Chapter 28: Dandelion's Hope Made Flesh

A handful of months later, on a cold and rainy April morning, just weeks before my 19th birthday, I go into labor.

Mother and Prim are downstairs preparing breakfast when my scream for my sister makes them both come running.

Over the great many hours that follow, my knees arched and spread, I nearly crush Prim's hand in my own, yelling, screaming, crying out with big, fat tears rolling down my cheeks. Most of all, I curse him. I curse Peeta for not being here, for having to give me and our baby up from some misguided sense of protecting us. I had noticed he came back from his summons in January, soon after the Victory Tour, looking hollow and numb. I had desperately wanted to reach out to him, hold him, ask him what was wrong and listen to whatever he needed to confide in me. But I had turned away. Flat on my back as I have been these last several weeks of my pregnancy, I have been unable to see him; Vick has taken over the hunting duties all by himself. He manages to bag quite a few squirrel and take them over to the Bakery. He seems comfortable dealing with the man who was my husband – is my husband. The ambiguity over whether Peeta's and my marriage is dead or still alive and simply dormant disquiets me. Are we technically still married, if only by the virtue of a piece of burnt bread? I never gave him back my wedding ring, which I still have, tucked away in the top drawer of my bedside table. I presume he still has the mockingjay pin he gave to me when we were 14, and that I presented him with at our wedding; he wore it as his district token into the arena, naturally.

The contractions are coming fast and hard now, and I am hollering myself hoarse. My vision is coming in and out, spotty; it is only till later that Prim shares with me just some of what I was yelling. Apparently, I scream and wail for Peeta, calling his name over and over. At one point, I even cry out to Peeta (who is not there), "I LOVE YOU!"

Mother is concerned enough that she orders Primrose away from my side for just a few minutes, just long enough so that she can run across the district into Town and fetch Isabella from the apothecary. I also later learn that I quite rabidly fight Mother on this, not wanting to let my baby sister out of my sight. Just as Prim is trying to extract herself from me and leave the room, however, there is a knock at the door to my bedroom.

Primrose opens it to find our cousin standing on the threshold. Terrified, Isabella shoves bundles of morphling into my sister's arms. She peers over Prim's shoulder at one point, so that she and I lock eyes. In my hopelessly hallucinatory state, I at first think she's Annabeth (my youngest cousin and her one surviving sister look somewhat similar), then I deduce that I must be imagining Isabella entirely.

"Use these to help her. However much she needs. Use them, please," Isabella is begging, eyes wide.

"How…. how did you know she was in labor?" Prim asks.

"A young Seam man heard screams coming from this homestead and came running looking for me. He knows we're related. Tall for his age, quite handsome."

Vick, I think immediately. Thank Panem for him!

Mother shuffles forward so Primrose can offload some of the morphling into her arms. "Isabella…. Thank you. Won't you sit with us for a spell?"

Isabella's eyes dart about nervously, truly pained and regretful. "I daren't no longer stay," she explains. "Annabeth will be wondering where I am." And she takes off running out of the house.

The morphling that my family administers to me makes me feel somewhat better. It is getting on evening by the time Mother announces that she can see the baby crowning. Prim clutches my hand and instructs me to push with everything I've got. With a shout, I bear down.

"Again!" Prim shouts in my ear. "Come on, Katty, you can do it…."

With another, almost rebel yell, I give one final, mighty heave, feeling the energy of my pushing build up almost uncomfortably behind my eyelids until my vision swims red. Then I vaguely hear a wail split the air, and I collapse back into the pillows.

"It's a girl," I hear Mother tearfully announce through the haze. Prim's lips press into my temple, and she flits away briefly to clean my baby up – a point which I resist, though weakly.

"No…." I warble, eyes rolling as I gingerly hold out my arms, beckoning. "Let me…. let me hold her…."

I feel a bundle being pressed into my arms soon enough. My vision finally clears enough to take in….. Ohhh….

She's gorgeous. She's glorious…. Her skin is pink and mottled, her face scrunched up tight, though she doesn't cry. Docile, sweet and gentle, like her daddy.

And Peeta is her daddy. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt. There are little tufts of dirty blonde hair on top of her head. And when my daughter opens her eyes for the briefest of moments, I gasp tearfully at the sight of brilliant, cobalt blue dancing in her irises.

It is family tradition, going back to our Covey ancestors, for any new baby to be given two names, the middle name always being a color. We Everdeen women have always been named after flowers for our first names.

And staring down at my daughter, I know exactly what the call her.

"Poppy," I coo. "Poppy Sapphire." Originally, I had wanted her middle name to be after the color of sunset orange, but in the books Prim had brought home from the library at school, there had been no such synonymous name for the shade.

Kissing Poppy Sapphire Mellark's little head tenderly, I pass her to her aunt so Prim can hold her.

It is raining, but I don't feel it. Just like the tears that are raining down my cheeks. Except I don't feel those, either.

I am too numb inside. Numb as I stumble through the Merchant section of District 12, still carrying Poppy's newborn baby clothes no one has been willing to buy; my daughter has been growing like a weed in her first several months of life. Numb from the cold of a merciless winter that has only just begun. Numb because I haven't had anything to eat in days, nor has my mother or sister.

There's a sudden clatter and I jump at the sudden, fleeting pain. Of course I wouldn't be looking where I was going. Walking right into some trash cans. My brain screams at the effort it takes to even do basic reasoning; the synapses are slow to fire on account of getting no nutrition in who knows how long. Trash can….. garbage….. leftovers…..

FOOD!

I know not where my sudden energy comes from, but I am suddenly ripping off the lid and digging desperately through the trashcan's contents. Please God, let there be something…..

I get something, all right. Except it doesn't come from the trashcan. It instead comes from nowhere, in the form of a blow to the head.

WHAM! Another clatter as I go down into the cans, sprawling in a heap in the soft dirt. I shake my head from the blow, then scramble around like a crab to find the source. A flash of lightning illuminates the terrifying sight of the Baker's wife, and I know it must be through her garbage I was pilfering.

"Move on, girl! Do you want me to call the Peacekeepers on you? I'm sick of Seam brats pawing through my trash!"

I have no words, no defense, so I struggle to my feet and stumble away, hoping she does not come after me. I only manage a few more yards before I collapse against a tree in exhaustion. Blinking the rain droplets out of my eyes, I can see the lights in the windows of the house across the way. It looks so warm, so inviting…. And…. I have the strangest feeling, a memory, that I have been here before….

The warmth seems to be in the very air itself, driving back the cool chill of the rainwater. I breathe deep through my nostrils. The smell of freshly baked bread…. cheese buns…..

Another crash jolts me out of my hallucinations and I cock my head off the tree trunk. Through the downpour, I can see a blond-haired boy stumble out onto the bakery's concrete stoop, the Baker's wife close behind him. Her mouth is open and forming words I cannot hear. Am I in shock? Am I really now that far gone? No, a sentence or two manages to cut through the haze:

"FEED IT TO THE PIG, YOU STUPID CREATURE! WHY NOT? NO ONE DECENT WILL BUY BURNED BREAD!"

She stomps off the gray loading dock and into the house. The boy turns toward what must be the pigpen off to his right.

Then his eyes meet mine.

I peer closer, entranced. It's him. The father of my child. Peeta. I'd know him anywhere. The way his blond hair glistens when it catches the light from inside. In the sun, it is be blinding and beautiful. How even the grayest of days cannot dampen the brilliant blue of his eyes. The way his apron hugs his well-toned muscles. Young. Strong. Healthy. And attractive. The last thought comes to me, still, unbidden, and if I wasn't so exhausted, I would bat it away in a heartbeat.

I start out of my thoughts, for those blue eyes that I was losing myself into from yards away are now suddenly only feet from me. Sudden warmth heats my arms, as I clumsily find a grip on the loaves Peeta is earnestly pushing into my hands.

"Take them!"

I blink almost stupidly. "What?"

"Take them and go!" Peeta insists. "Now, before she comes back!"

My brain begins to operate at the strongest it has been in weeks, as I realize what is going on. He's giving me the bread…. I shake my head vigorously.

"I can't. I can't take these!"

"Yes, you can! My mom's right: who would buy burned bread? It's of more use to you!"

"Peeta, you're not going to risk your life for me. I'm not going to let you!" My voice borders on angry in its insistence, but Peeta stays my hand when I try to push the bread back to him.

"You would do it for me…. wouldn't you?" His blue eyes soften, questioning, unsure.

I stare at him. What a ridiculous question! Would I do it for him? Of course I would! In spite of everything, I would! Except now I can't! I'm the one who's starving, not him! But then the possible, however remote, invades the reality. I suddenly imagine our roles reversed: Peeta leaning against this tree half-dead and me living in the nice warm house while not wanting for anything. Would I really do it for him?

Yes. Of course I would. I've spent years trying to feed not only my family, but half the district as well. Day after day slipping into the woods beyond Twelve, risking Peacekeeper beatings or worse, just to feed my family. Just to trade extra game with the frequenters of the Hob, game that I always earn a few coins for. Who's to say I wouldn't give some to Peeta, were he in their shoes? Or my own, for that matter.

And yet, here he is, feeding me. When it has always been my job to feed everyone else. The notion that I am someone in need is so foreign to me, I can only ask in a whisper, "Why are you doing this?"

Peeta's beautiful blue eyes bore into mine with an intensity that is both enthralling and disturbing all at once. Suddenly, I feel the warmth of his hands flood my cheeks.

And then his lips touch mine.

I jump at his unexpected kiss, a choked squeak dying in my throat. His mouth slides along, draws back, recaptures my own in a rather clumsy fashion. It's small comfort.

My strong self would push him away, probably even punch him, for such an advance. Yet I do not pull free. I can taste the rainwater on his lips. And something else…..

Cheese buns…..

"Hmmmmmm….." The rumbling moan comes from deep within me, and I shock even myself as my fingers suddenly burrow themselves into Peeta's blond curls and hold fast. I have to, as I'm certain I would tumble end over end into a sweet abyss if I did not keep myself in his embrace. I nearly leap into his arms, and it's like coming home. Like I never left. My eyes flutter shut and with great courage, I kiss him back. When his lips suddenly part for mine, I slip just a little of my pink tongue in between the split. I hear Peeta moan, and I smile against his lips. It gives me strange pleasure to know I at least have this power over him, where none seems to reside anywhere else. I dare to go further, twisting my lips deeper into his own and stabbing my tongue inward so that I can feel it touch his.

It is though I have given Peeta an electric shock. I am suddenly being pushed against the tree trunk, Peeta's hands touching my body everywhere it needs warmth. I can feel his fingers dance along my hips as he raises me off the ground just enough to push down on my pants. When they don't move, I practically rip off the button and help him shove them down past my thighs.

I hold Peeta close, the blood pounding in my ears so I can barely register the rustling of fabric as he undoubtedly drops his own leggings. Though the thought of lying with him after how he left me would ordinarily be repulsive to my mind, it is instead now filled with animalistic lust and the demand to have wild sex with Peeta Mellark.

Peeta's lips spring from mine at last, and I gasp for air I forgot I needed. Only I choke on that same air as I sense the freezing wind tickle the folds of my womanhood, feel as something familiar pushes into the spot that only my fingers have touched for so long.

"Ahhhhhhh…..Mmmmmmmm…" Another breath is cut off as Peeta's lips crash into my open mouth. My hands frame his face, the nape of his neck, keeping us one as I slide off the trunk, sinking back into the coolness of the mud. The baker's son now lies on top of me, and I whimper when he breaks our kiss once more and instead buries his lips into my neck. I arch into him, never wanting the feel of his lips on my skin to end. He must be magic!

"Uhhhhhh….. Uhhhhh… Uhhhhhhh! Uhhhhhh!" My groans become louder and shameless as Peeta begins to slip in and out of me, slowly at first and then with increasing regularity. If it weren't for the booming thunder and flashes of lightning, I am sure someone would hear!

"Rrrrrrrrrrr! Arhhhhhhh!" Peeta growls in perfect harmony with my wails of pleasure. I can feel his warmth once again do wonders for me, seeping into my walls, my cervix, building and building until my whole core is alight with heat.

"Don't… don't stop! Please…." My voice comes out in a raspy croak.

Peeta takes in a sharp breath and pounds, thrusts into me faster. The cool night air now brushes my legs as he hoists them over his shoulders. His lips bear down on mine, and I welcome them. His kiss may be the only thing that keeps me tethered to this world -

"Huhhhh! Uhhhhh! Ohhhhh…." My breathing becomes shallow, ragged. At last, with a breathy sigh, I release whatever I can no longer hold. The pulsing bursts of pleasure overtake me, my juices lapping around Peeta's and my joined organs, down my legs and mixing into the mud beneath me.

I chill when Peeta's member leaves me. He presses his lips to mine one last time, so passionately that it nearly pushes me deeper into the gooey earth. The burnt loaves of bread flop onto my chest, resting there. Through blurred vision, I watch Peeta pull up his pants and stumble away into the curtain of rain, disappearing like a ghost.

And there I lie, half-naked and spread-eagled on my back in the mud, with nothing but soggy burnt bread and shards of confusing thoughts for company.