He knows how hard she tries.
He knows this better than anyone. And so he tries not to hover. Tries to make their daughter understand that mama doesn't always mean it when she yells, that when she wants to be left alone, that when she's gone for hours sometimes out in the woods, it's not because she doesn't care. That she doesn't hug and kiss and ruffle her daughter's hair like other mommies do because it's too much. Because mama loves her too much.
But six year olds don't really understand that, and when he sees her small stature running down the steps as he makes his way up their driveway, he feels that small pang in his chest at the tears streaming down her face.
"What's the matter cupcake?" he murmurs softly as their daughter, blond hair bright as the sun hiding those familiar brown eyes, throws her arms around his Capitol-given leg. He bends down, picking her up easily with one hand, using the other to push her hair back. She sniffs, her shoulders shaking.
"Mama hates me," she whispers, lips trembling in sadness, and his heart breaks (It always does. Again and again, every day, with each reminder they can both never run away from).
"Don't say that," he tells her firmly, pulling her face gently up by her jaw as he shoots her a smile. "Mama loves you so much."
"But she yelled at me again. She always yells at me when you're not home," she whines. He frowns, holding her tighter against him as she buries her face in his neck.
"Tell me what happened," he says soothingly as he begins to walk towards their front door. He knows Katniss is in there, probably standing just behind the door, listening to every word.
"I- I-" she hiccups. "I didn't mean to."
"You didn't mean to what baby?"
"I just- I just wanted to give her something for her birthday. I- I picked the flowers in the front lawn. I'm so sorry papa,"
"Hey, hey it's okay. Ssh don't cry, it's okay. She doesn't hate you sweetie, the flowers just remind her of aunt Prim, remember her?"
She nods quietly against his neck.
"The pretty lady in the book. She makes me mama sad."
"Yeah, she was just sad because of aunty Prim."
"Did I make her sad?" Their daughter pulls away from him, her eyes wide, and he hates the guilt-stricken look on her face, hates the fact that this fault lies on a revolution that made them pawns in a cruel game, and that his beautiful, innocent child feels the need to shoulder the blame.
"No baby-"
The front door opens abruptly and startles them both as Katniss stands in the doorway, her face grim. He knows how people wonder, how the district's rumor mill is kept fresh with whispers of broken Katniss Mellark, who will never be able to leave the war behind her, forever doomed as the Mockingjay, the face of the revolution that broke them both. He knows what they see when they look at her with her hard, unforgiving eyes, and lips thin, stretched out into a line. They think she's numb.
But he has always known her more than anyone else ever will, and he is the only one who notices the worry hiding behind those eyes, the small upturn of those lips at the little things their daughter does, the protective, almost possessive stance she has whenever her family is around. And right now, he sees the regret in her eyes, her posture reproached.
Her eyes meet his, begging him to tell her what to do. She never knows what to do with the small bundle in his arms. Their daughter looks at her quietly, her grip around his neck tightening.
"Thank you," Katniss finally says, stumbling on her words. "For the flowers. I'm sorry I yelled at you, you made a beautiful bouquet."
The little girl looks at her doubtfully, before she turns to look up at him. He smiles down at her, feeling her hold around his neck loosening. She jumps from his arms to Katniss's like a little feline, and he grins at the surprised look on his wife's face. Not a lot of things can take Katniss Mellark by surprise. Her features soften as her arms wrap protectively over their daughter's.
"I love you mama."
He watches the warmth enter her eyes, and when she looks up at him, he sees the pool of tears.
"I love you too."
It's in the middle of the night, when his arms are wrapped tightly around her waist, their legs tangled together as their bodies press against each other as closely as they can (it's the only way they feel safe, the only thing that keeps the nightmares away), that she speaks.
"She looks so much like her," she whispers, her fingers clenching into his wrists. He buries his nose in her neck, placing a soothing kiss against her skin as she relaxes. "She looks like you, but with those eyes, all I see is Prim sometimes. And- and today, when she stood there in front of me, I just can't-"
"I know," he mumbles quietly against her skin. "I know."
She fidgets and he lets go just long enough for her to turn in his arms.
"Do you think she hates me?" she whispers quietly. In the quiet privacy of their room, her emotions run free on her face, and he can see the terror in her eyes. He shakes his head.
"She could never hate you, Katniss. You're her mother."
"I wish I was better."
"You're the best you can be."
"It's not good enough."
He leans forward, their noses touching as his eyes bore straight into hers unwaveringly.
"We'll get there," he promises. "For her."
He doesn't notice her hand until it's already pulling his away from her waist, pulling it down towards her belly.
"For them," she whispers.