This begins when Peeta returns to District 12 at the end of Mockingjay. Some small liberties will be taken (it is mostly cannon, but some things about his return and their early life together will be slightly different from what Katniss relays at the end of the book).

Chapter 1

Peeta had just finished planting the last of the primrose bushes when he felt rather than saw her behind him. For a minute he was sure he was going crazy- or at least, crazier, and he forced himself to turn around, still on his hands and knees, not nearly as surprised as he should have been to see Katniss standing less than 20 feet away, her mouth hanging open.

"Peeta." Katniss said after a long pause as the bow she was carrying thudded to the ground, her eyes darting frantically between him and the primrose bushes. His name somehow suddenly seemed like a complete sentence all on his own, meaning nothing. Meaning everything. His name all at once a question, a whisper, an accusation, a prayer.

He tried to force himself to say her name in return, but found himself unable to do anything but look up at her, to his own surprise feeling almost empty. Feeling almost nothing.

And she was looking at him too, not in any way that she used to look at him but with something resembling raw curiosity, slight disbelief. "Peeta," she tried again, his name coming out with slightly more purpose this time but, if possible, even more uncertainty, and then again,gently this time, "Peeta."

He desperately wished he could do something other than stare at her but to his shame he found he could not- found he could not even stand up and was grateful that she did not seem to expect him to as she stood there with a slight crease in her brow, and some kind of expectation in her eyes- expectation that terrified him since he knew, absolutely, that he could never rise to meet it-

Endless moments passed before she shook her head as if clearing it and reached down to retrieve the bow before saying matter-of-factly, almost abruptly, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all, "Haymitch and I eat at 7 sharp. Bring dessert."

Peeta stood on Haymitch's doorstep, a loaf of sweetbread in his hands, trying to find it within himself to knock. . He took a deep breath and raised his right hand before finding he lacked the strength to do anything. He slowly let his hand fall to his side and took a step backwards, where things felt safer.

He had just decided to head back to his own home, to try another time, when the door swung open, allowing a glimmer of light onto the porch as Katniss stepped forward. He blinked at the sudden image, her hair spilling down across her shoulders wildly, looking almost gold. For a moment he felt dizzy and she seemed to sense it,reaching a steadying hand toward him before quickly and awkwardly snatching it back prior to making before contact could be made, biting down hard on her lower lip.

They stared at one another almost like rabid animals for a long moment before she smiled broadly, what could almost have been easily if it weren't for the quiver in her lips, in her voice.

"Peeta," she said what he knew was meant to be warmly, and he tried without success to ignore the fact that her smile did not reach her eyes, the fact that she glanced at him with a combination of fear, unease, and again, hope- hope that he knew he could only shatter- "You're right on time."

She reached out a hand again, this time easily, almost casually, toward him, seeming to want to place it on his arm- but something in his face must have stopped her. She dropped her hand before wringing her palms together almost delicately, with a gentleness he'd never associated with her. "Please. Come in."

Dinner passed quickly, silently. To Peeta's surprise the only drink that seemed to be circulating was water. Haymitch was as sober as he'd ever seen him, and as silent as he'd ever seen him too. Katniss and Haymitch both tried briefly and valiantly to struggle through the pleasantries but quickly gave up at his complete lack of response.

Only once, toward the very end of the meal, as Haymitch was cutting the sweetbread, did Peeta find himself able to speak, looking at Haymitch rather than Katniss as he did so.

"Thank you. For having me," he managed with difficulty. "I hope- you've both been- well."

And despite the fact that his comment was addressed to Haymitch it was Katniss who answered, softly but certainly, forcing him to meet her gaze as she stated directly, purposefully, into his eyes from across the too-small table.

"Oh Peeta. Of course we haven't been well." And then defiantly, almost sarcastically, her eyes never leaving his, "Have you?"

He held her gaze for a long moment before standing up abruptly, rushing out before they could eat any of the sweetbread he'd painstakingly made.

He didn't see Katniss slump over the table as he left, didn't hear her let out what might have been a sob.

Katniss found him the next morning, staring into space on his back porch. He was glad to see her hair was up in a braid again, though he found he couldn't pinpoint why.

"Dinner is at 7," she said, carefully not meeting his eyes this time, clutching her bow to her side, fidgeting slightly. "My house tonight."

She began to stomp away toward the woods, then stopped abruptly. For a moment, Peeta thought she might turn back toward him, but she didn't, just called out firmly, as though there could be no doubt, "Tomorrow night you'll host."

He opened his mouth to protest, but even if he'd been able to speak she was already too far away to hear him.