A/N: edited 15/01/15
This used to be one chapter of 16k + words, so I've split it into two chapters :) The tense change in the flashbacks is intentional.
Chapter 37: Countdown
Katniss
In the weeks leading up to the Baby Games exam, Peeta and I revise everything we've learnt in the past few months. Effie organises a 'celebration of student progress', which involves standing in the hall for an hour as she rattles on about how impressed she is with our work, enthusiasm, and overall 'zest'. Haymitch, not unlike the majority of the students, looks bored out of his mind, rolling his eyes at almost every word Effie says in her strained Capitol accent. She claps her hands excitedly at the prospect of having 'shining' students leave this school come summertime, and, in the future, the children we may have with whoever we may fall in love with.
I don't miss the smirk Haymitch gives Peeta and me. Or the pointed look we receive from Effie as she puts extra emphasis on the word future. Peeta nudges me playfully, and I shake my head, laughing softly. It's all very sappy, as if anyone in this district is ever going to leave this district and find love with someone outside the fence. Nobody leaves District 12. If you've been born here, you'll sure as damn die here, like the countless generations before you.
I go to help the Mellarks in the bakery on a few days of the week in an attempt to keep myself busy, and to keep my mind away from things like an uprising, the whereabouts of the Hawthornes and the impending due date of the baby. Mr Mellark is just as bad as my husband. Peeta refuses to let my carry heavy things or do strenuous work, despite my insisting that I can do it, that I'm not made of glass, that 'the baby will be okay, Peeta, for goodness sake'. Mr Mellark says that if there's a sack of flour or grain that needs to be brought up from the cellar or if there's something I can't reach, carry or do, I should ask Peeta, Fen, Rye or himself.
Of course, I refuse to listen to either one of them.
"No, no. Like this," Rye says for the tenth time, taking the rolling pin out of my hands and putting it aside. "You've got to put an equal amount of pressure onto the pin to get the dough to the same thickness all the way through."
"Why can't I just roll it out and then squish the bigger bits?" I ask, fed up with the whole process. I just want to make some cookies, not mess around with making sure they're perfect.
"Because that isn't how you bake," he laughs, taking the dough and tossing it into the bin.
"Hey! No! Why'd you throw it away?"
"It's been overworked now. It won't bake, and we can't sell it."
"But it's such a waste." I say, looking longingly at the swinging bin lid.
"Katniss, it's okay."
"It's not though, is it? I say, sticking my bottom lip out, emotion building in my chest.
"I hope that kid has the baking ability of his father and not you. Peeta would be devastated," Rye jokes with a shake of his head, pulling jars from the shelves lining the walls and scooping flour from the sack against the wall onto the work surface, mixing the various ingredients together to make a fresh batch of dough. I stand there, watching him work without having to measure or refer to recipe book, remembering everything from memory, and suddenly burst into tears. Rye's laughter is cut off as he looks at me in surprise.
"Oh, shit," he breathes, staring at me in surprise. "Hey, Katniss, I was kidding. I didn't mean it."
"I- I know," I choke, wiping at my eyes, unable to control myself.
"I'm sure the kid will be good at baking. You're good at baking... you just need practice," he amends, wiping his hands on his apron and patting me awkwardly on the shoulder.
"I'm not crying b-because of what y-you said-"
"Then why the hell are you upset?"
"I d-don't know!" I sob, slumping into a stool. Rye flounders momentarily before running out of the room, calling Peeta's name.
"Peeta! Katniss is crying!" he yells. I'd laugh at the whole situation if I wasn't so overcome with emotion. Peeta returns with Rye seconds later, punching his brother on the shoulder and demanding to know what he did to make me cry. "She just started sobbing! I don't know what happened!" he cries, looking at me like I've grown another head.
"It's okay," I say, shaking my head, wiping furiously at my eyes. Peeta comes up to me and frowns.
"What's wrong?" he asks, placing his hands on my shoulders and squeezing them.
"I don't know. I was t-trying to roll out the c-cookie dough... and Rye w-was talking about t-the baby and I just burst into t-tears!" I confess, bewildered at my reaction. Peeta is trying to keep the smile off his face, but he eventually gives in and starts laughing. I shove his chest and try to turn away but he pulls me back to him, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
"Sorry for laughing, but this is quite funny, you have to admit."
"I don't k-know why I cried."
"Neither do I," he chuckles. I rest my head against his chest and take a few deep breaths, wiping at my eyes and calming my fitful breathing.
Rye says sorry again from where he's standing by the counter, obviously feeling like a third wheel.
"You didn't do anything. I'm just an emotional mess right now," I tell him, letting out a breath. He just raises his eyebrows and turns back to baking, muttering about hormones. Peeta cradles my jaw lovingly, pressing soft kisses on the tip of my nose, on my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks, and finally my mouth.
It's a warm summer day when the sleek, silent train of supplies arrives in District 12. Peeta and I walk to the bakery hand in hand, savouring the precious moments when the sun is shining, the sky is blue, and everything seems almost perfect. Daffodils have started to flower between the grass, and the florist has reopened with a wide variety of brightly coloured flowers. Peeta bought me a bouquet of wild flowers. The gesture was so sweet –something I never thought would happen to me- I launched myself onto him and kissed him until he was gasping for breath. They're now sitting in a jug of water on the kitchen table.
The Mellark boys head off to the train station with a cart to collect sacks of grain, flour, and various other ingredients that have been shipped in from the Capitol. Mr Mellark only opens the shop for an hour or two on delivery days, and leaves his wife and daughter-in-law in charge.
"I don't trust you in the kitchen," Mrs Mellark sniffs, pursing her lips. "And I'm sceptical about you being in charge of the cash register, but it'll have to do." I have nothing to say to this and simply nod, turning to man the shop. It doesn't go well. I become flustered and confused with who wants raisin bread- an old woman with grey, thinning hair, or the bearded young man with striking green eyes.
"Raisin bread for the little lady, sugar cakes for me," the green-eyed man smiles, stepping closer, noticing my inner panic.
"Oh, thank you," I smile, nodding gratefully and bagging the separate orders, handing them over. I turn back and find the green-eyed man still standing there. "Can I help you?" I ask, frowning slightly.
"You're a little young to be pregnant and married, don't you think?" he asks with a smirk. He's handsome, and he knows it, from his chiselled jaw, bronzed hair, and tan skin. In fact, he looks like no one I've ever seen before in Twelve. He's too tanned, too healthy-looking. He looks exotic.
"I like to keep things fresh," I scowl. I notice a strange band around his wrist, and watch the light reflect off its shiny surface. He clears his throat and I look up. He's caught me staring.
"I can see that," he says with a small smile on his lips, tucking the package of sugar cakes under his arm. "It was lovely talking to you, Mrs Mellark. See you around."
And with that, he departs, leaving me to stare after him.
How did he know my name? I didn't tell him my name.
Peeta's mother hovers at the door leading to the kitchen as I serve customers once she's finished baking whatever she needs to bake. I can feel her eyes watching my hands, especially when I work the cash register. "Why don't you trust me?" I finally ask, turning to face her. She frowns, folding her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture. "You've been watching me like a hawk all day. I'm not going to steal from you if that's what you're worried about."
"I'm just making sure you can handle the orders," she replies, her eyes cold.
"I've been alright for all this time… I think I can manage." I raise my eyebrows in the motion for her to leave. To stop watching me. But she just stands there, refusing the move. Letting out a sigh, I return to working, wiping the surface of the countertop with a damp rag, though Mrs Mellark remains in the doorway.
"I don't mean to be rude," I snap. "But could you please tell me what your problem is?"
"My problem?" she asks incredulously.
"Yes, your problem. Because no matter what I do you see to have an issue with it. I didn't intend to become pregnant. Or married. But I'm happy now," I pause and let out a breath. "I'm sorry for messing anything up. But I'm trying my best to make everything right."
"That doesn't matter now. It's a little too late, don't you think?"
"I- I'm sorry." I say quietly.
"I don't want your apologies," she sniffs, stepping forward and straightening a series of jars along the edge of the counter. "I want you to stop assuming that everything is going to be alright."
"When did I ever say that I thought everything would be alright?"
"You're thinking it. I can tell."
"So now you read minds?"
"You're a naïve, foolish, waste of space. Peeta was going to marry a charming young woman with a respectable family. He had his whole life set out for him. Farrell was leaving the bakery to him. He'd have children of noble blood," Aymee Mellark's cheek turn red as she gets madder and madder.
"Who says that he has to do what you want him to do? It's his life. Not yours!"
"How dare you say that to me?!" she hisses, stepping closer to me, pointing a polished finger into my face. "Acting as if you have a single clue about what it's like to be a mother!"
"I'm going to be a mother in less than two weeks!" I cry, bringing my hand down on the countertop.
"And you're unprepared! Unfit to raise a child. Especially a child like yours!"
"My baby is a Mellark, whether you like it or not," I snap, determined not to let her get the better of me. All she really wants is a reaction out of me because I'm an equal opponent. "And you're not going to be a bitch around our child.
"I am not a bitch."
"You're a cold, soulless person who treats her sons like shit," a vein in her forehead is sticking out. She opens her mouth to speak but I cut her off before she has the chance. "And just because you know you were a second choice," I say, my voice cold and stony. "It doesn't mean you can treat anyone else differently-!"
My words are cut off when Mrs Mellark brings her hand and slaps me as hard as she can. I stagger slightly with the force, and grasp my stinging cheek, my mouth falling open. It's at this precise moment that Mr Mellark and his sons come through the door, large sacks of grain and flour over their shoulders.
"Mom!" Peeta shouts, his eyes wide.
"Aymee!" Mr Mellark yells at the same time. I glance at Peeta, watching him dump the sack he's carrying to come over to us, and turn back to slap my mother-in-law before he can stop me. He dashes forward before either of us can make another move, gripping my arms and pinning them to my sides, preventing me from moving even as fight against him.
"You little bitch!" his mother screeches, her eyes wide. I think she's mainly in shock, that she didn't think I'd actually have the guts to slap her back, but she recovers quickly, her lips curling into snarl. "How dare you slap me?! That child of yours is a bastard. An inbred bastard that has no place in this world. They'll get nowhere with you as their mother!"
I think it's fair to say that is that moment when I lose my shit.
Peeta holds me back, lifting me off the ground and carting me off, further away from his mother as we scream at each other. Mrs Mellark has stormed out of the room, followed by her husband, before I feel hot tears burning against my cheeks. I yank my arms away from Peeta, wiping furiously at my cheeks, ashamed that I've been overtaken emotionally but the woman who seems to only want to make me feel worthless.
I was wrong to bring up her lost love with Peeta's father. It's a tricky subject that brings unnecessary pain, but I'm so, so angry. She was insulting me. My child. Her own son. The room is silent, and it's my laboured breathing that breaks the silence. I can hear Mr Mellark talking hurriedly to his wife in hushed tones in the kitchen, and Peeta flinches behind me at the sound of a something smashing.
"Kat..." he whispers, and I immediately wish for the ground to just swallow me up. I can't believe I just did that.
"I'm sorry." I reply, my cheeks burning.
"Are you okay?" he asks, trying to turn me around. Fen and Rye excuse themselves, carting the bags of flour over their shoulders.
"Peeta, I didn't mean for this to happen. She just rubs me the wrong way... and I got so angry!"
"Katniss, it's okay."
"It isn't! I'm a mess! She's right! I can't be a mother. This child is going to hate me." Peeta turns me around and shakes my shoulders, his eyes sad.
"Stop it, okay? Just stop doing this, every damn day!"
"What am I doing?"
"Acting like you can't do anything. That you won't be a good mother!"
"But it's true."
"It isn't. I'm freaking out. You're freaking out. Everyone's freaking out," he bites his lip. "And it doesn't help when you go into self-destruct mode and try to convince yourself that you're worthless. Sure, you shouldn't have slapped Mom. But she slapped you first. And so what if we don't raise our child the way that seems sensible? This baby is ours. No one else's. Ours," he pauses, inhaling deeply and tilting my chin back to force me to look at him. "You hear me? I'm sick of this."
"I didn't know you felt this way." I mumble, shocked at his reaction.
"Well, you know now. Every single fucking day I look at you and think about what an amazing woman you are. That you're sixteen, but have still managed to go through your father's death, living in the Seam, and looking after your family for all these years. Every time I saw you I would see how you put everyone first, ignoring yourself. And that makes me sure that you'll put the baby first, Katniss. Please believe in yourself."
It's quiet for a long time. I look away, focusing on the clock on the wall on the other side of the shop. I think about what Peeta has said. I think back to my earliest memories of seeing the blonde-haired, blue-eyed baker's son. Unlike Peeta's first sighting of me at the school gates, the first time I saw him was when I was three or four.
Lowell and Dahlia Everdeen tried to stay in the Seam as much as possible, their scandalous marriage still hot news in the Merchant Quarters. Lowell takes Katniss to the Hob sometimes, and he visits all of the stalls to try and find what he needs. Dahlia goes there to find cloth to make dresses and to patch up the elbows and knees of her husband's pants and shirts because he wears them out too fast. Katniss likes going to the Hob with Papa the best. He lets her ride on his shoulders, which means she can see above everybody's heads and pretend that she's a giant.
It's a beautifully warm day, with endless blue sky above, and endless green grass below. Mrs Everdeen sits inside, the door propped open to let the summer breeze circulate through the house, darning yet another of her husband's shirts, her hair drawn up from around her head into a tight bun. She puts the needle and thread down, rubbing her eyes, the fiddly work tiring her eyes. Standing from the chair, she pours herself a drink of mint leaf and strawberry tea, condensation forming on the glass from the cold liquid inside.
Katniss sits outside, her dark hair in two braids coiled on either side of her head, tied up with green ribbons –because pink ribbons are silly and green is a better colour- with a straw hat placed firmly on top. Katniss hates hats. 'But I can't see the sky! Or the birds! I have to tilt my head right back to see!' she would grumble, throwing the hat down onto the grass.
'You'll get a headache if you don't wear your hat, Kitty. And then Papa won't take you out.' Dahlia had replied, a smug smile working its way onto her lips when her daughter hurried to reclaim the hat. Currently, Katniss is picking every single daisy she can find and making them into a daisy chain, claiming that it's going to be the longest chain in Panem. It's already double the height of her, and she has laid it out over the ground behind her so it doesn't get tangled. Her skinny legs are spread out in front of her, peeking out from her dress. Dahlia is so preoccupied with watching her daughter that she doesn't hear the front door creak open, the footsteps moving closer and closer to her over the dusty floorboards, and she lets out a surprised gasp when Lowell comes up behind her, whispering 'isn't she wonderful?' into her ear.
"Low, you idiot!" she says, motioning to the front of her dress, which is now soaked with mint and strawberry tea. He just chuckles, putting the box containing traded items from the Hob onto the table and kissing his wife. Tiny pecks of the lips all over her face, down her arm, and a long kiss on her knuckles.
"But she is, isn't she?" he says, grey eyes flickering to the right to see Katniss in the yard. Dahlia nods.
"She's amazing. Stubborn, but amazing. She made that daisy chain all by herself."
"Really?" he asks, his hands sliding down Dahlia's back, settling on her hips.
"Yes, really."
"She looks pretty distracted..." he smirks, his hair falling into his face as he leans in to kiss Dahlia on the lips, backing her against the cabinets of their tiny Seam kitchen.
"Lowell... what if she... what if Kitty comes in?" Dahlia gasps between kisses, though her hands are already winding their way through his hair, and under his shirt, nails scraping against his tanned washboard stomach.
"She won't," he assures her, undoing the top buttons of her dress. "Let me help you out of those wet clothes." Dahlia blushes, kissing her husband and letting him undo the front of her dress, exposing her bare chest.
"It's too hot," she explains when Lowell raises his eyebrows, fully expecting at least a bra below the soft, worn material of his wife's dress. Dahlia is halfway up the side of the cabinet, one leg around Lowell's hips, her dress slipping down her arms, with her hand down his pants, when the screen door slams shut.
"Mama?" Katniss' high voice rings out. Dahlia freezes, removing her hand from Lowell's underwear, buttoning her dress, as Lowell hastily zips up his pants. Katniss enters the room and stares at her parents. "What are you doing?"
"I was just helping Mama with her dress. She spilt some tea," her father lies, the words rolling easily off his tongue. Dahlia smiles sweetly, noticing the downstairs situation her husband is trying to hide, and steps forward to convince Katniss to show her the daisy chain.
"Why you all red?" she asks as she's lead back into the yard. Dahlia glares at Lowell over her daughter's head. He winks, before disappearing into the bathroom.
"It's a very hot day," she says. "That's why I had a drink. Papa made me jump, and I spilt it."
"Silly Mama." Katniss giggles, her eyes bright, her skirts swishing as she jumps down from the porch and onto the grass.
"Yes, silly Mama." Dahlia agrees, running after her daughter and tickling her, rolling about in the grass.
"Kitty, do you want to come to town with me?" Lowell asks some time later, stepping into the yard, swinging Katniss into his arms. Dahlia straightens up from tending to her Primrose flowers, the bright yellow and pink flowers growing in organized chaos around the edge of the yard, by the painted fences, and gives him a pointed look. Katniss nods excitedly.
"Yes please!" she cries, the prospect of going through the cobbled streets of the Merchant Quarter sounding like too much of an adventure to pass up on.
"Make sure you wear your hat at all times!" Dahlia says, picking up the hat in question from the ground and putting it onto Katniss' head. The little girl frowns, sticking out her bottom lip. "And be back for dinner. I'm making casserole."
"We'll back with plenty of time to spare, don't you worry," Lowell says, putting his daughter down. "Run and put your boots on, Kitty." Katniss disappears over the grass, singing joyfully, and Dahlia waits until the screen door has closed before turning to her husband and backhanding his arm.
"Low!" she hisses, eyes wide, lips set in a line.
"What?" he laughs, eyes twinkling. She melts a little, his good looks and charming personality one of the first things that drew her to the coal miner.
"You know what," she whispers once she's collected her thoughts. "I told you we shouldn't. That Kitty would walk in. And what does she do? She walks in on us!"
"She's four, Lia! Do you honestly think she's gonna walk in a say 'eww, gross, you're making out'?"
"Obviously she isn't going to say that, since it was much more than 'making out', you immature, teenage boy," she scolds, shoving him again. He just laughs louder, following her into the house, grabbing her elbow to pull her to him before she can sit down again.
"Hey, look. I'm sorry. I didn't know she was going to come in," he says softly, tucking a loose strand of golden hair back into the bun atop Dahlia's head.
"Damn right."
"But she's not gonna say anything. She's smart, but she's young," Lowell smiles, and Dahlia looks up at him, biting her lip to stop herself from grinning back at him. "And don't say you didn't enjoy it," he adds, whispering into her ear.
"Shut up," she smirks. Katniss enters the room, shoes in hand, and sits on a stool as her parents help to tie the laces. Shoes tied, hat on head, daisy chain in hand, she dances out of the room. Lowell kisses Dahlia once more.
"Let's see who's immature when we finish what I started," he breathes, his voice low and husky, before ducking out of the room. Dahlia grips the chair and sighs. (Primrose is born nine months later).
Meanwhile, Lowell has thrown Katniss onto his shoulders, and holds onto her small feet as he strides down the dusty track on long, lean legs. Katniss arranges the daisy crown onto her father's head, and holds on tight as they get closer to town.
"Why we going to town?" she asks, watching a group of older boys kick a ball about further down the street.
"Tomorrow is Mama and mine's wedding anniversary," he explains. "I want to buy some flowers for her."
"What's an anni- anni-"
"Anniversary?" he asks. Katniss nods though her father can't see her do it. "An anniversary is like... a birthday. You know that you celebrate your birthday every year?"
"I had cake!" Katniss exclaims, wiggling around on his shoulders.
"So you did," her father chuckles, waving to Duke Hawthorne and his son, who's two years older than Katniss. "Well, an anniversary is like a birthday for when you get married. You celebrate getting married."
"How long... how long you and Mama been... married?" Katniss asks, struggling with the new words.
"Three years, Kitty."
"Free?" Katniss asks in surprise. "But dat's forever!"
"I hope we're married forever, Kitty. Three years isn't that long."
"It is!"
"No it isn't, silly."
"It is!" Katniss exclaims, kicking her legs about. Lowell just smiles to himself. When they reach the Merchant Quarters, she looks around with wide eyes, ducking under the brightly coloured paper banners that are strung across the streets, in awe at all the shops and all the people and all the noise. Lowell works his way across the square, a head above many of the people, and lifts Katniss down once they reach the florist's shop at the corner. She immediately head for the flowers on display, touching the petals of the colourful plants and smelling them.
"What do you think Mama would like to have?" Lowell asks, crouching down to her height.
"Mama likes pwimroses."
"She does, doesn't she?" he nods, standing up again. He lets Katniss choose which of the primroses on display to buy, and adds clusters of tiny white flowers and green foliage will make it look better fuller. The florist lets Katniss sit on the counter as she ties up the flowers and arranges them, scrunching up some pale blue paper around the bouquet.
"Thank you, they're lovely," Lowell thanks the florist once she's finished tying a ribbon around the bouquet, and gives it to Katniss for her to hold while he pays for the flowers.
"For Dahlia?" The florist asks, ringing up the total.
"Yes," he says, digging into the pouch on his hip and producing a handful of golden coins. "It's our anniversary tomorrow."
"Three years, am I right?"
"Correct."
"Well, congratulations. I hope you have a lovely day," she smiles, and Lowell can't explain how a Merchant's acceptance makes him feel. She glances at Katniss, who is eyeing a jar of red and yellow candy with wide eyes. With a kindly smile, the woman pushes the jar closer. "Take a few my dear."
"Really?" Katniss asks, her mouth dropping open.
"Go ahead."
"Thank you!" she gasps, unfamiliar with being offered treats. She digs her hand into the jar and pulls out four of the plastic-wrapped candies. Lowell thanks the florist as well, and lifts Katniss into his arms, taking the bouquet of flowers so that his daughter can eat two of the treats. "One for you Papa," she says, unwrapping one of the candies and offering out a sticky hand.
"No, no. You have it," he shakes his head. Katniss shrugs and pops the candy into her mouth, humming contently as she chews, keeping the other candy in the breast pocket of her dress to give to her mother when they get home. She squirms about in her father's arms until he lets her down, but she has to hold his hand as to not get lost in the bustling summer crowds. They pass the bakery, and as they turn up onto the road that will lead to the Seam, Lowell bumps into a small boy.
"Sorry, sir," the boy says, his eyes shockingly blue even for a Merchant, his hair flopping into his eyes.
"It's quite alright," Lowell chuckles.
"Daddy!" the boy shouts, continuing down the path he was on, shooting down the back alleys that lead to the back doors of various shops, like the bakery. Both of the Everdeens watch as an older boy with the same blonde hair struggles past, holding a chubby boy of Katniss' age in his arms. Katniss blinks. The boy's nose is bleeding.
"Rye!" the second boy yells, his voice warbling. Katniss can hear him chanting 'don't cry, please don't cry' under his breath to the boy he carries. Lowell steps forward, stopping the boy in his tracks.
"Are you okay?" he asks. Katniss curiously peeks over the rim of her hat. "Fenton, isn't it?"
"Yes," the boy says, holding the younger child tight to him. Katniss bites her lip, watching the little boy sniffle, tear-streaked cheeks glistening in the sunlight. She wants to know how his nose got so bloody. "Peeta took a candy from the man in the shop and Mommy hit him."
"Peeta?" Lowell asks, his back tensing and prickling. Aymee Mellark is a real piece of work, he knew that much, but he didn't think that she would go as far as hitting her four year old son. He grimaces, reaching a hand forward to the sniffling child, his heart wrenching when he shies away, erupting into a bout of tears. He draws his arm back, knowing that to gain the trust of a frightened creature you have to first show it respect and kindness. "Did your mother do this to you?"
"Mommy said I couldn't tell no one," Peeta sobs. Lowell digs out a greying handkerchief and gives it to Rye, who dabs at his younger brothers swollen button nose. Katniss hides her face in her father's hair. She hates it when people cry.
"Peeta?!" A loud voice calls, and Lowell looks up to see Farrell Mellark hurrying down the uneven road, covered in flour and looking flustered.
"Daddy!" Peeta says, breaking free of his brother and stumbling forward. Lowell notes how his boots a way too big for him. No doubt that's Aymee's work, determined to make his life hell for not being the daughter everyone knew she wanted. Farrell scoops his youngest son up into his arms, his eyes horrified as he examines the young boy's face.
"What happened?" he says, anger, frustration, and sadness written all over his face, though his voice is gentle. Fenton and Rye grip their father's legs. "I told you boys about being rough with Peeta. He's not old enough yet!"
"Mommy hit him," Rye says, plain and simple, as if it's the most normal thing in Panem.
"Mommy?" Farrell chokes. Rye nods. Farrell notices the small audience of two at the end of the road and his shoulders slump. Lowell, horrified and saddened, nods his head sombrely, picking up the bouquet of flowers he dropped and walking on, knowing that spectators are not needed. Farrell cradles his son to his chest, and doesn't notice that the Seam man who stole the love of his life gave his son a handkerchief until Peeta has been given a plate of mashed potato and is curled up in his crib later that night. He tries to hate the man, but it's impossible.
I think of all the times he smiled at me in the corridors, or gave up his seat for me in music class, or traded extra bread rolls or cookies or cupcakes for one mangled squirrel. All the times he lent me pens and pencils when I didn't have one. The time when he waited with Prim under the apple tree in the school yard when I was kept behind in the principal's office for punching Denny Small. Everything Peeta Mellark did for me was out of the kindness of his own heart. He's given up a possibly perfect life with a Merchant girl, where he would work in the bakery all his life and have perfect children with blonde curls and blue eyes, all for me.
For me and our baby.
And what have I done in return?
I've scowled at him in the corridors, kept my seat in music class, and demanded that 'we don't need you charity!' whenever he gave me the extra food I really needed. All the times I sheepishly returned his pens and pens with my teeth marks all over the ends. When I shoved him and told him to leave my sister alone. All my life, all I've ever done act like Panem's grumpiest child. Why didn't I just accept the fact that there are people with goodness in their hearts? Why didn't I just smile and say thank you, for once in my life?
Peeta's eyes are burning into me, filled with such passion that I struggle to keep contact. "I don't deserve you," I mutter, and he looks like he wants to shake me.
"For fuck sake, Katniss. Of course you don't deserve me. I'm not good enough for someone as amazing as you."
"Don't say that, Peeta. That isn't true."
"You stop putting yourself down, and I'll stop saying it," he challenges me, his eyes blazing. I swallow, closing my eyes and clearing my head.
"I'm not apologising to her."
"She's probably said the same thing," he chuckles, pulling me close and kissing me. I put my arms around his neck, my stomach getting in the way. I so badly want to press myself flat against his torso. I want to be able to move freely. I want to be able to go an hour without needing the bathroom.
"Sorry. For getting into a fight again."
"If this baby has any sense, they'll be like you. At least you know how to reduce someone to tears," he grins at my expression and hugs me, resting his chin in the crook of my shoulder. "Mom'll come around eventually, I'm sure. At some point she'll want to meet her grandchild," he says softly, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Fuck. We're having a baby."
"Didn't you realise?" I ask. Peeta pulls away and looks down at my stomach.
"Jesus, where did that come from?" he gasps, feigning surprise. I bat his arm.
"You had a big part in getting this thing to appear, trust me." The tips of his ears redden and I laugh, though butterflies are dancing in my stomach.
"What are you going to do once he or she is here?"
"Go into the forest and roll in the grass," I say, my eyes mischievous, but my tone serious. Peeta gives me a pointed look, his lips twisting up into a smile. "What about you?" He thinks for a moment, before leaning in and whispering into my ear, his fingers digging into my hips.
"I'm going to kiss you until you're dizzy..." he murmurs, and I bite my lip. "And, because I've been wanting to for three months now, I will make love to you all through the night."
"That sounds good."
"Just good?"
"I don't want to expect too much of you, old man," I smirk, pushing him away.
I don't see Mrs Mellark for most of the week after our blow up. Fen and Rye stop by during the weekend –interrupting a heated kiss on the couch between Peeta and me- and tease me mercifully about slapping their mother.
"'Bout time, really." Fen mutters over his cup of tea. I snort into my cup, and tea goes everywhere.
"Jesus Christ..." I sigh, looking down at the damp table in dismay. Now I'm going to have to get up, and God knows how long that'll take. Fen stands and wipes it away with a rag however, and leaves the rag beside me in case I do something similar again. We end up playing cards well into the night. Rye cheats; hiding cards in between the sofa cushions. Fen wins, fair and square, and demands for a prize. Peeta rolls his eyes, but hands him a bottle of crappy beer from the case we keep in the pantry. Rye somehow manages to steal the entire case (though Fen looks equally as guilty when I demand to know why the case is empty), and Peeta leaves to escort his brothers back to the bakery.
"I'll be back in ten minutes," he promises, pulling on a coat.
Almost an hour later, Peeta hasn't returned. I give up with waiting up for him, and head off to bed, keeping the door locked. He knows where the spare key is. But the bed feels enormous without him. I've grown used to having him beside me at night. He keeps me warm and fights away any nightmares that try to disturb my sleep. I miss his presence filling the bed. Now it just feels cold and lonely, and no matter which way I arrange the covers I can feel an icy draft against my skin. With a dramatic sigh, I throw the covers back and hurry down the stairs, hissing when my bare feet make contact with the floor. Snatching the quilted duvet off the back of the couch, I sling it over my shoulders.
Halfway up the stairs, and there's a knock on the door. The doorknob rattles.
"Kat?" Peeta's voice calls out. "I can't get in." I lock my jaw. Seriously? "Katniss?" his voice sounds out again, and I stomp down the stairs, unlock the door, and swing it open.
"What the fuck, Peeta? Where have you been?"
"Hey, Kat... I'm sorry," he slurs, leaning against the doorframe.
"Did Fen and Rye take you out drinking?"
"No... yeah," he shakes his head, clearly confused. "I know I said- said I'd be back. But Rye said I needed to have... to have a drink. Said that the b-baby would m-make me boring."
"Okay," I say, rubbing the bridge of my nose tiredly. "Come on upstairs. I'll get you some water."
Peeta steps forward and promptly trips over the threshold, slivering down the wall and onto his ass. I make a mental note to kill Rye and Fen the next time I see them. I shut the door and lock it, before turning to Peeta. Tugging on his arm, I prompt him to stand, though it hurts my back to pull him up. He holds onto the wall as he navigates his way to the stairs, and crawls up on all fours, his steps heavier than usual, while I go into the kitchen and pour him a glass of water. I take it upstairs and put it on the cabinet on his side of the bed, before going into the bathroom to find some headache pills. He's in a sorry state, his eyes heavy, his hair ruffled, and his attempts to communicate are pitiful at best.
"Katniss, I'm sorry. I should've told Rye... Rye that I had to get back," he mumbles. I stay silent, and guide him back into the bedroom, sitting him down on the bed. "But he said that one drink wouldn't work and then he said that this was my last chance and... and I knew it wasn't true... but I had another drink and that turned into another."
"Peeta, don't worry about it," I say, tugging off his shoes and lining them up by the wall. He pulls his pants off, and I tug his shirt over his head, smiling sympathetically. He's been reduced to a child-like form, and all the memories of child Peeta flood back to me. I smooth my hand over the places that have been covered in bruises, cuts, and burns, trying to wipe away the memories that must fill his head. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against my stomach. The baby shifts again, and Peeta looks up with bleary eyes.
"See, I told you he moves when you're around." I say softly. He laughs as if I've said the funniest thing, and scrambles back under the covers. I follow close behind, coxing him to swallow the headache pills and the entire glass of water.
"I love you, baby," he says, placing his hands on my stomach before leaning down and kissing it.
"Baby loves you too," I tell him, though how can he really love it when hasn't even seen the child? He sighs contently, pulling me into his arms. I'm quiet for a while, happy to have him back –even if he does smell of alcohol. "I'll kill your brothers, okay?" Peeta just snores into my ear, his arm tightening around me, dead to the world. I roll my eyes and bury my face into his chest, drawing patterns on his skin until I'm swallowed under by sleep.
Peeta
Karma comes into play the next morning, when I wake with an awful hangover that makes my head throb whenever I move. Katniss simply hands me a cup of coffee and some more headache pills.
"Kat, I'm sorry," I groan, burying my face in the pillow.
"I should've known that your brothers would drag you out for some drinks," she says dismissively, folding up some fresh washing from the line into a pile on top of the cupboard.
"Really, I should've said no at the first mention of alcohol. If it didn't feel like my head was about to fall off, I would tell you to sit down and do the washing myself."
"I'm sure you would've," she smirks. "But the washing keeps me busy and clears my head."
"But I'm just lying here. A great lazy lump."
"Peeta, it's fine."
"You're just saying that."
"I don't mind!"
"Katniss-"
"Peeta! It's okay. I really don't mind, and I'm not just saying that," she shuts the top drawer of the cupboard. "Sleep the hangover off, and come downstairs when you're not squinting like an old man."
"Kat..."
"Peeta, sleep away the alcohol. We all know that when you're intoxicated things go badly."
I narrow my eyes at her. "You were drunk as well."
"Eldest has more responsibility."
"You took advantage of me."
"I took advantage of you?" she laughs. "I think we're both equally at fault." I grin. She throws a pillow at my head and tells me to sleep.
And that's what I do. Katniss draws the curtains, kisses my forehead, and squeezes through the door with her empty linen basket. Several hours later, I wake to a quiet house. The hangover hasn't disappeared just yet, so I crawl downstairs and into the kitchen to get more headache pills. As I down the rest of the water, I pause and listen. Someone's singing. Instinctively I cock my head to one side to concentrate on the sound, putting the cup down and moving out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and towards the front door. It's ajar and letting the cool spring air into the house.
Edging along the wall, I peek through the door and pull it open a little more, praying for the hinges not to creak. Katniss is sitting on the block of concrete that serves as our front step, her hair loose and rippling in the breeze, singing softly into the quiet street. A skinny stray dog is standing several feet away, darting forward and backward, yellow eyes cautious. Katniss is holding a plate of meat scraps, and holds a piece out for the dog as she sings. I realise that I haven't heard Katniss sing for years. I assume that she's sung during the course of our marriage, but when I wasn't present. I wonder why. Her voice is beautiful; low and rough, with a touch of a warbling, bird-like tone that reminds me of the forest.
"Why don't you sing more often?" I ask, opening the door sitting down beside her. She leans against me, resting her head on my shoulder.
"My father always sang. He sang to wake us, he sang to put us to sleep. He sang in the forest, in the yard, and he would sing as he danced with Mom in the kitchen when he thought Prim and I had gone to sleep," she sighs longingly. "It was always a special thing, I suppose. Something between me and Dad."
"I'm sorry," I say, immediately regretting bringing it up. She squeezes my arm.
"You're right. I should sing more. It makes me happy, and what's wrong with doing what makes you happy?" I kiss her temple and take a piece of meat from the plate, holding it out for the stray dog, which is sat back on it's skinny legs, sniffing the air.
"How long has this little guy been out here?" I ask.
"I don't know. I thought I left my boots outside, and when I opened the door he was rooting through the bins across the road."
"Any success?" She shakes her head. We sit there in compatible silence for a fair amount of time, and I hold the scrap of meat out for the dog to take. We watch as he timidly steps closer, paws shifting over the cobbled ground, and Katniss lets out a little gasp of delight when the animal darts forward and snatches the titbit from my hand, scampering away an eating it in the shade of the houses on the opposite side of the street.
"He's so thin," she whispers. "Normally I wouldn't have come out to give an animal food. I guess I could relate to him."
"Have a go," I say, taking the plate. She picks up the meat and holds it out, clucking her tongue as she waits. Eventually the stray returns, and pretty soon the entire plate is empty. Katniss brings out a bowl of water and sets it down in the middle of the road, and she smiles widely when the dog begins to drink. A man with a horse and cart comes clattering down the road and the dog scares, running away down the street. I go to pick up the empty bowl of water and return to Katniss.
"Poor thing," she mutters. I smile sympathetically and help her up, watching the dog hiding behind a row of trashcans.
I turn to my punching bag as a way of getting rid of my hangover. The sun is hot on my bare back, but it feels nice. Sweating feels good. It helps me clear my mind, to rid my head of the clouded memories that fill it. Katniss comes out with a cool drink, and traces her hands over the scars on my back and arms with a sad expression. I'm thrown backwards into the past with a sickening jolt.
Mr Mellark is woken by the sound of a bedroom door opening. He blinks, staring into the darkness of him and his wife's bedroom. He hears the door closing, lock clicking into place. Whoever's sneaking out of bed is quiet, but not silent. Twisting his head around, he checks to see that Aymee has remained asleep. She is, her lips pressed into a hard line even in unconsciousness. Drawing back the covers, he pulls on a pair of knitted socks and heads out of the room into the empty hallway. The door to Rye and Peeta's room is closed. He presses his ear to Fenton's room. He can hear the twelve-year-old's snores through the wood, confirming that the eldest Mellark boy is not the one who snuck out. He opens the door to the other bedroom. Rye's bed is by the door –he can see his second eldest son's body beneath the covers. Peeta's bed is empty.
Farrell frowns; it's unlike his youngest to be one to disobey the rules of not getting out of bed. He checks the bathroom. Empty. By stepping on the edge of each step of the staircase, he manages to get downstairs without making much noise. If Aymee wakes she'll be angry and much less considerate when it comes to dealing with Peeta. The kitchen is dark, the moon hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds, but he can see the little blond head of curls that belongs to Peeta Mellark behind the breadbin, the chubby hands reaching out for more of the stale flatbread that he likes to eat so much with creamy butter or sweet jam.
"Peet?" he calls out. The hand that is reaching up freezes, before disappearing behind the breadbin.
"Papa?"
"Yes, don't worry," Farrell says, knowing his son needs reassurance that it isn't his mother who has caught him.
"I was hungry," Peeta says, looking down at the small slice of bread in his hand. "I'm sorry for waking you."
"And you're not supposed to get out of bed," Farrell chuckles softly. Peeta smiles his gap-tooth, six-year-old smile, and steps forward. Farrell opens a jam jar, the lid making a soft 'pop' sound, and spreads it over the bread with a butter knife, handing it to his son. "Why are you awake at this time of night?" He asks, glancing up at the clock.
"I had a dream about eating jam," Peeta says, his eyes focusing on something in the distance. "So many jars, Papa. In all the colours of the rainbow. Strawberry jam, orange, blackberry, lemon, gooseberry jam. And I ate all of it!"
"All of it?"
"Yes. And then I got hungry because of the dream..." Peeta trails off, looking down at the half-eaten bread in his hand. Farrell ruffles his son's hair and sits down at the kitchen table to wait for him to finish eating.
...
The following morning, Peeta is rudely awoken when his mother pours a bucket of icy water over his head.
"Get up! Get up you greedy, lying scoundrel!" she roars as he gasps in shock, hair flattened by the water that drips down his nose. Staring at the wall on the other side of the room, Rye listens to the yelling going on meters away from him. He refuses to turn around. "Up!" Aymee screeches, yanking Peeta out of the bed by his hair, causing him to tumble to the ground with a thump. He cries out when the sharp toe of her shoe makes contact with his side, forcing him to curl in on himself to protect his head. Rye knows that his brother, who's only six, shouldn't have to go through this. A six year old shouldn't have to know what to do when you're getting beaten by your own mother.
"What did I do?!" Peeta cries, squinting up from the floor.
"Do not act like you don't know what you've done. You know what you've done!"
"I don't!" he says, holding his head. "I don't know!"
"I went into the kitchen this morning and what do I find? I find a slice taken from the breadbin, and half the strawberry jam is gone! Do you know how much it cost to ship that jam in?" She doesn't give him enough time to answer, and pulls him up by his elbow, dragging him out of the room and down into the kitchen, ignoring the yelps that escape his throat when his kneecap makes contact with the corner of the doorway.
"Papa!" he yells, his heart thumping wildly. His mother scares him. He hates how angry she gets. The bruises on his arms still hurt, and they're still deep purple in colour. "Papa help me!" He shouts again, struggling against his mother's grip on his elbow.
"Your father is out with Fenton!" Aymee growls, pushing Peeta back a little. "Stop whining like a baby and face your punishment!"
"But Daddy said I could have some as a snack!" he protests. "Ask him!"
"Stop lying all the damn time!" Aymee Mellark snaps. Peeta sticks his bottom lip out.
"I'm not lying!"
"You lie constantly. You're a selfish, lying brat. I don't deserve you as my son," she says, her voice getting colder the closer she steps forward. She brings her hand round to slap him, but Rye bursts onto the scene, grabbing his mother's arm to stop her. It's a risky move. It'll definitely result in something worse for not only Peeta, but Rye as well.
"Don't, Mom. He didn't do anything wrong," he says, his brow furrowed, trying to look as fierce as a ten year old can possibly be.
"Take your hands off me," Aymee hisses, pulling her arm from Rye's grip. "Both of you are ungrateful shits, you hear me?"
Both boys fall silent. Peeta is more shocked than his brother, unsure of how to react at the swearing. Aymee brings her hand down hard on the side of Rye's face, sending him backwards against the cabinets. Three kicks to the stomach and another slap later, she turns on Peeta, yanking him up by his hair. He can feel his hair getting ripped out at the roots and he tries to get away, but she slaps him again, and again, and again, and again, ignoring this pleads to 'stop, Mommy, stop!' He wishes his father was there. Tears roll down his cheeks when he feels his mother's nails raking down his arms. She stops when blood trickles from his nose, brushing her hair from her face and stalking out of the room, telling them to clear up the mess they have made.
I blink, releasing the punching bag from my iron-like grip. Even after all this time, I can still feel the sharp lash of the belt on my back. The fractured ribs. The dislocated shoulders that had to be popped back into place in the dead of the night. All three of us have experienced dislocated shoulders. We would joke that it was Mom's speciality.
"That's a horrible thing to joke about," Katniss says, squeezing my hand. I swallow, realising that I've been saying the last few sentences out loud.
"We didn't have much else to joke about," I say grimly, punching the bag again.
Married life proves to be simple yet difficult. Katniss and I manage to merge our lives together seamlessly, moving about each other with ease. During the week when we have school, we wake and eat breakfast together. I help Katniss with the laces on her boots since she can't reach over her stomach anymore, and then we walk to school. School is her least favourite time of the day because she has to move around; climbing up stairs and climbing down stairs to get to her classes. Once the day is over, she admits that she enjoys talking to Madge and seeing her sister more often, but thinks that Delly is 'too happy' for her taste. Her feet and back are aching by the time she's home, and rub them to unravel the knots that tangle themselves up throughout the day. She takes a nap some days, and after dinner we sit up on the couch to go through a few more pages of the textbooks from school.
During the weekends, however, we normally sleep in late. Someone –usually me- gets up to draw back the curtains and open the window further to ventilate the room, before returning to bed and pulling her to me again.
Before I got closer to her, I didn't know about many of the little habits and mannerisms she has. Like how eats any meat on her plate first, before starting on the rest of the meal. She rubs the bridge of her nose when she's angry, stressed, or tired. There's a freckle on her left eyelid, and a permanent line on her forehead from either scowling or squinting into the horizon, though it's most likely both. When she's about to cry, her nostrils flare and her eyes widen slightly. Her laughs are the best. She has many different types of laughs- reserved, polite laughs that she has for people like Delly, sarcastic chuckles that are so obviously fake that it's painful, and full-on, belly laughs which come with snorting. I have yet to decide which laugh I like the best.
Katniss learns that I don't take sugar in my tea. That I like sleeping with the windows open (much to her disgruntlement). That I always double-knot my shoelaces (which she admits is a good idea). I learn that she doesn't like it when I leave hickeys in places that are easily seen by the general public. I take great pride in finding places that are hidden under her clothes to leave signs of my affection. She discovers that I like it when she gasps my name into my ear and that tugging my hair will make me weak at the knees. I don't what it is about her, exactly, that makes me want her. It's a mixture of things- flaws and all.
We head to town some days, either to help at the bakery or to simply get out and about. Katniss is adamant that being pregnant won't stop her from visiting the meadow and her family, even though it takes over half an hour to get to the Seam. It's steadily getting warmer, with the flora in full bloom, and baby birds arriving. More than once I've had to duck out of the way of the swallows that like to fly down the narrow alleyways. I spend a lot of time painting and sketching, filling my notebook with images of Katniss, flowers, birds, and, of course, the sunsets. Katniss has the idea for me to paint Prim's portrait for her birthday at the end of May, and buys a new canvas from the Hob for me to use.
Despite the apparently cheery outlook of our relationship, we do have blazing rows that end up with silence between us. One of us always crawls back to the other, saying that they're sorry, and the argument is resolved on the same day. It's one of our loudest arguments, however, that allows us to meet our next door neighbour for the first time. Neither of us have ever seen Twill in the district before, and she claims to have lived in the very corner of the Seam, but was moved here when her house was destroyed in the snow. She smiles and waves whenever we see her, but tends to stay in her house, with the curtains drawn and the door locked. Odd behaviour, we both agree, but she's pleasant enough.
"Pass me the roller," I say, reaching my hand down. Katniss stretches up slightly and passes me the roller, which I use to cover a bigger area of the ceiling with paint. We've been repainting the kitchen. Despite the houses in this area being branded as 'new and family-friendly homes', we've found cracks in the walls and parts of the roof that have started to leak. I spent yesterday filling the cracks and today we're painting over the mess.
"I'm constantly on edge," Katniss whispers. I pause.
"What do you mean?"
"About everything. Not just the baby, or the exam. The thought of..." she trails off. I look down at her and nod my head, understanding that she means uprising. "When I was at the bakery a guy came in. He knew my name even though I didn't tell him, and said that I looked a little young to be married and pregnant."
"He's probably heard about you."
"He had a weird bracelet thingy on. It was reflective and really Capitol-looking," she frowns, deep in thought. "Do you think he was from the Capitol?"
"Maybe. Did you catch a name?"
"No. He ordered a load of sugar cookies though."
"Yes, because I can find out the name of a guy by simply knowing that he bought sugar cookies," I give her a pointed look.
"If you're going to be sarcastic all the time, I'm gonna knock you right off this ladder."
"I think you just need to relax, Katniss. You've got everything happening at once, and I don't think you need to be worrying about all this as well."
"What are you suggesting?" she scowls.
"That you take this week off school. Go in for the exam, but otherwise stay home and rest."
"No."
"Why not? Your Mom said it was a good idea." Katniss sighs and flops down into a chair.
"Because the baby isn't due until next week, Peeta. I'm going to finish school. I'll bring the baby into school after they've been born if I really fucking have to," she rubs the bridge of her nose and sighs. "I've gone to that damned building almost every day since I was four, and I'm not going to bunk off at the very end."
"Are you sure?" I ask. "I'm sure they'll understand. It's not like we're not going to be allowed to graduate or anything. They can't stop you from graduating. And if they do, we've got a good excuse."
"Yeah, I was busy having a baby," she scoffs. "What were you doing?"
"Dealing with a hormonal, scowling Seam girl."
"Oh, right. Because you've had such a hard time marrying the Seam slut who also happened to be the love of your life?" she asks as I climb down the ladder. "Are you fucking with me right now?"
"I'd like to," I say, locking eyes with her. Her anger quickly dissipates.
"Since when did you become an idiot?" she asks. "An idiot who talks dirty all the time."
"Don't pretend you don't like it," I smirk, stepping closer and kissing her. She groans, biting down on my bottom lip.
"Finish painting, Peeta. I'm going to go look at the textbooks," she murmurs, pressing her forehead against mine and smiling up at me before turning and walking out of the room.
The day of the exam arrives, and Katniss is plagued with Braxton Hicks. Repetitive and unrelenting, they cause her to double over in pain each time, gritting her teeth and cursing.
"It's just nerves," she says dismissively whenever I ask if she's okay, gripping her spoon tightly as she spoons cereal into her mouth. "Don't worry."
"You sure?" I ask, watching her jaw clenching as she sits opposite me.
"Yes."
"Are you going to be able to go through the exam?"
"I'll be fine, Peeta. Please stop worrying. You're making me anxious," she says, letting out a breath once the practice contraction has ended.
I take a sip of my drink and change the subject. "Are you looking forward to the graduation ball?"
"Ugh, no," she snorts. "It's gonna be awful. Effie will be overly-excited, Haymitch will be drunk, and everything will be too much to handle. The only perks I can think of are that I'll be able to drink by then."
"Not at school you won't!"
She narrows her eyes at me. "Haymitch isn't going to mind."
"Who will look after the baby? I'm sure your Mom and Prim won't mind, but just in case…"
"What about your Dad?"
"He's excited to have a grandchild, I know that for a fact, but I have a feeling that Mom won't be as accommodating."
"Wasn't just a few days ago when you said that you were thinking that she'd come around?" Katniss asks, pushing her bowl away and rubbing her eyes. "What happened to that idea?"
"It's still there, believe me, but every time I think of what she did to us, I begin to rethink everything."
"The last thing your mother is going to do is treat our baby like she did you," Katniss says, her eyes determined. "I won't let her, you won't let her, and I'm sure that there would be a part of her blackened soul that would stop her as well."
"Blackened soul?"
"I'm feeling poetical," she rolls her eyes. I smile slightly, but my mind is occupied with other fears. Katniss slides her hand over mine. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"What is the baby going to think?" I ask, staring at the tablecloth. "When they see all my scars?" I look up and Katniss' expression softens.
"The baby is going to think that you're an amazing father. They're not going to care."
"No, I mean when they're old enough to ask questions and expect logical and truthful answers."
"What are you afraid of? Answering questions or questions being asked?" I shrug my shoulders. "Because I'm sure that you'll come up with a good answer. And, if he or she is anything like you, they'll understand enough to not push the subject further until you're ready."
I close my eyes, mulling her words over. "I hope he's like you, Katniss."
"No, no. That would be a nightmare."
"It would be a dream. A miniature you."
"Gross. I'd rather have a miniature Peeta Mellark with endless blue eyes and golden hair and a winning smile, instead of a scowling, anti-social mess like myself."
"Even the scowling, anti-social messes fall in love."
"Yes, but they also get drunk and pregnant."
"If he or she gets pregnant or gets someone pregnant, I'm to kill them. They should be able to look at us and decide to not copy."
"But we're the perfect couple," she jokes with a large smile. "What's wrong with us?"
The walk to school is tense in anticipation of the exam. Prim catches up with us and we walk together, happily letting the youngest Everdeen's chatter fill up the silence we both previously held.
"Mom says good luck to both of you," she says, swinging her arms and not giving us enough time to respond before speaking again. "How excited are you about the baby arriving next week?"
"Terrified." Katniss grumbles, and I nod my head.
"Come on, you must be at least a little excited. You're going to be parents! I'm going to be an Aunt!" She grins and twirls the end of one of her braids around her finger. "I never thought I was going to be an Aunt!"
"What are you trying to say, Primrose?" Katniss asks suspiciously. Prim grins.
"I think we all know what she's trying to say." I say, and my wife scowls at me.
"I assumed that you were never going to have children. You always talked about how it was important to have a secure home, income, food source and relationship before you had children, and that you doubted that would ever happen, therefore meaning that you were never having kids," Prim explains. "I didn't even think you'd get married."
"What are you talking about?" Katniss asks. "I was going to grow old with Gale."
"But not married."
"Is being married so very necessary?"
"No..."
"See. I would've been perfectly happy on my own. Besides, if Gale and I got married, you wouldn't have been able to marry Rory." At this Prim blushes, her skin reddening like a tomato.
"Rory?" I ask curiously.
"Yup," Katniss says, smiling slyly at her sister. "Rory and Prim have been dodging around each other for at least two years."
"Katniss!" Prim hisses. "You promised you'd never say that!"
"Prim, I knew about you and Rory's relationship long ago." I say. Prim's head snaps up and she locks eyes with me.
"How?" she asks, glancing at Katniss accusingly.
"I bumped into Rory once and he talked about you non-stop. Katniss talked about you and Rory. It wasn't exactly a secret." Prim huffs and storms off ahead of us, her braids whacking her in the face.
"Oh, well done Peeta. Now she hates me."
"She doesn't hate you."
"I do!" Prim calls back. I burst out laughing and Katniss sighs dramatically, leaning heavily on my side for the remainder of the walk.
The first two lessons of the day are as normal, but all we do is watch new propo films from the Capitol. Everyone sits where they want, pulling desks together to sit in groups, but Katniss and I sit at the back, leaning our chairs back against the wall. I stare blankly at the television screen, watching images of the Capitol sweep past, the voiceover that talks about how beautiful the Capitol is, about how we should all be looking up to them. It then cuts to images of what looks like a war ground, with smoking debris, dead in the streets, injured staggering about, and orphaned children clutching teddy bears. 'This isn't the future. This isn't what you want. Capitol knows best.' The commentator says, their words fading out into dramatic music.
"It's all a load of bull," Katniss murmurs from beside me. "Every last second of it."
"But they're new propos. Maybe they've heard about what's going on around them." I reply. Katniss raises her eyebrows.
"The Capitol isn't stupid, but it isn't particularly smart either. Whoever's behind this new propaganda knows what they're doing. But I think it's just going to make anyone who is thinking of... you know..." She pauses. We don't know if the school is bugged, but we assume it is. "They're just going to laugh. This means that President Snow knows. That he's trying to build up those who are on his side."
"I've never seen the president in real life," I say. "Only on TV."
"He's horrible."
"All white hair and waxy skin and those horrible red lips," I grimace. "Capitol fashions are horrendous as they are, but that's just ridiculous."
"Oh, I don't know. I think you'd look pretty good with a tail. Or a beak, maybe? But blue skin would make your eyes pop," she retorts, mimicking the strained accent that Capitolites possess.
"Katniss, my dear. Don't you think sharpened teeth, wings, or a third leg would make you so much more beautiful?" I reply in the same accent. Katniss snorts loudly, and half the class turns to stare at us as we cackle under our breaths.
"Mellarks! Stop messing around!" The teacher snaps from the front of the room. Katniss looks up at me at smiles.
"That's the first time any of the teachers have called me a Mellark."
"You're one of us now, Katniss. And they're no way of escaping," I grin, tugging on her braid. She buries her face into my chest and gasps. I rub her back soothingly. "It's not that bad. Just don't mess Fen around if he's lost at something, and don't talk to Rye before 9 am," Katniss just groans in response, and grasps my t-shirt in her fist. "Are you okay?"
"Fuck," she hisses, squeezing her eyes shut. "If these are just practice contractions, I don't think I want to know what the real deal is like."
"You can crush my hand if you want." I offer, holding out my hand. Katniss sits up and inhales sharply, gripping my hand tightly. I let her power through it alone, staying silent, flexing my fingers when she lets go.
"Thanks," she says, rubbing the top of her belly. "And sorry for squishing your hand."
"It's okay," I shrug, rubbing my knuckles. "It's only fair. I'm sorry for putting you through this."
"I've suffered through worse."
"Remember that when the baby starts to arrive and you're cursing me."
"Remember that it's your fault for knocking me up when I'm cursing you," she smiles sweetly. I kiss the tip of her nose and hug her to my side. I don't miss the muttered 'men get it so easy' from beside me.
After break, everyone in our year is ushered onto the playing field, where everyone crowds onto the bleachers as half of the facility shoot daggers at the back of Effie's head.
"All I can ask of you is that you try your best. No one can have any regrets if they try their best, can they?" She warbles. I'm barely listening- too mesmerised with her cobalt shoes, which appear to have tiny fish tanks complete with live fish, in the transparent heels. "As always, it's ladies first. Once they've completed their exam, they will go to lunch and the gentlemen will go into the hall."
"Let me remind you that any forms of cheating will result in immediate disqualification," Haymitch speaks up. "That included writing notes on the bottoms of shoes, and water bottles, notes hidden inside empty pens, and note passing." He says, fixing several people with pointed stares.
"Good luck to all, and I look forward to seeing the surely fantastic results in June!" Effie claps her hands, looking around at her colleagues expectantly until they start clapping as well, and then at the audience gathered in front of her. At precisely quarter past eleven (Effie makes sure everyone's punctual), the girls are asked to make their way to the hall. I give my wife a hug, whispering good luck into her ear. She kisses me and smoothes back my hair before turning, calling over her shoulder that she'll see me later. Madge and Delly catch up with her, and I watch her hands curling into fists when Delly squeals excitedly beside her.