(A/N: The dream sequence below is roughly based on "Hills Like White Elephants," a short by Ernest Hemingway. I do not own any part of the Hunger Games trilogy. The only thing I own is bits of the plot that I'll be incorporating into the story.)
The hills in the forest blind me today while the sun reflects off the snow that completely blankets them. Peeta and I sit next to each other at the table, across from us, Haymitch, complete with his typical bottle of whatever alcohol he's indulging in.
Surprisingly, today, there are two glasses in front of Peeta and me as well. I barely notice that out of the corner of my eye. I'm too mystified by the round white hills that I can see from behind the window. They're distracting, all I can think about. Peeta picks up his glass and takes a long swig from the red tinted liquid that fills it. Looking away from the window, I take a sip from mine, as well. Peeta looks at me for the first time, his eyes tired.
"It's awfully hot in here," I say, more to myself than to anyone else in the room "Peeta, why don't you open up the window, let the air in?"
He takes hold of the two drawstrings hanging from the blinds on the window, contemplates them for a minute.
"It's awfully cold outside," he replies, looking out the window at the white hills, too. He probably would feel more comfortable with this warmth, but I'm unhappy.
"Please, love," I ask again, "A lot of people open their windows during the winter because they're uncomfortable with the fireplace. They're all perfectly happy afterwards."
"Are they? I feel like I would be much happier with the warmth, where I'm comfortable."
It seems so silly, that we're suddenly so upset over opening up a window. As I'm watching myself from where I am in dreamland, I contemplate what this could possibly mean. Haymitch pipes in from across the table.
"It's so strange now that the games are over." Odd, Haymitch isn't typically the philosophical type.
"I know. It's almost like we can have the whole world now. We're not being controlled by the Capitol anymore." Peeta adds, taking another sip of his drink.
"We can't have the whole world," he whispers. "It's like it still isn't ours, because of the Capitol. Once it's taken, we can never get it back…" What is he talking about? Of course the world is ours, we beat the Capitol. We won, we can own our thoughts and dreams again. We can own our land again. I really wish I knew why he was saying these things.
I glance away from Peeta and back to the hills. Vaguely I hear him ask Haymitch to pour two more drinks, one for me, and one for him. Why are we drinking, anyways? We never drink.
But yet, here we are, drinking two glasses of red booze together. There are five drinks at the table right now. There are the drinks for the two of us, and then the bottle for the add on to our table.
Peeta kisses my cheek. "If you really want to, you can open the window. But I'm going to go into a warmer part of the house." Haymitch silently agrees with Peeta, standing up and taking his bottle with him. Peeta clears the empty glasses from the table.
As they leave, I glance away from the perfectly round, long, white hills across the way. The only thing left on the table is my one glass.
I wake with a start for the first time since Peeta and I made love that night so many weeks ago. I haven't had a dream in weeks, since I imagined the hounds chasing me in my dreams. I wonder vaguely what this could mean, but shake it off and decide that it's probably nothing.
I feel Peeta stirring next to me, his bare body radiating warmth against my back.
"Everything alright, Katniss?" I can almost feel myself nod as I wonder if everything really is alright.
"I had a dream," I reply quietly. But, just because I don't want him to ask questions, I add, "But it was really silly. I guess it just woke me up." Peeta lets his eyes close again and he smiles, pulling me in closer to him.
"Well, good morning, anyways," he whispers into my ear, rubbing his hand up and down the flat plane of my stomach. I feel a smile creep onto my face and I rest my hand on top of his.
"Good morning," I reply tiredly. Feeling his hands on me brings warmth to my whole body. He seems to pay special attention to my stomach today, though, I notice. His fingers tracing around my belly button, the palms of his hands running over my pale curves, grown more defined with age. He then turns me around to face him so our bodies are pressed against each other and we lay staring into the other's intense gaze. I lean in and kiss him, resting a gentle hand on his face.
We lay there, kissing, running our hands up and down each other's warm bodies, when he starts trailing kisses down my neck. He rolls me onto my back and efficiently under him. His kisses go down my neck, in between my breasts, and to my stomach. He kisses in little circles around my abdomen before kissing his way back up to my lips.
He holds me close. Our kissing is becoming feverish, fueled by animalistic need. But right as his hands start to wander down my body, I feel incredibly nauseated.
Before I can say anything, I'm forced by the rise of the contents of my stomach to sprint to the bathroom. I vomit with a violent force, almost like nothing I've ever felt before. The acid taste in my mouth feels so vile when I think back to the taste of Peeta on my tongue that I throw up again just because of the comparison. I hear Peeta come into the bathroom and kneel behind my naked form.
"Katniss, are you okay?" His words are laced with nothing but the purest concern for me. I turn and open my mouth to reply, but another wave of nausea sends my face back to the toilet. After throwing up for the third time, I flush down the vile, acidic ex contents of my stomach. I lean back into Peeta, who pulls me into his lap and holds me.
"I don't remember being sick like that since finding out about us having to go back to the games." I whisper quietly. I contemplate where this sudden illness could have possibly come from when just moments before, I was perfectly fine. Then it hits me.
The dream. How Peeta wanted something that I just didn't for some reason. How once something is gone, we can't get it back. How he left the decision up to me, in the end. The hills. The white hills that oddly resembled…
"Peeta," I whisper, shaking. His grip on me tightens and he looks at me with immense worry.
"Katniss, you're shaking. What is it? What's wrong?" It all makes sense. The dream was trying to tell me something. Some higher power was trying to send me a signal with Peeta's extra attention to my stomach this morning.
I start to cry, and before I can stop the words from falling out of my mouth, I let out what I only just realized.
"Peeta, I think I'm pregnant."