"So, what do you think? Is this OK?" Peeta slid the open book across the table so that Katniss could see his work.
"It's perfect." Katniss ran the tip of her finger along the edge of the book so as not to smudge Peeta's artwork. The bunch of yellow flowers was so lifelike she could almost smell them. "I'll add the information tomorrow, once the ink is dry."
Peeta looked at the clock on his kitchen wall. It was 6:45. "You better get going, the alarm's about to ring."
Katniss sighed. Tired. Annoyed. It was the same thing every day: wake up, go to school, check up on Prim, go to Victors' Village, rush before curfew, put dinner on the table, do homework, go to sleep, start again.
Life in District 12 had never been particularly exciting, but Katniss Everdeen had never lived within the confines of her district. She couldn't even remember a time when the woods weren't a part of her life. She had grown to rely on them for nourishment and needed them to bring peace and contentment to her soul.
Sadly, Peacekeeper Thread's hold on the district was tighter than ever. With everyone walking in a straight line, Katniss's days of roaming through the woods and stalking prey had become a thing of the past.
The arrangement with Peeta made her life easier. Having a regular food supply allowed her to keep a well-stocked pantry, and to enjoy a sense of ease she hadn't experienced since before her father's death. She didn't miss the constant worry of having to provide for her family -or the terror of going back empty-handed after a long day out in the woods— but she still missed the thrill of doing what most wouldn't; the sound of the forest moving around her; the smell of the trees; the soft brush of the mountain air caressing her cheeks; the feel of her father's bow between her fingers; the pride that came from landing that one perfect shot.
She still went by the fence every day —like a stubborn criminal returning to the scene of the crime— and every day, she was met with the buzz of electricity coursing through the wire.
Sometimes she didn't know what was worse, confirming the woods were still out of limits or knowing that —after her last adventure— she might not even have the guts to sneak out ever again.
Even as her days blended together in a monotonous repetition, Katniss still enjoyed a few things. Helping Peeta out in the greenhouse remained one of her favorite activities -the thought of the small glass building thriving in spite of its surroundings made her smile. But, lately, there was something else she liked even more.
On the day after her visit to her father's lake, Katniss had shown up at Peeta's back door with a shy smile on her lips and a sort of peace offering in her hunting bag.
She couldn't explain why she felt so rotten for having put him through the entire ordeal, but Katniss knew he had been worried about her, and hoped her small token would make up for the trouble she'd caused.
Peeta's mouth dropped open as soon as she produced her family's plant book, leaving it on his kitchen table with an almost theatrical flourish.
"Would you still like to work on it?" she asked, her voice tight with anxiety. She wanted Peeta to say yes so badly, her heart ached.
They had both mentioned the project in passing a few times, but her misunderstanding with Gale had made her wary. The idea of misreading Peeta's intentions scared her so much that she hadn't followed through yet, somehow convinced that the victor had only offered his help to be polite.
With the gentlest of touches, Peeta ran his fingers over the cover. "I do, but only if it's OK with you."
"It is," Katniss assured him.
Peeta pulled out a chair and sat down.
Katniss pushed the book in his direction and took a seat, watching as he opened the old volume and began peering through the entries.
"Where should we start?" he asked, smiling like a boy who's just received the best birthday present ever.
They worked on the book practically every day after that, always leaving it for last, as a sort of reward after all their hard work tending to Peeta's vegetable and herb garden.
Unlike the hours they spent in the greenhouse, -where Peeta chatted about the most random topics, usually making her laugh and pulling her into conversation— the time they spent with the book was one of silent reflection. Once they settled on the plant they were recording, no words were needed.
Katniss didn't understand why sitting like that, immersed in the comfortable calm they shared, thrilled her so, but, as days went by, she found herself yearning for those stolen moments almost as much as she longed for her time in the woods.
In the soft light of impending dusk, she followed Peeta's hands as he worked, making a blank page bloom with strokes of ink and adding touches of color to her previously black and yellowish book.
Sometimes, while Peeta diligently made sketches on scraps of paper trying to get every detail right, Katniss's mind wandered.
Three weeks had gone by since she had found Bonnie and Twill by her father's lake, and, in that time, no one had mentioned them again.
She wasn't surprised by Peeta's silence. As a victor, he had been to the Capitol, and to every other district in Panem, and he had seen all sorts of things — things she couldn't even begin to imagine— but he never talked about them.
She had never given that side of his life much thought before. But learning that Peeta carried a signal scrambler in his pocket and had another one installed on the kitchen wall -she was now convinced that the small disc with a green blinking light over his stove couldn't be anything else— had made her realize that the blue-eyed victor with the winning smile was used to keeping secrets.
But Peeta wasn't the only person who knew about the escapees. Gale had heard her story too and, after years of hearing him rant against the Capitol, his silence on the matter unnerved her.
Being so calm and collected in the face of actual rebellion seemed so out of character for her hunting partner, that Katniss began to wonder about him. Had Thread's measures tempered his spirits, or was he still fighting —secretly scheming with those discontents he had mentioned in New Years'? If so, had he approached Peeta?
The first option saddened her —she hated the idea of her friend's spirit being crushed under Thread's boots— but it was something she could understand. A lot of miners had been arrested recently. Ending up in the peacekeepers' cells was no joke. Katniss wouldn't have blamed Gale for walking away from his ideals when his family's safety was on the line.
But the second… the second option scared her so much that she pushed it out of her mind almost at once.
XXXXX
Days trickled by. Katniss went to school, checked up on Prim, worked in Peeta's greenhouse, wrote in her family's plant book, and kept her theories and questions to herself.
Deep down, she didn't mind. Holding on to her routine soothed her and, really, it wasn't as though she had much to say. When it came to politics, Katniss had learned from an early age to steer clear of trouble. Even as a small girl, she had understood the importance of watching what she said, always fearful —like her mother had been— that Prim might repeat her words and get in trouble.
Katniss had spent years ignoring Gale's heated rants not because she didn't agree with him, but because she didn't see the point of attracting unwanted attention when she had a family who depended on her. But things were different now. Something big was happening in Panem —something most people had only ever dreamed of.
As her days blended together with tedious dullness, Katniss began growing curious. She also grew anxious.
As thrilling as news of an uprising had been, hearing what the Peacekeepers had done in Eight sobered her.
Thread and his men had already done plenty in Twelve —and that was without provocation. What would happen if things got out of hand? Would President Snow show mercy? Something told her he wouldn't. He didn't seem like the kind of man who would think twice before killing off another district -same as he had Thirteen. Even if it was only to make an example of it.
The one thing that eased Katniss's mind was the fact that District 12 was small and weak.
Every time she replayed the conversation with Bonnie and Twill in her mind, she reached the same conclusion: it would take every person in the district to stand up to the Capitol for anything to really happen, and that would never be.
Gale was right. The tesserae system, the lack of job opportunities for people from the Seam, the way merchant businesses were passed down from one generation to another. More than the Games, these were the things that kept the people in Twelve pitted against each other, the things that made it impossible for a rebellion to succeed.
Even with all these thoughts pressing down on her, Katniss couldn't stop being cautious —couldn't forget that she had a lot to lose. Curiosity wouldn't put food on her table —and it certainly wouldn't keep Prim safe— so, Katniss bit her lip and did what she had always done: kept her thoughts and theories to herself.
Still, when she was at home, all the silence and prudence in the world didn't stop her from paying attention whenever she watched TV. Every night, she sat in her living room and waited for Bonnie and Twill's elusive mockingjay to show up on the corner of her screen. It never did, but that was hardly surprising, District 13 wasn't the kind of topic that came up in the daily news.
Her repeated failure to put the matter to rest frustrated her, but there was nothing she could do. She had a full, busy life. She didn't have time to sit around and wait for a random story to pop up on her screen.
XXXXX
Peeta stood up and stretched his back. He hadn't been painting for long, but the chairs in his kitchen weren't that comfortable, and he was tired. The long, sleepless nights of late were finally catching up to him.
A few steps away, Katniss began gathering her things. Now that winter had begun to withdraw, she had cast her old coat aside and gone back to wearing her father's old hunting jacket. The leather garment was a couple sizes too big for her slight frame, but Peeta suspected she liked wearing it because it reminded her of her dad. Whatever her reasons, he welcomed the change. It made her seem happier. She now looked a lot more like her usual self, the spunky huntress he so admired.
Wanting to keep Katniss around just a few minutes longer, Peeta asked, "Would you mind giving me a hand before you leave?"
"Sure, what do you need?"
Peeta pointed to a couple of wooden crates on his counter. "Could you help me carry one over to Haymitch's?"
Reaching the counter, Katniss slid her hands under one of the crates and pulled it into her arms. "Lead the way!"
XXXXX
Haymitch's house was worse than a pigsty. Mouse droppings, piles of unwashed clothes, and discarded wrappings littered the hallway.
Wrinkling her nose in disgust at the revolting stench of liquor, vomit, and burned meat that hung in the air, Katniss followed Peeta through the long entrance corridor and into the kitchen.
Alerted by the sound of visitors, Haymitch quietly slipped into the room.
At the sight of the victor, Katniss tightened her hold on her crate and shuffled back a couple of steps. She had seen Haymitch hundreds of times before, usually skulking around the Hob, but she'd never been close enough to smell him.
Surprise quickly gave way to disgust.
Maybe it was because she had grown used to Peeta, who was clean and stylish and handsome, and every bit what a victor was supposed to be, but she couldn't quite believe that the paunchy, middle-aged man with greasy black hair and gray Seam eyes who stood across from her had once won the Hunger Games.
Unperturbed by Katniss's presence, Haymitch pointed a half-empty liquor bottle in Peeta's general direction. "Hey, Kid," he slurred. "Whatcha got there?"
Peeta looked down at the jars and containers he carried. "The usual."
Eager to get back out to the fresh air, Katniss looked around for an empty space for her crate. Every surface seemed to be covered in empty bottles and dirty plates. "Where can I—,"
Haymitch waved his bottle in the air. "Just leave that on the table, Sweetheart."
The jars in Peeta's crate rattled as he dropped it on the counter. "Don't call her that," he growled.
Startled by the anger in Peeta's voice, Katniss stiffened. She had never heard him speak so forcefully before.
A dark chuckle poured from Haymitch's lips. Pointing his chin at Katniss, he asked, "How old are you, girl?"
Katniss pulled her shoulders back to brace herself from Haymitch's scrutiny. "I'll be seventeen in May."
"Ah!" Haymitch raised his liquor bottle as if in triumph. Looking back at Peeta, he added, "Don't worry, Boy, I'll learn her name when she's 18."
Peeta's lips turned white as he pressed them together to bite back a retort. Looking away from his mentor, he went to the kitchen table and began to move the dirty dishes out of the way so that Katniss could deposit her box.
"This place is a mess," she grumbled, too nauseated by her surroundings to be polite. "Have you ever considered getting a housekeeper?"
Amused by Katniss's discomfort, Haymitch tilted his head to one side. "What? You angling for a job, Sweetheart?"
"Ew, no!" Katniss shook her head in disgust. It wasn't a bad offer, even with all the filth, but she still had two more years of school ahead of her. "I don't have that kind of time. You need someone who can come here every day."
A wide smile broke on Haymitch's face, and he started laughing. "You hear this, Boy?"
Peeta nodded, his previous bad mood forgotten, replaced by a bright smile. "I think she's right, you know? You could use someone." He turned to Katniss. "Do you know anyone who might be interested?"
It only took her a second to find an answer. "I do," she said, adding an enthusiastic nod for emphasis. "I think Hazelle would be perfect for the job."
"Hazelle?" Peeta shook his head, the name unfamiliar.
"Gale's mother," Katniss explained. "She washes clothes for a living, but she hasn't had much work lately —what with the shortages, and all— I'm sure she wouldn't mind leaving that for something more steady."
"Could you tell her to come over tomorrow?" Peeta asked.
"Yeah. I'll stop by in the morning before school."
"Hey, I'm still standing here!" Haymitch complained. "Don't I have a say?"
"Yeah, yeah, you'll get your say," Peeta said, already moving to show Katniss the exit. He didn't want to keep her any longer. This had taken longer than he expected, and the curfew alarm was about to ring. "But it won't hurt to have her come by and take a look."
"It won't hurt you, you mean," Haymitch yelled back.
"Is he always like this?" Katniss whispered once they had reached the front door.
Peeta shrugged. Haymitch was more of an acquired taste. He didn't expect her to understand.
XXXXX
Katniss had just reached the wrought iron gates of Victors' Village when Peeta stepped back into Haymitch's home.
The old victor was busy rummaging through the contents of the crate Katniss had left on his table. "So, you know any of these people?"
Peeta leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "I know Gale. He's alright."
Haymitch pulled a big round jar out of the box and smacked his lips in appreciation. He loved pickled cabbage. Cradling the jar against his chest, he fixed Peeta with the most solemn look he could muster. "Alright, alright?"
Peeta nodded. "This is a good idea, Haymitch."
With a grunt, Haymitch twisted the jar open. After dropping the lid on the table, he turned to look for a fork. "OK. Set it up, then."
XXXXX
A warm spring sun shone on District 12 when Gale rapped on Peeta's back door. The young miner pulled his shoulders back and stood tall. This wasn't his first visit to Victors' Village, but he still felt the need to appear dignified in front of the victor.
"Gale!" Peeta's easy smile greeted Katniss's hunting partner. "Come on in." Stepping away from the open door, he waved towards the kettle. "I was about to make myself some tea. Would you like some?"
Gale followed Peeta into the kitchen. The door closed behind him with a soft thud. "No, thanks, I can't stay long. I promised to take Posy and Vick out to the Meadow."
Peeta pulled out a chair and motioned for Gale to do the same. "So, what's new?"
"Not much." Gale sat down, his silver eyes found the signal scrambler on the wall. The green light was on. "We didn't have any meetings this week." Holding Peeta's gaze, he said, "But I wanted to come by and say 'thank you.'"
Peeta's eyebrows shot up to his forehead. "What for?"
"Finding a job for my ma."
"Oh! Um… Well… I'm glad I could help." Resting his elbows on the table, Peeta leaned forward. "But, honestly, it was all Katniss's idea. I didn't do much, just… sort of… vouched for you, I guess."
Gale nodded. He knew the idea had come from Katniss. As soon as he had heard the good news, he had rushed over to her house to thank her.
Katniss had accepted his thanks, but she'd also been adamant: without Peeta's insistence, Haymitch wouldn't have hired Hazelle.
"Thanks for vouching for me, then." Gale lowered his eyes to the tabletop. The knots on the wood, visible under a light coat of varnish, had created a beautiful pattern over the surface. Using his index finger, he began tracing them, allowing his mind to wander back to his days in the woods. It all seemed so far away now. Almost like a dream.
"Things were getting tight at home," Gale admitted in a quiet voice that was almost a whisper, "but we can all breathe easier now."
Weighed down by Gale's words, Peeta's shoulders dropped. He knew how hard the winter had been for the Seam. The mines were fully operational once more, miners were getting paid their full wages, and essential shipments of grain and food were slowly trickling back in. Still, the shortages of the last months had done their damage.
Peeta had tried his best to spread his food around by leaving canned goods on doorsteps and windowsills and wherever else he could, but he knew it hadn't been enough to keep his people from starving. Not with the bitter winter knocking on their doors.
Peeta knew he wasn't responsible for the missing Parcel Day shipments, but he couldn't help but feel like he had let his district down. What was the point of being a victor if he failed to provide for them?
He was supposed to bring them honor but, so far, his victory had only given them oppression, hunger, and despair.
XXXXX
Fueled by the anger and frustration he felt every time he heard the curfew alarm, Peeta had decided to act.
The first time Gale had knocked on his door, Peeta had asked to be taken to one of those clandestine meetings Haymitch had mentioned once in passing.
Gale's eyes had lit up at the request —his excitement so palpable he couldn't even feign ignorance— and, to Peeta's relief, instead of acting coy, the miner had been accommodating.
A few days later, Gale had popped up at Victors' Village wearing his working clothes and a smug smile. Keeping to the narrow, deserted streets bordering the Seam, he had escorted Peeta to an abandoned warehouse behind the slag heap.
Almost one hundred miners were gathered there that night; haggard, weary faces that looked at their young victor with a mix of admiration and distrust.
Somewhere near the back of the room, huddled against a wall, Peeta found his mentor. "They've been waiting for you to show up," Haymitch whispered as soon as Peeta reached his side.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Peeta snapped.
Haymitch lowered his head. "Kid, when it comes to the Capitol and the Games, I'm your mentor, but this is something else. I'm glad you're here, but you needed to find this on your own. Things are changing, and you're the only one who gets to decide how deep you want to go."
Peeta took a quick look around. It wasn't the first time he was the center of attention. He was used to the Capitol crowds of adoring fans milling around him to gawk at his beautifully styled clothes, but this was different.
These people didn't care about his looks, his natural charm, or his riches; when they looked at him, they saw something far more vital: the possibility of change.
The hope in their expectant eyes was so raw it rattled him. He wanted to help them out, but he was little more than a boy caught up in the spotlight. Even if he used it to their advantage, how much could he possibly do? No matter what this crowd thought, he was no one.
His palms were sweating, and his heart was hammering inside his chest, but Peeta didn't run. Instead, he pressed his back to the wall and leaned towards his mentor. "So, how deep in are you?"
Haymitch took a swig of the small flask he kept concealed in his hand. "So deep, I'm drowning."
XXXXX
A new string of sleepless nights followed that first meeting. Peeta tossed and turned, waiting for day to break while he tried to come up with ways to help his district.
Thanks to Portia's phone calls, he knew District 12 wasn't the only place suffering from shortages. According to the stylist, people in the Capitol were complaining about the lack of fresh seafood and new electronics.
The news shook him. He had never heard of scarcity in the Capitol before. Could this be connected to uprisings in Districts 3 and 4, he wondered.
"I haven't had any problems," Portia said, sounding as carefree as ever, "but certain fabrics are almost impossible to find, and forget about getting wood for construction! Cinna had to stop the renovation project in his studio because his carpenter ran out of oak."
So that was it. District 8 was still out. Three, Four, and Seven had probably followed.
In an instant, he was transported back to District 7's Justice Building and the crowd assembled there on his Victory Tour. He remembered how Johanna Mason had stood before him with that crooked smile of hers perched on her lips.
Yes. There was no doubt in his mind. District 7 was causing all sorts of trouble.
"Minister Antonius appeared on television yesterday," Portia's soft voice broke through Peeta's thoughts.
Peeta's jaw dropped. This was highly unusual. The Capitol's Mayor only addressed the public on special occasions. "What did he say?"
"That the shortages are due to bad weather along the coast. He also said that the local peacekeepers are working hard to regularize shipments and that we shouldn't worry. He suggested storing up on canned goods to weather the storm."
Store up on canned goods. The thought made Peeta's stomach turn. Even in times of need, people in the Capitol had plenty of alternatives. Where had those canned goods been during the harsh winter months? Who had cared about how District 12 weathered the storm?
Keeping his anger in check, Peeta thanked his stylist for the call. "I'll talk to you soon," he added before hanging up.
Sleep was more elusive than ever that night. Even with everything he knew about Districts 3, 4, 7, and 8, and with everything Haymitch had told him about the rebels in the Capitol, he didn't have any real answers.
He knew people in his district were tired of being pushed around. The rebels hadn't asked him to do anything specific yet, but he knew they were counting on him to help them somehow. The problem was that he didn't know how. As much as he tried, Peeta couldn't escape the growing feeling that he was too young and inconsequential to guide them towards freedom.
XXXXX
Katniss reached Victors' Village with a smile on her lips. She climbed the steps to Peeta's porch with one extra long stride, and knocked her familiar tune on his back door.
There was no answer.
Standing on the tips of her toes, Katniss peered through the open window. The appetizing aroma of chicken broth bubbling gently over a low flame tickled her nose.
Katniss frowned. Where was Peeta? It wasn't like him to leave something unattended on the fire.
Without waiting for an answer, she opened the door and walked into the house.
Dropping her hunting bag on the kitchen island, she made for the stove and uncovered the soup pot. Everything seemed fine.
Lowering her face to the bubbling stock, she took a deep breath. The mouthwatering smell of vegetables and chicken warmed her chest and made her stomach rumble.
Carefully, she placed the lid back. She was about to head out to the greenhouse in search of Peeta when she heard a muffled wail.
Alarmed, Katniss froze.
A few seconds later, she heard it again. A faint, pained cry. It was coming from someplace close, somewhere inside the house.
Without even thinking, Katniss reached for one of Peeta's knives and gripped it tight. Treading as quietly as she could, she ventured into the hallway, keeping her ears trained on the strangled sound.
Her heart raced, beating madly inside her chest as she reached the TV room. Hiding behind the open door, she raised the knife and took a look inside.
The air went out of her lungs as soon as she saw him.
Peeta was laying on the couch with his eyes closed. He was asleep, but his body was stiff, his jaw set, his face pinched as if in pain as a soft cry escaped his parted lips.
Tears pooled in Katniss's eyes. He's having a nightmare!
Suddenly, the knife in her hand felt ridiculous. What was she going to do with it, slash the monsters haunting Peeta's dreams?
Quietly, she walked into the room and left the knife on a coffee table. She reached the couch and knelt by Peeta's side.
Her breathing quickened. She'd never been this close to Peeta's face before. She could see the freckles dancing on the bridge of his nose, the sunlight bouncing off of his golden eyelashes. They were so long she wondered how he kept them from tangling when he blinked.
Katniss closed her eyes and took a deep, soothing breath to settle her nerves. Then, with tender care, she did something she'd dreamt of doing for a very long time.
Peeta's hair was silky soft as she ran her fingers through it, starting at his forehead and pushing back that stubborn wave that always threatened to get into his eyes. She repeated the movement, slowly, delicately, trying to bring him comfort and to rescue him from his dreams.
With a sharp gasp, Peeta opened his eyes and blinked a few times. Disoriented, he turned to look around the room.
Deep blue found silver.
Peeta latched on to Katniss's gaze, allowing his mind to slow down as he waited for the fog of sleep to lift.
All the while, Katniss kept stroking his hair.
Gradually, his labored breathing settled, his eyes regained their usual focus.
Suddenly aware of what she was doing, Katniss dropped her hand on her lap.
"Hey," he said. His husky voice, thick with sleep, sent a rush of warmth through Katniss's body.
"Hey," she answered, sounding like she had run a full marathon.
A crooked smile settled on his lips. "Thanks."
Katniss shrugged. She could feel her cheeks turning crimson. "Looked like you were having a nightmare," she explained.
Peeta cleared his throat. "I was." Looking up at the ceiling, he quietly admitted, "I have them sometimes."
Katniss swallowed thickly. "I do too."
Peeta turned to look at her, worry etched on his face. "You do?"
"Mm-hmm." Looking at her hands, she said, "They're usually about my dad."
Peeta nodded.
A comfortable silence settled over them as they considered the information they'd just shared.
Other than Prim and her mom, no one knew about Katniss's nightmares. She couldn't remember ever telling anyone about them, not even Gale.
For someone who was such a private person, she didn't seem to have any problems confiding in Peeta. Somehow, sharing that bit of herself with him had felt right. It always did.
In the months since they'd began trading, Peeta had never judged her. He always listened to everything she had to say. He made her feel respected, valued.
She wondered if he felt as safe with her as she did with him.
Their peaceful pause was interrupted by Peeta pushing himself upright. "The broth," he exclaimed.
"The broth is fine." Katniss patted his knee as she stood up. "It's probably ready now."
Later, as they dipped buttered toasts into a hearty vegetable and chicken soup, Katniss asked, "Do you have them very often?"
Peeta looked up from his bowl. "Nightmares?"
"Mm-hmm."
Peeta ran a hand through his messy waves. "A couple times a week. Sometimes more."
Katniss nodded, silently berating herself for not having noticed before when all the clues were there. The dark circles under Peeta's eyes, his sluggishness at the end of the day.
She knew that whatever was happening beyond their district's borders worried him. How could it not, when the world seemed to be putting so much weight on his shoulders? But she hadn't considered he might have been losing sleep.
"Have you tried taking anything?" she asked.
"Like medicine?" He shook his head. "I tried sleep syrup once. It only made them worse."
"Yeah, I don't like it either." After taking another bite of toast, she added, "There's this tea my mother makes, it has chamomile and a few other things. It's quite soothing. It usually helps. I'll bring some by tomorrow."
Peeta smiled. It was the first real smile he'd given her all day. "Thanks, Katniss. I appreciate it."
XXXXX
They spent that afternoon in the kitchen, trimming and washing green beans so they could be pickled. It was quiet, absorbing work that soothed Peeta's restless mind.
He had just finished drying a glass jar when he noticed Katniss moving around the kitchen.
The huntress moved with the grace of a dancer. Every step —every gesture— was part of a carefully choreographed dance that had been rehearsed to perfection.
Unaware of Peeta's eyes following her movements, Katniss opened the dishwasher and began emptying it.
The soft clatter of silverware and china being put away filled the room.
Peeta stared in awe, watching Katniss place cups and saucers in their rightful place without even batting an eyelash.
It seemed incredible, to see her so at ease in this place —his place— when only a few months before she had been so reticent to be there. And yet… there she was, fitting perfectly into his life.
Peeta's chest tightened. The world was in turmoil. All over Panem, districts were rebelling, and District 12 might soon follow. What would happen, then? What would become of him, of Katniss, of his family?
One thing was certain, the future didn't hold many more of these quiet afternoons cooking in his kitchen. This moment here was protected by a most delicate bubble, one that wouldn't resist the changes that were coming. What would happen when it burst?
His thoughts were cut short by Haymitch's sudden intrusion. Without even knocking, Peeta's mentor pushed the back door open and began complaining about not being able to find some sweaters Hazelle had stored away.
"I don't see what the big problem is," Katniss snapped. "Winter's over. It's not like you need to use them."
"It's not about needing them," the victor glowered. "The problem is that everything is so organized that I can't find anything in my own home!"
"You could just ask Hazelle, you know?" Peeta opened a white vinegar bottle and poured the contents into a saucepan. "I'm sure she won't mind giving you a tour of the house if you ask her nicely."
Katniss's shoulders shook with barely suppressed laughter as she turned to fetch the container where Peeta kept the salt.
Haymitch threw his arms up in defeat and walked back to his house, grumbling insults under his breath. Katniss and Peeta's amused laughter trailed behind.
XXXXX
The sun was dipping below the horizon when Katniss went back home. Her feet took her to the Seam, but her mind stayed behind in Victors' Village. The thought of Peeta spending another sleepless night, alone in that big house of his, pulled at her heart.
A cold breeze kissed her cheeks, bringing her back to reality. With a shake of her head, Katniss quickened her step. The sooner she got home, the sooner her mother could get started on Peeta's tea.
XXXXX
It was late at night when Peeta saw the mockingjay for the first time. It was just a glimpse during a story referencing the Dark Days. The black-and-white underside of a bird's wing as it flew over the smoldering remains of District 13's Justice Building before disappearing over the upper right-hand corner of the screen
This doesn't prove anything, he thought even as his heart raced. It's just an old shot that goes with an old tale.
A few days later, he spotted it again.
A reporter, encased in a protective suit, revealed the results of recent tests showing that the mines of District 13 were still too toxic to approach. Behind her, the unmistakable flash of the same mockingjay's wings flew past.
Peeta knew there were a thousand explanations for what he had just seen but, deep in his gut, only one rang true.
Bonnie and Twill were right. Somehow, District 13 had survived.