I wake unnaturally late in the morning.

For a baker, anyway;

the sun is already up and painting my favorite color across the sky.

I groan, thinking of the bread that isn't made

and the lunches that aren't packed.

Katniss shifts beside me.

She also has slept in.

It is not until I put on my prosthetic and walk downstairs

that I realize the reason for our late wake-up call.

No pitter-patter of feet came running down our hall.

No little knocks sounded at our bedroom door.

No tired yawns of,

"Daddy, make me pancakes please,"

were whispered into my ears.

Our children have,

miraculously,

slept in.

I am just about to bask in this moment when Katniss comes around the corner,

rubbing the sleep from her eyes and pushing the hair from her face.

Then, suddenly,

she goes from drowsy to hyper-alert,

her eyes frantically moving toward me.

"Where are the kids?

Peeta, where are our kids?" she repeats over and over again,

driven to insanity by the abnormal silence,

running through the house so fast I can't catch up with her,

not on my leg the way it is.

I follow her to our son's room,

seeking to calm her down,

then feel some alarm myself when his bed is empty.

I turn, expecting to see a further frazzled Katniss behind me,

ready to bolt down the stairs and send a search party out for him,

but she is still.

Just as suddenly as her frenzy started,

she stops.

And she smiles.

I trod over to the door of our daughter's room and follow her eyes.

There, in her big girl bed that makes her look very, very small

is a dark brown braid

and a little blonde tuft of hair

poking out of pink, pink sheets.

I find myself mimicking Katniss,

smiling at our children sleeping soundly for the first time in

months

together.

I kiss her still-flushed cheek and whisper small comforts and teases in her ear

until we both decide we are ready for the peace to break

and we topple into bed with our children.

He falls into her arms and plants a big, wet kiss on her cheek

and she climbs onto my back, urging me with yawning whispers,

just like normal,

to make her some pancakes.

I happily oblige.