This is just a one shot set after Mockingjay. I am giving all credit to Suzanne Collins. She wrote the books, came up with the ideas, and characters. I wish I could say it's mine, but I can't. I hope you like this! Please review! And I am thinking of continuing this depending on what people think of it! I hope you enjoy!
I sit on the chair, staring out the window, waiting for Willow and Rye to get home. I do this every day. Every day since… I shake at the thought and turn my attention to the outside world. These days I find it easier to forget. Easier to not think. Easier to ignore. Sometimes I can't and during those times, I have Peeta.
Over time, people returned to District 12. They rebuilt the area, only it wasn't the same. There were no longer the people I grew to love from home here anymore. Mom. I haven't seen her in so long it's painful. Haymitch. He is here, maybe, but he was always drunk as ever, never leaving his house. They pitying look he gave me made me remember. I don't like to remember. People from the Hob, like Ripper. I haven't seen their faces since the war. I don't even know if they are still alive. I don't try to see anyone. I don't want to. I don't want a reminder of all the people that died. All the people that died for me. I know it wasn't everyone, but there were a few that sacrificed themselves for my well-being. And why? Because I was, I am, the Mockingjay. They didn't care about me, as a person. They didn't like me, for me. They kept me alive because I was the symbol of the rebellion. Nobody was really there for me, as me, except-
"Katniss," I look up at the sound of the whisper and see the blue eyes, which are one of the small things in life currently, that make me happy. "Are you okay?" I shrug my shoulders but his hand rises to my face. His thumb gingerly wipes something off my cheek. Something I didn't know was there. A tear. I used to think I was immune to tears, used to think that they were for the weak. But they are for the strong who are broken, who have gone through so much that they can't deal with it anymore. I am one of those people.
"Peeta. I feel so alone." He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to him, in a tight hug. At first I resisted his touch, I would recoil from him, afraid of everyone. Afraid of comfort. Now I greet it, it makes me feel safe. Not always, sometimes I still run and hide, and then realize its over. The Games. The Capitol. Snow. Coin. It's all over. Nobody cares enough to hurt me anymore. Nobody cares enough to hurt those I love because it's over. I sigh into his shoulder and wrap my arms around him.
The door opens and in walks my blue-eyed, dark haired girl. She is bolder than Rye, but still shyer than most children in the area. Rye trails in behind her, his blonde curls bobbing when he walks. I remember Peeta once looking like this, until Rye looks up. Rye's eyes are deep gray and remind of someone's. Another person I'd like to forget. I squint my eyes shut and push the memories away, clutching at Peeta's arms, tightly.
When they came home, sometimes they asked about the Games. Slowly, they are learning about them. Learning that their mommy and daddy were somehow related to all of this. She doesn't know the details so she didn't understand why. She doesn't understand why mom won't go to town. Why does daddy sometimes has to leave when she talked about her history class? Why does mom seem so distant, so gone? Our little girl was innocent, and pure, but she deserved to know why.
I open my eyes up and let go, turning to face them. "How was school?" The school is small. Only a few amount of children attend, due to the low population in the area. We live in the Victors Village, the only place that stayed from the old District 12. As far as I know, we are the only ones who live here, besides Haymitch. It's as if they don't want to touch the soil of reality. This happened, but they can't face it.
"We learned more, about the war." Peeta turns his head away from her, as the memories flow. His hands grip at the wooden table next to him and I see his knuckles turn white. I sigh and look back into those bright blue eyes, exactly like Peeta's, only happier, and less contaminated by the perverted ways of the old society.
"Anything out of the ordinary?" I take their packs and place them on hooks and move to the sink, to wash dishes still sitting from this morning. I try to keep up, and act like I always wished my mother would, but I don't always see the point. After the war, they gave me enough money to live on forever; I could buy a million workers if I wanted. But I am done with people doing things for me. I need to get things done because I want it.
"No, not really. A real solider rebellion veteran came and talked to us today." At this remark, my hands slow, listening to every word she says. She seems to hesitate before continuing.
Rye moves towards Peeta's leg and clutches on to it. Unaware, he uses the situation to chime in, "It was cool. We all got to ask questions and talk to him." He sits a moment longer. "He knew a lot about it."
"That's wonderful, Rye." In the back of my mind, I am questioning the mysterious hero. He must have known me, everyone did.
Suddenly Willow interrupts my train of thought, "Mom, do you know a solider named Gale Hawthorne?"