The summary doesn't really give insight into what this story is really about. Katniss asked herself how she was going to do it.. how she was going to be a good mother. How she was going to answer their questions when the time came. Well, here's a story that answers that question. Read, enjoy, and review. :)

The warm water falls over my head like an early spring rain. It washes away the dirt and grime of the day from my body. Even though it's been years, and even though my skin is no longer that sensitive, I scrub it as gently as if it were that delicate pink stuff they grafted onto me so long ago. After it's off, I stand in the shower for a few more minutes watching the soapy water go down the drain. Prolonging it. Delaying the inevitable. I take a deep breath before stepping out onto the mat and look into the mirror.

My olive skin is now a sorry excuse for a patchwork quilt. Scars. Burns. Discolored areas that give off the appearance of being bruised. The evidence of war is still there. I close my eyes and fight off the tears. When I open them again the reflection in the mirror is still that of 'The-Girl-Who-Was-On-Fire'. Nearly thirty years and that name still threatens to choke me.

Some wounds will never heal.

I towel off, braid back my long dark hair, and pull on my robe. The house is quiet. On hunter's feet I make my way down the hallway to her door. It was cracked just enough to let me know she's waiting. Waiting for me to tuck her in bed, just as I have for the past eleven years. She refuses to sleep until I do. There is no doubt she adores her father, but my face is the one she wishes to see before facing the darkness. So no matter what kind of day it is for me, whether I am fighting off flashbacks or listening to her brother read to me while trapped by depression in my bed, I make my way to her room and kiss my daughter goodnight.

The moonlight shines in through the slightly open window, illuminating the room enough for me to make my way to her bedside with ease. My first thought goes to how cool the room is, and I immediately fear she could catch a cold or the flu even. I go to close the window but stop short. I remember someone esle who likes to sleep with the window open and I smile.

"Mother?"

No amount of words can explain the feeling I get from hearing that word. I've been called many things in my lifetime. Daughter. Sister. Hunter. Seam brat. Best friend. Tribute. The-Girl-Who-Was-On-Fire. Lover. Ally. Victor. Fiancee. Rebel. The Mockingjay. Mutt. Soldier. Martyr. Assassin. Some of these titles I embraced with everything I had. Others threaten to destroy me with the memories they carry with them. But to hear that one word from my children...Peeta's children...our children, somehow makes everything ok.

I take a seat next to her on the bed. "It's just me sweetheart," I say tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. And there it is. My scowl. Well, it's not mine, but it might as well be.

"Only Haymitch calls me that," she says in a very serious tone.

I barely stifle a laugh because I know it will only make her mad. "Yes, he does call you that doesn't he," I smile at her. She scoots over to make room for me and we sit shoulder to shoulder, leaning against her headboard. We sit like this for awhile without talking. Sleep begins to take over the both of us, and she slides down, laying her head in my lap. I play with her hair trying to soothe her into sleep. Then the silence is broken.

"At first, I didn't like it when he called me that," she tells me. There's a long pause before she continues."Because you didn't like it when he said it to you."

I think back to all those times he called me that. How he used it to patronize me. Suggesting that I wasn't very sweet after all. I don't deny that I'm not, but that doesn't mean I wanted to be reminded. I also remember the look I gave him the first time he used it in reference to my daughter."I still don't," I say. She just smiles at me.

"Yea, I know you don't," she says closing her eyes. Her breathing becomes very rhythmic and I know she's falling asleep. There's a peaceful feeling that I get sitting here with her, listening to her breathe, feeling her heart beating, knowing she's safe. I would be happy to fall asleep here with her. But I can't. Becuase her safety means everything to me, and I wont be helping her by staying. It's too dangerous. So I get up and tuck the quilt in tight around her. Then I kiss her forehead and slip out of the room.

On my way to my bedroom I stop and peek into his room. I walk over, push his blonde curls off his forehead gently, and plant a kiss in the same spot as I did his sister. "Love you," I whisper. Then I go and double check the locks on his window. For him, not just for me. Unlike his sister, he prefers it closed, locked. He feels...safer. And I can't say I blame him. As I go to leave a little voice stops me.

"Love you too," he whispers.

There's chapter one. There are a lot of people writing stories about how Katniss and Peeta grew back together. I understand why they write them, because it doesn't tell you how, just that they did. I never wondered because that's just how they work. Katniss and Peeta were did what they always did, saved each other. Katniss didn't wonder either, she said she knew it all along. But she did wonder how she was going to be a parent to them, and answer their questions when the time came. I wondered too. So that's where I'm going with this story. Review and let me know what you think. Every thought is appreciated. I'll update soon :)