It's almost an hour later when Peeta and I go over to my house – well, I guess my old house, now. When we walk in, Prim is sitting alone on a couch, playing with Buttercup. She looks up as we enter. The cat just hisses at me and scampers off to some other part of the house. "Mom's upstairs in her room," Prim says flatly. "I don't think she's too happy with you."

It's weird seeing Prim so glum. I must have really upset her this morning. I need to talk to her, but first I need to cheer her up. "Well, I'm not too happy with her either," I say. "Look at what she gave me to wear!" I do a quick spin as if I were with Cinna, and manage to drag a small laugh out of Prim.

"I know you don't like dresses, but they really do look beautiful on you," Prim says.

"But they're so impractical!" I can't even imagine trying to go to the woods dressed like this. Knowing I'll get no support from Prim, I turn to Peeta. "What do you think?"

Peeta looks like I imagine I did during my first interview with Caesar Flickerman, stunned and frightened. "What?" he asks dumbly.

"You spend enough time looking at me," I reason. "Do you think I look better in pants or in dresses?"

Peeta still looks stupefied. Prim starts smiling and avoiding my looks. Is there something here that I'm missing?

Finally Peeta says, "I think you look beautiful in anything you wear."

This answer seems to please Prim greatly, but I just roll my eyes. "Come on, you must have a preference?"

"Well…" Peeta doesn't look dumbstruck by the question anymore, but something is still holding him back from answering. "Do you really want to talk about this in front of Prim?" he says as a blush begins to tint his cheeks.

"You're not going to hurt her feelings if you disagree with her," I say. "Come on. Spit it out, Mellark!"

"Um…" Peeta looks away at a wall, and speaks quietly and quickly. "Um, I like the way you look in pants, because pants follow the contours of your body and really show off the curves of your hips and ass."

The room is completely silent for a long moment. I realize my jaw is hanging open and struggle to close it. Of all the aspects of suddenly being in a relationship that are completely new to me, I never saw this one coming. I've been called beautiful before – by Prim, by Cinna, by Peeta. But Peeta is describing my body as if he thinks it's… I don't even know. Attractive? Desirable? Sexy? I've never been any of those things, and I'm pretty sure no one has ever thought of me as any of those things. My body is small, lean, and straight, made so by years of working hard in the woods and not eating enough. I don't have much in the way of womanly curves, not compared to the well-fed girls from town, and the third- and fourth-hand mended and patched clothing I normally wear hardly serves to accentuate them.

Peeta is looking back at me now, with a small hint of a grin on his face. It's half smug, half apologetic. It's the kind of look he gives me when he can tell I don't believe one of his compliments. I've never handled compliments well, but when someone compliments my shooting or my plant knowledge I can usually muster a grudging acknowledgement. But Peeta compliments me for things I know aren't true. I can deal with it when he calls me strong, or tough. But what do I do when he calls me beautiful? Or kind? Or attractive? I want to be annoyed by his insincerity, but I know he's being sincere. The conclusion that makes the most sense to me is that Peeta is simply delusional. Why else would he have such a high opinion of me?

Usually this is when Peeta reiterates himself a few times in an attempt to convince me of the truth of his praise, but before he can do that the momentary silence is broken when Prim clamps both hands over her mouth and almost falls off the couch in a fit of giggles. I regain my senses and smack Peeta hard on the arm. "Don't talk like that in front of Prim!"

"I asked you!" Peeta says, stepping back and raising his hands defensively. "I tried to beg off, but you said, 'Spit it out, Mellark!'"

I don't quite know what to say to that. Before I can come up with something, Prim says, "You do have a nice ass, Katniss." I turn to look at her, my jaw hanging open. "I think it's all that stalking around the woods," she muses, analyzing me as if I were a patient. "It really works the gluteal muscles."

"Well whatever she's doing, it's working," Peeta chimes in with a smirk.

I try to smack Peeta's arm again, but he swats my hand away and takes another step back. "Both of you stop talking about my ass!" I demand.

"Okay, what part of you should we talk about then?" Peeta says with a glint in his eye.

"Don't," I warn him.

"Can we talk about Peeta's ass?" Prim asks, her face full of mischief. "Cause that thing is a freaking work of art!"

I'm choking. I think I'm actually choking. Is my sweet and innocent baby sister… ogling a guy's ass? Isn't she years too young to be doing something like that? Or is it just that I never took notice of things like that until years after I should have? Depressingly enough, I think I know what the answer is.

"Oh really?" Peeta says, having recovered from his shock more quickly than I did. He makes a ridiculous twisting motion, turning back and forth in a comical attempt to look down at his own backside. "A work of art, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," Prim says far too enthusiastically for my liking. "All the girls at school are jealous of Katniss cause she gets to touch it."

I blush and look away, because if Prim sees my reaction, it's far too likely that she'll intuit the reason for it, which would only prolong this conversation when I desperately want it to end. As much as we've let ourselves get lost in kisses lately – last night during dinner, overnight at Peeta's house, this morning when we were supposed to be getting ready to come over here – Peeta and I have not yet arrived at the butt-touching stage of our relationship. Is that something you're supposed to do before you move in together?

"Hear that, Katniss?" Peeta says playfully. "I have hordes of twelve-year-old girls who want to touch my ass."

I lift a threatening finger towards Peeta. "Your ass is mine, Mellark."

Peeta grabs my hand and uses it to pull me towards him as he steps forward, erasing the small distance between us and closing his arms around my waist. "Damn right," he says. "Every other part of me too. I'm yours, Katniss." He leans down and gives me a soft, sweet kiss. I let out a soft sigh and relax into his embrace as my arms find their way around his neck.

I look up into those blue eyes I love so much. "I'm yours, too. You know that, right?" Peeta just smiles and nods at me. I give him another quick peck on the lips and then push away from him. "Good. Now do me a favor and go box up some of those useless Capitol clothes for me while I talk to my sister."

"Sure thing," he says with a lopsided smirk. "Feel free to stare at my ass while I walk away." I just shake my head at his antics before settling on the couch next to Prim.

"You're not going to get mad at me for talking about Peeta like that, are you?" Prim asks.

"No, I'm not mad at you," I say, giving her a small smile. "I'm more worried about you being mad at me."

"For what?" she asks.

"For this morning." Prim looks troubled, but she doesn't deny it. "I know you were a lot more worried than you're trying to let on. I'm sorry I did that to you."

"You could have told me that you were going over there," she says, and it completely takes me by surprise. It hadn't even occurred to me that she might think I was keeping secrets from her. "I wouldn't… judge you or anything. I wouldn't tell Mom if you didn't want me to."

"I know you wouldn't, Prim. I know that," I try to reassure her. "I wasn't trying to hide anything from you. I just went over there when I woke up."

"You didn't tell me you were still having nightmares," she says, somehow sounding both concerned and hurt.

Her question surprises me again. Did she think they stopped just because I managed not to wake her and Mom for a few nights? "I have them every night, Prim. I thought you knew that."

"Does Peeta really help you with them?" she asks. She and my mother tried to help me with the nightmares when I first came back, everything from herbs to calm my nerves to spending the night with me like we used to in our old house in the Seam, but nothing did any good. Eventually I made them both stop; I wasn't going to sleep anyway, they may as well get the chance.

"I think he's the only one who can," I say quietly. "He's the only one who was there. When the nightmares were real."

Prim doesn't say anything in response, she just leans forward to hug me, and I don't hesitate to return it. It occurs to me that I may be seeing a lot less of my baby sister now. I take a good look at her as we sit back, suddenly second-guessing myself. "Are you going to be okay, Prim? With me moving out? Cause if you're worried, I can-"

"I'll be fine, Katniss," she cuts me off. "I'll have Mom here. And you're just moving up the street."

"That's right, I'll be just up the street," I say, carefully avoiding any mention of our mother. Prim notices this immediately.

"Mom will take care of me, Katniss," she says. "You never give her enough credit, she's been getting better for a long time now. She didn't go away for even one day while you were gone."

I can't trust my mother, not after the left us to die. But I don't want to fight about it with Prim, so I just make a grunt of acknowledgment rather than say anything. Her soft smile tells me she understands.

"I'll just be right up the street if you need me," I reiterate. "You can come over any time if you want to. Peeta and I are both here for anything you need."

"I know," she says. "Peeta's really nice."

I smile. "He is."

"Do you think you'll marry him?" she asks.

The question brings me up short. My first instinct is to say no. I've never wanted to get married, because marriage leads to children. But that plan also included never falling in love, and I've already broken that vow. And I as good as announced at breakfast today that Peeta and I would be engaging in the activity that actually does lead to children.

"I mean, most people get married when they move in together," Prim continues when I don't reply. She's right, unmarried couples living together is almost unheard of in Twelve. The practice isn't just frowned upon, it's impractical. For the merchants, marriage and children are an investment, insurance that there will be someone to pass on the family business to. And in the Seam, where just feeding yourself is often a struggle, few women are willing to risk pregnancy without a husband committed to support any possible children.

Of course, Peeta and I don't have to worry about those issues. Neither of us will inherit a business, we don't need it with our Victor's winnings and we're not in line for one anyway. One of Peeta's brothers will take over the bakery, and the other will have to find work elsewhere, most likely with his father-in-law. To whatever extent my mother's healing counts as a business, Prim will take that over. And as far as children, I could support a litter on my own with my winnings, even if the idea of Peeta abandoning either me or his child wasn't entirely unthinkable.

If I were willing to consider having children. Which I'm not.

I force the idea of children from my mind, and instead actually think about Prim's question. I'm still resistant to the idea of marrying on a gut level, but all of my reasons for resisting are no longer valid. I was never going to marry because I was never going to fall in love – well, too late for that. I was never going to marry because I was never going to have children – except with the shots they gave us in the Capitol, we're not having children regardless of what we do. By the end of the day I'll be living with a man, with the man I love, sharing my life, sharing his bed. Would being married really change our situation much at that point?

"I don't know," I finally say. "Maybe one day."

"I think you should," she says. "It'd be neat to have Peeta for a brother. I really like him."

"So I heard," I mutter.

Prim looks away in embarrassment, but I can see that she's smiling. "I thought you weren't mad about that."

"I'm not mad, Prim, I promise," I say. "I'm just not used to you being old enough to talk about that stuff."

"I'm twelve, Katniss," she huffs, as if twelve is all grown up. I remember when I was twelve, I was still struggling trying to feed us all and I missed my father terribly and I measured myself against his memory and I couldn't have felt any more alone or any less grown up. But I did all of that for a reason. I did it all for Prim. I did it so Prim could have the luxury of not bearing the burdens of an adult, so she could have the luxury of gossiping about cute boys with her friends and feeling like that made her all grown up.

"Just cause you're twelve now doesn't mean I'm going to start treating you differently, Little Duck." I poke her in the ribs; she laughs and swats my hand away.

"Does that mean we can't talk about Peeta's ass?" she asks mischievously.

Inwardly, I sigh. Prim really is growing up. There isn't any medical treatment that Mom won't let her help out with anymore. She's old enough for the reaping; in fact, she was reaped. And now she's interested in boys, in a more obvious way than just hanging around with Rory Hawthorne. Part of me wants to try to keep her young for as long as possible, but I know what a foolish mistake that would be. Just look at how I react towards my mother when she tries to treat me like I'm younger than I really am. No, Prim is growing up, and if I don't want our close relationship to be left behind as just another relic of her childhood, then I need to do one of the hardest things I've ever had to do for her: I need to let her.

"Well…" I begin with another sigh, "It is quite nice." Prim giggles some more.

…..

An hour later, I'm up in my old room packing up some things. My flowery dress and toe-pinching shoes have been replaced by items of my own clothing I found buried at the back of one closet, some comfortable trousers and an old hunting shirt, and my worn-in boots.

I can't believe how much stuff I have to move now that the Capitol supplied me with a wardrobe. Peeta has just left with another box of clothes to bring to his house – our house – when there's a knock on the door and my mother walks in. It's the first time I've seen her since I came over. "Katniss, can I talk to you for a moment, in private?" she asks, closing the door behind her before I can even answer.

"Sure, Mom," I say, though I'm dreading this conversation. I really don't want to rehash everything we said this morning.

"I know your mind's made up about this, and I'm not here to try to stop you," she says, "but are you really sure this is the right decision for you?"

"Yes, Mom," I say. "I'm sure."

"I'm just… I'm worried about you, Katniss. I-" My mother seems to stumble over her words for a moment, but then soldiers on. "You don't know this, but when I was younger, before I married your father, there was another man I was dating. A merchant's son." Peeta's father, I think, but she doesn't say so. Apparently she wasn't watching the day Peeta told me this story in the cave. That or the Gamemakers decided not to broadcast it. "Our parents thought it was a good match. And he was a good man, who genuinely loved me. He would have made a fine husband and father. We were even discussing marriage. But I didn't really love him. I loved your father. I may have been happy with the merchant, but I would have lost my love. And I let that love make my decision for me. And even after… well, after, I never regretted choosing your father. Because love is the most precious thing there is in this world." She sighs. "I just don't want to see you make the same mistake that I almost made."

In this moment she's so sincere, so open. And for the first time in my life, I understand what she's saying about love. Though I don't want to admit it, I'm even beginning to understand what happened to her after Dad died. I almost want to hug her. "Don't you see, Mom? You have this entire thing backwards. Gale is the man that everyone expects me to wind up with. But Peeta is the man I love. And I'm making the exact same choice you did."

She stares at me for a moment, as if she's looking at me for the first time. I'm almost afraid she's zoned out again when she says, "You know I just want you to be happy."

"I know," I say, smiling a bit. "Peeta makes me happy."

We pack quietly for a few minutes. After closing up one box, Mom turns to me. I pause and look at her, expecting her to say something, but she's silent for a long time. She looks like she's searching for words. "Mom?" I finally prompt her.

She finally begins speaking, but still seems to be unsure as to what to say. "Katniss, I- You know that- Well…" She pauses and closes her eyes for a moment while sighing heavily. When she opens her eyes again, she finally speaks. "Katniss, I know I haven't been much of a mother to you."

"You abandoned us." I don't mean to attack her, but the words tumble from my mouth before I can stop them.

She looks like I just slapped her with my words, but after a moment she just nods. "You're right. I did. I wasn't there for you. And I can't change things now, I can't take back those years when you had to shoulder the burdens of a girl twice your age. But I can be here for you now."

"How are you here for me now?" I can't help but scoff. "You spent years in a grief-stricken stupor because you lost the man you loved, and all you've done since I got home is try to keep me away from the man I love."

Mom looks like I slapped her again. I have a feeling that if we keep talking about this it's a look she'll be wearing for a while. "I didn't realize you felt so strongly about him," she says.

"How would you realize anything, we hadn't even talked yet!" I'm becoming more agitated now. "You had barely said 'Welcome home' before you were telling the whole country you wouldn't allow us to be together. You could have asked me how I felt first! You could have at least met Peeta before you tried to force him out of my life! How did you think you had the first clue what you were doing when you did that?"

My mother sighs. "To be honest, Katniss, I really didn't think this whole thing between you two was… real."

This brings me up short. "What?" I ask dumbly.

"I've never known you to be interested in… boys, or romance," she explains. "And you spent all of your time with Gale, I thought that if you were interested in anyone, it was him. I just assumed that this whole thing with Peeta was some kind of strategy for the Games."

Part of me wants to snap at my mother, because that's what I'm used to doing. She still could have asked me first rather than make assumptions. But she's not entirely wrong; at first it was all about strategy. And if our love was still just an act, if I was looking for an excuse to separate myself from Peeta, I could easily see myself embracing my mother's prohibition. Being thankful for her quick thinking. Holing up in my too-big Victor's house and using my mother's proclamation to shield myself from the boy I was too afraid to love.

"It started out that way. As a strategy, I mean." I'm not entirely sure why I'm explaining this to her. I certainly don't want or need her approval, except that it might be easier if I didn't have to fight with her about this anymore. "I guess it worked a little too well."

Mom considers this for just a moment. "And what happens when the rush of emotion from the Games starts to fade?"

"That's not what this is," I say, the familiar frustration that usually accompanies any prolonged conversation with my mother beginning to build once again.

"How do you know that?" she asks. "I know first love can feel overwhelming-"

"That's not what this is," I say again, my frustration mounting.

"This isn't you're first love?" she asks, as if she's making some sort of point. "I know it feels real, but believe me in a few years you'll look back on this and-"

"Stop it," I say angrily, interrupting her patronizing dismissal of my thoughts and feelings. Who exactly is she to think she knows my mind and my heart better than I do? "You don't get to do that. You don't get to stand there and ignore everything I'm trying to tell you. You don't get to act like you know how I feel better than I do. Not when I've done more parenting in the last five years than you have." It's a low blow, and it earns me another of those just-got-slapped looks from my mother, but I'm too angry to care right now, all of my anger and frustration from the past month pouring out into this conversation. "I'm not young anymore, Mom, no matter how often you repeat it. Maybe you were young when you were my age, good for you that you had that luxury. But I haven't been young in a long time. Just because I was eleven when you quit being my mother doesn't mean you can still treat me like I'm eleven now that you've decided to try again."

When I finish my diatribe and see the pain on my mother's face, a part of me feels bad for hurting her like this. She doesn't even try to respond now, apparently as lost for words as I am. Part of me may feel bad, but nothing I'm saying is untrue, and in the end she brought this on herself with her actions. If she wanted to try to be a mother again, she could have done it without being so presumptuous and controlling. She could have simply been happy that I survived and that I found love and not made so many assumptions and not tried to keep me away from Peeta. Then maybe I could be more understanding of her efforts.

There's that word again. Understanding. Hadn't I been thinking that all month, that suddenly I was beginning to understand my mother's reaction to my father's death? That I understood what she had been going through? And as I look at her stricken face, the anger starts to seep out of me, and I suddenly feel the need to communicate this. To let her know that, despite everything that I blame her for, despite how I treat her sometimes, I don't hate her. To make her understand.

"Look, Mom," I begin, my voice much calmer now, "I don't know what's going to happen here. I get that you want to try to make amends, but the fact is I don't need that kind of mothering right now. I've learned to live without it. I've outgrown it."

Ugh. This is why I don't ever try to make people feel better, because I'm horrible at it. I take a breath and try again. "What happened after Dad died, it is what it is. I'm not saying it was okay and I'm not saying that I'm not still angry about it, but it's done. It's in the past. Nothing can change any of that now. But, we don't need to be trapped by the past."

For the first time in the conversation, my mother's expression improves slightly. I realize that that might be the nicest thing I've said to her in five years. But before either of us can say anything more Peeta opens the door and comes in carrying several empty boxes. "I think we're going to have to turn one of the spare bedrooms into a closet just to hold our two Capitol wardrobes-" he starts to say before finally registering who's in the room. "Oh, hello Mrs. Everdeen." He looks concerned when he finds us here alone, no doubt remembering our tense conversation this morning, but I flash him a smile to let him know everything's okay. Mom tries to smile at him, but doesn't say anything.

"Mom and I were just talking," I say to fill the silence.

"Well, that's good," Peeta says neutrally. He puts the boxes down on the bed and walks over to me. He goes to hug me, and leans his head down to whisper in my ear. "You okay?"

I look up at him as he straightens up and nod. His face visibly relaxes, "Do you want me to leave you two alone?" he asks quietly.

I look back to my mother for a moment. She's studiously ignoring us, staring at the half-full box in front of her. "Yeah, I think that might be best," I say. I gesture to the box Mom and I just filled. "Can you bring this box over? Just give us another ten or fifteen minutes."

"Sure, no problem." He leans in a gives me a quick kiss. "I'll see you later."

"Love you," I say quickly before he turns away.

I don't think I'll ever get tired of seeing the way Peeta's whole face brightens when I tell him I love him. "I love you," he says, and kisses me again before taking the box and leaving.

I look over to Mom to find that she's watching me with a curious expression. I quirk my eyebrows in question and wait for her to say something. "You two look different," she finally says.

"Different how?" I ask her.

"You're acting differently," she says. "You've been home a month and now you're suddenly acting differently."

It takes me a moment to realize what she's saying. "The cameras are gone. We can be ourselves now."

She shakes her head. "This isn't how you've been acting together off-camera this past month."

"We haven't been together off-camera for the past month," I say. "You and Effie made sure of that."

Mom sighs heavily. "Katniss, I was just looking out for what's best for you-"

I don't let her finish. "No, you weren't, Mom. Don't pretend that anything you did was for my benefit."

Mom looks hurt, and again part of me feels bad for making her feel that way. But she needs to see the truth. "Mom, I know you want what's best for me. I completely believe you when you say that. But you need to understand that you don't know what's best for me." Mom gives me a sad look, but I press on. "You haven't been a parent to me for almost five years, you don't know what those years did to me and you don't have the first clue what I went through in the Games. You don't know me, you don't know what I need, you don't know what I want, and you don't know what's best for me. I'm not trying to hurt you by saying that, but it's true, and if you really want to try to rebuild something between us then you're going to have to accept it. Otherwise you're going to keep doing more harm than good."

Mom considers this for a long time. "What do you want from me, Katniss?" she finally asks.

This is a question I hadn't prepared for. What do I want from my mother? "I don't know," I respond. "I've been fending for myself for so long. I don't think I know how to be a daughter any more than you know how to be my mother." I think for a long moment. "Just… Take care of Prim. Be here for her. She needs you, a lot more than I do. And us, we'll just have to figure it out as we go."

We go back to packing for a few minutes before Mom turns to me again. "I do love you, Katniss. I know- I know I've failed you when you needed me, but I do love you, and I do want what's best for you."

"I know, Mom. I love you too." She walks over to embrace me, and I hug her back. As we go back to filling boxes, I continue speaking. "Mom, um, I just wanted to say…" The words that have been forcing themselves out of me all morning suddenly dry up on me. But I know I need to say this now. "Everything that happened, after Dad died, I don't know if I can ever move past that. If you're looking for forgiveness, or absolution, or whatever. I don't think I could ever offer that. But I just wanted to say that, well, I understand."

Mom looks more confused than ever. "You understand?"

I nod. "Well, maybe not fully, but I get it." I think to how I felt for the last month, when I couldn't see Peeta. How I felt in the first days after my father died, before I made myself stop feeling anything because I had to take care of Prim. How I feel in my dreams, when I see Peeta die. I can feel my heart clench just at the thought. "I understand how someone's absence can choke the life out of you. How the world just feels empty and pointless. How the enormity of your loss can blind you to what you still have." I shake my head slightly, trying to clear it of these morbid thoughts. "I can't forgive you for what happened to Prim and me, I don't think I'll ever be able to do that. But I can understand what happened to you."

Mom doesn't reply for a moment. "And what brought on this, 'understanding?'"

"I finally know what it feels like to love someone like that," I tell her quietly.

Neither of us says anything for a moment, and in the silence I can hear the clomping of Peeta's gait as he walks up the stairs. I can't help the slight smile that ticks up the corners of my mouth at the mere thought of seeing Peeta again, even though he was just here ten minutes ago. Mom must see my reaction, because her face softens and she begins to smile as well.

Ever the gentleman, Peeta knocks at the door. I chuckle to myself as I open it for him. "Hey," he says, a huge smile on his face. "You guys okay?"

"Yeah. I think we're good," I say.

"That's good," he says. "Why don't you take a break? There're cookies in the kitchen if you guys want some."

I quirk my eyebrow at him. "Cookies?"

"Yeah, I brought some over with me. Though I'd hurry if you want any." He takes a few steps back towards the staircase and raises his voice to call downstairs. "Somebody came in from feeding her goat and started gobbling them all up, without considering that anyone else might want some!"

Prim's voice comes up from out of sight. "You had some too!"

"I had to make sure they came out okay!" Peeta counters. "That was just quality control!"

Prim makes a noise in reply, but if it was supposed to contain words they were muffled by what I can only assume is the cookie filling her mouth. I can't help but smile at the exchange.

"So," I say, trying to sound serious, "while we've been over here working, you've been making cookies?"

Peeta just grins at me. "Cookies are easy. The dough doesn't need to rise and they only bake for about ten minutes. When you said you needed fifteen minutes, I thought that's the perfect amount of time for some cookies. But, if you have a problem with me stopping to make cookies, you don't have to eat any." He tries to make a serious face to go with the last sentence, but it comes across as more of a pout. He looks so adorable that I just have to pull him into a kiss, both of us grinning.

We take about five steps towards the stairs before I remember my mother is still in the bedroom. I find her sitting on the bed, putting a few small items into a box. "Mom?" I ask. "Are you coming?"

"You two go ahead," she says. "I'll be down in a bit."

I just nod at her, unsure of what to say and not really wanting to analyze her thinking right now. Peeta and I join Prim in the kitchen, where she sits in front of a three-quarters full plate of cookies. "I didn't eat them all!" she protests, even as she holds a half-eaten cookie in her hand. I just smile at her and ruffle her hair.

I sit with the two people I love most in the world and enjoy freshly baked cookies with chilled goat's milk. Prim tells Peeta about how Lady is handling the move to the Victor's Village; apparently she likes the large lawn behind the house. Peeta asks for some cheese the next time Prim makes it; he has an idea to bake the cheese into a pastry bun. He thinks that the tangy, savory cheese will mix well with the slight sweetness of the bun. I'm skeptical, but he's the baker, so I guess I'll wait and see.

At one point I look up and see Mom standing in the doorway watching us with a curiously unreadable expression on her face. Is she glad to see her children smiling and happy? Sad to see a second person now helping to fill the void she left in Prim's life? I don't know. But when she finally sits at the table and Peeta passes her a cookie, she smiles at him. I take it as a good sign.

…..

Cheese in a bun? I can't imagine anyone who would enjoy that.

There's another scene I meant to add to the end of this chapter, but this was getting kind of long and the new scene isn't written yet, so I cut this off here so I could finally update.

The next chapter just kind of happened, a bit originally meant for the end of this chapter and a bit originally meant for the beginning of the next chapter, a fluffy little interlude from all the family drama, consisting mostly of Katniss and Peeta in bed together.

Preview quote from Chapter 5:

"You're my dream."