Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.

Author's disclaimer: I assume people know this but views of characters in fics I write do not necessarily represent my own views. Usually I don't say this but there is something in this one which may be a potentially controversial issue so I'd like to emphasise that the view expressed is not necessarily mine.

A/n: Last one. I hope you've enjoyed it. I assume someone has been because people have been reading the previous chapters. If you didn't but read this anyway, let me know and I'll suggest a better hobby than reading something you dislike (concrit is also accepted). If you keep clicking on the chapters accidently, I advise a new mouse ;)

5) Family

The nights before the Games begin are always strange when I'm not a mentor. I almost feel like I don't know what to do with myself at odd times of the day and night. No one wants to interview me, I have no tributes to mentor but I'm supposed to show my face. I've always hated that.

I slipped out some time ago to walk around the gardens near the Training Centre. Gardens like this just don't exist in District 8. People in the Capitol almost don't seem to know how lucky they are to have them. I suppose that right now, they're watching reruns of the pre-Games activities. I don't mind. I like having the gardens to myself.

I'm so used to the lack of people that I don't see Cashmere until I've walked into her. She jumps backwards. I clutch my stomach instantly.

"Watch it, Cecelia," she snarls.

"Sorry!" I reply. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," she mutters. I stand to one side to let her pass and then I look at her face. There are tears forming.

"Cashmere, are you sure you're OK? I'm sorry, sometimes I can be-"

"I'm fine," she snarls as tears slide down her cheeks.

"But you're crying."

She looks at me and then, to my surprise, begins to sob. For a second, I don't know what to do – I don't think we've ever had a full conversation before – but then I walk over to her and put my arms around her. She leans into my hold and I find myself rubbing her back and whispering calming things.

After a few minutes, I guide us to a nearby bench. Her sobs have subsided but I keep my arm around her. Finally, she moves away from me, still sniffing. I've never seen her be anything less than icily composed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

"No."

"OK," I say and sit there awkwardly. I can handle my little son when he cries fine and my daughter is easy. But there is a six year difference between myself and Cashmere and she still intimidates me.

Her eyes suddenly snap towards me. "You're pregnant," she says.

"Er ... yes."

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"I don't know."

"I can't have children."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

I shrug, helplessly.

She sighs and her voice loses its anger as she says, "I'm sorry, Cecelia. It's been a hard day. I only really found that out today."

"But you could ... I suppose it's not my place to suggest things."

She shrugs. "I can't anything. I'm stuck."

"How?"

She's silent and so I look away. I probably shouldn't have said anything.

"You know what ... why some of us come to the Capitol, don't you?" she suddenly says in a low voice. I turn to her but she won't look at me. "Outside the Games. When we meet new people."

I have to think for a moment. I've never been particularly inclined to listen to rumours but one or two have made their way to me. I've certainly heard hints from the other victors about reasons why Finnick Odair goes to the Capitol so often.

"Yes."

"And you know I..."

"Yes." At least, I can assume as much now.

She nods. "I was told today that I'm ... to keep myself available. Not tied down in any way." She keeps looking straight ahead. "It's been hard to come to terms with that."

I stare at her. "You mean you can't have a-"

"No."

"But ... I mean, how long for?"

"Until I'm thirty. At least."

I try to imagine being told I couldn't have a family. I find myself giving Cashmere another hug.

"You know the worst thing?" she asks. I shake my head. "It's not like I was ever going to have children. Not really. But I can't even have anyone with me, just to be with me."

"Why weren't you going to have children?" I ask before I can stop myself.

She looks at me as though I'm stupid. "How was I going to have children?"

"Um ... the usual way?"

She snorts. "You don't know anything about me, do you, Cecelia?"

"No," I say.

"I don't want the usual way."

I look at her and something clicks. Vague images flood through my head. "I do remember," I say slowly. "You don't like men, right?"

"I like them fine. I just don't want to be with them."

I wince. This is obviously a touchy subject which I am in no way qualified to discuss. "Sorry."

"What for?"

"For being insensitive?"

There's a moment of silence and then she smiles. "You're not being insensitive," she says softly. "I'm just touchy today. I'm the one who should be sorry – I walk into you, shout at you, cry on you and then tell you off for not knowing about my private life."

I smile back. "Let's say we're both at fault and leave it at that."

We're silent for another couple of minutes. I'm beginning to think of making an excuse to leave when she says, "I did want to adopt, though."

"Sorry?"

"I mean, I've had seven years to come to terms with the fact I won't give birth. No technology is going to be given to me for it and the other options just don't feel right anyway. But I thought, if I found someone, I could adopt from the Community Home. Maybe it's for the better. I don't even know if I have maternal instinct."

"You could still do that," I tell her. "Once you're ... free. What's stopping you from settling down and adopting a child if you want?"

"Do you think I'm ever really going to be free?"

I want to tell her yes. But she's icily beautiful and President Snow can easily threaten her. The fact is, I'm lucky because I don't stand out in crowds and because I met my husband so quickly. I've never been in that situation.

"I don't know. But I hope so."

She nods. Then she looks at me with a question in her eyes but she turns red. I ask her what she wanted to say.

"Do you ... do you feel the baby?"

"Yes. Kicks all the time." Then I realise what she's thinking. "Would you like to touch?"

"Really? Can I?"

The hope in her voice catches me off guard. I've never seen her like this before. I take hold of her hand and guide it to my bump. She smiles and it's so childlike that I have to smile back. Sometimes, I forget that she's only twenty-two.

"Thank you," she says.

"It's fine." Suddenly, an idea occurs to me. "Cashmere, I have a question for you." She looks at me, her blue eyes wary. "In District 8, we have the old tradition of Godparents for our children. My husband's brother is my son's Godfather and his best friend is our daughter's so we've agreed I can pick the next one. Would you do me the honour of being this one's Godmother?"

"What?" she whispers.

"You could visit whenever and play with them whenever."

"But I can't exactly travel to District 8 often."

"I can bring them here, I'm sure. Whenever we're both in the Capitol."

She hesitates. "Why me?"

"I don't think anyone else could be as good a Godmother as you."

She pauses and then deflates. "I can't," she whispers. "At the moment, if I mess up, Gloss and my parents will pay the price. I ... I can't do that to you and your family as well."

"I don't mind," I whisper back.

"I do. Your child deserves someone who can visit them all of the time and play with them. Someone who won't put them in danger. I wish I could. But I can't."

She stands up. I stand up as well. She starts to walk back to the Training Centre and I follow.

"Are you sure?" I ask after ten minutes.

"Yes." Her voice is tight. She looks as though she's trying not to cry.

We reach the entrance. "You know you're always welcome to visit," I tell her.

She hugs me. "Thank you, Cecelia. For listening and for ... everything." She pulls back. "I'd better go in."

"Bye, Cashmere."

She nods and I watch as her face becomes icily composed with a slight sneer and she suddenly walks ahead. We're not going to talk again, I can tell. She's scared enough of getting her family killed that she won't let any of us die either. We'll go back to pretending we don't know each other. Which, I suppose, we don't.

I walk in and go to talk to someone else from District 8. Across the room, Cashmere catches my eye and for a brief second, smiles. Then she looks away. I look away at the same time. The baby kicks.

Fin