vibrating stones connoisseur

Preview

Jamie played with the scratchy ruffles sewed to the cuffs of his sleeves, impatient. It was one thing to be trussed up like one of the chickens on the merchant's cart to and from Leoch, waiting for the metaphorical sword to drop on his neck as his uncles brought news of his “happy” betrothal to their ward Laoghaire MacKenzie. But it was another entirely to be stood up during the very wedding he had vehemently protested until the last second where he was literally dragged to the altar by Rupert MacKenzie (with help from Angus Mhor whose size didn’t contribute much to the threat of force). Dougal’s men didn’t openly handle Jamie now as he stood in company with the priest, free of any bindings, but they did circle him strategically in the crowd, hands at the ready on the hilt of their swords if he dared move even an inch.

He had decided he might just step out of line, to be done with all this bother, and reach an honourable death at the end of a sword, rather than spend his life with a woman he did not love, and would eventually come to despise no doubt, when a stramash started off in the distance, by his bride’s quarters. A dark blue cloak shoved its way through the crowd to the stables seconds later, cleverly analysing the open spaces between people and weaving deftly through the tight mob, leaving behind only confusion in its wake.

Then again they said she has a mild concussion.

She loses track of the thought as she stares, hypnotized by the pierced nose of the doctor as she completes her task. A rap at the door catches her attention and then, there he is.

Peeta.

His hair is mussed, blue eyes wild, but when he sees her, a relieved smile breaks across his face. “Hey. Sorry it took so long,” he says, grasping her outstretched hand as he moves to stand beside the cot. “—you okay?”

With his warm hand in hers, she releases a breath long trapped in her chest.

“I’m fine. Slipped during third period lab and hit my head. It’s really not a big deal.”

“Of course. And I suppose this scary pool of blood isn’t yours?”

She frowns down at her stained shirt. Well that would be a bitch to get out. “Head wounds always bleed like that. Besides, better me than a student.”

The doctor clears her throat, as she finishes sanitizing her hands, “alright Miss Everdeen. Cecelia will be right back with your discharge papers and you’ll be good to go. Do you have any questions for me?”

With a feeble shake of her head and thanks from Peeta, the doctor leaves.

“How are you here?” Katniss asks, having a clear enough mind to wonder .

“Ms Trinket called— your vice principal right? I was in a meeting without my phone or I’d have been here sooner.”

“Shit,” she winces. “I may have put you down as my emergency contact.” With her sister abroad and her mother living in Florida, she couldn’t think of who else to use besides her roommate. He would be the one most affected if she died and he had to start paying the other half of their rent afterall. And they were friends— well back then more like friendly, but by now they’re real honest-to-God friends— even best friends maybe.

Besides it was all a formality, she’d thought at the time— she hadn’t even mentioned it to him, What were the odds the poorly scrawled number at the bottom of her personnel file would ever even be needed?

But as usual, the odds were not in her favor.

“I’m sorry,” she blinks to hold back the traitorous tears. “And now you're missing work too.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m missing it,” he teases. “But seriously, I’m glad you did. I hate thinking about you here, injured and all alone.”

“I think the concussion helped, it hadn’t really crossed my mind until you got here— by the way, I think the nurse called you my fiancé?”

He ducks his head bashfully, in a way she always finds endearing, “ahh, yeah, I may have embellished a bit up front. I didn’t think they’d let me back here unless I was family. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I think they would have let anyone back at this point.” The nurse had started looking worried about how she was planning on getting home. She briefly imagines being wheeled out of the hospital to an uber and an awkward ride home.

“Well thank God, because if that didn’t work, I was planning on telling them I’m the father of your unborn child.”

A giggle bubbles in her chest and escapes, until she’s laughing, “oh my God, what a mess.” Peeta smiles at her, bemused and concerned. And just like that, her laughter turns hysterical; tears springing to her eyes until she’s sobbing.

She can’t remember the last time she’s cried like this; in front of someone no less. It should be embarrassing, but not with Peeta. Never with Peeta. He scoops her into his arms and she clings to him, reveling in the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything as he rubs her back.

She’s exhausted when she’s eventually cried herself out, but she could cry all over again as she watches Peeta collect her paperwork and nod along to the nurse’s instructions.

She stays awake long enough for him to buckle her into the passenger seat, before drifting to sleep, waking only when they arrive home.

Inside, she grabs a fresh shirt off the top of the laundry: it’s one of Peeta’s old wrestling tees, soft from wear. She slips it over her head and pulls the collar up to her nose to smell his detergent and the faint scent of Peeta that seems to linger no matter how often it’s washed.

Peeta steps momentarily falter at the doorway as he enters her room with a glass of water and Tylenol, reminding her of the pain med schedule before tucking her into bed.

“Do you need anything else?” He says once she’s situated.

‘You,’ she thinks, but she’s still not ready to risk that declaration, especially as she feels the tendrils of sleep pulling her under. Instead, she reaches for his hand, pulling it to her cheek, and closing her eyes. “Stay with me? At least until I fall asleep?”