Chapter 8

~Katniss~

Rory's bow wasn't quite like mine, but it would do.

"Let's go hunting" had been neither a suggestion nor a command, but it was the only thing that had come to mind, and it relieved us both from the uneasiness in the kitchen.

Gale's bow was perfectly at home in Rory's nimble fingers. He'd snagged two prairie dogs and something he later called a 'marmot' before we really spoke.

"I hope my being here doesn't make things harder on you guys," I offered.

Rory shook his head. "It's okay. Mom's been plenty worried about you."

I sighed. "You even sound like him," I let slip. "I'm sorry Rory, I didn't mean..."

"Don't worry about it."

We sat down on a dry log, keeping the silence for a long moment.

"So..." he began, his eyes distant. "What do you want to know?"

"What do you mean?" I asked carefully.

"You came here to find out what happened," he assumed.

I kept my voice quiet. "I came... because I thought your family was in trouble. I came to help."

"I think that might make things worse," he finally looked at me. His eyes betrayed the weight that was on him, but they directed no blame.

"How?"

Rory sighed. "Mr. Weaver... he asks me things. Stuff I shouldn't know." He dug his toe in the dirt and his gaze drifted in no particular direction, plucking dry grass between his fingers and throwing it into the wind, bit by bit. "Gale would talk about some stuff from his work. Things he helped build. And I remember stuff he worked on when we were all in Thirteen. Mr. Weaver asks me about it all the time. I don't tell him anything, but I think he knows that I know more than I'm supposed to."

"And... is that bad?"

Rory snorted. "It is when you see his inventions trying to kill people on the news."

"I knew it..." I whispered.

"Huh?"

"Oh..." I shook my head. "Are you talking about what happened to Paylor a few weeks ago?"

"You saw that."

"I saw a replay last week... and then your mom said something about accidents... freaked me out a little."

"Just a little?"

"Okay, a lot."

"Because of Prim."

I was silent for a moment. Her name struck me, but didn't choke me as it usually did. "Yeah."

Rory cleared his throat. "I, uh... loved her, you know."

I nodded. "I know." I put my arm around him and pulled him down to me, let his head rest on my shoulder. It looked a little backward, me comforting him this way... he was as tall as Gale was at sixteen, but a little more built, and definitely bigger than me.

Rory's breath hitched in his throat, but he refused to cry. Just like Gale. I planted a kiss on top of his head. "I keep seeing it, over and over," he said.

I didn't have to ask what he was talking about. To see a family member die, or to find them afterward, no one should have to endure that. That we both experienced this, no matter how differently, is the reason he's able to talk to me, I decided. It was a while before he leaned away again. His eyes were red.

"I saw Mr. Weaver before. Before all this happened," he said.

"Yeah, he was in Thirteen with us for a while, or so he said when he stopped by this afternoon."

"He was here today? He knows you're here?" he panicked.

"Calm down, Rory, so what?"

"What did he ask you?" he demanded.

"Nothing important. He questioned me, I questioned him right back. We postured. He left."

"He was in Thirteen? When? Why?"

"Something to do with Peeta's mental stability, after he was rescued."

Rory considered this. "So he's trained to mess with people's minds. Great. That's just great." He was plucking little grass clods and chucking them at a tree trunk, making them 'puff' as they broke apart.

"You remember seeing him in Thirteen?" I prodded.

"No, not then. Here. When I brought Gale lunch on weekends at work. I wasn't supposed to stay, but Gale showed me around once. I saw him then."

"They worked together?"

"I don't know. But I think... I think he knows I saw him there. He keeps asking me what I know about what Gale was working on around the time... when he..."

"You don't have to say it."

He sighed softly. "Thanks."

We were quiet again for a while. Rory picked the clay-dirt from under his nails with a twig.

"He wanted to tell you everything, you know," Rory said.

That jolted me. "What do you mean, Rory?" I asked carefully.

He looked at me seriously. The eyes, the expression, all Gale's. The voice, even. "I was so angry at him when I found out what happened to Prim. Angry's not even a good enough word. I hated him. For a long time. I hated my own brother." Rory gulped. "And now, I hate that I hated him, because I can't get that time back. I'm just glad we made up before."

"I'm glad of that too, Rory. You meant so much to him."

"You meant more."

"That's not true."

"It is." He turned his body toward me. "I may have hated him at the time, but he was too busy hating himself to notice. He knew Coin caused it, but still called it his fault. He was so wrecked over it. She was like a little sister to him too. It broke him. He knew you'd never forgive him, and that broke him more. When I finally had it in me to yell at him, and boy did I ever... he just sat there and took it. Thanked me after. One day he even told me he wanted to beg your forgiveness. Said if he could go back he would have taken her place. But it wasn't for me... he didn't even know I liked her... it was for you. So you'd forgive him. And he wanted it so badly."

The answers I'd been waiting so long for collapsed on me. Bringing my face down to rest on my hands, I struggled to breathe. My best friend... the one I trusted with my life so many times... of course I couldn't blame him. If he hadn't made those bombs, among so many other things, my sister may still be alive. But we would have lost the war for sure, and in the end, none of us would likely be here, stricken down by the hand we'd been dealt. Thank goodness for Gale. He hadn't betrayed me, I had abandoned him.

Rory put his hand on my back. "Can I show you something?" He pulled me to my feet, leading me south into the forested valley. He didn't let my hand drop, rather he threaded my fingers with his. It was more intimate than I'd have expected from him, but it wasn't unnecessary either. The terrain was rather treacherous through the tall yellow grasses, and he saved me from falling more than once. A stratified rock wall rose slowly from the ground and we followed it; pebbled stones crunching under our boots. Where it met a small spring, it rose to a point, and I took in a breath. The wall was cut out underneath, as though thousands of years of rushing water had carved it, leaving behind columns of red sandstone. The late sun hit the natural wonder like a fiery blaze. Water trickled out from the face of the rocks, dribbling down to the pool below like a hundred tiny waterfalls. Fire bled water, in this place.

"It's incredible," I breathed.

"Yeah," Rory said nervously. "Listen, I need to do something, he made me promise. All right?"

I looked at him seriously. "That depends on what it is."

"Nothing bad or inappropriate, I promise," he said.

I considered for a moment, then nodded to him.

He swallowed a breath. "Gale said if you were ever to come here, even if you didn't want to see him, I should bring you here. He found this place while we were moving in. He wanted you to see how beautiful it was. And then there was all this stuff I was supposed to say about how sorry he was, and how he wanted you to be happy more than anything else. Even if it wasn't with him. He said he was happy you had Peeta, that he was right for you. But he hoped that if you were to ever forgive him, that you'd tell him, in this place." Rory laughed a little. "He was actually planning to be here, hiding, if I brought you. I don't know why he thought you might come, but he hoped. And here you are," he sniffed. "And he's not here to go through with it."

"Oh Rory, he asked you to do that for him?"

Rory shook his head. "Not for him. For you."

I closed my eyes. "You know how I know you meant the world to him?" I asked.

He paused. "How?"

My eyes opened. "Because he shared this with you. Knew he could trust you with it. And you didn't fail him."

Rory looked as though this had never occurred to him. I squeezed his hand and dropped it, walking to the water's edge and kneeling down. I dipped my fingers into the clear water, and it seemed to pull so much of the bitter, long-held anger away. "I forgive you, Gale. I wish I could have told you before. And I'm sorry," I whispered. The water rippled back toward the tiny waves created by the dripping falls, reflecting in the sunset, like the answer to an age-old question. I wondered how long it had been asking.

Rory was next to me when I stood. "Thanks," he said.

"You're a good brother, Rory. The best."

He nodded. "I still try."

The wall of fire faded as the sun fell behind the hills. "We'd better get back, Mom will be worried enough as it is."

"How is she?" I asked as I followed him. "How are all of you, I mean?"

"She's... worried most of the time," he began. "Hasn't had time to grieve, really. She plays the strong mom bit really well, but I see things. Vick's starting to realize there's more going on, but he's so passive, he doesn't like to ask too many questions. That's probably good. And Posy..." he shook his head, a small grin bringing up the corners of his mouth. "I haven't seen her smile, actually smile until today. I should have known you were here when I saw that."

"She's taken it hard, hasn't she." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. We all have, but she doesn't understand. All she knows is that someone hurt Gale, took him from us. She was too young before, to see how bad people can be, but she knows now. It corrupted her. She used to be so happy to meet people, now she's real clingy, she hardly talks to the people she knows."

"I remember that feeling," I said softly.

"Yeah," Rory agreed. "I think we all remember. But it hit her different."

"Well, we'll just have to remind her that people can be good, too."

~Peeta~

They say when you're waiting for something, or trying to keep your mind off something else, to stay busy. I don't think they ever had to wait for Katniss Everdeen, or to try not to think of her, at the same time. But if I were to succeed at either, the bakery was the place to try. I'd holed up in my studio the day she left, after I figured out how to move again... but she was all over the canvasses, her hair, skin, and eyes at the end of every brush, and in every tube of paint. I had to get out. The assembly line methodology of commercial baking was routine, consistent, and dare I say dull, but the hot ovens, new burn marks on my hands and steady stream of cheery customers were almost sufficient to make the time pass less slowly.

"So this is where you've been."

I jumped, a hot tray of wheat rolls gripped between threadbare towels slipped and I received yet another angry red line, this time on my wrist. The rare, hushed profanity passed my lips. I dropped the recovered tray on a wire rack, slammed the oven door and turned to the counter. "What can I get you, Haymitch?" I hoped my voice hadn't come across as defeated as it sounded to me.

He frowned, shrugged and shook his head. "Nothin'. Just wondering where you ran off to. Haven't seen either of you in a week."

I leaned on the counter. "Well, she took off, and I've been sleeping here in the office." Simple and direct. No use hiding what was true.

"What?"

I looked down at the new burn on my wrist, it stung but didn't bother me that much. It was just something to focus on. "She left me."

He leaned on his palms toward me. "No wonder you look terrible."

"Do I?" Not that I especially cared. I bathed, combed my hair, kept up the appearance of cleanliness around the shop as was expected, but other than that, I hadn't really looked at myself.

"All right. Tell 'Ol Haymitch what happened."

I drew in a long breath. "I just said something I shouldn't have. I was stupid."

"I doubt that was all."

"Seriously. That's what happened."

Haymitch came down to lean on his elbows. "What'd you say?"

"I told her I didn't believe her."

"That's it?"

"After she finally admitted she loves me."

Haymitch's eyes popped. "She... what? And you, what?"

"Yeah."

"But why?"

I sighed, having thought of nothing else for six days and not having an answer to show for it, but I opted to skip the pain-induced sarcasm for some honesty. "Doc thinks it's a side effect of the new meds. Like the voice in my head took control for a second. That's all it needed to ruin my life I guess."

"Wait... you have voices in your head now?"

"Not like that. Just the same old inner conflict. You remember the story they told us in school about the Katibin?"

"It's been a long time since I was in school, boy."

"The Katibin... you know, the dueling whisperers, one in charge of the person's good deeds and the other in charge of the bad, and then they argue over who has more. It's like that."

"Oh those. Yeah. The come sit on my shoulders when I drink. It's rather entertaining." Haymitch shook his head like he was trying to rid himself of some mental image. "So... you're blaming your tactlessness on some dueling voices that told you to say something stupid to make her leave you. That makes total sense."

I didn't have it in me to roll my eyes, so I went back to the neglected bread tray.

"Sorry kid, I'm just trying to wrap my head around it."

"So am I."

"So she loves you. Wow. 'Bout time."

"Yeah."

"So... go find her and tell her you're sorry."

"I told her I didn't mean it. It was too late."

"Well go find her and tell her again."

"I... can't."

"You don't know where she is."

I shook my head, throwing six rolls each into cloth bags and tying them.

"And if you did?"

"She said she needed time."

Haymitch snorted. "So she said she loves you, but then she said she needed time, and then she leaves, to go who knows where. There's something else to this."

"Aside from the part where I told her I didn't believe her?"

"Boy, girls like it when you chase them. It makes them feel... special."

I wondered what he was going to say before 'special' came out. "She's not like other girls."

"And that's why you love her."

"That's why."

"I still think there's something you're not seeing."

"Like what?"

"Did anything else happen?"

I shrugged, throwing the last bag of rolls at Haymitch to take home. "That investigator called and asked her a bunch of questions, then we watched the news and I had that tremor, then we were at your house..."

"Wait, back up... that jerk from Two called? I told him to leave you guys the heck alone."

"What? Why did he want to talk to you?"

"Character reference. Seemed awful keen to pin something on 'the late Mr. Hawthorne'. So what happened?"

"He interrogated her for a half hour, till her voice was raw. She was upset all through dinner. The news came on, you know the rest. Anyway, after I took her home, I got her something to eat so she wouldn't be so sick in the morning, and we talked. And then I was stupid, and she went and locked herself in the cellar all night. She came out in the morning and I tried to tell her I was sorry, but she said she needed some time, and she packed a bag and left."

"Could he have said something to her?"

"I don't think so, she had the ringer all the way up and I heard almost all of it."

"Think she went to talk to him in person?"

"No way. She can't stand that guy, she said he gave her the creeps when she met him before Gale's funeral."

"Think she went to see her mom?"

I just looked at him.

"Right. Where else?"

I shrugged. "I'm not going chasing after her, Haymitch. That's the last thing she'd want."

"I guess." Haymitch pondered. "Think she'll come back?"

I leaned over the counter again, forcing back the tears. It's all I'd wondered since she left. "I don't know. I hope so."

"Me too kid." He patted me roughly on the arm. "Listen, uh... come on by after you close up shop. And keep an eye out for my brown goose will ya? Haven't seen him in days."

"Sure."

I didn't find the goose, but I found its stinking, half-eaten carcass on the kitchen floor, and a very pleased-with-himself Buttercup lying victoriously nearby. I decided to dispose of the body, burying it near the primroses in the back yard, rather than returning what was left to Haymitch. I found it a funny thing that the back door was open, I hadn't remembered opening it, but in my haste to get out of the house I must have.

"Sorry Haymitch," I cringed, holding up a lone brown feather. "Cat."

He just sighed. "Serves the damn bird right for running off." He took the feather from me and stuck it in the dirt next to a browning potted plant. He poured me a drink and we sat on the porch a while. I tried not to think about the fact that the last time I was here, so was Katniss.

"You're thinking about her."

"Guilty." I stared off into the darkness down the street.

"So... what are you gonna do?" he prodded.

I shook my head. "Nothing I can do."

"Not true. There's always something."

I didn't really know how to respond, so I just took another swig of the bitter amber liquid. It went down like fire.

"Okay, let me rephrase," he adjusted crudely in his chair. "If you could do anything right now to bring her home and have things go back the way they were, what would you do?"

I considered this, conflicted because the one thing I most wanted to do would probably drive her further away. But the question wasn't what I wanted to do, but what would bring her back to me. "I don't think things can go back to the way they were, honestly," I told him. "I've messed up too many times-"

"Not your fault," he cut me off.

"I know some of it's not," I interjected. "But sometimes, after... I feel like there was something I could have done better, or different... something I should have known to do or not do. It kills me that I could have killed her that day, and it stings so bad that she forgave me. She always forgives me, but this time, it was like too many things added up. I'm not worthy of her trust. I think she's better off without me, no matter how much I miss her." I held out my glass and he refilled it.

"Hey kid, I'm all up for wallowing in a stupor with you tonight, but come tomorrow, we're gonna sober up and figure out what went wrong. I haven't stuck by you two this long to let you give up on each other." He clinked his glass into mine.

"You my counselor now?" I slurred.

Haymitch burst out laughing. "I thought you were mine."

There was something genuinely funny about how wrong and right he was, that I burst out laughing right with him. The world spun from lack of air, and when I finally caught my breath, I couldn't remember what was funny.

"To Katniss," I raised my glass. "May she find what she's looking for."

"And may she come back safely, so I can stop babysitting."

We clinked to that.

The morning dawned drizzly and gray. The idea of sleeping where I fell was appealing at the time, but the result was uncomfortable to say the least. Looking around to get my bearings, I remembered why I was there. Then, I realized the more I looked around, the worse my head and stomach felt. Finally, I came to the realization that if I had a left leg, it would be asleep from the angle at which it was propped against the railing. Instead, the seam where real flesh met the artifical leg was screaming from having been strained while I slept. I lifted my pants leg to rub it, finding it angry and red like the welts on my hands. I was still fascinated at how real the leg looked and how well it usually blended in where it connected; I still wondered why the Capitol gave me the upgrade during my captivity. Perhaps it was something to remember them by. I didn't remember any flashback associated with it. I hoped I never would.

When I was able to push myself to a standing position, I thumped Haymitch on the arm to wake him. His snores were interrupted long enough for him to look around, to understand I was leaving, and then his head rolled back and he was out again. I limped home.

I retrieved the aspirin first, using the same water glass as I'd given Katniss the week before. The memory stabbed me. I went up to the bathroom and contemplated being sick, but my stomach was fairly empty at that point and in no mood to be filled. I showered, my head pounded, and I dressed. The drawers she'd rummaged through were still open. Stab, stab, stab. I picked up her discarded shirt from the floor and smelled her on it. The comfort of this simple act stabbed me as well.

I wandered through the house, not wanting to lay down to ease the pounding in my head, it would only be replaced with the agony of loss that much sooner. I found myself on the couch where I'd slept so many times, yanking the scrapbook we'd assembled from under the cushions and flipping through the pages. I didn't usually look at it unless she'd asked me to draw or write something, but I figured if any of it was going to cause a tremor, now would be the safest time to tempt one, while slightly crippled by this headache. I sat back against the cushions to get more comfortable and pulled the book with me, and a few loose papers fell into my lap.

"Hello," I mumbled. Gathering them up, I set the book aside. The papers appear to have been hastily torn from a notepad and written quickly.

K-

P says you've been ill, I hope it's nothing serious. Things couldn't be better here. The children are happier than ever. Our guest comes daily and has been delightful. We'll vacation with you when we can.

-HH

My heart sped up. HH... that had to me Mrs. Hawthorne. Katniss hadn't told me they'd been exchanging letters. Couldn't be better... happier than ever... delightful... those were far more joyful words than commonly used by residents of Twelve, definitely not by former Seam residents, and absolutely not by a grieving mother. Something was off. I read the next one.

K-

I hope this letter finds you well. Our frequent guest would be so grateful for a visit from you. He's confident the case will be solved soon. R, V and P send their love.

-HH

Rory, Vick and Posy. Any intuitive person would know from the tone that 'come visit' meant 'stay away'. But Katniss was never one to follow directions, especially where people she loved were concerned. The two remaining papers were crinkled envelopes, the first was dated three weeks ago and the second, last week. The day before she left...

I knew where she was.

Reviews welcome, as usual.