A/N: This is the last chapter. Thanks for coming on this little adventure with me. Thanks to darknessinastateofmind for betaing this chapter. Come find me on tumblr: andthisisthewonder

Pain streaked through the back of Peeta's skull. He stared up at the ceiling of the kitchen, his vision red and muddied. He heard the heavy tread of boots approaching, but he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

Marvel appeared in his line of sight, towering over him. For a moment, worry replaced Marvel's usual cocky expression as red and blue lights danced across his face. Then his usual sneer returned.

"I'm sick of this self-sacrificing bullshit." He disappeared again, crossing the room to look out the window.

Peeta slowly sat up, rubbing his head. He spotted Katniss lying on the ground, her hand clamped over her shoulder, blood seeping through her fingers.

He remembered her scream just before Marvel pulled the trigger, the force of her body sending him to the floor.

She had pushed him out of the way.

She had saved him.

"Katniss?" He crawled over to her side. When he touched her arm, her eyelids fluttered.

"Hey," he said. "You're okay. Everything's going to be okay."

She shook her head.

"We don't have time for this!" Marvel snapped, letting the curtain fall back into place. He yanked Peeta to his feet.

"Don't!" Katniss cried. She tried to trip Marvel, but he easily sidestepped her legs. He kicked her in the stomach, and she curled into a protective ball.

Peeta slammed his back into Marvel's chest, sending both of them careening into the kitchen table. Marvel dropped the gun, but stayed on his feet. Peeta dove for the gun, but Marvel was too fast. He kicked it off to the side before grabbing the back of Peeta's shirt and wrenching him upright.

Seconds later, Marvel had a knife at Peeta's throat. He dragged the blade down the side of Peeta's neck with just enough pressure to draw blood.

Peeta's entire body ached, but this was a different kind of pain. It was sharp and precise, and it inspired a whole new level of fear.

"How does that feel?" Marvel asked before pushing Peeta forward. By the time Peeta had regained his footing and turned around, Marvel had the gun.

"Walk back over to me." He pointed the gun at Katniss, who was still curled into a ball. "Unless you want a bullet in her head?"

Peeta complied.

"You and me are going for a ride," Marvel said, spinning Peeta around. Marvel slipped his left arm across Peeta's chest. His right pressed the gun against Peeta's head. He had a few inches on Peeta, but he slouched down, keeping his head hidden as they stepped out onto the driveway.

Two police officers were just getting out of the car, their guns raised, when Marvel shouted, "Take another step and he's dead."

Peeta breathed heavily, trying to think his way out of this situation. He couldn't allow himself to be shoved into another car. It would almost certainly mean his death. And Katniss. She would die too. If Marvel managed to get behind the wheel, the cops would pursue them, and who knew how long it would take for backup to arrive.

They'd both be dead, names in a headline on the next day's newscast.

Peeta tilted his head forward before slamming it backwards. Marvel swore, but he didn't let go. He wiped his nose on the back of Peeta's neck, leaving a streak of blood behind, and dug the barrel of the gun into Peeta's temple.

"You're not getting away now you son-of-a-bitch," Marvel whispered. "It's just you and me."

"Drop your weapon!" one of the officers shouted. Peeta couldn't make out which one with the flashing lights blinding him.

"Fuck you!" Marvel yelled back. He dragged Peeta over to the sedan in the driveway.

"Open it," he snapped.

As soon as Peeta opened the door, he was shoved inside. Marvel fired several shots in the direction of the police before getting in himself, forcing Peeta to climb into the passenger seat. Marvel started the car, locked the doors, and slammed on the gas.

Marvel swerved around the cop car, clipping the officer on the left with the side mirror. He sped up the driveway, past the woods that Peeta had been in only a couple of hours before, and skidded onto the street.

Peeta pulled his seatbelt on.

The sirens screamed as the police car raced after them. Marvel sped up. The road became narrower, more circuitous, but Marvel knew these streets. He skidded around corners with the faintest pressure on the brakes.

Peeta knew his usefulness was wearing thin. Marvel needed him for now to prevent the cops from trying anything too risky, but if Marvel succeeded in losing them, he was dead.

He hoped backup was on its way along with an ambulance. He tried to picture Katniss as he last saw her, tried to remember if she had been conscious.

How serious was a gunshot wound to the shoulder? How long before she bled out?

How long before Marvel shot him and dumped him by the side of the road?

As they approached another hairpin turn, Peeta realized he had to do something. He had to stop this. Without thinking of the consequences, he reached over and jerked the wheel to the right. The car did a 180 before flipping over and skidding across the asphalt.

Peeta's body jerked forward, but the seatbelt snapped tight, holding him in place. He slammed his head against the window, and his senses overloaded with pain.

The scene fractured, pieces scattering like an overturned jigsaw puzzle. There was the screech of metal, the crunch of glass, the sound of someone screaming.

Something wet and sticky trickled down his forehead, clung to his eyelashes, sealed his eyes shut.

And then everything went dark.

Peeta jerked awake. Despite the hum of the air conditioning unit, he was drenched in sweat. Part of him wanted to switch off the AC and open the window, but he had given up that long held habit.

All of his windows were shut, locked. A security system had been installed. New deadbolts secured his front and back door. He almost twisted the lock of his bedroom door before attempting sleep, but he thought better of it. As it was, he was one step away from paranoia taking over his entire life.

He had been home for three days but had probably only slept a combined total of ten hours.

He sat up in bed, buried his face in his hands, and waited for his breathing to return to normal.

Another nightmare. There was no escaping them. Nothing worked. Not sleeping pills, not soothing music or the sound of the television, not even sleeping with the lights on. The nightmares always sunk its claws into him, and he worried that this was his life now: fear and sleeplessness and worry.

He checked the cable box underneath his television and saw that it was quarter after five. At least he could start the day now. Maybe he'd catch a nap later in the afternoon.

It's not like he had anything else to do.

Or anywhere to be.

He had all the time in the world, plenty of money, and no desire to leave his house.

Shortly after nine AM, Peeta was halfway through his third batch of cookies, when the phone rang. It was Haymitch calling under the guise of an ATM malfunction. Peeta walked him through the steps of reloading it with cash.

Peeta knew Haymitch was full of shit, but the conversation was soothing. It was nice focusing on a task. It gave his overworked mind a break from worrying about everything else. Baking recipes he knew by heart could only distract him so much.

"Everything alright with you?" Haymitch asked.

He briefly wondered if Haymitch really wanted to know, or if he actually wanted to tell him. He knew there were people out there willing to listen to him, but he wasn't sure he knew what to say yet. So instead of any kind of truth, he said, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Okay. Good. Delly wanted me to ask."

Right. Delly. Madge. His co-workers and friends. They had left half a dozen voicemails on his cell phone, sent several texts, but he had kept his responses brief, assuring them he was okay but was not currently in the mood for visitors.

He wasn't sure how to explain that he wasn't ready to let the world back in.

"I owe her a phone call," Peeta said.

"Yeah. Madge too." Haymitch cleared his throat. "Look, I know your mother agreed to a week of paid time off, but you take as much time as you need, okay? Your job is here waiting for you whenever you're ready."

The sincerity in Haymitch's voice was surprising. Peeta appreciated the gesture, but he wasn't ready yet to reveal he had no intention of returning to the bank. Part of it was fear, but it was also his desire to carve out his own path rather than the one his mother had laid out for him. He felt little loyalty toward her, especially after her lack of empathy when she visited him the day after he was released from the hospital.

Maybe he'd go to culinary school or pursue his M.B.A. and open his own bakery. Maybe he'd get his master's in education and teach art to elementary school students.

Maybe he'd do nothing but sit back and live off his trust fund. It seemed to work for his brothers.

"Thanks, Haymitch."

"Listen, someone called the bank asking after you. She left her number."

"Another reporter?" Peeta asked.

Everyone wanted an interview with the selfless bank teller who had tried to save a young, pretty customer. They had splashed their pictures across the news, but he hadn't commented. Let them draw their own conclusions. Let them make up their own story.

"No, actually. Someone named Primrose Everdeen?"

The sun was too bright. The sky was too blue. The entire world was too much. But he had to leave the house eventually, right? And the hospital was a safe place to visit.

Peeta's knuckles were white against the steering wheel. He knew, objectively, that he was not in danger. The bad guys were dead or behind bars. They couldn't reach him.

But that didn't stop him from checking the rearview mirror for a blue sedan or hitting the door locks for the third time.

Peeta had never had a panic attack in his life, not until the night he came home from the hospital. Alone, with the sun setting, and the quiet creeping in, he had sunk to the floor of his bedroom, unable to catch his breath. His worry became a living thing squirming inside him. It wasn't just that he felt unsafe, but he knew he wasn't. It was as certain as his last name.

Peeta pulled into the hospital parking lot. He strolled up to the information desk and smiled at the young redhead sitting behind it.

"Hi, I'm here to pick up Katniss Everdeen. She's being released today."

"Your name?"

"Peeta."

It was obvious the woman knew who he was when she didn't prompt him for his last name. He had just been there himself a few days prior. She made a phone call and a few minutes later, a nurse escorted Katniss out of the elevator.

She looked tired. Drained. Her normally olive skin was ghostly under the fluorescent lights. Her right arm was in a sling, and a small black purse was clenched in her left hand.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted out.

"I'm here to drive you home," he answered.

Katniss forced a smile at the nurse. "I'm all set now. Thank you." She waited until the nurse returned to the bank of elevators. When she noticed the redhead pretending not to listen, she tilted her head toward the hospital entrance.

He followed her out into the July heat.

"How did you know I was being released today?" she asked.

"Your sister called me." At Katniss's astonished look, he clarified, "She called the bank, actually. Haymitch passed along her number. She was worried about you getting home safely."

"So she contacted you?"

"She said there weren't many other options. She didn't think you'd want Rory driving you."

Katniss stiffened. "You shouldn't have come down here. I was just going to take the bus home."

"Well, now you don't have to."

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"Come on." He touched her lower back to guide her toward his car, but she jumped away from him.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you," he said. She looked as tense as he felt. "I just…you took a bullet for me. The least I can do is drive you home."

She frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the insinuation that he owed her anything, but he knew she wouldn't say anything. Not out here where someone could overhear them.

"Your braid looks different."

Her left hand shot up to her hair. "It's a French braid. The nurse did it for me."

Despite the different hairstyle and the sling, Katniss looked much more like herself. She wore a pair of dark blue jeans, sneakers, and a simple green t-shirt. This was a Katniss he recognized, a Katniss he knew.

He pointed out his car, and she fell into step beside him.

Once they were inside, he shoved the key into the ignition and turned the air conditioner on full blast.

The silence that fell between them was uncomfortable. He wanted to fill it with words, but suddenly, he didn't know what to say.

"Thanks for coming to get me," she finally said. "But you didn't have to. You don't owe me anything."

"You saved my life."

"I nearly ended it," she snapped. She looked away, out the passenger side window. "I kept waiting for the police to burst into my room. They finally stopped in yesterday to take my statement. They were so…nice. Said I was a hero. Told me I saved your life."

"You did."

"Stop. Please. You know I didn't. Why don't they?"

"I told them what I knew," Peeta said. "That I tried to take your place. That they took us both because they thought they could use you to control me. I told them about our first escape attempt and then our second. I told them how you pushed me out of the way when Marvel tried to shoot me."

"Why didn't you tell them the truth?" Katniss asked, exasperation in her voice. "I should be in jail."

"Because you don't deserve it."

Katniss stared at him in wonder. "You don't get to decide that."

"Why didn't you tell the cops the truth?"

"Rory," she said softly. "He came to see me. I wanted to throw him out, but he had a message from Gale for me."

Peeta nodded. "I heard about Gale's statement," Peeta said. "He swears you're innocent."

Peeta had played dumb about Katniss's involvement, not wanting to be the one to give her up. The cops had explained the entire situation, wanting to fill in the blanks for him.

Cato swore Katniss was involved from the start. Gale claimed the opposite. He insisted that they picked that particular bank because he knew he could use Katniss if necessary. He said he had lied to Cato and Marvel about Katniss's knowledge about the plan.

There was no evidence to the contrary except Cato's statement. Katniss had never met Cato and Marvel before the day at the bank. There was nothing to connect them but Gale.

And Marvel had no statement to give. He had died in the back of an ambulance after being thrown through the windshield of his car.

The police had questioned Peeta about Katniss a couple of times. They wanted to know if she had displayed any suspicious behavior or admitted to any wrongdoing. Peeta was upfront about the special treatment she received from Gale, but he was adamant about Katniss's repeated attempts to protect him.

It had been enough.

"He wants me to look after his family. He said it was all his fault, and there was no use in sending us both to jail." She swallowed. He could hear the unshed tears in her voice. "I don't know what he expects me to do. I can barely look after Prim, and—"

She cut herself off, her cheeks flushed red. "Look, I'd rather take the bus home. I'm glad you're okay."

As she reached for the door handle, he blurted out, "I'm not."

She looked back at him.

"I'm not okay," he said. "I'm barely sleeping. I'm barely functioning."

She said nothing.

"This is the first time I've left the house since coming home. It's…terrifying."

"Why did you drive out here then?"

"I wanted to see you."

Silence settled over them as heavy as the heat outside. She fiddled with the fabric of her sling.

"I'm sorry. I really am, Peeta," she finally said. "I hope things get better for you. But I'm not going to be of any help."

Before he could say another word, she was out of the car. He could have easily gone after her, but he didn't have the energy for it. He didn't seem to have the energy for much lately.

He waited almost ten minutes, but he didn't pull out of the parking lot until the bus arrived and Katniss got on.

It was a small comfort. His worry over what could happen to her followed him all the way home.

A week passed. Peeta called Madge and Delly. He called his father and two older brothers.

He wanted to call Katniss, but he couldn't find the courage.

He didn't leave his house. Sleep arrived in short bursts, interrupted – always – by a new nightmare. At first, he dreamt of his death at the hands of Marvel. He dreamt of beatings and bullet wounds and the slow dragging of a knife across his back.

It changed, however, after he saw Katniss.

Now she was the one bleeding out on the kitchen floor, losing consciousness beneath Cato, shot in the head in the middle of the driveway. Every night, she died a different way, and he couldn't save her.

Every night, he ran deeper into the woods, trying to find his way back to the house, to her, but he couldn't.

On the eighth day, he called the hospital and took care of her medical bills.

On the ninth, she called him.

They met at a coffee shop a few minutes from Peeta's house, and a brief walk from the nearest bus stop. Peeta would have much preferred having her come to his house, but she had laughed when he'd suggested it.

When they were both seated, Peeta with an ice coffee, Katniss with a scowl, he had to resist the urge to look over his shoulder. The entrance was behind him, so he couldn't see if any suspicious looking people wandered in. He hated that he had these thoughts now. He had to map exits and analyze people and worry worry worry.

"I can't pay it all back now, but I thought we could set up a payment plan," Katniss said, bypassing the usual polite greeting. "What kind of interest rate did you have in mind?"

"What?" Peeta blinked.

"You paid off my medical bills. I want to pay you back."

"That's not…that's not why I did that."

"It doesn't matter why you did it. It was money I owed, and I fully intend on paying it."

"Katniss, you don't—"

"Are you getting some kind of sick thrill out of doing this? Of making me feel this way?"

"What way?" Peeta ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what happened. I'm sorry I wasn't punished. The guilt is eating me alive, and then you go and do something like this…"

Tears streaked down her cheeks, and she hid her face.

"Katniss, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I'm trying to thank you."

She smacked the table and several people looked over.

"Stop trying to thank me when I don't deserve it. Please. Let's just set up a payment plan. I can send you a check in the mail each month, and that'll be the end of it."

Gently, he laid a hand over hers. "I don't want your money. I just…wanted to thank you. And maybe talk to you again."

"Why? Why would you want to talk to me?"

"I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with you. That you're okay."

She shook her head. "I'm not. I'm really not."

He slid into her side of the booth and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Her lack of a reaction was a testament to how far she was inside her own head.

"I dream about it every night," she said quietly. "Of blood and guns and—and you. I can't save you. I never can. I dream about what Cato wanted to do to me. What he could have done. And then I wake up and…" She swallowed. "It's not any better. It's just guilt over what happened. Wondering if Prim is going to find out. If anyone else will."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"I did."

"If I had been in your situation, I would have done the same thing."

She looked up at him. "But you weren't. You never will be."

"Doesn't mean I don't understand why you did what you did."

"It could have been so much worse," she said. "If the cops hadn't stuck around after talking to Marvel, we'd both be dead."

"You can't think like that," he said, even though his mind had circled this line of thinking at least one hundred times since coming home. "We need to focus on what did happen."

He touched her hair, now twisted into its signature braid. "Real or not real, you agreed to everything in order to protect your sister?"

"Real," she said softly.

"You weren't going to take any of the money."

"Real."

"You tried to protect me even though it could have meant danger for your sister or yourself."

"Real," she repeated, wiping her eyes.

"Any questions for me?" he asked.

She took a deep breath. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't say anything, but then she asked, "Why did you come back for me? After you figured it out? You could have gotten away."

"Marvel would have killed you."

"Probably. But you couldn't have known that."

"I couldn't risk it."

"So you still care about me? Even after everything that's happened?"

Gently, he ran his fingers along the back of her head, remembering the place where Marvel hit her with the gun. He touched her chin, tilted it upward so she'd meet his eyes.

"Real," he said, as if were simple, as if he didn't have to think about it. "And what about you? Did you ever really care about me?"

She smiled up at him. "Finally, an easy question."

They started over.

At first, it was only late night phone calls as both stared at the ceiling, exhausted but desperate to stay awake.

Then, it was a date at Sae's Diner, where they found a booth in the corner in the back, where they could both see the entrance.

After dinner, Peeta invited Katniss to come back to his house, and surprisingly, she agreed. They fell asleep on the couch watching television, and it was the first night he slept the whole way through.

Katniss started staying over a lot more after that.

Eventually, she no longer needed her sling.

Their names fell out of the headlines.

Peeta went back to school.

They both got so good at pretending to be normal that eventually their lives become their own again.

There were still days where Katniss couldn't bear to look at him, where she would spend hours locked in her apartment, shutting him out. Money was a constant issue now that she was helping support Gale's family too.

Peeta helped as much as she allowed.

They clashed, they fought, but they always came back together.

At night, they'd climb into bed, stripping off the stress and anxiety of the day. They would lay entwined until their breathing evened out and they fell asleep.

If Katniss returned to that house in her dreams, if she became lost in the woods or a witness to more violence, Peeta was there to wake her and remind her what was real.

And if a nightmare woke Peeta, all he needed to do was roll over to confirm that Katniss was still in bed beside him.

Falling back asleep was easy after that.