Author's Note: Second chapter in my story, this one is slightly violent, nothing graphic though, because I don't like blood and gore. Also, sorry about the formatting. I'm trying to make my scene breaks a little more obvious. Again, I l=would love reviews. Let me know what you think? Am I doing the Hunger Games justice? Wait, maybe don't answer that, but give me a review anyways. While I was writing this chapter, I was listening to "Love, Love, Love" By Monsters and Men, great song. The third chapter will be up soon. As always, I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES.

Chapter 2: Surviving the Nightmares.

Peeta heard it from his painting room. The shriek carried from Katniss' house through the Victor's village. He raced out of his house, looking over at Haymitch, also on his front porch, disheveled and hung over.

The shriek came again, and both men began running to her home.

Peeta got there first, trying her front door. "It's locked," he hissed as Haymitch got there.

"Move, Breadboy," Haymitch snapped. He threw his weight into the door, splinters flying as it collapsed into her hallway. Peeta stumbled up the stairs and threw her bedroom door open.

She was sitting straight up, screaming, sobbing, shaking.

"Katniss!" Peeta yelled over her, running to her side, "Katniss wake up!" he started to shake her shoulders.

"No, no, no!" she screamed, scampering out of bed.

Peeta walked to her slowly, his hands up in peace, "Kat, sweetheart, it was just a dream."

"I killed all those people! Rue, Finnick, Mags, Cinna, Portia, Boggs, Prim! They remind me every night. I KILLED THEM."

"Katniss, you didn't do any of that. Please, come back to me."

"No. This would be easier if I were dead. I could rest with them; I wouldn't be in so much pain."

"Katniss..." his voice breaking with emotion.

"Peeta..." she whispered back, not really seeing him.

She sprinted out of her room and towards her staircase.

Peeta watched as she lost her footing on the second stair and tumbled her way down the rest, landing precariously at the bottom- still.

"KATNISS!" he bellowed.

Haymitch was already by her side when Peeta fell to his knees beside her.

"She just knocked herself out," Haymitch huffed.

"Are you sure she is okay?" Peeta whined helplessly.

"No, but no one is back yet, no healers." He stood up, rubbing the back of his head, "I'll call Plutarch and see if he can send someone over. Take her upstairs."

Peeta watched Haymitch slip into the kitchen. He picked Katniss up, surprised at how light she was. He laid her carefully on her bed, smoother back her sweaty hair.

"I can't let you die, Katniss," he kissed her hand, "You're the only real thing I have left."

Katniss woke with a roaring headache and her ankle elevated and wrapped tightly. She looked to her right, seeing Haymitch passed out in the chair beside her bed. She glance the other directions, and saw Peeta asleep, sitting right next to her bed, head on his arms, hand clutching her own.

"Peeta," she whispered, trying to dislodge her hand, "Peeta."

He stuttered awake, glancing around anxiously before landing his eyes on her.

"Oh, you're awake Katniss. Thank God."

"What the hell happened? I feel like I was thrown down the stairs."

Peeta looked at her questionably, "Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

He paused, determining how to answer her question. "You, ah, fell down the stairs."

She glanced at him, "I'm not that clumsy Peeta. I don't just fall down stairs."

"You do when you're running from your ghosts."

Katniss fell quiet, still enjoying her small, cold hand in his large warm one. She remembered what had happened, what she had done, what she had said. How she must have hurt Peeta. All he ever wanted was for her to live. All she wanted was to die. She would have to try better. To live. For him. Because she was the only real thing that he had left.

He got up to leave.

"Wait!" she whined, "Peeta, don't go..."

"Katniss, I have to shower, change clothes, I've been here since you fell..."

"Stay with me."

He cocked his head to the side, grinning slightly, "Always."

Peeta watched as Katniss hobbled around the kitchen.

"Just sit down, Kat. Dinner will be done soon."

"It gets stiff when I sit. I don't like it," Katniss complained.

"How about some ice for it?" he asked, moving to the icebox.

"That should help," she said, plopping down in a kitchen chair. "Thanks," she huffed, taking the towel holding the ice.

They sat another minute, listening to the pasta boil on the stove.

Peeta sat across from her, catching her hand, "Can I ask you something Katniss?"

"Of course Peeta, anything."

After a month of practically living together while Katniss' ankle healed, there was little they hadn't talked about.

"You didn't love me after the first games. Real or not real?"

Katniss flinched, "Real."

"You didn't love me when we started the Quarter Quells. Real or not real?"

She mumbled, "Real."

"But you wanted me to survive. You wanted me to be the victor?"

"Real."

"Why?"

She glanced up, tears in her eyes, "Because you have always been better than me."

Peeta was shocked by her uncharacteristic display of emotion, but was silent as she continued.

"My boy with the bread, my dandelion had to survive. You make the world a better place. I just occupy space. You live. You deserved life," she hid her face, her tears in her elbow.

"You are better than you give yourself credit for," he whispered.

"You will always be better than me. I could live a thousand lives and never, ever, deserve you."

"Haymitch told you that. Real or not real?"

"Real."

"Well," Peeta stood up from the table, "He's wrong."

She snorted, "How is he wrong?"

Peeta didn't answer as he scooped up spaghetti onto their plates, dumped sauce on it and slapped hearty slices of bread on top.

"You have no idea, Katniss," he sighed, giving her a plate, "how passionate you are. How protective and caring and strong. You are so beautiful, my gorgeous victor. You have always suffered. For your family, for Gale, for me, for Panem. You deserve happiness more than anyone does. And I intend on making sure you are happy, no matter what."

She glared up at him, a sneer on her face, "Peeta- murderers don't deserve happiness. I deserve nothing."

"How are you feeling, Katniss?" Dr. Aurelius gave her his usual greeting.

"Still hobbling, but doing fine."

"That's good to hear. So Haymitch says you and Peeta have pretty much moved in together."

"Um, yea. He's been helping me since my fall," Katniss replied.

"How has your relationship progressed?"

"Well, we talk a lot more; I've taken him to the woods. He showed me some of his paintings. He bakes for me."

"Do you feel safe around him?" he asked.

"Very. He has begun to gain weight. He is filling out nicely again, getting stronger."

Dr. Aurelius paused before asking cautiously, "What are your feelings towards Peeta, Katniss?"

"I don't understand."

"What emotions do you feel around Peeta?"

She answered, puzzled, "I don't know, warm?"

"Warm is not an emotion, Katniss," he sighed, "Next time we talk, try to come up with an emotion you feel around Peeta. Happy, sad, angry, something along those lines- okay?"

"Sure."

"Okay Katniss. Talk to you next week?"

"Sure, Doc."

The call ended, Katniss surprised.

What did she feel with Peeta?

She felt warm. He made her smile. He made her eyes twinkle and her cheeks turn red. Sometimes, he made her laugh, just small chuckles.

Was it anything other than warm though? That was the best way Katniss knew how to say it. Aurelius was a head doctor. Didn't he understand what warm was?

Shaking her head, Katniss headed out of her house and over to Peeta's. He was baking today. She didn't have the supplies, so his house was the "bakery".

She stepped in, the house reeking of burnt bread.

"Peeta?" she asked, poking her head into the kitchen. Smoke billowed from the oven. Katniss ran over and put on his oven mitt, pulling the black bread from it.

She coughed, putting down the mitt, looking around, "Peeta, where are you?"

She heard a moan upstairs, loud and pain filled.

"Peeta!" She sprinted up the stairs, and saw his painting room door open. She walked over and saw him squatting down, his head in his hands. He heard her enter, his head snapping up, his eyes trained on her.

Not his eyes though. These eyes were black, hazy, and wild. His hair was dishelved, his cheeks red, and breathe heavy.

She froze. So this was an attack.

"Mutt," he hissed.

"Peeta..." she whispered.

"Have you come to finish me off then? Add me to your body count?"

"I don't have anything to hurt you with," she said, slowly raising her hands, "I am not here to hurt you, Peeta."

He rose and flexed his hands, grinning at her manically, "They told me you would say that."

Katniss turned and ran back down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the smoke had cleared. She heard him thunder after her. She grabbed a butcher knife from the block and got into a defensive position. She didn't want to hurt him, but she needed to protect herself. Her instincts kicked in as he stalked towards her, his black eyes never leaving her brown ones.

He made a grab for her, she sidestepped and he slammed into the counter. As he turned around, she took a swipe at him with the knife.

The gleam in his eyes brighten and his pupils dilated. Katniss realized fighting back wasn't her best option. It made her seem like more of the enemy in his eyes. She ran down the hall, throwing the knife back into the kitchen.

Peeta paused, debating on whether to go get the weapon, but his need to kill her won over his need for the knife.

She ran back up the stairs and into a spare bedroom. He followed her in and grinned. Katniss had trapped herself, cornered on the second story.

He advanced, swinging his fists. She blocked him, but he was swinging hard, and she knew she couldn't defend a physical assault for long.

"Peeta!" she whined, "Peeta stop! Please stop, you're hurting me. Remember, you don't want to hurt me!"

Finally, a fist made contact with her cheek. She could feel the blood pool in her mouth, drip from her nose.

He picked her up and threw her across the room. She slid across a desk and into the wall behind it.

Everything on her screamed in pain. She felt his hands squeeze around her neck. She decided to use her last defense.

"Peeta," she choked, "Peeta, Peeta, Peeta, please, Peeta, Peeta..."

He could hear her repeating his name.

"Peeta."

His hands were squeezing something delicate, soft, fleshy.

He could see again. Rage, pain, and fear no longer blocked his vision.

A faint voice continued to whimper, "Peeta..."

"Katniss?"

He let her go, and heard her gasp, sucking down air frantically.

He saw her in a broken pile, surrounded by shatter glass and papers. Blood was all over her face, bruises on her arms were beginning to form.

He looked at his hands. Blood, her blood, stained his left knuckles. He hardly had any marks. She barely fought back.

He glanced at her and at his hands, back at her, and ran from the room.

"Peeta!" he heard her cry, "Peeta don't go!"

He continued down the stairs, ignoring her cries. He slammed open the downstairs bathroom door, and retched into the toilet.

When he was done, he collapsed, sobbing himself to sleep. He still couldn't shake the immense satisfaction he felt at seeing her, bloody and dying in his.

Peeta woke up in the evening on his living room couch. A blanket was tucked around him, a fire lit in the fireplace, and he was clean. He sat up and saw Katniss sitting at his kitchen table, nursing a mug of something. He could see the angry purple bruises on her cheek, neck, arm. He could see all the cuts and scrapes starting to scab over.

She turned and looked at him, a small smile gracing her face, crinkling the bruise.

"Hello, sleepy head."

"Why are you still here?" he whispered.

"I couldn't leave you passed out in the bathroom. I had to clean you up, you were bloody."

"It was your blood," he hissed.

"I couldn't let you see it again; I didn't want you to remember too vividly."

He turned away, "Well, I still do. Kinda... it's hazy. But I know I hurt you."

She chuckled hollowly, "Well, that's obvious."

"So why did you stay?"

Katniss got up and walked over to him, sitting where his feet were, "That wasn't you, Peeta, that was a Capitol creation," she touched his knee, ignoring his flinch, "I know the real you would never hurt me."

He leaned forward, gently touching her bruised face, "I did this, real or not real?"

"Peeta, it wasn't..."

"Real? Or not real?"

She looked down, "Real."

He pulled away, looking at the fire, "Katniss, can you please leave?"

"But Peeta..."

"Kat, I just need to think. Please. Just one night alone," he leaned forward more and kissed her cheek.

"But-"

"Just... leave."

Katniss abruptly got up and stormed out of the house, slamming the door.

Peeta sighed. He was going to have to make this up to her somehow.

He leaned back down and curled up in his blanket, drifting off to sleep. He was sure his mind would replay his horrific attack on Katniss all night in his dreams.

And he was sure Katniss wouldn't come when she heard him scream.

She clenched her fists as she stormed into her own home.

She let him beat her, throw her around like a doll, choke the life right out of her.

Then she stayed. She wiped his face, cleaned her blood off his hands, dragged him to the couch, tucked him in, cleaned his bathroom, waited...

And he threw her out.

She thundered up the stairs, ripping off her clothes and collapsing into bed. Her body protested the movement, her right cheek throbbed from where Peeta's fist made contact.

He called me a mutt; he thought I was going to kill him...

"That wasn't him," she whispered to the night, "My Peeta won't hurt me..."

She drifted off- -painfully aware that the warmth of Peeta was gone- -lonesome in the night.