A/N: And so ends the cliffhanger! Sorry to put that on all of you, but I just couldn't resist. I'm also very grateful to the response I've had so far with exploring PPD in Katniss. With all the trauma she's been through in her life, I just had to go down that path. But no worries, things will get better, if even gradually! And this chapter was easier to write than the last, even though I haven't had MUCH time in which TO write this week. This chapter is dear to me. There are a lot of metaphors and symbolism and so I hope it's not too "out there."

Hope you guys enjoy! And as always, thank you thank you thank you, all my readers and reviewers! You guys are such an amazing audience, and it is a wonderful feeling to get to write for you folks. :)

The heavens had opened up, and the rain threatened to wash Katniss away as her bare feet pounded through the mud. It was dark, but the sky grew bright with each flash of lightning. The whole world seemed to shake with each subsequent burst of thunder. Katniss let it all urge her onward – to where, she didn't know. But she continued to run, her clothes clinging to her slight frame, her heart drumming out the rhythm of her retreat.

She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she had to get away. The look in Peeta's eyes, the feel of his hands on her shoulders transforming from gentle to violent all too quickly – it had been too much, and so Katniss had turned and fled.

She scraped her foot on a large rock at some point and had to slow down to inspect the wound. There was a long cut on her right foot, and as far as she could tell, it was oozing blood. It wasn't deep, but it throbbed, and the pain seemed to bring her back to her senses. Still, she continued to walk away from the Victor's Village, limping slightly as the storm raged on.

Katniss almost happened upon the area by chance. Almost. It was as if her feet were taking her there out of habit. Granted, it wasn't a habit she'd had in twenty years. She had abandoned entering the woods by that route ever since she returned to District Twelve. It had been easier to find a different path into the forest from the Victor's Village, especially once the large fence that had surrounded the area was dismantled. Remnants of the tall structure still remained in some spots, like near the clearing to the meadow.

A large post stood in front of her, the wires that had once run from end to end now dangling into open air where they had been cut. Wind and weather and time had twisted the metal into a mockery of its once intimidating shape, and now it endured as the only sign of a more brutal time. The only physical sign, at least.

And Katniss could have laughed to see the work that such an oppressive government had labored over go to ruin. And under different circumstances, she might have.

But then she realized that underneath her feet, hundreds were buried. The ground appeared untouched, and she knew that in nineteen long years, the elements had done their work. If someone who didn't know the region, didn't know the nightmares that the past held, walked upon the meadow, he or she might pause to appreciate the thick grasses or the tumble of wildflowers that spread their blossoms brightly through the clearing. Perhaps a deer would walk out of the forest, take stock of its surroundings, making sure no predators were near, and then step out into the field. Would the animal know the sorrows buried there? Would its heightened sense of smell perceive flesh turned to earth? Or would the dirt forever cover any evidence of those bones, buried in a mass grave marked only by the foliage of that season? Would they be lost for the ages, until some future civilization excavated them, only to wonder what misfortune had rained down on those lost souls?

There were no deer, no sign of any animal on that foul night. Katniss was soaked to the bone, and despite the warm and humid summer air, she was chilled to her very core. The fence post, the meadow, all illuminated by flashes of lightning – it filled her with dread. And sorrow.

With sobs wracking her body, she collapsed into a heap near the edge of the clearing. Here is where Peeta's parents, his older brothers were buried. Madge and her family. Countless others. But there was no grave for Prim.

And so she wept for those who had been lost, for those who had no one to weep for them. And just as she and Peeta had decorated the book of memories with so many tears, she called to mind the people she could remember who had perished during those tragic times and wept for them. And she wept because somewhere, deep down, she still blamed herself.

It really wasn't just her argument with Peeta about taking the anti-depressant. It wasn't that she couldn't find an adequate name for her son or that the only emotion she had felt at his birth was the absence of any. It was all of those things combined with the pain she kept hidden where her inmost sorrows dwelled. It was that her life was happy and bright and had been for nearly twenty years. Yet so many others had never lived to see the past score of years. So many had had their futures blotted out in an instant.

She didn't know how long she sat there, crying as the rain ebbed from a downpour to a mere trickle. It must have been some time, for the clouds moved off and the night sky peaked through, the storm finally blowing over. The wind was gusting though, and after a while, Katniss could have sworn she heard her name. She wiped her nose on her damp sleeve and stood, her hands becoming muddy in the process. The cut on her foot throbbed, and she was sure that blood had stained her pants leg.

And then she did hear her name called from quite some distance. She peered out into the darkness, but the rain and her tears clouded her vision. She tried to clean off her hands on her already ruined clothes, certain that it was Peeta out looking for her.

She heard her name for a third time and she thought she saw a light through the trees somewhere near the road. It grew closer until she was certain it was a lantern being held by someone. Whoever was holding it paused at the edge of the clearing, swinging the light in Katniss's direction. He or she must have seen her because her name was repeated, only this time as a question.

The light blinded Katniss for a moment, and she raised one hand to shield her eyes. The person was about twenty yards away and moving closer. By that point, Katniss could tell that the individual was male, and it wasn't Peeta. The man walking toward her was tall and had dark hair, and for a moment Katniss's breath caught in her throat.

Gale Hawthorne was back in District Twelve and was looking for her.

Her heart pounded in her chest, but then the man lowered the lantern and she realized that it wasn't Gale after all. Levan. It was Levan, his hair not falling in waves to his shoulders but cropped short. Katniss would have wondered why he had decided to change it, had she not felt so relieved.

"Katniss…?" He asked again.

"Levan, I…" Katniss whispered. She didn't know quite what to say.

"Are you ok…?" He cut her off and moved closer, raising his hand as if to touch her cheek. He stopped himself, though, and dropped his arm back to his side. He looked her over for a second, catching sight of the cut on her foot. He sighed, then breathed in deeply before lifting his head.

"Hey guys!" He shouted. "She's over here, in the meadow!"

And at that, Katniss heard more noise from in the distance, from somewhere behind her. She felt foolish for mistaking Levan for Gale, but the downpour, coupled with her tears, had obscured her vision. And it was an easy mistake to make. Levan was tall and had a similar build to Gale – the Gale from her memories at least. And Levan had dark hair and gray eyes and olive skin – the same Seam look as her former friend.

She stood in silence with Levan, knowing she must look an awful mess. Her clothes were soaked and stained brown with mud and dried blood. Her feet were bare and her right one injured, and her hair had come down from its long braid. She had cried for some time, and so she was sure her face must be puffy and red – though she didn't figure anyone would notice in the dark.

"Levan!" She heard Peeta call.

"Over here!" Levan called back, lifting the lantern.

"You're sure you're alright?" Levan asked one final time, and Katniss nodded solemnly.

She looked over her shoulder to see a few lights growing brighter. One of them belonged to Peeta.

Within a minute or two, Peeta and Thom came ambling into the meadow, lanterns in hand. Peeta was breathing hard and had a worried look on his face. His blue eyes grew wide when they connected with Katniss's, but after a momenet, relief seemed to spread across his features. Katniss didn't take her eyes off of him.

Peeta was to her in seconds, and he did cup her face, dropping the lantern into the thick mud so that he could use both hands. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones and he leaned close. She could feel his warm breath on her face. He smelled of cinnamon and fire, and Katniss longed to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him even closer. But her feet stayed planted in the muck.

"Katniss…" He breathed, "Are you alright?" His hands were still on her face, but his eyes were searching for any sign of injury. Katniss nodded.

He wrapped his strong arms around her soaked frame and pulled her into an embrace, his mouth near her ear.

"I was so worried," he whispered after letting out a sigh of relief. "I'm so sorry, Katniss. I remember arguing and then you ran...the lightning crashed, and I was…somewhere else," he explained as he held her, choosing his words carefully with Thom and Levan standing nearby.

"Next thing I know, I was on the kitchen floor and you were gone, back door wide open…I couldn't find you anywhere…" He continued, his voice growing thick.

Katniss closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. It was hot and muggy outside, but she still clung to his warmth. His torso was solid against her. His explanation accounted for Thom and Levan's involvement. Peeta must have been distraught when he realized he'd had a flashback and Katniss had fled.

"I'm so sorry…" He whispered again, his voice pained. She could tell he was close to tears himself, but she had cried enough that night for the both of them.

So she pulled back enough to press her lips to his. The kiss was brief, but worked to quiet Peeta. Katniss could have laughed – she'd used that trick for twenty years now. But it hadn't been only to silence Peeta.

"Let's go home," she whispered in his ear. Thunder still rumbled from somewhere in the distance.

Peeta broke from the embrace and looked around at Thom and Levan, a tad sheepishly.

"Thanks Thom." Peeta nodded toward the older man. "Levan." He said, nodding in the other man's direction.

"Sure." Thom said matter-of-factly.

Levan lifted his lantern once more toward Katniss, peering at her from behind the bright light. He gave her look, raising his eyebrows as if to ask if everything was truly all right. Katniss managed a weak smile in reply.

"No problem," Levan responded before he and Thom walked back off toward town, the light from their lanterns growing dimmer.

Peeta scooped his lantern up off the ground and handed it to Katniss. She took the light without question, but was surprised when Peeta scooped her up in his arms. She started to make a noise of protest, but then they were off, Peeta plodding back toward the Victor's Village without much difficulty.

"You didn't hurt me…" Katniss spoke after a long quiet. She didn't know what his flashback had been about, and if he'd run to town to fetch Thom and Levan to help find her, he must have feared the worst.

"We were in the kitchen, and we were arguing," Peeta said, retelling the story more for himself than for any other reason. "Then I come to and I'm on the floor with the back door flung open…and I couldn't find you…"

His voice had been steady at first, but grew thick with emotion as he spoke. Katniss bobbed up and down in his arms as he walked, choosing his path carefully in the dark. She felt foolish for running off, for fleeing from her troubles as she had done before. She thought of years ago, when she had learned the terms of the 75th Hunger Games and had run off to hide in the cellar of an empty house. Haymitch had been the one to find her then, bottle in hand and drunk as a skunk. It was also one of the many times Haymitch had informed her that she didn't deserve Peeta. And it was true.

She thought of all the times she had hidden in closets or crawl spaces in District Thirteen, popping morphling pills to numb the ache she felt, the hole created by Peeta's absence. But now she had a family, a life back in District Twelve – a good life.

"I didn't know what had happened, if I had hurt you," Peeta continued. Katniss glanced up at his face, shining in the light from the handheld lantern. He was staring straight ahead. "I was afraid you might be injured, so I ran to town…"

Katniss tried to imagine the horror that might have washed over Peeta when he realized Katniss had fled. During most of his flashbacks, she stayed near him, so what – this time – had caused her to run? Only something atrocious, perhaps. And so he had gone to town, seeking out able bodies to help him search for her.

"I'm just so glad Levan found you…" He said.

At one point in her life, Katniss might have blushed to remember her absurd idea – that Gale Hawthorne had happened upon her in the meadow at night. But she only felt daft. Of course the meadow had been a common spot for them to meet, either entering the forest or exiting from a day of hunting. It had been where they had had their first kiss, the one that President Snow had somehow known about. But now the meadow was a graveyard. And she had laid to rest any affection she felt toward Gale a long time ago.

"You didn't get Marc for your search party…?" Katniss asked, her tone slightly teasing. Peeta took her question as a good sign, and he actually let out something of a laugh.

"No…we had a long day at the bakery, and I didn't want to alarm Anabel or their kids…" Peeta explained. "So I went to Levan's first. Thom had been over there fixing a leak in the kitchen when the storm hit, so I was lucky I caught them both…"

Peeta had given his account of the events in detail, but Katniss knew it was partly because he was avoiding another question. It hung between them though, as thick and as tangible as the humid summer air.

"Katniss, I…" Peeta started, but she cut him off.

"You shook me," she stated quietly. "We were arguing and you had your hands on my shoulders and you shook me. You didn't hurt me…I scraped my foot on a rock when I was running, but you, you didn't hurt me." She added. Peeta was silent.

"You didn't hurt me," she repeated. "You just scared me."

"I'm sorry, I…" Peeta apologized, but Katniss spoke over him again.

"I didn't realize you were having one of your flashbacks, or about to…" She explained softly. "I just got upset, and so I ran…"

They were both quiet for a while as Peeta tread carefully on the wet gravel road leading back to the Victor's Village. The crunch of his footsteps and the reverberating thunder were something of a comforting melody to Katniss. In one hand, she held the lantern for their journey home. Her other hand was wrapped around Peeta as he carried her.

"You know, you can let me down…" Katniss said, almost as an afterthought. She really did feel a bit ridiculous, being carried home in Peeta's arms like some admonished child who had run off in a huff.

"I can walk," she added in a wry tone, as if there was any question about the soundness of her lower extremities. She was sure the cut was merely superficial.

"Just let me carry you," Peeta quipped back. Katniss clamped her jaw shut and didn't argue.

So she rested her head on his shoulder as Peeta walked back through the murky night. There wasn't a single soul out at that hour, though someone's dog was barking from afar. A few lights were on in the Victor's Village, and Katniss felt a sense of relief as Peeta neared their back step. Perhaps running off, finding herself in the meadow and having a cry had done some good, she mused. At least it was better than simply feeling numb.

She made Peeta deposit her at the bottom step, but he kept one arm around her as they entered the house. The cool air hit her and she suddenly realized how grubby she felt. Her clothes had dried some, but were still damp – and covered in grass stains and mud. She would have laughed at her appearance had there been some other cause.

Mrs. Everdeen was standing in the threshold between the living room and kitchen, her aged features creased with worry.

"Are you alright?" She asked her daughter. She reached out, placing her hands on Katniss's arms and leaning close to search for any sign of injury.

"I'm fine, just cut my foot on a rock," Katniss managed. She felt careless, thoughtless to have run off and left two small children for her mother to look after. Her mother, who was missing work to stay here in District Twelve while her daughter battled with her own demons.

Mrs. Everdeen, her face still lined with worry, excused herself and headed to bed. Katniss stood in the living room for a moment, almost as if unsure what to do. She turned back to see Peeta pull off his mud-stained shirt and throw it toward the laundry room. Then he leaned against the counter for balance as he bent to rid himself of his socks. He didn't look her way or make a sound, and Katniss realized that he had been quiet ever since she had teased him about carrying her.

She walked back into the kitchen and with muddy fingers unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it atop Peeta's discarded clothes. He did look up then, his expression unreadable. He was down to his boxers, which seemed relatively unscathed from all the rain and muck. Her underwear, however, had not faired as well. She peeled off her earth-caked pants only to find her once white underclothes had turned unappealing shades of gray and brown. They were probably ruined, but she removed them anyway, flinging the thin garments onto the growing pile.

And only when the air conditioning hummed on and a cold blast hit her bare skin was she aware that she was standing stark naked in the kitchen, covered in grit and grime, tendrils of her long hair dripping watery patterns onto the floor.

Peeta made a noise somewhere between a cough and clearing his throat, and Katniss turned her gaze toward him. He looked away quickly and tried to keep his mouth set in a neutral line. But Katniss could see the hint of a smile he was attempting to hide. Perhaps even a blush. And Katniss was tempted to make some sarcastic remark about the seventeen years they had been married and the multitude of times he'd seen her naked. But in that moment, she realized that their son had been born on June 5th – their wedding anniversary.

Up until that point, that fact hadn't even clicked in Katniss's head. She remembered when Dr. Cavanaugh had performed the first ultrasound. The healer had put Katniss's due date somewhere in early to middle June. But when Katniss went into labor, months later, she hadn't even been aware of what day of the week it was, let alone what day of the month. Her mother had come into town and there was Willow and Daisy and the final preparations for the new nursery. When Katniss thought back, she began to understand that she had already been headed down the dark path of depression before her son's entrance into this world. His birth had only served to tip her over into the void.

Katniss was in the baby's room in an instant, standing over the crib and gazing down at her son. He was wrapped tight in a soft cream blanket, still swaddled at only two months old. He was still rather bald, but a soft, fine down was now covering his once hairless pate. Katniss knew that unlike Willow, he would have light-colored hair. Perhaps it would be as blond as Peeta's. The baby's skin was the same fair shade as Peeta's, and Katniss hoped that he would grow up as strong and as handsome as his father.

"You came into this world to teach me something, didn't you…?" Katniss spoke softly, her fingers touching the soft skin of her son's cheek. His eyes remained closed, but she knew that if he opened them, they would be mirrors of her own. She reached down and ever so carefully wrapped him in her arms.

"Everything ok…?" Peeta asked from the hallway.

Katniss nearly jumped. She had been too absorbed in her thoughts to even hear him clomp up the stairs. He was standing in the doorway to the nursery, still clad in his boxers. And then she remembered that she was completely nude, and rather bedraggled from her time spent out of doors.

"I just wanted to hold him…" Katniss answered, cradling their son in her arms.

She looked from Peeta back down to the baby, and the light from the hall shone bright on the metal around her neck, catching her attention. There hung the pearl, suspended from its chain. It was so tiny, and so delicate, much like her son. But the stone symbolized something much greater – it signified hope, and love.

She had worn it around her neck for seventeen, eighteen years, only taking it off and carefully storing it on a high shelf in the bathroom when she showered. She would step out of the bath, all clean, and towel off, then quickly refasten the necklace. And sometimes Peeta would be there, in the bathroom with her, and he would smile and step behind her when she reached her arms around her neck. And ever so delicately he would clasp the metal chain for her, then bend forward to plant a kiss on her neck.

Katniss smiled to think of it all. The pearl had given her hope in District Thirteen, had embodied her love for Peeta – who had been so unjustly taken from her – before she had even come to understand that love herself. And then she had thought it lost, upon her return to Twelve, had sunk so deep into her grief over Prim that she had left the pearl in the pocket of an old pair of pants. She had nearly cried when she found it that day, so many years ago, and had debated what to do with it while it stayed hidden in the drawer of the small jewelry box. She'd had it made into the necklace, and still remembered the look of surprise, then concentration, then remembrance on Peeta's face when he finally noticed it. How different her life had been back then, metaphorically tiptoeing around Peeta and his altered memories, then getting to know him all over again and sifting through the haze of the past together. But much remained the same – his quick smile and easy laugh, his kindness and intrinsic belief that there was enough good in the world to make up for all the bad.

"I'm glad to hear you say that…" Peeta said, moving to stand near Katniss.

His statement hurt, because Katniss knew that for the past eight weeks she hadn't really wanted to hold her child. She nursed him and burped him and changed his diapers out of obligation, but not in return for any joy at bringing new life into the world. She was getting better, she knew, but she also realized that she had been foolish to think she could just stop taking the medication.

Her son – as well as her daughter – was her hope for the future. Both of her children were bright stars in the blackest of nights. The feeling was growing inside of her, much the same way they had both taken hold in her womb. She knew it would be a long and arduous journey from conception to implantation to actual fruition, but the idea had taken hold. Just as she had promised with Willow, she would tell her son about those loved ones she and Peeta had lost. She would teach them to never forget the mistakes of the past, so that they would not repeat such errors. And though she prayed that neither child would ever face true hardship, she knew she had to teach them instead to rise above their circumstances, to find all that was good in the world and hold on to that.

"He looks like you," Katniss said, a feeling somewhat akin to joy welling up inside of her as she gazed down at her son. It was the first time in a long time that she felt anything of the sort, and it almost alarmed her.

Almost.

Peeta made a noise of approval and moved even closer. His bare chest was pressing against her as he looked down into her arms and took stock of their creation. Much like earlier, in the meadow, she let his warmth comfort her. Despite all he had been through with the kidnapping and hijacking by the Capitol, he was still her anchor, her stability.

"But he has your eyes…" Peeta spoke softly, his breath tickling her ear. He inhaled deeply, placing his hands on her arms.

"And you need a shower…" He said with a chuckle. Katniss stiffened and for a moment tried to act offended, but she knew it was true.

"We both do," she quipped back, turning her head to look at her husband, clad only in his boxer shorts.

For a second she was certain that Peeta would raise and eyebrow at her statement, perhaps ask if that was an invitation. But instead, his features broke out into a wide grin and he exhaled a soft laugh.

"You go first," he offered, nodding his head toward the hall. "I'll hold him for a while." Katniss carefully slipped the slumbering baby into her husband's arms.

And so they both cleaned up, taking turns holding the infant while the other showered. At one point the baby woke up, hungry, and so Katniss loosed her bathrobe to let him nurse. She sat in the quiet of the nursery, gray light filtering in as dawn approached, and for once felt the wonder of it all. She was bone weary from a night spent crying out in the elements, but at least she was clean now, and holding her son.

Peeta poked his head back into the nursery after his shower, toweling off his blond locks. Katniss looked up at him and felt only love – and a little disappointment that he was wearing a cotton shirt and pants instead of simply his boxers.

Peeta caught the smile that played at her lips and grinned.

"I think I've found a name for our little duck," Katniss announced. The ache in her chest returned for one painful moment as she thought of Prim. She had only ever called her little sister that nickname.

"Oh…?" Peeta remarked, his tone expectant. Katniss let the wave of grief wash over her before replying.

"Sage," she declared, looking back down at the infant who was busy nursing.

"Sage Mellark…" Peeta pronounced the name slowly, his gaze thoughtful.

Katniss thought it fitting to name her son for an herb heralded for its ability to promote health and longevity. She remembered bittersweet moments with her father in the woods, showing her edible plants and herbs to use.

"Now this is sage," He had said, showing her a cluster of plants thriving along an embankment. His fingers, callused from long hours wielding a pickaxe in the mine, would run along the leaves so delicately, in true reverence for all growing things.

"Or Salvia, it's also called," He would explain, his dark features lighting up. "It means 'to heal.'"

And Katniss had taken it all in, every word, her grey eyes wide.

"It's also pretty tasty," her father had continued with a laugh, picking a handful of the sage leaves and inhaling their fragrance. "Especially with wild game…" He had added, winking at his dark-haired daughter.

Her memories of those times with her father were something sacred, forever existing in a world that was unadulterated and good. His word had been law, his songs the purest form of worship Katniss had known. The plant book, his hunting jacket, a few old photos were all that remained of him in the physical world. And of course Katniss herself, who favored her father's Seam look over her mother's blonde hair and blue eyes. And now there were two grandchildren that her father would never know. But Katniss was resolved – they would know him. Willow could already sing many of the songs he had taught Katniss, so many years ago.

"Sage Mellark…" Peeta repeated the name, the words sounding more familiar on his tongue. "I like it," he stated earnestly, looking over to where Katniss sat in the rocking chair.

Their son had finished nursing and was resting comfortably in her arms, but somewhere in all of her reminiscing, Katniss had dozed off, lulled to sleep by the peace she felt at last.