Calmer of the Storm: Okay…so I've jumped on the Hunger Games bandwagon, I'll admit. I was not actually all that keen to write about it, but then this hit me and I decided I'd give it a shot. I've got a few chapters written already; if it goes well I might write more. All up to you guys…and if I get hit with any random inspiration, hahaha. Enjoy!

Aftermath

To say that life has been easy would be a complete understatement, though I suppose it's much easier now that the Games are done. At least it will be, for future generations; I feel as though ours has been lost forever. The scars mar all of us too deeply for any real healing to occur. I never thought I'd long for the old days, but sometimes I do. Not only for the people that were lost, that's just a given, but for the part of me that was lost. For the part of Katniss that I'll never get back. She's still the Girl on Fire and I'm still the Boy with the Bread, but I do envy her some. She's left Katniss Everdeen behind forever and in her place stands Katniss Mellark. A simple name chance, perhaps, but with a name comes identity and where she has been allowed to shed hers I must bear mine forever. Mostly I don't mind it, but I do when I am forced to recall the reason why I want the old days back. The days when I was innocent to the world; stale bread seems almost a delicacy to me now. It's a reminder of the things I had and have lost. My family. My friends. My sanity. The mind is supposed to be a place of refuge, the place that people retreat to in times of desperate need, though some people say that that's what insanity is and that it's sad to see someone retreat so far into themselves that they can't hold a regular conversation. I, and I know that Katniss has as well, have learned that the opposite is true. What's sad is having no defence; where even the deep recesses of your mind hold terrible tortures that could any day drive you over the edge.

The moments when I think about this are fleeting, however strong they may be. I see the lush green meadow and the children that begin to play in it. Not ours; no, Katniss isn't ready for that yet, even though I want it. I believe that having a family will make it easier for both of us. The kind of innocence that a child brings with it is something that neither of us have ever known, and I think that it will be good. But if anyone understands her reserves on the matter it's me, and I'm not going to push it.

For the most part, our existence is a happy one. What we are doing is more than mere survival; no longer is life a game. We do what we want, when we want to. No one is herding us into a trap to watch us die. No one tells us what to do and how to do it. No more pretend. I remember a particular conversation on the matter clearly, even if I don't recall the one that led to it.

Katniss had seemed unusually fidgety one evening shortly after my proposal. For all intents and purposes we were already living together; it was just a matter of getting the rest of my stuff over here. There were a few steps in our relationship that we had not taken, but I wasn't worried about that. We both needed to move slowly, even if I've waited my whole life for this girl…this woman…to finally accept me. We were eating dinner in silence but it was not so comfortable as it usually was, and I knew something was up.

"I can survive without you, you know," she finally says, having steeled herself to say something.

The comment is so out of context that it surprises me and I almost choke. It doesn't scare me however; I've learned that trying to figure out the way her mind works is impossible.

"Katniss, I think I know that better than anyone," I answer, watching her intently, carefully.

She shakes her head. "And Gale too. I can survive without him."

I am completely perplexed now, and I make no effort to hide this fact. "What is this all about?" I finally ask after a few moments of intense scrutiny.

She gives me that look that says I should know exactly what she's talking about, but I have no idea. What does Gale have to do with this? She hasn't heard anything about him in months, though I know she could talk to him if she wanted to. A heavy sigh escapes her lips and she shakes her head, pushing her plate away from her even though it's only half finished. "I heard you two talking once, about me. Gale said that I would pick whoever I can't survive without, and you didn't disagree with him."

The tone in her voice tells me that she had been slighted by the comment, and try as I might, this is one thing my brain will not recall. Was it before I lost it on her or after? I decide not to delve into that one, and shake my head. "I'm sorry, I don't remember that." My voice is soft and something in her breaks; she must know that I'm telling the truth and also knows that it could be harmful for me to try and figure it out.

Katniss watches me now for a few moments before responding. "I can survive without either of you, but you, Peeta, you help me to live. That's something that no one else can do." Her steel grey eyes hold mine for a few moments as her words sink in, and then she simply gets up and walks away, leaving me to ponder her words in a rather stunned silence.

We haven't talked about that moment since, but I will never let go of it. That night we clung to each other not out of desperation, but just because the other was there. I didn't have any nightmares that night, and neither did she.

It is those moments that keep me going, knowing full well that she is the same for me. She always says that I am the reason that she got this far, and she's sorry she didn't realise it sooner. What she doesn't know is that the reverse is true. Those times when I was…gone from her were the darkest in my life, and I didn't even understand why. I might be the dandelion to her bleak winter but she is the sun to mine. We are two very imperfect people; the last of a dying breed. Two people that alone wouldn't make it, but together we cling and can hammer out some sort of existence. Like two cripples leaning on each other for support; together we can walk.

Today I am out, and I know that Katniss is too. She is hunting and I am gathering supplies. I still paint, and we've even been able to sell some. Apparently the fact that I am a victor in the arena still makes me popular, especially once the public learned that Katniss and I really did marry. We kept it quiet for a few months but somehow it got out. People want different things when it comes to my art, though my most popular are of the Games themselves. The most horrific are ones the public will never see; not 'til I'm gone from this world. Those are the ones that come out in those moments when I want my old life back. Not one without Katniss; no, never that. I wouldn't trade her for anything. I want the life when I was allowed to think to myself; when my thoughts were private and they were my own, not invaded by anything else. The flashbacks still come, though not as frequently. When they do happen, most times Katniss pretends to not notice, though I see her watching me carefully for a while after one has passed. Every now and then she has to intervene, and I am always grateful. In the very worst I have to force myself to remember that she is my wife and I love her, that this life she has given me is not a lie like my brain wants me to think. These are the things that I hate; these things my mind weaves as a result of the permanent damage that was done.

I haven't had one in almost two weeks, and that puts me in a good mood. I even bring home flowers; plumeria. Springtime and new beginnings, for it is the first day of spring. They don't grow in District 12 but a trader has come through from eleven. They started growing flowers on a commercial scale there in honour of what Katniss did for Rue.

I push through the door of our house. Despite everything we live in the same one in the Victor's row that Katniss did before, with Haymitch still as our neighbour. She says that she shouldn't try to forget everything; President Snow might have been right on some things. But the stench of bloody roses is gone, and that is a good thing because I know it is a great victory for her for it is one of the mind.

After coming through the door I stop a moment when I notice Katniss' bow resting against the wall in the front hall as it was when I left this morning. I also notice her hunting gear is clean and undisturbed; she hasn't left. Immediately I am concerned…Katniss doesn't not hunt when she says that's what she's going to do.

"Katniss?" I call, beginning to feel my heart pound in my chest. Maybe I am overreacting, but after all that we've been through, even so many years later, I can't help it.

There is no response and I am even more worried. She's just gone out to the market, I tell myself, even if I was just there. Maybe I missed her. I was engrossed in what I was doing; it could have happened, even though my gut tells me something is horribly wrong.

I begin to search the house and try not to be frantic about it, though as each room turns up empty I feel my anxiety rising. By the time I get to upstairs I am running, panic seizing me. It is irrational, I know, but when I find her she won't fault me for it. This thought seems to calm me a little and I move to our bedroom, leaving it for last because I am afraid of what I might not find in there, even if it is the most likely place for her to be.

My heart leaps to my throat as I find our bed undisturbed, but the moment is short-lived as I spy a light coming under the cracks in the bathroom that is attached to our room. I stop a moment and hear a small sound; it sounds like she is crying. Despite that, I find myself relieved. I take a few moments to regain myself, then gently pad across the carpet.

I am glad to find that the door is not locked; that would mean she's retreated to a particularly horrid place and it will take some coaxing to get her out of it. I recall how she told me she used to hide in dark places in thirteen, and I almost laugh as I think about the time I found her in behind the washing basin. How she even got in there, I'll never know.

"Katniss," I say gently, opening the door fully to see her curled up against the wall. I know that something is wrong, but I also know that it's nothing I can't get her out of. I have seen her worse. "What are you doing?" Because that's better than asking what's wrong.

She sniffles a few times and shifts to acknowledge that she's heard me, but her arms remain clasped tightly around her knees, which have been drawn up to her chest. My heart breaks as I see her tear-stained cheeks and red puffy eyes…I really do hate seeing her like this, even if I know it won't last. I don't try to guess and instead let her tell me what's going on.

When she says nothing I make my way to her side and draw her into my arms, and she relents. This brings on a new wave of tears and I let her use my shirt to absorb her tears. It is here that I notice that she's clutching a foreign object in her hand. At first I am alarmed; I pray she hasn't hurt herself, but when I notice its clearly plastic and blunt edges I am perplexed instead.

"Katniss, what are you doing?" I ask again, my voice gentle. Coaxing. I need her to communicate with me or else I may find myself in a similar state. I can only be strong for so long if she won't talk.

"Peeta," she says finally, my name choked out in a quiet sob.

I wait, though it kills me. What has plagued my wife in such a way that she has been reduced to this state?

"I'm pregnant," she manages, the sobs coming afresh but then I notice that she's also begun to laugh.

I am stunned to silence, and it is all I can do to keep my arms around her.