A/N: edited 05/01/15
Double chapter and some poorly written smut :)
Chapter 26: (Cabin) Fever
Katniss
My night sleep goes undisturbed, and I wake to find Peeta lying on his stomach, snoring into the pillow. I gently peel back his eyelids with the pad of my thumb, and his erratic eye movements assuring me that he's fully unconscious.
Smoothing my palm under the white beater he wears to bed, I trace the smooth skin over his shoulder blades. I shouldn't be doing this. He could wake up any second and catch me, and how would I explain myself then? But he is my fiancé. Encouraged, I continue to trace the network of muscles that cover his back. All those years working at the bakery have paid off, that's for sure.
A fluttery feeling swells in my chest, before working its way downwards, to my centre. It isn't nervous butterflies, but a strange feeling that threatens to consume me, pulling me under until I cannot breathe. I find myself wanting this feeling, however. Wanting more than kisses from Peeta. He doesn't feel the same way, though, does he? He's the one who initiates so many of the kisses. What does that say about him? the voice in my head reports, causing a fiery blush to spread over my cheeks. I push the thought aside before it can get the better of me.
My hand freezes, hovering over the small of his back, when he mutters something under his breath, smacking his lips and frowning. He turns over, facing away from me, and his shirt slips a little, baring the skin at his belt line at small of his back. It's a well-hidden place, hidden by his pants, so there's no surprise that I've never seen it.
Jagged and pink, there's a series of long scars on his pale skin, shiny and angry-looking, mapped like a spider web. Wrinkles crease my forehead. Where are these from? I have no doubts on who did them. I reach out my index finger and trace the markings lightly, following the lines that move over the dip of his spine, the curves of his muscles.
"What are you doing?" Peeta's voice is deep, and I squeak in surprise, jumping back. He rolls over, his blue eyes focused on me, his hand on the area of his back where I was tracing the scars.
"Nothing," I stammer, shooting him a smile. He narrows his eyes.
"You were doing something. I could feel you touching my back."
"I, uh…" I trail off, picking at the blankets.
He sits up with wide eyes. "You saw the scars, didn't you?" He asks me, his brows knitted together as he tugs his shirt down.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I shouldn't have… it wasn't any of my business."
Peeta exhales, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. He rests his head in his hands, and runs his hands through his hair. I purse my lips. Have I gone too far? It isn't a secret, Peeta's past. We all know about how his mother had abused her sons, and that Peeta bore the brunt of her attacks, but I've only ever seen evidence of her beatings on Peeta's face- when he came to school with deep purple (almost black) bruises and deep, painful lacerations. On occasion he's had broken arms or ribs, and has on many occasions been absent from school. And a common illness like a cold is not the reason behind his non-existence.
"Peeta?" I test, my voice breaking as I step carefully over the bed, wobbling on the mattress to sit just behind him. "I'm sorry. Don't be mad with me, or embarrassed. I shouldn't have pried." I rub his broad shoulders gently, and lay my head against his back.
"I'm not mad," Peeta chuckles softly. "I just wanted to hide it from you."
"Why?"
"Because it's from my past. I want to go forward. Not take steps back." I don't say anything for a long time, and just listen to him breathing.
"Dad always said," I begin, squeezing my eyes shut. "That the only way to move forward was to think through the past."
"Your father was a wise man." I smile at this, but say nothing. A heavy silence fills the room and I regret what I say next.
"It was your Mom, wasn't it?" I whisper, pressing my forehead to the curve of his spine.
"Yes," he says, sounding a little too detached for my liking. I put my arms around his waist, anchoring him back to me and the present.
"Why?"
"I was seven when it started. Mom told me to make a cake for the display. And I dropped a bowl of icing," he tells me, scrubbing his face with his hands. "All the way from the Capitol, that icing. Cost a ridiculous amount for so little. And she warned me, told me so many times – that I couldn't mess it up. And I did. So she got Dad's belt and beat me."
"Oh, Peeta," I breathe shakily. "I'm sorry."
"The worst part was that she never told him."
"Who?"
"Dad. She just wiped the blood off and folded it back into his drawer. He never knew what that leather around his waist had done to me and I knew that she knew that. It was like a game and I was the pawn."
For a long time, I just press soft kisses onto the areas of his skin that aren't covered by the shirt, before lifting it fully and touching my lips to the scars. A shiver runs up his spine and he sits more upright. "Does he still have it?" I ask. "The belt?"
"No. I took it from him and tossed it in the ovens."
"I bet that felt good."
"It did. Until Mom came back and saw that it was gone. But I had grown taller than her then and she knew I wasn't that little boy anymore. So there was no more belt, more everything else."
"Thank you for telling me." I tell him. He doesn't answer, but instead leans back and pulls me down to him, gripping me tightly, pressing his lips to my forehead.
"Thank you for not giving up on me."
"I'll never give up on you." I whisper.
"I l-" Peeta pauses, and I look up to meet his gaze. His eyes are bright blue, clear as the sky on a summer day. He doesn't finish speaking and I don't pressure him to. This morning has been heavy enough without anything else. Instead, I press a soft kiss against his cheek and get up.
"Mom and Prim will probably be wanting me to visit," I tell him. "I'll probably stay for lunch."
He nods, flopping back onto the bed with a heavy sigh. "I'll be in the bakery."
"What's today's date?" I ask, pulling out a pair of brown pants and a t-shirt the colour of springtime grass from the wardrobe.
"Uh… December 21st. Why?" he replies, tucking his hands behind his head.
"Everyone is coming around for dinner in a few days and we have nothing prepared. We don't even have enough chairs."
"We'll be okay. We can just ask everyone to contribute something and I'll bake something. And we have a turkey leftover from when you last went hunting."
"I should go hunting again then. We need more than that."
Peeta sits up, eyeing me. "Katniss, you are not going hunting. Not now, in this weather. You said you wouldn't." I narrow my eyes and ignore him. I did promise him, but I'm not going to admit that.
"Close your eyes." I instruct instead. Peeta does as I ask, but I still turn and face the wall as I pull on my shirt.
"You done?" Peeta asks. I throw my still-warm nightshirt at him. He chuckles and tosses it aside.
"What do you want for Christmas?" I ask him, taking my hair from its braid and finger-combing it.
"I don't need or want anything."
"Really?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "Nothing at all?" I drop down onto the bed smirk.
"Really," Peeta says, running his hands through is messy curls, only making them more unruly. Wanting to feel that fluttery feeling again, I crawl on my hands and knees towards him. His eyes flit to the wall over my shoulder, before returning back to me hesitantly. "What are you doing, Katniss?" He asks warily. I crawl closer and lean down, our noses almost touching. His eyes darken dramatically and he wets his lips. "Katniss?"
Do it. Do it before you chicken out. If he rejects you, at least you'll know how he feels.
And then, summoning all my courage, I press my lips to his.
He's surprised, that's for sure. For a few long seconds, I'm worried that he's never going to react, but then he pushes himself upright, guiding me downwards onto the mattress in turn so he's hovering above me. A groan escapes his lips as I open my mouth, and I smile into the kiss, gripping onto his shirt, twisting it in my hands. Eventually I push him away, leaving him panting and wide-eyed and grinning like an idiot.
"What was that for?"
"You better get me a damn good present," I laugh, pushing him away, climbing off the bed and heading for the doorway.
"It hurts!" he cries, clutching dramatically at his heart. I simply roll my eyes before disappearing downstairs feeling lighter than I have in a long time. I'm gone before Peeta comes downstairs, and head straight for the Seam. It's still fairly early in the morning so I head for the forest first. Icy air bites at my skin, and I blow on my hands and rub them together to keep them warm.
My boots crunch over the frozen leaves beneath me as I walk, and I have to physically restrain myself from heading for the meadow and slipping under the fence. I'm still trying to get used to the idea that my situation isn't so dire anymore. That I don't need to hunt as obsessively as I used to. I'm freezing by the time I reach my old home and am almost glad that I didn't go into the woods and prolong the amount of time I spent outside.
"Katniss!" Mom cries, pulling door open even wider when I knock and tugging me by the elbow into the house. "What are you doing here by yourself? What if you had slipped an hurt yourself? Peeta would be distraught! Prim is ever so excited to be an Aunt, and you don't want to hurt the baby."
"Hey, Mom," I say with a smile when she's stopped nagging. My mother sits down with a huff.
"Sorry, dear. I'm just a little stressed at the moment."
"I can see that."
She begins again, taking a deep breath and handing me a cup of tea. "How are you?"
"I'm well, thanks. Everything is great." I wrap my hands around my cup of tea, letting the heat leach into my icy digits.
"And how about Peeta?"
"What about Peeta?"
"Is he okay? Coping?"
"Peeta is fine. Working his ass off. Falls asleep the minute his head hits the pillow most nights." I take a sip of the tea, frowning at the thought. Maybe I should tell him to cut down a little. He shouldn't be working so hard just to provide for me and the baby. I should be doing something to help out as well.
"But you two are getting on alright, aren't you? No fighting? No arguments?"
"Arguments are part of our relationship. It's okay though. We sort everything out," I shake my head with a little laugh. "At first, I'll admit, I was worried that it would be weird and awkward… but he's so kind. He makes it feel like home. He makes me feel safe a secure." I look up to find Mom watching me with kind eyes.
"What?"
"I remember," she begins, reaching across the table to take my hand. "When a very scared, but very determined girl told me that she didn't think that she'd ever be able to love the child growing inside her, or the man who had promised to marry her…"
"Mom." I mumble, my cheeks reddening.
"And I told her that she would love both of them. No matter how long it took, you would let them into your heart. Looking at that same girl, I can tell that she's fond of her baby, and of her fiancé." I blush, thinking of the heated kiss Peeta and I shared just over an hour ago that I initiated and he responded eagerly to.
I take another sip of tea to calm myself. "What does love feel like?"
"Now, that is a question," she raises her eyebrows. "Love is a complicated thing. It has it's good days and bad days, and can cause you the greatest joy or the greatest pain you'll ever feel, but love is a good thing," Mom squeezes my hand. "My mother always said to me that you know you're in love when you can't fall asleep, because reality is finally better than your dreams, and not the other way round."
I stare at my teacup, mulling over her words. "My feelings towards Peeta are… confusing. Sometimes I feel like he's just my friend, but most of the time I feel closer to him like that."
"What else?" Mom encourages me to continue talking.
"As long as he's there, I'd be happy in both dream and nightmares. I sleep better when he is there. A few nights ago I woke up and he was in the bathroom. Because he wasn't there, I couldn't sleep," A soft blush creeps over my cheeks. "He makes me feel good."
"How does he make you feel good?" Mom asks, arching one eyebrow.
"Not like that." I stammer.
"It's completely safe to have sex, right up to the end of your pregnancy," she advises. I pull my hand away from her grip and lean back in my seat.
"It isn't like that," I say. "I mean, we've kissed, but nothing else."
"Do you want to do more?"
"I came here to visit my mother and sister. Not to be interrogated," I growl. Mom smirks.
"At least you don't have to worry about protection."
"Mom!" I exclaim. "Really?"
"I'm your mother! It's my duty to find these things out and then embarrass you!" she says, her eyes bright.
"Is Prim here?" I ask, my voice high as I try to change the subject. I'm sure that my twelve-year-old sister won't interrogate me like this, though I also don't want her listening in.
"We all know what happened last time you had sex, Katniss. Be cautious," she continues, not letting me escape so easily. Not that I can blame her. Look where I am now after years of her neglect.
"I can take back that invitation to Christmas, you know."
"All I'm saying is that I'm here if you want to talk," she says gently, calming the situation down.
"Prim!" I call, leaving the room for the yard and leaving Mom behind I can't deal with her suspicious gaze any longer. My sisters throws her arms around me when she sees me from the Lady's pen at the bottom of the tiny plot of land behind our house that serves as our yard.
"I missed you!" She exclaims, not letting me go.
"I missed you too, Little Duck," I say fondly. "You aren't getting too cold at night are you?"
"It's alright. I sleep next to Mom now. We use the blankets and pillows and sheets from our old bed to make it really cosy."
"I'm glad," I smile, smoothing her golden locks. I've missed my sister and her constant smiles and energy. I should visit more often.
"I bet Peeta is warm."
"What?"
"At night? Do you snuggle up to him?" Prim giggles.
"When it gets cold," I deadpan.
"I bet you kiss all the time as well," she makes kissing noises and purses her lips.
"That's it, none of you are coming on Christmas Day." I sigh, covering my eyes. Prim laughs, letting me go and standing back a little. It looks like she's had a sudden growth spurt in the little while I've been gone.
"Rory told me yesterday evening that his family isn't going to go to your house for Christmas. Apparently Gale was yelling all night and Hazelle threatened to ground him and he told her that he was an adult and he could do what he wanted and then he told everyone that they weren't going to your house."
"Are you sure?" I ask, my heart sinking.
"Yup. Rory said it was okay though. He didn't want to walk all that way."
I roll my eyes, though this new information is making me kind of sad. "I'll have to stop by and say Merry Christmas."
Prim dashes off to guide Lady back into her pen, playfully scolding the goat for running away. I sit down on the porch steps, resting my feet, and get lost in my own thoughts.
Although it felt great to confess my confusion and apparent feelings for Peeta, lifting a heavy weight from my shoulders, it has also dredged up the thoughts about Gale and his feelings from the darkest recesses of my mind. I tried so desperately to hide them. To forget. But clearly that isn't going to happen. My main fear is the friendship Gale and I have built up is going to come crumbling down and that even if we do manage to stay friends, it will be on shaky and uncertain ground that will be difficult to traverse.
Everdeen/Hawthorne Christmases are things I've come accustomed to. Gale's father and mine were best friends, and ever since I can remember, we've spent Christmas Day with each other, eating hearty food, laughing and dancing and singing and having a good time. In an effort to hang on to the traditions my father held so dear, and in a way to preserve his memory even more, I invited Gale and his family for dinner. This revelation sickens me. I was – and am – trying to hold onto my past. I invited the Hawthorne's not only because I didn't want them to be alone on Christmas Day, but because I wanted to remember my father.
It's this truth that makes me sad. As much as I would like to move into the future without regrets, I know that this can't be possible. And now Gale has decided that none of his family are coming to dinner? This whole mess is his fault, not theirs. It's unfair of him to take it out on them. They can come around if they want to as my invitation is still valid to them. Gale is another problem. If he's got the balls to turn up at my doorstep, I'll deal with him then.
I spend a little more time at my old home, chatting with Mom and my sister, reminding them to come round on Christmas Day, and head back home with a hunk of goat's cheese from Prim, trying to ignore the feeling of sadness that pulls at my mind, creeping deep inside me.
Peeta
I push the front door open as the sun sinks below the mountains. I hang up my coat, clunk my boots together to get rid of the dust upon them, and line them up against the wall by the door.
"Katniss?" I call. "You here?"
"I'm in the kitchen," is her quiet reply. A frown works its way onto my lips. Something is off; a definite change from her playful attitude this morning when she kissed me and left me breathless. I walk into the kitchen and find my fiancé leaning against the countertop, staring down at the floor, chewing on her bottom lip.
"Hey, are you alright?" I ask, putting the paper bag filled with cookies from the bakery onto the table. "Katniss?" I repeat, stepping closer and placing my hands on her upper arms. She collapses against me, falling into my chest, bursting into tears. Alarmed, I pull her closer and rub her back in what I hope is a soothing motion.
"I c-can't do this, P-Peeta," she sobs. "I can't do any of this!"
"What can't you do?" I ask, resting my head on her shoulder.
"This!" she cries, soaking my shirt. "I can't be a mother. Or a wife. I can't even get a grip and confront my feelings!"
"Did Gale say something to you?" I ask carefully.
"He doesn't know what he's talking about."
"So he did say something."
"Peeta, I'm sixteen. This time last y-year I was worrying about whether we would have e-enough food to last the winter. If we had enough c-coal," Katniss gasps. Not about raising a fucking b-baby!" She swallows, stepping back away from me and holding her head in her hands. "I can't do this. I j-just can't. No, no n-no. This is too much!" She shakes her head, fat tears falling from her wide grey eyes. My heart breaks.
"Listen to me," I begin. Katniss looks up, chewing her thumb, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I'm here. I will help. It's my duty as the father of this child to care for you and protect you and I'm never going to abandon you, okay?"
"Peeta, you don't understand…" Katniss shakes.
"You aren't alone. I'm scared too, terrified of trying to make this work. But I promise to be your husband and the best father I can possibly be," My heart is hammering against my ribcage as I tighten my grip on her. "Please don't think that I will never be there."
"I'm so scared though."
"Me too," I chuckle, wiping away her tears. "But at least we have each other."
"What if we can't look after it?"
"That isn't an option, alright?" I tell her, my voice soft and steady.
"Are you sure?"
"I've never been so sure about anything in my entire life." I grin. Katniss smiles weakly.
"I don't love Gale," Katniss confesses. "Not like I love you or Prim or Mom. Visiting them just brought up so many memories. It already feels like they're part of a different life."
"I know you're scared and confused and concerned about what the future may bring, but you can't let anything or anyone stop you from doing what you see as right."
"Tell me that we'll be okay?"
"We'll be okay."
"Thank you."
"Besides, you're Katniss Everdeen. You don't let anything stop you," I say, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. She wraps her arms around my waist, resting her head on my chest. "So why should something like this stop you now?"
"A baby isn't a little something, Peeta. You know that."
"I do know that, but I also know you. I have faith in you, Katniss. You'd start a war – a rebellion – against Panem itself if anything threatened the people you love. You'd shoot an arrow at President Snow, even, just to keep them safe."
"You can't say that."
"I just did."
"My Dad would've been so disappointed in me," Katniss murmurs. "I can picture his face. If he hadn't died. If we had to tell him as well."
"I'm kind of glad I didn't."
"He would've kicked your ass," she sighs, but the sound is happier. "And given me a lecture of the proper use of protection, and how sex and alcohol shouldn't mix."
"My Dad has already given me that talk. A little overdue, but there nevertheless."
"How disappointed was he?" Katniss asks. "When you told him?"
"I could see that he was shocked and disappointed with me," I say, instantly catapulted back to that fateful day so many months ago when Katniss revealed all, Mom dragged me through the district and the day ending up with me yelling and crying and feeling like the worse person to have ever walked the face of Panem. "I guess he thought, well, everyone thought that Rye would be the one to get us in trouble, and when he found out that it was me? I thought he was going to have a heart attack."
"I can't imagine your mother was much better."
"She yelled. I yelled back."
"Why?"
"She was calling you names. I couldn't handle all the situation and just… snapped."
"Is your Dad okay now?"
"He's going to have a breakdown. He can't believe that he's going to be a grandfather."
"Does he hate me?"
"Of course not," I say, looking down at her. "Katniss, he adores you."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Prim loves you, and so does my Mom."
"She gives me weird looks."
"Prim?"
"No, your mother."
"She's probably trying to figure you out. Even though she kind of… disappeared after Dad died, she is still there. She does care."
"Let's make a vow, to each other and our baby." I suggest.
"A vow?"
"Not a marriage vow," I backpedal. "Just a promise about life."
"Okay. What is it?" Katniss asks, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
"We've both had problems in the past regarding our parents. And we haven't been left unaffected by it, so let's promise to always be there not only for each other, but for the baby. Let's promise to always be there, and never stop loving him or her no matter what happens to us." Katniss smiles, her eyes filled with a sad happiness.
"You love this baby, don't you?"
"I love him or her already. Unconditionally."
She takes a deep breath. "Then I promise to always love our child and be there for him or her."
"I second that vote," I smile.
"Thank you for everything."
"You're welcome. Thank you for not hating me completely."
"I couldn't hate you. You're too good."
"Don't cry, Katniss. Please don't. But if you really have to, come to me first and I'll help you work everything out."
"And I promise I'll try my best to help you too," she says. "I'm not as good at it as you are… and I find it difficult to say things sometimes, but I'll try."
"Okay."
"Good," Katniss whispers, kissing me slowly. I run my hands up her sides, cupping her face gently. She touches her tongue to my mine, encouraging me to deepen the kiss. I gladly do so, lifting her up onto the countertop so she's at an equal height. After a few heated minutes, I pull away and kiss her neck, sucking softly on the soft skin by her ear. Her sharp intake of breathe makes me feel oddly powerful.
"I'll leave a mark if we're not careful."
"That's tacky," she grumbles. I laugh and kiss her again, all over her face, kissing away her tears until she speaks again. "Right at the start of all this, I asked my Mom if I would ever be able to love the baby. If I would ever love you," she mumbles, meeting my eyes, staring at my ear as she runs her hands through my hair nervously. I swallow. Where is this going?
"And?"
Katniss inhales shakily. "And today she reminded me of it. She said that she thought that I was already beginning to love both of them."
"She did?"
For a very long time Katniss is silent. I can almost hear the cogs in her head turning at a hundred miles an hour. The only sound that can be heard is our breathing, a bird outside, and the repetitive ticking of the clock on the wall.
"She did," Katniss breaks the silence. "And I asked her what love… felt like."
"What did she say?"
"She said that love… that you know you're in love when you can't fall asleep, because reality is finally better than your dreams, and not the other way round."
"Wise words."
"And I told her that I didn't mind if I was awake or asleep, because I had you to catch me."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that I love our baby. And I think I could possibly be falling in love… with you." Her voice is but a whisper, so quiet that I can barely hear her. But as those words fall from her lips – Katniss Everdeen's lips – my heart swells in my chest, and electricity courses through me.
"Oh." I breathe. Katniss looks up at me, her eyes wide. She looks scared. This must be a big thing for her.
"Please say something else," she begs. "Because I never thought that I would ever be able to love someone like I love you. A Merchant, nonetheless. Peeta Mellark, the boy who has saved me too many times. It's been hanging over me like a cloud for so long and I didn't know what to do or how to deal with it and deep down I'm still frightened because I've never felt so comfortable with someone before and I don't understand it. So please, Peeta. Say something."
Is this really happening?
Has Katniss Everdeen just told me that she may be falling in love with me?
Or am I going to wake up any second now only for my heart to feel like it's being torn in two?
"Am I dreaming?" I ask.
Thankfully she laughs, but it's stilted, concerned. "Shut up, dummy."
I take a deep breath to steady my nerves.
"I've loved you for too long," I murmur, tracing patterns over her skin. My pulse is loud in my ears. "And I think that it's good for us to admit any feelings we have for each other. You say you think that you are in love with me, but I know that I am. For a fact."
"I'm just going to have to let myself fall, I suppose."
"I'll be there to catch you when you do."
"Always?" Katniss queries. "Can you promise me that?"
"Always," I promise. And then she's kissing me again, slowly and gently as if she's nervous, as if this were her first kiss, but with an underlying tension that I can't ignore. Fire spreads through my limbs as she kisses me even more, whimpering into my mouth.
"You love me?"
"I love you," I say against her mouth.
"I love your cooking."
"Is that a subtle hint?" I laugh.
"It's meant to be."
"Let's eat and then get some sleep, then," I suggest.
"I like that plan very much."
"Me too, Katniss. Me too." I agree, kissing her nose.
Katniss
Damn it. Gale was right.
Peeta does love me.
I don't know why I'm feeling so sad about this whole situation. But as I crouch in front of the fire, pushing around the glowing embers and trying to get the fire to catch onto the new log I've added, I find myself with a sad smile on my lips. I lay the table, taking my time to line-up the cutlery perfectly straight alongside the plates and placing a small beeswax candle in the centre and lighting it. Letting out a sigh, I sit down at the table, resting my hands on my stomach and closing my eyes, sinking into the depths of my thoughts.
Peeta told me that he would be the one to cook, that he wanted to do it by himself, and let me put my feet up. I rub my eyes, fighting a yawn, a wave of tiredness flooding over me. Although I've been having a lot of good nights lately because Peeta is there, I have also found myself getting tired much quicker than I used to. It must be the baby's fault. It's zapping my energy, leaving me tired and achy. I dread what it's going to be like when I'm eight or nine months, belly swollen to a ridiculous size, left waddling around the district like a great lump- unable to go hunting or climbing or even get under the small gap under the fence.
I can remember what Hazelle was like when she was pregnant with Posy. Mom would bring round ointments and salves and herbs that were meant to help ease the aches and pains of carrying a child, running a household, and looking after three other children, though I don't think they ever actually helped. Hazelle would still walk around with purple shadows under her eyes, rubbing her back whenever she stopped moving, and talking about how much she wanted 'this damn thing' out of her body.
And then her beloved husband died.
Mr Hawthorne never got to see his daughter- he never even knew that he had finally gotten to little girl he had always wanted. Hazelle regretted wishing that she wanted her baby to be born. We all knew that she wanted to keep Posy inside, where it was safe and warm and free from the sadness that reality brought along.
All this time has allowed a whole load of emotions to build up inside of me. I cried- I bawled. And in front of Peeta. I kept my fears and doubts and worries build up without confiding with anyone until I was ready to burst. All those stupid, unnecessary barriers that have kept me closed off from everyone have finally crumbled under the pressure and stress of getting pregnant, getting proposed to and moving in with none other than the baker's son. Never in a million years would I have guessed that this would end up being my future.
Peeta was strong as usual. He told me that he would always be there. He made a promise to me and the baby, which is more than I ever could have asked for. Before my father died, my life was happy. Despite the miserable state of poverty I lived in, I had a loving family. A good life where my father would sing to me every day, and my mother would braid my hair and make little paper dolls for me to play with. After he passed away, things became bad. Mom, drowning under the heavy cloak of grief, became isolated in her own mind, leaving Prim and I to fend by ourselves. Death scratched at our ankles, beckoning us with the sweet promise of a pain-free existence. But it was the thought of getting stuck in an in-between state- a limbo filled with happy dreams that could not hurt us- that terrified me the most. It was what kept me surviving and stopped me from living.
For too long I was focusing on Prim, and never gave a second thought about myself. I can't imagine how I looked to people on the outside who didn't understand how hard it was without my parents. I must have looked like such a stuck-up person, who never had the decency to accept help when people were simply being kind.
Peeta is the bright shining light on the horizon, hiding for all this time, and then coming out to save me. What would've happened if he had never come into my life? Would I have sunk lower and lower into my own little bubble, and become unable to communicate with anyone but my wrecked family and limited friends?
Of course I would like to say that that would never had happened, but I find that it's better to think of Peeta and our baby as my saviours.
"Bon appétit," Peeta murmurs, placing a bowl on top of the plates I've set out. A thick, creamy soup sits in front of me, the steam rising steadily along with the intoxicating scent of the meal.
"What is this?" I ask, inhaling deeply.
"Carrot and potato soup," Peeta tells me sitting down opposite and smiling. "My Dad always gave it to me when I wasn't feeling good."
"Not chicken soup?"
"Nope. Never chicken soup."
"But chicken soup is what you're meant to eat when you're ill. Not… carrot and potato soup." I dip my spoon into the soup and take a sip.
"It always made me feel better. Not when I was ill, but if I was having a bad day."
"A bad life more like…" I mutter into my bowl. Peeta looks hurt, sitting down opposite me.
"I'm not that bad am I?" he asks jokily, trying to being chipper. I backpedal hastily.
"I didn't mean it like that," I tell him, reaching across the table to touch my hand to his arm. He stares at my hand and smiles gently. "I'm just feeling useless and tired. I get grouchy when I'm tired. I didn't mean to take it out on you, not when you've made such a lovely dinner."
"I understand," he says, looking up. I smile down at my meal and continue eating. Peeta tells me about the bakery as we eat, and I find myself sitting there, engrossed with what he's saying. His eyes light up when he speaks, motioning with his hands. He lists countless recipes, types of bread that go better with cheese than anything else, and which icing compliments which types of fruitcake.
"Sorry, I guess this is kind of overwhelming," he blushes after a good half hour of speaking.
"No, I don't mind."
"But I've been talking continuously for ages. Don't you want to say anything?"
"Not really. It's interesting. I don't know much about you."
"You knew when my birthday was. Remember? Back at school?"
"I know…" I say, my cheeks growing pink.
"How did you know?" Peeta narrows his eyes playfully, leaning forward on his hands as interrogating me for a crime.
"I, uh… I came to the bakery once. To buy cookies. Your Dad came to the back door with a paper party hat on his head. It was blue and patched up with tape," I look up. Peeta chuckles, stretching his arms up in the air above his head.
"That was my twelfth birthday," he says. "Dad insisted on party hats, even though Mom said it was too expensive for how silly it was. She tried to pull it off his head and it ripped so he got some tape and put it back together again. Mom got in a mood and smashed a vase, but it was worth having party hats."
"Did you ever have a birthday party?" I ask. Before then? Or after?"
"I had parties- just with the family- until I was twelve. And then I decided that it was babyish to celebrate with cake and hats."
"Why wouldn't you want cake?"
"Oh, I don't mind the cake part," he laughs, taking a gulp from the bottle of apple cider. I'm humbled to find that it's from Ripper, down in the Hob. When did he go to the Hob, and why would he go there to buy from Ripper when he could've bought something else from himself elsewhere?
"What about you?" Peeta asks, running his hand through his hair. I desperately want to do it myself, to feel his thick curls between my fingers.
"I guess you could call it a party. The Hawthornes would come over and we'd eat some food and once I received new pair of gloves or another set of arrows from Dad..." I trail off, reminiscing in the moment. "They would sing. And that was it," I look up from the table. "It probably sounds stupid. It doesn't matter."
I stand and clear up the plates, intending to wash up and forget that I'd let myself think of my father's skilled hands. He could make perfectly balanced, perfectly shaped arrows in what seemed like a matter of minutes. We would go scavenging in the forest for the straightest sapling branches we could find, cut them down, and then roll them until the bark came off easily so the branches wouldn't be bent out of shape.
'Like peeling an orange, Kitty," Dad would explain, guiding my own small hands in his large, calloused ones. 'Nice and slow, gentle so it doesn't damage the wood.'
And then we'd take our bounty out onto the front porch steps. Mom and Prim would use the bark to make fragrant teas and medicines, and Dad and I would let the sun warm our skin as we shaped the wood into arrows. Suddenly I'm overcome with emotion, and I swallow a sob and wipe my eyes with my sleeve. It was a bad idea to think so much about my Dad. Of course, I try to save his memory, but sometimes it's just too painful. And thinking about birthdays- a subject that should be happy- has made me sad again.
"It isn't stupid. And it does matter. To me it does," Peeta says firmly. I let out a deep sigh.
"I just get... you know... upset when I think about him."
"Katniss, I understand."
"How can you understand?" I ask, exasperated. "Who have you lost?" I turn and shove him. "You don't know what it feels like," I whisper, venom creeping in to my tone without me wanting it to.
"My cousin died when she was eight. I was nine. We were best friends. So, yes, I have felt the pain of losing someone who is close to you."
I stop, my shoulders slumping. "Peeta, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shove you or anything. I didn't know," I pause, feeling like the worse possible person in the world. All he was doing was being nice to me, and I threw it all back into his face. Again. "I just got upset. I didn't mean it."
"I know you didn't," he mumbles. "You just find it hard to use words sometimes." I step closer to him and wrap my arms around him. He is still for a moment, unresponsive, but then hugs me back.
"I'm sorry," I repeat. "You're right."
"We're all sorry, but it isn't like we can change it."
"Live in the moment," I say, holding him tight. He puts a finger under my chin and lifts my face to his, pressing his lips to mine. Instantly, as if by magic, all the tension and sadness and frustration is gone. The feeling of Peeta's lips against mine is intoxicating, pulling me in, dragging me along like a rip tide. But I'm not struggling to be free. I want more. I want to be with Peeta because I know that he loves me and I might be in love with him and I know that he will always be there because he promised. Promises shouldn't be broken. You should keep your side of the deal. No matter what.
I can only hope than I'll be able to stick to my own words in the future.
Hope is the only thing stronger than fear.
Peeta's tongue probing against my lips startles me, but I open my mouth nevertheless, inviting him in. I stretch upwards to wrap my arms around his neck, gasping when he presses kisses down my neck. I arch it, tilting my head backwards to give him more access.
"Forget the dishes. I want to go upstairs," I whisper, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. Peeta pulls back, eyes wide, chest heaving.
"What?"
"I think you want to as well, Peeta," I boldly say, raising an eyebrow. He doesn't say anything, but kisses my knuckles and moves towards the staircase. I follow, my heart pounding rapidly in the cavity of my chest.
Peeta
My pants are getting way too tight. As much as I want to relieve the pressure, preferably with Katniss' help, I do not want that yet. I doubt she wants to go anywhere near the idea of me and her and sex. I'm sure she just means more kissing. Nothing close to actually doing the deed, but something else. Taking into account what happened last time, I'm surprised that she has slept in the same room as me, let alone kissed me.
But I've told her how I feel now, and she says that she could be falling in love with me too. This is like a dream come true. All these years of falling deeper and deeper into love with the grey-eyed, dark-haired goddess who traded at my back door. I would hide around the corner, peeking my head around the doorway to the kitchen, seeing her boots and hearing her musical voice behind my father. Dad, ever observant, realised that his youngest son had fallen in love- promptly deciding that, at the age of thirteen, he would be able to pass the 'trading with Katniss' duty on. I can remember the first time I traded with her, as clear as day.
'No, Dad, I can't do this!' I whisper, shaking my head vigorously. 'What if I mess it up or talk too much or act like a weirdo?'
'Peeta, listen,' Dad says, patting my shoulder. 'You'll be fine. She's shy, that's for sure, but once you get her talking you'll be fine.'
'But what if I can't get her to talk?'
'Ask her about the weather,' he suggests. 'It's a normal thing to talk about.'
'Yeah, for boring people!' I cry, standing up. 'Talking about the weather? That's lame.'
'It's worked for me,' Dad chuckles. 'Are you calling me boring?'
'No, it's just...' I trail off when there's a short, sharp knock at the door, staring at it like a dragon has just leapt over the threshold. Dad smiles at me and leaves the room before I can duck out before him. For a moment I just stand there, palms sweaty, dumbfounded.
What do I do now?
Answer the door. That would be a good place to start.
I walk to the door and look through the little glass square positioned in the middle of the door. Just the sight of her sends shivers down my spine. I admire the way her hair shines, the curve of her nose. And then she looks up, staring straight into the peephole. Her grey eyes are so wide. It surprises me and I stumble backwards, heart pounding. She knocks on the door again.
Oh yeah. Answer the door.
Taking a deep breath, I run my hand through my hair and pull the door open.
'Sorry for the wait-'
'I've got squirrel-'
We both pause, embarrassed at speaking at the same time. She takes a wary step back, scrutinizing me, her brow knitted together. 'Is your father there?'
'He's with a customer. He asked me to take care of you... of the squirrel!' I correct myself. 'Not you, the squirrel.' I look down at my boots, flushing red. 'Come in, uh. Put the squirrels here.' I instruct, clearing my throat and laying some grease paper onto the countertop. Katniss steps inside, pulls two squirrels from the ratty bag over her shoulder and lays them down.
'The rate is usual a loaf for two.'
But I'm still staring at the carcasses sitting beside me. 'How the hell did you kill them?'
'You aren't squeamish are you?' I meet her gaze. She arches an eyebrow. I swallow.
'No. Not at all. It's just that there's no blood on it.'
'I drained it in the woods,' she says, her voice in a tone of not only amusement, but as if I've just been asking stupidly obvious questions. Damn it, I probably have.
'Oh.'
'Yeah.'
'I know that it's a loaf per squirrel,' I tell her. She scowls. 'Why wouldn't you want the actual pay?'
''Cus I don't need it. And neither does Prim or Mom,' she says resolutely, curling her bony hand into a fist by her side.
'I know you don't. It's just the normal price, and otherwise we'd owe you,' I shrug, pulling two freshly baked loafs into a paper bag, making sure they're the biggest ones. Katniss says nothing. I watch a bead of sweat roll down her temple. It's the middle of summer, and she's been chasing squirrels in the heat. Her shirt is sticking to her. Why haven't I offered her a drink?
She's staring at the pitcher of ice cold water sitting beside the basin of ice cubes, licking her chapped lips. I tip some cubes into a glass and fill it with water, offering it to her with a smile. 'No thanks,' she rebuffs me, stepping away.
'Take it.'
'I said, no thanks.'
'And I said take it.' I counter. She takes the glass like I'm handed her a bomb.
'Thanks.'
'It's only water,' I say. 'It's Prim's birthday today, isn't it?' I add softly. I can practically hear the muscles in her back tensing up at my words.
'How did you know that?'
'Your Dad. He used to bring her here for a cupcake every year.'
'With a Primrose flower on it,' she murmurs, staring at something over my shoulder, lost in thought. I feel guilty for bringing up her father. He died two years ago, but the aftershocks are still rippling through the remainders of the Everdeen family. With Katniss not paying attention to what I am doing, I grab the nearest bag of icing and ice the letter 'p' onto a cupcake, along with a tiny flower. If I had the time, the cake would've been lavishly decorated. But this is alright for a ten second job. I slip it into the bag.
'Here you are. Thanks for the squirrel.' I say, turning to face her. She has her hand in the glass, fingers stretching to reach an ice cube. She tips the glass upside down, catches the cube and shoves it into her mouth. I laugh. Her cheeks are puffed out like a hamster. She blushes at being caught.
'Soww.' I take the glass.
'S'Alright.' I grin. She takes the bag, murmurs her thanks, and ducks out of the kitchen.
'See, that went okay, didn't it?' Dad asks, popping into the room.
'Were you hiding there the entire time?' He pulls a face and wraps up the squirrels
'You never know when you'll need a wingman,' he chuckles.
I'd always had a crush on her, but that was the moment when I realised that I was actually in love with her. While all the other boys in town and out in the Seam were dating their 'own kind', whether it be skinny, dark-haired, dark-skinned girls or blonde, busty, townies, I was pining after the toughest girl in Panem. She was- and is- a hard nut to crack, but once you break through her sturdy exterior, she's a person you can't help but love. She wound her way right into my heart and stayed there.
Katniss and I change into our pyjamas quickly and quietly, but the room is filled with tension. My erection had thankfully disappeared as I climb into bed and she lies beside me. After a few long seconds, I begin to wonder if she has fallen asleep or is simply waiting for me to make the first move. I'm about to open my mouth and say her name when she rolls onto her side and pulls my chin down so her lips collide with mine. I eagerly comply with her movements resting my hand on her waist.
How far does she want to go with this? Are my hopes too high or too low? Am I being a complete pervert and expecting something that she doesn't want? I find myself beginning to worry too much, and Katniss pulls away, concerned. "Hey, are you okay?" she asks, her chest heaving. I blink, looking down at her. "Don't you want to?"
"No, I was just a little surprised."
"Oh."
"What do you want to do?" I ask hesitantly.
"Whatever we find ourselves doing," she says, clearly battling between being shy and taking a chance. "I trust you, Peeta."
"I trust you too," I tell her, cupping her jaw and leaning down to kiss her again. Testing our boundaries to the very limit (the apple cider is apparently a little stronger than it says on the bottle), I lift her up in one smooth motion, depositing her so she's sitting on me. "Is this okay?" I ask, rubbing her back in soothing motions.
"Yes," she says, kissing me again. Her movements and the positioning of her hips on my mine make me groan at the added pressure, and I can feel blood rushing to my crotch. She rolls her hips again, noticing my reaction. "Is this okay?" She teases between kisses, her voice low and seductive.
Our kisses get slower and slower as time passes, and I move my hands further down, resting them on her hips, and then on her slim thighs. The feeling of her smooth skin under my hands is dizzying. I flip her over onto her back, never breaking the kiss, and prop myself up on my hands so I don't press against her stomach and she parts her legs so I can lie in the cradle of her thighs. She whimpers and I gasp at the feeling of my erection so close to her centre, the feeling so strong and real. I don't dare to move my hips, so I trail my hand up, under her shirt, feeling her warm skin against my palm.
"Is this okay?"
"Higher." She murmurs.
"Really?" I ask, unsure. She nods, guiding my hand further up until my hand is resting over the swell of her breast. She sighs and I press kisses down her neck, before latching on to the sensitive skin on her collarbone. I squeeze her breast, rolling her nipple in my fingers, and her mouth makes an 'o' shape as she thrusts her chest upwards into my hand. She scrabbles desperately at my shirt, and I let her yank it off. Her hands map the contours of my chest and back, and when I finally grind my hips down on hers, her fingernails dig into my skin, causing me to hiss.
"Fuck."
"Take my shirt off." Katniss whispers. I can see how flushed she is, even in the darkness of the room.
"What?" I ask, bewildered.
"Don't act like you don't want to," she smirks. "And you're topless too."
"That's different."
"Fine, keep my shirt on," she challenges, her eyes dark and shining. My cock strains in my pants, begging me to do as my fiancé is asking. I pull her shirt off and she lifts her arms to make it an easier process, and I gape at her half-naked form.
"They've got bigger." I say without thinking. Katniss snorts, laughing hysterically. I blush, stammering incessantly. Get your shit together, Mellark, I think to myself.
"I know." Katniss says, her eyes sparkling mischievously as she stares up at me.
"Sorry. I can't believe I just said that." I say, wishing for the floor to swallow me up. If that isn't a atmosphere killer I don't know what is.
"It's because of the baby and because of the food," she explains. "I've gone up two cup sizes already."
"Oh."
"They'll get bigger, that's for sure."
"Okay."
"That isn't a problem, is it?"
"Uh, no. Not at all," I shake my head. Katniss kisses me again, but I pull away, kissing down over her chest. My lips seal around her nipple while my other hand, the one not holding me up, palms her other breast. I bite down lightly on her nipple and she gasps. I backtrack, the sound escaping her sounding a lot like pain.
"They're a little sensitive," she says, using my hair to tug me back to her. I'm much gentler this time, and focus more on the movement of my hips against hers. She mewls, arching her back, and I move slower against her, the thin layers of our pyjamas providing too much and just enough distance between our bodies. Katniss' grip on my hair tightens over a space of thirty seconds as she moans into my ear as I continue rolling my hips into hers. She pushes me away then and I move back, confused.
"Your turn," she tells me, pushing me down onto the mattress.
"Wait- did you just…?"
"I think so," she says, blushing. "It felt like it." I'm unable to answer her as she grips me over my pants, the feeling making me feel like I'm burning up. "I want to return the favour," Katniss tells me, her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my pants.
"No, Katniss... You don't have to..." I protest, not wanting to pressure her, but she continues to slide my pyjamas down.
"I want to," she whispers, tugging my earlobe between her teeth. "You need to tell me what to do," she crawls between my legs, keeping me on my back with a hand on my chest. I watch, delirious, as her small hand wraps around me. She seems unfazed by everything, and moves her hand up and down eagerly, her breasts swaying slightly with her movements.
"What do you like, Peeta?" she murmurs, and my head falls back against the pillows. I stare at the ceiling and push myself onto my elbows so I can see what she's doing.
"Like this," I say, tightening her grip. She picks up on my whispers quickly, and just when I think it couldn't get any better, she licks the tip. I tilt my head forward just in time to see my cock disappearing deeper in her mouth. The feeling of her mouth around me is like heaven, and a groan resonates from deep in my chest. My hips buck upwards from the bed and my head drops back. Katniss hollows her cheeks, the hand on the base of my shaft moving as she sucks.
"K- Katniss… I'm going to-" I stutter out in warning, but she doesn't move away, moving faster and swallowing my semen when I finally come with a groan. She wipes her mouth and pulls my pants back over my hips, clambering up beside me and burying her face in my side.
"Was that okay?" she asks hesitantly. I wrap my arms around her.
"That was... astronomical." I say, amazed. Katniss laughs quietly, closing her eyes. I kiss her forehead and pull up the covers around us.
"Why did you do it?" She asks.
"You didn't seem to mind," I say, causing her to duck her head and hide her face against my bare chest. "I just wanted to make you feel good," I tell her. "Why did you for me?"
"It seemed fair," she shrugs resting her chin on my chest and looking up at me, tracing patterns over my skin.
"No regrets?" I ask quietly.
"Not yet. We'll have to wait till morning."
"Do we have to?"
"Yes. My behaviour may just be hormones."
"Let's hope it isn't." I say, not intending her to hear.
"I heard that, Lover Boy," she says and I can hear the smile in her voice.