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London 2012

Katniss

I'm more determined and more frantic than I ever was in Beijing as I await my turn to shoot. Prim was… worse than usual when I left for London. She's even in the hospital, but she wouldn't hear of me missing the Olympics. "If you don't go, I'll go," she threatened playfully. Then she added, "Please. Let me live vicariously through you. It's all I want." I couldn't refuse. For once I'm grateful the archery events take place so early in the Olympics. I even already bought my plane ticket back home as soon as the women's individual competition wraps up on Thursday. I'm desperate to bring a gold medal back with me. For Prim.

I step forward, and pull back the bowstring, setting the site on the target. A deep breath, and my fretful thoughts still. Another breath, and, on the exhale, the arrow flies to the target with a soft thump. A 10. The crowd claps, and I give a relieved smile. The women's team is going to the finals.

As I head to the locker room, I glance up at the stands for Gale's lean figure. I'm surprised to see Peeta sitting next to him. I guess they're still friends, even if they haven't seen each other since Beijing. I give them both a small wave, and then I make a phone gesture to Gale and mouth the words, "Any news?" He shakes his head.

I nod, relieved.

I had made sure to get an international phone plan before leaving, and Gale had thoughtfully asked for my phone to keep an eye on it while I competed. In case I got a call from the hospital back home. I have to say it's a comfort to have someone do that for me, so I can focus.

As I leave the locker room, Gale and Peeta are waiting for me. They each give me a brief hug, smiling, murmuring congratulations. I reach my hand out for my phone, but Gale says, "Let me hold onto it for you. Just until you get through the finals tomorrow. It'll help you focus."

I purse my lips, but say, "Sure. Thanks."

This year we actually have a full women's archery team. A sixteen-year-old archery prodigy has joined us as well as an excellent collegiate archer. Rue and Madge are just what this team was missing. Plus the South Korean team is inexplicably not as good this year. We might actually have a chance at gold. So might the men's archery team. Gale is beside himself with excitement.

Both Gale and Peeta are in the stands for the women's finals the next day, too, watching as we eliminate our competition and progress to the gold medal round. Whoever wins, gets gold. Whoever loses, gets silver. It's amazing that we're guaranteed a medal. I'll finally be bringing home a medal for Prim. I just hope it's gold.

It is.

As Rue lets the last arrow fly, her 9 ensures our gold medal. Madge, Rue, and I leap for joy, laughing and hugging one another. We're victors. As we stand on the platform, holding our bouquets, our gold medals shining on our chests, I smile and cry, thinking of Prim, and how I didn't fail her this time. I think of my father, too, and how proud he would be. The anthem plays, and I sing along, overjoyed.

Outside the locker room, Peeta hugs me so hard he lifts me off my feet. I laugh, and he beams. But Gale is somber and offers no congratulations.

"Call your mom," he says, swallowing hard. He holds out my phone.

"What?" I whisper, taking the phone.

"Call your mom," he only repeats. His face falls. "I'm so sorry." Before I can say anything, he walks away.

"Oh my God," I say shakily, dread coursing through me. I swipe open the phone with trembling fingers and call my mother. Peeta stands beside me, silent and concerned.

"Katniss?" my mom answers. "I've been trying to get a hold of you!"

"I'm sorry, Mom," I say, starting to cry. "I was just competing. What's wrong? Is Prim - is she okay?"

"Katniss, I have been trying to get a hold of you since yesterday," my mom says angrily.

Disbelief and horror grip me. "What?" I gasp out.

"It's Prim. She had a grand mal seizure yesterday. The doctors said we needed to put her into an induced coma to reduce the swelling on her brain. She - she's not going to wake up, Katniss." My mom gives a sob, but continues, "we were calling so you could - could say goodbye before they put her under."

"Oh my God!" I exclaim. I start to hyperventilate, and I sink to my knees. Peeta kneels down, too, looking frantic.

"We had to put her in the coma already. You need to come home now, Katniss. Before she - before the end," Mom says with a sob.

"Yes, I'm on my way," I gasp and hang up.

"I have to go to the airport," I say to Peeta.

"Of course," he says, eyes wide.

"Right now. Prim's dying, and Gale," I force the words out, "Gale took away my chance at a goodbye."

"What?" Peeta exclaims, distressed.

"Heathrow Airport," I say.

"Yes, yes, of course," Peeta stammers.

Peeta and Cinna accompany me, with only my purse and passport in hand, to the airport. Cinna will take care of bringing me my luggage and archery equipment after the Games. The flight staff at Heathrow go above and beyond to ensure I'm on the next flight to America. I'm not sure if this has to do with the gold medal still wrapped around my neck or my sister dying or anything else, but I feel relieved that I'll be back in Richmond by tomorrow morning. The next flight isn't for four hours, though, and Peeta and Cinna guide me to an airport cafe before I go through security. Peeta buys us each a cup of tea and some cookies, but no one feels like eating. I'm numb inside. There is a quiver, though, somewhere in the vicinity of my heartbeat, that tells me there is a deluge of grief waiting to engulf me. I can't give into it yet, though. Or I will dissolve into a puddle right here in Heathrow airport.

We sit in silence, their companionship more meaningful than words. After more than an hour, they walk me to the security line. Cinna hugs me firmly. "Go see your sister, Girl on Fire," he says. "The team will be thinking of you… and her." He pulls back, and there are tears in his eyes.

"Thanks," I say thickly. "I'll see you when you get back."

He nods. "Of course."

Peeta wraps his arms around me and holds me close. "I'm so sorry, Katniss," he says softly. He releases me, seems to hesitate a second, then traces a finger down my cheek. His blues eyes gaze into mine, and I can see the sorrow there. He is grieving, too.

"Thank you for everything," I say, trying to hold back tears. "You - you mean a lot to me, Peeta."

He smiles sadly.

"Good luck with your Olympics next week," I add, before turning to join the security line.

Peeta and Cinna hover nearby until I'm out of sight.

As the flight takes off, the lights of London twinkle below. It's Sunday night, and I've forfeited my place in the women's individual competition rounds taking place later this week. The gold medal for the women's team competition is heavy on my chest, on my heart. This gold medal has cost me so much, and it wasn't worth it. It had all been for her, for Prim, and now she'll never even know about it. Gale sacrificed my last chance to speak with her so that I could win a gold medal. So the U.S. archery team could win a gold medal. I find myself thinking of Gale, of what he did. How he chose Olympic gold over the final conversation I could have with my sister. How his choice is unforgivable.

She's in her coma when I arrive breathless and distraught at the hospital on Monday morning, and she never regains consciousness.

Prim dies seven days later.

I hold her hand until the end, whispering to her how much I love her, how Dad is waiting for her, how it is okay to let go. Her organs quietly fail her on Sunday, and her last breath leaves her ravaged body with a sigh. I wait fearfully for the next breath, which never comes. The heartbeat monitor flatlines, and a simultaneous sob bursts from my mom and me.


Peeta

I feel a determination stronger than I've ever felt as I go into the freestyle wrestling semifinals. It's almost an anger. Or it is anger. It's unlike me, but I decide to embrace it as I face Marvel Karvelis of Lithuania on the mat. We grapple, legs straining, and neither of us is making headway. I angrily push at him, and he gets me into a headlock. I wriggle free, but tumble onto the mat. Anger is clearly not working, and, chagrined, I think how it's not right for me to honor Prim's memory with anger. No matter if I'm angry that she suffered and died, too young and full of promise. She wouldn't want me to be angry. I take deep breaths, releasing the anger. With an exhalation, I flip him over and pin him.

I've made it to the finals.

I know I'm outmatched when I have to face Cato Vlaslov of Russia. The only advantage I think of as we make our way to the mat is that he must be hungry. Cato is a big guy, the kind of guy that would naturally weigh much more than the 74 kilogram weight limit. It is a lot of work for a wrestler to maintain their competition weight, and Cato must have to work especially hard at it. He's a powerful wrestler, but he must be famished.

We grasp hands by way of a handshake before we begin, and I'm a little uneasy by the maniacal expression Cato gives me. It's probably meant to intimidate me, but I decide to think that he's even hungrier than I had initially thought. The thought gives me a boost as we face off. I artfully keep myself away from getting pulled into his grasp as we circle one another, ever so often smacking the other's head or shoulder with our hands. He makes a lunge for me, and I twist away, circling again. I keep dodging him, increasing the pace, before I decide to try and get him tired by grappling. We lock arms and push against one another, with Cato trying to mess up my footing. I carefully keep my feet away and pour my energy into pushing him. Cato is repeatedly trying to trip up my balance, and it's starting to distract him. I let it go on for a few moments, and then the next time he glances down to my feet, I lean back, causing Cato to barely stumble forward, gripping me, against the sudden lack of resistance. I hastily take advantage of his loss of balance and slam him into the mat. I scramble onto his back and lock his legs beneath my own, my arms wrapped around his shoulders to hold him down. Wrestling is all about exploiting opportunities.

I'm soundly smashed into the mat by Cato the next round. He seems furious, and I'm a little dazed when I pull myself up. Nothing I'm not used to, but when I stand I feel the searing pain in my thigh. Must have pulled a muscle or something. Hopefully nothing worse than that. We're tied now, but I can see his smug grin from where I'm being tended to on the sidelines. He thinks he's got this. I try not to limp as I head back to the mat. Cato is clearly confident as we face one another again. Immediately, I painfully spring forward in a double-leg takedown, and it's all over. I'm almost surprised how easy it is.

A reporter pulls me aside before the medal ceremony, but all I can think about is Katniss and Prim. How Prim deserved so much more. How distraught Katniss must be. I get through the medal ceremony, managing to feel a measure of pride as the gold medal is awarded to me. Tears trickle down my cheeks. I fend off more reporters as I leave the arena. I need to get to the airport right away. I only hope that I'll be in time for Prim's funeral tomorrow.


Katniss

It's a hot, sunny afternoon when we scatter Prim's ashes. I'm sweating in my green dress, feeling a confusing combination of hate and gratitude for the nice weather. Nothing should be nice on the day Prim is gone forever. But she would want it to be sunny and pretty, and it is. Pine needles crunch underfoot as the group of mourners make their way through the woods of the wildlife refuge. When we reach the meadow, we cross slowly to its center. It's lovely with light pouring through the trees. Lovely and humid. I flap a listless hand in front of my face for a breath of air, but it's useless. Sweat trickles from my hairline, frizzing my hair despite my braid. Perhaps it's the constant sweating, but I can't seem to cry. I've been crying ever since I got back to Richmond. Perhaps I've finally run dry. I wish I could cry some more. It helps alleviate the crushing pain that's been ever present in my chest since she died. Other than this pain, I'm having trouble feeling anything. Anything but pain and emptiness.

"Here we lay Primrose Everdeen to rest," says the reverend. "In this beautiful place with her father."

My chin trembles, but no tears come.

"Her life is now a treasured memory, her absence a silent grief. A lovely soul, who touched the lives of those around her…"

I screw my eyes shut tight and stop listening. Maybe those tears are coming after all.

"Now for her ashes - " The reverend gestures to my mother, standing beside me, who grips the pewter urn so tightly her fingers are white and bloodless. She seems frozen, unable to do what she must.

Loud footsteps suddenly stumble onto the edge of the clearing, and everyone looks around to the source. I look, too, and see Peeta. We stare at each other for a moment, eyes wide and unblinking.

My mother finally manages to move, but she just pushes the urn into my hands. "Please," she whispers. I jerk my head into a nod and take the urn. I carefully, gently unscrew the lid. A song, unbidden, rises to my lips, and as I scatter Prim's ashes, I sing,

Deep in the meadow, under the willow

A bed of grass, a soft green pillow

Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes

And when again they open, the sun will rise.

Here it's safe, here it's warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

Deep in the meadow, hidden far away

A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray

Forget your woes, and let your troubles lay

And when it's morning, they'll wash away.

Here's it's safe, here it's warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

My voice, at first rough from grief and breaking on the high notes, warms up into something splendid. I tremble on the last few notes, the urn empty. Prim is now part of the meadow. Along with our father. I straighten and turn to the crowd, who I now notice is weeping. Our friends and family offer shaky smiles, drying their eyes, murmuring at my song. I walk slowly towards them, until my knees seem to fail me. I sink down slowly and sit in the grass, sweating, the open urn clutched in my hands. The crowd converges on me, petting and comforting me. Someone holds a water bottle to my lips. Another presses a damp cloth to my forehead. An umbrella provides some shade. I decide to just lie there, my eyes staring at the black underside of the umbrella. After several minutes, I overhear fragments of nearby conversations: "Better move her," "Must head back," "Is she alright?" then, "I'll take her." Arms reach under me and lift me up.

I jerk to attention to demand, "Put me down."

"You sure?" Peeta asks, carrying me to the path leading back into the woods. Most of the mourners are already walking back.

"Yes," I say forcefully.

He sets me down gently, and I turn to face him. He's sweaty, too, his button-down damp, his hair limp. I see that he's wearing a brace on his left leg. I take in his black tie and slacks and the black suit coat hung over his arm, then find myself saying, "You must be hot." I wince at my words.

"Yeah," he answers, concerned. "You must be, too." He raises the back of his hand to my forehead to check my temperature, like I'm about to faint.

I wave him away. "I'm fine," I insist.

"Okay," he replies, but it doesn't sound like he believes me.

I walk off ahead of him, and I hear him follow me with a heavy tread. I idly think that he would make a bad hunting partner, or maybe it's the brace. Then something occurs to me.

"It's Saturday," I say, stopping abruptly. Peeta stops as well, looking confused.

"Yes," he agrees hesitantly. He's watching me warily as if unsure of my mental state.

"You'll miss the Closing Ceremonies," I accuse, my eyes narrowing at him.

"Yes," he says slowly.

"Why would you do that?" I interrogate.

He gives me a look of disbelief, then scoffs, "Miss being here to be at the Closing Ceremonies? You're kidding me, right?"

I try to figure out what's so obvious, but I don't feel like I have the energy to. So I shrug my shoulders and continue walking. We walk in silence, Peeta's loud footsteps a distraction to my thoughts, but as we near the road that leads out of the wildlife refuge, I think I realize something.

"You," I stammer, stopping again. "You care about me."

"Of course," Peeta says easily, though his eyes watch me cautiously.

"You love me," I continue. The words are out there now, but perhaps I can blame it on heatstroke if I'm wrong.

"Yes," he says simply.

"Oh," I say, blinking rapidly as I try to absorb this information. I search around inside myself for how I feel in return. But all I feel is the pain and emptiness.

"It's okay, Katniss," he sighs. "I don't expect you to - "

I step forward and reach my hands around his neck to pull him down to me for a kiss, hoping to feel something other than misery. But I don't. Peeta must think I am mentally unstable, because he gently pulls my hands from his neck and takes a step back, my wrists in his hands. I promptly burst into tears and sob all the tears that have been missing today.

I become such a hysterical mess on the drive from the wildlife refuge, that when we arrive at my mom's house, Peeta carries me upstairs, past the arriving mourners. I'm set down in my bed where I wail until my mother sticks a spoonful of sleep syrup in my mouth. I choke and splutter, but I feel relieved as my eyelids start to droop.

"There," says my mom. Her voice trembles. She leaves the room, but I don't hear her go downstairs. Instead, her footsteps retreat to her bedroom, and I hear her door close. Peeta starts to leave as well, but I catch his hand and hold him there.

"Don't go yet. Not until I fall asleep," I say.

Peeta sits on the edge of the bed, holding my hand. "Okay," he says.

I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of pine needles and grass from the woods. I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. "Stay with me."

As the tendrils of sleep pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don't quite catch it.

It's morning the next day when I wake up and head down the hall to Prim's room, the house empty and quiet. I go into her closet and pull all the clothes off the hangers until I have a nest that I bury myself in. I close my eyes and breathe in her scent, my eyes tearless again. The grief is overwhelming, and I burrow down into the clothes until I'm hidden from view, cocooned in memories and loss. I lay there until there's a tentative knock on the closet door, and I feel myself being gently unwrapped. Our neighbor, Gracie Sae, murmurs comforting words as she gets me to sit up and follow her downstairs. She sits me down at the kitchen table before going to the fridge to pull out one of the dozen or so casseroles in there that people have been bringing by. She microwaves me a plate and sets it in front of me with a glass of milk. Ms. Sae has been doing this all week for my mother and I, bringing or cooking us food or preparing something in our fridge. She cooks, we consume. I glance across the table to my mother, who stares at her untouched plate. It's then that I notice her suitcase and purse and her hands twisting in her lap.

"I can't be here, Katniss," Mom says, looking away from me. "I'm going to take that job offer from the hospital in California. I - I don't know when - "

"Or if you'll come back," I finish for her, suddenly understanding. Ms. Sae freezes at the sink where she's washing dishes, her back still to us.

Mom looks at me, wide-eyed, but doesn't deny it. The memories of my mother's deep depression following my father's death come to the forefront of my mind. It was only Prim's diagnosis that pulled her out of it. Prim, whose blue eyes and golden hair were so like my mother's - not the dark hair, olive skin, and grey eyes that I shared with my father. I was an ever-present reminder of the husband she lost. I, in turn, resented her detachment, her helplessness. Now I feel that same resentment, always simmering beneath the surface, return fully, and my jaw tenses. Prim was the glue that held my mother and I together. Now that Prim's gone, there's nothing to keep Mom here.

I look down at my plate. "Go then," I say. "Have a safe flight." The words sound flat, expressionless.

She gives a nod, then steps toward me and hesitantly puts her arms around me. I don't respond, and she steps back. "Goodbye," she whispers. "Thank you, Gracie," she adds quietly to Ms. Sae's back. She grabs her suitcase and purse and leaves. The door closes softly behind her.

The sting of her abandonment lingers. I stare at the casserole. Even Ms. Sae seems at a loss for words. She squeezes my shoulder sympathetically, and then she brightly suggests I check my phone for messages. It's been on silent for days. I shrug, ignoring her suggestion, but she sets my phone beside my plate. Ms. Sae finishes doing the dishes, hugs my shoulders, and then heads upstairs. I hear her return to the closet she found me in and start hanging up clothes. After a few minutes of pushing around the casserole on my plate with a fork, I sigh and reach for my cellphone. There's a horde of missed calls and a full voicemail box. I scroll through the missed calls. Family, friends, Cinna, Madge, Rue, and Peeta, included. Nothing from Gale.

I click on the first voicemail from Cinna.

"Hey, Girl on Fire. Can't stop thinking of you and your family. I am so sorry, Katniss, for all you're going through. My deepest condolences. You have such strength. You are an inspiration to us and the rest of the team. Know that we love you, we're here for you. Prim was such a treasure. The world isn't the same place without her…"

I close the voicemail and click on the next one.

"Hey there, Girl on Fire. Now I completely understand that you will probably not want to do this - and that's okay - but you at least need to know. The archery team is going on a press tour once we get back to the U.S. We'll be going to interviews across the country and promoting the team. It's an opportunity to gain sponsors, but don't worry - any sponsors we get, we'll work to include you, too. Okay? Take all the time you need. We love you, and we are thinking of you and your family."

I shake my head, and click on the first voicemail from Peeta.

"Hi Katniss. It's Peeta. I am so sorry for your loss. I can't imagine the pain you must be feeling, and I will be there as soon as I can. Prim was a wonderful person, and her loss is a tragedy. I know those words are inadequate, but I am truly sorry for what you are experiencing right now. I'll be there soon - to be there for you."

I swallow hard, then I realize I don't even know what happened with Peeta's wrestling Olympics. Chagrined, I quickly Google the results on my cell. Freestyle Wrestling 74 kg results: Peeta Mellark, United States of America - Gold. I freeze for a moment. Peeta won gold. He hadn't even mentioned it. I quickly click on a video highlight from moments after the final match.

"Peeta Mellark, congratulations. You must be so proud. What's going through your mind right now?"

Peeta is smiling, breathing hard. "It's a lot to take in, but I'm so glad that I could win gold... to honor the memory of a friend who died earlier this week." His face twists in pain.

"Whose memory are you honoring?" asks the reporter, putting on a sympathetic face.

"For Prim," is all he says.

The reporter presses for more details, but Peeta just smiles sadly, saying he needs to get to his medal ceremony.

"Of course," agrees the reporter. "Congratulations again."

Peeta walks away, and the reporter turns to the camera to sum up.

But I've stopped watching. I can still hear the words "For Prim," reverberate in my mind. I look through my missed calls, and notice there are three from Peeta just from today. After some hesitation, I call him. It rings and then goes to voicemail. I sit and stare at my plate, listening to the sound of coat hangers being hung up in Prim's closet. As Ms. Sae comes down the stairs, there's a knock at the door.

It's Peeta.

"You're back," I say.

"Drove back just now," he says. "I baked you this." He holds out a loaf of bread. I give Peeta a nod of assent and let him follow me to the kitchen where he introduces himself to Ms. Sae. She makes Peeta a plate of leftover casserole too, pats my shoulder, and leaves for her own house down the street.

"Sorry I missed your call ten minutes ago," Peeta says. "I was almost here, so..."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I interrupt, staring at my untouched plate.

"What?" he asks, confused.

"About winning gold," I say, glancing up at him.

"Oh, that," he says. He runs a hand nervously through his hair. "It, uh, didn't seem like the right time."

"Congratulations," I say softly, my eyes locked on his.

"Um, thanks," he says, looking back at me. He smiles sadly. I blink and look away. "So Gracie Sae seems nice," he continues, scooping up a forkful of casserole. "She must be a great neighbor. Where's your mom?"

I purse my lips. "My mom left. She'll be in California by the end of the day."

"What?" Peeta chokes.

"We haven't gotten along well, you know that," I shrug. If our friendship the past four years has meant anything, he would have known the strain between my mother and me.

He nods. "But still," he says, eyebrows drawn together.

"She's probably not coming back," I add indifferently, poking at the casserole.

Peeta is silent. I hear him heave a sigh and look up to see him running his hands anxiously through his hair again. "Well, shit, Katniss..." He sighs again and reaches across the table to put his hand over mine. "I don't like the thought of you being alone." I pull my hand back, still clutching the fork, and poke vigorously at the casserole. "It's just... ugh!" Peeta exclaims. I look up at him, surprised at his reaction. What's he getting at? "I'm already committed to doing a press tour for the next few weeks," he says, eyes downcast.

Oh. That.

"That's fine," I say. My voice sounds distant, uninterested. "Cinna says the archery team is doing one, too," I offer. "He says I don't have to go, if I don't want to."

Peeta latches onto this information. "Katniss, what if you... would you want to come with me on the press tour?" His voice softens. "I just don't want you to be alone."

I'm silent, thinking. I had initially not considered going on the archery team press tour, but Peeta is right. The alternative to not going is being alone. I'm not the type to reach out to family and friends for anything, and I can sense that I am on the brink of another stage of grief, more heart-wrenching than the hollowness that consumes me now. The survivor in me is searching for a distraction to stave off this encroaching anguish.

"Yes," I say, making my decision and looking up at him. "Let's call Cinna and see if we can combine our press tours."


A/N: Just to clarify: The 2012 women's archery finals and medal ceremony took place on the first Sunday of the Olympics, July 29th. The women's individual archery finals were on Thursday, August 2nd, but, of course, Katniss left the Olympics on Sunday after the women's team finals and forfeited her place in that competition. The freestyle wrestling 74 kg finals occurred on the last Friday of the Olympics (August 10th), before the Closing Ceremonies on Sunday, August 12th. Prim died the Sunday before that on August 5th, and was laid to rest on the Saturday before the closing Olympics, on August 11th. The wildlife refuge that keeps getting mentioned actually exists; it's the James River National Wildlife Refuge. Clearly, I've manipulated the actual Olympics results with fictional characters. The U.S. did win gold for freestyle wrestling 74 kg with Jordan Burroughs in London. Of course, South Korea won gold for the women's archery team, although the U.S. men's archery team did win silver.