A.N. at end !

I also do not own a single thing from the Hunger Games world. Thats that wonderful woman Mrs. Collins :)

Chapter 11

Delly stood in the walkway of the door, half in and half out, talking to Cara's mom about her updates. Cara was starting to look paler everyday and the blood transfusions were starting to dwindle dry. The District was not getting enough blood from the Capitol and Cara's prognosis became desperate for them. We started to ask around the District for donors and received some, but not everyone was her B type. We've been supplementing it with her Epo shots and fluids to bounce back a little, but there was only so much we could do. She needed blood badly. Delly and I had donated a few weeks ago, but we found that we were both A. To lighten our moods we agreed that if one of us needed blood we would just come with a needle and tubing to each other's house to help.

Cara's mom was complaining that Delly and the hospital were not doing enough and that she would take her to the Capitol instead of staying here in this "sorry excuse for a hospital" as she had put it. Delly's composure was just too good. She stood with her hands behind her back and leaning on the door frame as Cara's mother ripped into her, Delly's smile never faltering and her voice never unwavering.

"I can promise you, we are doing everything we can. The chemo is helping, she just needs to keep holding on. I will get an update from charge on when the next transfusion will be." Delly used her thumb to indicate she was leaving to talk to Ryn. She smiled hard as she slowly closed the door, Cara's mother screaming "You all are a bunch of idiots!"

"Yes, we know," Delly continued to slowly close the door, bowing as it clicked closed. "And scene. I want to fuck her up."

I covered my mouth to not let Cara's mother hear us snickering. A pump started to beep in my room so I went in to check on it, and the patient I had, a 70 year old woman who came in for chest pain, looked up at me and raised her cup.

"Thank you, that thing was driving me nuts," she said sipping her cup. From the smell and the tons of creamer and sugar packets in the trash, I assumed it was coffee and I tried not to wrinkle my nose. I pressed some buttons, seeing that it was just that her medication was done infusing, and I took everything off of the pump to trash. She held out her arm so I could disconnect her iv from the medication line and flush it.

"Sure thing, I guess sometimes us nurses get a little too used to the beeping and it becomes white noise," I joked, taping the remaining iv pig tail back to her arm. "How are you feeling right now? Everything seem okay?"

She shrugged, her eyes fixed on the TV. I couldn't help but study her; she was tiny, at least in terms of weight. Her gray hair was neatly bundled at the base of her neck, with a few flyaways framing her face and sticking out behind her ears. Her lips were thin, and her nose long and pointed—she reminded me of a witch from a storybook I had as a child. Her frail, bony fingers gripped the cup with surprising strength, as if she might drop it from the weight. Despite her delicate appearance, she had a formidable presence. After being released from the threat of being Reaped, she had worked in the mines for years. Her shoulders were strong, and her witty, sarcastic humor suggested she was either despised or highly respected in the mines.

"You know, the more you stare, the more clothes I'll take off, pretty boy," she said, sipping her cup and glancing from the TV to me and back. My eyes widened in surprise, and I nearly choked on my spit.

"Sorry," I stammered, struggling to recover. "What're you watching?" I started untangling and organizing her lines, tidying them up. I had a bit of an obsessive streak when it came to keeping things in order.

"This idiot from the Capitol," she replied, rolling her eyes. "He's going on about how the Capitol has 'graciously turned over its efforts of rebuilding the Capitol to rebuilding the Districts first.'" She scoffed and shook her head. "This guy is so clueless he'd scratch his watch and wind his ass."

I closed my eyes, pressing my lips together to keep from laughing. Shaking my head, I glanced at the TV, where the screen had changed to a segment about the Mockingjay.

"Oh, not this girl again," my patient groaned. "They need to leave her the hell alone."

A man with neon green hair and orange-tinted skin appeared on screen, smiling intensely into the camera. His overly white teeth looked almost artificial, even on TV. "Now, ex-Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee is joining us live from District 4! Mr. Heavensbee, please tell us, how is our Mockingjay?"

Plutarch smirked and leaned back in his office chair. "The Mockingjay… well, for one, she's still in 12." This elicited a laugh from the studio audience. I didn't laugh; it wasn't funny to me that she felt compelled to take drastic actions like assassinating the president to keep people safe. "I have heard, however, that she's been hospitalized recently due to a hunting accident. According to her guardian, Mr. Abernathy, she's recovering and still planning to join us for our annual Peace meeting."

My patient shook her head, muttering, "Always making headlines. She's something else, that girl."

Peace Meetings were started after the fall of Snow and served as a gathering of all the people who had been on the front lines of helping gain independence from the Capitol. It was a play on words of the original 'Peace treaty' that caused the birth of the Games. This included Katniss, some other victors, and Squad 451.

What they talked about, I have no idea. Every time they came back from the Capitol, Haymitch would soon after stumble into the hospital, clearly overindulged in alcohol, and there would be a new policy designed to 'better' the nation hitting the headlines. I assumed that's all they did. It also put Katniss back in the spotlight, making her the ringleader in decision making. They would also drag out old "Starcrossed Lovers" thing to capitalize on the love story that started the rebellion. So tragic, they called it.

The stories the magazines and other tabloids put out were nothing but lies and rumors. I think I remember one saying that she was pregnant. Katniss never struck me as the type to go "all the way" especially during such a trivial time, she was also as pure as they came. At least I had thought so.

"Oh! Our poor Mockingjay, how I hope she recovers! The entirety of Panem looks forward to hearing good news!" The Capitol anchor's voice was dripping with false sympathy. "Now, I will ask you this, Plutarch: Do you truly believe that the Mockingjay was… should I say, insane? To kill the self-appointed President Coin?"

He squinted into the camera, his lips pursed in a manner that suggested he was overplaying his concern. Perhaps this was a hot topic in the Capitol, though it certainly had been in District 13 when they debated her execution.

My patient's voice broke through, as if she'd been addressed directly. "Of COURSE she wasn't insane. That girl knew exactly what she was doing. Serves her right, too. Poor thing was just a kid trying to survive, and all it did was..." She waved her now-empty coffee cup around. "...ruin her life, her sister's life, and everyone else in her circle!"

I glanced at the woman, secretly agreeing with her. It tugged at me a bit, making me reconsider if I'd been too harsh on Katniss for her confused feelings. She was exhausted, fed up with everyone—Snow, Plutarch, Haymitch, Gale, Coin—anyone who tried to control her or dictate her actions. She was desperate for things to go her way for once, and taking out Coin seemed to be her only path to achieving that.

Plutarch's face appeared on the screen, his expression a mix of frustration and contemplation as he waited for the broadcast delay to catch up. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, furrowing his brows before finally speaking.

"The Mockingjay was out of her mind with grief. She could not have known what she was doing; that is all I will say about that." The broadcast cut to commercial, flashing updates on the screen. One was about the "Wedding That Wasn't Meant to Be" between Katniss and Keagan. Another noted "New Policies to be Approved at the Next Peace Meeting," and the last reported on protests from District 13 residents against Katniss's right to live. I shivered at that last one and rolled my eyes at the rest. The idea of Katniss getting married had always seemed far-fetched to me, especially considering her reluctance to conform to societal expectations.

"Turn this shit off for me, will you?" My patient handed me the remote, and I pressed the button to switch off the TV. "Now, I'm going to try to sleep. You don't need anything else from me, right, pretty boy?" Great, another nickname.

"Nope, just call me if you need anything." I turned down her light and closed the door just enough to block out most of the light while still being able to hear her monitor.

I sat back down at my desk and began charting some of the tasks I had been avoiding earlier, using the routine work to distract myself. But my thoughts kept drifting back to Katniss and Keagan, their tragic story infiltrating my mind despite my attempts to push them away. The sick and twisted events they endured gnawed at me. I couldn't fathom the nightmare of returning to the Games twice in less than two years, playing the role of star-crossed lovers, getting married at seventeen, and then announcing they were expecting. How anyone could look at their nervous, tense interactions and find anything enviable in their story was beyond me. I certainly couldn't imagine enduring it for anyone, maybe for her, but that's where it would end.

I recalled the day Keagan died, during the first day of the Quarter Quell arena. They had been traversing the dense jungle with Finnick Odair, a victor from District 4, and his mentor and district partner, Mags. Keagan had been swinging his machete to clear a path when it suddenly struck an invisible force field. The impact threw him backward, colliding with Finnick and Katniss. He lay there, unmoving. Katniss's frantic cries echoed in my mind as she screamed that he wasn't breathing. Finnick, skilled in CPR, started to pump his chest, his efforts a desperate hope against the inevitable. But after ten minutes of vigorous chest compressions and breaths, Keagan's cannon fired. I remember the square's haunting silence, pierced by Keagan's mother's anguished cry, and his sister holding their mother, her stoic demeanor betraying a grief so profound it felt like her soul was slipping away. They were from the Seam, with matching brunette hair and gray eyes—a stark reminder of Katniss's own background. I could do nothing to comfort them or alleviate their suffering.

Watching Katniss alone with Finnick and Mags after Keagan's death, seeing her isolated for the first time in the Games, was a helpless moment. All I could do was watch from the sidelines, feeling a deep, unresolved urge to support her and her people, more so than my own town. The screen offered no solace, only a stark view of her pain and the isolation she faced.

I sighed deeply, rubbing my face and eyes in an attempt to erase the image of Katniss's tears and her desperate pleas as she looked at Keagan's lifeless body. Her distraught expression mirrored the one she had when she told me to leave—an image that seemed to cut deeper now than it did initially.

"I can't afford to let anyone in. I am trying to protect both of us…" Her words echoed in my mind, and as I reflected on them, her defense mechanism of running away and isolating her feelings began to make sense. She was terrified of getting too close, afraid of losing me as she had lost so many others. Like her father. Like Keagan. Like Gale. Like… Prim.

The realization struck me hard. Katniss's pattern of pushing people away stemmed from a deep-rooted fear of loss—a fear that, if she allowed herself to care too much, she'd eventually lose them. It was a cycle of pain she couldn't escape, one I now understood more clearly.

I glanced at the computer screen and saw the date: it had been about three weeks since our… encounter. I stared at the time, willing it to magically turn to 7 PM. I needed to see her, to make things right, to try and break through the walls she had built.

Footsteps approached, and I turned to see Delly returning from her chat with Ryn. Her presence was a welcome distraction, but my mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of Katniss and the pressing need to address the distance that had grown between us. She may of wanted to stay apart, leave things as they are in a stance to protect me, but the times have changed. The world is a better place, and I was willing to try to show her that.

"Peeta, I don't know what to do with this woman," Delly said, frustration evident in her voice. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and crossed her arms over her chest. "She hasn't been around for weeks, and now she wants to play mom. And Ryn isn't much help either, not with this blood shortage. She needs this blood."

I shook my head, my lips pursed. "Delly, if I knew anyone with B or O negative, you'd be the first to know. I wouldn't keep that from you." My annoyance was evident, though I tried to keep it under control. I focused on charting and kept busy with menial tasks—restocking doors, folding towels, rolling up isolation gowns, wiping down surfaces. By the time I was finished, it was 6:45 PM.

I gathered my papers and compiled a report for my relief. Ryn came by, checking the rooms, her gaze satisfied as she glanced at the patients. Playing along with her usual routine, I bowed and handed her the report.

"M'lady, here is my m'bullshit," I said with a dramatic bow. She laughed, swatting at the paper and scanning it with a shrug.

"Not too bad of a day, huh?" she said, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. "How is this room's previous tenant?"

Despite her authoritative demeanor, Ryn had a soft spot for good gossip, and I was more than happy to indulge her curiosity… unless it was about Katniss.

I shrugged and pretended that I had to log back into the computer. "No idea, fine I guess. She isn't here at least." My tone was cold and Ryn definitely could see right through me. She stared at me, like trying to pry more information out with her eyes. "Alright, I went and saw her once or twice, she looked fine, shes eating and I'm pretty sure hunting since Greasy Sae's stall is busier than ever. That's all I know." All I *wanted* to know is what I wanted to add.

Ryn tweeked her mouth to the side to chew on the inside of her cheek and looked back into my patients room, then walked to Delly for the same purpose.

My relief came 35 minutes late and I wanted to throttle them but instead I gave a shit report and left them to it. Petty, I know, but 35 minutes late was something.

On my walk home, I stopped by the grocer to look at the meats. I glanced through them all, and nothing piqued my interest whatsoever. When my stomach growled I realized that I was hungry for that squirrel stew Katniss had made. I couldn't replicate it if I tried, and I definitely am not stealthy enough to go into the woods to get it myself. I pondered on this for a moment, when I realized I could maybe do what she does second best – trade.

At home, I showered and grazed on some bread I had made the other day while I made her favorite cheese buns. I put them all in a basket, some wrapped up in foil and placed into a spare Tupperware I owned so she could store them to heat up whenever she wanted to… and of course so she could have at least one way of storing her leftovers. But, knowing her she probably was going to just eat them all in one night. I grabbed the basket and a nagging thought told me to change my clothes. Originally I was going to wear jeans and a nice pale yellow button down. Groaning, I gave in and changed into sweats and a black t shirt, throwing my jeans and button up into the laundry. I didn't want to give the impression I was trying too hard for her, so dressing nice was out of the question.

I also couldn't understand why I was even going over there. Yes, I wanted things to be better for us, and I wanted us to be friends. I understood a little bit more about her worries and fears, but did she really deserve my effort? She had shoved me away after everything I've done for her, after all that I've shared. Why was I pushing through this hurt to reach out to her?

I blamed it on my innate need to fix and care. It was like a compulsion, this drive to mend what was broken, to help those in need—even when it seemed like they didn't want it. Katniss was clearly struggling, and she was pushing me away as a defense mechanism. Wasn't that the way people tried to protect themselves? But still, her harshness stung. It felt like she was shutting me out entirely, and I couldn't help but feel that my kindness was being repaid with bitterness.

Was I really willing to put myself through this again, to be vulnerable to her rejection? I knew that if I went, I was risking more than just my time. I was risking my emotions, my sense of worth. Yet, despite all this, I found myself unable to ignore the nagging pull to help her, to be there for her even if it meant facing her anger. Perhaps it was the part of me that still believed in the possibility of making things right, of breaking through her walls and reaching the person I knew was still in there.

Shoving my internal conflict aside, I grabbed my basket and headed out the door.

The walk there felt good; I liked moving my body. After the rigid, almost mechanical motions of working in the hospital, it was refreshing to walk at a more leisurely pace and take in the scenery. It was slowly slipping into the Fall season, but summer was definitely taking its sweet time releasing the earth. As I moved, I tried to pinpoint the exact moment when my anger toward Katniss had begun to shift. Frustration with her was nothing new—our history was filled with complex emotions—but feeling both angry and heartbroken at the same time was unfamiliar territory.

Was it only recently that I had started to feel this way? Or did I still need more time, not for her, but for myself? There were moments after my discussion with Dr. Aurelius when I felt my annoyance with Katniss start to bubble up again. I had to remind myself that my advances had influenced her feelings, and in her state of vulnerability, she had allowed herself a brief escape, a moment of pleasure. Part of me took a small pride in knowing that I could offer her that, even if the circumstances were less than ideal.

As I approached Victors Village, my stride grew more purposeful, and my confidence began to rise. I could see the living room light on through the window. The curtains were drawn back, allowing a perfect view of the sunset—a view that she always seemed to appreciate. Through the glass, I caught glimpses of her small frame moving about. My heart skipped a beat at the sight, and I had to force myself to steady my breathing.

The sight of her made my resolve waver, but I knew I had to be cautious. I wanted to reconnect, but I also needed to guard my own emotions. After everything that had happened, I couldn't afford to let my hopes run too high. As I stood there, I reminded myself that this visit was as much about understanding and making peace with my own feelings as it was about trying to mend things with Katniss.

The closer I got, though, the more the gloss of confidence started to chip away, like cheap paint peeling off. With each step, my initial resolve to make amends diminished, and all I wanted was to drop off the cheese buns, ask if she had any squirrel, and leave.

I reached her porch and knocked twice on the door. Stepping to the side to avoid startling her, I looked down at my hands. I chewed on my cheek and shifted my weight from foot to foot as I waited. Just when I thought I might have to knock again, I heard the door handle turn. It creaked open a crack, and I saw her face peering out.

"Hi… Peeta," she said, barely opening the door wide enough for me to see her. I forced a tight-lipped smile, and she glanced at the basket in my hands.

"Please don't tell me that's more strawberries," she groaned, her tone carrying a mix of annoyance and resignation.

I laughed nervously and opened the flap of the basket to reveal its contents. "Nope, not strawberries. Just a whole lotta cheese buns… if you're willing to trade with me. Also, Dr. Aurelius said he can't keep pretending to treat you forever. You have to pick up the phone."

The words spilled out before I could stop them, and I could feel my nerves getting the best of me. The effort to sound casual was betraying my inner turmoil, and I could only hope she didn't notice the tremor in my voice.

She opened the door a little wider and I could see she was wearing a long T shirt and tight boy shorts, her hair was braided to the side, her signature look, and she had cat slippers on. "You have to let me borrow those slippers sometime," I joked. She looked down at her feet and wiggled them with a small laugh.

"What do you want for those?"

"The slippers?"

"N-No. Peeta," she swings open the door and now I can see her entirely, her arm on the door handle still and her other on the door frame outstretched. "The cheese buns." She says slowly and almost sarcastically.

"Oh," I laughed nervously, closing the basket to keep the heat from escaping too soon. "I was hoping you had some squirrel I could have at home. I went to the grocer today, and nothing really grabbed my attention until I remembered that stew you made us a couple of weeks ago."

She glanced behind her and hummed thoughtfully. "I think I do. Come in, and I'll check. You can leave your buns—uh, I mean, the cheese buns—on the kitchen counter." She corrected herself quickly, a slight flush creeping into her cheeks.

I followed her inside, closing the door behind me. The warmth of her house was a welcome change from the cool night air. It was much more inviting than I remembered, and I hoped it was a sign she was taking better care of herself. I followed her into the kitchen, where she gestured for me to set the basket on the kitchen island.

She opened the fridge and freezer, rummaging through the contents. "Looks like I have a few. How many do you want?" she asked, her head still inside the fridge.

I peered into my basket, counting the cheese buns. "Well, I have two dozen fresh ones and half a dozen wrapped up that you can freeze. I was thinking I could take two per dozen, if that works for you?"

She nodded, pulling out a bag of squirrels from the freezer. "That sounds fair."

I watched as she handed me the bag, feeling a small, warm smile tug at my lips. Despite the awkwardness of the visit, it was nice to see her taking care of herself and her home.

Before the fridge closed, I noticed the box of chocolate-covered strawberries that I had brought over. The same strawberries that had heightened and ultimately complicated our previous night. Feeling a sudden boldness, I straightened up and put on a smug look. "You know, those strawberries will go bad, and the chocolate will taste worse if you leave them in there for too long."

Her cheeks flushed as she glanced between the fridge and me. With a resigned sigh, she opened the fridge and began tossing the contents into the trash. I saw that a few of the strawberries had already been bitten into, and I had to stifle a smirk.

"There, happy?" she asked, crossing her arms defensively. I pushed the basket of cheese buns closer to her, refusing to back down from the awkwardness I had created.

She bit her lip, and my confident façade faltered as I watched the small gesture. I could feel a twitch in my pants, a reminder that wearing sweatpants had been the better choice tonight. If I had been in jeans, she would have seen my reaction, and although I was enjoying making her uncomfortable, I didn't want to escalate it further. She reached for the basket, standing on her toes to peek inside, and grabbed a cheese bun. I smiled as she took a bite, rolling her eyes in response.

"I won't be able to finish all of these," she said, her voice softening a bit. "Plus, you're in luck. I was actually in the process of making some squirrel stew for dinner. Want to stay?"

I hadn't anticipated this turn of events. My original plan had been straightforward: get the squirrel, make a quick exit, and maybe, just maybe, offer a temporary fix to the awkwardness between us. The idea of trying to patch things up and potentially restart our strained acquaintanceship now seemed almost laughable. I was tempted to decline her offer, to leave and go home, but the truth was, I didn't really want to. The back-and-forth conflict within me was gnawing at my resolve.

I didn't need to rush home, though. My overzealous ambition to work extra hours to save up for the bakery had hit a snag. After a few slip-ups and nodding off at my desk, Ryn had decided I needed a break and granted me a week off. On the surface, I was annoyed, but deep down, I knew I needed this break more than I cared to admit.

"Katniss…" I began, but she looked embarrassed, as if she feared she had overstepped. Her cheeks turned a deep shade of pink.

"No, sorry, that's a bad idea," she stammered, starting to close the cabinets and the basket with the cheese buns. It was as if she was signaling the end of my visit. Her hurried movements suggested she was trying to salvage some dignity or perhaps avoid further awkwardness.

I couldn't let her shut me out again. I reached out and gently grabbed her hand, which was resting on top of the basket. My confidence and desire to make her comfortable returned, pushing through the uncertainty that had clouded my thoughts. "It's not a bad idea," I said softly, holding her gaze. "I'm here because I want to be. If you need a break from the noise, or just someone to share a meal with, I'm here for that."

I took a breath, feeling the weight of my own hesitation and the need for resolution. "I was just going to say that if you'd like me here for dinner, I'd really like to talk about what happened the last time I was here."

Her eyes widened, and she froze, looking down at her feet before glancing back at the stove pot that presumably contained the squirrel stew she was about to cook. The silence stretched between us, filled with the unspoken tension of our last encounter.

"I do want to stay," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. "I just don't want to have this thought hanging over our heads and make the entire night awkward. I want us to be friends, you know."

Katniss side-glanced me with a small smile before walking over to the stove and turning on the heat. "I don't know what you added last time, but could you do it again?" she asked, a hint of playfulness in her voice. I smiled and closed my eyes, trying to hide how hard I was rolling them. It was her way of saying "Okay." Whatever, I'll take it.

As I started adding the spices, Katniss tried to peek over my shoulder. I quickly covered the label with my hand and used my other hand to gently block her view of the pot.

"Peeta! Let me look! How else am I supposed to make it as good as you do?" she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. I turned my back towards her, adding the last of the spices and stirring the stew, putting the containers away in the drawer with my other hand, hidden from her sight.

"Looks like you'll just have to invite me over any time you make it," I said smugly, partly to get a reaction and partly hoping she'd agree to it. I heard her move across the kitchen and pull out a cheese bun from the basket. She took a bite, and though she tried to hide it, I heard the soft moan of satisfaction she gave.

"I guess I will. But, will you at least show me how to make these?" she asked, indicating the cheese buns.

Her question took me by surprise and stirred something inside me. It reminded me of my father, who used to make these cheese buns. I would beg him daily to teach me how to make them, always trying to master the recipe. He'd joke about me baking them in secret and setting up my own stall at the Hob. When he finally did start teaching me, I had a tendency to overstuff the buns with cheese, which caused them to erupt in the oven, leaving me scraping the cheesy remnants off the trays. His deep, hearty chuckle whenever he saw the cheese oozing out was something I cherished.

I realized I had stared off into space and Katniss waved her hand in front of my face. "Peeta?" I blinked and looked at her.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, of course I can."

She looked at me and cocked her head. "Where did you go?"

"I'll tell you later, your stew is about to boil over," I said dashing to the stove to turn it down. "Jesus, Katniss how high did you have it on?" I half laughed half shouted. She wrinkled her nose and made her mouth small, which then turned into her sticking her tongue out at me.

We sat at her counter for a little bit longer, just taking in the smells and eating cheese buns. She looked like she was investigating it, picking it apart and looking at it then tasting it, as if she was going to figure out every single ingredient from that strategy alone.

"You know if you keep frowning your face will get stuck like that," I teased.

She relaxes her face and then goes back to scowling. "Too late," she teases back.

I chuckled, wiping crumbs from my mouth. Now seemed like a good time to finally address the elephant in the room. "So, did you think we could talk now? I didn't think it would be appropriate dinner table talk," I said, leaning back against her kitchen island and crossing my arms.

Katniss deflated, setting her cheese bun down on the counter. I almost felt bad pressing her like this, but I was hurt too. This situation wasn't just affecting her; it was affecting me as well. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, her door burst open. A gust of wind and the unmistakable stench of alcohol invaded the room. Haymitch's heavy steps echoed as he made his way to the kitchen.

"Katniss, we need to talk right now, so whatever you're doing needs to—" He stopped short when he saw me, his expression shifting from urgency to a bemused grin. "I wasn't aware you were allowing commoners to enter your castle, Princess." Haymitch glanced between Katniss and me, then, with a dramatic flourish, he pointed to each of us in turn. "Unless this is… a prisoner exchange? Peeta, blink twice if you need to get out."

I held his gaze, deliberately not blinking for a few seconds. Katniss, clearly exasperated, grabbed a dish towel and threw it at him, but missed by a mile.

"You're not funny, Haymitch!" she called out, her frustration clear. Haymitch just shook his head, unfazed, and ambled over to us. With a theatrical flourish, he opened the pot on the stove and peered inside.

"Ah, squirrel stew," he announced, as if he were unveiling a masterpiece. "I suppose if I'm interrupting your heart-to-heart, I might as well see what's for dinner." He took a sip from his flask and grinned, clearly relishing the disruption he'd caused. "And… I may not be funny but I am hungry. When is this going to be ready?" he takes a swig from his flask and waddles to the dining room table, taking a cheese bun on his way over. Katniss start to say something in retort to him taking her beloved cheese bun and I grab her arm smiling.

"Don't worry, I'll make you more and I'll show you how to make them. Promise." I laugh out, her scowl at me disappearing then reappearing when she looked at Haymitch.

"Stupid drunk," she mumbles. After another 30 minutes, I followed Katniss into the kitchen, me grabbing glasses and utensils and her grabbing the pot to bring to the table. Haymitch put himself in the middle chair of the table and Katniss and I took both heads. We start to spoon it out and eat in silence. I'm used to this since I live alone, but when I am around people I tend to talk a lot more during quiet meals.

"Hows your kids?" I take a bite of my stew, trying to not moan at how delicious it was, my craving being finally satisfied. I glance over at Katniss who is trying not to laugh with her mouth full.

Haymitch stops his spoon mid air and looks between Katniss and I. "Shut up. Anyways, they're fine. Annoying as all hell, but that's the price I pay for being such a wonderful caregiver."

Katniss stared at Haymitch with narrowed eyes, and he noticed. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I don't think geese retreat into themselves, and even if they do, at least they eat." He pointed at her bowl of stew, and without breaking her stare, she took a sip of the broth from her spoon.

Hiding a smile, I took another bite of the stew and looked directly at Katniss. "This really is great. Guess I was lucky to come over today." She shrugged one shoulder and continued sipping the broth. Haymitch, undeterred, grabbed another spoonful and maintained his intense gaze on her. I could sense the silent communication between them—unspoken but clearly understood.

Clearing my throat, I glanced between them. "Do I need to excuse myself for this?"

Haymitch leaned back, casting a look at me, then Katniss, and finally his flask. Taking a swig, he handed it over to Katniss. "You're going to need this more than I do."

Her gaze remained fixed on him, her eyes flicking only briefly toward the flask, never answering. I felt a twinge of sympathy for Haymitch; he was definitely in the line of fire. He looked at me and sighed.

"Madam President is requesting that you make an appearance at this year's Peace Meeting. She said she's not going to continue the bullshit exile excuse any longer with the rest of the group. You know damn well you can't leave unless it's to the Capitol. Quit pretending otherwise," he said, placing his hands on the table with a firm thud. "We leave in a month. Think you can handle that?"

Katniss's face drained of color as she looked up at Haymitch, her expression a mix of shock and resignation. I could see the weight of his words settling heavily on her shoulders. I turned my gaze back to Haymitch, needing clarification.

"What do you mean, actually make an appearance? Don't you go to these meetings annually?" I asked, my voice rising in disbelief. The silence that followed was answer enough, and I dropped my spoon into my bowl with a clatter that seemed to echo in the quiet kitchen. My focus shifted to Haymitch.

"You mean to tell me you've all been making decisions and blaming her for them? The choices they've made?" My eyes snapped back to Katniss, feeling a surge of anger. "And you just sat back and let it happen?"

Just last year, the announcement had come—a grim decree that on behalf of the Mockingjay, they would commence the execution of anyone involved in the creation and continuation of the Hunger Games, as well as those who held top secrets with the Snow family. They even declared that any remaining family members, regardless of age, were to be executed. It was meant to be a statement, a stamp on the nation, saying that we would not let history repeat itself. The sheer brutality of it stunned me. These people were not just faceless monsters; they were mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons, and daughters. And now they were being condemned to death.

Wasn't there enough death already, with the firebombing of the Districts?

Katniss lifted her gaze from her bowl, the sheen of unshed tears reflecting the kitchen's dim light. She didn't need to say anything; I knew she understood exactly why I was upset. It wasn't just about the decisions, but the silence—the way she seemed to let them carry on, condoning what we had fought so hard against.

"I couldn't…" she began, her voice shaky. "I didn't want to go. I was a symbol, a pawn, for so… long. They were insane to think I could make any decision. So, I let myself be a symbol again," she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, her lips trembling. "I couldn't get back on that train. Not again."

Haymitch's face softened, and he placed a hand on hers, his voice gentler now. "I know, sweetheart. I do. But Peeta's right. We can't keep letting them make choices and slap your name on it. Isn't that what we fought for?" He leaned into the word fought, making sure she felt the weight of it.

I swallowed hard, realizing my anger had been misplaced. I wasn't angry at Katniss; I was angry for her, for the weight she had to carry for years. But she had never been able to escape the shadow of it. That place—it wasn't just where decisions were made, it was where everything had been taken from her. It was where her sister had died.

I sighed and leaned back, running a hand through my hair. "Katniss, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come at you like that. I know that place holds so much pain for you. I just can't help but think about those people they executed—people who were guilty only of association. They didn't personally harm anyone. I heard they got Snow's secretary. She was just answering phones, scheduling meetings… she wasn't a threat."

My voice trailed off as I sat up straighter, feeling the weight of my own words settle over me. "But I get it. Going back there… it's not just about the decisions. It's about reliving everything. Honestly, I don't know if I could do it either, not after what happened to me there. It's where I lost my leg."

The room went still. Katniss turned sharply to look at me, eyes wide, then glanced under the table. Haymitch, ever the watchdog, whacked her arm with a napkin. "Jesus, Katniss! Were you raised in a barn?"

She blinked, startled, then gave a half-hearted laugh. "I—sorry. I just… I didn't know. It looks so real." Her expression changed, bright with realization. "That was you, wasn't it? You threw me back after the second blast! I can't believe I never noticed—"

I held up a hand to stop her. "Katniss, it doesn't matter. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Losing a leg is just a small price to pay when it comes to saving you. And besides, it gave me a deeper appreciation for the advances in healthcare and technology." I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Plus, no offense, but you wouldn't have survived it without me."

Katniss swallowed hard, staring down into her bowl as if it held the answers to all her burdens. Haymitch glanced between the two of us, and then, with a smirk, leaned forward. "Sweetheart," he began, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "you might want to reconsider not going. Who knows, you might find Peeta's leg while you're there. Bring it back as a nice little memento."

I burst out laughing, caught completely off guard. Katniss jumped, her eyes wide in surprise, but then she started to smile. It was small at first, just a twitch of her lips, but soon she was giggling, and before long, we were both laughing together. Haymitch, pleased with himself, grinned like a man who'd just won a game of cards, leaning back in his chair as he resumed eating like nothing had happened.

The tension in the room lifted, the heavy cloud of our conversation dissolving into shared laughter. We finished dinner not long after. Katniss, ever the host despite her protests earlier, gathered up the dishes. Meanwhile, Haymitch took a final swig from his flask, only to frown when he realized it was nearly empty. He set it down with a loud burp that echoed through the room.

"Classy," I muttered, still grinning.

He shrugged. "If you can't be classy, might as well be memorable. Take it from her. -Her-Partner-Into-A-Planter." Katniss stops her movements but doesn't retort, instead continues to move throughout the kitchen. Haymitch looks back to me and nods at the cheese bun basket on the center of the table.

"So, kid, you thinking about reopening that bakery up? I could really go for some Mellark cupcakes or something sweet. The only thing I get sugar coated are Katniss's sarcastic ass comments," I tweeked my lips to the side, thinking of what I told Ryn all that time ago. It has come into my mind once or twice, to start up the bakery again, but I just couldn't get myself to go stand where my house and my family's pride and joy once stood.

"Probably not, but, I will take suggestions and orders that I would be happy to take and deliver personally." I answered honestly.

"Hm, a small insider only bakery. Well, shit kid, makes me tear up that you'd let me know first," he pretends to wipe a tear from his eye and then stands. "Sweetheart, need help with the dishes?"

Katniss turns around slowly to look at him with her eyebrow raised. "You never offer to help with the dishes."

"I know," he belches, "I was offering the kids help. Goodnight." And with that he was out the door.

Ya'll know that meme of Leo in Wolf of Wallstreet where he points at the TV and whistles? yeah so thats how i feel rn bc THIS IS MY FAVORITE CHAPTER ! well, so far. we got a long way to go still .

I love to bring in my personal experiences into my writings, and the patient Peeta has in the beginning is actually very similar to a patient I had when I was in nursing school. She was honestly the nicest person I had ever met and really encouraged me to do well in school, and to always check the charting bc its not always right lol. I had her the one day and later on in school I checked back at her online chart and found out she had died. :( so just honoring her a lil :')

I also LOVE writing Haymitch. His humor just radiates with mine and my family's irl, super sarcastic and witty. You're never safe in my house from a comment.

I know some of your are thinking "Why is Peeta so forgiving lol" but I truly think thats a HUGE fault of his that I find in the books too. Hes way too trusting, and I do see that nurturing - need - to - fix personality in him. Like plz would you forgive someone for making you think they liked you and then shattered you in the span of 3 weeks? then didnt talk to you for 6 months!? nah, blocked. I understand why of course, they had a role to play. I really wish Susanne Collins wrote a Peeta POV, even if its just for the timeframe between the ending of Mockingjay and the start of the Epilogue just so we could see how Peeta thinks, instead of just hearing what he concludes to. just my opinion.

Anywho I hope you liked this chapter as much as I liked writing it! Plz comment, like, and follow 3