Chapter 7: Ave(n) Maria

Sadly, try as we might, no matter how many times Darius and I have sex, we fail to conceive the fourth child we both want. For the next six years, we make love with abandon and often, and for six years, the pregnancy slip comes back negative.

Meanwhile, my baby brother grows up strong, handsome. A heartbreaker. Like Mother. Like Daddy. He inherits the bow that I surrendered in accepting marriage and motherhood, going out into the woods seemingly without fear. If anything, Darius worries about his hunting trips more than I do, despite the fact that he is now Head Peacekeeper, and District 12 law is what my husband says it is. Darius's influence can only protect Aven so much - suppose a rogue Peacekeeper like Donaldson catches him?

Before I can blink, it is Aven's final year of eligibility for the Reaping. And it is with great joy that I discover that I am finally pregnant. I am under no illusions that my likely last pregnancy will be as smooth at 32 than my first was at only 20. But I welcome the challenge. And Darius praises me with a passionate make-out session and wild celebration sex on the kitchen floor.

Unfortunately, days later, my euphoria is shattered by Aven Kirkman Everdeen's name being called as the male tribute in the 90th Hunger Games. His final year of eligibility. And with no Victor, no mentor to help him. No winner from District 12 in the last four decades to turn to. His district partner is a wealthy Merchant, the Postmaster's daughter.

When I visit my little brother in the Justice Building, my three little ones clinging to him and me and sobbing (even Darius manages to make an appearance and say farewell, despite his busy duties), Aven is resolute. Determined. I remind him how he is an Everdeen, a hunter. Get to a bow. And if they don't have a bow, then you make one. I kiss him goodbye, let him touch my still flat stomach to say farewell to his unborn niece or nephew, and then Darius's deputies lead us away.

Aven puts up one hell of a fight. He makes it through the Bloodbath, several Gamemaker traps, a Feast skirmish, then a second. It is down to the Final Four: Aven, the girl from One, the boy from Five, and the boy from Ten. They have been in the arena for close to two weeks.

The Gamemakers call for a Feast. Standing in the square, I beg for my little brother not to go, but of course, he doesn't listen. The girl from One ambushes him at the horn before he can ready his bow, hacking him to death before moving on to mow down the preteen runt from Five. In my anger and grief, I feel no pity for her when she is finally felled by the eventual Victor, the boy from Ten.

I spend several sleepless nights in Darius arms, weeping and mourning my brother. But, like Peeta Mellark before me regarding the death of his wife, Nata, I come to accept his death as just another reality of living in Panem. Nine months later, when my daughter is born, I name her Ave after him.

Darius and I have seventeen joyful years of marriage together, and almost two decades of being romantically involved. But like all things in Panem, even my marriage comes to a tearful end.

The end comes when Darius suffers a fall in our home. He trips on one of little Kirkman's toys and tumbles down the stairs. At first, he laughs it off, telling me that he pulled a "Haymitch." For a time, I laugh with him.

At least until Mother shows me the Xray of my husband's fractured hip, and how it has healed all wrong.

With his injury, my husband's mobility is severely compromised. He is forced into retirement at the age of 39. While he could re-enlist, it would not be in District 12. Purnia, the new Head Peacekeeper and a close family friend (she was my husband's partner when he was first a cadet, at the start of his career, and has served loyally as his Deputy Head) would have the authority to commission him to whatever district she wishes. Such an assignment could last up to ten years, at least until Darius could apply for a honorable discharge. Rather than have any reminders of what he's lost, what he still stands to lose, Darius chooses retirement. But even in this, he is to be taken away from me. For all retired Peacekeepers are automatically recalled, withdrawn to the place of their birth. Which means Darius must return to District 4, his homeland.

It doesn't matter that pretty much all in Twelve know that I am the Head Peacekeeper Emeritus's wife and the mother of his four children. Our marriage was never formally recognized in a District 12 court of law. We never wed before the district clerk, nor were we ever assigned a house from the Justice Building. Darius and I married through a Toasting, sealed with a kiss, and while customary this does not hold sway in the eyes of district or Panemian law. Peacekeepers are not allowed to marry, so that if and when a cadet or officer is transferred, they cannot transplant any roots they may have sown here. In being the children of a Peacekeeper, my babies are an exception rather than the rule in that their parents have stayed together and faithful to each other. Other Peacekeeper spawn are viewed as illegitimate, raised in broken homes.

So it is with a heavy heart that I and my four children, along with Mother and Prim and Rory, gather at the District 12 train station to wish my husband farewell. I am dressed in my blue dress, with a shawl over my shoulders to keep out the chilly autumnal air.

My three older kids cling to their father and cry, Elsa loudest of all. Finn, the eldest at fifteen, and Kirkman - now the men of the house - are doing their level-best not to cry, though the crack in their voices is apparent.

Darius kisses each of our babies, then hugs my family farewell. Mother leads Rory, Primrose and the children off the platform and out of sight, to give me a few moments alone with my husband.

Darius cups my face in his hands and tilts it back, so that we are gazing into each other's eyes. He caresses my cheeks with his thumbs, catching the tears that stream down my face. "I wish you could come with me."

I smile weakly. "I will be with you... in here." I rest a palm flat against his chest.

Darius beams and we share a chaste kiss, pecking our lips together softly. "I told you when I proposed to you that you and our children would be well provided for."

I beam at him lovingly, happily reminiscing. Yes, I do remember. And Darius has been true to his word. More than true. He has left to me all he can, what he thinks he can get away with, and more. His lifelong pension from being Head Peacekeeper. His retirement funds. His life savings. If Purnia notices, she has never let on and perhaps even looked the other way. She has already promised me that she will try and help me, her predecessor's district-wife. Make sure no one hassles the old Head's retirement widow. I promise to support her rule in return. After all, District 12 is a cushy district for Peacekeepers. Easy. Not like Eleven or Seven. As for my husband, he has expressed to me that his plan, upon reaching District 4, is to live with his famous brother in their Victor's Village for a little while and figure things out from there. Darius seems more than confident his brother, Finnick, will take him in.

The train whistle blows. "All aboard!" the conductor calls.

With a strangled gasp, I leap into Darius's arms and he pulls me close. Our lips crash together in a heated kiss, our mouths quickly parting to welcome each other's tongues that now battle for dominance. Darius feels me up, cupping my bum, my breasts, and with an aroused groan, I hitch my leg to his waist. Push my breasts up against his chest. We are practically rutting against each other like two teenagers, reminding me of how we would make love when we were first married. I rock against Darius's pelvis; he nips my bottom lip lightly, eliciting a moan. "Mmmmm... Hmmmmm..."

Soon, Darius is bracing me against the station wall and we are full-blown making out. Somewhere far, far away, the train whistle blows. Just before the last whistle sounds, Darius and I softly break the kiss at last.

"Goodbye, Katniss, my darling wife. And thank you." Darius boards the train and waves, gazing at me, eyes only for me, until the last. As the locomotive disappears, I blow him one last kiss.

After Darius leaves, I try to find a place for myself. By now, I am 35 years old, and the mother of four children. The oldest is 15, the youngest is not quite four. Ave will barely remember her father. Finn will never forget, and he adjusts to his daddy's departure the hardest. I try to find a place for myself. But I have spent the past seventeen years as a mother and a wife, taking care of one man, his house, and his children. Our children. I don't know what else to do with myself. I am no longer the girl who hunts in the woods, the girl who vowed to never fall in love or marry and bear children. I have long forgotten where my father hid his bow. Aven was the last Everdeen to use it; for all I know, he hid it someplace else. I haven't been under the fence in over a decade. And with that fact, I now no longer know how I am going to feed my children. Darius's savings and pension - my inheritance - will only take me so far. And whatever assistance Purnia has promised to give will not ease the pain of losing my husband, the love of my life. Her help won't put food in my children's mouths.

How am I going to raise my babies?