Okay, so this is the first part of a two or three part arc. It's going to be easy to figure out what the other parts might be about, but I'm not sure yet how long I'm gonna make it. I'm going to try to start writing on the next part this weekend, but I can't promise anything. Another story has been nagging at the back of my mind for almost a week, and it's just waiting to be written. It's just a one shot though, so it shouldn't take too long to finish.
Hopefully I'll have the next part up by the end of next week. Thank you for reading, and thank you all for the reviews I got on the last chapter. Also, I might change the rating on this story. I rated it M just in case - I always do that and then I see where the story goes. This story hasn't gone in that direction yet though, and I'm doubting it will. But who knows what my mind will come up with?
"Wake up!" I finally snapped as I tossed a bucket of ice cold water on Haymitch. He was supposed to come over for dinner over two hours ago, but he clearly missed it for a date with his bottles.
In the short confused moment after his awakening, Haymitch pulled a knife on me but dropped it to the floor once he realized that it was me and not an intruder.
"You need to stop doing that," he told me sourly as he sat down on the couch, pulling his hand through his dirty, greasy hair. He needed a shower.
"I will when you stop passing out."
"What do you want?"
"I need you to sober up," I said, handing him a plate of leftovers and a glass of water. I watched as he ate, filling his glass with water a few times. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed the plate away from him, almost in disgust. He would thank me later. Eventually I cleaned the plate and the glass, continuing with the rest of his dishes and clearing a path through the dirt in his living room. Neither Peeta or I had had the time to help him clean this week, and Haymitch wouldn't exactly do it himself.
"I'm as sober as I'm ever gonna be," he confessed after about an hour. One where we hadn't said a word to each other. None of us had ever been good at small talk, and definitely not when it came to small talking with each other. But for many years, Haymitch had been there for me when I needed help. Advice. He had been the one to go to if I needed an honest opinion.
But I didn't know how to ask, and eventually he started to guess.
"If you and Lover Boy had a fight, that's not my problem. Granted, you're like kids to me, but it's still not my problem."
"I thought we were more like your pets," I smiled and he returned if after a while of pondering.
"Yeah, maybe. Never wanted kids anyway. But pets, they keep good company. And all you gotta do is feed 'em and love 'em."
"And keep them alive," I reminded him and he smirked.
"That too, huh?" He laughed once, "but we gotta remember; you're the one feeding me."
I could feel the corners of my mouth curving into a smile, but then I dropped it and leaned back in the couch opposite to Haymitch. A sigh left my lips before I said anything.
"We didn't have a fight, but I do need some advice."
He waited for me to continue is silence, as I tried to figure out exactly what to say. After a few minutes, I realized there was only one way to say it. And I wasn't lacking in words, I was lacking in courage. But I had to get it out, and being straight and forward was for the best. It would be easier.
"I'm pregnant," I finally managed to choke out and Haymitch blinked a few times, leaning forward toward me. From the look on his face, he was trying to figure out whether or not he had heard me correctly. When I didn't say anything more, he leaned back again and accepted my words.
"Does he know?" he asked, and I shook my head. "Why haven't you told him? He deserves to know, it's his kid too."
"That's where you come in."
"I'm not going to do it for you, sweetheart."
"And I don't need you to," I snapped and then closed my mouth quickly. I never meant to do that. This was supposed to go well, this was my practice run. Haymitch would supposed to be the easy one to tell. When I spoke again, I kept my voice low. "I don't know how or when to say it."
"Peeta's smart, he'll figure it out soon enough. Tell him before that. As to how, well that's your problem. I'm not good at this." He was quiet for a moment, looking at me. "Why did you even come to me about this?"
"Because you always know what to do," I whispered. And because I trusted him to help me with this. Because I needed him to.
"Have you two ever talked about kids?"
Yes, we had. The last time was about a year ago, when I told Peeta that I was warming up to the idea of giving him a child. Of giving him what he wanted. He told me to wait, to really think about it. It wasn't a small decision to make, and he knew what I had always thought about having kids. He didn't want me to do it for him, so he told me to think. And honestly, I wasn't sure if I was done thinking yet. But I couldn't ignore this and make it go away. I was scared. I had failed Prim. What if I failed this tiny person growing inside me? What if I wasn't capable of loving this child, of being the mother this child needed?
I answered Haymitch with a simple nod.
"Do you want it?"
"Peeta..."
"Do you want it?" he cut me off. "Not Peeta. You."
"I don't know, maybe," I answered, and he looked at me. He knew I was lying, so I had to give him the truth. It came out in a whisper, "yes."
But I was so, so scared to fail this baby. To fail Peeta. My strong, kind, gentle Peeta. Would he hate me if I failed this baby like I failed Prim? If I couldn't love this baby like I loved her? Like I loved him?
"Then tell him that," Haymitch rose from his seat. "Just say it. You can't screw that up."
He started to move, and I saw him walk up the stairs.
"Maybe not that, but everything else," I said to myself.
"I heard that," Haymitch called out, and I watched him walk down the stairs with a box in his hands a few moments later. "And you won't screw up."
"What if I can't love his baby?"
"It's yours too, sweetheart, and you will," he stated in a matter-of-fact voice, tossing half empty bottles of alcohol into the box.
"How do you know?"
"Because you took Prim's place. You saved Peeta's life. You put up with me, no matter what I do. Because you love too much, if there's such a thing. Because family means everything to you."
I ignored the fact that he might actually be right, wondering what he was doing.
"Panem sees me as as the old drunk, a joke. I know you and Peeta does too."
"No, we don't," I argued with him, but he ignored me and continued.
"I don't care. Never have, and I'm definitely not starting now. But that kid is a brand new person. A person that doesn't know how Panem used to be. I want to be a part of that child's life. I want to babysit, I want to be there for the first words and the first steps. And I want to remember it. I want that kid to love me. So before I change my mind," he stuffed the box into my arms. "Pour it out. Hide it. Drink it, for all I care. Just get rid of it, and make sure I never touch it again, for as long as I live. On second thought though, don't drink it. Can't be good for the baby."
"Don't worry, I won't," I promised, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Was he serious? I couldn't be sure - I wasn't even sure if he was sure - but I couldn't waste an opportunity like this one. This time he actually said it himself. This time Peeta or I didn't make the decision for him. He did. And he usually kept what he promised.
So I poured it all out in his sink and he didn't fight with me. He didn't even complain. He just sat back on the couch and watched me with an amused smile.
"I can't believe you've got a bun in the oven," he said as I sat down in the chair opposite to him. I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them.
"I can't believe you'll never drink again."
"Okay, that was fair," he admitted with a laugh. "It's getting late, you should head home."
"We buried Buttercup today," I said, ignoring his words.
Peeta found the old stupid cat this morning, next to the bushes of primroses that he planted behind the bakery when I moved in. Buttercup probably hadn't been dead for long he said, and when he told me I was relieved. I wouldn't have to take care of the ugly cat anymore. I wouldn't have to worry. But then I remembered what he meant to Prim, and Peeta held me close as I cried against his shoulder.
"You're stalling, sweetheart."
"They want to put up a statue of me and Peeta in the Capitol. Unveil it for the ten year anniversary next year."
Paylor called yesterday, said the people wanted something. So they came up with the idea for a statue, with some kind of text under it. Peeta and I had no saying this time – this would be done.
"You're still stalling," he smiled knowingly and I got up from my seat. He was right, I was stalling. I still didn't know how to tell Peeta about the pregnancy. But it was dark outside, and I had been here for hours. He was probably asleep already. Or at least getting there.
I pulled on my father's hunting jacket and turned around to look at Haymitch to say my goodnight.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"This might get ugly, so don't come back for a few days. Or weeks."
"I'll see you tomorrow," I said again, this time over my shoulder as I walked through his front door. It might get ugly, but he wasn't alone in this. I would do everything I could to help him through this. And I knew that Peeta would too. Haymitch kept us alive when no one else could. I owed him at least this. And he was family after all.
A part of me wished that Peeta would be asleep, the other part wishing him to be awake, as I found my way home through the snow. I shook the snow off my jacket and hair as I walked up the stairs, opening the door as quietly as I could. But it was dark inside, and I knew that he was asleep. I kept quiet as I walked through every room, finding Peeta on the bed where I knew that he would be. He had been working hard all day, and he looked so tired at dinner. I wanted to let him sleep, but right now I had some courage. I had to tell him now, or he might figure it out himself. And Haymitch was right. I had to tell him. He deserved to hear it from me.
But there was no response when I gave him a light shake. So I sat down beside him and watched his bare back rise with every breath he took. I could see the faint scars on his skin, but they didn't make me feel as bad as they used to. We both had them after all. Those scars made me love him more, because they proved just how strong he was. How strong he had always been.
Peeta would love this baby, I knew that. And if he had to, he'd love it for the both of us. Keep it safe for the both of us. If I failed this baby, Peeta would be right there to take care if it. Spoil it. Love it. Keep it safe and warm.
I pressed my cold fingers against his back, shaking him again. This time a little harder.
"Peeta?" I asked, and he murmured something I couldn't fully hear, his voice deep with sleep. "Peeta?"
"Katniss?"
I tried to think of a way to tell him, but all I could hear in my head was Haymitch's stupid comment.
"I have a bun in the oven," I told him, prepared for his reaction. But there wasn't any. He was too tired to understand my reference.
"Then take it out," he mumbled. "How long has it been in there?"
"The doctor thinks about five weeks," I told him, fighting the urge to bit my lip. He would been awake enough to understand me soon.
"That's too long for a bun," he told me, and after a few seconds I watched his relaxed body become rigid next to me. He got it. He understood now. He jolted up, sitting up with his torso turned my way. His eyes were boring into mine in the dark room. He looked confused. "Why is there a doctor involved?"
"Because we're not really talking about buns, Peeta." I bit my lip as he looked at me. He knew what I meant, but his tired brain needed me to actually say the words. That, or he just wanted to hear me say it. I couldn't be sure. "I'm pregnant. We are."
I could see his conflicted feeling playing in his eyes, across his face. Joy for the baby, but worry for me.
"You can smile, I'm okay with this."
It took a second, but then his face broke into the most beautiful, heartwarming, genuine smiles I had ever seen on anyone. He looked so ridiculously happy, and it was hard not to smile with him. Hard not to smile when he was so happy. But my fears turned into tears, and Peeta kissed them away.
"It's okay," he whispered, his smile still broad. He started to kiss me where ever his lips could reach. "No reason to be afraid. I love you so much, Katniss."
"I know you do," I said, my voice shaky. I forced his lips away from my skin. I needed him to promise me something. "But I need you to love this baby more than you have ever loved me. Keep it safe. I'm scared – scared that I'll fail our baby. That I'll fail you, like I failed Prim. What if I screw up? What if I'm so messed up and broken that I can't love this baby, Peeta?"
My fears shamed me, and voicing them shamed me even more. What would he think of me, how could I even think such a thing? When I looked down, away from his beautiful face, Peeta grabbed my cheek in his hand and forced me to look at him. Forcing me to meet his blue, serious eyes.
"Hey, you did not fail your sister, and we're all messed up after what we went through. But you can't blame yourself for her death, Katniss. You can't. I won't allow it. I just hope that I don't have to tell you how much she loved you, how much she looked up to you. Listen to me – our baby is going to be loved. By both of us. And you, you're going to be the most fantastic mother."
He sounded so sure. How could he be so sure?
"How do you know?" My voice was low, almost broken, but he heard me.
"Because of Prim. How you never failed to put her first. Because of how fiercely you love her, and everyone else that has managed to win you over," he kissed me softly, wiping away my tears with his gentle thumb. "You won't be alone in this. We won't be. So many will love this baby. So many will try to keep it safe if anything were ever to happen. Hell, Haymitch will be one of those people. He hated us, but he always managed to keep us alive. Now, he'll probably train his geese to attack. Effie will be annoying as usually, and Cinna, he's great with needles. You know how tough Johanna is, and Annie will scream the danger away. Then there's you and me. I can keep going, but I don't think I need to."
What Peeta said, it made sense. I had to admit that, even though I didn't want to. His words even washed away some of my fears. But I still needed him to make that promise to me.
"Just promise me," I whispered and he let out a sigh as his blue eyes penetrated mine.
"I can't promise to love this baby more than I love you, because that would be impossible. But I can promise to love you equally. Is that good enough?"
I thought about what he had always done to keep me safe. I thought about what he had been willing to sacrifice for me. I thought about how he always managed to make me feel loved, and I knew that even if he only loved our baby half of what he loved me, our baby would always feel warm, and safe, and loved. Our baby would be happy.
So I nodded and crept into his arms, burrowing my face in the crook of his neck. He smelled like bread and cookies, like he always did. That smell always managed to calm me down. As Peeta leaned against the headboard of the bed, his arms wrapped tighter around me and I could feel his steady heartbeat against my hand on his chest. It was almost as if I could hear it beat. It was my very favorite sound in the whole world. Well, that and his voice.
"Are you sure that you're okay with this?" he asked after a long moment of silence, his lips pressing softly against the top of my head.
"Underneath the fear, I think so, yes. I wasn't sure when I found out yesterday, but the more I think about it... It's a small child, and I don't want to do anything to hurt it. I want to keep it safe, no matter what. And if we had lived in a world with arenas and tributes and Snow, then no, I wouldn't be okay with it. I wouldn't want to bring a child into that kind of world."
But this world, where Peeta's arms always kept me safe and the worst fear within a parent was if their child would get hurt playing, then yes. There wasn't as much starvation anymore. No more hungry kids. At least not in our District. I tried to make sure of that. Peeta did too. We had enough to give away meat and bread to those who needed it the most. We had enough to help those in need.
But still, when I thought about it, my biggest fear of having children was from my Father. Seeing the aftermath of his death like that. How Mother crept into herself, how I had to take care of Prim. How it was like to grow up without parents. It wasn't something I'd want to give our child.
"We'll only tell a few people, right?" I asked then, wanting to know that Peeta was on my side. We had always felt the same about cameras and articles and our private lives, and we had to feel the same about this too.
"No more than a few," he agreed. "The rest will have to find out themselves. But it's going to be hard to keep it from Panem."
"I know," I said, snuggling against him. There was only a few months left until the ten year anniversary, and there would be cameras. Articles. They would definitely want interviews. They would probably like to see us out with the people. "I don't care if they see me when I'm pregnant, but our child will never see the lens of a camera."
Suddenly Peeta laughed, and I looked at him with questioning eyes. This wasn't funny. I was very much serious, he had to see that. Our baby wasn't a joke.
"I'm sorry," he apologized with a warm smile when he saw my glare. "Did you really think that you wouldn't grow to love this baby, when you clearly already do?"
"No, I don't," I argued with him. I knew what love felt like, and I couldn't feel such a thing toward our baby. Not yet. His smile grew wider as he leaned down to press a kiss against my nose.
"But you kinda do."
"No, I don't," I argued with him again and he laughed.
"We can argue about this all you want, but right now I'm too happy to care," his eyes wandered over my face, down over my chest, to my hips, my legs, and then he met my eyes again. His hands traced over my side, his fingers digging their way in under my shirt. A shiver ran through my body as his warm skin touched mine, and I forgot what I was about to say.
He knew that he had this effect on me, and he didn't fail to use it against me when I least wanted him to. He could distract me so easily, and I hated it. But another part of me loved it. Loved how easily I could do the same to him, make him feel the same as I felt when he looked at me the way he did now.
His hand grabbed the hem of my shirt as the other cupped my face, his lips moving in toward mine.
"You're wearing too much clothes," he whispered against my lips, and I could feel them brushing against mine as he spoke. I laughed, despite my previous mood, and gladly let his tongue into my mouth when it brushed over my lower lip, asking for permission, a few short moments later.