Are you, are you coming to the tree,

Where the dead man called out

For his love to flee

I must be dead. I can hear my mother singing. Singing a song she banned from our house when I was seven years old.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight

In the hanging tree

Her fingers caress over my face and I turn my head to feel more of her soothing touches. How I've missed her.

"Didn't think you'd remember that song," my father says softly.

"Mom banning it sort of permanently etched it into my brain," Prim says. I want to tell her that the song is etched in my brain too. I try to move my hand, to reach out for her, but someone restrains it. I'm laying on my stomach, my back feels as though a hundred deer have stomped over it. Throbbing in a dull pain. But also cold.

"She's coming around," Prim whispers. I open my eyes and find my sister and father peering at me, relief plain on their faces.

"Why's everyone so worried?" I ask.

"You were out for a good while," my father explains and the events of the morning return to me.

"Peeta!" I cry out and try to lift myself. Searing pain streaks down my back.

"Katniss, don't!" Prim commands. "You'll move the ice!"

Although her tone is firm, her hands on me are gentle, holding me to the table. I go limp beneath her touch, trying to hold myself together as I try to make sense of what happened. A million questions fly at me, all surpassed by the one I can't seem to shake.

"Where's Peeta?"

"I don't know," Prim says, her eyes dropping from mine as a stone of dread settles in my stomach. "After they cut you both down, we somehow got separated. Maysilee brought us here, to get you out of danger but…"

"We didn't see where they took Peeta," my father says softly and cups my cheek.

I swallow thickly and peer around my father, avoiding the questions pounding against my temple and the fear churning in my gut. Instead, taking stock of my surroundings. Something simple that I can handle right now without suffocating.

I'm in a Merchant kitchen. Tidy and well ordered, but clearly a place that receives frequent use based on the scarred flooring and worn surfaces. Instead of the chemical and distilling equipment of the apothecary's kitchen, I find large copper kettles on a stove. Clear containers with a variety of sugars, flours, and other ingredients line the walls. Glass vials with brightly colored liquids. For a moment, I think perhaps that I am in the bakery. But then I remember that Peeta would be here, too. And there would be brick ovens lining the wall, filling the room with heat. I'm lying on a wide scrubbed counter. With enough space for a second person.

Once more, I swallow and notice that, other than my father and Prim, the room is empty. Through the door, I see a merchant woman who looks vaguely familiar bustling about the front room, providing rudimentary care to a motley mix of Seam and Merchant.

"You should get some rest," Prim says gently. I nod and carefully, so as to not cause myself any more pain, I turn my head to rest on my other cheek, staring at the space where Peeta should be, listening to my sister's retreating footsteps as she goes to the front room. No doubt to help tend to the other wounded. My father remains, shifting in his seat and sighing heavily on occasion.

For the first time, I think about what my actions would have done to my father. To see his child's back flayed open by a whip. The very thing he had hoped to avoid by sheltering us from the growing unrest. Tears I refuse to shed sting my eyes and I strain my ears for other sounds. Something to indicate the strife taking place outside, but it is strangely quiet. Unnerving.

"I'm so sorry, Papa," I whisper.

"Oh Katniss, no," my father says, his chair scraping on the wood floor. He leans over me, his hands fluttering here and there, afraid to touch me fully for fear of causing me more pain, finally settling on stroking my hair. It is this that finally breaks me and the hot tears course down my face. Pool beneath my cheek. "No, I'm sorry. If I hadn't insisted on taking him in that night…"

"Is that really what you wish for?" I ask, thinking of how adamant my father had been about caring for Peeta. That we do the right thing. I don't want my father to regret what we did that night, because I don't regret it. He sighs heavily and kisses my brow.

"I don't know, Katniss. I don't know anymore," he answers. I nod, because this is an answer I can at least understand. "Try to get some more rest."

It takes a few minutes, but I eventually sink into the depths of darkness. I drift in a fog that glows with an inner light. I follow faint tracks in the ground, catch the scents of cinnamon. Of dill. A soft brush of fingers on mine and then the dancing fire of weeks ago returns. It has a voice this time. Multiple voices. Calling my name.

My eyes fly open and I stare at the wall, remain perfectly still as I listen to the conversation taking place behind me. Once or twice, I catch my name in the whispered words. As the remnants of sleep finally fade away, I am able to make sense of the words.

"Need to get out of here. No telling how quickly they'll retaliate."

"Be stupid to destroy a whole District over this."

"Tell that to Thirteen."

"What about Katniss?"

"Find a way to move her. It's the boy I'm worried about."

The boy. Peeta. My entire body tenses as my sister's voice joins the conversation.

"We still don't know where he is?"

"No clue," says a vaguely familiar feminine voice.

"Not many of the Merchant families are talking to anyone. They've barricaded themselves inside their homes for the most part. We're lucky Maysilee let us make use of her shop."

"Cowards," Gale says.

"They did help pull down the screens and cut your girl down from her noose," another voice I know growls. Our neighbor, Haymitch Abernathy.

"Clearly, she's not my girl," Gale says.

"Enough," my father interjects before the conversation turns to a fight. "Have any of you tried the apothecary?"

Yes, I think. The apothecary would be the obvious place to take Peeta. In fact, I'm starting to wonder why we aren't there ourselves. Behind me, I hear the awkward clearing of throats and shuffling of feet.

"Primrose already tried," the other feminine voice says, but now I can place it. Maysilee Donner. Aunt to Madge Undersee and owner of the sweet shop in town. That's where we are. Her kitchen.

"He wouldn't even talk to me, Papa," Prim says in a small voice. Then I feel her hands on my back, checking whatever bandages and medicine she's put on me. I close my eyes, hoping to disguise the fact that I've been eavesdropping. I feel the slight pinch of a needle in my flesh, and even though I cling to the thread's of consciousness, whatever medicine Prim has injected into me is too powerful. Drags me back under. Deep. Dreamless.

I'm lost in the darkness of unmarked time until Haymitch releases a string of curses that bring me swiftly to the surface. My limbs refuse to move and I wonder what's wrong with them. How long I've been out. Loud clumping and thumping sound in the quiet room. A flurry of movement and orders being thrown about.

"Are you insane, woman?"

"Get him on the table next to Katniss."

"Shit! Be careful."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought - I couldn't - he was - I - we would've -"

"Calm down, Priscilla. We can't understand a word you're saying," Maysilee soothes and I pry my eyes open as they slide someone onto the counter next to me.

Peeta. He's so pale. His eyes are closed and the skin over them a translucent blue.

Prim peels off the gauze bandages on his back and shakes her head, real anger in her eyes. For an instant, her eyes meet mine, but then she focuses back on her task. Cleaning. Crushing herbs into a paste she spreads over his back before placing fresh bandages over the whole thing.

"Maysilee, do we have any more ice?"

"Yes." There's more movements behind me and someone gently urges another to drink this tea. It'll help.

I slide my hand over the counter to twine my fingers together with Peeta's, and I am relieved to find his still warm, if unresponsive.

"Has he been given anything for pain, Mrs. Anodune?" Prim asks, and I suck in a sharp breath.

"Sleep syrup," she says. "About two hours ago."

"Sleep syrup? For a lashing?"

I try to place all the other new voices as they overlap, but the truth is, my heart is only half in the task as I watch Prim lay a large plastic sack filled with crushed ice over Peeta's freshly bandaged back. I shiver with shared cold, and know that I must have one similar on my back. Ice is a luxury that even Maysilee Donner wouldn't have been able to afford. I wonder where they got it.

"Alright, she's had enough time. Start talking," Gale says.

"Back off of her," one of the new voices growls.

"Enough!" my father shouts once more. The room falls silent. "Did none of you learn anything from this morning?"

The air is thick with shame, and I somehow know that if I turn now, I will find Seam and Merchant divided in this room. As though nothing has changed. It probably hasn't.

"Look at them!" my father orders. "Do you know what I see?"

"They're holding hands?" someone asks in a confused tone. Oddly enough, the question is met with nervous laughter from different corners of the room. Prim cracks a small, reluctant smile that she quickly stifles. Tired of being excluded from this conversation, I turn my head to face the wider room.

"Ah, there she is," Haymitch says as he lifts a glass to me, a smirk on his face as he lounges in a chair in the corner. "Welcome back, Sweetheart. You put on quite the show today."

I use the charged silence to examine each person in the room. Mrs. Anodune, seated in a chair and gripping a mug of tea, her hair and dress a total wreck. Eyes red and confused. Lost. My father watching me, determined and still caught in fury. His hands holding apart two heaving chests topped with two glaring faces. Gale. And Peeta's brother. The middle one, I think. In the corner, the oldest Mellark brother stands, accepting a small bag of ice from Maysilee Donner to place on his swollen lower lip.

The strangest attendant of all, though, is Purnia. Wearing the pants but not the jacket to her Peacekeeper uniform. I've never seen the coarse red shirts they apparently wear underneath before now.

"Will someone please explain to me what's going on? Before you drug me again," I croak out the words.

My father drops his hands. Gale steps back. Peeta's brother...Ryen, I think...scrubs the back of his neck and looks at the floor. Purnia shifts nervously on her feet.

"Well," my father says, clearly scrambling for words.

"You started a riot," Haymitch says and stands. My father glares at him. "She needs to know, Sage. All of it."

With a resolute nod, my father turns to me and starts speaking. The others fill in the holes where he cannot.

"When you climbed up on the stage, something happened in the crowd. The people, they tore down the screens, smashed the cameras, and overran the stage. There's a few people guarding the jail right now. It's full of Peacekeepers. Purnia here has been manning the radios and other communications with the Capitol to help us figure out what their next move is, but for now, we have control of the District."

"Who's we?" Ryen snarls quietly and Gale steps towards him again, but a wave of my father's hand halts him.

"Just shut the fuck up, Ryen," the oldest Mellark brother says in exasperation.

The mention of Peacekeepers has me thinking of someone else, though.

"And Darius?" I ask, and watch as Purnia's eyes grow sad and she shakes her head. I'm not even allowed time to absorb the news before she starts talking, maybe to cover up her grief at losing her friend.

"After the protests last night, Thread was convinced one of us was helping. A traitor. He said that was the only explanation for the people almost taking control of the armory. The truth is, it wasn't an attack we were expecting. He didn't think there was enough organization to the protests to pull it off. So after the square was cleared out last night, he started to call in the Peacekeepers who've been here the longest and question us one by one. He didn't have much to work with since they've been slowly transferring us to different Districts, but Darius was one of the first pulled in and Thread didn't like one of his answers.

"So he tortured Darius until he gave up a name and…"

"But why Peeta's?" the oldest brother asks calmly, gently placing a hand on Purnia's arm. She shakes her head.

"Because Darius saw us together the morning after that first round of protests," I say. Ryen makes noise of disbelief, and Haymitch watches me with renewed interest. I can't look at Gale. "He'd been injured and I was trying to get him home."

"Oh, well good to know I took the butt of a rifle to the lip for no reason," the oldest brother says, but he's inexplicably smiling about it.

"Graham," the middle brother warns with an edge of fury to his voice.

"Priscilla," my father says gently, heading off any more brotherly squabbles. "I believe this is where we need you to fill in the story."

Mrs. Anodune nods, her hands trembling as she looks around the room.

"Ryen and a few others brought Peeta to my husband and I after things had calmed a little. I've never seen him so furious, though. He would barely touch Peeta, and I couldn't figure out why until Primrose came looking for him. He thought all the times Peeta stopped by to speak with her meant he was courting her," she stops talking to drink her tea and her entire body shudders.

"I'm still confused," Maysilee says. "Maybe start from the beginning."

With a bitter laugh, Mrs. Anodune - Priscilla, my father had called her, as though he knows her - looks at my father with tears in her eyes.

"He never forgave Lily. And he carried that with him for years. The bitterness. But he also never stopped caring about her in a twisted way. In Primrose, he saw a chance to bring her home. To save Lily's daughter since he couldn't save his sister and-"

She bursts into sobs, and the rest of us watch, stunned, as my father lifts her from the chair and holds her in an embrace. Softly soothes her.

"I'm so sorry, Sage," she mumbles into his shoulder. Her words broken by sobs and hiccoughs. "I should've been there for her! I never even got to say good-bye! But oh, how she loved you! I didn't have to speak with her to know it. She was like a light around you! And-"

Prim has moved around the counter to stand on my side, grips my hand as I look up at her and we share matching looks of confusion. Suddenly, Maysilee Donner has her arms around both Priscilla and my father, tears streaming down her face as well. The rest of us stand there awkwardly as the scene of grieving unfolds before us.

Then it occurs to me. My mother must have had friends in Town before she moved to the Seam. Friends who would have turned their backs on her. Perhaps unwillingly. Perhaps one of them was Priscilla Anodune. Perhaps another was Maysilee Donner.

When Priscilla has regained control of her voice, she keeps talking. About how the apprenticeship the apothecary offered was his way of getting Prim free of the Seam. I can feel Gale's eyes on me, no doubt smug about the fact that he was right. I listen as Priscilla talks about how Prim's determination to see Peeta healed after the initial rounds of protests, their frequent meetings and moments of conversation and the way they seemed to be keeping secrets led Mr. Anodune to hope that a romance was blooming between the two. A proper Merchant pairing. The one my mother should have made.

"But after what happened this morning, when he realized that Peeta's heart lies with Katniss…"

"That's why he barely bothered to bandage our brother?" Graham asks, incredulous. Priscilla nods.

"And why I had you help me bring him here. To Primrose. I knew she would take care of him properly," Priscilla says and then she grabs a shawl from where it's draped over her chair, swinging her arms wide to place it over her shoulders. "I should get back. Before he realizes where I've gone."

"Priscilla, stay," my father urges, waving towards the people who remain in the front section of the shop. "We could use your help."

"Thank you, Sage," she says with a wan smile. "I would if I thought it wouldn't make things worse."

Then she walks over to where I lay with Prim standing beside me. Prim squeezes my hand roughly as Mrs. Anodune leans over me, brushing back a few strands of my hair.

"And thank you, Katniss. I wish I possessed just a fraction of your bravery and love. Your mother had that, too." Her eyes flicker over to where my hand is still joined with Peeta's and then she smiles at me, the expression watery but pure. "Heal quickly, dear girl."

She kisses my forehead and then she's gone, leaving behind a strange and loaded silence.

"It won't be that easy," Gale says from the doorway, finally breaking the silence. For the first time since our eyes met in the square, I take a good look at him. He has a few scratches on his face and his sleeve is torn, a bloody bandage wrapped around his upper arm. But otherwise, he looks fine. A wave of guilt sweeps over me that I can't explain. He won't even look at me, my best friend. Perhaps my guilt stems from the fact that people believed we would end up together. At least until the moment when I flung myself between Peeta and Thread. Gale himself must have believed it. And maybe I did, too.

"They'll retaliate," Gale says and the room turns tense. "Especially if the whole thing, or even a fraction of it was televised. They can't afford not to."

"Probably," Haymitch says and takes a deep drink.

"There are about twenty people watching at the train station," Purnia says. "They'll raise the alarm if anyone enters the District."

"And we should let these two rest so that they can run when the time comes," Prim says, and begins to shoo people from the kitchen. As she enters the front of the store, she catches the attention of Peeta's brothers. "I could use a few extra pairs of steady hands."

Graham doesn't hesitate to follow her. Ryen, however, clenches his jaw and looks over at me for a minute. I keep my face impassive, expressionless. Finally, he heaves a sigh and follows my sister to the main section of the shop.

Everyone departs quickly, only Gale and my father linger, both of them giving me strange, wistful looks before they finally turn and leave the room. When we're alone, I turn back to Peeta. Disentangling my hand from his, I twirl a lock of his hair around my fingers and let the worry flood through me. The fear that I've been keeping at bay since I woke in here. Just his presence beside me, although he feels a million miles away, is comforting.

I watch and wait as his features begin to tick, the medicine wearing off and the pain working in tandem to pull him back to the world of the living. He groans and his features contort. When he opens his eyes, they're hazed over with oblivion and agony.

"Katniss," he murmurs, slurring the sound, his cheek squished into the counter and the last dregs of sleep syrup hindering his speech.

"Hey," I whisper.

"This is not how I imagined the first time you'd see me without my shirt on," Peeta says, shifting his body to test his limbs and wincing with pain. I can't help the laugh that bursts out of my chest.

Then his face sobers as his eyes rake over my form. I shift uncomfortably, and finally notice the sheet wrapped partially around my torso. Prim somehow found a way to preserve my modesty. I send a silent thank you to her. But it's the ice and bandages on my back that are holding Peeta's attention right now.

"Well, we're safe now. Prim's taking good care of us."

"About that...Don't ever do something like that again," he says when his eyes finally return to mine.

"Oh and I suppose you wouldn't have done the same thing for me?"

"That's not the point," he protests, but I can see in his eyes, he already knows he's lost this argument.

"What was I supposed to do, stand back and watch you get torn to shreds? Thread was trying to make an example of you. He would've killed you."

"Of course he was. That doesn't mean I wanted you caught in this mess, too," Peeta says, but there's no bite to his words, and we're squeezing one another's hands so hard at this point I don't know how either one of us has any circulation left.

"I was already caught up in this mess. Besides, it got the entire District working together for a few minutes, at least," I say and then something else occurs to me. "You're angry with me for even being at that protest."

His shoulders deflate and he shakes his head as best he can given our prone position.

"No. I was worried and scared, but not angry. You had as much reason as anyone else to be there."

I don't know how to respond to this after the way my father and Gale have treated me in the past few months. I blink and stare at our hands. Resting inches apart on the table now.

"Thread accused you of helping people evade arrest. Was he talking about me? Were there others you helped, too? Just how involved were you, anyways?" I ask, and Peeta sighs in resignation.

"It wasn't just you. They arrested me last night, threw me in a cell with a bunch of the others, but then this morning they seemed intent on keeping me separate. I'm guessing Darius told them something."

"He was tortured," I say, feeling the need to defend my friend. Peeta winces and there's genuine hurt in his eyes.

"That's… I…" he can't seem to find the right thing to say. "Is he okay?"

My silence and slight shake of my head are all the answer he needs. He squeezes his eyes shut and shifts restlessly on the counter.

"I'll call Prim," I say. "She'll give you something to help with the pain."

"Where are we?" he asks after I call her name and she shouts back that she'll be right in. I tell him, and I can see the confusion in his eyes.

"The apothecary thought you were courting Prim," I say by way of horrible explanation. "Not me."

"That's what upset him?" Peeta says and smiles, a reaction I don't understand. "Not the inciting a riot charge?"

"Speaking of which," I say as he curls his arm up to take my hand, which I've rested on his cheek at some point. I don't remember doing that. "Is there truth to that charge?"

"How are you not in excruciating pain right now?" he asks instead. It's a diversionary tactic, and I don't appreciate it.

"You didn't answer my question," I say.

"Katniss, I'm tired and-"

"Don't you keep things from me, too!" I hiss at him. He stares at me a moment and I can see his surprise.

"I was trying to convince more Merchants to stand with us."

"That's insane," I say. But in the back of my mind, I'm mulling over the letters Peeta wrote me, the effortless way he can weave words together or capture images in his drawings, and how he managed to make me feel. If anyone could sway the tide of distrust with the turn of a simple sentence, it would be him.

"Not as insane as you'd think," he murmurs. "Look at what happened today."

"They could've turned you in."

"Yes, and I knew that risk when I started. Just like you knew the risks when you marched into that square last night."

He squeezes my hand again and I search for another accusation to hurl at him. But the truth is, I can't. We've both been reckless. So I ask him the last thing I need to know.

"Have you been recruiting Merchants this whole time?"

"Recruiting?" he asks with a twist of his lips. "Interesting word choice. I thought of it as...changing their minds. But no. I didn't start that until after the night you and your father helped me. What you two did...it made me think there was more I could be doing than just standing in line behind a mask and shouting."

"Oh," is all I can manage. Mainly because I don't know what else to say, but also because Prim has just returned.

"How are you feeling, Peeta?" she asks, all business.

"Like someone tried to remove the skin from my back," he tells her and she chuckles.

"I'll give you some morphling to dull the pain, okay? Not enough to knock you out, though. Dad and the others are getting antsy, thinking of heading for the woods with everyone just to be safe."

"Where's my family?" he asks as Prim inserts a needle in his back and Peeta has to bite back a soft sound of pain.

"Your brothers are both here," she says and checks my bandages. "I'll send them back to see you, but I haven't seen your parents."

Peeta nods as Prim heads towards the door. A few moments later, his brothers return. I think of removing my hand from Peeta's, so as to not upset his brothers any more than they already are, but Peeta tightens his hold on me.

"Don't let go of me," he pleads quietly.

"Okay," I tell him.

His brothers make a lot of noise as they enter and yank chairs into place by Peeta's head. The oldest one sticks his pinky in his mouth then swirls it in Peeta's ear, making Peeta squirm and yelp while the middle brother guffaws. For some reason, this dumb action makes Peeta's entire body relax. I can see the tension leaving his shoulders.

"Stop looking so put out, you got off easy," Graham says as he plunks himself down in a chair and looks Peeta dead on. "Ma would've given you a worse punishment."

"Nice lip you got there. Improves your looks a lot," Peeta says and Graham tilts his head but there's still a smile in his eyes.

"I won't be thanking you for it," Graham says. "Vi wouldn't even kiss it better afterwards." I must look a little confused because Ryen taps the counter in front of my face to get my attention.

"Peacekeeper shoved the butt of his rifle in Graham's face when he called that twat, Thread, a liar. And Violet's his prissy girlfriend," he explains. So Graham was the one protesting the charges against Peeta. Graham reaches over and shoves Ryen, but before a fight can break out, Peeta interrupts the scuffle.

"What about Dad? And Ma? Where are they?"

"Holed up at home. He's probably drinking."

"And she's probably complaining," Ryen adds to Graham's assessment. They talk for a few more minutes about what happened after Thread started lashing the two of us together. I can tell they aren't sure what to think. They've never seen anything like this happen in District Twelve before. I have to wonder if anyone in all of Panem has ever seen it before.

"I didn't mean to get you involved," Peeta whispers when the conversation lags. Graham's eyes flick over towards me for a moment before he folds his arms on the counter and gets right in Peeta's face.

"Hey. I figured something like this was gonna happen eventually. Maybe not in such a spectacular fashion, but...your eyes have always been focused away from town. And you've never been one to go down without a fight. Ryen's got the bent nose to prove it."

"Shithead," Ryen mutters and the other two grin.

Prim walks in then, with my father close behind, to shoo the brothers out so she can check our dressings. Graham nods and says something to my father that startles him. I can see it in his eyes, but as the brothers leave, my father actually smiles. Then he looks at Peeta and his face hardens.

"Mr. Everdeen-"

"Save it," my father says. "Purnia's picked up some chatter on the radio waves. A lot of chaos. It sounds like several of the other Districts are in full revolt. Peacekeepers are all screaming at the Capitol for backup. She's trying to convince them that we're fine and everything's under control, but they're not buying it. They want to talk to Thread for confirmation. For now, we're evacuating into the woods. We've got people building stretchers to carry the two of you and the more severely injured folks. We don't have much time, though."

"Okay. I think if we're careful, we can move them," Prim says when she's done. She grabs a couple of plain white canvas sacks from a drawer and starts packing things. Medicines, extra bandages, and the like. Maysilee brings in two shirts.

"Here," she offers. "The bigger one's from Haymitch. Nothing I have would fit Peeta and that's the cleanest thing Haymitch could come up with."

"Prim, how can we help?" I ask. She purses her lips and shakes her head.

"I can't give you any morphling in case you need to run on your own. It's going to hurt as the rest of it wears off," she mutters.

"We'll be fine," Peeta says and squeezes my hand. Prim and Maysilee help us both upright and with donning the shirts.

While they're busy, I turn to him and take his hand in mine. "Stay by my side this time?"

"Always," he answers, leaning towards me a little before he seems to think better of it. I make the choice easy for him and close the distance. Just for a moment, the rest of the lying world disappears. But it can't last.

A few minutes later, Prim ushers four people into the back room, carrying stretchers. Under her succinct directions, Gale and Graham lift me onto one while my father and Ryen manage to get Peeta on the other. He releases a small yelp of pain and I crane my neck as I'm carried from the building. I can't find him as we're swallowed in the crowd, though.

Furious activity rages in the square. I watch a group of people climb over the remains of the scaffolding that held the giant screens. They hold their arms up and urge a family to pass over small children. Others evacuate their homes carrying bundles of goods. I see a can of soup clatter to the ground and roll across the cobblestones. Someone yells at the apothecary to open his door and he yells back that he's staying put and will have no part of a rebellion.

"At least send out your patients!" The Merchant man begs, but Mr. Anodune refuses. Someone breaks a window and then a gunshot rings out. Gale suggests we move faster and Graham agrees. I bite my lip as the sudden bouncing movement jostles my injured back.

I expect panic and terror, frantic shoving and trampling as the people jostle to be first out of the district. But although the movements are swift, I see more examples of people helping their neighbors than hurting. A man from the Seam helps a Merchant woman back to her feet and carries the heavy bundle she'd been toting as they link arms. A young Merchant boy apologizes for bouncing into a girl from the Seam. They stare at one another uncertainly and then continue on their way.

I still see examples of the hatred we've marinated in for so long. A careless elbow accompanies a slur. A crying child left in the street as someone steps over her.

"Gale," I protest as we streak past her.

"I'll go back for her," he tells me, but I know he's lying.

"I can walk," I insist. We're close to the fence anyways. Before I can struggle my way off the moving stretcher, a strange whistling pierces the air, a sound I've never heard before. "What's that?"

"Air raid siren!" Graham yells and Prim swoops in to pick up the child and carry her. "Purnia's warning us! RUN!"

Except there's nowhere to go. The fence bars our way. A man grabs a wire to lift it and sparks fly. He's thrown back through the air and lands, smoking, on top of several people.

"We've got to kill the power and pull it down!" Someone yells.

The boys place me on the ground and I struggle to sit, my back screaming in agony, unconsciousness sparkling along the edges of my vision as I grit my teeth. Prim runs by me to the electrocuted man as the crowd thickens and bunches near the fence, those closest pushing back as panic sets in. We're caught between electrocution and incineration. There's smashing and grunting and then-

"Got it!" Gale shouts just before the first explosion hits. A young man climbs the nearest fence post and attaches a rope. He jumps back down and several people grab the rope, pulling until the post topples. The crowd floods across as he climbs the next post.

"We've got to widen the opening!"

More explosions rock the earth as flames climb higher from the square. They inch closer to the mines, to the Seam. The panic of the crowd coils tight then snaps as the second post comes down and more people clamber into the woods.

Someone rams into my back and I fall over, yelping in pain. A body covers mine, arms wrapping around me and soft grunts in my ear as we're kicked and stepped over in their haste to flee. When there's a brief respite, whoever it is moves to stand and is immediately shoved back on top of me. I wail in pain as fire lances across my back and so does he. I know those cries.

"Peeta," I sob and his lips brush over my ear.

"Come on!" My father shouts and we're hauled to our feet. My arm is dragged around my father and we limp towards the woods. I manage to look back once, and see Ryen helping Peeta to his feet. His face is contorted in pain and blood has seeped through his bandages, staining his shirt. It's my last glimpse of him before a bomb lands close enough to knock my father and I to the ground with the shockwaves. My body rolls and the twigs and foliage scrape across my wounds. Heat from the blast steals my breath. I black out with the pain, my last sensation that of a hand on my wrist and my father yelling my name.

They televised the destruction of District Twelve live, thinking it would subdue the rest of the Districts into submission. Sweeping aerial vistas of the fiery carnage of my home. If anything, the assault on so many lives only fueled the fires of revolt and within days, the Capitol, or at least the governing body, had been overthrown.

The first time I saw it, I just sat there. Staring and numb. It looked so different from the air. The smooth course of the hovercraft that captured the footage made it seem almost beautiful. Mesmerizing. It was no surprise that the rebels who found us in the woods three days after the bombing wouldn't stop watching it, their eyes glazed over.

With the annihilation of Twelve, the Capitol created a refugee problem. Out of a population of nine thousand, six thousand made it into the woods. After a lot of arguing over safety and resources, District Three agreed to take a thousand, but only from the Merchant quarter. After their own protests turned violent, District Eight was more than willing to take two thousand from the Seam, citing the need for laborers to replace those lost in the protests.

My family and I found ourselves taken to District Seven, where casualties rose so high during the revolts that all Prim had to say was "I'm a healer" and we all found ourselves whisked across the country.

As for President Snow...the debates range far and wide. By the time a group of rebels, descendants from the long destroyed District Thirteen, penetrated his bunker, his wartime escape, they claimed he was already dead. The reported manner of his death varied from one day to the next. Shot himself in the mouth. Shot in the back by one of his own Mayors. Killed in a bombing used to soften the bunker as a target. Choked on his own blood after his granddaughter poisoned him. There were even rumors that the soldiers from Thirteen found him alive and beat him to death.

It doesn't matter to me. All that matters to me is that Snow is dead.

They still play the footage of the Destruction of District Twelve, although the airwaves are unreliable until enough repairs can be made. Sometimes the signals can't get through. They play it right before a montage of celebration which consists of people hugging in town squares as gallows and whipping posts are pulled down. Which is what I'm stuck watching now.

I turn away from the dancing flames that reach out to me in my nightmares almost every night and finish scrubbing my breakfast dishes clean before placing them in the rack to dry. Back in the room I share with Prim, I dress for work, careful of the bandages covering my nearly healed back. Her hands stop me for a moment and she checks them before lowering the shirt for me.

When I face her, she gives me a watery smile before taking my hand in hers and walking with me out of our new house. It used to belong to another family. After we moved in, we found trinkets and things stashed in crevices and corners. I found an orange silk hair ribbon tied around a dried bouquet of flowers. The tiny thing had me in tears as I suddenly thought of the stack of letters and drawings hidden beneath the floorboards in Twelve, no doubt burned away during the firebombing.

I don't know where Peeta is. No one does.

If he survived the bombing, chances are he and his brothers were taken to District Three with most of the other surviving Merchants. Then again, he could be dead. Three days with all of us scattered in the woods was not enough time to get an accurate accounting of souls before they started dividing up the lost population of Twelve.

So I work. It's not been easy adopting a profession I despise. The destruction of trees, although the foreman on the crew I work with insists that we plant new trees to replace the ones we cut down. When I begged to be moved to a crew who plants the trees and cares for them, my request was denied. They didn't give me a reason.

Months pass as the Districts rebuild. An entire country nearly destroyed in days. But I guess destroying things is easier that building them.

Eventually, we hold free elections, sending representatives actually elected by the people - all of the people - to argue our wishes in the Capitol. We even elect a new president. A stern woman from District Eight who speaks plainly but honestly, at least on the surface. I don't know if Panem will be any better under President Paylor than it was under President Snow, but Prim and my father are both hopeful. I become more so, after her first act as president is to issue a formal apology to the labor classes of Panem and one to District Twelve. Even more so when her efforts focus on rebuilding and unity. Under her guidance, District borders open to those in need.

Gale, who initially came to District Seven with us, was eventually asked to move to District 3 after word of his ability to fix and improve the mechanical equipment of District Seven spreads. Turns out, his work on the mining equipment of Twelve was only a small taste of his abilities. Once in District Three, he sent a letter to me, telling me that he plans on staying there, charmed into learning engineering and technology under a genius he calls Beetee.

Before he left Seven, he embraced me. Even kissed me again. It felt distant. Perfunctory. It made me wonder what happened to the boy and the girl that we used to be. Everyone else seemed to be moving forward, and yet we could not.

In his letter, he asks me to join him, although he couples it with the reassurance that he doesn't think I will. That he lost me a long time ago and taunts me with his fear that "you'll never be able to let him go." I search for the anger I may have once felt at his assumption that Gale ever had me to begin with. That what I had with Peeta, brief though it may have been, should be easily forgotten or cast aside.

The anger's not there, though. All I can dredge up is relief. And I can't afford to get lost in the ghosts of the past, no matter how briefly. My father taught me that.

Prim blossoms under the tutelage of the Capitol doctors who venture into the Districts. When District Seven's population has recovered enough to be able to survive without her, she's asked to go to the Capitol to continue her education. My father goes with her. But I cannot. At least not permanently.

I travel with them initially to the city, with the intent to start a new life with them there. While it is grander than I could have ever imagined, it's not my woods. Not my mountains. I itch for a different landscape and a place that I feel is mine. I don't fit in these shining, paved streets and rows of towering buildings with sparkling, clean glass windows. So I kiss my family good-bye with promises to write often so they know my whereabouts.

Instead of settling, I wander from one District to the next as they relax their policies on refugees, remaining long enough to pass on a few of my more valuable skills to others, making them less dependent on the fledgling government and more aware of the environment surrounding their homes. Outside of their fences. Sometimes, I help them rebuild. A damaged roof in District 6. A burned out factory in District 8. Even a dam to provide electricity in District 5. It's hard work but it keeps my mind away from things that might have been. Eventually, District Seven draws me back in. It's the trees.

Through it all, I search for those small acts of kindness that make all the difference in our world. And I long for home, but delay returning. At first, I have the excuse that the train tracks leading to Twelve were destroyed during the bombing. Of course, I could make the journey on foot, but each time I think of it, I find something new to repair in whatever District I am in. Eventually, though, the tracks are fixed, and I begin to cross paths with people returning to Twelve.

I find myself at the station one day, watching several people load District 7 lumber bound for 12 onto the flat cargo cars. Material to rebuild. People glance at me, sometimes twice when they recognize my face. It's something else I've had to get used to, even here in Seven where I lived for several months.

My toes curl in my boots and I nervously bounce the small bag containing my meager belongings. Feathers, metals to melt, and my mold for making arrowheads. A seashell from District 4, a pinecone from 7, a granite rock polished on one side and rough on the other from 2, a length of electrical cable tied in a bow from 5. A few changes of clothes. A picture of Prim, my father, and me. The scars on my back prickle with sweat and fear.

"Miss," one of the workers catches my attention. "Train leaves in an hour. Did you want a ride?"

She hitches her thumb over her shoulder to indicate the train. This isn't the first time I've had this conversation. I take a step back and then, I look up. Out over the towering pines of District 7. The sky glows orange and fuchsia in a magnificent sunset. I wonder what the sunset looks like over District 12 today.

I can feel my eyes filling with tears, but I do not want this woman to see me cry. So I shake my head and walk away from the train. I pause in the town square before I re-enter the boarding house where I now live, until I can afford one of the single person dwellings being built on the edges of the lumber yards. Here, I scan the notices on the massive boards once used to announce new restrictions and punishments, now covered in advertisements searching for loved ones displaced by the rebellion. I spot his face right where I left it months ago, half hidden behind the gap-toothed smile of a boy with dark hair, missing from District Eight. I've left identical notices in each district that I visited, although the contact information is long since out of date. The paper is faded and yellowed, the black and white Capitol stock photo obtained from the local records office does nothing to indicate how blue his eyes are.

As I stand there, a man from the train station approaches with a stack and shifts a few of the notices to add more to the board. I turn away, planning on sleeping until I have to be at the lumber yards in the morning, and instead finding myself back at the train. Final boarding call is announced and before I can overthink it, I leap across the gap and collapse, panting, into a seat just as my tears begin to fall.

It's a train built more for cargo than people, so the one passenger car is worn, the seat cushions flat and uncomfortable. I manage a few hours of sleep though, and wake up just as the sun is coming up over Twelve.

As the train slows to pull into the station, I can't help but obsess over what I might possibly find. My nightmares return to haunt me. A gravestone with Peeta's name. A skeleton with the bones picked clean. Miles of rotting corpses. Nothing. Years of emptiness and questions. The certainty that I shouldn't have left him at that fence but somehow dragged him into the woods with my father and me, so I could make sure no one hurt him under my watch.

Around me, the dozen or so other passengers gather their meager belongings and disembark. I stare out the window, out towards the patch of woods where Peeta and I once met. Where we shared a kiss. It's once more teeming with life. The grass grows thick and tall, dotted with a handful of wildflowers. A cluster of new homes in the process of being built dot the flat open stretch between the station and the woods.

I blink, already surprised by the differences in my home and dreading facing what lies on the other side of the train. I need to face it, though, so I make myself stand and sling my bag up over my shoulder before walking out onto the platform.

Several people bustle about, unloading goods, checking manifestos, signing for their shipments. I stand there, fingering the straps of my bag and uncertain where to go. I have no home here. Not anymore. Nowhere to sleep tonight, and I have no idea who has returned. Who would I seek shelter from? I've about decided this was a bad idea and half turn to reboard the train when I spot him.

Blond waves, stocky build. He hefts a large sack, labeled Concrete over his shoulder, blocking his face from my view. I watch as he turns slowly, takes a few uneven steps, and adds the sack to a pile already on some kind of hand cart.

"That's it for this week," a train worker says as he deposits a bag of concrete on the cart.

"Alright, Jacob. Where're you headed next?" the blond man asks. I dare not name him yet, still certain that I'm dreaming, hallucinating this scene. Even though his voice is the one in my dreams.

"Ten, then Six, and Three, if I'm not mistaken. Why?"

The blond man grabs a handful of envelopes from his back pocket and shuffles through them.

"Could you take these for their notice boards? Uh, let's see. One to Six and one to Three. I already sent one to Ten. I'm looking for someone and if the folks there could maybe, I dunno, help out, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure thing," Jacob answers and accepts two letters as Peeta shoves the rest back in his pocket.

"Her name is Katniss Everdeen and she's originally from here, but-"

I drop my bag, the loud thud on the platform drawing the attention of both men. Peeta's eyes widen at the sight of me, and I no longer care how he's still alive or why he never found me in the woods after the bombing, only that he's here now, looking healthy and handsome, and still sending letters, trying to reach me.

My feet move. I run full tilt at him. His smile breaks over his face, still exactly as I remember it. His lips are just forming my name when I crash into him and wrap my limbs around him. Our bodies and mouths collide, sending Peeta backwards to sit on the stack of concrete mix.

Relief floods my every pore as his hands grip the back of my jacket and I inhale his sigh. Just to be sure he's real, I bury my hands in his hair and tug while we kiss. I feel it again, the unbearable heat dancing with a hunger for more. More kisses. More hope. More of Peeta. Something long dead inside of me bursts into bloom. I'm not sure how long we stay like that, it feels like always. My skin flushed and tingling, yet I'm not ready to let go when someone behind me clears his throat.

"So, uh...you still need me to deliver these notices?"

Peeta moves one hand to take back the letters and tosses them over his shoulder, never once lifting his lips from mine.

"Glad I could help," the man says, his voice amused, but I don't care what that man thinks.

Eventually, Peeta ends the kiss, holds me just far enough away to stare into my eyes.

"Are you really here?" he whispers. I nod as tears start to cloud my vision. I swipe at my eyes until Peeta stops me and I notice how his eyes glisten with unshed tears, too. "You came home."

And for the first time, I return the promise he once made to me.

I tell him, "Always."

EPILOGUE

I squirm a little and hiss at the cool sensation on my back. Peeta apologizes but I smile over my shoulder at him and try to sit still so he can finish. Art supplies are often difficult to come by these days, so he often improvises, making paints from natural elements and using whatever he can as a canvas. Today, it's me.

I take a deep breath and blow it back out as my hands tighten on the bed sheet I'm using to cover my front. The fire in the grate warms me, it's light dancing behind my eyelids when I close them and focus on breathing, rather than following the motions of the brush over my scars, and Iet my mind wander through memories.

The mines burned for months after the bombing. Eventually, crews brought in heavy machinery to seal off the openings and break ground for a new factory where I now work, making medicines. Peeta and Ryen rebuilt the bakery and also helped rebuild the rest of the town. They never made it as deep into the woods as the rest of us did because the bomb that threw my father and I to the ground, felled half the fence. One of the heavy electrical boxes landed on Peeta's leg, trapping him there. When the rebels found them, Peeta was on death's doorstep and Ryen was half out of his mind with dehydration. The rebels rushed them to their own base camp and field hospital, since most of the rest of us had already been moved to other districts and Peeta needed immediate medical help. They had to amputate his leg, though. When I came home, he was still getting used to his new prosthetic.

After we'd managed to stop kissing, the day I returned to Twelve, he took me to the local housing center so I could find a place to live. When I asked why I couldn't just stay with him, he'd blushed while the clerk coughed and pretended to be busy with paperwork while Peeta explained about his leg and how he'd understand if I felt uncomfortable around him now.

His uncertainty caused a brief rift between us, but when I showed up on his doorstep the first Sunday I was back in Twelve to remind him that we had a date, he'd smiled widely and made no secret afterwards that he was courting me, a girl from the Seam. We returned to the meadow for our second date, and over the next few years, the seeds that were planted on a night of fire and uncertainty grew into something stronger.

Sometimes, we still get strange looks. Not everyone has gotten used to the idea of a Merchant boy and a Seam girl together. Most of the newly married couples of Twelve still share the same coloring, although there are a few like us. Having a father and three siblings who stand behind us helps, a reminder that even those who once held prejudices can be swayed.

I flinch as his brush tickles over my side and he kisses my ear. "Almost done," he whispers.

"Think you'll be ready then?" I ask impatiently. He pauses in his painting on my back to wrap an arm around me, pulling my hips back until I can feel his hard length pressed against my backside. I bite my lip and stop protesting as he finishes painting, grabbing the last bit of toasted bread from the hearth in front of me. I tear off a bite and chew slowly while he works, turn enough to offer him the last morsel. He takes it in his teeth, his tongue flicking over my fingers and his blue eyes dark as he eats. After he swallows, he shifts his body and blows cool air all over my painted back, to help dry his creation.

"There," he murmurs. "All done. Would you like to see?"

I nod and hold onto the sheet as he helps me to my feet and leads me across the bedroom to the mirror in the corner. The sheet is pointless now. I've no reason to cover myself in front of him. We've toasted and made use of the fireplace for warmth as we made love for the first time as husband and wife on this cool spring night. He started painting when I teased him I wasn't ready for sleep yet and he reminded me that he'd need time to recover.

He stands in front of me, holding one of my hands while I examine the black, grey, and white paint on my back. He turned my scars into wings.

"They're beautiful," I whisper.

"Just like you," Peeta murmurs and starts to pull the sheet from my grasp.

It is slow work mending the chasms caused by hatred. Perhaps it will never fully mend. There may always be those people who incorrectly judge their neighbor as their enemy. But at least for now, we have a common goal, something to make us forgive. Put aside our differences and find a better way to change things. And as the fire once more provides warmth while I gaze down at Peeta, my hand splayed over the scar on his belly that brought us together, I feel hope blossoming in my chest.

A/N: My thanks to those of you who've expressed interest in this story during the year it went without an update. I'm aware that the conclusion might feel rushed in some ways, and for that I do apologize. Short of writing several more 20k chapters, I felt that this was the best way to bring this story to a close. Given the political climate in my home country the past year, please understand that continuing this story took a great deal of emotional effort as well as stress over appropriately handling the subject. I hope that I have have not offended, although I would like to hear if I have and how so that I might be better equipped to portray situations such as these in the future.

To those of you just discovering this story, I welcome your comments as well.

My gratitude to peetabreadgirl and titaniasfics/ct522 for their phenomenal help in editing and bringing this story to a close.

And now, for my next trick...finishing another long neglected fic. I will be shifting my focus to finishing a piece for the August 2017 More Stories to Save Lives and also back to either Everything You Are or One Last Hope, depending on which way the muse points me. My love to you all! -KDNFB