The rest of the afternoon I try to avoid the discussion of what had happened earlier in the day, since I wanted no part of a conversation about why I couldn't hold down my breakfast. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it kept coming up in the conversations I held with myself in my head. Each and every 'symptom' I was having all led up to the P word. I couldn't even bring up the word in my head. It scared me to no end. What if I really was? What would happen? Would it last longer than the other one? I couldn't go through it again, nor could Peeta.

Together Peeta and I sit on our porch. It's the one spot in the entire house where I feel at peace, where I can swing back and forth on the small couch-like swing and forget about my worries. From the corner of my eye, I watch Peeta scribble notes in his notebook and every so often transfer to his sketchbook, still working on the sketch for the bakery, trying to get every detail right.

I pull my legs up and rest my chin on my knees, watching the families walk and couples jogging. Slowly, District Twelve grew throughout the years, adding more and more buildings and little communities. People began to migrate in and soon enough everything sort of started to have a bit of a normalcy to it. Although I missed the quietness of what District Twelve used to be, I don't miss the starvation and poverty that once filled it. If I need to be somewhere quiet, the woods will always be there to welcome me home.

Down the street, I see a tall male stumbling his way down the sidewalk. He trips, even though there's absolutely nothing that he could have tripped over. "Peeta," I tap his arm with the top of my hand. "Look, I think it's Haymitch."

Peeta closes his books and stands up, walking down the steps and over to the man. Indeed, it's Haymitch. I walk over behind Peeta, meeting the two of them. As soon as I stop to greet Haymitch, I smell the odor of alcohol. "Haymitch, are you drinking again?" I question.

He shakes his head slowly, holding up one finger in the air, "Now you listen to me. You have no right to ask me that question," he looks to me, then to Peeta. "Neither of you do. I know you were thinking the same thing."

"No, Haymitch, I wasn't," Peeta says, "I was just thinking how good it is to see you. We haven't in such a long time."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he brushes Peeta's words off with a wave of his hand. He places his hands on my shoulders and looks into my eyes asking, "How are you, Katniss? Are you doing well?" I take his hands in mine and answer, "I'm fine, Haymitch."

"Good, that's very…" his voice fades, and he belches in his mouth, and then swallows. I groan in disgust.

"Come on, let's get you something to drink," I tell him, still holding his hands, pulling him into the house.

"Wow," his eyes survey the house, "I love what you've done with the house."

Peeta looks at me with curiosity, wondering what exactly we had changed, but the curiosity soon turns into shrugging off what he said.

I place him down on the couch, and sit next to him with a bucket on his lap, knowing at any second vomit could fill it. I hear Peeta fixing dinner, clanging plates and cup together. I turn to smile at him, silently thanking him for doing that.

Ten minutes later, Haymitch ends up with his entire head in the bucket, vomiting violently. All I can do is rub is back, hoping that he'll eventually stop. He takes his head out of the bucket for a moment, swallowing hard. I look at him to see his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, when he opens his mouth I believe it's for him to puke, but he actually ends up speaking, "Does this look familiar to you lately, Katniss?"

"Haymitch, I don't think I quite understand what you're talking about." I ask.

He lifts his head up, "What I'm talking about, Katniss, is does all this," he points to the bucket, shaking his head so hard his hair moves, "Look familiar to you. As in have you been doing this lately?" His face moves so close to mine I smell the vomit on his breath.

"Have I been doing this late—" I begin my question, but the rest doesn't come out as I realize what he's been asking. "Haymitch, do-do you know?"

I see an evil glimmer in his eye and a slight smirk, "Well you are looking a little rounder these days."

I smack him against the back of the head, which makes him loose his smile immediately. He yelps in pain, but thankfully Peeta doesn't turn around to question my behavior. I lower my voice so only Haymitch can hear, "How did you find out? I don't even know if I am, nor have I told Peeta yet." My voice grows angrier, "You have no right to question me on why I haven't told him or why I have yet to do anything about it. There's nothing you can say to make me feel bad about my decisions because after what happened last time I don't even know if I want to find out if I am or not. So don't you dare tell Peeta, I need to tell him. And if I find out you have or will, I will tear you apart limb from limb and make you watch as I do it." I let out a few sighs of relief, and place my hand on my forehead.

Haymitch chuckles, "I was just going to say congratulations," his head made its way back into the bucket to vomit once more.

After dinner, Haymitch made his way back home and Peeta and I comfortably made our way back onto the front porch. This time, he sat beside me on the swing, his arm wrapped around my waist and a blanket placed over us.

"You know," he began, "I did hear Haymitch yell earlier, I just didn't say anything." He looks down at me, but I just don't have the strength to look at him. "What happened between the two of you?"

I pull my sweater closer to my body, shivering. He pulls me closer to him, wrapping both of his arms around me. "It's nothing." I lie.

"No, it was something," he whispers. "You can tell me."

I rub my eyes, trying to keep them from crying, "I can't."

He stays silent for a moment, and I worry that I've upset him. "Remember the vows we took? I still stand by when I said that I'd love you through whatever challenges we may face." He kissed the top of my head. "Can you tell me what's bothering you?"

I look up at him, knowing that he has a right to know, knowing that he should know, "Haymitch asked me if I'd been doing a lot of throwing up lately."

"And that offended you?" Peeta smirks.

"No." I answer, "What bothered me was when he'd said I'd been looking a bit rounder lately." I pause to look at him and at my hands then back again. "Especially around the stomach area."

Peeta's eyes grow large. He knows what I'm implying, "Are you sure?"

"I believe so." I answer timidly. "I'm two weeks late."

His eyes light up, moving up and down from my eyes to my stomach. In that moment, I've never seen him smile so bright. He wraps his arms around my waist, placing kisses on my neck and my cheek and then to my lips. I laugh at his excitement, but it's slowly lost when I realize the ending of this pregnancy could be the same as the last.

"Peeta," I hold his shoulders, making him stop. "What if this pregnancy ends the way the other one did? What if we lose this baby too?"

He cups my face in his hands, making circles with his thumb, "This time, we're going to do everything in our power to make sure it doesn't." He pulls close to his chest, kissing my hair. And I know in that breathing second, he means what he says.