I put food down for him but the stupid cat doesn't come. "Buttercup!" I yell out, but that flea-infested knot of fur is nowhere to be found. "Buttercup!" I call out again, but this time my heart starts pounding in my chest. Where is he? Prim would never forgive me if I let that cat die. He's run away before. He goes out hunting and doesn't come back for days. He sleeps at my old house and Peeta has to constantly go over and bring him back. Don't make me do this.

I stomp with exacerbation across the lawn and toward my house. My heart leaps into my throat, but this hideous, hateful cat is all I have left of my sister, and I'll take care of him whether either of us like it or not. I slam my way up the stairs and stop at Prim's room. I send the door flying open and find the cat curled up on her bed, sleeping.

I had to expect it, but the potency of Prim in this space is suffocating. I'm surrounded by her. Her blue hair ribbon still rests over the mirror at her desk. On her dresser top sit trinkets and pretty things – a gold button lost from its mates, a pretty white rock, a dried up dandelion.

"She's not here!" I scream at the cat. He glares at me and I yell at him again. "She's not here! She's never coming back! She's dead, you hear me? She's dead!"

At my words Buttercup starts howling and moaning. I drop to my knees hard on my sister's floor. I feel the bone smack into the hard wood, but I can't stop. "Prim is dead! Prim is gone forever and you are all I've got left of her and I hate you!" I scream at him. Buttercup cries and wails for Prim, as though the louder he is the more she'll come back to him. The more likely she is to save him from this horrible replacement that doesn't love him and never will.

I draw my knees to my chest and sob into my legs. After a while the meowing stops. I feel Buttercup nudge me with his head. I look down at him and see him staring at me. "Stop it!" I whisper viciously, swatting at him. Instead, he purrs and nudges me again, butting his head into my empty hand. I drop my knees to the sides and he crawls into my lap, buzzing like the carburetor on Thom's old tractor. We stay like that for a while, Buttercup purring and nuzzling into me.

"Alright, let's go home," I mutter. He doesn't fight me about it. It's the last time he runs away.

The next day I'm a mess in the kitchen. I have a couple of rabbits I snared with Rory and I'm cooking down the leftover carcasses for broth. It's hot. It's unbearably hot outside and I have no idea why I committed myself to this dish. Because it's one of only a few things I know how to make. I've never been particularly domestic. Peeta comes home covered in sweat and filth. He pokes his head into the kitchen.

"No!" I command. "Go shower. I don't even want to see you until I can't smell you first."

"It's not that bad!" Peeta teases, but four hours of manual labor in insufferable heat will make anyone smell like a farmhand.

"Go!" I yell, throwing a dish cloth at him.

Rye and Delly are coming for dinner. Thom called half days on the work site all week, so we figured now is as good a time as any for that evening I offered.

I already prepared a salad of field greens and radishes which is soaking up dressing in the refrigerator. Delly is making dessert. Haymitch is bringing… something. Who knows. I invited Haymitch and Effie so I wouldn't feel like the least refined person at the table. I invited Rory, too. I still haven't talked to Hazelle, but Rory says she's not mad. She's just glad Rory and I are patching things up. I will never be as selfless as that woman. It's why I'm not cut out to be a mother.

Rory comes first, at least an hour early. He's got a plate of cold vegetables and some kind of creamy dip I'm sure Hazelle made. It's much more appealing on a hot day than what I'm concocting.

"Alright, where do you need me?" Rory asks. I hand him an apron but he just laughs. "You wouldn't catch me dead in a dress." It's a dig at Peeta. Instead of being offended, though, I just smirk. It reminds me of his brother.

"Can you get a cast iron from the cupboard and heat it up on the stove? And maybe wash that glass pitcher out?" I point to the top of the refrigerator. Rory gets on his toes and pulls down the jug. He flips it upside down and a dead spider falls to the floor. I groan. "Rory, not on the floor!" I toss the insect in the garbage and return to the rabbit.

"Aren't you going to wash your hands?" Rory asks, one eyebrow perched.

"Oh yeah, I…" I spin around and run my hands under the hot sink water. I'm not cut out for this. What was I thinking?

"Katniss," Rory says.

"What?!" I spin around, splashing him with water.

"Breathe," he says, grabbing my shoulders.

"Yeah, okay," I say, nodding my head. Breathe.

"Alright, throw me in, Commander," Peeta states as he enters the room. He's in fresh clothes. His hair is still damp from the shower. He takes the two of us in, Rory's hands on my shoulders, a panicked look on my face. "Huh," he says, reaching to the counter and grabbing some dough he let rise in a bowl while he was out.

"What?" I snap. I'm not in the mood for jealousy.

"Just glad to have someone else that speaks Katniss around here," he answers. Rory laughs. I sneer at both of them.

Peeta pounds the dough down with his fist before kneading it a bit and setting it in pan. He slides it in the oven. Between the heat of baking bread, cooking down rabbit carcass, and the unforgivable summer sun, the kitchen is sweltering. I might as well crawl in the oven, it will probably be cooler.

We finish the meal just as Rye and Delly arrive. Delly bubbles over this and that, as if our houses weren't identical. Rye hugs me. I try not to act uncomfortable. Rye and I are friendly, yes, but most of the time we've been together is during mutual worry over Peeta – after his mother's last attack, after the hijacking, after the explosion. Rye and I don't know how to just be around each other.

Haymitch and Effie arrive, Effie with a flourish. Her outfit, mild for Capitol dinner party standards, is extravagantly out of place. It reminds me of when my prep team dressed for dinner on the train like we were attending a feast. Haymitch catches me staring.

"She doesn't do it for her, you know," he grumbles under his breath as he watches Effie flounce around the table, ingratiating herself with each of the guests. "She did that whole get up for you. She wanted you to know how important you are to her. That you are worth the effort."

I stare at Effie. Her make-up is precise, her face perfectly powdered. Not a hair on her wig is out of place. I couldn't save myself from a fire in her spiked shoes. She did all that for me.

"You look lovely, Effie," Peeta praises with a grin as he holds out her seat at the dinner table. Everything always comes so easily to him – a smile, a compliment. I'm dark, broody, argumentative. Dinner doesn't in come in courses. This is a family meal. I set all the food in the middle of the table at once.

"Well, have at it," I offer, finally taking my seat. Rory and I start to dig in, but the others wait. Haymitch reaches for a slice of bread and Effie jabs him in the ribs with her elbow.

"Who would like to say grace?" Delly asks.

"Say what?" I ask. This isn't a Capitol tradition. It's certainly not something we did in the Seam. If we were lucky enough to have dinner we certainly didn't wait to eat.

"Well, why don't I do it?" Delly offers in a sing-songy voice, taking Rye's hand and also Rory's, who was unlucky enough to plop beside her. He looks at me desperately. I shrug and take the hands of the people next to me. Delly closes her eyes. We all follow suit.

"Thank you for this delicious food we are about to receive," Delly says.

"You're welcome?" I grumble, eyes still close.

"Oh, not you silly! Well, you too of course. But I'm thanking the universe. For bringing us together tonight. For letting us be here, together, as friends and family. For this cherished moment when we are all safe and happy and loved," Delly says idyllically.

She goes on. I crack my eyes open. I find Rory, gaping. Haymitch peeks open an eye and we all grin guiltily. You can take the person out of the Seam, but you can't take the Seam out of the person. We share a look of irritation. Only someone who's never been hungry would let food sit. Although, that's not true. Delly has been hungry. She and Rye made it on foot from 12 to 13. What is she getting at?

"Lastly, thank you to Katniss and Peeta for making me feel welcome in their home," Delly concludes. Their home. The words that at one point would make me want get up and run, but I've buried my worse nature. What I want is to stay here.

"Thanks, Delly. That was, um, nice," I answer. Everyone digs into the food.

The evening draws on uneventfully. It's almost... pleasant. Rye and I make conversation. He's actually kind of funny once I finally let my guard down. Delly and Effie are thick as thieves, gossiping and twittering. You'd think Delly was Capitol-born. Haymitch and Rory are off in their own banter, which is interesting since Gale and Haymitch never really clicked. I think there was always some kind of outsider mentality when it came to Gale and the Victors. He and Rory are alike in so many ways – quick to judge, long to forgive. But in just as many ways they are different. Rory is more open. Maybe it's his youth. Maybe it's something of my sister that rubbed off on him. Peeta watches it all with quiet content. I can't remember seeing him this at peace.

"I'll tell you one thing, old man, you won't last five minutes with a gaggle of geese," Rory laughs through a mouthful of blueberries and sweet cream.

"That's what I tell him," Effie chimes in, overlapped with Haymitch grumbling "Who are you calling an old man?"

I clear the table as the laughter starts to die down. Delly immediately shoots to her feet to help, as does Peeta. Between the three of us the kitchen is cleaned in no time. The summer sun has long since left the sky. It's late.

"We should be getting home, Katniss. Thank you again for a lovely dinner!" Delly gushes, hugging me as my arms lay dead at my sides. She takes her ceramic dish from the counter. I watch as they all pour out into the night. I remember when being out after dark meant being shot like game. I close the door.

"That was… nice," Peeta says, hanging a damp dishtowel on the stove to dry.

"Yeah," I say with a small smile on my face. I stretch my weary body. "Next time you are cooking. I'm not meant to be domestic," I complain with some levity.

"I'm not looking for a housewife," he retorts candidly, but the word wife hangs uncomfortably between us. His eyes shoot up. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"Good," I interrupt. "You'd be sorely disappointed."

Peeta stares at me. I'm not running. For once in our life I'm not running, and he doesn't know what to do with it. He traces me with his eyes before he steps forward and wraps me tight in his arms.

"You're my best friend, you know that?" he whispers into the crook of my neck. His words are hot on my skin.

"I one told you we could never be friends," I answer. I doubt he remembers. I don't remember that well. I was drunk. Very drunk. But I remember the words. We'll never be friends. I feel him still as he ponders the thought.

"We'll fight," he whispers, not breaking the embrace. I feel every word on my skin. "And we'll laugh. And you'll hate me and I'll hurt you. And you'll love me until your heart explodes. And we'll kiss and we'll pretend, we'll dance and we'll know each other's secrets. But we'll never be friends."

I forget that the times I hurt him are the most vivid. Some of the only genuine memories he has of us.

"I'm sor–" but before I can get the words out of my mouth his lips are on mine. He swallows the apology. This is not the gentle, delicate kissing we've dared to share. A kiss on my hair to say good night. A kiss on his hand before I leave to hunt. This is insatiable kissing. It's a want so strong between us and we can't find a way to fill the void. Peeta steps forward until we're over the couch. The back of my knees hit the arm and we drop onto the cushions. His weight is heavy on top of me. It's intoxicating and I finally let myself surrender to it. I tug his bottom lip with my teeth and he buries his hands in my hair, tugging at it as he dips his tongue into my mouth and moans at the taste of me.

A groan rumbles in his throat and my body responds with fire shooting through my limbs, tingling and scorching and igniting every inch of my skin. I'm wearing a thin, summer dress. I couldn't bear more than that in the heat. Peeta reaches under the skirt and slides his hands to my undergarments, gliding them down my legs before throwing them on the floor. Neither of us can wait anymore. We're desperate.

I look down and I can see him yearning against his pants. I'm sloppy with his belt and there's a metal jangle before I'm able to rip it open. I fumble with the button of his pants, yank down the zipper. I feel this hand drop between my legs and I whimper as he traces me with his fingers before slipping one inside me. My eyes blur and I try to focus on what I'm doing.

Peeta scoops his arms underneath me as he pulls himself up. He hitches up my skirt and my heart slams inside my chest. His face is barely illuminated from the light in the hall and I watch his expression change and he slides himself into me. I gasp slightly and he stops.

"It's good, it's good, keep going," I breathe, thrusting my hips slightly. He moves again, his breath lost as he moans with each movement inside me. His hands roam my body, pulling me into him. He grazes over my chest and I bite my lip to stifle a sound.

"I like it when you make noise," Peeta whispers as he drops his mouth to my throat. My nipples have hardened and they are sensitive rubbing against the cotton of my dress. Peeta slides his hand up and over one of my breasts and squeezes hard before running his thumb gently over where he feels the peaks of my nipples. I writhe underneath him. "Please," he whispers in my ear and I exhale as I arch my back, pressing my body into his. He continues pumping into me, watching my face carefully. My body drenches in sweat, the dress clinging to my skin. Peeta tugs it up and my skin prickles at the feel of the air.

"Are you okay?" Peeta murmurs.

"Yes," I manage, my stomach whirling when he shifts his hips slightly. Peeta watches my reaction and repeats the motion. He looks radiant. I am radiant. He shudders above me and my body clenches and flutters in response. It's right here. Peeta watches me until I climax, my eyes glue to him until he lets go. Everything is hot and sticky and we're both drenched in sweat. Peeta's head drops to my chest, fighting to stay awake but exhaustion winning him over.

"This was the best night of my life," he whispers softly before the muggy darkness steals him to sleep. I watch as Buttercup finally makes his way down from upstairs, content now all the people are gone. He watches Peeta and me, tangled together on the couch.

"Stop looking at me," I whisper. The cat just blinks.

A/N: Hey all, sorry for the delay on this chapter. I had surgery a few days ago (nothing serious, I promise) and it's hard to write on pain killers. I'm on the mend, but please forgive me if the next couple chapters take me a bit. Healing first. Love you all!