"So, sweetheart, why are you here...exactly?" Haymitch questions, sipping at the bottle in his hand. I wrap myself up in the blanket draped over his sofa.

"It's not good for me to be alone for long periods of time. I needed company." I huff.

"So why have you decided to come and bother me instead of Peeta?" Says Haymitch, he takes his navy hanky out of his shirt pocket and blows his nose. I shift in my seat.

"Peeta and I aren't talking." I explain, bluntly. Haymitch looks up, suddenly concerned.

"Why is that?" He asks, replacing his hanky with his bottle once more. I let out an exasperated sigh.

"He wants a child." I say bluntly, without elaborating. I bring the blanket up over my head, hiding from whatever Haymitch's reaction might be.

"And you don't...?" He asks. I snap out from under the blanket.

"Of course not! Are you kidding? Why would I want to bring a child into this world, when it's full of evil and sadness! I can't understand why Peeta does. He's seen what I've seen, he has the same scars I do -" I cry. Haymitch cuts in.

"Maybe it's because Peeta has realised that the world isn't like that anymore. There are no Hunger Games, Katniss." He says gently, but I can sense the edge of frustration in his tone. My eyes dart from Haymitch to the chaos on his desk. Broken bottles, used hankies, empty photo frames, and of course, his knife.

"You still sleep with a knife." I point out. "The Hunger Games are over. Remember?"

"You still have nightmares. But you know you won't relive them." Haymitch argues, swaying his bottle in his hand, causing its contents to spill over the opening.

"I don't know that." I snap back.

"You should. For goodness sake, Katniss! You're still in the game! You've never left the game!" He suddenly yells.

"I don't know how to escape it!" I raise my voice. Haymitch takes another swig out of his bottle and sighs.

"You need to stop being afraid of the day you'll never see." He sighs. Perhaps he's right. I pick up a bottle from the coffee table in front of me and take a large slug of whiskey. Haymitch hobbles towards me, tutting.

"No, Katniss. That's not a road you want to go down." He snatches the bottle from my hand and sits it back on the table.

"You went down it." I argue as he takes his seat again.

"And I never found my way back." Haymitch says.

"It's just this once. I swear. I just need a...distraction." I explain, placing the bottle back to my lips.

"Well don't count on me to carry you home." He scowls.

As I sip at the steaming liquid, I think about how harsh I was on Haymitch and how harsh he was on me. I don't apologise for my vicious behaviour, Haymitch expects me to be unfriendly, because that's what I am. I have no idea why Peeta loves me so much. He really does love me, doesn't he? Suddenly I'm just angry. No longer at Peeta, but angry at myself for being angry at Peeta. I wish I had just accepted his apology last night, instead of starting an argument. I wish I had just let it go this morning. Of course it was me who started the silence, after a night of pondering our argument before bed I refused to talk to him in the morning. He tried to talk to me, apologise, but I wouldn't give in. Stubborn idiot, I scold myself. Peeta would never do that to me, he would never refuse to talk to me. I take along swig of whiskey, emptying the bottle.

I can say that. I can say - Peeta would never do that to me. But Peeta can't say it. He can't say - Katniss would never do that to me. Because I would. I probably would. And I did. Sometimes I really detest myself.

The room is spinning. But I like it. I like the warm feeling in my chest. The whiskey makes my stomach turn, but it's worth it. It's worth being distracted from what a pathetic excuse for a person I can be. I should go home though. Being drunk on my own sofa is better than being drunk on Haymitch's. At least Peeta will know where I am when he returns from the bakery rebuild. I stand up and stumble over to the door. Haymitch had warned me he wouldn't be carrying me home, but honestly I think he would. If he were awake that is. I pass a sleeping Haymitch and out of the house. I walk the half block over to my house - more like stumble. I make my way inside and collapse on the couch.

Every time we argue like this, I'm always the one who gets punished. I apologise and I get questioned. I hold her at night and I get the silent treatment in the morning. Really, Katniss? I think. I tried to get her to talk to me. I made her cheese buns and apologised for being pushy. Again. She refused to talk, but had the nerve to scoff down the cheese buns anyway.

I work on the bakery with Thom and the other guys for a while, before heading home. The sun starts to fall out of the sky and I start to worry about Katniss. I hope she's home. I can't stay angry at her. Only at myself.

The door's already open when I approach the house. I start to panic. I run in. "Katniss?" I shout, I place my keys on the hall table. She doesn't answer. Then I find her, sprawled out on the sofa, surrounded by her own vomit. It's a terrible sight, but not compared to other sights I've seen. I rush over to her, checking her pulse, checking her temperature, looking for some sort of explanation. She's just sleeping. Maybe she's ill. I feel so bad for leaving her in the house alone. I'm a terrible person. I've already ran her a bath, cleaned her up and apologised to her sleeping state, when I see the bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter. I thought she had a sickness, I was worried, she did this to herself.

***

I wake up in one of Peeta's shirts. My hair is wet and I smell like lemons. I'm wrapped in his arms. If you had asked me when I passed out if I expected to wake up like this, I would say yes I did. I always expect from him. I always rely on him. He is always a shoulder to cry on. But does he expect it from me? Probably not, I'm not as goodhearted as he is. But I wish that he would. And I wish that I could live up to it.

I wish I could deserve him. Be worthy of him. I let the argument go. When he whispers I'm sorry in my ear, I accept it with a kiss and an "I love you." Because I say those three words very rarely, when I do it means something, it's worthy of the moment.

That night he holds me as tight as he always has.

So I whisper. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" Peeta puzzles.

"Yes I will have a child with you. Just not now. But I will."

I see the shock in his eyes and all he can do is kiss me.