It hits me suddenly, instantaneously, as I reach forward to swipe a few fallen curls off Peeta's forehead. A smile plays on my lips, directed just for him. He mirrors the expression, not faltering as his arms go to encircle the tiny body that collapses into his lap. My chest flutters as if it's all I've ever needed, very unlike the first time the ache cemented itself in my mind.
Nine years passed before I was able to envisage the prospect of offspring belonging to Peeta and me existing in the world, then another three before I was genuinely able to consider it.
Peeta wanted them badly long before I was ready. He hardly voiced this opinion simply because he knew how heavy the subject was for me. But his longing was obvious to anyone paying attention, which I certainly was. So he waited, and we grieved and we grew and patched our wounds together until I was able to face the idea on my own accord.
I had already been a mother once before. Prim was my baby from the day she was born with the way she was constantly glued to my side. The natural instinct to protect and nurture her had been around since our mother was still pregnant, but only grew stronger as the decade that succeeded her birth wore on.
No matter how much she pretended to be blind to the matter, both my mother and I know that I raised Prim. During the most influential and formative years of her life I was the only soul present to support and guide her through the ups and downs, and we didn't get many ups to begin with after our father's death. However torturous those days were, they made our relationship mold into something so strong it was impossible to tarnish.
I kept her fed and provided anything and everything a mother should. I held her smaller hand in mine as we walked to school. I taught her how to braid and cook. I passed down our father's knowledge on differences between numerous plants and their uses, and before long she was nearly as good at identifying as me. I reminded her to study but also to leave room to try and enjoy her time as a child, because however rough we had it I knew it would only get worse once she hit reaping age.
From short to tall I mended her worn out, too baggy clothes. I patched up the holes in her shoes even though she never once complained about their condition. I held her close at night for as long as I could, until my own nightmares dictated she and I slept in separate rooms.
I loved my sister more than anything in the world. With a more pure, heartwarming, unconditional love than I thought was possible to give or receive in multiple lifetimes. She was my reason to persevere when it seemed impossible to do so. Just imagining her cheeks filling out and smile growing wider was enough to keep me trekking through the woods on the days where it seemed I was incapable of going on any longer.
So when Prim died, I did too, at least for a time. It's the most agonizing process in the world, trying to figure out how to move forward after the one constant in your life is taken so suddenly. When one of the few remaining people you care about disappears and you wish it was possible to erase the pain, but you have the scars to remind and the memories to haunt you.
I couldn't breathe for weeks, months. Maybe years, if Peeta hadn't been there to pull me out of it. Truthfully, I'm not sure how he was able to, considering the fact that he was barely hanging on to reality himself in the early days of our return to Twelve. I think that in some way it must be due to what I told him underground during the war. That he and I keep each other alive. Because it was that very same premise that drew me from the darkness and convinced me into bettering myself.
Growing back towards and together with Peeta was the easiest decision of my life. Everything that proceeded simply fell into place as if cemented into our history from the moment with the bread in the rain and the dandelion which bloomed in its wake.
We married a few years later at my proposal. To this day I'm still not sure what possessed me to ask him, since I hadn't been planning on it beforehand. It happened more out of the blue than I ever imagined it would, marriage always having seemed like a huge decision, but truth be told it wouldn't have changed anything about our lives at the time besides a name. It was a simple conclusion that felt right in the moment and that feeling never once wavered.
The whole affair took an hour at most and the ceremony was non-existent. Growing up I couldn't picture myself getting married, but if I had allowed myself to, I'm sure I'd have conjured up a scenario similar to the day we wed.
It was just the two of us before the fireplace. And our bread, made the same exact way it was on the day we unknowingly saved each other's lives that first time. We burned it with purpose, sealed with silent promises that didn't need to be spoken because they'd been our reality for years. There were no prying eyes and no cameras. It wasn't something forced upon us by the Capitol, but something molded completely on its own time by a pure and honest love shared between people who were broken and bruised but tethered by all that failed to break them apart. It was for no one but us and so real that both Peeta and I were already in tears by the time we managed to get the fire lit.
That evening, after our toasting, we walked hand in hand to the Justice Building to make it official in the eyes of the law. A place I once viewed as holding nothing but terror behind its walls had been painted in a new light - with a memory worlds brighter than anything I'd experienced there before.
And because Peeta can't keep a secret to save his life, and perhaps because even though it's never been said aloud, we view our mentor like family as much as he does us, we stopped by Haymitch's on the way back home. It was the first time I ever recall him expressing such joy openly. He'd given a rare, genuine smile as we told him, before surprising us all by pulling me into his arms. Our embrace could be best described as strained and short lived. But after releasing me, he instantly turned to Peeta and they stood there clutching onto one another for several minutes as I stood by with misty eyes.
Since he wouldn't be Haymitch without making sure the mood didn't get too light, he backed out of Peeta's arms and threw a snarky remark about it being 'about time' the two of us actually got married instead of just acting like we were and not so subtly reminded us we have neighbors. If not for the high I'd been running on that night, I'd surely have thrown back a jab of my own, but I instead chose to ignore him, bidding a goodnight and letting him think he got on my nerves.
It was just Peeta and I for years. We enjoyed it for what it was and all it had to offer. Some days were boring, and I quickly concluded that those were my favorite kinds of days.
Before, boring wasn't something I'd had the pleasure of experiencing. Each and every waking hour past the age of ten was consumed with survival as I tried to make it to the next day without running on an empty stomach. If I wasn't thinking about food, I was thinking where to obtain it, or what the consequences for those different scenarios may be.
Even though we'd come leaps and bounds in our respective recoveries and healed far beyond what I believed realistic, there's no way we could escape the horrors of all we'd endured.
Some days I was frozen in bed, unable to move, buried in my grief. On those days, Peeta would bring food up to me which he knew would just go cold. Then he would crawl back under the covers and stay with me, holding me close and whispering soothing words. Waiting for me to come back to him. After a time, we figured that there isn't anything I'm able to do to pull myself out of the slump, instead having to ride out the waves and let them consume me.
Peeta has his days too. His episodes aren't violent like they once were, but there are moments where his hallucinations overtake any rationalization his mind attempts to make. He's learned to control them, at least somewhat. If he takes a few minutes to grasp the back of a chair, table, counter - wherever he may be, he's able to coax himself out of whatever lie his brain tries to produce.
I try to help him like he does for me, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind and pressing my cheek against his back. He used to be afraid of hurting me, but he couldn't stop me from being there if he tried. Singing helps him the most. I end up humming long after he comes back down.
The episodes tend to drain whatever energy left in his body, so afterwards we typically end up spending the day on the couch, wordlessly wound up with one another as we try to mend the broken parts of our minds that can't ever truly be fixed.
As the years wore on our rougher days became few and far between, but not foreign by any means.
Our dysfunctional little family fell into a comfortable routine. I hunted, because even if it was no longer a necessity for survival, it was still appreciated. Our population was small and 12 was still the district both furthest out and most affected by the war, meaning it needed lots of rebuilding and assistance. Fresh meat is really the only area I could reasonably assist in - I still loved being out in the woods with my bow. Peeta baked, even rebuilt the bakery up from the ground and continued to honor the legacy of the family that both hurt and loved him so. Haymitch drank, except even that was with much less frequency. We saw him quite often, because we made it a point to eat dinner together numerous times a month.
Whenever his stash ran out, he formed a habit of bothering Peeta and I while he waited for the next train carrying his liquor to come in. Once, he somehow ended up with a few goslings trailing his heels after making one of these liquor runs into what effectively runs as the Hob nowadays. I'm still not sure how exactly. Rumor has it they simply followed him back to the Victor's Village, though I suspect different.
It gave him something to do other than bicker with me when he was bored, so I tried not to pay any mind to the distant sound of near constant honking. Peeta was elated that he finally found a hobby to consume his days, joking that even if he'd never admit it, Haymtich had a knack for caring for others. Haymitch had just rolled his eyes and volleyed back that he only cared for 'the defenseless' as he pointedly glared at Peeta and me. I smiled good-naturedly and let him know I felt the same towards him.
Although Peeta rarely brought up the topic of us having children of our own, it wasn't completely avoidable. He cautiously broached the subject a handful of times over those years. Rarely did the topic lead to deep, meaningful discussions about where my mind was on the subject. Most of the time it led to mere silence from me followed by nightmares that kept both of us awake all night as he whispered soothing words and mumbled apologies he should've never felt the need to give.
After a time, he stopped bringing it up. He told me that if I were to ever come to the conclusion that I definitively did or did want children, I'm to come to it myself without outside influence. He worried his want would pressure me into selecting one option over another. I was grateful for his gracefulness, although not once did he ever make me feel such a way.
The truth was that as time passed, I'd become aware that, deep down, I wanted children. I knew it in the way my heart would swell with a foreign feeling other than the endearment I came to expect at the sight of Peeta handing a cookie to a toddler at the bakery. In the way a warmth would spread through my chest when, without my permission, I began envisioning our own blonde haired girl with two braids instead of a one - a girl that wasn't Prim.
But mostly, it was in the way that I could never escape the fear of losing this theoretical child in my dreams. She visited me often, always a girl. Always with blonde hair and a face that so much resembled Peeta it could almost be comical. But she had gray, gray eyes that couldn't possibly belong to anyone but me.
Strangely, these dreams were never horrific like the ones I'd grown accustomed to. They were pleasant in a way that terrified me more than any of my nightmares could. I'd wake up in a cold sweat just the same, an all consuming fear enveloping every inch of my being as the momentary ache of missing something dissipated. Unlike my usual fear, this was a fear stemming from a whole different branch. I was already too scared to love them, too scared to allow myself to let that kind of love consume me wholly as I was aware it would. Because that kind of love leads to loss, and I wouldn't be able to survive a loss that horrendously deep again.
Logically, I knew the world was safer, only becoming more so as time wore on. Children now will never have to know the aching, hollow pains of hunger as I did nor have to risk their lives daily to fight for a meal so insufficient it hardly leaves them satisfied. They'll never have to live surrounded by food they cannot eat and start working at the age of five to support their family financially like Peeta was forced to. They'll get to live relatively comfortable lives, watching Panem rebuild and grow around and for them. They'll have hundreds of opportunities that weren't ever offered before, never even a consideration for anyone living in the districts. Or even the Capitol, really.
And yet, I was still petrified.
For all the ways my children would be safer, a million ways in which I could lose them still remained. Whether the reasons were logical or not, I was able to conjure up every single one of the possibilities. These hesitations began to accompany my thoughts whenever they attempted shifting to that little girl who wasn't Prim with the two tiny blonde braids.
I didn't tell Peeta of these dreams, of this little girl, until a year after I'd begun seeing her. I'd watched as his eyes lit up as I did so and knew what it meant. He was excited, but I was unsure. It was still a step, however small, and I was speaking it into existence. Which, for him, was more than enough.
I cannot pinpoint exactly when my opinion changed. It happened slowly, painfully so. The process led me through every emotion I could possibly experience and I must've grieved Prim a thousand times over.
Finally, I had been the one to broach the subject of children. It happened on one of those boring days that led us to my father's lake.
Over time I'd begun to think of it as our lake; as in belonging to the three of us: my father, Peeta, and me. Out there, Peeta looked young and carefree in a manner unlike anywhere else. I was aware of the eye for beauty he held, but after our first time at the lake it's all he painted or sketched for a week. He daydreamed over the way in which the sun stretched across the water and mused how it didn't seem possible that a place so peaceful could exist beyond the fences of our haunted district.
During the summers especially, I made a point to get us out there as often as I could. Not once embarrassed by his clumsy, imperfect strokes, Peeta particularly enjoyed wading around in the water with me. Sometimes I'd go too far out and he'd resolve to sit on the shoreline, sketchpad positioned in his lap as he captured our surroundings in a way only he could.
We were doing that very thing when it happened. The little girl visited me again. I could see her clear as day paddling toward me. Or feasibly sitting beside Peeta as she dried off from splashing around the water. And not only could I envision this girl alongside us, I ached for her.
For the first time, I openly wondered what it might be like to bring Peeta and my child into our world - the one we created for her. What it would be like to show her all the places we held close to our hearts and to share the things we love most about our district. To watch as she grew up in a place so different from the one Peeta and I did, but a place so similar. Full of freedom and love and lazy days at the lake.
Then I was petrified again. But this time, the fear was rooted in the fact that I was conscious of my readiness. That I had healed enough to want the one thing I swore I'd never wanted.
Except, that was wrong, too. I had wanted it. It wasn't that I never wanted children, it was that I didn't want children who would've had to grow up in a Panem that no longer existed. It was that I never imagined spending my life with someone in any capacity. I never believed I was capable of loving another person in a way that would lead to a lifelong partnership and all it entails.
But then Peeta came along. And with him he brought hope and healing and so much love. He breathed life back into me when I was sure that the damage done to my being was irreparable. He showed me simply by living his day to day life that it's possible, that we deserve all we've been left with. That it's okay to feel the hurt but that I can't let it rule over me.
And, eventually, it all molded into the simple truth that I wanted to build a family with him. I could picture us raising a child and watching him love on them just as he did me. I wanted to come home from a day in the woods to find Peeta in the kitchen with our child, passing on all he learned from his family. I wanted to do the same for them in my woods. I wanted to watch them grow and learn and play.
Despite these realizations, I found myself deep within my woods the following day. Unreachable to the world for hours, I settled into the newfound but not exactly unwelcome desires. My body felt like lead as I curled up under a tree, following the flickers of light peeking through the swaying leaves and making out shapes in the clouds.
I forced my weighed down limbs back up and started the trek home an hour before nightfall only because I knew how keyed up Peeta likely already was over my extended stay in the woods. Of course I was right, and he was. He had dinner prepared but could tell I had something lingering heavy on my mind from the second I stopped through the front door empty handed.
I wasn't sure if I loved or hated him right then for his ability to read me so openly when all I wanted to do was hide. But I had spent enough of my life hiding from those who cared about me most. So when he opened up his arms, I walked straight into them.
Then I told him. I let him know what was on my mind, something I'd become more adept at over our years spent together. I spilled out the fact that I was thinking about children, our children, really thinking about them, but I was scared.
And, as in his nature, he told me not to pressure myself into the thoughts. To let them continue to flow to me naturally. He said that it's okay to feel the fear that I do. How it's only natural because of the circumstances surrounding my life.
He never made me feel as though I had to give him an answer. Just acknowledging the prospect of children at all was enough for him. Yes, he wanted them, but he truly would be content to spend the remainder of his life as just the two of us - as would I.
But the thing was, I didn't want it to be just us any longer.
That night, I cried for hours. Peeta brought me upstairs and helped me into bed. He undid and rebraided my hair while I sniffed into his shoulder. Like he typically did, he waited for me to come back to him. He never pressured, but he never left. Because once a lifetime ago he'd promised me always, and through the hardships life dealt us, we held onto that word as a sort of unspoken anchor which bound us together no matter the circumstances.
It felt like I sobbed until all the tears in my body had been spent. But, finally, I had no more left to cry, nor did I want to. Our room was oddly tranquil when I uncurled myself from his grasp and shifted my eyes up to meet his.
Through the darkness I could see the light in his eyes shining down on me. On my dreariest of days, the blue in them provided me the most comfort. In them I saw hope and devotion and all the warmth which radiated off him so naturally. I brought one of my trembling hands up to cradle his cheek. Holding it there, I stroked it with my thumb and smiled. Even though I was absolutely mortified of what was to come and what I wanted to say, I was aware that, in the end, everything would be okay. Because I had Peeta, and for me he would always be enough.
"Real or not real?" There were no questions as to what he was referring to. Peeta whispered it so quietly I could barely hear him, although the pounding of my heart may have been helping to drown him out a bit.
My hand stilled where it lay against his cheek. His came up to cover mine, enveloping my shakiness with strength and solidity. Winding my fingers through his, he brought our hands down into my lap and cradled me closer, as if he could tell I needed him more in this moment than I had the entire past few hours.
Something in the air had shifted. I think we could both sense it. We'd been in this room a million different times over the years, yet never once did it feel the way it did then. Despite all the tears and worries, it was everything but. I was content and loved, which was all I had ever truly wanted.
So there, in his arms, with my shaky breath, I tell him, "Real."
It took a few minutes for Peeta to fully register my words. But like he'd been doing for me, I didn't push him to react. Truthfully, part of me was most anxious for how he may do so. I wasn't fearful of him falling into an episode, since he hardly did anymore, and they wouldn't be triggered by a moment like this anyhow.
Filtering through all my appointments with Dr. Aurelius, I was able to recognize that I wasn't scared of anything in particular. I just was. Because I knew in my head and heart that there wasn't a single thing to be afraid of anymore. I had Peeta and Peeta had me and no matter if I wanted to bring our child into the world or not, that wouldn't change.
Although I had not been expecting, after a solid five minutes, for Peeta's only response to be a simple, "Okay."
"Okay?" I repeat, squeezing his hand still encircled in mine. Silence drapes over us once more as I await for the response I quickly realize is not coming. For once I seem to have rendered him speechless.
That anxiety linked to nothing starts pooling at my feet when suddenly I'm on my back and Peeta is kissing me anywhere he can reach. He's laughing and fumbling with the hem of my shirt and then I'm crushed into him once more. He's hugging me so tight it's almost impossible to move but I find myself not wanting to. I hold onto him with just as much force.
When I feel his own tears fall down onto my cheeks I reach a hand up to wipe them away. Every single apprehension I had over the years melts away for the moment and I'm positive right then and there that this was always how it was going to end up between us.
Peeta and I were destined to wind up here, in this room, on this night. No matter how we might've reached this destination I'm certain without a shadow of a doubt that it would have happened anyway.
There's no resistance from Peeta when our daughter pushes against his arms to free herself from his grasp. We watch as she skips a few feet ahead and crouches in front of a small patch of dandelions. Dozens and dozens of them litter the Meadow. She doesn't know what those flowers mean to me. To Peeta. To all of us, really, because where would we be today without their ray of hope?
He doesn't chase after her this time but she seems content with that. She's a lot like me in the sense that she doesn't mind a lack of attention, but a lot like Peeta in the way where if it's provided she'll be friendly. She'll talk to just about anything with ears and find a way to make them laugh.
It was bizarre at first, watching her grow and taking notice of all the ways in which she was like me, or like Peeta, or like neither of us and something completely her own. Even the things she'd picked up from Haymitch or Delly's children, the youngest of which being five years her senior. The most frightening aspect of her existence, however, was just how much she reminded me of Prim, despite not knowing her at all.
Only, it was frightening because I wasn't devastated by it as I suspected I would be. During my pregnancy I would lay awake for hours each night, conflicting worries keeping my mind occupied. As terrifying as the possibility she'd be so similar to my sister that I wouldn't be able to handle it was, it was equally as scary to think she might turn out to be nothing at all like the aunt she lost over a decade before she took her first breath.
My worries seemed miniscule after she was born. I felt a sense of pride finding the handful of ways in which she takes after Prim. She's smart. There isn't a thing that can get past her, and she'll make it known if she figures out someone's keeping a secret from her. Already I can tell she's wise beyond her years. She has an eye for beauty much like her father, although that too reminds me of Prim, because she'll get an identical gleam in her eye at the sight of something pretty. They even laugh the same, which caused quite an emotional scene the first time she'd done it.
She had been sitting with her back against Peeta's thighs, him having her propped up against them as he sat with his back against the leg of the couch. He was playing with her as he often did, at least as much as one could with how tiny she was. I observed the two of them from the kitchen as I stirred dinner around in a pot on the stove. But then he must've done something to amuse her greatly, because her happy sequels we'd been accustomed to turned into a soft laughter. The foreign yet strikingly familiar sound caused us both to pause as our eyes snapped up and met across the room.
I broke down and cried because it was like a part of Prim lived on in our daughter. Peeta cried because every one of her milestones pushed him to tears. All of our crying in turn made our small girl frightened and cry, which made us both feel immensely guilty. The memory is rather amusing now.
As her pudgy, well fed hand reaches out to pluck a stem up from the ground, I shift my gaze.
Although Peeta and I are older than I ever imagined either of us could live to be, it doesn't show nearly as much as it used to on those who lived in the districts before the revolution. Peace has something to do with it, I've decided. The security and solitude life has to offer gives us time to age gracefully instead of stressed and fast paced.
With the promise that life can go and things can be good again, people have stopped aging fifteen years in five. We're safe. Warm. Comfortable.
"Peeta," I say. He pulls his eyes away from our daughter. His cheeks look warm from the sun, and my eyes trace the freckles dotting all along his face. And I swear he hasn't stopped smiling in the four years since her birth, because the permanent lines forming around the crevices of his mouth are ever so present.
"Yeah?" It's only a second before he focuses his attention squarely back on the tiny fingers twirling a freshly plucked flower between them. Sometimes I feel as though he hasn't stopped looking at her since the day she was born. When I call his name again, he peaks at me from the corner of his eyes. The look I'm giving him must fully snap him back, because his whole head turns as he faces me. "What is it, Katniss?" he asks, this time his features creased in a mix of concern and confusion.
I can see it clearly, then. Another child of ours in the Meadow, picking dandelions with the girl already here before us. I can see them giggling conspiratorially with each other as they run back and forth through the grass, chasing one another as siblings do.
I think of me and Prim. Peeta and his brothers and all the stories he's shared with me. I remember what it was like to experience that sort of bond, how special and unique it was. How, despite all the love I've surrounded myself with since my sister's death, there hasn't been any kind quite the same. And I want that for our daughter.
Not only for her, but I want that for Peeta and me. To me, our family has felt complete since the moment he returned from the Capitol, back when it was just him and Haymitch and me. But since then its grown and flourished into something I never considered plausible, and the thought of adding another life into the mix makes my heart swell with an amount of love and possibility that's almost overwhelming.
Although I wanted our daughter, I was ill prepared for just how mentally tough my entire pregnancy would be. With every movement she made within me I was paralyzed with agonizing fear and there wasn't much anyone could do about it. Sometimes Peeta's strong hand and sweet nothings would be able to take my mind off it. Sometimes he'd be in Town at the bakery and I resolved to humming as I rocked back and forth to calm her until she fell asleep. But mostly, it was the length of rope Finnick gifted me all those years ago in District Thirteen that quelled my panic most easily. Weaving intricate knots constantly, I nearly tore my fingers raw in those last few months.
I was scared feeling her within me, but petrified for the day she entered our lives and I'd no longer be able to protect her from the world in the way my womb could. There was so much I had to teach her, but on the flip side, so much I needed to shield her from that I would never be able to.
The moment I fell pregnant I was dead set on the prospect of our child being that girl with blonde hair and gray eyes. After all, I'd been having visits from her long before she was a real thought. Which is why I suppose it was such a shock to me when she was born with the darkest hair and bluest eyes I've ever seen on a baby. I could get lost in her blue the same way I could Peeta's. The very first time she opened them and our eyes met I knew I was a goner.
Every single doubt and worry I held onto so tightly during my pregnancy seemed to melt away and it was glaringly obvious this was how it was supposed to be. That the safest place our child could ever be was here: with Peeta and me and our home we fought so hard for.
From the second her little head of dark hair appeared on this earth I couldn't recall what my life was like before she was in it, even more so to imagine what it would be like without her now that she was. The love was almost overwhelming, just as I had expected it would be.
But I didn't want to run from it - from her. I wanted to capture every ounce of that love and hold it close to my heart, where it would nestle up beside her for as long as I lived and carry on with her long after I was gone.
Immediately I understood that my love for the girl I held against my chest had become my biggest weakness, but also my greatest strength. She carried all the best parts of me and would get to be all the things I wasn't given the chance to be. She'd experience all the things that were once nothing but dreams and not a day would go by where she'd go to bed hungry.
Seeing Peeta cradle her in his arms, tears streaming down his face, it was impossible to imagine how I ever denied him from this for so many years. He fell into the role of a father so easily that it was as if he had always been destined to be one.
The night of her birth, Peeta laid next to me in our bed, our daughter sprawled across his chest. He was watching her, silently stroking her dark downy curls while she was sound asleep. I was nearly there, too. Just as I'd begun slipping to unconsciousness, an old string of thoughts came back to visit me.
During the Quarter Quell, I tried picturing a world without me. One in which Peeta had been allowed to live on and have a family. A world with no Games, no Capitol - where he and his child could be safe. At the time it seemed so unfeasible that I wasn't able to even conjure it up. Now, my heart swelled at the realization that it wasn't as imaginary as I thought it out to be. Not only had it become his reality, but it'd become ours.
Haymitch came to visit us that next morning, and for all the things I'd prepared myself for during my pregnancy, his reaction had not been one of them. He seemed almost afraid to hold her, something so unlike him. He also insisted on sitting down to do so (which Peeta planned on him doing anyway - he hadn't been drinking nearly as excessively, but his hands wouldn't ever be steady).
The room was dead silent. Her eyes popped open after a minute or so, and they seemed to be taking each other in. She was judging him just as much as he was her, trying to figure out if he was someone she could trust. Then, suddenly, and in a voice so soft it took me aback, Haymitch smiled and introduced himself to her. He kept talking to her lightly enough to where even I couldn't catch his words, but she deemed his presence safe enough to close her eyes once more and fall back asleep.
I hadn't noticed my tears until the back of Peeta's hand was wiping them away. He gave me an uneven smile, his own flowing. And, finally, my gaze met Haymitch's. I found that his were equally as watery as mine. He handed her back to me soon thereafter, mumbling something about not wanting to cause her harm in the state he was in.
He turned to leave, but I caught his hand before he could. I'm not sure if it was the leftover pregnancy hormones, or just the fact that I was happy he still cared to be so present in Peeta and my life. Whatever the reason, I couldn't stop crying. "Thank you, Haymitch," I said, clutching his hand so tightly it no doubt caused discomfort.
I half expected him to give a huff and shrug off my unusual gesture of affection, so I was bemused when his free hand came up to cup my cheek ever so slightly. "I'm proud of you," he said to me, though his eyes met Peeta's for a second and I knew the comment was for the both of us. "I couldn't have asked for a better pair of kids."
Much to his original chagrin, he's since become known as Grandpa Haymitch.
Our daughter, from the moment she entered the world, was surrounded by enough guardians to watch over her for a lifetime. Her family didn't stop in the Victor's Village, but spread beyond into the homes of other District Twelve citizens. Old friends like Delly and Thom. Newer ones, like Peeta's apprentice at the bakery or Sae's great-granddaughter, her family continuing to grow even after her death.
It was things like this that we fought for - to have more chances at life. For families to expand and blossom for generations to come in a world free from control. To have such freedom that the choice to have a family doesn't end in blood and despair.
So, just like all those years prior, I tell Peeta.
I tell him that I've been thinking about children, our children, really thinking about them. But this time, no fear coincided with these daydreams. I was elated at the prospect of bringing another life into this world. I tell him that our daughter is growing so quickly and that, if he's on board with the idea, I'd like to give her a sibling.
He smiles again, leaning in to kiss me so sweetly that I feel swarms of insects spreading their wings all throughout my being. He pulls me in close and we watch our daughter with two unkempt braids and a duck tail pick dandelions under the orange hues of the spring sunset. I drop my head down on Peeta's shoulder while I comb through my memories in search of a moment more peaceful than this one. I come up empty handed.
My hand snakes down to intertwine with Peeta's. He grips it back with equal vigor, and I find fulfillment in the knowledge that neither of us will ever have to let go.