Author's Note: Hi Everyone.

I've reached the final arc of my story. I have really had a fantastic time writing this story and it's really made me so happy to see how many of you have bookmarked or commented on this story. I'm sure with Catching Fire on it's way into post-production, many more Peeta/Finnick stories will come to light and it makes me really happy.

I have decided to end this story with Chapter 21. I have told the story I wanted to while at the same time mixing enough drama in it to make it last 21 chapters. Although I have been rather slack posting this chapter (a month) I would like to say again that I will finish this story and hopefully the last two chapters will be posted shortly. Ideally I'd like to have them both up by the end of February.

Thank you for your continuing support and praise, I will see you see soon when I have another chapter to post. Please read and enjoy.

Peeta sat slumped against the side of his car in the garage with both of his legs outstretched in front of him. He rubbed the calf of his now healed leg. There was now an unfamiliar feeling below his ankle where the bone had broken. A lump. Confirmed by his doctor and assured it was nothing to worry about, Peeta still couldn't help but stress about this new disfigurement as he cringed to himself for even completely disregarding his lack of ability to find a better term for a simple small protrusion of a bone.

"Spanner," Noah remarked from beneath the Dodge Challenger that suspended off the ground with help of a jack.

"What size?" he asked the pair of legs that belonged to his brother, who lay on a creeper with an arm outstretched.

"Ten," Noah replied, impatiently snapping his greasy fingers that were covered in black, signalling the extent of labor he had put into Peeta's car.

The younger brother felt the burden of an issue on his shoulders, one he had been wanting to discuss for the past week but couldn't seem to find the courage to bring up. Instead he simply resumed listening to the distant sound of the radio play as he sat by the driver's side door of his broken down car and watched as his brother continued repairing the car that had so much hard work put into it before the untimely death of their parents.

"Why are you so quiet?" Noah asked as he wheeled out from beneath the car with a spanner in his hand.

His forehead was spotted with grease that slightly peppered his slicked back blonde hair. He wiped the sweat off his brown with the back of his hand, leaving another small black stain there.

Peeta rose from the cement floor and over to the workbench where he retrieved a bottle of water. He handed it to his brother without a word and resumed his position on the cement, staring at the various tools that had been spread out in an attempt to bring life back into his car.

"Peeta?"

He looked up at his brother who wore a look of confusion and impatience.

"At least now I won't have to borrow your car anymore," Peeta said with a chipper smile, hoping it would be enough to hide suspicion and pretend there wasn't a deeper problem he was keeping to himself.

Noah stared him down for a moment. Peeta hated when his brother would do that. His ability to sense a lie or half-truth was uncanny and all too unsettling for Peeta, even when he didn't have anything bad to hide, especially when he did.

"What?" he asked dumbly.

"What's up with you?" Noah asked, seeing right through his younger brother's poker face.

Peeta swallowed the lump in his throat and faced his brother. He immediately felt his heart race faster in an eerie feeling of anticipation, excitement and fear.

"It's about Finnick," he said with trepidation in his voice.

Noah chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes, hardly surprised about the subject matter. "I thought so."

Peeta frowned at his brother's sense of humour. "What?" he asked impatiently.

"Nothing," he replied, following another laugh at the look of seriousness in Peeta's face. "It's just, you look so serious. Did you two break up?"

He gaped, "Of course not," Peeta replied, feeling a little insulted.

"Then why do you look like you're about to tell me my puppy died?" Noah asked as he continued to snigger. "Honestly, it's always so dramatic with you, Peeta."

He shrugged and felt a small smile appear on his face.

"It's not always about me, is it?" Peeta asked. "I mean, I don't only come to you with my stuff. I'm not that self-centered, am I?"

Noah wiped the grease from his hands on a rag before kneeling down by the jack. "You're not self-centered," he said as he gripped two hands on the jack and began lowering the car, "So tell me what's up."

Peeta couldn't hide the smile from appearing across his face. "Finnick wants me to move in with him."

"Really?" He grinned, part nervous, part happy for his younger brother.

Peeta nodded, "Yeah."

The conversation had ground to a halt. Peeta was more than ready to begin justifying all the reasons why it was a good idea, why it was important for them to take a step forward in their relationship, all the while realizing he was an adult who could make this decision on his own.

In truth, it wasn't about permission. It was about blessing. If Noah didn't support his decision, it was probably for a good reason. More importantly, it was probably a sign he shouldn't proceed. He stared at his older brother without realizing he was holding his breath, waiting for a reaction.

Noah nodded approvingly, "You should do it."

Peeta felt the air inflate his lungs. "Really?"

"Yeah, why not?" he remarked with an indifferent shrug, almost as if his brother had just shared the most casual of news with him.

The younger man laughed, relieved at the support he was receiving. "Really? You're okay with this?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Noah shot him a similar reaction, "You rely way too much on what I think, Peeta."

He was surprised. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No," Noah replied, "But you can't run every single decision you ever make by me. Why do you do that?"

The younger man looked at him with a questioning face that didn't understand why he would even ask such a question. He thought the answer was clear. "I don't want to screw things up again."

"Yeah? But what does that have to do with me?" He asked.

Peeta sighed, "You'll stop me from screwing it all up again."

"No, Peeta," he replied, "The fact that you're actually happy at this juncture of your life will stop you from screwing it up." Noah rose and leaned up against the hood of the car, tilting his head in the direction of the driver's side door.

The smaller man opened the door to the car and slid into the driver's seat. "Will you still have my back if I do though?"

Noah chuckled, "Just don't get involved with drugs or hook up with any ex-boyfriends and Finnick will be fine."

Peeta laughed. His brother's words put him at ease again. Life hadn't resumed, it was just starting for him. It would still be something he knew he'd have to remind himself, but things would be fine. They had to be.

He turned the key in the ignition. Both brothers exclaimed loudly as the engine of Peeta's car roared back to life.

"I don't really know where to start," Finnick sighed as he slumped further into the black leather couch in the office of Dr. Eleanor Meade.

He diverted eye contact with the woman he was paying to be his new confidant. She was in her early 50's with brown hair that flowed down gracefully to the nape of her neck. She sat a few inches away from him, facing his direction with a legal pad resting on her crossed legs, a silver ballpoint pen dangled in her well-manicured fingers.

She smiled at him warmly, "Most people start with what brings them to my couch. Why don't we start there?"

With that, the tone of their relationship had been set. Finnick's green eyes caught her brown ones for a brief second before returning to the beige carpet. Even at the age of 25, he felt like he was back in high school, he the student and the doctor his teacher. He didn't understand what it was that caused him to feel so nervous and anxious. It may have been his reluctance to open up about his inner-most fears to a stranger, or the terror of what would happen when he reminded himself about those fears, regardless, Finnick could feel a bead of sweat break out on his forehead.

"Finnick?" she said, indicating for him to begin.

He shrugged and began fiddling with the button on his jacket that he had refused to remove, hoping he wouldn't have to stay for too long. "Honestly, I'm just hoping you can prescribe me something to help me sleep."

She raised an eyebrow at him and smiled, "I don't just write out prescriptions. If you want my help you're going to need to start at the beginning."

"You already know why I can't sleep," he sighed, crossing his arms in frustration, "I filled out all that information on my paper work."

Doctor Meade shook her head and began writing on her legal pad as she spoke. "If you wanted help sleeping you could have seen your regular doctor, you could have picked up some Ambien." She began tapping her silver pen against the leather armrest of the seat. "If you want to get to the root of the problem you're going to have to try a little harder than that."

His green eyes finally met hers. He nodded solemnly, "Okay."

"Good," she sighed, folding her hands in her lap and crossing her legs. "How long have you been having these issues for?"

"On and off… for roughly 18 months."

Meade's pen scrawled along her legal pad again, "You didn't seek help from an army psychiatrist? Why is that?"

Finnick recalled the sleepless nights in the hospital days after he was admitted followed by an even longer stretch of medication and constant supervision in the army clinic. "It was easier to pretend to be normal again," he sighed, "If I could trick my doctor's into giving me the all clear I could return to duty, I didn't realize they would show me the door." He could hear the bitterness in his voice as he spoke.

They both sat in silence for a few passing moments. The sound of a pen scratching against paper was the only sound that filled the room. The longer the silence continued, the more unsure Finnick began to feel. This fear was only exacerbated by the seemingly endless scrawling of the doctor's right hand, almost as if in the past few minutes he had already proven how damaged he was and now all the doctor could do was try her best to keep up.

"I need this to work," he said finally as he sat forward in the seat and cleared his throat.

Meade looked up at him and pursed her lips, "Finnick, you and I will get through this together, but working through this kind of PTSD will be time consuming. There is no quick fix."

The words echoed in his ears. No quick fix. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. He'd been terrified of the scenario that required him to constantly revisit old demons and confront them.

"I'll do whatever it takes," he said after a pause, "But I need to see results quickly because it's getting worse and I can't make it stop."

She looked at him quizzically, "What are you worried you're going to lose? What are you scared failure will cost you?"

Finnick swallowed the big lump in his throat. "I'm scared that I will lose the only person I care about. I'm scared they will see me with my guard down and realize how bad it really gets. I can't let that happen."

She nodded, "Okay. Let's begin."

Finnick awoke in the early hours of the morning. He smiled instantly as he noticed the blonde head that lay on his bare chest, breathing softly with a long arm wrapped around his torso. Peeta looked beautiful that morning with beams of sun shining down on his soft skin.

He chuckled to himself. Peeta had come over at some point during the night when he was already asleep.

He wrapped an arm around the warm body that held him tightly. He could feel Peeta's peaceful heartbeat, the heat of his breath on his skin, his messy hair tickling his skin, everything seemed to be in place. Finnick chuckled to himself and kissed the top of his head. The shift in his position caused the younger man to stir and awaken from his sleep.

"You couldn't stand one night without me, could you?" Finnick asked, feeling victorious and ecstatic at the same time.

Peeta chuckled and sat up, "Remember when you asked me to move in with you?"

Finnick grinned widely and sat up, "Yeah?" He leaned in close to Peeta's lips.

"I want to take you up on your offer," he said with a grin, "If you'll still have me."

He kissed Peeta on the cheek as he smiled, knowing it would make him blush and cringe but finding him irresistible nonetheless. Finnick could only hope that making a first step to getting better was the cause of the incredible gesture from the man he loved so much. There were things he wanted to change, and things he wanted to get better, but in that moment, Finnick had never felt happier.

"Can I ask you a question?" Peeta asked as he lay back down and stared up at Finnick.

"Sure," he replied with a chipper smile, pulling some of the blanket off Peeta to cover himself with.

Peeta paused for a moment, unsure as to what level of prying would be tolerated. He reminded himself that Finnick was his and if they were to be sharing a life together, he had the right to answers he had questions to.

"Why do you have a gun?"

In that instant, Finnick tried his best to construct his answer with a more reasonable one that sounded more rational than the blunt truth. But Peeta looked at him expecting an answer.

"The same reason anyone does. Self-defence." Finnick wondered how long he would be subjected to what would likely turn into an interrogation.

Peeta sat up without losing the look of curiosity, "Is this some sort of residual soldier issue?" he asked, trying his best not to sound insensitive to what he hoped was not a deeper issue that required further therapy.

The man he loved had finally sought help in ridding the demons that haunted him. Peeta didn't know if he could tolerate the issues developing further.

"It's not a big deal, Peeta," Finnick said in an assuring tone. "Just leave it where it is and never touch it."

The older man rose from the bed and over to the dresser drawer where the gun itself remained concealed. He pushed the drawer that had been left open, closed.

Finnick turned to face the blonde man in his bed. "I mean it. It's not a toy. It's to keep us safe." His demeanor was serious. He wasn't being coy or adorable, he meant it.

"Okay," Peeta replied.

"Okay."

Finnick returned to the bed, sitting on the edge. Peeta moved in from behind and wrapped his arms around the taller man's neck causing Finnick to chuckle.

"Thanks for moving in with me," he said.

Peeta smiled and kissed the nape of his neck. "No problem."

Peeta pulled the door shut as he left Abernathy Bakery. He locked the door and rattled the handle to confirm it was secure. His first day back at work had left him feeling tired and deprived of any energy. It was just shy of 7pm and he was already ready to call it a night.

He walked to his car, dragging his feet which ached from standing on them all day. After spending the better part of the season in a cast, his body found itself screaming in pain from the exertion and labour it had to endure after an 8 hour shift spent standing in a hot kitchen, preparing food and an arduous cleaning schedule that came whenever Peeta was required to close the store.

He didn't care anymore. He unlocked his car and started it up, relieved that it still did. He had made it through his first day back at work. Despite the exhaustion, he smiled to himself as he remembered how happy he was to be back. Perhaps he would treat himself to a few cold beers in bed with Finnick.

Peeta's smile grew wider at the thought.

He pulled up to a sight he hadn't visited in quite a while, the bar where he and Finnick first met. Peeta had spent so much time associating the bar with memories of a time when he didn't feel loved, didn't feel deserved.

Peeta pushed the door open to The Hob and noticed that it was as dead as ever. Maybe two or three customers in the whole entire bar. He wondered why the manager would even keep the place open for the few drunks who slouched in their chairs by themselves, picking at the complimentary peanuts that sat in front of them on the tables while drowning their sorrows in a $4 beer.

He remembered a time when he was one of those miserable souls before shaking the memories out of his head. He was able to do what none of the others could, he was able to dig himself out of the pit of despair he was stuck in for so long.

He nervously approached the bar and instantly made eye contact with the bartender who stood behind it polishing glasses. Peeta began to fret as he didn't recognise the familiar face of the bartender who always served him without asking him for ID.

Peeta coughed nervously as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Can I get a couple beers?" he asked, "To go."

The man was in his mid to late thirties. He was much larger than Peeta in the sense that his stature was taller, his muscles large and prominent, as was the scowl across his face.

"Got some ID?" The man asked in an almost offended tone. It was almost as if he took issue with the young man trying to break the law at the cost of his own job should he be caught serving alcohol to someone who was clearly a minor.

The way he spoke sounded almost threatening. Peeta immediately felt his heart race as a surge of fear ran through him. He took a step back from the bar and shook his head, the whole time unable to stop looking the man dead in the eyes.

"Then fuck off," he grumbled as he turned his back on Peeta and his attention turned toward a baseball game that played on the TV adjacent to the bar in a low volume.

Before his mind could even process what had just happened, Peeta found himself pushing through the door and back out onto the street where he and Finnick had almost kissed the first night of meeting each other. That memory was now almost tainted by the harsh words and surprising turn of events that he'd experienced in what were a few very fast passing moments leaving him a little scared and embarrassed.

As he disappointingly and angrily kicked an empty beer can, Peeta noticed something that made him stop dead in his tracks.

The car he noticed parked two spaces away from his own was familiar. As he approached it, his eyes immediately trailed up the wheels and onto the dent that someone had attempted to bump out. He could tell this because he knew he would have left a bigger indent in the car after having been struck by it. The windshield had been replaced after he had smashed it as he body collided with it.

He felt his blood boil and his fists clench as he turned back into the bar and approached the bartender once again. He looked around the room. Unless there were more patrons in one of the back booths, the man who had left him to die in the street eight weeks earlier was in his immediate presence.

"Hey!" Peeta snapped, trying to get the bartender's attention.

The gruff, angry looking man wrinkled his brow and turned his attention back to the short blonde man.

"What?" he snarled, his patience already long gone.

Peeta ignored the man's tone and unpleasant demeanor. He could feel the wind knocked out of him as he opened his mouth. "Who owns the red Sedan out front?" he asked. His hands shook.

"I do," the man replied with a raised eyebrow. "What the hell do you care?"

Just like that, Peeta felt the growing anger and turmoil leave his head and instead opted to simply reply, "You're double parked."

The man let out a sarcastic laughed grunt and leaned over the counter, "Unless you want your ass tossed onto the street by me, I'd scram if I were you, kid."

Peeta glowered at the man before noticing the name tag on his shirt. He chuckled to himself. "See you around… Brutus."

They locked eyes for a brief moment longer before Peeta turned and pushed his way through the door and stormed over to his car. He started up his engine and tore onto the street. His mind immediately turned to memories of bleeding on the cold street as Finnick held him and kept him safe. He wondered, like he always did about what would have happened to him had Finnick not been there.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter as his mind trailed back to bartender Joe, the man who had hurt him and Finnick's loaded gun.