The Hunger Games One Shots

7. Maybe Pregnant

pre-epilogue, katniss thinks she's pregnant. taken from an unpublished fic of mine.

"Do you think I could be pregnant?" I ask, shaking involuntarily. I thought I was an expert on fear, but this is an entirely different kind.

"I'm not a doctor, but maybe," he whispers to me calmly, but by the way his heart beats, I can tell he is hoping, praying, that I am pregnant. Fear consumes me at that moment, and it is in that moment that the single thought crosses my mind.

I don't want a baby.

I almost say it out loud, but bite my tongue. What happens if I am? Would I get an abortion just because it makes ME uncomfortable, crushing Peeta's heart forever and putting our marriage at risk? Or do I put my big girl panties on, take a deep breath, and carry out with the pregnancy?

It's crystal clear in my mind what I want, but with that choice also comes the risk. The risk of breaking my one true love beyond repair and jeopardizing our relationship. I inhale deeply, and look into Peeta's eyes and give a weak smile, hoping I don't give away just how afraid I am of taking a pregnancy test and seeing the word 'positive' on it.

After awhile, Peeta begins to prepare dinner and I go upstairs to call Annie, who I haven't spoken to for a few weeks. When she picks up, I speak quickly in a hushed voice.

"Annie," I whisper, "I need your help. Please."

"Of course," she says, curiosity in her voice. "What's the matter, Katniss?"

"I think I might be pregnant."

She gasps, and exclaims, "Oh, that's wonderful! Does Peeta know?"

I hesitate before answering her. "Yes, but... it's not wonderful. Annie I.. I just-I don't want a baby. At least, not yet. But my only choice is to ruin my marriage and break Peeta's heart or to carry out with this and end up being afraid out of my mind."

Her end of the line is silent for a moment until she begins to speak again. "Well... I don't think I'm really the one you should be going to if it's that... major of a problem. Maybe you should consult your mom? And don't scowl, I can tell you're doing it at the end of the line. She can help you through this, I mean, she's probably dying to help you through this."

I sigh and end the call on Annie, pressing my back against the wall. Consult my mother? As if.

A knock on the door informs me that dinner is ready, so I open it, give Peeta a quick nod and walk to the kitchen, sitting in 'my' chair. Looking at Peeta, it breaks my heart how happy he seems that I could be pregnant. We eat in silence, and I can tell assumes I'm just too happy to speak, but really if I speak I may just blurt it out.

Later that night, I watch TV on the couch while Peeta paints something in his art studio we set up a month ago. I can only imagine what he's painting now. Usually, it's therapeutic for him. On the bad nights, where neither of us can stay asleep, he goes into the studio and paints for a few hours. My curiosity always gets the best of me so I often end up watching from the doorway. He doesn't notice, though, he's so into what he's painting. Most of the time, they're of me or the Games. When he paints of the Games, I always leave the room because of how realistic they are.

Peeta suggested I should start playing an instrument, like the piano, since at night it's too dangerous to go out into the woods. Even without the threat of being turned into an Avox, the predators still lurk in the shadows, waiting for you to be distracted so they can pounce on their prey. I always laugh at that, since I have no musical talent. I tell him watching him paint is enough.

He paints late into the night, so when the crack of midnight hits, and I can't sleep for the life of me, I watch him again. Leaning against the doorway, I see the crease on his forehead he gets when he's concentrating really, really hard on something. His body blocks the canvas, so I can't see what he's painting at the moment.

He pauses, sighs, and moves aside to grab another paint brush. It gives me a clear view of the painting, and my breath catches in my throat.

It's of me, Peeta, and... a little girl. Everything is painted in hues of pink and purple, implying it's a girl. Peeta notices my gasp and turns around, catching sight of me studying the artwork.

"It's not finished," he states, staring at me intently. I smile slightly, fabricating happiness. "Do you like it?"

I hesitate before answering."Yes, Peeta, I like all of your paintings. But what I'd like right now is for you to come to bed," I respond, my hand gripping the white trim of the doorway. He sighs, looks at his creation one more time, contemplates it for a bit, and finally takes off his smock and sets the paintbrushes down after washing them off in a small cup of water, now turned a deep shade of purple.

I grab his pink-stained hand, trailing to the bedroom. He goes into the bathroom and washes his hands, afterward drying them off and changing into pajamas. He lays down, turning off the lamp next to him, and wrapping his strong arms around me. A sense of security washes over me. Maybe because of the familiarity of the act, after all of the unfamiliar things that happened today.

It makes me realize, long after he's asleep, that no matter what I'll do he'll always stay with me. Even if it causes him to be miserable. So later, when I wake up from a nightmare, I tell him. He doesn't seem to mind, he understands. That after everything that's happened to us it'd be expected to be afraid. He says he'll support me in whatever decision I make if it comes to it.

And it breaks my heart.