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jemmasimmons · 1 year

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Heyyy! Here’s a bookcomb for all of Everlark’s most married moments throughout the entire series. It was actually really difficult for me to choose because so much of it is a matter of opinion. And — I suppose unsurprisingly — it got too long so I’ve made the executive decision to split this up into two parts👩🏼‍💼💼. Here’s part one!

“So, you’re supposed to give us advice,” I say to Haymitch.

“Here’s some advice. Stay alive,” says Haymitch, and then bursts out laughing. I exchange a look with Peeta before I remember I’m having nothing more to do with him. I’m surprised to see the hardness in his eyes. He generally seems so mild.

“That’s very funny,” says Peeta. Suddenly he lashes out at the glass in Haymitch’s hand. It shatters on the floor, sending the bloodred liquid running toward the back of the train. “Only not to us.”

“Although for all I know, I am killing you.”

“Can you speed it up a little?” he asks.

“No. Shut up and eat your pears,” I say.

He’s dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he’d be happy to lie there gazing at me forever.

“Go to sleep,” he says softly. His hand brushes the loose strands of my hair off my forehead. Unlike the staged kisses and caresses so far, this gesture seems natural and comforting. I don’t want him to stop and he doesn’t. He’s still stroking my hair when I fall asleep.

“Peeta, you were supposed to wake me after a couple of hours,” I say.

“For what? Nothing’s going on here,” he says. “Besides I like watching you sleep. You don’t scowl. Improves your looks a lot.”

This, of course, brings on a scowl that makes him grin.

Peeta feeds me bites of groosling and raisins and makes me drink plenty of water. He rubs some warmth back into my feet and wraps them in his jacket before tucking the sleeping bag back up around my chin.

“Tomorrow’s a hunting day,” I say.

“I won’t be much help with that,” Peeta says. “I’ve never hunted before.”

“I’ll kill and you cook,” I say. “And you can always gather.”

I insist on taking the first watch, too, although neither of us think it’s likely anyone will come in this weather. But he won’t agree unless I’m in the bag, too, and I’m shivering so hard that it’s pointless to object. In stark contrast to two nights ago, when I felt Peeta was a million miles away, I’m struck by his immediacy now. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow, the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else’s arms have made me feel this safe.

“What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me . . . no competition . . . best thing that ever happened to you . . .”

“I don’t remember that last part,” I say, hoping it’s too dim in here for the cameras to pick up my blush.

“Oh, that’s right. That’s what I was thinking,” he says. “Scoot over, I’m freezing.”

He tosses his fork over his shoulder and literally licks his plate clean with his tongue making loud, satisfied sounds. Then he blows a kiss out to her in general and calls, “We miss you, Effie!”

I cover his mouth with my hand, but I’m laughing. “Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave.”

He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him.

“Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss.

“Look, I can handle Cato. I fought him before, didn’t I?”

Yeah, and that turned out great. You ended up dying in a mud bank. That’s what I want to say, but I can’t. He did save my life by taking on Cato after all. I try another tactic. “What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I hunted?” I say, trying to make it sound like very important work.

“What if you show me what’s edible around here and go get us some meat?” he says, mimicking my tone. “Just don’t go far, in case you need help.”

My fear comes out as anger. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be here, not running around in the woods!”

“I found some berries down by the stream,” he says, clearly confused by my outburst.

“I whistled. Why didn’t you whistle back?” I snap at him.

[…] He crosses and puts his hands on my shoulders. That’s when I feel that I’m trembling.

“I thought Cato killed you!” I almost shout.

“No, I’m fine.” Peeta wraps his arms around me, but I don’t respond. “Katniss?”

I push away, trying to sort out my feelings. “If two people agree on a signal, they stay in range. Because if one of them doesn’t answer, they’re in trouble, all right?”

“All right!” he says.

But I’m not ready to forgive him. I notice the food. The rolls and apples are untouched, but someone’s definitely picked away part of the cheese. “And you ate without me!” I really don’t care, I just want something else to be mad about.

“What? No, I didn’t,” Peeta says.

“Oh, and I suppose the apples ate the cheese,” I say.

“I don’t know what ate the cheese,” Peeta says slowly and distinctly, as if trying not to lose his temper, “but it wasn’t me. I’ve been down by the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?”

I would actually, but I don’t want to relent too soon. I do walk over and look at them.

By the time we reach our destination, our feet are dragging and the sun sits low on the horizon. We fill up our water bot- tles and climb the little slope to our den. It’s not much, but out here in the wilderness, it’s the closest thing we have to a home.

I feel almost as if it’s the first day of the Games again. That I’m in the same position. Twenty-one tributes are dead, but I still have yet to kill Cato. And really, wasn’t he always the one to kill? Now it seems the other tributes were just minor obstacles, distractions, keeping us from the real battle of the Games. Cato and me.

But no, there’s the boy waiting beside me. I feel his arms wrap around me.

“Are you cold?” he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. It’s a bit warmer, sharing our body heat inside my double layer of jackets, but the night is young. The temperature will continue to drop.

But I’m held here both by the hovercraft walls and the same force that holds the loved ones of the dying. How often I’ve seen them, ringed around our kitchen table and I thought, Why don’t they leave? Why do they stay to watch?

And now I know. It’s because you have no choice.

“New leg?” I say, and I can’t help reaching out and pulling up the bottom of Peeta’s pants. “Oh, no,” I whisper, taking in the metal-and-plastic device that has replaced his flesh.

[…]

“It’s my fault,” I say. “Because I used that tourniquet.”

“Yes, it’s your fault I’m alive,” says Peeta.

[…]

I guess this is true, but I can’t help feeling upset about it to the extent that I’m afraid I might cry and then I remember everyone in the country is watching me so I just bury my face in Peeta’s shirt.

“We're going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who's pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building.

Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed.

We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other's arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment.

Every table presents new temptations, and even on my restricted one-taste-per-dish regimen, I begin filling up quickly. I pick up a small roasted bird, bite into it, and my tongue floods with orange sauce. Delicious. But I make Peeta eat the remainder because I want to keep tasting things, and the idea of throwing away food, as I see so many people doing so casually, is abhorrent to me. After about ten tables I'm stuffed, and we've only sampled a small number of the dishes available.

When I open my eyes, it's early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta's arm. I don't remember him coming in last night. I turn, being careful not to disturb him, but he's already awake.

“No nightmares,” he says.

“What?” I ask.

“You didn't have any nightmares last night,” he says.

He's right. For the first time in ages I've slept through the night. “I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.”

“Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead.

“I don't know. We never arrived,” I say. “But I felt happy.”

“Well, you slept like you were happy.”

“Peeta, how come I never know when you're having a nightmare?” I say.

“I don't know. I don't think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror,” he says.

“You should wake me,” I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down.

“It's not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I'm okay once I realize you're here.”

“Hey. I just wanted to make sure you got home,” I say.

“Katniss, I live three houses away from you,” he says.

“I've dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him.

“And avoiding a stroll by the Hob ... that's going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building.

[…]

“I want to check on Greasy Sae.”

“Not today, Katniss. I don't think we'd be helping anyone by dropping in on them,” he says.

“What, because we're right?” Peeta wraps his arms around me. I give a small yelp of pain as my tailbone objects. I try to turn it into a sound of indignation, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I'm hurt. “Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we're all idiots. How's that?”

“Better,” I say, and accept his kiss. Then I look at the Peacekeepers as if I'm suddenly remembering they're there. “You have a message for me?”

[…]

When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table.

“What is it?” says Peeta, holding me steadily.

My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I'm so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of the sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don't want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can't quite form, I know I'm not allowed to ask that.

“Don't go yet. Not until I fall asleep,” I say.

Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. “Almost thought you'd changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner.”

I'm foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I'd made a run for it, maybe with Gale.

“No, I'd have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today. I want to tell him about Twill and Bonnie and the uprising and the fantasy of District 13, but it's not safe to and I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. “Stay with me.”

As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don't quite catch it. [He says “always”.]

#f: thg #ch: katniss everdeen #ch: peeta mellark #ship: everlark #otp: real #I have so many feelings about them #<3

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