Her boy isn't much of a hunter. He's not quite as bad as Peeta—at least, he can walk in all terrains without alerting every living and non-living thing within a hundred miles of his presence, something that took his father years to learn—but he's more of an artist.
Tortured artist, Peeta likes to say.
Their boy spends much of his time sequestered in his room or up a tree bemoaning his life and expressing that sentiment through pictures and prose. She can point her finger at Peeta for the collection of beautiful portraits and mocking comics that are drawn by their son, also for his way with words. But the rhyming? The constant melodrama?
Perhaps it's simply being a teenager. She hopes so—she can't deal with this much longer.
But her girl—she understands the woods, just like Katniss does. Her aim with the bow strikes true.
So as much as Katniss cannot understand the sheer number of parties and events their daughter hosts and goes to, or the stream of friends and significant others that seem to change with the moon—this, they have in common.
This, Katniss can use.
But somehow, it doesn't work.
She – she doesn't breathe the woods. Not like Katniss does.
She gets cranky when woken up in the mornings when game is best. She gets impatient during the long, silent waits for the right target in the right position. She throws a fit when her arrow misses even slightly, rather than practice and get better.
Peeta laughs and wraps his arms around her from behind when she complains about this, as she changes out of her hunting outfit.
"She's a child, my love," he says. "She just doesn't understand."
Katniss opens her mouth to say that she understood just fine when she was a child—
And she catches sight of herself in the mirror.
And oh.
Their girl has never been able to count her ribs in a mirror — the way Katniss used to, the way she can't now.
She doesn't understand because – because to her, the woods aren't salvation, the answer to desperate prayers to be able to feed her baby sibling.
To her, hunting is just a way to pass the time. Not necessary, and less entertaining than painting her nails or organizing soirees.
Because for her, food is going to be on the table either way.
Of course she doesn't understand.
Katniss wants her to never understand.
And if that means she doesn't get an activity in common, the way Peeta does when their children work at the bakery during the times it's overwhelmed and understaffed, then so be it.
She tells her partner as much.
He breathes an incredulous laugh into her neck. "Katniss, she doesn't need that. She knows you love her. To her, it's a fact of life that doesn't need any proof or special time with you. If you want that, okay, but there's no distance to be closed between you, or any reconnecting to be done."
He says it so matter-of-fact, as though it were never in doubt.
And she loves her mother, despite everything, understands her so much better than she did when she was a child—
But this—
And how he finishes with: "Because you've always been an amazing mother," and laces his fingers through hers—
Well.
This heals something in her she never knew was broken.
"I love you," she replies, not nearly enough for everything he's given her and continues to give her everyday.
"I love you too," comes the soft response. Then his voice turns joking: "And I'll love you more if you tell me what a good parent I am."
She laughs and rolls her eyes and reminds him that he knows he's the best father.
And when next week, their daughter comes up to her and says she wants to hunt because Dad says they need so-and-so from the woods—
And his grin tells her this is an excuse she made up—
She reminds him that he's the best partner-slash-husband too.
Written for @toastbabiesweek prompt Safe and Warm
