The next morning my head is a lot clearer. I didn't sleep great the night before, dreaming of flashing bulbs and death, but the distance gives me some clarity. It's early, and Peeta is still sleeping. His body is wrapped around mine, and I just lay there on the floor of the Hawthorne home, gently scratching his back under his shirt. The Hawthorne kitchen looks the same as mine did. All the Seam houses were the same. The walls are scorched from the firebombing. Most of the furniture is overturned. Pots and pans are scattered on the floor. The Hawthornes had a second floor due to the size of their family, which ours did not. What used to be the stairs are splintered and broken. I'm surprised the crews haven't demolished the site yet in the rebuilding efforts, but both my and Gale's houses were on the edge of the Seam. I'm sure they'll get there eventually.

Peeta stirs and wraps his arms tighter around me. The air outside our blankets is still cool; it's a late fall morning and the fire burned out hours ago. We are just two burned kids sleeping the shell of a burned out house. "Morning," I hear Peeta mumble and I look down to see his blue eyes looking at mine.

"Morning," I reply, and bury my face in his chest.

"How are you doing?" he asks, unweaving my braid and letting my hair loose. He runs his fingers through it gently.

"Better," I say. He pulls me into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry, Peeta."

"You don't have anything to be sorry about. You don't get mad at me when I flashback," he says. "It's no different."

"It is different. The Capitol messed with you. They rewired your brain. You can't help what happened to you. I'm just weak." I am ashamed with myself for being no better than my mother. For worrying everyone. For fleeing instead of grabbing that camera and smashing it to pieces on the ground.

"You aren't weak. You can't help what happened to you, either. You are shell-shocked. It's a miracle that any of us are even alive right now. Look how few Victors there are left. We're fighters. We're survivors." He's trying to comfort me but I'm indignant.

"We're alive because other people sacrificed themselves for us. Boggs. Finnick. The Morphling… I still don't even know her name! I'm just going to refer to her by her weakest attribute for the rest of my life when she literally died to save you. What kind of person am I? Was I really worth saving?" I'm sitting up now, ranting and angry.

"Brier."

"What?" I say, harsher than I meant to. Peeta looks at his hands.

"The Morphling. Her name was Brier." We are both quiet for bit.

"Some days, I just don't think I deserve to be here."

"Me too," he replies. "But I'm glad I am."

We sit talking the rest of the morning. We talk about all the different flashes I saw. We play real or not real. We talk about the proposal. He tells me he remembers being nervous, even though he knew it wasn't real. He remembers he had a hard time swallowing. Other things he doesn't remember as well. Some memories are still shiny. The Victory Tour is very blurry - he has a hard time discerning districts and events and the order of things in general. Eventually, Peeta gets evasive. He's not asking questions anymore, instead he's changing the topic or doubling back on something we already discussed. I think I know where this is headed.

I take his hand, "Peeta, just ask me," I whisper.

I can see him struggling. I feel his hands sweat, and he pulls them from mine and wipes them on his pants. They are shaking and he's trying to hide it.

"Peeta." I put my hand on his cheek and he brings his eyes to mine.

"Was… there was never a baby," he states as if he knows, but he wishes he didn't.

I try to be as soothing as I can be and leave my reticence behind. "No, there was never a baby."

"I don't know how to explain this, but I feel like I'm grieving a baby that never existed. I knew it wasn't real, I knew before you said that, but somewhere I just pictured a girl with grey eyes, and a blonde braid bouncing on her back."

I've never wanted kids, but I know what he means. The loss of my not-real baby was heartbreaking for me too. They announced my miscarriage soon after we lost Peeta to the Capitol. It was almost like I was clinging to a part of him, a part that was both of us, even if it was imaginary. When I told the people in the District 8 hospital that I'd lost my baby, I saw the anguish I felt reflected back to me in their eyes. And I saw their resolve against the Capitol harden. Mine did too. They took Peeta, they took everything we had together - whether it was real, or not real, or one-sided, or maybe I just didn't know what it was yet, but regardless of what it was, they took everything without discrimination. Even our baby.

My anger about the cameras rears back. I'm done having things taken from me. I know this regime is better. I know seeing Peeta and I together, frozen in a moment of comfort, was probably healing for many people. That moment, on the floor of what was his bakery, captured in one image what so many of us are feeling. Death. Rebirth. Loss. Growth. Fear. Resolve. Solace. Sympathy. Partnership. Dependence. Love. That's it's okay to remember, and grieve. But that it's also okay to move on.

Fine. They can have that moment. But that's it. No more.

Soon Gale and Johanna show up, followed by Effie and Haymitch. Delly is manning the village, distracting the reporters… chatting about doilies, I'm sure. Gale is clearly uncomfortable here. His family decided not to come back to 12. Hazel says doesn't want to pull the kids out of school, but I'm sure she feels haunted by this place, just like the hundreds of others that stayed away. The District 12 survivors fall in two camps - those too pained to come back, and those too pained to leave. It may be pain that brought us here, but the residents of 12 are building something beautiful together. It's cooperative. It heals. We are finding happiness in our shared experiences. We plant gardens and build shops. We raise children and mend fences. We are boring in our motony, and we thrive in it. We don't need the prying eyes of the Capitol putting us on the defensive.

I remind myself the Capitol is not what it was before. It is a government elected by the people, working for us to mend the nation. Each district is piece of an intricate puzzle, weaving us together and encouraging our uniqueness. Each district is allowed some autonomy, with a local government. Democracy. But democracy does not negate the need for appearance. For politics. For showmanship. For propos. For a carefully crafted message that isn't exactly dishonest, but isn't entirely truthful either.

I'm frustrated this is still part of my life. I don't want to be embroiled in the growing pains of a new nation. I want to hunt on Sunday with Gale. I want to watch Effie paint Delly's toe nails. I want to watch Johanna and Gale bicker. I want to watch Haymitch beat Peeta at chess over and over again. I want to spend every morning, every night, with Peeta.

"So, what are we going to do about the insects?" Johanna asks. I have to laugh. I always thought Castor and Pollux looked like shelled beetles in their camera gear. It's eerie how similar Johanna and I are sometimes.

"I confess, I feel rather guilty about this whole affair," Effie concedes in her clipped Capitol accent. "When we were in the Capitol, Plutarch mentioned he wanted to come do filming in 12. I didn't realize he meant immediately. He implied they were doing pieces on each of the districts, so naturally I thought we had time, being in 12."

"Let's not focus on who's to blame. Let's figure out how to get rid of them," Peeta says, taking Effie's hand.

"So they're here shooting footage and photos for Plutarch? About what exactly?" Gale asks.

"He's doing a portrait of each district. Rebuilding efforts, a who's who of the local government, and highlighting any notable citizens. A 'where are they now' so to say," Effie tells us. It sounds harmless enough, if I wasn't so traumatized by cameras I seize up. "The Mockingjay is a highly anticipated segment."

"Don't they all think I'm crazy and unstable or something?" I rant.

"You aren't?" Johanna taunts me playfully.

"I just mean… I killed Coin. I'm not a hero anymore."

"You will always be a hero, sweetheart," Haymitch says. "I don't think you give the people of Panem enough credit. They trust you. They took the excuse the Capitol gave for your actions because they had to, but a lot of people believe that if you thought Coin had to go, she had to go. The Capitol Hunger Games were not popular. Maybe in concept, some people agreed, but when we all saw those children herded together at the Reaping, it felt wrong. It felt dirty. It made us no better than Snow. The War was over, people weren't bloodthirsty or vengeful anymore. No one wanted to see children butchered, they wanted to move on. You stopped the Games. You gave Panem the clean slate it needed."

I let this sink in. "So they don't think I'm crazy?"

"No one thinks you're crazy. We all just let the propaganda machine do its magic, because we are a country of laws now, and we needed to show justice was done," Haymitch replies. He's quiet for a minute, ruminating over whether he should go on. "Look, I've been told there is some unrest over things in 13. Coin meant more to them than she did the rest of Panem. She was their leader for a long time. But they are regimented people. They follow rules, and order is being offered by the Capitol, so they take it."

"What do you mean, unrest?" Gale asks.

"Delly could tell us more about it. She was there when the assassination happened. There was a small group of people in 13 who were caught plotting - against Katniss, against the Capitol. Planning bombings and attempting to undermine the new government. Tracking Katniss's whereabouts. Believing 13 should be the new center of Panem. It's part of the reason we moved Katniss to 12. It's a small district. We know when outsiders arrive. She's surrounded by people we know." Haymitch looks at me. "I'm not your guardian to keep you in line, I'm your guardian to keep you safe."

"Wait, so when Effie came to 12…" Peeta starts.

"There were threats made on your life. People thought you might have been complicit, or even an accomplice in the assassination." Peeta is stunned. Haymitch groans. "We are getting off topic. This isn't what we are here to discuss. These cameras aren't from 13."

"Well, you can't drop that in our laps and expect us to forget it!" I say. I'm frustrated. "I thought we were past this, Haymitch." This must be what Peeta felt like in the attic in District 11. When he realized he was being kept in the dark.

Haymitch's face turns grim. "One thing at a time. Right now, we've got a bunch of new faces in 12, and I don't know who they all are. We need to focus on how to get rid of these cameras."