Looking back, all three of them were surprised by how gradual a process it had been. Most things in their lives had been sudden, seemingly coming out of nowhere even when they knew, deep down, that it really hadn't: the drawing of a name, the death of a child, the destruction of a district.

But this? This had come slowly, piece by piece, each part building on the next until none of them could remember how things had used to be.

Once upon a time, there was a girl and a boy who were supposed to die. And then they lived, not because of their aim or their strength or their love, but because they broke the rules with the help of a man who had thought that he'd lost everyone and everything that mattered to him. They lived, and their loved ones died, and the world went on around them.

The problem with living is that sometimes there are pieces of a broken life that have to be picked up and put back together. But what do you do when the puzzle has pieces missing? What do you when a life can't simply go back to the way it was?

You learn. You change. You live.

Or you don't. Simple as that. Those are the only options.

Haymitch's supply of liquor ran out on a Saturday.

Of course, Katniss and Peeta knew what to do. He always ran out, and he always dried out, and he always started the whole messy cycle again once the next train arrived with a new batch of liquor on board. They never asked him to do what he wasn't willing to do, and he never made promises that they knew he wouldn't keep.

Peeta knelt beside Haymitch as he heaved, long past the time he had anything left in his stomach to throw up. He kept the cup sitting nearby filled with water, lifting it Haymitch's mouth when the tremors made it impossible for him to do it himself. And then, once the worst was over, he would pull himself up and do his best to hide the fact that his prosthetic hurt like hell as he helped Haymitch stagger down the hallway.

Katniss went hunting and brought back meat to make into soup, hot and savory and light enough for Haymitch to keep down when he could finally eat again. She stayed away during the worst of it, leaving Peeta behind to make certain Haymitch was still alive at the end of it. But she was always there, in the kitchen with a hot meal waiting, when Peeta finally dragged Haymitch downstairs to rejoin the land of the living.

And if Peeta's hand lingered on Haymitch's back a little too long as he knelt beside on the bathroom floor, and if the corner of Katniss's mouth twitched with something that might have been a smile as she handed Haymitch the soup that she had made… well, that could mean anything.

Katniss woke up screaming on a Wednesday, the image of a mutt with Prim's eyes seared into her mind.

Of course, Peeta and Haymitch knew what to do. She woke up screaming, and she pushed them away, and then she finally let down her barriers enough for them to slip in. They never tried to tell her that everything would be fine, and she never asked them to lie to her.

Peeta's hand rested on her arm, grounding her as her heart raced and her breathing came out in short gasps. He wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug, never asking for more than she was willing to give. And then, when the worst was over and her panic had receded for the time being, he would press his mouth to hers and whisper "we're here" against her lips.

Haymitch stood beside her bed, silent and watchful as Peeta helped her calm down. He switched his gaze between her and the knife she kept beside her bed, making certain she never reached for it. She was a hunter, after all, and she knew how to make a single cut deadly if she wanted. Then sometimes, once he was certain the knife would stay where it was, he would put his hand on her shoulder and squeeze it tight.

And if Peeta whispered against her lips for longer than was truly needed, and if Haymitch would sometimes forget to pull his hand away from her shoulder… well, that could mean anything.

Peeta got lost on a Monday, disappearing into flashbacks that might or might not have been real.

Of course, Haymitch and Katniss knew what to do. His mind slipped away, and he held onto the back of a chair while he went where they couldn't follow, and then he let them drag him back into the present. They never tried to touch him while the flashbacks had hold, and he never ceased to grab both of their hands the moment he came back to himself.

Haymitch stayed out of reach, ready and alert just in case. He'd only had to act a few times, throwing himself at Peeta when he came out of the flashback thrashing and with fists flying. Most times, he'd wait a second or two to make certain all was well, then he would step forward as Peeta desperate grasped for his hand.

Katniss stood just out of reach as well, because she knew that her skin bruised more easily than it had a few years earlier and it would only make things worse on the bad days. She watched Peeta like a hawk, and the moment he'd come back to himself she would kneel beside him and all but thrust her hand into his. Sometimes, when the worst was over, she would press her lips to his fingers.

And if Haymitch would sometimes wrap both of his hands around Peeta's, and if sometimes Katniss would murmur "real" even though he never actually asked the question… well, that could mean anything.

There wasn't a defining moment when everything changed. It was slow. It was gradual. When it finally happened, it felt as natural as breathing.

One became two became three.

Hands and mouths and skin against skin, each of them reminding the other that they had survived. That, despite everything, there was at least one thing that the Capital hadn't managed to steal away from them. That life could go on.

(It didn't mean just anything.)