ninecrayon's Gift!
Title: Tuesdays
Rating: Not sure what the rating system is, but there's no swearing or sexual content in this and should be ok for all ages - just a bit of angst and a bit of fluff!
Character/s Or pairing/s: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Any spoilers/warnings: [if applicable] Mention of abuse, but nothing too intense.
A/N: [if applicable] I’m very rusty, so fingers crossed this is good enough! Merry Christmas!
_____________
Tuesdays were his favourite.
Unlike most kids in his year, Peeta savoured the sound of his alarm clock on Tuesdays. Invariably the sun shone brighter, the birds sounded sweeter. The vicious temper of his mother was somehow dulled and there was a bounce in his step that he just couldn’t curb. He didn't even mind sitting through English- easily the most monotonous class on his schedule- as he knew what was coming. After lunch twenty-five fifteen-year-olds trekked into the tired old room reserved for Miss Ableman and her endless strictures on the great past of their people. History of Panem. His favourite class of all. The one and only time he interacted with (got the opportunity to gaze at, really) the elusive and mysterious Katniss Everdeen.
He barely heard the teacher as she droned on and on about how the Capitol had gone to great pains to improve the literacy and education of the Districts. As though the interference was doing them any favours. Why they even made the pretence of caring, he had no idea. His lips twisted into an unnatural grimace, his gaze drifting one seat over and two rows in front. Her lips turned down into a similar expression to his own. He dropped his eyes and his grimace gave wave to a smile. Practically everyone in the room was either rolling their eyes or trying desperately not to fall asleep, but it still made him feel closer to her in some small, odd way.
His eyes drifted back to Katniss as if of their own accord; he dipped his head, trying not to be too obvious. As he watched from beneath pale eyelashes, she drew her sensible dark braid over one shoulder, leaving her neck bare and tantalizing, exposed for his viewing pleasure. For the record, he was aware of how creepy it was, but it was something beyond his control. He studied the elegant slope of her neck as it dipped into her shoulder. The angle of her jaw was filled with traces of her personality, both stubborn and strong. The curve of her lips entranced him as she fixed them in her permanent, signature scowl. He memorised her every line, her image held carefully in his mind, waiting to be immortalised.
Without fail, every Tuesday afternoon he would return home from school, fingers itching for his pencil and paper. He'd hole himself up in his room, shut out his demanding mother, annoying brothers, and concerned father, and lose himself in drawing her. This was the only part of her he was allowed, the lines that made up her face. Some days that was almost enough.
Sometimes he drew something other than the back of her head. Sometimes he closed his eyes and pictured her smiling at him. Like she smiled at her little sister, and like she smiled at the tall, dark, handsome senior who all the girls swooned over. In his mind, she smiled at him too, softly, shyly, the scowl smoothed from her face, and her eyes shining-
“Mr Mellark,” Miss Ableman’s voice whipped across the room and his head jerked to attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Katniss tilt her chin towards him fractionally; his heart twitched. “Can you describe to the class how the themes of the 24th Hunger Games reflected the culture of Panem at the time?”
His mind raced for an answer, even as he knew it was futile. Even on a good day, even if he’d actually been listening there was no way that he would’ve been able to produce an acceptable answer to that particular question.
Miss Ableman raised an eyebrow at him and placed her hands on her hips as he tried not to squirm. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook; that much was obvious. The silence was starting to veer into uncomfortable territory and his classmates had started to giggle at his expense, when an unexpected voice broke into the quiet.
Very unexpected.
“The rebellion in the districts.”
Peeta gaped at the sound.
Katniss’s voice was sure, strong, but quiet, and perhaps a little annoyed, although with him or the question he couldn’t tell. “The battles fought were echoed in each zone of the area.”
“War,” Peeta found himself saying as he stared at his saviour, lips quirking in bemusement, “terrible war.”
Her eyes flashed at him and they held something he didn’t know her well enough to identify. It made his heart pound for her eyes to swing his way at all.
Miss Ableman huffed and narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, before turning away and continuing with the lesson.
Peeta sagged in his chair and covertly turned his curious gaze on his rescuer, who had turned back into her seat. She’d spoken up, something she rarely did, and she’d done it for him. To help him. Maybe she wasn’t good with uncomfortable silences, maybe she had a burning desire to answer that one particular question. Or just maybe because it was him.
Either way, he felt it was a triumph. Today, she’d saved him from an inevitable dressing down, and she’d actually acknowledged his presence.
Best. Tuesday. Ever.
Wednesday
The day after the best day of his life, Peeta suffered the worst beating he’d had in a while.
He’d found ways to hide it over the years. Today his disguise of choice was a simple long sleeved shirt and a fixed grimace that accompanied his determined excuses. On days like this, he held his head high, his back straight, and refused to give anyone any clue of the pain his body was in. There couldn’t be questions. He was well aware that no one would ever know, would even believe him in the first place. Merchants lived better lives, the best of anyone in District 12. They didn’t do that to their children. It was unheard of.
He kept his head rigid throughout class, staring straight at the teacher, and did his best to scrawl notes, diligently ignoring the soreness of his back and the aching of his ribs. The index finger and thumb of his right hand were still numb, making it a struggle to hold a pen, but he continued, pretending not to notice the curious glances cast his way as he dropped his pen for the fourth time.
Everything was fine, he’d told them. He thought he might be coming down with something, that was all, nothing to worry about. Of course, they never did worry. It wasn’t particularly difficult to shrug off the people who called themselves his friends and to slink off by himself.
He was half way between school and home. His teeth gritted against the temptation to limp, it took him by surprise when she caught up with him. If it had been any other day, he’d have been close to swooning from shock. Today, he barely noticed.
"Peeta, isn't it?" her soft voice called out to his back.
He found himself speeding up, desperate to get away. No- anyone but her he could handle. But, suddenly, she was there, blocking his path, the afternoon sunlight beaming around her like a golden halo, brow furrowed into a frown as she fixed her serious gaze on him.
There was only one reason that Katniss Everdeen would ever talk to him on today of all days. Shame tilted his chin down and reddened his cheeks as he waited for sympathy to bleed into her gaze. But Katniss looked at him with sombre grey eyes filled with nothing like pity and his heart stopped, stuttered, and jerked back to life again.
"Come with me," she said simply and turned away, towards the Seam.
He followed silently, trying to keep up with her quick strides as well as he could in his current condition.
He’d never been to the Seam; it wasn’t much like he imagined. The homes were tiny, particularly compared to the town houses he was used to seeing, and there was an atmosphere of gloom that he hadn’t expected. They stopped at a small cottage on the edge of the Seam and she led him inside without a word.
The house was not as rich or as furnished as his own, but it was a home without fear and that he could appreciate. “It’s nice-”
She sent him a look that silenced him. "Sit," she said and pointed to a rickety old chair.
"What are you doing?" He slumped into the chair, mildly winded after the swift walk from town with his injuries.
Katniss walked back into the room, a scowl on her face, and a bundle in her arms, which she slammed down onto the table. "She's not here. You'll have to put up with me," she said, almost daring him to argue; he wouldn't have dared even if he'd understood what she was talking about.
"I'm sorry, I don't-"
She unwrapped a large bottle of ointment and several bandages and he suddenly understood what she was doing.
The shame of it, of her seeing him at his most vulnerable jarred his insides and he lurched to his feet. "You don't have to- I don't need- I'm fine-"
“Don't be stupid. Sit down. Now."
He sat, the movement involuntary, the ghost of a surprised smirk on his lips. She was bossing him about, he thought with a pathetic thrill. “Okay.”
“Take off your shirt,” she ordered, too casually.
“Excuse me?” he croaked, unable to credit what she’d just said to him and the very real possibility that he was hallucinating.
Katniss turned away to continue laying out the materials, studiously avoiding his gaze. “I can’t exactly treat your bruises if you insist on keeping that ridiculous shirt on, can I?”
He continued to sit there awkwardly, the burn of an embarrassed blush fighting its way up to his cheekbones.
She huffed impatiently. “Do you want my help or not?”
Peeta cast her a dubious look, before sucking in a breath and starting to unbutton the long row of buttons. It seemed to take forever and he was beyond uncomfortable when she finally helped him peel off his shirt. As she lowered her eyes to his torso, he watched her carefully, waiting for the winces and the pitying glances.
He should’ve known better; Katniss Everdeen was not a normal girl, a fact he’d spent years concluding.
He watched in fascination as her fingers unfurled and stretched towards a particularly nasty bruise that begin on his chest and snaked around to his back. Her gaze flickered up towards his and he caught his breath; she had moved closer in the process, close enough that he could see the shimmer of silver hidden in the depths of her eyes.
Her fingers brushed his skin and he hissed in pain.
She jerked away immediately, her braid swinging after her, and he sighed as he shifted on the uncomfortable chair, the strange moment broken.
Katniss busied herself with the pile of medical supplies she’d heaped on the old wooden table, before turning back to him, her face once again as impassive as ever. But if he looked carefully he could’ve sworn a hint of a blush tinted her cheeks.
He tried not to grin to himself as she carefully dabbed a spot of ointment onto the wad of clean cloth and raised it to his torso. Turning her steady gaze on him, her tone was stern. “Don’t move, it’ll hurt more.”
With a violence that made him suck in his breath through his teeth, she gripped his good shoulder steady and struck, slathering on the foul smelling ointment that burned into his skin. As often as he’d dreamed of her hands on his skin, he’d not quite anticipated that she would be so rough a nurse.
The absurdity of the situation hit him. Katniss Everdeen was finally giving him her full attention, looking at his naked body, no less… and it was covered in ugly purple bruises. He tried to hold back the pained snort of laughter, to no avail.
Her eyes sharpened on his face and she pushed another wad of stinking material onto a particularly dark bruise. She didn’t ask what was funny, but he could see the disapproval written across her face.
He bit his lip and watched her as she worked. Her fingers were nimble, but rough, and the pain was sharp. He’d experienced it many times before, having disappointed his mother on an alarmingly frequent basis; he should be used to it. It didn’t get any easier, no matter what he told himself.
“The school contacted my parents,” he said, as though that explained the entire situation.
Katniss just nodded soberly and continued to dab at his skin.
“Peeta’s clever, they’d said. He’s always been a good student. It just doesn’t make sense for his grades to be dropping.”
His mother hadn’t been surprised. She’d always maintained that the youngest of her sons was also the worst. Bran wasn’t stupid, like Peeta was. Rye didn’t disgrace the family, like Peeta did. Peeta was lazy and selfish, Peeta didn’t think about the Mellark name, Peeta didn’t care about his parents or his brothers or the duty that he owed the family.
“Your mother is an evil woman,” Katniss said steadily. Her voice remained soft and steady but this time he heard the unmistakable sound of steel.
Peeta thought about the times when his family had laughed together. His mother had taught him how to read, how to count, how to tie his apron strings. He remembered the times when she hadn’t looked at him with scorn and loathing, but had stroked his hair when he was ill and smiled at him when he was good.
“She’s still my mother.” He shrugged and smiled faintly. “She’s all I’ve got.”
Katniss dragged her eyes from his body and met his soft gaze. She paused for a moment and he could practically see the cogs turning in her mind as she studied him thoughtfully. She looked at him as though he was something that she wasn’t expecting. Finally, she nodded to herself and offered him a slight curving of her lips.
It was a small smile, but it was enough.
Nothing else was said as she cleaned away the medicine and bandages and Peeta buttoned his shirt back up. Later, as he lay in bed and remembered the burn of her hands on his skin, he realised that there had been no need.
Tuesday Again
It happened twenty-two minutes into fourth period.
Peeta was trying (and failing) to concentrate on taking notes on the second rebellion of Panem. It hadn’t seemed right to stare at her so intensely now that they’d had an actual conversation, and the frequent flashes of her staring down at him half-naked were distractions he couldn’t afford. Instead, he’d resolved to focus on his school work, and attempt to pull up his grades, no matter how little he wanted to know about the subject. His stubborn streak, as infrequently as it reared his head, was something that he could no longer afford, not if he wanted to stay under his mother’s radar for a while.
It had taken Peeta several days to convince himself that the pain hadn’t induced hallucinations and that Katniss Everdeen, of all people, had tended his wounds in her own house. To be honest, it sounded like a story he’d made up to comfort himself, not remotely like reality. Only the dreadful stench of the ointment-soaked bandages sticking to his skin had convinced him otherwise. He found he almost missed it when the smell washed away.
In the days since, he’d devoted a lot of time to figuring out how he’d she’d known. He had wondered whether he’d inadvertently given the game away somehow, that he’d messed up and not hidden it as he should, but somehow he doubted that that was the case. He wasn’t sure why or how, but she’d been watching close enough to notice. And that was something that he kept hidden away during the day, taken out only at night like some precious treasure to be marvelled at
Someone had noticed. Someone had cared. And that meant everything, whether she meant it to or not.
Peeta couldn’t help but absently glance up in her direction - it was hard to quit the habit of a lifetime, after all – to find her quicksilver eyes trained on him. Her head instantly swung back to face the front of the classroom, but he had spent the better part of his school years observing her. His expert gaze spotted the shadow of a blush darkening her cheeks and he grinned down at his page.
Once more, as if pulled by an unseen force, Peeta watched her face tilt and her eyes fix on his again, shy and curious. A smile bloomed on his face as she blinked at him, apparently unable to turn away from this new and interesting subject. He didn’t mind. He had, after all, spent long enough studying her.
Perhaps it meant something. Perhaps it meant nothing.
Perhaps she watched him for the same reasons that he watched her. Perhaps she’d helped him for the same reasons that he’d helped her that day in the rain. Perhaps she noticed him like he noticed her.
But in the middle of all these new possibilities, of one thing Peeta was sure.
Tuesdays were going to be a lot more interesting from now on.
