Thanks for reading. I wrote this after Mockingjay left me wanting a scene where these two crazy kids could hash out their differences without giving Katniss the chance to run off when she didn't want to deal with it anymore. I also felt that certain accusations were left unexplained, so I threw in some stuff I think might have helped the Capitol to send Peeta off the edge of sanity. Enjoy.

Please R&R

*UPDATE 6/30/18 This chapter has always bugged me, so I gave it an update. Fixed some poor editing from before, and made it a little less cheesy.

The claustrophobia was getting to her. This isn't to say she wasn't suffering from an extensive list of other mental disorders- PTSD, codependency, insomnia, anger management issues- but as of late, the Claustrophobia seemed to be at the top of Katniss's list of troubles.

It probably had something to do with the recent lockdown.

While bombs rained upon the surface, the entire population of District 13 retreated hundreds of feet underground where they were forced to live practically on top of one another, adhere to even stricter schedules and spend hours at a time in the dark. Once the danger passed and the lockdown lifted, most of citizens its were allowed to return to their homes. The Everdeen family was one of the few who had been forced to relocate, since their apartment had collapsed in on itself. As her mother and sister settled into their new home, Katniss moved in with Johanna to one of the sparsely furnished dorms where she could be with other Capitol-bound soldiers until their training ended.

In an attempt to save space, the dorms on each floor were assigned one large bathroom which included a group shower, which Katniss immediately decided would not work for her. This was not an issue of modesty or vanity. If anything, it was a desperate grasp at a little privacy. As it currently stood, she had none.

Talking her way into a less public shower setting had been easier than she expected. Plutarch had been the most help. He'd gotten a good look at her after the Quarter Quell. There were too many fresh scars on her body and with the new bruises on her neck (not the mention the lovely surgery scar from having her spleen removed), he worried about rumors spreading around. He made the point that because of her new position as mockingjay/savior-of-their-collective-asses, having eyewitnesses to evidence of her humanity could impede the process of political deification they'd been working day and night to achieve for her.

In other words, injuries were bad for the hero image.

Within the day, he had received authorization for the key to a VIP bathroom.

"Just keep it to yourself," he warned her. "I don't want to get yelled at, just so you can keep your clothes on in front of your neighbors."

She agreed, assuring him that she would only go late at night.

So here she was at almost 3am, rinsing the grime and sweat from training off of her body while the rest of the district slept. It wasn't much, but at least it was quiet and allowed her some solitude.

This was the only place she could truly be alone to pour over her thoughts.

Lately those thoughts had been a steady stream of everything she was doing wrong. Over the course of a few short days she'd managed to alienate herself from almost everyone she cared about…again. She didn't want to be around friends, or her mother, or even Prim. The only time she ever felt human was during training sessions where she and the other soldiers could spend a few hours a day beating the crap out of each other. It was like therapy, only she didn't have to talk about her feelings.

Katniss adjusted the water and turned up the heat to soothe her sore muscles. She'd been training constantly and was steadily improving her fighting form. Every workout became a little easier, meaning the trainers had to keep up with her progress to ensure she was being sufficiently challenged.

Today had been a particularly taxing day. Just before the training session began, Peeta entered the room, flanked by guards. She hadn't seen him in weeks and their last meeting had hardly been a productive one.

Johanna had rolled her eyes and muttered something about a "killing machine," but when it came down to assigning Peeta a partner, she raised her hand without hesitation.

Katniss did her best to ignore the two of them as they sparred. She kept her focus ahead, concentrating on own her partner, and listening to the instructions her trainer shouted from the front of the room. Things were going fine until the rest break, when Joanna returned looking stony. Katniss knew better than expect an explanation.

She watched Peeta as he sat, unmoving against the back wall, his eyes closed, his face in a grimace that he had worn permanently since his return. He must have felt how cold the room had become when he'd entered. No one, save Johanna had spoken to him. Most hadn't even looked at him.

When their instructor called for attention, he opened his eyes and slowly climbed to his feet. While most of the class went to the front of the room, Peeta headed towards where she and Johanna stood. He didn't make it three steps before his guards, assuming the worst, swooped in. While he'd spent the entire session a relatively calm state, he became aggressive and actually took a swing at one of his guards. His protests were loud and profane as he was dragged from the room and down the hall.

The memory still shook her to the core.

It broke her heart. She missed Peeta. The old Peeta. The real Peeta. She was determined that one day, when this was over, and Snow was dead, she would find a way to bring him back. His life was her personal duty and she would never be at peace until she could ensure his safety and wellbeing. Currently, she was failing miserably in that duty and because of her failures, he was forced to suffer with his identity every day. Sometimes she would see the charming man who'd professed his love for her the night before their first games, then in a blink, he was the man who'd tried to strangle her to death. Instinctively, her hand went to the bruises on her neck.

The rain overhead suddenly went cold, signaling the impending end to her shower and sure enough, the water shut itself off just moments later. She glared at the shower head, and let out a sigh before turning and pulling the curtain aside.

It was barely an inch off the wall when she saw him. She yanked the curtain back into place, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

"Come out," said Peeta in a low voice.

Katniss found herself unable to move, let alone respond to such a request. When she finally spoke, it was with an obvious tremor.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I want to talk," he replied calmly. "Come out."

She ignored the request.

"How did you get away from the guards?" she demanded, trying to keep the fear out of her voice and failing. There were already tears at the edges of her eyes and the lump in her throat was giving her away.

"The guards won't be a problem." He seemed to realize how ominous such a response sounded because he added, "Security around here seems a little lax, in my opinion."

"You're telling me," she muttered. She surveyed her surroundings looking for something she could use to defend herself with, but there wasn't so much as a used razor.

Her only defense would be to get him to leave.

"Look," she said, "You have to go back. If you get caught here, you'll be in a lot of trouble".

"I'm already in plenty of trouble thanks to you. A little more won't hurt me," he said. "Katniss, come out of there and talk to me."

"What do you want?" she asked, still refusing to leave her flimsy sanctuary. It was stupid and she knew it. He was too fast, too strong. If he wanted to come into the shower and drag her out, there was nothing to stop him. The thought of what he was there for left her rattled. In the milliseconds, it'd taken for her to recognize he was there and shut the curtain, she'd seen how gaunt his face had become. He looked awful, like he hadn't slept in days.

"Are you here to kill me?" she asked

Outside of the tiny shower, Peeta cocked his head at the question. The opportunity to look for her had presented itself and he'd taken it without a real plan in mind. He needed answers to questions no one else could help him with.

Whether he was going to kill her was still to be decided.

He knew why she was so unnerved. He'd come alone in the middle of the night in search of her while she was in the most vulnerable state imaginable. The fact that she was naked was a bonus. He could hear the fear in her voice, despite her attempts to keep calm. She was brave and would be until the end, but if he wanted her, a crappy curtain wasn't keeping him out. He felt no guilt for these thoughts, no disgust with himself when he remembered their time together in the arena and on the train. All the times, she'd laid wrapped around him, tempting him with the warmth of her body, the softness of her flesh and had given him nothing more than a few kisses. But then, he'd deluded himself into believing it was enough. It was never enough. He'd risked everything to save her the first time and how did she thank him? By putting him in danger and shoving him toward what should have been his death.

She could have at least fucked him a couple of times first.

Suddenly a more rational part of his brain crept up on him, reminding him that he'd agreed to sleep beside her. He'd never pushed, never asked, never even made a move. So, why was he there to yell at her for something he'd already agreed to?

Wait, said a third voice, of course they'd been together. Hadn't he told the world there was a baby? A secret marriage? A few joyous months together before being shoved back into the arena?

No, you made that up, moron.

Did you?

So many memories of her and in them her body always looked the same, writhing on top of him, being taken from behind, moving under him on cotton sheets. Her rapturous moans rang in his ears and he could practically feel her hot skin under his fingertips. She was flawless; perfect. Could anyone's skin be that exempt from blemishes? A mutt's could. The Capitol could do that.

"Shut up," he hissed at that side of his rational.

Katniss, assuming he was speaking to her, didn't say anything. She didn't know what was happening out there and was afraid that if she risked a look, it would set him off. Everything set him off these days. She remembered what Johanna had said a few days before, about how he'd recently been seen having public arguments with himself. If she said the wrong words, this could go badly.

"You're really quiet in there," he said, trying to fill the dead space, "I figured you'd be screaming for help by now."

She ignored the taunt, choosing instead to ask again what he was there for.

"What's going to happen is this: I'm going to ask you questions. You're going to answer them. If I believe you, we both walk out of here alive," he said levelly, "If not, we're gonna have a problem and I don't know what's going to happen at that point. Agreed?"

"Ok," she said, nodding, even though he couldn't see her. All they had really agreed on was that there was likely going to be a problem, "Ask me anything."

He was silent for a minute, then she could hear him muttering to himself. She caught a few words here and there, but, nothing concise, until, "…just gonna lie and then…rip that shit off….no…no, that's not it, just-" she could hear him taking deep breaths and imagined him shaking, with attempts to control his mind. Finally he asked, calmly, "Did you destroy District 12 because I called for a ceasefire?"

What followed immediately was the loudest silence she'd ever experienced. She stood behind the curtain waiting for him to ask the real question because there was no way on earth he could be serious. But he didn't ask another question. He leaned against the bathroom counter and waited.

"Th-they told you that I destroyed District 12?" she asked, still in complete disbelief.

"No, you did," he told her, believing every syllable he said, "No one knew that the rebels had destroyed 12 until you butted into a broadcast so you could show yourself, standing in front of my family's home, telling the entire world that my none of them have been heard from since you bombed them."

"The Capitol destroyed 12 weeks before that," she said quickly, "Why would I?"

He heard the voice in his head, not his own, but Snow's directly after the broadcast, after he'd collapsed. They told him he'd had a seizure on stage and had hit the ground so hard, it had shattered his ribs and almost broken his jaw.

"She wants to punish you," Snow had told him, "She wants to hurt you so badly that she'd destroy her own home, just to kill the people you love."

The president had made Peeta watch the rebel broadcast another dozen times until he understood her words exactly, and even then, Snow had insisted he watch it again.

When he explained this to her, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, realizing how it must have looked. If no one had told him about the destruction of 12, then the sight of her standing in front of his parent's bakery must have looked like a display of power, instead of a plea to his common sense.

"Peeta," she said after a minute, "Have you see the footage of your own broadcast? Has Haymitch shown it to you?"

"Why the hell would he show me that?" he asked.

"Because, the video shows very clearly that you didn't have a seizure," she explained, "You cracked. That thing the Capitol turned you into lost control and you warned that District 13 was about to be bombed. You saved the lives of every person here and when you did, peacekeepers came onto the set and beat you until you were unconscious. Why would I bomb 12? My family lived there."

"So did mine," he said through his clenched jaw, "So why aren't any of them here?"

He was quiet as he recounted the first couple of weeks after his "rescue." He'd never felt so alone in his life, "I want to understand how it is that all of your friends and family got here and all of mine ended up dead."

"What about Delly?"

"Oh fuck Delly!" he spat, "my entire family was bombed and you wanna make a consolation prize out of Delly-fucking-Cartwright? You're not stupid enough to really think that."

She gave him a few moments to calm himself, listening to his steps pace the tiny bathroom.

"So, what did I do, Peeta?" she asked calmly, "How did I destroy 12? Did I fly there in a hovercraft, guns blazing, laughing maniacally while I dropped bombs on your family's house? How could I have accomplished that?"

"You got taken in by a war District."

"Yes, a District that specializes in nuclear weapons," she shot at him. If he wanted to throw out crazy accusations, she was gonna counter it with everything she had, "If they wanted to wipe out 12, not a soul would have made it past the Meadow. You know how big 12 was. The Capitol started their raid right in the middle of town, right on top of your parent's house. The only reason anyone got out at all was because of Gale."

Peeta got an image in his head of Gale running away from the bombings, knowing that people were still in the town as it burned. Of everyone he'd ever met in 12, few people had the competency to run when the hovercrafts arrived. Gale was one of the few. He was a survivor, just like Katniss, and while you couldn't blame the guy for staying alive, the thought of him leaving Peeta's family to burn was almost too much. His vision went white and he felt pain in his hand. When the world returned to color he found his fist had made a hole in the wall and was now bleeding. It brought up a memory from before, when she'd shove him into an urn. His hand looked about the same. She'd done it because he'd said he loved her. She'd done it because she was pissed at him.

She was always pissed at him.

"Why are you always so pissed at me!" he yelled at her, taking his hand to the sink.

"What?" asked Katniss, having not been granted access to his erratic thought process.

"Nothing," he seethed, as he washed his hand. After a few seconds of trickling out the water shut off. He found a towel under the sink and tried to make it into a bandage, "Let's not talk about Gale. That guy pisses me off."

"Everything pisses you off," she blurted out.

"You know," he said with a sarcastic laugh, "I think I'm aloud to be pretty angry about everything I've been through."

"Of course you are," she agreed, "but you need to be angry at the people who did it you. I did a lot of bad things, Peeta but I didn't turn you into this and I didn't kill your family. I liked your father. He was a good man. The first time we left for the games, he promised to keep Prim from going hungry. I owed him so much."

"Please don't act for a second like you give a shit about my father," he warned.

She wanted to yell at him. Speaking cautiously was getting her nowhere and the more he accused her of not caring the more she felt the need to prove him otherwise. It was exhausting trying to not make the cutting comments about his mother she had lined up in her head.

"He helped my sister," she said as calmly as she could, "of course I cared."

When he didn't disagree, she added, "Did you hear about the mayor? His family's gone missing. It looks like they didn't get out either."

"Madge?" he asked.

"She was probably with them."

In his mind's eye, he saw a pretty blonde girl in a white dress. He'd been acquainted with Madge in school, but not well. He had a million memories of seeing Katniss in the lunchroom and more often than not, Madge was sitting beside her. Neither spoke and there was little to convey the idea of friendship between them, but every day, there they were in the same spot, having some sort of silent conversation while eating their lunches.

He was afraid she might be right about this one. Madge was the mayor's daughter. Had 13 been gearing for an attack, the mayor would have been notified by the Capitol and he could have done something to start the evacuation. More people would have gotten out. The merchants and tradesmen would have been the first to escape, not the "Seam Scum" (as his mother would have called them) that were currently occupying the less privileged areas of District 13.

But they didn't escape. If they had, Madge would have been sent to see him instead of Delly. They'd run in similar circles outside of school.

He remained quiet for few long minutes as he considered what she'd said.

The tension was killing her. In fact, she was starting to wish he would just rush the thin cloth keeping them apart. Then at least she would know which version of him she was dealing with.

"Let me ask you something now," she said.

"What?" he grunted impatiently.

"About six weeks after you were captured, they played the first interview and you looked healthier than I could have hoped for. You were fed and rested and you stood up there and called for a ceasefire. I just need to know in all the ways they screwed you up, even in all the ways that you hate me, did you ever forget that thousands of people had spent seventy-five years at the edge of starvation? Was it enough to forget what else was going on out there?"

"No."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because I wanted you back," he said bitterly, "I wanted our family back the way it was before any of this shit happened to us and if you got shot on a battlefield, that wouldn't happen."

She took a deep breath, trying to imagine what he thought their life had been, "Did they tell you we were married?"

He replied carefully, "I have…memories of us together."

"How? We were never together, Peeta. And if we had been, they wouldn't have known. All they had were some kisses on camera."

As she said it, she realized how wrong she was. They had more than a few kisses in the arena. They had recordings of everything from his fake proposal to footage of them entering her room together where they stayed until morning. They could have used any of it, edited it all to suit their needs, implant ideas, even fake memories into his head.

"You understand that it wasn't real, don't you?" she asked with a lump in her throat, "They were fantasies that you already had and the Capitol made you think they actually happened."

Peeta found himself clenching his injured hand until his nails dug into the skin of his palm. He didn't know why he was so angry. This is what he'd come for. He needed her to tell him that their marriage had been fake, that he'd never have been stupid enough to marry a lying snake like her. He'd been right. So why was he so damn frustrated?

"What about-" he began, then the different parts of his mind all started talking at once. Katniss could hear him mumbling once more.

"What?" she said, trying to push him to finish his thought. When he kept sputtering curse words, and telling himself to "Stay out of it," she attempted to call him back, "Peeta!"

He looked up suddenly, the thought train broken by her call.

"What about what?" she asked.

Peeta leaned back against the bathroom door, bringing his eyes to the low watt light above him, "What about the baby?"

Of everything she'd said so far, she was afraid this was what was going to get her killed. Somewhere in his gut he must know the truth, but she felt having to say it out loud would break what little control he had. She'd worked hard to not hurt him and he was silently begging her not to do it now.

"What did they tell you?" she asked, leaning back away from the curtain, "I mean they must have noticed that I wasn't getting any bigger in the propos."

Peeta gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He'd been staring at the light bulb so long, he could see bright shapes behind his eyelids. As he watched them turn into amorphous blobs of white, he remembered the moment he'd been told of the loss.

It had been during an interview with Caesar.

"They told me you killed it," he said, banging the back of his fist into the door behind him, "They put me in an interview, in front of a full audience and told me that you killed our baby to punish me for not dying in the arena like I was supposed to."

Katniss fell to her knees, stunned. Her stomach churned again and she wanted to throw up the nothing in her stomach. She wanted what he'd just said to leave her memory, so she wouldn't have to imagine him a room full of people and cameras, being told horrible lies just to get a reaction. It had been another form of torture, but it hadn't only been for him. She let out a sob, covering her eyes with her palms, trying anything to block out the thoughts.

Peeta heard her, but hadn't moved. His eyes stayed closed and every few seconds, he would hit the door with the backside of his fist, harder each time, until the pain took him away from the moment. Every impact was stronger, pulling his thoughts away from that room with the bright lights and Caesar Flickerman in his ridiculous wigs. He'd had so many fantasies of ramming that wig down Caesar's throat, watching the blue hair mix with blood as he choked to death on his own uselessness.

After a particularly hard hit, he felt a sharp pain and was pretty sure a bone in his hand had fractured. He was dimly aware of Katniss calling his name.

"What?" he asked coldly.

Katniss had heard the thud of each hit and was afraid he was punching the wall again.

"There wasn't a baby, Peeta. We were never together," she said from the shower floor where she was leaning back against the wall. She hadn't stood. Her arms were wrapped loosely around her knees and she was staring at the tiles, feeling lower than the dirt that was jammed into the grout. She'd known it had been bad, she'd known that they'd spent a lot of time unhinging him from reality, but somehow this seemed worse than anything, "You only said that there was because you were trying to protect me."

"Why the hell would I want to do that?" he spat.

She raised her head, looking at the white cloth which still separated them, imagining where his face was on the other side, "Because you're in love with me."

She regretted saying it the moment it was out of her mouth. It was a loaded statement and opened her up to a question which she didn't have an answer for. Almost as if on cue, he asked it, "Do you love me?"

"I don't know," she said honestly.

He shook his head, "Don't lie to me."

"Ask me something else," she said, trying to get them back on topic.

"If you had to kill me, would you do it?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation.

"Now that I believe."

He'd wanted a yes to the first question, but he didn't really know why. He wouldn't have believed it anyway. All it would do is complicate things and give him another reason to rage at her. Maybe it was just habit from all the time he'd spent pursuing her that he felt a little reciprocity on her part might bring him some relief. But that wasn't her. She would never admit to actually feeling something. It made his hands clench again, though this time the pain from the fractured bone helped to keep him in check.

"But I don't want that," she said.

"You're a liar," he seethed, "You left me there! You let the Capitol take me."

"No," her voice became solid through the curtain, "You wanna blame someone for that, go scream at Haymitch. What happened in the first arena? We both got out because of me. You said to shoot you and I didn't."

"You put poison in my hand," he screamed, coming closer to her.

"I put it in mine too! I put that poison in my mouth for you!" Suddenly she was screaming too, "Everything I have done has been to keep you alive. When are you going to wake up and realize that we're all on your side?"

She heard him hit the wall again, but with less force this time. He was starting to crack and she knew that the wrong words would send him flying through the curtain.

"You.. you're lying," he accused weakly.

"I am NOT LYING!" she shouted through the curtain, "Think about it. What are you still doing here? The moment you attacked me, they should have shot you on the spot. Why are they working so hard to help you? Why did they bother to rescue you? Do you know that when Gale came back, he said it was easy to get you out. It was too easy. The Capitol wanted us to take you back, so that you would kill me. You could get me out of the way, and get yourself killed to save them the trouble. All they had to do was convince you to do it and here you are, right on cue! You told me that you wanted to be more than a piece of their games and if you give in to this, that's all you'll ever be."

Flashes of terror, pain, blood flashed in his mind until his vision was a blur of gore, colliding with the life he remembered before. He was back in a dark room full of blinding lights and loud equipment. There were rooms on either side of his where he could hear shrieks of pain and calls for help. He recognized one and wanted get away to help the source of the cries. He was starving, sleep deprived, suffered from broken bones, and hemorrhaging blood. The soldiers who beat him didn't care. He usually started the day with a cracked femur or a dislocated shoulder. They'd just throw a thick, disgusting smelling medicine over his injuries and within a few hours they'd be healed and ready to be torn apart again and again and again. He never slept, not really. It was as if chainsaw were going off next to his ear keeping him awake, keeping him watching images of himself on the screen. Then they showed a moment he'd spent with her. A scream of terror left his mouth and he tore at his restraints until his hands bled. A doctor ran forward, stuck a needle in his neck and he went limp in the chair, not unconscious, just immobilized, listening to them talk about him like he was a goddamn science experiment.

Peeta began to hyperventilate. His hands went into his hair, grabbing so tightly, he almost ripped it out by the roots. He was trying to speak, but his words sputtered out in a disjointed jumble. His vision turned red as he remembered what they had done to "recondition" him, why they had beaten him, why scientists- not doctors- were always injecting him with different drugs.

He searched for something solid to hang onto and his hands found the metal towel rack. He ripped it from the wall and with a roar, smashed it into the mirror, over and over until the shatterproof glass was fractured into bits so small, he couldn't see his reflection. He crashed the metal rod into the overhead light, causing the tiny bathroom to rely on the orange glow of the emergency light for its sole illumination. He added a dozen holes to the wall, and when there was nothing left to destroy, a primal scream left his mouth, like no sound he'd ever made; loud, desperate, enraged, taking all of his breath. In the echo of the bathroom, it sounded like a dragon breathing fire.

He gripped his weapon harder, raised it above his head and ripped the curtain aside.

Katniss was still on the floor of the shower. Her arms were over her head and she was curled into the ball in the corner.

Everything that had happened was because of her and this was his one opportunity to destroy her the way she'd destroyed him, to be rid of the horror that her existence caused him every day. This was the answer, the sole solution he'd had since they walked into that first arena. He had to kill her. The result would be blissful oblivion when Coin found out. He'd be waiting beside the body with the murder weapon in hand. Hell, they'd probably shoot him on the spot. What was real would be irrelevant The screaming in his head would go quiet and there would finally be peace.

One good blow would do it.

So what stopped him now? Why did he stand here paralyzed, suspended in the moment, his eyes glued to the purple marks on the back of her neck?

A memory hit him from another lifetime. They were on the roof of the training center, standing in the gardens on their first night there. When the wind made her shiver he'd put his jacket around her shoulders and his fingertips grazed her skin. It was the first real, physical contact they'd ever had.

The last time they had touched, he had left bruises on her.

God, he really had tried to kill her and here he was again, ready to bash her head in just to give himself some relief.

A part of his brain sparked up, It'd be unfortunate for the world to lose such a pretty voice. Don't you think?

You don't need music, cried another, You need release and you won't get it if you let her live. Do it and be done.

You do love her, you know.

Yeah? Well the only thing love's done is put you in this position. I say kill her!

As the voices fought in his mind, his arm came down and the metal rod fell from his fingers. He stood there in awe, listening to argument, like there were two people, one in each of his ears, shouting demands through his head. He didn't want to listen to either. He backed away from the shower entrance, away from Katniss and into the opposite corner. His legs gave out from under him and he crumpled in a heap to the ground.

He remained on the concrete floor, staring ahead at nothing, feeling his heart as it raced in his chest while trying to block out the screaming match happening behind his skull.

"Peeta!"

A sharp voice broke through the others. He opened his eyes to find the source of the sound had not come from inside his head, but from the girl who stood before him, stark naked and holding the metal rod between her calloused fingers. He hadn't noticed her approach, nor had he any idea how long she'd been standing there, trying to get his attention.

"Peeta," she said again.

His gaze, which was locked onto the metal weapon in her hand, shot up to her cold frowning face.

"Katniss," he croaked. His voice came out in a cracked whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He saw the slightest softening of her hard face, and heard the sound of metal hitting the floor. She knelt in front of him and reached out a careful hand.

"No!" he recoiled, trying to back himself further into the corner to avoid her touch, "I might…. I don't want to hurt you."

Her eyes widened, her frown became less pronounced, but she withdrew her hand. Katniss knew that by getting so close, she had probably just done something incredibly stupid, but he'd been right. It was time to get some things worked out. She refused to continue to be afraid of him. If he killed her then that was that, but if she was right, that wasn't what he was after. He just wanted to stop feeling like a crazy person for a while, to stop feeling so alone.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice a desperate whisper.

Katniss felt a stillness as she met his eyes, "I want you to look at me."

She leaned back from him. Pulling her hair over her head, she tied it into a knot, so that she was open to his gaze. His face became a deeper red, his eyes more wild as she exposed more of herself.

"You said that you remember us," she explained, "that you remember a life we had together, that we were married. I want to know if this is the body I had in your memories. So look."

He had to stare her down for a few more moments to make sure she was serious. This seemed like a great opportunity to get slapped in the face.

Finally, he leaned forward onto his knees and reached for her.

What he remembered was a vision of perfection. Flawless skin, rich, thick hair, eyes that shone with constant desire. The reality of her was a roadmap of scars and burns.

He touched the tracker scar on her arm and her breath caught at the roughness of his fingertips. With that barrier crossed, his hands moved more freely on her skin. He got even closer, examining parts of her she hadn't expected him to pay attention to. His hand was unsteady on the small of her back, at her right calf, along the inside of her arm. Then he went to the more obvious places. His hands held her waist then began moving slowly along the skin, up her ribs, until he was staring at a spot below her left breast.

"What happened here?" he asked, grazing his thumb along the freshly healed surgery scar.

"I was shot during an air raid," she told him, trying to avoid eye contact. Her face was burning hot with embarrassment at where his attention seemed to be.

Peeta nodded in apparent recognition.

"I saw that video," he said plainly, before moving on.

His hands continued up the sides of her breasts, past her collarbone and neck. When he reached her cheek, his eyes became more focused.

He found it on her left cheek, so faint it barely showed in the single emergency light above the door. He ran his thumb over it, staring wide eyed at the mark. "You got this from a whip, didn't you?"

"Back in 12," she confirmed.

"Thread," he recalled. He stared at the spot, his fingers were hot against her cheek, as he recounted the events that had given her the mark, "He wasn't aiming for you, but you got in his way. You were…. Your were protecting your friend. We went to your house so your mom could take care of him. You started yelling at her, until Haymitch and I dragged you out. I remember it so clearly. I haven't remembered anything this clearly since I got here."

The day she'd received the lash to her cheek now felt like a lifetime ago. Like it had happened to some other girl in a town that she could barely remember existed. Peeta's mind was retrieving it as if it had happened yesterday.

"You were protecting your friend," he said again, "because that's what you do. You protect the people you care about. It's what you were doing in the arena."

"I was trying to get you out," she whispered.

"I know. I was doing the same thing."

Peeta closed his eyes and withdrew his hands. Instantly, Katniss missed the heat of his touch.

His body slumped with the weight of everything he had learned in the last hour, as he realized exactly how many lies he'd been so ready to believe. The most frightening thing was that, discovering this one truth about Katniss barely scratched the surface.

He felt her hand on the back of his neck and had fight the instinct to pull of her reach. There was nothing threatening in the gesture, but he was no longer used to being offered comfort, or trust. In a single reach of her hand, Katniss was freely giving him both.

He lifted his head, opening his tired eyes. She was very close; he could practically count the freckles on her nose.

"If I lost you in there," she said seriously, "it would have been the end of both of us."

It took a moment for him to decipher what she had said, to separate himself from the part of his mind that was recognizing the familiarity of her, the shape of her in from of him.

"You think I didn't have a back-up plan?" she asked.

"I thought you had more to live for. You'd get over it, move on to something else."

Someone else.

"I was gonna protect you until I couldn't anymore."

"That's stupid."

"Weren't you doing the exact same thing?"

His mouth tightened against the response he wanted to throw at her. Yes, he'd been doing the same thing. He would have done anything to get her out of the arena alive and she would have tossed away his sacrifice. Haymitch, for all of his efforts could not have kept her going if she didn't want to.

Both of them, fighting for the others life, knowing that they wouldn't be willing to survive without the other. It was almost poetic. If only it wasn't so stupid.

"But look at where we are," she said reminded him, "with everything they have thrown at us, we're both here in a place that shouldn't even exist. We're alive."

He leaned closer, letting his head fall onto her shoulder. His hands returned to her waist as she wrapped her arms around his back.

They lapsed into silence, broken only by the sound of steps coming from down the hall. They were steady, not the hurried rush of soldiers in search of a missing prisoner, just a routine patrol on its way to the next floor.

Peeta pulled back to meet her eyes. Katniss didn't move or make a sound. She looked ahead at him as the patrol passed by, none-the-wiser to the pair wrapped loosely around one another in the wrecked bathroom. Once the silence had resumed, they let out the collective breath they held.

"You missed your chance," he said.

She cocked her head in a silent question to the remark.

"To escape," he explained. Once the sound of boots reached his ears, he fully expected her to call for help. She'd had a perfect opportunity to run out the door to the safety of armed guards who could get her away from the crazy person who'd invaded her shower and threatened her life.

Katniss shook her head, "I didn't think I needed it."

She leaned towards him so that her forehead rested against his. His hands, still unsteady, became more at home on her skin. His palms traveled up her sides, appreciating the curve of her figure.

"What do you want?" he asked again, in such disbelief that she was still in the room with him.

"What do you want?" she countered. "Why did you come here in the middle of the night?"

"I wanted to get you alone. They wouldn't let me talk to you."

"We're here now. What did you want to say?"

Still connected at the crown, he opened his eyes, but no words came to him. Instead, he pulled her closer, and his lips found hers, under the dim orange glow of the emergency lighting. In response, she wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss with a ferocity and passion she had not felt in months.

Not since the last time they had kissed.

They were doomed then, convinced they were not long for the world and determined to make the most of every second that remained. Things had changed drastically since.

What she had said seemed like the simplest of truths. They were here, they were alive, and Peeta was kissing her the way he had back in the arena.

There was nothing tentative or uneasy about these kisses. Katniss pressed herself against him, needing to be closer, to be enveloped by him. She had not counted on the heat in his touch on her skin, or the natural way his rough hands fit on her waist. Even after all their time apart, she noted the scent of baking bread on him that always reminded her of home.

He pulled back suddenly, breaking free of the embrace.

"What is it?" she asked.

A flush crept up his neck.

"I just need a minute," he replied. He swallowed hard and added, "I don't really know what I'm doing."

"I don't either," she assured him.

"Do you…. I mean, we don't have to…"

Katniss leaned in to kiss him again, cutting off any protests or attempts to talk her out of what she had already decided.

She had known this would happen, had known this was the path she was choosing when she stepped out of the shower. She'd told herself she was doing it for him, to save him, to bring him back from the brink, but the reality was, she wanted him. She'd never wanted anything like this in her life. Never, had she felt the inclination to give so much of herself to another person.

Peeta already had more of her than anyone. He had helped her to survive starvation, two arenas, the victory tour. He had been the source of her first kiss and her first inkling of hope. She wanted to give him whatever piece of mind she could

His lips left hers and planted light kisses on her shoulder, working along the hollow of her collar bone, brushing the purple marks still healing on the skin on her neck. Flush against him again, Katniss realized why he had stopped. She could feel his arousal pressing against her belly through the flannel pants he wore. Again a red heat rose in his face, only this time he didn't pull back. His lips found hers again, turning the light kisses into heavy passionate ones. Far from shying away, from such a blatant demonstration of desire, Katniss ground her hip against him. He rewarded her with a sudden moan and pulled her closer.

Her arm around his neck, Katniss leaned back until her bare skin found the tile floor. When she reached for the bottom of his shirt, he practically tore the garment over his own head and threw it into the shower, not caring much where it landed. Her hands touched the prickled skin of his bare torso. She felt him tense at her touch, and his fingers dug almost angrily into her back. She waited for him to relax before moving forward, glad when the moment passed as quickly as it came on.

As their lips danced together, she ran her fingers down his chest towards the waistband of the flannel pants he wore. Before she reached them, he took her hands, and shoved them roughly away then removed the pants himself.

She pulled back to look into his face, noting his tight jaw, and slight tremble of his arms. He was just as nervous as she was. She brushed her lips against his, as she took his hand and placed it on her stomach, guiding him slowly down her body until he found the place between her though.

Katniss put her head back and closed her eyes as he gently explored her, causing shivers to run through her entire body. He inserted a finger inside her and her eyes shot open, as a gasp shot air into every molecule of her body. She closed her eyes again and moved against his hand, concentrating all of her focus into the places inside and out that his fingers had found.

As he hovered above her, he looked her body over again. Her figure was beautifully proportioned and strong from years of hunting. Her breasts were smaller than his memories told him they should be and her waist not quite as curved, but the sight of her lying naked and splayed out, waiting for him to take her caused him not to care so much about the details as the entirety of what she was offering. He slid a hand back along her thigh to her core, feeling the wetness that had accumulated.

His lips came down to her stomach and moved their way up to her breast where the nipple was taut and pointed up to the ceiling. When he grazed his teeth along the pink skin, her breath hitched and a quick moan escaped her mouth. His fingers were almost too tight on her waist and the wave of urgency only made him more careless with her.

He kissed her lips so hard she thought they might bruise under the crushing weight, but she held fast to the knowledge that she was doing something good for him; for both of them. They both needed be away from the world to remember that their entire lives weren't made of the pains of their past. There was no one they could go to besides each other who would understand what it meant. They were in this together; they always had been and she would do whatever it took to keep him from slipping any further away than he already was.

She hadn't counted on liking it so much.

He looked into her eyes just long enough to see the pleasure, the complete enjoyment of his crushing kisses and strong hands before he changed his position and without warning plunged into her. They let out a joint cry of pain and release. For a few long moments, they remained motionless, taking in the sheer strength of the bodies and minds for what they'd just done. There was no going back.

Peeta reared back until his body was almost disconnected from her own, then thrust into her again and then again.

Developing a rhythm wasn't hard. Katniss allowed him to set the pace, moaning his name every time he sank himself deeper inside of her. The sound of her breathless voice spurred him on. Her skin was soft and burning hot under his fingertips. Her body was strong and flexible. When he moved her leg aside to get deeper, he was able to put it father to the side and closer against her torso than he'd expected. The feeling of her wrapped around him, the tightness, the wetness, the call of her voice as he pushed harder, faster, deeper, was not like he remembered. It was better. This was real and there was no denying it.

Initially, Katniss had experienced pain. She'd known she was going to, but the tearing sensation was more intense than she'd expected. As much as it had hurt, there had been a strange feeling of gratification in it. The pain was cathartic, it was necessary; another test of her endurance, of her will. Now that it was over, she'd expected boundless pleasure, but didn't find it right away. He barely gave her a few seconds rest before he was moving roughly within her. He didn't say a word to her and seemed oblivious to the pain in her voice as she said his name each time. He didn't stop and she never asked him too. She gritted her teeth through each thrust, willing her body to accept the pain as though it was his. With every movement, she took his hurt and terror into herself. With every kiss, she pushed comfort and passion into him. He moved her leg up against her middle and went deeper.

After a minutes of being stretched and pounded into a more pliable position, her body finally began to adjust and she experience the pleasure she'd felt when he was using his hands. Her eyes closed and allowed her body to push back against his. Her hands roved his back and when he tried to move her leg even farther, they dug into the muscles near his spine. Suddenly they were lying at her sides of her head. Peeta had his hands around her forearms and he was holding them way too tight. He stopped moving and she felt him begin to shake. When she looked into his face, she saw why.

Peeta's eyes were closed. Something had shifted and he was trying his best not to lose control. Holding onto her arms was his way of grounding himself and he didn't realize how hard he was squeezing.

"Peeta!" she said sharply, hoping to call him back like she did before, but whatever thought had him wasn't letting go. His face scrunched up and he put his head down breathing deeply.

"Peeta-"

"Shut up!" he spat, still not looking at her, "Just shut up for a second."

She waited; it was all she could do. There weren't many ways to fight back if things went badly from here. She had no hands and only one leg was free. Luckily the leg was in a great position. One knee to the groin would diffuse this situation quickly. For now she waited while he wrestled with whatever demon was trying to take over his mind.

Finally, he let out a long breath and looked up at her with clear eyes.

"You ok?" she asked, bringing her face closer to his. He nodded, then taking the hint, moved in and kissed her deeply. Seconds later, they were back on track, back to their clumsy movement against one another. It was a few seconds before she realized he still had ahold of her arms and she was beginning to lose feeling.

"Peeta," she breathed into his ear, "Let go."

"Sorry," he said softly, as he released her hands.

He began to move faster, pumping into her at a furious pace. Her legs shifted up to meet him with every thrust. A sound like a train whistle sounded in her ears and it took almost a whole minute to realize it was coming from her. Her back arched, her mouth opened and out poured a cry of ecstasy along with a number of expletives she wasn't accustomed to using. Immediately after, Peeta wrapped his arms around her body and held on as he came hard, riding the waves of endorphins his brain shot into his system at the feeling of final release. He shuddered a few times, before coming to a stop.

They remained, for a moment, entangled together, bathed in sweat, as they caught their breath.

"That…" Peeta began, "that was…"

He trailed off as he looked into her eyes, unable to come up with an adequate word for how he felt in the moment. He only knew that he loved this woman more than he had ever thought possible. He wanted her again, but seemed unable to convince his very tired body to comply.

Katniss simply smiled up at him, letting her fingertips trail lightly along his back.

Frm outside the door, came the sound of uneven footsteps and a pair of panicked voiced.

"Check them all. There's only so many places he could go."

Peeta sighed. He knew his guards would catch up eventually.

"How the hell'd they get out of the closet?" he asked aloud. He'd tied them up securely before heading down here.

"You better go," Katniss said, not sounding the least bit happy about it.

"I don't want to," he said staring her in the eyes, "I don't know what going to happen when I leave this room."

She put a hand to his face and leaned her forehead against his, "Believe me, you don't want them to find us here. Whatever happens out there, we had tonight. Don't forget that."

"What if I go crazy again?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped herself before any words could form. She didn't have an answer. It was possible that by the time the sun came up, the last few hours wouldn't even matter. Sleep and the sobering light of day might be enough to send him back into uncertainty and fear, but they didn't have time to worry about that. The voices were getting closer and reality was on its way to destroy them. It was time to go.

It took everything they had to disentangle themselves from each other and get dressed.

She glanced quickly into the broken mirror and, seeing a row of hickies on her neck, let out a low whistle. "This is gonna be hard to hide from Joanna. I might never hear the end of this."

With that, she smoothed her hair over the love bruises as best she could, and joined him at the door.

"I'll lead them off so you can get out of here," he offered. She didn't refuse. Her hand found his and when the guards had passed, he leaned in, kissed her quickly, and then darted out into the hall.

She watched him round the corner, listening to his fading footsteps until they were gone.

A couple of days later, she was on her way to training when she passed him in the hall. Security had been doubled since his little adventure through the base. Coin had been angry to find the demolished bathroom and had set extra people to watch him around the clock. Strangely, she didn't feel the need to stop his training.

As Katniss passed, she didn't look at him, but instead reached over as if to rub her shoulder. Knowing he'd be watching, she pulled down her collar and revealed the purple mark his mouth had made upon her neck. It was her little reminder to him, "I remember. Don't you forget it."

As she passed, she heard a snarl and a thud. She looked. Peeta had lunged. His guards had him on his knees in front of her. She looked at him, expecting to see the dark expression that he wore most days. Instead, he flashed her a grin. Not a big one, honestly the corner of his mouth turned up for a few seconds, but it was enough. He mouthed a single word to her.

"Hey."

It was difficult not to burst out laughing. At the same time, she wanted to slap him. Was he trying to get her in trouble?

She looked to the guards who apologized profusely. One of them made a move to club Peeta on the back of the head, but she put her hands up to stop him.

"Just keep a better eye on him next time," she told them with a roll of her eyes. The moment her back was turned her lips turned up in a smile to match his. It took everything she had not to look back.

Before she rounded the corner, her left hand curled a couple of times in what she hoped he would see as a wave.

The moment she was out of sight, a wave of joy came over her as memories from a few nights past overtook her mind. Her lips spread into a wide smile and all she could do was return the greeting to empty hall.

"Hey."