Fixing the broken things

Post-mockingjay. Following Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch as they try to continue with life. Totally cannon, spoiler alert (duh, it's post-mockingjay). Rated M for much later chapters so don't get your hopes up too soon.

Disclaimer: All characters are the intellectual property of Suzanne Collins. This story is only my wish that she'd written more.

It took two things to bring me back from the edge: Peeta and Buttercup. Looking back, the irony isn't lost on me. Someone I loved and a mangy old cat that I hated and had always hated me. Still, when you're hanging on by a thread, even the comfort that a mangy old cat can bring is welcome.

Buttercup allowed me to grieve for Prim. Until then I was full of hate and anger. I couldn't bear to accept that she had gone, that she'd been taken from me despite everything I'd done to keep her safe, that she'd suffered any way. When he returned I could finally cry for her because Buttercup's world had revolved around her too. I knew he would spend every day of his flea-ridden life missing her and curling up in places that smelt of her, reminded him of her. Buttercup somehow managed to remind me of her but at the same time allow me to acknowledge that she was gone. When I spoke to my Mother for the first time since Prim had gone, we didn't even say much. Mostly we just said her name over and over and cried over the telephone. Once I cried all the tears I could and went to go she said simply 'take care of yourself, Katniss, you're all I have left.' I thought about that a lot afterwards, that I was all she had. I felt a bit sorry for her. I'm not much, an ungrateful daughter who spent the last few years hating her because she'd been depressed when she lost her husband. I'm lucky she still loves me when I couldn't love her for so long, but I know that she does. I know that she appreciates how I took care of her and especially Prim, and that she's proud of me. She hasn't said these things, like me she doesn't express her feelings well, but I know. I can hear it in the tone of her voice. I also feel sorry for her because, however many people I've lost and however guilty and alone I feel, I'm not alone. I have Greasy Sae coming everyday to cook. I have Haymitch who I see every other day to annoy. I have Peeta who I watch trying to rebuild himself as I do the same.

It was seeing Peeta that brought me back to the real world. We didn't speak at first. It was too hard to think of something to say that wasn't so deeply personal it physically hurt or so ridiculously mundane it drew attention back to the unsaid personal things. The first time he came over for breakfast he simply waved a loaf of bread at me and said. 'Here, I baked'. Sae took the loaf, thanked him and bustled around, making food for us both. The silence stretched out for a while but it didn't feel uncomfortable. Surprisingly I found I was the first to break it. 'You baked'. I said. It was a statement, not a question but Peeta seemed to understand. 'You went hunting yesterday.' I nodded. 'Yes, but that was the first time.' He frowned slightly, as if trying to make sense of this, then smiled a little. Perhaps he realised that seeing him had made that possible. Perhaps he just took it as a sign that things were slowly improving. We didn't say anything else until we'd finished eating. His bread was delicious but most of my bacon I fed to Buttercup who was taking advantage of our recent truce and rubbing my legs under the table. As Peeta got up to leave he asked if I was going hunting again today. I honestly hadn't planned that far ahead. 'Maybe' I said. 'What are you going to do?' He smiled a little. 'Haymitch' was all he said. 'Good luck' was my only response. Peeta thanked Sae for the food, something I often forgot to do, then disappeared. Buttercup followed him out, obviously sensing there were no more titbits and wanting his company more.

I decided to go to the woods again. Partly is was for lack of anything else to do, and it had always been my go to place. Partly because I didn't want to go backwards, not now Peeta could see me. The look he had given me when he first saw me made me blush. I'd seen him at his worst and somehow, tortured and crazed as he'd been, he'd never looked unkempt. That thought felt ridiculous, even in my own head, but it still made me shower and comb out my hair thoroughly before braiding it.

Once I got to the woods I decided I didn't really want to hunt, so I went foraging. I found a patch of strawberries and picked several handfuls of ripe ones. I ate what I could then picked some more. I wandered round a little more, but remembering my inability to get home unassisted the previous day I decided to return before I was exhausted beyond belief. I got back to the village to find Peeta on the steps outside Haymitch's house wringing out a cloth.

'I've got strawberries' I call out. He smiles. I hear Haymitch shout something unintelligible from inside. Peeta calls back over his shoulder 'no, if you can't stand up you don't get fed'. He walks over to me and we sit on the steps outside my house, both of us making sure that we're close but not touching. Somehow this seems like an unspoken rule. Just like we both know not to ask how the other is doing. I can see that his eyes look calm, like the old him, but that his face has a new, strained quality. Like he's been tensing every muscle in his body for too long. As I think this I imagine it's probably true. I wonder what he sees in me. I place a pile of strawberries in the gap between us and we pick at them. 'How's Haymitch?' I ask. Safe, neutral territory. He means the same to both of us, even if we mean very different things to him.

'He stinks' said Peeta and I almost smile. 'I had to start cleaning his house or I'd throw up every time I went near.' I feel guilty. 'He's been checking in on me but I haven't been round to his.'

'Don't' is Peeta's gentle advice. This time I do smile. At that moment Haymitch himself decides to make an appearance. He staggers over and plonks himself down on the other side of Peeta. Peeta dutifully passes him a handful of berries and we sit and eat in silence until Haymitch ruins it with a loud burp. 'Well isn't this nice' he says. 'The whole gang back together.' The pain of loss slices through me as I think of all the people who aren't here, who didn't make it through or chose not to come home. I see Peeta tense and know he's thinking the same thing. Some people we lost are the same, some were uniquely special to each of us but we are both familiar to grief and emptiness. Peeta is better at dealing with things though and says lightly. 'Except Effie. She should be here telling us that we're eating like animals.'

We stay there until Greasy Sae arrives to cook me dinner. Peeta gets up to leave. I invite him to join us. He tilts his head, carefully considering the offer but declines. 'I want to work some more on a painting I started' is his excuse. Haymitch hangs around though, used to Sae feeding him. 'It's nice, having the boy back' she comments as she bustles around the kitchen. Haymitch agrees. 'He's a good un. And a better conversationalist than this one' he flicks his head in my direction. I prove his point by grunting and pulling a face at him. But there's no malice in either of us. Sae and Haymitch chat over our dinner of stew, and though I don't join in much it's because I don't have much to say and not because I'm back in the funk I've been in. That night for the first time since I've been back, I actually sleep in my own bed. I know I have nightmares but they don't wake me.

The next couple of days are much the same. Peeta comes over for breakfast then I go to the woods and he goes to Haymitch's. When I come back we all sit out together in the afternoon. The difference is after the first night, Peeta joins us for dinner too. We talk about safe topics. The food, the weather, the rebuilding work and Buttercup are discussed to death. Haymitch talks about getting a pet too but we can't agree on what. He doesn't like cats, Peeta won't let him have a dog to add to the mess of his house and most other pets are things that I would hunt. It didn't seem appropriate for him to be petting a bunny rabbit as I drag home one of its relatives ready to skin and stew, not that any of us could picture Haymitch petting a bunny rabbit.