A/N: Hello, my lovlies! Thank you, thank you for all the glorious reviews! Reviews! GLORIOUS REVIEWS!

I love you guys. I really do.

So, I'm glad that all of you guys are glad that Peeta isn't hijacked. I never planned on doing that to him, because frankly, I think the idea of 'hijacking' is ridiculous. If Collins wanted to take Peeta out of the picture with something freaky, just give him a case of PTSD. It's practically the same thing anyway. Hijacking just doesn't make sense to me. The basic idea is that it's a fear conditioning that makes Peeta so afraid of Katniss that he will try to attack her before she can hurt him.

Let's think about this in a different situation: You're walking along in the woods. It's a lovely day. Suddenly, you look up and there's a HUGE GRIZZLY BEAR. You have a brief stare down. You're absolutely petrified of this bear. That being said, why in THE HELL would you run TOWARD this bear and try to KILL it before it kills you? No. No, no, no. If you're that scared, you will run away, screaming. Or if you're Collins version of Peeta, hide in a corner and rock back and forth.

That sounds harsh, but it's honestly what annoyed me most about the entire 3rd book.

Okay, and now that I ranted, let's actually get to this chapter! I think you guys will like it but be disappointed with the lack of Peeta (a conscious one, anyway). I'm trying to be medically accurate with this story, so Peeta isn't going to be up and about anytime soon (unless he has a wonderful adrenaline rush). So, bear that in mind. However, I would see this chapter as the "calm before the storm." Because let's just say the majority of the rest of the story is a hurricane.

Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.

Peeta: Why am I sleeping? Seriously, I get one kiss. ONE. You give me one line last chapter. ONE. What's with this?

Katniss: Yeah! Why are you forcing me to talk to myself?

Me: This coming from the girl who was hearing voices in her head . . .

Katniss: You made me do it!

Rye: Hey! Hey, AC! Hey!

Me: What?

Rye: Can I have ice cream?

Me: Yeah . . . no.

Haymitch: You will get me alcohol.

Me: Nope. You're sober, dude.

Haymitch: *hangs head* Damn it.


Chapter 12: Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Sweet dreams, till sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

But in your dreams, whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me


"I missed you so much."

Peeta doesn't respond, but I don't mind. He needs his rest, and I'm happy to talk to his sleeping form. Our reunion took every ounce of strength he'd gained back in the short time he'd been in the care of District 13. The kiss we shared was the most intense, emotion-filled experience of my life, and it only lasted a few seconds.

We were forced to break apart when the doctors rushed in to assess Peeta's condition, and I was told to exit the room. I didn't want to go. Peeta didn't want me to go. But all it took for me to leave was the pain reflected in his eyes; the pain from his rapid movement, the fire lighting his broken ribcage, the sharp stinging ache in his shoulders, the crunching pain in his wrists, his bruised abdomen, the torn-open wounds scattered across his skin quickly dying their white bandages red. As much as I hated it, I knew that I could not take away his pain. Only the doctors had that power.

And so Maya, Rye, and I returned to the observation lounge, silently looking on with Haymitch and Gale as the doctors ran all sorts of tests. I was relieved to see Dr. Riley in the room, talking to Peeta, explaining things to him. It took maybe an hour before the doctors allowed me back into the room. They started to put up a fuss about Maya accompanying me, but Dr. Riley swayed them with her intellectual prowess, saying something about animals being of great help to PTSD patients. Honestly, Dr. Riley is just as capable as Haymitch of making everyone around her feel like an idiot.

Gale left soon after I was allowed back into the room, saying something about going down to Special Defense to work on a project with Beetee. If he had mentioned it at any other time, I would have been mildly curious. What could Gale and Beetee be up to? However, all my attention is on Peeta. I can't leave him. The idea of leaving him even for a minute is abhorrent. I'm terrified of even blinking, afraid that the moment I close my eyes he'll vanish and once again I will be alone.

"You've got four months to get better, you hear me?" I tell him softly, even though I know his recovery will take much longer, mentally at least. "I need you, Peeta."

Peeta's only response is the continuing rise and fall of his chest, which is perfectly okay with me. It means that he's alive. I clutch his free hand in both of mine, bringing it to my lips. "I love you so much," I tell him. "I'll never let you go a day without hearing it."

It was one of my biggest regrets. Before Peeta left to lead the Capitol hovercraft away from me, he told me that he loved me. I know that he knew that I loved him back. I know that he could see it in my eyes. I know that he knew.

But I still didn't say it back.

Granted, my mind was on the brink of unconsciousness due to blood loss, and I was on emotion-overload as the earth exploded around us. But I still wish that I had told him I loved him before he ran. I wish that those were the last words he heard from me.

But there's no way to change the past. I've definitely learned that much in my years on this earth. Past is past, and there's no going back. All we have control over is the moment that we're in, and that, by extension, can coalesce into our future.

What is in my future? I sigh, closing my eyes and resting my forehead on Peeta's hand that's still clutched in my own. Where do we go from here? I'm still the symbol of a rebel nation, and I don't doubt that Coin will try to use Peeta's rescue in some way to her benefit. I'll have to see what Haymitch thinks. Will Coin try to make herself into a savior? The woman who had the audacity to rescue Snow's most prized weapon right from under his nose; the woman responsible for reuniting the Mockingjays. Something tells me the shaky ground I'm already treading will soon crumble if I'm not careful.

And then what about Peeta's recovery? Anxiety slithers through my stomach like a snake coiling to strike. My eyes open to study Peeta's prone form in front of me. Without my consent, my fingers loosen their grasp on Peeta's hand, choosing instead to trail along his good arm. They pause at a pale pink scar near his elbow. It's just a little pink dot, seemingly insignificant, but I know that it was made from copious injections of tracker jacker venom. My fingers continue their journey, gliding over his bicep that I remember being much bigger. Along his shoulders, I trace the bruises that decorate them, the colors ranging from yellow to green to blue to purple to nearly black. I trace every scar that I see, not bothering to wipe away the tears leaking from my eyes. I let them fall, creating little grey dots against the white bed sheets.

Looking at his wounds, the ones that are visible to me at least, I can't control my wild, morbid imagination. My mind fills with tortuous images as I wonder exactly how Peeta received every single scar. I wonder if his captors were in any way merciful. I wonder if Snow was present during these sessions. I wonder if he smiled that gruesome grin that makes my skin crawl with revulsion.

My mind drifts to Dr. Riley's diagnosis—Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Will Peeta really be like she suspects once he's able to move around? Or will it start before? My eyes observe Peeta's face, relaxed in sleep. Could he really become so absorbed in a flashback that he would attack me? Will he be moody and quick to anger? Will he be frustrated and irritated at the slightest notion? Will he fear seemingly random, insignificant objects or actions because they are in some way associated with a memory so frightening that I can't begin to truly understand? How many nights will sleep elude him?

Will he be the same young man I remember?

No. No, the Peeta I knew is gone forever.

What will we become? I know that he still loves me, and I definitely know that I still love him. But he's not the same. I'm not the same. It's almost as though we're strangers. I don't understand this Peeta so completely that I know him better than I know myself. This Peeta has been through horrors beyond my comprehension. No matter how hard I try, I know that I will never be able to understand what he went through. I hate it, but I know that there will be some parts of Peeta's recovery that he'll have to face completely on his own.

And what about the baby? Even though Peeta is now with me, will I still be going through this alone? Peeta has his own problems, greater than I think anyone believes. Peeta will have his own struggles, his own inner battles to face. Will he be able to be a part of the pregnancy like I know he would like to be? Or will his inner demons consume him like the doctors fear?

So much is unknown. I realize that I can't truly know how the next few months will reveal themselves until Peeta is awake and recovering fully. So much is shrouded in darkness at this moment. The future is hazy with gloom, the past glazed with despair. The present, so far, appears bleak at best.

And yet there's still hope.

I can't give up on Peeta. I can't give up on myself. On anyone or anything. It's my turn to take a page out of Peeta's book. It's my turn to be the strong one, to hope for something better. It's simply my turn to believe that there is some good left in this world.

The weight of yet another responsibility causes my shoulders to sag. So much seems to rest on my shoulders these days, the rebellion and Peeta's recovery being at the top of the short list. How can I do this? How can I burn brighter for the rebellion, all the while watching for any hint of betrayal from Coin? It would be difficult if it were just me I had to worry about. It's nearly unachievable because I'm pregnant, and now it seems insurmountable due to Peeta's return.

Funny, I actually thought things would get easier when Peeta came back to me.

Despite it all, a wry smile twitches my lips, a dry laugh escaping me. "Damn it, Peeta." I shake my head, looking at his sleeping face balefully. "You were supposed to make everything better. Guess I really expect a lot out of you, huh?"

In my head, I hear what I know would be his response. "Tell me something I don't know," he would complain, and then he'd give me his most charming grin as I swatted his arm.

The hours stretch on, and I constantly squirm in the uncomfortable hospital chair, trying vainly to find a comfortable position that remains comfortable for more than ten minutes. Maya lies at my feet, her breathing deep in sleep, though her ears will still twitch every second the chair legs scrap against the floor due to my fidgeting.

I know that I should be sleeping, but I simply can't take my eyes off of Peeta. A part of me is still afraid that he'll vanish the second I look away, and so my eyes never leave him. There's also a strange part of me that thinks by staying awake, I'm in a way introducing the baby to its father. That by studying his features, memorizing them once again, somehow the baby is too.

When the clock shows that it's four in the morning, I feel my eyelids begin to droop without my consent. I've gone twenty-four hours without sleep before, but being pregnant changes a lot of things. I need my sleep, and I love a nice nap during the day. But I refuse to leave Peeta, even if it's by slipping into unconsciousness. Logic tells me that what I want is impossible. Eventually, for some reason or another, I will be required to leave Peeta's side. Whether it be doctor's orders, or more than likely Rye or Haymitch's. I will not be surprised to see Haymitch walk through the door in another hour or so. Some instinct tells me Rye will not be far behind.

I wonder about the other rescued victors—Johanna and Annie. Enobaria was not in her cell, and recent intelligence suggests that she died in interrogation. Even being a victor from District 2 couldn't save you in this war.

I don't have a clue about Johanna or Annie's conditions. I should ask when I have the opportunity. I need to see them, especially Johanna. Even if I'm terrified of the condition I will find her in, I still need to see her. I need to know that she's still fighting.

And I can't deny that I want to meet Annie Cresta, the mad woman who managed to steal Finnick's heart and save his life. I know that they're together now, somewhere in this hospital. Finnick is sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair, just as I am, watching over Annie just as I am watching over Peeta.

Suddenly, Maya begins to whine. She swiftly gets to her feet and raises up on her hind legs so that her front paws rest on the side of Peeta's bed. A worried whine continues to escape her, and all traces of sleepiness vanish as my suddenly sharp eyes examine Peeta for any sign of distress.

At first, I don't see anything . . . and then Peeta's hand twitches. I think he's waking up, and a flutter of excitement lifts my spirits. Until Peeta's face contorts, though his eyes remained closed. His muscles tense beneath my fingertips. His eyes move rapidly under their lids. His fist clenches.

And then a low groan escapes his lips, a terrible harmony of pain and terror, and I realize what is happening: Peeta is having a nightmare.

My heartbeat immediately speeds up, mimicking the heart monitor in the room. I get to my feet, absently pushing Maya out of my way, though she merely props her front paws on the bed once more a second later. "Ssh," I try to soothe him, brushing a stray curl out of his face. "Peeta, it's okay. You're safe. You're okay." My words, meant to comfort, seem to have the opposite effect. Peeta's movements begin to gain more momentum, close to thrashing, and I'm afraid of the damage the quick movements might exacerbate his already serious injuries. Maya's whining increases in intensity, adding a tense music to the air.

"Peeta, it's okay," I plead with him, but my words seem to have no effect. His thrashing continues; mumbled, incoherent words slipping from his lips, and while I cannot understand the exact words, I can clearly hear the pain in them. "Please, Peeta," I nearly beg as my eyes fill with tears. "You're safe. I promise."

The machines in the room begin to beep with a frantic note, and I know that the doctors are just moments from bursting through the door. That can't happen. I'll have to leave, and I refuse to leave his side. And so I do the only thing that I can think to do, the one thing that Peeta seemed to deem nearly divine.

I sing.

Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you."

Birds singing in the sycamore tree

Dream a little dream of me

Amazingly, at the sound of my song, Peeta's movements slowly become more sluggish, as though he's being weighed down by the notes of my song. A small smile quirks my lips as I continue to sing, caressing his face as I continue to try to soothe his nightmare.

Say, "Nightie night," and kiss me

Just hold me tight, and tell me you missed me

While I'm alone and blue as can be

Dream a little dream of me

The rapid beeping of the medical equipment slows. Peeta's breaths begin to even out, and I gently unclench his fist. The contortions in his face soften as he relaxes, but I can still feel the quick beat of his heart. So I sing another verse.

Stars fading but I linger on dear

Still craving your kiss

Now I'm longing to linger till dawn dear

Just saying this

Calm has swept over Peeta, and I can't help but feel a hint of pride that I've managed to assuage his fears. I take his hand, clasping it in my own, and finish the song.

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

But in your dreams whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me

Silence echoes through the still room the moment the last note ends, but I find the lack of sound soothing—peaceful. Maya has calmed and resumed her place at my feet, confident that the tension has passed. I take my place in my chair, grimacing at the uncomfortably hard plastic, but I refuse to let the pitiful excuse for a chair ruin my uplifted mood. I just learned of a way I can help Peeta. Singing. It soothes him, just as it always has.

The silence is broken when I hear the door open. I look up, expecting to see a disgruntled, frustrated Haymitch ready to gruffly order me to sleep to hide the fact that he genuinely cares, but instead I see someone who I naively didn't expect to see.

My mother.

We've barely spoken at all since our last fight, when she basically said that she thought Peeta was dead. She had given up on Peeta, and the idea was so preposterous that a whirlwind of anger swirled within me at the thought. Even more so, I felt a sense of betrayal. My mother had given up on Peeta, such an integral part of my life. It was almost as though she'd given up on me, too.

So, safe to say, I'm not too thrilled that she's here.

"Katniss," my mother acknowledges quietly. She gestures to a clipboard. "I'm just here to take his vitals."

"I didn't know you were assigned to his case," I say with more accusation and suspicion in my tone than I expected.

"I asked," she replies mildly as she examines the equipment surrounding Peeta's bed, writing down notes on her clipboard. "There was a spike in his heart rate a few minutes ago," she notes.

"He was having a nightmare," I reply, and I see my mother's shoulders tense. "I calmed him down," I add with an edge in my voice, subtly warning her not to say what I know she wants to.

Should have known she would ignore me.

"You should have called the doctors," my mother chastises. "He might have woken up."

"But he didn't."

"He might next time."

"So what?" I challenge. "So what if he wakes up? I can calm him down when he's awake just as easily." Even as the words leave my mouth, I know that they're not true, but I refuse to give my mother any solid ground.

"You know that's not true, Katniss," my mother says, sounding angry. "Peeta isn't of a healthy mind—"

"He's not crazy!"

"He might wake up from a nightmare and not realize it. He might try to hurt you—"

"—he'd never hurt me—"

"—and if he hurt you, he might harm the baby."

"Don't you dare bring the baby into this!" I get to my feet so I can face my mother, mere inches between our faces. "You have no faith in Peeta. You have no idea how strong he is because you never really got to know him this entire year he's been in my life. Why is it so difficult to believe that he can recover? Why is it so difficult to believe that I might be able to soothe his nightmares? Why is it so damn difficult for you to believe in anything?!" I know that I need to lower my voice, but I've kept these words locked up for too long. "You know, I understand that your heart broke when dad died—"

My mother's face morphs into the first true expression of anger I've ever seen. "How could you possibly understand—"

"Because I've been there, mom!" I hiss, trying to keep my voice low. I don't want to wake Peeta. "I know exactly what it feels like to know that the one person you love most in this world is gone. Peeta died, mom. For five minutes he was dead. It's only because of Finnick that Peeta is here in the first place! So, yes, mom, I know exactly how you feel." I take a deep, angry breath. "And I am sick and tired of you thinking that I'm just some lovestruck teenage girl who doesn't have a clue what love really is. I would even say that I have a better clue than you do." Hurt registers on my mother's face, but I'm too angry to notice. "Peeta is going to recover. Yes, it will be painful, in more ways than I or anyone else knows, but I'm going to be with him every single step and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Yes, it may be dangerous, but I'm not an idiot. I will not put myself and the baby at risk. Do you really think I'd stay in the room if Peeta went into a rage? Do you really think I'd stay, possibly get hurt, and then have Peeta come to his senses and realize what he had done? How could you think I'd let him experience that kind of guilt?"

There's a tense moment as I wait for my mother to speak. I watch as she opens her mouth only to shut it again. "I am a grown woman," I tell her bluntly. "I may not know what all is to come, but I do know that I will help Peeta in any way that I can."

"I'm only trying to help," my mother says softly, tears in her voice.

"You're trying to be a mother," I retort coldly. "The problem is that you stopped being my mother years ago. You can't go back and change the past. You can't even begin to make up for it. The only thing you can do is try to be better today than you were yesterday."

"I love Peeta," I tell her. "Just like I know dad loved you. You can't look me in the eye and tell me that if it was dad lying here on this bed, and you were in my position, that you wouldn't do all in your power to help him."

"No," my mother agrees.

"Then stop trying to keep me from doing what we both know is best for Peeta. I love him. I'm going to help him through this, no matter what. We'll be family, and it's time you accepted that."

"You don't need me," she says numbly.

"No," I reply. "I don't."

And just like that, our bond as mother and daughter severed, never to be whole again.


Yep. Frankly, I think that scene was about due! Mrs. Everdeen is just . . . annoying. That's putting it nicely.

So, Peeta is conscious next chapter! And we have both a real Peeta and a dream Peeta! Fun times, fun times. . .

Summary time: Peeta is in Dreamland thinking of ponies; Katniss and her Mom have agreed to go on Jerry Springer; Gale is somewhere moping; Rye wants ice cream; Haymitch really needs a drink; and Johanna is somewhere over the rainbow; Finnick and Annie are somewhere in the hospital playing twister and . . . yeah . . . I'm out of ideas, guys.

Quote for the next chapter comes from . . . Johanna!

"You're so fat it's obscene."

Lots of love,

AC