The day that Katniss came out as the sole survivor of the 74th Hunger Games is when history would say she 'won it all' . It's the day the 'nobody' from District Twelve beat out the Careers and top picks and catapulted herself into the fabric of their lineage. It's the day she went from being 'just Katniss' to her full name- Katniss Everdeen- became a household name, unbroken from each other.

But Katniss would not remember this day in the same way.

To Katniss, this was the day she lost something so rarely talked about, but so valuable, and so heart-wrenching.

It was the day Katniss lost a 'maybe'. A 'possibility', A 'perhaps'.

It's the day Peeta died so she could live.

Katniss didn't think much of dating or romance. If anything, she held an aversion to it. She saw how her mother drew in on herself after her father's death and, if love had the ability to make you that sad, she wasn't sure she wanted it.

But even so, she was so young and hungry and restless and far too weighed down to think about what it might be like to hold hands with someone or send them blushing giggles across the courtyard, or share stories of your day while you held hands in bed. She'd only just started to consider a life like that, and the fact she may want it, because of Peeta.

Peeta, who was in love with her, for some unexplainable reason.

Katniss wasn't anything special. She was not so deserving of the love he gave her when she could give him nothing in return. He gave everything he had, and she couldn't even give him a proper display back.

But it had made her start to consider what it might be like if they won and got out of here, or if Prim hadn't been reaped and neither had Peeta. And, for the first time, Katniss could start to see a future of herself that wasn't always tired or angry or scared. And if she was all those things, at least she wasn't doing it alone anymore.

Then…Peeta died.

He saw the writing on the wall, and with one chaste kiss on her lips, hardly deserving of what he was about to do, he let go and told her it was okay.

And Katniss became the winner, screaming as she tried to claw for him, but Peeta was already gone.

And so was that kindling of hope that had begun inside of her, the one that made her think that being loved by someone maybe wasn't so bad.

Katniss wasn't sure she knew how to get that flame back.

XXX

They expected her to feel some sort of way about it in the post-interview with Ceaser Flickerman. All the dirt, blood, and sweat cleaned from her skin, as though the past few days had never happened. But she had the scars still. She snapped and growled when they tried to remove them, and for just a second, Katniss saw the fear in their eyes. And she could almost hear their voices in her mind.

Still feral, like all those District 12 miners. Children who fight and scrape anything together and can't stop, even when offered the world.

She is her own worst enemy.

She knew how this worked. She knew that everyone wore faces in front of the cameras, in front of the Capitol. Everyone was just a few short qualifiers, easily digestible tidbits to keep names and districts fresh in their minds. Like flat book characters that only cared about one thing.

You weren't explicitly told this, but from the questions Ceaser would ask one person but not another, it was obvious what narrative was being pressed onto each person. And those with money, or influence, were given better narratives than those that came from poorer communities.

Like Glimmer, from District 1. The princess, the girly girl, the giggly and bubbly one.

Or Rue, from 11. Innocent, sweet, genuine.

Peeta had been portrayed as 'sympathetic'. He'd played into it. And, at first, Katniss had been furious with him playing into the Capitol's hand like that.

"What other choice do I have?" He'd asked back, "Should I just roll over and let them paint me as some dirty, starved kid?"

Then, he had swallowed, eyes wide, "I didn't mean you."

Katniss, who barely knew him at that point, had withdrawn farther into herself.

"Yeah, you maybe did."

But he played his part. The sweet boy, heart of gold. A baker. Something domestic and useful. A painter; something playful and intriguing. And most of all, a boy helplessly in love with a girl. A girl that turned out to be Katniss.

She was perhaps furious because she knew that he'd saved her too with this. That the public opinion of her was already half and half. They loved Cinna's dress, of course, but they didn't love the girl in it. Why should they?

She came across as snippy, rude, and short in interviews. There was no reason for anyone to look at Katniss and feel an outpouring of emotion, except perhaps annoyance. She was scrappy, sure, but no one really cared what the other Districts further down the line did. They were meant to die politely in the beginning and let the careers duke it out.

The fact she didn't, even though Haymitch claimed that people always liked an underdog, probably ruffled some feathers.

But Peeta had planted doubt in their minds. If someone as charming and charismatic as Peeta Mellark could be so in love with such a girl like Katniss, surely there had to be something there, something they didn't see? Some redeeming part of her that made it make sense?

She didn't even think that part of her was real, not until just about the end when it was far too late.

She was so furious with Peeta, even now.

He'd saved her ass three times.

Some strong independent woman she was, right?

Still, she knew how they expected her to act in the post-interview. She was meant to be uptight, short-tempered, and maybe a bit socially obtuse. She had never proclaimed to love Peeta. She had no promises to them. If anything, they were expecting her to dismiss it, to shrug off his gift of life, something she didn't know how she could ever repay to a dead man, like it was crumbs from the high table.

If she did that, she'd fit exactly into how people wanted to see her.

If she showed emotion or cried, they may call her fake.

And Katniss didn't like the idea of being any sort of way about Peeta's death on camera, so she was forced to be the person they thought she was. Almost clinical, or unphased, with Peeta's final act.

What else was a girl to do?

It was only in her train car late that night that she felt the first sob rip through her throat. She rarely cried. It was a waste of time.

But she couldn't stop.

Haymitch must have heard, or someone alerted him, because he was there, awkwardly patting her back and making what sounded like attempts of soothing.

"Do you remember? What it was like for yours?" She asked, trying to stop the tears, but holding them in only made it worse.

"There were four of us, remember," Haymitch said with a sigh, "But only Maysille was the one I cared about. We were friends. The same grade. And she died minutes after me. I was with her when she died."

"Do you wish you would have stayed with her?"

"It might not have been different. When Snow wants something to happen, it usually does, kid," Haymitch said.

Katniss looked up, eyes rimmed red and a scowl set in place, "You're terrible at this."

"Yeah, well," Haymitch grumped, "It was either you or him."

"Do you wish it was me instead?" Katniss asked. She knew that Haymitch liked Peeta. Maybe saw a lot of himself in him. Liked his moxy and his intelligence. Haymitch, though he liked to masquerade as the Victor's drunk idiot, was much more smart than he let on.

"Don't ask questions like that."

"Because I won't like the answer?"

"Because they're unanswerable. I never see any of you survive. You always die. Having you here feels like a dream." Haymitch said, and this sent Katniss sobbing again, "What?"

"That's going to be my life now? Watching members of our town die, year after year? Training kids we know won't survive? That don't have a chance in hell?" She asked.

Haymitch was silent.

"I see why you took to booze," She said, sniffling, wiping underneath her nose.

Haymitch was silent still.

Katniss, now exhausted and having wrung all the tears in her body from her eyes, stared down at the nicest sheets she'd ever slept in, thinking about how absurd it was, compared to what she slept on before.

"How do you just go on?" She asked quietly, "Surviving? Knowing what happened and what's to come? How do I let it go, Haymitch? All this sadness, all this regret, all this wonder about what if Peeta somehow survived too and-,"

"You just…" Haymitch cut her off, looking unsure, "You just do. I wish I had a better answer, but you just put one foot in front of the other. And somehow, days just pass and move through." He clapped her shoulder, "But you have your family. That's a big deal. You live for them. For that cute sister of yours, and hope she never knows this horror."

"What happened to yours?" Katniss asked. She knew Haymitch had no one, but she'd never heard what happened or why. He always clammed up and changed the subject, or outright told people to fuck off if they asked. She half expected that now, but instead, Haymitch set his lips into a thin line.

"It was probably best, you know. That Peeta let you win and you two didn't try anything too stupid. Snow doesn't like being made a fool. He won't come for you if that happens. No; to end your suffering would be a gift. He adds to your tally."

Katniss felt hollow like her air had been punched from her gut. She stared at Haymitch, trying to wind together what he was saying, "He…killed your family?" She asked in one breath.

"Officially, of course not," Haymitch snorted, "But…" He just trailed off, swallowing hard, "I only made the mistake of thinking I bested him once. And still…there are fates far worse than death."

"I know what you mean."

Haymitch looked at her with pity. It was an expression she was used to but hated with a passion.

"Oh, kid," He sighed, "Let's just hope you did enough to be a non-player to Snow."

"Or?"

"I wish I could tell you. He's a master at psychological damage. So just keep that stony face on, don't make a fuss, and bless your happy endings. And maybe you'll make it to next year to watch another group of kids be slaughtered in front of you."

Katniss pulled the blanket up, "Strangely, that pep-talk sort of helped."

Haymitch laughed. A genuine one, something rare.

"Maybe we're much more alike than we like to admit." He stood, "Get some sleep. If you can. And if you can't, try not to think too much."

"About Peeta?"

"About anything."

XXX

Gale was like a waif outside her door, lingering, almost haunted.

It was three days after returning home. Or rather, returning to District 12, because 'home' was a loaded word now. Returning to the Victor's Village, with one single other occupant. Katniss had her pick of the houses, all beautiful and glamorous in their own way.

In the end, she chose one across the street from Haymitch, if only because she liked to see the lights on in his house, a reminder that she was not alone (even if she often felt this was the case.)

She is almost surprised he came so quickly, after a warm hug when she stepped off the train until she was reminded it was three days past. But between all the work being done, and the endless pointless questions Katniss had been barraged with ("What color do you want your curtains? What type of armchair do you think should go in the drawing room? Do you want a gas stove or an electric one?"), she felt like it had only been hours since returning home a winner.

It's quieter now. All the things have been ordered, due to arrive from the Capitol within the week. Luxury things that Katniss had no right to even look at, in her mind.

Why was she deserving of this? Because she killed some kids?

That was sort of fucked up, wasn't it?

Her mother and Prim were packing up the old house. She wondered if this was intentional. If he'd been waiting for them to leave.

"Come in," Katniss said, waving him through. An old friend was always welcome here. She'd take Gale over the leeches that were trying to claim to know her any day, "Welcome to, uhm, here."

It wasn't home, She wondered if it would ever be home, or if she would always feel like she was living someone else's life.

"It's…big…" Gale said, glancing around, "And, uhm, I like the…" He gestured unsurely around, "Trim?"

Katniss let out a laugh. She was so glad he was here. He understood the frivolity of all of this. Haymitch had gotten used to living like a Victor and enjoyed the finer things. He liked a good whisky. He enjoyed his sweaters that were hand-knit with cashmere, even if his had holes in it. He liked the food that he was able to get. On some level, twenty-four years past, Haymitch had forgotten how alarming it was to step into this life as a once destitute child of the Seam.

And Prim was just too excited for Katniss to share her jaded opinions with. And her mother was hardly someone Katniss spent time bonding with, so she'd felt set adrift trying to navigate the proper level of excitement to show these Capitol people, and always feeling like she was failing.

But Gale understood it immediately.

The thing that was throwing Katniss was that everything here was so clean. She was used to her whole life having a thin layer of grime and dirt overtop. The daughters of coalminers could hardly expect less than that. And, even after her father died, it seemed his memory lingered in the fact that nothing ever could be scrubbed to a perfect shine. Her shoes always seemed like they'd been stored for years, the beds always had a puff of dust when you sat down, and the plates always required a good bit of elbow grease before you used them.

But here? Katniss didn't even know things in District 12 could look so pristine. She kept waiting to wake up and find a familiar dust settled, and then maybe that would feel like home, but every day she'd woken up to an impossibly cleaner space.

Even the front of the hose, white marble, Katniss had laughed when she'd seen it. She'd thought, 'Oh, that will never stay like that', but now she wondered. She was given, not asked if she wanted, but given, a cleaning lady to come once a week, and she assumed that someone would be sent to scrub the facade of her house every so often. At least, whenever they were shooting promos for her Victory Tour and into the future.

The tour she was pointedly not thinking about right now.

"Come in, c'mon," Katiss said, grabbing his wrist like an excited child, thrilled, "There's so much to show you!"

Not in so much of wanting to show-off, but wanting someone to laugh that there were three shower heads in the shower that could fit ten people or to snigger at the closet in her bedroom that held two sad dresses, and how big it as in comparison and how it felt like a cave.

"Katniss, Katniss, wait-," Gale said, and now that she focused for a second, he seemed nervous, "When's your family going to be back?"

"I dunno, why?" Katniss frowned. Her mother loved Gale (or as much emotion as her mother showed anymore). And Prim adored him. He shouldn't be worried about making an appearance with her family returned.

"Katniss, I…dammit," He growled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Gale, what's wrong?" Katniss said, pausing, turning, and crossing her arms, "Is everything…okay?" Panic gripped her.

Gale must have seen Katniss' eyes, because he was quick to correct her, "No! My family is okay. It's not that. It's me. It's you."

"I don't understand…" Katniss frowned.

"When you got off the train. I wanted to, but I wasn't sure. Not in front of everyone. And that kid was infatuated with you. The one that died."

"Peeta," Katniss said sharply, irked that he couldn't remember the name of the man who saved her life, "And he wasn't a kid. He was technically three months older than me."

Gale gave her a withering, almost angry look.

"Gale, you're not making any sense," Katniss said.

Gale leaned forward, and she didn't realize how close he'd crowded to her and kissed her.

It was like alarm bells going off in her mind.

First, the shock that Gale, someone decidedly almost brotherly to her, was doing this. Next, the idea that someone was kissing her at all and she wondered when she turned into someone who got kissed.

And then, belatedly, a wonder if maybe this was how it was supposed to happen. Is this the future and the moving forward Haymitch spoke of? Isn't that how it went; you won the Hunger Games and settled down and found a husband or a wife and had kids and then lived?

But Katniss wasn't sure she wanted kids, not in this version of history- not when they could be reaped all the same as she was- and she didn't even think she wanted a boyfriend, much less a husband.

No, that was wrong. She did want a boyfriend.

This was the realization that hit her like a ton of bricks. It was something that had been growing ever since Peeta talked about loving her on live T.V. The question that swam in her mind; what it might be like to have a partner, or a significant other, to rely on.

And after Peeta died, she thought that possibility had been snuffed out entirely. But it wasn't. And Katniss' hope wasn't. She could see a future where she fell in love and planned a life with someone.

Just not Gale.

She pushed him away, confused, not by his actions, but by her own revelations.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Why'd you kiss me?" She shot back, "We aren't…" She struggled to explain it as delicately as she could, but 'delicate' wasn't usually the way she operated. Thus her current struggle.

"You asked if we should run away together," Gale explained it like she was a child, "Before the reaping. And I couldn't stop thinking about it. About you. About how you were trying to tell me-,"

"Tell you what?" Katniss cut him off, eyes wild, "I wasn't…that's not…" She swallowed hard, "If I misled you…"

"Mislead me?" Gale threw his hands up, "Katniss, I've been worried sick about you! Lovesick, even!" He said it like it was an accusation.

The wall that Katniss was so used to, almost comforted by, flew back up over her once happy feelings to see Gale.

"I never asked you to."

"You did, apparently you're just too-," He started, but cut himself off.

Katniss narrowed in, "Too what? Too dumb? To naive? Finish the sentence, Gale."

"Too scared to admit that you did." He said, "You were a sheet of ice while Peeta was up there waxing poetics about you. Do you know how you came off? And I thought, like an idiot, it's because you were waiting for me back home. But the truth is that you don't know good when it comes flying at your face. And you're too terrified to let yourself even try to grasp at happiness even for a second."

Katniss felt anger bubbling inside of her, white-hot. And underneath that was embarrassment, because as horrible as his words were, he was right. Or she feared he was. That she would never grasp something when it came, and only want it when it was too late. Like Peeta. And maybe, in time, Gale.

But he would not get the satisfaction of knowing just how precisely he'd been able to analyze her.

"Leave." She demanded.

"Fine! I know when I'm not wanted somewhere," He spat out, hurt and licking his wounds, and stalked out.

Katniss watched him go and felt the urge to kick or break something. Instead, she marched across to Haymitch's house and pounded on the door. He opened, already half-drunk at 10 am in the morning.

"I'll have what you're having," She said, holding back her tears. Haymitch seemed to waffle for a second between being a responsible adult or a friend, and apparently, decided they were about equals now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, though it was obvious he was doing it out of politeness, not an actual desire to hear her problems. Maybe he'd seen Gale come and storm out. Maybe he hadn't.
But Katniss didn't come to Haymitch to sob into a pillow about this spat like a teenage girl.

"No." She said, breezing past him, "I don't."

"Good," Haymitch muttered.

Katniss expected Gale to eventually return. Perhaps with an apology, perhaps not. But either way, she kept waiting, at least for a few months, for him to meekly peek back in. And depending on the mood, the day, and his words, she might let him back in. He was her only true friend before this and forever was a long time without someone. And maybe, she thought in the most desperate moments, she'd agree to what he wanted, just so that she wouldn't end up sad and alone like Haymitch.

But Gale never came back and Katniss was far too proud to seek him out herself.

In the long run, it was probably for the best, though it didn't feel like that at all.

XXX

Katniss had never thought of the intricacies of 'making a home'. Before, she'd been so focused on keeping food on the table that this had never been something she bothered herself with. And of course, she watched Prim arrange bouquets on the windowsill or smooth out the table spread on their rickety old dining table, but she'd never given thought to it.

Now that food was in abundance, Katniss realized that she would probably never be the one to add those touches, even if she had the time.

But she was glad Prim was.

The house would always feel a little like she was squatting in someone's place, not quite like she owned it, but Prim's efforts made it feel a lot closer to getting there one day.

Prim always had fresh flowers, now in multiple vases in multiple windows.

Prim spent hours looking at catalogs from the Capitol and ordering linens, tablecloths, and towels with monograms for them.

Prim placed candles in every corner so it never felt too dark and brought sweet smells of the woods or baking or the sea that would hit you in a whiff as you walked by.

Prim made all of this bearable, and Katniss still didn't know what she'd do without her.

XXX

Katniss had begun counting time in two categories; her time whatever was left over from winning, and time mandated to make appearances by the Capitol.

She had six months in between returning home and her Victory tour, and then a few months past that until this announcement (since this year would be a Quell) and then a week with give or take some loose change to mentor whatever poor souls were picked this year.

And, of course, on some odd days, she would be asked to take the train up to the capital for this party or that party, but overall, the requirements by Snow were few. Far less than perhaps she'd been expecting.

Still, the requirement hung over Katniss for those first six months, and she never quite got to be able to sleep fully, not without one eye open, expecting that Snow would send Peace Keepers in and drag her away without warning.

She never fully enjoyed this newfound freedom, perhaps coming to an uncomfortable realization that she tried to blame on the incoming Victory Tour (but she knew, deep down, wasn't that).

Who was Katniss Everdeen when she wasn't poor?

All the vital parts of what she considered core parts of her personality were born out of a need for survival.

Her bow hunting, for example. She could, and was encouraged, shoot in her backyard for fun, but when she wasn't doing it to feed her family, she didn't find quite the same enjoyment or sense of accomplishment.

Her scrappiness and ability to scavenge or spread out her resources seemed silly now.

Her stony cold exterior, knowing that life was unpredictable and she could be dead tomorrow, had started to soften, even without her knowing.

Though it was a wretched time, some part of Katniss almost wanted to return to a time before she won.

And she hated herself for that, for whiting that this great life that Prim was so enjoying would be snatched away because Katniss couldn't cope.

She didn't need to ask Haymitch how he dealt with it. The scarce delivery of food but large deliveries of alcohol told her all she needed to know.

And while she enjoyed the tastes of certain drinks, like wine, she hoped she could find a better solution.

"Well," She told herself as she reloaded her bow in her backyard, lazily aiming for the target, "You have the rest of your life to figure it out."

She let her fingers go.

Thwack!

Bullseye.