He must have gone shopping when she and Prim (and Whitley) got quality time, because he announces that he has gifts to wrap and that she is under no circumstances to come into the bedroom without knocking. She takes her present for him out of the guest room where she stashed it and uses the parts of the wrapping paper that she rationed out before she let him go to get them suitably pretty. The fire is starting to get smaller and smaller without Peeta adding more wood to it, and since it's not for heat so much as it is for show, Katniss is fine with letting it go out, she supposes.

Only, she's finished wrapping the gifts well before he seems to be anywhere close to being finished. She sets the boxes out on the mantel – one of them containing seeds for an apple tree that they can plant together, another is a pack of new canvases that she bought for him, in hopes that she can see him work his magic. She also bought him a pretty picture frame, not too unlike the one they sent to her mother, with his favorite picture of the two of them inside of it. Then, last of all, she bought him a new wallet, even though she's not sure he needs it, with a smaller version of that same picture tucked into the plastic window. It's all wrapped up nicely, with meticulous ribbon curls and pretty patterned paper. She knew he would do the same on her gifts and didn't want to be outdone.

And then she's alone for ages, watching the clock. Waiting for him to come back down. She hopes he didn't get more for her than she did for him, but it seems obvious, now, that he would. She's half asleep on the couch when she hears him coming down the stairs, and she doesn't even bother opening her eyes until the couch dips with the weight of him joining her on it. He lifts her feet and puts them in his lap, rubbing at them absently. They haven't really managed to sit like this in a while. She usually wants their faces closer together. But this is nice. Cozy, she thinks.

"It's midnight," he informs her. "Merry Christmas."

"Mm. Merry Christmas," she returns. "Are you finished wrapping? Can we go to bed?"

He gives her a disbelieving laugh. "How can you even think about sleep? Aren't you excited for tomorrow?"

"I am," she says, even though it's half a lie. But tomorrow, they have to go to his parents' house for some big holiday dinner. She's not looking forward to that, but she's excited to give him his gifts. "But right now, I'm mostly sleepy."

"I can't believe this," he says with fake exasperation. "I'm making cinnamon rolls in the morning, Katniss. And if you aren't excited about that – well, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with you."

She can't help herself but to smile. "Cinnamon rolls sound good," she says. "What about hot chocolate? Can we have hot chocolate?"

He stands up instantly, and she sits up, confused.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"To make hot chocolate," he says, as if it's obvious.

"I didn't mean right now," she protests. "You've been busy all night. We can just . . . be together. Spend time together."

"You don't get it," he says. "This is our first Christmas together. Everything that we do tonight – and tomorrow – will be remembered when we tell stories and, better than that, in our traditions. I think hot chocolate at midnight sounds like a great tradition to start off with."

"You're ridiculous," she informs him, and she means to sound frustrated, but she gives away just how endearing she thinks that all of this is with the softness of her voice. "I'll come with you."

"Sounds like an even better tradition," he says, giving her a kiss when she gets up. He puts whipped cream and sprinkles in the cups once the hot chocolate itself is ready, and she raises her eyebrows. Seems like this was a plan of his.

"What kind of traditions do the other Mellarks have for Christmas?" she asks, leaning against the counter, holding her mug with both hands. The cream sticks to her upper lip and she swipes at it with her thumb so she can get it all when she licks it.

"The other Mellarks," he repeats, and then smiles. "Most of our traditions enter around the big dinner tomorrow. My aunts and uncles come, and usually bring gifts for us – socks, mostly – that we open around the table after dinner and act surprised about. When I was growing up, we got to open the presents from our parents and each other in the morning, but then Dylan moved out, and we had to wait for him to come over. By the time Rye moved out, I was waiting until the afternoon, when everyone came over for dinner." In the afternoon? She doesn't want to spend that much time with his family. "We were waiting for fairness' sake, or whatever. Sucked to wait that long when I was young."

"When you were young?" she jokes. "It doesn't seem like you even want to wait until the morning."

"That's because I don't," he says, setting his mug down and wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her in so tightly that the hot chocolate almost spills over onto her hands. "I'm so excited," he says.

There's something about the sincerity that melts her. "I love you," she murmurs, giving him a kiss.

He laughs. "You love me for being excited about Christmas?"

She shrugs. "For being you."

Then she pulls him up the stairs to start yet another Christmas tradition between the two of them.

He's up first. He wakes her with a kiss on the forehead and a gentle shake of her shoulder, and she's pleased to see the way that he's grinning.

"Good morning! Merry Christmas!" he says brightly.

She can't help but to laugh at the eagerness in his voice. It's written all over his face, too. An almost childlike wonder. He's adorable. He's adorable and she loves him so much. "Merry Christmas," she returns with a grin. "Cinnamon rolls?"

He nods, looking very serious for a moment. "I'm going to get started," he decides. "As soon as we brush our teeth. Breakfast first, and then presents."

When he gets out of bed, he kisses her on the forehead. "I'm gonna get started on breakfast," he announces. "You have fifteen minutes."

He stays in his pajamas – or, actually, he puts pajamas on. She's not sure when they're going to have to get dressed, but she's more than to content to spend the morning in one of his shirts. He's fidgety, though, he's so excited. Shifting weight from one foot to the other while they brush their teeth. Casting little looks in her direction, as if he can't believe she's being so patient. Then he kisses her on the top of the head and heads down the stairs, tugging her behind him with a tight grip on her hand.

"Do we have to eat breakfast first?" she asks, her voice close to being a whine.

"Yes. Will you get the orange juice?" he asks, heading towards the kitchen. She runs her tongue over her teeth as she goes, thinking about the mistake she made the day she tried drinking the juice immediately after brushing her teeth and resolves to wait a while longer. She's more than happy to help, though, even though she's tired and strangely jittery this morning.

The bottle catches her eye as soon as she opens the refrigerator door. It's a new one – she was there when they bought it – but Peeta has wrapped a dark green ribbon around the slender neck of the plastic bottle and topped the cap with a matching bow. The kind she's gotten used to using these last couple of weeks. Plastic and glittery, stapled together and attached to a sticker. She laughs, but it comes out choked.

"Sorry," he says. "I wasn't trying to – I was trying to make a joke. Or, well. Not a joke. That sounds like I was making fun of it. I just mean that . . . since you mentioned an orange at new years' when we were talking . . ."

She takes the bottle out of the refrigerator and turns to face him. He looks so genuinely concerned that tears sting at her eyes. "And I told you about the difference," she says, setting the juice down on the counter, "between an orange as a special treat and a husband who will give me orange juice just to make me smile," she says. "I remember." And that's why she's crying. Because she remembers when a bottle of orange juice would be an unthinkable luxury.

"It's not really your Christmas present," he says, sounding for all the world like he's trying to assure her. Like she would believe for even a second that after the big deal he always makes about spoiling her, he would give her orange juice for Christmas. She throws her arms around his shoulders, hugging him so tightly that it hurts.

"I know," she says.

"I hope you don't think I'm making fun," he continues, wrapping his arms around her and holding her closely. "It's just – like an inside joke, I guess. A reference. And I thought it might be a fun way to kick off the gift-giving. So. I hope that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," Katniss says, and then sort of laughs. "When have I ever complained about orange juice?"

They decide to wait until tonight to exchange presents. Part of it, she thinks, is his eagerness to draw the day out. But the other part is probably because he knows that she'll want something to look forward to during dinner with his family. He's explained that it might be awkward. That it's sort of a big deal with his family, everyone being there. But that they can leave, of course, if she's uncomfortable.

She agreed to go, though. Even if she does regret that now.

She wears a thick brown sweater he bought her and a pair of fancy jeans with no tears or patches. Peeta's button-down shirt is a deep red color that he claims is seasonal, and he gives her a kiss.

"You look lovely," he says. She put her hair up with the pins from Prim – or maybe they're from her mother. She hasn't quite figured that out.

"Thank you," she says, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"Now who's nervous?" he teases. "You'll be fine. Great, even. They're going to love you."

"Cause your mother does."

He frowns. "She's in the minority."

She sees flaws in his reasoning. Thinks that maybe he's being too optimistic because she knows from stories he's told that his mother is like her family. But he must know better, since she hasn't met anyone, really. So she just smiles and says that she hopes so.

"Hey! What did she think of the –"

"Can it, Rye," Peeta says, interrupting his brother before he can get much further into the sentence. "We haven't exchanged gifts yet."

"With how antsy you've been about Christmas?" Scarlett asks. She's wearing a pretty green dress, and though it's not as cold outside as it once got in Twelve around this time of year, Katniss still can't imagine wanting to walk around outside in it, stockings not mattering much. "I'm impressed."

"I think he's bribing me," Katniss says. Peeta laughs.

"I'm not that devious," he assures her. "But . . . you know. Now is the time to start traditions. It's exciting."

"It is exciting," Katniss agrees with a little sigh, resting her head against his chest.

Their moment of calm is interrupted all too quickly. Peeta's aunt – Effie, the one who ordered a cake in the bakery and talked about Katniss like she wasn't there – comes over and reprimands them for not being social.

After that, Katniss and Peeta are thrust from relative to relative, making polite small talk and answering questions about how things have been since Katniss arrived. She laughs and shakes hands and feels like she's been put on display, but the one thing she never does is let go of Peeta's hand. She can't. He must understand that, because he laces their fingers together and kisses her knuckle when they get a moment's reprieve.

"It's just the novelty of it," he assures her. "They'll get sick of us when they get to gossiping."

She laughs. Astrid and Dylan arrive and give Katniss and Peeta both huge hugs. The smell of Astrid's perfume is cloying and about as sickly sweet as it is when she pats Katniss' cheek and says that she's adorable.

"And she's finally filling out!" she adds, addressing Peeta. "Poor thing looked sickly when she got here. But I suppose that's what life in Twelve will do to you."

Peeta bristles. "Astrid," he says, voice low in warning. But then she gets distracted, going over to talk to another relative, and Dylan chases after her with an apologetic glance tossed their way.

"You didn't look sickly," Peeta says. "Astrid just has no idea how to talk to another human being without coming across as offensive. What she means, I'm sure, is that you look gorgeous. And that you always do."

She laughs. "Yeah. I'm just barely okay with that coming from you. Let's not pretend that I'm getting it from your sister in law, too."

"I think she's technically your sister in law, just as much as she is mine," he says. "But I know what you're saying."

As Peeta predicted, they're given socks. Katniss' socks, though, are fuzzy and remarkably soft. They're so cozy that she half wants to slip them on right now.

"I didn't know what to get for the newest Mrs. Mellark," one of the older cousins says. "But then I remembered that they don't really have nice things where she's from. So then it was almost too easy, and I couldn't narrow it down."

Katniss' fist tightens around the sock. Probably mostly because the woman isn't wrong. She never would have had new socks in twelve. Not like this. And yet it's hard to hear.

"Thank you," she says, forcing herself to smile for Peeta's sake. "These are nice. They look warm."

An older woman – Peeta's grandmother, she thinks – holds her hand to her heart. "Oh. Of course they're warm, sweetheart. Poor thing probably isn't used to that."

Peeta's hand finds hers under table and he grips it tightly. As if he wants to make sure she'll come with him if he gets up.

"Being warm?" Katniss asks.

"Nice things," the woman says with a little nod. "I mean, we all know that Peeta tries, but . . . well, he just can't swing it, can he?"

"I've been completely spoiled since I've been here," Katniss says. "Peeta has been more than generous."

"Oh, I'm sure he has," Mrs. Mellark says. "Taking you in and blowing his money on that new house of yours."

She looks to him for help, but the muscles in his jaw are clenched.

"But I'm sure with how . . . sentimental . . . Peeta always has been, he's found ways to satisfy his urge to find you gifts."

"Sentimental?" She thinks of how he thought that he would be laughed at for having the box full of children's stuff. She doesn't realize that she's said the word out loud until some of the women erupt in fits of giggles.

Mrs. Mellark looks upset, though. "I used to say he was a girl, he was so tenderhearted," she says. "And then he started growing his hair out and – well. I'm sure you've noticed similar things."

"That isn't very nice," Katniss says, not sure where this boldness has come from. Peeta just stares at her, eyes wide. "Peeta is the kindest man I've ever met. I'm very happy with him. I think I told you that when you came to our house."

"Katniss," he says quietly. "It's okay. It isn't worth it You can . . . you don't have to do this."

Her mouth opens and closes. Half of her wants to tear into his mother for turning Peeta's positive qualities into negative ones, somehow, and the other one wants to tell Peeta that he's worth it.

"Does he have her in line?" Mrs. Mellark asks. "Color me impressed. I didn't think that he would be able to tame such a–"

"That's enough," Peeta says suddenly. "I don't even want to know how you were going to finish that sentence. Can we talk about something a little bit lighter, please?"

It's quiet for a long moment. And then, finally, Rye clears his throat.

"Scarlett is pregnant," he announces.

Forks drop against plates. Jaws drop. Katniss blinks in surprise.

"Guys!" Peeta says. "Wow. That's – that's incredible!"

"Congratulations!" Katniss says, looking at Scarlett, who is staring down at the table shyly. The rest of the dinner is – mercifully – about Rye and Scarlett. Their plans for a baby's room. How long they've known. What names they like. Peeta rubs the back of her hand with his thumb distractedly while they listen to the baby talk, and she wonders if he's thinking about the time when this will be them, too.

She's surprised, but mostly at the fact that it's a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach when she thinks about their someday-children, now. Not cold dread, like it was when she had that dream. She almost wishes she could have that dream again. That she could see that scene now that she knows how to appreciate the thought of Peeta with a child.

"You okay?" he asks gently. "You look sort of . . . out of it."

"Just thinking," she admits, and leaves it at that, because Rye is telling the story about the doctor's visit where they found out, and she can tell just how badly Peeta wants to listen.

"Do you remember when I panicked?" she asks when they finally get in the car. "I . . . I shut down. And I thought that you wanted more from me than you were asking for?"

He nods, looking concerned. "Yes. Why?"

"I . . . had a dream."

He nods.

"You were holding a baby. My baby. Well . . . our baby," she admits. Then she tells him about the dream - she's surprised at how many details she remembers. "She was laughing - you made her laugh, I guess. But I'm not sure how. And then you were just - you were staring at her. Like she was just the most magnificent creature you'd ever laid eyes on . . ."

"What did she look like?" Peeta asks.

"I don't know," she says. "She had dark hair and you had her wrapped up in this pink blanket. She was facing you - and I was mostly focused on you, anyway."

He nods, as if taking this in.

"The dream wasn't very long. You just . . . you were looking at her, like I said. Like - like you look at me, sometimes. And you said she was beautiful."

"And you had an anxiety attack," he finishes.

"That's not - um, I mean . . ." she clears her throat. "It's not like that anymore. I kind of wish I could have that dream again now. Like . . . I've earned it, now."

She kisses him over the center console.

"What's that for?" he asks.

She shrugs. "I don't know. Just felt like it."

This makes him laugh. "Well, I won't complain about that."

They open their gifts as soon as they get home. Actually, Peeta insists that he should start a fire first and she doesn't protest. But then she presses a gift into his hands as soon as he rests back on his elbows and she can't help herself but to smile when he hurries to sit up.

"For me?" he asks, his fingernail already dipping under the seam of the paper, where she taped it together. "You did a great job wrapping it."

"Thanks," she says. The anticipation builds for both of them as he opens it carefully, and she tries to resist the urge to tear the paper for him. It's the pack of seeds, first. And he laughs, but he sounds more delighted than anything, so she knows that he isn't making fun of her.

"For our apple tree?" he asks. "This is really sweet."

"You like it?" she asks.

"I love it," he says. "Much better than orange juice."

She sort of laughs.

"You next!" he says, pulling a gift out of the pile. It's wrapped in red paper with lots and lots of green ribbon, and she doesn't feel quite right opening it. "It's just paper," he says, as if he didn't just save the paper from her gift. "Open it."

She tears the paper, pulling it back to reveal pretty stationary and new pencils. "For my letters?" she asks.

He nods.

"Thank you," she says. The paper is patterned with pretty wildflowers and she smiles.

They exchange gifts back and forth. She's glad that she didn't have him open the wallet first. Because he loves the gift so much that it seems like the best way to end their little session.

And then he presses a little wrapped box into her hand. She didn't notice it earlier – has it been in his pocket all day?

"Here," he says. "One last gift."

It isn't fair, exactly. She's had a good few more presents than he had already. But she can't turn it down, exactly. So she opens it, and her breath hitches when she opens the little black box and sees the rings nestled inside of it.

She looks up at him for explanation, and he looks sort of sheepish. "It's – they're wedding rings," he says. "To make things more . . . official?"

The ring is dainty. Delicate and modest, and yet still beautiful. "Peeta," she breathes.

"It's silly," he says. "I know we're married – literally and in just about every sense of the word. But I wanted to get you something nice. And it's probably cheating to get one for myself. But . . . it seemed kind of fitting. Since it's not an engagement ring, exactly."

"Thank you," she says, kissing him and hoping that it'll be enough to ease his nerves. "It's perfect."

She slides the ring onto his finger. Maybe she should say something. But no words come out and she feels ridiculously choked up at the gentleness he uses to put her ring onto her finger. "I love you," she murmurs.

"I love you, too," he says. "Sorry everything is so out of order."

She laughs. They end up watching the fire and sitting together under a blanket – one of her gifts, technically. This one is for both of them, too, and Peeta apologizes, but she thinks it's funny.

"So, Katniss," Peeta says, looking out at the dying fire. "Did you get everything you wanted for Christmas?"

His voice is soft. Hopeful and gentle. Practically everything she's come to associate with Peeta. "Actually, no," she admits, toying with the ring on her finger. She has a feeling that this will turn into a bad habit.

He looks completely heartbroken, and she wishes that she could take the words back. "I'm sorry. I looked into pricing tickets, after Prim left. It just – with everything going on . . . I didn't think we could pull it off on such short notice. But –"

"Peeta," she says, cutting him off with a hand wrapped around his wrist. "Stop. It was silly."

He gives her a weak smile. "You were kidding."

"Not . . . not exactly," she says. "There is something. But it's not like you could have wrapped it."

This gets his interest. "What?" he asks.

In answer, she winds her arms around his neck and pulls him down onto the floor with her. "This," she whispers, pressing her lips against his.

Notes:

I'll see you all at the epilogue, I suppose. But I do want to take this time to thank everyone who has been so lovely, as far as encouraging me to write this story goes. To my beta and prereaders, Gentlemama and Modernlifeofash, Swishywillow, Icbiwf, Greenwool, and everyone else that I shoved paragraphs at for confirmation that I wasn't ruining this whole story. To all of the reviewers and all of the readers. And everyone who sent me kind messages on Tumblr, left kudos, or followed this story.

I am not at all finished with this version of Everlark. There are a few other projects calling my name right now, but I can assure that there are a couple of oneshots coming down. There are quite a few oneshots in my mind for this universe.

Thank you all again. 3