A/N: First of all, for the purposes of this story, Mrs. Everdeen's first name is Lillian. I figured the flower thing with their kids has to come from somewhere and anyway, I'm not about to call her Mrs. Everdeen the entire time. And Mr. Everdeen is Eric, Mr. Mellark is Grant, and Mrs. Mellark is Agnes. Don't those sort of fit them?

Secondly, on the plot. I know Prim's not really Peeta's half sister, but I can dream of an AU, can't I? Besides, she's blonde like he is, kind like he is… and well, I'll let the story tell the rest.

Oh, and just so no one yells, I'm not stupid – the title's a pun. Thanks for clicking, please read and review!

The knock on the door set Lillian Everdeen up from her stool, hands flying to her tired eyes. A visitor, so late? Eric had put Katniss to bed hours ago, and had retired soon after. Only she was still awake.

"Hello…" Her formal greeting withered and died on her tongue, her eyes taking in the sight of the man before her. She tensed, pupils expanding in surprise. "Are you – what are you…" But then she noticed the small, blonde boy in his arms, and she opened the door a fraction wider. "What are you doing here?"

"My son Peeta burned himself on the stove," Grant replied, hardly looking at her. "It's nothing too serious, I don't think, but I wanted to know if you could treat him." The boy – Peeta, apparently – stared up at her from his father's arms, fat tears squeezed from his blue eyes. He could be no older than Katniss.

"Come in," Lillian said quietly, brushing her fingers against her pants. Past aside, this was her job. It didn't matter who this child's father was.

"Here." She opened a small jar of ointment, gently smearing the cream onto his red marks. Its crimson color gave it a rather raw appearance, but she knew it would heal in mere moments now. She smiled, feeling proud of herself as the little boy rubbed his arm in relief.

"Would you like some water?" she asked, kindly. He was handsome for a child. Well-groomed and dimpled, there would be no guessing that he was from District 12.

Peeta nodded his head, rubbing at his burn with one hand and his wet cheeks with another.

"What do you say, Peeta?" his father prompted.

"Thank you," he blurted out, at once.

Lillian smiled. He reminded her of Grant already. She handed him the glass, patting his unhurt arm as he took it. Sighing, she turned back around to face his father. There was no escaping it now.

"How have you been?" Still, she avoided his direct glance. Instead she stared down the stubble on his chin, the lines around his lips. Every detail she had memorized, but it was nice to see that he hadn't changed. Much.

"Fine," he said, after half a second had slipped by. "I'm alright."

"Agnes?" she asked, coolly. That story would chase them down forever.

"She's fine as well," he answered. Silently, tenderly, he lifted a finger to her chin. She shut her eyes, wincing as he turned her head. "Lillian," he said, whispering now. "I've missed you."

She drew away, stepping back as if scalded. "I – I would bring Katniss out to play with Peeta, only she's asleep."

"That's alright," he said. "I came about the burn, anyway." They both glanced to his son, whose head had dropped to his arms in fatigue. He was fast asleep.

"Please," Lillian retorted, about as scathingly as she could say anything. "Don't tell me you didn't have that at home."

He stood still as stone, eyes unchallenging. That's who he was, Grant. Too decent to deny, too selfish to do the right thing in the first place.

"And you let your child suffer, just so you could talk to me? It's been almost eight years, Grant!" For a moment she sounded pained, sentimental. But a shake of her head and she was icy as ever.

"You wouldn't see me," Grant said. "I tried to explain, all this time, I –"

"Please," she repeated, this time pleading with him. "I can't listen to it again. I've heard, you know. I've heard it all. Around town. Eric bringing gossip home from the Hob." She shook her head, bitterly sneering at him. "Of all the places…"

He sighed, lifting a hand to stop her. "I know I didn't handle things the best. I could have – I should have spoken to you."

"You should have, yes," she said. "You should have warned me, before I discovered by seeing you two in bed." There, she'd said it at last. The reason they had been broken up, torn apart by the other woman. The other woman, who was now Grant's wife. Mrs. Mellark, the way Lillian had always wanted to be.

"I –"

Lillian interrupted him, some unknown fiery spirit reaching her. "I gave you a chance! I was going to let you explain, but you went and –"

"She was pregnant," he hissed. Just like that, their argument ended. An argument they shouldn't have been having anyway, since both of them were calm and dignified. These feelings had been building up day after day though, and it was only expected that they relieve themselves in a shouting match.

Grant sank into a chair, head wobbling about his shoulder blades. The excitement from yelling had wound him up, and now he was lift to sink in its aftermath. "I'm not happy with her, Lillian. Not like I was with you. Not even close."

"You had two other children," she said, gesturing towards the sleeping boy. "You couldn't have hated her so much." The words were gripped with venom, her rare ferocity flashing its fangs. Only with Grant, did she ever get this way. In solitude, and with her husband, she was quiet and hesitant.

"She wanted them," he said. "We were married, after all, and I thought…" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Lillian," their eyes met, magnetized by his sudden change in tone, "She hits them. A lot. This burn wasn't an accident."

This, was news. No one gossiped about abuse. Lillian gaped. "But I –"

"He was trying too hard to help, and Agnes pushed him a bit too hard. She hadn't meant to hurt him." But there had been other times, and Lillian could only guess what she'd done to her older boys. Silently, Lillian took in the information. Agnes was no monster, as much as Lillian would have liked to think of her that way. She was only angry and jealous and bitter, as were many people who had grown up in the conditions they had. As hard as she tried to hate, Lillian felt sympathy.

"How old is he?" she asked, after a moment.

"Three, nearly four," Grant replied. He undid the water glass from his son's fingers, taking a sip himself.

"Oh."

Silence spooled before them, a blanket of unfamiliarity. They used to always have something to do talk about. Then, almost identically, they tensed. The heat was palpable, and Lillian had the sense to lean back just as he did forward –

"Stop!" She gave a little shriek, lifting a hand to separate their pairs of lips. "You may not love your wife, but I love my husband." And it was true. Lillian, who had once been so unwilling to give love, now found herself unbearably smitten with two men. Her childhood friend and the man who had swept her off her feet.

"One night," he breathed. "Just one away from her, away from my life. With you." He took a piece of her hair, moving it from her face as only he knew how to do.

Maybe it was the memories or the fact that he was her greatest weakness, but Lillian found herself pulling Peeta into her arms. "Come. We'll put him with Katniss so he doesn't wake up."

Grant raised an eyebrow, its bushiness unable to conceal the delight below. "Will Eric wake up?"

"No," Lillian said, even as she opened the door to her daughter's room. "He's a miner. He needs all the sleep he can get at night."

Even as they placed Peeta by Katniss's side – hoping neither child would wake up to discover it – Grant lifted a hand to her waist. He knew her body as well as she knew his.

Lillian deflated a little, as she watched the children, so helpless to their parents' errors. Sometimes she wondered if her frailty came from keeping too many secrets at once.

"Come," he said, echoing her earlier instructions. And he led her by the hand, pulling her to the couch as their lips met in regret of a life they'd never live. Lillian shut her eyes, letting go as the past overcame them both.

A/N: Well yeah, that's it for now. I really hope you liked it, and ask you to review whether you did or not. Any kind of comment would mean the world to me. Thanks so much, and happy labor day!