Chapter 12: Discussions of Babies

The Harvest Festival comes round again. There are parties in both the Square as well as the Hob. Peeta and I do our best to split our time between both functions, still mostly class-segregated.

In my more than a year as the new Baker's spouse, I've come to discover that the Merchants (with rare exceptions like Delly and Madge) pass more judgment on me for marrying above my station than do my old neighbors from the Seam. Intra-class marriages in Twelve are still quite rare, my husband and I being the latest case, and before that, my own parents. Even so, in running our business, Peeta and I have made it our policy to sell to anyone who can afford our breads (and sometimes, not even then – for the most destitute, trades in goods work just as well as coin or the odd sesterce note). We don't discriminate against any customer, which keeps our moral compass balanced…

… and also balances our checkbooks. Adhering to a more-open door policy than Peeta's mother has allowed us to turn a greater profit, and kept us out of the black. Selling to Seam customers is partially what allowed us to meet our tax filings with the Justice Building. My husband's always had a good head for numbers, and I got good marks in math when we were in school, though I had to work harder. Shortly after our wedding and taking over the business, it quickly became clear that Peeta's mother had not possessed the greatest integrity when compiling the account books. I've rarely seen my mild-mannered husband with a temper, but that day he had been positively livid.

"We owe back taxes 'cause of her, the foolish old woman!" he had roared. Sitting quietly at the front tea table in our shop, I'd let him have his rant, waiting quietly and patiently for an opportune moment to gently take his hand.

"Do…. do you think your father knew? That she was cooking the books?"

Peeta had snorted bitterly. "Doubt it. He left all control of the finances to her."

"What about your brothers? Rye, for instance." I bite my lip, wincing. "I know he and your mother didn't exactly have the best relationship."

Peeta shook his head. "All Rye knew how to do was wrestle, eat, snog Delly, shit, cry, whine and run a temperature! He barely passed math, and only did with my help! And Leven was long gone the second he aged past the Reaping Bowl; he never cared for the business."

Rising languidly, I drifted into him, cupping his cheek and giving him a lingering kiss. "I'm here for you," I had murmured, eyeing him with firm, devoted love. "And we're going to figure this out together." I reveled in how he held me close, murmuring his thanks and his love for me over and over again.

Now, close to fourteen months after our wedding, things financially are finally starting to stabilize. We passed muster with barely solid records monetarily that first year, and now there are clear signs the Bakery is thriving again. It's a hard-won victory that calls for a celebration, and when the Harvest Festival comes round, I put on my best dress and happily lead Peeta by the hand out our front door and into the celebrations.

Mr. Cartwright, Delly's father, strikes up a reel on his fiddle and kicking up my skirts, I prance about the Square, laughing gaily with Delly and Amara, my little niece insisting on a dance. More than once, I turn to smile invitingly at my husband, hovering on the edge of the crowd that has formed. Peeta merely smiles tiredly and holds up a silent hand to decline. Oh, but this won't do at all.

I frown in playful bemusement. He danced divinely at our Toasting, so I know this isn't a question of ability. But Peeta has always been shy doing things that don't already come naturally to him. He's stubborn like that. Well, I'm stubborn too, and in the time since I said, 'I Do,' I've come to appreciate the old idiom that a happy life stems from a happy wife.

Flitting to him, I take his hands, my grey eyes dancing and my smile dimpled. "Dance with me!"

"Oh, no, I couldn't…. No…." I laugh musically as I use a rather underhanded tactic, tossing the apron he somehow absentmindedly left on over his nice dress shirt and covering his face with it. I then seize my victim and tug him into the Square, take him in my arms and we dance a rather exuberant waltz around and around, twirling in abandon. As I spin, I catch eyes with Delly, bouncing Amara in her arms, both mother and baby keeping close watch on us, their family. I know they're still watching, but I don't care, as Peeta pauses us in our twirling to pull me close. And as my husband and I embrace and deeply kiss, fireworks whizz and explode above us in the nighttime sky above District 12. When Peeta finally begs off for a rest, we stagger out of the Square, laughing and leaning against each other. Delly smiles tenderly at us.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again: you two truly make a delightful couple."

Beaming, I cup Peeta's face, turning it to mine as I reach up to kiss him sweetly. "I'm surely the happiest woman in all of Twelve!" I sigh. "I have everything I want!"

Delly's eyes twinkle mischievously. "Everything?"

I turn to her, blinking, and at first I misinterpret, cursing my own good fortune. "Oh… Oh, Delly… I…. I'm sorry if I'm making you feel…. I know you'd give anything to have Rye…."

"It's fine," Delly dismisses, smiling genuinely, then lifts a gurgling Amara out to me. "Wanna hold her?"

I remember holding Prim when she was a baby, and the joy and crippling love I felt for her. The memory now is tinged with a spasm of grief and pain, but I nonetheless play the role of a dutiful aunt and hold Peeta's and my niece. I can feel the brilliant blue of my husband's eyes on me, and I flush, glancing to him with a shy smile. He merely dips and pecks my lips firmly.

"Think I'll grab a drink. Want anything?"

I silently shake my head No, tugging him back down for another chaste kiss. "Hurry back," I coo.

Now that she has me alone, Delly wastes no time moving in to pounce. I have to give her points for how innocently she asks the question, cocking her head like a curious…. well, child, as she asks:

"Why haven't you and Peeta had a baby yet?"

If it were anyone else asking me this, like my mother (who I've also been hearing this question from, wondering about when she will have grandchildren), I probably would be more biting in my answer. And though Delly might pretend she doesn't know exactly what she's doing, damn me if I can't fault her. She's sweet, truly, and we've become close as sisters-in-law, despite the tragic circumstances regarding her own brief marriage. She's never tried to replace Prim, but has been a good substitute all the same. Where my sister-in-law is concerned, she just wants what's best for me, like Peeta… and like Mother.

I sigh. "Because he hasn't asked me, Dell. And we haven't discussed it." Glancing around furtively, I lower my voice to a dull murmur: "Peeta and I…. we don't think it's best to bring a child into this world right now. We're together and happy, and that's enough for now."

I don't have to extrapolate further for Delly to get my meaning, for she nods sympathetically. "I've heard rumors of changes coming over at the Justice Building," she muses. "Let's just hope Cray's not on the road to losing his position. And then… there's the Reaping to consider."

I nod heavily, relieved she is seeing things my way. Peeta returns at that moment, and when he gives me a slobbery kiss, I can taste the alcohol on his breath to know he's been drinking. To my relief, he at least still appears to have control of his faculties.

"Hey, beautiful. Wanna head home?"

I nod, leaning against him as we walk quietly into our back alley and up the rear loading dock for home. As soon as we are at the metal door, Peeta presses me up against it and kisses me with a passion that takes my breath away.

"P….Peeta…. we…. we should…." But my husband roughly shoves my skirts up around my hips and I spread my legs for him with a sigh, involuntarily spreading my legs for him. "W-wait," I stammer, refusing to bow on one point, despite the wetness gathering between my legs. "Not…. Mmmmmm…. Not here. Bed – Hmmm – bedroom."

We stagger up the steep staircase to the loft in a tangle of limbs. The moment we hit the mattress of our double bed, pure and animalistic fucking commences as we grind against each other, shagging like rabbits. I let out a triumphant shout when I cum, only to be silenced by Peeta shoving his cock into my mouth. I take him in deeper, sucking his balls past my puckered bottom lip and he begins to violently fuck my face. Once he ejaculates hard into my throat, I flip us, mounting him and then riding him, all while moaning pathetically.

"Huhhhh….. UHHHH! UGGGH!"

He carries me off into our shower, hoisting me up the slick wall and pounding me into the tiles. We make out all the while. Finally, when Peeta drops to his knees to administer his own pleasure to me, I throw back my head with a whine, my nose pressing into the water-spattered glass, which fogs up with every shuddering breath I take through my nose.

We lie on our bed in a tangle of limbs, utterly spent and still somewhat damp after our rather impulsive round in the shower. I'm drawing circular patterns on his biceps and chest, my hair out of its braid and fanning my face like a halo.

Peeta kisses my jaw. "Sesterce for your thoughts, Katty girl?"

I hum ambivalently, though my mind is in far greater turmoil as I turn down to gaze at him. "Do you want a baby with me?"

I almost whisper it, and Peeta clearly detects the fear in my voice as he slowly sits up to take me in. We face each other, wrapped and clothed in nothing but our bedsheet. He cups my cheek, and I press an errant kiss into his palm.

"Nothing would make me happier, sweetheart… but only if it's what you want too. I know how you've felt about being a mother, even before what happened to Prim. But especially after what happened to her, I don't fault you in the slightest. We could never have children at all, and I'd still be the happiest man in all of Panem."

My eyes water, tears slipping down my cheeks. This sweet, beautiful man who I don't deserve… I sink into his arms.

"Thank you," I whisper shudderingly, grateful. Peeta just kisses me everywhere, again and again.

I knew we should have been more careful. I should have insisted, drunk on each other as we were, that he put on a condom.

When I first felt her stirring inside me, I felt a terror as old as life itself. I hadn't had the courage to go buy a pregnancy test at the apothecary, and that was even without the consideration of not wanting to deal with the judgment from my estranged uncle – my mother's brother. I made Delly go and buy the test instead, swearing her to secrecy. Somehow, my sister-in-law kept her mouth shut.

I fell into despair when I took the test very early one morning, before the sun and my husband were even up. The pink slip telling me I am with child is too much for me to bear.

Later, when Peeta comes downstairs into the Bakery, he finds me by the front window, at the tea table, head in my hand. Crossing to where the pregnancy test is lying face up on the tabletop, he lifts it with a shaking hand.

"Are you…?"

I nod solemnly, still staring resolutely out the window, my façade beguilingly stoic. "Yes, I am." I finally dare to look him in the face, and when I see the boyish, hopeful expression in his deep blue eyes, I shrink away, cradling my womb instinctively.

"Oh, Snow, you do want to have it, don't you?"

He nods, having the compassion to look sheepish, before kissing me lovingly. I half-huff, half-sigh into his mouth, barely appeased. "We should at least tell your mother," he croons.

I nod glumly. "At the very least, she can advise us on what to do next."

We invite Mother over for supper that night. As it turns out, she brings a guest.

My body language is rigid, yet cordial, as I shake Wheaton, my father-in-law's, hand. I don't know if I'll ever forgive him for missing his youngest son's Toasting. His wife, I definitely won't. But Peeta has been trying to make amends more recently with his father, starting by not dwelling on whether or not his dad knew of the Witch's fraudulent business practices.

After the meal, I lean into Peeta, his arms around me, as we stiltedly tell my mother and his father that we are pregnant. Mother is teary, circling the table to hug me, even as I smile uncertainly; Wheaton looks thrilled.

"Well, Belley," he states. "It seems we are to be grandparents together." It's left unsaid how they were technically parents together as well, siring my sister from a passionate affair.

Peeta clears his throat. "It is up to Katniss whether or not she wants to keep it."

I credit Mother for not allowing her face to fall too much in disappointment. "I can recommend preventives to abort a pregnancy, if you'd like, dear."

It is then, quite suddenly, that I make my decision. The choice is surprisingly easy, but nonetheless terrifying, to make, as I look to my husband. My husband, my Peeta, so strong and patient and who has never tried to make me conform to what is expected of a district woman. Who has let me be my own person and make my own decisions, like the one I make now.

Though I don't make it for myself. I make it for him. Despite my reservations, I quietly get out.

"That…. that won't be necessary, Mother. I'll…. I think I'll keep it."

Peeta's smile is blinding like the sun, hardly daring to believe it, as he leans in close. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

I nod. "I want what will make you happy. Because that's what makes me happy."

Peeta hugs me, then kisses me rather indecently in front of our parents. Though, as I melt into the embrace and kiss him back, I don't mind in the slightest.