Maybe It Can Be Real

Chapter 51

Ending of last chapter (from Peeta's P.O.V.):

Finally, after a few minutes of staring at the sky, I tear my gaze away from it and look at Katniss. There's a sparkle in her eyes that's only there when she sees something she truly finds beautiful. A small grin is playing at her lips, her gray eyes bouncing back and forth quickly among the stars. "It's so beautiful," she mutters quietly.

Looking at her, not the stars, I murmur in response, "Absolutely beautiful."

**** Katniss's P.O.V. ****

~ 3 Years Later ~

My eyebrows furrow in concern as I glance at the clock, munching on a bagel, my fingertips rapidly tapping on the table. It's eleven o'clock, and Peeta isn't up yet - he's normally up around eight. I noticed yesterday that he was acting a little weird, but I didn't really think anything of it then. Maybe I should've.

Another thirty minutes rolls by, my nerves frayed at this point. I'm probably overreacting, but can you blame me considering what we've been through? Finally deciding that enough is enough, I go upstairs to our room quietly to investigate what's going on. Hopefully everything is alright. I'm sure it is, but you never know.

I wince when the door squeaks, booming in the quiet of our home, as I gently push it open. My head peeks in, my eyes landing on Peeta's still sleeping form huddled under a mound of blankets. His heavy breathing - accompanied by some snoring as well - fills the room.

I pad over to his side of the bad as quiet as a mouse. The bed dips a little with my weight as I sit down on it, softly brushing Peeta's hair back from his forehead. While I'm doing this, my fingertips graze his warm forehead, so I put the back of my hand on it. His forehead is pretty warm, much warmer than it should be.

Well, this all makes sense now. He has a fever. I wonder where he got it from; I guess someone at the bakery passed it along by accident. Or maybe he's just worked himself too hard recently. It wouldn't surprise me. He's been going into the bakery about nine in the morning and not coming home until around seven, sometimes eight, or even nine in the evening.

Without waking him, I leave the room and head back down into the kitchen. He needs to eat something, so I'll make him breakfast in bed since he's not feeling well - I assume. I could be totally wrong. But I'm almost positive he has a fever.

My tongue clucks a random tune as I scour the pantry for something to make him. Pulling out a can of chicken noodle soup, I take it over to the stove and heat it up as best I can. Lord knows I'm not a good cook. Hopefully I don't give him food poisoning or anything. That would be horrific. Although it's probably extremely difficult to ruin a can of soup.

When the timer announces that the soup is done cooking, I pour it into a bowl and toss a spoon into it. I grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with chilled water from the fridge. Grabbing a clean apple, I put everything on a tray, including a napkin, and take it upstairs to my poor husband.

Backing into the door to open it, I walk into the room and set the tray on a nightstand, plopping myself gently onto the edge of the bed. Once again I brush his hair from his forehead, saying in a soft voice, "Hey, Peeta, babe, wake up." He doesn't respond to this, just shifts positions a little bit. I end up sitting in the curl of his body, if that makes sense. He seems so young now, like he's a little boy again.

My hand caresses his cheek, my thumb running along his cheekbone. "Peeta, wake up," I say, louder this time, but still as gentle.

At this his eyes flutter open, looking around the room for a moment before settling on me. He tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace than anything. His hand reaches up and covers mine, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand. "Hi, Katniss," he whispers hoarsely.

I send him a half smile and lean forward to kiss his cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hell," he mutters, his eyes closing again for a minute.

I intertwine our fingers. "Aw, I'm sorry. I brought you some food though, if you want it."

He grins a little, shaking his head and saying, "Thanks, babe. You didn't have to do that," as he sits up and rests against the headboard.

I roll my eyes a little. "You take care of me, especially when I'm sick, so I take care of you when you're sick." It's only fair this way! I swear, he's too good to me. I lean forward to press a quick kiss to his lips, but right before they touch he says, "Unless you're planning on being sick with me, I wouldn't do that."

Sighing, I pull away. "Yeah, you're right. That's the last thing we need."

I hand him the tray of food, balancing it on his lap. "Here you go," I murmur. "I hope it tastes alright."

Digging into the soup, he says, "It does. Thank you, Katniss." He pats my leg affectionately.

The next few minutes are silent as Peeta eats his food. I take the tray and put it back on he nightstand when he's done with it.

"I think you've worked yourself too hard recently, Peeta," I tell him as I draw my legs under me on the bed.

He breathes out slowly, contemplating his response. "I don't know. I didn't even realize the time passing as I worked. I just did it."

"Well, I think you need to step back on your hours a little. I know you love it and all, but there are other workers there for a reason."

He nods his head. "Okay. I understand where you're coming from."

I lean forward again to kiss him quickly, but again he stops me. "You know, I don't really care," I whisper as I press a firm yet gentle kiss to his lips.

****

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Shoot straight and be brave my fellow lovelies,
Weezabeth <3