Summary: Peeta's subconscious is trying to tell him something, twenty years after the Games ended.

A/N: Everlark. In Panem continuation to Mockingjay. Rated E for explicit language and sex. Contains direct and altered quotations from The Hunger Games novels, which I do not claim as my own. #everlark #marriage #toastbabies #injury #surgery #nightmares #original characters #rehabilitation

Many thanks to papofglencoe and notanislander, who got in on the ground floor when this an elaborate idea and only 500 words. Since then, an entire squadron of cheerleaders, including my fellow CampNanoWriMo cabinmates, have offered support and input, both of which are greatly appreciated.

...

I wander in the woods all afternoon before finding myself back at the rock ledge I shared with Gale that overlooks the valley. I want to laugh; Peeta was so convinced that I didn't love him, that I loved Gale when we were in our second Games. It's ironic to me that I wound up here and that it would likely upset Peeta, but he'll never find me. I've walked too far for him to get here on his leg.

Rationalizing that there's not a connection between this woman in Peeta's rehabilitation and his inability to get an erection under my care is a struggle for me. We both had trouble with our sex drives as we grew together. At first, we were on such heavy doses of medication to combat our mutual PTSD that our parts weren't working even if we wanted them to. As we took less meds and developed more of an interest in each other, we found our way to each other's hearts and bodies. With every sealed page in our memory book, our minds and bodies grew stronger and ready for more. I remember those frustrating days of wanting in my head for him to touch me, or wanting to explore him, but our bodies not cooperating.

I believe him, and yet I'm floored that she would enter his subconscious only to be pulled out in a sketch. The only other time Peeta ever displayed an interest in another woman was when he was trying to hurt my feelings in the District Thirteen cafeteria. I don't think he's trying to hurt me now, but I still feel hurt. I feel so impotent in his progress because I wasn't there, and he doesn't need me to help him as much as I thought I would now that he's home. I'm a mockingjay with clipped wings and syrinx, unable to fly or sing.

Peeta twitches in his sleep too, likely still troubled by nightmares—which interrupts my sleep as well. Or is he thinking about her? That note she left in his card taunts me, it was a pleasure to get you on your feet again. On top of that, he doesn't seem to want me like he did before he left.

Compared to me, the girl in his sketch is younger and doesn't bear the scars of a survivor. Peeta has always made me feel at ease in my skin, the old and the newer patches. She looks like an alternate version of myself, before the Games and before poverty and grief hardened me into the determined sixteen year old that volunteered for her sister. She looks like the girl Peeta had a crush on in school, not the woman I am now. Which does he prefer?

She's everything I was before the Games changed me—changed him—corrupting his perception of me. Before I was a mutt to him, awake or in dreams. Before he tried to kill me.

I thought that I'd feel better when he came home, but now I'm not so sure. Being kept forcibly at a distance in this process has rendered me helpless to support him, while she's been right there. I want to believe him, but my old feelings of low self-worth have crept back into the corners of my mind. Haymitch always said that I could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him—what if he was right? I shake my head of these dangerous thoughts.

What would Aurelius tell me to do right now? Make a list? Remind myself of what's good in this world? Nothing feels good at this moment. My husband has sketched another woman with a braid. I don't feel connected to him in anyway. The kids finally have their dad back, so where does that leave me?

Should I confront Peeta over these feelings? I could send the kids out of the house to talk to him. I shake my head again at this thought, not ready to articulate all of the different directions my head and heart are pulling me.

No, I'll just swallow those thoughts down. I stay out in the woods longer than I planned, staring up at the sky and wondering how my life turned around so quickly. The walk back home is slow as I collect my thoughts, rearranging and ordering them until they make sense.

After I get home that night, the kids and Peeta have already eaten and are getting ready for bed. There's a plate for me at the table. I eat in silence, listening to Peeta limp from room to room above me, and a giant lump of self-hatred gets stuck in my throat. I've been thinking of nothing but myself the entire day while he's still hurting. I feel like I've spent the day back in my former shell, hating him for something that was beyond his control. Beyond all of our control.

I creep up the stairs so that I don't bother them, wash up, and slide into bed, facing the wall. Peeta joins me after a while with the telltale gait and dip on his side of the bed. It was so cold in bed those weeks without him. I feel his eyes on me and nervous, shallows breaths in the charged air between us. I shouldn't have left, I know that. I also think the walk helped me clear my head. His fingertips tentatively skate down my shoulder, testing out the waters. I want to assure him somehow, but I don't know how to start.

"Katniss, please don't shut me out. Not after everything from the last few weeks," he says as he strokes my back and takes a deep breath. "It tore me up to be away from you, and now that I'm home, I don't want to be apart anymore," he implores.

I turn over and face him. Tears are pooling in his clear blue eyes, mirroring mine.

"Oh, Katniss, no, please don't cry," he says as he cradles me to him.

The dam bursts in my chest, and I sob into his chest, my tears soaking his shirt.

"I wanted to be there. I needed to be there, and I wasn't. But she was, this girl that looked like me, and she helped you in ways I couldn't. She did. Not me," I hiccup through my sobs. "And you're home now, but not really, because part of you is stuck there."

"No, no, no, Katniss. I got better for you," he takes my face in his hands. "All for you. I pushed through my recovery for us, for our family."

His words are a relief to my ears. "So you don't want her?"

"Absolutely not. It's you that I want, that I've always wanted. You and I weren't together physically while I was gone, but you were with me, here, every step of the way," he says, bringing my hand to his heart. "I saw your scowl around every corner. Everywhere I turned, there was a memory of you—of us," he implores.

I cry harder into his shoulder, grateful for the release of emotions.

"Since I've been home, it's driven me crazy not to take you whenever I want to," he admits, clutching me closer to him. "In fact, I've stopped taking the Morphling pills all together so that all of me will work again."

"Really?" I squeak, pulling back to look him in the eye.

"The time apart from you was harder on me than the surgery, harder than the pain, worse than the nightmares," he says as he holds my face. "I love you. I want only you."

I bite my lip and flicker my gaze to his. "I love you too, I've missed you." I lean forward to press my lips to his. Warmth spreads at our point of contact and swirls through my veins, settling in my belly and making me hungry for more. I open my mouth to him, inviting and teasing his tongue.

He takes control of the kiss, cupping my jaw and tilting my head to the side. Our mouths slant together in a dance that we know well. My idle hands clutch his shoulder and twist the material of his shirt in my fist, pulling him closer to me. One of his hands falls to trail down the column of my neck, across my collarbone and down to my breast. He slips the straps of my nightgown off so that I'm completely naked. How I ached for his hands on my bare flesh. I gasp aloud when we pinches my nipple between his knuckles. Every part of me screams for more.

I can feel his growing response to me. I reach down his sleep pants to hold him in my hand and am met with an immediate result.

"Oh, Katniss, it feels so good to be touched again," he croaks, resting his forehead on my shoulder.

I wrap my fist around him, gently sleeving his cock a few times before he erupts in my hand and across his belly.

"I'm sorr—," he starts, but I shush him with a kiss.

"I know you'll make it up to me," I say and kiss him again.

I wipe him off with his shirt I've already dampened with my tears, and he strips off his sleep shorts. We lay down together, my back to his bare chest. He wraps his arm around me, slowly reaching down to my center. Once his fingers enter my slick warmth, I sense him hardening behind me again. He keep his hips still while I rub his stiffening cock with my bare buttocks and his fingers work me from the front, thumb ever present on my clit. We move in sync, his calloused fingers to my soft skin gliding against his turgid flesh. The need to move his own hips to gain friction must become insufferable, so he pulls me closer to him. No longer glancing past his cock, but threading it in the crease of my ass, I speed up and he follows with the thrust of his fingers. I come with a thundering cry in my chest that racks my entire body. He pulls his fingers from my aftershocks to guide the motion of my cheeks again himself. He follows me soon thereafter, streaming his release up my backside. We settle into each other after cleaning up and drift off to sleep.

...

Our lives return to our new normal, for the most part with his words and actions reaffirming our love and marriage. I keep rubbing his legs every night like he told me to, pushing the fluid upwards. Despite my first glance at it and the jolt it gave me, I admire his new scar. It's in good company amongst his other faded scars and patchwork skin—just like mine.

We play it safe for a little while longer, sticking to the original six weeks post-surgery time period. We have a follow appointment with Dr. Mills in the middle of April. Our hope is that he'll be cleared for a more active lifestyle. The nurse takes Peeta's vitals until Dr. Mills is ready to examine him. We brought the latest x-rays for Dr. Shaw to review as well.

Peeta shows off his range of motion and recites his daily exercises to the doctors.

"We're very impressed, Peeta. You've come a long way. Are you having any pain at all?" Dr. Mills remarks.

"No, in fact I haven't taken any of the pain medication in over two weeks," Peeta responds proudly and shoots a sideways grin at me.

"That's excellent, but don't be afraid to take it if you need it. If you're concerned about the side effects of the pain medication, consider the muscle relaxers that won't disturb your digestion or any other body chemistry," Dr. Mills advises.

"Thank you, I will," Peeta says and wraps my hand in his, his thumb stroking my knuckles.

"Okay great, then you can return to work at your leisure," Dr. Mills says, and you can resume all pre-surgery activities, although we would still caution against bringing your knees to your chest or trailing your legs behind you."

Peeta's arm grazes mine in a way that's not accidental at the news. I answer in kind by shifting my outer thigh against his as the full meaning from the doctor sets in—that we can bond properly now. His eyes spark to mine with unveiled intensity. He nods toward the door, and I bob my head in confirmation. We excuse ourselves and walk home as quickly as possible, given Peeta's still unstable steps with the the cane.

We bust through the door, happy to have the house to ourselves while Sae has Patrick. He spins me around to kiss me, walking me backward toward the living room.

"You have entirely too many clothes on," he says between kisses.

I grind my hips into his as I shrug out of my coat and grapple with our shirts and sweaters.

"I'm working on it, are you?" I tease.

"Oh, I'm ready," he returns.

And he was. He unbuckles my pants, teasing down the front seam with his fingers while kissing my neck. He peels down my pants to my knees, exposing my rear to the cool spring air, and turns me to face the back of the couch. I can hear him unfasten his own pants. He spreads my legs quickly and parts my entrance, no doubt not wanting to wait another moment before he's inside me. He knits his fingers between mine with his left hand on the sofa frame as he uses his right to push into me, his breath hot on my neck. This position should hopefully work well for him too, I think randomly, as the tip of his cock forges ahead. He's slowly thrusting into me while I push back onto him, letting him fill me, inch by inch, over and over. I feel so full with him inside me once again, it's been too long.

"You're incredible, you feel incredible," he breathes into the nape of my neck.

"Keep going," I huff out, my breath stolen by the force of his thrusts.

"I'm not finishing until you do," he swears, unlacing our fingers to reach around to my center. His touch lights me up, making me feel surrounded by him, by his love pouring into me. Pleasure spikes throughout me, coiling deep within my body. He circles on my clit in time with his cock pumping in and out of me, and my knees begin to weaken. My orgasm hits me hard and echoes within my walls, gripping him tighter. He cries out and continues to thrust erratically into my collapsed body until he's filling me with his seed. Afterward, I don't care enough to bother to move from slumped position over the couch.

He kisses my neck, bringing me back to his chest, "I'd say that was just about right."

"Mmmmhmmm," I murmur, ready for a nap.

He takes the afternoon off to ice and elevate his legs, keeping swelling down. He helps me in the kitchen later for dinner, bumping into my hip and staying in constant physical contact since our earlier reunion. The kids eat and go to bed without any hassle, happy to hear that Peeta will be going back to the bakery when he wants to.

That night we take our time. I undress for him slowly, reveling in revealing each inch of skin to him. I fall into bed with him, kissing his neck and freckled shoulders. I trace the planes of his chest, brushing through the blond hairs and toying with his pink nipples. He leans forward to kiss me, stroking my tongue with his. Time is immeasurable as we touch and tease one another. I kiss the puckered flesh of his scars, new and old. He maneuvers me above him to lick me. His tongue and fingers take me to the brink of orgasm before I ease off his face to slither down his body. I ride him slowly on jellied legs, pausing to lean down and kiss him between revolutions of my hips. His fingers skate up and down my chest and arms, holding onto my breasts when I rock into him harder. We hold onto each other as we build to and find our release.

It reminded me of the first time we made love, when he whispered "you love me, real or not real," and, after, it prompts me to open up about my earlier epiphany.

"Before, when Cara said you were a dandelion...I—uh, had a strong reaction to that sentiment, " I say, biting my lip.

He scratches the back of his neck. "I'll say."

"It's because that's how I've always seen you, going back to when we were eleven, with the bread. Your bread gave me life, and I was trying to think of a way to thank you. Do you remember?" I ask.

"Yeah, you picked a dandelion instead in the schoolyard," he recalls.

"Right. The dandelion reminded me that I could forage in the forest for food, and eventually hunt like my father. Without you, without your bread, I wouldn't have made that connection. You've always been there, giving me life, giving me hope," I pause and curl up next to him. "I should have told you this twenty years ago, but you have always been my dandelion, so it took me by surprise that Cara came to the same conclusion."

"And that's why you climbed me like a tree?" he grins, and I swat at his arm.

"Hey, I'm being serious here," I say and capture his blue eyes with my own. "You have proven time and time over, that things can be good again. I was so scared for you, so scared for all of us while you were gone."

"I know. I was too," he breathes, seeming to absorb my serious tone. "Your dandelion is home now though, and I don't want to ever leave again."

I swat at him again for good measure for making fun of me, and keep the mood light. I wear nothing but a contented smile to bed that is mirrored in his expression. Today was good, and it'll only get better. We'll work our way back up to the intense sex from before, but for now, this is good.

Later, he surprises me on my 38th birthday by taking his longest journey yet without a cane, so that he can join us in the meadow for a picnic. Peeta always finds a way to give me the best gifts in life.