Disclaimer: The THG universe belongs to Suzanne Collins only. I make no profit playing with her characters.

A/N: It's been a while since the last update, I know and I am very sorry for that. There are many reasons why and they all have to do with my betas and my own real lifes. I certainly never intended to "celebrate" a one year anniversary since the last update. Again, I am sorry. But I won't make it two years.

I have rewritten chunks of the earlier chapters to give the story more background. There will also be two outtakes from Peeta's POV that I wrote ages ago, but never posted them here. So if you don't want to reread, you are not missing anything. I'll try to update it once or maybe twice a week, so it will all be up on the story's third birthday.

A big thank you to Mary and Fremus, who beta-ed and reviewed the original and the edited version for me. You guys are the best! All errors still in there are solely mine!

I also thank you, my readers, for having put up with me and my lack of updates so far. Thank you for your reviews to tell me that you care about this story, even though it's been so long. I really don't know if I would have ever finished this, hadn't there been your encouragements. Thank you!


Prologue

"Katniss, please, there is no one else. You have to..… have to take care of him, please no community home", Prim pleaded faintly. She was too weak to look up at me; even her normally rosy cheeks were dreadfully pale from the effort of childbirth. I sat by her bedside, not daring to leave for a single moment, afraid of what might happen. Of what was going to happen. She had lost so much blood, exhausted herself to bring this child into the world. It was an inevitable truth and we both knew it. There was no pretending. I had seen enough people dying– Mama, Aunt Ruth, Prim's mangy old cat, to recognize that look.

I softly swiped an old cloth across her forehead, which was shining from sweat and despite mine and the midwife's best attempts, the fever hadn't calmed down. It wouldn't and so the lady had left me alone in this, us alone in this, as she had other patients to take care of, patients who would live. She didn't say so out aloud, but sometimes it's the words you don't say that tell you everything.

Prim looked so in peace with herself, that I could hardly stand it, quite content really, only her eyes which held a feverish gaze gave her anxiousness away. She did not fear dying, she had told me once but I had not believed her then and I do not now. She is scared and so am I.

"Don't worry about me, Katniss. I will be in a better place with Papa and Aunt Ruth…" She didn't mention our mother. I put my finger on her lips, her voice got weaker with every syllable and she shouldn't exhaust herself by talking to me.

"Don't worry about us, dear, I will make it and so will he." I nudged my head towards the corner, where the small bassinet stood, its fabric thin and yellowed from age, but still in good shape. I had intended to let my voice sound steady, to give her all the assurance she needs, but what comes out of my mouth can only be called a croak.

"I will take good care of him," I promised again, "and he shall never forget about you."

Still, looking after a newborn on my own wasn't something I had ever seen myself doing, I had never wanted children, never aspired to be a mother. Not in this world, where I struggled daily to earn our living and in which it had been sheer luck that I hadn't ended up in one of the factories that had seemingly arisen one by one out of nowhere all around our small town.

Her son and I soon would be the only family each other had left. Being an aunt was an idea I had time to get used to in the past few months since Prim had told me. Being an aunt and mother at the same time was another story, because I had never taken care of a toddler, never even been interested in how to change one of those diaper cloths that piled up in her drawer before the midwife had shown me.

No, I would be alone in this without my beloved sister, and this is what scared me. No matter what happened, I was not allowed to fail as there was no one to step up for me if I did. It was out of question, whether or not I'd do it. I had practically raised Prim from when she was about 10 years old, and despite her mistake I would not let her or her son down.

"Of course I do", I reassured her, avoiding looking at her face. For what it's worth, there should be no doubt for her, I wanted to show her strength, to be strong for her, She should not leave this world in worry and when that thought crossed my mind, I could not help but gulp down the big lump that had formed in my throat.

I felt too close to tears so I simply took her cold left hand in mine to let her know that there was no need to worry about that as long as I lived.

"Don't blame him Katniss", she whispered. I didn't know whom she meant – the boy or the father that she refused to talk about. Every time I had asked she just smiled and shook her head, sometimes even with that odd look of bliss in her face while looking down on her belly. She kept telling me that it didn't matter, and perhaps it truly didn't for her. Once I had nearly lost my temper, and as much I would have liked to yell at her at that moment, to let it out, I just couldn't. At least she gave in by assuring me that no one had touched her against her will. Though I think I would have known if that had happened. Or maybe not? I'd also never thought she'd do something like this.

Those months preceding her pregnancy I had been pretty busy with my career at the theatre. I'd spent so much time on stage rehearsing our new play, that I'd hardly been home to know what was going on, which I now regretted. Maybe the child wouldn't have happened if I had been around her more. Or possibly I would have some clue about the father. No matter what she kept telling me, I knew that I had failed to protect her, that I had been selfishly pursuing my career and too focused on myself. I should have never left her like this, so she shouldn't have become one of those women. She now had a stigma which will never leave her, which will never leave me and the boy who had no father. That is what they already have been saying.

"Katniss?" After that bit of rest, her voice – now a bit stronger than before – brought me back to reality immediately and I threw her a nervous, questioning glance. "I'd like to see him." I nodded, fetching what she requested. The tiny boy in a white dress she knitted in her spare time. His blue eyes that already looked so much like hers had made me swallow hard when I had first seen them hours ago. Though the midwife told me that all babies have blue eyes and that their colour might change eventually, I hoped they wouldn't.

The boy had been sleeping ever since in the bassinet at the opposite side of her room. It had been Prim's and mine years ago.

I carefully lifted him as I had been told to earlier and put him into the crook of her arm. She gently stroked his cheek, though fortunately he still didn't wake up. "Little James." I could see her face filling with pride only slightly though, due to the exhaustion that was wearing her out. While I wanted to soak in every detail about that scene, to remember later on, I also needed to escape for a few moments to calm myself. I would not cry in front of her but suddenly I felt as if I couldn't take it any longer in there.

I collected myself, and when I returned Prim and James were both asleep, the top of her white gown slightly open from nursing. I didn't know it then, but this would be the only time.