This chapter doesn't have much action in it, but I figured that made up for the last chapter I posted for my other story (Growing Together).

As usual, enjoy!

I swallow a shuddering yawn and try to drag my eyes open. I must have dozed off again. My ears pop as I yawn, once again, and I manage to ask, "Sorry, what was that last question?"

Peeta chuckles. I realize I'm leaning against him, with my head resting on his shoulder, and quickly sit up. "You've been asleep for… I don't know, maybe half an hour," he says.

"Really?" I blink groggily, although it doesn't do any good. It's still completely black. In fact, I can't even see the gray rectangle where the door should be.

"They shut off the lights for the night a few minutes ago," Peeta says, answering my unspoken question.

"Oh. That's going to make it difficult to get back to our quarters…" I wonder why no one has come to find us. Maybe Plutarch and his gang told the search party to stop looking for us. Isn't it kind of… dangerous, to have us together in an isolated place, with no one there in case Peeta has an episode? But, wait. He did have an episode. And he got over it. Without hurting anyone. That's improvement, right?

"So, what's your answer?"

"Huh?" I must have been zoned out enough to miss the question. Again.

"What did you do when the arena caught fire in the first Games?"

"Oh. Well, I just grabbed my stuff and ran. What else could I do?" My voice sounds thick and slightly scratchy, like I'm still in that fire.

I feel something run over the back of my head, and jump before I realize it's just Peeta smoothing down my hair. His hand retreats immediately. "Sorry," he apologizes, and below his light tone I can hear something stronger, like he's trying not to let me hear how… how… something he is. Afraid? I don't think so. Surprised? No. Guilty? I tip my head to the side, contemplating it. Yes. He's guilty. But why?

At last I say, "For what?"

"Just…" He sighs. "Everything." Something hard clunks softly onto the top of my head, and when I reach up to find out what it is, I feel not only my own hair but Peeta's too. His forehead is pressed up against my temple. Suddenly, without thinking, I smile. It's small, and it vanishes quickly, but it's the first time I've really smiled in a long time.

"What do you mean?" I ask softly.

In response, there's the slightest sniffle. My eyes widen. Is Peeta- and not just Peeta, but hijacked Peeta- crying?

"Hey," I breathe, reaching out slowly to set a hand on his shoulder. I find myself repeating the words I say to Prim when she's especially upset. "Hey… What's wrong?"

It takes a minute for him to respond, and while I wait I feel my eyes grow wider and wider with bafflement. I have never, ever seen Peeta cry before. Especially not this new, tougher, more cynical Peeta. I just can't wrap my mind around it. Surely I've fallen asleep again. Surely this is a dream. A nightmare.

"I'm- so sorry, Katniss. S-so sorry," he chokes. "I just-" He cuts off abruptly, and the next thing I know I'm trapped in a grip so tight I couldn't get away even if I wanted to. I freeze momentarily, but relax again when I realize he's just hugging me. Sure, this is a hug that could probably break my ribs, but not on purpose. Peeta buries his face in my hair, still crushing me against him. I can feel his breaths come in shaky gasps, and all I can do is clumsily maneuver myself so that I can gently wrap my arms around him and try to breathe normally as my lungs are slowly but surely compressed.

At last Peeta's grip loosens a bit and I take one long, deep breath. Before I can say anything, though, Peeta jumps in. "I'm so sorry. I may not have figured out everything yet- actually, I've barely figured out anything- but I hate that I hurt you. You're… please don't take this the wrong way, but you're hardly in any state to fight me. I think, if the Capitol was right and you really were against me, you'd be stronger. More prepared. And you would have tried to kill me sooner."

A flash of anger rises up in me, but I'm too tired to act on it. Instead I just shrug and try to lean back. But Peeta's arms are still locked around me, so I don't get very far. In the end I just lean forward again, exhausted, and let my head fall onto his shoulder as I whisper, "Glad things are getting better."

I don't remember falling asleep, or changing positions, but the next thing I know the rectangle of gray is back, marking the door, and I'm curled up with my back against the far wall. I'm covered by a large, rough cloth, and after running the tips of my fingers over it a few times, I deduce that it's some sort of tarpaulin. I stretch out, pointing my toes and reaching for something above my head. My arms brush something and I strain my eyes to see through the dark. Maybe I've finally gotten used to it, or maybe it's the faint light from the doorway, but I can just barely make out the shape of Peeta lying about two feet away.

He's not moving, but I can hear him breathing. He must be asleep. I turn over and scrunch the tarpaulin up around me, trying to preserve some of the heat. The sound must wake up Peeta, because he stirs, and then I'm being pulled across that two feet of space and his arm drapes itself over my side. I wait, half-frozen with surprise, but he doesn't do anything else. So, not awake. He must have done it in his sleep. Automatically. I smile for the second time and tuck a hand under my head, drifting back to sleep enveloped in warmth.