December 12th, 2011

A/N: The M rating returns here for mature themes. Just a warning. Also, this chapter is a little short, but it doesn't mean big things don't happen. ;) As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!

After waiting patiently for what feels like hours, I realize the floor is not going to open up and swallow me whole. Prim's wide blue eyes slowly travel between me and Gale and back, processing. I will my mouth to say something, or my body to move, or anyone to do anything. Gale spins on his heel, his hand finds the back of his neck and his head falls back with a sigh. That's helpful. Prim squeaks and the sound snaps me into focus.

Quickly, I retrieve the dustpan and broom from the closet and the hall and set about sweeping the bits of broken ceramic. Prim's feet stay glued to the floor as I collect the shards, working around her. Her voice comes out when I'm almost done cleaning, but it's so soft I think I may have imagined it.

"I didn't mean to… I'm sorry."

"Oh, Prim," I say, sinking to my knees in front of her. My hands find her narrow shoulders and I give them a slight squeeze. She looks up at me, her lower lip stuck between her teeth. "We're not mad."

"You're not?"

"No, of course not." I smile at her. My eyes flick nervously to Gale, standing now with a sheepish look on his face. He refuses to look at Prim, instead focusing on me, and I can see he's more anxious than my sister. I beckon him to come closer, holding out my hand. He eyes it warily and finally steps over and takes it, squatting down beside us.

Prim beams at both of us, and her smile, as always, is infectious.

"I knew it!" she whispers conspiratorially, poking a finger at us. Then her face falls as she sees the look we exchange. "What about Peeta?"

I close my eyes, swallowing hard, because if I wasn't already feeling horrible about what this meant for Peeta, then Prim was about to open that can of worms and then some. Forcing myself to open my eyes and meet her wide innocent gaze head on, I start to speak, but Gale cuts me off.

"I think he already knows, Prim," Gale says softly, his voice surprisingly gentle. I think there's some regret in it too, and I start to puzzle over this revelation, not even hiding my inquiring stare from Gale, when Prim breaks into my trance.

"I can't tell anyone, can I?" she asks, but she's not really asking. Prim has always been more astute than most give her credit for, and now my heart breaks a little for my sister and the burden we are about to ask her to bear.

"No, little duck," I say. "No one can know."

"Not even Mom?"

I can't find the voice, so I just shake my head. The sorrow in her eyes is devastating, but she squares her shoulders beneath my hands and nods firmly. She is almost thirteen and suddenly she feels like the older sister.

Prim looks to Gale and her hand finds his cheek. He looks at her with wide eyes, mesmerized just like everyone else in District 12 would be if she gave them undivided attention.

"Do you remember what I told you?" she asks. "When we were watching Katniss on television?"

Gale nods ever so slightly. I am fascinated at what is transpiring between my sister and my best friend.

"We promised each other," Prim continues. "I kept mine, and now you get to keep yours."

"I will," Gale says.

I am completely astounded and want desperately to ask for what is going on, but Prim drops her hand, and Gale returns my questioning stare with the slightest shake of his head. Not now, he's saying.

I don't get a chance to find out later either. The Sunday respite disappears, the Hawthornes back to the Seam, the Everdeens stuck in Victor's Village. I do my best to stay busy, walking the snare line every day, helping my mother with cleaning and cooking. I don't particularly enjoy domestic work, but I need to keep my sanity somehow.

To Prim's credit, she plows through my mother's never-ending apothecary chore list, acting like everything is the same old routine when in fact, she knows very well there's something brewing underneath the façade of normalcy. Only once do I catch her eyeing me sadly as I watch the snow fall as another blizzard blows harshly out the bay windows of our kitchen the following Sunday. After she turns to leave, I try to find some resolve to stop my pathetic pining. If only for her sake.

I continue to amass the list of items we will need to run. I follow Gale's line of thinking easily, and add to the stock of salted dried meats he traded for and put in a few additions of my own. Peeta hands me a thin hard piece of bread one day, excitedly showing me its lightness and relatively long shelf life. It's like a cracker only larger and condensed, like a dried pound cake without the sweetness. He thinks he may even be able to flavor some, so we aren't bored with the same exact ration.

By the following Friday, as I sit studying the list and thinking of the growing pile of supplies, I am starting to think this may be a fool's errand. On top of all the stress, I think I'm getting sick too. The past few mornings I've woken completely ravenous and devoured my meals by inhalation, much to the disapproving glare of my mother. Except, an hour passes, and then it all comes back up, leaving me hugging the toilet and feeling feverish. The nausea disappears by the afternoon, though, and I'm careful to eat my subsequent meals more slowly. It seems to work because the vomiting stops, at least until breakfast arrives.

I don't grasp the implications of my on and off sickness until the night Prim comes to me in tears.

"Prim?" I ask, sliding out of bed and wrapping her in my arms. She sniffles quietly and I hold her, thinking she's been scared senseless by some nightmare.

"Shhh," I soothe. "What's wrong?"

"I think I need to show you," she says, choking around sobs.

I follow her to the bathroom and my eyes follow her outstretched finger. A small cloth lies in a heap, a slight red smear marring the white fabric.

"Oh, Prim," I say, and I can't help the small smile that turns up the corner of my mouth. "It's all right. You know this was going to happen one day, right?"

I gather her underwear and start filling the sink with cold water to let them soak. "Right?" I ask, again.

"Yes," Prim replies, sniffing as I bring a cool washcloth to wipe off her tears. "I think it just scared me."

I smile, knowing that similar sense of panic and horror at first. "It's fine, little duck. You'll get used to it."

She hugs me then, and says, "I'm glad you came back Katniss."

I swallow against sudden emotion and press a kiss to her blonde hair. The flustered feeling that drives a pit in my stomach I think is related to the overwhelming love I have for my sister, but as the emotion twists and takes shape, my hands begin to shake with a purposeful dread.

I calmly walk Prim back to bed where she cuddles up against my mother, watching to make sure she truly falls back to sleep. The moment I see her sides rising and falling evenly, I bolt downstairs, practically falling down the steps, and staggering into the kitchen. My hand bats the wall frantically searching for the light switch as I reach for my mother's appointment book.

I flip through the pages until I find the current date and start counting backwards. I count again, and again, and again. It does not change what I am desperately wishing is not true. But my math is correct and I slide to the floor, curling into a ball and rocking gently against the counters. Tears fall silently to my socks as I sit there, wondering how we could have been so stupid.

~Fin