When we wake up, children are screaming and laughing in the street again. It makes me want to shout at them. They can't be happy and carefree because it feels like I'll never be happy and carefree ever again.

"I'm staying in bed today," Peeta groans. But the more he wants to sit around and mope, the more I need to be doing something.

"I'm going to see Haymitch," I inform him, digging through our drawers to find something to wear. "Are you coming or really staying here?" I ask. He takes a minute to seriously debate this. After seeing Haymitch in that condition last night, I wouldn't blame him for staying home. It's not going to be easy for me either.

"I guess I'll go." Peeta says. I'm already dressed when he comes to this conclusion. I braid my hair while he looks for clothes. We're both so scared and upset – and still exhausted – that we both only manage a piece of toast for breakfast.

"Whatever happens, whatever he's like, you have to remember how much we both love you. Never forget that." He says to me as I button up my coat to leave.

"It'll be fine." I reply. We don't bother locking the door behind us. "And I've never forgotten." I remind him. It's always been him who's forgotten. I don't say this out loud though. Neither of us needs to have an argument.

Peeta opens the door to Haymitch's house when we get there. We remove our boots, hang up our coats, and take a deep breath. I have no idea what to expect. Heart attacks don't have gruesome physical symptoms. I figure he'll be in pain, but how long does the pain last?

"Hello?" Peeta calls out. He takes my hand in his, squeezing tightly.

"Oh, it's you two," my mother appears from around a corner. She certainly hasn't slept much. "He's awake now if you want to see him. I need to run home and get some more morphling for him. He'll be so happy to see you." She explains. As she passes us, she gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I guess we should go see him." I announce after we've stood in the hallway for a minute. Peeta leads the way to the living-room where my mother had come from. There is he.

Lying on the brown leather couch with a blanket tucked almost right up to his chin, is Haymitch. He looks surprisingly normal, just like he's had one too many drinks.

"Well, well, well," Haymitch smiles when he see us. "How are my kids?" He winks at me. I walk to his side, take his hand in mine. It's thin and weak, instead of calloused and tough.

"We're good," I say automatically. "More importantly, how are you?" I can feel my voice start to shake.

"I'll live, sweetheart. Just an annoying pain in my chest." Behind this curtain of bravery, I can see how scared he is. 'Annoying' my ass. If it wasn't for the morphling, he'd be screaming or have passed out by now.

"Have you eaten today?" Peeta asks. He's hanging back, somewhat afraid to get too close.

"I just woke up," Haymitch explains. "Listen, Peeta, I'm sorry about –"

"Haymitch, don't." Peeta interrupts, his tone unlike something I've ever heard come from Peeta's mouth. It's dangerous and terrified and begging for attention. I glare at him over my shoulder. Today isn't about pitying Peeta. It's about Haymitch's heart and how it's threatening to kill him.

"No, I haven't eaten." Haymitch repeats, taken aback by Peeta's order.

"I'll get you something." I offer, standing up and letting go of his hand.

"Winnow did the shopping two days ago. Everything should still be fresh. Thank you," I walk past Peeta, giving him the cold shoulder, wishing he would decide to be helpful at some point today.

Instead of making him soup or a sandwich, I find the inevitable leftovers in the fridge for Haymitch and start heating them up in the microwave. Silently, Peeta enters the kitchen just as I'm pouring some Scotch into a glass.

"Katniss, what are you thinking? He can't have that." Peeta objects as I screw the lid back on the Scotch.

"It's for me." I say, putting the alcohol back in a cupboard and reaching for the glass. Before I can take a much-needed gulp, Peeta grabs it from me. The drink sloshes over the sides as it goes from my possession to Peeta's. "What the hell?" I demand.

"You're pregnant, remember?" Peeta reminds me. This almost seems irrelevant.

"I'm also this close to losing one of my best friends." I hold my thumb and index finger an inch apart. "While still grieving the loss of another. Giver it back!" Anger boils up inside me for what seems like a justifiable reason at the time, but isn't.

In a desperate attempt to do something, Peeta downs the Scotch nearly in one. I look at him, my mouth open in shock.

"Peeta! If I can't drink it, neither can you!" I object.

"I'm not carrying another life inside me." Peeta points his whole hand at me.

"That's low!" I yell, my voice getting louder. "This obviously wasn't my choice!" I wince internally as I say it. But I can't take it back now.

"Not your choice? What is your choice, then? Killing it before it's born?" The volume of Peeta's voice matches mine.

"Shut up, Peeta! You don't understand what the past few weeks have been like for me!"

"I don't understand? I've been going through the same things as you! But I can't fake sick to avoid people like you do! I had to go to work and worry. If anything, you don't understand me!" When he finishes, I'm so pissed at him that I could throw something – anything – at him.

I'm about to retort when Haymitch's voice suddenly fills the room.

"Hey sweetheart?" It scares me half to death.

"Oh my god…" I mutter, jumping "What?" I snap at him without meaning to. His voice comes from the intercom system that's set up throughout the house.

"Let him win this argument. Now bring me some lunch." I hate that he's taking Peeta's side in this, but I can't be angry with Haymitch for too long. He did just have a heart attack after all. I grab the plate of leftovers and stalk past Peeta.

"I get to talk to Haymitch first… without you listening in." I hiss at him. It's times like this that I do regret being pregnant. I wouldn't have yelled at Peeta if I wasn't.

"Thank you," Haymitch attempts to sit up but then grimaces and some sort of heart monitor starts beeping.

"Just relax," I say, an edge of panic in my voice. He relaxes into the pillows behind him. "I'll do it for you." I pick up the fork and spear a piece of chicken with it.

"You know, you really shouldn't pick fights with your husband." Haymitch says before his mouth is full of chicken. I sigh. Is there no one that won't pick on my today?

"It's not really any of your business." I say quietly. All the fight as left me. Haymitch swallows with difficulty.

"You're right on that one. But you haven't been the only one suffering." He continues. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I think you need to apologize to Peeta. I don't know what you really think of this baby, but he really wants it. He's just looking out for you."

"Maybe if he looked out for me in a less annoying way, I wouldn't mind." I grumble.

"Katniss," Haymitch's voice is suddenly clear and stern. "I don't know if it's shock or lack of sleep or just your hormones – maybe it's all three – but I'd really appreciate it if you dropped the attitude." He's back to his old surly self, telling me like it is. I set the plate down on the table. "I'm on my death bed and you're fighting with Peeta… it's selfish!" For him, this comment is probably off-hand and humorous.

"Don't say that ever again!" I exclaim, falling to my knees, starting to cry. "You aren't on your death-bed! You're going to live to see this baby born and grow up. You're going to be there for Peeta and me, and help us figure out how to be parents. We're a team, remember?" I ask tearfully.

Haymitch pats my head, muttering something about 'definitely hormones.' It makes me cry even more.

"I'm sorry," he eventually says to make me stop blubbering. "And now since I've apologized, go do the same for Peeta." He makes me stand, lets me wipe away my tears. "You two never fight anymore. I'd hate to see you start again now." He's certainly exhausted by now. I nod, but he's closed his eyes already so I'm not sure if he sees me.

As quietly as I can, I go back to find Peeta. He's still in the kitchen, sitting at the table looking slightly queasy.

"Peeta?" I say timidly. He looks up but waits for me to continue. "Look, I'm sorry for those things I said and… tried to do. The truth is, I'm scared now more than ever to have this baby. If Johanna could leave hers so easily and suddenly, can I? I don't think I can bear one more person leaving me. Not after I've become so attacked to them. Please forgive me," I plead. For someone who isn't good with words, I've stunned him into silence.

"K-Katniss?" He stammers.

"Yeah?"

"Don't take this the wrong way… but I think I'm going to be sick." It's as if saying it makes it happen. Peeta vomits all over the kitchen floor, making me cringe. I side-step the pool of puke to rub his back.

"What happened? Do you have the flu?" I ask once he's stopped. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

"I just chugged a glass of Scotch… that's all." He pauses, coughing but not retching. "You're welcome," he starts laughing and I know our fight has been settled. I kiss his cheek and make him sit down.

"Whatever you're doing to my kitchen, clean it up." Haymitch says through the intercom. I get out a mop and clean up.

Peeta wants to talk to Haymitch as well, but Haymitch is asleep when we go back to the living-room. So we sit on an armchair – me on Peeta's lap – and just talk. How long has it been since we've just talked? Too long. We avoid the subject of Haymitch and Johanna, and of Gale and our baby. My new favourite topic is Erin. She's apparently my new best friend and Peeta approves.

"You're still here?" My mother comes back looking refreshed and clean.

"Didn't want to leave him alone." Peeta replies. "We'll leave you to your nursing duties." I get up first, followed by Peeta. Goodbyes are exchanged and Haymitch receives more sedatives and painkillers.

As we walk home, carefully picking our way past the slippery spots, Peeta brings up my apology.

"You are 100% forgiven." He assures me. "Mostly because I love you, but also because I've forgotten how to be angry with you." I smile softly at this.

"That was our first argument in years." I agree.

"What was the last one about, do you remember?" He asks, starting up our porch steps.

"Probably something like what to do with Prim's old room." I reply. Memories of when we first officially moved in together come flooding back. I wanted to keep the door locked forever, but Peeta was adamant that we needed to clean some of the stuff out.

"Wow, good thing we have arguments over really stupid things. Otherwise our relationship wouldn't be such smooth sailing." Peeta says sarcastically. I smack him playfully on the arm.

"Watch it, Mellark." I tease him. "According to Haymitch, I have wild hormones today. You don't want to mess with me."

"I love you," Peeta sighs, pulling me towards him.

"I only moderately like you," I say, joking completely and he knows it. He kisses me, then promises to sketch me today. He says I'm 'absolutely glowing!'

This somewhat concerns me. I'm glowing while Haymitch is suffering. And it's a guilt-trip like this that makes me go back to bed and sleep until dinner.