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She dreams of Prim that night. One moment she's kissing Peeta goodnight and the next Prim is standing before her, surrounded by tall grasses and weeds and the wild flowers she loved to pick and give to their mother.
"Prim," Katniss breathes, her palms rising on their own accord to land softly on the forearms of her sister. She looks older, Katniss thinks for a moment. Prim's eyes dance in the sunlight and she laughs, tugging her sister along into the trees and pine needles.
"Come on!" Prim urges, tossing her head back every so often as if to check if Katniss is following her. But she doesn't need to. Because Katniss is following as close as she can, clinging to the spirit of her sister that radiates the happiness that always found a home in Prim.
Suddenly Prim comes to a halt, listening closely and watching the sky. Katniss wants to question, but she can't bring herself to ruin this moment. It's so rare she gets these dreams; dreams of Prim older and free and happy. And she doesn't want to let go.
But Prim has to. And so does Katniss, in the end.
She feels it in the air, the breeze whipping through the trees and she knows her time is up. Her brief moment of happiness with her sister is over.
Prim exhales, her blue eyes water and Katniss winces. She suddenly feels pain, a dull ache that contracts and she breathes out.
And then Prim is closer, her petite and capable hands that treated the sick and the dying and comforted her sister are resting on Katniss' cheeks and Prim smiles so sadly Katniss almost cries.
"You'll be okay," Prim breathes. The wind suddenly whirls, strands of black and blonde dance in the wind and Katniss feels another stab of aching. "I promise." And then she's gone, and Katniss wakes to the scent of metallic tracing the air and the pain in her abdomen so strong she reaches out for Peeta, managing to find his bicep in the dark. He mutters in his sleep, and she cries out, and then he's awake and flicking on lights and whispering assurances and suddenly fear strikes her like a lightning bolt because there's just so much blood.
The healer gives her condolences, instructs both Katniss and Peeta on what to expect in the upcoming hours, and then shows herself to the door. The sound of the door shutting causes Katniss to jump and then suddenly she's sobbing, because what kind of person doesn't even know they're pregnant until someone's telling them they're not anymore? And then she's sobbing even harder, clutching to the fabric of Peeta's sweater as he rocks her back and forth on their bed because, Oh, oh my God, I was pregnant. She thinks.
She screams into her husband's shoulder and he holds her until she's spent.
She finally gives into sleep, and Peeta wearily extracts himself from her vice like hold. He can't sleep; at this point he's thinking that he'll never sleep again because every time he closes his eyes he sees his wife, lying there in a puddle of blood that he can't help but compare to the cave. Except then they were teenagers, playing a game of survival and death and now they're adults. They were almost parents.
However, somehow, they still play a game of survival.
He's too loud on his feet, always has been always will be, but by some miracle Katniss doesn't wake. A part of him knows she's too exhausted to be woken by his clumsy tread, too worn out from crying and shouting and miscarrying.
He slips into his study, his fingers brushing against the stack of canvases that lean against the wall. He thinks about how he needs to get rid of some and make room for new ones. He thinks about where they would have even put a baby. And then he's thinking about blood again and he slumps into a near by chair and rubs his face with his hands until he sees spots when he looks back up through the window into the night sky.
Peeta tries to fight it, he really does but the combination of the burden on his chest and the fire in his throat knocks him out You grieve this once, Mellarkand then he's crying because he's selfish and for a matter of weeks he was a father and he didn't even know that his wife was growing life and now there was nothing there and then he's thinking about the blood--
He stands then, rubs his face once again, straightens and goes back to Katniss after one more glance at the black canvas of stars that sits outside his window.
He holds his breath when the door clicks into place but her eyes still open.
"Go back to sleep, Katniss," Peeta whispers, crawling into the bed beside her. She lay on her side, facing him and he melts into her warmth, his hands coming to run circles into the knots on her back that seem to never go away.
She exhales and it sounds so deeply agonizing that a part of Peeta breaks. He goes into kiss her brow and Katniss smells the cinnamon that he'll never be able to wash off and his warmth overcomes her like a wave and he's holding her and trying to fix her and she loves him so much, God, she loves him.
"I'm sorry," she croaks and Peeta's chest caves in. His vision blurs, and he stops the comforting motion of his palms on Katniss' spine to cup her cheeks in his hands.
"Katniss, this is not your fault," He fails at sounding firm, his voice cracking pathetically. She sputters, trying to prove him wrong but he shushes her, curls around her body, and returns to the task of rubbing her back and stroking her hair. "It's not." He whispers once more in her ear. His lips brush her forehead and she relaxes into the spot where his neck meets shoulder, sighing.
She doesn't say anything more. She knows all Peeta will do is dispute her claims but she can't help feeling guilty. She didn't want children, but Peeta did and she knew that. She knew it and still selfishly kept the door bolted shut because she was afraid of loss and pain and heartbreak and now one faulty shot has caused her to lose something she never thought she wanted.
And she thinks of her husband who has never asked for children. Always knew her fear and respected it. Happy to grow old without a house full of children and grandchildren. As long as he had his Katniss.
She thought she had finally stopped crying, but the tears stain Peeta's shirt and he's wiping her tears with his thumbs and whispering nonsense in her ear but Katniss can't comprehend his words because she's suddenly reminded this was Peeta's baby. She lost Peeta's baby. Her fingers tangle in the fabric of Peeta's shirt and she presses into his shoulder, sobbing.
She shouldn't be acting like this, she knows. It's irrational. She was only a few weeks along, the baby was nothing more than a bundle of cells that wasn't planned or even known about but she can't shake the feeling of emptiness.
Eventually, Peeta calms her and her cries quiet to whimpers and hiccups and they both find sleep once again.
Katniss recovers, slowly and meticulously returning back to the land of the living. Accepts the fact she miscarried. Accepts the fact it's not her fault. Even goes as far to call her mother.
"I lost a baby. A few years after Prim." Her name slips off her mother's tongue casually, years of practice and acceptance. Katniss, however, still winces. "It was early on, like you. But...even though there is nothing like the pain of losing a child, I had two beautiful daughters already." She pauses, hesitation fills the void that the silence has created. "Katniss...I hope this doesn't deter you from having children in the future." Katniss tenses then, suddenly finding an interest in her thumbnail. "You deserve to have a family. You and Peeta...you two would make wonderful parents." She closes her eyes then because she can see that. She can see blonde blue-eyed babies crawling on Peeta’s lap and she can see his smile that would rival the sun. The corners of her lips curl, her eyes close on their own accord and she sighs.
But she doesn't give in.
"Maybe so. I'll call you soon, mom."
--
Their 14th wedding anniversary rolls around and Katniss wakes to Peeta placing sloppy kisses down her pulse point. She laughs, and his eyes dance in the morning rays that shine through her window. She fiddles with the hem of his shirt, his lips still making their journey down her neck. She picks at an imaginary thread and out of nowhere, Katniss thinks about how they would have had a 3 month old baby in the next room. She blanches, wondering where the thought even came from.
Peeta pauses, picking up on her hesitation.
"What's wrong?" he implores, his fingers dancing across her cheek to tuck the dark tresses behind her ear.
"Nothing." She smiles mischievously and tugs at his shirt.
Peeta never mentions children, and Katniss is grateful.
Until she’s not.
Because she knows he wants them. Knows that even bloated, fat, and pregnant to boot he would still find her as radiant as he always has. He would take every insult with stride, wait on her hand and foot. She knows without a doubt he would be the type of father to gladly wake up 4 times a night to a crying, screaming red-faced infant. She goes as far to predict he would enjoy it.
It infuriates her.
Months pass. More than a decade since the War, the district is still healing. However, Katniss’ woods have always remained the same. As she feels the fall leaves crunch under her boots, she thinks that’s why she loves them so much. Her woods have gone unchanged, through death and fire and blood, they are still her woods. They transport her back to a time when she was too small to hold a bow, but just big enough to learn her father’s ways.
Katniss pauses in her trek, leans against the trunk of a tree and closes her eyes briefly.
She wants that.
She wants to teach her own children the same knowledge her father passed down to her. She wants to teach them all of those mountain air songs that have passed through her lips over the years. And then she’s thinking of Peeta sharing his talent and she knows that she’s sick of being afraid. She has grown tired of letting the dead control the living.
She gives up on her hunt, instead turning around and practically running home to Peeta. She finds herself stupidly giddy, excited. Because for the first time in ages she feels breathless and airy, somewhat light.
The door shuts loudly and she knows she’s probably scared the devil out of Peeta with her stomps and her calls but at this point she doesn’t care. He comes into her view, obviously thinking the worst has taken place and Katniss laughs at his wide eyes and she knows he thinks she’s lost her ever loving mind.
She goes into to hug him, her grin tattooing his chest.
“Not that I’m complaining, but you’ve got to tell me what’s going on,” Peeta gets out, his voice strained with worry and laced with humor. “You about scared me to death, Katniss” He joins her laugh, wondering who this woman is in his arms and where his wife is.
She pulls back, her grin turns into a small gleam and she curls her arms around Peeta’s neck and briefly relishes in the movement of his palms on her back.
“I want…” She inhales, then exhales her answer. “I want to try for a baby.” For a moment she’s afraid he didn’t even hear her, it’s so quiet and then Peeta breaks out in a laugh and he’s holding her face and sloppily kissing her lips and she half expects him to cry out of pure joy.
“I thought with what happened last year…” He trails off, letting the silence finish his sentence. “I thought maybe it wasn’t meant to be for us to have kids.” Katniss almost whimpers at his words and she reaches out to cup his face.
“No, Peeta, no.” She drops her gaze to the floor and then back to the eyes that are still as remarkably blue as they were the first day she laid eyes on him. “The miscarriage…” Suddenly her throat closes up and she’s pressing into Peeta’s chest. “It was sudden and we were completely unprepared to face it, but I want to try. For real this time.”
And then Peeta’s holding her and kissing her and she wonders why it always took a loss for her to realize how much something means to her.
When she holds her daughter for the first time, every doubt and fear and anxiety melts to the floor like candle wax.
“Oh, my baby,” her fingers stroke her daughter’s peach fuzz skin and she wonders how she’s already helplessly and hopelessly in love with this little person all of 6 pounds and 5 ounces.
She watches as her daughter’s cries quiet to whimpers as Peeta brushes his thumb across her forehead. He’s a wreck, and she laughs quietly because she knows he’s about to lose it.
“Do you want to hold her?” Katniss asks, her voice watery and weak and happy.
He’s crying before Katniss even places the baby in his arms.
Peeta crouches in the beaten down grass and holds his arms out, watching as his daughter hangs on to Katniss' fingers with shaky legs and ungraceful feet.
"She's almost got it," Katniss quips, her face breaking out into a smile as their daughter takes another shaky step.
"Come on, peanut," The little girl squeals at her father's encouragement, almost losing her footing.
Then Katniss does something she's always battled with; she lets go and watches her little baby take her first steps all by herself, barreling into Peeta's chest when she reaches him. And then they're both laughing, and Katniss tears up because her baby is already walking and God, where does time go?
She wonders when she got so soft.
Katniss watches her husband and their child play in the tall weeds and flowers that have taken over the meadow and she knows she could have very well never had this. She almost denied herself her daughter, almost denied Peeta a chance at fatherhood.
There are times when she wants to dig Snow up from his grave and tell him he never won, he was never going to; that he never broke her. Because she's here and she's breathing and she's listening to her husband and their child laugh in the distance, the sound mingling with the rhythm of the cicadas and the birds singing to their young and she realizes she's happy. And it's enough.