Continuation of Perfection in the Form of Topiary and We Owe it to Ourselves to Try. Enjoy!

Since I was twelve years old, I have had a strong distaste for hospitals. I grew up in a gated military community in Virginia where all of the adult men were soldiers. They were trained to be called out to serve duty at any time. I was eleven years old when my Dad was called to help fight in the war in the Middle East. That had been a long year. Mom spent most of her time worried that he would come back wounded beyond repair. Or, worst case scenario, not come back at all. However, while my mom filled her head hypothetical possibilities, she missed out on the reality that Prim's health spiraling downwards.

By the year of my twelfth birthday, my nine year old sister Primrose was diagnosed with leukemia.
The one thing about childhood leukemia is that there is large percentage of boys and girls who survive. Prim knew this and fought hard to overcome it. Every time I visited her, she was smiling and tell me about the friends she made in support group. After one of her treatment days, she confidently told me she has a boyfriend. It was through Rory Hawthorne that I met Gale.

At that point in my life, I don't know what I would have done without him. I never had to explain anything to Gale in order for him to understand me. He knew exactly how I was feeling; let me cry on his shoulder when I needed to. He was like my Corinthian column: beautiful and sturdy. But that was all.

He was a freshman in high school, completely love-struck with the girl that he met in the infirmary after he received a concussion at swim practice. Apparently, Rory knew the girl, Madge Undersee. He said she looked just like Prim with her long blond hair and large blue eyes.

"I can see her being just like Madge when she gets older," Rory told me once as we sat watching my sister sleep. "Prim would make a good caregiver. She comforts the younger kids when they're in a lot of pain."

I would have really liked to see Prim become a nurse. But as I turned fourteen two springs later, Prim's condition got worse. The emergency surgery lasted three hours before Prim's battle came to an end. My dad came home two weeks later for the funeral.

So as I sit here, in the waiting room of Emergency where my youngest child, Aidyn, is being treated with a high fever, I can't help but think of my sister. What if Aidyn is sick like her? What if he'll have to spend his days living out of a hospital like she had to? I can't watch him die like I watched her. Not Aidyn. Not sweet little Aidyn. Not Peeta's son. It would break his heart infinitely more than it would break mine.

Peeta has not lost family like I have. Growing up, his family may not have been the nicest of people but they were together. I remember my mother-in-law being an abusive shrew to her sons, especially to Peeta. He was the most defenseless, taking the hardest hits and the most cutting of insults, which led to a whirlwind of mental lapses. Even though she damaged Peeta thoroughly, no one died at her hands. All three boys grew up, found wives and had children without a hitch.

Losing Aidyn might cause us to lose Peeta for good. And I know, without Peeta - the man who convinced me having Rosy, short for Primrose, was Prim's promise of a better future for us – that I would lose myself too, and Rosy would be the one to suffer the most in the end.

So I sit here, in this waiting room, and I try to be strong. For my family, the people that keep me anchored, every year I go out to Virginia to visit Prim's grave.

"Katniss," I hear Peeta's strained voice call my name. I turn to look at him, his blue eyes sparkling with fear like Prim's used to in the fluorescent lights. "Where's Rosy?"

"I asked Finnick to watch her. I didn't know how long we were going to be here." Peeta hobbles his way over to me and falls into the chair beside me.

With his back ridged and shoulders squared, I quickly find his hands balled up in his lap. That is never a good thing. Dr. Aurelius explained to me that I should make sure Peeta doesn't suppress his tension. It is healthy for him to let it out slowly, carefully and in a controlled manner. So I crack open the right fist and shove my hand into his, gripping as tightly as I can. "He's going to be alright."

"Did the doctor say that or are you placating me?" Peeta sees through me almost as easily as Gale did. I don't know what to say back to him. Obviously, I need him to calm down. We will not be able to get through this successfully if we are both thinking negatively. But I don't want to make it worse by continuing to lie to him.

So we just wait in silence. Amongst the ticking clock and the gentle nonsensical chatter of potential patients, I hum. Peeta prefers it when I sing but I don't like to do it that often, especially not in a hospital where every pair of eyes in the room will be watching and judging me. Half of them probably will think I'm horrible anyhow.

So I hum Peeta's favorite song, the one I sang at our spring concert in kindergarten. The effect it has on him is instantaneous; I can feel his body relax next to mine. His shoulders and back slouch, as he rests his head against the wall behind us. I continue to hum while I place my head on his shoulder, completely exhausted.

"I love you," he says.

"I love you too."

It takes two more hours and five more tunes before the doctor comes out from the swinging doors. He looks tired, but not unhappy. It is hard not to hope my baby boy is alright.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mellark?"

"Yes?" Peeta calls. His shut eyes snap open as he jumps to his feet.

"Aidyn is going to be okay. He was running a high fever due to an ear infection he has developed. Currently, he is on antibiotics and Motrin for the pain. He's asleep now. So in about thirty minutes, after I finish the paper work, you are welcome to take him home."

"Thank you, doctor," Peeta says, relief dripping off every word. My favorite smile of Peeta's is this one, when he is so genuinely overjoyed that his smile takes up his entire face. He turns back to me, that smile of his still shining. I can't help but to smile back.

"An ear infection," he says, almost laughing.

"An ear infection." It is as if our worries were for nothing. It never is for nothing, though. Peeta leans down, cups my face in his hands and gives me a forceful kiss.

"I'm going to go call Finnick. Let him know everything's okay."

"Okay."

As I watch Peeta walk away, running a hand through his blond curls, I know he is not calling for Finnick's benefit. Not that Finnick isn't concerned about Aidyn - he'll definitely be glad to know Aidyn's okay - but Peeta does it to check on Rosy. And that's when I realize how different my family is now from my family in the past.

A few months after Prim left us, Dad went on another mission. For much longer this time. A mission he never wanted to come home from. One we didn't expect him to come home from either. So on the first anniversary of Prim's death, it was my mother and I that visited her grave. My father did not so much as send flowers. That was when I realized our family had crumbled.

But my new one will not. If Peeta and I did lose Aidyn this evening, we'd keep going. For Rosy's sake, for ourselves and for our friends. Our world will not stop, nor will we forget. We need to enjoy the time we have with the people who are here. No one lives forever.