Peeta stays until I'm asleep, rubbing my back for me. I sleep for most of the afternoon, dreaming of nothing solid, nothing in particular. The feeling of fear has dissipated for now, since Peeta was so excited about it. When my eyes open and take in the time on our alarm clock, I lay awake, stroking my stomach. It's slightly calming to think that it's just me and my baby in this moment.

The phone rings annoyingly loud, forcing me out of bed and relaxation. Holding the railing to stay balanced, I make it downstairs and to the kitchen where the phone sounds louder than ever.

"Hello?" I say, picking it up, hoping it's Peeta – demanding it to be Peeta.

"Watch your tone, sweetheart. I recently had a heart attack," Haymitch scolds hypocritically. I roll my eyes, wishing he could see.

"That was over a month ago," I correct him. "Why are you calling? Shouldn't you be punching something?"

"I've been sober since the attack. I'm not punching anything," he tells me. Although I'm irritated with him for calling, I must admit that I'm proud of him for this. It might have been terrifying, but the heart attack was just the wake-up call he needed.

"You didn't answer my first question," I remark, putting a hand on my hip.

"Right, right. Listen, you know that I don't like visits – Hell, I know you don't particularly enjoy them either – but I need to talk to you and Peeta. So, I'll be intruding after dinner. Make sure you have decaf coffee, because I'll want some," he orders. I furrow my brow. Intrude is right.

"Excuse me? You don't get to invite yourself over whenever you want," I argue. Not only is it incredibly short notice, but I'm not having a great day to begin with.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he continues, his voice softer and sincere for once. "It's about Johanna." I freeze and let my mouth fall open slightly. I can't deal with that conversation today. Not after saying goodbye to Gale and feeling the baby kick already. For a moment, I'm a stuttering mess on the phone.

"Peeta will make dessert to go with your coffee," I say in place of an agreement. My hands feel incredibly clammy as I hang up and set the phone back on the cradle. That's when I run to the sink and throw up everything I've eaten today.

XX

Peeta arrives home to find me in a frenzy, trying to cook Shepherd's Pie, while holding back tears. I don't notice him at first, not until he takes my wrist and pulls me to him for a hug.

"I told you everything's going to be okay," he says. I bury my face in his shirt. The fear in my chest is not about this baby or Peeta. I'm so scared of what Haymitch will say tonight what news he might have about Johanna's death or life. I don't know if my heart can take any more surprises. "I brought home a chocolate cake, just for you," he adds, hoping I'll put on a smile.

"Good. I'm sure Haymitch will love it," I say, feeling Peeta move away from me. One of his hands rests on my cheek; it's still a little floury.

"What do you mean?"

"He's coming over after dinner to talk," I reply, leaning into his hand. "I couldn't talk him out of it." Not like I really tried, though.

"To talk about what, exactly?" Peeta's other hand goes to my stomach as it so often does these days.

"Johanna," I whisper. He sighs softly and plants a light kiss on my forehead.

"Go upstairs and take a relaxing bath, okay? I'll finish dinner," he tells me. I shake my head defiantly.

"I've been resting all day, Peeta. I'm okay," I explain. "Really, I am," I add when he gives me a doubtful look.

"Fine, but I'm calling Haymitch to tell him not to come over," he crosses the room to the phone and starts dialling. He doesn't even finish punching in the numbers before I grab it from him and hang it up. "What was that for?" He asks a little incredulously.

"He already said he was coming!" I say angrily. "Just let him get whatever he needs to say off his chest!" I don't want to prolong this anymore. It's scary and unknown, but time isn't going to make it any better. Peeta puts his hands up in surrender.

"Okay, sorry, I was just trying to do the right thing for you," he explains.

"I can take care of myself, thank you." This comes from nowhere, and I want to take it back as quickly as I said it. But I can't now; it's out in the open, hanging in the air for us both to see. Peeta's cheeks blush a soft pink.

"I know you can. I'm just trying to help," to prove this, he sticks the Shepherd's Pie in the oven and sets the timer. There's a silence while I bit my lip and Peeta avoids looking at me in case I snap again. It's a pressing silence, begging me to fill it with noise.

"I have another appointment at the doctor's this week. Are you going to behave this time?" Peeta nods, looking a little like a puppy that's just been scolded. I'm so tense and I'm taking it out on him. I hate it.

"I'm going to go have a shower before dinner," he's quiet when he speaks. "I'll leave some hot water for you, don't worry," he smiles weakly, making a joke, but I don't smile back. I feel sick with myself. How can I be so awful to him? It's been as rough a month for him as it has for me. In no way do I get more pity than he does. I sink onto one of the kitchen chairs, immediately wanting Peeta back down here with me. Even his presence is reassuring. It's the thing I most crave these days, but I hadn't gotten much of it after his escape to the woods. The roles had been reversed then. The baby moves inside of me, not kicking, but I can feel it.

"Stop in there," I say, looking at my stomach. "Give me a break." It doesn't listen. What did I expect? No one listens to me.

XX

I calm down by the time dinner is ready. I eat everything on my plate, but it makes me feel truly sick. I swallow, take a deep breath, and lean back in my chair. Peeta takes this as his cue to get up behind me and rub my shoulders. I shrug him off gently.

"Are you still… stressed?" he asks, trying to be nice. I would have described my mood as 'pissy.' Peeta's classier than that.

"No. Just sick." I admit before clamping my mouth shut so I don't spew across the table.

"How sick? Should I call Haymitch and cancel?"

"Don't!" I desperately rub my aching stomach. "Don't you dare cancel." With not much grace, I push my chair back and rush to the bathroom. Peeta follows in close pursuit. I allow him to hold my hair back while I empty dinner into the toilet. It's exhausting, so I lean back into Peeta's chest while he rubs my arms. He lets me rest for a couple minutes before his support falters and he's trying to help me to my feet.

"Haymitch will be here soon," he hands me the glass beside the sink to fill with water. "Rinse your mouth out first," I do as I'm told. While I'm still spitting into the sink and Peeta's still rubbing my lower back, Haymitch lets himself in, calling out to us.

"In here!" Peeta shouts, making me cringe. "Sorry," he blushes and kisses my temple. The scruffy face of Haymitch Abernathy pokes into the bathroom.

"What's wrong with you?" he asks bluntly. I scowl.

"She was sick after dinner. I think you'll have to wait till tomorrow for cake, Katniss," Peeta answers for me. "Let's go sit down. You wanted coffee, Haymitch?" He's rushing it. I know he is. He always has when it came to something he didn't want to hear. To calm him down, I lay my hand on his shoulder.

"Decaf, Peeta," I tell him. "We'll wait for you to start," I smile and lead Haymitch to the living room while Peeta returns to the kitchen. I take a spot on the couch, surrounding myself with pillows to stay comfortable. Haymitch, predictably, takes a seat in the armchair.

"How's your day been, sweetheart?" he looks at me with real concern. The sarcastic reply dies on my lips. He really does care. I need to keep reminding myself of this.

"I felt it kick," I make my voice stay neutral. "For the first time." Haymitch's face pales slightly and he swallows hard.

"I never felt mine," it takes me a moment to realize what he means. Immediately, I feel guilty for hating the feeling of life inside me.

"You can feel this one if you want," I suggest. Slowly, Haymitch leans forward, kneeling in front of me to rest his hands on my stomach. Nothing happens inside me, although Haymitch waits patiently, expectantly. Peeta returns with coffee, giving us a funny look.

"I guess it's tired," I offer weakly. With a sigh, Haymitch takes his seat and accepts the drink from my husband. Tears suddenly leap to my eyes. I'm so conflicted about the kicking baby inside me. And now, we have to talk about Johanna.

"What did you want to discuss?" Peeta asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He looks so eager to absorb whatever Haymitch has to say. It reminds me of a 16-year-old boy with the same blonde and blue eyes awaiting the words of wisdom that will keep him alive. Haymitch clears his throat.

"I've been in contact with Cordelia Morgane to discuss Johanna's last few years. The silly woman barely had any records," he rolls his eyes in an Effie-like fashion, but I know he's being insulting to stay away from deeper feelings. "In short, Johanna was treated for her depression and anxiety until she became pregnant. She never marries, spent a lot of time in District 4. She had a house in 7, but no valuable possessions. They sold all her clothes and things," he pauses to rub the scruff on his chin.

"There's nothing left?" Peeta asks a hint of anger in his eye. I myself feel slightly violated, even though they didn't sell all of my things.

"Only one thing that I truly care about," he admits. "Johanna's daughter is still there, living with this Morgane woman," he opens his mouth as if to continue talking, but seems to think better of it. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a white piece of paper. "Just read this." He hands it to Peeta who unfolds it. It's the same type of paper I received in the mail how many weeks ago. I read over Peeta's shoulder.

Dear Mr. Haymitch Abernathy,

I am so pleased to hear back from you. DeAnna is absolutely thrilled by the idea! Based on the dates and information you have supplied me with, I think it would be best to come on the third week of February. Please give my best to Mr. and Mrs. Mellark.

Yours truly,

Cordelia Morgane, District 7 Escort

"So, you're going to go see her? DeAnna, I mean," I ask, my voice sounds thin. Haymitch shakes his head.

"She's coming here. And she wants to meet the two of you," he explains. My jaw nearly drops to the ground.

There are two days until Johanna's daughter gets here. I'm not ready for this at all. I shake my head a little.

"We didn't agree to this. We're not prepared to meet her," I explain with a hint of hysteria. Peeta slowly folds the letter back up and hands it to Haymitch.

"I think it's a good idea," he admits quietly, looking at his feet. Some sort of offended noise escapes my lips.

"You would," I say scathingly, crossing my arms across my chest.

"Of course I would. I know Johanna would do it for our child if the roles were reversed. She would make an effort." Peeta argues back gently.

"Fine, then you can meet her. But I can't. Not in two days."

"What's gotten into you, Katniss?" Haymitch's tone is once again full of anger. I stand, wobbling a little, feeling a wave of nausea that I ignore.

"I'm pregnant. That's what's gotten into me!" I try to storm away angrily, barely hearing Peeta say he'll 'talk to me.'

No, you won't, I think, climbing the stairs. If I can't do it, I can't do it. I get my pajamas on and crawl into bed, turning off the light. I don't bother waiting for Peeta to come up to bed before falling asleep.

I can't do it.

A/N I will not stop updating, no matter how much time has gone by since I last posted a chapter! I'm going to finish this thing! If you guys are feeling desperate for more, send me a PM and I'll get it in my email. It makes me update faster ;)