A/N: Okay, I don't know how it happened but I ended up writing a part two to this. I'm not entirely happy with it but I hope you all like it. There's a mish-mosh of typos in here that I promise to go back and fix in a few days, but I'm putting this up now so I don't delete it. :)

edit: re-uploaded because i made a tiny change in the last bit; i forgot to add a bit of an important point!

He's not sure how to convince himself that this is real. He doesn't know how to process the fact that the beautiful girl standing in front of him is now his wife.

The girl who wore a little red dress and wore her hair in two neatly twisted braids, the girl who sang so beautifully that the birds stopped singing when she opened her mouth, the girl who was a survivor. The girl who'd held his heart captive since before he could remember. Now his, for evermore.

It doesn't come to him as a surprise that he's having a hard time wrapping his head around this; just the very thought seems bizarre and absurd to him.

But it is real. It is beautifully and delightfully real. He knows that as he kisses her, kisses every bit of her as she voices the question that has been sitting on the very tip of his tongue for too long now, too afraid to make it out all the way. He knows that as he slices the bread that she's baked for them and feels her fingers wraps around his, if only to steady the tiny tremors coursing through her body and he's glad to know she's as nervous as he is - A happy nervous, he can tell in her eyes. He knows that as they start a fire together, not for the first time, and as they toast their bread together. The edges of their fingers blaze a scarlet color as their fingers dance around the fire and he's sure there's got to be a simpler, less painful way to do this but he can't find it in him to care enough.

He knows, he knows it's real as he brings the blackened, burnt piece of bread to her mouth and she parts her lips without reluctance and takes a bite. He can't help the smile from forming on his cracked, chapped as tiny crumbles of the bread fall around her mouth as she chews on the crunchy piece of bread. His fingers graze her chin, wiping the tiny bits of bread from her skin and she takes his fingers into her hands, kissing the pads of each finger before taking the bread from his and bringing it to his mouth. He chews it slowly, wanting to memorize this moment in his head for the rest of his life.

He wants to remember the way she looks; her pale pink dress clinging loosely to her body, her hair twisted in the front and braided down the back. He wants to remember the dark orange and red and black hues from the fire reflecting on her face, casting a shadow that somehow makes her even more radiant, more beautiful than he thought possible and his heart clenches in his chest from just the sight. He wants to remember the taste of the bread, too grainy and a bit rubbery in his mouth but perfect. Absolutely perfect. He wants to remember the way his hand is clutching is, her fingers knotted with his, both of their scars standing proudly on their skin.

But most of all, he wants to remember the way she's looking at him in that moment. Wants to capture the way her eyes are soft and loving, trusting. A hint of the happiness she used to only reserve for Prim now making its way back to her face. This time, for him.

He's suddenly craving a paintbrush, because he knows that look in her eyes is something he never wants to forget or distort in his mind. He needs to preserve this look onto a canvas.

She bites into another piece of the bread and her face distorts into a look of disgust for only a millisecond before its smooth again, and she asks him what he thought of her bread.

"It's … It's good. Really Good." He says, trying desperately hard at keeping a straight face, but he can feel his lips giving him away, turning upwards on their own despite his effort. He notes that her face mimics his, a small grin forming on her face.

"You are such a bad liar, Peeta." She says, smacking his arm lightly and he laughs, pulling her close to him until he can feel her breath on his face.

He kisses her, soft and warm and he feels a churning in his own stomach. He breaks away and rests his forehead against hers, "And you're … you are my wife."

She wonders if it's supposed to feel any different, being married. Wonders if she'll suddenly feel like her mother did about her father, feel like Peeta is her entire world, the only person in this world who can make her feel anything, the one person she'd go crazy without. She wonders if, from an on-lookers view, they'll seem as happy as her parents did, or as lucky.

She wonders if things like that, if feelings like those happen overnight, or over time. She wonders if being married is even necessary to feel those things, to look that way.

But as she lies there at night, Peeta's arms encircling her waist, his hot breathe on her neck, she realizes being it's not all that different from before at all. She feels like she's been married to Peeta for as long as she can remember now. Since the first games, since the berries incident. Since she decided that Peeta's survival was more important to her than fulfilling Prim's promise of making it back to her alive.

She feels the mattress shift from under her, feels something crawling over her legs, stumbling on the tangled mess of limbs splayed on the mattress. She lunges forward to attack whatever animal must have found its way into their house when she hears a hiss. An all too familiar hiss that she knows belongs to the one and only, "Buttercup?"

She groans and shakes Peeta until he forces his eyes open with more effort than required.

"What is he doing in the house?" She says, letting out an exaggeratedly annoyed sigh. Sure, Prim let this wretched little ugly cat sleep in her bed but there was no way Katniss was going to allow the same.

"Oh, Buttercup." Peeta coos at the orange ball of mussed fur, his hands automatically moving to scratch the ugly thing behind its ear in a way that floods her mind with memories of Prim. The cat nuzzles back, soft purrs escaping its mouth.

Katniss throws herself back under the covers and mumbles something incoherent about that "damn cat" and "it never leaves me alone", earning her snort of laughter from Peeta because she knows he only keeps the cat around because it once belonged to Prim.

She feels the mattress shift again as Buttercup makes its way to the edge of the bed, turning in a circle once before curling itself into a tiny ball close to Peeta's legs.

She feels Peeta's arms back around her, and he kisses her neck before burying his face into her hair.

The doorbell rings only minutes after Katniss leaves to go hunting and Peeta puts down the ingredients he's pulled out to bake a chocolate cake, pats his hands down on his apron and goes to open the door.

He twists the door knob, shielding his face from the blinding summer sun with his hands to reveal a face so familiar, his lips automatically turn upwards into a smile. It's hard not to smile when Delly Cartwright is standing at your door, huffing and puffing, her hand strategically placed on her protruding stomach.

"Peeta! I'm so sorry I'm dropping by so unexpectedly, I just thought of you today and I absolutely had to come over to see you." She says, and he shakes his head at her fondly because that is so typical Delly.

He pulls his pink-faced friend in for a hug, and leans back to kiss her on the cheek. "It's so good to see you" he tells her, leading her to the kitchen.

She sits down, hand still placed on her belly and he sits down in front of her, placing a plate of cookies he'd baked the night before in front of her. "I suppose congratulations are in order." He says, smiling widely as he casts his eyes towards her stomach.

She rubs her stomach happily, "Thank you. Henri and I got married last year and were blessed only a few months later with this happy news." She says, before reaching out for his hand.

And image of Henri, his childhood friend pops into his head and he can hardly believe that they are all so old now. It feels like it was only a few days ago he was still in school, playing on the field, helping his parents and brothers at the bakery. But at the same time, it feels like all those things happened an eternity ago.

"How about you? How are you? How's Katniss? I used to worry about the two of you so much, but I didn't want to be overbearing because I know I can be sometimes and I figured you two probably needed to be alone for a bit. But I asked Greasy Sae about you two all the time and she always told me how you were so I knew not to worry too much." She says all in one breath, rubbing the pad of thumb across his hand.

He smiles because it's so familiar, she's so familiar and he almost feels like he's back in secondary school, Delly and him talking at lunch, her comforting words and always positive smiles uplifting his every mood. Delly always felt like the sister he never had, the person he could tell his secrets to, confide to, when he was growing up.

He tells her how he's doing, tells her of the flash back that have all but ceased to exist. He tells her about the bakery, and how he's almost done with reconstructing the only thing left of his family. He tells her about Katniss, and how although her nightmares persist, they're significantly less terrifying. He tells her, finally, about the toasting. About how he's married now. About how Katniss Everdeen is finally, finally his wife.

Delly smiles so wide as he reveals that last bit that he has to wonder if her lips might freeze in that position, before she explodes into a million question. When? Where? Why in the world hadn't he told her? And he playfully retorts that she hadn't exactly been updating him on her life either.

"You know, Peeta, there is going to be a fair amount of broken hearted girls around the district when I tell them this news." Delly says jokingly, nudging him in the shoulder. "I mean, we all knew you loved Katniss; we knew back when we were still in grade school and your eyes would remain glued to the pretty little girl with the braids at lunch time. But I think a few of the girls were still holding out hope."

He laughs at her, because that's just about the most absurd thought in the world. And when he tells her that, she just shakes her head, a knowing look in her eyes. "Don't you remember how all the girls would come to your parent's bakery, buying things they didn't even need just to get a chance to talk to you?"

He understands now, remembers that. Remembers how his mother would always be irritated by the shrill laughter from the crowds of girls that would come to the bakery after school. "Oh, they weren't there for me. They all had crushes on my older brothers." He says, shaking his head.

Delly shakes her right back at him, "No, Peeta. They all came to see you. You were the nicest boy in our grade, always. You didn't laugh at us, or poke fun at us like the other boys. Everyone had a crush on you, even I did when I first met you" she says before turning a bright shade of red for a beat before regaining a look of playfulness.

"But then I got to really know you." She continues, winking at him. "And I learned that you were an even nicer guy than I thought. But I also learned that you were hopelessly in love, so I moved on." She says her eyes earnest and joking.

"But honestly, Peeta. I'm glad you're doing better. And I'm glad that Katniss is too. And more than that, I'm so incredibly happy for the two of you. You deserve it, Peeta. You deserve to be happy." She says, running hand through his hair.

"I remember how heartbroken Katniss was when we were at District 13 and you were …." She stops, shaking her head. "Well anyway, I'm really happy for the two of you and I'm really happy you're doing well." She says, standing up from her chair, her pregnant belly requiring her to exert extra effort to lift herself.

"And I'm happy for you, so happy for you and Henri." He beams, helping Delly up from her chair.

He hesitates for a second, "Delly … Could I … does the baby move? Could I feel it?" He asks, feeling a bit awkward at the words but not being able to resist feeling his oldest friend's baby tiny kicks and punches.

"Oh, of course. He kicks all the time!" She says, pulling his hand towards her stomach. She rests it at the side and it's not even a minute before he feels something poke out from under her stomach, tapping his hand ever so gently.

His eyes widen and pride, happiness swells in his heart.

It's in that moment, that the baby's leg, or maybe it's his arm or his head, pushes against Delly's stomach that, albeit not for the first time, he realizes how badly he wants this. How badly he wants a baby. A tiny, small baby to hold in his arms, to cradle at night, to kiss and to love. A tiny, beautiful child with Katniss' eyes and hair.

He tries to push the thoughts of babies, cute and warm with eyes too big and hands too small out of his head because he knows. He knows it's not what Katniss wants. It's not something she'll ever agree to.

But it's what he wants.

He used to understand Katniss' reasoning before, understood that she didn't want to bring a child into a world where the Hunger Games were a possibility, where Snow was an imminent threat, where food was scarce and hard to come by. But that isn't the world they live in, not anymore.

He's brought out of his thoughts as he hears the front door open, heavy boots trudging across the floor.

He draws his hand back from Delly's stomach as Katniss walks in, game bag in hand. She's confused at first, but throws on a smile on her tired face as Delly squeals and reaches to hug her.

"Katniss! I was just leaving, I'm so glad I ran into you in time!" She says, and Katniss' eyes all but bulge out when she sees Delly's bump. They exchange pleasantries, Katniss running out of words more than once. He knows she's no good at making small talk. But Delly makes up for it, making enough conversation for the both of them, until she's waddling out of the door.

He doesn't know why or how he's suddenly feeling the way he is, but he just wants to get out of the house, if only for a few minutes.

He tells Delly to hold on a minute, he'll walk her back in to town, and kisses Katniss on the cheek before shutting the door.

He takes his time walking Delly home, and even stops for a bit to catch up with Henri, whom he hasn't even seen since long before the games. He stops by the bakery, and checks on the boy who he's hired to run the little shop when he's at home.

He tries, for reasons he still can't clarify, to walk extra slow on his way home.

He just wants to forget the thought of babies. Push the cute, little humans out of his thoughts once and for all so he doesn't have to feel so guilty for wanting something. So he doesn't have to feel so guilty for wanting a family. Doesn't feel so guilty for wanting something Katniss so desperately, stubbornly doesn't want.

He enters the house, finding Katniss on the couch, her nightgown slipping off her shoulder, her eyes focused on the screen though her face is blank.

He sits down next to her and her head instantly falls to his shoulder. He drops a kiss into her hair, unable to look her in the eye just yet. She hits the red button on the remote with her finger and the television screen turns blank.

"Seeing Delly today was surprising." Katniss says after a beat, "It was nice. She was so … pregnant."

It almost irritates him, the way the word pregnant rolls off her tongue with a hint of disgust. But he doesn't say anything, only nods his head.

"Did she say anything else?" She presses, turning around to face him.

"Not really. Just that lots of girls were going to be heartbroken once they found out I was married. Apparently, quite a lot of girls had crushes on me back in school." He says, grinning at her.

She rolls her eyes, her voice playful as she says, "Of course they did, even I could have told you that. You can't pretend like you didn't notice that."

He shrugs, "I guess I didn't."

She tugs at a tuft of hair on his head, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Well, then I guess I'm not the only one who doesn't know the effect they have on others."

He kisses her back, pulling the rubber band that's holding her twisted hair together, letting her black hair cascade over her back before tangling her hands in the loose strands.

He kisses her and kisses her until he can fully push the thoughts of big eyes and tiny hands and little, cute babies out of his head. At least for now.

She's late. She's never late. Her period is always on time, without fail. It's one of the few things she can count on. But she's late. And they've been safe; she swears they've been safe.

And all of this just scares the hell out of her.

She stomps around the house, aggravated, frustrated and unable to relieve any stress in the woods because the damn snow is just relentless and Peeta refuses to let her out in the blanket of snow that is starting to swallow district 12, one snow flake at a time.

She spends most of her day going back and forth between the bathroom and her bed, hoping, praying to see a spot of red. A tiny, moist drop of red on her white cotton underwear to assure her that she isn't pregnant. That there isn't a tiny human being forming inside of her.

She thinks of when she saw Delly Cartwright just a few months ago, huge and pregnant and waddling everywhere like a little penguin and she shudders because that can't be her. It just can't.

She knows she's being unfair to Peeta, snapping at him for the smallest of things, getting angry at him for trying to get her to eat breakfast, and then lunch, but she just doesn't know what else to do. Doesn't know who else to take her frustrations out on.

He finally stops offering her food, stops offering her words of comfort and just lays down next to her, taking her hand in his. She wraps her arms around him as he pulls the covers over his body, and she reaches over him to turn the lights out.

She thinks it's only nine and it's a bit too early for them to go to sleep but she's worn out, exhausted by her own thoughts from the day and she can tell that he is, too.

Before she can fall asleep though, she lifts herself out of bed and crosses her fingers as she tiptoes to the bathroom for one final check.

She ignores the exaggerated, annoyed sigh that escapes Peeta's mouth.

When she comes back, her shoulders sagging, she falls back into bed and pulls the covers up, hiding her face under them.

"Any luck?" She hears Peeta ask tiredly, and she grumbles her answer before shaking her head. No. No luck.

Peeta doesn't respond for a beat too long, and makes no effort to hold her or comfort her as he ordinarily would. She pulls back her covers a little bit, looking at him with questioning eyes.

The air feels heavy around her as she asks him, "What is it?"

He sighs again, breathing loudly through his nose. "I just … I – I don't know, Katniss. Would it really be so bad? If you really were pregnant?" His voice sounds as drained as his eyes look.

She feels her own eyes bulge as his words register in her head. She's about to open her mouth, about to start the argument on her defense she's been rehearsing in her head all day long about why can't ever, ever become a mother when Peeta just shakes his head, and wearily whispers a "never mind" before pulling her close, letting his head fall to the crook of her neck.

She knots her fingers with him, and tangles her legs with his, wanting desperately to feel even closer to him.

She suddenly feels an ache in her heart and she absently squeezes his fingers, bringing them to her lips one by one. She wishes she could give him this. This one thing that he wants so badly. She really, truly wishes she could. But she can't. She can't.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to love it, Peeta. Not the way I'm supposed to." She says after a beat, the room dark save for the small light that flickers from outside, peeking past the curtains on the window.

"Of course, you would-" He starts, as he always does when they have this conversation but she cuts him off, an answered prepared. "You don't know that."

He turns her to face him, and cradles her face with his large, rough hands. "But that's the problem, Katniss. That I do know that you'd make a great mother. A perfect mother. Because I saw the way you were with Prim. I saw how you took care of Rue. I know, with every fiber in my being, that you would love our child in that same, fierce, beautiful, passionate way. It just kills me that you can't see that."

She doesn't say anything, doesn't know what to say.

She buries her face in his chest, and almost inaudibly, she whispers, "maybe."

Maybe.

He stops bringing up babies, and once her period begins to regulate again, she stops thinking of babies and their life seems to return back to normal, things become okay again.

He's just got home from the bakery when he finds Katniss sitting in the middle of their kitchen floor, her hunting boots sitting next to her.

He flops down next to her, and she runs a hand through his hair wordlessly before reaching for the boots, black and thick and dirty.

He twists his body and his hands get to the clumpy boots first, flings them across the room, and they land with two loud thumps.

"Peeta!" She says, her voice trying but failing to sound annoyed. She starts to lift her body to pick up her boots from the other end of the room but he just tugs at the rubber band holding her braid together and quickly weaves his hands through her long, black strands, allowing her hair to flow down her back.

Her hair is so long, so smooth. But it's twisted in her signature braids so often that he sometimes forgets that. He feels the soft, silky tendrils in her hair, relishing in the feel.

She gives him a pointed look, gathering her hair to braid it back but he pulls her hands to him, pulling her towards him and she reaches down, kissing his lips, biting his top lip ever so softly before rocking back on her heels.

"I really need to go hunting, Peeta. We have no meat in the house." She says, but he can tell from the look in her eyes that she has no real intentions of picking herself up off the floor and trudging into the woods.

He pulls her back on top of him so that she's straddling him and murmurs into her lips that it's okay, they don't need meat anyway. He can always make cheese buns, and it's all that he needs to break Katniss' already weakened resolve.

She climbs over him, her hips resting gently on his, and he lets his fingers run down the length of her thigh before tucking his fingers under the hem of her shirt.

She pulls her shirt off in one swift move, her eyes flickering towards the kitchen for only a millisecond before her cheeks tint bright pink. "Peeta! We're in the living room!" She says, her voice hushed.

He looks around, noting the sun dipping deep into the horizon, a light orange shade of light peering out from the sheaths of the curtains on the window, casting a glow onto Katniss' face.

He eyes the room exaggeratedly, "I know, Katniss. But … I'm not sure if you've realized this yet but we live alone. And we're married. So really, we're allowed to do this. Here."

She seems to consider his words for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek before her eyes land on the orange ball of fluff sitting on the floor next to the fireplace, it's gray eyes peering at them. "But … Buttercup can watch." She says, her voice still barely above a whisper.

He guffaws loudly at her words, the noise echoing through the house in stark contrast to her hushed tone.

She rolls her eyes at him, batting her hand at his chest before making to pull her shirt over her head.

He stops her before it's over her shoulders, and peels it back until it's piled at the ground beside her. He drops a kiss to her shoulder before lifting himself up, telling her to wait just a second.

He walks briskly to the front door, whistling at Buttercup as he pulls the large door back and the tom-cat shoots out of the house, eager to stretch his lazy limbs.

He locks the door, twisting the knob once to make sure the door wouldn't budge before turning back to Katniss. "Are we good?"

She shakes her head no, and points with her index finger to the curtains and he stalks to the windows, biting back a smile before spreading the curtains wide so not even a wink of light can sneak in and walks back to Katniss, kissing her lips before he's even settled on the floor.

He lays her down to the ground, his lips still attached to hers, a hand behind her head until she's splayed on the rug beneath him.

He unhooks her cotton, pearly bra and she arches her back, allowing him to slide it off of her completely.

She tugs at his shirt, and he pulls it off of his broad shoulders before tossing it in the growing pile of clothes to their side.

She pulls him to her, her fingers tangled in his hair and he swoops his neck down, skimming the base of her neck with his lips before leaving a trail of kisses from her neck to her jaw, back to her lips.

His chest hovers over her bare torso and he thinks the feeling of her skin on his is one he'll never tire of, never take for granted.

His hands trace patterns near her navel before he inches them up towards her breast, feeling her mounds fill his hands. He rubs her nipple in two of his fingers, rolling and flicking and he grins as Katniss' breathe becomes jagged, a soft moan escaping her plump, red lips.

He moves his lips to her other nipple, taking it into his mouth. He loves the taste of Katniss on his tongue. Always earthy, woodsy, so full of just … Katniss.

He trails kisses back down to her navel, teasing her with his tongue before dipping his tongue into her, flicking his tongue as she bucks into his mouth, her voice whimpering his name out loud.

She pulls his pants down and asks him for a condom, and he rolls his eyes, telling him that she's already taking the pills, they don't need to have a condom on as well but she shakes her head adamantly, pushing him away with the palms of her hands ever so slightly.

"We're not taking any chances, Peeta. Condom, or no sex. You choose." And so he rolls his eyes for a second time before reaching for his discarded pants, fishing around in his pockets before he finds the plastic wrapper.

She tears the plastic slowly, carefully before pulling out the rubber material, sliding it onto him.

She pulls him back down on her, moving her legs to allow him to settle in between her once more.

He thrusts into her, pulling out, pushing back in and she moans his name out louder, louder, louder until she's vibrating under him, his own thrusting too jerky, too fast until he erupts inside of her, and she kisses his nose as he falls next to her.

He runs his hand through her sweaty, mussed her and she rests her head on his sticky chest, right above his heartbeat.

They intertwine their fingers and lay still next to each other until he hears an angry roar from Katniss' stomach and they get up and walk to the kitchen. Him in just his light flannel pants, her clad in his shirt that dips just below her butt and they make the cheese buns he'd promised her.

She flicks flour into his hair every few minutes and he flicks some back and although she's not nearly as helpful as she imagines herself to be in the kitchen and they definitely have more flour on the floor and on themselves than they should, they finally slide the dough into the oven and rest their tired bones together on the couch.

And he figures, they'll be okay. As long as he doesn't bring up babies and her natural clockwork remains steady, timely, they'll be okay.

Katniss lies on the ground, feeling the marsh under her woozy head as she tries to lift her head, lift any part of her body from the ground. But she can't; Johanna's betrayed her, sliced her wrist open and left her to die and she can't move. She can't help him. She can't help Peeta survive.

She hears a chime. An insistent, never ending chime that rings in her ears in perpetuum and she's trying so desperately hard to raise her fingers, her hands if only to block out the sound of the chimes, of the sound of metal clinging together over and over.

But then she hears Peeta's voice. He keeps calling out to her, calling out her name. He calls her out again and again and Katniss tries, tries with all she's got to find her voice, let him know that she's here. She's still alive. Maybe. She's not even sure anymore.

She feels an arm on her shoulder, shaking her and she takes that as a sign that she must be awake, must still be breathing. She can still help Peeta.

Suddenly, she blinks and sees Peeta hovering over her, clad in just the towel that's wrapped loosely around his taut waist. She turns and realizes she's not in the Arena. Not in the games.

No, she's at her home. Her home that she shares with Peeta. Peeta, her husband. She tries to take a breath but it comes out as a shudder and Peeta holds her face in his pruned fingers, his eyes wide and concerned.

"Katniss? Are you okay?" He asks, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head. "It was just a dream, it was just a dream. You're okay." He says, his voice soothing as he rocks on his heels, crouched next to the bed.

She squints up at him and feels his fingers find hers and finally, finally allows herself to breathe.

"You have soap in your hair." She says finally, and he smiles, clearly relieved.

"I know, I was in the middle of the shower when I heard the doorbell ring about a thousand times and you managed to sleep through each one of them."

She nods, that explains the annoying chiming in her dream.

Peeta pads back to the bathroom, "could you get the door? I'm sure it's just Haymitch or Greasy Sae. I would but …" He stops, pointing to his hair with a wry grin.

She smiles back at him as she stands up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She lazily trudges down the stairs, making her way to the door.

She opens the door slowly, allowing her eyes to adjust to the unbearably bright sunlight as she takes in the girl standing in front of her house, two bags in her hand.

She doesn't recognizes the girl; she has blonde hair, long and straight down her back and blue eyes, bright like Peeta's. She's tall and lean with freckles splattered across her face. And pretty, Katniss notices. In that perfect way many kids from the town were.

Behind the girls lanky frame, Katniss can see the flowers beginning to bloom. Patches of red and purple, yellow and blue coloring the otherwise plain green patches of grass. Signs that Spring was just around the corner.

The girl whispers a hello to Katniss, her cheeks tinting a light, pale shade of pink. "I'm an old friend of Peeta's" She says when Katniss gives her a questioning look, her mind baffled by the girls presence.

"We all heard about yours and Peeta's toasting, back in town, and I just … We just wanted to send our well wishes." She stutters, thrusting the larger of the two bags in Katniss' hand. "These are just a few presents, from the people in town."

She timidly sticks out the smaller bag to Katniss too, "And this one is from me"

Katniss takes the gifts, the confusion clearly etched in her face, as she asks the girl if she'd like to wait for Peeta.

She girl adamantly shakes her head, "No, no that's not necessary. I just wanted to give you the gifts … And I have, So I should go now. Thank you. And congratulations to you, and to Peeta."

The girl smiles one last time at Katniss, a sad smile, before turning on her heel and walking swiftly down the hill, back into the town.

Puzzled, Katniss sifted through the bigger bag. Small plates, little glasses, tiny keepsakes from the people of District Twelve.

Her heart swells with unprecedented pride and she feels her heart lodge to her throat. She places the tiny mementos, precious items around the house. Above the mantel, on the bare coffee table.

She reaches her hand into the smaller bag and pulls out a small, ornate tea pot. It's beautiful, more beautiful than anything she's seen in the Capitol, or here in the district.

And it's orange, she realizes. A pale, iridescent orange. The color of the sky as the sun slips low, deep into the horizon.

It is the color of the sunset. It is Peeta's favorite color.

Peeta's eyes slowly open, one at a time, and he feels icy cold fingers at his wrists, feeling around until they find the skin above his pulse. Katniss rests her fingers there for a few beats before she leans down to hear his chest, her head hovering over his heart, searching for a loud, steady breathing. She seems content with that for only a moment before he fingers are racing back down to his wrist, her fingers feathering over his arm, sending shivers down his spine.

He catches his fingers in hers, and she looks up at him, shock filling her eyes, followed by a sense of relief.

He runs his fingers over the length of her braid, "I'm here, Katniss. I'm here." He whispers to her, soft and warm, his hand resting on her cheek. "Are you okay?"

She runs a hand through his blonde curls, dropping them to trace the outline of his eyes, his jaw before running the pad of her thumb across his chapped lips. "I just … I had a dream. A nightmare. You died. And it was so real." She says, her voice breaking at the end. "It felt so real, Peeta."

He cradles her in his arms, laying her back down in their bed. He drops a kiss to her forehead, peppering just a few others across her face until he feels her heartbeat steady, the rapid, erratic beating calming under his touch.

She looks up at him a few minutes later, her gray eyes shiny and big and kitten-like, and she hesitates before she asks says, "You can't ever leave me. You won't ever leave me, right?"

And in that moment, he doesn't see the brave girl he knows Katniss to be. He doesn't see the survivor who fought her way out of the Hunger Games. He doesn't see the brazen, bold girl who broke the law and endangered her life time and time again to make up for where her mother lacked.

No. He doesn't see any of that. Instead, in that moment, all he sees is an eighteen year old girl, vulnerable, exposed, unguarded.

He locks his eyes with her, losing himself in her gray eyes as he brings his nose to her, nuzzling it before barely feathering his lips over hers, their lips hardly meeting before he rests his forehead on hers.

It's not a kiss, not exactly. Their lips don't lock. Their tongues don't swirl together. But somehow it's more intimate than a kiss.

It's a promise.

"I'll never leave you," he says into her skin, "I'll always be here. Always."

The Indian summer sun is too bright, too scorching for mid-October and Katniss decides she'd rather waste her hours in the cool bakery than in the woods, where she's sure to suffocate from the unbearable heat.

She sits on the counter, and though she knows she's of absolutely no help to Peeta in the kitchen, or anywhere in the bakery really, she knows he loves having her there.

She looks at Peeta as he ices a cake, a look of deep concentration etched on his face. It reminds her of the same look he gets when he's drawing.

She absently touches her hand to his face, brushing a stray blonde lock out of his face. He smiles at her touch immediately.

A bell chimes as the front door of the bakery swings opens, and Katniss hops off the counter, brushing her hand along Peeta's arm before making her way to the front of the little shop.

She can hear Peeta's heavy footsteps as he follows behind her and he goes straight to greet the graying lady in the front, Mrs. Thornton and the old lady reaches up to hug him.

She doesn't think she's ever met someone who disliked Peeta; his polite and friendly nature gets him in the good graces of just about everyone.

The little girl clutching Mrs. Thornton's hands frees her fingers from her grandmother's and wanders to where the cakes are; the one's that Prim used to admire.

The little girl is tugging at one of her two braids with nervous fingers, her wonderfully blue eyes staring at the intricate designs on the colorful cakes. Her white, cotton eyelet dress has little red drops, stains from strawberries, and her lips are stained with the same color.

Katniss' heart lodges in her throat; this little girl reminds her so very much of tiny, beautiful Prim.

Katniss walks up to her, crouching down at her level. "Do you like the cakes?" she asks, and the girl looks up, startled.

She nods sheepishly at Katniss, her cheeks turning a light shade of peek as she lets out a tiny, toothless grin. "They're really pretty." She says, twirling her blonde braid in her red stained fingers.

Katniss nods at her, and reaches into the display table to pull out the tray of colorful, iced cookies Peeta's just set in the front.

"Would you like one?" She asks, handing her one. The tiny girl's smiles expands, almost taking over her entire face.

"Thank you so much, Ms. Everdeen." She says, sprinkling crumbs on her chin as she bites into the sugary sweet.

"Mrs. Mellark, actually." Katniss says, the words coming out before she registers them in her head. It feels weird, she realizes, to no longer be an Everdeen. To be a Mellark.

The girl apologizes, skipping back to her grandmother as Katniss rearranges the cookies, sliding the tray back in its place in the display.

She turns around, waves at the girl whose fingers are wound tightly around her grandmothers as they make their way out of the bakery. She feels Peeta's eyes on her, glowing and wide, following her as she walks back to the bakery.

His too-loud footsteps follow her, and she takes her place back on the counter as he tends to the cake he'd been icing before.

He's biting back words; she can tell by the way his teeth are gnawing at his lip. She waits, knowing he can't hold his words back for too long, he never can.

"You were really good with Janie, Mrs. Thornton's little granddaughter." He says, finally, kneading the dough.

She shrugs, "She reminded me of Prim."

He nods back at her, catching her eyes. "She did look like her, didn't she?"

That's not it, she thinks. That's not what he wanted to say. His teeth are still gnawing at his lips, leaving tiny marks on the chapped skin.

She doesn't say anything, already fearing the words she knows are going to leave his mouth.

This is the one thing, the one thing they've argued over time and time again. And each time it's over, they both feel guilty. But they both are too stubborn, too. And they never come to a consensus. Not a happy one, at least.

She wants to punch him for bringing it up again.

"Why can't we just try …" Peeta starts, his voice already tired and weary but she stops him.

"Peeta … not again. I don't want to talk about this again." She says, a warning in her voice.

"But I do." He says, his hands moving around the cake a bit too fiercely, cutting into the cake. "Give me one good reason why we shouldn't have kids, Katniss. One good reason."

"Because I don't want to, Peeta. Because I won't be able to love it. Because I don't want to love anyone else. I can't." She says, tired of repeating those words to him at ad nauseum.

He pats his hands on his apron before resting them on her face, and she flinches from the touch. She hates when he does this, tries to sabotage her argument with his touch. "You know that's not true, Katniss."

She slides off the counter so that she's at eye level with Peeta, standing at a safe distance from him.

"Peeta, if you want a baby so badly why don't you find a wife who'll give you one? I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding someone new." She says, the venom in her voice clear.

She regrets the words a second later, the hurt registering in his eyes. But she's too stubborn at apologize, he must know that.

She incoherently mumbles that she's going home before she stumbles out of the bakery, feeling the sun beating down on her face, beads of sweat forming instantly.

She's angry. So angry at him for bringing this up for the umpteenth time.

And guilty. Because she knows how badly he wants this. Because she wishes she could give this to me. Because she saw the look in his eyes before she stormed out of the bakery.

She feels too many other emotions, too. Too many emotions she's too tired, too exhausted to sift through.

She walks on the gravel, heading just about anywhere. No destination in mind.

xx

Katniss' eyes open lazily, one at a time and her finger tips graze the plush, velvet material under her.

She looks around, cringing as she lifts herself from the uncomfortable position she fell asleep in, and realizes she's in her house. Her old house, now vacant save for the couch she was sitting on.

She rubs a cold hand over her face as she remembers the fight, remembers Peeta's wounded, hurt face as she snapped at him, remembers her harsh, venom-filled words.

She sighs, the guilt in her gut overwhelming.

She creeps out of her house, the place feeling haunted and unfamiliar, as she walks past three houses to Peeta's home. No, not Peeta's home, she thinks. Their home.

She quietly twists the door knob, the metal too warm from relentless sun, and pushes the door open.

Peeta's at the kitchen, slicing carrots over the counter. His face is hard, concentrated as it often is when he's in the kitchen and she walks up behind him, locking her arms around his waist as her head falls into the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry." She breathes into his skin, her lips tracing his neck.

He puts his knife down on the counter, sighing before he turns around, his arms around her waist immediately.

"No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have …. I, I know how you feel. I shouldn't have brought it up."

She doesn't say anything back, doesn't know what to say.

She waits a beat, "I want to sell my house." She says.

"Your house?"

"My old house." She affirms with a nod of her head. "I want to sell it. Or give it to someone. Like Greasy Sae. Someone who needs it. Someone who deserves it."

"Okay …" He says, his eyes shiny, but still confused and she knows she needs to add to her explanation.

"I … I don't want to have a place to go. A place to escape to – from, from you." She says, inept as always, to explain herself.

But he understands. He always understands. It's one of his greatest qualities.

"Are you sure about that? Sure you don't want an escape from me?" He asks, his voice playful, a smile on his lips.

She allows a smile of her own. "Yes, I'm sure."

His mind goes blank, his body rigid as a spoon falls from his fingers, making a loud clanking sound as it meets the floor.

He's vaguely aware of the waters that's dripping from his table, making its way to his trousers as he grips the wooden chair he's sitting on, his hands red, his knuckles a pasty white from the pressure.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to push every shiny image of a mutt, a mutt that so resembles Katniss out of his head. He knows it's not Katniss, he knows that. Or at least he thinks he does. It's the capitol's creation. But the lines of what is real and what isn't begin to blur as they always do and his mind is baffled, unsure of what is what.

Outside of his own hazy, dark mind he can hear a voice. A soothing voice. Katniss' voice. The real Katniss' voice.

She's calling out his name, touching his wrists and he has an all-too strong urge to push her back.

Because a part of him wants to kill her, strangle her. But a greater part of him wants to protect her, keep her safe from himself So he pushes her back, away from him, only to hear a loud thud.

He feels her fingers at his wrists again, her voice murmuring his name and he digs his own fingers into hers. Doesn't she know? Doesn't she understand that she needs to be far, far away from him?

He feels her cold fingers move to his face, his cheek, brushing the hair out of his forehead and suddenly, his body feels less rigid, the shiny images less clear. They begin to fade as he relaxes into her touch and slowly, so slowly opens his eyes, one at a time.

He lets out a breathe he didn't realize he was holding in and let's go of Katniss' wrists as she lifts herself up off the ground, dropping a kiss onto his forehead before moving back to her seat across from him.

She picks up her spoon, sipping the stew he's made and makes no attempt to bring up his episode. She knows he doesn't want to talk about it, not yet.

But she doesn't have to bring it up; the bruises on her wrists silently do that for her and he feels like he's been kicked in the gut.

He can't be around her, can't be near her after what he's done to her.

He abruptly stands, and she allows the concern she's feeling to show on her face.

"Peeta …"

"I'm … I'm going to the bakery for a bit." He mumbles, almost incoherently and starts towards the door. He needs to hide. From her. From her bruises. From himself.

He's turning the doorknob when he feels her fingers on his wrist again, pulling him back.

"Peeta, if … if I can't escape, than nor can you." She says, her fingers outlining his jaw before resting on his cheek, the pads of her thumb rubbing across his cheek.

"But you're wrists …" He starts, his voice strained.

"It's okay. It's okay. They'll be back to normal by tomorrow."

He shakes his head, furious. At himself, for not being able to control himself. At her, for being too understanding. She shouldn't have to be understanding, she shouldn't have to be okay with earning bruises from him.

But she just stops his shaking with her steady hands, "No escapes, Peeta." She says, her voice stern. "No escapes, ever."

"I wouldn't want it any other way." He says finally, holding her close. Never close enough.

Katniss sighs exaggeratedly as Peeta's loud thuds follow her, intensified by the crunch of the leaves and twigs under his boot forcing little animals to skitter around them, away from them.

"I'm trying, okay!" he snaps at her, frustrated by his own thunderous stomps and she lets out a snort of laughter.

She grabs a hold if his fingers, lacing them with her own, "I don't think you can help it, Peeta. But that's okay; I don't want to hunt today. I want to show you how to swim." She says as they near the small lake, the water blue and wonderful reflecting back at her.

He looks at her miserably, his eyes squinting in the sunlight. "Is this necessary?"

She smiles at him as she pulls her shirt off of her skin, the material clinging to her sweaty back. "It's fun, Peeta. I promise."

He sighs, rolling his own shirt off of his shoulders before stripping his pants off as well, following her own lead.

His eyes cast downwards towards her body, scantily clad in just her cotton undergarments and he lets out a small, mischievous smile.

"Well, this part is fun, at least" he says, earning a roll of the eyes from Katniss before she's pulling at his arm, dragging his feet into the water.

She shivers as the cold water touches her skin, goose bumps instantly rising on her skin, little bumps all over arms and she feels Peeta's arms on hers, sharing his warmth with her.

She continues to walk in the water, her movements lazy and relaxed until the water is deep enough, stopping just at her waist.

"Okay, now, just lay backwards and try to float." She says, remembering the steps her father had taught her years ago at this exact place.

He stretches his body backwards, his movements slow and cautious, until he's flat on his back, his hands clutching hers and she has to laugh at the look of sheer fear displayed on his face.

He musters the dirtiest look he can give her, before he himself erupts into a fit of laughter as he loses his balance in the water and clings to Katniss' body.

"You know …" He says, standing up in the water, the feeling of fear fading, "I think maybe today just isn't the day to learn how to swim. I think today's one of those days we should just … relax. Sit by the water rather than in it."

She shakes her head at him because, sure, if this was the first time he'd uttered those exact sentiments, she'd think they were true. But being that this was his fourth, maybe fifth attempt at swimming, she knew he was just scared.

"Chicken." She blurted, grinning as she splashed a handful of water at his face.

He shook his head in return, splattering cold droplets of water on her body.

She shivered again, the drops of water forming goose bumps on her body as it trickled downwards.

He pulled her out of the water and enveloped her in his arms as she leaned into him, his warmth spreading to her body before she reached for her clothes, slipping them on.

She grabbed a handful of berries as she waited for Peeta to change, tossing one in her mouth, feeling the juices squirt on her tongue as her teeth tore into the tiny black fruits.

Once Peeta was fully clothed, she grabbed his hand once more, leading him out of the woods.

She was grateful for days like these. Days when she woke up without a hint of a nightmare plaguing her sleep. Days when she felt more hopeful than hopeless, if only just a little bit. Days were she could lazily spend her time in the woods, where the memories allowed her tiny bits of happiness, with Peeta. Day's that made her feel like everything was going to be okay.

She climbed over the fence, simply because old habits die hard, and stuck her hand out to Peeta who followed suit.

They walk to town, their footsteps lazy and slow, their fingers tangled with each other, when Katniss freezes.

The girl with the long, blonde hair and perfectly blue eyes stood near the Thom, a bright smile on her face. The girl who'd gifted them the tea pot.

Katniss poked Peeta's arm before pointing one long finger towards the girl, "Hey Peeta, do you know her?"

Peeta squinted, using his hand to shield his face from the sun as recognition registered on his face. "Yeah, Lorelai." He said, waving at the girl who waved back shyly, her cheeks turning a pale shade of pink.

"How do you know her?" Katniss probed, as she led them away from the square, towards the Victor's village.

"We had a few classes together in school." He said, rubbing circles on her palm with the pad of his thumb. "We dated for a bit in class eight. My mother really liked her, I think she wanted me to her marry her. But my heart always belonged to someone else."

He nudged her playfully, but she ignored that list bit as she felt a weird feeling in her gut, a feeling she couldn't exactly figure out.

She felt oddly possessive. And irritated. So irritated by the girl with the hair too blonde and eyes too blue.

"I don't think she would have suited you very well." Katniss said finally, her eyes focused on the ground beneath her.

"Yeah, why not?" He asked, his voice curious, still playful.

"Well, I mean … for starters, she looks just like you. Anyone could mistake you to be siblings." She said, wrinkling her nose. The words sounded weird and mean as she heard them out loud.

Peeta laughed, squeezing her fingers in his, "Yeah, I used to think that about you and Gale. But I think that was more of just me being pathetically jealous more than anything else."

Jealous? Was that what she was feeling? That feeling of possessiveness and the irrational surge of feeling irritated … was that jealousy?

She couldn't be jealous. Katniss Mellark didn't get Jealous.

"Did you really feel … jealous? When I was with Gale?"

He snorted, "Of course. I was always jealous of Gale. He used to be able to make you smile, even when it seemed like you didn't even know how. And he was the only person whose company you seemed to genuinely enjoy. I would have given anything to take his place" Peeta confessed, his voice disconsolate.

She thought back to her own feelings when Gale laid on her table, his back nothing but red and white shreds of skin. She remembered a hint of this feeling, this feeling of possessiveness when Madge had come to give the medicine. She remembered how irritated she was, aggravated at Madge, at Peeta, at Haymitch for no reason at all.

And now, here she was, those same feelings of aggravation and possessiveness resurfacing at the thought of the blonde haired girl. Lorelai. But the feeling was worse, intensified.

"Being jealous sucks." She said, her voice glum.

Peeta guffawed as he pulled her in closer, "Are you jealous of Lorelai?" He asked, looking at her like she was crazy and she only huffed in reply.

He dropped a kiss to her hair. "You have nothing to be jealous about, Katniss." He said as his laughter died out, his voice soft and earnest.

Peeta woke up with a start, the incessant ringing blaring too loudly in his ears. He shifted towards the window; it was dark, too dark for anyone to be calling them at this hour.

He slid his arm from under Katniss' sleeping form, careful not to wake her. It was rare that she slept so soundly, and he didn't dare disturb her.

He tiptoed out of his room and down the stairs, picking up the phone as it blared for the fifth time.

Johanna's voice was on the other line immediately, hushed as she whispers, "It's getting worse, Peeta."

His body is rigid with worry as he takes in Johanna's voice. She sounded too tired, too broken.

"I don't … I can't do this anymore. I don't want to. I can't sleep. I can't eat. Some days, I can't even move."

Peeta sighed. "Have you seen Dr. A, Johanna?"

"No," she admits. "I don't want to. I don't want him to fix me, only for me to end up like this again, Peeta."

"It'll get better, Jo. I promise it will. You just have to let the people who care about you help you. You have to want to help yourself."

"For what, Peeta? For who?" She snaps, her voice suddenly angry.

"For Finnick. For Annie. For Me." He says, wanting so badly to see Johanna.

He knows she doesn't confide in many people. Doesn't want to talk to the doctors, and doesn't want to burden Annie. He knows in a lot of ways, he is all she has.

"Look, Johanna." He says, his voice stern. "You're not going to let Snow win. Because if you stop trying, if you give up, Snow wins. And you didn't fight this hard for this long for him to win. We won. You won. You can't forget that."

He knows it's the only way to get through to her, knows those are the only words that'll make sense to her.

She's silent for too long, and when she speaks again, she sounds a little bit more like herself.

"Well, I should let you get back to Katniss. I'm sure you two were in the middle of some kinky shit when I called. Hell, it's probably why I had to call five times for you to pick up." She says, her voice snarky and sarcastic and typical Johanna.

He laughs and tells her goodnight, the restless feeling in his stomach still present.

He trudges back up the stairs and slides into the covers as Katniss' arms wrap around his bare chest.

"Who was it" She asked, her voice coated thickly with sleep.

"Johanna." He said grimly, dropping a kiss into her hair. "She's just … she's not doing well. And she won't go see the doctor. And she won't talk about it with anyone other than me and I just … I feel so helpless, you know? Not being able to do anything other than console her through the phone."

He felt lighter as the words escaped him, as Katniss drew small circles on his chest with the tips of her nails.

"When my father died," Katniss said, her voice almost inaudible. "My mother left. She was physically here, but she wasn't really here. She let herself need him too much. Let herself depend on him too much."

Katniss paused as her voice wavered. "She let herself love him too much. And it wasn't fair, not to Prim and I, who were still here. Because we needed her. We needed her to be our mother, to do what she was supposed to do. But she wasn't here. She didn't know how to be. And I was so angry at her for it, so angry at her abandoning us."

"But Prim wasn't. Prim," she took a long, drawn out breath. "Prim was always so good, so good at taking care of people, knowing how to help everyone. And she took care of my mother. She braided her hair every day, changed her clothes. She helped her come back. I think Johanna just needs some help, coming back."

Peeta looked at her, the strong, beautiful girl in front of him and suddenly, her understands her reluctance to love her. To love anyone.

"I think you should go help Johanna. You two were in the Capitol together. Only you know what she went through. And only you can help her."

"But I can't—"

"I'll be fine here." She said, pulling his arm around her waist as she pushed her back against his chest.

"I'll be okay, you should go." She repeated.

The house is too vacant, too quiet without Peeta, Katniss realizes.

His steps are too loud, and he hums little tunes almost all the time, but it keeps the house alive. Keeps her sane.

With just her in the house, the most noise made comes from the creaks in the floor.

Her nights are worse than her days, she realizes. Her sheets are too cold, her bed is too big and she misses his strong arms around her.

She spends as much time as she possibly can outside of her house. Hunting, trading, running the bakery and loitering around old Sae's house.

She even makes a short trip to Haymitch's after her third consistent day of boredom. But his slurred words and the stale stench of alcohol doesn't make her feel any better and she's never been more happy that Peeta would be returning in just a day.

She wakes up early the day he's coming home, and sets out to the woods, bow and arrows in hand.

His train from four wouldn't roll in until four, she's sure, and she needs to do something until then.

The woods seem like the perfect time-pass, but even hunting can only keep her mind entertained for a mere few hours until she's racing home, hoping to find Peeta there.

She's disappointed when the house is still vacant, but she realizes he must be close anyway. It's almost four, she realizes as she looks at the clock.

She stalks over to the television remote, hitting the red power button, if only to fill the otherwise silent room with some noise. The has easily made an enemy out of the deafening silence that has often threatened to swallow her whole in the past few days.

Her feet seem to be frozen in place as the words 'breaking news' flash in red at the bottom of the screen, an image of two trains, both merged together, a one another fills her screen. There's smoke, black and thick, clouding the sky and wild flames of fire blazing, enveloping the trains.

The words 'Train on route to District 12 collides with Train on route to the Capitol. Injuries and deaths unknown' repeat themselves below the flashing 'Breaking News' sign, and she can feel the erratic beating of her chest under her skin as her breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.

With trembling hands, and even shakier steps she bolts to Haymitch's house, running straight to the television that she's sure he's never made any use of.

The same image of the trains, the smoke fill his screen and he mumbles something incoherently before squinting to read the words on the screen.

His eyes widen, understanding, and he willingly sets his bottle down.

"Let's call Plutarch." He says gruffly, standing up and walking to the phone.

In that moment she's more grateful for Haymitch than she ever has been before.

He speaks in a hushed tone as Katniss sits on his grimy couch, squeezing her head between her knees.

After everything he's been through, after everything he's survived, he can't die like this. Peeta cannot die like this.

He can't leave her. He promised her he wouldn't.

Haymitch sets the phone down, struggling to put it back in its position before he turns to her, relaying Plutarch's words. "He said he's doing all he can to find out if the boy was on the train, but we should check at the care facilities here in twelve. That's where they're sending the victims."

She's at the door by the time he's finished his words, and Haymitch wordlessly follows her, his steps slow and stagnant.

Her steps quicken as she begins her trek to town and she realizes Haymitch's hastened his own pace, keeping up with hers. She's vaguely aware of her shaky hands as Haymitch silently, awkwardly takes her hand in his rough, calloused one.

She reaches the medical building, too bright, too big and notices the chaos surrounding her. There are too many people, too many wounded people and she has the sudden urge to run back. To hide, as she always did when she was younger.

Instead, she forces herself forward, using Haymitch's arm for support.

She doesn't know who to ask, or what to ask and for the second time that day, is grateful for Haymitch when he walks up to a nurse, asking about patients.

"Who are you looking for, sir?" She asks, a clipboard in hand.

Her cheery voice irritates Katniss, and all she wants to do is scream out Peeta's name, desperate to hear his in return but Haymitch holds her back, squeezing her hand.

"Peeta Mellark, his name is Peeta Mellark." Haymitch says, his voice strong and somber.

The lady sifts through her paper, her eyes skimming each page quickly. "Sir, I do not see a Peeta Mellark—"

"Look again," Katniss all but shouts, and the lady shrinks back, clearly recognizing Katniss. "You barely even went through the pages, look again.

The nurse gains her composure again, straightening the ridiculous white hat she's wearing.

"The names are in alphabetical order, ma'am. I went straight to the M's; Mr. Mellark isn't on the list, but many of the bodies have not been identified as of yet and patients are still rolling in. We'll notify you as soon as anything happens." She says, tucking the clipboard under her arm. "As soon as we find out anything, I promise."

Finding it too difficult to breathe amongst the stale, clean stench of the hospital, Katniss stumbles backwards until the cold winter wind bites at her skin, filling her nostrils completely.

She can breathe again. Almost.

Not knowing where to go, what to do, she walks, the sound of the gravel crunching beneath her feet filling her ears.

This can't be it, she thinks as her heart beat begins to pound wildly, erratically in her chest. This can't be.

And suddenly, she's praying to a God she's never looked to help for before. Because she knows, she knows she won't make it through this.

Because somehow, unbeknownst to her, she became her mother. She began to need someone. She began to depend on someone. She began to love Peeta.

She twists her door knob with trembling hands, the metal chilled from the biting winds.

And suddenly, she's almost sure with every fiber in her being that she's in the presence of a ghost. Another shadow to haunt her dreams, her every waking minute.

"Peeta …" She says, the word stuck in her throat.

She walks to him, her steps small and slow as she presses herself against him, feels him next to her.

She's overwhelmed with feelings, too many feelings and she has the sudden need to cry, though the idea seems absurd.

She pulls back from him, her shaky fingers tracing his face, his jaw, his arms, every bit of him before she leans in to kiss him.

Katniss clings to him as he settles into bed later that night, and he kisses his her temple, her cheeks, her lips before wrapping his arms around her.

Her fingertips graze his eyes, his face and he's pretty sure she's still trying to comprehend the fact that's he's okay, that he's really here.

She squeezes his arm one last time before letting her arms fall to his chest, using his arms as a pillow. She's quiet as he rubs her arms, littering kisses over her face.

"I was so scared." She says after a pregnant stretch of silence. "I was so scared I was never going to see you again. Scared I was never going to touch you again."

He rolls over, hovering over her body, his arms on either side of her. "I'm here, Katniss." He says, not for the first time that night. "I'm here, I always will be."

She nods, reaching up to kiss him.

She's gentle at first, her lips slow and soft on his. But it's not too long before her kisses became hungry, lustful.

She licked her way to his mouth and he parted his lips as her leg wrapped around him.

With one swift move, she slid his cotton shirt from his body, letting it fall to the floor.

His fingers trailed down her legs, warm and familiar, as he played with the hem of her night gown.

He hiked the silky material up to her waist, craving the taste of her skin.

Four days without Katniss were clearly four days too many.

She writhed out of her cotton panties as his lips trailed down her navel to her thighs, and he teased her with the tips of his fingers before sliding them into her. She bucks against his fingers, her hips gyrating to his movements and she pulls him back towards her, her lips hungrily taking over his.

She breaks from him for a moment, pulling the silky nightgown over her head before bringing her lips to the base of his neck, littering tiny red marks on his skin.

She moved her hands to his pants, tugging legs and he tossed them to the floor, along with the rest of their discarded clothing. She gently brushed his erected member with the tip of her fingers and he moaned into her mouth.

He would never, ever in a million years, tire of her touch.

She kissed his face, his chest, his arms as her fingers still ran along him, feeling his hardness as he squeezed her breasts in his hands.

He felt her nipples pebble from his touch as he brought them to his mouth, flicking them with his tongue. He smiled into her skin as he heard breathing hitch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

He reached over to the bed stand, his fingers searching for a condom when her fingers wrapped around his, and she shook her head.

"But you're taking your pill, right?" He asked, utterly confused.

She shook her head again. "I …I want to give you everything, Peeta." She stuttered, the redness from her cheeks making it down to her glorious breasts. "I want you to have everything you want."

"Are you … You don't – are you sure?" He asked, the words jumbled in his mouth.

He looked at her flushed face, hair matted to her forehead with sweat, eyes wide and earnest. She looked beautiful.

She brought her lips to his, soft and sweet. "I'm sure."

It always seemed so simply; once you stopped wearing a condom, you'd immediately be impregnated.

But as the odds often seemed to oppose her, she found it becoming pregnant didn't come that easily.

At least not for Katniss Mellark.

And because she's Katniss Mellark, the harder it seem to become pregnant, the more she want to be.

She sighed, frustrated as Peeta thrust into her one last time before collapsing, his body, sweaty and panting, still covering half of hers.

"What?" Peeta asked, his fingers running through her mussed, matted hair but his eyes averting hers purposefully, worry laced in his voice.

"What is it? Am I doing something wrong?" he repeated, and she let out another frustrated sigh because no, of course Peeta wasn't doing something wrong.

This had to be her, had to be the universe telling her something. Telling her she wasn't meant to be a mother, wasn't fit to be one.

She ran her fingers lazily across his back before burying them in his hair, his blonde curls in need of a cut.

"It's not you, Peeta. You're fine. You're perfect. It's just …" She stopped as her voice broke and she shut her mouth in a tight line. She hated the raw emotion in her voice, hated that she couldn't remember to conceal it.

"It's just that this shouldn't be so hard." She said, trying again. "Becoming pregnant shouldn't be this hard … but I just – we've been trying for so long and nothing is happening and I feel like maybe this is just God or nature or whatever it is that controls these things' way of telling me that I'm not supposed to be anyone's mom. That I'm not fit to be one."

She paused again, her voice low, "Maybe they have the right idea."

Peeta shifted on the mattress, propping himself up on one elbow as she wedged her toes in between his legs.

He traced his thumb across her jaw, "Katniss, I – I don't know how to explain to you that if there is anyone, anyone in this mother who is equipped to be a mother, it's you. You're caring and you love so, so passionately and –"

"I know, Peeta." She groaned, cutting him off. "I know. I raised Prim, I cared for Rue and sure, I was good at that. But they weren't babies Peeta. They weren't babies whose lives depended on me. They weren't tiny, tiny humans who couldn't survive without me, whose lives I could ruin with just one wrong step, with one mistake."

"Katniss, you are going to be the best mother. Just … just believe me when I say that. Can you do that? Can you trust me and believe me when I say that?" He asked, caressing his chin with his calloused fingers.

She leaned into his touch, kissing his lips softly before nodding.

She trusted Peeta. She could believe Peeta.

He knows Katniss is annoyed, aggravated by the fact that she's finding it so difficult to become pregnant.

But he knows it'll happen; good things happen to those who wait.

But, though he doesn't tell Katniss this because he's sure she'd rip his head off and feed it to Buttercup, good things are sort of happening while they wait as well.

Because Katniss suddenly wants to have sex. All. The. Time. And he suddenly has nothing left to complain about.

He's cleaning the counters of the bakery as Katniss goes out to the front, locking the doors shut.

It's become routine now; Peeta and Katniss locking up the bakery together for the night before heading home. It reminds him of his parents, it was the same routine they practiced years ago.

But his mother often held a scorned look and his father's face usually featured a sad smile and he was glad to say that he and Katniss wore neither. They wore smiles and hummed songs and though they spent the majority of their day together, these were his favorite moments of the day.

He hears Katniss shake the lock, making sure she's pushed in the metal correctly before he hears her footsteps, light and stealthy, making their way back to the kitchen.

She snakes his arms around his waist as he rubs a wet cloth on his counters, the wooden tops buried in heaps of flour.

She brings her lips to his neck, her kisses feathery and light, like whispers on his skin and he leans into them, into her lips.

This was also why these moments at the bakery were his favorite; for the past few weeks, cleaning and locking up had almost always led to this. And this was something he'd never tire of, never get used to. (Though, he had to admit, now-a-days, almost anything they did led to this.)

He turns towards her, abandoning his wet cloth and dirty counters as he lifted her up to the counter he'd just finished cleaning. She spread her legs open, inviting him wordlessly as her dress hitched up her thighs.

She laughs as he lamely complains about how she never lets him finish any of his work, her hands already tugging at his shirt, and he slips it off immediately, giving her whatever she wants, whenever she wants it.

He knows when his wife is determined to do something, she does whatever is necessary to do it.

And for once, he won't oppose her or try to stop her.

Katniss' eyes snap open as her stomach churns violently inside her.

She feels a rough rumbling in her stomach as she reaches to cover her mouth with her fingers, making a dash for the bathroom.

She throws herself to the floor, the cold tiles against her bare skin helping her feel just a tiny bit better as her head hovers over the porcelain toilet bowl, nausea getting the best of her.

She can't remember the last time she threw up, but she's sure she's never felt worse than this.

She feels the first wave of her dinner from the night before make its way from the toilet as she coughs and slides to the cold tiled floor. The chunky liquid leaves too sour a taste in her mouth and she swears she'll never prey on tired, lethargic rabbits again.

She feels another wave of nausea run through her body, her stomach thrashing violently and she lifts herself back to the toilet.

She's clutching her stomach with one hand when she feels Peeta's warm, comforting hand swiping her hair from around her face, his other hand rubbing circles in her back.

She leans against him when she's positive there's nothing left in her for her to heave up and he hands her a cup of chilled water, dropping a kiss into her matted hair. His eyes laced with worry and sleep.

She's too tired to move, too comfortable leaning against Peeta's warm body to even want to. She closes her eyes, her head resting on his body and she's sure she's drifting off into sleep when she feels Peeta's arms wrap around her as he lifts her body off of the cold tiles, gently tucking her into bed again.

She's too sleepy to move, too sleepy to even ask what time it is as he slips inside the covers next to her, pulling her close.

"Are you feeling better?" He asks silently, his hands still rubbing circles in her back that automatically help her feel better and she nods her answer.

She drifts back into sleep again, and wakes up with the same feeling in her stomach; she's sure this is a nightmare of some sort. Sure, it hasn't got tracker jackers or an arena, but this feeling of feeling so utterly sick, so revolted by the thought of just about anything has to be a nightmare.

But as she lifts herself off the bed again and hovers over the toilet for the second time, she realizes this isn't a nightmare.

She's awake, she's very awake as the acidy liquids make their way back up her throat, leaving a burning, horrible sensation in their trail.

She coughs loudly, wiping her mouth with his hands as she reaches to fill an empty glass with water.

Peeta saunters into their room as she lifts the glass to her mouth, her eyes still watery from heaving up the last remainders of any kind of food in her body, and he stops to look at her, the wariness in eyes from the night before back.

"I probably just ate something bad." She offers weakly, and he nods tensely, holding his arm out to help her back into bed.

"You stay in bed today, "He tells her as he pulls the covers up to her chin. "I'm going to call Mrs. Talleyrand, maybe she can come by her to check on you."

She nods, too weak to argue, to tell him that she'll be fine as he stalks out of the room, phone in hand.

Peeta's heart flips and flops about a thousand times as Mrs. Talleyrand repeats her words for the third time, trying to get them through to Katniss, whose eyes are wide as the gray-haired woman's voice reaches her.

"Your cycle is off track and you're feeling nauseated and particularly hormonal … There is a very good chance you might be pregnant. But, just to make sure, I'm going to need you to pee for me in this." She said, tapping the small plastic container in her hand with a wrinkly finger.

"We'll test your urine sample at the medical facilities in order to confirm it, but I've seen plenty of pregnant women in my time, and Katniss, I do believe you are one of them now." She finished, winking at Katniss and offering Peeta a generous smile a she headed back towards the door. "I'll show myself out." She said, clambering down the stairs and out the door.

Peeta slowly walked to Katniss, her knuckles a pasty white as she clutched the blankets around her, her fingers curled into small, tight fists.

He gingerly lifted his fingers to her hair as he positioned himself on the mattress, biting his cheek to stop the smile on his lips from taking over his entire face.

"You might be pregnant." He said, his eyes shiny and hopeful.

She averted his graze, her eyes concentrated on her hands as she repeated his words lowly, "I might be pregnant."

He paused; he wasn't sure what kind of reaction to expect from Katniss – she was constantly surprising him, still. But he'd hoped for a smile, if only a tiny one.

"How do you feel?" He asked a moment later, his words dragged out and slow.

She slowly shifted her gaze to him, her hands abandoning the blankets for his rough, warm hands. "I don't – I don't know. I don't know how I feel."

Her voice was hoarse and her eyes shone with fear and he understood, understood the mish-mosh of feelings in her head because she was Katniss and he was Peeta and he always just understood.

He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her closer to him and she let her head rest against the crook of his neck.

"I might be pregnant." She whispered against his neck a beat later as she dropped tiny, butterfly kisses on his neck before turning her lips into the tiniest of smiles.

"You might be pregnant." He repeated softly.

Clamping her nose shut with one hand, Katniss slowly twisted the door knob to a familiar house, taking careful steps as she led herself into the seemingly vacant house.

The house always seemed empty, rarely ever showed signs of life and it almost was, save for Haymitch and his bottles of liquor that never ran out.

She heard a light snoring from the living room and found Haymitch exactly where she always did; his body slumped lazily on the couch, a bottle full of clear liquid clutched in his hand.

Her eyes scanned the rest of the room, taking in the many empty glass bottles littering the floor and shook her head – Haymitch would never change. But today, she was going to give him a chance, a reason to.

She walks to the kitchen, finding a bag that was large enough before pacing herself around his living room, picking up the bottles – some full, she now realized, many others empty – and tossed them in the bag, the clanking of glass loud in her ears.

She then walked to the kitchen, opening every cabinet door she could find, every cupboard where the old man's stashed his supply of the spirits and drains them down the sink.

She knows if she left him up to his own devices, he'd much rather just drink himself dry. But she's decided, she's not giving him the option to.

She wakes Haymitch, shaking him roughly before he squints at her, confused by her sudden appearance.

He mumbles something incoherently under his sour breath as he lifts himself on the couch, only barely sitting before he slumps back again, clearly worn out from the effort.

She takes a seat on a chair next to him before clearing her throat, grabbing his attention.

"I'm having a baby." She blurts, watching as his eyes widen. He clearly wasn't expecting this.

"Peeta and I are having a baby," she reconfirms, and he nods his head. "And we want you to be the Godfather. So you need to stop drinking. Completely."

She takes the bottle he's clutching in his hands and walks back to the sink, letting the clear liquid drain from its bottle.

She hears Haymitch's groans, his angry mumbles under his breath as she walks to the door. "I'm not asking Haymitch, I'm telling." She says, her voice hard as she shuts the door behind her and finally let's herself breath a whiff of clean air.

Peeta wakes when he feels shifting on the mattress, her body rolling back and forth as she tries and fails to find a comfortable position.

He hears her let out a frustrated sigh and he almost smiles, but stops himself in time.

She isn't too big yet, the bump on her stomach is small, as small as it can be for someone whose five months along, but her stomach is larger than it's ever been before and he can tell she feels invaded.

He wraps his arms around her, trying to still her but she smacks his hand away, as she almost always does these days.

"This is your fault," She mutters under her breath, her voice hot and angry. "I'm uncomfortable because of you."

He clamps his mouth shut, swallowing the snort of laughter that threatens to make its way out as he reaches to wraps his arms around her for a second time, and she lets him keep them there as she leans into his arms.

She's cranky, almost all the time. And angry at him for some thing or another most of the time. But he'll deal with it, he'll let her yell and scream at him, let him smack his hand away at night whenever he tries to become intimate with her, as long as she willingly carries their child in her belly.

She's giving him the one thing he's wanted for as long as he can remember, she's letting him become a father. And he'll always be indebted to her for that.

Peeta hauls buckets after buckets up the stairs, of what, she's not sure, and spends most of his time in the spare room he's claimed to be the nursery.

She spends most of her time on the couch, stuffing her never ending supply of cheese buns in her mouth, feeling her body expand with each bite.

She finds it ridiculous, that she could be this large. She no longer fits in her own clothes, and often sits around in Peeta's flannel pajamas and his large, cotton shirts that stretch out over her belly.

Her feet and hands have swollen up, too, and she no longer can slip her hunting boots on, forcing her to stay out of the woods and in the house.

She feels ridiculous.

And she feels useless as Peeta spends his time in the nursery, telling her she's not allowed to see it until he's completed it. She's forced to spend her time in front of the television screen, stuffing cheese buns in her mouth.

She lifts herself off the couch, something that takes far too much effort now, and walks to the kitchen to find a wet cloth, ignoring the sharp pain in her stomach. They pains are almost comforting now, they let her know that the baby is still well, still kicking.

Cleaning has replaced hunting in her life, at least for now.

She's scrubbing a shelf vigorously when a box catches her eyes, one she's not sure she's seen before. She picks it up in her hand and finds the cardboard box lined with envelopes after envelopes, each one addressed to her from Peeta, a small stamp from Dr. Aurelius' stamp marking the left corner of each one.

And she suddenly remembers them, remembers not wanting to read them, not wanting to re-hash the past.

She picks one envelope in her hand gingerly, and tears it open.

She feels a tremor run through her body as she reads, the venom and hatred in Peeta's words catching her off guard.

She reminds herself that that wasn't Peeta. Not her Peeta, at least. The words on the page didn't come from Peeta, they came from the Capitol. They came from Snow.

She picks up another envelope, and then another and feels Peeta ease, slowly ease back into himself again, until there is so very little of the Capitol's poison left in him.

She feels Peeta's body next to her as he sits on the couch beside her. He looks at her with a question in his eyes and she explains, "You're letters. The one's you sent to me when you were at the Capitol. I never read them."

He lifts a letter she's already read from the table, bringing it to his face.

He's only made it halfway down the page when the paper crumples in his hands and he looks at her, his eyes pained. "Katniss … This, this wasn't – I'm so sorry. That wasn't me; those weren't my words. I mean, I can't even remember feeling that way anymore. I can't even fathom the idea of hating you."

She traces her fingers along his face, "I know that, Peeta. You have nothing to be –oh. OH."

She felt a weird stickiness run down her legs, seeping her underwear as her eyes widened.

"Peeta … I, I don't know what's happening."

He looks at her in alarm, his eyes wide and scared, "Do you … do you think maybe?"

She nods her head fervently, "Mrs. Talleyrand?"

She barely gets the words out when she feels a sharp pain in her stomach again, and she's left almost out of breath as Peeta dashes out of the house.

Adelaide Mellark. Addie, he likes to call her, is born as the sun dips into the horizon, the sky painted a soft orange.

Katniss squeezes his hand tightly, all but cutting off his circulation as he murmurs sweet words into her ear, littering kisses across her face.

Her screams are gut-wrenching, and his stomach squeezes uneasily at the sound; he's never been too good with seeing Katniss in pain.

But her screams fade out, and are replaced with another scream. A different sort of scream. Shrilly, loud, and new.

A baby's scream.

Mrs. Talleyrand moves swiftly, cleaning the crying bundle and snipping a cord before handing her to Katniss, who takes her with shaky hands.

Her blonde hair is matted, her face bright red and scrunched up, wet from tears. Her eyes big and gray, and her fingers are tiny, too tiny and he stands still, frozen.

Katniss looks up at him, her eyes rimmed red as she reaches for his hand. "She's perfect."

He nods, his hands shaking as he bends forward, dropping a kiss on both his wife's and his daughter's foreheads.

"You're perfect." He tells her, kissing her lips. "You are both perfect."

"It was always going to be him, wasn't it?" Gale asks, his voice not angry nor annoyed as she had suspected it would sound. No, it's just bleak. Resigned.

Katniss looks to Peeta, his lips on Addie's soft tummy as he tickles her, happy gurgling noises escaping her smiling mouth. Annie and Johanna hover over him, cooing at their little girl as Finnick stands by, amazed that someone even smaller than him could exist. The ring on Johanna's finger gleamed in the sun; Gale's mark of claim on her.

She's a year old now. A year old and perfect. And somehow, Katniss has been able to do it, has been able to take care of her daughter with screwing up and she thinks maybe, maybe she might just be able to do this right. She might be able to be a good mother.

She turns back to Gale, "I did love you, Gale. I still do."

She took his hand, and he squeezed it before letting go.

He shook his head, sad smile playing on his lips. "Not the way you love him, Katniss."

And she had no other answer than to nod earnestly.

Peeta Mellark had given her life, time and time again. He'd given her hope. He'd given her comfort. He'd given her a reason to still be alive.

He'd given her a daughter.

She'd never love anyone the way she loved Peeta Mellark.

A/N: I know, Katniss becomes a bit OOC but I guessed it was in character for how I wrote her in part one. She's growing, changing. Anyway, I hope you all liked it!

Also - thank you guys SO much for your reviews and favorites on this! It was SO overwhelming, I wasn't expecting it so thank you, thank you.

Please don't forget to review and let me know what you thought! :-)

Until next time :)