Summary: "I am burning." I whispered in the dark room. "I am burning and I don't know how to stop it." Katniss and Peeta try to mend after the war. Rated M for mature themes such as violence, swearing and probably some sex.

A/N: This is my first attempt at a TRUE Everlark fic and I'm three chapters in and on a high streak. Please review follow and favorite. Lemme know whatcha think n stuff, ya know?

Chapter 1: District 12

[Katniss]

"My name is Katniss Everdeen," the palms of my hands are damp against my face, slick with sweat and condensation from my breathing. The light behind the tree had long since faded, receding over the mountains that separated us from the rest of Panem many hours earlier. "I am from District 12. I was a tribute. I survived two Hunger Games. We were bombed. I am - was - the Mockingjay. The war is over. We have won. I am safe." But I don't feel safe. My hands still shake and my body is rocking from the earthquake in my muscles. "I am burning." I whisper into the dark room. "I am burning and I don't know how to stop it."

The door creaks open slowly, and his faint footsteps echo in the empty silence now vacant of my screams. Peeta. Always so good at being quiet when I am at my most volatile, yet when necessary, his feet jackhammer into the ground, shuffling and kicking. But here he was, tiptoeing his silent way over to my shivering form, tangled in sweat drenched sheets. I had been actively avoiding him since he'd planted the primroses in the garden behind my home many early mornings ago. He sinks to the floor beside me, careful hands gently extracting me from the mess of blankets I was caught in. I wonder briefly if he could hear me screaming through his open window, but decide against asking, focusing my attention on not shivering as the cold tips of his fingers brush my bare legs. Moving the hair back from my eyes, he works it into a braid my arms are too heavy to form and then looks at me, blue eyes boring into my own grey ones. We stay silent for a long time, him gently brushing my hair into the same direction, finger-combing the tangles into half decent lengths of hair, odd ends causing him only momentary issue.

Haymitch was right, as I realize he is nursing my wounded mind back into reality the way I had been so selfishly ignoring his. I didn't deserve this man. Not at all.

Peeta ties the braid off with the thinning piece of elastic he'd procured from my wrist, and repositions himself to face me, sitting back with his legs round either side of me. He offers me his arms after another long moment of quiet and I nod, leaning forward instead of moving at all, head resting on the still solid plain of his chest.

"Better?" he whispers, hand pressing small, soft sircles into my back. His voice is as hoarse as mine; from lack of use or violent screams, I can't tell, but the way he holds me, like it would be his death if he let me go, tells me things are bad for him too.

"Are you okay?" I ask, almost choking on my words. I have avoided his question, knowing when I answer, more will tumble from his tongue, his shiny memories distorted further by my constant pushing away.

"Generally, or right now?" without even a glance, I can see the smirk plastered to his face. I pick at my already raw nail beds for a moment while I think.

I slide closer, feeling brave. "Both." I whisper. He chuckles slightly, reminding me of the Peeta I knew before the war. Before the hijacking and the lies and all the mistakes I made.

"Right now, I'm okay. Yes. But…" his hesitation makes me glance up through hick lashes and see his bright blue eyes staring down at me. I feel that same spark I always feel when I look at him, buzzing and fluttering in my chest before disappearing again when he looks away, skin darkening in the already pitch light. His breathing falters slightly, like he's trying to admit something uncomfortable, and I look back down to my hands; his arms tighten and warmth spreads through me like molten metal.

"But?" I reply, a smile inching it's way onto my face at his palpable awkwardness.

"But, Katniss, I'm tired." I could feel him starting to rise, and my muscles tense with a terrible wave of anxiety. "I should go. It's… not safe for me to be here."

I nodded. Peeta is right; he isn't safe around me. His mind still to shiny and raw and he saw the mutt in me about to tear him to shreds too often for him to want to be around me. Things were different now. I draw my body away from his, fearing sleep more and more the closer he gets to leaving. He gathers my sheet, which is stale, unwashed for weeks, and probably smells of sweat and nightmares. I stay seated firmly on the ground, still too shaky to move, and unwilling to watch Peeta leave. I knew things would change when coming back to 12 but I never expected him to be my neighbor, anymore than I expected him to rescue me from my demons when I was the cause of so many of his. I knew from the heat travelling up my neck and flooding my face that I was on the verge of asking him something stupid; biting my lip less than tenderly, I look up at him.

Peeta looks at me with sad eyes. His left eyebrow arches up in a questioning way. I notice more fully his burn scars: his very short hair, cropping close on the right side to hide the fact that most of it was singed off; his flare of pinkish skin that settles around his shoulder and up a bit of his neck; the shortness of his previously perfect right brow. I shrug it off, casting my gaze back to his again. He seems to understand my racing thoughts better than I do, because before I can protest, he scoops me up and moves me into my bed before crossing to the other side and toeing off his shoes.

"What are you-" I begin, but he's pulling the sheet up and removing the prosthetic leg that is so much a part of him now I sometimes forget it's there.

"Shush." he mutters sharply. "C' m'ere." His voice has taken on the quality of one that hasn't slept well and I tentitavely move closer to him, careful not to move too fast. Even through closed eyes, he can feel my hesitation and nervousness. A strong, calloused hand grips my waist, causing me to jump and gasp in a surprised and pleasent way. He winds his arm 'round me and pulls me in tight to him.

"Peeta-" his eyes spring open, now slightly red with exhaustion and he watches me for a moment before closing them again, slightly shushing me through thinly parted lips. "What are you doing?" My muscles are tense against him, knees digging in an obviously uncomfortable way into his abdomen. The slow, soft circles he pushed with the heel of his hand into my back was making everything worse; warming me and making my pieces all soft.

"Katniss, do you want me to stay or not?" he murmurs, exhaustion cutting the softness of his voice. A heat rises in me at the sound of his sharp, yet dulcet tones. I soften further, knees binding with his, molding against him like liquid fire, which had seemingly filled me since his arrival here.

"Always." I whisper against him, tucking my head away under his chin.

"We're okay," he murmurs, "real or not real?" His voice trails off, and he's already asleep before I say the word I've been searching for longer than a month.

"Real."