Chapter Text
It’s slow going.
Recovery. That’s the word Dr. Aurelius uses. He says Katniss and Peeta will be in recovery for the rest of their lives. He says it will get better, but the journey to getting better will never end. It is a journey, not a destination. He says there will be cliffs, rocky roads, tsunamis and floods and waves of lava. He says they will have good days and bad days. He says there will be worst days, and really wonderful days, and everything on the spectrum in between.
They have each other.
It takes a year to get the right concoction of medications to help Katniss function. The first round made her numb inside, the second round had her throwing up every single day, the third round gave her ulcers in her stomach. The fourth though, the fourth one with three pills every day worked and now, she feels almost human. It’s been half a year since she’s been on them, and Dr. Aurelius says they’re to help her get over the hump of what the Capital did to her psyche. She won’t be on them forever, he hopes, but for now they’re working.
It takes longer for Peeta.
He will take medication every day for the rest of his life. The pain of his leg, the hijacking from the Capital--it’s not something he will ever get over. He will be fighting those memories until the day he dies. Sometimes the guilt gnaws at Katniss until she spirals into a pit of despair. Sometimes Peeta can pull her out of it and bring her outside, the sun warming her cheeks and thawing the burning cold of culpability.
Sometimes he can’t.
Katniss leaves to hunt at dawn on most days. Peeta always has breakfast waiting for her when she gets back, the baker in him waking up right after she leaves. He’s taken to kissing her temple when she comes home, a gesture she remembers her father doing for her mother. In the beginning, it was just a smile. A smile became brushing her fingers with his own to pass over her morning tea. A touch became a kiss. She starts leaning into him instinctively, awaiting the press of his lips to her hairline. He smiles when she does.
They’re trying.
Katniss opens her eyes slowly. The sun is streaming through the curtains, dawn far behind and the sound of birds chirping wakes her further. Katniss rolls over onto her back and finds Peeta still next to her, solid and warm and real. That’s right. It’s Sunday, she realizes. Their Sundays are different, the routine of the week broken. Sundays, they stay together with no hunting and no bakery and no one in their world but them.
“Morning.” Peeta grumbles, reaching for her. His eyes are still closed, blond locks sticking up here and there. His voice is still deep with sleep and his gray t-shirt is rumpled underneath their blanket. She stays with him now, in his home, away from the home she shared with her mother and Prim. It hurts still, sometimes. It’s easier here.
“Good morning.” Katniss responds, inching her body closer.
She moves onto her side so she can tuck her head under his chin, nose in his neck as her arms go up to his waist. The action, their closeness, it would have made her scared years ago. The Katniss of years ago would have never so willingly crawled up to Peeta’s side or let him wrap his arms around her in this way. But the Katniss of now revels in it, the heaviness and sturdiness of his body centering her on the planet.
“Sleep okay?” Peeta asks.
“Mmm, yes. You?” She feels his smile on the top of her head.
“Perfect.”
She knows what he means. This is their longest good streak yet; no flashbacks, no nightmares, no arguments. They’ve had periods of peace, yes, and the devastation after a relapse has always been almost impossible to get over. But today, this particular moment, it’s easy to fall into the notion that it’s finally done. The hurt that the Capital inflicted on them for years, and generations, has finally passed.
Her stomach rumbling breaks them out of the peaceful moment. Katniss flushes bright red in the safety of Peeta’s chest. She doesn’t know if it’s because she starved for the first sixteen years of her life, but she can never get enough food. Peeta chuckles and leans back, propping himself up on an elbow.
His cheeky grin makes her heart squeeze tight. The cut of his jaw has gotten sharper, and he’s grown taller much to Katniss’ chagrin who has barely grown an inch. They’ve had to replace his prosthetic a few times over the years, the latest one from the new Capital apparently extremely comfortable and flesh colored. His hair is getting darker, the blonde turning brunette but the blue of Peeta’s eyes has only gotten brighter and more beautiful.
“Do you want some breakfast?” He asks her, already knowing the answer. Katniss nods, grateful he doesn’t tease like he usually does. “Okay. Hop in the shower, it’ll be done by the time you come downstairs.”
By the time she’s finished, Peeta has a pan and pot bubbling on the stove. It smells like cinnamon and caramel. He hasn’t changed his clothes, hair still a little messy but the sleep is gone from his face. For some reason, when Katniss enters the kitchen without socks or shoes, dark leggings and burgundy sweater, Peeta’s face brightens up like she’s the most beautiful thing in the world. The house is cold, Katniss plans to start the fire later to warm up.
“Hey. Tea?” Katniss asks him.
“Please.” She grabs them mugs and tea bags, green for her and black for him. It’s the last few, hidden behind the tin of coffee that they keep around just for Haymitch, and she makes a note in her head to get more the next time they're in town.
“What are you making?” Katniss puts the kettle on the stove and Peeta turns on the fire beneath it.
“Oatmeal.” Peeta answers. “Apple. They’re in season now.”
“It’s fall.” The archer murmurs. Winter will be coming soon, the cold. Spring after, and then summer. They’re referring to the time by the seasons now. It’s no longer the time of the Hunger Games or the time for the Victory Tour. Just the seasons.
“Your favorite color is fading while mine is quickly taking its place.” Peeta gives her a small teasing smile, and Katniss rolls her eyes. The kettle screams and she pours the hot water as Peeta plates their breakfast. The oatmeal is hearty but sweet, the perfect texture. The apples have just the right amount of bite left and the cinnamon warms her stomach.
It’s a quiet morning. They eat at the back sliding doors, and say hello to Haymitch when he goes to feed his geese. He’s sober more often than not now and Effie often comes to visit. Sometimes Haymitch goes to her, and the pair spend time in a new district every year. Peeta and Katniss have bets as to when they’re going to get married and if Effie will do a toasting. Peeta says absolutely, while Katniss is still unsure if Effie will give up a big, gorgeous Capital wedding.
They end up working in the garden for the rest of the morning, even with the brisk air. Peeta does most of the planting, and for the fall they’ll have a grand assortment of vegetables that Katniss had never even heard of until the fall of the Capitol. Her baker has something akin to a green thumb and every new turn of the season, he’s planting something new for her to try. Annie sends him any new seeds she finds as she’s closer to the city and Peeta calls her to inform her how much they like it.
“You’re dirty.” Katniss tells him, nose scrunching at his state of mess. The sun is high in the sky now, warming the chill in the air that fall has brought. He’s kneeling next her, adding more mulch to a new section of their backyard and the dirt has gotten all over him. Peeta looks up, surprised by her comment and then down at himself.
“How did I get so dirty and you’re pristine?” He questions with a pout. It makes her laugh, how young it makes him look.
“Go shower. I’ll make lunch.”
His brows knit together. “You sure?” She holds back the urge to roll her eyes. She doesn’t cook often, finding the labor that goes into never quite worth the outcome. Peeta usually takes care of it all, but today she feels particularly domestic.
“I can manage lunch, Chef Mellark.” Katniss informs him, standing up and brushing the dirt from her knees. He laughs as he follows her in suit and Katniss goes to take his hand. It's a habit from when his prosthetic was still foreign and he needed a bit of help getting up and down. He’s capable now, he doesn’t need her but Peeta still takes her offer, intertwining their fingers as lovers do.
They’re not lovers though. Katniss isn’t sure what they are. They’ve been living together for years, her socks and underthings thrown haphazardly in the drawers with his. They’ve seen each other in all different states of undress and mental disarray. She hasn’t slept a single night without him since she tucked her bow in the hallway closet of their home and hasn’t woken up a single day without him in the house. Peeta holds her hand often, fingers laced, his thumbs running over her knuckles as they walk through Town or relax in their living room.
Like Gale said, she’s always chosen the one she can’t live without. It’s Peeta. His hand on her hip when he passes by, her fingers in his hair when he sleeps on her lap, their legs intertwined in the middle of the night--all things she knows she can’t give up. He holds her when she screams at night, and she fights him brutally when he turns into that other Peeta that hates her, that wants her dead. She never leaves, and he always stays.
Katniss feels like it was a decade ago that they shared all those kisses. In the arena, on camera during the Victory Tour, the beach, and the way he stroked her hunger. The kisses they share now are far and inbetween, always in the throes of emotion when life has become difficult. It’s nothing like what Katniss remembers of her parents, sweet and often and adoring. It’s shocking how much she wants that for her, for them lately. It’s not a new want, but today it burns a little more, a little hotter. Happiness is making her greedy, she wants too much lately.
She thinks Peeta will give it to her. She knows he’d do anything for her.
Katniss hears him padding down the steps just as she’s finished up lunch. Cheese in between buttery toasted bread, tomato soup warmed up from a can and black tea to sustain them for the next few hours until he’ll surely make something better for dinner. She wishes she could make hot chocolate but she always ends up burning it. That’s one thing she’ll always leave to Peeta.
“Smells good.” Peeta says, brushing wet hair from his eyes. Cleaner now, he looks bright like the north star she used to navigate the woods at night when she dared. White shirt, gray sweatpants, barefoot and a prosthetic. It makes her so happy to see him like this; healthy and happy and content. Her chest swells.
Katniss is spooning them large bowls of soup when he comes to stand next to her, taking the receptacle gratefully. She hands him his plate and Peeta presses a kiss and a thank you to her cheek. It’s so far yet so close to where she wants him so she pushes herself out of her comfort zone and reaches out for him, dropping the ladle back into the pot. Her hand grips tentatively at the edge of his shirt but it stops him anyways, and he looks at her with a touch of confusion.
“You’re welcome.” is all she says but she’s moving closer and he can’t stop her because his hands are full. Katniss sees his eyes, cerulean and piercing, following her face as she enters his private space, other hand coming to rest on his side. His face is full of wonder, never before seeing her act this way. She has to go up to her toes, tipping her face up before Peeta realizes what she wants. So of course he complies, when has he ever been able to deny her, and he dips his head low to meet her halfway.
Katniss’ eyes flutter closed, Peeta following in suit, and she kisses him. It’s familiar and slow, his lips warm pressed against hers. It’s one kiss, and then two. He used her soap and smells of lemon and mint. Her heart is beating in her ears and already she feels a flush creeping up her neck. But it feels good, it feels right and when Katniss’ calves burn in protest, she falls back to the soles of her feet. She watches him lick his lips and gulp, pupils of his eyes so wide they almost overtake the blue.
“I should let you make lunch more often,” Peeta jokes, voice cracking.
Katniss just smiles.