Author's Note: I apologize for the late update. I've been busy busy busy with school and work. I've had off the past few days due to Hurricane Sandy, which inspired this drabble. I can't promise when the next update will be, it may be tomorrow, or it could in another few weeks. Enjoy, and please review with your opinion and any input!

This story takes place soon after Peeta returns to the Victor's Village, post-Mockingjay.

#2. Wind

The first howls of wind shrieked in the twilight, shaking Katniss's open window. She stuck her head outside the window and closed her eyes, letting the biting wind rustle her loose waves. Her pale knuckles clutched the window frame.

"Oi, sweetie! Shut the damn window!" Haymitch was walking past the house, holding his coat tightly shut with one hand and clutching a bottle with the other.

Katniss opened her eyes and scowled. "Says the idiot walking in sixty five mile per hour winds. Go in your house and drink."

"That's what I'm on my way to doin'," Haymitch bellowed over the wind, trudging off to his house in Victor's Village.

After Haymitch disappeared from sight, Katniss peered at Peeta's house. Through the heavy rain and dimming light she could barely discern Peeta in his bedroom, vigorously dabbing gray paint onto the canvas. Storms always made him uneasy.

He turned toward his window to observe the rain and caught her eye. He opened his window a crack.

"Shut your window, Katniss! You're gonna get sick!"

"Shut up!" She slammed the window shut and bit her lip shamefully. She had been constantly advised by District 13 doctors that she couldn't scream at Peeta; any outburst could provoke his Capitol-induced memories. But those doctors were mostly dead.

She shuffled to the kitchen counter for the bowl of soup Greasy Sae had brought that afternoon. Katniss brought it back to the window to eat in her window seat. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she closely watched Peeta paint. He angrily slashed a streak of black paint across the canvas, obviously unhappy.

Katniss reached under the window seat and put the book on her lap. Their book. She dared to open to the P section, which she had always avoided. When Peeta had painted the portrait, she couldn't look. But today, she thought it might be safe. That her thoughts might be quieted by the wind's cries.

When Katniss turned the page, the air was knocked out of her gut with a swift punch. She ran her finger along her sister's golden hair, little coils escaping from her braids. The blue eyes, framed by lengthy eyelashes, crinkled in the corners as she smiled at her goat. Katniss let herself choke out soft sobs, allowing herself to mourn her sister for the first time in ages.

In a storm like this, Prim would have made some herb tea and retrieved Buttercup from under the bed. She'd cuddle him under the covers, and force Katniss to join them. The only time Katniss and Buttercup could peacefully share a bed.

A pebble struck the window. Katniss looked up to see Peeta holding his canvas up to the window. His graceful brushstrokes said, "Are you looking at the book?"

Katniss didn't even have to find a pen and paper for Peeta to understand the answer.

He held up another piece of canvas. "Try to sleep for me?"

She nodded in reply. Any effort would be in vain, she knew, without Peeta there. She had spent enough nights alone, in Victor's Village, in District 13, on the train to the Capitol, to realize that. She wrapped her blanket around her, and glanced out the window a final time before retreating upstairs. Peeta held his head in his hands.

A loaf of bread, tossed in the pouring rain.

Prim, dancing in a downpour, skirt twirling.

"Dance, Katniss, dance!"

Why hadn't she danced?

Her mother's sobs intermingling with the drizzling rain.

Her father singing a rain song by the fire, his burly arms protecting her.

His arms dissolved into Peeta's hands around her throat.

Peeta melted into Coin, her nails digging Katniss's skin.

She smelled like blood and roses.

Katniss woke with a start. She ran to the bathroom and saw her bleeding lip; she must have bit it. The metallic taste sent a wave of nausea in her stomach, and she spit furiously into the sink. She ran her hands over her throat, the skin unblemished, but somehow aching.

The whole house smelled like roses to her, and she couldn't stand it. She had to get out. She needed him.

"Peeta," she whispered, flying down the stairs and out of her front door. She paused between their houses, letting the heavy rain soak into her hair and clothing, cleansing her from illusory stench of roses. The wind forced her to sprint across the spongy grass. Peeta. She reached his porch and turned the knob of his unlocked door. Peeta. The stairs took too long.

He lay in his bed, clenching his pillowcase. The beads of sweat on his temple, his frightened mutterings, revealed the content of his dreams.

"Peeta," Katniss choked out a last time. He opened his eyes slowly and saw her. He sat up, and she hurled herself into his arms, shuddering.

"You're soaked." His breath tickled her ear.

"How did you think I got here, by teleport?" Normally, they would have laughed.

He laid them both down, enveloping them in his quilt.

"You're stronger than your nightmares," he said.

"You are, too," she replied.

"It's so hard. They take you from me, and—"

"I'm never going to leave you," said Katniss. She clutched his hand, and her numb toes collided with his.

"Stay with me," he murmured, leaning closer and brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

She didn't need to respond with the word echoing in her mind. She captured his upper lip in between both of hers, the hunger rising, and breathed her answer softly into his lungs.

Always.