Chapter 16

Peeta has to bake Annie's cake a day in advance of the shower so it gets there in time. The cake isn't as big as the one for Finnick and Annie's wedding, yet he's spent the last few days planning it so carefully. It's beautiful and anyone could look at it and see how it's meant for a District 4 baby. He piped the surface in thin and intricate nets, like the ones they use to fish. On top, Peeta painted a baby's cradle. It's white, except for the small blue trident painted on the sheets. I wanted to help him, but never mentioned it, knowing how important this job was for him. He did let me mix the batter for a few minutes, until it started splashing out of the bowl and I asked him to take over. Baking really isn't my specialty, though I like the fact Peeta baked extra vanilla sponge cake so that we could have some later.

"Do you want me to help you take it to the train station?" I try to help.

"I can do it myself, though I wouldn't mind the company," he says as he gently places the round cake in a box. He writes the address on top along with careful instructions for its delivery. "I arranged to have them keep it in the train's kitchen car, I hope it arrives intact."

"It's a long way from District 12 to District 4, but we've ridden that train before. I think it'll be okay," I reassure him, afraid he'll suddenly decide to deliver it in person. I know it shouldn't matter if Peeta leaves the district for a few days. The problem is I got used to seeing him everyday lately, even if just for a meal, and I'd hate to break that routine. Somehow, it's what keeps me focused. Not that I don't have bad thoughts and nightmares when he's around. Waking up to a new day is still just as terrifying, yet I know I'll make it through whatever awaits me if I have Peeta around. In the back of my mind, something tells me it's the same for him. It convinces me he'd stay anyway.

On our way to the station, we speculate on baby names. As painful as it must be, we have a feeling he'll be named after his father. I don't think I could ever name a child after a loved one, too many memories. I feel strangely relieved to know I'll never have this dilemma in my life. There are no more Hunger Games, but I still won't have any children of my own. I couldn't bear the thought of losing them, and Prim's death reminded me that are multiple ways of losing your loved ones.

"I think Finnick would like that choice," Peeta interrupts my thoughts. I look up to him, worried that if Annie chooses that name she won't have peace ever again. Her mind can be so fragile. Even though my mother tells me she's doing well, trying to be strong for the baby, I know our daily fight is internal, battled deep inside our being.

"He'll probably look like Finnick too. If he gets his name, it will be a constant reminder that Finnick isn't there," I argue it out.

"Still," he continues. "It will also be a constant reminder that Finnick used to be there for her, and what a great person he was. But, Katniss, I see your point. People deal with remembrance in different ways."

We sit silently at the station as we wait for the train and I wonder what Peeta will name his own children. I can't think of anything concrete, because I'm suddenly more worried about who will be the mother of these imaginary Mellark children. One side of me wants to be with Peeta again, give ourselves the fair chance we never had. The other side fights it because I could never give him everything he wants. No matter what he used to say, the romantic lines that would slip out of his lips, I'm not perfect and I couldn't make him happy the way he deserves to be. I could hear Haymitch in my head calling me out on this, it sounds too much like an act of self-pity. Though it isn't. I'm fully aware of how much damage I could cause, and how much I've hurt Peeta already. My brain tells me I must be fair; let him go so that he can be happy. My heart tells me something else. I don't quite know what it is yet, but it's clear my feelings refuse to listen to my brain's advice. In the end, I can't help the sensation my heart simply doesn't know what's good for me. I had Peeta once, only to lose him completely. I don't think I could handle that happen to me again.

The train arrives and Peeta places the cake directly in the hands of one of the kitchen employees, repeating all the instructions he'd already written on the box. It's amazing to see how much care he puts in everything he makes, up to the last minute.

"Okay, we can go home now," he waves me over and I walk after him. It is only after we reach the small fork on the road that separates the way between my house and his that I notice how we've gotten into the habit of going home together, even if the idea of home isn't clearly defined. We are two different people who live in two separate houses. Even so, as soon as Peeta steps to the right I follow him into his house.

We sit down on the sofa, our memory book on the floor. I wait for Peeta to pick it up so we can continue our work, but he just sits still. He's staring at the fireplace, which lies empty given how hot it's been. His eyes are darker than usual and I know what that means. I sit by his side, trying to find a way to help. I know I can't, his flashbacks are there for him to fight on his own. I offer him my hand, but he doesn't take it. His mind must be so far away, he probably doesn't know where he is. So I inch closer to him and take his hand anyway. His muscles are flexed and I can see a dark blue vein become more and more visible in his wrist. This goes on for about ten minutes, maybe thirty. It's hard to keep track of time when all I can do is watch his eyes, hoping the blue colour will return to them.

He clutches my hand tight and releases it. A drop of sweat falls from his forehead. "Thank you," he whispers, and proceeds to kiss me in the cheek. His lips almost touch the corner of my mouth, and I'm as red as if we had truly kissed. Warmth runs through my body and my heartbeat accelerates. I haven't felt this way in so long.

I look up to him and meet his eyes. He hides a smile deep inside, knowing the effect he just had on me. This should be my line, a reference to something he's said about me not once, but twice before. Yet, he's the one to mumble it under his breath. "Katniss Everdeen, I'm starting to think you'll never know the effect you can have."

I don't say a word, though I can't let go of his hand. It's my rock at times I feel like I may just fade away, lost in a haze of feelings and memories. He isn't bothered by it, seemingly comfortable the way he is.

"Nerine." He says, waking me up from my trance.

"What is that?" I ask him.

"It's a flower. Once, my father was decorating this cake. It was a wedding cake for one of the peacekeepers and I helped him with the batter. But it was the first time he ever let me help me decorate something so important. I even had a feeling he'd get into trouble if my mother found out he let me work on it. I had done a few cakes, but nothing that big. Apparently, the bride really liked these flowers and wanted us to pipe them on the icing. They were pinkish red. I asked my father what they were called and he told me they were nerines." He takes a deep breath before continuing, and it makes me think this is the memory that just made its way back to him. "That day I decided that when I grew up, and if my wife agreed, I'd name our daughter Nerine."

"It's a beautiful name," I tell him, unsure of how else to react to this information. Some time ago, when I was sure Peeta loved me, I would have blushed or changed the topic. After all, I could have been the wife he's speaking of. Not today. I know he's just glad to have one more piece of his life back, and I have nothing to do with this. Except it affects me. It reminds me of how great of a father Peeta would be and how I'd be a horrible person to deny him that. My brain, aware of this conclusion, sends a signal to my heart. It slows down and the warmth that filled me up dissipates. I let go of Peeta's hand. "We should work on the book," I tell him. "You could add this one memory, maybe paint the cake."

He nods and stands up to bring his pencils over. He took them when we went to the lake on the weekend, and they're still sitting on the kitchen table. He takes a piece of parchment and begins to sketch what I think would be the beginning of his younger self working on a cake. But the lines turn into something else, and he's not alone. There's a boy, his back is turned to the page, and even though I can't see his face, the think blond hair lets me know it's Peeta. The boy is sitting down, as are other children around him. I watch the sketch carefully, not sure what to make of it until he draws a little girl. He dark hair arranged into two braids, instead of one. She's standing with her hand straight in the air. Peeta's drawn our first day of school. The very first day he noticed me. The day he told his father he would marry me.

I can't look at it anymore. The more colour he adds to the drawing, the more vivid the memory is in my head. The more I want to be with him and try to be happy, even if I have no idea what happiness entails anymore. I'd still like to find out. Make our losses count. And if this drawing is a sign from Peeta, maybe I could find out. Though, if this drawing is a sign from Peeta, maybe I shouldn't push into something that will only hurt him in the end. I can't give him what he wants. We'll both leave it more broken than we are today. And then, I will lose him forever. I just can't afford that.

So I take a new piece of parchment and decide to work on something else. I add details about our first games next to a drawing of the cornucopia. I talk about Rue, but most of all I want to talk about the other children. Thresh, who spared my life. Foxface, too clever for her own good. Cato, who didn't deserve such a horrible death. Even Marvel, the boy I shot and who killed Rue. He didn't deserve such a fate either. I feel sorry for the career tributes, who were simply pieces in the Capitol's games and merited to have been so much more.

Peeta gets up and comes back from the kitchen with two glasses of lemonade, though he doesn't say a word about his drawing of five-year-old us. He begins work on what I think is the man from District 11 who got shot for whistling Rue's tune. I let him be and immerse myself in my own old memories.

It's what we do during the days that follow. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie's newborn son. A healthy baby boy with sea green eyes, whose smile tells me he'll be as handsome as his father was. The back of the photo says "Little Finn" in Annie's handwriting. Peeta smiles at this revelation, and we both know it's proof that Annie is a lot stronger than she lets on.

A/N: Thank you all who wished me luck with my MA thesis. Successfully defended with distinction, yes! This was a special chapter for me, Katniss is finally letting herself go, finally realizing there isn't much point in holding back. She's less afraid of getting hurt now, but the concern for hurting Peeta remains (what I believe to be a consequence of watching him beg to die during their mission). I hope you like how it's going, and we're almost there :)