A/N: This was such a long wait, I'm really sorry. I hope that the next chapter won't take as long. Thank you so much for waiting and for continuing to support this story.

Sparks has been nominated for a Pearl Award, which I'm very excited about. It's under the category 'fic you confuse with canon.' Thank you so much to everyone who thought of this story, it means a lot to me.

Thank you so much to Amanda, Lamia and Rae. They are all amazing friends and fantastic pre-readers that I couldn't do without.

Thank you to my lovely beta, Bookgeek80 for all her hard work and for getting this back to me so quickly.

I hope you all enjoy reading.


Playing House

The store room didn't take as long as I thought to clear out. Most of what had been in there belonged to my mother, but after a long conversation, most of it was deemed useless. Most of the medicine we gave to the people in town. Despite observing for so many years, I could only give basic explanations of what they could do, but they were more than happy to accept them. I felt uncomfortable at the gratitude they had for these few bottles. They'd been sitting collecting dust for months now, I should have given them up sooner. The thought just hadn't occurred to me.

I did the same with clothes and furniture, knowing there was no use for so much with only Peeta and I here. I didn't give away the blue dress. I held onto it, putting it away deep in a drawer in my room, hoping Peeta didn't find it. I couldn't explain why I wanted to keep it. Perhaps the thought of seeing someone else in it, a doppelganger of the old me was not something I wanted to deal with. I didn't want to think too deeply about it, so I just shut everything away in the drawer, and moved on.

The store room would now be Peeta's room. We moved a bed from his house into there, and he brought the remainder of his belongings. There wasn't much. Clothes, shoes and some furniture, as well as a box I could tell he didn't really want to explain. I left it alone, knowing it would be some sort of memory. Memories were precious to us. You never knew how long it would be until they abandoned you. I still didn't dare open up Prim's room and only went into my mother's when I had to, so I understood Peeta's need for privacy and space when it came to the contents of the box.

"It looks different."

Peeta's comment hung in the air as we sat on the bed in the almost empty room. I smiled at the blandness of the remark. Talking about nothing felt like everything now.

"It does. Better, I think," I replied honestly. It felt new; a new place signaling a new start. The thought frightened me for a moment, but I pushed the fear away. Things would change even if I buried my head in the sand. It was better to go with it than do nothing.

"I think so too," he agreed, his voice soft but echoing through the room. I jumped as he took my hand in his, but didn't pull away. It was hard to understand what was going on between us. We'd spent so much time pretending to be a couple. Kissing, holding hands, touching, an imagined marriage, and pregnancy. But there were always scripts and cameras, someone to tell me when I didn't look in love or didn't smile enough. There were exceptions of course, on the beach and after I found out about Peeta's leg. But they seemed so unfamiliar, at times I wondered if they happened at all. I couldn't remember simple facts, it wasn't a giant leap to believe I could create something out of nothing. If that were true though, then I'd wanted something real from Peeta enough to imagine it. Or was it just we'd been pushed together so much that I'd began to believe it was what I wanted?

These thoughts made my head hurt as I analysed every detail in my mind. It also made me drop Peeta's hand every time.

Peeta didn't say anything at my action, he just smiled and stood up, moving over to the corner of the room and rearranging his few belongings. I fell back onto the bed in frustration. Why couldn't everything just be simple?

#~#~#

They wanted to hold a memorial service. Haymitch explained the plans to us as we sat watching the geese run around. Peeta glanced at them every few minutes, keeping an eye on all of them. I didn't think he liked them. The idea of him being afraid of geese made me smile.

"It will be broadcast over all the Districts in memory of all those who died in both the Games and the rebellion. Long list of names there," Haymitch noted, his voice scathing.

"When?" I asked as Peeta glared at a goose who was wandering slightly to close to his chair.

"A month, I believe. It's still in the planning stages, but they don't want to leave it too long. They're trying to finish the memorial site before then so they can make a proper show of it all." Haymitch paused and took a sip of his latest alcoholic concoction.

"They want us on it."

I felt myself tense up and saw Peeta's face twist before it turned blank again. His leg started bouncing just as he masked his expression, and it took all my willpower not to scream.

"What do you mean?" I wondered, surprised at how even my voice sounded.

Haymitch eyed us both for a moment. "They want the three of us to head the memorial from Twelve. Say a few speeches, mention those we've lost, show the faces of the survivors. You didn't expect them to leave us alone completely, did you?"

I couldn't say yes, because really I knew this wouldn't be the end. The rebellion might be over, but I was still the Mockingjay. I turned to look at Peeta, his leg still jumping. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Can we refuse?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

Haymitch grinned. "They won't force you, but I think they're pretty keen to at least show your lovely young faces up on the screen."

I reached out and grabbed Peeta's leg, thankful that he stopped twitching the moment I touched him. I then leaned back and away from both him and Haymitch, watching the geese as they chased and pecked at the rough ground.

#~#~#

Peeta was quiet for the rest of the day and all of the evening. He went to bed early, the door closed but the light still on. I stood outside in the dark hallway, poised and ready to knock. In the end, I turned away and went to the shadows of my own room. I listened as I lay in bed, hearing the sound of him pacing for hours before the house went silent. It was comforting having him close to me. I didn't realise how empty the house had been before he'd come to live here. We'd made it known in town that Peeta's house was now free, but so far no one had moved in. Thinking about it, I probably wouldn't have moved in either. It was too much of a reminder of what came before. I turned over and buried my head in the pillow as soon as the house fell silent. With nothing left to do but sleep, I lay still willing my body to relax and hoped Peeta's mood improved in the morning.

Except it didn't. Still silent, he wandered through the house like a ghost, eating a little but otherwise not acting as if he were human. It was distracting and caused my memory to flash back to a place it didn't want to, so I ended up sitting by the primrose garden with the plant book. Buttercup sat on my lap, protesting with her claws each time I tried to shift my position. I stared at the pages, murmuring the words under my breath for a while. I looked up once for no apparent reason and my eyes zoomed in on a plant growing a few feet away. It sprung up out of the grass, thick long leaves emerging from the stem, and a small bud at the top. I didn't recognise it. Puzzled, I flicked through the book, trying to find a picture or description the matched it. Nothing came to me.

I frowned and glared at the plant, annoyed at it for no reason. Of course, after all that had happened within the last few months, nature had been incredibly disturbed. There were probably new species of plants and animals all over the District that I'd never seen before. For some reason though, it irritated me.

"Katniss!"

I looked up to see Peeta running towards me. I tried to jump to my feet, cursing when Buttercup prevented this by clinging onto my legs as he tried to keep his place. I stumbled to my feet, glowering at the cat as Peeta slowed to a halt in front of me.

"What's the matter?" I asked, feeling slightly panicked at the way he'd approached.

He was breathing heavily as he stopped, his feet bare and stained with dirt from running across the grass. He caught his breath and looked up, his eyes wild and unfocused. I instinctively took a step backward, then stopped as I realised what I'd done. I hated how I still wasn't completely comfortable with him when his behavior reminded me of the rebellion. The time when I'd pointed an arrow to his head...

"I... I'm having trouble remembering something. Well, I just... I think I remember but they don't connect. Something isn't real but I don't know what it is. It's..." he trailed off, his gaze moving away from mine, but I knew what he wanted to say. He was afraid. Afraid of being in his own head because of what it might make him see or do. I understood. I reached out and took his hand, trying to drag him out of that space and back with me where at least he wasn't alone with his thoughts.

"Sit," I requested simply, letting go and sitting back down on the grass. Buttercup returned, pointedly digging his claws into his legs as I sat down. Peeta smiled as I winced and pointed at the plant book.

"Were you adding something to it?"

I shook my head. "No, just reading. Although, I did see something that isn't in the book. The plant behind you," I said, gesturing to the weed that had caught my attention. Peeta turned and stared at it for a moment, taking it in.

"You should make a record of it. You don't know how long it's going to be around. You should copy it down before is disappears. Or before we forget what we saw."

I'm not sure whether it was his voice or his words, but something about his statement struck me deeply. I put it aside for now, deciding to think about it later. Right now, I needed to help Peeta remember.

"Okay. What did you want to ask?"

He closed his eyes and inhaled, and I waited to see what he thought was real.

#~#~#

It was green in the clearing. So green and bright that I knew if I looked up to the sky my skin would surely burn. I didn't dare move, just sat with the heavy book in my lap, my legs stretched out in the grass. The blades were long and perfect, each one sharpened to a point. They were so sharp it hurt to move, the overly green grass pricking and slicing at my bare skin. My dress was red, the material the only cool feeling on my arms. The sleeves were long and hung over my hands, disappearing over the edge of where my fingertips should be.

I looked down at the book, four times the size of what a normal book should be. The double page it opened to filled with tiny symbols and signs, a language I couldn't understand. The lines rippled, changed before my eyes. Snatches I recognised disappeared only to be replaced by incomprehensible markings. The writing was fluid, but nothing on the pages stayed for more than a few seconds.

"Katniss? What's this?"

My father held up an elaborate branch of vine and flowers, colours shimmering and fading as I looked. I opened my mouth, but I couldn't remember how to make letters into words, let alone how to answer.

"Katniss?"

Before my eyes, the branch started to smoke, a flicker of flame starting at the top and slowly spreading down. Flowers died in the fire's wake, the disintegrated, burnt and there one minute, then ashes flying away the next. The fire spread rapidly, but my father did not seem to notice. He didn't let go, and I stared in frozen horror as the fire slowly worked its way towards his fingers.

"Katniss?" he asked in the same measured tone as the fire reached his fingers.

I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. I moved my legs, only to be sliced by a thousand needles, the pain so intense I couldn't move any further.

So instead, I watched my father burn, his mouth saying the syllables of my name until it turned to ash.

#~#~#

I woke up to my throat burning as if the fire had been inside of me all along. The room, although dark, seemed to have a yellow tinge and felt smaller, so small I could barely breathe. My eyes were streaming, my head pounding as I struggled out of the sheets and sat up.

"Katniss."

My name in the dark caused me to scream, a high, cracked sound that bounced off the walls. My eyes frantically searched the room, knowing I would see the figure of my father turned to ash. Except I didn't. I saw Peeta, framed by the light in the hall standing in the doorway.

"It's just me," he whispered, as if reading my mind. I opened my mouth to speak, but just like the dream, I couldn't make myself speak. I started to shake, the walls of the room closing in on me, and my body falling away.

Peeta came to my side immediately, uttering soft words and making soothing sounds that didn't quite reach me. It didn't matter though. What mattered was his touch, his hands guiding me back to bed and chasing away the remnants of the dream. I gripped his hand once and didn't let go, holding onto the only thing keeping me grounded. I was still shaking and holding onto him, when Peeta lay down beside me, continuing to say soothing words of nothingness while I drifted off to sleep in his arms. The last thing I remembered was feeling of his lips pressing once carefully to my temple. But it could have just been a memory.