ghosts that we knew: A mockingjay fanfiction

30

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 30

Primrose

When news of the baby's delivery becomes public knowledge, the District erupts in celebration. The merriment is all so grand that it barely seems like a possible feat for a District that tends to pride itself so much on its minimalism. Corks soar, bells ring out, and people clap, sing, and hug each other as they cry. It's is as if my niece's birthday has become a national holiday.

Glassy-eyed strangers from all over the District, citizens young and old, and natives and rescues alike, line the halls around the hospital corridor just an hour after the baby's birth. Blubbering men and women shove gifts, ranging from family heirlooms to a handful of spare change, in my direction as I travel up and down the hall to fetch some water. Everyone, it seems, wants to give all they can to this baby girl.

'The child of the Mockingjay, the fresh face of the war', they've already started call her as they throw their possessions at me, as if the baby being born of two Victors gives her the superhuman ability to cure nationwide distress.

I take the gifts anyway. As another one of 'Panem's Darlings', I know that the polite thing to do is better than doing nothing at all.

"Long live the child of this revolution!" a man with a salt-and-pepper speckled beard shouts as he claps a hand over my shoulder. He's the first person to make actual contact with me, his bare hands void of any gifts, and he nearly sends the tray of water I am trying to balance toppling to the floor. The joy wavering in his bellow, however, is unmistakable.

A resounding cheer can be heard from as far as a mile away, echoing down the cavernous hallways through masses of strangers.

I swallow hard, offer my brightest faux smile, still camera-ready from promotional videos of the past, and politely barrel through the rest of the rejoicing crowd. The gifts can wait for now.

If all of this attention is overwhelming for the thirteen-year-old aunt, I shudder to think of how all of this would fare on the hour-old infant. Little Bean would undoubtedly be crushed beneath all of her praises.

With this in mind, I choose to refrain from telling Katniss that her child has already been associated with the revolution. At least for now, in her secluded, guarded hospital room, mother and child are sealed away from the rebellion that continues to rage around us.

I breathe a heavy sigh of relief when I have returned to the room, faraway from the cheering masses. I immediately fixate my gaze on the comforting focal point that is my niece. Laying eyes on my Little Bean brings me enough peace to forget about any of the mayhem in this world.

I fell in love with the very idea of being an aunt the moment my sister's pregnancy had been relayed to me. But I knew how terrified Katniss was of even the thought of her child, so I kept my excitement at bay, knowing that at some point my sister was bound to catch up with me.

Watching her now, arms wrapped around the delicate bundle that rests against her chest and smile immovable, I know that Katniss has fallen in love with the very same little girl I have been fantasizing about for months, and that my stagnant excitement is finally able to erupt.

My mother, Haymitch Abernathy, Finnick Odair, Madge, and myself have all managed to squeeze into the tiny space, forming an eclectic welcoming committee to the newest member of our little family made up of Victors, former residents of District Twelve, doctors, and revolutionaries.

As I gaze around the room, there isn't a dry eye in sight. Even Mister Abernathy himself is blinking back tears of awe as he buries his flask in his pocket. Instead, he drinks in the sight of Katniss cooing quiet endearments to the child curiously peering back up at her.