i'd like to make it known, that i don't honestly know the layout of panem. all i'm really certain of is that district twelve is set somewhere in the appalachian mountains. so when i make any reference to the structure of the civilization, please understand that this is all fiction and that i'm only human. i can't remember everything. i welcome critiques, especially since this is my first time sharing publicly and my first time writing in some time.

-ws

It was probably close to four in the morning when I woke up screaming for Prim. The nightmares were subsiding significantly, but I still woke from time to time in a cold sweat, reaching out for the little girl with her shirt untucked.

It only took a moment for me to realize I wasn't alone, to feel the arms closing around my middle and the warm breath of another to take the hairs on the back of my neck by surprise. One would question how anyone could stomach being in the same room, trying to sleep, while I writhed and howled into the early hours of the morning. But Peeta was wide awake, his bright blue eyes peering at me over my shoulder. It took a minute for me to completely understand what he was saying through my pounding ears: "It's alright, I'm here..."

Why is he here? After a moment of staring wide-eyed at the boy in my bed, I remembered having begged him to stay with me, fighting the tears to avoid drawing pity, knowing if I tried to sleep alone for even one more night I'd probably go insane. I clung to those nights on the train, the few before the Quarter Quell, knowing those nights I slept more peacefully and free of horror than I probably ever had.

I remember finally agreeing to let him plant primrose bushes along the side of the house – it took him at least a week to convince me it would do me some good – only to find that seeing them outside my window everyday lead to the horrible feeling that I helped orchestrate the end of my sister's life. It had been at least a month, maybe two since the end of the war, when I finally agreed to it. The nightmares had slowed, and I figured it might be nice to see the blossoming shrubs. But as soon as the last patch of dirt was padded in sleep became scarce, and when I did reach it I was staring into the horrified eyes of my sister as tiny silver parachutes ignited in a grand show of fireworks behind her.

Peeta's eyes are still trained on mine, whispering over and over that I'm safe here. I feel my body relax slowly, falling deeper into his arms, but my eyes never leave the blue orbs above me.

"Nightmare." I say stupidly.

"I know." I feel his hand slowly start rubbing my arm. The sweat pouring off of me doesn't seem to bother him, but as he gets up to open the window I can see the front of his undershirt has been soaked. The cool breeze makes me shiver, but it feels better than nothing. Lately, Peeta's been better. Every once in a while I catch him gripping tightly to something sturdy nearby, repeating "Not real, not real, not real..." until his breathing slows. I watch him move smoothly now, the Peeta I knew before the Quell, capturing the clear moonlight in his golden hair. I roll on to my side and start to throw my legs over the side of the bed to get up, only to have my arm pulled back. I'm rolled onto my opposite side instead, my head resting on Peeta's outstretched arm and my face mere inches from his. I hesitate for a moment before I feel my body curl into his. "I'm right here," he repeats. The comfort of those words finally sinks in, now that my mind is clear.

I want to ask him why he stays. I want to know why because it seems so stressful having to deal with constantly questioning reality. He could easily have moved to another district, if not the Capitol, and taken a position of high rank, or even just a job that paid well. Instead he chose to move back here, to twelve, where he took over rebuilding the bakery he'd someday own. He chose to live where I'd forever haunt him, threading his day-to-day life with doubt and an unbearable need to kill me, as implanted in his mind by the previous president.

As though he can read my questions through my expression he adds, "I'm here for you."

I know I shouldn't, but my mouth reacts before my mind can stop it. "Why?"

His reaction surprises me, because my question doesn't surprise him at all. He doesn't answer, though, just watches me for what feels like an eternity. "Because I can't survive without you."

The words sting more than they should. I remember pretending to sleep in the basement of a stylist's shop, listening to Peeta's exchange with my best friend. Listening to Gale say I'd only choose to love whoever I couldn't survive without...

The words fall on my ears like rocks, and a sinking sensation takes over my chest. I wriggle a little in an unexplainable discomfort. Peeta notices and, in one smooth motion, pulls me closer to him. He hugs me tightly, and for a moment I'm not sure if this is his apology for such a low blow. But how could he know I heard that? Did he know I was awake on that pile of furs? His deep sigh relaxes me, somehow. Maybe he just meant it. Maybe his life now revolves around mine. A warm feeling replaces the sinking sensation, and I can't help but let a soft smile play my lips.

I don't remember exactly when I fell asleep, but I do remember feeling him kiss my forehead before the world went black.

I woke with a start later that morning. Not because I was having a nightmare, or any dream for that matter, but because my body recognized Peeta's absence. I sat up, frantically searching the room for him. It took a moment to register that no matter where he was he would be safe, and instead of finding him I found that my pajamas had been stripped off, leaving me in my underclothes, and fresh sheets on the bed. I must've slept hard. While wondering how he'd changed the sheets without my waking I made my way into the bathroom. The sweating had matted my hair and my undershirt stuck to me in various places. A long red crease streaks across my right cheek from my lack of movement. I shower, standing in the warm rain taking in the events of the previous night.

"Because I can't survive without you..."

Once out of the shower and thoroughly dry I dress plainly, braiding my hair as I make my way down the stairs. About halfway down I'm greeted with the warm smell of breakfast, the pitter-pattering feet of a young child, and a few mumbles from Greasy Sae. It must be the weekend, if Sae's granddaughter is here. One of the first things the Capitol construction crews set out to rebuild was the school, and after only a month of construction a new gleaming building stood where the old one had burned to rubble. There was a new feeling about this school, though. A feeling that students would spend less time learning about the rebellion that lead to the Hunger Games and more about the one in which the Mockingjay overthrew President Snow.

"Good morning." I say, swerving to avoid Buttercup as he darts across the floor. I can't quite make out what he's got in his mouth, but it's enough for him to feel he needs to hide with it. I make my way to the dining room, where plates have already been set out on the table. There's obviously one for me and two for Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. It took a few weeks to finally convince Sae that she deserves to eat here with me whenever she cooks for me. She agreed, finally, but still refuses to move in. She lives happily with a close friend across town in what once was the Seam. I ease my way into the kitchen, but as I pass the dining room table I notice the addition of a fourth place setting. "Who is that plate for?" I try to wipe the frustration of having someone invited into my home without my knowing from my tone. Sae catches it, anyway.

"You'll be happier once you figure it out," she says, never looking away from the pot she's stirring. It isn't until I catch sight of fresh squirrel on the counter that I piece together who will be joining us.

I stop, frozen in the middle of the kitchen, not because I fear for my life but because I fear for...something else. I can't put my finger on exactly what this uneasy feeling means, but something deep inside keeps repeating that my mental state is still just as unstable as District Thirteen's medical bracelets had declared months ago. Seeing him now could start something and I don't know that I'd be able to control it.

As if cued by my sudden amount of caution, the front door opens. "I have a few more squirrels, and I managed to snare a rabbit." Gale's voice trails off as he realizes he's not speaking only to Greasy Sae. I'm not certain what he was expecting, but his expression shows that my stiff, blank stare isn't something he'd considered. "Morning..." he says, as if the word itself could set off a lethal reaction.

I realize my stare is probably being taken as rude and quickly recover. "Morning." I see his shoulders relax. Obviously I'm not going to attack him. "Hunting without me?"

"Heard you had a fairly eventful night, didn't wanna wake you." So he's talked to Peeta.

I don't know how to ask how long he'll be here. It's not something you're supposed to ask your best friend when they surprise you with a visit. Instead I smile, trying to be coy, but find myself without a comeback. "Thanks, I guess," fumbles out of my mouth at some point, and my smile is matched. I move forward to help carry in some of the game, but Gale sees the gesture differently. In one swooping motion my head is at his chest, his warm arms wrapped around me. Maybe this is what I was really looking for, because my arms end up around him before I actually know whats happening.

"I've missed you," he says. I feel the game bag being taken from his hands, probably by Sae to make the moment a little easier to handle.

I retreat, just enough to look at him. I could tell him I've missed him, too, but what would he really hear? "How's two?"

He lets go and we move to the kitchen where a warm brunch awaits. "It's alright. We're clearing out the Nut at the moment. It's a lot of grunt work, but we need to start somewhere." He senses my irritation at the subject of the Nut. I may have been the Mockingjay, the posterchild of the revolution, but that didn't make the atrocities I supposedly enforced any less unnerving. Especially not the avalanche that trapped thousands of workers inside the great hollow mountain, with only the hopes of an undamaged train tunnel as escape. Hundreds died that day, and though it wasn't my idea or my plan, I still feel responsibility weighing on my shoulders. And a tinge of pain where the bullet grazed my armor.

The effort to rebuild the districts was set in motion immediately after the fall of Snow. Even as I stood poised to send an arrow through his skull, people began moving and disposing of ruined architecture to make way for the new buildings. The only lull in the operation was when my arrow, intended for the snake-like president's brain, travelled through the heart of President Coin, a woman I felt would do no better than the malicious man she was succeeding. Even then, though, commanders ordered construction, knowing that whether or not I was executed the new president would expect the districts up and functioning in a fair amount of time.

In the months following my return to District Twelve the mysterious thirteenth district revealed an extensive collection of artifacts from the days before Panem. Some of which were books. They housed blueprints and historical facts about the government that only failed due to a collapse in economy and substantial amounts of pollution, leading to something of an anarchy and the eventual "apocalypse." The few survivors of the warfare were what brought Panem into existence, vulnerable and seeking direction. This began the downward spiral, where the Capitol slowly gained control over each of its districts, slowly creating something the books call a dictatorship.

Thirteen issued copies of the blueprints through each of the districts, and plans to copy the history books so we as a people can learn the ways of the government that fell from lack of unity. Some districts are even debating taking up the boundary lines the former North American countries had laid out, giving each district whichever states or provinces they fell upon. The matter is still up for discussion as the ever picky Capitol citizens, who still cling dearly to their strange lifestyle, feel somewhat odd about the names Nebraska and Kansas.

Gale's current job, as he explained, is to lead the effort to further connect the districts with one another. He and a small team, including a District Three victor named Beetee who specializes in electrical wiring, are currently trying to clear away rubble and useless equipment from the Nut so as to make it into an updated communications hub, where signals can meet and be freely passed between the districts. Beetee, being older than the rest of the crew, spends most of his time sketching out ideas for how to string the wires, Gale adds.

I realize I've spent the entire conversation staring at Gale. My stew sits cold on the table, untouched, while Gale is scraping the last bit of gravy out of his bowl with a bun. The silence from his story ending makes me feel self-conscious and, despite my lack of appetite, I spoon a bit into my mouth and shove a piece of bread in, swallowing it all at once. He gives me a look of confusion as the cold lump causes me apparent discomfort.

"So," I say after a long gulp of water. "How long are you in town?"

He was waiting for this question. He smiles, I guess because he's pleased with himself. "Well, the job I'm here for doesn't really have a time limit. I'm supposed to be plotting out areas that could work for certain versions of Beetee's plans. He has two he's particularly proud of, and one he's taken from old photos Thirteen sent him."

He's directed the conversation elsewhere, but I don't lose track. "So you'll be here a while then?"

"However long I want."

I smile. I'm not sure what kind of smile, but I can say I'm genuinely happy to hear I'll have my best friend back. It's not long before we decide that we'll be taking Sundays back for hunting, meeting at our original rendezvous point. We discuss our weapons, the game, the springtime weather we both adore. For a moment, we're not in Victor's Village. I'm not a lost cause, tainted by war and murder. Gale isn't the man who could've had a hand in the scheme that ended up killing a girl we both cared for. We're just Katniss and Gale, planning for our weekend hunt.

Until a knock came at the door I'd almost completely forgotten the presence of Greasy Sae's granddaughter. She rushed across the room, mumbling "knock knock" the entire way. Still mumbling, more something that sounded like "Come in, come in," she pulled the door open. Basket of cheese buns in hand, Peeta entered the house. His eyes locked on Gale's instantly. It was then that I fell from my dream world. It finally dawned on me, that strange sense of fear I'd felt earlier. The emotional fear that the two men I care most about would once again expect me to choose between them.