A/N: I know there have been a million bazillion of these oneshots, but I find it helps with my own mental health in processing the end. And I think Suzanne Collins could have given the readers a bit more closure in the end.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. Or "Arms" by Christina Perri

And I'm Home

People had been so enraptured with Katniss, the girl on fire, that they had overlooked the fact that Peeta had been on fire as well. Only, his was a different type of fire, one that didn't consume and burn recklessly, as Gale's had. Nor did it have an overpowering effect like Katniss's, with a predisposition of being one water-filled bucket away from snuffing out.

His was a slow-burning fire, like the coals they had dressed as during the second games, glowing softly at first, but eventually reaching smoldering temperatures, shining as brightly as the sun. It was his slow-burning fire that kept Katniss's ignited, kept her from being extinguished entirely when she wasn't sure of herself, of her cause, of anything.

Sometimes, Katniss would watch, slowly stoking the embers of his soul when he seemed to drift away. And when her fire had died down, and his coals smoldered in the dust of the rebuilding, they came together. They weren't two halves mashing into a whole being; they would forever have pieces missing, lost or stolen in the Games and in the rebellion. They were just two kids, caught in something that had been greater than both of them could have ever imagined.

And somehow, in the wreckage of the dying, slaughtering, fighting, and struggling to ensure the next breath wasn't their last, they found love. The most hopeless of times, and they found the one thing they could both keep forever.

But it wasn't blatant or obvious, like a drunken Haymitch stumbling though the dark. Rather, it was a spider web slowly woven in the twilight hours: beautiful and strong, yet fragile to any sharp force that threatened to rend it from its anchors. Only their anchors were rooted so deep as to make destruction nearly impossible. It was tattered beyond belief, but they set back to steadfastly repairing and reinforcing each delicate strand.

It was his arms at first, always so strong and steady, wresting her mind away from the nightmares that held her captive night after night.

She had fallen asleep while watching him trace Glimmer onto the parchment, her eyes and features slowly coming back to life in the page. Katniss assumed he must have moved her to the couch because the table wasn't nearly as comfortable, but she awoke screaming at his concerned face as she thrashed away from the dream mutt.

"You saw her again," he murmured. It wasn't a question.

Katniss tried to focus on his eyes, tried to find some remnant of her sanity in their blue depths. "She was tearing us apart," her voice wavered, holding back tears. "She hated us for not saving her."

Peeta didn't say anything, didn't contradict the fact that they could have saved her, that it wasn't their fault, that they were only trying to survive. Instead, he lifted her up into his lap, pulling the heavy quilt off the back of the couch and covering them both as they lay down across the cushions.

She curled into his warmth as he ran his fingers through her hair, ignoring the way her tears dampened the front of his shirt. After awhile, her sobs stopped, and she managed to speak two words. "I'm sorry."

For her actions, for pretending, for killing, for every wrong she had ever done to him was left unsaid, but he knew what she meant.

Sometimes she thought he knew her better than she did herself. Or at least, he knew how to bring out the good in her, the part of her that was the innocent sixteen year old girl running around the Seam just trying to help her family get by.

"I know," he replied after a long moment. Not 'It wasn't your fault' or 'I don't blame you.' Those words, as reassuring as they might have been, wouldn't help her overcome her guilt, wouldn't stop the nightmares every night, wouldn't mend their hearts back together.

"I'm sorry too."

He made no move to get up, but she still clung tighter to him, whispering, "Stay with me."

They both knew the implication of that simple phrase, the greater weight behind those three words. It was a commitment that this time, there were no lies, no facades, and no posing for the cameras of a rebuilding Panem. It was just her and him. Katniss had let him know where she stood. Now it was his decision whether or not he would risk his heart getting broken again.

"Always."

His kisses didn't follow right away, but appeared slowly, like the moths in the meadow after sunset, their wings with that same dusting of orange Peeta loved so much.

It was difficult sometimes, remembering that she wasn't a mutt, wasn't the enemy he had been deceived to believe she was by the Capital. When his whitened knuckles regained color and his grip on reality returned, Katniss would question him to reassure that he was still the boy with the bread, and not another pawn in the Games.

"You love me, real or not real?" she questioned, arms reaching around him as her forehead pressed into his spine between his shoulder blades.

"Real," he murmured, turning around, pulling her into his arms, and kissing her like he'd never see her again. "Real."

And after several years and finally performing the toasting ceremony for real, Peeta gazed at her that night, running his fingers gently through her dark hair as her eyes fluttered with sleep.

"You love me. Real or not real?" he whispered.

Katniss's eyes opened completely, looking at Peeta with such intensity that he was reminded of the time he almost died in front of her.

"Real," she told him, reaching her hand out to cup his cheek, tracing the strong line of his jaw with her thumb before tugging him closer. "Real."

I'll never let a love get so close.

You put your arms around me and I'm home.