This is going to be a fic about how Katniss and Peeta grow back together in District 12. It's probably going to have a lot of fluff later on. :) I love me some Everlark fluff! C: And I'm sorry it's so short! (Originally it was a long teaser...) So, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own THG the wonderful Suzanne Collins does.

The hovercraft drops me of close to the Victor's Village. I clutch my mother's letter in my right hand, not wanting to open it. I think of all that has happened during the war and both of the Games. I think of all the people I lost. I feel a tightening in my chest that takes all of the air out of my lungs and makes it hard to breathe.

I start a small fire and collapse in the rocking-chair in front of it. I feel hot tears stream down my cheeks. I choke when I try to breathe. I don't know how long this goes on, but when it stops my face is red and puffy and my neck feels sticky from the tears. I stare at the fire wondering if I'm going into the depression my mother went into after my father died.

I must fall asleep, because when I wake up, it's morning. I hear pots banging together and I smell bacon. I turn in my chair which sends a pain up my back. I see Greasy Sae being trailed closely by her granddaughter, the one that lives in her own world.

I hear her say, "Glad you're awake. I was hopin' all this racket would do the trick, because I didn't want to do it myself." I don't know what she means by this. Maybe she thinks I sleep with a knife like Haymitch. It's a good assumption considering the circumstances. I just nod as she makes me sit at the table. She stays there until I finish all of my food and then she cleans up the dishes. I hear the door shut behind her. I sit in the rocker and watch the flames again.

I don't know how long I sit here. Minutes? Days? Weeks? Years? It seems like forever.

The only visitors I have are Greasy Sae and her granddaughter, making me eat. The letters pile up on the mantel. The phone rings and rings, but I don't pick it up.

One day Greasy Sae says to me, "Spring's in the air. You ought to get out. Go hunting." I think of all I have been doing. I watch the fire and stare at the letters piling up on the mantel, letting the phone ring. I get out, "I don't have a bow." She smiles, "Check down the hall." She leaves. I contemplate taking the trip, but go against it.

I remember that the rose is still in my room. I sprint up the stairs, wanting to get rid of the retched thing once and for all. I throw the wilted rose in the fire, and break the vase.I take a shower, washing away everything from the Capitol.

I think about what Greasy Sae said. I walk in silent, sock feet. In the study, where I had tea with President Snow, I find a box with my father's hunting jacket, our plant book, my parents' wedding photo, the spile Haymitch sent in, and the locket Peeta gave me in the clock arena. The two bows and a sheath of arrows Gale rescued on the night of the firebombing lie on the desk. I put on the hunting jacket and walk out of the room. I collapse on the sofa in the living room.

I have another nightmare. All of the people that have died in my life are burying me in my grave. Shoveling dirt into my mouth, my nose, everything. When I wake, the shovel scrapes are still there. I run outside and see Peeta digging holes along the side of my house. I see the flowers with clumps of dirt attatched to the roots. Roses. I'm about to yell vicious things at him. Then I realize that it's not the plain rose, but the evening primrose. He says to me, "I thought we could plant these along the house. For her."

I look Peeta up and down. His body is covered with the flame scars like mine, and his eyes don't have the clouded tortured look. They look almost the same as they did the day he tossed me the bread. Almost innocent. I'm brought back to that day. I've lived it over and over in my head. I know that I will always remember it.

He sees me staring at him and smiles. I feel the heat in my cheeks.

This is different. But it seems right.