Rating:

Mature

Category:

F/F

Fandom:

The Hunger Games

Relationship:

Johanna/Katniss

Tags:

death (as a subject), minor character death(s), ptsd

Stats:

Posted on:

2014-12-22

Words:

5,333

The fabric feels like skin in Katniss’s hands. She wants to tear at it, yank it apart. It’s fraying at the edges. Katniss tugs at a white seam, doesn’t watch it slip out with ease, drift across her wrist, inches disappearing onto the ground.

“This is where I’m from.” A shoulder lightly nudging her elbow. Johanna gazes out of the train window with her. From the corner of her eye, Katniss can see that Johanna’s mouth is curved into a small, sharp smile. It reminds her of that District 3 girl from her first game.

“Home sweet home,” Johanna continues, but all they can see was an endless sea of trees. A distinct smell of lumber.

Katniss tugs at the fabric again.

“You excited to be going home?” Johanna asks. This time her voice is softer, warm. Like careful hands.

Katniss swallows and doesn’t answer.

*

At the end of the ride, Effie tries to lighten the mood by saying, “Look who’s back!” even though she’s seen Katniss this whole time. Johanna shoves one of those pillows from the couches in her face and says, “Can it, sister.”

Katniss is probably shaking. She doesn’t feel like it, but her body is too far away from her mind, so it’s hard to tell. Johanna doesn’t look at her when they get off. Katniss wonders why.

They’ve stopped in the Victor’s Village of District 12, not Katniss’s old home. She’s about to turn to go into town, when the door of her house bursts open. Prim is there, Buttercup clutched in her arms, face alight. She runs up to Katniss.

It takes a full minute for Katniss to register that Prim is hugging her.

“You did so well,” Prim is saying. She’s bigger now. Katniss thinks of Rue, how Rue had been so tiny. Had that been so long ago? Would Rue be Prim’s size if she were still alive now?

“I can’t believe they let you g—”

“Stop,” Johanna interrupts.

A palm at her elbow. Katniss turns around. She’s stared at Johanna for a full minute before she’s realized that it’s Johanna touching her, Johanna staring back.

She doesn’t give Katniss the same look she had when she’d first seen Johanna naked.

The inside of Katniss’s brain feels like metal.

They go back to where Prim had come from. Katniss’s mother is sitting at the table, and even she smiles when she sees Katniss.

“How are you—” she starts, but Johanna angles her away before Katniss can answer.

“Up,” she says, starting her towards the stairs. “You need sleep.”

A few minutes later, Katniss finds herself in bed, can’t quite remember how she got here. She closes her eyes. Sleep comes alarmingly too fast.

*

Her own shriek wakes her up. Her ears are ringing, but her room is silent. She must’ve been screaming. But she must not have, even though her throat is burning.

No one comes into her bedroom. She sits up straight, blankets on her lap coating the chill. Her legs don’t feel real. When she climbs out of bed, she wobbles, holds onto the bedpost. She won’t fall, she knows. But when she lets go, she grabs onto the wall. Just in case.

Downstairs Johanna is on the couch. Her eyes are closed, but when Katniss reaches the ground, her eyes open.

“Can’t sleep?” she asks.

Katniss doesn’t answer. Her toes are cold for a second, numb the next. It’s not even winter. The fire is on.

“Can I join you?”

Katniss’s voice is disgustingly hoarse. Johanna must think so. She doesn’t say anything though, just nods. Katniss sits on the couch, bumping into Johanna’s knees. Her hands lay uselessly in her lap.

In the fire, Katniss can feel Johanna’s eyes fixed on her.

Katniss asks, “What are your dreams about?”

Johanna laughs. “You don’t want to know what my dreams are about. It’s some pretty fucked up stuff.”

Then, a beat later, “Well, I guess they probably won’t be much different from yours.”

“Do you,” says Katniss, “do you think about dying a lot?”

Johanna’s knees bump against her again. Perhaps this time on purpose.

“Yeah,” she says quietly.

*

What feels like a few minutes later, Prim comes down the stairs. Tiny feet come bounding down after her. Buttercup’s fat face appears around the corner.

Katniss can see his eyes, but she stares long enough until it looks like his eyes have blurred in with his fur.

“Good morning.” Prim sounds like she’s choosing her words carefully.

“Good morning,” Johanna replies. “Breakfast?”

Prim nods. Johanna gets up from the couch, too. Katniss feels something in her throat, like she wants to tell Johanna to stay. She doesn’t, though.

She stays staring at the fire while, like white noise, Prim and Johanna busy themselves in the background. She, Katniss, had been that fire once. Girl on fire, Cinna had once said, oh, Cinna. She could feel heat then, not only snaking around her body, burning through the coal like a line of crack, no, but beside her, even hotter, in her hand.

His face flashes in her mind, and then Johanna’s in right in front of her.

“Katniss?” she asks. “Do you want breakfast?”

Katniss’s stomach feels like a hole, too deep, and she can’t find the bottom.

“Sure,” she says.

*

Before, coming back from the Capitol had felt like coming out of one world and going back to another.

Katniss tugs at the fabric every day.

Sometimes Buttercup watches, with the fire dancing in his eyes.

“You should go out,” Prim says, a few days later. Johanna turns to them, curiosity in her eyes. “You used to love to hunt.”

Katniss shrugs.

“Did you?” Johanna asks. Katniss doesn’t know if it’s because she doesn’t believe Prim, or she wants to know from Katniss. She shrugs again.

Prim nudges her. When Katniss looks at her, Prim smiles. Katniss tugs at her lips, and it must come out as a smile too, because Prim’s gets bigger.

“Go on,” she says. “I’ll come with.”

“No, you won’t.”

Katniss’s voice still sounds gross, but at least it’s something. It seems to appease Prim, too, because she says, “Okay,” and then, “but at least take Johanna with you,” at the same time Johanna says, “I’m coming, though.”

“I won’t be free of either of you, will I?” Katniss says, and it looks like they’re both amused. Katniss tries to find something inside her, pull at it, like she’s doing with the fabric.

*

Somehow, she’s outside with Johanna, bow and arrow in her hands, going toward the Meadow, by the usual gap in the fence. They don’t pass by enough people to get funny looks. Katniss tightens her fingers around her bow like it might drop. Johanna looks mystified as they walk through town.

“So this is District 12 in person?” she says.

Katniss glances back to her. “We’ve been here for a while,” she says. She doesn’t know how long it’s been. That train ride feels like a week-old dream.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I was gonna leave your house.”

Johanna’s mouth stays open for an extra second, and then closes.

They get past the Meadow, which has been uncharacteristically lifeless. They’re being loud. Katniss doesn’t realize this until they get to the fence. Her bow is still in ready position.

Johanna says, “That looks like a good place to hunt.” She points toward the hole in the fence.

It’s silent, but so is almost everything else. Johanna continues, “Fuck, I should’ve brought my axe.” Katniss can feel her tense beside her, wishes she knew what that feel like. Wishes she could join her.

“Are you gonna go?” Johanna asks.

Katniss could touch the fence if she wanted to. She thinks of Bonnie and Twill. She thinks of the Peacekeepers, who have been called back, who are being held for questioning. She thinks of Prim, of Gale, of—

“Here,” she says. She wishes she could take her throat out, throw it on the ground. Into the fire. “We’ll hunt here.”

They end up not catching anything and Prim doesn’t say anything about it when they get back. Katniss climbs up to her room. She’s not hungry.

*

Johanna turns on the television, and Katniss almost expects to see President Snow’s face. She doesn’t; only flashes of the Peacekeepers being taken in and locked up display across the screen. They have their wrists bound behind their backs, faceless masks kept on. It’s too safe. When she was playing the Games, everyone knew who Katniss was.

Prim is downstairs again. Her mother, who usually spends her time bustling about, is here too. They all watch the television together. Katniss and Johanna are on the same couch.

It’s like this, sometimes. Sometimes Katniss feels like they’re all waiting for death. To creep on them like a prey, and then pounce. She thinks of President Snow again. That’s how he wanted to go about things. But he—

They hear a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” Johanna definitely glances to Katniss at first.

A bubbly voice answers from the other side. “It’s me!”

Prim is the one who gets up, greets Effie as she bounds in. “Excellent, excellent,” she says. “You’re all here.”

“What’s going on?”

Johanna actually stands up. Katniss realizes, maybe a week or two belated, how out of place she actually is here. She’s in her clothes still from the Game, while Katniss has changed into her usual dull clothes, Prim in her dress, their mother caught somewhere between in paleness, blended into the background. Johanna is bold and ratty and maybe she doesn’t want to be here, maybe Katniss is so pathetic that she’s dragged her along, maybe she’s not the only out of place one here.

“Interview, of course.” Effie’s smile is the most genuine one Katniss has ever seen. She must love it, now.

“We don’t do that kind of shit anymore,” Johanna says harshly. Prim’s sat down; she’s the only one standing. “But of course you and the other Escorts love it, don’t you, everyone who was in the Capitol is still in the damn Capitol—”

“Well, I never!”

Effie puts her hand on her chest. Katniss swears she sees Effie glance at her.

“Both of you ladies have the choice to stay in the Capitol!” Effie says. Her voice is the loudest it’s ever been. “To stay anywhere!”

“And you chose to stay in the Capitol, didn’t you?” Johanna sneers. Katniss wants to tell her to sit down, to stop. Effie is magenta and sun yellows, has always been. “And now you’re doing this interview bullshit—get out of this house!”

Effie makes an offended noise. Katniss tries to pretend she doesn’t see the hurt behind those eyes.

“Katniss!” she calls. “Katniss, you know where to find me!”

But Katniss doesn’t, because Effie pops in and out, and a part of her is fearful that Johanna’s words are right. That there doesn’t feel like a shift, and that she’s still inside of it, all of it.

Johanna sits down. Prim and their mother stare up at her. Johanna sighs.

“I don’t need anymore of this,” she says.

And the part of Katniss that had known the soup she’d given Peeta during that first game, not the kiss, starts inside her.

“How are you guys doing?” she asks, and stays, and Katniss is spinning at the edge, with her, without her, not wanting to watch her fall off.

*

The house is loaded with food. She’d never looked before, but her breakfasts, lunch, dinners, come endlessly. Katniss puts the food in her mouth, chews. It tastes like the winter outside, even though it’s summer.

Prim and her mother talk. Her mother and Johanna talk. Johanna and Prim talk. On and on, and sometimes it rains. Katniss’s nightmares comes like shocks, sometimes reminding her that she still feels. When she wakes up with wetness on her cheeks, she tries to remember where it came from, tries to remember the part of her dream that had made her cry back awake.

Sometimes she does remember. Sometimes she rolls up in a ball, not able to make sense of consciousness and unconsciousness. If she would prefer one or the other.

Prim brings her food one evening. “Mom called you down,” she says, but Katniss hadn’t heard.

She brings a hand up to her left ear. She hits it. She doesn’t hear anything, feel anything.

Flashes of apples falling. Metal exploding. Rue—

“Sorry,” Katniss says. She only hears half of that, too. She’s forgotten about it. But everyone has, she thinks.

Prim tilts her head. She’s probably concerned. This isn’t the way things are supposed to be. Katniss is supposed to be the concerned one.

Prim is so big, right now.

“Did you want to do that interview?” Prim asks.

Katniss blinks.

“The one Effie was talking about?”

So she thinks Katniss is upset about that. There are days when she forgets what Effie looks like. Haymitch. President Snow.

Not Prim, though, no, not Prim, or Johanna, or Gale, or Finnick, or—

She takes the dinner.

“Thanks,” she says.

Prim’s smile is small, and it’s okay.

“I guess not then?” she asks.

Katniss shakes her head. Brings her spoon with the soup up to her lips, slurps it up. It still doesn’t taste like much, but Katniss pretends that her mother made it, that her father is downstairs in the kitchen, that, in some other world where Prim’s name wasn’t called out during the reaping, in some other world where they didn’t live in District 12, in some other—

“Katniss? Katniss, are you alright?”

Prim’s voice only comes through to one ear. There’s soup everywhere. Hands, tiny hands. Warm, but not warm enough.

“Johanna!” Prim calls downstairs. “Johanna, I need your—”

It’s not quite pine that fills Katniss’s nose, not quite—not quite what she’s looking for. There’s rocking, back and forth, and Katniss tries to remember where Johanna had come from, where the bitter stares and bit back insults disappeared, where they’ve come from and where they are now.

*

It’s not snowing. Katniss wishes with regretful irony that it was. Poison, she thinks, almost laughs, poison was what almost killed him, what made him win, and what killed him in the end anyway.

She thinks about hands and two o’clocks and blood and suffocating, fucking suffocating. She wonders what Finnick is up to right now.

The windows are strong enough to keep her out. Katniss is sure that if she slammed against them hard enough, she could break them. But that would call attention to her mother, and Katniss’s insides lurch at the thought.

She shouldn’t be this small to fit on the sill. Johanna joins her and props one leg up.

The curtains fall neatly against her hair.

“What’re you thinking about?” she asks. It’s the afternoon. Grass is growing outside. No one else comes into the Victor’s Village.

Katniss answers, “Stuff.” She stares out the window.

Johanna follows her gaze. “Is that—?” she asks, and nods across the street.

Katniss nods. Flashes of yelling, screaming about alcohol, too loud laughter and a pounding in her ears—

“You shuddered,” Johanna says, like Katniss needs to be told.

“I do that.”

“Mm,” says Johanna, “you do,” but Katniss doesn’t want to look at her, because she know she’ll see concern, she’ll see what’s missing, what she needs, what’s not across the street, and what should be.

Johanna leaves. Sometime later, someone is calling for dinner. Katniss flits away from the window, and finds herself back when it’s bright again.

*

Katniss sees Effie again around town, when Prim has persuaded her to come outside, at least shop for something. Go to the black market, she suggests, but Katniss would have nothing to offer. It’s the same everywhere.

She follows Prim and Johanna around.

Effie is interviewing other District 12 citizens, laughing into her microphone, talking into the camera. As they pass by, Johanna scoffs. She moves in front of Katniss.

“Oh, I see—!” Effie starts.

Johanna positively snarls.

Effie physically moves back. “Never mind,” she says, continues laughing into her microphone.

Prim picks out vegetables. Bread. Katniss tries not to stare at it. She’d left the fabric in a pair of pants back at the house. How could she have forgotten about it? How could she have not brought it?

She doesn’t look at the bread vendor. Just in case.

“Do you want anything special?” Prim asks. “Johanna? Katniss?” Her hair is tied in braided pigtails, which her mother had done this morning. Her mother has been doing more than Katniss, lately. They’ve switched places.

Katniss thinks of walking into the mines, the thrum of the electric fence, the Games, she thinks of the—

Johanna doesn’t say anything. Neither does Katniss. Prim makes dinner that night, though, and Katniss tells her it’s delicious even though it feels like swallowing lead.

*

She should ask Johanna what her favorite color is. Maybe it’s burning green. Soft copper.

Johanna’s sitting across from her at the table. Katniss could open her mouth, make the words come out. It would be that easy. It’s supposed to be that easy. She can set her spoon down and ask the question. She can finishing chewing breakfast, finish swallowing, part her lips, make her teeth and tongue move. Ask a question.

Johanna meets her eyes over their porridge. “You alright?” she asks.

Katniss opens her mouth, but no words come out.

Johanna returns to her food like she’s used to this response. Prim and her mother are playing with Buttercup in the living room.

The fabric is by her wrist. She’s already gotten a little bit of porridge on it. It’ll fade away, eventually. The fabric will erode eventually.

She shoves the spoon into her mouth again.

Then, a pounding at the door. It’s too aggressive to be Effie, to be—And there’s not even enough alcohol—Katniss’s thoughts blur. It continues. Johanna runs up, slams the door open.

“Stop, Jesus,” she says, “you’re gonna give everyone in this house a headache—”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me you were back?”

Gale shoves past her, goes right to Katniss. The spoon is halfway to her lips. Some porridge onto the table.

Gale slams his hand on the table. It’s not as graceful as the goop.

“You could’ve told me you came back!” he shouts. “It wasn’t on the news, we just saw the fog, and then nothing! I thought all this time you’ve been at the Capitol!”

Katniss says, “I wasn’t.”

“You’re goddamn right you weren’t,” says Gale, like Katniss has chopped off his wings, like he can only hear himself through one ear, too. “What the hell, Katniss? What did—”

“Look, buddy,” Johanna says, cutting herself between them. “I don’t really know who you are, and really, I don’t care—”

“He’s Katniss’s friend,” Prim quietly offers.

“Whatever, ‘Katniss’s friend,’ whatever,” says Johanna. “You’re really not helping with anything, so why don’t you back off—”

Gale ignores her.

“Katniss,” he says, “Katniss, seriously, what do you want me to do, because if you thought there’s a reason why you couldn’t tell me why you’re back, you’re wrong, just, seriously, let me—”

“Hey.” Johanna shoves him. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, I heard what you said,” says Gale, “and I’m calling bullshit. Katniss,” he tries, and Katniss wants to crawl into a hole, wants to be on that train again, going far, far away, slipping in warmth and sunset oranges and night terror following comfort.

“She’s not in a state to deal with you right now,” Johanna says, “so, seriously man, you gotta leave, either now, or—”

“What are you even talking about?” Gale’s turned on Johanna now. Her axe is in the next room, and Katniss seriously fears for Gale’s life, seriously wants to see what Johanna can do. “You don’t know her. You don’t know me. I’ve known Katniss forever, so I don’t know why you’re the one telling me to back off, when you’re—”

“Buddy, you don’t know shit,” Johanna interrupts. She jabs Gale in the shoulder again. He doesn’t flinch, but he bites his lip like it hurts. “You might have known Katniss forever, but you don’t know anything what it’s like to be in the Games, you didn’t see what happened after that fog, you didn’t see Peeta die—”

“Okay, Christ, I know Katniss gives a shit about Peeta, you give a shit about Peeta, hell, even I gave a shit about Peeta at some point,” Gale says, and no, no, it’s all wrong, “but that’s not the point here, when Katniss doesn’t look like she knows who she is, or—”

“That’s the damn point!” Johanna right about hollers, and Katniss’s porridge is shaking. Everything in her vision is shaking. “Why do you think she would stay at the Capitol when they’re the ones who killed Haymitch and Peeta? When they’re saying they can’t find Finnick, don’t have any evidence for Snow? You said you thought she was there the whole time? Do you even know who Katniss is?”

No, no, no. This is wrong this is wrong this is wrong. Katniss clutches her ears and it feels like she’s only holding one. She wants to scream.

She doesn’t hear what Gale says next, but a second later and Johanna’s fist hits his jaw. It hits once, but it’s like she’s swinging an axe, like she had been during the games, looking like she was about to kill Katniss, and she could kill Gale. She could.

Katniss is terrified because the thought doesn’t terrify her.

No one does anything and Gale stumbles, doesn’t fall backwards. The side of his face is blotchy. Blood is coming from somewhere.

Katniss’s mother is the first to say something. “I should get that fixed up,” she says quietly, and stands up from the couch. She guides Gale wordlessly into her room, comes back out a few minutes later for rubbing alcohol and bandages.

Johanna sits down.

“Sorry,” she says to Katniss.

Katniss looks down at her hands. They’re wet. Her porridge has tumbled all over the table.

Prim cleans it up a few minutes later. Katniss and Johanna sit at the table. Buttercup curls around Katniss’s chair legs.

*

When Katniss wakes up this time, the fire’s out. She grabs a poker and tugs at the wood. Someone’s put it out. It’s not cold, but the fire’s hot, so hot, and sometimes if Katniss sits close enough she can pretend she’s burning away.

“Need help with that?”

Johanna crawls onto the stone floor next to her. Together, they start the fire up again, seeping to the chimney. Katniss is sure that if she looks hard enough, she can see faces in the smoke. So she doesn’t.

“I had a dream about him, too,” Johanna says. Her voice is the smooth side of the tree. Chopped away, soft inside. “He was with me. I should’ve noticed.”

“It was fast,” Katniss says. “So fast.”

She should’ve gone. It was supposed to be her. The smell of roses linger around her house still, and she throws up every time she passes the spot.

If they moved houses, she wouldn’t have to. If they moved houses, she would sleep and sleep until the house buries her.

But the roses hadn’t been there, at the least.

“At least they,” Johanna starts, stops. Katniss is glad for it.

Johanna turns to her. The flames are bright in her eyes. Katniss can feel her breath on her face. She almost wants to lean in.

*

Katniss doesn’t dread the days that Prim brings her food, but when it’s Johanna at her door, she wants to ask her to stay. She wants to ask Prim to leave.

Prim doesn’t ask her any questions, and their mother knows her space.

If Prim had inherited more of their father’s features, looked more like Katniss, she’d look more similar to Rue. Her pulled back blond hair and pale skin fit with the house. Like a doll.

“Prim,” she says, from the other side of the couch. Her mouth hurts, so she must be smiling.

Her hand’s reaching out for Prim’s, and Prim takes it. Smiles back.

“I,” Katniss says, but it burns too much, because what if Prim had been the one in the Game, the both of them, watched Rue die, watched Peeta—

No memory, no image, cut off by the smog and the darkness in her head. The ticking of the clock. The jabberjays.

And Prim, sitting next to her on the couch, holding her hand, drinking milk with the other.

There’s too much here. There’s too much there. Katniss jerks her hand back, pretends she doesn’t see the look that Prim gives her. Curls away and doesn’t look at Prim. Doesn’t answer her when she asks if she’s okay.

*

“What was your first Game like?”

Katniss’s voice sounds like when Buttercup scratches the bottom of their wooden chair, until their mother tells him to stop. Johanna smiles, too visible when it’s supposed to be night.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says, staring into the fire. She tosses a stray pebble in.

Katniss watches it leave. The fabric is in her hands again. She could put it in the fire. Forget everything. The Games, President Snow. Haymitch.

The only part of Peeta she managed to save.

“Me neither,” Katniss says, and Johanna looks at her funnily, again. She pulls tight, so tight that it might break in half.

“I don’t want children,” says Katniss. “I don’t want anyone to have any children. I don’t want there to be children. I want all the children to grow up and be adults and die already.”

Peeta was a child when Snow’s arms had been around his neck, covered in blood, real blood. Haymitch’s blood. Yelling, Katniss, Katniss, get away! and I’ll be okay!, running and running and grabbing onto Peeta’s shirt before being tossed back. Pushed away, vision black.

She doesn’t know if it had been Peeta or Snow or Haymitch and she hates all of them.

“I do, too,” Johanna says.

*

Katniss asks her, “How much do you like me?”

Johanna’s sitting on the foot of her bed. Katniss’s dinner is in her lap, barely touched. Johanna doesn’t usually stay, doesn’t try to force her to eat like Prim does. Katniss had asked her this time, though.

Johanna says, “Enough,” which isn’t enough.

Katniss waits. Johanna continues, “More than anyone else in this house.”

“Do you think.” Katniss hesitates. “Sex would help?”

Johanna pauses.

“I don’t know,” she says, and that’s an answer enough.

She is softer than Katniss would’ve expected, despite all the angles she forces out on a regular basis, anyway. She doesn’t kiss like Peeta, compliant and molding against her. She goes in as soon as Katniss has her hands behind Johanna’s neck, like Katniss is the Cornucopia.

No. No, it’s not time for this, now.

But their legs get tangled quickly and Katniss helps them both take their clothes off. Johanna shoves her hands against her own breasts, then Katniss’s.

“Are you okay with this?” she asks.

Katniss isn’t against it. Maybe it will help. Johanna is enjoying herself. Katniss wants to, too.

She tells Johanna yes, lets Johanna lick at her, tell her what to do. They’re turned into each other, so that Johanna’s legs are spread across Katniss’s face while Johanna has her face between Katniss’s thighs. Light on dark.

Johanna sounds very convincing when she comes.

Katniss tries, Johanna tries, Katniss tries to find the build up, inside of her. She thinks of herself, of Peeta, of Gale, of Johanna, and she cries and cries and cries. She thinks of Snow dying, of Cato’s bloodied face. Of Haymitch’s voice cutting like a suicide bomb. Of Madge, of the mockingjay, of what might lie beyond District 12.

When she comes it hurts and it’s good and Katniss cries. Johanna curls around her. It’s better.

*

Effie manages to get the interviews on television. They know it’s her because they can hear Effie yell, “Roll the tape!” in the background before it starts. It’s displaying in District 12, first, so they’re using all the technology they have here.

The District 12 citizens say they don’t know what happened, but they’re glad for it. Someone mentions how they heard some children graffiti the Reaping Hall. The bowls were overturned, they said, names and paper burnt.

It’s better, they all say. It’s better, Katniss knows. It’s better, she tries to tell herself.

Johanna comes down. Prim looks mildly surprised.

“Where’d you sleep last night?” she asks.

“I—oh.” Johanna manages to deflect when she looks at the television screen. “Huh. Impressive.”

He was with me, she had said, a couple of nights ago. If Katniss tried hard enough, she could direct all her anger to Johanna. Johanna, who should’ve seen what was going on, stopped him. Johanna, who could’ve been in Peeta’s place.

Peeta, who wasn’t even supposed to be part of Haymitch’s plan. Haymitch, who hadn’t told Katniss about the plan to kill Snow at all. Snow, who told her because they don’t lie to each other, goddammit, and his life was going to be over in seconds, and the last thing he wanted to see was Peeta burn, Katniss’s soul burn with him—

She’s shaking. She’s on the ground. Johanna is by her side in seconds.

She likes this more than sex.

“I’m sorry,” Katniss whispers, and she’s sorry, what’s she sorry for? “I’m sorry for last night.”

“It’s okay,” Johanna replies, rubbing her back.

Katniss lets her. “I don’t think we should do that again,” she says, and it doesn’t feel like breaking. It doesn’t feel like being dragged to her death.

Johanna says, “Okay.”

*

They don’t uncover the bodies from the clock island, the Capitol doesn’t release any technological information about Haymitch and Plutarch’s teleportation device, no one sends out search parties for Finnick and Mags. Johanna tells Katniss that they had known all along. Katniss asks if she’d known.

Johanna hesitates. “No,” she says.

Katniss wonders why Haymitch hadn’t let Snow go once Peeta was involved. How come Haymitch couldn’t have died, on his own? None of them could’ve died. They all could’ve died. He could’ve—they could’ve—

“But imagine,” says Johanna. “Imagine the conversations they must’ve had when Haymitch was dragging them in.”

Katniss laughs. Katniss cries. Johanna apologizes.

Plutarch Heavensbee had died moments before Haymitch, in the Gamemakers’ control room. Katniss tries to feel something, but she doesn’t know Plutarch. It’s another death. If Katniss marked them on the stone, she would mark his down without knowing what it meant.

Prim reveals that it’s Sunday a few days later. Katniss tries to smile like this is good news.

Johanna had apologized last night, for the few nights before. Katniss asks if she’s okay with sleeping in her bed. Johanna is.

“Sunday,” Johanna claps her hands together. She looks to Katniss. “Market day.”

“Okay.” Katniss nods.

Prim is excited. “You’re really up for it?” she asks, and even their mother comes out of her room, too. Her eyes are bright when she looks at Katniss. Katniss wonders when she had recovered.

“I am,” she says.

Prim makes plans for the outing. She convinces Johanna to put on one of their mother’s old dresses, only because Johanna had spotted Katniss shoving her palms in front of her own mouth, forcing back a noise she hasn’t heard in ages. Katniss will wear a dress too, and when she does, she slips her piece of Peeta inside.

The world is too big. Sometimes, Katniss wonders what she will remember when she dies. If she knows why she’s dying at all.

But she isn’t, right now.