would be back soon to see how she was doing. It was as though they could see her faded resolve to live; plainly showing on the heart she wore on her sleeve.

The house was deadly quiet. The staff solemnly going back to cleaning with their heads down. Unveiling all mirrors previously covered and opening the curtains to let in light that Essätha no longer felt on her skin.

Day 15

Essätha shifted the coffee mug on the table so that the handle was held out at the angle Amon usually had it for easier access.

She pushed her food around her plate. Reaching out, adjusting the mug once more with thought. Drawing on a frown, she picked it up to place to her lips, stealing a sip from his drink as she sometimes did when Amon was alive. Still painfully hot on her tongue; almost scalding, with steam rising up and heating her belly temporarily of its chill with a bitter tang.

She placed it back down. Shifted it; moving the handle to its proper place.

“Lady Essätha? You haven’t touched your food.”

“I’m not very hungry.”

“… Miss, you should really eat. You haven’t had much for days.”

Muttering a ‘thank you’, Essätha managed to stab a forkful of eggs and ingest it despite her quivering, angry stomach. Putting her agitation, her pain into stabbing another and passing it a glare like it was the fault of the unborn chicken for all of her pain before forcing it down, too.

She reached out, tapping the mug once more so it was just right.

Day 20

The bed was cold no matter how many blankets she had on. Rolling to her left, to her right, on her back and stomach and even moving to rest her head on the foot of the bed instead gave no relief.

She flopped back over. Grabbing a pillow; one of Amon’s pillows, and holding it to her chest. Only… there was something on the pillow-

Her fingers reached out, gently plucking off the white strand. On the very end of one edge, the faintest hue of gray.

Her mouth trembled.

She buried her face into the pillow, a fresh wave of agony ripping through her as she cried.

Day 22

She was so tired. Walking the halls, her eyes searching as she wrung her hands.

A few of the housemaids gave each other worrisome glances as she moved by. Again and again, wasting the day searching for someone she’d never find.

Day 27

Her hands shook. Fearful. She couldn’t. She hadn’t been able to thus far.

Willing herself forward, she grabbed hold of the closet door and snapped it open.

The smell of him hit her.

She crumbled to the floor, a hand to her mouth. Squeezing her eyes; squeezing them as tightly as she could muster trying to contain her pain. Trying to swallow the lump in her throat down.

Tears slipped past her.

She grabbed the edge of the door, pulling herself up on shaky legs as she gasped for air. Dragging in the familiarity; the warmth. His cologne and his skin lingered on his clothes.

Her hands found the soft, furred edge of a cloak. Tugging it off the hanger, she held it up to see if there was any signs of damage from any bugs that may have tried taken refuge.

Nothing.

Pulling the cloak closer, shaking, she pressed it to her face. Breathing him in; drowning in memories and crashing waves of emotions as the tears on her lashes wettened the fur lining.

Essätha swung the cloak around until it settled into her shoulders. Pulling it tightly around, leaning heavily against the edge of the wardrobe.

It felt like his arms around her in a warm embrace.

She smiled, painful and slow, as she pulled up an edge of the material to drink in Amon’s signature scent once more, leaving more dark stains of her tears on the fabric.

Day 37

Tears danced in her eyes. Stroking the side of the bed. Empty and cold. Just so, a mirror to how she felt even with the sun’s light beaming in from a window drawn open through the room.

“I miss you,” she whispered hoarsely, closing her eyes.

A strange, powerful smell of his cologne met her senses. She breathed in slowly, letting it fill her aching lungs. So familiar, so warm…

A sudden, loud thud caused her to jerk upwards. Eyes darting around the room, she spotted the coat stand where she had hung one of Amon’s favorite cloaks some time ago on the ground.

She… must not have hung it properly. The weight had to have thrown it off.

Climbing out of bed, Essätha stepped around sluggishly; not fully here nor there. Picking up his clothes, setting the stand back.

She dragged the cloak around her shoulders, shivering. It felt… warm?

No, she was imagining it. Or the sun had been on it, maybe… Which was impossible, at any time of day, the sun didn’t touch this area of the room.

After breathing in the familiar scent a few times, she finally made her way back to the bed to climb beneath the blanket, still adorning the cloak.

She drifted into a deep, deep sleep; much deeper and restful than she’d had in weeks.

Day 44

She stared at the pile of paperwork she had to do. A drained sigh, sagging into the sofa and pulling up a table. Better than the work desk, at least this would be more comfortable.

Her palms rubbed at her eyes. Dull, half-closed, ringed with hollow black circles.

She dipped quill to ink, and got to scrawling.

The warmth of the hearth fire did nothing to the chill deep in her soul.

Day 48

Essätha reached out with groggy, unaware hands. A moan on her lips, shaking lightly.

“Amon…?”

Her hands found nothing but open space.

Her eyes opened and closed slowly, looking around the bedroom. His name on her lips, but faltering as the crushing weight returned to her. The late-hour moon hanging low and bloated in the sky.

Shuddering, she wrapped her arms around herself helplessly, shrinking into a ball as she rocked herself.

It was only a nightmare. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

A sorrowful wail escaped her. Haunting; moving through the empty room and down the hall like ghost.

Day 52

“My lady, it’s lovely to see you out here!”

Essätha blinked slowly. Almost in a way that suggested she didn’t know how she got there. Partly because, well, she couldn’t recall what lead her to the courtyard, truthfully.

“We’re just transplanting some of the indoor plants with the outdoor ones,” the maiden stated nervously.

Another slow blink, letting this sink in.

“I… could help.”

“Oh, no that’s not necessary-”

“I’ll fetch some gloves,” she remarked in a voice that said the argument was finished before it started.

She wandered into the small room that lead to the cellar. Her eyes drawn to the stairwell, lingering as the hole in her heart and soul began spreading wider and wider the longer she stared.

She closed her eyes. The musky scent of the room invading her. The sound of shovels outside a blow to her aching skull, rattling her brain.

She knelt down, picked up a spare set of gloves, and turned for the door. Pausing, briefly, to turn back as she thought she saw…

A smiling face of one of the housemaidens, having entered the other door to the room, looked upon her.

Ah. The shadow made sense now.

She stepped outside, clutching the gloves to her chest hoping they’d keep her splintered pieces together.

Day 62

“How is… everything?”

Essätha looked between Rava, Sul, Pen, Adela, Ilamin, and Cackle. The question the dragonborn asked lingered in the still air.

“Fine,” she answered, drinking from her mug slowly. “Everything is fine.”

They all passed glances among each other before looking back to her.

The dark rings surrounding her eyes, the blankness in her vision, the tremors that raced down her body constantly, the dry cracked lips, the thinner cheeks and lack of appetite…

None of them seemed convinced.

“Maybe the house could use some new cheer-”

“No,” Essätha cut in sharply, not looking up to Ravamora but deep into her steaming mug of tea. “No. It… it stays how it is.”

Uncomfortably, another glance around the group.

“You should come out shopping with us later,” Ilamin gushed.

“Perhaps.”

“Some sun would do you some good,” Sulhadur agreed.

“Essätha should get out of house,” Cackle chirped through various voices.

A deep, lengthy sigh expelled from Essätha in response.

“Maybe.”

“Come on, sitting in this house can’t be good for your health,” Adela chimed in, reaching out to touch her knee.

Vaguely, Penimra shrugged. “You do look quite a bit paler.”

Adela elbowed him in the ribs so he wheezed.

“Fine,” she agreed quietly, drawing her eyes mostly shut.

It didn’t prove anything to her, good or bad, going out. Like art stuck in time, she was nothing but a pretty ghost in town. Warm, kind regards; warmer greetings, offered goods and gushes and children so excitedly looking forward to seeing her. They’d request to see her magic, and she would flicker a few, barely-there flickers of light that made them ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ but with notable… disappointment in her lack of showmanship.

She offered only a smile, painfully, when spoken to but otherwise drifted, Amon’s cloak tightly wound around her. Trying to fight off the numbing cold despite the sun blazing overhead.

Day 65

Her eyes looked up to the young maiden as she stepped over. A delightful smile, offering out a pair of mugs.

“Thank you,” Essätha whispered, taking a cup of coffee.

The man adjacent to her grunted, accepting the other.

Giving a respectful inclination, the housemaid was quick to hurry out of the private seating area in front of her bedroom.

“As I was saying,” the man rumbled in a deep voice, rambling on.

Rambling about…

Nothing she cared about.

She wished Amon was here. She’d grown used to taking care of the paperwork, joining in meetings, helping make arrangements; but these lengthy, business-like discussions weren’t something she could always pay her full attention to. They lagged too long. No one ever wanted to get to the point; they wanted to debate a thousand viewpoints, throw in opinions, map out things that sometimes held no relevance to their arguments regardless.

Her heart ached. Her mind wandered. Far-off, thinking of that smile that made her breathless and heart race. The depth of his eyes; space infinite dragging her on and on with glimmers of light like stars and the softness of his hair as she ran her fingers through. The texture of his skin through time. The flex of muscles, then the softness, the give. The calluses on his hands that never left him.

“Essätha. Lady Essätha. Miss Essätha. Ma’am.”

“O-Oh, I’m so sorry sir Xanner, my mind slipped me.”

A frown colored his face. The man reached out; his dark skinned hand touching her hand she had upon her knee with gentle fingertips. Very unsavory.

“It must be lonely, being in this big house all by yourself.”

An unpleasant, gruff sound moved through her as she retracted her hand.

He grabbed hold of her suddenly, painfully.

“Xanner-”

“You don’t have to stay here by yourself, you know,” he offered, his voice a purr as he tilted his head and leaned in, eyes searching her.

“It’s a large house for one, lonely little lady to live in. I could keep you some company, if you’d like. It wouldn’t take too long to set up some arrangements and have my things moved here...”

Disgust wormed it’s way into her stomach. She yanked her hand away roughly, slamming her mug down on the nearby coffee table so that it spilled.

She slapped both hands against his chest, pushing him back.

“How dare you!” she cried out sharply. “I’m a married woman!”

Drawing his eyebrows together, he gave a rude snort.

“You’re a widow, Lady Essätha,” he reminded her matter-of-factly, face cold.

Her eyes blazed with fury. Bringing back her hand, she slapped him across the face.

“Get. Out. Of. My. House.” Each word biting, coming out through gritted teeth.

He had barely recoiled from the slap, but his face was absolutely furious. He snagged her wrist, fingers bruising.

“I’m offering you help, m’lady, can you not see that?”

“Get out of my house!” she shrieked, the candle light in the room flashing dangerously low as wisps of magic curled around her.

Xanner suddenly released her. Cursing, he raised a finger as though to contest something else, but quickly snapped his mouth shut as he looked upon the wrathful expression she wore.

Grabbing his mound of paperwork and shoving it in a stiff satchel, he slung it over his shoulder and stomped for the door, slamming it shut behind him.

“The nerve!” she growled, jumping to her feet suddenly. She paced back and forth, in front of the table a few times before making her way over to the work desk, where a portrait of Amon had been hung so many weeks ago.

“Can you believe him?” she declared at the painting, fuming. “Oh gods, what filthy vermin! I always knew he had a thing for this house, I saw the way he looked at it. Disgusting- I can’t even believe! Gods I wish you’d seen that too while you were alive. I would have loved to see you give him a few choice words. A gentleman’s fight perhaps; the fucker- using me like a tool for his own ambitions how disgusting, how utterly sickening!”

She paced frantically, back and forth. Her breath coming out ragged and angry.

“I mean really- as if that’s any way to touch or speak to a lady-”

One hand moved across, finding her wedding ring. She spun it around her thinned finger with agitation as she growled.

“He could use a fucking lesson from a real gentleman-”

“So stupid-”

“Fucking moron-”

Her rambling grew less and less heated the more she paced by the portrait. With a sigh, she turned her eyes up to the painting, eyes clouding over.

She always hated his paintings. They never captured his complexion right. Especially in his eyes; they were always too flat. Lacking his true sense of self; the variant hues of color, the shifts of light and the warmth and love she adored.

This was the best though, by far. In his later years, yes; but she could read through the outlines of his face a clear indication of embarrassment not many could pick up on.

She remembered the day this was made. She’d insisted on watching the artist paint, and Amon had been squirming from time to time. Mouth twitching, eyes darting to her as she smiled with love and endearment while he sat still.

Her hand reached out. Fingers shaking. Knowing she really shouldn’t touch an artists work, but shaking for another reason entirely as she traced the contours of his face.

Not the texture she desired. The feeling of glass that covered the canvas.

Not the warmth of soft skin.

“He can’t even respect the vows of a married couple,” she choked, pulling out the desk chair to sit down unsteadily.

Her eyes moved searchingly over Amon’s. Looking for a sign that would not be there, no matter how long she stared.

Sniffling, she reached up to wipe at her face. Her teeth sinking into her lip, trying to hold them back. Desperately trying to restrain herself; trying to swallow down the lump, the abyss that threatened, the loneliness that wouldn’t leave. Trying to piece the shards of herself she held in an attempt to remain stable day by day to get by.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, voice breaking. “I know you hate it- when I cry-”

And with that, her face sank into her arms as she threw them on the desk. Shoulders shaking, sobbing against the paperwork and smearing ink with her tears as the torment consumed her.

“I miss you,” Essätha blubbered; her words barely words through her sobs. “I miss you. I miss you. I miss you so much I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry. I don’t mean to.”

A pile of paperwork slipped from the edge of the table, scattering out on the floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I love you Amon; I love you so much I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

[katnissmellarkkk]

Chapter Three

Hiiii, all you cool cats and kittens 😂😂😂😂. Okay but seriously, imma just word vomit all the things I need to cover in this author’s note — that I can remember.

I’ve been writing this chapter for like a week, I’m super nervous about it, I’m really sorry if this angst is upsetting you, I am gonna do my best to make it all right in the end, the angst is gonna continue though for a bit longer, yes this fic is only 10 chapters, yes I still want your comments even if you’re upset, my eye is still having trouble so I can’t look at a computer screen for too long because it physically hurts so I’m editing on my phone and there is a high chance I’ll re-edit these chapters after my eye isn’t all Heltor Skeltor anymore.

Okay I think that’s everything, I very much am gratefully for all the feedback I’ve received and I hope you all continue to read this fic.

Peeta stayed for hours after that. He smiled and laughed and, for a while, made me forget all about my unbearable loneliness, how empty this home feels, how uncomfortable I am with the prospect of my mother moving on with her life, how much I really miss my sister right now.

How I miss my sister more than anything.

He still makes me feel safe, I realized, as we sat on the couch and ate our third helping of the chocolate cake he’d baked for me. He knows how much I love chocolate from all the meals we shared on the train.

“Actually, from the time you decided to just eat the chocolate fountain by itself,” he had corrected. Off my quizzical look, he added, “At Snow mansion? We were there for a party?”

“Our engagement party?” I amended, teasing him a little.

My attempt at levity works as I watch his mouth contort into smirk in response. “Sorry, I guess I forgot what party it was.”

“They did drag us to a lot of them,” I agreed, not foreseeing the jab he was about to throw.

“And you pigged out at every one of them.”

I pretended to be offended for a moment but his proud laughter made me lose the facade far sooner than I should have. The joyful glint to his gaze, the way his body language was relaxed and open, the way he seemed to remember small details of our shared past now, I just couldn’t hold even a false grudge against him. I just couldn’t help giggling alongside him.

But he had to leave around dinner time, having an appointment to get the construction for the new rebuilt bakery approved and in motion.

As soon as he departs, and I’m left once again inside a void, hallow house that only emphasizes the greatest loss of my life—the one I’ll probably never go a single day without feeling the ache of—I decide I need to leave too. I decide as soon as I glance around the empty place that it’d be in my best interest to get out as well, to prolong the inevitable despair the deserted home brings come nightfall.

My first thought is to drop off the liquor I picked up for Haymitch a few days ago at the train station. He was passed out drunk and I was already there and it seemed at the time like a good bargaining chip when he was feeling particularly caustic towards me. Which lately had been often.

Now it just poses a good excuse to go talk to the sour man, to perhaps pick his brain about Bailey Robyn. To perhaps see what he knows that I don’t about the mysterious girl who blew into both our lives.

And only evidently disturbed one of them.

He has clearly has gotten to know her better than I have, and he’s quite transparently taken quite a liking to her. If I want to know this girl, or even begin to understand what Peeta sees in her, it only makes sense to get Haymitch to share some details in exchange for his favorite liquor.

After all, our entire relationship has always been a series of bargains, one way or another.

Throughout mine and Peeta’s entire time together—which amounted to the whole afternoon—he had never once mentioned Bailey. He hadn’t said she was waiting for him or what she thought about the cake or if she even knew he would be at my house today.

And for some reason that led me to assume she was busy in town somewhere. That she was working on the salon she mentioned wanting to start up, that she was out doing things herself, that she wasn’t even concerned with Peeta celebrating my birthday today.

That she wasn’t sitting on Haymitch’s counter, talking to him about that very subject.

“It just doesn’t make me feel great, you know?” Her clear and high voice rings out from the window right as I’m gearing up to barge my way inside the pig sty. “I want to go with him, in case he has an episode or something, and he tells me no. Like flat out, full stop, no.”

I slip in through the unlocked front door, quiet as a mouse, eavesdropping like I know I shouldn’t. Like I know is a complete violation of privacy, both for Bailey and for Haymitch. And maybe even Peeta, since he’s the one they’re conferring about.

“He’s stubborn,” Haymitch agrees, sounding more sober than I’ve heard him in months. Sounding more sober than I’ve seen since we were in Thirteen. “Try mentoring him in the games.”

Bailey scoffs at that. “No. You couldn’t pay me enough.”

They share a laugh and I feel my hands tighten around the bottle, as an extremely uncomfortable sensation settles into the pit of my stomach.

They sound like old friends. They sound happy and pleased to be hanging out and conversing. And if I’m being honest, it gives me one more reason to instinctively dislike Bailey, despite the fact that I’m trying hard not to.

Because in the short time she’s been in Twelve, she’s slid into my place in both Peeta and Haymitch’s lives with complete and utter ease. Even beyond taking my place, she’s outrankedme in both men’s lives and entirely knocked me out of the saddle.

That’s what disturbs me above all else. Because—even though I’d never admit it about Haymitch—they were mine. They were my family. They were all I had. They were my haven from the darkness surrounding my entire life. The three of us were a team once.

And now it feels like she didn’t join the group, she kicked me out of it entirely. Haymitch has never had me sit on the counter of his kitchen—not that I really wanted to, the place is absolutely filthy—and talk about my problems. He’s always mocked my feelings and troubles, when they didn’t pertain to the war or rebellion.

I don’t get what is so special about this girl that the two most important people in my life are willing to just let her in. Are just willing to let her take me out without a second thought.

“I mean, is it odd that I wanted to be included?” She inquires genuinely and to my surprise, once again, my old mentor gives her a pretty thoughtful answer. For Haymitch Abernathy, at least.

“They’re both a little weird. War messes with people. Especially kids,” he murmurs and then grunts uncomfortably. “Don’t get worked up over nothing. Just let whatever happened go and try to be happy.”

For some reason, even without hearing my name mention specifically, I’m fully convinced that they’re conversing about me as well as Peeta. About our afternoon together, void from Bailey’s presence. Without hearing my own name, I still know in my bones I walked in on a talk about me.

Bailey wanted to come today and Peeta told her no? Peeta told her an unequivocal no? Because he wanted to spend time with just me?

That satisfies me beyond measure. That makes me even happier than the carefully handcrafted birthday cake did.

Suddenly, for the first time since she’s arrived in Twelve, I don’t feel like Peeta put me on the back burner to make her more comfortable. I don’t feel like I’m being slided so she can be accommodated to her liking. And that’s a better present to me than anything else I could have asked for.

“But I’m his girlfriend,” she states quietly, before sighing deeply and setting down a glass that she must have been drinking from. Risk-taker, she is. “And I just feel like every day all he thinks about is Katniss. He’s either worried about her or afraid of her.”

Now that catches me completely off-guard. Peeta’s afraid of me? Is he telling Bailey something I don’t know? What did I do that he’s so afraid of?

Please, I internally beg to no one. Please tell me he doesn’t still think of me as a mutt. Please tell me he doesn’t feel the same way about as he did in Thirteen.

No, I venomously refute. That wouldn’t make sense. If he still thought of me that way—the way Snow tried to brainwash him into—he would surely not be baking me a cake and spending an afternoon alone with me.

At least, I don’t think so.

But I’m always wrong nowadays and I long ago learned to stop trusting my instincts because they don’t any good for me in the end anyway and I just end up more jumbled and confused and stressed than I started out.

I take a deep breath to calm myself down just as Haymitch mutters, “That description isn’t a far cry from the kid I met two years ago on the tribute train.”

Evidently, I breathed out too loudly almost immediately, Haymitch barks out, “Is that you, girl?”

Realizing I’m caught, I rip off the bandaid and step out of the corner of the entryway, where I was hiding. “Sorry, I just got here,” I quickly explain. And then, despite my atrocious acting ability, I throw out for good measure, “I didn’t hear anything you guys said, I just didn’t want to interrupt.”

Neither of them believe me. In fact, they both appear pretty disgusted with me now. But when I pass Haymitch the bottle of liquor, his features shift and I feel him lightly pat me on the head as he passes me to grab a bottle opener.

“Haymitch,” Bailey murmurs unceremoniously, as she hops off the counter with a grace I have no dream of ever possessing. “I’m going to head on home.”

Her eyes meet mine for a split second before flirting away, and all I see there is irritation.

I hope she doesn’t try again to make nice in a day or so. Quite frankly, there’s a reason I never made many friends. Social interactions aren’t my thing and they just wear me out unnecessarily. Especially girls, who only want to gossip about other people or share clothes or irrelevant life tips. I’d much rather be left alone in solitude than have to yo-yo with Bailey’s mood swings.

Haymitch has always empathized with this trait of mine. More than empathized. He embodied it to the fullest, in a way I never even have. That’s what makes it so startling to me that he’s found such a friend with Peeta’s new girlfriend. It’s downright shocking how pleasant he is towards her.

When he returns now, she’s already gone and he’s right back to his surly self.

“No one clears a room like you do, sweetheart.”

But I’m not interested in swiping back and forth with one another. “Why are you hanging out with Bailey Robyn?”

Haymitch rolls his eyes as he takes a seat at his still unwashed kitchen table.

I mean, if Bailey wanted to help clean in here, that’s where I would have suggested to start.

“The better question, Katniss, is why are youhanging out with Peeta alone? How do you think that makes his girlfriend feel?”

“He’s my friend,” I argue, infuriated by the implication that I have to go through a random stranger to be around Peeta now. Infuriated that it’s Haymitch making the implication nonetheless.

“But he isn’t!” The old man snaps back. “Peeta isn’t your friend, Katniss. You look at him like he hung the moon and you do it right in front of his new girl.”

“No, I don’t,” I retort sharply, because I definitely don’tand I repel the accusation.

“Anyone with eyes can see your stupid little crush,” he exclaims and it stings. The words sting for some reason and I feel the ache in my chest come back once again, because apparently I’m stepping over a line I didn’t even know was there and I’m once again the root of every problem and it’s all becoming too much.

Evidently, Haymitch just doesn’t care if he hurts me today. “Just back off of the boy. Let him be happy for once.”

I uncharacteristically spit an unkind name at Haymitch as I slam his door in my furious wake.

Through his still open kitchen window though, I hear him chuckle. “Well, that’s one I haven’t heard before, sweetheart.”

Read More On AO3 Where The Italics Actually Work

[hockeysweetheart]

The Kisses   ( I wont get into every single one of them )  there is like  17 in the first book alone between Katniss and Peeta so  all that jazz is in another post I have 

This may contain “bashing” Gale loll

Katniss’s first kiss was with Peeta. He was like If I die ... Katniss is like  don’t talk like that. Peeta is like really tho... Katniss kisses him to shut him up ( Not the last time she’s done this). She was like well this should count for something Because this is the frist time I kissed a boy. They Kissed many times in that arena A few did count for something but here is what Katniss said about a certain one  "Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself," he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we're both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.  I'm about to leave when I remember the importance of sustaining the star-crossed lover routine and I lean over and give Peeta a long, lingering kiss. I imagine the teary sighs emanating from the Capitol and pretend to brush away a tear of my own.  ( This one was before the kiss that made her feel something) I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I'm so grateful that he's still here, not dead by the stream as I'd thought. So glad that I don't have to face Cato alone. 

Okay so they kiss a bit 30 times between all 3 books. Now  Their first kiss after a few months of not went like this.   My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta's direction. Then, as if I can't stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips - he still isn't entirely in command of his artificial leg - and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that's where we have our first kiss in months. It's full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I'm not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won't expose me in front of the cameras. Won't condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He's still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way. I wait for him to mention the baby, to play to the cameras, but he doesn't. And that's how I know that none of this is part of the Games. That he is telling me the truth about what he feels. "No one really needs me," he says, and there's no self-pity in his voice. It's true his family doesn't need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. "I do," I say. "I need you." He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that's no good, no good at all, because he'll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I'll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind.

I don't like the plan any more than Peeta does. How can I protect him at a distance? But Beetee's right. With his leg, Peeta is too slow to make it down the slope in time. Johanna and I are the fastest and most sure-footed on the jungle floor. I can't think of any alternative. And if I trust anyone here besides Peeta, it's Beetee. "It's okay," I tell Peeta. "We'll just drop the coil and come straight back up." "Not into the lightning zone," Beetee reminds me. "Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you're running out of time, move over one more. Don't even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage." I take Peeta's face in my hands. "Don't worry. I'll see you at midnight." I give him a kiss and, before he can object any further, I let go and turn to Johanna. "Ready?"

"Leave me," he whispers. "I can't hang on." "Yes. You can!" I tell him. Peeta shakes his head. "I'm losing it. I'll go mad. Like them." Like the mutts. Like a rabid beast bent on ripping my throat out. And here, finally here in this place, in these circumstances, I will really have to kill him. And Snow will win. Hot, bitter hatred courses through me. Snow has won too much already today. It's a long shot, it's suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. "Don't let him take you from me." Peeta's panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. "No. I don't want to..." I clench his hands to the point of pain. "Stay with me." His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. "Always," he murmurs.   Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real." 

  It's the way you love me It's a feeling like this It's centrifugal motion It's perpetual blissIt's that pivotal moment It's unthinkable This kiss, this kiss (Unsinkable) This kiss, this kissYou can kiss me in the moonlight On the rooftop under the sky You can kiss me with the windows open While the rain comes pouring inside Kiss me in sweet slow motion Let's let every thing slide You got me floating, you got me flying

( This kiss Faith Hill) 

But When Peeta and Katniss Kiss it’s like wow. Nothing else in the world is there just them and the way Katniss talks about it she enjoys it clearly.  And she made the choice to Kiss Peeta. Like there are other ways to show love then Kissing. But It’s like when she is with him she feels safe and  it’s gonna be alright they could make it through anything together. It’s sadness to when she feels guilty for  shutting each other out but forgiveness. She has this moment where she can barley look at his lips after the Beach scene. 

I sit next to Peeta on the sand to eat my rolls. For some reason, it's difficult to look at him. Maybe it was all that kissing last night, although the two of us kissing isn't anything new. It might not even have felt any different for him. Maybe it's knowing the brief amount of time we have left. And how we're working at such cross-purposes when it comes to who should survive these Games.

That is because she knows what comes out of that mouth  Peeta will know that Katniss still wants to die for him. And whatever Peeta says can Make sense for her to agree to and she  wants this for Peeta to live not her in that moment.  

The Beach Kiss my god. That’s a kiss you feel like okay give them their space but Can’t look away from.  

Katniss kissing Gale and It went like this

By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was. Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone.Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home. That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday. I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened.Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way.  Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.When the cabinets are empty, I rise to find that Gale has materialized in my kitchen. It's disturbing how soundlessly he can appear. He's leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. I set the box between us. "Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me.So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say"Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself."Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer. 

So The best part about this is When Katniss kissed Gale shes like I hope to god he doesn’t remember this... But when he does Katniss is like oh shit 

So heres is the final kiss  Between these two. 

Gale makes a sound of exasperation. Nonetheless, after we've dropped off the birds and volunteered to go back to the woods to gather kindling for the evening fire, I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it. Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered, unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely. "What's going on in your head?" "I don't know," I whisper back. "Then it's like kissing someone who's drunk. It doesn't count," he says with a weak attempt at a laugh. He scoops up a pile of kindling and drops it in my empty arms, returning me to myself. "How do you know?" I say, mostly to cover my embarrassment. "Have you kissed someone who's drunk?" I guess Gale could've been kissing girls right and left back in 12. He certainly had enough takers. I never thought about it much before. He just shakes his head. "No. But it's not hard to imagine." "So, you never kissed any other girls?" I ask. "I didn't say that. You know, you were only twelve when we met. And a real pain besides. I did have a life outside of hunting with you," he says, loading up with firewood. Suddenly, I'm genuinely curious. "Who did you kiss? And where?" "Too many to remember. Behind the school, on the slag heap, you name it," he says. I roll my eyes. "So when did I become so special? When they carted me off to the Capitol?" "No. About six months before that. Right after New Year's. We were in the Hob, eating some slop of Greasy Sae's. And Darius was teasing you about trading a rabbit for one of his kisses. And I realized...I minded," he tells me.

I am no love expert But that might not be the time you bring up I kissed other women up just saying... and saying You kissed Better pretty much my god.   When they Kiss tho it’s like seeing a car accident your not involved in but you can’t help but peak then regreat it. The fact he made Katniss feel so bad for kissing one guy  when your  like Drake Parker from Drake and Josh.  ( If you don’t know he dated many women on that show) Also the fact you say you  were interested in her 6 months prior games. Didn’t make a move until after She kissed Peeta 17 Plus times. And now you want to be more friends thats how you want to play. Oh Hell no.  She doesn’t love you like that buddy...  No wonder she’s confused af.  Like she only kissed Gale because he was making her feel guilty

[allonsysilvertongue]

Chasing Hope

Summary: “If I ask you to name all the things you love, how long will it take for you to name yourself?” A story on finding hope, forgiveness and love in a world they never imagined they would survive. Post-MJ. Previously

14. Deserter

"I promise I shall never give up, and that I’ll die yelling and laughing."

— Jack Kerouac 

Haymitch glared at their guest until his line of sight was blocked by Effie's head. She stood in front of him, her palm warm against his folded arms.

"Let her explain," Effie advised, trying to soften the palpable tension in the room.

"What's there to explain? She left the kid with Annie," Haymitch grumbled loud enough that Johanna scowled.

"I need space, okay?" she raised her voice and Effie sighed, moving away to let them talk it out. Peeta reached out to steer her next to him and Katniss, and safely away from them. "You've no idea what it's like being in the same house with a baby."

"He's not still a baby, right?" Katniss frowned. "Finn's - what? - 8, maybe 9 months old?"

“You left Annie alone with the kid,” Haymitch cut in.

Johanna let out a breath and sank onto the chair.

"I did," she rubbed her face angrily and for a wild moment thinking that she was crying, Haymitch's heart lurched.

The last time he had seen her cry was a year after she won when she stormed Twelve's Penthouse and attacked Finnick for never telling her about the prostitution of victors until it was too late for her and her family.

"What do you want to hear? That I'm fucking sorry?" Johanna glared at him.

"There is no need for that kind of language," Effie interjected, taking a step forward once more. "If Katniss had not spotted her sitting by the fountain... Johanna regrets her action, surely you can see it?"

"She should be, she deserted them," Haymitch continued glaring.

Johanna scoffed. "Guess I learnt it from you when you deserted the three of us in the Capitol. Remember that?"

Effie gasped, her hand shot to grip Haymitch's. Peeta's fingers twitched and in a second, he began to tap them against the side of his thigh in a rhythmic gesture. Katniss stared hard; surprised that Johanna would bring that up.

The house plunged into an uncomfortable silence. His stomach roiled and he began to breathe heavily. The weight of Effie’s hand around his wrist was suddenly unwelcomed and he wanted to shake it away but she was just trying to calm him.

He wasn’t … angry. If anything, the guilt became more profound. He had been trying to move on with his life and while he always knew that it would be something he would carry with him throughout his life, he wasn’t expecting to be confronted with it today of all days.

“Johanna…” Effie called her softly, as if she was approaching a wounded animal but that quickly fell on deaf ears.

Johanna’s gaze was fixed on Haymitch when she said, “you made a promise to Finnick, too.”

Haymitch made a noise under his breath and dropped on the chair, running his hand tiredly down his face. It was a timely reminder because he had promised Finnick before he left with the squad to the Capitol. That boy was his as much as Katniss and Peeta is his, same as Johanna.

He couldn’t be there in Four and in Twelve at any given time but he could have done more. When he remembered, he would call them, at times twice a month or once every week but it was always to ask after Annie and the kid. Johanna was head-strong and resolute the way Katniss could be, but like Katniss, she could also break. He should have paid her some attention, he could have asked her how she was doing even if like him, she wouldn’t have given away much.

He could have visited them, more than just that one time when Finn was born. He had promised Finnick he would take care of his family and he wasn’t doing a good job of it, leaving the responsibilities squarely on Johanna’s shoulders.

“I should have done more,” he muttered.

Effie looked stricken. “I could have done something as well. I could have visited and lend a hand.”

“You could have,” Johanna shrugged and exhaled. “I feel like shit coming here, alright? Haymitch needs to keep an eye on his precious bird,” she shot Katniss a look which Katniss returned with a disdainful scowl, “and he couldn’t drag you all the way to Four without permission. I mean, I get it but – “

She stood up abruptly only to perch herself on the window sill.

“I want to live and have fun,” she glowered at her boots, unable to look them in the eye. “I can’t even go to the bar and bring a guy home because Annie doesn’t want strangers in the house and if I’m gone the night, she worries her head off thinking I won’t be coming back like Finnick didn’t. Stupid man, he had to go and get himself killed, and now I’m saddled with his widow and his kid – it makes me angry because I can’t live my fucking life but it’s fucking wrong to think that way cause the guy’s dead and if he had a choice he’d rather be here so I shouldn’t be complaining. Annie’s family and so is the kid, right? And I don’t have many of those – family and friends. So yeah,” she shrugged again, glaring at each of them in turn as if daring them to call her out for actually sharing how she felt, “I feel fucking rotten and it makes me look like the bad guy.”

Haymitch exchanged a look with Effie, expecting her to have something comforting or useful to stay but she seemed as helpless as he was. It was Katniss who surprised them.

“I don’t think it’s wrong to think that way or feel that way,” she said. Katniss hesitated for a brief moment, until Peeta gave an encouraging nod before she went on to share. “I know what it’s like to step in and be the one to hold everything together. My dad died in the mines and my mum was worse off than Annie. I had Prim,” she swallowed, not looking at Johanna, “to take care off. Just like you have Finn… Sometimes I feel like it’s a burden I shouldn’t carry but that doesn’t last very long.”

Johanna crossed her arms in front of her, watching Katniss curiously.

“Did you run off like I did when it gets too much?” Johanna smirked.

“In a way…” Katniss answered. “I ran off to the woods with Gale to hunt for a few hours. Maybe that’s what you need, too. You have to find your woods.”

Johanna huffed, staring out of the window.

“I’m going to call her. She must be losing her head,” she muttered, walking in the direction of the phone.

Haymitch lingered at the sitting room in his own house. Peeta and Katniss left to check on their other three guests back at Peeta’s house.

“Johanna needs a break. That is all,” Effie said. “I have been so caught up in my own healing that – “

“Don’t,” Haymitch growled a warning. “It ain’t on you.”

“They are our responsibility as well. It is not just Katniss and Peeta next door. But… Johanna and Annie are not staying around here and we just forgot. That’s the truth, isn’t it? We forgot that they might need our help, too.”

“Since when did we decide to adopt all these kids?” Haymitch snorted.

“All these kids and a grandchild,” Effie teased.

Haymitch wrinkled his nose but he was quick to say, “So you’re a grandma. I’ll be sure to let Finn call you that when he’s older.”

“You are the worst,” Effie teased. “I should visit them.”

“We should visit Four,” Haymitch corrected, “and we should make a practice of it. Thoughts?”

Effie smiled. “I think that is marvellous.”

There was no discussion on when that would be but Haymitch assumed that once Johanna is ready to leave, Effie would follow. He would just have to ensure that the project here in Twelve would be in capable hands while he was gone and he would have to inform the city that he would be leaving Katniss unattended for a while. With more than a year after her trial and the progress she was making, Haymitch was hoping for some leniency on that front. Katniss no longer require constant supervision after all.

While Johanna was here, it seemed that she fully enjoyed her time without the responsibility of caring after a toddler. She had dragged Effie together with Cressida and a wholly reluctant Katniss for a night out. Haymitch remained awake, sitting by the porch as he waited for their return and when the clock went past midnight with no sign of either of them, he was tempted to search for them himself.

He saw their silhouette an hour later. Katniss was supporting an inebriated Johanna while Effie guided a tipsy Cressida by the crook of her elbow down the path of Victor’s Village.

Haymitch did not think they would be foolish enough to repeat this scene again but it happened the night after. Effie went to keep an eye on Johanna more than anything else and despite her reluctance, Katniss went out of loyalty to the woman who was filling Finnick’s shoes.

“No more getting drunk,” Haymitch scowled as he stood by the doorway of the guest bedroom while Effie removed Johanna’s shoes. “You too, sweetheart.”

“I am not drunk, thank you very much,” Effie retorted.

“Can’t you think of something else to do with Jo other than the bar?”

She tossed him a look, a very amused one. “I never thought I’d see the day when a request to stop frequenting a bar would ever come from you.”

“I’m gonna go back to Finn and Annie,” Johanna slurred and belched, much to Effie’s horror. “I won’t – I’m not giving up on ‘em. I like them and Annie’s my friend. Like you,” she patted Effie’s cheek.

“She’s fucking gone,” Haymitch chuckled.

“And Finn’s so cute,” Johanna declared, something he was sure she would never be caught dead admitting out loud. “Wha’cha think, Trinket? He’s the cutest baby.”

“Yes, he is,” Effie indulged. “Go to sleep now.”

Effie reached over to turn on the bedside lamp, something she often did even when she slept in his bed. There was something about complete darkness that made her anxious, and he assumed, Johanna as well.

“Hey,” Johanna grabbed her wrist and tugged hard, causing Effie to lurch forward with her face inches away from the young woman.

Haymitch took a step just in case in her drunken haze Johanna might mistake Effie for someone else or mistook her for a threat.

“Trinket,” she mumbled and Haymitch relaxed a little. “Remember what I said to you in that cell?”

Effie exhaled shakily, the reminder of prison was never something pleasant or a topic she willingly talked about.

“What did you say to me? There were plenty…”

"If I die …,” Johanna paused to burp but Haymitch doubted it was that that made Effie grimace. It was likely the mention of her hypothetical death. “If I die… I want to die yelling and laughing, instead of crying like a fucking baby."

"Yes, I remember."

"I think that's how I'm gonna live my life from now," Johanna vowed. “I’ll make sure every day is gonna be kickass and I’m gonna teach Finn everything ‘cause it’s my job now. Finnick would want me to.”

“That’s good, Johanna,” Effie nodded, brushing her hair back. “Always forward, yes? We live our lives now.”

She nodded and turned on her sides, clutching the bolster close to her chest.

“Goodnight,” Effie said to the now sleeping woman.

In the Godfather’s novel, Peter Clemenza says, “May we live our lives, so that when we die we are smiling & while everyone else is crying like a fucking baby.”

A/N: The mention of Johanna crying in the Penthouse/attacking Finnick was in reference to Chap 19 of Between Lives, if you wanna check that out. S o you know the drill, reviews are cotton candy and leaving me one will make my day. Tell me what you make of Johanna being in Twelve. Poor Jo, she had too much on a plate, being somewhat of an adoptive mother to Finn.

[jlalafics]

Oh sweet toastbabies, PLEASE write some post rebellion Everlark 🧡🧡🧡

So this happened at three in the morning…so please excuse any errors–because Toddler J also woke up and attempted to help.

Hope you enjoy it anyway!

Summary: Peeta’s return to Victors’ Village doesn’t come without some issues. Post-Rebellion Everlark–mature themes ahead.

_______

There is a stranger in my house.

Granted, yes; Peeta and I shared a cave in the Arena, but he was a different person then. The Peeta I remember was wholesome and pure. I could see everything in those blue eyes of his.

I miss that boy.

The man in my house is nothing but a confused mess. Peeta shuffles around the house; he spent this first week back in Victors’ Village going from room to room in my house, torture in his gaze.

I can’t help him. I don’t know if I want to.

I am scared to.

Today, Peeta tried to go into Prim’s room.

“Stop!” I headed him off, standing in front of her door.

I haven’t opened this door—it’s still too painful.

He doesn’t ask my why. Instead, Peeta stares.

He stares at me until I feel my stomach begin to coil at the intensity in those blues. My chest begins to pound, and I steady myself, pressing my hands against the doorway. What is this strange sensation that this new Peeta causes in me?

After a long moment, Peeta nods.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

Then, without warning, his hand absently reaches to brush my face.

I gasp and Peeta jumps back, frightened like prey in a hunt.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to rasp out.

Before I can say anything, Peeta runs away.

++++++

“I don’t know if he should be here,” I tell Haymitch, the next morning.

My former mentor puts down the wheedling knife. He has taken to making little woodland creatures for citizens who have returned to District 12. Not sure why, I don’t think it’s going to help us win any popularity contests.

But if he wants to carve little bunnies for the rest of his life, who am I to judge?

“Then where the hell do you think he should go?” Haymitch counters. “Back to the Capitol? One of the other Districts? The bakery—oh wait, there is no bakery.” He looks to me, dark eyes imploring. “Peeta has nowhere. He has nothing—but us…and the memories that the doctors could get back. Not sure that many of them are quite positive.”

“Oh.” I mean, what else can I say?

“You have to help each other,” Haymitch intones. “Just like in the Arena…just like on the Victory Tour…”

“I thought we got off that train,” I mutter.

“We did,” Haymitch tells me simply. “But that shouldn’t stop us from being decent human beings and helping those who need it the most.”

“Peeta doesn’t need my help!”

Haymitch stands up, that old scowl returning to his features.

“I’m not talking about him.”

++++++

It’s raining tonight.

My body aches hearing the rain pelting the roof of the house. It reminds me of my time in the cave; the feeling of Peeta’s arms around me and that steady beat of his heart—that steady heartbeat that reminded me that he was alive.

Because knowing Peeta was okay made me okay.

There’s a sound from down the hall and I shoot up from bed, taking the robe draped against the bedpost. Wrapping it around me, I stealthily walk down the hallway towards Peeta’s bedroom. Another cry echoes and I rush forward, stopping once I reach the open doorway.

Peeta lays in bed, writhing against the sheets, his eyes shut tightly as a night terror grips him.

Without thinking, I go to his side, sitting on the edge of his bed as my hand reaches to his glistening forehead.

Peeta senses me immediately, his body calming as his eyes flutter open.

In the darkness, his gaze reminds me of the boy in the cave; it’s earnest and hopeful.

It’s happy to see me.

He suddenly grips my wrist just as my hand is about to travel down to his cheek.

“Don’t,” Peeta pleads quietly.

“Why?” I choke out.

“Because.” He swallows shallowly, his blue eyes molten with something that causes my insides to burn. “I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know if I can let you in—if I want to.”

“Okay.”

Wrenching out of his grasp, I rush out of the room.

I don’t want him to see my tears.

++++++

District 12 is slowly building its way back to its former self. However, the divide between Seam and Merchant no longer exists. There aren’t enough of us to create sides.

From time to time, I head into town to check everything out and to gather supplies. It is while I am in the newly-built General Store that I find something of interest—a painting set.

“How much?” I ask the man at the counter.

“I’ll give it to you for a good price,” he replies. “Not many interested in sitting down and doing anything leisurely during the summer. I used to get folks coming in during the winter, looking to find things for their kids to do when it got too cold to leave their homes.”

It’s not like it’s going to put me back in Peeta’s good graces.

But I buy the damn paint anyway.

During the walk back home, I spend many moments thinking whether I should chuck the paint set into the woods or resolve to bribery—why is he so important to me?

I contemplate the significance of Peeta Mellark until I am standing right in front of him.

He’s sitting with Haymitch on his front porch. They are mid-conversation but stop as I near and I feel the frisson of irritation.

Peeta never speaks to me.

“Here.”

I toss him the package that was wrapped so meticulously at the General Store before pivoting to head home.

I don’t even know why I’m trying. Peeta is never going to forget everything that I have done to him. Or maybe those are all the memories of me that the Capitol doctors could get back—all the negative ones of me.

I can feel it welling up again—that lump in my throat.

“Wait.”

His arms wrap around my stiff form and I can feel his head rest against my back.

“What?” I manage to choke out; the question comes out thicker than expected.

“Thank you,” he tells me, warmth in his voice for the first time.

Peeta lets go and I make my way back into our house.

I’ve forgotten how wonderful it felt to be in his arms.

++++++

He paints.

The house is filled with the scent of acrylic all hours of the day until I am relegated to give him the study, so he has somewhere to store his work. Effie, thanks to Haymitch, sends him canvases of all different sizes along with better grade paint brushes, sketching pads, and eventually pencils.

We work out a routine; he paints, I hunt. Peeta isn’t ready to go back into the kitchen, his eyes water whenever I bring home bread from the town market, so I start bringing fruit instead. He doesn’t eat it, just arranges it in the bowls that my mom kept and sketches different arrangements for hours on end.

One rainy day, I find him staring out the window, sketchpad frozen in his hands.

I join his side, looking out at the rain-soaked road and the trees swaying in the storm.

Fall is approaching—it used to be my favorite season.

“I can’t paint the rain,” he tells me.

“Why?”

The pad of his finger presses against the cool glass. “Too many memories.”

I nod sagely. “Of us—in that cave.”

Peeta doesn’t reply, he doesn’t need to.

Carefully, I reach for his wrist and he doesn’t protest as I lead him away from the window. I don’t know what I exactly I’m doing when I walk us out of the house and into the front yard.

Rain pelts us immediately from all different directions and it’s freezing. In only minutes, I am soaked. My teeth are chattering, and my joints protest in cold. I can feel the numbness filling me.

But at least I’m feeling something.

“Why are we out here?” Peeta asks.

I turned to his soaked form, my eyes immediately zeroing in on the view that the rain has allowed me. I can see the hard planes of his body and it reminds me, for the billionth time, that Peeta is a man now—not that boy in the cave with me.

And, for the billionth time, I feel the sadness overtake me.

“Because,” I begin listlessly. “We can be.” I meet his eyes, knowing he can’t see the tears in my eyes. “We made it out of that arena, Peeta. We’re alive—and I’m not sure how, other than this, I can make us realize that fact.”

Peeta moves towards me and then I am engulfed in his arms, his forehead pressing into mine, his eyes warm despite the frigid cold.

I have him back.

“Let’s go home,” I tell him after a moment, my hand entwining in his.

Together, we make our way back into the house.

++++++

“What do you draw?”

It is a few days after our rainy interlude and we sit in front of the fireplace, swathed in blankets with our cups of tea cooling beside us. Peeta’s sketchbook lays between us and my curiosity is piqued.

“Everything,” he replies. “Memories…nightmares…dreams…ghosts…”

“Ghosts?” I feel myself tremble at the words. “Are you haunted?”

“Not in the supernatural sense,” Peeta replies with a smile. “But I can feel their presence. Like I was walking around the grounds, the other day, and I spotted these wildflowers. They reminded me of the bouquet you made for Rue. Then it was like she was all around me—and it didn’t make me sad. It just made me feel that wherever she was, she was free.”

He opens the sketchpad and flips through before handing it to me.

It is a picture of Rue walking through a meadow of wildflowers.

My eyes go heavy. “I hope that she is in a place just like this.”

“She is,” Peeta assures me.

I realize how close he is to me, that if he blinks, I will feel the flutter of his long, pale lashes against my cheek. The thought sends a rush through my spine and that coil tightens in my stomach—not unpleasantly.

I want him.

The realization hits so suddenly that I almost double over. This hunger that laid so dormant during the rebellion comes full force—and it causes me to ache.

“Peeta…” I begin as I meet his worried gaze.

I don’t know what I’m asking, but I know deep inside he will.

After a moment, his hand goes to the nape of my neck and Peeta pulls me close before pressing his mouth to mine.

Something inside cries out in delight—or maybe it is me, because he groans in pleasure as my tongue sweeps into his mouth expertly, like we’ve done this a million times.

And, during the Victory Tour we did.

But it was never like this.

This kiss. This one is for us.

For a long while, Peeta and I remain like this—lips moving against one another, lock in an embrace that I never want to leave and feeling the freedom to be with one another until satisfied.

My hands reach, desperate to feel skin and I reach to the hem of his shirt asking for permission before pulling it over his head and off him. His skin is marred from the Rebellion, but every mark to me is beautiful and I show him, pressing my mouth to each scar.

“Katniss,” he gasps, his hips arching, when I find a spot just above his breastbone. Eagerly, his hands move to the buttons of my shirt, but I beat him to it, quickly tossing it off and away. He laughs at my hurriedness. “Slow down, we have time. We have all our lives.”

I stop at his words. “Forever?”

Peeta sits up, his hand going to my cheek and his thumb ghosting over my lips.

“Always,” he tells me as he lays me down.

His mouth presses gently into my shoulder, wandering down to explore my clavicle before he finds his way to a peak nipple. He sucks hungrily and I cry feeling the tip of his tongue swirl around my sensitive duct.

“I can’t…” Peeta moves down, lips pressing against my abdomen, dragging his tongue down as his hands reach to the waistband of the pants I wear. I help him move them off my hips, kicking them away so he can settle between my legs. I come undone feeling his sigh against the fabric between my thighs. “I can’t let you go.”

“Don’t,” I tell him.

My hand reaches deftly for his waistband to unbutton and unzip. I am careful as I help him remove his pants. I know he is self-conscious of his prosthetic; it might be state-of-the-art, but it won’t replace what was once flesh. My hand reaches to where the attachment and skin meet, dragging my fingers against the connection.

He hisses at the contact and I continue my exploration until my hand finds him, turgid and velvet wrapped around my fingers.

I make quick work of my own underwear, moving myself under him as my hand moves along him to make him ready.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Peeta says tightly. His eyes closing when my thumb grazes over the tip of him. “What you’re asking for?”

“No,” I reply, pushing the last piece of fabric separating us off his hips. “I don’t know—” I look into his eyes. “But with you, I’m not afraid to find out.”

Then, Peeta is pushing into me and I reach pulling him down so our lips can meet.

It hurts at first—for all the softness he has, there is one part of Peeta that is deliciously hard.

“Are you alright?” he rasps against my mouth though he is still thrusting into me—I don’t think he has any control.

Nor do I because my hips follow his movements. “Yes…”

Now that the pain has subsided, it feels unbelievably good to be filled by him.

“You just tell me and I can stop,” Peeta says tightly.

“Don’t you dare.”

He chuckles at my words, but at my own thrusts, his laughter crumbles into a moan.

We lose ourselves, the only sounds of the room being quiet gasps and the squelch of my arousal as we push into one another.

Thrust for thrust, hips pressed together, and I feel his coarseness against my clit.

I hum at the sensation and Peeta grounds into me, just as his lips goes to my breasts.

“Oh—” The moan escapes my lips and I feel him growl against me, his hips pistoning into mine. I can feel it beginning—that need to explode…to let ourselves fall apart, and I can hear my cries getting louder. “Please—”

“What do you need?” he asks desperately.

Chasing my climax, I reach for his hand, placing it fingers against my bud. “Just move against me.”

“Like this?”

His index and middle finger swirl around me and I whimper.

“Yes—” My eyes close and I can feel him grow thicker inside me—it’s going to happen.

And, when his lips desperately go to mine, it does.

I scream my climax into his mouth and he follows—I can feel him spurting inside me, the warmth filling my insides before dripping between my thighs.

We’re a mess and bone tired but I keep him inside me, not ready to separate.

Peeta hisses, his eyes meeting mine and I raise a brow in question. “It’s sensitive.”

“Oh sorry.” I let him pull out and he shivers at the sensation. “Are you okay?”

He nods, laying back, gasping for breath. “Are you?”

“Yes.” My head goes to his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart as he recovers.

We let ourselves go silent, not out of fear—but contentment.

“I can’t let you go either,” I whisper into his skin.

We sleep; no ghosts, nightmares, memories between us.

FIN.

I feel like the whole “after” scene happens probably a little after their first time.

By then, there’s probably experts on the whole thing.

Writing time: 3 hours and one toddler who woke up in-between.

[geekymoviemom]

For the Love Is prompt from @loveinpanem  This story contains spoilers for my current WIP Where We Can Be Safe, so if you're following that story on AO3 or FFN, please don't give anything away!  :)  

Rated T, with references to breastfeeding, baby wearing, and cosleeping.

KPOV

I can't remember the last time I took a shower, or changed my clothes, or brushed my hair, or even slept longer than thirty minutes at a time.  Sage is five weeks old now, and since Peeta's been in training and meetings for over fourteen hours a day lately, prepping for the final push into the Capitol in less than a week, I've been letting him sleep as much as possible at night while I take care of Sage.  But right now I'm so utterly exhausted I feel like I'm going to snap if I don't get some sleep soon.  

Mom calls it a growth spurt, but with the way this boy seems to eat he's been growth-spurting ever since he came out of me.  Every 90 minutes around the clock since he was born, and even more often when he's fussy, which happens to be right now.  My breasts are sore and my lower back hurts with the way I hunch over to feed him when I'm so tired.  I've tried nursing in the lying down position a couple of times, but I don't think he's quite big enough for that yet, or I'm still too small.  Either way, it wasn't comfortable for either of us.

We're doing our all-too-familiar dance around our compartment right now as he fusses against my shoulder.  I can feel drool pooling on the sleeve of my pajama top, which is actually just a repurposed hospital gown designed for easy nursing access.  My mom had to sew flaps into my bras for me to nurse in, but during times like these I just skip the bra since Sage is so impatient when he's hungry.

Mom also says that I was like this as a baby, meaning cranky, unless I was eating or sleeping, until I was over three months old.  I think I cried when she told me that, because it means I have at least two more months of this, and right now I'm not sure I will survive even one more day of it.

"Please little guy, you can't be hungry again already, it's only been 45 minutes!" I plead desperately with my crying son.  If only he would smile at me.  Just one little smile, then this would all seem worth it.  Let me know that I can make him happy from time to time.  Let me know that he doesn't hate me.  Because now all he seems to do is let me know when he's mad.  And he's so mad right now.  So, so mad.

I hitch him up further onto my shoulder as I bounce around the room, patting his back at the same time and occasionally running my fingers along his downy soft curls at the nape of his neck.  Blond curls, just like his daddy's, although not quite as thick, and a shade darker and more ashy in tone.  His eyes, when he deems fit to let me see them, are a slate-grey color.  Not quite the dark blue they were when he was born, but not quite my shade of grey yet either.  Mom says a baby's eye color isn't set until they're more of a toddler, so it'll be interesting to see where on the color spectrum his eyes fall, but I think they'll lean more towards the grey side than blue.

I'm just sitting back down onto the couch to feed him again when the door to our compartment opens and Peeta walks in, sweaty and exhausted from his intense evening training session.  His eyes widen in adoration when he sees the pair of us.

"Hey, how's my little family?" he says as he leans down to kiss my forehead and run his hand over Sage's little head.  

"He's hungry, as usual," I say quietly, willing the tears welling in my eyes to stay there.  I don't want Peeta to see me crying right now.  Not when he has so many other things to worry about, with the mission to the Capitol coming up so soon, and the fact that he's still recovering from the two broken ribs he sustained on his mission to District Two.  I cannot wait until this war is over and we can go home to Twelve, and start rebuilding the bakery.  We still keep that first drawing that Peeta made of his dream bakery up on the wall, right next to our bed so we can see it when we wake up, to remind ourselves that we won't be here forever.  That this war is only temporary.

Peeta crouches lower now so his face is level with mine, just as I get Sage latched on and his frantic cries blessedly stop for the moment.  Peeta's striking blue eyes take in my ragged appearance and exhausted face and his jaw tenses.  

"When was the last time that you slept?" he asks me, moving his hand up to caress my cheek.  I instinctively lean into his hand and the tears of relief and exhaustion start automatically running down my face.  

"I don't know," I whisper.  "I can't remember, he's been so cranky today."

His brow furrows and his lips purse.  "Katniss," he says reproachfully.  "You know you can always ask Prim or your Mom to take him for a while if you need to sleep and I'm not here.  Or Haymitch, or Madge, or Johanna, or practically anyone else that we know."

I just shake my head.  And Peeta knows it, too.  He knows that I don't feel comfortable with just anyone holding or even touching our son.  He knows that if I think Sage might cry and I'm not there with him that I can't relax until I'm with him again.  He knows that no one else can feed him right now except me, and that I'm very selfish with those feedings most of the time.  For how exhausting it is to be the only food source for this tiny human, nursing my baby really is one of the most precious things I've ever done and I love that I'm able to do it.

Peeta's shoulders slump and he glances up to look at the clock on the wall.   It's almost 8 pm.  Apparently Sage and I were so distracted by his fussiness that I missed dinner.  "Did you at least get to eat dinner?" Peeta asks.

I shake my head again, and Peeta drops his chin to his chest.  "Katniss, you have to eat, love, or you can't make enough milk for Sage, you know that!  The boy's just going to suck you dry!"

"I know, Peeta," I say, a little too harshly.  "But he's been crying so much today that I didn't want to take him anywhere, much less the cafeteria where everyone would just be staring at us!"  Sage is already something of a celebrity here, with Peeta and I being his parents, and the fact that he's the first baby born in District Thirteen in over eight years.  We have enough eyes following us around when Sage is in a good mood, I don't need the added scrutiny on me when he's in a bad one.

Peeta swallows and wipes the tears off my cheeks.  "All right then, here's what we're gonna do," he says.  "I'm going to take a quick shower while you feed him, then I'm going to take him with me while you sleep for a while."  He raises his hand up as I open my mouth to argue.  "Haymitch and Rye are down in the rec room playing chess right now.  Sage and I will go and visit them while you rest, and then I'll bring some food for you when we come back."

More tears make their way down my face.  "Peeta," I start to say, but he puts his finger on my lips to shush me.  I want to tell him no, that he needs to rest and heal his body so he doesn't get himself killed on this Capitol mission coming up.  That I probably won't be able to sleep anyway with Sage not next to me on the bed.  But I can see by the set of Peeta's jaw that arguing with him will be useless, and I'm so tired, so, so tired, and arguing takes up so much energy anyway.  So I just nod my head.

Peeta smiles and kisses my forehead again.  "All right then," he says, and starts to strip his sweaty clothes off so he can get into the shower.  I watch him intently as he undresses, as even in my overly emotional, hormonal, exhausted and touched-out state, he's still the most beautiful specimen of a man I've ever seen.  He senses my gaze upon him and throws me one of his signature grins that still makes my knees feel weak.  "I don't care if you see me," he chortles as he steps into our tiny bathroom, which causes me to burst out laughing in spite of myself.

Exactly six minutes later Peeta comes out of the bathroom, and I switch Sage to the other breast as Peeta pulls his grey shirt and pants on before sitting down next to us and wrapping his arm around my shoulders.  I lean against him, burying my nose into his neck and inhaling his comforting, sweet scent, where, even after all this time in Thirteen, I can still make out the traces of cinnamon on his skin.  I close my eyes for a minute, grateful for his strong chest and arms that always make me feel so safe.

"I'm sorry," I mumble.  "I probably smell like spit-up right now, but you feel so good."

Peeta kisses my cheek and then turns my face to kiss my lips.  "I don't care," he says.  "I love you anyway."

Sage pops off a couple minutes later, all milk-drunk and drooling.  Peeta takes him from me before I've even had a chance to sit back up.  "You go and shower now, love," he says as he stands up, grabbing the burp rag off the back of the couch and draping it over his shoulder.  "Then you crawl up into that bed and I'll tuck you in before we go.  And I want you to sleep, not keep yourself awake by fretting about the baby.  He'll be fine.  I'll have him in the wrap and I promise I won't let anyone touch him without washing their hands first."

"Okay," I whisper, grabbing a clean pair of underwear and a fresh pajama top from my drawer before heading into the bathroom.  I hear a loud belch coming from the direction of the couch as I turn on the water.

"That's my boy!" Peeta says, just as I step under the shower spray, causing me to giggle.  I don't remember a shower ever feeling this luxurious, even if I can't crank up the water as hot as I'd like it.  I scrub shampoo into my hair and massage my scalp for a couple minutes, being careful to keep the shower spray from directly hitting my sensitive breasts.  

The water shuts off just as I've finished rinsing my hair, and I quickly towel myself off and dress before running my comb haphazardly through my hair.  Then I exit the bathroom and find Peeta trying to fold one of the diapers with one hand while holding our son with the other, before laying him down to change his diaper.  I usually try to pre-fold the cloth diapers that closely resemble cleaning rags, but I've been too overwhelmed to think about it lately, so they're all just piled up in a basket next to the couch.

"No, no," Peeta says to me as I move over to try and help.  "You just get ready for bed, I've got this."  And he does.  As I watch in fascination, Peeta cleans up our son's dirty diaper, remembers to use the tiny washcloth over Sage's private parts so he doesn't get sprayed, and expertly places the almost perfectly folded flat diaper under him before pinning it just right and sliding the cover back up.  If you didn't know any better, you'd have no idea that Peeta had never changed a diaper or even ever held a baby in his life before our son was born.  "I think he just pooped enough for three babies," Peeta says.  "I wonder if that's why he was so fussy?"

"Maybe," I say, still in awe of my amazing husband and how much better I feel with just a six minute, lukewarm shower and a clean shirt.  "Peeta, I feel a lot better now-"

"Nope," Peeta says, softening his word with a kiss.  "You just help me into the wrap and we'll leave you to sleep for a while."

I finally acquiesce, nodding my head.  "Okay, give it here," I say.  Peeta hands me the forest green baby wrap and positions Sage upright against his chest.  Our son snuggles right into him as I carefully wrap the woven length of fabric around my two boys, over both of Peeta's shoulders and crossed behind his back, tightening it just right and tying it off under Sage's little fluffy bottom.  "How does that feel?"

Peeta leans down and kisses the top of Sage's head.  "He's close enough to kiss and I don't feel any pressure points, so I think everything's fine," he says happily.  This is one of those times when I wish I could draw more than a stick figure, or that I knew how to work a camera, because the sight in front of me right now is absolutely too precious for words.

"Now you get into bed," Peeta says quietly, because in the two minutes it took me to get the wrap tied around them, Sage has fallen asleep.  I climb up into the bed and Peeta tucks the blankets around me, leaning over carefully to kiss me while supporting our baby's head.  "Sleep now, my love.  And don't worry, Sage will be fine."

"I know," I whisper.  "Thank you Peeta.  I love you both so much."

"You know I love you," he says.  "And Sage loves you too, even if he doesn't show it very much right now."  And just like that, he can sum up almost my entire mothering experience so far.  It's not easy to feel like my son actually appreciates anything that I do for him when he spends so much of his time telling me how unhappy he is.  Just one smile is all I'd want.  I watch the door slide shut behind them and close my eyes, allowing my exhaustion to finally win over.

I jerk awake suddenly, blinking my eyes against the dim glow of the nightlight.  I automatically reach my hand out to feel for Sage, but he's not in the bed with me.  Neither is Peeta, actually.  I sit up in a panic and instantly cross my arms under my breasts, which feel like they weigh about ten pounds apiece.  I quickly jump down from the bed, wincing at the pain in my chest, and find Peeta sitting on the couch.  He's asleep, with Sage still snuggled in the wrap, snoozing comfortably on his chest, although I can see him starting to root with his mouth a little.  I glance at the clock and see that it's just after midnight.  My son has slept for over four hours for the first time, which means that I've slept for four hours straight for the first time since he was born.  If not for the intense pressure in my chest, I'd feel like I could take on the Capitol myself right now.

I gently place my hand on Peeta's shoulder and he wakes with a start, glancing down at Sage before snaking his hand behind my neck so he can kiss me.  "There's some bread and fruit on the table for you," he says.  "How do you feel?"

"So much better!" I say happily.  "But I need to feed him now or I'll explode, and you need to get to bed."

Peeta wraps his arms gently around our son before standing up and untying the double knot from under his bum.  He kisses Sage on the forehead before handing him to me.  "We had a good time," he whispers as he drapes the wrap over the back of the couch.  "I'm going to miss this little guy when I have to leave.  And you of course," he adds, winking at me.  

I lay Sage on the couch to change his soaking wet diaper as Peeta heads for the bathroom to brush his teeth, but instead of heading for the bed he comes and sits back down next to us as I get Sage latched onto my breast.  "You should get some rest," I say, knowing Peeta has to get up early tomorrow.  More training and more meetings.

"I will in a bit," he says, running his fingertip along Sage's tiny cheek as the baby suckles greedily from my nipple.  I've shoved a burp rag down my shirt to catch the milk flowing from my other breast, as I don't think I've been this engorged since my milk first came in.

Suddenly Sage pops off of me and opens his eyes, such a beautiful, striking color in the artificial moonlight filling the room.  They flick between Peeta and me a couple of times, and then, with milk trailing out the side of his mouth, his tiny lips curl into a smile.  His first smile.  

"Oh Peeta," I exclaim.  "He smiled at us!  He finally smiled!"  I look up at my husband with shock and joy and see his blue eyes shimmering with tears.  

"You see Katniss?" he says as he kisses my temple.  "He does love you."

[readbookywooks]

9. Someone gives my shoulder a shake and I sit up. I've fallen asleep with my face on the table. The white cloth has left creases on my good cheek. The other, the one that took the lash from Thread, throbs painfully. Gale's dead to the world, but his fingers are locked around mine. I smell fresh bread and turn my stiff neck to find Peeta looking down at me with such a sad expression. I get the sense that he's been watching us awhile. "Go on up to bed, Katniss. I'll look after him now," he says. "Peeta. About what I said yesterday, about running - " I begin. "I know," he says. "There's nothing to explain." I see the loaves of bread on the counter in the pale, snowy morning light. The blue shadows under his eyes. I wonder if he slept at all. Couldn't have been long. I think of his agreeing to go with me yesterday, his stepping up beside me to protect Gale, his willingness to throw his lot in with mine entirely when I give him so little in return. No matter what I do, I'm hurting someone. "Peeta - " "Just go to bed, okay?" he says. I feel my way up the stairs, crawl under the covers, and fall asleep at once. At some point, Clove, the girl from District 2, enters my dreams. She chases me, pins me to the ground, and pulls out a knife to cut my face. It digs deeply into my cheek, opening a wide gash. Then Clove begins to transform, her face elongating into a snout, dark fur sprouting from her skin, her fingernails growing into long claws, but her eyes remain unchanged. She becomes the mutta-tion form of herself, the wolflike creation of the Capitol that terrorized us the last night in the arena. Tossing back her head, she lets out a long, eerie howl that is picked up by other mutts nearby. Clove begins to lap the blood flowing from my wound, each lick sending a new wave of pain through my face. I give a strangled cry and wake with a start, sweating and shivering at once. Cradling my damaged cheek in my hand, I remind myself that it was not Clove but Thread who gave me this wound. I wish that Peeta were here to hold me, until I remember I'm not supposed to wish, that anymore. I have chosen Gale and the rebellion, and a future with Peeta is the Capitol's design, not mine. The swelling around my eye has gone down and I can open it a bit. I push aside the curtains and see the snowstorm has strengthened to a full-out blizzard. There's nothing but whiteness and the howling wind that sounds remarkably like the muttations. I welcome the blizzard, with its ferocious winds and deep, drifting snow. This may be enough to keep the real wolves, also known as the Peacekeepers, from my door. A few days to think. To work out a plan. With Gale and Peeta and Haymitch all at hand. This blizzard is a gift. Before I go down to face this new life, though, I take some time making myself acknowledge what it will mean. Less than a day ago, I was prepared to head into the wilderness with my loved ones in midwinter, with the very real possibility of the Capitol pursuing us. A precarious venture at best. But now I am committing to something even more risky. Fighting the Capitol assures their swift retaliation. I must accept that at any moment I can be arrested. There will be a knock on the door, like the one last night, a band of Peacekeepers to haul me away. There might be torture. Mutilation. A bullet through my skull in the town square, if I'm fortunate enough to go that quickly. The Capitol has no end of creative ways to kill people. I imagine these things and I'm terrified, but let's face it: They've been lurking in the back of my brain, anyway. I've been a tribute in the Games. Been threatened by the president. Taken a lash across my face. I'm already a target. Now comes the harder part. I have to face the fact that my family and friends might share this fate. Prim. I need only to think of Prim and all my resolve disintegrates. It's my job to protect her. I pull the blanket up over my head, and my breathing is so rapid I use up all the oxygen and begin to choke for air. I can't let the Capitol hurt Prim. And then it hits me. They already have. They have killed her father in those wretched mines. They have sat by as she almost starved to death. They have chosen her as a tribute, then made her watch her sister fight to the death in the Games. She has been hurt far worse than I had at the age of twelve. And even that pales in comparison with Rue's life. I shove off the blanket and suck in the cold air that seeps through the windowpanes. Prim ... Rue ... aren't they the very reason I have to try to fight? Because what has been done to them is so wrong, so beyond justification, so evil that there is no choice? Because no one has the right to treat them as they have been treated? Yes. This is the thing to remember when fear threatens to swallow me up. What I am about to do, whatever any of us are forced to endure, it is for them. It's too late to help Rue, but maybe not too late for those five little faces that looked up at me from the square in District 11. Not too late for Rory and Vick and Posy. Not too late for Prim. Gale is right. If people have the courage, this could be an opportunity. He's also right that, since I have set it in motion, I could do so much. Although I have no idea what exactly that should be. But deciding not to run away is a crucial first step. I take a shower, and this morning my brain is not assembling lists of supplies for the wild, but trying to figure out how they organized that uprising in District 8. So many, so clearly acting in defiance of the Capitol. Was it even planned, or something that simply erupted out of years of hatred and resentment? How could we do that here? Would the people of District 12 join in or lock their doors? Yesterday the square emptied so quickly after Gale's whipping. But isn't that because we all feel so impotent and have no idea what to do? We need someone to direct us and reassure us this is possible. And I don't think I'm that person. I may have been a catalyst for rebellion, but a leader should be someone with conviction, and I'm barely a convert myself. Someone with unflinching courage, and I'm still working hard at even finding mine. Someone with clear and persuasive words, and I'm so easily tongue-tied. Words. I think of words and I think of Peeta. How people embrace everything he says. He could move a crowd to action, I bet, if he chose to. Would find the things to say. But I'm sure the idea has never crossed his mind. Downstairs, I find my mother and Prim tending to a subdued Gale. The medicine must be wearing off, by the look on his face. I brace myself for another fight but try to keep my voice calm. "Can't you give him another shot?" "I will, if it's needed. We thought we'd try the snow coat first," says my mother. She has removed his bandages. You can practically see the heat radiating off his back. She lays a clean cloth across his angry flesh and nods to Prim. Prim comes over, stirring what appears to be a large bowl of snow. But it's tinted a light green and gives off a sweet, clean scent. Snow coat. She carefully begins to ladle the stuff onto the cloth. I can almost hear the sizzle of Gale's tormented skin meeting the snow mixture. His eyes flutter open, perplexed, and then he lets out a sound of relief. "It's lucky we have snow," says my mother. I think of what it must be like to recover from a whipping in midsummer, with the searing heat and the tepid water from the tap. "What did you do in warm months?" I ask. A crease appears between my mother's eyebrows as she frowns. "Tried to keep the flies away." My stomach turns at the thought. She fills a handkerchief with the snow-coat mixture and I hold it to the weal on my cheek. Instantly the pain withdraws. It's the coldness of the snow, yes, but whatever mix of herbal juices my mother has added numbs as well. "Oh. That's wonderful. Why didn't you put this on him last night?" "I needed the wound to set first," she says. I don't know what that means exactly, but as long as it works, who am I to question her? She knows what she's doing, my mother. I feel a pang of remorse about yesterday, the awful things I yelled at her as Peeta and Haymitch dragged me from the kitchen. "I'm sorry. About screaming at you yesterday." "I've heard worse," she says. "You've seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain." Someone they love. The words numb my tongue as if it's been packed in snow coat. Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don't know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I'm sure he doesn't remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can't think about kissing when I've got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. "Where's Peeta?" I say. "He went home when we heard you stirring. Didn't want to leave his house unattended during the storm," says my mother. "Did he get back all right?" I ask. In a blizzard, you can get lost in a matter of yards and wander off course into oblivion. "Why don't you give him a call and check?" she says. I go into the study, a room I've pretty much avoided since my meeting with President Snow, and dial Peeta's number. After a few rings he answers. "Hey. I just wanted to make sure you got home," I say. "Katniss, I live three houses away from you," he says. "I know, but with the weather and all," I say. "Well, I'm fine. Thank you for checking." There's a long pause. "How's Gale?" "All right. My mother and Prim are giving him snow coat now," I say. "And your face?" he asks. "I've got some, too," I say. "Have you seen Haymitch today?" "I checked in on him. Dead drunk. But I built up his fire and left him some bread," he says. "I wanted to talk to - to both of you." I don't dare add more, here on my phone, which is surely tapped. "Probably have to wait until after the weather calms down," he says. "Nothing much will happen before that, anyway." "No, nothing much," I agree. It takes two days for the storm to blow itself out, leaving us with drifts higher than my head. Another day before the path is cleared from the Victor's Village to the square. During this time I help tend to Gale, apply snow coat to my cheek, try to remember everything I can about the uprising in District 8, in case it will help us. The swelling in my face goes down, leaving me with an itchy, healing wound and a very black eye. But still, the first chance I get, I call Peeta to see if he wants to go into town with me. We rouse Haymitch and drag him along with us. He complains, but not as much as usual. We all know we need to discuss what happened and it can't be anywhere as dangerous as our homes in the Victor's Village. In fact, we wait until the village is well behind us to even speak. I spend the time studying the ten-foot walls of snow piled up on either side of the narrow path that has been cleared, wondering if they will collapse in on us. Finally Haymitch breaks the silence. "So we're all heading off into the great unknown, are we?" he asks me. "No," I say. "Not anymore." "Worked through the flaws in that plan, did you, sweetheart?" he asks. "Any new ideas?" "I want to start an uprising," I say. Haymitch just laughs. It's not even a mean laugh, which is more troubling. It shows he can't even take me seriously. "Well, I want a drink. You let me know how that works out for you, though," he says. "Then what's your plan?" I spit back at him. "My plan is to make sure everything is just perfect for your wedding," says Haymitch. "I called and rescheduled the photo shoot without giving too many details." "You don't even have a phone," I say. "Effie had that fixed," he says. "Do you know she asked me if I'd like to give you away? I told her the sooner the better." "Haymitch." I can hear the pleading creeping into my voice. "Katniss." He mimics my tone. "It won't work." We shut up as a team of men with shovels passes us, headed out to the Victor's Village. Maybe they can do something about those ten-foot walls. And by the time they're out of earshot, the square is too close. We step into it and all come to a stop simultaneously. Nothing much will happen during the blizzard. That's what Peeta and I had agreed. But we couldn't have been more wrong. The square has been transformed. A huge banner with the seal of Panem hangs off the roof of the Justice Building. Peacekeepers, in pristine white uniforms, march on the cleanly swept cobblestones. Along the rooftops, more of them occupy nests of machine guns. Most unnerving is a line of new constructions - an official whipping post, several stockades, and a gallows - set up in the center of the square. "Thread's a quick worker," says Haymitch. Some streets away from the square, I see a blaze flare up. None of us has to say it. That can only be the Hob going up in smoke. I think of Greasy Sae, Ripper, all my friends who make their living there. "Haymitch, you don't think everyone was still in- - " I can't finish the sentence. "Nah, they're smarter than that. You'd be, too, if you'd been around longer," he says. "Well, I better go see how much rubbing alcohol the apothecary can spare." He trudges off across the square and I look at Peeta. "What's he want that for?" Then I realize the answer. "We can't let him drink it. He'll kill himself, or at the very least go blind. I've got some white liquor put away at home." "Me, too. Maybe that will hold him until Ripper finds a way to be back in business," says Peeta. "I need to check on my family." "I have to go see Hazelle." I'm worried now. I thought she'd be on our doorstep the moment the snow was cleared. But there's been no sign of her. "I'll go, too. Drop by the bakery on my way home," he says. "Thanks." I'm suddenly very scared at what I might find. The streets are almost deserted, which would not be so unusual at this time of day if people were at the mines, kids at school. But they're not. I see faces peeking at us out of doorways, through cracks in shutters. An uprising, I think. What an idiot I am. There's an inherent flaw in the plan that both Gale and I were too blind to see. An uprising requires breaking the law, thwarting authority. We've done that our whole lives, or our families have. Poaching, trading on the black market, mocking the Capitol in the woods. But for most people in District 12, a trip to buy something at the Hob would be too risky. And I expect them to assemble in the square with bricks and torches? Even the sight of Peeta and me is enough to make people pull their children away from the windows and draw the curtains tightly. We find Hazelle in her house, nursing a very sick Posy. I recognize the measles spots. "I couldn't leave her," she says. "I knew Gale'd be in the best possible hands." "Of course," I say. "He's much better. My mother says he'll be back in the mines in a couple of weeks." "May not be open until then, anyway," says Hazelle. "Word is they're closed until further notice." She gives a nervous glance at her empty washtub. "You closed down, too?" I ask. "Not officially," says Hazelle. "But everyone's afraid to use me now." "Maybe it's the snow," says Peeta. "No, Rory made a quick round this morning. Nothing to wash, apparently," she says. Rory wraps his arms around Hazelle. "We'll be all right." I take a handful of money from my pocket and lay it on the table. "My mother will send something for Posy." When we're outside, I turn to Peeta. "You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob." "I'll go with you," he says. "No. I've dragged you into enough trouble," I tell him. "And avoiding a stroll by the Hob ... that's going to fix things for me?" He smiles and takes my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building. They haven't even bothered to leave Peacekeepers around it. They know no one would try to save it. The heat from the flames melts the surrounding snow and a black trickle runs across my shoes. "It's all that coal dust, from the old days," I say. It was in every crack and crevice. Ground into the floorboards. It's amazing the place didn't go up before. "I want to check on Greasy Sae." "Not today, Katniss. I don't think we'd be helping anyone by dropping in on them," he says. We go back to the square. I buy some cakes from Peeta's father while they exchange small talk about the weather. No one mentions the ugly tools of torture just yards from the front door. The last thing I notice as we leave the square is that I do not recognize even one of the Peacekeepers' faces. As the days pass, things go from bad to worse. The mines stay shut for two weeks, and by that time half of District 12 is starving. The number of kids signing up for tesserae soars, but they often don't receive their grain. Food shortages begin, and even those with money come away from stores empty-handed. When the mines reopen, wages are cut, hours extended, miners sent into blatantly dangerous work sites. The eagerly awaited food promised for Parcel Day arrives spoiled and defiled by rodents. The installations in the square see plenty of action as people are dragged in and punished for offenses so long overlooked we've forgotten they are illegal. Gale goes home with no more talk of rebellion between us. But I can't help thinking that everything he sees will only strengthen his resolve to fight back. The hardships in the mines, the tortured bodies in the square, the hunger on the faces of his family. Rory has signed up for tesserae, something Gale can't even speak about, but it's still not enough with the inconsistent availability and the ever-increasing price of food. The only bright spot is, I get Haymitch to hire Hazelle as a housekeeper, resulting in some extra money for her and greatly increasing Haymitch's standard of living. It's weird going into his house, finding it fresh and clean, food warming on the stove. He hardly notices because he's fighting a whole different battle. Peeta and I tried to ration what white liquor we had, but it's almost run out, and the last time I saw Ripper, she was in the stocks. I feel like a pariah when I walk through the streets. Everyone avoids me in public now. But there's no shortage of company at home. A steady supply of ill and injured is deposited in our kitchen before my mother, who has long since stopped charging for her services. Her stocks of remedies are running so low, though, that soon all she'll have to treat the patients with is snow. The woods, of course, are forbidden. Absolutely. No question. Even Gale doesn't challenge this now. But one morning, I do. And it isn't the house full of the sick and dying, the bleeding backs, the gaunt-faced children, the marching boots, or the omnipresent misery that drives me under the fence. It's the arrival of a crate of wedding dresses one night with a note from Effie saying that President Snow approved these himself. The wedding. Is he really planning to go through with it? What, in his twisted brain, will that achieve? Is it for the benefit of those in the Capitol? A wedding was promised, a wedding will be given. And then he'll kill us? As a lesson to the districts? I don't know. I can't make sense of it. I toss and turn in bed until I can't stand it anymore. I have to get out of here. At least for a few hours. My hands dig around in my closet until I find the insulated winter gear Cinna made for me for recreational use on the Victory Tour. Waterproof boots, a snowsuit that covers me from head to toe, thermal gloves. I love my old hunting stuff, but the trek I have in mind today is more suited to this high-tech clothing. I tiptoe downstairs, load my game bag with food, and sneak out of the house. Slinking along side streets and back alleys, I make my way to the weak spot in the fence closest to Rooba the butcher's. Since many workers cross this way to get to the mines, the snow's pockmarked with footprints. Mine will not be noticed. With all his security upgrades, Thread has paid little attention to the fence, perhaps feeling harsh weather and wild animals are enough to keep everyone safely inside. Even so, once I'm under the chain link, I cover my tracks until the trees conceal them for me. Dawn is just breaking as I retrieve a set of bow and arrows and begin to force a path through the drifted snow in the woods. I'm determined, for some reason, to get to the lake. Maybe to say good-bye to the place, to my father and the happy times we spent there, because I know I'll probably never return. Maybe just so I can draw a complete breath again. Part of me doesn't really care if they catch me, if I can see it one more time. The trip takes twice as long as usual. Cinna's clothes hold in the heat all right, and I arrive soaked with sweat under the snowsuit while my face is numb with cold. The glare of the winter sun off the snow has played games with my vision, and I am so exhausted and wrapped up in my own hopeless thoughts that I don't notice the signs. The thin stream of smoke from the chimney, the indentations of recent footprints, the smell of steaming pine needles. I am literally a few yards from the door of the cement house when I pull up short. And that's not because of the smoke or the prints or the smell. That's because of the unmistakable click of a weapon behind me. Second nature. Instinct. I turn, drawing back the arrow, although I know already that the odds are not in my favor. I see the white Peacekeeper uniform, the pointed chin, the light brown iris where my arrow will find a home. But the weapon is dropping to the ground and the unarmed woman is holding something out to me in her gloved hand. "Stop!" she cries. I waver, unable to process this turn in events. Perhaps they have orders to bring me in alive so they can torture me into incriminating every person I ever knew. Yeah, good luck with that, I think. My fingers have all but decided to release the arrow when I see the object in the glove. It's a small white circle of flat bread. More of a cracker, really. Gray and soggy around the edges. But an image is clearly stamped in the center of it.