I'm not entirely sure why I claw at the ground, but I've been at it for so long that my fingers have started to leave behind bloody streaks. Maybe the throbbing pain helps me remember who I really am, reminds me how I can't give in to what the Capitol tried to make of me. Or perhaps I'm just trying to find a stronghold to grasp, something to keep me in the ordinary world while the other tries to pull me away.

I don't even know how I got into the basement. The last thing I recall is waking beside my beautiful Mockingjay with an overwhelming desire to kill her. Wring her throat, stab her with the knife I know she keeps under her pillow each night. Clamp down on her nose and mouth until her screams stop and her body goes slack. The thoughts alone rock more tremors through my torso, tearing sobs of confusion and anger from my throat. I can only hope that it won't wake up her or the children.

I don't know what I'd do if I saw her precious face, just now starting to become devoid of the childish roundness as she nears what used to be the reaping age. That dark wavy hair that wraps perfectly around her face, like it has come from the Girl on Fire herself. Or his face, small and bright with storm cloud eyes that are so like my wife's that it's both wonderful and unbearable. The soft blond hair that he's had a full head of since being born. They have so much of her in them, in spirit and body. So similar to the mutt that did all those horrible things, killed my family, made so many people suffer…

It's all I can do not to kill them all.

I try hard not to think of the girl who explained the technique to me, but I think of the things I know to be true and go from there. Work on turning my focus away from my fingertips, skinned and bloody.

My name is Peeta Mellark. I survived the Hunger Games twice. I was captured and hijacked by the Capitol. The Capitol killed my family. District 12 was destroyed. I was rescued, and now the Capitol has fallen. Katniss saved me, she is not my enemy. I feel the tenseness that has built up throughout my body release slowly, eventually allowing me to fall back against the wall. She is not my enemy My legs stretch out in front of me, and I press my head against the cold, solid wall. I feel the chaos from the tracker jacker venom that will always be there start to drain, leaving stunned silence behind. We have two children. I love my children and my wife more than anything. Now there is a District 12. I am home.

I've just caught my breath when I hear soft footsteps descending down the wooden stairs. They're much too silent to belong to my son or my daughter. No, these are the footfalls of a skilled huntress. I watch as she comes down toward me, quickly yet cautiously. I still believe she has far too much confidence in my willpower. You won't kill me, Peeta. I know you won't, she told me one time after approaching me before I could let the moment pass. I can see in her eyes that she knows I am back to sanity now. They drop to my gruesome hands and then lift to my face again.

"Are you alright?" She offers a hand to help me up. I hesitate for a fraction of a second before taking her hand, soft but strong, in mine. I'm a little wobbly on my legs, which makes what I say next unconvincing.

"Sure I am." I try for a small smile. Her eyes are serious as she analyzes every fleck in mine. "Why are you up?" I ask. I brush the back of my hand down her cheek, feel that her skin is hot and flushed. I think of what her response will be a moment before she says it.

"Nightmares." Her pupils dilate, and I can tell that her thoughts are moving elsewhere. I feel the sudden urge to take her mind away from remembering whatever dark place it brought her to this time.

"Come on." I say and wrap an arm around her to pull her warmth closer to me. She doesn't seem to mind the drying blood that paints my hands scarlet, and we take our time getting upstairs.

As we go to enter our bedroom, Katniss peers into the doorway across from ours. The children's bedroom. I follow her to it and lean in the doorway, watching as she wanders in on silent feet and presses her lips to first his forehead, and then hers. I smile gently, assured with the thought that our children are safe. We don't have to kiss them before sending them on a train to the Hunger Games, or dress them for the reaping. We'll never have to watch them kill or be killed on TV, and they'll never have to fear it.

As Katniss stands and silently walks back toward me, her eyes gentle, I see in her a younger girl I once knew. One who still often shows in the gentleness that Katniss has for our kids. One who I know neither or us will ever forget.

Prim.

There are still times when it becomes too much for Katniss. She'll break down and cry, almost always after making sure the kids aren't around. She doesn't want them to see her like that, just like I don't want them to see me in my weak state. It could be a mention of Gale, or remembrance of parachutes. Sometimes even just fire will trigger a sort of deja-vu within her, and she has to withstand the pain.

But almost every time, a certain friend is there to help her. Even I can't always call her back to sanity when she goes into one of her fits. But ugly, old and battered Buttercup still remains. Against all odds, he still lingers around our house. Often yowling out, only silenced when he hears his old friend's name.

Each night, he tucks himself neatly next to her in bed. Burrows under the covers with only his head peeking out, yellow eyes glowing in the dark. He stays until dawn, protecting her from the night.

As Katniss and I walk to bed, I try to flush my mind of all the thoughts I had only minutes before. We crawl under the covers and she leans in close against my side. I wrap an arm around her and let the other lay over her stomach. She's barely awake now, exhausted from a long day and sleep plagued with nightmares.

As we lay in silence, the faces of all those lost begin to run through my mind. Sure, I've tried to let them go. But it doesn't stop them from haunting my thoughts at any given time. Finnick, who saved my life more than once. And who, in the end, allowed himself to be eaten alive to assure mine and Katniss's safety. Mags hobbling into the fog and falling over dead just so we didn't have to carry her. I think of Darius's animal screams, and Cato's moans as he suffered for hours and hours. I think of all those people in District 12 that I used to know. Delly Cartwright's family, who didn't make it out alive. The kids who's parents owned the shops near our bakery. My schoolmates. I feel my thoughts creeping toward my family, and my eyes well with tears. My older brothers, who never really did forgive themselves for not taking my place in the very first reaping. My father, so easy-going and yet deeply remorseful. He never did seem content with the life he had, like he missed a lot of opportunities and would do anything to take them back. My mother, who I grimace at memories of. She cursed and yelled a lot, did irreparable damage to my brothers and I. But she was my mother all the same and I'd give anything to see her, or any of them, just one more time. I never did get to say goodbye.

Katniss pulls me out of the dark reverie and I blink a few times before turning my head slightly to look at her. "I love you, Peeta." She murmurs, barely audible despite the total silence. Her eyes are closed. I feel myself smile, assured in how solid I feel in this moment. Maybe I wasn't sure at one time, but I speak my next words with all the assurance in the world. I know them to be true now, and know they always will be true.

"I love you, too."