Thank you for reviews! There's some Peeta/Katniss and Katniss/Prim dialogue here, which I liked writing. And there's a "maybe " clue to the gender of the baby. Happy reading!

disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games

Chapter 34

Just 62 days to go. That's a close estimation from the doctor of when I'm having the baby. It's frightening knowing that time only gets shorter, and before you know it, the baby will be born. I've thought a lot about what happens after that: Motherhood. I'm very unsure about the whole thing. I'm so messed up, I'm afraid my child will be affected by it. It's all Snow's fault. He made me like this. I'm beginning to think I won't be a good mother… and so I've purposely tell my thoughts of the baby to the therapist. If nobody thinks I can do it, then why fight it? Maybe I am too crazy to raise a baby.

"…Let's start with a list of good things that have happened. Can you name some?"

I sit there and look to my the bump that houses the baby. I don't say anything.

"What about your sister? You seemed to be very grateful of having her here."

"Yes," I say. My voice seems to have a natural dryness to it.

"What else?"

I search my thoughts, and keep my gaze down. "I get to kill Snow."

The therapist hesitates a moment before going on. He writes something down in his notebook and then looks with a forced smile. "What about your baby? It's a miracle that they're still alive, and soon they will be born. Are you feeling any sort of nervousness or excitement?"

I make sure to look blankly back at him. "I wouldn't consider it a good thing…"

That must have got him. My mother didn't seem surprised when he told her about it. She did seem a little disappointed. I watch her and my therapist talk outside of door from the small window of my room. As he tells her of my session, she looks back at me dolefully. I look away so it appears I'm not spying on them. I fumble the sheets between my hands. It's for the best, I tell myself.

My mother comes into the room and sits on the side of my bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I say plainly.

"Good, I think you're well enough to go see someone."

"Who?"

"I think it might be a good idea to talk to Peeta. I think you two should be able talk about what you want to do and-"

"I don't want to see him now."

"Why?" she asks softly.

If I talk about it with him, he'll probably want to keep the baby. That will only make it hard to go on with my plan. It will be harder to lie that I don't want our baby. It will make it increasingly difficult to give it up, when Peeta is the one that got me to love it in the first place. I don't know how to answer my mother. She waits patiently for a reply that I can't make up. I can't say I'm feeling sick, because I just told her I was fine.

"Come on sweetheart, it will only be for a little bit. It's important you do, before you make any huge decisions."

I don't reject her hand to help me up. I get up and follow my mother out of the room. We pass the therapist on the other side of the hallway. He gives a polite smile in our direction, but I don't return anything. I too preoccupied about what I should tell Peeta. What if they've somehow told him already? Then what?

It's too late to think about what to do. We reach doors to the hospital cafeteria. My mother opens the door, but she moves aside for me to walk in.

"You're not… coming?" I ask.

"The doctor thought it would be better to just let the two of you talk," she replies. There I enter the large room, and my mother gives me a reassuring smile as she leaves. I turn back and look around for the room for Peeta. It's not really crowded with people like the District 13 Dining Hall. A quarter of the seats are filled with ill, afflicted looking people. I must fit in pretty well. I look search the crowd for Peeta. I don't see him, and then think of going back to my room. Just then, I hear someone call my name.

"Katniss."

I look in the direction and see Peeta sitting at an empty table. He gets up, and walks over. He looks tired and thin in form, but just seeing him makes me want to tear up. I haven't realized how much I missed him. I walk toward him and then put my arms around him in an embrace. He returns the hug, and all I want is for this to last. I don't want him to let go. I take in his aroma and his warmth. It brings back wonderful and painful memories. I lay my head on his shoulder.

"I'm so glad you're okay. I've missed you," he says. "And they told me baby is still alive. I couldn't express what I'm feeling right now." He breaks away and smiles at me. I smile too, but I feel edge of nervousness creep inside me.

"They said we need to talk about something," I say.

"Sure, let's go over there." He takes my hand and leads me to the farthest table. I sit across from him and put on a small smile, so he can't see how bad I feel. But he figures it out. He reads me like a book, and I hate it.

"What's wrong?" he asks. I fumble my fingers a little to stall some time to think about how to start this. "Katniss?"

"Do you really want us to raise our baby ourselves?" I ask.

"Yes, I do. I think we could do it," he answers.

I want to put this delicately. I'm trying to think of the right words to say. "I don't know if I'm up for it."

He looks at me with hesitantly. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think I'll be a good mother."

"No, I know you'll be a good mother."

"How?" I ask in a strained tone.

"Because you love people so much, and you'll always do whatever you can to protect them. If that's not what a good mother does, then I don't know what they do."

I sigh. Maybe that's true, but there still so much else to think about. "What if I go into a depression like my mother did? It's happened to me before. What if I can't get myself to get up in the morning to take care of our kid?"

"You're not doing this alone. I'll be there." He's expression is serious. He really thinks we should be able to take care of the baby. Without doubt I can say he would do everything to be a good father, but things seem to limit us. We're not like most couples having a baby. They haven't gone through what we've gone through. We barely can find peace, and I know that most of the time I'm the one making Peeta unhappy. Like now- here I am pushing my point for giving away our son or daughter. I'm always hurting him.

"I'm sorry to mention this, but Peeta… you still have those paroxysms." He stays silent. I feel pitiful to be mentioning something like this, but it's true. It's one of the problems of us keeping the baby. "If I become sick, and you do also… then there would be no one take care of our child. You see, what I'm getting at? Maybe it's best that we just give it away. To someone who doesn't have the difficulties we have, so our baby won't."

"Give it away?" He looks offended and hurt. That's what I do. I always hurt him. I don't understand why he's in love with me. "You want to give away our son or daughter?"

"I just think it might be best for them." I say. Peeta looks kind of upset. He turns away as if he can't even look at me. "I was considering it because I don't what my child to go through anything like what I went through," I say firmly.

Peeta looks back at me. "They won't. The Games are gone. There's no more war. They'll be much happier if their mother was in their life."

"You can't know that. Maybe they'll be adopted by a really nice, normal, boring couple. They won't have to explain why their mother screams at night, and their father gets these rages. They won't have to know that their parents were part of the Hunger Games, and they had to kill people to survive. I don't want my child growing up with a past that haunts me every night! If they didn't know about us, then it would be the best for them." Tears are running down my cheek. I'm glad we're away from the other patients, because my voice has been getting gradually louder. I use my sleeve to wipe my eyes.

"What about you? What's best for you?" Peeta asks calmly.

I meet his eyes. I don't know. I don't think it really matters right now. I just want my son or daughter to live a life better than mine. "I… don't know," I say.

"You don't want to give them away."

"It doesn't matter what I want," I counter.

"Katniss, I know you love them. You wouldn't be considering giving them away if you didn't, but I think you, and our kid could both be happy. You love them, so why don't you show them you do. Sure, we have problems that most parents don't have, but we've survived through stuff that nobody else has. We can get through whatever is coming too." I look down at my hands, thinking of something to that would counter what he's saying. I can't find anything, but I can't let him change my mind.

"Katniss look at me," he says sternly. I raise my gaze. "You want to keep this baby just as much as I do."

"No, because I don't love them as much as you say. I never wanted children. I always thought of it as a source of pain, and a mistake."

He looks slightly hurt, but he doesn't let it last long. "You don't mean it."

"Yes I do," I reply.

"Katniss, you're a terrible liar."

I start to become frustrated. "I'm not lying!"

He rolls his eyes. "Why do you insist on not letting yourself be happy? Why?"

"Because I don't deserve to!" I look away and realized he got the truth out of me. Shit.

He edges closer across the table. "You don't feel like you should be happy, because you feel guilty?"

I'm trying not cry. I don't want to let my swarming emotions come out all at once, especially here. Peeta is still. I swallow the lump in my throat and force dry words to come out. "Most of that squad, Darius, Madge, your family… so many of them are dead. Not to mention Finnick." I take another breath. "He and Annie were having a baby. And that baby won't have a father, because he died in war that I jumpstarted."

I put my head in my hands. Calm down. Calm down. The guilt is too much. I hear Peeta get out of his seat, and for some reason I think he has left. Left me to succumb to my incredibly stubborn sorrow. I stay in my spot, and then I feel his touch on my back. I lift my head, and he moves the hair from my face, sticking with tears. I get up from chair and immediately put my arms around his neck, laying my head on his chest. He wraps his arms around me and I let the tears fall onto his shirt. "You could be happy," he says in a low tone. We pull away, and then Peeta places a hand on my stomach. And then almost a second later, I feel the baby shift inside to meet his touch.

He backs his hand away, surprised. "It's moving," he says softly. I take his hand and put it back on my stomach. I know he can feel the movement, as I can feel it press its small limbs against me. His surprised expression makes me grin. "It's moving," he says again as though it's too wonderful to comprehend. He looks at me, beaming with happiness. Somehow our son or daughter has lifted the weight off of me. Maybe I don't think I should be happy, but I should let Peeta be happy. He deserves to be happy after all he's been through. He's done so much for me, so I could do this for him.

Now I've completely changed my purpose of action. The next following therapy sessions I gradually change my attitude. I want to appear that I'm getting better. I'm doing this for Peeta, I tell myself. I still have the nightmares and sometimes I'll be found talking to someone that's not there. But I swore Foxface from my first Hunger Games came into my room, but my doctor doesn't believe me. I'm trying incredibly hard to get better. My mother says that it's something that I can't usually will to do. It takes time to heal, so there's still the possibility that the baby will be taken away from me.

I become physically well enough to travel out of my room with permission. My mother tells me that I'll soon be well enough to live with her in a room in the Mansion. She says Prim will be released soon. I'd liked to be out of here, but then I wouldn't be able to visit Peeta as regularly. I asked my mother if he could somehow come with us, but she passively discouraged it for now.

After my therapy session, I walk to my sister's room. I find a doctor shining a light in her eyes. "That's all for now," the doctor tells her. She gathers her things and passes me out the door. I silently enter the room.

"Hello Katniss." I stop where I am. Her hearing has gotten incredibly better. "I hear you, Katniss. You can't sneak in here without me hearing you."

"Alright you caught me," I say. I walk over and sit on the side of her bed. "How are feeling?"

"Fine. There's no improvement in my sight yet," she says. "So how are you?"

"Okay," I say. That may not exactly be true.

"How's my nephew?"

Out of habit, I put a hand to my stomach. "Good. They've been moving a lot lately."

"I say nephew because I know it's going to be a boy," she says.

"How do you know?"

"I have a feeling."

"Uh huh, and you think it's your Healer Powers that are telling you it's a boy?"

She laughs. "Definitely. My Healer Powers tell me so."

"We'll see about that." I get up from the bed and look in the drawers of a counter. I open each one up till I find what I'm looking for.

"What are doing?" she asks. I don't answer, searching for what I need. Strangely I find it: a needle. I take it and then pull a strand of my hair. I sit on my bed and tie the hair to the needle.

"I remember seeing mother doing this when I was little. You dangle the needle by a string over woman's wrist and the way it moves is supposed to tell you if it's a boy or girl."

"Hold out your wrist. I'll dangle it, but you have to tell how the string moves. If it predicts it's a boy, don't say girl just because I was right."

"I won't lie to you," I say teasingly. I really am not going to base what I think the gender is based on this little myth, but I find it interesting to do. "So if it moves in a circular motion, it's a girl. If it moves back forth then it's a boy."

Prim holds the string and raises her arm. I put my left wrist under the needle. I watch it swing, trying to distinct the motion. I watch it move toward me and then away like a pendelum. "You were right," I say.

"It's a boy?"

"That what the needle is telling me."

"I guess I do have Healer Powers," she says. I get up and put away the needle. "Well now that we know, what you going to name your son?"

"I don't know…" I say.

Prim becomes solemn all of the sudden. She twirls a strand of her hair on her finger. "Maybe you should name it after our father."

The following night, that's exactly who's in my dream. I don't recall it, but thinking about Prim mentioning it brings a sense of familiarity from the dream I had. I don't mention it to my mother, but I tell my therapist. He didn't really say anything that I thought was important. No breakthroughs, just a bunch of psychological mumble he usually says. After therapy he tells me I'm getting a very important visit. That only means one person, and I feel the hate I have for her renew inside me when I feel her presence.

President Coin makes her ugly appearance in my room. Her hair looks completely gray and straight. She wears something like a woman's suit with no such thing as a wrinkle to taint it. I can't say the same for her face though. She takes a seat in a chair close to me. She sits stiffly in good posture.

"It been awhile hasn't it? I'm glad we were able to rescue you in time. When we saw the last airing from the Capitol, we feared you would be killed. District 13 greatly appreciates your warning. We were able to ward off a developing raid and find spies within 13. And for your work, I still want to fulfill that last request you asked. I am a woman of my word."

"Why thank you. I don't see you as anything else," I say plainly. She slightly raises an eyebrow. She must be thinking if it's a forced compliment or some kind of hidden insult.

"Snow's execution is approaching rapidly. Our new judiciary court found him guilty and is taking all the legal actions to make sure it is a just trial. That's how we want to start off our new government, no matter the crimes of the defendant."

"Will you be making up this new government?" I ask.

She stays silent for a moment. "It will be other representatives and I. I already have plans for this country after the reconstruction. I've worked very hard for this, and I'm going to do what's best for Panem."

"Of course you will," I say monotonously. "What are your plans, after Snow's execution and all the reconstruction?"

She smirks ominously. "I think you'll like this. I've already spoken with my colleagues and proposed having a final symbolic Hunger Games. The tributes will be made up of Capitol children directly related to those who held the most power." I stay still, making sure I heard her right. Her eyes show she's completely sincere about this. "Snow's accomplices have been trialed and await their death. However, the suffering in the districts has been so extreme that these measures appear insufficient to the victims. We can't have a complete annihilation of the Capitol citizens if we are interested in maintaining a sustainable population. Therefore, I proposed the idea of a final Hunger Games."

She grins slightly. "We were meaning to gather the all remaining victors to reveal our idea, but I thought you would like to know. So before Snow's execution, we'll take any ideas from your group, so that we make sure this Hunger Games will be a final warning to those who caused the districts to suffer."

"Sounds good," I say steadily. "I can't think of a better way to end this."

She lied, just in case you couldn't tell on that last part. I don't like Coin or her wrinkled face! -that's the way I imagine her since she's old. "You could be happy" is an actual song I was listening to while writing this. Oh... and have you guys seen the movie?

Thanks for reading.

-cheezebuns