Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 37

Primrose

It takes one night for our family to be moved from the bunkers to private quarters following Katniss' release from the hospital. Apparently, not even the most patient among the 'C' Bunkers could handle a newborn on the premises.

Even in isolation, thick glass walls cannot block out the sounds of sharp cries from the next room over. Hyperaware of Mother sleeping soundly beside me, I detangle myself slowly from my blanket. Rising, I take in the sight of an empty bed and crib beside our bed.

Tip-toeing my way through the room to avoid waking Mother, I wander to the door and peek through the cracked keyhole. In the next room over, cramped and filled with baby gifts, I spy the silhouette of my sister. I watch her tremble helplessly in the darkness as she rocks her screeching child back and forth. Her hair has been pulled from its braid, sticking out in messy patches on top of her head. Her eyes glisten with tears.

Meanwhile, nestled in the crook of her mother's arms, Arden's cries permeate the night. She wails at the top of her little lungs, red in the face and angrily beating her tiny fist against Katniss' chest.

"I don't get it. I changed you. I fed you. I've been rocking you for hours…why won't you stop crying?" Katniss all but whines over the sounds of her daughter's shrieks.

She switches up her positions, hoisting the little girl over her shoulder to gently pat her small back, and winces almost immediately as the deafening screams go straight into her ear. Arden refuses to let up—not even a blip interrupting her forte yells—in order to give Katniss a stolen moment of peace. My sister merely growls in response to her child's unknown plea.

"Arden, please, I'm begging you…go to sleep. Just stop crying!"

Ripping a page out of her own mother's book, Arden remains stoic in her mission and begins to cry even louder. A grating, gurgling cry that even causes me to flinch at the sound of it. I peer over my shoulder at Mother, astounded that Arden has not woken her up. We both have an early shift tomorrow morning…

"Please, Arden. I don't know what's wrong. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong with you."

From my place behind the bedroom wall, I survey the situation and stare back up at my sister, who looks absolutely frustrated, or terrified, or some horrible combination of the two that is causing her to verbally lash out at the situation.

The new mother, exhausted and distressed, wearily wanders back toward the small sofa in our living quarters and slumps down against the sunken cushions. Her child persists, tearing at her hand-me-down onesie from Sae with anguished cries.

"I have no idea what to do with you," Katniss mutters helplessly to Arden, tears creeping up into her voice. "I have no idea what I'm doing in general."

The last bit is meant for the privacy of her own thoughts, but as she speaks it aloud into the night, I make no mistake of hearing it:

"Peeta would know what to do."

Guilt overcomes me. I could, and I should, go out there and help her. Yet I remain frozen, a room away, keeping a wall between my sister and I that never existed before.

But the truth is, I have no idea how to handle the situation, how to handle Katniss. I knew how to feel and react when she put her life on the line in the Games as a Tribute and Volunteer. It came like second nature to treat her like a Victor. Even when she became the Mockingjay, I knew how to behave in Katniss' presence in order to make my sister feel at her most comforted in each situation.

Now, as I watch both mother and daughter's chests heave erratically for a reprieve that feels nearly impossible in this unfathomably late hour, I realize that I have no idea how to handle Katniss, the new, frightened mother of Arden. As much as I wish I could, I cannot snap my fingers and magically placate either of them.

We remain in these positions, Katniss mutely staring at her wailing child for any hope of an answer while I continue to hide in the shadows, for what feels like ages before a new sound trickles its way through the air.

Deep in the meadow, under the willow…

I'd recognize the tune from anywhere. It is the song that my sister used to coax me from my Reaping Day nightmares. It is the song that my sister used to bring Rue peace before her death.

And now, it is the song that my sister will use as her child's lullaby.

A bed of grass, a soft green pillow…

Arden calms slightly, her piercing blue eyes opening , wide and inquisitive, to study her mother while she continues to hiccup.

Determination flickers in Katniss' eyes, followed by a look of pure, unadulterated love that dissolves all of her fears and frustrations, as she continues with the song. It seems to be working both ways.

Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes

And when again they open, the sun will rise

The song draws me from out of the darkness. My sister's voice hypnotizes me, breaks me through the wall, and carries me toward the melody of my childhood until I am standing directly in front of her.

Arden's breath at last becomes even, and she coos with relief as she burrows into the crook of Katniss' neck. Hot trails of tears run from my sister's eyes and down her cheeks. Getting through this song without remembering all of its connotations is difficult for her, but she powers through in her victorious final attempt at bringing her newborn daughter comfort. I join in for the final few lines, and together, we lull Arden to sleep.

Here it's safe, here it's warm

Here the daisies guard you from harm

Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you

Katniss lifts her tired, hollow eyes.

"I keep forgetting that she's only a few days old," my sister whispers, her hand rubbing soothing circles into Arden's back. "She doesn't remember that I'm a monster who almost got her killed, but I keep thinking…whenever she cries like that, she's blaming me for what happened. Like she knows I'm the reason her father is the way he is."

I understand now that it is time to repent for my earlier actions, to bring comfort to my sister, the Mother, who needs it more than anyone.

"It is the Capitol's fault, not yours, that Peeta is hijacked," I correct her, kneeling down on the floor so I can catch her eye. "Nothing, nobody could have predicted that when you went into that room he would…you're not a monster. Nobody thinks that, especially not Arden."

I catch Katniss' eye roll even in the minimal lighting. "I couldn't get her to stop crying for over two hours tonight, Prim."

"You wouldn't be the first mother to have that problem, Katniss," I retort. "You and Arden are still getting to know each other."

Katniss snorts, her whole body jumping with the visceral reaction to my words. Her eyes grow wide and fly to Arden, fear brimming within her as she checks to make sure that her actions did not jostle the baby. When Arden snores contently in response, Katniss releases her breath.

"What a lucky kid…she gets the Mockingjay, the war 'hero' killing-machine, as her mother."

"That's not what anyone sees you as," I snap. Whether it's the lack of sleep or patience causing me to short fuse, I cannot say. All I know is that I feel remorseful immediately after the blunt statement is uttered and I clamp my hand over my mouth.

Katniss eyes me back resignedly, too tired to reach into her quiver of comebacks.

Clearing my throat, I sheepishly stare down at the folded hands in my lap. So much for being a source of comfort.

"I mean, that may be what you see yourself as, Katniss, and that may be what the Capitol has programmed Peeta to see you as, but it's not what I see. It's not what this nation sees. And, most importantly, it's not whatArden sees. You're not a monster, or a killing-machine, or even the Mockingjay to her. In that baby's eyes, all you are is her mom."

Katniss doesn't reply. Not verbally, at least.

What I have said seems to register with her, as if my sister has tried all of her many titles on for size in front of Arden and settled on Mother already, and as if my remark has served as a reminder to what suit of armor she currently wears.

Katniss beams at me in the darkness, and then, she turns her restless eyes to her soundly sleeping baby girl. I watch Katniss watch Arden sleep, adoration for each inhale and exhale shimmering in her dewy eyes, in a way that only a mother can do.

I know that regardless of how many sleepless nights are ahead of us, she's going to be just fine.

"Day Twenty-Four. Patient Number 1012, Peeta Mellark, has successfully undergone three days of what our team is calling 'Reverse Hijacking'. We provide him with footage, photos, stories from his past-most pertaining to Soldier Katniss Everdeen-while injecting him with a calming serum, similar to morphling, that will ease his mind. Once Patient 1012 reaches this state, Soldier Madge Undersee provides him with true information about the evidence, putting her in discourse with the false information from the Capitol that Patient 1012 claims to derive from the videos and images shown…"

My thumb flies from my tape recorder at the sound of something crashing. I watch through the two-way mirror as Madge patiently bends over to pick up the untouched food from Peeta's lunch tray. Peeta breathes heavily and wipes a manacled hand across his blotchy eyes. They both look worn down.

"The idea of Reverse Hijacking is a mere hypothesis that I, Trainee Primrose Everdeen, have come up with after hearing about the process the Capitol presumably used to hijack the patient in extensive detail. When I presented the idea to Soldiers Heavensbee and Abernathy, along with Peet—Patient 1020's medical team, the success of this tactic was unknown even to me. However, after three weeks of minimal progress with Patient 1020, we decided that anything was worth a shot and have begun Reverse Hijacking effective three days prior to this recording."

I pause, staring intently. "But now, as a current observer over these past three days, I see that Patient 1020's road to recovery will be half of our efforts and half his own willpower."

"I'm sorry, Madge," Peeta whimpers, burying his face in his hands.

The chains around his wrists and ankles clang and clamor obnoxiously as he does so. If it were up to me, he would have been unshackled weeks ago. No one can begin to feel safe in an environment in which he is made out to be the threat.

Madge trembles slightly as she sets the tray back down beside Peeta's bed.

"No, no…it's fine Peeta. You were just having a tough time remembering what was real and what wasn't real."

Regardless of my method's outcome, the presence of Madge has proven to be a great help to Peeta. He responds to her in a way that no one had been able to get out of him before she arrived: he is protective, and fiercely so, over his childhood friend.

None of that signals to me a man who has fallen too far over the edge to pick himself back up.

I hold down the record button and continue to speak. "We have started with the 74th Annual Hunger Games. For two days now, we have shown Patient 1020 live recorded footage from the Games. It took Soldier Undersee several hours of calming him down and talking in circlesto extract the fiction from the facts in the film. It appears as though Patient 1020 is under the impression that Katniss Everdeen attempted to land a tracker jackers' nest specifically on him—a particularly painful memory, considering the unhealthy levels of venom that brain scans indicate have permanently damaged certain memory receptors—abandoned him in a cave to let him die of blood poisoning, and force-fed him nightlock berries so that she could be crowned sole Victor."

"Those berries…she tried to kill me…that mutt…she tried to kill me…she lied about loving me…she tried to kill me…" Peeta chants to the wall that faces me as he rocks back and forth, knees pressed tightly to his chest.

It's almost as if there are two Peetas inside of him: one who is hungry for answers and one who is hungry for Katniss' blood. The two converse in a manic moment that none of us have any control over.

"Peeta, you're having an episode," Madge levels quietly, as if her friend talking to himself does not phase her. She closes the safe gap of space between them to rub soothing patterns into his hunched back. Peeta calms ever-so-slightly.

"Patient 1020 undergoes uncharacteristic bouts of rage, retreats into his own head, loses power of speech, has trouble differentiating his true memories from hijacked ones, and is currently arguing with himself in a fit of madness. As if he is two different people. Soldier Undersee is now trying to make him cognizant of the fact that these are all side effects of his torture, that this behavior is abnormal for him."

Madge continues to ease the practically two-headed Peeta at her side. "Remember what we talked about yesterday? Remember the video footage we watched? She didn't try to kill you. That nest was meant for the Careers. She left the cave to get you the medicine that would save your life. You agreed to eat those berries…"

"Together," they both finish. Madge smiles softly, her features indicating pleasant surprise at Peeta's contribution to the conversation.

"That's right, Peeta. You remembered that. I'm proud of you."

Peeta returns a ghost of a grin at Madge's encouragements. "That memory isn't shiny."

Madge's brow creases in an understanding frown. "And the memory of her forcing the berries on you…?"

"Shiny," Peeta replies quickly, his calloused hands rubbing furiously at his temples. "Not real."

From the other side of the mirror, I am beaming. "It would be unfair not to give Patient 1020 any credit for his immense progress. When not experiencing an episode, he distinguishes his memories, categorizing them into 'real' or 'not real' and 'shiny' or 'not shiny'. The shininess the patient speaks of presumably has to do with the hallucinating effect of the tracker jacker venom that the Capitol used in the hijacking to view the footage. By labeling his memories, the patient is making an active effort of his own to start getting better. This is positive, I believe."

I'm so invested in my work—which I've skipped my own lunch hour to continue—that I fail to notice Haymitch, Plutarch Heavensbee, and Peeta's head doctor, a former Capitol psychologist named Doctor Aurelius, enter the observation room.

Peeta stares up at Madge, the blue of his irises so striking that I can see into the depths of his unveiled confusion, pain, exhaustion, and determination from where I stand behind a smudgy mirror.

"I think I'm done for today, Madge," he tells her earnestly, the need for sleep weighing his every limb down against the bed. Madge nods knowingly and starts for the door. As always, Peeta manages to remember to thank her for all of her help.

As always, Madge bursts into tears as soon as she leaves the room. Plutarch reaches out to her as she crumples, but Madge shies away from his touch. She makes a hasty attempt at wiping the evidence from her face before she stares back up at us, but there is no mistaking the red around the rims of her eyes or the blanched color of her swollen cheeks.

"Same time tomorrow?" Madge asks.

Aurelius nods. "Yes, thank you, Madge. There will not be a Command meeting tomorrow afternoon, so our lunch schedules shall be expected to return to their usual hour. We should all be present for your visit tomorrow afternoon."

Madge rushes from the room without another word. It's no secret that this process has been the most taxing for her to have to go through, and I admire how strong she is for continuing to come back even when the task of bringing Peeta back feels like a pointless feat.

"Doctor Everdeen, I appreciate you recording the session for us," Aurelius says.

I bow my head cordially and rest the tape recorder against the wall. No matter how hard I fight it back for the sake of appearing professional, I cannot ignore the exhilaration of being referred to as 'Doctor'.

"He had a good afternoon today. Remembered a lot of what went on yesterday. And he's continued to use those categories in regards to his memories."

"Any episodes?" Haymitch asks, scrubbing a hand over his unruly beard. In the Mentor's weathered gray eyes, I catch the image of Peeta, still writhing slightly in his perpetually haunted slumber.

"Yes, one," I answer, recalling the incident with the food tray. I try to ignore the look of defeat on the everyone's faces. "He had to be reminded about the berries, but Madge was able to get him to remember that her forcing them on him was a shiny memory."

Haymitch half mutters, half grumbles something close to appreciative before averting his eyes and wandering over to the corner of the room to sulk in solitude.

Plutarch's communicuff beeps shrilly, sparking everyone's attention.

"Coin wants us back in Command. She says it's 'good news' about Odair and Cresta."

Aurelius grins. "I wonder what she is trying to propose," he jokes, garnering a laugh from Heavensbee that echoes loudly, even in the tiny cavern of the observation room.

"About damn time," Plutarch adds. "A wedding in District Thirteen...how brilliant!"

Haymitch turns to me, a small smile tugging at each corner of his mouth. "Think you can man the fort again, Doc?"

I smile back. The news of Finnick and Annie is what everyone needs right now, but my grin stems mostly from my new nickname.

"Absolutely."

They leave in a flurry of whoops and cheers, until an eerie silence settles over the observation room to remind me of just what my new title entails.

It's my job to bring him back. An impossible task for a thirteen-year-old trainee to have to assign herself, sure, but as far as I can tell, Patient 1020 is worth the challenge.

Chains jangle. Slowly, I flick my gaze back up at the mirror. Besides the occasional tossing and turning, sleep has knocked Peeta Mellark out for the afternoon.

I take in the sight of him, shackled to a bed, overcome by the jumble of knots that is his mind, and listen to the sound of my heart breaking. And on top of his cloudy head, he is alone and probably feeling very unloved as a result of his loneliness. Without a family to retire to each night, a friend who can stay with him for more than a few hours, and a doctor who seems to regard him as anything other than a patient, he has no one.

The only person he has left is too scared to see him, and even still, he wouldn't know what to make of her if he saw her.

Unaware of where I have misplaced my senses, I find myself on the other side of the heavy door, mere yards away from where Peeta Mellark sleeps.

I creep toward him with mild caution. Even in his disturbed slumber, I see traces of Arden in his features. The curve of his eyelashes, fluttering in the midst of sleep, match his daughter's almost identically. He favors his left side, curling into himself and facing the very same direction his child prefers. Under patches of healing bruises, his ivory skin resembles the creamy hue of Arden's.

I'm determined to grant him the same pleasure of finding himself in his daughter.

Whatever battle he has been fighting in his sleep abruptly comes to a head, dismembering my thoughts and any ounce of peace in a flash of an instant.

I'm so startled by the disruption that I fly backward in shock, stumbling foolishly over a rack of glass vials. They shatter, causing Peeta to fall back against the bed and coil into himself, letting out an anguished roar as he does so.

I feel the acute sting of thin glass cutting into my palm and lodging itself there. I wince, but bite back my yelp and jam my bloodied hand into my apron pocket. I don't want to draw any more attention to myself than I already have.

The battle inside of Peeta rages on. His eyes fly open and he attempts to spring forward, only to be whipped back by his shackles. His pupils dilate wildly until they are minuscule dots amidst a swarming sea of stormy blue. He fights the cuffs around his wrists, purple veins protruding against his paper-white skin and fingers outstretched.

He is searching for something, I gather.

"Katniss! Katniss!" he cries out. The look in his eyes is tortured, miserable, and desolate.

I recognize that look. It's the same one he wore as he searched for her in the jungle of the Quell arena, just before the sky started to collapse and the feed cut out.

It's him.

For the first time since his arrival in Thirteen, the side of Peeta that is fighting to win over the attacker implanted in him has emerged fully.

And he wants Katniss.

"Katniss, where are you?" he screams blindly, still half in his nightmare. His voice grows hoarse as I watch what little is left of his neck muscles pop out in strain. "Katniss!"

His eyes begin to dart about the room, and as I pray for an emergency serum that allows invisibility to appear in my hands, he spots me.

His eyes grow wider, and tears spring up into them as he reaches a shaky hand my way.

"Prim!" he shouts, and I stiffen. "Prim, where is she? Where is Katniss? I need her…she's a mutt…NO. KATNISS! She was just here, at the tree. I lost her…she lost you…oh, I lost her!"

He leans over the side of the bed, knuckles blanching from how hard he grips to the bed's edge, and looks directly at me. He is despondent, inconsolable beyond my comprehension, and yet I stay with him.

"Primrose, please…where is Katniss?"

I don't know what he wants. We both know that I wasn't with him at the Lightning Tree. This memory, thisnightmare, cannot be merely classified in terms of shiny or real.

Do I lie, tell him that she's on the other side of this door and ready to love him the way he so fiercely used to love her? Do I tell him the truth and say that she is hiding from him and using Gale as a human shield to do so?

No answer will be good enough, because neither will bring her to him. I choose to say nothing at all, staring blankly at him until my blood has run cold.

As if I am no longer there in his mind, a fleeting tableau of the dream sequence, he gnashes his teeth at some unknown presence and turns away from me. Peeta's chained hands find their way to fistfuls of his hair, clawing at his scalp until the fingernails that return to my line of vision are caked with fresh blood.

He lets out one last, long cry of my sister's name before his own exhaustion takes him back under.

For a while, the only sound I can hear is my heartbeat, racing so rapidly it could give Peeta's heart monitor a run for its money. That, and the sound of his jagged breathing.

Once I am certain that he is not going to wake up from another desperate, Katniss-induced nightmare again, I bolt from the room.

I do not realize that I am crying until the salt from my tears causes my cut hand to burn. Putting my pain on the back-burner, I grip onto the tape recorder with all of my might, press record, and break all rules of trainee protocol in one rushed statement.

"I know it's none of my business, Doctor Aurelius, Haymitch, Plutarch, whoever listens to this…but my sister needs to speak with the patient as soon as possible."

Our living room, if possible, has gotten even more cramped since we moved into it three weeks ago.

Treading over toys and hunting gear, I greet Katniss and Gale with a barely audible 'hello' before stripping myself of my blood-encrusted apron and collapsing on the couch with exhaustion. Pain from my hand shoots up my arm as I do so, causing me to blink back tears and nurse my wounded hand against my stomach.

Our "cousin" lays on his belly on our floor, his mighty limbs stretched out and contorted in comical ways in order to find the room needed to spread out. Compared to the miniature-sized wreckage around him, Gale looks like a giant. He waves a toy in front of Arden's oblivious face. From where she rests lazily in Katniss' arms, the infant could not look more disengaged if she tried.

The toy in Gale's hands jingles, a tinnier version of what reminds me of Peeta's chains. I suck in a sharp breath and try to drown out the noise by readjusting myself on the couch.

From where she sits on the ground below me, cross-legged and facing Gale with an armful of her content child, Katniss looks to be at peace. Adjusting to life with an infant has been difficult for her, without a doubt, but with myself, our mother, Finnick, Annie, Hazelle, and now Gale around to provide help, the job has been made easier and far less fear-invoking for her.

It's good for her, not to be afraid of something that would have sent her heading for the hills nine months ago. She is tackling motherhood with a bravery that no one, not even I, could have expected from Katniss, and my heart swells with pride for her.

If only she could apply that same bravery to the father of that child.

Gale rattles the funny-looking play toy from Fulvia Cardew once more, a smile spreading over the wide expanse of his face.

"Arden, check this guy out!" Gale says sweetly, jangling the contraption until the baby's attention is forced on it. Arden, suddenly amused by the rattling toy, reaches out and yanks it from Gale, eyes bright with newfound curiosity.

Gale smiles proudly, rolling over onto his side to get a better look at the scene. "Atta girl."

"She adores you," Katniss tells him. "You're a way more fun playmate than boring old Mom, right baby girl?"

Arden gurgles in response, happily shoving as much of the toy as she can into her mouth and suckling away to her heart's content. Gale and Katniss burst into laughter, as if nothing has ever been cuter.

I would laugh too, I presume, if I weren't so rattled myself from the afternoon's events.

Or perhaps I cannot bring myself to laugh because this situation feels all wrong.

There is no denying that Gale is a natural with children—he practically raised his three siblings, after all—and that someday, all of that potential will serve him well in fatherhood.

Katniss passes the baby onto Gale, and from my perch on the couch, I watch the hulking, brooding hunter melt into an adoring mess as he cradles the petite child against his broad frame.

He will undoubtedly be an incredible father. Just not to this baby. She already has a father.

My sister has seemed to lose sight of that very obvious factor. Knowing the way Katniss' mind works, Gale is her safety net, the stand-in father who could be there for her and her child immediately after the child was born and who could help her be brave enough to tackle motherhood without being alone.

But even still, I doubt Gale's capability at filling the quota. Gale is not yet twenty years old. He has been forced to grow up and play the role of father ever since he was my age. He has no idea what he wants, really wants, which would explain why he still allows himself to abandon my sister and her child every day to obey Coin's orders and work on what sounds like very intense weapons meant for an extremely violent war.

Not to mention his obvious attraction to Madge Undersee that only he seems to be in denial of, the attraction that clearly still confuses and agitates him and causes a major psychological roadblock in his true feelings toward my sister and my niece.

Until he gets his revenge streak and his tendency to bury himself and his problems in his duties to the war out of his system, he is unfit to parent a child.

One would argue that both of Arden's parents are unfit to parent her, a careful voice, sounding very much like a combination of my mother and Doctor Aurelius, warns me. I press my lips together, physically forcing myself to stay silent on the matter I have no true place in.

My sister's eye catches the bloody apron hanging from our coatrack and gasps.

"What?" Gale asks, suddenly alert. His grip around Arden tightens, and both the baby and I notice as she 'hmphs' in discomfort.

"Prim, what the hell happened to your apron?" Katniss asks.

I avert my eyes to my poorly bandaged hand and sigh. She can't know about Peeta and my affiliation with him. Not yet.

"You know how clumsy I can be. Tripped right over my own feet and cut my hand on a glass vial at work."

Katniss rushes over to me, wrenching the hand from my grasp to examine the bloodied gauze laced between my fingers.

When did I become the girl who lied to my sister?

Visibly nauseated by the sight of blood, Katniss swallows hard and orders for Gale to grab a sterile washcloth from our mother's dresser.

She unravels the gauze and recoils immediately at the sight of how deep the cut, now pink with infection and reeking of metallic blood, truly is.

"Goodness, Little Duck…what happened to you?"

"I told you, I fell."

Her hard gray eyes are steely as they meet mine. "I had Gale leave the room to look for a non-existent rag for a reason, Prim. What happened to you?"

"I fell," I insist, sticking to my story. "I knocked over a lot of glass when I tripped…"

"Why were you alone when it happened?" Katniss interrogates, catching me quite literally red handed in the middle of my lie. "You're an excellent healer, but your wound dressing has always needed work. I thought you were supposed to be supervised at all times."

"I was! They just had to go to a meeting," I blubber desperately, grasping for any and all straws that will get me out of answering the impending series of questions.

It's no use. I'm trapped. She's going to find out.

"Who is they, Prim? Who had to go to a meeting?" Katniss huffs, blotting around my wound with her shirt sleeve.

I bite my lip and look up at the earthen ceiling. "Haymitch…and Plutarch…and, um, Doctor Aurelius."

Katniss freezes in her tracks. She knows exactly who that crop is responsible for treating.

Worse than any possible outburst, my sister's silent, betrayed glare cuts right through me.

"I can't find a washcloth!" Gale calls from the other room.

"Look harder," Katniss shouts back without so much as a flicker of movement in her muscles. All of her attention is on me right now.

"You're seeing him?" Katniss asks, her voice shaking with brewing emotion as she forces it to remain leveled. "You're seeing him, and you weren't going to tell me about it?"

"I was assigned to him a few days after he arrived. I think that eventually they wanted to use me as a trigger test, but then Madge came to help him, and…"

"Madge?" a gruff voice asks. Gale stands at the bedroom doorway, empty-handed and wide-eyed. A hunter at heart, of course he had been listening in this whole time.

Oh, what a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Primrose.

"I was going to tell you, Katniss, but you refuse to go and see him yourself…even if I told you, and told you about all of the progress he's making…you wouldn't believe me," I admit softly, worrying my bottom lip with my two front teeth.

Katniss shakes her head and unclasps herself from my aching hand.

"He tried to kill me. He tried to kill Arden. He left the two of us alone, and you're helping him?"

He didn't have the choice to leave you alone, Katniss! Every day, you are the one who physically chooses to leave him alone! a furious voice inside of my head shrieks.

My better judgment and fear of confronting the one person who would lay down her life for mine reminds me to keep my mouth shut.

Katniss paces about the room. The wild look in her eyes indicates that she is on the verge of a breakdown. After three weeks of sleepless nights with a newborn and pretending that she's happy, my sister is drained to the point of hysterics.

She looks just like Peeta did this afternoon.

"I'm sorry, Katniss. I should have told you about my involvement with Peeta's recovery sooner, but I thought…maybe if I could get him better for you, you'd finally be happy," I tell her truthfully, omitting the fact that Gale is still with us, currently steadying himself against the frame of the door.

Katniss' neck snaps in my direction. "I am happy, Prim," she states unconvincingly, like a well-rehearsed drone.

I'll believe it when I see it…or when I see you see him, the voice inside of me retorts.

In this moment, I feel like I am a Patient of the hospital, trapped under a microscope as the two competing versions of myself battle for dominance.

It is the coward versus the Doctor.

Who wins out not only shocks me, but almost excites me as well.

"Alright, I'm sorry I doubted you, then. If you say you're happy, then I believe you. And I'm sorry for not telling you about my seeing Peeta, but know that I cannot abandon my work, Katniss. Technically speaking, he is my training assignment. If you don't want to talk about it, or him, I understand and respect that, but please, don't ask me to give up on my job."

Katniss remains silent for an eternity, soaking in every implication of what I have said. Arden begins crying in the bedroom, and Gale quickly retreats to pacify her.

Finally, after several more agonizing moments go by, she sighs.

"Fine."

Wordlessly, Katniss follows the sound of Arden and her faux father into the bedroom.

Once more, I stand alone, trapped in my own mind as I come to terms with what has just transpired.

Katniss, the Mockingjay herself, has given into allowing me to continue working with Peeta.

Hours later, running my hand under cold water and stitching it closed in the solitude of the infirmary, I deduce that it is not by some chance miracle that my sister allowed herself to surrender to my will.

It is her secret hope that I can make Peeta better.

A/N: Another quick update for you! Hope you enjoyed everything here! As I mentioned before, my finals are coming up and these next two weeks of the semester are going to be crazy, so I will most likely not be able to update until that's all over. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I hope you can understand.

Endless thanks for the favorites, follows, and especially the reviews! I love hearing what you all have to say, and it makes writing for you all so much more enjoyable when I have your input. Thank you and please keep that up!

ps - I should have mentioned this two chapters ago when I saw the movie...but how nuts was Mockingjay Part One? I left the theater telling strangers about my emotional rollercoaster. Also, it got me so excited to continue with my adaptation of the story (and also shed some light on some of my earlier blunders...whoops!).

Till next time,

-ILoVeWicked