Chapter 4

"Rye, no, I'm dead on my feet," Peeta groaned into his mobile as he flipped the sign on the shop door to "closed". His brothers were always calling him last minute to watch their kids, and he usually loved it. But he'd been called to the station every night this week, a farmer's ill-advised burn had gone out of control, a lightning strike fire had destroyed a cottage. The firies were always busy this time of year, but Peeta was sure it was getting worse. The summers were getting hotter. The dry season dryer. They were all stretched to the limit.

"You know I wouldn't ask if there was any other choice," Rye wheedled, and Peeta rolled his eyes. Rye never had another choice, because Peeta was always bailing him out. But how could he not? His nieces and nephews, both Rye's kids and his eldest brother Brann's, were amazing. "Stel's got a new song she's dying to play for you," he said, the killing blow. Peeta could never say no to that little love.

"Fine," Peeta said, "I'll be home in ten."

"We're already in your driveway."

Of course they were.

Peeta tucked back to the kitchen and boxed up some Lamingtons for the kids. Then he boxed up some extras. If Rye's kids were there, chances were Brann's would be too.

Sure enough, by the time he got home there were two cars in front of his house, and six kids dancing around on the verandah. The twins came tearing across the grass, he caught them both, trying not to flinch as the stitches in his arm pulled. Four days later and it still stung every time he flexed. The only reason the brigade was letting him respond to calls was that he'd sweet talked that cute little nurse into writing him a well-note. Certified fit for duty.

It was ridiculous that he even needed a note, the brigade was shorthanded and struggling to keep up with the calls this season, and Peeta was there; ready, willing, and able to work. It certainly wasn't for the money, as a volunteer firefighter he wasn't paid at all for his services, not a cent, and in fact lost money during the dry season, when frequent calls required that he hire extra staff to cover at the bakery.

No, firefighting spoke to something deep inside Peeta, that need to help people. He'd considered becoming a professional firefighter, back when he was in uni. But that would have required him moving to the city since Panem was only served by the NSW Rural Fire Service, which was almost entirely voluntary. So, it was never really an option. He'd been set on coming home and opening a bakery, and it was a damned fine one at that.

Peeta loved Panem. He loved the lazy pace, the friendly neighbours, the half-hour drive to some of the prettiest surfing on the planet. It was home. A home he loved to serve, to feed, to protect.

"Uncle Peeta," Stella squealed, squirming to sit higher on his hip. She was, of course, on his sore side. He gritted his teeth, hefting her higher. Her gap-toothed grin was worth that little bit of pain. "I brought my guitar, so I can play for you!" she practically sang, and Peeta laughed.

"Can't wait, Stel," he said, and he meant it.

Not to be outdone, her twin sister grabbed his cheeks, twisting his head to face her and grinning an identical grin. "I brought my ball," Shannon said. "Can we play footy?" Different as night and day, his girls were.

"Let's have tea first," he said, figuring that none of them had eaten their evening meal yet. "Then we can play in the garden until your mum comes."

"Leevy will be by to grab the lot of them when she's off work," Rye yelled from his car window. Peeta waved him off. Three kids in 13 months had taxed Rye's marriage almost to the brink in the early days, Peeta had been happy to give him and Leevy some relief. Now, it was habit, they called on him in lieu of properly planning their days. But how could he say no? He knew how hard his brother and sister-in-law worked to pay for private school tuition and music lessons and sports and uniforms for three kids who grew like weeds. It was only right that he help, since he could.

Brann waved absently as he too pulled away. It would be nice, Peeta thought, if his eldest brother ever showed a speck of gratitude for these impromptu babysitting sessions, or hell, even asked Peeta if he minded. But Brann was grieving, his wife had picked up and left him a year and a half ago, headed for America with big dreams and even bigger boobs that she'd nearly bankrupted Brann to pay for. Spending time with Uncle Peeta gave Brann's boys a bit of stability, of familiarity while their dad was trying to put his life back together.

Those boys were sitting with their cousin on the tiny settee Peeta kept on the verandah, just big enough for two adults, or apparently four little boys. Ollie, the eldest, was playing some electronic game, and the others were tucked around him, watching and offering criticisms. "Did you bring us bickies, Uncle Peeta?" Charlie, Brann's second boy, asked without taking his eyes off the game.

"You'll have to see. Come on, you lot," Peeta laughed, unlocking the door while Stella hung from his neck, then herding them all inside.

He made them hotdogs on the barbie, leaving Ollie in charge of cutting onions, and Charlie in charge of the rolls. Sam, Rye's boy, dug around in the kitchen until he found bags of chips while his sisters located the juice poppers he kept for them in the fridge. Even little Patrick helped, proudly bringing out a plastic bottle of mustard. They were a handful, these nieces and nephews of Peeta's, but he loved them like nothing else in his life.

They ate in the afternoon sunshine, Patrick curled on his lap, the others arguing about Animal Crossing again, and despite his exhaustion, Peeta felt content. He ruffled Paddy's golden curls and the little guy grinned, snuggling in closer. Peeta couldn't understand how his sister-in-law could leave any of her boys, but Paddy had still been in nappies then. How do you leave a baby behind?

Peeta had always loved his brothers' kids, but hadn't given much thought to having a few ankle biters of his own until recently, until Glim left Brann, really. But now he was starting to wonder if he'd ever get to have any little ones of his own. He was almost 35, and had never been in a serious relationship. All of his friends were paired off now, and even playboy of the century Finnick Odair was married and having a kid.

But not Peeta.

Peeta was flirting with nurses probably a decade younger than he was instead of the gorgeous but seemingly unattainable foreign doctor who had twice knocked him senseless. Katniss Everdeen. A name as beautiful and unique as the woman herself. She hadn't given him her first name either time they'd met, but Finnick it turned out knew her and gave Peeta the scoop. She was Annie's friend from way back, single, but only in Panem for a few months, filling a spot at the understaffed hospital so Annie could take parental leave without worrying so much. Then she'd be gone again. She'd be gone, and soon enough his brothers' kids would be grown and gone too. Everything was growing and changing. Everything but Peeta himself.

His life was big and full and fun. But he wasn't sure it fit him so well anymore.

The sounds of Charlie and Sam arguing pulled Peeta from his musing. Time to run off some steam. "Oi, Shan," he called over the cacophony. "Where's your ball?"

They weren't enough for an Aussie rules side, especially since Paddy was more interested in the drought-crisped dandelions than in footy strategy. But the kids screamed with delight as he ran, two or three of them hanging off him for dear life in an averted tackle. He wouldn't go easy on them just because they were little!

And Peeta held onto these moments, the sunshine and the laughter and these kids who loved him just the way he was.