Post Hunger Games Part1

7/31/2019 Post Hunger Games Part1

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Through the windows I see that is pouring rain outsidedefinitelynot a hunting day. Greasy Sae cleans the breakfast dishes while Iplop down on the couch and decide what exactly I should dotoday. My list doesn't get much further than sleep and wonder

what's for dinner.

Peeta gives up on meticulously picking at his eggs and givesGreasy Sae his bowl. He walks over to an armchair by the couch,pausing at the mantle and the accumulating mountain of letters.

"What's this?" he asks.

I shrug.

"Maybe you should go through this."

I respond with a scowl.

Peeta sits on the floor and starts sorting the letters.

It's probably as good of time as any to see who's written me so Isit on the other side of the stack.

The first letter is from Dr. Aurelius. As I skim through the pile, Irealize I better start a stack for all the letters from him and mymother. Peeta seems to be using the stack and sort method too.

"Katniss, have you opened any of these since you've beenhome?"

I stare at the floor and have no interest in the letters. I don'twant happy lettersdon't deserve them and don't understandhow anyone could truly be happy after all the death and

destruction the war caused. I don't want the sad letters, becauseI don't want a reminder. And, I don't want to make the effort. Ijust want to be left alone, but since that's not going so well at themoment, I do make the effort, but decide not to do it happily.

I scan the pile for something that looks remotely interesting: aletter from Delly, some government correspondence, letters from


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reporters probably wanting interviews and then I see ita letteraddressed in Peeta's careful hand. The handwriting is small,precise and has a newfound twitchy quality. I spot another, thenanother and put them in my lap for a time when I feel braver.

I wonder if they're love letters, angry tirades or just brutallyhonest accounts of my flaws. I stare at Peeta and wonder if I lookhard enough at him if I can tell without opening the letters.

His stacks are neatly arranged, but a white corner pokes out fromunder his black boots and gives away a pile he's trying toconceal.

"You wrote me?" I ask.

"Oh, it's nothing," he replies. "Part of my therapy. We can justtear them up."

He's blushing, embarrassed but curiosity has the better of me andI won't let him destroy them. I want to yank the letters out of hishands but don't want to provoke him into throwing them in thefire.

"Please," I say.

Reluctantly he hands them over and I sit on them before he canchange his mind. We sort in silence until every letter is in itsplace.

Peeta thinks I should read the doctor's letters first. I'm in acontrary mood so I decide to call the doctor's office. Surely thatwill take less time than reading pages and pages of medicaladvice, therapies and diagnosis of my various psychoses. Thedoctor seems relieved that I'm alive and finally going through mymail. He says it's a step in the right direction. He tells me somethings to do, asks me if I want to talk (I don't) and then givesPeeta some instructions.


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While Peeta talks to the doctor, I read an upbeat letter fromDelly. She's still in 13 and thinking about coming back to 12 assoon as the town's more rebuilt. She sends her love, tells me I'mamazing and that she'll do anything she can to help. My mother's

letters tell me about her setting up a hospital, about District Fourand the seafood she's never eaten before. She asks me if I'meating and says that she calls Greasy Sae to check on me. If thepresident will ever let me out of 12, I should visit her at thebeach. When Peeta isn't looking I hide his stack of letters under acouch cushion. If he doesn't want me seeing them, I'mdetermined to read them.

"You're doing great," he tells me when he gets off the phone. "Dr.

A is going to send you treatments and call you weekly. You needto open letters and packages from him. He can really workwonders, you know."

Coming from the man who tried to strangle me a few monthsago, I have to consider this.

Silence follows and I ask Peeta how he's doing.

"Much better than that first night in District 13," he said.

I touch my neck, where those black bruises stayed for months."You're eyes aren't as cloudy."

Peeta explains that he went though a lot of therapy, a lot oftalking with Dr. A, figuring out what real, what memories weretampered with and what triggers his episodes. He says the letterswere part of the therapy. Dr. A made him write down hisquestions so I could answer them. They discussed the games

based on the videos and Peeta's memories are gradually comingback. He says his episodes can be controlledhe can sometimesfeel them coming onbut won't ever go away.

"Prim tried so hard to help you when we first got you back," I tellhim.


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Guilt, shame, dreadwhile my sister was helping I ran away. Ishould help him, but my stomach tightens and I get slightly dizzywhen I think of the questions I'll have to answer.

When the rain stops, Peeta goes to pick up a shipment ofmedicine the doctor sent over from the Capitol. I pull the lettersfrom under the cushion and read his letters starting with theoldest first.

Dear Katniss,

I heard you're back home in District 12. I'm in the Capitol untilDr. Aurelius clears me. I miss home and hope you're doing well. Iworry about you. We probably have a lot to talk about. I'll be

home when I can.

Don't give Haymitch pneumonia.

Peeta

PS Thanks for saving me.

Dear Katniss,

My therapy would go so much quicker if I could talk to you. We'vetried calling you, but you don't answer. Please pick up. I'm justtrying to make sense of things.

Peeta

Dear Katniss,

Today as part of my treatment I rewatched the Quarter Quell

not the doctored version the Capitol showed me afterwards.

Thank you for helping me through the poison fog and not leavingme. Thank you for trying to save me from the monkeys.

I wish I could thank Finnick for saving my life when he rescuedme from the platform, restarted my heart, drug me through the


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fog and took a knife from the careers for me. He was a great guy.(And I'm sorry you had to watch that.)

I'm so sorry we didn't break the alliance when you suggested it.

I'm sorry I let them separate us.

When you're up to it, maybe we can talk about the games so Ican know what really happened.

Peeta

Dear Katniss,

I hope to be coming home soon. It's not that the Capitol hospital

isn't great, but I miss home. I miss baking and even myoversized Victor's Village home. I haven't seen District 12 sincebefore it

was bombed, so I want to see my family's bakery one more time.

I hope that you're staying out of troublenot slipping on ice orbeing chased by bears.

We talk about you in my therapy: what's real and not real. I wasgetting a good handle on it before the endof the war, but Dr. A ishelping with the flashbacks. They come less often now and we'refinding out what my triggers are. (Please note that I never wantto see a tracker jacker again!)

Today I wanted to talk about that last mission. You wouldn'tleave me behind. You stroked my hair, like you did in our cave inthe first games. I remember those games more accurately now.And you kissed me. Which after I tried to strangle you never

thought would happen again. You saved me Katniss. You savedme from myself, from the Capitol from death and not just thattime, but so many times.

Dr. A says you're not answering the phone. He's also beensending letters without a response. I hope everything is ok.


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Peeta

Dear Katniss,

Today I have questions about the first Hunger Games. I askedyou before why you didn't look sincere, if you liked kissing me ifyou loved me. That conversation didn't go very well and I stillhave questions.

The general consensus is that a person that would risk their life tosave mine probably wasn't trying to kill me.

So, why did you drop the tracker jackers on me? I think you saidbefore my group had you treed and that time you were trying to

kill me. Why?

Dr. A says you might not have known I was trying to protect youthen. So what changed between that day and when you cameand found me?

Did you plan of it being us two in the end? Did you really leaveme for the mutts to kill me? Why did you wrap my leg in thetourniquet? Why did you offer me those berries? Did you think we

would both win, that we would both die as painlessly as possible?I think I remember you saying "Trust me" so maybe you had aplan.

You said you liked kissing me some times. What times? Howmuch of it was an act? But we both survived and for that I'mhappy.

I must have loved you then. They say I was trying to protect you.And when we were last in the Capitol you said that's what we do.Maybe I should have protected you more.

I asked you if you loved me and you didn't say yes or no. Dr. Asays you might now know yourself. He reminds me that you're a17-year-old girl who has lived a hard life, who has been in


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survival mode for years. Finnick even told me one night that hethought you loved me.

How I wonder what we had.

I've lost a leg, been tortured, been burned and driven mad. Butwhat about you? You were burned, driven mad and the wholenation witnessed the trial of the poor girl-on-fire so mad she shotthe wrong president. Only, you looked sane when I saw you thatmorning. After the shot, though, you reminded me of myselfwhen I have my flashbacks.

Katniss, I'm glad you didn't take the nightlock. I have so manyquestions.

Always,

Peeta

When I wake up Peeta's letters are scattered over the couch. Iroll over to find one wrinkled beneath me. I replace them underthe cushion so they don't end up in the fire. Peeta is snoringlightly in the chair across from me and I rise and walk with a

hunter's stealth and cover him with a blanket. I pause to look atthe patchwork skin of his hands and neck. What an odd damagedpair we are.

He's brought a box back from the train station. It's filled withbaking supplies, letters and medications for both of us.

Greasy Sae is at the door and I point at sleeping Peeta.

She hands me a large pot of stew and asks me to make sure my

houseguest eats.

"I'll be back in the morning. And I'm putting in an order forgroceries, is there anything you need?"


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I would eat whatever she made, but decide that there is onething that Peeta needs. She gives me a sly wink and is off to herhouse.

In the box, I find new letter from Dr. A.

Katniss,

I've discharged Peeta to District 12. I was hoping you could helpme keep an eye on him. Make sure he eats, keeps busy and hassomeone to talk to. If you could listen to him and try your best toanswer his questions, it would help both of you. If he feels anattack coming on, he might ask for help or space, but you shouldbe safe. Also, if either of you get worse or if you can't handle

living close to Peeta, call me immediately. I'm always a phone callor letter away if either of you need anything.

Dr. Aurelius

PS I'm sending over some pills.

I don't want the pills. I'm not sure what to think about Peetabeing homesleeping in my living room. I don't know what to do

about all the letters, about living without my mother. And Iwonder if it's all too much.

Peeta's fists rise slowly into the air. "What smells so good?"

I bring him a bowl of stew not really knowing what to say. Really,I'm just tired and want to go to sleep. But after weeks of sleepingon the couch, I know better than to fall asleep here. Instead I siton the floor and stare at the fire.

"You can ask me one question," I say with my back to him. "Iknow you have questions, but I'm tired and I'm sure they'regoing to be things I don't want to talk about."

Peeta joins me on the floor and puts the blanket over my legs.


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"Okay. One question," he considers. "How are you? I mean whathave you been up to all these weeks?"

I'm not sure if that's two questions but it's not the questions

about kisses for show and shooting presidents that I don't wantto answer, so I'll try.

"I'm tired," I say. "But all I do is sleep. I don't know what I'mdoing, what I'm supposed to do, what I want to do."

I play with the edge of the blanket and try not to look in his eyes.I don't want his concern or pity. I'm not even sure I want hiscompany, but this is probably better than the weeks I spent inthe training room prison.

In his silence, I continue. "I was like my mother. I stayed on thatcouch and barely moved."

"Well, let's keep busy," Peeta says.

The phone rings and Peeta answers it. Maybe he knows I won't.

"Yes, I'm home. Just got in a few days ago. So far so good."

"We just had dinner. She actually read some of her mail today."

"I think she's doing great." Then he hands the phone over to me."Your mother wants to talk to you."

"Hello?"

"Hi Katniss. How are you doing?" mother asks.

"Okay," I say after a pause and tell her about the rainy day.

"Peeta answered the phone. Are you two okay? He's not upsettingyou is he?"

"I don't know," I respond. I wonder if the company is good forme. And then think company is probably why he's over here. He


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misses his family. Haymitch and me are all the family he has inDistrict 12 now.

"Is there anything you need?" she asks. "I can have supplies sent

over on a train from the Capitol."

I tell her that I've given Sae my grocery list, but could probablyuse some salve for my skin. "Hey Peeta, mother wants to know ifyou need anything," I say without thinking.

He comes back to the phone and asks for some baking suppliesthat weren't in his box from earlier. And though I'm not reallylistening I think he's telling my mother what he needs to takecare of me.

Good luck with that.

While Peeta's on the phone, I go to bed. I don't know if he planson staying.

After a night spent dreaming of mutts and strangling, I godownstairs and find him asleep on the couch, covered in letters.At first, I think he's reading my letters, but remember our long

ago no-secrets pact and decide that there are worse things hecould do than read my mail. Besides, maybe then I won't have toread all those letters. But the letter it looks like he fell asleepreading is addressed to him.

Peeta,

Call me Tuesdays and Thursdays at 7:30 for therapy sessions. I'llsend the pills as you need them and call or write if you needanything else.

Make sure she's eating

If she's sleeping too much, she should take the green pills.

Can you try to get her to write or call me once a week?


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If she'll talk to you, that's the best therapy. But don't push toohard.

Dr. A.

So, Dr. A has also made us a double-deal? I guess that's betterthan Haymitch. Some job of keeping an eye on me he's done.

_-----------------------------------------------------

Mornings are the worst for me. Some nights I run through somany nightmares I wake completely exhausted. It's so hard toget up so I haven't been. I should want to huntbut don't reallyhave a family to provide for anymore.

Sae brings breakfast and my stomach overrides my anxious head.Peeta, in yesterday's clothes, eats his food more quietly thanyesterday. "Why did I wake up at your house this morning?"

I shrug and concentrate on my plate. "I think you just fell whileyou were reading some of your mail."

"Oh." He's having trouble looking me in the eye.

"That's it."

He finishes his breakfast in silence. I stare out the window atnothing in particular.

"I was thinking about making cookies today. Do you want tohelp?" he asks me.

In truth, I've resolved to stare out the window all day, maybetake a napdefinitely not leave the house. But, I'm supposed tostay busy and I can't remember the last time I had a cookie, so Ibite. "I guess," I say as unenthusiastically as possible.


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Most of the ingredients are in his house, but he have to borrowbutter from Sae. She obliges and asks if her granddaughter canhave a few when we're done.

We mix the flour, butter, sugar and eggs together. I'm contenteating the dough, but Peeta says that a real baker wouldn't sticktheir finger in the batter and lick it.

The cookies bake to golden perfection. Peeta makes a frostingbag with a tip for me and shows me how to squeeze and writewith frosting.

He writes a K for Katniss on one of the cookies.

I try to frost an arrow. It looks like a blurry pine tree. Zig zagsare easier so I make a lot of crazy looking cookies before I decideI'm utterly horrible at frosting and just watch Peeta. I marvel athis concentration and find myself staring at his eyelashes onceagain.

He decorates his cookies in everything from precise polka dots towaves to daisies. "Just seeing if I remember," he smiles.

When all the cookies are frosted, Peeta takes the prettiest ones toSae's granddaughter. She lights up. And for a few minutes thatsmall act makes me happy.

It's a short-lived feeling as our next stop is Haymitch's rancidhouse. "You should have frosted a flask cookie for him," I mutterto Peeta as we stand in the doorway plotting a course through thedebris of the last few weeks.

Haymitch is in usual state, passed out in a drunken stupor.

Peeta pokes around in his fireplace until the fire restarts. I makecoffee and wash the coffee cups.

Peeta forbids me from pouring ice water on him, despite myprotests that it would be funny and well-deserved. While Peeta


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sorts his mail, I check his liquor supply and make sure I won'thave to face Haymitch on withdrawal anytime soon.

I'm not sure if Haymitch really has a taste for frosted cookies, but

I place the plate on his table.

"We brought you something," Peeta says coldly after Haymitchfinally stirs.

"Oh, I have the pair of you today. So what are we today? Starcrossed lovers? Enemies? Just two kids from 12?"

"Yes, you have the pair of us. Have you checked on Katniss oncesince she's been here?" There's a frightening repressed rage in

Peeta voice.

"She's still here. Looks fine," he huffs.

"I just wanted to say thanks," Peeta says as he walks toward thedoor. He touches my arm for me to follow.

"Fine!" Haymitch stands loudly shaking the table. "At least Ididn't get her drunk."

"Well that's a relief," Peeta says and slams the door behind him. Ishould follow but I'm frozen in place.

Haymitch looks at me. "Let's you and me take a walk, kid," hesays in a low voice.

"You okay that he's home?" he inquires after a spell.

I nod tentatively. "I think it helps," I say quietly as to not readily

admit it out loud.

"He came home for you," Haymitch says. "He could have stayedin the Capitol, gotten a job anywhere else, but he wanted tomake things right with you."

"I know," I mouth, not sure the words actually escape my mouth.


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"If he makes your worse, you tell me," he looks into my eyes.And I feel like, for the first time since we've been home he islooking out for me.

We walk the rest of the trip to the train station in silence. And Ilook the other way while Haymitch buys some liquor from thetrain attendant

Peeta is washing dishes when I come back to his house. I couldhave gone home, but instead I help him dry the dishes. Whenwe're done, he looks at me questioningly. "Is this what we didbefore?"

All I can do is shake my head. "Not really. We only had a few

days like this. We were always too busy trying to stay alive."

"This feels like what we did before," he sighs. "Only with more ofour friends and family."

He's waiting for more. I settle on the floor by the fireplace andthink through what I should say. It hurts so much to remember,though. Maybe he's better off not knowing how cruel I can be. Hesees that I'm shaking.

Let's start at the beginning," he urges. "What happened when wegot home from the games?"

I rub my neck nervously. "We ignored each other until the victorytour. I didn't speak to you until the day of the tour."

"I remember some of the tour," he says vacantly. He doesn'telaborate so I'm relieved.

"We were a little more normal for a few months when we camehome." The shaking eases up some. "I was on bed rest afterhurting my heel. We worked on my family's plant book. You drew,I wrote. You brought me cheese buns. Then they announced thequell and you insisted on training. So that's it."


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A girl who has defied death so many times shouldn't have troubletelling a story, but I feel like I've survived an attack from thecareers after saying these few vague words. The attack mighteven have been easier.

He asks me a few real or not real questionsreally outrageousabout things the Capitol told him I did. I tried shooting him withmy bow when we got home for the gamesnot real. I took somepoisonous herbs from my mother and put them in his tea just tosee what would happen to himnot real.

One more thing is bugging him though. "So why didn't we speakfor all those months?"

"I'd like to say shock," I said. "We were both still alive. But reallyyou were mad at me."

"Why?"

I tell myself I owe it to him. I don't want to talk about it. Maybehe can ask Haymitch. My hands go to my temples. My eyes startto water. It's too much.

"Because you were madly in love with me and I was confused."

"And now we're both confused." I run out the door unable toanswer any more of his questions.

"Katniss, stay," I hear Peeta call after me.

I lock the door to my house behind me because I don't want towake up with him on my couch. I fall asleep in a closet where hecan't find me.

The next day is a blur. At dinnertime I realize I haven't eaten andam starving. I try to get up, but just feel like crying or screaming.

There's a familiar knock on the door. "Katniss, are you in here?"

No answer.


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"If you are, I brought you dinner."

This makes me want to sob even more. I fight back tears and Imake just enough noise for him to hear me.

"Are you ok?"

Please go away, I think as loudly as I can. "I'm staying here untilyou take this food." The plate clanks as he sits it on the floor. Toomuch silence passes. "Katniss, you're not hurting yourself areyou?" he's starting to sound frightened, so with a momentouseffort I rise and unlock the door. I shrink down in the farthestcorner hugging my knees to my chest.

He sits down and props his back against the doorframe. "What'swrong?"

I shake my head because I don't know what's wrong. I wouldn'tknow where to begin with all of the reasons why I'm upset but atthis very moment no one thing comes to mind.

"What will make you feel better?"

Again, I don't know. I've had such few clear moments in recentmonths.

He makes me eat dinner. My dark mood lightens slightly.

"Have you taken your medicine today?"

"I forgot."

He shakes his head and goes downstairs to fetch my pills. I

consider locking him out but don't have the energy to move. Thepills are supposed to help with my moods, my nightmares, thestress. I don't trust them. He brings back a glass of water andmore pills than normal. I obediently take them but I don't feelinstantly better so I'm disappointed and am not in the mood forPeeta's admonitions.


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"Hey," he says leaning in to me. "I know about your hiding spots,the not eatingall of it. Katniss, it's ok to be upset but we've gotto get you better. Let me help you."

"Why! Why do you care?" I almost scream. "Why are you tryingto help me?" I don't deserve it.

"It's what we do." His sincere answer shuts me up. It's true.

"I don't know what to do," I say weakly.

"Staying busy helps, Katniss. Write letters. Hunt. I'll teach you tobake. Heck, you could even offer to clean Haymitch's house for allI care, just do something."

"Ok." I agree to trynot to cleaning Haymitch's house, of course."I think I'm going to bed now."

Peeta insists on clean pajamas and stays to tuck me in. He turnsto leave, and from under the blankets I ask, "How do I know youwon't hurt me?"

A heartbreakingly sad looks comes across his face. He sits down

in a chair next to the bed. "I'm so sorry." He's almost in tears."Katniss, that wasn't me."

I feel bad for even bringing it up. "I know it wasn't you, but still."

"That's part of the reason the doctors kept me so long." Hetouches my cheek. It's so intimate alarm bells go off in my head.

After so much isolation I don't know how to react. Yet, the touchis gentle, not angry. In it is a hint of the kind boy that risked so

much for me.

His hand, soft and cool, lingers for a few seconds as I study him."Goodnight." He turns to go.


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I extend my arm when he's standing in the doorway. "St," Istop myself, hoping he doesn't see the hurt and longing in myeyes. "Good night," I say into the blankets below my chin.

The front door creaks close. I'm alone again, alone with mynightmares.

_--------------------------

Peeta is standing over me, one arm stretched out to me. I flinch,then take in the sunlight coming from my bedroom window andthe pills and water in his hand, and let myself relax.

Swallowing the pills is easy, pulling myself out of the warmth of

my bed is not. I pull the covers over my head and hope myvisitor will take the hint. He patiently sits in the chair and offersme breakfast. I refuse. He persists and I eat a piece of bread.

My bladder is the only reason I finally leave the bed. Peeta blocksthe path back to my bed and hands me my hunting boots. He'sprobably not going to leave until I'm out of the house.

I trudge to my hunting spot hoping my head will be less foggy

when I wake up. The day progresses but my head doesn't clear.Shooting is out of the question so I dig some onions and picksome wild dill. The days are getting warmer, I'm dressed in longsleeves and I'm freezing. My skin feels like it's on fire.

I make it home though, barely. I mean to call my mother but goto bed before dinner and don't get to the living room again thatnight.

Peeta brings me dinner that night. I throw the blanket over myhead. He only leaves after I drink a glass of water and eat a roll.

It's the same the next day. I'm forced out of bed into activity.The saving grace of the morning was Buttercup hissing at Peetawhen he wanted to me to get up. He ignored my protests, sayingthe activity good for me. Today I feel worse, though. Out of habit


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I take my bow, I know my hands aren't steady enough to use it.I'm shivering, though the sun is shining. I think I'm sick, but it'sbeen so long since I've been well that I'm not sure. I count on myfingers; it's been over eight months since I wasn't mentally

disoriented, in and out of the hospital or a "shell-shockedlunatic."

I'm in the middle of a tall grove of trees. Looking at the tops ofthe trees makes me dizzy. A mockingjay calls and all I can thinkof is Prim and those tortured screams from the arena. They can'thurt her now. I know that. I also know that I need to get upbecause there is no one to rescue me. I'm in a spot only Galeknows and am borderline delirious. Maybe Haymitch should have

put that transmitter in my skull. Then I could call for help, buthe'd still be drunk. So having my skull intact works for me.

One foot in front of the other, slowly I make my way out of thewoods and back to town. I get as far as Peeta's house and slumpon his couch.

He pulls a hot loaf of bread from the oven. It smells like the dill Ileft on the counter at my house yesterday. He putters around hiskitchen bakery for a few minutes before checking on me.

"Katniss, you don't look so good," he exclaims.

My eyes are half open. "I need my mother," I plead before fallingasleep.

Peeta sits at the desk talking to my mother. I'm on my couchnow. There's some flour on one of my sleeves.

"Tell her I have a fever. And maybe a sunburn or poison ivy."

He talks to my mother for a few more minutes, looking at me andanswering her questions.


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His hand touches my forehead. "You are burning up." He takesmy arm like a child and rolls up my sleeves. "Katniss! This is notgood," he yells at me.

Peeta doesn't yell at me. Maybe it's happened more in the lastyear, but this isn't the voice of mutt Peeta, he's concerned.

"Your skin grafts are too dry and in terrible shape. We should getyou to the hospital."

I look up at him with lost eyes. "I can't leave."

He storms out of the room. I want to tell him that I've asked forsome salve, that my skin was shredded and never treated during

my trial and that I'll do a better job of caring for my skin. But Ihate the new skin. I just want normal skin.

Peeta's talking about damaged grafts, infection, rejection andscarring as he comes back into the front door carrying a box thatclangs when he walks.

I roll up my pant leg. My skin is looking worse than it should, ifthat's even possible. He pulls a jar of salve out of the box. I reach

for it. "Let me," he says.

He rubs the mint-smelling cream onto my calves, then forearms.His fingertips send shivers up my arms and to my chest. Theshivers turn to goosebumps. I'm sick so I blame the cold chills.

He's calmer now and looks me in the eye. "Since we can't get youto the hospital, you'll need injections to stop the infection beforeit gets worse. They sent me home with some in case I got sick.Your mother says they'll work for you and she'll have somemedicine sent over here as soon as she can. I wouldn't hesitateto give them to you Katniss, but needles triggers my flashbacks.You should know that."

He swallows some pills. "I should be okay, but I'm usually reallytired afterward so don't worry about me."


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The syringes appear. "I'll do it," I say and try to take them fromhim. He must be channeling my distant mother because he givesme three shots exactly the way a doctor would.

The last needle is withdrawn from my thigh and his hands start totwitch. He grasps the arm of the couch and I can tell he's tryingso hard to fight it. He scrunches his face in agony and finally,exhausted from collapses on the lower part of the couch.

The phone rings and rings, but between my fever and Peeta lyingon top of my legs, I can't get up so the phone goes unanswered.Our wild night includes night sweats, nightmares screaming andme thrashing.

The phone rings again in the morning and this time Peeta, whosomehow ended up on the floor, wakes up in time to answersleepily.

"I'm glad her mother called you. She's running a feverYes shehad three injectionsOkay I'll do thatI know she hatestalkingLet me take care of her and what time is good to call youback. Okay. I'll probably be here today and tomorrow. No, I'mgood, I think. Don't call Haymitch if I don't answer. She's got a

neighbor that checks on her twice a day. Ok. I'll call then."

I drift back to sleep and wake up on my stomach with a coldsquare of moist bandage being applied to one of the sicklierlooking spots on my back. I feel another cold bandage on my calf,where an especially big piece of new grafted skin had flaked off.Peeta rolls me over and gets the third spot on the upper part ofmy arm.

I'm woozy and feel like we're in the cave again. Only I'm the onewith the fever.

"Hey," he says when I stir hours later. "Your fever's broken. Thinkyou can eat?"


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He hands me a bowl of broth. It's yellow and each spoonful tasteslike chicken. He comes and sits next to me. "I remember thecave," he says ever so quietly. "You brought me back to life."

"I have these shiny memories of you.," he shakes his head."Breaking my fingers in my sleep and much worse, but that's notwhat happened?"

No. I shake my head. He asks a few more simple questions. Iknow the questions will only get harder and that we'll have topainfully go through them. Since that conversation ended civillyit's probably a good time to pretend to fall asleep again.

He pats my leg and calls the doctor back.

I wonder if the doctor feels like the glorified babysitter of twovery crazy kids. I hope they're paying him well. For as sane ashe's made Peeta, they should.

It must be one of Peeta's therapy sessions because he talks forthe next hour. He talks about being so alone without his family,how he can't bare his empty house and how I locked myself in acloset when he asked me a question.

I listen closer to see what the doctor says. "As much as shewould like you to think she's tough, she's really sensitive andguarded. You'll be lucky to get one answer out of her at a time.What were you asking her about?"

"Apparently I didn't talk to her for almost six months after wewon the games and I'm not sure why."

"So you were mad at her and she doesn't want to talk about it?"

"Well, when you put it like that, maybe that doesn't sound sobad. Maybe I'll ask Haymitch."

"Just be careful, she's fragile right now."


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Peeta laughs. "She's such a survivor. It's funny to think of her asfragile."

After the phone call, Peeta busies himself in my kitchen making

my house smell like fresh baked bread.

I decide to do something other than eavesdrop and sleep anddecide to start on those letters again.

"Where should I start?" I ask to no one in particular.

Buttercup chooses this moment to sit on a stack of letters fromfriends. The first one is from Johanna. It's her new address.Should I have expected anything else? I write her back and tell

her that I'm home in 12 that Peeta is home too and we're drivingeach other crazy. She'll like that.

Next letter is from Octavia who also sends her new address andtells me all about the changes in the capitol and to let her know ifI need makeup help.

I don't know what to write her back, so next is a package fromFlavius who has sent me some purple lipstick to cheer me up. It

should go perfectly with my grey skin and green complexion.

There's a stack of letters from writers and reporters. I ignore allexcept for a letter jointly from Cressida and Pollux who want tocheck in on usfor television of course. That one goes in to the'not sure' pile too.

Plutarch asks when he can come film. Ick. I think. I write backthat I'm sick and need new skin grafts and maybe later. I hopethat grosses him out enough that I am not camera ready.

Peeta comes over to check on my bandages. They stay onanother day then I need to soak my skin in the tub, followed mylots of salve.

It's late so I fall asleep. Peeta takes the chair instead of the floor.


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Tonight's nightmare is about being hunted by camera crews. I'mnot the only one with bad dreams. "Please, no more venom."Peeta thrashes. "I know she's a mutt. AUGH."

Not really sure if it's a good idea, I take his hand. He squeezesmy hand back, wakes up looks around goes back to sleepclutching my hand so hard I can't move. I spend the rest of thenight uncomfortably propped against the chair.

I wake to find Peeta's eyebrows arched in a perplexed look. "Uh,Katniss. Why are you sitting there?"

"Ugh, something about 'no more venom,'" I mumble into theupholstery of the chair.

Before I can protest, I'm whisked up the stairs and deposited inthe bed. He brings me breakfast on a tray and tells me I shouldbe on the mend if I can just take it easy today.

It's raining again and the constant lull of rain on the roof makes itimpossible to do anything but rest.

I smell baking bread and spy Peeta standing in the doorway. "I

used to sketch in here?"

"Yes," I beam. "My family's plant book. That's what we worked onwhen I was on bed-rest that month."

He sits on the bed while I tell him about his visits. He won't letme up to get the plant book so I tell him that I think I saw it in acloset with my dad's hunting jacket.

Peeta lies on his stomach on the farthest edge of the bed and

spends the afternoon tracing the plant drawings with his fingers.His brows are locked in concentration.

This goes on for a while. Without a word, he leaves the room andbrings back a sketchbook. He flips it open to a page. He's drawnPrim attending to him in the hospital in District 13.


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I go to place the page in the plant book. "She deserves so muchmore than a page," I tell him. Peeta lets me look through hissketchbook. It's full of pictures of his family, Finnick, BoggsIwish I could give them all a page. I ask Peeta about making a

new memory book. He seems to like the idea.

In the evening, it's time to soak the burn bandages I run a bathwhile he's in the other room. I check the box of supplies and addsome medical salts to the water.

I close the door before he can come in, but his familiar knock letsme know that's not part of his plan. I let him check the bandagesand order him out of the room.

He seems genuinely concerned, so as a concession, I unlock theclosed door while he sits on the other side.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" he questions. "I was thinkingabout baking, but maybe sketching sounds good," he continueson about sketches of the games, nightmares, nurses... I half-listen.

When my fingers resemble plump pink prunes, I peel of the slimy

bandages.

"You doing okay in there, Katniss?"

"Fine," I say. "What do I do about these bandages?"

He tells me that if the skin looks okay I just need to keep salveon it, but that he wants to inspect the areas first. I dry off anddress before he enters. His hands are warm when he appliessalve to my patchwork. He starts at my shoulders and works hisway down my arms and to the exposed skin on my back. Ithought my fever had broken, but I still get goosebumps when hetouches me.


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After I dry my hair, I'm surprised that he's still around. Dr.Mellark is free from his medical duties, but he's watchingtelevision in the living room.

I stand in the doorway and see my flickering coal costume fromthe Quarter Quell. I take a seat on the other side of the couchquietly.

"I've never seen this," I tell a transfixed Peeta.

"I've seen several versions," he says with a sad look in his blueeyes.

I don't know how to respond, so I just watch. Peeta skips over

the interviews and I'm relieved not to have to talk about weddingdresses and babies.

The tape comes to the day of the Quell. I think of Cinna's beatingand clutch my knees to my chest.

He must have caught my moment of anguish, because Peetasends me an inquisitive look.

"Cinna," I begin. "The morning of, they froze me in the tube andmade me watch while they beat Cinna bloody with spiked gloves."

He starts the video from the moment we're standing on ourplates in the water-filled arena. I'm startled at how quickly Iregain my composure after Cinna's beating and watch as thetributes swim toward the Cornucopia.

"Look at you," Peeta marvels as Finnick and I defend theCornucopia. "We didn't stand a chance."

Finnick rescues Peeta off the plate and our group starts up intothe jungle.

At some point I feel my hand grasp his. I beg him to skip thenext scene. "Please, no."


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After a long look into my eyes, he obliges. He's trying to figuresomething out.

"They said my heart stopped."

Silent nod.

I close my eyes until the Peeta on the screen in revived.

"This is much more puzzling," he freezes the frame on my tears."This is not the same girl as in the first games."

I shake my head.

"One of these days, you're going to tell me what changed."

We watch the rest of the games. He grips my hand tighter andthe TV shows me forcing him through the fog, diving in front of amutt monkey for him. When it comes time for the beach scenewhere he gives me the locket, I tell him we don't need to see it,but I don't object when he watches it anyway. And I rememberthat girl, determined to get him out of the arena alive, even if itmeant her ownmy ownlife.

The replay shows him giving me the pearl.

"I lost it in the fire bombing that day in the Capitol," I admit.

"That's too bad," he shrugs.

When it comes to the part where Johanna hits me and cuts myarm, Peeta touches the apple-sized scar, now riddled with whiteand pink burn marks.

"That was an excellent hit," I say. "That concussion put me in thehospital and left me confused for months."

On screen the arena blows up and the tape ends withoutcommentary. I know that at any second the questions will start.


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But his first question isn't what I expect.

"This?" he motions to our entwined hands. "This is how wewatched the first games?"

I nod.

"Was it for show?"

I take several moments to calmly choose my words. This is aconversation that has to happen. Though I want to run away,scream at him I persist. "It was the only thing keeping me in thechair, keeping me from running off the stage."

"Okay," he accepts my answer. He takes a moment to consider.

"And that video, that's how you remember the quell?" he asks.

I nod.

"Did you know?"

"No idea."

"Haymitch told me afterward that you didn't know. I wasn't sure Icould believe him," Peeta says. "How did you know to blow outthe force field?"

I want to tell him that it's the same as the berriesthat I didn'treally know.

"Beetee had the wire on his knife. I think he electrocuted himselftrying to blow the force field himself."

Do I tell him that I thought he might be far enough from theexplosion to live from the explosion I was sure I'd die from?

"Why were you calling my name?" he asks.

"Why were you calling mine," I deflect.


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"Katniss, I'm trying to remember."

"Okay," I say sternly, then tell him about the double-deal withHaymitch.

"You two and your secrets," he scoffs.

"I could say the same thing."

We're each a little angry with the other, but I'm not yelling orstorming out so I count it as progress.

I continue the story from the explosion when I woke up in ahovercraft. I leave out the bit about looking for him with a

syringe.

"I was really happy when I heard you were alive," I offer.

Apparently Haymitch has told him this part because he's heardabout my various breakdowns before. One less embarrassingthing to tell him, I think.

I want to know what happened to him. But maybe I don't.

He says goodnight and returns to his house. I stay on the couch,feeling a little emptier. I pull a blanket around me and shiftmyself on the cushions until I can find a softer spot.

The door clicks again and I hear footsteps come to the couch.

"I was worried about you." I stare at him through slowly shuttinglids. "Maybe I should keep an eye on you tonight."

When I don't object, he moves the coffee table and puts somepillows and blankets from the hall closet on the floor.

He knows my fever has broken and that I'm fine. My guess is hedidn't want to face his empty house. Yet he chose to come hometo his empty house, not live in a new district with a new friend. I


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can understand why he didn't go back to 13 or the Capitol. I'dprobably do the same thing.

Tonight's nightmares are of Peeta dying, brandishing his knife

over and over again into the force field, me calling his name andnot being able to save him in time. It comes in repeats, each timeslightly different. The second time, I run towards him and fall offthe edge of the arena. The third time I dream he's so close andby fingertips I can't reach him. My eyes snap open and I amstaring into sleepy blue eyes, covered partially in sandy hair.

It takes me a few seconds to place myself, but the stiff couchcushions aren't under my frame anymore.

"I must have fallen off the couch," I say in a voice too sleepybetray my embarrassment. "I thrash a lot in my sleep."

He nods. "You talk too."

It's not yet dawn but I have to get out of the house. By the time Ithrow on my old boots and put my bow over my shoulder I'malmost awake.

"Any requests?" I turn to Peeta.

He yawns. "Haven't had one of your squirrels in a while."

I nod. A memory of my father asking my mother this samequestion and kissing her goodbye flashes through my head. Idismiss it as the after-effects of being jarred so completely frommy sleep.

With the fever gone and a few days of rest I take the familiarpath more surely than I have since I returned. I reacquaintmyself with my bow, take my time aiming, practicing my shots.My first squirrel is messy, through the belly. By the third one, it'sthrough the eye. It's such a victory. I feel like a little girl againand want to run to show someone. But I'm alone in this forestand that's okay.


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I lose myself in the hunt. I set the snare line, try not to think ofGale. Fatigue, after so many weeks of inactivity, sets in quicklyand I rest against trees. In the afternoon I nap against a tree. It'snot the safest thing I've ever done so I'll need to pace myself

better next time. I get a rabbit before I head back into town. Ineeded this day.

Sae is ecstatic when I drop the game off at her house. Shepromises a special dinner. I'm in such a good mood I politely askif she would mind fixing Haymitch a plate too. She agrees as longas she doesn't have to deliver it. For that I volunteer Peeta.

Three houses down from mine, I smell pie. Burnt pie. I barge inand present my sometimes caretaker with his prize. "Through theeye," I say.

And before I can find out what's distracting him to make him burnthe pies, I'm out the door.

That evening, Peeta and Sae bring me dinner. Peeta talks aboutbread, I listen. It's the same for several days. I venture furtherout into the woods and bring a little bit more to the dinnerconversation. How anyone could talk that much about bread, I

have no idea.

Peeta checks on me every morning. He gives me a gentle pushout of the door when I need it. If I don't leave the house heinsists that I do some household chore to keep myself busy. If Idon't leave the bed I have to work on the memory book. He saysthere will be no more hours of staring into space. If I want to dothat I have to go to the woods. But when I get there, there'salways so much to watch.

On some of my worst mornings, I still hide behind rows of pantsin my closet. It's not the best hiding spot and Peeta will come andsit silently, like Dr. Aurelius used to do, in the doorway until Icome out. Sometimes he'll bring a sketchbook. Watching himbrings me focus and on several occasions I'm lured out of myspot just to see what he's drawing. He'll work on sketches for the


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book or scenes from around the district, past and present: theway the town square looked before last summer's bombings, howthe slanted Seam houses look now and lots of pictures of hisfamily and their bakery.

He stops sitting in the doorway and inches closer to me as thedays pass. One day, he takes my arm and with the charcoal hewas sketching with writes: Hunt. Dinner. Free Time.

It didn't work in 13 but when Peeta does it, I find it amusing.Does it help give me purpose? I don't know, but some days it'sexactly what I need to snap out of one of my moods.

He will write the dinner menu on my arm or a memory he wants

to discuss. I hold my hand out for his pen and his arm onemorning to join in the game. He smiles until I write Go Away.

It turns into a game we play a few times a week. My moods areimproving and I'll write bread requests on his arm or "do thedishes."

He sits closer to me these days. Eventually his arms find me. Hewraps me up. As hard as I try to shove him off, he pulls me in

harder. I stop fighting him and probably stay there too longnotknow what to do next.

It's not entirely welcome at first. I don't know what to think ofthe gesture and it makes me want to cry. So he holds me while Isob, even though I don't really know why I'm crying.

Eventually, feeling him next to me calms me. I listen to the riseand fall of his breaths and focus on my breathing. It clears my

head, especially on rough mornings when rage and sadnessenvelop me.

Instead of a hiding spot, the closet becomes sort of a safe haven.I still hide, from everyone but Peeta. The small space helps meclear my head; makes my problems seem smaller and shuts awaythe rest of the world.


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I take a pen and reach for Peeta's arm one morning. While I'mdeciding what to write, I trace the pattern of his skin with myfingertips. He leans into me. Our noses are less than an inchapart. My breathing quickens as he looks intently into my eyes. I

think I know what's going to happen next, but as quickly as heleaned in he turns his head to the opposite side.

"Sorry," he brushes it off. "I don't know where that came from."He leaves before I have time to register what happened.

He doesn't come for dinner that night and I try to brush it off. It'sbecome such a habit for us that I have to count in my head tocalm the anxiety that comes from breaking the routine.

I take the plate of dinner to his house in case he's working lateand I can sense something is wrong the moment I click the dooropen. I can hear the water rushing from the tap, see the sudsbillowing in the kitchen sink but Peeta isn't in the room.

I shut off the water and listen. There's movement not far awayand find him in the formal dining room. He's clutching a chairwith one hand, sitting at a table covered in boxes. He's stilltwitching slightly and the few red drops on the floor probably

have something to do with the hand he's cradling. There's amedical kit in front of him so I open it for him. With one hand hetakes a yellow pill, followed by a blue gel tablet. His eyes arecloudy again. I take his bleeding hand in mine. The wound isn'tdeep enough to need stitches so I clean the cut and put sometiny but sturdy bandages on him. I think Prim called thembutterfly bandages.

No words have been exchanged at this point. Peeta rests his head

on the table. He's obviously in pain and I help him walk over toan armchair he'll be more comfortable in. I lean into to arrange alight blanket across him. His muscles are stiff and his pupils arethe smallest I've seen since that mission in the Capitol. I perch onthe chair's wide arm to sit with him. "What did they do you?" Imurmur. And I'm overwhelmed with guilt, plagued by visions of


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white lab coats, mad scientists, black boots and blood. My handsfall into the familiar motion of stroking his hair and I slowly calmmyself down. Peeta sleeps more peacefully now and as I watchhim sleep I nod off myself. I catch myself and quickly slip out the

door and into the night. I didn't leave any lights on in my housebut it's not hard to make my way home. I hadn't planned ontaking care of Peetaand it confuses me.

When the sun rises I'm restless and return to Peeta's house tocheck on him. I open the door and he's up drying dishes.

He's grinning from ear to ear. "Good morning Katniss. I had thenicest dream last night."

"Oh."

"I dreamed I was washing dishes when I had one of myflashbacks. I cut my hand on a knife in the sink and you came totake of me. You even stayed with me until I fell asleep."

I'm expressionless, silent, unwilling to let him read me.

"I think it was a dream anyway. I don't remember yesterday

evening." He rubs his eye and his bandages are visible.

"I brought you something." I say, betrayed by a hint ofenthusiasm in my voice. I had ordered it shortly after Peeta camehome, but I'd forgotten about it until this morning. I heat up ateapot. When the water boils, I add in the mix and hand him amug.

He stares into the mug, which doesn't contain our usual tea. Hetilts his head and gives me a strange look.

"It's hot chocolate. One of your favorites," I reply.

He takes a sip of the warm beverage and breathes it in. He closeshis eyes and tries to remember. "Oh yes, this I do like."


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I let myself relax for a tiny second and smile.

Spring has long been in full bloom. The leaves welcome me backwith my favorite color, the trees are flowering and the

mockingjays whistle songs as they make their nests. The woodsare so alive today and I trek further than I usually do. I make itout to the lake for the first time since the television crew camehere last fall. The weather is so warm I go swimming and after Ido, I feel like a new person.

I even surprise myself by singing a few bars in the shower when Iget home. My voice resonates off the bathroom walls making itsound fuller than in the training center. Buttercup swats at my

hair while I dry and braid it. Our game is interrupted when I hearmovement in the hall.

Peeta has come for dinner and he stands outside the doorway. Myfirst thought is to say something crass for disturbing me, butwhen I eye the plate of cheesebuns in his hands, my empty andgrateful stomach takes over.

"This is great, Peeta. I'm starving," I grab one.

He smirks at me and we walk downstairs to a dinner of Sae'slatest creation and a loaf of warm bread.

Peeta watches the news after dinner, as he does every night. I lethim put his arm around me, partly because I'm too tired from myday of hunting and swimming to object. I should thank him forthe cheese buns, but I let my head on his shoulder say it instead.

My head jerks upward and apparently I momentarily dozed off.

Peeta's soft laugh greets me as I try to wake up. "I was going toask you if you wanted to take a walk," he says. "But..."

I'm sleepy but spring evenings can be so beautiful. "I'm awake," Irespond, still blinking my eyes.

He shakes his head. "How about tomorrow?"


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I half-laugh in agreement and consider going back to sleep.Usually this would be my cue to go to bed, but I stay where I amand allow him to linger as he sometimes does. I'm used to thecompany now.

He turns off the television and picks up a goods catalog he left atmy house a few days ago. He thumbs through pages of cannedfood, plant seeds and every day household items. "Needanything?" he asks.

"My mother takes care of that for me," I say with a guiltyconscience. She'd probably do the same for him if I asked, but hedoesn't really seem to mind checking the boxes for flour, yeast,sugar, eggs, tea, fever medicine and some new shirts. I'm lookingat his order. "Am I bothering you?"

"You're fine." He seals the order in an envelope and sets in backon the table. "If you go through town tomorrow morning, couldyou take this?"

Of course I don't mind dropping it off in the post box in the trainstation.

He reclines back and puts his hands behind his head. I lay myhead back into his lap. I do this without thinking and as soon as Ido think, I have to count in my head to calm myself. It's an oldhabit to curl up with him, but not something I'm sure I should donow. I'm about to get up, but he looks so happy twirling my hair.The next thing I know it's around midnight and I've been sleepingfor a few hours. I wouldn't normally mind sleeping on the couch,but my head isn't on a pillow.

As lightly as I can I pick myself up and start toward the stairs.

Peeta's hand brushes the spot where my head had been restingand he opens his eyes. "Good morning," he says while stretching.

"Why did you let me sleep so long?" Where he's gentle, I'm blunt.


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He shrugs. "I didn't want to disturb you." I don't really know whatto say to that. He begins towards the door. "Besides it's nice tosee you smile."

I don't go to the lake the next day. Instead I climb trees and lookfor eggs. The tiny new branches get tangled in my hair. It takesalmost an hour to brush the knots and clumps out. I'm about tocut the tangles out, but I can't find the scissors that used to be inthe bathroom drawer. I phone my mother to get some kind ofdetangling product. She's on a break from the hospital andfeeling chatty. She wants to know how I'm doing. She alwaysasks about Peeta. There's nothing to report there and I don'tbring up the orders, because she will probably suggest I order myown things. But I like it that she does it for me. Even thoughshe's on the opposite side of the country, she still tries to takecare of me.

Peeta is waiting at the table for me to come to dinner when Ifinally hang up.

"My mom always asks about you," I say when we sit down.

"That's nice," he replies. "She was always so nice to me in thehospital."

This all makes me miss my mother so I change the subject andtell him about looking forward to strawberries in the summer,which makes me think of Madge. I scrunch my eyes and try toturn off these thoughts.

Peeta brings me the memory book so I can channel my tears intosomething productive. He must recognize the look. Sometimeswe work on it together. We worked on it separately at first.Tonight I sit on the couch with my back propped against his side.I write about Madge while he watches the news. By the time thenewscast wraps up with a segment on a massive new lumber millthat has opened in District 7 to help with the rebuilding, I've


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written through my sadness and welcome the fresh air from thewalk he suggested last night.

I lean back to ask if it's time.

"I kind of like this." He tries to wrap me up. "It feels so familiar,like there's something I almost remember."

He wants me to tell him something, but I'm tired of sitting still. Inone fluid motion I slip down and out of his grasp. "Are youcoming?" Peeta follows me out the door and picks a path aroundthe back of Victor's Village. A few more of the houses areoccupied now, but most of the people coming back are trying torebuild their houses in town or the Seam.

We're winding back to my house. Peeta is being surprisinglyquiet, so I concentrate on the warm, sweet-smelling air. Theprimroses at my house are starting to bloom and the breezecarries their perfume throughout the village.

"Thank you," I nudge him with my thin shoulder.

"You're welcome," he nudges me back.

We stop to take a closer look at the flowers. My thoughts flood toher. On a night like tonight she would be laughing. She would askme to dance, or maybe attempt a waltz with Buttercup if Ideclined.

I hear a snap and turn to see Peeta cutting a green stem. I didn'tknow he carried a pocketknife. I try to get a better look at theknife when he presents the single yellow bloom to me. I hadn'texpected it. My first thought is to tell him that I don't want towatch it die, but he looks so sincere and proud of himself. Primwould take it joyfully so I accept it without expressing myobjection.


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"Katniss," he starts. I look into his blue eyes and wonder whatcomes after giving me the primrose. He looks at his boots, so Iknow it's not easy for him to say. "Are we.Can we"

I have never been so glad to hear a giant clang from Haymitch'shouse. We both look that way. Peeta shakes his head, rolls hiseyes and looks back at me. I'm about to leave to check on mydrunken mentor when I hear a string of expletives. He'sconscious so I guess he's okay.

I twirl the bloom in my fingers for a distraction. Peeta doesn'tcontinue with his question, but I have a suspicion I know what hewas going to ask.

"You're a good friend," I say, making a point of smelling theflower. If he wasn't going to ask about whatever semblance of arelationship we have now then my words might be taken asthanks for the token in my hands.

But saying the words remind me that I should be nicer to him.He's been so kind to me while I've been less than sane, muchkinder than I deserve. I put my hand on his arm, and I'm aboutto tell him that he's the reason I'm alive, but the day with the

nightlock capsule floods back to me. The rooftops around mestart to spin in a circle. My head goes fuzzy and I tighten my gripon Peeta's arm to stay upright.

In my delirium I got back to the night the squad was campingand hear him sneer: Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiance. Target. Mutt.Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally.

I let go, part of me hoping to fall and feel the hard ground

beneath me. I stay where I am and feel Peeta's arm behind me,refusing to let me go.

"So, we're friends?" he says. His face is a little too close to minefor comfort. But he's not that angry boy he was so I try to bringmyself back to Victor's Village. I focus on his question and beginto regain my balance.


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I nod slowly. The rooftops stop swirling, but I'm uncertain. I closemy eyes and try to compose myself.

"Come here," I feel him say into my ear. I'm not sure if I stepped

into him or if he pulled me closer, but his hug feels safe andwarm and right.

"I'm dizzy," I quietly admit to his chest.

"I had no idea I had that effect on you," he quips.

It really is a terrible comment given the state of my head so whoknows where that laugh came from, but once it bursts out of mymouth my head clears and I come back to reality. I give Peeta a

playful shove and he puts his arm around my shoulders andguides me gently forward.

The strolls become a fair weather habit. Peeta says it's nice to getout of his kitchen bakery and wind down after so much timeindoors. He tells me about his day or some memory from the pasthe's trying to piece together.

We don't have a set route and we take turns picking our pathsthrough the different corners of the district. I show him aroundthe parts of the Seam I can still bear to walk through. And whenwe pass too close to my old house my hand fits effortlessly intohis. I watch as people trickle back to the district and houses inthe Seam begin to be repaired. My boot crunches the dirt andwhat little gravel remains and I marvel at the freedom of walkingaround the district without the electrified fence or the constant

threat of peacekeepers.

On Tuesdays Peeta plays weekly game of chess with Haymitch.Their activity bores me to sleep, but I stay to referee in caseknives are thrown and boards knocked over. The swearing is tobe expected.


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The beauty of this arrangement is that since Peeta beat Haymitcha few weeks ago, Haymitch has been consistently less drunk onTuesdays than any other day of the week. At this game,Haymitch traps Peeta's king and gets up to leave.

"Almost forgot," Haymitch cocks his head. "You two are the talkof the town. Heard you were walking through town center,holding hands and smooching."

I almost fall off the couch.

"That's not really how I remember it," Peeta huffs.

"Just be careful," Haymitch warns. "Unless you really want to film

a special for Plutarch."

This means no more walks for me and I slink out before Peetahas a chance to say anything further.

He still tries the next day. "Come with me?" he points out thedoor.

I don't budge. He shakes his head. "I've got something coming in

on the train and I could use a hand."

"I have some things to do around the house." Peeta muffles alaugh in his mouth. He does the dishes. I only do the laundrywhen there's absolutely nothing left to wear. I clean up behindmyself so the house stays clean enough to suit me. "Yard work?"I attempt.

"I can take a hint," he says disdainfully.

I make a show of tending to the primrose bushes. I water themand Buttercup helps by darting between my legs and trying to tripme. "You are a rotten cat," I yell. He fluffs himself up at thecompliment.

Peeta comes back from the station carrying one of those giantflour sacks that probably weighs more than me. I pretend to be


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immersed in my watering. He drops off the sack and walks toHaymitch's, not even looking at me as he passes. I'm wonderingwhat they're up to, so I take a peek in the window. Haymitchoffers Peeta a drink.

"Have you seen Buttercup?" I stumble in as loudly as I possiblecan. "I thought I saw him run in here."

"Peeta, will you help me look for him?"

Peeta stands up and comes back to my house with me. He laughswhen he sees Buttercup sitting on the front steps. "Katniss, youare a lousy liar. But it was sweet that you didn't want me drinkingwith Haymitch."

I take offense to the sweet comment and cross my arms acrossmy chest. "I'm not taking care of you when you're drunk."

"I bought Haymitch that bottle at the station."

"I don't need two drunks," I roll my eyes at him.

"Come on," he takes my arm and leads me inside. We sit at the

table. "Why won't you come with me tonight? You seem to enjoyyourself walking through the district."

"You heard what Haymitch said. I don't want the cameras around.Remember how annoying they were before?" It only occurs to meafter the words spill out that he might not remember.

"So you don't want to be bothered to have to pretend to loveme?" His voice is cold.

I ignore the last part of his question. "I don't want the camerasperiod. Pretending. Not pretending."

"I thought you liked the attention."


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"It was also so forced. Film this. Film that. Everything was oncamera, too." I'm getting upset so I busy myself and make tea. "Ijust want to be left alone. They can't have anything else."

The teapot whistles and I steep the tea. "What about you?"

"I've had worse things happen to me than cameras."

Now, I get to feel guilty all over again. I hand him his tea.

"And it wasn't all bad," he takes my hand. "Those videos gave mesome of my memories back." But not all of them, I think. "But ifyou don't want them around anymore, I can respect that." Hechanges his tone from serious to playful. "Then I wouldn't have to

worry you were ki." I put my hand over his mouth in case hesays what I think he might. "for the cameras," he gets out when Iuncup my hand.

"Don't make me regret not slipping something into your tea," Isay.

I'm still hesitant to go out with Peeta so he goes by himself, oftenhanding out extra bread he's made. He comes back to my houseand we resume our tradition of lingering too long at each other'shouses, napping and going home in the middle of the night. Onenight he's out a little later than usual and Sae stops by to tell meI need to go and fetch him. She says he's at the train station andshe couldn't get him to budge. I couldn't carry him home, but Iknow why she asked me.

He's sitting on a bench with a sketchpad, though there's notenough light to draw. I try sitting down next to him. He's drawn avery empty train station. The pencil is still in his hand, but hisgaze is distant.

"Let's go home," I urge softly. He blinks at the word "home," butotherwise doesn't respond. I pace the platform and finally lie on


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the bench across from him and look at the stars while I wait forhim to come back from wherever he's gone.

The tracks are silent and I listen to the hum of the distant

cicadas. I break the quiet. "Peeta, do you need me to get yourpills?" I'm starting to worry. He doesn't look like he's having oneof his episodes, but I'm not sure. "I don't want you to be out hereall night."

He blinks, shakes his head and looks up at me. "I was thinkingabout something."

I fight the urge to laugh. "Well, welcome back."

He gets up and walks over to me. I'm taking up the entire bench,so he picks up my legs and puts them across his lap so he can sitdown.

We should head home but I'm enjoying the night air, more sonow that I know Peeta is okay. He doesn't motion to leave, so Idecide to make the most our time at the deserted station.

"See those three stars," I say pointing upward. "That's Orion's

belt. He was a hunter." The lore came from long before the DarkDays. My father told me about him when I was young. I point outthe different stars that make up the constellation and he craneshis neck.

Before long I have Peeta smiling. We're laughing together by thetime the very last train of the day speeds through the station. Ilet the gust of wind flow over me and listen as the train rumblestowards District 13 on the newly connected track.

Peeta's hand is on my leg. "Katniss, tell me about the nights onthe train." His voice is soft and his mood reflective.

"Hmm" I sigh, still staring at the stars. The late nights on thecouch, the entwined limbsof course he wonders.


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"I can't exactly ask Haymitch."

"Nightmares," I begin. "I know you have nightmares every night."

I prop myself up and his eyes search mine.

"They started after our Hunger Games."

I have his attention and I tell the story slowly, deliberately. Ournights together started on the trains of the victory tour. Thestress of the president's threat made the nightmares worse. I'dwake screaming every night. "You spent sleepless nights roamingthe halls. You would knock on my door to check on me. You'dcome in and stay with me until I fell asleep. Then you'd just stay

the whole night."

"It was quite the scandal," I tease, getting up to walk home. Hefollows. "I can remember the lecture Effie gave me now. Butmaybe she was just mad that her sleeping pills didn't work."

"Did it help? Me staying me with you?"

"We both slept better."

"I can't remember a night without nightmares," he mutters. "Butyou, you were smiling the other night. I can't figure that out."

"You used to smile in your sleep," I tell him. "On the trains."

"Oh." He thinks for a minute. "Our nightswas this only on tour?Was it every night?"

"You think my mother would have allowed it after the tour?" I try

to lighten the mood.

Of course, there were the nights in the Training Tower, too. Idon't bring them up because the memories of a restless night andlearning what Peeta's nightmares used to be about stings toodeeply. So much has changed.


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"Was there anything else?" Peeta asks. "Because the Capitolmade me think there was more."

We've reached the village now and stand on my doorstep. Every

answer I think of isn't good enough for him. If I tell him it wasjust sleep, that's cold. If I tell him it wasn't romantic, he'll askabout love. If I tell him it was survival, that doesn't seem entirelyhonest. If I hint at how much I appreciated and missed himkeeping me safe so many nights, well he can't be that sameperson anymore.

After an eternity of silence I lean in and bury my head in hischest. His arms wrap around me and the right answer comes tome. I take him by the hand. "I have an idea."

I don't want to get up. It's the same thought I have everymorning, before I roll over, throw the blankets over my head andbegin to dread the new day. Today though, it's not dread thatanchors me to the bed but an intoxicating warmth.

"There's that smile," Peeta whispers as he lightly moves a wisp ofhair off of my forehead. I listen to his steady breathing and lethim think I'm still sleeping.

Peeta is frequently at my house in the morning, often urging meto get up and out the door, but I forgot what mornings with himare like: warm and serenely quiet, the opposite of the morningtantrums I'm trying to move past. I peek out of one eyelid andsee sunlight streaming down onto our pillows. A shaft of light hitsthe hand of the outstretched arm I'm laying on.

I hear him shift his weight and the arm that was draped across

my midsection slides away. I think he's getting up, but feel hishead move closer to mine. "Thank you," he whispers so softly Ican barely discern it. I don't budge as he kisses the top of myhead. If I'm asleep it doesn't count.

I count to 60 and then roll sleepily over. I blink my eyes openand catch a glimpse of messy blonde hair and expectant eyes


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looking in my direction. I look at the eggshell colored wall beyondhim. He puts his hand on my cheek. My hand covers the back ofhis. His hand is soft and I can faintly make outthe raised burnscars. My heart beats loudly now, pounding in my throat and

ears, breaking the morning quiet. I quickly pull back and sit atthe headboard with my knees to my chest.

Peeta stays half-sleeping in the bed and keeps his hand cuppedon the sheet where it fell.

I swallow and let the moment pass. "How did you sleep?" Iextend my leg and poke his chest with my foot.

Peeta's chest rises and falls in a deep sigh. He hugs a pillow in

my absence and closes his eyes again. "Good," he finally says.

"Did it help?" My foot pokes him again. He grabs it by the arch.My foot is one of the few places on my body that looks morehuman than patchwork quilt. It's small and my prep team wouldcomplain about the nails. He uses the side of a fingertip to traceits curves with the slow and deliberate motion he used when hedrew in my family's plant book.

"Red," Peeta says. "I remember your nails being red."

My nails have been all sorts of colors in the last two years, red,black, baby pink, some fiery design and I think they even talkedme into electric blue once. I nod.

"And you have this bad habit of going to bed with socks on andlosing them in the blankets."

I do seem to always wake up barefoot. "So, you remember?"

"Flashes here and there."

"That's good, right?"

"You have no idea." His look says he wants me to come back tohim. I'm tempted.


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"I should get going," I say. "Before it gets too hot." I leave Peetastaring at the ceiling. "See you later."

"Katniss," he calls. "Can we" and I'm in the bathroom changing

and can't hear the rest of what he says.

I walk to the woods and try to make a list of the things I need todo today: check the snare line, gather greens, get a rabbit forSae, check that the wild dogs aren't back.

"Hey there, Katniss." Now, I'm going to have to restart my listbecause I've forgotten it. It's Thom. I've passed by the rubblehe's clearing away from where the barber used to be.

"Hi," I mutter trying to remember to find some dill for Peeta.

"Almost didn't recognize you with that bounce in your step. Youmust be feeling better."

Thom's cheerful comment takes me by surprise. I do not bounce.My silent walk is a point of pride. A bounce will do nothing but letthe animals in the forest know I'm there. "Some days," I say notto be rude.

"Well, it's nice to see that you got up on the right side of the bedtoday."

It's an old expression. My mother used to joke about meperpetually getting up on the wrong side of the bed. Today,though I kick at the ground with the toe of my boot and put mychin down to hide the blush I know is coming. "I guess," I sayvaguely.

The difference is today I'm rested. There were no tears, fits orhiding spots this morning. If there were nightmares, I don'tremember.

He winks at me and I plant my feet deliberately as I walk off. Afew steps in, I notice there is something off. Today my feet aren't


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dragging, as they are so many mornings when I hunt just to passthe time.

My mind wanders back to the boy trying to regain complicated

memories, and how last fall I wouldn't have thought it possiblefor me to let him in again.

"Katniss, it's okay, Katniss wake up."

I open my eyes. Peeta is sitting with me in my bed. He's holdingone of my arms. It's dark. My throat hurts. I'm struggling forbreath. I clutch my throat and look at him.

"Don't come near me," I push to the edge of the bed because Iremembered what happenedthe same thing that happenedwhen he first came back. He attacked me. I feel so betrayedbecause I thought we were past this. I thought he was better.

"Get out of my house," I demand angrily. I'm heaving now, onthe verge of hyperventilating.

"Breathe, Katniss, breathe," he says in a voice that's too soothingfor my present rage. "You had a nightmare. You're okay now.You're safe. You're in your bed. Sssshh."

I'm trembling and now I don't know what happened. I slump inthe doorway. It seemed so real. Could it have been a dream? Ishould run away, leave, get out of the house and away fromPeeta, but I'm glued to the spot.

"What happened in your nightmare? Did something hurt you?" His

voice is calm, if scared. He's not in his angry state where he couldhave done this, but maybe he snapped out of it.

"How do I tell what's real?" I almost cry. He's the expert in thisarea.

"Tell me what happened."


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"You strangled me."

His face drops. "That was a long time ago. Not tonight."

I shake my head.

"Does your neck hurt?"

I pause at his question. "My throat hurts."

"From screaming. If I hurt you, you'll start to bruise soon."

That makes sense and I want to believe him. He gets up. "I'mgoing home now," he gets throws his boots over his shoulders by

their laces, not even taking the time to put them on. "I'm sorry Iupset you."

After that, there's no way I'm going back to sleep. I'm terrified. Ifit was real, I lost my companion. If it was a dream, I've hurt him.

The clock says it's three in the morning. Perfect.

"Haymitch?" I call. I'm still in my pajamas and I don't want to bealone.

"Screamed yourself out?" he calls from his couch. I use the faintglow of the television to find my way through the darknesstoward him, slowly navigating the piles of bottles and filth. I stepin something slimy. I don't look to see what it is because I don'twant to know. This is what I get for not wearing shoes.

"Peeta" and that's all I get out before I break down into sobs. Icry until my eyelids hurt never managing to get out any wordsabout why I'm hysterical.

Haymitch says nothing and keeps his eyes on a broadcast Ihaven't seen before. It's not news and it's not the games, butthere's lots of blood and these staggering grayish-blue-tinted


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people that have some sort of weird skull modification. I willnever understand Capitol fashion.

When my eyes are too swollen for another tear to escape, the

mentor acknowledges me. "I'll talk to him," he grumbles. "Nowgo home. I'm watching this."

He laughs as one of the Capitol-people corners a pretty blondegirl and makes a bloody mess of her head. Ugh.

That last scene, coupled with my sticky foot makes me slightlynauseated. I'm still balled up in a chair I dumped a bunch ofcrumpled up papers out of. I don't want to be here anymore. I'mtrying to make my legs move when I hear the door. I freeze.

"Haymitch?"

He motions for me to be quiet.

"I was expecting you. You just missed her." He lies with suchease. I make myself as small as possible and hope the dark hidesme. It will take a few minutes for his eyes to adjust. I've takenthe chair farthest from the door and if he doesn't look this way, I

won't have to face him.

"She thinks I strangled her." His voice is pained. He's looking atHaymitch, not towards my chair.

"You did." Haymitch's voice is matter-of-fact.

"Tonight."

"Did you?"

"No!" He's adamant, but I know him to be a clever liar.

"You didn't have one of your crazy episodes and sleepwalk overto her house? No chance?"


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"No. I was awakeno episodes. I take those awful pills so itwon't happen againThe side effectsyou don't want to know."He recovers from his sidetrack. "I woke up because she had allthe blanket. I tugged some back over. It touched her neck and

she started screaming. Took me forever to wake her up."

"So you were sharing at blanket in the middle of the night?"

Nightmares are bad, but this question knocks the wind out of me.Peeta doesn't answer.

"Surprised it took this long," Haymitch shakes his head. "Go kissand make up."

Peeta snorts.

"Oh and take her home will ya? She's in that chair and I'm tryingto watch TV."

Where are those nighttime glasses when I need them? I wouldhave loved to see Peeta's reaction.

Peeta walks over, kicking what might be soiled laundry out of the

way. "Katniss?" he looks down at me.

"Hey."

He shakes his head at me, but appears to be smirking. "Hi," hesays in a shy schoolboy voice.

This is the point where I should apologize. I'm still shaken andnot ready to. "You didn't do it?"

I want so badly for him to be better. We were happy hours ago,sitting under a white blanket that's almost too thick for the warmweather. Peeta was so enthusiastic to remember the smallestdetails: the cookie crumbs in the bed when he insisted I eat, theway the train's safety lights protected us from totaldarkness, even the time the train attendant brought Effie'smidnight snack to my room by mistake and then promptly


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knocked an entire tureen of soup and crackers into the carpet atthe sight of seeing us in bed together made him chuckle. He wasrelieved to hear that no, we didn't have nighttime screamingmatches those nights on the train. Not at each other at least.

That was all the Capitol's creation.

We played "Real or Not Real" until I could barely keep my eyesopen. Peeta's getting so good at the game. He's become skepticalabout the memories that weren't real. Though, some of hismemories were so ridiculous they made me laugh. Suddenly,Peeta had a lot more ridiculously funny memories he had to askme about. Eventually I just threw the blanket over his head andtold him to go to sleep.

He puts his forehead on mine and I try to go back fromHaymitch's foul-smelling house to how good it felt to laugh a fewhours ago. "No." His voice is quiet and deep, meant for only meand not our mediator. He puts stray hair that's hanging over myeye behind my ear and lets his hand linger.

I match his softness. "I want to believe you."

I let him come with me to look in the mirror at my house after he

promises to go to his house for the rest of the night.

In the mirror, there's a girl with red puffy eyes, blotchy cheeksand hair sticking out from almost every section of her braid.There are no neck bruises.

I rake my fingers through my hair, pulling out what was oncesupposed to be a braid. My hair falls down past my shoulders."Would they show up yet? Or does it take a few hours?"

"Let's see," Peeta pulls up the pant leg on his good leg. "It seemsthat I had forgotten that someone," he gives me a look, "kicks intheir sleep." There's a red mark. "You are a dangerous girl,Katniss Everdeen."


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I lean down and look at his leg; angry red ribbons crisscross it,outlining pink and white sections. My bruise is on a large sectionof normal looking skin. My fingers go to it and I'm overwhelmedby how I've hurt this boy. For a second all I want is to wash it all

off like the camouflage from the first games.

A glance up and Peeta's good-natured smile reminds me of myfather's fix-all for childhood injuries. "I'm sorry," I say more to hisleg than him and it's the first time my lips have met any part ofhim since last year.

My head goes cloudy as I slowly pull away and stand back up. Itfixed nothing. He's still broken, scarred and bruised. And I'mmore confused than ever.

Peeta reaches for me, hugs me even. He moves my hair to oneshoulder. I freeze. "I'm sorry," he whispers in my ear. I don'tknow what he's apologizing for until I feel a sensation I'd almostforgotten, warm and impossibly light. I didn't know I was holdingmy breath, but at his touch I let it out.

I close my eyes and tell myself this is not happening. It's just adream. I'll open my eyes and be in my bed. But the kiss smolders

on my neck. I open my eyes and Peeta's head rests on myshoulder.

In the mirror, we look like lovers again. We aren't lovers, haven'tbeen in such a long timeif we even ever were. I tilt my headand look in his eyes. "No," I choke out. This isn't what I wanted.It's too much. I can't process it.

"Katniss," he pleads with big eyes that wrench my heart.

"No," I say louder, and pull away.

"I'm sorry." His tone is sincere but I can't look at him withoutseeing that kiss, all the other kisses.

"No to all of this," I yell.


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If I had any tears left, I might cry. There aren't any, so I erupt.Shampoo bottles, decorative vases, the cat's water bowleverything I find I throw. At first I just hurl a bottle to the floorso hard it shatters. Peeta makes the mistake of grabbing my arm,

saying meaningless words meant to calm. I shove him and wordsthat I don't mean spew out of my mouth.

For the second time tonight Peeta leaves to the sounds of myscreams and I'm left in a dazed heap among the shards of glass

and sticky shampoo puddles.

"Katniss, I thought we were pas

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Post Hunger Games Part1