Realest
Title: Realest
Author:
somehowunbroken
Fandom: Hunger Games
Characters: Katniss/Peeta
Word Count: 975
Rating: G
Notes: Part of the AU that I am not writing, where Peeta is picked up by District 13 at the end of Catching Fire, and Katniss is taken by Snow.
Summary: It takes days, weeks, months, but slowly the color comes back into her face.
It takes days, weeks, months, but slowly the color comes back into her face. Her hair grows long and thick again, and her skin heals until the scars are barely noticeable. Still, though, there’s something that isn’t healing, something that’s just out of reach - and it figures, Peeta thinks, that whatever is missing is that thing that makes her Katniss.
She’s allowed to come home, though, and that’s what counts. It’s been months since the Capitol fell, was taken, was reborn. Peeta has heard they’ve renamed it Washington, and the new history books tell him that once upon a time, when Panem was America, that meant something.
Now Washington just means the place where Katniss is.
Except not any more, because Dr. Aurelius thinks that Katniss is as better as she’s going to get. “There’s no use keeping her here any longer,” he’d said on the phone last week. “There’s nothing more I can do for her.”
“Nothing more can be done?” Peeta had asked.
“That’s not what I said,” had been the answer. Peeta hadn’t understood then, and he doesn’t really understand now, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because Haymitch had gone to the Capitol - to Washington - and he’d fetched Katniss from the hospital. He’ll be back any time now, he and Katniss, and everything has to be just so when she gets home. Peeta has been taking care of her house, her land, because someone had to and it sure wasn’t going to be Haymitch. He’s planted a row of evening primrose along the eastern side of the house, because he’d needed to do something, and it had seemed appropriate.
He’s hoping it won’t be too much, won’t break Katniss more than she’s already been broken.
Peeta hears the train rumble into the station because he’s listening for it. His palms are sweating, but he pours out a cup of chocolate milk and waits on the stoop. Buttercup sprawls out in a patch of sun and goes to sleep, entirely unconcerned.
Katniss walks towards him slowly, head bowed, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. Haymitch is directing her with a hand on her shoulder, and Peeta can tell from the way his lips are pressed together that things aren’t really okay. He raises an eyebrow, but Haymitch shakes his head.
“Katniss,” Peeta says, and she looks up, skin and hair and face as lovely as ever, but there’s no light in her eyes, none at all. Peeta feels the pit in his stomach open, swoop, drop.
“Thank you for taking care of the house,” she says, and it’s almost mechanical, as if Haymitch had prompted her on the train, and she’s been repeating it to herself all the way here. It wouldn’t be the first time that she’s done things only because Haymitch - but no, that’s neither here nor there, not any more.
“Of course,” Peeta says, instead of blurting his thoughts out. He holds out the glass. “Thirsty?”
Katniss takes the cup but doesn’t drink. It doesn’t tremble in her hands, which could mean that her hands don’t tremble any more, or that she’s gotten better at hiding it. Peeta knows which he’s hoping for, and he knows which he believes. She does sit on the stoop beside him, though.
“Well then,” Haymitch says, and he wanders towards his own house. The door shuts behind him with a click, and then there’s just the two of them and the silence.
“Real or not real,” Katniss says, looking down at the rim of the cup. She traces it with her finger, dipping it into the chocolate milk and pulling it back out.
“Real,” Peeta replies. “You haven’t had it before, not like this. It’s like hot chocolate, but it’s kept cold, instead. They call it chocolate milk.”
Katniss nods and lifts her finger to her mouth, pressing it to her lips and licking the chocolate off. Peeta watches without moving as she inhales deeply and steadily before lifting the glass to her mouth and taking a sip.
Peeta wants to talk, to fill the silence with what he’s been doing, how he’s missed her, the ideas he has now that she’s home. He wants to tell her about his plans to open a bakery in town, the way Delly and Madge want to run the school now that they’re in charge, how he’s painted a mural in the top floor of his house just for her. Instead, he leans in a little closer, not touching, but offering contact should she choose it.
They sit for a while, watching the sun track across the sky before it sets. There’s a brilliant blaze of color, red and purple and orange, and Peeta’s hands itch for his oil paints and a canvas as he stares up at it.
There’s a sudden nudge at his side. “Your favorite color is orange,” Katniss says when he looks over. “Real or not real?”
“Real,” he says. “And yours is green.”
She tilts her head to the side as if evaluating the information before nodding. Her mouth opens a fraction, but she closes it before saying anything.
“Tell me,” Peeta says gently. “Anything at all, Katniss.”
“Real or not real,” she says, just above a whisper, her eyes never glancing away from his. “You love me.”
It’s the first time she’s acknowledged it since - since, and Peeta has to take a breath before nodding. “That’s the realest thing there is.”
And - there. It’s like watching the dawn break, or the sea in District 4 crash on the shore. It’s something like relief on her face, and there’s a tiny smile to go along with it as Katniss leans into him, laying her head on his shoulder.
This is what can still be done, Peeta realizes. There’s life in her yet, and he’s determined to draw it out.
This was originally posted at http://somehowunbroken.dreamwidth.org/189488.html, where it has
comments. Comment here or there.
Author:
somehowunbroken
Fandom: Hunger Games
Characters: Katniss/Peeta
Word Count: 975
Rating: G
Notes: Part of the AU that I am not writing, where Peeta is picked up by District 13 at the end of Catching Fire, and Katniss is taken by Snow.
Summary: It takes days, weeks, months, but slowly the color comes back into her face.
It takes days, weeks, months, but slowly the color comes back into her face. Her hair grows long and thick again, and her skin heals until the scars are barely noticeable. Still, though, there’s something that isn’t healing, something that’s just out of reach - and it figures, Peeta thinks, that whatever is missing is that thing that makes her Katniss.
She’s allowed to come home, though, and that’s what counts. It’s been months since the Capitol fell, was taken, was reborn. Peeta has heard they’ve renamed it Washington, and the new history books tell him that once upon a time, when Panem was America, that meant something.
Now Washington just means the place where Katniss is.
Except not any more, because Dr. Aurelius thinks that Katniss is as better as she’s going to get. “There’s no use keeping her here any longer,” he’d said on the phone last week. “There’s nothing more I can do for her.”
“Nothing more can be done?” Peeta had asked.
“That’s not what I said,” had been the answer. Peeta hadn’t understood then, and he doesn’t really understand now, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because Haymitch had gone to the Capitol - to Washington - and he’d fetched Katniss from the hospital. He’ll be back any time now, he and Katniss, and everything has to be just so when she gets home. Peeta has been taking care of her house, her land, because someone had to and it sure wasn’t going to be Haymitch. He’s planted a row of evening primrose along the eastern side of the house, because he’d needed to do something, and it had seemed appropriate.
He’s hoping it won’t be too much, won’t break Katniss more than she’s already been broken.
Peeta hears the train rumble into the station because he’s listening for it. His palms are sweating, but he pours out a cup of chocolate milk and waits on the stoop. Buttercup sprawls out in a patch of sun and goes to sleep, entirely unconcerned.
Katniss walks towards him slowly, head bowed, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. Haymitch is directing her with a hand on her shoulder, and Peeta can tell from the way his lips are pressed together that things aren’t really okay. He raises an eyebrow, but Haymitch shakes his head.
“Katniss,” Peeta says, and she looks up, skin and hair and face as lovely as ever, but there’s no light in her eyes, none at all. Peeta feels the pit in his stomach open, swoop, drop.
“Thank you for taking care of the house,” she says, and it’s almost mechanical, as if Haymitch had prompted her on the train, and she’s been repeating it to herself all the way here. It wouldn’t be the first time that she’s done things only because Haymitch - but no, that’s neither here nor there, not any more.
“Of course,” Peeta says, instead of blurting his thoughts out. He holds out the glass. “Thirsty?”
Katniss takes the cup but doesn’t drink. It doesn’t tremble in her hands, which could mean that her hands don’t tremble any more, or that she’s gotten better at hiding it. Peeta knows which he’s hoping for, and he knows which he believes. She does sit on the stoop beside him, though.
“Well then,” Haymitch says, and he wanders towards his own house. The door shuts behind him with a click, and then there’s just the two of them and the silence.
“Real or not real,” Katniss says, looking down at the rim of the cup. She traces it with her finger, dipping it into the chocolate milk and pulling it back out.
“Real,” Peeta replies. “You haven’t had it before, not like this. It’s like hot chocolate, but it’s kept cold, instead. They call it chocolate milk.”
Katniss nods and lifts her finger to her mouth, pressing it to her lips and licking the chocolate off. Peeta watches without moving as she inhales deeply and steadily before lifting the glass to her mouth and taking a sip.
Peeta wants to talk, to fill the silence with what he’s been doing, how he’s missed her, the ideas he has now that she’s home. He wants to tell her about his plans to open a bakery in town, the way Delly and Madge want to run the school now that they’re in charge, how he’s painted a mural in the top floor of his house just for her. Instead, he leans in a little closer, not touching, but offering contact should she choose it.
They sit for a while, watching the sun track across the sky before it sets. There’s a brilliant blaze of color, red and purple and orange, and Peeta’s hands itch for his oil paints and a canvas as he stares up at it.
There’s a sudden nudge at his side. “Your favorite color is orange,” Katniss says when he looks over. “Real or not real?”
“Real,” he says. “And yours is green.”
She tilts her head to the side as if evaluating the information before nodding. Her mouth opens a fraction, but she closes it before saying anything.
“Tell me,” Peeta says gently. “Anything at all, Katniss.”
“Real or not real,” she says, just above a whisper, her eyes never glancing away from his. “You love me.”
It’s the first time she’s acknowledged it since - since, and Peeta has to take a breath before nodding. “That’s the realest thing there is.”
And - there. It’s like watching the dawn break, or the sea in District 4 crash on the shore. It’s something like relief on her face, and there’s a tiny smile to go along with it as Katniss leans into him, laying her head on his shoulder.
This is what can still be done, Peeta realizes. There’s life in her yet, and he’s determined to draw it out.
This was originally posted at http://somehowunbroken.dreamwidth.org/189488.html, where it has
comments. Comment here or there.