A/N: Wow. I am so so SO sorry! I should have updated before now…three times or so. I'll try to be more consistent, now that it's summer and I don't have exams or anything. Also, I started a Lily/James fic called "My Silver Lining" that is up, and it would just make my day if you might want to read that, too, and tell me what you think of it! I'm sorry this chapter is rather short—this was the best stopping place and I promise the next chapter will be a good bit longer. Aaaaand…I'll stop rambling now and let you read. (:

I lie there, immobile, for what just might be forever. Katniss is either dead or she is here-wherever "here" is. The shock holds me completely still, as if the rigidness could help me come to my senses, realize the truth; I notice vaguely that there is a tube up my arm, and that restraints hold me down. It doesn't matter to me. I couldn't move if I wanted to.

I see out of my peripheral vision that the door slides open, though it's completely silent. I continue to stare at the ceiling. Nothing matters.

"Peeta?"

I feel the breath catch in my throat. It's a familiar voice, but it isn't Katniss. I don't look up.

The person walks over to me and presses a button on the table beside me; the restraints slide back into the bed, but I still don't move. She kneels beside the bed and brushes the hair out of my face. "Peeta, honey?"

I blink and turn my head to look at Portia. Before I know what I'm saying, I croak one word. "Katniss?"

"Is fine."

It seems backwards to me. The tears well up in my eyes and slide down my face as Portia helps me sit up; I'm shaking uncontrollably. Shouldn't I be happy? Shouldn't I be screaming for joy?

"Shhh…" Portia hugs me and rocks slowly back and forth. I feel like an old man looking back and experiencing a moment as a child again; I feel very young, but I have aged so much since setting foot in the arena.

My shoulders have stopped trembling before Portia says anything more, but once I have controlled myself, she takes my hand and looks into my eyes. "I need to tell you everything that has happened and everything that's going to happen. They knew that you would be shocked and disconcerted, and definitely traumatized, so I volunteered to be a familiar face, someone to…to help you through."

I nod. There isn't much to say. But I can't say how glad I am that Portia is the one to talk to me. There is something about her that I had noticed from the beginning; I can trust her.

"First of all, there's…there's something you should know. And it's going to take some getting used to, but you're here. You're alive, and that's what matters."

"What is it?"

"…You have a new leg."

That's another thing about Portia: as kind as she is, she never sees any sense in beating around the bush. Which I guess is just as well. I don't know how long I could have taken "You…well, there's an appendage…that was hurt. And it couldn't have been cured, so…well…"

I lean down and feel where my leg should be. It's utterly and completely the strangest sensation to pat something that is where my leg should be but that can't feel my hand at all. I look up again and see Portia eyeing me cautiously. I can get used to this. Katniss and I are miraculously both alive. I can handle a new leg.

Portia continues. "For the next week or so, you'll be going through physical therapy. Usually this time is used to nurse a victor back to health, but that will go along with your physical therapy, and they've already gone over you, taken away all the nasty souvenirs. They were able to do a lot during your surgery that would have taken longer in another situation."

I nod again. I hadn't even thought about how grimy and disgusting I had been and how clean I am now. "When can I see her?"

She smiles a little sadly and squeezes my hand. "I wish I could say now. But they're keeping her under strict medication, putting her back together, and they don't want you to see her until the ceremony." I must look bewildered because she quickly explains that they want everyone in the country to see our reunion.

"Not that I agree!" she adds hastily at the look on my face. "If it were up to me, I would take you to her now. But it isn't up to me, and I'll be helping you to get through. Physical therapy will start tomorrow,"-which means nothing to me, as time has lost all meaning by this point-"and I'll be there every step of the way. Let's just hope you don't get sick of me by the time this is all over." She winks.

"I'm more likely to be sick of myself than you, Portia. Definitely this not-leg."

"There's the Peeta I know," she says, smiling a little bit.

The next week feels, in one word, unnatural. I feel like a child, which I never would have guessed, seeing as I just won the Hunger Games. I eat simple foods: broth, bread, applesauce. They teach me to walk, as if I had never been able to. They show me how my leg works, how best to operate it. I will use a cane occasionally, but I will mostly need to be able to walk without one. Portia stays true to her word, remaining with me and providing help when everything else threatens to be too much. I know that she knows that all I really want is to see Katniss, but there isn't anything she can do.

After long enough that physical therapy has become routine, Portia comes once again into my room to bring breakfast. She sits on the edge of the bed as I eat the tiny portions of applesauce—as frustrating as the food is, I don't think my stomach could handle rich Capitol food. I realize quickly that she is glowing.

"What?" I ask. "What are we doing today?"

"Getting you ready for Katniss."

If I had two good legs, I would spring out of bed. "It's today? The ceremony's today?"

"Yes, yes it is. And we need to get you ready." She's beaming as I take my cane from the side of my bed, then gingerly stand and walk to the door, using the techniques that the Capitol doctors have been teaching me. "Lunius, Gideon, and Marthia can't wait to see you!" The patch in the wall slides open and I don't even have to ask her which way to go, because all three members of my prep team, Haymitch, and Effie have all gathered just outside my room, hugging me in turn. I know that Portia told me that I couldn't see Katniss until the ceremony, but I'm still disappointed as I pull back from Effie's teary hug and still see no Katniss.

I'm eventually pulled away by Portia and the prep team and taken down the hallway and to an elevator that takes us to what is easily recognizable as the lobby of the Training Center. The members of my prep team chatter excitedly in their Capitol accents, but Portia just smiles. I can tell she's about as stunned as I am that I made it through the physical therapy without going crazy—but it's going to take a lot of willpower to make it through the next eternity of prepping for the ceremony. We reach another elevator that takes us to the twelfth floor, and I can't help thinking of all the other tributes who took some of their last steps in the outside world here. Rue, who could have won; Foxface, whose name I'll never know; Cato, who lived his last hours in agony…

I shake myself a little bit to try to pull myself away from the Games, but it's difficult to forget when I'm using a cane and walking on a contraption instead of a leg. It's a relief to sit down once more in my room and prepare to zone out again as my prep team adds finishing touches to my appearance.

Portia disappears to retrieve what I'll be wearing while the rest of the prep team sets to work. Gideon, decked out in neon orange down to the eyelashes, snips bits of hair away in an effort to even it out, and then combs and styles it, adding just enough styling liquid—I can't determine if it's gel or something that will turn my hair hard as a rock—to it that it stays stationary. Lunius and Marthia, meanwhile, admire my lack of scars and scratches (which, I suppose, were taken care of during leg surgery) and smooth out any minor calluses that they can find, so that my skin has been rendered completely flawless. All the while, they chatter and giggle, but I can barely think straight, much less understand them. Twenty-two other people gave their lives so that I could be here now.

Portia returns with several clothes-filled hangers as well as a pair of sturdy-looking boots. I pull on the yellow shirt and button it, then, with some help from Portia, the long black pants, and finally lace up the black boots. I turn to face my reflection in the mirror.

This could easily be a Peeta Mellark walking into the Hunger Games after just being prepared by the Capitol. I am astonished to know that I have just won, that I have outlived so many. My skin is smooth and perfect, and Gideon has pulled off an effect with my hair that makes me look strong and older. The shirt I'm wearing seems to shimmer with every move I make; it's like I'm wearing soft, relaxing light.

I'm given a light lunch to eat—chicken, green beans, and a muffin, all in small servings—and then taken to the elevator to the level where all the tributes were trained. Traditionally, victors of the Hunger Games rise from beneath the stage with their support team. The specific order has always made all the difference in the world—the prep team, escort, stylist, mentor and finally, victor, must all be in that order. Fortunately, Katniss and I have managed to mess that up, but I'm not sure how it's to be rearranged just yet. I'm situated on a metal plate that will transport me up to the stage, and reminded painfully of the start of the Games. In the dim light, I can see a wall to my left; I assume Katniss is behind it, and my heart skips a beat. My prep team scurries away and Portia kisses me on the cheek, whispering, "Good luck!" then bustles away, too.

I'm surprised that I'm not shaking from the nerves. I am about to go up and speak in front of the entire country, and no one will fail to hear what I say. But the more I think about it, the more it comes down to it; I'm only speaking for Katniss. If I think in the mindset that only she can hear me, maybe I won't be so queasy.

Katniss. I will be speaking for her today. The girl who didn't know my name several weeks ago. The girl who I've loved for as long as I can remember. Most importantly, the girl I will marry, and spend the rest of my life with. And suddenly I'm even more nervous, nervous to see her and know that I'm in the presence of perfection—walking perfection who finally sees me and knows who I am and who maybe even loves me.

The time passes in a way that seems impossible to me—maybe it's an hour, maybe it's a second, maybe a century—and soon I hear the anthem playing, Caesar Flickerman speaking, the crowd roaring. I know that both my prep team are being presented, all, no doubt, taking their bows and beaming around. I hear Effie introduced; she is surely glowing, her pink hair probably threatening to topple off. Portia and Cinna are given a spectacular applause, which is no surprise, considering the miracles they've performed on the two tributes from District Twelve, where our only notable trade is coal. Haymitch's name is called, and his applause goes on for what must be a full five minutes.

The seconds tick nearer. My plate begins to rise…I right myself on it to keep from toppling over, clutching at my sleek cane…

For a moment I think I've gone blind. The lights are ultimately like another small sun.

It then occurs to me that perhaps I've also gone deaf. The roar from the audience drives almost all noise from my ears.

And then I turn. And I smile, wider than I ever thought I could.

How could I ever be blind? How could I ever think I've lost my sight when a beautiful girl, my beautiful Katniss, runs toward me, beaming and looking on the verge of emotional tears? I don't know how I was just nervous about seeing her—this is, after all, just Katniss.

She throws herself onto me, and I almost fall over, but I right myself. I hold her, kissing her, and all the sound shuts out. I lose any thought of where I am, of what's going on, and just know that we're here together.

There's a tap on my shoulder, but I shove whoever it is away. I am with Katniss. They can't pull me away.

Now, if you've read this chapter, you have an opinion on it. Maybe you liked it, maybe you thought it was horrible, maybe I took Peeta way too far out of character. I'm not really sure, but I would absolutely LOVE to know what you thought. And it isn't too hard to let me know! There is this amazing button that lets you tell me whatever you want to about my story. Go ahead, click it! It's right…

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HERE!