What I just said about my mind changing about children would've sent me reeling a year ago. Maybe it would've done the same even six months ago. But as Peeta and I have been married, some things have been made clearer to me. And one of those things is that I want to have a family with him someday.

The urge comes with the small, good things I see him do every day. How he cleans up Haymitch's house without being asked. How he saves stray kittens from starving. How he makes sure the goats are comfortable at night, every night, after dinner. How he turned this house that we share into a home - a home that's more than big enough for children.

I know how to take care of people. With the fear of the Games made obsolete, my mindset has been shifting. If there had never been such a thing as the Games at all, I might be a mother already. In a different world, of course.

But I don't want to be a mother in a different world. I want to be a mother in this one, a mother to Peeta's children, the ones that have been playing in my mind's eye for years now. They've been patiently waiting there for a while, and it's a relief to put the idea of them into the open. It's a weight lifted off my chest, admitting that I want them.

With the way I'd been silently sifting through these thoughts, it takes me a moment to realize that Peeta hasn't yet responded. I guess I expected him to be excited - I hoped he would be - but instead of gushing over the blooming state of our future with me, I look at his face to find that it's gone dark.

"Peeta," I say, frowning. I sit up and lean into him, caressing his face with my hands. His muscles are rigid, his jaw clenched, and I don't have a good feeling about this.

I'm familiar enough by now with what Peeta's episodes look like, and this is how some of them start. With a faraway look in his eyes, a looming shadow cast over him, and tension all over. I try to put my fear away and stay calm, but even though I've helped him through a good number of flashbacks, they never get easier to witness.

It's painful to watch him slip away from me, if only temporarily. But grappling for him and yanking him back to reality, where I am, never works. He's too far gone to be forced, and soft spoken, gentle words work better anyway.

"Peeta, I'm right here," I say, running my fingers through his springy curls. "Can you hear me?"

Without any facial movement, tears fall from his eyes and drip down his cheeks in singular rivulets. I wipe them away, but new ones replace the old at a pace I can't keep up with.

"Peeta-"

"I need to be alone," he says - suddenly and sternly. He jerks his face away and my hands are left empty, cupping the air where he had just been. In one quick motion, he gets out of bed and puts his leg on with miscalculating, fumbling fingers, and all I can do is stare at him with wide, watery eyes.

As he walks out of our bedroom, I watch his back and see that his shoulders are hunched up by his ears. He's not himself. The real Peeta, my Peeta, would never act like that - especially towards me. But from what he's shared about his sessions with Dr. Aurelius, when he feels his mind start to wander towards the dark places that it still knows well, removing himself from me is the best option.

I think he's scared that he'll hurt me, but I'm not worried about that. Maybe, at one point, I was. But I'm not anymore. I hate when he's disconnected from reality, and I may be scared for him, but I'm not scared of him.

I understand that being alone is the best option and it's how he copes. But that doesn't make lying by myself in this bed any easier.

I peer out the window and see Peeta in the front yard pacing. Illuminated only by the moonlight, his hair glows almost white. His movements are fast and jerky, disjointed and almost robotic. Like he's short circuiting. It's not a pleasant sight, but I'm glad to know that at least he didn't go far. He might not be in bed with me, but at least he's still in Victors' Village.

I press a hand to the windowpane and bite the inside of my cheek as hot tears roll down my cheeks. After a while, I rip my eyes away from him and head back to bed, crawling under the covers in a futile attempt to calm down and get at least a little sleep.

I close my eyes even though I know it's pointless to do so. I can't sleep alone even when Peeta is in a good place, like when he stays up baking or painting or organizing. So, the thought of sleep when he's unwell is so unrealistic that I may as well not try.

I stare at Peeta's empty half of the bed and my chest goes hollow as I imagine how I would've liked tonight to go. In a perfect world, I would've told him that I changed my mind about children and his smile, my favorite smile in the world, would've lit up his face. He would've pulled me close, kissed me all over, and told me he couldn't wait to start a family with me.

But it's not a perfect world, and I'm alone as Peeta fights his demons outside.

Interrupting my thoughts, I hear a quiet, musical mew come from the foot of the bed. I lift my head to see Fern stretching, and once she sees me looking at her she makes a beeline for me and I let it happen. I need some sort of comfort without Peeta here, and she's my best bet. She might be tiny, but she's warm and her purr is as loud as a motor.

She curls up in a ball on my chest, right where Buttercup used to lie in the rare times that I'd let him. And, much like that ugly orange cat who paved the way for her, she licks the tears from my hands and stays with me until morning.

…

When the sun comes up, my eyes are dry and crackly and rubbing them only makes them ache. I laid here all night, but not once did sleep come, and I'm feeling the effects of that now. But at least the sun is rising, so I have an excuse to get out of bed and see if Peeta is doing any better.

The morning usually provides him with a fresh, clean slate after a bad night. The prospect of him looking at me with eyes that I recognize makes my stomach jump with anticipation - it's almost silly how much I missed him, how much I miss him every time the trauma takes over his brain like that.

I throw on a thin robe and tie the sash, then hear a soft thump as Fern jumps off the bed to follow me. She's still very little, unsteady on her short legs, and can't keep up as I head to the stairs, so I let Peeta's warmth infect me and scoop her up. I slip her in the deep front pocket of my robe and she peeks her head out, riding complacently as I look around the first floor for my husband - who is nowhere to be found.

"Peeta?" I call, tucking my long, loose hair behind my ears. I haven't cut it in years, and it's healthier than it's ever been. Eating three square meals a day and not getting burned alive helps. Now more than ever, I keep it down at night instead of woven and tucked away. Peeta likes to run his fingers through it as he falls asleep, and it's a comfort to me, too.

As I look for him, I find my own hands stroking my hair in the way that he does - maybe as a way to soothe myself. I walk into the kitchen and Fern squeaks out her little meow, knowing this is the place where we eat, but Peeta isn't around to give her cream and fish like he normally is.

It takes a moment to register the empty feeling in the house and realize that he's not here. But there is a note left on the kitchen island, one that I hurry towards once I see it. When I pick it up to see what he wrote, though, it doesn't encourage the glowing feeling that so many of his notes do. Instead of being warm and affectionate, his tone is clinical, to-the-point, and almost short.

K,

At the bakery

P

I fold up the note and set it back on the counter, then lift Fern out of my pocket and cradle her close to my face. She headbutts the side of my jaw, purring enthusiastically, and I run my fingers down her spine as I think of what to do.

The truth is that I have no idea. I want to go see Peeta at the bakery, but the way the note is worded makes it seem like he still wants space. The last thing I want is to infringe on the time that he's using to recuperate, so I decide to get dressed and pay Haymitch a visit.

I bring Fern with me, as it doesn't feel right to leave her home alone. Peeta and I have done it before, but this morning I just don't want to. She's happy to be carried, so I hold her close as I walk up Haymitch's front porch steps where Honk and Whiskey are sleeping with their heads tucked under their wings.

I told Haymitch years ago that they would be as vigilant as guard dogs. That promise hasn't really held up.

I don't bother with knocking and instead just walk right in, which Haymitch expects at this point. Because it's so early, he's still awake - having not yet gone to bed - and sitting at his kitchen table. We make eye contact as soon as I come inside, and he raises his eyebrows and tips a glass of amber liquid at me.

"Wondered when you'd show up," he says.

He seems to always know what I'll do before I do it. I wonder if that's because he knows me well, if I'm just that predictable, or because we're so alike. Maybe a combination of all three.

I keep my shoes on and join him at the table, absentmindedly stroking Fern's tiny head as Haymitch sips his drink and assesses me. "You like that little thing, don't you?" he asks, regarding the kitten.

I shrug one shoulder but the answer is obvious with the way I have Fern tucked close to my chest, both hands cupping her small body. She needs me, and being needed is something I'm familiar with, something I know how to handle.

I want to talk to Haymitch about what happened but I'm clueless as to how to broach the topic. Up to this point, we've discussed plenty of things - from the everyday to the downright harrowing - but discussing mine and Peeta's thoughts on procreation seems off-limits. Maybe it's because I've always kept quiet on subjects like this, and it feels too private to share with anyone but Peeta.

But I need to talk about last night with someone. Keeping it inside isn't an option. I've learned that I don't do well with bottling things up; that had been a habit of mine for so long, but it was only hurting me.

Peeta led me to realize that. He's told me time and time again that Dr. Aurelius could help me process things on an even deeper level through therapy, but I'm not sure digging into my pain is what I need or what I want at this juncture. I can only make so much progress at once.

Before I can figure out how to bring up last night, Haymitch starts talking. "You should know that the boy beat you here," he says. "He was here all night. Talked 'til morning."

I guess that doesn't really come as a surprise. If going to Haymitch for counsel was my first instinct, it's not strange that it was Peeta's as well.

"He shared what you told him," Haymitch continues. "About wanting kids."

I can't meet his eyes, so I look at the grain of the wood on the table instead and concentrate on my breathing. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out. If I can focus on that, maybe then I can keep from crying.

I nod and when I speak, my voice comes out garbled and trembling. "I guess he doesn't want them," I say.

Haymitch scoffs and shakes his head, leaning back in his chair so far that it creaks. "Sweetheart, please," he says. I still don't look up, so he changes his tone and softens it when he addresses me next. "That's the last thing he wants you to think."

I lift my chin and stare at Haymitch with lowered eyebrows, suddenly angry. "Well, what else am I supposed to assume?" I snap. "When he shuts down and won't talk to me?"

He shakes his head again, even goes so far as to roll his eyes after taking a sip of his drink. "Katniss," he says, and his use of my actual name throws me for a loop. "You have no goddamn idea what he went through in the Capitol. What they did so he has no choice but to react poorly to these big, grand statements you make."

"You're right," I say, still glowering. "Because he won't tell me."

Haymitch sets his elbows on the table and leans forward onto them, and the alcohol on his breath nearly knocks me out when he speaks. "Have you ever asked?" he says.

I have no response to that. He already knows my answer - that no, I haven't asked Peeta about what they did to him, how they tortured him, or how they instilled fear into him. I've always assumed that the last thing he wants is to talk about it, to rehash it, so I steer clear of the subject altogether. I don't like talking about what gave me my scars, so it just made sense.

"Ask him," Haymitch says, sitting back again. "Maybe it'll help you understand."

With a prickly goodbye, I stand up and walk out the door with Fern in tow. When I leave, Honk and Whiskey are just waking up, ruffling their feathers and squawking a grouchy 'good morning' to us as we head down the front porch steps.

Fern hisses in their direction, a minuscule sound like air leaking from a tire, and I smile for the first time all day. I give her a kiss on the head, then tell her that we're headed to the bakery and we're going to see Peeta.

…

When I walk into the bakery, the bell above the door chimes and Peeta glances over from where he's at helping a customer. It's someone inconsequential who I don't recognize, and his demeanor is calm and subdued - but not reclusive or jumpy. That's a good sign.

I stand near the door as he finishes the order he's working on, and when we meet eyes it's clear that he knows why I'm here. "I'll just be a second," he tells me, then his eyes catch on the little black furball I'm holding near my heart and he smirks.

It's so good to see him smile, even if it's just a twitch of his lips. I nod and pet the kitten, tracing the bridge of her nose as she blinks her green eyes at me, those eyes that are still a little too big for her face. "He'll just be a second," I whisper to her, repeating Peeta's words. "And then we're going to drop you off at home. But we won't be gone for too long."

Fern blinks again, extending one baby leg to touch my chin with her soft pink pads. She reaches a bit higher to tap me again, and I open my mouth slightly to capture her tiny toes between my lips, making small little sounds that seem to amuse her. I'm caught up in this silly game when Peeta comes out from behind the counter, and I watch him grab something from the display case that I can't see.

He presents it to me before we walk outside, though, and I see that it's a small frosted cookie. Fresh, by the looks of it, and so detailed. "For you," he says quietly, and I take it.

I chew on the sugary sweet as he turns the 'Open' sign to say 'Closed' and locks the front door, then we walk side-by-side in the direction of home. Since I have both hands on the cat and can't reach for him, he winds an arm around me and rests a hand on the small of my back - keeping it there the entire way. His grip is wide and sturdy; it's clear he's feeling more sure of himself than he was this morning. Still quieter than usual, but he's on the way back.

When we reach Victors' Village, I turn to him and say, "I want to take you somewhere."

"Okay," he agrees.

"I'm just going to drop her off inside," I say.

"Bye, Fernie," Peeta says, tickling the kitten under her chin.

I hurry up the steps and open the front door, then go in to set Fern on the couch in her favorite spot, right in the middle of a throw pillow. Once I let her down, she looks up at me and peeps indignantly, upset over the fact that we're separated for the first time all day.

"I'll be back," I tell her, then leave to rejoin Peeta.

This time, with no precious cargo to carry, I can reach for his hand - so I do. I grip his fingers tight and he strokes my skin with his thumb, calmly walking beside me without asking where we're headed. He'll know soon enough, anyway. He'll recognize it.

I'm taking him to the meadow, a place that I decided I want to reclaim. It was a place where, a long time ago, I felt safe - and I want to feel that again. I don't want to be afraid of something so beautiful, so peaceful. I want to override the negative connotations once and for all by putting my foot down and simply refusing to avoid it.

With the sun high in the sky and the sky a brilliant blue, the meadow is a place full of colors that Peeta loves. As walk further, he looks around in wonder - and I realize that I'm not sure if he's ever been here. I've never taken him, and I can't think of when he would come alone.

"The meadow," he says, then looks at me. All I do is nod.

I take him to the persimmon tree and we sit underneath it, cloaked in the shade it provides. Before I get too comfortable, though, I stand up and grab him one of the fruits. He takes a bite and his face pinches in the hilarious way it always does when he eats something sour. His eyebrows lift to his hairline and he smacks his lips together, then hands it to me. I take a bite right next to where he did, and due to the sparkle in his eyes, I'm sure the expression I make is funny, too.

We pass the fruit back and forth until it's nothing but a seed-like pit, and I toss that far beyond us into the tall grass. Afterwards, I lean against his side and he keeps me close with one arm wrapped around me, and I hold one of his hands in both of mine to slowly trace his knuckles and veins - so strong yet delicate at the same time.

I'm still staring at his hands when I open my mouth to speak a while later. "I talked to Haymitch today," I say.

Peeta turns his hand over in mine, palm up, and interlaces our fingers. He holds onto me and I hold onto him, which is what we both need most. Right now, today, tomorrow. Always.

"He didn't tell me anything," I say, continuing. "He just told me that I should ask… Ask you about what they did that would make you shut down like you did last night." I keep my eyes on our hands and feel him inhale and exhale as my cheek rests on his shoulder. "What would make you react like that to me talking about having children, Peeta?"

I lift my head to look him in the eyes and find that they're shiny and teary, but his gaze is present. He's still here, and I'm going to keep him here.

He takes a long time to respond as he organizes his thoughts. But even as he bites his lips, clears his throat, moves through all of the nervous fidgets that I've come to know, he continues to push forward.

"Are you sure you want to know?" he asks.

I nod and say, "I want to know. I need to."

He sighs and directs his eyes to the ground, and I stroke his hair as his head is lowered. I run my hands through his curls and they slip through my fingers easily - so soft, like a baby's. I kiss his crown, hoping to give him strength, and he picks himself back up after a while to get started.

"It was something they used to upset me," he says, then shakes his head firmly. "No. It was more than that. They used it to torture me."

"How?"

He bites his lower lip so hard that it goes bloodless and completely white. "They showed me footage of you," he says. "First benign stuff, like you saying that you never want a family. That didn't bother me so much. Everyone is entitled to their thoughts on having children - I would never force you, or-or anyone. I didn't mind that. But it was just the beginning."

I wonder what they could've shown him - if it was real or something doctored. I had conversations that centered around such things with Gale at one point, but that was before I was even reaped. There's no way they had cameras on me then; there was no reason. This footage had to have been something Snow manufactured.

"It went beyond that," Peeta says. I notice that his hands are trembling so I grip them both hard, squeezing tight to remind him where he is and who I am and what we are. I hope it works. "They showed me footage of you and Gale together. Laughing. But you weren't you. You were a couple of mutts, laughing about how pathetic I was. How the act of our romance was so unfathomable, it's no wonder no one in the Districts believed it. That even though he was played off as your cousin, you'd have his children over mine any day. You said at least his children would be strong, they'd know how to survive, and they would never let themselves be captured by an enemy and punished. The footage… it had you saying that you'd rather die than be forced to have children with my blood."

He takes a shaky inhale. "You would just laugh and laugh, this awful, deep, demonic laugh. At how stupid I was for thinking that you'd want anything other than a family with him. For thinking, even for a second, that you and I would work. That I was anything more than something to laugh at. The footage told me that you were kind to me in order to get on my good side before flipping things to make me look like the imbecile I was." His lips are trembling now, and a few tears fall and disappear under his chin before I can wipe them away.

"Over and over," he says. "Every day. All day. I listened to that for weeks. So, when you…" He closes his eyes tightly and centers himself. "When you brought up children, my mind went… it went there. And I couldn't get it back, not for a while at least. Not until I was alone. And I know it's not real. I know it's made up. And I'm going to get better at differentiating that with the real you in front of me. But…" He sighs and his shoulders deflate, a huge weight sloughed off. "Last night, I just couldn't. And I'm sorry, Katniss. I'm sorry."

"No," I say reflexively. "No, don't apologize." I throw my arms around him and hold fast, pressing my face into his neck and not wanting to ever let go. I hold him so tightly that my arms shake, and he wraps his around my back with just as much fervor.

When I pull away, I push his hair off his forehead and hold it back with both hands, and he searches my eyes for something to hold onto. I hope whatever it is is there, that I'm giving it to him. Because I want to give him everything.

"I would never," I say, placing emphasis on the word. "Never create life with Gale." I shake my head once, firmly. "All he did was take it."

Peeta opens his mouth to speak, but I stop him with soft fingers pressed against his lips. He closes them and allows me to continue.

"But you…" I begin. "You show me life. You give it to me. You always have, and you always will. In so many different ways. And I want to create a family with you."

Now, as my hands cup Peeta's jaw, he uses his to cup mine too. And we're all wrapped up in each other in the middle of the meadow, a mess of emotions, a heap of parts that, when put together, make something close to whole. If you look at us from the right angle, in the right light.

"I would never choose anyone else as the father of my children," I say, whispering now, keeping my voice low and as sacred as a promise. Because it is a promise - one that I intend to keep for always, forever.

We're both crying, so we wrap our arms around each other and let it happen. I don't try and hold my emotions back - I let the dam break and so does he. I'm not sure how much time passes when we both finally lift our heads, but when we lock eyes - our bloodshot, damp eyes - we both start laughing like crazy people. And maybe we are crazy, just a little bit. But a little crazy is better than a lot shattered - so there could be worse things.

Peeta wipes the tears from my cheeks and I do the same for him. Then, with a watery smile, he asks, "Can we start trying right now?"

We burst into laughter all over again, and when we kiss it's wet with the tears that we shed, but neither of us mind. He kisses me with fervor and I give him the same in return, and we both want it so we follow through with what he asked for.

My head isn't so far in the clouds to think I'll get pregnant from this, from Peeta pushing inside me today and making my body his own in the way only he can. I took a pregnancy prevention pill last night out of habit and it's still in my system as of right now. But that's not the point - the point is that this is the first try of many as we work towards a specific goal, the goal of bringing a child into the world.

The thought is so big I can barely wrap my head around it, so I stop trying and instead focus on the way Peeta feels.

He comes inside me without a condom for the first time ever, but not without making sure that I go first. When he lets himself go, I'm still coming down from my orgasm and the heat of him filling me is enough to send shockwaves throughout my body all over again. I latch my ankles together over the small of his back and keep him inside me, my fingers digging into his shoulder blades as both of us ride out what we just did.

"Peeta," I murmur, my lips right against his ear, "I love you."

I hear him smile, and that makes me smile too. "I love you, too, birdie," he says after lifting his head, then kisses me soundly on the mouth.

After, we lie naked in each other's arms using the plush grass beneath us as a cushion. And, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I sing for the mockingjays and they all stop to listen.