A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and support for the last chapter. I really appreciate it.

Thank you to Amanda, Lamia and Rae. Thank you for still reading my ramblings, I love you all.

Thank you to my wonderful beta, Bookgeek80 for all her hard work.

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I hope you all enjoy reading!

Coping Methods

District 12 didn't have an appropriate place to hold a meeting. There were barely any landmarks anymore, just the memorial site which was currently under construction. To me, it seemed ridiculous to start building the site when they hadn't even started construction in town yet. I'd mentioned it to Haymitch on one of our visit a few weeks after they began. His face had turned a deep shade of purple, and he'd left Peeta and I alone outside for almost an hour. He returned sweating, his voice hoarse from use. The next day, supplies arrived from the Capitol, and we began to rebuild.

That was two weeks ago. Right now, construction was going well, but unfortunately it meant our meeting with Plutarch had to happen at my house. Peeta's was still abandoned, and he seemed to resent any talk of going back there. Haymitch said he wouldn't let anyone into his house from the Capitol, even if it was someone he knew. I was left with little choice but to invite them to my house.

"You're looking well, Katniss," Plutarch complimented with a wide smile and hopeful eyes upon entering. I nodded, looking away and leading them in without a word, gesturing for them to follow. He was happy to chat at me as I walked; a young woman in a perfectly straight suit followed, a notebook and pen in hand. They seemed out of place in their finery while the three of us sat down before them.

I zoned out within a few minutes, their words barely even reaching me. I managed to nod on occasion when they looked my way, feigning interest in their idea. I knew Haymitch and Peeta would pay attention, and I suddenly felt so tired. Tired of listen and acting when all I wanted to do was...

I sat up when I realised I didn't have an answer.

"Katniss? Was there something you wanted to add?"

With all their eyes on me I felt cornered and lost, my body going strangely weightless. I shook my head, and after a moment, their eyes turned away. All except Peeta's who stayed on me for the rest of the meeting.

#~#~#

"You didn't listen to a word of that, did you? You should know better than that."

Peeta smiled to himself as I stared less than amused at Haymitch. He glared back at me.

"Are you giving me life lessons?" I asked aware of the humour as it crept into my voice. The situation was oddly funny, even though I couldn't work out why. The room seemed to be filled with a strange, electric air. I felt light and empty, and worried if I opened my mouth again I'd either laugh or cry.

"May as well try and give you some sort of wisdom before it's too late."

Peeta laughed, but it sounded too high and foreign to my ears. The room was wrong, so I walked out into the hallway and left, walking aimlessly into the front garden. The air felt better than I could have imagined on my skin. The world seemed to expand again, the veil of fog that had been cast over my mind since the afternoon disintegrating in the afternoon sunshine. It was bright, and warm and comfortingl. I smiled, and turned to my left, walking around the house.

As I came closer to the house, I noticed the flowers. A strange ringing noise filled my ears, a high-pitched keening which broke off abruptly and turned into silence as I stared at the dead primroses. I suddenly found myself crawling towards them, even though I had no memory of falling. I shuffled closer, my hands closing around dirty and crumbled petals. My whole arm shook, petals falling from my hands and back into the ground.

"No. Not all dead. Not all," I muttered, sitting up and reaching out into the middle of the patch. I sunk my hands into the soil and began to dig, tearing at the dirt. There had to be something there, a small patch of life amongst the decay. But there was nothing. I continued to dig, moving further and further into the flower bed, knowing that had to be something in there, something that would keep her here with me. My eyes watered and then ran trails down my face, so I swiped with my hand. My movements fell into a rhythm. Dig, claw, search, swipe, dig, claw, search, swipe. I continued until I'd made my way through every inch of the flower bed. I couldn't find anything. I gave up and slid into the ground, closing my eyes and pushing my hands in as far as they would go. Maybe I'd find something buried deeply underneath, if I could only just reach it.

#~#~#

When I awoke, it was a dark and warm, and for a moment, I really thought I'd buried myself. I threw my hands out in front of me and gasped for air, shocked when I met no resistance and could breathe freely. My heart still continued to race as a lamp turned on to my left. I blinked and turned towards the light. I was in my room, in bed with the covers pulled tightly around me. Peeta sat in a dining room chair next to the bed, blinking sleepily with his hand falling away from the lamp switch. His hair was flat on one side and messy on the other. He looked young for the first time.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, leaning forward, gazing at me intently. I sat up slowly, wincing as my knees hit the blankets.

"What happened?" I questioned in return, as I pulled back the covers. My knees were scraped and bloody, but the wounds were clean. I noticed dirt trapped under my nails, and small scratches on my knuckles. I remembered the flowers just as Peeta started to speak.

"I found you in the garden. You were in the primrose patch, lying completely still. I thought... I think you fainted."

"They're dead." My voice sounded as empty and devoid as the flowers looked,the words escaping and drifting like petals on a wind.

Peeta got up from the chair and moved to the bed. I moved towards the pillow, crossing my legs underneath me so he could sit down. He took my hand, gently, running his thumbs over the cuts on my knuckles. I tried not to shy away from his touch, even though it hurt. I didn't understand why the pain was so intense. I'd been hurt far worse than this before, but these tiny cuts and bruises seemed to ache incessantly.

"Yes, they are. But more will grow, and we can replant them. I promise."

So simple. We could start over, re-grow and it would be as good as new, even if it wasn't the same. They were just flowers Peeta found in the woods after all. But there was something unsettling and wrong about his words, causing me to drop his hand.

"I think I need to sleep," I told him, not even sure why I said it.

Peeta got up without a word as I slipped back down underneath the covers. I turned onto my side and faced the wall, just waiting for the click of the light switch. At the last moment, something flipped inside of me and I asked,

"Will you stay?"

Silence filled the room in reply, and for a moment I thought he'd already left.

"For as long as you need."

I didn't turn as Peeta walked back to the chair and sat down. Within a few moment, darkness fell again and the room filled with quiet once more. It took me a long time to get back to sleep.

#~#~#

Peeta had been gone for most of the afternoon. The morning had felt awkward, he had looked exhausted and reluctant to be up and moving. Although he hadn't been in my room when I'd woken up, I could guess he had barely slept. I had avoided him, cowardly as it may have been. I'd asked him to stay, even though I knew he found it hard to sleep. I could say I hadn't been thinking clearly, and although it was true, I knew my selfishness hurt him. My stomach twisted painfully at the thought of hurting Peeta. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. A little sleep wouldn't kill him, not now. I wasn't damaging him, he could rest later.

Then why did it hurt so much?

I wandered around the house, hesitant to go outside. I avoided the only locked door in the house, although its presence seemed to loom over my every movement. With the flowers gone, my sister's presence seemed stronger than ever; blaming, pressuring, screaming. I dug my nails into my palms and ran into the nearest room, shutting the door behind me and sliding to the ground. My momentary relief Peeta wasn't home to see me acting this way vanished when I realised I was in his room.

"Damn," I muttered to myself, standing up slowly. Although I knew I needed to go, a strange sense of calm had settled on me since leaving the hallway. The thought of returning wasn't appealing.

The room was in a very similar state to when we finished redecorating, yet completely different. It was Peeta's now, distinctively and completely his, even though he had barely changed it. Now there were a few trinkets I'd never seen before, and the box open by the bed. I stood up and walked forward a few paces as I noticed an object sprawled out on the bed. The guilty feeling I'd had about being in his room moved to the back of my mind as curiosity took over.

As I approached, my eyes widened in surprise. Sketches covered the top of the bed, most half finished, and all fantastically life-like. It had been so long since I'd seen Peeta's drawings I'd forgotten how talented he was. Images of the past snapped into my mind as I reached out and touched the paper. The images crafted onto the probably too thin and poor quality paper were nothing short of brilliant.

I picked each one up slowly, careful to only touch the edges. The pictures were only shades of grey and black, no colour to be seen at all. I wondered if was done due to the lack of materials or for another reason. I saw before me the ruins of Twelve, the empty sky over the woods, the bakery that had once been his home, and buttercup sleeping. They ranged between hopeful and devastating, the past and the present, with the future a gaping hole unfilled. A part of me expected to see tortured figures and dark images from the time he'd been taken by Snow. But there were none, just fragments from long ago, people and places from before the rebellion. His family were also missing from the pictures, and with a jolt I realised there was nothing in Peeta's life that represented his family. I supposed I couldn't judge though, as infrequent phone conversations and a locked room were all I had now. That and...

"The flowers," I whispered, pulling forward a sheet of paper depicted the primrose patch as it had been in all its glory. I wanted to smile and cry at the snapshot of memory, my emotions pulling at me two ways at once so violently I was sure I'd been ripped in half, until a voice shocked me back to reality.

"I drew it last night while you were sleeping. Not my best, but I was doing it from memory."

I turned slowly to him, the picture still in my shaking hand. Peeta stood leaning against the doorway, his face unreadable and his posture calm. I wanted to apologise. I wanted to apologise for losing control, for having no idea how to even stay in control anymore. For being in his room and going through his things because it was the only thing keeping me sane today. For not being able to stop his nightmares, and for having my own too. For keeping him from sleeping and for being part of the reason he couldn't sleep in the first place. For the family that were dead and gone, and the memories he had to live with. For the rebellion, for the torture, for the games. For everything.

But instead, different words escaped. "It's amazing."

He smiled, and I did too, for no reason other than he did it first. He walked into the room and took the picture out of my hands, setting it back on the bed.

"It's easier to draw from memory than what's around. Even if it isn't real, it feelsreal and it feels... better when it's out on paper."

"You're lucky," I muttered, wondering if my voice carried. If it did, he didn't say anything.

"Why aren't they in colour?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from the sketches and resting them back on to his face. He shrugged.

"It was all I had at home. I didn't think asking for drawing supplies was really appropriate at the moment."

"Why not?" I asked, my voice startling the two of us. We both jumped back, space breaking up whatever connection we'd had a moment before.

I turned back to the pictures, trying to ignore the frantic burst of emotion threatening to take over. I tried to keep calm as I spoke. "You said it helps. Why shouldn't you ask for something that helps you? So it may not be medicine or something others will necessarily understand, but if it works for you then..."

I was cut off when without warning; Peeta wrapped his arms around me and dragged me forward into him. Shocked, I inhaled sharply, realising I hadn't taken a breath since I started speaking. I froze, willing my body to relax in his hold, and after a moment, it did. I closed my eyes and said nothing, my mind blissfully blank with his arms around me. I could pretend everything was easily, that nothing could take away this feeling.

After a moment though, he pulled away, and we were back in to our usual roles.

"I'll ask next time," he assured me, as if I'd never lost control. And that was the end of it.

#~#~#

Peeta fell asleep before nine, the television remote gripped tightly in his hand. I turned it off at the set, completely uninterested in the background noise. Peeta murmured something and his head dropped to the side, but otherwise he remained still. I watched him for a moment before leaving the room and going up the stairs. Not wanting to wake him, I was going to grab the cover off his bed. I paused by the door to his room, noticing a few blank sheets of paper on his desk. I paused for a moment, then reached out and took one with my free hand. Heading downstairs, I placed the paper on the table and carefully arranged the covers over Peeta.I took my time making sure all of him was covered and tried not to disturb him in the process. As soon as I was done, his arm shot out towards me. I stumbled back, my heart rate climbing, but he simply pulled the covers tighter around him, and slept on. I rolled my eyes at my own skittishness, and walked back to him, absently brushing his hair away from his face. I pulled my hand away as I realised what I'd done, turned abruptly and picked up the paper.

I settled myself down in the chair furthest away from Peeta and picked up a pen. I glanced at him once more, and then turned my eyes towards the window. Despite the darkness outside, I could still somehow see the gaps where the town should be, the hints of regeneration. I twisted the pen in my hand open, looked down and began to write.