I spend the next couple weeks holed up in the house. I vacillate somewhere between grief and habit. Peeta is there. Not always in a closet with me, but outside the door. Giving me space and time to hurt, but making sure I'm not alone. One early morning he finds me sitting in the bathtub in my pajamas, head resting on the edge.

"I have someone that wants to talk to you," Peeta says gently. "But you're going to have to get out of this tub." I look at him quizzically. He probably called my mom. She's been working in a hospital in 4. I don't really want to talk to her right now, but I acquiesce. I pull myself out of the bathtub and drag my feet down the hall toward the office. The phone is sitting on the desk, off the hook. I pick it up.

"Hello?" I say into the receiver. It makes my chest clench a little. Most of my phone calls were with Cinna. But I know his soft-spoken voice won't float over the air to me, letting me know things will be okay.

"It's been two weeks and you haven't called me one time, Katniss Everdeen. I'm offended," Finnick says. I can practically hear him flirt-pouting through the receiver. I crack a smile and Peeta closes the door.

"You haven't called me either," I respond.

"I have an adorable eight-pound excuse. You don't," he teases back.

We talk for a long time. I can hear Annie in the background. Tell her about when Jo did this or remind Katniss to send us that. Eventually, though, we get to how things have been here. That I haven't been out. That I refuse to go to town or the woods. That I mostly just spend my days lost in my head.

"You need to get out of the house. Be a part of the world again," Finnick insists.

"I hate the world," I answer. Finnick is quiet for a moment.

"A ship is safe in a harbor, Katniss. But it's not what it was meant to do."

Finnick's words resonate in my head. I don't sleep that night, I just hear his voice over and over. I roll over and watch Peeta. He sleeps on his stomach most nights, on top of the covers. A light breeze moves through the room from the small crack in the window.

"I'm going to go hunting," I say the next morning over breakfast.

"Really?" Peeta asks, more excited than he means to be. I haven't shown much interest in doing anything. I've gone along with some things. Mostly I just sit quietly though, staring out the window or pretending to read a book, but really just blurring my eyes and letting the day slip away. "Let me pack you a bag," he offers. I go upstairs and change. I pull on a light, long sleeve shirt. My pants hang off me and my belt is useless. I realize my hunting bag is in the old house. I thud downstairs.

"Peeta!" I call out. He comes out of the kitchen, looking up at me expectantly.

"My hunting bag is next door. It's in the closet in the front hall," I state. He knows without me having to ask.

"I'll be right back," he says before he disappears out the front door. I look to the kitchen. A deconstructed sandwich lays on the counter. I finish putting it together and stuff it in a small paper bag, along with an apple from the fruit basket on the counter. I find a metal bottle under the sink and fill it with cold water from the tap. I sit on the stool and wait impatiently. Peeta should be back by now. I can't let the morning escape. Dawn is premiere hunting time. I tap my foot, trying to pacify the panic but only fostering it. When the front door opens I snap.

"Finally! What took so long?" I ask, stomping to the door. I stop dead in my tracks. Peeta has a guest.

"He was just sitting in the kitchen meowing at me. I couldn't leave him there but he really didn't want to come along," Peeta explains. "He took half the skin off my arm before agreeing to let me take him."

"How did he…" I start, but I lose my words. Buttercup. That mangy cat must have been locked out of 13 after Prim didn't come back. "Did he walk here?" I ask. He must have. Peeta's talked to everyone since he's been back. Someone would have mentioned having him.

The feline looks up at me with a disappointed glare. He blinks, clearly not thrilled to be here. A maelstrom of emotions swirls in my chest. I'm disappointed too. This cat is an ugly, useless surrogate. If anything, I feel angry.

Peeta goes to the kitchen and fills a bowl with milk before setting it on the ground.

"Cats aren't supposed to have milk," I state. Peeta pauses and takes me in.

"I thought you hated that cat," he responds, a half smirk sitting on his lips.

"I thought you didn't remember anything," I retort. It's a low blow. It's mean. Buttercup hisses at me, as if sensing the hostility.

"Prim told me," he answers quietly, picking the bowl up and putting it in the sink.

Guilt percolates insatiably in my stomach. "I'm sorry, I – " I try to apologize, but Peeta just dismisses it.

"It's fine," he insists, not turning around.

"We said not to lie to each," I say with a slight tease in my voice, but it doesn't seem to win me any ground.

"I haven't lied to you in as long as I can remember," he breathes, but behind his words sit an accusation. He's not putting it there, I am. I can't say the same. We both know it's my lies that are responsible for the cavernous hole between us. Ever since I learned how Prim died, why Prim really died, I lied. Everything that came out of my mouth. The vote. The assassination. I expected to die. I didn't expect to have to live with the consequences.

"Thank you," I state. For not lying. For being here. "For getting my bag," I finally add. I reach inside and find my hunting knife. I slide the leather belt from my waist and lay it on the wooden chopping block before stabbing a hole in it with the tip of the blade. I twist and gauge the wound until I'm satisfied, then I sling the belt through my pants until it cinches tight around my hips. I push the buckle through the newly poked hole. I fold the knife and toss it back in the bag, along with my lunch and the bottle of water.

Without anything more I'm out the door and heading into the woods.

The sun is bright and I'm grateful for the shade of the trees as the timber gets thicker. The insects are unforgiving. I find the clove oil Prim stuffed in my bag and run it over my exposed skin. It seems to help some. I don't make it more than a half mile before I'm panting and need to rest. My legs burn and beg me to stop, but for the first time in a long time I feel alive. I make my way to the stump with my father's bow and sling it over my shoulder.

Along the ground, ferns have spread their eager leaves and happily soak up the summer air. The paths Gale and I burrowed in this forest seem to have faded, and for a while I shuffle my feet in the dead leaves and try to expose the route again. When I reach our meeting spot a lump forms in my throat and I feel like I might drown in my spit. I force myself forward through, ever forward, until I take my seat.

I wait.

I wait for what I know will never come.

Peace.

I move on, spying the trail of a deer and tracking it silently through the forest. I'm panting with the effort but I keep my breathing shallow and quiet. My chest burns from lack of use, my muscles ache with inactivity. I spy the deer eating a clump of grass. Summer has been generous, and her calves are wide and muscular. Her long eyelashes flutter as she reaches down again, her lips slightly pulled back.

I raise my bow to the doe, but the snap of a twig behind me sends me spinning around, pointing the arrow to my assailant's chest.

"Woah!" Rory Hawthorne yells, throwing his hands in the air. In his right hand he holds a makeshift bow. A rabbit is strung over his shoulder, the slip knot from its snare still wrapped around its foot. It's not tied well.

"Sorry! I thought you were… Sorry," I mumble, dropping my bow, steadying the panic in my pulse. I turn back but the doe has already skipped into the woods, startled by the noise.

"Dammit," I mutter, kicking the dirt. Rory just watches me. I eye his bow. It's not bad, but it's not good. The string is too tight. His brother was never much good at these either. "Here, let me see that," I offer, reaching out an open hand. Rory hands over the bow and watches me carefully as I pull the string, unknot and retie the end, pull again. "String's too tight. This should help. Also… the limb is too short. You've grown since you made that. You need a new one."

"Thanks," he says almost graciously, but he buries any gratitude that creeps into his voice.

"How long have you been coming out here?" I ask.

"Since we got home. Gale took me out a few times without you, but that all stopped when Thread showed up," Rory answers.

"He was protective of you kids. I'm shocked he took you out at all," I say as I slide my arrow back into the quiver.

"I'm not a kid, Katniss. I'm almost fifteen," Rory protests, angry at the perceived criticism of his brother.

"Only kids have to insist they aren't kids," I retort. I don't know why I'm being argumentative. I can't help it. Gale and I argued all the time too. I'm tired. I'm still reeling from this morning.

"Gale always treated me like a man," he spits out.

"Gale coddled you. Just like I coddled Prim. It's what you do with children, Rory," I shoot back. I can't control my tongue. Not when I've had so little sleep. Not when my emotions are still so raw. I swallow but my throat is dry. Just shut up, Katniss.

"If I'm some child then why didn't you come for me? You didn't even come home after the war! Instead, you had to stay in the Capitol on some self-sanctimonious mission like you think you are the savior of everybody. Well we needed you, Katniss! And not in the Capitol trying to kill Coin. We needed you here! My mom needed you! Posy needed you!" His chest is heaving. "And now that you are home, you don't even come around. You made a promise that you'd take care of each other's families. When you were reaped Gale held up his end of the bargain, but when it came to be your turn you didn't come even home."

"Rory, I –"

"It's like you don't even care that Gale's dead! You aren't even mourning him!" Rory yells at me, the hurt and accusation heavy in his voice.

"Because I don't know how to mourn him!" I yell back.

"Why? Because you were in love with him? Because you feel guilty? Because you know he'd follow you anywhere and you lead him right into a war zone? Because you lead him right to his death? Because he did nothing but love you and you did nothing but hurt him?" Rory pushes every button his brother knew to push. He knows me better than I know myself. He knows how to make the storm in me rage. How to force my guard down. "Because you managed to save everyone else except the two people who mattered most? Because you let him die?"

"Because he killed my sister!" I scream. I gasp and throw my hand over my mouth.

"He what?" Rory asks, his voice cold and low. I shake my head furiously, but he steps toward me. No no no no. "What did you say, Katniss?" I want to take it back. I want to eat my words and crawl up in a ball and blow away like the dead leaves caught in a summer breeze, but my body seizes and the pain overwhelms me.

"Because he killed Prim," I sob. Rory starts shaking, falling backward on his feet.

"No," he whispers. "He wouldn't do that. Gale wouldn't do that."

"He didn't mean to. He…" I take a breath. Rory shouldn't have to know this. I shouldn't tarnish his big brother for him. But it's already out there and I can't undo what has been done. "He designed the bomb. The two-phase bomb that killed Prim. The bomb meant to hurt innocents to lure others in. The second explosion, delayed long enough to let..." I can't say anymore.

Rory looks like he's going to throw up. His skin is green.

"I'm sorry, Rory. I'm sorry. He didn't know she'd use it. Gale didn't know Prim would be there. She was a child, she should have never been in a battlefield. But Coin used the bomb. And Coin sent Prim out there on purpose. Gale couldn't have known she would do that. Coin did this. Coin is the reason they're dead," I ramble.

"And so you tried to kill her," Rory whispers.

"Yes. And so I tried to kill her," I affirm.

"Because she killed Prim," he says.

"Yes. Because she killed Prim. Because she killed Gale," I answer. I don't know what else to say. "And… I am angry at Gale. I am so angry at Gale. And I don't know how to be angry at someone that I miss so much. He's supposed to be my best friend and instead he's gone and so is my sister and I am just so angry, Rory. I am furious at him. I don't know how to mourn him. It doesn't mean I don't, I just don't know how," I say, but before I can get out any more excuses Rory steps forward and wraps me in his arms.

"You mourn him with me," Rory whispers into my hair. He's not as tall as Gale was, not yet. But everything else about him feels so much like my best friend that I just let go. I cry into his shoulder, soaking his shirt, and he holds me so still. Not rocking, not moving. Just there. I cling to him, wishing he were his brother, and he clings to me, wishing I was my sister. Neither of us get what we want, but we both get what we need.

"Hey," he starts in a soothing voice, low and resonant in his chest.

"Yeah?" I reply, not lifting my head, not moving at all.

"I'm gonna call you Catnip from now on, okay?" he asks.

"Okay," I whisper back. We stay for a long time before we finally let go. I wipe my cheeks and so does he, his face flushed with fresh grief.

"I'm gonna go home," he says.

"Okay," I respond, but as he turns to walk away I call out. "Rory?"

"Yeah?" he asks, turning back to me.

"He died trying to save her. When he realized what was happening, he could have run the other way. Instead he leapt in there, knowing he wasn't going to make it out. He died trying to save her. And as much as I hate him right now, I will never stop loving him for that," I say.

"He tried to save her?" Rory asks, and in this moment he looks so much like the little boy I remember him as before this war took away all of our innocence.

"Yeah. She screamed at him, too. Kicked him in the gut," I laugh through my tears.

"She would do that," Rory laughs back, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"He was a hero. That's how you should remember him," I say.

"That's how you should remember him too," Rory says, kicking a rock and making his way back down the summer-worn path. He stops. "You coming?" he calls back over his shoulder.

A smile creeps across my face.

"Yeah, I'm coming," I say, jogging to catch up.

We stop at Gale and my meeting spot and I show Rory how to skin the rabbit. "You can sell the fur," I insist. I start and then hand the carcass over, pointing out what he needs to do. He smiles when he pulls the pelt off almost entirely intact. We talk about home. We split my sandwich. He cuts the apple with a knife and offers me some cheese from his pack. In this moment Gale is so here yet so absent. I can't tell if it makes it worse or better.

Rory walks me all the way home. He pretends not to notice when I need a break by feigning interest in some novelty leaf or a piece of bark that's grown over a wounded tree trunk. When we finally reach my house, something feels settled. Like the world is falling into place. Like I got a little of Gale back today. A little of Prim.

"Thanks for walking me home, Rory," I say before turning to enter the house.

"I could use a big sister," he tells my back, his words hanging between us. I turn around and meet his gaze. "I hear you have a vacancy." It's sick and awful, but it's us and we both just laugh because it hurts too much to do anything else anymore.

"I could use a little brother," I answer back.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asks.

"Yeah," I respond.

"See you at the meeting spot, Catnip," Rory says before jumping the steps hastily and making his way back down the dirt path out of Victor's Village and toward town.