Author's Note: My first one-shot. For the Ceasar's Palace September challenge.

The darkness of the night consumed him, sending a jolt of fear through his body. Haymitch gripped the knife in his hands as his eyes popped open, sending his vision into a blur of colors. The cool, smoothness of the knife felt like his only clutch to sanity. His breathing was rapid and erratic, heart violently pounding within his chest. He leaned over the bed and reached out until he found the rigid edge of the switch and twisted it. With a soft click, light filled the room around him.

He hunched over, head in his hands and ran his rough fingers through his oiled hair. The nightmares hadn't failed to continue. The loud boom of another cannon would forever haunt him, indicating another tribute had fallen, dead. There had been 47 cannons shot by the end of the second Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games. Forty-seven faces burned into his head and etched into his closed eyelids. Forty seven obstacles in his way until he could be home once more, with her. That was three weeks ago.

Haymitch groaned from deep in his throat, a sound so low and rough it might be from an animal. He saw the dried blood that had stained his carpet red flash through his mind. He had walked through the front door and there she was, spread-eagle and unmoving, her eyes absent of light. A small bullet hole had pierced through her forehead, where the blood had spilled out in a large puddle surrounding her body.

A rush of terror had washed through his body like a wave crashing upon the shoreline, and bound him into the depths of agony like a feeble grain of sand. His breath hitched in his throat, his face drained of color until he trembled where he stood. How long he stood, paralyzed of shock, immobile and unsure if he was even breathing, he wasn't certain.

He felt his feet carry him a few paces forward and his knees buckle and bend until he crashed to the ground beside her. He couldn't think, he couldn't breath. He was only capable of lifting his arm and extending his hand out to her. He caressed her face as if she was a delicate flower and began tracing the contours of her face, to burn it into his memory.

He had scooped her limp body into his arms and began heaving heavily, like there would never be enough air in the world to fill his lungs. The tears sprang to his eyes so suddenly, he couldn't control them as they slid down his face. Through every painful sob that racked his body and desperate cries that overwhelmed him, he thought he might drown of sorrow. He felt empty.

Haymitch ripped the sheets covering his body and tossed them aside. He walked down the stairs and made his way to the kitchen. Yanking open the freezer door, he reached inside and snatched a half-empty bottle of whiskey. The Capitol's finest, they had assured him when he bought it.

On the counter lay an untouched blueberry pie, still in the plastic container he had bought it in. It had been his little brother's favorite since the day he tried it during Haymitch's Victory party at the mayor's house. Haymitch could barely bring himself to look at it, let alone toss it. His brother would never get the chance to eat it.

He swept his arm through the air until it collided with the container and it fell to the ground with a crash. The container broke open, the pie smashed, and the blue filling spilled out onto the ground. It reminded Haymitch of a cracked skull, blood seeping out. He angrily kicked it, cursing loud enough to wake the neighbors, if he had any.

He passed his mother's worn, gray slippers in the hall by the kitchen. Haymitch had insisted on buying her new ones but she had told him not to make a fuss over her. He knew his father had bought them for her long ago. He imagined his mother might suddenly appear from her bedroom and slip them on before making her way to the kitchen and begin bustling around. Never again would he hear pots and pans clanking together or a knife chopping food as she prepared their meals. He decided he never wanted to again. It would only remind him of everything the Capitol had taken away from him.

He continued stomping his way to the couch as half anger, half unbearable pain threatened to devour him. He clicked the light switch up on his way. Hurling himself onto the couch, he slouched back into the cushions and twisted the cap until it fell onto his lap. He lifted the bottle to his lips and swallowed a big gulp. His nose scrunched together in disgust. It seemed to burn through his body the whole way down.

He looked ahead at the front door. The door that he watched his mom, brother and fiance walk through a week ago, the excited chatter spilling through the girls' lips as they discussed the wedding plans. Haymitch closed his eyes and downed another gulp from his bottle greedily.

He opened his eyes and his gaze fell to the carpet a few feet ahead of him. He could still see the faint traces of the blood stain, slightly pinkish against the white carpet. He had scrubbed that area until his knees ached and the joints in his hands strained, but still he could see it.

He turned his head and welcomed his eyes glazing over and his vision blurring. He tilted his head back slightly and swallowed more of the harsh alcohol by the mouthful. The memories were beginning to resurface, fresh in his mind once more. He clutched the bottle, wishing it to numb him from the harsh reality.

His mother stood on the station platform, holding Holly's hand and his brother's in the other. He never thought he'd see the outside of the arena again, let alone her beautiful face. In spite of himself, his lips curved upward into a wide grin.

He stepped off the train and onto the platform, the cameras surrounding him. Before he could walk any further, he saw Holly running forward. She flung herself into his arms so enthusiastically, he stumbled back slightly. He hugged her close to him and spun her around, a small chuckle sounding from him.

She embraced him, crashing their lips together. When they broke apart for air, he gently set her down to the ground. She planted her head in the crook of his neck and placed a small peck there.

"I knew you'd make it back home to us," she whispered into his neck.

"Woman like you," he said under his breath, only wanting her to be the one to hear his words. "I had to. Couldn't let you get away from me."

She raised her head and lifted herself to her tiptoes. "I love you," she whispered into his ear. "Promise we'll always be together now."

He pulled her closer, blocking out the camera flashes in his face. "I promise," he whispered back. "Marry me?"

She responded with another kiss to his lips and small shriek of excitement.

Haymitch brought the bottle to his lips once more and gulped it as if it was water. The bottle was empty in his hands when he brought it down from his face. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, where drops of liquor had spilled. He felt sick to his stomach, but chose to ignore this. He squinted at the bottle and chucked it at the wall. It shattered on contact, the pieces falling all across the carpet. He felt numb, and to him, it was better than feeling anything at all.

Mrs. Everdeen sat in the old wooden chair that scraped the worn wood of her small house. It creaked whenever she moved, so she stayed as still as possible. She twisted the simple wedding band on her ring finger around and around, hoping it would plummet her back into reality. She waited until the day she would see him walk through the door again and he would hold her in his arms.

She felt outside of her own body and mind, as if watching helplessly from above. It seemed impossible that only a month ago, she had stood in front of the mayor, receiving a medal in honor for her husband's death. She felt all the life slowly leave her day by day. The colors of the sky seemed less blue, and the air harsher.

Most days she hadn't been able to muster the strength to get out of bed. Instead she lay on her side, her fingers resting on the other side of the bed where she could see the mattress dip where her husband should lay. She longed for it to be warm from his body again. The tears wet her pillow and stuck her hair to her face. She hugged the pillow to her chest while the sobs shook her body. After days of that, the tears stopped and she could only lay there, numb to the world.

"Mom, look at me!" Katniss yelled, shaking her violently into reality. Before, she would look at her daughter and it would only bring a smile to her face. She would fill up with pride at her strength and cleverness. But everything from her gray eyes, to her dark hair, and the way she walked reminded her of her husband. If she looked at her, she'd break even more. She didn't want her daughter to see her cry, so weak and helpless, above everything else.

"Mom!" Her voice was cracking. "We need you now. Please," she begged. Mrs. Everdeen brought her head up, forcing herself to look her daughter in the eyes. When she did, she wished she hadn't. Tears threatened her eyes and they looked filled with fright. Her face was paler than she last saw her, her face slightly gaunt.

She heard the door open quietly and light footsteps growing louder. Prim came into her view, her tiny body and bulging blue eyes full of life.

"Mommy," she said, wrapping her small arms around her in a hug. "I miss daddy, too."

"Prim, go to your room," Katniss said calmly.

Prim released her mom and turned to look at Kaniss, her lip quivering just slightly. "But mom-"

"Now, Prim," Katniss said, a harshness to her tone. "Mom will be fine," she spat, directing her words at her mom. Prim reluctantly walked to the bedroom.

"Mom," she started in a demanding tone. "Listen to me. The money's run out. We're out of food."

Her soft face looked hardened, the innocence melting from her. It was hard to remember that she was only eleven, carrying the burden of the family on her shoulders.

"Say something!" She spat in a low whisper.

"I'm sorry, honey," Mrs. Everdeen said, her face welled up in distraught.

"Don't call me that," she hissed back.

When her mother didn't speak again or make any attempt to move, Katniss spun around, hard on her heel, and stomped away from her. She didn't miss the look on her face before she turned. Hurt or hate, she couldn't be sure, but all she knew is that she couldn't blame her. She hated herself, too.

Katniss pulled herself up onto the counter and began searching the cabinets, her small arm extending all the way in but finding nothing. She was fuming and slammed the cabinets shut. She boiled water with old mint leaves.

Mrs. Everdeen tried to remember the things that made her happy before. The way her daughters smiled at her. Her husband kicking off his boots after a long day at the mines. A patient thanking her when she returned them to good health. But all the good, happy memories had vanished from her memory. All she could feel was the overwhelming despair and pain that her husband's death had caused, like an ample, gloomy cloud drenching her entire being in sorrow.

Gale sat on the hill, looking in the distance. He plucked the grass from the ground and shred it to pieces before tossing it to the side. Just beyond the forest trees was what was left of District 12. Black smoke filled the skies like a giant cloud, blocking the sunlight. There was still small fires spiraling out of control around the town.

Around him sat a handful of people he had led safely out of the district, most of them from the Seam. The only ones close enough to escape. His family sat huddled together, embracing one another. Tears stained his siblings faces. His brother and Prim hugged each other, while Mrs. Everdeen wrapped an arm around her daughter. At least he managed to save them.

There were maybe a few dozen people who made it. A few dozen out of roughly eight thousand. The odds had not been in their favor. Anger shot through him and only seemed to spiral wildly like the bombs he watched destroy his home.

He closed his eyes. He could still hear the desperate screaming echo in his mind. The people shrieking of pain or crying out desperately for their loved ones. That was before the second wave of bombs fell from the hovercrafts and the shops caved in on the merchant families.

His friends, his teachers, their families-all dead. The mayor he traded strawberries with, the old man at the bakery who traded fair and sometimes generous, the girl who got top marks on every assignment, the boy who always beat him at track, all gone.

He felt like he had been punched in the gut, out of breath and trying desperately to inhale, but unable to. He didn't even know if Katniss was still alive in the arena. The thought unsettled his stomach further.

Anyone he had ever known, any memories that he had, his whole life had been ripped from him in a matter of minutes. His whole district was sitting in ashes, the dead corpses piled on top of each other. There was nothing left. The Capitol did it and he was powerless to stop them.

There was nothing left of the bakery. It was ruins of fallen ash, piles of brick and walls broken to bits, with shards of glass scattered throughout the area. He knew his family, if there was anything left of them, would be somewhere underneath it all. Tears spilled from the corner of his eyes and slowly trailed down his face. Of all the things he wished weren't real, it would be this.

He walked away from the rubble as quickly as his one foot and prosthetic would allow him. He had lost his family, his home, his leg and himself. "All because of her," he thought bitterly. He felt his fists clenching together. He shook his head rapidly, as if trying to move his brain back in place.

"Not real, not real, not real...," he muttered to himself repeatedly. He closed his eyes and stood still, inhaling deeply. "They're the enemy. Not her."

He looked around, trying to remember anything of the town that he had once called home. Any memory that was truly his. His brain felt fuzzy as he bit the corner of his lower lip. As he passed what looked like a place that could once be a school, he felt faint memories resurfacing. They felt distant but clear in his mind.

He wrestled in the gym and he was good at it. He walked the halls in between classes with a small group of friends around him. He liked his classes, except maybe history, but he didn't mind it because he shared that class with her.

A memory came to the front of his brain like someone had physically reeled it in. He must have been about five years old, his first day of school. The teacher wanted someone to sing the valley song and her hand was the first to shoot up. It was beautiful, her hair was in two braids... He recognized the memory as the one he told Katniss in the cave. One that he had watched himself tell her in District 13 from the footage, he could now actually remember it for himself.

He smiled despite himself thinking maybe one day he will know the memories that are his own and be the person he once was.

He walked into the Victor Village, eager to rest. He came upon the house he knew to be his before passing it to the one next to it. He knocked on the door three times and took a step back. He waited silently with his head down, looking at his shoes. He heard her voice drifted toward him.

"Honestly, I couldn't eat again, but thank you," Katniss said quickly as she swung the door open. Her face, usually expressionless, looked slightly shocked. Her mouth hung open before she closed it again.

"Just me," Peeta told her with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I didn't think you would come back."

"I've got nothing else. This is home," he sighed.

She looked at him as if scrutinizing for a few moments and then opened the door wider.

"You can come in," she said, almost unsure of herself.

"Thanks," he muttered as he walked past her.

Peeta sat himself down on the couch, releasing a deep, drawn-out sigh as he did so. Katniss closed the door and walked over to him and stepped in front of the couch. She hovered over it for a moment, knees slightly bent but then looked as if she decided against it. She took a seat on the chair beside the couch, giving him a curious look.

"So..." Katniss blurted out.

"I don't really have a reason for being here," Peeta admitted.

"Then why are you?" Katniss asked before she could stop herself.

"I was just walking, trying to remember and I wound up knocking on your door."

"There's not much to remember," Katniss said sadly. "I try to forget."

"But I don't want to forget. I want to know who I am," He said defiantly. "Or was."

Katniss leaned forward toward Peeta and put her elbows on her knees. She looked at him until they made eye contact.

"The person you were was a good person, Peeta," she said gently. "But he's nothing compared to the person you'll become."

"How can you know?"

She looked away and sighed. Her eyes glazed over as if remembering something painful. Peeta wanted to reach out and touch her, but instead laced his hands together. He didn't think there would be any triggers, but he didn't trust himself with her.

"I don't," she breathed, barely above a whisper. "But I have to have hope," she said more firmly. "For Prim. For Finnick, for everyone."

He nodded his head. "I just need to understand myself," he said slowly. "And you. And everything we've been through." Peeta slouched back into the couch and rested his arm on the armrest.

Katniss extended her arm and took Peeta's hand in her own. "They told me we won't ever be the same. None of us. But we'll move forward eventually."

Peeta looked down at their hands and decided he enjoyed the comfort. He felt the traces of a smile playing on his face. He laced their fingers together, bringing them closer.

"And you believe them. Real or not real?"

She smiled at him and it caused a tingling sensation in his stomach, like butterflies. "Real."

He felt his heart speed pick up as if he was doing a strenuous activity rather than sitting down. "You'll help me if I help you. Real or not real?"

"Real."

He felt the nerves jolt through his body as he prepared himself to speak again. "We love each other? Real or not real?"

She looked down at their hands and up again at his face. She caught his eyes and looked deep into them, as if searching them for the answer. "I think that's real."

She watched as Peeta frosted the cake, his careful hands sweeping across the surface making swirls, flowers, hearts and a simple "Happy Birthday" written in elegant handwriting. His face scrunched up in concentration, gently nibbling on his tongue as he worked. He had grown into a handsome man, through the faint lines on his forehead and scars on his body. The laugh lines that etched in his face were most prominent, and what Katniss found most endearing about her husband.

He set the bag of colored frosting down and wiped at his forehead, leaving a smear of frosting on it. "Whew. Done." He smiled.

Katniss closed her lips together to suppress a giggle. "It's beautiful."

He walked to her, his steps heavy against the floor. He leaned down in front of her, so they were eye level. He took her hand in his own and brought it to his lips, placing a delicate kiss there.

"Thank you, for giving me this day," he said.

"For giving us this day," she corrected him, wiping the frosting from his face with her thumb. His smile widened when she showed him her thumb covered in frosting. He sat down on the arm rest and she wrapped her arm around his waist.

"Do you ever wonder how we got here?" He asked. "This is real, right?"

"Real," she said quickly. "I wonder all the time, but then I don't want to question a good thing."

"I would have never gotten this far without you."

"Sure you would have, eventually," she said flatly.

"No," he started. "Darling, you are my world. Always have been."

Katniss was overwhelmed as the emotions swept through her like a storm. She didn't know how one person could feel such a strong emotion. She buried her face into his stomach, breathing in the man she grew to know inside and out. No amount of triggers or nightmares or fleeing doubts would ever change her mind. "I love you," she said, voice thick of emotion, just loud enough for him to hear.

"I love you, too. Always." He squeezed her to him and kissed the top of her head before standing up.

He reached out his hand before her, offering it to her. Without a moment's hesitation, she took it and hoisted herself up.

That evening, a small group of people gathered in their house. Soft pastel ribbons spiraled above the doorways and across the ceiling. A buzz of chatter came from the small talk and laughter of old acquaintances catching up.

Haymitch sat casually resting on the couch, glass in hand. He talked with Mrs. Everdeen, engrossed in conversation, periodically sipping from his glass. He still drank alcohol, but considerably less so. His flock of geese consumed a decent amount of his time, leaving him only getting passed-out drunk about once a week. As she grew up, Katniss learned to sympathize with him, and smiled at the thought of her mentor slowly moving forward.

Her mother sat, with their baby girl cradled in her arms, as she fed her from a bottle. Mrs. Everdeen had stayed in District 4, still too haunted by the suffocating memories of Prim and her husband to return. She was a full-time doctor there and Katniss felt she would be doing much better good for Panem there than here. Her face was older, small wrinkles developing with age, but her eyes seemed to sparkle with more life than Katniss could remember seeing since her dad died. The news that she was going to be a grandmother had caused her to cry, much to Katniss' shock. But of joy, she assured her, not sadness.

Gale stood beside the chair that his wife sat in, her belly inflated from pregnancy. She was beautiful with her dark eyes and short, curly blond hair falling in spirals on her shoulders. Gale's face, still hardened, looked more relaxed and happy. There were few wrinkles on his face, caused by stress in his youth and after the war, but he was still handsome.

Hazelle sat next to his wife, whom she was talking with, and glanced up at her son. Pride seemed to swell inside of her like an inflating balloon as her shoulders got straighter and her grin became bigger. Katniss walked over to them.

"Congratulations," she said to them. "How many is that now, four, five?"

Gale looked at her and smiled briefly before shaking his head from side to side. "Our second, but you know that, Catnip. Don't you?"

She and Gale didn't talk for a few years after their conversation in the Capitol. She was full of anger, though slightly misdirected, at him. And he couldn't bare to talk to her as the guilt and edge of jealousy swelled within him when he thought of her. Eventually, he had made a visit to 12 during the reconstruction and visited her, on Peeta's request she later found out. The visit was tense and strained between them, but somehow patched up old wounds. Since then, they would call each other and send the occasional letter, saving the visits for events like today. Their friendship was never the same as in their youth, however there was still time.

"I do," she smiled.

"Thank you for having us," his wife, Violet, Katniss thought her name is, said politely.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Honey, we're ready," Mrs. Everdeen called out to her.

Katniss strolled to her mom and squat down next to her, brushing her hand over her daughter's hair. She looked exactly like Peeta, destined to be a daddy's girl.

"How's my baby doing?"

"She just finished eating."

Peeta appeared next to her, placing a kiss on their daughter's cheek.

"Good work, lover man," Haymitch smirked at him with a thumbs up.

Peeta laughed while Katniss rolled her eyes. "She did all the hard work," Peeta said, looking at Katniss fondly.

"You're damn right I did," she joked. "But it was worth it," she whispered in his ear.

"Look at you, sweetheart," Haymitch said. The nickname had stuck to her over the years, but it no longer was said with sarcasm or hostility. "Never thought you'd be a good wife."

Katniss opened her mouth to retort, but Peeta spoke up before she could. "She's the best."

Katniss scooped her baby in her arms and kissed her forehead. Her big, blue eyes stared up at her and her small, toothless mouth opened wide in a smile. She tickled her chest gently, and was rewarded with a soft giggle. Warmth spread through Katniss like a fire, she felt her heart might burst of pride.

She slowly made her way to the table where the birthday cake was, walking as if on broken glass. Peeta walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head upon her shoulder.

"A year ago today, you were terrified to even hold her," he whispered in her ear.

She laughed at his comment. "I thought I might break her."

"You're more maternal than you think, even as kids."

Katniss thought of Prim, her sweet face, always eager to protect her. She longed for her sister to be there and meet her niece. Somehow, Katniss felt that Prim was there in some way and happy for her. She nodded stiffly at Peeta with a sigh, looking up from her arms.

Haymitch caught her eyes, looking at her almost smugly. Katniss rose her eyebrows at him, causing wrinkles to develop on her forehead. He smiled at her and the baby in her arms, and then to Peeta. He raised his glass in the air, as if to say, "You deserve him now, sweetheart."