Chapter Text
Katniss' POV
I hear giggles coming from a room that should have been silent long ago, and the exasperated sigh of Peeta.
“Come here, little monkey. You have to put on the rest of your PJ.”
“But I not sweepy, daddy!”
I move as silently as possible towards my son's room and take a peek. Here they are, the most important people in the world. Peeta is in the center of the room, a hand raking through his hair in exasperation, the other on his side, the blue pajamas bottom dangling from his arm. Our three-year-old is jumping up and down the floor, a ball of blond curls and energy – I knew it was a bad idea to let him eat a whole cupcake for dessert at dinner. His sister is watching the scene sitting cross-legged on the little boy's bed. Smug little thing she is, with a smile like her father's and a stubbornness just like mine.
“C'mon, buddy!” Peeta manages to catch the boy when he darts in front of him, and he throws him over his shoulder, eliciting a delighted shriek. “Mummy said she wanted you in your bed when she was back from grampa Haymitch's.”
“Yes, go to sleep , monkey.” The girl says. At seven, she's going through a phase of distaste for her little brother, and her teacher says it's normal for older siblings. What her teacher doesn't know is that she almost bit off the hear of the boy that pushed her brother once in the town square. But I’m not gonna tell her that.
“You, too, princess.” Peeta glances at her as he puts the pajamas bottom on the kicking boy on his shoulder. How can he do that is still a mystery to me.
She huffs. “But I'm a big girl. I'm not tired.”
“You have school tomorrow. You go to sleep now.”
She scowls, something else she inherited from me.
“Tell you what.” Peeta puts the boy on his side. “If you go to sleep, I'll tell you a story.”
“You aways tells stowy, daddy.” he says, patting his cheek.
Peeta taps his little nose. “Yes, but this is a different one.” He puts the boy under the covers and sits next to him, patting the spot on his other side. “Sit with us, princess.”
She crawls up the bed and lies next to her brother. Peeta's arm moves to the pillow they're both lying their heads on. In the hallway, I lean against the wall and listen. I like to imagine Peeta do silly faces and gesticulate wildly. He loves to tell them stories so much. It always gives me a warm, indescribable feeling.
“So, children. You know, when I was your age I had a pet dragon.”
The girl scoffs. “Everyone know dragons don't exist, daddy.”
“Okay, okay. It was a dragonfly. But it was a special dragonfly, because it could talk.”
I can hear my son's exclamation of awe. His sister is silent, so she may not be feeling the need to correct her father.
“It was an okay guy, you know, always chatty and ready to joke. But it had this bad habit to run away from home now and then. It would stay away for days, sometimes week, and everytime it would came back with a story to say. One day, when I had just started school, it ran away again. It didn't come back for a whole week. But when it came back, he told us it had had this amazing adventure. That he had fought in a war and that he had met the queen of the forest.”
“The queen of the forest?” my daughter asks.
“Mummy?” adds the boy.
Peeta chuckles. “No, not your mummy, little monkey. The queen of the forest wasn't a person. She was a wolf. A white, beautiful wolf who was nice and kind and helped all her subjects.”
“What is a subjects?” ask she.
“It is someone that lives in a kingdom. Since she was the queen, the forest was her kingdom, and every animal that lived there was her subject. The queen would ran down the forest slopes, her dirty paws and furry coat against the wind, and she would help whoever was in need. The dragonfly had run with her during his week away. Now, the forest, it was magical, too. It was a forest of talking trees. The trees were old and sage, and they knew everything. They used to sing about the birds and the bees that lived on their branches. Once they were all friends, and they would help each other during the colder days. But then suddenly the queen bee had decided that those trees weren't big enough for both bees and birds, so thebees had declared a war. So the queen of the forest decided to help.”
“How much bees were they?” the girl asks.
“How many bees. They were more than the stars in the sky and the raindrops during a storm!”
“A wot!” chimes my son.
“Yes! The sky wasn't big enough for them all. The birds, they were lot less, so they got help from below, from the queen of the forest and the creatures of snow she had called to help her. They battled for days, but after that, for a while things were cold. The battle had been very hard, and all the soldiers were down in their homes to rest. It all happened in the morning. A giant buzz filled the air, waking up the birds and the furry animals on the ground. The sight was horrible. The forest that once was green was colored black by those machines. They were so many! And no one knew where all the new bees had come from!”
“Then... then what did the queen do, daddy?” asks the girl, a big yawn interrupting her.
“The queen didn't give up. She and her furry friends took down the queen bee and her men, one after the other, all day long. When only a few bee remained, they surrendered. After that day, the birds and the bees were once again friends, so the queen of the forest could go on, helping others. That is the day the dragonfly came back home. And now, we're going to sleep.”
I hear Peeta getting up from the bed, moving the covers – probably to cover the boy better – and walking to the other side to pick up our daughter. I run for our bedroom, not wanting to be seen and interrupt this moment between them.
“Daddy?” the girl asks him once they are in her bedroom, right in front of ours.
“Yes, princess?”
“Mummy is gonna have another baby?”
There's a moment of silence. Two weeks ago we told them that I'm pregnant. The boy didn't think much of it, only saying that he hoped was a boy so he could play with him and because boys were bester – it's so cute when he says the wrong word. The girl was silent, which preoccupied me. She always has something to say about anything. And a new baby? That is something that she should discuss plenty. She was too little to really understand the last time, so I expected her to ask a million question about it.
“Yes, baby. Are you okay about it?”
She hums, I don't know if because she's about to fall asleep or because she's thinking. “I think so. The last time was okay. But I hope it's a girl this time.”
“We'll see in five months, baby.”
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“How do babies get into mummy's tummy?”
“That is a story for another time, princess. Now, sleep. Good night.”
“Night, daddy.”
I move away from the semi-closed door and pretend to be changing into my night clothes. I think Peeta is surprised to see me in the room – he still can't hear me move around the house – but he doesn't say anything.
He comes behind me as I remove my shirt and his arms wrap around me, his hands moving over my small bump.
“When did you get back?” he asks, leaving a kiss on my neck.
“Right in time for the bedtime story. The birds and the bees, Peeta?”
He chuckles. “First thing that came to my mind, sorry.”
“That conversation is all yours, then.”
“Deal.” He holds me a little bit tighter and swings us gently left and right. “How are you feeling?”
I know he is referring to the baby, but I can't help but thinking about everything that happened to me in this life. All the people I loved and lost, and all those that I found again. All the pain that I went through at the hand of the Capitol and all the pain that I inflicted to others and to myself. All the nightmares and episodes and fear and joy and peace and love that I met, the only constant being this perfect man that never gave up on me, even when he didn't remember how to love me.
I don't know exactly when it happened, when I became worthy of this life, of the love of this beautiful soul, of the perfect lives we created together. But now that I have all this, I couldn't never live without it.
“I'm perfect.” I say. And I really am, as long as I have my children and Peeta next to me.