Chapter 32: If We Get Married... Again

"He split a bag of grain last week staring after you."

I smirk involuntarily, in spite of the fact that my stomach clenches in fear at the same time. Fear for her son, whom, Panem help me, I still love.

"I wish you'd just put him out of his misery and tell him he has no chance."

The tray of pastries Peeta is carrying clatters to the floor as he hears his mother's voice through the kitchen door, entering the bakery's kitchen a moment later. He and I look at each other, and I sadly glance away.

"Two squirrels," I dump them on the table, graciously refusing to acknowledge the Witch's comments.

Peeta's mother can be mean when she's trying to make a point. Cruel to be kind; she'll insist it's in his best interest. She is blunt and practical and has no time for things like the idea of being in love, especially when it clearly makes her son so distracted he ruins a morning's worth of cheese buns.

Peeta's eyes are fixed on the tray in his hands, his cheeks burning. Mercilessly, his mother continues.

"I've told him you wouldn't look twice at him. If you were interested, you would have said so." So now she's gaslighting him into thinking I don't still love him? This woman is certifiable!

Peeta drops the salvaged pastries again. His mother tuts. I brush past her and kneel to help him pick them up. My hand bumps against his and I dare to squeeze his fingers in sympathy. He looks away quickly, getting up awkwardly, and turning to the sink, his back to us both. I can tell from his body language that he wants to die of shame. I hope it isn't over me, or of what the Capitol has made him do all these years in such a relentless manner that he felt the need to stay away from me to protect me.

"He wants to keep his mind on his work, not in his underpants."

A dish slips from Peeta's nervous hands and smashes to pieces.

"Clumsy idiot!" the Witch shouts, whipping around.

It is absurd to see a tiny old woman grab a strong man, a Victor, by the ear and watch his steady eyes turn as frightened as a little boy's.

"Breaking our china? You'll go hungry tonight to pay for that, you clumsy fool!" Mrs. Mellark shakes him roughly, her hand drawing back to whack him.

THUNK

Mrs Mellark gasps, her hand frozen mid-strike as the bread knife sails past an inch from her face and lodges in the wooden drying rack.

I see Peeta look across the room at me, in amazed awe, but I don't acknowledge it. All I can see is red, as I glower at his mother like a lioness.

"Don't touch him," my voice is low and dangerous.

It's completely unnerving for me to see Peeta's mother scared of someone, and I'm sure it must be the same for my love, too. Still, I doesn't stop glaring at her until Mrs. Mellark leaves the kitchen, muttering "Seam brat…as daft as each other" angrily.

"Next time I won't miss," I call to her retreating back as the door slams.

I catch Peeta's eye. Without warning, we both start laughing uncontrollably. Our bellies shake so deep they hurt. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard.

I cross in front of Peeta to pull the knife out of the drying rack. The moment I touch it, our laughter starts over again. Wiping away tears and grinning, I turn to my sweetheart with shining eyes.

Peeta's hand twitches out involuntarily to brush my hair out of her eyes. Our laughter fades to catching breath. I lean into him. My hands find his chest.

Suddenly we are kissing, in full view of the bakery window, with all the passion of that night long ago in this very kitchen. And in between the soft, frenzied pecks, all the warmth of our laughter is still bubbling in us. My hand finds his.

"Come on," I drag him with purpose to the back door, and I know he would have followed me anyway.

"I don't want her coming back in," I explain huskily as I press him up against the outside brick stove, just kiddy-cornered off the loading dock.

I melt up into his mouth, soft and compliant against him. I taste the bread in the air mixed with Peeta's warmth and my own earthy taste, as Peeta's tongue swishes around my lips and I petal them open willingly, granting him access. My hands grip his broad shoulders and his grab my hips then sweep up my back, clutching at me as though he's afraid he might wake up at any moment. He presses kisses along my jaw, my neck, into my hair, covering every part of me he can reach with love. My eyelids are heavy and droopy at his attentions, my lips slightly parted and waiting until I feel his seal over mine again.

"If we get married…. again, you can't ever tell me what to do."

Peeta freezes, his mouth hung open, mid kiss. My grey eyes sparkle and I rest my forehead against his and play with his buttons. My dearest is still slack-jawed, his expression conveying crystal-clear disbelief. The silent question he asks is loud as a foghorn in my mind. What did you just say?

"And I won't have any more children. Not as long as there are still Hunger Games. I'll hunt whenever I want. Prim and Rory can visit us whenever they want to. And I can't promise I'll be civil to your mother."

Peeta is trying to do anything but stare at me in wonder. Fails. He's been uncharacteristically silent for way too long, and a little panic creeps into my countenance. I've delivered my terms for this marriage with such sincerity. And Peeta has never intentionally wanted me to feel unsure, ever, so he finds his voice.

"OK," is all that comes. Soft, uncertain, hardly daring to smile.

"OK," I reply, drawing his face down to kiss him impossibly tenderly, like he were even more delicate than Prim.

"Go on then - ask me," I whisper. My eyes meet his evenly so he knows that I am really serious this time. And best of all, not at all afraid. I won't run, stay away again, and I am beginning to realize that neither will he. Not anymore.

"Ask you?" I covers his hands on my hips with my own to still their trembling.

"Ask me to marry you. Propose," I dip my head shyly. I can't imagine what he's waiting for. He proposed to me once when we were 18, and he did just fine.

Peeta cradles my small, strong hands between his own, between our bodies. Like the morning of that long-ago Reaping, he kneels.

"Will you marry me, Katniss?"

"Yes," I smile hesitantly down at him, the question in my eyes: if you want me to.

And then he is kissing me and kissing me, and I feel like I'll explode with happiness.

"You really will?" he draws back in wonderment, as though he has to keep checking.

"Yes. I will, Peeta," I roll my eyes, grinning, running my fingers through his hair indulgently.

"You'll be my wife," the disbelief is still there in his voice. I'm smiling and my eyes are bright and more open to him than they've ever been and how could I have gotten so lucky? Peeta obviously cannot believe our good fortune either. No doubt he'll work on changing my mind about giving Poppy siblings later, and we'll talk about it, but for now I never thought we would make it back to even here.

"I'll take care of you," he strokes my cheek.

"I know you will," my eyes are soft, "I'll take care of you too." A slight pause as I bite my lip.

"I'm not like other girls," I frown. "Are you sure you want that?"

"Yes," he answers immediately, kissing my frown away. "I want you more than anything."

"I'm sorry I was so cold to you. After that night…. in the kitchen. The night of Gale's wedding," I trail off. Try again. It's an apology long overdue, and only one of many apologies I'll need to make, and I'm sure I'll hear some from him as well, but we can discuss that later.

"I was confused. Scared. There's something I haven't told you," I look down at my hands.

"What is it?" Apprehension is still in his voice, as though he is terrified I will disappear.

I finger his buttons again and then mumble out in a whisper.

"I love you. More than anyone." Truer words I've never spoken, and I almost cry at the sincerity of it, of the stirrings those three little words cause in my heart.

Peeta puts one of my hands over his hammering heart.

"Me too. Katniss, I love you so much," he breathes, like he's savouring my words. "Wait," he double-takes. "More than Prim and Poppy?"

I throw back my head and laugh musically. "Will you be satisfied if I say you're tied with them?"

He smirks, cobalt eyes dancing. "I can live with that." We kiss lightly again. "I've loved you as long as I can remember." Of course I already know that, but he clearly feels good in saying this to me. To watch my eyes widen and soften as I look up at him, exhale against his Adam's apple when I hear it.

My eyes brim with tears. "Thank you," I smile.

"For what?" he fingers my long braid, obviously relishing the thought that once I'm his wife he'll get to touch my braid whenever he likes the look of it (which is no doubt always).

"For loving me so much. For being such a good man."

"I…" but I cut him off with a deep kiss and nothing else matters now, not in this moment and not in the whole of Panem, and there's time to kiss a little more against the cool bricks and then a wedding to plan tomorrow.

My daughter is thankfully not Reaped for the 93rd Hunger Games, which results in a win for District 7. When Peeta suggests inviting his fellow Victor, Johanna Mason to the wedding, I think it is a good idea. Our nuptials will coincide with the Victory Tour, during which Johanna will be swinging through Twelve anyway. I've always dreamed about a winter wedding, especially since Peeta and I shared what I consider to be our first real kiss in the middle of winter, a kiss warm enough so that I didn't feel the cold.

The week of the wedding, when the train pulls in bearing Johanna and her successful tribute – a large boy by the name of Arlo Barsetti – I am surprised to see who is in the Victors' Peacekeeping contingent.

"I'll be damned…. Darius Freeman!" I rush past Peeta and Haymitch greeting their fellow Victors to leap with a laugh into the arms of my old childhood Peacekeeper friend.

"Katty Everdeen! How the hell are you?"

"Just fine, Dar." We kiss cheeks lightly, and I usher Poppy forward to introduce her. "This is my daughter, Poppy."

Darius cocks an intrigued eyebrow. "Really? And who's the lucky man you call your husband?"

I shift with my eyes. "Right over there," I murmur quietly. Darius glances to Peeta once, then back at Poppy, and sizes it up in seconds. A very understanding expression has come over him.

"At least, he will be. Again. Long story." I whisper in his ear. "There's a Toasting the night after tomorrow. Think you and Jo can sneak away?"

"Our schedule with Arlo is light that day; he's supposed to take a tour of the coalfields…." As we're talking, I vaguely notice how Arlo Barsetti, the new Victor, is now eyeing Poppy almost in wonder. My daughter is smiling brightly, and…. wait…. is she blushing? Uh oh…..

Johanna Mason now comes over, and shocks me completely by wrapping me in a hug. From what Peeta has told me about her, she can be a little abrasive and rude. Vulgar, even, so this display of affection from her knocks me for a loop.

"I hear a couple of crazy kids are getting hitched," Johanna hisses in my ear.

"Yes, in two days," I relay, voice just as soft.

Johanna draws back, nodding in what must be approval. "Count me in."

The night before my Toasting, I am sequestered in my room in Rory and Prim's homestead, unable to sleep. My excitement for what is to come in the morning is too much. At last, I'll be home with the man I should never have let get away from me, who I should have been with all along.

Feeling a little parched, I get up and creep down the stairs to my kitchen to get a glass of water, trying not to glance out the window piningly at Victors' Hill in the distance, where Peeta is sleeping for the night before he is to marry me. I wonder if we'll be assigned a house in the Justice Building, or if Poppy and I will just move into his mansion in the Village? I don't care where we live, just so long as we do it as a complete family.

On the landing, I bump into Johanna Mason, who is staying with us for the night.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asks.

"No," I smile.

"I'm actually glad you're up. There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Yeah?" I reach for the water pitcher, squinting at the ice box's light. "What about?"

"Has Peeta told you about his…. Duties?"

I still for a moment. "Yes," I say softly.

Johanna shifts from foot to foot. "Well, I think you should know that…. I've…. been with him. A time or two."

I stare at her, unsure what to feel about this, and even less what to make of it. Johanna must think that I should naturally be infuriated with her, so she continues on quickly.

"I don't feel anything for him. Not… not like that. He's like my brother. But…. high rollers in the Capitol, some of them pay a pretty sesterce to see two Victors going at it. Peeta and I have been a popular pair. We've…. we've been forced to sleep together a few times. It's not all that uncommon – Gloss has been made to fuck his own sister who knows how many times, and I think Finnick's blazed a trail through just about every lady Victor still standing." She pauses, starts again. "I'm just saying that…. be gentle and understanding with him. And try not to let it get between you. It's not easy being on the sex worker circuit, especially when you're married."

My eyes narrow curiously. "You say that like you know from experience."

Johanna blushes. "Dar's been great. So patient."

"Wait: Darius?" My eyes widen. "You mean you two are….?"

Johanna nods. "We jumped the log in secret almost seventeen years ago. I… I got pregnant not long after, and…"

"You have kids?" I never thought Johanna Mason would be the mothering type.

"I have a kid. Still. Thank Panem." Suddenly, a distant memory, of something Darius told me long ago, about his family, floats into my head.

"You had Arlo together, didn't you?"

Johanna nods. "We gave him the Barsetti name because it still belonged to his father, though Dar hasn't been able to use it in years. We've been able to keep it a secret… or at least, I thought we did, until he was Reaped." She smirks. "Everyone heard the name Barsetti and thought Brutus knocked me up. Watching that was kind of fun, plus it threw Snow off the scent." She takes my hand. "Please, just love Peeta. And protect Poppy. She's a sweet little girl – don't let Snow get his hands on her."

I nod firmly. "I won't. And, Jo? Thank you."

She grins. "You're welcome."

The morning of my wedding is here at last. I stand, clad in my blue Reaping dress, as Mother does up my hair into the single braid running down my back. "Now you look beautiful too."

"I wish I looked like you," Poppy murmurs, even though she is resplendent in her own dress.

"Oh no…. I wish I looked like you, Dandelion," I beam at her, and she turns pink at the praise.

Johanna bustles in, followed by Prim and Isabella, my cousin. "The Mayor's taken Arlo on that coalfield tour; the Justice Building is clear. If we wanna go to a Toasting, we'd better get moving!"

My bridesmaids and I stride down to the seat of the District 12 government. My heart is hammering in my chest, even while I'm beaming. Peeta and I are going to get married right this time, and stand before the District Justice of the Peace, so that he and I will be recognized as man and wife in the eyes of the district law.

Inside the clerk's small office, my heart swells when I see the Baker and both of his other sons in attendance. Miriam is conspicuously absent. Good. We can do this without her. Even Leven's wife and my cousin, Annabeth, are in attendance. She and I have never had the best relationship, and I don't know how she will feel about our family ties growing even stronger as we'll technically also be sisters-in-law by marriage.

Mother and Poppy happily escort me down the aisle to where Peeta is waiting, alongside Haymitch Abernathy as his Best Man. The clerk instructs us to sign the marriage licenses and the notary before we exchange rings and vows.

"Katniss Magenta Everdeen, with this ring, I thee wed." And Peeta slips on the ring he first gave to me when we were eighteen – the ring that, until recently, I had insisted on keeping, even after we broke up.

"Peeta Joseph Mellark, with this ring, I thee wed." I bestow on my husband his own ring, one that Primrose helped me pick out. Though, I note proudly how Peeta still, even after all this time, wears his Mockingjay pin – his first symbol of our marriage and that became his district token in the arena – with pride.

"I now pronounce this couple husband and wife. You may kiss," the District Justice of the Peace instructs us.

Beaming, Peeta and I melt into each other's arms and kiss rather indecently. Behind me, I hear Darius let out a country whoop, followed by a smacking sound – Johanna, his wife, must have punched him in the arm.

And we aren't done yet, as Peeta and I stroll arm-in-arm back to the Everdeen homestead, followed by our well-wishers. As soon as we arrive, Isabella and my other bridesmaids pounce on me and drag me up the stairs, leaving my poor husband behind.

"Strip," my youngest cousin demands. "There's something I want to give you."

Confused, I obey, my befuddlement not easing when my cousin brings out a garment bag and unzips it.

Poppy and I both stare at the wedding dress inside.

"It's beautiful…." My daughter breathes.

"You like it?" Isabella smiles at her kindly. "This was your great-grandmother's dress. It's tradition for Merchant mothers to pass down to their daughters the wedding dress she wore at her Toasting. It's kind of like a family heirloom. Your grandmother was never given this to wear to her Toasting…. And that was wrong." Turning to me, Isabella smiles at me brightly. "I think it would mean a lot, Katty, if you wear this now."

Slowly, I allow the girls to help me into it. It hangs light over my shoulders and fits me quite well. Turning, I am astonished at the fairy princess staring back at me in the mirror. I look as graceful as a swan.

"You like it?" Isabella asks hesitantly.

"I love it," I attest, my voice thick with emotion. "Let's finish getting me hitched."

Slowly, I glide down the stairs, and smirk happily at how the sight of me takes Peeta's breath away. Standing before the roaring hearth, my husband and I Toast a bit of bread and share it. Grey eyes solemn but my heart happy, I tilt my head and permit my husband to kiss me. As I melt into his embrace, I whisper against his lips, "I love you, Mr. Mellark."

"I love you…. Mrs. Mellark." I shiver delightedly at hearing him say this, openly and without any more fear.

A little while later, Peeta and I nestled in each other's arms, swaying softly to the music that Eli Cartwright, the Postmaster and a skilled fiddler is playing.

"Thanks for agreeing to marry me again," Peeta murmurs.

"Our wedding was wonderful," I sigh.

Resting his chin on my head, Peeta scans the small crowd of guests, eyes finally landing on someone that causes his grip around my waist to tighten. "That's new."

Looking back, I can see our daughter dancing slowly with Arlo Barsetti, the newest Victor who Madge quietly ushered in after his coalfields tour following the reception.

"Peeta…." I chide. "They're just kids, let them have their fun!"

"If he hurts our daughter…."

"Johanna will kill him and leave you the scraps," I finish. He blinks at this, and I laugh. "I'll let her explain it. In the meantime…." And I loop my arms about his neck. "There's something I want to ask you. About… about tonight."

"What about tonight?" Peeta frowns.

"Can… can you make sure the Bakery is empty?"

"Katty…. I'm not sure I see what that has to do with…."

"It does," I assure him. "Trust me, in this fantasy I have, the Bakery is very much essential." And blushing bright red, I stand up on my tiptoes and whisper just what I have in mind for tonight….

As Peeta's lips curve and seal themselves around my pliant ones, I let out a tiny, pleased hum. "Ummmmm..." The noise vibrates my vocal cords until my lips part just enough for his tongue to slither into my inviting mouth. I grant it passage, and it disappears greedily down my throat. I unconsciously drape my arms around Peeta's neck as we mutually deepen the kiss, my one hand fisting along the white fabric of his shirt. My other hand sinks itself deeper into his hair, and I pull, yanking him closer with an aroused, guttural groan. "Mmmmhmmmmmm..." I close my eyes.

Meanwhile, Peeta's calloused, meaty hands grope lower. They dip past my waist and the curve of my hips. His one strong palm cups me audaciously, gripping and caressing the curved flesh of my rear through my wedding dress. The other, meanwhile, cradles the swell of my right breast. He squeezes there, ever so gently, squeezes me like the dough he has molded in his soft hands all his life, and I whimper. I feel my breasts rise to meet his skin, my pink nipple becoming erect as it strains against my bodice.

I yield to Peeta at last.

"Mmmmmmm..." I sigh into Peeta's passionate, insisting mouth, pushing my swelling breasts up against his toned chest muscles and rubbing them there. Next instant, Peeta sweeps my leg up and I raise it with no resistance, hooking my thigh around his waist. The Victor pushes his thigh into the space between my legs and my core sings, already pulsing and dripping wet with want. I rub it up against him, futilely grinding against him in desperate need of friction, making my intentions clear, even as I snap a wrist out to brazenly cup my husband between his legs. Clench his erection in my fist and stroke it. Groom him for me. Peeta growls with pleasure, pushing my bridal train up around my hips. He rocks his hard member against my soaked panties; clamping my thighs around him, I let him thrust between them, mimicking sex. I growl as my husband seizes my arse cheeks in his fists, squeezing the tender flesh there. Grabbing his own buttocks, I furiously hump back.

With that, I make the final leap into Peeta's arms, folding my legs about him. We stagger down the basement stairs to the storeroom, our lips digging and snapping and biting and becoming bruised as we furiously make out. Clearing a work table with a clatter and one sweep of his hand, Peeta hoists me onto the varnished wood, laying me gently on my back.

"Mmmm... Peeta..." I mumble into his lips. His cock gives a violent twitch against my palm and as he clambers desperately on top of me, I eagerly spread my legs wide for him.

Our fingers are clawing at each other now, tearing any offending fabric nearly in two. Peeta unzips my wedding dress alone with care, until the garment can pool to the floor. He makes quick work of my bodice and bra, revealing my pink, womanly curves to the world. They have become more buxom since I bore and nursed our daughter, yet they fit into the palm of Peeta's hand perfectly, as if my breasts were made for him to touch.

Peeta's kisses into my mouth become more insistent, more frantic, and he soon mouths down my face and jawline. Eyes rolling into the back of my head, I keen into him eagerly.

"Peeta, I... oooooh... please... don't stop!" I gasp.

He doesn't, now taking my nipple between his puckered lips and he begins to suckle. My eyes pop open wide and I growl.

"Oh my god... Ohhhhh my God, Peeta!"

My fingers begin to tear the seam of his zipper, unclasp the buckle. I wrench the button open and I yank him free, so that his manliness stands at attention before me. With Peeta's face buried and gnawing between the valley of my breasts, he doesn't see me blush. I must say, I am impressed with his girth. Size has never mattered to me, as Vick Hawthorne was quite big himself.

I feel the lace of my panties silkily slip down my thighs and I open my legs as far as they will go, the fabric of my knickers becoming strained and in danger of ripping. Peeta finally stops feasting on my breasts, ravishes my mouth one more time, and our eyes lock. Bravely, never more sure of anything in my life, I nod.

With one plunge, he takes me.

My irises become wide as saucers and I yelp, Peeta silencing my tiny yip with a hand clasped over my flushed and very kissed mouth. Slowly, and then faster and faster, he begins to work up a rhythm, thrusting into me and I snap my hips up to meet his in perfect time. Our sweaty bodies slam together with a delicious snapping sound; beneath us, the wood of the table creaks in protest as it sways and we sway with it. Soon Peeta replaces his hand with his mouth, swallowing my lips whole in a dizzying kiss. I swoon.

"Mmmmmmm... Hmmmmm... Huhhhhh... Uhhhh... Guhhhhh! Grrrruhhh! Ooohmmmmm..." I am making noises shamelessly, as I bounce up and down and wriggle against him. I feel the warmth building in my core, hot as one of the Baker's ovens, hotter and hotter. I feel a sudden tremor, a hum, as Peeta purrs through his kiss into my mouth:

"I love you, Katniss."

These four little words make me cleave in two. My walls clench around him.

"MMMMM-HMMMMMM!" I whimper, scream into Peeta's mouth, as my entire body vibrates violently through my orgasm. Peeta makes me cum so hard, I see stars, and I float very gently back to Earth, almost as if on the wings of a bird.

A door opens in the bakery somewhere above us. My heart pounds; it could very well be his mother.

Peeta and I lie still and silent for a moment, broken only by my happy whimpers (muffled by Peeta's hand) as I ride through the pulsing aftershocks of my release. We can hear footsteps moving around on the floor above us, but they don't come near the entrance to the basement. Finally, there is the sound of another door slamming as the intruder leaves.

"Hmmmmmmm..." My eyes flutter closed, rolling into the back of my head as my lover resumes driving into my sopping folds. Another weak slam, two, and with a mighty grunt, Peeta spills all the seed he has into me.

We lay like that for a while on that tabletop, weak and shivering from the exertion. Though we have never felt so warm. Then Peeta is lifting me to my feet again, kissing me furiously, and I kiss him back, as he hoists me into the air and I wrap my legs around him while we both stagger back into the brick wall of the basement.

Peeta is soon back to thrusting inside, while I jerk my hips along his member to keep up the friction.

"Huhhh….. Uhhhh…. Ahhhh…. Oooooh….." My breath is coming in rough and labored pants, gasps. "Fuck me, Peeta! Fuck me harder!"

My husband readily complies, and with a roar, he cums inside me once more. Lowering me gently, he suddenly spins me around so that my boobs are pressed nearly into the bricks, the mortar biting along my skin. I squirm happily when I feel Peeta's palms cup my breasts, his thumbs rubbing over my pebbling nibbles.

"I've said it before: you really do have the most gorgeous tits," Peeta growls low in my ear, and I mewl, arching into him.

"Oh, yes, Peeta! Touch my titties!"

"That's not all I plan to do," he hisses, and then my eyes pop huge as I feel his member slam into me from behind. I wail, leaning back into him.

"Oh Snow! Oh, sweet Panem, my ass!" Pressing me into the bricks, Peeta begins to jerk his hips, rubbing them deliciously along the curve of my buttocks. All the while, he continues to knead and stroke my breasts, and when his mouth searches hungrily for and finds mine, I melt into his kiss with relish.

"Mmmm…. Hmmm…. Please, Peeta…. Peeta….." I tremble when one of his hands dips from my boobs down low to sink into the warm wetness of my heart, pinching and rubbing my clit.

Our tongues dancing in each other's mouths for dominance, and with my husband touching me everywhere while he fiercely shags me from behind, I start groaning louder and louder.

"Huhhhh….. Uhhhh….. Peeta, love, I'm….. I'm gonna cum…." My husband slams into me one more time, and I scream. "FUCK!"

The muscles in my cunt tighten around his hand as I explode, and my arse cheeks squeeze together, quickly trapping and milking him as Peeta tumbles over the edge with me. He gives another, weaker thrust into my ass, and I squeal quietly, while we both sink to the floor and hold each other in a shivering, sweaty mess.

My mind is in such a foggy haze that I barely register it when Peeta slurs, blurts out:

"Did you really love Vick Hawthorne?"

Stroking his golden hair, I pause for a long moment as I contemplate how to answer the question.

"Not the way I should have," I finally admit. "Not the way he wanted me too. I ended up taking his virginity, actually, and I think my agreeing to marry him was more on impulse than anything else." I pause, snuggling into my husband. "I was lonely," I admit. "I needed some sort of intimacy, and we weren't together. It isn't an excuse for how I led Vick on, but…. Things did work out, after all."

Peeta nods slowly. "True." Turning my face to his, he kisses me once, very sweetly.

"I love you."

"I know. I love you too. It was you, before I even could see it. It's always been you."

The following year, when Poppy turns 17, there is an uprising at the Reaping for the Hunger Games.

Rebels appear out of the woodwork and actually bring down Thread and his men, taking over the district. Haymitch had apparently been secretly working with them for decades; my husband never knew.

In retaliation, President Snow drops bombs on District 12, and the remaining survivors flee for the fence and the woods beyond. Wandering for days, we are finally picked up by soldiers who claim to be from District 13, which we once thought destroyed.

So begins a rebellion that quickly engulfs all of Panem. Huddled deep underground, more of our loved ones manage to escape to Thirteen. My daughter is happily reunited with Arlo Barsetti, Johanna and Darius's son, and they share their first kiss.

The Capitol falls, and Snow is executed. In a decision that includes Peeta and his fellow surviving Victors, the Hunger Games are abolished.

My husband, my daughter and the rest of my family return to find District 12 in ruins, but we slowly begin to rebuild.

That includes Peeta and I rebuilding our family, and we make love as often as we can until finally, I go to him and tell him that I am expecting his child: "I'm pregnant again." Peeta kisses me thoroughly, tears in his eyes.

A year or so later, I am watching my grown daughter and her father play together in the Meadow. Nestled in our arms is Peeta's and my baby son, who stirs from a restless sleep crying and whimpering.

"Oh, sssssh…. Sssshh….." I rock him to calm him down. "Did you have a nightmare? I have nightmares too. So does your Daddy. Someday, we'll explain it to you – why they came. Why some of them won't ever go away. But I'll tell you how I survive it. I make a list in my head, of all the good things I've seen someone do. Every little thing I can remember. It's like a game – I do it over and over. It gets a little tedious after all these years, but…. there are much worse Games to play."

A/N: That's all, folks. Hope you liked it. If you need more Hunger Games, check out my previous work Maysilee: Canary in the Coal Mine, and please leave a review! Thanks!