A/N - After a few requests from readers, I decided to give this universe a second look for the final round of Prompts in Panem. This is a companion piece with a little more closure, from Katniss' POV.

"How long have you been married?"

"Excuse me?" I pull myself from my thoughts to study the older woman beside me. Her long white hair is styled in a simple braid much like my own.

"I'm sorry, dear," she laughs, patting my hand gently. "My Sam always said I was a bit too forward." She points to the simple gold band on my left hand. "I saw your wedding ring, and I love hearing about young couples in love. So much darkness in the world today. It's nice to hear about people finding a bit of hope."

I'm not normally one to talk to strangers like this, but her green eyes seem warm and friendly. "Almost a year," I reply quietly, twisting the band around my finger.

"Newlyweds. That's the best part," she says with a wink. "Sam and I were married for 62 years. Newlyweds for the first 60."

Despite my nerves, I can't help but chuckle with her.

"What's his name?" she asks.

"Peter?"

Haymitch sips his coffee beside me. "No, Peeta. With an 'a'. I don't know, must be some weird Danish name." I nod, not really interested in the origins. I just need to know enough about him to keep up appearances.

Although I have to admit, I like the sound of his name somehow. There's a softness to it.

"Listen, sweetheart," Haymitch sighs, putting the mug down. "Are you sure you want to do this? It seems sort of extreme to me. Just tell your cousin the truth, that you've been taking care of your sister on your own for years now, and you don't need anyone else butting in."

I think of my latest conversation with Gale, and I know that isn't going to work. For years, his family lived across the hall from us in the same apartment building. Our fathers were brothers from the old country who believed in the strength of the family. They lived near each other, worked together – even died together in the same construction accident. Gale took over the patriarch duties in his home and looked after us when my mom died a few years later.

I've never had a problem being the head of our household, taking care of Prim and getting her through high school. But ever since Gale got a new job upstate and moved his family north, he's been harassing us to join them.

There's more of the old country in him than I realized.

The last time we chatted, he mentioned renovating their farmhouse to accommodate Prim and I, and talked up how good the local community college is. That was when I knew he'd never stop. That I had to do something to take control of our fate once and for all.

"I'm sure. When can we meet?"

"That's a lovely name," she says, pulling a crochet hook and yarn from her bag. "I'm Mags, by the way."

"Katniss."

"Well, that's a beautiful name, too. So unique." I shrug. "No, a good, strong name is important. My nephew and his wife just had a baby: Sebastian." She smiles and looks down at her handiwork, what looks like the start of a blanket. "This is for him. I know the color isn't very original."

"No, it's perfect." The blanket is a soft fuzzy yarn in a familiar shade of blue that means only comfort and safety to me.

"You about ready, sweetheart?" Haymitch's voice floats through the old wooden door into the bathroom. The courthouse was built in the early 1900s; they clearly didn't have privacy in mind back then.

"One minute." I look at myself in the mirror one last time. I have to admit, Prim did a nice job on my hair and makeup. When I hear makeup, I think of our gaudy neighbor, Miss Trinket, so I was hesitant to even try. But Prim insisted. I'm relieved to see that I still look like me. Katniss Everdeen.

At least, that's who I'll be for a few more minutes. I'm not quite sure who I'll be after that.

Haymitch knocks more insistently this time. "Ten minutes until our appointment. You gettin' cold feet? Should I send your sister in there?"

The threat of Prim's wrath makes me focus on my goal again. I square my shoulders and give the girl in the mirror a nod. I suggested this wedding, put this whole thing into motion. I'm not backing out now.

I throw open the door to find Haymitch leaning against the wall. He stands up straight and gives a low whistle. "You clean up well, sweetheart." He extends an arm and I roll my eyes, grabbing on and walking with him toward the waiting room, my hands shaking slightly. "Don't worry. Everything'll be fine," he assures me in a low voice.

Peeta sits on an old wooden bench in the hall, hands folded in his lap. When he sees us coming, he stands and appraises me with bright eyes and a warm smile. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." I deflect his compliment, crediting Prim's handiwork and my mother's dress with a shrug. "You look handsome, too," I reply quietly.

Each time we've been together, he hasn't stopped talking, but for once he seems to be at a loss for words. I wonder if he's nervous, too. His blond hair is styled with gel or mousse, but I can see he's ruffled his hands through and mussed it slightly.

I'm drawn to the warm blue of his eyes. Somehow the tone of his suit - the same color as my eyes - makes them pop. I realize with a smile that both of us are adorned in blue and gray. We're a matched set.

When Prim comes to collect us, the panic begins again. He takes my hand, his thumb stroking the back of it gently. Something in his touch calms me, and I give him a grateful smile.

Mr. Snow is an intimidating man who has been studying me suspiciously ever since we arrived. Something inside screams that he knows, but he doesn't admit anything. I'm riddled with guilt throughout the ceremony, only grounded by the blue of Peeta's eyes and the touch of his warm hands.

After Snow declares us married, Peeta pulls me in for a kiss. In our weeks of preparation, we never discussed this part of the ceremony. I didn't want to bring it up, too uncomfortable thinking about kissing a near-stranger.

I needn't have worried. Peeta's lips are soft and gentle, never taking too much, but giving me everything in return. I close my eyes and give into the feeling, surrendering to the warm stirring in my chest.

When I open them again, I see Snow from the corner of my eye, watching us carefully. I can only wonder if we've convinced him.

"It's a little warm for a blanket, I suppose," Mags says, looking at the bright sunshine outside the window. "But I wanted to give them something different. Everyone else got summer clothes - even little baby swim trunks!" She chuckles.

"Of course, he'll probably be a little swimmer, just like his father. My nephew was an Olympian, you know. He won a silver medal a few years ago!" She's beaming with pride.

I nod politely, my mind miles away, as she searches her bag for a photo album.

"Ready?" I ask.

"I guess," Peeta calls back warily from the shore, his pale shoulders already freckling in the sun. His ankles are submerged, but he makes no immediate move toward me where I stand, waist-deep. An older brother's practical joke – tossing him into a pool when he was nine - left him with a lifelong fear of the water. I'm hoping to help him end that today.

I wait as patiently as I can. I fight back a smile, still amused at the silly swim trunks Prim bought him: bright orange peppered with tiny red lobsters. She insisted; orange is his favorite color, after all.

Finally, he gives me a nervous smile and begins walking toward me slowly. As he gets closer, I recognize the scar on his side, where his appendix was removed in high school; the slight limp he got from breaking his leg as a boy. He was trying to rescue a cat, and fell out of a tree.

I feel myself scowl in confusion. In only two short months, I've come to learn so much about him. The facts swim through my head like the fish at my feet: he loves to paint; he sleeps with the windows open; he never takes sugar in his tea.

When he reaches me, a sudden wave crashes into us. Since I've been watching him so carefully, it takes me off guard and I stumble a bit. He reaches for my hand to steady me, and in turn, I help him balance when another wave quickly follows the first.

"Ready?" I ask again quietly, his hand still clenched in mine. I can feel him trembling, so I grab his other hand and give both a squeeze.

"Now I am," he replies with a small smile.

Mags flips to another photo in the album on her lap, pointing out a beautiful woman with long auburn hair.

"And this is Finnick's wife, Annie. She's from Denmark. Another swimmer. They were in the Games the same year and became good friends. I told Finnick, 'You better watch out. That one's going to sneak up on you!' And I was right." She smiles and flips the page to a wedding photo.

"He fell madly in love. Even went to the trouble of learning Danish. He surprised her on their wedding day. Isn't that sweet?"

I click another link, liking this site better.

Peeta snores softly from my bed a few feet away; I try to type quietly so I won't disturb him. He's been so tired, staying up late at night to study with me, and then getting up early to work at the bakery. It's good to see him finally at rest for once.

I don't know how he slept in this chair for so long. Always the gentleman. He must have been so uncomfortable.

I tear my eyes from him and try to focus on the job at hand. Lying in bed earlier, unable to sleep, I had a thought: if I could speak some words in Danish, perhaps our relationship would be more convincing. Wouldn't a loving wife want to speak to her husband in his native tongue?

And - maybe - a small part of me wants to surprise Peeta, too.

There's a page of basic expressions, and I read through them, reassured that they don't seem very different than English. Maybe this will be easier than I thought.

Hello. Hallo.

Good morning. Godmorgen.

Goodbye. Farvel.

How are you? Hvordan går det?

Then again, maybe not so easy.

More searching brings me to a page where I can listen to phrases spoken out loud. I plug in my headphones and play a few to get a feel for the sound of the language.

Thank you. Mange tak. Where is the bathroom? Hvor er toilettet?

As I scroll down, another phrase jumps out at me: Jeg elsker dig. I love you.

I press play and listen to the phrase again, and again once more. I tell myself it will be a helpful to learn this. That this is something a wife should know.

Something I want to know.

Peeta stirs in the bed, a nightmare perhaps. He never thrashes about like I do, but the whimpers and deep frown lines on his face tell me something is upsetting him.

I close the laptop and sit next to him, touching his arm gently in an attempt to wake him without frightening him further.

"Peeta," I whisper. "It's okay. You're safe."

His eyes fly open, pinning me in the dark. "Katniss?" he whispers, his hand reaching for my face. "You're here. You're here," he murmurs as he cups my cheek.

"I'm here," I answer, brushing his hair back from his sweaty brow. He still looks confused, so I climb under the covers and wrap my arms around him. "I'm here," I repeat.

A part of me thinks I should be ashamed of myself, embarrassed about how we've adopted this habit of facing our nightmares together, locked in each other's arms.

But I'm not.

"I'm sorry. Look at me, chattering on." Mags shakes her head, contrite.

She closes the photo album, rubbing the leather cover affectionately. "So what about you, dear? Where is your Peeta today?"

I'm so happy.

We've made it; gotten through the interviews and convinced them at last. We are free.

Peeta and I are locked in a celebratory embrace, my lips just brushing his neck, when I see him. That man from immigration… the one with the strange beard who conducted Peeta's interview. What is he doing here?

No. Something is wrong. I know it. I cling to Peeta's shirt, holding him to me, trying to keep him safe.

"It's okay," Peeta says. "Shh… it's okay Katniss. He knows. He knows it's not real."

Not real? Not real?

I hear him explaining, something about him leaving the country, about Prim, and Gale, but I'm barely listening. I just keep thinking about how frightened I am. And for once, it's not about getting in trouble. And it's not about what my family might think. It's him. I do not want to lose my husband. My Peeta.

I take in the blue of his eyes, and the spice of his cologne, and the terrible echo of those words – not real… not real…

No. No. He's wrong. He needs to know he's wrong. If he's going to be taken from me, if this is really happening, then he needs to know.

I'm not good with words, so I reach out and kiss him, his lips warm and pliant under mine. "But it is real," I tell him. "It is real."

He cups my cheeks, wiping tears away gently with his thumbs. I didn't even realize I was crying. "I know," he whispers, and I believe that he does. I know that this is as real for him as it is for me.

He tells me it will be okay, that we can be friends, stay in touch, but it's not enough. My heart is breaking. "I'll see you soon," he says, and it's no good, no good at all. He needs to know –

"Don't let him take you from me," I beg. "Jeg elsker dig, Peeta." I hold him tightly, as if I could keep him here by sheer will.

He kisses me again, murmuring words that make no sense, but still, I understand. He pulls back and studies my face for another moment as though he's memorizing everything about me.

And then, he's gone.

"Oh, no. You poor things." Mags touches my hand, the affection breaking down a wall inside me that I've been struggling to hold together.

I brush a tear from my cheek, and she reaches into her bag and pulls out a clean handkerchief. "Here you go, dear," she says, pressing it into my hands.

I don't want to ruin the lovely cloth, hand embroidered with tiny yellow flowers. "No, thank you," I sniff, trying to return it. "I'm okay."

"I insist," she says, refusing to take it back. She gives me a kind smile and waits for me to finish.

I swallow my pride and accept her act of kindness with a nod.

I slide into the booth across from Haymitch. "Well? Do you have any news?"

"Nice to see you, too, sweetheart," he says sarcastically, taking a sip from his mug. He probably spiked the coffee before I got here.

"Whatever, Haymitch. I'm not here for small talk. I just want to know what's going on with Peeta."

"At least I know nothing's changed on your end. You certainly haven't gotten any friendlier, have you?"

"No!" I shout, slamming my hands down on the table. "It's been three months! Do you have any news or not?"

Haymitch has the decency to look sheepish as he drops his eyes to his mug. "No. Nothing new."

"Fine," I growl, grabbing my bag and sliding out of the booth. "This was just another waste of my time."

"You might as well sit and warm up a while," he calls out. "It's quite the storm out there."

I stop, scowling at the ground before begrudgingly admitting he's right. It's been snowing all morning, and I could barely find a cab to get here. I might as well get something to eat.

I slide back into the booth and drop my bag beside me. I fold my arms in front of me on the table and fix him with my scowl .

"Go ahead and say it," he grumbles.

"Say what?" I ask, confused.

"What you're really thinking. It's written all over your face."

"How could you let this happen?" I finally ask in a hushed whisper. "You promised me that everything would be okay. How could you let them send him away?"

He studies me, waiting silently. I feel the anger slowly start to ebb, sheer exhaustion taking its place. He's not my enemy. I look away toward the windows, watching the snow swirl on the sidewalk.

"Feel better?" he asks. I just shake my head. "Now, can I ask you something?"

"What?" I ask, the scowl returning.

"How did you let this happen? Did you really spend enough time together, like I told you to? Practice? Or were you too closed off, too afraid-"

"Don't," I warn, my tone deadly. He nods but doesn't continue.

A waitress interrupts, asking if I'd like anything. I order a tea and accept the menu she hands me before walking away. As she retreats, Haymitch lets out a sigh.

"I know you tried, sweetheart," he says, his voice gentler. "Any fool could see how much you care about the boy."

"You, too," I mutter. I know that - deep down, beneath that grumpy exterior - he loves Peeta, too.

"You must miss each other very much," Mags says. I nod, too overcome to speak.

"Were you able to keep in touch? There's so much new technology for that these days. My nephew tried to teach me to that 'video chatting' thing, but I couldn't get the hang of it. He kept talking to my chin."

I welcome a laugh, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. "We did. And we emailed a lot."

"Nothing takes the place of a good old-fashioned phone call, though," Mags says.

"True," I agree with a grin.

"So how does Prim like her second semester so far?" Peeta asks.

I tuck my legs up on the chair and cover myself with a blanket. I find it's hard to sleep in my bed alone these days.

"She's fine. You know Prim; she rarely has a bad word to say about anything. She's even excited about homework!"

Peeta laughs and my heart flips at the sound. "True. I miss her," he says.

"She misses you, too," I reply quietly. "We both do."

"Oh, Katniss. I miss you, too. So, so much." His voice is shaky. "Sometimes, I-" He's interrupted by a woman's voice, shouting in the background. "Hold on."

The noise in the background becomes more distant until it's eventually muffled with the sound of a closing door.

"I'm sorry about that. I was getting ready for work, and my mother... Well. " I hate that his sudden return to the country forced him to move back in with his mother, a woman who clearly doesn't appreciate how wonderful her son is. I can't always understand her, but every experience tells me she has a short temper and a quick tongue.

"I'm in the bathroom now, so we shouldn't be disturbed again."

"I won't keep you," I say reluctantly. "I'm sorry, I forgot you had to work, and I just... wanted to hear your voice. I didn't mean to bother you. We can talk later."

"Katniss, you could never bother me. Talking to you is the best part of my day. It's what I look forward to in every other moment. "

My eyes well up. I clear my throat and add a meek, "Me, too."

We talk all the time, but I haven't repeated the sentiment of our last day together. It's been implied, by both of us, but neither of us has said the words. Somehow, it seems it might hurt more to hear it out loud right now, with him so far away.

"I hope you're taking care of yourself," he adds. "Has Haymitch been checking in on you? I hate to think of you there all alone."

"I'm fine, Peeta. Really. I'm more worried about you out there. Your mother..."

"She's been behaving better," he says unconvincingly. "But it doesn't matter. I got my own place. I move in next week. I waited as long as I could, but it doesn't look like we'll be hearing anything anytime soon."

I don't tell him about our latest roadblock. Haymitch thought he was getting somewhere investigating Crane. There were dozens of complaints against him - inappropriate interview techniques, planted evidence - causing many couples to be separated needlessly. But it turned out he was just a piece in a much bigger game. There's so much more work to be done.

"We're still trying. Haymitch is doing everything he can."

"I know," Peeta says, just as the sound of shouting returns. "Jeg kommer!" he answers before letting out a frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry, she's driving me to work today, and wants to leave now. I'll call you later?"

"Please."

"God nat og drøm sødt. Jeg savner dig."

He always closes our phone calls with a few words of Danish; he knows how much I love hearing it. "Have a good day, Peeta," I say with a smile.

It's hard to stop smiling, even long after we've hung up.

"They say absence makes the heart grow fonder," Mags says, a wistful smile on her face.

"I suppose," I reply.

"Just think of the sparks that will fly when you finally see each other again," she adds with a wink.

"Happy birthday, Katniss!" Prim pulls me in for a hug, and I squeeze her tight.

I've made a lot of difficult choices this past year, but I don't regret a moment. She's happy, in school, and thriving.

And through it all, I met Peeta. I could never regret that.

"Here. Open it!" She's bouncing on her heels, giddy with excitement as she hands me a card.

"Now?" I ask. "Shouldn't we have cake first?"

"Forget the cake, sweetheart," Haymitch replies. He should talk; he's already enjoying a liquid dessert. "Let's jump right to the presents."

I tear open the envelope and read the outside of the card carefully. It's a lovely testimonial to sisterhood. I give Prim a smile and squeeze her arm. "Thank you, Prim."

As I open the card to read the inside, a piece of paper falls out. I lean down to pick it up off the floor, unfolding it to see the airline logo in the upper corner.

"What… what is this?" My eyes well up as I read the itinerary. Denmark. In only a few weeks. "Prim?"

She pulls me into a hug. "You miss him so much, Katniss. I couldn't think of a better gift than helping you see him again. And now you can be the one to finally bring him home!"

Home? My heart skips a beat. I look over her shoulder at Haymitch. "But, how-"

"We got him," Haymitch says with a smile. "Snow. It was all his doing. He'd find a couple and tear their story apart until he was able to destroy them. It was some kind of sick game to him."

"But… What does that mean?" I'm trying to digest the news, but my head is spinning.

"It means it's finally over," he answers. "We have airtight evidence against him. He's been disbarred, and all of the cases he presided over have been reopened. My good friend Plutarch is in charge of the hearings."

He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to understand. I've heard him mention Plutarch before; they went to the same law school and golf together every weekend.

This is good news. Very good news.

"He can come home?" I whisper. Haymitch nods, relieved I've finally caught up.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Prim puts an arm out and pulls Haymitch in to a three-person hug. He rolls his eyes but joins us.

"It is," I say through my tears. "Thank you both, so much."

"What a thoughtful surprise," Mags says, wiping at her own tears now. I try to hand her the handkerchief back, but she bats it away. "He must have been so excited to hear you were coming!"

I crunch the handkerchief between my fingers. "He doesn't… actually… know."

Mags stares at me with wide eyes. "Doesn't know? But we land in twenty minutes!" she exclaims, looking at the earth looming below the window.

"I wanted to surprise him," I say with a shrug. "I don't know…" It sounded romantic at the time, showing up unannounced, seeing the look of surprise on his face. But now it just sounds crazy. Landing in a strange country, alone, where I don't really speak the language?

"Don't you worry, dear. My nephew is picking me up at the airport. We'll get you to your boy. I promise you that."

I look up at the sign in front of me. I can't believe I'm actually here.

Mags and her nephew were kind enough to locate the bakery where Peeta works based on my terrible pronunciation and a selfie Peeta sent me once. It turned out to be only fifteen minutes from Finnick and Annie's home. They even shop there from time to time.

I couldn't have gotten a better seatmate for my journey.

Through the window I see an array of pastries and breads. I don't recognize most of the labels, but I do see a tray of familiar cheese buns that puts a smile on my face.

To the left are a series of beautifully decorated cakes. I imagine Peeta's hands, carefully sculpting the scenes before me.

Suddenly I can't wait to see him.

I push open the door, a small bell announcing my arrival. A young woman with a blond ponytail and a crisp white apron gives me a friendly smile. "Godmorgen. Hvordan kan jeg hjælpe dig?"

I swallow and repeat the words I've been practicing all week. "Jeg leder efter… Peeta Mellark? Venligst."

"Are you American?" she asks kindly. My accent must have given me away.

"Yes, I'm… a friend of Peeta's. My name is Katniss."

She studies me closely, her smile growing wider. "Ah, yes. Katniss." She pushes a swinging door open and shouts into a back room. "Peeta! En ven er her for at se dig…"

"Kommer, Delly!" he shouts back.

Hearing his voice in person for the first time in months makes my stomach flip. I'm light-headed with giddiness. What will I say? What will he say? What will-

And just like that, he's there. Standing in front of me. His curls are longer than I remembered, but his wide eyes are still as blue.

His hands are frozen in place where he was wiping them with the bottom of his apron. "Katniss?" he whispers. "Are you real?"

I'm so glad now that I waited to surprise him. To see this look of wonder on his face makes it all worth it.

I nod, but before I can get any words out, he's upon me, showering me with kisses. His hands hold my face as he murmurs words of happiness in between kisses on my cheeks, my eyes, my lips. He smells of cinnamon and dill and … home. Even though I'm thousands of miles from my apartment and my family, it hits me so clearly: home is wherever Peeta is.

Finally he stops and studies me, holding my face in his hands and giving me a smile as bright as the sun. "What are you doing here, Katniss? How long can you stay?"

"Only a few days," I reply calmly, his smile fading slightly as he gives me a resigned nod. "Just long enough for you to pack."

It takes a moment for my words to sink in, but eventually his lips part in disbelief. "Really?" he asks, his eyes filling with happy tears. I nod and he pulls me into his arms.

I hold him to me, my hands in his hair and his face buried in my neck. This time, I won't ever let him go.

Days later, he leaves me alone in his bed and goes to the kitchen in search of some food. He quickly returns with a plate of stale cheese buns in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. "We're running low on supplies," he explains with a shrug. "I toasted them to soften them up a bit. I'll make you fresh ones soon."

I sit up, one hand holding the sheet to my bare chest as the other tries to tame the wild state of my hair. He puts the mug on the end table and sits beside me, tearing off a piece of a bun and feeding it to me carefully. I lick the salt from my lips and give him a shy smile. "It's delicious."

He moves the plate to the table and gives me a mischievous smile. With one finger, he slowly pulls the sheet down to expose my breasts. He leans in to lick away a crumb at the corner of my mouth. His hand cups my neck, tilting it back gently as his lips move down lower, lower, his tongue mapping the way. "Delicious," he repeats before pulling a taut nipple into his mouth.

I lay back, pulling him on top of me more fully, and guide his mouth back up to my own. He looks down at me, his eyes reflecting the joy I feel.

"Jeg elsker dig," I murmur, and he releases a groan as his head drops down to my neck. I chuckle at my ability to make him come undone so quickly.

He lifts himself up on his forearms and studies my face. "I love you, too, Katniss," he whispers before sliding into me, at home once more.

One Year Later

"I think everything is in order," Plutarch says, reviewing the file in front of him.

Peeta and I sit at a table with Haymitch, waiting to hear our fate. I turn to my left, giving Haymitch a grateful smile. I'll never be able to thank him enough for helping us with all of this. It was his idea to file the hardship waiver shortly after Peeta was deported. When our case was reopened, it was that documentation along with our appeal that allowed Peeta to return to me. I can't imagine going through this long process without him by my side.

As Plutarch finishes reading, I glance over at my husband, admiring how handsome he looks in his blue button down. Peeta senses me watching him and gives me a reassuring smile. He takes my hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. I'm brought back to our wedding day, when he did that same motion to calm my nerves.

How much things have changed in two years.

Plutarch takes off his reading glasses and sets them down on the desk in front of him with a sigh. "I will admit, there was some questionable evidence in your file. Your confession, for one, Mr. Mellark." I straighten up and squeeze Peeta's hand, nervous that the odds might not be in our favor today.

"However, the testimony of Dr. Aurelius regarding the psychological stress of the interrogation process was compelling. And upon further review, your accounts of judicial tampering were found to be valid. Not to mention that you've passed all subsequent interviews with flying colors."

Plutarch chuckles and shakes his head. "If it weren't for the baby, I might ask for a follow-up interview in six months. But I have a feeling that would be difficult with a newborn."

Peeta's hand moves instinctively to my belly, an attempt to protect our daughter from harm before she's even entered the world.

"Therefore, my decision is to close this case, effective today. You are free to leave, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark." Plutarch nods and gives us a kind smile.

Haymitch pulls me in for a quick hug and shakes Peeta's hand before heading over to talk to Plutarch.

I stand, the weight of the world suddenly off my shoulders. Peeta pulls me into an embrace. We cling to each other for the longest time, neither of us wanting to let go. Our daughter decides to interrupt the exchange by delivering a swift kick, so strong that Peeta can feel it. He steps back with a grin. "Someone doesn't want to be left out of the celebration."

"I can't believe it's really over," I say.

"I know." He takes my hand, laces his fingers through mine, and brushes it against his lips. He puts his arm around me as we walk together out of the courtroom. "We can go home. Together. And they'll never bother us again."

"I get to keep you," I joke, squeezing his side. "Forever."

"Well, now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?" he asks with a chuckle.

I pull him down to whisper the latest Danish expression I've learned in his ear. He stops abruptly and leans back, eyes wide with mirth. Grabbing my hand, he begins tugging me toward the car. "In that case, we'd better hurry. I want forever to start right now."

Please forgive my complete disregard of U.S. immigration laws; chalk it up to creative license and a desperate need to give Everlark a happy ending. :)