As we move into the month of September, Peeta and I see more and more normalcy and happiness return to District 12. The school starts up on the first of the month. I haven't been in there while students were in class, but Peeta went once to bring Delly lunch and take a look around, and he says it's so much better than it used to be; he told me not only is it a nicer building, but the students seem actually happy and interested in learning, and the teachers want to help them get better. None of that was ever the case before.
The work on the medicine factory is going along really well. They're in the process of building the actual structure itself right now, which is a huge undertaking. I'm less involved with planning the physical construction aspects of the project, but I'm still helping to consult on anything related to plant life. As the season is starting to change, we're seeing some new types of flowers and roots starting to proliferate, which is exciting to me. We'll only see a greater contrast as we move further into fall. The weather is nice right now; it's still fairly warm out, we haven't had a real cold snap yet as we are still in early September, but we're starting to move past the heat of summer and I'm enjoying the breeze that now comes most mornings. I've been hunting a lot this past week, as the weather has been nice for it.
Peeta's been working nearly non stop on the bakery. Now that he's gotten started with the bulk of the rebuilding project, he's enthralled by it. He says having something productive to do helps him keep all of his thoughts in check, and he wants to be able to help the community. It makes me happy to see how happy he is when he's hitting his stride in the work. In our down time, we relax together, we talk with our friends, we plot about Haymitch and Effie, we love each other. Life is good.
The further along he gets with work on the bakery, the more time Peeta spends there. I would say his frenzied work is nearly all excitement and drive, with a little bit of stress and nervousness mixed in too. One day about a week into September, I'm attempting to cook a sort of soup with some game I caught and vegetables I found while out in the woods this morning. Peeta told me he might be at the bakery late, so I thought it would be nice to cook for him, and although I'm not particularly skilled at cooking I actually think this is turning out okay. Soups and stews were just about the only things I would ever cook before the Games, as they were a good way to stretch food and make it last longer.
As the sky begins to darken outside, I am a little surprised that I've seen no sign of Peeta yet. I try not to worry, but of course my mind goes to the worst places whenever I don't know exactly where he is. I take a deep breath and try to ground myself in the most likely reality, which is that he's just gotten caught up in some random detail of oven design that is entirely boring to me but completely fascinating to him and has lost track of time.
Forcing myself to operate under this assumption, I decide that I might as well go bring dinner to him over there. If he's gotten lost in his fascination for his work, it could take him hours before he actually realizes what time it is. I put portions of the soup into thermos containers, and place them in a basket along with utensils and bottles of water. I'm about to head out the door when I remember that he doesn't have any tables or chairs, or even any fully finished flooring, at the bakery, so I grab a throw blanket off the couch so we have something to sit on. I pull on my hunting jacket and head out into the evening. The brisk night air is simultaneously soothing and invigorating, and I'm glad to have it. Like usual, concrete physical sensations help me from losing myself. I know I'm here, and that helps me remember that Peeta is here too, even if I can't see him. He's not in an Arena or in a cell in the Capitol. He's here. We're here.
My feet carry me automatically to the bakery while I look out at the moon and the stars that are just starting to peak out through the dusk. I'm very grateful for the increased number of stars we've been able to see since we stopped polluting our air with coal dust everyday. I'm grateful for a lot of things about the world we get to live in today, and the stars are just a small example, but I think it helps to appreciate the small things too. I could never think about small things much before - and if I did it was to worry about them, not appreciate them - as they never ranked high on the list of concerns on my mind when I was trying to keep my loved ones alive. Getting to enjoy the little things, it's just one more step towards normalcy. I like the new normalcy here in 12.
As I reach the bakery, I am reassured to see that the lights inside are still on, suggesting that Peeta's still here. I open the newly installed front door and walk inside. I smell fresh paint and remember that he was painting the walls today. That makes perfect sense, then. He would absolutely get caught up in trying to make sure that every inch of his work was done perfectly on this particular aspect. The bakery right now is in that weird intermediate stage of completeness in regards to the building process; the walls are painted but the floors are still uncovered concrete, he has some counters and appliances installed but not all, there are some lights mounted on the wall but no other forms of furniture yet. I see Peeta in the far corner of the building, moving a paint brush along a spot on the wall.
"Hi," I say as I walk over to him. He turns around.
"Hi," he says, first looking confused and then taking in the quality of light in the room. "Oh my God, I completely lost track of time. I'm so sorry."
"It's ok," I say, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "It looks like you got a lot done today." He smiles a little sheepishly as he looks down at his paint splattered t-shirt.
"I get lost in this sort of thing," he says. "But in a good way. It's not like when I get lost in the bad moments or the shiny memories. I don't know, I guess it's just sort of nice to not feel so hyper aware of every thought in my head, but rather to just focus on what's in front of me."
"I understand," I say, smiling. "I sort of feel the same way when I'm out in the woods. It's liberating to not feel like I'm in my head after everything."
"Exactly," Peeta says, nodding. He then shifts his gaze to the basket in my hands. "What'd you bring?"
"Oh! I made dinner. I had a feeling you might've been busy here, so I figured I could bring something and we could eat here." He smiles at me before setting down the brush in his hand and pulling me into an embrace. He plants his lips to mine.
"Thank you," he mutters into me. He looks down at me when we part and laughs when he realizes he's gotten a little bit of paint on my shirt. "Sorry about that," he says with a chuckle which I return.
"Oh who cares," I say, laying the blanket out on the floor and taking a seat.
"Effie, probably," he jokes, sitting down beside me.
"Fair point," I concede as I pull out the containers of soup and hand him one. "Have you talked to her recently?"
"A couple days ago. I tried to get her to talk about whatever happened with Haymitch, but it was hard to figure out how without being too obvious. All I really got out of her was a nonspecific backhanded remark about how "some people" don't understand the importance of decorum and etiquette." I snort a little.
"Well I'm sure that's about him, but pretty much anything he could have done would fit that description," I say, and Peeta nods.
"Exactly," he says, taking a sniff of the soup before digging in. "This smells really good."
"Thanks," I say with a chuckle. "I know that's rare with my cooking." He laughs as we start to eat.
"So how was your day?" he asks.
"Totally fine," I say between bites. "I spent the morning out hunting, brought some of my game to the market for Sae and took some home to cook this with. I talked a little bit with Thom and Leevy while I was in town, they're completely head over heels for each other. It's actually kind of funny, because Thom usually does a decent job being professional as the mayor or whatever, but she completely disarms him." Peeta chuckles. "What?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing, nothing," he says, his eyes on his soup. "It's just...I know the feeling." I shove him playfully.
"Oh come on, you've always been good at talking and saying everything right no matter what you felt about me," I say with a grin.
"I think I was always good at it because of what I felt about you," he says. "You're a pretty damn good motivation." I smile at him, strangely touched by this.
"You know that I owe you for all of that, right?" I say.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"Just...everything you did that helped keep me alive, keep my family alive, for a long time while we were dealing with the Capitol. I don't think anyone I loved would have survived something like the Victory Tour if you hadn't saved me with the speeches and the interviews. And I don't know how much you remember it all, but your lie about our baby right before the Quarter Quell was absolutely monumental in getting even the people in the Capitol angry about the Games. I don't think the Rebellion could have gotten any momentum in swaying Capitol loyalists if it hadn't been for that. You have unbelievable power with your words, Peeta. You protected me with them time and time again."
"You've protected me too, Katniss," he says, his voice soft. "More than you know. It's not just the things you did to save my life in both Games, although I could never ever repay you for any of that. You protected me in insisting I be rescued by 13, and sacrificing so much of yourself in exchange for giving me immunity. You've protected me from the worst in myself, first during the war when I was so far gone, and still everyday since we've been back here in 12. You protect me and I protect you."
I kiss him gently before we turn back to our food. He looks a little bit preoccupied, maybe sad even.
"What is it?" I ask. He shakes his head.
"Nothing, I'm fine," he denies, running his spoon around the edge of his container as he finishes up the last bits of soup.
"Tell me," I say, gently yet insistently. "No secrets. No lies."
"You're right," he concedes, straightening up and setting down his thermos. "I just...you were asking before if I remembered the thing I said about the baby. I think about it, a lot. I don't remember it really, not like normal or like I should. They really messed with that memory, to the point where even when I was fully stuck in the hijacking and still hated you, I didn't even know what to believe about that. It's like they couldn't decide what the best way was to twist that, so they tried it a bunch of different ways, and I have a lot of different shiny memories. I had some memories where you weren't pregnant. Sometimes I knew that but I was lying because you manipulated me, or sometimes you told me you were pregnant even though you weren't, and so I thought I was telling the truth but was being misled. There were also some memories where you were pregnant. There was one where you were mad that I told everyone so you killed the baby intentionally as soon as we got into the Arena, and others where you told me it was mine but it wasn't. They liked that version, I guess, because I have a different memory about it with just about every guy anywhere near our age as the father. I had a lot of memories where it was Gale, which I guess makes sense, but also ones with people like Finnick or even my brothers. I don't know, it was just bizarre. I know what happened, really. I've known for a while. The doctors showed me the footage of me talking about it while I was in 13, and Prim confessed when no one else was around that it had all been a lie, but that I knew that. I didn't even know at the time if you'd actually told her that or if she'd just figured it out, she was so perceptive. Anyways...I don't know. It's just something I think about a lot."
"What part do you think about?" I ask. I don't even know exactly what I'm asking. It just seems a little bit different than normal. Usually when he mentions thinking a lot about the shiny memories, it's because he can't figure them out. He seems to know what's real here, so I guess I'm just wondering what his thoughts are.
"I honestly don't know. All of it, I guess. How all of the different versions of the shiny memories make me feel. I...I guess I think a lot about..." he sighs. "I always knew, somehow, that we hadn't...done anything like that before. Nothing that could have led to a baby. Some of the memories they put sort of suggested otherwise, but I guess I knew somewhere instinctually that it was wrong. I could just feel what was and wasn't true about that. Even though I completely knew that, there's also some part of me that was...sad, about the idea of losing a baby that never even existed."
"I was too," I say, and he looks at me. "I mean, I was really confused. When you were in the Capitol and I was in 13, and they leaked that I had lost the baby when the Arena went down, I was really sad, and I didn't understand it. I never wanted kids, and I was never even pregnant in the first place, so I didn't really know why I felt bad about it. I think I only ever figured out later that I was upset by it because if I had the baby, even if it was a lie, it would be something else to tie me to you, even when I didn't know if you were alive or not. Losing the facade of having your baby was like losing the last part of you I could hold on to."
I take his hand in mine and he squeezes it. He looks into my eyes, and I can see a vulnerable look in his, like he's debating asking something.
"Do you..." he starts, quietly. "Do you think you'd ever want kids, Katniss?" I sigh a little bit. We have never broached this topic directly, and the last time we got close was the night we got into that horrible fight.
"I don't know," I say, without thinking. I'm surprised by the words that come out of my mouth. That's never been my answer. My answer to that question throughout my entire life has always been a resounding "no." I don't think I know what I feel anymore. My answer isn't "yes", not remotely. I just don't think I want to make a decision yet.
"I..." I start, not entirely sure what to say. "I don't know. I know I don't want kids right now, or any time particularly soon. But...I don't know. I always thought I didn't, but so much of that choice was just based on our circumstances. I don't think I know what choice I would make in the life we are living now. But I'm glad to have the choice." He smiles at me and I smile back. "Do you want kids, Peeta?"
"I do," he says softly. "But I want you to be happy more than anything else. I'd love to have kids, but to be with you and get to make you happy...that's more than I could have ever hoped for."
He's so good. He's so good. This boy in front of me is such a deeply good and selfless person. I truly do not know what I did in my life to deserve him, to lead me here, but in this moment I feel unbelievably grateful to have him by my side.
"I love you," I say quietly, before planting my lips on his. While the kiss starts off slow and gentle, I intensify it quickly by sliding myself into his lap and wrapping my legs around him. He lets out a small moan at the contact and runs his hands up and down my back under my shirt. I take his bottom lip between my teeth briefly, before moving to plant a trail of kisses all along his neck and jawline. I pull off his shirt and when he starts doing the same with mine I raise my arms, happy to comply. Peeta plants kisses on the parts of my breasts that aren't covered by my bra, and I moan.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, before unclipping my bra and kissing me to an even fuller extent. I run my hands down his back, scratching a little with my fingers. It's all I can do not to cry out at the sensations he's flooding me with. When he lifts his head from my chest and looks me in the eye, I see his are clouded with lust, and I know mine must look similar. I feel the fire burning inside of me, and I see it reflected in the deep blue of his eyes. It's interesting to me, how quickly we can move between quiet conversation and frenzied passion, but I like it. It feels right, that we are comfortable enough with each other to go where our bodies take us. He plants his lips onto mine and slides his tongue into my mouth, and I moan again. I don't want to stop. Nobody's going to come into the bakery until tomorrow morning. We have privacy.
Emboldened by this thought, I push Peeta a little so he's lying down on top of the blanket, and adjust myself so I am straddling his hips on top of him. I lean down and kiss him again while I work on sliding off his pants. He looks up at me, a little surprised but clearly happy.
"Here? You sure?" he asks.
"No one's coming here until tomorrow, right?" I ask.
"Yeah," he nods.
"Then I don't see why not." I remove him of his pants and underwear before doing the same with my own. I take him in my hand to position him before I slide myself down on top of him. Peeta lets out a moan as he fills me, and I sigh, with pleasure this time rather than pain. The discomfort has lessened and lessened as I've gotten used to what it feels like having him inside of me. The more familiar I become with the sensation, the more I want it.
I start moving my hips until I find a rhythm I like, and I can see that it's working for Peeta too in the expression on his face. I absolutely love the look he gets in his eyes when we're like this. It's almost indescribable, the look of ecstasy, happiness, pleasure, and a slight bit of goofy disbelief. It's infatuating, and it only adds to the intensity and wonderfulness of physical sensations I'm feeling.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he mutters, running his hands along my bare hips before moving to grip my ass. I moan a little bit and speed up the pace of my movements around him. His breathing grows more erratic and I can tell he's getting close. I don't think I'm far behind him. I move slightly in a different way and feel him slide even deeper into me, and we both gasp.
"Fuck," I moan, my head falling back a little at the feeling.
"Good?" he asks, wanting to confirm he didn't hurt me somehow. I don't think I can speak through what I'm feeling right now, so I just nod.
"I'm close," he says. "But I want you to finish too." He sits himself up and repositions us so that I am sitting on his lap with him still inside me. The intimacy of this new position seems to heighten everything. He kisses me and I kiss him back with as much energy as my overwhelmed senses can muster. I can already feel myself building when he takes his hand and starts rubbing me where our bodies meet. I cry out into his lips.
"Oh," I moan. "Don't stop, Peeta." He follows my lead and increases the pace of both his hips and his hand. Within minutes I feel myself tighten around him, and then my body crashes down with waves of pleasure. I moan his name as I finish, and his body grows stiff and I know he's come with me.
We collapse down together on top of the blanket, sweaty and panting and completely in love with each other. He kisses me and I feel him smiling into the kiss.
"What?" I ask. He chuckles a little bit.
"Nothing. I'm just thinking about the fact that concrete floor seems like a far more appealing place to sleep than the best bed in the Capitol, when it means that I've just done those things with you." I roll my eyes, but curl myself up into his side. I love the feel of him next to me, and I don't want to be anywhere else. I guess sleeping on concrete doesn't seem so bad when you love someone.