5. Plans
"So, I'm pregnant?" Peeta heard Katniss ask during one of their dinners, making Haymitch spit the soup he was eating.
"You're what?" their mentor said, disbelief clear in his voice. "Since when did you start, well… sleeping together?"
"It's been a while now. It keeps the nightmares at bay." Katniss answered casually, pouring some water in her glass.
"You? Her?" Haymitch pointed at them with his fork, surprise clear on his face. "How?"
"I think you don't need the details, Old Man." Peeta chimed in, playing along with Katniss's game. He knew first hand Katniss wasn't pregnant. He had learned to decipher the not-so-subtle signs that came with her periods, like the change in her mood, her need to get under the warm comforter but mostly, her desire to not interfere with the rest of the world.
He also knew first hand that they had done nothing that would make Katniss pregnant. Sure, there had been mornings when they had woken up tangled in one another, so close not even a breath of air could come between them. Sure, there had been nights when the nightmares took their toll, screams echoing in the endless silence of the dark.
But beyond that, nothing had happened.
Peeta wasn't even sure if something would ever happen.
He wasn't even sure if he wanted something to happen between him and Katniss.
He shook his head of all the thoughts, to look back at Haymitch, who was throwing looks at both of them, disbelief written on his face.
"Nah, you're not." Haymitch said, before grabbing a flask from the inside pocket of his jacket. "She'd be nuts". He added, pointing to Katniss with his fork. "And you, you'd have a stupid grin all over your face!"
He pointed to Peeta, who started chuckling.
"Will you kids tell me what it's all about?" Haymitch was grumping.
Peeta exchanged a look with Katniss before he started talking.
"Gossip rags. They're on us again. We thought Katniss freaked them out the last time when she lost them in the woods. But they are… persistent."
Haymitch nodded his understanding.
"Bloody pests," he whispered, under his breath. His hate for the so-called press was as high as ever.
It had taken them by surprise, a few months ago.
Peeta knew it should have come earlier, that somehow, someone had protected them, protected their privacy, their need for a peaceful recovery.
This time was now gone.
It all started with an article that Effie had sent them. A few lines in the Capitol Daily about how Peeta Mellark had decided to rebuild his family bakery, despite everything that had happened.
Peeta had found the article one morning in his mails, along with a video of Effie scolding him for not telling her first thing that he wanted to bake again.
Peeta had just shrugged it all off. The problem had never been the lack of desire to bake, as he had told Katniss at breakfast, but more a doubt he could actually do it.
They had both agreed telling the press would lead to nothing. Who could care about a man working on a bakery, in a remote part of New Panem ?
They couldn't have been more wrong.
Whatever dam had blocked the journalists from coming over to the former D12 had broken. The press was now flooding the streets, looking for every opportunity to snap a picture of him, or Katniss or even better, a picture of the Star Crossed Lovers together. It was kind of a jackpot in terms of press.
"You'd think with everything going on in the country, they'd have something else to talk about", Peeta had said to his neighbors at dinner one evening.
The worst part was when the Press didn't have anything to write about, they invented it.
Stories of Katniss being pregnant, of Peeta being sent to a psychiatric ward were flooding the gossip rags from time to time.
This was at least the third time in the last six months that the news of Katniss being pregnant with her first child was hitting the news.
"I'm going to call Plutarch. There must be something he can do." Haymitch finally said, pushing his chair back. He stood up, grabbing his jacket, before making his way to the door of Peeta's house.
"You think he forgot about us?" Katniss asked without looking at Peeta.
"Plutarch? No. I think he has other things to do rather than looking out for us."
"His stupid singing show?"
Peeta shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, he's Plutarch. Wouldn't surprise me if he was hiding something."
Katniss nodded before she stood up, collecting the dishes. As Peeta moved to mirror her, she stopped him.
"You cooked. I clean. That's the deal." She said, grabbing the plates from his hand. "You have to work on the plans."
"I know."
He knew.
But it was so hard.
Peeta sighed again, watching Katniss leave for the kitchen, hearing her turn the water on. Hearing her humming lightly.
She had started singing again when she thought nobody could hear her. When she thought he was still sleeping in the early mornings, as he pretended to still be out. Or when she was doing some of the chores. Peeta wasn't even sure she realized she was singing. It never ceased to please him, hearing her softly hum the songs they had known from their childhood.
He shook his head, moving towards the sofa, grabbing his sketchbook and pen before sitting down. He had plans to work on.
He hadn't accepted the offer to run the new bakery in town, to the new mayor's dismay. A couple coming from another district had opened the business instead. The need for him to bake bread had soon decreased, in favor of the new baker.
Peeta didn't mind.
He welcomed the free time it gave him. The time to relax, to try and reconstruct himself. Time to convince Katniss to open up more with Dr. Aurelius.
Time to try and enjoy life. He was a nearly twenty year old man, who had known nothing but pain or hurt in his life.
He had started to draw again, cautiously at the start, afraid of what might have come out of his brushes - he certainly wasn't ready at the time for the scenes he painted for the Victory Tour, wasn't sure he could handle putting them out on a canvas.
Slowly, one stroke of pen after the other, under his fingers , things came back to life.
Butterflies. A tree. Buttercup, later. The old cat was a fascinating subject to draw, to try his hands at, as the pet now spent a truly huge amount of time on an old armchair, sleeping. Sketches of his legs or his head were now filling the pages of his sketchbook, only to be replaced with tentative drawings of a building.
After getting his business licence, it had taken Peeta a few days to come to terms with the fact that he would be carrying on the bakery business. Even if he had made his decision clearly, being given the licence was something else.
At first, as a kid, it had always been an unreachable dream of his. His brothers were always meant to inherit the bakery, assuring him he would always have a job there.
But now, it was something else. He could have his own.
The one he used to dream of, when he was just a kid.
Damn if he could remember how it was.
Sure enough, he had tried time and time over to find the lines, the edges, the design of the shop he had wanted to create. It failed every time. He could feel there was something wrong, in each detail that he drew, in some lines, but damn if he knew what.
He flipped his sketchbook to a new sheet, sighing at the empty, white page in front of him.
"Will you let me see this time ?"
Katniss's voice startled him. He looked up from the page, meeting her grey eyes over the sketchbook through the translucent tendrils coming from the mug she was blowing on.
There was another mug on the table, just in front of him.
She had made him some tea, probably made from some plants she had gathered in the meadow.
He realized suddenly she always made him a cup of herbal tea, every evening.
Every single evening, whether they were at her place, or at his.
"Peeta?" Katniss said again. He realized she was still waiting for his answer.
He shrugged, looking down at the blank page.
"It's not that I don't want to. It's… it doesn't feel right. I try to remember what I used to dream my bakery should be when I was a kid, you know? But it just won't come back to me."
Katniss sipped her tea, as if she was weighing her next words.
"It's because you're not a kid anymore, Peeta. You're a grown man. You've changed - we all did. Maybe try to draw the place you want to be in now, instead of chasing a kid's dream?"
A kid's dream. He took the time to let the words sink in.
Katniss was right. He had been trying to recreate a memory, something he could or wanted to hold onto.
Not what he wanted anymore.
He had changed, that he knew. She had changed too. The world around them had changed.
He started drawing lines on his sketchbook. Random lines, that made no sense, that showed nothing.
He needed to clear his mind of his thoughts, of his memories. He let his hand work on the paper, in a silence only broken by the scratching of the pen.
Slowly, quietly, an image formed in his mind, random at first, like the shadow of a thought, until it became clearer. The strokes of the pencil became sharper. The movements of his hand quicker.
He drew until he ached, until just holding the pen hurt his fingers.
He let the pen fall on the table where his tea had gone cold. The sound made Katniss look up from her book, a small smile on her lips.
"Been inspired?" she asked.
Peeta took a deep breath, finally looking at what was now etched on the paper.
Something bloomed inside him. Something warm, coming from the pit of his stomach.
On the paper, in front of his eyes that were too busy before to look closely, was a drawing of a simple building with large windows that let the light in. On the wall, there was a simple sign, showing the word "Bakery".
He smiled, the warmth radiating through him now, before he stood up and walked towards Katniss, handling her the sketchbook.
"What do you think?" he asked, his voice confident, watching her look at the drawing, happy to see the smile on her face.
"Peeta… " she whispered. "It's… not Mellark's Bakery... it's yours… you did it!"
She moved from her seated position on the armchair to stand in front of him. He didn't think his next move, hadn't planned it beforehand.
In the joy of the moment, Peeta walked towards Katniss, engulfing her in his arms.
To his surprise, he soon felt her hands on his shoulder blades, bringing him closer to her.
"Thank you," he whispered in her ear.
He had no clue how long they remained in each other's arms, bathing in each other's warmth, sharing each other's need for human contact.
It didn't really matter, after all.