Trigger warning: Mentions of abortion.

Thank you so much to my lovely ladies Lbug84 and Chelzie for betaing and prereading!

Chapter 10: The Mockingjay

Coming home to 12 is different than it used to be. The house doesn't smell empty anymore. I can tickle Ivy's round cheeks and hear her giggle, and see Arrow's ecstatic face as I give him the car I brought him from the Capitol. Katniss says he even takes it to bed with him.

Having the three of them here, in my house, makes the contrast between the Capitol and 12 even bigger than it used to be, and it's surprisingly difficult to deal with. The first few days after I come home, I spend hours in the shower as I attempt to wash every single molecule of Capitol perfume and make-up off my body. I try, but the memories can't be washed away.

Something has changed in the three long weeks that I was gone, even though I think Katniss tries to hide it from me. She talks even less than she did before, not to mention that she looks tired and pale. She seems distant, and she doesn't eat enough. My instincts when I talked to her on the phone were right. Something is wrong.

I go to visit Haymitch. I've brought him some liquor from 4, but he is already drunk, which is hardly a surprise.

"Peeta!" He gives me a bear hug. I've never understood why he does that. I think it must have something to do with our quasi-father-and-son relationship that has somehow evolved over the years, although my own father never gave me any bear hugs.

"Long night?" I say, looking at his red-rimmed eyes and the number of empty bottles on the kitchen table. I know he doesn't like to sleep in the dark.

"They always are." He tries to pour himself another glass, but I take the bottle from him.

"I think you've had enough, Haymitch."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't object. I wonder when the last time he shaved was. And looking at the state of his kitchen, I'm starting to wonder if I should find him a housekeeper as well.

"So, how was the Capitol this time?"

"Unbearable, as always."

"But you do bear it."

"Only because I have no other choice." Had I turned into a full-fledged alcoholic like Haymitch, I could have gotten out of these 'working holidays'. I wouldn't be desirable anymore. All that would be expected of me would be one trip to the Capitol a year, to mentor, which of course is unbearable in its own way. But at least I wouldn't have to fuck strangers. I was getting there… until Katniss and the children came along.

I grit my teeth. I haven't taken drugs since I left the train station in the Capitol, even though I have some pills stashed away where Katniss can't find them. Just in case.

"So, how… have things been while I was gone?"

Haymitch sits down on the only chair that's not covered in junk, puts his feet up on the table and opens the bottle from 4 anyway. "Oh, you know… They've been the same as always," he says after taking a large gulp straight from the bottle.

"No, they haven't."

Finally, he meets my eyes. "No, they haven't."

"What's happened to Katniss?"

He sets the bottle down on the table. "So you noticed, did you?" I nod. It was impossible not to. "It's finally caught up with her, Peeta."

"What's caught up with her?"

"Gale."

I guess I should've understood. Once Katniss was no longer in danger of starving to death and her children were safe, she would finally be able to take in her loss. Now that I know, it's even harder to look at her pale face as she tries to pretend as if nothing's happened. How am I, Peeta Mellark, emotionally stunted victor, going to be of any help to her? I've never actually lost anyone I cared about.

Well, there was my father, of course. But when he died, we hadn't been close in years. There were too many disappointments on my end, from long before the Hunger Games. Disappointment and anger that he wouldn't stand up for me, nor would he protect me from my mother. Coming back a victor didn't make things easier. I didn't trust anyone anymore. And on my father's end, if the person I was before the Hunger Games wasn't a disappointment to him, then surely the person who came back from the Capitol was. At least then it gradually became apparent just how much damage the Games had done to me.

My father didn't really try. No one in my family did. They would only come visit me in the Victors' Village occasionally, and when they did, it was never pleasant. I was either silent or crass. Not to mention I was often under the influence of white liquor or drugs. It was impossible for me to hide my anger, and I suppose I didn't really want to, either. Whether those feelings were directed at my family, at myself, at the Capitol, or all of them, I wasn't sure. But the end result was still the same: I didn't have a family anymore. Not really.

Still, I did grieve for my father when he died. But his death wasn't the end of my world. Neither was Madge's death. I knew, as soon as our eyes met on stage, just after our names had been pulled out of two bowls, that she would have to die in order for me to live. We knew each other pretty well even before we were reaped, and we became close in the time we spent together on the train and in the Capitol. But I knew that if I had to choose between her and me – and I did – I'd choose my own survival over hers.

I lost my allies in the arena too, but they didn't mean anything to me. Under different circumstances, perhaps I could have been friends with several of them. Cato, Thresh, and maybe a few others. But from the beginning, I recognized the Hunger Games for what they were: One big play. I was the best actor, and I was the only one left on the stage in the end.

So that is the short list of people I cared about who have died, but I know it's not the same. I've never been in a real relationship with anyone. I've never loved anyone. Well, except Katniss, that is. But I never lost her, because she wasn't mine to lose. I didn't really know her. How can I possibly understand what she's going through right now?

I can't.

I've lost a lot: my family, my dignity, my innocence, and the freedom to choose what to do with my life. But I've never lost someone I loved, not the way Katniss has.

I try to think of something to say to her. To tell her that even though I don't understand, I sympathize. But the only things I can think of are just clichés. Empty phrases. They make it glaringly obvious how little I understand. And she wouldn't want pity anyway.

So I don't say anything. Instead, I try to show her I care in other ways. By being there, helping her in whatever way I can with the children or the house. It doesn't feel like it's enough.

I still haven't given her the dress I got her from Cinna's boutique. When I was on the train heading back home, I'd look at it lying there, neatly folded inside the thin, luxurious wrapping paper that was almost silvery. Soon, I'll give it to her. But not right now. Seeing how things are with her, I simply can't. The gift feels far too intimate. It's something you'd give to your girlfriend or your wife. Katniss is neither to me. When I see her grieve for another man, giving her a dress feels inappropriate. She's Gale's wife, not mine.

Though... I can't help but notice that she's not wearing her wedding ring anymore.

I'm stunned when I open the door and see my mother standing on my doorstep. When was the last time she came here – five years ago? Maybe six? Arrow is at school, Katniss and Ivy are napping upstairs. Katniss is having a bad day. I'm glad that I'm the one who opened the door, not Katniss.

I simply stare at my mother, dumb-struck. "Well, aren't you going to invite me in?" she says. I instinctively flinch at the tone in her voice. I've heard it too many times before. She is 65 years old, marked by decades of hard physical labor and little happiness. She is no longer a threat to me, but she still scares me. Every time she's near me, I become the little boy who was terrified of her temper and the rolling pin, and it infuriates me that I'm so weak.

Wordlessly, I let her into the house.

"How was the Capitol?" she asks me. So she knows I've been there. I didn't tell her I was leaving, because I hardly ever speak to her, but I suppose she's read about it. For some perverse reason, she likes to read the Capitol gossip magazines.

"Good," I say. "The usual." There's no reason to elaborate.

My mother inspects the hall, the living room and the kitchen. I can tell by her expression that what she sees does not live up to her standards. Ivy's toys are lying on the floor, and the dishes from breakfast still haven't been done. I told Katniss to leave them since she didn't look well. I was planning to do them myself, but then my mother showed up.

She raises an eyebrow. "Clearly Katniss Hawthorne must have talents other than housekeeping which justify her staying in your house," she says.

I can hardly believe my own ears. I knew Katniss's name would come up, but I didn't expect her to be this direct – or rude - with me after being in my house for all of three minutes. This is why she comes to my house for the first time in half a decade?

I have a feeling this is going to be a short visit.

"Excuse me?" I say, my lips tight. I have to fight to control my temper.

"Oh, Peeta, I'm not an idiot. People have been gossiping about you two for months now." They have? Dammit. Does Katniss know? I really hope she doesn't; she has enough to deal with as it is. My surprise must show, because she laughs a little. "You didn't know?" I shake my head. I could explain to her how little contact I have with anyone who doesn't live in the Victors' Village, but I don't want to get into it. "I was sure Katniss would've told you about it."

"So she… knows?"

My mother snorts. "Of course." Fuck. Why didn't she tell me? "I talked to her mother."

"What did you say to Mrs. Everdeen?" I can only imagine how that conversation must've gone.

"I told her how I felt about my son, the victor, shacking up with a Seam widow with two children."

I have to take several deep breaths to keep my temper in check. "And how exactly do you feel about it?"

She narrows her eyes, and I realize that I didn't dispute her use of the phrase "shacking up."

"I told her that it's inappropriate. Her daughter's reputation is ruined beyond repair, and she will never find herself another husband."

I'm tempted to tell her that few Seam widows do, but I think better of it. "I don't really think she's looking for new husband, Mother," I tell her. "Her main concern is making a living for herself and providing for her children."

"Well, in that regard, I suppose she found you preferable to Cray," she says. I know that what she's saying is actually true, even though my mother hopefully doesn't know just how close Katniss came to going to Cray's door.

But her mentioning Cray, and her obvious disapproval of prostitution as a way of survival – when she has no idea that her own son, the precious victor, is doing just that, perversely also ensuring her own survival – pushes me over the limit. "I want you to mind your own business. How dare you come to my house and insult Katniss and me? Katniss has never done anything to you, and I… I'm the only reason you're still alive." As the words escape my lips, I know I've gone too far. Her eyes widen. Dammit, I shouldn't have said that. My mother can never find out the truth about my trips to the Capitol. "Get out of my house," I hiss.

But as usual, she doesn't listen to me. "I knew that Katniss was the girl you talked about in your Hunger Games interview, Peeta. Everyone in our family did."

This comes as a shock. I want to ask how she knew, how anyone other than-

"Rye told your father," she explains. My father couldn't keep a secret worth a damn from my mother. He was too scared of her.

"Look, Peeta, I don't care anymore. I was worried you were going to tell her after you came back from the Hunger Games, because I was sure she would dump that Hawthorne boy like radioactive waste from 13 if you did. Like any Seam girl, she knows how to get the most out of any situation. Thankfully, you never did, so no harm was done."

Your son miraculously comes home from the Hunger Games, and what you worry about is whether or not he's going to tell a girl you don't approve of that he's in love with her? Breathe, Peeta. Breathe.

"I've seen you with all those women in the Capitol magazines, Peeta. I get that men have… needs that we women have to satisfy. If you want someone in 12 to take care of those needs while you're here, then fine. I'm sure Katniss Hawthorne will do. You're a victor, you can do whatever you want. I wish you'd be more discreet about it, but it's too late now." She walks a bit closer to me, and I have to fight the urge to back away from her. She points her index finger at my chest. "But you'd better make sure you don't get her pregnant, Peeta. I will not have any bastard Seam grandchildren. And don't you for even one single second consider marrying her. Am I making myself clear?"

The conversation has suddenly gone from infuriating to being almost hilarious. As if I could ever marry Katniss? Even if by some miracle she'd say yes, there is no way that could ever happen. My mother thinks a marriage between Katniss and me is unacceptable because of the perceived difference in social status between the two of us. But the actual reason why it would never happen is that Snow would never allow a victor to get married to a Seam widow. It would interfere with my 'job', and besides, a marriage to what everyone in the Capitol would consider a poor nobody in 12 would be impossible to sell to the tabloids. Even though the Capitolites for some reason adore the 'star-crossed lovers' angle, Katniss and I would be far too different for their liking. Being 'star-crossed lovers' is much cuter and more interesting in teenage movie stars than it would be in thirty-something adults with lots of baggage.

Even if I married her, Katniss would end up dead faster than I'd be able to say "I do." And getting Katniss pregnant? My mother has no idea about the injections I get in the Capitol, rendering me sterile.

I take a deep breath and try to forget about the rolling pin. She doesn't have it here now. She has no power over me anymore. "Katniss Hawthorne does not sleep in my bed," I say, trying to keep my voice low. "I don't care what all the housewives in Town gossip about because they have nothing better to do, it's not true. And…" I'm about to tell my mother to get out of my house, and this time I'll physically throw her out if I have to if she doesn't listen - when she suddenly looks over my shoulder, towards the stairs. I turn around, even though I already know who she's looking at.

Katniss.

She's standing halfway down the stairs, her eyes still heavy from sleep, her braid mussed. She's holding Ivy on her hip.

"Mrs. Hawthorne," my mother says, her voice taking on a sickeningly sweet quality. My stomach turns. I know that voice; I've heard it too many times before.

"Mrs. Mellark," Katniss answers, hesitantly coming down the stairs. My mother studies Ivy closely as she plays with her mother's braid. Even though Ivy is a girl and a beautiful child, I know she could never meet my mother's standards. Not with her black hair and her olive skin. Katniss straightens her back as my mother studies the two of them, and I can't help but feel proud of her.

"Your daughter looks so much like you." My mother says with a smile on her face, but we all know she means it as an insult.

"Goodbye, Mother," I say pointedly, placing my hand on the small of my mother's back, in effect pushing her towards the door. I don't want these two women to be in the same room for even one more second. It will only end in disaster.

I close the door behind my mother, and I can't help but sigh in relief that she's gone. I'm also glad that she didn't say anything inappropriate in front of Katniss, at least, even if everything she said to me was completely out of line.

Katniss's back has slumped now that my mother is out of the house. Ivy is still tugging at her braid. "So what did she call me?" she says, her voice tired. "Seam slut?" I stare at her, my eyes wide open. "Whore?" she suggests when I don't answer.

My mouth is dry. "Katniss, why… why would she say that?" I manage to stutter. So she does know. My mother was right.

"It's what everyone thinks, anyway." I'm speechless. She smiles when she sees the look in my eyes, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Don't tell me you didn't know?"

"That's what my mother came here to tell me," I say. Perhaps I shouldn't tell her this. I should try to protect her.

"I can't believe you didn't know." She laughs. "Even my mother-in-law thought that's why I moved here, Peeta." I'm unable to say anything, so I simply stare at her. It's been a long time since I felt like the innocent one. Katniss doesn't understand the dynamics of the Capitol, but it's clear that I don't understand the dynamics of 12. I've been removed from them for far too long.

"Did you?" I finally find the voice to ask her. "Did you think that?"

She slowly shakes her head, her eyes not leaving mine. "No." Her voice is firm, but low.

I'm not sure whether she's lying.

"Would you have moved here even if you had thought that was the case? That… that was what I wanted?" I have to ask her. I'm a Capitol prostitute. I don't judge. But she doesn't know that.

"Yes." Her answer is immediate, there is no hesitation. I don't have to ask her why. She's holding her chubby baby on her hip. Only a few months ago, Ivy was starving. "And I'm not ashamed of it." There's fire in her eyes now. They dare me to try and defy her.

I wouldn't dream of it. She has no idea how well I understand her.

"Good," I tell her. "You shouldn't be."

I could tell her a lot about prostitution. About how there are times when you are ashamed, even though you shouldn't be, because you are doing it to save someone. Because you have no other choice. But she doesn't need to know that. I'm so glad she doesn't have to know. What if she hadn't met Haymitch that winter night, when she was on her way to Cray's? Where would she be now if he hadn't? Would she and her children still be alive? Or would she perhaps be pregnant with Cray's bastard child? I shudder at the thought. Everyone in 12 knows what happens to the girls and women who get pregnant after going to Cray's door. They are given two choices – the knitting needle or being thrown into the river, late at night when no one can see. Most choose the knitting needle, but for more than a few, the end result is still the same.

I know I can't keep Katniss safe from the gossip and the rumors, but I can at least keep her safe from Cray.

The days pass. As the Capitol slips further from my mind, I'm able to relax more. I don't smell synthetic roses wherever I go anymore. I'm able to touch myself again, to bring myself to release in the shower. I still feel terrible for thinking about Katniss while I do, but I can't help myself. It's a conflicting feeling, knowing that people in 12 think I want other services from her than just being a housekeeper. The idea of potentially behaving like one of my clients in the Capitol is nauseating.

My fantasies about Katniss used to be, well, fantasies. Now that she is living in my house, and I interact with her every day, that has changed. My old fantasies blend with real life situations. What I usually think about first, which gets me rock hard in an instant every time, is the look in her eyes, the one she had when she looked at me that one time in the hallway – just before I left for the Capitol. When she was on fire, despite her tears. That moment of reality is where my new fantasies begin and my imagination takes over. There are no tears, and her fiery eyes meet mine as she reaches out to touch the line of my jaw. Sometimes she'll say things like, "I want you, Peeta." Fantasy Katniss saying my name in a husky voice is such a turn-on. Other times she won't say a word, she'll simply show me that she wants me.

It's surprisingly easy to keep memories of my Capitol customers away, perhaps because Katniss is so different from them. The same goes for my other casual victor hook-ups over the years, including Cashmere, although that's something else.

My fantasies all end the same way, with me looking down on, or up into, her face dissolving in pleasure as her body molds into mine and we are one. That's when I spill myself into the warm water, moaning her name, desperately trying to stay quiet.

Katniss, of course, has no idea. The fact that she's in mourning makes me feel even worse that I think about her in this way.

But day by day, it seems like things get a bit easier for her. She talks more, and I no longer have to practically force her to eat. She laughs with Ivy sometimes, and she goes out to play with Arrow.

A few weeks after my return, we play poker for the first time, just the two of us. She quickly catches on when I try to play badly on purpose. She's seemed so distracted lately, and I want to make sure that she wins. She instructs me to behave like a man and at least try to win. I roll my eyes and do as she says. She still beats me, of course, even though it takes her longer than usual, and her triumphant grin as she piles up all the chips in front of her after we are done makes it very hard to hide my own smile.

I decide that now is a good time. "Wait here," I tell her and quickly run upstairs. I can't think about this; I can't think too much about what I'm doing because then I'll lose my nerve. Taking care to be silent so I don't wake up the children, I open my suitcase, which Katniss thinks is empty, and take out her Cinna-designed dress.

"I got you something," I say when I come downstairs again, a bit breathless. "From the Capitol."

Her eyes widen in surprise. "A gift?" I nod. "For me?" I nod again. "You didn't… you didn't have to do that."

"I know," I say. "But I wanted to." Only now do I realize that she might hate it. What if she hates it? My heart is pounding. I don't know why this dress is so important to me.

Katniss gasps as she takes out the dress from the exclusive white paper bag, unfolds it and holds it out in front of her. She goes to the hall to look at herself in the full-length mirror. The color is perfect on her. Orange is a difficult color to pull off, but Katniss does it perfectly. The dress is very simple by Capitol standards, but here in 12, it would be considered fancy. The pure, elegant lines of the dress, the exclusive fabric – both hallmarks of Cinna's designs – look amazing on her.

"It's… It's too beautiful for me," she whispers, her pupils wide as she studies her reflection in the mirror.

I can see how she might think that, having grown up in the Seam. I can't imagine she's used to dresses like this one. But I disagree. "No, it's not," I say, with absolute conviction in my voice. "It's perfect." No dress could possibly be too beautiful for her.

Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. "Thank you," she says. Had I expected her to hug me, like she did before I left for the Capitol? I don't know. She doesn't, but the small smile on her lips will have to be enough.

I wake up from a nightmare, gasping for breath. I look at the alarm clock. 4 am. Fuck.

I dreamt that Katniss was in the Hunger Games, too. She was high up in a tree, injured, with a burn on her thigh. I was standing on the ground, looking up at her, together with the other careers. While they were discussing how to kill her, she met my eyes through the leaves, and I could see hatred in them. Or perhaps revulsion, I don't know. Then she started climbing. Higher and higher, the tree was never ending.

Then she was gone. Up into the sky, where I could not follow.

I go to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I can forget about getting any more sleep tonight. The two hours I've gotten tonight will have to do.

I decide to go downstairs and bake bread for breakfast. My feet are bare and I try to walk as quietly as I can, since I don't want to wake Katniss and the children.

Through the closed door to the bathroom Katniss and the children use, I hear... sobs. Heavy, desperate sobs.

Without thinking, because if I do, I might not dare to, I open the bathroom door. Katniss is curled up on the floor, her entire body shaking. One look at her face, and I know she's been crying for a long time, perhaps hours. There are imprints of the tiles on one cheek. I sink down on my knees next to her and lift her up as if she's a child. I carry her to her bedroom, taking great care to be quiet so I don't wake Ivy in her crib, and set Katniss down on the bed. To my surprise, she clings to me, refusing to let me go. She cries even harder now. I'm afraid her sobs will wake up Ivy, but in the darkness I can just about make out Ivy's sleeping form and hear her regular, deep breathing.

Katniss tries to speak, but she's unable to.

"Shhhhh," I whisper into her hair, holding her tight. "You don't have to say anything."

When her crying finally subsides, her eyes close and her breath is slow and even. She must be falling asleep from sheer exhaustion. I wonder if she's gotten any sleep tonight at all. I gently try to lay her down and put the covers over her without waking her. But as I try to leave, her eyes suddenly fly open and she grabs my hand as if she's drowning. "Stay with me?" she whispers.

"Always," I murmur. She turns around, giving me room to lie down next to her. I hesitantly put an arm around her.

My knees fit perfectly behind hers.

She falls asleep.

Her body is small and warm next to mine. I know this is far from proper, but I can't bring myself to get out of her bed, to leave her. I promised her I'd stay.

And she's so warm.

I close my eyes and somehow, I find sleep.

I wake to the sound of Ivy's laughter. She doesn't cry when she wakes up in the morning, and she's usually in a very good mood.

When I open my eyes, I find that Katniss has turned to face me in her sleep. I take the opportunity to study her features. She looks so beautiful when she's sleeping. Her eyelashes are long and dark, and flutter slightly in her sleep. I wonder what she's dreaming about. There's a slight smile on her full lips, so I think it must be a good dream. There are tiny freckles on the bridge of her nose – I wonder why I never noticed that before?

But I've never been this close to her.

One of her feet is lying between mine, and my arm is resting around her waist. A quick look down my body confirms my suspicions that yes, I'm rock hard. Dammit. My erection isn't actually pressed against her, thankfully, but it's close. Too close. I blush and wonder how I can get out of this. I could try to slip out of bed without waking her, but while I'm trying to figure out just how to do that, Katniss wakes up. She must've been exhausted not to wake up immediately from the sounds of her daughter.

If she's surprised to find me here, in her bed, she doesn't show it. She doesn't try to shy away from me, either. She rests, with my arm still around her waist, and I feel her even, regular breathing.

"Thank you," she whispers. Ivy notices that her mother is awake and tries to get her attention. Katniss turns her head to look at her daughter. "I should probably…" her voice trails off.

I blush again. "Uh, yeah." I scramble to get up so she can get out of bed, even though everything in me screams not to. I sit on the edge of the bed because I'm definitely not presentable right now. Katniss picks up Ivy, who smiles and laughs at her. Then she turns around with her baby in her arms and looks at me. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but it's me who finds words first.

"No nightmares."

"What?"

"I didn't… I didn't have any nightmares."

She must understand the significance of this somehow. Perhaps she's heard more through the walls than I think, because she nods with a small smile on her lips.

I haven't woken up this rested in… I can't even remember how long.

At night, instead of reading or suggesting that we play poker, Katniss sits down next to me on the couch.

"What do you dream of?" she says quietly. It takes me a few seconds to react. I'm mesmerized by her eyes, remembering what her irises looked like up close earlier this morning. They seemed to change color, from cloudy to silvery and then back to cloudy. Now they are a simple, but beautiful shade of gray. When I don't respond, she continues. "You said that you didn't have any nightmares last night. What - what are your nightmares about?"

"You didn't seem surprised that I have nightmares. Have you… heard me?"

She's blushing now. "Yes, sometimes I've… heard sounds. I don't think the Capitol spent much money on soundproofing these houses." She looks away, the blush still on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I didn't intend for you to hear that." I take a deep breath. I've never talked to anyone about this. Cashmere knows, of course, but she's never asked – she doesn't have to. She's been in the arena herself. "Sometimes, my nightmares are very specific. About events that took place in the arena. I don't know how familiar you are with my Hunger Games?"

"Not very," she confesses. "I couldn't… Madge was a good friend of mine." I nod. I know. "I couldn't really deal with seeing her… I only saw what I really had to. You know, the mandatory viewing. But even then, I tried to shut it out as much as I could. I was trying to protect myself, I guess."

"I understand." And I do. It was the first time ever that two merchant teenagers had been reaped from 12. Because of the tesserae system, most of 12's tributes were from the Seam. Everyone knew we didn't really stand a chance in the arena. We were as good as dead.

Well, that's what everyone thought, anyway.

"Why did you team up with the Careers?" she asks, her voice serious. "And not with Madge?"

That's what people kept asking me after I came home to 12 - alone. I could never give them a truthful answer. But with Katniss… it's different. Perhaps she'll understand? Madge was her friend, so she deserves to know the truth. Or perhaps after all these years, I simply need to tell someone? "I knew that only one of us could get out of the arena alive. I didn't want to risk being in the position – however unlikely – that Madge and I would be the two last survivors. I could have never, ever come back to 12 if I had killed her." She nods.

Still, in the end, despite my at least more or less good intentions, I ended up being responsible for her death.

There's a less honorable part, too. "But I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that the most important reason was that I judged my own chances of survival to be better if I teamed up with the Careers." My right hand trembles slightly. I try to hide it by folding my hands, but I see from the corner of my eye that she notices. I really wish I could have a drink. "Haymitch thought so, too." When she doesn't answer, I continue. "Yeah, Haymitch chose me. He chose me over Madge. That's the kind of sacrifice you have to make when you're a mentor. You have to choose the tribute you think has the best chance of surviving, and pretty much ignore the other one, because there isn't enough sponsor money for both." I can hear , without really intending to, that my voice sounds more aggressive. I don't know why I feel as though I have to defend my actions to her. That I have to defend wanting to survive.

Her next words surprise me, though. "That young girl… What was her name?"

My fingers are now digging into my palms, nails nearly breaking through the skin. "Rue. Her name was Rue." I have to fight back the tears now. "Sometimes I can't even close my eyes because I see her little face as soon I do."

"They called her the Mockingjay," Katniss whispers. "Because she used the birds to communicate with Madge in the woods. I remember her so well because she teamed up with Madge, but also because she reminded me so much of Prim. And what you did after she was dead… with the flower. It was beautiful."

I can't talk about Rue anymore. "Well, sometimes my nightmares are about more specific situations. Such as Rue's and Madge's deaths. Or the mutts that were chasing after me. Other times… It's a more general feeling of… loss. Of being all alone in the world. That no one would care if I died. And that I lose someone, someone I can't… can't reach. Or can't save."

"Who is that person?" Katniss whispers.

"I don't know," I lie. Because this is another thing she can't know. That most of my nightmares are about losing her.

As soon as spring is in full bloom, the days grow longer and warmer.

There are still days when Katniss is barely able to get out of bed. Days when I cook her dinner instead of the other way around. When I take Ivy so that she can sleep.

I have my own bad days. When I've hardly slept in days, when I'm desperate to get a break to forget. When it takes everything I've got not to go to Haymitch and beg him for a bottle. Or to dig into the vials of Capitol pills that I keep hidden inside a pair of socks in my closet, where Katniss can't find them.

I often think about that night in her bed. How well I slept, how well rested I was when I woke up. Perhaps it would be like that if I spent another night in her bed? Or if she were in mine? But of course, I can't ask that of her, so I never mention it. She must see the dark rings under my eyes, but she never comments on them.

Does she think about that night? I don't know. But it seems like all I can think about is her soft body next to mine.

Even though some days are dark and difficult, as the weeks pass, there are more good days than bad ones. It's starting to feel like a strangely normal life. Sometimes it's hard to remember why Katniss is living in my house. That it's my house, not ours.

I don't think I'm the only one who has noticed the shift between us. Haymitch thankfully only talks about it when Katniss is out of earshot. He makes rude remarks that I scold him for, but I know that he means well, in that strange way of his. And every time we have a fight, I bake him bread the next morning. Few things seem to make Haymitch happier than seeing me with bread.

I bake Katniss cheese buns for her birthday. I can't sleep anyway, and when I hear that Ivy is awake, I serve her breakfast in bed. Arrow wakes up and comes to his mother's room, too, and the three of them have breakfast in bed together. "How did you know it was my birthday?" she asks between two cheese buns. She really lovesthem.

"We were in the same class at school, remember?" I ask her. I don't tell her that hers is the only birthday I still remember. I barely even remember the names of most of the children who were in our class.

"Oh." She looks a bit guilty. "When is your birthday?"

"March second."

"I'm sorry I missed it," she says. "I didn't remember."

"Don't worry about it," I smile. Of course I never expected her to remember my birthday, why would she? I haven't bought her a present, because giving her the dress still feels awkward. But I do go to the meadow and pluck her a large bouquet of spring flowers, and she looks happy when I give it to her. I also cook her dinner after the children are in bed.

For Arrow's birthday, which is less than a week after her own, Katniss shyly asks if I can bake him a cake, and I happily agree. I suggest that we hold his birthday party here, even though she had planned to have it at Prim's house. When I insist that it's okay, she invites his whole class. 25 seven-year-olds run crazy through the house for two full hours, which has never been this filled with life and laughter. The chocolate cake shaped like a train is a huge hit. After the children are finally in bed and the worst of the mess is cleaned up, we are both absolutely exhausted.

"This is why humans don't get litters," Katniss laughs as she disposes of some chocolate cake she found under the couch. Who knows how it ended up there? She's tired, but her eyes are still sparkling. She looks beautiful. Her hair is messy, she has smudged chocolate on her skirt, and she's glowing.

I'm standing by the kitchen counter, leaning my lower back against it as I look out the window, into the garden. It's a big mess, too. I wonder how the children have managed to turn everything upside down in only two hours.

She comes up to stand next to me, looking out at the garden, too. "Let's leave that for tomorrow," she suggests. I nod. "Thank you," she says softly. "Arrow had a great time today. They all did." I shrug. It was my pleasure. The house has been empty and silent for so many years, and filling it with the laughter of children was wonderful. I made sure to send all of the guests home with a gift bag full of candy and a small toy, too. I know many of the children don't get enough food at home – at least the Seam kids don't, and I wouldn't be surprised if many of the Merchant children occasionally go to bed hungry, too. I wish we could have given them food as well in that gift bag, but Katniss was afraid it would come across as charity, and Seam people are proud.

I absentmindedly look at the mess in the garden while I think about the children. I've been holed up in the Victors' Village most of the time for more than a decade, and when I did have to go to the Town or the Hob, I never really noticed the children. Now, having met them, having seen them play, it's… different. It's hard not to think about empty tables and skinny children.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Katniss leaning in towards me. Instinctively, my head turns towards her, and then her lips meet my own.

It's an accident. She only meant to kiss my cheek.

But she doesn't move away. And neither do I.

We stand there, frozen. Her lips are soft and warm, and she smells faintly of chocolate cake and flowers. A moment later, my body reacts. It's not a conscious decision when my hand finds the back of her skull, almost getting tangled in her braid as I pull her closer to me. The other hand finds the perfect curve at the small of her back. Her hands are on my chest, but she doesn't try to push me away. My lips part slightly, and I feel that hers do, too. My tongue doesn't delve into her mouth, like the Capitol clients seem to prefer, but I do taste her lips for just an instant. There is nothing artificial or man-made about how she tastes. No sugar or strawberries or vanilla. It's just… her.

This is real.

A shiver seems to go through her body, and I hear a faint gasp. I don't know whether it's from her or me. Then she takes a step back, and I release her immediately. Her pupils are fully dilated, her eyes appear more black than gray. Her lips are a bit swollen, and her skin is flushed. I can barely breathe. I don't know what passes between us in those long seconds while we stand there, our eyes locked. Then, breaking our trance, she murmurs "goodnight", and leaves. I hear her steps disappear up the stairs, and then the sound of her bedroom door closing.

With shaking knees, I sit down by the kitchen table.

Can you believe that I am actually the same person who's written Glühwein and Absinthe? LOL It's taken me TEN chapters to get to their first kiss – and it's even a misunderstanding!

What does Katniss think about that kiss? You'll have to wait until chapter 11 to find out!

Lbug84 and I just finished Absinthe (check it out on AO3 if you haven't read it already – if you like Everlark/Odesta foursome smut, that is), and we'll post the first chapter of the sequel Everclear soon! Yay! I'm so excited to share it with you. By the way, have you read Lbug84's new fic 7 Steps? You should! It features Indian!Peetha!

I'm mockingjayflyingfree on Tumblr! Come talk to me! And reviews are always greatly appreciated. I haven't had time to reply to all the reviews from chapter 9 yet, I've been really busy. Sorry! I just finished my last exam – possibly my last exam ever… Unless I start studying something else. Again. Oh, who am I kidding – I'm sure I will, haha. But at least it's my last exam for now!