Title: Dandelion – Chapter Two: Nightmares

Warnings / Spoilers: character death, fire / THG, CF, and MJ

Pairing(s): Katniss/Peeta, future Haymitch/Hazelle

Word Count: 1,070

Yellow. Orange. Red. The girl on fire. Was this always supposed to happen?

The unbearable heat is nothing compared to the sight of Prim, my Prim. I imagine I can hear her screams, and each of those screams takes the form of my name. "KATNISS!"

But she isn't the only voice calling to me through the flames. I can hear Peeta shouting for me from somewhere to my left. And it's as if the flames themselves have stolen Gale's voice, and his shout is less a plea for help and more a taunt of victory.

"A bomb explodes. Time is allowed for people to rush to the aid of the wounded. Then a second, more powerful bomb kills them as well."

From the ashes rises my sister, a small bird with pure white feathers, small pink plumes at her throat and tail. The perfect phoenix. Greater than any Mockingjay.

"Katniss," Peeta whispers against my ear, lips brushing my skin. His arms are around me, and still I'm having night terrors. "Which dream? Prim?"

"Yes," I mutter slowly.

"It's all right, Katniss," he says, holding me tighter. "I've got you. You're safe."

"She isn't," I whisper as my eyes shut once again.

Back in the Capitol. With the children and the fire and the blood and the death.

But something's different now. I'm standing on a side street I never entered during my stays in the Capitol. I can see the square, the fire, from here. I can even see myself, burning in the courtyard, crawling toward Prim nonetheless. I see a desperation in myself I never knew I'd had – most of that day is black rather than red in my memory. I struggle along the ground, dragging my burning body through rubble and shrapnel, fighting for my sister – it's always been for her; everything's always been for her.

I can't stand to watch myself any longer, so I turn into the alley. Growing through a crack in the pink and grey paving stones is a single yellow dandelion. Peeta. I bend down, pluck the flower from its home, lift it to eye-level. And I watch as my hands and fingers sprout flames that engulf the dandelion in a flash. "Oh, Peeta. It's my fault," I whisper as I turn back to the square. The desperate me on the ground as stopped squirming forward. I watch myself writhe on the ground in agony. And I force myself not to look at Prim, in a similar situation among the other dying children.

I look instead for Peeta; I find him only inches from me, still crawling despite the fire. He's calling for help, calling for me to stay awake. I move into the square, stand before my own dying form, and his. "Don't leave me," he's whispering. His as-yet untouched hand grips my fiery one as he continues, "Stay here with me."

I hear the flame-engulfed version of myself breathe the word "Always" before she loses consciousness.

Peeta's crying, but his tears evaporate from the heat of the flames. "Please!" he calls again. Finally, a surviving 13 medic runs to his aid, but he gasps, "Katniss first."

The first thing I see when I open my eyes are his eyes. "Another nightmare? You were screaming."

"I'm sorry," I answer quietly. "I kept you up all night, didn't I?"

"It'll be my turn to keep you awake some other time," he replies, smiling even though we both know it's true. "What was it this time?"

I shrug, "Just fire again." And then, surprising both Peeta and myself, I lean in to kiss him. And, perhaps more surprising to both of us, he kisses back.

I think I had forgotten what his lips felt like in all of the pain and loss. At the same time, everything feels different since the fire. It's not like the kiss on the beach in our second Games – I don't feel the hunger I felt then – but it's better than most of our other kisses. Probably because this time I know I mean it.

After I pull away, he asks with a laugh, "What was that for?"

"Saving me again," I answer simply before heading downstairs.

"Good morning, dear," Greasy Sae greets from the stove. "Sleep well?"

"As always," I shrug. "Got any breakfast? I'm starving."

"How about fish?" she asks, passing me the serving platter to place on the table. "Hazelle and the kids are on the way," she explains when I give her an inquisitive look. As I put the tray down, she adds with a laugh, "And I assume you woke Peeta crawling out of bed."

I consider saying something rude at this point, but decide against it. "And Haymitch?" I ask instead.

"I'd be surprised to see his shining face this morning," Sae answers.

"Why's that?" Peeta asks as he enters the kitchen. I watch his arms as he snags the cups from the cupboard and begins pouring water for everyone. And then I decide I should look at something else – one type of hunger is enough for me right now – so I begin laying out the plates and napkins for the children.

"Hazelle's insistent on drying him out," Greasy Sae explains. "She won't have the children around alcohol, so if he wants her to continue cleaning his home he has to quit."

"And that's the motivation for getting sober?" I ask incredulously.

"Honestly," Peeta says quietly, "I think he fancies her."

"Haymitch and Hazelle?" I respond loudly, and I clap a hand over my mouth as Hazelle and the kids march into the room.

Peeta chuckles as he places the glasses of water before each plate. He pulls the chair before him out for Posy and motions for her to take it. She curtseys awkwardly, grinning from ear to ear, and allows him to push her chair in for her.

And now I know I need to get out of the house today. "Are you all right?" Greasy Sae asks me. I must be red as a beet, and very clearly staring at Peeta, because everyone else in the room keeps looking back and forth between us.

I run from the house, snagging my father's jacket and my pack on the way out the door. I can hear him calling me from inside the house, but there's something going on inside me, and I can't face him until I know what it is.