Thanks for all your reviews! I'm really appreciating the feedback—it's so helpful to know your thoughts as I'm editing. Please keep it coming?

So, she'll touch on it in this chapter, but I won't really get detailed until a few later: why they've been alone so long, what's going on with changes in 12, etc. I'd love to hear your thoughts so I have a better idea of how to elaborate and what to elaborate on.

I do not own the Hunger Games.

They're halfway through some stew Katniss made for him before they speak. She refused to get him any bread, because bread makes her think of Peeta and she can't think about him. She can't need him. But she does need him: she has no idea what's going on, her need to understand threatening to outweigh her need for solitude. They've been alone, the three of them for…what, a month? Two? They forego clocks and calendars, so she can't be sure, but she knows it has been a long enough time for her to regain some sanity, for Peeta to increase and then decrease his number of episodes. She'd been under the impression this was merely a more liberal, comfortable prison for her, the girl who killed the wrong president. An unconventional hospital for the deranged star-crossed lovers and their drunk mentor. But…if people are going to live here, does that mean she has to start living? Not just surviving, but truly living?

She sits and holds a spoon, staring at her stew blankly as Haymitch gulps through two bowls. He lets her sit in confused silence awhile before he speaks.

"You more upset that they're here or about him?" he asks conversationally. She almost chokes.

"What the hell do you mean, 'about him'?" she demands. She's furious, her face heating up, sure that everyone can see how much she loves him, how terrified she is of losing him.

Haymitch shrugs. At least he has enough shame not to laugh at her.

"You're the Mockingjay," he tells her (unnecessarily: she's thought of nothing else since they arrived. Except Peeta leaving her). "And…he loves you, but you keep playing games with him. Anyone can see—"

He stops there, looking at her with guilt. She does not need him to finish: anyone can see that Delly would be better with Peeta, that anyone would be better with Peeta, really.

"You never got married, so what would you know?" she demands, trying to hurt him.

"Never got married because I knew too much," he mutters.

She sighs, drops the pretense that she's not afraid, that she's not hurting.

"Did you—"

"I couldn't bring anyone else down with me," he says, simply. He gives her time, lets her broken, scattered mind work its' way around his statement before he speaks again. She's grateful, because without Peeta to ground her, keep her solid, her thoughts seem to disappear, like leaves in the wind, and reappear in the strangest places.

"Snow killed her anyways. But I didn't fight hard enough. I didn't love her like you two love each other," Haymitch tells her, looking at her. She looks into his Seam eyes, eyes that make her feel less alone. He's her family, she realizes. Once Peeta leaves her, he'll be all she has left.

"I've never seen anyone love the way he loves you," he tells her, finishing off his stew. "I'd fight for him, sweetheart."

It sounds like a platitude, some meaningless statement from a washed-up drunk, but she knows that right now, he is as sincere as they come. But she can't fight for him: she doesn't remember how to fight, is completely done fighting, has done enough fighting for a lifetime. Besides, if he decides he doesn't want her, what the hell can she do about it?

"Katniss!" The cry comes from across the lawn, and they see Delly, sprinting towards them, towing a boy that Katniss doesn't know.

"We—we need you!" she exclaims, coming up the porch steps. Katniss has never seen her move so quickly.
"Peeta was helping us move, and there's—there's something wrong with him!" she tells her.

Her feet are moving before she consciously puts the thought together that he's having an episode, that he will hurt himself, and soon, all alone in an unfamiliar house. She hears Haymitch quick on her heels, barking orders at Delly and the boy. Katniss tears through the door of the house they came from, wanting to scream his name, or just to scream, knowing she has to stay silent if she's to hear him. She hears Haymitch, turns to tell him to stay quiet, and that's when she sees Peeta, curled up in the living room, his fist in his mouth. She sees what set him off as she heads toward him: a large carriage clock, beautiful really, but it's decorated with pearls.

She wants to get lost in her own memories of the arena, is worried that with how fragile she is, she won't be able to sort through the memories for him. But before that thought becomes coherent, she's already touched his shoulder and she's underneath him, faster than usual, so fast she barely feels it. He's choking, she realizes, gasping and choking and barely able to breathe. She puts her hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. She has no idea what he's thinking, so she doesn't tell him real or not real. Instead, she begs, her plea simple: "Come back to me, please come back to me, please come back to me, Peeta, please…" He shudders, and then his hand is on hers, on his face, and she sees that he knows she's there. He's stopped looking through her, is looking at her. No one sees her the way he does.

"There is no District 12, real or not real?"

"Not real—we are there now, but it did get mostly destroyed in bombing."

"Rebel bombing—the rebels tried to kill us."

"Not real—the Capitol bombed District 12, they tried to kill us—"

"They killed my family?" He is so confused, and she moans, in agony for him.

"No, no that's not right, you killed my family—"

"Not real—the Capitol killed your family, in the bombing."

"You tried to kill me."

"Not real."

"And Delly saved me." That's a knife in her heart, but she bears it.

"No, Peeta, I never tried to kill you, and Delly did not save you."

"No..." he agrees, "No, you didn't try to kill me—I tried to kill you."

"Real," she says, sighing, as his finger comes to trace her throat. She thinks, briefly, of his lips on her neck this morning.

"I tried to choke you."

"Real."

"I kissed you this morning."

She smiles. "Real."

"You love me." This one is whispered, and she can see that this is the breaking point: if she's honest, he will come back to her. She isn't sure she can do this, with Haymitch watching, with Delly hovering nearby—

"You love me," he repeats. "Real or not real?"

"Real," she gasps, and he collapses, holding onto her for dear life, breathing in her scent. This time, she is the one crying. "Real," she whispers. "Real. Real. Real."

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