#fandom4lls

A small, tired smile quirks his lip up slightly and he rises to his feet, wincing when the movement causes his war-ravaged body to ache. Exhaustion is always the worst on his bad leg and he limps carefully out of the den and towards the kitchen. That sweet sound, so familiar and yet so different, grows in volume.

He stops in the doorway, resting his shoulder against the frame so he can take her all in. She’s standing at the stove, her back to him, busy working on something to eat. And she’s singing quietly to herself. The song isn’t sad in nature, but there’s been such a haunting quality to her voice since the war. It causes a little part of Peeta to ache in sadness. Age and experience had weighed down on Katniss since she’d returned to Twelve.

Not that it makes her voice any less beautiful to his ears, or that he isn’t as enchanted by it as he’d been as a child.

His prosthetic taps against the hardwood floor as he slowly shuffles towards her. She doesn’t flinch when he wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face against the side of her neck. She’d likely heard him coming all the way from the den. He isn’t quiet - never has been. She doesn’t seem to mind, though. He can hear the inflection in her voice, however, that makes him think she’s smiling now. At least he hopes she is. He continues to hold her until she finishes her song, never seeming to be hindered by him wrapped around her.

“Smells good.” Peeta mumbles after placing a kiss against her neck. “What is it?”

“Rabbit.” Katniss answers softly.

“Mmmm, I like rabbit.”

Katniss nods. “I know.”

Giving her another kiss, Peeta relinquishes his hold and moves to rest back against the counter next to the stove. He hangs his head, running his hand back and forth through his hair as a yawn escapes unchallenged from his lips.

“How was your nap?” Katniss’ tone is quiet and conversational. Comfortable.

Peeta slowly looks up at her and shrugs. “A nap.” Truth is, he isn’t sure if he feels rested or not. He’d hardly slept all night and then had slept hard after she’d left for the woods. He feels drained and yet...not. The only thing he feels is really anchoring him to any reality is the woman standing next to him.

She turns towards him, pressing her lips to his arm and rubbing her hand up and down his bare stomach in a soothing way. Her eyes stare deeply into his and he feels that ache inside again. Only this one is far from sad.

“Come chop.” Katniss says after pulling her lips away from him. She lightly taps his stomach and breezes over to the kitchen table, dragging out a chair. She turns towards him expectantly, the look in her eyes knowing. She’s acknowledging he’s having a less than stellar day while still not treating him any differently for it.

It makes him smile a fraction and nod in acquiescence. Pushing off the counter, Peeta steps over to the chair and lowers himself down. Katniss pats him on the shoulder and goes about gathering what he needs to chop the vegetables for the stew. Once she’s satisfied that he’s got all he needs, she moves to head back to the stove. But Peeta stops her with a hand on her hip. She sidesteps back into place and stares down at him with wide, expectant grey eyes.

Peeta takes her all in quietly. This woman who’s everything he’s always wanted, and yet nothing he ever planned for. He’d told her, not long after he’d returned to Twelve, that he couldn’t promise anything besides being there. That he didn’t know if he could get back to that place. That he wasn’t the Peeta she knew anymore. She’d smiled sadly and told him that it was okay. She wasn’t that Katniss anymore either. And she’d been right. She isn’t that Katniss anymore.

She’s scarred and wounded and broken, some days more than others. She’s days trapped in memories and depression. She’s frustration and impatience on bad days, and sometimes good too. She’s open, at least for him, and he’s still baffled by why she’s let herself trust him when he’s everything she is, but worse. She’s quiet and understanding and hasn’t looked at him like he’s wounded, even though he very much is, since the Victory Tour. She looks at him and sees him, not that Peeta, but the one who came back from the war unsure and cautious. And he loves that. He loves her, this Katniss standing right in front of him, watching him patiently. Knowingly.

He pulls her to him, burying his face against the fabric of her shirt, not caring that it’s flecked in the evidence of her hunting escapades from that morning. Because that’s Katniss. That’s his Katniss, dirty and open and always ready and waiting for him when he’s two steps behind.

She lets him just hold her for what feels like a long, soothing eternity. Then she places a kiss to the top of his head and steps back, taking his face in her hands.

“Chop.” She says with playful authority. She kisses the tip of his nose and practically glides back over to the stove.