A/n: Surprise bonus chapter! It seems I wasn't quite finished with this after all, so what was meant to be one chapter is now this here, and a kind of epilogue coming soon.

Much like last chapter, this is about reconnecting and reconciling, but well, poor Katniss has a lot of that to go through. Step by step, I'm trying to ease her back into a functioning state. Fairy tale innuendos are back in full force, and it's mad really, how well the legend toward the end here fits in! (In my home town, the legend of St George and the dragon is an allusion for the birth of the city, so I was a little extra pleased...)

Thanks for the fabulous comments from last chapter! I do love those...


It's not until I have long since lost sight of Gale that I notice the figure watching me from a distance. Peeta's stature is one I would recognize anywhere, with his blond mop of hair glinting like gold in the sun. He looks to have just emerged from the third inhabited house in Victor's Village, but frozen in place before he could get very far. When he sees me looking at him questioningly, he starts towards me with slow, hesitant steps.

His kind, blue eyes are wide and far away, his honest face stunned. He is carrying around that same basket of delicious scents that he used to lure me back to nourishment just a few days ago, and I am relieved that at least he has sense enough for the both of us to check on Haymitch.

"Morning," I say, since I don't know what else to make of the situation.

Peeta blinks rapidly a few times, shaking his head until a few blond tresses fall into his eyes.

"Um… Good morning, I guess," he mumbles, switching his eyes between me and the corner of the road, where Gale disappeared a little while ago. "Was that…?"

I quirk an eyebrow at him, wondering partly over his sudden inability to speak, and partly over his potential doubts.

"… One of my other boyfriends? No." I can't stop my lips from twitching up at the ends, and suddenly, Peeta is grinning widely at me. There's such sheer generous happiness in his eyes that my own smile widens in return.

We grin stupidly at each other for a moment, and only once do I glimpse something less than positive in his eyes. If it's wistfulness, sadness or regret, or a mix of all, I'm not sure, but it passes too soon for me to linger on it.

Then he has the good grace to look bashful. "Sorry," he says, and there's no need to explain what for. I just nod, since I really can't begrudge him for doubting my grip on reality last night. Also, I'm feeling more than a tad triumphant, which is not a very flattering emotion. Keeping an easy smile on my face seems like a suitable peace offering. I'd much rather have him as a friend than as a constant burden of my past, after all. This has turned out to be one long Grand Weekend of reconciliations. Inspiration hits me.

"Maybe you could come over for lunch today? Bring some of those butter bread things that my family likes?" I watch him gingerly, gauging his reaction to my attempt at friendliness.

Thankfully, he lights up, shadows clearing in his eyes like the clouds in the sky overhead. He always got along fabulously with my mother and sister.

"That would be very nice," he says. "But I wouldn't want to intrude on your time alone." Such a polite young man- comparing him to prince charming before wasn't such a bad simile. Maybe that's why we would never have gotten along in the long run.

"You're not," I assure him. "See you in a bit."

I turn to go back inside, but stop at his gentle voice calling me back.

"Katniss?" Our eyes meet once more. "Just so you know, I wish you all the best. I do hope you'll be happy together."

The weight of emotion behind these words lodges itself deep in my heart. He would understand, perhaps better than any one else, what a feat that would be for people like us. Once, he thought his happiness depended on only me, and I understand that the complete reversal as of lately is still hard for him to get his head around.

"I hope you'll be happy too, Peeta," I rasp out through the thickness in my throat.

He smiles a little, like there's something he's not telling me, and then he reaches out to give my hand a tight squeeze. That's still about as much physical contact as desired between him and me, and I don't mind for it to stay that way.

We part to walk back into our separate houses, only a stone throw apart but by now two different worlds altogether.

Back inside, I find the kitchen empty and silence ringing in the bright rooms of the first floor. From upstairs comes a quiet rasping of drawers pulled out, and I stop for a second to furrow my brows at the noise, before following it up the broad flight of steps. I find Prim in the middle of a heap of clothes and books and stuffed animals, bent down to pick through the tings without any apparent aim. She straightens up when she sees me blocking the light from the corridor. Our eyes are almost at the same height.

"Where did Mom go?" I ask her to break the silence, as we stand a few feet apart in the spacious, white-painted bedroom that used to belong to her. Suddenly, I have not the faintest idea of how to act around her. She does not need my protection, or even really my care anymore, which brings us to a more even ground than we've ever been on before.

"Oh, she went to town. Said she'd get some food for lunch, but I think she mostly wanted to look around." Prim's voice is fuller, too, but naturally of a higher pitch than mine, with a soothing singsong melody to her words.

"Oh, okay," I copy her tone. I look again at the mounts of old belongings at her feet. Most of them are rather new, of course, since there was no way we could afford superfluous toys and dresses before I won the Games. After that, she had to buy them whether she wanted to or nor, since a certain material standard was expected of us.

"What are you doing with them?" I ask her, one toe nudging a powder pink little dress that looks to be much too small for her now.

"Um, I thought Buttercup could use a new outfit," she says deadpan, only quirking the faintest corner of her mouth.

I narrow my eyes at her. "I thought sarcasm was my trademark."

Prim quirks a brow as well, making her face scrunched into an expression that is much to grown up for the little girl I left behind in 13.

"I though you had forgotten how to use it," she returns, not letting my eyes sway from hers, and thus making me flinch a little.

"Well, bad luck Duckie. I'm still my old unpleasant self."

Her thin lips form a little ironic grin, but underneath, there's relief shining through. My words were meant to be playful, but at the same time, reassuring. Quite simply, I don't know how to be honest and direct, not even with my little sister these days. The funny thing is, she seems to be on the same page. I see bubbles of laughter threatening to break through in the stretched lines of her face, as she bursts out the next clever remark:

"Oh, I knew that already."

I stare at her, unbelieving. Where did little angelic Primrose, who would never ever sink so low as to make fun of my recent state of depression, go? With a mixture of intrigue and defeat, I realise that she's probably seen too much, been through too much hardship, to retain her innocence. Just like me, kind of- only Prim is deep down the stronger one of us.

Suddenly, I can't help but bursting with laughter- quiet giggles at first, but it quickly escalates. The whole situation is just too absurd, and it seems the only way to tackle it, with my sister here grinning shamelessly at me, is to laugh in the face of it all. When Prim starts to really crack up too, I'm reminded there's nothing so contagious as laughter between sisters. Soon, I can't see for all the strained tears blurring my vision, and can't stand straight for the cramps in my belly. Helplessly, I reach out my hand to steady myself against her, and she leans on me in return, until we both fall down on the floor in a heap, on top of all the scattered fabric. I can't even remember what was so funny anymore.

"I can't believe Mum bought me this thing," says Prim breathlessly, holding up a doll-like hat with frilly lace trimmings that she must have found on top of the pile. This brings out a new wave of laughter, this time partly because of the sheer silliness of the garment, and partly since it's suddenly so hard to think, seeing her now, that she was ever such a little darling that out mother thought it would fit her. My heart clenches at the thought of how fast she's had to grow up, despite my best efforts to protect her.

"I can't believe you had dresses for you teddy bears," I counter, holding up a miniature white wedding dress. And we continue like that, taking turns pointing out ridiculous items and falling into new fits of giggles over each of them. That is, until Prim's hand accidentally comes up gripping a handful of fine, light blue cotton. Before she can react, she has pulled out the dress in its entire worn length, and the impact of memory hits us both square in the face. It's the very same dress I worn to the reaping on that fateful day when all of this began. Suddenly, we're not laughing any more, but just stare at the offensive piece of clothing.

"I can't believe that thing is here," I whisper, staring at the dress like it will come alive and strike, try to strangle me with its short sleeves at any second. The last time I saw it, it was buried deeply in a drawer on the tribute's train, on its way to the Capitol.

Prim's eyes switch to my face. "They gave it to us after you came back. Mother wanted to burn it, but I took behind her back and hid it here," she tells me quietly. It sounds almost as if she's ashamed to admit it.

I'm nonplussed. "Why?"

"I wanted to… keep something to remind me of you. The you before."

My sister's eyes are huge pools of sad blueness, I see for a second before she turns then once more to the dress that is still in her grasp, but now on the floor. Gently, I pry away the fabric from her fingers, take it in my own hands and hold it up before my eyes for inspection. In my current, half-sick state, it would hang off my body, since it's made for a real woman's stature. But maybe in another few months time…

"We'll keep it," I decide firmly. "I want to be that me again. Well, I don't. But I want to be as strong as she was." I can see Prim nod her head solemnly, and I think she understands what it is I'm trying to say.

I don't want to go back to the fierce, relentless and angry kind of girl that I used to be before. I can barely remember who she was, and besides, there's no use for a personality quite as grim as hers in this new world. But I do, however, want to know again what it felt like to be as carefree as I once was, despite my then constant worry about food and money for supplies. Those days were the last times I can think of as even remotely happy.

"Oh, and besides," I pipe up, after clearing any tightness out of my throat. "I'm pretty sure I remember Gale saying he liked the look of me in this." I wiggle my eyebrows at Prim, trying my best to cheer up the atmosphere in the room again. To my indignation, she doesn't even blush, but instead grins her wide, knowing new grin again.

"Speaking of that. About this morning…"

And apparently, it's me who ends up blushing, even though I try to cover it up with a daring "This morning… or last night?"

Prim squeals a little too loud for my ears, and launches off in a never-ending tirade of questions, which I do my best to dodge. We make a new game out of holding up each possession on the floor in turn, sorting them into one discard pile, and a smaller one for things to keep. The discarded items we decide to take to town tomorrow and give away to the poor house and the orphanage- both institutions that have already started up again in out still rather scanty district. It's meticulous work, much like cleaning the house last night, and I find that I don't mind it. When she tires of pressing me for details of the new physical side of Gale's and my relationship, Prim goes on to talk about little things from her life in 4. This time, unlike too many times of the phone, I make an effort to listen and remember.

"So, any boys at all in 4?" I ask casually at one stage, cutting off her tirade about war injuries that she helps heal in the hospital.

"No!" she exclaims, and finally blushes bright pink.

"Good," is all I have to say at that, which earns me a glare contradictive to her forceful negation.

Then the front door bangs open, and Mother's voice floats up the stairs for help to carry in the bags. I walk downstairs trying my best to remember the last time I did something that felt as normal as this- just hanging out with my sister, waiting for our mother to make us lunch and talking about nothing in particular. I think the answer is never.

The rest of the day passes in blur of activity; Peeta comes over at lunchtime, as promised, and charms my mother and sister completely with a batch of cinnamon-scented, buttery white bread. We have a light salad, and then they near stuff their faces with them. In pure bad influence, I press down a whole bun myself, and end up feeling slightly sick. My body is clearly not used to the sugar and fat after months on simple broth and meat.

After that, I'm ordered to go have a lie-down and recover, but the cheerful voices of the three blondes occupying my kitchen flitter relentlessly into my ear, and I find myself unable to relax. When I do fall into a fitful sleep, I dream that I am Snow White, having stumbled through the forest and happened upon a strange dwelling where the seven dwarfs live their weird, carefree life far away from the clutches of the evil queen. I wake up in confusion, thinking I can actually hear the shrill melody of the dwarf's miniature pipes, but as I come to, I realise it's actually the noise of the steam-operated kettle that I hear. The sun is shining brightly outside, but is no longer coming in through the windows in the living room. It must be getting close to dinnertime already.

Half and hour later, I re-emerge downstairs, freshly showered and dressed in a set of clean clothes that I found in the back of a drawer in my room. I think tomorrow I'll make Prim help me sort out my room, too. The early evening silence is disturbed only by the sounds of water boiling and the oven fan spinning, and the outside scents coming in the open back door of grass and lilac are mixed with rich smells of meat and creamy sauce. Without a word, I make my way to join Mother and Prim, grab a stack of dishes to set the table and leave the actual cooking up to them.

Prim is quietly humming to herself while cutting up vegetables, and I'm just thinking it's slightly off key, when I hear footfalls and voices on the front porch. A childish voice calls out a loud hello, and I'm just about to turn around to the sound, when suddenly, strong arms grasp around my waist, twist me around and haul me straight up in the air. I squeak in surprise, and instinctively reach out my arms to steady myself against the other person's shoulders.

"Gale!" I complain breathlessly. "Sneaky bastard."

He laughs, careless of my expression, and spins me around in a wide circle.

"You gotta pay attention, Catnip," he chuckles at me, and my attempt at a stern expression falters completely at seeing his indulgent face up close. His eyes are a warm colour, blazing softly for only me to see, which tugs at my ever nerve in response. I lean in closer, and he wraps his arms tighter around me without setting me down. Before both our assembled families, he puts his lips on mine for a long moment, during which I almost forget there is such a thing as a world outside our private bubble.

"I missed you a little," he mumbles, lips still close to mine, as he sets me back on my feet.

I almost say something very private back to him, but stop myself, blushing deeply, when I hear a loud snort, and become aware of all the other people in the room. My hands still on Gale's chest, I turn my head to look at them, and see all eyes in the room fixed on us.

"Uhm…" I start, but the tall boy at my side just laughs again, tucks me in under one arm casually and kissing my temple.

"So, what's for dinner?" He asks to no one in particular. My mother blinks once through the sappy look on her face, and then lapses back into her role as Perfect Hostess.

For dinner, there's chicken; a whole one roasted in the oven, a great success as it is something we have never been able to access out here in 12 before. There's a great deal of bustling and scraping of chairs as everyone takes a seat, filling up the great wooden table the way it was meant to. Posy tries to sit down in between Gale and me, but is quickly interrupted by her big brother, who promptly tugs her up by the waist and steals her chair.

"That's my seat you were in, Dollface," he teases, but softens the blow by placing a big smacking kiss right in her forehead.

"You can't have Katniss all to yourself, actually," she challenges him, an all-knowing pout on her little face.

Gale only grins, draping a heavy arm across the back of my seat, scooting our chairs closer together. His hand casually runs the length of my neat braid, and then pulls me tight into his side.

"Oh but I think I can, actually," he retorts to his unconvinced little sister. "For a while, at least," he adds more softly, glancing over at me with that look in his eyes that bring an instant blush to my face.

I watch their animated interaction, happy to remain silent among all these familiar voices, and relieved that no one seems to expect me to speak up. The calm lasts long enough, until Posy's insistent voice calls out my name, and I turn my head from watching Prim, Rory and Vick playing a game of eating peas with only their knives. The little girl's dark curls are hanging almost into her gravy as she leans forward to better see me from behind Gale. Her clear eyes are narrowed, flicking back and forth in the non-existent space between him and me, lingering on the way Gale eats with mostly one hand, the other reaching out to me again and again.

"Mmhm?" I ask dazedly. All this talking is strange to my ears, and I'm having serious trouble focusing.

"Are you and Gale going to have a baby now?" She says this in a perfectly matter-of-fact voice, honestly just curious, so I can't really be mad at her. Still, the table falls silent for a short space of time and suddenly every pair of eyes are once again on me.

Before I can think of anything to say through the blank what? echoing in my mind, both Prim and Rory have burst out in fits of giggles. Gale must have seen the distress on my face, because he comes to my rescue, but only after it's clear that none of our mothers will- they seem to be contented watching us squirm under their questioning eyes.

I see him opening his mouth to speak, and suddenly, I'm scared of what he will say. Gale honestly used to want kids, one day, and I doubt that has changed over the past two years, now that we are free and all. For my part, the thought still chills my insides with cold, hard fear, I discover now. I haven't even thought about it for a long time, but it's clear that's a part of me that hasn't changed. A strange, guilty feeling of unease spirals up deep within me.

Thus, I'm extremely relieved when Gale decides to joke away the awkward situation.

"Sure we will, just as soon as you have one. Maybe with that boy from school- what was his name, did you say…? Bren?"

"That's stupid!" exclaims Posy, her fine eyebrows high in the air. She throws her two other brothers a death glare when they both start to giggle at her expense, instead. They must have all had some gossipy discussions about school today while painting.

Thankfully, she's easily distracted after that, and fires away talking about her new school instead. There's no way I'm going to discuss future potential offspring with my just-barely-official lover here and now, in front of our family.

"So how was school today?" asks Gale, the perfect picture of a devoted older brother. Again with the kids thing…

"Fun!" answers Posy, clearly liking the new district primary. "We had an assembly, and the new principal was there, and he told us a story." Posy talks deliberately as much like an adult as she can, spelling out the words like they're all new to her, delighted to have the full attention of the room.

"It was a very old story, he said. Do you want to hear it?"

We assure her we do, and she unnecessarily clears her voice once, before beginning.

"Once there was a town, one with high walls around it, like a castle. Everything was good, but then one day a bad, bad dragon flew down from the sky. The dragon was hungry, and he wanted to eat all the pretty young girls in town, because young girls taste the best, he said. But the dragon was really smart, so he sat down outside, and said to the people: if you don't give me one girl every day to eat, I will eat you all instead!" The little girl's eyes widen, and meet everybody else's around the table, making sure they are held up by the suspense. Really, she's quite the storyteller for such a young age.

"So the people in the little town, they arranged for a drawing every day, and all the maidens had to put their names in, and whoever got picked had to walk out to the dragon in the field, and was eaten alive."

Around the table, I can see frowns appear as we listen to the story, which is much too alike our former real life in 12 for anyone to be comfortable. However, the storyteller herself seems unaffected, except for her eyes, nearly bursting with excitement.

"One day, something terrible happened. The king's daughter- the prettiest and kindest girl in the whole town- her name was drawn on the lottery. All the people were so sad that she was the one who had to die, and the king was the saddest of them all. The princess went outside the city gates, to meet the evil dragon, and she didn't even cry, because she was as brace as she was beautiful. But then, a really brave man came on his horse, and he killed the dragon with his sword and saved the princess from death and the town from the fear of the dragon."

She pauses for a second, wrinkling her brow in deep though.

"I don't remember what happens then, but I'm pretty sure they lived happily ever after." She looks around expectantly then, asking "So, did you like it? I think it's really, really good!"

No one can answer her at first. My throat is swelled up with part emotion, part embarrassment, and part fear. I wonder intensely if this is something her teachers made up, as a form of history class for the youngest kids, or if it's in truth an actual story from before Panem. Either way, the recognition is chilling.

I can hear Gale swallow thickly to my left, and realise only then that he has been gripping my hand convulsively all this time.

"Pose," he begins quietly, "you know the dragon is actually dead, don't you?" He sounds sincerely worried, disapproving of the people who put such scary stories in his sister's mind. But she, however, surprises us all once again.

"I know that, Gale," she drawls, rolling her eyes. Then she smiles an impish little smile, while looking smugly at me, and then at him. "Afterwards, I said to the whole school that that brave knight in the story, that's my big brother."

Her chin is high, her short arms are folded across her chest, and I can't help but wonder what planet this six-year-old girl is actually from. Clearly, she knows way too much already, and yet here she sits, fearless and wise beyond her years. Beyond my years too, apparently. Hazelle's eyes are only a little wild as she regards her youngest child, but more than anything, she looks smug. Gale, on the other hand, only seems stunned. And like me, a little self-conscious.

"They're going to put a memorial statue of it on the square, you know," pipes up my mother while trying to suppress a smile. When both our head snap in her direction, she elaborates a little. "Well, of that legend that Posy just told. Not of… you know"

Still, Katniss can feel her mind spinning dangerously. No, no, no, it seems to be saying. I'm not some kind of fairy tale heroine. Please don't make me one. I just want to be left alone, please…

And there it is: the simple truth of her own mind. She's not ready for all this. The domestic scene before her suddenly feels too alien, too familiar, too full of bright happiness. It's not right and she shouldn't be here, helplessly out of place, an outsider to their warm company. The light voices, the laughter, the sounds of multiple bodies breathing and living, it's too much- it forms a cacophony of dissonance in her fragile eardrums and spreads through her blood like poison. You're not good enough for the living, it is whispering, slivers of ice, resonating in her every nerve and bone.

At once, she can no longer make out what is being said around her, and she's not sure she could breathe even if she tried to. When a voice calls her name, right in her ear, it sounds too distant to be real. She's staring right at what might be her own hand, sees the larger fingers squeezed around it, but she can't feel anything but coldness. Her head must have been lifted, because she has forgotten how to move it, and suddenly, deep grey eyes, lined with concern are taking up her vision. They help her focus, enough to make out the most familiar of voices, its melody fighting off some of the darkness in her soul.

He says something about bed, and she thinks she manages to nod her head at least once, because then she's in the air, lifted across his strong warm arms. Worried voices drift in from outside their private sphere, but in his voice, rumbling up from beneath her ear, she hears only calm reassurance.

"…fine, just exhausted."

She closes her eyes so that she doesn't have to see any more concerned faces, and can't even find it in her to be uncomfortable about the fact the she's not walking on her own two feet. It's just Gale, and she has no pride to keep intact for his sake anymore, and besides, it's so wonderfully restful here.

When she feels herself lowered unto the softness of her old bed, it's not nearly as comfortable, but instead cold and full of old memories that she doesn't want back. She clutches at his shirt, and to her relief, he lies down with her, folds her into his side securely. With her face buried deep on his chest, tucked under his chin so that her lips move against the skin of his neck, she mumbles feverishly:

"I can't stay here, Gale. I can't stand this place. I'm not ready."

His hands are kneading relaxing warmth into her stiff limbs, and when he pulls her head back a little to meet his eyes, she can see that he too, have slipped off his calm and collected public mask for now.

"Then we'll go," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It is, but the word we still soothes her nerves more than any tranquillizing medicine in the world ever could.

"We," she mumbles again, into the skin of his lips this time. Then she secures one leg across his lower abdomen, just in case, so that nothing can make him escape her embrace, and falls promptly into deep sleep.