A/N: This is a very very late birthday present to the wonderful Mariam! I thought I might as well publish it here anyway. It's been done many times, I know, but this is my take on the Everlark reunion if Peeta hadn't been hijacked. Fluff amongst other things. Note the first part IS taken straight from the pages of Mockingjay. I've only briefly skimmed it so the odd mistake may pop up but I think I'm mostly okay. Feedback is always very much appreciated! And, of course, I do not own The Hunger Games - L

It must be midnight, it must be tomorrow when Haymitch pushes open the door. "They're back. We're wanted in the hospital." My mouth opens with a flood of questions that he cuts off with "That's all I know."

I want to run, but Finnick's acting so strange, as if he's lost the ability to move, so I take his hand and lead him like a small child. Through Special Defence, into the lift that goes this way and that, and on to the hospital wing. The place is in an uproar, with doctors shouting orders and the wounded being wheeled through the halls in their beds.

We're sideswiped by a gurney bearing an unconscious, emaciated young woman with a shaved head. Her flesh shows bruises and oozing scabs. Johanna Mason. Who actually knew rebel secrets. At least the one about me. And this is how she paid for it.

Through a doorway, I catch a glimpse of Gale, stripped to the waist, perspiration streaming down his face as a doctor removes something from under his shoulder blade with a long pair of tweezers. Wounded, but alive. I call his name, start towards him until a nurse pushes me back and shuts me out.

"Finnick!" Something between a shriek and a cry of joy. A lovely if somewhat bedraggled young woman – dark tangled hair, sea green eyes – run towards us in nothing but a sheet. "Finnick!" And suddenly, it's as if there's no one else in the world but these two, crashing through space to reach each other. They collide, enfold, lose their balance and slam against a wall, where they stay. Clinging into one being. Indivisable.

A pang of jealousy hits me. Not for either Finnick or Annie but for their certainty. No one seeing them could doubt their love.

Boggs, looking a little worse for wear but uninjured, finds Haymitch and me. "We got them all out. Except Enobaria. But since she's from Two, we doubt she's being held anyway. Peeta's at the end of the hall. The effects of the gas are just wearing off. You should be there when he wakes."

Peeta.

Alive and well – maybe not well but alive and here. Away from Snow. Safe. Here. With me. In a minute I can touch him. See his smile. Hear his laugh.

Haymitch's grinning at me. "Come on then," he says.

I'm light-headed with giddiness. What will I say? Oh, who cares what I say? Peeta will be ecstatic no matter what I do. He'll probably be kissing me anyway. I wonder if it will feel like those last kisses on the beach in the arena, the ones I haven't dared let myself consider until this moment.

Peeta's awake already, sitting on the side of the bed, looking bewildered as a trio of doctors reassure him, flash lights in his eyes, check his pulse. I'm disappointed that mine was not the first face he saw when he woke, but he sees it now. His features register disbelief and something more intense I can't quite place. Desire? Desperation? Surely both, for he sweeps the doctors aside, leaps to his feet and moves towards me. I run to meet him, my arms extended to embrace him.

Before I can really register the events of the past minute, I feel those strong steady arms that guarded me from the nightmares wrap around me and hold me as tight as possible. I bury my face in his chest and inhale him. He used to smell of paint and cinnamon, and something else that was always his own. The paint and cinnamon are gone, but that something else assures me that he's here. In my arms. Safe.

He pulls away just enough so that we're looking at each other. His eyes are glazed with tears and I can feel my own doing the same. He seems shocked if anything and I realise he will not be the one to make the first move. He's letting me decide how far this goes, holding himself back like always.

So I forget about the doctors and Haymitch watching, forget about the chaos of the hospital, push Gale in the room down the hall out of my mind and press my lips to his. I can tell Peeta's surprised as he doesn't immediately respond, but then he pulls me tightly against him. I let my arms snake around his neck and my hands find their way into his curls, matted and longer than I remember. And that warm feeling that I've only felt twice before, on the beach and in the cave, spreads out slowly from chest, until it reaches my fingertips. All of my worry and longing from the past months seems to be poured into our kiss, and I know I will not be the first to break it.

Sure enough, Peeta pulls away, breathless, but doesn't move away from me, pressing his forehead to mine. His eyes are now confused, searching mine for something, which until now, I would've have been sure he could find. My arms come down from his neck and rest against his chest. Don't ever leave me again. I want to say something, but I can't conjure up anything more elaborate than a simple, "Hey."

This makes him smile – something I was never sure I would ever see again. I find myself beaming back at him, "Hey" he whispers between breaths, and then kissing my forehead. A promise. I'm not going anywhere.

From somewhere in the room, a doctor makes a pointed cough, and I am brought down to reality. He mentions that they haven't finished checking Peeta over and that it would be best if I leave the room or at least step to one side. Peeta's expression mirrors how I feel; panic at the thought of being separated again so soon. Haymitch must notice and calls the doctor over. I have no idea what he says to him, but it works and the doctor says I'm permitted to stay in the room whilst Peeta's being examined, so long as I'm quiet and don't get in the way. Peeta is instructed to sit back on the bed, but refuses to let go of my hand. The doctors seem exasperated at my presence but don't say anything so I don't move. Instead, I keep a firm grip on Peeta's hand, reassuring him with light squeezes whenever he tenses up. He becomes particularly agitated whilst they take a blood test but keeps his eyes on me, gritting his teeth. The doctors then have to examine his body and so he has to let go of my hand. There's bruising all over his body, particularly on his back and chest, and the doctors find a cracked rib but otherwise no broken bones. They wrap it up and say they'll look further into it tomorrow, when the rush has died down. For now, they're needed elsewhere.

I frown at Peeta as he comes back to sit next to me, concerned at how tightly he held me when he must've been in pain. "You should've said something," I whisper. He shrugs. "It wasn't important. I'm fine, I promise."

"Peeta a cracked rib isn't ok-"

"I've had worse, Katniss," he says, gesturing toward his bad leg. I sigh, knowing he's right, and not wanting to cause a dispute between us over something so silly. Not now he's finally back with me. "Okay. But if you're in pain, tell me."

He doesn't say anything, just smirks a little. He reaches out, to touch my cheek I think, but instead tucks a strand of hair stuck to my cheek behind my ear, his thumb lingering on my jaw. A warm sensation spreads out from where his skin meets mine, and if it weren't for the doctors in the room finalising what medical treatment to take, I'd kiss him again. Instead I just quietly take his hand until they eventually leave the room.

When they do, and we're finally granted some peace, Peeta shifts so he's sitting as close to me as possible, and the intensity I noticed earlier returns to his eyes.

"I thought you were…" he has difficulty saying the last word, "…dead. I didn't know if my message had worked and they told me you were dead. Showed me videos of this place burning. I heard you screaming." His voice breaks on the last word, and I realise what a shock all of this must be for him. District 13, being rescued, seeing me, especially like this.

I press my forehead against his so he looks at me. There's sadness and pain lingering in his eyes that I'm sure weren't there before, or maybe I just hadn't seen it, "Peeta, I'm here," I say. "I'm alive, and I'm real and I'm not going anywhere."

This produces a small smile, and then a sigh. "I'm never letting you out of my sight again." His free hand is now playing with my hair, which has come loose from its braid between my worrying and hurried journey down here.

"Me either," I tell him. "Although that might be a bit difficult with my mom here." This actually makes him laugh a little and I find myself beaming. It's the little things like his laugh, his eyelashes, and his strong hands that I've missed the most.

"I'm sure we can work something out." This time, it's him who leans in, but I don't object in the slightest. It's simple and sweet and when we pull away, Peeta's yawning.

"Go to sleep," I tell him, attempting to disconnect myself from him.

"Will you stay?" He says, worry taking over his expression yet again. I'm about to reply when I begin to yawn too. Peeta chuckles.

"Looks like it," I say. I go to sit in the chair by his bed, but Peeta offers his bed and I'm too tired and giddy to resist. We both climb under the covers and I immediately fall into the position I had taken up before the Quell. His arms are wrapped around me, warding off any nightmares, and my head rests over his heart, beating steady and strong and assuring me that he's here and alive. He strokes my hair for a while, but I can feel his strokes grow lazy and then stop together, and I look up to confirm he's asleep. It's always amazed me how peaceful he looks asleep; he looks younger too, even with his long matted curls, sallow skin and prominent cheekbones. I find myself soon drifting off, enveloped in his warmth, feeling safe for the first time in months, if only fleetingly.

I'm awoken what must be a few hours later. Peeta's sound asleep – he must've been exhausted from the rescue mission and being already sleep deprived. I expect a reprimanding doctor or a chortling Haymitch to appear, but instead it's the figure of my little sister hovering in the doorway. I'm on the side nearest the door, and so carefully untangle myself from Peeta's grasp and sit up. Prim tiptoes over, beaming.

"How is he?" she whispers.

"He's bruised and has a cracked rib," I say, absent-mindedly stroking his hair, "But he'll be okay."

"I'm glad," she smiles, "I came in to see if you were coming to breakfast but I guess not…"

"I would, honestly. But if he wakes up whilst I'm gone he might panic and… it's just easier if I stay." Prim smiles understandingly.

"It's okay," she says, then lowering her voice, "I'll sneak you some hospital food after."

"Thanks little duck," I smile. She knows I mean more than just the food, but for everything the past few months. I look at her properly and it hits me how old she looks now – she's going to be fourteen in a few months, but the events of the past year or so have aged her so much. They've aged all of us, really.

I gesture for her to come over and wrap my arms round her. Just before she pulls away she whispers in my ear, "I'm really happy for you Katniss. Really." She turns quickly and skips out the room, leaving Peeta and I alone again. Peeta's begun to stir and I settle myself down beside him. It takes a few minutes but his eyes flutter open, blank for a moment, before a rush of relief amongst other emotions flood them.

"Prim's gone to breakfast, but she's going to sneak us some food later," I say. Peeta nods, still sleepy.
"That sounds good, I'm starving." As if on cue his stomach grumbles and we both erupt in a fit of giggles. I'm not totally sure why, but I don't question it – I can't remember the last time I laughed like this and I don't want it to end. Eventually it does though, but when we do I'm not left with a feeling of sadness. Instead, I feel a sense of calm that can only be associated with the boy lying inches away from me.

It strikes me, lying underground in this narrow hospital bed, how much I've come to need him. That what I told him on the beach that night was the whole-hearted truth; I would be broken beyond repair if he died. I'm not quite sure how it came to happen either, he just seemed to slowly break down the walls I'd set up after my father died, brick by brick, without force and without me even realising, until it was too late. It's more than that too – with him I don't have to explain. I don't have to explain why I wake up in the middle of the night screaming, or why the mere sight of a tracker jacker nest sets me on edge. He just knows. And perhaps that need for him has grown into something more, but now is not the time to think about. I remind myself I am still the mockingjay, and the rebels are still at war with the Capitol. I can figure out my true feelings and face my fear of them when all of this is over.

For now, I let Peeta wrap his arms around me and pull me close. He kisses my forehead, nose, lips, and settles back beside me. "What are you thinking?"

I decide I might as well tell him part of it – after the way I've been acting since he arrived in District 13 there's hardly any point in holding back. "How much I missed you. And how much I like being here with you."

He doesn't say anything – it seems I've left Peeta Mellark without a word to say. Instead he pulls me closer and I bury my head in his shoulder. And I know I can face whatever comes my way, concerning the war between the rebels and the capitol or the one within myself. His hand finds mine once more, and despite my real one being a pile of ash and rubble, I feel like I'm home.