When Johanna's screams surround me like and oral kaleidoscope and Katniss' eyes engulf in flames, I'm glad the venom rushes through my veins now rather than later. The tears rack my body. My mind is a jungle of fiction and reality that I struggle to separate. I remember Dr Aurelius' advice, the conversation we had -

"The tracker jacker attack from your first games." She begins.

"Careers." I say.

"Okay. The beach in the Quarter Quell."

"Katniss."

"The bombs that killed Prim."

"Angry."

"Okay. Last one - Katniss Everdeen."

"Love." I answer.

The doctors words come flooding back, love, Katniss isn't a monster or a mutt or a demon. She's a girl, a women, who has more strength than anyone else I know. She isn't trying to kill me, she isn't trying to harm me. She isn't a product of Snow, because Snow is dead. Snow is dead. Katniss is alive. Snow was evil. Katniss is not.

When she runs out of the kitchen to aid my trauma, it's almost in slow-motion, her dark hair bouncing around, nightgown flapping. Her hands are on my face, in my hair, my neck, around my shoulders. Her alarmed eyes are on my face, on my clenched fists. I hear someone screaming in the distance, only to realise it's me. I feel my hands on my head, but I don't remember putting them there. Katniss' comfort is usually enough to tame the attacks, very rarely does she have to go as far as stopping me this way. Her lips press against mine firmly, my mind tries to kiss her back, but my lips refuse to part for her. She keeps them on me, waiting for me to give in.

Eventually my lips mould to her's, and suddenly I'm very aware of her tears on my cheeks, her hands in my hair, no one is screaming now, my fists are no longer clenched. I relax against her and let myself wrap her in my arms.

Katniss' hands are on my face. "You're going to be okay today." She says. The reunion. I know I'm going to be okay, it's Katniss who has been unsure. Perhaps her comforting me is in fact a comfort for herself. I kiss her hand. "I know. And you will be too." I wipe my burning tears away. As I walk to the kitchen to make breakfast, Katniss follows me. We don't talk about my attack, we never do. It's odd really, when our tears suddenly become meaningless the instant the moment passes. When my trauma stained cheeks go unnoticed. It's just another obstacle, one we can cross, one we have been winning.

After breakfast, I shower, ready myself for the day ahead and call Haymitch. He doesn't pick up. As Katniss showers, I run over to Haymitch's house to make sure he's ready for the reunion. I invite myself in, I'm only on the landing and already the strong whiskey fumes fill my nostrils. I've done everything I can to sway Haymitch off the stuff, but he just can't give it up. Therapy, rehab, nothing works. He needs it. If he hadn't found away to numb himself, he'd most likely be dead.

I find him sprawled out on the sofa face first, his hand lazily possessing a bottle. He's asleep and not in the slightest bit ready. With the jug of water in my hand, I almost feel guilty about drenching his sofa when I throw it over him, but the patchwork material is worn and stained anyway. With flailing arms, alarmed eyes, and his knife pressed outwards, Haymitch rises. He stills and lowers his knife. "Oh. Thought it was the girl. After all you're so much...nicer."

"Well, I don't really think Katniss cares if you show at the reunion, but someone has to take responsibility for you, seeing as you won't do it yourself." I snap.

"Wow, Peeta! Why so-" Haymitch waves his hands around. "Snappy?"

"Because it'll be me who has to explain to everyone that you didn't show because you're passed out and drunk. Now, get in the bath." I say.

"It's not like anyone cares if I show, anyway." Haymitch mumbles as he walks to the bathroom.

"I'm sure Effie does." I say and he gives me a reassured smile.

***

The warm water trickles down my back, in my hair. I love showering, I had never been in one until my first trip to The Capitol. After the war, showers were installed in all the houses of twelve. A luxury we can now afford. It's a good place to escape. To cry. If I need to cry I always go to the shower, like today. Perhaps it's silly, but I just really do not want to attend the reunion. I know it'll bring back bad memories. I'm glad Peeta's out because when I cry in front of him he panics.

When I cry I like to imagine that the tears are all of my problems slowly working their way out of me. Holding in tears, I've decided, is one of the worst feelings in the world. I slide down the back of the tub, sitting cross legged beneath the shower.

It's not long until Peeta finds me. Curled up on the floor of the tub, crying beneath the running water. It's not as bad as it looks. I'm not having a breakdown or a 'bad day'. Sometimes crying just makes me feel better, so what if I do it sitting under the shower naked? Peeta races towards me and scoops me up and out of the tub. He wraps a towel around me and carries me to our bed. "What happened? Are you okay? Do you want to talk with the doctor? Aren't you cold? Do you want me to help you dress? Here, let me help you get dressed." Peeta panics. Then I'm hysterically laughing. It's times like this where I have to question my sanity. "You were crying this morning." I laugh. Peeta looks at me utterly bewildered. "And then you made me breakfast, literally two seconds later." He sits on the edge of the bed. "Why is it when you cry, we understand and forget, but when I cry it's like I'm dying?" I'm still laughing, but my words don't match my tone.

"Because I care." He says.

"And I care too. And I worry about you, but I understand that sometimes when you cry, it's for the sake of crying and not for anything else. I'm fine, alright?"

"Alright." Peeta places the rumbled pile of clothes in his hands back in the drawer, then sits down beside me. I reach for the drawer next to the bed and rumble through it, searching for the book, where we record the losses of our friends, allies, and loved ones. I place the book in my lap. "We should take it." I say. "To show everyone." Peeta nods very slowly, considering it.

"You sure? It wouldn't upset you too much?"

"I want everyone to see it." I say.

***

I look in the mirror. The person staring back at me is someone I've never seen before. Not the Katniss who went hunting to keep her family alive, who's main concern in life was simply surviving. Nor the Katniss who bathed in Capitol clothing and indulged in an endless supply of food. This Katniss is somewhere in between. This Katniss' hair falls over her shoulders in an abundance of waves, this Katniss wears a beautiful red dress that is nothing compared to the stitches Cinna's hands could once fabricate.

Delly took me dress shopping. Of course, I could never hold a piece like this in my wardrobe. Peeta suits up, as does Haymitch after quite a struggle and a pep talk from Peeta, along the lines of - "Effie would be so upset if you didn't show." And "You better try and look good, wouldn't want to be embarrassed in front of Effie." Peeta, of course, knows exactly how to play him.

The reunion takes place in a large dining room in the Justice Building where government officials have meetings and make decisions. As I enter I remind myself that this is not an informal meeting, these people are my acquaintances, my friends. The first face I see sits at the top of the table, his grey hair perfectly combed. Plutarch. Then Annie and her son in her arms. Cressida and Pollux and Gale. Effie, who has been in regular contact anyway. Beetee, Enobaria and Johanna.

I'm not sure why, with the dining table so huge and so many empty spaces, why I navigate towards Johanna. Her dark hair falls to her shoulders, pink streaks dancing through it. Her dark eye makeup makes her look as intimidating as ever, but her trademark glare seems to have slipped away from her. She smiles at me as I take a seat in the large throne-shaped chair next to her's. "Hey Brainless. It's been awhile." She swirls her glass of wine around in her hand. "So I guess you've heard about my lil' trip to rehab then?" I nod. "Don't worry. I have plenty of other drugs to occupy my mind now." I look at her concerned and utterly confused. She nods her head to the back of the room - at the food table. Chatting away to Peeta, a very tall, very pretty young man. His dark hair falls over his face, even from over here his eyes are obviously piercing blue. Not my type, too pretty, but I see Johanna has done well for herself. "Oh" I say. She laughs. "What's his name?" I ask.

"Zeb." She answers. "If he were a dog-" She begins, glancing at him admiringly. "he'd be a husky."

"Interesting description." I laugh.

"What would Peeta be?" She asks. I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of this conversation. This wasn't what I had been expecting to discuss.

"Maybe a poodle." We both laugh. "I don't know much about dogs."

Annie joins us. Fin runs around, nibbling at finger food and putting them back. I try not to think about how much he looks like Finnick, with his golden hair and sea green eyes. Even the way he walks and fiddles his thumbs. Habits he didn't learn but simply inherited. As he approaches me I try and avoid his eyes, incase I cry - that would make me look ridiculous. He taps my knee and I look down. I force myself to acknowledge the child. "Katniss." He mumbles. Suddenly all the fear fades and I crack into a smile at his little voice and tiny hands.

"I'll be right back, take care of him will you?" Annie asks, as she sets her glass of wine on the wooden table and disappears down the long hallway neighbouring the dining hall. I nod, but it's too late for her to have seen me. Something seems off. I glance at Johanna who looks a little concerned. Johanna gets up out of her seat. "Don't make a scene." I warn her as she follows Annie's tracks. I take care of Fin.

Plutarch approaches me. I spotted him talking to Peeta earlier, I know it's my turn for the "Hey, how have you been? Are you mentally stable?" talk. His eyes meet mine, the grey haired man approaches me the way one might approach its prey. Cautiously. I let out a raggedy breath waiting for the trigger talk, when her scream pierces the air.