"What happened?" my mother asks clinically. She is not a desperate woman. She's put that away. Right now she has one job. She is a healer.

"I don't know I don't know!" Peeta rambles, his eyes darting up and down my body. I feel his panic pulsing. I try to say I'm alright but my tongue feels swollen in my mouth.

"Peeta," my mother starts, frustration hidden in her tone. She needs another set of hands. Someone who knows what they are doing. She needs my sister. "Can you get me the calendula salve, alcohol, and the tweezers?" she asks as she peels the wet, sanguine clothes from my body. He darts to the medicine cabinet. Nothing is labelled. My sister would know. My mother looks at him.

"I need you to go get Hazel," my mother states.

"I can't leave her!" Peeta shoots back, his look darting between me and trying to make sense of the medicine cabinet.

"Peeta," she says calmly. Assertively. "I need you to go get Hazel. Katniss needs you to go get Hazel." He stops.

"Okay. Okay okay," he rambles. Peeta drops his face in front of mine. I can barely focus on him. "I'll be right back, okay? I'll be right back." He kisses my forehead and bolts out the door. He'll be there in minutes at the most. I hear the door. Haymitch. Effie. Things start blurring together.

"I need you to stay awake for me. Katniss, listen to me," my mother says, her voice sharp. I shift my eyes to her. The right one is now fully swollen shut. I try to focus on her face, but it's like someone put oil in my eyes. "Stay awake. Do not go to sleep. Nod if you understand me." I think I nod. I must because my mother seems satisfied. "Effie, get her shirt off. Haymitch, go grab me some spare linens from the upstairs closet." I think people are doing as she says because I hear feet and feel hands. I can't keep track of any of it. Cold liquid is poured over a wound and I wince and cringe. I hear Effie gasp and try to ignore her. It's only a few more minutes before Peeta is back and panting heavily.

"She's coming," Peeta responds. My mother pulls up a stool and he drops next to me.

"Do we know what happened?" I hear Haymitch ask.

"Rory says he left her on her way to Sae. Something must have happened between there and home," Peeta answers.

"Was it an accident? Did she get hurt in the rubble?" Effie asks innocently. She's not naïve. She's playing naïve. She wants it to be an accident. If it's not, we have a problem.

"She got beat up. It's pretty obvious," Haymitch answers. I can feel Peeta stiffen next to me. Haymitch sees it too. "Not right now, kid," he says under his breath, placing a hand on Peeta's shoulder.

"Well that's absurd! Who would want to hurt Katniss? She's a hero!" Effie chirps. Haymitch and Peeta look at each other. I'm a hero to many. To others, I tried to kill their president. I was probably responsible for her death anyway. Many still believe there was a plot and I was the insurance policy. Little do they know, Coin's killer is in my kitchen, hovering over my wounds.

Hazel arrives and with her comes a calm to the room. She and my mother work seamlessly together. Peeta clenches my hand in his. Normally he's hot but his fingers are ice cold. It's like all the blood in his body stopped moving.

"That's all we can do tonight," my mother says after what feels like hours. My wounds are sewn where they need to be, cleaned and bandaged. She's used turmeric to reduce the swelling where she can, ice where she can't. "Her pupils are fine, her motor skills seem okay. I think we all need to let her sleep."

"Here? Upstairs?" Peeta asks.

"Up," I grumble, my voice hoarse. I have no desire to feel exposed in the middle of this room any longer.

"The girl says up," Haymitch says. He leans down, his voice low. "Glad you're still with us, sweetheart." Hazel excuses herself politely and goes home to her children. Peeta slips his arms under my body and cradles me against his. He takes the stairs slowly and brings me to my room. He closes the door and sets me on the bed.

"I'm going to go get some stuff ready in the bathroom, okay?" he whispers. I nod and he slips into the other room. Downstairs I can hear talking.

"Are they living together?" I hear my mother ask politely, as though she were asking if anyone wanted a cup of tea.

"Yeah," Haymitch replies. It's quiet. I can't tell if she's just digesting. If she's worried about my safety around Peeta. If I'm too young. If it's too fast. If I'll hurt him. If he'll hurt me.

"Good," she answers. Good.

"They really should get married, though. It isn't proper," I hear Effie click in. I can almost feel the sideways glare I'm sure she's getting from Haymitch. I can almost see his raised eyebrow. I smile in bed.

"They should get married?" he repeats sarcastically. Suddenly my heart feels very heavy for Haymitch. What is between them? An unanswered proposal? A lover with one foot out the door?

"I don't live you with, Mr. Abernathy. I'm a guest," she retorts.

"Sure. A guest that keeps saying she's leaving and doesn't," he replies with a surly tone.

"If you want me to vacate your home, simply say so," Effie quips back. There's silence. I imagine she's staring him down. I imagine my mother cleaning the table and pretending she's invisible. "That's what I thought," she adds defiantly. "Lillian, lovely to see you. Please keep us appraised on Katniss."

The front door clicks.

"Hey, you doing okay?" Peeta asks. His silhouette is dark as he stands in the bathroom doorway, lit from behind by the incandescent lights above the sink.

"Yeah," I croak.

He tiptoes across the room. On my nightstand he sets a small bowl of warm water and a cloth, then sits on the edge of the bed beside me. "I thought you might sleep better if we cleaned you up," he whispers. He spends the next ten minutes gingerly wiping crusty blood from the corners of my lips, my ears, my scalp. He digs the dirt out from under my nails and runs a comb through my hair until the knots acquiesce. The bowl of water turns pink and then red as he wrings out the towel again and again. He's right though. I start to feel more like me. I watch his hands silently as he inspects my body. "What happened Katniss?" he asks, finally meeting my eyes. His voice is so quiet I barely hear the words, but I know what was said. I don't answer, I just stare lifelessly at my dresser.

I can't say what happened. Peeta, post-hijacking Peeta, might do something reckless. In a lot of way, the hijacking made him more like Gale. He's not a violent person, even now, but when it comes to protecting me his sensibilities fail him. This will also destroy my mother with guilt, if she knows I was beaten for her crime. I don't trust Haymitch not to get stupid drunk and try to take them on all by himself. If I'm going to protect the people I love I need to keep my mouth shut.

I will handle this without them.

Peeta sighs and gets up, taking the supplies back to the bathroom. I hear the sink running and he comes back with a glass of water. I didn't realize I was thirsty until I saw it, but as I drink my throat feels like gravel and even the plain water stings. I cringe and Peeta takes the glass from my hands, setting it on the nightstand. Peeta gets ready for bed when I hear a knock on the window, like a bird pecking with its beak to get in. It happens again. Peeta looks at the window curiously and rises the edge of the bed. He looks down. He doesn't say anything, but a look of cold determination takes over his frame.

Someone is on the ground throwing rocks at my window.

"What's going on?" I manage, my voice raspy. Peeta considers me, broken in my bed. He steps to my dresser and finds one of his spare sketch pads, a pencil tucked in the pages. He writes something on a page, rips it from the book, and presses it to the window pane. Whatever is going on outside stops and Peeta slips the paper inside the book and crawls into bed beside me.

"It's nothing. I'm here with you. Let's try to get you some sleep," he whispers into my hair, gentle where he lays his hands. The night eventually lulls us and I doze off, but it doesn't last. When I wake Peeta is still sleeping, his hand draped protectively over my waist. As the moonlight fills my bedroom, I slowly slip away from him inch by inch until his hands hold nothing but sheets. I sit up. I'm dizzy, I'm uncontrollably dizzy, and it takes a minute before I manage to get to my feet. I walk to the dresser, Peeta's book sitting innocently on top. I flip through the pages until I find one loose and tucked precariously inside.

NOT TONIGHT

I stare at the sleeping boy.

He's going to do something stupid.

There is no new peacekeeping force in 12 yet. The new government wants law enforcers to protect their own districts. No more importing outsiders to assert authority over strangers. So far it hasn't been an issue. We aren't as destitute as we once were, and with the disappearance of desperation also goes most of its crime. It's foolish to steal, we all share what we have. There are still drunkards. A few weeks ago one of the foreman at the construction site beat his wife. Not much can be kept secret between the thin walls of the temporary shelters, and the next day at work Thom broke his nose. Right now, that's all the justice we need.

I try to sleep, but my dreams are full of pipes and dirt and demonic red eyes. I stare at the ceiling instead.

We stay home for two weeks. It's torture. My mother is trying to compensate for her prolonged absence by doting and Peeta is… Peeta. Finally, I decide enough is enough. When I walk downstairs in my regular clothes, my mother throws a fit. Peeta bites his tongue, but I can tell he's not thrilled.

"I can't stay here anymore. I need out. I need air," I say, lacing up my shoes. "Look, I'm not going hunting. I'm not going to work. I'm just going to the market to get some lunch. I can eat with a black eye."

"Can I come?" Peeta asks.

"Suit yourself," I say and walk out the door.

"Katniss! Katniss!" Peeta calls after me as he chases me out of the house, still trying to get his shoes on his feet. I stomp toward town. "Katniss please stop!" Peeta begs, but I am determined. There's only one way to keep these men from ruining my life. Live it. I still haven't decided what I'm going to do about them. I certainly will not let it lie, but I need to be more calculated about my response. I'm used to being rash, to Haymitch pulling me back in. I'm on my own with this, though.

When I arrive in the market I get looks. I know I don't look as bad as I did. My swelling is down, I can see through both eyes. But even with that, it's obvious something happened to me. I hold my chin up and walk toward Greasy Sae's booth.

"Girlie, where have you been?" Sae asks, not looking up as she pours me a cup of stew. When she raises her head, though, her face drops.

"Thanks, Sae," I offer, taking the bowl and finding a place at one of the wooden tables in the middle of the market. Peeta plops beside me, winded.

"Are you trying to avoid me?" he huffs as he tries to catch his breath. I look at his face. Peeta has followed my lead since the attack. Given me space or curled in close, depending on my mood. Gave me my independence but took care of me when I needed it. He didn't make me talk, he just sat on my floor and sketched in a book, ready if I needed to. I try to think how I would be acting if this had happened in reverse. I'd probably have run out into the night with vengeance in my heart, looking for a fight. I'd have left him alone and broken and needing me. I'd have been absent.

"Yes, I'm avoiding you," I finally admit. We said not to lie. "But I'm not now."

The market is busy. I spot Rory over at one of the booths. Looks like he's trading a basket of blackberries for some thin wire with one of the merchants. When he sees me he makes his way to the table.

"Hey," he says as he sits, straddling his chair. "You gonna finish that?" he points at the stew. I barely touched it.

"Nope," I say, sliding the bowl across the table. Rory picks it up and starts spooning large gulps into his mouth. I realize he's hungry. He must not be doing as well hunting on his own, and if he's anything like his brother, he's giving everything he has to his mom and lying by saying he ate in the woods. I expect him to say something about my face but he doesn't. He's more talkative than Gale, but he knows when to keep his mouth shut. Good. I don't like to be coddled.

I don't realize it at first when they walk in. A pit opens in my stomach as my eyes fix on the three men. They look terrible. For a moment I'm proud of myself. The first man's eyes are still bloodshot, scratches run all along his cheekbones from trying to dig the gravel out of his eyes. The second man walks with an obvious limp, his hand shooting to his ribs and back down again when he moves just so. The man with pointed chin looks the worst. His nose is pale purple and still a little swollen. It radiates throughout his entire face. His upper lip was split and a healed slice runs from his nostril to his teeth. Everyone else in the market has dismissed their appearance. Probably just a drunken brawl among friends that looks raw in the light of day.

But when Peeta spots them, it's as if the room drops to silence.

"What?" Rory asks, following Peeta's gaze to the group of men. Suddenly it clicks and Rory drops his spoon, which noisily clangs as it hits the clay bowl and clatters onto the table. Peeta and Rory stand in unison, their eyes locked on the men from District 13.

"No," I whisper, but it's too late for that. The three men are leaning over the counter talking with one of the merchants, laughing amiably with one another. Rory's right hand balls into a tight fist.

"Hey, you think it's funny to team up on an unarmed girl?" Rory says.

One of them turns around. "Get lost, boy," he says dismissively.

"You're just lucky you surprised her. If she'd known you were coming you wouldn't have been able to walk home that night," Rory spits out.

The largest man assesses Rory. He's clearly still just a boy, but so was Peeta when he entered the Games. We were all just children. The people around them fall silent, watching the exchange. I feel some eyes dart between the men and back to me as people start to put two and two together.

"I don't know what you're talking about, kid," the man says unconvincingly. He has at least a foot on Rory and at least seventy-five pounds.

"Did you hurt her?" Peeta asks, his voice low, his stare lethal. The man moves his gaze to Peeta, measuring him with his eyes. Peeta is a threat.

"Did she say I did?" he retorts, cracking his knuckles. Peeta just stares at him, but I can feel it boiling in his stomach. The tracker jacker venom poisoning his mind with anger and retribution, like a liquid demon that lives under his skin. The man smirks at my silence. "I guess I didn't then, did I?" the man snarls.

It seems like it might dissipate, but when the man with the pointed chin turns away, he mutters under his breath, "Because she liked it." That's when Peeta kicks him in the back of the knees and he drops to the floor.

It's utter chaos. Few people from District 12 served in the frontlines of the war. Their lack of participation wasn't by choice. Many were too injured in the firebombing, or widowed with children to care for, or too malnourished to train. People here see violence and they run. Most flee from the market. I see Thom and Bristol pushing through the crowd toward the skirmish, along with a few others.

The man with the pointed chin swings at Peeta, who agilely avoids his blow before sending his fist under the man's chin. It's as though I can hear his teeth break from across the room. Rory is exchanging swings with the red-eyed man as the one with the limp sneaks up on him from behind. Others from 13 have jumped in to protect their own. Thom takes a blow to the stomach but lands his fist squarely on the man's jaw and he drops. Bristol breaks a chair over a man's back. The men attack Peeta with a viciousness that doesn't seem equitable for a brawl, but their frustration only grows as Peeta disables one assailant after another.

My eyes dart around the room. The market barters in almost everything. When my eyes flash on the steely glint of a metal blade, I know I've found the hunting booth. I shoot up from my seat and dart across the room. There has to be one somewhere, I think as I toss items aside, scrummaging through things that are not mine. I see the long curve of a bow and grab it in my hand, loading a quiver on my back. I climb on top of a table and draw an arrow, pointing it at the limping man who now has Rory in a chokehold. "Enough!" I scream and everyone falls still. Every eye in the market shoots up at me, standing defiantly on the table, a bowl of Sae's soup spilled at my feet, an arrow aimed with deadly precision. "Let him go!" I order, and the man with the limp looks up at me. I draw the arrow back further. "Let him go," I breathe with a darkness in my voice I haven't heard since the Games. The man steps backward and Rory falls to the floor, choking and spattering.

"You three. Step forward," I command, and the three men step away from the fight and stand in a straight line in front of me. I'd like to say I'm sorry for what happened to Coin, but I'm not. She was toxic to this nation. This attitude, this belligerent allegiance to her, is only going to keep us from growing together as a country. But before I berate them, I realize that's not what we need anymore. Coin meant something to them. She kept their families alive. Their loyalty is founded in love and I took that from them. I hurt them so they hurt me back. I exhale. I try to remember Finnick on the stage of District 4, calming his people on the Victory Tour. I remember his tone, his words.

"The time for violence is over," I say. "The war is done. It's not always so obvious. It's not so easy to let it go, but I understand why you did what you did. I've lost people too. People that led my way, people that kept me safe," I impart. I remember Boggs shoving me away from him, telling me to run. I remember Lyme throwing herself on a grenade, sacrificing her life for ours. Jackson and her last siege against the Mutts, giving us time to escape. I've wanted revenge for their deaths. I've wanted justice. But at some point, we have to move forward. We have to let go. I look the men in the eye. "I understand why you did what you did. And I forgive you."

The man with the pointed chin looks up at me with disbelieving eyes. I'm not the villain he'd imagined. The one birthed by rumors, promulgated by hate. The one that killed his president because she was bloodthirsty and unforgiving.

I'm human, too.

His eyes well up, his face burning with shame.

"I'm so sorry," he chokes out.

"Me too," I say, finally dropping my bow. I jump from the table and walk up to him. He looks wrecked with grief. I reach out my hand and he takes it. We stare at each other for a while. In the end, we all feel anguish. We all bear sorrow.

"I think you should go," I add with a quiet certainty, and he nods his head in agreement. He can't stay here after what he's done. But he can leave with dignity. The men pick themselves up and hobble out of the market.

The people of 12 immediately start what has become their new reality – rebuilding. They pick up the tables and chairs. They reassemble the booths and objects strewn about the ground. Thom relieves me of the bow, patting my shoulder. I rush over to Rory, who seems alright once he catches his breath. When Peeta's eyes meet mine, though, he shoves himself to his feet and rushes away from me. I chase him out of the market and into the street.

"Peeta, wait!" I call out, but he keeps his pace. "Peeta!" I say, grabbing his arm as I reach him. He spins around.

"I expect better from myself than that!" he spits out, his voice sharp. "Rory is a child. He doesn't know any better. But I do, Katniss! What was that?" Peeta's face burns in shame.

"Did you flash?" I ask. Peeta is very quiet. His fists are still bloody and raw.

"No. That wasn't the Mutt. That was me. I need to go," he says again, turning away from me.

"Peeta –" I call out. He pauses, not looking back to me.

"I don't know who I am anymore. The Games, the hijacking... I can't find who I used to be before all that," he confesses.

"None of us are who we used to be!" I say quickly, taking a step toward him. He withdraws.

"I don't want to be this person!" he says, finally facing me. "I thought with the war over, I could come home and I'd be myself, but look at me!" His white tee shirt is spattered with blood. Red on white on red on white. He looks broken. "My father would be ashamed of me. I always wanted to be like him, and instead I became her."

"Peeta," I say softly, but he stumbles backward away from me. He raises his hands to tell me to stop, but when he sees the crimson blood his eyes dilate and retract.

"I need to go home," he says seriously, turning from me and sprinting toward his house. I walk slowly back to Victor's Village giving him time to cool off. When I reach his front door it's locked. I don't have a key to Peeta's. I've never needed one. I knock quietly. "Peeta?"

It's silent.