Chapter 1: Trying for Prim's Sake
Chapter Text
The Road to Recovery
By: Jamie Sommers
Chapter One: Trying For Prim's Sake
There are a million and one stories out there about Peeta and Katniss finding their way back to each other. In my mind Suzanne Collins decided the readers could leaving it up to their imaginations and create their own "growing back together" tale. To me, this is how the story should have gone. Well, it's how it happened in my imagination anyway. I do hope you like it. Follow me on tumblr. I'm jamiesommers23
The Road to Recovery
"You'll try?" I hear Prim's question fading with the rise of the sun through my window. My eyelids opened and I stared at my bedroom ceiling. I thought of Peeta.
"I'll try, Prim." Today was the day I was going to ask if he would like to help me with my book. We hadn't spoken much lately, but I knew he had been in my house. I could smell his bread everyday when I got home from hunting, whether there was a loaf left or not. Today I would try to put things right with Peeta. Though I had no clue how to do that, I had to make a first step and since I really did need his help with the book, this was the perfect time to mend our friendship. Yes. My friend. The baker's son. I missed him.
I threw my legs over the side of the bed and sat up. I didn't even know what time it was, but I could smell the food cooking in the kitchen. This was my signal to take a shower and get dressed.
As I walked downstairs I could hear two voices. One of them said goodbye, Greasy Sae, and the door closed. The other, Peeta, lets out a little bit of a startled gasp, but not too much. Wouldn't want to give away your position in the Game. If I'd been hunting you, you'd be dead already. I quickly pushed that thought to furthest corners of my mind as the mere idea made me want to puke up the breakfast I hadn't even eaten yet.
"Hi," Peeta said in his gentle tone. "I was just leaving you some bread."
"I could smell it." I tried to smile, but I just couldn't find one. Again I hear Prim in the back of my mind asking me to try. My eyes closed and I took a deep breath in and let it out.
Peeta must have taken this as a sign of displeasure because he said, "Well, I'll let myself out."
"No!" I snapped at him. Once again I took a deep breath, this time leaving my eyes open. "Please. Stay." That's all I could manage to get out. This is harder than I thought.
Peeta's eyes squinted as he gave me a once over and then shrugged his shoulders, "Okay. Sae made enough for two anyway."
The breath, I did not realize I was holding inside of my lungs, was finally released. I allowed myself to relax a little and went into the kitchen to get a plate of food and a slice of bread.
Peeta layered some jam on our slices of bread and I poured our cups of tea. I found the tea to be soothing to my stomach so eating breakfast wasn't as much of a chore as I thought it would be.
Peeta was full of conversation. He spoke of inconsequential things. Who's selling what in the market. Who has come back to the district. Who is new to the district. When he began to speak of his paints and how he's having a difficult time finding the correct mixture for a particular shade of gold, I think of Cinna's eyeliner and the glint it gave to his eyes. This snapped me out of my stupor and brought me back to my current reality. The book.
"So you're painting again?" I asked him.
"I'm trying to, but like I said, I can't seem to get the right shade of paint."
"Yes. Gold."
"Mmmm…" He shakes his head and makes a gesture with his fork. "Not just any gold. There's a certain color that's in my mind and I haven't been able to get it quite right yet."
"That's important to you, isn't it?" I asked him. I know it is. That's when I could see sweetness in Peeta's eyes and I remembered a tale he told to a morphling from District 6, the one who sacrificed her life to save his, about the days he spent trying to find the perfect shade of yellow. Like a flash the image was as vivid and real to me as though it were happening in front of my eyes and then it was gone.
"I'm no different than any other artist I suppose. When you have a picture of something in your head, you want it to be perfect. Like when you asked me to draw those berries in your book. Remember?"
I nodded. The book. I need to ask you about the book.
"You told me that the picture had to be perfect because if it was wrong it could-" he let the thought trail off.
"Kill someone," I finished it for him.
"Yes."
The thought of deadly berries filled my mind. Nightlock. The first time I came across them was in the woods. My father slapped them out of my hand and told me, "Not these Katniss-" Suddenly the silence was deafening and the ringing in my ears began to get louder and louder. The room felt so big. Like one of the Capitol dining halls. My heart began to pound and the sound echoed in my chest, joining the ringing in my ears.
"It has to be perfect. It has to be perfect! It has to be perfect!" I hear this being screamed at me over and over. I blinked a few times trying to focus on my father telling me to make sure the pictures are perfect, but it's not my father's voice I heard in my head. It's Peeta's at my kitchen table.
I shook my head to clear away the cobwebs and looked at him, "What are you screaming about?"
The smile across his face shows relief. "I said," his voice is tender now. "The shade has to be perfect for the picture I want to paint."
This is it. This is where I try, Prim. This is where I try to fix things. "Speaking of pictures. I have this idea about a book." I tell him what I told the doctor and show him the blank book the doctor sent me from the Capitol. "I was wondering if you would be interested in helping me with it? Sort of fill in the pages and stuff?"
"Of course I would, Katniss." I could hear something in his voice. Something that had been missing for quite some time. Hope.
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I awoke this morning with a pain in my belly. The need for food. This was something I hadn't felt for quite some time and it brought a happy memory to mind. One I would share with Peeta today as we worked on the book. I prepared myself for the day, showered, changed, brushed my teeth and braided my hair. As I headed down the stairs I noticed how quiet my kitchen was today. No Greasy Sae. No Peeta. No one but me. I wasn't sad, but I wasn't happy either. I was just alone. I looked into the living room and still no one. The study is closed; I leave it that way for now as the stench of roses still lingers within that room and brings up horrible memories. I just stand there in the middle of my house and look around. For the first time since being back I feel like I am in total solitude. I'm used to being alone in the afternoons and the evening, but I'm normally woken up by Greasy Sae's food. Being alone in the early morning hours has an almost chilling effect on me. My skin is tingling at the base of my neck and there he is. Peeta. Lying in a cold cave. In the early morning hours. Blood poisoning threatening to take his life. I can hear the sound of the woods echoing outside of our little shelter and I am frozen in time.
The fear of losing him is so overwhelming, I'm petrified. I know I must go to the feast to retrieve his medication, but I'm unable to move. All I can do is watch him die. I keep willing myself to move, but my body is set in stone. Dear God! Don't die! Please don't die, Peeta! Don't leave me here!
"Katniss?" Peeta calls out to me. "Please? Please?" He's begging me now. "I'm fine, Katniss. I'm fine."
I turn my head and open my eyes to find his warm eyes and worried brow focusing on me.
"Hi," he speaks so gently I can feel the concern in his voice.
"Hi." I'm unsure of where I am, but I know where I'm not. I am no longer in the middle of the arena fighting for our lives. I am no longer in a secluded cave with Peeta. "You're here."
"Where else would I be?"
"In the cave." I whisper hoarsely. I closed my eyes again, and then quickly open them up for fear of being transported back to my nightmare.
"The cave? Oh, Katniss." He steps closer to me, but he doesn't hug me and I'm thankful. Though I want to feel the comfort and security of Peeta's arms, I cannot handle that right now. I'm just not strong enough. He keeps looking at me and I know that if I don't move I'm going to cry. And if the tears come, I won't be able to control them.
I begin to walk towards the kitchen and as if on cue, my stomach growls. "Would you like some breakfast?" I ask.
"Katniss," his voice is calming. "Tell me why you thought I was in the cave?"
"I will," I turn my head to him, but continue walking. "Over breakfast." Though I don't want to relive the brief flashback to the cave I experienced, I have vowed to try and make things better between him and I. So I won't keep it to myself.
I set our plates of food out as Peeta warms our bread and spreads cheese across it. We both get a cup of tea and sit at the kitchen table. I begin to tell him how I felt this morning when I awoke prior to Greasy Sae's arrival. I jump off of the topic and ask where she was this morning, not realizing that she never showed up and that Peeta and I made breakfast together, then go back into my explanation of why I thought he was dying in the cave.
"So that's why you were whimpering don't die Peeta."
This statement came as a surprise. "I said that?"
"Yes." His eyes lifted to mine and unlike yesterday where I saw hope, today I saw fear. "It scared me to see you like that."
I don't like it when he's scared. Especially if I'm the cause of it. "I never meant to frighten you."
"Well you always frightened me, Katniss." He kind of let out a little chuckle. "You were always very…"
Scary, I want to say, but don't.
"Intimidating," he finishes. "But tempting too." This is the comment that confuses me. I guess my face shows it because he explains himself. "You're like the woods used to be. Forbidden, but very tempting. That Katniss…" He looks at the sunlight streaming through the living room window and says, "Nothing could touch her."
This is an explanation I can understand.
"It's the quiet Katniss. The timid Katniss that scares me more than anything. She's the one I'm afraid of."
"We're one in the same, you know?"
"Then I suggest you find a way to bring the two together, because separately, they're both somewhat unapproachable."
"You approach me." If it hadn't been for the Hunger Games, would he have approached me?
The tilt of his head and question in his eyes ask the question I just asked myself.
After we clean our breakfast dishes we take out the book and I show Peeta the picture of my father and I tell him what I'd like to write about him. This brings me back to the happy memory I had this morning when I woke up. I tell Peeta about my first time swimming and I see him. I see Peeta again. I can see the boy I spent the day with on a rooftop, talking, napping, eating, and holding hands with. I see my friend in his eyes and now I have hope too. His face is familiar as is his smile. He's watching me as I tell him the story of my experience in the little lake my father brought me to and I realize that I missed this aspect of our friendship. This easy going dynamic we developed over time. It felt good retelling the tale, but it felt better telling it to him.
It was that day that Peeta began making sketches on scraps of paper for the book. He asked me, "Do you know who you'd like to start off with?" I knew he was asking if I wanted to start with Prim or my dad.
"No," I answer honestly. I'm afraid that the wounds of Prim's death are still too fresh, but I think they'll always feel that way.
"Okay." Peeta just takes a sheet of paper and sits at the table with it. After a minute passes. Two. Three. He reaches for his pencils and takes one out in a shade of brown. He's made the decision for me.
I watch as Peeta's fingers move over the paper and it's nothing more than an outline of my father's face, but I recognize it immediately. He draws my father's eyes, nose and a smile. Yes, I think to myself. My father should be the one we start with.
"Peeta," I place my hand on his to stop him from continuing his drawing. I only have a couple of pictures of my father, yet Peeta hasn't copied those photos, he's drawing something else entirely. "What is this a picture of?"
"Your father." He answers so innocently.
"I'm aware of that, but it's not a copy of his wedding photo or the photo we kept on the mantel."
"No," Peeta looks at me. "This is what he looked like when he saw you going to greet him as he walked home from the mines. I used to watch his face light up when he would look at you, Katniss. It was something."
I stand up and pick up the book from the table. I take the scrap of paper with my father's face on it, out of Peeta's hand and place the book in front of him. I give him a little nod of approval and run my hand across his shoulder as I walk into the kitchen for a cup of tea. "Go ahead and draw it." It's obvious to me that he doesn't need to practice sketching this picture.
Watching Peeta turn a blank piece of paper into my father's portrait was nothing short of remarkable. He got lost in his own little world and I knew I was privileged to be able to watch as he created something magnificent. At first I was enthralled with his hands and how they worked. His fingers always seemed to know what inks to grab for and when. I keep looking at the paper as well, wondering when the different colors will actually start looking like my father. Eventually I am too overwhelmed by my desire to stare at Peeta as he works. The intensity smoldering in his eyes makes me think of the suits that Cinna designed for us to wear at the Tribute Parade during the Quarter Quell. A slight sweat breaks out across his temple and his eyes are unblinking. I cannot stop looking at his face. I have seen this face before, too many times. When he was helping me with the book on plants, in the arena, at the Capitol and then I think to myself, If he had done this during the first Games, shown everyone this fierce passion, it would've been the boy on fire not the girl.
Though my stomach growls a bit in the early afternoon, I know better than to bring any food or water next to Peeta while he's working. He's afraid something might spill on the paper. At some point I must have fallen asleep as I awaken to the smell of something cooking. When I open my eyes, I see Peeta in my kitchen, standing over the stove, stirring something inside of a pot.
"Hey," I'm greeted by him with a smile.
"Hi." I stand up to see what he's making.
"Nothing much," he answers my question of what's for dinner before I ask it. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook, but we still have some bread from this morning and this soup I'm attempting to make."
"I'm sure it will be fine, Peeta." My eyes scan the table for his completed work, but the book is nowhere to be found.
"I put it in the cupboard," he pointed toward a piece of furniture in the living room and once again I realize that he seems to be reading my mind.
As I take the book out of the wooden hutch I can feel my palms begin to sweat. For some reason I can't seem to open it. I hear Peeta slowly walking behind me.
"What do you think?" He asks me.
"I don't know yet. I can't seem to bring myself to open it."
From behind me his arm reaches out and his fingers brush mine as he lifts the cover of the book to show my father's sparkling eyes smiling up at me. He's waiting for me to run and jump into his arms as he walks home from the mines. Without realizing what I had done, I slam the cover close and I gasp.
Peeta makes an attempt to take the book out of my hand, but I don't let it go. Then he turns me by my shoulders to face him, "Are you all right?" Shaking me a little. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," I nod my head. "Yes, it's just so… so real, Peeta." I look down at the book again and trace my fingers across my father's image. "How do you do this? How did you know what he looked like when he saw me?" I lifted my face to his.
Peeta smiled into my eyes and said, "I used to watch him go home whenever I could."
"What?" I was in shock by this statement.
"I couldn't help it. I was curious to know about the man who could make the birds fall silent and then one day I saw you running up to him and that was it. After that, whenever I could, I would try to watch for him when he walked home and I'd sneak peeks at the two of you."
If there was ever a question in my mind whether or not I could rebuild a friendship with Peeta, it was gone now.
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