Chapter Text
Dawn has colored the horizon by the time I slip back under District 12’s fence. I crept out to the forest earlier than usual, but Peeta’s used to it. He probably got up not too long after me, now that he’s back on a baker’s schedule.
Today’s haul was decent: three squirrels, two rabbits, and an assortment of nuts, herbs, and berries I gathered from the forest. I keep the squirrels for myself, Peeta, and Haymitch to eat today, along with one rabbit for our dinner and some of the herbs Peeta asked for. The other rabbit, plus the herbs, nuts, and berries, will go to Greasy Sae and her granddaughter’s soup stall at the Hob.
After the bombing of Twelve and the end of the war five years ago, the Hob was rebuilt and brought back to life. It had always been the beating heart of the district, so naturally, everyone who came home gravitated to it. Still, there have been improvements to the building – it’s a lot cleaner, and no one was afraid of Peacekeeper raids anymore. And now that it’s a legitimate market for trading, the official merchant shops have to keep prices low to compete, especially as the supply of food, medicine, and other resources have gotten steadier in Twelve with each passing year.
It was one of the changes I liked most in the aftermath of the war.
There were a couple of customers eating when I arrived at Sae’s stall, who looked up from the bowls long enough to give me a nod of recognition before continuing with their meals. Since my trial, I’ve been keeping a low profile and the people of Twelve have given me space. Or rather, they kept me at a polite arm’s length, which suited me better than the emotional fervor I experienced during my time as the Mockingjay. Occasionally, I would run into people who wept at the sight of me, but those are few and far between.
Sae happily accepted my haul, offering me a hot bowl of chicken, carrot, and wild rice soup in return, which I declined. I always have my meals with Peeta, so I don’t get to eat much of Sae’s cooking anymore unless we head into town together.
“Is she doing well?” I asked, nodding at her granddaughter. She is around 11 or 12 years old, and can function well enough to help Sae with the business.
“Oh yes,” beamed Sae. “The hospital’s doctors have helped a lot with her condition.” Sae has been getting on in years, so her chief worry was that no one would look after her granddaughter when she was gone. Peeta and I have told her repeatedly that we would never let the girl starve, but it looks like the treatment helped relieve Sae’s fears.
Shortly after our first year back in Twelve, they broke ground on a new hospital along with the medicine factories that are keeping the district busy. My mother even visited us briefly when she came in from Four once to inspect the hospital’s developments. She lives with Annie and her son these days. Grief brought them all together, but they are well.
I bid Sae goodbye and headed over to the bakery, where I was greeted by the warm glow of the oven, freshly baked bread, and a flour-dusted Peeta.
“Morning,” said Peeta as he arranged the remaining breads on display. “Almost done here. Do you want a roll or two? It’ll help tide you over before breakfast.” He knows perfectly well how cranky I can be without food.
“Only if you’ll have one too,” I said, putting my gear down. He peers through the game bag. “Great, we can fry up the squirrels for lunch!”
“Do you need me to get anything else before we head back?” I asked him as we ate a fresh roll each. While Peeta does sell his baked goods for money, he does so at absurdly affordable prices to keep the district fed. Between our winnings from the Games, plus some reparations from the war, we’re pretty much set for life anyway and can easily cover the difference.
Peeta thinks for a moment, then writes a list of things we’re running low on: salt, soap, and so on. I get everything from the shops between the town square and the Hob, Peeta sells the last bit of bread for the morning, then we head back home to Victor’s Village.
He makes pancakes and fries up a few eggs while I skin the game, and soon we sit down to break our fast. I pour a healthy dollop of syrup I harvested and preserved from tree sap last spring on my pancakes.
It’s a quiet sort of day, which is always good. We follow a routine: Do the dishes, shower, and get all the other chores done. Sometimes, Peeta and I play a game to see who has to wake Haymitch up, deliver his breakfast, and help him feed his geese. I suspect Peeta let me win today, so he’s on Haymitch duty. Again.
After lunch, he goes back to the bakery so he can prepare tomorrow’s baked goods, and I go back into the woods to reset my snares and traps. Then, we’d have supper and work on the book before bed.
The nightmares remain, but they’re more bearable when we’re together. It’s been a few months since Peeta’s last attack, and I’ve stopped hiding in closets entirely. Progress can have its ups and downs, Dr. Aurelius says during our monthly calls, but he’s glad that we’re on course for something close to normal.
Tonight, however, Peeta and I were startled by a knock on our door shortly before dinnertime. He and I glanced at each other. We were folding laundry in the living room.
“Are you expecting anyone?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “Not that I know of. You?”
My immediate world was Peeta and Haymitch. Sae, Thom, and the rest of the District don’t do social calls. “Nope.”
“I’ll get the door then.”
“Hi, Mr. Mellark,” I heard a young, cheerful voice. “May I come in?” Evidently, Peeta gave his assent and they exchanged how-do-you-dos and is-everything-well-with-yous.
Our guest peered into the living room. “Hello, Miss Everdeen!” A tall, well-built youth with curly brown hair and freckles bowed politely to me.
“Hi, Tallow,” I said. “I take it school’s done for the day?”
“‘Course, Ms. Everdeen! I’m not one to play hooky,” he beamed. That’s right, he was a pretty good kid.
Tallow’s parents moved from District 10 and took over the butcher’s shop after Rooba died. As part of Panem’s rebuilding efforts, families across districts were encouraged to relocate to other areas to boost industries and regrow populations.
A large group from District 3 in particular, came over to teach locals about medicine and pharmaceuticals. But really, there’s been at least one or two new faces from every district looking to take advantage of Panem’s mobility program. And with those families came their children, all of whom were healthier and better fed than any I had seen in my lifetime outside the Capitol.
I’d met Tallow when I worked with his older brother Tanner, who – true to his name – had a talent for working with leather. Together, they’d helped me patch up my father’s old hunting jacket and sold us sturdy boots last winter.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Tallow?” asked Peeta, shutting the door behind him. I handed Tallow a jar of cookies that Peeta kept stocked, to which he dug in happily. There was nothing quite like the appetite of a 15-year-old boy.
Tallow swallowed and his face turned red. “Well, the Harvest Festival is happening next week, Mr. Mellark. The school is hosting a fair where kids can work with people in the community to sell all sorts of things: hot cider and candied apples and stuff. It’s, uh, also supposed to be very romantic.”
Peeta chuckled. “Ah, is this about the girl you’ve been courting?” Peeta is well-versed in playground gossip. The bakery has become overrun by teens these days, who would flirt and make fun of their friends while picking up snacks after school. He tells me all about them when he gets home.
Tallow’s blush darkened. “Yes, sir, her name is Mayapple and she’s the best artist in our class. I’m here because,” he took a deep breath, “I’d like to commission a small cake for her.”
Peeta and I shoot glances at each other, trying our hardest not to laugh at how adorable Tallow was. He rambled on. “She stops by the bakery every day to look at your frosted cakes, so I’ve saved up a bit of my pocket money to get her one as a gift.”
“Well, I’d be happy to do it, Tallow – on two conditions. One, you don’t have to pay me.” Tallow looked like he wanted to hug Peeta right then. “Two, and this is important, you have to help me make the cake.”
Tallow nodded. “So it comes from my heart, ain’t that right?”
“Exactly. Drop by the bakery after school tomorrow so I can start teaching you how to make one. Now, would you like to stay for dinner?”
“Aw, thanks a bunch, Mr. Mellark. But I’ll pass on the dinner because my folks will miss me. I’ll see you tomorrow, though! Bye to you too, Miss Everdeen!”
“Get home safe,” I called out. He practically bounced out the door as Peeta waved him off.
I grinned at him, and he grinned back. “What?”
“You’re eager to help Tallow,” I observed casually. “Is there a particular reason why?” Grown men often approached Peeta for similar cake orders, but he has never offered to take on an apprentice before.
Peeta flushed. “I see a little of myself in Tallow,” he answered sheepishly, wrapping his arms around me. “I know what it’s like to be pining over a girl.” Against all odds, the soft, romantic side of Peeta survived the hijacking and the horrors of the war.
I tease him a little bit. “But it looks like Tallow has an idea of what to do.”
“Oh, I knew what to do,” Peeta smirked, and I relaxed further in our embrace. “After all, I succeeded in the end, didn’t I?” I refrain from commenting on the circumstances under which our relationship developed. “I just never had the courage to enact my grand courtship plans.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Which were?”
“Flowers, candy, love letters. The works.”
I think back on our relationship: lifesaving burnt bread, shocking public declarations of love, and primroses to memorialize my sister. “You’ve done more than enough,” I murmured, fingering the pearl he gave me, which I wore on a cord around my neck.
“Still,” pouted Peeta. “It’s not how I imagined doing it. I’d do it all if I had the chance.” We both chuckle at the notion. Here we were, twenty three years old and already living together, thinking about behaving like kids again — since we missed it the first time around.
Peeta’s eyes glittered as we came to the same conclusion. “Katniss Everdeen, do you want a proper courtship?”
For the next week, Peeta gives me all sorts of gifts: treats from the sweet shop, a rare purple flower I’ve never seen before, a sweet note tucked into my hunting boots. In exchange, I’m freer with my affection. We laugh ourselves hoarse reading the love letters and poems we write for each other, and it’s a nice break from our routine. I remember my parents, and how giddy they were when my father was still alive. I suppose it must have been something like this.
The day before the Harvest Festival, Peeta knocks on the door of our house with an autumnal bouquet: flowers, pine cones, and leaves in shades of red, orange, and golden yellow, which he arranged beautifully using his artist’s eye. He asks me to attend the fair with him, and I eagerly accept.
Haymitch catches the entire exchange from his porch, then hastily hobbles over to me to check my forehead for fever. I swat him away and scowl. He sighs exaggeratedly in mock relief, bringing Peeta close to tears with laughter. I give him a swat too.
At the school fair, Tallow, Tanner, and their friends run a stall with children’s games. I do particularly well throwing a ring over wooden pegs arranged at a distance, and Peeta has to drag me away because he’s afraid I’ll win all the prizes and no one else would get any.
In the end, we only keep a small leather pouch for Peeta’s coins, a carved ball for Buttercup to play with (he likely won’t), and a leather hair tie for myself. At the next table, students sold refreshments they learned to make at school.
Peeta and I have pumpkin pastries and cups of apple juice when I notice the rest of the district watching us. A few people smile or nod, but no one really approaches.
“Peeta,” I whisper to him. “Why is everyone staring at us?”
“I don’t know,” he whispers back. He takes my hand, and we walk over to a less crowded area, where we run into Thom. “It’s good to see you two out and about,” he says before turning back to visit his children at their tables.
“But we’re always out and about?” I ask Peeta, before I realize what Thom means. Usually, when we go into town, we’re always working or running errands. We’re friendly, but we generally keep to ourselves in Victor’s Village. And we definitely don’t do anything obviously romantic beyond holding hands.
Witnessing us play around like this must have meant something to our neighbors – the two star-crossed lovers who, after everything, have found peace and happiness at last. And if we, who have suffered so much, can heal after the war, then surely the rest of Panem can do the same.
Peeta shakes his head. “You still don’t know the effect you have.”
“You don’t know the effect you have, either,” I tell him, clutching his hand tightly. We turn to each other and I wonder what Peeta sees when he looks at me. I stare back at him, catching the threads of white in his blond hair, the burn marks on his body. His eyes, forever blue and framed by long, golden eyelashes, are fixed on me.
The spell is only broken when we hear a shrill cry of delight behind us. There stood Tallow, with a cake covered in soft pink, yellow, and white flowers. It wasn’t as perfectly done as it would have been had Peeta worked on it all by himself, but it had its own charm and clearly made an impact on the effusive Mayapple.
Peeta watches the scene with a contented look on his face, then tugs my hand. “Let’s go home, Katniss.”
It was, all in all, a very good day.