Chapter Fourteen

I do a lot of writing outside of my classes with Madge. I'll be the very first to admit that its hard, that sometimes I find difficulty even gripping the pencil correctly, but if I can conquer the trees then I can conquer the human's means of written communication. Besides, it would certainly come in handy in the future when my hands get tired during conversations.

Sometimes I imagine being here in London long enough to know how to write full pages like Madge does while I'm working. I think about carrying my own book around with me to communicate with if I so desired. A book like those beautifully crafted ones I see in the shop fronts. I adore the craftsmanship of books. The way so many pages can be bound together by a spine; almost like a living creature. If the spine snaps, the book is destroyed. Dead. Just like animals. I would love to have one of my own. I have a flimsy book that I use to practice my writing, but I would someday love to have a book exclusively for my words. For what I'm trying to say, and the stories I want to tell.

I still have a long way to go before then, though. Letters are difficult enough, right not I cannot imagine what words will be like. As hard as it seems now, I know I will master it. First the letters; then the words; then the structures of human speech. All I have to do is keep working. Working is something I am very good at. Laziness has always been lost on me. Why waste your time resting when it isn't night? Why shut your eyes while the sky is bright when there is so much more you could be doing or creating or achieving?

I'm on my bed, practicing my 'J's' when there's a knock on my door. I hum loudly: a sign to enter.

Peeta pops his head around the door. I don't look up from my work. "Are you alright?" Concern is written all over his voice. "You haven't left your room in days."

This is partly true. I'm purposely avoiding Delly. Not because she frightens me, or makes me wish to hide, I just don't have the energy to listen to her these past few days. Her voice grates me in ways I have never felt grated. So sweet yet so . . . smug. I'd prefer to stay here than listen to her prattling voice. However, what Peeta says isn't completely right. I haven't been avoiding meals. I even make it a personal mission to show my face at Delly's table, just so she remains aware that I'm not hiding from her, I have just made a choice to avoid her and her nonsensical whining.

I turn my head towards the door. Peeta has moved into the room fully, but remains on the edge; a step from being out in the hallway again. An outsider. The man who found me is now behaving like a stranger. I don't sign, but I know my face displays my disbelief at his reasoning. "Why did you really come?"

Peeta brushes a hand through his hair. "I feel like I'm being left out of something," he informs me. I cock my head. What does he mean by that? He must see my confusion because he elaborates. "You and Delly. You're having some sort of back and forth. I know it. I can see it in the way you both look at one another at the dinner table. Has something happened to cause you falling out?"

I roll my eyes. "You know I've never liked her," I remind him with my hands, pencil still in the left one.

"And she you," Peeta surprises me with his firm response. I raise my eyebrows at him. "However, it's pointless both of you avoiding one another and then having the equivalent of a staring boxing match across a dinner table. You're both behaving like infants."

"Have you tried talking to her about it?" I enquire.

"Of course." Peeta finally takes a step closer into the room, as if being too close to the door will mean that his wife will hear everything he says. "She piled the blame on you. Which I know is ridiculous."

"How do you know that? It could be all on me," is my answer.

"But it's not," Peeta replies.

"How can you know that?" I repeat.

Peeta looks at me seriously. "You don't take unnecessary risks, Kat. I know that you know that baiting my wife is the equivalent to poking a sleeping tiger with a pointy stick."

That comparison makes me laugh. It's more of a dry; choking sound than an actual laugh but it's all I can muster with the state of my voice. Delly? A tiger? Delly is more like a snake. Conniving; slippery; venomous. Still, I am wise enough to know not to play around with snakes. She's the one wo keeps coming to me. I still like Peeta's answer, though. He knows me well enough to recognize that I don't go out looking for trouble. Trouble just keeps slinging itself at my feet for some reason.

"You both haven't liked one another from the beginning, but it seems to be getting worse. Did something happen? Anything I can help with?"

Oh, Peeta, if only you knew you are practically the epicenter of this entire problem. I would claim that Delly is paranoid, except she isn't. She is right in thinking that I'm trying to steal her husband from her bed. I could tell Peeta that Delly now knows of my intentions. In fact, it could make things easier if everyone under this roof knows what the score is. Except it could divide us all up to uncomfortable degrees. Not to mention I doubt Peeta would be too pleased about Delly knowing what's going on between us.

The way I say that. 'Going on between us' as if we're actually mates already. However, we don't need that to know that there's something there. Even now, with a large deal of space between us, the air feels heated and charged. I don't need to ask to know that he feels it too.

"Nothing you can help with," I simply tell him, before resuming my writing.

Peeta doesn't leave. I can practically feel his hesitance like it's a tangible thing. He doesn't know whether he should stay or go or leave or come back later. In the same ways he sparks confusion in me, I spark confusion in him. Either that or he overthinks every situation he is placed into, which I highly doubt is the truth.

"Delly has called a meeting in the lounge," he eventually says. "She wants you there too."

I pause. What?

Delly holding a meeting doesn't confuse me. The fact that she has invited me confuses me. I feel a stab in the pit of my stomach, the voice at the back of my head immediately telling me that this can't be good at all. I push my pages away from myself and ask, "When?"

Peeta sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "Now, actually. It's another reason why I'm here. She sent me to come fetch you."

I know that there is probably more to it than that. Either Delly is testing me, or she is actually testing Peeta. Does she know that he's conflicted? Surely she doesn't, he isn't obvious about it. It took me to physically kiss him to know that he felt something for me. Up until that point I was taking chances and going through the motions blindly. Then she's testing me. If she wasn't, she would have come herself to get me. Then again, maybe she deems herself too important for such a petty task.

I slip off my bed and cock my head at Peeta. "If those were your reasons, why did you ask how I was feeling? Or, even better, why did you ask about what's going on between Delly and I?" A smirk tugs at my lips, an almost childish glee filling my being at the thought of playing with him again.

"I was curious," said Peeta. There was that delightful pink tint in his cheeks . . .

"Are you sure that was it?"

"Yes."

I grin and shake my head. "Better not keep your wife waiting, then," I say, heading towards the door.

As I pass by him, I run my hand down his back. Right over where Delly's scratches no doubt still reside deep in his skin. The shiver this action inflicts vibrates in my fingertips long after I have left the room.

~xXx~

Delly has practically called the entire expedition camp to this meeting. Everyone seems to be here; Primrose; Clove; Leevy; Peeta; myself . . . Madge is apparently teaching a class and that's why she's not here. What could this possibly be for? Something doesn't feel right. Anything to do with Delly leaves an unsettled feeling in my stomach. Especially since she did say she was planning something. An irritating Delly is one thing, but a planning irritating Delly is another thing entirely. What could possibly be going through her head right now?

The lounge is a very compact room. The fire is blazing away due to the bitter cold outside. Delly is perched on the edge of a giant desk when Peeta and I arrive. Primrose and the other two girls are sitting on chairs clustered around the fireplace. I don't sit as I join them. I stand, my eyes immediately locking with the only other standing female in the room. Delly quirks an eyebrow at me, a smirk of her own tugging on her lips.

"Is everything okay, Delly?" Leevy asks.

"Yeah, why have you called us here?" Clove grunts.

Peeta perches himself on the arm of the only empty chair left in the room. There's concern on his face. I can see it from where I stand. He's expecting the worst. I wish I could read his mind. If only I knew how to read his eyes the same way he can read mine. Even if I could, he's not looking at me. He's not even looking at Delly properly. He's anxiously glancing from the floor to his wife and back to the floor again. He's just as clueless as the rest of us and it's making him nervous. I don't blame him. I'm a bit on edge too. What could this possibly be about?

Delly stands and dusts her skirts off. "I called you all here because you are the closest people to me," she explains. Her eyes slide over the three seated girls before landing firmly on me again. "And I wish to share this news with you all."

My stomach begins to churn. My muscles tense. My body is preparing itself for a fight. It's rather odd, like my brain has processed this conversation as a threat before anything has really been said. I just don't like that twinkle in Delly's eyes as she looks at me. She's about to drop something major, and she knows it, and the worry of the unknown is making me feel slightly nauseous. In the same way I would feel if I saw a wild animal stalking Kala's children.

"What news?" Primrose asks.

Delly smiles and turns to Peeta. He lifts his head and stares at her curiously. She is staring at him with an affectionate gaze, but he's too lost to return it. He frowns at her with confusion, and I can't help but wonder if this sums up their relationship entirely. Delly rules everything and expects Peeta to willingly follow her without asking what's going on. Imagine a life like that . . . So lost and confused he must sometimes get if she plans things like this without informing him of what's going on . . .

Unless . . .

Delly opens her mouth and I realize a millisecond before she says it what she is about to tell him.

Impossible.

"Peeta, I'm pregnant."

Peeta's reaction to this is instantaneous. There's no pause to process, like his body maybe caught what she said before his mind completely did. I don't even see his eyes roll up behind his head, but I do see the whites of his eyes as his entire body falls backwards off the arm of the chair and onto the floor. A strangled cry of surprise leaves my mouth as Delly yelps, "Peeta!" in shock. I lunge towards him, grabbing Delly's arm and gently (not by choice) pushing her behind me.

I push the chair out of the way. It slides across the room and bangs into the far wall as I throw myself to my knees and throw my head onto his chest. I'm no healer. This is the only way I can determine if he's alive. My head rises and sinks with his breathing and I'm flooded with relief. I look over my shoulder and nod to Delly, who had been hovering behind me in shocked stillness.

Leevy jumps to her feet once the confirmation of Peeta's wellbeing is given and squeals, "Congratulations, Delly!"

Delly smiles modestly. "Thank you."

Clove even throws out some congratulations, standing up and joining their little huddle. Delly doesn't even check to see if Peeta is definitely okay. She's reaping in the attention from her lies. This has to be a lie. There's no way this is true. It can't be.

This is impossible. It can't be true. Leevy and Clove probably think that Peeta has passed out with joy, but I know the truth. He passed out because this is impossible. In their eyes, Peeta and Delly have probably been trying for children ever since they got married and this is a miracle. But that's not it. Peeta can't have children. Delly can't be pregnant. It's . . . it's just . . . it's impossible!

I notice Primrose hasn't said anything. She rises from her seat and approaches Delly. My hands are resting protectively on Peeta's chest as I watch the healer take Delly aside. Leevy and Clove are talking about how lucky they are and how this was a long time coming and how great a father Peeta is going to be and how they deserved it so much. It makes me sick. This is sick. What is Delly doing?

Despite being on the other side of the room, I can hear Primrose's voice the same way I can hear a leaf touching the ground after floating in the breeze miles away. I don't feel guilty about eavesdropping. I need to know what's bloody going on!

"Delly, this is impossible," Primrose says in a hushed voice.

"Prim, I am pregnant," Delly insists, her voice almost forcibly sweet. There it is. Primrose hasn't denied that she's pregnant, she has simply stated its impossibility. Yet Delly is already trying to defend what she has said like the healer had flat out accused her of lying. Someone so defensive has to be hiding something. A liar is nervous, a truth sayer is comfortable in knowing they're speaking truth.

"I ran those tests on Peeta myself," Primrose presses. "He has Azoospermia. It's not caused by a blockage or obstruction, meaning that natural conception like this isn't possible."

Delly's voice is slightly strained now as she answers, "Well it must be immaculate conception then, because I am pregnant."

Primrose shakes her head. "That's blasphemous," she says.

I remember Madge teaching me something about the immaculate conception. It's to do with a religion called Catholicism. They believe that the female who bore their savior had not partook in mating at all when she fell pregnant. They called this the 'immaculate conception' because it was a miracle. Despite being what they called The Church of England, and not Catholic, Primrose doesn't seem to take kindly to this comparison.

"Delly," Primrose says, her voice softer, "what have you done?"

"Nothing," Delly indignantly answers. "Except make sweet love with my husband that has resulted in this beautiful gift." She leaves the conversation at that, returning to Leevy and Clove with a wide smile on her face. As if Primrose hadn't just told her off. The three of them immediately begin giggling with one another, the topic of names cropping up almost instantly.

Primrose doesn't join them. Instead, she moves towards myself and Peeta. She crouches beside him and takes his hand into hers. Pressing one thumb against his wrist and the other against his neck, she performs some sort of test that I can only assume is medical.

"He'll be okay," she tells me. I feel better to have my own judgment confirmed. I nod my understanding. "Just shock." Under her breath, I hear her say, "No bloody wonder . . ."

Primrose glances up at Delly, who hasn't looked back at her unconscious husband once since she discovered he's alright. The healer knows not to bother telling her that he's okay as well, as Delly is clearly only concerned about her 'baby' talk right now. Anger fills me. She's done something awful. I can feel it in my bones.

I grab Primrose's hand and our eyes meet. I feel a pang in my chest when my grey eyes lock with her blue ones. Almost a twinge of . . . familiarity. I shake it off and sign, "This is impossible."

"You . . . know?" Primrose carefully asks.

I nod. "Delly brought it up in an argument while I was here."

Primrose folds her bottom lip into her mouth. "Yes, this is impossible," she agrees with me.

"What has she done?" I ask.

"I don't know." Primrose shakes her head miserably. "I really don't know."

I don't know either. But I'm sure as hell going to find out.

Peeta stirs on the floor. His eyes scrunch up and he breathes out shakily. I grab his hand and hold it tight. "Delly?" he asks behind his closed lids. I clench my jaw, trying not to get irritated by that. Of course he'd think his wife was by his side after dropping such a disturbing bomb.

"No," Primrose says on my behalf. "It's Prim and Kat."

Peeta hauls himself to sit upright on the floor. His head immediately goes between his knees. Delly notices movement and she runs to him. "Peeta!" she cries. "Are you okay?" Trying to act like she has been concerned the entire time, the deceitful witch!

"I'm going to throw up," Peeta mutters.

"Not exactly the reaction you'd expect from a father-to-be," Clove chuckles.

Primrose stands up. "Peeta's just in shock from the news. I think we should leave him and Delly be so they can talk all this out. Come on, let's give them space."

I reluctantly rise, knowing that I can't stay for this conversation. My residency in their house doesn't give me the right to be involved in important conversations like this. Delly is going to lie through her teeth, I know she is. Cry immaculate conception, or whatever excuse she has planned up her sleeve to convince Peeta that this child-if it even exists-is his. Because that's it, this all must have been planned somehow.

As I'm leaving the room, I come to the conclusion that there are only three viable reasons for this 'miracle':

Either Delly is lying through her teeth and she isn't pregnant at all.

A miracle truly has occurred and Peeta's infertility has suddenly cured itself.

Or, more disturbingly . . .

Delly is pregnant, but the baby is not Peeta's at all.

And I have an awful feeling that I know which one it is . . .

A/N: Congratulations to Nannie who predicted this storyline! And thanks to the guest who corrected me about how they wouldn't the first world war the 'first' world war since the second hasn't happened yet. I corrected that so it's just The World War now :)

Please R&R with your thoughts and predictions! I love hearing what you guys thing :)