Victory is never sweet… for a Victor
It was 2 am in the morning, two hours past the witching hour, two hours since she'd been woken up from her horrible nightmare. The worst thing was, her nightmare had been real. She had replayed the deaths of Rue and Peeta over and over again, until he had come along and woken her up. He was sleeping now, but it was a light, fitful sleep. She had watched from her bed as he tossed and turned, contemplating whether or not to go over to him and wake him up. She had decided not to. An hour ago, he had started whimpering, salty tears streaming down his face. She had walked to him then, slipping in next to him, stroking his hair and whispering sweet nothings before slipping back into her bed.
She wanted to go to him now, to slip in next to him and listen to his breathing. To hear the beating if his heart that could calm her down in a flash, and just to lay there next to him, as if he were a charm to keep the nightmares at bay. He was screaming now. In pain or in fear she had no idea, but she went to him anyway. It was funny how the scarred Katniss Everdeen could fit so perfectly with the Capitol's sex god, Finnick Odair. She pressed her cheek to the top of his head, stroking his cheek, wiping away tears. That night, he held her, and she held him, each trying to stop the other from falling apart. The two of them knew better than anyone else, that once the games started, they never ended. Who said the being a Victor was easy?