After the program was over, we all went back to our daily activities. Haymitch was making a million phone calls in his new office, Prim was meeting the delivery man who was supposed to drop off extra bandages, and Peeta asked me if I'd like to help him bake some bread for dinner.

"Okay," I answer and we head down to the kitchen. It's a huge space, complete with three ovens, four large sinks, a big dishwasher, and a pantry full of every ingredient you could think of. Peeta gets out the things we need while I read off the recipe. It's a quiet sort of work, kind of like hunting, but you don't have to carve flesh off an animal's bone. I start to scoop the flour into the bowl and Peeta comes up behind me to help. He kisses my cheek and places his strong hand on mine. I turn around and let our lips meet, feeling like I have been missing out on this since the end of the war. He hasn't been exactly the most physical except for at night, when we hold each other during the nightmares. And even then he has to leave me sometimes. I treasure this moment and rest my head on his shoulder, holding both his hands in mine.

"Hey, lovebirds!" I turn abruptly, breaking a kiss to see Johanna Mason standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She's been gone in the Districts, helping out to get things moving with Finnick, Beetee, and my mother, plus all of the volunteers. I pull away from Peeta to give her a hug, which she accepts awkwardly. Then she and Peeta hug and I run out to see the others. Finnick, in some boring work clothes and his arm around Annie, gives me a big "hello" and a hug. Haymitch, Prim, Beetee and my mother all greet one and other. I hug my mother last and she kisses my cheek.

"How are you feeling?" she whispers in my ear before letting me go.

"Better," I say, which is half-true. I step back and hold Peeta's hand as we all settle into the sitting room to talk about how the work is coming along.

"You should see the people from 11," says Beetee, "They are thrilled."

"And we counted thirty patients already healed and out of the hospital," says my mother. I rest my head on Peeta's shoulder and listen to the great progress with a smile plastered on my face. I know I should be delighted with everything, but I am getting nervous about this public announcement coming up. Am I ready to face the people? Even the ones who hate me? My stomach is churning so I sit up suddenly and mumble something about the bathroom. I walk normally out of the sitting room but break into a run until I reach the toilet. I try to hold back my vomit but it makes its way to the top and I retch until I can't breathe. Haymitch (who has a lot of history with barfing) is knocking on the door and calling my name. I manage to get up, body shaking and open it.

"Did you take my route sweetheart?" he asks, leaning against the door. "Because trust me, you can't hold your liquor." I glare at him although I'm not sure why. He's right.

"I don't feel good," I snap, rubbing my stomach.

"Obviously," he says, "Go lie down. I'll talk to your mother." I don't waste time arguing it and take the stairwell up. Peeta and I's room is not my favorite place in the world, but it has a roaring fire in the hearth today and everything looks beautiful draped in the white light of the falling snow. I curl up under the covers and tuck my knees up to my stomach. The toll of the nightmares and Peeta's condition is starting to wear on me and I just feel like sleeping for hours. And I do.

When I wake up, the snow has stopped but everything is draped in silver ice and flakes. I turn over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, counting the little dots. My body still feels exhausted but I get up anyway and pace the room for a while. The clock says it's six in the evening. Peeta is probably helping with dinner, Haymitch may have finally cracked for alcohol, Prim could be cuddling with her cat or reading her book for school. I start to feel nauseous again so I go over to the trash can and throw up. I know someone has heard so I wipe away the vomit and crawl back in bed, listening to the pounding footsteps. The door opens and I look over to see Prim holding a tray of food.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, pushing the door closed with her foot.

"Not so good," I say truthfully. But that broth smells amazing so I improvise. "I could probably eat."

"I just heard you puking Katniss," she says, pulling a chair up next to my bed and setting the tray on the table. "I would give you something if you like barfing." I shake my head wearily. She takes a cold cloth off the tray and rests it on my forehead, keeping her hand pressed for a few seconds.

"What happened to the public announcement?" I ask.

"Haymitch postponed it," she answers, helping me to sit up and handing me a cup of water. "I guess till tomorrow." I sigh and hand back the water.

"I just feel so worthless," I say.

"You're sick; it's not your fault."

"But before that…"

"You were healing," she says, sounding much too wise for her age. "You just won a war."

"It's been two months," I point out.

"And you're still screaming every night." I bite my lip and look out the window so I don't have to face her. She's right. I haven't had a dreamless night since the war ended.

"Okay, but still…" I say, glancing at her.

"Try to get some rest," she says sternly, taking the tray and leaving only the cup of water. She pauses at the door and looks back at me.

"Oh, and don't tell Haymitch I told you this," she says, "But Peeta had a little episode after you left." My eyes widen.

"What kind of episode?" I beg her to tell me.

"He just sort of lost it and really wanted you to feel okay," she says, "But don't tell anyone I told you!" I nod as she leaves, trying to sort my feelings. I am angry at Haymitch for not telling me, but excited that Peeta is feeling closer to me. I want to run downstairs and hug and kiss him but I know it would only result in my mother sending me back up and Peeta possibly having another breakdown. I decide to stay put until I feel a little bit better. I fall in and out of sleep, having more nightmares than I care to and waking up in a cold sweat. I finally forget the idea of sleep and sit by the window for a few hours, watching the snow fall again. It's not until noon the next day that someone comes in. I am sipping the cold broth carefully when Haymitch runs over to me.

"We figured it out," he says, his breath in sharp rasps. He has been running.

"Figured what out?"

"Why you're sick."

"It's just a bug-"

"No, Katniss…someone poisoned you."