Title and description inspired by the song 'Slow Life' by Grizzly Bear and Victoria Legrand. Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins, and I did not write nor do I own 'The Hunger Games'. Even if I did, I would probably still be writing Fanfiction.


Today was a good day, by my standards.

I hadn't reminded myself who I was, or cried, or thought much about the Capitol, or Finnick, or the Arena, or Gale, or Prim, or even Peeta. Until now.

I had decided to spend the day walking around what used to be the town square and the Justice Building. The workers slowly beginning their day due to the early hour of the morning, setting up their equipment, drinking coffee, breathing in the dewy morning air. Casting me sidelong glances as I walked past, kicking chunks of rock with the toe of my boots. I hadn't been out in nearly a week, instead choosing to sit wordlessly on my couch, followed by sitting wordlessly at the kitchen table as Greasy Sae chatted on about the going's on around town, eating wordlessly as I tried to keep my mind on her words, wordlessly thanking her for the effort of trying to coax something out of me, and then wordlessly bathing and going to sleep. Until I woke up wrecked with tremors and sweat and words. Lots of them. Words to myself, my name is Katniss Everdeen, my home is District 12..., words to my mother, words to Prim, to Finnick, to Gale and especially to Peeta, who's study light would almost always be on when I woke up.

I would wake with his name on my lips, whether from screaming his name in my dreams or from foolishly wanting his arms around me when I woke up and instead finding my bed barren, only filled with sweat and tears and me, my legs tucked against my chest tightly as I taught myself to breathe again. Most nights, I would only fall back asleep when the light in his study went out, grasping to some semblance of comfort from him. The real stupidity in that lies in myself, knowing that if I asked, he would come; and hating myself for it. After everything they did to him, after everything I myself had put him through, he was still trying to make a connection with me. With his loaves of freshly baked bread being placed silently on my table every morning, every other Saturday, his garden tools digging and patting and planting fresh where there was once only dead; dead flowers and dead soil and the ashes of dead bodies scattered across my yard.

I couldn't gather enough energy to be angry with him, though. I tried. I tried to ignore the steam coming from the bread, it's aroma wafting to my nose when the crisp breeze blew through the windows. Tried to ignore how lovely the yard was beginning to look, little by little, as he worked himself through the day, only stopping to go back to his own empty house to grab a glass of water or make himself something to eat, and coming right back to me. Just like he always had come back to me, time and time again.

I knew I was holding myself back from him. I could feel it, feel it in the way my muscles clenched when I groggily awoke every Saturday morning to hear his garden tools, or the way my toes curled and my mouth watered involuntarily when I saw the bread sitting on my kitchen table. The way my eyes closed when I took a bite and slowly, carefully chewed, seeing him mixing and kneading the dough, working his hands through it gracefully, the baking and wrapping in a fresh cloth, keeping it warm as he placed it on my table. Did he linger after he brought me the bread? Check to see if I had food in my fridge, if the main sitting room was clean and tidy, if the dust sitting on every inch of the study was still there? Because there was always food in my fridge, and my sitting room was always clean and tidy, and there was always dust in the study.

Without realizing it, I had placed myself on a bench beside the small, new but bustling Hob, watching the workers with distracted eyes. How long had I been sitting there? Long enough for Greasy Sae to place a cup of hot tea beside me. Greasy Sae had been a constant in my life for the past couple of months, and I had appreciated her more than I ever said to her. Her granddaughter very often accompanied her, and being closer to my age she often tried to strike up a conversation with me. Generic topics, though. Never anything too personal and never anything that reminded me of memories I didn't want to bring up. I appreciated her, too.

Which brought me back to why I had come to the rebuilding town this morning. I had finally talked with Dr. Aurelius, and wouldn't you know it, it helped. He had advised me to slowly start integrating myself back into regular life, possibly trying a new daily schedule. Something that included a little more movement. The hunting was good, but on days when hunting wasn't needed, try a walk into town.

With the taste of bread on my lips, I had spent all of yesterday doing laundry; washing and drying clothes that hadn't been washed for weeks, things like casual pants and shirts, even skirts and blouses. Peeta had been in his backyard, adjacent to mine, sitting on his back porch with a cup of something delicious looking beside him. When he noticed me up and about he started, squinting hard almost as if he didn't believe it was actually me doing laundry. I almost stifled a laugh but thought it might look like I was laughing at him. Which I was. But he didn't have to know I thought his knitted eyebrows and wide, surprised mouth were kind of endearing.

I almost didn't feel like me, which was odd. This was something I would have been doing in what seemed like ages ago, washing and hanging laundry up to dry in the backyard. It felt foreign for the first little while, the clothes pegs not fitting right in my fingers when I went to pin something up, the laundry basket feeling awkward in my hands as I unloaded the wet laundry from the washing machine. But slowly, very slowly, I felt a little normal again. I even heard myself humming. Nothing specific, just a little melody, but it felt good. My throat was dry and my voice was cracking, but I was starting to feel like myself again.

The prospect of being myself again excited me, and this morning as I showered I imagined all of the nightmares of the night before rolling off of me and going down the drain, mixing with the sweat and tears and letting my skin breathe again. I dried myself and braided my hair into a single braid, dressing in black pants, a long-sleeved shirt and my father's old hunting jacket, tying my boots almost reverently and slinging a bag filled with the remainder of the loaf of bread Peeta had baked for me the morning before, and two satchels; a satchel with some coins in it, and the parachute I had saved from the second time I had been in the arena. It was filled with only a few things; the mockingjay pin from Madge, a fresh primrose I had picked from the garden, and Peeta's pearl. All things I kept with me at all times; usually in the top drawer of my dresser, but the few occasions I went out it was kept in my pocket.

It was time to try and heal myself again. Little by little, start to put the pieces back together. And I couldn't do it alone. It was useless to try and avoid Haymitch or keep ignoring Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. It was useless to try and suppress a polite smile towards the workers around town, or not to make an effort to make old and new residents feel welcome instead of shutting myself in my house when the trains came in. And it was especially useless to ignore the only light I really had left, the only thing that I knew could have a chance of picking up the pieces of me and piecing them together again. The only thing that ever could, if I was honest with myself. Peeta.

There hadn't been a loaf of bread on my kitchen table this morning, but I suppose the early hour was too early even for him. Taking a few deep breaths, I sipped my tea as I got up and opened the doors to the new Hob. The doors didn't creak when they opened and the floor wasn't uneven and dirty. This was a proper market, albeit empty as it was. The first stall to the left of me was Greasy Sae's, and it lined almost the entire left side of the Hob. In front of and to the right of me were a few familiar stalls, things like hand-made jewelry, clothing, and furs and pelts made into blankets and jackets. I recognized some of the fur blankets as some of my own catch, meat I had given to Greasy Sae and pelts she had handed down to them. There were other empty stalls along the walls, waiting for occupants to come into town and set up shop. But the ones that were filled, I noticed, were old storefronts in the wealthier part of town. Stores that neighboured Peeta's family's bakery, the occupants making it out alive and setting up their old shops in the Hob.

Remembering how long it had taken the workers outside to clean up even a small part of the town square, I realized just how long it would take them to clean up the old shops, if they ever did.

Grasping my cup of tea closer, I walked over to Greasy Sae's, inspecting it closer. It wasn't just a high counter with some stools anymore. It now extended outward, a large seating area connected to the front counter. Tables and chairs set up with tablecloths, forks and knives. There was even napkins folded neatly beside each place setting, and noticing Greasy Sae's granddaughter sitting on a stool, folding cloth napkins on the counter top, I had my answer to the surprisingly neat interior of the new Greasy Sae's.

Quietly sitting on the stool next to her, I place my cup of tea down and shakily smile as she turns to stare, wide-eyed at me. I wonder why until I realize that she has never seen me out of my house and I've barely spoken two words to her, let alone smile.

"Mind if I help?"

The words come out awkwardly and my voice cracks, almost like I've forgotten how to speak. But she doesn't scoff or anything close to it, she smiles back at me and passes me a stack of napkins.

"Fold from the right to the left. Thanks, Katniss."

She says my name easily, casually, and I think it odd until I realize that for a long time, my name hasn't been said so flippantly. That my name hasn't been my own for a while now. Always on someone's lips, spoken with undeserved adoration or blind hatred and rage. Used as a tool and used as a toy. Used, used, used. I feel anger rise in me, not towards the young girl, not at all. I squash it down before it comes out as annoyance towards her, instead of annoyance towards myself.

"Bry? Who's that you're talkin' to?" Greasy Sae's voice comes from the back kitchen.

She walks out, preoccupied with wiping her hands on her apron but nearly trips when she sees it's me sitting at the counter.

"Just me, Sae," I say, and I almost roll my eyes at myself because I think it's quite obvious that she knows it's me. I'm so out of practice with conversation, but I can't find the wherewithal to be embarrassed about it. Just another thing I need to work on, I mentally note as I add it to the long, long list of things Dr. Aurelius has told me to work on.

There's a long pause where Greasy Sae just stares at me, stares at my braided hair and my clean shirt and my old, worn leather hunting jacket. And then she smiles and laughs a little, and I don't know how to respond so I take a sip of my tea and fold another napkin.

Sae senses my reluctance and changes the subject quickly. "Ah, I see you've met our Bryony!"

I look over at the girl with her ashy brown hair and light green eyes, looking every bit like Sae's granddaughter, and notice her concentration on the napkins, hunched over them like it's the most important task she's ever done. Sae dishes something from a large pot on the counter top stove into a large bowl and places it in front of Bryony.

"For goodness sake, eat, girl! Katniss, would ya like some?" I nod, not really knowing what it is but it looks and smells delicious, and I happily take a large bowl of it as I pull some coins out of the satchel in my bag. "No, no, I don't need anythin' for it. That deer you caught last week made enough for a month."

I vaguely remember shooting a large deer as I pull out the chunk of bread from Peeta and dip it in the stew. It really is delicious, and combined with the bread it quickly fills me up and warms my bones, chilled from the end of Winter cold.

"Thank you," I remember to say, and drink down the last of my tea. Sae wordlessly fills my cup again, and I glance around the Hob once more. "So... how are things going around here?"

Sae breathes a hearty sigh and crosses her arms over her chest. "Well... there has been more interest in 12 lately, so we're expecting more Dens soon."

"Dens?" I burn my tongue on the tea a little, but it warms me up and tastes so good that I don't mind at all.

"Short for denizens. It's what the Capitol calls the people who move into the Districts. Most of them don't want to go back to their old Districts. Too many bad memories. So some stay in the Capitol until they decide where they want to go to next."

I know how they feel, and I nod my understanding as I wipe my bowl clean with a piece of bread. "Could I have some more stew? ... Please."

Sae smiles and grabs my bowl, ladling two more huge scoops of stew in the bowl. "Most of the Dens that come to 12 are from 11 or 13, because they're closest. But a few come from 2, since that's where the injured are coming from. We get a train of Dens every couple of weeks."

"And the workers? Outside?" I ask, my mouth full of stew. I feel like I haven't eaten, reallyeaten and tasted the food I was eating in so long that every bite is better than the last.

"... From 2. Only a couple are old citizens from 12 who wanted to come back."

Most of the workers are from 2. Why does Sae say that with such reluctance? I silently fold napkins while Bryony and Sae talk about the menu for the day and shop owners come in to set up shop, stopping to take glances at me sitting at the counter. I chew on Sae's words for a minute. Most of the workers are from 2... from 2. There's something in the back of my mind, something nagging at me to think, to recognize what she's saying. Then I get it.

The reluctance. Sae didn't want to tell me the workers are from 2, because both my mother and Gale are in 2. With a rush of knowledge, I realize that the workers have been staring at me weirdly not only because I haven't been seen in town for over a month, but because they've probably been trained by Gale, healed by my mother.

Unnecessary and undeserved anger rises up in me towards the workers, jealousy turning my features hard. I can't quench it, even when I try.

I sip my tea as the door swings wide open, a gust of cool air blowing my hair. I almost choke on it when I hear his voice.

"Oh, thank God!"

When I turn, all I see, all I hear, all I sense is Peeta. His footsteps as he walks quickly over to me, the bags under his eyes, flashing with relief and exhaustion. I take in his clothes, the black pants and the white shirt and apron, the boots and the winter coat slung quickly over his torso, like he was in a hurry and couldn't be bothered to put it on. All I can sense is his heavy breathing and dishevelled hair, and how there's a streak of flour on his cheekbone, right under his tired eyes.

"I came over to your house this morning and went up to check on you and you weren't there. You, you... God, I just... then I went to Haymitch's to ask if he had seen you go out, and he wasn't even awake yet." All I can do it stare at him as he speaks quickly to me, unable to say anything back to him. What shouldI say? He turns then, before I have a chance to respond. "Sae, I was coming over to ask if you had seen her when..."

He stops talking, running a hand through his hair, still breathing heavy, breathing so heavy.

"Sorry," I manage to choke out, and for the first time in a long time I'm actually embarrassed. Embarrassed that he came to look for me and cared enough to do so, and all I can do is apologize to him.

Sae and Bryony are fully immersed in us now, and so are many of the other shop owners, stopping their setting up to look at us.

Ah, the star-crossed lovers of District 12. Looking so normal, having a simple conversation. But do they know what those star-crossed lovers are really thinking? How she can barely form words, how the blood is rushing to her head with the adrenaline of having him near and speaking to her, how all she wants to do is run from how he's making her feel, from this, but how she forces herself to stay because all she's done is run, run, run and she's tired of it. And what about him? What is he thinking? That's what she would like to know.

The anger rises in me. This isn't a show anymore! I want to yell. Stop watching us! But I know that's not why they're staring. I know it, know that they're staring because this is most likely the first time they've seen Peeta and I in town together. Most of them probably from other districts, trying to understand us outside of the arena, but the ones from District 12 staring because it almost looks normal. Almost like we were before, but not really.

He's inspecting me now, taking in the braid in my hair and my freshly washed clothes, taking in my father's old leather hunting jacket and the tea in my hands. The stew on the counter and the last chunk of the bread he brought me yesterday sitting beside it. He takes it all in, with those tired eyes of his. He takes me all in, with those relieved eyes of his. And I take him in, with all of the emotions I'm not sure I should have. With the anger and the confusion, with the relief that mirrors his own and the concentration of what I should say next. With the pain, all of the pain that I'm aching for him to see, to fix, to knead and work with his hands until it's not there anymore.

And how much I hate myself for asking more of him than I already have.

He sits down at the counter, eyes still trained on me, even as he speaks to Sae. "Do you think I could have some of that stew, as well, Sae?"