Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's only mid-morning, but the summer sun beats down on the dusty pathway that runs through the Merchant Square. We're in the middle of a drought in the district, and the day is getting warmer each minute. I can feel the sweat gathering at my hairline, so I pause, adjusting the game bag across my shoulder before taking a handkerchief out to swipe at the dampness. 

I got a decent haul from the woods this morning, so my bag is heavy and drags across my hip as I walk. In the summer, it's crucial to get into the woods at or before sunrise- the animals are less active once the heat of the day sets in. When it's hot, the rabbits take off for the shade of the thick patches of grass deep inside the woods, and the squirrels mostly stay in the treetops. Even the larger predators know that once midday hits, they're better off to conserve energy and just lay low until the cool of evening comes.

I crossed paths with Rory and Vick Hawthorne at the edge of the woods an hour or so ago while the boys were coming in to check the snare line. My run-ins with them are nothing out of the ordinary at this point. Checking the snares has been their job for the last several years. Once Gale went into the mines, there was no time for him to check on them during the week, so the two of us trained his brothers to work the snares themselves. 

It was vital for them to learn to remove the animals in a way that would preserve the meat and hide. We showed them how to reset the snares and make minor repairs when necessary, and in a pinch, I let them know that they could track me down and ask for my help. Fortunately, Rory and Vick caught on to the task quickly, both seeming to have a natural affinity for trapping animals just like their older brother.  

As for Gale, I see little of my old hunting partner these days. Sundays are his only time away from the mines, and he no longer spends them with me. 

Gale asked me to marry him the day after his last reaping, and I told him no. 

No explanations, no apologies. 

Just no.

Being Gale, he went on, wasting his breath as he tried to convince me that we could make it work. He reminded me of what good partners we were. He told me that he loved me, that there was no other girl for him.

Yet the only response I gave him was my one-word refusal, followed by silence. Why should he expect anything different? He knew how I felt. Hadn't we just talked about it that morning in the woods, our one place of freedom in this god-forsaken district? 

Gale knew I didn't want children, and he knew as well as I did that marriage in 12 guaranteed just that.  I couldn't understand why he'd want to bring anyone else into this world when the odds are stacked against us already. There is no life in 12, only survival. 

Say you get married and have a family- even if you don't lose one of your children to the reaping, there are still too many mouths to feed. There's never enough of everything to go around- not just material things but other necessities like love and attention. 

Even in a small family, there was always the risk of losing one or both parents in the mines, just like Gale and I had lost our fathers seven years ago. 

I might as well have lost both parents then because my mother refused to take care of us. She laid in her bed and stared at the wall for months on end. I was eleven and too young to sign up for tessera. I tried to make things last, but our meager possessions dwindled to nothing until we almost starved to death. 

We would have starved to death if it hadn't been for one person and his kindness, the likes of which had no business existing in a place like District 12.  

He saved not only my life but Prim's and my mother's as well. And I never managed to thank him. 

The only thanks he ever got was a bruised face from his mother.

But that's in the past; it's too late to do anything about it now. I've never once spoken with Peeta, not even in casual conversation when we were children. And now he's a man, and I wouldn't know how to begin to thank him.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. 

Why am I thinking about Peeta Mellark today?

What was I thinking of before? Oh, right. 

Gale. 

The day that Gale proposed to me was an accurate picture of the way we'd always been together. It's another reason why I couldn't see myself marrying him. He ranted just like always while I stayed quiet. 

But my silence that day wasn't enough for him, and so we parted ways and have had little to do with each other since. 

This morning, Vick told me that Gale is engaged to Hyacinth McGuire. She was a year ahead of me in school, a typical Seam girl: dark, slim with greenish-grey eyes and black hair. Quiet, but I wouldn't say she's cold or standoffish. 

Those are the words that Gale used to describe me on our last day together.

The news of his approaching marriage leaves me with a strange hollowness in my chest. It's an ache that I can't name; I can't call it jealousy because I never wanted Gale like that. 

All I know is that the news has left me feeling out of sorts as I make my way through the Merchant square. 

Yesterday was my last reaping, and after finding myself getting through the day without my six years of taking tessera coming to collect, I am now free to pursue a Capitol-approved life as a productive member of society. A lifetime as a miner or the wife of a miner is the expected path of Seam residents. 

No, thank you. 

I know that I should be on my way to the Justice Building to sign up for a shift in the mines, as we could use the extra income. But I can't do it. Our last school trip down into the belly of the earth proved that.

It'd been laughable. Me, the girl who was respected by men and women alike as the district hunter, who regularly faced down large predators in the woods with my bow or knife, found myself blacking out at the mouth of a mine shaft. 

I forgot how to breathe down there.

I don't know how long it was until I came to again, but I was lying on a cot, facing a dingy soot-stained wall and listening to the low murmuring of voices behind me while my head throbbed.

"Thank you for bringing her up." Mrs. Grossman spoke in a low tone, and I heard a muted response from a male voice. A part of me seemed to recognize the other speaker even though I couldn't place who it was. I had a flash of memory of strong arms around my shoulders and under my knees and the smell of something like bread and spices coming from a crisp cotton shirt underneath my cheek. 

I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the memory but instead slipped back into unconsciousness.

I was allowed to rest in the foreman's office until I felt less shaky and, after that, excused to go home for the day. The rest of my class was too far down into the mines for me to catch up with them. 

I stepped out into the low fall daylight, and my eyes scanned the yard. It was eerily quiet between shifts, which made it difficult to imagine the hum of activity that lay beneath the earth's surface miles below as I started towards town. 

I remember walking beside the train tracks for a while. There was no pressing reason to head home, so I took long, measured steps over the wooden beams that tied the rails to the earth. 

Train travel is the only way in and out of the district, and there are checkpoints at each of its borders, armed with Peacekeepers who make sure that nothing other than coal crosses through the district border walls. 

I don't know why they bother, honestly. What's the difference between one district and the next? 

I knew the only way I'd ever board that train was if my luck ran out on reaping day. 

But my luck held.

Yesterday, I stood in the square for the last time with the other girls my age. The thought, not me, not me, not me going through my head in a panicked cadence until the moment Effie Trinket selected the name of a girl from the glass reaping bowl.

I only felt a little guilty for the wave of relief that washed over me. 

There's still Prim, but I've done what I can for my younger sister- she's never taken out tessera, and her odds are as low as they can be. She only had three entries in the reaping bowl this year, while mine stood at 28.

So today, with the reaping and its surety of a horrific death behind, I'm left with the rest of my life staring me in the face. There are no real choices here in Twelve, so why do I feel so unsettled, like there's going to be a big decision to make? Honestly, I feel like I made the most significant choice two years ago when I told Gale that I didn't want to get married. Not to him. 

Not to anybody. 

I head towards the bakery, my first stop, and I'm about twenty yards away when I see the back door open, and Peeta Mellark steps outside, his head down as he makes his way down the steps. 

Of course, I know he's usually here, but regardless, he catches me off guard. Peeta hasn't spotted me yet, so I slow down, ducking behind a refuse container to watch from a safe place as he strides toward the apple tree in the corner of his backyard. 

He stops and braces one hand against the tree trunk. Peeta seems to be staring off into the open space between his backyard and the fence that borders the portion of the woods that surround the Merchant District.

A wave of Deja Vu hits me. 

The space he's occupying right now is where I sat the night he threw the bread to a starving, soaking wet, eleven-year-old me. 

Peeta shakes his head, covering his face with the palm of his hand for a moment.

I study him because now I don't know what to do; I don't like it. 

I need to make my trade with his father and move on, but I hesitate to approach.  I stay in his periphery- it's what I've always done. We both do it, have spent years this way, consciously not looking at each other. 

I felt the weight of his gaze on me many times while we were in school together, but I was never quick enough to catch his eye, only a glance as he looked away. 

I don't know why this feels different today. The days when I come to the bakery to trade with Peeta's father, he's almost always there. I catch glimpses of him while his father takes my offerings and gathers bread for trade. 

Bread, it always comes back to the bread- that has to be why he has kept tabs on me after all these years. 

Although that doesn't explain why I pay attention to him, it's surprising how much I've paid attention to him, I realize. I study his back and ponder the things I know about him- his strength, his kindness, his ability to pull conversation out of his back pocket with the ease of a natural wordsmith.

I shake my head, realizing that I need to leave my temporary hiding spot. I can't stay here all day, it's hot, and I need to take care of my trades before the game in my bag spoils. Once I leave town, I need to swing through the Hob on my way back to the Seam.

When I reach the point where I'm standing directly behind him, I pause, and as if he senses my presence, Peeta's head jerks up. He turns and faces me; his eyes grow wide as they meet mine, and he takes a little half step backward, but for the first, they don't dart away from my face.

"Hi Katniss," he says, his friendly tone a little forced as he steps closer to me, shoving his hands in his front pockets.

His stiffness makes me wish that I were better with words. Why do I make him so uncomfortable?

The crux of the matter is that I wish I knew how to thank Peeta for what he did for me. The burden of what I owe hangs heavier than my game bag. I cross my arms over my chest because I don't know what else to do with them at the moment. 

"Hi," I reply. The eye contact is too much, so I look down at my feet. "Is your father here?"

He clears his throat, and I look back up to see Peeta running a hand through the ash-blond waves that lie across his forehead. "Yeah, he's just inside." 

I've never stood this close to him until now. There are only a few feet between us, and I take a moment to study this boy who perplexes me so much. 

Or man, I guess- at least according to Panem. Once your last reaping is behind you, your childhood is over.

I compare the things I know about Peeta with what I can observe in this proximity. He's average height but has a broader frame than most residents of Twelve, with the Merchant class's typical blue eyes and fair skin. The things I'm noticing for the first time are a smattering of freckles across his cheeks- the friendliness of his smile when he's directing it at me. 

We stare at each other until I look away again. 

I shrug my shoulders awkwardly and turn to walk up the back steps. "Katniss wait," Peeta says as I reach for the door handle, "do you have a minute?" I retrace my steps until I'm in front of him again. "I just wanted to-"

Impulsively, I unload my burden. I go ahead and say it. 

"Thank you, Peeta."

He laughs, a surprised little sound that bursts out of his mouth. "What?"

I stare at him again. Isn't it obvious? 

He leans against the handrail and examines my face for a moment. 

I sigh. Either Peeta wants me to say the words out loud, or he isn't as bright as I thought he was. I'm not sure which of the two scenarios I prefer, but I'll humor him. 

I feel my cheeks heat as I stare at the ground- so uncomfortable in these situations, it's a wonder I talk to anybody. "For the bread." 

He doesn't say anything, which is not what I'm expecting because the Peeta I've spent years watching always has the right answer for everything. 

Although I don't know that from first-hand experience, because talking to each other would've required acknowledging the other's existence.

"From when we were kids?" he finally asks. 

Confusion is written across his face but eventually morphs into pensiveness. He flushes. "You don't need to thank me." 

I stare as he flounders for his next words. 

"Katniss, I shouldn't have thrown them to you like that." A distressed sound escapes from his chest, his tone taking on a desperate edge, eager to convince me that his actions weren't worthy of my praise. "I still can't think about that day without feeling like I should have done more. The least I could have done was handed those loaves to you instead of tossing them out like you were an animal."

"Peeta…" 

His name from my mouth cuts off his train of self-loathing. 

I can't let him think that way. "It was enough," I say quietly. There's so much more I'd like to tell him, but the words won't cross my lips. 

He shakes his head, his jaw tightening. Peeta looks ready to argue with me, but before he can open his mouth, I back away. 

"I'd better see your father now." I brace the heel of my foot on the bottom step, and I don't know why I continue, but without my permission, the words spill out, and the end lilts up in question. "But I'll talk to you later?"

Peeta lets out a resigned breath, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, I have to go. I have an appointment at the Justice Building.

He looks at me for a moment before snapping his fingers. "There was something I wanted to talk to you about, but I'm out of time…."

"I'll probably be back to trade in a few days," I tell him, my hand reaching to knock on the back door.

He nods, his face relaxing as he slowly backs away, "I'll see you then. I wish I could stay and talk, but I need to go. I'm probably late already."

I make a shooing motion with my hand, feeling an unexpected laugh bubble up inside of me, but I bite it back, schooling my face into its usual scowl. "Bye."

"Bye, Katniss!" he says, jogging backward for a minute, and I genuinely do laugh as he spins on his heel and takes off.

Once he's disappeared, I shake my head. What a weird day.

And what on earth does he want to talk to me about?

Chapter Text

I duck inside the front door of the Hob and make my way towards the back of the old warehouse. 

It's not very busy right now, but things will pick up when the mines are closed for the day. Right now, it's mostly Seam wives or older teens milling around to trade or buy essentials.

"What do you have for me today?" Sae asks when I reach her booth and pull the strap of the game bag over my head to relieve myself of its weight.

"I've got two squirrels or a rabbit- I'll let you choose. We make our trade, the rabbit for five coins and a bowl of stew that's bubbling over the fire. Mother will take whatever is left." 

She hands me a bowl and spoon, and I climb onto a stool to eat. "Thought I might not see you today. Guess I thought you might be underground." 

I swallow my first bite of stew, shaking my head. She's the first to ask the question, but I'm sure it won't be the last. "Couldn't make myself do it," I reply.

"There's always time later if you change your mind. But truth be told, we sure would miss your game." Sae leans against the counter. "Got any other prospects?"

I take another bite, giving myself a moment to think of how I want to phrase my answer. "No, but I'm hoping something comes up."

Sae pats my hand. "I'll keep my ears open, girlie." 

In the Seam, anyone you barter with regularly can't be called a friend. Life is too hard for weakness, and you don't want to get a "soft" reputation in the Hob. 

I'm not sure what I would call Sae, but I know she keeps an eye out for me. 

Once I've finished eating, I slide the bowl across the counter. As I'm standing to leave, Sae tells me, "Heard something interesting." 

"What's that?" I hoist the game bag over my shoulder and wait for her answer.

She shrugs, grabbing a cloth to wipe off the counter. Her motions are casual, but I know Sae. She thinks she's sneaky. Her news must be something particularly useful, or she would've spilled by now. 

I stare at her until the silence has eaten away my resolve. "What did you hear?"

"There's talk about changes coming in the Capitol." 

Over the past year, it's become common knowledge that President Snow's health is fading- no matter how much the government tries to hide it. He'd had a kind of episode during the opening ceremonies of the 75th Hunger Games last year, collapsing on stage during the portion of the program where the tribute's chariots ride through the city circle.

In Twelve, we don't hear as many rumblings of gossip as those in closer districts would, but talk is still rampant. It's probably the fact that there isn't much else to comfort ourselves with than murmurings of rebellion, however ridiculous they may be.  

"What kind of talk?" I ask.

Sae indicates that I should follow her behind the counter. "Heard from a reliable source, this is probably Snow's last games." 

I would believe it. Our esteemed president looks more like a reanimated corpse muttation than a living, breathing human at this point. 

It will be interesting to see if he makes an appearance during the opening ceremonies tomorrow night or not. 

I also can't help but wonder where Sae is getting her information, but I don't ask. The less you know, the better with that kind of talk circulating the Hob. Especially for me, since I make my living hunting illegally. I don't need to give the Peacekeepers another reason to keep an eye on me. "What's that supposed to mean for us?" 

"Means that things could be changing around here sooner rather than later, so maybe mining isn't going to be your only option before too long. Or maybe there won't be a mine to work if the talk means war." District 12 without mining? That seems laughable. 

And I have to roll my eyes at the talk of war. What are the districts supposed to fight the Capitol with shovels and pickaxes? They aren't particularly effective against the guns and bullet-proof armor the Peacekeepers stroll through the district carrying.

This talk with Sae reminds me of Gale and the way he used to rant in the woods. His tirades drove me crazy, not because I disagreed with him, but because he never knew when to quit. Life is what it is, and the sooner you accept it, the better off you are.

"Yeah, maybe. But I'd better go now," I tell Sae, shifting my bag. "I've got a few more things to pick up before I go home."

"Will I see you tomorrow?" She collects my spoon and bowl, letting our talk wither to nothing for now. I know Sae, and she won't push me if she doesn't think I'm receptive. I assume this isn't the end of the conversation.

"With any luck, you'll be seeing me every day now," I tell her. She waves me off before picking up the rabbit I traded to her.

I stop at other tables, picking up a few things that  Mother asked me to get with the coins Sae paid me: bandages, thread for sutures, and sleeping syrup. I pick up some more salt and lamp oil, and afterward, there's still a coin left, so I pocket it. 

I'll put it in my dresser drawer tonight and hope I can hang on to it. I'm trying to save for Prim's birthday next month. She will be fifteen, and I hate to see the day pass without giving her something pretty. I'd love to get her a new dress, but at the very least, I'm determined to buy her some new hair ribbons. 

When I arrive home, I'm surprised to find Madge Undersee and Delly Cartwright seated at our kitchen table, having tea with Mother and Prim. Neither one of them has been to my house before. I have to wonder if they've been to the Seam at all.

"Hi, Katniss," Madge greets me. We hadn't spoken since graduation a few weeks ago, and it's nice to see her. The two of us became friends over the last few years, moving from silent lunches in the beginning to our previous year, where we traded food and worked on assignments together.

Delly beams as I take the proffered tin mug from my mother, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I sit down in the chair Prim vacates, claiming she needs to go outside and move Lady. I've never spoken with her; I just observed the small group of friends on the outskirts of the merchant circle who are her friends.

While I don't exactly love Delly, I can't say she's hasn't given me a reason to dislike her either. She's okay for a Merchant, one of the few I can think of off-hand who've never made me grit my teeth over snide comments about poor Seam kids. 

"I ran into Delly on my way here, so we came together. Mother has been feeling a little better lately, and we have a stockpile of morphling just sitting around. I thought I'd see if your mother could use it." Madge explains. 

I turn my eyes on Delly. What reason could she have for coming out here?

"I'm getting married," Delly adds, her round cheeks flush. 

Oh. 

She didn't need to say anymore. Everyone in Twelve knows that Mother is a more affordable source of birth control than what could be bought at the apothecary, although her herbal concoctions don't carry as high of a success rate. 

Delly rises and joins my mother in the other room after draining her mug, and as soon as she's gone, Madge's eyes lit up in a rare flash of excitement. "I can't believe she's going through with it- her broken engagement was all anyone talked about in town after the reaping."

That's news. 

Maybe I should start paying more attention to what's going on around me.

"But you said she's getting married?" I'm not usually one for gossip, but even I have a sense of curiosity.

Madge smirks. "She had been contracted to marry Peeta-"

"Peeta Mellark?" I blurt out his name.

"Yes, I'm pretty sure that Peeta Mellark is the only Peeta in the district. What's so surprising about that?" Madge asks, studying me curiously. 

It's not surprising at all, so I can't explain why I'm shocked. Even though Peeta and Delly were together all of the time during school, I never would have guessed they were dating each other, let alone engaged.

Madge leans closer, letting her voice drop. "Delly was engaged to Peeta, but she told me the more they talked about it, the more they knew neither of them wanted to marry the other. I guess their parents arranged the contract last year without asking them first." Arranged unions are not an uncommon practice in the Merchant class. "But what makes it worse is Peeta was supposed to get the bakery as part of the contract, but now he's not."

"What about his brother?" I interrupt, surprised by the news about Mellark's. The oldest brother Wheaton hasn't been at the bakery for a long time. I think he got a job as a mine foreman, so I always assumed that Rye was next in line to take over the bakery. The youngest member of a family rarely inherits the business, so it seems strange that Peeta was supposed to get it.

Madge continues nonplussed. "That's the thing. Rye was apprenticing with the butcher. His parents set up a marriage contract for him with Rooba's daughter Lillah, but then he started fooling around with Delly."

I can't help the scowl that crosses my face. Why would Delly do that to Peeta? The whole thing seems disrespectful. Not that I necessarily think they should've gotten married. 

Madge shrugs. "All she'd say is, "I care about Rye, and I'm going to marry him" when I asked her about it."

I care about Rye- four little words that had effectively ruined Peeta's chances to inherit his family business. That must've been why he acted so strangely when the two of us talked earlier this morning. I'm surprised at Delly. I didn't think she would be selfish enough to ruin her best friend's livelihood because she has the hots for his brother.

"His mother and father weren't happy about it, I bet," Madge adds, her face set in a grim line. 

No, I'm sure they weren't. It's probably a good thing Peeta and Rye are both bigger than Mrs. Mellark now. We drink our tea in silent contemplation. No other words are necessary when it comes to Peeta's mother.

A moment later, Delly follows my mother back into the room and sits down once again, effectively putting an end to our conversation. "Where are you guys watching the Games tonight?" Madge asks, breaking the silence that's settled over the table.

"With Rye," Delly volunteers, "he's coming to my house." 

I imagine she's not in a big hurry to spend time with his parents. That has to be awkward, and I can't help but wonder if it hurts Peeta a little to see the two of them together. I shake off those thoughts with a shrug. "I'll be here, I guess. I hate the idea of watching alone if Mom and Prim get called out." That's happened on occasion, and I'm not too fond of it. Not enough to go along on the call with them, though. I don't do well with sickness. "I don't feel like watching from the square." I shrug. "At least it's only the Tribute Parade tomorrow." The Games only get progressively worse the longer they go on.

Madge grabs my hand. "Come to my house if they're gone; Not just tomorrow, anytime. I'll be home with Mother- you know Father has to be in the square while it's on, and she always seems the worst during the Games. We can be miserable together, don't you think?"

That does sound like a better alternative, so I tell Madge I'll be there. I need to make an effort to see more of her now that we're both out of school. It's going to be strange watching all our classmates pairing off soon.

Delly stands, saying that she needs to go home, so the two of them leave at the same time. Once they're gone, I change my clothes and wash up before taking care of some chores. 

Mother and Prim go out to check up on a new mother and baby in the Seam. With the house empty and quiet, I think about the conversation I had with Peeta earlier while I work on cleaning the squirrels and putting them in a pot with some herbs from Prim's garden. I can't help but wonder what Peeta will do now that he's lost the bakery to Rye. My chest tightens when I think about him going into the mines. 

It's different than the way I felt when Gale had to go; with Gale, it was a given he'd become a miner. With Peeta, it's a possibility that never crossed my mind.

I hate to think of kind, sunny Peeta underground for twelve hours a day, although he wouldn't be the first second or third born merchant son to do it. They might have more than us in town, but nobody is wealthy in this backwater district except for the resident Capitol officials or Haymitch Abernathy.

Maybe Peeta will find a merchant girl to marry, one whose family needs a strong son-in-law to help run their business. That sounds like a better alternative, but one that doesn't sit very well with me for some reason.

Whatever he's doing, it's not my concern; I tell myself as Prim and Mother arrive home. But I'll find out soon enough. 

Maybe I'll stop by the bakery with something extra tomorrow for trade. 

I'm eager to find out what his plans are.

Chapter Text

I intend to wake up and head for the woods before sunrise, with the ultimate goal of getting back to the bakery early. The Opening Ceremonies of the Games are tonight, and as a result, the Merchant sector will be busy all day. I want a chance to speak with Peeta again, sooner rather than later. 

I don't know what I'll say. I'm not great with words, but I need to make Peeta understand that he has to stay out of the mines. 

I sigh and roll onto my side. No matter what I try, I just can't get to sleep. 

I've spent the better portion of the night tossing and turning, watching the moon as it makes its trajectory across the night sky. I've fumed over Delly's betrayal and the way Peeta's brother stabbed him in the back. Still, my most profound anger is toward his mother and father and the way they've treated him like garbage. 

I would've believed it from the witch, but his father's inaction is such a disappointment to me. I'd thought better of the baker, but I suppose a man who lets his wife hit their children is pretty worthless, to begin with.

As the night wears on, my thoughts eventually stray from Peeta and his situation to my father. I wonder what he thought about the job that ultimately killed him. 

What does it feel like to give up your freedom (what little we have in twelve anyway) and go deep inside the earth, spending every daylight hour below ground? If it came down to it, I know that I couldn't. In that way, I know I am weak and selfish like my mother. 

Exhaustion eventually wins out over my unquiet mind, and I manage to fall asleep, but then the nightmares come. My dreams feature cave-ins and explosions and my father climbing out of the earth bruised and bleeding with gaping holes in his head as the main attraction.

I scream myself awake to the sound of complete silence and a sore throat. I sit up and search for my sister like I always do after a nightmare. But Prim isn't there. 

I panic for a moment until I squint in the darkness and just make out her form in bed with Mother. She's safe, so I lay back down, resigned to the fact that I'm alone again. Not that I blame Prim. Sometimes I wish I could still be young and vulnerable too. 

I do manage to drift off to sleep again eventually, but it takes me a long time to get there. 

By the time Prim shakes me awake, the sun is already high in the sky. 

She stands beside the bed, holding a drop biscuit made with the end of our tessera grain (it will be the last of its kind to enter this house as long as I have anything to do with it), my breakfast offering. 

"We're heading over to the McGinty's. I just wanted to make sure you got this before Buttercup snatched it." At her words, the devil-cat himself saunders into the room, lured by the sound of his beloved's voice, purring and rubbing against her leg. "I don't want him to get into any more trouble with you." 

Just yesterday, he swiped the last of my cheese off the table, and I haven't forgiven him.

Sitting up, I wipe the sleep out of my eyes before taking the food that Prim is offering. I lean forward and take a bite, one hand beneath the other to catch any crumbs, while she scoops Buttercup off the floor to get him out of my way.

"Is there any tea?" I ask after a dry swallow. My throat is parched- my nighttime screams must have done a number on it.

"Mother just poured out the last of it for you." I can hear the cat purr from here as Prim scratches behind his ears.

I scold Prim a bit, setting the biscuit down on top of the blanket. "It's too late for me to go hunting now with all our 'extra guests' here. You should have woken me up sooner." 

"You needed the extra sleep, and for that matter, you still look tired." She scolds me right back. 

"Maybe, but-"

Prim interrupts me. "And we have plenty of food for today. You need to stop worrying so much, Katniss; things are fine right now."

You're right, Prim; things may be fine now, but for how long? Instead of saying the words, I stand and grab my pants, pulling them on under my nightshirt. "Does Mother need me to run anywhere this morning?" I ask, changing the subject. I hope she's left me a list. It'd be an excellent excuse to go into town.

"No, she hasn't said anything. I think our supplies are good." Prim replies as she leaves the room with Buttercup under one arm. 

I sigh. There goes that excuse.

Once my family is gone, I find myself pacing the house like a caged animal. 

Our food is ready for the day, and there won't be much else until I go hunting again tomorrow. I could forage in the meadow, but I just did that two days ago, and they're probably won't be enough new shoots to make it worth my time. 

Soon the breakfast dishes are washed and the floor swept. Some mending needs finishing up, but that's not my skill set; my mother or sister both have much smaller, neater stitches. Mine are always rough and too far apart. 

I just oiled and tightened the loose hinges on our door last week. I've already replaced the boards on Lady's fence that had begun to wobble.

There is absolutely no logical reason to grab my cap and head into town, but that's what I find myself doing. I tell myself I'm job hunting. 

To my surprise, a stop at the tanner's gives me hope for some additional income. Jonah, the older man who runs the shop, lets me know that he would be interested in buying the hides of the larger animals I catch. I usually let them go to the Hob, but what he offers is a better price. 

"Capitol materials are getting too expensive," he says, leaning back against his work table and sucking on a toothpick. "I tell you what. It'd be real nice if you could bring me some large skins from a deer or bear."

"I'd love to bag something like that, but I don't have anyone to help me. I would have a hard time carrying something that large out of the woods by myself. My small size works to my advantage when I need to climb a tree or silently move through the woods stalking prey, not so much when it comes to handling sizeable kills. I'm out on my own now."

"Don't you have yourself a strong fella that could help?"

That earns him a scowl, but the old man just laughs at my response. "No, I don't have a fella ."

"Eh, that could change." 

Not likely.

He shuffles to the back of his work area. "So do we have ourselves a deal? No hurry, probably best hold out till the Games are over, at least."

Neither one of us acknowledges that it probably won't be much of a wait. 

Our tributes don't stand much of a chance in the arena. One or both of them are usually killed in the initial bloodbath, although during last year's quarter quell, the blacksmith's eighteen-year-old son made it as far as the final eight, something that hadn't happened in years but gave us a false sense of hope. Folks started thinking that maybe one of ours would finally come back. 

The Games ended for him soon after that. The same evening the television broadcast the interviews with his mother and father, the career pack he'd aligned himself with slit his throat while he slept. The only consolation was that he went in his sleep, a much less horrific death than the other tributes.

I finish my conversation with Jonah and step out the shop's back door, contemplating the logistics of how exactly I'm going to transport the hides to him. 

Ironically, the first time I stop thinking about Peeta that morning is the time I ran into him- literally.

I must have been looking down at my feet, or I could blame my lack of sleep for the unawareness of him standing there. For whatever reason, I collide with his solid frame and find myself bouncing off him.

Peeta grabs me by my shoulders, his grip the only thing that keeps me from landing in the dust. 

I glance up at him, taking in those bright blue eyes crinkled up at the corners. 

He looks back at me, quiet for a moment. 

My mouth goes dry.

Peeta's fingertips burn through the cotton of my shirt. Finally, he smiles. "Funny running into you again."

"Ha-ha." I scowl and shrug his hands off, but not before catching a whiff of clean cotton and cinnamon and the dill I find growing in the woods in early summer. 

Why does that stir something in my gut?

"Sorry," he steps back a bit and sticks his hands in his pockets. "How are you, Katniss?"

For some reason, I like the way he says my name. "I overslept, and I think it's left me a little out of sorts. Sorry I, ah, tried to run you over."

Peeta snorts. I glare at him, but he just shakes his head. "I'm not worried about it, believe me."

I feel my temper rise a little. Yes, I'm short. I'm small. I look like a ten-year-old. I get it, but I don't enjoy getting mocked because of the fact.

Peeta must see the ire in my expression. "Forget what I said. Katniss Everdeen, you could easily bowl me over anytime. That scowl alone is strong enough to scare me off."

A laugh bubbles up from my chest, and I try to dampen it back down with another scowl, but the hangdog look on his face makes it impossible. 

He grins and steps forward a bit, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "I bet that's how you catch all those animals- you stun them with that expression you just aimed at me. They can't help but die after that, and they're grateful to do it."

"Yes, and I just poke them in the head with an arrow, so nobody catches on to my trick."

Peeta shakes his head. "No, not through the head. Right through the eye." He points to one of his own. "You've got to get your stories straight, Everdeen."

I stop laughing and study his face. How does he know that detail? "That's what my father always says anyway," he admits. 

"I heard you aren't getting married," I say, entirely off the current topic. 

Peeta's attention perks up at my words. "No, I'm not. Delly likes my brother better."

"But what are you going to do now?" I cringe at the way my voice goes up at the end. "I heard you aren't getting the bakery because of them."

He laughs wryly. "Yeah, that's kind of a bitch."

"Could you marry someone else?"

"Huh?" Confusion etches his features. "Yeah, I guess I could eventually. I'm not dating anyone if that's what you mean…."

"To stay out of the mines. Could you marry another Merchant girl to keep out of the mines?"

"The mines? What does that have to do with anything?"

"You can't go down there." Stupidly, I feel my eyes water, so I look down at my feet before he gets a chance to notice. "It's too dangerous. You should find another merchant girl to marry so you don't have to."

"Katniss-" He stops abruptly. I look up at him, and he's staring off into the with a strange look on his face. His eyes flit forward and catch mine before I can look away again. "I'm not going into the mines." His voice is soft and carries a question on the end.

"You're not?"

"I'm not." 

"Oh." Well, now, I feel ridiculous. I want to look away but find that I can't.

Peeta smiles at me shyly. "That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. Do you have a minute right now? Maybe I could show you instead of trying to explain it."

"I have time," I say. I'm not sure where Peeta's going with this, but I trust him. He's never given me a reason not to.

Peeta tilts his head in the direction of the back road that leads to the oldest portion of town. "It's just this way." He starts to walk, and I follow him, falling into step beside him quickly.

This is not what I was expecting- pigs.

Piglets, to be precise. Six little piglets penned up inside a small enclosure to the left of a run-down house in the northernmost corner of town. I know that the Mellarks raised the animals at one point, but it's been several years since I'd noticed any in the backyard of the bakery.

"You wanted to show me pigs?" 

He leans over the side of the fence and picks one up. It squeals and kicks its little pink and black mottled legs until he has it secured firmly against his chest. "Yeah. Aren't they cute?"

"I guess." I hate to break his heart because he seems to be enjoying himself, but the only thing I see when I look at the little animal in his hands is bacon or a side of pork. Although I have to admit, the little grunting sound the piglet lets out when he scratches behind its ears is charming.

"How did this come about?" I ask, tentatively rubbing my finger across its snout. The piglet gnaws on my finger a bit. 

"Sorry about that. She's probably hungry." Peeta sets the animal back down. "I need to feed them. Do you want to come with me to get the food? The house is still kind of a mess, but I haven't had much time to clean it out yet."

"You're living here?"

Peeta shrugs as I follow him up the steps to the back door of the house. "I will be once I find the time to get my things moved out, probably not until after the Games are over. They still need me full-time at the bakery for now."

It's dark and dusty inside the kitchen. It's startlingly apparent that no one has lived in this house for a very long time, but some furniture is scattered around the room. It's going to be a real undertaking to clean this place up.

Peeta grabs a crate and a bag that looks like it holds some kind of grain. "So, you're probably wondering what I wanted to ask you?" He asks.

I cross my arms and lean against the countertop. "Well, bringing me here and showing me your house and your piglets isn't getting any of my questions answered."

Peeta snickers, shaking his head. "You're funnier than I thought you'd be, Katniss."

I narrow my eyes at him. "What's that mean?"

His cheeks turn red. "Nothing. I just always thought that you were kind of intimidating when we were in school together."

I snort like one of his pigs. "I don't think anybody paid enough attention to me to think anything like that."

"You have no idea. Everyone noticed you, believe me."

I don't know what he means, and I don't know how to respond, so I silently follow him out the back door.

Peeta looks nervous and begins speaking, his words coming like he needs to get them out before they're lost. "So if you aren't interested in my proposition, it's fine. I don't want to disrupt your life or your routine…" we've arrived at a little table on the back porch, and he sets the food down. He pauses a minute before continuing. "Anyway, you've probably heard there're making some changes in the districts?"

I nod. "I did hear that."

"Not nearly enough, that's for sure, but there are some new job opportunities and permits coming in. I happened to be in the Justice Building when they posted this one." He pulls a pocket knife out and starts cutting up some leafy vegetables. "The lady handling the permits told me that there's a new fad in the Capitol to have something called "organic" meat."

"What does that mean?"

"She told me that it means the Capitol will pay a lot of money for meat from an animal that doesn't just eat corn. That's what we always fed our pigs." He fills in by way of explanation. 

But that isn't what I'm questioning. 

People in the districts are starving, and those idiots in the Capitol are worried about what their abundant food sources are consuming before they consume them themselves? 

Peeta catches my eye. "I know Katniss, believe me, I know. Capitolites want meat that "tastes like the districts."

"Does that mean you're feeding them coal dust?" He laughs out loud at my snarky comment.  

I look down at my feet and grin.

Peeta scoops everything into a bucket and mixes it with some ground feed, and I follow him down the steps. "No. What it does mean is that I have a permit to go into the woods and forage for things for the pigs to eat."

"What?" I come to a dead stop.

Peeta dumps the bucket into the feed trough, and we both watch as the piglets gather and start to chow down. "That's what I wanted to ask you. I don't want to get in your way or anything, but would you consider going out there with me a few times? I don't know what I'm doing, honestly."

"Is it legal?"

"Yeah," he pulls a folded paper out of his pocket and hands it over for me to read. "The permit grants permission for one guest and me to enter the woods daily through the guard gate on the back end of the district and permission to bring a wheelbarrow full of collected items out."

I can see why the officials gave him this particular house now; it's just around the corner from the gate.

"I can't pay you for your time. I'm not going to be making any money until the animals go to market…."

I interrupt him. "No, no. You don't have to pay me. I owe you anyway."

Peeta sighs. "You don't owe me."

"Yes, I do. But don't worry about it. I look Peeta over, assessing his solid frame. I'm sure he could carry a deer carcass out of the woods. I think this could be beneficial to me as well."

He lets out a breath that sounds like a relief, and the smile that crosses his face when I meet his eyes is infectious. I find myself grinning back at him.

"So when do we get started, partner?" he asks.

"I can go tomorrow. Will that work?"

"It would have to be early. My father needs me to help at the bakery tomorrow."

"Listen here, Bakery Boy," I find myself teasing him, "early mornings are not a problem for me."

Peeta cocks an eyebrow, and it's my turn to feel my cheeks burn. Bakery Boy? Where did that come from? I think I'm just so happy he's not going into the mines that I'm acting like a fool. 

The fact that he will be available to help me with some heavy lifting doesn't hurt my mood, either.

"So tomorrow at dawn?" Peeta sticks out his hand, and I take it. My whole arm tingles when he squeezes my palm with his warm hand.

"Tomorrow at dawn."

Chapter Text

That night my mother and Prim aren't called out to tend to anyone, so we watch the Opening Ceremony together in our home. We pull the television away from the wall and settle in for one of the last evenings we'll get to see our district tributes looking strong and healthy.

The broadcast begins with the usual propaganda-heavy speech of the commentators, and their conversation mixes with speculation about the tributes. Those observations seem based on footage of each district's reaping.

Soon the main event begins, the flash and pomp of horse-drawn chariots carrying the tributes down the main avenue in a long line, decked out for the first time in their Capitol finery.

First, come the tributes from District One. The shimmering, gold drapery that comprises their costumes does little more than cover the necessary bits, while it does everything to accentuate their muscular bodies. The boy carries a lightning bolt, and the girl has a golden harp. 

They remind me of a book on Greek mythology I once flipped through during a visit to Madge's house, pages upon pages of stories about gods and goddesses. It doesn't feel like a far stretch for District One, with a close connection to the Capitol, to compare themselves to infallible beings. 

The boy and girl from Two stand out as well. They wear head-to-toe suits covered with tiny plates of granite armor that reflect the sunlight. The boy is an average-sized Career, still larger than most of the other tributes, but the girl is enormous. If I had to guess, I'd say she's as tall as Gale but much bulkier, with muscles on top of muscles. Her neck looks as wide as her head. 

The giant girl seems to be a crowd favorite already. The Capitolites go wild as Two's chariot goes past, pulled by a matching pair of steel-gray horses.

The cameras eventually move on to shots of the other district pairs. Images of them interlace with footage of the audience. They jump and scream like they do every year, wearing clothing that rivals the tribute's costumes for garishness. I wonder how they can be such fools. 

How can this be normal behavior for a whole group of people? Is it human nature for people to treat each other this way, to derive so much enjoyment from watching children kill each other for sport?

The cameras occasionally pan onto a stage filled with notable past victors seated towards the end of the parade route. They are the mentors for this year's crop of tributes, including Haymitch Abernathy, who looks slightly soberer than he does on reaping day each year. 

I imagine their addition to the Tribute Parade, a first, must be intentional because there is one key figure missing from the evening's festivities. President Snow. 

There's been no sign of him.

On the ornate chariots go, one right after the other, making a slow pass through the city circle, until the cameras finally zoom in on the pair I've been waiting to see since the broadcast began.

Our tributes from Twelve. 

This year the seam boy and girl wear dark makeup on their eyes and lips, their hair pulled tightly back away from their faces. Their costumes are slick-looking, tight red jumpsuits, mostly unadorned except for a pair of feathery black wings on the back. Flames shoot from the spokes of their wheels with each revolution, and the horses pulling them are huge- black as a starless night.

The effect is jaw-dropping. Twelve's designer has managed to make the pair of inconspicuous, skinny Seam kids look like beasts from the pits of hell. 

The crowd goes wild when Claudius Templesmith mentions them. 

To my relief, the evening's broadcast ends soon after that, so we switch the set back off and push it back into place until we have to watch the interviews at the end of the week. 

It's late, so we all go to bed, and I fall asleep much quicker than I had the night before. 

I don't wake up until an hour or so before sunrise, feeling rested and refreshed. No nightmares. I count that as a victory as I get up and dress to meet Peeta. 

I just hope he doesn't keep me waiting.

"Good morning," Peeta calls, sounding entirely too cheerful for such an early hour as I approach his house. He's sitting on the front stoop with a metal flask between his hands, looking as though he could've been waiting on me for hours. 

"You are an early riser, aren't you?" I quip, coming to a stop a few yards away from him. 

Peeta grins. "I wouldn't know how to sleep in at this point if I tried- this isn't even that early for the bakery." He stands. "Are you ready to go?"

I look him over. It's chilly this morning, and he's only got on a long-sleeved, button-up shirt while I'm wearing my father's leather jacket. It's warm and keeps me dry. It's too large on me, but I love the feeling of disappearing inside it. I prefer getting noticed as little as possible.

"Aren't you chilly?" I ask as we walk towards the pigpen. I assume he's getting his wheelbarrow.

Peeta just laughs. "No, I'm always warm. The cool air feels good to me. It's always hot inside the bakery, even in the winter." He stops and looks over at me. Scratches the back of his head. "Huh. That's something I'm not going to miss."

I give him a half-smile. At least he's got a good attitude.

I follow Peeta around the corner of the house to the pen, where the piglets lie close together in the straw. "Pigs aren't great at regulating their body heat, so they do that to keep warm," he remarks as we pass the sleeping animals.

I don't blame the piglets. They grunt a little as we pass them but don't seem to wake up. "Looks cozy, all that snuggling," I say.

That gets a chuckle from him.

When we reach it, Peeta hoists the wheelbarrow up and pushes it behind the back of his house. "I don't know if I mentioned it yesterday, but I don't expect you to go with me every day if you're busy. The pigs are small enough now that I should have things for them to eat for two or three days if I can fill the wheelbarrow. Whatever I find gets mixed in with their organic feed."

I shrug as we follow the path that leads to the guard gate. "Let's just see how today goes." I'm not confident that Peeta is going to find as much food as he thinks he will. I suppose it depends on what exactly he is planning to feed out. Some things in the forest take longer to forage than others. "I come out most days, so if you need to go every day, it should work for me." It might be nice to have some company in the woods again. It gets a little lonely. 

I glance out of the corner of my eye, observing him push the wheelbarrow across the uneven terrain as we walk and talk. He makes small talk, asks me about my mother and Prim, and seems utterly unbothered by the excess weight. 

I knew Peeta was in good shape from working at the bakery all these years, better than most of my fellow Seam residents. We don't usually have the opportunity for such labor-intensive work in our youth to build muscular bodies. Of course, most of the Seam kids will get to break their backs in the mine once they're old enough, but that work doesn't lead to bulky muscles and broad shoulders like Peeta. 

Mining gives a person lean arms and bent shoulders. The last time I saw Gale, he was already starting to stoop a bit. We may not be close anymore, but it still saddens me to see a wild thing like him turned into an older man before his time.

"Oh, good." I let out a breath when I see Darius working the gate today. He's the best-case scenario when it comes to the Peacekeepers. He's one of Sae's best customers, so I don't expect too much blowback from him. He's always treated me fairly. Sae seems to think he has a crush on me, but I don't think so. I don't see why he would.

Darius laughs out loud when we stop at the guard shack so that he can check Peeta's credentials and open the gate to let us into the woods. "I should have known." What's that supposed to mean? "Good going, Mellark. How'd you manage to snag this one as your guide?"

I wait anxiously for Peeta to answer. No one else knows what I owe him, and I'd like to keep it that way. 

I needn't have worried, though, because he shrugs, grinning in that bashful way I've noticed him do. "It was simple. I just asked her."

Darius looks back and forth between the two of us. "Is that right? That's all it took?"

I scowl, and he must get the gist because he shuts up quickly. "The sun's coming up. We'd better get moving," I say to Peeta, waving my arm at the gate. 

Darius opens it after speaking over his com and waiting on the tell-tale buzz of the lock releasing.

"Lead the way," Peeta grasps the handles and pushes the wheelbarrow through the opening into the thick grass and underbrush that grows by the gate. 

I hear Darius close the gate behind us. It clangs shut with a jarring sound. I step around Peeta and walk away from the fence row. "Katniss, what-" he begins, but I interrupt him. Darius isn't going to rat me out, but I don't want Peeta asking me any possibly dangerous questions this close to the district line. 

You never know who could be listening.

"Hold that thought. I'm a little unfamiliar with the terrain. Of course, hunting next to the guard shack is not an option. I can't help but cringe at the amount of noise Peeta makes as he pushes the wheelbarrow. It's becoming quickly apparent that we're going to have to split up if I'm going to get any hunting done today. Let's get a little farther out before we decide which direction to go."  

After ten minutes or so, we come to a stop, and I look around. We've reached the tree line. The sun has risen high enough that there is light streaming through the leafy treetops. We can see well enough to go in now. I turn to let Peeta know it's safe to talk, and that should figure out a plan of action. 

When I see his face, I don't say a word- I just watch him.

Peeta stands perfectly still, looking up at the trees with his mouth gaping open far enough that a bird could fly inside. "I had no idea it was like this…" he finally says, his voice betraying his wonder. He's silent again before saying, "I feel like I'm seeing the world for the first time." 

I can't fault his choice of words. They are true. Out here in the woods, there are colors and scents and feelings that you can't find in the confines of Twelve. 

"I need to bring my sketchbook sometime." He continues, shaking his head as if trying to bring himself out of a trance. "It's so beautiful, so…."

"You like to draw?" I blurt out, surprised by the fact. It's another thing I didn't know about him.

Without looking over at me, Peeta nods. "I paint too. Not that I have the materials to work with very often..." He's mesmerized, the words slipping out as though he isn't even aware of what he's saying. "I love art. I, um, actually decorate the cakes for the bakery," 

"It sounds like you have an eye for beauty." I'm glad he appreciates this place. It makes me feel like I made the right decision coming out here with him. 

Peeta looks at me finally. He lets out a laugh. "You have no idea."

I wait for him to fill me in on the joke, but no words are forthcoming. I sigh. "I'm going to have to go get my bow. Are you okay here?"

His voice is light when he answers. "I'll have to be. I don't expect you to babysit me the whole time we're out here, Katniss. I know you have things to do."

I turn to go, but then I think better of it, so I pause. "Do you know what you're looking for?" 

"Mostly." He admits sheepishly.

Mostly? "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" I fold my arms over my chest.

He huffs, looking mildly insulted. "I wouldn't say I have no idea. I know pigs eat tubers and roots. Mushrooms and fungus are good and acorns. The grass is easy enough to find right now, but I'm not exactly sure where to look for the rest of it." He doesn't seem bothered by the fact that he needs my help; he acts as though he hates to be a bother. "I don't want to keep you from hunting."

Peeta is right. I do need to get something today. My mind goes to the single coin at the top of my drawer at home, the one I'm saving for Prim's birthday. I don't want to spend it yet. "Why don't you stay here and cut some grass for now? There's some long stuff over there," I gesture about ten yards away. "All of that should be edible. It's too bad that you have pigs instead of goats. Goats can eat anything, including a lot of poisonous plants."

He laughs. "What can I say? Pork is all the rage. I'll have to suggest the Capitolites rethink their meat choice next time because you said so."

Haha. I've got a real comedian here. 

I roll my eyes. "You could look for berries after." I continue, ignoring his last comment. "I don't know if you'd want to feed those to the pigs, that's kind of a waste, but you could probably use them at the bakery. That is if you are still…." I don't know if he wants to help his family out, seeing as he's no longer going to be coming into ownership of the business like he was initially supposed to. 

"Sounds good. That would make my father happy." He pushes the wheelbarrow over in the direction of the tall grass. "So you'll come back and check up on me?"

I stare at him and chew on my lip. It seems like there's more I need to tell him, like it's not a great idea to leave him alone so soon, but I don't have any other choice if I'm to get any hunting done. "I need to go get my bow and check my snares. I won't be gone long. As soon as I find something, I'll come back."

"Katniss, I'll be fine. Take your time. I don't want to be an inconvenience."

"It's fine. I owe you." I remind him.

"Please don't say that. I think we can let that one go."

"You don't understand what it's like to owe someone. It's different in town, but in the Seam, you don't leave a debt unsettled."

"But-"

"And the first favor is the hardest to repay."

"Katniss…" his voice trails off. He lets out a breath. "Fine. You owe me. But can you consider us even after today? Please? Coming along with me is a huge thing. This job- there's no way I could do this without you. And I must do this right. I'm kind of sticking my neck out."

I consider his words. "Alright," I say, "I'll allow it."

Peeta gives a little clipped nod. "Good."

"Be careful, okay?" I head in the direction of the hollow log where I keep my bow.

"I can take care of myself! Take your time. I'll see you when you finish."

The snares don't hold much, just one small rabbit in mostly one piece. It has been two days since I checked them, so there's the typical evidence of blood smears and tufts of fur from the larger predators who snagged my catches. Not that it matters, the meat wouldn't have been good after laying in the heat all day yesterday. 

I clean the snares off the best I can and reset them. It's times like this I miss my old, easy friendship with Gale- he was so much better with snares. We made a good team out here in the woods.

I happen upon a flock of wild turkeys then, and thoughts of my old hunting partner flit away like the rest of the birds once I manage to shoot two through the eye, one right after the other. 

With the rabbit in my bag, that makes enough for today- I can't trade with the merchants in town with the Capitol visitors here. It's not wise to flagrantly break the law and wave it under their noses. I'd prefer not to get a public whipping over a loaf of bread or a coin, so I head back to meet up with Peeta. 

Since I'll be coming in at the gate now, I find a new hiding place inside a hollowed-out tree halfway between my standard entry point and the entrance. I wrap my bow and arrows in the oilskin cloth and tuck them away for safekeeping. 

When I reach the spot where I left Peeta, the wheelbarrow is there, but there's no sign of him. 

I sigh. Where did Peeta go?

I turn in a slow circle, trying to decipher his chosen path. He must not be moving; I wouldn't miss him stomping around through the underbrush. I can't help but snicker a little at the thought. 

After a bit of searching, I found a trampled-down patch of grass that doesn't look like an animal made it. I start in that direction, and just as I expected, I see Peeta there picking berries.

"Peeta," I call his name.

He jumps, dropping a handful in the process. "You are completely silent, do you know that?" He shakes his head before bending over to pick up the ones he's spilled. "Damn it; you scared me to death!"

"Sorry," I smile, something I do much more freely in the woods." Can't say the same for you, can I?"

"I've been told I have a heavy tread." He admits.

"That's an understatement." I tease him. 

Peeta just watches me for a moment before laughing as well. "You seem happier out here. You know that?"

I flush, embarrassed that he would pick up on that so quickly. I'm usually much more reserved, but I can't seem to help but let my guard down around him.

"You always look so stern in town. All business," Peeta continues.

I scowl and look down at my feet. "I have to be. People need to take me seriously."

Peeta puts his hands up. "I didn't mean anything by it. It's just nice to see you out here, that's all. Happy. I could get used to it."

I'm growing uncomfortable with the way this conversation is going. It feels too personal. "Are you almost done here? I thought I'd show you how to look for some edible roots today. They're easy to find. Tomorrow we'll look for some of the other things you mentioned."

We move on, and I show Peeta where to dig. While he does that, I go back and pick some blackberries for myself. They are small and a little dry because of the rain shortage, but still better than nothing. 

He gets several large handfuls of roots, enough for today, so we load them along with the grass and start back. The wheelbarrow is about half-full. "I think you've got enough for two days," I say as he pushes it back towards the fence.

"You're right, but I'd hoped to find more."

"It takes time to get the hang of foraging," I tell him as we reach the fence. 

Darius is still on duty and doesn't say anything about my full game bag. I will have to try and catch him alone to ask which Peacekeepers I need to watch out for; I may need to find a spot to stash my game instead of bringing them out through the gate.

"So I'll see you tomorrow, same time?" I ask Peeta once we're back inside the district. I'll head towards the Hob and make my trades before going home, so this is as good of a place to go separate ways as any.

He smiles shyly, stopping to set the wheelbarrow down to continue the conversation. He puzzles me so much. If Peeta thinks I'm different than what he thought I would be, then I'd have to say the same for him. In all the years we've spent watching each other, I've never observed him behaving the way he does around me. When we're alone, he's much quieter, less confident in what he's saying. Funnier, just like he accused me of being. Self-deprecating, but still kind. Thoughtful.

I keep thinking that I'm going to begin figuring him out, but I'm coming up with nothing so far. 

It's perplexing. 

"If you're sure it's not a bother." 

I scowl at him. "Peeta, that is the last time you get to say that. It's not a bother. I don't do things I don't want to do. Alright?"

He laughs. "Okay- my lips are sealed. Till tomorrow, then."

I nod. "Tomorrow it is. See you then. You'd better go feed those pigs before they start rioting."

"Yeah, probably a good idea." He starts to go but then stops again. "One more thing. I've got a question for you."

"What's that?"

"What do you think I should name them?"

Why would he name the piglets? They aren't pets. "I don't know; I'm bad at naming things. You should ask my sister." 

"That's a good idea. He smiles, and I wonder why I told him that. Peeta doesn't know Prim anymore than I know his family. Maybe I can bribe her with some frosted cookies."

"She'd enjoy that. Prim's like you. She has a weakness for pretty things."

Peeta smirks. "I can think of one pretty thing we both like." 

"No, Prim doesn't like the forest. It makes her nervous."

He roars with laughter. 

I don't know what's so funny, but I'm not going to ask. "Now, I need to go." I turn on my heel. "Bye, Peeta."

The last thing he says, humor still lacing his voice, is- "Bye, Katniss. Thanks again."

One day I might figure him out. Today is not going to be that day, I decide as I walk towards the Hob.

Chapter Text

"Are you ready to call it quits for the day?" Peeta asks as he loads an armful of grass into the wheelbarrow. 

Four days have passed since his first time out here, and he caught on to what makes good pickings and what doesn't quickly. He's now able to locate a lot of things without my help. Since Peeta cannot come out tomorrow or the next day, he's trying to gather extra food for the piglets. 

His father needs extra help at the bakery. The Undersees are hosting a party for the Capitol visitors tomorrow night before the tribute's televised interviews. 

"I think so unless you want to go back to those blackberry bushes we picked from the first day. They might be ready today, definitely will be by tomorrow." I grab an armload of grass and carry it over to him. "It's up to you."

Peeta broke down yesterday and told me more about what he's gotten himself into with the pig raising venture. 

He said that the pigs carry a narrow profit margin when it's time to sell, and if he isn't careful, he could lose money on them- especially if he uses more of the Capitol feed than what they allow in the contract. 

Without Peeta having to spell it out in so many words, I realized that losing money would be detrimental to him because he's starting with nothing. Nothing minus anything is a recipe for disaster where the Capitol is concerned. Not only that, but Peeta's admission also made me realize just how dependent he was on my agreeing to show him the ropes out here. It was a gamble. What if I'd refused? 

It kind of amazes me that he put that much faith in the belief that I'd be willing to help him. I wonder what gave him the nerve to ask when we'd never even exchanged two words with each other?

Peeta seemed nervous about telling me. He refused to meet my eyes as if he expected me to ridicule him for taking that big of a risk. His behavior made me wonder about his mother and father's reaction to the news. 

There probably weren't any encouraging words, and it makes me angry just thinking about it. It's their fault Peeta is in this predicament anyway. And his brother and Delly Cartwright are by no means off the hook either, at least as far as I'm concerned. 

Just thinking about that girl takes me beyond angry and straight into enraged. I'm sure Peeta's better off without her if she thought so little of him. She just threw him over for his brother like he didn't matter. 

One of these days, I'll work up the nerve to ask him about their relationship. That day did not seem like the right time, so I simply reassured him that I didn't mind helping him at all. 

I even went so far as to tell him that I enjoyed having some company out here again. It wasn't a lie.

"You don't need to do that," Peeta says, nodding at my load as I deposit it in his bucket.

I scowl at him. "I know." 

I wish he would quit trying to stop me from helping him with his work. What's the big deal? It's not keeping me from anything. 

The traps were full, so I didn't even need to take time to get my bow out. 

During the Games, there's only so much hunting I can get away with anyway. I'll focus on tracking the larger animals when the district quiets down. It's not like he and I can cart a deer carcass through town right now anyway, so why shouldn't I help him?

Besides, the weather is getting hotter every day, and the animals aren't especially active in the heat. On top of that, it's much later in the day than when we're usually here, and Peeta's fair skin is starting to take on a distinct pink tone. We probably shouldn't linger too much longer, and the more I help him, the sooner we'll be done.

"Sorry, it's a habit I'm trying to break." He looks sheepish as he wipes his forehead off on his shirt sleeve. "Would you rather have me yell at you the next time I have a load?"

"I'd like to see you try," I retort, gathering another armload of grass and walking it over to the bucket. "My bow isn't that far."

Peeta chuckles as he bends over to get his armful. 

This daily pattern is one we seem to have fallen into relatively quickly. I can't say who started it, but it's been surprisingly easy getting to know each other out here where there's no one but the animals and the trees to hear our voices. 

Peeta told me he will start keeping track of how many times he sees me smile now. 

When I shook my head at his ridiculousness, he said that during all the years we spent in school together, he could count the number of times I'd smiled on one hand. 

I'd laughed at the way he wiggled his fingers to indicate the number, but when I pressed him for why he paid attention to my smiles, he shrugged. He wouldn't look at me after that.

Neither of us has said another word about it. Peeta might tentatively be my friend, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to talk about our still-unspoken-of game of who looks away first that we played during our school years.

Peeta looks up at me after dumping another armful in the wheelbarrow. 

I catch his eye and smile. It only lasts for a second before mine drops. 

I blow the loose hair out of my eyes.

My sister is making things complicated for me. Not that spending time with Peeta isn't easy; it is. He's friendly, and he doesn't push me. I enjoy his company. 

Most of all, I feel comfortable with him. I can be myself, but it's somehow a slightly different version of myself than the Katniss I'm used to being. He's so easy to talk to that I find I'm laughing more every day. Honestly, I could compare his friendship to trying on a new pair of gloves that fit perfectly. 

No, Peeta's not the problem. 

The problem is my sister, who keeps trying to put crazy ideas inside my head. Prim thinks he must be interested in me romantically, and she will not drop the subject no matter what I say. 

When I first told her about our agreement, she squealed like one of his piglets. "Peeta likes you!"

Her words hit me like a bucket of cold water. "He does not! Why would you think that? It's ridiculous."

"Why wouldn't he like you? You're pretty, and-"

I snorted. I know I'm not much to look at. Prim is the beautiful one, like our mother. "He's not interested in me like that. It's just that I owed him, and he needed my help. That's all."

Prim raised her eyebrows in disbelief. So instead of arguing, I finally told her about everything Peeta had done for us after our father died.  About the bread and the bruises on his face- the ones his mother gave him for burning it. The only detail I left out was the dandelion he picked in the schoolyard. I kept that detail to myself. By the time I got to the end of the story, she was in tears, and I was sure I'd made her see she was wrong. 

Not exactly.

"That's so romantic!" Prim shrieked, bouncing up and down on the edge of our bed. Somehow she was laughing and crying at the same time. "That's even more romantic than Mother and Father's story!"

I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. Did she not hear a word I just said? "Prim, it's not romantic! He's, I don't know, kind. Unselfish."

Prim wiped her eyes with the palms of her hand, and when I noticed her nose running, I dug out my handkerchief. "That is the epitome of romance. How do you not see it?"

Well, for starters, I knew there was no way anyone felt that way about me. How could they? Gale claimed to have felt that way about me once, but I swear his pride was hurt more than anything when I turned him down. "I'm not romance material; you know how I feel about marriage. I'm surly and unfriendly, and I never smile. It's not happening. I'm not getting married, and I'm not going to have children, not as long as there is a Reaping. And I have you and Mom to worry about even if I was interested in Peeta. Which I am not !" 

Prim tried to hand the handkerchief back, but I gestured for her to keep it. She could wash it first. "I'm almost fifteen, Katniss; I'm not going to be here forever. Reaping or not, I want to get married."

"To who?" As far as I knew, she hadn't had a boyfriend yet. I was a little concerned at the prospect, to be honest.

Prim shrugged. "I don't know, no one in particular. I've just decided that I'm not going to let fear run my life."

"You're a lot braver than I am. My fear isn't just about the reaping, but she knew that. I can't do it, and I don't want to do it." 

I didn't need to say the word Father out loud.

Prim laid her head on my shoulder, and I rubbed her back soothingly. "You know you don't have to worry about us. Mom is better now, and she's working. Even when I get married-"

"If you get married."

Prim huffed. "When I get married, I'll still work with her. We'll see patients together, and I'll make sure she's fine. We'll both be fine." 

She was probably right. Deep down, I knew that. 

"So when are you going to worry about you?"

I sighed. What did Prim want me to say?

Prim continued, "I'm not asking you to do anything you don't want to. I just don't want you to keep closing yourself off to everything."

"I know you love me. Thanks, Duck." Thankfully she dropped the subject after that.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks, and I shake my thoughts off as quickly as possible. When I look at him, my face warms, thinking about that conversation with Prim. 

He's got the wheelbarrow loaded up now. He must have finished while I stood there and stared off into space.

I shift nervously on my feet. "Sorry. Just gathering wool."

He brushes his hands off on his pants. "I was checking to see if you wanted to go back to the berry bushes before we leave?"

I shake my head. "It's getting pretty warm. You're going to get a sunburn if we stay out here much longer." I narrow my eyes then, studying him closely. His freckles are standing out a lot more than usual, and his nose, ears, and lips look red. "I think it's too late. You're burnt. You're just like Prim; she burns easily too." 

He picks up the handles of the wheelbarrow, scoffing at my concern, "I'll survive."

I scowl, hating the idea of him working in the hot bakery the next few days with a sunburn. I can't help but think about how much he hates the heat. "Why don't I see if my mother has anything to help with that? I could bring it in later."

Peeta shrugs. "I don't want to be a bother. I'll be alright."

He hasn't realized how stubborn I am yet. "Will you please stop saying things like that? It's not a bother. Friends do that sort of thing for each other."

When he smiles, I swear it's as bright as the midday sun. "So, that means we're friends now?"

I roll my eyes at him. "Or something like that." I hate trying to explain the stupid things I say sometimes. "I don't dislike you…."

"Wow, Katniss Everdeen doesn't dislike me. He follows me toward the gate, a little smirk on his lips. I realize that I've just given him fodder to tease me for days. It's a good thing I won't see him for a few of those. I'm going to write that down when I get home." 

"Shut up, Peeta."

"So which door should we go to?" Prim asks as we approach the bakery. 

It's a good question- I'm not sure which door to go to enter. I know Mrs. Mellark works the front counter most days, but I've seen Rye there on occasion as well, and I'm not sure which of the two I want to see the least. To compound the matter, I'm not sure if Mr. Mellark would appreciate my showing up at the back door without a trade or not. 

"I'd like to look at the cakes before we go in," she adds. 

"Okay. We'll walk by the front and then go to the back."

I run my thumb over the lid of the small pot of burn ointment resting in the pocket of my pants. I'm surprised Prim didn't give me any grief over bringing it to him. 

She's been quiet on the topic of Peeta all day, and the only indication she was even aware of my plans was when she asked to walk into town with me. 

Maybe she finally realizes how ridiculous she's been.

We reach the display window and take a peek inside. "The cakes don't look as good as they used to," Prim points at the row of them near the front of the display. 

"How can you tell?" I peer in. They don't look much different to me.

"The edges don't look as smooth, and the flowers aren't right."

That's interesting.

I examine them a little closer, and even I can see the difference. "Peeta told me he's the one who decorates them. I guess he must've passed the torch already." 

I can't help but smirk. It doesn't seem like the whole giving-Rye-the-bakery-instead-of-Peeta plan is panning out too well for the Mellark Bakery. It serves them right.

Prim lets out an undignified little snort- "These aren't worth my time. Let's go see Peeta."

I love my sister.

Prim and I climb the back steps of the bakery, and before my fist can make contact with the wooden frame of the screen door, it is pulled open by Mr. Mellark.

"Hi girls," he greets us, not unkindly. He's a big man, with thick arms and broad shoulders, tired blue eyes, and hair that I'd say is an even mix of blond and silver. He looks a lot like Peeta. 

I can feel the heat radiating out from the kitchen. Even from here, it's stifling, much warmer than the temperature outside, which is oppressive enough on its own. 

Mr. Mellark's face is flushed and sweaty, and it reminds me of why I came here in the first place. 

The pot of salve weighs heavily in my pocket as I shift back and forth on my feet. Peeta must be miserable.

"Peeta told me that you were coming, Katniss, but he didn't say anything about this beautiful young lady." He winks at my sister, and she giggles. "Come on in, Peet!"

"Yeah?" I hear Peeta answer from the other side of the door.

"You've got some visitors." We follow Mr. Mellark inside, and he pulls the door shut behind us. It's a weird feeling, my first time inside the bakery. When I come to trade, I always wait on the back step while he gets my bread. 

Once my eyes adjust to the slight gloom of the kitchen, I see Peeta. He's standing at the countertop with a look of concentration on his face. His hands are deep inside of a wooden bowl, but when he sees me standing in the middle of the kitchen, he greets me with that shy smile of his. "Hey."

"Hi," I say, feeling awkward with the additional spectators and unfamiliar location. It must be the hunter's instinct or something, but I much prefer being on my turf. I shift uneasily on my feet. "How are you feeling?" 

"Sore. You were right."

I stalk over his way to get a better look. His sunburn looks a lot worse, and his skin is now an angry red. "I told you so," I scold him. "This looks awful."

"I've had worse from the ovens. At least it's not blistered." He shrugs, going back to his work. 

I hear a snicker behind me, and when I turn my head, I can see that it came from Rye, who must've come in the kitchen while the two of us were talking.

I've never spoken to Rye Mellark, not once, but I find that I have to clamp my lips together tightly, the only way to keep my cool. 

He smirks at me, his eyes never straying from mine- a challenge.

I refuse to look away. Instead, I up the ante, imitating Rye's stance and cocking my eyebrow at him. 

His eyes narrow.

I tilt my chin up. 

We stare each other down until he finally laughs and puts his hands up in defeat. "Damn, you're tough as nails, aren't you, Everdeen? I guess I can see where the attraction…."

"Rye!" Peeta snaps. He snatches a towel off the counter and wipes his hands, glaring at his brother before throwing it back down. "Shut up."

I'm surprised. I've never heard Peeta raise his voice at anyone- this is new terrain with him.

"Don't get your pants in a wad,' Rye sneers, pushing away from the sink.

My eyes are darting back and forth between the brothers. I have no idea what is going on between them, but it doesn't look good. Maybe Peeta is more upset about losing the bakery than he's letting on. Perhaps he really was in love with Delly. 

Whatever the issue is, there's a whole trainload of tension between them, thick and unrelenting. "I'm leaving anyway; I've got to go to my future in-laws tonight for dinner. If you were courting a nice Merchant girl," there's a certain defining quality about the way Rye says the words, "you'd be off the hook too. But you never do things the easy way, do you?"

"Rye." This time it's Mr. Mellark who says it. Quietly.

"I know when I'm not wanted. Primrose," he gives a formal bow, and Prim giggles again. 

Traitor.

"Katniss." I scowl at him in response. "I'd tell you, don't be a stranger, but I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot more of you anyway."

"Rye ." This time it's Peeta again. Angry, but also strangely like begging?

Rye pulls his apron over his head and tosses it into a bin beside the sink. He exits through an open stairwell with a final grin that must lead to the family's living quarters upstairs. 

As his footsteps fade away, the amount of tension released from the room is palpable. Mr. Mellark sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. "Do you want to stop where you are? I can finish up the prep if you want to take the girls outside. It's too hot in here."

Peeta agrees, untying and tugging off his apron. When his arms stretch over his head, I notice his thin t-shirt has soaked through with sweat. It sticks to his torso, accentuating the strong lines of his back, shoulders, and arms. 

"Go on, I'll be out in a minute," he says, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. I look away quickly, hoping he missed me gawking at him.

Prim and I go outside and stand at the bottom of the steps to wait. Surprisingly my sister stays silent. Maybe she's as weirded out by the exchange between Peeta and Rye as I am. Or perhaps it's the heat. 

It seems to be affecting me too. 

I hear the sound of running water coming from the kitchen, and a few minutes later, Peeta reappears, bare-chested but with a button-up shirt in his hands. "That other one was a mess. "he says as I gape at him and his total disregard for his shirtless state. "What did you bring me?" 

I watch as he slides his arms through the sleeves and begins buttoning up his shirt. I can't seem to find the words to say. 

I'm trying not to be obvious, but I can't stop looking at him. I don't usually see these parts of him- his chest, stomach, and back are very fair and are covered in a layer of blond hair that is almost white. A sweat droplet runs from the curve of his neck down to his chest. Quickly I look away, ashamed of the way I've been staring at him. 

Mother and Prim regularly treat men in our home for mining injuries, burns and scrapes, and worse. I've seen men in much less than what Peeta has on, but I've never felt this accompanying embarrassment. Maybe it's the fact that those men were there for treatment. Perhaps the fact that Peeta is my friend is what's making it awkward. 

Then again, I used to see Gale shirtless sometimes, and it never made my stomach drop.

I distract myself from the thoughts I'm wrestling with by pulling the jar out of my pocket; I might as well get down to business. "Here's the salve I told you about."

Thankfully he's fully dressed again, so my anxious heart gets the chance to slow down while Peeta straightens his shirtsleeves slowly and methodically. 

I've noticed that everything he does is meticulous. It's so strange the way he takes his time doing everything. 

I'm more impatient and quick-acting, relying on instinct more than method.

Once Peeta has the jar in hand, he turns it over to look at the bottom. He stares at it in silence. Finally, he glances at me with his eyes crinkling at the corners, a small smile twisting his lips. "Thank you; I'm sure this will help."

I clear my throat from the thickness that's accumulated there. "You should go ahead and put that on now. It'll start to help right away with the pain and swelling. And you don't need to thank me; Prim's the one who made it."

Peeta turns to my sister, seemingly excited at the prospect of speaking with her. "Thank you, Prim. What do I owe you?"

"Can I see your piglets?" Prim asks, stepping between Peeta and me. I know what she's up to, interjecting herself between the two of us before I can refuse. She's sneaky.

"Of course. I need to water the piglets anyway since it's so hot out. Can you come now?"

"We need to get something for Mother at the grocer's," I remind my sister. I'm nervous about the two of them interacting. I don't know why. 

"Why don't you go ahead? You don't need me to go, do you?" Prim asks me.

"No-"

She interrupts me. "I'll go with Peeta, and you can meet up with us when you get done with trading. How does that sound?"

My eyes dart back and forth between them. Peeta seems fine with the arrangement, but I'm worried about leaving Prim alone with him for any length of time if I'm candid. 

I have no idea what nonsense she'll say to him, and I don't want things to become weird between Peeta and me. We've just gotten used to each other. 

Unfortunately, I can't think of a valid reason to say no without hurting someone's feelings. "Fine, go see the pigs. It shouldn't take me very long at the grocer's anyway."

Prim claps her hands together- "I can't wait!" She spins around to face him. "I love animals." 

Peeta glances over her shoulder to see if I'm okay with the plan. 

I simply shrug. 

"Katniss told me I should get your help naming them," he tells her. "Got any suggestions?"

"Oh, yes. I've got a hundred ideas." Prim loops her hand through the crook of Peeta's arm, squeezing his bicep. 

He seems oblivious to the wink she directs at me, and it's a good thing because I'd probably murder her otherwise. "Lead the way," she says.

I watch them round the corner of the bakery and hope for the best.

"You two are ridiculous," I tell my sister as we walk out of town and back towards the Seam.

"I think they're adorable names! Peeta agreed." Prim turns around and skips backward, the hemline of her cotton dress bouncing with each step. 

I roll my eyes at her antics. I highly doubt that Peeta had much to do with the piglets' names. 

Wilbur, Petunia, Hamlet, Truffles, Charlotte, and Sir Oinks-a-lot, are not names that will keep him free from ridicule if Peeta had to put them on any official Capitol documents. 

No, I'm sure he just stepped back and let my charming sister have her way when it came to naming the little piggies, a theory he pretty much confirmed when her back turned. 

I'd given him a questioning look; a silent Are you serious? He just laughed silently and shook his head. 

I really can't blame him for letting Prim have her way. I've been doing it for years. 

"Is that the only thing you talked about while I was gone?" I question her.

We're at the edge of town now, so she spins around and falls back to walk beside me on the uneven road to the Seam. "What else would Peeta and I have to talk about?" she asks, giving me a little nudge. Her face is laughable, but she quickly reassures me when I scowl. "I promise Katniss; the pigs are all we talked about. I showed great self-control, even if I do think Peeta is delightful and perfect for you in every way."

I scowl at her, but she just laughs.

I hope she's telling the truth.

Chapter Text

Mr. Undersee greets me with a confused expression on his face. "Katniss, what are you doing here?"

Three sets of eyebrows lift at my words from behind the Mayor's back.

"Is there something I can help you with?" His eyes drift down my form. He's looking for my game bag. Fortunately for both of us, I left it draped over a kitchen chair at home. I can't blame the man for his nerves because the trio standing behind him must be the Undersee's dinner party guests from the Capitol. Everything about them screams different from their almost inhumanly smooth, expressionless faces to the tips of their shiny shoes. 

Interestingly enough, the three aren't so flashy like the idiots we see on television- no outlandish makeup, no alterations, and no diamond implants. Instead, they look more businesslike than someone like Effie Trinket, the district escort. They look like people I should take seriously.

While Prim and I were at his house yesterday, Peeta told me he'd heard the visitors are staying in one of the homes in Victor's Village with a whole army of underlings, which makes perfect sense. It's not like there's anywhere else to stay. 

People don't come to Twelve for vacations. 

People in Twelve barely survive for the most part.

I couldn't be sure because I didn't have much reason to go past the Village, but I imagined our esteemed guests had to be staying on the opposite end of Victor's Village from Haymitch Abernathy's place. The stench alone would be enough to knock them over. The Capitol doesn't seem worried about maintaining a particular facade once the resident Victor has fallen out of the limelight, like Haymitch, who won his games twenty-six years ago. His state of deterioration would make you think it's been fifty. He looks awful. Almost as bad as his house.

"I'm just here to keep Madge company. I'm starting to wish I'd waited a few more minutes before walking over here. Mother and Prim are helping a Seam wife deliver her baby, so I decided to take Madge up on her offer to come to her house. She invited me," I reassure Mr. Undersee, not knowing where to direct my line of sight. 

If I'd have gone to the main thoroughfare, I could've watched the interviews with Peeta. While Prim was distracted by the piglets yesterday, he offered to keep a spot open for me if I watched from there tonight. I felt panic tighten my chest at the invitation. Fortunately, I remembered Madge's offer to watch with her, so I could honestly tell him that was my plan. He hadn't pressured me for an answer, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I'm terrible at explaining myself, so it seemed better to keep my reply simple. I was afraid of saying something stupid to him.

Ever since that visit to the bakery, I've been out of sorts. I can't seem to put my finger on what's going on with my feelings, but I need another day away from Peeta to figure it out. I don't want him to think there's something wrong when it's my problem. He hasn't been treating me any differently. He hasn't indicated that he's interested in anything beyond being my friend, and I don't want to screw up another friendship over something like this.

A look of relief washes over Mr. Undersee's face. "Oh, yes. She did mention that." He steps out the front door, and the people from the Capitol follow behind him. A silent trio. They give me the creeps. "Go on in," he continues, "Madge is upstairs in her mother's sitting room. My wife isn't feeling well tonight."

"Thank you," I try to plaster a regular look on my face as I step inside the house. It's hard to relax in the presence of those three. I can't help but feel as though they are waiting to catch me in something. 

I find Madge sitting with her back to a pristine white couch, her knees drawn up to her chest, the pleated folds of her robin's-egg-blue skirt fanned out over her legs. She smiles when I rap on the door lightly. "Katniss! I'm glad you're here," she pats the space next to her. "Is your family out?"

I sit down beside her gingerly. "They're at a delivery. It's a first-time mother, and those babies can take forever to come. Mother and Prim might be gone all night." 

"Either way, I'm glad you came." She squeezes my hand. "Wait here. I'll get us some tea."

I feel distinctly out of place alone in her mother's sitting room. It's an ornately decorated, utterly different space than anything I'm used to seeing. I know that Mrs. Undersee spends most of her time here while her father is at the Justice building. I feel a bit like I'm invading Mrs. Undersee's privacy. The times I've visited Madge before tonight, we've mostly stayed downstairs in the library or the living room where they keep her piano, but with Mr. Undersee out, I know she doesn't want to be far from her mother in case Mrs. Undersee needs her. 

"What have you been up to?" Madge asks after coming back with some cups of tea from the kitchen. She sets them on the low table between us and the television. "Be careful. It's hot." As I pick up the cup, I think about the fact that her house is the only place I've used a matching set of dishes. 

My mother has a beautiful tea set packed away with the things from her merchant days, but we never get them out. I don't know why exactly. There never seems to be much of anything to celebrate. 

"Most of the same." I shrug. I hesitate to say anything about the woods because Madge has always given me the impression that her home is not a safe place to discuss my hunting. Without using so many words. Another great perk to being the Mayor's daughter. 

"So you've managed to stay out of the mines at least," Madge takes a sip from her cup, blowing on it first to cool it down. "I would've hated to see you do that."

I shake my head, thinking of our last school trip when I blacked out, and someone carried me to the surface. "I couldn't have done it." 

She shifts around a bit. It looks as though she's trying to get comfortable. "I heard you've been helping Peeta," she sets the cup back in its saucer. I glance at her, and her lips turn at the corners in a smirk. 

Oh no, not more of this. 

What she says next surprises me. "I wonder what Gale thinks."

I nearly spit out my tea. "Why would Gale think anything of it? She knows what happened between the two of us. Other than my mother and Prim, she's the only person I told. He hasn't talked to me in two years."

She shrugs. "I'm just curious, that's all. I bet Gale would hate you being out in the woods with another boy, a Merchant one nonetheless. He was always so scornful of me-"

"Madge ."

"No, he was Katniss. Don't make excuses for him. Do you remember what he said to me about my dress?"

I have to think for a moment before it comes to me. "Do you mean the year Haymitch knocked the bowls over?" During the 74th Reaping two years ago, the officials had to use a computer to draw the District Twelve tribute names, all because Haymitch stumbled onto the stage in a drunken stupor and knocked both bowls off their pedestals. I'll never forget the way we all stood and watched what looked like millions of tiny slips of hand-written papers spill in every direction. 

If District Twelve wasn't the laughingstock of Panem before that moment, we indeed were afterward. 

It's probably a good thing for Haymitch that he's our only living Victor. I've heard of people turned into avoxes for much smaller infractions. 

I sigh. "Yeah, I remember now." Gale had made a snide remark about her new white dress the day before the reaping when we dropped strawberries off at her house. Yes, it was a ridiculous garment to wear in our coal-dust-soaked district, but it was no excuse to go after Madge that way. It's not her fault that she's the Mayor's daughter, and we're Seam. She could've been reaped that day just like he or I, and no dress or job title held by her father would have prevented it. The memory makes me melancholy, reminding me of the way he was perpetually angry at everything. "I wonder if he's changed?" I muse, the words said out loud unintentionally.

"I doubt it." She snorts, a very un-Madgelike thing to do. She's silent for a minute before asking, "Do you miss him?" 

"I don't know," I answer honestly. I miss Gale's partnership, but not his anger. I have enough fire of my own.

"Do you regret saying no?"

I shake my head emphatically. "Not at all. I'm never getting married. I thought he knew that."

Madge shakes her head. "One day, you might change your mind." She picks her cup back up and effectively changes the subject, smiling at me over the rim. "So Peeta. What's that like?

It's dark outside when I leave Madge's house and walk across town towards the Seam.  

The interviews had been relatively uneventful. Our district representatives, Linden Cutler and John Bowe had done reasonably well when their turns came up to speak with Cesar Flickerman. Linden wore a black gown accented with what appeared to be embroidered red wings along the back, sleeves, and skirt of the dress. She was beautiful, really an exceptionally pretty child, small and delicate, but proved to have a surprisingly large personality for a young girl. John was dressed as well in a similar style. He was quieter, solemn-faced, but still managed to flash the occasional charming smile at the audience. I tried very hard not to think about their imminent deaths.

I didn't pay much attention to the other tributes except Kai, the giant girl from Two. She surprised me. 

I think she was a disappointment to the live audience. Cesar tried to lure her into conversations multiple times, but she sat in silence other than the one-syllable answers she'd occasionally dole out. But it didn't come across as menacing or as a ploy like some of the other Career tributes. The girl looked sad, like every real emotion she had was silently portrayed on her face.

"That's going to lose her sponsorships," Madge stated matter-of-factly, her arms looped around her legs, knees drawn to her chest. Kai had just answered another question with a shrug. "Why isn't she trying harder? She's practically a shoo-in."

"I have no idea," I told her honestly. The girl's behavior made no sense.

It was getting dark by the time I left the Undersee's house. Once I told Madge goodbye and promised to come by again soon, I wasn't in a tremendous hurry to get home. 

I found myself doing some people-watching once I hit the main square of the Merchant sector. Younger adults and teenagers were still milling around together chatting because it's possible to have a positive attitude about the Games at this point every year. There's enough of an "at least it's not my child" attitude mixed with a healthy dose of "there's been no bloodshed yet" to let tonight's gathering in the square maintain a pleasant atmosphere.

I stay as close to the edge of the shops as I can. I prefer to avoid people seeing me, so I walk around in silent footsteps and stay in the shadows, garnering as little attention as possible. For the most part, it works. 

I pass by the front of the shoe store and hear a muffled giggle coming from between the buildings, followed by a whispered male voice that sounds familiar. I pass the open alleyway and lean against the front wall of the bakery so that my entire body is in shadow. I take a deep breath, gathering my nerve before looking down the dark corridor. I see a blond male and female, their arms tangled around each other, his taller, broader body pressing hers against the brick wall of the shoe store. Her hands are running through his hair.

I feel my cheeks burn. I know I shouldn't stand here staring at them, but I can't seem to look away. The girl is Delly, and I'm pretty sure the guy is Rye, but I can't be sure. It could be Peeta. The two of them look so similar from behind, and that's all I can see from here. Whoever it is, his hands are all over her. At one point, I watch as his hands slide from her hips up to her breasts. Why do you care which one it is? I ask myself when I see her arch into his touch. It's none of your business.

"Katniss?" a voice says from directly behind me.

I spin around, and my question about the couple gets answered then. Peeta's standing with his arms crossed over his chest about a foot away from me, giving me a funny look. I swallow hard and press my back against the brick wall, attempting to put a little distance between us. "Hey," I say weakly.

He looks amused, nodding his head towards the alleyway. "What're you doing?" 

He caught me watching them. 

"I'm on my way home," I scowl, straightening myself to my full height and looking him in the eye.

"Did you get lost? Because it looked an awful lot like you were spying on my brother and Delly."

"And why would I be doing that, Peeta?" This situation is humiliating. I hope I can bluff my way out of this one. "I heard some noises coming from down there; I wasn't sure what it was."

"You didn't?"

I tilt my chin up. "Nope."

He laughs then, a deep sound that comes from his belly and makes me squirm with embarrassment. "You had to examine them closely for the last three minutes? I was standing behind you the whole time."

I find my hands coming up then, catching Peeta by the shoulders and shoving him back. He's such a solid guy, the force doesn't move him, but he does step quickly backward to give me space. His eyes are apologetic when I catch a glimpse of them, even as he laughs under his breath. I start to walk away, but he quickly catches up to me. His tone is remorseful when he speaks. "Katniss, I'm sorry." I can't even look at him. I wish a hole would open up in the ground so I could disappear and get this nightmare of epic proportions over. I look straight ahead and pick up my pace. "Please- I'm sorry. Please talk to me."

So I stop. We're just past the storefronts and the crowd, and Peeta stops beside me and touches my shoulder. I shrug him off and wrap my arms around myself. "Don't laugh at me." I finally mutter.

"Katniss, look at me?" So I do. He looks remorseful. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Then why are you teasing me?" I challenge.

"I didn't mean to make you angry; I didn't. I didn't realize you were so…."

"So what, Peeta?" now he's got my full attention, and not in a good way. I don't think I like where this conversation is going. "What are you going to tell me I am?"

He lets out a breath. "You're so pure."

I snort, looking down at my feet. "You don't even know me."

"Not as much as I want to, no. But I'm sorry for teasing you. Okay? Can we just forget this happened?" I start walking again without answering, and he follows me silently. He doesn't press me for an answer, but he's not going anywhere either. I'm finding that Peeta is much more stubborn than I would've given him credit for. 

Ultimately, I decide to accept his apology. But I'll let him figure it out for himself. 

I don't want to talk about it anymore.

"Does it bother you?" I finally ask when we hit the outskirts of town. I stop and cross my arms again. I dig the toe of my boot in the dirt. I guess now is as good a time as any to ask him about Delly. I mean, he is the one who brought it up.

"Does what bother me?"

"Those two, back there."

"You mean my brother and Delly?" Peeta comes to a stop beside me. "Not at all."

His answer surprises me. "Really?"

He shrugs. "The idea of marrying her just didn't sit well with me, or with her for that matter. She's too much like my sister. I can't imagine uh, you know, doing what we just had the misfortune of witnessing her and Rye do together-" 

I can't help it; I laugh then. It bursts out of me, and I shake with the force of it; the release of the tension that'd built up over the last two days seems to leave my body with one sarcastic comment from his lips.

I catch his eye. He's grinning. "But aren't you upset about the bakery?" I finally ask once I've composed myself, "getting to raise pigs and walk around the woods with me every morning isn't much of a consolation prize." 

I'm startled by the way his face changes. His mouth gapes a little bit, and he opens and closes it several times. He's speechless, and I have no idea why. "You're right," he finally says after a few moments, "it's no consolation prize. It's actually way better."

I snort and start walking again. He follows me silently. Peeta's too polite for his own good. Together we follow the well-worn path towards my house. The sky is clear, and the temperature is perfect, and I'm struck with the urge to talk with him some more. Once we are out of town, I ask if he knows any of the constellations in the night sky. He tells me he's not very familiar with them, so I stop what we're doing and take a moment to point a few out, explaining them to him the way my father told me. He seems interested but uncharacteristically quiet. 

When we reach the edge of the Seam, I come to a complete stop. "You didn't have to walk me home. I could have taken care of myself," I say, though secretly I didn't mind.

He smiles the shy one that is probably my favorite. "I know you can, but I'll sleep better knowing you got home safe."

I stare at him for a minute, at the way the moonlight reflects off his long eyelashes. When he blinks, they brush his cheeks. There's something about Peeta that is so disarming I find myself blurting out the truth. "I enjoyed it, walking with you."

"Yeah?" he shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks down at his shoes, his smile wider.

"Yeah." I don't know what else to say now. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nods. "Bright and early." It's quiet again. "I'd better get going if we're going to beat the early birds tomorrow, right?"

I nod. "Right."

"Goodnight, Katniss."

"Goodnight, Peeta."

Chapter Text

My mother sits in the corner of the room, and her chair makes a soft, thunking noise every time the back of the rocker meets the floor. She can't bring herself to watch with us, not really, so she busies herself with patching socks and shirts, her delicate fingers leaving tiny rows of perfect stitches. She's very good at stitches.

Prim reaches over and grabs my hand, and I squeeze hers in silent support. 

The beginning of the Games is finally here, and the anticipation of watching the clock countdown to zero is horrible. I can barely breathe. I glance over at my sister and notice that her delicate, rose-tinted complexion has drained of color. She bites her lip, chewing on the skin. Maybe the pain is a way to ground herself.

I'm tired of watching children die. I'm sick of it. 

I want to close my eyes against it, but I can't. I feel as though, in some small way, if I watch them fall that it won't be over for them- that they'll still be real people, children, and not just a rapidly disappearing specter. One more person will remember them, and in that way, they will live. I feel like I owe them that, at least because they are there, and I am not. They are going to die while I continue to live.

The Cornucopia and the complete circle of tribute platforms surrounding it looks to be sitting on a mountaintop this year. It's flat and wide with nothing but dirt and stones, littered with bags of survival gear that the tributes will run and try to capture when the buzzer sounds. 

The camera panned wider than the position it's in now while the tribute's platforms rose out of the ground. The large-scale angle showed the sides of the mountain as steep and treacherous looking, covered in dense foliage and trees with no clear path downward. 

The buzzer sounds. Finally, it's time. 

Like a swarm of flies, the tributes leap off their platforms and run forward. Some only go far enough to capture items on the outskirts. Others continue on their mad run towards the Cornucopia and certain death. I let out a sigh of relief when I see our district boy John do just that. He may escape the initial bloodbath that way.

The first ones to arrive at the stockpile of weapons that sit waiting under cover of the Cornucopia are the boy from Four and the pair from One. They dive for the weapons. The duo from Two and the girl from Four arrive soon after them, exchanging rapid glances as they pass each other. They stand so close their shoulders brush. 

It's evident to all that the Careers have once again built an alliance.

The pair from One and the boy from Four begin the slaughter. 

It's just like every other year. Horrible. It's despicable how they chase the weaker children and begin mowing them down, one right after the other. The boy and girl from One especially seem to be taking a sick sense of enjoyment from it. I don't know which districts the unfortunate tributes are from, but the pair has soon disposed of five between them with knives and swords. 

Their other career counterparts soon join in the action. The boy from Two and the girl from Four begin chasing the weaker ones. The giant girl Kai shouts something and runs to the other side of the Cornucopia alone. In one free hand, she carries a long, vicious-looking knife, a typical weapon, but I'm surprised to see a bow and arrow slung across her body. It gives me a strange sense of connection to her, as if I can imagine myself in the arena instead of her. I can't help but wonder if I closed my own eyes whether or not I'd open them there instead of in my little Seam home.

"Oh no," Prim whispers. Linden is racing towards the Cornucopia while looking over her shoulder as if being pursued- she has no sense of the danger she's heading toward. She runs into Kai, and the force is enough to rock the smaller girl backward. Hard. I feel my stomach drop; I should have known better than to get my hopes up. John escaped as far as we knew, and that's one more tribute than we usually have left after the bloodbath. 

I'm utterly unprepared for what happens next.

Kai grabs her by the arm. Instead of using her knife to go for the death blow, she looks around before shoving Linden away. Kai points in the direction farthest from the killing. "Go! Now!" She shouts. 

Linden doesn't hesitate, taking off for the mountainside. 

Kai continues her march toward the back of the Cornucopia. When she reaches a certain point beside the fortress of steel, she stops to make sure no one is behind her. Her eyes dart back and forth quickly before she grasps the sides and begins to climb upward.

"What is she doing?" Prim leans so far forward in her seat that a stiff wind could knock her over. We watch as Kai reaches the top. She readies her bow and takes an arrow out of her pack. "Oh, Katniss, look! "Prim begins to say but stops abruptly. She is entirely at a loss for words as the girl first nocks and then releases the arrow into the back of her district teammate. 

I watch, horrified, as the teenager drops, toppling over onto the tiny boy he'd held fast in a chokehold. Kai reloads and hits first the boy from One and then the girl from Four fast as lightning. They drop quickly, one with an arrow through the heart, another through the jugular vein.

There are only two other careers left besides Kai at this point. Once they realize what is happening, the girl from One and the boy from Four take off while the chaos unfolds around them, escaping over the mountainside with nothing but the weapons they carry between them. Once they are gone, Kai leaps off the side of the Cornucopia and lands with an audible thud. 

"How much do you think Kai weighs?" I ask nonsensically- as if the question matters. I think I'm in shock. I look over at Prim. 

She blinks, squinting her eyes as she seriously considers my question. 

I turn my head back to the screen. 

Kai strides over to her district partner and pulls his body off the young boy he'd been in the middle of choking, tossing him aside effortlessly. The small boy is still breathing, although it appears to be very shallow. Kai bends over and studies him closely.

"At least 250 pounds, easily. The girl is-" Prim finally answers in a whisper, a distinct twinge of awe in her voice. I don't acknowledge her, and I don't know that my sister expects me to.  We watch the screen, riveted as Kai reaches behind her back, sliding the bow in among her remaining arrows.

The field of tributes has been decimated. There are at least twelve dead, pair after pair of sightless eyes staring up at the sky, pools of blood surrounding some while others must have succumbed to internal injuries. Several of the smaller children had their necks snapped. I don't know if that is a more or less humane way to go.

I can hear the drone of the hovercrafts approaching as Kai scoops the small boy up in her arms, her black hair whipping around her face from the draft of the incoming aircraft. They are coming to retrieve the bodies, and she looks around one last time before hoisting the boy across her shoulder and heading for the opposite end of the mountainside from her Career counterparts.

The camera switches from the arena to Cesar Flickerman, signaling the end of the day's coverage. Prim gets up to turn the volume down. "What do you think?" she asks.

Mother shakes her head. Don't speak of it here, she says with her eyes.

I ignore her. I'm sure all of Panem is talking about what just went on. After all, what is the Capitol going to do to all of us?

"I'd say she's in trouble," I reply.

"Peeta?"

"Hmm?" He looks up at me. We're in the process of scraping fungus from the undersides of fallen, rotting tree trunks inside the cover of the forest. He has a bag full of last year's acorns strapped across his chest as well. They're a nice find we stumbled across earlier this morning, one that didn't require a lot of effort to collect. 

"Can I ask you something?"

He sets his knife to the side and gives me his full attention. "Of course, what is it?" I've been helping him since we arrived. I haven't even attempted to hunt this morning, feeling hesitant to do so and even more reluctant to leave Peeta unprotected today. 

At least he's no longer complaining about my help- he seems to have finally gotten that idea through his thick head.

"What did you make of the Games last night?" 

He looks back down at what he's doing, his face screwed up in concentration. "I was glad to see our kids make it out," he says noncommittally.

"Oh, me too, of course," I look down at my hands. "What did you think of the girl from Two, though?" I ask. I wonder if Kai's behavior meant as much to other people as it did to me, or if it's just this strange connection I have to the girl because of her proficiency with the bow.

"She's impressive."

"I know. Did you see Kai shoot?"

Peeta laughs. "Yes, but I don't mean because of that. Of course, her archery skills are the thing you would notice." He looks at me out of the corner of his eye as he picks the knife back up to resume his scraping. "I can easily picture you doing the same thing."

A shiver wracks my body at the thought. "No, I don't think so. I couldn't kill another person."

"I think inside the arena, it's unavoidable unless you are very good at hiding. That might work for a while, at least." Peeta collects what he has gathered so far and stuffs it into his bag. "I was referring to the fact that she put a gigantic target on her back and didn't seem fazed by it."

"You're right. How could she do that? And then the way she carted that little boy off with her. I wonder what she did with him? It didn't seem like she was going to hurt him."

Peeta scratches his head. I notice he has a small piece of moss stuck in his blond waves. If he were closer, I'd pull it out. "No, I don't think so either." He's quiet for a minute, and I almost think he's dropped the subject until he speaks again. "I admire her."

I catch his eye. "You do?"

"It's brave to play the game by your own rules, to show the Capitol that you are going to be yourself and not follow the expected route, you know?" Peeta laughs a little then. "I feel like I'm rambling. Look at how high and mighty I am all of a sudden. If I were there, I'd probably run off screaming the minute the buzzer went off."

"I don't think so. You'd do pretty well. You're strong, and I know you wrestled in school. Second only to your brother, right?" I say.

He looks astonished that I know those things about him. "Were you at any of my meets?" he finally asks.

I shrug, "Madge drug me to the finals two years ago."

Peeta chuckles wryly. "So what you're saying is you watched me lose to Rye. Hmm, good thing I got a taste of what it's like early, huh?" I whip my head around, narrowing my eyes at him. He puts his hands up in mock surrender, his eyes wide and guileless. "Joking. I'm just joking."

I don't like this line of conversation, so I change the subject. "You know that Kai must've been part of an alliance with the other Careers. That wasn't real." 

"Yeah, I'd say you're right."

"Do you think the other two Careers are together now?" I ask.

"Probably." Peeta stands up. "I'm sure they realize it's their only chance to take her out."

While he's placing the fungus I handed to him inside his bag, I reach up and pull the greenery out of his hair. When my fingertips touch his hair, I'm surprised by how soft but thick the strands feel. I find myself lingering there much longer than necessary.

By the time I realize what I'm doing, there's a distinct heat climbing my neck. I let my hand drop when Peeta looks down at me, aware that the two of us are so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. "Sorry, this was stuck in your hair," I whisper, holding up the piece of moss. 

"That's alright," his answering voice is soft. We stare at each other silently. I'm still holding my breath when Peeta clears his throat and steps back. He turns his head to the side. He won't look at me. 

Oh, I realize I've made him uncomfortable. My heart sinks a little at the thought. I need to stop doing things like that. I should probably apologize. "Peeta, I'm-"

"So, ah, are you sure you don't want to try to get any hunting in?" He asks, not letting me complete the sentence.

I'm relieved. "No, I don't think so. I just don't seem to have the heart for it today," 

Peeta steps closer again and lays his hand on my shoulder, his touch gentle but firm. Reassuring. "I think last night was enough bloodshed for all of us."

He smiles at me, and I realize that he must not have minded my fingers in his hair too much.

I lead us out of the trees and back towards the spot where he left his wheelbarrow. "If you're not busy, would you mind going somewhere with me when once we get done here?" Peeta asks once we stop beside it, allowing him to pour the contents of his bag out.

"I'm not in any hurry to get back home today," I say. "Where are we going?" 

He picks up the handles and pushes it towards the guard gate, "I wondered if you would mind taking me to the Hob."

"The Hob?" I stop and watch the back of him as he walks away. The idea of Peeta at the Hob is strange to me, like my two worlds converging.

"I need to start getting materials to fix up the house, and the prices are better than what they are in town," he says once I catch up with him. "At least that's what I've heard- I've never been there myself."

"Well, a lot of the stuff you find at the Hob is used- so you can get some better prices. You just have to make sure it's worth what they want for it. And you have to learn to barter. You can't just take the first price you're offered. There are a few like that, but most people want to haggle. It's a game."

Peeta grins at me. "That's why I need you, Katniss; I'd be robbed blind. They'd see my fair head," I snort at his self-describer, and his smile widens, "coming around the corner and instantly triple their prices." We've now reached the gate. 

Before I get a chance at rebuttal, his voice drops off suddenly. The three Capitolites I'd run into at Mr. Undersee's home the other night wait with the Peacekeepers. It appears as though they've been expecting us to arrive. A sense of dread fills my stomach. What could they possibly want from Peeta or me?

The man steps forward. "Ah, Mr. Mellark, there you are. We were beginning to wonder if we'd need to come out looking for you. It appears that you've taken in a good haul today, thanks to the generosity of the Capitol, of course."

My face burns in anger- generosity, my ass.

"Yes, I had a good day today." Peeta looks calm, collected. He's so much better at putting on a good face than I am- if I didn't trust him, his ability to turn it off and would be frightening.

The man curls his thin lips over his teeth- a reptilian smile. "Wonderful, wonderful. I just need one thing. Do you have your permit handy?" 

Peeta reaches into his front pocket as if it's the most ordinary, non-threatening conversation he had all day. He takes his time, unfolding it slowly. "Of course I do."

I feel myself begin to sweat.

"Thank you." The Capitol snake takes it from his hand and examines it closely. He takes much longer than necessary to do so, and meanwhile, I'm itching to take off and run. Peeta must sense my discomfort because he grasps my hand, weaving his fingers with mine. 

His touch helps. I feel my heart slow back down immediately.

"And who is this young lady?" The man asks, looking over the top edge of the paper at me. He looks down at our joined fingers and smirks knowingly.

"This is Katniss Everdeen. She's my-"

"I'm his girlfriend." I blurt out. I try very hard not to cringe in the silence that follows. I don't know why I said it exactly, other than a story about the two of us courting seems like a more Capitol-appropriate answer than telling the man that Peeta is my new hunting partner.

"Well, just make sure there's no funny business going on out there. Don't abuse the privilege we've given you; it can just as easily be taken away and given to another." He hands it to Peeta once again.

Peeta releases my hand to fold the permit and put it back in his shirt pocket.

Once he picks the wheelbarrow back up, I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His cheeks are flushed pink, and his mouth turns up in a little smirk. He doesn't seem to be upset with me. If anything, what I'm looking at is amusement, which disappears entirely with the next statement out of the Capitol man's mouth.

"Just a moment, Mr. Mellark. Guard?"

The peacekeeper on duty, not Darius but another young man I don't recognize, steps up. "Yes, Mr. Garrick?"

At least we have a name to assign to the man.

He motions towards Peeta and me. "Move those things around with the butt of your gun; I'd like to examine the contents of the wheelbarrow. I need to be sure there is nothing illegal in it." He smirks at me. "I need to see Ms. Everdeen's bag, also."

My stomach bottoms out until I remember that my bag is blissfully, wonderfully empty today. 

I've never been so relieved, but it doesn't stop my hand from shaking a bit as I hand it over, all the while avoiding those soulless eyes.

"I hope I didn't do anything wrong back there," I say to Peeta once we're back inside the district and out of the guard tower's sight.

"What do you mean?"

"Ah, you know, telling those people we're dating," I mumble, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry." 

"Oh, that's alright, I didn't mind." he looks over at me and winks. "I was holding your hand, so I think he surmised that's what was going on anyway. By the way, you can feel free to hold my hand anytime you like."

I groan and put my face in my own hands. Why does Peeta tease me so much?

Peeta stops. He sets the wheelbarrow down and turns to face me. "Katniss? Seriously, it's fine. I grabbed your hand because you were upset. You looked like you were ready to crawl out of your skin because of that ass, so I did what I could. And it was okay with you, wasn't it?" 

I nod. I enjoyed it, but I'm certainly not going to tell Peeta that. Thinking about his warm fingers wrapped around mine makes my head buzz.

"Telling those people we were together was a good cover story for your hunting. I'm not upset about it."

"I know, just...thank you." I let out the breath I was holding in, the reality of what we just escaped from sinking in finally. 

He examines my face closely. "So we're good?"

"We're good." My brain wanders down a different path, and I shudder at the thought of the close call we just experienced. "You know, that could have been bad for me back there. It would have meant a whipping if I'd had any game with me. Probably a whipping for both of us."

Peeta stuffs his hands in his pockets. He was clenching and unclenching them a moment ago. I'd think he was developing blisters if I hadn't already noticed the callouses covering his hands from his work at the bakery. "It wouldn't have been pretty. You're going to have to think of something else to do with your catches for a while, aren't you?"

I nod. It goes without saying.

"You know what will make you feel better about this whole day?" Peeta finally says, snapping his fingers.

I huff- this ought to be good. "No, what is going to make me feel better?"

"Ms. Everdeen-" he begins.

"Stop it."

"I brought some leftover cookies to the house that I'm willing to share. Something sweet and a visit with Sir-Oinks-A Lot is just the thing you need. You'll be right as rain."

I burst out laughing. Peeta picks up the wheelbarrow's handles again and begins pushing it towards his house, refusing to wait on me. "Those names are ridiculous, by the way," I tell him, catching up.

"I thought they were dignified."

I scowl at him, but he grins. His smile is disarming, so I go ahead and drop the irritated look. He knows me too well already. "But that was nice of you to let Prim pick them out anyway, so thank you."

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. His house is just up ahead of us. "It's like I always say, anything for you Everdeen girls."

Petunia nuzzles my hand, sniffing for cookie crumbs, while Charlotte and Wilbur sniff the soles of my boots. Hamlet, Truffles, and Sir-Oinks-A-Lot are hanging out on the straw pile. When Peeta approaches with their food, they quickly leave me and head straight for the trough.

"I hope you're not getting too attached to them," I remark as the piglet's bottoms wiggle in delight while they inhale their breakfast.

"I am, but I'm not too concerned. I'm not the one who's going to have to butcher the pigs," Peeta leans over the fence and scratches the back of their necks, going down the line and not leaving anybody out.

"How long until then?"

"Well, they're full-grown at six months, and they're almost three months now, so they'll probably go to market at the beginning of fall." He says, straightening up. "I wasn't sure if I would like having them, but I do. I don't like cleaning out their pen…."

"Obviously." I snort.

"But it's the only part I dislike. The piglets make good company. Especially, Petunia, she's almost like a dog." At the sound of her name, the piglet looks up and oinks at Peeta. Of course, he'd charm one of the girl pigs.

She's probably putty in his hands.

"And I'll be glad to get the house fixed up so I can move in. It'll be nice to have my own space."

"I can imagine." I don't know how he stays above the bakery with his family, especially his mother. 

Peeta looks over at me, squinting against the sun at my back. "How about you? Do you have any plans to move out?"

I shake my head. "Not me. I'll probably be with my mother after Prim leaves. I'm not going anywhere. Umm, Prim wants to get married one day, but I don't."

Peeta looks down at Petunia and scratches behind her ears. "Not ever?" he says softly. There's no trace of judgment, just curiosity.

I shake my head. "I don't want to bring more children into this world to starve or be reaped. It's hard enough to take care of my sister and my mother. And marriage does equal babies." I glance over at him, and his cheeks are pink. I wonder if he got too much sun again today. "How about you?" I ask, "Do you want to get married?"

Peeta shrugs, looking down at the piglets. "Yeah, I always thought so. I'd like to have a family; I'd like to have children and raise them differently than my mother and father did."

I study his profile, taking in his kind smile and the friendly gaze in his blue eyes. His gentle personality reminds me of my father. "I think you'd be great at it," I tell him.

He glances over at me. "Yeah?"

"Definitely." I straighten up, changing the subject. This topic makes me feel a little off-put, but I don't know why. "Those cookies were good, but I want something more substantial. Are you ready to go to the Hob?"

Peeta looks puzzled but steps away from the pen. "They sell food at the Hob?"

"Yep, the best mystery stew in the district. Come on then," I say, waving him towards me, "It's time I introduced you to Greasy Sae."

"Don't ya have anything for me today?" Sae asks as we approach the counter. 

Peeta stands slightly behind me. He's gotten lots of sideways glances since we arrived. There aren't many merchants who show their faces in the Hob. The ones who do only come for the white liquor Ripper sells.

I shake my head. "Didn't catch anything."

Sae nods at the available stools. As we climb up, she asks, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your young man?"

Peeta reaches across the counter and sticks his hand out. "Peeta Mellark, ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet you, but I don't think you could call me Katniss's young man." He laughs at himself a little.

I scowl at Sae. "We're friends. I'm helping him."

She pats my hand and winks at Peeta before turning to dish up two bowls of stew for us from her pot over the fire. 

"Can't believe you didn't catch anything today. Your pickings have been good lately," Sae comments as she watches us eat. The counter is quiet for now, although others should be showing up soon. It's about time for the midday meal.

"It's a good thing she didn't," Peeta says quietly after swallowing a bite. "This is delicious, by the way."

"Thank you, "Not Katniss's Young Man," you have excellent manners for a Merchant boy."

Peeta grins shyly.

I'd like to smack her.

"Run into some trouble, did ya?" Sae lowers her voice, the teasing tone gone.

I sigh. I hadn't planned on discussing the details of what happened this morning, but I'm sure the gossip will make the rounds whether I'm the one telling the story or not. I might as well start with the truth. "One of those people from the Capitol were waiting at the gate when we came out of the woods. He dug through Peeta's wheelbarrow and asked to see my bag."

"I don't know if ask is the word I'd use to describe it," Peeta shakes his head. "That's being a bit generous."

"Either way, I was in the clear. I didn't have anything."

Sae shakes her head. "I bet your heart was ready to beat right out of your chest. Hmm," she pauses to wipe off the counter. "Kinda puts me to thinkin' there might be something behind this rebellion talk. Heard those three from the Capitol have been making a ruckus all over the place today."

"Rebellion?" Peeta pipes in, much too loudly, I might add. 

I glare at him. "Keep your voice down!" I whisper harshly. "Even in the Hob, you need to be careful about what you say. You don't know who could be listening."

Peeta shoves another bite of stew into his mouth. I wait for him to speak, but he remains silent, staring at me as he chews and swallows. Point taken. "You are allowed to talk," I say.

"Thanks for your permission," Peeta quips, his voice amused as he shoves his bowl away. "It's good to know my place."

Sae cackles with laughter as she takes our dirty dishes to wash. "You can bring this one back anytime you please, Katniss. He's a keeper."

I roll my eyes. "I think I'm stuck with Peeta either way."

Chapter Text

"I'm only picking up a hammer and nails for now," Peeta says as we leave Sae's counter to look for the things he needs, "so it shouldn't take very long." He seems embarrassed by the fact that he doesn't have many coins to spend. 

Does he think I'm going to judge him? I would think he'd know me better by now. "I'll take a look around my house tonight and see if there's anything you can borrow. You might not have to spend as much that way." I say, nudging him in the direction of the booth where I saw some nails for sale yesterday. Unfortunately, we don't make it quite that far. 

We're stopped by a Merchant boy I recognize as a member of the wrestling team- Job Ayers. I can't say I'm surprised to see him here. The Ayers family has a reputation around town, and it isn't for their sobriety. They're some of Ripper's best customers, second only to Haymitch Abernathy from what she says. 

I'm not exactly thrilled by his arrival, but I decide to indulge Peeta for a few minutes while he makes small talk. While it's something I despise, I'd swear Peeta could lure a rock into holding a conversation with him. Unintentionally, my eyes drift over to Job's face and settle there. I make my assessment and decide that it's not an unfair comparison.

The subject of their conversation comes around to work after a minute. Peeta fills him on his venture with the piglets, and Job says that he's been doing a few odd jobs. One of them is helping the butcher in the mornings. "So when I left Rooba's place the other day, I happened to see those Capitol bastards standing around the middle of the square." Job crosses his arms over his chest, looking inordinately proud of that tidbit of information. He's behaving just as I suspected he would, loud and blustering and seeking attention, and I can't help but roll my eyes. 

I can't remember the last time I was in the company of such an idiot. 

I need to talk to Peeta about his taste in friends.

Peeta glances over at me with his eyebrow cocked in question- he's asking if I want to share the details of our run-in with Garrick at the gate this morning. I'm reasonably sure he's only teasing me because his mouth has the slightest hint of a smirk at the corners. 

Either way, I shake my head almost imperceptibly. I'm certain the news of our morning will get around the district soon enough, but for now, I don't feel like rehashing the details with some random Merchant boy. 

Peeta winks at me, and in retaliation, I shoot him one of my scowls.

"They had their assistants, or whatever it is they're, walking off some measurements." Job continues while random men and women stop to listen, eager for gossip. "Looks like they're getting ready to build something." 

And just like it always does when this topic of conversation comes up, rumblings of dissent begin. And then people who were simply eavesdropping on the conversation start adding their own two cents to the mix. 

I'm steadily growing more uncomfortable. I don't know why Peeta is still standing here talking to this blowhard. Don't the two of us have enough of a red flag on our backs after this morning? Hanging out in the middle of a group of Capitol dissenters will not help either of us stay out of trouble.

"I bet they're putting up stockades."

"I heard Snow sent those three here, handpicked them just to keep a closer eye on us."

"No, Snow's dead."

"Not dead, dying."

"Heard the Headpeackeeper's on his way out. He's getting replaced by some big-shot from Two."

Our old, drunken idiot of a head peacekeeper died on the job last year, simply dropped dead out of the blue one day. There'd been no funeral for him. He wasn't from here originally, so instead, the higher-ups choose to load his body onto a train car and ship him off to his home district. The location of his burial didn't matter around here; most people would have just as soon spit in Cray's face as look at him. He'd been a despicable man with one redeeming quality- laziness. Under Cray, a person could get away with many illegal things so long as you had the occasional bribe to grease his palm.

After Cray died, the vacancy was filled by the deputy directly beneath him, a man named Thomason. I'd say he's equally lazy, but at least he's not in the habit of luring Seam girls to his home for a coin or two. 

Things didn't change much around Twelve once Thomason took over. The Peacekeepers remained relatively lax about the laws, unless Capitol visitors were hanging around, and they only showed up once or twice a year for the Games or the Victory Tour.

As laughable as it sounds, it's easier for us in Twelve to get primarily ignored on the opposite side of the country. Thought of as small and pitiful and not worthy of much attention until recently. 

"Been seeing them around the mines lately. Word is they're trying to up production without hiring anyone else. Talk of taking away our Sundays."

"But those people already work twelve hours a day, six days a week! When are they supposed to see their families? My boys work themselves to death for nothing as it is!"

"Folks are angry everywhere. Not just Seam folks, Merchants too! We're all getting screwed over." Job breaks in excitedly. He seems thrilled at the idea of a looming war. 

Stupid boy.

I need to get out of here. "Peeta?" My whole body is beginning to feel like a too-small wool sweater at this point. Itchy. Hot. Supremely uncomfortable. "Are you ready to get your things? I need to be home soon." 

Peeta takes a step back away from the group. We walk away from the growing crowd of Capitol dissenters. I don't think they'll miss us. The voices are steadily getting louder, their words angrier.

Meanwhile, I can barely breathe. A panic I don't understand holds me in a tight grip, and I don't speak as we walk away. Fortunately, we soon find what Peeta was looking for at an affordable price. It's a good thing because I'm too distracted to do much bartering today.

As we walk away from the Hob, the glare of the noon sun beating down on our heads, Peeta sighs. "I didn't get as many nails as I would've liked. I guess I'll just have to see how far I can get with these until I find some more. They want a fortune for them at the general store."

"I'll look for some once I get to my house," I reply to him distractedly, fiddling with the strap of my game bag. Its weightlessness reminds me of our run-in from this morning all over again. The thought makes my stomach clench even more. My throat feels very tight, and when I look over at Peeta, I can tell he picked up on my mental strain. 

"You look a little shook up," he says, "after the way this day has gone, I kind of feel like going home and hiding."

I stop and rub my temples with the tips of my fingers. I can't seem to make my heart stop racing. "Seriously, are you alright?" He steps closer and puts his hand on my shoulder, and I lean in instinctively. If I were in a better frame of mind, I'd probably question this comfortable familiarity. For now, I'm just thankful he's there.

"I'm not sure," I mumble. I have the sudden urge to take a step forward and lay my head on Peeta's chest. I want to listen to his heartbeat, to know if it's racing like mine or if it's calm, steady like the way he always seems to be.

"Think there's any truth to what they were saying?" His thumb draws circles on my shoulder blade. The motion is soothing.

I shake my head. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it."

Peeta seems to hesitate, but it's only a minute before he's pulling me into his arms. I don't usually like anyone else but Prim touching me, I think as I wrap my arms around his back and across his shoulders. His chin comes to rest on the crown of my head. 

It's quiet for a moment. "I don't care if he's your friend or not; I'm not talking to that guy again," I finally tell him, breaking the silence. "He's an idiot." 

Peeta laughs softly, and I can feel the vibration of it rumbling through his chest. "He's not my friend; I'm sorry about that. I forgot how stupid he is."

That makes me smile.

"I'll hide if I see him again, I promise." 

Still, I don't say anything; I don't want to break the spell I'm under. Being in Peeta's arms feels so good that I don't ever want to let go. So instead of speaking, I turn my head and press my ear against his chest. I listen, just as I'd wanted to. Tha-thump, tha-thump. Steady and strong. The pressure that's been gripping my chest like a vise seems to dissipate some as he holds me. I press my cheek against his shirt and let the cool cotton brush my skin. The feeling of comfort causes my eyes to slip closed, and when I inhale, the image of a soot-dusted wall flashes behind my eyes. 

That's strange. 

I pull my head back, unsure why my half-memory of that day in the mines is choosing this moment to come tripping up out of my subconscious. I'm also suddenly aware of just how long we've been standing in each other's arms. Someone could walk by any minute. The last thing I want is more scrutiny, so I step away, reluctantly letting go. Once we're separated, I can't look at him. My body is too warm, my blood is thrumming too swiftly through my veins, but in a completely different way than it was a few minutes ago. I don't know what to do with myself. 

Finally, Peeta speaks up. "So, will I see you in the morning?" 

When I look at his face, his cheeks are pink, and he won't meet my eyes. I don't like the fact that they are downcast, as if he's having doubts about his actions. That won't do. I feel hot and flustered, but it's not unpleasant. I'd hate for Peeta to second guess himself. I want him to know that what he did was right, that I trust him. So I touch his arm. 

Peeta finally looks up at me. 

"Thank you," I tell him. "I needed that."

He grins, and the easy confidence I'm used to seeing returns to his face.

"So tomorrow, then?" I ask, ready to take a step backward and turn to head towards the Seam.

He gives me one last smile, the shy one I've grown so fond of receiving from him. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"So, what's your opinion on Kai? She's the talk of Panem today." Claudius Templesmith leans forward in his chair, picking up his sheaf of papers and tapping them on the corner of the desk. "That girl has, dare I say it, a ferocious tenacity I haven't witnessed since the glory days of Finnick Odair." He flashes a neon white, puffy-lipped smile at his co-host. "Don't you agree, Cesar?"

"Oh, absolutely, Claudius." Cesar Flickerman, the face of the Hunger Games broadcasts for at least as long as the last thirty years, according to my mother, nods in agreement. "She is just fantastic, isn't she? I was impressed by how she threw caution to the wind, breaking the Career alliance and going for a quick shot at glory. Kai is a highly tuned machine, and she certainly isn't afraid to show it to all of Panem. That young lady isn't here to make friends, folks, that's for sure."

"But what did you think of her-"I take a quick step and turn the television off.

"Hey, I was watching that!" Prim protests. 

"Don't you get enough of that garbage from the mandatory viewing?" I stride across the room and toss my empty game bag on the table. I probably should have asked her before turning it off, I usually would, but after the morning I've had, I can't listen to it anymore. 

The morose feelings from this morning had steadily crept back in on me during my solo walk home after leaving Peeta outside the Hob, and while I don't feel panicked anymore, I'm still in a negative frame of mind. I just don't see any reason not to be.

"They aren't showing any live footage right now, Katniss. I'm just curious about how John and Linden are holding up. They're both still alive!" Prim says, her voice too excited. Too hopeful. 

I walk to the sink and pour myself a glass of water from the covered jug we keep there. It would be nice to have a pump inside the house, but that's a luxury only people who live in town have. At least we have our own. Families living in the newest section of the Seam have to share a pump every two or three houses. Their water comes out with a distinct grey tinge, so they get to drink the coal dust too. 

"I wouldn't get my hopes up, you know," I say after draining the cup and setting it back on the counter. "They probably won't be alive much longer."

Prim sighs and crosses her arms over her chest.

I stare at her pointedly. "Tell me I'm wrong, Prim." 

She won't look at me.

I snap. I'm not sure where my anger comes from- I don't know if it's the pressure of the day and my up and down emotions. I don't know if it's because the only thing I've heard talked about today is a possible rebellion or the Games. The words pop out of my mouth, reminding me of the cork in a bottle of white liquor shooting out after it's sat out in the sun for too long. "They're alive right now, but what do you think is going to happen, Prim? Hmm? Do you think a couple of scraggly little Seam kids can win?" She looks wounded, but I can't stop. "They can't win! We never win. No matter what we do!" I growl. 

My sister gapes openly at me. 

Stupidly, ridiculously, tears prick the corners of my eyes. I swipe at them with the back of my hand as I stalk to the bedroom, slamming the door closed behind me, the force so strong the windows rattle. 

Once I'm alone, I slump to the floor and bury my face in my hands. I cry then, gut-wrenching sobs that come upon me so rapidly I feel as though my chest is going to explode from the force of my emotions. 

I don't know what's wrong with me. I've never let go like this, not even after my father died. 

I haven't felt this sense of panic that's rising through me, like death and destruction are coming to take away everyone else that I love, since that day that I slumped against the apple tree in the Mellark's backyard. 

The noticeably different thing between that day and this one was was my inability to cry back then. That day that Peeta threw me the bread, I didn't even have the energy left for tears. 

Today I seem to have enough for both. 

After wallowing in my misery long enough that I'm feeling like a dried-up carcass instead of a person, I get up off the floor. My limbs seem to weigh a thousand pounds each, but still, I drag myself to the bed and lay down. I close my eyes, and right before I drift into unconsciousness, I hear the television turned back on. At this point, I'm too tired to care.

I simply roll onto my side and face the wall.

I can tell by looking at the ground beneath my feet I'm in the Meadow. The field is currently a carpet of dandelions and green, green grass, and there's a cool breeze on my skin. It's springtime here, not the current blazing heat of the summer months. 

I look up and see my father waiting for me. He stands by the treeline, just inside the fence. "Katniss," he calls. I take off running at the sound of his voice- beautiful, melodic-sounding even when he speaks. My feet pound across the ground until I reach him, and when I get there, I spring into his arms. He catches me, swinging me around in a circle even though I am fully grown, and my father isn't a big man. 

I'm overwhelmed by the sight of him, the feel of him holding me in his arms again, and I'm soon choking back sobs.

"It's alright, Katniss." I look up into his face. I see the lines around his eyes, the warmth of his smile. I've missed him so much. "It's going to be alright."

My eyes fly open. I sit up and rub at the corners, still dazed from my dream. 

I was sleeping so soundly it takes me a moment to remember what day it is. I must have been out for a long time. The low light streaming in through the window tells me it's getting close to dinner time, so I get up and make my way to the door. 

I find a note from my mother and sister out in the living area to let me know they are at the Hawthorne's. Posy is sick, but they should be home for supper if I wouldn't mind getting the meal together. 

I sit down at the table and prop my elbows there. I put my head in my hands and wonder if Prim told Mother about how I blew up at her earlier. I feel awful for taking out my frustrations on Prim, I want to apologize, but I don't know how to explain myself. 

I don't want her to know about the encroaching threat of danger or the risk of being watched by the Capitol that now hangs from my consciousness. I don't want to tell her about the talk of rebellion, the one that now seems to be a constant drone of conversation back at the Hob. I don't want to tell her my concern that I've put a target on Peeta's back. I don't want to explain to her that I feel as though I can't protect her anymore.

I straighten up and untie my braid, threading my fingers through my hair and fanning it out around my shoulders. I must have tossed and turned quite a bit in my sleep because half of it was out of the braid anyway, and my head is throbbing from crying myself ragged. I decide to leave it down for once.

My mother and Prim return as I'm setting the pan with the roasted rabbit and some of Prim's early carrots from her garden on the table. "Did you have a good nap?" Prim asks, walking past without looking me in the eye. 

She's angry. Not that I blame her.

I'm still not feeling ready to explain myself, so I simply nod curtly before turning to the kitchen shelf and pulling down our dinner plates. We have exactly six. I grab a few of the cloth napkins and three forks from the basket. We only own four of those, but we have nine spoons lying beside them for some reason. It's funny to have so many more spoons because we hardly use them. Maybe that's why they're all still there.

We sit down to eat after mother fills up our water cups, and I've just put the first bite in my mouth when she asks a question. "Are you seeing Peeta Mellark?"

I have to catch myself before I spit out my food. Instead, I look down at my plate, chewing carefully and swallowing before I answer. I glance at Prim out of the corner of my eye. She's holding her fork in midair in anticipation of my answer and seems to have forgotten, at least temporarily, that she's angry with me. "Katniss? Why didn't you tell me something changed?"

"Nothing's changed! There's nothing to tell!" I whisper loudly. Why am I whispering? It's not like Mother can't hear us, sitting directly across the table the way she is, staring at me.

"You'd better not be holding out on me!" Prim hisses.

"Katniss?" Mother questions. "You didn't answer me.".

I glare at her. I don't know why Mother thinks she has the right to ask me anything at this point in my life. I've been the second parent in this house since I was eleven. "Why are you asking me about Peeta?"

Prim huffs.

I look over at her, and she's staring at her hands. I wonder why she won't look at me.

"We heard some things at Hazelle's," my sister admits.

I groan, tossing my fork on the table. Whatever this is, it can't be good. "What did you hear exactly?" I ask.

She hesitates.

"Primrose?"

Prim sighs. "Vick told us he saw the two of you...now what was the way he worded it?" she snaps her fingers when it comes to her. "Oh yeah, he said that he saw you two" wrapped up pretty tight around each other" behind the Hob this afternoon." 

My stomach drops. If the Hawthorne's know about that ill-timed, albeit innocent hug, then half the district will know by tomorrow. 

Prim continues. "I told him to mind his own business and that if you and Peeta were courting, I was happy for you. I told Vick that Peeta would make a great brother-in-law. That shut him up."

"Prim!" This story just gets worse and worse.

"Well, he would!" she says calmly, picking up her fork and taking another bite. "I like Peeta, and I think he'd be great for you. He already is good for you as your friend." She eyes me carefully. "I know that you're not doing anything romantic with him because surely you would tell me first, and I wouldn't have to find out through the rumor mill."

I'm staring at my sister, my mouth agape, when I hear a noise from Mother that sounds suspiciously like a snort. I turn my head to see that she is looking down at her plate and trying not to laugh.

"I'm not seeing him!" I insist. 

Mother just smirks at her serving of rabbit and carrots.

"Then why were you "wrapped up tight" this afternoon?" Prim needles.

I turn again to glare at her. I'm not explaining this to either of them- they can both kiss the soles of my boots. I have one for each of them.

Prim sighs. "Unfortunately for your sake, I believe you. If you were doing fun stuff with Peeta today, I don't think you'd have come home in such a bad mood."

My irritation drops at her words, remembering the way I took my fears out on her this afternoon. "I'm sorry," I say, relieved to get it off my chest. "I am."

She shrugs and takes another bite. "I know you are. It's alright, you know. I forgive you."

We eat silently for a few more minutes.

"So you're not dating-" Mother begins to ask again.

"No, we're just friends." I interrupt before she gets any further. "That's all it is."

"Because you know how easy it is to get pregnant, right, Katniss? It only takes one time, and then there could be a baby."

"Mother!" I look at Prim, who stands and picks up her plate. My face is on fire from her words. Why is she insisting on doing this to me? 

"Don't look at me like that, Mother's right. You might want to consider starting it, Katniss; it takes a while for the herbs to become fully effective."

"What is wrong with you two?" I stand as well, tossing my napkin on the table. "I'm not seeing him, I'm not kissing him, and I'm certainly not having…" my voice drops, "sex with him."

"I know you aren't right now, dear. You just never can be too careful. Don't you remember what I do for a living? I see the results of not being prepared every day." Mother says calmly. "All I'm saying is that if you're comfortable enough to be embracing him that way, you need to be careful because that kind of touching can easily lead to other things."

I groan. With all the other things I need to worry about right now- hunting, Garrick, talk of rebellion everywhere, and keeping the people I care about out of harm's way, why are they insisting on running something so unnecessary into the ground? There is zero chance of any of this happening.

"You're both young and healthy, and it's perfectly normal-" Mother is starting again when we are interrupted by a knock on the door. Before she gets a chance to embarrass me any further, I rush to open it, thankful for the distraction. 

But then I'm not because it's Peeta standing in my doorway. He smiles when he registers that it's me.

My face is flaming, and I suddenly want to drop through the floor with the words touching and kissing and sex floating through my head while I watch his blue eyes drift across my loose hair. "Hey, Peet..a," I stutter, immediately wanting to smack my forehead for the slip-up. 

I hear Prim laugh softly behind me. 

I'm going to kill her.

I swallow, trying to regain my composure. "Did you need something?" I ask, leaning against the doorway.

Peeta opens his mouth to speak, but before he gets a chance to say anything, Mother butts in. "Katniss, isn't it rude to keep your guest waiting on the front step?"

Prim snickers.

There's no way I'm bringing him inside the house right now, so I step onto the porch and shut the door behind me. "Do you want to go for a walk?" I ask.

"Yeah, sure. I don't mean to keep you from anything…." Peeta rubs the back of his neck anxiously. He must be picking up on the strange vibe inside my house. "Do you need to let them know?" 

"No, they'll figure it out." I'm not concerned about those two at the moment, and besides, I know Peeta won't be able to stay long anyway because mandatory coverage of the Games begins in a little over an hour, and it's a good twenty-minute journey to the Seam from town. "Let's go this way then." I lead him in the direction of the meadow

"You look pretty with your hair down," Peeta says quietly, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye before looking forward again.

My cheeks burn, and my hands automatically go to the loose strands. I run my fingers through them for something to do. "Thank you," I say.  My eyes dart Peeta's way, and I see that he's smiling to himself.

We walk further in silence, but it's not uncomfortable. My mind is strangely blank, considering Peeta's words, which should leave me with a million questions. Instead, my pulse beats wildly in my throat.

Eventually, we reach the edge of the Meadow and find a place to sit under a tree. There's no one here but us this evening. All of the little Seam kids who usually inhabit this space during the summertime must be home with their families, eating dinner, or doing who only knows what else.

Our backs are against the tree trunk, and we're sitting beside each other, but I can't see Peeta's face unless I turn to look at him. He rubs his hands back and forth across his thighs once we're sitting down. "I hope you don't mind that it's okay to tell you you're pretty," he finally speaks, and his voice is shaking. "Because you are pretty, you know. Damn it; I sound like an idiot," he swears. 

My breath catches, and I laugh nervously, high-pitched, and thin. 

What is he getting at?

"Not just pretty. I think you're beautiful," Peeta continues.

My heart is pounding like it's trying to escape from my body. "I…" I start, trying to say something, but the words get stuck in my throat. Not that I know what I'd say anyway. I feel like I'm hanging off a cliff edge waiting for him to go on. 

Peeta reaches for my hand, closing his fingers gently over my palm. His is a little sweaty, while mine feels cool. He exhales loudly like he's struggling for air. 

I look at him then.

"Say something, please," he begs.

The sound must trigger my brain back into conscious thought because it hits me all at once, what he's saying, and stupidly the only thing my mind can come up with is Prim was right. "I didn't know," I blurt out nonsensically.

The pressure of his hand changes, his grip tightening on mine. 

I sit up on my knees and look directly at him.

His eyes are skating across my face, uncertain where to land. "Do you want me to go?" he asks. He must be mistaking my silence for discomfort, but his expression is honest. Open. There's no pressure in his words or the way he looks at me, just a plea to tell him one way or the other. Peeta's asking me to be gentle to him in his vulnerability or just put him out of his misery.

"No," I say, "you don't have to go. I, I don't want you to go." The realization that I mean it should scare me a little. But it doesn't. 

I think about Peeta and me today. I think about the way it felt in his arms, how safe and warm and right it was. The way we stared at each other as I touched his hair, the way he didn't hesitate to reassure me with a touch of my shoulder, how he grasped my hand when I was genuinely frightened by Garrick. But most of all, I think about the way he held me while we stood outside of the Hob, sheltering me against the world when I felt like I was losing my sanity.

I think about the dream I had of my father this afternoon and how no one else but Peeta has made me feel safe since he died.  

And then, I realize something else. Something I probably should have figured out a long time ago. 

"It was you," I say.

Peeta looks confused. I can see he's struggling to keep up, but he doesn't interrupt my train of thought. Instead, he gives me the space to talk, to work out what I'm trying to say. "In the mine, on our class trip. It was you."

His face turns red.

"You're the one who carried me when I passed out." He doesn't speak, but his eyes meet mine, locking me in place. I don't think I could leave now if I wanted to. "I can't remember it exactly, just the feel of your arms, and...and…your scent like the bakery. And the way your shirt felt against my skin. It felt the same and smelled the same. This afternoon."

I reach for him then, hesitantly running my fingertips across his face. Peeta sighs at the first soft touch, closing his eyes and leaning toward me. 

I find that my thumb fits perfectly inside the dimple on the left side of his mouth. Before I can second guess myself, I lean forward, replacing my thumb with my lips. "Thank you," I whisper against his cheek.

And then he kisses me. Peeta turns his head to meet my lips like it's not even a conscious thought on his part but an instinct. And maybe it is because I do not exactly think when his soft lips press against mine. 

I'm not sure what to do. I've never done this before, and if I weren't caught up in the moment, I'd probably be overthinking it. But honestly, it doesn't seem that difficult. I press my lips against Peeta's.

What I register at that moment is the way my mouth tingles and the way my whole body warms at just the feel of his lips against mine. I feel his breath on my face, and when I peek my eyes open, I look at the way his eyelashes look lying against his cheek. I close my eyes again and sigh. I feel him smile, and soon I'm doing the same thing.

After a moment, I pull back to examine his face. He looks happy, and then I go and say the most awkward thing I possibly could. "I'm still not getting married, you know."

Peeta laughs, throwing his head back against the tree trunk. Well, that's not the response I was expecting. Secretly, I hope he gets a splinter in his neck. 

I scowl. "What's so funny?"

He shakes his head, but his smile is wide. "I didn't ask you to marry me! I wasn't even planning to tell you how I felt tonight. It just kind of tumbled out. I couldn't stop myself once I started."

"Then why did you come to my house?" I ask.

Peeta reaches for my hand then. He loops our fingers together, and I relax a tiny amount. I can't seem to stay irritated with him. "Dad needs my help tomorrow, so I was just coming over to tell you that I can't go out in the morning."

"Oh." That surprises me. I chew on my lip, and his eyes seem glued to the motion. The intensity of his gaze makes me feel warm all over again. My whole body is buzzing pleasantly. I wonder if it's the same for him. "So, what made you say something?" I ask.

With his free hand, Peeta runs his thumb and forefinger through a strand of my hair. "I honestly don't know why. You look so pretty with your hair down. You looked kind of messy-" I scowl at him again. "No, no, I don't mean it like that! You just looked so relaxed, and- I don't know,  I just blurted it out without thinking." He looks down at our joined hands and smiles. "But I'm happy I did."

We sit there, grinning at each other like a couple of fools. We keep meeting each other's eyes before looking down again. 

I don't quite know what to do with myself now. "So, what does this mean?" I say, finally.

Peeta shrugs. "Whatever you want it to mean. I'd love to kiss you some more and find out."

I laugh as I stand up, needing to because my legs are beginning to fall asleep. Peeta comes with me, never letting go of my hand. "Prim is going to be impossible to live with now," I tell him.

He looks confused. "What does your sister have to do with anything?"

I stare down at my feet. I feel a little shy admitting this to Peeta. "She said that you liked me when we first started going out to the woods. I didn't believe her."

"She's very observant, isn't she?" he says, a definite edge of humor in his voice.

I nod, stepping closer to him. I put my arms around him again, pulling him close to me. I lay my head against his chest, just like I did earlier in the day. "I like it here," I mumble.

Peeta chuckles. "I like having you here."

I step back after a moment. "But I guess we'd better get moving, huh? It's getting late."

Peeta reaches for my hand, and we walk together, both of us dragging our feet a bit if I'm honest, until we hit the edge of the Seam where we have to split up. He squeezes my hand. "I wish I could see you tomorrow," he tells me wistfully as his hand drops back to his side.

"It's only one day." I can't help the wide smile that feels like it's splitting my face. It's just sitting there plain as day for either him or all the world to see, and there's nothing I can do to make it go away. I wonder if it's going to be a permanent fixture.

"I know." He looks around furtively. "I'd like to kiss you again, but maybe you don't want to do that where people might be watching?"

I shrug. It's probably for the best.

"Okay, then. Goodnight. Sweet dreams, Katniss." He says, and I'd swear his eyes are twinkling. "I'll be thinking about you."

"Goodnight," I say, feeling a bit flustered. My chest aches from the force of the emotions I've finally realized have been sneaking up on me since the first day I spent with him. 

I stand there and watch Peeta walk away. I want to run after him, but I don't. What would I say?

"Sweet dreams yourself," I whisper instead as the top of his head disappears behind the dip in the road.

Chapter Text

I stand on the porch, and my grip is unsteady on the door handle. For some reason, I keep grasping it tighter and then releasing it.

It's as if I'm trying to work up the nerve to go inside my own home. It's ridiculous- I've been in this exact position for an inordinately long time. The closer it gets to the dreaded moment when I know that I have to go inside and face my family, the more nervous I am.

It's just that everything I'm feeling is written all over my face. 

I'm a terrible actress- I can't seem to make this smile go away, and those two know me, they know I'm not that cheerful. It's not as though I have a reputation for walking around with a dopey grin on my face like Delly. 

I'm tough. 

I'm all business.

I sigh. How am I going to tell Prim that she was right? She's never going to let me live it down. 

Peeta kissed me. 

He kissed me, and I just let him. 

Not only did I just let him do it, I liked it. 

I liked it a lot. 

My cheeks hurt from the ridiculous smile I can't get to budge even an inch. I need to get this stupid look off my face, but it's impossible. I keep trying to turn my mouth downward into my typical scowl. It's not working. I must be in shock if the numbness of my face is any indication. I can't seem to focus. The only thing I can do is run the tips of my fingers across my lips and remember how it felt when Peeta pressed his mouth there. 

There's that stupid smile again.

Before I have time to register what's happening, Prim opens the door. She stares at me, her eyebrows raised. 

I drop my hand and try to school my face into a scowl. 

She appraises me cooly, and it makes me feel like I'm back in elementary school, waiting on a tongue lashing from my teacher. "Spill," she says.

"What?" I laugh but curse myself mentally when the sound comes out nervous and weird. I'm never going to get away with anything like that. I break eye contact, looking to the left as something interesting is going on at our neighbor's house. Unfortunately, that trick isn't going to work for me today because there's nothing to see other than Doneth, the neighbor boy, picking his teeth with the tip of a pocket knife. Dinner must have been something chewy, I muse.

Prim snickers, and when I look back at her, a wide grin spreads across her lips. "I know something happened. You've got this look on your face, Katniss. It's the same one Buttercup gets when he steals your food."

At that moment, I notice something brush up against my ankle. When I look down, there's the demon cat himself weaving in between my legs. Buttercup dares to purr like we don't hate each other. The two of them are ganging up on me; I know it. I brush past my sister and go inside because I refuse to stand on the stoop and continue this conversation where anyone lurking around the house might hear us. 

I sit down on the couch, and Prim's right behind me, plopping down on the threadbare cushions. "Katniss, I will never forgive you if you don't tell me."

I sigh, glancing around furtively. Resistance is futile.

"Mother is outside," Prim reassures me as she scoots closer. "You're safe, so out with it." 

It's incredible how quickly I give into my sister every time. Anything Prim wants from me, it's hers, and she knows it. 

I've been fidgeting with the ends of my hair, something to help release some of my pent-up nervousness. I grasp it and separate it into three sections to make a makeshift braid. I can't look her in the eye right now. "He kissed me," I mumble, keeping my eyes on my handiwork. I can tell my face is flaming.

Out of my peripheral vision, I see Prim lean back against the couch. When I glance up, she's smiling to herself. "I knew it," she says, closing her eyes like she's in deep thought.

Wow, she's calm about this? I expected her reaction would be much different.

Prim's eyes fly open, and she jumps up. Her blue eyes are sparkling, actually sparkling. "I was right!" she shrieks. 

Ah, here we go.

"Katniss! I'm so happy for you!"

I drop the loose braid from my hand. "Prim, I promise you are getting excited over nothing. It didn't mean anything!" She's acting like Peeta, and I will go off running to the Justice Building to apply for a marriage license tomorrow. 

"Didn't mean anything, what do you mean? Of course, it meant something!" She sputters on her words, indignation practically rolling off of her in waves. "What happened? You need to tell me everything."

I huff. "Well, that's not exactly what I meant. Nothing has changed between us really, that's all."

"That is ridiculous; all kinds of things have changed. You have a boyfriend!" Prim proceeds to do that exciting bouncing up and down thing she's so well known for doing.

I scowl at her antics. "I do not!"

She stops bouncing. "Well, what would you call Peeta then?" she asks, and I can't help but cringe at the volume of her voice. She's practically shouting.

The wild dogs prowling the edge of the district can probably hear her right now.

"Keep it down," I hiss, "I don't want everyone in the Seam to hear!" Not to mention the fact that I'd prefer my mother doesn't become a party to this conversation for as long as I can keep her out of it. 

I really can't take another one of her lectures on preparedness.  

I shudder at the thought of a repeat of that conversation.

"Why wouldn't you want people to know he's your boyfriend?"

"I just… that's not…." I fumble, trying to think of the right thing to say. Typical. "I don't know what we are now," I admit, dropping my hair and wrapping my arms around my waist. I hate this badgering.

Prim sits down beside me. "What did Peeta call it? I know he'd be more than happy to tell everyone you're his, whatever it is you guys are now."

He told me that we could be whatever I want us to be. I feel warm all over, thinking about how it felt to be so close to Peeta and the way it felt to touch him like that. The way his eyes closed like he wholly focused on kissing me and that nothing else in the world mattered. He didn't pressure me for an answer after he kissed me. And I usually hate being the center of attention, but with him? "We didn't decide anything," I say. "So, things haven't changed."

And truth be told, I don't know what I want things to be between us. I liked it when Peeta kissed me- I'm pretty sure I want to try that again. And I know I want his arms around me. It was too comfortable there, and I felt too safe to deny that I would still be there right now if I could. But do I want to take things further? Do I want to put a name to this? 

Prim grins knowingly- "Too preoccupied with kissing to talk much?"

I lightly smack her arm, and she laughs at the rise she gets out of me. "Peeta only kissed me once!" I protest, but I have to admit that I'm laughing too.

She grabs my hands. "What was it like?" she asks, her voice dropping considerably. Funny how she's now concerned with being overheard. "I've never kissed anyone before. Rory tried to once, but I got nervous and ran off."

"Prim!"

"Well, it wasn't my fault. Quit trying to change the subject!"

"It was..." I try to think of the right words to describe it, but anything I can bring to mind comes up short. "It was nice," I tell her, laughing at myself a little. "Very nice."

She sighs, looking as though she's getting ready to say something else, but then our mother comes in through the front door.

Thankfully Prim keeps her mouth shut.

"Have a good walk?" Mother asks, hanging the basket she carried in on a wall hook. "You could have asked Peeta to stay here and watch the Games with us. Since the two of you are becoming such good friends," she says, and I choose to ignore the implication of her tone, "I would like to get to know him better." 

I'm sure you would.

I have to give my mother credit because she's done a pretty good job of wedging her way back into my life over the last few years. 

Not without some kicking and screaming on my part. 

The two of us sometimes talk now, instead of her just looking in from a distance like a spectator. She behaves as though she's my mother again- I was angry with her at first for that reason, I'll admit. I felt like she had no right to expect anything from me after leaving us to starve after my father died. Now though, I think we've reached a place where there's some level of mutual respect. 

Sometimes I think I only do it to humor her because it's easier that way.

"Nothing is going on," I mutter, studiously avoiding looking Prim's way. I'm afraid she'll rat me out.

Mother puts her hands up defensively. "Okay, Katniss, I'm not going to push you," she says, sitting down in her rocking chair and bending over to untie her shoes. She must be planning on staying in for the night. "You can tell me more when you're ready."

Mother pulls off one shoe and then the other, all the while keeping her eyes down. "Did I ever tell you that I used to know his father?"

"No, I don't think so," I answer cautiously. 

I know she hasn't; I think I would remember that. 

It makes perfect sense that the two of them could have been friends because the Merchant class only makes up a small percentage of Twelve, which is already smaller than the other districts to b.

"If Peeta is anything like his father, he'll be a good friend to you," she adds, smiling to herself a little.

"Yeah, sure," I say, and this time it is merely keeping the peace. 

I still don't know what to make of his father. He's always been kind to Prim and me, but I can't help thinking that a good man wouldn't let his wife treat their children how she treats Peeta. It makes me angry every time I think about it.

Mother looks up at the clock on our wall and squints. It's an old, wind-up timepiece from her merchant days, hanging in a visible space on the sturdiest inner wall of our house in a location that gives it the best chance of surviving the occasional earth-shaking blasts from the mines. The clock already has a hairline fracture running through the murky glass panel that's been there for as long as I can remember. We're probably lucky it's survived as long as it has.

"Oh girls, it looks like I made it home just in time- the Peacekeepers will be making their rounds soon." The clock is just a minute or two away from striking seven. "Prim, you'd better turn the television on."

I wake early the next morning before the sun has even begun to think about rising. 

I roll out of bed as quietly as I can. 

Prim and Mother don't need to be up for hours, so I try not to wake them. I get dressed quickly, grabbing my cap and hunting bag. I don't stop to leave a note for either of them because I already let them know about my plans to go out this morning before we went to bed.

Despite the residual fear from my run-in with Garrick and the Capitolites at the guard gate yesterday morning, I do need to get some hunting done, so I decided to take advantage of the fact that Peeta has to help his father today. 

I'll be able to stay out longer since I'm alone. I know Sae will probably be looking for more meat to buy today, and we could use some ourselves.

I haven't been able to save any more money for Prim's birthday, so I can't let the sick feeling of dread that's taken up residence in the pit of my stomach keep me out of the woods. The single, lonely little coin sits alone in my dresser drawer, and her birthday is just a few weeks away, and I still need to decide what I'm getting her. I'm afraid that all the time I've been spending with Peeta has distracted me from Prim.

Peeta. What am I going to do about him? I can't seem to make up my mind about him right now because my head is all over the place. 

Contemplating the future is something I've never really done much of until recently. Life isn't such that it requires much thinking because there are so few choices available to us. It's always been the day-to-day struggle of putting one foot in front of the other and eeking out a living. 

That all seems like it's changed in a matter of a few weeks. 

The air is pleasant this morning as I weave my way through the Seam towards the meadow. It's Sunday, so the mines are closed, and the air seems easier to breathe because of it. There's a fine layer of dew on the dying grass, and it paints my boots with tiny droplets of moisture as I walk. 

I hope we get some relief from the drought and heat soon. When the animal's water sources closer to the district boundaries dry up, it makes them travel deeper into the forest, and that makes it harder for me to catch them.

I stride toward the loose spot in the fence where I can fit underneath, finding that I'm in a sudden hurry to get into the woods and get going. The thought of all that wide-open space with only myself in it makes me move faster. 

Once safely inside the fence and away from the district boundary, I inhale deeply. 

I already feel lighter, peaceful, and utterly uninterested in thinking about anything. My mind feels blissfully blank, my senses picking up the slack. I hadn't realized how many things were weighing me down until I let them go and start feeling. The damp, earthy smell of the woods and the crunch of twigs and branches crackling under my feet. The smallness of being out here in the wide-open space. The woods are the place where everything makes sense, where I'm able to take care of myself, where I know my way. 

I reach the new hollow log where I moved my father's bow, just as the sun is beginning to come up. It's closer proximity to the gate where Peeta and I go in to forage. 

First, I collect a rabbit from one of my traps, a good find, and head deeper into the woods, searching for any game that might cross my path. 

What I find next is not at all edible or what I'm anticipating. I'm shocked to see Gale coming around the corner of the tree line I was headed. I haven't run into him out here like this since we parted ways two years ago.

"You're still as quiet as ever," he says, greeting me. 

I barely stop myself from running into him in time. "You too," I mutter, stepping back and fiddling with the strap of my bag.

I'm angry with myself for not realizing he was there. I must be slipping.

"You're not going to find anything back there," Gale nods his head in the direction of the treeline from where he just emerged. "I didn't have any luck; animals must still be asleep," he adds, his tone even as he studies me.

It's been a while since we've stood this close to each other.

Gale looks a little different, slightly taller but no more filled out, which I didn't expect him to be. I am surprised that despite the stooped appearance he takes on its town, he seems to stand as tall out here as he ever did. It makes me feel as though his spirit hasn't been broken by the mines yet. 

I'm glad for him. 

"How ya been?" He asks, sheathing his bow in the sling that he uses to carry both it and a supply of arrows. He must be planning on staying and talking to me for a while- this is new. 

I wonder what's changed his attitude?

"I'm fine," I tell him.

He nods, looking over my shoulder. 

"I hear you're getting married. So, uh, congratulations," I find myself exclaiming. A mention of Gale's upcoming toasting is the only one I can think of to say to my former best friend- this has to be one of the most strained conversations of my life, but I'm not eager to see him leave now that we're talking.

Gale sticks his hands in his pants pockets. "Thanks. I'm happy. Hyacinth is a good girl; she loves me." I cringe at his words, picking up on the unspoken like you never did in his tone.

When he doesn't press the matter, I'm relieved. Are we going to be civil with each other now?  

"We're going to have a baby," Gale says, a smile creeping up his face.

"Oh," I blurt out nonsensically, completely surprised by the news. "Really?"

"Yep, she just told me last night." He laughs. "Can you believe it? Crazy."

"You could say that, yes." The brief idea that my mother must have known floats across my mind, but I quickly shake it off. She keeps her patient's information to herself, although I'm sure I would have found out eventually from one of the other Hawthornes.

I can't imagine Gale married with a child, but then again, I don't know him anymore. The whole scenario he's describing seems incongruous with the boy I used to know, the one who only seemed alive out here in the woods. 

But I suppose I'm the only one who ever got to know that version of him. That Gale only existed out here with me. My hunting partner. My friend.

But now, he's little more than an acquaintance.

Gale clears his throat. "So, I heard something interesting from my brother about you and Mellark? What's going on there?" 

Dread fills my belly, but then Gale clears his throat. To my surprise, there's a good-natured expression there. When I look at him, I realize he's just trying to get a rise out of me. Is he trying to make amends? "We're just friends," I say quietly, shrugging my shoulders. I can't believe I'm having this conversation with him, of all people. I guess times are changing. "I haven't known Peeta for that long. I started helping him gather out here a week or so ago. He has a permit."

"What's in it for you?" Gale asks abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest. He knows as well as I do that nothing comes for free. None of us do anything out of the kindness of our hearts- except for Peeta or possibly my sister. 

"Well, I owed him," I say.

"How?" he asks, pouncing on the opportunity to pry for more information from me before I even get a chance to answer the question. "How did you come to owe a merchant boy something? Knowing the Mellarks, I'm surprised he didn't want it paid back another way."

What does he think gives him the right to talk to me like that? "Gale-"

"I'm just saying, his brothers had a reputation in school."

And you didn't? I heard all about Gale's reputation with my female classmates after he stopped being my friend. I scowl at him. "Yeah, I know. Peeta's not like that. It's not like that with him, not that it's any of your business."

Ah, yes, I am arguing with Gale again- this is more familiar. He must realize he's crossed a line because he lets out a harsh breath. "Hey Catnip, look- I'm sorry. I don't want to fight with you or anything. I'm sorry, okay?"

I nod brusquely. "Fine. Just don't talk to me like that. I don't like it. I never liked it, Gale." Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I can see that his face is getting red. He's incredulous. Good. I'm not exactly sure where this assertiveness with him is coming from, but it's long overdue. 

I'm sure my change in attitude has something to do with the fact that he dropped my friendship like a hot coal when I told him I didn't want to marry him. Gale always wanted his way. He wanted more of me than what I had to offer him. We both remain silent. I'm waiting for Gale to make the next move. I want to see what he's going to do- will he stomp off again like a child, or will he stay and talk?

The two of us stare off into the treeline as the silence grows longer and uncomfortable, and I'm half expecting him to leave without speaking again. Finally, he does say something, but it's a change of subject. "What'd you think of the Games last night?"

I look down at my hands. There are still some light bloodstains there from removing the rabbit from the trap. I have that strange sensation again, like the first night of watching the Games when I caught sight of Kai with the bow, that feeling like it could have just as easily been me in the arena with bloodstains of a different sort on my hands. 

It's incredibly unsettling. 

"I don't know," I tell him honestly.

Before going to live coverage last night, Cesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith gave a joint recap of the events of the previous 24 hours. Just as Prim had told me earlier that afternoon, John and Linden were still very much alive. The two remaining Careers- Enyo, the girl from One, and Than, the boy from Four, are back together. John was with an older teenage pair from Eleven who'd managed to procure both a spear and a knife between them. At the same time, his contribution to the alliance was a crate of food he managed to sneak away from the Cornucopia after the initial bloodbath. Claudius and Cesar showed us that Linden spent the day following the trio at a safe distance. It wasn't clear what her plans were, whether she was trying to take them out or join their group.

And then there was Kai, who'd managed to round up one more of the remaining tributes, another little boy. According to Claudius Templesmith, her group spent most of the day hiding in a deep cave on the mountainside.

"What do you think her plans are, Claudius?" Cesar asked his co-host. "Kai doesn't have enough food or water to sustain any of them for long."

"I don't know. She seems to have fashioned herself into some mother figure, doesn't she?" Neither of the commentators wants to delve into the subject too deeply, it's obvious. Any type of compassion is unheard of within the Games. It's always been every tribute for themselves. Any other year, those smaller children would've been dead on sight. Kai's actions reek of rebellion in a place where it's kill or be killed yourself, so the Capitol is going to downplay it. Period. 

With a flash of his neon-white teeth, Cesar laughed. "That's it. I'd say she's saving them for last, wouldn't you? Maybe she's got a kid brother at home." 

That's the last thing the two mentioned on the subject of Kai. The majority of last night's coverage was devoted to highlighting the Careers, who'd spent the day hunting for strays. Enyo and Than finally managed to track down and kill a girl from Seven. They snuck up on her while she was drinking from a stream that ran down the mountainside. Her's was a gruesome death, played out in gory detail for the Capitol audience.

"It's different this year, isn't it?" On a whim, and maybe because he seems to be offering an olive branch, I decided to be honest with Gale. He's kept my secrets before. And as much as has changed between us, I don't think that the core part of what made us work has. "Everything feels different; it's almost like there's a change in the air. I think the Capitol is just waiting to pounce on us."

Gale stares down at his feet. "There's talk in the mines of rebellion," he admits. 

"Are you involved in any of it?" I ask.

"Nah, not yet. But I'll fight if it comes to it." Of course, he will. I'm pretty sure Gale was born fighting. "Been to a few meetings; not much has come out of it yet. There's a rumor going around that Haymitch Abernathy is involved somehow."

"That doesn't seem possible."

"Yeah, I know. But believe it or not, people say he's pretty bright when he gets off the booze."

"Have you heard anything about those people from the Capitol? That's interesting. Peeta and I had a run-in with them yesterday at the gate as we were leaving. They searched my bag and his wheelbarrow before they let us go." 

I don't mention the way Peeta grabbed my hand or that I told Garrick he was my boyfriend. Gale doesn't get to know that.

He lets out a low whistle. "Must not have had anything on you, or you'd be in the stockades right now, huh?"

I nod. "Yeah, or worse."

I don't have to say the words; Gale knows the risk we take coming out here. "Bet that scared the shit out of you."

I nod. "That's putting it mildly."

Gale reaches behind his back to grab his bow, the one I traded him years ago for snare lessons. He must be ready to move on. I find that I am too. "Be careful, okay, Catnip? Take care of yourself," he tells me.

"You too. Don't do anything stupid."

He laughs. "I can't promise that, but I'll try."

"Good luck with everything," I take a half step backward. "You know, with the baby and Hyacinth."

Gale looks over my shoulder. "Yeah, you'll have to come to the toasting." There's always a rush at the Justice Building for marriage licenses after the Games end each year. "It'll be soon."

I feel myself relax a little. "If you want me there, I'll be there."

He nods, still not looking at me. 

"Okay. Bye, Gale."

"Bye, Katniss."

Chapter Text

I cross my arms and lean back against the wall in an attempt to make room for the rush of my classmates flooding the elevator. Guys and girls from my year continue to pile in around me, forcing Delly to move closer. "Sorry," she mumbles when her shoulder brushes mine. 

I flinch at the contact as the creaky doors close and trap us all inside. The elevator is full, ready to send us into the belly of the earth. 

When I catch Delly's eye briefly before looking away again, she seems as uneasy as I feel. 

Not that the annual trip to visit the mines isn't unpleasant enough, it is, but now I'm crowded shoulder-to-shoulder with the girl I'm supposed to marry. Things have been weird between us since our parents broke the news. 

We can barely stand to look at each other.

Her mother had been teary-eyed, Mrs. Cartwright had always liked me, while my mother looked like she'd just as soon dig the old rolling pin out again as let me get a word in edgewise about deciding my fate. 

"A marriage between you two makes so much sense; you have to agree. You've always been such good friends!" Mrs. Cartwright insisted. 

I think she was trying to convince herself as well.

Since we were little, the two of us have been friends; Delly knows most of my secrets, and I know hers. She thinks of me as her brother, and I love her. I'm just not in love with her.

The elevator comes to a grinding halt then, interrupting my thoughts. If I hadn't been so self-absorbed with trying to figure out what the hell Delly and I were supposed to do about our futures (future? As in collective future? The thought makes me shudder), I'd have been a lot more relieved about getting off. 

We're all nervous down here, even Merchant kids like me who don't have much of a chance of ending up in the mines. 

I can't imagine how hard this visit must be on kids from the Seam.

I wonder how Katniss is feeling? After her father died down here, this little trip must be hell. 

There I go, thinking about her again. 

This thinking is getting me nowhere fast. I really should stop. 

I'm trying not to think about Katniss Everdeen all the time; I am. She's not my future. I don't have a choice in the matter, and I certainly don't have the nerve to talk to her.

But wondering about Katniss and how she is- I can't make myself stop doing it. 

The load of kids I got off the elevator with is the last of the school group to arrive, and once we've caught up to the rest of my class, my eyes scan the crowd as the tour leaders pass out hardhats for us to wear while we're down here- safety first. They certainly don't want to injure their future labor force.

And like always, I'm looking for one particular girl with a long braid. Ah, there she is. 

Katniss is by herself, as usual, leaning against one of the rock walls. Her eyes are closed, and her lips form words I can't decipher from here. 

Her lips. I can't help but stare- I'd give anything to know what those lips feel like, just once. Or the rest of my life. You know, whatever I could get. 

I expect her to look up at me, but she doesn't. She's almost caught me watching her so often that it's made me hypervigilant of all the little movements she makes, the things that let me know she feels my eyes on her and is going to glance up any second. The way her eyes narrow or the way she bites her lip before looking around. Sometimes she'll fidget with her braid, or she'll shuffle her feet.

Instead of doing any of those things, Katniss is swaying on her feet. 

Katniss? I'm pretty sure my stomach is bunching up inside my chest. I can't breathe.

Her face looks ashen as she covers her eyes with the palm of her hand. I notice that when her head drops, her chin is touching her chest like she can't hold it upright another moment.

And no one is paying attention to her. Why doesn't anyone notice when Katniss needs help other than me? I might be a chickenshit when it comes to talking to her, but I'm not going to leave her alone if something's wrong.

I start elbowing my way towards Katniss, but it's slow going; getting this group to move is almost impossible. It's crowded outside of the mine entrance, and everyone is on edge. 

My classmates remind me of one of the herds of cattle we see on television in District Ten. Why won't anyone move? I fume until finally deciding that it's time for a more hands-on approach, using my elbows and shoulders to part the crowd. 

"Katniss," I try to get her attention when I'm closer to her side. I don't think she ever hears me because just as I'm within an arm's reach of her, she collapses at the entrance of the mine shaft like a limp rag doll. 

"Peeta, it's very kind of you to carry her up to the office for me." Mrs. Grossman, our English teacher and one of the chaperones for our senior class today, pats me on the arm as we step back onto the elevator. After checking her breathing and coming to the conclusion that she didn't seem seriously hurt, Mrs. Grossman asked me to stay behind and help get Katniss up to the mine foreman's office where she could rest.

So because of Mrs. Grossman, the wonderful woman she is, Katniss Everdeen is in my arms. She's so small and light, I'd swear she doesn't even weigh as much as one of the sacks of flour I carry on my shoulders from the train station on delivery day. My heart is about to beat out of my chest. If only she were awake for this, I think wryly. It would be perfect. "It's no problem, ma'am," I answer, "I wasn't exactly looking forward to the tour myself."

She huffs and glances over at me, pulling the lever to close the door behind us. "I suppose you weren't. There's not much chance of you winding up down here anyway, is there Peeta?"

I shake my head. "No, ma'am, probably not."

"Poor kids," she murmurs before pulling a clipboard from the crook of her arm and flipping through the pages. "Let me see where we need to meet up with the rest of the group…."

I study Katniss's face since fate has presented me with this rare opportunity. It'll probably never happen again. 

She's so pretty. 

Up close like this, I can see the light sprinkling of freckles that dust the bridge of her nose and cheekbones, the way her black eyelashes lay on her cheeks. Her lips part slightly, and when she exhales, I get faint whiffs of mint on her breath. She looks younger, freer with the typical scowl she wears off her face. She's not just pretty; she's breathtaking.

Katniss does something that stuns me, and the moment is so unreal I feel as though I'm dreaming. She turns her head and presses her nose against my chest, nuzzling her face into my shirt. 

I close my eyes for just a moment when I feel her breath on my neck, and then I hear her make a little humming noise in the back of her throat. 

When I open my eyes to look at her again, I'd swear she's smiling. 

Yep. I'm dreaming. I wish Katniss would wake up, I think, as Mrs. Grossman and I step off the elevator. I feel Katniss's hand twitch against my shoulder at the sound of the doors sliding shut behind us. I wonder if she'll remember any of this.

Much sooner than I want to let her go (never), I'm gently laying her on a cot in the empty foreman's office. Once I let her go, Katniss rolls onto her side to face the wall, and reluctantly I step away. I can't stand here all day and stare at her like a creep.

"Peeta, you're a good boy," Mrs. Grossman says when I'm beside her again, closer to the door. I'm sure we're supposed to meet up with our group, but I hate to go. Why should we leave Katniss here alone? She's always alone.

"I appreciate your help." She sighs. "I wish more of the boys were gentlemen like you."

"It's no problem, really," I say sheepishly. "I don't mind."

If she only knew.

"I know you don't mind," she tells me, looking amused. 

Oh, she does know.

"You wear your heart on your sleeve, Peeta. You're such a sweet boy; any girl would be lucky to have a young man like you." 

And then I realize that Katniss must be the only person left inside the District who doesn't know how much I want her. 

"You should tell her how you feel. Life is short," she encourages me.

I half-think about protesting to preserve some of my pride, but honestly, why bother at this point? Mrs.Grossman is too perceptive to get away with anything. "I, ah, wish that I could," I say, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand- a nervous habit. "She's so intimidating, though. I mean, what would she want with a guy like me? I don't think Katniss needs anyone, especially not a townie."

She waves my protest off. "I think she could use a friend, at least. Start there. She seems lonely."

"I don't know about that." Katniss usually looks like she'd just as soon shoot you through the eye as talk to you.

"I haven't seen her around town with Gale Hawthorne in a long time. I know they used to be good friends, but I did happen to hear they had a falling out." Mrs. Grossman innocently tells me. 

I shrug. I guess I knew that already. If I wasn't terrified, I suppose I'd make a move. Chickenshit, I think discouragingly.

She grasps my shoulder and turns me in the direction of the office door. "No matter, if you can't speak to her, then you can't speak to her." 

Her tone doesn't match her words at all. 

I sigh.

Mrs. Grossman isn't exactly subtle.

"I'll try," I promise. I might mean it.

"You really should. I think she's worth the risk." Mrs. Grossman abruptly changes the subject then. 

Yep, my favorite teacher.

 "Well, Peeta, you and I had better get going if we're going to meet up with the rest of the class." Once we're through the doorway, she continues, her fingertips resting on the handle to pull the door shut behind us in a moment. "Once again, I'll say thank you for bringing her up."

I glance back at Katniss one more time. I'm not sure, but I think she might be waking up. I look to Mrs.Grossman then and nod. If we don't leave now, this could get awkward.

I will try to talk to Katniss; I tell myself as I follow Mrs. Grossman back to the elevator. I know she's right. Life is short, and I think the rest of it would be pretty worthless if I never get the chance to hold Katniss again. Or even do something more usual like try to talk to her. 

I've almost convinced myself when I remember one minor detail. Delly. Delly and our betrothal. What am I going to do about Delly?

I don't know, but I have to figure something out.

Six months later

"Peeta, I'm sorry," Delly sniffs into her handkerchief. I glance over at my brother, and for what it's worth, he at least seems remorseful. 

I'm positive that I must look like an idiot right now. My mouth is hanging open far enough to let a mockingjay fly in. "Why did you…." my voice trails off as I take in Del's red, puffy eyes. 

For the first time in my life, I don't know what to say.

My future, which up until a few minutes ago had consisted of plans to take over the bakery in a few years along with marriage to a girl I've never had an interest in romantically, has just been yanked out from underneath my feet like the proverbial rug. I should probably be angry or something. That's what everyone is expecting from me because of the disrespect my brother showed by sneaking around with Delly behind my back.

It's odd, though, how calm I am. It's as if I'm a stranger peeking in at my own life.

When Delly refused to take back her insistence on marrying Rye and not me a little while ago, Mother stormed out of the room and slammed the door hard enough that one of the paddles we use for removing baked goods from the oven fell off its hook and hit the floor. It bounced end over end until skidding to a stop in the corner.

I felt proud of my friend at that moment for doing something I've never had the nerve to do. It was good to see someone stand up to our mother. 

Father didn't say a word to me. I love him, but he's weak. At least I know where I get my streak of chickenshittedness.

But back to the present. I still don't see how this is possible- my brother and Delly, together. 

They're in love? I'm not jealous, that isn't it. I just don't understand how any of this happened because he's an idiot, a real moron. If there's a bad choice to make, my brother makes it. If there's a wrong girl to pursue, he pursues her. 

And Delly is just so nice. She's the opposite of him in every possible way.

I decided to try forming words again; I need to get this conversation over with, so I can figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do with the rest of my life now. 

"How did this happen?" I ask, and I'm not surprised by how tired my voice sounds. I am tired. We've been busy lately preparing for the graduation celebrations and weddings that will take place before the Reaping. Late spring is one of our busiest times. My lack of rest just seems to be adding to the unreal feeling of the situation. And also, I'm pretty tired of my family's shit, for that matter. I'm eighteen. I shouldn't feel like I'm carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.

My brother shifts in his seat- "I've always had a thing for Delly," Rye says. He pulls a sulky face then, and I feel like punching him.

Nobody pisses me off the way my brother does.

"I was never asked if I wanted to marry her." 

Leave it to him to play the victim. 

"Aww, honey," Delly croons, scooting closer and tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. 

And now the two of them are behaving like I'm not even here. Wonderful. I wish they'd save that for when I'm not around.

Rye lays his head on her shoulder, and she starts running her fingers through his hair. "You shouldn't have waited so long to say something," she berates him.

He's been too busy chasing half the girls in the District, I think uncharitably.

Rye grabs her and pulls her into his lap. "Just saving the best for last," he says to her in a low voice that I'm relatively certain is supposed to be sexy.

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. 

"Can we focus, please?" I mutter. I'd like to get this conversation done and over. 

But wait a minute- I'm done, right now, I decide. There's nothing else that needs discussing. Do Rye and Delly want each other and the bakery? They can have both. 

"You know something?" I stand up, "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I'm happy for you guys. Really."

It's true. How is it true? I should be scared out of my mind; I don't know what the hell I'm going to do now. 

The only thing I can comprehend is the sweet taste of freedom, of being unshackled from my family's plans for me. I'm almost giddy with the realization. 

I'll go and work in the damn mines if I have to. 

Delly jumps off my brother's lap and throws herself at me, almost knocking me off my feet with the force of her enthusiasm. "Thank you for understanding, Peeta!" she shrieks, squeezing me tight. "I'm so relieved!"

I have to laugh at her enthusiasm. I think it's the first time she's voluntarily touched me since our families matched us up together in the fall. Thank you validation. Your name is Delly Cartwright. I hug her back, feeling better with each passing second. I don't think I had any idea how much I dreaded marrying her until this very moment.

"Hey, little bro, look at it this way," Rye smirks at me. "Now, you can finally grow a pair and talk to Everdeen."

"Yeah, I'm sure I'll be really attractive to her with no job, you idiot," I say, stepping back from Delly. She has a tear in the corner of her eye, and I raise my hand to catch it with my thumb. If nothing else, at least she and I can behave normally around each other again. I've missed that.

When Delly is by his side again, Rye wraps his arms around her waist and tugs her to stand between his legs. He doesn't need to pull that possessive bull-crap with me. "You're a smart guy, Peet. You'll think of something."

I huff. "Doubt it."

"Sure you will. You can do it!" Delly encourages. 

I sigh. After the incident at the mines, I could never make myself talk to Katniss like I said I would. That school trip had been on a Friday morning, and by the time Monday rolled around, I'd lost every bit of nerve I had leftover from Mrs. Grossman's pep talk. 

"I'll try," I say, not at all sure I mean it. "But not until I get a few things straightened out. Graduation is less than a month, and then there's the Reaping." No one makes concrete plans until after they age out.

Rye's lips curl up into something vaguely menacing. "You ain't gonna get reaped, and you know it! It's always one of those Seam kids." 

I narrow my eyes at him. Last year proved that wrong, but I know he'll just blow me off if I say it. "Fine, I'll give you that. Unless your ass is on a train to the Capitol, you'd better say something to her, or I'm gonna do it for you."

I feel the blood drain out of my face. "You wouldn't," I state, actually fully aware that Rye would because he's an ass.

"The hell I wouldn't. Try me." He levels me with a cold-eyed stare that cuts right to the core. "It's time to be a man, dude."

Shit. He's serious. Rye is many things, but a liar isn't one of them.

I can only imagine how my brother would approach Katniss. Whatever he'd say would be crude and completely inappropriate, and then she would never want anything to do with me. 

I look to Delly for support. She shrugs. "I think it's for the best. You need a deadline."

I liked Delly better before she got together with my brother, I realize.

"You've got a month, Peet. One month." Rye says, jabbing his finger as close to my face as he can reach from his stool. "Don't test me."

I can't believe my luck. 

I found a job that doesn't involve marrying a merchant girl or becoming a miner. 

My parents are less than thrilled about it. My mother seems to think that I will fail and return home penniless, while Father is genuinely concerned about my future. But still, thanks for the vote of confidence, guys. Glad to know you have faith in me.

There is an element of risk involved with raising Capitol hogs, but I figure that it's got to be worth taking a chance in the long run. I'm tired of playing things safe. It hasn't gotten me shit, and at this point, it's either the pigs or the mines. After the fiasco with Delly, I'm not going to let myself become saddled with another girl in the name of my future. 

The idea of marrying Delly was bad enough. I'm not going to wind up like my father. I'd rather be alone for the rest of my life. I'd rather dig coal. But I sure am glad I don't have to, at least not yet.

One of the major perks about this job is that it comes with a house. The place needs some work, but it's nothing I can't handle. The addition of a place to live settled any last doubt I had left in my mind. 

Once I told my parents that not only would I be moving out, but I'd also still be available to work part-time for them, Mother changed her tune. Getting rid of a kid and the promise of one less mouth to feed? That's all she needed to hear.

The day has arrived. The piglets are going to be here on the next train. I have to meet with the Capitol liaison at the Justice Building in an hour, and my nerves are taking over. 

Not to mention there's something I still need to do that I've been putting off for too long, and it's eating at my sanity.

"Talk to Everdeen yet?" Rye asks casually, sidling up to me as I knead the dough for our nut and fruit loaves. It's my third batch in the last hour, while my brother has just been standing here dicking around for the most part. Mother is gone today, so he's doing as little as possible.

"You aren't going to get shit done when you take over the bakery, are you?" I quip, ignoring his question as I press the dough down on itself.

Rye grabs a walnut. "Quit changing the subject. And to answer your question, which I will because I'm not a shitty brother-"

I stop what I'm doing and stare at him. "Are you serious? You hooked up with my fiance, and now you're getting the business I was supposed to inherit? You are the definition of a shitty brother, Rye."

"Details. You didn't want Delly anyway; you don't appreciate her "assets" the way I do," he held his hands in front of his chest in a crude imitation of her "assets," which are if we're honest, pretty impressive. 

Hey, she might be my best friend, but I'm not blind. I'm still a guy. 

"And before you get all self-righteous on me," he continues, "no, Delly's body isn't the only thing I want from her."

"It better not be."

"It's not ." He insists, grabbing another walnut. "Speaking of which..."

"No, I haven't talked to Katniss yet. Are you satisfied?" I whisper harshly, thumping the dough extra hard on the countertop. Damn him. I don't want Father to hear about any of this; I don't want him to have anything else to worry about.

"Well, you've got," he squints at the calendar on the wall, "five days left by my calculations. You'd better get figuring things out soon, Peety boy."

I should have tried to talk to Katniss before now. If she doesn't agree to help me get started with foraging in the woods, then I'm essentially up shit creek without a paddle. I can't afford to give the piglets feed only; I won't make a dime that way. Panic is starting to set in. Why did I think this was going to work? She's never going to agree to help me. What could be in it for her? She'll laugh in my face.

"Sure, I've got it all figured out," I tell him, deftly covering my unease. I'm nothing if I'm not smooth under pressure. "Now, leave me the hell alone. I need to get back to work if you're not going to do anything but stand there and bug the shit out of me all morning."

He puts his hands up in defense. "Sure, man, just don't forget."

"I'm sure you're not going to let me. I'll figure something out."

I don't have to figure anything out. 

In a strange twist of fate, Katniss approaches me outside the bakery less than an hour after my conversation with Rye. The only polite, normal thing to do is say hello, but only after we stare at each other silently for a while because that's the kind of dumb stuff I do around Katniss. 

She's just so beautiful and wild and Katniss. I hate the fact that the girl of my dreams is finally acknowledging my existence, and all I can do is stand there and gape at her like an idiot. She seems nervous too, and for some reason, it makes me feel a little better. 

It's a mutual awkwardness.

When she says, "Thank you, Peeta," in that low tone of hers, I don't have the slightest clue what she's talking about. I'm so dazzled by her, I don't know exactly what I'm saying in reply, something like "huh" or "what"... 

"For the bread," Katniss answers me quickly like it's glaringly obvious.

Obvious? Not to me, it isn't. That day was so long ago, and I've hated myself for years because of the way it all went. I've tried to forget that I didn't even have the nerve to do anything besides throwing those loaves to her like she was an animal.

When I explain why she shouldn't thank me, Katniss grows even quieter. She looks pained. While I wrack my brain trying to figure out what I did wrong, she stares at the ground. "It was enough," she finally tells me, her voice firm.

As she turns and walks up the back steps, I suddenly came to my senses again. 

I can't let her go without mentioning the permit. 

But I can't, because I have to go now or I'm going to be late meeting the liaison. 

"There was something I wanted to talk to you about, but I'm out of time," I say. Talk about bad timing. I absolutely can't be late. 

I fully expect her to blow me off, so I'm shocked when Katniss tells me she'll probably be back in a few days.

I tell her goodbye and leave for my meeting, suddenly feeling much more confident. For the first time, I'm feeling good about my choices. I'm not questioning myself any longer.

"Why did I wait so long?" I ask nobody once I'm away from the bakery. 

Chapter Text

"Katniss, are you busy right now?" Mother asks, wiping her hands on a towel and leaning against the doorway of the panty.  

She keeps her healing supplies in the room, a small but tidy space. Things could easily get bogged down by everything in it if Mother and Prim didn't keep it so well organized. There are jars of all shapes and sizes lining the shelves that Father fashioned for her when I was a tiny girl. I can still picture him nailing the iron brackets on the wall and sliding boards inside to provide more storage space for what was then her growing healing business. There’s a table in the middle of the room where Prim and my mother prepare their formulas. Cabinets hold the supplies that need to be kept in a cool, dark place to prevent their potency from decreasing due to fluctuating temperatures in our home because Seam houses aren't well insulated- they're little more than shacks. There are bunches of dried herbs and flowers tied together, hanging from the rack that father put together for that specific purpose.

"Unless you're too tired from your morning," she continues. 

"No, that's okay." I've been home for a while. This morning, I caught a few squirrels and another rabbit after Gale and I split up. In addition to that, I'd shot a wild dog who decided that he would try taking my kills by force. Unfortunately for both him and his poor decision-making skills, he's in tonight's "beef stew" at Saes. Fortunately for me, he and his counterparts netted me two more coins to stash away for Prim's birthday.

The only low spot of my morning was coming across the evidence that a herd of deer just recently wandered away from an area I wouldn't ordinarily frequent going out. There were dozens of hoofprints to be found, not to mention freshly nibbled grass and piles of skat that told me they weren't far away. The thought did cross my mind that I could try to find Gale and ask him to help me haul whatever I could get out of the woods for a cut of the profits, but I shook that idea off quickly. I'd just as soon let that particular sleeping dog lie for now.  I think I'd rather face a whole pack of wild dogs than have another stilted conversation with him so soon after the first. Although it was probably necessary to clear the air between us, that didn't make talking to him any less uncomfortable- you can't erase years of estrangement that easily.

So not only was I alone and not in a big hurry to attempt to carry an animal out of the woods who probably weighed at least as much as I do, it didn't seem worth the risk. I don't know when I'll have the opportunity to take down another large animal like one from the herd of deer I'd just missed or something larger like a wild boar or bear. There's no safe way to hide something like that with the threat of the Capitol hanging over our heads. It seems as though that job offer from the tanner is getting shelved permanently, at least if the gossip around the district is real. 

"I'm not doing anything that can't wait," I look up from the flint I've been using to sharpen my spare arrowheads. "Do you need me to run an errand?"

"Yes, if you wouldn't mind. I have a house call to make, and Shiloh Douglas needs some more of this salve," Mother says, pulling a jar out of her pocket and handing it to me. "Thank you, Katniss.”

I gather my things and put them away before pulling my boots back on and heading into town. I don't mind the trip; it will give me a chance to look for something for Prim's birthday while I'm out. There are some lovely pieces of material at the Hob that Mother could use to make a new dress for her, but I don't know whether I want to go that route or not. She loves pretty things, and I'd like to buy her something completely frivolous for once. I'm just not sure what.

After dropping the medicine off at Douglas's home, I meander into town and towards the square. Things are busy right now with lots of foot traffic because it's the time of day when the business-keepers are taking their midday breaks. I walk past Cartwright's, and, taking a passing glance inside the storefront, I see Rye leaning over the counter and talking to Delly. Their heads are close together, and I can't help but watch as he leans over and gives her a peck on the lips. 

Huh. Rye's action gives me a strange pang in my chest. I need to stop spying on those two. 

I wonder if Peeta's still working? I think my step quickened at the thought. I'm anxious to see him again. I feel foolish for stopping by the bakery with no trade, but my feet are already leading me in that direction. I smile and look down, feeling giddy and trying to keep my face from prying eyes. 

When I get to the bakery, I climb up the back steps and knock hesitantly on the door. "Just a minute," Peeta calls out. At least his answer tells me he's here. 

I swallow hard. Why do I feel nervous all of a sudden? Oh, right. Probably because he kissed you the last time you were together, that could have something to do with it. Suddenly, I don't know what to do with my hands. I didn't bring my bag, and that means I don't have anything to fiddle with- I grasp the end of my braid and twirl the loose hairs around my finger. 

Please don't let his mother be here, please don't let his mother be here- I chant inside my head as the door opens. 

It's Peeta, and his face breaks into a wide smile when he realizes it's me waiting on the step. "What are you doing here?" he asks, wiping his hands on a towel before sticking it in his back pocket. Any concerns I might have had about things being awkward between us after last night fly out the window. He looks pleased to see me. 

"I don't know," I shrug, feeling a little shy. "I had to drop something off for one of my mom's patients, and I just thought I'd stop by and see you while I was in town."

Peeta is positively beaming. He takes a glance over his shoulder and must realize that the coast is clear. Before I have time to understand what he's doing, he puts his hands on my hips and steps closer. His eyes are soft, and he's still smiling when he leans in to kiss me. I wasn't expecting it, but I'm certainly not complaining. His mother must not be here, I think dazedly. His mouth is soft when it touches mine. His lips part a little, and this kiss is firmer, more sure than the one from last night. The increased intensity sends a shiver down my spine, and I hear Peeta sigh when he feels it. 

I'm more aware of him and his much larger body, standing upright like we are. Yesterday our faces were almost level to each other when he kissed me because we were both kneeling on the ground, but today Peeta has to bend over to reach my lips. It's a different sensation, and I stand on my toes to get to him better.

I'm more conscious of how broad he is and how large his hands are at my hips. The sensation of safety and comfort wash over me, just like it did when he held me yesterday, and that bread and sugar smell I always associate with him is even stronger because of what he's been doing, and it's mixed with the scent of clean sweat. 

He pulls back, only to lean in and press his mouth to mine one more time. "Hi," he says finally, crinkles forming around the corners of his eyes. I feel like laughing because Peeta looks inordinately pleased with himself, probably similar to the way I look each time I hit my targets in the woods.

"What's so funny?" he asks as he looks over his shoulder again. His head turns for only a minute before his eyes are right back on me. 

I shake my head. "You look proud of yourself." 

"Who says I'm not? Peeta answers. He lets go of my hips and takes hold of my hands. I'm kissing the prettiest girl in the whole district." 

I can feel the blush clear up to my hairline. "Stop it," I tell Peeta, laughing. I hate compliments; they make me want to crawl into a hole and disappear. I wouldn't say I like attention, period. This thing with Peeta, whatever we're doing, will take some getting used to now. 

He shakes his head. "No way. Do you know how long I've been waiting to do this?" 

I shake my head and look down at my feet. He moves his finger underneath my chin, tilting my face up like he's not going to let me get away with avoiding him now that I'm here. "Don't do that, please," he says softly. 

I roll my eyes, embarrassment seeping into every pore. I'm not prepared for this at all. "You are ridiculous, you know?" I joke, trying to deflect his comments. His extreme focus is making me feel antsy. I don't know what to do with myself. 

Peeta looks down at my lips. "You seem to like me that way, right?" I laugh, embarrassed by his relentlessness. He kisses me again, just a little peck like he couldn't stop himself. 

"I guess you're okay," I say, casually as possible. I'm not sure if I managed the effect or not because I'm terrible at hiding my feelings. That's why I try not to have too many.

"Just okay?" He asks, linking his fingers with mine. His thumb rubs back and forth across my wrist. He can't seem to keep his hands still.

"Almost tolerable," I tease, and this time he kisses my forehead. "But seriously, you need to stop."

"No, I don't think so," he says casually. 

"Peeta…" 

"Nope, can't do it," he says before kissing me again. He's not very good at keeping his lips to himself.

I can't remember the last time I laughed this much. I don't usually have many reasons to do it. Well, at least that was true before I got to know Peeta, I realize. I've been a lot happier the last few weeks when I'm not worried about being whipped in the square, that is. I don't want to think about all the trouble right now, though. Can't I just enjoy myself for once? It's so lovely here with him; I don't want to think about reality. 

"Son?" His father calls, and Peeta groans, dropping one of my hands but tugging me inside the bakery with the other. 

"Just a minute," he hollers, shutting the door behind him.

"I should probably go," I whisper harshly, dropping his hand. The last thing I want right now is a run-in with a member of his family. I think back to that awkward day when Prim and I dropped that burn salve off to him and how Rye behaved.

"Please don't, not yet. It's just my father here right now anyway, and he's working the counter, so we'll be mostly alone," he tells me. "Will you stay and keep me company for a while?"

I shake my head at his antics. But Peeta's very persuasive- he's laying it on extra-thick right now. "I'm so lonely," he moans, and I can't help but snort, which is vaguely mortifying. "Please?" 

Rolling my eyes, I sit down on the stool he's pulled out next to the work table. He grins triumphantly.

"Peeta?" his father calls. A moment later, Mr. Mellark sticks his head through the curtain that separates the front room of the bakery from the kitchen. I can tell he's surprised to see me, but he doesn't remark on it. His mouth turns up in one corner, and he greets me. "Hi, Katniss." 

"Hi," I say, giving him a little half-wave before dropping my hand again. 

"What did you need?" Peeta asks, pulling the cloth out of his back pocket and wiping off his hands again. 

"You got that order for the Undersee's filled yet?"  

"Yeah, it's in the fridge." 

"Oh good, their housekeeper is here early," Mr.Mellark walks over to the refrigerator and takes a large box out. "Matilda said thanks for trying out that recipe, by the way."

Peeta shrugs. "It wasn't too difficult." 

"What was that all about?" I ask once the curtain has shut behind his father. 

"Hmm?" He asks, leaning over the table to prop his chin in his hand and stare at me. I can see the laughter behind his eyes. I'm going to murder him if he doesn't quit.

"Stop doing that."

"What am I doing?" 

"Staring at me like some kind of weirdo." 

"I am a weirdo; I can't help it." When I cross my arms and scowl at him, Peeta puts his hands up in surrender. He walks over to one of the shelves lining the wall.  

"But seriously, what was your father talking about?" I needle. 

"Oh, those people from the Capitol-" 

"You mean our buddy Mr. Garrick?" 

Peeta huffs, "Yeah, sure, if that's what you want to call it. Anyway, they have all of these strange dietary requests. All of their baked goods need making with this weird flour that I've never heard of. Neither my father nor Rye seems to be able to do anything with it, so the job falls to me," he answers, setting a few glass containers down on his work area. "That's why they've needed me to work so often lately." 

"That's not fair," I say softly, watching him dump scoops of different flours into the large mixing bowl in front of him. "This place isn't supposed to be your responsibility." 

"I know," he replies, his focus on the task in front of him. "But I have the time right now, so it's not a big deal."

"You don't, though, do you, Peeta. The work here is keeping you from getting things done at your own house, isn't it?" I challenge. Leaning back on the stool, I hook the low heels of my boots on the bottom rung and straighten to my full height. I don't like to think of him being taken advantage of by his family that way. 

He sighs. "Yeah, I suppose you're right." 

I continue, and I don't know where this is coming from- maybe it's newfound confidence after giving Gale a piece of my mind this morning. "I mean, what if those people never leave? Are you going to be stuck covering your brother's ass forever while he's off playing suck-face with Delly?"  

Peeta's eyes are round as saucers when he looks up at me. "Suck face?" he asks, a grin spreading across his face. 

I roll my eyes. Peeta should know that I'm not particularly eloquent by now. "You know what I mean," I say.

"I'm not going to do it forever, I swear. Father is stressed right now, and I don't want him to work himself to death. The bakery would be in trouble then, and that would be bad for all of us."

"I just don't want to see you taken advantage of, that's all. It's obvious that you're the one with the ability, and instead of doing what you were born to do-" Peeta rolls his own eyes at my dramatics, "you're stuck traipsing around the woods with me." 

"Katniss, do you remember when I told you I'd rather be out with you than running the bakery?" 

"Yeah, I remember. You're quite a convincing liar when you want to be." 

He groans and quickly comes around the table to stand next to me. "I wasn't lying; I meant it. I love being out there with you. Are you kidding me? Why would I rather be stuck in this hot kitchen with my asshole family than out in the woods? You know- where you are?"

“Fine.” I think he means it. “I believe you."

"You'd better," he admonishes. This time I'm the one who surprises him. I sit up and kiss him before he even gets the chance to move.  

"You know, you can feel free to do that any time you like," he says, his breath fanning out against my cheek. It makes me squirm a little. My face is hot, I'm a complete mess- my emotions are all over the place, but I also can't help but feel slightly triumphant. It's been a bold day for me all the way around.

"And I'll cut back soon," Peeta promises. His voice drops a little, and he wiggles his eyebrows. I groan, guessing what's coming. "Is there a particular reason you want me to get that house done so soon?” 

"Peeta…" I warn him, my voice trailing off. I know he's only teasing me, but I'm not ready to think about anything he's implying with that tone. I still have to adjust to the idea of being with him in some sort of fashion- whatever this is we're doing. That reminds me of something. "I saw Gale this morning," I tell him.

That brings his teasing to an abrupt halt. "In the woods?" Peeta asks, turning on his heel to take the pan off the stove. I can see steam rising from the surface.

"Yeah, it was pretty strange."

"I should have told my father that I couldn't come in today," he mutters, just low enough that I can barely hear him.

"What?" I say, laughing under my breath. What's his deal?

"Nothing, I'm just an idiot.” 

"Well, why are you an idiot then? Tell me."

Peeta sets the pan on the counter and cocks an eyebrow quizzically. "You seriously don't get it?" he asks, picking up a whisk.

"No, I don't.” 

"It just seems funny that I finally get the nerve to talk to you... I finally get the nerve to tell you how I feel, and then Gale comes around again. Asshole," Peeta says lowly, shocking me into silence. 

"Are you jealous of Gale?" I ask. I'm trying not to laugh at him, but it's ridiculous. I've told him what my relationship with Gale was like.

He shrugs, and I sigh. His behavior is stupid, but I figure I'll try to make him feel better anyway. "I don't think so; I mean it's, there's no...it's, not that. Um," I shake my head, trying to think of exactly how to explain our conversation to Peeta.

He continues staring down at the table.

"Gale's getting married. He's going to have a baby." I can visibly see some of the tension drop out of Peeta's shoulders when he realizes what I've said. He stays quiet, though, so I say something idiotic to fill the silence because it makes me nervous. "Well, not Gale but his fiance, you know. Not Gale himself." 

Peeta slumps over the table then, and I'm concerned for a minute until he bursts out laughing - loud, uncontrollable laughter. It goes on and on until my face is positively burning with embarrassment. 

"Shh, keep it down! Your father is going to come back here if you don't stop." 

"I can't help it, oh my god, Katniss," he cackles, choking on his words. I've never seen him laugh so hard. It wasn't that funny. 

"Fine, I guess I'll just leave then," I say, moving to hop down off the stool. I'm not going to encourage this behavior, especially when Peeta’s the one who was acting like a jealous idiot over Gale. Gale of all people, the person I just spoke to for the first time in two years.

He tries to stop laughing then, looking pretty reluctant about it, I might add. "No, no, no. Don't go, please." Peeta gasps, stepping in front of me and putting both hands on the table, caging me in with his body. "I'm sorry. I'll be good now, I promise."

I scowl up at him. "You'd better," I huff. 

He looks down at me, his face amused. 

My resolve to be angry with him melts a little. "You don't have to be, you know, jealous of Gale. I never wanted him like that."

"Like what?" he asks softly. I'm positive that he knows what I mean, but he still must be feeling pretty bold to be this forward- it's kind of hilarious that we're here now, after all those years of never talking to each other in school. Peeta pushes a loose piece of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering there a second longer than necessary. He expects me to say it? He must not know me as well as he thinks he does.

I try looking away, but he just turns his body every time I do so that I can't get away from his eyes. "You are the worst," I tell him, trying not to laugh. 

"Really?" he asks, smiling. 

I stand on my tip-toes. "Really," I nod before reaching up to kiss Peeta. 

I wait around at the bakery while Peeta finishes his work. It doesn't take him long, and I'm not in any kind of a hurry today, so I agreed to go to his house with him so we can feed the piglets. I'm getting kind of attached to those little oinkers.  

"I'm running a little low on food for them, so I'll need to go out in the morning," Peeta says as we walk across the square. We're close to each other, but he doesn't reach for my hand. I know he's just doing it as a courtesy to me, he knows I don't like excess attention, but secretly I kind of want to say the heck with it and grab ahold of him. I always feel more at ease when he's touching me. 

"That’s fine. I'm trying to save money for Prim's birthday," I tell him. "I can't make up my mind what to get her, but I have a few coins put back, so I'm hoping that I can find some extra for trade while we're out." 

"If you need to go out alone tomorrow, I'd probably be alright to go by myself," he looks over at me and grins. "I mean, I don't want to go by myself, but I understand if you'd rather. I know the way I stomp around scares the animals off.” 

I shake my head. "Why do you always have to act like you're a burden?" 

He bites his lip, looking down at his feet as we walk. I nudge him with his elbow, and he laughs a little, but he still won't look at me. What did I say? We were joking around, but now I feel like I've hit a nerve.

"Peeta?" I ask, my voice low. "Are you alright?"

He shrugs and looks up. "I've kind of always been treated that way, honestly." He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s hard to let go of the idea, I guess.”

"Your mom?" I ask.

He nods. "Yeah." he's quiet for a minute, and we slow down at the place where the road curves around the edge of the square and leads to his house. "You know, I think you're right. I think maybe I need to stand up for myself more with them. I just…" he sticks his hands down in his pockets. He stares at his shoes. "I guess I'm still trying to earn her approval like I need to show my family that I can be successful without them." 

I think for a minute about what he said. "I think you are capable of doing that." 

Peeta glances over at me then. "You think so?" 

I nod vigorously. "Absolutely," I say. Peeta moves towards me like he's going to put his arms around me, but then he steps back like he's not sure of himself. I know Peeta's trying to be respectful of the public boundaries. I let him know I'd rather keep, but right now, even I'm aware of how ridiculous that is. 

I roll my eyes, more at myself than him. "Come here," I say, holding my arms out. Peeta's done this for me, and I figure it's my turn to be there for him. 

Peeta pulls me tightly against him and presses his face down into the top of my head. "You have no idea what you've done for me, just knowing you," he says quietly. "I don't mean to pressure you or scare you off or anything. I mean, I know you told me that you don't want to get married or anything, and that's fine. It is, but I have to tell you…" he lets out a breath. "I think you're the best thing that's ever happened to me." 

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. It's alright, though; it's a comfortable silence. I'm glad to give Peeta a little bit of what he's given me. And you know what? I don't care who sees us. They can mind their own business or buzz off.

We're still standing there a moment later when I feel something brushing up against my ankle, the way a cat would rub against you. "What on earth is that…." I mutter, pulling away from him to look down at my feet. "Oh, no. Peeta, look!" 

"Hmm?" he asks, stepping back and looking a little glassy-eyed. But then a distinct "oink" draws him out of whatever trance it is he's fallen. Down by our feet is Petunia, looking at us with eyes like a puppy. Peeta snatches her off the ground. "What are you doing out here?" he asks her. But then, his face pales when the realization of what a visiting piglet must mean hits him. "Oh, hell. Katniss, they must've gotten out!" 

Chapter Text

Peeta, by my best guess, is in shock right now. The color drains out of his face, and the strange look he wears starts to worry me. He has a vice-like grip on Petunia, which must be growing tighter by the minute because the piglet is squirming to get down, making distressed little squeals.

"Peeta, come on. We've got to go." 

"Huh?"

I give him a light shove, just something to break the daze into which he's fallen. "Peeta," I say, "we need to get to your house and see what's going on. Maybe Petunia is the only one who got out. Don't you think you'd better check?"

He looks down at the piglet in his arms, the stupor he fell into finally evaporating. "Yeah, yeah. Of course, you're right. Can you take Petunia so I can run ahead?" He asks while handing the piglet over to me.

"Go ahead…" I begin to answer, but he's already gone, first breaking into a run and then disappearing around the curve in the road. 

I follow at a much slower pace while trying to keep Petunia from wriggling out of my grasp as I walk. If she were any bigger, this would be impossible, and I certainly can't move as quickly as I'd like to while she fights against my hold on her. "Easy girl. Hang on, okay? Your dad needs you to be good," What is wrong with me? I think, trying to keep her still for a few more minutes, these pigs aren't pets. They're going to get butchered eventually. I barely tolerate Buttercup; why am I trying to comfort a piglet?

I finally catch up with Peeta. He's standing next to the pig's pen and messing with the lock on the gate. He looks up at us when Petunia starts squealing again. 

"I'm down one," he says, his voice oddly detached, his expression strained. "Sir-Oinks-A-Lot is gone. Here," he pauses to take Petunia from my hands, "she can go back in now; I'll have the latch fixed in a minute." 

I can't say I blame him for worrying. I, for one, can't help thinking about everything he mentioned about profit margins and the risks associated with raising the pigs. I hate to consider what it might mean for him if he's down one when it's time to sell them off. 

"What do you think happened?" I ask.

He shakes his head. He looks frustrated, and his voice sounds angry when he speaks. "I'm not sure, but I think someone might have tampered with the lock. Everything looked fine this morning when I left for the bakery. I always make sure it's locked, and the mechanism hasn't been sticking or anything." Peeta runs his hands through his hair and tugs on the ends. "Why is this happening?" he mutters under his breath. 

"Peeta…"

"You were right. Do you know that? If I hadn't been so eager to help out at the bakery...."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, but if I hadn't spent all day in town- if I'd been here worrying about my stuff instead of my family's crap, none of this would've happened." 

"Maybe, maybe not," I say, shrugging. 

"I'm pretty damn sure, Katniss." he quips. Peeta gives the gate a firm shake, and when the latch doesn't hold, popping back open from the pressure, he practically growls in frustration. "Son of a bitch!" he says, slamming the door back into place, only to watch it bounce free again. 

The irritation is practically rolling off of him at this point, but underneath the surface, the main feeling I'm getting from him is the self-loathing Peeta seems to be so fond of I hate it. 

"Do you need me to get anything from the house? Maybe a diversion is needed? A tool or something?" I ask. "Maybe a bag of feed to take out your frustrations on?" I murmur the last sentence under my breath.

But my snarky comment seems to bring him back into focus. He lets out a breath and nods, his shoulders slumping a little. "Would you mind getting that crowbar out of the backroom? This latch is bent- I'll have to try prying it back into place to keep the rest of the piglets from getting out." 

I step closer to him and put my hand on his shoulder. He visibly relaxes. 

I think Peeta is much like me in the fact that we've both had to do most things for ourselves- there hasn't been anyone upon whom either of us could rely. While he may have had more of his basic needs met, there seems to be a real shortage of emotional support in the Mellark household. 

"While you're working on the lock, I'll start looking around for Sir-Oinks-A-Lot, okay? If the others are still here, maybe he hasn't gotten very far." 

He still won't look my way but does seem to relax visibility. "Thank you," he says quietly.

"You're welcome," I reply, squeezing his shoulder before heading back towards the house. Once the screen door shuts behind me and I'm alone, I let out the breath that I'd been holding. 

I'll feel much better if we find that piglet.

Figuring that the escapee probably headed for the closest source of food smells, I decided to walk back into town towards the merchant section. I meander down the alleyway that runs behind the bakery first.

"Where are you, piggy?" I call in a soft voice, searching as near as I can around the refuse containers and small garden plots behind the Merchant buildings and homes without drawing too much attention to myself. A pig is a valuable item in Twelve, especially when a person could grab off the street and sneak home. 

There's no sign of Sir-Oinks-A-Lot on this side of the square. I'm just getting ready to cross to the other side when I see Madge waving to me, so I stop and wait while she darts across the street. Her face is flushed, and her clothes are dirty, something I honestly don't think I've ever been able to say about her. She looks like she's been running.

"Hey, Madge-" I begin, but she comes to an abrupt halt, skidding to a stop so quickly I'm afraid for just a minute that she's going to run me over. 

"Is Peeta missing one of his pigs?" she gasps, out of breath and wiping her dirty hands down the front of her skirt to clean them off.

"You've seen him?" I could collapse from the force of my relief. "Yes! Oh, Madge, you are a lifesaver!  Where did you see him?"

She points to the east of where we are standing right now, towards the fence. "If you walk straight behind the flower shop, a little further that way, that's where he was hanging out a minute ago. I saw him rooting around through the florist's scraps pile, and when I tried to pick him up, he took off before I could get my hands on him."

"Which way did he go?" I have to smother a laugh at the mental image of Madge trying to grab that obstinate pig; it's entirely outside of her comfort zone. But this is no time for nonsense. I need to find Sir-Oinks-A-Lot before he gets too far.

Madge doesn't answer; she begins to walk away from me, and I fall into step beside her.

"Come on; I'll show you. You might need my help grabbing the piglet," Madge says by way of explanation.

A few minutes later, we're calling "here piggy-piggy!" and jogging north along the border of the fence. 

"Is there just the one that got out?" Madge asks.

"Yes, thank goodness," I say. "I mean, we need to find the piglet, but at least it's just one."

"Does he have a name? Should we be calling it instead of "piggy"?" she muses.

I think about her question for only a second, rejecting the idea quickly. "Yes, the pig has a name, and no, we shouldn't be calling it. Prim named him, and it is absurd."

Madge shakes her head, chuckling. "It can't be that bad!"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I, for one, don't want to call "here Sir-Oinks-A-Lot" loud enough for anyone to hear," I quip. 

Madge laughs. "I can't believe he let your sister give one of his pigs that crazy name. Well, I can believe that because it's Peeta," she adds. "What's going on with you two? How's the foraging going?"

"Pretty well. Peeta's good company," I admit.

"Not bad looking either," she says slyly.

I shrug. Madge isn't wrong, although that's not really what I like about him. I don't know how to explain myself to her. "He kissed me last night," I say, not at all sure why I do and certainly not because I feel like talking about it- because I don't. So why did I say anything?

Madge comes to an abrupt halt, and when I look back at her, there's a massive smile on her face. "What?" She asks, incredulous sounding. 

I scowl at her and shake my head. "Madge! Not now. Can't we walk and talk?"

"Yeah, hold up, I'm coming. So what's-"

"Actually, can we just talk about it later?" I interrupt abruptly. I need to focus on finding that pig. The guy she wants to get all the details about kissing me will be in a lot of trouble if we don't, so I figure I can fill Madge in after finding the escapee. 

"No, as you said, let's walk and talk," Madge demands. "We've headed in the right direction anyway." To the right of us is the fence with foliage growing up and around it, and to the left is an open, mostly packed-down-earth stretch of ground where we could easily spot Sir-Oinks-A-Lot if he were wandering around. "You can't just tell me this stuff and then say, "oh, I'm too busy to talk right now, Madge." It isn't flying with me."

"When did you get so bossy?" I ask her, laughing a little despite myself- not that she's going to get any more information out of me because of it.

"I can pull it out when needed." She replies, nudging me with her elbow.

"It was just a kiss," I say, neglecting to mention all the kissing that went on today at the bakery. Madge doesn't need to know everything, despite what she may think. "It's not a big deal," I add for good measure.

"I need details."

"I think I liked you better when you didn't talk to me. Remember school?" I mumble. 

"Shut up," Madge replies quickly. "Details, now, and just remember that you're the one who brought the whole thing up. That means you must want to tell me." 

I ignore her, and she actually doesn't say anything else because we've just come in sight of the guard station at the gate, and the joking attitude just kind of melts away when the reality of the situation strikes us both. We both come to an abrupt stop. 

"We had a run-in with that man from the Capitol." "Be careful what you say when we get there," I tell her quietly, wanting to give her a heads-up. I'm in no hurry for a repeat of what happened yesterday, and I'm not taking any chances.

Madge makes a face. "Oh, you mean Mr. Garrick?" she asks, disgust evident in her tone. "He's a creep, isn't he? He stares at me every time he's at our house," 

Her confession makes my stomach sink because Madge is attractive. She gets a lot of second looks from men in town and some of the women. "I certainly wouldn't want to be alone with him," I say, "and I wouldn't trust him any further than I could throw him."

Madge seems to grit her teeth. "He's repulsive."

"And dangerous," I add, decided to fill her in on our run-in with Mr. Garrick. "He nosed through Peeta's wheelbarrow looking for "contraband" when we finished gathering yesterday, and then he searched my bag. I didn't have anything on me." I think of the expression on his face like he'd missed out on a favorite meal or something. "He seemed disappointed by that."

We're silent for a moment in contemplation. 

"There's no reason why he'd be here right now, though, right?" I say, for Madge's benefit as well as my own. "It's late afternoon; he's probably in Victor's Village taking an evil power nap or something."

She nods. "Right. And we're not doing anything illegal, so why should we be nervous?"

I snort at that. "Nice try, Madge."

"Did it work?" she asks, looking over at me out of the corner of her eye.

"Nope. Now come on, let's get this over with."

To my disappointment, the guards working the gate today are two I don't know particularly well. I was hoping Darius would be here, but it looks like I'm out of luck today. We question the Peacekeepers, who both claim they haven't seen any sign of a pig. 

"I'm not entirely sure I believe them," she mentions as we head farther north along the fence row.

"Me neither," I admit. Those two were on duty yesterday for our encounter with Garrick, and I couldn't shake the feeling that they were hiding something from us. But where could they hide a pig inside of a guard shack?

We continue searching over the next few hours, covering just about every inch of town and the surrounding areas until it's getting dark outside and closer to the time we'll need to be in the square or our homes for the Games broadcast. There's no sign of the stray pig anywhere. 

Madge and I meet up with Peeta back at his house. He's been looking for Sir-Oinks-A-Lot almost as long as we have. It's been nothing but one dead end after another for him as well.

"Don't feel bad, Katniss, I'll figure something out," he tells me once the three of us decide we've looked as much as we possibly can for one day. "And besides, he still might turn up." 

He's trying to ease my mind, I can tell. He's a good liar, but even Peeta has his limitations- it's impossible to remove that hunted look from your eyes at will like you're just waiting for the world to strike you down.

I stand on my tiptoes and brush his cheek with my lips before heading home. I'm too worried about Peeta to talk right now. Madge doesn't even comment on it, and I'll admit that I appreciate her silence.

Mother gets up and shuts the television off after the evening's broadcast of the Games is over. 

We're all feeling grim. The night was gruesome in the Arena. 

We're down to one tribute from Twelve. In a gory scene, John was taken out earlier in the day by Than, the Career from Four. I had to turn my eyes away from it- there was little left of his body to send back home after the bear-mutts got ahold of him once he was dead.

The two he'd paired up with from Eleven are both wounded now as well. I guess they were fortunate. I'm not sure how they escaped from the Careers. While the pair are in bad shape, they did receive a sponsor gift of some bandages and medicine that will prolong their lives for a while. That's unusual for tributes from a poor district like Eleven, and despite the appearance, I'm sure the first-aid items weren't gifted simply for their benefit. 

After all, it's no fun for the Capitolites if the tributes are all wiped out too soon. Where's the sport in that? The Games are down to ten already, and it's only been three days.

There's a boy from Ten and a boy from Three who are still out on their own. In what was a questionable move for our remaining tribute from home, Linden approached and managed to align herself with Kai and the two younger boys. 

The new quartet of tributes finally moved out of their cave and beg trekking down the mountainside, headed towards what we at home know to be the west side of the Arena. Two small mountains are separating them from the border. It's an unusual strategy, most tributes who aren't part of the career pack just try to hide and wait things out. I don't know how long the Gamemakers are going to let the little group get by unscathed. Today the closest thing to danger the group encountered was a lynx.

Once the Games coverage is over and we've all settled in to try and forget the horror of what we just witnessed, I'm ready to drop. The physical exertion of the day has left me exhausted, and I can't wait to go to bed, but I know once I lie down, I'll probably just stare at the ceiling all night. My thoughts will drive me crazy- there's just too much on my mind to do anything else. I'm sick and angry and disgusted about the state of things, and most of all, I feel terrible about John's pointless death. I can't let myself think about his family. 

Prim is unusually quiet. I can tell that she was thinking about our conversation yesterday. Slumped in on herself the way she is, a little balled up girl, she looks so young and fragile that I put my arm around her and pull her into my side. 

Prim lays her head on my shoulder. 

"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't want this to happen either." And I am sorry. I wish my sister could live in a world where the Games don't exist. She deserves so much more than this. 

She sighs. "You were right. I don't know why I keep hoping that things are going to get better. They never will."

"Shhhh," I tell her, my heart breaking a little at her words. "Don't say that. One cynic per family is all that's allowed."

She laughs, and the noise comes out sounding like a half-sob. "I know. I hate this so much," she adds, snuggling even closer to me. 

Mother comes and sits on the other side of Prim, putting her arm around her shoulders as well. "Let's go to bed," she says after a minute. I find that I couldn't agree more, barely able to keep my eyes open.

Maybe I will be able to sleep.

It's hours later when we hear a knock on the door, and the sound awakens me from a dream about the lake and my father- the two of us were trying to teach Prim how to swim, and she kept bobbing up to the surface as a duck would. It was a good one for a change. After throwing a sweater over my nightgown, I go to the window and peer into the darkness. Mother and Prim stand in the bedroom doorway, waiting for me to open the door. On the front porch, I can just make out a form in head-to-toe white. The sight makes me feel ill- it's a peacekeeper's uniform. All I can think is that this is it- my bow was found by one of them, and they've come to put me in the stockades. My hand is shaking as I unlock the door. I tell myself to stay calm, even as my pulse is racing. I tug on the handle, and when it opens and I finally see who is waiting on the other side of the door, I feel as though my whole body is ready to collapse in relief. 

It's Darius. He's alone, and the shield on his Peacekeeper's helmet is pushed back so that I can see his eyes. "Evenin', Katniss," he says. "I've got something for you." 

I hear a noise and look down to see the crate in his hands jolted by its contents. "What is that…." I begin, but my words trail off when I hear squeals coming from inside the crate. It's too dark to see much, but that has to be. "Is that-" I

"I think this belongs to your foraging buddy," Darius interrupts as none other than Sir-Oinks-A-Lot himself pokes his head up over the top of the crate. 

"It's him!" I've never been so happy to see a pig in my life.

"Can I bring him in?" Darius asks.

"Yes, of course, thank you," my mother at least has the presence of mind to speak up. I can't seem to make my mouth form the words. "Please, come in."

"I can't stay. I need to get back to the barracks soon. I hated to see Peeta get screwed over like that. He seems like a decent guy," Darius says. "Besides, what are we going to do with a damn piglet around the camp?"

"Thank you so much," I say. I feel emotion choking my voice because I know Darius took a risk doing this for us tonight- and it goes against every ideology the Peacekeepers stand for, at least in theory.

In reality, they aren't all bad. 

"What do I owe you?" I ask, thinking about the coins I have saved for my sister's birthday. I would probably still have time to earn another one or two- her gift wouldn't be as nice, but I don't know what else to offer him.

"Just save me a squirrel," he says, his eyes dancing with laughter. "I won't even try to force one of my kisses on you the way I would normally angle to do. I have a feeling your foraging partner wouldn't look too kindly on me for it."

I flush at his teasing. Darius is the most relentless flirt in the District, but he's harmless. 

It is a little unsettling that word is getting around about Peeta and me already, though, so I scowl at him in an attempt to get my embarrassment under control. "I'll save you two," I say. 

"If you insist," he replies, setting the crate and Sir-Oinks-A-Lot on the floor. The piglet immediately scrambles out over the edge and takes off for our bedroom, where he runs between Prim's legs. She shrieks in delight and chases after him. 

"Well, good luck with that. I'd better get going now," Darius laughs, backing out the door. "Good night."

As soon as Sir-Oinks-A-Lot is back with the other piglets at Peeta's house the next morning, I let out an enormous sigh of relief. I'm so glad to have him back here. 

Last night felt like one of the longest in recent memory because the piglet was awake and getting into things the entire night. He frequently roamed, going from under our beds to the kitchen table to the pantry where he nosed around continuously. Every time we tried putting him back in the crate, he hopped right back out. It was probably a good thing that Buttercup was gone last night- that would have made things even worse. I wouldn't have liked to return Sir-Oinks-A-Lot to Peeta covered in cat slashes.

I sit down on the front stoop to wait for Peeta, having arrived earlier than him for once, or so I think, until the sound of the front door opening behind my back startles me. In the darkness of the early morning, with only the moon to reflect any light on his face, the lines under his eyes are more pronounced. He looks terrible. I bet he didn't get any more sleep than I did last night.

"Hey," he says as if he can't muster the strength for more enthusiasm than that. It doesn't bother me.

"Hi," I answer. "You been here all night?"

Peeta ambles over to sit down beside me. "I figured I'd better start staying here. I can't leave the pigs alone so much anymore, or I'm going to be down to nothing."

"Wait," I say, stopping Peeta as he begins to lower himself to the step. I stand up and take his hand, giving it a hard tug when he looks at me in confusion. The force makes him wince a little, and I roll my eyes at his dramatics. 

"What's going on?" he asks warily.

I proceed to drag him behind me as I walk towards the pen. "You need to see something."

"Okay, what's…." Peeta comes to a dead halt at the pen. I can see his eyes scanning and counting, assuring himself that despite what his rational mind is telling him, he has six pigs again. 

Peeta whips his head around faster than I've ever seen him move. "Where did you find him?" he asks, stepping closer to me.

"It was-"I begin, but don't get a chance to answer because Peeta drags me against him like I'm a bar of steel, and he's a magnet. He holds me close with one arm and runs one hand up my back, using his palm to pull me closer. I'm only looking up at him for a moment when he brings his mouth down to mine and kisses me hard, desperately.

Oh, this is different, I think, as my body tingles all over at his proximity, the feel of his arms and lips crushing me. It's so good, so unexpected. We've never kissed like this before, our lips not just brushing lightly but sucking and savoring. My hands are around his shoulders, and we press ourselves so close together, I can feel his chest expanding and compressing, trying to catch his breath.

Finally, he pulls back and lays his forehead against mine, both of us taking in shallow breaths and trying to get our racing pulses to slow down again. 

"Sorry I attacked you like that," Peeta whispers against my skin. He presses his lips there before pulling back to look at me. There are tears in the corners of his eyes, and I swipe them away with my thumbs. "It's just that… I don't know when I've been so relieved; I was so sure I was going to be in so much trouble, but then you come, and it's you, Katniss, it's you." 

"It wasn't all me-"

"Shh, we'll talk about it later," he interrupts, kissing me again. This one steals my breath away. I laugh against his mouth and feel his answering smile. 

Peeta and I don't talk much after that, and it's much later than usual when we head for the woods.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later.

"What time is it?" I ask Mother, setting the hammer down on top of the new little structure I'd spent the morning putting together. Her timing was perfect since I'd just finished driving the last nail into the roof moments before she came out to check on me.

"I was coming out to let you know it's almost two. Are you about done?" She asks, wiping her hands down the sides of her dress. I think she must have just finished cleaning up the kitchen; Mother can't stand to let the house get messy, especially if people are coming over.

I hope the cake she was making turns out well. Baking isn't something either of us are used to doing, but I'd managed to get my hands on some good flour at the Hob a few days ago, and Mother said that she could use that along with some honey we had leftover and make Prim a birthday cake with it. It won’t be anything fancy like one from the bakery, but it will have to do. It's more than we've had in past years.

"I am for now," I say. "I can't finish this thing up until Peeta brings the ramp."

"He's coming early?"

"If it's that late, he should be here pretty soon," I say. I nod in answer before dropping my face and grasping the hem of my shirt to wipe my forehead before the sweat can run in my eyes and sting. When I drop it back into place, I can see that wiping the sweat away has left the material smeared with dirt and sweat. We still haven't gotten a measurable amount of rain yet this summer, just a sprinkle here or there, and the air is so dry today I have an iron, sour taste in my mouth from breathing the dust in for too long.

Mother leans against the doorway. "You'd better go get cleaned up if you don't want to keep him waiting. I have some warm water on the back of the stove, ready for you to use."

I follow her inside the house and pour myself a drink of water, glad to be out of the midday sun. I down it quickly and fill another, carrying the glass back to the bedroom with me because I don't have much time. Mother follows me a moment later with some warm water in a basin as I down the second glass. "Thank you," I tell her as she's leaving the room.

"Just make sure you hurry," she replies, shutting the door behind her.

I pull the dresser drawer open and root around inside until I finally find a clean shirt and pants, not particularly wanting to smell like sweat and dirt when everyone shows up. Working quickly, I use warm water and some of Prim's homemade herbal soap to wash up; I've just finished re-braiding my hair when I hear new voices in the living room, so I leave the bedroom to see who's arrived already.

It's Hazelle and Posy, and they've brought a small package along with them. "You didn't have to bring anything," I reprimand them. The Hawthorne's situation isn't any better than ours, even with Gale working in the mines. 

I just ran into Gale, leaving the Justice Building with Hyacinth the other day, the first time I've spoken to them together. It was the first time I'd seen him since we had that talk in the woods, and I remember feeling relieved that the situation wasn't uncomfortable. The three of us stopped and talked for a moment, and Gale told me that they'd just applied for their marriage license and were planning to have their toasting as soon as they got their housing assignment after the Games. Besides, he will have his own home in the Seam and a baby by next year.  

Speaking of the Games-things seem to be drawing to a close for this year's events. There's a handful of tributes left.

According to Cesar and Claudius, the Gamesmakers are growing tired of the standoff between Kai, Linden, and the small boys they are protecting versus the two remaining careers, Than and Enyo. 

The strange turn the Games have taken this year seems to have left the district in a state of suspended waiting. It's not a sense of hopefulness we're collectively feeling because really, what chance is there of a smallish girl from the Seam outlasting three careers? If I were to lay odds on it, Gale and Hyacinth would probably be marrying soon, and not long after that, two coffins will be returned home to the district.

"Oh, don't fret, Kat- it's not much," Hazelle tells me, patting my arm. "I didn't spend a thing, I promise."

"I made it for Prim myself," Posy pipes in, her little face filled with pride- until she seems to think better of it. "Well, Ma helped a little," she admits. 

"Only a tiny bit," Hazelle says, laying her hand on Posy's waist and steering her towards the living area. "You did most of it yourself. Oh, and Katniss?" she peeks out the window, "your fella is here."

I scowl at Hazelle. 

There isn't room for argument, so I don't say anything in rebuke because I guess despite my best efforts to keep my relationship with Peeta out of the public eye, everyone knows that he is my "fella." 

As much as I hate the term, though, there it is. It's not like things are all that different between us; it's just that we hold hands and kiss sometimes now.

Okay, that is a slight exaggeration- we kiss a lot now, and that's precisely why everyone knows we're together. People seem to catch us all the time, but that doesn't mean I want to talk about it. Yes, I enjoy his company and look forward to seeing him when he's not around, but I still don't know what it is that Peeta and I are doing in the long run. 

I still don't want to get married. That hasn't changed; I'm not going to have children in a world where they could be half-starved for twelve years and then possibly reaped and murdered live on television, all for the entertainment of a bunch of soulless Capitolites. Not that the Hunger Games are simply about entertainment for vapid individuals, no- we in the districts know better than that. The Games are about fear and control, about those people in authority saying, "We own you, and there's nothing you can do about it. There's no reprieve from it. There's no escape. If we decide to take you, you're ours."

And the way that Peeta and I have been under such scrutiny from the Capitol representatives lately, most notably Mr. Garrick, makes me feel targeted. I don't know why they are so concerned with us, but it's become glaringly obvious they are. 

Every day when we leave the woods, someone is waiting to rifle through our belongings, searching for something illegal. It's gotten so bad that I've stopped taking my bag in with me altogether. 

I found a patch of trees next to a low spot in the fence row, and every morning before meeting up with Peeta, I crawl underneath and hide my bag. I then retrieve it again once I have my kills, crawl back out underneath the low spot in the fence, hide the bag on a low-hanging tree branch and pick it up later once the two of us are outside the fence. 

He hates that I have to go to that much trouble, not that I don't, but frankly, it's not that much different from the routine I followed before I started going out to the woods with him. 

Peeta seems to have this crazy idea that it's his fault we're under such scrutiny. "You're ridiculous," I told him the last time he brought the subject up, "you're not the one doing anything illegal. I'm sure it's because of me."

I'd been helping him clean out his house at the time and was covered head to toe in dirt and cobwebs, worn out, and entirely not in the mood to argue with him. I think my words came out a little sharp, but he was ridiculous.

"I don't see how it can be a coincidence that no one took notice of your hunting until you started helping me. I'm the one the Capitolites seem to be harassing- it would've been my ass on the line if the pigs had all gotten away." Peeta replied, looking over his shoulder as he answered me. 

When he noticed how I was scowling at him, he set down his nails and hammer and came towards me. 

"The authorities have always known about my hunting," I said when he stood directly in front of me. "It's just that nobody cared until now. The Peacekeepers were some of my best customers."

"I think you should give some serious thought to it," he said, grabbing my hand and sliding his fingers in-between mine. "You might be better off on your own. I can manage." I tried to tug my hand away, but he just raised his eyebrows playfully. 

"No, I'm not doing that, and that's gross, by the way," I told him, nodding at our joined hands. "I'm covered in cobwebs."

"It's not, and yes, you are. But you're cute, and I'd kiss you right this minute if you'd let me," Peeta said, a wide grin spreading across his face. I rolled my eyes at him, but secretly my heart leaped a little as he laughed and dropped my hand, walking back over to finish what he'd been doing.

Darn Peeta and his attempts to butter me up! Not that his scheming would affect my decision one way or the other. He ought to know better. I've been taking care of myself for too many years to change my methods now. Yes, there is a risk in what I'm doing, but as long as I can get past the fence one way or another, I'm going to keep hunting. And to my way of thinking, going in with Peeta is the safer bet. 

Wouldn’t it be more plausible for me to be in the area if I have a legitimate reason for being out in the woods with him?

"And you don't think that would seem odd?" I asked.

"Why would it?" he asked in return, scooping up the pile of rags we'd been using to clean the walls, floors, and every filthy inch of his house.

He had water boiling on the stove, ready to wash the filthy rags with the strong lye soap we use for laundry in the district. The stuff is so strong it'll peel a layer of skin off if you're not careful using it.

I put my hands on my hips and huffed. "Because I've been going out there with you every day since your first time out, that's why."

"I just don't want anything happening to you because of me," Peeta said as he dropped the pile next to the stove before pulled the pot over to the edge, ready to pour the boiling water into the washtub. 

I scowled at the back of his head. If Peeta thought I was going to do whatever he said now that we're "together," I guess, then he had another thing coming.  Kissing me didn't give him the right to tell me what to do. 

"I'm not taking more of a risk now than I used to. It's better than starving. Or going into the mines."

"I know. I just wish things weren't like this."

"We all do," I told him, shrugging. "I'm not going to stop going into the woods with you, so you can quit worrying about me all the time."

He laughed resignedly. "I can't, but I won't make it your problem."

"Fair enough," I said, tossing a dirty rag towards him. "Here, add this to the pile."

I go outside to meet Peeta- hoping he managed to make it through the Seam with his part of the birthday present without being spotted by Prim, who is spending the day with a friend. He's standing next to the new goat house I just put the finishing touches on, arms full, when I sneak up behind him and lay my hand on his back.

"Hey!" Peeta says, jumping a bit. 

"Hey yourself." I snort at his reaction because I seem to get a perverse enjoyment out of startling him. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him, just a light brush of our lips together. Goofing around with him makes me feel like a kid again. 

He grins at me after straightening up, and I swear my heart skips a beat. Peeta is so dangerous to my resolve, but I can't seem to help myself. It bothers me how out of control I feel with him, like my mind isn't my own anymore. I don't recognize the old Katniss in the lighthearted way I appear; there certainly isn't any reason to feel that way right now. It's like the rational part of my mind disappears when I'm with him, replaced by this hope for things I know I'll probably never have. Being with Peeta feels like playing with fire, but I can't seem to keep from reaching towards it because I want the good things it promises- warmth and comfort and having someone who cares for me. 

I can even admit, only to myself, that I'm tired of being the self-reliant girl who takes care of everyone else. He makes me want things that I have no business pining after in District Twelve- a family and home of my own. I especially like the idea of waking up next to him every morning. 

That's not to mention the physical things that go along with being in a relationship with him- things that will eventually lead to a risk of babies and then heartache- stuff I'd never thought of wanting until I got to know him. 

How has so much changed in such a short time?

I hope I don't get burned.

"That looks good!" I tell Peeta, peeking around his shoulder at the ramp he's parked next to the new goat house.  He painted flowers and tufts of grass all over it. Our gift will be a bright spot in the dull grey of the Seam. "Prim is going to love all of this."

"I hope so," he says. 

I squeeze his arm, and he laughs under his breath before bending down to kiss me again. His breath is warm and smells like mint, and I can't help but kiss him back, stepping closer and running my hands up his arms. Peeta steps even closer himself, and I wonder if he's thinking about the two of us in the woods yesterday when he caught me off guard and pressed me back against a large tree. 

Things had gotten- intense. 

Needless to say, after yesterday, I was now fully aware of the appeal of sneaking off into dark alleyways with someone. 

My cheeks were flaming the entire walk home yesterday, and when I got back to the house, I thanked my lucky stars that Prim and my mother weren't there yet. 

And then there was last night- I barely slept a wink, but it wasn't because of any nightmares.

Right now, Peeta and I are in my backyard with a house full of people behind us, and I'm sure as I can be that my nosy neighbor boy Doneth is probably staring at us through the window as we speak.

As much as I hate to do it, I pull back from Peeta's kiss. 

He lets out a breath as I rest my head on his chest. "Sorry about that," he whispers, really not sounding sorry at all. "I didn't mean to get carried away."

I smacked his shoulder lightly. "Doubt it," I said, biting my lip to keep from laughing at the hang-dog look on his face.

Peeta shakes his head, seeming to bring himself back into focus before stepping away from me. "We'd probably better go inside now, huh?" 

I snort a little at his wistful tone. 

He chuckles, shaking his head at me, his eyes soft, and the corners of his eyes crinkled the way I've noticed they do.

This feeling growing between us is so- I don't know how to describe it- fun? 

I'm having fun with him- more than I should be allowing myself. It just feels as though the two of us have this enormous secret we're keeping from the world. I suppose that most people think this way, even though this thing between us seems like it should only be ours. 

If other couples feel the way I do about him, I realize why they take the risks they do to be together. 

Once you have a taste of happiness with someone, it's never enough. And it scares me because my resolve is slipping a little more every day. I can't seem to stop it; I can't control it. It's just there.

"Yeah. Prim will be here any minute," I tell him, grabbing Peeta's hand and pulling him towards the house. "Let's go."

Prim, my sensitive little sister, bursts into tears when she sees Mother’s cake for her. It's just a one-layer cake made in our iron skillet, but I'm inordinately pleased with how happy it makes her. My sister deserves to have good things.

"It looks delicious," she says, wiping the tears out of her eyes. "I can't wait to try some."

As mother cuts the cake, Prim goes around and hugs me first, and then Hazelle and Posy, before approaching Peeta last. 

When she reaches him, she throws her tiny arms around her neck, and he lifts her in the air, swinging her around in a circle while she squeals.

 "Oh, I always wanted an older brother," she says once he finally sets her down, trying to catch her breath after laughing so hard. "I'd make you do that every day if you were my brother."

Peeta laughs at that. "I'd take you over either of my brothers any day, Prim. I can promise you that."

"Thanks a lot," I say, joining in to tease her. "I've never felt more appreciated."

"Well, you know, I wouldn't trade you for anyone, Katniss. All I'm saying is that maybe someday I could have both…." Prim says, glancing back and forth between Peeta and me.

I scowl at her hard enough that it shuts her up, and Mother laughs while Peeta awkwardly stares at a spot above my head.

"Who's ready for cake?" Hazelle asks, breaking the mood.

Prim's eyes are wide as saucers when we lead her outside and show her our gift.

It took pooling all of our resources to pay for everything. Still, instead of buying Prim something pretty that she could wear, Mother and I decided to invest every cent into something that will earn her a little more than just a coin here and there, from trading goat cheese to the bakery. We widened to tellhe pen to give Lady more room, but the big thing we did was add a little building and a ramp for exercise for her and the kid that Lady is expecting soon. 

Last year when Lady had her kid, we sold the animal back to the goat man, and Prim had wistfully said at the time that she wished we could have just kept the baby goat ourselves. 

Thinking back on Prim's wish last year, I realized that there was no reason why we couldn't raise a few more goats, just so long as we had enough space for them.  

Another thing is that Peeta doesn't need quite all of the grass, among other things like roots and fungus, he gathers every day. There's more than enough leftover to fit feed an extra goat or two. 

"I thought we could start small," I tell Prim as she quivers in excitement, "we will have to sell some of the kids eventually, but I think we can build up a reserve of two or three goats and still sell enough to make it profitable- If we're careful."

"Oh Katniss, this is absolutely the loveliest present you could have given me!" She says, ignoring my little speech for the most part. "Lady and her baby are going to be so happy here, aren't you, girl?"

Lady solemnly chews a tuft of grass, mostly unaffected by the attention. She doesn't seem impressed by her new digs.

"I don't know if it's the loveliest, but it's the most profitable," I tell Prim gently, biting back a smile.

As she runs over towards the pen, Peeta sidles up behind me. "You are something else, Katniss, you know that?" he says, his voice soft and warm in my ear and laced with an edge of humor.

He laughs at the scowl on my face when I turn my head to give him an answer. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's just you and that little speech about how practical this gift to Prim is. Look at how happy this makes her." I glance over at Prim and see that she is chasing Lady up the ramp. "And you have the nerve to stand here and pretend you only did this for her because it is a potential money-make, not because of all the happiness it'll bring her."

I tilt my chin up and scowl again. "Well, it's the best thing for her. We're not all frivolous."

"Sure thing, Everdeen," Peeta says, propping his chin on top of my head. "Whatever you say, Ms. "Not frivolous."

"You don't know what you're saying. Shut up," I counter, smiling to myself since I'm facing away from Peeta. He's right, of course, but I choose to keep quiet.

Hazelle and Posy stay until it's close to mandatory viewing time for the Games, and we pass the time playing card games while Prim lets Posy play with her hair. The little girl is fascinated by its pale blond color, and she spends hours twisting and untwisting it into braids and playing with the hairbows she made from Hazelle's scrap bag- her gift to Prim.

Instead of staying in and watching the Games with Mother and Prim, Peeta and I decide to watch the coverage in the square tonight. I've never done it before, and he said he's tired of watching at home with his mother and father. 

Things have been getting more and more uncomfortable at his parent's house since Peeta told them he wouldn't help at the bakery very often anymore. He said it was hard telling his father, even though he knew it was what needed to be said. 

Peeta might not be so lucky if the pigs got out again. The animals will be his primary source of income, and he needed to protect his investment. He'd be foolish not to.

Privately I thought it was pretty funny after the whole business with Rye and Delly, but Peeta is still loyal to his father despite it all, so I keep my mouth shut. I don't feel like his issue with his parents is my business anyway. He's reluctant to talk about it, so I don't press him.

"Are you ready to go?" Peeta asks me once Hazelle and Posy have gone home.

"Ready," I say, grabbing a light sweater and slipping it on. It's summertime, but nights can get cold in the mountains.

"Be careful," Mother says, giving first Peeta and then me a hug. "Peeta is going to walk you home after, right?"

I roll my eyes. What in the world does Mother think I did all those years before I met him?

But instead of being snide, I decide to play nice. "Yes, Peeta is walking me home, Mother," I say.

As we walk out the door, I grab Peeta's hand. "Do you think the Games will be over tonight?" I ask him as we walk down the front steps. 

"I wouldn't be surprised," he says, twining his fingers through mine in the way he always does.

"Me neither," I say. "Come on; we'd better hurry."

Chapter Text

I’m not sure that coming here tonight was the best decision. The crowd gathered in the square is restless, humming with an energy I can’t name. It’s entirely palpable, like a living, breathing spirit moving through the mass of people. “Are there usually this many here watching?” I ask Peeta, jostled by someone pushing by. I scowl at the man, but he moves ahead without apologizing. I don’t know why I bother.

While I’ve never viewed the Games from the square, I know Peeta has a handful of times. He squeezes my hand, sensing my trepidation. I’m sure it isn’t too difficult to pick up on. I’m agitated and uncomfortable; it’s the same way I felt that afternoon at the Hob when everyone around us talked about rebellion, but this is tenfold. Crowded in the way we are, it’s hard to breathe, but the pressure of Peeta’s hand in mine gives me some relief. One thing I’m sure of is this- if I’d known it was going to be this crowded in the square tonight, I would’ve stayed home with Mother and Prim. Large gatherings of people aren’t my thing at any time, especially not when they are this restless.

Peeta narrows his gaze, and I watch as his eyes skim across the tightly packed crowd. I shuffle closer to him. To add to my anxiety, I’m pretty sure this is the exact spot where I stood for my last reaping four weeks ago, and Peeta too. Threads of that same kind of fear snake through my system so thickly I’m ready to choke on them. I can’t get my heart to stop racing. I wonder if he’s feeling the same misgivings I do about being here tonight? If so, I can’t tell, because outwardly he seems fine. But that’s something I’ve come to realize about Peeta; he’s calm under pressure, good at masking his emotions while mine always seems to be written all over my face.

Groups of younger, single people gather in smaller clusters around the edges of the crowd. Seam stays to their side, while the merchant class is closer to the square's business end. There are families with their children in tow- those lucky enough not to have lost one this year, and most of them look wan and tired. There are still men looking wild-eyed, ready to charge at the slightest provocation, while the women are just trying to keep their kids out of trouble. The adolescents twitter and twitch with unspent energy.

I imagine they’re all probably fighting back the same fears I am.

It’s unnerving to stand in the place where you’ve been fortunate enough to beat the odds- and unlike myself, most of them still have years to go before they are free, whether I’m speaking of the parents or their offspring.

And free? That’s a laughable word to use. Freedom to work yourself to death in the mines, that’s the only freedom available to us.

Towards the back of the crowd, the watchful eyes of the oldest members of Twelve take account of the goings-on, the men and women too tired and worn down or who have just complete ambivalence about fighting their way forward. The years of horrors have left them with a sense of numbness that is utterly readable on their faces.

I see coin changing hands back there, the way it does every year on the edges of the crowd, bet-makers laying odds and taking what could be the final wagers on the Games this year. It never ceases to amaze me how those people find coins to waste while the district as a whole is starving. It’s a testament to just how separate the people in Twelve have always been; the way just eeking out a survival has made us think only of ourselves.

“Last year it was,” Peeta says softly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on my hand. “Abe’s last day- it was this crowded.” He’s speaking about the blacksmith’s son, the one we were all starting to think might make it back from the Quarter Quell. “People seemed hopeful then.”

I meet his eye for a moment before looking away again. There's a need to keep it together in the square tonight, preventing me from making sustained eye contact with him. Everything hurts. I wish some of what’s happened to us would stop hurting- the memory of not just Abe from last year who stood a real chance of winning, but his female partner as well- a young merchant girl. Then there is John, who’s been dead for over two weeks now. 

I envy those people who are so calloused they can bet on children’s lives.

And Peeta- he doesn’t have to say the words because I’m already thinking the same thing- hopeful is not today’s prevalent emotion. Whether it’s fear or anger running through the crowd, I can’t say for sure, but I would guess that the truth lies somewhere in between.

I swallow my nerves and glance around.

Now is not the moment to let this growing anxiety get the best of me.

We’re stuck here in the square for now. There isn’t time to go anywhere but Mr. and Mrs. Mellark’s home above the bakery, which happens to be just across the way from us. I’d just as soon take my chances out here in the open- restless crowd and every one of the Peacekeepers on guard tonight notwithstanding, rather than face Peeta’s mother.

“There are Delly and my brother,” Peeta says, jerking his head in their direction.

I look over to see Rye, who happens to be standing on the edge of the crowd with his friends, his arms folded across his chest, leaning against a thick tree trunk. He glances back and forth- I’m assuming he’s checking to see if any Peacekeepers are watching- before shooting Peeta, an obscene hand gesture and a smirk.

Peeta sighs from his place beside me. “Why is he like that?” he mutters, a rhetorical question if I ever heard one.

“What’s his problem?” I ask, tilting my head back. Peeta isn’t tall, but I’m short, so I have to look up when we’re standing close.

“Just the usual,” he steps a little closer and puts his arm around my waist, using the action to turn the two of us so that we are facing away from his brother. “I should have known better than to acknowledge him.”

“Is he still mad?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Peeta shrugs. “But there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s just going to have to get over being a lazy ass.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Rye’s been behaving like an immature jerk since Peeta moved out of his mother and father’s home and into his own house with the piglets last week. Peeta told me that when he is at work, his brother constantly whines about being forced to “stay at the bakery all the time now.”

I think the whole situation with Rye and the Mellarks is funny. I’m proud of Peeta for sticking to the original agreement and not backing down from his mother and father’s pressure. They made their mess when they gave the bakery to Rye, and as far as I’m concerned, they can lie in it and wallow the same way the piglets do in their pen.

Get down in it, I feel like telling his mother and father, really revel in your stupidity like Wilbur or Hamlet would in the mud.

The floodlights next to the Justice building brought out each year for the Reaping and then not seen again until the Victory Tour, cut out as the giant screens set up all over the square light up. I hear the gong peal out from its place inside the Justice building’s belltower. “It’s time,” I say to myself, the words too quiet to be heard above the dull roar of the crowd.

I push back the intense feelings of trepidation. I wish I weren’t here, I think, as I cling more tightly to Peeta’s hand.

“Are you okay?” he prods, looking down at me with concerned eyes.

“I have to be. Don’t look at me like that- I’ll be fine,” I answer, turning my gaze away from Peeta, trying not to think about his expression. No matter where I look, I can still see it clear as day- that urge to coddle me.

He knows me too well already. He knows I’m not being honest. And why do a question and a soft look from Peeta have to erode my self-control anyway?

His concern-the the way it affects me- is akin to falling backward down a mine shaft, sightless and never in control, and wondering when exactly it is that I’m going to land. I expect him to catch me at the bottom, but what if he doesn’t? Then what? Just how bad is it going to hurt?

I can’t put that much faith in him, I barely know him, and fortunately, Peeta seems to have no idea what his presence does, so I have to learn to stop letting it affect me like this. I can’t depend on him this much.

Yet I don’t let go of his hand.

Peeta looks forward again, and I take a moment to study his profile. I can’t seem to keep my eyes off him; he fascinates me because there are so many things about him that are completely contradictory.

So much of Peeta screams strength. His muscular frame (the one I’m finding more out about all the time) with those broad shoulders and muscular arms, his steady gaze, his quiet confidence in himself, and who he is. He seems to know his strengths but isn’t afraid of his shortcomings; to be honest, I haven’t discovered many of them yet. He likes to tease me sometimes, saying he has a weakness for beauty, but if that’s true, I haven’t seen it yet. I mean, he isn’t talking about me because that’s laughable. I’m wholly ordinary, but the strange thing is that he makes me feel beautiful when I catch him staring at me or just examining my face during a quiet moment.

But while he’s solid and steady, there are also many things about Peeta that are soft, like his kindness and gentle humor and the seemingly impossible way he smells like bread all the time. He has the warmest blue eyes, and his lips are like flower petals; he uses them to kiss me lightly and gently, his hands putting the most subtle pressure on the sides of my face or my neck, nudging me along until I open my mouth for him. And despite the noticeable difference in our sizes, Peeta makes me feel like I’m the one in control of him. He doesn’t push me; he doesn’t press for things I’m not ready to give him.

Sometimes though, I want to give him every part of me.

I look ahead at the screen as my face heats up. It helps to take my mind off the uncomfortable thought that maybe I will need to talk to my mother about birth control methods at a point that’s sooner rather than later.

No, that’s ridiculous. I can’t let myself think that way because there’s always a risk, nothing is foolproof, and my luck is terrible.

Claudius and Caesar both appear on the screens, signaling the beginning of the night’s broadcast, and it’s like having a cold bucket of water dashed in my face. Guilt overtakes me for thinking for even one minute about my problems while these kids will probably drop like flies tonight.

“Things have gotten interesting, folks. I think we may be looking at the beginning of the end. Thoughts?” Claudius Templesmith asks, shifting in his swivel chair to get closer to his companion.

“Claudius, I think you may be right. Than and Enyo have the other four trapped right now, and I don’t know their chance of making it out of their present position is very good. Of course, if it weren’t for Kai, those other three would have been dead a long time ago. If she finally decides to abandon them, it’ll be her Games to lose, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Caesar, absolutely,” Claudius says, reaching over and patting his fellow commentator in a wholly nauseating way.

How stupid they are in the Capitol- do they think we’re buying all of this self-congratulatory rhetoric? Idiots.

“What’s your prediction for tonight?” Claudius asks, running the tips of his fingers across the corners of the paper he’s holding in his fat, bejeweled hands. I can’t help but think about the fact that for the cost of one of those rings, at least twenty Seam families could eat well for a month.

And that’s just one.

“My money is on a member of the career team-”

Those two make me sick. It's bad enough seeing their faces at home on our small television, but on the billboard size screens, you can’t escape the grotesque, overdone look of either man. Claudius looks like an over-fed, stuffed toad in his emerald green costume, while Cesar’s color scheme on his tight, molded plastic-looking body is black and red- which at first mention doesn’t sound so bad. What makes it terrible is Cesar’s clothing is all black while his hair, eyes, and nails are red. The get-up would be frightening if it weren’t just so laughable on a skinny little man. I can’t help but wonder just how they got so out of touch with the rest of us.

“That’s an interesting choice of outfits tonight, don’t you think?” Peeta asks, echoing my thoughts.

“Interesting” isn’t the word,” I say, scowling at the screen. “I don’t think I want to come up here again,” I answer bluntly, standing on my toes to speak directly into Peeta’s ear to avoid anyone overhearing our conversation. You never know who might be paying attention to these gatherings. There’s always someone willing to talk for a coin or two.

After a quick recap of the day’s action- the “highlight” of which was Than and Enyo fighting off a group of rodent mutts who seem to have left them both mentally unhinged and utterly exhausted. The tiny little mice with blood-stained teeth and tails were terrifying, scurrying over every inch of their bodies and biting everywhere they went, taking pieces of hair and chunks of clothing or skin in some macabre version of collecting nesting materials. They were just similar-looking enough to the field mice at home to ensure I won’t ever look at rodents the same way again. There must have been twenty or so crawling over each of them at one point. I’m not sure how Than and Enyo got them all out of their clothes and hair without losing the seemingly thin grasp on their sanity.

All of the tributes are starving. Their food sources are long gone or back at the Cornucopia on the flat mountain-top where they haven’t returned for days. From what I can see, they’ve been eating handfuls of grass like the cattle they raise in District Ten or one of Peeta’s piglets. I shiver, thinking about the possibility of a bloodthirsty Sir-Oinks-A-Lot mutt. I hope none of those creatures, real or imagined, make an appearance in my dreams tonight.

The screen opens onto the remaining careers in the present time, and we see Kai and our tribute Linden along with both of the twelve-year-old boys, still pinned behind a large outcropping of boulders, held in their location by Than and Enyo.

“I don’t know how much longer they can make it. The tributes all have to be dangerously dehydrated at this point,” Claudius adds.

“I love how they act like no one can send them food or water right now,” Peeta says, obviously disgusted. “But I guess that would mean treating them like humans, and we can’t have that now, can we. It’d be terrible for morale.”

I can’t help but gape. What is Peeta thinking? “You can’t say that here,” I remind him, looking around to try and determine if anyone can hear us. “It’s not that I don’t agree with you,” I whisper, “just don’t say it here .”

Peeta sighs, sounding repentant. “I just get sick of keeping it in sometimes, you know?”

I squeeze his hand. He doesn’t need to be sorry- he needs to act more intelligent than this. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be good at that stuff, Mr. Wordsmith,” I say the words lightly because I don’t want to scold him. Peeta’s had a lifetime’s worth of that from his mother. “Besides, I thought you had a golden tongue.”

His eyes go wide, and in an instant, I know what he wants to say before the words even have a chance to leave his mouth. He smirks, and I scowl at him. “Don’t even think about saying it!”

My face is burning as I look forward, away from his dancing eyes. Peeta squeezes my hand. I can still see that stupid smirk on his face- just out of focus in the corner of my eye, and it does absolutely nothing to mask my embarrassment. “Stop thinking about what I said!” I whisper while Peeta laughs under his breath.

And it's only mere seconds later, shockingly fast really, when those joking-around, embarrassing thoughts fall right out of my mind. The on-screen action happens suddenly, catching me off guard.

Like the rest of the crowd, I’m mesmerized by Kai rising on her knees and taking the silver bow off her back. Her appearance is steely, her gaze never wavering as she readies herself to fight, ragged and dirty and wild-looking but still imposing. She’s like a mythical phoenix rising out of the ashes.

At the same time, she’s moving into a shooting position- one I’m familiar with because of its similarity to a stance I assume myself when shooting, a silver parachute drops behind the boulders where Than and Enyo are cowering. It’s a sponsor gift.

“I wonder what our careers could’ve received in that neat silver pouch?” Claudius asks, leaning forward to peer at the monitor on his desk. “I bet whatever’s in there cost both One and Four’s mentors a pretty penny in favors.”

Cesar laughs, and it feels oddly cryptic. “Oh, no doubt Claudius- no doubt they’ll be working this one off for months. What is it?”

We all watch as Than and Enyo untie the pouch.

“It looks like an… oh.” Claudius pauses mid-thought as they completely unwrap the parachute. “How interesting, Cesar! I’ve never seen one of those items in the arena, have you?”

“I don’t believe so, no.”

It’s a gun. A gun?

Than and Enyo stare at each other. He holds the weapon while the discomfort becomes more and more apparent on her face.

If the gun is the same model as one of the Peacekeeper's weapons- which it appears to be, I happen to know those hold sixteen bullets exactly. That knowledge is courtesy of the assembly held at school once featuring a Peacekeeper “unloading his weapon” into a mannequin, just as a friendly reminder that we really shouldn’t step outside the reach of the law.

That day I’d counted each bullet that rapid-fire hit the dummy, sending pieces of it flying in every direction, having been out in the woods with my father just the day before.

Sixteen bullets were more than enough to ensure that whoever was left holding it, in the end, was probably going to be crowned Victor.

Inside the arena, there’s a giant, booming crack! The noise reverberates off the rocks and causes them to crumble and rain down the hillsides. Whatever the noise was, it seemed to have originated from behind Kai and Linden and the boys.

Than and Enyo drop to the ground and cover their heads, but somehow Kai holds herself in place. The earth around them shakes from the force. It reminds me of how the world shakes when the Capitol’s tunneling equipment digs new passages closer to the surface. Those days we’re warned to stay away from glass windows or second-story buildings.

We all watch- the nation of Panem as a whole- mesmerized as the sky splits open behind them.

“Holy shit,” Peeta says beside me. His hand has gone slack in mine.

Kai yells something over her shoulder, something I decipher as, “ Go, I’ve got you covered,” as Linden grabs the smaller boy’s hands and takes off, running for the opening in the sky behind them.

Than rolls to his feet, gun in hand, taking aim in Kai’s direction and firing the weapon. He must not be an experienced shooter because his shots seem to be pinging off rock walls; they’re going everywhere but close to hitting her. And it’s not as if Than has much time to try because he soon has one of her arrows lodged into the side of his neck.

Than drops to his knees as blood bubbles up out of his mouth, drowning his lungs in the red flood.

Kai jumps off the rock, and she takes off after the trio as Enyo grabs the gun from the ground and follows after the other four tributes, quickly leaping over her career partner's fallen body without a second thought.

I watch in shock as one of the little boys disappears inside the crack in the sky. “They’re escaping,” I whisper numbly, not believing my eyes. “They’re getting out… they’re getting out!” I say, more loudly this time, the shock seeping into my system and morphing into adrenaline.

Suddenly the crowd around me is roaring, screaming, cheering on the treasonous tributes as the second boy slips through the opening in the bright blue daytime sky. It's dark behind the arena's wall, with bright sparks of light flashing from time to time as a reminder that they aren’t disappearing into a blank space.

Linden looks over her shoulder then, just in time to see Enyo raise the gun, point it at the back of Kai’s head, and pull the trigger.

Linden screams, and Kai keeps running, seemingly unfazed because nothing happens.

The gun can’t be out of bullets already, can it? Enyo tugs on the trigger harder, eventually taking the butt end and slamming it into her palm. Is the weapon jammed?

“Go, go, go!” the entire crowd seems to be screaming in unison, urging Kai and Linden from home. “Go!”

But then I see Enyo’s filthy, stringy hair blow away from her face a little, realizing that whatever had jammed the gun was now loose, and the girl just narrowly avoided blowing a hole in her brain.

And then, we all watch- a collective hush rolling through the crowd en masse, wholly horrified as Enyo aims the gun at Kai again.

At that moment, Linden turns. She seems to realize what’s about to happen because she jumps in front of Kai just in time to take the bullet in her chest.

And then Kai, realizing what has happened, spins in retaliation, landing an arrow inside Enyo’s head, but only after the other girl has fired the gun again, hitting her target.

Kai and Enyo drop in unison as the screens in the square go black. The lights cut out, plunging us into darkness.

I hear the sound of our own Peacekeeper's guns going off.

I hope they’re only firing warning shots, I think, as I’m jostled away from Peeta and knocked to the ground. I roll into a ball, narrowly avoiding trampling feet.

And that’s when the riot begins.

Chapter Text

Once the lights go out, the crowd explodes, erupts into action. 

People are shoving, yelling at each other everywhere around me, and I’m almost positive fights have begun to break out among some of the Merchant and Seam men. I hear what I assume to be one of the large, portable, Capitol-grade lights, making an ominous creaking sound intermingled with the human commotion. High up above me, I can see its shadow as it sways back and forth before landing on the ground with a terrific boom. The force of its landing shakes the earth beneath me and leaves a ringing in my ears.

I don’t know what the people responsible for the vandalism expect to accomplish with such a foolish act- this kind of display is just going to make things harder on us when the Peacekeepers restore order, which I’m sure they will do, and soon.

And I don’t want to be here when that happens.

Someone knocked me to the ground, forcefully separating me from Peeta. I’m trying to get back on my feet again, but the crowd has become into a panicking mass of people, pushing and shoving each other in a blind panic. I cry out a moment later when a woman steps on my ankle as I’m trying to stand. Pain shoots through the joint, and I roll to the side as she falls on top of me. 

“I’m sorry!” she gasps after landing half on top of me and a half on the ground.

The crowd is trying to flee the square as quickly as possible now, at least the best that I can tell. Everything is chaos and commotion. No one seems able to get any of the lights to come back on- especially not the one knocked over, and I hear individuals shouting over the full roar of the crowd. 

Once again, there’s the sound of gunfire, but I’m pretty sure it’s coming from the edge of the square. I don’t hear the sickening thud of metal hitting flesh and the resulting tearing and splintering. They must only be firing warning shots so far.

It’s all enough to make me feel like vomiting in fear. 

And where’s Peeta? How did we get separated so quickly?

“It’s okay; I know you didn’t mean to,” I tell the woman. She’s scrambling off me after apologizing again. I can tell she’s as shaken as I am. 

I snatch my hand off the ground quickly to avoid having it stepped on as I attempt to stand. “We have to get up before we’re trampled.” I put weight on my foot, and tears sting the corners of my eyes. Pain shoots through my foot but also up my calf. It’s excruciating trying to stand, and even worse, I can’t do it; the slightest bit of pressure on my ankle causes me to lose my balance again. Since I can’t stand, I sit up and, on my hands and knees, crawl over to the other woman, grabbing onto her arm. “You have to help me stand up,” I say, and together we pull ourselves onto our feet. People are still pushing and shoving all around us, but we manage to get vertical finally. “Can I lean on you? I don’t think I can walk on my own.” I ask. 

My ankle feels like it’s swelling inside my boot as we speak. The woman nods, and her arm tightens around my waist. The two of us surge forward together clumsily. Every step is excruciating, and I feel like the time I participated in a three-legged race in primary school where Madge and I stumbled along towards the finish line, but there’s nothing else the two of us can do. We have to keep moving forward; it’s impossible to stay still without being run over.

“I’m Colleen,” she introduces herself without taking her eyes off our feet. I can’t say I blame her- it was hard enough getting us both up the first time to let us just fall again.

“Katniss,” I grit out between clenched teeth.

My new best friend, Colleen, laughs a little. “I know who you are,” she says, glancing over at me before looking down to keep an eye on our feet again.

Of course, she knows who I am- the infamous law-breaker, the girl who goes outside the fence.

Although it seems ridiculous to try and talk right now over the crowd's noise, I suppose it's a distraction from the pain in my leg and the fear of what could happen out here tonight. To humor me, I question her. “How do you know who I am?”

“You’re the one seeing that boy from town- the baker’s kid,” Colleen tells me as we move forward, “Seam and town don’t usually mix, at least anywhere other than the slag heap.” 

“My mother and father did. I guess they set a precedent for my family.”

“Katniss!” The two of us come to an abrupt stop when I hear my name called frantically. 

I sag a little in relief. It’s Peeta, and he’s just ahead of us. Oh, thank goodness, I think.

Collen grumbles at me for staggering, but only until I point him out to her. I can’t believe I found him again in this mess of humanity.

“Oh, there’s your man,” she squints at him, echoing my thoughts. “Good thing too, he looks a mite stronger than me, and I still need to find my sister. Can I leave you with him?” 

I answer her, but instead of getting any words out, I duck my head when something goes sailing over the top of us. I’m pretty sure I hear the sound of breaking glass coming from the Merchant sector and loud cheering. The chaos around us is getting worse by the minute. I need to get out of here. “Just please help me get to him?” I ask, “and then you can go.”

Colleen leads us both towards the direction of Peeta’s voice with a new determination in her step. I'm sure she can't wait to get rid of me.

“Peeta!” I scream when I get close, letting the pain and panic and fear out in my voice. I can’t let him get away- I’ll never get out of here with my twisted ankle, not with only Colleen to help me. 

Somehow, he hears me over the din of the crowd and turns around, shouldering his way back to me. I’m thankful he’s so much broader than most; I don’t know if he would’ve gotten to me otherwise.

And then he’s there, and his arms are reaching for me. I throw myself at him and shudder in relief, clinging as I bury my face in his chest. 

People are shoving and shouldering their way past and around us, and when I turn my head a little, I see that Colleen has disappeared into the crowd without saying goodbye. I hope she finds her sister. 

I’m glad mine isn’t here tonight.

“Katniss, I was so worried,” Peeta says. “I can’t believe I let myself get separated from you when the lights went out. I’m so sorry. I was freaking out so bad- are you alright?”

I shake my head, wincing as someone pushes into me, jolting my foot. “No, I hurt my ankle; I’m going to need to lean on you to move at all,” I tell him, feeling tears well in the corner of my eyes. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“Hang on a minute,” he says, stooping down next to me. Before I know it, Peeta has one arm under my knees and the other around my shoulders. He lifts me high off the ground and settles my weight against his chest. I should probably protest the way he’s holding me because I’m not a child, but I’m so relieved to be held by him that I simply bury my face in the side of his neck and breathe him in. “Don’t worry; I’ve got you.”

Peeta carries me bridal style through the shoving masses of people. One side of my face presses against his chest; the other is covered by the crook of my arm looped around his neck. All around, I hear the sounds of panicked murmuring and screaming, gunfire and destruction, but the noise sounds muffled like it’s coming from far away. 

“I’m going to take you to my house for now, okay? I know your mother should probably look at your ankle, but I’m a lot closer. It’s too dangerous to try carrying you to the Seam.”

“Please, yes,” I say, the words muffled, spoken against his skin because my lips are resting against his neck. I can taste the salt there, his skin hot and sweaty, and smell that distinct Peeta smell, amplified by the evening’s exertion. “I hope I don’t get too heavy for you,” I say, readjusting my position enough to lay my forehead against his shoulder as we break through the edge of the crowd.

“You don’t weigh hardly anything,” he tells me softly, and I can’t help but hear the smile in his voice.

I have to take his word for it anyway, so I close my eyes tightly and hold on.

After a few minutes of walking, we get far enough past the din of the crowd that the noise level is finally down to a dull roar. I feel like it might be safe to look again, and when I raise my head, I can see we’re almost to his house. 

Peeta carries me up the steps to his back door, where he gently lowers me down. “Just hold on to my waist and balance yourself. I’ll have the door open in a minute,” he says. I cling to his waist with both arms, feeling more than a little shaky, and he unlocks it quickly before scooping me up again and heading inside.

“I always thought I’d carry you over the threshold of my house under different circumstances than this,” he tells me cheekily, and I swat at his arm. I should be surprised he’d mention something like that right now, but I’m starting to realize just how irreverent he is.

“You know I don’t want to get married,” I tell him. I think it’d be pretty understandable that I wouldn’t want to have this conversation after nearly being trampled to death, not to mention the fact that we may have just witnessed our country breaking out into civil war.

“That’s what you keep telling me,” Peeta says lightly. He grins down at me, utterly unconcerned by my tone.

“You can’t seriously want to talk about this right now,” I say, staring at his face for any indication of what he’s going on in there as he carries me through the kitchen and into his living room. He carefully sets me down on his worn-out sofa.  I probably could have walked that far on my own, and I actually thought about saying something for a split second, but the largest part of me just wants to be held a little longer. “Not after tonight?”

Peeta slides his arms out from my shoulders and knees, lowering himself to the floor and kneeling next to me. His eyes swoop over my face for a minute, and then he strokes my cheek in a gesture so sweet and caring I have to fight the urge to rub my face against his hand the way Buttercup would.

The scowl leaves my face, and when it does, he leans into me, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. He thinks he’s so smooth, kissing me like that just to get the frown off my face. It usually works, but still.

“My timing is always impeccable,” he finally says, his eyes crinkling in the corners with barely-concealed laughter as he stands up again.

“Whatever you say,” I tell him, facing away so that he doesn’t catch me laughing either. I'm giddy with the relief of being safe inside his house after wondering if I'd even make it out of the square alive.

“I’m going to go check on the piglets if you’re okay for a minute?” They were squealing when we got here. “I need to do a headcount and see if they need water. I’ll just be a minute, and then I’ll see if we can scare up some bandages, okay?”

“Go ahead; I’ll be alright.” I lean forward to shrug my sweater off and untie my boots, listening for the sound of the door shutting again.

Now to deal with my foot. With every loosened set of eyelets, I wince. Once the laces are slack, I slowly pull the boot off first and then my sock. When I finally have everything peeled away, what I find is not pretty- my ankle has swollen nearly three times its average size, and the skin around it is red and bruising already. Colleen did a number on it when she fell on top of me. I hope it’s just a bad sprain and nothing else.

As I’m tugging off my other boot and sock, I feel a sudden weariness overtake me. I think the shock of today’s events must be fading away and bringing the horror back to the forefront of my mind. As I stare down at my feet, the only thing I can see is death playing behind my eyes. 

Kai and Linden, Than and Enyo, fighters. But, more importantly, fallen children who today bore the brunt of a war that ended in defeat seventy-six years ago. It was a debt that should have been paid in full, finalized, not something to be exacted yearly on a group of children from outlying districts across Panem. The absolute waste, the futility, the stupidity of what we’ve spent the last several weeks watching overwhelms me. 

I shake my head to try and rid myself of the images that plague me. Falling tributes, blood, and gore, but the almost is the most painful part; the tragedy that Kai and Linden were this close to escaping, then killed senselessly because the person pulling the trigger died as well. There were no winners in that fight. 

And then my mind, in what has to be a moment of self-protection because it can only take so much at once, looks to what was the only bright spot in a night full of tragedy: those two boys, the ones who escaped. Nobody bothered learning their names because their deaths were so assured of beforehand. 

What exactly was that we witnessed tonight when the sky split open and the two of them walked out of the Hunger Games? 

I couldn’t comprehend what I’d seen with my own eyes. It made no sense. It defied all logic.

Do the events of tonight mean that we’re going to war?

If so, I have little confidence in our ability to win.

We have no weapons, no will to fight, no nothing- broken people, malformed by hard-living, starvation, and oppression. We don’t stand a chance against the Capitol. What would the residents of Twelve fight with anyway, mining pics? They can’t be seriously considering it.

But wherever the boys are tonight and whatever the outcome is for us, I wish the best on them both. After surviving the horrors of the Games, after Kai and Linden sacrificed themselves on their behalf, I hope they made it somewhere they're safe. 

Although, after the way things ended, I don’t know if any of us are safe.

But were we ever?

I shake those thoughts off as well because the answer is too depressing for me to dwell on. I’m exhausted and drained, and my ankle is killing me. I just can’t think this way anymore tonight.

A second later, I hear the back door open and close again, followed by the heavy shuffle of Peeta’s feet moving through the kitchen. I’m ready for a reprieve from the alone time I've just had with my thoughts. “Are they all still there?” I ask as he re-enters the living room with a glass of water a minute later. He hands it to me before sitting on the edge of the sofa closest to my feet. I take the cup from him gratefully- in all of the excitement of trying to get out of the square without being trampled alive, I hadn’t realized how thirsty I‘d become. Imagine that.

“Yep, all still there,” he tells me, settling in as best he can in the limited space. “They were a little stirred up, but I refilled their water and gave them a little feed, and that seemed to calm them down. I thought a drink might do the same for you too. Sorry, no feed, though.”

“How flattering. I love it when you compare me with the pigs,” I tell Peeta, with just the hint of a smile on my lips. I’d gotten my hopes up for a minute that he might’ve had some bakery leftovers to share- not that he does very often, and he hasn’t been there to work in three days, so that it wouldn’t have been likely anyway. Still, a girl can dream.

“I’m just glad they’re all still here, kind of like you,” he says gently, picking up my injured foot by the ankle to get a better look at it. “How are you feeling?” 

I hiss at the twinge of pain that shoots through my ankle when he lifts it, effectively answering his question.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta says, looking guilty as he sets my foot back down on the couch. He inches away from me like it’s his fault I’m hurt. “What can I do to help you?”

“I think We should elevate it,” I tell him, recalling what the healers in my family would do. “That’s what Mother says, in case there’s a break. Keeping it up helps your circulation keep moving. Do you have a pillow or something we can prop it up on?”

“Yeah,” he says, standing up. “I’ll find something.”

“And some clean cloth,” I call after him as he disappears around the doorway, “we should wrap it tightly.”

Peeta comes back with a blanket, which he proceeds to fold into quarters until it’s in as compact of a form as he can get it. He then lifts my ankle, sliding the bundle under my foot. “It’s the only one I have,” he explains sheepishly, “but it’s warm tonight; I can go without. And I found an old drop cloth I can tear into strips to wrap your ankle.”

“Thank you,” I tell him sincerely, feeling emotional when I think about what might have happened if he hadn’t found me. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

“I wasn’t about to stop looking. I would’ve found you no matter how long it took,” Peeta says as he takes the cloth in hand and rips long, thin strips off it. He then begins to wrap it around my ankle, surprisingly well, like he's done it before. He rubs my good foot soothingly. 

I’m sure it’s a neater job than I would have done; I don’t have any of the healer’s touch in me. 

He looks up and must register the surprise on my face. “We had to have our wrists or ankles wrapped for wrestling sometimes,” he explains, “it was easy to get hurt on the mat. At the beginning of each season, especially.”

“Do you ever miss it, wrestling?”

Peeta shakes his head. “Not really. I was ready to be done. It was good while it lasted, though.”

I watch him cover my ankle, his touch gentle and steady as he goes about the task. The room has grown quiet between us, and he looks contemplative. I wonder if his mind has switched over to the events of the night. “Did you see much of what was going on around us?” Peeta asks, lifting my foot to rest on the makeshift cushion again. 

“No, I couldn’t see much. I mean, we all heard the light tower fall, but there was so much chaos, and it was so loud….” I trail off, studying his distressed face. I’m concerned by the expression he wears. “Why? What did you see?”

He sits back and runs his hand through his hair, obviously agitated. “I’m just…" he pauses, sighs, "I’m pretty sure the bakery was vandalized. I mean, I don’t know how bad or anything. It’s just that I heard glass breaking as we passed by.”

I sit up, “Oh no, you should have stopped!” I exclaim, trying to get myself into a position to stand up. He needs to go now; he can’t stay here with me.

Peeta puts a hand on my knee to stop me from attempting to get up. “Stop it. You're going to hurt yourself."

I scowl at him.

"I don’t know what good it would have done to stop tonight, honestly. It’s not like there’s much we could do now. My father and Rye can handle nailing some boards over the windows, and it’s not like they keep cash out front where someone could steal it. No, sit back, please. I promise there’s no rush. I can stop by after I get you back home in the morning.

I lean back again, unconvinced, but what can I do? I’m not exactly very mobile right now.

“I just hate to see the mess, that’s all. But it’s fine. It’s just a building,” Peeta says, trying to convince himself. “We can clean up the bakery.”

He can say what he wants, but I know it’s not just a building to him. Mellark's is the business he wanted to run, the place where he thought he’d spend the rest of his life working, doing the thing he has a gift for doing. Peeta’s world has been so topsy-turvy lately that it doesn’t surprise me. He’s this upset about the bakery.

He wipes tears away from the corners of his eyes, unembarrassed to let me see them, and I realize again how different he is from the other men I’ve known in my life.

“Hey,” I say around a yawn, trying to think of something comforting to say, which I don't feel is my strong point exactly, “it could be bad, but it could also be not quite as bad as you think. You won’t know until tomorrow, so you should probably stop worrying about it.”

“You’re right, ” he admits, rubbing his red eyes with the heel of his hand and yawning himself.

He looks tired, and I know the feeling because I can barely keep my eyes open as it is.  The stress of the evening must be catching up with both of us at this point.  “I know it’s not that late, but I’m exhausted. Should we try to get some sleep?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Peeta says, getting up off the couch. He hesitates a minute, shuffling back and forth on his feet, seeming to debate with himself internally. “Where do you want to sleep? This couch isn’t the most comfortable thing- if you want the bed, I’ll stay out here.”

“No, no, that’s fine. I’ll sleep here,” I tell Peeta, stretching backward. 

Overwhelming exhaustion is creeping in on me now and drowning out the pain in my foot. I can hardly keep my eyes open any longer. “I don’t even know how you’d fit,” I hear myself mumble, the noise distant inside my head. 

My eyes slip closed, and a moment later, I feel Peeta drape something across my torso. My sweater, I realize, taking in the familiar scent of my home that it carries as I slip under. Peeta says something after that, but I don't quite make out what it is- because just like that, I’m asleep.

Chapter Text

I wake from deep sleep to pounding on the door. 

The noise startled me out of another nightmare. 

Prim and I were picked in a second reaping for the Games and instantaneously dropped inside the arena. The new Careers weren’t human, but a pack of mutts with animal instincts and traits- half-human half-beast, wolves and bears, and wild dogs. They were holding Prim captive inside the cornucopia, which upon entering it was more like a deep mine shaft back home than anything I’d ever witnessed in the Games. There was no training period, no weapons, and the only thing I knew was that I needed to find my sister. I kept trying to get to her, but every turn down a new corridor was the wrong one, and each step just took me farther away from her. I could hear her screams, taunting me from deep in the dark.

I can’t remember where I am at first, but then I hear a noise from Peeta’s room, and it all comes back. He appears in the doorway a moment later, carrying an oil lamp in one hand and pushing his arm through the sleeve of a button-up he’s thrown on over his undershirt with the other. 

Our eyes meet when the knocking sounds again, but louder this time. “Peacekeepers!” a voice calls, “open up.” I sit up, trying to shake off the heavy exhaustion I feel, and gingerly move my foot from the makeshift cushion. I’m upright when Peeta reaches the door. He pulls it open without hesitation; everyone knows the Peacekeepers will force their way inside if you don’t let them in. 

Two officers walk in without waiting for an invitation. I recognize the woman as Purnia, but the man I’m not sure I know. He must be new. Whoever he is, he carries an air of authority, glancing briskly around the room, only stopping to examine me fleetingly. “We’re officially letting each resident know there’s a new curfew in place,” he says, looking towards Peeta again. “No one is allowed out between the hours of 9 pm and 4 am.”

“Do you live here now, Ms. Everdeen?” Purnia asks me directly, glancing up from the list in her hand. She’d spent the last few moments flipping through it before finally settling on a particular page. “Officially, our listing has you as a resident of your mother’s assigned housing in the Seam.”

“No, I still live with Mother. I twisted my ankle last night and couldn’t walk home on it.” I say, deciding on a partial truth as I lift my foot enough to show her the bandage.

“And I didn’t have time to get her home before viewing began, so we stayed here.” Peeta follows my story smoothly. “Later, when we heard the commotion coming from town, it didn’t seem safe to be out. I figured I’d wait and get her back home in the morning.”

The peacekeepers stare at us silently. If they’re trying to get under our skin, it’s working on me, at least. 

“Is that a problem?” Peeta asks, finally. “I didn’t think having a guest stay overnight in my home was illegal.”

The male officer flashes a grin, a much too toothy one that stops short of reaching his eyes. “The only time it’s illegal is if money exchanges hands,” he says. “If you’re just knocking boots for the fun of it, there’s no problem. Just make sure she doesn’t leave here till after 4, then you’re in the clear.”

I have to bite the inside of my mouth to avoid saying anything, but it does nothing to stop the scowl from forming. What does it look like we were doing with my wrapped-up foot, both of us dressed? What an ass.

“We’ll let you two get back to whatever it was you were doing,” Purnia says, side-eyeing her partner. 

“Sleeping?” Peeta supplies dryly. “It is the middle of the night.”

“Justice doesn’t keep regular hours,” the officer says, turning on his heel.

Still sitting here. Still biting my tongue.

Peeta follows them to the door, shutting it firmly against their exit. He stares at a spot on the wall until the sounds of their footsteps fade away into the night, and it’s not until everything is silent again that he looks at me. “Are you alright?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say as he heads towards me, “it’s not like I can lose my temper over something a Peacekeeper says." And it is a bit foolish of me, but I’m bothered by the man’s comments. 

Peeta lowers himself until he’s sitting beside me on the couch. He takes my hand in his, looking concerned. I kind of hate how easily he reads me. “He’s an idiot. Don’t let it bother you.” Peeta says, leaning in and pushing a few stray hairs out of my face. He lets his touch linger, his fingertips cupping my jaw, and his thumbs brush across my cheeks. It’s soothing. “And you’re perfect for me. Do you know that?”

I search his face for any sign of teasing, but there’s none there. 

He leans in and kisses me gently. “What we’re doing is new to me too, so,” Peeta says after, as he smiles into my eyes. “Do you remember that time I told you you were pure? You got mad at me about it?”

I nod, remembering how embarrassed I was when Peeta caught me spying on his brother and Delly in the alley next to the bakery. A crater opening beneath me would have been a blessing at that moment.

His hands drop, and he shifts back. “I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that I’m kind of pure myself.”

“So, you’ve never done any of this before?” I ask disbelievingly. He was always really popular in school. I'd assumed there was a girl or two he was involved with before me. 

Peeta laughs at that. “No, I thought my lack of experience would be glaringly obvious.”

“How do you think I would know the difference?” I huff. A moment of quiet passes while we both seem to digest what the other has said. Finally, I ask him. “Why haven’t you?”

“Why haven’t I what?”

“You know…” I stammer, “kissing and stuff we do. How come you’ve never done any of this before or had a girlfriend? I mean, you know why I didn’t-”

“You were just waiting to be charmed by me.”

I roll my eyes at him. Ha-ha. “It just doesn’t make sense to me. I’m confused, that’s all.”

Peeta rubs a hand through his hair, pulling on it a little and effectively ignoring my question. He seems to be debating with himself in the meantime. “Are you heading back to bed?” I ask when he stands up.

Peeta scratches the back of his neck. He seems nervous. “Yeah.” Another pause, and I stare expectantly at him. “Do you, Uhm, do you maybe want to come to my room and lay down with me?” Before I have a chance to answer him, the rest of his words rush out. “I’m not sure if I can go back to sleep yet, and I don’t want to waste my time with you. If you’re here, I want to be with you. And there’s more room on my bed than the couch.”

“Peeta-“ I begin but am quickly interrupted.

“I can try and fit on the couch with you if you’d rather stay in the living room for a while, at least.”

“Yes, I’ll come and lay down with you." If I were more proper, I’d probably hesitate. But who am I kidding? "Just help me up, please? I’m coming- I just need some help.”

I hobble into Peeta’s room with his arm around me for support. He offered to carry me again, but this time I’m insistent that I walk myself. It’s probably silly to think this way, but the act of him taking me to bed seems too intimate for what we’re planning to do. When I think of that, I don’t picture simply lying there with him and talking. And I’m not ready to give more thought to what could happen if the situation were different.

So after helping me get to my side of the bed, he leaves again to retrieve some things from the living room. I sit gingerly on the edge of the mattress. It's so quiet now I can’t pick up on any sounds other than the piglets settling down outside. From the stillness of the night, I gather that the Peacekeepers finally broke up whatever was going on in the square. They must have restored order one way or the other. And I imagine after the crowd dispersed, my mother and Prim were very busy tending to injuries obtained during the riot. I wouldn’t be surprised if neither of them has realized I’m not home yet. They probably still haven't.

I look up at Peeta as he comes back into the room with the folded-up blanket under one arm and the lamp in hand. I’m a little nervous, and we’re both quiet as he pulls off the button-up shirt he’s wearing, folding it in on itself and setting it next to the lamp. He puts it out quickly and sets the blanket at the end of the mattress. A moment later, he’s climbed into the bed and has rolled over onto his side to look at me. 

I lie down then and move towards him, not just because I want to be close but also out of necessity. There’s only one pillow.  “Do you want the blanket to prop up your foot again?”  he asks, shifting a little to get more comfortable. 

“I think it’s okay. It’s not hurting as bad now,” I say. “I’m pretty sure it’s not broken.”

He sits up then and reaches for the blanket. “Do you want to cover up?”

It’s not very cool tonight, but I do sleep better undercover. “Sure, if you don’t mind,” I say.

He unfolds it. “So, since you opted for the blanket, I’m going to open the window. I always sleep that way,” he admits as he spreads the cover out. “Even in winter. That is unless you’d rather I didn’t?”

“Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

Peeta gets up out of bed and walks the short distance to the window, pushing it up just a few inches and propping a chunk of wood underneath the frame to keep it open. This house needs a lot of work for a place in town. Many things in it are worn and probably need replacing, but altogether it’s still in better shape than most homes in the Seam. “I like the fresh air,” he explains after lying back down. I’m still on my side; my cheek pressed into the pillow, when he turns his head and looks at me. His smile is a little shy, and it makes me feel less nervous. “Well, are you going to come here or what?” 

I roll my eyes at his bossy tone but scoot closer while he raises his arm above his head. I slide underneath, and he wraps it around my back as I lay my head on his chest and put my free arm around his waist. I could get used to this; I realize as a feeling of contentment overtakes me. Peeta’s so warm and solid, and he smells so good.  I turn my head into his chest and sigh. “This was a good idea,” I admit, shifting a bit to get more comfortable.

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? I’m full of good ideas.”

I pinch his side a little. “You’re full of something,” I say, laughing.

I feel his lips brush the top of my head. “But seriously, are you alright? You can tell me. It’s been a rough night,” he says the words into my hair. I feel his breath, making the fine strands move. “Feel free to spill.”

I scoot a little closer yet and realize I’m going to be draped across him like a lizard on a rock if I keep this up. "I think I am, but I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“What do you want to talk about?” 

I shrug. “I don’t know. Anything.”,

His fingertips stroke my arm with firm pressure over the blanket. It’s soothing, and I feel myself relaxing even more. I’ll be asleep again in no time if he keeps doing that. Peeta shifts a little beside me. “So you asked me why I’ve never had a girlfriend….”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Why was that?”

He exhales loudly. “Did I ever tell you I’ve had a crush on you since we were five?”

“No. What? You can’t be serious.” I lift my head off his chest and stare at him in the darkness, only able to make out the expression on his face just a little. “Why am I just now finding out about this?”

He shrugs. “You never asked, but yeah, since the first day of school, when you got up in the assembly and sang the Valley Song.” He must read the confusion on my face. “You don’t remember that, do you?” 

I lay my head back down. It doesn’t seem possible that he’d remember something like that, but now that he mentions it, I can vaguely remember that day. It’s funny because I usually can’t say that about many of my early school days. 

“Your hair was in two braids instead of one,” he continues, his fingertips still running up and down the length of my arm, “and you were wearing a red dress. My father pointed you out to me. Said, “Peeta? Do you see that little girl over there? I used to date her mother, but only until she heard that girl’s father sing. After that, she was a goner because even the birds stopped to listen to him. That’s why she fell in love with a miner and left her home in town”.”

I bury my face into Peeta’s shirt to avoid looking at him. I didn’t know that detail about his father and my mother- she’d just recently told me that the two of them used to be friends, but she’d said absolutely nothing about dating Peeta’s father. It doesn’t seem odd that she left that detail out, though. Mother never speaks of her former life in town, so I know very little about that time in her life; it's like she’s dead to that part of the past.

What Peeta said about my father is true, though. “How do you remember all that?” I ask, a slight tremor in my voice. It’s funny how a person can walk around through life with their grief buried deep inside. It stays so far down, dormant beneath day-to-day living that you begin to forget about it. You start to feel a little better like you’re finally moving on. It hurts to realize those feelings aren’t as under control as you think they are. I’m raw, blinking tears from my eyes.

“I just do. I know this sounds weird, but I used to watch you all the time,” Peeta says before stopping abruptly. “Not in a weird way or anything. That still sounds creepy, doesn’t it?”

“A little,” I say in jest, clearing my throat against the thickness there, thankful for a distraction. “I think I knew that. The last few years, since the bread-”

“Katniss,” he breathes out, afraid I’m going to want to talk about that day again. It makes him very uncomfortable. The negative emotions it brings up in him are glaringly obvious; he tries to change the subject anytime I bring it up. 

I reach a hand up and cover his mouth before he can start arguing with me. That won’t do at all. “What I was beginning to say was this- after that day with the bread, I kept track of you too. I watched you; I always wanted to know how you were and what you were doing. I didn’t know what I wanted to do about you,” he laughs from behind my fingers, but I keep talking. If I don’t say it now, I don’t think I ever will. “I just wanted you to be okay. Peeta, you saved me.” 

He opens his mouth, but the expression on my face must stop him from saying anything.

I take my hand off his mouth and sit up to look him in the eye. “That’s why I was so afraid when I thought you were going into the mines. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Peeta stares at my face in the dark, his eyes reflecting the moonlight coming in through the window. His arm tightens around my waist, and I lean into him further at the pressure he’s putting there. I feel terrified honestly, scarily open. My emotions are a mess, and I just can’t seem to quit talking. “I felt a pull towards you, too,” I admit. “I always have.”

“Is this happening?” he asks. “Are you telling me you feel the same way about me that I feel for you?”

I bite my lip and nod because my face trembles a little, and I need to get it back under control. To do that, I can’t speak.

“So we’re on the same page,” he says softly.

 ,

And oh, his words hurt despite being quite the opposite of how they make me feel. I wish Peeta had realized before now just how much he means to me, that I’m not just playing with him. Yes, I care about him. Too much, I think. I’m out of words, so I decide to let my actions speak. I touch my lips to his mouth, and he sighs at my forwardness. The two of us kiss softly at first, moving closer and closer together until we’re both warm, and the blood pumping through my veins has picked up. It feels like I’m flying. At my gentle prodding, we roll onto our sides, facing each other, and his arms go around my waist. It’s not long until our kisses become deep and open-mouthed. I cling to him as his hands move across my body. My abdomen, my bottom, up the back of my thighs- they all receive his attention.

I sigh into his mouth and press closer yet. He’s breathing hard, and so am I, and I snake my hand down to the back of his shirt. “Is this okay?” I ask, just sliding it beneath the material to feel the soft, hot skin of his lower back. I have this overwhelming urge to touch him. I’ve been finding that I’m thinking more and more lately about that day he came out of the bakery shirtless.

Peeta nods against my mouth, and I hear him make a little sound like “mmm” when I do it. My fingers spread out and move upwards. It’s thrilling the way his muscles tense and flex underneath my touch. Exciting.

“Will you take this off?” I ask breathlessly, feeling bold. I want to see more of him. 

He sits up quickly and peels the shirt away from his body, and I hesitate for a minute. Now that the reality of lying in his bed like this is hitting me, I’m starting to worry. I feel like I’m going to get us both into trouble. But I don’t need to, because it’s Peeta. He lets me kiss him and run my hands all over his arms, chest, back, and shoulders, up to his neck and through his hair without asking for anything else. I can tell he’s excited, breathing as though he’d just run miles around the district by the time we pull away from each other. After getting my hands on all of that warm fair skin, I am, too, but I still hesitate to take things farther. There’s just too much fear inside of me because of the what-ifs. 

Finally, we separate, and I feel a little sheepish when he sits up to put his shirt back on, almost like I need to apologize for something. 

Peeta cuts me off, hugging me tightly and shushing me when I try. “Don’t say that, Katniss. I like it when you touch me. However, you want to do it. Feel free to anytime you like from now on,” he says, sighing contentedly. He lays his cheek against the top of my head. “You won’t hear me complain.”

At this point, we’re lying down again, and I’ve settled into his arms. “Okay,” I whisper into his shirt, feeling marginally better. 

But he doesn’t leave it at that. “I’m like a dog that likes to have its head scratched. Any way you want to do it is good for me.”

“You’re ridiculous.” I can’t help but laugh because there is something very dog-like about Peeta. I think it has to do with those big eyes he has.

“No, just crazy about you. You don’t know how happy you make me.” A moment later, he's stifling a yawn and then another. “I think I could sleep now,” he says around the last one.

“I think I could too.” My eyes are starting to droop. At this point, the sun will be up in just a few hours, so I suppose we’d better get some rest while we can.

“Are you gonna stay here with me?” he asks, sounding half-asleep already.

“If you want me to.” I yawn myself.

“I never want you to leave. I always want you here.” One more sleepy kiss on top of my head. “Goodnight.”

I don’t want my mother or sister to worry about me needlessly, so the two of us get up early, just before sunrise, but after curfew. I attempt to smooth out my clothes and rebraid my hair, and then I use some of his tooth powder to brush my teeth. Once Peeta’s cleaned up and done with feeding the piglets (not to mention scratching behind each set of floppy ears while complimenting the neat way they eat their breakfast), and after much prompting on his part, I climb onto his back so he can carry me home. 

We head out just as the sun is coming up. It just seems easier that way; there’ll be fewer questions to answer about where we’ve been, not to mention that I feel a bit ridiculous having him cart me around like a sack of flour.  I’d prefer no one see us on the way home. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask doubtfully. “I can walk just as long as we go slow. Or maybe we could wait and try to borrow a cart from someone. I might get heavy.”

Peeta smirks at me over his shoulder. “I doubt that. It’s fine, Katniss, just hold on, okay? I’m not going to let you fall. Promise.” He proves his point by hoisting me higher up his back with little effort.

“If you say so,” I murmur, and then he faces forward again.

True to his word, Peeta does manage to get me back to the Seam while avoiding the mess that is probably still in the square from last night. He safely deposits me on my couch. After a quick apology to my mother that she waves off, Peeta leaves to check on the bakery. He promises to stop by tomorrow. 

Mother and Prim look bone-weary. I can see they’ve just about worked themselves to a frazzle. The house is messy, with piles of soiled, used strips of cloth spilling out of baskets everywhere and empty bottles and tins filling the sink. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you last night,” I say to my sister as she comes to me, kneeling on the floor and unwrapping the bandage from around my foot and ankle. “Were you guys busy all night?”

“The last patient left just a few minutes before you got home,” Prim tells me. She grasps my heel, running her fingers across the small bones of my foot, ankle, and calf, checking closely for injuries. “Do your foot or ankle, either one, feel better or worse today?” she asks, looking at my bruises and pressing on them lightly.

“It’s a lot better,” I tell her. “I could put weight on it if I had to.”

“I think you’re right then; it probably is just a sprain,” she says, patting my leg before standing up. “Did you see the square on your way home?”

“No, we avoided coming that way.”

“I heard there were so many people arrested they couldn’t hold them in the Justice Building. The Peacekeepers are keeping them all outdoors in pens.” 

I shudder at the thought. At least it’s not wintertime right now, although summer is a worse time for whippings. I wonder how those arrested are going to be punished. I wonder if any children are held. “Anyone that we know?” 

Prim shakes her head mutely. I think she’s so tired her brain is beginning to get foggy. 

“Why don’t you go lay down with Mother?” I tell her. “If anyone needs you, I’ll wake you two up, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, standing up, looking ready to keel over. “If you think you’ll be okay on your own.”

“I’m fine. I can hobble my way around,” I say. “Just please, get some rest.”

I sit back once the bedroom door shuts behind Prim. I stretch out, resting my head against the arm of the couch with my feet propped up on the other end. I’m still tired myself, but my thoughts are whirling around my head too fast to go back to sleep now. In a rare display of anything but malice, Buttercup meows at me from the floor. I’m too tired to shoo him off, so he leaps up on the couch and climbs onto my lap. “Calling a truce today?” I ask, scowling a little at his mangy face. He purrs and rubs against my hand, so I scratch behind his ears. Maybe he’s feeling antsy after the events of last night. Animals have a sense of this sort of thing; I see it in the woods all the time. “You’re not the only one,” I say to him. I don’t know what we’re in for, but it’s not going to be pretty.

Chapter Text

Heading back into town after leaving Katniss at home in the Seam, I can’t help but pick up on how quiet things still are this morning. 

Yes, it’s early- the sun is barely up, but in a place where at best there’s sporadic electricity in the evenings and more often none, most business is taken care of during daylight hours. The earlier you’re out and about, the better. There isn’t much sleeping here in District 12 unless you’re one of a handful of resident drunks like our lone Victor Haymitch Abernathy. It’ll be difficult to say when we’ll see his face around here again after last night since the finale involved rebellious activity from one of our tributes.

That finale- that had to be the craziest thing I’ve seen in my life, by a long shot. Holy hell, what was that even? I just can’t seem to wrap my mind around what was happening on the screen right in front of my eyes. I know it has to mean rebellion somewhere, but where and how soon is what I’m left wondering. What’s surprising this morning is that President Snow’s office hasn’t made an official statement. It can only be a matter of time at this point. Maybe that’s why everyone is at home today. They’re probably all waiting to hear what punishment gets handed down to the people involved. 

I heard many people are held in Peacekeeper custody today, inside and outside the Justice Building, from Mrs. Everdeen. Before I left, she gave me the rundown on what she and Prim had heard last night while treating folks injured in the riot. She said the Peacekeepers had shown up at her house in the middle of the night just the same as they’d come to my place in town. They were thorough.

As I walk further, still with no sign of anyone else to cross paths with, I find myself whistling a tune to fill the dead air. I don’t know the name of the song, just that it’s one I hear Katniss humming in the woods sometimes. I can’t help the grin I get thinking of her, and despite the ominous, extreme quiet that feels incredibly unnatural after last night, it still isn’t enough to take the pep out of my step. I don’t think anything could. And then that gets me thinking that maybe I’m just too stupid to be scared. That’s what my mother would say to me, at least. But it’s probably just the simple fact that I’m so content this morning, not even a not-so-insignificant thing like the possibility of rebellion against our totalitarian government can get under my skin.

I mean, physically? I don’t feel so great. My eyes are dry and achy from being open too long, and I didn’t get much sleep last night. But am I complaining? 

No, I am not. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss one moment of a magical night of Katniss sharing my bed with me. Where actually, a little bit more than sleeping went on for a while. But not too much. Okay, If I’m honest, I can’t let myself think about what happened between us, or I’ll zone out so far that I’ll end up plowing right into the side of the bakery. The memory of Katniss with her hands all over me, her body pressed against mine like she couldn’t get close enough, is too much of a distraction. I probably wouldn’t notice if one of those mutts from the arena dropped out of the sky and landed on my head right now. 

Last night was just- it was nice. 

Nice? I have to shake my head at myself for that one. 

I’m an idiot. Did I think of the best moment of my life as “nice” and leave it at that? Last night, when I experienced the fulfillment of (almost) every fantasy I’ve had about her? Nice doesn’t even touch the surface for any of it. I’m so glad that no one else is out here to see me right now. I’d be getting a hell of a lot of curious looks with the way I’m alternating between grinning like a fool and arguing with myself.

Every minute I’ve spent with Katniss has been better than I could have dreamed possible. And believe me, I’ve thought about it a lot. She’s so- I don’t even know how to describe it; she’s just everything. She’s everything to me. The little things I learned about Katniss before seem so silly compared to what I’ve discovered getting to know her. I was in awe of her, adoring her from a distance like she was a mythical creature too high above me, too good for this world. But now that I know what it’s like to make her laugh? To see her eyes light up when she sees me? And that’s not even delving into the way she’s helped me stand up to my family. It’s overwhelming. There’s no going back from that, at least for me.

And last night-

I shudder thinking about Katniss with her hands all over me. The way her breathing hitched when she asked me to take my shirt off. My god, it was incredible; the best kind of torture for a guy. Being the first time I’d seen her behave like that made it even more overwhelming. Not that we haven’t kissed or touched each other before now, we have. It’s just that I felt for the first time like she wanted me. To comfort her, to make her feel better, she wanted me- me, of all people.

I sigh and kick a rock out of my path, sending it rolling end over end towards the ditch. A few birds gathered in the scrubby trees tweet a warning. They fly off, offended I’ve disturbed their sleep with something inconsequential. 

”Sorry,” I tell them under my breath as they fly away. The birds were mockingjays, I realize, reminding me of a particular singing huntress whose songs they repeat whenever she’s in their range. I’ve witnessed their behavior in the woods, just like my father told me they did with her father. Another thing I can’t get used to is hearing her sing. 

I might as well face it. Today I’m worthless. I can’t seem to stop thinking about Katniss. She tells me she doesn’t want to get married despite the way things are going, but I can’t imagine not marrying her. I don’t mean right away, we’re only eighteen- and despite the trend to marry young in Twelve, I’m not in a tremendous hurry- but someday, yeah. I want to toast with her. I can’t imagine my life without her. 

Did I mention that I’m completely, totally, head-over-heels in love with Katniss? I haven’t told her yet, but I feel like shouting it from the rooftops. That would undoubtedly have the birds giving me what for, though. 

I mean, I’m not stupid, despite what my mother likes to say. I’m not deluding myself. I don’t think she’s ready to hear any of this yet, and that’s fine. I don’t want to pressure her, and the very idea of trying to talk her into anything is frankly absurd. Katniss is headstrong and independent. She likes to make her decisions herself, and she needs time. 

Good thing for me I’m an incredibly patient guy. I don’t mind the long game. I can wait. And I figure that I might as well stop trying to fight it. I can’t stop thinking about Katniss when I’m away from her. She’s the most genuine person I’ve ever known. She’s authentic. I love to tease her, love to make her blush, and see her eyes light up. I love the way she scowls at me when she’s trying not to laugh. I love the way she’s so tough, so self-assured, but most of all, I love that when she’s not feeling like any of those things, it’s me she comes to for comfort, me she wants for support. I’ve been waiting my whole life for this, and I’m amazed that it’s finally happening. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve her.

I don’t think she loves me yet, but it’s okay. It’s early days, and I’ve got a big head start on her. Thirteen years is a long time to catch up within a matter of weeks. Don’t get me wrong. I want her to love me. Of course, I do, but right now, I feel like she wants me. I’d even say in a small way she needs me, and that’s almost as good. For now, I’ll take it.

When I hit the outskirts of town, what I see and hear pulls me out of daydreaming about my favorite topic. 

It's eerily quiet. There isn’t a single one of my neighbors out. Have I missed something about another curfew? I hope not; I’d rather not get arrested this morning. While there aren't any residents around, Peacekeepers are everywhere I look. They’re trying to be discreet about their presence, of course. There aren’t hordes of them exactly; just enough white uniforms in line of sight to drive home that they’re watching.

I keep walking, eyes straight ahead. I need to quit dawdling and get to the bakery.

When I arrive, Father and Rye are out front, looking at the cracked display window. The damage is terrible, but not as disastrous as I thought it would be. It seems as though the two of them opened for business today, not that there's anyone here. I never did run into anyone while I was out. 

It’s a relief to see the window, other than a few odd gouges in the framing here and there, took the brunt force of the rioters last night without shattering to pieces. 

Some of the businesses I passed on my walk here got hit a lot worse than we did. The grocer lost his front window, and the door and frame were both broken as well. The flower shop had its awning torn down and shredded.

“‘Bout time you showed up,” Rye says when he notices me. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He pretends it hurts when I elbow him in the side. I roll my eyes. Same old, same old. Glad to see my brother isn’t letting serious issues get him down like a normal person. He’s a jackass, but I’m sort of ready for the distraction today. “Glad you’re alright too,” I quip.

“Everything alright at your place, Peet?” Father asks while simultaneously giving Rye dirty looks. It seems to get him to calm down, infinitesimally, at least for the moment.

“Yeah, no damage. All my pigs are still there, at least.”

“That’s good. Good.”

I shrug. “I don’t think anyone made it that far north with the lights out.”

“We were worried about you,” Father admits. “Rye told me he saw you there, and I’m just relieved you weren’t involved in any of the worst of what went on. Last night was one of those times I wished you hadn’t moved out of the house yet.”

“Father…”

“Was Katniss with you?” Rye asks, a knowing smirk on his face. 

Jackass. I shoot a dirty look at him. He knows she was with me last night. “Shut up,” I turn my head far enough that I’m out of Father’s line of sight, mouthing the words to him. As always, Rye’s response is classy with the middle finger and a crude thrusting gesture with his hips for the big finish. And just like that, I’ve entirely disregarded my thoughts that he’s a welcome distraction this morning. That has to be some kind of a record. 

I turn to face Father again, smiling like I didn’t hear what he asked the first time. “Hmm?” I say, hoping to change the subject.

He’s not buying it. “It’s a fair question,” Father says, scratching the back of his neck as he stares at the storefront. “It got pretty crazy out there last night. If she was with you, and it sounds like she was -”

Rye’s going to pay for this one. 

“I’m just glad to hear she didn’t try to go home on her own.” 

Oh. It’s not that kind of inquisition. 

I’m glad Father’s not looking at me because as relief floods me, I feel like every impure thought I’ve ever had about Katniss is written all over my face. And there have been a lot of them- a lot.

“She stayed at my house last night,” I admit, wondering why exactly it is I feel the need to explain myself to the two of them. It has to be more for Katniss’s benefit than mine. And lucky me, the situation is undoubtedly not escaping my brother’s interest, who smirks from behind Father’s back as I answer his question. 

I don’t care what they think of me, but people have stupid ideas about what women should and shouldn’t be doing around here, evidenced by the shit that Peacekeeper was talking about at my house last night. “Thought it was safer than trying to get her home through the mess in the square. She fell and hurt her ankle when the riot broke out. I guess she got stepped on.”

Rye slaps me on the back. “I thought I saw you showing her the old Mellark muscles last night. Good job carrying her off like you’d plundered a fucking pirate ship-” 

“Didn’t you hear me say that she hurt her ankle?” I hiss. “How was she supposed to walk out of that mess? She was nearly trampled when everything broke out.”

He smirks at me. “Still, I bet that got Katniss all hot and bothered.”

Well, now that you mention it, it might have- 

“Rye, that is enough,” Father grabs his arm, effectively putting an end to the argument between us and breaking my once again wandering train of thought. His voice is sterner than usual, which doesn’t take much really because my father’s usually too cowed by Mother to speak up. I think what it boils down to is he doesn’t have the energy to deal with my brother’s crap this morning. It’d be nice if Rye were smart enough to realize that without Father getting his blood pressure up. “Stop acting like a moron. I thought I’d raised you years ago. No one told me it was going to be a damn life sentence,” Father mutters, his face red. He lets go of my brother's arm before walking away, all the while grumbling under his breath. 

“He didn’t get much sleep last night,” Rye tells me as we watch Father head down the alley towards the back of the bakery.

“I don’t think anyone did,” I admit, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. I think the stress of last night is catching up with me.

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t,” Rye says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” I groan, ready to be mad, but it turns out that maybe I’m just too tired to maintain it because I laugh instead. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened with Everdeen, or what?”

“By Everdeen, I assume you mean Katniss, my girlfriend? The one whom I respect too much to talk to my brother about?”

“Oh, come on, I’ve told you about all of my exploits.”

“I asked for none of those details- none. Zero,” I remind him as we follow Father behind the bakery. “So quit asking me.”

“Aren’t you going to give me any hints?” My brother is too damn persistent. 

I sigh. “About what?”

“You know what,” he needles, following me closely as I head up the back steps. When we’re both on the same stairstep, he reaches around me and puts his hand on the door, preventing me from opening it, meaning I’m not getting inside the bakery unless we get into a knock-down-drag-out right here on the back steps, which has happened on occasion. 

I’m kind of ashamed to admit to that one. 

“Seriously, Peet- I need details.”

“Why do you care? You know how stuff works.”

“Quit avoiding my questions. We’re brothers; we have to compare notes.”

I glare at him, and he stares back at me with that penetrating look that seems to pull me in every time. Damn it. Why couldn’t I have been an only child? 

“There’s not much to tell,” I admit. It’s a safe answer, and it’s mostly true.

“Why not?” Rye looks genuinely puzzled as if the concept of acting like a gentleman is so foreign.

“Because I’m not a man-whore,” I snap. “And I’m not a pushy prick either. Now, are you going to let me in the kitchen or what?”

“I told you, I need more details than that-”

“Details about what?” A low voice cuts in, and I can’t help but groan and drop my head. I didn’t hear his approach over Rye’s and my bickering. Of course, this particular asshole would have to show up now- Gale Hawthorne, in the flesh. Tall, gloomy, holding several rabbits by their back legs. I assume he’s come to trade with Father. 

I guess his arrival isn’t that unexpected. Today is Sunday. It’s just that I can’t believe he went out in the woods after everything that happened last night. I do grudgingly have to give Hawthorne some credit for that one. Unless he’s just too dumb to overthink things- that’s the possibility that makes the most sense to me, at least.

“Hi Gale,” Rye greets our unexpected company with exaggerated politeness. “It’s funny you should show up now. My brother and I were just discussing what happened last night between him and a certain overnight guest-”

“If you don’t shut up now, I’m going to pound you into the ground,” I growl at my brother. I mean it. As much as I don’t like Gale, Katniss told me the two of them had resumed a tentative friendship again over the last few weeks, and I’m not going to make things awkward with him just for the sake of my brother’s unholy urge to stir up trouble for his enjoyment. 

Rye laughs. “Fine, fine. Keep your secrets to yourself, Peet. It’s just that you wouldn’t get me to shut up about it if I was hitting that- ouch !” I stomp on his foot, and that shuts him up.

Gale scowls on at us. 

“I’ll get Father if you want to trade,” I tell him, pointing my thumb toward the back door and elbowing my brother out of the way. Rye scoots backward without an argument, a little cowed by his sore foot, I think, as I try to head in once again. It serves him right.

“Yeah, I do need to talk to your old man. But wait for a second, if you would,” Gale stops me.

So I turn back around. And while Gale glowers at me, I wait for him to tell me what it is he wants. I hate this macho crap from guys like him. Freakin’ Hawthorne. 

Finally, he speaks up. “So. You and Katniss, huh?” he asks, his tone light.

“Yeah,” I answer firmly. I don’t know where Gale’s going with this, but I’m not going to let him think I’m intimidated by him. I’m not. 

Gale laughs lowly, crossing his arms over his chest, taking no notice of the smear of blood that drags across his shirt from the rabbits. I suppose it makes him think he’s more manly than I am. Whatever- I could still knock his ass on the ground if need be. “So you’ve heard from her that we're having our toasting pretty soon?” he asks, changing the subject. “Probably be the end of the week.”

“Katniss told me about that. She also said you guys are going to have a kid,” I add. The information drop wasn’t unintentional. I want him to know what’s between us. I’m not ready to believe he only has pure intentions with my girlfriend because he’s getting married. I only have to tolerate him. I don’t need to like him.

“Yeah, it’s something. I can’t believe I’m going to be a dad,” he adds, shaking his head. He seems genuinely bemused at the thought. 

“Well, congratulations on both,” I tell him. I can't help it; my guard slips a little. Damn Hawthorne, now I’m on the fence about him. Maybe he is sincere?

“So, I wanted to talk to your old man about making a trade for a toasting cake next week,” Gale mentions, “if he’s not too busy right now.”

“No, uh,” I peek in through the screen door, just to make sure my mother isn’t in the bakery. She typically isn’t even awake yet, and fortunately, the coast is clear. “He’s not busy. There probably won’t be much business this morning, so it’s a good time. Come on in and talk to him inside,” I say, holding the door open for him. We haven't conducted trades on the steps since the Capitolites descended on the district like a plague of locusts.

As Gale climbs the steps and I step aside to make room for him on the narrow landing, Rye is there just hanging out behind me like an idiot. “Are you coming or what?” I ask, gesturing inside with a tilt of my head, ready to follow Gale myself.

“Sure, why not,” he says. “I don’t want to miss this.”

“There’s nothing to miss.” I roll my eyes at my brother. He’s such an ass. “Things are fine.” I think they actually might be. Not that I’m automatically going to stop being distrustful of Gale overnight or anything. I have a chilling thought. What if things do go wrong for all of us after last night? There could be a war, and I could be fighting right alongside Hawthorne. Hell, I could die right beside him. I might as well try to give him a slight benefit of the doubt, I suppose.

“Then why did you break my toes?” Rye whines.

“I didn’t break your damn toes,” I mumble. 

“You might have.”

“Shut up, Rye, seriously. I can’t take it today. Are you coming inside or what?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”

Chapter Text

It’s a clear evening- not a cloud in the sky, and the stars are just beginning to glow on the edges of the horizon. The air is cool, considering its summertime, but that’s the way it is in the mountains of District Twelve. 

One of the topics we covered during our upper-grade classes that I found interesting was the different weather and environments in the other districts. It always amazed me to sit in class and think of places like Four surrounded by water or how the plains of Nine or Eleven were described, where it’s possible to see for miles around. I can’t imagine being somewhere you can see for water or flat land for hundreds of miles around you because here? The mountains feel like they crowd you in at times. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, though. Not typically. Although lately, it can be a little claustrophobic.

Because it is July, the cool evening air makes the small, blazing fire a pleasant addition to the room where it might not typically be if the weather was more seasonal. Whether its heat is welcome or not, though, the fire is part of an important tradition. Signing paperwork at the Justice Building might make a union legal, but no one in Twelve feels married without a toasting. 

Gale and Hyacinth kneel next to the fire after we find places to watch as unobtrusively as possible. He holds onto her hand, helping her down, and once they have settled, he leans in to kiss her before they even get started. 

What he did isn’t typical in this portion of the toasting ceremony, but the gesture does make me smile. It’s the old, impetuous Gale, defiant in the face of everything. 

Things are so unsettled right now. If the two of them weren’t already expecting a baby, I’d say they were crazy for getting married. The evening after the explosive ending of the Games, we finally got the official response from Snow we’d been waiting on. Looking surprisingly healthy after the rumors that had been circulating about his fading health, our snake of a president told the nation that “rapidly implemented changes are coming because of the “treasonous acts” committed during this year’s Hunger Games.”

Just like everyone else, I was furious- how can trying to stay alive possibly be treasonous? I know I’m not the only one who feels that anger, either. That statement goes against everything it means to be human. It lingers in the air around us; I’ve read it constantly over the last week in the expressions of my neighbors. No one is saying it out loud because we’re all afraid and with good reason.

From his office inside the fortress he refers to as a mansion, far away from our daily lives’ suffering and misery, Snow spoke of restoring order and safety to Panem as quickly as possible. He informed us- as if it were a side note- that the two boys who’d escaped from the arena were now back in Capitol custody. Captured shortly after their escape, they are being held for questioning while other individuals involved have already been dealt with severely. 

They didn’t show the boys on screen, though, only pre-Games footage of them. I would have thought they’d do that. It was odd.

Snow continued, announcing that he would do “whatever it took” to prevent anything like the 76th Games from happening again, for the “preservation of the glory and honor of the Capitol.” I was glad I hadn’t eaten dinner yet, or I might have thrown it all back up again. 

Our district and Two- Kai’s home were each called out and reprimanded by name. The president made it clear that the girls’ rebellious acts would not go unpunished. The way he spoke, it didn’t sound as though escaping was the only rebellion Kai and Linden were guilty of committing. Snow inferred none too discreetly that sacrificing themselves for one another was just as infuriating to him—sacrificial love. Love was the worst crime of all to him, the bastard.

Before this past week, there was oppression in our daily lives, of course. However, we still maintained a sense of imperceptibility in our district because as long as we’d filled our coal quotas and sent them two children a year to be murdered for their entertainment, the Capitol didn’t seem to give us much thought. That’s no longer the case. Almost immediately, changes rolled into the district. It began with an influx of new Peacekeepers to replace most of ours, who were themselves sent off to new districts in some giant switch up. It didn’t take the new officers long to begin intimidating the district’s residents, making daily arrests, and meting out any real or perceived crimes with public whippings in the square. 

Several people have died from their injuries already, whether through blood loss or infection. Mother and Prim have been very busy. Most of the people locked up in the outdoor pen the night of the riot remained there more than a week later. Everywhere you look, people are nervous. They’re barely leaving their homes. Business in the Merchant sector is down, and the Hob remains essentially deserted. It seems like a minor inconvenience considering everything else going on, but it’s becoming difficult to get what we need when few people are selling goods themselves. 

Mother and Prim’s healing supplies are running low, but the best I can do for them is gather what I can from the woods, add it to Peeta’s wheelbarrow, and hope the guards don’t notice anything unusual. It feels as though no matter where you go, it’s not safe because we are watched at all times. 

So yes, while I’m as happy as I can be for Gale and Hyacinth today, I’m apprehensive. The day holds a tinge of wistfulness for me to boot. I know it’s mostly nostalgia triggering this feeling of sadness- I’m trying to talk myself out of it because I know better. It’s nothing. 

I’m not jealous of what Gale has with Hyacinth. Those feelings have remained very much the same. I have no romantic interest in him at all, and it’s obvious he no longer feels that way about me. It’s just that right this very moment; I’m aware that things can never go back to the way they used to be with him. The boy who was my teenage hunting partner is gone. A part of me would like to go back into the past for a day and spend it with him again, the way things used to be. But, I tell myself that we have today, at least. Gale did ask me to be here today. I’m ridiculous. I need to let this feeling go. And I will- I mostly have already. 

At least we are speaking to each other again. That’s something I wasn’t sure would happen, and I think maybe it’s enough to hold onto- Gale feeling the same about our friendship as I do. It means that he’s not entirely missing from my life anymore.

Those of us gathered are quiet while Gale and Hyacinth perform the toasting ceremony. There aren’t many of us here; just a small group of close friends and family gathered in their new home is typical because no one’s house in the Seam is big enough to host a large party.

Peeta’s arm slips around my waist, and I lean into his touch, finding a spot to rest my head against his shoulder while he stands behind me. If we were alone, he’d probably be more demonstrative than he is right now, but he knows I don’t want to be pelted with questions about “when is it going to be your turn next?” by everyone present, including my own family.

Once they are both done toasting their portions of bread over the fire and repeating their vows, Gale takes his piece and feeds a bite of it to Hyacinth. She chews and swallows, then lifts her portion to his lips- he does the same with the toasted bread she feeds him. And with that, they’re done.

In that brief moment, before it’s time to sing the wedding song, I turn my face into Peeta’s chest, so no one overhears me. “They seem happy,” I admit. 

I hear him smother a laugh against the side of my head, and I know the incredulous tone of my voice amuses him. I can feel his lips turn up against my hair; he’s doing that to hide his smile. “They should be happy, don’t you think?” Peeta replies, his voice low enough that only I can hear it. “What else did you expect?”

I shrug. I don’t know whether Peeta’s right or not. Should any of us be happy right now? I know there’s an expression about life going on despite the hardships around us or something like that, and a new home with a baby on the way are things that should make a couple happy. It’s just that it’s hard to feel any sense of normalcy under constant scrutinization. It’s hard to forget and just live your life when scrutinized this way.

As Peeta and I leave the woods, the guards carefully examine my bag and his wheelbarrow each morning. More than once, especially since the real trouble began, I’ve found myself thinking of that agreement I made with the tanner before the Games started. The waste irritates me. 

It would’ve been nice to have been able to put some extra coin away before now. Hauling deer or bear or wild hogs out of the woods is so far out of the realm of possibility now, I might as well not even waste my time thinking about it. All it does is make me angry, and at this point, I’m not even sure how long I’ll be able to keep hunting. The fence could be back on any day at this rate, and if that happens, I’m done. If I can’t hunt, what am I going to do for work?

But I suppose now isn’t the time to be thinking such dour thoughts. Today is about a celebration; there will be time to think about the futility of things later.

After the toasting, small glasses of white liquor get passed around. Of course, it’s just cups of water for Rory, Prim, and Posy, but once we all have something in hand, we raise our glasses to Gale and Hyacinth’s marriage. I tip the nasty stuff back simply because it’s tradition. Once we’ve all choked the drinks down- with a bit of sputtering from Vick followed by some general teasing about the way it takes time to get used to ingesting something that burns like lightning, Mr. McGuire pulls out his fiddle and plays for us. 

While lilting melodies flow across his strings, I find a place to sit and watch the fun while others dance. Gale holds Hyacinth close to him, and they sway together while Posy and my sister hold hands and dance in a circle. Mother and Hazelle even join in, and they garner laughter from everyone when they both try to lead each other in the dance.

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asks, joining me in the adjoining seat after promising Prim that he’d dance with her in a little bit.

“Oh, I don’t know. This and that,” I say, leaning back in my seat to get a better look- Peeta’s father gave him a haircut before he came, and he’s wearing his best shirt. 

“You look handsome,” I tell him, reaching for his hand. 

“And you’re gorgeous,” he answers, giving me a slow once-over that makes me feel pleasantly squirmy, “I love the way you look in that dress.”

“Thank you,” I say, resisting the urge to reply with something self-deprecating. I kind of hate compliments. “And thank you for coming,” I thread our fingers together as Peeta leans in closer so he can hear me. He’s so sweet, and sometimes it bothers me that I’m not great at telling him how I feel. I’m making an effort to be better than that. “I know Gale isn’t your favorite person,” I add.

“And you know I’ll go anywhere you want me to go,” Peeta says. “You shouldn’t give it a thought. And Gale? He’s alright. I think I get him now.”

“Get what?”

“Well, I hope what I’m about to say doesn’t do anything to your ego,” he says teasingly.

I roll my eyes in response, but I have to smile. I think Peeta feels more at ease about my relationship with Gale these days. I think he realizes his place in my life is a deeper one- I couldn’t see myself letting my guard down the way I do with him with anyone else. No one else makes me feel safe enough to say or do what comes to me naturally when I’m with him. 

“But he’s very obviously in love with his wife, don’t you think?” Peeta says, glancing over at Gale and Hyacinth. They only have eyes for no one but each other.

That melancholy I grappled with a bit of a while ago is gone- this is what Gale always wanted. “It’d be hard to miss it, wouldn’t it?” I admit.

Peeta smiles at me, and it makes me feel better about everything. 

“I’m glad,” I admit, “I guess I am happy for them.”

“You can’t live life without taking a few risks, you know,” he says. “I mean, I took zero risks until a few months ago, and look at me now,” he adds. “I’m shaking things up all over the place.”

I wrinkle my nose at him. “And you think you made good choices that way?” I ask.

“I’d say that I did.”

Peeta and I leave together once the party wraps up. I hugged Hyacinth goodbye and let her know that she should feel free to come and see us if there’s anything she needs for the baby, while secretly, I decided to put back a few furs to make something soft for the little one when it’s here. If I can still manage to hunt that long, that is. I squeezed Gale’s hand while Peeta patted him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. I couldn’t help but think that even if the rest of the world was a mess, at least this one thing was becoming the way it should be.

Although it will be time for curfew soon, Peeta and I decide to go for a short walk instead of him taking me back home right away. I’m not in a big hurry to get back tonight; I don’t want to be reminded of all the worry in the district right now, and Mother and Prim’s healing supplies all over our house do just that every time I look at them. Things have felt so stifled and watched, but at the moment, it doesn’t seem quite so much that way. The Peacekeepers must be taking a bit of a break themselves. We haven’t run into any of them yet. Peeta’s hand is warm in mine, his grip firm but not restrictive. He’s reticent- that’s usually my thing, and I’m curious why. 

“What are you thinking about?” I ask. 

“Lots of things. This and that, but mostly I’m just enjoying a walk in the dark alone with you,” Peeta admits, and I smile down at my feet. “It’s hard to find privacy now.”

“I know. I was just thinking the same thing, but at least you and I can go outside the fence,” I remind him, not unkindly. 

“You’re right- most couples I know have to sit in their families’ houses under their parent’s eyes.” Peeta laughs. “Rye told me the Peacekeepers have even managed to close things down at the slag heap.”

“And what does your brother know about what’s going on at the slag heap?” I ask, irritated. Just a mention of Rye’s name is usually all it takes to make me angry. And his fiance might not be my favorite person (she’s too perky for my liking, and I may have leftover anger because of what the two of them did to Peeta), but still, I don’t like to think of him cheating on her. “What about Delly?”

“Well, don’t get mad at me,” Peeta says, “I didn’t say I was the one going to the slag heap.” 

I scowl at him, and he holds his hands up in defense of his brother, who, for some reason, he still has a little bit of loyalty toward. I know I can’t say much because I let Prim run roughshod over me all the time, but her intentions are usually good. I can’t say the same thing for Rye. 

“Honestly, I don’t think he’s running around on her,” Peeta stops walking, causing us both to stop. “I think those two weirdos just like to go there themselves, sometimes.”

“Why would they do that?” I ask, relieved but genuinely puzzled. Rye and Delly seem to find lots of places to be alone together; I didn’t think they’d need to resort to something so public as the slag heap.

Peeta shrugs, but his expression is mischievous. I can feel my eye roll beginning already. “I guess they must get some kind of thrill out of the chance they’re taking there. You know- that they might get caught. Rye said it makes it more fun.”

“Of course they would,” I mutter under my breath, but he catches it, letting go of my hand and snaking his arms around my waist smoothly. 

He grins down at me, and when he bites his lower lip, I feel my limbs tingle. “I don’t know, Katniss. I’ve got to be honest- that does kinda sound fun to me too,” at my incredulous expression, he chuckles and steps closer. “I just mean… don’t you think the danger would make  things a little bit more exciting?”

I scold him, but it mortifies me to realize his words leave me a little breathless. My brain tells me that’s a terrible idea, but apparently, my body has other ideas. “I’m not going to the slag heap with you! I mean,” while I’m talking, he tilts his head, kissing the spot between my jaw and my ear, making it impossible to think. I’m pretty sure my brain stops working altogether, then. “I don’t think we’ve done anything yet that would warrant a trip to the slag heap,” I continue, half-heartedly trying to get away from him before my brain shuts off completely. It doesn’t seem to be slowing down his kisses.

“We could, though,” he says, his lips moving further down my neck while he pulls me closer. We’re on the edge of the path, and Peeta slowly backs me up against a tree while I protest half-heartedly.

“You’d better… stop. What if someone sees us?” I say; my voice is weak as he continues to nuzzle against my skin. I know we shouldn’t be doing this here, not out in the middle of an open path. It’s just that with all the bad things in our lives right now, it’s hard to say no to something that feels this good. There are so few good things. And this- Peeta’s hands touching me, his mouth on my skin, the knowledge that he’ll be here with me as long as he can, as long as I want him. It all feels so right that I never want him to stop. I want more. 

“What’s gotten into you?” I manage, shivering at the feel of his breath on my skin, the light brush of his lips there.

“This is just what you do to me,” he says, nipping at my ear in chastisement before pulling his head back to look at me. Peeta seems to be trying to get himself under control a little, which makes me want this with him even more. I think we’re both feeling a little unhinged and out of control tonight. Like a personal mini-rebellion. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” I whisper and turn my head to chase after his kiss. 

When his lips meet mine, his mouth is hot, his breathing rapid, but the motion of his lips and tongue are leisurely like he wants to take his time relearning the terrain of my kisses. Peeta teases me with his tongue, caressing mine a little and then making me chase after his. I press my body against him, feel the warmth he radiates, and all the while, my hands are sliding up his arms and gripping them hard. I love to touch him here- it reminds me of how strong he is, how he could easily overpower me but doesn’t. It’s a heady kind of power, having Peeta in my control like that. My fingers dig into his biceps, and he grunts a little, so I do it again because that sound he makes gives me a little thrill. I feel out of control tonight.

Peeta’s hands slide down my back and across my hips, and then, without seeming to give any thought to it, he hoists me up while I move my arms up to wrap them tightly around his shoulders as he lifts me in the air. And then my back is against the tree with my legs locked around his waist for support. I sigh at the way our bodies touch when he leans into me, our kisses growing more intense.

I cling to his shoulders as his hand caresses my face, his thumb rubbing the sweep beneath my cheekbone before he moves further down across my jaw and neck. His hand stops at my shoulder, and then he’s sliding it down my chest until his fingers are centimeters from my breast. He hesitates, and I can tell what he’s thinking because I feel it, too; both of our bodies tense in anticipation. We’ve never done this before. He’s never touched me there, and I realize I’ve never wanted his hands on a particular part of me so badly. My whole body feels alive in a way it never has.

“Katniss,” he asks, hesitant, his breathing shallow as if he can hardly force it out. 

The waiting is agony as his fingers twitch at my side—tension coils in my belly. 

“Can I-“

“Yes,” I rush out, crushing my mouth against his before he can speak again. I close my eyes, losing myself even further into the emotion and the night and the way he’s making me feel. And then he’s there, cupping my small breast in his warm hand. I inhale sharply as intense pleasure fissures through my veins at the contact, warming my body like I’m burning from the inside out. I had no idea a simple touch would feel so good. 

Peeta pulls away from my mouth as he gasps for air, leaning his forehead against mine. His hand doesn’t move from my breast, and his eyes are downcast, watching himself touch me.

“Katniss,” he groans, desire thick in his voice as his thumb caresses the inner edge of my breast. 

I have to bite my lip to keep in the unholy noises trying to slip out of my throat. My head rolls back against the tree trunk while his lips move to press wet, open-mouthed kisses to my neck, the hollow in my throat, my collar bones, and then even further down. Peeta slides his hand just enough that his thumb is now pressing into the spot between my breasts, where my pulse thumps manically, his calloused thumb touching my bare skin and making my skin crackle in its wake. He slides his hand further down until the neckline of my dress opens a little farther, enough that when his lips drift down to follow the path of his fingers, they’re touching the outer edge of my breast.

“Peeta,” I whisper as his lips drop lower-

“Ahem.”

Peeta’s head jerks up from my chest so quickly it’s a wonder our heads don’t crack into each other’s. Our eyes meet, and his expression is frantic. I’m sure mine must look the same. I scramble down from his arms, and Peeta helps me, and all the while, I keep my face buried in his shoulder. How humiliating. I’m going to kill him for starting this.

“Sorry to interrupt you two,” a man says, “but in my humble opinion, I’d try ‘n find someplace a little less traveled for a rendezvous if you know what I mean.”

Who is that? Not one of the Peacekeepers, they wouldn’t speak in such a relaxed way- other than Darius, of course, but he was shipped off to another district last week. I feel as if I should know who this is; the name isn’t coming to me, but the voice sounds familiar. Peeta turns his head to look at the new arrival, and I step away from the shelter of his body after I’ve put myself to rights, straitening the neckline and hem of my dress. Finally, I get a good look at the man. “I didn’t know you were back,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

Haymitch Abernathy doesn’t look surprised at my words. I guess my reputation as being less than charming precedes me.

“Good evening, Mr. Abernathy,” Peeta says, no trace of embarrassment in his tone. He’s so good under pressure; I don’t know how he manages it.

“Not as good an evening as what you’re having, apparently,” Haymitch mutters, making me blush to the roots of my hair. Peeta will be pulling an arrow out of his hand if he tries this again, I think. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but still. I’m not happy about this. I scowl at Haymitch, and he smirks. “But, despite what I just got an eyeful of, I’m glad I bumped into you two. There’s something I wanted to discuss with the both of you.”

What could that be?

“We’ll need to find someplace more private to talk,” he continues. “Unlike you two lovebirds, I know a little something about discretion.”

Chapter Text

Peeta and I follow Haymitch as he walks away by some sort of unspoken agreement, falling into step behind him. He leads us around some of the homes in the back of the Seam. The three of us weave in between houses, going here and there until eventually, we reach the back corner of the Hob. It's dark tonight, providing the cover needed to keep prying eyes off us. None of the details of what Haymitch is doing are relayed to us by him; I guess that would be asking a lot out of a surly drunk. As someone used to sneaking through the woods and covering their tracks, I sense what he's doing. 

Peeta doesn't ask any questions. He's more of the wait to see what happens sort. Haymitch pulls the back door of the Hob open. "Ladies first," he says. Peeta rests his hand on the small of my back as he follows me through the door, staying close behind me. 

"Knock it off," I whisper harshly, stepping away from his touch. I'm still irritated with him after our little impromptu kissing session. I can't believe we let things get that far, right out in the open the way we were. It's like I can't control myself anymore, and I don't like it.

Peeta huffs behind me. "I can't even touch you now?" he grumbles, responding to my brush-off. "I already said I was sorry- I didn't know Haymitch was going to show up like that."

"Sorry, won't take it back," I say. My face is hot, thinking about the way I had my arms wrapped around Peeta's waist, my back against that tree, and my legs spread far apart. Having Haymitch Abernathy, the town drunk and our lone victor, interrupting such a private moment between Peeta and me. 

"It was just a kiss and some touching. Why are you so embarrassed?" Just some kissing? I don't know if having Peeta's lips down the front of my dress in a public space could be described that way. If I'm honest with myself, though, I was encouraging him. And I did like it, even if I could kill Peeta for instigating things.

"You two ready to talk? Or do I need to give you some time to sort out your differences?" Haymitch grumbles, pulling the door closed behind him once we're all inside the Hob. The door creaks into place, and we are immediately greeted by pitch black, which I don't love. Being led blind into anything is not my cup of tea.

" I think we're fine," Peeta says. 

I huff. 

" She's just a little out of sorts," Haymitch says knowingly. 

Because he knows what's best for him, Peeta just keeps his response to a short laugh under his breath. Even at that, I have an itch to shoot an arrow through both of their heads. I let myself visualize it- lining the two of them up, front to back. You'd only need one arrow that way. Maybe that's a bit extreme. Maybe- but where does Haymitch, a man I've rarely spoken with if ever, think he gets off calling me sweetheart, anyway? My anger slips a little, though, when he begins to cough violently. Haymitch gets himself under control again but continues to sound short of breath. He urges us to keep walking once he turns on a flashlight. No one who doesn't have some kind of underlying medical condition should be gasping for air after a quick walk through the Seam. To my knowledge, Haymitch has never been below ground, but I hear the rattle in his lungs that sounds a lot like miner's lung. 

I think he's just in terrible shape, but that's what drowning yourself in alcohol does. Only a victor can afford to do it. There is no buying on credit in the Hob, and a miner's wage can only get you a small amount of white liquor; even that cuts into what's needed to support a family. When a family's provider getting hooked on it, it's not a pretty sight. It leaves hollow-eyed, hungry children and worn-down spouses. Haymitch is one of only a few people who can consistently afford to pickle his liver. I don't blame him for staying drunk all the time, though. If I had to mentor two kids from our small district every year in the Games, I'd want to be incoherent most of the time myself.

We follow the narrow beam of light projected from Haymitch's flashlight as we walk the hallway behind the Hob's main, open space. Due to the new curfew, the marketplace is closed up now; no one wants to risk a run-in with the Peacekeepers if they happen to get caught out too late. I'm not sure what Peeta's going to do about getting home, but then again, that really should be the least of my concerns since we don't know what Haymitch wants with us. 

"Go ahead and have a seat," Haymitch says, shining the flashlight inside one of the rooms, holding the beam for us while Peeta and I enter the room and sit down in two ancient-looking chairs. I watch as he pulls the door shut behind him before shuffling to the corner and unearthing a lantern in the corner of the room buried under a pile of dirty rags. Excellent- a fire hazard. He gets the lantern going and shuts off the flashlight before pulling out another chair and sitting down with us- hemming and hawing for the longest time; Haymitch fiddles with the lamp and pats down his pockets. "Damn, left it at home," he mutters. I can only presume he's looking for a bottle. 

Right as I'm on the verge of lighting into Haymitch for dragging the two of us here in the dark just to watch him screw around, Peeta speaks up instead. It's probably for the best. "Haymitch-"

"Hmm?" Haymitch asks, looking up again.

"It's getting late; it has to be close to curfew. So, with all due respect-" That's more consideration than I would've given Haymitch. "Would you mind telling us why you brought us here?" he finishes with a polite smile, pulling out that Peeta-charm again. The old expression about catching more flies with honey than vinegar floats through my head, but the impact isn't enough to change what I say next.

"Not to mention the Peacekeepers already have their eyes on us," I add for good measure. "I'd like to avoid running into them again." There's going to be no attempt to soothe Haymitch's feelings from me. "I assume what you want from us must not be exactly legal if you brought us here to talk."

"Well- you certainly have a lot to say once you get going, don't you? I'm starting to sizzle from the lack of consideration on his part. All at once, though, his expression grows soberer than anything I've seen from him save the occasional slip on stage during reaping day. It takes me back a little; maybe his brain isn't as burnt to a crisp as I first thought. And so suspicious," Haymitch ads, shifting in his chair. "I find that you two are in an important, unique position. There's some risk, but it's like the opportunity has dropped into our hands at just the right time."

Peeta leans forward in his chair, reaching for my hand under the table in a protective gesture, folding his warm fingers around my cool ones, reminding me that it's our hands Haymitch is talking about and that he always has my back. The simple gesture makes my irritation with Peeta slip away; I can't stay mad at him when he always seems to be thinking about what I need. "What are you getting at?" he asks Haymitch.

Before he responds, something in my brain clicks. I know what's about to be said as if Haymitch already said it. A Victor doesn't need anything from two young adults in his dirt-poor home district, not with the world of the Capitol at his disposal. There's only one thing that sets us apart- Peeta's permit to go into the woods. "You're part of the Rebellion," I blurt out, realizing the truth as the words cross my lips. Gale dropped a hint about it weeks ago- I forgot that until now. It doesn't make a bit of sense that a drunk, human trainwreck like Haymitch Abernathy is involved in plans to overthrow the government, but apparently, my old hunting partner was right. And to Haymitch's credit, he doesn't deny the accusation. Something in his expression changes; it's a realization that we understand each other. He's a survivor, just like I am. I'm starting to realize it was no accident Haymitch won his games.

"Believe in getting to the point quickly, don't you, Sweetheart?" he says quietly.

"Yes, I do. But I'm not your sweetheart," I remind him. 

"Are you serious?" Peeta asks, glancing between the two of us.

Haymitch leans back in his chair, rubbing his hand across his bristly cheek. The sound is audible in the silence that's fallen over the room. "Yep. She hit it square on the nose." I don't know what to think. I know whatever Haymitch wants us to do will be stupidly dangerous, I'm sure of it. My reputation as a hunter may have given him the idea that I'm some big risk-taker, but that couldn't be any further from the truth.

"What makes you think that's something either one of us would do?" Peeta asks, scooting closer to me, sensing my apprehension. I don't say anything. "I don't mean to speak for you," he adds, looking at me.

I shake my head because I'm perfectly okay with letting him do that. My thoughts are so jumbled right now anything I would try to say would be incomprehensible.

"I don't exactly see either of you leaping for joy- didn't expect that. But there are a few things I can share with you that might help sway your decision," Haymitch says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back like he's settling in awhile.

"You mean, the decision is ours," I say warily. I'd assumed this wasn't going to be a volunteer situation, not really. Widespread knowledge of the Rebellion period is dangerous to their cause. 

"Of course it is! What are we going to do, hold your pigs hostage if you don't? Don't be ridiculous," Haymitch says, focusing on Peeta. "I can't force you into doing anything, but you two could fill a vital role. Changes are coming, and you're going to want to be on the right side of them, that's all I'm saying."

"Nothing changes, not for the better," I say after a loaded silence during which even Peeta was at a loss for words. It's not a threat exactly, but it's no indication that Haymitch will just forget this conversation ever happened. I try to explain my fears, what holds me back. "Since the last night of the Games, Garrick's men have watched the two of us constantly. I can't even hunt like I used to! That's not mentioning the curfews, or the Peacekeepers breathing down everyone's throats, or those people pinned up like cattle outside the Justice Building still "awaiting trial" indefinitely."

"Ah, but that last bunch; that's better than facing the whipping post, ain't it?" Haymitch interjects, an amused smirk on his dark features. "Things aren't always what they seem. Take the Games you just mentioned. From all appearances, it looks like Snow has everything under control, doesn't it? A few unfortunate instances, no victor, letting those boys sneak out. Nothing they can't handle: put new restrictions on the districts, capture those boys and lock them away, and put old 'Anus on the tv screen- let him deliver a nice heart-warming message to all." He pauses. "Guess what, though- everything you see on Capitol television right now? It's all lies."

I snort without really meaning to do it." That's not exactly new information." Haymitch says this to us like it's brand new information. Everyone knows Capitol-produced television is nothing but lies; even those of us in dirt-poor Twelve know that. We might be backward, but we're not stupid.

" Some of it is new information, though," Haymitch drawls.

Peeta sighs like he's getting tired of hearing us bicker." Can you get to the point? What exactly is it you're getting at?"

" For starters, Snow is dead; the old bastard died a few weeks before the Games started," Haymitch smirks. "Not expecting that one were you?" He's right- I honestly wasn't expecting that. Snow- dead? I assume he's telling us the truth; for one thing, that snake of a president has been on death's door for years. I don't think Haymitch is the lying sort, either. If anything, he would just omit a few pertinent details if he wanted to keep you in the dark- that's one of many reasons why I'm afraid of getting involved in this. "You wouldn't believe the things they can replicate in the Capitol," Haymitch's expression makes it seem like he's miles away. "I remember this one time Trinket and I went to a club in the red light district. Said she wanted to try riding-"

Peeta clears his throat loudly, looking pointedly at Haymitch and then me. I give him a silent thank you with my expression. Anything involving Haymtich, our district representative Effie Trinket, and what I'm sure he's implying is something I'd just as soon never have to visualize. It might result in giving myself a self-inflicted lobotomy.

Haymitch holds up a hand in apology. "Sorry- lost my train of thought for a bit there- forgot the audience," he smirks. "But after what I caught you two getting up to-"

"Haymitch, please," Peeta begs.

"Oh, don't worry. Had a girl like that once," he has the gall to wink at Peeta across the table as I fume. "Sweetheart? She'll let you get your hands on her again in no time, much as you two appeared to be enjoying yourselves." 

I give burning a hole through Haymitch's skull with my eyes a try. Unfortunately, it doesn't work.

"She's a feisty one," he says, "the feisty ones don't hold out on you for long."

"Not if you keep talking about it, she won't," Peeta mutters, and I'm suddenly envisioning my bow and thinking about lining up shots all over again.

"Knock it off," I seethe.

Haymitch's eyes light up, but it's not mocking the way I expect. "You've got a lot of grit, kid. You remind me of Alder," he says.

Alder. Haymitch is talking about my father. I stare at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?" Everything feels frozen in place while the room spins around me. What is Haymitch getting at? "You didn't know my father," I say disbelievingly, my voice trembling with something I don't understand. I think something might just cross his lips that I'm not ready to acknowledge. 

I try to think quickly, my mind landing on every comparison I can make between the two men. My father and Haymitch were about the same age, so of course, they knew each other growing up. Twelve is such a small place; everyone knows everyone here. But while my father was down in the earth digging coal for twelve hours a day, Haymitch was the last one standing at the end of his Games. He then had to mentor other kids, forced to watch them die- every one of those kids, every single year. I never thought I'd say this, but in all honestly, I think my father got the better end of the bargain in death. There are worse things than dying.

"No, I knew your father pretty well. And so does the Capitol. Or, I should say they did know enough about him and a few other men in his crew to want them gone. Katniss,” Haymitch begins. His voice is painfully gentle, and I find myself backpedaling, wanting the sarcastic man back. An understanding Haymitch is frightening. "I think you know what I'm trying to tell you." 

I recognize how much alike we are in his inability to lie to me and desire to just get to the point already. I know what Haymitch is trying to say. 

And then he says it. "Your father was part of the Rebellion."

Those are the words, the ones I was begging him not to say. They hit me, the reality behind them- that my father didn't die because of neglected safety procedures or the miscalculated weakness in a ceiling of rock above his head, deep inside the ground. My mother and Prim, and I weren't left without a provider, forgotten, left to starve to death simply because of bad luck. My father murdered for a cause- an idea took him away from us. He grasped at freedom and lost, and now Haymitch asks me to step up for the same reason. 

Me, who's never wanting anything more than to keep my family fed and safe!

Haymitch sits in his chair at a distance that might as well be nonexistent because I feel like he's inside my head already. He stares at me, waiting, expecting me to say something in reply. What am I supposed to say- thanks for ruining every memory of my father in an instant? Peeta holds my hand in his firm grasp. I distantly hear him whisper my name, but he's an anchor to the room, and this moment, so I shake his hand out of mine. I can't sit here any longer, so I just do what I do best. Pushing my chair back from the table, I get up, extricating my hand from Peeta's. I hope he knows it's not him that I need to get away from, but it doesn't make a difference in what I'm going to do if he can't figure it out. I have to go.

I can't be here right now: I can't talk, I can't breathe, I can't even think. I've lost all ability to communicate in my state of shock. The clattering sound of something hitting the floor rings in my ears, and I realize I've tipped my chair over while dashing for the door. Oh well, so much for discretion. I can only hope the Peacekeepers aren't outside right now, but that's what Haymitch gets for surprising me. 

Once I make it to the hallway, I manage to fumble my way out of the dark building, letting my memory of the hundreds of times I've been here during the day act as my guide. Fortunately, the area outside seems deserted, so I take off running.

By the time Peeta catches up with me, I've made it halfway through the Seam and left myself gasping for air by running at such a break-neck speed. When I hear the sound of his voice, I stop near a tree and lean into it. Covering my eyes with my hand, I rest my forehead against the trunk. 

I don't know what I'm doing. My first instinct was to run for home, but what would I do once I got there? Should I tell my sister our father was murdered for being a rebel? Oh, and the Rebellion is asking me to do the same thing? But we all might die this time? The idea is laughable- I can't do that. I've got to get control of myself before I even think about walking through the front door of the house. My emotions are so out of control right now; I don't know how to hide anything from her. Prim always could read me like a book. My mother can't find out about this either. There's too much risk involved. I'm entirely alone in this. 

"Damn you, Haymitch," I whisper, wiping moisture from the corner of my eyes. "I wish I'd never agreed to this tonight." My chest is still tight, but it's better than it was. I take deep breaths, trying to ward off this feeling of nausea and the sparks flashing behind my eyes.

"Katniss!" I hear Peeta again, his voice carrying my way and reminding me I'm not alone in this mess. Whatever Haymitch drug us into, we're in it together. "Katniss," he repeats when I don't answer. He must realize I'm near. "Wait. I'm not- you don't have to do anything else- just wait for me, please."

"I'm over here," I manage, turning around so that my back is against the tree instead of my shoulder. I want to make sure that Peeta doesn't run past me. A moment later, he appears. He seems relieved to see me, and I make the best effort I can to smile at him; I'm glad he found me, but my mind is racing. Peeta steps closer, moving forward until there's only a small distance separating our bodies. He takes my hand and gently tugs me towards him, where he wraps his arms around me. 

Peeta's arms make me feel like no matter how hard it might try; the outside world can't get to me in there. I go willingly, and some of the tension leaves just like that. At least for a little while- but some reprieve is better than nothing. "I'm so sorry, Katniss," he says, his chin resting on the crown of my head. I feel the vibration of his voice rumbling in his throat. It's soothing. "That was a horrible way to find out what happened to your father."

"Did Haymitch tell you anything else about what they want?" I ask, closing my eyes in an attempt to block everything out. I don't want to speak about my father right now; it hurts too much. I don't know if I'll be able to reign myself back in from delving further into that right now.

"No, I just got up and followed you. I had to make sure you were alright."

I think I already knew that. "Peeta?"

"Hmm," he responds.

"You know this means I'm the reason for all the scrutiny you've been under, right?" I whisper- why, I'm not sure. We're alone out here, but I still feel like I need to hide. I don't care what Peeta says. We both know I'm right. My father was a rebel, and with my thinly-veiled reputation in the district, that means I'm the one under the microscope. If he'd never asked me to go to the woods with him, he wouldn't be involved in any of this. He's only there by association.

Peeta sighs. "You're right; that's what I was thinking," he tells me. "Everything is your fault." The sarcasm in his voice is impossible to miss.

I laugh derisively. "You can't argue with me about that. I think what Haymitch said made things pretty obvious."

"What do you think is so terrible about what has happened to me, anyway? The piglets got loose once. That's not exactly going to earn me a trip to the whipping post," he says gently. "And we got them back. No one was any worse for wear. Oh, and I forgot that day I held hands with you and got to pretend we were a couple before you knew the way I felt about you. That was terrible ."

I scowl into Peeta's shirt as he laughs at his joke.

"It's more than that, and you know it. I just can't," I pause, trying to figure out how to explain what I mean. Hearing about what happened to my father tonight just drives the point even further home for me. "I can't let anything happen to you."

He chuckles. "Are you my keeper now?"

"Maybe," I say. Yes.

"You should stop worrying about the what-ifs- I can take care of myself," Peeta chides me affectionately; he holds me tighter, and the added pressure feels good.

"I know that," I admit. It's foolish to think it's my responsibility to keep a guy who is twice my size safe, but taking care of everyone else is what I'm used to doing. Leaning on someone else doesn't come naturally. It's an embarrassing realization, and I'm so drained I can't go into it right now. "What do you think about what Haymitch wants from us?" I ask instead.

"I don't know." He goes on, sounding bemused. "Did you ever think you'd get asked to do something like this? Little old me and you, pieces in the Rebellion."

I shudder at the thought. "No. It sounds even worse when you say it like that."

"I don't know what to do or what to think. But I don't think either of us has to decide anything tonight. You've had a bad shock, finding out about your father that way, and I want to sleep on it at least. I like to have time to think about things before I come to a decision."

Reluctantly, I back away from him. "We'd probably better get going," I remind him. "It's late. I think you ought to just stay at my house tonight with the curfew. I'll think of something to tell my mother and Prim."

Peeta nods. "Maybe. I can sneak out early, so no one knows I was there.

"I don't care about that. If people want to talk, let them talk." I take his hand. The main reason I want Peeta to come home with me tonight is to avoid getting him in trouble for breaking curfew, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I want him as a buffer as well. I'm not ready to tell my mother and Prim about what happened to Father yet. If Peeta comes too, the focus won't be on me so much. I'd love to sleep in his arms again, but if my family is home, I don't see that happening. Peeta will have to stay on the sofa, I'm sure, but at least I'll know he's safe. 

Chapter Text

Mother is home when Peeta and I show up on the front step a handful of minutes before curfew. Luckily, because I’m a wreck beneath the surface, still reeling from everything Haymitch Abernathy dumped on my shoulders tonight, she doesn’t give me any grief when I tell her Peeta needs to stay. Mother doesn’t even question the quickly thought up explanation I give for why we're so late. Whether or not she believes we ran into a friend of Peeta’s on the way home and lost track of time is another matter. Mother can’t ask him to leave because it would be way too dangerous. Breaking curfew means at least an overnight lockup in the Peacekeepers’ holding area. Or, if they’re in the mood to prove a point, a turn at the whipping post. 

The only evidence of Mother’s skepticism is the slight rise of her eyebrows directed in my direction once Peeta turns District to her. She probably thinks we’re late because of a late visit to the slag heap. Ha! I wish I were pink-cheeked and wild-eyed from that instead of the real reason. I'm sure Mother thinks we’re having sex by now, even if she hasn’t brought the subject up again. Trips to the slag heap for parties and what the slag heap is known for are pretty much the only things older teenagers and young adults in the District get up to. It's not like there's much else to keep them occupied when they’re not working. She probably thinks we’re no different. Mother is so insufferable sometimes with her. I told you so attitude, I don’t know why I let her give me advice about anything. No matter what I have to say about it, I know sometime tomorrow after Peeta’s long gone, there’s going to be another uncomfortable conversation about birth control. I can sense it in her posture and the tight smile she directs at me while patting him on the back. 

She might have a point, I tell myself, taking in the broadness of Peeta’s shoulders beneath his shirt. They rise and fall as he catches his breath, above his trim waist and hips that are a little wider, a little stronger than most of the other men in the district; it’s not a bad look at all. Recalling the way my legs were snaked around him there as we kissed, my back pressed against a tree. My face heats in embarrassment. If I’m honest with myself, presuming Peeta and I both live through an encroaching Rebellion knocking on Twelve’s back door, birth control might be something I should consider. Maybe. 

I don't know if I’m ready to take that risk yet because no method of contraception is fool-proof, but I did just attend a toasting ceremony for a couple who weren’t planning on having a child. But maybe my brain isn’t the part of my body that will ultimately make that decision for me. The fact remains that while Peeta and I weren’t at the slag heap, we were getting carried away with what we were doing. 

Okay, so we were doing the exact sorts of things against a tree on a well-traveled path outside of the Seam other people do at the slag heap, even if it wasn’t everything couples do there. It all felt so good that it was too easy to get carried away. I don’t know how far Peeta and I might’ve gone tonight if Haymitch Abernathy hadn’t come upon us. And with my impulsive nature, it’s hard to say what might happen next time, especially when we’re alone. Every time we get involved that way, the lines blur further and further between what’s safe to do and what isn’t. All I know for sure is that it would be disastrous if there were a slip-up and I got pregnant. I can’t bring a child into this world, not with the threat of Reapings in the future! 

Besides that, we’re eighteen, and I’m in no way ready for that sort of life change, even if we didn’t live here, in Panem. It’s not that I distrust Peeta- I’m sure he wouldn’t just up and disappear if that happened, leaving me alone to deal with the fallout. He’s told me more than once that he’s in this relationship for the long haul. That much, I’m sure of, no matter how much my other resolutions have slid. 

Although, if Haymitch is right and there is an impending rebellion, time might not be very long at all. I won’t have to worry about ending up pregnant if we are killed in a war. 

There is that, I suppose. 

I know it sounds presumptuous, and he hasn’t even hinted at it yet, but I think Peeta’s in love with me. Hints of what it looks like are everywhere- the way he watches out for me more than himself, the way he comforts me, but especially how he looks at me. Peeta looks at me the same way I remember my father looking at my mother. I don't know what else you could call that but love. I think I might feel the same way too. At least I think it’s love. 

Just like everything else that’s happened since school let out and Peeta and I partnered up, it’s all happened so soon. From the relationship I never imagined having with him to the danger we're facing, everything has been too much, too soon for someone like me who’s lived the same life for the last seven years and felt as content as could be with it. If I wasn’t entirely happy, at least I knew what to expect. Now I have no idea what each day is going to bring. I had no idea my life or my outlook would change so much in a handful of months. But it doesn't matter about the timing of everything- it just feels like this would have happened anyway. Either way, Peeta’s not something I can go back on. 

Falling in love with anyone, risking all the things I am, is the thing I swore I’d never do. Yet here I am doing all these things I said I wouldn’t. It's almost laughable. And these strong feelings for Peeta, whether it’s love or not, only make me want to cross that physical barrier with him more every day. He’s not just some guy I’m dallying with- he means more to me than that. When he kisses me or touches me, I feel like one of the mockingjays in the forest who sang back my father's songs to him. Free, rebellious.

Not that sex of any sort is on my mind right now- not in any way that's more than hypothetical. Even thinking about it at the moment when so much is on the line makes me feel foolish. There are more critical things to consider. Life is dangerous now, not just for me but for all of us. 

I sigh. I can’t escape thoughts of the Rebellion for more than a few minutes tonight. My head is throbbing with it- Rebellion, Rebellion, Rebellion. Haymitch’s revelation about my father and the activity he was involved in completely floored me. To say that I’m in shock would be an understatement. I don’t know how to begin wrapping my head around the news. Looking back, I wish I’d had the foresight to sit longer and question Haymitch on what exactly my father was doing. None of that is even tapping below the surface, getting into Haymitch’s proposition that Peeta and I help with the actual Rebellion. I can’t let my mind go there yet. A brick wall seems to have erected itself inside my head, preventing me from thinking about any of it. Maybe that’s why I’m speculating about mundane things- like worrying about my relationship with Peeta or what my mother will say about it. I think that’s called a coping mechanism, distracting yourself.

Once it’s settled that Peeta’s staying with us for the night, he and I, my mother and Prim, all move from out of the doorway to the kitchen table, which is patient-free tonight. The Peacekeepers must be taking it easy. My sister pulls some mint tea off the stove and pours us each a mug. I pass on the milk we have tonight, choosing to drink my tea plain. The hot, refreshing brew tastes good; its flavor is bracing and helps bring some warmth back to my body. I’m cold all over for this time of summer. That’s probably due to shock. 

I remain quiet while I drink my tea, even more so than is typical for me. Some light chatter between Peeta and Prim runs back and forth across the table while we sip our drinks. Mostly he’s teasing her about Rory and the way he danced with her at the toasting. Peeta’s so good at charming people, and their combined laughter makes a good cover for the anxiety that is flooding me again now that I’m comfortable at home. My stomach feels twisted in knots. 

Prim notices my silence, finally, but when she asks how I’m feeling, there’s no indication she’s overly concerned. It's easy to play dumb, shrugging her off. “Just tired,” I say, forcing a smile. I know I’m not acting like myself. I hope my family believes I’m just tired. It’s not like it’s a lie. I am exhausted- it’s just mental fatigue, not physical. I catch Peeta’s eye when he leans back in his seat, ruffling his hair as he sometimes does. As casual as the movement is, there’s no disguising the concern in his expression when he looks at me. I want to tell him not to do that right now- I’m barely keeping myself together. But I’m so grateful to have him here for support. He’s one person who gets it, who already knows what happened. I don’t have to explain things to him. And Peeta’s not just supporting me but acting as the distraction I need to buy some time and space for my thoughts. I have no idea how I would have kept everything Haymitch told us to myself without him. 

I reach under the table and take Peeta’s hand from where it rests on his thigh, running my fingers between his and squeezing them gently, just like he did for me while we were at the Hob with Haymitch. Peeta squeezes my hand back; neither of us lets go, and I revel in the contact. I am just pathetic for this boy. Weak. If everyone else only knew- what would they think? No one should know; it’s too personal. I couldn’t live with those sorts of feelings out in the open. I’ll just keep that to myself. 

I settle back in my seat, his hand still in mine, once Prim switches topics. I consider how I’m supposed to break the news about my father to the rest of my family. Should I tell them at all? There is so much danger crowding in from so many different directions. There are the new Peacekeepers and Garrick, who’s just itching to pin poaching charges on me that I somehow know would carry the highest penalty if I get caught with my kills. And the threats against Peeta’s livelihood- how could he repay the Captial if something happened to his pigs? What would they do, send him to a debtors camp to work off the money?

As bad as things have been since the Games ended so strangely, there’s also the potential crackdown on the Districts if we rebel to consider. The last time the districts fought back, there was a war and the institution of the Hunger Games as the ultimate punishment. The districts lost everything while the Capitol came out more powerful than ever. At least that’s how they tell us in school and at the Reaping every year. I need to protect my loved ones, but I have no idea how to do that. There’s no way to separate the details of what I learned tonight from each other. It’s not like I can just tell anyone partial truths. 

I’m sure if I just tell Prim about Father and nothing else, she won’t be satisfied. She won't rest until she finds out where I heard it, and that means I’d have to tell her about our entire conversation with Haymitch. My sister can read me so well that I don’t even attempt lying to her. And then you have Prim, knowing about the plans for a rebellion- what am I supposed to do with that? What I wish is that I could go back in time and talk to my father again. I would ask him why he did what he did; what made him think taking that risk was worth it? Every instinct tells me to get as far away from the mele as I can. I’ve never felt that I understood my father any less in my life than I do right now.

As Peeta and my sister talk, I find my gaze wandering to Mother. Whenever I think about Father, my thoughts seamlessly move on to her. It’s as if the two of them aren’t separate. She’s looking in Peeta’s direction, seemingly unconcerned with anything going on around her.

What does Mother know about Father’s involvement in the rebellious activity? I tell myself that whatever he was involved in probably went on in the mines, so maybe she’s ignorant. Mother might have been entirely in the dark also. Other than the days when Father went into the forest with me, the mines are the only place I remember him going. Twelve-hour shifts, six days a week, leave little time for socializing, I’ve found as I’ve gotten older and realized how weary the men and women who work there are. 

Does Mother know he intentionally risked his life or have an inkling of the danger Father put himself and the rest of us in by doing that? 

I remain silent, focused on keeping the vein of my thoughts off my face where they always seem to spill over into my expression. Mother and Prim finish their tea and sit up with us a while longer, but eventually, Prim stands and gets a lightweight covering out of our chest. She hands it over for Peeta to use on the couch for the night. 

After that, they go to bed themselves. Mother shuts the door behind them, still cracked open partway to give us some privacy. Not too much, of course. I huff underneath my breath once she’s turned out the bedroom oil lamp. When I catch the sound of Peeta’s quiet laughter, I direct my glare at him. “It’s not funny,” I whisper more harshly than I mean to do.

‘It’s a little funny,” he smiles, unconcerned at my tone. His eyes dart towards the half-open doorway, and I turn my head in case someone is there. “I think it’s nice- she worries about you,” he adds.

“She never used to worry,” I remind him as he walks to the couch. When Peeta sits, I follow him, plopping down at his side as he unties his shoes. “There’s no reason to worry about us tonight after Haymitch,” I add drily.

He shrugs as he unties his shoes. I barely catch his smirk and have an immediate urge to smack it off his lips. “Maybe not now, but there was plenty to worry about earlier-”

“And look where that got us,” I say, leaning back. Peeta straightens up again after slipping out of his shoes and lining them up at the end of the couch. He grins at my words. “Why don’t you just shut up and get comfortable or something,” I shove his shoulder playfully when he smiles. Of course, that doesn’t budge him an inch from his spot. “You don’t ever learn, do you?”

Peeta leans over and kisses me softly on the lips, and mine turn up in a half-smile against his.

“Never.”

He knows how emotionally drained I am and that nothing even close to what we were doing earlier is on my mind. Other than overanalyzing what it all means, of course. I can never seem to stop worrying if what we’re doing is the right thing or not. Peeta’s just trying to get me to laugh, trying to find a way to make me feel better. There is a way he can do that for me. I can’t find the words to admit to him that I want him with me, badly, but not for that reason. He figures it out on his own, though. When I drop my face from his and scoot closer, Peeta senses the shift in my mood. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and tucks me beneath his arm. We’re silent as I move as close as I can get, leaching the comfort from his body like a parasite as I settle myself. I reach for his hand lying at my shoulder as I clutch the other one in mine. 

Peeta’s steadiness and support were the only things that kept me from falling apart earlier. I had to keep it together then, and I want him here now that I can’t hold it in anymore. I feel myself tremble, the aftereffects of shock showing up now that I no longer have to put on a show for Prim and Mother. A small part of me wished Peeta and I were alone so we could talk freely, but in reality,  I don’t feel equipped to do that now. Everything feels too new, the edges of my feelings too raw to delve further into what I should decide to do tonight. 

I can’t even begin to think about Haymitch’s offer until I come to grips with what my father’s involvement did to us, his family, I realize. Why would I want to follow down that path he took. I know where it ends. Misery heaped on everyone, my family barely surviving. That wouldn’t have happened at all without Peeta’s kindness.

Tears fill my eyes, and I turn into him, putting my arm around his body, tucking my head under his chin. My eyes slip closed as I listen to his steady heartbeat. I’m so glad he’s here. No, I’m not ready to talk. Holding is what I need- warmth and strength, and care. I can’t stop the cycle of thoughts of my father now that it's safe for me to fall apart without worrying about anyone but myself. 

Father wasn’t killed as the victim of a tragic accident. He chose the path leading to his death. I can’t un-know how he put not just himself but all of us at risk. The truth of it eats at me from the inside out, how he couldn’t have cared about us as much as I remember, not if he were willing to do that. Everything I’ve ever known is a lie. 

My skin is growing too tight, and I shake uncontrollably now, tremors running through my limbs as if my body belongs to someone else. Tears roll out of my eyes and splash on my cheeks. I choke my whimpering back to keep Prim and Mother from hearing me. Peeta pulls me into his lap and says, “I’m so sorry, Katniss.”

I bury my face in his shirt as he wraps his arms completely around me, holding me against him tightly. No matter how much I break down, he won’t let me go. He lets me cry as I huddle against him. I press my ear against his chest and listen to the rhythm of his heart as he makes low sounds in the back of his throat while stroking my hair. It's that steady, comforting beat that eventually helps me to stop crying and get myself under control again.

The morning light is just creeping in through the cracked glass of our front window pane when I wake for the day. I fell asleep in Peeta’s arms on the couch last night, still sitting in his lap, and when I woke up later, I briefly considered going to my bed for a while; I didn’t want to draw an unwelcome lecture from Mother if she found me asleep with Peeta. Ultimately I decided against it. I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from him that long. 

Peeta woke up when I began shifting in his lap. “Staying out here?” he’d asked.

“Yeah.” After that, we lay down together. Peeta unfolded the light blanket and covered both of us up with it. We stretched out. He must have noticed the way my limbs were trembling with leftover adrenaline because he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me even closer. We settled so that my back was flush with his chest, using his arm as a pillow. That was good, but eventually, I rolled over, facing him, finding my favorite spot on his chest to tuck my head. 

When I felt Peeta’s chest rise up and down again, I was able to relax enough that I managed another hour or so of sleep. There were no nightmares. But now it’s morning, and I’m surprised no one else is up but me yet.

“Peeta,” I whisper, “you’d better get up before Mother and Prim come out.”

He cracks one eye open and then the other, and not for the first time I’m amazed by the bright blue color, especially against the dull brown of the couch. I wonder what it’s like to have a piece of yourself that’s so colorful. It matches who he is, though, that color. “Hmm, what time is it?” he asks.

“Early,” I say, sliding off the couch and giving him room to sit up. I can’t lay there and stare at him all morning, as much as I might like to.

Once we’re sitting side by side, Peeta rests his elbows on his knees and runs his fingers through his hair. I lean my head on his shoulder. “Thanks for being my pillow last night,” I say softly, one eye on the still half-open bedroom door. I don’t feel like talking to mother or Prim right now.

He turns his head, pressing his lips against my hair. “You’re welcome. I’m happy to do it.”

We sit quietly like that for a minute. “How are you feeling?” Peeta finally asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

“I don’t think you have to understand everything yet if that makes sense,” he tells me. “Don’t rush it- Haymitch can wait.”

“Do you think so?”

“I think he’s going to have to.”

I nod. “I hate making new decisions. I usually just pick something blindly.”

Peeta laughs a little. “It’s served you pretty well so far.” He sighs. “I hate to say this, but I’d probably better get going. I need to check on the pigs.”

“Do you still want to go out to the woods?” I ask, pulling away from him reluctantly as he reaches for his shoes.

“Do you feel up to it?”

“I don’t know how much hunting I’ll do, but I don’t want to stay here, either,” I admit. I don’t tell Peeta how I don’t want to let him out of my sight and that I might need him nearby today for crying on his shoulder purposes.

He bites his lip as he carefully knots his shoelaces once, then twice, wholly focused on the small task. I wish I had a little bit of that focus. “Meet me at my place in an hour or so?” he asks once he finishes tying them.

“I’ll be there.” We both get up and walk towards the door, my steps much softer than his, I might add. I hope Peeta’s life never depends on sneaking up on anyone.

When we’re at the door, he turns back before heading out. “I’ll see you in a little bit.” With one last kiss goodbye, Peeta’s gone, and I find myself alone with my thoughts, which is where I don’t want to be.

Chapter Text

"Ready to head back?" Peeta asks, pausing for a moment at the edge of the woods. We're almost in sight of the fence again, so it's a speak now or forever hold your peace sort of question.

"Not really," I admit, peering into the wheelbarrow, checking the plants I stashed for Mother and Prim. They're neatly hidden beneath a pile of what is mostly just dry grass and clover. Depending on who's working the guard shack, I have to be careful with the medicinal plants. Some Peacekeepers like to make a point of crushing berries or leaves they don't recognize, just to prove they can do what they want in the name of destroying contraband. A few like to remind you you're at their mercy- it makes them feel more important than what they are. Bastards. Saying I don't want to leave the woods is a frank answer today. Out here, there's still the illusion of freedom without the weight of urgent decisions breathing down my neck. None of that liberation is genuine, of course. It's a fantasy, but it's more than those inside the fence ever experience. I shouldn't complain.

"Not like we have a choice," Peeta agrees. His voice expels in a huff as he hoists the wheelbarrow up by the handles and begins pushing it down the path again. "Someday, we might, though. Can you imagine what it would be like to leave home for the day and not have to worry about getting harassed or imprisoned when you get back? Or hopping a train on a whim and going somewhere there are other things to look at other than these mountains and coal dust?"

"What do you mean by that?" I ask. I'm curious if there's more to unpack there or not- we haven't spoken much about last night because I'm not capable of stringing more than a few words together today. I've never been good at expressing myself, especially when I'm upset. So when I have to do it, I feel like an empty vessel in the aftermath- hollow and blank. Peeta seems unbothered by my silence, but he's probably tired himself. That might be why he hasn't pressed me for more conversation. After the intense emotions of last night, today, we seem content just to be. 

And until now, Peeta has been mute on what he thinks of Haymitch's proposition. He won't tell me whether he wants to get involved in the Rebellion or not. I figure he doesn't want to influence my decision, but he might not have made up his mind either. Peeta does typically take longer to make decisions than I do. I'm the one who just rushes into things. "Nothing exact," he answers, keeping his focus straight ahead so he doesn't bump the wheelbarrow against the thick roots in our path and upset his load. It makes my lips quirk up when I notice how the sun dapples through the leafy treetops above us. It highlights his face, arms, and shoulders in bits of light. Peeta is light personified, warm and bright; even the sun knows to find him in the shady woods. 

"It's not like I'm harboring any plans to run away or anything," he goes on. "It's just the change in the air, I suppose. It has me thinking of the possibilities, what it could be like around here after everything is said and done." He doesn't use the word rebellion when we're this close to the fence anymore. He's learned to be more careful. "How different things will be, what options will be available. That's all. Just letting my mind wander. Sometimes change is good."

I scowl at my feet, kicking a rock out of the way. "That's fine and good, but change usually just makes things worse." I don't mean to argue, but I find myself crossing my arms over my chest defensively. My hands are empty. I'd rather be holding my bow, but I left it in its spot in a hollow tree a ways back. Today I'm uncomfortable walking around empty-handed. My attitude is self-protective, and I wish I had something to hide behind. There's a knife in my boot if we cross paths with a dangerous animal, but that isn't the issue, not really. Being this close to the district, it isn't likely we will. Predators tend to stay away from the fence. 

I'm pessimistic, but there's hope in Peeta's voice, and hope is dangerous, so I add one more thing. "We might all be dead after it's over. Hard to travel anywhere if you're not breathing." Change has certainly been no friend of mine over the years. 

"I know that," Peeta sighs. His gaze darts towards me, then forward again; he shakes his head subtly at my tone. "But things could be better." We both fall silent after that. I can't get on board with that way of thinking, but there's no need to fill the space with empty chatter. We both have our thoughts to keep us company.

The full force of the sun hits us like a wall of fire a moment later as Peeta and I move past the tree line. The shade is behind us now, and the heat makes up for any lost time, blazing like the surface of the sun, heating the back of my neck. Refracted light shimmers off the sunburned ground, and the unreal quality reminds me of those special effects the game makers use in the arena. I shade my eyes, making my way towards the guard shack over the next rise.

Another morning of "official" foraging is under our belts, and it wasn't our most productive day by a long shot. Peeta and I are used to this heat. The weather has been this way for weeks now, so I can't blame that. The difference is that while we've spent this long in the woods before, we've never come back with such a meager amount to show for it. Admittedly much of the time wasted was because of me. I missed more than one animal scurrying up a tree trunk or darting past my feet and into the underbrush. I'm sure I walked past hidden patches of greenery that just didn't register in my muddled brain at the time. My train of thought just wasn't there. 

It took a long time to get my head on straight this morning, but eventually, I stopped trying to piece every thought running inside my mind together and just let things be. Sadness still overwhelms me, but letting go of my thoughts for a while was a relief. I don't know whether it was just that I reached my limit on thinking about my father and his wrong choice. Whatever the cause, you can stick a fork in me because I'm done. I'm still undecided on what to tell Haymitch, though. I don't know what I should do when both choices, to either help or defer, could have dangerous and uncertain outcomes. The fact that I haven't entirely written off the idea of getting involved surprises me because I thought I had more sense than that, not just for my sake but also for everyone I love. I guess I'm too full of fire to forget what the Capitol has done to us. But am I too afraid of them to act?

I don't know what I'm going to do when the time comes to tell Haymitch yes or no, but worrying has never gotten me anywhere. Action has, and remembering that brought me some much-needed peace. Somehow, in the quiet of the woods where I can slough off my responsibility to everyone but myself for a while, with the space to think clearly, I realized the best choice I can make is to keep my options open and assume I'll know what the right path is to take when the time comes. It'll be easier to say yes definitively or no once I discern what Haymitch wants us to do. Maybe Peeta's and my involvement wouldn't be as bad as I think. My imagination could be selling me something opposite of the reality of the situation. 

Not that it's all up to me, I remind myself, squinting against the sun to look at Peeta, trying to guess what he's thinking. He hasn't said much, but he doesn't seem totally opposed to it, either. I know he assumes Haymitch only included him in the proposition out of politeness since I'm the one with the rebellious family history who knows my way around the forest. Peeta is relatively new to any of it. 

I thought Peeta's position was that this was my decision to make and that he'd just go along with whatever I decide. Now I'm not so sure. If that's the case and he's waiting for me to say yes or no for both of us, then it's not right at all, even if I would prefer it that way. Peeta has just as much to lose as I do if we make the wrong choice, maybe even more. I'm certainly not accountable to the Capitol the way he is with his piglets.

Ugh. I don't know what to do or what Peeta's thinking. 

Regardless of what happens, he doesn't realize how much I've come to rely on him and not just because he's loyal to me. He's smart- he sees things differently than I do. He sits and thinks about things, is always aware of how he's perceived while still considering the feelings of those around him. Peeta still acts as though he's some sort of tag along in my life despite those things. I don't like that, but how can I convince him otherwise? I trip over my tongue whenever I try to explain things like that to him. I hope Peeta's considering what his involvement in the Rebellion could mean for him too. It was selfish of me to assume the decision was all mine. I despise myself a little for that. I'm such a mess today, and he hasn't complained. He just tried to pick up my slack. Whatever thoughts were occupying his mind this morning, he didn't complain about my lack of attention to the job at hand or the extra time we've spent in the woods. On a bad day, Gale would have given me crap about both things, but he wasn't my boyfriend. Maybe that's the difference.

We're in sight of the guard shack. My face is hot, and I'm sure my already olive-toned complexion is probably a shade darker. Peeta's face? It's very red, and his ears have an uncomfortable-looking pink tinge to them. It's not the worst it's ever been, but I still feel bad for him. His face looks nothing like it did when we first started coming out. Like when I felt so bad for him, I took that burn cream to the bakery to soothe the burn. 

I do think Peeta's fair skin might be adjusting to the longer hours outdoors. It's a little browner beneath the ruddy tone. It's not a bad look. His hair was always light before, but now it's liberally streaked with bleached-white strands that make his eyes stand out even more. That's not the only thing more noticeable- I smile to myself at the way his freckles stand out. It makes us match a little more. I didn't realize until recently that he even had freckles, but how would I if I never spoke to him until after our last Reaping? 

But those are just silly, unimportant thoughts. I don't know why I'm so foolish. It's embarrassing.

Speaking of embarrassment, what we have to show for our time today is pitiful. Even with the possibility of disaster hanging over my head, I still have a family to feed, and Peeta has a business that needs to turn a profit. I left the one rabbit and two quail I managed to snag in my hiding spot near the far corner of the fence, but those things won't go very far when I go to make trades. The load Peeta carts along in his wheelbarrow certainly aren't fantastic. Neither of us is getting anything like what we used to. It isn't just due to my distracted thoughts, either. The heat, coupled with the lack of rain, makes everything challenging. The summer drought keeps dragging itself out. It's affecting the forest life, not just those of us inside the district. The game near the fence is growing scarcer, the animals roaming deeper into the woods to be closer to ready water sources. 

Peeta is having the same issue. The vegetation is just as pitiful as the few animals we spot. Hardly any fungus is growing now that the earth is dried up. Most of what's still growing are thin, reedy plants. Everything but dead grass is more difficult to find, stilted by the lack of rain. Our normally humid area is as dry as that rabbit carcass I happened across earlier. It was a shame the rabbit was ruined because its pelt was a gorgeous sable shade, and it would have been perfect if it weren't so old, the hide completely shredded. I felt the loss of that keenly; I'll need to gather at least half a dozen pelts for Prim to have enough to stitch together a blanket for Gale and Hyacinth's baby. I glance at Peeta out of the corner of my eye again. He catches the look and smiles back, although his lips are looking pinched.

We're almost at the gate when he pauses to set the wheelbarrow down and wipe his forehead with the back of his sleeve. He looks uncomfortably hot, even if he's told me more than once that it was worse inside the confines of the bakery than here. It would be better if Peeta had a broad-brimmed hat, I decide, scanning his red face and ears. I think I'll try and find him one somewhere if we're able to keep doing this. If we're not dead or in the middle of war anytime, that is. A sunburn doesn't matter much if you're dead.

Okay, the growing Rebellion is impossible to put out of my mind completely, I'll admit it.

It's late this morning, closer to noon than daybreak, when we come to a stop at the guard shack to get checked in before being allowed inside the district. Every every time we do this, I feel nervous. It's probably leftover fear from the close call we had with Garrick and my empty game bag. I never know what to expect at the gate, who will be here. This spot is isolated, not like anyone would come to Peeta's and my rescue if we needed it anyway.

Despite the danger this location presents to us, this would be a very dull post to have. I would prefer it that way if I were a Peacekeeper. Since the big switch-up after the Games on the heels of President Snow's declaration of retribution, there have been new faces everywhere, sent from other districts, while District Twelve's corp faced reassignment themselves. The move seemed nonsensical at the time to most. Maybe the higher-ups thought the Peacekeepers might have some loyalty to the people in the districts if they decided to fight back. I'm certainly no military strategist, though. Who knows what any of them are thinking? 

While some of the new Peacekeepers can be a lot to handle, Garrick hasn't been around, and he's the one I worry most about having a confrontation with. The ones on guard probably have orders to report any suspicious activity from us. I imagine non-compliance with that isn't an option. Just because they are "guarding" us, I'm sure it doesn't mean the Peacekeepers themselves are immune to punishments handed down. An awareness that your neck is on the line just like everyone else's would be a pretty good motivation for a person to do their job.

One of the Peacekeepers leaves the shack and approaches us. 

I've started to recognize the regulars working the guard shack now, and I let out a barely concealed sigh of relief when I see who is working the second shift today. He's a tall, dark-skinned young man who looks to be about our age, under twenty if I were to guess, based on his unlined face. That's young for a member of the corp. Except for the fortunate few in the luxury districts and particularly the Capital itself, everyone in Panem ages rapidly. There's a big difference in a teenager's appearance versus someone ten or even five years older. Scraping by day-to-day, working yourself to the bone for a pittance, watching your family never have enough while dragging yourselves to work a twelve-hour shift in the mines that sucks every bit of energy you have to give will do that to a person. 

Based on this man's young age, I wonder if the Capitol has had problems with recruitment numbers lately. But what even is the Capitol now? Haymitch told us President Snow is dead, has been for some time, and that everything is a smoke show now. But is he telling us the truth himself? I don't know if I can trust him. He doesn't strike me as someone eager to show his hand like he's always going to keep something in reserve.

Thresh (I've heard his partner address him by name a few times), the guard, nods when he meets us before taking a quick look through the wheelbarrow. He never asks to see Peeta's papers. Glancing at them the first time was enough to satisfy him. He doesn't seem interested in antagonizing us like some of the other guards. I think I could even like him if we weren't on opposing sides.

Thresh's partner peeks her head out the guard shack door before ducking back in quickly, like an apparition. She's a slim, redheaded woman and young herself. I can't seem to remember her name, but she has high cheekbones and hazel eyes- it's a cunning face and one of those you can't remember the details of once they're gone, like a shapeshifter. I feel like it's an intentional thing with her, covering how she's always taking you in, but that's probably just my imagination. Peeta and I have started calling her Foxface.

Thresh is harder to forget- he makes a lasting impression with his size and quiet authority, minus the menace behind the position so many of the other members of the corp have. 

Referring to anyone as quiet is something to say from me, who couldn't ever be called chatty on a good day, but it fits him like a fancy Capitol glove. If I've learned anything, it's that silence isn't necessarily a bad thing. 

Peeta and I are let back into the district without any difficulty. We stop through the gate and walk farther away. I pause then, listening to the sound the lock makes when it is clanging shut and latches behind us. Every morning I expect to come out here and find the electricity back on. The only reason I think they haven't yet is to conserve their resources for more critical locations. After all, how much trouble can a backwoods place like District Twelve make?

It's time for Peeta and me to go our separate ways for the day. I have to get my game from the hiding spot where I left it and take it home. Then I have to go to Madge's; I promised her I would. I know Peeta is helping his father today after feeding the piglets. Still, I find myself lingering like I don't want to leave yet. I hate anticipation, especially waiting on the outcome of this mess we're involved in with the Rebellion. 

It's foolish, but I don't want to let Peeta out of my sight. Instead, I want to tuck him away somewhere, hide him along with everyone I love, someplace where we don't have to be a part of any of this. 

It was the same feeling grappling with me the first time I spoke to him when I was sure he was going into the mines. This feeling is so much worse, amplified, blasting in my brain. It's increased tenfold. A sensation like pricking nails digging away at the lining of my stomach and the beasts' fingers reaching further up inside my chest, squeezing my heart so tight it could burst. 

I didn't know how much Peeta meant to me then, but now I do. And I hate it. I hate feeling anything, but I hate this worst of all. It's choking, all-consuming fear. It was bad enough when I only had Prim and my mother to worry about. Part of me wishes I'd never let myself get close to Peeta and allow him to root himself deep in my heart with his kindness. 

We wordlessly assess each other, and eventually, he rubs the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. I remain silent, and he seems to sense my trepidation. Glancing around to make sure no one is watching us, he moves a little closer to me. "Are you going to be alright?" he whispers, lips near my ear. I squeeze my eyes tight, steeling myself against the weakness I feel. "I can come with you if you need me. It's alright- my father can wait."

His words, his promise to be whatever I need, amplifies the chaos in my mind. Those unsteady, back and forth emotions that have swung from acceptance and calm then back to fear again, well up. My control is slipping, and I can't lose control now. I can't do that. Too many people are counting on me, and I know I'll never get it back if it slips away on the tail of Peeta's offer to protect me from the harsh realities of my life and the things that are coming for all of us. Surely he knows he can't do that?

"No, that's okay," I wet my lips with my tongue because they are as dry as the air around us. "You can go on. I'll be fine. I'm fine." Lies if I ever heard them, but I can't take the way he's looking at me right now. I can't take his promises that stand no chance of being true. "Peeta, I have to be okay," I go on, laughing under my breath. If I don't, I'll just do something stupid like cry again. "What else is there to do? There's no other choice but to carry on, or whatever you want to call it."

Peeta looks at me pointedly. When I don't maintain eye contact, he sighs and takes my hand. "You do have a choice. It's okay to be vulnerable, Katniss. I've seen that side of you already. You can't just take that back now and pretend it never happened."

I look away, determined to ignore him, but mostly I'm frustrated by my lack of self-control because I never want him to let go of my hand. Everything will be too much if I don't put a stop to some of this. What will become of me when the bottom falls out and I'm alone to pick up the pieces if he's lost to me? I know the answer to that question. I'll become the woman who gave birth to me, and I can't allow that to happen. "That's easy for you to say," I counter. "It'd be better if you forgot those things. I wish I could," I add sulkily, unsure where this sudden urge to argue is coming from but unable to stop myself. I can't make myself stop trying to push him away.

And it's true that it's easy for Peeta to be so open. He can't help wearing his heart on his sleeve. It bothers me for his sake, just how vulnerable he is. He's exactly like Prim that way, and it would be easy for someone to misuse his goodness and take advantage of him. Like Haymitch Abernathy. I'm afraid that's just what's going to happen.

"It's really not easy for me to say that," Peeta frowns, shuffling around until he's in my line of sight again, peering down at me like he's not giving me an inch. 

I force myself to let go of him, jerking my hand from his.

"Do you know something?" he continues, "it's hard for me to let my guard down too, or whatever," he throws that word back in my face. He's starting to get irritated, I can tell. "But for you, I do it. And when you let me be strong for you, when you let that infamous Katniss Everdeen wall come down and show me what's behind that? Nothing makes me happier. It makes me feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be. I want you to lean on me. I want you to let me take some of your burdens and carry them." Peeta means it, but it's nothing he can promise me now. "When you let me see the real you, hurt or angry or happy, not to mention your passionate side. The one you were showing me when we were rudely interrupted last night-"

I roll my eyes at him and his words. I wish I knew what to say the way he does. Everything would be simpler, instead of floundering around, trying to describe the clusterfuck of my feelings. "Now's not the time for that conversation," I say, choosing to ignore the voice in my head that reminds me my thoughts have run along the same lines frequently of late.

Peeta laughs a little. "I didn't mean to get off track, but I think you know what I'm trying to say. Under that barrier you keep up you're soft and sweet and loving-"

"Stop it," I whisper, near tears I refuse to shed.

"I'm that person you can count on, and I've got a strong back. I'm not afraid of shouldering the weight."

"Peeta, it's impossible," I beg him to stop saying those things. "I can't ever be that person to you. I can't dream about a better future because it's never going to happen! I can't think about marriage or children. Doing either of those things would kill me. Don't you see that I can't watch more people I love die? I'm already in too deep with you. What if we join the fighting and something happens to you?" I whisper harshly. "I already have my sister and my mother, but what about you? I can't worry about you too."

"What are you trying to tell me here, Katniss?"

"You've got to let some of this go! You can't be my everything, don't you see? I can't give you that much of me because it's not something I have to offer. My heart doesn't work that way anymore."

"What does that even mean? I never asked to be your everything," Peeta's voice is rough, angry but not out of control the way I remember my old hunting partner letting himself get. Maybe it's just hurt. "This is the most idiotic conversation we've ever had."

"So I'm an idiot?"

"I didn't say that."

But he's right. Of course, I'm saying all of this wrong. It's what I do, but now Peeta thinks I'm heaping the blame on him. And maybe I am, for making me feel this hopeless way about him. "Damn you," I mutter.

I don't think Peeta hears me. Either that or he just chooses to ignore it. "Not once have I asked you for anything. Have I?"

"You don't understand. You're doing it right now. What you're saying right now- it's too much. I can't let myself depend on anyone; I've already let my resolve slip away with you. But it can't keep going on; it has to stop."

Peeta's eyes are round as plates, his expression incredulous. Like me, is he wondering how we got to this, asking himself where it will stop? 

"I just want you to let me love you. That's all I'm asking, not half-heartedly or just a little bit, either. I can't keep my feelings for you back, don't you see that, Katniss? It's impossible. We've already come too far for you to backpedal and say you can't let yourself count on me. You can't do that- you don't mean it."

"What you want is impossible." I back away from him. It feels like I'm going to be sick. But I have to go. I have to stop this spiral because I don't know what I'm saying right now. Nothing makes sense. What exactly are we saying to each other? Is this what splitting up looks like? I don't even know why I'm saying any of this, but I need to go before something happens I'll regret. But maybe it's too late. Perhaps this will all just become a bad memory of the day Peeta finally realized I can't ever be what he wants. "I'm fine," I insist, "I have to go." I turn away, ignoring the unhappiness in Peeta's expression. I already hate myself enough for this conversation, and I'm not sure what will be left for us after it.

Chapter Text

Something very much like regret is drowning me beneath its weight. My head, my heart, my lungs, every inch of my being is oversaturated in it. I’m so full of despair I should be able to vomit it out on the ground and relieve some of the pressure. 

It’s a struggle to make my way home without stumbling over my feet because of the uncharacteristic heaviness of my limbs. The neighbors I pass on my way through the Seam probably think I’ve fallen headfirst into a bottle of white liquor and swallowed the contents- that feeling has to be similar to this. My mind replays everything that’s happened in a non-stop loop. So much is changing, and I can’t stop any of it from happening. 

,

And now I’m miserable. I don’t know what Peeta thinks of me or if he’ll speak to me again. What a horrible way to repay his support through the awfulness of the last day. Peeta even told me he loved me. I don’t know if he realized the words slipped out of his mouth in the middle of our argument, but they did. I can’t forget that all I did was walk away from him like the cold-hearted bitch I am. 

It was just this morning I concluded that love was what I felt for Peeta. What happened to that quiet feeling of happiness the realization brought? I’ll tell you what happened- reality snuck up behind me and hit me in the back of my head with a shovel, that’s what. Love makes you weak, so I can't let myself love him. 

Love might start as a mystery, growing closeness, soft touches, and excitement because of new experiences. But eventually, it changes you, morphing you into something you don’t recognize, leaving your soft underbelly exposed to the world’s cruelty. 

Love starts as a good thing, but it always ends in misery and heartache and wanting to die when the other one is gone. I lived it once when my father died. I bared survived. Now I find out that my sister and I would be dead, not only because of Mother’s sickness and neglect but also because of Father’s choice. We would have all died if it hadn’t been for Peeta’s kindness. 

I have to stop a minute and cover my face with my hand to compose myself. Peeta, whose only thank-yous were a black eye from his mother and a figurative punch to the gut from me. I hurt him, and I loathe myself for it, but isn’t it better for everyone if he knows what I am before it’s too late? I don’t understand why he thinks he can make anything better or protect me from the ruin that love brings. There’s no reason to hope in anything. Hope is risky. The only safe thing to count on is yourself.

All that talk of freedom and new beginnings- Peeta wants everything I’m too broken and scarred to give. I’m deficient. I can never be what he wants, no matter what he says. It was foolish to get involved with him and let myself care as much as I do. I should have known I would hurt him at some point, and he deserves so much more than that. He deserves someone who isn’t afraid to be loved- even if the thought of anyone else makes bile rise in the back of my throat. He has to hate me now. But I despise myself too, so I guess that means we’re even. 

Finally approaching my house, I tell myself not to cry. I can’t because all my emotions and the truth would spill over until there was nothing left. And then they would be in danger too. What I need to do is find somewhere to hide. I wish I hadn’t told Madge I’d come this afternoon. I’m in no state for a visit. All I want to do is shut myself away in a dark room, alone. 

I don’t really wish to be alone, though, and that’s the misery of it. I need to let Peeta go, but I still want him. For the last seven years, and probably longer, I’ve been able to find a measure of happiness in doing things for my sister, or even to a lesser degree, my mother. I never really thought about myself or my future because every day has just been about surviving. There was never a chance to want something. But I do, and Peeta’s been the only thing in my life that was just mine. I want him. I want him to hold me and tell me sweet lies about how things work out in the end. But I have to learn to stop leaning on him, forget all of that. I guess the backtracking starts today.

“Hey,” Prim greets me when I make it to the front steps of our house. “You’re late today.” 

My sister sits with her legs dangling off the porch. There’s a canvas sack on the grey slatted floor full of old, threadbare clothing- items traded to Mother for healing services from families that have no other way to pay. 

Prim has a pair of scissors and a wide-necked basket on her other side. She takes one of the shirts out of the bag and starts cutting it up the middle, making long strips of cloth for bandaging patients’ wounds. 

I suspected she and Mother were low on most supplies, but now I’m sure of it. This job is one she always postpones doing until there’s little left to fill her time. I’m glad she’s busy. That means she might be too preoccupied with what she’s doing to pick up on my mood. 

“Good haul?” she asks, placing the strips of material in the basket, then rummaging in the bag for another shirt to start on.

“Not especially,” I admit, forcing myself not to fiddle with the strap on my bag.

“You did have a late night last night. You never came to bed.” She smirks, too knowingly for a fourteen-year-old girl, I might add.

“Prim,” I admonish her, my voice sternly to cover my embarrassment. Of course, she caught me sleeping on the couch with Peeta last night. 

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it, Katniss. He is your boyfriend, and you’re both adults.”

Make that was my boyfriend. And how am I going to explain that one to her without telling her everything else? I’ve made such a mess of everything.

“Hey, don’t worry; tomorrow will probably be better.”

I can’t even think about tomorrow. It certainly won’t be better. And what is it with everyone and all this hope in the air? It’s spreading like some sort of infectious disease. Sometimes I think I’m the only one around here who sees reality. “Maybe, Duck,” I say to appease her.

“So, did you find anything for me?” Prim rolls her eyes at her nickname. 

“I did.”

I’m surprised when a genuine smile cracks through my stony exterior. At least I managed one thing decent in the middle of sabotaging my happiness. It’s a slight consolation. Reaching at my side for my bag, I flip the cover back to get the bundles of wild ginger and mayapple I collected from the back pocket. I keep the medicinal herbs and plants I gather for her and Mother separate from my kills to avoid cross-contamination. But what do I find when I look in first the back and then the front pocket of my bag? Nothing, but one dead squirrel and two quails, staring back at me. I can’t help but scowl at their lifeless eyes as if they’ve personally wronged me.

Well, this is just great. A nearly silent swear escapes my lips. “Actually, no,” I admit, “I got you some wild ginger and mayapple, but I left them in Peeta’s wheelbarrow.”

“Oh. Well, that’s fine. You can just get the plants tomorrow,” Prim says, shrugging as if it’s just that easy. “We’re not out of either of those- there’s a little of each left.”

Well, this is just fantastic. I was planning on avoiding Peeta tomorrow. I guess this means I can’t. “I’ll do that,” I tell Prim, rubbing my eyes with the flat of my hand, simultaneously cursing my luck. I don’t know what I’ll say when I see him tomorrow. “I’m going to lay down for a while.”

“You look tired,” she frowns up at me as I walk across on our creaky front porch. “You should stop working so hard.”

I snort. Prim knows that’s not likely to happen.

“Or try sleeping at night,” she adds cheekily.

I force myself to laugh. “Yeah, maybe.” I don’t burst her bubble and tell her it won’t be a problem anymore. Nobody is going to be around to keep me awake.

I make my way through the house. Mother is out somewhere, so it’s quiet. There’s no one to bug me.

When it’s hot like this, and I feel filthy and sticky, I like to clean up once I get back from the woods, so I don’t feel like I’m not wallowing in my own filth. Today I head straight to bed. Once there, I pull my braid out, shaking my head to relieve the tension from my scalp. Then I take off my boots and strip down to my underwear, finally sliding beneath the covers. Immediate relief washes over me as I pull the blanket up over my head and immerse myself in darkness. I’m lonely, but it’s easier to be by myself with my sadness. I’ve done so much dwelling on everything my brain seems to have stopped working correctly, and there’s a curious blankness there instead. My heart still aches.

Sleep finds me quickly, but that’s no relief in it. I dream of dark things: war and burning and loved ones buried alive and dying in any way imaginable. Everyone makes an appearance. My father, his face so blurred I hardly recognize him. Gale, my mother, Prim, Madge, even Rye and Delly, and Haymitch Abernathy. Peeta. Everyone dies; nothing I can do prevents it from happening. In my dreams, I watch it happen over and over and over again.

It’s a relief when I wake up what seems to be hours later. If it’s possible, I feel worse than I did before I fell asleep. 

I drag myself out of bed and put the clothes back on I wore this morning because staying home and subjecting myself to small talk isn’t an option. I think better of what I’m wearing when I remember I’m supposed to see Madge, though, so I get some water from the kitchen to drink and some to wash up with besides. Later, dressed in clean clothes, I tell Prim and Mother, who’s back home, where I’m heading and then duck out quickly before either of them can question me further.

I know I’m supposed to be going to Madge’s. That is what I told everyone I was doing, and she’s expecting me. But when I consider the possibility of walking into town and running into someone I don’t want to see, my chest gets so tight I can’t bear it. So I head towards the fence line instead. When I reach it, I stop and stare out at the woods. I was just inside them three or four hours ago, based on the sun’s location in the sky, but I consider slipping in again, by myself, just to disappear for a while. 

There’s no refuge in this god-forsaken district, and more than anything, I want to be alone. The tall trees call to me to come where I can’t hurt anyone. Ultimately I don’t go in. It seems like too much effort. Instead, I walk the fence line, past the Seam, far away from town, behind the Hob. I don’t go in today because I have nothing to trade. I’m certainly not searching anyone out. I follow the train tracks on our side of the fence as far as the mine entrance and then even further where the surroundings are more desolate. Time passes as I walk, and the sun moves lower in the sky; I remain trapped inside a bubble of my own making. 

I don’t remember exactly when I left the house, but by the time I stop and realize that I should have been to Madge’s many hours ago, and she may be wondering where I am by now, the sun is dangerously low in the sky. It was a bad idea to go so far away from home, so late. There’s the curfew to think of, and my family will be worried about me because of it and the general air of uncertainty that hangs over everything. Madge may have even come looking for me by now. I must’ve walked for hours on end to put this many miles between myself and home. 

I don’t hesitate to turn around and start back. 

Shaking off the last of the stupor I’ve been in most of the afternoon, I run then walk, then run again until I reach the mines, and it’s there I find my first sign of life in who knows how many hours. A set of Peacekeepers are out on duty, patrolling the entrance. I pause to ask them the time, and while I hate acknowledging their existence at all, much less strike up a conversation with them, it’s better than being arrested for a curfew violation. My breath comes out as an audible sigh of relief when they confirm that it’s not as late as I feared. I can make it home before then. Not with a lot of time to dawdle, but without the worry of being arrested. 

I slow my pace to a quick walk at the knowledge, feeling a little run-down after all the running I did. It’s dusk now, and I didn’t bring a knife or weapon of any sort, so I don’t linger. And for the first time since yesterday, I feel a pang of hunger. I take all of those things to mean I’m ready to go home.

My gaze drops to the ground, watching my feet take one step and then another. I consider what I’m going to tell Mother and Prim, and possibly Madge, once I get home. But then I find myself colliding with a much larger person. 

My first thought is I need to pay more attention to what’s going on around me, but my second thought is that I’m much more familiar with the body I’m bouncing off of than when we did this in town months ago. Strong hands latch onto my arms and hold me upright. Peeta. I’d know him anywhere. But I don’t understand why he steadied me on my feet. If I were him, I just would’ve let me fall.

“You should watch where you’re going,” he chides, a grim expression flashing across his features, here than gone again, as he relaxes his grip on my arms. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask, stepping back, crossing my arms over my chest defensively as I try to gather my bearings. I couldn’t be more surprised to see him if I tried. Peeta released me quickly enough, but just that swift touch, his strong fingers pressing into my skin, spurred too many sensations. Studying him, trying to hide how I’m affected, I want him to hold me again. I physically ache for it. But I’m not allowed to think like that. 

For his part, Peeta seems guarded, closed off himself. “Well, I wasn’t just out for a stroll. What do you think I was doing?” he asks, looking at me as if I should be able to read his mind. 

I frown at him. My heart is racing like one of the galloping deer in the forest. When he sighs, it sounds tired. I guess I’m not the only one done with this day. “I came out looking for you,” he says, glancing over my shoulder like he can’t look at me and answer at the same time.

“Why would you-” I start in.

“Madge,” he says abruptly like an apology. “She stopped in the bakery while I was closing and said you’d never shown up at her house. She wanted to see if you were alright.”

That makes me feel bad. And with Peeta coming out here to look for me after the morning we had, followed by a long day at the bakery, it makes my actions a lot to swallow. Walking around here, looking for me, has to be the last thing he wanted to do tonight. Sometimes I have a hard time believing people care about me that much.

“She was worried,” he explains, “but I wasn’t. I figured you were skipping out because of all the stuff going on. I told her you’d said you weren’t feeling well after we went out this morning.”

“You didn’t have to lie,” I say, wanting him to know that. I don’t expect him to cover for me- I would have told Madge something.

Peeta frowns. “I didn’t say I lied, Katniss. You could give me more credit than that. I just figured whatever you want to tell her should come from you instead of her getting it second hand from me.” 

He’s right. I don’t know how much I want anyone to know about any of this. “But she did ask if I would give you something,” he adds.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. It was in a bag, and I didn’t look, just left it back at your house. I figured since you left your stuff in my wagon, I might as well just bring everything over to you in case it was important.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Only because I told Prim I would, but Peeta doesn’t need to know that, I add- "I would have come to get it tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he sighs. “Listen- I know I should have stayed away after everything that went on this morning. You act like you want me to give you some space, but I’m the idiot who decided to see you anyway. So I walked to your house, and when your mother and Prim said you’d left for Madge’s hours ago, I started to worry. I didn’t want them to worry, so I thought I’d come looking for you. That’s all.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” I say, ignoring the part where he said he wanted to see me. He can’t mean that. But it’s Peeta, and of course, he would come looking for me even though we’re fighting.

He looks at me pointedly. “I’m always going to worry about you. You have to know that.”

I glance at him and then away again. I can’t stand to see the frustration in his expression that I put there. 

“As I said, I’m sorry you thought you had to come and look for me. But I’m fine-” I’m not fine by a long shot, not really “-and I’m on my way home now. So you don’t have to stay.”

I start to walk away, but Peeta falls into step beside me. “Are you trying to run me off or something?” he says in a huff. He's still standoffish, and so am I. The air between us isn't exactly comfortable, but some of the tension has dropped.

I glance at my feet, so he misses my lips turn up slightly. “Maybe I was a little,” I admit.

“Well, knock it off already.”

We’re quiet after that. I find myself basking in Peeta’s nearness, whether I should or not. His presence is so calming; I don’t think that will ever feel different for me.

Eventually, he pauses in his tracks, and I stop with him. While he hesitates, I raise my eyebrows. “You want to say something.”

Peeta sighs. “I keep thinking about how to say this, but there's something I have to tell you. Earlier, when I passed by the Hob the first time, I ran into Haymitch trotting out of the back door. Maybe he came running out after me, or maybe it was a coincidence. I don't know, but one minute he wasn't there, and then he just was.”

My hackles are instantly up at the sound of that man’s name. 

“I hope you aren’t angry. Well, angrier than you already were,” Peeta mutters the last bit, irritation edging into his voice again as he glances around, making sure we’re alone, no doubt. “But since Haymitch included both of us, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to hear the gory details since you didn't want to be a part of it last night. Not that I blame you,” he adds. “I just wanted to find out what it would involve if we decide to do it.”

“What did he tell you?” I ask against my better judgment. I’m not thrilled, but at least this way, I’ll know what scheme Haymitch has cooked up. And admittedly, I wasn’t looking forward to walking into that discussion blind.

Scratching the back of his neck, Peeta lets his breath out in a puff of air. “What Haymitch told me made it sound not as bad as I thought. All he wants us to do is carry messages to his contact on the far side of the woods. It would just be taking letters to them, stuff like that. He said there’s a rebel camp stationed in the woods, but they don’t have a way to get messages from here. Haymitch said something about some varmints wrecking the lines they were using before.”

I chew my lip in thought. That doesn’t sound terrible. “But what’s the catch?” I ask. "What isn't he telling us?"

“Honestly, I don’t know, ” he admits, “I can’t figure that out either. It does seem like there has to be something else to it, doesn't there? Nothing is that simple.”

“Did he tell you where the drop-off spot would be?” I shift on my feet, debating whether or not this could be outside my comfort zone. “The woods are enormous. I've only been out so far into it- I don't even know where it ends.”

“Haymitch said the meet-up spot is at the lake; the one you told me about, where you used to go with your father? Haymitch said that's where they are.”

Of course, the rebels would set up at the lake. It makes perfect sense that they'd be close to a significant freshwater source. Especially if there are a lot of soldiers or whatever stationed there. It’s far away from here but not too far, about a two-hour walk past the fence. That sounds like a long trip, but on a good day, it's not terrible. I search Peeta’s face for any sign of what he's thinking. It probably would be easy to hide something small like a sheet of paper on one of us. The guards have never strip-searched us or even threatened too. If they were going to do it, they wouldn’t do it on our way inside the woods, anyway- they don’t seem concerned with us taking contraband into the woods, only out of it. Does he want to do it?

Do I want to? I agree with Peeta that the setup doesn't sound so bad. It doesn't seem any more dangerous than going into the woods itself, not if we're careful and have everything planned out ahead of time. But I’m still afraid of getting involved. If we’re caught aiding the Rebellion, retribution would be swift and absolute. Not just for Peeta and me, but our families as well.

“It wouldn’t leave us much time for foraging,” I say.

Peeta nods. “Probably not. I’ve thought about that too.”

“Did he say how often it would be?”

“Probably only a few times a week.”

“When?”

“He’d like it to be tomorrow, but the next day would work.”

“Tomorrow?” I shake my head. “We can’t go tomorrow. We’re going to have to find double the amount for the piglets on the days we’re not going to the lake, then hide it somewhere, so we have enough to bring back in the wheelbarrow on the days we go. The guards will have to think we’re still gathering if it’s going to work.

“I’d agree with that. Today has been one of the longest days of my life, anyway. I don’t know if I’m ready to do it that soon,” Peeta admits.

I ignore what feels like his dig at me. I know I have it coming, honestly. If the shoe were on the other foot, I would have been a lot nastier to him. “And you might not be able to help out at the bakery as much,” I add.

Peeta snorts. “Yeah, I reminded my father of that, again, today, before this. I told him to stop looking for me when Rye doesn’t show up to work, and I’m only going to help once a week now, tops. The bakery isn’t my problem anymore. My parents made that clear when they chose Rye over me. All I did was remind them of that. Again.”

I nod. “It takes that sometimes. People don’t always believe you the first time- or they choose not to. I’m proud of you for doing that.”

“Are you telling me I should always believe you the first time you say something? That you’ve made up your mind for good, without any hope that you could change it later?”

Ahh. Now I’m backed into a corner of my own devices. I should have given more thought to that. Peeta’s feeling out what I said to him this morning, whether I mean it or not. With the way Peeta works in words, I’ve noticed he doesn’t always understand that sometimes I say things wrong or don’t mean everything precisely the way I word it. Sometimes he’s looking for meanings behind my words that aren’t there. 

Not that I’m backtracking from the things I told him this morning; not at all. We can’t have that kind of relationship. I can’t depend on him. I can’t be what Peeta wants; I know that. But something is holding me back from just saying that to him. It would be easy to let him go now, make the kill shot, and end this. It’s just that I can’t. “Not always,” I say.

“I see,” Peeta says, staring pensively ahead. I try not to look at him other than out of the corner of my eye; I’m mostly successful. Finally, he sighs as if he’s reached his limit on what he can handle today. “We’d better get going, you think?”

Peeta walks me the rest of the way home. I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing at all. When we arrive at my house, he leans against a porch post, not very close to me, and crosses his arms over his chest. He still won’t look directly at me. It’s as if the walk to my house gave him time to remember everything I said this morning, and they’re eating at him all over again.

“So I think I’m going to go out by myself tomorrow morning,” Peeta says. "I think it would be better that way."

“Okay,” I say. What else is there to say? It’s the bed I made when I told Peeta he needed to give me some space. Now it’s just time I have to lie in it. But god, I hate it that he’s mad at me. I’m such a mess inside and out I don’t know what I want anymore. Maybe Peeta doesn’t either; perhaps he stopped loving me already. 

“But the next day, are we going to do it?” Peeta means starting down this road of aiding the rebellion. I should probably be more hesitant, give it a little more thought and time than this, but my instinct says yes. Maybe our lives are worth fighting for; maybe freedom would be worth it.

"I think we should," I say. When our eyes really lock for the first time all night, it's overwhelming.

“Okay. We’ll do it.”

I can’t handle his focus right now. I should probably duck inside the house before I do something stupid like cry. He must pick up on my defensive body language because he sighs loudly. “Katniss, you know it’s just that I'm not sure what you expect from me right now. This morning? That hurt. I can't pretend it didn't."

I don't know how to answer that. “I know, and I'm sorry. Try to forget about it for tonight. Goodnight, Peeta.” I say, putting one foot on the porch step. He needs to get home before curfew, and I need him to leave before I break down. "I'll see you later."

“Tuesday then?”

“I’ll see you then.”

Mother is sitting in her chair with a medical book I think I’ve seen her read a thousand times. Prim is petting Buttercup, who only hisses at me half-heartedly when I sit down next to my sister on the couch, my head swimming.

I settle in my seat, begin to untie my boots, and prepare to ask if they saved me any dinner. But I don’t quite get as far as all that because Prim plucks something off the end table and hands it to me before I can open my mouth. She gives me a small black velvet bag, soft like a dress made of the same material Mother has in her chest, carefully folded in the bottom of her chest. It's a relic from her Merchant days. “You’ve got something to open. From Madge,” Prim says excitedly.

No matter how low I’m feeling, I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. What would I do without my sister? “Peeta told me. I almost forgot about it, though,” I admit. I think the evening’s events can excuse my forgetfulness, but I don’t say that aloud.

“What is it?” Mother asks, elbow propped on the chair handle, her book suspended in the air as she looks from Prim to me.

“I don’t know,” I admit, untying the ribbon at the top and tugging the bag open. I reach in the bag, and my fingers land on something cool and smooth. What I pull out stuns me. I don’t know what to think. It’s a pin, one I’m sure is solid gold. It’s an open ring, and in the middle is a mockingjay with its wings stretching from one end of the circle to the other, an arrow clutched in its beak. Why would Madge give me something like this, something so valuable? It’s probably worth a fortune.

Something clatters on the floor, starling me, Prim, and Buttercup, and he jumps off the couch to get away from the great offense to his personage. Rolling my eyes at the cat, it takes me a moment to realize the sound came from Mother’s chair. The medical book is lying on the floor next to her feet.

When I finally take full notice of my Mother, it’s apparent she’s had a shock, like a ghost walked over her grave; her eyes are round, and her voice quivers when she speaks. “That’s Maysilee’s pin.” she manages, “the one she wore in her games. Katniss, why is Madge giving that to you?”

Chapter Text

“That’s Maysilee’s pin.” Mother says, her eyes glued to the gold mockingjay pin resting in the palm of my hand, “the one she wore in her games. Katniss, why is Madge giving that to you?”

“I don’t know.” I’m just as bewildered by it as she is. It has to be very valuable. 

Unless I’m mistaken, the pin is solid gold. The design is a circle, with the mockingjay my mother mentioned in the center. There’s an arrow in the bird’s beak; the ends of it and the bird’s wings are attached to the circle, seemingly holding the bird in place. Prim takes it from me, eager to get her hands on it herself. The pin doesn’t mean much to me- I’m more likely to enjoy a sunset or wildflowers blooming beyond the fence, but my sister loves beautiful things. Something like this is rare in our district. It’s a work of art.

Maysilee Donner was Mrs. Undersee’s twin sister. They were both good friends with my mother back then, all of them having grown up in the Merchant part of town together. That came to an early end when her name was pulled from the reaping bowl for the 50th Hunger Games. That year was a Quarter Quell and had double the number of tributes. Despite that, she made it far enough to become one of the last. 

Coincidentally, it was the same year Haymitch won, a feat that only one other person from Twelve has managed since the Games began. Our other victor has been dead for so long hardly anyone even remembers their name by now. I couldn’t come up with it now if I tried. I don’t know how Haymitch did it, especially against twice as many tributes and double the number of blood-thirsty Careers. He isn’t very big or particularly strong. 

Maybe he was smarter? I think that had to be it- you don’t beat out forty-seven other people by dumb luck. There had to be some strategy involved. At least, I hope it wasn’t just a fluke since Peeta and I agreed to work with him.

“There’s a note, ” Prim says, handing me a folded scrap of paper she found inside the velvet bag. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” I laugh under my breath. I didn’t think to look further after finding the mockingjay pin. Of course, Madge would leave some sort of communication after entrusting me with something this valuable. I unfold the paper and smooth it out across my lap. It looks to be a quickly scrawled-out note in her neat handwriting. She must have dashed it off before giving the bag to Peeta.

Katniss,

Mother and I are leaving for District Four in the morning. My father got permission for us to stay with some of his family near the coast. He says they have a specialist who can treat my mother’s condition, and things will be calmer in Four. The beaches are supposed to be beautiful.

I don’t think that’s really why we’re leaving, but I’m ready to go anyway. I can’t relax in my own home anymore.

I hope you don’t mind keeping this for me, but I need to leave it behind. Mother said we couldn’t let anyone find it because the mockingjay symbolizes an old Rebellion attempt. She says we shouldn’t risk someone finding it in our luggage. 

There’s no one else I trust the pin with, and I hope it’s not too much to ask you. You’ve always been pretty rebellious yourself.

Our train leaves at six if you want to come and see me before we leave. 

Madge

Mother is staring at me questioningly, and instead of trying to relay what’s in the letter, I hand it over for her to read. As her eyes move across the page, I can see distress forming in her expression; it might be the time to find what she knew about my Father’s involvement in the old Rebellion attempt. 

“Do you know what Madge meant?” I ask as she hands the letter over to Prim for her to read herself.

“I’m not surprised Madge’s father is sending them away,” Mother admits. Her hands fall to her lap again, and she grips the material of her nightgown, worrying it between her fingers. “I think anyone who has the chance to send their family somewhere safer would.” She has a far-off look now, like she’s stuck in the past. She rarely speaks about it. 

Prim and I know very little about her life before she married our father and moved to the Seam. I don’t know if the details are too painful or, like myself, she has difficulty explaining things and prefers to keep them close to her chest.

“When Maysilee died, Marjorie took it very hard. All of us did, but Marjorie-” she sighs. “I can’t imagine the pain of losing your sister that way. I couldn’t then, at least. Not until after your father died.”

I stuff the anger down that rises to the surface when I think of that time. I have to if I want to find out what Mother knows. Now’s not the time to let my emotions take over, not if I want to learn more about his involvement in the Rebellion. 

I’ve let my emotions rule me too much over the last twenty-four hours or so, anyway.

Then again, do I want to know? Maybe I’m better off not knowing. People do say that ignorance is bliss. No, that’s the coward’s way out. I need to know, not just for my sake but for everyone else’s. “The old Rebellion attempt,” I lead in, urging Mother to keep talking, “I heard some things last night, after the wedding. Haymitch Abernathy told me Father was involved. He implied the accident that killed him was staged because of it.” 

“What are you talking about?” Prim says. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Madge's letter drop from her hands and flutter to the floor, forgotten. “Why would he say that- that can’t be right, can it?”

I instantly berate myself for forgetting about my sister in all the excitement. I should have waited to drop this bomb on her. This information is a lot for her to absorb at once- heck, I haven’t even come to grips with everything myself. I hope this wasn’t a mistake, that making my mother talk doesn’t cause a relapse. That’s a risk anytime you press her to talk. 

But I can’t regret letting this secret out of the bag. I would have told Prim eventually, and letting the weight of it go feels like a tremendous burden has lifted from my shoulders. I can breathe again, even if my heart is still thudding like mad with adrenaline. Sometimes doing what you have to isn’t easy- sometimes, you just have to stop running and face it head-on.

“I’ll explain everything. Well, everything I know,” I tell Prim, glancing across the room at our mother. “What about you- did you know?” I ask pointedly, leaving no room for her to skirt around this sort of directness. It feels like I’m taking an ax to the wall she has erected around herself, one I’ve never breached until now. “Is Haymitch right?”

Whatever Mother says, it doesn’t matter. I know what she’s going to leave her mouth before she has a chance to say it. The weariness in her expression is unmistakable. It’s written all over her face like I just uncovered her greatest secret, leaving the true center of her pain, the origin of those lines around her eyes, the faded color of her skin. It’s all on display like an ode to misery. 

When I catch Mother licking her lips, I wonder if she’s stalling. 

She must’ve been a little, but finally speaks. “Yes, Katniss. I knew,” her voice cracks, her shoulders shake. Prim rises from the couch and crosses the room to her. Taking our mother’s hand, she silently encourages her to keep talking. My sister is so much more compassionate than I’ll ever be. It’s times like this I understand why most prefer her company to mine. I know I would.

“I don’t know much about what he did or who he was working with; your father didn’t tell me much because he wanted to protect us in case of retribution.” Harsh laughter escapes from her mouth. “He knew I didn’t want to hear about any of it. I didn’t want to know. He should never have involved himself in any of it! He wouldn’t listen to me, though. Said he had to, couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t try. And then he died.” 

I’m glued to the sofa, frozen in place as the reality of it hits me. Prim throws her arms around Mother’s shoulders, letting her bury her head in the curve of her neck. I watch them as the strength seems to go out of Mother’s body, and I’m amazed all over again. 

It’s like my sister has this capacity for moving past her hurt to comfort others that I don’t understand. That ability is something I don’t possess, or perhaps it’s because my sorrow has been all-consuming any time I allowed it a place. That’s why I can’t let those feelings get a foothold on me. 

Or maybe it’s just the way I feel about our mother. Prim is certainly more forgiving. No matter how much we grow, no matter how much better she gets, I can never seem to completely let go of my distrust. I don’t know how my sister can. It’s not that I don’t care about her. I do. I’d even go so far as to say I love her now- something I wouldn’t have definitively answered even a few years ago. I just can’t put my trust in her because she’s so unstable. She just cannot be counted on to be there when you need her.

For some reason, Peeta’s face, the way he looked yesterday when I blew up at him, comes to mind. I’m sick all over again. Is that how I’ve treated him, the way my mother always has me, and me her? Is that how Peeta sees me now, selfish and weak? Maybe it’s better if he does because that’s what I am at my lowest moments. 

There is so much riding on my back. I can’t let myself be like Mother, the woman broken and faded by life, currently sobbing on her daughter’s shoulders. Even if Prim can shoulder it, she shouldn’t have to do that. It’s not right. Mother should have a better handle on herself, and so should I. It’s not fair to ask someone else to shoulder that for you.

I choose to ignore the glaring reminder of Peeta holding me last night, almost in this exact spot where I’m sitting. Saying he wanted to carry some of my load when I lashed out at him. I can’t believe I treated him that way after everything. 

What is wrong with me?

I’m just so tired of everything. Tired of scraping by and struggling, tired of feeling so mean all the time. Most of all, I’m tired of this fear that prevents us from being happy or thinking about the future. Something does need to change. Father was right- living shouldn’t be like this; it shouldn’t be one miserable situation after another. 

Maybe I realized it all along, deep down. I think that’s why I agreed to help Haymitch with a minimum of mulling it over once it was time to make a decision. I want to have that capacity to have hope again. But is that something you can just decide one day, to be different? To be so tired of the fear that you can just slough it off like a snake sheds its skin?

I get up and move towards my family, placing my hands on Mother’s shoulder first and then Prim’s, who puts her arm around my waist and pulls me closer. I guess you have to love people even if you’re afraid to do it. If someone loves you back, you have to overlook their weaknesses and accept them as they are sometimes.

“I didn’t want to tell you two,” Mother says, pulling away from Prim, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I didn’t want you to think badly of your father. Or worse yet, decide to follow in his footsteps.” She lets out a great sigh. “I was wrong, not to tell you. You both deserved to know that about him-you should be allowed to make up your minds yourselves.”

“You’re telling us now,” Prim reminds her. “I don’t think it’s ever too late to do what is right.”

She’s correct, of course. How did my little sister get so much smarter than me?

The following day I’m out the door with the sun, heading towards the train station. I hope I’m in time to see Madge before she and her mother leave for District Four. 

I should have left the house a little sooner, but I’m dragging my feet today. 

Not that it matters if I’m tired, there are still too many things I need to do after Madge leaves. Peeta might not want me around today, but I’m going to go hunting if the fence isn’t on. I’ll need to find some game today since I won’t be able to tomorrow with him. 

I choose not to dwell on thoughts of our fight or even what we’re getting ourselves involved in by agreeing to help Haymitch and the rebels. One thing at a time. 

Mother, Prim, and I stayed up too late talking, but I’m not sorry for it. The accumulated events of last night- the pin, my revelation, and Mother’s, all led us to the first real conversation we’ve had about my father since he died. My head is still full of words and memories today. We didn’t talk about the Rebellion, old or new. What was there to say? There were decisions made in the past that didn’t work out, and there were decisions tomorrow that might not work out either. Talking it to death wouldn’t change anything. Mother talked more about Father and what he was like when they were courting and newly married than she ever had. The way he teased her, the way he would sing for her whenever she asked. She told us a little about Father’s grandfather, the only family he had left when they met- the first time we’d learned anything about him. She didn’t mention her family, though. I guess the rejection she faced when she married our father is still too fresh in her mind. I can’t say I blame her. At least I know precisely where my tendency to nurse a grudge comes from.

Overall the conversation left me more accepting of Mother, or maybe it left me with a deeper understanding of her and the fear that held her back after Father died. It wasn’t comfortable, and all hit a little too close to home, considering my recent behavior. Fear makes a person inaccessible, closed off. It’s easy to protect yourself by not letting others get close to you, but at what cost? 

I’m stewing on everything as I reach the train station. The clock on the outside wall tells me it’s 5:45, but the train is nowhere in sight, so I should have a few minutes to tell Madge goodbye. I spot her, waiting with their housekeeper and her mother on the platform. Mr. Undersee is nowhere; perhaps he’s waiting inside. 

What I see takes me back- I haven’t seen Mrs. Undersee in a long time. She looks awful sitting in a wheelchair, pale and weak. Her eyes are glassy from what I assume is the morphling she takes for her headaches. I’ve sometimes seen that blankness in the faces of Mother’s severely injured patients because nothing cuts the severe pain like morphling. 

Mother has told me privately Mrs. Undersee’s headaches are likely because of a slow-growing brain or spinal tumor. I wonder that she could tell Madge about the danger of keeping the pin on them at all, seeing her now. She barely looks cognizant.

Madge smiles when she spots me, even if she seems tired herself. She’s beautifully put together in one of her pleated skirts and sweaters, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, the tail of which brushes against my shoulders as she leans in to hug me. “Is everything okay?” she asks, meaning the pin. 

I have no idea if the Undersee’s are planning to come back- the pin could be in my possession forever, but I’ll keep it for her. “Of course- I’ll take care of it.” 

I move to pull away, but Madge holds onto me at arm’s length a moment longer. “You should wear it,” her eyes search mine, “you know, around the right people, so they know who you are. I heard Haymitch approached you.” 

“Yes,“ I admit, “how did you know about that?” 

She bites her lip, and I realize Madge must have some involvement in the Rebellion effort herself. Who’ll be next, Greasy Sae? Prim?

“I’ve helped them... a little. Just some information I might have overheard during my father’s conversations with the Capitol people,” she admits, releasing me finally. “Speaking of him, here he comes now. It must be about time for the train.”

A goose feather could knock me flat on my back after all of this. Madge can’t just leave things like that. What else hasn’t she told me? 

“Why would you risk that?” I sputter out. 

It doesn’t make sense to me. Madge has the best of everything- what Twelve can offer at least. I don’t know what would make her go out on a limb like that, especially after the things she’s told me, how uncomfortable the trio from the Capitol made her, how dangerous they seemed. Madge was right about them, they are dangerous, and she’s been spying on them and reporting to the rebels.

“Why not?” Madge’s voice is stealthy and low. “I didn’t even have to think about it- you saw what happened during the Games! It’s a good opportunity, and we need to do something now, Katniss- the districts are furious. Everything around here is wrong. Someone has to do something. We can’t just sit back and watch it get worse. Things need to change.” Her eyes meet mine for a millisecond before they’re gone again. Then she‘s plastering on a toothy smile for her father stopping beside us. 

“Ready?” Mr. Undersee asks before greeting me. His voice is weary. “Katniss! It was nice of you to come to see Madge off. Sweetheart, I’ll get your mother loaded into your berth on the train before I head back home.” He pats me on the arm in a grandfatherly way, and then he’s gone, moving his wife and her wheelchair closer to the loading area. 

The train is approaching now; I can hear the unmistakable whoosh of its high-speed approach. 

Madge meets my eyes again once he’s gone. “What do we have to lose? Death wouldn’t be much worse than the way we’re living.” She leans in then and kisses my cheek. I breathe in her smell like strawberries in the summertime. “You’ll be great; you’re so brave.”

“I’m not,” I whisper. Lately, I feel like a coward. 

“You’re the bravest person I know.”

Tears fill my eyes. Madge has been my only real female friend, and I’m going to miss her so much. 

I hope she isn’t leaving the district forever- I hope we live to see each other again.

It’s early evening.

Madge left hours ago, and I waited on the platform until the high-speed train was out of sight. Then, I walked through town on my way to crawl under the fence, carefully wiping tears from my eyes. I have a reputation to uphold for being brave, apparently. 

Despite all the things taking up residence inside my head, I managed to get a better haul from the woods than yesterday. I shot a few birds before finding two rabbits in the snares- I was ecstatic to have the meat and the furs for the baby blanket. The space on the other side of the fence is extensive, so I didn’t cross paths with Peeta. I don’t know if he was out foraging or not since I didn’t go near our usual area. 

The rest of the daytimes hours passed quietly after, and surprisingly, I didn’t spend much of that time stewing over what tomorrow would bring. I was able to stop worrying about that, at least. Other things wouldn’t leave me alone.

Peeta might not have wanted to see me today, yet somehow I find myself standing outside his house, next to the pigpen, visiting the whole gang: Wilbur, Petunia, Hamlet, Truffles, Charlotte, and Sir-Oinks-A-Lot. The piglets all oink and squeal, fighting each other to get close to the handful of dry grain I stuffed in my pants pocket before heading over here. I’m not sure why I brought a peace offering- I’m not an animal lover by any stretch. But I haven’t seen the little oinkers in a few days, and they are soothing to watch- their ears twitching and snouts snuffling in my hands, looking for things to eat.

“Hey.” 

I half startle when I glance over to see Peeta watching me from a short distance away. I must’ve been mulling on my thoughts pretty intently. I missed his typically loud approach.

“Hey,” I answer, uncomfortable and wholly inadequate. 

Peeta must have come from town because he’s heading from that direction. He’s confused I’m here at all. I can see it, and I don’t blame him. I don’t have a good excuse to seek him out, and after the hot and cold way I treated him yesterday, I get why he wouldn’t want to see me. 

It’s just that I miss him, and I’ve realized a few things. Even if he’s mad at me forever, I have to talk to him. I turn my gaze back to the pigs.

“Everything alright?” Peeta asks, stopping a little distance away from me.

I shrug, stretching out my hand further to let Petunia eat a kernel of corn out of my palm. Her breath tickles my skin, but I hardly notice it. “Yes and no. I don’t know anymore.” I say, chancing another glance at Peeta. 

He leans against the railing, same as me, staring past the pigpen. His focus is locked on a line of scrubby trees ringing the backside of his property.

My fear ramps up while I’m waiting for him to say something. He doesn’t speak. I’m not used to this with him- he’s always stepping in, doing something to make me comfortable when I’m floundering over my words like this. Today he’s stoic, leaving me to struggle. 

“Are we still going tomorrow?” Peeta asks, finally. His tone is uncomfortably polite, still looking at the tree line. 

“Yes,” I curse myself for the way I stutter. “I, uh, yes. That’s not why I- no.” I stop a second to regroup. “If you still think we should, we’ll go.”

“Do you think we should?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Okay then.”

More silence. Finally, I break. “Can we talk?” 

Peeta looks my way; his expression is difficult to read. Wariness rolls off him, bracing himself for whatever rollercoaster-type swing my mood is going to take. Oh right- it’s up to me to start talking. It’s the reason why I’m here, after all, nursing a belief I could somehow convince him how I feel, despite the voice of self-preservation insisting this was a terrible idea. If I’m wrong, then everything is going to implode. 

I’m going to have to tell him everything. I think I’m going to be sick.

“I’m not sure why you’re here,” Peeta begins. “I figured I’d see you in the morning.”