Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.

I don't like watching myself drop the tracker jacker nest on the Careers and Peeta. "I wish you'd warned me before you did that," he says, but I can tell by his tone of voice that he's only teasing me.

"I didn't know," I say, intentionally sounding more defensive than I really feel. "I wish you'd told me that you were going to team up with them, so I would have been prepared."

"Would you've believed I was doing it for you?" he asks, turning to face me.

I bite my lip, knowing he's got a point. "Probably not. It was hard to believe any of it…the things you said in your interview." He smiles and I say seriously, "I wish I would have found a way to warn you." I wonder what might have happened if I'd thrown something at him, perhaps, to get his attention, and then gestured for him to move away. Peeta might have fared better in that fight with Cato, if he hadn't been stung. But I didn't know Peeta was on my side; the thought of helping him never even crossed my mind until the supposed rule change.

"I don't really blame you," Peeta says, and his arm tightens around me for a second. "I can understand how you must have felt." He gives me a reassuring smile and then we resume watching the tape.

I think it's good that we can discuss something like this in a relaxed way. I'm glad neither of us are still so affected by this incident that we actually feel angry or defensive about it. I bet Dr. Aurelius would say that this kind of talk is very helpful, and a step toward healing from the trauma of the Games.

We watch for a long time. We see me find Peeta, take him to the cave, drug him and inject the medicine into him. I try not to think about the ways in which these memories could have been altered and distorted for him in the Capitol. It feels a bit strange to watch the kissing parts, and hear all that talk from both of us about how much we cared for each other. But at the same time, I almost feel like it's not even us. We look younger in the video, aren't scarred and both have a kind of youthful innocence that's gone now. I had struggled before the Games, sure, but the things that have happened since then make my old life of hunting and being hungry seem trivial.

We see our reunion after the Games and then the interview with Caesar. I watch as I try to explain why I pulled out the berries, and almost fall to pieces when I learn that Peeta lost his leg. It's sad to see him lean his forehead against my temple, and ask what I'm going to do with him now that I've got him. He looked so happy. I think I was more upset about Peeta's leg than he was. The main thing he cared about was that he had me. He thought he had me, anyway…

Now, I reach a hand up and place it on his cheek, then draw his head down and toward me, so that the side of his face is pressed against mine. I wrap my arms securely around his neck, anchoring us together. I don't even want to think of how sad I made him during the fuel stop on the way home.

We decide to take a break after the interview is over. The footage is riveting, but we're both hungry and it seems like a good place to stop. Peeta takes my hand and leads the way into the kitchen. I sit at the counter and he gets out two plates, then places some bread on each. I eat mine quickly.

As soon as Peeta is done with his, he breaks our silence. "Are you glad we watched it?"

I consider the question. There were some moments that were difficult, but overall I think it's good to watch the footage. The tapes have been edited so that we didn't have to see the other tributes dying off. Most of the parts with me and Peeta weren't very violent, not compared to some of the things I saw during the war, so I don't feel disturbed by what we've just seen. In fact, watching the clips of our time in the cave, after he'd started to recover, was almost comforting. It was like a reminder that we used to be more normal. I wish we could be like that again.

"Yes," I say. "I want to watch the Quell tapes, too. But maybe not just yet…not tomorrow."

"I understand," Peeta says, "we should take a break, for a few days even. It's a lot to take in. I've never done a marathon with them before."

We return to the living room and work on Rue's section in the book for a little while, then Peeta says that Sae is probably expecting us at my house. I pack up the pages and we head over, only beating her there by a few minutes. While she serves dinner, it occurs to me that maybe I should tell her that I'm all right now, and Peeta and I can manage to feed ourselves. But then I start to eat the food she's made from my game and remember that I'm no cook. And it doesn't seem like she minds cooking for us. Maybe it's a nice way to break up the day for her, and I still suspect that she's being compensated.

After dinner, Peeta and I resume working on Rue's page. His picture of her is lovely and vivid. She's on her toes, poised like a bird about to take flight. "It's beautiful," I tell him, staring down at the painting.

"Thank you," he says with a smile.

My words at the bottom of the page seem insignificant by comparison. But there are things the picture can't say. She's lovely and looks happy in the painting, but I wrote everything I knew about her. Her big family, her life in Eleven, her bird call. What she knew about plants, how she helped me heal my stings.

We've both worked slowly and it's already getting dark by the time Rue's segment is finished. I can't help thinking of the nightmares I'll have tonight. I watch as Peeta packs up the pages and materials, unable to take my eyes off of him. We both stand up and I step around the table toward him. Then, so quickly I don't even have time to think about what's happening, his arms are extending and I'm throwing myself into them. The side of my face presses against his chest and I feel his cheek resting against my hair. He's holding me tightly, so I don't even have to worry about supporting my weight on my legs. I have to ask now.

"Will you stay tonight?" The question makes me feel irrationally vulnerable. I know he cares about me and it's not as if the two of us sharing a bed would be any new development, but I would be devastated if he said no.

"Yes."

"I've wanted you to for the past few days," I admit.

He laughs a little. "I wish you'd told me."

"You didn't know?"

"Of course not," he says, loosening his hold on me and pulling back. He stares into my eyes and I feel one of his hands on the side of my neck while his thumb runs along my jaw.

"Sometimes it seems like you don't want to be here. You're always rushing off after breakfast and dinner," I say.

He's clearly surprised by my words. "Is that what you want? To be together more often?"

"If you do," I say, sounding more defensive than I'd meant to.

Peeta's eyes widen and then he smiles. "I didn't know what you wanted. I know I've been…" His voice lowers so that he's barely audible, and I see him swallow. "…forced on you a lot in the past and I don't want to do anything you're not comfortable with. I thought you needed more time."

So Haymitch was half right. Peeta did think I didn't want him, but wasn't deliberately holding out on telling me that he wants to be with me more. He was just trying to make things easier for me.

"I thought I would know when…if you wanted me here more," he continues.

"Now you know," I say, and manage a slight smile.

It feels so simple and I wish we'd talked about this sooner. He goes home to get some things, while I make my way upstairs and get ready for bed. I slide under the covers and wait. It seems to take forever for him to join me, but once I see him, the waiting doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is that he's here now. I lift the covers and he lies down next to me. We arrange ourselves effortlessly. My head finds its way onto his chest, his arms wrap around me. Everything outside of us has changed since that night on the train, the first time he climbed into my bed with me, but he feels the same. Still warm and strong. Even now, when I'm not waking up screaming, having him here is incredibly comforting.

In my dream, I'm lying in a shallow grave, staring up at a sky filled with dark storm clouds. I try to sit up, but can't move at all. I'm completely paralyzed. Then they start to arrive. All of the people whose faces I know, who died because of me. They're senselessly crowding around the opening of my grave, pushing and struggling to get a look at me. They all have lifeless white eyes. They don't speak or make any sound right away. Then the first handful of ash is thrown at me, onto my stomach. The one who threw it, a member of the Star Squad, shrieks and the sound echoes.

One by one, and more rapidly all the time, the others continue to fill my grave. The ashes start to cover my face and I choke on them, still unable to move. The dead people keep tossing, shrieking, and staring at me with those horrifying eyes.

I wake up screaming, and it is such a relief to be able to breathe and move. My eyes fly open and land on the empty side of the bed next to me, which is illuminated by early morning light shining in through the windows. Where is Peeta? Didn't he stay last night? I roll over and bury my face in my pillow as the sobs start to wrack my body. My stomach is starting to hurt, from being tensed over and over as I cry, when I feel his hands on my back. He turns me over and then pulls me into a sitting position and up against him. I feel his lips on my forehead and his hands running over my back.

"It's all right, Katniss," Peeta says softly, "you're safe. Shh." He begins to stroke my hair. "You're all right, it's over."

I start to calm down, but the tears keep streaming. I open my eyes and lean back enough to see Peeta.

He looks nearly as sad as I feel. "I'm so sorry, Katniss. I wanted to let you sleep in. Do you want to tell me what it was?"

I shake my head and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him against me again, so that we're cheek to cheek. I run a hand up into his hair and feel that it's wet. He must have just gotten out of the shower.

We stay like this for a while: Peeta running his hands over my back and into my hair, me gripping him tightly. Eventually I realize I'm as comforted as can be, and I start to pull away. "Are you okay?" Peeta asks.

No. I nod, though, because I'm as okay as I'm going to get. "I'm going to take a shower," I tell him. And hopefully wash the ashes away.

He gives me a tentative smile, then says, "I'll be waiting for you downstairs," and leaves the room. I retrieve some clean clothes from my dresser and make my way into the bathroom.

Sae's already gone by the time I reach the kitchen, and Peeta's eaten half of his meal. I stare at the food in front of me disinterestedly. I have no appetite.

"Please eat something," Peeta says, reaching a hand across the table and placing it over mine.

I keep thinking of the nightmare. I've had that one before, but not in a few weeks. It always makes me feel like this. Today it helped that Peeta was there to hold on to, but it was still terrifying.

I pick up my fork and start taking small bites, not because I'm hungry or even because Peeta asked me to, but because I could never waste food. I force the it all down and then push the empty plate away from me. "You still have nightmares," I say, as more of a statement that I know he'll confirm than a question.

Peeta's eyes meet mine and he nods. Then he stands up, collects our plates and takes them to the sink. I stare down at the table in front of me while I listen to him washing the dishes and forks. When he's done, I stand up and walk into the living room, then slump down on the couch. I thought things were getting better. I'd hoped that nightmare wouldn't return. It's hard to choose just one, but I'd say that's the worst nightmare that I have.

"What do you want to do today?" Peeta asks, awkwardly taking a seat beside me on the couch.

"Nothing," I say.

"You don't want to work on the book?"

I shake my head. Seeing drawings of the people we've lost will only make my memories of the nightmare more vivid. I'll probably imagine that they have those dead, colorless eyes. I've got that fidgety feeling again. I don't want to be inside this house, but don't feel like leaving it either. "Will you come to the roof with me?"

Peeta looks hesitant for a moment. Perhaps he's worried about me being out there when I'm so obviously upset. But he must decide I'm trustworthy, or that I'll be fine as long as he can keep an eye on me, because he smiles a little and says, "Sure."

I lead the way up the stairs then step out the window. Peeta follows and we carefully walk down the slope to the level part of the roof, where we sit, both facing the direction of town. "You like it here now, then?" I ask. I meant it to be a little joke, but can't even manage a slight smile.

"As long as I'm with you," he says.

I'm not sure if he means so that he can make sure I don't fall or jump, or that he likes being anywhere if I'm there. I don't dwell on it, though.

Peeta scoots over behind me and then I feel his back press into mine, so that we can lean against each other. We stay like this in silence for a couple of minutes before I hear him make a sound resembling a laugh. "On the count of three?" he says.

Before I can stop myself, I realize I'm smiling. Just a little, but it's there. Why would I have a reaction like this to his reference to the Games? We just watched the clip yesterday, of the two of us standing back to back, counting to three and then putting the berries into our mouths.

I think for a moment and it becomes obvious why I've reacted with a smile. I'm glad that's over, and that we're not in that moment anymore. Peeta bleeding to death, both of us poised to commit suicide. I'm so relieved that he didn't die there. I quickly turn around, sit on my knees and wrap my arms around his waist, resting my chin on his shoulder. I'm so thankful that he's here. I feel his hands slide over mine and cup them.

"I know Caesar asked you in the interview, but I don't know if you were telling the truth when you answered," Peeta says slowly. "What was going through your mind when you pulled out those berries?"

I'm a bit surprised that he would bring this up at a time when I'm so obviously upset, but then I wonder if he's doing it on purpose in order to distract me from my memory of the nightmare. Whatever his motivation, I'm not prepared to answer. "I really don't know," I tell him, after a few seconds. I might as well be honest, right? And I might as well tell him everything I do know. "I couldn't let you die there."

"But we both might have died," he reminds me.

I pull away from Peeta and rest my hands in my lap. He makes no move to turn toward me so that we can look at each other while we discuss this, and I'm glad.

It seems like it happened so long ago, a lifetime away. But it's only been about two years. I want to answer him, but it's hard. I try to go back there, in my mind. Back to that arena. I remember Peeta pointing out that they had to have a victor. I remember quick, fleeting thoughts of returning to the Capitol alone, sitting through the interview alone, going home alone. Seeing my family, seeing Gale. No more Peeta.

My breath catches in my throat at the thought of this. As bleak as our life now feels, the thought of enduring all of that, alone, is somehow unbearable. "It was true," I say quietly. At first I think he didn't hear, but then he turns around to look at me. His eyes meet mine, and when I try turn away, I feel his hand under my chin, gently but insistently forcing me to look at him.

"What's true?" he asks.

Is he really going to make me repeat it? Why is he doing this?

"I couldn't…" My voice cracks and I pause to clear my throat. When I speak again, it's very softly. "I couldn't bear the thought of being without you."

His reaction is confusing. At first, he looks like he's upset and sad, but then he quickly wraps his arms around me and pulls me toward him. I gently place my hands on his back. It feels like some kind of floodgate has been opened, because I suddenly want to tell him more. I remind myself that Dr. Aurelius said that talking about my feelings with someone might help me. I'm not sure if these are the kind of feelings he meant, but it seems like the same concept would apply.

"Peeta," I say softly, but my lips are right by his ear so I know he can hear me.

"Hm?"

"In Thirteen…I felt so happy when Boggs told me they'd gotten you out of the Capitol and you were just down the hall. I was so excited to see you again..." I let my voice trail off, unable to finish. I thought you were going to kiss me and I couldn't wait.

His hold on me tightens and I feel his lips on my neck. I realize I'm smiling again. There. I've made him feel good, and he deserved to hear that. It's the truth, after all. My moments of affection for him have been so fleeting that I have no business keeping them a secret, not when hearing things like this makes him so happy. In fact, I want to tell him even more. I want to tell him how happy I felt the morning after we kissed in the Quell, and that I knew it was because of him. I want to tell him that he's the only reason I ever feel anything resembling happiness these days. That I don't know what I would do if he wasn't here.

But I guess I'm not ready to say all of that, so I just keep holding on to him silently. I said what I did in order to make him happy, but it worked out well for both of us. I can hardly believe how nice this feels for me.