We visit a resort in a eggshell-sandy small peninsula and decide to rent a cabin there. The resort seems to be a little bit too luxurious for us, which we absolutely don't need, but it's the only place that has a private beach adjacent to each cabin and we really want to have a beach for ourselves.
The cabin is the first thing we see. For practicality purposes, I guess, every cabin has its entrance adjoined to the main building. It has a modern design: plush and elegant, but minimalistic, having only a bed with butterfly netting, a table, a soaking tub and a mahogany bathroom. Despite that, it still has a phone, a television and air conditioning.
As we explore the cabin we take a look at the French doors that visibly lead into a deck. That's the way to the beach.
The butler who has been accompanying us tries to serve us drinks. "As a welcome gift," he says, "We offer our visitors the chance to enjoy our signature cocktail."
"Does it contain any alcohol?" I ask. "My husband can't drink alcohol, and for that reason I don't drink it either."
The man looks disappointed and excuses himself to bring us a non-alcoholic beverage.
Going outside, we take a look at our private beach for the first time. The sand is eggshell-white, full of seashells, framed by swaying palm trees and green foliage. There is an outdoor lounge bed, a shower, a hammock and a fire pit. The ocean view is of a breathtaking deep blue, just like the color of Peeta's eyes.
"Now you can swim all you want," Peeta says, taking his shoes off, "And maybe finally I will learn."
The butler comes back with new drinks after a while. He informs us about the restaurant and its world-class cuisine, the renowned chefs, the spa, the massage service, the common areas, the guests we should meet. Peeta and I eye each other in horror as we imagine how expensive some of the services might be.
"Can we just eat here?" Peeta asks, "We don't want to ever leave the cabin."
"Of course," the butler says, "In-room dining is a very common request."
We tip the man so that he leaves us alone. We head to the beach, sitting together in the sand with the drinks in our hands. That's when I realize it. "I don't have anything to wear to go swimming," I say.
"Don't wear anything," Peeta grins, "It's only for my eyes to see."
I smile condescendingly, "I'll look ridiculous."
"Trust me, you won't," my husband replies, letting himself lay in the sand with his arms crossed behind his head, "You won't be showing anything I haven't seen before."
I look around. The privacy is absolute; no one can see us, so it may be okay. I remove all my clothes except for my panties and turn to Peeta.
"Come to the water with me," I plead, extending my hand to him.
Peeta sits again and looks worried all of a sudden. "I didn't bring that plastic thing to protect my leg," he says, sheepish.
"You can take the leg away for a while," I suggest.
"I'll have to crawl," says Peeta, "I'll look ridiculous without my leg."
"You won't," I assure him, "I have seen you without your leg plenty of times."
Peeta seems to ponder it.
"Okay," he says resolutely, taking his clothes off, except for his underwear, and then the leg.
Peeta's trip to the water isn't the most regal, but what matters is that he gets there. Upon arrival, when he's still struggling to get up, a small wave swamps him and makes him lose his balance. Seeing he's unable to get steady and is already swallowing water, even though the water wouldn't reach his knees if he could get himself to stand, I get a life jacket I had seen inside the cabin. He grimaces at the sight of it, but doesn't complain when I put it on him.
I take him for a swim. We splash in each other's direction and play like the kids we never had a chance to be. Then he starts floating on his back while I swim around him for safety.
"I love this," he says, "It's like I'm flying. This makes me feel so free."
Things are hard when it's time to leave the water. I try to support his body so that he can walk in one leg, but I'm too small and our bodies are too slippery from the water, so he ends up falling down in the sand.
With his back and hair already covered in sand, Peeta tries to turn around to crawl again, but the size of the life jacket renders him unable to move. I free him of it, so that he has freedom of movement, and then try to get him up but he's too heavy, so my hand slips and I fall down next to him.
Peeta starts laughing and covers his face with his hands.
"This is too bad to be real," he sighs, lying almost breathlessly on the sand, still unable to make the laughter stop, "Can you still desire me after this spectacle?", he teases playfully.
I bite my lower lip in frustration. I wasn't going to say anything, but I've been admiring his broad arms, full of freckles and scars that match my own, muscled again after months of baking and carrying things everywhere. I look at the blonde hair on his chest, trailing down his belly and disappearing under his underwear.
"Don't say things like that," I reply, tracing the muscles, his broad shoulders and the trail of hair with my fingers, "I wish you knew how handsome the man I'm looking at right now truly is."
"A maimed man fallen in the battlefield," he snorts, twirling my hair sweetly. What a weird way to phrase things, but at least his expression is soft and amused. I know he doesn't mean it in a bad way, because then he would have to blame me for the loss of his leg.
His milky skin is getting reddish from the few minutes of exposure to the sun. We must get out of here quickly. Or we should...
"The man who has my favorite body in the world. A body that was maimed because we wanted so much to keep each other alive," I reply, "To do things like this."
I put all my weight on my husband, covering his mouth with mine. I don't want to give him the chance to speak more nonsense. He kisses me back sweetly and brings his hands to touch my body.
"You seem pretty happy to be alive right now," I tease, "Or would you rather be dead in one piece?"
He shakes his head and tries to pull me closer again.
"Don't tease me," he says.
I really hope no one can watch the things we do in the sand after that.
Lunch is served not long after. In the afternoon we take naps, rest and I swim a little bit more while he gazes adoringly. We watch the sunset on the beach and eat dinner in our cabin.
In the evening, after dinner, we set the pit on fire and lie together in the lounge bed under the stars. We hide under the sheets and make love again lots of times.
The next day, we call Jo and Annie and ask them if they can bring us the things we need: basically clothes, Peeta's leg cover and sunscreen.
Jo shows up an hour later. Instead of Annie, she brings Bligh. The two of them look flushed and wear matching smiles on their faces. Peeta and I exchange a meaningful look, but we don't say anything.
"So, where's Annie?" I ask.
"She had to breastfeed Finny Frog," Jo says, "Our new housemate asked to come in her place."
"You're staying with them now?" Peeta asks Bligh, surprised.
"Yeah," Bligh blushes, "I decided to give Haymitch and Lana some privacy when you left. I took Annie's spare bedroom."
Jo snorts. "You've yet to set foot –"
"Enough, Jo," I scowl. Peeta smirks.
Johanna checks our room and goes only as far as the deck.
"A week here would cost me about five months' earnings," she says.
"We're lucky to be two victors instead of one," I taunt her.
"I can see that. Do you guys think it's too late for me to marry Volts?" she asks, "I have to hurry before Annie has the same idea. We already lost Haymitch."
We are supposed to laugh, but since Bligh is there we don't: Peeta clears his throat, I scowl.
Bligh crosses his arms. "Not funny," he says, "Who's Volts, by the way?"
"Beetee Latier," Peeta and I say.
Bligh throws Jo a deeper scowl than I did before turning to Peeta and me.
"I came to share the good news with you," he says.
So Johanna has told him about the baby, after all. He seems to be reacting much better than I expected. I knew it would be all right in the end, but I thought he would be upset when he found out the whole story.
"So you know?" I ask.
Jo sends me a death glare and I realize that no, he doesn't know about the baby. I've messed up and now I don't know how to save face.
Bligh looks confused. "Know what? Did you guys know it already?"
"I'm lost," Peeta says, saving me from the awkwardness, "What did you want to tell us?"
"Mr. Heavensbee called Haymitch this morning. He has confirmed that Lana's sister is indeed alive."
My husband and I gasp.
"Where is she?" asks Peeta.
"He didn't say. He'll send every piece of information by mail to their house in district Twelve."
After they leave, I get dressed in Annie's small bikini, but Peeta stands staring at his new clothes.
"I'd rather not wear Finnick's trunks," he says, "It weirds me out."
I don't know exactly his reasons, but I agree with him, so he stays mostly in his underwear for the remainder of our stay. We spend the rest of the days in the water.
We were initially supposed to stay in the resort for two days, but we stay there for more than a week, until the last day of my permit to be out of Twelve. The days there are just ours, except when we invite our friends for a visit. Peeta feels almost confident to swim a little after those days, but I'm sad that I couldn't teach him more.
"It's okay, Katniss," he says, "We'll do this again next year."
We get out once to buy a car. A forest green car, I can't recall the brand. There will be a special wagon to take it home with us and it will be the first real car in Twelve since the war. Bligh and Johanna help us with everything.
On the last day before we leave district Four, the five of us that will depart to Twelve go to the hospital to have medical exams. We'll receive the results of some of them by mail, later, but other exams will show an automatic result. What really concerns me is Peeta's cardiology appointment.
We hold hands and I feel my heart pound while the doctor reads his exams with a confused frown. He makes a lot of strange faces and looks incredulous. Tears come to my eyes. Something is really wrong and the doctor has never seen anything like this. Maybe Peeta will have to stay for treatment, after all.
"It's a miracle," the doctor finally says, "But there are no distinguishable alterations. Your heart is perfectly fine, Mr. Mellark."
"Are you sure, doctor?" Peeta asks, "That can't be."
"If what I've learned in my thirty years of medical practice is right, then yes, I'm sure of that," the cardiologist replies.
On the same day, Haymitch takes the first steps in his treatment against alcoholism. Somehow he found a way to relapse during the honeymoon and now Lana is furious at him again. From this day on he's taking medication.
We try to call my mother, because it had been arranged beforehand that we would have dinner at her house on our last night in Four. She doesn't pick up the phone and only returns our calls later, when we are already having dinner at the cabin. I guess she forgot about our arrangement. We don't get to say goodbye to Ella, and maybe it's better this way. It would hurt too much.
On that night, Peeta and I decide to sleep under the stars. We make love on the beach one last time and decide we'll come back next summer, as long as president Paylor allows me to stay some days out of Twelve.
Then, when my head rests on his arm and I'm almost asleep, Peeta says:
"I think I know how to fulfill your conditions."
"What conditions?" I ask, sleepy.
"To have children one day," he says like it's obvious.
I'm immediately awake. "What? Peeta, there's no way to be sure –"
Peeta sighs. "I know."
I study his calm face. He is giving me a side-look and his mouth curls in a small smile, like he knows I'm going to be curious anyway.
Listening to him won't hurt, will it? "Tell me your idea, then," I ask him. He grins in response.
"You say you want to know the country is stable and there will be no more Games, right?" he asks.
I nod skeptically.
"I think we should use our influence to keep the best people in power. We can support Paylor in her reelection campaign, and every decent candidate after her. We need to show our political standing whenever necessary. People may lose trust in their politicians, but they will always take our side. People love the star-crossed lovers and they will always want to follow their Mockingjay."
I shrug under the sheets, which I'm sure he doesn't realize.
"I don't think it will work," I say, "People will forget us, Peeta. And in a few years the younger generations won't have watched the Games. They won't know us."
Peeta smiles with satisfaction.
"I thought so too," he says, "And it brings me to your second condition. That our kids don't think of us as monsters."
"That's impossible to prevent," I say, "There's no way to know."
"But it concerns me too," Peeta says, "Even if we don't have children, I don't want Finny, Delly's twins and Jo's baby to think we are the bad guys."
I look at him with a new interest. What is he thinking?
"What can we do about it?" I ask.
"I've been thinking about the book we're writing at home. That one is personal, of course, but I think we could write one for children."
"A children's book about the Hunger Games?" I ask with skepticism.
"One thing I know: everyone will buy the book just because we are the authors," he studies my face, perhaps trying to gather the effect his words have on me, "It must be done with a lot of care and sensibility. We have to be careful so that we don't scare the kids. But if we do it right we can show them who our opponents were, what we lived through, what really crossed our minds…"
I feel a sudden flash of excitement and sit in a whim. Ella reading the book is the first thing that comes to my mind. Peeta sits with me and I hold his wrist.
"But we can't allow them to think that the Games were something romantic," I say.
"No, we can't," Peeta replies, "We must do it in a way they won't ever want to see the Games come back. We will show the new generations how much we fought for their freedom."
"I want to try it," I say, "Even if it's just for our friends' kids and the future of Panem."
"Try what? The book or campaigning with Paylor when the time comes?" Peeta asks.
"Both. We'll do both."
He grins in his own adorable way. "We must start thinking about the book as soon as we get home. You can write and I'll draw the illustrations," he suggests.
"I don't know how you always come up with these ideas," I say.
"I may be good at coming up with ideas, but you're the one who shines in action," he says, "And we're going to have a lot of action."
"But I still can't promise you anything," I say, frankly, "We'll probably still never have children."
"We'll see how it works," Peeta shrugs, "Who stays in power and how the children react to the book. We'll have our friends' kids around too. Then you'll be able to make up your mind about whether you want to have children or not. We'll do our best either way."
I consider the conversation for some minutes and everything makes sense to me. I feel that a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, but I can't pinpoint exactly why.
For the first time in my life I allow my mind to wander to places I had never permitted myself before, including the hope that a day may come when I fulfill Peeta's dream of having children. I instinctively put a hand on my belly and stare at it, amazed to imagine Peeta's baby growing in my womb. My heart feels full. The daze only lasts for about five seconds before I think better of it, but Peeta has already seen it.
He opens his eyes widely in realization and whispers:
"Oh... So you want to have them too. You're just worried -"
I hug him so tightly I'm afraid it hurts. I don't want to think about children now. I'm still not sure If I want them. But I know he may have found a way to make this country better for every child and it fills me with pride. I still don't know why Peeta chose me of all people, but I know I could have never done any better than this man. He fills my existence with purpose.
"You always find a solution for everything," I say, pressing hundreds of kisses to his mouth, jaw and neck.
"That's my job," he grins, sounding happy. The moonlight sparkles in the deep blue of his eyes.
