In His Arms

A/N: I swear I couldn't think of better title so don't judge. Now I'm sure this has been done before but I just finished the series and had to get my first Hunger Games fic out there. This takes place after the end of the third book but before the epilogue. So please review and stuff because I really do appreciate the feedback. Writing in present tense is a challenge for me so hopefully this isn't too bad. Enjoy.

Peeta screams and I jolt awake at the ear splitting sound. I fly out of bed and run downstairs, unable to get to him fast enough. He lies on the couch where I had left him hours ago, convulsing under the sheets I had laid over him before heading to bed myself. He had stayed late to keep me company as we worked on our book and had been too tired to return to his house. At the time I'd thought it was a good sign that he felt comfortable enough to sleep in the same building as me. Clearly I had been wrong.

I reach him, immediately grab his shoulders and begin shaking him with all my strength. Trying to pull him out of whatever hell his mind has created. I know what I'm doing is dangerous. I know he could easily awaken and not be the real Peeta. I know it is all too possible that when his eyes open and see me there, his hands may go straight for my throat. But I don't care. I won't leave him to the nightmares I know too well myself.

His limbs flail as he shrieks mercilessly at some nightmare I desperately try to free him of. His fists knot into the sheet and threaten to tear it to pieces.

"Peeta!" I call to him. My voice seems to reach him and I yell his name again and again. I can't be sure if it's painful or comforting for him but it's all I can do to pull him out of the nightmare.

With one final shake I scream in his ear, "PEETA!" and his eyes shoot open and meet mine.

I release him immediately and back away a few steps when I see his wild gaze. He remains locked on me a moment and I hold his eyes. I assume, and hope, he is registering his surrounds and what is real.

"I'm in your house in the Victor's Village in District 12. Real or not real?" He asks in a shaky voice.

"Real." I answer quickly. I've grown accustomed to giving him rapid responses.

His eyes wonder and I relax my stance a bit as I watch that wild gaze fade slightly.

"You…want to kill me?"

"Not real." I answer even faster.

He sits up and untangles himself from the sheets, tossing them aside. I see now that his brow is shining with sweat and the muscles in his arms are shaking. When he buries his face in his hands and leans forward in his seat I can't stop my feet from carrying me over to him. I sit beside Peeta's warm and still shaking body, gingerly place a hand on his shoulder and hope for the best.

At first he doesn't say anything. I wonder if I should ask him where he was in the dream but decide against it. So I wait and lightly rub my hand across his back, trying to calm him down if I can. After what I guess to be about fifteen minutes, I feel him take a deep breath and pull himself up. I remove my hand and watch his movements carefully.

"I was in the arena again," he says without looking at me. I understand better than most others and he knows that much. I suppose I should at least be grateful for that. I don't let myself think he might start to be trusting me again, only because if I'm wrong I know it will hurt.

I want so desperately to reach out to him. To assure him he's safe here and nothing can hurt him again. That there are no more arenas. No more games. But then I remember that's not true. For him, for us, the games never end.

Then he looks at me. His eyes sparkle, tears threatening just behind them but there's something else. He seems to be searching in me for something. Maybe something familiar. Something real. I see this in his eyes often nowadays. But I never know what it is he's searching for or what I can offer him. The only comfort I try to take in it is that when he looks at me like this, he is Peeta.

My hand moves on its own. It rises up to cup his face and at first he flinches away from my touch, but I don't let my arm fall and after a moment his cheek finds my palm. I cradle his face and his eyelids fall. I watch some of the tenseness relax out of him. Deciding it's worth the risk, my other hand wraps around the back of his neck and my fingers work their way through his hair. I pull my legs up underneath me and face him. His eyes stay closed. I move into him. He remains relaxed. I can't stop myself. I kiss him.

I know I've gone too far instantly. I release my grip the moment I feel him resist and leap off the couch. "I'm sorry." I say quickly.

"No," he responds faster than I expect. "I…I just don't know…" He's struggling to find himself again. This is what always hurts me the most. I think that maybe the best thing I can do for him is to leave. So I do.

Without another word I am back upstairs in my room and crawling under my covers, preparing to cry myself to sleep over Peeta's pain, when he's standing in the doorway. I freeze, not sure if I should go to him to leap out the window.

"I don't think I can sleep alone," he says slowly, forming the words as he goes. I wait. I watch him form thoughts and put them into sentences. "You…you used to scream too. On the train." I wait for the question. "Real or not real?"

"Real."

He nods pensively. Another moment passes and he just stares at me. Then, "I slept with you, and I stopped the nightmares." I nod once.

I pull the sheets away on the right side of the bed and scoot over to the left. He carefully climbs under the covers, still unsure of himself. I let him take his time. Once he's settled we both lie down and face each other. I wrap my arms around him, hugging his warm and familiar body into mine. He's tense, and still not quite my Peeta, but I pray he's in there somewhere and getting ever closer.

I don't know if he sleeps or not as I doze in and out of consciousness. I hold him and hope that if he does find sleep again the nightmares leave him in peace. It's probably hours later on into the night and I'm lost somewhere between sleep and awake when I feel a pair of sure, strong arms wrap tightly around me. I don't move. I don't even look to see if he is asleep or awake himself. But whether in consciousness or in his dreams, these are my Peeta's arms that hold me.