A/N: So sorry this was later than planned. I promised this chapter to several of you four days ago, but unfortunately, as many of you know, my grandmother passed away last week. Thank you for the lovely messages I received both on here, Ao3, and on tumblr. It was a hard time, still is, but my family and I are working through it. Thank you for understanding, and I hope you enjoy the chapter

Morning comes too soon. Not that it's obviously morning. Gale's room has no windows so there's no relying on the light of dawn to indicate the time, but years of waking up with the birds means that Gale and I are in the habit of rising before everyone else in the house, regardless of the light of day. Yesterday morning was an anomaly for us.

Gale shifts beside me, fingers pressing into my bare stomach, my back against his chest. He blows hot breaths on the back of my neck, which would be unpleasant if it were anyone other than Gale.

"Time is it?" I mumble into Gale's sheets, more reluctant than usual to get out of bed.

His shoulder moves next to my ear, in what I can only guess is a half-hearted shrug. The steady breaths on my neck stutter and I feel it down the length of my body as Gale's muscles tense and tremble in a morning stretch.

"Mmm. Maybe you should go check." I suggest, completely indicating the opposite when I reach down and twine my fingers with Gale's on my belly. It should be frightening how comfortable and familiar the gesture feels, but instead I allow the feeling to encapsulate me.

"Maybe you should go check." He mutters into my neck, but even as I smirk at his words, Gale is untangling his legs from mine.

Where his body has been pressed to mine, a chilly sensation replaces the feeling of Gale's warm skin as he stands on the mattress and steps over my body. I turn onto my back and watch as he searches for his clothes, kicking the various items of clothing on his floor around with his feet, before abandoning his floor search and going to the dresser for some clean clothes.

Gale dresses quickly and moves to duck out of the room. "I'll be back in a sec." He tells me, closing the door after him.

As I lie in Gale's bed, it occurs to me that this is quite possibly the first time I have been alone, completely alone, since before arriving at Gale's house two days ago. Three days ago? They've all blurred into one long and very confusing memory of tears and laughter and warmth and disgust.

Some things are just difficult to think about. I take the opportunity of solitude to fully absorb exactly what has happened over the past forty-eight hours or so, because a lot has happened.

Gale and I for one, but even outside the realms of Gale and I, my life has changed. For starters, when I go back to school tomorrow, there will be no one in my class called 'Peeta Mellark', and there will be a girl in my year group who no longer has a little sister. I wonder if she'll be at school; if Peeta's brothers will stay at home with their parents to grieve, or if they will make the effort to attend school. Maybe they'll want to see their friends.

I just don't know.

Delly Cartwright's sister is dead. I can't even fathom how I would be feeling if Prim-

But no, Prim is safe, at home in bed, probably with that stupid cat. So are Gale's brothers and Posy, and our mothers. We're all safe. It's all over. We're safe.

For now.

A selfish thought begins plaguing my mind, and I attempt to force it out, get up and begin getting dressed, focusing on choosing one of Gale's 'floor shirts' to wear and pulling it on. The thought knocks on the inside of my skull, bouncing from end to end on my cranium so that when Gale re-enters the bedroom it spills from my mouth as an uncoordinated mess.

"I would hate it. I wouldn't know what to say to them. What do you say?"

Gale frowns at me and closes the door, coming to sit next to me on the mattress. He hands me my own clothes, he must have picked them up from somewhere else in the house. I don't change out of his shirt.

"Care to explain that a little, Catnip?" He asks, rubbing a thumb gently over my chin.

It takes me a good few seconds to organise the words in my mind and Gale bumps his knee against mine.

"I was just thinking about Peeta and that other little girl. Delly's sister."

"In the arena?" Gale assumes and I shake my head.

"No, no just their families. Peeta had brothers. Has brothers." I say and Gale glances away for a second, before looking back at me and giving a small sad smile.

"Yeah." He shrugs. "I knew them. They're good guys."

"And his parents." I muse. "His Dad. God," I breathe, thinking of Mr Mellark, standing at the back door of his bakery, trading with us for squirrel behind his wife's back, "Peeta's dad. He must be devastated."

Gale hums beside me and puts a gentle hand on my neck. "Yeah. They're good people." His hand moves to my shoulder and his grip tightens. "They're good people. It's just…just shit."

"Shit." I agree. "But, I mean, what do you say to them? When you see them at school or wherever, what do you say?" It's my turn to look away. "What do I say? Delly's in my class and…and, Peeta's Dad, we see him all the time."

Gale sighs and drops his head to my shoulder for a second, pressing his lips to an exposed section of my neck. His stubble scratches lightly at my skin and I bring a hand up to trace the whiskers on his jaw.

"Isn't that the question?" He mumbles. "I guess, you just say you're sorry, because you can't make them feel better."

"No, you can't. I agree."

"But, I think it's more like respect. 'I'm sorry for you loss' is what people say, even though what they mean is 'I'm sorry your child was murdered by other children'."

"I'm sorry your little sister was bludgeoned to death by a fifteen year old boy." I think of Delly.

"I'm sorry you had to watch your little brother cry for his mother in his final breaths." Gale says quietly. Peeta's death was rather horrific.

"I'm sorry the world works this way." I say, holding Gale's head to my shoulder. "I'm so sorry we all had to grow up like this."

"Me too." He whispers into my neck.

I wrap my arms around Gale's and shift our positions to rest my head on his bicep. "This is all kinds of fucked up, isn't it?" I sigh into his shirt. I feel his arm tense beneath my cheek.

"Maybe it'll not be like this forever." He says dully, without hope.

"Maybe." I agree.

"Maybe it will be like this forever."

"Maybe." I agree.

…

It's still dark when we walk to the meadow. We don't speak. That's not unusual. This early in the morning our voices cut through the quiet like diamonds on glass, and we can't risk being caught, especially if there are any Capitol Peacekeepers still hanging around. We'll stay quiet until we're deep in the sanctity of the woods and the Capitol no longer has a hold over us. At some point, Gale's hand slips into mine, and squeezes. It makes walking in a single-file more difficult, but I don't let go.

Things have changed, and if we had any doubt about the fact before, it's concrete now; we're in this together, for the long-haul.

The tell-tale buzz of the fence is mercifully absent when we arrive at our usual spot, and in order to shuffle through the hole in the wire, I have to let go of Gale's hand. I don't like the feeling. For an action so new in our relationship, I've quickly become more reliant on the comfort of holding Gale's hand, or just touching some part of him, more than I would care to admit. Self-reliance is something I've developed out of necessity. Relying on another person; now that is frightening.

He follows me through the gap and places a hand on my back once we're inside the woods. Perhaps he feels the same. I lean into his hand for a second and hope that's enough to convey my emotions that even I cannot fathom properly.

Poor Gale. How he copes with me as a friend I do not know. I snort at that and Gale gives me a sidelong glace of confusion. I shake my head at him. Don't worry about it. He taps my back lightly with two fingers. Whatever you say.

The sky is no longer black by the time we make it to the log that holds our bows. The stars are disappearing one by one as the sun begins to peek over the horizon. Gale's hand remains on my back.

"We better get moving, Catnip." He says quietly, shouldering his quiver. "We've missed a few days already."

He's right. As much as my mother and Hazel pretend that we're doing okay, Gale and I both know that these past couple of days, where none of us have been able to work, have dropped our families into dangerous territory. There are only so many meals our mothers, Gale and I can miss, so that that kids can eat, before we will become helpless to them. We'll have to stay out all day to make up for at least some of our losses. It takes a lot of rabbits to and wild turkey to keep our families going.

"Come on." I mumble, cocking my head in the direction of the higher ground. "If we're quick the deer will still be up high. Maybe we can get lucky." It's unlikely we'll see any deer, but the higher ground in early morning draws in many of the nocturnals.

"Wonder if they missed us?" Gale smirks.

"Somehow I doubt it. They've had a few free days." I comment, following our path through the trees towards the stream.

Something in me comments on the resulting irony in the fact that while Gale and I were forced to watch the murder of innocent children, the animals in the woodlands have been allowed to roam without our threat. I've been murdering animals for my own benefit for years, long enough that I've become completely disillusioned to the gore and violence. Prim once cried when Buttercup killed a rat. What would she think if she saw me wringing a rabbit's neck? I wonder if that numbness happens in the arena. I've killed enough rabbits that no empathy is left for them when I see them caught up in Gale's snares. If you kill enough kids, does it eventually just stop affecting you?

How many does it take until you just stop caring?

How many, until children just become rabbits caught in snares?

A squirrel runs into my eye line and without a second thought I loose an arrow into its eye. Killing it is an instinct. I'm not sure how that makes me feel.

When I look away from the unmoving rodent, Gale jogs over to the site and lifts the animal up by the arrow through its head. I wonder if I would do that in the arena. Killing, after all, is instinct. I'd be neutralising a threat. The squirrel; an innocent passer-by.

"It can be a gift." Gale says, removing the arrow and placing the squirrel in his bag. He hands me back the arrow.

"Huh?" I ask dumbly, rubbing the blood off the arrow with my fingers. It sticks to my nail beds stubbornly and I consider spitting on my hands to get it off. Instead, I nock the arrow and look away from my hands.

"The squirrel." Gale clarifies, patting his game bag. "We can give it to Peeta's dad as a gift."

"Sorry your son had his guts ripped from his body, here's a squirrel." I scoff and continue walking. Gale follows me silently. "I'm sorry." I say without looking back. It's not his fault that stupid little things are getting to me. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

He's quiet for a second, and part of me thinks he's going to start giving me the silent treatment, but then he says, "How about 'sorry for your loss, we'd like you to have this'?"

I think of Peeta's kind father, and of his horrid wife who has lost her youngest son, and of the brothers I barely knew but who Gale knows, and of the boy who save my life with a burnt loaf of bread five years ago. It wasn't fair the way he died.

"Yeah." I say. "I think that's good." It's not, but it's the best Gale and I can do. "I'm glad you're never going to have to go in there." I add as an afterthought.

"In where?" Gale asks from behind me, though I'm sure he knows.

"The arena."

"You'll never have to go in there either." He says, so surely, that I could almost believe him.

I shake my head, and focus on the path through the trees up ahead. "You can't know that." I say and pretend to be looking for floor dwellers, instead using the time to stem the stinging at the back of my eyes. "I've still got two more to go."

"If it happens, we'll run away."

"Run away?" I scoff, not in the mood to buy into Gale's revolutionary plans today.

"Yes. We'll run, you and me." He says. "We'll grab everything, everyone, and we'll just go and never stop."

"You've lost your mind."

"Maybe I have, Catnip, but it's the only plan I got." He sounds remorseful, sighs so heavily his breath hitches at the last second. "I'm working on it."

We walk in silence for a few miles, the only indication that Gale is following me are his slow breaths, slightly increasing in speed as the incline gets steeper. His footfalls are so practiced that he could be gliding through the woodland. The sky is now alight with watercolour pinks and reds, dousing the whole wood floor with a speckled affects as it filters through the trees. It's so much prettier than District 12's bleak grey. Maybe it would be nice to run away.

It's impossible, but the thought provides some comfort. I guess that's how Gale feels. I guess I get it.

Gale's hand on my elbow stops me. He taps twice. Two o'clock. My eyes dart in the direction and spot the doe, grazing by a thicket, unaware of our presence. I must have missed it, distracted with the hope of running through a painting with Gale by my side. I can't afford to let false hopes overtake real-life.

The doe spots us, but freezes, head half raised. She's only young, but almost fully-grown. Inexperienced enough that she's drifted too far from the herd.

Gale could take it out, I know he could. He's competent, or rather talented enough with a bow to have already taken down the large doe without even alerting me to its company, but I know why he's taken the risk of alerting me; I'm a better aim. And we need this. We don't get opportunities like this. Frolicking through sun-drenched woodlands is lovely, but a dead deer is what we need in our lives. A dead deer means a bit more life for us.

Every man for himself and all that. Sounds like arena talk.

The doe goes down with no suffering. Like the squirrel, an arrow in its eye, the rest of its hide unmarred and the meat untouched. Perfect shot. Well, not too perfect for the dead doe.

"Ha!" Gale laughs and takes off in the direction of the deer, no longer concerned for scaring the other animals. An eighth of this deer could fill our families stomachs for a week and the rest could be sold, traded to feed them for the rest of the month, maybe more. "We could take this to the Hob now," he says excitedly, removing the arrow, "and come back later."

"But we've only been out an hour." I protest, eyeing the orange sky.

Gale turns to me. "It's not total daylight yet, and if not we'll have to wait until nightfall." He's right of course. "Where would we hide it? The wild dogs will get to her."

"I suppose that wouldn't be very dignified for her." I muse.

"It's what she would have wanted." Gale grins, and hefts the large animal onto his back, steps straining with the weight.

"I'm not sure that's entirely true."

…

It's practically a military operation to get the doe through the fence, across the meadow, through the Seam and into the Hob without being seen, but we manage it. Or we manage it best we can and rely on more than one early riser turning a blind eye to Gale and I. Even for the Seam, seeing Gale and I doing a frantic jog across the District, Gale stumbling with the weight of a deer, is unusual. Gale and I are good hunters, great hunters, but getting a fill like this is so rare, it's bound to attract a few eyes.

We enter the Hob.

Or more than a few eyes.

We ignore the stares and barely concealed whispers of the Hob's patrons and head straight for Greasy Sae's. Darius is huddled over a bowl of something grey and steaming, but abandons the soup to stand as Gale approaches with the doe.

Darius whistles, eyeing the deer. "You gonna tell me you just found that lying in the Seam, eh?" He grins, shaking his head in disbelief.

Gale let's the deer drop from around his shoulders. "You got someone who can prepare this?" He asks Sae, ignoring Darius.

She shouts to a young man I vaguely recognise, and that Gale obviously knows as they exchange 'manly' shoulder grabs when he approaches. That makes me smirk. Men are weird.

"How much you looking for, Hawthorne?" Sae asks as the young man drags the deer to the back of her trading booth.

Gale turns to me. "Katniss?" He asks. "How much do you reckon?"

Sae straightens her back, ready to haggle, but frankly, I'm not in the mood. Perhaps it's the lingering disgust at the Capitol or the depression of the Games, but I'm feeling generous.

"We keep an eighth of the meat," I say, looking to Gale for any sign of disagreement, "and your call for the rest." On any other day, we'd pay for someone to prepare the doe, then take most of it off their hands and sell the parts individually; hide, hooves, bones, good meat, tough meat, etc. Today though, it just feels better to take slightly less, let Sae get the benefit. Or maybe I'm being selfish and just don't want the hassle.

Gale nods along with me, apparently in agreement.

"Sounds good." Sae nods. "You got anything else."

"Not yet." Gale says quickly.

"Fair enough. Sit," Sae instructs, "that's a big haul, I'll get you something hot."

We both sit, me next to Darius, and Gale beside me, because you can't say no to Sae, and quite frankly, I'm staving. She sets a bowl in front of each of us. Whatever Sae served Darius, Gale and I are getting something better, more appetising. The Peacekeeper eyes our soup jealously.

"How come you get the good stuff?" He asks, tugging on my braid and poking the end into my ear.

I squirm away from Darius and bat his hand. "Because we brought the goods." I say, giving up on my spoon and instead just lifting in the bowl to my lips, gulping down the soup.

"Also, we're far less irritating than you." Gale grumbles.

"Hey," Darius point at Gale with his spoon, "I'm your superior. And I highly doubt you found that deer just laying around."

"It was in Gale's backyard." I smirk. "It was a danger to the community, we did what we had to."

Darius rolls his eyes and turns away from me to talk to another of the Hob's regulars. Gale laughs quietly into his food.

"What?" I ask him, shrugging. "Can he prove that we did not find that doe threatening your family?"

Gale laughs full, then. Throwing his head back and pressing a hand to his chest. "Er, yeah, Catnip. I think he probably can. What was it threatening my family with? A knife?"

I scoff and kick him lightly in the ankle. "Obviously not. How would it hold a knife? It doesn't even have thumbs."

"Yeah, a lack of thumbs is what makes that story unbelievable."

"Whatever." I shrug. "He won't do anything." I assure Gale.

"Yeah, if only because he thinks he has a shot with you."

"Ew, Gale. He's old." Technically he's only a few years older than Gale, but still. "And anyway," I drop my voice, "I got you now."

Gale raises an eyebrow at me. "Oh yeah?" He smirks. "I'm the only reason you're keeping your hands off Darius?"

"Well," I tease, living for winding up Gale, "he does bring me cookies."

"I'll bring you cookies." Gale declares. "One with like, flowers on 'em. Shit like that."

"You're such a romantic." I drawl, and finish my soup.

"Damn straight." Gale gulps down the last of his soup, too, pushing the bowl towards Sae to catch her attention. "We'll be back tonight." He says, sliding off his chair.

"I'll have everything ready for you." She says to him, then turns to me with a kind smile. "I always knew you two would be good together."

Before I even get a chance to stutter out a response, Sae has turned away from us, already shouting at two young boys, hanging around her stall.

"How…" Gale stares past me at the old woman. "How did she even know?" He asks.

"Woman's psychic." I supply. "Has to be only explanation."

"Has to be." Gale agrees. He shakes off Sae's comment and turns back to me. "We should get back to the woods."

I'm about to reply an affirmative when one of the miners jogs into the Hob and calls across the warehouse.

"They're back from the Capitol. The kids are back."

Murmurs stretch across the people, and my mind can't compute what he has said. The kids are back? What kids? We had no victors, no where near close to anything of the sort. People begin filing out of the Hob around us. I look up to Gale for some sort of confirmation of my confusion, but all he wears is an expression of sorrow.

"Who...?" I trail off when Gale wraps an arm around my shoulders to steer me out of the Hob.

"Peeta and the little girl. They've brought their bodies back." He says to me quietly.

"Oh." Is all I manage, and it's drowned out by one of the other men from the Seam who shakes his head as we all walk towards the town square together.

"There'll be no open caskets for them. There was barely anything left of the girl."

"I know." Another man replies. "And the poor lad, they'll have had to stich him back together."

"Just happy it's not my little one."

"And me."

"Same here." The other men begin to agree.

Gale tightens his arm around me. The families will be waiting in the square.

What do you say?

I'm sorry your children are dead.

I'm sorry for your loss.

I'm not sorry it's you and not me.

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