Bonus: To watch the fanvideo for this fic and the song Light a Fire by the incomparable akai-echo, click HERE.

"I raise my left arm and twist my neck down to rip off the pill on my sleeve. Instead my teeth sink into flesh. I yank my head back in confusion to find myself looking into Peeta's eyes, only now they hold my gaze. Blood runs from the teeth marks on the hand he clamped over my nightlock.

"Let me go!" I snarl at him, trying to wrest my arm from his grasp.

"I can't," he says."

― Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay

When she stepped out of the doorway and stomped her way around the balcony, I had no expectations about who I would find. Which Katniss would appear? Would it be the girl who snuck out into the forbidden woods to bring back meat and sell it right under the peacekeeper's noses? I hadn't seen that Katniss since the first time we were reaped.

I think, subconsciously, I had imagined that she would be as I last saw her - barely pieced together, covered in freshly healed skin, hair ragged and fire-singed, eyes full of grief and haunted by every single soul who'd died, carrying their demise as her own personal guilt.

Instead, she'd become a ghost herself.

I swallowed hard as she came upon me, with a half-scream building on her lips. Her hair was beyond dirty - matted together from the oil of neglect. Her skin was scarred and sallow, covering a rail-thin body that would blow away in the breeze. She looked downright awful and the sight of her turned my stomach. She was wasting away.

"You're back," she said absently, her eyes lacking their usual metallic sharpness.

"Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday," I answered. "By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone."

She appraised me finally, the same way I'd evaluated her but gave no indication of her conclusion, the clouds still masking any expression in her eyes. When she finished, she made to move a lock of hair that hung over her eyes but it was so matted, it continued to hang, tangled and greasy over her face. I couldn't help but frown at this and made a mental note to have a talk with Haymitch.

"What are you doing?" she asked, and I realized she'd become defensive.

"I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For... her," I replied. "I thought we could plant them along the side of the house."

Her face changed, becoming contorted with anger when she glanced at the flowers, and for a moment, I was confused. Had I done it wrong? Had I miscalculated? All I wanted to do was honor Prim, to find a way to remember her, and help Katniss heal. Dr. Aurelius would have approved the gesture as life-affirming.

But the wave of rage that passed over her face, was replaced with a pain so acute, I almost raced up the stairs to comfort her, though I hadn't touched another human being in more than a month. She nodded and turned her frail, bent body towards the house and ran inside. I heard the footfalls of her normally light step as she pounded up the stairs, followed by a heavy thud. I was almost moved to follow her inside, fearing she might have fallen in her haste, but the noise resumed, so I continued digging. I paused again when, moments later, a crash from the downstairs, like glass shattering, caused me to stiffen and rise again but her normal movements inside soothed me and I settled back down to finish my work.

I went to see Haymitch that very same day, struggling to remain calm. It had been more than a month since I'd last saw him also, but he was in the same position I'd always found him in when I came to visit him before the second games - head bent over the table, an array of bottles in various stages of consumption before him, the sounds of his alcohol laden snoring filling the room. I took care not to get caught by his swinging blade when I woke him.

"I just saw Katniss," I said by way of greeting, not trying to keep the accusation out of my voice.

"Hey, boy! They let you out of the funny farm..." Haymitch answered with a voice raspy from sleep and alcohol.

Fury rose within me, a flood of emotional blackness so bleak, the last time I'd felt it, I'd almost strangled Katniss to death. The sudden intensity of my anger frightened me.

"She's a mess!" I seethed, my fists clenched at my sides. I felt every vein pop out on my wrists.

"Well, sweetheart was never very emotionally unstable…" but my fist stopped his words as I released my grief and heartbreak on him.

"You left her to rot, you fucking asshole," I hissed, knocking over his bottles as I pulled back again, so swiftly, I did not register the second blow until it connected to his lip. Haymitch's head whipped with the impact before he turned back to me, wiping a trickle of blood from his lips.

"Is this the thanks I get?" he said, pouring alcohol onto a filthy rag nearby and bringing it up to his split lip.

I shook the force of the blow from my hand. "What should I thank you for? Saving my life? Taking care of Katniss? Seems you fucking failed on all counts!" I snarled, turning on my heel and striding to the door. I don't know what I thought I'd get from Haymitch - an explanation? A rebuttal of what my eyes had seen? Something that would justify Katniss' condition? It made no sense for me to stick around, getting angrier by the moment. Plus, I already felt like shit for the words I'd uttered, and I wasn't exactly emotionally equipped to deal with anything more complex than my anger.

"You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped," he growled after me, followed by a hiss of pain as he dabbed at his wound again. "You think you might be baking some bread any time soon?"

I froze at the doorway, turning to my former mentor and current neighbor. "You got some balls, you know that?"

"Haven't had good bread in a while," was all he said and, just as quickly as it had come, my anger dissipated, leaving a profound emptiness inside. What was the point of getting angry with someone when they could barely take care of themselves let alone someone else? I didn't feel ashamed as much as I felt despondent.

"We'll see," was all I would commit to as I pushed the door open and stepped through, letting it slam shut behind me.

XXXXX

I heard her that very afternoon.

I realized immediately that it was both a blessing and a curse to live so close to Katniss. My old flat above the bakery had been destroyed in the firebombing that had wiped out most of District 12 and I was still assigned the house in Victor's Village. As I sorted out my few possessions, I heard her voice through the open window, heard the shouting and screaming, "She's not coming back! She's never coming back here again!" I raced to my front door, throwing it open and then stopped, thinking of my time in Dr. Aurelius' care. I remembered my own breakdown, when I finally allowed myself to the feel the pain of my family's loss and the loss of so many in District 12. I remember the tears of rage at so much wasted life, the horror that the world had once been that way and the fear that it might become that way again, but this time, I might not have any strength left to confront it. It was a black time, those grieving days.

But when they were done, I became stronger. No one could go through that with me. I had to face those days alone.

So I sat on the steps of my house, listening to the keening that was Katniss' mourning song and waited. She had to go through that, too. Maybe many times. She had to do it by herself because some walks, you had to take alone.

But what she didn't know was that she wasn't alone. Not really. Not anymore.

XXXXX

When silence finally fell and night blanketed the world, I rose and tread carefully in the direction of Katniss' house. It was quiet, as I expected, but a sudden terror at the absolute stillness of the house moved me to peek through the window. The sight of Katniss sprawled on the floor of her living room moved me to action. I strode quickly through her front door without knocking, though careful not to startle her with my heavy, uneven tread.

I was shocked to see Buttercup, standing like a guard near Katniss' belly. His return to District 12 was a complete mystery to me, and he watched every move I made, as if deciding whether I was someone to hiss at or no. He was protecting Katniss. I asked myself what he might be protecting Katniss from - because from the sound of his ugly purring, it certainly wasn't from me.

I listened to her breathing softly, an occasional whimper escaping her chapped lips. As I bent to carefully scoop her up, I became alarmed at the lightness of her frame engulfed inside her father's hunting jacket and pants. I had a sudden vision of a mountain of cheese buns sitting before her and imagined her eating each one, her body filling out as she consumed her favorite treat. It brought a sudden stab of happiness to imagine myself sitting across from her, watching her eat, and I committed then and there to bring her bread the very next morning and make that vision a reality.

I carried her up the stairs, her exhaustion so complete, it appeared almost unnatural as she hung limply in my arms. But I understood, it was the kind of sleep a person falls into when they just don't have the resources to go on. The need for emotional rest is so profound, it pushes every conscious thought out of the way until the only thing that is left is the welcome void that drowns out all the senses, cocooning you from a world that you are no longer equipped to process. I knew. I'd been there.

The bedroom I walked into was the exact replica of mine, down to the position of the bed. I lay her on top of the covers and carefully took off her boots before tucking her in, jacket and all. She mumbled something about Prim but settled back into her protective sleep, and I couldn't resist brushing a lock of her newly washed hair away from her forehead. I suddenly felt sorrow - for myself and for that drunkard, Haymitch. I even made a mental note to bring him a loaf of bread, even though he truthfully didn't deserve it.

But most of all, I grieved for the girl I found. On that day, Katniss gave me back my first gift. After being angry and lost for so long, I finally felt the first twinge of my old compassion return. It spread it's sorrow through my body at the sight of this girl who had intimidated me with her strength and resilience for so long, now frail and broken from grief. It roared back to life as my heart broke open for the Girl on Fire whose flames had long since burned out, but not before they had consumed her.

XXXXX

This fic is dedicated with all my heart to my dearest friend, loving-mellark, who has always been a source of constant support and true friendship to me. I don't think there is anyone who has not been touched by you.

Title is based on the song Light a Fireby Rachel Taylor. Watch the fanvideo based on both this fic and that song by the unbelievably, singularly talented akai-echo. I love working with you and your friendship has sustained me in the writing of this story. Ti voglio bene!

I also want to thank my friend and longtime collaborator, solasvioletta, who has been my staunchest ally and greatest friend in this adventure. She has beta'd every single story I have written in these last three years. You and I have a special date waiting for us.

Finally, many thanks to peetaspenis(misshoneywell) for devising this challenge which has yielded some of the best, most memorable Everlark stories ever written. This is the last hurrah but it has been a beautiful ride and I have been privileged to participate in four of the seven rounds (and a handful of Holiday Challenges). I have no words for what it all meant to me and the bittersweet feeling as these last stories are posted.