Hey guys! This is my version of a Katniss and Peeta ''growing back together'' fic. I'm not sure if there's still much interest in these kinds of stories as I know the Hunger Games fad has come and gone (just reread the whole series from start to finish for the 12thtime so I'm right back on that train) so just depends on how much interest this generates as to weather or not I will continue. Let me know if you want to see more!

It's less than a week after his return to District 12 that Peeta spends the night at my house.

We didn't intend for it to happen that fast. Since that morning I stumbled out into the thick of the Winter morning to find him moving ploughing into the Earth with his shovel, planting Primroses in the soil, we've barley spoken. We share a polite but somewhat curt smile when we happen to step out on to our front porches at the same time, we time our visits to Haymitch's house to make sure he hasn't choked on to death on his own vomit so that we're never there at the same time. It's not that we don't have anything to say to each other. It's that we have such an enormity of things to say to each other that the thought of even starting a conversation seems like a mammoth task, something I don't have the energy for. I've never been good with words as it is. Peeta used to, but these days anything so emotionally charged would surely be a drainage for him too.

So he bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks. Nobody talks.

Tonight, it rains for the first time since I returned to District Twelve. It starts as a patter against my the sheath of my window pane. I roll out of bed, placing my feet against the tiles as gently as possible. This house is so large, and living alone, every little noise sounds like a grenade going off. Like an impossibly loud explosion, one that would erupt in flames, flames that would scar skin and gnaw at flesh, that would take the lives of innocent little sisters…

I walk over and shut my window all the way.

As I curl back up in bed, pretending not to notice Buttercup has situated himself on the edge of my blankets, I try not to think about Peeta. Has he closed his window against the weather as well? Or is sleeping with closed windows so unnatural to him that he let's the rain fall on his open window sill?

There's a growl of thunder and the rain becomes heavier. I clutch the blanket between my fingers tighter, trying to stem the trembling that has begun there.

No lightning. Please, please, no lighting.

Lightning isn't the only terrifying aspects of a storm, obviously. Rain itself reminds me of curling up against Peeta in the cave as the water seeped through the cracks of the roof, listening to his ragged breathing, his cut leg pulsating and morphing to shades of purple. But those memories I can manage alone. Lighting I can't. Cracks of lightning, like the brilliant light that shot through the tree in the Quarter Quell arena, striking midnight, the moment I lost him.

I will myself not too glance at the clock on my beside table, but I do. It's a few minutes past midnight as the storm continues to howl, picking up aggression. I burry my head deep in the pillows, trying to conjure up the feeling of his arms protectively hunched around me as a substitute for the real thing.

At four minutes past midnight, the sky screams and lighting rips through the grey clouds.

My heart throws itself against my chest and I'm out of bed in an instant. My whole body shakes with such violence that I struggle to find my way down the stairs, and I think I trip down the last few, but I'm not entirely sure. My mind has hazed over with terror and before I even know what I'm doing I'm outside. It's hear, standing in the lane of Victors Village as the dirt road turns to mush under my feet, that I finally catch up to myself. The rain soaks through my nightgown, glues my loose hair against my face, drenches the blanket I didn't realise I'd dragged out with me. I want desperately to be out of the rain but I can't think clearly enough to work out how I do that. All my foggy brain will come up with is curling up in the mud and pulling my saturated blanket over the top of me, and so that's what I do.

I don't know how long I stay there – ten minutes, fifteen minutes, maybe an hour – before the blanket is pulled from the top of me. My breath hitches in my throat and I squint to look up in the torrent of rainfall to see him.

Peeta's blonde hair has turned to a mousey brown in the wet, stuck tightly to the edges of his forehead. His shirtless, in nothing but his pyjama pants, and rain runs off his shoulders and down the scars on his chest.

''Katniss? What are you doing out here?''

I don't know how to answer, mainly because I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing out here.

''The… lightning..'' Water dribbles from my mouth as I talk.

Peeta's eyebrows, creased in confusion, soften at my words. He understands.

I worry about what his next move will be. Will seeing me break down so horrendously provoke him into a flashback? Have I just triggered horrible memories from the Quell, memories that may have been tampered with? What if he thinks I was out roaming in the storm with plans to hurt him, like the Mutt he was trained to believe I am?

None of these things happen. Without saying a single word, Peeta bends down and scoops me up, wet blanket and all, and carries me in his arms back towards my house.

''You need a warm bath.'' He says, then daring a small smile, adds ''and a new blanket.''

The laugh that comes from my mouth feels unnatural. My lips harden immediately after, and my whole body seems unsure of how to take the sensation of laughter. It feels foreign, like it's a sound I shouldn't be capable of making.

He carries me up the stairs and back through my bedroom door, into my bathroom. He sits me down on the closed toilet lid as he begins to run a bath, and I find myself shaking from the cold.

I watch him as he watches the water filling the tub, starring at it with such intensity, like it might immediately overflow and flood the whole house if he were too look away for even a millisecond. It occurs to me that he's trying not too look at me. Even though I know I'm being irritational, it hurts.

You're not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?

The words return to me at moments like this, to pour salt through my wounds. The old Peeta, so blinded by devotion, would have found me beautiful even in moments like this. Even though I'm a fire-mutt, with pink graphed flesh and hideous scars, even though I'm soaked to the core and covered in mud, even though I'm a mess of rain and tears. The Peeta who's had that admiration stripped from him can now see me much more clearly, and in moments like these, I'm so repulsive that he can't even look at me.

''I miss you thinking I'm pretty.''

The words blurt from my mouth before I can think better of it. I slam a palm of my mouth, feeling my cheeks burn. Does my selfishness know no end? Is there no limit to how shallow I can get? He's been tortured, he's lost his whole family, sometimes he can't even tell the difference between reality and fiction, and my biggest concern is that he doesn't look at me like the stars in my eyes anymore.

Peeta doesn't look up from the bath, but he curtly raises a blonde eyebrow. After a few seconds of silence, he laughs to himself.

''I know you think the Capitol tore me to shreds.'' He murmurs. ''But there were certain things they couldn't take away completely. They could make me remember you differently, but they couldn't change the thoughts I had about other parts of you, like…'' He trails off, trying to find the right words. ''You've always been the most beautiful girl I've ever set eyes on. You must know that.''

I swallow hard, unsure how to take the revelation.

''But when I went to see you in Thirteen, you said-''

''I know what I said.'' He snaps. Exhaling heavily, he loses the edge to his voice. ''And I'll never forgive myself for it.''

A lump jumps to the forefront of my throat at his words. I want to beg him not to be so harsh on himself. I want to remind him of all the times I let him down, took advantage of him, broke his heart and still expected it to hand it to me on a silver platter. I want to ask him if we can just take ourselves and one another for what we are, and stop avoiding each other because of all the things we haven't talked about. I want to ask if we can just not talk about them ever and just focus on getting each other through each day, each minute.

But I don't know how to say any of that. All that I can come up with it ''please do.''

He manages a meek smile.

I should definitely stop talking now, and yet I can't.

''So why won't you look at me?'' I persist. ''If you still think I'm beautiful, why can't you even look at me?''

Now it's Peeta's turn to look flustered. His face flushes, his cheeks gaining a rosy complexion.

''I don't want to make you uncomfortable.'' He turns off the taps, hard, as the tub reaches it's filling point. ''But to be honest with you, Katniss, you're soaking wet. If I look, I might not be able to stop starring.''

At first, I don't understand what he's talking about. Then I remember the way the boys used to snicker and whisper things to one another when girls would rush into class late on rainy days, their t-shirts slick with water. I never understood why that created so much of a buzz, until I learnt about how boys find it appealing when clothes cling ruthlessly to girls bodies, when breasts are prominent and nipples are visible.

My blush far surpasses Peeta's. I wonder if he means that, or if it's just an excuse to not have to look at me. I'm still trying to work out if I believe he still thinks I'm beautiful, but surely, he can't still be that attracted to me, right?

''I leave you alone, then.'' He mutters, heading out of the bathroom. ''Try to stay safe. I'll see you tomorrow.''

''Peeta.'' My name catches him just as he reaches the bathroom door. ''Don't go.''

I scan him up and down, noting how the rain on his bare chest has seeped away, but his dark grey pants are still heavy with water. ''You're cold and wet too. You should have a bath with me?''

Peeta turns to be slowly, wide eyed and stunned, unable to believe I just suggested with get in the bath together. My jaw hangs a little unhinged, because I can't believe I just suggested that either.

Peeta can only numbly shake his head. ''I really shouldn't.'' He says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. ''I don't think I could handle being in the bath with you, if I'm bluntly honest. It would be… too much.''

''Too much how?'' I push. I don't know why I can't just let anything go tonight. Maybe because this is the most Peeta and I have connected since the war ended and I'm not ready for him to shut me off again.

''We don't even kiss anymore.'' Peeta mumbles, pressing his forehead against the doorframe and gently closing his eyes, like this is all giving him a headache. ''You don't understand, Katniss. You never did.''

''Then explain it to me!'' I stand up urgently. ''Whatever it is I don't understand.''

''I can't.'' He shakes his head against the doorframe. ''I can't explain what it's like to feel unrequited love for one person for your whole god damn life. To survive trauma and escape death with her and still not have her love you back. To be willing to give your life for her in a second, to want to be with her every second of the day, to get dizzy from the smell of her hair or the milky shade of her eyes, and know that she'll never feel that way about you. To be endure torture meant to make you hate her and still not be able to forget how much you love her. To have her kiss you and cuddle you and sleep in your bed but then shut you out emotionally. It's like waving a bone in front of a hungry dog but always yanking it just out of his reach before he can sink his teeth in. And now you want me to take a bath with you? You want me to get naked with you, to cuddle up with you in a bath, to sleep in your bed with you tonight, and then you'll send me home in the morning and you'll act like nothing happen?''

I'm on the verge of tears. His words hit me so hard, because they're so true. It's painful, to have the way I've taken advantage of Peeta and the steadiness that he has ben in my life for the past two years, while draining him of everything he has to offer, laid so cruelly in front of me. What can I say in response? There's nothing to say.

Nothing except one thing.

''Stay with me.'' I whisper, letting the stray tears go. ''Don't make me do the storm alone.''

Pain creases across his face. He takes a few deep breathes, then gently opens his eyes.

''You take a bath. I'll find a towel and dry off. I'll sleep in the guest bedroom tonight.''

Then he's gone, and I'm alone in the bathroom.

What do you guys think? Let me know if you'd like to see more!