Gale

There are still days when she locks me out of the house, and no matter how loudly I pound on the door she can't hear me over the sounds of her screams. Sometimes it gets so bad that Haymitch has to break open one of the windows so we can drag her back to her old house in the Seam.

There are worse days, like today, when she won't scream, and when she talks to me, it's not her. It's her robotic brain. She'll sit quietly, staring into practically nothing. It's days like these when I feel like she's really, truly gone. I know I'll never have her the way Peeta had her, but it was comforting to think, before she came back, that everything would at least return to normal. I can see now that won't happen soon.

My mother is waiting for me to bring the game home, and as soon as I open the door, Vick and Rory run to me. "How was she?" asks Posy, trailing after them in a little blue dress. One of Prim's hand-me-downs, probably.

I look at her with visible pain in my eyes. I know that my family care a lot about Katniss, and I just can't bear telling them that she hasn't gotten better at all. "Beautiful as always," I answer her, because that's the most I can say without upsetting them. I ruffle Rory's hair and walk into the kitchen, where my mother is standing by the counter, absentmindedly drying a dish that doesn't seem to need any more drying.

"How is she really?" she asks me once the kids are out of earshot. I lean my head back and stifle a groan; how is it that she can just feel when I'm lying to them?

"She's not better," I say automatically. Then I stop to think and add, "But I'm not sure if she's worse."

We stand silently for a few minutes, my mom busying herself with cleaning the rest of the dishes while I unloaded my game bag into small, separate containers. Then my mom suddenly turns around, stopping me as I'm putting a rabbit down.

"What if you take her to the traders today?" she asks me quietly, eyes darting out the window to make sure none of the new Peacekeepers can overhear.

I roll my eyes at the ridiculous proposal. "Don't you remember? They burned the Hob months ago. There's nothing left!" I remind her, not caring for volume control. If the Peacekeepers overhear, all they'll know is I'm reminiscing over the Hob. Then I look at my hands, and push all the meat off the counter and onto the floor, making it much less visible from outside the window.

"Yes, but," my mom continues, her back towards me as she stacks the plates with an obsessive neatness onto the shelves above, "I mean traders. Gale, I know you still trade with someone. Maybe they could help…you know…bring her back."

I consider the idea. "You mean like therapy," I clarify. I've heard before of this method of bringing someone back, but that was mainly used for Haymitch, twenty-five years ago after his Games, and it had turned him into a serious alcoholic. Still, if there wasn't alcohol involved…I nodded. "Okay. I'll even go get her now."

I turn to exit the kitchen, when she clears her throat. "Gale?" she asks. I turn around expectantly, and she gives me a half-smile and points at the floor. "Pack it up," she says, nudging my rabbit container with her foot.

"Hey, Catnip," I say, walking into the study. She's still sitting there from that morning, only now I can't tell what she's staring at. Not the rose, surely; I disposed of that on my last visit. "Are you busy today?"

She looks up at me and narrows her eyes. How on earth would she be busy if she won't even go outside? I think, kicking myself mentally. I force a calm, peaceful smile. "It's a Sunday. You know what that means?" She stares at me, then collapses back into nothing. I raise her chin gently with my hand. "It means I'm going to trade. And you're coming with me."

"No," she mutters, shaking her head. She looks up at me again, voluntarily this time, and repeats herself once more. "They're going to catch you, and…and beat you, and…and…" A tear falls and suddenly she's crying, panicked, screaming. I look around worriedly before walking around the table to her, embracing her. She buries her face into my chest, sobbing heavily. "They can't take you away! Not you too!"

"They won't," I murmur softly, my hand running over her head, smoothing her knotty brown hair that seems to have been left untouched, un-brushed, for quite a while. "We're both safe." From the Games, I add in my mind. What use is it agreeing that they could still kill us, even outside of the monstrous arena? I look into her eyes, her gray, almost insane eyes. "Alright, let's not go. What do you want to do today?"

She's calmed down now, taking deep breaths and regaining her depressed demeanor instead of her crazed one. She looks up at me hopelessly, and I see a certain kind of sadness in her eyes, the kind that once would've mirrored mine. Only now, she was too broken for me to find amusement in our likenesses to each other. Now, being cousins meant much more than staging it for the cameras. Family supported family, and that's exactly what I intend to do.

Suddenly I start sniffing. I'm a born hunter, there's little to nothing I can do to control myself once my nose has detected an odd odor. My eyes veer down at the table, where I see an untouched tray of cheese buns. I try to control my heartbeat, but I know that this meal has only brought back horrible memories that she didn't have to remember a second time. "Catnip, who gave that to you?" I demand, my voice shaking.

"Prim," she replies faintly, staring blankly into the distance. She finally looks up at me. "I want to go to the Meadow," she says firmly, gripping my wrist hard.

I nod. The Meadow. She hasn't been there since way before the second Games. This would definitely be considered good therapy—by my mother, or hers, or just about anyone. "Okay," I answer her, feeling myself beginning to smile. "Let's go to the Meadow, then."