**Author's Note**

This story has been sitting on my desktop for at least two years. I have just never gotten the nerve to post it after reading so many fantastic HG/Everlark stories on here...besides there are about a million and one post-Mockingjay stories and I didn't know if I had a voice or story to add.

I'm particularly fond of stories in Peeta's POV and I feel like I relate to his character, so this will be his story to tell.

The title comes from the famous poem "Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda."

Please be aware going in that this story will have harsh language, references to abuse and torture and sexy-fun Everlark goodness. It's rated M for all of that, so if it bothers you, please don't read :)

All mistakes are my own.

Enjoy!

The sky is a canvas of dark purples, burning reds and soft oranges as I step off the train. The sun is just beginning to drop behind the trees. I take a deep breath and inhale the woodsy, dusty, charred scent.

I am home.

I sling my small bag over my shoulder and keep my eyes trained to the ground as I walk quickly through the charred remains of town. Luckily, what little population Twelve has left have mostly gone home for the evening and I am able to slip through unnoticed. My heartbeat speeds up and I can't hear anything other than the rushing of blood in my ears as I practically run past the street where the bakery used to stand.

Tears prick my eyes and I exhale a breath I didn't realize I was holding once I exit out the other side of town. Crouching down to the ground and laying my palms flat on the cool, dewy grass, I take a few minutes to gather myself. I can't have an episode here and it takes everything I have in that moment to keep the monsters at bay.

By the time I reach the iron arch of Victors Village the sun has set and the night sky is alive with stars. It is too picturesque. The two perfect rows of homes against the backdrop of the night sky. It is almost like a war never happened.

Fucking Snow.

That evil bastard.

Leaving this area untouched while the rest of the district burned to the ground. He wanted us to feel the remnants of his power over us for as long as possible. He wanted me to feel the full weight of responsibility for what I've done.

And, I do. I'll blame myself. Always.

My body is shaking with rage and my desperate need to appear as calm as possible as I walk to my house. I chance a look at Katniss' home. I see a low light coming from the living room window and smoke curling from her chimney, but no movement inside. I can feel my body urging me to continue down the path to her front door, but my brain and heart stop me short. A low whistle grabs my attention.

"So you finally decided to bust out of the nuthouse and grace us with your presence, huh, boy?"

Haymitch. Of course.

He would be just starting his day around this time. I stop short and spot his shadowy frame leaning against the railing of his front porch.

"Come here and let me look at you. It's been awhile and I've forgotten what you look like when you're not crazy."

I can't help the chuckle that escapes my lips. "I think we are all going to be a little crazy from here on out, Haymitch."

"Well, that's probably true," he says wistfully.

I make my way to his front porch trying my best to keep the tremors in my body to a minimum, but it only takes a second for Haymitch to notice that something is wrong.

"Shit, kid. If I'd known you were coming home today I could've met you at the train and …"

The rest of his sentence is lost to me as I feel my mind tumbling into the darkness that I've worked so hard to crawl out of. Suddenly, I'm in a dark, empty space and I can hear the familiar sound of high heel shoes walking towards me. Instinctively, I hunch my shoulders and lower my head. I know a slap is coming or worse – a blow to the back with a rolling pin – my mother was never lenient when doling out punishment.

Somewhere in a further part of my mind I know this isn't real. That I'm locked in a nightmare and I have to try and fight my way back to reality. I can even hear Haymitch's voice in a far off distance and feel the warmth of his hands on my face, but then the blow to the back of my head happens and I turn on my heel and come face to face with my mother. But, she isn't exactly my mother. Her eyes are black and her teeth are pointed into fangs. Her fingernails are curled into sharp talons. She wields a rolling pin in her right hand.

"You stupid, bastard", she hisses. Then she inches closer to my face and I can smell the foulness of her mutt breath. "You know you were a mistake, right? We never wanted you. Never loved you. You are nothing but a filthy fucking mutt. You are a monster who doesn't deserve to live."

The rolling pin comes down hard on my shoulder and I cry out in pain. As she continues to hit me again and again, I swing my fists in an attempt to fight her off but it's no use. This version of my mother is relentless and nothing I do can make her stop. I curl into a ball on the floor of this dark, empty space and continue to let her beat me until there is nothing left.

I wake with a start and quickly sit up trying to figure out where I am. The moon is still high in the sky. I am covered in an old quilt and lying near a fireplace. As I scan the room I realize that I am inside Haymitch's living room. I lay back down with a groan as the memory of what happened comes back to me.

Bringing my hands to my face, I push my palms into my eyes until I see stars and let out an exasperated sigh. My body feels like I was hit with a hovercraft.

"Well, that was something else, boy," I hear Haymitch grumble behind me. "I would have taken a hug or a handshake to let me know you were glad to be home, but a full blown blackout and a punch to the eye works too."

I immediately sit up and turn to look at him. He is sitting in his favorite chair, leg slung over the arm and a flask in his hand. I can see the left side of his face is red and swollen.

"Haymitch, I am so sorry."

I curl my legs to my chest and lay my forehead against my knees. I can't help the moisture that gathers in my eyes as I try desperately not to cry. But, the tears start to fall before I have a chance to stop them. I hear Haymitch swear under his breath and feel his hand on my back.

"I've been through much worse than a black eye. I think I'll live. There's no need for the waterworks on my behalf."

I know he's trying to make a joke of the situation and I appreciate that, but the tears always seem to fall after an episode. I can't help it. Dr. Aurelius says it's my body's way of coping with the emotional trauma associated with the episode and everything else I've been through. I think it's my way of dealing with all of the negative words I hear while I'm in that dark place.

I hastily wipe my tears on my sleeve and look at Haymitch. The concern in his eyes is evident and he looks much more sober than I know he likes to be.

"I really am sorry," I say softly. "What happened?"

He lets out a sad sigh, takes a long drink from the flask in his hand and runs his free hand through his greasy hair. "It was like you were there one minute and then you weren't. I saw you walk into the Village and could see your hands shaking and asked you to come over thinking if I talked to you for a bit you would calm down. I figured that walk through town had to be miserable for you, but damn, I didn't think you would lose your marbles on my front steps."

"Nothing like that has happened in a long time," I whisper more to myself than to him. "Did I hit you?"

I couldn't take the thought of having an episode that resulting in violence again. They were bad enough just playing out in my head.

"Nah, you didn't really hit me as much as I got in the way. You walked up to my porch and just stopped. Your eyes went blank and the shaking got worse. I put my hands on your face to try and snap you out of it, but it was no use. Then, you collapsed right there on the top step and started flailing around when I grabbed you to pull you inside and my face kind of got in the way. But, like I said, I've had worse. It'll heal in a day or two."

I turn my face to the fire and watch the flames dance and burn. Haymitch and I sit in comfortable silence for several moments before I ask about her.

"How is Katniss?"

He lets out a low laugh that sounds half exhausted and half sad. "We're all a little crazy. Isn't that what you said?"

"I'm crazy. She is broken."

"You're both broken."

I turn to look at him then and can see the worry he carries evident on his face for a split second before the mask of indifference he tries to always wear comes back again.

"She hasn't left the couch in two months," he says shaking his head. "Sae and I do our best to shove food and water down her throat, but she has dug herself really deep into it this time."

I don't know how to respond. I feel sad and hopeless and frustrated and guilty all at the same time. I've never wanted to see her hurting. Even in my hijacked mind, there was still a small piece that clung to the feelings I have for Katniss Everdeen.

"I think I'm going to go home," I say. "Thank you Haymitch and I'm sorry again."

He waves his hand through the air brushing off my apology mumbling something that sounds like "don't worry about it." I gather up the blanket and make my way through the mess of a living room to the front door dodging empty bottles and pieces of trash along the way. I really have no idea how he got me inside through all of this garbage.

"Peeta."

The use of my name stops me cold. Haymitch never uses my name and instead refers to me as "kid" or "boy" or some other expletive he thinks is funny. I turn to see him standing behind me and we awkwardly stare at each other for a few moments before he pulls me in for a hug. It's unexpected and the smell slightly nauseating, but I can't help the sigh of relief that releases from my mouth. Haymitch isn't one to show affection often and this display is his way of confirming that I still have someone that cares about me.

I gather my small bag that is sitting where I dropped it haphazardly on his front porch steps and make my way across the path to my house.

"Hey, boy," I hear Haymitch whisper. I turn to see him leaning against the railing like he was when I first arrived. "The next time you decide to punch me in the face, I'll shove my foot so far up your ass you'll be cleaning my toenails with your teeth."

I climb the steps and enter my house shaking my head to the sound of Haymitch guffawing at his own joke. Even with all the memories and ghosts that will never leave this place, it still felt good to be home.

My nose is assaulted with the musty smell of a home that has been shut up and unused. Every thing is covered is a light layer of dust. I look around and sigh, then drop my bag at the front door and wander into the kitchen. The clock on the wall reads 4am and I know there is no chance I'll be going back to sleep tonight.

I decide to light a fire and get to work cleaning the dust from the all of the surfaces. I remind myself to make sure I pick up supplies so that I can bake a few loaves of the dense nut bread that I know Haymitch likes.

Once the house is clean, I walk up the stairs to visit my study. I miss my canvases, brushes and paints. While they allowed me to sketch in the hospital, it was with a charcoal pencil and I desperately wished to use colors.

I run my hand over the stacks of finished paintings leaning against the back wall and turn my attention to the large covered canvas sitting on the easel in the middle of the room. It was what I was working on before the second reaping – before everything changed forever. My fingers tremble slightly as I grasp the edge of the sheet and pull it free from the canvas.

I see my father's strong hands kneading a large lump of dough on the long butcher block countertop that ran the length of the kitchen in the back of the bakery. The perspective of the painting is only of the front of his body from the shoulders down. His forearms are coated in a dusting of flour and his hands have bits of wet dough stuck to them. His fingers are buried in the dough he is working and I can see the tendons in his hands and arms flexed in the effort. The white apron he is wearing has smudges of red, purple, green and yellow frosting across the front. In this memory he must have been working on a cake, cupcakes or cookies. Maybe all three.

I lost bits and pieces of so many memories in the hijacking that I can't place this exact one when I look at the painting now and that fact makes my heart feel like it's shattering in my chest. For all of his flaws, I loved this man so completely. He was kind and gentle and charming. I remember his strong hands soothing away my tears as a child after run ins with my mother's vengeance and his steady voice teaching me about patience, humility and quiet strength as I got older. While all of his sons had his blonde hair, I inherited his blue eyes. I see him sometimes when I look in the mirror and it startles me so much that I try to avoid mirrors if I'm able.

I feel the teardrops hitting my hands before I realize that I'm crying. With a deep breath I throw the sheet over the painting again. I know I have to finish it – and I will – but I can't bring myself to do it now. I move to the east facing window and see that the sun is starting to rise, bringing with it the soft yellow light of a new day.

I grab a nearby sketchbook and some pastels and make my way out to my front porch. Sitting on the steps, I begin to sketch with color for the first time in what seems like ages and it has a remarkable effect on my spirit. I feel instantly lighter, especially after the trauma of the night before. I'm just putting the finishing touches on my interpretation of the morning sky when I see Sae slowly making her way up the path towards Katniss' house.

I abandon the sketchbook and pastels on my porch and quickly make my way over to her. I want to ask her about getting food and supplies and I also want to know more about Katniss and her wellbeing.

"Good morning, Sae."

"Peeta! Oh my…when…I'm so happy that you are home."

She pulls me into a grandmotherly embrace and then puts both her hands on the sides of my face pulling me down until my eyes are level with hers.

"Oh, sweet boy. You have been missed. You really have."

I watch her examine my face and with a knowing look in her eyes. She gently swipes her thumbs across my cheeks and reaches up to plant a kiss to the crown of my head.

"How is she, Sae?" I ask gesturing to Katniss' front door.

"She is taking things very hard as you can imagine. She spends most of the time on the couch. I visit her twice a day. I'm heading there now to fix her some breakfast. Would you like something to eat?"

"Oh…um…not today. I don't think that is a good idea right now."

She nods in understanding and grabs my hand giving it a light squeeze.

"Not yet, Peeta, but one day soon I hope you will join us for breakfast."

"I hope so too."

We talk for a few more minutes about purchasing supplies. She tells me that she will have basic supplies delivered to me a little later today and instructs me on how to order anything more I may need for later letting me know that can also be delivered to my doorstep if I'm not quite up to going into town. I graciously thank her with another hug and a kiss on the cheek.

I don't think another trip into town is something I'm ready for just yet.

I watch her disappear into the house. I linger by the porch for a few moments not quite sure what to do with myself. I'm not ready to go back home. It's too lonely just sitting by myself and I feel like I have too much pent up energy to go sleep, so I start walking around the perimeter of Victors Village.

I pass through the backyard of one of the empty houses towards the fence that still stands separating us from the woods. It's no longer electrified and we are free to come and go as we choose; however, part of me still hesitates as I walk along slowly dragging my fingertips across the spaces in the chain link. I find an opening not far outside the edge of the last empty house and slip through.

This was always Katniss' domain and the expanse of trees feels foreign to me but I still enjoy the freedom of it. It's quiet and peaceful. A light breeze moves through the trees rustling the leaves and blowing some unruly curls across my forehead. As I bring my hand up to brush the hair from my face I spot them; a small cluster of Evening Primrose bushes with their bright yellow petals shining in the sunlight.

I'm struck with the perfection of them growing wild here in the woods – Katniss' woods – like it was absolutely meant to be.

Immediately, I have an idea. I turn towards the Village, running as fast as my damned bum leg will carry me to my backyard. I tear open the door to the small garden shed attached to the back of my house and pull out a wheelbarrow and a shovel. I work as quickly as I can, spurred on by the idea that has taken root in my head.

Once I have the bushes carefully dug up and in my wheelbarrow, I head towards Katniss' house. The sun has fully risen by this time so I know that she will no longer be sleeping – or at least I hope she won't – because I don't want to run the risk of waking her from any possible restful sleep she may be getting.

I push the wheelbarrow to the east side of her house so the bushes will be bathed in the morning sunlight and I begin to dig. It's hard, arduous work and soon I have all but one bush planted. I brush my dirt covered hands across the front of my pants and wipe the sweat off my brow with my forearm. It's hot and I want to take off my shirt, but I'm still too self conscious of my scars to do so. Instead, I decide to lean up against the porch railing in the bit of shade created by the overhang of the roof and that's when I hear the audible gasp behind me.

I spin on my heels and see her stormy eyes staring at me. She's too thin and pale. Her hair is matted, shorter than usual and slightly fringed on the ends from being burned. She's barefoot. Her hands struggling to cover the burn scars on her arms that she is equally as self conscious about as I am. She continues to stare for several more moments, her mouth opening and closing like she is trying to find the words to say.

"You're back."

I'm too dumbstruck to form any words that normally come so easily to me so I just bob my head up and down in agreement. I watch her eyes move from the top of my head to my feet and back again drinking me in. My heartbeat speeds up. I try to hide my shaking hands by shoving them in my pockets.

"Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday. By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone."

I watch Katniss as she tries to brush some of the hair away from her face and straighten the clothes that have become too big for her shrinking frame. Sadness clouds her features. She looks from me to the bushes and back again.

"What are you doing?"

"I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her…I thought we could plant them along the side of the house."

I see the recognition of exactly what kind of bushes I am planting dawn on her. She looks at me with glassy eyes. Her bottom lip trembling slightly and I know she is trying not to cry. She quickly nods her head and runs back into the house. Just as I'm about to call out to her, I hear the resounding click of the door lock.

I turn and slump against the railing letting my back slide down the surface until I'm sitting on dewy grass. Turning to look at the already planted bushes I groan and reach my good leg out to kick the wheelbarrow over in frustration watching the last remaining bush tumble to the ground. Seeing it lie there with its pretty yellow petals covered in dirt makes me think of her small body lying in the debris after the bombs exploded.

Prim.

I grab handfuls of my hair and pull trying to root myself in this place. In reality. I can't let the images floating in my mind to allow me to go someplace else.

Fuck.

Get it together Mellark.

I get up. Shame washing over me. I need to finish this for her. For both of them. Picking up the fallen bush I lightly brush the dirt from the flowers and gently place it in the hole I had already dug. Collecting as much of the loose soil from the grass around the wheelbarrow as I can, I bury the bushes roots patting the fresh ground around it for good measure.

As I'm gathering my supplies and heading back to my house I hear Katniss' upstairs bedroom windows being thrown open, the pale green curtains being pulled out in the breeze.

I start pushing my wheelbarrow across the path to my backyard and see Haymitch stumble out of his front door shielding his eyes from the morning light.

"What the hell is all of the noise about!? I finally close my eyes and then I hear slamming and banging…"

His sentence cuts off as he looks from me to the bushes to the open windows on the second floor of Katniss' house. His eyes come back to me and I swear I can see the slightest hint of a smile form on his lips. It is quickly replaced with his signature scowl as he turns and goes back inside without another word.

As I round the back of my house, I let the wheelbarrow fall on its side throwing the shovel on top it. I wince at the loud clang it makes as it hits the side of the wheelbarrow and falls to the ground. There are too many thoughts circling my head and I pace back and forth in my backyard trying to sort them all out.

I don't know how much time has passed, but I'm sure I look like a lunatic pacing around muttering to myself. Clothes and skin covered in dirt. Hair sweaty and standing on end. Taking a deep breath, I decide what I really need is a bath, tea and sleep – nightmare free sleep if at all possible.

As I'm gathering the art supplies I abandoned on my front porch I see her. She's bathed and dressed in clean clothes. Her shoulders are squared and her spine is ramrod straight with determination. Her bow and quiver slung across the back of the old leather jacket she is wearing. Her hair in the signature braid across her shoulder. The sight steals my breath.

This is Katniss.

The old Katniss.

My Katniss.

I thought they said she hadn't moved in two months?

I watch her make her way out of the Village heading towards the meadow. She's heading to the woods and taking the way she always did. My heart aches because I don't know if she's seen town yet, or the Seam or what used to be the meadow.

I remind myself to let her know about the fence opening I used earlier – if she'll speak to me again – so she can avoid the death and destruction of town and the graveyard meadow that used to be so beautiful.

Across the street, Sae shuffles onto the porch. There is a slight smile ghosting across her lips.

"She's gone hunting," she says as she makes her way to the end of the porch to glance at the bushes I planted. She nods approvingly and begins to make her way over to me. "Come to breakfast tomorrow, Peeta. Bring bread. Supplies will be waiting for you shortly."

I can't help but smile at the request. "Of course. But, do you think she'll…"

Sae stops me with the wave of her hand.

"Sweet boy, this is the first time she's moved in months. The first time she's spoken to me in just as many. I don't think she'll mind you coming for breakfast at all."

I sigh looking back down the path towards her exit, but she is no longer visible.

"Ok. If you think it will be fine, then I would love to join you for breakfast."

"Oh, it will be more than fine child…more than fine."

I turn to go inside when I hear her clear her throat.

"But, Peeta…take a bath first."

She cackles softly to herself as she turns and heads back towards town leaving me standing in my open doorway with the most genuine smile I've worn in what feels like years.