His eyes close, for just long enough for him to take a breath in and out, long and deep. A year from now: Annie, alive and safe and happy in District Four. He couldn't ask for more. He's been scared for Annie ever since she was reaped, since the girl he'd met in their fishery and again in training for the Games back in the city became his tribute, his victor, his responsibility.
That was nothing on the fear when he realized he loved her, that she'd become the most effective tool Snow could use against him. Most of those other people Snow had used against him had died. Suddenly, but in ways that looked perfectly innocent to anyone who didn't know what they were: just pieces in the games the Capitol played with his life.
He's been terrified for Annie for years, and the one thing that he'd questioned himself over when he'd gotten involved in the rebellion in District Four, in the plans for freeing Katniss from the arena, was what might happen to Annie. He'd consciously put her in danger, though it had been in aid of making Panem a place where she could be safe, where she didn't need to be afraid because of the Games, because of the Peacekeepers, because of who she'd fallen in love with.
No matter how good his cause, his intentions, losing Annie, when he'd lost Mags, when he'd lost his whole family, would have been too much to bear.
He doesn't bother trying to hide what he's feeling. For once, he can be honest with Katniss, because she's told him the one thing he most needed to hear.
"Thank you."
Katniss looks happy to be able to tell him this, a smile crossing those features that are so often so serious. She's paused for a moment, like there's more, something she's thinking about, but what she says next drives any other thought out of his mind.
Him? A father?
He doesn't mean to stare at Katniss, but he does, the shadow of fear in his eyes, the fear that victors know, of knowing their lives are marked.
He and Annie had never even talked about children. Just being together is so much of a risk that marriage, let alone children, is impossible. He's got no doubts what it would mean. Annie's death, or the child's, to punish him, and one more impossible weight on his conscience. He could never have what Katniss and Peeta played as their strategy in the Quarter Quell: a secret wedding, an unplanned pregnancy.
He swallows, licking his lips.
"Katniss," he says, his voice so soft it's barely more than breath, "tell me that's safe."
no subject
That was nothing on the fear when he realized he loved her, that she'd become the most effective tool Snow could use against him. Most of those other people Snow had used against him had died. Suddenly, but in ways that looked perfectly innocent to anyone who didn't know what they were: just pieces in the games the Capitol played with his life.
He's been terrified for Annie for years, and the one thing that he'd questioned himself over when he'd gotten involved in the rebellion in District Four, in the plans for freeing Katniss from the arena, was what might happen to Annie. He'd consciously put her in danger, though it had been in aid of making Panem a place where she could be safe, where she didn't need to be afraid because of the Games, because of the Peacekeepers, because of who she'd fallen in love with.
No matter how good his cause, his intentions, losing Annie, when he'd lost Mags, when he'd lost his whole family, would have been too much to bear.
He doesn't bother trying to hide what he's feeling. For once, he can be honest with Katniss, because she's told him the one thing he most needed to hear.
"Thank you."
Katniss looks happy to be able to tell him this, a smile crossing those features that are so often so serious. She's paused for a moment, like there's more, something she's thinking about, but what she says next drives any other thought out of his mind.
Him? A father?
He doesn't mean to stare at Katniss, but he does, the shadow of fear in his eyes, the fear that victors know, of knowing their lives are marked.
He and Annie had never even talked about children. Just being together is so much of a risk that marriage, let alone children, is impossible. He's got no doubts what it would mean. Annie's death, or the child's, to punish him, and one more impossible weight on his conscience. He could never have what Katniss and Peeta played as their strategy in the Quarter Quell: a secret wedding, an unplanned pregnancy.
He swallows, licking his lips.
"Katniss," he says, his voice so soft it's barely more than breath, "tell me that's safe."