A/N/ – This is my first fanfiction – many thanks for those who reviewed. I sincerely appreciate the feedback and encouragement.

Disclaimer – I'm not Suzanne Collin, nor do I own any of her characters etc.

Gale's POV

It's the same routine, I wake pre-dawn in a cold sweat from a nightmare. It's ironic I prefer the nighttime horrors to the guilt that comes with daylight and settles on everything like insipid coal dust. It's Sunday though, that's something to look forward to. Oh, I almost forgot, the family is visiting 12 this weekend for the commemoration. It's hard to say if I'll ever get myself to go back. The visits there during the rebellion were hard enough, but the destruction was still there. I wonder if they'll see Katniss.

Hah! Well, so much for not thinking about Katniss, that lasted all of 2 minutes. Despite my best efforts and mental preparations my mind always drifts back to her. Though I admit that 2 minutes might be a record. As much as I want to I couldn't stay with her. How could she recover from the rebellion and... everything. Everything that I had a hand in? She certainly doesn't need me around, reminding her of what I did. After everything she's given me, meant to me, I owe her more than that. I can't be in 12 without trying to be a big part of her life, so where does that leave me. Here in District 2. She knows me, it's all or nothing.

I tell myself I'm getting over it and drag myself out of bed for my morning run. It's not the first time I mull over the irony that I used to get up in order to survive now I get up early because I survived. I tell folks who ask that my pre-dawn run clears my mind. I guess your conscience is in your mind. It's far from clear, but less clouded, so it's close enough to the truth. I tell them that it energizes me, and since it reminds me of my purpose, and drives me to get out and take action, I guess that's true enough too. I grab my shoes and slip out the door and turn my feet to the park.

Greasy Sae's POV

Finally one day I decide it's time, I try to coax Katniss out of the safe haven of her chair. As expected, she resists, but compromises with me by letting me open the window. She takes in the view from below her coverlet, as the damp spring air washes into the room. It does seem to relax her to focus on a few of the songbird melodies that rise above the indistinct twittering.

After a while even her rusty hunter's sense picks up some rustling in the yard - a big black bird keeps returning to a bush in the yard which in turn scares off the smaller birds. She sits up curious about all the activity (I guess it's all relative). To satisfy her I poke my head out of the window and report back. "Mmm. It's actually a pair of birds. Ahh, looks like one's hurt." She nods straining to gain better visibility on the birds from her chair. She lets me continue "Hmm.. ravens, by the look of it. They were my grandpappy's hands down favorite birds - with their sleek black feathers and what not. He observed them his whole life. I don't know how he did it, but he claimed he could even tell the individual birds apart! He was convinced the ones that were the best at providing food made the most desirable mates. He told me, they're patient too, their courtships can last years. Well, I guess they're right to take their time. I remember what my Granny loved best about them was that unlike most birds, ravens pair for life." I give her a knowing look, but she looks like she can't quite interpret it. That girl, I don't if she can't figure it out or doesn't want to.

Xxxxx

Katniss POV

The days melt into one another. They are growing warmer and the budding urge to move beyond these walls finally gets the best of me. Fueled by almost a full serving of Greasy Sae's eggs, I feel brave enough to face the sunshine. She claims it's because her chickens make the best eggs, but I admit I've been building up to this for weeks. Armed with my father's jacket and my bow I make it past the first obstacle, the front door.
I make a quick detour to the backyard to check on the raven. I collect some dried leaves and grass for her to help build a little nest for her recovery. I'm pleased to see that our little bird seems to be getting stronger. Sae has been leaving it water and berries when its protector isn't around. Once in a while she brings it leftover scraps of meat. I suspect her patient will get to enjoy the remainder of the eggs I couldn't fit in this morning.

Anxiously I make my way along the edge of town. Even from there I can hear the sounds of rebuilding echo through the square. It looks like while I valiantly protected my chair from under-use that teams were formed to clear out sections of the debris. The first blocks already have buildings that house the basic necessities. I avoid eye contact with the few folks I pass, I haven't quite graduated past short pleasantries with Sae and a visit or two from Haymitch. I pay them no mind, but I suspect that once they're a safe distance away they whisper in hushed tones about the compromised state of their once Victor and Mockingjay.

There are few standing structures past the south-end of the square, and although one would think I could retrace my steps to my old home in the Seam blindfolded, the remnants and rubble make it difficult for me to get my bearings. As I forge ahead, I hum a tune I learned from my father, it helps me to focus and keeps me moving forward. I am utterly exhausted by the time I make it to the meadow and I realize the journey from there to any destination in the woods will be much more taxing. For the first time since I was twelve, it's more daunting to go into the forest than it is to stay in the District. It's disheartening to say the least, as a shadow of my former self, I don't have the strength even to make it to the forest. I slump to the ground at the edge of the meadow, not quite sure which gave out first, my legs or my resolve. My thoughts start in a downward spiral, wondering what is worth continuing on for, and not just about making it to the forest. I have no family to speak of. With the rebellion over there's no need for the Mockingjay. Surely I've made my contributions to society already by ridding Panem of both Snow and Coin. What more could one expect out of one life?

It's easy enough to let myself get mired in these depressing musings. It's not 'til a songbird's melody gets my attention that I get jarred back to reality. I search to find the owner and discover her by a large flowering spike of a plant just a few yards away. The blooms are a vibrant pink and my heart gets a familiar ache when I walk up and see them up close. It's a type of primrose. I inspect the plant and determine it's fireweed, by the looped veins on the leaves. I remember this as one of my dad's favorite flowers, as confirm it by nibbling on one of the young leaves. When I could find it, I would bring back roots of this for mother as she used this in several of her remedies. I sit down at the base of this plant and rest up recalling distant memories of them before I retreat back to the Victor Village house./span/p

That night, even though I'm exhausted from my adventure, I find the plant book among the treasures from 13. I flip the pages eagerly to find the entry on "Fireweed". Dad drew a beautiful collage of a detail of a blossom, a close up of a leaf and a plant at its full height. On the right side of the page my mother's no nonsense handwriting lists descriptions of poultices and remedies for lung irritation, stomach pain and even sore throats. Dad's notes centered across the bottom are in a more practiced, showy cursive, like he's telling the world something worth knowing. He says "Fireweed is the first promise of recovery after the destruction of a forest fire, the promise of repair after sickness and the promise that through nature's cycle of healing there will be beauty again." I let this sink in as I drift off to sleep, muscles pleasantly tired and my mind on happier thoughts than they have been in a long time.

Xxxxx
Katniss POV

The sun streams in through the window and I awake this time to scraping and shoveling outside. I haul myself to the window, but can't quite identify the source of the noise. It's closer than the gate, which means it is in my yard. When I creak open the front door on its hinges my eyes come to rest on a rose bush. Immediately I shrink back into myself. But then Peeta's grin slides from around the bush and he says "They're Primroses! I thought we could plant them to remember her!" My vision gets a little blurry, when I tear up, and I hug him in thanks. These blooms are a pale pink, more delicate than the fireweed's, and more like Prim's personality. He's brought over 4 small bushes and we make a morning of situating them in my garden and clearing away some of the older garden debris. Adding new life to the garden helps to break the monotony of sadness and depression.

When we finish, we clean up and he runs next door only to return with sandwiches and lemonade. He seems energetic and eager to be back in the District. I have to admit his cheerful company provides a distraction that does help to keep me out of 'my chair'.

I decide since we're improving the grounds that I might fashion a little structure for the raven. Other animals seem to have left her alone until now, but that could change at any moment. I make a little cage from branches and twine, mostly to deter predators, Buttercup included, from making an easy dinner out of her. It is easy enough to get access to feed her, and her partner can easily check in and give her provisions. I only hope he understands the reason for the new home and doesn't think she's trapped.

Taking on little tasks like nurturing this bird or making meals for myself do help in pulling me from the undertow of my grief. There are visits from Peeta when he is well and even a Haymitch sighting or two. Days when the grief is completely overwhelming become less commonplace, but they are there and there still is struggle in each day.

Xxx
Days later I shuffle into the kitchen to join Sae for some broth and some bread. Propped up next to my bowl is a little blue envelope. I don't recognize the handwriting, but the return address is from District 4. Inside is a picture of a beautiful and perfect baby, and a short note from Annie. Most people are happy and hopeful at the birth of a healthy baby, and I am happy for her. But for me, I'm awash with guilt. Little innocent Finnick is fatherless because of me. It was because of my self-initiated mission in the Capitol to kill Snow that his dad was overtaken by mutts. I cringe thinking about his last moments, when we were doing those propos and it all started to go wrong, after we lost Boggs. I was so fixated with eliminating Snow, I knew we were risking our lives, didn't I? I assure myself that Finnick wanted Snow dead more than I did, but was he willing to risk his life with a baby on the way? I wonder if Annie would consider me friend enough to send an announcement if she knew the truth. I know I wouldn't! My stomache knots when I face the realization that I put many others' lives at risk. Now in the aftermath I need to live with my actions.

I give myself a few days to recuperate and I start out again, determined to make it into the woods this time. Since the sights and sounds in town are no longer new, I focus more on my goal of getting into the woods. I finally reach the spot where we would slip through the fence only to find it missing. The fence is partially disassembled and crumpled leaving a wide opening to enter the woods. Once I enter the woods I close my eyes and breathe in the forest air, soak in the filtered sunlight and let the energy of the woods recharge me, like it did for years. Only the effect isn't quite as strong now.

Muscle memory gets me headed in the right direction. But I start to doubt myself when twenty yards in the landscape changes drastically from what I knew. This area must have been hit by a Capitol firebomb during the destruction of 12. A wide area is leveled and blackened and then ringed in several layers of spindly charred tree trunks. So much destruction, but at the eastern end of the burn zone there is life - flowers! Dozens and dozens of them, some of them taller (and I admit, heartier) than I am. It's fireweed again, bringing life back to the forest. I take a long moment to soak in the beauty of nature's recovery before I move on.

On their own accord, my feet bring me to 'our' meeting spot. The view from here is beautiful, but it's not what I came for - back then or now. Our rock, where Gale and I started so many of our days and so comfortably grew into each other, is too large without his presence. I count to 10 slowly, several times even, hoping he'll materialize silently like he did when I returned from the first Arena. But he doesn't. Before the games and even during the rebellion just being in the forest gave me strength and confidence. But now, returning alone to the forest that I shared with Gale leaves me more empty than full.

I don't have the strength to hunt, or even to gather, so after an eternity with my thoughts, I retrace my way to the fence. With practically every step my mind screams "Where is Gale? Why did he become so consumed by war? Would I even know him, really know him... or want to know him when or if we met again?" My trip to the forest has helped remind me of the hope of survival, but I am left with a larger hole in my heart.
xxx

I'll return to the forest soon I know, but not today. Today I'll brave looking through more of the items from 13. From under some garments of Prim's I unearth the short length of rope from Finnick and a small tin box secure with a wire fastener. Inside the box, nestled on the piece of parachute fabric are my two prized possessions from the Quarter Quell: the pearl and the locket Peeta gave me. I roll the pearl between my index finger and my opposite palm, fascinated with the luster and perfection of nature's exquisite defensive solution.

I gently return the pearl to its bed and I gently pry open the locket to reveal Prim's angelic gaze. Here her beauty and innocence are frozen forever. Her photo is flanked by a photo of Gale on the left and our mother on the right. A burning grows in my chest as I think of how the Capitol stole each of them from me. My mother became a ghost of herself when the mines killed my father. In many ways I lost Gale to the rebellion. His talent for traps and strategy in war were honed by the rebellion. In the end that was turned against us by Coin to take my Prim. Prim and Gale were each so much a part of me... maybe even the better part of me at times.

I study my mother's face and think about how I despised her before the games. I couldn't bring myself to understand how she could just give up on her daughters because her husband was gone. Now I have some understanding about how encompassing a loved ones' death can be. I seem to be affected by the same weakness. But I still can't fathom how she could leave Prim and I to fend for ourselves. Now there's no Prim, so perhaps there's less of a reason to try and survive. I feel like there's hardly anything left of me. And if there is, is it worth saving? The overwhelming wave of loss engulfs me again. I am drowning, even when my tears run dry.

The days grow longer, not just from more daylight, but ever so slowly I take on more activity and spend less time in 'the chair'. I work up going to the forest once, sometimes even twice a week. Maybe it's that hope is more prevalent in the district, because the freedom and energy I used to feel in these woods has waned. I tell myself that without the pressures of putting food on the table, perhaps there's less thrill in hunting, if you can call it that. I faithfully gather berries, herbs and some roots; fish a bit; and pick off small game with my bow. I know better than to attempt anything large. Beside not being able to carry back any significant haul, my hunting skills, save my accuracy, seem to be lacking now that I'm missing my other half.

My mother had spoken of miners that were amputees and how they sometimes would suffer from 'phantom limbs'. They would try and use their limbs that were no longer there, or even suffer pain from them. Similarly, when I am too focused I find myself pointing out game to the shadows and using hand signals to communicate only to the wind. It happens more than once on every trip and every few days around the house or district I've turned to share something with Gale, only to recall he's gone.