Chapter Three

Waking today feels like more of a formality than anything else. I didn't sleep well, I hardly slept at all. Knowing Gale is downstairs; sleeping on my couch, acting like the revolution never happened sent my mind ablaze with thought all night. Like my sister's blood has never possibly been on his hands. Or might be on his hands. We will never truly know whose bombs dropped that day at the President's Manor. Who in fact is to blame for Prim's murder but Gale and I knew there would be no going back while the question still hung over our heads. He also knew I needed time away from him, to mourn, to adjust, to let all the loss I was suffering settle. He has always been one to respect my boundaries but maybe the revolution has stripped him of his good sense completely. I scurry down the stairs in a rush to meet Atlas for our first hunting lesson when I see Gale already awake and dressed, lacing up his boots.

"Heading to the woods?"

He didn't need to ask me, he knows my daily routines as well as I do. I know he wants to come along, to force things back to normal and any other situation, it would've worked but it seems I gained something from all the carnage after all.

"Yes and I don't want you there. I don't know why you thought it would be a good idea to show up here uninvited."

His face articulates distress and stops his preparing immediately.

"I just thought…"

"You just thought you could erase what happened?"

I offer him, slinging my sleeping bow onto my back. This minor setback won't stop me from my day. He nods, fastening his fingers together nervously and resting them on his lap.

"I should've asked you first but Haymitch made it sound like-"

"Haymitch?"

This catches my attention. Gale didn't come uninvited, he'd come on Haymitch's request. Gale nods again, trying to explain that Haymitch felt I really wanted to come to resolution with Gale. How I would be so much happier if my best friend were home with me for a while.

"And you believed him?"

I sneer in utter astonishment. It is true Gale isn't quite as familiar with Haymitch's techniques as Peeta and I are but he knows that Haymitch is an operator with his own intent. He would see through his plan at any means necessary. Now it is Gale who seems angry and retorts with emotion waving through his voice,

"Is it that crazy that I did? Is it really insane I thought my best friend might want me around? Might miss me even?"

I can't exactly argue with him. We have been through a lot, the two of us over the years and if the situation were reversed, I'm sure I would assume he'd miss me. Think about me often and even feel a hollow spot within him where I used to be. I am missing him and some part of me did know that but it is the peak of the mountain of discontent I am struggling with since returning home. I don't have time to explain myself before he starts packing up, jostling his things roughly into a bag.

"I'll be at Haymitch's. I'm only in town for a few days and I want to spend my time with people that might actually care."

He storms out of the house without another word. I don't know why I couldn't get anything out of myself to tell him I understand and I want him to stay. I walk through town and head to the woods with the resolution of making amends before he leaves again. He probably only came back for me and after this fight, who knows if he'll ever return.

Atlas has been waiting from the anxious look that immediately shifts to relief at the sight of me. He doesn't ask what took me only seems grateful I've turned up. I take him to one of the hollow logs that guard many of my father's bows speckled in the forest. Watching him attempt with real effort to hold a stance proves a little funny. His frame is so large that the bow appears almost like a child's toy in his arms. He attempts his shot at a squirrel and misses by a good few yards. This swing and miss continues for the next hour or so.

"I'm really much better with an axe."

He admits, clearly feeling a little embarrassed at his luck so far. I smile at him hoping he'll feel a little better about himself. I'm not one to judge, I'm sure if I were in the same position with an axe, I'd look pretty inexperienced too.

"Just keep working on your holding that arm solid."

I instruct, smacking his elbow in place as he poses in stance for me. I feel like a real coach that I never wanted to be, judging his every movement, commenting as necessary on his hold. Memories of my father doing this very thing flood me and it's hard to focus on anything else. After another few hours, he turns up no results but a graze against a rabbit's tale. I pat him on the shoulder and tell him we can try again later on in the week. We are on the way out when I hear something not far from us that sounds like bigger game. Deer, maybe even a buck and I stop Atlas in his tracks. I hold my finger to my lips to let him know to be quiet and listen, hearing the shuffling of the leaf matted ground beyond the clearing of trees to our right. I crouch and move a little ahead of him fearing his colossal feet might project too much tremor but as he follows closely behind, his steps are unpredictably light. He is sly and the size of a brute, a serious double threat and the prospect of teaching him suddenly gets a lot more exciting. When we reach the clearing, poised and ready to shoot, we find nothing but the sound of the wind dancing through the trees and the shuffling of a few light leaves on the ground. I am completely baffled. I never tend to misjudge in my tracking. I might've been distracted by Atlas' potential and missed the scurrying of frantic hooves escaping an unpleasant fate but there is no excuse for this mistake.

Atlas says thank you a few more times as we walk back and meet his sister at their stand in the Hob then he does something that takes me aback. Without asking, he wraps his arms around me and tightly embraces me, lifting me off the ground as if I weighed less than a leaf myself. People don't really just hug me anymore so the gesture is foreign and a little uncomfortable for me. I don't return the hug or let my arms leave my sides but he doesn't seem to care and smiles just as happily as he would if I did. They give me a wrapped package of salmon which is of particular value anywhere in Panem. I could try protesting but I know before I do it will be futile.

Coming back to Victor's Village I take my time walking home, reflecting for the first time how beautiful District 12 now seemed without its confining electric fences. I do sometimes miss the thrill of knowing I was breaking the rules with my hunting and gathering but nothing could take place of the exhilaration of freedom. I pause in front of my home and stare idly at the houses of my surrounding neighbors. I want to hurt Haymitch, confront him but knowing Gale is inside and would hear and see everything stops me before I can let my temper get the better of me. I don't want to go home, crawl into bed and spend half the night thinking the way had last night. Instead, I attempt something unusually optimistic. I walk over my lawn, crossing the invisible divide into the neighboring yard. It takes him a minute to come to the door and I can tell he's surprised to see me but it doesn't seem unpleasant. He looks a little out of sorts but invites me inside nonetheless.

Peeta's home, like mine appears haunted by memories of the people who were no longer there to fill the space. A thick recipe book belonging to Peeta's father, the dearly departed baker, lay on the kitchen counter at a specific page. His mother's piano still occupied the corner of the main room, the fragile ivory keys coated with a small sheet of dust. The room in which his two brothers occupied is upstairs but I didn't need to see it to know it was the same as it had been the last day they woke in their beds. I hadn't touched any of mother or Prim's things either. Somehow, letting their possessions reside in place of them was both damaging and calming.

At first we make awkward chit chat about our days but memory loss and all, Peeta knows me better than this and asks what's really bothering me. I tell him about Gale's unexpected appearance, the disagreement that it led to and the real reason behind the anger between us. He stays quiet for a minute, looking at me in a way that makes him resemble his old self and takes my hand in his. This is the second time today someone has managed to shock me with their warmth. He interlaces his fingers with mine, telling me without words he doesn't want to let go any time soon. I would never dream of stopping him. Minutes pass and fingers don't satisfy our need for closeness and it evolves to something more. We sit on the couch together closely. He grasps me delicately in his strong arms, stroking his fingers down my back, breathing his sweet earnest breath as he nuzzles into my neck, leaving my head resting on his.

I'm afraid to close my eyes. I don't want to open them again and find myself gripping the blankets on my bed, another dream of the simple desire to be close to him ruined with the harsh slap of reality.

"I missed this."

He whispers, his breath tickling my skin with warmth.

"You remember this?"

I ask, trying to disguise the astonishment in my tone. He nods softly, considering his words before saying them,

"Some of it. I do sometimes still get flashes of your face, furious, set to kill. It's not a shiny memory but I don't feel afraid by it anymore."

I have to look at him now. How had he figured out a way to beat them? To shut out the monsters in his head that so desperately wanted to ruin him? So I ask. He looks up to meet my eyes and states plainly,

"Because I know that face was real. But it was the face that wanted to protect me. Feared for me, killed for me."

I hadn't even considered this. To take a flash of a moment Peeta saw in my face, maybe when I was encountering Cato, ready and willing to fight it to the death to keep Peeta alive had been altered to make him feel like the target. The mere thought of it saddens me but the reality of it was plain. Peeta can tell I'm deep into my own thoughts and pulls me back the best way my Peeta ever knew how. His lips feel so warm after so long, I have almost forgotten how much life they pour into me. His perfect hand nestles on the back of my neck and pulls me closely into him, fusing our lips together tightly.

When I open my eyes again, thin bright streaks of sunlight are slipping in through the blinds, lining along the floor and striping us on the couch. Peeta is still asleep with his arm slung over my waist. I manage to slither out of his embrace without waking him, trying my best to collect myself and snatch my boots. I didn't want to risk waiting to lace them; he could very well stir and catch me on the way out. I'm not sure when the hours of soft kissing evolved to sleep but for the first time since his rescue, I had felt safe enough to lower my guard around Peeta. Safe enough to lay helpless, sleeping in his arms. He could've woken and killed me at any time but I was never afraid of that. Things are getting better. I slink out the front door and notice the sun is already very high in the sky. By the look of things, it's the afternoon. How in the world did we sleep in this late? I have very nearly made it over the border of the lawn when I hear,

"Well… good afternoon there, sweetheart."

I freeze mid step and curse under my breath. I pat my hair over with my hand and try my best to grin as I look up at Haymitch planted very comfortably on his porch swing. He's looking surprisingly exuberant today but a glass of unidentified liquor still sits in his hand. He's smiling very knowingly at me, like I am a teenager that snuck out of my room and this is my father gleefully awaiting my return to deliver punishment.

"Have fun last night?"

He smirks, sipping at his glass and never taking his eyes off me. I grimace at him as I struggle to hold onto my boots and jacket with one hand,

"Oh shut up, I know you're loving this."

He shrugs to one side as if to not confirm or deny it. He says back to me,

"You're welcome."

At first I don't understand how he feels responsible but almost instantly it hits me.

"This is why you invited Gale."

I say softly, almost too soft for him to hear me but he does and he replies,

"I knew you'd go running to lover boy for comfort and I knew he'd give it to you. Looks like that's not the only thing he gave to you."

His roaring laugh tells me he's drunk already, a tame sort of drunk but on the boarder of inappropriate for public earshot. Then something occurs to me that seems rather odd.

"Why are you drinking outside?"

I ask outlandishly, looking around the neighborhood for someone else to witness this. Haymitch shrugs again and takes another gulp before answering back nonchalantly,

"It's a nice day out. Thought it'd be good to get some fresh air."

I had to give it to Haymitch sometimes when he very occasionally made good decisions regarding his health. I leave him to swinging and drinking on his porch and I come into the house to find it filled with the aroma of fresh baked geese. Greasy Sae kindly left me a plate sitting on the counter, still steaming. I try my best to eat quickly to get out of the house for the Meadow. Gale will surely be there and maybe I can be the one to force some normality into us. I do a quick change of clothes and run a careful brush through my hair and reform my braid, ready to head to the woods when a knock at my door stops me. I'm hoping against hope it isn't Peeta, wanting an explanation of my disappearance, angry with me for leaving him cold and alone. It didn't occur to me until now he might've woken from a nightmare, hoping to feel my warm flesh under his skin, his comfort after such a treacherous battle with his mind and I had left him defenseless. The thought doesn't have time to burrow before I open the door and it's Eta.

I would almost always assume her visit had to do with using the phone to call her family but her face is distraught with tears and panic.

"Eta?"

I ask her urgently. Her frail arms gently grasp mine as if she can't stand on her own and I help her into the nearest seat and let her breathe a moment. She tries to speak twice but the tears keep coming and cut off her words before she's able.

"Your mother's a healer, isn't she?"

She asks, calming her sobs enough to compose a question. I nod, knowing I must look puzzled because I have no idea where she's going with this.

"Did she teach you anything?"

My mother had taught me a surprising amount as a child just as she did my sister but I never took an interest in it the way Prim had. Prim was destined for medicine; I followed in our father's footsteps as a hunter. I shrug and answer back,

"I know a bit, yeah. What's going on, Eta?"

She finally meets my eye and says words that literally hurt me,

"Atlas has been attacked."