CHAPTER XXII

"Kat, when can we go hunting again?"

I glance up from the soil where I've just transplanted two wild berry bushes. Samson, is wrestling with the damp bear pelt and doesn't appear to be winning. "Sae's almost done working through the excess meat, so by tomorrow we should be okay to add more. Nothing big though." I smirk, "We can practice your accuracy on small game. Think you can hit a squirrel?"

It's been just shy of a week, and Sam's anxiousness to return after the hiatus is obvious. I've been content to silently wander the woods and get garden dirt under my nails, but I'm sympathetic to his eagerness.

"But they're so fast!" He whines. I explain, "You've got to think ahead of them. Aim for where they will be not where they are. Same with birds." He looks doubtful. "Are they really so predictable, Kat?"

I spy Haymitch as he heads our way from his back porch. I sigh, "Yeah, Sam, pretty predictable."

"Hey, kid," Haymitch interrupts, "can I steal her for a few?"

I knew this conversation was coming.

"So, sweetheart, got anything to tell me?"

I drop my chin and raise my eyebrows impertinently. "Nothing you don't already know."

He grunts at that. "A heads up would have been appreciated. There's nothing like being blindsided by Effie Trinket. That woman is far too concerned about her shoes." He bends down and joins me on the ground.

"Seriously though, sweetheart, you okay with all this?" He nudges my shoulder with his own. By the look in his eyes I can tell the concern is genuine. When I don't respond he nudges me again.

"I – I don't know what I am." I rub up and down my thighs in frustration. "I'm worried, I know there's no use hiding that. But, Haymitch… it's… it's what I've wanted. Peeta belongs here. His home is here. And I don't like it when he's out of my sight. Bad things happen."

"Bad things happen no matter what, sweetheart. You know that." He leans back and flicks at a leaf. "But, I understand your point. Between the two of you, you almost make a decent person."

I scuff some dirt onto his boot in retaliation. "I know you say that just to be an ass, but it's not untrue. You ever think about what it would have been like if either one of us was in that Arena alone? 'Cause I sure have, and it doesn't end well."

He tilts his head, squinting his eyes into the sun, as if trying to imagine such a fate. "Why?"

"Think about it. Peeta's heart is too gentle and his survival skills too weak. He would have offered his weapon Foxface and his last meal to Rue. He would have refused to 'play the game' and eventually eaten some poisoned berries by accident. Me, I wouldn't have had a single sponsor interested in sending aid but, who knows, I might have still survived. But I would have come out of the Games an empty shell with no appealing qualities and incapable of connecting or communicating with anything."

"S'pose that's true. You would have ended up a lot like me, except at least I have an ounce of interpersonal skills." I tilt my head his way, conceding to his point despite the insult. It is true.

"If I hadn't spent most of my time with Peeta trying to build a wall between us and trying to prove that I was fine on my own, we could have had an impressive partnership. I see that now."

He hums in agreement. "During the war, the impact of your separation was obvious to anyone that was paying attention. So you're glad your star-crossed lover is returning?"

The fury hits me like bullet. My fists ball up tightly and I try to count backwards to calm myself. Haymitch has never really understood how upsetting that is. It was his creation and he's proud of its success, but he doesn't see the monster that it became.

I whisper darkly and fight the tears that want to follow. "I know, its funny to you, but please, just… just don't. I will always be thankful that it is what got us both out alive, but it's done so much harm. Mainly by my own hands, my behavior and my actions, the 'star-crossed lovers' destroyed him. I don't need to be constantly reminded."

Haymitch stares at me, speechless for the first time in our relationship. My mouth is dry. I've said too much today.

I stand up, agitated and needing to get out of here. "I just want us to be Peeta and Katniss. It's just as we always should have been. Is that so much to ask?"

Three days later, I'm in the yard tossing small burlap sacks of rice into the air as Samson attempts to hit one. It's as near to the exercises I ran in the Training Center before the Quell. So far, there has been no success, but Sam finds the activity amusing and has sworn he will hit one by the end of the day.

Just before I decide it's time to pack it in, Sam nicks the corner of a bag. His deafening cheers are joined by the sound of applause and rowdy whistles. Watching from the garden are Thom and Oakley. I have too many visitors these days.

"Ha! Did ya' see that?! Did ya'? Woo!" Sam snags the fallen sack and pumps it into the air, scattering rice like confetti. The two men laugh at the sight. "I've gotta go show Miss Sae!" He shouts as he runs up the garden and into the house without a 'by your leave'. Thom and Oakley wander down to join me as I retrieve the remaining bags where they lay scattered. I suppose they need to tell me something. I wish they would just come out and say it.

"So Samson looks like he's had a good day." Oakley starts as he hands me two sacks. He might as well commented on the weather or some other benign small talk. These social niceties have always made me itchy. I nod. I catch him taking in the dark circles under my eyes, more pronounced from the past week of increasingly unpleasant dreams and general insomnia. "Are you having a good one, too?" I nod again, not paying much attention. Why should I make it easy on them?

There is a lengthy pause before Thom chuckles under his breath. "Alright Katniss, you win. We're here because we got a call this morning from the President's office notifying us that Peeta was moving back to the district within the week. They don't yet know on which train." He furrows his brow. "You don't look surprised."

"Effie called to tell me."

"What's an Effie?" Oakley asks, making the corners of my lips turn upwards. What a loaded question. "Effie Trinket, District 12 Escort. She's been with Peeta a little over a month now and will be settling in with him." Feeling pert, I add, "Oh, I think she'd adore you, Oakley."

"Oh really?" he responds slyly. "I've always found that accent and those high heels very…" a devilish smile grows, "distracting."

"Do we need to know anything? The message was especially vague." Thom asks, returning to the primary topic.

I'm not sure how to answer that. I don't want to divulge what he's gone through. And even I don't know what to expect. "His doctors have cleared him, but he may still have some trouble. I don't know, I doubt anyone does. Talk to Haymitch for details. I'd… I'd rather not."

"We'll do that then. Really, we just want to make sure you're okay." His voice drops. "I know you didn't want Gale here, but we wanted to make sure Peeta wasn't going to upset you. We're all ready to help however we can."

"No," I startle. "I mean, um, no. Peeta… Peeta's different. District 12 doesn't feel right without him."

"Ana, can you bring me the purple flowers?"

It's one of those perfect spring mornings and today I've been given two assistants in the garden. I wasn't given any details but by the state of Anabel's disarray and Sae's chagrin, I can reasonably assume she got into some kind of trouble. Sae handed me a plate of breakfast and her only grandchild and then turned around and left without a single word.

Sam is avoiding the bear fur's softening phase and is instead stationed on the far end of one of the empty soil beds planting the mysterious pumpkin and zucchini seeds. No one has ever seen either, so we have no idea what they will look like once they grow. However, one of my only fond memories of the Victory Tour was that unbelievable orange soup served at the President's Mansion. Peeta warned me to pace myself, but I was so upset and it was so good. If growing pumpkins could result in that soup, it's a very worthy endeavor.

While he's occupied there, I have Ana 'helping' me transplant the herb seedlings. She delights in smelling each and plucking leaves off the ones she likes the most. When I'm not looking she'll sneak one into her mouth to taste, a maneuver that might have worked if her reactions to their flavors weren't so obvious.

The growing row of herbs is a satisfying sight. Such a vision would have been impossible for my father or even my father's father to witness. If you were lucky enough to have access to any of these, they were either dried and canned through expensive Capitol shipments or were native to 12 and illegally foraged.

Joining the previous patches are fragrant oregano, rosemary, sage, chives, and thyme seedlings. I could close my eyes and smell the sprigs of rosemary all afternoon, but my fantasies are interrupted by Anabel's delivery. She's left a trail of dirt behind her, but the small lavender shrub survives the journey intact. After depositing the first she returns to the porch to retrieve the next.

I find a spot next to where the calendula and alyssum will grow, away from the shadier area where the chamomile is sown. It would be nice to use these for some of my mother and Prim's recipes. The tins and jars will eventually need to be refilled. I shake my head. What are you trying to prove, Katniss? You were always an outsider to their healing work. This isn't going to bring either of them back to you. Just grab your bow and go to the woods where you belong.

Ana kneels next to me with the final container of early lavender. She grabs the plant by their lower stem and yanks the plant from its enclosure proudly holding it up, soil scattering off its dangling roots. "Give me that you scamp," I laugh. We plant it in a vacant hole and recover the roots.

I bend over to smell the pale purple buds when I feel a tug at my sweater's hem. When I turn towards Ana I follow the path of her shining face, to the line of her extended arm, to the direction of her tiny pointing finger. For a moment, everything goes still.

He's standing across the yard, amongst my blooming honeysuckle.

My body stands and we stare at each for seconds or maybe it is hours. The light catches his blue eyes as they grow glassy and shimmer in the sun and my legs can no longer remain still.

That string, the invisible one knotted deep in my chest wrapped beneath my ribs, the one that aches and twists and plummets, it is tugging me forward and I have not the will nor the inclination to resist it. I don't care if he wraps me in his arms or wraps his hands around my neck. I run to him like a drowning man fighting to the surface for air.

My arms knot behind his neck as his encase my lower back, clutching me into his chest. My toes gently graze the ground as I'm lifted closer and I can almost feel him returning one of my missing pieces. Did he know he had taken it with him? I swallow back a sob and press my nose into the nape of his neck.

"You're real," Peeta's voice softly rumbles into my ear.

"So are you." I inhale deeply. It tickles the soft hairs along his neck. "You smell different."

His body quakes against mine in silent laughter, then whispers softly, "How?"

I breathe in again, this time into his golden hair. "Cedar trees and… hmm… peppermint."

Curiosity fills him and he asks, "What did I smell like before?"

"Cinnamon, dill, and boy," I answer with absolute confidence. It's a perfectly preserved scent memory. This time his laughter bubbles out loud. "No more boy?"

I pull back and look at his face. There's no anger or fear. I know these eyes gazing back at me – my boy with the bread. I purse my lips to keep from smiling but I'm sure my own eyes give me away. I move my nose to the crease of his arm then try to wiggle away, "Oh no, the boy is definitely still there."

His eyes crinkle and a broad smile tries to swallow his face. His hand snags my escaping arm and pulls me back into his embrace. "Oh no you don't."

We're quiet again, words not feeling terribly necessary. I feel a sniff and the feeling of my body being clutched tighter. I don't think I've felt this safe since my father would bundle me into his arms after a scraped knee or a cut finger.

"I don't-," his voice shakes, "I can't – I can't remember. I should remember what you smell like."

They took so much from him. It's not fair. This is nothing compared to his other horrors, but it is still another thing stolen from him.

I don't want him to be sad. There will be plenty of opportunities and reasons to do so later. "It's probably a good thing. I bet it wasn't nice. Maybe squirrel, you think?" He puffs out a soggy laugh. Sniffing in a running nose he mumbles something like "impossible".

"What do I smell like now?" I whisper gravely, "There's not much good grasping at the past."

I feel a large palm brush up my spine and into my hair. His forehead nods up and down. "You smell like home."

"Um… Kat?"

What was that? Peeta startles and we both look over to Samson who is watching warily from the other side of the garden bed. His grip slackens and I gently pull away. I try to swallow, my mouth dry, and look to Peeta to see if he shows any anxiety at our witnesses, but he merely seems curious.

I wave Sam closer. "Come meet Peeta. Peeta, this is Samson."

"Nice to meet you Mr. Mellark." Sam greets with all the confidence of a fearless 12-year-old. "You too Samson. And let's stick with Peeta. Have you been helping Katniss?"

"I'm trying. She's been teaching me lots. Hey! Do you know what a zucchini looks like?" I snort, unable to stop myself and both gentlemen turn to me. Sam defends, "What? He might know!" Just then a small rocket flies into my legs. "Oof!"

Looking down to the mud-covered girl wiping her hands into my pants leg, I introduce my less helpful assistant. "And this is Anabel, Sae's granddaughter. Ana, this is Peeta." He crouches down to her eye level. "Well hello Miss Anabel. Are you feeling shy?"

She has tucked herself behind me and is peeking out from behind my thigh. "She's quiet with everyone, don't take it personally." Peeta gazes at us with an unidentifiable look. "Sam, can you help her clean up before Sae comes by with lunch?" The two of them scamper off leaving the two of us alone.

"I, um," he starts, then turns around and lifts a small crate. Why does he look so bashful? "Well, Plutarch may have mentioned to Effie that you had a garden, so I – I brought you these." He lifts up the lid to a dozen small heart-shaped buds in white, yellow, and pale pink. "For her."

"Primroses." My fingertips reach to feel the fragile barely-opened buds. A tear rolls down my cheek.

He wipes it away with his thumb and murmurs, "I thought we could plant them together." I nod rapidly and use my shoulder to wipe away another tear before it falls completely then grab his hand to pull him over to the row with Prim's wildflowers.

We work silently, digging one small hole, filling it, and then moving to the next. The crate is soon empty and the primroses have found a home in the sunshine outside of my little duck's window. I stare at the delicate buds, too young to bloom, not yet in the prime of their lives.

"I miss her so much."

"I know."

Nothing more needs to be said. We stand and he brushes soil off his hands and the knees of his khakis self-consciously. I assume I'm so filthy by this point that the effort would be in vain. I do try to push back the sweaty wisps of hair that have escaped my braid and cling to my face. He smiles sadly. "I should head back to the house before Effie comes looking for me."

I nod. "Thank you - for the flowers... and… and for coming back."

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," he says solemnly, locking eyes with me before dropping his eyes and turning to leave. I force myself to unfreeze, shaking out of my stupor. Words, Katniss, use your words.

"Dinner!" Peeta stops at the corner of the house, confusion marring his face. Well that's a word. Perhaps you should add a few more. "Would you and Effie like to come over here for dinner?" I find the vocabulary to clarify.

His face brightens. "We'll be there at six."

"Yoohooo!" Knocking followed by Effie's voice peals from the front door. Her tapping heels are accompanied by the sound of jangles. I place the water glasses on the table and wipe my palms nervously. My hair is still damp from the shower but my palms now seem to want to match with clamminess.

"There is my girl!" Effie's silhouette enters the doorframe. Her suit is a velvety emerald green accented with gold bangles. With each enthusiastic gesture she clangs like an elegant wind chime. "Let me get a good look at you." Her glittered nails trace down my cheeks and onto my shoulders. "I have some cream for those dark circles but otherwise you look lovely, my dear." She runs her hands up and down my arms. "Aren't you warm in that sweater?" She clicks her tongue. "At least it's one of Cinna's. He always found you the softest fabrics." Then drops a kiss on each of my cheeks.

I look up at her towering face. Her lashes are still dramatic and her lips are painted a bright red, but what's shocking is her artfully coiffed strawberry blond hair. Gone are her colorful wigs of pink, orange, and gold. In their place is what must be her natural locks teased and twisted into an elegant up-do. Why would she ever cover up such a thing?

"You look so pretty Effie." Her hands flutter to her hair. "You think so? It's new. My darling Peeta convinced me that it was time I set a new trend. Wigs are so pre-Rebellion." Over her I see the instigator in question blushing as he tries to hide the smirk forming.

Effie presents a bottle of wine from, she explains, a crate she traveled with for the explicit purpose of retaining some elegance while in 12. They settle in at the kitchen table while I carry over the plates. I've added some fresh greens from the garden to make Sae's meal more Effie-friendly. Once I set down the plates, I go to the cabinets and reach towards the top shelf to pull down the never-used wine glasses.

"Is Haymitch joining us?" Peeta asks, counting the plates. I look out the window over the sink towards Haymitch's house. "He should be." As I pour the wine, one large Haymitch-sized glass, two average-sized, and one single sip glass for myself, the back door swings open causing me to nearly drop the bottle. Haymitch has never been one to knock nor use the front door for that matter.

"Ah, I've got perfect timing as always," Haymitch announces, eying the sparkling wine. "There he is! Come 'ere, boy." Peeta and he share a hug outfitted with masculine back patting. "And do my eyes deceive me or is this Effie Trinket?" He bows to her dramatically which seems to delight Effie. "That looks like a clean shirt, Haymitch, thank you for the honor." He winks, grabs the fullest glass from my hand, and joins the others at the table.

Effie fills the meal with stories of life at the facility and the 'horrifying' train journey to 12. Peeta speaks up when prompted or to clarify any overstatements or inaccuracies. Haymitch asks questions, teases, and cracks jokes. And I, I don't say a word, quiet as I ever was. I listen attentively and enjoy hearing the tales, but I don't know what I could ever possibly add. I've never been good at these things. I wisely cut my food into miniscule pieces so I can appear occupied, but by Peeta's expression I think I've been found out.

As I remove the empty plates and bring them to the sink, Haymitch is describing the crews and the current status of the rebuild. "Sae and her team make breakfast and dinner everyday. She'll leave plenty here for both of you so help yourself. Katniss doesn't lock her doors." My eyes widen at that news and I look over my shoulders at him peacefully sipping his second glass of wine. How nice of him to open my home without asking. I roll my eyes and return to the soapy dishes.

"I've told Thom, one of the crew leaders and a local kid, to come here tomorrow for dinner and meet you both. He might bring a couple others along to tell you more about the plans for 12." I put the last dish down to dry and clutch the edge of the sink in frustration. More people Haymitch? Why is he being such a bastard?I take a deep breath in and blow it out slowly through my lips. Don't get angry, Katniss, don't let him win.

"We don't need to bother Katniss with all this, Haymitch. I'm sure they can meet us at my house." Oh Peeta, you wonderful man, you always look out for me. I take another stabilizing breath and straighten my spine. "It's okay, Peeta." I glance sideways at my Mentor in suspicion, "I'm sure he has his reasons for arranging things this way."

Once I walk Peeta and Effie to the door, I'm hit by the emotional exhaustion brought by the day. It was a good one, a great one, honestly, but a lot for one day. As I wish them a good night, Peeta lingers. He reaches for my hand and cradles it between both of his own. "I'll see you in the morning?" I squeeze gently and glance down before forcing my gaze up to his face. "See you in the morning."