Okay, so here's the thing... Things are extremely busy for me at the moment, even more than usual, and because of that I haven't had the chance to sit down and write in any longer sessions for almost two months. As a result, this chapter kind of comes out as a mish-mash of scenes that I've written at different times. I've also not had the time to sit down and read through it all - whenever I've tried I've been interrupted - so I've looked it over one page here, two pages there. I finally decided to post this as-is anyway, and go back and read through it properly (and fix errors) when I've got enough time to do so. It will probably be a while yet before things slow down for me IRL so I decided it was better to post this now, rather than wait two or three months.

The days that follow Madge's death go by in a haze. I can't believe what has happened; it's almost impossible to understand that she will never return to the district living and breathing. She is gone. I will never get to speak to her again, never share a comfortable silence with her, never hear her sweet voice and be calmed and reassured by her and the strength that I know hides behind her demure disposition. How can it be possible? We are still so young, we only just graduated from school, her whole life was ahead of her. As the mayor's daughter she had the most potential of anyone in District 12 to be whatever she wanted to be, but now she can't be anything. I will never see her again. Her parents will never welcome her home again. Nobody will ever get to hold her again, feel the scent of her, be happier because she smiled at them. She's just gone. Her life snuffed out for no good purpose, her death an incredible waste of potential and a loss beyond value. How can a person wrap their mind around something like that? I know I can't do it in two or three days. It's going to take longer than that. Weeks. Months perhaps. Maybe I'll be able to understand it when her body is brought back to District 12 and I can see her for myself and truly see that she is gone. Until then, or until the day when I have comprehended any of this, I will just have to muddle along one day at a time. I know from experience that grief gets less painful and intense as time goes on, but I also know that the significant losses stay with you throughout the years. I kind of hate that. I wish I didn't have to feel losses this deeply. I wish that I didn't have to miss my father every single day of my life, even if it nowadays lies mostly beneath the surface, only coming up to the air every so often. It's still there always, and while losing Madge does not compare to losing my father all those years ago I still believe I will carry her death with me for the rest of my life as well.

It's hard to know how to act these first days, or what to say, or what to do. I don't want to cry and be too sad in front of Prim because I'd hate for her to worry about me or feel that she has to take care of me, but I certainly can't act like I'm alright either. I try to seclude myself for most of the first day but having Prim just be in the same room with me helps makes it just bearable enough, so I end up seeking out her company after all. I try not speaking about it more than necessary and I suppose that works to a degree, at least in so far as in it makes me less prone to tears, but it seems the less I say about it the more I think about it. I lie awake for hours during the night, allowing the tears to fall as I think about my friend but struggling with the challenge of snivelling without making so much noise that it would wake Prim. She would be too worried if she woke to find me crying.

My dear sister offers to stay home from school for a few days, but Madge died on a Friday so that gave me two days to get past the worst initial shock before the new week begins, and I can't keep Prim out of school for my sake. I refuse to be anything like my mother in this situation. On Saturday morning Mother did make a half-assed attempt at consoling me, coming out to have breakfast with us and reaching out her hand to me across the table. But that was about it. No embrace, no comforting words, and she failed to do what I needed her to do the most – set aside herself for just a day or two and take care of me. The extended hand did not take mine, it just lay there waiting for me to take it in my own. I refused to do so, hating that her effort couldn't even go all the way. After a little while she pulled back her hand again, looked dismayed, then in a forced voice asked if I had slept well. She gave me thirty minutes of a listless attempt at being supportive, then she whimpered that this was like Maysilee all over again and fled back to her bedroom.

To my surprise my mother actually rises from her bed and emerges from her cocoon on Monday morning. Not because she particularly wants to, but because my sister forces her. Over the weekend Prim has been checking in on the tanner with the burn injury but she won't be able to while she's at school. The poor guy could probably use a more experienced healer to take a look at him, anyway. Prim is wonderful, but she can't be an expert medic without receiving the proper training. Mother agrees to go visit the tanner, but I suspect that part of the reason is that she wants to get out of the house. I'm hardly any fun to be around even for Prim, whom I actually like, and I make no secret of my disappointment in our mother. She can very well feel the weight of my disenchantment as far as I'm concerned, and if she feels guilty then it's only what she deserves.

Once Mother has left and I'm all alone I just sit on the couch staring blankly into space, unable to muster the will or energy to grab a glass of water even. I try in vain to think of something frivolous or inconsequential, just to distract myself for a little while, but it's hardly a surprise that my imagination is utterly dormant. I suppose I could turn on the television, but I doubt anything other than the Hunger Games is on. There's a knock on the door and I groan, feeling miserable over the simple fact that nobody else is home and I'll have to get that myself. I contemplate ignoring whoever's there, but I don't dare to chance it. Prim left without her key and if that's her I can't leave her standing outside just because I barely feel like I have enough energy to lift a finger, let alone move my feet off the couch, get up to a standing position and mosey my way to the front door. Pulling the blanket aside and setting down the book I wasn't actually reading I will myself off the couch as another round of knocks disturb my peace. I wonder if it actually is Prim since Buttercup has made it to the door before me and is meowing at it. Prim or no Prim, I give the cat an unceremonious shove with the broadside of my foot, getting him out of the way without using the amount of energy needed to bend down and lift him away.

I open the door. Standing there, his hair and face wet from the rain, is Gale.

For what feels like forever we just stare at each other. Under any other circumstances my heart would be breaking at the uneasy mood between us, the ruins of what has been the most significant friendship in my life. Under any other circumstances but that of my second most significant friendship having been cut short in such a brutal fashion. Somewhere inside I do feel a jab of pain at the loss of Gale's support and of how little I actually would want it if he were to offer it now – at this point it feels like it's too little too late, because if there's one thing I've learned this week it's that Peeta was right. Genuine friends will be there for you when you need them the most, even if you hurt their feelings. I should be getting worked up about all of that, but it just dulls in comparison to everything else. I'm so exhausted by the events of the past few days that I don't even care to ask what he's doing here on a Monday. Maybe it's his time off, but I think that's supposed to be in July. Maybe he's supposed to be running some errand or other. Possibly he's on a night shift. Either way I really don't think I care. Gale, on his end, looks at me like he doesn't know what to say to me, or why he's even here. I can tell he's jarred by Madge's death – the girl he always saw as living proof that the deck was stacked against us Seam folk even from the start, especially during the Hunger Games – but I can't bear to hear him speak a word about it. Somehow it would feel like an insult to Madge, even though I know that wouldn't be his intention.

He doesn't speak. He holds up a small wicker basket that I recognize as belonging to Posy. It's covered by a red and white kitchen towel folded several times and when I take the basket and lift the towel I freeze, pain, anger and grief washing over me in equal measure. I look up at Gale with disgust. Is this some kind of sick joke?

"Strawberries?" I say hoarsely, trembling from the effort to keep the tears and the anger at bay. How could he come to my door with Madge's favourite berries now?

"Her favourites," he says. His voice is low but steady.

"Yes. I know," I reply through gritted teeth. "It so happens that I helped raise money to send her strawberries in the arena. You know, before they killed her!"

"You should eat them," he says, and I can barely keep from sniggering. I would throw them on the muddy ground right in front of him if they didn't have such high value. It would be an insult to our neighbours if I wasted perfectly good berries like that. But I don't want them. Not even to be in my house. I have to fight the increasing desire to set the basket down just so that I don't have to hold it in my hand anymore.

"Eat them?" I echo, even more hoarsely.

"Katniss you should," Gale insists. "You should think of her and eat them. Whenever you eat strawberries you should think of her."

"Well isn't that poignant?" I say dryly.

"I didn't come here with them to insult you or hurt your feelings," says Gale, sounding perfectly serious and utterly genuine whilst also a bit taken aback by my reaction. His hands move behind his back and he shifts his weight between his feet, his eyes beginning to flack, as if my gaze is making him uncomfortable. "All I came here to say is…" His eyes meet mine again. He looks sad but not in the engaged way I would want but in a detached sort of way. The way I myself feel far too often. I don't need that.

"Thanks for the strawberries," I say icily, not caring to wait and see what he has to say. I was wondering for so many days whether Gale would show up and offer me support or sympathy or anything at all, but now that he's here I just feel disappointed.

"Hey…" he says, placing his hand on the doorframe when I move to close the front door. I give him a pointed look, but he disregards it. "I don't want to impose, and I'll leave in a minute." He pauses, and I cross my arms and wait for him to talk already, deciding that I'll give him thirty seconds to come up with something to say. After that I'll slam the door, even if it does mean hurting his hand. He lets out a breath and runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it slightly. "I'm just very sorry, Katniss. I just wanted you to know that. And I know how much she loved strawberries, so I just thought…"

Sadness rises even higher inside me, but I don't feel comfortable crying in front of him, so I shrug my shoulder in a jerking fashion and muster all my effort to sound as casual as I possibly can.

"Yeah. Thanks. Bye."

With that I move his hand out of the way and close the door, practically stumbling into the kitchen where I set the basket down on the counter for Prim or Mother to find and take care of when they get home. Then I start to cry.

"What's this?" asks Prim later that afternoon, curiously eyeing the basket Gale brought over. After my crying spell had passed I realized there's no point in letting them sit and spoil; the basket has been stored away in our cool cellar since about fifteen minutes after he left. Now my sister looks at it and gives me a tentative, encouraging smile. "Did you go out into the woods?"

"No," I say curtly. "Gale brought it over."

"Gale stopped by?" I can hear from her voice that she wants to treat this like a positive event but that she's not entirely sure if that's how I feel about it. "When did he have time to do that?"

"Beats me," I shrug. "He should have been in the mines. Working. Earning money."

"So what's in it?" she asks, her fingers grazing the towel covering the berries.

"Nothing that matters," I mutter. "Something… something misguided. I know he must have meant well, but it only made me miss Madge something awful."

"That's kind of unavoidable," she says carefully. "You are going to miss her."

"Prim, I don't really want to talk about it right now, okay? Can we just get the turnips and finish supper?"

"Sure," she nods, letting go of the towel and going over to the small plastic box where various root vegetables are kept. "So, uhm… Did anyone else stop by today?"

"No, why?"

"I was just wondering… I thought perhaps Peeta would…"

"Peeta has a lot of work to do at the bakery," I explain to her, even though she probably knows this already.

I wonder if I'm not explaining it more to myself than to her – justifying why he hasn't shown up today. Not that he promised that he would, or that I feel he is required to. I just miss him. Aside from Prim his company is the only thing that makes me feel even remotely okay right now. Which just highlights how dangerous he is – especially at a time like this. If life has taught me anything in the past month it is that there's never any guarantees that a friendship will not end abruptly or painfully. I need to have a person like Peeta in my life right now, someone to lean upon other than Prim, but along the way I might allow him into my heart in a way that I really oughtn't to. Even friends should be kept at a certain distance, I realize now, or else you'll only end up suffering for it.

"Come on, Katniss," says Prim. "Let's get back to the kitchen." She gives me a sympathetic smile, obviously thinking my mind is preoccupied with thoughts about Madge.

Madge. I ought to be thinking about her. She died just a few days ago, and here I stand, worrying about mine and Peeta's friendship. In comparison that is trivial.

Except it's not, entirely. Peeta is all that I have right now. He's a better friend than anyone could have ever dreamed of. As long as we remain just friends it stands to reason that there shouldn't be any problems. Only, that's not true. Prim's words from so many months ago ring in my ear; she was speaking about Gale, but it applies to my new friendship with Peeta, too. If that girl of his does wake up and realize that one of the greatest guys in the district is head over heels for her and decides to give him a chance then I will be left to the side-lines. Same thing if he begins to date somebody else and develops real feelings for her. Girlfriends typically don't thrill at the notion of their boyfriend spending a lot of time with a friend of the opposite sex, especially if that friend leans on him the way I so easily do with Peeta. I cannot begrudge him the possibility of finding love, but I honestly don't know what I would do if I found myself having lost Gale, Madge and Peeta in a short amount of time. I can only selfishly hope that his future romantic happiness doesn't come about quite yet.

I put these thoughts from my mind as I help Prim finish making dinner. Mother emerges from the confines of her bedroom to join us at the table, and she gives me numerous looks during the meal. Deep down I know she wants to reach out to me and probably comfort me, but I just cannot help her with this right now. I don't feel that I should have to do the work for her. I've decided that if she wants to talk to me, offer a shoulder for me to cry on, behave like a mother for a change, then I will let her. I may be terrible at forgiveness but at the end of the day she is my mother. I really do want her to be there for me right now and I can't bear shutting her out if she makes an effort. But she has to make the damn effort. Glances at the dinner table and the occasional pat on the back of the hand doesn't cut it at all.

During the meal my mind starts to drift back to the strawberries in the basket. The thought of letting Prim enjoy them – or even of selling them and buying something special for us all to eat with the money – has crossed my mind during the day, but neither option appeals to me. As dearly as I love my sister I don't feel comfortable accepting the strawberries for our family – irrational as that may be. Selling them seems far too rude to Gale. I know he meant well. I know that. I'm gravitating towards giving them to Madge's parents but that has some risks. They might have the same reaction towards the berries as I've had. They might also appreciate it very much, but in case they don't I really don't want to make their burden any harder to bear.

"Katniss?" The sound of my mother's voice almost feels odd to hear. I look up from my meagre stew and look at her across the table. She looks so pale and thin. More so than I've realized lately.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering…" She has to clear her throat, her voice sounding husky. "Your merchant friend… Do we expect him to come by again?"

"Peeta?" I say with disbelief. "You… you're asking me about Peeta?"

"He was here on Friday, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"Do we expect him to come by again?" she repeats.

"Why?" I say warily.

"I guess it's nice having someone from town in the house," she answers with an oddly pleasant tone and even the hints of a smile. My spoon lowers back down into the bowl and I look at her with wide eyes. I don't even recall to point out to her that he's been in the house before during the time we were working on the project, yet now she's talking as if this is the first townie to set foot here since she herself first came over the threshold as a newlywed. "If he is to come by more frequently you should be more hospitable," she continues, her voice a touch less weak now.

"Excuse me?"

"Offer him to stay and have supper."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen," I snort, picking my spoon back up and resuming my meal. He may be well aware that we are a lot worse off than any merchant family but it will be a cold day in hell before I let him see first-hand what constitutes as a meal in the Everdeen household on days when we have no game, and as much as I like him I'm not about to take quality food off of Prim's plate on days when we do have meat and give it to someone outside the family. Not caring to explain all of this to my mother I shrug my shoulder and take another spoonful of stew. "Besides, it's not like we have that kind of a friendship. Even Gale only ate here a handful of times, and only after a few years."

"I think you should ask Peeta to have dinner with us," says Prim with an odd amount of cheerfulness in her voice. My eyes dart from my mother to my sister.

"Say what now?"

"I think you should ask him to have dinner with us!" she repeats with enthusiasm. "He's really nice, and-"

"And he's not coming over for dinner," I insist.

"He doesn't have to come over for that purpose specifically. You could ask him to stick around and eat with us whenever he's here next."

"No Prim."

"Why not?"

"I just told Mother why not." I scowl at her and reach for a slice of the thick, hard tesserae bread that I've always had a bit of trouble getting down. "You want him to come over for dinner so bad, wait until you're old enough for it not to be creepy that you ask him yourself."

"Okay, then I'll do that," she says with an unperturbed shrug.

My jaw falls slightly, praying that this is nothing more than her trying to tease me to take my mind off of things. Because the underlying implication is clear as day – she could ask him to stay for dinner as a friend, or as my sister, at any age and it wouldn't be creepy, only if there were to be any romantic undertones between them would age play any difference.

I say nothing in response, hoping to kill the topic with silence. And silence does follow, with barely another word spoken between us as we continue our meal. Which makes the knock on the door just as we're finishing eating sound all the louder, and Mother even startles at the unexpected sound.

"I'll get it," I mutter, glad to leave the table even though I know it's for Mother or Prim. Unless it's Gale again, but I sincerely hope not.

I leave the kitchen, nearly tripping over the cat who has positioned himself right in the doorway. Muttering a curse under my breath, and hearing him hissing at me in response, I walk up to the door and open it up.

"Peeta," I say with a bit of surprise, having almost forgotten I was hoping he would stop by earlier today.

"Hey," he says with a hesitant smile, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Uhm… Is this, uh, is this a bad time?"

"No," I scowl.

"I just wanted to stop by and see how things were, after… Well, I mean you were asleep when I left on Friday and I haven't wanted to disturb you during the weekend… Not that I want to disturb you now…"

Despite myself I can't keep the corners of my mouth to turn upward just a hint.

"You're not disturbing. We were just finishing up supper."

"Ah," he nods. "So… So how are you? How is everything?"

"About as can be expected." The corners of my mouth quickly turn downward again. "The weekend hasn't been easy."

"No, I can imagine."

There's a bit of a pause. Then I realize I haven't invited him in yet. I step aside to allow him room to enter but he doesn't move, seemingly needing a more overt invitation.

"Don't you want to come in?"

"Sure, if… if you're sure I'm not disturbing you. I don't want to take up your time."

"I was actually hoping you would stop by," I admit.

He doesn't exactly smile. No doubt he would consider such a thing inappropriate or disrespectful merely a few days after Madge's passing. But something in his eyes tells me he's smiling anyway, even if it's not plain to see on his face.

"You were?"

"Yeah," I nod, waving for him to come on and walk inside the house already. He complies, and I close the door behind us before elaborating. "I wanted to thank you. For everything you did that day. For staying. For…" I bite my bottom lip as tears threaten to fill my eyes. I wait until the worst of that feeling has passed. "For being the only real friend I think I have left. I would have gone to the bakery to let you know, but I didn't want to disturb you while you were working."

"Katniss who was it at the door?" Prim's voice demands from the kitchen. I groan inwardly.

"Don't worry, little duck, it's not for you," I call back. I walk up to the kitchen doorway, Peeta trailing a few feet behind. Bracing myself for whatever reaction I'm about to get I arrange my face as neutrally as possible as my eyes meet with my sister's. "It's Peeta Mellark."

"As opposed to any other Peetas we know, who would be likely to come knocking on our door?" she teases. The look in her eyes is far too amused. "I think we still have some food left, I should ask if-"

"I trust you can clear the table for me," I cut her off.

"Of course," says Mother softly. By now Peeta has appeared beside me in the doorway, nodding at my family in greeting. "Hello Peeta. How nice to see you."

"Thank you for having me," he answers, as if we had invited him here especially.

"Mother, Prim, excuse us," I say, putting an end to any conversations between them and him before they can begin. I want to talk to him without the two of them making arched eyebrows and suggestive eyes about it, even if their intention is merely to distract me from the heavier things that weigh on my mind. "I could use some air," I tell him.

"Sure," he nods.

I lead him through the house, past the sitting room and through the small room that could have been a bedroom for any brothers I might have had but which is instead used to preserve and store herbs and other medical supplies. We step outside through the seldom used backdoor and I try not to let it show that I'm embarrassed by our small, unkempt back yard. Its size doesn't have to matter, there are several houses in the Seam that have small but lovely back yards, but that's not the case for us. A pair of empty crates that have been sitting out in every kind of weather for years, a broken wheelbarrow, a lilac bush that could have used several good trimmings over the last few years, a dirty patch where Lady's pole was last tethered. The one thing that I don't feel bad about is the presence of weeds – dandelions for instance – which may look like another sign of us not caring to keep our yard tidy, but which are a welcome additional source of nutrition. As for the rest of it, I've never given a damn how the back yard looks because it's not someplace I like to spend time. I have the forest, so what do I need a yard for? Prim keeps things a bit tidier on the side of the house, where Lady's pen is located, and that's enough work for her. Mother doesn't have the energy or inclination. So we've let this area fall into decay, and I haven't spared more than a fleeting thought about it until now that I've led Peeta out here. I wonder what he must think, and consider offering some sort of apology or explanation, however weak one I might come up with. Perhaps it's a bad idea calling attention to it. I decide against it and instead offer him a seat on the mouldy porch steps. He declines – probably a smart move – and instead sticks his hands in his pockets and leans back against a rickety support beam – not as smart a move. He begins to say something, but the beam makes a cracking sound and his eyes widen comically as he quickly straightens his back, one of his hands leaving his pocket to instead land on the beam, as if he could steady it if it were about to give way.

"It's nothing," I assure him. "It's not in good shape, but it will hold. My father used to do maintenance around here but obviously that hasn't happened in quite some time." I don't know really why I keep talking; it's not as if anything I say will make me feel less embarrassed about how worse-for-wear everything is around here. "Gale said he would fix it this summer, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say that that won't happen either."

"No, I guess not." The way he eyes the beam, and the rest of the porch for that matter, is not as though he finds it unappealing but more as if he doesn't trust it not to come crashing down around him at any moment.

"I assure you, the porch is fine."

"Well, maybe we can take a walk, anyway? I've been indoors all day in a hot bakery kitchen, so I could use some fresh air and a good leg-stretcher."

"You want to walk?" I question, swatting at a mosquito. "Around the streets of the Seam? It's not particularly… scenic."

"That's not a problem," he shrugs.

"How about we go to the Meadow? We can… talk there. That's why you're really here, isn't it? To talk about how atrocious these past few days have been. I don't know that I'm comfortable talking about my private affairs where anyone can hear us."

"Yeah okay," he nods. "Meadow will be fine."

"Good." I'm on my feet in a heartbeat, eager to get him away from this view. "Actually, just let me go get some things first. Meet me by the front door in five minutes?"

We keep silent as we walk through the streets of the Seam – silent, and with a couple of feet of space in-between us. My insistence. I don't feel like having people eyeing me for walking too closely together with someone from town, nor do I want news of Peeta and I being out for a walk together to reach Gale. Not because I care one iota whether he is jealous or upset or anything else along those lines, but because I can't stomach any unnecessary drama right now, and I don't want to have to explain myself to him when it comes to my friendship with Peeta. It's none of his damn business anyway.

We've had some rain during the weekend and earlier today and the ground will be wet once we reach the Meadow, so I've brought an old blanket with me for us to sit on. I also brought some tea in a thermos. I carry these things in a large basket Mother uses to carry laundry, in the hand that's closest to Peeta, creating some more distance between us to help make it seem like we're not necessarily walking together. He doesn't question any of it, though he does give me a look when we first start walking. As soon as we've cleared the Seam and our feet are walking the streets of his part of the district I clear my throat and begin to explain myself.

"Sorry. There's a bit too much gossiping going on in the Seam. Under literally any other circumstances I wouldn't care but I don't feel that I can handle the rumours and the disapproving looks and all of that on the heel of Madge… Madge's…" My throat seems to thicken. I swallow several times in quick succession to try and make it easier to speak again. "I think those who know Gale and me will disapprove if they think I dumped him to run around with a merchant who, at least to their belief, is probably just out to get me to the slag heap, if you catch my drift. Like I said I don't really care about that, but the timing is just terrible."

He nods slowly.

"You don't want people to think you're out to get ahead in the world by dropping your pants for a townie who doesn't care one bit about you beyond what dropping said pants has to offer," he surmises dryly.

"Something like that I guess."

"Whatever happened to good old-fashioned friendship? What, people can't be friends if one has a Y-chromosome and the other doesn't?"

"Apparently not," I reply dryly, thinking about how most people I know, including my own family, assumed that Gale and I would end up getting married solely because we liked each other's company. "It seems to be in our nature to assume that being paired off is everybody's ultimate goal."

"Our nature… or our depleted numbers." He lets out a short laugh. "Can you imagine – a few hundred years ago there were millions of people living on the landmass that is now Panem. And that was only a small portion of the earth's entire population! It's almost impossible to picture."

"It must have been frightfully crowded," I say, wrinkling my nose. "People everywhere. I don't know that I would have liked living in those times. I would have relished being safe from starvation, and safe from the Games, but the rest of it, I could do without. For the most part, anyway."

"I can't even imagine what life must have been like. The resources, the opportunities… Just think of it, Katniss. Having all the things we could only dream about and never knowing anything other than that. I don't know that you can relish never having to starve if you've never had to starve. The same goes for all the other things we dream of having. If all you've ever known is taking those things for granted it wouldn't occur to you to be grateful for them. Same way we don't actively think about having clean air in our lungs or… I don't know, say, being raised by our biological parents, or having siblings."

"Do you think we'll someday not have those things?" I ask, trying to understand what he is really talking about.

"No. I'm just trying to think of things that we take for granted, that's all."

As we walk down the streets leading to the Meadow we talk about various things we've read about in school concerning life before the Dark Days. We discuss things we would have liked to experience and things we're glad we don't have to worry about, things that fascinate us and things that sound confusing to us. Peeta talks for several blocks about great painters who used to live centuries ago, millennia ago in some cases, and the famous paintings they created, a growing tone of longing and awe in his voice. He describes a couple of the paintings so vividly that I can almost see them in front of me, and I have to wonder how he can recall them to me in such detail.

"If they were all lost hundreds of years ago how do you know them in such detail?"

"Photographs of them still exist," he says excitedly. "I've only seen five such photos in our schoolbooks, but I hear in the Capitol they have a vast catalogue of hundreds, maybe even thousands, of photographs of paintings. What I wouldn't give to be able to see them one day. It would be nothing compared to seeing the actual paintings, but even so it would be astounding!"

"How do you know all of this? About the catalogues in the Capitol?"

"Our history teacher knew District 12's first victor, who saw them first-hand."

At that moment we reach the Meadow, and just like that our conversation about the past is at an end. I stop for a second, drawing a deep breath to fill my lungs with the scents of wet grass, blooming flowers and the mud-patches left here and there by the rain. It feels a little bit soothing, the reminder of life and nature. It makes me realize that I shouldn't have stayed inside this whole weekend, I should have gone out to where I am the most at home and let the sounds, smells and sights of the forest soothe my broken heart. I could stop here for a while and just exist in the smells and sounds and sights but Peeta keeps walking, looking for a sufficiently dry spot where we can put the blanket.

"Any spot will do," I tell him. "It's somewhat dry already. Just avoid any of the parts where there's mud and we'll be fine."

He takes a few more steps and then stops, hands on his hips, brow furrowed as he looks around for a suitable place. Rolling my eyes slightly I walk up to him and past him, heading for a spot I know is likely to be good. Once I find it I set the basket down and lift up the blanket, spreading it for us to sit down on.

"So," says Peeta once he reaches me and sits down beside me. "Now we're out of the Seam. Out of town too, I suppose. Just you and me, no nosy neighbours or nosy anyone-else's." His voice softens as he looks at me with concern. "How bad was your weekend?"

I can't stop a short laugh at his way of framing the question.

"I don't even know what the hell to tell you." I avoid looking at him, fearing it might set me off again and make me cry. Not that doing so would be the worst thing ever. Peeta sure isn't a stranger to my tears at this point. "God, I just…" My breath hitches a touch and I clench the blanket underneath me with my fist. There are no tears, not yet at least, but when I continue my voice sounds like I'm crying. "I can't… I can't understand that she'll never be there anymore, you know?"

"Yeah," he nods softly.

"I fully expected that once we'd graduated we'd see less and less of each other. It's only natural. Me working and she… Actually I don't know what she'd be doing, come to think of it. But I just…" I turn my eyes skyward in an effort to keep the tears from coming. "I always presumed she would be there. Even when I was in that room saying goodbye to her part of me refused to believe anything other than that she would come back. Alive, not in a wooden box."

"I think we all felt that way."

"See, this is why I don't want to be close to anyone!" I declare, completely forgetting in the moment that I'm speaking to someone I am growing closer to. Someone who undeniably has earned his place in my emotional life in the weeks after graduation. "What's the point? Hell, sometimes I'm even afraid of loving Prim because what if I lose her, too? She's only fourteen, she's got more than half of her years in the Reaping ahead of her, and if she died too-" Abruptly I stop myself there, my hand covering my mouth and several tears making their way down my face. I don't even know if they are for Madge or for the idea of Prim sharing her fate or maybe both. Peeta says nothing, giving me a moment to compose myself. I let my hand fall back down and tremble as I draw a deep breath. "I didn't really mean that. I'll never be sorry that I love Prim as much as I do. But she's my sister. When my father died… it was the most devastating pain I have ever felt. But at the same time I had to focus on staying alive. On keeping Prim alive. Losing Madge is not as terrible as losing Father, but my sustenance is no worse off than it was before she died and this time around it's like all I have is time. Time to feel, and Peeta I don't want to feel! I just… want to be numb."

There is silence for a moment. I don't really know why I talked so much just now. It's not really like me. He's a good listener but I'm not a good talker. Never have been. Can he understand the things I'm talking about? I wonder if he's ever known deep loss in his life. Both his parents are alive, and as far as I know he's never had any other brothers or sisters. Nor has any friend of his been in the Hunger Games. Yet there's something about Peeta that seems to make him capable of understanding about things like this without having to have had first-hand experience. I don't envy him that capability. It's undeniably useful to me, and anyone else lucky enough to be considered a friend by him. But I can't imagine that it gives him much joy for his own self.

"Grief is terrible," he says after a couple of minutes, eyeing the landscape before him in the somewhat dimming light of early sundown. "Although… You know, call me an idiot, or a sentimental fool – like my mother does – but I've always found there to be a great deal of beauty in it, too."

"Beauty?" I scoff. "In grief?" I shudder and wrap my arms around my knees. "Peeta for once I'll have to agree with your mother."

My reply doesn't seem to deter him at all. He seems calm and as steady as always as his eyes sweep over the horizon, taking in the contrast of the silhouettes the trees make against the bright, beautiful pinks and oranges and yellows of the setting sun.

"If Madge meant nothing to you and had had no impact on your life, then you wouldn't feel this loss any more than you do Eric Riven's death. Or any of the other tributes that have died this year. The more you love someone, the more they matter to you, the worse the pain when they die."

"And how the hell does that make grief beautiful? If anything it makes caring for somebody ugly."

"I disagree." His blue eyes turn to me and his hand lands softly, reassuringly, on top of mine. "I think it's a testament to how much a person meant. The pain you're feeling now is its own tribute to Madge. There is beauty in that."

"How can you see it that way?" I ask softly, gobsmacked by this boy who can look at something as ugly as death and sorrow and find beauty in it.

"Because… it's one of the only ways I know how to cope with it. And because I just think there's inherent beauty in caring for somebody so much that their loss breaks your heart."

I say nothing in response, I just sit there and look into his gentle blue eyes and find comfort and reassurance in them, in his touch, in his very self. We sit silently like that for so long that I begin to feel something other than pain, something breaking through the surface, a much more warm and pleasant emotion. But when I become aware of it I pull my hand away from underneath his, frightened by what it might mean and instinctively worrying that it might be a sacrilege against the memory of the recently deceased.

"Uhm, I think we should get going," I mumble. Without looking at him I stand up and step off the blanket. "The sun has almost set. You probably have an early day, and I do too. I have to start actively looking for work. I've been putting it off ever since graduation and time's running out."

"Nobody's going to find it odd if you wait until after the Games are finished," he says, slowly getting up on his feet and brushing his pants even though there shouldn't be any grass on them. "Most people don't go looking for jobs while they're going on and most people aren't actively hiring until after they've ended."

"Yeah, but I'm a Seam girl trying, hoping to find work somewhere in town," I prattle on, grabbing the blanket the moment he's stepped off it, giving it a quick shake before I begin to fold it up. "I have to be ahead of the curve."

"Want me to keep an eye out, see what jobs might be open?" he asks. "If we could afford an extra helping hand at the bakery I would try to get you a job with us, but with Scotti getting married and all his soon-to-be wife would be the first to get work with us."

I don't answer him, just turn my mouth into a joyless smile for about two seconds. He helps me fold the blanket and I kneel down to put it back into the basket, realizing I completely forgot about the thermos. There's something else in the basket though, which I haven't forgotten about.

"Wait, before you go…" I pull out a plastic container, old and worn and one my mother is unlikely to miss. "Gale dropped these off for me, but I can't have them. Right now I just want them out of my sight. You've done so much to help me Peeta, not just these past days or weeks but ever since the project started really. I really want you to have this, both as your hundredth-or-so favour to me, and also as a thanks of sorts."

Scowling he takes the container and looks inside. Immediately he shakes his head.

"No, no, no. Absolutely not. I can't take this from you."

"You can, and you will. Please, let me give them to you as my way of saying thanks. I mean it when I say I cannot eat them. I don't even want to have them in my house right now. It's too painful a reminder. We both know they won't hold up until I'm ready to have strawberries again. Really, you would be doing me a favour by accepting them."

"What about Prim? Couldn't she…?"

"Please. Let me give them to you. Your family could have them tonight, or you could use them in the baking. I know they would come to good use."

"Katniss do you think Gale would want me to have them?"

"That's none of his concern. Once he gave them to me it became my choice what to do with them. And I choose to give them to you."

He holds the container in his hands, clearly struggling to decide what to do. It's strange that this boy who has given me so much is so reluctant to take a single thing from me in return.

"Katniss I really don't think-"

"Look, either you take them, or I will open the container and let them spill out onto the ground," I threaten, hoping he doesn't know me quite so well yet that he can easily call my bluff. He sighs, the corners of his mouth turning slightly upward though it doesn't seem like he's smiling. He looks at the container and then at me. "I mean it," I insist.

"Okay then. Only if you're sure."

"I am." I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. "Now come on. We should be heading back. The sun is almost completely set."

I don't see Peeta anymore that week, probably because I insisted that he needn't check up on me, a statement I regret making almost instantly. I only said it because I know how busy they are at the bakery and I don't want to steal anymore of his time. I told him I will come to him if I need him, and he agreed to that arrangement.

Last weekend I stayed at home but starting Tuesday I've been out in the woods every day, feeling better there than I do in the small house with the mother I barely speak to. I haven't done any hunting or foraging beyond checking the snares, feeling little to no interest in it – same as I feel little to no interest in anything at all right now – but it's been soothing for my wounded heart to walk down the familiar paths or to climb a tree and sit on a sturdy branch for a few hours and listen to the singing of the birds and observe the animals passing by underneath. Come Sunday though I know it's time to let my bow and arrow get to work. I haven't even bothered getting them from their hiding place earlier in the week, but food supplies are running low and Prim has expressed a longing for fresh meat on the table. I get up early, tiptoeing so as to not wake Prim, and head out into the chilly, misty June morning.

When I reach the glade I stop in my tracks, nearly dropping my bow. On the fallen log sits Gale, a mug of steaming hot tea cradled in his hands, a contemplative look on his face. When he hears me coming he turns his face and looks at me, his eyes widening slightly – but not from surprise – and quickly he scrambles to his feet. With a confused and somewhat suspicious scowl I take a few steps closer, stopping with a few steps of distance between us.

"… Hello Catnip."

Catnip? I'm back to being Catnip? Am I to understand that what it took for him to forgive me was the death of another human being?

"Gale…"

"It's good seeing you," he says awkwardly. He begins to look around for someplace to set down his mug, settling for kneeling down and placing it on the ground beside the log. I watch him with confusion without saying anything until his eyes meet mine again.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," I say. I've been consciously avoiding hunting on Sundays since our break-up, or if I've had to go out on that day – like I do today – I've gone later in the day. It means missing sunrise, the time when a lot of animals are out and about, but it can't be helped. I've got seven days out of the week to hunt and Gale only has one. I can easily afford to let him have the best hours in the forest.

"I, uh…" He rubs the back of his neck with his right hand, looking rather uncomfortable. "I wasn't sure if you would come out today. Or even at what time you hunt these days."

"If you want me to leave I'll-"

"No!" he quickly says. "No. No, actually I… was hoping to see you."

I swallow, averting my eyes for a moment and feeling about as uncomfortable as he looks.

"Okay…"

"Katniss I…" He sighs heavily but something seems to shift in his eyes and he looks at me with less awkwardness and more of the old way he used to look at me. Before the whole boyfriend/girlfriend debacle began. "I didn't feel like things went the way I wanted to when I stopped by your house the other day."

"What does that mean? How, exactly, did you want things to go?"

"Catnip, I wanted to explain to you how truly sorry I am for what happened to Madge. It was terrible. It really was. And I know how much she meant to you." I flinch, but I don't think he notices. Hearing her spoken about in the past tense still hurts like hell, and I'm having such a hard time getting used to it. Gale now has a sombre look on his face, and I'm not sure how to relate to that either. "Also, I wanted to see how you were doing."

"Oh, come on, I was doing terrific!" I say with such forced joviality that I'm shocked that he doesn't roll his eyes at me. "Never been better! In fact, right after you left, I went out and frolicked in the woods, singing to the sun, vomiting some sunshine."

"I don't think I deserved that sarcasm," he says. "I was just concerned about you. I still am."

"But it doesn't change a thing between us."

"No," he readily admits. "No it doesn't. But even so, I-"

"You know…" I begin, cutting him off. "Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, and all… And I do believe you are genuine when you say you think what happened to Madge is horrible."

"Of course I'm genuine about it," he says softly.

"It's just… If I understand you correctly here, what you're trying to say is that while you're still angry with me and not at all ready to forgive, and our friendship is still in shambles and ruin, after what happened with my best friend you want to make sure I'm alright and offer your sympathy – maybe even assure me that you'll still be there for me if I need anything."

"That's right."

"The thing is… Madge was reaped weeks ago."

"Yeah?" he says, looking slightly unsure.

"And she died on Friday. You came by on Monday. And now another five days have gone by."

"Well-"

"Perhaps I don't to have a leg to stand on in this, but you know what, screw that. I really don't give a damn anymore, not after everything that's happened lately. You say you still care about me and want to make sure I'm okay. Did you know how horrible it was for me when her name was called? How it felt to watch her give her interview? To watch her standing on that platform while the clock was counting down? Did you know my mother has completely shut herself in since the day of the reaping? That she and I have had a major falling out and are barely speaking anymore?" Little by little, as I speak my voice gets more upset. "Did you stop for a single second and consider the fact that I might have needed support earlier? And yeah, before you say anything, I get that it's not your sole job in the world to look after me, especially after how we left things that night. But it just rings really, really weak to have you show up days after she died and try to act supportive and like you care."

"I do care."

"Not enough you don't. Especially for somebody who not long ago claimed to love me and want to marry me!" For a moment I consider how things would have been these past few weeks if I hadn't made such a good friend in Peeta. How alone I would have been. I can't imagine how I would have made it through all of that without someone to talk to, someone who cares about me. What he said that night when we watched the interviews echoes loudly in my mind. "It really shouldn't have mattered what transpired between us when we broke up. The one friend I thought I had left in the world ended up in the Hunger Games and she ended up dead. A true friend would have set aside our other problems and at the very least stopped by to see how I was holding up. Our years of friendship should have mattered more than our months of dating."

"Katniss that is not entirely fair."

"Perhaps I can't look at it rationally right now," I say, eyeing him without much sympathy. "But from where I'm standing at the moment it feels like you're saying that your feelings of heartbreak and betrayal tops my devastation at the death of a good friend. That having your heart broken is worse than having to grieve a person you loved."

"I don't think that is entirely fair either…"

"I think we should just steer clear of each other for the near future," I say, my voice now devoid of emotion and energy. "Feel free to go back to whatever animosity you've been feeling towards me lately. Know that you needn't check up on me or offer any sympathy. I don't need any of that from you."

"I worry that you're alone in this," he says softly, and he sounds like he truly means it.

"Am I more alone today than I was the day she was reaped?" I ask. Then I sigh. "You have nothing to worry about, anyway. I'm not alone."

"You just told me that your mother has shut herself in again. And I know you're not leaning on Prim, because that's not who you are. You want to shield her, not burden her."

"I wasn't talking about Prim or Mother." I pause. "Peeta and I are friends now. Real friends. He's been there every step of the way."

"Yeah," scoffs Gale. "I bet my ass he has."

"It's not like that," I say, immediately regretting dignifying his comment with an answer. "He's a friend. A true friend. Right after Madge was killed he was at my door, comforting me, supporting me, making sure I was okay. We hadn't spoken in a few days prior to that – we kind of had a fight, and I said some things that… Well, it doesn't matter now. Point is, he was upset with me but when they killed Madge he set all of that aside and showed up to be there for me. Peeta and I have been friends for a few weeks. You and I have been friends for years." I pause for a second. "And he's never claimed to love me. Never claimed to want to spend forever with me. Yet somehow he's the one who's been there for me and not you."

"Katniss I'm glad you have someone looking out for you, someone you apparently feel like you can let your guard down with… but don't be naïve. That guy wants to get into your bed so damn badly he's practically panting at the sight of you. Don't make the mistake of thinking he's all pure and good intentions. Given half the chance he'll try to get you to become more than his good friend."

"You're always wrong when it comes to him. That's not his end goal. For one thing he's in love with someone else. For another, he had a golden opportunity to… 'get into my bed', as you put it. The night Madge had died I couldn't stand being alone. I asked him to stay with me and he did. He sat by my bed until I had fallen asleep. I didn't say he had to sit in the chair – there was more room in the bed than beside it. If he wanted to he could have slept with his arms around me that night. He didn't."

"Probably didn't want to take advantage in that situation. That makes him not entirely deplorable or it means he's hoping for more than just a quick screw. It doesn't make him noble. I think you're kidding yourself if you believe he's so in love with some other girl that he could never entertain the thought of sleeping with you. At the very least he's damn hot for you and wouldn't mind a romp between the sheets while he waits for his dream girl to notice what a swell guy he is."

"Seriously Gale."

"More likely, though… you are that girl he's in love with. And I don't know how you can be so obtuse as to not notice the way he looks at you."

"I'm leaving," I sigh. "Happy hunting today, Gale. Thanks for the wonderful support, really, you lifted me out of the pit of grief. Say hi to your family for me. Let's not run into each other again for a long, long time."

"If that's really what you want… But Katniss, when things settle a bit and the worst haze has lifted and you're no longer angry with me for not showing up at your doorstep right away – come out here to the glade on a Sunday morning and we'll talk. Okay? I am here for you."

I don't answer him, walking from the glade and down the path that leads to my father's old cabin. It's a long walk, and the sun is hot in the sky, but I'm barely aware of anything around me as my feet follow the familiar paths on their own accord. My mind is full of thoughts of Madge and of Gale, and of the things we said to each other just now. But also about Peeta, and what Gale said at the very end. The thing is, I'm not entirely sure he's wrong. There's a part of me that's beginning to wonder if Peeta cares more about me than he lets on. I can't imagine that I'm the girl he's been so in love with for so long – we didn't even know each other a year ago. But maybe he has gotten over her and started to feel something for me. Maybe he so adamantly refused to say he was trying to move on from her that day when we had our fight because he already has moved on, but for whatever reason didn't think it was the right time to tell me any different.

I'm not sure how I would feel if that were the case. At the moment it just seems like recipe for disaster. I lost Gale because of his feelings for me. I cannot lose Peeta too, especially not for the very same reasons. I know that things might have been different if I had been able to reciprocate Gale's feelings for me but right now the last thing I believe I could feel is romantic love. Right now the vast majority of my feelings are about a wholly different kind of love, and the girl who will never have strawberries again. And how little I was able to do for her then, and all the things I will never be able to do for – or with – her again.

So why does Katniss have such an aversion to strawberries all of a sudden? Well there's no real logical explanation. It's just a trigger for her, something that reminds her of Madge in too painful a way, so she shies away from it. It won't last forever, fortunately for her. And poor Gale had no way of knowing she would react like that.