Of course I'm not Suzanne Collins. I'd much rather be JK Rowling since Harry Potter is WAY more happily ever after than Hunger Games ever was.

I stare ahead, wondering if it it's true. It seems like it's true. It feels like it is, too.

This is what you wanted, I remind myself, not that that eases my worry. I know what I need to do, but somehow I can't find the courage to get up and do it.

I'm not even one hundred percent sure.

And I won't be until I do what I need to do.

Still, I haven't been nauseous.

Sure I've been quick-tempered, snapping at everybody for the most trivial things, but that's just because it's so close to the memorial of the hospital bombing in District 8. Their memorial honoring the victims, fifteen years later, is coming up, and they keep replaying it on TV, and it has taken its toll on me.

And okay, so I have also been more tired than ever, but I'm also getting older. My thirty-second birthday is coming up. I'm entitled to sleep more and longer if I want to. So what if I can't get out of bed, or don't want to go hunting? Who really cares if I sleep throughout the day and during the night?

Sighing I stand up, taking one last look out the window, and make my way into the kitchen. I look around for the number, and upon finding it, I dial it, my hands shaking.

When she picks up, I take a deep breath. I have made my decision, and any guilt I have on not telling Peeta first is gone the minute she picks up the phone.

"Delly? It's Katniss." I hear the surprise in her voice as I call her, since it's usually Peeta who talks to her, but I also hear the warmth. After exchanging pleasantries, I continue. "Listen, how well can you keep a secret?" I pause, waiting for her to assure me that she has no problem doing so. "Good. Can you go to the general store and grab me a few pregnancy tests?"

XxXxXxXx

I stare at the results for several moments before accepting them. I've taken five out of the ten Delly has bought me, and they all have come to the same conclusion.

I don't know how I'm supposed to feel, but terrified is the only emotion that wracks my body. I can feel the panic start to creep in, and my breathing becomes labored. How did this happen? Why did this happen?

I grimace as I realize how it happened. If anything over the years Peeta and I have increased our desire for each other. Some days we do it three or four times. On average I know he's going to wake me up in the morning before he heads to the bakery and we always make love before we fall asleep. If it happens when he gets home from work, or in the middle of the night, I am always a willing participant.

Making the baby is always the fun part.

Having the baby is another story all together.

I stare at the test and wonder for the umpteenth time what the hell I've gotten myself into.

You wanted this, I remind myself again.

But I did not expect it to happen so soon. I didn't even really tell Peeta that I was okay with it. This only happened because I saw him a few months ago in the bakery with a blonde haired blue-eyed girl who could easily be his, and I still do not know what it was about this particular moment, because I'd seen it a million times before, but this time it pulled at my heart a little.

And then suddenly I was thinking about it, what it would be like to carry Peeta's baby, and how the world could use more Peeta's in the world.

So that same day, coincidentally the last day of the month, I did not take my pill, and that night I made love to my husband with a newfound frenzy, one he couldn't quite satisfy, and from that moment on I hadn't been able to stay off of him.

If he noticed a difference this past few months he hasn't said anything.

It'd been three months since that day in the bakery, and I'd missed my period for two of them.

And now it's been confirmed.

I sit on the bathroom floor, my legs giving out, and try to remember what happened roughly two months ago that got me in this predicament.

Nothing sticks out. There was that one time, in front of the fireplace, where I came downstairs, fresh out the shower, to find him drawing. I took him then. Then there was the time in the kitchen, a few days later, watching him bake. I don't know what the correlation is between watching Peeta draw and bake, but it makes me wild for him. Maybe it has to do with his muscles bulging, his fingers moving intimately over his paintings and the dough with the same tender, loving care they do over my body.

There was also that time after his flashback, though I know he'd hate to know we had conceived a child after that. Still, that night had been incredible, the way we didn't even make it to the bedroom and he took me on the stairs, against the banister and the wall.

Thinking about this only makes me want him again, but then I remember that wanting him is what got me into this predicament.

I think, briefly, that maybe it won't be so bad, but then it hits me, full in the gut, that I have lost every young thing I have ever cared for. I had worked so hard to save both Rue and Prim, and they were both taken for me. How am I supposed to protect this little, tiny, helpless thing? This baby will depend on me, and what could I offer?

I still suffer from nightmares. I still get depressed.

I am my mother.

And my mother had no business having children.

It takes all of ten minutes for the sobs to come.

How could I have been so stupid? What was I thinking? What was I supposed to do?

And somewhere, in between all my questions, I start to wonder how many times I would say I.

I, I, I.

Me, me, me.

That's all I ever think about.

What about Peeta? Peeta, who has wanted children for years, and has all but given up his dream for them. I can still remember every single time he had asked me over the years. I can still remember the pain in those blue eyes when I would remind him why I couldn't, why I wouldn't, and because he's Peeta he always understood.

I could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve him.

Haymitch had never spoken truer words.

Haymitch.

I get up, wondering why I didn't think of him before, dry my tears, and make my way next door.

I barge in, because that's what we do, though he tends to knock since Peeta and I are married, and having nearly caught us in the act on more than one occasion we figured it was for the best.

We show him the same respect when Effie visits.

I catch him pouring a drink of white liquor and my heart sinks.

"What are you doing?" I ask him, my voice cold.

He looks at me, looks at his drink, and sighs. "Sweetheart, I drink. I'm not the drunk I used to be. But I still drink. Okay?" As if to prove his point he takes a sip.

I scowl, march up to him, and snatch the drink out of his hand, pouring it down the sink.

"Hey!"

"Hey, nothing," I say, and grab the bottle too. "This stops, right here, right now. I don't know if you're relapsing, and I don't care. No more drinking."

He looks like he's up for a fight so he snatches the bottle back.

"I need you, Haymitch. I need you around, for a long, long time. You'll be Grandpa Haymitch."

For the longest time he just stares as me, and eventually I nod.

"Yes. Yes, I'm pregnant."

The last thing I hear is him drop the bottle, it crashing to the ground, before I bend over the sink and throw up every single thing I've eaten for the past few days.

XxXxXxXx

Well there's the nausea.

"Well, shit," he says, and I give him a look, intending to tell him off, reminding him that Peeta and I have spent countless hours cleaning up his throw up, so he can't say anything, when another wave of nausea hits me.

I empty myself out, Haymitch holding back my hair until I'm finished. He hands me a towel and I shakily make my way to his table, Haymitch helping me all the while.

"Does the boy know?"

I shake my head. "I just found out. I had Delly bring me a few pregnancy tests."

"Well it's certainly about damn time," he tells me, and I just look at him. "Oh come on, we all knew you'd cave. We just didn't know when. You're still two things, and two things only—"

"I know, I know," I say as he hands me a glass of water and starts to clean up the liquor he spilled. "I'm stubborn and good with a bow."

"Peeta will be thrilled."

"Yah," I say quietly, not meeting my mentor's eyes.

"You aren't?"

I look up at him. "I'm still so scared, Haymitch."

Haymitch looks up at me and sighs, making his way across the table. "I can't say shit about no longer being afraid, because I slept with a knife under my pillow for twenty-five years. What I will say, is when I fell for Effie, I didn't need that knife anymore. That's what love does to you. You're about to bring something pure and innocent into the world. That'll help you better than anything."

I stare at Haymitch, because, like me, he never had a way with words. He was hard, like me, and had a hell of a time admitting his feelings.

I also know that, like me, love had changed him for the better.

"You'll love my baby, won't you? Between you and Peeta…" I look away, my eyes welling with tears. "Maybe this baby will stand a chance to be normal. Maybe you guys can distract this baby from knowing it has a screw up for a mother."

"You're not a screw up," snaps Haymitch, his face set. "Don't call yourself that," he adds softly.

"Will you be God-father, Haymitch?" I ask, and I know that even though I didn't discuss it with Peeta, we'd both agree on him.

He gives me that same look he gave me when I asked him to walk me down the aisle, that genuine shock and wonder, as if he's not worthy enough of such an honor.

He stares at me for a long time, and then doesn't answer. Instead he goes upstairs, and I can hear him rummaging around for a few moments. Then he comes back downstairs and thrusts something into my arms with a gruff, "Here."

I look at the object and see a small, soft, yellow knit blanket. I could tell that it was good quality and still in tip-top shape.

"What is this?" I breathe softly.

"My baby blanket. My mom made it for me while she was pregnant. It's one of the few objects of hers that I actually own."

I could feel the tears, but I will them not to fall.

These hormones would not make me cry.

"I can't accept this, Haymitch." I try to keep my voice level. "It's all you have of her."

He shook his head. "I still have the one she made for my brother, so…." He shrugged and I burst into tears, running around the table and hugging him.

"Well, shit," he mumbles. "If it makes you upset I'll keep it."

I hold the blanket to my chest, my lip poked out, as if to say it was mine now and he'd never get it back. He laughed and affectionately tugged at my hair.

"Go home and prepare to tell your husband that you're pregnant," he says. "Come on, I'll walk you."

We're halfway there when I realize between Peeta and Haymitch I'll never lift a finger again for the next several months.

"Before you tell Peeta, though," Haymitch says at my door, "Go to the doctor and make sure. That boy's been waiting to have kids with you since he was five years old. He deserves for you to be sure."

I nod and make an appointment a few minutes later.

A day later I get my results, and I start thinking of ways to tell Peeta that he's going to be a father.

Small one-shot for those of you who are waiting for Katniss to get pregnant in Rise From the Ashes. Consider this foreshadowing, and a tease LOL. Since Rise From the Ashes is in Peeta's POV, you won't get to see this moment.

Tell me what you think. There's room for a two-shot here…. Let me know.

Also, I struggle being in Katniss' POV. Let me know if I did her justice. It's hard to get inside her head.

Thanks for the support

-thamockingjayandpeeta