Written for the promptsinpanem "Day Five" challenge on Tumblr!

A Quiet Morning

By JLaLa

"Peeta, you should get in here."

Holding up the plastic stick at eye level, I give it a quick shake. What the hell am I doing? Shaking it is not going to change the result; the two pink lines aren't going to disappear.

I don't want them to either.

He walks in still groggy. Peeta gives me a sleepy smile but when he sees what I hold in my hand, he freezes.

"Is that what I think it is?" he asks me. I nod. "And you're…" I nod again. "When?"

"Johanna and Gale's toasting," I reply and put it on the counter. That was a month ago.

"You're pregnant," he says quietly, almost to himself and looks down. When he meets my eyes again, Peeta is grinning.

"So you're okay with this?" I ask tentatively. My hands caress my still flat abdomen. After all this time, we thought we were finished.

We had our two already. Zoe, our first child, has just turned eighteen and will be leaving in two months for District Four to train in medicine with my mother. Mitchum is thirteen and just gaining his independence. He doesn't even let me hug him anymore in public. The first time he turned down a hug; I think my heart broke a little.

Peeta made up for it. However, that is how we arrived at our current situation.

I thought our only problem would be Empty Nest Syndrome.

Peeta pulls me to him and our lips meet. I can feel him harden against me as he moves forward, his arms encircling my waist. My back hits the counter and I push myself up to sit on it. Deepening the kiss, I let his tongue massage mine and feel that pleasurable twist in the lower part of my belly.

After a moment, I pull away and rest my head against his shoulder. "So I'm guessing we're happy about this?"

"Yes," he replies, his breathing still harsh from the kiss. "Real or not real?"

"Real," I say. I take his hand and place it on my stomach. "Or that was a bad cake that you made last night."

I think of the reason I had come into the bathroom in the first place. I woke up because of the sudden need to throw up. After I had finished, I realized that I had never felt that sick since being pregnant with Mitchum.

So I took the test and here we are.

"I don't make bad cakes!" He frowns at my statement.

"No, you just make babies," I tease. His face relaxes into a grin. Peeta kisses my chin.

"You helped," he says to me. "Do you think we can handle another one?"

I don't have a response.

I hop off the counter and take his hand to walk out of the bathroom. In our bedroom, I continue to lead him out into the hallway and across the hall to Zoe's door. Quietly, I turn the knob and we enter the room. Zoe lies on her stomach taking a deep breath as she sleeps.

Zoe is sassy. She has the ability to make people laugh and everyone loves her. Most of all, she is strong. She is stronger than all of us.

There's a lot of Prim in her. It makes me happy but at the same time so sad.

"I think we did a fine job with her," Peeta whispers into my ear. He wraps his arms around my waist. "She's going to be a Doctor one day. She's beautiful like you. Best of all, she scares the hell out of every boy in District Twelve." Zoe's skill in archery is up to par, if not better, than my own.

"One day, there's going to be a boy who is not afraid of her," I warn.

I have a feeling that there is already someone who isn't afraid of our huntress daughter.

She disappeared with Annie's son during her birthday. Zoe is lucky that I was able to keep Peeta occupied. She was gone so long that I had to occupy him twice.

Not that I'm complaining.

"Maybe the one in your stomach will choose celibacy," he reasons.

"You can hope. Didn't I say I was never having children though?" I look over at him and grin.

"Touché."

I go over to my daughter and pull the blanket to cover her back. I kiss the top of her dark hair. Peeta does the same.

She sighs in her sleep and smiles. "Oranges and bread." She knows our scents, she knows us. Oranges for me, I have been eating them for the last two weeks. Bread for my husband, of course.

Hand in hand, we walk out the door and into the hallway again. We can hear the loud snoring in the room right next to Zoe's.

"Where does he get that from?" I ask.

"Rye used to snore that loud," Peeta tells me quietly and I squeeze his hand. Even after all this time, the memory of our siblings is still painful. He smiles at me ruefully. "At least he lives on in some way." We open the door to our son's room.

Music sheets are the first thing we see. They're on the walls, on his desk and on the floor. His guitar is in the corner, a present from Gale and Johanna. Mitchum is sprawled on his bed, his mouth hanging open as he snores.

Peeta picks up the sheets on the floor and smiles as he looks over them. "He has a talent for lyrics."

"I was never good with words," I tell him. "They get all their good traits from you." I'm not jealous, I'm happy that they get chances to develop such talent. We were never given that chance. My children have grown up in a world where they don't have to worry that they'll be reaped.

"They get their strength from you," my husband replies. "Look how well Zoe was when we told her about the Games."

We told our daughter two years ago about our participation in the Hunger Games. Other than a nightmare, she took it with a quiet strength that we never knew she had in her. Zoe was always talkative but this subject always makes her silent. She carries this knowledge about us proudly however, to remind herself of our sacrifice.

Soon we will have to tell Mitchum. He doesn't understand sometimes why people stare at Peeta and me. People choose to keep quiet for his sake.

I pick up the pillow that has been tossed on the ground by my son while asleep and put it on the bed. Even as a baby, Mitchum moved around. He would toss and turn in his crib. Peeta was scared that he would accidentally flip over and suffocate himself. Many nights, I would find him sleeping in Mitchum's nursery, just in case.

"Our boy," he whispers and runs a hand through his hair. It is straight and blond like Prim's. I go and kiss the side of Mitchum's head. His hair smells like sugar just like Peeta's after a day at the bakery.

Like father, like son.

He takes my hand and we walk back into the hallway.

Back in our bedroom, I crawl back onto my side of the bed. Peeta goes to his side. Turning towards one another, I take his hand.

Peeta's eyes dance jovially and I watch them as his face inches towards mine. Soon his lips are only a breath away.

"Life will not get any sweeter or any quieter than this," he whispers to me.

I grin and as I do, my lips, just barely, touch his own. He sighs.

"Remember when we were on the roof of the Training Center?" He nods. "You said you wanted to freeze that moment and live in it?"

"I remember."

"I want to freeze this moment," I tell him. "Because right now, it is the five of us together and it won't be like that soon. Zoe is leaving in two months and Mitchum doesn't want his Mama giving him hugs anymore." I sigh. "I'm holding this one in."

"I'm sure you'll change your mind when a heatwave hits and you have swollen ankles," Peeta replies.

"Probably."

We lay in content silence and Peeta pulls me against him. His hand finds my stomach and I place my hand over his as I close my eyes. Sometimes when it's quiet like this and I open my eyes, I think that I am back in the Arena hiding in the cave cuddled against him. However, I'm not afraid because he's there just as he's always been.

For a minute, it is quiet.

"MITCHUM!" The sound of running is followed by a door slam.

We wait.

Then there is the pounding at our door.

"Mom! Dad! Mitchum poured water on me while I was sleeping!" Zoe is mad; it is the only time that she calls Mitchum by his full name.

We both sit up reluctantly and our eyes meet. Peeta smiles after a moment and I do the same.

"Number three will be quieter," he tells me jokingly.

"I hope not," I say.

"Me too."

As much as we love a quiet morning, we love the loud ones with our children even more.

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