Hunger Games fic: "Easy Sleep" (Katniss/Peeta) (PG)
Title: Easy Sleep
Author: Khas // khasael
Beta: geminai5
Characters/Pairing: Katniss/Peeta
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~750
Spoilers: For the whole of the series, but especially Mockingjay (takes place around the epilogue).
Summary: Peeta used to help Katniss sleep. This time, she returns the favor.
Author's Notes: My first foray into fic for this fandom. Just a little something that hit me and wouldn't stop nudging until I wrote it down. Comments/feedback greatly appreciated.
I wake easily these days.
Part of it's still trauma from the Games and the Rebellion, I'm sure. And enough of it's the hormones that come with the pregnancy. But I can't deny that some of it is still the irrational fear that my child-our child-is in danger. Logically, I know that there are no more Games, that Peeta and I won't have to worry our child will go into the arena, never to come out. And after the Rebellion, we stopped having to worry about people starving to death just because they happened to be born outside the Capitol. But all the logic in the world doesn't stop those brief moments of fear.
Thankfully, Peeta is always quick to take me in his arms and reassure me. And though he only tells me the same things I already know, it's different coming from him, hearing the words whispered in my ear as we lie together in the dark. His voice is soothing; it always conveys the utter devotion he feels to me-to us.
So when I wake this time, feeling warm and calm, I have a short moment of confusion. The baby isn't resting in a position that makes sleep difficult, which is a nice change this week. But something is wrong. I can feel it. Which only means one thing: Peeta.
I can hear it in his breathing behind me. No matter whom we talk to, no matter what treatments the doctors try, it seems he'll never be completely free from the hijacking. The instances have become less frequent, but they still seem to terrify him, and though he doesn't say it, I think he's terrified for a new reason. He used to be frightened of me. Now I believe he struggles with not only the fear born of trackerjacker venom and manipulated memories, but the fear that one day, he won't be able to get himself under control in time to stop himself from doing something dangerous.
We've had close calls before, and I ended up shoved up against a wall hard enough to see stars once, but that was nearly two years ago. I remember the look on his face that afternoon, the absolute hatred replaced a split-second later with horror and shame. He didn't talk to me the rest of the day. He couldn't even look me in the face. When he did, it was to whisper a tearful apology that nearly broke my heart. He tried to leave then, for my own good supposedly, but I wouldn't let him.
I'll never let him.
His breaths are ragged, and it sounds like he might have a fist shoved in his mouth to keep him from screaming. But he's still lying behind me, close enough that I can feel his heat in the cold winter's night, though no part of him is touching me.
Carefully, I shift so he knows I'm awake and I don't make things worse by startling him. Without making a sound, I reach back with one arm and find his wrist. Slowly but firmly, I pull his hand forward and place it on my stomach. The baby is awake now, whether because I've moved or it senses something, I have no idea. He resists at first, but I keep my hand over his. The baby stretches inside me, a feeling I've grown to love, and I know Peeta feels the movement. "Peeta," I say softly. "This is real."
The solid body behind me shudders and I hear him let out a single sob. "It's okay," I murmur. "This, right here, this is what's real. Our baby."
"Katniss," he whispers, voice hoarse. I link my fingers through his and feel his body relax drastically. He buries his face in the hair at the nape of my neck and slips his other arm underneath my pillow, wrapping me in his arms like he did all those nights before I knew I loved him. His embrace is firm, slightly desperate, and I wish for maybe the millionth time that I could have every last bit of the old Peeta back. But this is what I have, and it's good enough. It's more than I dared hope for back in District Thirteen.
He falls asleep that way, his forehead leaning against the base of my skull, his lips pressed into the middle of my shoulders. His breathing is even, the sound and feel of it against my skin soothing.
Even in his sleep, he holds me close.
Author: Khas // khasael
Beta: geminai5
Characters/Pairing: Katniss/Peeta
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~750
Spoilers: For the whole of the series, but especially Mockingjay (takes place around the epilogue).
Summary: Peeta used to help Katniss sleep. This time, she returns the favor.
Author's Notes: My first foray into fic for this fandom. Just a little something that hit me and wouldn't stop nudging until I wrote it down. Comments/feedback greatly appreciated.
I wake easily these days.
Part of it's still trauma from the Games and the Rebellion, I'm sure. And enough of it's the hormones that come with the pregnancy. But I can't deny that some of it is still the irrational fear that my child-our child-is in danger. Logically, I know that there are no more Games, that Peeta and I won't have to worry our child will go into the arena, never to come out. And after the Rebellion, we stopped having to worry about people starving to death just because they happened to be born outside the Capitol. But all the logic in the world doesn't stop those brief moments of fear.
Thankfully, Peeta is always quick to take me in his arms and reassure me. And though he only tells me the same things I already know, it's different coming from him, hearing the words whispered in my ear as we lie together in the dark. His voice is soothing; it always conveys the utter devotion he feels to me-to us.
So when I wake this time, feeling warm and calm, I have a short moment of confusion. The baby isn't resting in a position that makes sleep difficult, which is a nice change this week. But something is wrong. I can feel it. Which only means one thing: Peeta.
I can hear it in his breathing behind me. No matter whom we talk to, no matter what treatments the doctors try, it seems he'll never be completely free from the hijacking. The instances have become less frequent, but they still seem to terrify him, and though he doesn't say it, I think he's terrified for a new reason. He used to be frightened of me. Now I believe he struggles with not only the fear born of trackerjacker venom and manipulated memories, but the fear that one day, he won't be able to get himself under control in time to stop himself from doing something dangerous.
We've had close calls before, and I ended up shoved up against a wall hard enough to see stars once, but that was nearly two years ago. I remember the look on his face that afternoon, the absolute hatred replaced a split-second later with horror and shame. He didn't talk to me the rest of the day. He couldn't even look me in the face. When he did, it was to whisper a tearful apology that nearly broke my heart. He tried to leave then, for my own good supposedly, but I wouldn't let him.
I'll never let him.
His breaths are ragged, and it sounds like he might have a fist shoved in his mouth to keep him from screaming. But he's still lying behind me, close enough that I can feel his heat in the cold winter's night, though no part of him is touching me.
Carefully, I shift so he knows I'm awake and I don't make things worse by startling him. Without making a sound, I reach back with one arm and find his wrist. Slowly but firmly, I pull his hand forward and place it on my stomach. The baby is awake now, whether because I've moved or it senses something, I have no idea. He resists at first, but I keep my hand over his. The baby stretches inside me, a feeling I've grown to love, and I know Peeta feels the movement. "Peeta," I say softly. "This is real."
The solid body behind me shudders and I hear him let out a single sob. "It's okay," I murmur. "This, right here, this is what's real. Our baby."
"Katniss," he whispers, voice hoarse. I link my fingers through his and feel his body relax drastically. He buries his face in the hair at the nape of my neck and slips his other arm underneath my pillow, wrapping me in his arms like he did all those nights before I knew I loved him. His embrace is firm, slightly desperate, and I wish for maybe the millionth time that I could have every last bit of the old Peeta back. But this is what I have, and it's good enough. It's more than I dared hope for back in District Thirteen.
He falls asleep that way, his forehead leaning against the base of my skull, his lips pressed into the middle of my shoulders. His breathing is even, the sound and feel of it against my skin soothing.
Even in his sleep, he holds me close.