The next chapter (not this one) will be the last. O.o It's weird to think about.

Thank you all so so SO much for your time and patience!

And, as always, enjoy. :D


One day, I enter the observation room to find that Katniss's screen is empty. Her room holds nothing but the bed. The door hangs open, like a broken jaw. I stare at the little box with the fuzzy picture of the place where Katniss should be. It's a live feed, I know. If she's not in her room, where is she? What have they done with her?

I'm halfway across the room, ready to burst out the door and demand to know what happened, when Dr. Aurelius steps in. I slow my pace and open my mouth to ask the question, but he holds up a hand.

"I know. I'm sorry you weren't informed, but she was moved as soon as the court made a decision."

"Moved her where? What decision?" Please, God, let her be okay. Don't let her already be dead, ruled guilty by a court of bright, twittering Capitol witnesses and cold, sterile psychiatrists. Every day, I've switched between watching the trial and watching Katniss, brushing away the doctors that approached me with schedules and forms to fill out. That could wait. My own recovery, clearing my system of the remaining tracker jacker venom, could wait. I was under lock and key all the time, anyway. The episodes I had didn't affect anyone as long as I was alone in my hospital room. Could it be possible that I've missed the key moment while moving from my room to the observation room? Could I have missed Katniss's death sentence in those few minutes?

Dr. Aurelius waits patiently for me to sort through my thoughts, as he's learned to do by now, and only starts speaking when I give him a slight nod. "The court has ruled that Miss Everdeen's unstable mental condition has pardoned her from her penalty. She has been relocated to District Twelve, in her old residence in the Victors' Village." His glasses glint at me, like the eyes of an owl, as I take in this information. "She is, however, restricted to District Twelve until further notice."

Katniss. In District Twelve. Ruled innocent. I turn this over. "Who else knows where she is?"

"Her location hasn't been released to the general public, if that's what you mean. The court and those involved in it know where she is. Your mentor. Paylor's cabinet. She's well protected from those who might seek revenge for the late president."

After a few moments, I nod again. The spike of adrenaline from walking into the room and seeing Katniss's still screen is fading, leaving in its place a slight headache. I still don't have as much energy as I used to, although I've been walking on a treadmill every day to build up stamina.

Dr. Aurelius leads me back to my room, asking me if I'd like to talk about anything. I tell him about a flashback I had earlier, sketching it out as I talk. He seems surprised. Until now, I've all but refused treatment for myself. But now that the trial is over, I know that's what I should be focusing on. Dr. Aurelius seems to understand this. He smiles at me quietly over his glasses before he starts in on his questions.

At the end of our meeting, I look down to see what I've drawn. It's Mutt Katniss, fangs pressing into her lush bottom lip as she gazes forlornly up from the paper. Wolf ears, the same color as her hair, point towards the ground in a dejected kind of way. She clutches the stems of a katniss flower and a primrose with short, furred fingers. Dr. Aurelius asks if he can see, and I turn the paper around for him.

"She looks lonely," is his comment.

"She is," is my response.


The road to recovery is long, twisted and bumpy. To fill my time, I paint and paint and paint, so much that my room, closet and even bathroom become cluttered with canvases. One of the nurses suggests I sell the paintings. I won't sell them, but I do start putting them into piles: one to keep, one to destroy and one to donate. The ones I donate, they tell me, go into museums and important buildings, above plaques that cite me as the artist. It's somewhat fulfilling to know that I'm doing something halfway useful.

Sometimes, I think I'm all right, that I'm over the hijacking. Two to three days will go by without incident. And then they'll show me a clip of the Victory Tour or an interview from after the Quell and the whole thing will derail. A shiny memory will engulf me, leaving me screaming and ranting and ripping apart anything I can get my hands on, and then I'll wake up hours later with a morphling pump in my arm and a headache like I cracked my skull open. Relapses can last hours, or days. It's as if the more shiny memories I suppress and prove wrong, the stronger the remaining ones get. And, of course, they don't always go away forever once I've found out the truth. Sometimes one will come back, only slightly altered, and I have to start all over again with it.

As bad as it is, Dr. Aurelius reminds me at least once a week that it could have been much, much worse.

"Miss Everdeen had a hand in that," he says one afternoon, calmly disconnecting the morphling drip from my arm after a particularly violent episode. "Her work in Thirteen did seem to have a tremendous effect on your recovery."

"Her work?" I rasp, reaching for a cup of water. "What work?"

"Well, none of it is official, of course. But she did visit you on occasions not supervised by doctors, did she not?"

"Yes," I say. I allow a small smile to turn up the corners of my mouth. He says not supervised by doctors as if sneaking into a madman's room at night to watch over him while he sleeps is a common occurrence. Not recommended by doctors, more like. Not reccomended for your health and/or livelihood. I could have killed her. And yet, I can't bring myself to regret her actions. Like the doctor says, if Katniss hadn't come to see me and talk to me, my condition now could be much worse.

"How is she?" I ask after several sips of water.

Dr. Aurelius takes off his glasses and polishes them on the corner of his shirt. "She… isn't answering my calls," he says, rather uneasily.

"But Haymitch is checking up on her," I persist.

"He told me he would, when they left. But, to date, I haven't received any word from him."

You'd better be looking after her, I think, imagining the silent threat flying over Panem to Haymitch's house in District Twelve.

Meanwhile, Dr. Aurelius asks me about my appetite, my vision, my head. "How do you feel? Dizzy, or nauseated at all? How's your stability? Do you have any muscle cramps?"

They always insist on going through a whole checklist of symptoms after flashbacks, trying to track down the source of the trouble. I answer their questions, even though I know they won't find much. The source of the trouble is in my mind, not my body.


Annie visits me every once in a while, as well as Johanna and various other members of our therapy group. They seem to be doing all right- no worse than me, at least. Johanna teases me constantly and fills me in on what's on television. Annie breaks down almost every time she visits, sobbing about Finnick and the baby that will never have a father. I don't mind. I rub her back and hand her more tissues. In return, she covers for me while I spy on Dr. Aurelius. It's a shameful thing to do, I know, but after all I've been through, I just can't trust his word. I sit outside his office door as he calls Katniss's house. I listen to him sigh, hang up, redial and wait as the phone rings and rings. He gives up after about half an hour, and I tiptoe back to my room. Well. Tiptoe as well as I can with my prosthetic. Even with the damage from the fire repaired, the thing doesn't make me any stealthier. It's a good thing Dr. Aurelius isn't a hunter like Katniss or he would have found me out long ago.

"Anything?" Annie prompts as I close the door behind me.

"No." I rest my chin on my hand. "Still nothing."

What is she up to? Did she pull the whole thing out of her wall, as Haymitch did with his? Is she even in the house? Is she even- no. Of course she's alive. She's just ignoring the phone. It's a very Katniss thing to do. If only I could free myself from the cold pit of fear that's settled in my stomach.

Annie watches me with her ocean eyes for a few minutes, rubbing the slight bump in her tummy. Then she stands up and drifts toward the door. Her voice is faint but clear as she says, "I never got to say 'goodbye'. You should take the chance to say 'hello' again before it's too late."

Then she's gone, and I stare at the empty doorway where she was, her words circling in my head. Take the chance to say 'hello' again. Take the chance to say 'hello' again. Before it's too late.

I'm up and across the hall before I know it. My feet carry me into Dr. Aurelius's office, and before I even know what I'm doing, I blurt, "Can I use your phone?"

He nods, surprised, and I pick up the receiver. Beside the phone is a paper taped to the desk with a list of numbers. I call Katniss's. I don't know what I was expecting. I don't know why my heart plunges when she doesn't pick up. What did you think? I chide myself. That she'd answer just because it was you calling? How is she supposed to know? I replace the reciever.

Dr. Aurelius has been rifling through his papers, quietly trying to look busy for my sake. I draw his attention by clearing my throat. "Sir," I start, weighing my words carefully. "I'd like to request I be relocated to District Twelve. I could continue treatment there, over the phone, if that would be acceptable."

He finishes straightening a pile of papers, tapping them on the surface of his desk before looking up at me. "You know, Peeta, I kind of thought you might say something like that. You must understand that your condition is, as of now, unpredictable. Relocating would introduce a whole new set of variables, which could set you back quite a ways in your recovery. Or, it could be the thing that pushes you past the rough patch. We just don't know."

I lower my gaze. "I know, sir. I'm willing to take that chance, if you thi-"

He cuts me off with a motion. "However," he says, smiling slightly, "Something tells me you're bent on getting back to your girl." From a drawer in his desk he pulls out an envelope. "You'll find in here train tickets, money, your ID and my contact information."

"Tickets?" I wonder. Not ticket?

"Should you wish to come back, if this doesn't work out."

I grip the envelope tightly, almost ripping it, as if letting go would mean losing everything it represents. Home. Freedom. Katniss.

"Thank you."

He waves me off with a flick of the wrist, going back to his papers. "No need to thank me. Go on and pack your bags. Oh, and tell Katniss to pick up the phone. I can't pretend I'm treating her forever."


The sun beats down on the back of my neck as I work at the soil. It's hard and packed, not having been touched for years. The tall, tangled grass from the lawn is trying to sneak into the flower beds, and getting it out is proving difficult. Still, I keep working, meticulously shoveling away the dusty topsoil to reach the good stuff underneath. The light perfume of the primroses wafts towards me from the wheelbarrow at my back.

I went to get them as soon as the sun rose. It was somewhat of a trying excursion, seeing as it was the first time I saw my ruined district. When I got here last night, it was already dark and all I had to do was walk swiftly along the main road with my head down. Walking all the way from my house in the Victors' Village to the edge of the meadow to dig up the primroses brought on a whole series of shiny images. I spent an immeasurable amount of time crouched down next to the fence, battling it out with the venom. It must not have been too awfully long, though, because when I stood up and started digging them up, the sun was still low in the sky, casting thin morning shadows over the ground.

Now, the sun has risen into the sky, and the heat, early in the season though it is, presses in on me. The sun, the sweat, the shovel rubbing blisters on my hands, the smell of freshly upturned soil… The air here is fresh and filled with natural scents, not filtered through a ventilation system and full of sterilizing chemicals. It's real. It keeps me grounded, more than any pill or injection could. I didn't realize how much I despised the hospital, until I escaped it.

This is why I came here, I think, breathing in deeply. Well. Partly.

A door bangs open. Rapid, shuffling footsteps round the corner of the house. Katniss digs in her heels as soon as she catches sight of me, skidding to an abrupt halt. Her eyes widen. I look her over anxiously. Her clothes are badly creased, as if she hasn't changed out of them in some time. Her hair is tangled and dirty. Her skin is paler than I've ever seen it, her eyes red-rimmed and tired.

"You're back." It's the first time I've heard her voice since I listened to her sing through the security camera. It's rough from disuse. Does she not sing anymore, now that she's in Twelve?

"Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday," I explain, still looking her over. She's trying to push back the knots of hair hanging in her face, and failing miserably. Her sallow skin flushes in… what? Embarrassment? "By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone."

Her eyes wander up and down my frame, taking me in, before flicking to the wheelbarrow. Here comes the real test- when I find out if the primroses were a good idea or a horrible mistake.

"What are you doing?" she says, jabbing her chin at the flowers.

"I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her. I thought we could plant them along the side of the house."

Her expression changes quickly from confusion to rage to recognition. It's impossible to follow her thought process. At last she nods jerkily and flees. I hear the door shut again. Did I do something wrong? Is she all right with the primroses or not? I don't know, but the way she bolted from the garden makes me think she's upset with me. Or, maybe just upset.

Minutes later, there's the crash of something breaking, and then the rush of pipes. I hurry and place the last bush, covering the roots again and tamping down the soil, before setting aside the shovel and wheelbarrow beside my porch. Katniss has locked her front door, but I quickly circle around back and come in by way of the kitchen. I'm greeted by the shards of some sort of vase. So, that's what broke. I look for the flowers that used to occupy it, and it's not long before I spot them in the fire.

I look in her pantry to find that someone has stocked it with a small amount of non-perishable food. Cans of soup collect dust next to packets of dried fruit. I go to her refrigerator, which is thankfully still working, and find a jug of milk. As I pour two glasses, I wonder who's been taking care of her. Not Haymitch, evidently- I found no signs of life from his house when I passed it earlier- and it can't be Katniss herself, by the looks of it. Maybe someone from Twelve has taken it upon themselves to keep her fed. I silently thank them. Upstairs, the water stops running.

I twist my head at the faint sound of a creaking step. Seconds later, Katniss emerges from the hallway, a brush in hand. Her hair is dripping from her shower. She starts when she sees me, faltering. I open my arms, reminding myself that she might not be comfortable with any kind of touching right now and that I shouldn't get my hopes up. But, after a moment, she folds herself into my arms with a little sigh.

"I'm sorry," I murmur. "I didn't mean to upset you."

She's silent for several heartbeats, and I automatically nuzzle her temple, running my hands over her too-prominent ribs. Then she whispers, "It's okay."

She holds still while I comb through the knots in her hair. Greasy Sae and her granddaughter come to cook breakfast. I suppose she's the one that's been making Katniss eat. She lifts an eyebrow when she finds me combing Katniss's hair in front of the fireplace, but doesn't comment. After a breakfast of eggs, Katniss announces she's going hunting, and I return to my house. There's a lot of dusting to do, after all. A lot of cleaning. Making sure the oven still works. Testing it out by baking. A lot. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm just passing time. Night sneaks up on me, and before I know it, I'm mounting the stairs and falling into bed. For a moment, I wonder if I should go to Katniss, so we can help each other when the nightmares hit. But then I remember my episode from this morning, and the fact that I just arrived in District Twelve. It seemed to shock her that I was even here. It's too soon.

But when I hear her crying, I'm out of bed in an instant. It's just the tiniest sound, a high-pitched, hiccupping keen, but I know it's her. My cracked-open window lets in the sound, and it's as if she's right next to me. Her door is unlocked this time, and I close it behind me before flying up the stairs. I find her curled up in bed, on top of the sheets, clutching a pillow. At her feet is an ugly, squash-yellow cat. Buttercup? I wonder incredulously. It hisses at me, which gets Katniss's attention. In the faint light from the window, her glazed eyes seek me out. She reaches out, a sob breaking through her lips, and I pull her to me for the second time today.

"I m-miss her," she manages through choppy breaths.

I tuck her face into my shoulder, rocking her, and stay silent. Nothing I can say would make it better. Somehow, we shift downwards until all three of us, Buttercup included, are huddled together at the foot of the bed. Katniss strokes him softly between the ears. I resolve to ask her about him tomorrow.

The sky is tinged gray, with a strip of dusky pink near the horizon, by the time we fall asleep.