I shake as another night mare ravages my body. I can feel the scream building up into my throat but in my sleeping state, there is nothing to halt its eruption. A savage sound leaves my lips and my eyes shoot open. Panting, I try to remember where I am. And then I feel them. Two strong arms wrap around me, chasing away the visions still fresh in my mind.

"I'm so sorry. I was getting a drink of water."

I felt truly despicable then. Poor Peeta. He couldn't even get a drink without me losing my mind. His apology was almost worse than the nightmare itself. At least in my nightmares I know eventually I will wake up. But when I hear Peeta apologize for something as trivial as getting water, I see exactly what kind of monster I am. I have taken so much from this boy; his sanity, his family, his home, his grip on reality, and now even his sleep. I cannot continue to wreak such havoc on him. I can't. I won't.

"Please don't say sorry. I don't deserve an apology. You didn't do anything wrong," I said, sounding angry. I am so frustrated with myself, I let it slip through when I speak. I felt Peeta slowly back away.

"Katniss-," I cut him off. What I was about to say would require strength and unrelenting anger towards myself. I had to do it, and if Peeta started to speak, I know I would lose my resolve. "Shh. I'm not angry with you. Just myself." Pause. Breathe. Go. "I can't keep doing this to you Peeta. You should leave." Even though that was the exact opposite of what I wanted, it needed to be done. I can't break him anymore than I already have. I felt him get off the bed, and I let a few tears fall. Not much; just a few. I've started allowing a little bit of tears to escape my eyes every now and then. Dr. Aurelius says its "healthy for my recovery". Whatever.

I hear his heavy footsteps move toward the door and I am taken back to the arena. He had such heavy footsteps even then. And then a few more tears fall. His leg. I forgot I am responsible for that as well. I expect to hear the door open, but I don't; I only hear it close. I hear Peeta move away from the door and into a chair in the corner. I roll over to face him.

"What are you doing?"

His head is in his hands and he starts to speak through his fingers. "I'm not leaving you, so if you don't want me in the bed, I'm sleeping in the chair."

I wipe away at my cheeks before he sees they are wet. "You're not sleeping in a chair Peeta. You have a house. Sleep in the bed there." He shakes his head.

"The farthest I'm willing to go is the couch in your living room, but I'm not leaving you like this."

Before I can protest it, he leans back and closes his eyes. "Goodnight Katniss."

"No! No no no no! You can't sleep in the chair Peeta! You'll get no sleep. It's incredibly uncomfortable!"

He opens his eyes again.

"So is being away from you. I'd rather this discomfort if you don't mind."

This was backfiring. I only wanted him to go so I didn't bother him anymore, not so he could be even more disturbed. "Fine," I spit. "Fine. Sleep in the chair."

I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for the onslaught of horror that is now my nightly routine.

My father is walking through the forest, holding hands with Prim. He's pointing out a flower thats growing, its leaves and petals reaching for the sun. I'm trailing behind them, holding hands with Peeta. "What good are flowers? Unless you can use them as food, they're pointless." Peeta shakes his head sadly, looking down at me with shame. I don't have any clue as to why I said that. I actually love flowers; they're a reminder of good things for me. Memories. Dandelions. I have to look away because I cannot handle the disappointment Peeta feels towards me. I look back up at my father and Prim. "Let's go. This is stupid." Why am I saying these things?

I feel Peeta's hand slip from mine. I know I have let him down again. I walk closer to my family, still far ahead of me. I can hear bombs bursting around me, and the smell of charred flesh makes my stomach crawl. I continue forward. Prim is bent over, picking up the flower, tearing it from its roots. The stem bursts into flames; the flames make their way up Prim's arm. I continue forward. Prim is now completely on fire, soundlessly staring at me. I continue forward. How is it that no matter how much farther I walk to her, the distance between us is the same as when I started? I'm growing angry now; where is my father? Why is he not dousing Prim? Oh. That's right. He's dead. Was he ever with us during this walk? I know the answer to that. I continue forward.

"Katniss? Katniss?" Prim is calling for me. Now I'm running. And she still isn't any closer. Finally, she stops calling my name. Its silent. The bombs are no longer exploding; the smoke has begun to clear. Prim is no longer on fire. I've reached her side now. As I bend to hug her, my fingers make contact with her back, and she turns into a pile of dust. Screaming, I collapse where I stand, covered in what was once Prim. The flower she had held in her hands is back in its place, only now Peeta is reaching for it. I shake my head. "Don't. That flower; it killed Prim." He reaches for it anyway.

"Please Peeta. Please. I can't lose you too. Please." His hand stops. "You've already lost me Katniss." I hear the bombs again. I smell the death again. I feel Peeta's fingers brush across my cheek, inching their way to my throat. I can't open my eyes though; I know if I do, I'll see Peeta gone from me. I can't open them. I can't.

I force open my eyes to see the sun shining into my room. I can hear the mockingjays whistling outside my window. I feel a little cold, having kicked off the blanket at some point. But all of this is not what holds my attention. What captivates me is the hand holding mine. Peeta moved his chair sometime in the night so that he is now by my side. His head is slumped against the bed, facedown. His back rises and falls with each breath he takes. He must have gotten hot at some time in the night, because his shirt is gone. I glance over his many scars and feel regret. And still, even though I'm sure I was thrashing and screaming, he holds my hand.

"Katniss."

I look back to his face, still in my sheets. His hand stirs in mine. I feel him go rigid and then completely still. His muscles are tight and his hand begins to heat up in mine. He begins to breathe heavily. He's still asleep; so what is he doing? I think back to one of our nights on the train.

"Peeta, how come I never know when you're having a nightmare?"

"I don't know. I don't think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror."

This is Peeta having a nightmare. All at once I wish last night had never happened, solely for the fact Peeta would be lying next to me and I could wrap myarms around him. But it did happen. And I can't keep wishing for impossible things.

I let go of Peeta's hand and get out of the bed, quickly maneuvering my arms around his slouched figure. I whisper into his ear.

"Peeta, it's not real. It isn't real." Peeta quickly snaps out of it. He bolts out of the chair and I stumble backwards. He rushes around to face me and catches my arm before I fall. I'm afraid of who I might see. Will it be Peeta, the boy with the bread, the boy who saved me when I didn't know I needed to be saved? Or will it be Peeta, the boy who's been tortured into hating me, the boy who needs me to save him?
His grip on my arm loosens and falls to my hand.

I dread what his nightmare was about. Was it about something from the arena, something horrible he could only understand? Or was it a tampered memory, projecting me as a killer bent on destroying Peeta.

His hand tightens around my own. I open my eyes then, expecting the boy with the bread to be looking back at me. But he's not. He's looking down, his hair covering his eyes.

I reach my free hand forward, and brush it back. I want to see his eyes. He stops me though, taking my hand and pulling it down with his.

"Did I wake you?" His voice is ragged, as though he's been screaming. He never even made a sound.

I felt despicable again. He was worried about waking me when I know he was having a nightmare. He must know that I know.

"I was already awake."

He sighed in relief. "Good; you haven't been getting much sleep lately." I examine the bags under his eyes. He catches my glare and looks away, no doubt trying to hide the evidence. "Now that we're both up, would you like me to make breakfast?"

His words cut into me like a knife. "Breakfast? Peeta, you just had a nightmare. I'm still shaking from my own; how is it you're so calm? How come you don't break every time you wake up? Honestly, seeing you in the morning holds me together, but I'm still not as calm as you. And I know you had a nightmare. I know it. You told me yourself on the train how you're nightmares take you. Real or not real?"

He doesn't even have to think.

"Real. But do you remember what else I told you that night? What my nightmares were about?"

I did. "You said they were about losing me. And that you were ok once you realized I was here."

He nods. "That's why I'm ok. I know you're here." I was stunned. How could they still about losing me? After his torturing, after all President Snow had done to make sure Peeta felt I was his enemy, he still feared losing me? And how could he just be immediately alright? I wish I could be so assured by his presence. It was almost the exact opposite for me. In my nightmares, Peeta confirmed what I already feared; that I had lost him. And in reality, every time I would see that glazed look in his eye, every time he clenches his fist, I feel that fear confirmed. I have lost Peeta; I have lost the boy with the bread.

"So, breakfast? I'm getting kind of hungry Katniss. I don't mind making it, really."

His voice pulls me from my thoughts. Here he was, someone who had been broken and stepped on more times than I care to count, offering to make breakfast like it was no big deal.

"I mind. You shouldn't have to do everything for me. I don't deserve it." He sighs.

"Katniss, really, I don't mind. Please let me."

I roll my eyes. "Why Peeta? I'm perfectly capable of making us breakfast."

He smiles and I feel my stomach do sort of a flip flop. "That's a bit of an overstatement." I feel myself scowl. Sure, I wasn't a great cook but that isn't the point.

"Peeta, you know what I mean. I don't want you doing everything. I'm here too. I can help. You shouldn't have to do it all."

"I like doing things though Katniss. I need to do things. I need to keep moving," his voice is barely a whisper now. "I can't stop for even a second."

So Peeta isn't doing as well as he plays himself out to be. "What do you mean?"

He sits back down in his chair and so I follow suit and sit across from him on the floor.

"I have to keep doing things, whether it is painting or baking or cleaning or anything like that. It seems monotonous, but I have to do them. Otherwise, I start to think about the arena, or when I was in the Capitol and I can't keep thinking those things. If I do, I'll lose it again. I'll lose my mind, and I've only just found it." His hand is shaking just a little bit now, and so I take it into my own to steady him.

"Every nightmare I have isn't about losing you, but for the majority they are. So when I see you in the morning, alive, it instantly reassures me that while everything isn't perfect, it is going to be ok. I have had everything I took for granted ripped right out from underneath me. I need that faith that what I have now is definite. I have to constantly assure myself throughout the days that everything is real, and that its here. I'm so afraid of losing it all again, and so I take comfort in the little things. You're my stability Katniss, and so yes, I would like to make you breakfast. Because I can."

I feel tears begin to form and I hope more than anything else at that moment that they do not fall. These tears would not be healthy. I need to stay strong for Peeta. I can't cry.

"Ok. Breakfast it is."

He chuckles. "Come on Katniss. What do you really want to say?"

I shake my head. "Nope." I pause before saying my next words. I can't decide if they're a good idea or not, but apparently my mouth has a different schedule as it decides to say them anyway.

"If I say what I want to, there's no going back."

He frowns. "What does that mean?"

I stand up and face the door. "Just trust me Peeta." I begin to walk forward but he stops me.

"No Katniss. What did that mean?" I could feel him start to shake again.

Instantly I brought my hand to his cheek. "It just means that I can't say what I really feel."

"And what do you feel?"

"I don't. I haven't been able to really feel in a very long time Peeta." I stop talking because if I keep going I know I'll regret it. Things will change. Our dynamic will change. I'm not so sure that I want it to.
Peeta and I are in a comfortable place. It may not be ideal having to rouse each other constantly from torturous nightmares every night, but it works for us. If I go down this road, if I explore what I feel for Peeta, I'm afraid of what I'll find. I've never been the vulnerable type of girl. I keep it bottled up, contained inside forever. I'm so afraid of having a family, of having love, because I am not like Peeta. I cannot find any stability in this world. I constantly grapple with the reality that everything can be taken from me all over again.

But I know that I can't lose Peeta. If I tell him how I really feel, I'll become emotionally compromised and so will he. Nothing good will come of it. Nothing. Except Peeta would be mine. And I would be his. We would be each others. That was a future I could believe in. The steps to get that far though are terrifying.

"I don't believe that for one second Katniss. I just told you how I'm moving on; how are you?"

It isn't a question I'm expecting, and I definitely don't have an answer. The mockingjays still whistle outside. They are even more audible now that Peeta and I have fallen into a silence.

"I don't think I am Peeta. I don't think I've moved forward at all."

The shock of what I've just said surprises me. I haven't. I have not moved on with my life one bit. I still do nothing during the day, and I still cling to Peeta at night. No wonder he does it all; I'm useless! This time, I can't stop the tears. As much as I try, I just can't control them.

I feel his hands, his strong battered hands, wipe them away. "It's ok to cry Katniss. I know you hate it, but sometimes you just have to." This brings on more tears.

"Why are you here Peeta? I'm useless. I sit around all day and feel sorry for myself. I haven't helped you at all! I can't even help myself!"

He pulls me into his arms so that now I am in his lap. "Katniss, that's not true at all. You have helped me tremendously. After what I did to you, you could have run countless times. You could have let me go, you could have killed me. But you didn't. That gave me so much hope. I didn't realize it at the time, but that night you kissed me to get me to stay, that was the night I knew I could rise above the hijacking. I knew I would be ok as long as I had you there to help me. Your very presence gives me strength."

My fingertips brush his bare chest and he shivers. My hands must be like ice. Still crying, I say, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for leaving you and going with Beetee. I wish I could take it back. Everything. I wish I could take back that very first reaping."

His arms hold me closer. "I don't. I wouldn't be holding you now if it weren't for that day. There are plenty of things that happened between that day and now that I would trade for almost anything, but Effie pulling my name out of the bowl isn't one of them."

I lift my head. "How can you say that after everything you've been put through because of it?"

"Katniss, when you volunteered yourself, I had to bite my tongue from offering myself in your place. I knew that if I did that, if I broke the rules, it would make things so much worse for you. When Effie called out my name, I almost smiled. It meant that if I couldn't take your place, I could give it my all to make sure no one would take yours as winner. From the very beginning I was thankful it was my name that was pulled. I still am.

"Unconditionally, it has and will always be you."

I'm not crying anymore. I am not doing anything except staring into Peeta's eyes. "I've hurt you so much…," I whisper, bringing my fingers to his cheek. He turns his face into my hand and kisses it, just like he did in the cave. I notice the burn marks on his neck. I'd never thought about how he had gotten them before.

"How close were you to the explosion in the Capitol?"

He blinks at this turn of events. "Not that close at all, why?"

I touch one of his healing burns. "How did you get the burns?"

"I pulled you from the fire."

I'm speechless. How many times had Peeta saved my life? It was no longer just a debt several times over I owed to Peeta. I owed him everything. My life, my sanity, my heart. But it was more than that. I didn't owe those things just to him. I owed them to myself; I owed myself happiness. Stability is what Peeta had called it. Yes. Peeta is my stability. My fingers trace the mark along his neck and he shivers again. I pull my hand back. "I'm sorry, I know my hands are cold."

He just looks at me. "No they're not." I catch a flicker of something pass through his eyes. I know that look. It's the same one I saw written on my face when I re-watched the tapes of the games. The same look I had in the cave and on the beach. The same one he has always had.

Slowly, he leans down as I move my head up. And he kisses me. It's the first time we've kissed since the unfortunate time in the Capitol. The first time ever when death wasn't just around the corner. The first time when we were truly and completely alone. The hunger builds inside me. This is a hunger I am not accustomed to. Every hunger I have ever had can be satisfied, but never the one I feel with Peeta.
Breathless I pull back and Peeta growls. I look at his blue eyes, checking to make sure they're unclouded and sure. Before I can decide if they are, Peeta is kissing me again. My fingers instinctively reach around his neck, holding him as close as I can. When his hands slip around my waist, I can't help but sigh. When I finally have to pull back again to breathe, his forehead rests against mine.

"This is real, right?" I don't answer right away, still trying to decide myself. Where did all of my indecision go? I have fought so long against this, feeling that my life should continue on with Gale. And maybe it should have, if things had gone the way they should. But it is not Gale who I long for. Not at all. In fact, I don't think it ever has been.

The truth is, my life did not go the way it should have. It went the way it was supposed to go. I am supposed to be with Peeta, I know that now. All along, it was always Peeta. Even before the first games, I thought of Peeta nearly every day and the lives of me and my family that I owed to him. Now, I can't stop thinking of Peeta. It is no longer a debt though. I feel like a debt is something unwanted, something you are obliged to repay. I feel no obligation as I link my fingers through his. I feel no obligation to say what I really want to say.

"Real. Absolutely real." I still do not think I deserve Peeta. How can I? I have wronged him in countless ways. I've, albeit unintentionally, uprooted an entire world with my recklessness. I'm responsible for the pain and misery of so many people, including this marvelous boy I am sitting on top of. But if I am who Peeta wants, if I give him the strength he gives me, who am I to decide such things? If I give Peeta even an ounce of the courage and the…stability he has given me, I will never leave his side. I lost myself when I lost Peeta; I cannot do that to him. Not again.

He kisses me again and I don't ever want it to end. Ever. I cling to Peeta, pulling him as close as humanly possible. I feel his lips move from mine to my neck and I can't help but think I have never felt this perfect in my life. I shouldn't be allowed to feel this good, right? Peeta's lips have found my own again. Maybe one day I will learn to overcome my doubts.
I think about how our story started with burnt bread, and as District 12's ceremonial traditions go, it would end with burnt bread. Even then our future was etched in stone. How could I not have known this all along? His breath hot against my skin, Peeta whispers,

"You love me. Real or not real?"

With all of my heart and without an inch of doubt, I reply.

"Real."

Author's Note: This is my first ever Hunger Games ff. Having only started (and finished) the series two weeks ago, I think it's safe to say I have never obsessed over anything like I have this series. From the very moment Peeta squeezed Katniss' hand in the first reaping, I have supported Peeta one hundred percent and I will continue to do so with all of my soul. Please let me know what you thought. I tried to remain true to the characters, but if anyone seemed OOC, don't be afraid to let me know. I always appreciate a review.

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