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[madeuptoerase]

It's been two days, and she's thought of little else. As far as Carla Jean is concerned, that's only to be expected, of course, anything else seemingly impossible, or at least far beyond her capabilities, but that doesn't make the truth of it, weighing persistently on her mind, any less easier to stomach. To find out that she's been here before,

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[notapiece]

Snapping back down to reality at the question, Peeta blinked rapidly. He had been drifting off, thinking about a lot of things none of which were really related to what he had been working on. He stopped tapping the end of his pencil against the table, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed and definitely confused.

"Who me?" he asked as he gave a quick look around to confirm that was she was in fact talking to him. It was easy to conclude that she was given that he had been staring in her direction and he was the closest one there. "Oh sorry. I was just thinking, I didn't mean to bother you."

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"No," Carla Jean says, quick but not apologetic. He hasn't done anything but stand there, and out of sorts though she might be, she isn't about to take that out on a stranger, not really. Lips pressed into a thin line, she glances at the paper again, then sets it on the table, shaking her head. "You didn't bother me, I just didn't realize anyone was watchin'. Guess I was just thinkin', too."

[notapiece]

Scratching the back of his head, Peeta nodded understandingly. It was the sort of thing that happened. One minute you were lost in your thoughts and the next minute you were very aware of what was around you. It wasn't necessarily the easiest thing in the world to explain away.

"Hope you were thinking about something good." Or at least better than what was troubling him. Gesturing with the end of his pencil he nodded towards the paper that she was reading. "Good news even. Maybe?"

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Carla Jean lets out an exhale of a laugh, dry if not quite bitter. She isn't in the habit of keeping a lot of things bottled up, but it isn't as if he could know better. He's a perfect stranger, after all, and not one who recognized her right off like Sean did. So many people haven't that she wouldn't expect anyone to; around here, she's pretty sure that many years ago is a long time, anyway. "No," she says with a slight shake of her head, lips pressed together into a slight frown. "Lord, what I wouldn't give for some good news right about now. No, I think it's more like the opposite."

[notapiece]

"I know the feeling."

He did. Bad news had a way of coming along and landing on him even though he wasn't expecting it and didn't particularly want. Back in Panem news was inevitable. It always came and always spoke of dark things. Whatever this stranger was feeling, he was certain that he could understand the dread.

"Good news is always nice. Bad news from here or from home?"

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Carla Jean doesn't remember the last time she had any good news at all, for that matter, and she's pretty sure there isn't any to be had. Her life's too far past that point, and everyone in it gone, too. Good news would be nice, but it would be naïve to expect it, and that's one thing she has never been.

"A little of both, I guess," she says, shrugging, because she's not sure there's any simpler way to put it. The whole situation is so damn convoluted now that it seems impossible to try to explain, but he hasn't really asked for answers yet anyway, and she isn't in the habit of giving them when she doesn't need to. "Sort of... tied together."

[notapiece]

"Ah, yeah."

Peeta understood that news could be both good and bad all in one go. Most of the news that he had ever received in his life had been a combination of the two. Everything good that happened to him was tinged with sadness and pain. Maybe that was how it was for everyone, they just didn't like to talk about it.

Having news apply to both here and home was something new. Usually it was one or the other. "How so, if you don't mind my asking."

[madeuptoerase]

Back home, maybe, she would have minded it, the question a little forward coming from a stranger. Here, though, it's all too clearly common knowledge, giving Carla Jean no reason not to tell. Lifting one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, she gestures towards the paper with a tilt of her chin, as if it weren't already obvious that that's the source of her problems.

"My husband was here, a few years ago," she explains, voice low, but not inaudible. "Got himself killed here same as he did back home. So, both."

[notapiece]

Expectations on this sort of thing weren't something that Peeta really formed. He just took the information in as it came to him. But whatever he had been expecting, as minor as it might be, that was not it. He nearly had to strain to her.

"Oh wow." He ran a hand through his hair, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to formulate a response. Words were something that he was good at but there were some things that were never really easy. "That's definitely both. I'm sorry. Hearing from a paper isn't the way that anyone should hear about that."

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[Continued here.]