One-Shot: What's the Hunger Games?

I knock on Haymitch's door. Peeta stands beside me. Although he tries to hide it, he is literally bouncing up and down. No answer from within, so I knock again.

"Haymitch! Let us in, old man, I know you're not sleeping!"

There. That gets him. Our father figure and old mentor opens the door with a scowl.

"Never call me an old man. 55 is not an old age! What is it, you two? You know I'm drunk before eight in the morning!"

"We know," Peeta responds with a sly grin. "We have something to tell you."

Haymitch's eyes slightly soften and he ushers us in. His place still looks a mess – empty bottles everywhere, dirty clothes hang on furniture. But what would you expect from an alcoholic, former Hunger Games victor? We all take seats at the kitchen table. Haymitch waves a hand in our direction.

"OK. Talk."

"We're pregnant!" Peeta practically squeals. Haymitch blinks once, then again before looking between us. My eyes search his, almost as if waiting for his approval. I'm the last to admit it, of course, but Haymitch is the closest thing I have to a father. Peeta would confess such a thing more readily, probably because he's the morally superior one in our little trio. At last, Haymitch's eyes fall on Peeta.

"You son of a bitch," he says quietly, but the smile cannot retreat from his face. He stands up and shakes Peeta's hand. "Never thought she'd get into bed willingly with you, boy! Hurrah! I was sure that one day-"

"Now, wait a minute!" I try and clarify, half-offended, half-amused. "You know why we waited…"

"You mean, why you waited," Haymitch counters with a smirk. "He was ready to fornicate like rabbits with you just months after coming back to Twelve!" Peeta blushes furiously. Then, strangely, the smile disappears from Haymitch's face. He picks up a half-empty bottle of Schnaps and stares at it wistfully. "I guess this is goodbye, old pal," he sighs.

"What do you mean?" I ask curiously. Haymitch lets out another long breath and sits down.

"I made a deal with myself several years ago: when you two got pregnant, I would strop drinking: permanently."

Peeta gives a little laugh. I know what he's thinking. A Haymitch without alcohol is not Haymitch at all.

"You're joking." I say.

"I never joke, sweetheart," he shoots back, staring at me seriously. "I said to myself, 'Haymitch, when there's a little Katniss or Peeta running around or whatever, what kind of mentor will you be if you just sit around drinking all day? You'll just be the crazy relative who is invited to Thanksgiving out of sympathy and drinks all the wine, that's what you'll be!'"

Peeta roars with laughter at Haymitch's little soliloquy, but I shoot him a look. It's clear that Haymitch is definitely not joking. Haymitch looks to me.

"I know you are both grown adults now; you do what you want. But, like it or not, I am still your guardian. I want to…." He falters and scowls.

"What?" I press. He clears his throat. I squint at him in amazement. Is he crying?

"I want to be a part of this family because I've earned it, not because you feel you owe me for what happened in the past. That is, if you'll have me." His voice cracks a little in odd places.

I realize right then and there that that is the closest Haymitch will ever get to saying 'I love you' to either Peeta or me. Peeta smiles gently and takes Haymitch's hand.

"You've already earned a place in this family… whether you like it or not" my husband adds, turning Haymitch's words back on him. I smile too, get up and circle the table. I kiss Haymitch's temple. He harrumphs in response.

"Silly man. Of course we'll have you. And yes, we owe you… for everything."

A small smile creeps back onto Haymitch's face. "So, what am I now, sweetheart? 'Grandpa Haymitch'?"

"Only if you want to be," Peeta says delicately; he's more sensitive about Haymitch's feelings on age than I am. "'Uncle Haymitch' works just as fine.'"

"No," Haymitch deflects with a wave. "Might as well get used to getting old now. Grandpa Haymitch…. actually has a nice ring to it. I'd like that very much."

He stares back at the empty bottles around him. "Can't believe I'm going to do this," he admits, shaking his head. "But, I am a man of my word…. for the most part." He sighs. "Why do I get the feeling you two are going to be the death of me?"

"Don't say that, Haymitch!" I chide, actually prepared to do something I don't do well, and that is expressing my feelings. But before I can, I see Peeta trying to bite back a laugh.

"What?" I ask, both concerned and annoyed at his response.

"I…. I kind of thought we already were!" Peeta finally blasts out. He cracks up. After a moment, Haymitch and I start to giggle, and before long we are practically falling out of our chairs in laughter.

Nine months later, I am starting to regret thinking that having a baby was a good idea.

I lie on my back for many hours, pushing, sweating and screaming with Peeta holding my hand. At long last, the baby comes out. A healthy little boy. Peeta and I name him Eric. I look into Peeta's eyes and we smile. 14 years of recovering after the war had been worth it, all of it, for this moment.

Just then, we hear a commotion outside. Next minute, we hear a familiar voice:

"I'll sign in, Soldier Cruxson, after I've seen my children! Now back off if you know what's good for you!"

Haymitch now stumbles in, as though he has been sprinting hard, trying to push his way through the sea of doctors already cleaning my baby. I wipe at my eyes, hiding the fact that I about melted when I heard him refer to Peeta and me as his 'children.'

"Excuse me, out of the way, adopted – grandfather coming through. That would be me," Haymitch growls as he nudges his way past the last few doctors. "And you," he quips, looking to Peeta, "Make sure I'm not halfway across the district on errands when she has the next one – you damn near gave me a heart attack!"

Peeta puts his hands up in surrender. "You know I have no control when she goes into labor, but-" he chuckles, "I'll try to remember that!"

Haymitch now gets his first real look at Eric Thomas Mellark. The nurse even lets him hold the baby. They both look so cute together, and Haymitch looks his best in years, even decades. He kept his promise, by hook or by crook, on the alcohol withdrawal. It was hard in some places, but he has not touched a single bottle in nine months, ever since Peeta and I told him we were expecting. If he keeps it up the next several years, the specialist said, he just might be cured. Watching surrogate grandfather and grandson together brings a new wave of tears to my eyes.

"I know," says Peeta, giving my hand a squeeze. "I wish I had a camera."

Our little family is complete.

It's a beautiful summer's day in the Meadow beyond District 12. I sit on a picnic blanket and watch my family scramble about, preparing for today's activity.

My family organized a race today out in the fields, using some of our family pets. My 8-year-old daughter Clementine is riding our dog, Copper, while Peeta is riding our small donkey, Mustang (I didn't name him that; Eric did!) My 11-year-old son – God bless him – is going to try and ride the largest goose in Haymitch's herd, whom he took to calling Heavensbee after hearing Peeta and I mention Plutarch's name once.

So far, the riders and their steeds are not getting along. Everyone keeps going around in circles trying to get behind the starting line.

"Everybody out of my way!" I hear little Clementine yell. I laugh.

"All right, everybody, here are the rules!" Haymitch calls from my left. "You are all to cross the meadow, pass through the hole in the electrical district fence, then circle the large birch tree just beyond three times and here to the finish." Mustang lets out several brays as he tries to buck my husband off him. Peeta hangs on, however.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, to the winner: this gorgeous plate of cheese buns cooked by our resident baker, Peeta Mellark, which all of us will eat! And serving as our official moderator: the lovliest lady of District 12, the Mockingjay of the canton!" He playfully bows in my direction before handing me my bow and arrows.

Suddenly, Mustang begins to take off, with Peeta desperately hanging on. It seems that Haymitch's carefully prepared race is about to spiral out of control.

"I guess we're starting! Quick, Katniss, fire!" I shoot an arrow skyward, the whoosh of its path signaling that the race has begun. The riders take off. All make it across the meadow, but upon reaching the hole in the fence, Heavensbee takes off alongside it and not through the hole. "No, Heavensbee wait!" I hear Eric call as he starts to slip off. "Let me get on, girl, give me a chance!" He remounts her.

Meanwhile, Peeta and Clementine have made it through the hole in the fence. "Good boy, Mustang!" I hear Peeta yell. Next second: "Hey!" Mustang seems to laugh with his brays as my husband is thrown head over heels off at last. Clementine passes him on Copper. Peeta quickly remounts Mustang and overtakes her. "Now, we're going to win!" he crows. But he speaks too soon, for Mustang suddenly bucks him off again just as they reach the birch tree – this time into a small pond.

"It's no use if you can't stay on him, Daddy!" Clementine laughs as she circles the birch tree three times and makes for home.

The race now dissolves into chaos: Peeta desperately trying to pull a stubborn Mustang out of the pond, Clementine now heading across the meadow again, and poor Eric on Heavensbee's back literally going around in circles by the fence. "Straight that way, Heavensbee! No, the other way! No, the other way! Oh, I give up!" he growls at last as he slips off a second time.

Haymitch and I watch Clementine's approach. "Quick, Katniss, the tape!" We unfurl a band of tape as Clementine draws closer. Meanwhile, Peeta has succeeded in at least jogging alongside Mustang back towards home, while Eric is at the end of his rope.

"I'm going to ride you if it's the last thing I… do!" He succeeds in jumping back on Heavensbee and lets out a yelp of victory, waving his hat. He steers his ride clumsily towards the tape, which Clementine has now crossed, coming in a distant third behind his father. We laugh and cheer, before heading home to the Victors' Village to eat our cheese buns as part of dinner.

That night at the table, we are eating quietly, sharing jokes and laughing about our fun day. Suddenly, Clementine looks up from her plate and asks, "Daddy? What's the Hunger Games?"

Haymitch, Peeta and I freeze. We all exchange glances, before Haymitch clears his throat. "What makes you ask, Clementine?"

"Yesterday in school, we had a lesson on the History of Panem. Our teacher started talking about the Hunger Games, but the bell rang before she could explain exactly what it was."

"Well, little one, the Games, they were….." Haymitch pauses, trying to find the most comfortable way to explain fights to the death to an 8-year-old. "They were a competition that happened every year." I'm glad he keeps it vague, but my daughter just has to press the point, as any curious child might.

"What kind of competition?" she asks. All at once, there's a clatter at the far end of the table. Peeta is looking at his plate with an intenseness in his body. Haymitch and I tense as well, knowing what's coming.

"Peeta…." Haymitch warns slowly. "Don't…."

Peeta lunges across the table at our daughter. Haymitch's arena instincts take over and he vaults across as well; the two men collide and begin to wrestle on the table, food going everywhere.

Clementine is screaming; Eric is crying. Peeta is yelling loudest of all:

"You! You're a mutt! You took everything from me! You wanted to kill me in the arena!"

"Daddy? Daddy!" Clementine screeches in terror.

I want to run with my children from the room, but my damn body is frozen to the spot. Haymitch is roaring to make himself heard, as Peeta begins to shake uncontrollably – the two parts of him at war with each other.

"Peeta, stop it! This isn't you! It's this heart that's really you, Peeta! This heart!" He slaps Peeta's chest, trying to coax his old self into fighting back and regaining control. He turns back to me as Peeta still struggles. "Katniss! Get Eric and Clementine out of here!"

I scoop Clementine up in my arms and order Eric to follow as we run upstairs to Peeta's and my room. I place my daughter on the bed.

"Stay here," I order them both sharply and run back out. Back in the kitchen, I watch as my husband and surrogate dad struggle standing up now. Finally, Haymitch bear-grabs Peeta in a choke-hold and body-slams both of them to the ground. Peeta is dazed and Haymitch lets up, backing away with sad regret in his eyes. Peeta breathes hard and slowly rises to his feet. One look in his eyes and I know the man I love is back.

"Haymitch…. what happened…. I didn't…. I'm sorry, I'm….."

"I know, son." Haymitch nods. "I know. And unfortunately, so do the kids."

Peeta sits heavily on the living room couch. He looks like he might cry. After a few moments, I steel myself for the inevitable. The kids are waiting upstairs, no doubt terrified and bursting with questions. I take his hand.

"Let's go," I say gently. Haymitch, Peeta and I march upstairs and into our room. The kids are quietly weeping on the bed. When they see their daddy, they freeze; Clementine most of all. Peeta looks like his heart might break.

"Guys, it's me. Don't be scared." He rubs his hand over his face, trying to figure out how to explain about the Hijacking. If Snow were alive, I'd kill him all over again. Even from the grave, he is constricting our choices, controlling our lives – giving us no say in how and when we want to tell our kids about our sordid past.

"I…. Sometimes, a…. bad man visits Daddy and won't leave. And… Daddy has to make him go away, and eventually, he does. He won't hurt you, though." Tears are streaming down his face. "I promise." Clementine slips off the bed and runs into her father's arms. Peeta squeezes his eyes shut to hold back tears. I let out a breath. Leave it to my Peeta to know just the right words to say. Creating a metaphor to split himself into two separate people – which is technically true, him being two separate people while he was Hijacked – is a stroke of genius.

The kids ask no more questions, and I am grateful. Peeta's explanation might have staved off telling the kids all about the Hunger Games for the next few years. Until I remember that come Monday, Clementine will learn about it in class – and no doubt hear how her mother, father and grandfather all survived an arena of fights to the death.

I put Eric and Clementine to bed, and calm them with the lullaby I used to sing to Prim. "Deep in the meadow, under the willow…" I try not to notice Haymitch and Peeta watching us at the door with sad smiles on their faces. We tell the kids sweet dreams before going back downstairs.

We are a family again, and are safe for another night, at least.

On Monday, when Clementine comes home from school, she is crying. I pull her into my arms. "What's the matter, baby? Tell Mommy."

"Is it true?" Clementine gets out, staring up into my face with a stricken look that I never want to see on her face again. "The Hunger Games were fights to the death? And you and Daddy and Grandpa Haymitch had to… to kill people? And then you fought a war? Is it true?!"

I sigh. "Yes, it's true. All of it. The Games. The Victors. The war. They're real." I look over her head to see Eric standing in the doorway, staring at me as if he's never seen me before. I let out another breath. "She told you walking home from school, didn't she?"

"Yes," Eric affirms quietly. When he was Clementine's age, the History of Panem had not been part of the school's curriculum, and certainly not the Games. Something about wanting more time to pass from the war.

"What happened, Mommy? Please tell us," says Clementine, staring up into my face. I stare at her, before collapsing in tears. Peeta and Haymitch, who have been upstairs repainting our bathroom, come running. All I can do is wail and shake my head.

"They…. didn't do anything wrong; they….just asked me…." I can't continue, but don't have to. Thank Panem my husband can read me so well. He turns to Haymitch, who quickly sizes up his silent orders without having to ask.

"Eric, Clementine, why don't you come with Grandpa and we'll go take a nap? You must be tired from school." My children obey their grandfather. I melt into Peeta's arms once they're gone, and he rocks me gently. About 10 minutes later, Haymitch appears.

"They're asleep," he says to no one in particular. I smile at him gratefully from against Peeta's chest.

"What are we going to do?" I whisper.

"We just have to move forward and roll with it, just as we always do." Haymitch pauses and I can suddenly see an idea forming in his brain. "And I might just have a way to break it to the kids as gently as we can. We're calling 'the in-laws.'"

Before, whenever Eric and Clementine were around, the three of us would sometimes have to speak about the past in code. Both Peeta and I know who he means by the 'in-laws.'

"Oh, no." Peeta says. Haymitch just grins.

"Oh yeah."

A few nights later, I am setting the table for almost double our usual occupancy. Eric watches me curiously.

"Why do we have extra places, Mommy?"

"Because some….extended family of Mommy, Daddy and Grandpa are coming over," I explain.

"Oh," is the only response I get.

Peeta and Haymitch have left to go pick up our 'in-laws' at the District 12 train station. I am anxious to see our old friends again, and yet terrified at the same time. It only reminds me of the whole reason they are coming, though they were very nice to agree to it. Should be one hell of a family reunion, I think bitterly.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings.

"Clementine, be a dear and get the door, will you?" My daughter scurries to the door and opens it. The first voice I hear isn't exactly the one I was looking forward to the most. "Hi there." Next second, I hear screaming as Clementine runs back into the kitchen and into my arms.

"Mommy, Mommy, she's a vampire! She's got golden fangs!"

I look up to see Enobaria swagger in, looking a little hurt. "What did I do?"

"You smiled. That's what," Haymitch growls as he shuffles past her from the foyer, carrying a couple of bags of luggage. Following him, I can hear quite a commotion and I steel myself. Here we go….

"I explained that to you, Ms. Dracula," Johanna Mason says condescendingly as she emerges into our home as well. "But do you listen to me? No…."

Enobaria scowls. "Screw off, the both of you!" she snarls.

"Hey!" I snap. "I will not have that kind of language around my children, Enobaria!"

"Good to see you too, Girl on Fire," she quips. "I must say, it was quite a shock to basically see Lover Boy in a dress when the door opened!"

"Peeta's looked worse, Enobaria. We all have," Beetee Latier says soft-spokenly, as Annie Cresta wheels him inside in his wheelchair. Following them is Annie's son, Finnick Odair Jr. - a handsome youth of 25 who has his mother's flaming red hair and green eyes and is his late father pretty much everywhere else. The last time he was here, he had only been a teenager; I was still pregnant with Eric. He flashes me a smile in greeting. We just call him "Finn" for short and to avoid confusion with his dad.

"Yeah….like, how 'bout now?" Peeta grunts in response to Beetee's observation as he staggers in last of all. I quickly move to help him set the rest of the luggage down and then glare at my 'extended family.'

"Did you all really have to bring so much crap?"

"Well, look at it this way, Katniss," says Johanna, that air of arrogance still somewhat in her voice. "None of us exactly fancy acting as counseling for your kids, and since it's such a long story, we might be stuck here awhile."

"How long? My home is not a five-star hotel!" I snarl. "And my children don't need counseling!"

"After what we've already revealed to them? I think they do, sweetheart," Haymitch supplies. "And what do you think the 10 other empty houses in this village are for? Scenery? The others can each pick one and squat there for a few days!"

That was probably Peeta's idea. I'm grateful.

Meanwhile, Eric and Clementine are walking around, staring up at my fellow Victors as if they're aliens. Both my kids are clearly intimidated by them, especially after Enobaria's entrance, so they pick the one that seems the least threatening to sidle up to. That would be Beetee in his chair.

"So….you're our in-laws, then?" Eric asks him. Beetee shoots Peeta a look, one eyebrow raised. Peeta coughs, but seems to be saying something like "code-speak." Johanna picks up on this and laughs, throwing an arm around Peeta's shoulder.

"Nothing wrong with that, Peeta! We're all friends here! One big, happy, dysfunctional family!"

"You had me at the last part," Beetee mumbles under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

Johanna seems to like the idea of being considered family, probably since Snow murdered her real one long ago. She kneels down in front of my kids, who back away slightly. She just smiles more. "Relax, kiddies, my bark is worse than my bite." (Peeta looks over at me and mouths, "Really?"; I have to stifle a laugh). "Now, you can call me Auntie Johanna." She points out the others. "There's your Aunt Annie; her son, your cousin Finn; Aunt Enobaria and Uncle Beetee. You can also call him Volts if you want!" Beetee scowls, but Eric laughs.

"And then there's Mommy and Daddy and Grandpa Haymitch!" he finishes. Johanna looks back at Haymitch and smirks, clearly amused.

"Grandpa?"

"And they are the only ones allowed to call me that, Axe Girl. If you try it, I'll kill you!" We all awkwardly laugh, for obvious reasons. I guess it's perfect timing when Peeta suggests we eat. We all sit at the table.

Only moments later, I am staring at my family (I am getting used to the idea of including the other Victors of Panem in the fold as well) in disbelief. "Five minutes?! That dinner took two days to cook! You animals ate it in five minutes!"

"Now there's an apt choice of words, Mockingjay," Enobaria sneers.

"Enobaria, not now!" Peeta groans.

"Well, I thought it was great, Katniss, thank you. We don't get a lot of home-cooked meals in Four," Annie smiles. Finn nods to me gratefully. My own son, meanwhile, sets down his fork.

"OK, that's it, tell us about the Hunger Games." The seven of us Victors look at each other.

"That must be why you all are here, right? You all won them, didn't you?" Eric presses. Sometimes, it amazes me how like Peeta he is in his perceptiveness.

"Yes, Eric," Annie explains sweetly. "We did."

"How?" asks Clementine. She is looking at Beetee and Annie curiously, clearly wondering how they won, since they seem the least threatening of them all.

"Tributes didn't necessarily need brute strength or weapons proficiency to win, my dear," Beetee tells Clementine gently. "Brains alone could mean the difference between life and death…."

"….Or knowing a particular skill. Like swimming. Or hiding. Or your mommy knowing how to shoot a bow and arrow." Annie finishes.

"OK," says Eric as patiently as he can. "We know what they are. We know what tributes can do to win. But what happened?" It amazes me how calmly my children are talking about this.

"I think I'll tell this part," says Haymitch. "A long time ago, there was the First Rebellion in Panem, and that led to…."

"The Dark Days!" Clementine interrupts. Everyone stares at her in astonishment. She blushes. "We're learning about the History of Panem in school."

"At your age? What are you, kid, like, eight?" Enobaria asks.

"Yes, I am!" Clementine says proudly, puffing out her chest as if she's daring Enobaria to question it. The victor from 2 blinks in surprise, and then chuckles.

"I can see who she gets her personality from, Katniss!"

"Can I please finish?" Haymitch growls in annoyance. We all quiet down and look to him. "Anyway, at the end of the Dark Days, Panem created a televised fight-to-the-death event known as the Hunger Games as punishment for the districts rising up against the Capitol. And for the next 75 years, they were held annually. Also, every 25 years, there was a special edition of the Games known as the Quarter Quell, to celebrate the anniversary of the end of the rebellion."

"So, there were 3 Quarter Quells, because 25 x 3 = 75!" Eric crows. Peeta chuckles and ruffles his hair.

"You've been doing your multiplication tables, haven't you?"

Even Haymitch smiles. "Yes, Eric, there were 75 Hunger Games in all, and 3 of them were Quarter Quells."

Johanna now takes over. "A typical Hunger Games went like this: every summer, each of the twelve districts would choose one boy and one girl between the ages of 12 and 18 to participate in the Games. This was always a 'holiday' - I use that term very loosely, by the way - known as 'The Reaping.' If your name was picked from the Reaping Bowl, you were automatically entered, unless someone also age-eligible volunteered to take your place. That scenario didn't happen very often, but we'll get to that in a minute. The reaped tributes would then be taken to the Capitol, accompanied by a district escort - that's a Capitol representative meant to get you situated in the city's lifestyle - and a mentor, who was a past victor of the Games. The mentor gave the tributes advice about how to survive in the arena. You following me, kiddies?"

Eric and Clementine nod.

"OK. Once in the Capitol, the tributes were tended to by stylists to make them look good for potential sponsors. Sponsors had money to buy gifts for tributes in the arena. After a big parade in the city square, the tributes would be locked inside the Tribute Training Center for three days to train in all sorts of skills: combat, hunting, identifying plants, you name it. After that, the tributes would present a chosen skill to the Gamemakers - the people who designed the arena and the traps within it - who would then give you a training score. Your training score was meant to serve as an indicator of how likely you were to win the Hunger Games, ranging from 1 to 12."

"Did they ever give someone a zero?" Eric wanted to know.

"I can think of a few times when they should have," I mutter. Enobaria snorts before she cuts in to relieve Johanna.

"No, I don't think anyone got a zero. Anyway, after the training, you had interviews with the Capitol's media personality, Ceasar Flickerman. He was a very vivacious fellow who would introduce you to the nation and try to put you at ease. Then, the Games began! All 24 tributes would be brought into the arena on elevator-like pods. You had to stay on it for a minute before the gong sounded to start the Games. Then, everyone would dash to what was known as the Cornucopia - a giant metal horn that housed most of the supplies that could be used in the arena. It was important to get as much supplies as you could and get out of there fast, to avoid being killed."

"There must have been a lot of fighting at the start, then," Clementine mused.

"Yes, there was. This first fight was known as The Bloodbath."

"How many tributes usually died in the Bloodbath, Aunt Enobaria?" Eric asks. Interestingly, Enobaria does not seem bothered at being addressed like this.

"On average, about half. This usually left a dozen or so other tributes to fight it out in little battles all over the arena over the next several days, even weeks. All the while, you also had to avoid booby traps set by the Gamemakers within your natural surroundings. Now, this is where things get a little more complicated. If a tribute shows skill or is likable, a sponsor can send a parachute down into the arena containing a needed gift, often paid for by the tribute's mentor. These gifts went up in price the longer the Games went on, but were very valuable, sometimes meaning the difference between a tribute dying and staying alive. Also, the Gamemakers could force tributes into fights with each other if they felt there was not enough bloodshed; these were called Feasts and were manipulated into sometimes prominent locations across the arena." Enobaria pauses here. "Is anyone confused about anything?"

"Oh no, Aunt Enobaria," says Clementine. "I think it's fascinating!" I want to throw up at my daughter's choice of words. Sickening was the adjective I had in mind.

"OK, bear with me, then, because we are getting close to the end. What happened next didn't always happen, but often the Gamemakers would manipulate the Games to have a Final Eight. The last eight tributes alive would then have their family and friends interviewed on television. The tribute battles would become father apart, longer, more desperate - until at last only two were left standing. Whoever killed the other would win and become the Victor. As a reward, you could live with peace and riches for the rest of your life and become a hero in your district, bringing them food for an entire year. The cost was that you would have to mentor future tributes. That's it. Any questions?"

Clementine raises her hand.

"Yes, sweetheart?" Enobaria asks. I jump at her calling my daughter this, as I thought pet names would definitely be beneath Enobaria.

"What about the Quarter Quells? Grandpa said they were a special edition to the Games. What did they do?"

Beetee clears his throat. "The Quarter Quells were presented with a given twist. Since there were only three of them in the Games' history, the themes were as follows: The First Quell had no reaping, instead using a special election by vocal affirmation on the part of the district citizenry."

"The district's people had to pick the kids who had to go?" asked Clementine, horrified.

"Yes. The Second Quell had twice as many tributes enter the arena: 48 kids instead of 24. Think of it as two Hunger Games in one." My kids both make faces. I look over at Haymitch, who is noticeably silent and not looking at anybody. I decide to trust that he will tell of his particular role in that Quell when he is ready.

"The Third Quell," Beetee continues, "had former Hunger Games Victors enter the arena again." My kids' reactions are mixed.

"Awesome! Like an All-Star edition of the Games!" Eric breathes.

"WHAT?!" screams Clementine. I am already beginning to regret that we even agreed to tell them all of this. She turns to Peeta and me. "That was the last one, which means you must have already won, so that would mean, that… that you…." she looks like she might cry. Peeta takes her hand.

"Yes, honey," he says gently. "Your mom and I won the year before that, in fact. The 74th Games."

"So, you went in two years in a row?" Eric asks. Now, he looks disgusted. His dad and I nod. Then, he frowns. "Wait… how did that work? Only one victor is allowed each year. How could you both win in the same Games?"

"And now," Annie says quietly. "We come to the part of the story that is your parents' to tell. Katniss, Peeta?" We nod and I begin.

"Originally, I was not reaped. My sister - your Aunt Prim - was reaped. I volunteered for her; that's when people first started to notice me. They were impressed that I sacrificed myself for my sister. Then, your father was reaped. Your grandfather -" I gesture to Haymitch. "-was our mentor." I wisely decided to skip the Games' lead-up, and also the star-crossed lovers' plot. It was bad enough I was traumatizing my kids for life; I did not want them to also know that their entire existence was initially based on a lie.

"Once in the arena, your father and I got separated after the Bloodbath. He joined the Careers…"

"Wait, who are they?" asks Eric.

"The tributes from Districts 1 and 2," Haymitch offers up. "They were illegally trained in the Games from when they were first age-eligible, and then sent in at age 18. They thus had an unfair advantage in experience and almost always won the Games."

"Anyway," Peeta continues for me. "I joined these tributes and pretended to be leading them to your mother. She had gotten the highest score in training because of her hunting skills, so the Careers saw her as their biggest threat."

Clementine smiled. "I bet you fooled them!" she said with relish. Peeta chuckled nervously.

"Well… I kinda did. We eventually trapped Mommy in a tree…"

"You cornered Mom in a tree?" Eric laughs, thinking this is the funniest thing ever. Peeta gives him a pointed look and he falls silent.

"….but then she managed to drop a nest of tracker-jackers on us. The Careers' leader - Cato - he saw me help your mom out of the tree in the confusion and attacked me, wounding me. I lost her again and had to hide to survive. Eventually, Mommy found me again and we hid in a cave, where she nursed me back to health. She went so far as to risk her life at a Feast to get medicine I desperately needed. We made it the Final Eight, then the last six, then the last three with…"

"Cato," snarls Clementine.

"Bingo. Your mom and I killed Cato, but the Gamemakers told us only one of us could be crowned victor. They had tricked us into thinking that if district partners were the last two alive, we could both win. But we…" and here Peeta gets a glint in his eyes "…. we tricked the Gamemakers right back, and threatened to eat a bunch of poisonous berries we had found. They let us live and we came back to Twelve with Grandpa Haymitch!"

Eric and Clementine smile until they remember. "So… what about the Quell?" my son asks. I sigh.

"When our names were pulled for the Quell at the Reaping, it was your grandfather who won the contest. But….your father didn't want us to be apart, so…. Daddy volunteered for Grandpa so that he could be with me." Peeta and I smile at each other and we kiss chastely.

Clementine's eyes are shining. "I think that is the sweetest thing I've ever heard!"

"How did you all escape this time?" Eric prods eagerly. Peeta gestures around the room.

"Except for Grandpa Haymitch and Aunt Annie - and cousin Finn, of course - we were all in the Third Quarter Quell. We broke out of the arena when Mommy destroyed the forcefield surrounding it. Then, the war began. Some of us were taken to District Thirteen; some to the Capitol to be tortured. Your mom and I were separated again."

"NO!" Clementine shrieks in horror.

"Yes," I say gently. "Daddy, Auntie Johanna, Aunt Enobraia and Aunt Annie were all tortured for information."

"Is that why Daddy got mad the other night at dinner?" Clementine asks. All the other victors look at each other; they know exactly what she is talking about. Peeta's eyes fill with tears and he pulls her into his lap, hugging her.

"That's why, honey. That's why," he gets out through a tight throat.

"But, then, Mommy rescued you, Daddy! And then you beat the Capitol and won the war!" Eric says excitedly.

Peeta laughs. "That's right, kiddo. We did."

Annie sighs. "Well, that covers just about everything. Any questions?"

Eric turns back to the others. "Hey, Uncle Beetee?"

"Yes, my boy?" the bespectacled victor asks.

"Which numbered Hunger Games did you all win?" The Victors of Panem look at each other. Then, they give their numbered Games , one by one.

"70th," says Annie.

"43rd", says Beetee.

"71st," says Johanna.

"62nd," says Enobaria.

Peeta and I look at each other tenderly. "74th," we echo in unison.

Haymitch is silent. "Grandpa?" Eric prods. Finally, Haymitch looks my son in the eye.

"50th."

Clementine understands immediately, but Eric has to work it out. "But that means…." His face lights up. "Grandpa! You won a Quarter Quell? You're a total badass!" Everyone laughs; Peeta half-heatedly scolds Eric for language though even he is smiling. Haymitch grins.

"That was the one that had twice as many tributes!" Clementine gasps. "Oh, Grandpa Haymitch…" She sounds close to tears. She scrambles out her daddy's lap and Haymitch pulls her into his for a hug.

"Don't worry about it, girl. Nothing can touch your old Grandpa Haymitch ever again. Or your parents. Or the rest of our family." We all look at each other and nod, silently agreeing that this is what we now are, and what we will be. The Victors of Panem, united as one, ready to let go of the past and embrace the future… as a family.