I peek out from behind the doorway, watching Peeta talk to the Capitol monsters at our door. When I had opened it this morning, I was greeted by lenses; lenses that still haunt my dreams. I had slammed the door in their faces, not letting them speak, and ran to Peeta. Now he's talking to them quietly, but I can't hear what they're saying.

"Yes, but I don't think she'll…yes, I know…but she…yes, okay. I'll go talk to her." Peeta closes the door, then starts when he sees me. "Oh!"

"Talk to me about what?" I ask, gripping the doorframe, "What did they want? Are they still there?"

"One at a time," Peeta smiles, but it looks forced. He walks to me, then takes my hands. "Hear me out, okay, Katniss?"

I nod warily. What could the Capitol people have told Peeta? Why didn't he just dismiss them straight out?

"Those people," Peeta starts, "are a TV crew from the Capitol, sent by Plutarch. He wants to release a TV special called 'A Day in the Life of Katniss—'"

"No." I say firmly. Capitol monsters roaming my house with cameras, filming every second of my day? Sounds a little too familiar. How did Peeta even think I would agree to this?

"Hear me out, please." Peeta's eyes bore into mine. I nod, lips pressed together. "Look, I hate this just as much as you do, but…" he swallows, "If you agree to this, the Capitol will lift your ban from travelling to other districts."

Now that has my attention. I think of my Mother. I haven't seen her in years. And Delly Cartwright. And Annie Odair; her son. More names swirl my mind. They visit once in a while, but it's been too long. None of them have seen my kids, yet. My children have never been out of District 12, either. But to let my family be filmed, to be questioned…

"No questions," Peeta says, as if he can read my mind. "The crew agrees to film silently, and no questions will be asked. It will only be for the day, twelve hours, then your ban will be lifted and," he smiles, a genuine smile, "They agree to leave us alone for the rest of our lives."

No cameras forever? I think about that. A world without cameramen hidden in bushes. A world without Plutarch calling every week, wanting to film something. A world without constantly worrying if my children are going to get stopped and questioned. A world without lenses.

"It's up to you," Peeta says softly, brushing a lock of hair out of my eyes, "I just thought that this would be the best for you and the kids. Visiting family and friends. No more cameras."

"Yes." I find myself saying. "Fine."

"We'll set up in the living room," the blue-skinned man, who I now know is Pontus, the director, says, "You won't even know we're here! Just pretend we're flies on the wall."

Right, flies with blue skin and green teeth, I think. His hair, unlike the others, is shockingly normal. Black, like mine.

The crew is buzzing with energy, setting up equipment faster than it takes for me to reach the living room. They sneak a glance at Peeta and I now and then, murmuring things like "star-crossed lovers" and "toast".

"Just go about your daily life," Pontus is saying, "and we'll film it. It's been twenty years since the Capitol last heard of you, and they're going mad! Riots, voting, criticism…" He sighs, like it's our fault we were living a normal life. "No matter, no matter. This will be a consolation prize. All we have to do is—" He suddenly stops, eyes widening. Even his eyebrows, which are frozen in place, seem to rise. Pontus' face morphs into a ravenous grin. "Kids! They have kids!"

Peeta and I both whip our head back, just in time to see two pairs of eyes disappear behind the door. My heart starts to race.

"Come out, little Mellarks!" Pontus croons, "Let me have a look at you!"

I step toward Pontus threateningly. Even though I'm a head shorter, I stare him down. "You," I hiss, "will leave my children alone. If they don't want to be filmed—"

"Why are you blue?"

I swallow a sigh. It's my son, having escaped his sister's grasp. My daughter steps into the room as well, looking at the Capitol people curiously. Peeta exhales loudly.

The whole crew has stopped, staring at my children. Some let out elated squeals. Then they start yapping excitedly, saying things like "He looks just like her!" and "She's just like her father!" and "Toast babies!"

"Enough!" Pontus snaps, and the crew falls silent. He turns back to my children, smiling widely.

"Why is your teeth green?" my son asks, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

Pontus laughs like this is the funniest thing ever. "Oh, the Mellarks," he chuckles. Pontus turns to me. "Tell your kids why we're here, then let's get started." He claps his hands together in glee. "Oh, I can't wait!"

9:00 AM

It takes a lot of time to explain to our children about the cameras. After hundreds of "why"-s and "who"-s, they're satisfied. The camera crew is surprisingly quiet, staying silent like they said.

Peeta and I serve our kids breakfast, and we eat with them. We don't speak much, since we're still aware of the cameras, filming our every bite.

After I finish, I grab my arrows and game bag. My son's eyes widen hopefully. "I go?"

"You're too young." I tell him, "Next year, I promise."

Grey eyes blazing, he points to his sister. "She can go!"

I hide a sigh. We've had this conversation way too many times. "She's older than you."

"But I wanna go!"

I can almost feel the tantrum coming. Luckily, Peeta says, "How about painting with me? I got the orange color you wanted."

My son's pout fades into a smile. "Orange?"

Peeta nods, taking out the nontoxic finger paint from the cabinet. "Do you want to see?"

My son nods eagerly, and soon is busy with Peeta. My daughter and I take the cue to leave.

9:30

I watch my daughter as we walk along. She doesn't walk as much as she glides. She reminds me of a dancer. I used to wonder where she got it from, but now I know it's all her own.

Finally, we reach the woods. We step through the fence, and the camera crew follows. My daughter and I immediately cringe.

"Mommy," she whispers to me, "They're too loud."

"I know," I whisper back to her. I turn to the camera crew. "Be quiet...please. You're scaring away all the animals."

They try, they really do, but they're still scaring all the game in a ten-mile radius. Biting my tongue to keep from cursing, I turn to my daughter. "Let's gather instead, okay?" She agrees.

As we pick various plants and roots, I ask her about the names. "What's that one?"

"Pond lily."

"How about these?"

"Mint."

"Those?"

She giggles. "Mommy!"

I smile. I had been pointing to Katniss. I bend down to gather some up. A few minutes later, my daughter says, "Mommy, look!"

I turn my head. She's farther ahead, her head buried behind a bush. I walk to her. "Find something?"

She turns to me, grinning toothily, and holds out her hands. My heart stops.

I shake her hands, and the dark berries fall off. "Did you eat any!?" I demand, my stomach twisting with fear, "Did you?"

She shakes her head, her eyes wide. "No, I didn't. Why?"

I let out a breathe I didn't know I had been holding. I bend down to be eye level with her. "Not these," I tell her, "Not ever these."

"Why?"

"They're nightlock. It takes only one to kill you." I hadn't seen nightlock for several years, now, and I thought they had died out. Apparently not.

Her eyebrows rise. "Nightlock…" She's trying to figure something out. "At school," she finally says, eyes squinting in concentration, "they…they said something about…the 74th…"

No, no, no. My heart is pounding, and my palms feel clammy. No, not now, not ever. The crew behind me goes silent, and I can almost feel the tension. I don't want to tell her. I know I'll have to, but…I don't ever want to.

My daughter's head shoots up. "Squirrel," she whispers.

"What?"

She points to a tree. "Squirrel!"

My heart lifts in relief. She has forgotten her train of thought. I follow her finger and sure enough, a squirrel is resting beneath the tree. Wow. The crew was actually quiet enough. I pull back my arrow and swish, straight through the eye. The crew starts cheering.

"I'll be like that, one day," my daughter says, eyes wide in wonder.

"No, you won't," I tell her, "You'll be even better."

2:00 PM

We walk home with a full basket and a half-empty game bag. The crew is chattering behind me, apparently elated at the footage they got. I usually deliver the game right now, but I can't imagine going to neighbors' houses followed by Capitol freaks.

We reach our house. As soon as I open the door, a figure zooms by me, making me lose my balance. "What the—"

Peeta reaches the door, face flushed. "Run," he simply says.

And I'm off, racing after my son. I hear him giggle, like it's the most fun thing in the world. Well, it's not. No matter how many times we tell him, reprimand him, punish him, he does this at least once a week.

Behind me, I hear a cameraman struggle to keep up with me, while I struggle to keep up with my son. Oh, what a laugh the townsfolk are having right now. My son is almost as fast as me, and it's the almost that makes me catch him. Gotcha, I think, lifting him by the arms.

I carry him back to the house, steaming with anger. He must sense my rage, since he keeps quiet. Anyone that matters knows that when I'm silent, I'm dangerous.

I walk into the house, where Peeta is waiting, our daughter behind his leg. I drop him into Peeta's arms. "Here's your son," I say tightly, trying to keep my temper together. My son's lucky I love him.

"I'm taking a shower," I say, dropping my game bag on the table. As a crew starts to follow me, I turn to them and yell, "And no, you can't film me there!" The crew doesn't dare argue.

5:00

I open my eyes and realize I'm in bed. I sit up straight. What time is it? When I see that it is five, my eyes widen. I had fallen asleep. How is that even possible? I got out of the shower, sat down on the bed to dry my hair, then…I see that I'm still holding the towel. I never take naps, anymore. It must be the stress of the cameras getting to me.

I get dressed, braid my hair, then walk downstairs. I follow the delicious smell of cheese into the kitchen. Peeta is in the middle of patiently explaining to our son why his sister's shoes are inedible when he sees me. He smiles, and it still reminds me of sunshine. "Sleeping beauty is finally awake."

I roll my eyes, then stagger back when something hits my knees. My son. "Momma!" he shrieks, and I pick him up.

"I'm very sorry," he tells me, sounding like he's rehearsed it, "that I made you chase me. It makes you very mad and Daddy very sad. I won't do it again."

Where have I heard that before, I think, but to him, I smile. "Alright, hon. I forgive you."

He lets me plant a kiss on his head before jumping out of my arms, returning to his sister. My daughter is looking at her chewed up shoes, scowling, and I still can't get over how much it looks like my own.

I turn around, right into Peeta's arms. He grins. "Hey, sweetheart."

I roll my eyes. "'Sweetheart' yourself." I duck a kiss from him, and his lips land on my ear.

Peeta mock-pouts. "Not one kiss?"

"No. What's that smell?" I ask, ignoring the camera crews' groans.

Peeta grins, gesturing to the table. "Cheese buns."

I snatch one up immediately, half-swooning from the taste. When I reach for another one, Peeta playfully smacks my hand away. "They're not for you," he says.

I scowl. "I didn't have lunch. I'm hungry."

"I can satisfy you," Peeta whispers, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Instead of rolling my eyes, I smile, because behind his back, my daughter has snuck three more.

"No, thank you," I tell him, "Is dinner ready?"

"Almost," Peeta says, "Can you skin the squirrel?"

6:00 PM

Soon, salad is on the table, the bread is being sliced, the meat is sizzling on the stove, and lemonade is being poured into tall glasses.

"All done," Peeta says, removing the squirrel. The cameraman nearest him grimaces. I almost roll my eyes. What did they expect District 12 to eat? Boulette d'Avesnes?

Peeta teasingly waves the meat in his face. "Want some?" The man shrieks, then runs back on hunter's feet. I'm almost impressed.

We start dinner, and I nearly inhale the food. My daughter picks at her dinner, while my son gets most of it on his face. Peeta is the only 'Capitol approved' one, eating everything at a nice, slow pace.

I stay silent through dinner, too busy eating. Our children chatter on, and Peeta responds with great interest and enthusiasm, and I realize that although I'm being a parent, Peeta will always be a better one.

7:00 PM

After dinner, Peeta and I clean while my children flee to the living room. Apparently, they're more interesting than dishes, so the crew finally leaves Peeta and I alone.

"Two more hours," he whispers to me.

I blow a lock of hair out of my face. "Not good enough."

"It'll be worth it," he says, "I promise."

7:30 PM

"Mommy! Daddy! I need help with my homework!"

I look up from drying the dishes. Peeta is up to his elbows in suds. "I'll go," I say, then playfully throw the dishtowel at him. He, much to my annoyance, catches it with one hand, then gives me a smug smile. Scowling, I leave.

My son is drawing something with his crayons, and my daughter is squinting at a book. She looks up at me. "I don't understand this sentence."

She hands me the book. The title makes me falter: 'Mockingjays'. It's a picture book, with colorful drawings on each page, with a line of text. I read the sentence her finger is pointing at. "Mockingjays are a hybrid between mockingbirds, natural songbirds, and jabberjays, which are…" I swallow, "muttations."

"What are mutt-a-tions?" My daughter asks, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

I close my eyes. It's coming. The questions. I don't want to answer her, but I have to. I know I have to. I wish Peeta was here. He's much better with words than me. But he's not here. And my daughter needs an explanation.

"Muttations," I say, choosing my words carefully, "are animals made by Capitol."

"Made?"

"Yes. These animals don't exist in nature, so the Capitol created them."

"Why?"

I swallow. I don't want to tell her. I want to wrap her, and her brother, in my arms, shielding them from the world. I want them to be blissfully ignorant, seeing the world as a bright and happy place, a place of hope, of love. I don't want to tell them. How can I? How can I knowingly scare my children to death? How can I tell them of a world where blood was shed, children's blood, where wars were fought, people were starved, and death; death was everywhere. How can I?

To my utter relief, my son chooses this moment to break in. "Mommy! Look what I drew!"

I take the piece of paper from his hands, clutching it like a lifesaver. I'll have to tell her, tell them both, but not today. Not today.

I look at the drawing in my hand. Two brown and pink blobs, grey and blue dots, a black scribble, a yellow scribble, and two red lines. A lopsided heart is between the figures.

"That's you and Daddy!" My son beams.

I smile at him. "Thank-you," I say genuinely. I really do appreciate the effort he put into this, and his timing presenting it. "You should show Daddy."

"Show me what?" Peeta asks, walking in.

My son takes the drawing from my hand, then runs to Peeta. Peeta actually tears up. He scoops our son up, then gives him a kiss on his head. "Thank you. I love it. I'll put it with the others." Which means on the fridge, where the metallic black can't even be seen anymore, due to all the drawings.

Peeta looks at the clock. "It's almost eight! Bedtime."

"But I'm not sleepy," our son says, yawning.

"Me neither," our daughter says with droopy eyes.

Peeta chuckles, then gathers her up in his arms. I scoop up our son. We walk to their room, the camera crew following on tiptoes. I had almost forgotten they were there.

I place our son in his crib. He curls up with a teddy bear, murmuring, "I'm not sleepy…" In a second he's asleep.

Peeta kisses our daughter on the forehead. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

She murmurs, "G'night da…" and falls asleep, cocooned beneath blankets.

Peeta takes my hand, and we watch them for a while. Their innocent faces, fresh a raindrop, I could watch forever. But Peeta's already turning out the lights, leading me away. I whisper, "Sweet dreams, I love you" before the door closes on their sleeping faces.

8:00 PM

Peeta sits on the sofa, legs propped up on the centre table. I'm lying down with my head on his lap. He removes the elastic from my braid, then runs his hand through my hair. The motion is relaxing, and almost lulls me to sleep. I would've fallen asleep, right there. If it hadn't been for the camera crew.

I suddenly realize Peeta is smiling. "What?" I ask him.

"Katniss Mellark," he grins.

I roll my eyes, exasperated. "Would you get over that, already?"

"Mrs. Mellark," Peeta continues, probably just to annoy me, "Peeta and Katniss Mellark, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark, the Mellark family—"

I grab a cushion and throw it at his face, effectively quieting him. I roll my eyes when the camera crew "awww"-s.

Peeta keeps playing with my hair, while I stare at him. The same blond curls that our son has, the same blue eyes our daughter has. They're like puzzle pieces, really. Fitting perfectly together.

"They look so much like you," I murmur. He knows I mean the kids.

Peeta rolls his eyes, something I don't see him do very often. "And they look nothing like you, with her dark hair and his grey eyes. Nope. Don't see the resemblance at all."

This annoys me, so I get up. Peeta starts to put his hands on my shoulder, and I see his lips forming "stay", but he changes his mind when he sees my glare. I don't even know why I'm mad. It's everything. Including, and especially, the camera crew.

"Katniss?" Peeta sounds bewildered, "Was it something I said?"

Seeing him so confused, I sigh. "I'm so tired," I tell him. And I am. With the camera crew. With this whole day.

His arms wrap around me, tightly. "I know. Go to sleep. I'm right here."

I stay there for several minutes, not moving, but not sleeping either. Peeta strokes my hair, his heart beating steadily under me.

Peeta finally says, "I know something that will cheer you up."

"What?"

He pulls me back, and I see the smile on his face. It's the brightest one I've seen all day. The camera crew leans in to capture his words.

"It's nine o'clock," Peeta grins.

9:00

We waste no time in ushering – shooing, more like – the crew out of our home. We tell them good night, don't come back, and no, they can't have ten more minutes. Finally, it's Pontus that remains, vigorously shaking my hand.

"I love it, I love it!" He beams, green teeth glowing in the dark night, "We got all the footage we needed. Ah, Plutarch will be so happy!" He rambles on a bit more, with Peeta tutting politely and me prodding Pontus farther and farther out the door. Finally, he is on the porch.

He has one more thing to say to us before we close the door on cameras forever:

"A typical day at the Mellark family," he grins, "isn't so typical at all."

A/N: I know the 'my son' and 'our daughter' thing gets annoying after a while, but there was a reason the kids were left unnamed, and I'm not going to change that. Not entirely satisfied with this one, but hope you liked it! It'd make my day if you left a review. :)