Chapter 2: Relieved Matrimony

I don't know whether my kiss had some kind of magical power. I don't know if our frenzied coupling endowed Peeta with some extra safety. But whatever it is, Peeta perseveres and becomes the Victor of the 100th Hunger Games over a very competitive field - the first Victor from District 12 in half a century.

When the locomotive bearing him home pulls into the district station, the streets are mobbed. People line the rooftops, straining to get a look at our new champion. Prim, Rory, the children and I don't brave the crowds, but that doesn't stop my anxiety. I tell myself that I will see Peeta in due time. I only hope I don't lose my nerve.

The night of Peeta's return, the Feast has ended, the camera crews are finally gone. The children are put to bed and the district sleeps. Fireworks are still going off, though, in celebration, if for no other reason than the Capitol wants to burn through all that firepower rather than let it go to waste... or fall into enemy hands. Besides, who knows when Twelve will ever get to use fireworks again? In another fifty years?

In my Reaping dress but now with a traveling cloak over it, I leave my house and cross across town into Victor's Village. Two houses are now lit by candles, for the first time in decades; District 12's first Victor triumphed in one of the earliest Games, but died long before Peeta and I were born.

I identify Haymitch Abernathy's house by the liquor bottles littering the front stoop. Climbing the porch of the mansion across the street, I knock, then step back nervously. When Peeta answers it, his face breaks out into a beaming smile before he gives me a crushing hug.

"Katniss! Oh, it is wonderful to see you again!"

I draw away, my courage flaring, as my eyes bore into his. "I have something to tell you," I say, no nonsense. Taking a deep breath, I meet his gaze and announce. "I'm pregnant."

Peeta's mouth drops open in bewilderment. His pupils flit down to my stomach, which is still flat - I am not even a month along - and then snap back up to my face. "And... are... are you keeping it?"

Merchants, and even some Peacekeepers, have impregnated Seam women before. Sometimes the children resulting from these unions are kept. Sometimes they are not. My sister, and our mother before her, have performed many abortions in their careers as Healers.

My face is solemn, and determined, as I nod. "Yes, I am." It is not the worst fate, to carry the child of an honorable man. And one who is now a Victor besides. Then, I will my voice to speak the next brave words. "Will you marry me?"

Peeta's face fluctuates, unsure whether he should be elated or shocked. But his eyes are unmistakably hopeful as he asks, "Really?"

Again, I nod. "I want my child to know its father. For the baby's sake, I think we should marry. And... I want to marry you anyway." For it's true. In watching the Games, I told myself if Peeta were so fortunate as to come back alive, I would marry him. I don't know when it started - maybe it started even before this Quell, or even before we grew closer after Gale's death - but I have come to love him.

Peeta beams. "Yes, I will."

I weakly smile back, as I feel him take me in his arms. And as the Baker and I gratefully embrace and kiss, the fireworks whizz and shriek and explode above us in the nighttime sky of Twelve.

I have only worn my wedding dress once before, when I wed Gale Hawthorne by the fireplace in my mother's living room. Then, Prim donned it after me, when she married and Toasted the bread with Rory. For me, I vow that this is to be the last time I will ever wear this white dress, this heirloom from Mother.

We hold the wedding ceremony at night, in the living room of Peeta's Victor mansion, after he and I went and signed the marriage license papers at the Justice Building this morning. Primrose, Rory, Teddy, Daisy and an already tipsy Haymitch Abernathy are the only witnesses.

Peeta toasts the bread in the fire, and we each feed a piece to each other. Then we exchange rings and vows. My vows are far more simple, but I have always been measured and simple in my words anyhow.

"I love you. I know it is not enough compared to your love, but I love you. And I'm sorry I made you wait this long." Breathing deeply, I say with conviction, "I love my husband."

And that soon becomes true when Peeta and I seal our marriage with a kiss, captured in the light of the fire.

"Uhhh... Mmmmm... Ohhh... Peeta..."

"Hmmm... you are gorgeous... Katniss..."

The glassy panes of Peeta's shower rattle as my husband takes me up against the door. My coming in wearing nothing but a bathrobe to take my shower while he was getting out resulted in a wrestling match that led us both to making hot, desperate love under the watery sprays. The children should still be asleep this early in the morning, our baby girl, Injera, dozing in the bassinet at the foot of our bed.

After Peeta and I married, I moved into his Victor's mansion with my children. Peeta has loved them and raised them as though they were his own, which has only made me fall more deeply in love with my husband.

Unfortunately, on this particular morning, Peeta and I are much too loud while dealing with our... sexual urges.

The door leading to the bathroom creaks open and Peeta and I jump out of our frenzied kiss. My eyes go as wide as dinner plates, my very kissed mouth unhinging into a perfect 'O.' There is no way to hide that my legs are folded about Peeta's waist, that he is buried to the hilt inside of me. And that we are both completely naked. Peeta looks just as panicked.

"Daisy..." I breathe out to my seven-year-old, but my eldest daughter just screams and runs from the room in tears. The mood sufficiently killed, Peeta lets me down gracefully and we hurriedly dry and redress.

"I've traumatized our daughter..." Peeta is rambling, looking almost shell-shocked. "I'm a horrible father." While I find it sweet that he refers to another man's daughter as his, now is not the time. All that is left to do is to contain the damage.

Peeta and I find Daisy downstairs, cowering in one corner. Peeta puts on his best smile and coaxes to her. "Daisy... it's OK..."

Daisy's lips quiver in its pout and she whimpers. "You were hurting Mommy!"

Peeta awkwardly lets out what sounds like a chuckle, thrown. For me, I can certainly see why my daughter would misconstrue what I and her step-daddy were doing as anything other than loving. When I wasn't much older than her, I caught Mother and Daddy doing the dirty deed in my father's tool shed, and I thought along similar lines. It is true, sex can be rough, and sometimes I like it rough, but most of the time when Peeta and I have sex, it is loving and passionate.

I decide to step in. Being her mother, Daisy might listen to me more than she might listen to Peeta. Kneeling in front of her, I say soothingly. "Oh, sweetie... Peeta wasn't hurting me. Sometimes... when a Mommy and a Daddy are in love..."

"And here we go... I thought we weren't going to have this conversation for at least another ten years..." Peeta mutters.

I silence him with a pointed look. "Sometimes when a Mommy and a Daddy are in love, they love each other so much that they can't keep it inside anymore and they... have to show it. Daddy - I mean, Peeta - was just showing Mommy how much he loves me."

"But that kind of... showing..." Peeta cuts in delicately. "Is something that you can only do... when you're older." A lot older, I think. "And Mommy and I promise we won't... do that around you again. OK?"

"OK," Daisy whispers meekly. She tries and fails to stifle a yawn. "I'm going back to bed." And she trudges up the stairs to her room.

When we are alone, Peeta sighs heavily. "Well, that went well," he chuckles.

I raise one eyebrow and step closer, languidly draping my arms about his neck. "I just hope she isn't permanently scarred for life."

Peeta chuckles. "That's nothing. Just wait until she turns 18 and we show her my Games." It was something Peeta and I agreed upon early on in our marriage, right before Injera was born - that our children would not see Peeta's Victory in the Hunger Games until they aged out of the Reaping. Maybe that is a little extreme, but if it keeps even a thread of innocence in my babies for a little while longer, so be it.

I kiss Peeta's lips chastely, my fingers weaving and caressing into his hair. "I love you," I murmur quietly.

Peeta pecks me on the mouth in return, beaming. "I know. I love you too. I always have."