Mockingjay Filler/Alternate Ending

Disclaimer: Hunger Games characters are the property of Suzanne Collins, Scholastic Books, and Lionsgate Entertainment. No copyright infringement intended. Not for commercial use; this work is written solely for the pleasure of the author and the readers, and no profit is being made. This story, however, does belong to its author, and any reproduction or distribution is prohibited without authorization of said author.

Note: This fanfiction is based on the novels, not the movie adaptions of the story.

For Emily

Love, Mom

Chapter One

It had been one of my lost days. The night before I had dreamed again about being buried by all of my dead friends and loved ones, and Peeta had been there, shoveling ashes upon me, too. This is the first time I have woken up sobbing. I don't know how long I cried, but I don't remember sleeping again. I just lay in bed until evening, curled tightly into a ball. Since waking up from the dream early that morning, I have felt this vast emptiness of uncertainty. I want to believe Peeta has come back to me, but part of me is wondering if he is really the Peeta I remember, or someone who is just trying to reclaim their past. I know now that I want the old Peeta back. I saw glimpses of him in the Capitol before… I shudder as I force my mind away from the awful memories of that day we were lit on fire.

I have seen the old Peeta as we have worked on the book of memories together. When I saw him painting the image of his father with the cookies, I did not know if he really remembered decorating them or if he just went by my description of them. After all, the cookies are not the focal point of the picture—his father is. Although Peeta and I have cried together, a part of me is afraid. I have lost everyone I love. My mother and I can talk on the telephone, but it is not the same. I miss Prim. Terribly. Buttercup helps, but he is no substitution for her.

Creeping slowly downstairs, I keep a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I am stiff and sore from lying in one position for too long. Greasy Sae has come and gone. I suppose I must have slept while she was at the house. I pick at the still-warm dinner, then startle at a noise on the porch. Slowly I get up from the table, but when I open the door, all that greets me is a plate of cookies, sitting on the porch at my feet. I pick them up, studying the intricate tiger lily designs on them.

It is Peeta's orange. The real Peeta's orange. And my green. Together. I have seen these cookies before, and so has Peeta. He knows they were real and he made them again. For me.

Somehow I find myself sitting on the porch steps, leaning up against the post, carefully cradling the plate of cookies on my lap. I will not eat them. I can only gaze at them.

The memories come flooding back then. The boy with the weal on his cheek, tossing me the burnt loaves of bread. The kiss in the cave that ended all too quickly. Peeta's strong, comforting arms around me all of those nights on the train and in the Capitol. The day alone together on the roof of the training center. The kiss on the beach. The elation I felt when he had been rescued from the Capitol. Then the shock of his hands around my neck. The cold words after Finnick and Annie's wedding. The gun poised in the air above my head, ready to strike. I remember Gale's harsh words—the ones Peeta did not refute. "Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without." Does Peeta believe what Gale said? I wonder as I remember the clods of dirt sticking to the roots of the primroses that now bloom along the side of my house. The warm bread we have shared for breakfast on more than one occasion.

Until now it has not felt like survival. It has felt like existence. The part of me that is Prim and my father and Gale is not dead; it is like my healing skin. That part of me will always be there, but it will be different. But the part of me that is Peeta has been like a wound that would not heal. It is in another part of me, going deeper into my soul. I know that I have hidden in closets to hide the open wound from the world. I wonder if Peeta knows this. Then I remember how he stopped me from killing myself after I killed Coin. I just wanted him to let me swallow the pill. But he said, "I can't."

I gaze down at the cookies and see it then. I peer at it in wonder. How could I have missed it the first time? One of the cookies has a dandelion, bright yellow with the promise of spring. Peeta remembers. He wants me to remember, too.

I start crying then. Putting the cookies aside, I clutch my knees, curl myself up into a ball and begin rocking back and forth. I'm hardly aware when familiar arms encircle me once again. Words of comfort that I have heard before are whispered in my ear. Finally, my body relaxes and I find myself pulled onto his lap. I wrap my arms around him and lean my head against his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Katniss."

I can't speak. I can only hold him more tightly, willing him to understand. Day after day, then week after week, working on the book together, sharing meals together, I have not been able to say the words.

"Haymitch told me what it was like for you…" His words drift off as I feel him shaking.

"You couldn't help it. And some of it I deserved." I look up at his face, streaked with tears. "This is real, Peeta."

"I know. What I did to you, those things I said. They weren't me…"

"And I was unforgiving." I reach up to touch his face. "Gale was wrong about me."

Peeta stiffens slightly at the mention of Gale, but I continue.

"I heard you both talking that night at Tigris's…"

"Katniss, I wasn't myself…"

"After Prim, I didn't want to survive—it wasn't about choosing who could help me survive…"

"Haymitch told me how it was for you at District 13, then at the President's mansion. Katniss, you're not alone anymore…"

I put my finger on his lips, then replace it with a kiss. He kisses me back, hesitantly at first. Then his arms tighten around me and the kiss is real, too. Together, our wounds will heal.

Some days I perch on the counter in his kitchen, my arms wrapped around my knees as I watch him bake. I love to watch his hands work the dough and create things. Loaves, cookies, cakes. Each color is purposefully chosen and carefully mixed when he decorates his creations. When we have cleaned up the kitchen and delivered the baked goods to Haymitch, Greasy Sae, and others, we head out into the forest.

For many weeks, we just meander around near the edge. Peeta does not want me to overtax myself. I think he also feels strange in Gale's woods. The rock is out of the question.

One warm late spring morning we pack a lunch. Thanks to Peeta's baking and Greasy Sae's cooking, I have regained much of my strength. "Feel like an adventure?" I say.

Peeta, who is like his old self, is game. He seems to like it when we are alone and away from the prying eyes of others. Perhaps he knows we are both real then. He is beginning to enjoy the woods for the beauty of them.

The walk is long, and we are both hot and sweaty by the time the lake comes into view. Peeta is quiet, and I cannot read his expression. Wondering if he thinks this lake belongs to Gale and me, I tell him about how my father would bring me here as a young girl to teach me how to swim.

"Did you bring Gale here, too?"

"Once or twice. After my father died, I didn't come back to the lake until after the first games. When the town burned, the people took refuge here."

Since he is still fitting all the pieces of what happened during the fires together, Peeta is quiet as he contemplates this last piece of news and considers something else.

"This is where you found the two girls from District Eight. The day they re-electrified the fence."

I nod.

"I remember working on the book with you while your foot healed. You've told me that was real."

"Yes, it is real." My heart is glad at this—it was one of the rare times where we felt we could just be normal together. I realize I have treasured that memory deep in my heart. Now Peeta seems to be holding that memory as real in his mind.

Peeta sees my expression and moves to put his arms around me, kissing first my hair, then my cheeks, then my mouth. Before the familiar warmth can begin in my chest, he pulls away. "Let's eat. I'm starved."

We spread our picnic on a blanket near the hut. Afterwards, Peeta pulls me down and we lie together, his arm around me. I suppose I doze for a little while. When I awake, he is watching me.

"I remember telling you that you're beautiful when you sleep. I know that's real."

Sitting up, I reply, "Because I'm not scowling." We laugh. "Let's go for a swim."

"Katniss, I don't know how to swim. I know that's real, too. What we did in the water at the Quell—it wasn't really swimming."

"I can teach you."

Peeta was never one to be shy about his body, but in deference to me, he leaves on his shorts, as I leave on my underwear. It is awkward at first, but I teach him to float on his own. First on his stomach, then on his back. He enjoys being on his back, since he can see the sky and watch the birds in the trees near the edge of the lake. Once I am sure he is floating well, I float alongside of him, holding his hand. The water feels so refreshing, and the sensation of Peeta's body alongside of mine is reassuring. We don't want to burn our new skin, so after a while we climb out of the water and dry ourselves on the warm rocks along the shore.

A mockingjay lands on a branch above us, so I sing a few verses until the bird can catch the melody.

Peeta's voice is hushed as he sits, listening. "Just like your father. I remember him singing. And you—when we were five. You wore your hair in two braids. Real or not real?"

When I don't answer right away, Peeta looks over at me, troubled. I decide that it was a bad idea to sing. I move to get up, but Peeta puts a hand on my arm. "You have a beautiful voice, Katniss. Even the birds know it." He hesitates, then continues. "Haymitch told me that during those weeks while they kept you in the training center during the trial, you started to sing. It was as if a bird had come out for spring."

I don't know how to answer that, so I look down at the water's edge. I spy something and hurry to the edge of the water, where I dig around in the mud for a few minutes before unearthing my treasures. Peeta has been watching me, concerned at first, then intrigued.

"Katniss root. Do you remember this from the book? My father used to say that I would never starve as long as I could find myself."

Peeta's face takes on a softness I haven't seen since our day on the roof of the training building. I turn back to the water to wash off the roots, then carefully stow them in my bag. When I look up, Peeta is still watching me. He comes near and reaches out to caress my face. "Thank you for bringing me here today, Katniss." He kisses my forehead and takes my hand.

The shadows are lengthening, and we must go back. We are slow, as I am more tired than I expected, and Peeta must be careful on the trail, which is overgrown.

It is evening when we step onto my porch. I expect Peeta to say his good night, but he takes my hand and draws close to me. "May I stay, Katniss?" he whispers.

I cannot answer in words, so I kiss his hand and lead him inside. We eat the remains of our lunch before going to bed. It is as it was before. He kisses me good night and pulls me into his arms.