Dipping my brush into the soft yellow paint on the pallet in front of me, I swirl it around mindlessly as I regarding the canvas in front of me. Only a couple hours earlier it had been blank, but having fled my bed to escape a nightmare of sewer mutts, haunting screams and explosions, I had taken refuge here my study turned painting studio and let the rhythmic tapping of rain and sound of the brush against canvas push the lingering images from my waking consciousness. As my hand works across the surface of the canvas in small practiced strokes, my mind begins replaying my day and it's events which in turn inspired my current painting.

It had been a sunny and surprisingly warm day for early May though you wouldn't guess it now with the rain coming down in buckets outside my window. My morning had been spent baking bread, nothing fancy just wheat loaves, and quite a few of them.

With the number of reconstruction workers increasing in Twelve every day, and the still too infrequent trains carrying grocery supplies from the Capitol, staples like bread have become quite the commodity. It had been fortuitous that my therapist, Dr. Aurelius, has suggested baking and painting as part of my mental health therapy, because even from my hospital room in the Capitol I had started stockpiled my pantry, so between my reserves and the trains, though unpredictable they may be, I've able to keep families supplied with baked goods.

By noon I was hungry and hot. Since my kitchen wasn't designed to be a bakery it can get quite warm after the oven has been running for 5 hours straight, so I decided to take a break for lunch under a tree in my backyard. I had just unwrapped a sandwich from a kitchen towel and when I see Katniss come around the side of her house.

Dressed in her hunting jacket, her bow slung over her shoulder, she has in one hand what appears to be a large turkey and tied to her belt a couple of rabbits and three or four squirrels, it look like she had a very successful mornings hunt. Like me, she seems to weather the hard days a little easier if she keeps herself occupied. She hunts, I bake, and we hope that it's enough to keep the darkness at bay.

Pausing briefly at her back door she dropped her game bag and quickly unties the rabbits and squirrels lays them atop the bag, then turned and crossed the backyards, the turkey still in hand. Stopping only a few feet from me, she silently holds out the bird for my inspection. Giving it a good once over I look up into her eyes, but find she has her fixed on a spot in the grass in front of her.

"That is one big bird," I point out and then curse myself for stating the obvious.

She doesn't say anything but lets her hand fall to her side, the rear end of the bird coming to rest on the ground even though she still has it's neck in her hand. Clearing my throat, I push the awkward silence aside and lamely ask, "What are you going to do with it?"

With that, she cautiously raises her gray eyes to mine and for a brief moment, a smirk crosses her face. "Well,I figured we'dl eat it," she says pointedly, the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly

This was the closest thing to a smile I've seen in a week, most of the time pain and sadness linger just under the surface, so I return the gesture with a small smile of my own, hoping it won't scare her back into her shell. "Oh yeah? You, me, Haymitch and what army? Katniss that thing," I say gesturing towards the bird, "it's huge!"

Again the corners of her mouth twitch upward. "Probably mostly feathers," she counters. I give her a look of doubt, and in turn she lifts it up and gives it once over inspection. "Yeah, okay. Maybe it's a little on the large side for just the three of us," she says slowly, her face retreating back to the more sullen look I've grown accustomed to.

Not wanting the light in her to fade, I frantically think of a way to pull her back. "We could just name it and turn our trio into a quartet," I say, and even as I do a memory surfaces. Young Katniss in a red dress singing the Valley Song. For a second I start to panic, afraid I will tumble into a hallucination, but the only thing I feel is a slight pang of affection. I guess the capitol didn't mess with that memory. I smile.

My lame attempt at a joke seems to work, and the corners of her mouth turn up in a small smile again. "I don't know how good of singer this guy would be," she says holding the bird up again, "broken neck and all."

At this I actually chuckled a little, the sound is odd in my ears. When was the last time I laughed I wonder absently.

"Well considering Haymitch and I probably would sound worse than our friend with the crooked neck here," I say pointing to the bird, "how about we do like you suggest and eat it. To avoid wasting it we could ask Greasy Sae and her granddaughter, Thom, and his new girl...Becca? Is that her name?" I ask. Katniss gives me a cautious look but nods confirmation and I continue, proposing "We could have them over for a big dinner," but even before I finish speaking I can see panic flash in her eyes. "Or we could cook it up and make soup from the extra, take it down to the work crews downtown," I counter offer quickly.

I can see her weighing her options. "No," she finally decides, "let's have the dinner."

"Are you sure?" I ask.

Her eyes which had drifted down to the bird, then back up to meet mine. "Yes." she says attempting a resolved tone. "It'll be good."

I nod in agreement and decided to change the subject. Holding up half of my sandwich to her I ask, "Want some lunch?" She stares at me, her face unreadable for a moment , but reaches over and takes the offering. Dropping the bird on the far side of the tree she sinks down in the grass next to me and we eat our lunch in companionable silence.

Sandwich consumed, Katniss brushing the crumbs from her lap before standing and going over to retrieve the turkey. Without a word she turns towards her house to leave, but she only takes a few steps before she stops and turns back to me. "The garden needs weeding, could you help me with that?" she asks softly. I can see that tears have come to pool along her bottom eyelids and are threatening to escape.

The garden with the primroses is still a hard place for her to be alone in. "Yes, of course," I agree without hesitation. "I have loaves in the oven, once they are out I'll come over." She nods in understanding and without another word turns and heads for home.

I stand and absently brush away my own wayward crumbs as watch her retreating form, today is one of her quiet days. She has good days, bad days and days like this when she's just quiet and introspective. At first, days like this unnerved me, made me think she was slipping back into the deep dark place she was in when I first came home, but over time I've come to see that they are just part of her healing process. Once she is out of sight, I turn and head for my own house. I stop first in the kitchen to pull the last four loaves from the oven before quickly going to my room to change into work clothes. On my way out the door, I stopped briefly in the kitchen again and grab two of loaves I had baked earlier in the day and tuck them under my arm before heading out the back door and across the yards.

First stop, Haymitch's. Pushing open his back door I step into to the darkened kitchen. Haymitch is in one of usually sleeping spots, his kitchen table. I don't bother waking him, I just find a clean kitchen towel, which is actually easy since Greasy Sae starting doing his housekeeping, and wrap a loaf of bread in it and put it on the counter. I'm about to leave when I remember the turkey. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pencil off the desk by the phone, I jot a quick note and leave in on the table in front of him before heading out the door.

I just about reached Katniss back stoop when the screen door opened and she stepped out. Stretching out my hand I offer her the loaf of bread I'm carrying. "Thanks," she says softly. I nod. "I'll just put this in the kitchen," she says and disappears into the house again.

I don't wait for her to reappear before I head around to the side of the house. I take a slow stroll along the garden bed, eyeing first the primroses against the house, but also take an inventory of the seedlings in the ground closer to me. The vegetables had been an addition this spring after we realized over the winter that the supply trains were not reliable.

Deciding on a closer inspection of the primroses first, I gingerly I cross over on a stone path in the middle of the garden, kneel ackwardly and begin pulling a few stray weeds from around the base of the flowers. Giving the flowers a though once over, I'm happy to see thy are looking healthy and have gotten quite large since I planted them here late last summer.

Behind me, I hear the clang of a spade inside of a bucket and know that Katniss has joined me. "I think by next month these will be ready to split," I state as I pull up another weed by its roots.

"Hum?" she asks mindlessly.

Pausing, I look over my shoulder at her, she kneeling on the ground in front of a baby tomato plant, her hands gently tieing the thin stem to a stick with a piece of twine. "The primroses, they're getting quite large, we should divide them up," I explain.

She looking up and meets my eyes. "You know you kind of freak me out when you say stuff like that. You're a townie, you're not supposed to know how to garden," she says.

I feel my mouth turn up in a smile. "Ah, that is true," I agree, "but thanks to the generosity of the Capitol, I was taught to read," I say mimicking the affected accent of Capitol. She rolls her eyes at me and moves on to the next tomato plant.

Turning back to the primroses, I stare at them for a long moment before reaching out and plucking one of the flowers. Standing up, I stiffly make my way over to kneel next to Katniss. I hold the flower out to her.

Her gaze lingers a long moment on the flower in my outstretched hand before she slowly brings her hand to the bloom and lets her fingers play gently over the silky petals. "They're the same color as her hair," she says quietly taking the flower from my hand. She stares down at it as a single tears silently falls to drip onto the soft yellow petals.

We're quiet for a long moment before I say softly, "It's as of they were named for her, not the other way around."

Katniss sadly nods her head, "Thank you," she whispers, placing the bloom behind her ear.

We silently go back to our work tending to the tomatoes and weeding, but what I want to do is reach out and place my hand on her back in a gesture of comfort, but I can't. It's part fear that the contact will trigger an episode and part the fact that she's still too damaged to accept it.

The arena's, the war, they each took parts of her soul, but the bombs that took Prim from this world, they took her will to live. Over the past several months she has begun to heal, well maybe not heal exactly, but she has at least decided to not die. She gets up, showers, eats, hunts and on her better days she gardens with me, it is however, the tribute memory book that has probably helped her the most. We've worked nearly every day for the past few months on it. It seems that each page we complete, gives her back a small part of what was taken, and for that I'm grateful. As the thought crosses my mind I ponder it. A year ago I wouldn't have felt this way, no a year ago I wanted to kill her, so grateful she is choosing not to die is a significant improvement.

Moving back to 12 has turned out to be better for me than I, or my doctor, had anticipated. Actually, it's downright amazing to Dr. Aurelius, he was against my returning. "Peeta, moving back, it's counter intuitive to your recovery, not to mention the danger you will put Katniss in," he had said to when I told him my plan to return. "I know as your treatments have been progressing that some of your old feelings are surfacing. You may be feeling a longing to be near her but Peeta, I'm not sure you're ready for this...you never may be." His worry was understandable, and I could see how he might be worried I'd be dangerous, but he was wrong about my motives.

My sole purpose for returning was not Katniss, at least not in the way he supposed. I wanted to go back to District 12 because it was my home. It is where I had been raised, where my family was buried, where I felt most at home. I had been all over Panem and could choose to live anywhere, on a beach or next to a cornfield, but what I needed was mountain air. I may have grown up a "townie", never snuck beyond the fence like Katniss, but the mountains still called to me. I couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

Dr. Aurelius, and pretty much everyone else, thought it was love that brought me back to 12, but it wasn't as simple at that. Being honest with myself, I have to admit that Katniss played a part in my coming home, but it wasn't as simple as love. I can remember loving her, from before. It was simple and uncomplicated. In spite of fighting for our lives and the fact she didn't return my affection, I had loved her so deeply and for so long it was like breathing to me. The feelings I was returning with were not that straight forward. Fear, hate, like, loathe, admire, need, all described the emotions that swirl within me, but the strongest was duty.

As I had begun to sort through all the images real and not real, the overwhelming sense I had was that of duty. One night during the war while our squad was hiding in the underbelly of the Capitol, I had asked her if she was till protecting me and she had said yes,"Because that's what you and I do, protect each other."

Many of my memories were tampered with during my torcher, but now enough of them had been restored to know that I owed Katniss. She saved me in the first games and was going to sacrifice herself in the quater quell. She even faked our romance in part to protect me, though the Capitol had worked every hard to make me feel otherwise. The war, the abuse by people in power, the death of Prim, they all damaged her, broke her into a thousand pieces, the questions I had were, could she be put back together and could I protect her from herself during the process? What I did know for sure is that we protect each other, so I came home.

A far off rumble of thunder is what pulls me back to the task at hand. Looking up into the sky I notice the dark clouds off to the north and nodding my head at them. " We better be finishing up," I tell her.

Katniss lifts her face up to look at darkening sky and as she does her hair falls over her shoulder and the primrose blossom tumbles from behind her ear. Without a thought I pluck it from the grass and reach up to slid it back to is its place behind her ear. As the tips of my fingers brush her warmth ear and the smooth strands of her hair cover my hand, a now all too familiar warning alarm raises in my head. My reflexes take over and I quickly snatch my hand way from her, sending the flower falling to the ground again. The rain begins to fall in a soft mist coating the grass causing my heels to slip as I scramble to stand up awkwardly.

Startled by my movements her eyes shoot up and lock with mine. "I'm...I'm sorry" she stutters.

My mind has begun it's sickening spin, but I manage to shake my head at her. "No Katniss, it's okay," I say taking in deep breaths and pushing the growing fear from my mind. "It will pass," I promise, balling both of my hands in fists so that my fingernails bite into my palms.

Katniss scoots back on the grass putting more space between us before she stands up with tears in her eyes.

Between deep breaths I beg, "Don't Katniss...I'm...fine."

She doesn't look convinced. "I should be more cautious," she whispers.

In spite of my own warning bells, I can't stop myself from taking a step towards her. "This is not your fault," I state with more force than I mean.

Her face goes soft and sad at the same time, "It's not your fault either," she says softly. For a long moment, we simply stare into each others eyes before she reaches down and picks up the bucket at her feet. "Thank you for helping with the garden, but perhaps we should call it a day," she says giving me one last glance before turning for the door.

Anger flashes in me, not at her but at Snow and at what he did to me, but I quickly tap it down because it's a pointless to give into something I can't change. "What about the book," I call after her retreating form.

She stops and turns to face me, "Not tonight, tomorrow...after dinner," she suggests. And with that, I know she's closing herself off from me. She does this whenever she thinks I'm struggling with as flashbacks, she thinks it will make it easier for me, but the truth is that time with her what makes them less frequent and less intense. But I know it's pointless to argue, so I just shake my head in agreement. She nods and heads into the house.

As the image of her retreating form replays in mind, I drop my brush in the jar of paint thinner and sit back to consider my work. Shocked is the closest word I can find for what I feel as I appraise what I have created. For the first time since before the quarter quell, I've painted Katniss, and I didn't even know I was doing it.

I originally planned on painting a landscape of primroses in the woods, and while I have painted a primrose, it is the one tucked behind Katniss's ear from this afternoon. The painting is a profile of sorts, in focus is the top of her ear and the bloom then radiating out from there the painting goes into the soft focus of her hair and profile of her face. It's soft, delicate, and totally surprising to me. How could I not know I was painting this?

Unnerved I take a shaky deep breath and rubbed my temples as my thoughts swirl around as if on a whirlwind. When I hear a soft scraping sound at my front door I nearly jump out of my skin. Alerted I listen for a long few moments and just when I think I've imagined the sound, I hear it again.

Getting up, I half walk, half stumble, as the stump of my leg above my artificial leg has tightened up while I sat painting, towards the front door. As I pull open the front door lightening flashes in the sky and lights up my front stoop, I find it empty. Taking a tentative step out into the rain, I stretch my neck out and scan the walk that connects the houses in the victor's village. I find no one. Thunder cracks in the wind and the rain, which is coming down in swells, has me drenched in seconds. "Must just be the rain" I mutter giving the yard one final examination then retreat back into the house.

Closing the door I pause for a moment in the entryway and push my damp hair from eyes and for a long moment I stand there shivering in my wet clothes, hoping to hear the sound again, but the house is silent. Giving up, I head upstairs and quickly change my clothes then head back down to the studio. Coming to stand in front of my painting, the feelings of anxiety return as I look at and the last thing I want to do is confront what my subconscious is trying to tell me.

Sighing, I walk over to the window and look out at a clearing eastern sky. The dark heavy rain clouds have moved just far enough west that I can see the rising sun through the trees; it's an amazing display of pinks, purples, and oranges. Two memories surface as the orange in the sky brightens, this may not be a sunset, but the colors in the morning sky are close enough to pull free buried memories of the past.

Images flash in quick secession through my mind: sitting side by side on train tracks- the colors green and orange - walking hand in hand to the train - a dark night - a camp site - rope knotted in my hands - real - not real, and lastly, her face, her sad, somber face, pleading with me to remember her, to remember us. As the images replay over and over in my mind I feel my heart beginning to race, sweat begins to bead on my forehead and the muscles of my back tighten and begin to ache. These are the signs that I'm about to fall headlong into a hallucination. Gripping the window sill tightly, I take three deep breaths and force my mind and body to relax. It's a nearly insurmountable task, but only nearly. After a long few moments I feel my anxiety begin to ebb and though my body is trembling from the exertion, I manage to relax my iron grip on the marble window sill. Somehow I have once more avoided tumbling off the precipice into the deep darkness of the Capitol's making.

Letting out a slow breath, I pull myself upright, "It's time for a change of venue" I mutter. With one final glance at the painting, I walk out the room and straight into the kitchen where I know I can bury the last remnants of darkness in dough.