Author Note: I've written many stories in the past (although all have been taken down from online archives for various reasons) and after seeing Catching Fire (twice) and then rereading Mockingjay I remembered how much I wished there was more details of how Katniss and Peeta healed which inspired me to write again. This may be a one shot, I may end up with more chapters, depends on how the mood strikes me. Takes up somewhere in the last chapter of Mockingjay...

It's several days before I venture out of the house again. This time, I shower, tame my hair and eat before leaving. It hurts to do all these things, but I've realized that though the cat has been more company than I needed, there's someone just as broken that I need to see too. And he hadn't shown up for breakfast this morning with bread as he had for the past several days.

I knock on Peeta's door several times but he doesn't answer. I know he's home because Greasy Sae said she just left his house. I slowly push open the door and call out for him without a response. Now concerned, I open the door all the way to find the hallway lined with paintings. Some paintings from the first games, some of me with various expressions on my face, some of the second games. I grit my teeth and get by some depicting some of my worst nightmares. I enter the living room to see Peeta sitting in a chair, a paintbrush in one hand and a palette of colors in the other, though it appears he's been sitting there so long that both have dried out.

I see Greasy Sae's eggs and hash still steaming in a bowl on the table beside him, untouched. His hair is a tousled mess, his hands, face and clothes are covered in paint, and in front of him sit four pictures. One of me on some unknown day, looking happy and carefree. One of me from the other day when Peeta had first come home, painted to look just as desolate and broken as I felt. A picture of his family, his brothers and father painted in great detail with his mother more of a shadow in the background. And lastly, a picture of me painted in violent shades of red. The room is filled with many more pictures and I take them in before approaching Peeta.

I see a picture of Prim running through a meadow, beautiful and carefree, and I see another of her funeral. Many pictures of me litter the room, painted in various color schemes and expressions. Finally, I look back at Peeta. I still have trouble connecting this lost boy to the one who had always known exactly who he was and what he'd wanted. The Capitol hadn't just taken away his love for me; they'd stolen parts of his soul, ones I wondered if they could ever be truly healed. I wondered if I'd ever know that Peeta again, or if I'd just have to live with the memories. Just like I lived with the memories of Prim, my father, Rue, the Gale who was my friend who would have never hurt anyone…

However, in small moments I've seen parts of the Peeta I've missed so desperately and I'm hopeful.

Just when the memories are becoming too much, I focus back on Peeta. I came here for him today, this was not another day when I could come to Peeta and let him hold me together.

"Peeta," I say quietly as I approach him.

He doesn't move. I stand in front of him, breaking his line of vision with his pictures. His eyes darken and he is to his feet in an instant, his hand gripping his paintbrush as if to attack me with it. His eyes meet mine and his murderous rage fades as he freezes in place.

"What are you doing here?" he says, almost harshly but his expression softens instantly.

I don't answer right away. Instead, I reach up and pry the paintbrush out of his hand and set it aside then pull the palette from his hand as well and set it down. He lets both his hands fall to his sides and I take one of them in mine like I've done many times before. Only so many of those had been for a show. This time, I hope he can feel that I mean it.

"Since the minute I found out they didn't get you out of the arena all I've wanted to do is save you." I pause as his hand grips mine in return. "I couldn't let that last moment on the beach go unfinished." I meant it as a joke but as I say it I realize it's true. Many things have happened and Peeta and I need to heal our own relationship…whatever that may be.

He studies me for a minute before letting go of my hand and sitting down, I sit up on the table beside him and push the food towards him. He takes the bowl and eats a few bites slowly.

"Thank you for the primroses, they're beautiful," I comment, not really expecting an answer.

He nods, not looking up, but at least I know he heard me. I can feel my energy failing already, in the months since Prim died, I've lost any and all stamina I had. Months…a year…has it been that long? Pitifully, I realize I don't even know what the date is or how long it has been since the end of the world. Or at least, my world. I don't even know if I am another year older or not. Really, it didn't matter.

"How are you?" I ask, my voice cracking because I know there is no easy answer to that question.

Peeta is quiet for a long time. I watch him slowly take bites of food and wish I could shake him and make him be Peeta, my Peeta. The boy with the bread. And I'm sure many people want to do that to me. But nobody has, because wars are not scars that anyone can heal like that. Not the scars that we have.

"I've watched the video's over and over," he says quietly. "Once Beetee broke into the Capitol hard drives he found the videos of me being hijacked, or whatever they want to call it. I know the truth and the lies, but it's still not always perfect."

I look up at the three different pictures of myself in front of him and I realize it's him trying to put pieces of a puzzle together. The first is me before any of this started, there's me after everything is over, and then there is the vision of me Snow had planted in his head.

"How's Haymitch?" Peeta asks.

This surprises me, I would have thought after me he would have gone to check on Haymitch directly afterwards. It is Peeta's nature. But again I have to remind myself that he isn't that Peeta anymore. Peeta now has his own demons to contend with, he can't be the part of the three of us that holds everything together. Tomorrow I will have to visit Haymitch; today this is the most I can bear. I add Haymitch to what is left of people I care about; I have to find a way to take care of him too.

"About the same, I'd say," I answer to the best of my knowledge.

Greasy Sae checks on him as well, if he was any worse, or dead, I would know about it by now. Peeta sits the mostly empty bowl aside and sighs. I wish I knew what he was thinking but I don't even have the ability to guess.

"What do we do, Katniss?" Peeta asks, finally looking up at me.

I look at him and I desperately want to give him an answer. But I don't have one. I've thought about that every day since Prim died. She was the last purpose in life that I'd had. I'd lost Peeta to his own mind, I'd lost my father a long time ago, I'd lost my mother when I'd basically rejected her, I'd lost Gale to the cause and I'd lost so many others to war. What is left? Because if I am just living for me, well that wasn't really good enough.

"We go see Haymitch tomorrow," I answer, surprising myself, because I was been about to tell him I didn't know.

Peeta looks at me, surprised, but nods. "You have to forgive him Katniss, he did what I asked. I don't blame him for this."

Tears blur my vision. "You were always the best of us, Peeta. Why couldn't we leave you in one piece? You deserved it more than me, or Haymitch."

Peeta slides his fingers into mine and almost chuckles. "Obviously, because you are not so easily manipulated when it counts," Peeta sighs and in that I hear all weight of lives lost he rests on his own shoulders, just as I do.

I grip his hand tightly and he looks at me and I feel something powerful course through me. "You are all that has saved my life on more than one occasion; don't ever dismiss your importance. You saved countless lives in 13 with your warning with an internal battle waging I'm sure I never could have overcome. You've fought a battle against your own mind and won, Peeta. You are…" I gulp and lose my voice as flashes of other people with other virtues flash through my memory and before I know it, I'm lying on Peeta's floor crying.

Maybe minutes have passed, maybe hours, maybe days… But Peeta is there; his arms around me, feeling almost stiff and awkward but I can feel his own silent tears in my hair. Somehow he's cocooned us in a pile of pillows and I can feel exhaustion pulling down my eye lids. I can't remember the last night I spent without nightmares.

I can see the sun setting through the window and I hear a mockingjay sing a sweet melody. Peeta is tracing an absent pattern on my arm, and for the first time in a very long time, I fall into a dreamless sleep.