A/N: edited 14/01/15

Short chapter because I should be writing essays, not fic :)

Chapter 36: Reality

Katniss

All the teachers at school have begun to get more and more stressed as we've got closer and closer to the exam date.

'You must revise!'

'You cannot afford to slack off at a time like this!'

'This exam is of upmost importance!'

'You must pay attention, Miss Everdeen! Stop falling asleep in class!'

But I can't help it.

Lately I've had real trouble sleeping. I find myself lying in bed in the early hours of the morning, staring up at the ceiling, my eyes swimming in and out of focus as Peeta snores softly beside me. I run my fingers through his hair repeatedly, my fingers knotting in the loose golden curls. The motion helps me think. His gentle snores help me to organise my mind.

All I can think about is an uprising. Haymitch said that soldiers from District 13 are coming for families- people with children or the capacity to have children. That makes it sound like they're preparing for a loss of life on a massive scale. I wonder about how many other families from all over Panem have been snatched in the middle of the night. I wonder how it has gone so unnoticed by the Capitol. Peeta and I must be important in some way, and not just because we're having a child. I try rack my brain. I try to think of why Peeta and I are important. Why are we so special? If we're taken, will I be able to bring Mom and Prim with me?

Another part of me wonders what District 13 is really like. The Capitol bombed it to the ground –we've seen enough of that from the national broadcasts to know that the leftover land is a smouldering, rubble mess. But what is below the scarred land? How many people live beneath the surface? Is there really enough man power to over through the Capitol?

My fears extend much further, however. I don't want my child to grow up in a world ravaged by war. I don't want them to grow up dancing on mass graves. I don't want them to experience war. On the other hand, I don't want them to experience this. Panem. Panem under the rule of President Snow; the man who incites fear into all and oppresses those who dare stand up against him. It's a matter of picking the lesser of two evils? Do we fight against the oppression without the certainty of success, or continue to live as we are, under an iron fist.

"Miss Everdeen! Do you know the answer?" the teacher snaps me out of my thoughts and I look up, my cheeks reddening when I realise that the entire class is waiting for an answer, and I've just been sitting here staring off into space.

"I- I'm sorry?" I ask, looking down at my notebook as if it would hold the answer that I don't possess.

"Have you been paying any attention?"

"I..."

"We're continuing on the subject of the wrongs of war," tThe teacher frowns, tapping his fingers against the desk. How ironic. "I asked for you to recite the third law on the holdings of illegal arms."

Oh. Right.

Of course I know this law. My father made me recite the laws of Panem before entrusting me with a bow and set of arrows. I go against this law almost every day.

"The third law states that all and any forms of weaponry that are not owned under a license will be confiscated and that the owner of said weapon will be fined and/or imprisoned or, depending on the circumstances of the weapon in mention, the accused will be executed for treason," I say in a flat tone, because it doesn't need any fanfare. The teacher scowls.

"Pay attention in future, Miss Everdeen," he snaps. I slip back into the daydream state I've been occupying for so many lessons lately as soon as the lesson moves forward. It's not that I don't want to learn what I need to learn to pass the exam at the end of the Games- it's just that I can't concentrate on Panem's laws when a rebellion against them is bubbling up all around me.

Peeta is now doing the finishing touches on the baby's bedroom. It's beautiful, as if the meadow has been brought to life in our home. The sky is a perfect clear blue, with fluffy white clouds on the horizon. The mountains are dappled with greens, purples and greys, and the endless expanse of trees are individually painted. The closer you get, the more detailed it becomes. Every leaf is perfect. Every blade of grass is bent at just the right angle to show it being pushed by an invisible breeze. Among the selection of wildflowers are pointed him to in the plant book, there are dandelions. Bright yellow bursts of colour among the green and brown. The dandelions Peeta picked in the meadow made the perfect yellow paint for him to use, and the leftover flowers were made into tea.

We lean against the dry wall when he finally finishes, wrinkling our noses at the sharp smell of fresh paint, admiring the artwork around us. Peeta takes my hand and squeezes it, flashing me a smile.

"It's really amazing," I tell him, resting my head on his shoulder. "I love it."

"If you hadn't have told me about the dandelions, I never could've painted it how I wanted," he says humbly.

"No, no. This is all you. Accept my appreciation."

"If you insist," he grins, tilting my chin upwards and pressing his lips to mine. It's soft and sweet, and he pulls away he rests his forehead against mine, our noses touching, and smiles.

"I love you." I whisper. It's still difficult for me to say that so freely to people other than Prim. Those three little words make my heart ache. Something pangs in my chest. But the way Peeta's eyes light up and how his lips turn upwards into a small smirk when I say it is enough to reassure me that everything is okay.

"I love you too," he murmurs, kissing me again. "So much."

Some days are better than others. I can wake up some mornings and feel like I can do anything. That I'll be able to climb the tallest mountain with ease and confront anyone who gave me even the slightest glare. It's these days that I love. I'll get up and have a smile plastered on my face for the entire time, and find myself humming as I walk along.

On other days I feel like I can't physically get out of bed. Peeta has to convince me that going to school or simply getting out of bed and doing something is going to be better for me than lying around, wallowing and complaining about how I want to be able to lie on my front or on my sides comfortably. Peeta is strong every single day. He's reliable. I know that if I'm having a bad day, he'll be there to cheer me up and tell me that everything is okay, that it's pointless for me to be feeling this way, that I should help him do something or go for a walk or go and do anything that will be useful to get my mind off of things.

I get frightened just thinking about how time is running out. I know I'm not prepared. And as much as Peeta organizes and plans, I know that he isn't truly ready either. We're going to have to look after a baby. Another human being who cannot fend for themselves. We're going to have to be on guard 24/7, making sure he or she is warm, comfortable, fed, clean, safe, and happy. Peeta doesn't know how grateful I am for his presence. If I had to face this by myself- raise a child as a single mother barely out of school without a steady income, or means to make sure that I eat every day, I doubt the child would make it. I doubt I'd make it. It would be impossible for me to give that child what is so desperately needed.

That is why I'm so thankful for my husband. He's accepted me into his life and supported me for all this time. At least I know that if our relationship does breakdown, we'll be able to still provide for our child. That is all that truly matters in my opinion. Even if we aren't fully prepared to look after a child, we'll be able to look after each other and support each other through the whole process. That will help. That will make sure he or she has a better chance at life than I ever have.

I go to visit Mom and Prim three weeks before my due date, leaving a note of my whereabouts for Peeta to find. Hobbling down the street at a snail's pace is not something I enjoy, and it feels especially patronising when I see elderly people practically jogging past me with smirks on their faces, smug that they've become faster than usually nimble Katniss Everdeen. I get out of breath just walking up the hill that leads deeper into the Seam. My feet ache. My back throbs. I get tired quickly, which explains why I fall asleep in class all the time.

"You look exhausted," Prim comments the second she opens the door.

"Thank you, Prim," I reply, practically falling over the threshold, eager to rest my feet. My sister grins and pulls me into the kitchen, sitting me down and pouring me a cup of tea without me even needing to ask her to. We chat for a good half an hour and I have to simply shrug my shoulders when asked if I know where the Hawthornes have disappeared to.

"Rory got his friend to tell me that they were okay. That they were going somewhere safe," Prim says with a sad smile. I look down at my cup of tea, swirling the pale liquid around before downing it all in one go.

"Peeta and I went to their house a few days ago. Uh, Gale had left a message. Telling us that they were alright."

Mom doesn't look up from her sewing when she speaks. "I'm sure they're fine, girls. But I am suspicious of how they simply vanished." I nod in agreement. I can't tell them anything. I won't risk their safety by giving them anything that could put them in danger. I stare down at my empty teacup. I yawn again, feeling very tired all of a sudden.

"You should be getting as much sleep as possible," Mom advises, smoothing down my hair. "When the baby arrives you'll have barely any time to rest."

"I'll probably learn to sleep on the go." I chuckle, rubbing my eyes and fighting a yawn.

"Do you not get much sleep?" Prim asks, putting her feet up on a chair.

"I try. But I've had... a lot on my mind... at the moment." I mumble, images of an uprising bubbling in my head. I desperately want to talk to Mom and Prim about it. To ask them about what they know. Ask them about if the know anything.

"Take a nap on the couch," my mother says, gesturing for me to get up and go into the living room. With a heavy sigh, I oblige, following her into the living room and flopping down onto the couch. "It'll be good for you to get some sleep, trust me." She says, pulling a heavy blanket from the back of her arm chair. I prop the pillows up against the arm of the sofa and lie down. Mom drapes the blanket over my shoulders, smoothes my hair from my face and turns to leave the room.

"Wake me in an hour or two." I call out, already feeling sleep pulling me under.

"I will, Katniss. Don't worry," she smiles, pulling the door closed behind her. I fall asleep minutes later, feeling something heavy pulling me under, deeper and deeper into the blissful silence.

Peeta

I get home from the bakery as the sun begins to dip beneath the mountains. Finding the note from Katniss, I slip my boots back on and head out to the Seam, wondering why she isn't back home yet like her note promised.

The walk through the district is quiet. It's getting lighter in the evenings, and the cold chill of winter is receding. I see groups of children playing in the streets, taking advantage of the prolonged sunlight, kicking up dust as they run about, singing and laughing and picking daisies. In a few weeks, I'll have a child of my own, in my arms, readily relying on me to keep him or her safe. A smile finds its way onto my lips as I dodge a group of Seam boys, their spindly stick legs and knobbly knees dark and tanned from being in the sun. They look almost identical with their unruly dark curls and striking grey eyes, but small details set them apart. The line of their jaw, a bump in their nose.

A group of girls about the same age sit on a grassy embankment, making flower crowns, giggling and watching the boys shout to each other in the street. I wonder what a son would be like. Would he have dark hair and blue eyes? Light hair and grey eyes? Maybe he'd look exactly like me, or exactly like Katniss. Would he like to bake and paint or would he favour hunting and running about, climbing trees with his mother?

If the baby is a girl, she would be undoubtedly spoiled (not to say that a boy wouldn't be spoiled, but a miniature version of Katniss would be too perfect to not spoil). New dresses, dolls, shoes, colouring books. Anything she wanted. But I can see a girl having Katniss' temperament- stubborn, proud and frivolous. Disagreeing with 'petty and girly and impractical' things like dresses and dolls. Would she have her hair braided into braids like Katniss did when she was a child, on one long plait down her back? Maybe she'd hate painting, but love baking. The possibilities are endless.

I reach the Everdeen household and knock on the door, rocking back and forth on my heels, my hands in my pockets as I wait. Prim answers the door.

"Katniss here?" I ask, ducking my head slightly to fit through the doorway.

"She's sleeping. Mom put some lavender into her tea. She was looking tired."

"She hasn't been sleeping well," I nod my head, thinking of how I've felt her fingers winding through my hair as I drifted in and out of consciousness in the middle of the night. "How long has she been out?"

"Five hours," Mrs Everdeen says with a smile, tucking a pin into a piece of fabric, before cutting the thread attached to it with her teeth. I have a feeling Katniss didn't mean to sleep that long, but Prim and Mrs Everdeen didn't wake her like she most likely asked.

"She snores when she lies on her side." Prim laughs softly and I chuckle. Boy do I know that she snores. I've had years of getting used to it, however. Fen and Rye used to snore one after another so I'd have no respite.

"Kat doesn't believe me when I say that she snores, but she complains all the time that I snore like... what was it... a pig."

"Katniss isn't one to talk. It's like thunder in there," I nod my head and move through the small house into the living room, the door creaking when I open it. Katniss lies on the sofa, one arm hanging over the side, her fingers grazing the floorboards. I move to sit by her legs, and, sure enough, she sniffles and wrinkles her nose against the pillow, before letting her snores level out into a continuous rhythm. I try smooth out a seemingly permanent frown line on her forehead with my thumb, and brush her hair from her face. She looks so peaceful in her sleep. Her face relaxes out of its usual frown- taking on an angelic expression. I brush the end of her braid against her cheek and she swipes at it, mumbling something under her breath. I do it again, and she opens her eyes, squinting up at me.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she grumbles, stretching her legs.

"Waking you up," I smile. "You've been out for almost five hours."

"Five?" Katniss exclaims, sitting up and frowning. "I told Mom to wake me up after an hour."

"It's okay," I smile, nudging her shoulder. "I got your note. And you haven't been sleeping very well lately, have you?" She shakes her head and sits up, pushing her messy hair back.

"How'd you know that?" she asks, leaning against me, still sleepy, her words slow and husky.

"I can feel you messing with my hair when I'm still half asleep."

"Oh," she blushes, taking my hand. "Sorry for waking you up."

"I wasn't really awake. But you should've woken me if you couldn't sleep."

"It's alright," she shrugs, staring off at something in the corner of the room. "It's just... everything Haymitch said. And Gale is gone. And we've got three weeks left, Peeta. Three. And then everything changes."

"I know."

"It just seems to be all happening at once, everything crammed into a few weeks," she mumbles, her voice small. I know how she feels. I mean, she's barely even seventeen yet, and I'm only by a few months. We aren't ready to be parents. But they're no going back now. I can't back out and neither can she. This baby is coming whether we like it or not, come rain or shine, and even if we aren't ready, we're going to have to deal with it. It's going to be tough, but if I know my wife, I know she'll be able to handle it, and hold me up when I freak out.

"Why don't you talk about this with me? I'll always listen to you, Kat," I put my arm around her shoulders. "I'm experiencing everything you're experiencing."

"Sans the baby."

"Yes, sans the baby." I grin. Katniss laugh.

"I need to revise for the exam," she sighs. "It'll look especially bad if I don't pass... you know, because Mom's a healer and I'm actually having a baby."

"This'll look bad if I don't pass as well!"

"We really need to revise."

"It's late. We'll start tomorrow," I suggest. "All I want to do now is go home, eat some food and go to bed." Katniss nods and stands, pulling me up, and we say goodbye to Prim and Mrs Everdeen.

Heading out into the street, we pass some of the children I saw playing football and making daisy crowns, who are now being corralled back home by older siblings and parents as the sun starts to set, plunging us into darkness. Katniss squeezes my hand tightly when a small boy, his legs still chubby, with dark hair and bright blue eyes, bumps into us as he runs to grab a ball that bounces across the path.

"Sowwy," he says, looking up at us with pink cheeks. "Mr Peeta?" he asks, recognizing me.

"Davy, isn't it?" I ask, crouching down to his height. The boy nods eagerly, smiling to reveal a gap-toothed smile.

"You married Miss Katniss didn't you?" he asks, looking across at Katniss, his large eyes flickering to her stomach and to me again. I nod my head. "Why?"

"Because I love her," I chuckle. Katniss whacks my head. Davy frowns.

"My pappy said you kissed her and made a baby," he says, looking at Katniss' stomach again, raising an eyebrow.

"Your pappy is right, Davy. But I still love her."

"I kissed Myralee," Davy says, suddenly looking panicked, his eyes wide. "Is she going to have a baby?"

"No, no. Don't worry," I say, glancing up at Katniss. She bites her lip, holding back a laugh. "But you shouldn't be kissing people at your age. Wait until you're much older."

"That's what my mammy said." Davy grins, showing off the gap in his teeth.

"Your mammy is very smart."

Davy holds the ball he was chasing close to his chest. "My mammy said that Seam girls and boys can't marry townies like you. That don't seem fair. You live and in town and Miss Katniss leaves here with us!"

"You can marry whoever you want, Davy. All that matters is if you love them will all your heart. I love Katniss will all my heart which means I can marry her. It doesn't matter that she's from the Seam and I'm from town."

Davy looks deep in thought for a moment, and then his face brightens. "Have you got any cookies?" he asks, and I laugh, standing upright again. This is what I love about kids. They don't dwell on anything for too long, always moving quickly.

"Not today, I'm afraid. But if you go to the bakery and say that I sent you, you can get a free cookie if you want," Davy gaps and nods. A kid further down the street calls his name and he begins backing slowly away, gripping his ball under his arm.

"Fank you, Mr Peeta. Bye bye Miss Katniss," he says, turning away and dashing down the street. Katniss places her hand on my shoulder and lets out a breath.

"You handled that excellently."

"Davy's a good kid."

"He's adorable."

"I know," I grin, looking down the street. "He's got an awful sweet tooth."

"None of the kids would have a sweet tooth if you didn't give free cookies out all the time."

"What can I say? I take one look at them and cave in."

"This baby is going to be so spoiled," she says, patting her stomach fondly.

"I'll spoil you too. Don't get jealous," I remind her. She shoves my arm and I grab her hand as she tries to step back, spinning her back into my arms. She kisses me once and pulls me along, down the street, her braid smacking against her back with every step.

As promised, the two of us start to help each other revise the following day. Using the textbooks from school, we sort out a list of questions and answers to test each other on. Katniss lays back on the bed, limbs spread into a star shape, and stares out of the open window as I test her. While my method of bribery to get her to revise involved chocolate, cheese buns, and slow kisses on the neck, Katniss has very different ideas.

"Peeta..." she singsongs halfway through the afternoon. I lift my head from looking down at my English textbook and she takes the book from my lap, pushing my shoulders back until they touch the mattress. She climbs on top of me, her braid falling into my face. "I think we should take a break from revising. We've been at it all day."

"What distraction do you have in mind? We're running low on milk. We could go down to the market and buy some more," I suggest innocently, knowing what she's actually talking about but dragging her on regardless. She smirks and leans forward, before pressing her lips to mine. I let her kiss me, responding to her, but pull away early, making her whine. I bite down on her bottom lip, tugging it with my teeth, and her pupils dilate, the grey of her eyes growing stormy.

"You sure you want go to the market?" She asks, her voice dropping an octave.

"The milk can wait." I say, pulling her back down, slanting my mouth over hers, before sitting up and shuffling back to lean against the headrest. Katniss tilts her head back to expose her slender neck to me, resting kissing my forehead and breathing heavily. She kisses me again, this time sliding her tongue over my bottom lip to deep the kiss, cradling my face in her hands. I place my hands on her thighs, and she pulls away suddenly.

"I can't wait for a flat stomach again," she whispers. "It would make everything so much easier."

"Yeah, but there'll be a crying baby wanting out attention."

"Hopefully he or she will understand that her parents have needs," Katniss grins, kissing me again. I smirk against her lips, squeezing her legs.

"I can't wait," I breathe. She tugs on my hair sharply in what I think is meant to be a scolding gesture, but it just sends electricity surging through me, straight to my groin. Katniss swallows my moan, shifting in my lap. My hands slide up, under her shirt, up to the undersides of her breasts. I make a move to remove her bra, but she refuses to let me,

"They're sensitive," she explains. "It hurts to take off my bra."

"Damn," I say, rubbing the base of her spine, knowing that her pain originates from there. She arches into my touch with a sigh, closing her eyes. "I guess we should get back to revision then," I tell her, and her eyes pop open.

The scowl on her face is priceless.