A/N: edited 17/01/15

The next two chapters switch through lots of different time periods and are definitely not in chronological order, but it shouldn't be too confusing. There is also no more Peeta POV for the rest of the story, sorry!

Chapter 39: Footsteps

Katniss

After Melanie, the Games are nothing but a blurred memory in the background of the year when I trusted a stranger and fell in love. It's kind of ironic when the results finally do come in. Peeta and I walk into school to receive our results on a sweltering morning in June. I have Melanie strapped to my chest and Peeta is fussing over her, worried about the sun on her delicate skin.

Once inside the school building, our classmates are curious. Some, like Valerie, stand and stare from a distance. Katy Crick (surprisingly) is part of the crowd that actually comes up to Peeta and I to stare at Melanie and ask endless questions. It's overwhelming and surreal.

"She's real cute, Katniss," Katy says, her eyes wide as she stares at Melanie, who stares right back at the people surrounding us. I smile at her. It's the first time she's said my name with no malice behind it.

"She's got a lot of Peeta in her," I shrug, and she smiles back at me.

Peeta passes me the envelope containing my Games results and we open them together. We've both passed with flying colours. I've gained two more marks than him. I have a feeling the examiners gave me those two extra marks out of sympathy. We celebrate by taking a walk to the same grove of willows Peeta properly proposed to me in, and we have a lunch under the swaying branches, watching as Melanie stares at the leaves swinging in the breeze.

Life with Melanie is tiring, though we expected that much. She's a happy baby, always smiling, and she usually manages to sleep through most of the night, but it's in the daytime when she's a full-blown bundle of energy. You can't close your eyes for ten seconds before she's halfway across the room or heading for the staircase. She likes to watch her father in the kitchen, but has a habit of tipping the flour over and creating a mess (much to my amusement and Peeta's grumbling).

The first time I went back into the forest, I felt like crying. My stomach was still slightly rounded but it was out of the way enough so that I could fire arrows and climb trees and jump from high spots without having to worry about injuring myself or the baby by landing funny. It was as if I was a bird, freed from its cage. I spent the entire day in the forest, simply basking in the warm heat. I brought home enough food to last us for several weeks in advance, but that didn't stop me from heading out again the very next day, albeit for a shorter amount of time.

We find that Melanie loved being outside, and in the summer after she was born, Peeta and I would lie outside in the backyard, in the grass, with our eyes fixed on our daughter as she rolled about on her blanket in-between us for blissfully peaceful hours. She would eat the grass, the dirt, the leaves, and the flowers, and stare at the birds that flew past.

Peeta takes Melanie into town all the time, eager to show her off to everyone and anyone. Mom and Prim come to visit most weekends, and Prim is happy to babysit when we want days off. Peeta's father cries the first few (five) times he visits, always with a new toy or item of clothing under his arm.

I'm surprised when Mrs Mellark comes to visit, by herself, apparently of her own will, carrying a box of old baby clothes and an indifferent expression.

"They were never going to be used," she shrugs when I ask, sliding the box over the kitchen table towards me. Anyone can see that she cares about Melanie. Peeta says that she's just glad to have a girl to dote on after so much time. I open the box and cry at the pink and yellow booties, the baby grows, the blankets. They held so much lost hope from Mrs Mellark, but she's let go of that hope and given her granddaughter more than we could afford.

"Thank you," I whisper, wiping at my tears with a laugh. She shuffles awkwardly, but I see tears in her own eyes. "Thank you so much."

"It's nothing," she says, clutching at her handbag. I fold the blankets carefully away again and pull Melanie up from where she's rolling around on the floor, surrounded by pillows and toys.

"Would you like to hold her?" I ask Mrs Mellark, and she looks genuinely surprised. I hold Melanie out towards her and she opens and closes her mouth rapidly. "It's okay," I tell her, handing the baby over. She cradles her much like Peeta did – does – as if she's made of glass. I start making a fresh pot of tea, listening as my mother-in-law sings lullabies in a voice as quiet as a summer breeze to the granddaughter she cares for more than she wants to admit.

One day, when Peeta is out with old wrestling buddies from school, I hitch Melanie onto my hip and walk through the town to the bakery. It's a hot day, the sun shining down, and Melanie keeps pulling her blue flowery hat from her head, just like I used to when I was a kid.

"Melly, you have to wear the hat," I tell her, putting the hat back on her head. Her hair is growing in unruly dark curls, just like mine did. She simply coos in response, smiling her baby-toothed smile. Once we reach the bakery, I ignore the stares from other townies. It's still weird, apparently, to see a Seam girl with a Merchant's baby. However, when I turn around to glare at those behind me, I'm met with soft smiles instead.

"She's beautiful. You're very lucky," someone tells me.

"I know," I say, looking at my daughter, who's chewing on my braid. Pride swells in my chest. "Thank you." It's times like these, the precious, under-a-minute moments that restore my faith in humanity- or at least some of it.

"Hey Kat, Melly," Rye smiles once we reach the counter. "The usual?"

"Please." I nod, setting Melanie down on the counter to give my arms a break.

"We've just taken some cornbread out of the ovens. I'll be right back," he says, fondly tapping Melanie's nose and disappearing into the kitchen. Mrs Mellark appears a few moments later, manning the till. Melanie stares at her grandmother, and it takes a minute for me to realise what exactly has got her attention. Resting on Mrs Mellark's chest is a glittering necklace, the chain decorated with various tiny crystals, and the pendant in the middle an amber sphere with a flower in the middle. I remember Madge telling me about the bugs that sometimes got caught in tree sap, and wonder if this is what happened to the flower.

"Melly likes your necklace," I speak up, motioning to the baby between us. "It's very beautiful."

"Thank you," Mrs Mellark says, tilting her chin down to look at the piece of jewellery. "Farrell bought it for me many years ago." I nod in understanding and stand to the side so another customer can buy what they're looking for. There's a lull in customers, leaving me, my daughter and Peeta's mother standing in awkward silence. She raps her knuckles on the countertop and Melanie glances from her hand to her face curiously.

"She has your hair," Aymee says, reaching a bony hand forward and running it through the thin locks on Melanie's head.

"But Peeta's eyes."

"Who is she most like?" she asks, pulling a piece of thread from Melanie's shoulder.

"You can hold her, if you want," I say, lifting Melanie up to her like I did the in kitchen just a month prior. Mrs Mellark hesitates for a second, and then takes Melanie into her arms, cupping the back of her head with one experienced hand and smiling softly. "She's like me," I say. "Bossy, stubborn. Loves being outside."

"Peeta must be disappointed."

"I don't think he minds that much, but it's when she knocks over flour that he gets annoyed."

"Peeta has always been a baker. From the day he was born," she muses, a serene look overtaking her usually sour expression. "Had –well, has- an awful sweet tooth. Such a chubby baby as well."

"He spoils Melanie."

"I'm not surprised. He takes after his father."

"I know."

"Do all the clothes I sent fit her?"

"Yes, thank you," I tug at my own shirt. It still feels weird (four months on) to look down and see a relatively flat stomach. I'm working on getting myself back into shape though Peeta says that it's nice to see a fullness in my cheeks and to not be able to outline every rib under my skin. I snort and roll my eyes whenever he says this, because I know that those reasons aren't the only reasons. I know that he likes that my breasts are bigger now. "The little pink booties-"

"The ones with the daisies on the buckles?"

"Yes, those, they're a perfect fit on her."

"I'm glad," Mrs Mellark smiles, pulling a face. Melly giggles, revealing her swollen gums. She's teething now, constantly chewing on her fingers to find some relief. "At least they're being used now instead of sitting in a closet all day." Rye comes back then, apologising for the wait, and bags my usual order.

"Can I have some gingerbread cookies as well?" I ask, rooting in the satchel at my hip and pulling out some coins.

"You're family Katniss, you don't need to pay," he says, shaking his head.

"I'm paying whether you like it or not. It's still a novelty to me," I reply, pressing the coins into his hand. He rolls his eyes but puts the cash into the register anyway.

"Where's Melanie?" he asks. I tilt my head towards his mother, who's moved to the window so Melanie can look outside. "Seriously? You let her hold your daughter?"

"Come off it, she isn't that bad anymore. And it isn't like she's going to harm the only girl in the family."

"You're a girl."

"Shut up, Rye. I'm your sister now. I can beat you up if I want." I challenge. Rye raises an eyebrow.

"Who's the wrestling champion here?" he asks, leaning forward over the counter. I stand my ground, arms folded over my chest.

"I take down stag and wolves."

"Don't get big-headed," he warns, bringing a damp cloth over the countertop.

As the following year stretches on, Peeta and I are too preoccupied with Melanie's first steps, first word (which, regrettably, is 'Dada'), and other parts of the little girl to have much interest in our final year of school, let alone an uprising. It takes a seat on the back burner for most of the time. By Melanie's second birthday, I've almost completely forgotten about it. Nothing seems to be progressing, so I settle down at ignore everything, focusing completely on my daughter and getting through the final year of school alive. It stays that way for a long time.

And then the Lomenzo twins vanish.

Trace and Trenton Lomenzo are last seen walking down one of the backstreets on their way back home. Their parents raised the alarm when they never returned. The entire district is searched- buildings turned inside out- in a desperate effort to find the lost boys. No-one has seen them since, and no-one has any idea of how or why they had vanished. This, of course, brought up the disappearance of the Hawthornes back into main focus.

"Despite everything, I wish Gale was here," I say to Peeta one night. He's bent over the side of Melanie's crib, watching his daughter slowly drift off to sleep. "And Hazel. And Vick, Rory and Posy. I would've loved them to have met Melanie."

"I know. But we'll see them again someday," Peeta reassures me, holding out a hand for me to take.

"I miss my best friend," I whisper, thinking of the lonely hunting trips in the woods. All the times I needed him to just hold something for me while I set a snare. Or help me carry a heavy kill back home. Or to simply be there as a comforting ever-present company. We never did speak much about the kiss between us. If I could meet him today I'd never speak of it again. It would be insignificant.

"I know you do," Peeta replies, his eyes sad yet hopeful. I look down at sweet, care-free Melanie. It's a battle between my heart and head; do I fight for a rebellion, or let my daughter have a more peaceful upbringing?

Melanie is six and a half months old when Peeta and I take her, a bag containing some clothes, and a few of her toys over to my old house.

"Are you sure it isn't too much of an inconvenience?" I ask, handing Mom the bag. Peeta is rocking his daughter against his chest, murmuring softly. Although he was the one to suggest giving ourselves a night off, he's finding saying goodbye to his baby very difficult. He held Melanie the entire way here.

"Melanie is my granddaughter, Katniss. It will never be an inconvenience," Mom says, patting my arm. "Besides, both you and Peeta look a little bedraggled. Don't forget that you're only seventeen. It'll be good for you to have a rest."

"Thank you," I say. Mom simply nods in understanding. I turn to Peeta, who presses a kiss against Melly's forehead before handing her over to me. "See you tomorrow," I murmur, rocking the baby back and forth in my arms. "Be nice to Grandma and Aunty Prim." She coos softly in reply. Once we've said our goodbyes, Peeta and I head out from the house. Mom and Prim stand on the porch, and my sister takes Melanie's hand, making her wave to us. Peeta and I head to the Hob, where Ripper sells us an unmarked bottle of amber liquor, claiming that it's the 'best in the district'. After that we head home and make a small dinner of toasted bread and stew.

"It's so quiet without her," Peeta whispers, breaking the companionable silence we held.

"I know," I say, smiling softly up at him. "But she's in safe hands with Mom and Prim. And she's be back tomorrow afternoon."

"Don't you think it's funny though?"

"Don't I think what's funny?"

"How quickly we've become used to having Melanie in the house, always making noise."

"I know," I nod my head, looking down at my bowl. "I keep waiting for the sound of her crying... or laughing..."

"I bet she's being a nightmare over at your place."

"Probably," I agree, taking a sip of the liquor we bought. The bottle is half gone already. I'm definitely beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. It's stronger than Ripper said it was. From the glazed look in my husband's eyes, and the red flush that's slowly worked its way over his cheeks, I can tell that he's drunk as well. He continues to chat about how strange it was to be the only married guy –who was also a father- in his wrestling group. He talks about the little kid that always mucks up the glass display case in the bakery. He talks about Melanie the most.

I watch him as he talks, noticing the way his eyes light up. He really does love his daughter, more than anything. I'm so deep in thought that I don't hear him stand, or see him take my bowl and his to the sink. It's only when he begins to massage my shoulders that I come back to myself, leaning back into his hands with a moan.

"You know, it's been months since we've had night alone," he murmurs. I smile mischievously.

"What are you suggesting?"

"That we get a good night's sleep." I can hear the smile in his voice.

"We appear to have different ideas," I say, draining my glass before standing up to face him, pushing my chair aside. Peeta raises his eyebrows. "Very different."

"Close your eyes," he instructs. I swallow and do as I'm told, waiting for him to move. I'm suddenly hyperaware of every little sound in the room, from the hum of the generator, to the sound of me breathing. I fight the urge to open my eyes and force myself to wait, curling my hands into fists. Nervous energy is rushing through me, electricity buzzes under my skin. I'm just about to speak; to ask what Peeta is doing, when I feel soft lips on mine. A soft gasp escapes me. Peeta's hands rest on my lower back, pulling me closer to him, and my hands fly up to his upper arms, my fingernails digging into the thin material of his shirt.

I can taste the alcohol on his mouth. He's just as drunk as I am.

"What are you doing?" I whisper when he finally pulls away, only to latch onto the skin on my neck.

"I'm showing you that I understand," he breathes, looking up at me, his eyes blazing. His hands slide down to cup my ass, and he lifts me up like I way nothing at all. I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling the band of muscles around his torso shifting as he walks me back against the wall, kissing me forcefully, grinding his erection against me. I mewl in delight and Peeta chuckles against my mouth. It's been way too long without this feeling. In the months before Melanie was born, either my stomach or my hormones stopped me from wanting anything remotely sexual with my husband. After she was born, we were simply too busy, or too tired to do anything but share a heated kiss or two.

Poor guy. All that time without anything from his wife.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself, and speak. "Do whatever you want," I tell him, hating the crack in my voice that betrays my nerves. "Anything, Peeta." He hisses when I reach under his shirt and rake my nails lightly down his back. "Please." I beg.

He kisses me again, my head hits the wall behind me, and our teeth knock against each other, but now it's almost frenzied. The mix of alcohol and pent up frustration has resulted in a relentless flood of want. Peeta tugs my shirt up over my head, and presses soft open-mouthed kisses down my neck and onto my chest, his hands boxing me in against the wall. I pull his shirt up as well, desperate to see his skin. I laugh when the shirt collar gets stuck on his ears, but the noise is quickly cut-off when he begins kneading my breasts through my bra. They've been extra-sensitive due to feeding Melanie, so the sensation is amplified. The bra is quickly on the floor. I stare at his torso, admiring the sharp cut of his hips, the sculpted stomach, the ridiculous broadness of his shoulders.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, latching on to one nipple, lightly tugging on it with his teeth. I arch my back, moaning in relief, my fingers twisting on his broad shoulders. He wets my skin with his tongue and pulls away, blowing a cool stream of air over me. I moan, arching my back, and he lets me down on two feet. I stretch up on my toes to kiss him once more, slanting my mouth against his, sliding my tongue over his bottom lip before turning and heading for the stairs, pulling my pants off as I go.

I'm halfway up the stairs before I hear Peeta's uneven footsteps following me. He shuts the door once we're both in our bedroom and I pull him by his belt loops down onto the bed, crawling up to him and straddling his waist, feeling the bulge in his pants against my centre. Leaning down to kiss him, my hair falling around my face, I roll my hips against his. He groans, his hands gripping my thighs tightly. I begin to kiss down his chest, running my fingers through the soft golden hair upon his chest. He flips us over so he's above me, resting his weight in the cradle of my hips, propping himself up on his hands and leaning down to kiss me again.

Our bodies move against each other easily, and I can't decide where to put my hands. His shoulders? Neck? Waist? I don't have much time to think, however, because Peeta cups my breast again, squeezing gently and rubbing my nipple with his thumb. I gasp against his mouth, my hips bucking against his. I can feel his erection brushing against my clit even through my underwear and his pants. I reach down to begin unzipping his jeans.

"No, Katniss," he refuses, his eyes are clouded with lust and almost black in colour as he rips my hands away and pins them above my head. His free hand snakes down my stomach and to the waistline of my panties. His fingers skim across the pale material, and dip down to trace my centre, sending my hips forward towards his hand, desperate to feel the feeling I so badly want. He tugs my panties down, tossing them aside and releasing my wrists. I prop myself up on my elbows as he slides his hands over my bare legs, inching closer to my core. He presses soft kisses along my inner thighs, over my stomach, over my chest, sucking and licking his way over my skin, but never going to where I need him most. He knows how wet I'm getting. He knows how worked up he's making me.

"Peeta, please," I gasp into his ear, and he lets out a breath before sliding down my body and hooking my legs over his shoulders, forcing my hips down onto the bed with one strong forearm. He sucks my clit into his mouth, his tongue dancing back and forth over and over again. I groan, tugging harshly on his hair, biting my lip. When he slides a long finger into me, and curls it, increasing the pressure that's building within me, I choke at the feeling. It's definitely been too long since this happened. The coil in my belly tightens. Peeta spreads my folds and licks a long line over me. My hips begin to move against his mouth as pleasure builds higher and higher until it springs loose and I fall over the edge, fisting the bedcovers in my hands, arching off the mattress.

Once I've come back to myself, I push on Peeta's chest, forcing him back onto the bed and kissing him hungrily, tasting myself on his lips.

"I should do that to you every day," he pants against my mouth. "It's only fair."

"It isn't fair until I return the favour." I say, cupping his jaw in my hands and sliding my tongue over his. I unbutton and unzip his pants, tugging them down his legs. His boxers look uncomfortable, so I make quick work of them as well, flinging them aside and gripping his thighs to take him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head of his cock. He gasps my name and brings his hands up to tangle through my hair, groaning loudly. I bob my head up and down and grasp the base of his cock. His hips begin to thrust upwards so I suck in my cheeks and keep my head still, letting him do the work. I dig my nails into his thighs as he comes with a grunt, his head tilted back on the pillow, his mouth falling open.

I crawl over the mattress to him, kissing along his jawline as he pants into my ear.

"You didn't have to," he gasps, his voice low and gravelly, sending electricity down my spine. I shrug, kissing him once, twice, letting him catch his breath. "Thank you," he whispers, not giving me a chance to thank him back, securing his arms around me. "For being such an amazing wife and mother."

"You're welcome," I say, drawing shapes on his chest with my thumb. He kisses me again, and we fool around until he's hard again and I'm reeling from my second orgasm. "You need a condom, Peeta," I say, pushing him towards the nightstand they're kept in. "We all know what happened last time."

"Would it really be that bad?"

"Yes," I deadpan. "We're not trying to overrun the district with Mellarks." He grins and rolls over to dig around in the bedside cabinet. He tosses the box onto the bed and pulls out one of the silver foil squares.

"There aren't that many," he says, looking dejected.

"I'll see what I can do," I promise him, thinking of the Hob. He asks me if I'd rather be on top and I agree, deciding to take it easy after all this time and having given birth not that long ago. I straddle his hips and grasp his cock, positioning it between my legs before sinking down. After all this time, the sheer size of him is staggering. I gasp once he's fully sheathed inside me, sitting still, my hands balling into fists on his chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut until I get used to the feeling of being so full.

"Are you okay?" Peeta's voice is soft but strained, and he caresses my behind tenderly.

"Y-yes," I splutter. "It's just... wow..." I trail off, and he chuckles. "Just- just move slowly." I shift my hips forward slightly as Peeta thrusts into me, and the pressure makes my limbs tingle with electricity. I lean down and kiss him, moving slowly. Eventually I get used to the feeling, and I rock back and force, swivelling my hips as Peeta thrusts with a good amount of controlled ferocity. He latches onto my nipples again, kneading them skilfully, and he reduces me to a mewling, quivering mess on his chest after we've both come.

During the night we have sex three more times, Peeta on top, Peeta behind, and I discover my favourite is when we somehow end up on the floor. I'm exhausted and fall asleep content in his arms. He wakes me up in the morning with minty breath (and I'm hesitant to kiss him back with my morning breath), though I melt underneath him less than two minutes later, crying his name as he moves above me.

It takes three years before Peeta manages to convince me to have another baby. I kept telling him that we shouldn't, that it was too soon the first time round, and that if we weren't prepared for Melanie, we won't be prepared for another.

"I've just turned twenty, Peeta," I say one morning, attempting to get Melanie to eat a spoonful of porridge. She keeps turning her head away at the last moment, and ends up with porridge smeared all over her cheek. "I'm barely out of my adolescent years."

"Yes, but little Mel here has turned out alright, hasn't she?" he replies, straddling his seat and taking the spoon from me. Melanie likes her father the best. I try not to let it get to me, but sometimes, after I've spent the day frustrated because she wouldn't go to sleep, the way Peeta manages to get her to do what he wants makes me jealous.

I hesitate, biting my lip. "I'll think about it."

Peeta looks up and smiles genuinely. "That's all I'm going to ask of you, Katniss. I'm not going to pressure you into anything. I know that the first time around was difficult and upsetting. Tell me if I'm smothering you."

"You aren't smothering me," I say, ruffling Melanie's hair and kissing Peeta on the cheek. "I'll be back by lunch."

I notice how he looks at the younger children who are carried into the bakery.

He tries to hide it, but I notice.

He's ready – he's always been ready – to accept more children into his life. He's taken to fatherhood like a duck to water whereas I've had a rockier ride.

On the morning of my decision, I decide to keep Melanie up all day, to keep her busy, so that she'll sleep solidly through the night. At three, she's begun to develop her personality even more, and it's clear that she's just a stubborn as me. This leads to Peeta playing the good guy and getting us to make up. I sit my daughter at the kitchen table and hand her a pack of chunky, garishly coloured crayons for her to use while I cook dinner. I make his favourite meal and set everything out to be ready when he gets home, and when he does, I greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Melly gives him a drawing.

Later that night, after Melanie's been put to bed and Peeta and I are brushing our teeth, I pull the bottle of contraceptive pills my mother gave me from the cabinet under the sink.

"Are you due?" Peeta asks, the toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. I nod, staring blankly at the Capitol seal on the bottle cap. "Are you okay?" he asks again, nudging my side. I unscrew the bottle and tip one of the powdery circles into my palm. I swallow, straighten my back, and look up at him in the mirror.

"How much do you want another baby?" He blinks, considering his answer.

"It's about what you want, Katniss, not me-"

"No. This is about you as well. How badly do you want Melanie to have a sibling?"

"More than the world," Peeta mumbles, looking ashamed. He won't meet my eyes in the mirror. Everything is quiet. I make my decision and drop the pill back into the bottle, screw the lid back on, and return it to its place on the shelf. "Whoa, what are you doing?" he exclaims. "You're due, Katniss. You have to take it."

"That's only when you don't want to get pregnant." I whisper.

Peeta freezes.

"What does that mean?" He asks steadily.

"I want another baby, Peeta." I say, my words getting higher in pitch as I speak. Peeta jerks his head back, and in his haste he bumps it into the cupboard behind him. He curses, grasping at his head. I laugh and bury my face into my hands.

"I know you want another baby."

"I do," he says sheepishly, rubbing his head.

"Let's do it," I nod. "Let's responsibly make a baby because we want to, not because we're drunk." Peeta drops his toothbrush into the sink and hugs me, lifting me up and spinning me around in the small space of our bathroom.

That night, I come harder than I ever have before, grasping at his shoulders and screaming so loud I'm sure the neighbours will hear.

After the first six months of trying to get pregnant again, I begin to worry that I can no longer have children for some unknown reason. Peeta tells me that it's okay. That we can keep trying. That they're nothing wrong with me.

Of course, I don't mind the valiant attempts me make. Over the past few years, Peeta has well and truly become more of a man. His voice has deepened, his shoulders have broadened, and he's become the best father any little girl would want. He's attentive, kind, unselfish, and brave. I've come to realise that he's not only my husband, but my soul mate. I feel complete when I'm around him. He was the piece I was missing for all that time.

I'm at my mother's house when I first feel it. The twinge in my stomach that sends me hurtling back four years. I drop my cup of tea in shock.

It's been so long.

So many years of tears, shouting, cursing, begging and praying for something like this.

Now that it's actually here, I'm terrified all over again, returned back to sixteen-year-old me, worried and confused because I was carrying an unwanted child.

But this child was planned.

"Mom," I whisper, staring up at her, a hand on my stomach. "I felt something." Mom chokes on her cake and stares at me, then down at the hand on my stomach, her eyes widening.

"What do you mean?" she asks. I forget that she doesn't know that Peeta and I have been trying.

"Peeta and I... we've been trying for another child for two years."

"You're only twenty one."

"I know."

"Let's do a test to be sure," she says, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "Honey, I had no idea."

"I thought there was something wrong with me," I admit. There still could. This fluttering could be nothing.

"I'm sure there's nothing wrong with you," Mom says, bustling around the kitchen and pulling her medical bag apart, searching for a test. "Here we are." I feel just as terrified as I was in the apothecary after Haymitch's crude lesson on contraception all those years ago, though there's now an underlying sense of excitement pulsing through my veins.

"Since when did you have a supply of those things?" I ask.

"Ever since my daughter fell pregnant at sixteen!" she exclaims with a grin, whacking me on the head with box before handing it to me. I disappear into the bathroom, pee on the test, and wash my hands, returning back into the kitchen and covering my eyes.

"I can't look," I say, letting out a breath. Mom pats my arm and sits me down in a chair.

"Well, I'm not going to say anything until you look." I pull my hands away and narrow my eyes at her, before taking the test and glancing down at the screen. The small plus sign that glares up at me. Fear's bony hand squeezes at my chest.

"Melanie's going to have a sibling," I murmur, my heart pounding. My mother stands from her seat and hugs me, laughing into my shoulder and kissing my cheek. A tear rolls down my cheek and I smile widely.

"Congratulations," she says, hugging me again. "Does Peeta suspect anything?"

"No."

"He'll be thrilled, I'm sure."

"I know he'll be happy, it's just a lot to take in," I admit, wiping at my eyes and laughing at my silliness. "All this time I've felt like I haven't been able to give Peeta what he wanted."

"Oh, Katniss," Mom shakes her head, smoothing down my hair. "Sometimes you really are oblivious. Peeta worships the very ground you walk on." I bite my lip and look down at my flat stomach. I can do this. I want this.

I rush away from home with the pregnancy test in my hunting bag and Melanie in my arms. I distract her with a wooden doll from Mr Mellark and ransack the kitchen and the pantry, looking for the artfully crafted apron Fenton made Peeta all those years ago. He still has it, and wears it from time to time. Pulling it out, I tie it around my waist and cook dinner, entertaining Melanie and waiting for Peeta to get back from the bakery. My pulse spikes when I hear the front door opening, and Melanie climbs to her feet, toddling to the door to greet her father, giggling loudly as she moves.

"Is that Melly making all that noise?" Peeta calls from the hallway. I listen as he scoops her up blowing raspberries on her stomach and making her laugh even more. He's smiling widely as he enters the kitchen, putting his set of keys and a paper bag undoubtedly containing some sort of treat from the bakery onto the table. He sets Melanie down with a kiss to her unruly curls and turns to me.

"Smells good," he comments, coming in close and kissing my cheek. I turn around to face him.

"Is that bakery bread?" I ask, opening the paper bag.

"Uh... yeah. It is…"

"Something wrong?" I ask, acting casual and normal even though I'm pretty sure I'm going to pass out any minute now.

"I hid that thing," Peeta says with a smile, gesturing to my apron. "Why'd you get it out?"

"Didn't want my clothes getting dirty," I shrug my shoulders. He pauses, narrowing his eyes.

"Tell me the real reason," he says, reading the text on the apron. "You don't care if your clothes get dirty."

"What does the apron say? Say it. Out loud," I smirk, putting my hands on my hips.

"Peeta Mellark: Making babies since the age of sixteen," he says slowly. I wait. His eyes widen. Bingo, bread boy. You've got it. He takes a step forward. "Are you pregnant?" he asks in a whisper, staring at me in disbelief.

"Found out this morning," I reply, finally allowing my lips to curve upward into a wide grin. Peeta lets out a laugh and steps forward, pulling me into his arms, lifting me from the ground. I bury my face into his shoulder and smile. "Are you happy?"

"Of course I'm happy," he says, pulling back to look at me, his arms around my waist, holding me to him. "This is wonderful news!" I cradle his face in my hands and kiss him, tears rolling down my cheeks.

"It finally happened..." I whisper, grinning widely. "I thought it was never going to happen –that there was something wrong with me."

"You were wrong, Kat," he says, kissing my forehead. "There's never been anything wrong with you."

The next six months are easier than the first time round. I don't get morning sickness. My new craving is for apples, and Peeta lets me eat as many of those as I want.

Blonde-haired, silver-eyed Hugo arrives in late autumn.

He's exactly like his father.