Another oneshot for Peeta and Katniss.

I can't get them out of my head.

This is set after Mockingjay ; SPOILER ALERT!

I own nothing.

..:..:..

All I feel is the surging pain that lances through my body.

Pain, then hurt, anger, resentment, and then a blinding, driving rage.

This jumble of terrible feelings rip me from my sleep with a choking gasp. My wild gaze is met with the black ceiling. The dim room engulfs me in an already dark world that has a shiny tinge around the edges of my vision.

Katniss. Where is Katniss? The thought pushes forward in my mind, propelling me out of the bed in which I had been sleeping. My hands curl into claws as my chest starts heaving. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. Then I heard the softest of sighs, and I whirl around.

There she is. Sleeping. Defenceless. Her dark hair, now with a few streaks of gray from the stresses of being a mother, is splayed out over the ivory pillow. Her eyes are shut, her long black lashes fanning over the tops of her cheekbones. Her chest rises and falls rhythmically, long and deep. She looks younger when she sleeps, but I know that when she awakens, the worry lines will return. I see this beautiful creature before me and I want nothing more than to wrap my hands around her pale neck and squeeze.

I stumble forward, my vision sliding in and out of focus, but the shining around the edges remains clear.

Kill. Kill her. Strangle her, suffocate her, stop her before she hurts anyone else, because she's a crazy mutt, and she must be stopped, she has to be – The next thing I know, I'm looming over her and I see my hands reaching out, pale in the moonlight that shines through the window, but still strong. I'm reaching, reaching –

There's a creaking behind me, and I turn around swiftly.

It's a little girl. A little girl wearing a white nightgown that reaches her mid-knee. A little girl that has long dark hair and blue eyes. Wide, wide blue eyes that stare at me with the deepest of childhood innocence. My hands are shaking violently, and now they, too, are reaching, reaching for this child who looks so much like Katniss, so much like her mother.

"Daddy?"

The whisper floats to my ears, and I'm shattered. I collapse into a chair that stands by the door and I grip the back of it like it's the one thing that will keep me alive. Gasping and heaving, I strain to return to myself.

Peeta, the father of two, the husband of Katniss.

I am Peeta.

I double-knot my shoes, and I always sleep with the window open.

My favourite color is orange – like a sunset.

I am Peeta Mellark.

It's finally over. My arms relax, and the exhaustion rushes into me like a tidal wave. My vision is still dark – the only light is the sliver of light from the moon that falls upon Katniss's sleeping face.

"Daddy?" There is the whisper again. I turn to see my daughter looking at me with her wide blue eyes that are so much like mine. I extend my arms to her, and she quietly pads her way over to me before climbing into my lap. I encircle her and hold her to my chest, slowly rocking back and forth.

"It's alright, baby. It's fine. I'm fine. Daddy's alright now." I soothed, stroking her hair. My hand was so large compared to her tiny head. She looked up at me, the pools of blue meeting mine. She reaches up and touches my cheek, her fingers soft on my worn face. She brought her hand back and I saw the wetness on her fingertips. I also touched my cheek, and found it wet with tears.

"It's okay, Daddy." she said simply. "You're okay."

I buried my face into her neck and hugged her tightly. Her thin arms wrapped around my neck and her hands gripped my wide shoulders. I continued rocking back and forth slowly, and after a while, I felt her grip on me slacken. I pulled back and saw her mouth slightly open, her eyes closed, and her breathing deep. I arranged my arms gingerly around her and stood, lifting her up bridal-style. She weighed as much as a feather. I quietly left my room and entered hers. I lay her down on her bed and slid the covers over her body. Her fingers twitched but other than that, she was still.

I returned to my room and stood by the open window, gazing at the moon. A cool breeze drifted in, cooling me down. I felt my blonde hair plastered onto my head with sweat and I ruffled it in an attempt to loosen the strands. I pulled off my shirt that I had been sleeping in, and noticed the dampness of it. I tossed it into the corner of the room and turned back to the window, allowing the moonlight and the breeze to caress my scarred skin.

Then I felt the hands, sliding around my waist, around my ribs to my chest. I looked down and immediately recognized those hands. I pressed my own to them and turned to look at my wife. Her dark hair fell in waves at her shoulders, and she had a small smile upon her lips. But her eyes were worried.

"Are you alright, Peeta?" she asked softly, moving her hands to cup my face. Deep gray searching blue.

"Yes." I said back, my fingers touching her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone. I lean forward and mould my mouth to hers, pressing into her, before pulling away just enough so that my lips move against hers as I whisper,

"I'm fine."