victorbychance | Fifth Painting: Action/Voice

[Nearly three weeks. Almost a month. Just about the amount of time that Snow had held the boy captive in the Captiol, the amount of time last spent worrying about him. Things are different this time: they're together, there's no war, no chance of him being used to hurt her. But it's still horrible. She's helpless. As helpless as she had been when the bombs exploded around Prim.

Visits and little gifts left by friends had helped ease the melancholy from time to time. Helped, and typically barely at that. Day in and day out, she had spent by his side. Sitting and singing, mostly. Eventually letting Buttercup join her in vigil.

It is very much that scene when Peeta stirs. The cat sits at the edge of the bed watching and Katniss remains rooted in the chair next to. Her hand clutches his tightly and she sings:]

-to the world the glad tidings of day;
Fill the dark void with your dreamy delight--
Slumber, your lover will guard you tonight,
Your pillow shall sacred be
From all outward alarms;
You, you are the world to me
In all your charms.

[Caught up in song, she notice the signs of life.]

[His lips part and a sigh escapes as he relaxes at the sound of her voice. His hand tightens around hers.]

Slumber, my darling, the birds are at rest,
The wandering dews by the flowers are caressed,
Slumber, my darling, I'll wrap you up--

[She stops singing. Grey eyes go wide and fill with tears. Does she dare hope? Is she imagining this? A sound, a touch and a response - an actual response from the boy on the bed. She has to be imagining. When was the last time she even got a full night's sleep?

Too long, she knows. Since before Peeta fell ill.

Her breath catches in her throat and she tries her best to hold those tears at bay.]

Peeta? [She shouldn't. She shouldn't hope. Shouldn't wish and want this to be real.] Peeta? Can you hear me?

[He swallows, oddly thirsty. He wants to whimper at the headache, but only licks his lips.]

Yeah. What happened?

[There's no explanation, no answer to his question. At the sound of his voice, the tears finally fall down her face. She stumbles from the chair to the bed, heedless of anything in her way. The journal falls from her lap to somewhere under the bed and the devices that had been brought in to monitor his condition and help her in feeding him roll to the other side of the room.

Her arms wrap tightly around his neck and she kisses his forehead. Kisses his brow and his temple and nose, cheeks and lips. Tears continue to fall but she doesn't care. He's awake. Talking to her. Awake.]

Peeta. Oh, Peeta. [She repeats his name between sloppily placed kisses, arms tightening around his body. She never wants to let go. To let go might be to lose him again.] You're awake. You're awake.

[His arms wind reflexively around her, too groggy to return the kisses as his eyes blink slowly open.] The light hurts.

[She should go lower the blinds or turn off the lights. But to do that would mean to let go. She doesn't want to let go. Not ever again.

Gently, she brushes bangs off of his forehead and cups her hand to shield his eyes from the light.]

You've been asleep for weeks now. I thought- [Her voice cracks.] I thought you'd never wake up.

Really? [He buries his face between her neck and shoulder, hands tightening.] I just...I was painting. That's the last thing I remember.

[She shifts a little on the bed when he hugs her tighter, trying to find a good position to cradle him in her arms. Her eyes close as she rests her chin on top of his head. It's hard to hold back more tears. She doesn't understand what happened. Why this happened.

She hates that. Being unable to give him a valid answer.]

That's where I found you. By your easel. Unconscious.

I was painting the most amazing things, Katniss. [He sounds dazed, but swiftly gaining coherency.] I couldn't stop.

[She hadn't really looked much at the images on the canvas. Her only concern had been Peeta's prone form, collapsed on the floor in front of his work. In the days since, she hadn't returned to the studio. She hadn't seen the point.]

Why? [Her head lifts to look at him, concern and confusion in her grey eyes. She doesn't understand what he's saying. But she's trying.] You've always been able to stop before.

I don't know, it was just... [He frees a hand to rub his eyes.] It was important. It wouldn't let go.

[Her arms curl tighter around him, as if that action alone would erase the past few weeks. His painting is important, yes. He bakes and paints. She hunts. Haymitch drinks. It's a way for them each to cope with everything they've gone through.

But it's not supposed to be like this. Not supposed to cause harm.

She wipes a stray tear from her face and shakes her head.] But you're better now, right? You're better.

Completely better. [He wraps his arm around her again, trying to sit up without letting go.] Just a headache. Are you okay?

[Noting quickly what he tries to do, she carefully helps him into a sitting position. Katniss rolls herself to the other side of the bed so she could sit next to him, pillows propped up behind both their wings for comfort.

Her eyes narrow at his question and for a moment, she scowls at him. It's a stupid question. Is she okay? She hasn't been the one asleep for weeks on end.]

I'm fine. Can I get you anything? I should get you something.

[He leans back on the pillows, propped up halfway.] Water.

[She should've thought it through. Water. His throat must be so dry. The feeding tube set up had helped her keep him nourished these past few weeks but she's hated using it. Hated the way it just made him appear even more sickly.

After placing a slight kiss on his forehead, she carefully gets up from the bed.] I'll be right back.

[Peeta rests, squirming a little as he realizes he'd kind of like to stretch. Slowly, he sits up and spends some time getting used to that position. The head rush is pretty intense at first, but mostly gone by the time Katniss gets back.]

[She walks as quickly as she can. Straight to the kitchen where she grabs the nearest cup and fills it with tap water. She begins to head back to the bedroom and then pauses. Food. Food would be good, too.

A couple of minutes after she left, she enters the room again. In one hand, she carries the glass and in the other, a small plate of crackers. She smiles fondly when she sees him sitting up a little more.]

I grabbed some food, too. [She holds up the plate as she approaches the bed.] In case you want to try eating something.

In a few minutes. [He leans back against the headboard and reaches for the water.]

[She won't push it. Instead, she places the plate on the nightstand and takes a seat on the bed beside him. Just close enough so her back abuts his legs. She needs this closeness, being able to touch and to hold on to him.

He's awake. He's really awake.]

I can also make tea. Anything you think you might need, Peeta.

[Slow, slow sips. After a few minutes, a little smile.] I could use a kiss.

[That brings a real smile to her face. She remembers their first kiss. Remembers almost hearing Haymitch's voice in the back of her mind: "You call that a kiss?" That kiss had been the desperate attempt of a girl to beat the odds and get both her and the boy she had arrived in the Capitol with home. Alive. It hadn't meant much then, not to her. The kiss was a ploy to snare the audience's attention.

This kiss isn't.

Her chuckles are muffled as she presses her lips happily and easily against his. Does he know how much she loves him? She hopes so. And does her best to express so in a kiss.]

[It is better than water. He keeps it chaste for now, especially since neither of them really has the energy for anything more vigorous.]

[She smiles against his lips before pulling back enough to rest her forehead against him. It doesn't matter how chaste the kiss had been. He had returned it. He was awake.]

I love you.

I kept the bakery open, Peeta. I'm glad to hear you're awake again.

Thanks. Sorry I wasn't around to help.

That's alright. It wasn't any trouble, really. Don't worry about it.

[He decides he's going to make her cookies.]

Um. I'll probably be back tomorrow. I've been asleep for something like twenty days, so.

You don't need to push yourself, if you're still not feeling up to it, you know.

Fifth Painting: Action/Voice

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