Even before we'd started on it, I had told Haymitch about the book. His response was pretty much what I expected.

"A memory book for our fallen comrades, eh? So we can cry together some more? I'd rather be pecked to death by those geese," he said pointing to his noisy flock in the back yard. "On second thought, I'd rather drink myself to death and I think I'll start on that right now."

Haymitch didn't come over often, but when he did, Peeta and I were usually working on the book. Though he initially refused to get involved, we did our best to draw him in. At first, he would only correct our mistaken information, then he began to add a few details here and there. Soon, he was giving us whole histories. He remembered every tribute he'd ever mentored in great detail.

Unfortunately for Haymitch, digging up the past didn't seem to help him to make peace with the past. After each heartbreaking story, he would stumble home to drown his sorrow. One night I asked Peeta about it.

"Do you think it's too late for Haymitch? I mean, will his past always drive him to drink?"

"I don't know," said Peeta slowly. "He's dealt with it this way for so long, I don't know if he could change anymore. I might be the same if I had to face all those memories on my own for that long." We were silent for a few minutes while I contemplated the grim possibilities of what coping methods I'd have found by now if not for Peeta and Haymitch. Perhaps he was doing the same.

When I looked up, Peeta's eyes were on me and they looked pitifully sad. As much as we were helping each other, I was still broken and still needy. Peeta's eyes told me that it was the same for him. I reached out and put my hand on top of his. This was as much contact as we'd had since the night he'd broken the ice. "Are you doing OK, Katniss?" he asked. He'd have probably liked if I'd have asked this question of him.

"I'm OK," I said. "I'm a lot better than I was. How about you?"

"The same, I guess. I thought I would be better than I am by now. I'm glad we're together more and talk more. I think I'm just tired."

"Me too. I sometimes wonder if I'll ever sleep through the night again. I really miss sleeping."

This would have been the moment for one of us to suggest sleeping together, but I couldn't bring myself to ask him to stay. What if he was afraid to stay with me? What if he suspected he'd derive no comfort from my restless presence? I couldn't bear to introduce any awkwardness into our now comfortable companionship. So I let the moment slide. Peeta did too. I was glad I hadn't said anything.

Peeta stayed for several more hours. We worked well into the night, reluctant to face going to bed. Finally, Peeta rose and gathered up his supplies.

"Good night, Katniss. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye," I said, hating to see him go.

As he put his hand on the door knob, he hesitated then turned around. "You know, Katniss, I've started to really hate my house. Every night I walk up and down the halls and in and out of the rooms til I feel like I'm on a treadmill. Do you mind if I just stay? I'll sleep on the couch and you can lock your door if you're afraid of me."

I wanted him to stay desperately and fear was not any part of my emotions at that moment. Still, I asked, "are you afraid of hurting me?"

"Not at all. I haven't had any desire to hurt you in a long time, but I can understand why you might worry. I wouldn't hold it against you if you were afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid. Please stay."

"Thanks Katniss," he said as he laid down on the couch and closed his eyes. I was tired too, but I went up to get a pillow and and a blanket for him. Peeta was already asleep when I brought them down. I wondered if he'd slept much in the last few days. How sad that he'd wanted to stay but had thought I would turn him away. I lifted his head to slide the pillow under it, savoring the feel of my hands in his hair. I tucked the blanket around him and went up to bed.

Knowing Peeta was in the house gave me an added feeling of security and I slept longer than usual before waking to a relatively mild nightmare. In my dream, I was trying to pull Peeta to shore during the first few minutes of the quarter quell and he was getting heavier and heavier. I had already gone under the water a few times before I woke up gasping. I sat up in bed and tried to slow my breathing. A small flicker of warmth gave relief from the suffocating terror. I was not alone.

As the dream receded, I wondered if I should I go downstairs and see if Peeta had awakened. It would be nice to talk to someone while I tried to calm down. But perhaps it wasn't a good idea to be together at night. Would he fear me or even recognize me? Or would the lowered inhibitions of the night lead us to... I couldn't even bring myself to speculate on that, but an image of myself being held in strong, scarred arms passed through my mind. It would be better to leave him alone. I would distract myself with my hair instead.

After five minutes I gave up braiding my hair. Being alone was unbearable when he was only steps away. I crept down the stairs, my heart beating with apprehension or anticipation; I wasn't sure which. The only light came from a dim lamp and stillness rang in my ears. There was Peeta, sleeping on the couch. Feeling a little let down, I sat down to watch him sleep.

Whether good or bad, I'd counted on some sort of interaction. Anything would be preferable to whiling away the night in the usual way. I considered waking him, but couldn't bring myself to disturb his peace. He must have been exhausted. Poor Peeta. He so little deserved the hideous events that had left him so battered. After half an hour of sitting next to his motionless form I returned to my bed to catch a few more hours of sleep.

I awoke the next morning to the sounds of cooking: clicks from the stove, opening and closing of cupboards, water running and utensils on metal. Not sure whether Greasy Sae or Peeta were making these sounds, I dressed and brushed my hair before going downstairs. Peeta was clearly in the middle of some baking and I lounged against the doorway waiting for him to notice me. When he did, a slightly embarrassed smile covered his face.

"Hi Katniss. Thanks for letting me stay the night. I hope it didn't bother you."

"Not at all. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I did. How about you?"

"I slept OK."

Peeta's look told me he knew what I meant. He seemed as if he were about to question me when a buzzer recalled his attention to the oven. When he had finished his preparation we sat down at the table with cups of tea.

"So you had trouble sleeping last night? Do you want to talk about it?" Peeta asked.

It felt like old times, Peeta asking me about my nightmares. "It wasn't that bad. Actually it was better than most nights. You know you can stay anytime you want, right?" My invitation was sudden and utterly lacking in finesse. Peeta knew me well and didn't look surprised.

"I really appreciate you letting me stay last night, Katniss, but you don't need to worry about me. I was overtired last night and the thought of going home got me down. Most of the time, I'm fine at my house."

Was he trying to say that he didn't want to stay? It didn't matter, I had no shame. "Actually Peeta, I want you to stay. I mean, if you want to. It's nice to know that someone is here. But if you'd rather stay at your own house, that's fine. I mean..." I trailed off, not sure where to go from there.

Peeta's warm smile lit up his face the way it used to when we were pretend lovers. "OK, I'll stay. I'd rather anyway."