I really am hoping to get chapters of this story up quicker; I need to get my Peeniss oooon.

Anyway, enjoy!

When we get back to Victor's Village, Peeta excuses himself back to his house to do some baking. Before he leaves, he says he'll come over with dinner.

I miss his company already when I step into my own empty house, peeling away layers of clothing and sitting on the couch in the living room. The fire has long gone out from the night before, and I wonder what time it is – twelve o'clock. There is a small digital clock on the wall next to the television above the fireplace; I was happy these were digital, because I know I would go crazy if I heard ticking all the time. I shudder at the memories that pop into my head, and then shake my head to clear my thoughts.

I hear soft taps on the floor, no doubt from Buttercup. We still hate each other – always will – but pain seems to have bonded us in a way. I sigh and turn toward the little monster, when my breath catches in my throat.

There is that ugly orange cat with one of Prim's dolls in its mouth.

I want to scream and cry and throw the thing across the room. I lunge for the cat, who quickly jumps out of the way before I grab his tail and drag him back, pulling the doll out of his mouth. "You stupid cat! What are you doing?"

He hisses at me, and it makes me want to scream all the more. Can't he see what he's done? I look down at the sewn doll, one eye now popping off, and there is a stab of pain in my heart. I feel my face get red in anger, ready for another tirade at the cat – who is firmly standing its ground – but instead, I break into sobs. I lean back against the couch, clutching the doll in my hands, and I feel myself trembling.

Buttercup comes closer, this time mewing – it's like he knows when my tears are for Prim. I don't want his comfort though. This is his fault, that stupid thing. "Go away!" I lash out one hand and push him aside, an angry mew escaping as I bury my face back into my arms, the doll still tight in my grasp.

I don't know how long I sit here, but I know it has been a while when I feel strong arms wrap around my frail body. I let myself uncurl and bury my head in Peeta's chest, letting him pull the doll out of my hands. With my hands now free, I wrap them tightly around his waist, his shirt growing wet. He's silently running his fingers through my hair, and I feel him place a soft kiss on top of my head. It feels nice, and I am surprised to see that it helps calm me slightly.

"How about you lay down while I make dinner."

I allow him to help me up and wipe away the tears, but I shake my head. "No, I'll help," I say, with my voice cracking at the end. He simply nods, his eyes warm, and leads me to the kitchen. I suddenly feel embarrassed and defensive, hating that he has seen me in one of my moments of weakness. No doubt he has seen it before, but not since the hijacking.

"What do you want?" Peeta is over at the fridge, looking back at me with his hand on the stainless-steel handle.

I cross my arms and think through the items in my fridge. Greasy Sae has kept it stocked pretty well, considering how I have been acting since being back in twelve. "Whatever you feel like making. I'm not too picky."

He nods and I lean my back against the counter, both hands behind me to rest on the edges.

"How about some rabbit? I can make some sauce to sauté it in," he asks as he turns back toward me, the pack of rabbit in his hand.

I nod. "The rabbit will just go bad, anyway. It needs to be used up."

He nods back and sets it on the counter, then pulls out an assortment of vegetables for a side, then looks back at me. "I'm going to go to my house to get a few things for the sauce. I'll be right back."

"Okay." I watch him leave, and then turn to the vegetables. This seems easy enough for me to do. I take out some green beans and carrots, putting the rest back in the fridge. There is a bag of corn sitting by the sink, so I grab that to husk.

"Back!" he yells out as I hear the door close and heavy footsteps nearing the kitchen.

I look up and smile, seeing that he already has a plastic bag put together with whatever ingredients he has chosen. He walks back over to the meat and pulls out all that's in there, throwing it in the bag and setting it aside.

"It needs to set for a bit – probably not as long as it should, so we can start on the corn." He opens some cupboards and pulls out a large pot, surprising me at how well he knows his way around me kitchen; better than I do, but I don't do much cooking, anyway. He smiles sheepishly as he fills it with water. "I've fished my way around the kitchen to get an idea. Makes things easier."

I nod and look down at the remaining corn, putting it back in the bag. "That's all right. You're more useful in the kitchen, anyway." I cringe at how that sounded.

He laughs and nods. "I'd make a good housewife, wouldn't I?"

I smile and turn my head slightly away to disguise my blush at the thought of marriage to him.

We cook in silence, grilling the meat and vegetables, and then fill our plates with a good amount, still having leftovers. When we are sat at the table, he speaks up, "we should bring the leftovers to Haymitch. I doubt he has dinner in mind."

I smirk and nod. "He drinks his dinner."

More silence, until he speaks up again, looking over my shoulder and into the living room. "Hey, I remember that."

I look behind me. "What?"

"The plant book. I painted in it."

I can tell he's happy for keeping this memory, so I nod with a smile. "Yeah." This reminds me of a small idea that was in the back of my mind, though I wasn't going to bring it up since I'm sure he'll reject. "I was…thinking."

He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue.

I clear my throat and look back toward the book. "We should make another book like that, but instead of plants, fill it with the people we've lost. To keep down everything we remember so we never forget." I look back to him, his eyes far away and I think I did the wrong thing, until a small smile appears on his face.

"That sounds nice."

We don't speak again throughout dinner and when we wash the dishes, Peeta fixing up a plate to give to Haymitch.

"I can go to the store to pick up some supplies while you give that to Haymitch." I nod toward the plate.

He shakes his head. "I'll just go over to give this to him and the we can go togeth-"

"No, it's all right. I can go get it so you can keep Haymitch some company. I'll come get you when I get back." I can see his reluctance, but he finally nods and leaves. After the door closes behind me, I grab my boots and pull them on, walking out the door and going into town for the second time in one day. I can't help but feel surprised at myself, and wonder how this has all of the sudden gotten so easy. Maybe it was just because of the quick trip this morning, enough to show me that I can make it through without an incident as long as I keep my head down. I don't want to deal with the stares, not knowing what's going through everyone's heads.

The walk was shorter than I remember and once I get into town, I go straight to the newest store put in town; a convenience store, I think it was called. It's small, but it has a lot of things district twelve has never been used to. I walk through the door and am overwhelmed by the varieties, not sure where to start.

"May I hel-"

I turn toward a girl I don't recognize, with a nametag attached to her shirt. Lillian is her name. She's looking at me with big eyes. Oh no, I think, she's not from district twelve. Anyone that didn't know me before the reaping, or at least had heard of me throughout the district, still treated me like a celebrity, and judging by the pink tint in her skin, she was a Capitol native; I'm guessing to catch a glimpse of the Mockingjay.

"Katniss Everdeen. I-it's really nice to meet you." She's wearing a large smile as she says this, and I'm not sure if the look in her eyes is starstruck or afraid. I'm guessing a combination of both. All of the sudden, all I want to do is get out of there.

"I'm just looking for some paper." As much as I want to get away from this woman, I need supplies. My stomach is starting to hurt, and I'm really starting to regret all that food I had for dinner.

"This way." She trips over herself, righting herself quickly with a blush.

I hide a sigh as I follow, swallowing the bile threatening to rise. This is why I never go into town, I remind myself. I should have brought Peeta with me; perhaps she'd be too caught up in him to really notice me. Most girls were.

"Here it is!" She's pointing to the different varieties of paper, standing a distance away from me, that big smile still present. I'm pretty sure I'm one of the only people a person can be excited and afraid to meet.

"Thanks." I turn away from her, knowing she is still standing as I search. I know I can't be cruel to her, so I walk a little farther away from her, making it look as though the paper down the aisle caught my attention. I quickly pick up the first stack of paper I see here and turn toward her, walking past and toward the counter.

She scurries behind the counter to ring it up and I pay quickly, taking the bag from her and almost jogging out of the store. I let out a breath and make my way back to Victor's Village, seeing Peeta already back and sitting on the couch in the living room. I groan and plop down next to him. "I'm never going out there alone, again."

He raises an eyebrow but doesn't inquire further, so I take the items out of the bag and splay them on the coffee table. Time to get to work.

We start the book with Cinna. It is his suggestion; for some reason, my stylist is on his mind. I write his name at the top of the paper as nicely as I can, in an elegant dark purple fountain pen that Peeta has in his paint set. We have decided to make the picture at the very top of the page, and then write below it, so I slowly scoot the paper over to him on the coffee table to allow him to work.

It is always fascinating to watch Peeta when he paints. His concentration is very hard to break, unless he needs my help to remember certain features, though he seems to do fine without this. I am amazed at how quickly he can work too, and I trail my gaze up from the hand he's working with to his forearm and all the way to his face. He's biting his lip in concentration with his eyes slightly narrowed, and I can't help to think how handsome he looks. I blush and look back down at the picture, to find it almost complete and absolutely perfect. Cinna is working away in front of a sewing machine, his piercing gold eyes determined and kind, just I remember.

I smile down at it, and then look up at him, who is still looking over the picture in case he finds any flaws. "This is amazing, Peeta."

He slowly looks up to meet my gaze and lets a small smile cross his lips. "I'm glad you like it." He sighs and looks down at the picture again. "He was a good man, wasn't he?"

I nod with a sudden stab in the chest, and can feel tears building up. "Yeah, he was." My voice is almost a whisper, since I'm sure if it was any louder it would break. I take a deep breath and pick up the pen again, bringing to book closer to me and begin to write every small detail about my late friend I can. His brilliance with colors and designs, what he can do with a piece of fabric, the amazing outfits he has designed for me over the year I knew him. I take in a shaky breath, blinking away tears. "All right, who next?" It should be his turn, now.

He looked at it solemnly. "…My dad." He nods toward the next sheet for me to write his name – which I have to ask him for – and then takes it to paint. This time he paints much slower, as if to make the small, intimate moment with his father last.

When he paints the eyes, they are so full of life and happiness that before I know it, I'm rubbing his back and leaning against his left arm. I feel him stiffen for a moment out of surprise, then relax into my touch. "He was so nice. Before the first games, he promised to take care of my little sister." I think I have told him this before a long time ago, but I doubt he remembers with the hijacking.

He nods his head but does not look up from the paper, though he swallows loudly and all I want to do is take him in my arms and calm him until I see his warm smile again. After it is done he spends another second studying it, more so just to remember than to check for imperfections, then passes it back over to while looking away from me, his hand suspiciously rubbing under his eyes.

I move my head from his shoulder and take the hand from his back and grab his hand, warm as always. He turns and smiles at me in thanks and to reassure me he is all right. I stare at him, searching his sad eyes, down his nose and slightly upturned lips and strong jaw. I blush when I realize how long I really have been staring at him and let go of his hand, picking up the pen and positioning the paper in front of me to write. "I'm going to need you to tell me what to write," I speak softly, glancing up at him briefly before looking back down at the paper.

He tells me about how his father was the one person he could tell everything to, including me. How his father would help him through his crush, unlike his brothers who would tease him. He laughs as he remembers this, assuring me that they only meant it in jest. He spoke of how his father would sometimes talk about her mother and their times together before she ran off with my father, and how hard he tried to help when Peeta came back from the games, though it was pointless as any Victor cannot forget and simply be healed.

We then moved on to baking, and how they would sit and decorate for hours at a time, something they shared only together. His brothers usually stuck to bread and other more regular foods. His father would sometimes make him a cupcake or cookie – which they would never tell his mother about – as a token of their time together. He starts to tear up at this point, speaking of how he wishes he said goodbye to his father, how he was the one that was supposed to die, not his father. That was the plan.

I shush him softly and take over, adding my own portion to his page, of how kind he was and how he would always treat my sister with such care.

I can tell how emotionally exhausted he is, which makes me realize how I am in the same state, so I put the page under Cinna's and put the pen back with his utensils. I turn to him with a deep breath. "We should stop for the night. It's probably best to stick to two per night."

He lets out a quick breath and nods. "Yeah."

We sit there for a moment, not wanting to leave each other's company. Usually he would help with the dishes after dinner and go home, but this broke the routine. Would it now break even further? I recall the nights on the train and before the Quarter Quell, how much better I could sleep with him there. I think of how bad things are now, that I rarely get four or five hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Would he want that? I can't ask him, especially if he answers no. I contemplate if he even loves me anymore; I don't know how he could. The hijacking made him hate me, therefore he has had to work his way back up to liking me, but love me? How could he?

When he first began to love me all those years ago, he didn't even really know me. Now that he is able to speak with me and analyze me more closely, there is no way he can feel how he used to.

I look over to him and expect him to turn and excuse himself, but apparently I have been thinking longer than I initially thought because he was leaning onto the arm of the couch, passed out cold. His chest moved up and down in a steady rhythm and his mouth was open slightly, letting out quiet breaths. For the first time in a long time, his face is actually relaxed.

I am hesitant as I lean in his direction and on his chest, bringing my legs up slowly on the couch, bringing my arms up close to my chest and close my eyes. I am surprised at how easily I find sleep.

FGTHG

I wake slowly, blinking against the morning light. I see I am on the couch, and the night before comes back to me. I look up, expecting to see Peeta, but come face-to-face with the couch pillow. He left. I tried to damper the disappointment that comes until I smell the delicious scent of bacon wafting from the kitchen. I sit up and look toward it and see Peeta cooking breakfast.

A smile breaks out on my face before I can stop it, and I bite my lip in an attempt to hide it in case he looks this way. I lift off of the couch and smooth down my hair, wincing when I hit knots, and walk toward the kitchen. "Hey." I stretch and yawn as he turns his head to look at me with a smile.

"Hey."

We are quiet as I grab plates and glasses and he continues to cook. I don't know what else to do to help, so I grab some juice and sit down at the table, pouring it in both glasses.

He finishes soon after, almost being done when I woke up. "I was going to wake you when it was done." He slides some eggs and bacon on my plate and then on his own, walking back over to the counter to grab toast to set on the table between us. "Dig in."

I smile and nod, my voice apparently lost this morning. We eat in silence again, and I look up at him to see him in deep thought.

"I'm sorry for falling asleep here last night," he says as he scratches the back up his head uncomfortably, looking down at his half empty plate.

I shake my head and offer a small smile. "It's fine, Peeta. It's…" I trail off, not sure if it is safe to voice my thoughts. I'm having a hard enough time dealing with them, myself.

"It's what?"

It is my turn to look down at my plate, proud of myself when I fight off a blush. "I sleep better. Like before, when we'd sleep." I instantly regret speaking. "I mean…nevermind. Forget I said anything." When I feel his hand on mine, I look up to see him smile, to my surprise.

"I was thinking the same thing. I just didn't want to, you know…" He shrugs

I do know. He didn't want to drive me away. I know because I feel the same thing when I want to speak up to him. "Well then, I guess we can do that some more?" The blush can't be cut back this time, and the embarrassment becomes worse when I see him smile with a twinkle in his eyes.

He nods, relaxing considerably. "I'd like that."

The rest of breakfast and washing dishes in done in silence once again, but this time it is much more comfortable. "I think I'm going to go hunting," I say once we finish.

He nods. "I need to bake. After all, people need to eat, right?" He winks and heads for the door, giving me one last smile before walking out the door.

I slowly turn toward the stairs and begin to climb up to my room to dress, though once I step foot inside I fall to my bed with a large grin plastered on my face that I can't seem to contain. Maybe I'm finally getting Peeta back after all. I take a deep breath and calm, surprised at my demeanor, and throw on a pair of jeans and my father's hunting jacket and grab my bow and arrows to head out to the forest.

The weather is beautiful today and the woods are heavily populated, most likely due to the lack of hunting lately. I set up a few snares, which instantly reminds me of Gale, but I'm surprised to not feel anything; just as before, when Greasy Sae had told me that he went to District 2. I realize that I was right when we stood together in the Capitol that we most likely would have grown apart, even without the war.

I see a squirrel out of the corner of my eye and am brought out of my thoughts, getting an arrow ready and stretching my arms out with the bow in my hands. I focus, breathing deep and steady as I lock in on my target, letting my arrow fly. I smile when I see it go straight through the eye.

By the end of my trip I make it out with four squirrels and two rabbits and decide to stop in the Hob to hand out some of my game. When I go to Greasy Sae, I tell her that it will probably not be necessary for her to come and cook anymore, but she's welcome to come and eat over anytime she would like. She simply grins and nods, and I know she is thinking about why she no longer needs to come. I leave quickly.

When I make it back to Victor's Village and make my way into my home, setting up a station to gut and clean the animals.

"Hey there, Sweetheart."

I jump and turn to see Haymitch leaning against the doorframe, a smirk on his face as he holds a bottle in a limp hand. I glare at him and go back to what I was doing. "What do you want?"

He doesn't answer, but I hear his footsteps come closer to me until he is standing right behind me, making a sound of disgust and comments on the odor. I bite my tongue to retort on his own house's filthiness. "How are you and the boy?"

I stop for a second, but recover. "Fine." Better to keep this short.

"Mhm."

I know he wants to say more, as if he's keeping in some big secret. I mentally prepare myself before I speak up again.

"Peeta never went home yesterday."

I feel myself heat up, but refuse to take the bait. "What are you, his keeper?"

He laughs and slams his bottle down on the table, forcing me to stop and turn to him. "I always hear him walk by my house, damn loud footsteps he has."

I grunt, hoping that if I keep to one word answers he'll leave.

"So tell me Sweetheart, d'ya know where he was?"

I huff and turn away, refusing to answer. He already knows, anyway, or else he wouldn't be bothering me. I'm happy when I hear him begin to walk back toward the door.

"You better know what you're doing, because you already put him through enough."

My hands freeze and I hear the door shut. His words stick in my brain, haunting me. Of course I know what I'm doing, don't I?