I sit there on the bench staring at my two children as they run around the house playing a game of sheep and wolf. How they managed to play together so well soars over my head, I would have never managed to run around the house with Prim, playing some mindless game, when we were younger. But, those were different times, tougher times. I don't have to worry about constantly going out into the woods and getting food. I don't have think about what my children would look like if they didn't have food in their mouths; the sunken eyes, the sharp cheek bones, all angles and no roundness added to their childish features. They don't have to worry. I don't have to worry.

Peeta sits next to me, clutching onto my hand. His head leaning against the back of the bench, bottom lip pulled into his mouth. He's having to fight off another one of his memories. My hand is slowly turning paler and paler as his grip tightens every second or so. The muscles in his neck are straining as he squirms in his seat. I reach over with my free hand and run my fingers lightly through his hair. He opens his eyes and the pain is obvious. As the years have progressed the memories and nightmares have become less and less but with each one that doesn't happen they seem to appear more vicious.

"Katniss…" Peeta whispers through clenched teeth.

I scoot closer to him and bring my hand down from his hair to hold onto his jaw. "Shh, it's alright." He shudders as he breathes in and his eyes slip shut. I lean in and lightly press my lips to his, as to not overwhelm him.

I whisper against his lips that everything is fine. I feel him repeat the words against my mouth, his lips softly brushing against mine. His head droops onto my shoulder and I resume stroking his hair. The stairs to the porch creak as the children quietly try to climb it.

"Momma? Is Daddy ok?" The little boy asks, coming over to lean his head against my knee. He looks up at me with his big grey eyes, his curly blonde hair matted against his forehead with sweat. His sister comes and leans against the front of the bench, her lithe body against the side of my legs. To an outside we would appear to look like a big ball of human parts, but, to us this is normal.

This is what we do.

This is home.

This is us.

"Yes. Yes, Daddy is ok." I whisper.