Charles de Gaulle airport is every bit as confusing now as it was the first time Peeta set foot in it nearly four months ago. The bustle of people moving from plane to train or bus or taxi, or the reverse, the clatter of suitcase wheels, it's all underpinned by the announcements that seem to occur every ten seconds in rapid-fire French. He still can't pick out more than a handful of words, but the cadence of the language is a little more familiar now. Everything in this crazy, vibrant, unpredictable city is a little more familiar now.

But not anywhere near as familiar as the raven-haired beauty heading towards him, bundled in a puffy green jacket that's completely unnecessary for Paris since it hasn't yet dropped below 50, even though Christmas is but a week away.

Katniss. His Katniss, or so he likes to think of her, though truly, Katniss will never belong to anyone but herself. But after more than twenty years of being best friends, half of which he's been completely in love with her, he can't help but think of her as his own.

He drinks in the sight of her, towing a battered suitcase, head held high, steps quick and sure despite the exhaustion he can see written across her face, even from here. She left Philly seventeen hours ago, a two hour layover in Frankfurt morphing into six hours because of mechanical issues. Even still, she won't show any weakness, she has more strength and resiliency than anyone else he's ever met.

And she's so insanely beautiful, inside and out. He's missed her desperately.

He knows the moment she catches sight of him across the crowded concourse. Her perfect peach lips tip up in a smile, that rare and beautiful heart-stopping smile she saves only for him. Then she's running, and his heart nearly trips out of his chest. He laughs, taking a half dozen long steps to meet her. She drops her suitcase and leaps into his arms, and something loosens inside Peeta, all of the pent-up longing of three and a half months without his Katniss.

She presses her face into the crook of his neck, squeezing him tightly with arms and legs both, and he buries his nose in her hair. Two planes and three airports did nothing to diminish her scent, sweet and woodsy and so damned evocative. He breathes her in, revelling in the feel of her warm, soft body against his own. She's not usually so physically demonstrative, this greeting is something out of his wildest fantasies and he's unwilling to let it end. But the soft hitch of her breath makes him pull back.

Her eyes are tightly closed, but there's no mistaking that she's trying not to cry. He knows her, knows her every nuance. The way her brow furrows and she bites her lips together, her subtle tells. "Hey," he says softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Are you okay?" She makes a soft sound, not quite a laugh, and grips him harder. "What's wrong?" His voice is low and intimate, just for her, as if they're not standing in the middle of one of Europe's busiest travel hubs.

"Just missed you so much," she whispers, her breath hot against his throat and he swallows hard.

"We're here now," he reminds her. Even that is a Christmas miracle as far as he's concerned. He'd planned on flying home for the holidays; the university took a two week break and flights out of Paris were surprisingly affordable. But he'd given up his apartment back in Philadelphia and the thought of spending two weeks under his parents' roof made him sick to his stomach. He was willing to tolerate it though, just to spend a few precious hours with Katniss.

When she suggested instead that she fly out to Paris for Christmas, Peeta nearly fell out of bed, certain the late hour—because Katniss could never figure out the six hour difference between their time zones—was giving him auditory hallucinations.

But it was real. Katniss wanted to spend the holiday with him, just the two of them. "Prim's not coming home this year anyway," she had shrugged. "And the only other person I care about seeing is you."

She shivers in his arms as travellers scurry past them. "You're exhausted," Peeta murmurs against her hair, reluctantly setting her back on her feet. "Let's get you back to my place."

She looks up at him, soft grey eyes shining, but brow wrinkled just a little. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was worried. He's about to ask her again what's wrong when she simply nods. "Okay," she says. "We can talk on the way."

They make their way to the train, which always sounds like a breezy, romantic thing in novels, but which is actually a nightmare of shuttle buses and confusing terminals (why is terminal three between terminals one and two anyway?). Peeta is just glad that the nearly endless labour disruptions are on pause this weekend. The train is hard enough to navigate, he has no idea what he'd have done if he'd been forced to figure out the taxis.

He figures they'll chat on the train, he'll tell her the plans he's made, the places he wants to share with her. Instead, she falls asleep almost as soon as they pull out of the station, slumping against his shoulder, still bundled up tight in her jacket. He shifts to cradle her in his arms, where he's certain she belongs, kissing her head as she sighs and snuggles more deeply into his embrace.

Peeta loves Katniss, and he's been patiently waiting for her to catch up for years. He knows she loves him too, but her shitty childhood damaged her in ways he can barely fathom. She's put up wall after wall, pushing him away any time he got too close, making him subsist on the dregs of her affection. But he is persistent.

And he thinks it's finally bearing fruit.

He spent the night before he left for Paris in Katniss's apartment, in Katniss's arms, in Katniss's bed. And while they'd been sleeping together for years, that night felt completely different. That night felt like making love. She had lain in his arms that night, as open and vulnerable as he had ever seen her, and he swore she was going to ask him to stay.

He would have, for her.

But she hadn't. She'd driven him to the airport and kissed him goodbye with that fake smile she pulls out when she's trying to hide her emotions.

He figured she'd push him away again after that. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Instead, his absence seemed to make her heart grow fonder, as the old saying goes. Or maybe it was just easier for her to express her emotions over skype, where bolting when things got too intense was as simple as pushing a button on her computer and pretending the internet had gone out. She did that a few times, it's true. But for the most part, over the three and a half months he's been gone, Katniss has been more attentive and more affectionate than usual. She messages him every day, every single day. Sometimes, it's a simple good morning text at 2 in the afternoon, sometimes it's a late night email full of details of her day. Often, it's a skype call, and no matter how ill-timed they are, he always answers, anxious to see her beautiful face staring at him through his laptop screen. Plus answering her skype calls when he's already tucked into bed sometimes leads to other types of skype sessions, where she'll take off her shirt and play with her firm, dark nipples just the way she knows he loves, and he'll blow his load all over the sheets.

A woman pauses in her walk down the train aisle to glance at him and Katniss. "Votre femme est très fatiguée," she says, smiling at them. Your wife is very tired.

"Oui," he says, grinning. Wife. Man, does he like the sound of that. He knows even a whiff of that idea would send Katniss running for the hills. But he has two weeks with her, no family drama, no other obligations, and he's going to use these two weeks to convince her once and for all that what they have is real and forever.

The 35 minute ride is over too quickly, he reluctantly wakes Katniss, stroking her cheek. She blinks slowly, sleepily up at him, confused. Then she jolts upright when she realizes. "I'm sorry," she rasps, but Peeta shakes his head, bewildered.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Katniss. You've been travelling for most of two days, of course you're exhausted."

"We were supposed to talk," she says, looking even more upset as the train slows for their station, Gare du Nord. He'd originally planned on going all the way to the St-Michel-Notre-Dame station and taking her on a little 'introduction to Paris' walking tour, but it's nearly dark, he's starving and she is clearly worn out. So, he'll take her directly to his miniscule studio apartment in the 10th arrondissement instead.

He's a little nervous about showing her his place. It's a tiny studio in a narrow building, new and clean but nothing like the pied a terre he'd imagined he'd live in, with a terrasse looking out over the Seine. Those places are for millionaires it turns out.

Rent in Paris is obscene, even in his student-friendly neighbourhood, and the fellowship grant isn't huge. There are very few listings even close to his budget. Plus, when he'd agreed to lease his current place based only on pictures and a poorly translated internet listing, he hadn't really been able to conceptualize how big 24 m² was. The answer is, insanely small. His whole apartment is only a little wider than the bedroom he shared with his brother in their childhood home. Katniss had called it cute when he'd shown her via skype. He isn't sure how cute she'll think it is after two weeks of living in a spacious closet.

"Lots of time to talk when we get home," he murmurs, grabbing her bag and her hand, and it's a testament to how agitated she must be that she doesn't even balk at his use of the word home.

It's a seven block walk from the station, more or less, Paris streets aren't laid out in tidy grids like back home, they meander, and it's hard to measure distance. Katniss doesn't look around wide eyed at the stone buildings, narrow alleys and courtyards like he expects. She clings to his hand, distracted by whatever is racing through her mind.

And whatever it is must be big because she's not even attempting to mask the emotions written across her pretty face. She looks afraid, and Peeta knows it's not the strange area that's upsetting her. So it can only be him. She takes several deep breaths, keying herself up to talk. But she never gets the words out.

His apartment is on the second floor. He pushes open the door and waves her in ahead of him. "It's not much," he says, "but the bed is surprisingly comfortable for a sleeper sofa. We can have a little nap, then I'll make you some dinner." He tosses his jacket over one of the stools in his impossibly tiny kitchenette and tries to help her take off her own coat.

"I need to tell you something first," she says, pushing his hand away, and it's nearly frantic, as if she thinks her words will change his mind.

"Sweetheart," he almost laughs, there's nothing she could say that would make him any less anxious to hold her than he is now.

"Please," she says, her voice strained, and she's not even looking around at his space, all of her considerable will focussed on him alone. Her hands shake as she guides him to the sofa and indicates that he should sit. She backs away when he reaches for her though, and he frowns.

Katniss can only move a few steps away, there just isn't enough room to put any real distance between them. She paces a little anyway, though it's like pacing on a pie plate, and Peeta starts to really worry. He's never seen her so nervous, can't begin to imagine what's upset her so. Unless maybe she's going to tell him she only wants to be friends. But with how many times she's pushed him away before, he doesn't think she'd be this upset. She usually just plays at being cold. This is definitely different.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, but is only a few moments, Katniss sighs, then spins to face him, and unzips her coat, letting the green fabric slither down her arms to pool at her feet.

It takes him several moments to see what she's trying to show him. Under the coat, she's wearing a clingy peach blouse that shows off her tits to absolute perfection, making the sweet swells seem even bigger than usual, two perfect handfuls that make his mouth water. He's distracted enough by her boobs that he almost misses the rest.

Almost misses that her stomach is no longer flat, but gently rounded. Until she lifts a hand to cup the rise of her belly, emphasizing its fullness. His heart speeds up, slamming against his chest. Holy shit!

The question is on the tip of his tongue but he bites back the words, understanding even before the rest of his brain has kicked in that to give voice to them would destroy everything. Katniss wouldn't be standing here, halfway across the world, if the baby wasn't his. She wouldn't do that to him, he knows that. "I'm twenty-four weeks," she says softly, answering the unasked question succinctly. Twenty-four weeks. He counts in his head. He's been gone three and a half months, that's fifteen weeks give or take a few days. This happened before he left. They'd been together for months then, and neither of them ever screwed around with anyone else when they were sleeping together.

A rush of relief hits him, that she's still his, that she hasn't taken up with some other guy while he's been gone. Only after that rush of relief does he feel ashamed of himself for reacting that way, for not worrying first and foremost about Katniss. She's never wanted kids, he knows that, but here she is, standing in front of him, more than halfway through a pregnancy already, and she's done it all alone with him in another country and her sister out on the coast. He wonders how she's managed.

"I wish you'd say something," she whispers, and his eyes snap up to her face from where they'd been lingering in her belly. He's never seen her look so afraid.

There are a thousand questions running through his head, but no words will come out. Instead, he stands and pulls her into his embrace. She holds him tightly, but her body is tense, waiting. "Are you okay?" he finally murmurs. And she nods.

"Are you mad?" Her voice is the barest whisper, muffled by his sweater.

"Oh, sweetheart, no." Is that what she was so afraid of? That he'd be angry she's pregnant? She relaxes a little in his arms, subtly slumping. How could she even think he'd be mad about a baby?

Their baby.

"Holy shit," he breathes, pulling back just a little to look at Katniss's face, the reality finally sinking in. "We're having a baby!"

She snickers, finally, finally sounding like his Katniss again. "Uh, yeah. Did you think it was too many tacos?"

He barks out a great gust of laughter, then picks her up, swinging in a circle, narrowly avoiding bashing into the furniture crammed into his small space. She's flushed and laughing when he sets her back down, utterly gorgeous. He bends to kiss those perfect peach lips, full and sweet, and she moans softly against his mouth. "Missed you," she groans between kisses. "Missed you so much."

He's starving for her. Three and a half months without her touch, with only his own hand to soothe the ache. For all of his grand plans to seduce her, to take his time worshipping her, reminding her how good they are together, he doesn't even pull out the bed.

There's no hesitation, no room for being coy. They stagger the couple of steps back to his couch, he has that pretty orangey blouse and the bra beneath it off and his hands full of her breasts before they even get that far. All he can concentrate on is her, his Katniss, and how perfect she feels under him as he lays her back on the sofa.

He knows they should wait, but all he can hear is the thrum of blood in his ears, a single word drumbeat. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Katniss gives as good as she gets, shoving his button down off his shoulders, then pulling him flush against her, hot skin to hot skin. Next time, he thinks. Next time he'll go slow. He has two weeks with her. That's lots of time for foreplay.

She kisses him hard enough to bruise and he only gets her pants half off before pushing his own down just enough to free his aching cock. Three and a half months without her, his hand a cold substitute those long, lonely nights. It's been hell. It's not the longest they've gone without fucking, sometimes she pushes hard, erecting almost unscaleable walls. But this time the separation has been completely different.

Something sparks at the edge of his mind, some niggling feeling that he's missing something. But she's wrapped her soft hand around his cock and is guiding him into the heat of her sultry embrace and he can't think about anything but Katniss.

It's fast, far faster than she deserves, but she feels so good he can't hold back. A hand wedged between them sends her hurtling over the edge just as he empties himself into her with a groan, shuddering and shaking.

After, she slumps heavy-eyed and sated on his brown microfibre couch, a glorious, dishevelled mess. He slides off the panties still dangling from one slim ankle, and wraps her in a blanket. Then he kisses her softly, over and over, every inch of her face. "God, I love you," he rasps.

"Love you too," she mumbles. Though he knows it's true, she's never said the words to him before. He pulls back just enough to study her face, to look for the truth of those words, but she's pretty much asleep already. He holds her awhile longer, enjoying the feel of her again after so long. But the couch is narrow and he's wired. With a last lingering kiss, he leaves her to nap.

Peeta moves to his small kitchenette while he lets her snooze, flicking off all of the apartment lights except the single pendant that hangs over his tiny kitchen island. He makes pizza dough by hand so his appliances won't wake her, humming happily and tunelessly as he does. He steals glances at her as he measures and mixes. His gorgeous Katniss. The thick, black lashes that kiss her cheeks. The smooth column of her neck, sliding into a leanly muscled shoulder just peeking out over the blanket. Mine he thinks again. Mine.

He's dated other women over the years, but none have ever captivated him like she does. As if she was made just for him. Or more realistically, like he fell in love with her too young and all of his lusts formed around her. Whatever the reason, she is everything he wants. Beautiful, smart, sexy. Kind. Loyal even, under all of that fear.

And now they're having a baby.

Peeta has very little experience with babies. He's the youngest in his family, youngest son and youngest cousin. None of their friends have started families yet, and while his brother Graham has a pair of boys, they live in San Diego and Peeta has only seen them a couple of times. But he knows that Leevy, his sister-in-law, documented practically every step of her pregnancies online, comparing the baby with a fruit each week. Your baby is the size of a grape. Peeta glances back at Katniss again. The blanket covers her stomach, but their baby is definitely bigger than a grape.

He frowns.

Much bigger than a grape.

His iPad is on a stand by the stove, he minimises the recipe page and brings up Facebook, turning the tomato sauce to low before sitting on one of the bar stools against his counter while he scrolls back through Leevy's feed. Sliding past pictures of the boys and cat memes, back about a year and a half, to when Linus was born. Then back further.

Leevy had started posting those weekly updates at five weeks. Katniss would have been nine or ten weeks along when he left. But it was Leevy's second pregnancy, maybe you just figure it out earlier when you've been through it before?

He scrolls back further, brow furrowed, to that post nearly five years ago when Leevy announced they were expecting Leo. Where she announced she was six weeks pregnant. He remembers that, now that he's looking at it again. Remembers his mother chiding Graham over Skype for announcing it too early. Graham had laughed and said they'd already been sitting on the news a couple of weeks. And couldn't wait any longer.

How long has Katniss known?

Did she find out late, so late she had no choice but to carry the child? Was she in denial for awhile, avoiding finding out for sure until she ran out of options? That scenario doesn't seem much like her. Or has she known for months but didn't know how to tell him? More plausible, he thinks.

He can understand, at least a little, her wanting to tell him in person. It's pretty big news. And she did book her ticket nearly two months ago. But how long before that had she known? During how many of those late night phone calls had she hidden this from him? She's a terrible liar; in the past, keeping secrets from him always meant hiding from him, avoiding him until the truth was out there. But she has talked to him nearly every single day and he had absolutely no idea. And the Skype sex, where she'd always kept the camera focussed on her boobs and face, never lower. He hadn't noticed the lack of body shots, focussed as he was in her sweet tits and gorgeous face. But it had to have been intentional.

It starts to make more sense, her fear. She was worried he'd be mad at her for keeping this from him. And how many of their friends were also keeping this secret? Or worse, how many of them thought he'd abandoned his pregnant girlfriend to traipse through Paris? Fuck. He did abandon his pregnant… wait, is she his girlfriend? Can he call her that, now that they're going to be parents? Does she intend on finally legitimizing this thing between them? Or does she actually think he'll stand on the sidelines and let—

"Peeta?" Peeta nearly jumps out of his skin. His head jerks up; she's standing no more than two feet away, wearing his blue button down, long legs bare beneath the hem. While he'd been brooding, she'd woken up, pulled on his shirt and walked over to him, soundlessly. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes still heavy with exhaustion, and her hair has come out of its braid, falling around her shoulders in the sexiest waves. She's insanely hot, but he can't let himself get distracted again, not this time. They need to talk, calmly, rationally, like the adults they are. "Hey," she says softly, twisting a rumpled ebony lock around one finger, the way she always does when she's uncertain.

"How long have you known?" he blurts gracelessly. So much for being calm and cool.

Her gaze shutters, and she angles herself away just slightly. Just enough that he knows. He knows.

"Fuck," he whispers, but it sounds loud in the stilted hush between them. "You knew before I left."

She's still and silent, staring intently at the floor, her loose hair shielding her from the full force of his stare. The silence is a heavy thing between them, almost tangible. He thinks she won't say anything at all. But finally, she nods.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice is as even as he can make it, but there's an edge to the words. She's kept this from him for months, this isn't something she found out while she was alone and had to make the best of. She intentionally kept this from him, his child for god's sake!. Was she intending to hide it from him until the birth? Or maybe the entire year and a half he'll be living in Paris? Would he have come home to Katniss gone entirely, never knowing about the life they'd created together?

She wraps her arms around herself, looking small and fragile. But the way she shrugs, flippant and almost unconcerned, just pisses him off more.

"Dammit, Katniss," he snaps. "I would have stayed." The words hang in the air between them.

"That's why I didn't say anything," she grumbles at the tiled floor. "I couldn't risk that. I couldn't risk you giving up your dreams for this."

"You are my dream," he growls, pulling at his hair. She turns to face him, eyes wide. "You always have been, and I've told you that over and over." He's never been pushy with her, knowing her fears. But he's been honest. And he's not going to mince words anymore. Not when he came so close to losing her. Losing them both.

"I thought." She looks away before continuing. "I thought I was too late. You didn't ask me to come with you."

That makes him freeze. "You'd have come? Here?" She spreads her arms wide, and he can practically hear her thoughts. I'm here now, aren't I? "It never occurred to me that you might come with me," he admits.

"I've done such a crappy job of showing you how I feel about you," Katniss says sadly.

"How do you feel about me, Katniss?" She said the words earlier, but that was when she was blissed out and mostly asleep, and because he'd said them first.

"You know," she grumbles. But he doesn't jump in to save her this time. And as the quiet stretches between them, she sighs. "I love you." The words are low, mumbled. Not all that convincing.

"Because of the baby?" He has to know if that's all this is, her words now, the growing together they've done over the past few months. If she's just settling because she feels trapped. That's not a good enough reason for a relationship, no matter how much he loves her. He grew up with parents who got married because of a pregnancy, and their shitty marriage tarnished every aspect of his and his brothers lives.

"No!" Her answer is vehement, angry. She closes the couple of feet between them, standing between his knees, fire flickering in her quicksilver eyes. "I'm scared to death about the baby. The only reason I know it's going to be okay is because I love you." Her voice catches, and he pulls her to him again, holding her as tightly as he can without hurting her, one big hand cupping her nape. "Even before I found out about the pregnancy, I wanted more," she murmurs against his throat. "But I didn't know how to tell you, after saying no so many times. I was scared."

"What do you want now?" Peeta forces himself to ask. He can't make any assumptions here. This is too important.

Katniss pulls back, just far enough that she can look at him without going cross-eyed. "I want you," she says, and Peeta stops breathing. "You and me and this baby. I want us to be a family." She slides a hand out from between them, to cup his cheek, rough with the day's worth of stubble. "Am I too late?"

"Never," he rasps, turning his head to kiss her palm. "I'd have waited for you forever."

She laughs, tears pooling in her eyes. "God, Peeta," she says. "You're too good to me. I could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve you."

"That's not even true," he says, trying to frown but not succeeding. He can't even fake a frown when he's so happy. "You make me happy, and we deserve to be happy." It's a line stolen from the psychologist he used to see, back home, but right now he can see the truth in it. He does deserve to be happy, and so does she. And he thinks they can accomplish that together. So he tells her so.

She nods. "I know you're right." She winds her arms around his neck, bringing their bodies flush again. He can feel it now, how they fit together just slightly differently than before. The extra few inches her burgeoning belly takes up. It feels incredible.

"I'll resign," he says, "but I might have to stay until they can find someone else to teach my classes." Part of the fellowship involves lecturing at the university, something Peeta is enjoying more than he thought he would. He hadn't considered a career in academia before the fellowship, but he's good at it, and he loves the passion his students bring to their art.

"Or," Katniss starts, and he flinches. He's not going to let her do this without him. He's already missed too much. "I could stay here with you."

"Live here? With me?" Would she really do that? Give up her life in Philly for the next year and a bit, just for him?

Katniss snickers, and glances around the tiny apartment, maybe for the first time. "Are you worried about me being underfoot?"

"You know I'm not," he says, exasperated. "But you'd be giving up so much."

"Not really," she shrugs. "I floated the idea with Plutarch of working remotely. He seems onboard." Plutarch is Katniss's boss, she works as a coder for a company that designs educational software. Peeta supposes Katniss could work from anywhere as long as she had an internet connection. But he's shocked that she's already thought about it. Already started making plans.

"You'd have to finally figure out the timezones," he muses and she laughs. But he sobers quickly. "You'd really move here, for me?"

"For us," she whispers, and he kisses those sweet lips, just softly. Katniss grins slyly. "Why not here? Why not now? What better place to dream than in Paris?"

Peeta laughs, loud and unfettered. "Did you just quote Ratatouille at me?"

"It was one of the in-flight movie selections!"

Peeta's smile threatens to crack his entire face. Katniss, his Katniss, now she really is his, as much as she can belong to anyone. Everything he's ever wanted is spread before him, a feast fit for a king. The girl of his dreams, the fellowship he's chased after forever, a life making art in a city where art is revered. And soon, a baby. A little person who will be half him and half her.

He shifts Katniss in his arms, sliding one big hand around to cup her belly, the bump firmer than he was expecting. Katniss looks down between them, tears shimmering in her eyes. She leans into him, moving her hand on top of his, so they're both holding their future baby. Peeta twines their fingers together over her stomach. "So what now," he whispers.

"Now you finish making the pizza I can smell cooking, and I'll pull out your crazy bed so we can mess up the sheets." He laughs, and she presses a kiss to his scruffy cheek. "Then we can make plans, together. Okay?"

"Together," he echoes. Yeah. Peeta likes the sound of that.