A/N: Once again, I recycled a bit of canon content. Still no copyright infringement intended.

Burbles of high-pitched laughter echo up the shore, stealing my attention from the small piece of driftwood I'm plucking from the sand. Johanna's exaggerated grunts of effort punctuate the giggles as she lumbers out of ankle-deep waves, a small girl latched onto either leg. Beads of water trail down her abdomen, her short locks of hair frizzy and askew from the salt.

"You're too heavy!" exclaims Jo, still grunting heavily with each laborious stride. "You're so huge! What am I gonna do?" The tiny hitches in her breath tell me she is actually struggling, but I don't move a muscle to assist her. Only to smile. Catching my eye, she calls out, "A little help, here?"

"Thought you were some championship wrestler!" I yell back with a mocking glint in my eyes. Johanna narrows hers and promptly falls on her face when the larger girl yanks on her lower leg. The girls cheer and dance around their fallen captive, chanting a taunting tune about how they beat her. They share a triumphant laugh as she swats at their feet, a laugh I join in on.

Though she's still glaring, there is a playful undertone in Johanna's voice as she lifts her face from the sand and shouts, "Eff you, Katniss!" Giving my head a shake of resignation, I don't bother hiding an affectionate smirk. That is the closest I will ever get to taming Johanna's tongue around our children.

Children. This is not something I ever envisioned for myself, let alone us. Johanna has always had such an abrasive personality and lack of patience, at least toward me, that it never occurred to me that she might want to deal with tiny needy humans. But six years ago, on one of our visits to Four, I had an epiphany of sorts. The look on Jo's face as she held Peeta and Annie's month-old daughter for the first time and the joy in her eyes as she played with young Finn made something click in my brain. It was strikingly reminiscent of the way she interacted with Prim, the affection and uncharacteristic positivity.

That night, as we were settling down in the guest room, I had my eye on Jo again. That small, enamored smile from earlier had yet to fade from her lips. Flopping on the bed, she started regaling me with some anecdote from her game of hide and seek with the little boy. "Johanna," I cut in suddenly, interrupting her mid-sentence. She narrowed her eyes and I just about lost my nerve. It felt like such a strange thing to ask, but I had to know. "Do you… want kids?"

Her eyes fluttered with surprise for several seconds, then rolled hard and dropped to the bedspread. "I mean, I did," she confessed. "Before I got reaped and everything. After the fire, I figured it would never be in the cards for me."

Before I could stop myself, I blurted, "How about now?"

"You don't want 'em," she shrugged. "You've told me."

A pang of guilt echoing in my gut, I declared, "Well, if you want one, I'm not gonna stop you."

"Katniss," she stated, tilting her head and eyeing me as though I was an imbecile. Which wasn't entirely unfair. "You're my girlfriend, my partner," she spelled out. "Unless you're planning on leaving me, if I have a kid, it'll be yours too for all intents and purposes."

My eyebrows twitched as I stared down at my hands. "Too bad it couldn't be mine for real. Isn't passing on your genes half the point?"

"It can be. Yours, I mean." At my confused expression, she explained, "They can do that, in the Capitol. Harvest your eggs, merge them with mine."

My jaw flapped uselessly a couple times before I got out a, "How?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Science?" As I tried to absorb this possibility that I had never even known existed, she warned me, "It's pricey. Would take a few months' worth of winnings, from both of us." She furrowed her brow. "Benefits, I mean." Four years post-war, we were still getting used to the new name for our paydays: Survivors' Benefits. The word 'winnings' didn't sit so well after the revolution that abolished the Games, but no one felt it was fair to further disrupt the lives of the living victors by taking away their income.

Still trying to wrap my head around the idea, I told her, "Let me think about it."

"Take your time," she said. "I only wanna do it if you do. I know you have reservations about being a mommy." A smirk inched its way onto her face, illuminating her eyes. "But I guess you never thought about being a daddy, did you?"

Squinting into a glare, I admonished her, "Don't make this weird."

But it was already plenty weird. I spent the rest of the trip mulling it over, gathering encouragement from watching Jo with the kids and fear from all encounters with my mother. In the end, it was the joy I derived from my own interactions with Finn and the baby that made me think maybe it could be worth the risk. That maybe I should try to let go of my deepest fears and just live. But that was a tall order.

It wasn't until we were back in our own Victor's Village that I broached the subject again. As we sat down to supper the night we arrived home, I confessed, "I think you were right."

"I'm always right," Jo said to her plate. But her sparkling eyes jumped up almost immediately to catch my reaction. Winking, she gave my foot a nudge. "What about?"

"That I'll be happier with more people to live for," I specified. "Even spending time with Peeta and Annie, connecting with some other people…"

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

With a halting nod, I conceded, "In small doses. So I'm thinking, maybe kids would be good for me. You know?"

"There's no small doses with kids," Jo pointed out, eyes still holding that teasing energy. "And there's no way I'm staying with a deadbeat daddy."

My eyes rolled so far back into their sockets I'm surprised my brain didn't swallow them whole. "Please stop." As Johanna chuckled, I shifted in my seat and began picking at my cuticles. "Thing is, in my logical brain, I see no big reasons not to. It seems like a safe bet." Earnestly meeting her eyes, I confessed, "But the truth is, Johanna, I still don't feel safe. Some part of me is still terrified that something will happen to you, or to me. Let alone any helpless kids. One of the reasons I never wanted any was that I knew I couldn't protect them from the Capitol, didn't know if I could even keep food in their bellies."

Laying a gentle hand on my forearm, she rubbed her thumb back and forth over the bare skin. "Those aren't problems now."

"I know. But…" Unsure how exactly to say what I meant, I trailed off helplessly. Until I remembered a moment from years before and realized that it needed no explaining. Jo was a victor too. She understood. Canting my head exaggeratedly to the side, I raised my pitch an octave and asked, "How about you, Mason? You feel totally safe?"

Though Jo's mouth briefly twitched at the impression, it ultimately fell, along with her eyes. "No." Sighing deeply, she pulled her hand back and folded both together, braving my gaze again. "To be honest, that's part of why I want other people in your life. Even part of why I want kids," she admitted. "Katniss, no one lives forever. What are the chances we'll go at the same time?" My face slipped into a loose expression of horror as she spoke. This was the last thing I wanted to talk about, ever.

Reaching out again to grasp my hand, she continued earnestly. "I want you to have someone else to live for. Some other reason to keep going, if something happens to me. In five years or fifty years, whatever. I don't want to be your only reason for living. People say that's romantic, but it's fucked up. I don't want that for you."

Eyes on the table, I sighed. "But that's my biggest fear, with all this. That I won't keep going. That something willhappen to you, and I'll become my mother. I don't want to put a child through that."

"Then don't," she said. As if it was that simple. "Your mom never reached out to anyone for help. Maybe there was no one. But you have people who can catch you, help you, even if I'm not there to do it."

Considering this for a moment, I remarked, "You know it's a fucked up reason to have a child, right?" Though to be honest, I could relate. The thought of leaving Johanna alone in the world again filled me with more grief than the thought of losing her. Having more family, replacing the one she lost, it couldn't be a bad thing.

"It's not my only reason," she countered.

"No, it's not." Face in my hands, I breathed out all the doubt and fear I could and tried to focus on a simple question. What did I want? I had never been very good at figuring that out, always so consumed by taking care of others. And while the thought of parenthood filled me with fear, there was also a part of me that felt the pull toward the adventure of it. Truth be told, I still felt no overwhelming need to procreate. But while I was not especially invested in the idea, I was invested in Johanna's happiness, and it was enough to bypass my state of indecision. "Okay," I concluded, lifting my head to meet her gaze. "Let's do it."

Her brown eyes blinked once in surprise before growing wide and hopeful. "Really?"

"Yeah." Now it was my turn to give her foot a nudge. The sultry wink I shot her did not entirely mask the genuine smile on my face. "Let's make a baby."

Despite my lack of maternal urges, it's not a decision I have ever regretted. At least, for no longer than it took to recover from a poor night's sleep. Our daughters bring an innocent kind of joy into my life that I had long forgotten, something that neither Johanna nor I could bring to our relationship. It makes me feel lighter. Hopeful.

As their shrieks of delight pierce my eardrums, my eyes zero in on the little girls scampering down the beach toward their grandmother. Johanna, in contrast, takes just enough steps to reach my squatting form before flopping down in the sand again.

"So much for supporting me," she grouses, pulling a smirk onto my lips. Touché. Glancing at the collection of small driftwood in my arms, she inquires, "What the hell are you doing, anyway?"

"Collecting firewood. Duh, brainless," I sass her.

"We have lots at the house," she points out. As though I could forget watching her split logs for what felt like hours yesterday, my mouth forming as much saliva as there was sweat dripping down her back at the sight and sound of her rippling muscles and forceful grunts.

Attempting to push that thought aside, I retort, "Only big pieces. Someone's too much of a show off to split kindling."

Johanna sticks her tongue out at me, then nods in the wake of the kids. "You coming? Looks like the food's almost ready."

"Yeah," I say, standing and heading for the forest that rims the beach. "As soon as I drop this off."

We fell in love with this village the first time we visited. We happened upon it at the tail end of a tour of Seven Johanna took me on a few years after we moved back here. It was mostly so she could show me where she grew up, a town in the northern reaches of the district that took us two days to reach by car. Her childhood home was gone, of course, but the town was charming and the scenery incredible, and I could see why she might miss it. But she said it didn't feel like home anymore. I could relate. It's part of why I moved to Seven after the war.

We took a more western route on the way home, down a road along the coast that had previously been outside the fences and accessible only to Peacekeepers. Way in the far southern end of the district, close to the wilds between it and Four, we found this slice of paradise. The village itself was in its infancy at the time, but between the warm beach and tall trees, we knew immediately we'd found a vacation spot. After enough trips here, we decided it was where we wanted to plant some new roots. The pace of life is slower and there's less nosy people around to gawk at the infamous victors and question the welfare of their children. Less people in general, of course, but the people who do live here are laid back and treat us like anyone else, don't make us feel special. It is surprisingly refreshing.

The late-July sun beaming down on me through gaps in the trees, I follow a rather lousy excuse for a path until I reach a modest dwelling set not a hundred feet into the woods. We've been building this log cabin since the rainy season ended early in the spring, renting out a small house nearby. I spent many a day with the toddler strapped to my back, hammering beams and boards under Jo's watchful eye while our oldest "helped" her cut wood. Mostly she played gopher, Jo's way of keeping her away from the tablesaw, but she was happy to be contributing something to the effort.

Inside, I grab a hand planer and shave off some tinder from one of Jo's split logs, then arrange the bone dry pieces of driftwood around it in the fireplace. As I stand from admiring my handiwork, my eyes land on a decorative arrow cut from stone sitting on the mantle. Pinned beneath the arrow is the note that accompanied it when it came in the mail the other day. Slipping the note out from under the stone, I read it for at least the twentieth time.

Hey, Catnip. Sorry I couldn't make it to the party this weekend, but I'll come see the new cabin soon. I bet it's top notch. Send pictures. In the meantime, please accept this housewarming gift from all of us. -Gale

Despite his well wishes, I have a feeling my best friend found an excuse to be busy today because the whole thing is too awkward for him. Some probable lingering jealousy aside, I don't think he can bring himself to face my mother after how the war ended. She holds no ill will toward him, but that doesn't necessarily make it any easier to show his face. We wouldn't even be in contact now had I not taken the first steps years ago.

Johanna and I had been in the Capitol for about a month when we got the news that Annie was pregnant again. We'd been undergoing weeks of fertility injections plus all the uncomfortable procedures, and were sitting around waiting until Johanna could be tested. Annie invited us to take a detour on the way home and come celebrate with them if Jo tested positive, but I was socially exhausted from staying with Haymitch and Effie that whole time, and more than ready to go home and be left the fuck alone. "Do we have to?" I grumbled.

"No. But I promised Finnick I'd watch out for her if anything happened to him." Rolling her eyes, Johanna sighed, "I should probably pop in, at least. She's like family."

It was strange to hear that from Johanna, who'd at one point held plenty of resentment toward Annie. But their time supporting each other during the invasion had surely brought them closer, and I'd never doubted Johanna's devotion to Finnick. It put me to shame, when compared to how I'd treated my best friend. Gale used to be every bit as much family to me as Finnick was to Jo, that and more. And I'd thrown that away. Even Peeta, I'd once felt like he was family, and yet there I was, avoiding his company. With us investing in a new future, I knew I should be strengthening the bonds I already had. It was time to stop playing lone wolf. Though I had always been very good at it.

As my girlfriend cracked her back, she blinked skyward and smiled. "On the bright side, then we can be pregnant and hungry together. And you and Peeta can wait on us hand and foot, like good little husbands."

My eyes rolled right back at her. "Don't the weird cravings mean you're pregnant?"

"Cravings aren't foolproof, baby," she said. "It could all be in my head." But it wasn't all in her head. Within the week, we were packing up to leave triumphantly, positive results in hand.

When Johanna asked if I would come to Four with her, I told her, "I'll catch up. I have to make a stop on the way back."

"Where?" she asked.

There's no describing the pride on her face when I answered, "District Two."

The next morning, I stood inside the Justice Building in Two, hands jammed in my pockets as I tried very unsuccessfully to avoid looking around. When my mom told me this was where Gale worked, I almost aborted my mission, too fearful of the memories of gunfire and collapsed mines overtaking me. My wandering eyes came to rest on a marble pillar a short distance away, my innards curdling as I recalled letting it leech my body heat for hours while the workers at the Nut tried to dig their way out of the grave our hoverplanes put them in.

It was nearly too much, but I gritted my teeth and continued to tap my foot impatiently as I waited for this bitchy security guard to call up to Gale's office and get his approval for me to enter the secured wing of the building. Latecomers were trickling in the main doors as I stood there waiting, many of them likely delayed by the storm outside. Keeping my head down, I didn't pay them much attention until a glimpse of one in particular made my stomach clench and drop. The hood of his raincoat was obscuring his face and his once lanky frame had filled out with muscle, but something in me recognized him even before I caught sight of the olive skin of his bare hands.

"Gale."

The hurrying figure stopped in its tracks and slowly turned. One hand came up, pushing back the hood and revealing his face. It had gone lax and pale, almost like he'd seen a ghost. To be fair, he'd probably thought he was more likely to see a ghost in his lifetime than my face ever again. His voice was lower than I remembered as he uttered my name. "Katniss."

"Hi," I forced out through a suddenly tight throat, stepping forward with a gulp. The remaining twenty feet seeming too large to breach, my feet rooted themselves into the floor. Gale gave no reply in greeting, making my throat constrict yet tighter. In addition to the obvious shock, he was wearing that same sad, resigned look from the last time we spoke, making my chest ache. "Can we talk?"

Gale's gray eyes flitted away before I could get a good read on his emotions. After taking in a deep breath he caught my eye and nodded, then jerked his head toward the security gate. "She's family, Marla," he told the woman as he scanned his ID badge. "My cousin. I can vouch for her identity."

"The whole country can," she muttered, buzzing me through. Her continued coldness was slightly disconcerting, but not surprising in the least. Hatred for me in District Two likely still runs deep to this day. I was involved in the deaths of many of its sons and daughters. Yet Gale has gotten along just fine. They probably don't know he was the mastermind behind the attack on the Nut.

Silence enshrouded us as we traversed the hallways, the only sounds our footsteps echoing off the polished stone walls. I've never been one for idle chatter, but it was so nerve-wracking and awkward that I was itching to speak by the time we reached the door marked Major G. Hawthorne, Security Div. IV. "My mom told me you got promoted again last year," I spouted, grateful for something to prompt conversation. "She said Hazelle was really proud. Congratulations."

Gale nodded stiffly, finally regaining eye contact as we entered the office. "Thank you." After shutting the door, he strode over to his desk, shrugging off the raincoat to reveal his pressed gray military jacket underneath.

When he stood up from draping the coat over the back of his chair, I got a better look at the uniform jacket. A number of medals adorned his breast, the only one I recognized being the one awarded to soldiers wounded in battle. I was sent one in honor of my "sacrifice" during the invasion once the new nationwide military force was formed, but it's been collecting dust in some storage box ever since. My burns paled in comparison to the lives and body parts that many others lost, and I have no pride in my former involvement in the military anyway. No reason to display it.

As my eyes roamed to the epaulets sitting atop Gale's shoulders, they caught sight of something just below his collarbone. A faint smear of white that made the blood drain from my head in shock. Our visits to District Four had well acquainted me with the perils of infants, and I all but instantly recognized the stain as spit up, hastily wiped away. Jaw falling open, I raised a hand and pointed at Gale's breast. "You have…"

Brow furrowing, he glanced down and caught sight of the mark. "Oh, thanks." Wetting a tissue with his tongue, he rubbed at it with a sheepish, "Thought I got it all."

Blinking myself back into a state of functionality as I watched, I finally finished my sentence. "You have a baby."

"Two, actually. Twins." When I didn't reply, Gale glanced up and took in my stunned expression. "What? I told you I wanted them."

"I remember," I answered, my voice hollow as I recalled that morning at our spot in the woods. The calm before the storm that changed everything. I swallowed. "So, you have a wife? Girlfriend?"

Chuckling inwardly, Gale pitched the tissue in the trash. "Why are you asking?"

"I'm just curious, Gale. It's been a long time."

"Yeah, it has." After a long pause, he plucked a picture frame from his desktop and came around to sit informally on the corner. His relaxing posture allowed me to breathe out some of my own tension. "Wife," he said, handing over the frame. "Been married two years."

Taking it hesitantly, I found myself staring at Gale's wedding photo. Even after all that time, seeing him in such a picture with another girl made my stomach turn with… not jealousy, exactly, but unease. Seeing evidence that I had lost my influence and special place in his life was a tough pill to swallow, even though I'd left our relationship to rot. It only added insult to injury that the girl was obscenely beautiful. Pale and raven-haired like Jo, though significantly taller, with gorgeous gray eyes and a brilliant smile. "What's her name?" I asked, trailing a finger along the ridges of the decorative wooden frame.

"Lucia."

My eyes bulged. That kind of name holds a very specific pedigree. No way Gale would marry a Capitol girl, therefore… "You married a girl from Two?"

Gale cocked an eyebrow as dry as his tone. "That is where I live, you know."

"I guess…" Trailing off, I tried to cobble together a coherent train of thought. "But you were willing to bomb civilians from Two. You hated the Careers, like all of us."

"She wasn't a Career."

"Obviously," I replied. "I just didn't think you'd marry into a Career district. The Peacekeeper factory, no less."

"They're not all evil," argued Gale, snatching back the photo.

My jaw actually dropped. "Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Gale?"

Tucking his tongue under his lower lip, he scoffed exasperatedly. "Why are you here, Katniss?"

"Johanna is pregnant."

It was the simplest and most pressing reason. Unlike any explanations of my deeper motives, those words came easily and quickly. And I let them hang there. Gale's face started to harden, until it struck him how calm I was. "Wait, on purpose?"

"Yes."

"Oh." The confusion in his features faded only somewhat as he absorbed this over several seconds. "Who did you use?"

"Me." Predictably, his brow furrowed once again. "It's some Capitol technology, they can combine the genes of two females to make a child," I explained. "Only girls, but that's fine, we didn't mind writing off boys if it meant the kid would be completely our own."

Gale appeared to be blinking this knowledge into his brain, unsure what to say. Eventually he settled on, "Well… I guess congratulations are in order, then." He stood and extended a casual hand. When I reached out to meet it, he gave mine one firm shake, a small smile sprouting on his lips.

My hand lingered in his grip a bit longer than it needed to, the awkward and seemingly impenetrable contact barrier finally somewhat broken. "Thank you."

As I dropped his hand, Gale inquired, "Is she here with you, or…?"

I shook my head. "No. She's in Four, being 'pregnant and hungry' with Annie."

His eyebrows arched. "Peeta knocked her up again already?"

"You heard about that?"

"I'm not big on celebrity gossip, but that was hard to miss," he remarked drolly. "It was all over the news." Looking me over, he gave his head a slight shake. "I don't know how you two have kept such a low profile."

"We're scarier than Peeta and Annie," I cracked. "The press is afraid of us. All of us are crazy, but at least they aren't cold-blooded murderers."

"Neither are you," said Gale. My eyes fell from his sincere expression because I couldn't quite believe him. Perhaps he couldn't either, because he changed the subject. "So… you wanted to tell me in person, in case it did get out?"

"Yeah, but…" Sighing, I straightened up and looked him in the eye. "It's got me thinking, about the importance of family." His jaw tensed slightly as he tried to maintain his poker face. These walls between us felt so foreign. Continuing my attempt to dismantle them, I took on an almost imploring tone. "I miss you, Gale. And I have so few people in this world, why push you away?"

"I think we both know why," he answered tonelessly. As my eyes narrowed, he let his shoulders fall and backpedaled, "I never called you either. I'm not blaming you."

"No," I replied simply. "You blame yourself."

Twitching his eyebrows, he muttered to the floor, "You blame me too."

"I'm done blaming," I declared, shaking my head. Gale regained my gaze and I held his earnestly. "I want to move on with my life. Let go of grudges and at least try to be happy. It's what Prim would have wanted." Before I had a chance to lose my nerve, I took a decisive step toward him and wrapped my arms around his midsection. His core tensed briefly before relaxing into the contact, his arms coming up to encircle my shoulders.

As my head settled on Gale's shoulder, his thumb brushed back and forth over mine. "I've missed you too," he confessed, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

Cinching my arms tighter, I nodded into his collarbone. "So am I."

***o***

A cacophony of crashing waves and children's shrieks greets my ears as I exit the forest close to where our party has gathered, surveying the scene. Effie and Haymitch are standing and chatting with Johanna and my mother, close to where our kids are chasing around Peeta and Annie's three oldest children. Peeta is grilling meat over a barbeque beside the cluster of picnic tables where the sand meets a tinder-dry grassy patch, while Finn unloads some things from the trunk of their car. Annie must be off feeding the baby somewhere because, unlike Johanna, she is shy about exposing herself in public.

Four kids already in seven years of marriage seems a little excessive to me. When we went to visit the Mellarks for New Year's and meet the newest addition, I cornered Peeta in the kitchen as he was icing the cake. Poking him in the ribs, I teased him, "Maybe you should get off her already."

Apparently taking that more seriously than I'd meant it, he balked, "What? You think I'm some kind of insatiable jackrabbit?"

Caught off guard, I responded with equal defensiveness. "Maybe," I answered, an edge in my tone that did not match my nonchalant shrug. "I wouldn't know."

"No, you wouldn't," he concurred pointedly. Coming from him, that stung unexpectedly. He seemed to sense this, backing off a little. "Look, the kids are good for Annie. She's been a lot more stable since Finn was born. I think having someone to depend on her forces her to keep her head on straight."

That was far too relatable for me. And, judging by the introspection in his eyes as they flicked into the living room to take in his beloved, it was for Peeta too. Somewhat embarrassed that I unwittingly took a shot at his wife's coping mechanisms, I averted my eyes and conceded, "I can understand that."

"Besides, why not have kids?" he shrugged, returning his attention to the cake. "We both like them, and the benefits make it more affordable than it would be otherwise." I was just rolling my eyes at how simple - not to mention cheap - the whole process is for them when he inadvertently provoked me with an offhand, "You two thought about having more?"

"Sure," I snorted. "Because I can just crawl on top of Johanna and knock her up for free in five minutes. How lucky you are."

Looking up from his work, Peeta raised his eyebrows. "I didn't mean it that way."

"I know you didn't," I muttered, blinking away. "It's just the way it is."

Peeta nodded slowly, analyzing my expression. "Besides, it's at least ten minutes," he said to the cake as he made one final swoop with the spreader, prompting another eye roll on my part that made him smile. "Usually longer."

"Good for you," I replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I don't have that problem."

"How lucky you are," he grinned as he straightened up. Throwing me a disarming wink, he extended the spreader my way. When I didn't immediately grasp it, he waggled it in front of my face until a smile broke through and I took it.

"Thanks." Giving the spreader a lick, I watched as he picked up the piping bag and started on the letters. "At least I don't have to worry about getting her pregnant by accident."

"Also true," agreed Peeta, "though you pay a lot more to have a baby than most people do to avoid it." He was not wrong, not by a long shot.

We're done having kids, partly for that reason. Mostly because two is plenty enough to handle. Let alone five, which is what my mother takes on as she breaks from the adult conversation and stalks toward the kids, shouting at them to get out of the waves. Sidling up to Johanna's back, I circle my arms around her waist and nuzzle her hair, getting a whiff of sea salt. "Hi, baby," I murmur. She turns her head and we exchange a quick kiss.

"There you are, Katniss," remarks Effie. "I'd hate to think you were ignoring the guests at your own party."

"Of course not, Miss Trinket," I drawl. "Still minding my manners. I can never get your voice out of my head, no matter how hard I try."

Haymitch snorts into his glass while Effie purses her lips, camouflaging any hints of amusement. But the affection is plain in her eyes as she says, "Eleven years, and you're still that same unruly girl, aren't you?"

Waving her off, I quip, "Whatever, you love me." It does not escape me that that's entirely something Johanna would say. She's still rubbing off on me. As Effie walks toward the nearby picnic tables with Haymitch, playfully wagging her finger, I plant a kiss on Johanna's cheek and run my fingers over the smooth flesh of her upper back, trail them down the inner border of her shoulder blade.

Children are not the only pricey thing we have put our benefits toward. A couple years ago, Jo spent two months' worth of them on a selective body polish, removing the scars on her back and scalp as well as various other ones she acquired during her stint in "Snow's basement funhouse," as she so eloquently put it the morning after his execution. She said it was so the kids wouldn't ask questions she didn't want to answer, but I think she just wanted them gone. Not that I blame her. They were a reminder of the most traumatic event in her life. Likewise, I've considered doing the same with the scars left over from the skin grafts I needed after catching fire in the Circle. But I haven't, at least not yet. In a way, I can appreciate reminders of what I've overcome. Plus, I don't know if I can bring myself to remove something that reminds me of Prim, even in a painful way.

A shiver under my touch brings a smile to my lips, and I drag a nail up along the same ridge of bone my fingers just traversed. Dark, narrowed eyes jump up to mine, making me smirk smugly like Johanna always does when she knows she's riling me up. Serves her right. Grabbing my shirt, she pulls me down for a hard kiss. My hands roam down her lower back and splay on her hips as hers wind in my t-shirt. "No fair," she grumbles.

Though I love the moments of revenge when I can sexually frustrate Johanna, a smile breaks out on my face and I can't help but try to appease the pout on hers. Lifting my arms, I peel off the shirt and drop it on the sand, revealing my swim top underneath. Her hands and upturned lips have just met the newly uncovered skin when a clearing throat breaks the spell we've both fallen under.

"Young eyes," my mother admonishes us from behind Jo, nodding to where our girls now sit playing in the sand at her feet.

Rolling her eyes, Jo turns around in my arms. "So what?" she spouts. "They should know their mommies love each other." Dropping her gaze to said young eyes, she adds, "Right, kids?" Despite being shyer than Jo about public displays of affection, I can't pass up the opportunity to lace a couple kisses down her neck, smothering my chuckle in the crook of her shoulder.

"Hey!" calls Peeta, drawing my attention to where he is setting out food on one of the tables, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. "Why don't you two get a room?"

"Later, Bread Boy!" Jo shouts back. It only deepens the blush I am hiding against her skin, still holding her tight.

"Jo," I murmur into her skin. "Lay off."

Tilting her head up and to the side to catch my eye, she replies with a wink. "Lay what, now?"

"Mom?" Parenthood has taught us how to tune out kids' voices, a skill necessary to retain one's sanity amid chaos. We put that skill to use as Johanna turns and loops her arms around my neck, pulling herself tighter against me and up into my lips. It works just fine until the taller child comes closer and tugs insistently on the side of Johanna's bikini bottom, almost yanking it down before I grab hold of it. "Mommy?"

Reluctantly breaking the kiss, Johanna cocks an eyebrow with thinly veiled irritation. "Yes, Willow?"

"What's Uncle Peeta mean?" Inquisitive deep brown eyes peer up at us. She looks strikingly like me other than that one detail, tall for her age and naturally tan. Her hair is jet black like Jo's, not that mine is much lighter, but it's those eyes that always weaken my resolve. Saying no to her is all but impossible for me, especially when her forehead crinkles in Jo's signature pout. Defying all expectations, Johanna has turned out to be the stricter parent.

Palming Willow's head, she assures her, "I'll explain when you're older, kiddo."

As Willow whines about how she wants to know now, I roll my eyes and glare at Peeta for his part in this. He doesn't look the least bit sorry, chuckling as he pops a berry in his mouth. I idly hope it's nightlock. Judging by the smirk on nine year-old Finn's face as he sits beside his stepdad watching the exchange, he's already been given the sex talk. There's sure been enough babies for him to start asking where they come from. I redirect my glare at him until he looks away sheepishly.

"Go on, go play with your sister," Johanna urges our firstborn, who responds by crossing her arms with a hot glare and a stubborn stamp in the sand. She has Johanna's pout and my glower. My brooding tendencies and her temper. The worst of both of us. Now Johanna shoots the girl her evil eye, which parenthood has only helped her perfect. "Willow Primrose Mason. That is not acceptable behavior."

Releasing my grip on Jo, I guide our daughter back a step so I can squat in front of her. "Come on, Will, this isn't worth getting upset over. Or getting in trouble. You know that." Though her frown stays put, I see doubt creeping into her eyes as the wheels turn in her head. Holding out a hand with a smile, I suggest, "Let's go collect some seashells. They have some really pretty ones here." Reluctantly she takes my hand, and I reward her with an affirming nod. "Smart choice. Okay, let's go."

Before I get out of reach, Jo nabs my free hand and jerks me back. "We'll pick this up later," she promises, eyes once again smoldering with lust.

Gulping hard, I lean in and give her a chaste but decisive kiss in answer, all the while trying to quell the thrill she just set off in my stomach. I might be tempted to test my resolve with another peck, but Willow is yanking on my other hand. "Come on, Mama!"

She has always been very demanding, just like her mother. Once she'd gotten accustomed to bottle feeding, I spent many nights coaxing her back to sleep after she'd awoken hungry. Or cold. Or lonely. Babies find all kinds of reasons to cry. Tending to Willow was the least I could do after all the times Jo had had to get up to feed her in the middle of the night, all of Jo's lost hours of sleep back when she was trying to kick her way out of the womb. Plus, it was better for me if I was the one to get up. Johanna sleep-deprived is extremely unpleasant.

Eventually, Willow's sleeping patterns improved, and consequently so did ours. But just like us, she had her nightmares. One cold November night she woke up crying around ten o'clock, just as an episode of this singing program Plutarch hosts was wrapping up. Not so interested in the upcoming nightly newscast, I patted Jo on the thigh and volunteered to go deal with our daughter. She was coming up on a year and a half at that point, and had a decent enough vocabulary to tell us what she needed, which made things considerably easier.

"Willow?" I called, nudging open her cracked door to peer into the dimly lit room. "What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"

As I approached, the girl nodded, voice thick with tears. "Wiwwow quared, Mama."

"You don't have to be scared, baby," I assured her as I sat cross-legged on the bed, opening my arms for her. She scrambled into them and I held her close, placing a kiss on her forehead. "You're safe. Mama's here." With the young toddler clutching at me, I hummed soothingly and spoke comforting words until she relaxed. As her eyelids began to droop, I sang her my favorite lullaby. It's hers too, if only because her name is in the first line.

A loaded gaze burned into me from the doorway as I finished the final stanza, but my eyes lingered on my sleeping daughter a moment longer before rising to meet Jo's. Hers held a great deal of affection, as expected, but also a healthy dose of lust. "You're a natural," she said.

A touch nervous under that look, I managed only a halting, "Yeah?"

Johanna smirked. "And you didn't think you had it in you." Coming closer, she bent down and trailed her fingertips down my jaw, under my chin. Before she tipped it up for a kiss, I caught a glimpse of lingerie peeking out from under her thin robe, sadly confining my view to her cleavage but stoking the coals in my belly all the same.

Pulling away with a tiny tug of my lip, Johanna grinned at my wide, hungry eyes. "You coming to bed?" My pounding heartbeat spread unbidden to my throat and my groin. It has never ceased to amaze me how she can still have the same effect on me as she did the day we met.

"Hell yeah," I breathed. Nodding at the child in my arms, I asked, "You gonna help get this kid off me so I can join you?"

Tipping her head, Johanna pretended to mull this over for a moment before her cheeky, "Nope." With a teasing grin, she sauntered out of the room, leaving me to push out a frustrated sigh. I tentatively shifted my weight around, trying to get my balance and set Willow down without waking her. It took several minutes and one scary flutter of her eyelids before she was tucked in. Already annoyed as I entered our bedroom, I found Johanna lying on the bed, robe gone and hand inside her underwear, fingers moving rhythmically. Though I did and still do enjoy watching her touch herself, a fact she was obviously exploiting, I felt the need to display some indignance. At my glare, she batted her eyelashes innocently. "What? You were taking too long."

"No thanks to you," I groused, prowling closer.

As I made it to the bed, Johanna blocked my way down and got to her feet. "No," she commanded, taking me by the hips and turning us so my back was to the bed. "Sit." A breath caught in my chest. I knew exactly where this was going.

As I obeyed her directive, the corner of Jo's mouth turned up, unable to maintain the straight face she'd intended. Kneeling between my feet, she took her time unbuckling my belt and unzipping my pants, her little smirk growing all the while. Finally she dragged my pants and underwear down my thighs, eyes lighting up at what she'd uncovered. Disposing of the garments, she ran both hands up my inner thighs, pulling a gasp from my lungs. Just before her lips descended to lock around my clit, her one hand slid into her underwear and went back to work on her own.

Of course it felt incredible, but it was the sounds of her heightening suction combined with the clicking noise coming from her underwear that drove me halfway to madness. Her moans into my folds gave me an extra swell of arousal and I echoed her, head tipping back. I knew she was embellishing, but that didn't stop it from being effective. Groaned curse words spewed out of my mouth as she fluttered her tongue between hard, pulsing suckles. One hand reaching back to support myself as I spread my legs wider for her, I palmed her skull, nails scratching at her scalp. As I crested over, Jo lifted her free hand to smother my broken cry with her palm. There was no less opportune time to wake the baby, especially for her.

Her escalating moans echoing into me as she tried to bring me down proved counterproductive. Grabbing her with an eye roll, I dragged her onto the bed. Pushing her flat on her back, I ripped the underwear from her legs and dove in for a kiss. Her legs wrapped around me as she arched up into my body. My shirt and both our bras were still impeding contact, but I lacked the patience to remove the barriers. As I buried my fingers in her, body weight propelling the back of my hand, Johanna gasped and clung to me. "Oh, Katniss." After several thrusts, I ghosted my thumb over her clit, making her whimper, "Please."

And I obliged, increasing the pressure. Years before, at Finnick and Annie's wedding, I realized that I would never be able to say no to this girl. Nothing has changed.

After such a passionate start, it was some time before we wore ourselves out and collapsed against each other. As I lay there, my head atop Johanna's slowing heart, our bare bodies entangled, my mind began to whirl. I rolled my tongue in my mouth, relishing the flavor fresh on it, and proposed, "Let's have another one."

"Another orgasm?" queried Jo.

My eyes rolled hard as I lifted my head from her chest. "Another child."

Brow scrunching in a squint, Johanna pushed herself into a semi-sitting position, forcing me up with her. "Are you serious?" she gaped, her tone more surprised than accusatory. "You want to go back to sleepless nights and projectile poop?"

"It wasn't that bad," I mumbled, somewhat embarrassed. The thought had crossed my mind before, but I'd been meaning to voice it at a more opportune moment. Not when I had a loose mouth during some random post-sex haze. With a shrug, I pointed out, "And it would be nice if she had someone to play with." When Johanna merely blinked, I tried the humor approach. "I'm thinking long term, here. If she has a playmate, they'll entertain each other and we can mostly ignore them, right?"

Johanna snorted. "Or they'll fight all the time."

"If they're anything like us," I cracked. On a more serious note, I added, "But, you know, it's good to grow up learning to get along. And to have that companionship."

"Yeah, I miss having siblings too," ruminated Johanna, stating plainly what I was fine with leaving unsaid. Lump rising in my throat, I dropped my eyes to the sheets. Slowly she started to nod. "Okay. Do you want to pop this one out?"

"Marginally less than I want to deal with pregnant Johanna again," I deadpanned.

"I wasn't that bad," she scoffed.

"You were insufferable, though not much more than usual." My saucy smile faded as I considered my next words. "I've never had the desire to carry one. If you don't want to either, that's fine. We don't need more."

"I was asking because I thought you might be interested," clarified Johanna. "I don't mind. Always figured I'd be birthing my own kids anyway."

Leaning in, I planted a kiss on her forehead. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me now," she smirked. "Thank me with all the foot rubs and head I want while I'm carrying your baby."

An insuppressible smile turned and parted my lips. "I'm sure I can handle that."

Like with Willow, we wasted no time setting up our appointments in the Capitol, and Olive was born the following September. Contrary to what her name would suggest, she's a shade paler than her sister. She lacks her mother's alabaster skin, but is no darker than Prim would get when she spent time in the sun. Though raven-haired like Willow and Jo, she has my gray eyes and, according to my mother, my exact temperament as a young child. Despite having the ability, she speaks very little, preferring to watch people. She rarely smiles, though she is quite clingy and affectionate, especially with me. We bond over our mutual dislike of talking.

In terms of social buffers, Olive is a godsend. Anytime I'm feeling drained, I can hang out with her and be lauded for spending quality time with my kid rather than disparaged for being anti-social. When I occasionally feel guilty about using her that way, I remind myself that the arrangement works for both of us. She likes attention but doesn't like having to perform to get it. After being summoned from my shell-hunting/distraction mission with Willow to come get food, I scoop Olive up and say we're going to eat on the beach. There's not enough room at the tables for everyone, an extremely convenient excuse.

"Are you sure?" asks Annie. "We can kick the kids off the tables. They won't mind."

"No, it's all good," I assure her. "I've barely seen my little girl all day. And she can never get a word in edgewise around Willow and your brood." That procures a few laughs, plus an approving nod from Annie, though Effie's eyebrow is still raised as I turn away.

As I carry Olive and our paper plates to a log washed up a little ways down the shore, I attempt to push any guilt aside in favor of my own sanity, reminding myself that my social fatigue is earned. It's been a very busy and emotional day, and it's not over yet. Having Mom here makes it doubly difficult. Although I miss her and appreciate any support she can give, she reminds me of Prim, and that's always bittersweet. In her presence, a veil of sadness looms ominously over me, waiting for any reason to drop and suck the light from my eyes.

My dark spells happen no matter whose company I keep, though. No matter how well things seem to be going. Even on days like today, ones that should be thoroughly joyous occasions, the shadows can overtake me. Especially on days like today, actually. Staring out over the water, I eat in silence around the toddler nestled between my thighs. The sea and sky stretch as far as the eye can see, and I can't help but wonder if my sister and father still exist somewhere out there in the universe. If they are happy for me. I miss them so much it hurts.

"Mama?" The quiet voice calls me back, and I blink down to see Olive's head turned, her huge gray eyes watching me. She gives my swim shorts a little tug. "Mama?"

I'm relieved to find my smile is not entirely forced as I put my plate aside and open up my arms. "C'mere, Ollie."

My daughter clambers up my torso and slings her arms around my neck, legs circling my waist. It lifts my spirits and my mouth a bit, having this miniature Johanna clinging to me, but a lump still resides in my throat and a pain in my chest. Pushing out a sigh, I try to follow Dr. Aurelius's advice and focus only on the sensations of this moment. The moist, briny air chilling my face and infiltrating my nostrils. The roar of the surf echoing in my ears. My daughter's literal and figurative warmth cocooning me, her tiny heart beating against my chest. The strategy grounds me just enough to relax my body and enjoy the contact. "I love you," I mumble to the little girl, grazing my fingers up and down her back.

She squirms slightly in reply, tucking her face into the crook of my neck. "Don't be sad, Mama."

Her earnest request pulls a strangled, ironic chuckle from my lungs and a single tear from my eye. It rolls slowly down my cheek and into her hair as I give her a squeeze. This is far from first time one of my kids has taken it upon herself to cheer me up, and unfortunately it usually makes me feel worse. Firstly because that's not their job, and also because if they are not successful, it must make them feel awful. Above all, I don't want them to think it's their fault or that they are somehow inadequate.

That's why one day I'll have to explain why I get this way. And explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won't ever really go away. I'll tell them how I survive it. I'll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I'm afraid it could be taken away. That's when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I've seen someone do. It's like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after nearly ten years. But there are much worse games to play.

So taken by the embrace, I don't notice Johanna approaching until she's lowering herself to sit beside me on the log. Curling her hand around the inside of my knee, she examines my face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I mumble. Jo tips her head doubtfully, and I admit, "Thinking about Prim."

Nodding pensively, she moves her hand to the small of my back. "She'd be so happy for us."

"I know," I confess through an aching throat. "I wish she was here."

Her eyes flitting to the sand, the corners of Jo's mouth sneak upwards. "She did say I'd make a great sister-in-law."

Between that statement's truth and my affection for Johanna's cheekiness, I can't help a small smile of my own. Eyes on the ocean, I shake my head. "I never should've told you that."

"Whatever," she scoffs, "it's cute."

"You're cute," is the best comeback I can manufacture at the moment.

"I know," Johanna draws out with a charming grin. Getting to her feet, she extends a hand down to me. "Come on, Mrs. Mason," she beckons, eyes sparkling. "Peeta wants to cut the cake."

Shifting Olive to my hip, I take Johanna's hand and let her guide me to my feet and back toward our makeshift wedding reception. It was all either of us wanted, anyway. A small party with family and close friends. It was short notice as far as weddings go, anyway, so a barbeque on the beach was easier to pull together than something fancy.

It was my idea to seal the deal. A couple months ago, when the cabin was little more than framing and a foundation, we sent the girls on a playdate to a neighbor's house one day so we could finish the roof without having to worry about them getting into trouble on the ground. We finished earlier than expected, in the early afternoon. I was sore and ready to call it a day, but Jo decided then was a good time to install the treads and risers on the stairs up to the loft that would contain the girls' bedrooms.

"Come on, it'll be one more thing finished," she said. "One less thing to do later with kids in tow." She was right, of course. Even when the girls were on their best behavior, having to keep an eye on them slowed us down a lot. So I stuck around and shuttled the boards between the tablesaw and staircase as she cut them. When she finished, we removed our earmuffs and carried the last of the lumber over together.

"This was a good idea," I admitted. "It's one step closer to having our first house."

Johanna squinted as she pulled her goggles off, sawdust speckling her dark furrowed eyebrows. "We've been living together in the old house for nine years."

"But you already lived there." Johanna's expression did not change. It crossed my mind that perhaps the rules were different in Seven. "In Twelve, getting a new house together is a big deal because they'd only assign you one once you got married," I explained. "And you do the toasting and everything the first night. There's a song they sing when you cross the threshold. The house is a big part of it."

Laying her load down, Johanna concluded, "So a house feels romantic to you, huh?"

"I guess, yeah," I mumbled, directing my blush to the floor as I put down the last armful of wood. I didn't know how to tell her I wanted to do all those things, make the house feel like a home, because it felt kind of silly. But I tried nonetheless. "Maybe we should make it official," I suggested as I stood up. "When we move in."

Cynical laughter burst from Johanna's lips, making me tense up immediately. Leaning back against the side of the staircase, she shook her head. "You never disappoint, do you, Everdeen?" When I stared at her blankly, she spelled out, "That's the least romantic marriage proposal I've heard in my life."

"It was more of a suggestion than a proposal," I retorted. As Johanna tipped her head to look me over, I sighed and shoved my hands in my pockets. She had a point. "Sorry. I just… didn't know if you'd want to."

"Why wouldn't I?"

With a nonchalant shrug, I mumbled, "You've never asked me."

One hand rubbing her brow caked with sweat and sawdust, Johanna groaned loudly. "Sometimes liking women gets so fucking complicated," she groused. "Whose job is it to propose? To lift the heavy shit and open jars?"

"We both lift heavy shit," I pointed out, slightly offended at the implication that we couldn't. Looking back, that's not what she meant, but that's how I took it at the time. But not wanting to start a fight, I backed off and teased her, "And I open the jars because you have puny hands."

"Oh my god, I didn't mean that literally," spouted Johanna, rolling her eyes. "I meant that at least with guys you can expect them to do certain shit. Like nut up and actually propose like a grown man."

Ice shot through my veins, stiffening my posture and making my voice go cold. "Well, it's not too late, Johanna. If you want a grown man with nuts to propose and knock you up for free, I'm sure you could find plenty of takers."

I started to stride away, but stopped at the edge of the foundation because I knew I was overreacting and running off would only prolong the fight. Opting instead to boot away a stray pinecone to expel some residual anger, I sighed out the rest and sat down, planting my elbows on my knees and my feet on the ground inches below the concrete lip.

It was a few moments before I heard shuffling footsteps approaching. Easing herself down beside me, Johanna mirrored my position looking straight ahead. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

"I know," I admitted. "Sometimes I just feel like I'm not enough for you."

"Look, I don't need a man. You know that," she told me. "Really, I don't need anyone. And I like it that way." As that punch to the gut popped a tiny breath out of my lungs, she was already taking my hand. Giving it a squeeze, she assured me, "I'm with you because I want to be. And I'm not going to leave."

Initially I didn't react, wondering instead why she would want to be with me. But by then I knew better than to voice that insecurity aloud, so I said nothing until Johanna turned her head and laid a kiss on my cheek. Suddenly struggling to suppress a smile, I asked, "Not tired of me yet?"

"Never." As she released my hand, her weight shifted, I assumed to stand up. Before I realized what was actually happening, she was facing me, one knee in the dirt. "I don't want to be with anyone else, ever," she began. "I love you in a way I never knew was possible. And I don't want to spend one day of my life without you." Holding my wide, shellshocked eyes, she asked, "Katniss Everdeen, will you marry me?"

In that moment, I couldn't help but recall Peeta's flowery, dramatic marriage proposal onstage in the Capitol. I liked Johanna's much better. Short and sincere and, most importantly, from her. Tears pricked my eyes as I nodded. "Yes. Yes, please." Grabbing onto her shirt, I drew her in for a kiss.

Johanna wiggled closer as the kiss deepened, and I parted my knees to accommodate her. As we broke for air, I panted, "Good thing you asked. You're better with words."

With a boastful wink, she told me, "I know." Having no room for indignance in my emotional state at the time, all I did was wrap her up in a hug. A tight one that I hoped conveyed how much I reciprocated those words. How unwilling I was to ever let her go.

***o***

The scent of champagne fills the air as we pass the bottle around the table for the second time. Hardly a fan of the taste or the dizzy feeling alcohol gives me, I am partaking only in the sparkling apple juice that Haymitch and the kids are drinking. We are all crowded around the table, a dark-stained oak creation that Johanna crafted from leftover building supplies. Effie is probably internally chastising her for not choosing mahogany.

"You gotta have champagne on your wedding day," Johanna urges me, again offering me the bottle. "It's tradition."

"Fine, for the next toast," I relent. "And only a sip."

"Wimp," she teases, plunking it down on the table.

"Okay, my turn," announces Haymitch, rapping on the table to silence the chatter. His enthusiasm surprises me, as his main objection to acting as my witness was having to come up with nice things to say about either of us. I offered the honor to Gale first, but of course he was conveniently unable to attend.

"I hated both of you when I first met you, but you grew on me," begins Haymitch. "Like cancer." So much for nice things. Oh well, Annie had plenty nice to say in her speech. Haymitch waxes on awhile, regaling us with various stories of mentoring with Jo, of trying to coach me for my first interview. Effie rolls her eyes at that, certainly recalling trying to teach me to walk in heels. Finally, he moves on to the two of us together. Our chemistry, our fights. "But the moment I knew you two would last, it was the morning of the fire at the mansion," he says. "You'd had a nasty argument the day before, but when I went in to check on Katniss, Johanna was there. Comforting her after her nightmares."

Jo's arm circles around my waist and she rests her head on my shoulder as I wrap my arm around both of hers. "Katniss, I know I said the two of you was… messedup," concludes Haymitch, pointedly censoring the quote for young ears, "and I was right. But it's the most beautiful mess I've ever seen." He lifts his glass. "Cheers to that."

Next up is my mother, and true to my word, I splash a little champagne in my glass. Mom has plenty to say about watching us grow as a couple and as people, though she admits she found Johanna a little rough around the edges - yet charming - when they met. "In the end, though, I could not have asked for a more perfect person for my daughter, or a better mother to my grandchildren."

Exclamations of adoration fill the air, but then something clicks in my head. "Hey!" I protest. "What about me?"

Grinning and pointedly ignoring my question, Mom raises her glass. "To the bride and bride!"

As everyone refills, I slip away for a moment to come up behind her, tapping her on the shoulder. When she turns around, I catch her off guard by wrapping her in my arms. As she relaxes, I whisper, "Thank you, Mom."

"I love you," she murmurs into my shoulder, holding me tight.

Eyes shutting of their own volition, I give her a squeeze. "I love you too."

Once the speeches conclude, Jo and I add a bit of wood to the fireplace and light the tinder I laid out earlier. As is tradition back home, my mother provides us with a stick and a piece of bread. Skewering the bread on the stick, I turn to Jo, who's squatting beside me. "Ready?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow.

She smiles and covers my hand with hers. "So ready."

Together we extend the stick into the fireplace, turning it in our grip to toast the bread evenly. The room falls silent, revering the meaningful moment. When the bread is golden brown, I pull it out and wiggle it from the stick. Each of us grabbing a side, we split the toast down the middle. Most couples just eat their own half, but Jo and I conspired ahead of time. As we reach out and stuff our pieces in each other's mouths, the house erupts in cheers and wolf whistles.

I can't help it, I laugh around the mouthful of bread, so happy in this moment. Johanna is laughing as well, and as I swallow I lean in and grab the back of her neck, drawing her in for a kiss. The cheers grow and my eyes fall shut as Jo deepens the kiss. When we pull apart, they flutter open again, taking in the firelight reflected in her eyes. The eyes of my wife. The marriage has been official since we signed the papers this afternoon, but it didn't feel so until this very moment. Traditions run deep. Sighing contentedly, I rest my forehead against hers. She's mine. Forever.

It's quite the chore, dragging our kids out of the house as everyone starts to pack up. They've seen their rooms and are excited to move in. "No, we have to give Mommy and Mama their first night together in the new house," insists my mother, who was gracious enough to stay with them in the rental house for the night.

"But why?" whines Willow.

While Mom tells her it's just more traditions, Johanna puts her lips to my ear. "So we can christen the whole place," she whispers, instantly adding a dust of red to my cheeks. "Not like we'll have that chance ever again."

It's true. Kids are too sneaky. One time, Willow got up in the middle of the night and caught me kneeling in front of the couch, thanking a pregnant Johanna in the manner I had agreed to. Neither of us noticed her standing at the top of the stairs until she very loudly asked me why I was kissing Mommy's privates. Shooting to my feet, I hustled her back to bed and brushed off her questions while Johanna just about died of laughter. Meanwhile, I just about died of embarrassment. Will was probably too young to remember, but that was the last time I consented to fooling around outside the bedroom with kids in the house.

Despite Johanna's suggestion, once we're finally alone, the first thing we do is fall against each other and share a big long hug. "What a day," I groan, prompting her to rub her hands soothingly up and down my back.

"Mm. You okay, Everdeen? You gonna live?" When I pull back enough to squint at her, Jo realizes her error and laughs sheepishly. "I mean-"

"It's okay," I interject. "You can still call me that."

Tilting her head, she asks, "Having second thoughts about taking my name?"

"No," I assure her. "But I'm used to it as a pet name. Besides, 'Everdeen' is better than 'brainless.'" Johanna laughs again and I cup her cheek, feeling the upturn of her lips against my palm. "We did it," I say. She cocks an eyebrow, so I elaborate, "We built a house. A life."

"We're far from done," declares Johanna, snaking her arms around my neck. "Don't get too comfortable. We've got a long ways to go, yet."

"Together," I breathe.

Smirking, Johanna pushes onto her toes to speak right into my ear. "Yeah," she says, giving my earlobe a teasing little flick of her tongue that sparks my libido instantaneously. "Together."

As soon as I make contact with her twinkling eyes, I surge forward to connect our lips. Growling into the kiss, I back her against the table. Planting my hand atop the thick oak top, I warn her, "Hope you made this table sturdy, Mason."

"Sure did," she boasts. "I knew you'd want to test it out."

Grabbing behind her thighs, I boost her up onto the tabletop before slipping my hands under her shirt to glide my palms along her waist. As Johanna plunges her tongue into my mouth and locks her legs around my hips, I pull my hands right back to frantically unzip her shorts. Reaching in, I gasp at the feel of her warm folds, begin to brush my fingers back and forth over her clit. Her breath catches repeatedly at the teasing touches, but she doesn't hurry me. I move on quickly anyway, pushing my hand further to reach her entrance. She's just starting to get wet, but I use what's there. As I drag my lubed fingers back over her clit, she shudders and groans into the air.

"You feel so good, baby," I breathe, making her whimper. Nabbing the hem of her t-shirt with my free hand, I drag it up her body until she takes over, spiking it on the floor. I quickly unfasten her bra, letting it fall to the tabletop. Hand on her lower back, I drag my lips down her neck. Johanna, however, is preoccupied shuffling her hips, trying to work her shorts and underwear over her ass. Not wanting to stop what I'm doing, I let her finish the job, kicking them over her ankles and to the ground. With quivering lips, she spreads her legs wide. I know what she wants.

Back arching, Johanna emits a delicious moan as I slide my fingers deep inside her, stretching and moving them to touch every inch of her. Panting with every thrust, she starts rocking her hips in unison with my hand. After giving her nipple a suckle, I continue to kiss my way down her torso, shifting my weight so I can get to my knees. But I don't get far before her fingers wind in my hair and she yanks me back up, her eyes wild and wanting.

"No," she demands with all the authority she can muster, which isn't much in her desperate state. "Stay." Jo releases my hair to free up both hands so she can work my shirt off, and I reluctantly remove my hand just long enough for her to dispose of it. My bra follows almost immediately, then she draws me closer, pressing our skin together as she wraps all her limbs around me. Our ragged breathing echoes in each other's ears as I brace my wrist against my pubic bone and start pumping with my hips. My free hand claws at her lower back as her pleasure builds and builds, finally culminating with shuddering hips and a piercing squeal in my ear. It quiets to moans and gasps as she rides it out and I start to bring her down.

Letting her head fall forward, Johanna slumps against me, trying to catch her breath. When she's recovered enough to look up, her pupils are blown, strands of hair plastered against her forehead. Haymitch's characterization of us easily works for her, too. A beautiful mess, indeed.

"I love you," I breathe, sweeping the hair from her brow then pressing my lips to it. How true that is, I'm not even sure I'm capable of expressing. I did my best earlier today, when I vowed to love, cherish, and yes, support her. For all the days of my life. I meant it. I'll love her until the day I die. I'll love her from beyond the grave.

"Love you too, brainless," she whispers. Laughing even before I give her a playful glare, she hops down from the table and immediately sets to undoing my pants. The rest of my garments are on the floor in a flash, and once I kick them aside, she starts walking me backward into the house. Away from the kitchen, which I'd assumed would be our next stop.

"Bedroom?" I ask between kisses, furrowing my brow. So much for christening the whole place.

"Floor," she scoffs, steering me back into the living room. Her eyes beckoning me downward, I detach long enough to sit down beside the hearth. Kneeling astride my legs, my grinning wife forces me down with her body, hands already roaming over my breasts and stomach. Attaching her lips to my neck, she sucks hard and digs her teeth in, claiming me. Declaring that she owns every inch of my body, every molecule of my being.

Our kisses and touches grow heated, sparking an inferno that contrasts the dwindling firelight playing on our bare skin. Soon, the flames will die. And one day, so will we. But this spark, our love, it will never die. The fire will burn forever.

A/N: And that is the end, folks. Thank you so much for sticking with this fic, it took a long time to complete but only because it was such a labor of love. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating this content to express my many Joniss feels and headcanons.

Thanks once more to District 7 Profanity for all your help and suggestions and beta reads over the last 2+ years. Thank you for your abundant patience and for continually pushing me to keep increasing the quality of my work. It wasn't always pleasant, but you have made me a better writer. This fic would not be nearly as good as it is if not for you and your influence and the hours of work you put into it.

You all can continue to find my work on FFN and the AO3 - I have several one shots and a couple ongoing fics up on those sites. I also have a cute little babysitter AU that is currently only on Tumblr, and I will eventually update that as well. Feel free to message me there or leave comments/reviews on the sites, I love to hear what people connect with in my fics and to nerd out to Joniss in general. Thanks once more for your readership and all the encouragement via comments and reviews, faves and follows, kudos, and messages. Being able to share this work and inspire new content makes it so worthwhile.