A/N: Hey guys! I've passed 900! That. Is. Epic.
So glad that everyone liked the last chapter. Fluffiness was deserved, I think, but of course, it can't last for long! Little bit of drama coming up. Let's see how things go!
Quote of the day comes from the A-Team.
"Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!" - Murdock
Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?"; "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"
Chapter 18
I'm smiling before my eyes even open. I keep my lids closed, not wanting the reality of waking up just yet. The night before plays in my mind over and over. Peeta and I made love, and it was perfect. Since I refuse to open my eyes, I let my other senses work for me. My head rests on Peeta's chest, as always, and I take comfort in the sound of his steady heartbeat. His skin is warm, and the smell of cinnamon clings to him.
Replays of last night begin to flit through my mind once more, and my smile brightens. I feel oddly girly right now, lying next to Peeta, wrapped in his strong arms like always. Yet, this morning, his embrace makes me feel even safer, countering the odd sense of vulnerability that I feel. I can't help but feel closer to Peeta than ever before, and it surprises me. Peeta and I share a closeness that few people know or understand. It comes from surviving the Hunger Games together, relying on each other and trusting each other with our lives. That closeness only intensified after the Games, as our love continued to grow. But now, after making love with Peeta, I feel a new strength to our bond that I didn't know was possible. Perhaps it's because there's nothing between us now. I have nothing to hold back. I've given him my heart, body, and soul.
Sex was never something that I thought about before Peeta. Hell, I didn't know I had hormones until Peeta. After all, what use were they to my survival, to Prim's? At that time, every thought I had revolved around Prim and how I would protect her from this harsh world. Romantic relationships meant nothing to me. The things that romantic relationships led to meant nothing to me. Sex. Marriage. Kids. I belittled them in my mind until they became insignificant.
And then Peeta began knocking at the doors to my heart.
Emotions and feelings I'd forgotten or hadn't even known existed began to surface, and I remember being terrified of them. These strange feelings that made me blush. The flutter in my stomach. The warmth in my chest. So, so strange. It's crazy to think that I'm where I am now. Before, never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I would give my virginity to anyone, let alone Peeta Mellark. And here I am now, married to him, waking up after giving him all of me.
Crazy . . . but wonderful.
My blissful, reflective haze is beginning to lift, at least marginally, and I finally open my eyes. Oddly enough, it's this action that suddenly makes me feel the aches in my body—in places I really didn't know were capable of aching. Walking is going to be a little odd.
But my smile refuses to fade. In fact, the funny thought makes me giggle.
I turn my head just slightly so that I can plant a kiss on Peeta's chest. However, I find that I can't resist, and that one kiss turns into a trail of kisses as my lips take a very circuitous route to meet his own. I linger at the crook of his neck, sucking gently, and just as I expected, Peeta begins to stir. My hand slides up from his waist to his chest, and I suppress a smile at his already accelerating heartbeat. By the time I finally reach his lips, sleepy, yet ridiculously happy blue eyes are staring at me. I kiss him softly once before pulling away. "Good morning," Peeta hums with a smile, his fingertips beginning to trace random patterns on my back.
I can't control the contented sigh that escapes me. "Good morning."
We're quiet for a few minutes, basking in the glory of the morning after. My head rests on his chest, and I listen to his heartbeat, slow and steady. Occasionally, my fingertips will ghost over his skin, seeming to have a mind of their own. Peeta is so still and relaxed beneath me, that I'd think he'd fallen asleep if it weren't for the random patterns he continues to trace on my back. The action is rather relaxing.
After a significant amount of silence, I finally lift my head from his chest to look at him. He smiles softly at me, a hand coming up to caress my face, his fingertips running along my cheekbone. I can't help but lean into his touch.
"So," I say, breaking the silence, though my voice is still soft. "Was it worth the wait?"
"God, yes." Peeta's reply is so emphatic and the grin that immediately threatens to split his face in two causes me to laugh. Peeta shifts so that we're lying on our sides, facing each other. "If I could, I would make love to you every second for the rest of my life."
I can't help but blush. "Peeta," I say, an embarrassed laugh escaping me. "Why do you say stuff like that?"
"Because when you blush, you're even more beautiful," he replies automatically and I'm just about ready to hide completely under the covers. I settle for hiding my face in his chest instead.
"Katniss." Peeta's voice is so soft and loving, reminding me of the way he'd whispered my name so many times last night. I can't help but look up at him. "Thank you," he says. "For trusting me. For making last night the best night of my life."
I never know what to say when he says these things, these deep, meaningful, heartfelt things. So, I kiss him, giving me extra time to think. "I've never felt so loved. You were perfect."
This time it's Peeta's turn to blush, and I can't help but smile a little, because I know I'm blushing too. "So were you," he replies, giving me a sweet kiss.
We pull away and fall into another bout of silence again, though neither of us mind. Occasionally, his hands will wander, caressing my skin. Our kisses are languid and slow. I've never felt so completely relaxed and content, and I'm afraid to leave the bed for fear that this feeling will leave me. This bed has become an even greater escape from the real world. The real world that's full of corruption and uprisings and sparks of rebellion that threatens to take away everything I love. It's much nicer to stay in bed with Peeta, in our blissed-out bubble, than face this reality.
This time it's Peeta who breaks the silence. He glances at his bedside table, more specifically the box of condoms resting on top of it. "I'm going to have to thank Rye, again," he says and I smile.
"I'll thank him with you," I say and Peeta laughs. "But, really, what kind of birthday gift is that?"
"The kind you get from your older brother," Peeta replies, before frowning. "Though I really wish I could have avoided the sex talk."
I snort. "Rye gave you a sex talk?"
"On my birthday," Peeta complains. "And he was actually serious. Rye. Serious. It was freaking me out."
I laugh. "Did I tell you about the sex talk my mom tried giving me?"
Peeta smiles. "No. I can't imagine how that would have gone."
"She thought we were already sleeping together—"
"—technically we were—"
"She wasn't being technical," I give him a mild glare that he knows holds no heat. "And then she proceeded to tell me that I was not to sleep with you anymore."
Peeta frowns. "When was this?"
"The night of the Harvest Festival," I reply.
"But that was the night that we almost—"
"Believe me, the irony did not escape my notice."
Peeta begins running a hand through my hair. "So," he says. "Obviously you did not do what your mother asked."
"Of course not," I tell him. "I told her that I was sleeping with you every night and there was nothing she could do about it."
Peeta laughs. "Did you really?"
"Yeah," I say, before a blush colors my cheeks. "I told her that nothing was going to keep me away from you. We needed each other."
"I'll always need you," Peeta says softly, his eyes boring into mine, emphasizing his sincerity. His hand cups the back of my neck and he caresses my cheek with his thumb. I can't help but turn my head slightly and kiss his wrist, completely leaning into his touch.
"Tell me this is real." My eyes meet his, and I'm actually surprised to see a hint of anxiety in his eyes. They're almost pleading. "Tell me that all of this is real. Last night. You and me. Everything."
"It's real," I assure him, trying to assuage this strange surge of anxiety that he feels. I take his hand from my neck and place it over my heart. "Feel that?" I ask. "Real."
Peeta smiles faintly. "It's just this all feels like a dream," he tries to explain. "I've been in love with you for so long. It's a lot of time to dream of what could be. I guess I'm trying to cope with what is. Reality. And that's really hard to do, considering that reality far surpasses any dream I've ever had."
I simply stare at him, completely awed into silence. Sometimes I forget that in many ways, everything that I'm experiencing is just as new to Peeta as it is to me. Whereas I never thought I'd ever have love, Peeta never thought that he'd ever have me. I'd spent all my time thinking of what I never wanted. He'd spent all of his time thinking of what he always wanted. He must be just as shocked that we're where we are as I am.
"I don't know what to say," I admit, frowning slightly.
"You don't have to say anything," he replies with an easy smile. "Just be here with me. Always."
"Literally?" I can't help but tease. "Because, you know, eventually we will have to get up."
Peeta glances toward the clock on his nightstand. It's seven in the morning, which is actually kind of late for the both of us, who are usually up before six; Peeta because he's so used to getting up early to work at the bakery, and me because I'm used to hunting.
"Do we have to?" Peeta asks with a mischievous smile, causing my attention to focus on him completely, especially when he shifts so that he's lying on top of me, burying his face into the crook of my neck and beginning to gently nip and suck at the tender flesh. Though he supports almost all of his weight on his forearms, I still feel every inch of him against me, and I momentarily debate overlooking the soreness in my body for another round love making. "I mean, really, would staying in bed be a bad thing?" he whispers against the skin of my neck, and I can't help but sigh.
"No," I admit. Cautiously, I stretch my body, wincing a little at the soreness, though Peeta groans because my movements only pressed myself further against him. "But I don't think I can handle any more."
Peeta lifts his head so that he can see my face, and quickly deduces my meaning. As if my blush wasn't enough of a giveaway. "Oh," he says, looking slightly guilty. "Sorry . . . want me to run you a bath?"
I can't help but smile. What did I do to deserve this boy? "That'd be nice," I say softly, still slightly embarrassed.
Peeta grins, trying to set me at ease no doubt. He gives me a quick peck on the lips before getting out of bed, not even bothering with putting on any clothes, and walking into the bathroom. I hear the water running the next second. Peeta doesn't come back out, so I assume he's waiting for me. With a sigh, I sit up and get out of bed. My first few steps are a little awkward, and I can't help but laugh softly to myself.
I was right. Walking is a little odd.
When I enter the bathroom, I find that Peeta is already stretched out in the bath that was supposedly meant for me. I raise an eyebrow in question, and Peeta gives me a not so innocent grin. "What?" he questions. "You know you were going to invite me in anyway."
"And what if I wasn't?" I reply quickly, even though he's right. "What if I wanted the tub all to myself?"
"I would have convinced you otherwise."
"Oh, really?" A teasing smile plays at my lips. "And how would you have 'convinced me'?"
The cockiest grin I've ever seen appears on Peeta's face, and I don't know whether I want to blush or slap him. "You can always hop in here and find out."
I blush and I'm surprised that I'm actually fighting embarrassment. While I have most definitely changed, in many ways both in thinking and in general, Peeta has too, though his changes are much more subtle. For example, he would always walk tall, confident, but now there's an extra spring in his step. His aura, while still gentle and kind, now has an added strength to it, a more commanding presence.
This tends to pose a little problem, because certain things that he would have never dared to say or allude to eight months ago seem to slip easily from his lips now. It continually surprises me, but the fact is that Peeta can be sexy. It's not that I never thought he wasn't good-looking, because I admit he's handsome, and he has muscles that I love to trace with my fingertips, but I've simply known him as the sweet, kind, gentle Peeta for so long . . . sexy, charming, bold Peeta I'm still getting used to.
Not that I really mind. In fact, I really, really, like this new side of Peeta. I simply seem to blush constantly when he decides to turn on the charm. It's not helping that I've only just now realized I've been standing in front of him, stark naked, blushing like mad, for a solid two minutes. Oh, great.
And judging by the grin that's still on his face, he knows exactly what he's doing to me. Damn him.
"Well are you just going to stand there?" he asks, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "We're wasting water here."
He's right. The water has been running this entire time, and the tub his already more than halfway full. Feigning indifference, I scoff, roll my eyes, and step into the tub, settling between his legs so that my back rests against his chest. His arms immediately snake around my waist and I rest my arms on top of his. I try to keep up my mask of nonchalance, but Peeta ruins it when he lifts his foot out of the water and then uses his toes to turn off the faucet.
I can't stop the short burst of laughter that escapes my lips. "Hey, don't laugh at me," he whines dramatically. "That was very dexterous."
"Impressive," I mock. "I'm blown away by your many talents."
I feel Peeta's lips on my shoulder. "You should be."
I relax fully against him, letting my head rest against his chest, and turning my face so that it's buried into the crook of his neck. The sigh that escapes me is completely involuntary and I feel my lids beginning to drift closed again. I have never felt more relaxed than I do this morning.
"How are you feeling?" Peeta asks softly.
I hum contentedly. "Better."
"Good."
Peeta grabs the soap and a washcloth and begins to wash every single inch of my skin. I feel like I'm flying. I've never felt so . . . light. Relaxed. Content. No worries. Just living in the moment and soaking it up, hoping it never ends . . .
So, naturally, considering my luck, it's only expected for my bliss to be rudely interrupted by barbarous thoughts that have been lurking in the back of my mind for a month. Peeta says something, I don't even catch it all, but I hear the word mockingjay and it sends my mind back a month ago in the woods, meeting Bonnie and Twill, the escapees from the riotous District 8.
I haven't told anyone about what they told me. About their uprising, or about their belief in the existence of District 13, a district that everyone else believes was wiped off the map by the Capitol during the Dark Days. The mysterious mockingjay . . . just a glimpse of a black and white wing in the top right hand corner of the television whenever they show footage of District 13 . . .
District 13 might not be secretly alive and thriving underground, safe from the Capitol, but one thing was certain—the Capitol was reusing the footage, only adding in the supposedly 'live' reporter. This fact, while admittedly small in comparison to everything else, was enough to peak my curiosity. It was enough to make me wonder . . . what is in District 13?
While Peeta rinses the shampoo out of my hair, I contemplate the best way to pop our blissed-out bubble. Regrettably, no wondrous ideas come to me, and I settle for my old stand-by—bluntness. No sugarcoating. None of that. Just cold, harsh truth.
Well, maybe I'll ease into it a little . . .
"Peeta," I say as casually as I can. He merely hums in reply, distracted by my soapy hands that are running over his chest. I mean, he washed me. It's only fair that I return the favor. Besides, how can I deny myself the opportunity? Tracing every line of muscle that's so wonderfully defined . . .
Focus Katniss!
My momentary distraction has caused Peeta to open his eyes so he can see my face. By the way his brows furrow ever so slightly, I know that he realizes something's not quite right. "What is it?" he asks.
I hesitate for a fraction of a second. "Um . . . I may not have told you everything that happened that day in the woods."
Peeta's eyes narrow. "Oh, really?"
"Yeah." My eyes dart around the room, as if something will pop out of the walls and help me with my explanation. I know that Peeta's not mad at me per say . . . more suspicious than anything else. Or maybe that's not the word. Cautious. Yes, that's a better word.
He sighs heavily, as if accepting that the mood is ruined, which it is. Consider our blissed-out bubble popped. "Just tell me," he says in defeat, and I frown guiltily because I hate to slap reality in his face like this, but I need to tell him.
"When I was out in the woods, I went to lake," I begin. "But when I got there I ran into two people in Peacekeeper's uniforms." Peeta's eyes widen and I hurry to add, "They weren't really Peacekeepers. They'd stolen the uniforms. They were from District 8, Peeta." My voice is a whisper by the time I finish, and Peeta is looking at me intently, his blue eyes no longer dazed and relaxed, but bright and alert.
So I tell him everything. All about the uprising that was organized in District 8. How they'd been specific in their timing, starting the riot during Peeta's onstage proposal in the Capitol, so that they all had a chance to be in the square without raising suspicion. When I get to the part about District 13, Peeta's eyes narrow and I know that he wants to contradict me, but he keeps quiet and lets me finish. By the time I've explained about the mockingjay and the Capitol reusing the footage of the smoking ruins of District 13, Peeta's hold has tightened on me, though I doubt he even realizes it. When I tell him about the cracker, the one that Bonnie and Twill carried, stamped with a mockingjay, saying that it meant that they were on my side, Peeta is tense and wary.
"Well." Peeta exhales loudly. "That's definitely a mood killer."
I blanch. "Sorry."
"It's not your fault," he says, automatically trying to assuage my guilt. "I'm glad you told me. I needed to know."
"I wanted to tell you sooner," I say honestly. "I just never really had a chance. Being cooped up in my house for the past month, with mom and Prim around." It's not that I didn't trust my family, well . . . I trusted Prim more than my mother, but still. I simply hadn't wanted to risk my words being overheard. I don't want to burden them.
Peeta nods in understanding, and I know that his mind is turning over this new information I've given him. He and Haymitch are actually a lot alike in this way—very analytical. Whereas, I tend to simply take things as they seem and just wing it.
By now, the water in the tub is more cool than warm, so I wring out my hair and step out of the tub, wrapping a fluffy towel around myself. I hear Peeta getting out of the water behind me as I make my way back into the bedroom. Securing the towel under my arms, I begin to rifle through my clothes that I keep in Peeta's dresser. And honestly, I might as well move in my entire wardrobe because more than half of it is already in Peeta's house. I'll talk to him about that later. Or I could always dump out his clothes and replace them with mine and just call it a done deal.
It'd be worth it just to see his outraged face, but I manage to stifle the laugh that threatens to escape me at the mental picture.
I throw on the first clothes that I touch, which happen to be one of Peeta's t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants that I know are his because I have to roll the waistband a handful of times, and I still can't see my feet. I know that I must look like a dwarf because let's face it facts, when you put a five foot four, one hundred and five pound girl in a six foot, two hundred pound guy's clothes, she's going to look pretty funny.
Which is why Peeta laughs when he sees me.
As long as we're being childish, I stick my tongue out at him.
I ignore him as he gets dressed, hopping onto the bed and folding my legs beneath me. I take the hair tie off the nightstand and quickly braid my hair. The bed sinks beside me and I glance in his direction, and I immediately scowl.
"What?" Peeta asks innocently. "Is there something bothering you, Katniss?"
"No." I say resolutely, forcing myself to stare only into his eyes and not let them drift to his torso, which is gloriously bare and enticing. Damn him. It does not help that his jeans hang low on his hips.
This is one of the few times I curse going against my previously self imposed edict of relationship nonexistence. Peeta can be far too distracting. What with the sun-kissed skin, and the broad chest, and the deliciously toned abdominals . . .
Focus Katniss! Gah, what has sex done to me? Did I ogle this much before?
Nope.
Weird.
After a minute's pause, I'm surprised Peeta hasn't tossed back a witty retort, so I meet his eyes. "What's wrong?"
Peeta's lying flat on his back beside me, one hand cupped behind his head, the other resting on his stomach. You'd probably think he was posing, trying to be alluring or something, but I know for a fact he's not. There's no twinkle in his eye that tells me so. Instead, they're troubled.
"Just thinking," he says. Ha, understatement. "About what you said."
District 13.
"Do you think . . ." I trail off uncertainly. "I mean, do you think that maybe . . .?"
I really don't want to hope. The hope that the existence of a secretly thriving District 13 is real is much too tempting, if I'll only realize later that it's a complete lie. But I can't deny that the thought of a refuge, a place to take my family away from the harm of the Capitol, away from the danger . . . it's enticing.
"It seems too good to be true," Peeta sighs. "But that's not what I'm worried about."
My brows furrow. "What is, then? The Districts?"
Is he more worried about the uprisings? I haven't heard anything about District 3 or District 4, the two districts that the Capitol men we eavesdropped on were wary about. Is Peeta worried about the threat of President Snow looming over our heads because we're the spark that gave rise to the fire? A fire that's slowly growing out of control?
"No," he admits. His eyes bore into mine. "I'm worried about you."
Well, that's kind of normal, I think. "You always worry about me."
"Not always," Peeta denies. "Just lately." I scoff, but Peeta ignores my expression and continues. "I'm thinking about that cracker, the one with the mockingjay."
"What about it?"
"It's your symbol Katniss," he tells me, anxiety creeping into his voice that's suddenly become a whisper. "They said that it means that they're on your side. The rebels are on your side. I'm afraid you're becoming a symbol in this whole mess. Say that this rebellion actually succeeds, say another war begins; the rebels will be looking for leaders. Who better than the girl who gave them hope, which gave them the courage to fight?"
I'm wondering if this is really as bad as Peeta seems to think it is. Why wouldn't I want to be a part of the war, if it came to that? I support the rebels. My loathing for the Capitol and their control of me fuels my need to rebel. The need to protect those I love. Would it really be so bad? I'd fight. I want to fight.
Peeta must see something in my expression because he groans and closes his eyes briefly, like in a weary acceptance. "And I'm worried that you won't see it as a problem," he says, confirming my thoughts. "Which, obviously, you don't."
I feel my anger rise. "Don't you want to fight?" I hiss, keeping my voice low. It's dangerous to talk about these things in the house because it might be bugged by the Capitol, but so far we haven't really said anything too incriminating. I doubt it would surprise Snow in the slightest.
"I don't like fighting," Peeta mutters. "All it does is tear people apart."
"Well for someone who doesn't like fighting, you're awfully good at it," I retort and Peeta glares at me.
"Just because I don't like fighting, doesn't mean that I can't," he says lowly before getting out of bed to stand away from me.
Oh, I feel a real argument brewing.
A frustrated growl escapes my lips and I hop from the bed to stand on my feet too, right in front of him. If he wants a confrontation, he's going to get one. I'm almost expecting thunder and lightning to start clashing in the sky, with big black storm clouds rolling in, carrying buckets of furious rain.
"Look at what the Capitol is doing to us," I tell him, my voice a heated whisper. I wish we were outside so I could yell at him properly. I don't have to worry about listening devices out there. "They're controlling our lives, Peeta, and no one tells me how to live. No one. I'm sick and tired of feeling like a puppet, having my strings pulled every which way just to suit Snow's needs!"
Peeta's eyes flash in anger, his expression contorting into a hard mask of stone. "You know I feel the same way!" he hisses back at me. "I've said that since the beginning! I'm sick of being a piece of their games, you know that!"
"Then why don't you try to win?" I reply furiously.
"Because I don't want to win this game if I can't play by my own rules!" he growls. "I'm not naïve, Katniss. There might be a war, but people are going to die on both sides. Some will be innocent, and some won't, on both sides. In war everything is black and white, and that tears people apart. You need to have a shade of grey. You need a medium."
"This isn't something you paint, Peeta! It's not a picture. This is real. It's not still. It's moving. You're saying that you want to overthrow the Capitol, but you're just too cowardly to actually do something about it!"
I know the moment the words leave my mouth that I've gone too far. I can practically feel Peeta closing himself off to me, and it makes my heart wrench painfully, more painfully that it ever has. I can't take this distance that's growing like a chasm between us, not with all that we shared last night still fresh in my mind. The vulnerability that begins to seep into me almost makes me shiver, and when Peeta begins to move away from me, my hand shoots out to grab his own. I take it as a good sign that he doesn't pull away.
"I'm sorry," I apologize, and even to my own ears it sounds pitiful. I may be the most prideful of the two of us, but that doesn't mean that Peeta doesn't have a fair amount of pride as well, and I know that I've just wounded it—badly. "I'm sorry," I repeat, growing more and more anxious the longer he doesn't look at me. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the words simply pour from my mouth uncontrollably. "I shouldn't have said that. I was angry. I got carried away."
Peeta still won't look at me. In fact, his gaze is fixated on the doorway. This terrifies me. "Don't leave me." The words escape me brokenly, my voice cracking at the end. I don't think I've ever sounded so very, very small.
Blue eyes meet my grey, and we stare at each other for a brief moment. I don't know what my face looks like, but I imagine it's a look of fear twisted in desperation. I hate being so weak. I hate that I love him so much that I can't picture surviving without him. No, no I don't hate that I love Peeta Mellark as much as I do. I just don't like feeling so out of control, my emotions overwhelming me. Making me say stupid things. Stupid things that hurt.
Peeta tugs gently on my hand, pulling me toward him and when I feel his arms wrap around me, I nearly collapse in relief. "I'll never leave you," he says softly into my hair. "I already promised that, remember?"
I nod against his chest, but my arms around his waist tighten, as if my strength, feeble compared to his, could possibly keep him with me. "You're not a coward," I tell him. "You're one of the bravest people I know. And it's not that you're fearless, it's that you're scared but you do what needs to be done anyway. When others would run away, you stand firm. That's not cowardly at all."
We're quiet for a moment, standing in the middle of the room, just holding each other. Slowly, my tense muscles uncoil and I begin to relax against him. "I would have come back, you know," he says. "I was just going to go into my studio and throw paint at a canvas. Literally."
A strained laugh escapes me. "What colors?" I ask, even though I have an idea.
"Oh, you know," Peeta's voice is slowly becoming more and more lighthearted. "A little black here, a little white there . . . maybe a little grey right in the middle . . ."
"I see what you were trying to say," I tell him softly. "Either way it goes, war or not, people are still going to suffer. You're right. People are going to choose a side, and then they'll fight tooth and nail. That's the black and white. But you need grey, you need people to fight for what's right. Because if we don't, we just might trade one dictator for another."
"Took you long enough," Peeta chides without venom.
"But Peeta, that's in a perfect world," I say softly. "And I think we can agree this isn't a perfect world. Some people won't listen."
Peeta sighs. "I know . . . but I've got to believe that there's still some good in this world. People just need to see it."
We're silent for another moment before Peeta says, "You know, we really suck at morning after bliss. We're supposed to be beside ourselves with happiness all morning, and if we really overachieve, we can stretch that to all day."
I can't help but laugh. "We were doing pretty good until I screwed it up."
Peeta glances at the clock. "Technically, it's ten-thirty. We still have an hour and a half of the morning to turn this around."
I pull back, so I can really look at him. Peeta's smiling softly down at me, a slight twinkle in his eye, and I can't help but smile back at him. "I love you," I say softly. "I really do."
"That's a great start," Peeta grins as he begins to walk me back toward the bed. "We're on that train to happiness, now."
"Oh, and we had our first fight as a married couple," I add, noting with a smile how Peeta's eyes lit up when I said 'married.' "See? That's already out of the way."
"We can see that as a good thing," Peeta agrees. By this time we're already lying on the bed and he's hovering over me. My arms are twined around his neck, my fingers playing with the curls at his nape. "But I've got an hour and twenty-five minutes left of this morning that I do not intend to waste."
I smile as his lips move toward mine. Just when we're a breath a part, Peeta whispers, "And by the way, Mrs. Mellark . . ." he smiles against my lips. "I love you, too."
Wow, Peeta, tone down you're awesomeness! There is only so much we girls can stand before we're ruined for all the guys out there that actually exist.
So, the first fight as a married couple is out of the way! Woo! I think we can all agree with Peeta that it's a good thing. :)
Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Katniss!
"Keep me here. Lock me in the bedroom. Say that I'm incapacitated."
Lots of love,
AC
