***Hi, all! Good to see you. I just wanted everyone to know that it's currently graduate school finals time, so for the next two weeks, I'll only be writing TL&N when I get the chance, so updates might be slower. But then, it'll be summer, so I'll have time for updates galore. In the meantime, thanks for your thoughts and please keep the suggestions coming!

When I wake, I've somehow inched over to the edge of the bed, which happens sometimes when I'm asleep. I tend to wake before Peeta most mornings; my hunter's senses are attuned to the slightest sounds, which sometimes encourages insomnia. He's asleep, his mouth open, drooling on his pillow. Those unbelievable golden eyelashes are visible in the sunlight slanting through the window. I see the muscles in his arms as he hugs a pillow to him. I remember last night and shiver. Sometimes I'm shocked by this ability I've discovered inside myself to give up power during sex, if nowhere else. It's simple logic, really; this is what turns me on the most, lets me get out of my own head for awhile, let Peeta make these decisions for me, however minor. I realize the amount of trust that must have grown in me towards him, and it seems somewhat unreal, considering he once tried to strangle me. He hasn't had a very serious episode in a long time, and none at all that I've seen recently, though to be fair, it's entirely likely he had one during our fight. Stress exacerbates them.

I resolve to ask Johanna—since I can't ask anyone else—if my sexual proclivities are normal. I imagine Haymitch's reaction, and his facial expressions jump from shock, to smugness, to hilarity rapidly inside my head. Or some combination of the three. Even if I had parents, I can't imagine asking them. But just referencing last night makes me feel flushed all over again. If these are our options, besides the act of sex itself, I think I can be okay with that. Peeta's getting better in his confidence, in directing me. I think of that big hand pinning me to the wall, making me whisper all my desires. Ah, shit, I think, as I feel my nether regions responding. There's no time for that. I have plans with Johanna, and she's leaving today, I think a little sadly. Life back to normal, whatever that is. I stretch, but I won't leave the bed without waking Peeta: because he'll want to see Johanna too, but also because I know how nervous it makes him for me to be gone in the mornings.

I lean over and wrap my arms around his broad back, kiss his ear. He shifts slightly. I nibble up the side, burying my nose into those curls that are getting longer and longer. I kind of like them long, actually.

"Wake up, gorgeous," I whisper teasingly into his ear. He makes an "mmm" sound as he begins to come to. I kiss down the back of his neck, along his spine. I like holding him like this, though usually he holds me. It makes me feel protective, like when we were in the cave. The first time I felt that our kisses might actually become something. But soon he rolls over, and his face lights up at seeing me, as it does every morning, a thought, like a shooting star, rolls across my consciousness: what would it be like to see that face every morning, for the rest of my life? These thoughts are safe, as long as they're only mine, I guess. But it's a lovely smile, and it makes me feel safe and loved, which just now, I am.

He yawns, sleepily, and wraps his arms around me. Rolling over the top of me, he leans on his elbows and kisses my cheeks, my nose, my mouth, which is still hungry. I cup the back of his neck in my palms. Those unwavering blue eyes look down into mine. Then he asks a question, still sleepily, that I don't understand at first.

"What can I call you?" I blink in surprise.

"What?"

"What would you let me call you?"

"You mean, besides my name?" The confusion must be apparent in my tone. As he begins to wake up more fully, he bites his lip, as though maybe he's deciding this is a conversation for a later date. But he knows my intractability; I will pester him incessantly once he brings something up, until I know what he means.

"I was going to say 'good morning,'" he says slowly, but what I really wanted to say was, 'good morning, my love.'"

My heart betrays me and skips a beat and I feel like the girl that I never feel like. Hunter, killer, Victor, protector, Mockingjay, breadwinner, Girl on Fire. None of these positions have ever either expected this of me, or had room for it. I was the son to my father, all along, but I only figured it out when he died. Almost with prescience, he had taught me the skills I needed to take care of my family. Sometimes I wonder if he knew that one day, I'd be the only one who could. Love? Has this word, so recently a verb, evolved into a noun? I don't know what to think of this. The longer I'm quiet, the more distressed Peeta looks, and I hate that look, like he's tiptoeing around me, as though I might go on the attack at any time…which really, I might, given my history. As much as I hate it, I've given him reason to have that look.

"I don't know what to say," I say, just to say something. It's early still, I can tell by the light, so at least I can stall for a bit before I need to fetch Johanna.

"Okay," he says, "I just…I'm sorry if that's too fast, I just didn't feel comfortable without asking you, and sometimes…sometimes I almost slip."

Sometimes he almost slips into calling me….?

Then I surprise myself. This used to be rare, but has been becoming more common. Growth in one area of your life, I've learned, does not necessarily mean growth in another, and until recently, my people skills have both been woefully nonexistent and universally uninteresting to me. Until I lost those I loved and had taken for granted for so many years, and like all of us, was forced to begin again.

"Okay," I say. This is not the response he expects. I see the shock in his face.

"Well, it's logical, right?" I try to reason aloud. "I already know that's how you f…" But he blocks the rest with a kiss, which I lean into. I'm smiling when we break apart. All this came about the day I decided in the woods that life was too short and I was a fool if I wanted to deny the joyful and good moments in it, the ones that Peeta brings to me.

He speaks slowly, with deliberation, and I understand the importance to him of what he says. He could have been waiting weeks to bring this up, for all I know. We've been back for many months, and sleeping together on a regular basis for at least three of them, now. I tell him I love him rarely, still, but it is true.

"Good morning, my love," he says. And the words are not scary, but sweet.

"Good morning," I whisper. I know intuitively that he knows I cannot do it, can't say the lovely words back to him, not yet. Maybe someday. I kind of hope so. He strokes my hair, kisses my one bare shoulder that pokes out of the blankets. The warmth of the kiss lingers when he pulls away.

"I have to hunt with Johanna," I say, "Before she goes." I see the sadness flicker in his eyes, and I know what it means without him saying it. "Yeah, I know," I say. "But it's not like before. The people that leave come back."

"Can you leave me some time to see her before she goes?" he asks.

"Of course! We'll only take a few hours. Let's plan an early dinner together."

He nods. Before I get up to get dressed, I sit up, which pushes him up too. Sitting on my own folded knees, I pull him in close, pressing our nudity against one another. The embrace is short, but passionate. There are always things I want to convey to Peeta that I can't find the words to say, but these are simple. "Thank you for last night, Peeta," I tell him, "Thank you in a lot of ways."

"Anytime you want," he murmurs, and kisses me, openmouthed. I can feel his morning erection pressing into me, but there's nothing to be done about that now. "Next weekend, do you want to just spend it in bed with me?" He's smiling. I'm seriously considering the merits of this as I get up and begin to dress. Most of my clothes have been migrating into Peeta's closet, except the ones from Cinna, which I never touch. They stand as a sort of morbid but beautiful memorial in the closet at home. But it's more convenient this way, since it got old trekking back every morning in his just to dig up mine. My bow and arrows hang in the corner, over my boots. I slide them on and quickly twist my messy hair into a braid.

"I'll see you in a bit," I tell him as I slip out. He's still waking up, I can tell, but he nods, blows me a kiss at the last minute. This brings Prim inexplicably to mind, but my reaction to that is always the same. No. No, no, no, no, no. Get out. I know this is not a strategy that will last forever, but it's good enough for now. I ease downstairs and grab two of his rolls on the way. I cross the green and enter my own space, and Johanna's already up and dressed, giving her dog water and leftovers, her knife stuck in her belt. When she turns to me, she looks moderately rested. I toss her a roll. She looks like she might even have attempted a shower this morning—or some form of cleaning. Too bad she can't take dust baths like the chickens, I think wryly. "Rest alright?"

"Only one nightmare," she says. "One nightmare is a good night. I think it's just because it's an unfamiliar place. Once I saw Mutt I was okay." She doesn't elaborate on the contents of the dream, and I don't ask.

"Ready to go?" is all I say. Her valise is packed on the floor by her feet, but there must be almost nothing in it, because I swear she's been wearing the same clothes—or at least very slight variations of them—this whole time. She sees me looking and says by way of explanation, "Routine helps. Sameness. Another thought from my Great and Powerful Shrink." Her tone of snark is identical whenever she mentions doctors. I always get the impression she didn't like them much even before 13.

We head out together, Johanna moving soundlessly behind me, like last time. When we cross the district fence, I feel at home again. I dig Gale's bow out of the tree and feel the same pang as last time. I hand it off, with the arrows, and find myself wishing for a second that I had axes to offer her, instead. She'd bring back a haul that would last a month. Pretty soon, I'm going to have to start paying to have things drawn and quartered, if only so they'll fit in Peeta's fridge. Spring is coming and the "throw everything in the snow" approach is not going to be viable. But for today, we should be okay. It's unusually cold this morning, and I'm glad we're dressed for it.

We head down one of my known hunting routes, which meanders through the forest to the west of the lake. Johanna spots the first game before even I do…a pair of rabbits eating the low green berries she collected last time from the bushes. I can't wait until the rest of the berries are in season—we'll eat like royalty. I take the first one cleanly, but the second one wheels before I can reload. I stick it in my belt and move on. I think fleetingly how surprising it is that the wild dog pack hasn't been around the village. Maybe they don't know the fence isn't still electrified. Regrettably, I think, they will need some sort of real barrier, sooner or later. I take two pheasants on the wing—pheasants are slow-moving and easy to bag—and before I can move on, I see a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye and hear the high pitched eyyyyy-yip! that is Johanna's war cry. When I turn, there's a good sized woodchuck with a knife through its heart. She pulls it free without a second's thought and sticks him in her own belt. I'm looking approving. She pauses to scoop up some of those berries into a little leather pouch that's cleverly attached to her belt. She wipes her blade on the leaves and sticks it back where it belongs. When I nail another squirrel with a well-placed arrow soon after, she draws her own and gives the next one we see a try. It's a good twenty yards off, and she misses by inches. She swears convincingly. I want to ask her my questions about sex, but not now, when it'll keep the game off. That puts us up a rabbit, a woodchuck, two pheasants, and a squirrel, though. We've only been in for about two hours. So I figure we have time. I make a snap decision and turn her to the east. If we trek for another thirty minutes, my lake is down here.

I never even invited Peeta to the lake with me. I associate it with Gale, which might have something to do with it—I've taken him into the woods a few times to gather, but I've never gone to Gale's and my place, either. To be fair, I don't go there even by myself, since it reminds me too much of that last morning before the Reaping, when everything was the same. But Johanna has grown into the type of best friend that Peeta can't be, because he's my lover, which makes him another animal. And so, because I'm tired of being alone, roping off whole sections of my life against intruders, I take her. When the top of the old house down there comes into view and she asks about it, I tell her the story of Bonnie and Twill.

"Did you see them in 13?" she asks.

"No. They never made it," I still hear that old touch of bitterness tainting my voice. "They were almost there, too. But they didn't know what they were doing in the woods; it's amazing they even got this far in the winter." We light a fire in the old fireplace and I roast the squirrel over it. I'll get another on the way home. Johanna tears into the greasy meat and stares out the empty doorway at the lake.

"Are there fish in there?" I nod.

"Under the ice. Sometimes I come and break through and get some. Gale and I…" I don't finish this sentence, because there's no point. I switch topics.

"You should feel special, brainless," I tease her, "I never bring anyone here. It's sort of my safe haven. My father used to take me here." This is almost more of a sensitive subject than Gale, but she simply nods. We mostly volunteer painful information rather than asking about it outright. But I know a subject that will take me away for awhile, of course.

"Hey, I have a sort-of-embarrassing question I can't ask anyone but you," I say.

She smirks. "Because I'm so special?"

"Because I don't know what the hell I'm doing and I'm thinking you do." I pause, unsure if this is a sensitive question or not, then plunge ahead. "Did you have a lot of lovers in the Capitol?"

She laughs, but it's dry. "Not as many as Snow would have liked for me to have," and suddenly, in a flash, I get a mental image of what happened to her family. Defiant Johanna, like Haymitch, like me. Finnick, in his own way, was defiant, too, slowly accumulating his secrets, waiting with patience until he could wield them like his trident, but he had patience, tact, an ability to endure that we do not have, Johanna, Haymitch and I. "You refused his…offer?" I ask carefully.

"Actually, I told him to go fuck himself," she says, "If we're being totally precise about it." Even I suck in my breath at this. If this is true—and there's no reason to believe it's not—she's lucky she's here at all to tell about it.

"And he didn't…have you killed?" I breathe quietly.

"Oh, no. He doesn't play like that. I thought you learned that lesson from Finnick and Peeta," she says, a little contemptuously, "Snow likes to drag it out. He likes the game. There are far worse things than dying, Katniss."

This, at least, I know. Watching Peeta come back as he was…I would have died to save him from that.

"Didn't like it much, though," she continues. "So he found other ways of dampening my…spirit. For awhile, at least. He underestimated me, though. In a way, he even did me a favor. When you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose." This is where she ends the conversation. "Why did you ask about my sex life, Girl on Fire? Are we going to have a bonding moment?" She's smirking, back to herself.

"Well, I….haven't," I say lamely.

"I'm aware. You're lucky for it, too. If the Quarter Quell hadn't come up, and your then-imaginary love affair, you'd be able to answer your own questions now," she says grimly.

"Peeta and I…this thing hasn't been going on for very long, not really," I begin. "It took a long time after everything for some of the trust to come back. And we're still having the nightmares, and he still has the hallucinations. For awhile, all I did was hide in the woods all day, or curl up in bed, and try to remember to breathe. We weren't really functional enough to interact on anything but a superficial level."

"Plus, there was always the possibility that he'd strangle you," she says, morbidly cheerful all of a sudden, which startles me into a laugh.

"Yes, thanks. When we started just sleeping in the same bed, it helped us heal, I think. But we came back with no one but Haymitch for comfort, so in a way, I felt like we were forced together, which gave me doubts. I don't want to be with him because I need him to survive. Does that make sense?"

She tilts her hand back and forth: yes and no.

I wait.

"Well, you both founded a whole relationship—using the term loosely—on the fact that you needed each other for mutual survival," she says, "So, really, you'll never be able to ignore the fact that you were sort of bonded through fire and circumstance. Not that that makes it any less important or powerful," she adds, hastily, when my face falls.

"I mean, so were you and Gale, if you think about it," she continues, "Only it was of a different kind." This never occurs to me, but it is true. She must make up all these amazing insights inside her head when she's busy avoiding everyone at home.

"Is it bad, do you think?"

"Nah. I mean, it shouldn't be the only reason, but it just comes down to the two of you working together to bring out the good in each other. Find balance, you know? It's easier to be hard than soft."

"You're one to talk."

"I think I've earned my right to take the path of least resistance."

"Anyways, now I don't know what we are—lovers, I guess, but nothing structured, since I can't handle it yet…but of course, eventually it turned into something sexual. Hormones." I sound glum, like I wish I had none. This belies, of course, my fascination with this entire process and all it entails.

"Inevitable," she says, "And Peeta's your safest choice for that, now that his mind is clearing up and he's not trying to kill your mutt ass all the time," she tells me affectionately. "You know, you're kind of a late bloomer already."

I ignore this. "So I'm figuring it out, and when we're not bickering, it's been…" I can't have this entire conversation without blushing, unfortunately… "really good."

"Obviously, if you were trying to fuck him," she says, to get a rise out of me. Johanna uses more profanity than anyone I know.

"I was trying to make love," I say haughtily, which makes her laugh.

"Get to the point, Girl on Fire. Hey, now you're really on fire, only…" I cut her off. I can only be needled so much.

"I like it when he bosses me around," I say, cutting to the chase.

"Doesn't look like it!" She says again, cheerfully. She's being difficult.

"In bed, jackass."

"Ooooo, kinky."

"Is that normal?" I ask.

"Dirty deets," she says, "Or no advice."

I sigh and tell her the story of last night's adventure. She's looking entranced, which both amuses and annoys me. I think she might be living vicariously through me.

"So," I conclude, "What I hate in life, apparently I can't get enough of in bed. Which is really confusing because you'd think I wouldn't hand over any power to anyone, after everything that's happened. That I could use all of it that I can get. Plus, Peeta always defers to me! You know that. Haymitch knows that. Everyone who isn't blind knows that. Is this some sort of sick thing I need to stop?"

She laughs, "If that's the worst thing you're into, Katniss, then I guess we're both going to hell."

"You're into that stuff?" I'm blinking, my eyes wide. No way, I think, Johanna Mason? Johanna MASON? I can't picture her surrendering anything…not a conversation, not a belief, not her stuff, not her body…to anyone.

"Oh, not the way you are," she says. It takes me a minute, during which she observes me with a look on her face that clearly says she thinks I'm slow. "Wait, you mean…"

"You should let me get a hold of you one of these days," she chirps, "Or better yet, let Peeta and I team up. I know things about domination…and women…that it'll take dear Peeta YEARS to learn." She's smirking in a self-satisfied way. Now this, I can picture perfectly well. I've never thought about girls the way I now think about Peeta, but a flicker of a mental image of Johanna, with all that power and demanding nature packed into her slight frame, doing the things Peeta's doing, sends a totally unexpected flash of heat through my cheeks, turning them scarlet. Oh yes, I think, I bet you do. Then my mind snags on the last half.

"About…women?" I ask.

She looks at me exasperatedly again. Johanna sometimes thinks I'm a moron, I think. Her tolerance for stupidity is staggeringly low.

"What did you think, Katniss? Everyone knows that."

"How would I have possibly…" I'm suddenly so intensely curious, I want to know everything. What she knows about domination, what she knows about women, everything. "Just….women?" I manage to get out.

She grins. "I'm equal opportunity. If I had to choose forever, I guess, yeah, women, but, you know I'm a hunter."

I don't feel any differently towards her but I'm seized by the desire to ask her all kinds of inappropriate questions about her private life. I restrain myself. We're off subject, after all.

"Did you tell Peeta what to do? With me?"

"Maybe I gave him pointers," she says, slyly. "Hey, I'll pay you to let me watch."

I'm snickering. "Not a chance."

"You might liiiiike it," she teases.

"An-y-ways," I say, enunciating, "What should I do about it? I mean, it's not the only thing that's effective, but it definitely is the most. How does it…work, exactly?"

"Well," she says, "When a man and a woman love each other very much…"

I'm cracking up. I can't help it.

"Johanna!"

"Um, well, Katniss, you do what he tells you to do, and if you feel uncomfortable, ask him to stop….but if you get deeper into it, make up a word besides 'stop' that means the same thing, because you might be saying stop and meaning go."

"Saying stop and meaning go?" I say in bewilderment, "Wait, if I say stop to a guy, isn't it kind of a given that he stops? Peeta said stop and I did, even though I didn't want to, and even though I acted out of order…"

"Not like that," she explains patiently. "I mean, as play. If he gets better, he might push you gently to do more, open up more, trust him more."

"He already has been," I say, thinking aloud about the slow series of events that's been unfolding. Never serious….never forceful…but demanding. What Johanna is talking about is kind of like a game, where I hide and Peeta seeks.

"What if I'm scared or embarrassed?"

"Have you been before?"

"Yes," I admit, recalling the first time he had me expose myself for him, recalling last night and those forced-out words…mmm. I can't go there.

"And?"

"And it was awesome."

"Ha. Then, you know, let yourself go with it a little while, see how it goes. Peeta's not the type to insist on anything and I don't think he'd ever hurt you. You know that. He just likes playing with you, seeing how far you'll go. You're a challenge, Katniss! It must be fun to come up against and watch you surrender. I can just imagine it now…"

I shove her. "Don't!"

I'm grateful for the advice, and it's about time to move, so we shoulder our game bags and haul and begin to move out. I stamp out the fire. Johanna turns as we go and takes one wistful look back at the lake. "Sure is beautiful," she sighs. "Thanks for sharing."

I nod. I'm not sorry I did. The company was soothing, forming new, happier memories in place of sad and lonely ones. As we trek towards home, Johanna manages to hit a skunk with one of Gale's arrows and adds that to her woodchuck. I get another squirrel. We can make rabbit stew tonight. We stash the other bow and arrows and clear out of the woods and head for the Hob, since the day will never come when I need all this food. I trade away a pheasant, and a half gallon of wild greens I pulled along the way for some potatoes, new soap, shoelaces, make a deal with the shoe man to resole my boots, which are starting to lose it around the seams. Johanna hands off the berries. I hold onto those and the squirrel for the dairy. I have some coin to add to it. Johanna keeps her game, since this is the last night she's helping to feed herself. I let her wander, and when she comes back, it's with a triumphant look in her eyes.

"Look!" she says excitedly, and brandishes an eight-inch kabar knife with a serrated blade near the finely crafted handle. I imagine she used up all her game getting it, but it's beautiful. There's very little arms trade here, and the Peacekeepers frown on it, but every now and then, there's a vendor who sets up in a corner and has these types of knives. I don't even know where he gets them, unless he actually forges them. Most people, obviously, use them in their kitchens, but I don't think that's why Johanna's excited. She sticks it in the other side of her belt, a matched set. They look good on her.

We drop by the dairy and I add some coins to my trade and pick up our milk, eggs, and cheese. If we got some animals, that would save some of this trouble, and I resolve to talk to Peeta about the possibility. I know there are those in the district that raise cows and chickens and pigs for food. Afterwards, we walk up the path towards the Village. It's around one now, which gives us a little while to make dinner and eat before Johanna has to catch her train. Peeta's up, working in the yard moving stones around to build low walls for the gardens, and he waves and wipes dirty hands on his pants when he sees us. Haymitch is on the steps watching him, reliably with a bottle of wine next to him, half empty. As usual, he hasn't bothered with glasses.

"Hi, sweetheart," he calls, and I'm relieved he's not slurring yet. "Hi, Johanna." Always the diminutive. She waves and I grunt. "Anyone want to help me not ruin dinner?" I ask.

"After I take a quick shower," Peeta says, leaving his pile. I can tell he wants to lean in for a kiss, but he's filthy and we have an audience. But all I can think about is last night, and my conversation with Johanna, so it might be better anyways not to get me started. I know how to start a rabbit stew so Johanna and I go into Peeta's house and she begins to skin while I boil potatoes and wash greens. By the time Peeta comes down, dripping wet and toweling his hair, the stew is bubbling, greens are laid out in bowls with salt, pepper and vinegar, and his bread is neatly sliced and ready for toasting, a task I can't manage alone. He does that part while Johanna washes blood off her hands, the table, and the sink. Haymitch wanders in and falls down into a chair.

"Nice of you to help, Haymitch," I say irritably.

"You know me, ever the joiner," he replies, taking another swig out of the bottle. "Besides, how will you ever learn to cook like a good wife if I help all the time?" This comment makes Johanna snort laughter, which tempers it a bit. I catch a twinkle in Peeta's eye, too, and stomp on his foot. He gives me a look of mock indignation.

When we sit to eat, Haymitch pulls out another bottle of wine and pours it. I try to wave him off and he smirks. "Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll keep the real stuff on the top shelf," he says. "This is just for toasting." With the stew, the greens, the bread, candles lit and everything, I think that this is the family I've built, and I feel triumphant inside. They can never take everything from us. Our will is too strong. Haymitch holds up a glass.

"To moxie," he says, and we all laugh. "To Johanna. And to victory being so much more than they thought it was."

"I'll drink to that," I say. And we drink together. I take it very easy, though. I have no plans on repeating the other night. While we eat, we talk about the transportation, speculate about when we might be able to see Johanna again. "It might be easier if you come out to me," she says. "Katniss, you pretty much have a free pass to go wherever you want."

"I never use it, but I guess that's true," I say.

"You might have to soon," she says, her face suddenly serious. "The Capitol's new government has given you a lot of leeway, but they're not going to forever. Sooner or later they're going to be up your ass again, getting footage or god-knows-what, something to keep their audience satiated. There's always going to be an audience, you know. Maybe now worse than ever." She sighs. "They won't go anywhere near me yet, but sooner or later, they'll get to all of us." She smirks, then. "Except you, Haymitch. They're afraid you'll fall off the stage."

He smirks back at her. Johanna's snarks never bother him. Just mine. But he's known her longer, I remember, so maybe he's just more accustomed to her ways. Or maybe, he understands more about what she's gone through to be here. Of course, Peeta and I have, too, but Haymitch and Johanna, if my guess about her family is right, share a special bond. They were punished in the way I spent all my time fearing I would be punished. At least my mother got away. And Gale. And Peeta, of course.

Dinner goes too fast, and then Johanna is hoisting her suitcase over her shoulder and leashing her dog. When no one is looking I lean down and kiss his snout. He wags his tail at me. "Good dog," I whisper. I'm not forgetting what he did to comfort me. The four of us leave together for the station. Johanna's train comes at 4:30 and we reach the station about a quarter-hour before that.

"What are you going to do when you get home?" I ask.

"Try to keep living," she says matter-of-factly. "Try to keep remembering that I still have things to live for. And people." She smiles at us. "Thanks for the hospitality. From both of us."

"Anytime," I say, but it comes out sounding sad. She must hear it, because she takes my hand and squeezes it. "You keep giving 'em hell, Girl on Fire," she whispers to me. I remember when she made me promise to kill Snow. I never kept it, but he died in the end anyways. When her train pulls in and the Peacekeepers step forward to help her in, she hugs us in turn, me last. When I hug her it's fierce and I'd like to think, full of love. I don't want to let go. So few people give me hugs that tight. She holds me at arm's length by the shoulders when she lets go, and says, just before she goes, "They'll never get you." This is the fable we all tell each other over and over again, hoping to make it true.

"They'll never get you," I whisper back, and then she's climbing on, her big dog bounding happily beside her. As the doors slide shut, Peeta wraps his arms around me from behind. I almost forgot he was there. "She'll be back," he murmurs into my ear, his chin on my shoulder. I'm quiet. When Johanna's face appears in the window, she waves, just once, and we wave back. Then the train pulls away and it's we three again, our little triad back to normal. I wonder idly if Buttercup will show his face again now. He must hate me more than ever. My brain is trying to focus on things other than the fact that she's gone.

We walk home in the twilight. It seems too quiet without the big dog bounding loudly ahead and behind, wagging his tail. Dogs are useful animals, I think, my brain trying to wander away again, good for hunting. Good for guarding. Not like a stupid cat. Haymitch and us part ways, and he actually thanks us for dinner. It's nice when Haymitch is mostly sober. It feels like interacting with a real person, not the person the Capitol made him, although about the alcohol use, I don't judge. I saw his Quell. I don't need to see what happened after. Peeta and I cut to his house and he carries a bundle of wood from the porch inside so we can have a fire. Upstairs, he lights it, and in the bathroom, I change into something he probably never thought I'd have. It's a nightgown, white cotton with wisp-thin straps and tiny rosebuds embroidered around the neckline. It was my mother's when she was younger, but I usually sleep in old castoff clothing, worn out for maximum comfort…or lately, nothing. I let down my hair, which has grown past my shoulders and which I finally let Delly trim after she commented on it about six times, and when I look in the mirror…a luxury we didn't have for most of my life…I see another version of myself. I look older. I look like a woman, not a girl. It's disconcerting. I touch the scar tissue at the side of my neck. It's ugly, and I'm still self-conscious of it after all this time, even around Peeta—not that this matters at all to him—but I don't regret my decision. I will carry what happened to Prim around all my life on my body. If one day I begin to forget what they're capable of, what human beings are capable of, I'll be forced to remember. Like Haymitch, I will always have one eye out, this way.

When I step from the bedroom Peeta has a roaring fire going and he's dragged a pile of blankets and pillows in front of it. He's arranging it, leaning over, wearing only cutoff shorts, and when he straightens and sees me, his whole face changes. There's a softness in his eyes that I only remember feeling once in my own—with Prim. His lips part and those magnificent eyes regard me with adoration and almost reverence. I forget about the scars, in the moment. I move forward, and he crushes me against his chest. I can feel his breathing, heavy, like he's trying to catch his breath. "Where did you get that?" he whispers against my hair.

"It was my mother's," I tell him. "Do you like it?"

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And you know how I appreciate beauty." I can hear the smile in his voice. He tugs me down onto the blankets, and I gently unfasten his leg for him and set it aside. He lies behind me and wraps me up in the blankets and his arms. Lightly, he pushes the strap of one arm down and kisses up my shoulder, up my neck. I shiver. His hand gently cups my breast. I press back into him as close as I can get, almost as if we were one person.

"I love you," he whispers, as we watch the fire. It's early in the night, and I'm not tired yet, but there's nowhere I'd rather be, and with no one else. Maybe, I think, he'll love me even more, yet, tonight. I hope so.

"I know," I tell him, and I squeeze his hand to me, against my heart.

And so it goes.