I OWN NOTHING. OKAY SO I FINALY FINISHED THIS BIT AND I KNOW WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS SO HOPEFULLY THERE WON'T BE SO MUCH TIME BETWEEN THIS CHAPTER AND THE NEXT. MAN, IT FELT GOOD TO GET BACK INTO THIS ONE. HOPE YOU ENJOY. SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT. ~SUMMER

"All because of you,

I haven't slept in so long…

I'll follow your voice,

All you have to do is

Shout it out!"

-The Good Left Undone, Rise Against

I have never in my life experienced a moment quite like this. My heart is racing, but I'm not afraid. My mind is forming thoughts faster than I can register them, but I am not panicking. My face is pulling in unfamiliar and uncontrollable directions—directions that form what must be a brilliant smile. And my hands have locked into fists, but not in preparation for self defense. Instead my fingers curl around his hand so tightly that I swear the white of my knuckles must be my bones pushing through. I must be crushing him, but he makes no move to free his hand. He just stares at me, his face reflecting the same expression I wear on mine.

We have not spoken much yet, preferring the silence in wake of the recent commotion of my "impending death" as Prim calls it. Now, though, it's time to hear his story. I can't fully believe he is here until I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it's possible. Right now, it's not. I gather my strength, take a deep breath, and sit up. Peeta moves to push me back down, but I slap his hand away.

"You're still weak, you shouldn't be moving around yet." His voice is absolute bliss, but I suck in another deep breath and ignore him. I stand up on the cold cement floor and, taking his hand, lead him through the door and up the stairs. My mother and Prim are at the kitchen table and they both gasp when they see me.

"Katniss, you shouldn't be up! You haven't used your muscles frequently enough to move around this much. You'll become dizzy!" My mother was panicking, speaking too quickly.

"Katniss, I'm no doctor, so you can ignore me all you want, but your mother knows what she's talking about." He says quietly to me, supporting a majority of my weight with a hand around my waist.

"I'm fine, mom." I say, ignoring him again; ignoring Peeta again. Best not to think his name. Best not to get too invested in the idea of him actually being here. It's far more likely that this is all a dream fashioned by The Undertaker to torture me for eternity. First the cold and quiet, then the fading away, now the delusions that pick up just as I would have wanted them too. Prim grabbed my hand, and just as I am about to push her off, she gives it a quick squeeze and lets go. I smile weakly at her, hoping this is all as real as it feels.

We reached the first story hallway with the second stair case at the end. I limped along, cursing my legs for being so stubborn. Every step hurt, I was realizing. I hadn't felt it at first, but now I feel as if I am going through growing pains all over again. But I'm Katniss Everdeen, I survived the Hunger Games twice. I can handle this. I glance sideways at him. I can see him, feel him, smell him, hear his labored breathing as we make our way down the hall. He's hurt, that much is obvious, and I would feel guilty for making him move around so much, except he's probably not real. We are almost to the stairs when the door on the left opens and Gale steps out, followed by Finnick. Both men are carrying plates, most likely headed to the kitchen to dispose of them. I thought I smelled dinner. Gale stops abruptly when he sees me and then him, and Finnick bumps into Gales back.

"What the- oh." Finnick says.

"Katniss, you shouldn't be up yet. Let me help you back to your room." Gale says, taking my hand. I slap it away.

"I'm fine! I think I know what's best for me! I've been burned, beaten, and starved, I think I'll recover from sleeping too long!" I yell, fighting off the feelings of guilt I get from seeing Gales face as I push past him and up the stairs. We reach the final floor, and the only thing in our way is Haymitch.

"Nice to see the love birds back together again, even if one is half dead and the other is stark raving mad." Haymitch says, extending his foot as if to trip me. I step over him, wincing as the movement causes my calf to spasm and the muscles to knot. A Charlie-horse. Great. I climb the ladder ahead of us and throw the hatch open. This time, there is no sun shine to great me, but the light from the moon and stars is still enough to lend me the bravery I need to step into the darkness. Once he and I are though the hatch and on the small field, we realize we are the only ones out here at this time of night. The field is the only sparse amount of land there is aside from the paths that weave through the gardens. I lead us through a carrot patch to a bench that someone so thoughtfully placed about a quarter mile from our hatch. Once on the bench, we sat in silence for a moment.

"So," He starts, leaving the rest of his mystery sentence for me to finish.

"So, I was kind of rude to Gale and my mother back there. Sorry you had to see that…" I say lamely, avoiding the conversation that I brought him here to have.

"Not a problem. You've been through enough to have earned a little slack. I'm sure Gale understands." I'm sure he doesn't, but that's the difference between Gale and …Peeta. I suppose there is no point in avoiding my fears. Might as well say the name.

"So," What an increasingly awful way to start a sentence, "have you seen your family yet?" I ask him. He lets out a long sigh.

"Yes. I came straight to you when I finally got here, and so my family came to me. My father cried and hugged me, my brothers tackled me to the ground, my nephew tried to say my name, and my mother nodded at me before she squeezed my shoulder and went back to work. A standard family reunion. I told them that I had to be with you at least until you got better."

"And when did you get here?" I ask, trying not to focus on how wonderful it is to know that he came straight to me from whatever hell he had faced.

"Three days ago." He says shortly, taking my hand in his and tracing invisible designs across my palm. I should, but I don't take my hand away. If this is an illusion, I should enjoy it while it lasts.

"And how did you get here?" Time for the big questions. He looks me straight in the eye, and then directs his line of sight to the forest that skirts the edges of our fields and gardens. Beyond the forest is a fence, just like in all the other districts, but the difference is that this fence was put up by choice. The destruction of District 13 wiped out most human life, and all plant life, along with any evidence that people once lived here. Those who survived rebuilt and planted new trees, trying in vain to reconstruct the place they had once called home. The fence is actually a tall cement wall, the names of the ones lost in the attack etched in deep. Thousands of names, their ages next to them. Many of them children. It's a sad wall, but good for memories. I hope Peeta won't examine it too closely while we're here. I hope he won't notice that the day I gave up on him, I frantically scribed his name near the bottom of the section of the wall that happened to be right in front of us.

He clears his throat and I prepare to believe what he says, because if I don't, then this is all a cruel dream, and I really am lost.

ANOTHER CLIFF HANGER, I KNOW, I'M TAKING FOREVER TO GET TO THE POINT. SORRY. HAVING DIFFICULTY WRITING THIS. COMMENTS, CRITIQUES? DID I LOSE HER VOICE? I FEEL LIKE I MAY HAVE. LEMME KNOW.