This is dedicated to my two cousins. Their grandma passed away recently, she was sick for a long time, but her death was sudden. Life is precious.

Hey, AssassinAuthor is back! For a day...

So this was something I could not get out of my head. A few quick things first, 1) AMAZING Thanks to VotumAstrum for editing this for me, cuz...well, you found the mistake I did not. :p

2) No, I am not permantally back. I will be officallly publishing again on...the...First? Of January? Of 2013? Something like that...KIDDING! Chapter 15 of The Second Warrior is HALF WAY DONE.

Lastly, 3) This is before Katniss's and Peeta's babies...lol. Nevermind... ON WITH IT!

The first time I looked into her eyes, I fell in love with this unimaginably perfect being.

The love I felt, it was not something I felt capable of.

It was primitive, unnatural within my body, but somehow, entirely justified.

Motherly.

But I am no mother, at least no reliable, substantial mother.

Nothing to be proud of.

But the moment I knew, this primitive preexisting power in me began to form.

It happened late summer.

Peeta had been begging me for her for much too long. I had the strangest premonition, that despite how much my mind would not want to give him a child,

my body would accept.

After all, we had been wed nearly twenty years previous.

The safety of each other's arms was the only sanctuary to keep us sane.

We had Haymitch, of course. But the two of us were mostly taking care of him, in the drunken state he needed so much. He had not a pair of arms to drive the terrors away.

I had Peeta, and him, me.

Peeta also depended on his deep, unyielding dream of a child, one that was all his own.

I had no idea how he believed he would want someone else in his life, someone who he dragged alone, that relied on him for basic necessities.

But it was what he wanted.

As for myself, it was harder to drive away the terror of having another relying on me, another, that I would fail.

Until we hosted a reunion of sorts.

Mother came, and Johanna. Gale, as painful for the both of us, accepted the invitation, replying to my call by saying he would leave his wife and child in Two.

Lyme came. And Pultrach.

Annie was the last to come.

With her and Finnick's son.

Calder.

He was young.

Just over a decade.

But his smile.

And laugh.

His face.

Eyes.

Lips.

All his father's.

Protective, strong, clever, and a dreamer, just like Finnick, sure and strong.

He grew up.

He was alive.

Maybe my child would be like that.

Perhaps, just perhaps, if I let my mind go, and dream for a moment, my body would handle the rest.

And it did.

I noticed but at first, I was oblivious. Three months after the gathering, I had not had my cycle. It was a hard day when I realized this.

But I had my Peeta.

He was dumbfounded when I told him.

The dawn light drifted through slightly ajar curtains, shifting the dust particles in the light. I lay on my back, short sleeves pushing over my shoulders as I trailed my left arm through the beams. When I drifted my arm through them, I could tell by the give in the blanket, that it was an early morning for Peeta.

He must have wakened an hour ago, based on the sun light in our room. The sheet was ruffled on his side, but my eyes never left the window. I left my thoughts to lazily swish from one to another, a slightly therapeutic practice.

When I considered the things to request on the next train from the Capitol, I knew I had missed my cycle twice. Then considering the timeline in my mind, it was supposed to be happening now.

But it had not.

My breath hitched. It grew stronger, quicker as I slowly grew more awake from my stupor. Could it be?

After years of pleading from Peeta?

Was it my turn to repay him for saving me?

Was it me? Did I wish for this to come with my silly dreams?

Was I, truly, was I pregnant?

I grew restless, my breath huffed out, as I realized I was panicking.

Why? Why? Was this the way my mother had felt? Why now? Why was I panicking?

Then I forced the panic from my mind.

I sat up, crawled out of bed, and walked over to the six squared windows.

I trailed my fingers over the glass, having to force thoughts from my mind, thoughts of doubt, and desire for it not to be true.

Why not?

I was brave in more dangerous situations. I could take it step by step, day by day.

My breath calmed a little, panic fading into worry; I clouded the glass with my breath.

Why not now?

It was not better than any other time, but nothing particularly harsh, or wrong to it.

What if this was how my mother had felt?

I could ask her… what type of a child would I be if I never told my mother that she would be a grandmother? If I took the privilege of a caring for another person from her, I would be as bad as death.

Why not be nervous?

Nerves are a sign of caring, were they not? If I cared, would not I make a better mother?

Why not panic?

Everyone I had been close to had been in danger, I had let down, had died?

I was right to be panicking, with my past.

But this was not my past, this was now.

And this was my future.

I laughed. My uneasiness exhausted with that breath.

The sunshine was gold, and I was going through a phase of nature.

A tear slipped out of my eye, I covered my mouth, braid curling with my spine as I leaned on my left hand, against the window ledge.

I wiped the tears away. I felt human.

I knew there was only one thing I needed left. I had to make sure that the two people sharing one body could cooperate.

I lifted my shirt over my midriff, the white hem grazing my ribs.

I shut my eyes, fending off a few more joyous tears, and poked my stomach gently, amazed at the hope of my child in there.

"Hey. Listen to me." I whispered to my own body. I was a fool, but a fool with a new love. "You are mine, and I am your mother, now and forever. So you

gotta listen when I talk."

I warned the child growing there. I felt more special, not simply a human, a human with a duty, a task, and a promise to uphold.

"Look," I whispered. "Mom's going only to say this once. I love you now, forever, and no matter what kind of person you grow up to be, monster or not, but right now, we are going to lay down some rules. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing that is uncomfortable, bad, or dangerous."

I sighed. "I am going to tell your daddy about you now. But you can't do anything bad, and you certainly cannot leave us, because Daddy will be awfully sad if you go….And so will I."

I found Peeta in the kitchen, easel and canvas propped up. He still had his night clothes on, with a simple apron on top.

His sleeves were rolled up; paint flecked his hands, wrist and apron.

Reds, blacks, and browns.

The colors of the Games.

He must have had a nightmare and not wanted to wake me.

I was leaning against the door way, fingers curled gently around the ledge for the door, which had been left thrown open.

Peeta had an immensely intense expression, never pausing his quick deft strokes, never regretting a choice.

I watched him with anxious eyes.

My emotions were just as shaken as the morning after I told Peeta I loved him, real.

I stood there for only a few more moments.

Peeta stopped. He began to gather his painting supplies. I made a movement, subconsciously rubbing the back of my hand against my stomach, thoughtful

that there would be a curve soon. With that movement, Peeta shot his eyes up, locking them on me.

I saw red in his eyes; he had not gotten enough sleep. He stood straighter, relaxing his shoulders, though. I slipped into the room, moving around his supplies, not glancing at the painting.

"Hi," I whispered, curling my hands around his hand, brushing my knuckles against the silver band around his fingers. Before our marriage, we both decided we wanted something to wear to symbolize our bond. We settled on silver rings, worn on our left hands. Peeta's was a little thicker than mine; I had opted for something a little bit slimmer, hoping it would not impede my grip on my bow when hunting. I leaned into him, shutting my eyes.

He wrapped his left arm around my shoulders; I could smell the scent of paint on his skin. "What happened to you?" he smiled. "You are so much calmer this morning. I usually am woken up by you hoping out of bed to go hunting…"

He trailed off, hoping I would fill him in.

"I have something to tell you…" I wanted to share this now. This second. I wanted it to be special, not something he would expect.

He smiled a little. "Can I show you something first? Please?"

I bit my lip and nodded. He put his hands on my shoulders, pushing the sleeves down at the same time. He turned me to face his painting, wrapping his arms over my ribs, pulling me against him.

"Peeta..."

"Katniss," He murmured, his eyes were not on his painting, but on me. He knew I do not like his paintings of the Games. He usually does not try this hard to

make me look at them. "Please, just look. It isn't from the Games."

I turned to the easel.

On the canvas was the back of a person, clothed in black. The figure's hair was woven in one single braid, which was flicked to the side. She was engulfed in

flames. Peeta's magnificence in his art work was breathtaking. My eyes flew over the painting, taking in all the details.

Peeta had painted me, in the tribute parade of our first Games.

He painted a memory that was not sad, was not grueling, and bloody.

I turned in his arms, "You didn't have a nightmare last night, did you?"

He smiled, laughing a little. "No nightmare. Just a dream. It was the two of us, in the fire. We were happier than ever before. I just had to paint it, not for therapy, but to remember it."

I smiled. "I think I know why we were happy in your dream," I was somewhat taunting him, knowing he would ask.

"You do?" he asked, slightly confused, but playing along all the while.

"I think you subconsciously knew-" I took a deep breath. I could not help the grin spreading across my lips; it was such an anticipated moment. "Knew that

I…"

For some reason, Peeta was already smiling. He had this curious look to his eyes, this sort of "I think I know what you are going to say," smile.

I pulled away from him, smiling a little like him, myself. I slapped his chest lightly. "You already know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

He cracked up. "Now, Katniss," he faked being serious, then doubled over laughing, not able to hold his façade. "Why-why would…..you…..think that?" He lost all his control and laughed his heart out. I could not hold my composure either.

"Damn you, you little-" I couldn't even finish my fake insult. "Okay," I settled. "What do you think I am going to say?" I wanted to see if he was right on a subconscious level.

Peeta pulled me against him, wrapping his arms around my waist, tightly. I snuggled against him, my hands on his shoulders. Peeta's left arm slid up to my shoulder, pressing against the back of my head, bringing my ear to his lips.

He whispered quietly, "I hope you are going to say that you are pregnant."

I pulled my head out, slowly forming as small smile, for some reason tears were in my eyes. Damn hormones already.

I nodded nothing big. Just a small yes for him.

Peeta's vividly blue eyes widened, his mouth formed a small, victorious yes.

This was what he wanted, and as we stood, falling slowly into a spiraling phase of awe, and Peeta embraced, then kissed me, I knew, that this, this child, a new life, was what I had also wanted all the while.

Dudes,

Okay, so I am thinking of doing this...well, making it into a longer story, just like under 10 chapters, but that will happen in a long time...kay.

Um. Uh, yeah. LIKE THE FACEBOOK PAGE 'The Second Warrior,' 'tis mine. mwhaha.

Later, and thanks for reading!

~AssassinAuthor