Chapter 96

Katniss

"My happy little pill, take me awayDry my eyes, bring colour to my skies." -Troye Sivan

When we get home, I run upstairs to shove my medications into the cabinet in the bathroom. I put the medicine Peeta isn't supposed to know about way in the back, behind the old vitamins I said I would take when I was pregnant with Willow but never touched.

When I come back downstairs, Peeta's sitting on the couch. I join him."We're really lucky, Katniss." He says.I nod my head and tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear.He's right.

"I've been thinking," Peeta says, "That maybe we should start thinking of names." "Peeta..." I say, about to tell him how I think it's too early."I want them to have a name no matter what happens. I don't think it's too early to start talking about it. Even if something were to happen, they deserve to have a well thought out name." He explains.

And with that, all of my resistance to the idea disintegrates. He's right again. Funny how that always works out.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" I ask him. He placed a hand on my stomach."Feels like... Another girl." Peeta says."You sure?" I ask."Father's intuition. Remember how it went with Willow?" He asks.I roll my eyes at the thought of me being wrong.

"What do you think it is?" He asks."Boy." I say."You're sticking to your guns, I see." He jokes."And you aren't?"It's my turn to be right.

We sit in silence for a little bit before Peeta starts up the conversation again."Girl names..." He starts."Any you like?" I ask.

A little smile creeps across his face and I know he's got some sort of idea."I told Haymitch what girl name I liked when we were picking Willow's." He says."Celia." I say immediately.I give a little grin to him, proud of my outstanding memory.

"Huh," he says. "I can't believe you remember that." "I like that name, too. I think it's pretty." I tell him.

"What about boys?" He asks."I've always liked the name Mullen." I say. It's different."Mullen?" He repeats."It means fighter." I explain. It does, and we all know that this baby is a tiny little fighter.

"What about Rye?" He asks."You want to name your kid after a bread? Peeta, I know you're passionate about your work, but that's going a little too far with the whole bread thing." I say."That's not what it means." He says."Then what does it mean?""It means island meadow, but I was just thinking about the meadow part, you know?" He says.

"Meadow..." I say, thinking."The meadow, where all the windflowers regrew after the bombing." He explains."Where Prim used to come to me in dreams." I whisper, mostly to myself."A safe haven. And I want you to find a safe haven in your family now. No matter what happens with this baby." Peeta says.

"I love it." I say."Middle name?" He asks.We're both quiet for a moment, but when we speak, we speak together,"Finnick."

Yes, that will be the baby's middle name if it's a boy. It seems only right to name our son after Finnick, one of the few people in the world I loved. He was my friend. I trusted him with my life. He was our friend. He was brave and charming and always had that golden sense of humor. If our baby could grow up to be half the man Finnick was... I would be more than happy.

"What about a middle name for a girl?" Peeta asks."I don't know. What do you think?" I ask.We both sit, thinking. In a way, middle names are even more important than first names. It's the opportunity to name your child after someone without it being their first name, so they can be their own person. That's why we would never have named Willow after my sister.

"What about Rue?" He asks.When he says my name, chills run down my spine. After all of these years, I haven't forgotten the name of the little girl to which I owe my life now. If she hadn't been my ally, I wouldn't be here. She was the start of the revolution. She made it happen, not me. She was young and beautiful and gentle and kind. And she was stolen from us all. My heart skips a beat every time her face floods my mind.

"Perfect." I say."You like that?" He asks."I think it's beautiful. And I think Rue would be happy I haven't forgotten her. And Finnick... Of course he's happy. He's probably pissing himself just thinking about how we might name our kid after him." I say.Peeta laughs a little bit."I'll give you that. You're not wrong." He says.

I don't want to stop laughing about how funny Finnick was. I don't want to think about the color of his sea-like eyes, the gold of his hair. I don't want to think about what he did because Snow forced it upon him. I don't want to think about how Annie is left to raise Finn all on her own because Finnick died for me. I don't want to think about how Finn, little Finn, won't grow up with a father because he died fighting for me. So I laugh. And so Peeta laughs.

Because if we don't, the silence will eat at the both of us until all we can think about is Finnick and how much bleaker the world feels without him.

--

I fall asleep to the rhythmic sounds of Peeta's breaths, but my sleep doesn't last long. I wake up only an hour after I tried to fall asleep, and after laying there for a while, I decide to go check on Willow.

I walk quietly out of the room, careful not to wake Peeta, and open Willow's door. She's laying there asleep, and I let out a breath I never realized I was holding in. I shut the door again and stand in the dark hallway, trying to decide what to do. I push thoughts of calling my mother out of my mind. I've been putting it off for weeks.

She needs to know that I'm expecting another child, but she won't care. She never came to meet Willow, never called to check on me after I had her, never sent birthday messages or holiday wishes at Christmas last month. So, when Willow asks about her grandmother, I tell her that she's not alive anymore. For all I know, she could be dead. That would leave me an orphan and the only living person with the last name Everdeen, even though I go by Mellark.

I find myself sat on the couch, sipping water I try to imagine as liquor. I can't stop thinking about my mother. I know she's thousands of miles away, which has to be a couple of time zones behind ours, so I could call her. I could... But should I?

I decide flipping a coin will decide for me. Heads up, I'll leave it alone and not call. Tails up, I'll call her.I hold the coin, cold and smooth, in my palm before tossing it up into the air. It lands where I planned, on the couch cushions. I kneel down to check what it turned out to be. I squint at it, trying to get my eyes to see in the dark.

Finally, when it comes into view, I see it's heads up. I take a deep breath and get off my knees. I stand by the phone, grab it despite what the coin said, and head over to the window. I watch as a blanket of snow starts to coat the ground through the darkness. My fingers dial the number I've had memorized for years, just in case she decided to call.

A soft voice answers on the other end. "Hello?" A woman says."Hi." I say quietly."How can I help you?" She asks."It's Katniss... Mom, it's me." I say, trying to keep my voice steady and low, like I'm trying to comfort a skittish animal.

She's silent."Mom?" I ask, thinking she's hung up."What do you want?" She asks."I just... I just wanted to check in with you," I lie."Well, I'm fine." "Okay," I say awkwardly. Is she even going to ask about me.

"You're lying," She says. "You wouldn't call just to check on me." "I, uh, I need to talk to you." "Another baby, huh? Is that what this is?" She asks sourly."Well, considering the fact that you've never bothered to come and meet your granddaughter, let alone ask how I'm managing as a mother, I don't think you'd care even if I was pregnant." I say. Well, great, now she's going to think I'm not pregnant. This isn't going as I planned it.

I hear her sigh on the other end of the phone and I begin to wonder what I ever did to make her hate me. After a couple of seconds of silence, it hits me why my mother has become so disconnected from me. I wasn't the one she needed to survive.

"All these years," I say to her, finally putting it together. "You never called me or even came to meet your granddaughter. I spent years trying to figure out what I ever did to make you hate me like this, but you know what? I think I have it figured out."

I can practically hear her trying to figure out why she ripped our relationship apart, too.

"You never called or checked in or cared  because I'm not the one you wanted to survive. I'm not. I was my father's kid. And Prim was yours. You always knew that I would be the one to die or get messed up, and when I did, you felt nothing for me. You were only feeling for Prim. After my first games, you knew I would be like this. You knew I'd change because of them and so you chose Prim. You were a coward and chose Prim instead of choosing the daughter that needed more from you. You were a coward and chose the daughter that didn't need a mother because she had me. You were okay with me dying, weren't you? You had accepted it, right? And then Prim, the one you didn't expect, died just like Dad did. And you hate me so much because I'm the one you got stuck with in the end. The one you didn't want to manage through her life!" I say, angry tears flooding my eyes and making the light of the lampposts in the street splay out.

"Katniss..." She starts angrily."No. Don't 'Katniss' me, you coward. You are a coward! You don't deserve to have a part in my life. You don't deserve to know my daughter. You want to know why I called you?" I ask angrily.

She's silent. "I wanted to call you because I'm pregnant again. But you... You don't even deserve to know anymore. You don't deserve anything, you goddamn coward. I can't believe this. Dad would never have done this, you know? He would have never. But you know where he is? Dead. And you know where Prim is? Dead. And you know where we are? Alive. But that's not what you want for me, is it?" I continue.

It's as if I'm talking to an empty line. I remove the phone from against my ear and check to make sure the call is still connected.

It is. She's just not speaking.

"Yeah, well, I didn't think so." I say angrily and then I hang up.

--

After the conversation with my mother, I feel even more empty. I keep the phone in my lap as I sit on the couch just in case she calls to apologize. I keep the TV on, but it's kept at low volume so as to not to wake the rest of the house.

Halfway through the first crappy TV movie, I decide that my mother isn't going to be calling me anytime soon. I get up to put the phone back into the holder in the kitchen. I find an old blanket in the study that used to be up in Prim's room. It was the one that was always across her bed.

Sighing to myself, I pick it up and carry it into the living room and wrap myself in it. I drink some more water and wish, once again, that it had some alcohol in it. The house is dark and quiet except for the light the TV gives off.

I know that upstairs, my family sleeps, still needing me. I can't die yet, and I can't reverse what happened to Prim. I can't change that my mother wishes that I was Prim. I can't change any of that. So, instead, I sit wrapped in Prim's blanket. Deep down, I keep wishing that if I wrap it tighter and tighter around me, it could transform me into someone like Prim. Someone gentle and kind and beautiful and most of all, normal.

--

I must fall asleep, because early in the morning I'm being shaken awake by Willow.

"Mommy? Mommy?" She asks, shaking my shoulder. I wake up suddenly and Willow looks at me, concerned."Are you okay?" She asks quietly."Hi, baby. I'm okay."

"Why are you down here?" she asks."I just couldn't sleep, that's it..." I lie."Does the baby in there keep you awake?" She asks, pointing to my stomach that's just starting to show the swell of pregnancy."Yeah, I guess it does." I say.

"Do you want me to go get daddy? He said to come get him if I'm worried." She explains innocently."No, Will, it's okay. Mommy's okay." I tell her."No, Mommy, I'm going to get Daddy," she says, starting to turn away to go upstairs.

"Willow Primrose," I say, breaking out the middle name. "Do not go get your father." She looks at me, surprised by my sudden sternness. "Just, um, are you tired?" I ask."No, mommy. I just woke up. You didn't wake me just now." She tells me.

"Can you come sit with me?" I ask her, patting the spot next to me on the couch.She nods and sits down next to me. I take Prim's old blanket and cover both of our legs with it.

Eventually, we switch to laying on the couch together and Willow's little body fits right in front of mine like a perfect puzzle piece match. "Mommy?" She asks."Yeah?" I say."I heard you talking last night. Who were you talking to?" she asks.

I have to think quickly, since she thinks her grandmother is dead.That's what we told her."It's nothing, Willow. It wasn't anyone important." "You sounded mad." She points out."It's nothing, Will." I say again.

I'm not sure if she believes me, but she's smart enough even at 5 years old to know when to drop a subject.So we lay together as the wintery sun starts to shine into the windows. I guess Willow falls asleep soon after we stop talking, but I don't.

I feel her rhythmic breathing next to my chest and allow myself to relax. She's okay. Peeta's okay. The baby's okay. I'm okay.

**Sorry if this took a long time! I hope you all enjoy! :) make sure to vote and comment!**