It's too hot. Sweat makes my skin sticky and damp. My chest rises and falls, rises and falls, my lungs attempting to inhale the oxygen I need to help fuel my racing heart. I allow myself the luxury of a small sigh hoping I don't disturb my warm companion beside me, holding me close in our usual fashion.

Or is he there?

I shake my head in a feeble attempt to clear it. Holding my breath a moment I slowly release it as I start my usual, if tedious, recital to root me back to reality. My name is Katniss Everdeen. I was the Mockingjay. I killed President Coin. Prim is gone. I am- Even the thought somehow manages to make my throat tighten. I mentally shake myself and try to start again. Movement. So slight and silent that anyone would have missed it. Anyone not used to listening for the slightest sounds whist hunting or for a trap to trigger like I was.

My muscles tense automatically. Surely I was imagining things. What could be after us now? I try to organize my thoughts into achievable action. I have the advantage of surprise if someone- or something is in our bedroom. I doubt whoever it is has noticed my shallow breathing. They surely know I'm in here though thanks to my screaming and thrashing that comes with my terrors. There is the additional issue of the arms holding me close. I scowl in the darkness needing to be free if I'm to have any chance of saving us. I hear a ruffling now to my left, on my side of the bed. Whatever it is it wants me...
My blood turns to ice in my veins. The Capitol. Yes, that's it. They've changed their minds and think I'm still a threat even here and in my mentally incapacitated state. I did assassinate the past two Presidents, directly or not I had a hand in the death of Snow. Perhaps the tribunal wants blood for blood. But after almost a year since the rebellion? It makes no sense. I need to act regardless and protect Peeta. I hear muted footfalls, it's multi limbed from what I can hear.

I look wildly around willing my eyes to adjust to the dark. I search for the source of the sound my heart thuds in my chest in fear of seeing white scales. I can smell roses. My stomach churns. I reach over carefully, slowly to open the bedside table drawer as quietly as I can. My hand feebly feels for the knife I keep in there. My fingers find the smooth hilt and I grab it. The warm arm around my waist releases me. Now he gets up, surely he could have slept through our murder? I think to myself sarcastically. The movement paces, back and forth back and forth. I wait till the mutt stops by my head I seize the opportunity ready to lash out with my knife when the light on the other side of the bed flicks on blinding me.

"Meow!"

The ugliest cat in the world looks at me confused flicking his tail behind him as he sits on the floor. Buttercup. I scowl angry at my cat my heart still threatening to burst from my chest. My shirt sticks to me from the new sweat compounding now with the nightmare sweat.

"Damn you I should have cooked you!" I yell at the cat.

I hear a chuckle behind me, stifled but he is very aware I can hear him. I sit up fully and round on the chuckler. Blue eyes full of amusement gaze at my scowl. This infuriates me further. The boy with the bread chuckles a second longer before his brow furrows and his expression changes to concur. The panic must be written all over my face. I attempt to put on my expressionless mask but it's no use. Peeta can see through it. Buttercup takes a few steps behind me and jumps on the bed by my lap.

The flashbacks crash into me. Before my eyes Finnick is being decapitated as I say "Nightlock, Nightlock, Nightlock." His handsome face drained of colour, eyes screaming silent terror and pain. Countless other victims pass before my eyes. Mitchell, Castor, Rue, Cinna - my heart jabs in grief remembering his face as he is beaten before me. I bash on the tube but to no avail. Then the finale... Prim turns towards me her lips about to form my name as she bursts into flames.

Warm, strong arms gently bring me back to the world. Enveloping me tightly to protect me from things Peeta can't even see. He whispers things I don't comprehend as I try to adjust back to our room. Our home. Safety. I hear myself make choking sounds wracked with sobs.

I push him away.

"How could it take you so long to wake up?! We could both be dead... or worse." I yell at him the terror in my tone unmistakable.

"I was awake Katniss. I didn't realise you didn't know it was the cat until you tensed up I thought it was simply at nightmare." He defends himself kindly, without malice. I didn't think of that possibility. I am still ready to doubt him but why should I? He's had my back in a way one else has, keeps me safe at night, loves me completely...

"Katniss, Katniss come back to me." He whispers gently taking me back in his safe arms my head on his chest I seize his night shirt in my hands.

I look up at him to find my lips touch his in a lingering kiss. He holds my face in his hands so I can look in his blue eyes and still handsome face despite our injuries the mutual attraction is always present. What could he see in me without a prep crew puzzles me frequently. I tiredly let the thoughts and images melt away as I look up at him. I must show my mind easing because he rewards me with a smile. I can't resist smiling back even if it's a small smile. Buttercup meows softly as he complain he's hungry. His night hunt must have been fruitless. I groan and glare at the cat as Peeta's hands release my face.

"Have a shower Katniss. I'll see to our invader." Peeta scoops up the pathetic looking Buttercup.

"Do I smell?" I ask a tad offended.

"No, but I know it bugs you and the hot water will help you relax. Although if you would rather wait until I joined you..." he gives me an impish look.

"No, no I'll be fine."

I hurry into the en suite from our room and shut the door, leaning against it. I'm not ready to handle... that. Not yet we're still growing back together.

"It's not like you haven't seen me naked." Peeta calls through the door.

I love him. More than anyone else. I miss the hunger I felt on the beach. His lips have been there through every nightmare and I like it, enjoy it even. I enjoy his arms when we sit together at night simply to talk or when we are at Haymitch's, ignore his eye rolling and huffing. That's been his latest trick to irritate me. We hold hands openly wherever we go, it's no act now. Yet the idea of him being naked in my plain sight or my body in his still fill my stomach with an uneasy feeling that I can't seem to place.

With another sigh I pull off my simple undergarments that Peeta had stripped me down to when I fell asleep on the sofa watching him paint. I run the hot water and step into our shower giving my long hair a much needed wash and rinsing off the terrors on the night. I hear the phone ring downstairs and Peeta's voice answer it a minute later. I wonder who he's talking to since the conversation lasts my deliberately long shower, the hot water too addictive relieving the slight tightness of my skin from the Capitol to cover my burns. I dress quickly and dry my hair as I head downstairs to the smell of bread. Pale light fills the house, no point returning to bed.

Buttercup stands on the table eating from a small dish of fish. He pauses to look at me accusing before returning to his meal. I just scratch his rump tenderly. Prim would smile at that. Peeta is at work at the oven his shirt sleeves rolled up as his gentle hands work. I find myself staring at his entirety and even linger at his behind while I sit at the table. I shake myself as my cheeks get hot and my pulse picks up. He turns and gifts me with a smile full of warmth.

"Feel better?" He places a plate of bacon and eggs before me.

"Much." I eagerly nod my stomach realising it's hungry. I start on my eggs as Peeta finishes the bread he's making. I look at his face again. Something is on his mind making his brow furrow again. He's not looking at the bread he's somewhere else...
I try to think how to possibly bring it up. If Peeta doesn't bring it up himself it either means he's protecting me from it or he hasn't found a way to tell me about it.

"Who was on the phone?" I ask casually.

"Huh? Oh... Ah... Just Haymitch. He's got some new goslings he wants to show us."

He's not convincing. Not by a long shot. I narrow my stare but let the lie go. For now. I eat the rest of my eggs and Peeta sits down to eat his own breakfast in silence. Something is wrong, our breakfasts are usually filled with talk for the day or at least a bit of chatter, lead naturally by my boy with the bread. He remains silent even when I give Buttercup some bacon. What could cause such a change in him after one conversation? I start running possibilities in my head. Come to think of it, Peeta has been acting strangely for a while frequently giving that far off look. Like he is now.

"What is it?" I accidentally ask him more harshly than intended but I'm worried. And now he knows it.

His gaze returns back and he hastily finishes and turns off the oven. I'm about to reprimand him for ignoring me when he grips the back of the nearest chair. Flashback. I stand and come up behind him holding his waist letting him know I'm there. We stand in silence until it passes. Seems today will be hard on us both. But why?

"Let's go for a walk. Out in the woods." He suddenly says returning to the world.
I go to grab my bow and jacket when his hand stops mine.

"Just a walk this morning. I want to spend all of it with you." I give him a look but don't object letting his hand slip into mine. He smiles and kisses the back of my hand lingering a moment. We set out of the house hand in hand into the warm sun. I hadn't realised how quickly it rises but it's a pleasant day, one the old Katniss would like and the old Peeta for that matter. We say little while my mind races through bad scenarios that could be the source of Peeta's silence. I manage to race through a wide range of them each worse than the last from the Capitol summoning us to give a statement for a trial of someone we love to an actual death which leads me to fret over my mother, Effie, Annie, Beetee and everyone we have formed life long relationships with. I sit by him as he sits in one of my favourite places where you can view the woods and the Meadow.

"What are you thinking Katniss?" Peeta asks me pulling me out of my reverie.

"Precisely that Peeta."

"Sorry, I have been a bit out of it haven't I?" Peeta smiles a half smile. A bit out of it, out of this world more like it.

Silence falls again between us. I scramble to find something to stop him from drifting again I want to listen to him talk and enjoy his voice.

"Peeta I could smell roses in our room when Buttercup was prowling around. That's why I thought..." My voice fails me.

"Roses? Love we have no roses in the house to prevent your nightmares. The only roses we have are-"

"Primroses." I finish his sentence.

"Yeah."

"They've really taken to the soil by the house haven't they?" I stay away from an inevitably weepy conversation about Prim.

"Somehow I think the plants know you needed a nice reminder of her."

"Plants don't think Peeta."

"Oh wait! That's probably what you could smell. I opened the window last night because it was getting warm." Peeta says sounding relieved I'm not losing my mind.

He puts his arms around me pulling me close to him. I rest on his chest closing my eyes to listen to his heartbeat. He strokes my hair gently and touches my face. I feel his lips on my forehead as I put the rose mystery to rest and enjoy him. We rest quietly in a comfortable silence for a while but when I peek up at Peeta I can see his brow has furrowed.

"I lied to you before, about who called on the phone." He says meeting my gaze.

I sit up looking at him questioningly but say nothing thinking a million different forms of bad news. Why didn't he just tell me if it were something good? Mother rings frequently or I call her to check in almost daily, even just to cry together about Prim. My silence tells him to continue.

"I was talking to your mother." His expression unreadable but his gaze is on the Meadow nervously.

This is it. The catastrophe I've been dreading. I hold my breath and brace myself for the bombshell. I look around for something to stare at to stop me from crying. I look out to the Meadow. Now plush and green sprinkled with wild flowers, stark yellow dandelions greet the sun happily. Sitting up I fixate on them thinking how Peeta was my dandelion. Happy, bright, gentle and bringing me constant spring sunshine. What I need to survive. I stay quiet feeling his gaze on me now but I don't look at him.

He takes a deep breath.

"You love me. Real or not real?" Peeta asks playing his game that we usually use to settle his flashbacks.

"Real. Always real."

"I make you happy. Real or not real?"

"Real."

"You like sleeping next to me. Real or not real?" He continues. Usually the game doesn't go this long and I am completely confused how this relates to my mother calling. He's testing my patience now my next answer sounding testy.

"Real."

Peeta takes his biggest breath yet.

"You'd say yes if I asked you to spend the rest of your life with me, officially. Real or not real?"

It takes a moment for me to realise what he's asking. Marriage. Not a pretend, if-you-don't-bad-things-will-happen threat from Snow. A real marriage proposal. My brain becomes empty of thought and my first instinct is to run after years and years of insisting I wouldn't, or couldn't marry. Marriage would lead to children. Children that would be put in Reapings, something I'd die before allowing. But I'm not the same person I was just as the world is not as it was, could I do it? For Peeta? Things are growing back together why does he need to ruin it by proposing now? I despise myself for that thought. It isn't the first time this has crossed my mind as happening and I had convinced myself more often than not that I could and would be happy with Peeta.

But that also means I could lose it.

I have no idea how long Peeta sat with me frozen in place while I argued and wrestled mentally with myself. But when I finally realise I've left him hanging, no doubt hurting him at the same time I turn to look at him to try and muster up an answer to give me time to think, or let him down easy without losing him. The boy with the bread holds a brilliant dandelion in his hand resting his free hand on his raised knee just smiling at it. The sun on his face highlights a few of his scars telling the story of our struggle together. His golden curls slightly messed, blue eyes so kind and gentle promising rebirth and not despair. Promising that no matter what his arms will be there to comfort and protect. His smile on his lips that I have kissed so many times make me smile as well. The boy with the bread, dandelion in the spring, however I phrase it he means that life can be good. My answer is clear.

"Real."