Disclaimer – I do not own the Hunger Games, any of its characters or ideas – they all belong to the wonderful Suzanne Collins and all her brilliance.
A/N - Thank you very much , kidfreak , your review is much appreciated. Thank you also, to those of you who added my story to favorites/alerts. Only one more part after this – it may seemed bunched together and if so – I apologize!
2. Present.
We watch them play, outside of what has become our home in the Victors Village, hand in hand. She tries to teach him to dance; only his small toddler legs restrict him from most advanced movements. But they laugh and sing all the same with their hair blowing in the wind, hers dark brown and his blonde curls; our beautiful children that were never desired in my earlier years. I swallow hard at the thought, of not ever being blessed with them at all. A small piece of my heart fell to my stomach out of guilt.
I jerked from my own thoughts due to Peeta squeezing my hand, as the boy tripped over his small feet. As I look into Peeta's eyes I can see the concern, but I give him a reassuring smile as she helps the baby stand back up. I had never seen a parent with such pride that Peeta held for our children. Such unconditional love he had in his heart, which was almost whole again. He still struggles though, when the back of a chair becomes his anchor to sanity. She asks me why he does so, but I have a hard time trying to describe it to her, after all Peeta was always the one who had a way with words.
Peeta tells our daughter that it's his way of insuring that he doesn't lose control. He explains that the Capitol had played tricks on his memories, the kind that makes him feel likes he's in immediate danger when something triggers the change. He tells her how awful it can be, but how long it's been since the last attack. She always has questions about the Capitol and all it used to be. How they captured her father and why the memories of the games cause me to lash out at unseen terrors in my sleep every night.
I try to tell her, about everything that haunts me so, leaving out details and horrific deaths that would scare or damage her. She still has her undeniable innocence that I cannot dream of someone taking from her, like mine was stolen before I could savor having it. One day she'll learn of the things I try to hide from her, from the lessons they teach in schools now. How the Mockingjay: sparked the rebellion, lost almost everything she had held dear in life, killed the first president after the war was won, and was deemed mental unstable where she was sent to live out the rest of her life in District 12. She'll know how we'll never be a normal family - and in time so will my son. But they will have our book, to remind them of all the good things in our lives that we never want forgotten. They will still be able to live with an untainted happiness.
We only watch as they run at the now, over 60 year old, Haymitch who stumbles toward our home. They bring happiness to him as well, as much as he can possibly rationalize at least. I smile as I consider how happy they make everyone they meet. How, even with the gap in ages, Finnick and Annie's son visits most often because of them. How people in the town smile at us when we pass, other than avoid our gaze because of them. How they can even get Effie to take of her ridiculous heels and join them in their games. They bring a simple joy alive in people which cannot be ignored. So much like my little sister Prim.
I feel distant, during the visit with Haymitch in which he shares that he has fought off Plutarch Heavensbee's requests of our children being interviewed in the Capitol on live television for all of Panem to witness. I would have taken them into hiding before I would have allowed it, of course. But Haymitch stuck himself out there for us yet again, and Peeta spared no expense on thanking him over and over again. Of course Haymitch didn't stay long, he could only suffer sobriety so long for the children - and then his demons force him to give in again. Darkness falls as I stare aimlessly out the window from the kitchen thinking of how persistent Plutarch was, until both of our children approach us with goodnight hugs, kisses, and I love yous before making their way to bed.
I follow Peeta to our own bedroom, and only after we our both dressed and ready , lay down in his arms. As I look up at him he smiles his most amazing smile, which causes my heart to swell with joy and then my cheeks to turn red with embarrassment. He smirks at this of course, the fact that I still get this way around him at all. When he brushes a single strand of hair from my face, and then kisses me, I can feel the hunger begin raging inside of me – the same one that is every so often resurrected. The same hunger that began to rise on the beach of our second Hunger Games, and engulfed me on the nights both of our children were conceived, and on random occasions in between.
I force myself from his lips, while allowing his arms to stay tightly wrapped around my waist, and my fingers entwined with his beautiful blond hair. He stares at me, confused; but I only stare back into his amorous blue eyes. I smile at him automatically before saying,
"You have always deserved better than me."
"You've got to be joking, Katniss." He laughs.
"I'm completely Serious Peeta. Haymitch once told me I could live a thousand lifetimes and still not deserve you. I always agreed with him on that. You are the very embodiment of what good is." I insist.
All he does is laugh yet again.
"I'm being honest. I'm not even half as great as you are, or our children. You all deserve so much more."
He only shushes me after this, rubbing the small of my back with his most gentle of touches. I don't object as he begins kissing me again (trying to convince me of how he feels about me) – erupting the hunger in my soul once again. I can only give in and let the flames of our passion consume me as I have thousands of times in the past 25 years.
I can't help but smirk at the thought when we're done – Katniss, girl on fire.