Title: "The Victors"
Summary: Katniss and Peeta are both upset by their experience in the arena and are unable to sleep, until they find each other one night. AU one-shot, set after "The Hunger Games." Contains fluff.
Length: Approx. 3,000 words
A/N: If you can disregard the events of CF and MJ while reading this AU scene, it will seem more realistic. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.

Three days. I haven't seen him in three days and I cannot believe how much I miss him.

When we first got home, we had to keep pretending to be a happy couple. Our homecoming was filmed, as was the banquet for us (the two victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games), among other events. We held hands and thanked everyone and kissed for the audience, then each day we went home separately, to our new houses in the Victor's Village. After a few weeks things died down. The camera crews packed up and went home and now Peeta and I have stopped seeing each other, aside from the occasional distant glimpse, which is unavoidable because we're neighbors.

I haven't spoken to him in days, but it seems like he's always in the back of my mind. When I have meals with my mother and Prim, I wonder if Peeta's eating alone. His family didn't move into his house with him but I like to think he goes to visit them often, or has friends over. I don't want him to be lonely.

Yesterday I went hunting with Gale for the first time since I got home. As I had feared, things are different between us. I suppose it was unavoidable. I liked being with him; we didn't discuss the Games at all, but I know we both thought about them, about what I had to do to the other tributes and what I had to pretend I had with Peeta. When we were leaving the woods, Gale turned toward me and looked as if he wanted to say or do something. I tilted my head quizzically and stared at him with confusion. But he just gave his head a little shake and then turned and climbed under the fence. I followed, and then we said goodbye.

Things between myself and my family have been different, too. I love Prim as much as ever, and have been trying to let myself be closer to my mother again, but there's a kind of distance between us. They weren't there, in the arena, and I was. I've killed people and lived through a horrible, frightening ordeal. In some ways, I feel as if my experience has pulled me away from the people I care about, because I know they can never understand how it feels.

I've been to Haymitch's house a couple of times but he's always too drunk to be of any use to me. I don't even know why I go over there, really. Maybe I hope that spending time with a fellow victor will help me, but it doesn't seem to.

With a sigh, I sit up in my bed. It's the middle of the night and I haven't gotten a wink of sleep. I'm afraid of the nightmares and my eyes just won't stay shut. I know that there is someone who understands what I'm going through and I want to talk to him, or even just be with him. But it doesn't seem like that's what he wants. After our talk during the fuel stop on the way home, Peeta looked so hurt. I wanted to offer to be his friend but he didn't even give me the chance. It's not fair, the way he's shut me out. I wish he would get over it and realize that we can help each other, as friends. He must be feeling the same way I do. Even if he does spend time with his family and friends, he can't possibly have been able to seamlessly return to his old life either. He must feel isolated and alone, just like me.

I throw my light blanket off, slide my feet to the floor and stand up. I walk to my window and look out at Peeta's house. The light is on in his living room and after a few seconds of staring, I catch a glimpse of his silhouette passing by a window. He can't sleep either. I knew it. I knew he was going through the same things I am. I place my hands on my window and whisper his name. I feel annoyed with him, for not wanting to be my friend. Doesn't he understand that we could help each other? Doesn't he want help? He must.

Before I have time to really think about the weight of my actions, I'm out of my room and down the stairs. I walk briskly to the living room phone, pick up the receiver and dial Peeta's number. He'll probably know it's me calling, I realize, and just when I'm starting to feel afraid that he won't answer, he does.

"Hello?"

Just the sound of his voice makes me smile, and I realize how much I've missed it. "Hi," I say.

"Katniss."

"Yes."

Silence.

"Are you all right?" Peeta asks. I hate how formal and even cold he sounds. I think of our conversations in the cave, when we talked about how things would be when we came home. Peeta was so kind then and it was nice to laugh with him about what life would be like for both of us with Haymitch as our only neighbor.

"I can't sleep," I say.

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry."

"Thank you." I clear my throat. "I saw your light on."

"I can't sleep either. I'm painting."

"That's nice," I say. "Are you enjoying your talent?"

"Sure."

Silence again.

"I guess I should get back to it," Peeta says.

"No! I mean, wait. Um…can I please come over?"

"Why?" He sounds evasive. I'm sure it's tempting for him to tell me no, so that he can protect himself from more heartbreak.

"I want to talk to you," I say honestly.

He's silent for so long that I wonder if he's hung up and I failed to hear the signifying click. Eventually he says, "All right."

"Good," I say, "I'll be right there."

"Fine." He hangs up and then I do.

I slide into some shoes and then, as silently as I can, I open the front door, slip out and shut it behind me. It's a windy night, but not cold. The breeze is refreshing and a nearly full moon enables me to easily make my way to Peeta's house without having to strain to see the ground in front of me. When I reach my destination, he's standing in the doorway, illuminated by light coming from within the house.

I smile when I see him and he nods politely and steps aside, making room for me to enter. I find my way to his living room and sit down on his couch. Directly in front of me, a fire is crackling in the fireplace. I look around the room and see that it's very similar to my own house, but there's an easel set up near the window. I'm curious about what he's painting, but the canvas is facing directly away from me so I can't see a thing. And I don't feel like it's my place to ask to see it, as a self-invited guest.

Peeta sits beside me on the couch and I turn to face him, crossing my legs in front of me. He keeps staring ahead, into the fire. I suddenly remember how desperately afraid I was that he was going to die in the Games from the infection, and then from the wound inflicted later on. I remember how scary it was to see his face, so pale and thin. He looks so beautiful now.

"Do you have nightmares about the Games?" I ask.

He turns to face me. "Every night. You, too?"

"Every night." I stare into his eyes and see that he feels the same way I do about the nightmares, about all of it. We're both afraid, because our memories of the arena will always be with us. We hope things will get better but they haven't so far. We both feel like no one else understands, we feel alone. "I'm scared," I say.

He nods and his face seems to soften. He looks at me with sympathy. "So am I."

A silence stretches on until I feel uncomfortable.

"Peeta, about what I said before -"

"You don't have to explain anything to me," he says, looking back over at the fire. "You've already made things clear."

"But I want to. You deserve to know what really happened."

When he turns back toward me, he looks so sad and hurt that I have a nearly overwhelming urge to throw my arms around him and kiss him, just to make him feel better. But that wouldn't be right, so I refrain.

"I'm sorry," I begin. "I'm so sorry that I mislead you. When we were in the arena, I didn't know that you meant the things you said. I thought we were both pretending."

He lets out a little scoff, seemingly of disbelief.

"I mean, there were things that seemed true, like your story about the first day of school. But I was so afraid and all I could really think about was staying alive. I wanted so badly to keep us both alive, that I just did what I had to do." I pause and bite my lip, then collect my thoughts and continue, "I couldn't let myself wonder how much of it you meant, or how you would feel when it was over. It didn't seem important at the time. I just wanted to make sure we both came home."

Peeta sighs and looks down at his hands, which rest in his lap. "I can understand that. I guess I should have known it wasn't real," he says, "I mean, I know what a bad liar you are." I think I see him smile just a little. "But I wanted it to be real so badly that I couldn't see the truth. I see it now, though. We didn't even know each other and you already had something with Gale, anyway."

"I didn't," I say quickly, surprised by my own urgency. "There's never been anything but friendship between me and Gale."

His eyes raise to mine and he studies my face for a few moments, and I wonder what he's thinking. Then he nods and looks down again. "Well, I still should have known it was too good to be true."

How can he talk like that? How can he be so honest and open about his feelings?

I decide that we need to change the subject. "I hate not talking to you."

This time when Peeta looks into my eyes, he smiles just a little. "I hate it, too. I feel like you're the only one who I can talk to…"

"I feel the same way," I say quickly. Without thinking, I reach out and place my hand over the back of his, which he turns over so that our fingers can interlace. I'm not sure if this is a good idea, but can't bring myself to let go. "No one else was there," I muse, "no one understands."

"I know," Peeta says.

As I stare into his eyes, I see all of the things I'm feeling. Trauma, sadness, isolation. It's like looking into a mirror and it makes me feel so close to him. "It will get easier, won't it?"

Peeta shrugs one shoulder. "We could ask Haymitch."

I can't help laughing a little at this sardonic, disheartening suggestion. Peeta smiles, more genuinely than he has in a long time and I feel warmth rushing through me. I feel so glad that he's here, and hopeful that we can be friends now. I'm so glad he didn't die in the arena. "I miss you," I hear myself saying.

"I miss you, too."

Then he's dropping my hand and reaching both arms toward me. I can't resist leaning into him and wrapping my own arms around his neck. It's such a relief to be close to him again. He rubs his cheek against my hair and then I think I feel his lips against me. In the back of my mind, I know that this isn't a good idea. That the mere act of letting him hold me like this may encourage him in a way that I have no right to. But it feels too good. I can't let go; I don't ever want to let go of him. I feel my heartbeat quickening and my lips seem to have a mind of their own as they find their way to his cheek and place a soft kiss there.

He shivers, almost imperceptibly, and starts to soothingly run his hand up and down over my back. Even though our lips aren't touching, I feel almost like I did during that special kiss in the cave. The one that felt real, and made me want more from him. I kiss his neck then and feel his pulse racing, just as mine must be. This doesn't make any sense; I seem to have lost control of myself. I should pull away and leave, right now. But I can't. I just can't.

Peeta pulls back so we can look at one another and I see that his eyes are wide. He's feeling the same way I am. I part my lips just a little and we simultaneously lean toward each other and start to kiss. The sensation within me gets warmer and seems to grow, spreading from my mouth to my chest to my stomach and further, until I feel it throughout my whole body.

The little voice inside me, which was trying to tell me that none of this is a good idea, seems to vanish completely. All I can think about is his warm, soft mouth and his strong arms, which are wrapped tightly around me. After how upset I've felt since we got home, and how terrible it was to be in the arena, it's such a relief to feel something good. I need this. I need to feel like this sometimes in order to balance out the bad memories.

When we both need air, he pulls away and kisses my cheek, then my jaw, and then my neck. Now that I can think again, I realize that I feel better than I have in a long time and certainly far better than I have at any point since we got home. And a part of me knows it's not just the kissing and hugging in general. It's Peeta. There's something about him that I like very much. He's become so important to me. I've never felt anything like this before, and I think he's the only person I could ever feel this way about.

I find myself thinking of how we'll be forced to go on the victory tour in a few months, and I feel glad that I'll have him with me for the experience. We'll travel around districts and go to the Capitol together and have to pretend to be in love again…

Slowly, a realization dawns. We'll have to go to the Capitol every year, to mentor. We'll be expected to kiss and hug and look at each other lovingly. I'm terrified of what the Capitol would do if we didn't keep up the charade. For the rest of our lives, we will be the Star-Crossed Lovers from District Twelve. Will they expect us to get married? I bet they will…

I suddenly feel terrified. But then Peeta pulls back and gives me the sweetest smile and my worries seem to melt away. I can't resist smiling back, and I feel glad that it's Peeta who I'm stuck with. He's so kind and good, and I know he loves me. Whatever happens, at least we'll face it together.

"Can we be friends, then?" I ask.

He smiles and nods and it's the cutest thing I've ever seen. I can't resist leaning in and kissing him again. When we pull apart, I say, "Best friends."

He laughs a little. I guess he doesn't mind the idea of being friends now, as long as we're the kind of friends who kiss… or maybe he's been thinking along the same lines I have. Maybe he, too, has realized that we're stuck with each other so we may as well make the best of it.

I give my head a little shake, in an attempt to clear it. I try not to let myself dwell on these realizations. I'm not ready to think about this too much right now. It's hard enough to admit to myself that I'm going to want to kiss him again at some point.

Peeta leans his forehead against mine and holds both of my hands. He lifts them up and kisses first one and then the other. He smiles.

"I don't want to go home," I say. I realize I've come to associate my bedroom with nightmares and sleeplessness. I know I'll have to return to it at some point, but the thought of doing so tonight, right now, is overwhelming.

"You don't have to." He leans back a bit and his eyes meet mine. "You can stay as long as you want."

"Can I sleep on the couch?"

"Of course," Peeta says. He stands up and I lie down. My eyelids feel heavy so I let them fall shut. I hear Peeta's footsteps and it sounds like he's putting his paint supplies away. Then he clicks off the two lamps over by his easel and I can tell the room is much darker. He gently lifts my feet up, then sits down on the couch and lets them rest in his lap. I open my eyes and see that his head is leaned against the back of the couch and his eyes are closed. He looks terribly uncomfortable and will certainly wake up with a stiff neck if he sleeps like that. There's no reason for him to sit there; the couch is plenty wide.

I turn onto my side and scoot up against the back of the couch. "Peeta," I say. He opens his eyes and looks over at me, and I pat the empty space on the couch next to me.

Peeta doesn't have to be asked twice. He slides out from under my feet and lies down on his back beside me. His arms wrap around me, and I rest my head on his chest. The couch is just wide enough for us to be comfortable like this.

I smile when he kisses my forehead and then whispers, "Goodnight."

I fall asleep quickly, content with the knowledge that if I wake up from a nightmare, he'll be here to comfort me. And he'll understand exactly how I feel.

A/N: Thanks for reading :)