CHAPTER 19: On The Count of Three

*** Author's Note ***

I just wanted to take a minute to thank all of our readers. Your reviews, watches, and favorites really keep us inspired to keep working and keep striving for something beautiful. I wanted to apologize that it has taken almost 20 chapters to get our 4 characters in the same place again, and while I promise that it will pay off in some big ways, I appreciate everyone hanging in there nonetheless. Please continue to read and review, and we'll keep posting in as timely a fashion as possible.

A night of fitful sleep had ensured an early, shaky morning, but Peeta helped Katniss more than he even knew by being his ever kind, ever patient self with her. She started out the morning by spilling the water that he had boiled for tea, and then made a rather terrible attempt at an omelet with some of the eggs from Haymitch's geese that he choked down without complaint. Perhaps he was a little distracted this morning too, she considered.

She should have gone to the woods. It was as simple as that. Sure, her leg was still tender from the snake bite, but the doctor in town had said it would be fine to walk on, just a bit weak until it had healed completely. Even without her refusal to escape into the salvation that trees would have brought, the morning was off. Though she wouldn't have had to go far to get some relief from her anxiety, instead, she had spent her morning bathing for some reason that she couldn't quite remember clearly.

Water usually made her feel better, and, more than she cared to admit, the memory of Madge on TV, looking prim and polished the way the Capitol liked made her want to seem... clean. She had scrubbed the woods from her body, the coal from under her nails, and even the tangles from her hair. Peeta had drawn her a bath after she had started one, and then forgotten about it, flooding their bathroom with hot water. It didn't take the two of them long to mop it up, and for Peeta to sit her carefully on the toilet seat while he drew her a new, bubble-filled bath. She shooed him out as she undressed and slipped into the warmth.

A few minutes alone in the bath, however, made her feel hot and agitated, rather than weightless, calm, and in control, the way she hoped it would. After a few attempts to drown out her worries by submerging her head and holding her breath to block out the sounds of the world, she found herself calling for Peeta, who poked his head in hesitantly, eyes hidden under a hand, and teased, "What's wrong? Did you wash yourself with toothpaste?"

Though she hadn't thought the joke was very funny, she fought her instincts to push him away and invited him to sit on the edge of the tub and put his feet in. He had showered earlier, so he didn't need to, certainly, but she hoped that perhaps, he would want to. She wanted his company, needed him just to be there. Peeta, ever indulging her strangest and most vague requests, sat carefully, rolled up his pant legs, and plunked his feet into the water near her feet unceremoniously.

When her ankles brushed his underneath the cover of the bubbles, she felt a tingle travel up her leg, all the way to her lips, which acknowledged the touch with a reluctant smile.

His presence had indeed improved her mood. They had become much closer over the past week, since the letter from Madge had driven her into the woods, since she had been poisoned into deliriousness by snake venom, and since she had finally opened up to him about Gale. The idea of Peeta being in the same room with her naked, even though her body was hidden by a layer of bubbles was intimidating, but inviting all the same.

Few words passed between them. Katniss alternated between absentmindedly rubbing the hair on her legs in the water, feeling thankful it would never be gone again, and twirling little circles around the bubbles with her fingers. For his part, Peeta found a rough brush and pretended to try to remove a small stain on the rim of the tub. Like the night before they got married on the Capitol train, they ended up just watching bubbles pop, that is, until the cover got too sparse for comfort, and Katniss had sent Peeta out so she could finish up in private.

She dressed quickly, picking out pants and a top at random, deciding she could pick something new once her hair was dry. Her next task was not so simple. Instead of seeking the sanity that she would find in the woods, she decided the best thing to do was to rip a comb through her hair - which seemed only to drive her closer to insanity, rather than soothe her fragile nerves. She sat on the bed she shared with Peeta, comb in hand, tearing at the multitude of tangles and knots that her hair had accumulated since it was last brushed - incidentally, she had no recollection of this. She usually just put it in a braid and that was that.

Peeta, who had been digging through the boxes of clothes designed by Cinna and Portia that Katniss had yet to put in their closet, had been so horrified by her treatment of her hair that he had begged her to let him try instead.

Then he had sat behind her on their bed and gently tugged his fingers through her hair, starting at the bottom and working his way up, untangling the largest knots. After a short head massage, he had took the comb from her relaxed hand and gradually, with his deft, artist's hands, he removed even the smallest, most-Finnick worthy knots her hair had to offer. When her hair was free of tangles, he simply continued to comb through it, lifting it up, parting it different ways, making sure each strand was free of the others. Katniss realized after some time that she was smiling, and humming ever so quietly.

"Where did you learn that?" She asked softly; when her hair was almost dry.

Peeta was silent for a long moment, and she wondered briefly if she shouldn't have asked.

"My father used to comb my mother's hair. It was about the happiest I ever saw the two of them. This is how he did it, starting at the bottom and working up, combing until her hair was dry."

For a moment, Katniss felt abashed, she forgot sometimes that Peeta's family had died in the Capitol's firestorm after the Quell. "Do you miss them?" she asked him in what she hoped was a soft voice.

Peeta nodded, keeping his hands in her hair, stroking it, "every day, but like you and Gale, I never really knew how to 'be' around them after the Games. My mother wouldn't live in the Victor's Village and my father couldn't just leave her and my brothers either. I suppose Leffsa might have come..." he trailed off with a shrug.

"Why didn't your mother want to live with you?" Katniss swallowed hard, somehow anticipating what his answer might be. Why didn't Gale want to take Katniss's Victor money for his family? Peeta. Why didn't Peeta's mother want to live with him in the Victors' Village? She recalled now, with force, the time between the games, Peeta going to his family's for dinner, checking up on them, going into town to help in the bakery, but always returning to his empty house.

Peeta sighed heavily, and she could almost sense him trying to find the right words to use to explain something that was going to hurt, not matter how he put it. "Katniss, it was-"

"It was because of me." She felt cold on the inside, sick. If Peeta's family had lived in the Victors' Village, they would have survived the bombing... Learning that more innocent people died because of her was the opposite of what she needed on today of all days. When Peeta didn't respond, she repeated, "It was because of me, wasn't it?" She found herself grateful that she wasn't facing him.

"My mother... didn't approve of us... I suppose, of you. She had this idea that Merchants and Seam folk were different. She thought that merchants were ...better somehow. She really wasn't impressed that I was willing to die for you." Peeta's hands dropped helplessly into his lap. "I don't know. I never understood it."

She turned to Peeta and looked into his eyes. She found them strangely clear and calm. His words made her feel a small burst of affection for him. Of course he had never believed the Seam folk were different. Not Peeta.

It also made Katniss feel better somehow, rather than worse, maybe because she could relate to Peeta's confusion. "Gale thought that too - that Merchants were different, but... he thought we were better, in the Seam. He was always mean to Madge, like on Reaping day, he'd make comments about her clothes, like they protected her from being scared or something." The memory brought a flush of anger to her cheeks. She had never liked the way Gale had treated Madge. Didn't like the idea of Gale and Madge period, possibly.

Suddenly, a question crossed her mind, one that hadn't occurred to her before. She asked Peeta, quietly, "How do you think they... had a baby?" She realized, as soon as the words left her lips, that they sounded naive.

Peeta grinned, despite himself. "They had sex, Katniss."

A hot blush ran across her face, and she struggled to keep her features composed. Suddenly, this situation didn't seem to be about Madge and Gale. Madge and Gale seemed to be a million miles away, though they were, possibly, only minutes from the train station in 12. For some reason, Peeta's statement brought to her attention his proximity, his shirtlessness, and his heat. The same heat that she had tasted the night of the snake bite.

Her mouth was slightly agape as she remembered, in vivid detail, the taste of his lips. He took this as a look of indignation. "Katniss, I'm sorry. That was in bad taste." He wrapped hand around her neck and pulled her in to kiss her forehead, and at the last minute, she darted her chin up to steal a kiss on the lips and gave him a small, tentatively mischievous smile.

Now Peeta was the one blushing. After he recovered from the surprise, he leaned in and met her lips with his, threading his fingers through her hair once again. Peeta's hands in her hair felt different than they had just moments ago, flooding her with warmth, sending tingles down her spine, and curling her toes. Her kiss seemed to have awakened something in him, and he leaned in further, his body not insisting, but suggesting that she lay back against the pillows.

Their bodies leaned slowly down, falling into place together. His hand appeared on her hip, a light pressure. She could move him if she wanted. Shove him away, but the sensations were so unlike anything she had experienced before. Immediate, and insistent thrills traveled through her body, just at the brush of his bare skin against hers, so, instead, she wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him closer, so that their chests were flush against one another. Another wave of ecstasy crashed over her form, igniting, rather than quelling the fire that seemed to be raging in her very nerve endings.

Her mouth arrived on his shoulder, kissing down and around scars, into uncharted territories of new skin, old skin and the skin that looked the most like hers, the skin that had been warped by fire. They a matched set, just as they had been during their first games, and their second. Katniss knew, as she breathed his sweet breath into her own lungs, that she and Peeta Mellark were exactly that, a pair forged in the same fire, the same past, and the same pain. Everything they had been through had only made them more right for each other. All of this she knew, more clearly than ever, as her hands and mouth mapped out the terrain of his patchwork skin.

When their eyes met, steel and sky, she found his to be as clear and steady as ever. Their lips met again, need creeping slowly, deepening their kisses.

Peeta's hand moved slowly over her stomach, stopping almost entirely at the line of her brassiere. Then, carefully, inched upward to barely caress the curve of her breast. Katniss inhaled sharply; astounded that such a simple touch could feel so much as he pressed his open hand against her and kissed her again. She moaned through the pressure of his lips, and their tongues found each other, entangling in a wet, hot, dance that only coaxed more deep, throaty sounds to fight, muffled, through their kisses.

They broke their embrace and their eyes locked again. Katniss took in Peeta's face, flushed; his hair, mussed, and he seemed to silently ask her permission. She arched her back up, and his hands wrapped around her back, as they had so many times. For a moment, he froze, hands pressed against her rib cage, and she could recall how soft his hands used to be. Perfect for kneading bread, but not for fighting, or working. With more effort than it should have taken, he ran them up the last few inches to the clasps of her brassiere, and she noticed, with a swell of longing that they had grown callous. Even as he fumbled, his large fingers catching on the straps, struggling with the tiny hooks, she longed for these new hands, this new Peeta to caress her, to knead her, as he did bread, from head to foot.

When he finally worked the clasp free, he took the hem of her shirt and lifted it over her head. As he was tossing her shirt aside, she shrugged the straps of her bra down around her elbows and discarded it. He had risen to take her in fully, and she had flopped back on the bed to allow him a better vantage point. As her head hit the mattress, she glanced to see where he hands had fallen to either side of her head. They tangled in her dark hair, illuminated by the sunlight streaming in through the open window.

She steeled herself to Peeta's possible shock at the extent of her transformation, after all, she could remember the last time they had been this naked together. In their room in the Training Center, before the Quarter Quell. Then, she had pressed insistently against him, hiding herself. Now, she lay still on her back and watched his face. It had to be done this way. All or nothing. There was no pretending that all the things that had happened to them hadn't, no hiding the scars of their past. She forced herself to meet his gaze.

Peeta had looked at her almost every day of his life from the time that he was 5, and Katniss had slowly become accustomed to the many ways he watched her. But this was a face she had never seen before, as he knelt above her on the bed, her shirt dangling uselessly from one of his hands. His eyes wide, his mouth open just so much as he took in the curve of her waist, the roundness of her breasts, and the scars that made patterns all throughout her body.

His gaze was almost too much for her, reverent, young, and giving her a sense of longing and fulfillment all at once, as if just being in this moment together were enough to make it all worth what it had cost. Her eyes dropped to his chest, to his stomach, and finally to the band of his pants, where she could see exactly the effect her nakedness had on him. She propped herself up on her elbows, more aware of her breasts than she had ever been - maybe because of how he was looking at them, or maybe because she avoided spending time naked whenever possible. Her voice was surprisingly steady when she finally intoned, "Come here."

For perhaps the first time in her life, Katniss did not try to suppress the tremble that worked its way down her body as he was suddenly and fully pressed against her. She didn't try to steady her racing heart, when he kissed her, right between her breasts, or to slow her quick breaths when his mouth closed around her nipple and sucked gently. She had always tried to pull away when this feeling crept up on her, and she suddenly found herself giving too lingering a hug, or too sincere a kiss. On those days she would run into the forest, far away from the District until she knew she was alone, and touch herself, thinking it was better to do it alone than to risk- to risk what? Vaguely, as she leaned into him, she realized that she couldn't remember. The feeling of warmth that had begun in her stomach had reached downward, she felt hot, needy. She had been wrong, it was not better to do it alone.

A small gasp escaped Peeta's lips when she felt his unfamiliar hardness against her thigh. They pressed against one another, tighter still as Peeta's mouth found hers again and again. Her hands seemed to be acting of their own accord, searching over his back, clasping his biceps, feeling up and down his face, tangling in his hair. She couldn't get enough of him. It seemed amazing that he could feel so strong and so soft, that his patchwork of skin and hers strangely made one perfect, complete puzzle. Almost complete. Their kiss broke when her hands settled on the band of his pants. She looped her fingers underneath and waited.

"Katniss," he breathed, looking into her face, "How do we... I mean... are we... Safe?"

It took her a moment to comprehend what he was talking about. Unbidden, images of the Capitol, Dr. Aurelius with a needle, and the words it should steady your hormones out, which should do a lot to expedite your healing process, but I would forget about having children for at least five years or so popped into her mind. In her haze, Katniss thought fuzzily about how long ago that had been. Three years.

"I got a shot. In the Capitol. I'm... I can't," she explained meekly. She watched as several emotions flashed across his face. Surprise, hurt, and... Something else, acceptance? She was better at recognizing his expressions, but these flashed by so fast that she only caught a glimpse of each. His face unreadable, his body relaxed, and he placed his forehead against her lips. She kissed it in kind. She carefully took his face in her hands, not wanting to interrupt whatever thoughts were racing through his mind, and tried to turn his face up to look at her.

He pulled back away from her, and she was afraid that he had changed his mind when he leaned back and was kneeling before her once again. She opened her mouth to say something, having no idea what that would be, when he stood and carefully worked his pants down stopping only briefly to untangle his artificial leg.

Years ago, Peeta had told her he didn't care if she saw him. This still seemed to be true as he made no motion to cover himself, to hide how much he wanted her. Katniss willed her eyes not to widen as she looked at him, taking in the amazing way he seemed to fit together, that the broadness of his chest and shoulders worked down into his square hipbones, that his legs, even the artificial one were steady, even now. Every part of him, Peeta. Katniss reached out for his hand, and pulled him back onto the bed, back to her.

She tilted her head up to kiss him, once, slowly. Then, she reached down and pulled off her pants and underwear, kicking them to the foot of the bed. Her hand brushed against him, and they looked at one another, almost startled. It was softer than she thought it would be. Hard and soft, somehow. She ran her fingers up and down his length, just feeling, exploring. His mouth was on her shoulder, planting kisses and tiny licks between quiet gasps.

A small sound escaped his lips, a needful, throaty sound, that almost sounded like an expression of pain. Almost. Katniss found that this sound brought her a flood of pleasure between her thighs and rubbed them together, despite herself, trying to still the feeling of hollowness that was building in the base of her being. Soon enough, she knew, Peeta would fill her, overtake her, and that she would let him. Another soft growl from him brought an involuntary moan from her lips, and small buck from her hips.

Taking in her body language, one of his hands trailed up the inside of her leg, then carefully parting her, his fingers equally tentative. It was intoxicating; she couldn't have imagined it could feel this good, that someone's hands on her, that the gentle touch from Peeta's fingers could send her to a place she had surely never been. That the world, which was so cruel and so unforgiving, could be washed away by the ball of fire building at the very core of her. She arched her back and let the blaze engulf her, consume her, and when she came to it was the sound of her own cries of pleasure.

She pulled her hands away and brought them both to his face urgently, turning it forward. His hands left her, and she felt their absence acutely, his hand trembled as he brushed a lock of hair away from her face. Their breaths came in tight bursts.

"On the count of 3?" he whispered. The steadiness was gone from every part of him but his eyes.

"On the count of 3," she replied, trying to sound steady, but knowing what meaning Peeta was assigning these words. Peeta meant that they were doing this together, just as they had done with the berries. They needed to be willing to live together the way they were willing to die together, from the first arena onwards.

Katniss wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled herself up to whisper in his ear. Shaking with anticipation, she counted. "1," taking her time to ensure that she was ready for what was about to happen. "2." She had never felt quite this way before, perched on the cusp of something so life-changing, so wonderful. She took a deep, steadying breath, and closed her eyes. She leaned in him. "3."

Inch by slow inch, they pressed into one another. For a moment, she was completely lost, the sensation of being filled, of being completed, penetrated her being so entirely. It was only Peeta's voice that brought her back, as her name escaped his mouth in a low moan. She called his name back, her voice sounding thready, as she arched her hips up against him. It did not cross her mind to feel ashamed of the sounds escaping her lips. Her only focus was him, being closer, feeling more. They moved faster now, their rhythm careless but never out of sync as their bodies came together again and again. The heat within her rose and rose, until her only sensation seemed to be lightness, pleasure. She could hear him, his voice resonating into her, saying her name over and over. She felt his muscles tensing against hers, and he was suddenly very still, pulsing inside of her.

Katniss took in his face, searching it, memorizing it - his eyes squeezed tight with pleasure and exertion, mouth slightly agape, and hair falling suddenly still, sticking to his forehead due to the sheen of sweat that shown on his forehead. He was frozen, not moving, not even breathing. His face was beautiful, raw, and animal - perfect. Finally, his breath caught up to him, and he began to pant heavily, eyes fluttering open, mouth still hanging open.

Katniss simply stared on, watching his jaw flex, his eyes blink uncomprehendingly, and sweat drip down his cheek bones. She brought up a hand to push his hair back from his forehead. He felt hot, and damp, and her touch seemed to snap him from his trance. He immediately kissed her, again and again, planting small, needy pecks on her smiling lips.

Slowly, he pulled out of her, and her insides protested. She had not reached a climax like he had, though she had felt elation on a level she had never thought possible. She was content, but Peeta, selfless as ever, when he found his voice again apologized to her.

"I'm, I'm sorry, I couldn't- This is my first time so I'm..." he stammered, blushing.

"Sh..." she pressed a finger to his lips and shook her head, meeting his eyes, and trying to show on her face the love she felt swelling in her chest. It was strange, a counter pressure pushing her breastbone out, exactly opposite the pain that usually weighed down on her.

"Peeta," she began, but before she could continue, he clasped her hands and caught her eye, exhausted, but reflecting her feelings of devotion on his own face. He glanced down at her still throbbing center purposefully, and then back up at her.

"Is it okay if I..." he searched for the right word.

For the first time since she'd known him, Peeta was speechless. So was she. She nodded emphatically, wanting Peeta's kindness, his love to keep consuming her. She wasn't sure what he was going to do as he moved down to her thighs and sort of settled himself between them.

He delicately spread her, and began to rub up and down her. This sent calming, sweet, soft tingles up her legs to rest in the pit of her stomach. He prodded and probed, and his fingers felt good, strong yet gentle. He seemed to be searching for something, and the second he found it, she knew why. He pressed against the spot with his finger, and instantly, the blazing inferno inside her reignited and ravaged her from head to toe.

As he pressed on her, she began to writhe. She clutched the bed covers and he moved his finger in small circles. She moaned and cried out and tossed from side to side, but still the pressure inside her became greater and more insistent.

She gasped his name over and over, and when he parted her with both hands and brought his tongue to the spot that he had awakened, she could only hiss and take gulping breaths and choke out noises that sounded more like they came from a warbling songbird than a human being. The fire inside her overtook her mind as she pressed herself against him.

He clutched her hips, and his tongue, which spoke such eloquent things turned out to be quite articulate without having to say anything at all. Finally, she gave up on breathing, and moved against him with all the muscle she could borrow from her other limbs, which were taught with wave after overwhelming wave of hot, passionate, electricity. Her entire body rigid, she shrieked his name as a surge of feeling overcame her being, her vision went white, and she was pulsing too.

She pulled him from her opening up to her mouth, where she kissed him, tasting herself on his lips, licking the taste from his tongue. She held his face, squished against hers, not stopping the kiss to breathe until the throbbing inside her had subsided.

They held each others' tired, satisfied bodies in silent bliss for what seemed like the entire afternoon, though she knew from watching the movement of the sunlight across the floor that it couldn't have been more than an hour. When he spoke again, his voice seemed almost back to normal: "You love me, real or not real?"

There was a long quiet moment, as she carefully locked eyes with him. Then, she quietly intoned: "Real."

More silence, though shorter, followed. They held each other and touched each other and stared into each other's eyes until they heard, in the distance, the whistle that announced that the train that carried Madge and Gale and their daughter had arrived.

It was startling, and Peeta and Katniss both sprung out of bed as if they had been caught doing something wrong. They looked at each other, and then glanced out the window to confirm the sound. It came again, and they knew it was time to get ready. The ½ mile journey from the square to the Victor's Village would not allow them much time to dress, and Peeta had made a Savory Chicken and Vegetable pie that needed to go in the oven before Madge and Gale arrived.

She turned away from the window without a word, and he caught her hand.

"Katniss..." He whispered breathlessly. His voice sounded tight, and she turned to him. He was fighting back tears.

She looked at him, face strained. Had she done something wrong? Already? She waited for him to continue.

"I just-," he admitted lamely. "I never thought we would do this... that's all."

She pulled his hand to her lips and gave it a kiss and squeeze, and he released it. She didn't know what to say. If someone had asked her, even a week ago if she and Peeta would have sex, she probably would have said no.

She went into the bathroom, and heard him dress and move downstairs to clang around in the kitchen. As she braided up her hair, she decided it was okay that she hadn't gone into the woods, and that ultimately it was better that she only had a short time to fuss over what she looked like. She thought about Gale, and what it would be like to see him. She hadn't bothered to figure out how she would be around him. Her thoughts drifted to herself and Peeta. They hadn't chosen one another as normal people did - perhaps even as Gale and Madge did.

It was easy to think that if their lives had gone better, if the odds had been in their favor, that maybe they would never have fallen in love at all. She used to be confused by this, especially with Gale in the picture. She and Peeta needed one another because no one else in the world could ever understand what it meant to have survived what they had.

Their dedication to one another was born not out of romance, but compassion. When Katniss could have killed him, any of the multitude times it might have benefitted her to end his life. When Peeta, against all odds, sat brokenly in chains, begging for her to kill him, though the very best in science and technology had trained him to kill her. They were bound together by this mutual compassion, the very idea that humans can protect one another, keep one another alive. Their love began out of necessity, grew through compassion and finally, had been consummated by choice.

She realized as she finished her braid, that the idea of seeing Gale was no longer scary, or confusing to her in the slightest, because what she and Peeta had wasn't ideal. Maybe it wasn't terribly romantic. But it was real.