Chapter 13: You Love Me

Ariadne's final interview with Caesar is nearly unbearable.

I've never heard the studio audience so quiet, and I've been up on that stage twice myself. Caesar still hasn't gotten over the way he's presenting his guest as though he himself is the hostage in a hold-up situation. The granddaughter of the former President, now the eighth living Victor in all of Panem, has her head bowed during nearly all of the three-hour condensed version of her Games.

I glance over into the seat next to me. Peeta looks more exhausted than I have ever seen him. I know he is being torn apart inside that we still actually went through with it. I know him. I know him better than anyone. He's going to need me when we get home.

"When we get back to Everdeen," I whisper in his ear as Caesar is wrapping up and managing to elicit a decent level of applause, "move in with me." The boy I love turns his head, sapphire eyes filled with grateful tears, and he nods. We both know there are still risks involved, namely with the lasting effects of his hijacking, but we can discuss that like adults once we're home.

Or, we can discuss it now as, when I smile happily and lean in to brush my lips along his, he leans out of the kiss abruptly. "On one condition."

"Anything," I breathe. I want nothing more than, will do anything in my power, to make him happy.

"I take the guest bedroom for now. Let's… think of it as a trial period."

I try not to let my face fall too much. "OK…" I smile encouragingly, but I think Peeta can tell it's fake.

When President Paylor solemnly places the Crown on her head and Ariadne is released into the crowd of her supporters, Haymitch, Peeta and I are the only other Victors to greet her and offer our support. The girl is wide-eyed and simpering, looking like she's going to burst into tears any second now that it's all over.

"What will happen to me now?" she whimpers.

"Whatever you want," Peeta states softly, unfailingly kind. I feel my heart swell for him. Trust Peeta to be a compassionate person towards the descendant of the man who tried to keep us apart. Weaponize him against me.

Haymitch takes a swig from his flask. "Why don't you come back with us to Everdeen, kid? You can have the pick of the empty houses. We need more ladies in the Village anyhow."

"Well, that's very… misogynistic of you," I drawl slowly, blinking. Haymitch just ignores me. Still, he has a point. With parents and grandparents dead, Ariadne literally has no place to go. The Capitol probably won't take her; they'll want to cast her out after she played a game that was never supposed to be meant for them. Johanna hates her guts, so she can't go hide out in Mason. Enobaria loathes her too, so Ryker is out to the south. Annie might be able to take her in, but we can't ask that of the fisher girl, with the baby only months away.

But Ariadne is shaking her head. "Thanks, but, I… I think I have to find my way here for awhile."

I want to press the issue, out of concern for her, but I nod in acceptance. "Try and make a life for yourself, then. But if you need help, you can call us anytime. Seek out Beetee and my mother; they work at the hospital where you made your recovery." Maybe this girl, who will always remind me so much of Prim, will be helpful to Mother, who I know is still grieving. Or it might hinder her. Either way, Ariadne's presence could be beneficial in that she won't allow Mother to keep running away from her problems. And Beetee will look after them both. I can only hope.

We each hug her goodbye in turn. Not wanting to stay a second longer, our little trio dashes to the train station and manages to buy last-minute tickets for the red-eye steamer bound out that night for Everdeen.

I watch the lights of the Capitol fade away behind me, hopefully for the last time. I never want to go back there again.

We pull into Everdeen just after first light the following morning. Thom Borden meets us at Lucy Gray Baird station. It's been weeks since we were here last, and in that time, Governor Petrie has made it official and appointed the former miner his Lieutenant Governor. Thom will be able to stand for reelection in a couple years to let the voters formally decide.

The Square looks much changed from even a month ago. All the business ringing the immediate perimeter of Primrose Square have been completed, and are well in the process of being painted. There is still the booms and clangs of the construction crews farther on ahead – their work is never done.

"Peeta, I'm glad you returned home when you did," Thom is telling my boyfriend in a rush. "We came across it just last night."

"Came across what?"

Thom breaks it with a gentleness I've never known from the man. "The remains of your family's bakery. The cellar. We were digging for the foundation and broke through wood."

Peeta is as still as a statue, his beautiful eyes glassy and pained. Haymitch is grimacing like he just swallowed a bad mouthful of liquor. He awkwardly reaches to lay a hand on Peeta's shoulder.

"Peeta, I'm sorry…" I have to appreciate that the drunk's sensitive enough to address Peeta by his given name. Even so, Peeta shrugs him off. He's an emotional whirlwind right now, and I discern almost instinctively what Peeta needs… and what he doesn't.

I turn to our mentor. "Haymitch, would you mind just… giving us some privacy for a few moments? We'll meet you back at the Village."

The Victor of the 2nd Quell still looks concerned but then sighs resignedly and nods, staggering on towards home.

Peeta is swaying towards me and I sling an arm around him, allowing him to turn his face away as I address Thom for the both of us:

"Did you… find any human remains?"

Thom winces, but it's a relieved wince. "None. We did find pieces of what might have been stale bread though – hard as a rock. Under the ashes. Everything we found in the storeroom cellar has been remarkably preserved – stores of yeast and flour. We've managed to wait because we figured we'd need a Baker's eye to determine what's to be done with it. Is it still salvageable?" Thom is looking past me to Peeta, who doesn't lift his head.

"Peeta, honey?" I entice him with kisses, mouthing up his jawline and to the corner of his lips. I'm heartened when he doesn't twist away, instead letting my kisses coax him out of his shell.

"The… the yeast, after a year? No way. Same for the lard. Sacks of flour might still be salvageable, so long as they've been unopened. Marmalade keeps well too, if there is any."

Thom takes this down. "Excellent. Your orders then, sir?"

"Set aside a handful of flour sacks for me, and have the Stormprotectors bring them up to the Village. Give the remainder of what can be used to the di…. To the State. You and Bert can distribute it however you want."

Thom looks deeply concerned, studying Peeta with empathy. "Whatever you say…"

"Can… can I see the ruins?" Peeta asks this in such a small voice that my heart breaks.

"Sure thing. I'll clear the area and give you a moment." Thom goes on ahead to shut down the bakery work site.

I slip my free hand into Peeta's and give it a gentle squeeze; with the other still across his shoulders, I softly rub his arm. "If you want to me go with you, I will. But if you don't, that's OK, too."

Peeta gazes at me, looking momentarily panicked and lost. "Stay with me?"

Cupping a silky hand along his cheek, I kiss him firmly. "Always," I whisper against the seam of his mouth.

We head over to the bakery excavation site at a funeral's pace. Yellow tape marks off a square probably measuring no more than 12 by 6 feet. Sunlight casts the stores of bakery supplies – including a massive keg of cider – in the brightness of day.

Peeta and I kneel as one at the edge of the hole in the earth, the skirts of my blue Reaping dress fanning out like petals around me. As far as we know, none of the Mellarks died here, but we still bow our heads to pray.

The loss of Peeta's father, the Baker, cuts me the most, for I knew him best. I can't count the number of times Gale and I traded squirrels with him. The man always gave Primrose a cookie when she and I would stop at the windows to ooh and aah over the cakes.

I feel no so much bereavement for the Witch, however. She was a horrid woman, nasty and temperamental the few times I dealt with her, and good riddance to her! As for Peeta's brothers, they were little more than acquaintances; I only know their names from the many times Peeta's spoken of them. The middle son had a reputation for being a jokester; the one time I interacted with Rye, he teased me about my braid.

I hear a deep sob escape from Peeta, and his body is shaking, and I gather him into my arms as he collapses against me.

"Sssssh…. Ssssh…. I'm here. I'm here. Ssssh…"

I hum the Meadow Song until he's all cried out.

Life returns to normal in the Village. Over a period of many weeks, Peeta carefully shuttles most of his things from his mansion to mine across the street. At first, it's just loads of laundry here and there, Peeta fibbing to Haymitch and saying his washer-dryer is broken until the yarn lasts too long to be real. I find myself falling into the rhythm of a typical housewife almost, spending afternoons doing laundry while Peeta is away at work, helping with the final excavation of the bakery's old cellar.

Then his toothbrush appears next to mine at the bathroom sink, followed by equal division of hangars in the closest just off what serves as a corner office. Peeta's easels and paints make their way into my attic.

If Haymitch notices any of this, he doesn't comment on it, nor does he try to stop it. Pretty soon, the lights in Peeta's old house are dark all the time, and the sounds and laughter of two people who have now merged their lives together emanates solely from my abode.

After ordering critical supplies from the Capitol, Peeta pours himself into baking again to deal with his grief. Sometimes, I'll spend hours just watching him work, admiring the way his muscles move under a simple T-shirt. He offers once to teach me the basics, but I laugh and decline. He needs this to be his thing, to help him cope.

We all have our thing. Peeta bakes and paints. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then goes off to Lucy Gray Baird station to buy more when the next train comes due. The summer heat burns away, steaming, in favor of a crisp fall. Governor Petrie and Thom reinstate the Harvest Festival in October, and I put on my best dress and ask Peeta to twirl me for a dance. We finish the Virginia reel laughing and red-faced, then give into passion and make out by the punch bowl until we see Haymitch has reached his limit, both in moonshine and his tolerance for our mushiness.

A couple of nights after the Festival, a letter arrives for us in the Village mailbox. Peeta is excited when he shows it to me upon my return from an evening hunt. It's from Annie. My boyfriend reads it hunched over our kitchen table:

"You'll be happy to hear that Katniss's mother has been triaging new medical units in Odair, bringing our island hospital to life with help from Beetee and Ariadne. Gale has been promoted to a Captain in Mason to help keep order and security." I take a brief moment to think that the Governor there must be thrilled about that. "And I am loving every moment with my son; he reminds me every day of his father. We've all suffered so much, but we owe it to their memories, and our children, to do our best with these lives. I hope you're both finding some peace…. Annie." Plucking something resting along the papyrus parchment, Peeta drifts into me and passes a small photograph into my hand. Annie and Finnick Jr.'s hair color match exactly. Annie is radiant; the baby is chubby but bears Finnick's face. He'll perhaps grow into the features of his dad when he's older.

I can feel Peeta's hopeful eyes on me, but I don't look up from where I'm creasing the sleeves of my sweater, or respond. I keep thinking back to a phrase Annie said in her letter: our children… Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I can almost feel the matchmaking pressure from her too. Peeta and I have yet to discuss starting a family. I know we need to have that discussion soon, so I can make clear to him my wishes to never have babies. I can only hope that the beautiful man I've chosen to share my life with understands.

That same night, I'm alone in my bedroom, a lantern left on at my nightstand, unable to sleep. I've lain awake resisting for hours now, but I know what I need. Throwing back the covers, I get out of bed and take the lantern with me, padding down the hall to the guest bedroom across the way.

Peeta looks so peaceful as he sleeps when I enter the room. Setting the lantern on his nightstand, I wordlessly climb under the comforter with him. He stirs, waking, shifting from his side so I can snuggle into him with my head on his chest, just like we did in the cave oh so long ago. For a moment, I think he's fallen back, but then his voice rumbles:

"You love me…. real or not real?"

I don't need even a moment to answer:

"Real."

Lifting my head from his chest, I turn to face him. Expression solemn, dipping my head, I press my lips hungrily to his.

The kiss quickly deepens, and I feel his arms encircle me as I press up against him. I open my lips to his tongue with a groan, granting him access, and he swims in my mouth. All the blood is rushing to my head. I feel dizzy. And when Peeta starts to roll into me, I rather forcefully slam him back into the mattress, assertively swinging my creamy legs over his thighs as I move to straddle him. Peeta seems awestruck by my audacity, but I remain serious and no-nonsense, full aware of what I am about to do. What I want to do, and have for a while now. Leaning over him is all the encouragement Peeta needs to drag my face down eagerly to his, our mouths warring for dominance. My hands, free and resting lightly on his broad pecs, drag back so I can yank the bodice of my grey sleepshirt down my chest; in the dim light of the lantern my breasts hang free like apples and cupping them, I touch myself, fingers tweaking the pebbling purple of my teat. Peeta chokes into my insistent lips when he sees I'm not wearing a bra.

Our collective breathing has become heavy, labored; we're both panting and I can feel my pelvis canting along the bulge in his pants. My lover switches tactics and suctions his teeth to my nipple, causing me to throw back my head with a breathy moan.

"Mmmm….. Hmmm…. Yes, Peeta… Peeta…."

I rock against him more frantically, feeling him twitch and harden under me. Tugging him away from where he's lathering my boob, I pull his face to mine desperately and we kiss in a mixture of deep sucking and little, frantic pecks.

I come up for air long enough to now take my sleepshirt and tug it over my head, dropping it over the side of mattress where it pools on the floor with a rustling, silky sigh. I rise up to push my pajama bottoms down off and over my hips; the fabric only makes it past my knees before I am helping undress Peeta.

His talented hands move to tightly squeeze the rounded globes of my bare buttocks, and he bucks up into me. With a growl, I grind against him with every pumping jerk of my hips. My folds are slick and damp with need, becoming all the more soaked when I rub against Peeta's proud stalk.

"Peeta…." I whisper into his lips, our heads thrashing. "Inside me. Please. You won't hurt me. You could never hurt me. I promise."

Peeta lines up with my entrance and pushes. When I come down on him, I cry out, but I like it.

We stay there for a moment, joined as one, gazing into each other's eyes, before I sit up, looking almost regal astride his hips. Soft hands back to resting lightly on his chest, I begin to furiously ride him, moans and grunts torn from my lips as, all through the night, Peeta and I spend hours upon hours making love. My cries when he makes me cum, and I feel him release up into me, are seemingly loud enough to wake up the whole state:

"Mmmmm….. HMMMMM! MMMM! URRRRRR! HURRR! UHHHHHH!"

We spend the early hours the morning after, sleeping away. I fell off strewn across Peeta's chest, my brown hair tumbling in ringlets around me and kissing my naked breasts. He has yet to pull out, still buried to the hilt deep inside me, where he belongs, but soft now.

Banishing the film of sleepiness from our eyes, Peeta and I kiss lazily.

"I love you, Katniss…." His voice is terribly husky and I want to laugh joyfully at the supremely satisfied look on his face.

"I love you too, Peeta…" I whisper. Glancing down at our entwined bodies, I feel my face turn red, realizing I am still impaled on him. "I… I can move…" I start to stammer shyly.

"Don't you dare move," Peeta's smile is dopey.

Giggling, I languidly rise off him, as much as I don't want to, and bend to kiss him sweetly.

"I'm going to get dressed. You're welcome to join me…"

We spend the next forty minutes shagging in the shower, Peeta's one hand clapped over my mouth to stifle my yips and squeaks. When we finally finish coupling, we step out and dress, both pink in the face.

It's early afternoon when we have breakfast, Peeta making my favorite cheese buns. We share with each other shy smiles. The romantic moment is interrupted when Haymitch barges in without knocking, a ridiculous smirk on his face.

"So:" he chirps, mouth quivering though his voice is kept at an admirable casualness. "How did you sleeeeeeeeep?"

I turn beet-red and bury my face in my hands as Haymitch finally abandons all pretense of propriety and bursts into laughter.

"You really are loud in bed, Sweetheart! And here I thought you'd never spread your legs!"

"Ha, ha, laugh it up, Haymitch!" Peeta scowls.

"Oh, I am. But I'm a little pissed too."

"What? That we kept you up all night?"

"Well, there is that. But that's not all. You're famous." He pulls out his holphone and pulls something up on the screen. "This was splashed all over the Internet a couple of hours. With the number of hits, it's the finest porn there is."

My jaw drops and I transition to the color of a turnip as I observe what looks like security camera footage of me bouncing up and down vigorously on Peeta. My moans are long and low and pathetic. Do I really sound like that when I'm being fucked?

I bury my face in my palms again. I'm not seeing this…. I'm not seeing this…. When I finally feel brave enough to peek through my splayed fingers at Haymitch, however, I'm shocked to see his face has contorted in rage.

"Apparently some horny little Stormprotector was working the late shift in the Justice Building, watching the security camera footage, and he uploaded it everywhere!"

That's when I realize, with a gasp of dramatic horror: the Capitol bugs, planted by Snow's regime. Except for, Haymitch thinks, the attic, the tiny little cameras are still here, all through the house.

It doesn't take long before Haymitch is on the horn with Plutarch Heavensbee, Secretary of Communications.

"I don't give a FUCK if you haven't gotten around to it yet! – You come out to Everdeen and sweep for bugs NOW! And fire that little shit of a private who thinks he can jack off to my boy and my girl over what's supposed to be their own damn business, in their own damn bedroom! Oh, and that porn needs to come down, scrubbed off of every corner of the web immediately! IMMEDIATELY! Or do you want me to take it up with the President?!"

Plutarch has a team out in Everdeen sweeping for and disposing of any and all bugs in Victors' Village – even in the empty mansions – within a day.