Katniss decides she wants space. She tells Snow she needs some time and she retreats to the dead child's room. There she puts all the photographs face down, then feels guilty and puts one back up. She wedges the doorstop under the door to keep anyone unwanted out. Not that she really thinks Snow would try to break in and do anything to her; no, she trusts him. But still, she sleeps with her knife clutched in her hands, sweating against the pommel, flickering in between sleep and waking.

It is so hard to sleep without him beside her. She lies awake and stares at the ceiling, and then she stares at the walls plastered with whatever posters a dead girl treasured. In the weak light she can just about make out a poster of all the most popular Hunger Games victors stuck to the wall opposite the bed. The faces swim in the darkness, fading in and out of focus, but eventually she finds the wobbly phantom of her own face, then Peeta's, then Johanna Mason's. Johanna. Whatever happened to her? Still in the Capitol, presumably. Is she Coin's ally still? Katniss' enemy?

Her exhaustion and her anxiety and loneliness eat at her consciousness, and then after an hour she drags herself out of bed with defeat and annoyance. It is so easy to go to Snow, like a low current pulls her ever towards the black center of his quiet, pretty maelstrom. He says nothing to her when she pushes into his room or into his bed; he only opens his arms to her with reassurance and with love. Head on his chest, breathing in time with his heartbeat, she is asleep in moments.

Katniss wakes to the distant sounds and smells of cooking. Gorgeous spring dawn light floods the room. The weird cobwebs of unpleasantness have blown away in the light of day and she feels no fear as she slips from the bed, then wanders barefoot into the kitchen. There is Snow, dressed in his neat new shirt and black pants and a smile, cooking her breakfast.

He looks at her. Those smiles are pins in her butterfly wings. 'Good morning, my dear. Are you hungry? I attempted pancakes, though we lack milk. I did, however, find honey in the cabinets.'

Katniss sinks down at the table and smiles faintly as she is served her lovingly-made breakfast. Today there is a vase of daffodils on the table. Snow has stacked the pancakes absolutely perfectly.

He sits opposite her and she begins to eat, still not speaking, dousing her pancakes in honey and cutting them up. They are a bit dry, but delicious when they swim in the honey.

Snow, she notices, is not eating.

'Aren't you hungry?'

'I already ate. And I could only find the one egg while foraging, so I would rather you enjoyed the bounty.'

For a brief moment, she wonders if he has poisoned the food. But no. He likes her too much.

He loves you, she thinks, and she smells daffodils and honey and blood on his breath.

Snow does not bother her. He watches her, though. He so enjoys to watch her eat, to breathe, to live. Like he cannot believe the majesty of her. It's flattering, yes, and it fills her with syrupy fear.

When her plate is empty, Katniss lifts it and licks off the honey like she used to do as a child. Honey was a very rare treat and they never wasted a drop. When she lays the plate down, Snow is staring at her like he would like to peel open her face to find out where her tongue has gone.

'So,' she says, tidying her knife and fork. 'I've been thinking about what I want.'

Snow keeps smiling. 'You want me,' he supplies helpfully.

Her smile is thin. 'Maybe. Right now, I'd like to go for a walk. With you. Outside, in the sunshine. Clear the air, clear our heads.'

'That sounds lovely, my dear.' He looks quietly delighted.

He is so easily delighted.

It is pleasant to walk. Not to hike, not to journey: just to walk, through the woods and around the spring, through the green starlight of shining flowers against the grass. They walk together in silence through the sweet-smelling air, around clouds of tiny insects, through heavy grass that bushes their legs, and they listen to the curious birds. Katniss doesn't say anything for some time, and nor does Snow. It is nice to simply enjoy his company and not have to tackle the hundreds of terrible, incessant questions that throw themselves against her mind like bugs on a windshield. Sometimes she looks at him and he looks back. She smiles, he smiles back. She has no idea if he's happy. Does a man like that experience happiness?

Experimentally, Katniss reaches out for his hand and takes it in hers. He smiles at this, too. It's just like a walk with any other boy, just like with Peeta. Lovers walking alone where it's quiet and beautiful. If she tries not to think about anything that came before, about the fire and the ashy skeletons, then this could be okay.

She shudders and drops his hand. Snow does not seem to care. So little affects him.

The thing about Snow, is that for all his talk of utilitarianism and rejection of essentialist ethics, she does not believe it. And she thinks on some level that Snow doesn't believe it, either. No good people, no bad people, only acts… It's not true. Snow is evil. There is a preternatural rot to him. Inside the grey shell of his heart must be thick yellow mucus, and bits of tumors, and something wheezing and wormlike that doesn't have a face…

But, but, that does not mean there is no hope for him. Peeta tried to kill her, and they helped him and he got better. Johanna recovered from her morphling addiction and her terrible PTSD, Katniss thinks. And she herself was dragged out of a violent and suicidal pit to become whatever almost-human girl she is today.

Perhaps there is hope, too, for Snow. She doubts anyone has extended it to him before.

'I want to give you a chance,' she says at last. 'I think you can do better. I believe that you love me and that you want me to be happy, at least in some way, and I believe that you can use that to try to be better.'

He smiles and tilts his head. 'Oh? And how will I accomplish that?'

'What you did to me last night was not my fault,' she says firmly, 'but I recognize that I failed to respect the boundaries you set in place. That was wrong of me and I'm sorry.'

'It is quite alright, Miss Everdeen.' He hesitates. 'But as I warned you, there are certain things you can't take back.' He looks at her, smiling and askance. 'I tried very hard to keep my feelings for you appropriate. But you wanted to take them out of the box to play.'

'Well, I don't regret it. I don't want to be in a relationship with you that's entirely one-sided. I won't lie and pretend it isn't nice to be the center of your world, and to be cared for and never have to want or ask for anything. No one has ever taken care of me before. Not since my father—' She cuts herself off. 'But I can't do it. It's dangerous.'

She can feel Snow studying her with intense, bright absorption. 'I understand. What do you want instead?'

She takes a long breath. 'Vulnerability.'

He frowns deeply. 'I do not like to be vulnerable.'

'You've shown me vulnerability before,' she counters. 'I've seen you weak. Injured. Bleeding. Dying.'

He remains troubled and distant. 'Sexual vulnerability is extremely different.'

'Sure. And I give it to you, and I want it in return. I don't care if you think that's unfair. I'm not doing this one-sided shit. If you want to…' For a moment, she blanks on the word. 'Date me, then you have to be involved. Surely you've been in sexual relationships before? With your wife, at least?'

'I have never been a very sexual person, Miss Everdeen. My wife died decades ago. When we made love, it was purely for reproductive purposes. It was an extremely perfunctory process. We fulfilled our duties. My personal enjoyment or lack thereof was irrelevant.'

Something horrid clicks in place in Katniss' mind. 'Like Finnick Odair fulfilled his duties?'

'Yes,' says Snow brightly. 'It's just a physical act, Miss Everdeen. Nothing more.'

'If it's just a physical act, why can't you do it with me?'

He smiles warmly. 'Because I felt little for my wife. But I am very fond of you. That complicates things.' Sharp, genuine pain crosses his brow. 'I do not want to drive you away. I do not know how to indulge my sexuality in a way that won't… repel you.'

She tests her tongue in her mouth. 'Does this mean you wouldn't want to just… have normal sex with me? You wouldn't enjoy it?'

'I would enjoy it very much.' He continues to speak in his careful, delicate way. 'But it would require surrendering my inhibitions, and I cannot do that. You would see something in me. You would see the things about me I try to keep from you.' He gives a little smile. 'I have always been capable of charming people, of manipulating them. The way I present myself to the world is always some form of mask. But I have shown you more of my true self than anyone in a very long time, perhaps ever. And yet there are some things I must keep from you. I must remain in control of myself.'

Perhaps this should frighten her, but there is something so sad about it, too. 'That must have been difficult for you,' she says. 'Holding back from me, from everyone. It sounds exhausting.'

'One grows accustomed to such things,' he smiles.

Katniss thinks for some time. Does she even want to have sex with a man like this? Give more of herself over to him, become more vulnerable? Would it weaken his power over her, if she were able to get her teeth into his own vulnerability? Is this the way people ought to have relationships?

'Well, I don't see another solution,' she says. 'I want to respect your boundaries, I do, but I also can't be in a relationship with someone who doesn't show me anything of what he's really like. It's too lopsided. It feels like you're trying to control me. I can't do it.'

Snow slows to a stop and she does too. They are nearly back at the cottage. The whole world might as well not exist where they are right now. Just green and peace, the speckling of wildflowers, and the blue of Snow's eyes.

'Alright,' he says carefully. 'It is extremely difficult for me, but… I want to give you what you want. If you want me, then I want to give that to you. But it may take me some time for me to be ready to make love to you. These matters do not come easily.' He pauses, his eyes flicking away. Soft blue water, warm and gentle. He would not hurt her now. 'I love you very much, Miss Everdeen.'

She cannot help but smile. Then she throws her arms around his neck in a clumsy embrace and presses two, three, four kisses against his cheek. He smiles down at her with such bliss.

'Thank you,' she says. 'It means a lot that you're willing to try.' She gives a little laugh. 'This is such a weird relationship.'

'Indeed. But with time, with enough time, I believe we can build something lasting.' He tilts his head slowly. 'How much time do we have, Miss Everdeen?'

'What do you mean?'

He glances around them at the bright, beautiful day. 'Before we must leave for the rebel base.'

Katniss' smile slips. 'Oh. I don't know.'

'It's your decision,' he says brightly. 'We will leave when you are ready. Until then, we will spend time together. Even if we only have a little time, I want to spend it with you.'

Katniss rubs one arm. A low anxiety seethes within her. She has tried so hard not to think about what awaits them at the rebel base. She knows so little about it, really. Haymitch is in charge of the District 12 branch, sure, but how many people will be there? A dozen, a hundred? Will there be some clockwork bureaucracy when she gets there ready to swallow up Snow and digest him, or is it just going to be Haymitch — a friendly face, someone she can reason with? If she assures Haymitch that Snow will tell him anything he wants to know, that he'll be their ally, perhaps everything will be okay?

'Maybe it'll be okay,' she says, chewing her lip, turning back to the cottage. She doesn't believe that, not at all, but maybe Snow can think of some way to make it right. 'If you tell them you want to fight against Coin with us, that you're on our side… maybe it'll be okay.'

Snow laughs like April rain. 'Miss Everdeen, they will torture and then execute me. I have no illusions about this. You cannot either.'

She shoots him a wary look. 'How do you know they'll execute you?'

'I've known since the moment I saw you from my window,' he says, and he smiles with delight. 'I knew Abernathy had sent you to find me, and I knew there was nothing at the end of that road but death. Of course, every road ends in death — and such roads are short when you are my age.' His eyes are so, so blue. A clear lake into which she could fall forever. 'I was happy to go to my death with you. There is no one else I would rather have as an escort.'

Katniss doesn't know how to think about this. 'I don't want you to die,' she says simply.

'That is not a decision I can make for you. But we can stay here for as long as you wish. You are completely in control.'

Somehow, she does not think that is true.

Katniss doesn't need to think about the base. Put that out of mind. There are plenty of vegetables left in the garden and the cabinets are still well-stocked. And they could travel back to the museum and Snow's cache for more supplies, if they needed them. They could stay here a long time. They could stay here forever.

Back at the cottage, she leads Snow by the hand upstairs. He follows obediently, like she's leashed him, and when she takes him to the master bedroom he sits beside her on the bed without a word of question.

She chews her lip and she studies him. There is so much to like about Snow: his devotion, his meticulous care, his intelligence, his charisma, his skills, his love. There is ground enough here on which to build something beautiful.

'I'd like to try kissing you again,' she says. 'On the mouth. I want to see if I can handle it.'

Calm as a sea breeze. 'Of course, my dear.'

She considers him, his strange and handsome face, his eyes that burn with love for her. Kissing Peeta was weird at first, but she got used to it. She grew to like it. It never sparked sexual desire within her, but it became a warm and pleasant intimacy. Kissing Snow is different, but surely she can overcome her aversion?

She takes it slow. Places her small dark hand on his pale cheek, rubs one thumb on the curve of his mouth. Something in him softens. When did someone last touch him the way she does, with affection and care? Aside from his doctors, she might be the first person to have touched him with any intimacy in decades. It would be hard, she thinks, to go so long without a loving touch.

Then she tries her lips on his. This is not so bad; no, it's nice. Soft, closed-mouth press of her against him. She can taste the blood and rot as she breathes in, but it's tolerable. When she draws away, there is an infernal bliss inside him. Then she kisses him again, her lips this time transgressing on his, letting her saliva get into him, letting his get into her. Her tongue slides onto his and the taste of deliquescent corpses fills her. Wet bodies, falling apart. The bloated face. Too damaged to which bits are flesh and which bits are vermin.

Katniss pulls back and she gags. Honey-laced pancake-bile rises in her throat and she swallows it.

When she manages to turn back to Snow, he is unoffended. He is staring at her throat. He is fascinated by the desperate contractions her body makes when trying to throw up.

'Sorry,' she says, and wipes her mouth. 'Maybe we can… not use tongues, for a while.'

Snow glitters. 'We can do whatever you want, Miss Everdeen.'

She takes a moment to gather herself. 'Well, what I want are sexual experiences that feel more even. I want to feel something truly intimate with you.' She frowns at him. 'If you're not ready for sex then maybe we can do other things.'

'Such as?'

She feels so shy. Is that a good thing? Is that just because it's her first time? 'I don't know. I'd like to touch you. The way… the way I touch myself.'

Something inside Snow retreats from her. 'That is difficult. I have to be able to remain in control of myself, and that would necessitate compromising my control.'

It's hard to relate. She has had so little control over her own life that Snow's anxieties seem like a luxury. But this is not her first experience with a man who could not control himself, is it? It was not so different with Peeta, after his hijacking. Even when he was lucid enough to know he didn't want to harm her, he was still terrified that he might try. And what solution did they find?

'We used to handcuff Peeta,' she says abruptly.

Snow stares at her. 'I'm sorry?'

'After his hijacking,' he explains. 'To prevent him hurting anyone, or himself.'

Snow is not mollified. 'That makes sense,' he says, unsure. 'But I am not concerned about hurting you physically. I would never do that to you.'

'For Peeta, there was a psychological benefit, too. When he was cuffed, he knew he couldn't hurt anyone. It helped calm him down, and I think that helped him with the intrusive thoughts about how I was evil and corrupt or whatever.' Thoughts that you put in his head. 'It helped him.'

Snow's expression is his most perfectly contrived blank. 'You wish to handcuff me for sex?'

'Why not? When I first found you, I kept you tied up all the time. It helped me feel safe. This would help me feel safe too, and it would help you know that you can't actually hurt me.'

Katniss gets up and fetches her pack. There's not much in it now, mostly the tent and other camping gear, so it doesn't take her long to pull out what she needs. When she turns, Snow sees what she's holding and he does not try to hide his amusement.

'You're always asking if I trust you.' She holds aloft the zip-ties. 'But do you trust me?'

Reverently, he inclines his head. 'With my life,' he murmurs. 'Whatever it is you want to do with it.'

'It's more about the psychological benefit,' she explains, looking at the ties. 'You can relax. Be uninhibited. And you know nothing bad can happen. You won't be able to hurt me. I'll be the one in control. We'll both be safe.'

A weird smile graces his features. 'My dear Miss Everdeen…' And then, with smiling surrender, he assents. 'As you wish. What, exactly, do you want to do?'

Katniss considers the zip-ties. 'I'm not sure. I tie you up and then… Then I could just touch you. Feel you… against me.'

Snow makes a very low hm in the back of his throat and Katniss has no idea what emotion it expresses.

'You need to be careful. We do not have any prophylactics.'

She stares. 'What?'

'Condoms,' he says delicately. 'Even without penetration, there is still a risk. I do not want to get you pregnant. I would never forgive myself if I did that to you.'

She nods and tries not to let her surprise show. She didn't know you could get pregnant just by rubbing against one another. A good thing she has Snow to teach her these things. How useful it is that he is so experienced, that he is so much older than her.

'Okay, well… maybe I could just touch you. I've never done that before. Touched a man.'

Something sparks in his eyes and she sees that rare edge of desire.

So, he likes that. He likes that he's my first. It turns him on.

She can use that.

'Well,' she says. 'Take your clothes off and lie down.'

He smiles at this. He likes it when she tells him what to do. Slowly, smilingly, he unbuttons his shirt and reveals to her that naked chest she now knows so well. She thinks that she could draw the map of his scars from memory. He hangs the shirt neatly on a hook and then removes his pants. He keeps his underwear on for now and lies down in the bed, considering angles and spacing, then lifts his wrists above his head against the bars of the headboard.

'Go ahead,' he says.

It's just like the first time she tied him up, bound to that pipe in his rotting apartment. She gives him a little more room this time. She's not concerned with him getting loose; it's symbolic more than anything else. Give him something to help him feel secure — and to help her feel secure, too.

Then she removes her own clothes. He watches every shift of her fingers. What an endless fascination she is to him. He looks at her differently now, with a gilt layer of keen hunger. She wonders what, exactly, he wants to do to her. Does he really want to fuck her? Or does he want something else, to cut her open? To slide himself into her abdomen like she does with a blade in a hare's belly? She thinks about him fucking a new, bloody hole inside her and she shudders, but not entirely with fear.

Carefully, she climbs onto the bed and over his legs, positioning her naked body above his thighs. She sits and looks at him, her teeth working her lower lip, unsure what it is she should do next. Snow's muscles are hard beneath her skin.

'You're tense,' she says. 'I'm not going to hurt you.'

An insane smile pulls back his teeth. 'A pity, Miss Everdeen.'

She places both of her hands palm-down on his chest. He is such a different shape to Peeta. Everything a little looser, a little softer, and she wonders what her body will look like when she is his age. She rubs her hands on the soft flesh above his pectorals and she feels his chest tense as her palms shift over his nipples.

'It's okay,' she murmurs. 'You're okay.'

With slow care, like she's treating a wound, she slides down his underwear. How stark and strange it is for her to see his cock, to stare at it openly. She's seen it often now when they bathe together, but never so close to her. It's really nothing like the animal genitalia to which she is more accustomed; no, and its paleness and nakedness is odd to her. There is a crop of fine, soft pubic hair at its base, then the cock itself is smooth and large, and beneath it are the testicles with which she is so unfamiliar.

She can hear the blood in her ears as she reaches out to take him in her hand. She has felt Peeta against her before, between her legs, but she has never touched anyone like this, with curious fingers. The texture is not what she expected, almost silky, the skin very thin, the weight of it singular against her palm. She has no idea what she is supposed to be doing, but perhaps that doesn't matter. She isn't trying to pleasure him, she's just trying to learn what he is.

Snow's eyes are not on hers. They stare at the ceiling, his brow lightly frowning, showing neither objection nor enthusiasm.

Katniss' small fingers explore the contoured shift where the shaft meets the head, where it's a little damp inside. She notes how the foreskin shifts as her palm does, revealing a little more and a little less of the glistening part inside as she works her hand.

Snow's whole body adjusts beneath her and she glances at his taut chest, straining and uncomfortable. He is frowning more but he does not tell her to stop.

And so she doesn't. She lets go his cock for a moment to explore his testicles, which are kind of funny in the soft weights of them against her palm, and she suppresses an embarrassed smile at the way they seem to twitch of their own accord. She wonders if parts of her twitch like that, too, and she's just never been able to see.

When she returns her hand to his cock, she notes that it is harder that it was when she started. This is nice: exciting, private, secret, all hers. She wraps both her hands around it and experiments more with the soft slide of the foreskin, back and forth, back and forth, and this makes it harden more in her hands. There is a faint rosy flush to the top of Snow's chest and she thinks he isn't quite so tense.

He feels good in her hands, reacting to her touch the same way her body reacts to his. She feels her own excitement pulse between her legs and thinks about how close her tingling clitoris and the rest of her wet, private self is to his cock, which is now fully erect in her hands. She smiles and she massages it, intrigued by its size, curious about its shining tip. She can smell it now, too, musty and singular, and it makes her quiver inside to think about how it's her that had this effect on him. Has it truly been decades since someone did this to him?

'Is this okay?' she asks.

Snow's breathing is warm and thin, his eyes half-closed, watching her sleepily as she touches him.

'Yes, this is alright.' His voice is strained but soothed, somehow, like something inside him has finally been set into its correct place.

And Katniss cannot but delight in this new way she gets to know his body. She wants to kiss him, to lick him, to taste his chest and his soft belly and to know what the rich, dark scent of his cock would feel like on her tongue. Pale, cloudy drops coalesce at the tip of it, more and more as she strokes him, just like how her own body gets hotter and wetter at the thought of him.

Snow's voice comes taut and thin: 'Miss Everdeen, I can't… I won't be able to hold back much longer.'

'That's alright,' she smiles. 'I want to make you feel good.'

His face is still faintly regal even in its crisis. 'I don't want to… get you dirty.'

She smiles at this. 'I want this. I want to see you come. Will you do that for me?'

She feels the resistance in him: his tight abdomen, his clenched fingers, the sheer tendons of his arms, the attempt to buck his hips away from her hand. And then with one, two, three more shifts of her hand on his erection she forces his ejaculation. Snow's eyes close and his teeth clench and she is certain he is expending considerable energy in remaining as private and controlled as possible. But white semen pulses out of him regardless, spilling ropes over her moving fist, and one hot fleck reaches high enough to strike her chin. This, too, makes her smile.

When his blue eyes open, clouded with an intoxicated release, they focus on the semen on her face and melt into horror.

'I am so sorry,' he whispers.

She cannot help but be amused by him. 'This you're sorry about?' And with petty cruelty, she wipes the cum off her face with a fingertip and then puts it to her mouth. It tastes hot and bitter, much better than his mouth. His eyes widen in greater horror. 'You have weird priorities.'

He strains against the ties, tight discomfort and terror in his face. 'Please untie me.'

She does so immediately, sliding off him then working at the zip-ties. The second he's free he stands and strides from the room, shutting the door hard behind him, and a moment later Katniss hears the slow choke of tank water make its way through the pipes.

She hopes that she has not done something wrong. What if she hurt him somehow? It's not like she has any idea how any of this works. But he would tell her, wouldn't he, if he was uncomfortable, if he wanted her to stop?

She has to wait for a very long time for Snow to come back into the room. When he does, he has wrapped a towel around his waist and she can immediately sense the distance in him. He remains at the far side of the room and she lets him have his space.

'I apologize,' he says. 'Both for losing control and for leaving so suddenly.'

'It's fine, Snow.' She smiles at him, and even in his dourness she can see a light inside him echo at her happiness. 'It was nice. I liked doing that. Was it… was it bad for you?'

He shakes his head once. 'It was lovely. You are lovely.' He breathes in sharply. 'You are magnificent. Special. I have always considered myself different to the rest of humanity, separate somehow, above them… You, too, are different. Exquisite. And this is…' He struggles for the words. 'When I allowed myself to think of you in my idle fantasies, I thought of you killing me… Of crowning you… I saw you on fire… mulier amicta sole… I saw you as a blazing apocalypse… Perfect… Superb and celestial…' He shakes his head. 'I would never have pictured us engaged in something so… bestial.'

She pulls a quizzical face. 'But you don't mind when I get off? Only when you do it?'

He runs a hand through his hair, amused and perturbed. 'Miss Everdeen, seeing you reach orgasm is like watching the heavens fall. It does not compare.'

She swallows a smile. 'Well. I liked it. I liked it a lot. I want to do more of that.'

He remains only bemused. 'Really?'

'Yeah.' She shrugs. 'That's what people do, you know. Boyfriends and girlfriends.'

A little panic flutters through his face. He goes to fetch his clothes. 'Please never call me that.'

'What, "boyfriend"? Then what am I supposed to call you?'

Snow gives a sigh of pleasant despair. 'In my youth, the term we would have used is beau. But that seems rather inappropriate now.' He pulls on his pants, one leg then the other. 'Your fellow. Companion. Partner.'

'And what am I to you?'

Still despairing, but now more softly, he looks at her with velvet joy. 'Divine. An angel.' His blue eyes grow big like planets. 'Before the Quell, when I saw you in that chariot, on fire… You were the ophanim.'

Katniss does not know what he means. Then at last she says: 'Okay. Well, I want some lunch.'

Snow makes their day incredibly pleasant. He prepares a salad lunch and then she spends the afternoon reading and resting while Snow tinkers with the radio he brought from the cabin. He has found another radio in the cottage and taken it to pieces, and from this he adds some small doohickey to the cabin radio and then it bursts into crackling life. Snow sits with it and listens closely, jotting down notes, but Katniss has no idea what any of the transmission means. Lots of beeps, short and long, and then lots of numbers. But Snow seems able to interpret it. He does not let any expression betray his thoughts, but she does not think the radio is telling him anything good.

When the transmission goes quiet, Snow digs some board games out of a chest and he tries to teach her a game called Scrabble, but she's too embarrassed to play properly because of how bad she is at spelling. Instead they settle on a deck of cards and they teach each other games: he teaches her Hearts, she shows him Three Card Brag. They cook a big dinner together and she makes stupid jokes with him, and always he smiles at her like she's the sun itself.

Katniss has no intention of sleeping in the dead child's room again. Once they've eaten and drank and laughed together, she takes his hand and he follows her obediently upstairs. She gives herself to him the way she has learned how: kisses on his face and neck, and then, later, when he has allowed her to unbutton his shirt, on his chest and stomach. She rubs her face against his skin and his scars, and she licks the smooth patches of his burns just to feel the different texture of his skin. She undresses fully and he lets her remove everything but his underwear, and then she lies in his arms and lets him kiss her face everywhere but her lips, like she could burn him, like she could set him on fire.

He looks at her with love. 'Would you like me to touch you?'

Oh, yes, she would like that.

It's new for them. She lies down and he lies beside her, his fingers dancing over her shoulder. She smiles her welcomes at him and he touches her elsewhere, on the hollow of her neck, along her birdlike sternum, to the skinny wasteland of her scarred stomach, to her thighs beneath. It tickles and she cracks a smile, and he does too and he kisses her, and then he puts a hand between her legs.

It is strange to feel a hand other than her own touch herself. It's startling and pleasurable in ways that are new to her, with sparks of joy she does not anticipate. She gasps and she wriggles and Snow floods her with his smiles and his contentment. His gentle meticulousness is incredible. She is the only thing he cares about, her joy and her pleasure, the center of his world.

Does she need to give this up? What harm would it do to stay here? She comes trembling in his arms and he kisses her face, wet with inexplicable tears, and then she curls into his embrace and he rubs circles over her back. It's almost perfect, if she doesn't think about the quagmire of blood on which this coupling is built.

She lies naked on his chest and she draws letters on his skin, idly spelling out the words that drift into her. Mockingjay, girl on fire, president, Primrose…

'I love you,' whispers Snow against her, and she smiles. 'My Miss Everdeen.'

Her own smile widens at that. 'You're really not going to call me Katniss?'

'No,' he murmurs, lips on her forehead. 'You've always been my Miss Everdeen. Now you always will be.'

There it is, that tiny trip of fear that dances in her pleasure and happiness. What would happen if she ever had to leave him? Would he allow it? What would he do to keep her with him?

How lucky it is she is saved from these thoughts by the distant yet unmistakable pepper of gunfire.

They both sit up in the bed. The curtains are open and the window douses the room in moonlight.

'What was that?' she whispers.

Snow rises, walking almost naked to the window, and there he peers out into the garden. 'It's far off,' he says back, voice low. 'A mile, perhaps.'

More gunshots, a rapid pop-pop-pop-pop. Machine guns, she thinks.

She drags on her t-shirt and gropes for her underwear. 'What's going on?'

'I don't think it's combat.' Snow listens intently for some time. There is another burst of gunfire. 'It's one gun firing, always the same. The intervals between fire are roughly equal. Sounds like target practice. But who would be doing target practice out here?'

'Should we leave?' Katniss pulls on her pants and socks and shoes. 'Or just lay low and hope they don't come this way?'

'I suggest staying put.' Snow's eyes roam over the eerie, gunshot-filled gloaming and then he pulls the curtains almost shut, leaving one sliver to peer through. 'There is no evidence this house has been used by Coin's people, and it isn't visible from the road. We stay quiet. Come, keep watch while I get dressed.'

They switch places and Katniss peers through the gloom. There's nothing out there to see, just trees and grass and the deep, night-blue sky. But every minute or so, another spray of gunfire rings out. She cannot imagine what could be happening.

There are seven bursts of gunfire in total, and then silence. Snow goes to watch out of the other side of the house. Katniss stands by the window, so tense that her back burns after an hour. But no one comes. She only tears her eyes away from the window when Snow reenters the room.

'I think they're gone, whoever they were,' he says. 'Perhaps we should sleep.'

'You sleep. I'll keep watch.'

'No, Miss Everdeen, you sleep and I will keep watch. I need less sleep than you.'

She wants to argue with him, but as usual he's right. She sleeps in her clothes and boots, her gun on her hip and her bow within reach. It's hard to truly relax, but with Snow watching the window and watching over her she feels a net of safety keeping her soft and secure. Snow would never allow anything to happen to her. She is too precious to him.

In the rough sleep she is granted before dawn, her old dream of the rabbits returns. They run under the ground, one by one, and she can see the blades within shine at her as they must make some terrible wreck of their little furry bodies. But it is too dark to see, so she pushes deeper, deeper into the soil, and she gets closer to the blades, and when they slide past they sound exactly like gunfire.

'Miss Everdeen?'

She wakes with a start. Snow's hand is on his shoulder, his smile warm, the room full of early dawn. She rises and blinks away her sleep, fully alert.

'What? What's going on?'

'Nothing of note,' he says. 'But it's morning now and I would like to investigate whatever happened last night sooner rather than later. We need to know who that was and if they're still in the area, and move on if necessary.'

'Where would we go?' She swings her legs off the bed and stands, yawning. Back to that museum? Perhaps that would be nice, to be frozen in time forever with the skeletons and the fragments of ancient lives.

'I do not know. But this area is clearly in use. It might not be Coin, of course, it might be your rebellion.' He shrugs. 'Either way, we must be careful.'

'The rebellion aren't my enemy.'

'They are mine,' he says simply.

And what would the rebellion do if they knew she was keeping him from them? Would she become their enemy, just as she is Coin's?

They set out from the cottage and keep off the road, winding through the trees, stepping lightly and carefully. Katniss keeps shooting Snow resentful looks. If there is one thing at which he isn't talented, it's moving quietly. She could be a shadow against the bark, a bird flittering through the leaves. He, on the other hand, is six-foot-something of weight and presence. As much as she loves to feel that body against her in the safety of a bed, it's no good to them when trying to be stealthy.

They hear nothing, encounter nothing, until about twenty minute of walking. It's the smell that hits them first, drifting downwind. Fresh rot. There is not a sound to be heard, not even carrion birds yet. Katniss feels dread seep through her ribs and into her belly. She takes out her gun and gives it thoughtlessly to Snow, then draws her bow. He loads, she notches.

The trees thin slowly as they turn towards the road, and then the source of the smell is revealed. It's a mass grave: a huge pit, and bodies inside. The bodies are in layers, like a cake. Bright colorful clothing. Men, women, children. A pile of luggage and rucksacks a little way off. Possessions that had been tidied away in order to flee for a better life. All abandoned now. All their owners dead.

No words come to her, no thoughts. It has been a long time since she saw so many bodies, and never has she seen them so neatly organized. It looks like a box of children's toys for playing at war, so tidily put away.

Snow approaches the edge of the pit and surveys the mess. 'This is grim,' he remarks, although he sounds completely unaffected. 'Dozens dead. Fifty, perhaps.' His fingers draw lines through the air as he indicates the bodies. 'Have one lot lie down, shoot them. Have the next lie down on top of them, shoot those too. That's why we heard pauses in between the bursts of gunfire.' He approaches the edge of the grave and drops to a crouch, examining the mess within. 'These aren't soldiers. Just refugees. What on earth is Coin thinking? Shooting unarmed civilians who are running away. Pointless.'

'You've killed unarmed civilians,' Katniss whispers. She is trying not to look at any of the dead faces. Could any of them still be alive, buried underneath the corpses?

'Strategically, yes,' says Snow, straightening. 'But one bombs a town where unrest is brewing. Not terrified families en masse. This is just wasteful.' He shrugs. 'These people were killed because transporting them and putting them to work would have been too much effort. This is dreadful. Lazy.' Something catches his eye off to the side and he frowns. 'Miss Everdeen, please don't look over there.'

She looks immediately, unable to obey him, and instantly wishes she didn't. Dead women, maybe children, face-down in the dirt. Naked or half-naked from the waist down. Pale and bloody thighs. Discarded evidence of crimes.

'There are so many,' she murmurs. 'Why would she do this?'

'Because Coin is accustomed to ruling over a tiny, highly disciplined population and now she has an entire country to run. A messy, angry, starving country.' Snow grimaces. 'She was no doubt excellent at ruling 13, but she is out of her depth. Conscripting teenagers, putting them through six weeks of training, then sending them out to the middle of nowhere with the barest provisions and asking them to "deal with" uprisings. Of course this sort of thing would happen.' He sounds only annoyed. The pile of bodies does not cast so much as a ripple across his emotional state. 'This country was in a mess after my deposition. The loss of hydroelectric power alone was crippling. She didn't have the resources to keep this place in check. People will die and keep dying for a long time yet.'

'And things were so much better when you were in charge?' Katniss is feeling lightheaded. Her vision is blotchy and her ears are ringing. It's so hard to count the number of bodies in the grave. Fifty, did Snow say? What do fifty dead bodies look like?

'Of course,' says Snow, like this is obvious. 'There were many things to be fixed with Panem, yes, but I never would have allowed it to get this bad.' He frowns at her. 'This is upsetting you. We're going back.'

'I'm fine,' says Katniss. Her voice does not sound like her own. 'We should bury them, maybe.'

Snow comes close to her and lays a gentle hand on her shoulder. 'Miss Everdeen, there are too many to bury. We should leave. Come.' Snow takes her arm in his hand and corrals her, driving her back towards the cottage.

Katniss has no words. They've gone away somewhere deep inside her. She follows Snow in a daze, trying to piece together bits and pieces of things that have happened to make a story of her life. Coin is destroying the country. Haymitch enlisted her to find Snow to help stop Coin. Her job is to bring Snow to the rebellion. He can help; he knows things. Sometimes it feels like Snow knows everything. He could ruin everything and he could make everything better. And what is she doing? Is she escorting Snow to the rebel base, or is she hiding in a pretty cottage and playing house?

Back at the cottage, Snow sets her down at the kitchen table and gets her a glass of water. Then he brings her a block of dark chocolate, some ginger biscuits, and a small cake in a plastic packet whose branding reads Caesar Cream Cakes! with a cartoon of Caesar Flickerman printed on it. Katniss stares at these as though they aren't real.

'You should eat and rest,' says Snow, and he starts to busy himself with the kettle.

'Snow,' she whispers. 'Snow, we have to go to the base.'

'You're upset. You need some time to calm down. I'll make tea.'

Katniss shoves the food aside and holds up her head with her hands. 'We… we have to. I have to help the rebellion. Oh…' She puts one finger to her mouth, the knuckle against her bright teeth. 'I had no idea it was like this. I had no idea. I hid in the Victors' Village for years… I just hoped that Coin wouldn't kill me… I had no idea… I had no idea…'

'Tea,' says Snow, and he sets a steaming mug in front of her. 'Pine and clove. I gathered the pine needles from the forest and the cloves from the cabinets. You'll like it, I promise.'

'I don't want tea, Snow, I want—'

'There's hot chocolate,' he interrupts. 'We don't have milk, but if we add honey to the powder it will be a nice treat. You should eat the ginger biscuits.' He slides them back in front of her. 'If you feel sick, they will help settle your stomach.'

'Snow,' she says, and her voice is a little firmer. 'How many people have died? What does it really look like out there? Tell me.'

Snow's mouth is thin. 'It's bad, Miss Everdeen. District 11 burns. Little remains of 6. The loss of the dam in 5 has reduced it to chaos. Coin can't deal with the influx of refugees, so she has established internment camps. The death toll is significant.'

She feels sick. All of this while she hid away from the world in the Victors' Village, and it has only gotten worse as she went on hiding, in the woods and in tents with Snow.

'But…' She feels helpless. 'Don't you care?'

His face is black volcanic rock. 'No. As I told you, Miss Everdeen, I am retired. That means releasing my obligations to this country, which includes both ruling as what you might consider a tyrant as well as stepping up to selflessly offer my services to mollycoddle this wretched place. I gave up my ambitions.' A sudden, summery smile shines on his face. 'I gave it up for you. To take care of you.'

'But we could do something. We could help.' She speaks rapidly. 'I know the rebellion hasn't had much success, but you know things. You could turn it around.'

'To what purpose?' he says blankly. 'To install another babysitter? This country is beyond helping, in my opinion. It will stabilize, in time, and people will die in the process, but such is the nature of reconstruction.' He shrugs. 'I warned you, Miss Everdeen, long ago, back in your study. I told you I did not want a war. I never wanted any of this. But you chose—'

'I chose to do exactly as you told me!' she says hysterically. 'I just wasn't good enough! I couldn't stop it! It was too big for me!' She feels like she could fall apart. 'What was one teenage girl supposed to do against all of this? I was useless then and I'm useless now.'

'That is not true, Miss Everdeen.' Snow smiles. 'You had tremendous power. You just didn't have the power to use that power. There was always someone manipulating you.' He releases a sad sigh. 'I do wish things had been different. But they are not, and so we must accept that.'

'They could be different! Snow, we can do something about this. I can't keep hiding away and pretending nothing is happening, that people aren't dying. I didn't realize how bad it had gotten, and I didn't know I could do anything, but now I can. Now I have you.'

Snow looks extremely displeased.

'It's a waste of time,' he says. 'It will have little to no effect.'

'Little effect is still an effect! If we could only save a few people, some of the children, then that would be worth it, surely?'

'No,' says Snow simply. 'Not at the cost of your happiness and your wellbeing.'

She laughs in disbelief. 'What, my happiness is more important than children's lives?'

'To me, yes.' He tilts his head, watching her with inhumanity. 'Going to the rebel base will not make you happy. Enlisting in this war will not make you happy.' His eyes shine. 'You were incorrect before when you said I did not truly care for your happiness. I may be manipulative and my priorities might not match your own, but I care very much that you are happy. And I can make you happy. You can stay here with me and I will make you happy.'

'Stay here?' She cannot believe anything he is suggesting. 'In this cottage? A mile away from a mass grave, eating vegetables planted in the same soil where those bodies are rotting?'

Snow waves a hand. 'There is no risk of contamination at that distance, my dear. And if we run out of food, we can travel back to the museum cache. Or we can relocate there, if you'd prefer to be further away from the grave.'

She stares at him. In that moment, she no longer sees the kind, soft, strange man who showers her with kisses and love and devotion. It's just him. President Snow manipulating and cajoling her.

Well, she isn't a little girl anymore.

'I'm going to the base,' she says. The hysteria is gone from her voice. 'And you are my prisoner, and you are coming with me.'

Snow goes cold: his lips are thin, his eyes disdainful, and revulsion shades his expression. There is irritation there too, yes, lots of it. He looks her over. Looks at her hip, where her knife sits. Looks at the bow on her back. Katniss' eyes flick down Snow's body, where the gun she just gave him remains lodged in his belt.

Now she is afraid.

And then Snow releases a long, slow sigh. He draws a hand over his face. 'Alright. Alright. Of course. We will do whatever you want, Miss Everdeen.' He sighs again and runs his tongue over his teeth. 'A pity. What a waste.' His eyes darken. 'We could have been happy.'

Katniss slowly shakes her head. 'No, Snow. I could never have been happy here with all of this going on.'

His gaze is incomprehensible to her. 'I could have made you happy,' he says, voice firm, so utterly confident in his talents and his majesty that she almost dares to believe him.

Katniss decides they will leave for the base first thing tomorrow. She needs a day to pack and gather herself, to plan her route and to tidy up the mess of her feelings. She has been living in a dream these past weeks, ever since she climbed that stairwell and saw Snow looking down at her. That face from her nightmares beckoned her into this weird other world of soil and trees and huge blue mountains, and a strange old man. Now she must return to the real world.

She finds she is avoiding Snow. She requests her gun back and he returns it obligingly, but she still doesn't want to be around him. Half of her is distrust of his peculiarities and his whims, and the other half is a deep, aching, affectionate yearning for him. He is her first lover. He cares about her with the depth of an endless mineshaft. If she let him, he would take care of her forever and she would never need to worry about anything ever again. Why, he could love her into nothingness.

Their final proper dinner is silent and staid. The choicest vegetables from the garden, straining with ripeness, wet and good and alive on her tongue. One final bottle of wine — and then a second bottle, fetched by Katniss, listless and half-drunk already. She might never taste alcohol again, for all she knows. Just something to take the edge off. Something to help her not think about what will happen to Snow.

There is a funereal quality to their nightly ritual: teeth-brushing, pajamas, her brushing her hair, him reading his book. When she joins him in their big borrowed bed, Snow sets aside the book and looks at her, waiting for her command, ready to be whatever she needs him to be. Perhaps some part of him is still hoping that she will change her mind and stay with him instead, sinking into this bed, rooting herself in the soil.

First, she cries for a little while. Knees to her chest, tears silent save for her puppy-soft sobs. Snow watches, curious about the twitch of her lip and swelling of her cheeks. And then she kisses him: salty cheeks against his mouth, the shine of her tears rubbing off on his skin. She catches his lips briefly in turn, never too deep, skirting that rot-taste. And she kisses him elsewhere, along the verge of his beard and all over his neck that she loves so much to kiss, and his long ears and his strong eyebrows and his forehead and spiderweb-bright hair. Then she climbs atop him, seating herself firmly in his lap, and he kisses her collarbones in long, beautiful arcs.

Then she pulls off her shirt and she lets him kiss her breasts for the first time. Hesitancy laces his lips: tender like he is caring for them, somehow, pushing kisses onto her nipples almost with apology. She undoes his buttons swiftly and then presses their bare chests together, his rough hair against her flourishing breasts, and she starts to move her hips against him and the part of him she wants most of all.

It is more awkward to slide off her underwear and she is not as wet as she would like to be. Anxiety stymies her desire. Her teeth chatter a little. She rubs herself against the shape of him and tries to stir herself.

Snow's voice comes with soft concern: 'Miss Everdeen—?'

'It's alright,' she hushes him, and her hands go to his pajama strings. 'I don't mind if you lose control, or if you frighten me. I don't mind. I just want…' More tears flood her eyes. She cannot undo the knot. 'Why is this so tight…'

Snow's hands rest on hers. 'What are you doing, Miss Everdeen?'

'I'm… I want… I want to give you something, before… before we go to the base.'

'Give me—?'

Why can't she get his clothes off? Why can't this be easy?

'I want to give you… give you myself… so you can have something nice…' One string pulls free but there is still a tight, stupid little knot. 'I wanted to let you inside me… give you myself…'

'Oh, Miss Everdeen, I do not care about that.' And he gathers her against his chest like she's a ragdoll and he holds her there so tightly all she can hear is the gentle avalanche of his voice and the certain drum of his heart. 'My dear, the past six weeks with you have been the happiest of my life. You need not give me anything. You have already given me so much.' He pulls her back a little and kisses the tears from her face, and then he combs back her hair so he can stare into her grief with all the power of his love. 'Besides, you have already let me so deep inside you.' Starlight or moonlight or something stranger illumines his face. 'I'll be inside you forever.' Her tears bubble over again and Snow holds her head to his neck, and there she weeps. 'Hush… It's alright… It's alright…'

Slowly, she settles, lying atop his chest, face pressed into his neck, heaving with sobs. Beneath her, surrounding her, Snow starts to sing. That old song, just like the voice of her father. She remembers it so well.

'Oh winter, you've come, at the end of the year… Come now, my loved one, and sleep with me near… Cold mouth will kiss me once again soon… Now that my love is the man in the moon…'

Katniss does not know when she falls asleep. She opens her eyes slowly, somehow both exhausted and rested, and the room is bright with the beautiful morning. Her hand reaches out for Snow.

The bed is empty.

She sits up, panicking, turning around in fear and loneliness and the certainty she must have been abandoned — but no, there is Snow. He sits on the chair beside the bed, watching her. He is already fully dressed. His sweater and waterproofs are on and his boots are neatly tied, two little double bows. His backpack sits beside him, waiting to be lifted once again. His smile is kind. He is ready to leave.

She dresses in silence, collects her things in silence, leaves in silence. Neither look back at the cottage. They walk hard and fast, and sometimes Katniss wipes tears from her face, but Snow never enquires after her wellbeing. She knows why. Anything he says to try to comfort her could be misconstrued as trying to make her stay, and that would lessen her trust in him. All he can do is obey her. How it must pain him.

They conquer a good fifteen miles before night falls. They erect the tent with their practiced routine, him assembling the skeleton and her stretching out the canvas. They don't light a fire in case anyone spies it, and they eat from food plundered from the cottage. Snow has carefully wrapped some ripe tomatoes and Katniss accepts these in silence. They will not have fresh food again for some time.

They lie down together in the tent under stolen blankets, and only when Katniss is settled in the dark and Snow's breathing has slowed does she allow herself to sob again. She tries to stay quiet, to keep her voice a smooth and silent river of tears, but Snow always knows.

'Miss Everdeen—'

'Shut up. Please, shut up.'

There is silence beside her, then the shift of his head and his lips. 'I do not like to hear you cry.' A pause. 'Will you please let me hold you?'

She coughs around her hiccups. 'You can't. It's too cruel,' she says. 'It's all too cruel.'

He lies beside her and he does not hold her, and Katniss thinks some small part of her would rather die than give up the presence of this warm, peculiar body beside her. The body of a man she loathed. The first body she has loved, the first body that has loved her. Soon, the rebels will cut it up.

Katniss wakes with anxiety and the dawn, and Snow is already awake too. They disassemble their camp efficiently and set off once again. Their progress is good. Fresh and clear weather, their injuries healed, plenty of food: there is no reason now to dawdle. They eat up the miles and they do not speak to one another, and Katniss manages to stop crying. She has to be ready for the base. What will she find there? What will they ask of her? Will Haymitch even be there, or is it going to be a sea of strangers? Maybe they won't trust her, the unstable mockingjay who let President Snow live. Maybe the rebels will put her and Snow in adjoining cells and he can tell her stories to pass the skyless hours, and she can wind her sharp-knuckled fingers between his through the bars.

When the road they're following hits a fork, Katniss pauses and pulls out her map. Haymitch did not mark the base informatively: just one fat, anonymous X in the middle of a blank square, and inside that square is a smaller square. If her guesswork orienteering is correct, they should be standing opposite the big square right now. Across the road is the vague sketch of an ancestral ruin whose purpose she cannot guess. A shack-like structure which has long collapsed into the earth beneath its heavy roof, and beside it a stretch of tarmac. Some huge black and red sign says TEXACO. Otherwise, there is nothing but concrete and weeds and long-dead cars to see.

'This is it,' she says. 'I don't see anything.'

'It's probably underground,' says Snow. 'Shall we investigate?'

Katniss lingers. This is their last chance to run. They could turn right around and go back to that cottage and spend the rest of their lives together, or at least the rest of his life. How long would they have? Ten, twenty years? They live long lives in the Capitol; maybe Snow could make it well beyond one hundred. They could be happy, warm in that blue spring with the dragonflies, warm in each other's arms, giving each other care and pleasure and devotion, forever.

Katniss turns and properly looks at Snow for the first time since they left the cottage. He looks back at her. His eyes are the perfect clarion blue of the sky and his hair is blinding white. There is a serenity to him that she has seen often before, that sense that he floats above the world, somehow. There are so many men contained in that tall body. Her terrorizer, her protector, her lover.

Companion. Partner. Beau.

'What were you thinking,' she says, 'when we argued about whether or not we should come here? When you were… sizing me up?'

Snow looks at her without shame or regret. He speaks with confidence. 'I was considering taking you hostage and keeping you there, in the cottage. I was wondering if you could be happy there, even as a prisoner, and that you might one day forgive me. I was weighing up the quality of such a life against the quality of life we would have together if we came to this base.' He gives a small gesture: a small headshake, a small sigh, a small shrug. 'But I decided that it would not be worth losing your trust. That was very hard to gain and it is precious to me.'

She does not know what to say. She clutches her knife for childish comfort.

Snow is completely unperturbed. 'I am a pragmatic man, Miss Everdeen. You know that better than anyone. I had to at least consider the possibility of keeping you with me and if there remained a chance for our happiness. I decided it was not worth it. And I have done as I promised and followed your every command.' He inclines his head. 'And now, Miss Everdeen, I think it would be a sensible idea for you to put me back in those zip-ties. I am sure the rebels will be more reassured to see me appear in cuffs.'

It is a good idea. Heavily, with exhaustion, Katniss swings the pack from her shoulders and roots around for the zip-ties. When she hooks them on Snow's wrists, she notes that the marks are still there from the first times she cuffed him. Almost healed, but the scars will last. She rubs her thumb over the dimming purple line, like the tail of a comet fading against the sky. She dips her face and kisses it, just once.

'Okay,' she says, her voice hard. 'Let's go.'

Katniss in front, Snow following, they advance upon the abandoned ruin and she looks around for any sign of life. She had expected something big. A hovercraft bay, chain-link fences, lines of soldiers with guns. Even if the rebellion is in disarray and the whole of the District 12 branch is headed by an ex-boozehound with almost no combat experience, she still expected activity. Anxious, angry men with scores to settle. Teenagers with no parents looking for payback and purpose. Spite and fury, bullets and bitterness. But all she sees is the empty lot, nettles, and dandelions.

And then, in the center of the abandoned lot, what she took for a manhole cover swings open with a raw, crowing creak. There is no other sound. Katniss stares. Its black mouth gapes emptily for some long seconds. And then a man appears, head and shoulders emerging into the daylight, and Katniss takes a sharp breath. The man is Haymitch Abernathy, and he is smiling.

END OF PART ONE

This marks the end of Part I, The Wilds. It grew much longer than I anticipated. I will be taking a break before starting Part 2, The Warren. I am not sure how long, perhaps a month. I have other short pieces I would like to finish and post. I post material to my AO3 account (same name) that I don't post on here, so check that out if you want more of my writing.

Mild spoilers for the tone of the fic going forwards:

When I began writing my previous longfic for these two, The Shivering Season, I knew from the beginning it was going to be about an abusive relationship. We Wild Creatures was intended as an attempt to write these two in a healthier manner. Snow, the clever creature that he is, has snuck up on me with his manipulativeness and charm. There are darker threads to him than I intended and I am not entirely sure where he is going to end up. I do not want to put a label on this relationship as 'abusive' or not, but it's fair to say that matters will end up a little darker than originally intended. But he loves her, truly and deeply and obsessively, and he will keep trying to be the man she wants — and God forgive anyone who gets in the way.