When he hears a sharp knock, Peeta thinks that it must be Greasy Sae, dropping in early to collect the day’s batch of bread. He’s already halfway there when he realizes that she’s never bothered knocking before.
The heavy door swings easily under his guidance, revealing his visitor. Her arms are folded around her plain white blouse, dark blonde hair cropped close to her scalp. Her gaze is fixed on some point in the distance, and he struggles to attach a name to the side profile presented to him.
But then, she turns, her lips pressed in a thin line. Even without any exaggerated color or shaping, he’d recognize that pout anywhere.
“Effie!”
She greets him with such a soft voice that he almost wonders if his memory is playing tricks on him again. “Peeta.”
His concern must be visible, because she immediately averts her gaze.
He takes a quick look behind her. There’s no sign of life from any of the other houses, despite the Victors’ Village and its periphery now housing almost the entire population of District 12. Peeta clears his throat, fixing a smile to his lips as he swings the door further away. “Come on in, Effie.”
Her mouth curls ever so slightly, but her eyes only flit briefly towards him as she brushes past.
Once inside, she pauses, unsure of where to go.
Peeta takes the lead, ushering her into the kitchen. “I was just finishing up today’s batch. This has somehow become the District’s unofficial bakery.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
He gestures at the table, and she lowers herself timidly into one of the chairs.
“Not really,” he says with a shrug. “I find it therapeutic. And when I first came back, I didn’t want to spend much time outside…you know, around other people…” He stops when he sees a flicker of hurt cross her face. But a moment later, her expression is blank again, so he continues. “I needed something to do, stuck in the house all day, so I struck up a deal with Greasy Sae. I bake while she cooks, and between us we feed all the builders and any newcomers that come with the trains.”
She doesn’t say anything for a few moments, so he wanders back to the oven to check on the loaves. Her voice sounds almost like her own when she does finally speak. “I saw a lot of building work on the way here.”
“People are really trying to make it work here. After everything that’s happened, it seems the right thing to do,” he replies.
“And Katniss?”
He looks up, his eyes drawn involuntarily to the window – and to the house opposite. “She’s okay,” he says honestly. “She’s doing okay.”
“What does she do with her time?”
“She hunts, mostly. Provides game and fish for Sae’s meals.”
“And Haymitch?”
Peeta laughs. “I guess you could say Haymitch is the one constant in our lives. Still drinks. Still sleeps for most of the day.”
His mind drifts back to the previous night, when the three of them had had dinner in near-silence, and he almost misses Effie’s whispered response.
“He was a rebel.”
“Have you seen him, you know, since…”
She shakes her head. “He tried to talk to me during the, um, the execution. But I couldn’t.”
“Is that why you’re here now?” he asks gently.
“It’s one reason.”
He’s about to ask what the others might be, but a figure drifting past the window catches his attention.
He doesn’t miss Effie’s jump at the sound of the door opening, or the way her rounded eyes flicker to him in horror.
Fill: The Hunger Games, gen, PG
The heavy door swings easily under his guidance, revealing his visitor. Her arms are folded around her plain white blouse, dark blonde hair cropped close to her scalp. Her gaze is fixed on some point in the distance, and he struggles to attach a name to the side profile presented to him.
But then, she turns, her lips pressed in a thin line. Even without any exaggerated color or shaping, he’d recognize that pout anywhere.
“Effie!”
She greets him with such a soft voice that he almost wonders if his memory is playing tricks on him again. “Peeta.”
His concern must be visible, because she immediately averts her gaze.
He takes a quick look behind her. There’s no sign of life from any of the other houses, despite the Victors’ Village and its periphery now housing almost the entire population of District 12. Peeta clears his throat, fixing a smile to his lips as he swings the door further away. “Come on in, Effie.”
Her mouth curls ever so slightly, but her eyes only flit briefly towards him as she brushes past.
Once inside, she pauses, unsure of where to go.
Peeta takes the lead, ushering her into the kitchen. “I was just finishing up today’s batch. This has somehow become the District’s unofficial bakery.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
He gestures at the table, and she lowers herself timidly into one of the chairs.
“Not really,” he says with a shrug. “I find it therapeutic. And when I first came back, I didn’t want to spend much time outside…you know, around other people…” He stops when he sees a flicker of hurt cross her face. But a moment later, her expression is blank again, so he continues. “I needed something to do, stuck in the house all day, so I struck up a deal with Greasy Sae. I bake while she cooks, and between us we feed all the builders and any newcomers that come with the trains.”
She doesn’t say anything for a few moments, so he wanders back to the oven to check on the loaves. Her voice sounds almost like her own when she does finally speak. “I saw a lot of building work on the way here.”
“People are really trying to make it work here. After everything that’s happened, it seems the right thing to do,” he replies.
“And Katniss?”
He looks up, his eyes drawn involuntarily to the window – and to the house opposite. “She’s okay,” he says honestly. “She’s doing okay.”
“What does she do with her time?”
“She hunts, mostly. Provides game and fish for Sae’s meals.”
“And Haymitch?”
Peeta laughs. “I guess you could say Haymitch is the one constant in our lives. Still drinks. Still sleeps for most of the day.”
His mind drifts back to the previous night, when the three of them had had dinner in near-silence, and he almost misses Effie’s whispered response.
“He was a rebel.”
“Have you seen him, you know, since…”
She shakes her head. “He tried to talk to me during the, um, the execution. But I couldn’t.”
“Is that why you’re here now?” he asks gently.
“It’s one reason.”
He’s about to ask what the others might be, but a figure drifting past the window catches his attention.
He doesn’t miss Effie’s jump at the sound of the door opening, or the way her rounded eyes flicker to him in horror.
[TBC]