Chapter Text
There’s a thick blanket of snow outside, effectively trapping them indoors for the last several days. They haven’t even seen Haymitch, not with the way the wind has been howling and rattling the windows in their panes. They keep a fire burning constantly in the hearth to keep the house warm, even taking to sleeping curled up on the sofa because their bedroom is simply too chilly. Peeta’s had the oven on nearly every second they’re awake, combing the recesses of his brain for any recipe he’s not baked for her yet that she might like to try. By now, however, they’ve nearly run out of flour and butter, and some of the confections he baked the first day of the blizzard have begun to grow stale. Katniss bristles at the apparent waste of food, while Peeta’s mind flits back to a childhood where everything he ate was that consistency and harder.
There’s some venison in the deep freeze that’ll make up a stew with for supper. As he chops up onions and carrots, Peeta debates how many layers he’d need to pile on to take some over to Haymitch. Katniss slips into the kitchen, her tread as quiet as ever, and says nothing as she picks up a pair of scissors and begins to snip stems of herbs off the plants they keep in the kitchen window. He glances periodically over his shoulder at her, and only steps over to her when she begins to snip off some tarragon as well as rosemary.
“Those two won’t really go with—”
He’d placed his hands lightly on her hips as he stood behind her, and takes a massive leap back when she shudders at the touch and jerks away from him.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” she growls at him.
They stare at one another in stilted silence for a moment, Peeta in utter shock, Katniss closing in on herself more and more with every moment that passes.
Finally, she opens her mouth and says, almost inaudibly, “You… Touching me is the problem to begin with.”
He gapes for a long moment. “I… I never touch you unless you want me to.”
“You know what I mean.”
It takes him longer than it should to notice the way she’s clutching at her abdomen and staring at her hands.
“Oh, Katniss…” he says longingly.
“I just… I’m still scared, okay? I’m so scared, Peeta.”
He thinks it’s okay to be scared. He’d worry about her if she wasn’t a little scared. Because he is, too.