Author's Note: Well hi there. If you're reading 'Reprieve' I just want to thank you so, so much. I truly appreciate the notes and reviews as well. When I get an alert I keep thinking "Oh! Someone is reading this! Gah! I mean, yay!" If you've mentioned the story to someone else, let me give you a hug. This is where Part II begins.

Part Two

Chapter One

After debriefing on Haymitch, my coworkers and Amherst, we spend the rest of the drive in relative silence. It doesn't feel strange or forced though, just peaceful. Besides, it doesn't feel like the right time to discuss 'us.' I hold Peeta's hand and direct him once we exit I-90 and hit the Thruway. Three hours away from home I suggest that we switch so that he can look around a bit more, taking in the landscape. At the rest stop he pulls me into his chest but says nothing1; I know that calling this change 'monumental' is an understatement for Peeta. In my gut, I still think it can be good.

He kisses the top of my head and climbs into the passenger side.

Soon he's eager to know what's what so I do my best to describe what we pass as we drive through the Pioneer Valley. I point out Esselon and he asks when he'll have a chance to meet everyone.

I can't help but smile. Peeta simply saying that is so…unlike him. I don't say so, but I like it. "As soon as you want. That's the beauty of not being on anyone's clock."

No family or friends to chime in with thoughts or anecdotes, no timetable to follow. With the exception of the two of us, no one here is as invested in the relationship. It's not all warm fuzzies though: this also means that Peeta and I have to learn how to really be there for each other beyond the initial flurry of feelings. We've got to figure out the lines that have been drawn: our need for independence, understanding and patience. Hopefully we find love again somewhere.

I point out the tobacco barns—we don't have anything like that back in Wisconsin—and Peeta seems genuinely interested until I turn onto the gravel drive, Haymitch's place coming into view. It's a conversation-stopper, all right. His eyes are wide and I think I see the hint of a grimace.

"Unless he's managed to completely destroy the place in the few days I've been gone, I promise you that the inside looks better than the outside."

"Well, then I guess I have something to look forward to." He opens the door and climbs out, leaning on the side of his truck. He's rubbing the back of his head, a sure sign of nerves. "And you're sure that it's okay that I'm here?"

"Let's be clear: Haymitch is never really okay with anything. Underneath it all, he genuinely cares and will learn to adapt. Or tolerate. So yes, it is okay that you're here. And if we wear out our welcome, we'll go somewhere else."

I walk around the truck to where Peeta stands and reach for his hand. "He's not even here right now, so how about a tour before we get unpacked?" I offer him a key. "Here."

I drop it into his palm and he quirks an eyebrow. "You had a key made ahead of time?"

I feel the blush creeping onto my cheeks. "Yeah. I really, really hoped that you'd say yes. I wanted you to feel welcome." I roll onto my tiptoes to kiss him. "Peeta, thank you for doing this."

The place looks relatively unscathed, minus the collection of new bottles in the trash and the dishes in the sink. At least he kept the windows cracked.

"So yeah. Kitchen." I motion as I go. "Dishes are in the cabinets to the right of the sink. Pots and pans below, silverware in the small drawer here." I walk to the pantry and open the door to show him where most of the food is kept before slipping past him and showing him where the downstairs bathroom is. "I haven't really watched much TV, but the one in the living room works. Haymitch sometimes drinks there if you feel the need to bond. His bedroom is down the hall, but I've actually never seen the door left open…thank God." I smile, motioning him to follow me.

"I can show you where the washer and dryer are tomorrow. We're going to be upstairs."

The room I've used is clearly lived in, but Peeta stands in the doorway as though he's a guest. He's not. I don't want him to feel that way.

"Yeah, Prim and I spent most of our time playing here when we came over as kids. Haymitch never comes up here, so it's sort of like having an apartment. It's not so bad. There's a full bathroom."

I can tell that Peeta is mulling something over. "I, um…I can take the other room then?"

That I was not expecting. "Oh." I try to adjust my voice on the fly. "Well yeah. Of course, if you'd like to be in your own room, that's yours to take."

"No." He clears his throat. "I mean yes. I sort of want a space that's mine. I need a space that's mine."

"Totally fine, Peeta. The sheets are washed and everything."

He crosses into my room and pulls me in for a hug. "Thank you," he whispers.

"Come on. Let's unpack."

…

"Who the hell are you?"

Haymitch must have showered today, and for that I am grateful. I need to ease Peeta into this weird, makeshift family. He's looking in Peeta's general direction and Peeta is trying his hardest to not a) run and b) laugh.

"Haymitch, this is Peeta. Peeta, meet Haymitch." My past, present and (possible) future converges and it's surreal. I feel like I'm 10 again, introducing my—well, sort of my fiancée—to the guy who butchers bunnies out back.

"So, how in the hell did you end up with her? Must be like cuddling with marble. Tough and cold, only with long hair."

"Yeah, thanks for that, Haymitch." Seriously, act normal. Try to act normal.

"I'm simply stating the facts, sweetheart." He bats his eyelashes in mock adoration and turns to look at the cane in Peeta's hand. "What's wrong with you?"

"Fuck, Haymitch!" Damn him straight to hell.

"Well?!"

"I was in a car accident. The cane is just temporary." Peeta is looking Haymitch straight in the eye, but the realization of the timing of the accident and my initial arrival months ago crosses Haymitch's features and he slowly turns to me.

"I see." His voice is quiet but his glare is loud. Haymitch holds the stare for a moment longer before walking to his room, calling back "Well stay out of my liquor. Get your own damn beer, kid."

The door shuts and we stand there. Peeta breaks the silence with a chuckle. God, I am so embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. He doesn't have any tact—."

"I actually can see the family resemblance."

"He's not family! And I have tact!"

"Yeah, but that's just a technicality." I cross my arms and now he's laughing. "Come on, Katniss. Lighten up. The guy didn't skewer me. I can handle him. I'm tougher than that."

I "hmpf" anyway before grabbing a glass of water and marching upstairs. A smirking Peeta follows.

…

I'm in bed and Peeta is finishing up in the bathroom. I'm not really sure what to make of the sleeping arrangements, but something tells me that Peeta will talk when he's ready to. I don't want to push the subject, but I guess I had assumed that we'd…

"This place is so quiet compared to Madison." He stands in my doorway, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. "How long did it take for you to get used to it?"

"Only a few days, really. It's funny you say that, since Madison actually seemed loud when I came back."

He nods and takes a sip of water. "Mind if I sit with you for a bit?" I pat the spot next to me and he comes in, setting his glass on the bedside table. He sits on the edge of the bed and motions to my notebook. "What are you working on?"

"Just an ongoing project. You know me and my lists. I wanted to write a few things down that were in my head and it's morphed into a journal. Nothing major." I close the notebook and hope that he doesn't press for more information. Not yet. "Would you like to check out the area tomorrow? I made some calls about a job if you want to get that settled quickly."

"Yeah, that sounds perfect. I have a few calls to make, too. I should also check out the clinic so that I know where I'm going for PT."

I look down at Peeta's leg and my hand moves on it's own accord. It rests gently on his thigh for a split second before Peeta brushes it away, mumbling an apology.

"I'm sorry. Does that hurt? Please tell me so that I know—."

"No, it doesn't hurt. It's fine, okay?" There's an edge to his voice that went as soon as it came. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I just want to understand, that's all."

We sit in silence for a few minutes, Peeta taking my hand and eventually squeezing. "Goodnight, Katniss."

He leans toward me and quickly kisses me on the lips before getting up and leaving.

I gently call to him, confusion in my voice, "Goodnight, Peeta."

…

It's after two in the morning when I hear Peeta walk as quietly as possible (for him) across the hall and into my room. I sit up and can see that something's wrong.

"Peeta?" I whisper. "What is it?"

"Just can't sleep."

I get out of bed and tell him to get comfortable before heading to the linen closet and grabbing a washcloth. Quickly running the old towel under cold water and wringing it out, I head back to the bedroom and sit next to Peeta. He's sweaty and clearly upset.

I situate the cool compress on his forehead. "Nightmare?" He nods. "What was it about?"

"They're always the same. It's fine now." He takes a deep breath and releases it in a gust.

He's grasping my hand so I turn on my side and fit myself into the nook near his shoulder, running my free hand up and down his arm hoping that the gesture offers some comfort.

"I've got you. I'm here."

"Thank you."

Peeta falls asleep first, his breathing evening out and deepening. Eventually he rolls to curl into me, holding me like a pillow with his head on my chest. It's not lost on me that he avoided actually answering my question but I vow to be patient. Like Prim said, it's his story to tell.

Peeta's warmth lulls me to sleep.

Chapter One Notes

1. When I left Wisco to move to New York, I pulled over at a rest stop on the Thruway and had a moment of panic. The Thruway's good like that.