Hey, beautiful people. I just want to say I am sorrryyyy. Last chapter, Peeta did his little promise thingy or whatever, and I honestly didn't mean to have it be such big of deal. I freaking overreacted, and want you to just…pretend that I didn't make such a big deal about it, okay? Sorry, honestly. :DD Happy reading!

oOo

KATNISS' POV

As I watched Peeta walk from the room, feelings swelled in me, though I wasn't sure which was real and important. I felt horrid and rejected for Peeta not letting us live together like he promised. I felt weak and pathetic for needing him so badly and having him leave me. I felt upset and angry for him doing that to me, for him leaving me like that. I felt independent and strong for actually letting him do that. But all I felt when I was gazing at the back of his receding figure was exhaustion mingled with some strange electric energy.

It was weird having those two feelings mingled in my heart. I loved Peeta so badly, but having him be strong made me feel even more love. That he had that much strength to face me and my outlandish whims and give me that promise to hold on to. I knew he wanted to live with me, too, but it would be best for both of us to wait until I finally regained most of my sanity. Part of me wanted to collapse on the floor, drying and begging him to come back, but this wasn't the end of it. I had to be strong like him.

The other feeling, exhaustion, hit immediately after Peeta vanished. I slumped back onto the bed and curled up. The world dipped and swayed underneath me and I was cold, but not nearly as bad as before. All I wanted to do was to sleep, but as soon as I felt content enough to get pulled under, the door reopened.

Mother walked briskly into the room and dropped down by the side of the bed. "My goodness, Katniss, I'm so sorry I didn't come earlier. You look awful."

Thanks, Mom.

She put her hand briefly to my cheek, but removed it to search in her work bag for a thermometer. When she pulled out the rubbery instrument and stuck it under my tongue, my mother sighed. "Prim told me what happened. I should have known better not to let you go out into the woods completely alone. But nevertheless, I'm glad Peeta got you home and got some water into your system."

I mumbled something around the thermometer and looked away from her.

A tiny beep vibrated through the instrument and Mother pulled it from my mouth. Now I'm going to taste plastic for another hour.

"That's good." My mother looked relieved and shoved the plastic wand back into her bag. "No fever. How do you feel, though?"

I blinked my eyes once, slowly, and looked back at my concerned family. Cold. Sad. Lonely. "Perfectly fine."

She looked exasperated. "Your lips are blue. You aren't well."

"You could have said that in the first place…" I swallowed past the aching lump in my throat.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, at least you're talking this time. That's some improvement from last week. I'm glad Peeta found you."

Please, just shut up about Peeta already. It hurts enough as it is.

"Are you able to walk at all?" Mother took a small step back from the bed, probably meaning for me to use the extra space to get up. "If you can, it would be best for you to take a hot shower and move around to keep the blood flowing."

I groaned quietly to myself; chasing after Peeta across the room already drained most of my strength. But the shiny, half-hopeful-half-sympathetic look in my mothers' eyes made me swing my legs off the bed and stand up.

For a second, whiteness flashed in front of my eyes, then it returned normal.

Mother and Prim looked up at me expectantly.

"I'm going to go shower." A little time—just half an hour, if any at all—to myself would be excellent right then.

I shut myself into the bathroom and stripped myself of the clothes Prim had dressed me in, and stepped into the warm spray of water. Involuntarily, tears began falling down my face and I stood there crying in the shower. I had a feeling, though, that this wouldn't be my first time crying over what Peeta said. Salt water mixed with the metallic tap water as they collided on the way down to the slippery tile floor.

For an hour I cried until there was no more moisture in my system. Thirsty and puffy-faced, I dragged myself out of the shower, just to find my mother and a warm towel awaiting. I let her dry me off and dress me in a very thick fleece nightdress and put me to bed. She sat with me in bed while I sniffled into her shoulder.

It was like that for another while, and having the heavy weight of depression still lingering on my shoulders, making me sleepy. Mother, thinking I was asleep, got up gently and tucked the blankets up to my chin without moving me.

She bent down and pressed her thin lips to my forehead. "Sleep, tight, Katniss."

Fighting back more tears, I forced myself to stay quiet as I listened to her walk out and close the door behind her. But as soon as I heard the door shut behind her, sleep found me so suddenly I didn't even have time to lament over my sad, sad life.

To my utter bewilderment, when I opened my eyes in the morning, it wasn't because of my nightmares. Yesterday had been so completely energy-draining I had slept the night. But no doubt tonight will make up for that.

I dragged myself through the day slowly, taking time to let my family love me more than usual, to let Prim hold my hand comfortingly at lunch, and at 3:00, I was surprised the subject of Peeta hadn't been brought up. Everyone seemed so weary keeping me away from hard work and keeping me happy. It seemed as though everything was balancing precariously on thin ice, and if the wrong thing was said, everything would shatter and I'd lose it again.

It had been almost exactly eighteen hours since I had last seen Peeta. Perhaps I owed him a visit. Something told me if I wanted to see him in sooner than a week, I would have to be the one going to him. He was the overly-carful type.

At 3:45, I had made up my mind. After going into my room, changing into normal clothes (I was still in last nights' gown), and braiding my hair, I went back downstairs. Mother was at her work, but Prim was curled up on the couch fiddling with Buttercup's fur while immersed in a book. When she heard me come down the stairs she looked up.

"Where are you going?" She asked in a voice, not unkind. It was unnecessary to ask if I was indeed going anywhere. If I had my way I'd spend my life in dirty pajamas without bothering to fix my hair, and I'd be perfectly fine with it.

I took an uncertain breath and let it out. "Peeta's."

Prim's delicate blond eyebrows arched slightly, and she gave me a sympathetic look. "Good luck."

I nodded and left.

Halfway to Peeta's house, I grew tentative. He probably wasn't home… Or maybe he was in the middle of a late lunch and didn't want to be disturbed. A dozen excuses popped up into my mind and attempted to tug me back home, but I resisted. He meant what he said last night. That reason made me stop right in my footsteps, but that was unfortunate timing because I was at his door step.

To knock or not to knock? I swayed back and forth, biting my lip. Finally, I decided I needed to man-up and knocked on the wooden material of the door. Actually, pounded was more like it. Suddenly, I shrank back, afraid that my knocking was too harsh, and Peeta'd answer upset at me for scratching his door with my fists of steel.

Actually, it was another good five minutes until the door opened. Peeta answer in a normal T-shirt and plaid pajama pants (where'd he get those?). For a split-second he seemed curious as to who nearly broke his door down, but those beautiful blue eyes of his fell upon my face and he attempted to be casual.

"Sorry for taking so long. Knock louder next time." The corner of his mouth twitched up into a crooked, halfhearted smile.

"Sorry…" I mumbled, rubbing an arm with my other, feeling really awkward. Thank goodness Peeta wasn't as uncomfortable as I was, because he stepped aside and waved me in, fingers brushing my shoulder.

A shiver ran up my body and I walked hurriedly inside, blushing guiltily. Once the door was shut and we were standing alone in the living room, Peeta smiled uneasily.

"I have some cookies in the oven. They should be done soon. I won't have time to ice them or anything, I hope you don't mind." He motioned vaguely into the kitchen.

I inwardly cringed. Having things this distant and impassive hurt so badly. Yesterday I woke up in bed with him and kissed him like there was no tomorrow, unaware that things were about to be that way. Emotionless, I let him lead me into the kitchen where we sat down at the table together.

A few uncomfortable seconds passed, and then Peeta grimaced. "I hate that I screwed up everything by saying what I did. Now things are so horrible between us, it reminds me of in the Capitol right before the Games. You can hardly look at me." He avoided my gaze.

"No," I said even before I comprehended what I was disagreeing to. I corrected myself. "Well… Yeah, you pretty much got the basics down." My head flopped forwards onto the table and I groaned into the shiny wood. The bruise from slamming my head on the cabin wall yesterday screamed in protest.

Without replying, Peeta busied himself with the cookies, which announced themselves done with a ding of a bell. He got them out and slid them onto a tray to cool, then opened a cabinet over the counter. Peeta paused for a second, then turned around to face me. "You know, I never learned your favorite tea."

A ghost of a smile touched my lips, but it remained unseen behind the veil of hair covering my face. "'Constant Comment'."

After blinking once, he pushed aside a few colorful tea boxes in his cupboard, and pulled out the right one. He spared me a small grin. "I'll have to remember that."

Peeta dropped two of the spicy bags into cups, poured hot water in them, and sat back down in front of me to let them steep. The poor guy was doing everything he could to keep the conversation going, no matter how painful. "You know, what I said… I never meant to hurt you this badly."

I brought my head off the table. "You aren't—" Then I frowned, and corrected myself once again. I dropped his gaze. "It's not your fault. You made perfect sense."

"But I did hurt you. It shows in your eyes."

There was no denying it. "Well, yeah, but the truth always hurts. You just put it out there reasonably. I understood what you meant, and I am just being a baby for crying over it."

Peeta looked startled. "You've been crying?"

"Ah—no." I lied, for only his sake. "I was using that as a… never mind. I'm just trying to say you don't need to be sorry for anything. You saved me, I should at least be a little grateful."

"No, I was stupid even suggesting it."

Were we going to go around and around like this the whole time? 'It was my fault', 'no it was mine', 'no really, it's mine'.

"After all the hell you've been put through, I just put you through more. If it's not too late to take it back…" Peeta's eyes met mine and he offered an apologetic smile. "I will. If, of course, you're not too upset at me."

I blinked, taken aback. After all this being upset over what he had said, I never once paused to think of his ability to take it back and what would happen if he did. But it was an offer, of course. He was asking me if I wasn't too upset to go back to him like I wanted. But do I want it anymore? If this told me anything at all, it was how true Peeta was. I was rash, lived too much in the past, and had trouble accepting things happening now, or things that will happen later. Would it be best to wave it off and not take up his offer of breaking off the little agreement we made?

Still waiting for my answer, Peeta got up and set the large plate of cookies and my tea in front of me. I curled my fingers around the mug and took a tiny sip.

For ten minutes I remained silent. Then, finally, Peeta grew impatient. "I'm curious to know what that face is for, Katniss."

I rubbed a finger on my temple. "I'm debating the cost of refusing your offer." Think about it hard, Katniss. "I would give anything to pretend the last year didn't even happen. From Alexis to Gale, to Dr. Longarden to Cinna, all the way up to yesterday. But you made me realize how much I suck."

Peeta's eyebrows raised, half amused, half disbelieving.

"I'm too rash for my own good. I can't live in the now and without tending to that before we live together could be…bad, to be putting it mildly." I took another drink of my hot tea and considered a cookie from the platter, but decided against it.

He shook his head slowly. "We've had bad things happen to us, Katniss. No one blames you if you can't move past the memories stopping you from living now. Just because you still have nightmares and still cry over the horrors of your—of our—past doesn't mean that you're unable to have a life with me, now."

Darn it, Peeta hold too good of a point to argue with a better one. I racked my brains for a better line of reasoning. All that I came up with was pretty lame. "It's better to be safe than to be sorry."

Funnily enough, he grinned at me. "Last night you nearly exploded wanting me to take it back and to let us live together and now you are battling my taking it back. Tell me," Peeta leaned closer to me, his elbows on the table. "what do you really want? What is it that makes you juggle the possibilities of your life now? What are you chasing after that you want so badly?"

There was a long pause when I just sat there, mouth open to a circle of bafflement. Gears worked themselves silly in my brain, racking for an answer. I could practically feel the smoke sizzling out of my ears. What did I want?

I want to be with Peeta. I want to have nothing in our way, the Capitol, lack of wedlock, my irrationality. I want to be independent again, except always have the love of my friends and family always there when I need it. I want to be able to remember the dead only as people of my past, not subject to my tears every other day.

With a loud groan, I slammed my head back down onto the table. "I need therapy."

Peeta laughed quietly, eyebrows slanted benevolently. He stood up and walked over to my side, and slid his hand under my elbow. I allowed him to help me stand up, and I was being pressed into his chest. My hands curled around his shoulders, my head on his collarbone. The familiarity of Peeta's fingers laced behind my back and his chin on the top of my head relieved me so much it was all I could do not to cry again. I was a wimp. I might have to work on that.

"You can think about it, Katniss." Peeta laughed softly, and I could feel it vibrate though his chest. "I'm in no hurry."

"That's good…" I said, but my mind was elsewhere. The visions of my nightmares—Cato being ripped apart by muttations, Rue's lifeless body laying in the dirt with flowers around her, Gale's white face right after he died whispering my name—ran through my head. But this time, instead of making me jam my fists into my eyes and whimper, they just sat there winding their ghostly fingers through my hair. I didn't cry. I just watched as the faces of the departed flashed, one by one, across my memory.

I was seriously considering therapy.

oOo

Sorry about the wait for this chapter. Actually, the next few chapters. My family decided to stay home for spring break, not go anywhere at all. It felt amazing, but 'not going anywhere' included the internet. Hope everyone enjoyed their time off! To those who are still in school: hang in there, it's almost summer. To those who are out of school: lucky… Please review! And I recommend those who don't have accounts, get them. Just as a suggestion. Love all of you! Thank you all for making my writing flair bend beyond belief! Okay, SOOOO….

Someone reviewed the last chapter (Dasha, was it?), and they asked me how I actually wrote the story because she was having a hard time and such. So, my answer to that review:

First off, what you said about me being one of the best HG fic writers just warmed my heart up and made me feel all snuggly inside. Second, it would be a bit easier to explain how I write my stories if you had an account, but that's fine. In all honesty, I don't know how I write. Most of my ideas come from my free time when I'm lying in bed thinking. Just thinking. I can help you out with a plot thing, and if you really want, you can get an account and be my apprentice or whatever. Saying 'apprentice' sounds really cheesy… I can edit the chapters before you submit them, give you advice, etc. That may sound like a lame idea, but I'm serious. I want to help. It sounds like fun.