Author's Note: After reading Mockingjay, I spent a lot of time pondering over the line "So after, when he whispers..." Well... After what? So this little one-shot is a filler in between two paragraphs towards the ending of Mockingjay where I attempt to fill in the blanks of 'After what?' I tried to write this with Collins's writing style in mind, so that it would flow easily between the actual text and the fic and seem like it could possibly be a part of Mockingjay. To be honest, my writing style is more detailed and jumbled than Collins's precise and to the point perfection, so I spent a bit of time fighting it. So the end product is probably a mixture between the two. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Reviews/critiques are always welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins does. The words in italics are hers.

Real.

Slowly, after many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius's advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again...

We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves. We're not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home. With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again.

Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach...

I start to give in to it.

But after a while of me tugging at him and him tugging at me, Peeta pushes me away. He pulls back slightly. Why is he stopping? I wish he wouldn't. I wish he wouldn't? When did that happen? When he looks into my eyes, I can't quite place the emotion I see there. Is it fear? Passion? Guilt? And then it hits me. Peeta is asking for permission.

It seems silly considering all we've been through together. You'd think that we'd know everything there is to know about each other, have experienced every emotion, have faced every hardship. And we have. Except this one.

As I stare into those baby blues, I weigh my options carefully. What exactly would this change? Not much, to be honest. We're practically husband and wife as it is. We already live together, eat together, sleep together. The only times we're ever apart is when he's baking and I'm hunting, which we usually do at the same time each day so that neither of us gets too lonely. Even when he paints, I'm there watching. When I tend to the primroses he planted in my late sister's honor, he's at my side. We've already been engaged once before and then "secretly married." I've already been "pregnant" once before. So most of what remains of Panem probably believes that we have already... I swallow hard when the thought comes of my mother assuming Peeta and I are intimate. And Gale... I quickly push the thought away.

Will things be different come morning? Will Peeta look at me differently? Will I look at him differently? Will this somehow disrupt the patterns of our normal routines? I'm not sure. Maybe it should. Maybe this is just what we need.

Peeta loves me. This I know. And I... I don't know the extent of what I feel exactly. I know that I care for him very deeply, but I try not to read too far into it because I'm afraid of what I might find. Peeta plans to do nothing more with the rest of his life than to be here with me and take care of me. I know this, too. And I know that I will try my very best do the same for him.

"Katniss." It comes out in a husky whisper which makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on edge. I realize that as I was caught up in my thoughts I'd looked away from him in shyness. Which, again, is silly. I have been through hell and back with Peeta. To him I should be anything but shy. But he cups my face in his hands and I look up. He traces my features very lightly with the pads of his thumbs. My eyebrows, my cheekbones, my jawline. And as he does, they relax. My eyes never once leave his, which follow the movements of his thumbs. To my utter horror, I hear my breath hitch as I feel them trace my lips. At this he meets my gaze, and what I find in his expression is no longer a request for permission, but a plea. He's pleading, begging me with his eyes.

Peeta has given up everything for me. I came to peace with the fact that I will never stop owing him long ago. The very least I could do in return for all he's done for me is to give him myself. All of me. And that's when I realize that there really is no question about this... no reason for me to deny him. And I don't want to deny him.

"Katniss..." he says again. But this time his voice goes up a little at the end. He's asking me a question.

And in answer, I clutch my fingers around the top button of his nightshirt and begin shakily undoing them one at a time.

I'm halfway done when I hear him sigh and his hand lands on top of both of mine, stopping me. "Katniss." He says my name firmly, and he's doing it yet again. Stopping us. He doesn't want to force me. He wants it to come naturally. But I've already made up my mind.

"Peeta." My voice comes out strong, and I'm glad. If it had cracked, I wouldn't have sounded sure. But I am sure. At least, I think I'm sure... No. I'm sure. "Shut up," I tell him, and I crash my lips into his.

He is hesitant at first, but his emotions get the best of him after a few moments and he gives in. I have the strange urge to laugh at this. Did I just succeed in seducing Peeta Mellark? It was easy enough, I suppose. Usually this would be the other way around. It was earlier, anyway. But just like that, the tables turn and I'm playing the role of the bad guy once again. And I prefer it that way. Peeta hasn't a villainous bone in his body, when the majority of mine already are. Or maybe they really always were.

He clings to me. I cling to him. We cling to each other. He kisses me with an urgency like he never has before, touches me in places never before touched by another. I realize that he's been holding back all this time. Even in front of the cameras. Even in the privacy of our own home. Because as he put it once before, I'm "pure." And that's Peeta. Always looking out for me, even when I'm sure I don't need it.

This boy – man – is everything to me. He is all I have left. He is my past, my present, my future. And I want to give him everything. So I do. And it's like nothing I've ever experienced before.

I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.

So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?"

I tell him, "Real."