Chapter Text
We both sit at the table that has so frequently been covered with small piles of parchment and various-sized sketches of the people whose likeness could only be captured by Peeta’s skillful hands. This time the table has only two pictures, one of Finnick, during his wedding, and the picture of Annie with their newborn she sent us a few weeks ago.
Peeta has that same concentrated look on his face, the one that suggests a complex world held behind his soft blue eyes and nearly invisible lashes. His eyes are darting between the picture of Finnick and his paint pallet, which is consumed with an array of blue and green hues. To my eyes the colors blur together, unable to discern the difference between a sea blue and a grass green. But you can tell that he is fully able to comprehend the depths of each color, carefully mixing in yellows and cyan to create new hues.
I watch as his eyes begin to settle on a single shade. “Here, what about this one?” He asks me, pointing to one of the blueish-green hues.
I lift my head to examine the mixture of colors he’s created, intent on catching it in the light so I can attempt to grasp its complexity.
“That’s it,” I say, without having to even look at the photos. “That’s the color I remember.”
Somehow, after so many failed attempts, Peeta has successfully replicated the mesmerizing warmth of Finnick’s sea-foam eyes.
I take a long while to stare at it, lost in the sea-green hue, almost as if there was life in it. I don’t know how much time I spend admiring his perfect color match until I feel the presence of Peeta’s hand, now gently placed upon my own.
“I think I finally found the right shade.” He says calmly.
I look up to catch his smile, just as his face is about to relax into its normally easy expression. When suddenly the hand touching me loses all affection and turns into a grasp for reality.
All I can do is watch the blue of his eyes beginning to recede as his pupils move rapidly between dilatating and shrinking, before closing off entirely. His breathing becomes heavy, and he loses my gaze to instead focus on the grain of the wood table.
For a moment I am too struck with terror, immediately taken back to the place where I last saw him lose his sense of reality, of identity. I can smell the sickening mixture of roses, blood, mold, and ashes. Hear the combined horror of the mutts' screams as they overtake Finnick’s cries. And finally, watch on helplessly as all the light from those sea-green eyes is lost forever.
It is in remembering those sea-green eyes and the perfection of Peeta’s paint mixture that brings me back to the surface.
I quickly move to interlock my fingers with his and carefully place my other hand on his cheek. He doesn’t shudder at my touch, so I continue.
Without averting my eyes with his, I speak softly.
“Peeta, you are safe. I’m safe. No one is going to hurt you.”
It takes most of my courage to remain in gaze with his own so pained.
“But what if I hurt you?” He asks desperately searching for an answer.
“You are not going to hurt me,” I say, attempting to reassure him the best I can. Hoping my words will reach him.
“But, what if?” He asks again, this time more asking himself than me.
I release the grip he has on my fingers and hold his face with both hands, he takes hold of my arms but is too late to stop me.
Just as my thumbs take hold of his cheekbones I watch the well of tears begin to form at the side of his eyes.
As he did to me after the Jabberjays of the arena, I move his head so he is forced to look into my gaze.
“You are not going to hurt me,” I speak. “You would never hurt me.”
The words catch at the back of my throat, and I give into the pain, too cowardly to watch the torment of his eyes.
I press my head against him to prevent him from seeing my tears begin to form.
We sit there for a while, attempting to calm our breathing, now both grasping onto each other as if it is the only thing that stops us from falling further apart. Gradually we both wrap ourselves in each other's arms as I press my head into the space between his neck and shoulder. Together we relax into the security of our closeness.
“I’m sorry I scared you Katniss,” he whispers.
I shake my head, still buried in his neck, now damp with my tears.
“You would never hurt me,” I say tearfully.
“I know, I know,” he replies softly.
“We protect each other. Real or not real?” He asks but I can’t find the strength to answer, as I begin to fight off the guilt drilling at my soul for not protecting him.
He lets go of my back and pushes my shoulders away. Now mirroring my acts by placing my head in his hands, forcing me to his gaze.
“We protect each other. Real or not real?” Posing the question again demanding my answer with his eyes and lips.
I find it within me to muster up a response, “real.”
Finally relenting and shaking my head in agreement. Allowing myself to believe my response.
Neither of us has any appetite for dinner or being alone so we decide without words that it would be better to go to sleep.
We meander into my bedroom and fall atop the quilt, not bothering to change out of our day-worn clothing.
I lay in his arms as we silently watched the sunset in the window. I examine the shadows dancing from the blowing curtains as they become longer until eventually, only the dim light of the moon illuminates the room.
It’s not the first time since we’ve returned home that we’ve slept together but those were often out of mutual exhaustion or his unwillingness to leave me alone to the nightmares. Those times I struggled to fully allow myself to accept his security, petrified it would be lost within a second. That he would fall back into the brainwashing, or I would find myself so lost in my consuming grief that I would be unable to emerge from it.
But this time feels different, it feels whole like it did those nights before the quell. I feel my muscles release their tension and relax into his warm body engulfing me in a sensation of protection.
Eventually, I turn towards him, finding his eyes. They’ve returned to the same bright reassuring expression as always and I fall asleep to a night without nightmares.