part iv. a foolish man is sober and a foolish man is drunk and they clash and they see each other and in the end, well they both are just fools and alone; guilt is deep and guilt fuels sorrow but she must remember the yellow; a short and brief summary of love and watching the blossom of it all; a kiss means everything a kiss means all and this kiss killed; whole man, half man, not a man at all, he knew oh he knew, he knew it all;

When the door shut behind her, Peeta didn't know what to do. Well this is just great. He wanted to see where she went, see what she was doing, wanted to just talk to her because dammit, there was a lot going on and they had a lot they needed to talk about. But he figured she needed space. He knew that he probably needed space.

No, he didn't need space. He needed to talk to someone else.

He went out the front door and quickly found himself over at Haymitch's, knocking loudly until he let himself in. His house may have at one point looked as immaculate as their new one as it definitely reeked of seeing better days. Empty beer bottles, old clothes, and overall just mess littered the area. Peeta found Haymitch at his kitchen table, his head down and his one hand wrapped around a bottle.

"Haymitch," he called to the man but he didn't move. Already irritated, Peeta tried to keep his composure. "Haymitch, wake up," He said louder, until he shoved the man and he woke with a gasp and fell to the floor.

"What was that for, boy?" He asked, rubbing his back from the floor.

Peeta offered his hand to help him up, which Haymitch took while muttering. "For not waking up."

"Well I'm awake. Why are you here?"

What a charming man. Peeta wondered why he willingly seeked out this man's company. Well, and then he remembered. He looked at him. "Hi Haymitch. It's great to see you. Haven't seen you in a while, have you been well? Because I know I've been–"

"Yeah, yeah I get it," he said and waved his arm at the blond standing in front of him. He shook the bottle in front of him, finding it empty, and picked up a half full one from the ground. "Haven't seen you in a while Peeta, fine. I'm going to drink my hangover away, fine. How have you been?"

"Shitty."

The man that used to live in the Seam just laughed, did the action of giving a cheers to Peeta, and took a swig. "Join the club."

Peeta sat down across from the man, suddenly feeling everything from the night, the day, everything since he woke up in that bed. He ached, so much walking over the course of the day, and it threatened to take over.

He ached, like he ached since he woke up. It was why it took so long, why his door had been locked and the window shut for all that time toher. They wanted him recovered (recovered enough, at least. Not fully recovered, he didn't think that would truly exist) for his reunion with Katniss. He was told that and sure he was made known that he was to be fine with it, but it was hard to not see her. And it was bullshit that Haymitch never visited him, even if he told himself the drunk didn't care about him. (Call it foolish, but he needed the man to care about him. He craved it, like a little child, being denied it too much in his life, even from his own mother. The idea of someone being worried about him grabbed at him, and he was just waiting for the truth to come, that they didn't care, the grab to be let go of and him to go sprawling in the dirt.) It hurt, so he ached.

He wondered if he'd ever be fully healthy ever again.

(He knew though, he knew the answer. It was in the vitamins they made him consume every morning and night. It was in the food supplied by the hospital, the way that the nurses assured him just wait until you get into your home, the food is to die for – because, you know, people around the place knew a thing or two about things to die for. It was in the therapy they already began on him, assuring him that soon enough it'll be like nothing is different, that everything will work how it used to – how it should. The random headaches, the minute long fevers, they were less and less as the days went on, but they were there. Like a pinch of reality, a little dose of remembrance that all he was anymore was limbs strung together and working with a health that was determined by how much people liked him, that one wrong move makes the grenade go off and he'll be set up for a donation to stop it all.)

He sighed, and tried to get his mind back to the present, to why he looked for this man's company besides making the man feel guilty for not visiting him and himself feeling old issues of abandonment that he told himself he outgrew after he turned ten come blazing through him.

Haymitch beat him to the punch. "So why did you come here?" He took a long drink, and the question hung between the two of them. Peeta stayed silent, and Haymitch scowled. "You obviously wanted to say something, or do something. Otherwise you'd be tucked into your nice big bed with that girl you're in love with in your arms, sleeping. It's been a long day, can't this wait until tomorrow?"

Peeta ignored Haymitch's request. "Why'd you tell her that?" He asked Haymitch. "Why did you tell her it was a strategy?" His voice was hushed, as if just talking about her would summon her to them, as if she'd be there and he'd have to endure having her listen to this conversation.

Haymitch pinched the bridge of his nose. "You should be thanking me for that, boy."

"It's a lie, though!" His anger bristled. "Dammit Haymitch, I know that you didn't believe me at first but I thought you did at the end. It's not a lie, Haymitch. It's not an act, and you told her it was."

Peeta felt himself losing it. The day was getting to him, it was all getting to him, and all he wanted to do was yell at this drunk bastard. Haymitch though, stayed at a controlled tone. His scowl left, and his words were even calm. The only showing of any acknowledgement to what Peeta was saying was the one eyebrow quirked up to his hairline. "Well I seemed to make a real mess of things, didn't I? Why don't you just go and tell her how I'm a liar, how you really are in love with her, and have always been?"

His anger was gone. Or at least his yelling was. Tell her? He told the entire country already. He did that. It got written off to her as a lie, sure, but he already did. The thought of stealing back into the house, their house, coming upon her, whispering in her ear to wake her up, telling her, telling her...

"Why so silent now, boy? The idea of telling her suddenly too much?"

Peeta slumped into a seat across from the old man and shooed the bottle offered to him. "Why did you tell her it was a strategy?" His voice was back down to the quiet it was when he first asked the question. He just wanted to know. He knew he was angry, bitter, selfish, and a fool. And he knew he couldn't just go and tell her now, after it all, that it wasn't just some desperate act so that they could live.

The man sighed, and for a bit Peeta almost believed he could see the man truly beyond the drunken stupor he tried to keep around himself and beyond the stubborn anger he wore as a protective gear like many from his old District. "I was just looking out for both of you. I knew you were being truthful. Hell, I suspected it before you even said anything to me about it. I think almost anyone would. The way you looked at her..." He sighed again, and then looked straight at Peeta. "You made a decision that most don't make the moment you told me you wanted to tell the world you were in love with that girl. You started yourself down a path no one else in your position ever tried to go down."

"And what path was that?"

"You're telling the truth. The awful, damning truth. And god, that was so stupid of you, that's why I tried to stop you. To save you. But you hadto, not only were, but you are a fool, and a stubborn one at that. You needed to tell her, tell everyone, just in case it was your last chance. But it wasn't. You survived, and the girl did too. It's unheard of, I know you know that, and it was surprising enough that one of you would survive. but both? Two from the same District hadn't survived in years, not since they added the rule that there was to be one one or less survivors per District. The two of you weren't supposed to survive. But it didn't matter either way because that girl forgot about how a heart works. The idea of someone liking her baffles her."

"But I lo–"

"I know, kid. I know. You love her. Want to give her the moon and want to give her all the woods to roam around in. I get it, I do."

A question bubbled up, before he could stop it. "Have you ever been in love before, Haymitch?"

The air between the two of them grew thick, and if he squinted, squinted hard and looked out of the corner of his eye, he could almost believe he was looking at the man that haymitch used to be, the boy the Capitol ripped from his home and threw to the wolves.

The man looked up from his dark curtain of hair and peered at the naive merchant boy in front of him. The Capitol is going to destroy them both. Just like us all.

"I thought so. A long time ago." The kid nodded. "but it wasn't like your love, whatever it was. I don't think I ever was capable of what you feel. I don't know if anyone else could." He sighed, too many sighs, and took a deep gulp of his liquor. "Don't let them take that from you, boy."

Peeta was silent. He came over to Haymitch's house to yell at him, to demand answers, and he felt like crying at this point. "Alright," he said, nodding. "I won't." He thought about promising that he wouldn't, but he knew that would be foolish. He was in no position to promise something like that. He felt how already there was a bitter anger that snaked through him and burrowed into his heart every now and then. He couldn't make the promise that this place wouldn't take away his heart and its ability to love. It was hard enough to keep it all back in Twelve, amongst the underfed faces he saw through the windows and the meals of stale product and a mother who would yell and hit. The hitting let up as he started getting older (and bigger, learning to wrestle seemed to make both his brothers and mother step down more often), but the biting words were always there. He was able to keep his heart then, but here, would he?

He wasn't sure. And it scared the hell out of him.

"I was looking out for you both. She's not ready to hear that, to know that someone is in love with her that wasn't born loving her. She cares about you, I know that for sure. Maybe one day she'll be ready for the truth but not yet. You have a place in her, you do. That alone is no easy feat." Another nod, another sigh, another sip and eyebrows furrowed, eyes looking into the distance.

"Now get the fuck out of here, I need to get drunk and pass out." Haymitch said, gruffly, dismissing their conversation and downing the rest of the bottle in his hand. Peeta muttered a goodnight and made his way back across the street, his mind even more cluttered than it was before he went over.

She heard him come back into the house. Distantly, she noticed it. She was burrowed in that closet, in that guest room, and even the damn closet was too big. Everything was. She thought of selling each and every thing in this damn house and giving the money to the Seam back at home. Of returning with all the money to give to them, returning to her family. It was a nice thought, more beautiful than any of the ornate decorations surrounding her in the place, and she hated it. She hated how much it hurt because it could never, would never happen.

She couldn't sell everything. She couldn't get the money to the Seam. She couldn't return to the Seam.

She was in a prison, in a hell, and the thought of being able to at some point maybe call up Primrose and hear her voice again was the only thing she felt herself holding onto again.

Peeta came back home and she waited for footsteps up the stairs that never came. He was so damn...confusing. She didn't know how to deal with anything of the situation, and she didn't know how to deal with him. She went through it all in her head before. She wanted to hate him. The reason she was living and not Rue, it was him, him, him and his words. But no, it was the Capitol to hate, not him. So she couldn't hate him. But it'd be easier if she did.

She knew, she didn't know how much but she knew, she cared for him. And the thought of that scared her shitless.

She didn't want to care about him. But she did. She had to. She considered him a friend at least, though the word felt weird, after their time in the Capitol. And now, well now, they're lovers for the cameras. But what about off cameras? They lived together. They were expected to sleep in the same bed, share private kisses, touch...

They were roommates. They were friends. They would kiss and be cute for the cameras. She repeated it all in her head to calm her breathing down.

She never kissed anyone ever, never had been kissed, and now she was expected to suck his face off whenever possible. She admitted to herself that it, well, it felt nice. And, yeah, alright, it was fun, sometimes even. And she hated that she saw it like that, and tried to not think of it like that. It's not nice or fun, it's just something to do to make sure we stay alive.

She always lied to herself. She taught herself at a young age. But she knew, even as she said it to herself, how much of a lie it was.

Maybe it was just Peeta. Maybe he was a good kisser. She remembered hearing the girl gossip about the blond curled baker. She didn't keep an ear out ever for gossip, but his name came up frequent enough and her ears were trained almost it seemed to hear word of how the boy who saved her life was doing. She heard about many many girls' fantasies that starred that man. If even a quarter of them weren't lies, he was well experienced.

The idea burrowed a hot anger through her that she at first didn't understand. All she knew was that she wanted to go back in time to when she heard the different faceless stupid girls talking about him, and she wanted to punch them. She realized a beat later that what she was feeling was jealousy, something that just friends-slash-roommates never felt.

She realized a beat after that that none of those gossiping girls would even be near him ever again. She smiled to herself at that, and tried to just ignore the jealousy. She'd deal with that in due time, she decided, and just at that point try to revel in the fact that she'd not have to deal with hearing any of what the people back in Twelve would say. She thought about what if Peeta really did like her (beyond a strategy, if his life wasn't endanger, if hers wasn't, because that's all this was, strategy, strategy), if he started truly courting her back in Twelve. All of the gossip that'd surround them was almost a big enough thought to make Katniss go into a panic, but she calmed herself down.

They're not around for us to have to listen to their judgement, or deal with their stares. We're in the Capitol. Everyone around us are sure to gossip about us, but they love it all. We're a story to them. We're a strategy to each other.

She tried to keep her mind off of home after that. Tried not to think of friends and family, of the woods and her bow still hidden within them, of that lake and that cabin, waiting for a dead father and a daughter that'd never again return.

It was all kind of like that, wasn't it? Like that abandoned lake, just left to wait for the rest of her life to come back to. She was sure that it was all like that, all of District Twelve, the Seam, the Hob, Greasy Sae and her mystery meat stews, Thom and his off-key whistling coming back from the mines, the coming and going of blooms in the meadow.

Her mother. Her sister.

Her father.

All waiting, and she'd never return.

She turned her back to the closed door of the guest room's closet that she huddled herself in, and closed her eyes shut as much as she could. She wouldn't sleep, she knew that. Not in a place like this, a mansion of nightmares. She wouldn't sleep, she couldn't. The idea of laying in a bed that big with no one in her arms, with no Prim.

A deep breath. Two of them. Back pressed against the wood of the door and eyes shut tighter. She let go of the thoughts of District Twelve, of families and friends that were still there amongst it all, and she only let her mind briefly meet the image of Peeta. Peeta, from the place that she used to call home. Peeta, the only person around that she still had the possibility to protect. Peeta, who she'd most likely fail. Peeta, whose entire survival (however malleable of a word it was to them now) depended mainly on Katniss; on mainly her ability to lock his interest with her mouth against his, on her ability to weave their two hearts together for a snooping camera and expectant country.

It would've been easier if it wasn't Peeta. If it wasn't Peeta, she wouldn't have a debt to the person already. She could be her greedy and selfish self, go home like she was offered, and not give a damn when she looked at the television screen and saw whoever it was with a new Capitol woman on his arm each week. If it wasn't Peeta, they wouldn't have come up with the strategy, and she wouldn't have to know how it felt to kiss someone, to have their hands run through her hair. She wouldn't know the feeling of someone else's eyelashes moving on her own cheek, of a smile she had to bite back and try to scowl away because in a place like where she is, it's not fair to be happy.

But it was Peeta. And she knew that the only reason she could go through with it all, was because it was Peeta. The idea scared her, how much it all really depended on her depending on him, and so she tried to not think about it further. She focused on her breathing, in out in out, and soon enough her mind had no thoughts in it.

Just the image of a sea of dandelions.

"Well, I believe I'm speaking for everyone when I say thank you to you, Peeta, for not speaking to Katniss beforehand so we could all watch and experience her falling in love with you!"

The crowd roared, showing their agreement. The two of them smiled. Peeta had to force it because it hurt every time he had to be in front of cameras, deal with everyone doting on how in love they both were with each other. It hurt that much more when there were no more cameras and Katniss was cold again, and not at all who she had to project for cameras. She was the Katniss he truly loved, the Katniss he fell in love with, and he hated how she changed so 360 in front of the cameras, when he finally got the chance to kiss her. It was almost as if he was kissing someone else, not Katniss, not the girl he fell in love with when he was five years old and not the girl he was still in love with.

It was hard to Katniss to smile because the interview had been a grueling one.
It started with their entrance, and of course, their kiss. All the time waiting back stage, Katniss tried to disassociate herself from the boy that was holding her hand, rubbing circles on it with his thumb. She tried to take her mind from it, not pay attention to it, to the fact that it in fact was working on calming her down. And then Caesar Flickerman was calling them back on stage yet again.

They kissed, and her lips were closed tight. It was the physical manifestation of her, he decided. Of everything about her, and how she was. To him.

Closed. Closed off. She didn't let him inhale her.

He tried, he did, oh he tried. He didn't mean to, but he did it because he was a fool and he was in love with her and her lips were closed so tight that they didn't leave any room to fall into. He thought of the night before, of how he stood in the threshold of their house after visiting Haymitch, and didn't move. He stood there, still, and couldn't hear a damn thing in the night. He knew that Katniss was upstairs, somewhere, but didn't know where. And after his conversation with Haymitch, he had no intention of finding out. He was afraid that he'd just end up spilling out the truth to her the moment he saw her grey eyes, and so he just heaved a breath from his lungs and sat on the couch in the living room.

Needless to say, the night was sleepless for the both of them, unfamiliar with their surroundings, and the need to not sleep. At the hospital, the rich was subdued by a bleached out white. At the hospital, morphling was connected to them, dripped slowly into their bloodstream to bring a sleep to them.

At the hospital, they were cut into, torn apart literally, and drugged so that it wouldn't haunt them at night.

But there was no morphling hook up to their beds in their house. And they weren't looking to become addicts or abusers, of any substance. The thought of a big cold bed and nightmares was too much for the both of them. And even though they've felt homesick before, even though before they had been scared and nervous about everything the Capitol was, that night felt like the first from home.

No, definitely no sleep.

The prep teams made sure to get rid of the bags under both of their eyes and any other sign of fatigue. The morning dragged as well. Katniss stayed in the closet and Peeta stayed on the couch until there was a knock on the door which he answered, almost being shoved out of the way by the prep teams.

The thought of breakfast came and went in his mind as they dragged him out to start the trek to their car that was parked outside of the village and Katniss made her way down the stairs to her own welcoming prep team.

"Oh honestly, Katniss, couldn't you have prepped a bit for your prep team? It looks like Peeta threw you all around the house."

"Or the bed." Smirks and snickers.

"I wanted to give you more of a challenge," was all she responded, deadpanned, not even blushing at their implications of their comments and not rising to anger in defense. The thought of Katniss being in a state because of an equation that involved himself and a bed almost made Peeta start laughing. He had entertained that thought before, of course, lifetimes ago it seemed. An excuse along the lines of being a teenage boy would have to suffice. But the idea of that thought now, with everything the two of them had to go through, had to go through because he was a fool that couldn't keep his mouth shut, well, he knew that if he didn't laugh he'd cry so he tried to think of something else.

The different breads from the different districts. The different ingredients for each of them, and how to prep. How long the dough needed to sit to rise. The recipe.

They were both even more exhausted from the day by the time that they stood backstage. And they still hadn't talked to each other. Peeta wondered if there was something to say but nothing was right. How was your night's sleep? Well, obviously shitty, and if she asked the same of him that'd be his response too. Are you ready to go on stage? No. Excited? No. Are you ready to pretend to be in love with me because I needed to tell the world that I was in love with you before the possibility of my death? And yes, I really do love you and no it's not just a strategy to me.

He couldn't think up a hypothetical answer to that one.

Katniss tried to think of something to say. She couldn't, so she tried to keep her mind at the task at hand, and let herself think about the boy that was standing next to her, the boy that she tried to keep from her thoughts but was completely unsuccessful with. Alright. Go out there, and make it not seem like you spent the night in a closet, hidden from this boy. She looked at him from the corner of her eye. Er. Man. Make them feel love between the two of you. If you don't...

She looked at him again, and went to grab for his hand. It was easier backstage to, easier with the cameras so close, because when she reacted before her head caught up to what she was doing, when she grabbed for his hand just because the thought of failing and what that meant was too much, it was easy to quickly reason that there were cameras, there were to be lovers, strategy, a show.

He shot a sad smile at her, so quick that she wasn't sure if she just imagined it or not.

I won't fail him. I can't. She didn't allow herself to think of possible 'if I don't do what I have to' scenarios during her mental psyche up. And soon enough they were on the stage.

The audience chanted "Kiss her! Kiss her!" before Katniss even could focus on any faces. She felt her hand in his, his in hers, and the words Kiss her, kiss her ran through her.

She turned and looked at him, and for a second they were silent and still. Katniss tried to figure out what he was trying to tell her in the look, because it was obvious he was trying to tell her something, but soon she felt his hand swoop to her lower back and pull her close to him. And his hands, and his lips, and her eyes closed.

Kiss her, kiss her was still being chanted, and it kept her locked to the ground, to the moment, and as much as she wanted to and didn't want to lose herself in his kisses whenever they came around, it didn't let her.

Even she could feel herself closed off from it all, could feel how cold – even when she was meant to be warm and loving – she was. Even she could feel the slightest detection of let down from Peeta after they broke apart, how their foreheads stayed together, and he took a big long sigh.

It all had already been taxing on the two of them. Katniss knew a big problem in it (the only) was her. She argued with herself, sure, about how it'd be easier if it wasn't Peeta because she'd not have a debt to guilt her into it all, but she never thought about the fact of how much easier it'd be for Peeta if it wasn't Katniss. If she didn't volunteer, and he confessed his love for whoever ended up getting Reaped. Perhaps a beautiful merchant girl, all smiling and porcelain, ready to be shaped in velvet and silk. She'd be good at this, whoever she was. She'd be good at kissing.

She'd be good at loving Peeta Mellark.

But he was stuck with her. She opened her eyes with their foreheads touching, and quickly moved in to peck him on the mouth once more. She didn't try and excuse that. That wasn't for show. It was an apology for her being her, all rough edges and Seam features, dark against where it was expected to be light. It was an apology for being so icy, and a promise to try more, try harder and better, and that maybe being around him and being like that wouldn't feel like a chore. Maybe.

Maybe.

It was a greeting from Caesar, Long time no see lovebirds, and then a launch into talking. Peeta took over with the words, Katniss held his hand in both of his, leaned into his other arm that draped around her, and watched him. She added in a couple words. It was small talk. There was a segment of it, the main segment, that was a clip show.

"We gathered up some never before seen footage for you all," Caesar announced, and the two of them both tried not to stiffen in their seats. "I watched it earlier, and I swear I was fighting tears. The road to love is a beautiful one, and these two are prime examples of it."

A projector came on and the light went down, and for the next two hours, clips of Peeta and Katniss played. It started with the Reaping; it showed Peeta being picked Katniss volunteering with a voice-over talking about how no one in Distrcit Twelve had ever volunteered. A fuzzy recording of two people, the two of them, on a couch, Katniss in Peeta's arms. Katniss remembered that moment, remembered crying because Peeta's eyes looked so much like her sister's.

She remembered the next day, when she was able to see them as blue, just blue, and she joked with him. Like they were friends.

They were friends, right? It was all really confusing with what names to put on whatever it was between Katniss and Peeta, on camera or off. It always had been, she realized, from the beginnings of their young friendship that bloomed in recess and had to stop because of the prejudices of Seam and Merchants. It was difficult to name when he saved her, and she couldn't even thank him, and she depended on him staying safe from Reapings to being safe too. And it had only gotten more difficult.

A clip of the two of them walking close, of Katniss bumping into him with a smile, and a shy smile from him in return. Finnick's voice came out,what is Peeta to you? Katniss sat horrified at that, and she could feel Peeta's questioning gaze upon her. It showed her sitting with Peeta and Rue at lunch and Rue, damn, that hurt and she bit back tears as Finnick's voice came again. Peeta on the screen watched Katniss as she laughed with the little girl with a look that she had seen before she thought, seen her father give her mother once upon a time, and The question I guess then, is: What are you to Peeta?

She hated that they put in parts of that conversation into it. As if she needed another reminder that the President heard their talk, all of their talks. He already told her through the dandelions. Now she had to deal with Peeta knowing that her and Finnick discussed him.

More images of the two of them during their tests. Secret smiles passed to each other and laughs mixing together and every now and then one of them would look at the other when the other wasn't paying attention. They both did it, just like in school in a lifetime they didn't live in anymore.

It painted quite the picture of two people in love.

Katniss knew that during the tests, she didn't let anyone through but Peeta (and Rue, oh god, Rue). The amount of footage therefore that they had almost disturbed her. It was like they were some cutesy couple before the interview night. Katniss didn't realize that she was digging her fingernails into Peeta's hand as they watched until he started to run a finger up and down her forearm. She tried to relax and smile as they continued to watch.

It was such a happy event, watching with the entire country as she fell in love with him. That's what they said. That's what she had to do, had to be. Happy and in love and bubbly, bubbly, bubbly.

She had to be not her.

And then the clips got to the interview night. Of the two of them sitting backstage with nerves. Of Katniss' slip up, alluding to some unfinished business. And their exchange before Peeta went onstage. Grasping fingers, smiles, and the entire crowd awwwed in memory of that quiet intimacy between the two lovers.

Peeta's interview. I can't imagine the burden it'd be for a stranger to be in love with a girl that volunteered to donate from District Twelve.Katniss' face, Katniss' damn face full of shock and surprise, her eyes grey and alive with something, something, (damn, she still wasn't sure what it was, but knew it shouldn't be there, cursed it for existing).

Katniss' voice came through again. If I volunteered, I'd finally get to talk to you again.

Her smile stayed still, too still, and her fingernails were driven into Peeta's hand again. Dammit, no, no, don't give them this, don't give them everything. She rather the Katniss and Peeta in the spotlight be of a lovers that was entirely of the creation of the Capitol. But here they were, with pieces of who they really are, of what they really are, and it felt suffocating.

She smiled more.

As she saw herself running down the hospital hallways, she knew this part would be in the clip show. Of course it would be. Katniss Everdeen's last minute spontaneous visit to Peeta Mellark's room, to see him one last time in case one of them didn't survive. Their soft, hesitant touches. Their words. Their kiss.

It was unnerving, watching her in a kiss with the boy right next to her on a stage in front of an entire audience. Although everyone was locked on the screen, she knew a camera was on the two of them the entire time, she knew they were building up stock videos of them two together for future clips. She bit back the blush and the tears and the bile that all seemed to mix in her and want to be rid of in her body, and kept her smile. She looked away with a sheepish smile, and Peeta just smiled at her and kissed her forehead, seemingly unfazed at it all.

She was jealous of that, of how easly he was taking it all.

(Of course in reality, he wasn't taking it easy at all. It was so painful to watch this because whoever did the editing did too good of a job. They took their interactions, their real interactions, none of this it's a strategy bullshit, and spun a love story out of it. Exactly what he wanted.

Exactly what he didn't have.

He had the mixture of the tears and bile too, just like Katniss, but not for the same reasons. Her privacy was invaded, she felt. His was too. They took his dreams, the ones he held closest to himself, and made it into a stupid clip special for him to watch in a suit as he held on - and was held by - the lady of his every hour in a stunning gold dress that showed too much leg because damn, he was distracted dispite everything happening.)

Her words echoed throughout the entire place, You come back to me, as she was taken away from him. The image of him asleep, and her visiting him. Holding his hand. You're going to have to wake up soon, Peeta. They edited out the tidbit of Snow. I can't do this alone. You just need to wake up. You come back to me.

You come back to me. A kiss on the forehead.

And then just yesterday was also in it as well. Their reunion kiss, and how both of their eyes were swimming. The crowd cheering, mixing with the current day's crowd cheering. Their silhouettes on their front porch as Effie greeted them into their new home, the lights pouring out upon the sea of dandelions, and then the door closing. The screen faded.

Their smiles didn't. Their smiles couldn't. The show must go on, and on.

In the car, she let go of his hand.

(Of course she let go of his hand.)

"Fuck, my mouth hurts from smiling so much," she muttered, rubbing her jaw. He looked at her, then looked away, not wanting to look at her at that moment. It hurt for her to smile so much, to pretend to be happy with him. Damn, he hated feeling like a wounded fucking puppy over this all but he couldn't help it, especially with offhanded comments like that one.

And maybe she didn't mean it like that (she didn't; she was tired of the Capitol, much too early for it but she was. It wasn't him. He was a breath of fresh air during it all, but she was still tired). Maybe she didn't mean she was tired of him, but it sure felt like it. And he shouldn't take it personally, shouldn't, but he did, he did.

Katniss' mind went to something Caesar said to Peeta during their interview after the clip show. Something about therapy that Peeta had to go into. She was confused. Therapy? She knew that Annie was going to be sent into therapy, you know, because she was mad afterall. But Peeta wasn't given any defining status on his mental state, that she knew of at least. He was sane, he had to be, because damn he was the only thing that kept her sane (only not really, she didn't feel sane at all. But the moments she did, well, it was Peeta that brought her back from the edge of the cliff).

"What did Caesar mean?" She asked him quietly. "About therapy."

He was quiet then too. Great. He didn't bring it up because he didn't want to talk about it. Because he knew that talking about it, talking to her about it, would strike him down even further on the subconscious list of people and how they are desirable to her (to be honest, he was pretty sure this list didn't exist at all to her. And if it did, he wouldn't be anywhere near it. But this was too much, and he felt the ability to ever be on it was taken away by this. And he hated it.)

"Uhm," He started off, this boy with words for any situation suddenly could find none. "It's physical therapy."

"Physical therapy?" She repeated.

He nodded. "For my leg." A beat, a pause, a sigh. "Or lack."

She turned to him, her eyes searching his. "What?"

"I uhm." He hated this. So instead, he just lifted his left pant leg up slightly, and she saw metal. His voice was quiet, a whisper, and she wanted to cry. "There was a complication during my donation. A nicked vein, or muscle, or something. I don't know. I just know that I was losing blood, and fast, and that they reacted. The only way to save me from it was amputating. So uh, I'm... kind of down one leg. I've been working in therapy and relearning walking and everything, but it's pretty tiring. And uh, so yeah. They saved me. Which they never do. But they did, forme..." He looked at her quickly and looked away as he put his pant leg down, her eyes still upon it. "For us."

He understood that part. The doctors never tried to save the Reaped when their vitals dropped during donation. And yet, they did for him. And he understood, not fully of course, no, but he understood that they did for him. They went against that usual code of conduct, and saved him.And gave him a prosthetic, which of course was no Reaped limb for him (he couldn't even imagine that though, using the leg of some dead person that was alive and around him just days before. He'd take metal over flesh, any day), but still, they gave him a prosthetic. It was more than they ever did for any other Reaped.

And it scared him. And her too. Because she understood it a bit more. How Snow was ensuring their team, and ensuring her to be in his debt.

And she felt horrified. He lost his leg, and she didn't even know. "What did they take from you?" She asked him, her voice as low as him.

He sighed, frustrated and done with the day. "I don't know, Katniss. They don't ever tell us what we donate."

"I want to know what the hell they took that was so important that they took your leg too."

"Well I'm sorry but I don't know. The only people that know are the doctors. Or whatever. Can we not talk about it anymore? I'm tired."

She couldn't stop thinking about it though. Her mind was spinning. She was brought out of her wheeling misery when he put his hand atop hers. "I'm fine. I'll be fine" (comforting her when he was the one that should be seeking comfort, she noted that, and she wasn't surprised at how selfish it was of her). His hand was warm, more warm than she ever knew a hand could feel without being feverish but it felt good. And alive. Damn, he was alive and it was like his whole body wanted her to know.

She squeezed his hand, and tried to smile. She nodded and turned her hand, palm against palm, and laced their fingers.

And she was holding his hand again. He didn't know what was worse. Her holding it because of the cameras, or pity.

He made her take the master bedroom, him taking the guest bedroom and the two of them actually laid in beds that evening. She couldn't turn her mind off. When they got to the house, it went back to how it had become between the two of them: hedging around each other and silence.

She still couldn't sleep.

She pictured the dead boy with the missing legs in the morgue. Damn, he had blue eyes and blond hair too. She thought of Peeta, Peeta as she just saw him a couple of minutes ago, Peeta who was alive. Blond dead boy, the only difference was that Peeta had one more leg than him, and was still alive. Him and Katniss both still were.
It didn't matter. She knew that if she fell asleep (she did, for an hour or two, woke up in a terror and refused to fall back asleep) what her nightmares would include.

(Peeta and his one leg, laying under the cold flickering lights of the morgue. Dead, but his eyes opened and staring at Katniss as she stared at him, and she knew, she could just hear what they were screaming "your fault, you did this to me, you killed me, destroyed my life–")

She sunk into the too large bed, weighted by guilt, and she knew for certain she truly was the worst thing to happen to Peeta Mellark.

It was like dreaming and waking up, he decided.

Being awake was in the house.

He decided, rather quickly, that the dream was much prettier, much easier, much better. Even if in the dream, there were cameras, and she was not truly herself, she was still there, and smiling, and holding his hand. It hurt that much more when the dream was done, when they got back to the house and back to the silence adn evading each other.

He knew also he wouldn't sleep. He laid in bed, freshly showered, and the night terrors that he knew he'd have came to his mind. His mother was in front of him, and she was laughing. You stupid fool, you stupid, stupid fool. You're not even good enough for that Seam trash.

He wanted to tell her that she wasn't Seam trash, but he was pretty sure he wasn't strong enough to stick up against his mother. In his nightmares she was even taller, bigger, and all around her and them was darkness. Nothing to save him from her, nothing for him to hide behind.

And she never wanted you. You pined like a horny teenager after that stupid Seam trash and she never wanted you. And now you're not even a whole man! She'll never want you. She'll never love you. You truly love her? More echoing laughter, and he felt as if it made him bleed. Tell her, tell her! Tell her you love her. Watch the disgust on her face. Watch her give up the farce and leave you on your own.

You have no one, Peeta Mellark. Not even yourself.

a/n: I meant to update earlier, but this was a bit harder of a chapter. Everything is still very Katniss/Peeta centric, but updates will be expanding to others come the next update. Next update will have the housewelcoming party, as well as really getting this show on the road. Thank you for everyone that's been reviewing. Gosh, it means so much! Thanks to Erin jennibrolawrence19 because I love you, kismet4891 who is so incredibly nice and makes me jump for joy because god I love your writing, and Lgwater27 and DandelionOnFire for the constant reviews. And of course everyone that reviews. I try to reply to all of them, but just know that they all mean a whole lot. Writing this is a lot of work at times, and taxing, but I love it. And it's great to hear feedback from it. And I'm happy that a good amount of you are enjoying the characterization I have of Peeta. This update certainly added to the bitter side of him that you guys picked up on. I'll try to update as soon as possible, but real life is incredibly stressful and everything right now, so I'm not sure when the next will be out. Thanks, and hopefully you enjoyed. Have a good day