Chapter 5: Memories of Lost Love

It is summer and Reaping Day before I even realize it. Focaccia turned five in March, and Prim is due with Gale's and my nephew in several weeks. Her belly is very round and tender; it is still a hard thing for me to fathom, but the curve to her figure keeps me grounded in the knowledge that this is really happening. My baby sister is indeed all grown up. Mother has been immensely excited, temporarily moving out of the Everdeen-Hawthorne mansion in Victors' Village to go and live with her youngest and Rory, to help them prepare for the baby.

The sun is ascending fast in the sky; I have to be in the Square with Haymitch and Effie in just a few hours. Letting Focaccia sleep, my husband and I got a quick hunt in, and have been lounging together in the Meadow until the last possible moment.

In the months since our argument, Gale has floated the possibility of our having a baby every now and again. Just as he does in this moment, when he murmurs:

"I know you have to focus on the Games, but when you and the old man get back… do you think we could discuss, you know, getting pregnant?"

Wordlessly, I cup his cheek, turn his face to mine and capture his lips in a soft kiss goodbye. The embrace quickly escalates until my pants are shoved down to my ankles, my top is yanked till it is level with my torso, and I bounce in his lap while Gale lathers my breast with his mouth. I cum with a shout, and he chases me, following me over the edge with a grunt. When we finally break apart, I whisper against the seam of his lip, "I'll think about it."

My insides squirm and clench at how his eyes light up that I didn't immediately say 'No,' like all the other times he's asked. Rising, I turn and leave the Meadow, trusting my husband will follow me when he is ready. Besides, I have to get back to the Village in time and rouse Focaccia; Haymitch and I will have to pass her off to Mother on our way to the Square.

It isn't until I wake up the next morning on the train that I realize I forgot to make Gale pull out.

Several hours later, Haymitch and I are onboard the sleek, Capitol locomotive, studying our two tributes culled this year. When it is possible, Victors tend to mentor by gender, and ever since I came home from the clock arena, Haymitch and I followed this playbook to our great benefit. Would that greater success in the form of more District 12 Victors had occurred with it!

My girl, Mimosa Whiteberry, is 18, nearly 19, and a muscular kid from the Community Home. I think I'll be able to get quite a few sponsors for her, at least from among the gamblers who like to take risks and back an unconventional horse. This year, Haymitch got the short end of the deal, ending up with a 13-year-old named Collic Hawkstar. The snot-nosed little whelp is the son of the Merchant creamer, and he is scared out of his mind.

Looking at the inverse of this relationship, I have to concede that the Twelve kids actually are better off in mentors than most of the other outliers. Haymitch and I afford them street cred and respectability that only the Careers of 1 and 2 (and occasionally 4) can claim. The Coal District has had 4 Victors, 4 wins to its name. And two of those were for Quarter Quells. District 12 is still the reigning champion of the Quells and will be until the next one in roughly another twenty years, so Mimosa and Collic couldn't ask for better coaching.

"How… how do we make it past the Cornucopia?" Collic asks timidly.

Smirking sadly, Haymitch knocks back a slug from his flask. "Your best bet, kid, is to run and hide. Only grab something if it is near you, and by near, I mean like, it's six feet away from your pedestal, max. Finding water is key. Are you good at tracking? Hiding?"

Collic nods eagerly, though his eyes still look petrified. "I always made the best hiding places in Daddy's bottle factory."

I fight off a wince, as Haymitch replies, "Well, kid, indoor arenas are rare, and the last one was only three years ago. And I don't think in all my years, I've ever seen an arena set in a factory. So, unless it's that, you might want to relearn your entire hiding stratagem." Collic deflates like a balloon.

I turn back to focus on my girl tribute. "What about you, Mimosa? What are your strengths?"

To my immense relief, Mimosa projects cold confidence. She could pass for a Two in attitude alone, and I am starting to feel hope, even excitement, though I caution myself against wanting it too much. But I so desperately want a Victor, I can smell it! "I could out-wrestle all the other kids in the Community Home. We'd have mock tournaments in the backlot."

I can feel Haymitch's sloshed eyes on us, gleaming, intrigued, and I want to tell him to focus on his own tribute. I smile, pleased. "A wrestler, huh? My…. my…." I almost say 'husband,' except I'm not talking about Gale, and it's Peeta's handsome face that is swimming behind my eyelids instead. "My lover…. My daughter's father," I correct. "… was quite the wrestler in his day. District runner-up behind only his brother."

"I know. I've seen the plaque in the school." And Mimosa's eyes are unusually gentle as she gazes at me. I don't want her sympathy, and yet I internally cling to it like a lifeline. "I remember when the two of you won, my last year in Lower School. Everyone – Townie, Seamer – partied for days. I got a freebie my first Reaping thanks to the all-Victors Quell twist." She stares down at the wood of the tabletop. "Peeta Mellark used to bring us leftover pastries from the bakery that were close to stale and couldn't be sold. I liked him. I'm… I'm sorry for your loss."

My eyes are shimmering and glassy, the wetness clinging to my cheeks, and I feel totally exposed. "Thank you," I whisper. I manage to catch a sob before it flies and push back my chair abruptly. "Haymitch: take the wheel."

The old drunk seems only too happy to oblige and leave poor, good-as-dead Collic in the lurch as I lope from the train car. I sense Effie's stare at my retreating back, but ignore it, dashing down the next car into my private quarters before slamming the door behind me and locking it for good measure.

Clapping a hand to my mouth, I finally let the ugly, wracking sob come, sliding down the length of the door as I think of the boy I lost. The boy I did love. The boy who was my first. The father of our child. "Oh, Peeta…."

FLASHBACK

I shiver as Peeta presses a kiss into my neck and I loop my arms around him. His lips feel good, so impossibly good, that I know I won't be the first to let go.

"What should we do now?" I murmur.

"I just want to spend every minute of the rest of my life with you…" he whispers against my skin, all romantic.

Lifting my head from his shoulder, I grin at him, holding out my hands. "Come on, then." And taking both his hands, I lead him with purpose back into my room.

My hips press into Peeta's, the green nightgown riding up over my thighs. It's like my body knows what to do, even if my mind can't keep up. He makes a noise low in his throat and rolls me onto my back, shifting himself over me, his stomach resting against mine.

For the first time I can feel how hard he is, pressed up against the inside of my thigh, only the thin fabric of his shorts between us. A sudden rush of desire curls up between my legs, the intensity so startling that my knees tighten around him reflexively, fingers digging into his back.

I'm not really sure what to do while he's kissing my neck, my collarbone, so I run my hands down his back, coming to rest just above his shorts. I play with the waistband, dipping my fingers an inch below it, afraid to go any further. Peeta drags his lips down to my shoulder and then pulls away slightly, resting his forehead on the pillow next to me. He's breathing heavily; I can feel it, all the way down to my toes.

"You want to do this?" he asks me, pulling his head back up to look at me. I can tell that he's trying to be serious but there's so much underlying his words: giddiness, disbelief, caution.

I'm nodding before I can even think about what that means. But my chest arches up into him as he kisses me again, running his hand up under my nightgown to cup his hand around my breast. I've always trusted my body's instincts, and right now it's telling me to wrap myself around him, feel him, taste his skin, let him into mine.

"You feel amazing," he tells me, brushing his thumb over my nipple, which is incredibly sensitive now. I can't stop the little moan that escapes my throat. Peeta hears it, must be encouraged, because he squeezes my breast gently, rubbing his fingers over my nipple in little circles, and oh, it feels so good.

"Can I take this off?" he whispers. It takes a long moment for me to realize he means the green nightgown. When I'd slipped it on it had felt so luxurious, but now it just feels tangled and restrictive.

"Yeah," I say, and prop myself up against the backboard of the bed, lifting my arms so he can pull it over my head. Peeta stops for a long moment, balanced on his knees between my legs, and just stares at me. I feel a blush creep into my cheeks. After all I've endured at the hands of my prep team I should be used to a little nudity, but this is very, very different.

"Stop looking," I murmur, leaning forward to wrap my arms around him and pull him back for another long kiss. Our chests are pressed up against one another, nothing in between, and it feels strange, but in a pleasant way.

Peeta backs up a little and pulls down on my hips, shifting me so that my head is resting on the pillows, elevated just a little. He bends his head down and licks around my nipple in a slow, hot circle, his hand coming up to palm my other breast in the same, teasingly slow motion. I'd thought his fingers felt good, but his tongue is another thing entirely.

How does he know how to make me feel like this? The answer enters my head before I can stop it, becomes all I can think about, even as his hand begins to wander lower down my side. "Have you done this before?" I ask abruptly.

Peeta stops and sits back. I immediately regret it, longing to have his mouth back on my skin. "I've done things," he says vaguely. "I've never had sex." It hits me again that that's what we're about to do right now, what we are doing. I'm having sex, with Peeta. "Why, have you?"

"No," I say defensively. "I'm too 'pure', remember?" That I've never had sex should be obvious. My first kiss was with Peeta in that cave. Everything I know about kissing, and now sex, I've learned from him.

He smiles at me like I'm being ridiculous. Maybe I am. "You're not too pure," he says. "You're perfect." And he kisses the spot between my breasts, over my heart, then looks up at me. "Is this still okay?"

I give him a small smile back. "Yes," I answer, and sigh as he lowers his mouth to my breast again.

I start to become very aware of my lower body, the heat pulsing between my thighs. I slip my hand down there, and am surprised by how sticky and wet I am. I move my fingers experimentally, shivering a little when I brush past the sensitive little nub in the middle.

Peeta notices me touching myself and he moves his hand down to my underwear, eyes questioning. I nod, tilt my hips so he can slide the soft fabric off of me. I'm completely naked now. And it's scary, until I see how Peeta is looking at me: like he's stumbled on buried treasure, like I'm the one thing he's wanted in his whole life.

His fingers take over where my own were just moving, and he studies my face intently, looking for a hint, a reaction. To be honest, it doesn't feel as great as I'd expected, and I shift around, trying to bring his fingers closer to the spot I want. He can tell he's not getting the same reaction and he touches my hand hesitantly. "Do you want to show me?"

Do I? I'm embarrassed, but I guess I do, because I take his hand and guide his fingers over me, brushing over the slick wetness before moving them up to that sensitive spot again. I move our fingers together in slow circles until he settles on the rhythm, and let my hands fall away to clutch the sheets beneath us because this feels better than anything, ever.

But it's like each time one hunger is sated, a new one reveals itself. I'm hyper-aware of the ache deep in my core: it's that of a space begging to be filled. My hips move gently up and down, in time with the steady rhythm of Peeta's fingers, and somehow he knows what I'm asking for. He slips a finger inside me. I gasp, nodding, and he adds a second.

His fingers move inside me and on me in tandem. It's harder than ever to control the little noises I'm making. But Peeta seems to take his cues from them, repeating the things that make me moan the loudest, or doing them faster.

It feels good, but it's still not exactly what I want. I rub my foot along Peeta's calf, to get his attention. "Peeta."

"Mm?" He stills his hands.

"You should -" I swallow, suddenly shy. "You should take off your shorts."

I don't need to tell him twice. He tries to pull them off so quickly that he loses balance on his good leg and falls over on his side, the shorts caught on his knees. I laugh and feel immediately guilty, covering my hands with my mouth. He pulls the shorts the rest of the way off, looking embarrassed and a little hurt.

"Peeta." I reach out for him. "Come here."

Still looking flustered, he moves up the bed to lay next to me. I've seen a man's penis before - there's no way around it when your mother treats sick patients on your kitchen table - but never aroused. Never like this.

I run my fingers down the side of his cock and he closes his eyes, his mouth opening just slightly. His skin is softer than I expected. I wrap my hand around him, squeeze gently, and he groans a little.

"Do you want me to...?" I trail off, unsure. All this time he's been focused on me, and I haven't done a single thing for him in return. It's so typical of us, and I feel ashamed. Selfish. Peeta would fetch me the moon if he could, and I'd forget about it before he even made it back to Earth.

He meets my eyes. "Honestly," he says, "I just really want to be inside you right now."

A thrill shoots up my spine. This is what I want, too - him, inside me. I kiss him in answer, a deep one, my tongue pushing past his lips. "Okay," I murmur, settling onto my back, pulling him over me.

Peeta takes a moment to adjust his balance, resting most of his weight on his hands. His hips lower to mine and I feel him press tentatively against me. This is real, this is happening.

"Wait," I say suddenly.

In a way, it wouldn't really matter if I got pregnant. If everything goes according to plan, Peeta will be the one to walk away from the arena, not me. But I don't know if I can go through with this if there's even the slightest possibility of that happening. "We need - do you have protection?" I ask desperately, knowing that most likely, he does not. I'm not sure what I'll do if he says no.

But Peeta nods and looks away, seemingly embarrassed.

"When Effie saw that we were sharing a room again, she um, gave me some condoms. And a lecture," he adds, rolling off of me to reach down to the floor for his pants. He pulls a shiny foil square from the pocket. "It was weird."

I can't help but laugh, and he laughs too as he rips open the packet carefully and rolls on the condom. He climbs back over me and presses his forehead to mine, smiling. "I'm really happy right now," he whispers. "No matter what."

I close my eyes, suddenly sobered. "Me too," I breathe.

"I'm going to...go into you now," he continues quietly, kissing my nose, then my lips. "But tell me if I'm hurting you, okay?" I don't answer. "Katniss?"

"Okay," I say. I open my eyes again, meeting his, and smile, hoping that he can't see that I'm scared. And if he can, that he can also see that I trust him.

Peeta enters me very slowly. I press my lips together and squeeze his shoulders where my hands rest. It does hurt, but not unbearably. Mostly it feels strange, foreign in a way that his fingers didn't, but also better - more satisfying.

He stops, and takes a deep breath. He eyes are a little unfocused, directed somewhere over my head. "I'm okay," I say softly. "You can keep going."

Peeta drops a kiss onto my forehead. "I just need a second," he says, and laughs a little. "This is...wow."

He gathers himself, and pushes further into me. There's a brief, sharp pain and I cry out a little, but tell him to keep going. Soon he's buried inside me, all the way in, deeper under my skin than I thought was possible.

We're still for a long moment. The only sound I hear is Peeta breathing, and his heartbeat, pounding in his chest.

"You okay?"

I nod. "I'm okay."

"Good. You feel amazing," he blurts out again, and I can't help but smile.

He starts to move in me - slowly, in and out. I try to move my hips to match his but we can't seem to get the timing right, and we bump together awkwardly.

"It's okay," he whispers. "We'll get better at this."

I can tell the exact moment when his face falls and he realizes he's forgotten himself. Because he's wrong. We won't get better – this is it for us. I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, even more desperate to keep him deep inside me for as long as we're able.

I stop trying to match his movements and focus on the rest of him instead, kissing his neck, his chin, running my hands through his hair and down his back and over his stomach. His cock slides in and out of me in a steady rhythm. I think I'm beginning to understand why people go crazy for this – for the desperate anticipation as he slips out, the delicious burn as he pushes back in. I tilt my hips up, draw in a sharp breath. It feels like he's disappearing into me even deeper, if that's possible.

Eventually Peeta's hips start to move differently, his thrusts growing faster. His expression is of intense concentration. I can tell that he's going to come soon, and a wave of desire washes over me.

"I'm gonna come," he chokes out, confirming my thoughts. He's thrusting hard now, and it's somewhat uncomfortable, but also exciting. I pull his head down to mine roughly and kiss him, hard. He groans into my mouth as he orgasms, his body jerking for just a second or two until he lets himself collapse onto me.

He's heavy, but it feels nice to have him on top of me, for a little while at least. I run my fingers lightly up and down his back, waiting for him to collect himself again.

Eventually he turns his head and kisses my cheek as he gently pulls out of me, rolling onto the bed beside me. Our hands find each other in the space between us, tangling together. I miss him already, wishing, however implausible, that he could just stay inside me until we fall asleep.

Peeta takes a breath to speak, and I brace myself for what is sure to come: another declaration of love that I can't return, more sweet words that melt me and freeze me at the same time. But he surprises me - just another surprise in a night full of them, I suppose - and says, "You didn't come yet."

I was so wrapped up in him that I nearly forgot, but he's right. The thrumming heat between my legs flares up again. "That's true," I murmur.

"Do you want me inside you again?" he asks. He's already half-hard again. Part of me does, but I also feel sore, and the new feeling of him filling me up is so distracting I'm not sure I'll even be able to come when he's in me.

"Kind of, but I kind of just want you to use your hands again," I say, feeling inexplicably shy again.

"Okay," he says easily, and picks back up where he left off earlier, slipping his fingers back to the spot where all my desire seems to spiral out from. His other hand strokes my knee, and he presses slow kisses along the inside of my thigh. I'm already close and it doesn't take long for the orgasm to build in me, curling from my toes all the way to tips of my fingers, exploding in one brilliant moment where my whole body seizes up in pleasure. I feel like I climbed up a mountain and fell off of it, all at the same time.

Peeta kisses my stomach, right above my bellybutton, and rests his cheek there for a few seconds before scooting up beside me. My head feels fuzzy; suddenly, all I want to do is sleep. His arms slide around me, warm and slightly damp with our sweat.

Peeta's smiling so hard that I feel my own smile stretching across my face of its own accord. "That felt good, right?" he asks.

My limbs feel loose and heavy. I nod, not trusting the words that might come out of my mouth if I try to speak. Because if Peeta asked me to rip out my heart right now and hand it to him, I think I'd say yes.

In a way, I already have. I've given myself over, I think, and feel none of the panic I thought I would.

"You look so beautiful," he says quietly, pushing stray hairs back from my face. "I changed my mind. I want to live in this moment forever."

"Okay," I agree easily, and Peeta looks so delighted that I have to laugh.

"What?"

"Nothing. You," I say. "You look so pleased with yourself."

"I am pleased with myself." He grins. "Got to give you something to remember me by, right?"

The smile drops off my face. All my life, there's always been something to remind me that no matter how good you feel at any given moment, it won't last. It can't last. And this is no exception.

Peeta reaches up to touch my cheek. "Oh, Katniss," he sighs, "I didn't mean it like that. It's just a joke. It's a saying."

It is just a saying. But it doesn't change the fact that in a matter of days, one of us will be nothing but a memory to the other.

Peeta curls himself around my side, one arm across my middle, the other fiddling with my braid on the pillow. We're quiet for a long time. I think he's fallen asleep until he says, very quietly, "It'll be okay." And then, "I love you." And then, "I'm never letting you go."

I turn my head away. "You'll have to," I answer faintly. Even if I don't want him to.

Only two nights after we made love in my bed, District 12 is back in the Top Three once more. I watch with horror as Finnick hefts his trident in my direction, poised to throw. I close my eyes, knowing that when I die, Peeta will be able to channel his grief from losing me to take Finnick down with his brute strength.

But then the trident is spinning from Finnick's hand at the moment that I desperately shoot an arrow from my bowstring. I don't have time to see if the tip's aim is true, as I stoop to duck the golden prongs.

But then there is a shift in the air currents as someone moves and Peeta is in my path. There is the sickening tearing of flesh and a grunt, and then my district partner falls.

Slack-jawed, I frantically turn him over. Try to restart his heart the way Finnick did not 48 hours ago when my love walked into that force field. But my sweet Boy with the Bread is still. Heaving wracking sobs, I rock and cradle his corpse close to me, keening like a grieving widow.

I then hear two cannons, then the sound of trumpets, but the voice of Claudius Templesmith announcing Katniss Everdeen of District 12 as the winner of the 75th Annual Hunger Games, the 3rd Quarter Quell, the Victor of Victors is drowned out by my anguished scream:

"NOOOOOOOOO!"