She's home.
At least, she's home in the most literal sense. Back in her cavernous mansion in the Victor's Village, which is somehow still standing, unscathed, after months of civil war. Time seems to have frozen in this place, preserving every piece of furniture and every crystalline lighting fixture almost perfectly. As if she never left in the first place. As if nothing has changed in the past seven months.
She's home, but it feels wrong. Without the bustle of activity in the square, or Gale's light tread on the forest floor, or her mother fussing over a housewife in labor on the kitchen table.
Without Prim's gentle grace and duck-tailed blouses.
When she gets back to the district, she isn't sure what to think or do. Fresh off a murder trial, she finds herself slowly going insane. Counting the cracks in the ceiling or tracing curlicues over her wrists with too-sharp fingernails, then a kitchen knife. Wishing she could die, but never having the courage to do it.
But there are reminders of death outside her door, if she even had the strength to venture through it. Bodies that line the street, decomposing, turning to dust and ash, wait to be wheel-barrowed off into a mass grave. She breathes in their particles. The dead consume her, flow through her veins, become every part of her.
How can she feel alive when she's surrounded by death?
She's unable to handle the bleakness of death that permeates the air around her home. The pungent smell of death and suffering still taints the air, fills her mouth with an imagined acrid taste. Like burning hair and flesh. It makes her stomach turn just to consider it. Better to stay inside her house, her personal prison and sanctuary, far away from the feeble reconstruction efforts.
Katniss doesn't want to help. She's done enough damage to this country already. No doubt that the surviving citizens of District Twelve recognize that. She's no asset to recovery, but rather a catalyst for change.
Change. It's ironic that she's so adept at sparking a rebellion in the hearts of her people, but that she can't find the strength to leave the cocoon of blankets on her bed.
…
It has to be a bad sign that Haymitch is paying Katniss a visit.
"Are you eating?" he asks, not long after storming into her bedroom and throwing the dusty curtains open. He ignores the pitiful whimpering that issues from under her covers in response. "Showering? It's clear that you've been sleeping." Haymitch shakes his head. "And not doing much else, from the looks of it."
Katniss throws an arm across her face, shielding her eyes from the harsh mid-afternoon light. "I'm fine," she grumbles. "Would you leave me alone, now?"
"Can't," he replies, a little too cheerfully for Katniss' sour mood. "As your mentor, I'm obligated to keep you alive."
"Ex-mentor," Katniss mutters under her breath.
"Whatever," Haymitch says, and the patented gruffness of bygone days returns to his tone. "Do me a favor, sweetheart, and get out of that goddamn bed. It's been ten days. Enough already."
Ten days? Katniss can't fathom how long it's been since her return. Her stomach drops at this bit of precious information. But she can't let Haymitch know that.
She throws the covers aside, plants her feet on the carpet and stands on slightly wavering legs. "Happy?" she snaps at Haymitch, who wrinkles his nose in blatant disgust.
"Overjoyed," he deadpans. "Now, was that so hard?"
She waits until he leaves to crawl back into bed, and stays there for another week.
…
The only thing that lures her from her bed is the smell of food wafting up the stairs.
Greasy Sae assures her that she's here on her own terms, but Katniss has her suspicions. She can tell that Haymitch is skeptical of her will to live, and for some reason, he's concerned himself with enlisting others in the task of keeping her alive.
She's getting really sick of people trying to keep her alive.
But she eats whatever Greasy Sae puts in front of her. Eggs, a thin broth with chives floating in it, sometimes a wild dog stew. Katniss is just grateful that the woman isn't trying to force her to go hunting again for fresh meat. She can't do it. Ever since that slip of the arrow in the City Circle…
Sometimes Greasy Sae brings her granddaughter along for breakfast, and Katniss watches their playful interactions in grim silence. It's stupid, but she sees a little of Prim in the girl, even though she isn't quite right in the head. Sees Prim's inner goodness shining through.
When the girl picks up one of Prim's old hair ribbons and holds it out to Katniss to fix in her matted auburn curls, Katniss swallows her pain and fastens the pink ribbon in a loose bow atop the girl's brow.
She ignores Greasy Sae's pitying gaze.
…
Katniss seldom opens her front door, except when she hears faint mewling and scratching outside.
She hates the tears of relief that spring to her eyes when she finds a mangy, caramel-colored cat glaring up at her from the front stoop. But frankly, she's amazed that this vestige of her dead sister survived.
Buttercup survived countless bombings, survived all-out war, better than his human counterparts.
So she clings to the stupid cat for comfort. When she screens Dr. Aurelius' daily calls. When she tosses yet another letter from her distant mother aside, with no intention of responding. When she boxes up some of Prim's belongings and shuts her bedroom door for what feels like the last time. There's a sense of finality and foreboding in her every action.
It's not like Buttercup was her first choice for comfort, but it's a warm body, and that's basically all Katniss needs right now.
She falls asleep on the couch, cradling the hissing cat in her fragile arms, many more times than she cares to admit.
…
Katniss is alone. With only an ill-tempered cat for companionship, she slowly realizes how truly and completely alone she is. The house is too quiet for her liking, but she can't leave it. Because no matter how isolated she feels inside, she knows that she'll feel even worse out there.
She's alone.
Until one day, she isn't alone anymore.
[A/N: Okay, I know that I've made major changes to this story again. I deleted the last thirteen chapters and posted something that I've been working on consistently for the last month. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I have a story worth writing. Please bear with me during this difficult rewriting process, and apologies to anyone who was really invested in the last iteration of this story. I promise that my endgame is the same, I'm just taking a more minimalist approach to get there! Stay tuned for more in the near future (and this time, I'm serious.)]