Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.

What's wrong? I stand up and walk across the living room, past the stairs and to the doorway of the kitchen. Peeta's there, clutching the back of a chair. His head is bowed and I can't see his face, but he seems to be having a hard time breathing. I tentatively approach him and see that his grip on the chair is a white-knuckled one. It's unnerving, but he is obviously having a hard time so I force myself to stay in the room. I want to help him.

"Peeta?" I say softly.

He shakes his head minutely and pulls away from the chair, and away from me, until his back hits the nearby wall. His head is still down and now he's clutching at his hair and looks as if he's going to pull handfuls of it out. I take this as a bad sign. I wonder if whatever is happening could cause him to be a danger to me, so I back away until we're on opposite sides of the room. I can hardly bear to look at Peeta while he's like this, but can't manage to tear my eyes away. I know this is because of what happened to him in the Capitol, because I couldn't protect him in the Quell. All I wanted to do was keep him safe and I failed miserably.

Slowly, he starts to relax. His hands loosen and fall to his sides, his hunched body straightens, and finally he lifts his face and he opens his eyes, blinking a couple of times. I start to walk toward him and he makes no move to stop me. He merely stares straight ahead of him, seemingly as if he's looking right through me.

"Peeta?" I say tentatively, and he nods. "Are you all right?" He nods again. "What happened?" I'm not sure if I'm supposed to ask this, or if he would rather not discuss it. It looked like he was having some kind of relapse.

"It's happened a few times since I got back," Peeta says, looking down at the floor. "I don't really know how to describe it. It's like I relive some of what happened in the Capitol, but the shiny memories are there too." His eyes, which are more focused now, raise to meet mine and he winces. "I can usually put up with it, but sometimes… it's just too much." I reach a hand out toward him and he stares at it for a second, then gives it a quick and gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry I scared you," Peeta says, stepping away from the wall. "And sorry about the glass."

Before I can respond he's left the room. When he returns with the broom and dustpan, I find the words. "You don't have to be sorry. It's not your fault." It's mine.

I watch for a few seconds as he sweeps the broken glass into the dustpan, then I return to the living room. I put away the papers that don't have any wet paint on them, deciding that we've worked enough for today. I'm just sitting down on the couch when Peeta comes back into the room. What just happened is a reminder that, in some ways, things are worse for him than they are for me. I have plenty of grief and the nightmares, but Peeta has a whole different kind of torment. While I don't think I'm in a position to help anyone, I feel like I have to at least try.

He sits beside me on the couch and glances down at the packed up materials on the table. "Done for the day?"

"It's getting late," I say. "Um…you know you can talk to me, right? About anything. I mean, if it would help."

Peeta nods and his mouth curves up, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. They stay stony. "Thanks, it might." He pauses and I see his eyes traveling over my face. "You know you can talk to me too?"

"Okay." Maybe I will.

We stay like this, with our eyes locked, for a few seconds, then he glances toward the window. "I guess I should get home." His gaze returns to mine for just a moment before he stands up and walks toward the door. "Goodnight, Katniss."

The words are there, in my mind. I want to ask him to stay, so we can help each other. So that he can fight away my nightmares and I can soothe him through whatever just happened to him, should it occur again. But I can't. Maybe I'm too afraid of the way he had to throw himself away from me. Maybe I don't think we're ready for that kind of closeness yet. "Goodnight" is the only word I can manage before I hear the door click shut behind him.

I go upstairs and wash my face and brush my teeth, then climb into the big empty bed. The sheets feel cool and I wish he was here to help me warm them up. I wish I'd asked him to stay. I shouldn't be afraid of him. If he was going to hurt me, wouldn't he have done it by now?

I want to tell myself that he would never hurt me, but I know that's not true. I don't think I'll ever forget the look in his eyes when he started to choke me in Thirteen, or when he tried to attack me when we were with the Star Squad.

But he's not like that anymore. Everything about him is different. He's kind again and wants to help me. He planted the primroses for me and helped me with the book, and came to Twelve just to be with me. Although…I can't help wondering if he might be worried about hurting me. Otherwise, wouldn't he have offered to stay?

I think of his words during the Quell, "You're my whole life." I bury my head under my pillow, but it's no use, there is no escaping the thoughts in my head. There's no escaping the fear that I might understand, now, how Peeta felt when he said that to me. He's all I have left.

I can't sleep. I toss and turn for what feels like forever, but when I look at my bedside clock I see that it's only been about an hour. I get out of bed and walk to the window. The lights are all off in Peeta's house. I wonder if he's sleeping, and assume that he must still struggle with nightmares too. Though I don't see how they could be any worse than what I saw happen to him before he left tonight.

I pad over to my other window and see a light on in Haymitch's house.

I can't stand being in this room anymore. I quickly pull on a pair of pants and sweatshirt, then go down the stairs and leave my house. I reach Haymitch's front door and knock, knowing I won't get any reply. After a few seconds, I turn the knob and go inside. The living room is a terrible mess, as always, and Haymitch is nowhere in sight. I make my way into the kitchen and find him there, slumped at the table, white liquor bottle in hand. His eyes raise when he sees me. "Two visits in one day?" He smirks. "Don't tell me you have boy trouble."

I wordlessly sit down across from him at the table and fold my arms over my chest.

Haymitch takes a long swig out of his bottle, then stares at me. "Well?"

He's more perceptive of my actions than I am. I didn't come here with the intention of talking to him, I just had to get out of my house. But now I realize that I do want to talk to someone. I stare at the bottle in his hand. I remember drinking with him when I found out about the Quell, but I also remember the terrible headache and sickness that followed. Though it would probably make me drowsy… "Can I have a sip?"

"No," Haymitch says quickly, then adds, "you don't want to go down that road." He takes another drink. "Why are you really here?"

I shake my head and look away from him, toward the dark window.

"How about I guess? Like a game. Decipher the sweetheart's scowl and win a prize."

"I don't have any prizes to give you," I say flatly.

He chuckles. "All right, the prize will be the fun of getting to know you better."

"Fine."

"You want to be at Peeta's house right now, but you're too stubborn to even tell him that you're glad he came back here. Am I in the ballpark?"

"What does that even mean?" I ask, choosing to focus on the last, and least frustrating, part of what he's just said.

"Don't know, my father used to say it." When I fail to respond any more, he says, "All right, I guessed wrong. You want to talk national news? Did you know they're thinking of re-naming the country The United Districts of Panem?"

I scoff. "That's not even a name, it's…"

He smirks, and I realize he's made this up.

"Funny." Now Haymitch doesn't respond; we're both silent for a minute or so. Eventually, I say quietly, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"About what?"

"Everything. I don't know…" I take a deep breath and try to collect my thoughts. "I mean, I understand what's wrong with him and why he's like this. But he's so different from how he used to be."

Haymitch's eyebrows raise. "Is he?"

"Of course," I say quickly.

"Doesn't seem like it to me. But I don't spend nearly as much time with him as you do."

"I don't spend a lot of time with him either."

"Why not?"

"He always leaves. He doesn't want to be around me."

Haymitch lets out a kind of laugh. "Why would you say that?"

"Because he always leaves," I snap.

"And you don't want him to leave?" he asks, and I shake my head. "Would've fooled me."

"What do you mean?"

Haymitch shrugs. "At breakfast, it seemed like you didn't want either one of us there."

"I -" I shake my head again. "That's not -"

"Maybe he's just tired. Did you ever think of that? That he's tired of the way you act toward him? Maybe he's been humiliated enough, and isn't going to do anything without some encouragement."

I never humiliated Peeta! I couldn't help the way I felt, or didn't feel, toward him. I've never been able to afford the kind of love he wanted from me. I feel angry and am forming a snappy retort in my mind when I feel a sort of pang. What if Haymitch is right? I try to think. I asked Peeta to work on the book with me and I put my hand on his the other day. Maybe that's not enough.

But doesn't he remember that I wouldn't give up on him when we were with Squad 451? Doesn't he remember asking to be left behind, and my refusal? The kiss? The hug goodbye, later on? He must know that I care about him.

I lean back in my chair. "You don't have to thank me," Haymitch says, obviously noticing how lost in thought I am.

I bite my lip and try to think of what I should do. I do want to spend more time with Peeta, but have no idea what to say to him. I don't want him to misunderstand and think I want to be anything more than his friend. I'm not ready for that. But I would like him to start staying overnight. It was so much easier to sleep when he was there to comfort me after the nightmares, and I think his presence even prevented them sometimes.

Although I can't help thinking that if he does start sleeping over, it will mean something. I always told myself that it didn't in the past, but there's something intimate about sharing a bed with someone who's not a relative. I can't imagine sleeping next to anyone else I've considered a friend in the past…Madge, Johanna, Finnick, even Gale. They could have offered consoling words, or even a hug, but the idea of seeking comfort from any one of them would have never occurred to me. I've only ever wanted to be with Peeta in that way. He's different. I tell myself that he's a different kind of friend, but can't help thinking that we're really not friends at all. Perhaps we never were, and maybe we never can be.

I lean forward, burying my face in my hands.

"Do you want to go to your house? I haven't seen it in a while," I say after breakfast, "we could work there for a change." I spend too much time here.

"All right," Peeta says with a smile.

"Good," I say, standing up. I pick up the box of papers for the book and Peeta and I go to his house. I set everything down on the coffee table in his living room, then notice a small box of tapes next to the television set. "What are those?" I ask, even though I have a pretty good idea.

"Oh," he says, looking down as if he's ashamed of something. "The Games, the Quell, the interviews."

I find it interesting that they're sitting right out in the open. "You watch them a lot?"

"Dr. Aurelius said it would be good to watch them once in a while, to help me remember what's real. I don't watch them all the way through but sometimes I remember something shiny and it's good to have them on hand so I can correct the memory."

"It helps?"

"It helps a lot, I think. Those are the same ones they used before. Mostly just clips of us."

"Should I watch them?" I don't know why I'm asking Peeta this question, if anything I should ask Dr. Aurelius the next time he calls. I'm not sure why I would even want to watch them, but I feel compelled. At the very least, I'm interested to see the interviews.

"If you want. He told me it might also help me to recover from the Games, if I can get used to the memories, by reminding myself how things happened. It might help you too, in that way. So you can…accept it all." I nod my head and Peeta walks over to the box, then reaches a hand into it. "Should we start at the beginning?" he asks, with a small smile. I nod again and he takes a tape out, then examines it. "This one starts with the reaping."

"All right."

His eyes meet mine for just a second, then he walks over and puts the tape in, turning on the television before he joins me on the couch. We're about as far apart as can be, while still sitting on the same piece of furniture.

It starts with a shot of me standing on the stage, trying not to look scared, then Peeta's name is called and we see him walk up the steps and take his place beside me. Next, we watch ourselves riding in the chariot, holding hands, illuminated by Cinna's fire.

In my interview, I seem shy and am clearly nervous, but it doesn't go terribly. I spin around, showing off my dress. Then comes Peeta's interview. Seeing him like this, close up, is a bit shocking. His smooth skin, his bright, lively eyes and healthy body that has both whole legs. He and Caesar banter back and forth for a bit. Peeta makes the crowd laugh. His assured smile comes so easily.

I feel tears sliding down my cheeks and have a completely irrational desire. I want to stand up, run to the television and reach inside it. I want to take Peeta's hand and pull him out of there and into now, so he can be himself again. So that he doesn't have to go through the infection, losing his leg, the torture, the hijacking, being burned. I want to save him but I can't. I already had my chance.

I must have begun to cry audibly, because I feel the couch shift and see that Peeta has scooted over and is sitting right beside me. He reaches out for me, then hesitates, asking permission with his eyes. I nod and almost immediately feel his arms wrap around me for the first time since we said goodbye in the Capitol.

I tell myself that the boy in the video isn't gone, and that I can still help him. I have to try. He's here. It's not too late for him. He looks more similar now, to the boy in the video, than he did when we first got back here. The first time I saw him, when he was planting the primroses, he looked thin. But now, thanks to the baking and Sae's cooking, he's gained back the weight he'd lost.

I feel one of Peeta's hands rub my back while the other cradles my head against his chest. My own arms find their way around him and I take fistfuls of his shirt in my hands, gripping them firmly and pushing them against him. It's such a relief to hug him again. It's as if I've been unknowingly holding my breath ever since we said goodbye in the Capitol, and I can finally breathe again. Or like I've been incredibly tense, flexing every muscle in my body, and now I can relax. I almost feel like I could drift off to sleep, right here and now.

"What is it?" he asks. "I didn't think we were at the bad part yet."

I shake my head and feel my cheek rub against his chest as the tears continue to flow. He doesn't understand and I can't explain it to him. I don't know where I would even begin. "It's just…" I swallow hard, and figure it's now or never. I have to say something. "I miss you." It's only a whisper but it's enough.

Peeta draws back slightly so that we can look each other in the eyes, and the smile he gives me is as sweet as ever, just like the ones he had for Caesar and the crowd in the video. Then he's pulling me close again, hugging tighter than before. "You have me," he says, and my feeling of relief somehow manages to grow.

We turn back toward the television eventually, and Peeta stays on my side of the couch. He keeps his right arm wrapped securely around me while I hold his left hand in both of mine.