Chapter 3: Poison and Wine

It doesn't take very long until the official notices are sent out. Paylor wants to make sure everyone knows what is coming and that makes me like her a little bit more. Letters are sent out and TV spots have been repeating for a week. The detonation date will be on us in no time. While Peeta and I don't hold long conversations with each other, I do help him get my house ready for his week-long seclusion. He doesn't complain about carrying crate loads of flour, yeast, and other ingredients, though every now and then I feel like I catch a hint of annoyance in his eyes. The deep, heavy sigh he lets out, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks over the inventory also tell me he isn't completely on board with this. He's doing it, of course, because I want him to. Even after everything we've been through, everything we've lost, the false memories he's gained, he does what I ask. I catch myself wondering if he still might love me and instantly shake those thoughts from my head.

"You alright?" he asks me calmly. My head stops shaking and starts nodding. Little things like this make me think he watches me like I watch him – Waiting for the littlest thing to set the other off.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What about you? Getting tired from all the moving?" I try to change the topic of conversation to him.

"I'm strong. I can throw 100 pound bags of flour." He smiles for a moment before it fades as if he's forgotten something. "Real or not real?" Peeta asks. I sit on one of the rocking chairs as I ready myself for the game we still play.

"Real. Though, that was before. I think you could still do it, though."

"Before…You told Haymitch."

I nod, watching him take a seat on the other rocking chair across from me. "You were singing my archery praises to Haymitch and it confused me why you were trying to help me. And I got angry that you weren't helping yourself and giving yourself enough credit. So I told Haymitch you could throw the flour and about the wrestling."

Peeta just sits, his hands clasped before him and his elbows resting on his knees. "Why did that confuse you?" He asks softly.

I pause longer than I probably should. This conversation could very easily head in a direction that I am not ready for. Not yet.

"Because even though we came from the same District, only one of use was supposed to survive. Twenty-four go in, one comes out. We were forced to become enemies and there you were supporting me. It confused me," I explain, my voice soft as I risk watching him.

Now it's Peeta's turn to pause. Just when I'm ready to leave this conversation, his blue eyes are on me and I'm forced in my place.

"You were never my enemy. I would always support you. And I still will."

His words are so simple, but are just enough to cause me to smile the littlest of bits.

"Me too," I say before the silence sets in once more between us. Only, this time, it is comfortable and not awkward like we had grown accustomed to.

Detonation Day comes and everyone in District 12 is acting almost as if it were another reaping. The town is quiet as I slip through, almost unnoticed, heading for the woods. Like the rest of District 12, the term bomb sets me on edge. We are all worried that these aren't just electrical bombs, but real ones. We've already lost enough as it is, who wants to live through another bombing on our district?

I'm not ready for the whole ordeal. The term bomb is being used so freely and all I can see is Prim and then my scars start to burn. So, I stick to the word detonation and head into the woods in hopes of catching and gathering enough for the next few days.

I check the traps first, rewarded with a rabbit in only one. It doesn't take long before my bag is full of greens and roots, my eyes on a few herb plants. At first, I pick the fresh herbs for both Peeta and I to use. But then I think of something better that could help keep Peeta occupied. Using my knife and hands, I am soon able to separate dill, rosemary, and thyme bunches with roots for replanting. One squirrel later and I'm ready to head back home, quite proud of myself.

Peeta meets me outside our houses, one last bag in his hands. He raises it up, giving it a small shake. "Clothes."

I smirk despite myself, copying his actions with my game bag. "Dinner."

A smile breaks out across his face and I hide mine by turning from him and leading the way into my house, Peeta on my heels. I hear him shut the door behind us and place his final bag on the couch. I continue into the kitchen, ready to show him my haul.

"I have something for you," I tell him, looking over my shoulder as he joins me in the kitchen.

"Did you shoot a squirrel for me?" he asks playfully.

"Well I did get a squirrel, yes, but for both of us. Hopefully there is enough salvageable meat. I haven't been able to hit them in the eye like before. But, I got his neck, so I'm getting better," I say, putting the squirrel on the table, followed by the rabbit.

"Still looks good to me," Peeta says from the other side of the table as he inspects the game with just his eyes. "Better than what I would do."

"Well, you stick with what you are best at. And this," I say, pulling out the herbs I picked first and hand them out to him. "Should help. Though, try not to use it all in your breads. I want to try a few things with it as well."

Peeta's eyes light up for a moment as a smile spreads across his face. "Oh, brilliant!" he says, reaching over the table for the bunches. I give them freely and watch as he brings them up to his face to smell them like Prim would a bunch of flowers. "I can't promise that you will get to use these before I bake with them. I have so many ideas."

"Well, I'm glad, but those ideas are going to have to be put on hold." Peeta looks at me confused before I hand over the clumps of bushes, glad that their roots are still intact. "You will need to tend to your herb garden first."

Peeta lets out a deep, hearty laugh- One that I haven't heard from him in a long time. The deep, happy tone resonated through the kitchen as well as my chest. It moves through me, warming me to the core better than any hot tea in a flask while hunting ever could.

"You look quite proud of yourself," he says, moving around the table by my side. "I've not seen you smile like that in a long time."

I start for a moment, realizing that Peeta was right. I am smiling…

"Well, of course I'm proud of myself," I say, letting him take the bushes. "I brought back things for our meals and almost shot a squirrel in the eye. I'm doing pretty good. Besides, those bushes will give you something to do and tend to during your prison time here at my house. That way it won't be so bad for you."

Peeta shakes his head as he moves expertly through my kitchen. I watch as he takes three hand towels over to the sink as he talks. "I don't think it will be bad, Katniss. And I definitely don't think of staying with you as a prison."

We both pause in our conversation as he runs water on each of the towels, leaving them in the sink. "I'm actually grateful of it, to be honest. I don't even know how this all will affect me and the thought of relapsing completely terrifies me. But, I feel like with you, I'll be safer. I won't be alone." Peeta nods at the bushes in my hands as I bring them to him at the sink. "See, you are watching out for me. That isn't prison. That is friendship. And I'm grateful to have it."

It is my turn to nod, but we've talked too much and the comfortable silence sets in once more between us. We work silently together as Peeta wraps the roots in the wet towels and I hold them as he grabs a twist tie that he usually uses to close the bags that keep his bread fresh and ties it around the stalks of the bushes to keep the towels in place.

Greasy Sae shows up at some point and drops off a couple of containers of soup. No amount of begging will keep her with us and she says she has to make sure her own family is safe and accounted for. I can't really blame her and reluctantly let her go.

The time of detonation is looming closer and I'm starting to feel incredibly anxious. Peeta is occupying himself by kneading dough of what will soon be cresants for dinner. At first I'm fine watching him. The steady rhythm of his hands seems so calming. But the anxieties start again and I rise from my seat.

"You," I say, pointing at Peeta. "Don't leave this house. I'm going to remind Haymitch that he said he'd stay here for detonation. I will be right back and you…put one of the soups on to warm up." I realize I sound quite bossy. Almost like our first day out of the cave in our first games. My tone softens considerably as I add to the end a gentle "Please."

Peeta nods and I try not to think about how I feel about how he looks with flour on his face. "Yeah, ok. I'll be here when you get back."

"Good," I say before leaving for Haymitch's house.

It isn't a long walk at all and after a few good knocks, I let myself inside. By now I shouldn't be surprised at the way the house is kept. Or, in Haymitch's case, not kept. It doesn't take long to find him, though and a splash of cold water to the face does the trick for waking him up. "You promised." I tell him when he stops sputtering and swinging his knife around. "Take a shower, put on some clean clothes, and be at the house in thirty minutes. You have to be there with us. When they are done you can come back here and drink yourself into a stupor, I don't care." And with that, I turn and make my way out without giving him a chance to say anything.

The mentor listened, though, and thirty minutes later he was at my house, ready for dinner. The three of us sat quietly around the table, watching a program on the television that explained in depth what was going to be happening in an hour. Haymitch continued to watch the show as Peeta and I cleaned up then set about turning off just about every electrical item that I had in the house, just in case. Fifteen minutes to go until detonation and I lock all the doors, check the windows, and lead the men into the basement by use of candles my mother had sent earlier in the week.

Once down stairs I start to light the candles that I had spread around the room so that we can see. As each candle is lit and light blooms into the small space, Peeta and Haymitch are able to see that I've set it all up downstairs to be quite cozy. Three spaces have been marked off with blankets and pillows, a spot for each of us. In the center is a small table with a radio on it, more candles, a basket of cheese rolls Peeta made earlier that morning, and bottles of water.

"I think someone found a new after games talent," Haymitch says as he lays claim to his section of the basement and flops down on the mound of blankets. "Interior decorating."

"I think she did a good job." Peeta adds, grabbing a cheese bun and taking a set of blankets for himself.

"I did it last night when I couldn't sleep," I tell him, crossing my legs and sitting down. "I didn't know how long we would be down here and I didn't want to risk anything and I wanted to make sure we were all comfortable. And, by the way, Haymitch. There's no alcohol down here. Don't want to blow up. And you might want to stay away from the flames yourself."

I hear a snort of laughter coming from Peeta's direction, though he tries to hide it from behind his cheese bun. But I know that he remembers a similar conversation when we were on fire for the first time. Knowing that he remembers brings a small smile to my face as I allow myself the moment to think that he is actually getting better.

Haymitch doesn't say anything else as he reclines into the pillows behind him. Peeta focuses on his bread as I pick at a loose string in the quilt at my feet. "Where's Buttercup?" He asks.

"He didn't want to be here. I tried to keep a hold of him but the fight was not worth the bandages that would come with it. Besides, he's resilient. That dumb cat could survive anything."

Then, once again, silence fills the air and I can feel my anxieties start to build again. My legs uncross as I bring my knees up to my chest, hugging them to me. It isn't much longer until detonation. Haymitch looks like he's asleep and Peeta is staring at the window that I've checked over and over to make sure it was locked and sealed good. Heaving a deep sigh, I burry my face in my knees and try to listen for any sign that the detonation has happened and that we are all safe. That is when I hear it.

At first I am not sure if it is my mind playing tricks on me. Raising my head up, I look around the room, the soft hum resonating in my ears. Haymitch meets my eyes and I know it isn't my imagination. The hum sounds so similar to that of the tracker jackers. I don't know if it is the bombs or if it is the tracker jackers trying to find safety. All I know if that I don't like it and I'm sure Peeta doesn't as well.

"Peeta," I whisper his name, turning to look at him. Only it is not my Peeta that I see beside of me and I suddenly feel like I'm in 13 all over again.

"Mutt!"