Chapter Text
When their eyes lock from across the bar, Peeta wonders if this is what will finally pluck his breath from his chest.
The air is murky with smoke and alcohol, but those grey eyes cut through it all as clearly as they had thousands of years ago. She looks exactly the same as she had when he had left him, bar the jeans and vest top. Familiar black braid down her back, olive skin masked by the sticky atmosphere, hooked nose and thick eyebrows. He knows she recognises him as clearly as he does her.
She glances over her shoulder and then back at him. She still has that mole on her neck. As if bound by divine resignation, she bows her head and wanders over to him.
“What can I get for you?” Her accent’s changed, syllables sharper and drawl stretched taught. Only fitting, he supposes.
He smirks back at her. This is a game he can play.
“You’re aware of my drinking habits, I’m sure.”
She pours him a shot and leans on her elbows against the counter. Not his drink of choice generally, but he accepts it gratuitously.
“Long time no see. What are you doing in York?”
Looking for you. Praying you haven’t forgotten about me.
“Just wandering. I haven’t spent much time in Britain outside of London. You?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Thought I’d try something different when people were starting to recognise me. I went from an art critic in Paris to a shitty bar tender. Some fall, huh?”
Peeta’s smile is as bitter as the feeling in his chest. He downs the shot easily. “There are worse occupations, I suppose.”
“Not many. What are you doing at the moment?”
“Like I said, drifting. I might take up a job at a bakery or something.”
She raises her eyebrows, “You still bake?”
“Sure. It’s my one constant companion in a way.” Since you left me.
“I take it you still paint, too? I must say, I judged some paintings in a very familiar style.”
Peeta curses his heart for daring to flutter in his chest.
“You judged them highly, I’ll suppose?”
She waves her hand, “Oh, of course. Got a few into a museum or two.”
“Much appreciated.”
“Any time. It’s not like they could accuse me of being biased when I’m looking at 18th century work.”
A man hollers from a table a few feet away. Katniss rolls her eyes and straightens her back.
“One sec. I’ll be right back.”
I doubt that, Peeta thinks. But she’s true to her word this time.
“An art critic, huh?” he asks upon her return, “I didn’t realise you were so enamoured with painting.”
“I’m not, really. I just thought it’d make a nice change from hunting and singing. Something new, y’know?” She glances around the dimly lit walls, “I was hoping for that here – a fresh start. But I don’t think there’s anything fresh about this.” She chuckles darkly. “What did you do last?”
“I haven’t been doing much at all, as of late.”
She looks surprised, “Really? You always seemed so busy when I knew you.”
“You knew me two millennia ago.” He says less sharply than he thinks it, as if it isn’t her fault he’s been drifting around doing nothing but searching. And here she is. And it’s nothing like he imagined.
There’s no tearful embrace, no gentle caress of lips, no loving words. She’s exactly the same Katniss as she was, and he wishes that he could hate her for it. It would be so much easier if he wasn’t hopelessly in love with her.
She sighs at him. Perhaps he wasn’t as good at hiding his resentment as he thought he was – or she’s just gotten better at reading people.
“Look, I have to finish this shift, but I’m allowed to stay in the bar until midnight after we close. You should stay; we have a lot to talk about.”
Peeta nods wordlessly. He’s waited over a millennium for her - what’s another hour?
~~~~~~~
Katniss sits down opposite him across a freshly wiped down table. Her co-workers have checked out for the night, leaving just them. Peeta supposes that they should be more careful about public conversation, but more than one person has accused him of being insane in his time, so he’s grown rather accustomed to it. At least they can’t accuse him of being a witch again or try to throw him into an asylum.
“Look, you and I both know you’re not here by chance. It’s not a coincidence that, of all places, you ended up in a crappy bar in York where I just happen to work.”
Peeta shrugs and offers no explanation.
She narrows her eyes, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, to be honest. It’s also not a coincidence that you’re working at said crappy bar in York rather than the high-end job you could have.”
“How’d you find me?”
I guess you’re just going for it, huh?
“It was very difficult until a few years ago. You were slightly too well renowned as an art critic to be completely oblivious. All I needed was a pointer or two from Abernathy.”
Peeta wishes looks could kill so he could escape this conversation. He starts to wonder why he had gone to all of that effort in the first place.
“You asked Haymitch about me?”
He merely shrugs again. He wishes that her lips weren’t quite so distracting. The mouth he used to kiss so freely.
Katniss’s eyelids quiver when she shuts them. “Why can’t you just leave it? Please.”
“You know I could never leave you. That’s the problem.”
“Isn’t it just.” Her irises don’t seem quite as sharp as they did before. “How long have you been looking for me?” she’s practically whispering.
“As long as it took. I couldn’t give up on you if I tried.”
"Have you tried?"
"Of course."
“Why?” He's not sure what she means - why he couldn't leave or or why he wishes he could give up. The answer's the same either way.
“Because I love you.” The truth rolls off his tongue far easier than it should, leaving an acidic taste in its wake. He’s been thinking those words for so long, but speaking them aloud doesn’t make it any easier. Rather, it just brings the dull ache flaring back to life.
Her lips shake and her eyes shut, as if she can’t bring herself to look at him anymore. She’s the very image of tragedy, haloed by dusty yellow light.
“Please. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
“I don’t see why it has to be hard at all.” Somewhere in the depths of his mind, Peeta is sorry for his keen words, but it is overcast by his anger. “I wish you’d just explain why you left me. I’d have done anything to make it easier for you. You know that.”
“I do,” she whispers. “Please.”
He doesn’t know what she’s begging for. He suspects that she doesn’t either.
“Katniss,” he pushes gentleness back into his voice. He won’t get anywhere with anger, not when she’s shaking with animalistic fear. “I just want to know why you left. I’ll leave as soon as you give me that.”
She’s frozen in place, lips clamped shut. Those perfect lips, always with a sharp remark ready on them.
She’s silent for so long that he doesn’t think she’s going to give him an answer. But then, against all odds, she speaks.
“I had to. I had to leave it all behind.”
“Did you stop loving me?”
“Peeta, I-” her voice cracks and shatters into a thousand glistening shards. He can’t help but pity her.
“I was married to you for several centuries. Forgive me for thinking I have a right to know why you walked out without warning.” Millennium old anger simmers his stomach, threatening to boil over into his words. He quells it as best as he can but can’t stop it from seeping out, “So, answer me. Did you stop loving me?”
“I- Peeta, you know how I feel about you.”
“Really? Because I don’t think I do anymore.”
Katniss staggers up from her chair and turns away from him. Always turns away from him.
“I should go,” she blurts out.
Peeta tries to respond, but realises he has no more fight left in him. The lingering remnants of his anger have burned to nothing but ashes, crumpled and died. He’s a completely hollow man, his final purpose ripped from his cold body.
“Alright, Katniss.” His voice is tainted with a tiredness that is alien to him.
He thinks for a moment that she will go back on her word when she hesitates. Her gaze haunts him for a few aching seconds longer. But then, in one swift movement, she throws her jacket over her shoulders and, once again, turns her back to him.
He doesn’t have the energy to watch her leave. Not again.
Chapter 2
Summary:
He stands before The Water Lily Pond by Monet. He always adored the Impressionism movement and, though he did not paint much anymore, it had been something he had been drawn to from the moment he heard about it. Perhaps it was the chaos that somehow blended into cohesion that he loved. He used to paint in such a way, before he was cast from Heaven.
Those were the last good days, sat in his gardens, gifted with endless spring, next to his wife while observing miniscule light changes and painting alongside them, so innately entwined with nature. He can never forget the golden light tinting Katniss’s smile into something glorious. No number of worshippers could be enough for such beauty.
Notes:
heyyyy besties, sorry for taking so long to update ahahhaa i've been away and college is kicking my ass
i don't think there are any new tws for this chapter???? feel free to let me know if you spot any though
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There are any number of dingy pubs in York, but no matter which one you wander into, you’ll likely be met by a god.
That is the conclusion Peeta comes to when he stumbles into the King’s Head at one in the morning to be met by the sneering face of Haymitch Abernathy.
“Hey, kid. You look considerably more miserable than usual. I’m guessing you found her?”
Peeta slumps down in the booth opposite him, “You’d think she’d have changed more in two thousand years.” He swipes Haymitch’s beer from him. The pub is completely deserted – upon further inspection, it doesn’t even look open. Haymitch mentioned owning a pub here but Peeta hadn’t thought it’d be this one.
“I don’t need to tell you how stubborn she is.” Haymitch gives him a once over. “You sure you should be drinking more?”
It’s very difficult for Peeta to get drunk with the remnants of his immortality stopping him from being ailed with most moral illnesses, as well two millennia’s worth of experience with alcohol. But that doesn’t change the fact that he feels heavily intoxicated.
“No.” he takes a long swig and hands the glass back.
“I paid good money for that, you know.”
Peeta ignores him.
“You gonna talk about it? I did warn you.”
“What is there to say? I asked her why she left and she ran off again.”
Haymitch waves it off, “You’ve looked for her for this long. It’s only a matter of time before she comes looking for you too.”
Peeta snorts.
“I’m serious. She’s spent years figuring out where you are to determine where to go next. Do you really think those are the actions of someone who doesn’t care?”
“I guess I just don’t know what to think.” Peeta downs the rest of the drink. He glances out the window. February is a bit late for snow. “But she wouldn’t be avoiding me if she wanted to talk to me.” He drops his head onto his forearms. “I guess I’m just stupid. I had some fantasy that I’d run in and she’d fall into my arms. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Give her a while to calm down and then she’ll come looking for you. I can find you a place to live in for a while.”
“I don’t know if I want to stay here, to be honest.”
“Give it a go at least. You never know what could happen, especially when dealing with someone as impulsive as your wife.” Haymitch stands up and makes his way over to the bar.
“Ex-wife.”
“I don’t recall you ever officially getting a divorce.”
“I don’t remember officially having godhood taken from me either.”
Haymitch rolls his eyes, “Self-pity isn't a good look on you. It happened to all of us, plus it was thousands of years ago.” He places two beers on the table. “I’ll show you to your new place once you’re done giving yourself alcohol poisoning.” Peeta snorts.
“Did I take you up on your offer?”
“You didn’t decline it. Here are the keys.”
“How long have you been planning this for?”
Haymitch shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? You’re here now.”
~~~~~~~
The flat is almost as murky as Haymitch’s bar, smeared with a thin layer of grime and dust. However it had a roof, heating and running water, so Peeta wasn’t complaining. He could fix it up in no time should he need to live there long.
He wakes up at around noon with little recollection of how he ended up sprawled across an unmade bed. He wrinkles his brow at the idea of being plagued with something quite so painfully moral as a headache. The pain is good, though, a distraction.
He sets about making breakfast with the meagre supplies in the kitchen – a few eggs, some half stale bread and a box of cereal. He almost decides it’s not worth risking food poisoning, but his wallet is empty and his stomach practically aches. He wonders what Katniss’s living situation is like. Probably not good, considering her occupation, but it must be better than this.
Peeta stands at the window as he eats dry cereal and overcooked eggs, observing midday commuters stumbling onto buses and rather lost looking tourists. A harassed looking young woman pushes a pram with a toddler clinging to her hand. Peeta always wanted children, but never had any. Katniss wasn’t keen on them, and he could never bring himself to touch another woman. That doesn’t stop the pang of loss when the toddler glances up at his window.
He places his glass of water down with a sigh and wonders what to do for the day. He could look for Katniss again, but Haymitch is probably right that she would want nothing to do with him until she sought him out herself. Beyond that, there were any number of things to do in York, yet none of them seemed appealing.
Somehow, he ends up at the York Art Gallery.
He isn’t quite sure why he was drawn there – perhaps because of what Katniss said about her past as an art critic. He wonders if, in some way, they were always drawn to each other. But he also knows that would be considered as wishful thinking, and Katniss would likely scoff at him for suggesting him.
He stands before The Water Lily Pond by Monet. He always adored the Impressionism movement and, though he did not paint much anymore, it had been something he had been drawn to from the moment he heard about it. Perhaps it was the chaos that somehow blended into cohesion that he loved. He used to paint in such a way, before he was cast from Heaven.
Those were the last good days, sat in his gardens, gifted with endless spring, next to his wife while observing miniscule light changes and painting alongside them, so innately entwined with nature. He can never forget the golden light tinting Katniss’s smile into something glorious. No number of worshippers could be enough for such beauty.
He doesn’t want to look at Monet anymore.
He stumbles from the exhibition room into the main hall, littered with intricate marble statues, most of which he’s seen before. He even thinks he recognises one of them as the god of the sea, an old friend of his. It seems like any museum he visits is designed purely to haunt him.
He stares up into the face of Finnick Odair for a long moment. He isn’t sure what has happened to him after all this time. Last he heard of Finnick was during the 1600s when he had reportedly gotten lost as sea. A wry smile twists his lips. That’s laughable. Perhaps he had gone the same way as the other gods - the same way Peeta would go too. The way he had panicked had claimed his wife. Death was an uncommon thing in the newly mortal, but the number of gods disappearing was rapidly increasing. Part of him hoped Finnick was dead. It would be kinder.
The statue is slightly off, the jawline sharper, the cheekbones higher, the eyes less piercing. Finnick used to complain about it relentlessly, to which Katniss would in turn mock him.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” a woman’s voice sounds from behind him.
Peeta jumps and looks around, some part of him already begging to find Katniss. But, of course, he doesn’t. Rather, it is a young woman with long brown hair and a slight Irish accent. Faint crows feet line green eyes, but she doesn't seem old. Rather, they simply give her a timeless quality.
“I suppose so.”
She lifts one corner of her mouth. “You don’t sound entirely convinced.”
“He’s not really my type.”
“I suppose they don’t do him justice. I always thought he would be more… radiant.”
Peeta frowns and doesn’t reply.
“So,” the woman trails on, “what brings the god of springtime to such an overcast city?”
~~~~~~~
Katniss doesn’t quite know what to think. Her husband looks exactly the same as she remembers, stocky and well built, with calloused but oh so gentle hands. He even smelled the same, like a meadow bursting with light and colour and sunlight. That smell had trailed her even into the depths of her dreams. The only real difference were his eyes, which had once been such a bright blue. Now, they were tinged with grey. The same grey hanging over the city. The same grey hanging over her. The grey with which she had used to punish herself, so deep you could feel it seeping into your bones. An invasive, toxic swirling shade.
She could never quite admit how much she missed her husband. She’s lain awake an embarrassing number of times wishing she was cradled by his encompassing warmth, like the gentle breath of May. And here he was, taunting her with his presence. But it was only a matter of time until he figured out who she really was. Perhaps he already had and was waiting for the perfect moment to confront her with her crimes.
But no. This was not a conniving manipulator. This was Peeta – sweet, gentle Peeta, always with a joke on his lips. The same Peeta who was accompanied in her memories by tangled fingers, tender kisses and hair that seemed to be strung from pure sunlight. She was yet to meet anyone – god or mortal – quite so beautiful.
Haymitch sits in the back of the bar during her shift. It’s a sad existence, she observes while polishing a glass, chasing your fears away with drink. The irony is quick to strike her.
Some small part of her wants Peeta to fall through the door again, to beg her to take him back, although she knows he won’t. He’s nearby, she can tell, but not imminent. Not like last night.
She serves people blankly, unable to remember why she chose to work here. Part of her misses the glamour of Paris, but that felt too nice, even without hindsight’s colour. No Hell could be punishment enough, but this bar feels close enough when she is faced with drunk middle aged men each evening.
The worst part of it all is the parasitic loneliness – always has been.
She’s had friends of course, every now and again. But after a while it just got too painful to leave them before they could realise she wasn’t aging. Or, in the worst case, she could be forced to watch them age and die. She couldn’t make that mistake again, not after Madge.
So, she remained solitary with the exception of Haymitch, who she wouldn’t consider to be stellar company anyway. At least he was honest, she supposes.
Most of all, she misses Peeta. His absence is an invitation for guilt, but his presence seemed to carry even more with it yesterday. She can’t complain, though. The guilt is entirely deserved.
Notes:
comments greatly appreciated <3
Chapter 3
Summary:
“How have you managed it?”
“I have to, for Ronan. He’s been grown for a long time now, but he still needs me. I would be lost if I didn’t have someone to live for.”
Lost. That feels more accurate than Peeta ever thought it would. After spending so long with one focus in mind, he doesn’t know what to do with himself now.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Chapter Text
He didn’t see her face when she proposed – if it could be counted as a proposal to begin with.
The lands of the Gods was vast and sprawling, full of fountains and statues and houses covered in vines. He was stood just outside the shade of a tree, the Sun crowning him in the early evening as it rode across the sky. He didn’t hear her as she approached, but he’d found that he’d learned to somehow sense when she was watching him.
“I’d like to marry you.”
The words did not shock him, but he felt his heart flutter in his chest. There was a musical tone to her voice which he carried with him every waking moment and slipped into his dreams; no matter what he did, he knew he would never be able to live without Katniss Everdeen’s presence overlooking him.
He did turn to her then, to find her under the tree, face half obscured by shadow. Even with that, he knew that he would never forget the sight of her, draped in white with an expression slightly too affectionate the be considered impassive.
“Would that even be permitted?”
She took a few steps towards him across the grass. Her hand reaches up to his upper arm, the spot where she touched him set alight.
“I’m sure I could get special permission. My father has wished for me to marry for so long that I’m sure he will be willing to make accommodations, even if you are not entirely of divine blood.”
An ancient sadness ran through his mostly-human veins at that mention; no matter how much time he would have with her, it would never be enough. What would be a lifetime for him would be the blink of an eye for her, and she would move on to find someone else – probably someone born with pure ichor running in their body, someone more worthy of her affections.
“I can hear you overthinking,” she murmurs, forehead pressed against his.
“I just want to spend as much time as I possibly can with you,” he whispers back, and finds the words to be entirely true as soon as they leave his lips.
“Then marry me.”
What else did he possibly have to lose? He had won the heart of a goddess, spent countless nights lying beside her wondering what it would be like to live a life free of death, imagining a world in which they could start a family together, where he was free to love her without conclusion. But that was so far out of reach, so it felt foolish to waste time in a hypothetical when he had the real Katniss beside him. Even if her time with him was short-lived, he wanted to make it count so she would reminisce with fondness.
“Of course I will.”
She smiled properly then, a sight so rare that he folded it away into the corner of his brain so it would never escape him. He didn’t get to relish it for long, though, before her arms were curling themselves around his neck and her head burying into his chest.
This is it, was all he could think, this is why I was born.
~~~~~~~
It has been a long time since he’s seen Annie Cresta, but she carries the same almost unnatural timelessness with her that he saw in Katniss. They are sat at the back of a busy chain coffee shop – Peeta has long since learned that most people don’t care enough to listen to his conversations about Godhood and, if they do, he usually just gets weird looks.
“Well, this certainly seems to be a hotspot for ex-gods.”
“Tell me about it,” Peeta mutters, “I only got here a few days ago, and you’re the third one I’ve run into.”
Annie smiles wryly, “I think the last time so many gods were in the same place was back in 19th century France.”
Peeta shudders, “Glad I wasn’t there.”
“As am I. Thankfully, I managed to avoid that excursion.”
“How many of us are left, then?” He regrets the question mere seconds he asks it considering the way her expression drops into something glassy.
“I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve been out since…” she trails off. Peeta knows not to push it. “But I’ve heard Johanna is kicking about somewhere in Brazil, and I think Beetee has made a name for himself in some university in America. And Ronan is with me.”
Peeta unconsciously smiles at the reminder of Annie’s son – perhaps the only remaining piece of Finnick left.
“I take it you’ve met Katniss already?”
“Met would be a generous description.”
Annie hums and takes a sip from her drink, immediately pulling a face, “Tea used to be so much better.” Peeta doesn’t respond, so she pushes on, “I’ve spoken to her a few times. She’s… not doing well.”
“So I’ve gathered. Though it’d be easier to tell if she actually talked to me.”
“Cut her some slack, she’d had it rough these past few years.”
“And I haven’t?” Peeta demands, before quickly realising just how selfish he sounds. Of course, he cares about Katniss – worry for her has been eating away at him for the past few centuries, but her avoidance has made it difficult to stay patient. “I didn’t mean it like-”
“I know how you meant it.” Annie is far gentler than anyone else Peeta has met. He’s suddenly painfully aware of how crass his complaints must seem to someone who has suffered so much; at least he knows Katniss is alive, at least he has seen her – no matter how painful that may have been. Ranting to Annie, who has lost so much, must hurt her more than she would ever admit.
“I’m sorry for throwing this all at you.”
“It’s alright, Peeta. I understand. These times haven’t been kind on any of us.”
“How have you managed it?”
“I have to, for Ronan. He’s been grown for a long time now, but he still needs me. I would be lost if I didn’t have someone to live for.”
Lost. That feels more accurate than Peeta ever thought it would. After spending so long with one focus in mind, he doesn’t know what to do with himself now.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Give her time. You know better than I that it’s all you can do sometimes.”
“I don’t know if I have much left to give.”
The pity Annie exudes is almost impossible to bear when she says, “What other choice do you have?”
Obviously she’s right. Even if he truly wanted to, Peeta fears that there is no world in which he could give up on Katniss Everdeen. No matter what happens, he knows that he will never be able to regret marrying her, not when she looked at him like that.
“I just miss her.”
“And she misses you, too. She’s loved you for so long that I guarantee you she won’t be able to stay away for long, no matter how stubborn she is.”
“She’s done a pretty damn good job of it so far.”
“She won’t hold up now that she knows you’re in the same area.”
“I hope not,” he mutters, swirling the dregs of his coffee round the bottom of his mug. The taste is flat and bitter, lacking any of the depth the drink had before it was mass-produced. But at least the unpleasant taste serves to remind him that he’s still alive.
“Where are you staying?”
“Haymitch rented me a flat.”
She wrinkles her nose, “I wouldn’t want to live anywhere Haymich owns.”
He grins for the first time in what feels like decades, “Tell me about it. I swear, it’s worse than the underworld in there.”
“Well, you’re always welcome to stay with me and Ronan while you wait for Katniss. We have a house nearby.”
A rush of gratitude fills him, even though he knows he could never burden Annie like that. “Thanks, but it’s fine. I won’t stay too long if Katniss stays adamant that she doesn’t want me in a one-hundred-mile radius of her.”
Annie just looks at him knowingly before standing up, “I’ll prepare a room just in case. I’ve got to head out. Here,” she pulls a pen from her pocket and scrawls something on a napkin, “come round at some point. You can stay for dinner tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“You don’t have to do that for me.”
“You think too highly of me, I have entirely selfish intentions. It’s nice to finally talk to an old friend.”
He finds himself unwittingly smiling back at her, “Thank you.”
Then, before he can process it, she’s out the door of the café, leaving him a familiar gaping hole in his chest and a loneliness which penetrates down to his bones.
Notes:
In the time it has taken me to upload another chapter, I have:
- Finished school
- Applied to university
- Gotten out of a toxic relationship
- Seen countless Shakespeare plays
- Cried more than twice
- Had a child (not really)I would promise to be more consistent in uploading but I'm not sure if I'd stick to that, so just know that the thought is there.
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