Hi Guys!

Let me just begin by saying...OH. MY. WORD. The reviews. Wow! I am shocked and surprised and so grateful for such sweet words of encouragement! I love reviews, and they really motivate me to keep writing. So, thank you. To everyone who is reading, adding my story to their favorites, their story alerts, and even adding me to their favorite authors. THAT is so amazing! Thank you!

Okay, so this chapter has LOTS of stuff in it, lots of banter, lots of silliness, lots of sadness, lots of drama, and lots of romance. I hope you enjoy it! This is my longest chapter ever (I believe) at SIX pages in word. (with some spacing, I'll admit.) But you guys definitely deserve it. Tomorrow's chapter is titled (hint, hint) "The Reveal." Which you will understand after reading this chapter.

Oh, and I'm gonna see The Hunger Games tomorrow! I'm so excited! I probably won't post until around 8, with maybe some feedback on the movie, too!

Enjoy! Thoughts? Thanks!

-Homey ;-)

Disclaimer: All of these amazing, brilliant characters belong to Suzanne Collins. I just happened to fall in love with them, so I wrote about it.

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, or at least this actual post is. The characters, not so much. But anyway, please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

I've found that mirrors are a great keeper of time.

As the years fly by, some quickly, some slowly, all with Peeta, I see myself change. In my bedroom, as I put my hair up. There's an extra freckle that wasn't there before. Is that a winkle, or a scar? My hair is longer, then shorter, then longer again. My lips are chapped, smooth, slightly parted into a grin.

On our five-year anniversary, Peeta insists on taking me to the Capitol for some much needed "time away". We travel by train, holding hands and looking out windows while chatting. Somehow Peeta convinces the train staff to serve my favorite meal...a wonderful stew over rice with dried plums. I eat three platefuls, and by the time I'm done, my stomach is protruding.

"Ugh!" I groan, leaning back in my chair. "I'm so full."

Peeta grins at me and runs his hand lightly down my stomach. "That's a good look on you, Katniss."

It takes me awhile to realize what he means and my eyes darken. I stand up from the table, muttering profanities, and go stomping into the bathroom where I sit for a good fifteen minutes, silently fuming.

When at last I'm calm and go slide back into the booth across from Peeta, he smiles faintly and changes the subject. The child-thing is forgotten, for now.

From then on, we celebrate our anniversary in the districts. First it's the Capitol, then One, Two, Three,-I skip Four because of Trevor-, Five, Six, Seven…on our tenth year together, Peeta finally convinces me to visit Annie. And hey, ten years seems quite an accomplishment, so I agree. Luckily, I'm twenty-nine, much too old for kids, and I'm pretty sure Peeta won't put up a fight.

No such luck.

Since Finnick's death, Annie has remarried, and now has a new, fresh-faced baby to call her own. Trevor is nine years old, an adorable, dimpled little boy who dotes over his younger sister. Annie tells us her name is Lily.

Peeta basically spends our whole visit holding the baby, cooing softly to her, even changing her diapers. Perhaps he's trying to set an example, or even show me that, yes, he can handle a child. I don't even offer him a smile as reward.

And it's not that I don't want to be able to give him children, not really. I'm not that cold-hearted of a person (though a select few would disagree), and I love him. I just can't bring myself to do it. Since the Games, since everything, I've shied away from any type of self-harm. Having a baby would be very, very dangerous.

"Today was great," he says as he slides under the covers at a hotel that night.

I stand in front of the mirror, brushing my hair, refusing to answer him. Peeta senses this and comes up behind me, gently taking the brush from me, running it through each strand of my brown locks.

I stand, looking at us in the mirror, and I feel pride. What we've accomplished here, together, is amazing. Why would we need anything else?

But then I see my arms, and they're dreadfully empty. My stomach is painfully flat. Peeta's eyes are happy but dull. And I see what this is doing to him-to me. I may not want a baby, but he does. And his pain is my pain.

"Peeta?" I asked in a very high-pitched, un-Katniss-like voice.

"Hm?" He asks softly, running his hands through the ends of my hair. I turn to face him, swallowing heavily.

I reach out to grasp his shirt and notice my knuckles are white. Calm. Cool. Smooth. (not.) I wonder if he feels this every time he has to ask me for something, and I feel even worse. We've got to-

"Katniss? You're pale. What's wrong?"

I can't meet his eyes, not possibly. My face burns with shame. How dare he practically have to grovel and me say no, yet here I am and I know, without a doubt, his answer will be a resounding yes. I can't. I can't.

"Oh, Mrs. Mellark?" He asks in a teasing tone, though I can still hear the worry under his lighthearted words. He tilts my chin up. "You can tell me anything."

"It's not so much tell," I say with measured words, "As-as ask."

"Okay. I'm game."

If the situation wasn't so pressing, if the room wasn't so tight and the air in my lungs in limited supply, I might laugh.

Or maybe not.

"Look," I say, grabbing his hand and gently guiding it to rest on my belly. He looks surprised, kind of confused, but he smiles.

"Does your stomach hurt or something?"

I actually grin. Peeta has a way of doing that to me-but right now I need to stay focused, because if for one second he acts okay, I know I'll back out.

"Look," I say again, but my throat is dry and I really can't talk. "If…if you could have anything in the world, anything at all, what would you want?"

His smile is still steady, his eyes on me. "I already have everything."

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Please, do not pull that card on me.

"No, Peeta. I mean something you don't have."

He wrinkles his eyebrows, and his face abruptly smoothes out. "You won't like it, Katniss."

"Please, just tell me," I beg, hoping he'll say it. Of course he will.

"Fine, but-" He sighs, starting to step away, but I keep a firm grasp on his hand.

He looks down at the ground. "I'd want…I'd want everyone who's gone alive and me dead. I know that's unrealistic but-it still bothers me. If I had just eaten those ridiculous berries, none of anything would've happened."

I'm so surprised by his answer I drop his hand. "What?"

He shrugs. "I told you that you wouldn't like it."

I find myself smacking him once, sharply, on the shoulder. "Peeta, don't ever say that. Ever."

He frowns at me. "What was that for?"

"Don't say that! Okay? Don't!"

"But you'd be happier-"

"You still think I'd be happier with Prim here, with everyone? I miss them, Peeta, but this is real life-not a fairytale. I've got you. You're everything!"

He sighs. "You would have come home, and married Gale, and had kids-"

I'm shaking my head before he can finish. "No, I would not. I never wanted Gale, or kids, for that matter."

"I know that last part, Katniss."

And then I remember why I'm here, standing in front of him, asking him bizarre questions. Of course.

"I never said I didn't want kids," I whisper.

Peeta frowns. "You just did."

"Not with Gale," I agree. I grab his hand and hold it back up so his fingers lightly brush the skin of my stomach. "But I would-will-with you."

He blinks at me. Everything is silent for a long time before he laughs.

"Yeah, right. That's a cruel joke, Katniss."

"No! I'm not kidding!"

He rolls his eyes dramatically. I know he's trying to brush this off as unimportant, but I see them there, in his eyes, the hurt I've caused him.

"Really? When?"

"Right now," I say boldly, grabbing his face gently between my hands and stretching up on my toes to kiss him.

For a second he doesn't say anything, just kisses me back. I feel it on my skin, the pricks of hunger I've been waiting for all day.

"Wait-" He says under my mouth, which is becoming more desperate by the second.

"No!" I whine, then stop myself, grinning at my childishness.

"Think about this," Peeta says, pulling away. He stares into my eyes. "What if you get pregnant, Katniss? Tonight? Are you really ready for that?"

I open my mouth to assure him that, yes, I'm ready, but fear freezes me. What if he's right? What if that does happen? What if I wake up tomorrow and-

"I'm tired of what ifs," I say instead. "How about we try this: Why not?"

He seems to contemplate for a while before he at last says, "Why not?" and pulls me up to kiss him.

I respond instantly, pulling him as close as I can manage, and there we are again, just two people, happy and celebrating ten years.

Ten amazing years.

I don't get pregnant.

We try, and we try, and we try. We see doctors. We take tests. We even-and this is embarrassing-ask the Capitol if there's any surgeries that can fix this. Anything at all? And we always get a "No, I'm so sorry."

I feel like such a fake.

Peeta says it's okay, that we'll try, try again-and we do-but I can tell that it's hurting him. Each day that passes without a baby makes our house seem too big, our lives too empty. I find myself wanting this just as bad, but more for him than me.

I still don't like the idea of having a baby, but maybe one with Peeta won't be so bad. Maybe it'll even be good. But they tell me I might never know.

Finally, we summon Dr. A down to twelve, which he has avoided up until this point, but he agrees to see us. I think he feels bad about the situation, and anyways, I'm sure my assurance that the town is in fact booming brings him back.

And really, it is. The factory is cranking out dozens of medicines by the day, and we have more traffic than ever. Hospitals from all over Panem want us to supply them with everything they need to save lives. For the first time in a long time, Twelve is making a difference.

When Dr. A comes, Peeta goes to pick him up at the station, and brings him back to the house. He runs all sorts of tests on me, some of which have already been done, others that are new yet just as invasive. He looks. He prods. He asks questions, even about more personal stuff that makes me blush. But Peeta is behind me, unashamed and answering readily. I watch his lips as he talks, just as a distraction. He still never fails to amaze me.

"I'll run these tests for you and get back to you in a week," Dr. Aurelius says, advising us to always pick up the phone because "I usually don't have time for more than one phone call."

From then on Peeta and I answer the phones like mad. We never stay on the line very long, explaining that we have an important call coming and we'll have to get back with whoever it is later. I skip a conversation with Mom, hurry through one with Annie, and rather rudely inform Effie I don't have time for her.

When at last the call we've been waiting for does happen, I feel sick and anxious and worried. With shaky hands I hand the phone to Peeta.

"Oh," he says after a long moment. His face reveals no emotion. "Okay. I'll tell her. No, really, thank you. That's fine. Bye."

He hangs up the phone and turns to me, and then I know. I see the dead look in his eyes, the disappointed set to his jaw, his clenched fists.

"Katniss-" he begins, but I don't want to hear it.

I turn on my heel and begin running, out the front door, down the path to the woods. I haven't done this in a long time-run out on him-but I need to and I need to get away. I'm repulsed with myself.

The one thing-the one thing he wants so much in the world, and I can't give it to him. It's not like before, when I didn't want to. But I can't. I never will. I'm ruined, and broken, and I can't be fixed.

I curl up in a ball near the meadow, feeling sorry not for myself but Peeta. He shouldn't have to settle for me. I've thought it a million times but I mean it, now. I will go back to the house. I will be strong. I'll tell him if he needs to, he can leave me, and find someone else who will satisfy him. I'm sure there's another girl out there just waiting for a guy like him to come and sweep her off her feet. And if he says yes, well, then I'll just have to live with it.

I'm selfish enough to hope he doesn't.

He finds me, of course, after an hour or two. He comes up to me, crouches down, lays a timid hand on my hair.

"Katniss-"

"Don't say it," I whisper. "Please, Peeta."

"If you don't want me to," he says gently, "then I won't."

We sit together for the longest time, as he strokes my hair and whispers words I will always treasure but soon forget.

"Peeta," I find myself saying, feeling empty. "I can't give you children. I'm so, so sorry. And I understand, if you want someone else-"

Suddenly I'm on my back, he's on top of me, and my head is cradled in his hands and his lips are on my jaw.

"You still don't see it, do you, Katniss?"

"See what?" I ask breathlessly, my misery now a long-ago memory.

"That it's not a baby I want. It's a baby from you. And if I can't have that, then I don't care. Just you, Katniss, just you."

I laugh a little, because I was thinking the same thing about him.

"Good," I whisper, as he kisses my neck. "Because I was not ready to let you go."

He looks up at me and his blonde bangs fall fan forward to tickle my cheek. I run my hands through his hair. It's not long, but it's shaggy, and I like the way it feels in my fingers. With the advantage, I pull him down to kiss me.

"We won't stop trying," I promise him after a moment.

He sighs, grazing my collarbone with his nose. "Are you sure?"

I shrug. "Maybe we'll get a miracle."

He looks up at me, grinning. "Maybe."

"Hopefully."

He brushes his lips, ever so softly, against mine. "But, if not…"

"Then we'll be okay."

So we try, and we try, and we try. Haymitch visits and we talk with him-he's doing better, better than he was, and drinking less. With the promise of a baby on the horizon, he's decided to stick around. I'm glad he has that motivation, and I can't bring myself to ruin that, too. So I let him think that we're just waiting for the right moment.

Peeta is always there for me-to kiss me softly, to brush my hair, to assure me every hour that he loves me. I find I need the latter more than ever, even more than the hunger. I'd take those three words over that any day.

But I'm lucky, so I get both.

Peeta has a hallucination one night, which is frightening. We're just laying there in bed, holding each other, talking about tomorrow and what it holds. And not in the literal sense, but about the future. It holds promise, even without children. Even-

His palm is a sudden presence on my cheek, pushing my head roughly into my pillow. He breath his hot in my ear as he hisses evil words. But then he shudders and pulls away, leaning over. I rub my face.

This happening is so unexpected, so numbing, I can't talk for the longest time. At long last it's him apologizing, comforting. It should be me.

"Katniss? I'm so sorry. Please-"

"Peeta," I roll over to look down at him. "It's fine. Okay?"

"I'm so sorry. I know I said-"

I'm shaking my head before he can finish. "You didn't hurt me, I swear." I grab his hand and hold it to my face, just to prove it. He stares at me for a long time before muttering something about me being perfect.

But I have to disagree.

He's the perfect one.

Other than life generally being somewhat of a downer, things go back to normal. I cope. After a while, we accept that it will never happen, and we stop trying. We don't necessarily go to measures to prevent anything, but we no longer hope.

As the years speed by, a realization creeps upon Haymitch and he knows he's never getting a "grandchild" of any sorts. He turns to drink. Sometimes, when things are really bad, I sit at his kitchen table and drink with him.

When these incidents happen, Peeta never chides me, just carries me home and lays me down on the bed. I close my eyes against the feel of his hand as he strokes my hair. He usually ends up holding it back for me when I throw up, too.

I start throwing up a lot. After meals, after alcohol, after bouts of anxiousness that keep me awake at night. I have lots of those. And though Peeta worries, I make him promise not to ask a Doctor about it. I just want to be left alone.

Peeta's at work one day, at the bakery, when I'm digging through the medicine cabinet for some sort of nausea reliever-ginger does the trick, and yes, we keep a glass container of it in the bathroom- but instead I stumble upon something else.

It's a good, old fashioned, pregnancy test. One left over from years ago.

I tell myself it's stupid, that I'm not pregnant. I can't be. I've been drinking and eating too much, making myself sick, but I still take it out. Out of the cabinet. Out of the box. I follow the instructions, and set it on the counter, and leave the room. For five of the most nerve-wrecking moments of my life, I try to keep busy. I drink water, I struggle to read, I even resort to watering the primroses-which have come back every year in full bloom. Finally, after what's more like ten minutes, I head back up to the bathroom.

I force myself to walk slowly. I force myself to not hope.

I have the word NO, playing in my head, over and over, so much that when I see the result of the test my heart sinks. And then I see it. Really see it.

And it says Yes.

TRIVIA!

Can anyone get all the answers right?

1) What did Peeta mean when he said, "That's a good look on you, Katniss." ?

2) By the end of this chapter, how many years have passed? (The actual Mockingjay Epilogue has the answer.)

Okay, so technically, there are only TWO questions, but still.

Have fun! (hehe!)

-Homey ;-)

P.S. Wanted to add that ginger really DOES help nausea! It's really cool. But it's spicy, so don't eat too much! Blah. :P