A/N: The second installment to the Broken and Burning series.
Gods & Demons
He was a god. A god of fire and burns and hatred. A god that faded to the shadows to let the one he thought he loved shine. A god that knew how to love but couldn't, a god that understood how to fight but wouldn't. He was god that she was forced to watch from afar, forced to admire with silent adoration. He was a god that woke at dawn and fought his memories until dusk, where he could drink and scream and be able to do it all again the next day. He was a god that burned with the fire of a million souls.
She was a demon. A demon of phony and pretty and lies. A demon that stood by and watched him destroy himself with unsaid apologies because one slip up and the entire rebellion is over. She was a demon that could not feel love, a demon that didn't know how to fight. She was demon that he couldn't get close to, a demon he wouldn't allow to burn with him. She was a demon that smiled all day and then stayed up into the wee hours of the night just thinking why, why, why him? She was a demon that had never been burned, but wanted to know how it felt.
When he comes to her in the middle of the day with a crooked smile that doesn't reach his eyes and a soft, sad expression, she understands. Of course she understands. Did she not have the same fight with Haymitch only days ago? She stands and smiles and pulls him into a tight hug. She lets him laugh and breathe and ignore the constant ringing of his cell phone because goddamnit Katniss, take a hint. She kisses him and tells him that everything is alright. That they're alright. She lets him smile and forget the phone. She mends, he mends, and they fix each other.
When he finds her in the middle of the floor, a horrified look on her face and a scatter of familiar white sticks strewn over the floor, he frowns and kneels next to her and let's her cry. He can't seem to process the 'it's not yours' coming from her lips, or the horrified cries of anguish escaping her throat either. She looks at him with I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Peeta, I'm so sorry. He kisses her and hugs her and tell her she's okay, and she knows she's not okay and she sobs. He holds her and tells her that everything will be alright, let's her hear what she needs to hear and tries not to worry about the baby growing inside of her. He heals, she heals, and they fix each other.
"She's beautiful," he rasps, that beautiful day when the cries pierce the surgical room and his child is bought into the world. The nurses pass him the baby, and he gasps. He's not exactly lying, seeing as the child inherited her mother's beautiful looks. She looks at the two of them and sighs gently, her lips curling into a perfect smile. She doesn't say anything about the word father; she doesn't want to ruin the moment.
"She's lucky," she breathes instead. "To have you here." He places the bundle in her arms and she stares at the small slits wear slivers of gray shine through. Mentally, she screams. Blue eyes, why couldn't you have had blue eyes?
"Oh Effie," he replies, tucking sweaty tendrils behind her ear. The nurses come to retrieve the baby – Portia Mellark, respectively – and Effie can hardly contain the emotions that flow freely from her. She has what she's always wanted. A husband, a child… happiness.
"Oh Peeta," she says, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder. "I understand if you don't want to stay."
"Why would I leave? She is just as much my daughter as she is his. If not, more, considering I was there during all of your pregnancy and her birth. I was there to soothe you when you found out you were pregnant and I was there when your water broke. That baby is mine, biological or not. I would never leave you, not for any reason, Effie. I love you, and I love Portia. You two are my everything, and I wouldn't abandon that for the world."
"Peeta-" But she doesn't have time to rebut his words because suddenly they're kissing and everything is perfect. Everything is just as she feels is should be, despite the swap in spouses on everyone's part. When he pulls away and is forced to leave, she wonders about the waiting room, where she knows Katniss is sitting snuggly under Haymitch's arm, awaiting the news of the birth. It's odd, thinking of Haymitch and her sharing a bed and then suddenly not and then suddenly Haymitch being replaced with Peeta. But it's a warm strange, a strange that feels right. Perfect. Right. Whole.
There'll be frustration and night of pain and broken, forgotten memories. But there'll be tendrils of happiness. There'll be Portia's first steps or Peeta's passing episode. There'll Portia's first word or Effie's night without the terrors.
She may be a goddess, and he may be a demon, but in the end they broke from the same glass.
A/N: Okay so I was able to crank this out, yay! Sorry, sorry, moving on.